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hb-writes · 3 years

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Just Because You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should

Summary: After a few rainy days stuck inside during spring break, the whole Cullen clan is feeling restless and resort to pranking to pass the time.

Featuring: Emmett Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, and Mia Cullen

-- It had rained for fifteen days straight in Forks, a parade of stubborn drizzles followed by steady downpours and carrying over into the week-long spring break. Mia didn't usually mind the rain, quite used to it giving her something to watch out the window when she didn't care for a teacher's lesson or the drops of it falling against her window and lulling her to sleep at night.

She usually enjoyed the impromptu breaks her family took from school, too, more than happy to roam the woods or sit out in the sun with a book while Forks High School held the impression that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen had pulled the kids out of school for some outdoor activity. But being stuck inside while the school was closed for an endlessly rainy break had Mia feeling a little restless.

It had taken her only a day to finish her pending assignments, and just one more to completely rearrange her bedroom. She had actually grown tired of staring at things, her eyes fatigued by and bored with her laptop screen, books, and the view out her window. And she had grown tired of her siblings too, bored of their usual indoor pursuits and routines.

By day three, Mia had strayed to playing innocent pranks to pass the time—moving her siblings' things when they left the room and making failed attempts to sneak up on all of them, but most specifically Emmett, who'd first made a game of scaring her, wrapping the whole family up in it so that Mia could hardly go an hour without being snuck up on.

Because of that, her pride and joy in regards to the pranks had been the alterations she made to Emmett's jeep, a prank she entered into knowing it would likely be an act of delayed gratification, not like the hiding of frequently needed items or the botched pop up scares. Emmett had no need to take a vehicle out any time soon. If he was going anywhere, he was more likely to run, and once school was back in session, they would be more likely to take Edward's car. Mia knew she could be waiting weeks for any sort of acknowledgement.

She was willing to wait though, the mere recollection of all she had done sufficient enough to get her through Emmett continuing to scare her over and over. She’d done a few things to his jeep, easy stuff like rearranging the mirrors and seats, and adjusting the radio volume to its maximum, and changing the station to the local one that favored heavy metal. But all of that was mostly a distraction because Mia was far more proud of the collection of nuts and bolts in tin cans duct-taped under his seats and inside the spare tire set on the back to the jeep. The whole vehicle would be rattling if he hit a bump or tapped the break, two things she assumed Emmett would encounter before even making it out of the driveway.

Mia wasn’t usually one for such targeted and premeditated pranks, but Emmett had made a sport of scaring Mia over their week of near-confinement, and she felt he deserved something beyond the standard prank. So when the opportunity arose, with her siblings out for a hunt, her father at the hospital, and her mother occupied with some project in her studio, Mia took her opportunity.

She knew Emmett would discover the rattle was no more than a prank after he asked Rose to take a look at it, but she still giggled to herself imagining what would happen when he finally brought himself to ask for Rose’s help and then she laughed once again imagining the look on Rose’s face as she held up one of the offending cans. Emmett was clueless when it came to cars. Completely clueless.

But she had only had to wait a few days because Rose had decided she wanted to go on a date, and Emmett insisted on driving, insisted on getting dressed up, and settling himself down on the couch beside Mia while he waited for Rose to finish getting ready.

Had Mia realized they would be taking Emmett's vehicle, she wouldn't have stayed in such a vulnerable position, lounging there on the couch. She would have put some more distance between herself and her siblings, and a locked door, perhaps. She would have prepared herself a bit better to feign ignorance.

But as she had been caught off guard, she hadn't been prepared to fight when Rose stomped back through the front door with Emmett following in her wake. Rose had barely spared her a glance, the can rattling in her hand as she continued straight up the stairs.

And though it all clicked very suddenly that she was about to be told on, Mia couldn't scramble fast enough because it seemed to happen too quickly that Emmett had plucked her off the couch and was placing her down in Carlisle's office, less than two steps away from a seething Rose.

To Rose's dismay, there hadn't been any true repercussions for the prank aside from Carlisle's request that Mia issue a genuine apology and an acknowledgment that cars were not something to be messed with. Mia had laid low for a few days anyhow, avoiding Emmett and Rose, and even her father, to the best of her ability, which was why Mia had settled in for a day of self-care, feeling she’d earned an afternoon of soothing teas and good music and moisturizing skincare and nail painting after all of the effort put into pranking and the hassle of being found out.

With the rain and the music and her own voice filling her ears, Mia didn’t hear Emmett push her door open or tread across her bedroom floor. Had he been a human of his proportions, he’d not be able to sneak up on her, but as it was, Emmett was stealthy whenever he wished to be, able to take unassuming and delicate steps despite his size.

“Boo.”

The word was barely above a whisper and Mia stumbled and let out a scream, startled just as much by the hushed remark as she was by the quick rush of breath near her ear and the hands that grasped her before she fell.

“EMMETT!” she shouted, pushing at his hold and groaning once he settled her back on her feet.

He reached over to turn down the music, laughing. “You’re too easy, kid.”

“And you’re a stupid jerk,” Mia ground out, shoving against his solid chest with all her might only for him to stand there unaffected, chest puffed out and smiling down at her. “You scared me!”

“Same here,” he said, gesturing towards the green clay mask on her face. “Got a bit of a Wicked Witch of the West thing going on there.”

Mia’s rolled her eyes. “Actually, I was channeling my idiot older brother.”

“Ah, so Yoda, then?” Emmett smirked. “What an honor.”

“Hulk,” she offered. “You know, the incomprehensible behemoth with no self-control?”

Mia stepped away from him, heading towards the bathroom to rinse her face and Emmett appeared before her once again, another scream coming from her lips.

“Stop doing that!”

“I’m sure you’ve done something to earn it,” he answered, “just haven’t figured out what yet.”

“I’ve been up here all day, Em.”

“Yeah, and unfortunately your voice carries. Sounds like you’re drowning cats up here.” Emmett turned to glance in the open bathroom door and Mia smacked him on the arm.

“I’m going to tell Dad if—”

“Speaking of Carlisle, he wants to see you.”

“Why?”

Emmett shrugged. “I’m just the messenger, but you might want to clean that off and drop the Oscar the Grouch act before you go down there.”

Mia clenched her fist. If it would have done anything, she might’ve hit him, wiping that smug little grin off his face entirely, but she knew it wouldn’t, so she took a deep breath instead, releasing her fist and smiling instead.

“You mind giving me a minute, then?”

“Wait for wicked sister grouch, the Yoda Hulk brother will,” Emmett answered.

Mia took another deep breath, waiting a moment to see if he was serious, rolling her eyes as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame.

“I don’t need you to wait. I can remember how to get myself downstairs,” she said, but Emmett didn’t budge so she moved to the sink.

She took her time with rinsing and moisturizing and didn’t utter a word to Emmett as she tried to step past him, but his hand caught her chin, though his palm and fingers spanned the whole bottom half of her face really, and the whole maneuver stopped her from moving entirely with little effort on Emmett’s part.

“So soft now, your skin is.”

“Emmeh, lemme go!” Mia shouted, her words muffled as her cheeks remained squished between his fingers. “Yur nod fummy.”

Emmett laughed, dropping his hold and holding a guiding hand out in front of them. “Fine, grouch. Go ahead, then.”

“I will.” Mia massaged her jaw as she took the stairs nearly two at a time. “And I’m going to tell Dad you’re being an assh—”

Mia’s mouth closed as she took a step off the stairs, rounding the corner, nearly knocking into her father.

Carlisle caught her arm as she stumbled and Mia briefly checked his face for any sign he intended to reprimand her for the word choice, but her eyes were instead pulled to the mess of tin cans on the table.

"What's…"

"All of this?" Carlisle asked as Mia wormed her way out of his hold. "I was hoping you might be able to tell us."

Her eyes flicked back and forth between the cans, her father, and her brother, who had taken a seat at the counter.

"I've been up in my room all day. I don't even know what 'this' is."

Emmett put his feet up on the stool beside him. "You're busted, kid. Might as well give up the act."

"I'm not busted because I didn't do anything.”

"Well, the fourteen tin cans found in the cars would say otherwise," Carlisle answered. "I thought we were in agreement that there would be no more pranks played, especially where the cars are involved?"

Mia’s mouth fell open a bit before she gulped. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up the can that certainly had been Mia's doing, a neat 'With love, Mia,' painted out on the side of the can with nail polish.

"You did this?"

Mia couldn't find the words, but she finally nodded. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up another tin can, a nearly identical message written out on the side with the very same shade of pink and Mia stepped forward, pulling the can from his grasp to study it closer.

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered, "Emmett must've…he must be—"

"I must be what?"

Mia jumped at her brother's closeness and she smacked his shoulder as a reflex. "Stop doing that!” she said before turning back to Carlisle. “Dad, tell him to stop scaring me."

Carlisle sighed. "Amelia, I thought we were on the same page after our discussion. You agreed to stop with the pranks, but since our discussion doesn’t seem to have been enough—"

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered. "I—"

"What about this?"

Mia let out a rushed exhale, a nervous laugh coming at the end of it. She had forgotten about the photo she'd replaced days ago, switching out one of her father and her as a baby to that of her father holding a potato wrapped in cream-colored blankets.

"I did that ages ago. It was before we talked."

"Aw, come on, Mia. You don't think we're that stupid, do you?" Emmett asked.

Mia turned from her father to her brother. "I think you are."

She shrieked as Emmett twirled her around, wrapping one arm across her chest as he held her against his front, using his free hand to clamp down over her mouth.

"Alright, I think we've heard enough of her lip, Carlisle. It's time for sentencing. Fearless leader, do your worst."

Mia knew her father would never do his worst. She wasn’t even aware of what Carlisle Cullen’s worst entailed, having never seen him more than slightly aggrieved, but she thrashed against her brother’s hold anyhow, prying at his hands until he caught her arms, and then she kicked at his shins, but Emmett easily sidestepped her attempts.

Mia yelled her brother’s name, the sound muffled into his palm before she bit down. It didn’t hurt him, more of a shock that she’d even done it, than anything. She'd gone through a short-lived biting phase around three or four, but they’d been incident free since then.

Emmett smirked. “Are you sure you want to challenge me to a biting war, kid?”

Carlisle cleared his throat. “I think a more appropriate punishment would be for Amelia to clean and detail the cars.”

She groaned, her efforts to get out of Emmett’s hold renewed, if only because she wanted to voice her protest.

“And dust every picture frame in the house,” Carlisle continued as Emmett finally uncovered her mouth.

“But that’s going to take forever and I—”

“I suspect it will keep you busy for the remainder of your break and provide you with plenty of time to think about your behavior,” Carlisle said. “And you’re grounded...three weeks.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Mia groaned, “Dad, I didn’t even do this! I—”

Mia felt Emmett shaking with silent laughter before she noticed the mischievous glint in her father’s eye, the slightest of smiles coming to his face.

“You actually are joking, aren’t you?”

Carlisle shrugged. “Emmett and I thought you could benefit from a little dose of your own medicine, Mia.”

Mia sighed. “So I don’t have to do any of what you said, then?”

Emmett lifted her over his shoulder, moving steadily towards the door.. “You’re still helping me wash the jeep, kid. Need to teach you the importance of not messing with my things.”

“But it’s pouring out—Dad! Help!”

Carlisle stepped forward, beating them to the door.

“Thank yo—” Mia started.

He pulled his daughter’s rain jacket off the hook, handing it to Emmett. “We wouldn’t want your sister getting sick,” he said. “And let me get that for you.”

Carlisle opened the door, an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his face as Emmett carried her through.

“Have fun, sweetheart.”

Twilight Masterlist

#twilight #twilight fanfic #twilight fanfiction #carlisle cullen #emmett cullen #mia cullen #cullen daughter #cullen!daughter #cullen sister #cullen!sister

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sorryimanon · 4 years

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A Bit Stir Crazy: Pt 1

Summary: You’re bit of a hot head, so is Bakugou. So what happens when the two of you have to quarantine together for 30 days?

Warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, sexual tension, inevitable smut, slow burn.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!Reader

Spring finally makes it way to the city of Musutafu, which also means spring break is about to commence. There was only two days left of school before the students endure a week break of relaxation and the possibility of illegal drinking. However, the sudden outbreak of a deadly virus isolates you and your best friend of five years , Katsuki Bakugou, to quarantine together. Tensions are high, and so are both of your sex drive.

<<<

It was your second semester here at Hero University, and so far everything was smooth sailing. You’ve been on top of each of your classes, and most of your classmates are pretty much family by now. Of course, no one can replace Kirishima and Katsuki. Those two have been in your life since the second you stepped into Aziwa’s classroom. 5 years of friendship gave them the role of being your protective brothers. Every guy you’ve dated over the past 3 years had to face the wrath of both Kirishima and Katsuki. In most cases, some would find this possessiveness tedious, but you found it quite comforting knowing they are looking out for you. They were also hard on you and your studies, but only because they care for you. Both of them know about your dream of being a combat medic for pro-heroes, considering your energy restoration quirk, so they were extra tough on you.

However, everything came to a halt the day before spring break. You were currently in Advanced Hero History class when the announcement happened. The teacher, mid lecture, put her textbook down and glanced at the speaker above the door.

“Testing...1 2 3... this thing is working right? AHEM, attention students of Hero University, we’ve been told there’s recently been a sudden outbreak of a virus that’s described as deadly as the plaque!” The speakers voice reverberated across the whole academy. He continued,” We want to make sure that everyone is safe and sound and takes precaution of this virus. The board of admissions at HU have decided to cancel classes and all events at the university tomorrow-”

You didn’t get to hear the rest of the announcement. Everyone in the classroom was busy celebrating and screaming at the top of their lungs. Seems like the issue with the deadly virus evaporated immediately. The thought of getting out early for spring break was more important apparently.

Ms.Leech informed the class to still read the assigned chapters and be ready for a test the first day after break.

You quickly shoved everything your messenger bag and made a beeline to the door. The hallways were far from deserted. Usually classes don’t get out at the same time, but today every student occupied the cramped halls in the building.

“Y/N!” Someone yelled amidst the crowd of loud students. You overtly looked around and spotted the all too familiar spiky red hair and angry looking blonde by the exit. You giggled and maneuvered your way over to them.

“Did you hear the announcement! We get an early spring break!” Kirishima giddily said as you guys all walked side by side on the strip to the apartment complex.

“No shit Sherlock, the announcement was broadcasted across the whole school.” Bakugou responded while rolling his eyes.

“I’m so excited though! That means I have more time to study for my exams!” You jumped with excitement.

“Exams? That’s not for awhile you fucking nerd-” Bakugou was cut off when you grabbed a handful of his hair and aggressively pulled it. “YOU SHITTY WOMAN DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR!”

Spring break flashed by quickly, leaving only a day left before classes begin again. Thankfully, you seem to have checked everything off your list of things needed to be accomplished during break. The only thing you had left to do was finish your reading for adv.hero history.

After an endless hour of reading, you decided to make a hot pot of coffee. When you walked into the kitchen of your shared apartment with Kirishima and Katsuki, you noticed a sticky note hanging from the fridge.

It read,

Went to go pick up Kirishima from the airport. Get take out plz. The usual

-B.

You smiled and immediately dialed the noodle shop to go. Kirishima used his spring break wisely and went to visit an exotic island with his family. He would FaceTime you and Bakugo occasionally telling funny stories about his time on the island. Although the thought never occurred at the time, you now felt like you wasted your spring break doing boring mundane things. Yes you had Katsuki to accompany you, but he was gone most of the time hanging out with his other friends. Which hurt, granted, but you understand that he has other friends besides you. Needless to say, you didn’t do that much “relaxation” during spring break.

Suddenly, your phone started going off on the countertop. Katsuki’s name flashing on the screen. Confused, you answered his call anyway, not thinking much of it.

“Y/N turn on the news now,” His said with urgency.

You didn’t argue back, knowing something is off, and raced to the living room. The tv was already on, so you just changed the channels till it reached the local news station. With the volume at its maximum, you sat still and listened to the news anchor.

“This just in, Japan has issued a nationwide lockdown due to the spread of the deadly virus. We’ve been told to report for all citizens to please stay in your homes till further notice. And as for anyone who has left the country, you’ll be permitted to stay within the country you’ve flown to and wait till further instructions...”

Oh shit

“Hey hey guys don’t worry I’ll be fine. I mean, isn’t this great news! We don’t have to go to our scheduled classes till further notice! Plus, I think I can score my shot with the maid here at my hotel for the time being,” Kirishima gloated with pure positivity.

“Baka. You do realize there’s a fucking virus going around right? Not to mention there’s a possibility you could die from it.” Bakugou said, trying to throw some common sense at Kiri.

“Right right right. Yes I do know...but that’s not going to stop me from getting laid bro.”

That was one of the few FaceTime calls you got from Kiri. After the third, he stopped calling all together. You grew worrisome for your best friend. Even though he doesn’t show it, Bakugou was worried sick not hearing from Kiri either.

It’s been 5 days since the initial lockdown. So far, you and Bakugou have been doing each of your usual routines at home. First thing in the morning you always prepared breakfast and read a few chapters from your current book. Bakugo did laundry duty and did the dishes after breakfast. Afternoon was just recreational duties. Both you and Bakugou would reside in your rooms doing whatever to ease off the bordem. Evenings were mainly for eating dinner and watching movies.

However, after 10 days, you couldn’t keep up with the routine anymore. You skipped breakfast and didn’t dare to open up another book. Your bedroom became a reminder on how much you’ve spent cooped up in there. Not to mention how easily angered you’ve become.

One day you got angry at how Bakugou was chewing his food. Usually it never irritated you, but now the sight just made your blood boil.

“Who the fuck taught you how to eat?” You spat abruptly.

“Says the person who forgets to clean the tub after they shave their whole entire jungle of a body,” he retored back.

A faint gasp left your mouth, uaware that you completely forgot to clean the tub last night after your feminine duties.

“Don’t know who you’re trying to look presentable for. It’s not like you got a boyfriend, not with all that hair, tch.” he hit you with one last punch to the gut.

You got up from where you were sitting at and begrudgingly walked to your bedroom, locking it in the process. Not daring to leave your room, you open your laptop and started a movie without Bakugou.

Out of all days, day 15 by far was the worst. The air conditioner unit stopped working, causing y’all to wake up with drenched bodies. Your room especially was humid, since you had no access to a window. The colored coordinated folders from your book bag had to suffice, using them as makeshift fans. Eventually your arms grew tired of constantly doing the same motion repeatedly, so you finally left your room in hopes for the living room to be much cooler.

You stopped immediately when you caught a glimpse of Bakugou slumped on the L-shaped couch. Not to mention, he was shirtless as well. Heat flushed to your cheeks, making you glow a crimson red. You couldn’t stop staring at the view in front of you. Yes you’ve seen Bakugou shirtless before. Countless of times in fact. The boys would practically walk naked around the apartment, not caring about how you’d react. You were deemed as one of the guys.

But this time it triggered something within you. Something you haven’t quite felt in a long time. Maybe it was the quarantine getting to your head, but you couldn’t help but to wonder how it would feel to be flushed against his naked chest right now. Or if he was the type to snake his hands around your waist and pull you even closer. The thought excited you for a second, but quickly realized this was Katsuki you were thinking about.

Katsuki shifted uncomfortably in his spot, eliciting a whimper during the process. The noise alone made your lower stomach tense with a warm sensation. This was creepy. Watching Bakugou shirtless while sleeping would surly make him go ballistic, but the sight of sweat glistening on his abdomen made his abs more prominent. An image of you being underneath him kept flashing in your head like picture show. A crude and undeniably satisfying picture show. More explicit thoughts kept trying to barge into your brain. So, you ran back into your room and planted yourself headfirst on the floor. Hopefully these thoughts will go away by tomorrow

The thoughts never went away. In fact, they were the reason you didn’t get any sleep last night. A half naked Bakugou Katsuki kept interrupting your innocent dreams, filling them in with dirty scenarios involving the both of you. You knew you were fucked once you heard the faint sound of Katsukis footsteps in the kitchen. You’ve been up all night, with no pure dream in mind. There’s no saving your sleep schedule now. Maybe if you apologize to Katsuki for acting irrational the other day, the thoughts would go away.

Defeated, you got up from your comfortable bed and treaded into unsafe territory. There sat Bakugo, criss cross on the kitchen island eating cereal. It wasn’t an unusual sight, he was the embodiment of a fucking cat.

“Morning shit head,” you playfully teased.

Bakugou raised his head and looked expectingly at you.

Even just looking him dead in the eye raised the temperature throughout your body. This is going to be a nightmare.

“You alright Y/N? Your whole face is flushed...” He paused, eyeing you suspiciously. “You’re not sick are you? If so, I’m kicking you out. I don’t wanna fucking die because of you”.

How charming.

You scratched the back of your neck. “Uh no Katsuki, I just wanted to apologize for the other day. My behavior towards you was unacceptable. This whole quarantine thing has really made me-”

“Shut up. No need to apologize for some stupid quarrel we got into. Besides, we’ve gotten into worse arguments right?”

You nodded your head, agreeing to how truthful his statement was. It was true. 5 years of friendship and not one time have you guys stopped being friends because of a heated argument.

“Exactly, don’t sweat about it. I’m just glad you finally came out of your hole. I missed my movie buddy.” He gave you a lopsided grin, to which on cue, your stomach tied itself into a knot.

“Great, because I found a movie last night on my queue that I think you’d like” You beamed as you started making yourself a bowl cereal. Katsuki grunted as a response and leaped off from the island.

You were too busy focusing on making the cereal that you didn’t hear the faint thump of footsteps behind you. Then, almost as some sort of harsh punishment, Katsuki rested his head between your right shoulder blade. He hummed once he felt your body tense up. His lips were merely inches away from your outer ear. Any other movement from him and you wouldn’t hesitate to throw the gallon of milk at his head. But what he said next caused your whole face to turn pallid.

“Also, its kind of rude to watch someone sleeping don't cha think?” he whispered before throwing his bowl into the sink beside you.

At that moment you knew, you were completely fucked.

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo katuski #katsuki x you #katsuki smut #bnha bakugou #bnha fanfiction #bakugo imagine #bnha fic #kacchan #ao3 bakugou #bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x you

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thephantomofthe-internet · 4 years

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Chapter 7: A Sentimental Journey

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 3,095

Warnings: None? I mean probably swearing but this is straight fluff

Tags: @divinity-deos @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @thecaptainsgingersnap @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @buckysarge @wildcvltre @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @peterparxour @linkispink1995 @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @the-creative-lie @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @ggclarissa @boredoomfm @voidnarnia @anonymousonion33 @the-passionate-freak

“Steve, take me to prom,” Steve nearly shot milk out of his nose. He’d spent the morning counting down the hours till school was over. The final essay for crabby old Lawrence was due in less than a week and you still hadn’t handed over his essay for his final rewrite, which wasn’t a problem, he could just wait until he was back in your bedroom. Steve liked your house a lot more than his. He liked your grandparents, especially Maude who’d sit him on the couch and show him photos from your childhood. He liked your bedroom and digging through your sketchbooks, he liked how comfortable you were in your own space. Samantha would sometimes join the pair of you there, eating popcorn and playing her 48s on your dusty Mickey Mouse record player. But most of the time it was the pair of you alone, working on assignments and swapping stories. He’d forgotten about Vicki entirely, he’d only joined Tommy for lunch after he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over.

“What?” he sputtered, swallowing hard. The whole table was watching him carefully. Vicki merely shrugged, batting her eyelashes at him. Steve’s stomach soured. It wasn’t as if Vicki wasn’t an attractive person, she was very pretty, but only on the outside. He didn’t really have it in him to stomach another night with her.

“I…I kind of have my eye on someone else, Vicks.” Steve watched as she deflated, looking down at her untouched kernel corn. “Besides, Hargrove’s probably itching to take you anyway.”

That was the wrong answer. Vicki immediately burst into tears, pushing away from the table. Carol rushed to console her, Tina taking up the rear. “They broke up last week, jackass.” She bit out, flipping Steve off angrily as she followed behind the crying Vicki.

Steve stood from the table, heading away from the mess he made. He didn’t want to hang out with Tommy anyway, especially with him glaring him down from across the table. He didn’t get why it mattered so much to Tommy that he do things the way he wanted. Dating Vicki didn’t make him more or less popular. It literally didn’t matter. They were going to graduate soon anyway.

Samantha grinned as she caught Steve walking over. “Harrington, twelve o’clock.” She whispered. You didn’t look up from your pad. The light had caught his hair right and you wanted to finish your shading before you lost the image in your mind. You heard Steve pull out the chair next to you and then your pad was tugged away.

“Hey!” you cried, your charcoal making a wide black streak down the page, effectively ruining the drawing.

“Who’s this supposed to be?” he held the sketchpad in front of him and then next to his face. Samantha chuckled darkly, shaking her head. “Is this supposed to be me?”

“Well, it was going to be till you ruined it.” You grumbled, snatching the pad back .

“That looks nothing like me!” Steve laughed loudly. In truth, he thought the man in the picture was too symmetrical and handsome to be him.

“On what planet?” Samantha scoffed, pulling her butterscotch pudding cup away from Steve’s greedy hands. He was a notorious pudding thief, and food thief in general, much to her annoyance and surprise.

“I get the best of everyone’s features…” you muttered, working on removing the mark he’d made “Not that there’s much to discard from you…”

“You missed the scar on my nose.” He replied with a shrug, grabbing your vanilla pudding. You both knew that you wouldn’t eat it.

You looked up “What scar?” Steve pointed to the bridge of his nose. You inched closer, getting a better view of the mark. Steve held his breath, utterly paralyzed. He felt like such a doofus. He was usually so smooth with girls, but you made him utterly tongue tied.

“Hm, yeah you do.” You pulled your face back, turning back to your pad, adding a thin line to the strong bridge of his nose. “How’d you get that?”

“Got hit in the face with a baseball bat in pee-wee t-ball.” Steve admitted. The participation trophy he had was from that game, his father took him out of the sport after getting hit. His whole team won the season, but because he didn’t play he got a tiny trophy from the league as a consolation prize.

“Seriously?” You and Samantha said in unison.

“Yeah, I made the paper and everything.” That was a point of pride for Steve, he had the clipping somewhere in his room. You and Samantha laughed at his cockiness. The image of elementary aged Steve with a huge gash down his nose and a toothless grin, holding up a dinky little trophy for the poor, underpaid reporter taking down the story.

The bell signalling the end of lunch blared over head and the three of you rushed to collect your things. Steve grabbed your tray, waiting for you to pack up your things. Samantha left without you, bidding her goodbyes to the pair of you.

Steve reached out to touch your elbow lightly, drawing your attention to him “We still good to hang out after school?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure, we can look over your essay.” You shrugged, trying to get the electric current blazing up your nerves to settle. Your breath caught in your chest every time he touched you. You wouldn’t lie to yourself, you liked him. You more than liked him; you didn’t even know how to explain it. You’d say it was love but you weren’t even sure how that was supposed to feel. All you knew is that the world seemed better when he was around and it wasn’t everything seemed greyer and duller. He was summer personified. He was sunshine and summer evenings and flowers and everything beautiful. And you never used to like all that shit. But now you wanted to bask in the glow of the sun that was Steve Harrington.

The hours till the bell always ticked slower and slower after lunch. The individual grains of sand cascaded past your eyelids as you zoned out in your other classes. When the final bell rang, the pair of you rushed from opposite sides of the school to meet in the middle. Samantha was walking disgustingly slow to your shared locker. “So, yeah I was going to ask Robin but I figure it might be suspicious enough to go with a girl, besides I don’t think I can snag another ticket so close to the deadline as is,” she’d been going on about whether or not she should invite her little junior paramour to the prom.

“Yeah, I mean most people already think you’re weird enough, showing up with a random junior might totally ruin you.” You sneered. Graduation was just around the corner, and Samantha’s acceptance to Wellesley was well taken care of. She was almost out of Hawkins; there was no point in trying to pretend that she was straight.

“It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s her. She’ll still be stuck here after I leave, I don’t want to make things hard for her.” Samantha replied with a shrug, pulling her gym kit from the bottom of your locker.

“Just take my ticket. You know most of the soccer team is going anyway.” You replied, shoving her cleats into her bag. You dropped your textbooks onto the tiny top shelf and pulled your messenger bag across your body. You spotted Steve from across the hall. He’d just left his gym class and his hair was wet and dripping on his face. He bounded over to you, grinning like a fool.

“You ready?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You ever going to dry your hair?” Samantha mused. Steve shook his head hard, water flying off his to dry it like a dog would. You and Samantha screeched, holding up your hands to hide your faces from the water.

You smacked Steve’s back “Enough!” you cried. Steve stopped immediately, laughing softly.

“I’m gone, catch you tomorrow.” Samantha waved, jogging off to probably find little Robin. You and Steve headed off towards Steve’s car. He drove the pair of you home even when you weren’t hanging out. It was nice to have a ride home, Hawkins weather wasn’t kind in spring and even in May when the weather turned warmer and the sun shone brightly, rain could still hit at any moment. That was how you rationalized making maps in your mind of Steve’s hand on the gear shift and the way his jaw clenched when someone tried to cut him off or turned too slow in the left hand turn lane. He was too beautiful. It was painful to watch him, like staring directly into the sun. You thought about kissing him more than you’d ever admit out loud. It felt like wanting to kiss the statue of David, like Pygmalion with his Galatea, too self-flagellating to even attempt. You didn’t know why you felt like his creator, but you did. You’d done nothing to build him, to mould him, and yet you left as if you knew him better than anyone else. You understood his nature, the way his mind worked.

Steve parked in his driveway and the pair of you headed across the street to your house. Your house seemed to be a specific choice for both of you. For you, being in your own home was comfortable and safe. You knew it like the back of your hand and it felt correct to be there. A cocoon of security for you to burrow into. Recently, Steve’s mother had been home much more than a month ago. You couldn’t read his mind, but being somewhere else than his own bedroom was probably a nice change. He seemed to keep you away from his house when his mother was there.

You unlocked the front door, kicking off your shoes in the doorway and tossing them on the rack. Steve followed suite mindlessly, calling into the house “Hey, Maude! Mr. Y/L/N…” he still wasn’t certain that your grandfather liked him; he seemed at times disinterested and at others cruel and cutting.

“Nice to see you again, Steve.” Maude smiled, poking her head out of the living room to smile at the pair of you. Your grandmother liked Steve. You were certain that she’d like anyone new you brought home. She was desperate to meet any of your friends and refused to believe that she’d met them all.

You and Steve headed upstairs, taking your usual seats in your bedroom, you on your desk chair and Steve laying flat on your mattress, constantly staring up at the stars. You read back his essay to him, noting the problems you’d found. This was the third time you’d edited it and the words were well worn into both of your brains. He’d decided to write on way Heathcliff is painted as a monster within the text, a fine topic which Mr. Lawrence had suggested as one of the topic choices. His argument was that Heathcliff is painted as a monster because of his interest in a woman he’s come to find in a sisterly position in his life. Basically, incest isn’t cool. It was a hard argument to proof, because the answers weren’t in the text itself, you had to push him to find points within the spaces in between the words. You were proud of the final piece that he’d created; it was a strong case and a decent attempt at a college level essay.

“What’s the verdict, chief?” Steve asked, sitting up slightly to address you fully.

“It’s good, there’s still a few sentences that need reworking and a quote that I think you could axe, but even without those edits you can still swing a solid B.” you handed the papers over to him. The pages had the least amounts of edits you’d done for him all semester. He’d really improved his writing.

“You think?” Steve replied, flipping through the pages quickly, noting the wide circle around a bit of dialogue from the fifteenth chapter. He couldn’t help but smile at the wide, bubbly ‘B+’ you’d scrawled at the top of the page. You’d drawn a little smiley face next to the grade, a small touch you’d started doing after editing his second paper, a little one pager about the thirteenth chapter of Wuthering Heights. He liked the little smiles, they made him happy whenever he saw them, they were a little touch of you on his work, a detail he refused to miss.

“Duh!” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Steve stood from your bed, turning his attention to your shelf. You’d let him go through your work before, a small feat of trust for you. You didn’t usually even let Samantha go through most of your work. You’d usually choose what people could see of your work. But Steve seemed to like the strange, unfinished, or messy works hidden in binders or pads shelved. He pulled out a grey binder, labelled in masking tape ‘Hawkins’ Most Beautiful’. He held up the binder to you, raising an eyebrow. “Now, what the hell is this?” he asked.

“That was my first attempt at a portfolio, before I learned what a portfolio was.” You replied with a small length. Steve opened the binder, which you’d turned into a sort of album with plastic viewers holding sketches in place, both in black and white and colour. He recognized the first one immediately as Nancy from about a year ago, judging by her ringlet curls. It looked so much like he remembered her, but he knew the girl you’d drawn wasn’t who she really was. Steve flipped the page. He didn’t recognize some faces, strangers to him, and you hadn’t labelled them with names. You done a couple recreations of yearbook photos, he remembered signing a picture of Carol, Tina, and Vicki from the previous year, the trio grinning in Hawkins High merchandise.

“You could do a whole like show with these, they’re really cool.” He held the binder up, pages flipped to the portrait you’d done of Barbara Holland. When you’d drawn that, you hadn’t known that she’d go missing or wind up dead, she was just the girl sat across from you in the library with interesting glasses.

“I’d want to redo them first. They’re all rough drafts. I planned to redraw them, choosing to emphasize one colour for each of the drawings, but then I also planned to black out their eyes, and then I thought they were all stupid ideas.” You explained sheepishly.

“No, don’t touch them.” Steve cut in “They’re perfect the way they are.”

Steve wasn’t much of an art critic. He certainly wasn’t an objective judge. But despite logic, you blushed heavily, turning your gaze away. You wished Steve would look away but he didn’t, you felt his eyes on you. “You really don’t have to be so nice, you know…” you muttered, looking up to meet his eye with a shy smile.

“Go to prom with me?” Steve hadn’t thought about the question before he said it. The subject had been on his mind since that afternoon and when he told Vicki that he had someone else in mind for the dance. At the time he didn’t think much of the statement, now it seemed obvious who his subconscious was alluding to.

“What?” you breathed out wide eyed and confused. You hadn’t planned on going at all. Samantha wanted to go, and you’d bought tickets but when she gained interested in Robin you relinquished your ticket easily to her. She’d have more fun on a quasi-date with the junior.

“Go with me,” he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have a date yet do you?”

“I don’t even have a ticket…I gave it away.” you replied, looking at your feet instead of him. You felt like such a little geek. You knew Steve wasn’t laughing at you, but you still felt small.

“I have two. And I want you to go with me.” Steve said simply, reaching out and taking your hand.

“Are you sure? I mean your friends all hate me and I don’t think your status as king will be damaged if they see you with me.” You replied, shaking your head as if the statement was funny. You couldn’t imagine spending the night with Tommy and Carol, and having it go well. You knew that it wouldn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be like that. It can be whatever you want.” Steve said easily. He just wanted you to feel comfortable and it was so obvious that you weren’t. “And I don’t care about those guys. I’ll kick their asses if they try anything.”

“Whoa, calm down, we don’t want you getting hurt.” You joked, looking up at the ceiling. You didn’t have to know Steve personally to know that he was not a fighter, losing to freak Jonathan Byers was not a small story in a small town. Steve laughed at his own expense. Internally, he knew he could fight when he needed to, to protect people, but he couldn’t exactly tell that story. It still scared him too much to speak of.

“So, will you?” he asked. You rubbed your lips together, unsure what the right answer was. If there even was a right answer. Your gut instinct said yes without a doubt, but your mind fought back at the notion of even humouring the idea. You’d get laughed out of the place. You’d get mocked. Steve was playing a cruel prank. He couldn’t want to be seen with you. But you met his eye and you didn’t see any malice there. His wide, expressive eyes screamed kindness and patience.

You swallowed hard, pushing away feelings of worry. “Yeah, okay…” you said softly, taking Steve’s hand again to steady yourself. Steve would protect you if he needed to. He’d promised to. And you trusted him.

“Yeah?” he asked, matching your tone.

“Yeah.” You nodded hard, almost as if to convince him as well as yourself. Steve’s face split into his wide grin and you found yourself smiling too. Despite yourself, you were a bit excited. You spent the afternoon with his hand in yours, not letting go unless you did, looking over the portraits and discussing what you saw in the faces. It was the first moment of peace your heart had found in a long time

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unwiltingblossom · 3 years

Text

Queen's Favor (Mysme Jumin/MC AU 11/?)

Summary: Being a maid would be much easier if the cat would just let her do her job.

AU - Instead of joining the RFA via random text, MC is hired on as one of the maids assigned to Jumin Han’s penthouse. Nothing else about the setting has changed, the messenger and the RFA still exist, only the MC’s position has been altered.

Arguably, she was too distracted to do her job properly...but 'I'm too distracted thinking about the wallet I lost and then found again' wasn't really a valid excuse for leave no matter who she spoke to about it. Even she wouldn't approve of it.

"Ow-!" She hissed as she yanked her hand back and immediately stuck her finger into her mouth - as if she hadn't just stuck the handle of her duster there five minutes before and her mouth was a sanitary sanctuary untouched by bacteria.

Maybe it was her own fault for losing focus, but she still glared at the previously jammed vacuum anyway. The blood sacrifice of biting her finger had apparently sated it, and this time when she put it back together it started and spun its brushes freely. "I'm not resetting the calendar for you, we're not counting this one."

No one was in the room to hear her admonish the equipment, but that worked just fine for her: it meant no one was in the room to see the injury, so she could claim she slipped going up the stairs before she got into the penthouse at all. If anyone asked. Though the bigger concern was that she couldn't exactly bleed all over Elizabeth, and her boss didn't want her to handle the cat with latex on her hands. Technically that probably applied mostly to the dish gloves and other things she wore, not a simple band-aid, but there was always the chance that the cat was just so pampered it'd never encountered latex before and might even have an allergy. Or maybe Mr. Han did?

Well, the important thing was, she'd have to handle the cat with one hand today.

"Next time don't sit around fantasizing about pretty boys while you work, and you won't make it harder on yourself, now will you?" She scoffed at herself, shaking her head as she turned and made her way to her equipment back to dig out the necessary bandage.

Really, though. It wasn't the first time she'd messed up something that day, just the first time she'd injured herself. Arguably, she was too distracted to do her job properly...but 'I'm too distracted thinking about the wallet I lost and then found again' wasn't really a valid excuse for leave no matter who she spoke to about it. Even she wouldn't approve of it.

It's just...

Why had her wallet been in the middle of the floor? She never carried her purse over there, so how did it even get there? Between going to the convenience store for a late night snack a couple of nights before that and her near-death walletless encounter, how had it moved from the purse she kept by the door to the floor several feet away from it? It was even in the open, and sure she wasn't getting that great sleep but did she really miss it that many days without even looking at the floor? Was she becoming a slob in her own house as a consequence of being a hyper-vigilant maid elsewhere?

But she never took her wallet out of her purse in her home, and she always took her purse with her...

A rolling 'mrew' broke through her thoughts and she blinked, looking up at the still sealed bandage in her hand. "Ah-"

Elizabeth sat next to her, blinking up at her with those curious blue eyes. Rather ominously close to her cut hand. Before the cat could get any ideas - and she find a way to end up in the hospital for something even more embarrassing than last time - she quickly pulled her injured hand up out of reach of the cat. "Don't look at me like that. You know, I have fifteen more minutes of me time before it's your turn."

She blinked, and then gingerly reached out to pat the cat on the head with her uninjured hand before standing up. "Don't tell you father about what I just said." As far as she was concerned 'focus on work, not cat' counted as 'her time', but she doubted her employer would feel quite the same about her referring to her actual job as something like 'me time' - especially while she failed to actually do the job properly.

She managed not to drift off into pointless thoughts through the rest of the day, and therefore not injure herself further or mess up entertaining Elizabeth with just one hand. Still, she'd wasted some precious time early on and had to hustle to catch up to her schedule. Rather than have a decent chunk of time left before the owner of the penthouse got back, she was left with only a few minutes before her deadline when she was finally done. She'd blame it on the fact that it was Monday...but she knew full well Mina did the penthouse on Sunday. She had no one to blame the rough day on but herself and her own ridiculous imagination.

At the end of the day, there really wasn't any other answer to how her wallet got to the middle of the floor from her purse than that she somehow spilled it out of the purse at some point. Maybe when she was tired and frazzled on Saturday night after she'd walked all over creation chasing that one street jerk. It was possible, at least, and that was better than literally any other idea that came to her.

She flumped over onto the couch in the most dramatic way possible - knees on the rug, face and arm buried into the leather cushion. She could technically leave right now, but she didn't have to, and if she was going to catch her breath after a harrowing day of being her own worst enemy, it was much more comfortable to borrow the penthouse to do that than wait until she could lay on her own threadbare bed to do it.

A soft thump and shift of the cushion told her the cat followed her.

She peeked up from her arm to the cloud of white and two bright blue eyes looking down at her. Ordinarily, she'd use the hand her face wasn't pinning to the couch to pet the cat with, but that one happened to be the no-no latex one, so staring contest it was. "I know, he'll be here any minute, but I think we both can agree this isn't the weirdest position hes walked in on me in."

Elizabeth meowed directly in her face. It smelled of fish.

"Yes, well, you'll have to pet yourself with my hand, because I'm not getting up yet."

The cat flopped to the side, head on her wrist.

"That's just lazy."

Elizabeth huffed and twisted onto her back. And bapped a cat paw directly to her cheek. All pad and no claw, at least.

"That isn't a counter argu-"

The door choose precisely then to open. Which didn't mean Elizabeth won. They could continue the conversation next time. The cat rolled itself right off of the bed and sprinted over to the legs of the penthouse's owner, and she spared a glance over her shoulder up to meet his. She didn't know if she should feel ashamed over the complete lack of surprise or intrigue in his eyes, considering she hadn't moved at all from where she'd been.

One day she'd get him to look surprised at what he walked in on, and on that day she'd probably die from whatever it was she'd have gotten herself into.

She really was tempted to just put her face back into the couch and stay there for a while, but while her employer gave no sign of disapproval that she'd yet to leave - she was pretty sure they'd long ago crossed the line to where her being literally present in the penthouse at the same time as him wasn't really a concern - that wasn't exactly an open invitation for her to remain, either. She was the help, not a guest. Alas, she had to bid farewell to the comfortable sofa and rug, and go collect her things. She brushed off her pants - no matter how much effort she put in, there was always cat hair to be brushed off - and gave her employer a small nod as she strode across the room to get her bag of stuff.

"I'm already finished, so I'll be off."

"I won't be working tomorrow." His voice was smooth and matter of fact, but still somehow managed to startle her.

"Huh-? But my schedule said-"

He nodded, casually undoing the buttons of his overcoat, before reaching down to collect the cat in his arms. He didn't even bother to take the coat off before picking her up. The words his dry-cleaner must have had about him... "It is uninterrupted, yes." He tilted his head slightly, and the rare flicker of a smile passed over his lips. "I believe...I may be able to avoid getting in the way for one day, at least."

She wasn't even sure herself if her brief laugh was out of amusement or disbelief.

"I'll be sure to report any unruly disturbances to you immediately."

His eyes squinted, just slightly, in what she chose to assume was amusement, rather than disbelief. "Do so."

–

The springs of her bed - which doubled as her couch - squeaked in protest when she settled down on it, and...yes, it really wasn't anywhere near as comfortable as the one in the penthouse. Somehow, the apartment wasn't that big and yet the remote for the television was still out of reach from where she sat. Did she really toss it that far away last night, or had she turned into such a zombie in the mornings that she kicked it across the room just getting ready and hadn't noticed it?

Really, it wasn't that strange to work with the owner present. Many times that was just part of the job, actually. Only Jumin Han's own eccentricities made it feel like something strange to work in the house when he was present. Well, that, or she still nursed some suppressed trauma over the time she got a concussion. One of those, anyway. Though it did make her wonder if she'd walk in on him doing something strange for once this time.

Granted, if she did, she couldn't help but expect there'd be an immediate NDA or something slapped down right in front of her face immediately after. Somehow he'd still manage to be the one who came out on top, even if she walked in on him half dressed and covered in strange tattoos, hunched over a pile of burning books and eating half of a rabbit or something.

Wait, no...

That image was just terrifying.

The phone lit up as she shuddered.

She glanced down immediately, train of thought broken from the sudden burst of light in the darkness of her apartment. That actor, Zen, had sent her a friendly text the night before to test whether her number actually worked, so if he put in that much effort he probably hadn't done it just out of some kind of weird sense of politeness. Follow up texts were always possible.

-No, it was just some unknown number. Really, who gave her number away to some spam company? She just kept getting random phonecalls from weird numbers recently! And they were mostly late at night, too, so probably some foreign based companies.

I bet it was that glasses jerk...

She clicked her tongue and tossed the phone to the nightstand next to her bed, flopping back onto the mattress lengthwise. "I didn't almost die today." That was an improvement over the weekend. If she managed not to injure herself in front of her boss tomorrow, she might actually be set for a completely normal day - nay, perhaps a week even.

Her own laughter cut through the rare quiet of her room. "Thinking about attractive men at work and then about your employer at home, really? You really are a mess."

Ah, yes. Her thoughts were full of a random man who rescued her from death, a ridiculous self-created mystery about her own wallet, and about her work. And she talked to herself when she wasn't talking to a cat. Her social life was in shambles.

#mysme #mystic messenger #mysme fic #jumin x mc #elizabeth 3rd #mystic messenger fic #ooc

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zandracourt · 4 years

Text

Steve’s Playlist

Written for @the-sad-hatter’s Weird and Wonderful Challenge. This is the first fic I’ve written with a first person narrator. I tried to write it fully as an inserted reader, but that was just too weird for me, so I tried to make the first person as neutral as I could.

Prompt 26: I Put a Spell on You, Nina Simone

Steve’s Playlist

Rated T/PG

It’s a few minutes before 1700 and Director Fury shouts my name as I turn off the light in my cubicle.

“Agent, before you leave, can you take this to Rogers?”

I swallow hard, trying to play it cool. “Captain Rogers?” As if there is another one. Well, there is a Rogers down in accounting but I’m pretty sure the Director has no idea he even exists. He barely knows I exist. Though he did call me by name, so maybe it’s not a good idea to underestimate the Director’s pulse on the plebes of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Yes, that one.” Bingo “Do you know where his office is, on the 3rd floor?” Everyone knew the Captain had chosen an office across from the hanger bay. It faced the interior of the Triskelion, meaning its window looked out mostly on the walls of the other two buildings; nothing but concrete and glass. It was the kind of office some middle manager would have, not the leader of the Avengers. But the Captain liked being close to the hanger, often eating lunch in the Machinists Lounge with the ground crew.

“I do. Just that then?” I held out my hand towards him.

He passed me a 11”x 17” Manila envelope, about an inch thick. “That’s all. Good night.” He turns away before I can wish him a good night back.

As I get off the elevator, I can hear the steep trumpet crescendo of the opening stanzas of Sir Duke playing. Normally, the halls are quiet, but someone must be using the after-hours nature of their work to play music. S.H.I.E.L.D. rules prohibit connecting to any streaming services on company computers, so whoever it is has brought in speakers and must be playing it off their personal phone. Turning down the hall brings the music even louder.

Music is a world within itself, it’s a language we all understand, with an equal opportunity to sing and dance and clap your hands.

Stevie Wonder’s distinctive rhythm filled my ears, getting louder as I walked. My mom used to play this song on her Hits of the ‘70’s CD. You can feel it all over. You can feel it all over, people!

By the time I round the corner to the inverted half-circle that makes up the interior of the uniquely shaped office complex, the source of the the music becomes obvious. It’s pretty loud now and I can see him standing at his elevated computer desk, his feet stepping in time to the music as he types that is rather adorable, but I tamp such thoughts down hard. This is Captain America for fucks sake. My knock clearly gives him a slight startle and I feel bad.

“Oh, hey.” He reaches over quickly and taps pause on his phone.

“You don’t have to stop on my account. I was told to bring you this.” I hold the envelope out for him, still standing just outside the doorway like a dumb-ass. It’s just an office, but it’s an Avenger office, which feels more sacred.

Steve chuckles, “There’s no magic force field there you know. You can come in.”

Crossing the threshold, I can’t help but look around. He keeps his office pretty sparse. There’s a whiteboard on one wall and to the left of his desk, a framed picture of what looks like Benjamin Franklin holding a large balance scale with an old-time baseball player standing on half. Over the top of the players’ images are the words “Brooklyn Dodgers” on the left and “New York Yankees” on the right. Looking closer, you can see it’s from the 1941 World Series.

“Whoa, is that original?”

He raises his eyebrows and whistles slightly. “Man, I wish. No, it’s a replica poster. But I had the playbook from that series. Went to every game and managed to get signatures on it from everyone but Riggs and Frank. I’d left it at my mom’s place when I enlisted but now it’s lost to time. If it survived, I’m sure it’s in some collector’s wall safe by now. You follow baseball?”

I shrug. “Not like that. I’m always up for a Nationals game if I get a chance. There is an energy watching live games that I enjoy, especially with good friends. But I don’t ever watch on TV.”

He nods. “TV wasn’t an option when I was a kid, just radio. But I agree with you. I still listen to games sometimes, but I don’t like watching them on TV. ‘Course, they aren’t in Brooklyn anymore, so they aren’t my Dodgers anyway.”

I looked down at the only picture on his desk. It’s a plain, pine framed image of three people sitting in what might be a large restaurant booth, but it’s hard to tell. They look happy, and maybe a little drunk. The woman I recognize immediately because her portrait hangs in the main foyer. Margaret Carter, one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D., though she’s much younger in his picture. The other two men I don’t know, though one is kind of familiar. “That’s Director Carter, right?” I ask, pointing at it.

Steve picks it up and hands it to me for a closer look. “Yeah. Spring 1944. Peggy. Howard. Bucky.” He points to each face. “That was taken at this restaurant Howard knew. No matter where we were, he knew the best places to go that hadn’t been bombed or raided and every waitress knew him by name.”

Now I knew why the man in the middle was familiar. His picture hung downstairs next to Director Carter’s, but he looks so good this picture. Now that I’ve made the connection, I can see the Stark resemblance.

“Woah, Mr. Stark didn’t age real well.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them and I wanted desperately to take them back. “I’m so sorry. That was...sorry.”

My stomach clenches and temples throb with embarrassment. Who the fuck am I to criticize his friends? These people are portraits on a wall to me, but to him, they were drinking buddies. Best friends. The heat of my emotions races under my skin and I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye.

“It’s OK.” He takes the photo back, looking at it as he speaks. “Howard was so full of life and playful energy when I knew him. From what I understand, that changed as he got older. This is my memory of him though. And I’m glad I have it.”

His words shift my embarrassment to shame. “I’m glad you have it too. Can I ask...” He places the picture down and looks at me with such kind eyes I continue. “Where did you find it? I mean, it’s more personal than any S.H.I.E.L.D. photo I’ve seen and you said your stuff didn’t seem to stick around.” I was trying to cover my embarrassment with curiosity, seeking some neutral ground again.

“Tony gave it to me. I shot the photo, but I’d never seen how it turned out.”

I’d heard that he and Iron Man didn’t always get along. Mostly gossip about how they bicker and would annoy the agents waiting to deploy on an op, so the Director had stopped sending them to the same places if he could help it. In this moment though, it was clear that Tony was a strong conduit to Steve’s past and it was hard to ignore the wave of loneliness that rolled off him. “It’s a great one. They look so happy.” He nods, continuing to look at it. I don’t want to step on his reminiscence so I turn to leave him to his thoughts.

“Agent?” I stop and pivot just a little towards him. “The envelope?” I realize it’s still tucked under my arm and I look towards the ceiling in a desperate plea for The Powers of All to save me from any more stupid moves in front of this man ever again.

“Right, sorry.” I say, hoping some old-time stage hook will just come drag me away.

“Thanks. And you don’t need to apologize all the time. You work here, same as me. You have as much right to be in this office as I do.”

O, Captain, that is not at all true. Thankfully, my brain stops my running mouth before I straight up contradict a superior, though I appreciate that he wants that to be true. “Good night, Captain.”

“Good night.” As I leave the office, the music starts again; this time playing playing Earth, Wind, and Fire’s September.

******

In any other context, I might object to being tasked as Director Fury’s delivery person with ever increasing regularity, since I’m an analyst, not a messenger. However, the only person he sends me to is Captain Rogers, so how can I complain? Yeah, he’s the 8th level of Dante’s Inferno kind of hot, but these end-of-work assignments have let me see Steve Rogers for who he is, not just a magazine cover story. Most of our conversations only last 4 or 5 minutes, but they are the best part of any day they happen. He’ll ask about my work and genuinely seems interested the data analysis I do. I don’t ask him about the rumors of missions he goes on because my security clearance is slightly above the kid who delivers our sandwiches at lunch time so I stick to topics of life outside of work. Surprisingly, he never seems to hold back personal stories. Especially ones of his past. Something extremely rare in this building.

Every time the elevator doors open on the third floor after 1700, I can hear the music play. Marvin Gaye, Earth, Wind, and Fire, Aretha Franklin, Al Green, Otis Redding, Stevie Wonder, ...he definitely has a specific taste for 60′s & 70’s R&B. Today as I approach, the song plays slow and melancholy.

You know I can’t stand it. Your running around. You know better, daddy. I can’t stand it, ‘cause you put me down. Yeah, yeah. I put a spell on you, because you’re mine.

Something made me stop just outside his office this time, listening. I can see him sitting with his arm resting on his desk, playing with a metal coin of some kind while looking out the window. The coin is bigger than any currency I’ve seen, and thicker, like a medal or medallion. He idly flips it through his fingers, lost in thought as the trumpet plays a jazz rift.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you anyhow. And I don’t care if you don’t want me, I’m yours anyhow. I put a spell on you, because you’re mine.

A deep, mournful scatting ends the song so I knock lightly, knowing I’m interrupting something. He turns his head a little and nods, so I enter. As I get closer, I see wetness in his eyes. Not falling, just holding a firm tension at the edge of his lids.

“You OK, Sir?”

He sits up a little and shifts his chair so he’s fully turned towards me from behind his desk. “No need to call me Sir. And yeah, I’m fine.” He taps the coin on the desk and lays it down as he reaches over and pauses the playlist, which had shuffled to Bring It on Home to Me by Sam Cooke.

“Please. Sit and talk to me for bit.”

This is the first time he’s asked me to sit during one of these after-work deliveries, making me wonder if he really is OK. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I just needed to bring you this.” I slid the folder with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the front towards him. This one wasn’t classified, or I never would have been asked to bring it in an open file folder.

“You really gotta stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault or responsibility. You’re here because you were ordered to by Fury.”

“I don’t mind, really.”

“Well, it’s not exactly in your job description to bring me files. It’s probably my fault you keep getting asked. After the first time, I was talking to Nick about the information you’d given me and I told him that I enjoyed talking to you.”

My ears feel warm at the compliment. “I enjoy talking to you too.” This feels so awkwardly intimate that I have to shift gears to ease my nervousness. “What is that?” I point to the coin.

He hands it over. It’s about an inch and half in diameter; punched brass in deep relief. The edges are slightly worn down but readable. The words “107th Infantry” along run along the outer edge with two crossed rifles in the center.

“It’s a Challenge Coin. They became a thing with the OSS during the war, but after all they’d been through with Hydra, the 107th felt they deserved them too. So the junior officers had their own made.”

“Was that your unit?” I wished I recalled more from 10th grade history class.

“Not exactly. I was kind of my own unit, but I ran missions with the 107th and a few others once the Howling Commandos came together. That,” he gestures to the coin in my hand, “was Bucky’s.”

I glance at the photo on the desk. After our first encounter, I’d Googled Bucky Barnes so I wouldn’t make any more asshole remarks about his friends and learned he’d been a Sergeant in the 107th. “Wasn’t he enlisted though?”

Steve raised an eyebrow.”You’ve been researching. Yeah, but he was also very good at placing bets he knew he wouldn’t lose. Won it off an LT we both didn’t like very much.”

Remembering his other stories of items lost to the past, I ask, “However did you find it?”

“Never lost it. The night before the mission where...” He paused and took a breath, “before he died, Buck had given it to me. It was still in my uniform pocket when they thawed me out.”

The question floated in the silence and I wasn’t sure if it was one he wanted me to ask or not. In all our conversations, he was profoundly honest, and he’d brought it up, so that seemed like a green light.

“Why did he give it to you?”

“I’ve thought about that over and over since the day he fell. At first, I thought maybe he knew somehow...that he wouldn’t make it back. In the years since... it seems more of a promise. Not sure what he was promising exactly, but that feels more right to me. Bucky never believed a mission would fail, so it makes no sense for him to give to me as a goodbye.”

“And that song? The one playing before I came in? I know it’s an oldie, but I didn’t think it went back to the ‘40s.”

He chuckled. “What’re talking about? To me, Nina Simone’s a baby.”

“That was a woman singing?” I’d heard of Nina Simone, but realized I didn’t know which songs she was famous for.

“Yeah. Don’t you just love her voice?”

“She’s amazing.” I agree. “You listen to the blues a lot, I’ve noticed. Doesn’t that make you sad?”

“You think my music is sad?” He asks, not accusing, but with genuine interest.

“Well, isn’t that what the Blues are? Songs for when you’re feeling down?”

“I read a quote once by Etta James, ‘When I’m singing blues, I’m singing life.’ I know a lot of folks around here think my life is sad; ‘cause of what I lost. And there are times I am. But when I listen to the blues, I don’t even think about the time since I woke up. I think about times before. Brooklyn. My mom. Breadlines around the block. Not enough coal to keep the room warm. Bucky. The War. These songs, they feel like mine, even if it’s music from a later generation. Ya gotta listen to them with your heart. They aren’t sad at all really, just honest. The blues is life. Thanks for this.” He slid the folder over and placed it in his in-box.

I hand the coin back to him and he places it in the front pocket of his cargo pants. “You’re welcome. Thanks for sharing. I always learn something when we talk.” I stand up to leave.

“You’re easy to talk to. That’s a real gift. You ever thought of field work?”

I shake my head firmly. “No way. I learned real fast in academy that I’m as likely to shoot you or the wall as any target. I suck at firearms.” He laughs and bestows on me smile that reminds me why everyone loves him. “I like the work I do and I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“Gotta love someone who knows their strengths and weaknesses. You don’t have to limit your visits to delivering Nick’s paperwork, y’know. Come by anytime.”

I nod. “G’night Captain.”

“Good-night.” He’d touched the music back on before I’d even turned around.

If you ever change your mind about leaving, leaving me behind, Oh baby, bring it to me

The lyrics followed me out the door and down the hall as I pulled out my phone to start making a new Spotify list.

#the-sad-hatter #steve rogers x reader #canon-compliant #Captain America fic #Zandra_Court #fic challenge #Weird and Wonderful Hatters Challenge #Pre-Winter Soldier

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tawakkull · 4 years

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ISLAM 101: Muslim Culture and Character: Dynamics of Spiritual Life: Part 4

Islam as a Religion of Universal Mercy

Life is the foremost and most manifest blessing of God Almighty, and the true and everlasting life is that of the Hereafter. Since we can deserve this life only by pleasing God, He sent Prophets and revealed Scriptures out of His Compassion for humanity. While mentioning His blessings upon humanity, He begins:

All-Merciful. He taught the Qur’an, created humanity, and taught it speech. (Al-Rahman 55:1-4)

All aspects of this life are a rehearsal for the afterlife, and every creature is engaged toward this end. Order is evident in every effort, and compassion resides in every achievement. Some “natural” events or social convulsions may seem disagreeable at first, but we should not regard them as being incompatible with compassion. They are like dark clouds or lightning and thunder that, although frightening, nevertheless bring us the good tidings of rain. Thus the whole universe praises the All-Compassionate.

Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings are upon him, is like a spring of pure water in the heart of a desert, a source of light in all-enveloping darkness. Those who appeal to this spring can take as much water as is needed to quench their thirst, to become purified of their sins, and to become illuminated with the light of faith. Mercy was like a magical key in the Prophet’s hands, for with it he opened hearts that were so hardened and rusty that no one thought they could be opened. But he did even more: he lit a torch of belief in them.

The compassion of God’s Messenger encompassed every creature. He desired that everyone is guided. In fact, this was his greatest concern:

Yet it may be, if they believe not in this Message, you will consume (exhaust) yourself, following after them, with grief. (Al-Kahf 18:6)

But how did he deal with those who persisted in oppression and persecutions; those who did not allow him and his followers to worship the One God; those who took up arms against him to destroy him? He had to fight such people, yet his universal compassion encompassed every creature. This is why when he was wounded severely at the Battle of Uhud, he raised his hands and prayed:

O God, forgive my people, for they do not know.

The Makkans, his own people, inflicted so much suffering on him that he finally emigrated to Madina. Even after that, the next 5 years were far from peaceful. However, when he conquered Makka without bloodshed in the twenty-first year of his Prophethood, he asked the Makkan unbelievers: “How do you expect me to treat you?” They responded unanimously: “You are a noble one, the son of a noble one.” He then told them his decision: “You may leave, for no reproach, this day shall be on you. May God forgive you. He is the Most Compassionate.” 825 years later Sultan Mehmed II[3] said the same thing to the defeated Byzantines after conquering Constantinople. Such is the universal compassion of Islam.

The Messenger displayed the highest degree of compassion toward believers:

There has come to you a Messenger from among yourselves; grievous to him is your suffering; anxious is he over you, full of concern for you, for the believers full of pity, compassionate. (At-Tawbah 9:128)

He lowered unto believers his wing of tenderness through mercy … (Al-Hijr 15:88)

… was the guardian of believers and nearer to them than their selves. (Al-Ahzab 33:6)

When one of his Companions died, he asked those at the funeral if the deceased had left any debts. On learning that he had, the Prophet mentioned the above verse and announced that the creditors should come to him for repayment.

His compassion even encompassed the hypocrites and unbelievers. He knew who the hypocrites were, but never identified them, for this would have deprived them of the rights of full citizenship that they had gained by their outward declaration of faith and practice. Since they lived among the Muslims, their denial may have been reduced or changed to doubt, thus diminishing their fear of death and the pain caused by the assertion of eternal non-existence after death.

God no longer destroys unbelievers collectively, although He had eradicated many such people in the past:

But God would never chastise them while you were among them; God would never chastise them as they begged forgiveness. (Al-Anfal 8:33)

This verse refers to unbelievers regardless of time and place. God will not destroy whole peoples as long as there are some who follow the Messenger. Moreover, He has left the door of repentance open until the Last Day. Anyone can accept Islam or ask God’s forgiveness, regardless of how sinful they consider themselves to be.

For this reason, a Muslim’s enmity toward unbelievers is a form of pity. When ‘Umar saw an 80-year-old man, he sat down and wept. When asked why, he replied: “God assigned him so long a lifespan, but he has not been able to find the true path.” ‘Umar was a disciple of God’s Messenger, the prophet who said:

I was not sent to call down curses on people but as a mercy.

I am Muhammad, and Ahmad (the praised one), and Muqaffi (the Last Prophet); I am Hashir (the last Prophet in whose presence the people will gather); the Prophet of Repentance (the Prophet for whose sake the door of repentance will always remain open), and the Prophet of mercy.

Archangel Gabriel also benefited from the mercy of the Qur’an. Once the Prophet asked Gabriel whether he had any share in the mercy contained in the Qur’an, Gabriel replied that he did, and explained: “I was not certain about my end. However, when the verse: (One) obeyed, and moreover, trustworthy and secured (At-Takwir 81:21) was revealed, I felt secure.”

The Messenger of God was particularly compassionate toward children. Whenever he saw a child crying, he sat beside him or her and shared his or her feelings. He felt the pain of a mother for her child more than the mother herself. Once he said:

I stand in prayer and wish to prolong it. However, I hear a child cry and shorten the prayer to lessen the mother’s anxiety.”

He took children in his arms and hugged them. Once when he hugged and kissed his grandson Hasan, Aqrah ibn Habis told him: “I have 10 children, none of whom I have ever kissed.” God’s Messenger responded: “One without pity for others is not pitied.” According to another version, he added: “What can I do for you if God has removed compassion from you?”

He said: “Pity those on the Earth so that those in the heavens will pity you.” Once when Sa’d ibn ‘Ubadah became ill, God’s Messenger visited him at home. Seeing his faithful Companion in a pitiful state, he began to cry and said: “God does not punish because of tears of grief, but He punishes because of this,” and he pointed to his tongue. When ‘Uthman ibn Mad’un died, he wept profusely. During the funeral, a woman remarked: “‘Uthman flew like a bird to Paradise.” Even in that mournful state, the Prophet did not lose his balance and corrected the woman: “How do you know this? Even I do not know this, and I am a Prophet.”

A member of the Banu Muqarrin clan once beat his female slave. She informed the Messenger of God, who then sent a message to the master. He said: “You have beaten her without any justifiable right. Free her.” Setting a slave free was far better for the master than being punished in the Hereafter because of a wrong act. The Messenger of God always protected and supported widows, orphans, the poor, and the disabled, even before his Prophethood. When he returned home in excitement from Mount Hira after the first Revelation, his wife Khadijah told him:

I hope you will be the Prophet of this community, for you always tell the truth, fulfill your trust, support your relatives, help the poor and weak, and feed guests.

His compassion even encompassed animals. We hear from him:

A prostitute was guided to the truth by God and ultimately went to Paradise because she gave water to a poor dog dying of thirst inside a well. Another woman was sent to Hell because she made a cat die of hunger.

Once while returning from a military campaign, a few Companions removed some young birds from their nest to caress them. The mother bird came back and, not being able to find its babies, began to fly around, calling out for them. When told of this, God’s Messenger became angry and ordered the birds to be put back in the nest.

While in Mina, some of his Companions attacked a snake in order to kill it. However, it managed to escape. Watching this from afar, he remarked: “It was saved from your evil, as you were from its evil.” Ibn Abbas reported that God’s Messenger, upon observing a man sharpening his knife directly before the sheep to be slaughtered, asked him: “Do you want to kill it more than once?”

His love and compassion for creatures differed from that of today’s self-proclaimed humanists. He was sincere and measured in his love and compassion. He was a Prophet raised by God, the Creator, and Sustainer of all beings, for the guidance and happiness of conscious beings—humanity and jinn—and the harmony of existence. As such, he lived not for himself but for others. He is a mercy for all the worlds, a manifestation of Compassion.

He eradicated all differences of race and color. Once Abu Dharr got so angry with Bilal that he insulted him: “You son of a black woman!” Bilal came to the Messenger and reported the incident in tears. The Messenger reproached Abu Dharr: “Do you still have a sign of jahiliyah (ignorance)?” Full of repentance, Abu Dharr lay on the ground and said: “I will not raise my head (meaning that he would not get up) unless Bilal puts his foot on it.” Bilal forgave him, and they were reconciled. Such was the bond of kinship and humanity that Islam created among once-savage people.

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basicsofislam · 4 years

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ISLAM 101: Muslim Culture and Character: Dynamics of Spiritual Life:

ISLAM AS A RELIGION OF UNIVERSAL MERCY

All-Merciful. He taught the Qur’an, created humanity, and taught it speech. (Al-Rahman 55:1-4)

Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, is like a spring of pure water in the heart of a desert, a source of light in an all-enveloping darkness. Those who appeal to this spring can take as much water as is needed to quench their thirst, to become purified of their sins, and to become illuminated with the light of faith. Mercy was like a magical key in the Prophet’s hands, for with it he opened hearts that were so hardened and rusty that no one thought they could be opened. But he did even more: he lit a torch of belief in them.

The compassion of God’s Messenger encompassed every creature. He desired that everyone be guided. In fact, this was his greatest concern:

Yet it may be, if they believe not in this Message, you will consume (exhaust) yourself, following after them, with grief. (Al-Kahf 18:6)

O God, forgive my people, for they do not know.[1]

The Makkans, his own people, inflicted so much suffering on him that he finally emigrated to Madina. Even after that, the next 5 years were far from peaceful. However, when he conquered Makka without bloodshed in the twenty-first year of his Prophethood, he asked the Makkan unbelievers: “How do you expect me to treat you?” They responded unanimously: “You are a noble one, the son of a noble one.” He then told them his decision: “You may leave, for no reproach this day shall be on you. May God forgive you. He is the Most Compassionate.”[2] 825 years later Sultan Mehmed II[3] said the same thing to the defeated Byzantines after conquering Constantinople. Such is the universal compassion of Islam.

The Messenger displayed the highest degree of compassion toward believers:

He lowered unto believers his wing of tenderness through mercy … (Al-Hijr 15:88)

… was the guardian of believers and nearer to them than their selves. (Al-Ahzab 33:6)

God no longer destroys unbelievers collectively, although He had eradicated many such people in the past:

But God would never chastise them while you were among them; God would never chastise them as they begged forgiveness. (Al-Anfal 8:33)

I was not sent to call down curses on people, but as a mercy.[4]

I stand in prayer and wish to prolong it. However, I hear a child cry and shorten the prayer to lessen the mother’s anxiety.”[7]

He took children in his arms and hugged them. Once when he hugged and kissed his grandson Hasan, Aqrah ibn Habis told him: “I have 10 children, none of whom I have ever kissed.” God’s Messenger responded: “One without pity for others is not pitied.”[8] According to another version, he added: “What can I do for you if God has removed compassion from you?”[9]

He said: “Pity those on the Earth so that those in the heavens will pity you.”[10] Once when Sa’d ibn ‘Ubadah became ill, God’s Messenger visited him at home. Seeing his faithful Companion in a pitiful state, he began to cry and said: “God does not punish because of tears or grief, but He punishes because of this,” and he pointed to his tongue.[11] When ‘Uthman ibn Mad’un died, he wept profusely. During the funeral, a woman remarked: “‘Uthman flew like a bird to Paradise.” Even in that mournful state, the Prophet did not lose his balance and corrected the woman: “How do you know this? Even I do not know this, and I am a Prophet.”[12]

A member of the Banu Muqarrin clan once beat his female slave. She informed the Messenger of God, who then sent a message to the master. He said: “You have beaten her without any justifiable right. Free her.”[13] Setting a slave free was far better for the master than being punished in the Hereafter because of a wrong act. The Messenger of God always protected and supported widows, orphans, the poor, and the disabled, even before his Prophethood. When he returned home in excitement from Mount Hira after the first Revelation, his wife Khadijah told him:

I hope you will be the Prophet of this community, for you always tell the truth, fulfill your trust, support your relatives, help the poor and weak, and feed guests.[14]

His compassion even encompassed animals. We hear from him:

A prostitute was guided to truth by God and ultimately went to Paradise because she gave water to a poor dog dying of thirst inside a well. Another woman was sent to Hell because she made a cat die of hunger.[15]

While in Mina, some of his Companions attacked a snake in order to kill it. However, it managed to escape. Watching this from afar, he remarked: “It was saved from your evil, as you were from its evil.”[17] Ibn Abbas reported that God’s Messenger, upon observing a man sharpening his knife directly before the sheep to be slaughtered, asked him: “Do you want to kill it more than once?”[18]

His love and compassion for creatures differed from that of today’s self-proclaimed humanists. He was sincere and measured in his love and compassion. He was a Prophet raised by God, the Creator and Sustainer of all beings, for the guidance and happiness of conscious beings—humanity and jinn—and the harmony of existence. As such, he lived not for himself but for others. He is a mercy for all the worlds, a manifestation of Compassion.

He eradicated all differences of race and color. Once Abu Dharr got so angry with Bilal that he insulted him: “You son of a black woman!” Bilal came to the Messenger and reported the incident in tears. The Messenger reproached Abu Dharr: “Do you still have a sign of jahiliyah (ignorance)?” Full of repentance, Abu Dharr lay on the ground and said: “I will not raise my head (meaning that he would not get up) unless Bilal puts his foot on it.” Bilal forgave him, and they were reconciled.[19] Such was the bond of kinship and humanity that Islam created among a once-savage people.

[1] Qadi ‘Iyad, Shifa’, 1:78-9; Hindi, Kanz al-’Ummal, 4:93.[2] Ibn Hisham, Sirat al-Nabawiyah, 4:55; Ibn Kathir, Al-Bidayah wa al-Nihayah, 4:344.

[3] Sultan Mehmed II (the Conqueror) (1431-1481). The 7th Ottoman Sultan who conquered Istanbul in 1453.

[4] Muslim, Birr, 87.

[5] Hanbal, Musnad, 4:395; Muslim, Fada’il, 126.

[6] Qadi ‘Iyad, as-Shifa’ al-Sharif, 1:17.

[7] Bukhari, Adhan, 65; Muslim, Salat, 192.

[8] Bukhari, Adab, 18.

[9] Ibid., Adab, 18; Muslim, Fada’il, 64.

[10] Tirmidhi, Birr, 16.

[11] Bukhari, Jana’iz, 45.

[12] Ibid, Jana’iz, 3.

[13] Muslim, Ayman, 31, 33; Ibn Hanbal, Musnad, 3:447.

[14] Ibn Sa’d, al-Tabaqat al-Kubra’, 1:195.

[15] Bukhari, Anbiya, 54; Muslim, Salam, 153.

[16] Abu Dawud, Adab, 164; Ibn Hanbal, Musnad, 1:404.

[17] Sunan al-Nasa’i, Hajj, 114; Ibn Hanbal, Musnad, 1:385.

[18] Hakim, Mustadrak, 4:231.

[19] Bukhari, Iman, 22.

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areyoureadyforsomemeatballz · 6 years

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You’ve Got Mail (4)

Summary: You find yourself falling for stranger on an anonymous messenger app created for students at your college. What happens when you discover that they’re not a stranger after all?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1900

Warnings: Some swearing. Two dumb asses in love.

A/N: We’re coming to a head my friends! I’m so excited to share this next part with you. Please, please, please let me know what you think! Talking with you guys and hearing your thoughts makes me ridiculously happy. This is part of my entry for @spideywhiteys 1000 follower challenge, go check Jem out.

Natasha leads you into a booth at the diner across from your apartment building. After the waiter drops your drinks off at the table she gives you an expectant look. You stir the straw around in your glass absentmindedly and take a deep breath. Your hands drop to the sticky table, avoiding her eyes.

“I want what you and Clint have.” You look up from your clasped hands. “Hell, I want what Bucky and Sam have. I want someone who knows me inside and out and loves me for it-”

Natasha reaches across the table for your hand and cuts you off. “Honey-”

“Nat, its fine. I’m fine. It’s just hard not to think about it when I’m surrounded by happy couples.”

She squeezes your hand softly. “We’re not always happy.”

“I know that,” you say. “No relationship is going to be perfect. But, in the end, you make it work and you can’t deny that you’re not happier with Clint in your life.”

Her eyes soften, and she nods her head. “He’s my everything.”

You smile at her. “I kinda met someone.”

Her eyes go wide, and she grips your hand again, tighter this time. “What? When? Are they hot? Have you slept together?” She pauses briefly, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Oh my god, was it Tony’s app?”

Your cheeks heat up and you busy yourself with the menu in front of you. “Yeah, it was the fucking app,” you whisper. “God, I feel so stupid.”

She tugs the menu away from your face. “One, you get the same thing every time we come here. Two, why do you feel stupid? Who cares how you met someone?”

“We’ve never actually met,” you mumble.

“Come again?”

“I’ve never actually met him. I don’t even know his name.”

Natasha’s jaw drops and her brows furrow. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since the night of the release party.”

“That was weeks ago,” she shouts, much to the annoyance of the couple in the booth behind yours. The old woman whips her head around to glare daggers at the two of you.

You clap your hand over her mouth with wide eyes. “Natty shh. I know!”

You drop your hand from her face when you’re sure she won’t yell again. “I didn’t even know you were still using it! I figured you stopped as soon as I talked to Clint. I mean that was the deal, right?”

You nod your head and pull out your phone. “Yeah, but I got attached.” Your head drops onto the table with a quiet bang. “I really like him, Natasha.”

“I’m not seeing the issue? Besides you not telling me ‘till now.”

“I don’t even know him! What if he’s a serial killer? What if he’s a terrible frat guy?”

She rolls her eyes at you and presses against your forehead, forcing you to sit up. “You’ve been talking for over a month, I think you’re a pretty good judge of character. So, when are you meeting him?”

“Do you think I should?”

“Do you think you shouldn’t?”

“You’re not being helpful,” you whine.

“You’re the only one that can decide if you should meet this guy,” she says. “Does he make you happy?”

“Yeah, yeah he does.”

The waiter comes back to take your orders and after Natasha launches into a story about one of her coaches. You set your phone off to the side, not noticing the vibration signaling a new message. Once you’re home you unlock your phone, grinning at the screen when you realize you have an unread text from your mystery man.

CaptainDumbass: OH MY GOD

ActualWitch: ???

ActualWitch: Are you okay

CaptainDumbass: It took you like a year to respond

ActualWitch: I haven’t had my phone all morning

ActualWitch: Why were you freaking out?

CaptainDumbass: OH YEAH

CaptainDumbass: WAIT

CaptainDumbass: WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT

ActualWitch: you declared your undying love for me

CaptainDumbass: Yes

CaptainDumbass: Wait, no

CaptainDumbass: I…

ActualWitch: Im messing with you gramps

CaptainDumbass: I do like you though

CaptainDumbass: But I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that

CaptainDumbass: I was in kind of a weird place

ActualWitch: But you still like me?

CaptainDumbass: Yes

ActualWitch: We’re on the same page then

ActualWitch: I like you too

CaptainDumbass: I thought it was a dream that I told you

ActualWitch: Are you okay?

CaptainDumbass: Yeah

CaptainDumbass: I just had a rough night

CaptainDumbass: Is that too vague?

ActualWitch: A bit?

CaptainDumbass: I was confused about my feelings and one of my friends decided it would be a good idea to get really drunk

CaptainDumbass: but not so much

ActualWitch: I think we’ve all been there

CaptainDumbass: I don’t regret it though

CaptainDumbass: I think it would have taken me a lot longer to get the courage to tell you

ActualWitch: You don’t even regret the hangover?

CaptainDumbass: I don’t even regret the hangover…

CaptainDumbass: not if it means you know how I feel

ActualWitch: you’re a fucking sap

ActualWitch: I wish I could bring you coffee or painkillers or something...

CaptainDumbass: is that your way of saying you want to meet me?

CaptainDumbass: because I’d love nothing more

CaptainDumbass: … Please answer

CaptainDumbass: I take it back

CaptainDumbass: I’m so sorry

ActualWitch: I literally didn’t answer for thirty secods

CaptainDumbass: Are you still mocking me?

CaptainDumbass: OR DID YOU MAKE A MISTAKE?!?!?!

CaptainDumbass: GRANDMA!

ActualWitch: Why do I want to meet you again?

CaptainDumbass: You want to meet me?

ActualWitch: I was trying to say that and then you had a small meltdown

CaptainDumbass: When are you free?

ActualWitch: Tuesday night?

CaptainDumbass: I have class then

CaptainDumbass: Wednesday?

ActualWitch: Class :(

CaptainDumbass: What about tonight?

CaptainDumbass: Is that too soon??

ActualWitch: I mean that works for me

CaptainDumbass: There’s a little coffee shop on main, does that work

ActualWitch: Are you talking about Val’s??

CaptainDumbass: Yes?

CaptainDumbass: Have you been there?

ActualWitch: I might be in love with you….

ActualWitch: VALS IS MY LIFE

CaptainDumbass: Well then

CaptainDumbass: See you tonight

ActualWitch: Look for the girl with the roses

CaptainDumbass: Oh smart. So I know its you

ActualWitch: I WAS KIDDING

ActualWitch: Oh my godddddddddddddddddd

ActualWitch: See you tonight dummy

You toss your phone down and notice a draft of one of Steve’s assignments on your desk that he must’ve left after your last study session. You squeeze your eyes closed and lean back against your bed. You’d been able to push Steve out of your thoughts all morning, but now he was at the forefront of your mind. You push yourself up off the bed and scoop his work up. You march down the hall to his door and take a breath before tapping on the door.

Steve swings the door open and his eyes light up briefly as he takes in the sight of you. The circles under his eyes seem darker and he leans against the doorframe with a quirked brow. “I uh- I missed you at breakfast,” his voice is rough as if he hasn’t spoken all day. “You and Nat- we missed you and Nat this morning.”

You shrug your shoulders and your lips quirk up. “Sorry, Stevie. We weren’t feeling up for it.”

Steve runs his hand over the back of his head and his cheeks dusted with a blush. “Oh, did you end up going out last night?”

Your nose crinkles and you shake your head. “I would’ve texted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what forget I said anything.” You thrust the stack of papers in your hand into his chest. “You left these at my place.”

You spin on your heel to leave, but Steve’s hand closes around your wrist. “What are we doing?”

“Well, I was trying to go back to my apartment.”

Steve groans and drops your hand. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

“I don’t know what to say, Steve.”

“You don’t have to say anything, I just miss my best friend.”

Your eyes dart down to your feet. “I miss you too.”

He tugs you toward his chest and you breathe in deeply as you settle against him. Steve nuzzles his nose into your hair, making you laugh. The two of you stay wrapped in each other’s arms until you hear approaching footsteps. You are torn as you step away from him.

“Are you busy right now?

You look down at your phone and notice that you need to head to Val’s soon. You look back up and can’t deny Steve’s pleading eyes. “I uh- No. No, I’m not busy. Why?”

Steve nods his head toward his door with a small smile. “Do you want to come watch movies with me? I’ll even get Chinese food from that shit-hole down the street.”

“Excuse you, that ‘shit-hole’ is so much better than the place you like.”

Steve’s smile grows and leads you into his place, grabbing your favorite blanket and getting you settled on the couch. “I’m going to go order the food. Pick whatever you want to watch, okay?”

Steve retreats to the kitchen and you glance behind you quickly. You open up the Campus Chat app to cancel your plans for the evening.

ActualWitch: Please don’t hate me

CaptainDumbass: I could never?

CaptainDumbass: Oh shit….

CaptainDumbass: Something came up can we reschedule?

ActualWitch: Yes!

ActualWitch: That’s why I texted you

Actual Witch: My friend is having a crisis

CaptainDumbass: Same here.

ActualWitch: When do you want to switch to

CaptainDumbass: What about this time next week?

ActualWitch: 5 next Saturday?

CaptainDumbass: works for me

ActualWitch: okay

ActualWitch: That’s a long time to wait…

You hear Steve puttering around the kitchen and turn back to your phone waiting for a response. Steve’s voice fills the apartment as he calls in your order and you snatch up the remote to find a movie before he gets back. He flops on the couch next to you, resting his head on your thigh.

“What took you so long in there?”

A blush dusts his cheeks as he looks up at you. “I had to send a quick text.”

Your smile falls for a split second, but you school your features before Steve sees. “Oh, to that girl you’ve been talking to?”

He nods his head in your lap and you decide to drop the conversation. As you continue the search for a movie you can feel Steve’s eyes on you. He sits up to help you look and you pass him the remote.

“I have to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” You stand quickly and retreat, hoping that a break will let the tension out of the room.

Steve watches as you rush to the bathroom with a small frown on his face. He pulls his phone out and his frown drops when he notices a new message on Campus Chat.

CaptainDumbass: Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table right after he sends the message. Steve’s eyes widen, and he reaches for your phone. He drops his hand, rethinking his action, and instead unlocks his phone again.

CaptainDumbass: …

Another buzz sounds from the table.

CaptainDumbass: Hey

Another buzz.

Steve plucks your phone off the table and his eyes dart down the hallway. He unlocks your phone and his heart stops when he sees a very familiar text thread. Steve drops your phone as if it had bitten him and all the color drains from his face. He was fucked.

Part 3

Part 5

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angel-with-a-pipette · 6 years

Text

@terraweek

Title: Caramel Cappuccino

Summary: Terra works part-time as a barista in one of the university's coffee bars. Little did he expect to meet a particular blue haired customer who wouldn't leave his mind...

This is an entry for Terra week 2018 on tumblr, prompt “Modern AU” and a companion piece to @0littlelight0 's gorgeous art. Please check it out!!

Rating: K

Also available on: ao3 | ff.net

Please enjoy!

“Enjoy your coffee.”

At the start of his third semester, Terra had been lucky enough to get a job as a barista at his own university. Studying for his degree in sports, most of his lectures didn't start until 10 am or even 12 pm, but he had always been an early riser, waking up at the break of dawn to go jogging or to meditate before he started his day. Taking over the early shift at the campus coffee shop fit perfectly into his schedule, earned him surprisingly good money and looked good on his curriculum even though it wasn't connected to his field of study. All in all, it was a win-win situation and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't entertaining to see zombies turn into sentient human beings in the morning.

The girl he had just served grabbed her cup and flashed him a short smile in thanks before leaving, making way for the next customer in line. She stepped forward and all Terra could see was blue: Blue hair, blue sweater, blue messenger bag. Stunned for a moment, he shook it off and forced a smile back on his face.

“Hello, what can I get you, miss?”

“Hi, excuse me,” the blue haired woman answered slightly distracted as she rummaged around in her bag, clearly in search of something, likely her purse. He saw her eyebrows draw together as she let go of her bag only to wiggle around and bury her hands in her pants pockets (a pair of blue jeans, Terra noted), her eyes now at least studying the large menu board that hung over counter.

“I'd like a – a-ha!” she exclaimed happily and pulled a small pouch out of her back pocket (at this point, Terra was surprised that it was orange and not blue), counting a few coins in it. “Can I have a cup of chamo-” She froze as her eyes finally fell on him.

Terra shuffled a little uncomfortably.

“Are you feeling alright?”

That seemed to pull the girl out of her stupor and she let her eyes roam around the room, awkwardly fumbling around with her pouch.

Was she avoiding him? He couldn't recall ever meeting this girl before.

“Y-yes, I'm fine,” she answered, much more timidly than before, as her eyes came to rest on the special menu card next to the cash register.

“Cappuccino!” She blurted out, and at that a slight blush started to dust her cheek as she winced. “I mean, can I have a –“ she looked at the card again, “Caramel Cappuccino, please?”

“Coming right up,” Terra answered her with a nod as he accepted her coins and started working on her order, but not without giving her a discreet look over.

She was cute, he had to admit. Her hair color was very unusual and she was tall for a girl (still roughly half a head shorter than him, though), with a slender built as far as the sweater allowed him to judge.

He was intrigued. Maybe if he turned a little to the left and leaned over, he could throw another short glance –

“Shoot!” Terra grumbled loudly as hot steam from the milk frother blew against his hand. He quickly turned off the steam and jumped to the sink to run cold water over his hand.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, fine,” he grumbled, annoyed at himself, “I got distracted for a second there.” He quickly dried off his hands, wincing a little at his now sensitive skin and returned to the coffee with a frown. Served him right for gawking his customers, he figured. Finishing up the order and drizzling the ordered Caramel over the drink, he turned back to her, handing her the cup.

At that moment, she took his breath away.

He hadn't realized how well her hair complemented her eyes – her eyes that shone like the ocean back in his home town. They immediately sought out the patch of sensitive skin on his arm (when had she grasped his hand like that?) and she gingerly turned his lower arm left and right to see better in the dim lit room.

“It doesn't look too bad, but you should still be careful. I'm sorry you got burned because of my order.”

He wanted to tell her that it was nothing – and it truly was, it's not like it was his first burn and it wasn't even serious – but the words got stuck in his throat.

“Thank you,” he replied instead, slightly breathless before he swallowed deeply, “I'll take care.”

He was met with the most dazzling smile he had ever seen in his life. He didn't register her thanks and her “Have a nice day” or even the next customer clearing their throat impatiently.

At that moment, he fell hopelessly and irreversibly in love with the blue haired girl.

Thankfully, she dutifully returned to him – his coffee – every single morning. In the first few days, she kept asking him about his burn, but soon, the two of them fell into companionable silence, communicating more with their eyes and smiles instead of words. And Terra loved observing her every day. The closer winter and its cold temperatures drew, the bigger her sweaters became until he had to nearly send a search party into her clothes to find the girl underneath them, bundled up for warmth. Rarely, she dressed in a more fancy, more adult way – once it was during their university's big job fare, he noted, so he assumed she had important meetings those days. Those were the days where she would wear subtle but classy earrings and a light dusting of make up, making her eyes – her gorgeous eyes, he swooned – shine even more. Other days, she opted for the complete opposite, being super comfortable while still being dressed nicely; in contrast to other students, he never saw her turn up in sweatpants or anything comparable.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but seeing her in the morning quickly became his favorite part of the day.

Spring had finally arrived and the end of the semester was coming near quickly. Having already passed all but of one his exams and being good on time with his assignments, he hadn't minded taking over today's afternoon shift for his sick colleague, even though it was unnaturally busy due to the university holding its open house day today. As such, tons of soon-to-be-students flooded the campus, chattering excitedly among themselves and – of course – trying to figure out where to buy the best food and coffee.

When lunch time was over and most of the caffeine deprived students were satisfied, business came to enough of a slow, allowing Terra to sit down behind the counter and pull out his sport medicine notes, learning for the last exam he had to take at the end of next week. Engrossed as he might have been in his notes, there was no way goosebumps wouldn't spread all over his arms as a familiar voice drifted to his ear.

“And this is the best coffee shop on campus!”

Terra immediately felt heat rise up his cheeks and scrambled to his feet, dropping his notes unceremoniously to the floor just in time for the blue haired girl to step up to the counter, eyes widening slightly as a huge smile started to spread over her lips.

“You're here!” She exclaimed more than asked and her smile was contagious.

“My colleague is sick so I took over his shift,” he replied before he noticed the blond boy trailing behind her, roughly a head shorter than her, with a huge grin plastered on his face. The tell-tale red fabric bag most of the student representatives were giving out to the visiting pupils was slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” the girl addressed Terra warmly and he was about to melt into a puddle of goo at the sight of her dazzling eyes.

“Hey,” he breathed in response, but caught himself at the boy's snicker and cleared his throat.

“What can I get you?”

“A hot chocolate and a Caramel Cappuccino, please.”

She slid a bill over to him and he quickly gave her back her change before he stepped to the machine, starting the hot chocolate first as the girl and her companion stepped away from the counter.

“So, do you want to take a break here or do you want to continue the tour? They also sell sandwiches if you're hungry again.”

“I saw all the lectures that interested me the most so I'm open to anything. But the question is – do you want to take a break here?”

“What do you mean?”

“C'mon, Aqua –“

Aqua. Her name was Aqua. It fit her perfectly.

“– do you think I'm blind? Tell me, since when exactly do you drink coffee?”

“Since I started university? It keeps me awake in a morning.”

Terra heard a snort.

“Yeah, right. Says the girl who effortlessly got up at 5 am when she was still in school. The girl who called me up at 4 am this morning even though I could've easily slept until 6 am! You live on campus and the pharmacy building is five minutes away from your dorm. You do not need coffee to wake up.” A short pause. “Also, you hate the taste of coffee.”

“It's an acquired taste,” Terra heard Aqua's voice answer indignantly, “I got used to it and now I like it.”

“Back home, you spent endless days lecturing me about how bad the regular consumption of caffeine is. But I get it –“

The boy's voice lowered and subconsciously, Terra leaned further into the espresso machine, closer to his customers to pick up on their conversation.

“– I mean, you totally have the hots for the barista.”

Terra felt as if his heart stopped beating. Was it possible, that she was actually interested in him?!

“I-I do not!”

“Yes, you do!” Terra heard the boy snicker, but he had the decency to continue whispering, “Look at you, you turned as red as a tomato! And it would make sense why you started drinking coffee suddenly even though they also sell tea here: When you're embarrassed, you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind! You probably saw him, saw the cappuccino and boom, that's what you ordered!”

Well... she did look at the special menu that day, didn't she? And she did blurt her order out... right? Terra bit his lip, daring to hope that it might be true.

“Ugh! Ven!” Her voice sounded muffled now and as inconspicuously as possible, Terra rose to his tiptoes to throw a glance over the machine. Aqua had thrown her hands over her face and the fierce blush that spread onto her neck kicked Terra's heart back into thumping furiously. “I am not having this kind of conversation with my baby brother!”

“Hey! I'm sixteen already! And you know I'm righ–”

“Not. Having.This. Conversation,” she all but squeaked out in response, but Terra barely registered it. He felt his heartbeat inside of his ears and felt his throat constrict as he reached for his book bag, fishing out one of his Edding pens.

It was all or nothing now.

With a shaky hand, he scribbled his telephone number on Aqua's cup and finished up the order as fast as he could before his courage left him again. Just as his stomach constricted painfully, he reached out for the tiny bell on the counter and ringed it. Aqua and Ven who now stood a meter away turned back to him, with Aqua still looking slightly flushed and Ven sporting a shit-eating grin.

“One hot chocolate and one Caramel Cappuccino.”

Terra didn't think his heart could beat even faster, but it did when Aqua stepped forward to reach for the cups. Their hands touched and as Aqua looked up at him shyly, Terra swallowed the big lump in his throat and leaned forward ever so slightly.

“I'm Terra,” he whispered, letting go of the cups and he caught a glimpse of another blush spreading over Aqua's cheekbones before she turned around with a breathless “thank you” and hurried over to Ven. They left his field of vision quickly and with a relieved sigh, Terra let himself fall back to the chair behind the counter, trembling slightly. He felt his head spinning and his heart continued strumming so powerfully inside of his chest he nearly missed the soft vibration in his back pocket.

Terra flew out of his seat and nearly dropped his phone when he opened his text messages.

My name is Aqua. Nice to meet you, Terra :)

#terraweek2018 #Terra #Aqua #Terraqua #KH #0littlelight0 #Alja's fanfictions #terraweek

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

(Anew, genesis)

is what the pure hope of Love is. to erase the past (tense) and all the mistakes of mankind who were created as free beings, to choose between right and wrong behavior.

but our Creator knew this. that we would fail. and yet, we still were made free to choose to be in Love (in Light), or not.

to be, or not to be: (?)

Today’s reading of the Scriptures reveals a heavenly vision given to John to write down nearly 2,000 years ago that later became known as the 21st chapter of the book of Revelation in the Holy Bible that reveals (A new covenant of grace) in the True illumination of the Son:

I looked again and could hardly believe my eyes. Everything above me was new. Everything below me was new. Everything around me was new because the heaven and earth that had been passed away, and the sea was gone, completely. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God, prepared like a bride on her wedding day, adorned for her husband and for His eyes only. And I heard a great voice, coming from the throne.

A Voice: See, the home of God is with His people.

He will live among them;

They will be His people,

And God Himself will be with them.

The prophecies are fulfilled:

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more;

Mourning no more, crying no more, pain no more,

For the first things have gone away.

And the One who sat on the throne announced to His creation,

The One: See, I am making all things new. (turning to me) Write what you hear and see, for these words are faithful and true. It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. I will see to it that the thirsty drink freely from the fountain of the water of life. To the victors will go this inheritance: I will be their God, and they will be My children. It will not be so for the cowards, the faithless, the sacrilegious, the murderers, the sexually immoral, the sorcerers, the idolaters, and all those who deal in deception. They will inherit an eternity in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.

And then one of the seven messengers in charge of the seven bowls filled with the seven last plagues came over to me.

Heavenly Messenger: Come with me, and I will show you the bride, the wife of the Lamb.

He took me away in the Spirit and set me on top of a great, high mountain. As I waited for what I thought was a bride, he showed me the holy city, Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God. It gleamed and shined with the glory of God; its radiance was like the most precious of jewels, like jasper, and it was as clear as crystal. It was surrounded with a wall, great and high. There were twelve gates. Assigned to each gate was a messenger, twelve in all. And on the gates were inscribed the names of the twelve tribes of Israel’s sons. On the east wall were three gates. On the north wall were three gates. On the south wall were three gates. On the west wall were three gates. And the city wall sat perfectly on twelve foundation stones, and on them were inscribed the names of the twelve emissaries of the Lamb.

My guide held a golden measuring rod. With it he measured the city and the gates and the walls. And the city is laid out with four corners in a perfect square, the length the same as its width. He measured the city with his measuring rod, and the result was that its length and width and height are equal: 1,444 miles, a perfect cube. And my guide measured the wall; it was nearly 72 yards high, in human measurements, which was the instrument the guide was using. The wall was made of jasper, while the city itself was made of pure gold, yet it was as clear as glass. The foundation stones of the wall of the city were decorated with every kind of jewel: the first was jasper, the second sapphire, the third agate, the fourth emerald, the fifth onyx, the sixth carnelian, the seventh chrysolite, the eighth beryl, the ninth topaz, the tenth chrysoprase, the eleventh jacinth, the twelfth amethyst. The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each gate expertly crafted from a single beautiful pearl. And the city street was pure gold, yet it was as transparent as glass.

And in the city, I found no temple because the Lord God, the All Powerful, and the Lamb are the temple. And in the city, there is no need for the sun to light the day or moon the night because the resplendent glory of the Lord provides the city with warm, beautiful light and the Lamb illumines every corner of the new Jerusalem. And all peoples of all the nations will walk by its unfailing light, and the rulers of the earth will stream into the city bringing with them the symbols of their grandeur and power. During the day, its gates will not be closed; the darkness of night will never settle in. The glory and grandeur of the nations will be on display there, carried to the holy city by people from every corner of the world. Nothing that defiles or is defiled can enter into its glorious gates. Those who practice sacrilege or deception will never walk its streets. Only those whose names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life can enter.

The Book of Revelation, Chapter 21 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 32nd chapter of 2nd Chronicles that documents the rest of King Hezekiah’s life along with God’s victory over the prideful threats of the king of Assyria:

And then, after this exemplary track record, this: Sennacherib king of Assyria came and attacked Judah. He put the fortified cities under siege, determined to take them.

When Hezekiah realized that Sennacherib’s strategy was to take Jerusalem, he talked to his advisors and military leaders about eliminating all the water supplies outside the city; they thought it was a good idea. There was a great turnout of people to plug the springs and tear down the aqueduct. They said, “Why should the kings of Assyria march in and be furnished with running water?”

Hezekiah also went to work repairing every part of the city wall that was damaged, built defensive towers on it, built another wall of defense further out, and reinforced the defensive rampart (the Millo) of the old City of David. He also built up a large store of armaments—spears and shields. He then appointed military officers to be responsible for the people and got them all together at the public square in front of the city gate.

Hezekiah rallied the people, saying, “Be strong! Take courage! Don’t be intimidated by the king of Assyria and his troops—there are more on our side than on their side. He only has a bunch of mere men; we have our God to help us and fight for us!”

Morale surged. Hezekiah’s words put steel in their spines.

Later on, Sennacherib, who had set up camp a few miles away at Lachish, sent messengers to Jerusalem, addressing Judah through Hezekiah: “A proclamation of Sennacherib king of Assyria: You poor people—do you think you’re safe in that so-called fortress of Jerusalem? You’re sitting ducks. Do you think Hezekiah will save you? Don’t be stupid—Hezekiah has fed you a pack of lies. When he says, ‘God will save us from the power of the king of Assyria,’ he’s lying—you’re all going to end up dead. Wasn’t it Hezekiah who cleared out all the neighborhood worship shrines and told you, ‘There is only one legitimate place to worship’? Do you have any idea what I and my ancestors have done to all the countries around here? Has there been a single god anywhere strong enough to stand up against me? Can you name one god among all the nations that either I or my ancestors have ravaged that so much as lifted a finger against me? So what makes you think you’ll make out any better with your god? Don’t let Hezekiah fool you; don’t let him get by with his barefaced lies; don’t trust him. No god of any country or kingdom ever has been one bit of help against me or my ancestors—what kind of odds does that give your god?”

The messengers felt free to throw in their personal comments, putting down both God and God’s servant Hezekiah.

Sennacherib continued to send letters insulting the God of Israel: “The gods of the nations were powerless to help their people; the god of Hezekiah is no better, probably worse.”

The messengers would come up to the wall of Jerusalem and shout up to the people standing on the wall, shouting their propaganda in Hebrew, trying to scare them into demoralized submission. They contemptuously lumped the God of Jerusalem in with the handmade gods of other peoples.

King Hezekiah, joined by the prophet Isaiah son of Amoz, responded by praying, calling up to heaven. God answered by sending an angel who wiped out everyone in the Assyrian camp, both warriors and officers. Sennacherib was forced to return home in disgrace, tail between his legs. When he went into the temple of his god, his own sons killed him.

God saved Hezekiah and the citizens of Jerusalem from Sennacherib king of Assyria and everyone else. And he continued to take good care of them. People streamed into Jerusalem bringing offerings for the worship of God and expensive presents to Hezekiah king of Judah. All the surrounding nations were impressed—Hezekiah’s stock soared.

* * *

Some time later Hezekiah became deathly sick. He prayed to God and was given a reassuring sign.

But the sign, instead of making Hezekiah grateful, made him arrogant. This made God angry, and his anger spilled over on Judah and Jerusalem. But then Hezekiah, and Jerusalem with him, repented of his arrogance, and God withdrew his anger while Hezekiah lived.

Hezekiah ended up very wealthy and much honored. He built treasuries for all his silver, gold, precious stones, spices, shields, and valuables, barns for the grain, new wine, and olive oil, stalls for his various breeds of cattle, and pens for his flocks. He founded royal cities for himself and built up huge stocks of sheep and cattle. God saw to it that he was extravagantly rich. Hezekiah was also responsible for diverting the upper outlet of the Gihon spring and rerouting the water to the west side of the City of David. Hezekiah succeeded in everything he did. But when the rulers of Babylon sent emissaries to find out about the sign from God that had taken place earlier, God left him on his own to see what he would do; he wanted to test his heart.

* * *

The rest of the history of Hezekiah and his life of loyal service, you can read for yourself—it’s written in the vision of the prophet Isaiah son of Amoz in the Royal Annals of the Kings of Judah and Israel. When Hezekiah died, they buried him in the upper part of the King David cemetery. Everyone in Judah and Jerusalem came to the funeral. He was buried in great honor.

Manasseh his son was the next king.

The Book of 2nd Chronicles, Chapter 32 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, march 1 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons that takes a look at the significance of the Red Heifer sacrificial law as it relates to the Son:

The Sabbath that immediately follows Purim is called Shabbat Parah - the "Sabbath of the [red] Cow." In traditional synagogue services, two Torah scrolls will be removed from the ark, and from the first scroll will be read the Torah portion for the week (e.g., Ki Tisa), and from the second will be read the chapter regarding the laws of the sacrifice of the “Red Heifer” (Num. 19:1-22). The early sages decided to recite the laws of the Red Heifer at this time to recall the remedy of the sin of the Golden Calf, and to remind the people to purify themselves before coming to Jerusalem for the pilgrimage festival of Passover. It is thought that since the sprinkling of the “waters of separation” cleanses from the uncleanness of death, reading this portion will help prepare our hearts for the time of Passover when we celebrate deliverance from death.

The Red Heifer offering is considered a paradox to most Jewish thinkers, though it can be seen as a revelation of the Yeshua our Messiah. The paradox is that the one who offers this sacrifice becomes ritually impure, while the sprinkling of the ashes is used to make people clean... The ritual is considered chok within the Jewish tradition, meaning that it makes no rational sense. The Talmud states that of all the 613 commandments given in the Torah, even King Solomon with all his wisdom could not fathom this decee. However, the sacrifice of Yeshua the Messiah can be understood as the fulfillment of the symbolism of the parah adumah. Both were entirely rare and without defect (sin); both were sacrificed “outside the camp”; both made the one who offered the sacrifice unclean but made the one who was sprinkled by it clean; and finally, both sacrifices cleanse people for priestly service.

The parah adumah had to be a perfect specimen that was completely red, “without blemish, in which there is no defect (mum).” The rabbis interpreted “without blemish” as referring to the color, that is, without having so much as a single white or black hair. This is the only sacrifice in the Torah where the color of the animal is explicitly required. Moreover, the parah adumah was never to have had a yoke upon it, meaning that it must never have been used for any profane purposes.

Unlike all other sacrifices offered at the altar, the parah adumah was taken outside the camp and there slaughtered before the priest, who then took some of its blood and sprinkled it seven times before the Mishkan (thereby designating it as a purification offering). [During the Second Temple period, the High Priest performed this ceremony facing the Temple while atop the Mount of Olives.] Then the red heifer would be burned in its entirety: its hide, flesh, blood, and even dung were to be burned (unlike other Levitical korbanot). Unlike other offerings, all the blood of the sacrifice was to be burned in the fire.

Hyssop, scarlet yarn, and a cedar stick would then be thrown upon the burning parah adumah (these same items were used to cleanse from tzara’at, skin disease). In other words, the blood was assimilated into the ashes of the sacrifice, which were then gathered and mixed with water to create the “water of separation” (mei niddah) for the Israelite community. Note that the word “separation” (niddah) refers to menstrual impurity and harkens to Zech. 13:1: “On that day there shall be a fountain opened for the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, to cleanse them from sin and from niddah.”

Anyone (or anything) that came into contact with a corpse (the embodiment of sin and death) was required to be purified using the mei niddah. The purification procedure took seven days, using stalks of hyssop dipped into the water and shaken over the ritually defiled person on the third day and then again on the seventh day. After the second sprinkling, the person undergoing the purification process would be immersed in a mikvah and then be unclean until the following evening.

According to Jewish tradition, the Red Heifer sacrifice was to atone for the sin of the Golden Calf, though the Torah itself does not make this association. The LORD Yeshua, our High Priest of the New Covenant, is the perfect fulfillment of the Parah Adumah, since he was completely without sin or defect (2 Cor 5:21; John 8:46); he was sacrificed outside the camp (Heb 13:13); he made himself sin for us (2 Cor 5:21); his sprinkling makes us clean (1 Pet 1:2; Heb 12:24; Rev 1:5); and the “water of separation” that his sacrifice created is the means by which we are made clean from the impurity of sin (Eph 5:25-6; Heb 10:22). [Hebrew for Christians]

https://hebrew4christians.com/

2.28.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

March 1, 2021

The Daily Cross

“And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.” (Luke 9:23)

This same conversation and challenge is also recorded in Matthew 16:24 and Mark 8:34, except that only Luke included the term “daily.” Except for one brief reference in Matthew 10:38, this conversation marks the first explicit reference in the Bible to the practice of crucifixion, and it apparently assumes that the disciples were already well aware of this typically Roman method of execution.

“Taking up the cross” referred to the usual requirement that each condemned man haul his own cross to the place of execution. Jesus knew that He would soon have to be doing this Himself (John 19:16-17).

Christians sometimes use this phrase without appreciation of its true meaning, thinking of some burden (such as sickness or poverty) as “the cross” they must bear. Such things can be serious problems, but they are not instruments of execution, such as a cross. In effect, the Lord was telling His disciples that following Him must mean nothing less than a daily willingness to die for Him if need be. As Paul would say: “I am crucified with Christ” (Galatians 2:20); “I die daily” (1 Corinthians 15:31).

Many disciples have indeed suffered martyrdom for Christ’s sake, but all should at least be willing to deny themselves daily. “Taking up the cross” does not necessarily mean dying as Christ did, but it does mean consciously dying each day to the world and living unto Him. For “they that are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts” (Galatians 5:24) and gladly affirm this testimony: “God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world” (Galatians 6:14). HMM

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lostinfic · 7 years

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Mercier x Betty Soulmates AU

Words: 4k | One shot

Rating: all-ages

Summary: Modern day. Mercier is an historian obsessed with retracing his past lives and a woman appearing in all of them. He will get a little help from a sweater.

This is for @starlightkissedsmiles who asked “ Mercier x Betty and sweaters (because of course) for that bingo card? ❤”

The idea came from an ask by @thewolfsdoctor

Also, @timepetalsprompts for the autumn bingo

Ao3

Mercier’s hands shook as he slipped on a pair of white cotton gloves to handle the fragile artefact. He laid his palms down on the glass table top, each side of a journal. It belonged to Matthew MacEwan, a Scottish explorer, and dated back to the Seven Years’ War, in 1762. Between the leather covers, pages bulged, brown and wrinkled from water damage. The ink would be faded to the point of being unreadable, but he would know what it said anyway.

Mercier took a deep breath, readying himself for the onslaught of sensations. Even before opening the first page, he could feel it coming. The diary brimmed with energy, intensifying the closer he got to it, like the invisible pull of two magnets. To anyone else, it was another relic from the past, immobile, but to Mercier it was a ticking bomb.

He’d experienced it before.

With every manuscript, a tidal wave of vivid memories assaulted him. A hundred-- a thousand times stronger than a “déjà vu”. The smell of mud and excrement in the trenches, the burning metal of a gun, the bark of German dogs, the Russian cold, like icicles piercing his every pore. Stomach-gripping fear, intoxicating despair, and all-consuming devotion.

The first time he opened one such journal, he fainted. A professor assigned it to him during his first year studying history at the Sorbonne. It was from 1943, its author, Antoine Cadieu, was a member of the Résistance. And Mercier, then a 20 year-old, relived this man’s whole life in barely one minute. Not only relived it, but became him. Was him.

His academic work had not prepared him for the possibility of reincarnation.

He repressed the memory for three years until his internship at the Service Historique de la Défense in Cherbourg. He stumbled upon another journal, this one from 1915. It transported him into the mind of a soldier on the battlefield at Ypres.

Two years later, in an antique store in Vienna, he found a bundle of letters from the Napoleonic war in 1814. One touch and he remembered the scratch of his quill on paper, the messenger’s name, the scent of whale oil from the lamp he used to write.

Barely a month after, during a conference in Montreal, a colleague showed the result of a recent archeological dig. A single contract signed by a soldier in 1690 triggered another flow of memories.

Now, he actively looked for these testimonies of past lives, digging further and further into the past. He could only identify one such item by being in its presence, so every city he traveled to, he visited the local archive services and museums.

He approached the problem methodically, scientifically as he’d learned in university. He researched every one of his past selves in depth to find some connections or an explanation. So far, he had only conjectures and intuitions. It was maddeningly random.

Anna disapproved of his incessant trips to obscure archives and late nights at work, but he couldn’t tell her the real reason behind it: he refused to die like his past incarnations.

He didn’t fear physical pain. It’s not the soul leaving the body that hurt, but the dissatisfaction with one’s life. The incompleteness. Unfinished business. It haunted him now, day and night. And it was not always his own death he felt. Someone else’s too. Just as incomplete. His other half’s death. She was there, in every journal. A different name, a different face, but he knew it was the same person. The same soul. Important. Elusive.

In 1943, her home was a safe house for the Résistance. It got her killed before he reached her.

In 1915, she was married to another soldier in his troop. Even though he’d never met her, he was so jealous of his troopmate, he abandoned him to the enemies. His past self never saw the end of the war, guilt made him careless with his own life.

In 1814, in Austria, she was a young man who found him behind his father’s farm and nursed his wounds. After that, he deserted the army to find his Good Samaritan, thus losing his title and possessions. He never saw him again.

In october 1690, in New France, she was an Ursuline nun. He defended the monastery when it was besieged during the Battle of Quebec. She fought alongside the soldiers, showing more bravery than some men. They spent every night of the siege together, but remained chaste. She left the religious order for him, they ran away to a new colony, but didn’t survive the Canadian winter.

His academic work had not prepared him for the possibility of soulmates.

Who would she be in 1762?

He touched the journal. Electricity burst through the pads of his fingers, sizzled up his arms and thundered in his chest.

This one was different, he could tell right away. Quieter. His heart rate decreased. He’d been mistaken, this wasn’t the Seven Years’ war. Only daily, uneventful life.

Peace and silver snow as far as the eyes could see. Stillness, but for glaciers groaning in the distance like groggy giants. Icicles dripped by the entrance of his hut. The musk of reindeers wafted to his nose. In the pale sky, a great, wide bird drew lazy loops between the clouds.

Ice crunched under footsteps; Sámi men, red caps and blue coats, narrowed their eyes at him, the guossi, the stranger from another land.

Then a laugh, as sweet as spring water. And a woman with a rosy, plump face, frosted eyelashes, and a smile so radiant it could melt all the snow. Lottá. Frozen nose tip to his cheek, and delicate fingers slipping in his fur-lined mitten alongside his palm. The men disapproved, but he didn’t care. He’d found her, beyond the Arctic Circle. They kissed with fog on their breath.

And Mercier was conscious enough to hope. Be happy, just this once.

Lottá coughed, and drops, impossibly red, splattered the immaculate snow. His heart plummeted; he’d brought this disease with him.

Mercier returned to the present with a great gasp of breath, like emerging from the water after diving too deeply. His cheeks were wet.

He put the journal back in its place and left the West Yorkshire archive service.

Outside, he let the cool breeze wash over him. He focused on the air slipping between the stitches of his wool jumper. He stretched his arms above his head until joints popped. Reconnecting with reality, the present time, and with his own body.

He needed time to recuperate and process the experience. To grieve.

He bought a coffee from a street cart and followed Bruntcliff road to Dartmouth Park.

Despite the empirical evidence, his rational mind struggled with the notion of reincarnation. It rebelled against the apparent lack of control over his own destiny.

So far, all his past incarnations had been soldiers, then why had he become an historian? Granted, he’d specialized in military history. Was it so he could uncover all these journals and letters? To what end?

To find her, his heart whispered.

But how? Her appearance changed every time. Or was he supposed to keep faith their paths would cross eventually? He didn’t want to wait. Wait and find her too late and die. What a waste.

Mercier dug up a squashed cigarette pack from the depths of his messenger bag. He’d tried to stop but these experiences were too unnerving. He took a deep drag and let the nicotine operate.

Matthew MacEwan, whose memories he’d just experienced, had been fascinated by the North Pole from childhood. He’d enrolled and spent a decade in the Royal Scots Navy to learn the seamanship skills necessary for an expedition beyond the Arctic Circle. An expedition that killed eight of his men. All of this to reunite with Lottá and infect her?

A sigh puffed up Mercier’s cheeks. He sat down on a bench and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Granted, MacEwan’s expedition had also opened major trade routes between Britain and Scandinavia. He’d also dedicated the rest of his life to fighting the disease.

On a smaller scale, Mercier’s own obsession with his past lives had brought to light important characters forgotten by history.

His mobile phone rang: Anna. His thumb hovered from the green button to the red. He hesitated too long and her call went to voicemail. He loved her, but deep down he knew he stayed with her partly to defy destiny. He loathed being controlled.

Clouds floated away, revealing the golden glow of the autumnal sun. Mercier removed his sweater, closed his eyes and turned his face towards sunlight, and the warmth on his cheeks reminded him of Lottá’s smile.

On her way back from work at the downtown preschool, Betty cut through Dartmouth park. The beautiful afternoon sun had long been covered by dark clouds, and she quickened her steps so as not to get caught in the rain. Unfortunately, the first raindrop soon hit her nose. She held her jacket over her head and jogged.

Betty stopped dead in her tracks beside a bench. Someone had forgotten their jumper and it was getting soaked. For no reason she could explain, Betty took it and brought it home with her.

She hung the jumper on the drying rack and started cooking, but her gaze kept drifting back to it. It was a deep green, complex cable-knit pattern. The color was not uniform, as if the wool had been hand dyed.

Upon closer inspection, she found a tag, the kind sold in craft stores, it said: “Fait à la main avec amour par” (“handmade with love by” according to the online translator). Wash and wear had erased the name. It had to be special to its owner, good thing she’d saved it from the rain. Tomorrow, she would go back to the bench and wait.

Betty noticed a tear in the wool under the arm. She ended up spending an hour painstakingly mending every broken stitch in the sweater. She marveled at the softness of the wool, like a kitten’s fur, and couldn’t resist rubbing it against her cheek. A hint of cologne, something woodsy and rich, and smoke too. Once repaired, she hand-washed it with her homemade soap.

She couldn’t think of a good reason why she cared so much about that jumper.

The next day, Betty sat in the park, the sweater carefully folded beside her. She’d brought a book, but couldn’t focus on the page. Her palms were clammy, her stomach knotted. She blamed it on the tall pumpkin spice latte she’d drank. A gust of wind stirred a shower of yellow leaves over her. She waited one hour. Two. Three hours. No one came.

She thought she ought to leave it there, in case its owner returned later, or it could bring some homeless person a bit of warmth. She left it there and walked away.

Ten minutes later, she rushed back to the bench and took the sweater home.

Betty kept the jumper for three years. At the first chill in the air, she would put it on. Her friends and sister teased her about it, it was old and too large for her. She would reply it was soft and warm, but the truth was she couldn’t explain why she was so attached to it. She forgot it on the bus once, and it made her cry.

She brought the sweater with her to Ireland. A long weekend trip with her boyfriend, Donald.

“Please buy a new one,” he said as they entered a souvenir shop which, like most souvenir shops in Ireland, sold wool jumpers.

Betty perused the selection, but her heart wasn’t really into it, in fact she was much more interested in a poster advertising tours of the local castle.

“I want to go there.”

Ireland had an abundance of castles and mansions of all kinds, and this one was by no means in the top ten or twenty. Or fifty. A modest construction in the Grenville family since the 15th century. In the drawing room, the current Lady Grenville exposed her oil paintings alongside entries for a pumpkin decoration contest.

As they walked through the halls, a room enticed her. An attraction, a pull similar to the one from the jumper.

The room was closed off to the public, nevertheless, she opened the door.

“Betty? What are you doing?” Donald hissed.

It wasn’t like Betty to do something like that, she’d even insisted on taking a guided tour so as not to get lost in the castle.

Donald continued speaking but his words didn’t register. Betty was fixated on the pantry at the other end of the room. She followed her intuition, opened the pantry, then the trapdoor at the bottom of it.

“Hey! Stop! You’re not allowed in here!”

Betty ignored the tour guide, she lowered herself into the shallow cellar. She crawled across the damp clay floor to the wall and pulled out a stone. Behind it, she found a stack of letters. Ancient letters.

Her senses exploded with memories: earthy smoke from the peat fire, a rough linen robe scratching against her skin, tall grass flattened by the Atlantic winds and cushy under her bare feet. Waves crashing, eating at the cliffs. The urge to jump. A loneliness that tasted like rotten berries. Then a man with one blind, milky blue eye and skin the colour of basalt. The captain of her father’s guards. He made her feel safe. Cherished. In secret letters, he clumsily professed eternal devotion. Her ribs ached from holding in her love for him. Forbidden love. Chapped lips against hers. The clank of chainmail hitting the floor. A bear skin rug, soft under her naked back. A name she whispered: Drest. Then a spark of sunlight reflecting off a large blade.

When Betty returned to reality, she was out of the cellar, on a couch. Fingers on her wrist searched her pulse, a cool flannel dripped on her forehead. Donald and two members of staff stared at her.

“What happened?” Betty asked.

“You fainted.”

“No! To Augusta and Drest?”

The two employees exchanged a quizzical look.

“Augusta? That would be Geoffrey Grenville’s daughter, maybe.”

“She married Lord Fitzclarence. Died in childbirth, I think.”

A lump rose in her throat, and tears spilled from her eyes. The sadness and grief she felt were as strong as when her father died. Donald tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away, curling on herself and pulling the sweater up over her nose.

They said there might have been hallucinogenic fungus in the cellar.

The next month, Betty broke up with Donald.

She’d never been special, never had a greater purpose in life. But this experience, it might be nothing, but she was a hopeless romantic and believed it could be meaningful.

She read everything she could find on Augusta and Drest, which was little, and certainly nothing as personal as she’d witnessed. She bought dubious books on reincarnation and even consulted a psychic. She spent hours at the library perusing the history section.

She didn’t have a method to speak of, instead trusted her intuition to guide her. It’s how she ended up in France, a year later, in the town of Montpellier.

“This house here,” said the local historian in mispronounced English, “was a safe house for the Résistance. The woman who lived here, Sara Bergier, it is said she received warning of the Germans coming, but she stayed. She was waiting for someone. She did not want to leave. And she was killed.”

“D’you know who she was waiting for?”

“We are not sure. One historian believes she was waiting for a double agent called Antoine Cadieu.”

Betty felt a faint pull towards the house, but she couldn’t tell whether it was real or wishful thinking. Unfortunately, it was a private residence so she couldn’t go inside.

Betty followed the tour guide back to the city museum. She perused the exhibition absentmindedly. As she neared the back of the room, she felt an attraction towards a door: the archives room, for staff only. She glanced left and right, and when the path cleared, she dashed for the door. It was locked.

In uncertain French, she asked an employee if she could see the archives, but he refused.

“I only want to know more about Sara Bergier,” Betty said, her cheeks heated up; it wasn’t in her nature to insist.

“I can give you a copy of the article that the historian published on Antoine and Sara.”

Despite the autumn chill, Betty sat outside the café, facing Place de la Comédie and its neoclassical theater. Cozy in her old jumper, sipping a bitter hot chocolate, she read the article. Antoine and Sara had never met prior to the war, she only knew his codename and it’s unclear how she knew he was coming. But, according to the author, J-F Mercier, sources remember Sara shouting his name when the Nazis took her. He also argued that her getting caught saved his lives, otherwise these German soldiers would have been patrolling the area where Antoine was hiding.

“Antoine Cadieu,” she whispered to herself, and then, “Mercier.”

Under the author’s name was his professional email address, he worked at Les Invalides, the army museum, in Paris.

It took three days for Betty to work up the nerves to write to him.

It took five drafts before she was satisfied with her email.

And it took one second of fear to change her mind completely.

“I’ll do it in Leeds,” she told herself.

“It’s funny, a year ago, we’d never heard of anyone named Drest in our family’s history, and now you’re asking about him,” Mrs. Grenville said.

“I’m not certain he did live here,” Mercier said, “but there is a five-year gap in his memoirs.”

“Oh, he was here, he was. It’s the strangest thing, this young woman was visiting, and she found letters written by this Drest to Lady Augusta, my ancestor.”

“She found them?”

“In the cellar. I don’t know what she was doing there, it’s closed to the public.”

“Could I see those letters?” Mercier asked.

He’d found Drest’s handwritten memoir in Dublin, he wondered if touching those letters would make him experience something different from his life.

“Sure, you said you’re an historian, right?” Mrs. Grenville verified.

“Yes.” He showed her his professional card. “And could I trouble you for that woman’s name? If you have it.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it somewhere. It’s the most curious thing, she fainted when she found the letters, poor thing. I kept her contact info for our insurances, you know how these things are.”

Mercier swallowed thickly. Fainted? Like he had his first time. Could it be her? Lottá, Augusta, Sara.

His blood pulsed against his temples, his fingers became cold. His knees wobbled, and he had to sit down.

Mrs. Grenville returned and handed him a folded piece of paper. He opened it with shaking hands: “Mrs Salinger 0113 496 0350”.

He could call her today. Hear her voice, schedule a meeting.

He tried to keep his voice steady when he asked, “No first name?”

“Sorry, I’ve only got the name of the man who was with her, er, Donald. He handled the matter.”

Mercier exited the castle and followed a trail leading to the cliffs. Drest had first seen Augusta here, hair to the wind, too close to the edge. Tragically beautiful. They’d saved each other’s life, but the discovery of their affair also caused their ruin. Drest was exiled and Augusta’s father cut off her feet.

Mercier sat on the cracked-stone ground and pulled out his phone. 0113 496 0350, he already knew the number by heart.

Was contacting her a good idea? Mores had changed, these were not disease-ridden, barbaric times anymore. Why shouldn’t they get a happy ending?

Hoping for an answer, he stared out at the grey, stormy ocean. A salty mist whipped his cheeks. The violent waves did nothing to appease his dread.

He needed to know more about Mrs. Salinger first.

The train entered St. Pancras station, and Betty made sure her wool jumper was over her shoulder bag. She double-checked before walking off the train, and kept a hand on it as she navigated the crowd. Back from France, she had to catch a train to Leeds leaving from King’s Cross station, just a street away, in twenty minutes.

Mercier glanced at his watch and muttered curses at the British railway system. He cursed the Irish port authorities too while he was at it, they’d chosen this day, out of 365, to begin their strike. He couldn’t take the Dublin-Cherbourg ferry to go back to France and had to come all the way to London instead. They’d just pulled into King’s Cross station, and he had a ticket for the Paris train leaving in fifteen minutes from St. Pancras. He grabbed his luggage and rushed out as soon as the doors opened.

Betty ran up the stairs to exit the station. She slipped between people on the sidewalk to reach Pancras Road. She stopped abruptly on the edge and lost balance as a car zoomed past her. She grabbed a parking meter and steadied herself. That was a close one.

Mercier found an underground tunnel linking both train stations. He ran, even in the escalator. At the top, he stepped on something and lost his footing. Landed on his arse.

“Oh, putain.”

He’d stepped on a sweater. His sweater.

Forgetting his train, he stared, flabbergasted, at the familiar green knit. He turned it inside-out and found the “fait à la main avec amour” tag.

“C’est impossible.”

He’d bought the sweater years ago, when he was a penniless student shopping in thrift stores. Despite a bigger salary, he’d inexplicably never parted from it until he lost it. And now it was here. On the floor of a London train station.

A woman’s distressed voice pulled him back to reality.

“I-I can’t find it. I had it with me, I swear, right here. I don’t know-- I’m sorry. God, I’m so embarrassed.” she wiped her tears on her sleeve.

“Sorry, love, haven’t found any jumper,” the railway company clerk replied.

She turned around, and their eyes met across the crowd. Molecules shifted, tunnel vision, focused on her like looking through a telescope. Everyone else faded to grey. Deep into the marrow of his bones, Mercier felt the pull towards her. It was all his brain could process.

In a daze, they walked to each other.

“It’s me jumper,” she said

“Mine too.”

They both held it between them, laughing incredulously. Her big brown eyes shone with tears, Augusta’s eyes, he thought, and Lottá’s smile.

“Do you know me?” he asked.

She squinted at him, searching his face. “I… I feel like I do. As if we’ve met before.”

“Yes. My name is Jean-François Mercier.”

“I read your article! I’m Betty Salinger.”

“Betty. That’s lovely.” His cheeks hurt from smiling. “I have so many questions.”

“How is it possible?”

Their hands touched, still holding the sweater. His fingers tingled, the same way they did when he rubbed them by the fire after spending time out in the cold. Circulation revived, cells mending. He rubbed a thumb over her knuckles, and she giggled as if tickled. His heart grew ten folds.

“Can’t be that easy, can it?” she said.

“Who says it will be easy?”

For the first time, they stopped looking at each other to watch the hustle and bustle around them. Everyone going about their lives, unaware of the shadows leaking into this world. When their gaze met again, they were sober, serious.

“We will find answers,” he said, taking her hands fully, under the knit.

“We’ll get it right this time.”

Betty stepped closer to him, and he rested his forehead on hers. Unlike touching a journal, it didn’t trigger a dizzying wave of memories, but a gentle, suffusing flow. Each incarnation’s love slipped into his bloodstream like a drug. She sighed blissfully, feeling it too. High. Happy.

For all his rebellion against his destiny, he accepted it now. He understood.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“I’ve been waiting three centuries.”

He brushed his nose down hers. Her breath teased his lips. His heart raced faster than for his first kiss.

Betty closed the gap between their mouths before he did. Soft lips parting and moving slowly. She clutched his hand harder and brought it to her chest. He wound his arm around her waist, holding her as close as possible as he deepened the kiss.

They might have embraced for a thousand years. Time was meaningless when the threads of their lives were weaved together.

The End

#starlightkissedsmiles #timepetalsprompts #tpp bingo #Mercier x Betty #teninch fic #soulmates AU #angst #lostinfic writes stuff #autumn prompts #In which I make unnecessarily elaborate banners for a one shot #I never thought I would write this trope #woven souls fic

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 4 years

Text

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 18 – Chat and “Chat”

“Here we are.”

Lunark gave a gentle flex to her shoulders, as if cooing a baby hanging about her backside.

“O-oh, right! Uh, sorry for all the inconvenience.”

Yuhyung’s legs zigzagged upon its descent into an eventual flop on his knees, which was luckily thwarted by Lunark’s hand.

“What a shame. You could have earned yourself a title of the very first human being to land upon our territory with nose instead of feet.”

“S-sorry for my poor body coordination! I’m so sorry!”

Please. Don’t be.

That was meant to be a joke; Lunark has not forgotten Rael’s request to keep the man on the safe side concerning his emotional and mental well-being.

Alas, he just had to translate her jest as a jeer, hence rendering her speechless.

“Uh... So this is the werewolf domain...?”

Yuhyung stuttered upon realizing that they were paused in the middle of trees so thick, tall, and bushy that it was practically impossible to surmise the correct time of the day.

“Yep. And just so you’d know, we’re not going to our lab right now.”

“Uh... Why is that?”

“First you gotta see our lord. He was so very looking forward to meet the KSA personnel for this project. But don’t worry. All you have to do is to say hi to him.”

Lunark tried to keep her face as positive as possible, whereas that of her human companion had already turned green.

Apparently it did not soothe him at all that he only has to do as he is told.

Lunark was therefore worriedly puzzled as to how to rid the doctor of his anxiety attack, when she was joined by someone.

“Lunark. Looks like you just made it back.”

Yuhyung nearly skyrocketed out of his bag and outfit, upon a soundless appearance of a woman with striking red ponytail.

“Lady Garda.”

Lunark courteously bowed her head in order to show respect to her senior warrior, now undeniably classified as a top tier among fellow warriors in terms of experience, competence, and influence.

“Oh, dear me. I’m terribly sorry for the alarm.”

Garda apologetically let the soft curves sink into the corners of her eyes, and Yuhyung semi-unintentionally swooped his shoulders forward.

“I-It’s alright! It’s not your fault at all.”

“We highly appreciate your effort and time coming all this way. Now this way. Our lord is expecting you.”

Lunark and Garda relocated themselves to either side of the human, as if standing guard over him, and the three figures waded through the atmosphere moist with perfume of earth.

Which was why Yuhyung could merely keep his mouth shut, with two werewolves more powerful than any human weapon by his side.

He soon got to thank Lady Luck for not completely forsaking him, however, for neither Garda nor Lunark paid too much attention to him.

“So, how did you like this outing?”

“It was not an outing, Lady Garda. It was a mission.”

“Yes, yes. I know that. But I suspected this would be more than a mission for you.”

Only a deaf would have failed to comprehend that Garda was making fun of Lunark. Which was why the latter and Yuhyung momentarily peaked at the speaker.

“I bet you couldn’t even sleep, waiting to hear about your special someone from the nobles’ ambassador.”

Lunark’s shoulders shuddered upon her remark.

Of course, Garda is not aware of the fact that she has been meeting Frankenstein on regular occasions, as Muzaka’s secret agent.

What Lunark was caught off guard with was the fact that someone actually teased her about her feelings right in her face, which has never happened before.

It was a different kind of fluster from the time when the 3rd Elder asked her if Frankenstein knows she is in love with him.

“I... I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? That’s weird. As far as I know, there is this man who has captured your heart for quite a long time now.”

At instant, Lunark’s face was sparked by a flurry of spring blush reminiscent of azaleas in full bloom.

“But gracious me, I can’t recall his name. I’ve lived for too long, and sometimes my memories would betray me. Let’s see... At least I can swear that he’s blonde. Blue-eyed. Tall. And gorgeous enough to make most if not all women drop and crush their knees in a stunned daze. Ooh, wait. Maybe I can recall his name. Did it start with ‘f’ by any chance...?”

“L-lady Garda!”

Lunark was enveloped from head to toe in the air of a woman indisputably captivated by love, and Garda was enjoying herself like an old sister toying around with her younger sibling.

As they shared friendly banters of chat, Yuhyung found himself shadowing them from several steps behind.

‘I would’ve mistaken them for humans if I hadn’t known that they are not. I didn’t think werewolves could have a crush on someone – given that my speculation is correct.’

At least for the moment, these two were so much alike schoolgirls he would often see on his way to work, picking on each other for their crushes or love interests.

His lips were sealed tight as he continued to watch them, before he shook his head a bit severely, as if he could not believe what he just supposed.

And that moment, Garda’s reinforcement of the term “lord” and the keyword “crush” not perfectly wiped off from his brain emerged in a violent concoction, recalibrating his memories to the past.

Yuhyung remembered what the lord of the nobles was like, just before he left her by herself at the communication chamber.

Back then she was busy fidgeting and thumbing with her phone, wearing a face like a girl who just got a message from the man she would die to have a date with.

‘Love here, and love there. Is it just me, or is love everywhere? Besides, the lord of the nobles wasn’t the only noble in love.’

As soon as he was reminded of the noble male whose skin was so pale it was beyond that of any creature in this world, he shivered in genuine apprehension.

‘No. The feelings that noble harbored for this noble named Seira wasn’t love. They couldn’t possibly be love. Such murky desire was not something that could coexist with true feelings of love.’

Feeling his entire body going rigid as he pictured how desire was about to explode from Deneb’s eyes at the time, Yuhyung had to push his legs harder in order to catch up with the two werewolf ladies.

*****

Meanwhile, in Lukedonia

‘What should I do?’

It has been more than half an hour since Rael was stuck alone in his bedroom, glaring at his knees – or rather, at a piece of paper that fluttered down upon his knees.

It was a letter that the patriarchs of Kertia clan virtually shoved into his nose upon the second he returned to his mansion.

To his sheer surprise, it was a letter of invitation, which was very uncommon. Usually nobles would send a messenger to verbally deliver words of invitation.

What further perplexed him was the contents of the invitation. Simply put, it was an invitation sent from the Illiness clan for none other than “a chat.”

‘A chat? Seriously?’

And Rael was demanded by his patriarchs to take part in this “chat.”

This invitation mainly targeted the non-octaclans.

Which means Deneb Illiness invited clans not yet sturdy or influential upon their grounds.

Which is probably why Loyard was the only one among the octaclans that was invited.

He invited only Seira.

The very first reaction Rael dispensed was displeasure. After all, he even officiated his vicious rivalry against anyone approaching Seira by pulling out his soul weapon.

Now he has grown a bit more mature and controlled with his temper, but his temper has aged more than five centuries. And five centuries were more than enough to steel his habit hard to kill.

Next came his suspicion. It did not count as a norm for nobles to gather in a group to spend time in each other’s company. Things could be said otherwise for heads of clans, as they get inevitable chances to socialize as frequent business visitors of Lord’s Hall. The same rule does not apply, however, to lesser nobles.

What stressed the oddity of the incident is the fact that only less than a select few occasions had happened during which a noble invited other nobles in a mass. That is, at least during Rael’s generation. And the said select few occasions rose only when the hosts felt the need to honor a deceased or sought a purpose just as important.

Nobody would send an official, legitimate invitation just to share cups of tea and chit-chats. It would be more likely that Deneb Illiness composed his invitation incorrectly when he was inviting nobles for an elegiac ceremony.

Which is why Rael presumed briefly that someone must have entered eternal sleep at the Illiness clan. He would have stuck to such belief if only the letter had not been too fancy to be an invitation for a funeral rite.

I believe you already know, Sir Rael, that it is extremely occasional for nobles to invite a large number of nobles like this.

However, it seems he invited not only heads of clans but also their families.

Not to mention how Seira is the only member of the octaclans to be invited.

Doesn’t this bring suspicion to you?

Obviously something is stirring inside Deneb Illiness’s head regarding Seira.

Which is why Sir Rael... I mean, sir, you must look into this.

Which is why we acquired a letter of invitation after much trouble.

So we hope you would not let our labor made to waste.

The date was set in two days. If Rael were to prepare, he could furnish himself well-enough. But his heart will not be ready whatsoever.

‘This is basically a friendly catch-up.’

During the time when he stayed under Frankenstein’s roof in Korea, he never lingered around for the friendly gathering Raizel would have with his friends. He would always stand afar to watch or leave the scene, though the latter sometimes happened because he was assigned with duties that inevitably required his absence.

Considering his personality, he knew he can never cope or deal with such occasion. To top it off, this time the patriarchs are forcing him to take part in this.

Nonetheless, Rael was armoring his heart for the upcoming event.

‘I must do everything in my power to strengthen my influence as a head of a clan.’

He did not need to know any further that the patriarchs are not happy with him. Now he could feel how his dominance over the patriarchs is ebbing away. It was proven by the fact that some of them called him “Sir Rael,” as they used to before he was made the head of the Kertias.

‘But if I use this opportunity to leave good impression on heads of clans and their families, albeit from less authoritative clans, it might help me even little to bolster myself as a head of my clan.’

Rising with a sigh, Rael calmed the storm within, instead shifting his attention to what he should wear for the day.

*****

Meanwhile, at the Loyard mansion

“Umm... Lady Seira?”

A man with a face teeming with uneasiness, standing outside the gate of the mansion, called upon Seira, her countenance still as emotionless as it could be.

“Sir Deneb wanted me to return with your reply no matter what.”

Seira, too, received a letter of invitation few days ago. Unbeknownst to her, she was the very first to receive the letter. However, by now she was the only one who has not answered Deneb’s invitation, and here the messenger was, sent by his master to be assured that she will be there.

Deneb Illiness.

The name itself should have been sufficient for her to turn down the invitation straight away, especially since she was determined to do everything on her own.

Nevertheless, Seira found herself looking at the scene behind her. The candles were lit, and the curtains were open. But there was not a single aspect from which she could feel the warmth.

If she were to step outside this moment, she would immediately change her own mansion into a deserted house with no life to be found.

With such density have the wings of loneliness nested upon her mansion, and she could feel them beckoning her.

And bigger was the desire to escape from those wings than to stay wary of Deneb and reject him.

So she ended up turning her face towards the messenger to give him the answer Deneb was craving.

“...Tell him that he can expect me for the day.”

(next chapter)

First of all, I’m terribly sorry that I didn’t upload last week - for some strange, stupid reason, I’d thought I made my regular upload last week, which in reality I didn’t (I freaked out when I realized what had happened). My deepest apologies on this matter; I’ll make sure this never happens again! Anyways, this is one of those chapters I really liked composing; for this chapter, I got to write about Garda teasing Lunark lol. As for how Garda realizing Lunark has feelings for Frankie, I decided she must have seen something between the human and the werewolf, when Frankie came over to werewolf domain upon Lunark’s request to look after Muzaka himself. And Seira, Rael, stay strong! :(

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #wolfsbane

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drkn3 · 7 years

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ok heres a lot of info about a visual novel concept i have. its just the story and characters. please read and leave/send a comment! ♥

@lirium @spin

in a world where heaven and hell exist, the angels and demons roles are to secure them and do whatever god orders them. if they brake the rules or don’t do his orders, they fall down to earth and lose their power and position. every angel has a pair of wings and a halo, and every demon has a pair of wings and demon horns. when they fall down to earth angels lose their halo (left only with the wings) and demons lose their wings (left only with their horns). when on earth, they cannot die from aging, only from battle damage (cannot heal themselves on earth), and they have no need to eat. their body knows to take care of itself without food. humans cannot see their wings/horns while they are on earth.

my story starts with piper, who fell down to earth 250 years ago, and for some reason lost both her halo and wings. she lives in a rented apartment in new york city with her demon partner (qpps), eli. the fact she lives without her wings weakens her drastically and does give her a small chance to die from aging. her story became famous in heaven and even in hell without her even knowing about it, the story of the “sacred angel who aged”, and some people even thought she was dead. one day, she gets sent a puzzle, from god himself, giving her a clue about her lost wings. she decides to go on the search, taking eli with her to the nearest airport to where the hint directed them. there, they meet an angel and a demon who introduce themselves as rosa and max, god’s messengers. max hands piper another hint, which leads all the four of them to a mission all around the world after piper’s wings. every character get his own bad ending according to the player’s choices, and there is one good true ending. spoiler!!!! don't read the following few lines if you don't want to know: max and rosa aren't really there to assist them, rosa desires owning piper’s wings because she’s certain he heard a rumor saying that owning them will give her power and will make her unstoppable, even wanting to challenge god himself. she persuades max to come with her, after she heard about eli’s and max’s connection.

a little bit about every main character: eli- acts really childish sometimes, but he can be very protective and he is a very good melee fighter. he owns a hayfork-shaped weapon that he carries everywhere. he often gets into brawls and fights in the alleys of new york, with gangsters who make him mad (he gets angry easily and super impulsive). he enjoys eating although he doesn’t need it, and binge-eats a lot. piper- she’s the mom friend. since she got to earth a long time ago, she taught herself human medical studies and science, philosophy and different arts, and now she takes care of eli every time he’s injured. she is super smart, and she gets anxious when she is not first in anything. she’s soft and tries to be kind to everyone, but sometimes she gets very stressed about how people view her as a person. she like to collect toys and fuzzy items, saying that humans are using them to comfort themselves so does she. max- A GAY ICON. truly a gay icon. he is really tall and such a snob, enjoys seeing people he doesn’t like in pain or annoyed, but will protect someone he loves very very carefully. he’s pretty bossy but only joined rosa on this quest to reunite with eli. he’s secretly a hopeless romantic. rosa- literally queen of fashion, makeup and aesthetics. she’s super talkative, especially about herself, and she often sees herself above others. she used to be a loner, but once she knew her place she changed herself a lot. she’s a good debater. she suffers from several ocd symptoms, especially an uncontrollable obsession for perfection and cleanness. she wishes for unlimited power, yet limits herself a lot with compulsions. she can be pretty bitchy sometimes. a lot of the times.

something abt character relationships: - piper and eli have been living together for a couple of years, slowly developing a queerplatonic relationship. they are pretty dependent on each other, piper with eli stabling her mentally and validating her, and eli with piper treating him medically and teaching him new things about humans and themselves. they met when piper was on a trip all across america, and she met eli after a tough fight in mexico’s area, and of course she had to assist him. she tries to teach him cooking because he can never cook for himself, but he has some serious issues with concentrating so he always end up burning or just not succeeding with cooking. - max and eli basically… had a love affair. in hell. max was kicked out of hell because of it only after a few years after eli was kicked out for abandoning his guard on some serious sinners. max remember his love to eli very clearly, but eli, probably because of battle damage, forgot a lot of his past life as a demon. when they meet, max slowly tries to approach him again, but eli is completely trustless in both max and rosa. - rosa thinks she only wants piper’s wing, for the power and glory she thinks she deserves, and she thought piper is small and weak now, but she is slowly more and more interested in her both about her past and romantically. basically she develops a BIG GAY CRUSH. - max and piper… don’t really get along. they both compete for eli’s attention and love, though eli has a problem seeing it. some other details: they have no assigned gender, when they came to earth after given an unique body (in heaven/hell they all looked pretty much the same), they chose the gender they feel comfortable with. they each represent a different season! eli is summer, piper as spring, rosa as winter and max as autumn. preferred clothes but each one of them: eli likes shorts and printed tees and tank tops with his black, worn combat boots. piper loves skirts and dresses in soft, comforting colors with different textures. max likes buttoned-up shirts with hoodies/sweaters in neutral colors paired with different types of denim pants. rosa wears anything she likes, from street fashion to high fashion (btw, her eyeliner and highlighter are always on point). the drawings are pretty old, so they doesn’t show well that rosa is quite small and chubby, with asian face features.

#oc tag

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unwiltingblossom · 4 years

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Queen’s Favor (Mysme Jumin/MC AU 8/?)

Summary: Being a maid would be much easier if the cat would just let her do her job.

Honestly, she didn't even need to keep a watch on her, because Elizabeth seemed to have that timing down, and wouldn't brook any kind of deviation. She'd never had to interrupt any of her work just to go play with the cat, but she had no doubt that Elizabeth would put her paw down about it if she ever tried not to.

What this penthouse really needed was a sign she could check off days for how long it'd been without an accident or life threatening encounter.

She ought to have a prize, as this was the 30th day without incident.

Unsurprisingly, no such thing awaited her when she arrived at the penthouse. Aside from the one gift (which she kept at home most of the time, as it was much too valuable to wear at work), her enigmatic employer - contractor - left her nothing else but the odd bit of food and endless weird messes that made her wonder just what he got up to when she wasn't there. He did arrive from time to time when she worked, but as always he left her alone and merely gave her pleasant compliments or a stiff drink at the end of her shift.

The cat was troublesome as ever, but hadn't caused her any injury.

She leaned down to rub the cat under her chin, and then tossed some bell-toy further into the room. No longer nearly as starved for attention, the flowy white cat pranced off after the toy. After a bit of fussing, Elizabeth had gotten back into the habit of just expecting her in the mornings, not all day, and so the cat mostly only smothered her when she first arrived and whenever it was her break time.

The phone rang.

That in of itself wasn't particularly unusual. Although it seemed most of his contacts either knew his working hours or used whatever gold-encrusted cellphone he owned, there was always the odd whoever that called anyway. The strange thing about it was that after the first call went to whatever voicemail was attached to the phone, it started ringing again. Immediately. At first, she was a bit worried there was some urgent matter actually meant for her on the phone. But that was absurd, as she had her own phone on her - and she double-checked, it was fully powered and getting signal - and anyone that desperate to speak to her would get through to her phone somehow.

Ten minutes passed with it ringing, and it was getting on her last nerve. Only her immense sense of self control - and need for the sweet, sweet pay the job provided - kept her from ripping the phone right out of the wall and then possibly throwing it out of the window.

"He's not here, you needy stalker!"

She didn't pick up the phone and say that, obviously. But it did make her feel a little better saying it out loud.

Almost eerily, the phone stopped ringing.

Maybe it just took that long for whatever desperate caller that was to figure that out. Maybe she should let the penthouse owner know he had this obsessed caller? Just in case? Not that his security didn't seem tip-top as it was. Aside from the cat-napper, anyway. But apparently they were friends somehow.

She jumped and gave a short shriek when her phone rang in her pocket.

The number on the phone was unknown. Probably, it was just spam or something unrelated.

If nothing else, at least she had an excuse to chew out the caller without getting fired, if indeed it was related at all.

She frowned at the phone a moment, before finally accepting the call with a huff.

"Man, you are way too good at resisting the urge to answer the phone call of destiny!" She couldn't immediately place the voice, but it...sounded way less creepy than she'd expect for a phone stalker.

"...Huh?"

"Ninja maid! Your dulcet tones are always such a gift!" Oh, it was him. Wait. How was it him?! "I heard you were gravely injured as punishment for allowing my escape from yon castle, so I had to call you to show my appreciation, but then you just ignored all my calls! For so long! Are you just afraid of phones, is that why you ignored the phone call of destiny?"

Wait.

Wait. Many questions all jumbled together at once.

"That's not what I-that's..how-how do you even know about that? How do you have my number?! Who are you?"

"Oh, wow! My first interview~. I didn't come prepared." Although his voice sounded as if his phone were on speaker on some desk or something, she didn't miss the teasing tone in it. "Fortunately, I can answer all the questions at once! FOR YOU SEE! I am none other than the diabolical genius, world famous hacker 707! ...If you think about it, you'll see that answers all three questions."

Yes, she understood how it applied to all the questions.

No, she didn't believe it at all. The scrawny little screaming nerd she'd twice tackled didn't have the right look to be a hacker, firstly, and secondly she couldn't imagine why a high profile heir to a giant corporation would associate with someone criminal. And another thing: even if he were a hacker, why would he fixate on harassing the maid?

He was definitely some kind of a stalker.

"I'm going to call the police and have them trace this call."

"That's...sort of the spirit!" He laughed on the other end of the line. "Anyway. It's tragic, but...I've been trapped inside my house for a month, unable to go out and see Princess Elly! About now is when I'd normally go out to get a recharge by visiting her, but...alas! I'm going to be trapped even longer in here. That's why I need you-"

"No."

"-to be my hands!" He didn't even miss a beat. "You must send my affection to Elly through the phone!"

"Absolutely not. I know the kind of things you do to her."

"Don't put it like that, Ninja Maid! Our love is purer than that. If you could just snap a picture-"

"I'm going to hang up now. If you call back, I'm turning it off this time."

"NO WAIT-"

Seriously, though? How in the world did he get her number? Had he stolen it somehow during one of their scuffles? Or did he trick the company into sharing it with him? He didn't seem all that wily or convincing to her, but then...maybe he could be a bit more charismatic to someone whose first interactions didn't involve him screaming bloody murder in their ears or sitting on their boss' bed in a cheap maid outfit.

She rubbed her forehead and flopped down on the couch. Her head still hurt from the crank calling, and that voice shouting in her ear didn't help the situation at all, either.

Elizabeth wandered into the room, tail flicking as if she, too, still had ringing in her ears. The little furball looked up at her for a moment, as if silently scolding her for daring to take her break early, before prancing over and hopping up onto her lap.

"Yeah. Didn't think you'd have a problem with it." She reached down to run her fingers along the cat's soft white fur, and the little monster bumped its head up against her hand, as if demanding more petting.

Honestly. It'd be kind of a bummer when she had to move on to another place to clean some day. The odd life-threatening situation and conniving cat wasn't actually all that bad of a compromise for having such luxurious breaks and so few really alarming messes. The owner wasn't home all that often even when he wasn't out of the country, and it showed. Both in the demanding cat, and in the lack of lived-in messes she encountered.

She scoffed to herself as the cat grabbed her hand in its paws and gnawed lightly at her fingertips. Easy to say it's not that bad a compromise when it's been a month since any peril though, huh?

"Alright, geez. If you're going to keep biting like that, I'll get you something to eat that isn't human."

She stretched, listening to the alarming musical starring her back and spine. She liked to think that all came from the hard work she put into the day, and not the torture rack that her bed had slowly been devolving into since it started running low on fluff and springs.

Well, it was fine. With what she made, she could really start saving for medical exams, a better bed, or even moving somewhere that looked less like an 'Escape from New York' movie. The evening air was cool on her skin as she walked, and she wondered idly if it might even be worth it to just go ahead and start using a car. The walk did take a while, and it meant getting up extra early in the mornings.

The streetlights flickered on above her, as the sun finally got low enough in the sky to upset them.

Actually, tomorrow was payday. She glanced down and grabbed frayed blonde locks in two fingers. Her hair could probably do with a good trim. She could look even more killer in her uniform with a good cut and style.

Someone shoved into her, nearly knocking her face-first into the pavement. She manged not to collide with the ground, but only by engaging in a rousing round of pinwheel hopscotch.

It's not like I was just taking up all the space in the sidewalk!

She rounded on her assailant, but the figure already moved away from her at a quick pace, hood up, obscuring their face in the evening shadows.

"Hey-!"

They - probably a he, given their relative height - didn't even hesitate or react to her calling out to them. Despite the two of them being the only ones in the street. Which was almost as rude as nearly knocking her over in the first place.

Naturally, she chased after him. Just to make sure he could get the earful he deserved.

He was surprisingly agile, as he took quick turns through multiple alleyways without any warning. Frankly, she was starting to worry that she might inadvertently be tailing someone to a drug deal. If I see anyone shady popping up, I'll just...

...Okay. So maybe she'd gotten a little too into giving some random jerk on the street an earful just for bumping into her. Now that she thought about it.

She blinked, looking back and forth on the street.

Wait. Where did he go?

She'd barely even gotten distracted at all, and yet the figure she'd put so much effort into following was just...gone. A few businesses stood nearby, metal gates locked down tight, and one or two houses that looked burned out and boarded up. There were no obvious entrances to any of them.

A short distance down the road stood a building she'd have considered tall before that penthouse spoiled her. Distant city lights reflected on the windows of hundreds of rooms, but not one of them were lit up, even in the increasing darkness of the evening.

"Weird." Businesses usually kept their lights on for security purposes, right? At least dim ones. She frowned and made her way closer to the building. A modest parking lot with various marked carports sat in front of it. Completely empty.

There weren't any obvious signs on the building indicating whether it was one big business, or if it was a mini mall of some sort that just hadn't successfully rented itself out to any local businesses. Well. All the same, the man likely disappeared in there. Somewhere.

She wasn't crazy enough to go investigating it, though.

...Instead, she just...needed to figure out how to find her way back home. And not chase after random people who made her angry on the street.

"...Ah."

Well. Crap. She had a pretty decent idea of what direction she came from, and she could probably make her way back to the main road. But it was also late, and a pretty shady part of town.

She frowned, and dug out her phone. Light flooded her vision as she turned it back on. "GPS...please work."

#mysme #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fic #mysme fic #707 #jumin x mc #fic #ooc

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thisdaynews · 5 years

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Trudeau victory prompts ‘Wexit’ talk in Canada’s West

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/trudeau-victory-prompts-wexit-talk-in-canadas-west/

Trudeau victory prompts ‘Wexit’ talk in Canada’s West

“Is it real? Yeah. People are mad,” Randy Hoback, a Conservative Party member of Parliament in central Saskatchewan told POLITICO. “I’ve never seen it like this.”

Citizens in the Western provinces of Alberta and Saskatchewan agitated for political change in Ottawa over the last year as attempts to build a coastal pipeline expansion continued to falter and as farmers got trounced by trade tiffs with China.

They got what they wanted in their region — Conservatives swept all but one parliamentary seat in the elections, leaving Trudeau’s Liberals with virtually no presence in Canada’s oil country. But it didn’t translate to new federal leadership, as Trudeau’s party dominated in Eastern Canadian cities, including Toronto and Montreal, and still commands a strong plurality of seats in Parliament.

The result: talk of a break with the rest of Canada — dubbed “ Wexit” on social media — is accelerating as some in the western part of the country say enough is enough.

A Trudeau spokesperson said the government is considering ways to incorporate western perspectives into the incoming government. Some pundits are suggesting he should take the rare step — for Canada — of appointing an unelected person to the Cabinet he’ll swear in on Nov. 20 to ensure that oil country’s views are heard.

The elections also breathed new life into a Québécois separatist party previously believed to have been extinguished in the East. The Bloc Québécois reinvented itself — by downplaying talk of independence, ironically — and more than tripled its seat-count from 10 to 32.

Long the two most restive regions of Canada’s federations, Alberta and Quebec have often shared similar complaints about an intrusive federal government; Quebec’s concerns, in particular, occasionally dominated the national agenda as the province nearly left Canada.

But the political dynamics in western Canada are driving the conversation in Ottawa this week. And at the heart of the West’s disillusionment is the oil industry, which is a major driver of the nation’s economy.

Politicians in Alberta and Saskatchewan say the livelihoods of many of their residents are under attack from Ottawa, given the Trudeau government’s focus on shrinking Canada’s carbon footprint to combat climate change.

“I think this is maybe a little bit more serious,” said University of Calgary political scientist Barry Cooper. “And because so much of it is symbolized in this kind of concatenation of environmentalism and basic anti-Alberta sentiments, it might actually lead to something.”

The head of the province, Alberta Premier Jason Kenney, regularly joins in the Ottawa-bashing, including last week when he blamed the Trudeau-led economy for his own budget cuts.

Kenney has obliquely nodded at separatist sentiments since coming into power last spring, though he used the months before the federal election to call on Canadians to vote Trudeau’s party out of power, rather than pushing for his province to go it alone.

With the results in, Kenney is calling out Ottawa as unsupportive during the province’s economic downturn and imploring Albertans to “be self-reliant.”

Kenney faces a complex dual challenge: Being seen as fighting for Alberta without letting nationalist passions rage out of control. David Cameron famously got burned trying to simultaneously fan, and contain, those nationalist flames, with the result being Brexit.”

Trudeau will need to overcome the perception in Western Canada that he campaigned against Alberta and Saskatchewan in the final days before the election if he wants to prevent alienation from growing, Hoback said.

Westerners will be watching to see whether he appoints anyone from those provinces to Cabinet, and, if so, whether he opts for a mayor who represents one of the few urban centers of the prairies or for someone hailing from a rural area.

“This government has to now really take Western Canada seriously, or it’s going to lose it,” Hoback said.

The day after the election, Kenney promised to appoint a panel of “eminent Albertans” to conduct a deep-dive into the province’s position within Canada and to come up with ideas on how to “fight for fairness in the confederation.”

Duane Bratt, a political science professor at Mount Royal University in Calgary, said the panel is a smart move for Kenney because it provides an outlet to Albertans venting about separatism.

“He can focus then on governing … and he will assign this panel to deal with all the anger,” Bratt said.

To the east, these are actually lean times for Quebec’s once-mighty independence movement.

That French-speaking nationalist cause once brought huge crowds into the streets and also packed far more formidable political power than anything currently existing in Alberta.

Five times, the province elected a provincial party devoted to achieving independence from Canada. It’s held two referendums on the issue, and in the most recent, in 1995, Quebecers came within one percentage point of voting to leave Canada.

But the formerly powerful provincial party, the Parti Québécois, has sunk to fourth place in the provincial legislature.

Support for independence, which decades ago had soared into the high-50s, languished in the low-30s in surveys over the last few years.

One academic who studies opinion polling and has analyzed hundreds of surveys on Quebec independence since the 1970s says the movement is at its nadir.

“You know that sovereignty is low when pollsters don’t ask the question anymore,” said Claire Durand of the University of Montreal.

Some of the PQ’s senior members have quit to form other parties, including the current premier of Quebec, who runs a soft-right government that never talks about separation.

So how did a federal version of the separatist party triple its seat-count in Monday’s election and re-emerge as a political force that potentially cost Trudeau a parliamentary majority?

By not talking about separation at all.

The Bloc Québécois, historically seen as a minor-league adjunct to the PQ and a messenger for separatists’ complaints to the federal Parliament, was on the verge of extinction. But in this campaign, it managed to reinvent itself.

The new party leader, Yves-François Blanchet, took up every cause promoted by popular Quebec Premier François Legault.

But a telling moment occurred during Blanchet’s triumphant election-night speech: Supporters began chanting the old Quebec independence slogan, “On veut un pays! (We want a country!)” and Blanchet replied, “Me too,” before he smothered those embers with a wet blanket: “For this time, the achievement of [independence] is not our mandate.”

Quebec’s and Alberta’s independence movements differ fundamentally in that the francophone province’s issues have always revolved around identity and culture, whereas Alberta’s has always been political, Bratt said.

“But when people see Quebec opposed to pipelines and receiving equalization [payments], you can understand where that anger comes from,” he said. “It’s like, we’re paying you, and you’re running low-cost daycare and stopping Alberta’s resources from getting to market, but you’ll take our money. And that’s a big problem.”

The University of Calgary’s Cooper says Alberta has the economic ability to achieve independence, unlike Quebec. And being independent from Ottawa would give the region more latitude to insist on things like building pipelines to the British Columbia coast, he said — or else Vancouver doesn’t get gas deliveries, or every train traveling from east to west gets stopped for inspection in a newly independent Alberta.

Still, Alberta is landlocked and there would be huge costs in transitioning away from Canada, Bratt notes. And even though Alberta’s economy has been sluggish for the last five years, its economy still outperforms much of the rest of the country.

But there’s another factor at play in Alberta’s anger: The prime minister is a Trudeau.

Albertans still recoil at the memory of the National Energy Program, which was instituted by Justin Trudeau’s father, the late Pierre Elliott Trudeau. That policy was geared toward handing Ottawa more control over Canada’s oil industry.

What remains to be seen is the extent to which separatist passions die down as Canadians gets further away from Election Day or continue to simmer — and how the country’s politicians, both federal and provincial, respond to that.

“I love my country. I’m proud of what Canada has been and what it can be together. We are the strongest together, so I’m going to fight for a unified Canada,” said Hoback, the Conservative MP.

“Unfortunately, I don’t get to control the chess board. Justin Trudeau does,” he added. “We’ll see what he does. The ball’s in his court.”

#Canada #Foreign #Politics #Wexit

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