#i cried when i saw Jess Chambers

[jayzelnut]

I've been duped by cis men yet again

[horrorslashergirl]

Soft Yandere Chromeskull x reader whose self-conscious because she has scars down hald her face and body.

 Chromeskull x Reader- The scars that reunited

Authors Note: It was supposed to be soft, but it turned angsty. 

Warning: 18+ for Violence, Murder, Abuse

Words: 1.4k

It was moments like this that you cursed yourself for being the wrong person at the wrong place because when your eyes fluttered open, your gaze was met with a scene from a horror movie. From what you could conclude on your surroundings, you were in some kind of basement, your hands chained up and over your head, feeling like an animal in a butchering shop. You saw two other women in the same position, they were there at the masquerade party with you, clothes and masks still intact on you and them.

This is not how you expected tonight's event to go; after months of not getting out, you finally decided to listen to your friends and have some fun, get out, know people, and such. The only reason you agreed was that this party was a masquerade one and you could hide the things that destroyed your life and drowned your self-esteem.

Most would say it was an accident, but you would never agree that having someone slice half your face and leave scars all over your body was an accident. You had broken up with your boyfriend almost one year ago, because of his use of drugs. You tried to get him into rehab, put the pieces of his life together. Your nurturing side got you into him not wanting to leave you.

You remembered his words as he cut and burned places on your body.

'You think you're so pretty, huh? Too good to be with me? Let's so who will want you after I'm done with you.'

You didn't know acid could hurt so bad, that a blade could leave you like this. It was a good thing, the police got there before he could fully mutilate you. They charged him for a murder attempt and put him into prison for good and even you received the news that he killed himself, because of how the other prisoners beat him. You should be happy that he got what he deserved, but that didn't give you the former look.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard a door open and a set of footsteps march down the stairs until a pair of long black-clad legs stopped into the entry of the basement.

Both you and the girls were silent as you all looked at the person that entered this chamber. The person was male, tall and I mean very tall, over 6'5 for sure, dressed fully in black, bald and what really caught the attention was the silver shinning skull-mask that hid his face.

"Let me go, you bastard! I don't deserve to be here!" one of the girls screamed and in an instant the man, who you were sure was your kidnapper, marched to her, ripping her mask off to see her make-up streaked face, his gloved hand gripped her jaw so tightly you heard it snap and a piercing scream hit your ears.

He just broke her jaw, but she wasn't dead yet.

A shiny glimpse caught your eyes and your eyes widened more as you saw an intimidating knife in the man's hand, moving the sharp blade down the woman's chest oh so slowly, then stopping at her abdomen, only to push the blade to the hilt inside her, dragging the weapon horizontally and letting her insides slowly slip out, until her head hung low, signaling her death.

The other girl began to cry, shaking violently, but you had a different reaction, you were frozen, feeling like this was a total deja vu, memories of torture coming back to you like a train.

The masked man stepped towards the crying girl, who began to beg for her life, squirming like a scared animal, only to stop when the man stepped around her, getting behind her shivering body, only to scream when the man began to start slashing at her back, getting another knife like the previous one.

The girl's dress fell down from her body and blood began to pour at her feet, skin and muscles began thorn until her spine was visible. This had to be a nightmare because you never thought that you would meet another monster like your ex-boyfriend.

The girl was still alive, making you wonder how much pain she was in. The male stepped in front of her, knives ready and in a flash, both blades pierced her stomach, being dragged up until both her breasts were cut in half. You noticed just now a video camera mounted on his shoulder. What sick pleasure could this man have for wanting to film these things?

He turned his head towards you, eyes wide with fear behind your mask as he slowly stepped towards you, so you prepared for the worst, only to see him pull out a phone from the pockets of his slacks, typing on it.

'Last one piggy standing.'

You knew you were going to die slowly, you knew it, no wonder he left you the last. Now, he was just inches away from your hanging body, your wrists hurting so bad from the metal cuffs digging into your skin. The gloved hand moved towards your face, ripping the mask off and making you gasp.

He stopped, the mask falling at his feet as he took in your face, or what remained of it.

Jesse had seen all types of piggies and the moment he saw you at the party, not even an inch of skin showing, he knew you would make a great piggy, but he never expects what laid behind the mask you were wearing.

Small spots of being burnt were on your cheek and down your jawline, disappearing under the high black collar of your dress, but what pulled on his attention was the long scar going from your eyebrow down your eye and stopping at your jawline. The other half of your face was intact and he could guess you were a very gorgeous woman before.

"D-Don't look." your whisper pulled on his attention, seeing you close your eyes and lower your head, your hair coming over your face to hide your scars.

So you were more ashamed of your disfiguration that afraid that he might kill you or worse, torture you. That was his intention, but now? He was more curious about what else you were hiding under your clothes. He raised the knife and you prepared for the pain to come, only for the sound of material to meet your ears.

Wide eyes moved down to see your clothes being torn, exposing your skin. Jesse felt his breath hitch, the brown eye behind the mask wide open as he took in every little detail on your scarred skin. Scars from blades littering your skin along with chaotic placed burns randomly put from your chest to your abdomen, and the long blade scars running from the sides of your waist to your hip and down your leg.

Nitrile covered hands moved to rest on the scars of your hips, thumb stroking the rough skin there. You let out a series of whimpers, turning your head away. None has ever seen you like this and when you felt the cold mask moved beside your ear, nuzzling into your neck that had round scars from being burned with a car lighter.

"J-Just kill me...I-I don't wanna be seen like this." you cried silently.

Jesse smirked behind the mask. Kill you? That would be a shame; you weren't a piggy. Oh no. There was something deeper on you that he wanted to explore. This was an exquisite surprise for him.

He pulled his masked face away from you, only to pull the chromed skull away and the sight you saw made your breath hitch. He was deeply scarred, all his face, looking much worse than your own half of the face. You knew starring was bad, you hated the way people looked at you the next day you got out of the hospital.

The black-clad hand gripped your jaw to make you look at him, one brown eye looked up and down your face, taking his time to inspect you.

God, were you beautiful.

The next thing you felt rough lips press to yours, a gasp leaving you and he took advantage to thrust his tongue inside your mouth, pushing against yours in a show of dominance.

You didn't know what to do. It's been so long since someone touched you, let alone kiss you. The kiss was sloppy, full of tongue and teeth, biting on your tongue and sucking on it, making your legs shake and if chains weren't supporting your body up, you knew you would have fell down.

He slowly pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths, your wide eyes looking into his smug gaze.

His fingers typed on the phone.

'Not a piggy.'

[ineloqueent]

angel of lies | one

Brian x Fem!Reader / Roger x Fem!Reader

synopsis: welcome to the opera populaire. be careful what you wish for.

warnings: tw; mention of blood

word count: 5.3k

a/n: in honour of my birthday (i flatter myself), the much-procrastinated, long-awaited (?) saga begins! a massive thank you to jess ( @brianmays-hair​ ) and pearl ( @deacyblues​ ), the masterminds behind the premise of this fic. if you have not already guessed, this is most definitely a phantom of the opera au.

~⚘~

The stage was alive with sound.

With movement it crawled, such that from a distance it appeared to be shimmering, for the headdresses of the dancers sparkled like mirrorballs, casting flecks of light throughout the theatre like stars.

In the grand foyer, glittering crystals dripped from the ceiling, and shadows chased the balustrade statues that raised candelabras above their marble heads.

The place hummed with life, typical of the pre-show hustle and bustle, where every inch of floor was populated by activity, each person more frantic than the next, and the frenzy was only building by the minute.

The theatre became louder as the shouts grew more frequent, and the poor conductor was struggling to raise his voice over the clamour, the prima donna of the production now doing the most orchestration, in terms of chaos.

You sighed, and Meg rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long night.

Meg’s brother shot her a warning look.

We cannot afford to lose our leading lady, his look said.

“Yes, Monsieur Giry,” Meg mocked, but only when his back was turned.

“I heard that,” John hissed as he passed his sister.

But Meg only laughed.

You shook your head at her. “You really oughtn’t annoy your brother like that. He has the power to fire you from here, you know.”

“Oh, but it’s so funny when he gets like that,” Meg said. “His hair always bounces whenever he leaves in a huff.”

You stared after John, whose mound of hair really did bounce when he walked. You smiled.

Then, one of the owners of the opera, a man with dark hair and dark irises to match, made a grand gesture, and all eyes followed his hand. “Darlings, may I present the Vicomte de Chagny.”

Your heart caught in your throat, and you found that you couldn’t remember as to why Meg was giggling by your side.

It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t be him.

Could it?

In your disbelief, your mouth fell open, because there, at centre stage, being introduced as the new patron of the Opera Populaire, was Roger.

Golden-haired, blue-eyed Roger, sweet and silly, who, in your childhood, had been a companion closer to you than your own shadow. You had no fonder memories than those in which he made an appearance, laughing happily as the two of you traded stories of goblins and the rain lashed against the windows of the attic, as your father, long passed, played his violin by candlelight, as Roger shared with you the last of the chocolate.

There would never be a day when you did not think of him.

“Y/N?” Meg intoned.

“Roger,” you whispered, unable to do anything but watch him and his smiling eyes, as he shook hands with the opera personnel.

Meg frowned, standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to see above the gathering crowd, but she was unsuccessful. “The Vicomte? What of him?”

A smile flickered across your face as you murmured, “I guess we could say we were childhood sweethearts.”

Meg’s eyes widened in your peripheral vision. “Y/N, he’s so handsome,” she said.

“What,” you laughed, “do you think he’s too good for me?”

Meg pushed you lightly. “No, of course not. If anything, I’m just surprised that there are still attractive people left in the world. And god, you’re lucky to have had one of them.”

You flushed, “Meg! I have not had him, as you so indelicately put it. And he was never mine.”

“I believe I am keeping you for rehearsal, Signor,” Roger told the owner of the opera in his airy manner. He spoke rather like a prince, you thought, with his long vowels and sharp consonants, and the way his voice hummed with a cadence, as though his words were meant to be a song.

“Oh please, with the formalities,” the opera director waved a hand. “Freddie.”

“Freddie,” Roger nodded. “Well, I’ll be here this evening, to share in your great triumph!”

He shook hands with the company once more, and then departed through the wings on the opposite side of the stage.

Your heart sank a little as he left. But then again, it had been many years ago that you had seen him last, and so much had changed since then.

“Y/N?” Meg asked.

You shook your head. “He wouldn’t recognise me.”

“Of course he would,” Meg assured you, a hand on your sleeve. “He didn’t see you, that’s all.”

You weren’t so sure.

“I have a message, sir,” John was saying to the owners of the Opera Populaire. “From the Opera Ghost.”

“Oh god in heaven!” cried Freddie. “You’re all obsessed.”

John blinked, irritated at being interrupted, but deigning to continue nonetheless. “He welcomes you to his opera—”

Freddie snorted indignantly, “His opera?”

“And commands that you continue to leave Box Five empty for his use, and reminds you that his salary is due.”

The discussion continued, with an outrage on Freddie’s part, concerning the paying of a salary for someone who was not even real, and your thoughts wandered back to Roger.

He had scarcely returned to your life for a handful of minutes, and yet, your infatuation had already taken ahold once more. You wondered faintly if he had ever thought of you the way you still thought of him.

But then you were thrown from your reverie, as a cry erupted from the crowded stage.

“He’s here!”

“Who?” you said, alongside everyone else in the theatre.

Meg clutched at your arm as a hush fell over the room.

“The Phantom of the Opera,” another person shouted. “Up in the rafters!”

Gasps and whispers sparked all around, and you whirled in the same direction as your companions, each of you straining your eyes in an attempt to see past the darkness of the rigging.

One of the opera directors called for silence.

“There’s no one there,” he said, and the masses fell calmer again, turning away from the rear of the stage and grumbling about making a fuss over nothing.

But you didn’t turn away; you stared into the abyss.

And then a shadow swept across the scaffolding, like dark fabric tossed in a wind, like a cloak, or a cape, and you gave a shout.

“There!” you said, your heart thudding with adrenaline, and Meg whirled in the direction of your raised arm.

“Where, where?!” she cried, but the longer she looked, the more obvious it became that whatever had previously been there was no longer.

You lowered your arm, a little dejectedly.

“Never mind,” you murmured, a crease forming between your eyes. “I thought I saw something, but I suppose I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Meg frowned, looking as disappointed as you felt.

But even as she turned away, you couldn’t tear your eyes from what you’d seen.

Because you knew what you’d seen.

You’d seen eyes— hazel— staring right back at you.

~⚘~

The darkness came so easily these days. He did not even have to turn to the shadows for it to eclipse the light. It was there at the corner of his eye, a soft whisper at his ear, a constant presence that was as calming to him as it would have been unsettling to any other.

The darkness had never drawn back in fear at the countenance of his face. The darkness had never told him that he was unloved and would forever remain unloved. The darkness had never cast him from his home, and forced him to cower in the cold when the snow bit at his skin, exposed by the coat he could not afford to own.

The darkness had always been there.

And yet, it was darkness, and so by definition, it was never really there at all. It was the absence of all things, and nothing can come from nothing.

But she was not nothing.

The light she carried in her voice, in her shoes. She was as light on her feet as she was in her spirits, and it made him want to change.

But he knew naught of change, and so it would not come.

Not without her.

But with her… Perhaps.

~⚘~

The production had barely begun, and yet Roger was already leaning over the banister to bring himself closer to the stage, as close as he dared to go without tumbling into the audience on the lower level.

He had hardly been able to believe his eyes, his ears, when she had taken to the stage. For all he could tell, her shimmering gown might well have been made from the waters of a moonlit river, and her eyes bore the same gentle glow they had always borne, and her voice was as beautiful as ever. Roger wondered if she would deny her talent still, if he were to tell her of it again, this day.

He could not deny the warmth which spread through him at the sight of her, and nor did he wish to. He would bring her flowers after the performance and tell her again of her talent.

And maybe, he would tell his Little Lotte what he had never been able to tell her all those years ago.

Maybe he would tell her that he loved her.

The production had barely ended before Roger had left his place on the balcony, in favour of hurrying down the stairs to where he would not miss seeing her.

Her. The only one who mattered.

~⚘~

Their calls echoed, praise upon praise where none before had existed, where previously you had lived in an echo chamber of your own mind, where you had been forced to endure the clamour of every voice that hissed— not good enough, not good enough, you’ll never be good enough.

Where had they been when the desperation had settled into the hot blood that coursed through your veins, painted your toes in horrible hue when you had danced for too many nights without a penny to show for it? Where had they been when your father had died and you’d have given your voice itself to have him back, to feel once more the touch of hand upon your shoulder, assuring you that he was there, that you were there?

Where had they been?

Their affectations you would have wished to endure as little as you wished to endure the echo chamber inside your head, for they would have shouted if a man had ridden a horse across the wooden framework of the stage.

But there was another sound. There had always been another sound.

In the darkness there was a solace— a comfort, almost— and a low, steady hum.

A voice.

An angel. Your father had always promised you that there would be an angel.

And he had been right.

An angel of music, to light the quiet moments between your thoughts, when friends were few and the cold grew monstrous teeth.

There had always been music in your ears— a tune to be hummed, a dance to be danced— and you could not quell the urge to sing when it came to you. That was how you had found your way to the Opera. It had called to you, far stronger than anything you had felt since your father had passed, since Roger had left.

Roger.

He was here. And he was here tonight. What had he thought of the show? Of you? Or were your fears to be realised, that he had not recognised you at all?

The candle in your peripheral vision flickered, subject to the whims of a draft.

The wind does not whisper indoors.

A shiver ran down your back, as sure there had been fingers to skim down your spine, the softness of the action turned sinister by the anonymity of the hand.

And then— again— a voice.

It bristled on the air like electricity, like a live wire simply waiting for the right person to make contact and ignite a fire.

It prickled on the back of your neck.

You turned, your movements slowed by a strange sort of fear, and yet, you wanted to know whose voice it was. You intended to make that contact, for so long had you lived without any sort of fire at all, and you were tired of being burned out.

“Where in the world have you been hiding?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Meg’s call reached your ears, the sound of her dainty footsteps growing more distinct as she approached. The shadow at the corner of your eye was snuffed out as surely as any flame.

You felt your shoulders lower ever so slightly, half in relief, half in disappointment.

You had been so close to knowing that the lack of knowledge was now almost too much to bear.

“Really,” she went on, with a little huff. “You were perfect. I only wish I knew your secret.”

“Meg,” you said, and she tilted her head like a curious fawn. “When your brother brought me here to live… whenever I come down here alone to light a candle for my father, a voice from above and in my dreams…” You trailed off, thinking of the soft baritone you could call to mind at will, it was so frequently present. “He was always there,” you murmured. The memories lulled you, quieted your senses, as though you were walking in a dream. “You see, when my father lay dying, he told me I will be protected by an angel. An angel of music. I used to dream he’d appear…”

You were quite sure that Meg had made a response to your musings, but you were not well aware of what that response had been, and nor could you find it in you to care. There remained suddenly only a singular thought within your head, and that was who? Who was the voice? He was the darkness, you were sure of it. He was the comfort, the peace amidst the chaos of the world, but he was evasive, the unseen genius. You longed to know the face of such an angel. You did not know for how much longer you could go on not knowing.

You blinked, and became conscious of the fact that you were no longer in the chapel. Meg had led you from it, and the two of you now weaved behind the screen, in the space between the stage and its rigging, your friend leading you by the hand.

“Y/N, your hands are cold,” she whispered, and her own face was pale, a mask of terror.

You wriggled your fingers slightly in her grasp. She was right; you felt as though the warmth had left your very blood. But though your skin was cold, you were not. You burned brighter than ever, as bright as the candle you lit, night after night, in the memory of your father.

“I know,” you answered. “But I am not frightened.”

~⚘~

It was John whom you saw first, following the show.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, and when he smiled, you thought that perhaps he considered you family as much as he did Meg. It made you feel a little less alone in the world.

“You did well, Y/N,” he said.

Then, to your puzzlement, he handed you a single red rose, upon the stem of which was tied a silk ribbon, in a pretty bow which shimmered onyx black in the dimly lit dressing room.

You had the strangest feeling, looking at that bow. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu, as though you’d somehow seen that exact shade of black before. In a dream, perhaps. Or in another life, if there were such things.

A shadow stirred at the corner of your eye, but when you turned to confront it, there was nothing but light bouncing off of the walls, and John nowhere to be found.

And Roger, standing in the doorway, with his familiar half-smile and eyes that glinted with mischief, a bouquet of flowers over one arm.

“Little Lotte thought,” he began, his smile growing as he made his way toward you, “am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins of shoes, or of riddles or frocks—”

“Those picnics in the attic,” you said, and your smile mirrored his.

“Or of chocolates,” Roger continued with a wink, setting down the flowers.

They surfaced in your mind, those memories. Bathed in golden light as though the sun shone upon them through stained glass windows, their images rendered divine in their innocence, their happiness. “Father playing the violin…”

“As we read to each other dark stories of the North,” Roger reached you and sank to his knees, his tone soft and playful and all those things you’d missed about him since before you’d known he’d be gone.

“No,” you whispered, and you thought that his eyes had never been as blue as this. Wider than the sky and bluer than the deepest of seas, cerulean and sapphire and everything in between. Every shoal and reef one could have imagined to exist shimmered in his irises, a whole other world, and it belonged to him.

And it belonged to you, when you looked at him.

“What I love best, Little Lotte said, is when I’m asleep in my bed…”

A tingle rushed down your spine as he drifted closer to you, so exquisite in his stillness, the prettiness of his being that suddenly assaulted your senses like the smell of roses.

Roses. A rose. With a black ribbon.

A gift—

“And the angel of music sings songs in my head.”

His smile grew until you thought it would take over his face entirely, and then he embraced you, tightly.

Oh, how you’d missed him and the feeling of being held in his arms, the way your chin fit perfectly on his shoulder and his cheek rested against your cheek.

“You sang like an angel tonight,” he murmured, and you sighed into the crook of his neck.

He pulled back again, and you relished the way his gaze lingered on your own, as though he could not look away, and even had he been able to, would have had no mind to do so either.

“Father said, when I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you.” Roger blinked, as though resurfacing from the depths of a dream, and you perceived a change in him. “Well, father is dead, Roger, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music.”

He gave a little laugh, and there it was at once, that which had hurt you so much in the past, and still stung you now. You had thought you had grown, but really, you were still that little girl, no more grown than you had been when you were shorter than your father’s music stand, as sensitive as you’d always been.

He didn’t believe you.

He thought you were telling stories, as usual, and his skepticism was grating; it tore at your heart.

“Oh, no doubt,” he said, clearly in doubt. He stood up, brushed off the front of his coat. “And now we'll go to supper!”

You fought to make him believe you, anything to have that warmth return to his eyes once more, to turn away his disbelief. “Roger, no—”

“Change, sweetheart, and I’ll order my carriage,” he waved a hand as he strode toward the door.

“No, Roger, wait!”

The door had shut. And he had shut you out, again.

You were still those children, haunted by your losses and warned not to believe that which was strange, even if it was true.

But there was no magic in this form of youth, because it was not youth so much as the turning of a blind eye to that which one did not understand.

And Roger did not understand you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he has ever.

The lock of the door clicked, and you tensed.

The room felt suddenly cold, and you would not have been surprised if cobwebs had begun to spiral down from the ceiling, if ice had formed on the door handle and the mirror, if the flowers all around you had withered in an unbidden frost.

Then a rush of that strange wind that could not possibly exist within the walls of the Opera, and every candle in sight was extinguished. You imagined that it was not only the candles in this room, but all of the candles, everywhere, snuffed out in their prime, one by one, until the Opera turned shadowy and grey.

The frost settled on your skin as a voice rose from the shadows to greet you in the silence left in the wake of Roger’s departure.

A familiar voice.

“Ignorant fool,” came the whisper, quiet but condemning in manner, resolute in assessment.

It was close. He was close.

The angel, he was here.

“Angel,” you murmured, your eyes flitting between the shapes of the world in darkness, trying to discern the living from the inanimate, but entirely without luck. You whirled, anything to catch a glimpse, yet still there was nothing. “I hear you— speak, I listen…”

Your plea was met with silence, but his presence was not gone, so you began again. “Stay by my side... Guide me.”

You reached out your hands in the darkness, and there again was that rush of cool air, like someone moving past.

“You shall know me,” he answered. “See why in shadow I hide.” His voice lowered to that whisper again, and you felt the cold reach your very bones. “Look in the mirror.”

Toward the mirror you wandered, on some invisible path, like staring at something so horrible that one cannot look away, only this was not horror you felt, but a sort of gravitation in favour of the unknown.

Curiosity.

And there, in the looking glass, was a face, or part of one— high-cheeked and fine boned, severe in beauty, yet cold in the stare of those hazel eyes which should rightfully have been warm as a summer’s day.

But they were not.

Had the mirror been any less pristine, you would have thought it damaged, for you could see little cracks there, in his eyes. But the cracks were not part of the mirror. In fact, they were part of nothing at all, no more than a figment of your imagination. But you perceived in him a brokenness, and so that was how he appeared to you.

His skin shone like porcelain, almost blended with the half of his face covered by some fashion of mask.

And curls.

His hair was so curly that you thought there would have been curls for miles if they had all been uncoiled and the ends spun together.

Such beauty did not often hide behind a mask. You wondered why this one did.

You drew nearer to the mirror and it rippled like water. You imagined the figure reaching out his hand to you. Or maybe you were not imagining it. Maybe it was real.

And it was.

His fingertips skimmed the palm of your hand and you gasped at the touch.

There was a tremble in his hand, and you longed to still it. You curled your fingers around his wrist.

He pulled you closer to the mirror and sharply, the air left your lungs.

You felt his eyes skim down from your temples, to your jaw, until he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes. You could not breathe beneath that gaze.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

And the darkness— it finally had a face.

“I am not afraid of you,” you whispered, feeling a heaviness like relief take over your senses, dousing you in drowsiness.

“Perhaps you should be,” he replied, and his exhale touched your lips. The blood in your veins which had been cold was now hot, and the pace of your heart made your head spin.

Then his grasp fell stronger upon your own, and he pulled you through the mirror.

Someone was calling your name, somewhere, but you found suddenly that you could not look away from the one who grasped your hand, the one whose eyes remained upon your own, even as he led you.

Where he was leading you, you did not know, but this mystery was one that had existed for far too long already, and you were desperate for answers, for a glimpse of truth in this world of shadows, where you had been blind for too long to remember what truth looked like.

So perhaps it was not the truth that you were chasing, but rather a dream, in which you would slip farther and farther from reality until the fantasy consumed you.

But what was there to miss from this place? You had no family to speak of, and the opera would surely go on as it always did. After all, the show must go on.

The walls seemed to bow inwards, and the candles mounted there danced in the hands that held them, because indeed, the candelabras were golden hands.

But you were not concerned by the swaying walls or the golden hands. All you could think of was the hand which rested lightly in yours, the eyes that gleamed softly, far more beautiful than any candle.

It soon became dark once more, as the candelabras became fewer and fewer in number, as you descended with the face of the darkness, until at last you found yourself within a small boat, which sailed swiftly across the waters of a river you had never known the existence of.

Perhaps it was the river Styx, of which you had always heard in stories. You did not spare the thought doubt, for nothing would surprise you anymore. It would seem there was an entire world beneath the Opera Populaire, and this was the first that you were seeing of it.

How many more hidden corners of the world had passed you by?

The thought struck in you a sadness, and awash with a heady loneliness, you glanced over your shoulder.

But of course, he was still there— the tall, dark shadow that had always been there, and you hoped he would always be there. The darkness still called to you, even now.

You felt a smile curve your mouth.

Then the boat crested a shore, and you turned back to the prow of the vessel, to find the walls of a spacious cavern decorated in swaths of red velvet, similar to that of the Grand Drape of the opera. All around were those candles, sparkling like supernovas in the darkness, the light glancing of off hundreds of odd trinkets, from mirrors to chandeliers, to more candelabras, and it impressed you as strange that there should be so many agents of light in a place of such darkness.

And then he was stepping from the boat and extending his hand to you again, though you could not remember letting go.

His gaze was sharp and it challenged you, dared you deny him your hand.

You did not deny him your hand.

Wordless still, he drew you forward, led you on a path amongst the candles, to the music of the night— of the river water lapping against the shore, of the sound of the velvet drapes which fluttered in that impossible wind which seemed to breathe life into every forgotten corner of the Opera Populaire, including this cavern.

You came to a stop where the ground was raised, and you at once lifted your eyes to that masked face.

“Who are you?” you murmured.

“The same as I have always been,” he replied, with a dip of his head.

“And who is that?”

“The angel, of course.” His voice was low, smooth as caramel, and enraptured by the sound, you gazed up at him. “Yours.”

“Mine?”

“Am I not your angel?” he asked, and you thought he drew closer. “Have you not always spoken to me amongst the whispers of the night? Have you not fallen asleep many a time with my name on your lips?” He was definitely closer now, for you were almost chest-to-chest, and he grasped your hands between the two of you, lifted them to his lips.

He ghosted your fingers with a kiss, and heat spread through you at the tender touch.

“I do not know your name,” you said.

He lowered your hands but did not release them, instead running one long forefinger over the underside of your wrist, a gesture behind which shivers followed.

“May, some used to call me.”

“May?” you whispered, and felt the intimacy of the name of your eternal protector hum across your lips. “An uncommon name.”

“I once had another. But none remember it.”

“Except you,” you said. “You remember.”

His eyes flickered. “I can hardly call it mine.”

This was dangerous ground. His jaw and his grip upon your hands had tightened, and though the change in demeanour was subtle, it was significant.

But you pushed back, because you had come here for answers.

“Tell me,” you said.

You took your hands from his grasp and raised them instead to either side of his face, to the cool porcelain of the mask, to the burning skin which told of fire beneath— a fire to his soul, as there was to your own.

His eyes fluttered closed at your touch and he leaned his cheek into your palm, his breath a caress across your skin.

“Brian May.”

He gifted the words to you with a shudder, and you knew in your heart that you were the first in a long time to hear them. His lips brushed your palm, and his fingers skimmed your hips, to which you leaned in closer, now almost in an embrace.

“Return my name to me,” he whispered.

To your toes you lifted yourself, and his name flooded your lips as ambrosia, everlasting, binding, but though your blood turned to fire, your bones did not become dust, unless by dust, stardust was meant.

“Brian May,” you said, and slipped your fingers beneath the mask.

With a cry, he pushed you away, roughly, and you fell to the ground as the mask fell from his face.

A tremor began in the surface beneath your feet, before it spread to the entirety of the floor and spiralled up the walls, shaking the cavern and everything within it with such force you feared the breaking apart of the very Earth.

Candles toppled from all around, and you gave a shout as one narrowly missed lighting your dress aflame, again when a mirror nearly crushed you, and hot tears of mortal fear pricked your eyes.

Until a hand pulled yours and a body shielded your own, as glass shattered and waves swelled within the winding river.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the earthquake receded, and your protector disentangled himself from you.

Sitting up, you wiped tears from your face, ashamed of the fear which had plagued you, and you found that the cavern was all but completely dark. Only a single candle had survived the shaking of the cavern, and its light now seemed almost garish.

Then eyes met your own in the dark, and your gaze fell upon the right side of his face, to find—

Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing but the second half of a man’s face, equal in beauty to the first half, for but a slightly over-dilated pupil which obscured the hazel of its iris.

But then again, perhaps you did not see a man at all, but a boy.

Because for all the terror in his expression, you could not see past his youth.

When he spoke this time, his voice was gravel, and a coldness settled within you at the condemnation in his tone, for it was clear that he was no protector here.

“What have you done?”

~⚘~

[papermoonloveslucy]

TIME: A CLOWN WITH GLAMOUR

May 26, 1952

TIME: The Weekly News Magazine ~ Lucille Ball: Prescription for TV; a clown with glamour.  May 26, 1952.  

On Monday evenings, more than 30 million Americans do the same thing at the same time: they tune in ‘I Love Lucy’ (9 p.m. E.D.T., CBS-TV), to get a look at a round-eyed, pink-haired comedienne named Lucille Ball.

An ex-model and longtime movie star (54 films in the past 20 years), Lucille Ball is currently the biggest success in television. In six months her low-comedy antics, ranging from mild mugging to baggy-pants clowning, have dethroned such veteran TV headliners as Milton Berle and Arthur Godfrey. One of the first to see the handwriting on the TV screen was funnyman Red Skelton, himself risen to TV's top ten. Last February, when he got the award from the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences as the top comic of the year, Skelton walked to the microphone and said flatly: "I don't deserve this. It should go to Lucille Ball."

By this week, the four national TV rating services (Nielsen, Trendex, American Research Bureau and Videodex) were in unaccustomed agreement: each of them rated ‘I Love Lucy’ as the nation's No. 1 TV show.

Lumps & Pratfalls. The television industry is not quite sure how it happened. When Lucy went on the air last October, it seemed to be just another series devoted to family comedy, not much better or much worse than ‘Burns and Allen’, ‘The Goldbergs’, ‘The Aldrich Family’ or ‘Mama’. Like its competitors, Lucy holds a somewhat grotesque mirror up to middle-class life, and finds its humor in exaggerating the commonplace incidents of marriage, business and the home. Lucille's Cuba-born husband, Desi Arnaz, is cast as the vain, easily flattered leader of an obscure rumba band. Lucille plays his ambitious wife, bubbling with elaborate and mostly ineffectual schemes to advance his career.

But what televiewers see on their screens is the sort of cheerful rowdiness that has been rare in the U.S. since the days of the silent movies' Keystone Comedies. Lucille submits enthusiastically to being hit with pies; she falls over furniture, gets locked in home freezers, is chased by knife-wielding fanatics. Tricked out as a ballerina or a Hindu maharanee or a toothless hillbilly, she takes her assorted lumps and pratfalls with unflagging zest and good humor. Her mobile, rubbery face reflects a limitless variety of emotions, from maniacal pleasure to sepulchral gloom. Even on a flickering, pallid TV screen, her wide-set saucer eyes beam with the massed candlepower of a lighthouse on a dark night.

What is her special talent? TV men credit Lucille with an unfailing instinct for timing. Producer-Writer Jess Oppenheimer says: "For every word you write in this business, you figure you're lucky to get back 70-80% from a performer. With Lucille, you get back 140%." Broadway's Oscar (’South Pacific’) Hammerstein II, hailing Lucille's control, calls her a "broad comedienne, but one who never goes over the line." To her manager, Don Sharpe, Lucille is "close to the Chaplin school of comedy—she's got warmth and sympathy, and people believe in her, even while they're laughing at her."

Western Mirage. Lucille explains that the TV show is important because "I'm a real ham and so is Desi. We like to have an audience. We like being up on our toes." But the show also allows her some time with her ten-month-old daughter, Lucie Desirée, and for the first time in eleven years of trouping, gives her a home life with husband Desi. Says she: "I look like everybody's idea of an actress, but I feel like a housewife. I think that's what my trouble was in movies."

Actress Ball was a long time arriving at the calm waters of motherhood and housewifery. The daughter of Henry and Desirée Hunt Ball, she was born in Jamestown, N.Y. (near Buffalo) at what she calls "an early age." Pressed, she will concede that it was quite a while ago: she admits to being 40. Her father was an electrician whose job of stringing telephone wires carried him around the country. When Lucille was four, he died of typhoid in Wyandotte, Mich.

Lucille spent her childhood in Jamestown (1920 pop. 38,917), but managed to see very little of it. Mostly, she inhabited a dream world peopled by glamorous alter egos. Sometimes she imagined herself to be a young lady of great poise named Sassafrassa, who combined the best features of Pearl White, Mabel Normand and Pola Negri. Another make-believe identity was Madeline, a beauteous cowgirl who emerged from the pages of Zane Grey's melodramatic novel, ‘The Light of Western Stars’. To get authentic background for Madeline, young Lucille corresponded with the chambers of commerce of Butte and Anaconda, Mont. She read and reread their publicity handouts until she felt she knew more about Montana than the people who lived there. It was the powerful spirit of Madeline that caused her for many years to claim Butte, Mont., as her birthplace. Only in the most recent edition of Who's Who did she finally, grudgingly admit to being born in Jamestown, N.Y.

Horrses to Warter. While she lived there, Lucille did her best to rid Jamestown of dullness. Sometimes she gilded reality by imagining that the family chicken coop was her palace ("The chickens would become my armies"). She remembers that she was always unmanageable in the spring. "I'd leave the classroom for a drink of water and never come back. I'd start walking toward what I thought was New York City and keep going until someone brought me home."

By the time she left high school at 14, she had staged virtually a one-man performance of ‘Charley's Aunt’ ("I played the lead, directed it, cast it, sold the tickets, printed the posters, and hauled furniture to the school for scenery and props"). In a Masonic musical revue, she put so much passion into an Apache dance that she threw one arm out of its socket. Jamestown citizens still remember her explosive personality with wonder: it took quite a while for the dust to settle in Jamestown when Lucille finally left for Manhattan at the age of 15.

Probably because of the dreamy mental state induced by Sassafrassa and Madeline, Lucille is not too clear about dates, events and people. In New York,

she headed straight for John Murray Anderson's dramatic school. At the sound of her voice ("I used to say 'horrses' and 'warter' "), her teacher clapped hands to his forehead. Anderson tactfully told Lucille's mother that her daughter should try another line of work. Lucille made a stab at being a secretary and a drugstore soda jerk, but found both occupations dull. She answered chorus calls for Broadway musicals with a marked lack of success. When she even lost a job in the chorus of the third road company of ‘Rio Rita’, a Ziegfeld aide told her: "It's no use, Montana. You're not meant for show business. Go home."

Periodically, Lucille did go home to Jamestown. But she returned again and again to the assault on New York. She managed to get into the chorus of ‘Stepping Stones’, and held on until the choreographer announced that she wanted only girls who could do toe work ("I couldn't even do heel work"). Lucille turned to modeling, progressed from the wholesale garment houses through department stores to the comparative eminence of Hattie Carnegie. She still has a warm feeling for people in the garment trade, because "they're the nearest thing to show business in the outside world. They're temperamental and jealous. I like them." She had a great many admirers. One of them, Britain's actor Hugh Sinclair, says: "She disarmed you. You saw this wonderful, glamorous creature, and in five minutes she had you roaring with laughter. She was gay, warmhearted and absolutely genuine."

As a model, Lucille called herself Diane Belmont, choosing her name in honor of Belmont Park Race Track, where fashion shows are sometimes staged. But it was another few years before Lucille finally got her break. She was walking up Broadway past the Palace Theater when she met agent Sylvia Hahlo coming down from the Goldwyn office. Sylvia grabbed her and cried breathlessly: "How would you like to go to California? They're sending a bunch of poster girls there for six weeks for a picture. One of the girls' mothers has refused to let her go."

$50 to $ 1,500. The movie was ‘Roman Scandals’, starring Eddie Cantor, and it was six months instead of six weeks in the making. Lucille was grimly determined to keep her foot in the Hollywood door. She got a succession of bit parts in such movies as ‘Moulin Rouge’ and ‘The Affairs of Cellini’, worked for three months with the roughhouse comics known as The Three Stooges ("It was one continuous bath of Vichy water and lemon meringue pie").

When RKO picked up her contract, she gradually emerged as a queen of B pictures, then began making program movies with comics Jack Oakie, Joe Penner and the Marx Brothers (’Room Service’). Her salary rose from $50 a week to $1,500 and her hair, already turned blonde from its original brown, now became a brilliant but indescribable shade that has been variously called ‘shocking pink' and 'strawberry orange.' While she was in ‘Dance, Girl, Dance’, and being hailed by Director Erich Pommer as a new 'find' (by then,

she had been playing in movies for six years), she met a brash, boyish young Cuban named Desi Arnaz.

Gold Initials. Desi had come to Hollywood to make the movie version of the Broadway hit, Too Many Girls. Taking one look at luscious (5 ft. 7 in., 130 Ibs.) Lucille, who was wearing a sweater and skirt, he cried: "Thass a honk o' woman!" and asked: "How would you like to learn the rumba, baby?" He took her for a ride in his blue convertible, with the gold initials on the door, and she shudderingly recalls that the only time the speedometer dipped below 100 m.p.h. was when he rounded a curve. On the way home, Desi hit a bump and, as Lucille tells it, a fender flew off. He simply flicked the ash from his Cuban cigarillo and sped on.

Lucille was as dazzled by his full name (Desiderio Alberto Arnaz y De Acha III) as by his history. The only child of a prosperous Cuban politician who had been mayor of Santiago and a member of the Cuban Senate, Desi had fled to Miami with his mother during the revolution of 1933. His father, a supporter of President Machado, was put in jail, and the Arnaz possessions disappeared in the revolution.

After six months, Desi's father was released from jail and rejoined his family in Miami, where he went into the export-import business. Desi, who was 16, enrolled in St. Patrick's High School (his closest friend was Al Capone's son Albert), and got a part-time job cleaning canary cages for a firm which sold birds to local drugstores. He soon found steadier work as a guitarist in a four-piece band incongruously called the Siboney Sextette. The critics agreed on Desi's meager musical gifts. "He was always off-beat," says theater owner Carlos Montalban. "But he's an awfully nice guy—a clean-cut Latin."

Conga Line. Whatever Desi had, it was something the public liked. He began beating a conga drum in Miami and soon nightclub audiences, from Florida to New York, were forming conga lines behind him. His good looks and unquenchable good humor interested producer George Abbott, who was searching for a Latin type to play a leading role in ‘Too Many Girls’. "Can you act?" asked Abbott. "Act?" answered Desi, expansively. "All my life, I act."

The courtship of Desi and Lucille was predictably stormy. Says a friend: "He's very jealous. She's very jealous—they're both very jealous." They were married in 1940, while Desi was leading his orchestra at the Roxy in New York and Lucille was between pictures in Hollywood. She flew in from the coast; they got up at 5 a.m. and drove to Connecticut, where they were married by a justice of the peace. Since they had no apartment, Desi compromised by carrying his bride across the threshold of his dressing room at the Roxy. Hollywood offered odds that the marriage would not last six weeks.

The marriage lasted better than six weeks, but after four years trouble blew. Desi kept moving about the country with his band, and Lucille, when not making pictures, mostly sat home alone. Their marriage was drifting on the rocks, and only World War II averted immediate shipwreck. Desi refused a commission in the Cuban army and was drafted into the U.S. infantry. He was moved on to Special Services, and spent much of the war shepherding USO troupes from one base to another.

In 1944, Lucille filed suit for divorce. She won an interlocutory decree but never got around to filing for her final papers. The reason: she and Desi were in the midst of a new reconciliation. But all the old difficulties remained. Lucille would sit night after night at the clubs where Desi's band was playing, but that resulted in rings under her eyes rather than a new intimacy. She tried cutting down on her movie work by starring in a CBS radio show called ‘My Favorite Husband’, and Desi also took a flyer at radio. They worked out a vaudeville act and toured U.S. theaters with their new routines.

Lucille credits Desi with being the one who was willing to take a chance on TV. "He's a Cuban," she says, "and all Cubans gamble. They'll bet you which way the tide is going and give you first pick." But it was a real gamble. Movie exhibitors do not look kindly upon movie stars who desert to the enemy. If the show flopped, Lucille would have no place to crawl back to. They told CBS that they would give television a try only if both of them could be on the same show. At first, they wanted to play themselves. They compromised by turning Desi into Ricky Ricardo, a struggling young bandleader, and letting Lucille fulfill her lifelong ambition of playing a housewife.

The decision to film the show also made CBS bigwigs uneasy. It would cost four times as much as a live show, and the only interested sponsor, Philip Morris, wasn't prepared to go that high. Again there was a compromise. Desi and Lucille agreed to take a smaller salary in return for producing the show and keeping title to the films.

Real Plumbing. Long years in the practical business of orchestra leading had given Desi considerable organizing ability and business sense. He set up Desilu Productions (Desi president, Lucille vice president), and leased a sound stage from an independent Los Angeles studio. Because Lucille was ‘dead' without an audience, a side wall of the studio was knocked out to make a street entrance, and seats installed for an audience of 300. When a show is ready for the cameras, the audience laughter is picked up on overhead microphones and used in the final print.

Though ‘I Love Lucy’ is filmed, it is more like a play than a movie. All of the lines and action are memorized and, whenever possible, the show is played straight through from beginning to end, and not shot in a number of unrelated scenes. The action takes place on four sets; two of them represent the Ricardos' Manhattan apartment, a third shows the nightclub where Ricky's band plays and the fourth is used for any other scenes called for by the script. Says Desi proudly: "We have real furniture, real plumbing, and a real kitchen where we serve real food. Even the plants are really growing; they're not phony."

Desilu Productions hired a pair of veteran troupers, William Frawley and Vivian Vance, to play the family next door and serve as foils and friends for Desi and Lucille. Academy Award-winning Karl (’The Good Earth’) Freund supervises the three cameras, and Director Marc Daniels (soon to be replaced by Bill Asher) gives Lucy its rattling pace. The writers—Jess Oppenheimer, Bill Carroll and Madalyn Pugh—turn out scripts that do not impose too much on the audience's credulity and are reasonably free of clichés. The writers are held in an esteem not common in TV. Lucille bombards Jess Oppenheimer with photographs flatteringly inscribed to "the Boss Man," and Desi has presented him with a statuette of a baseball player and a punning tribute, "To the man behind the ball."

"Wanta Play Cards?" Desi and Lucille live an unpretentious life on a five-acre ranch in the San Fernando Valley. The only Hollywood note is a kidney-shaped swimming pool, and the most recent addition to the house (a wing devoted to daughter Lucie and her nurse) cost $22,000—more than the house and land cost originally. Neither Desi nor Lucille has ever been socially ambitious, and their friends are the same ones they have known for years. Both Desi's mother (now divorced from Arnaz Sr., who still lives in Miami) and Lucille's Mom live nearby.

At home, Lucille, who collects stray cats and dogs, is an amateur painter ("I use oils because it's easier to correct mistakes than with water colors"), and generally considers herself a lazy, lounging homebody. She is fascinated by Desi's boundless energy.' He spends weekends fishing on his 34-foot cabin cruiser, Desilu; plays violent tennis; likes to cook elaborate dishes. Says Lucille: "Everything is fine with him all the time. Wanta play cards? Fine. Play games? Fine. go for a swim? Great." There's only one problem: "Desi is a great thermostat sneaker-upper and I'm a thermostat sneaker-downer. Cold is the one thing that isn't great with him."

Sex & Chic. Though life has grown noticeably more placid for Desi and Lucille, it promises more money than they ever made before. Desilu Productions has already branched out beyond ‘I Love Lucy’. It is filming TV commercials for Red Skelton, and is at work on a new TV series, ‘Our Miss Brooks’, starring Eve Arden. Three of the best 30-minute Lucy shows are being put together in a package and will be experimentally released to movie theaters in the U.S. and Latin America. This year, ‘I Love Lucy’ has grossed about $1,000,000, and sponsor Philip Morris has signed a contract for 39 more shows beginning this fall. All of the old Lucy films can be sold again as new TV stations go on the air (eventually there will be 2,053 TV transmitters in the U.S., compared to today's 108).

In reaching the TV top, Lucille's telegenic good looks may be almost as important as her talent for comedy. She is sultry-voiced, sexy, and wears chic clothes with all the aplomb of a trained model and showgirl. Letters from her feminine fans show as much interest in Lucille's fashions as in her slapstick. Most successful comediennes (e.g., Imogene Coca, Fanny Brice, Beatrice Lillie) have made comic capital out of their physical appearance. Lucille belongs to a rare comic aristocracy: the clown with glamour.

[zbaebers]

The Betrayal; a short story by me

//(Postmortem) I wrote this story in... 10th grade? I find it to be an interesting read, at least for myself. I think I’ve improved since I wrote this, and what I find interesting about it is that it’s... weirdly lacking in voice. I’ve read a lot of fiction since then, and one thing I think (at least hope) I’ve picked on is giving my stories more of a unique voice. I’ve always been one for grand stories, but to me this one rings a bit hollow. It’s curious. //

They were so close. The night was dark, and the harsh winds brought on by the storm relentlessly buffeted the Ol’ Faithful, a battered wooden ship that had clearly seen its fair share of stormy nights such as this one. But in spite of the weather, they were so, so close. As its tired crew sailed through the rough waves, what remained of their tattered robes desperately clamped onto their bodies, protecting them from the onslaught of the elements. The soft drone of rainfall filled the air with a fresh scent and rhythmic pitter patter, creating a pervasive feeling of peace that clashed violently with the harsh claps of thunder and bright flashes of lightning. At the helm of the ship, the crew’s captain, Jude, stood silently, deep in thought while looking over his crew. Jude knew now that they were so close to the treasure that they had been seeking for ages, and finally they might be able to achieve their dream of becoming the most wealthy pirates in the Sea of Ancients. Although filled with hope and excitement for what the future held, Jude was also filled with appreciation for the sacrifices his crew had made. Painful memories flashed through Jude's head, temporarily tensing his breath. He remembered the horrors that the crew of the Ol’ Faithful had faced in the deep dark sea. Jude quietly frowned as he remembered the day a mysterious prophet told the crew to fulfill their destiny and uncover the hidden magic of Old King Herod’s treasure, cast away deep in a cave that could be uncovered only by the bravest of souls. What a load of rubbish, Jude thought to himself. For on that fateful day, 21 brave souls set off to find the treasure. Only 12 now remained. Suddenly, Jude’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of yelling among his crew. 

“Stowaway!” yelled Abe, Jude’s first mate. “Tie him up boys!” a symphony of grunts and muffled yells ensued as the ship’s crew caught and tied up a gruff young man. After being tied up in long strands of rope, the man sat silently in resignation. Jude had already descended to the main deck, eager to find out if this man had been planning to steal the treasure that they seeked. 

Jude gestured silently for his crew to let go of the stowaway. “Your name, boy. Give it now.”

The boy looked up at Jude. Fear shone in his eyes. “Jessie. Please sir, I only ask that you let me explain-” “Silence. I’ll be the only one asking questions here,” Jude hissed. “Why are you on my ship?”

“Only to warn you of the danger posed by the magical treasure you seek”, said Jessie. The men of the crew began eyeing one another, each wondering where Jessie could have learned the secrets of Herod’s treasure. 

“Tell me, Jessie. Where did you learn of the treasure?” asked Jude. Although his patience had worn thin from weeks at sea, Jude was a very well-tempered man. He would allow Jessie to tell his story. And that he did. Jessie regaled the crew with his tale of agony; one that still continued. In the preceding months, Jessie had been a part of a crew just like this one. They had sailed the sea in hopes of finding Herod’s treasure, they too spurred on by a mysterious man in tattered robes, who had spoken to them of riches and power. After weeks at sea, Jesse’s crew discovered the forbidden sea cave, hidden away under the rubble of centuries of rough waves and storms. When Jessie got to this part of the story, he abruptly stopped. The crewmen could see the pain in his eyes and the torment behind every word he said. 

“We found the treasure, alright. And what do I have to show for it? Fourteen dead crew members. That treasure… is evil.” Jessie went silent, and concerned murmuring arose among the crew. The crew members began to question whether or not they should continue in their search for Herod’s treasure. The captain sat thoughtfully for a few minutes, digesting what he had just heard. All of a sudden, he got up and called for silence among the crew members. 

Jude mustered up his most rousing voice, and said, “My friends. We’ve sailed for weeks. We’ve braved challenges unlike any other. We have faced the enemy, and come out on top. We deserve a reward. This man is a liar!” Murmurs once again broke out amongst the crew, as they considered what their trusted captain had said. The captain spoke up again. “Why would the prophet send us on a wild goose chase for a treasure that isn’t what we think? Clearly this stowaway wants to mislead us, so he may have the treasure for himself!” At this, the crew cried out in solidarity with their captain. Jessie was thrust into the ship’s small brig, and the men continued hastily in their journey towards the forbidden cave. Although most of the crew was set in their ways, and followed the word of Jude, the first mate Abe was having second thoughts. Intrigued by what Jessie had said, Abe waited until the following night to approach the brig so he could ask Jessie some questions.

Jessie told Abe the secrets of the treasure, and its ability to corrupt those who possessed it, filling them with volatile magic. Abe thought for a moment, and said, “I’ve known the captain for many years. He has saved the men in this crew time and time again from peril. I know in my heart he would never betray us. He is incorruptible.” With this, Abe stood up and returned to his quarters on the ship. After trying and failing to sleep for an hour, Abe realized that deep down, he didn’t completely believe the words he had said. Minutes later, Abe appeared once again outside the brig. “What do I have to do to save my crew?” he asked. Jessie nodded towards a small knife tucked in his belt. 

Jessie said, “When you enter the cave, fire your pistol into the sky. On your signal, I’ll use this knife to escape, and I will destroy the treasure for good.” Abe nodded in understanding, and returned to his quarters, anxious for what the next day would bring.

The next morning, the sun rose over the ship. The members of the crew slowly stirred from their slumber. An ominous wind blew over the sea, and as Jude looked out to the waves, he made out a small sea cave in the distance. Instantly, he knew what he was laying his eyes upon.

In a couple of hours, the men stood at the entrance to the cave. Nervously, Abe looked around, drew his pistol, and feigned tripping. Thus, the signal was given, and Jessie began cutting his bindings and cautiously making his way off the ship. 

Inside the cave, an entry filled with dust and grime gave way to a large grotto. Lush grass and natural light illuminated a clear pool in the center. Inside floated a school of rainbow colored fish that swam alone; it was clear that the presence of such creatures could not have occurred without the intervention of a magical force. Pushing on, the crew found itself in an even deeper chamber of the cave, and what they discovered next completely contrasted the picturesque and peaceful setting they had found themselves in within the first chamber of the cave. Before the group of men lay a large pile of skeletons, clearly recently killed. In each skeleton was a deep, red mark. The crew stopped, and a nervous tension arose amongst the sailors. They were unsure what to do next. In spite of this, Jude steeled his resolve and told the men he alone would continue to retrieve the treasure, which appeared to sit on a high, isolated pedestal at the top of the chamber. Slowly, but surely, Jude scaled the walls of the cave, finding footing in every miniscule nook and cranny of the craggy stone structure. After a long, arduous effort, Jude found himself at the apex of his climb. Before taking the treasure into his hands at last, he looked over the remainder of his crew one last time. Tears of pride welled in the captain’s eyes. He solemnly saluted his crew, and, without missing a beat, picked up the golden pendant that lay on the pedestal before him. As he donned the pendant, he was filled with an unknown energy, a magical power which Jude knew would change his life forever. As he looked within, he could see the power now within him. In his mind he visualized a new life, almost as if he were in a trance. Unlimited power. The world bending at his knee. These were the gifts that the pendant promised him if he would only submit to its power.

“Jude!” The captain’s glance snapped towards the entrance to the chamber. Suddenly, his mind had returned to the present, but the power he now felt inside had not abandoned him. He identified the speaker as none other than Jessie. “Put down the pendant, Jude! It will corrupt you! It will make you turn on those you hold dear!” yelled Jessie in desperation. But Jude was gone. He had heard and heeded the whispers of the pendant. Now, it was his time to take the Sea of Ancients for himself. Jessie and the rest of the crew saw the power coursing through Jude. They knew it would be too powerful for the world to maintain. They knew it would bring only destruction in its path. So, finally, Jessie revealed a gleaming, crystal blade. Jessie quietly exclaimed, “With this blade, I will end the tale of King Herod’s treasure for good.” In a dazzling gleam of sparks and raw energy, Jessie and Jude clashed for the last time. 

Moments later, the cave sat, derelict and empty, filled with the bodies of more dead crewmen. The cave was now ablaze. The pendant no longer sat on its cold, lonely pedestal. One man sat outside the cave, at last victorious in completing his mission.

[mcsmmafia]

Round VIII of MC:SM Mafia 🍬

THE 8TH ROUND OF MAFIA

It was cold, it was snowy… and it was an enormous swamp that you got lost in. For days you have been wandering around the wetland, desperately looking for any sorts of food, but to no avail. But then you saw what might just save you from starving to death: A big, light brown mansion in the distance!

You hurried to the stranger’s house – something about it’s shape and size reminded you of something, but you were too hungry to remember what exactly – and considered your options. Eating the old, dirty crust on the outside of the walls? Eww, hell no! You had to get inside and get the good stuff, even if you had to break and enter. Or maybe you could eat and enter?

But to your surprise, the candy cane-bar door was open. You went inside, and it was pitch black, but the smell didn’t lie. THE WALLS WERE GINGERBREAD, THE WINDOWS WERE WOVEN WITH COTTON CANDY, AND YOU WERE HUNGRY!

So you immediately abandoned any common sense and started feasting. Until you suddenly heard a voice behind you –

"Nibble, nibble, gnaw, who is nibbling at my little mansion?"

You turned around to see a red-haired girl grinning gleefully in the twilight of the gaps in the door. Oh wait, you remember this face – it was Cassie, Cassie Rose, the evil witch of the swamps!!! And she was blocking the entrance, she’s probably gonna EAT YOU TOO-

But to your surprise, she pulled out something white and quite delicious smelling. Was that… white pumpkin pie??? Could you actually be in heaven???

And then, she threw it right into your face. Rude!

You tried to rub it off, but it stuck like superglue. How much honey did you use to make it this sticky!?

You were interrupted in your thoughts abruptly when you heard another splash and looked back up to see Cassie having disappeared. Uh-oh.

Knowing that you would starve outside – c’mon, seriously, nobody likes the crust –, you stumbled your way into the next room, where there was light. And more scents of delicate pie. A walking scent – IT’S THE WALKING PIE, EVERYONE, RUUUN!!!

Dear dinner guests, it is time.

To eat.

BEFORE YOU DIE OF DIABETES!

Or possibly also of murder, whatever comes first!

☀ Results of Day 1:

The first thing the guests did was discuss what could and could not be eaten in the mansion. Turns out: Absolutely everything is edible! So they set out to eat everything.

CASSIE asked the guests if they think the witch – or their hips and pancreas, for that matter – would forgive them if they eat the house, in hopes of subtly restraining them, but they ignored her warning.

After the guests had eaten all they could in one day, Stacy told everyone to say something if they saw someone without a pet, as there’s a 50/50 chance that they’re Cassie.

🌑 Results of Night 1:

First things first, Sparklez had to assess what could and could not be eaten in this big mansion, to come to the conclusion… everything. Absolutely everything was edible. He tried his best to tag along in the big feasting, but eventually got nauseous from all the sugar. Oof, he needed some real food, or else his stomach might not forgive him! He was a bit stunned when he realized that CASSIE didn’t have a pet. He tried to talk to her, but she would just outright ignore him… so Sparklez quickly grabbed some healthy salad sandwiches and ran to the entrance hall to avoid potentially being murdered. It was probably for the best…

CASSIE’s beautiful, hand-baked mansion… and they’re eating EVERYTHING, despite her subtle warning… arrrgh!! She’ll have to go and rebake everything NOW, or her guests will eat their way out! After shoving three more tables worth of cake into her all-automatic oven, she decided to utilize the waiting time for some trap-activation. Very efficient she was! She pulled the lever and listened in for the scream – but to her surprise, it wasn’t Sparklez’ – but… Reuben’s!? Uhm-

Oh no. Oooooohhh NO! Harper had a dark, troubled past with candy. Even one bite would… it would make her… NO, THAT COULD NOT HAPPEN!!! So she ran to the living room, hoping that that way, she could survive her own addiction… Too bad everything in the living room was made of candy, too! She knew she would eventually give in if she had to smell the delicious scent of gingerbread any longer, so she opened a window, embraced the cold winter night air and went to sleep right next to it. Better freeze than eat to death!

Oh no, what Stacy said means that they will probably throw Gabriel out sooner or later… so he better has fun while he still can and IMPERSONATE CASSIE! First things first, he would try to follow Jesse… but they wouldn’t stop eating… and then it became dark, and they still wouldn’t stop eating… Maybe Jesse thought they could bore him by doing absolutely nothing, but they had thought wrong! Gabriel kept an close eye on them… even when it became too dark to see, he still stared in their direction while wildly waving around with his wooden sword.

Jesse was so busy eating THE WHOLE MANSION, they didn’t even notice when darkness fell. It was only when they couldn’t see where the cake was anymore that they stopped eating and began to worry about where they were gonna sleep. But they still couldn’t stop thinking about food, so the only room that came to their mind was the kitchen. They went to sleep there… but suddenly, they were awakened by Reuben’s scream. Oh my god, it’s a trap, nO, REUBEN, NOOOOO! 😭 But now was not the time to grief – if they didn’t get a move on and ran to the attic right NOW, Reuben’s death would all be for nothing! However, they soon found Winslow patrolling the hallway between library and dining room, so they had to head to the entrance hall instead.

Stella has always wondered what paint tasted like… and now was her chance to finally find it out! Well… it actually tastes like marzipan! That’s good to know, in case she ever goes hungry again! After nibbling a bit more on some Mona Stella, she eventually grew tired and fell asleep on the couch.

Yeah, yeah, cake is great and all, but what about that delicious pumpkin pie thrown on your face!? How could someone just waste a pumpkin pie like this!? They don’t understand!!! Ah, but anyway, Stacy had a plan about Cassie, so she tried to forget her anger and headed to the library. The first step of her plan was to brew as many swiftness potions as she could. She succeded, and forgot all about her anger in the process, killing two birds with one stone!

Reuben was hit by a trap and died!

☀ Results of Day 2:

After someone apparently has fed cholocate to poor little Reuben, Sparklez cried in disbelief, but then realized that they needed to find out who Reuben’s owner was. A long moment of silence followed, before Stacy rose to speak and claimed that she didn’t have him, asking everyone about their alibis. After Harper and Sparklez answered, Sparzklez stated that they needed to figure out who had a pet and who didn’t. Jesse was the only one who didn’t answer. Nobody lied.

After all of that, Sparklez and CASSIE agreed that it was better to not lock anyone up yet.

🌒 Results of Night 2:

Can slimes die from chocolate consumption? Sparklez kinda doubted it, seeing as they seemed to absorb pretty much everything without a problem. So he didn’t have to worry about Jerry, but wished the other pet owners good luck in their quest to eliminate all cocoa products before heading to the bed chamber. There, he figured that he probably wouldn’t become part of the floor, since Winslow wasn’t around, so he snuggled into the tenderness of candy floss bedding and drifted off to sleep.

How has CASSIE never thought of that – well, Winslow was smart enough to know that he should’nt eat chocolate, but… what if some of their guests tried to feed him!? WHAT IF THEY KILLED HER PET!??! So she was seriously glad when the guests decided to eat up ALL the chocolate in the mansion, and decided to not replenish it. Pheww… now, let’s go back on track and to the living room! Alright, let’s set off that trap and – hopefully – catch Harper! …Was the plan, alright. But she seems to have survived… and not only that, more witnesses have joined CASSIE’s room! Freaking-

Harper could barely stand watching the others eat chocolate. Why didn’t they know, this was so triggering for her – PAMA helped her by hovering in front of her face the whole time, and when the sun began to set, she quickly headed back to the living room to follow the same strategy. Not today, sugar addiction! When she saw CASSIE in her sacred panic room, she lost her nerves. CASSIE could start to eat in front of her, who knows! So she played it safe and ran to the entrance hall. Luckily, the groaning of the zombies was enough to keep her from thinking of candy…

Gabriel didn’t have a pet, so he couldn’t understand this self-sacrifice the others were doing. Eat chocolate until none was left… Chocolate is terrible for your muscles, as everyone knows! But anyway, back to his quest of acting as suspicious as he could – time to stalk Jesse! Gabriel watched them eat all the chocolate – and eventually, they just… sat down, exhausted. They were looking pretty nauseous, too. Okay, maybe staring at Jesse all night was getting a bit boring – and Gabriel felt quite exhausted, too… so he decided to pay the library a visit. However, as he stepped into the hallway, he saw Winslow’s silhouette right in front of him – it made him look really big and scary, okay! So he might or might not have retrieved to the living room… so what! He definitely didn’t have any nightmares of him afterwards, so it was all fine!

Jesse was actually so full from the chocolate, they were sure if they moved one step they would throw up. So they stayed right in place, instead… They waited for the nausea to go away for a bit, then slowly made their way to the bed chamber. However, when they saw Winslow in the hallway, their sickness returned – I mean, look at him, BLEUGH – and they had to run back to the living room, open a window and… well… After that, they slept pretty well though. They felt quite alleviated.

Noo, Lluna, don’t eat those chocolate crumbs – Stella had to distract her somehow, for her own safety- oh, she got it! She’d just needed to send her on a treasure hunt! Let’s follow Gabriel and see if he has any weapon, alright! …But he didn’t move one bit. Well. Whatever, then let’s pinch the sword from Jesse! Go, Lluna – Huh? They’re already gone? Maaan, what a pity. With nothing left to do, Stella gave Lluna a hot cookie massage for the whole night. She really appreciated it.

Stacy was really really worried about Wink, so she brang herself to eat all that chocolate. In the end, she was sure Wink was thankful, but her stomach was less… she couldn’t even move one bit, she was THAT full. Oof… What could help with a serious overdose of chocolate…? – Of course, it had to be a serious overdose of sugar to even out the unhealthy elements in her body! After she chugged down one potion of swiftness, she was ready to scoot in flash speed to the attic, when she suddenly tripped over something in the hallway – oh no, it was Winslow! The kitty very terrifyingly hissed at her, so she meekly made her way back to the living room. There, she seeked out a nice, comfy corner and shut her eye… when suddenly, a mountain of M&Ms dropped down onto her. Ack, HeLp! Somebody, HELP! She tried to scream, but not a single word could escape her mouth as she drowned in the worst sweet imaginable.

Stacy was hit by a trap and died!

☀ Results of Day 3:

Sparklez immediately started by asking where everyone was, and stating that he had his suspicions on Jesse, Gabriel and CASSIE. Gabriel accidentally said library and retracted his statement, which made Sparklez suspicious. Next, Stella and CASSIE answered. Then Harper revealed that Stella was Stella, much to her shock. In return, she said that Harper was Harper. Stella added that Lluna dected a weapon on Jesse last night. 🪓

Sparklez repeated what has been said so far, and Stella asked if they should lock Jesse up. Sparklez agreed, and Stella stated that they felt bad for locking them up on their birthday of all days. 🍰

However, Sparklez was the only one who actually voted, and also volunteered to guard. He continued to ask if anyone had any objection. Nobody (but Jesse) did. Jesse then began to speak by saying that they had their suspicions on Gabriel, since they saw CASSIE, them, Stacy, and Wink in the living room, but Stacy and Wink were gone the next day. Jesse then change their mind to have their bigger sus on CASSIE, since she was in the kitchen the night Reuben died. Stella agreed and stated that CASSIE wasn’t talking as much as well.  

They went on to ask Jesse about their archetype. They said Adventurer.

Sparklez was the last one to speak, repeating his statement.

🌓 Results of Night 3:

Sparklez got so many crafting materials for christmas… wood, wool, iron, flint, it was great! He wanted to go and craft something so badly, but he had to remember his duties and shoved Jesse into the closet. He poked his frustration away on Jesse. Simultaneously, he thought of all the cool things he would soon craft with his new stuff… it kept him occupied, at least, and made the night be over in a flash, almost. Well, almost.

CASSIE didn’t get what she wanted. No. She got a superfine brush for Winslow, an extremely rare elytra, some collars made of diamonds… but not what she needed. Not what she invited them all in here for. Therefore, everyone shall be PUNISHED! …She thought to herself and headed to the library. After a bit of contemplating, she decided to set off traps in the library, gallery and the dining room, and went to sleep afterwards in a thrill of anticipation for who was going to die next. But, alas, the next morning, a suspicous void yawned from her machines…

Harper was too scared for unexpected surprises, so she had PAMA open up all her presents for her. And of course, among some redstone dust, batteries for PAMA from some idiot who didn’t know PAMA obtains its power from ordinary sockets, and a daylight detector, someone had the nerves to gift her a CaNDy BaR. Candy. She couldn’t move, she was that aggravated. She waited until it was too dark to see where PAMA hid the candy, then she followed its beam of light to find her way to the trusty old living room and slept at her usual spot, under the window, almost freezing to death.

Guess what Gabriel got for christmas… coal! Apparently, even pretending to be naughty counts as naughty in this world. Welp. To make things even worse – because why not! – he followed Rush to the kitchen, spreading an as murderous vibe as he could. He stared at Stella the whole night… he saw everything. The envy in her eyes… yes, she must’ve been getting presents all for Lluna this year, and was upset about it. But then, she ate her sorrow away and went to sleep… and in the morning, Lluna bleated a don’t be sad, Gabriel could hear it so clearly. And Stella was super touched by it. Also, Stella snored.

Jesse teared up when they saw what they got for christmas… it was a figurine of Reuben. Someone had made them a little statue of Reuben to remember his sacrifice. It was so beautiful and sad at the same time… They would keep it with them for all times, even when they got shoved into the closet, it was there, in their pockets, the spirit of Reuben… Sparklez was not joking when he said he would poke them all night long… Jesse laughed it away, saying that they were too tired from being sus to everyone to be kept awake, but really, they were busy the whole night anyway, thinking sentimentally about their christmas present…

Stella got so many presents – a brush, some nice, silken blankets, an extra-soft leash, tiny boots for stony grounds… yeah, they were all for Lluna. Every single one of them. Yes, she loved her darling Lluna more than anything else, but she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of her… Lluna noticed that, but only bleated snobbishly. Stella went to the kitchen to comfort eat her diappointment away. After having some good real food, she slept her envy away. And look at that, in the morning, Lluna had snuggled to her side, bleating a don’t be sad about it. It was still kinda cheeky, like she was simultaneously bragging about it, but Stella was touched either way.

☀ Results of Day 4:

Sparklez once again immediately broke the ice by asking what happened last night. Stella confirmed that Lluna didn’t detect weapons on Gabriel in the kitchen. Sparklez then concluded that he probably isn’t Cassie, but Jesse, and that Jesse must be the murderer. But then Stella interposed if they ever cleared CASSIE. Sparklez answered with CASSIE’s whereabouts in the first night, aka the night where Reuben disappeared. CASSIE verified this.

Medi then started to vote for Jesse’s elimination, and Gabriel and CASSIE followed.

Jesse then made the plot-twisting decision to vote themself out to prove that they’re not Cassie. Stella noted that this seemed counterproductive. Nobody changed their mind after this.

Rani got thrown out and died!

The Last Night 🌔

"Ha!", CASSIE laughed and clapped her hands when she arrived in the kitchen, all by herself. Jesse was kind enough to voluntarily starve to death outside, but Winslow could not retrieve the FLINT & STEEL from them, so… t’was time for some traps! And to replenish what the guests had eaten off the mansion, or else they would find an escape – and that was definitely not the plan! 🍰

Meanwhile, Stella was getting nervous. She already had a bad feeling back when Jesse was being accused earlier… and now she had to be extra careful. She decided to make a run for the attic, but was stopped by nasty Winslow appearing in front of her in the hallway between the dining room and the library. She tried to ignore him, but then suddenly, Winslow jumped onto her, extending claws. Stella screamed in terror; luckily, Lluna managed to back-kick Winslow off of her and pull her to flee back to the living room.

Panting, Stella sat down on the couch and thought of where to go instead. But she didn’t sit for too long – as soon she was devoured by the seat giving in and revealing a dark, deep pit underneath it! Stella thought it was the end for her, but the fall wasn’t too deep – and she landed right on a mountain of cookie dough. Oh, yummy~! 🎵

They couldn’t resist nibbling on it, but something was wrong… it was kinda hot in here… and the cookie dough was getting suspiciously hard to bite. Oh shoot, oH SHoOt, Stella was… getting baked alive?!?

She looked back up from where she had fallen; she could barely see the surface, as steam was coming from the ground and beclouding the view. The cookie dough was getting super crispy… "H… HHHel… HH… HHHel… Hel… HELP!", she cried out loud, hoping someone would come and rescue her.

Lluna could not just let this happen – and she knew exactly who was the only one with a metallic weapon left. 🪓

She searched the whole house until she found her, just minding her own baking business. There CASSIE was, and she did NOT know what Lluna had coming for her-

"BAH!" she bloated, causing CASSIE to cringe and look right into her hooves – Lluna hit as hard as she could, making CASSIE stumble and fall backwards.

"Bah! Bah! Bah!", she continued, demanding Stella’s rescue – or else. "Okay, okay, alright, fine, geez-", CASSIE said, adjusting her classes and carefully standing up to enter the secret passage way, with Lluna breathing down her neck.

She pressed some random buttons to buy some time… then suddenly, something jumped up on Lluna – it was of course Winslow, raging for revenge!

Lluna run into reverse and tried to shake him off, but his claws dud deep into her fur and left some bloody scratches. She then rolled around the floor, causing Winslow to leap off and hiss at her. Lluna bloated back, and the both of them continued to fight.

Meanwhile, CASSIE went to observe Stella suffer to death. There she went… and looks like she dropped something shiny-

Lluna suddenly stopped as Winslow bit her in her leg. Something wasn’t right… why was there smoke coming from the kitchen, did CASSIE actually burn some food-?

Then she realized that it was indeed not coming from the kitchen, but from everywhere. Soon, she was cornered by flames, and Winslow jumped out of the window, leaving her to die alone.

And with her, everyone else died too, everyone but CASSIE and her 372,026,931 calico cats. And honestly, the thing she was most glad about was that she finally didn’t have to play the cook anymore. FREEDOM!!! 😼 😼😼😼😼😼😼😼😼

Cassie has won the game! 🍬

[chisie12]

Dance of Silver - Chapter 9: Vampire Mayhem

Finally... Another chapter! As usual, I haven’t gotten around to properly checking everything! But hope you enjoy :D 

---

Monstrous roars echoed through the dead hallways before thunderous crashes boomed. The white hallways were empty, void of any lifeforms, yet the echoing roars were enough to send shivers down the spine. Heavy, slow footsteps tapped against the floor; One hand lightly tracing the wall on his left as his right hand held a giant silvery steel hammer. The weapon was nearly as tall as the robust man himself with the hammer’s head twice the size of his biceps, but he easily carried it as though it weighed as light as a feather. On one end of the hammer’s head were three holes shining a bright yellow glow; the rocket propulsion ready to fire at any moment. The scar carved on his left eye made the older man’s expression grimmer, especially since there was a smaller, petite woman crouching behind his much larger frame. In her arms was a sniper rifle but her gaze was still as sharp as ever despite only seeing through one good eye, the other covered by an eyepatch. She exhaled deeply, calming the nerves and adrenaline pumping through her veins, but more so to catch her breath.

“Meine Maus, are you okay?” Reinhardt whispered worriedly as he glanced back at her.

Ana inhaled and smiled sweetly at him. “I’m alright. It was just a really long flight.”

Reinhardt frowned and twisted around to lightly run a thick finger down her cheek before cupping her face. “If you need to rest, you should go.”

She leaned into his touch, her smile softening even more. “It’s alright, my love. I can’t let you go in alone.” The warmth on her forehead brought forth a sensation of bliss, and though it lasted only ever so briefly, his kiss was enough to invigorate her. This is worth it.

Her return back to Zurich had been rushed and the fastest flight was already over 24 hours long with a single stopover, even after hurrying through her research and investigation of the secret chamber and leaving earlier than expected. Rushing through immigration and customs declaration, she met up with Reinhardt with a heavy heart, but it wasn’t only her; Reinhardt also had a bad premonition. A quick hug and a peck, the two rushed towards the car and sped back to the Ziegler’s house which was still a good 20 minutes away. With the tap of the keycard, the couple brandished their weapons as they warily made their way in, only to be met with furious roars and snarls — inhumane roars and snarls.

Walking past the living room on the ground floor and through the hallway leading up to the medical room, they saw —

“Angela!” They cried out simultaneously upon seeing the slumped figure by the wall. Her head hung low, a streak of blood dripping from the corner of her lips and her Angelic artifacts were strewn some ways away from her.

Reinhardt took a decisive step forward and held out his arm to block Ana from moving forward when another roar shook the walls. Distraught, Ana furrowed her brows as she readied her biotic rifle and Reinhardt lifted his rocket hammer. They inched closer and closer towards Angela, their eyes and bodies facing the viewing glass panel. Despite the sunlight rising over the horizon, the house was eerily dark. When the roars came again, they felt it firsthand how the glass vibrated, how the walls shook. Ana bent down and checked on the fallen blonde while Reinhardt continued to stare at the glass viewing panel, an uneasy feeling sinking into him. He gripped his hammer tight, muscles pulling taut. From the dim emergency lighting of the medical room, he saw faint traces of the battle aftermath through the glass; Of broken shelves and broken glasses, of disorderly equipment strewn about, some fallen over, of the strong stench of medicine and drugs, and the big black block of shadow before him. Rising and falling. Rising… and falling.

Breathing.

With heavy pants that now seemed to echo in his mind.

Reinhardt steadied his breathing and widened his stance, arching his back downwards a little and watched the unknown silhouette warily. It was the muscles, the body's frame and some shadowy image of that unruly hair that made him hesitate, that gave him a sense of foreboding danger. He inched forward, only to jolt in surprise when the pair of bright red eyes glared at him in the darkness, sharp and piercing into his soul. The black silhouette abruptly turned around and kept staring at the large man before letting out a soft cry. Reinhardt’s subconsciously loosened his grip on the hammer when he heard that deep, slightly rough voice. His eyes traced the silhouette’s figure, from the head to the shoulders… his back, despite the danger ringing in his head, this person… There was oddly, a sense of familiarity.

Its head tilted slightly towards the unconscious blonde in Ana’s arms and then cried again, this time a rasp of words, melancholic enough to even shake the old couple’s hearts. “A-Angie…”

Reinhardt straightened his back. “Jesse?”

A mournful cry. They warily watched Jesse stand and clutch at the viewing glass. “I’m sorry… I-I’m sorry…” He knocked his head upon the glass as his back hunched in despair.

“What happened to you?” Ana spoke up as she placed a finger to Angela’s nostrils, relief flooding her system at feeling the slow, ragged breath upon her fingertips. Her hands patted at the blonde’s head, feeling the bump there and checked for any other external injuries.

“I-I don’t know… I really don’t,” Jesse croaked when a lump became stuck in his throat. Breathing constricted, eyes warm and watery, he slowly slid down the wall and curled up into a ball. What had happened? He wasn’t even sure himself. All he felt was a heavenly whilst floating before recalling a memory from six years ago when an intense pain burned and crawled up his neck. Starting from the old vampire bite mark, the pain travelled through his veins and towards his other limbs, leaving behind a path of numbing burns. His throat became parched, goosebumps littered his skin as the temperature began to drop tremendously; From mid 20’s to the 10’s, before steadily staying at the couple of degrees above and below zero. His bones started to pound and ache, muscles spazzing and writhing.

The next thing he knew, his conscience woke up to Angela’s tears above his face and her already scarred arm clamped between his jaws. Her beautiful blonde hair was dishevelled and matted with sweat, but her pained stubbornness was vivid in his memory.

Then the excruciating pain came once again as her blood started to flow into him. There was the sounds of glass shattering and something crashing into the wall, and when he refocused, Angela was already lying on the ground, as still as a corpse. Just like his step father and step grandfather.

“Did you say it was Angela’s blood flowing into you, Jesse?” Ana perked up. The couple still stood some ways away from the newborn vampire, preferring the weak barrier the glass viewing panel could provide than entering and checking up on him. Caution sailed a thousand seas after all.

“Yes, it was.” Jesse lifted his head while trying to steady his breathing. Everything still burned, ached, hurt, but he refused it. Refused to believe he was turned into a vampire. Refused to believe he hurt his own sister. Refused to believe he bit her.

“It was her Angelic blood… It’s the Angelic blood!” Ana whirled around to pull out an ancient book in her backpack she hadn’t removed. A relic she retrieved from the secret chamber in Egypt from what seemed to be a tomb at that time. She had seen and deciphered some writings on the wall, but seeing Jesse like this, recalling something from the past…

“Oh Gods…” The old woman suddenly exhaled and stared at Angela. “I think I know.”

“What is it?” Reinhardt’s steady voice calmed her nerves.

“Six years ago, Jesse was bitten by a vampire. Normally, he would have turned into a vampire when that happened, but he didn’t.” Ana turned her attention onto the young man in question. “You didn’t. Why?” The last word came out more like a whisper, a rasped word in her shock.

“I don’t know! How am I supposed to know! I didn’t know six years ago and I still don’t today!” Jesse cried agonisingly. “I remember getting bitten. I only remember a vampire biting and killing the vampire that bit me. And Angie trying to stop my bleeding!”

“But she was bleeding too,” Ana added softly, but audible enough for the two men. “Her right arm was injured that day and she was bleeding. Her blood got mixed in with yours from that bite. Her Angelic blood was the most potent in all the generations and from this, I’ve recently found out that the blood is a natural suppressant for the vampiric cells in vampires.” Lifting the ancient book, she continued, “That was all detailed in this book. From the little I could read, Angels could suppress vampires centuries ago was because of their blood. It minimised the appearance of newborns and was used as part of their weapons. But years came and went, and the bloodline thinned, making the Angelic blood weak.”

“Until Angie came along…”

Ana nodded in agreement and Jesse groaned when the injury on his neck flared with pain, his hand shooting up to tightly clutch at it.

“Barrier, activated!”

In a split second, Reinhardt tensed and swung the metallic lion’s head that hung on his shoulder forward, swiftly activating the barrier field as a light blue energy shield stood in between them and Jesse. Immediately just as the shield lit up, a large force broke through the thick viewing glass and slammed towards it. Reinhardt groaned and gritted his teeth under the immense pressure. Animalistic snarls filled his ears and he fiercely met Jesse’s crimson gaze with his own. Ana gripped onto her rifle, agilely reloading a chamber with a special bullet that dimly shone a bluish silver metallic sheen under the shield’s glow, but instead of a conical shaped tip, it had a three-centimeter slim tube with a diagonal cut tip; Just like a syringe. Jesse raised a clawed hand above his head and Reinhardt readied his hammer, the rockets lighting up as the head started to redden and heat up.

“Rargh!”

Jesse brought his hand down just as the energy barrier disappeared, with the old soldier instantly swinging his hammer out and a fiery crescent wave collided with the claws. The newborn cried out when the fire strike scorched his skin and sent him flying backward. Flipping in mid air, Jesse stabilised himself on the broken window panes and was about to lunge when there was a small prick on his raised hand. His snarls died down, confused sounds coming out muffled and jumbled as the sight before him blurred. He lifted his hand to his face, scrutinising the metal syringe sticking into his palm like a massive splinter when his blurred vision tilted.

Reinhardt was awkwardly holding the reactivated energy barrier up as he watched the young newly-turned-vampire man tilt forward and unceremoniously drop onto the floor. He flinched at the loud thump, seeing Jesse having fallen face first. “Oww.”

Ana huffed apathetically, hefting the rifle higher onto her shoulder.

Reinhardt chuckled faintly with a small shake of his head. Looking back at the medical room, he trudged on carefully as the older woman stayed by Angela’s side with the rifle ready. Slowly, Reinhardt used his hammer to push the door open. Gentle like a feather, as quiet as a mouse. Broken glass clinked as the door moved and he crept into the room cautiously. Shield still strong before him with courage still the same from his golden days, he fully opened the door. Everything was still dark before him with the absence of any windows nearby, but using the glow of his shield, he lifted it higher and observed his surroundings.

…

“Meine Maus! I found Altherr and Wendell!”

That day, the University Hospital of Zurich was given a surprise when they had to tend to the three Zieglers that were just admitted. The hospital was sent into a panic; Crazy rumours of assassins attacking the famous Zieglers started to spread and there were versions where vampires infiltrated the hub of vampire hunters and were about to inflict chaos upon them. The neighbours living next to the Zieglers definitely didn't help, having heard the snarls and sounds coming from the house.

…

When Angela finally opened her eyes, she felt a throbbing pain in her neck and skull. Turning slightly to the sides, she noticed both her grandfather and father resting on hospital beds with steady breathing

But…

“Jesse?” Her voice was hoarse, scratchy at the throat and she couldn’t help the fits of coughs that escaped. Where was he?

“You need to rest, Angela.” She glanced at the door where Reinhardt stood with a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand. Her lips twitched in amusement at the sight before it fell. Seemingly reading her mind, the old soldier walked to her bedside and added the flowers into the vase as he whispered, “He’s a Jungspund, he will be alright.” Then with a mocking sigh, he grinned, “All the Jungspunde these days, they’re so healthy and energetic!”

Angela giggled softly, though it sounded wet and sullen. She appreciated his gesture of trying to cheer her up, but she saw firsthand, how Jesse became a vampire, became… the very monster he hated, the monster he hunted. Reinhardt smiled sadly and gingerly caressed her cheek, ignoring the wet drops that dribbled down his calloused finger.

———

“ The Zurich monster was last seen in the forest 40 miles from the city… ”

A lithe figure leapt off a branch before nimbly landing onto one a few meters away and quickly vaulting off once more, leaving behind only a streak of bright green that camouflaged amidst the trees.

“ Burnt corpses were found… they were the missings people from …”

He quickly arrived at the crime scene. Security tape cordoned off the area and a group of policemen surrounded the place. Hidden in the shadows high up in the forest trees, Genji watched and observed the happenings below. From the markings of the trees to the smell of burnt silver tinting the air, he knew one thing that the reporters didn’t know: The Zurich Monster’s identity.

Is she okay?

Recalling the scene that happened just yesterday, he shut his eyes as his heart thumped a dull ache.

Why do I hurt like this?

In the middle of his thoughts, a policeman’s voice sounded.

“Why do you think this is happening?”

“I don’t know. Crazy things have been happening. I heard that there’s a vampire outbreak in Japan…”

Genji flinched at the news. Japan? It couldn’t be… It wouldn’t be, right?

“Ouch! Shit, man! I accidentally cut myself!”

“Stop whining like a sissy. It’s just a cut.”

“Ugh, a vampire wouldn’t show up and suddenly eat us right?” The injured policeman darkly joked.

“Nah, Zurich’s literally the hub for vampire hunters. There wouldn’t be any vampires nearby.”

The sweet, metallic smell permeated his senses and he groaned. Swaying on his feet, his eyes flashed between red and black. His repressed instincts stirred within his veins, swimming through his nerves and his fangs tingled with the itch to bite. Just. One. Small. Bite. To drink. To feast. Oh, how long has it been since he feasted? He needed to taste that sweetness that slid down his throat, dripping down his lips as he savoured every, last drop. He wanted to – no needed — Just — !

NO! YOU CAN’T!

Drink! … So! Much! Blood! You don’t need her!

NO! NO! I CAN’T!

HEHEHE FEAST!

The tree trunk dented beneath his claws, splinters breaking off and falling to the ground. His eyes switched between the colours faster and faster, as though a seal was about to be broken. Just how long has it been since he had a proper meal? Oh, so long…

I can’t — no — don’t —!

Why do you even care! Maniacal cackles echoed in his mind. Just drink! Driiiink!

Genji clutched at his throat, feeling it becoming more and more parched with every second, his control worsening the longer he smelled the smell.

“You don’t deserve to be hunted.”

Her voice suddenly appeared in his mental battle and he found his attention shifting subconsciously. A memory of old, yet actually still so recent, began to play. He remembered his restraint, of him holding back from wiping her tears away, and he remembered of the pain he felt at seeing her pain. But it was that one time that… Genji groaned and clutched at his head. With a roar, he leapt off the branch, further into towards the forest and away from civilisation, leaving behind a group of frightened policemen.

“Even so… Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Letting me feel like a human again.”

———

Peach blossoms eyes flitted open and a pair of dull onyx eyes glimmered in the ashy darkness. There was only a stream of moonlight that peaked in from the window overlooking into the dojo, landing on the silvery green hair of its tail. It lifted its serpentine head, long thin whiskers caressing the wooden bamboo flooring and the cold blood running through his veins suddenly thumped in the dead of night.

“ Awoooo! ”

A desperate howl echoed through the traditional Japanese hall. Sadness, despair. Loneliness. Those emotions rushed through the long, slender dragon, giving him the sudden urge to wake up, to live . It clawed agitatedly at the wood to the small roof of the shrine in the dojo hall, but it never left a depression on the old wood. It knew and understood how important the shrine was to itself and to —

Dark almond eyes slowly gazed up at the small meter long dragon howling atop the shrine. Calm, collected. Quiet.

Solitary, yet with a sense of sorrow in that broad, straight back.

The man wore a slim fitting waistcoat of a striped grey colour with deep navy sides and the same striped pants, emanating a firm and steady aura as his silhouette was painted by the soft halation of the dojo’s paper lanterns. By his kneeled legs were a bow and a quiver of a colour matching his suit filled with arrows. Jet black hair of his undercut was styled to the back with a strand that dangerously — attractively — hung in front of his eyes, a solemn expression sat on his chiselled face. Despite a charismatic, handsome Asian visage, he showed no other emotion in his uptight posture and straight face, but if one looked closely enough, there was a hidden pain and hurt clouded in those eyes as they stared at the green dragon.

“What is it?” A deep, silky voice with a magnetic pull.

“ Awooo… ” The howl dimmed into a soft cry as the dragon hunched and stared at the moonlight from the window. It circled once around the shrine’s roof, worry and anxiety clear in its cries. Its blood felt it, the lull of its connection. It had come and gone like the wind, a strong gust that swept at its face, the force terrifying enough to make it fall, yet it then abruptly disappeared, like an illusion; a figment of its imagination.

But it was there. It felt it.

The green dragon cried into the darkness and the man’s lips parted, the question hanging at the tip of his tongue, when the reptilian creature leapt off its hind legs and flew off through the balcony windows, leaving only the soft swish of the winds and a cold shadow of its absence.

Beneath the shrine’s roof and further down the torn, bloodied scroll displaying a strong, beautiful calligraphy was a bamboo katana holder lacquered dark and sleek. The displayed damaged katana still gave off a sharp aura as the man mentally sighed and returned to kneeling before the blade. He placed his hands on his thighs and straightened his back, his tired expression disappearing after a moment of vulnerability.

“Cold winter’s moon glow,

A dragon’s cry, hidden tears,

Genji, please, will you…?”

From behind the small pedestal the katana holder stood, appeared twin dragons similar to the green one that had flown away, but rather than a shimmery green colour, they were a soft glow of striking blue. They stared at the kneeling man, their dark eyes curved down in sadness, before walking towards him, their sharp claws lightly scratching against the tatami flooring. He ignored their affectionate nudging and remained unmoving like a boulder; Stern and upright. Like two kittens, the dragons rubbed their heads and bodies against him, but he was already immune to their shameless, cutesy actions for centuries. Hanging their heads, the dragons could only whine and settle with curling up against his legs and burying their heads into his warmth.

It was a tranquil silence, with only the occasional winter’s breeze whispering, and the slight snoring of the two dragons. A sudden cry cried out in the night, followed by a few more, and the tranquillity was broken Footsteps rapidly thudded against the tatami flooring. Unwanted visitors rushed into the Shimada Dojo. The twin dragons were jolted awake at the presence of the newborns trespassing their grounds. In the next second, the vampires were already within fifteen meters of the trio. The two dragons’ scales bristled as their hair stood in aggression. Fangs bared while growling, they circled to either side of their master. In the second, the vampires were ten meters away. The dragons crouched, ready to pounce. The third second. Five meters away.

That’s when he moved.

He nimbly got to his feet, swiping up his bow and three arrows as he turned. With the arrows already nocked on the bow upon facing the bloodsucking creatures, he let loose. The sharp arrows pierced the sides of the first three vampires’ necks, through and through to three more vampires behind them, stopping squarely in the heart of one and the necks of two others.

Fourth second. He took a step back closer to the katana holder as he kicked up an arrow, catching it easily with his left hand and nocking it. Unlike the other arrows, this was a little more special; Its arrowhead split into threes when the bow was fully pulled. The remaining vampires neared, the closest at four meters and the furthest at ten. With the arrow pointed at the closest vampire, the crosshair aim shifted from the vampire’s pale face towards the area before their feet. Wind whistled by the man’s ears as the arrow flew. He turned around calmly and kneeled again, indifferent as the arrow divided into six fragmented parts upon hitting the tatami floor. A fragment ricocheted off the floor and pierced the vampire taking point in the eye and through to its brain, the other fragments ricocheting off the walls at the sides and accurately killing the other five newborns behind it. The two dragons scoffed and huffed at the dead vampires before returning to curling up beside their unscathed master.

“Flowerbeds of blood,

Death, solitude. Forgiveness,

A dragon’s sadness…”

[blackcatkita]

The Consequence of Secrets- Chapter 11

The Broken Ones

Liam x MC (Jennifer)

A/N- This chapter will be released in two parts because it’s WAY too long as one! I’m hoping to have the second half posted in a few days. As always, thank you for following me and reading my stories! I love doing it and I love that people are enjoying them even more! Word Count- 4917

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_______________

Jennifer had no idea what just happened. One minute Liam was fine, arguing with the council on Drake’s behalf and the next minute he was trembling with anger and dismissing everyone, including herself. Once she got his attention he seemed to calm down again, insisting everything was fine and that he was okay, that was the only reason she left without a fuss, but still, she was worried.

Leaning against the wall outside the closed door of the council chambers, she watches Olivia wring her hands nervously while she paces the hall and wonders when Olivia started having feelings for Drake. She knew they hooked up from time to time, not that either one would admit to it, but the worried look on Olivia’s face was an obvious tell that things had progressed well beyond mere hookups. She was happy for them if that was the case. They both deserved someone who loved them, and neither one would take the other one’s crap. Despite their constant sniping at each other she had to admit, they really were a good match. It was unfortunate it took something like this to bring out their feelings.

“How can you just stand there all calm and shit?” Olivia asks sharply, raising her arms in exasperation and her lips tight, “Aren’t you worried about what’s happening in there?”

Jennifer sighs and rests her head against the wall, “Of course I’m worried…” She was, but not about their meeting. Liam wouldn’t have told her he was okay, he wouldn’t have promised that everything was going to be fine if he meant Drake harm. No, she wasn’t worried about what was happening in that room, but she was worried about Liam, she was worried about Drake, and she was worried that this wasn’t just a simple fight. “and I’m standing here because I want to hear if anything goes wrong.”

“Somethings already gone wrong.” She snaps as the door opens.

Olivia moves closer to the door as Drake steps out, stopping short when he sees the two women waiting for him. He nods to each of them, “Your Majesty, Your Grace,” then turns and walks down the hall without another word.

“Drake wait!” Jennifer calls after him to no effect, “Drake!” she yells louder in desperation, she has to stop him from walking away. If he would just stop and come back, they could work all of this out.

Olivia looks at her, her eyes asking a question she doesn’t speak and Jennifer nods. Yes, Olivia should go after him, Jennifer’s place was with her husband. She turns to the open door as Olivia runs after Drake.

A heavy feeling of dread settles across her shoulders when she enters the room, she doesn’t need to be psychic to feel the sadness inside. Liam’s chair is pushed away from the table, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. Whatever happened in here since she left has made things worse. She steps between his legs and runs her hands through his thick blond hair. He sighs into her touch, wrapping his hands around the backs of her thighs with the top of his head resting against her abdomen.

She doesn’t know how long they stay that way, with her nails grazing his scalp and him drawing in deep breaths while he grasps her legs. She doesn’t need to see his face to know his eyes are glistening with unshed tears. Jennifer had seen him cry three times, once in New York when she told him she was staying behind if they didn’t find Tariq, once after the assassination attempt and once the night his father died. No… that wasn’t correct, he cried the night he found out about Drake too.

“Liam, what happened?” she asks softly. His arms wrap around her, drawing her closer while he presses his face into her stomach, her hands moving down to rub his shoulders, “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I told him our friendship was over.” his voice is muffled by the fabric of her dress.

She draws in a shaky breath, trying to ignore the crushing weight in her chest and steps back to lean against the table, she doesn’t want Liam to feel her hands trembling. She did this to him, to them. She was supposed to be the one that always had a plan, the one that brought everyone together, the fixer of the group. Only this time, a time when it really mattered, she didn’t know how she could fix things.

She grips the edge of the table to stop her hands from shaking, “You don’t really mean that… do you?”

He looks up at her, his jaw set and conviction in his eyes, “Yes, I do.”

“Liam…” she says softly, her eyes pleading with him to rethink his words.

He holds up his hand to quiet her and shakes his head, “Don’t. Please Jennifer… just… don’t.”

He stands and walks around the table, opens the decanter of scotch and pours two glasses. He hands her his own and keeps the other used glass for himself. “I know it upsets you, and I apologize for that, but that is the way I feel.” He raises an eyebrow as she gulps down the entire contents of the glass, then pours herself another drink. She doesn’t care if he’s judging her. Her world is crumbling around her and she needs a damn drink.

She leans forward against the table, her palms pressed flat on its cold surface, afraid if she lets go she may collapse. She closes her eyes with a heavy sigh, her chin dropping to her chest. She can feel Liam watching her as she continues to breathe deeply, trying to stop the welling tears in her eyes from spilling over.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers, shaking her head and opening her eyes, “I thought… I thought you had calmed down, that we could finally move past this.” Her silent tears roll down her cheeks as she blinks, “I’ll never forgive myself for this.”

Liam pulls her into his arms when he sees her tears, tucking her face into his chest while he gently rubs her back. She grips the lapels of his jacket, the fabric bunched tightly in her fists as she breathes in his custom made cologne. His scent always brought her comfort, made her feel safe, made her think anything was possible. He had laughed when she told him it smelled like a fresh cut lawn by the sea.

“I forgive you my love, please stop blaming yourself for this.” He sighs deeply, “I had calmed down enough to look at the situation logically, but I never intended to continue our friendship. I’m sorry if I gave you false hope.” He cups her face in his hands, raising her eyes to his while his thumbs wipe the tears from her cheeks, “When I saw the way he looked at you when he came in here, I knew my decision was correct.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as she takes in his words, “What are you talking about? He didn’t look at me.”

He steps back, his hands dropping from her face in the process, “I know what I saw Jennifer.”

Was he right? Had Drake looked at her and not Olivia? She didn’t think so… if Drake had been looking at her she would know right? She would have seen his eyes lock with hers, and she hadn’t. Relief washes over her, this was all a misunderstanding. All she had to do was convince him of the truth.

She takes his hands in hers and holds them to her chest as she looks him in the eye. “Liam, I am telling you, he wasn’t looking at me. I think he was looking at Olivia.”

“Why would he be looking at Olivia?” he chuckles, dropping their hands but leaving them joined.

“Umm… maybe because he’s sleeping with her?!” she exclaims with wide eyes.

“And?” he questions, one side of his lips quirking up in a half smile, “They’ve been sleeping together for years. How is it any different now?”

“Wait a second… years?!” she laughs, “And you knew the whole time?”

“Of course, I knew!” he chuckles, “he’s my best friend, and I also know that feelings were never involved, at least not on his part. I can’t speak for Olivia.”

Present tense, he used present tense, the lingering smile on her face widens, he may not think so right now, but he still thought of Drake as his best friend. He looks at her quizzically, probably wondering why she suddenly looked like the cat that ate the canary.

“Whether feelings were involved, or not is anybody’s guess, but they’re certainly involved now.” She says quickly, before he can ask her what she’s smiling about.

A quiet knock raps on the door, they hear the muffled voice of Liam’s assistant James on the other side, “Pardon me Your Majesty, the Spanish ambassador has arrived for your meeting.”

“Thank you, James, I will be right out.” Liam calls out. He brings Jennifer’s hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle, “I’m afraid I must excuse myself my love. We can continue this conversation later if you wish.”

She squeezes his hands, a small smile playing on her lips, “Just, think about what I said okay? What you think you saw is not what I saw.”

“I will.” He tugs her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her gently, “I’ll see you at dinner my Queen.”

He walks to the door, stopping just short of it and turns to her, his face serious, “I love you Jennifer.”

She grins, that is one thing she has never doubted. Even through the social season, before he ever said the words and with everything they’ve been through… she knew he loved her, and god… she loved him back. “I know Liam, I love you too.”

~~~~~

Having been away for a few days, the next two weeks are busier than usual for both Jennifer and Liam. She has never been more grateful for the endless meetings, appointments and appearances, using them to distract herself from the group being in shambles. Liam avoids the topic of Drake altogether, only managing a curt nod in his direction when their paths crossed. She tried to broach the subject a few times, but each time he shut down, telling her his decision had been made and he didn’t want to talk about it. She hasn’t bothered since. What was the point? She knows it’s better to approach the issue when he has had some time to think, some time to realize he misses Drake too.

Part of her was surprised that Drake was still at the palace. Considering what Liam said to him, she wouldn’t have blamed him if he left, but she was happy he didn’t. If she was going to bridge the gap between the two men, she needed them both present. She had seen Drake a few times, but when she did she was surrounded by various staff members demanding her attention. She wanted nothing more than to talk to him, to tell him he was still her friend and about how sorry she was that she came between him and Liam. Given the circumstances however, it wouldn’t be appropriate to meet with him in private, Liam would have a fit. The best she can do for now is smile, say hello, and attempt to telepathically tell him she hasn’t forgotten about him. She was going to fix this mess… if it’s the last thing she does.

She was able to have dinner with Hana alone before she left for Paris and took the opportunity to tell her the whole story. She had been understanding, expressing sympathy for all parties involved and advising to give it time. Jennifer wondered how much time was enough. The rest of their dinner conversation included Hana’s upcoming fashion show and the changing of her relationship with Maxwell. She said she had always liked him, but during the Unity Tour her feelings for him started to grow. It wasn’t until Maxwell accidentally said they were going on a date that she realized he had feelings for her too. If only Hana had told Jennifer about it earlier, Maxwell has had a crush on her since their first time at Applewood.

~~~~~

A week after her dinner with Hana, Jennifer is walking back to the apartment after a school funding meeting that ran way too late. She had texted Liam to let him know to go ahead and eat without her and that she would just find something at home whenever it was that she got there.

“Hey Jennifer!” Maxwell exclaims with a beaming smile as soon as she walks in the door to the apartment.

“Maxwell! What are you doing here?!” she returns his smile, bending down to remove her shoes and setting them to the side. Instead of answering, he holds a slice of pizza over his head in triumph and they all laugh. She’s elated to find Maxwell in the apartment. If anyone could cheer her up, or Liam for that matter… it was Maxwell.

Chance comes trotting out from under the table where he was waiting for dropped morsels of food, his back end wagging in excitement. She kneels to give him a thorough scratching as Liam walks over to her, she stands to greet her husband, a knot of worry settling in her stomach when she sees a tense look on his face.

“You ok?”

“Of course.” He replies, wrapping one arm around her waist and kissing her cheek, “How did your meeting go?”

“Long.” She sighs, “We will need to meet again but we made decent headway. Has Chance been taken out?”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry love, I was about to take him out when Maxwell showed up with the pizza. Speaking of, there’s plenty, why don’t you come and eat with us?”

“I would love to, I’m starving.” The Mediterranean style pizza common in Cordonia wasn’t New York pizza, but she had grown to love it in her time here, besides, she was never one to say no to pizza.

She tucks into the table with Liam taking the seat next to her, grabs a slice and turns to Maxwell with a smile, “Thank you for bringing over pizza Maxwell, you are a true hero!”

“Aw shucks…” he laughs, “I didn’t make it or anything… mostly because I don’t know how. But I know you both love it, so I ordered some and brought it over! I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to come talk to Liam.”

Jennifer takes a bite, the olives, tomato and feta creating a perfect balance of sharp and salty on her tongue, “Oh yeah? What about?”

“Nothing in particular.” Liam quickly interjects.

“Right…” Maxwell agrees with a frown, “nothing in particular…”

Jennifer watches Maxwell, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he meets her gaze then quickly looks away. She knows he came here to talk to Liam about Drake and from the look on his face he had about as much success as she had. She wishes he would have talked to her first, she could have saved him the trouble. Though, even if she had warned him, Maxwell wouldn’t have listened. He always made it his personal mission to cheer up everyone he encountered. With the way things were right now, it made sense that Maxwell would try his skills on Liam and Drake’s fight.

“Hey, why don’t you and I take Chance for a walk after we eat?” she asks Maxwell. She needed someone to talk to and Liam won’t, she can’t talk to Drake, Hana and Olivia were gone… Maxwell was her last chance for someone to vent to and he might have some ideas about what to do next.

“I would never miss the opportunity to hang out with my two best friends in the whole world!” he exclaims.

“An excellent idea.” Liam agrees with a nod, “I’ll clean this up while you two spend some time together.” Jennifer smiles at him and places her hand on his, grateful that he knows she needs someone to talk to, even if it can’t be him right now.

After they’ve finished eating, Jennifer runs upstairs to change into a pair of jeans and a light sweater, choosing flats instead of heels for their walk. Liam and Maxwell are engaged in a quiet conversation when she returns to the first floor.

“Ready to go?” she asks with a smile.

“Ready as I’ll ever be! Liam even gave me a plastic bag in case Chance you know…” he scrunches his nose and continues, “poops.”

Jennifer and Liam both laugh as they kiss each other goodbye before she leaves with Maxwell and Chance.

~~~~~

Chance hits the ground running as soon as they step outside, stopping at a row of bushes and lifting his leg. “Guess he really had to go.” Jennifer chuckles, “So, what were you and Liam talking about when I came downstairs?”

“Uhh…” Maxwell shoves his hands in his pockets, shifting from one foot to the other, “Well… you.”

“Oh?” she asks, her eyebrow raised in question.

“Yeah… he said you’ve been feeling guilty lately and was hoping I could talk some sense into you…” he side-glances at her, “Except, I don’t know what you feel guilty about… Is it just that Liam and Drake aren’t talking?”

“No, but that’s certainly part of it.” She says softly, shaking her head.

He looks at her worriedly, almost as if he’s afraid to ask his next question, “What’s the other part?”

This was what she wanted wasn’t it? Someone to confide in, someone to talk to about everything that was going on. But now, looking at Maxwell’s concerned face she doesn’t know if she’s ready to admit to her involvement. He risked everything to bring her to Cordonia, facing Bertrand’s wrath and the courts ridicule for daring to bring an American commoner into their circle. He brought her here to be a suitor for Liam because he saw something in the two of them, saw the hope he thought Cordonia needed. He looked up to her, thought she was some kind of superhero and she was about to tell him that she betrayed his trust too.  

“How much do you want to know?”

He looks away, thinking for a few moments before turning back to her, “Everything... Jen, tell me what’s going on.”

She sighs, running her hand through her hair and flipping it to the other side of her face, she glances at Chance who is still nosing around under the bushes, “Alright, but let’s go sit down.”

She calls Chance to follow her and he comes trotting out from under the bushes with a large stick he found in his mouth. They walk across the drive to the central fountain, she sits down on the edge, her legs crossed at the ankle and stretched out in front of her. “Liam found out that Drake has feelings for me.”

Maxwell throws the stick Chance brought with him and watches the dog chase after it before he sits beside her, “Drake mentioned that Liam overheard something… Something a man never wants to hear another man say about his wife… Is that what he was talking about?”

“I would assume so.” She nods.

“Okay, but why would you feel guilty about that? It isn’t your fault if he has feelings for you.” He looks over at her and she turns away, not wanting to face him as she admits her mistakes, “What aren’t you telling me Jen?”

“I kissed him… once.” She shuts her eyes tightly as she forces the words out, gripping the edge of the fountain, she braces herself for Maxwell’s reaction, “I kissed Drake.”

“You what?!” he yells, his eyes widened in shock and his mouth hanging open, “When?! Where?!”

She watches Chance to avoid Maxwell’s shocked stare as the dog searches for the stick he lost track of in the dark. There was no turning back now, she had opened this can of worms and now she had to tell him the whole story.

“Remember our first Beaumont Bash together during the social season? When the staff bailed, and Drake came over to help? It was that night, right before I texted you about the envelope of money we found in the study.”

“So, when I came in there…” he runs his hand through his hair and stands, walking a couple steps away before marching back to her, “right before that you were making out with Drake?! In my house?!”

Her breath catches as she looks up at him, she’s seen him angry before, but that anger had never been directed at her, “Maxwell…”

He shakes his head, his chest deflating in disappointment, “Why would you do that Jennifer? I thought you loved Liam… you called him your soulmate...”

She jumps to her feet and shouts, “I did… I do! Liam is my soulmate! I love him more than anything in the world… I don’t know how you could even question that!” her vision blurs and she blinks away the tears, she didn’t appreciate his insinuation that she hadn’t loved Liam.

“Then why would you kiss his best friend?!” he shouts to the stars, Chance abandons his search for the stick, watching them as their voices continue to rise.

“I don’t know okay!” she shouts back, her arms raised in frustration, “It just sort of happened! I regretted it as soon as I did it…”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it happened in the first place!” he’s not just shouting now, he’s so angry she can see the muscles of his jaw work. She had thought he would be understanding but boy was she wrong, she’s never seen him act like this.

“You think I don’t know that?!” she snaps, her guilt ridden tears finally spilling down her cheeks.

His eyes soften as he sees she’s crying, “Jesus Jen…” he sighs, sitting back down on the fountain and shaking his head, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here…”

She wraps her arms across her waist, “Well, don’t bother. Anything you have to say isn’t going to be any different than what I’ve been telling myself for two years. I fucked up, and now it’s all out in the open and Liam and Drake’s friendship is ruined and it’s…” tears stream down her face as every feeling of guilt she’s had for the last two years shake her body with deep racking sobs, “and it’s… it’s all my fault.”

He’s up on his feet in an instant, wrapping her tightly in his arms. She presses her face to his chest, her tears soaking the front of his shirt as she continues to sob uncontrollably. He holds her there in silence, gently rocking her in an effort to comfort her and calm her down. She’s tired of holding it all in, tired of being the strong one as she grasps onto Maxwell for dear life. Every feeling of guilt… all the frustration of Liam not opening up to her… her inability to fix the situation… she lets it all out onto Maxwell’s chest.

As her sobs finally subside she’s brought back to the present by the sound of Chance whining at her feet. She steps away from Maxwell, sniffling and wiping her cheeks with the cuffs of her sweater. “I’m so sorry Maxwell, I kind of lost it there, and I think I ruined your shirt.” she crouches down, cupping Chance’s chin in her hand and stroking his head, “I’m okay puppers, don’t worry.” he lets out a low “rrruff” in response.

“Don’t be sorry.” He assures her, “I’m sorry I was so hard on you…”

“I deserve it.” She sniffles as she stands up.

“No…” he shakes his head, “you don’t. If Liam can understand and forgive, who am I to yell at you about it?” his eyes narrow, “Liam does know about it and he forgave you, right?”

She nods, “He knows, and he did.” A wave of exhaustion hits her, and she sits back down on the edge of the fountain, leaning down to pet Chance who followed her over. She hasn’t cried like that in… she doesn’t think she’s ever cried like that. It was tiring, her throat hurt, her eyes burned, and she couldn’t stop sniffling. She must look a mess… “I just wish he would talk to me.”

“I know…” he sighs deeply as he takes a seat next to her, “But Liam has been taught his whole life to close off his emotions, opening up is hard for him. Give him time, he’ll come around.”

“I know that Maxwell, I’m trying to be patient with him but…” she runs her hands through her hair, her nails scratching the sides of her scalp, “it’s frustrating. I feel so helpless.” Both Hana and Maxwell told her to give it time, and she knew that was good advice, but everyday that passes is another day that Liam and Drake drift further apart. She shakes herself out of her thoughts, too exhausted to continue that line of thinking. She turns to Maxwell and gives him a small smile, “I don’t want to think about it anymore, I’ve cried enough for a year. I wanted to ask you how things are going with Hana.”

“Oh! Uhh…” even in the low light from the landscaping she can see a blush creep up his cheeks, “They were going well I suppose. But now she’s in Paris for a few weeks… I miss her.”

“You should go see her.” She smiles, nudging him with her shoulder.”

“I was going to, but I don’t feel right leaving with everything that’s going on.”

“Maxwell Beaumont!” she scolds, “Don’t you dare put your life on hold because of my mess. Go, be with Hana, be happy. I’ll handle Liam and Drake.”

“I don’t know Jen… the way you were just crying, I think I…”

“Seriously Maxwell, I feel much better now. I think I just needed to let it out and talk to someone. I’ll figure something out, I always do.”

“Well… if you’re sure, I think I will go.” He smiles, stands up and offers her his arm, “Come on, let’s get you back home before Liam sends out a search party.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” She laughs as she takes his arm and allows him to escort her back inside the palace, Chance trotting along at their heels.

~~~~~

Liam jumps up from the couch, a book in his hands as she walks into the apartment. She knew he wouldn’t go to bed until she got back and she’s thankful she checked her reflection in the hallway before entering. She couldn’t do anything about her red-rimmed eyes but at least she could wipe off the mascara that had run down her cheeks.

“I was just about to come look for you.” He smiles, letting out a sigh of relief, he sets the book down on the end table and walks over to her, stopping short when he sees her swollen eyes.

She turns from his scrutinizing gaze to take off her shoes and picks up the pair from earlier, “Sorry, we must have lost track of time.” She smiles softly as she walks past him to the stairs, setting both pairs of shoes down to take them up when they go to bed.

Liam remains rooted to his spot in the foyer, watching her move through the apartment, finally finding his feet when she turns to him. “You’ve been crying…” he says when he reaches her, his eyes soft and his voice laced with worry.

“A little.” She admits.

He caresses her face and she leans into his touch, every doubt and worry ebbing away when she looks into his deep blue eyes. She reaches up and places her hand over his, turning her face slightly to kiss his palm.

“It looks like it was more than a little my love.” she wraps her arms around his neck and he sighs deeply, his arms enveloping her waist.

She raises herself up on her tip toes, her mouth slightly parted to kiss his lower lip, gently sucking on it while her fingers knead the back of his neck. He groans against her mouth before opening his own, his tongue sliding in as he deepens the kiss, until he forces himself to pull away. “You’re not going to distract me from finding out why you were crying.”

“Oh, I bet I could if I tried hard enough.” She laughs, “I’m fine now Liam, really. Maxwell and I had a good talk.”

“I’m glad you have him to talk to.” His eyes close as he presses his forehead to hers, “What do you say to a date night tomorrow? We can go to that restaurant you like, just the two of us.”

“That sounds like exactly what I need, I’ll wear that blue dress I just bought.”

“I do love the way blue brings out your eyes.” He murmurs, softly nipping at her bottom lip.

She tilts her head, placing kisses along his jawline before gently biting his earlobe. He groans as she whispers, “Let’s go to bed my King, I wasn’t done distracting you.”

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Tuesday, September 6, 2022

september 6_august 24

THE APPEARANCE OF THE MOSTHOLY MOTHER OF GOD TO THE MONK SERGEI OF RADONEZH

Once, in the deep of night, Venerable Sergius was reading an Akathist to the Mother of God. Having completed the usual rule he sat a bit to rest when suddenly he said to his cell attendant Venerable Micah: “Watch, child, we will have a miraculous visitation.”

Barely had he uttered these words when a voice was heard: “The All-Pure is coming.” St. Sergius hastened from his cell to the hall when suddenly there shone a bright light, stronger than the sun. He saw shining in ineffable glory the Mother of God, accompanied by the Apostles Peter and John. Unable to endure the wondrous light, Venerable Sergius reverently bowed before the Mother God and she said to him: “Fear not, my chosen one! I have come to visit you. Do not grieve anymore over your disciples and this place. Your prayers have been heard. From henceforth your habitation will be abundant, and not only in the days of your life, but also after your departure to the Lord I will never abandon your habitation, inexhaustibly granting it everything it needs and protecting it from all necessity.”

Having said this, the Mother of God became invisible. St. Sergius was long in inexpressible rapture, and, having come to himself, he picked up the venerable Micah. “Tell me, father,” asked the attendant, “what was this miraculous vision about? My soul nearly departed from my body from fear!” But the venerable Sergius remained silent. Only his luminescent face spoke of this spiritual joy which the saint experienced. “Wait a bit,” he finally uttered to his disciple, “while your soul calms from this miraculous vision.” After a while St. Sergius beckoned two of his disciples, Venerable Isaac and Simon, and disclosed to them the common joy and hope. All together they served a Moleben to the Mother of God. St. Sergius continued the remainder of the night without sleep, mentally paying heed to the Divine vision.

The appearance of the Mother of God in St. Sergius’ cell on the place of the current Serapion chamber[1] occurred on a Friday of the Nativity Fast in 1385. The memory of this visitation and promise of the Mother of God to the Trinity Monastery was piously kept by the disciples of St. Sergius.

His holy relics were uncovered on July 5, 1422 and soon on the coffin of St. Sergius was placed an icon of the appearance of the Mother of God. In memory of the visitation of the Mother of God, an Akathist to the Most Holy Theotokos is read every Friday in the Trinity Cathedral of the Trinity-St. Sergius Lavra, and a special service in honor of the appearance of the Mother of God is served in the monastery on the second day of the leave-taking of the Dormition of the Most Holy Theotokos.

Translated by Jesse Dominick via OrthodoxChristianity

Source:Union of Orthodox Journalists

VENERABLE SERAPION, ABBOT AND WONDERWORKER OF THE ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST MONASTERY (747)

     Saint Serapion was abbot of the Monastery of St. John the Baptist in the Davit-Gareji Wilderness. He was endowed by God with the ability to work miracles.      Once St. Serapion set off for the city, following at a short distance behind several of the monastery’s brothers.      While they were traveling, a group of bandits attacked the monks who were walking in front of their abbot and made off with many of the church vessels they were carrying.      Terrified, the monks ran back to Serapion and told him what had happened.      “Great is God!” said Serapion. “I will not permit the unbelievers to steal His sacred things!”

     With staff in hand, the elder raced ahead alone in pursuit of the robbers. When the robbers turned back they saw a terrible flame issuing forth from the elder’s staff and became greatly afraid. They abandoned the donkey that had been carrying their spoils and took to their heels. Another time Serapion suddenly burst out of his cell and cried to the brothers, “Woe is me! Woe is me! Robbers have attacked the servants on their way to the monastery!”      Having made this frightening announcement, he returned to his cell and began to pray. After a few hours the distraught servants arrived at the monastery and reported that bandits had attacked them along the way. The servants said that, when fleeing their attackers, they had abandoned the mules that were hauling the monastery’s property. A short time later the mules arrived at the monastery unaccompanied, bearing their load as before.      St. Serapion eventually abandoned his leadership of the monastery. He was tonsured into the great schema and withdrew into seclusion. Soon after, God revealed to him that his death was near, and he asked the brothers to bury him under the church gates, in a grave that he had prepared for himself. He intended for all who entered there to walk over his grave.      St. Serapion reposed in the year 1774.

© 2006 St. Herman of Alaska Brotherhood.

MARK 3:13-19

13And He went up on the mountain and called to Him those He Himself wanted. And they came to Him.  14 Then He appointed twelve, that they might be with Him and that He might send them out to preach, 15 and to have power to heal sicknesses and to cast out demons: 16 Simon, to whom He gave the name Peter; 17 James the son of Zebedee and John the brother of James, to whom He gave the name Boanerges, that is, "Sons of Thunder"; 18 Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James the son of Alphaeus, Thaddaeus, Simon the Cananite; 19 and Judas Iscariot, who also betrayed Him. And they went into a house.

HEBREWS 7:26-8:2 (ST. PETER)

26 For such a High Priest was fitting for us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, and has become higher than the heavens; 27 who does not need daily, as those high priests, to offer up sacrifices, first for His own sins and then for the people's, for this He did once for all when He offered up Himself. 28 For the law appoints as high priests men who have weakness, but the word of the oath, which came after the law, appoints the Son who has been perfected forever.

1 Now this is the main point of the things we are saying: We have such a High Priest, who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens, 2 a Minister of the sanctuary and of the true tabernacle which the Lord erected, and not man.

[thorne93]

No Matter What (Part 12)

Prompt: Imagine you’re an Avenger and you meet Bucky for the first time during Civil War

Word Count: 2572

Warning: Language, fighting, violence, angst

Notes: This will follow Cap America: Civil War…. I envisioned a younger reader who’s like 19-24 years old, btw. Not betad

I’m so sorry this is late

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles​ @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejulesworld @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis  @bubblyanarocks3​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @kaeling @ijustwanttobepartofyourworld

Sebastian Stan Tag: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock @lenawiinchester​ @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi​ @memory-of-a-goldfish @mellsstark

Bucky Barnes: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @ultrarebelheart @lenawiinchester @its-not-a-tulpa

No Matter What: @void-imaginations @devil-may-cry-11-blog @james-heaven-barnes @mrs-lancelot​ @gingergrad​ @eyelinernim​ @fairchild21 @shifutheshihtzu

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you moved forward, to a large open room.

“I got heat signatures.”

“How many?”

“Uh...one,” Tony said, confused.

Once you stepped inside the room, you saw the winter soldiers in cryofreeze capsules...a bullet in their heads.

“If it’s any comfort, they died in their sleep. Did you really think I wanted more of you?” a voice suddenly sounded over a speaker.

“What the hell?” Bucky murmured as the group of you continued to step forward. You were so confused. If he didn’t want more Winter Soldiers...Why was he here? Why were any of you here? What did he want?

“I'm grateful to them, though. They brought you here.”

A light came on, startling all of you. Tony charged his blasters while Steve threw his shield at the figure. You moved into a fighting position. The shield hit right where the figure was, hitting a wall. He was in some sort of room.

“Please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets,” the man informed.

“I bet I could beat that,” Tony stated as he started to walk forward. Steve and Tony focused on the man while you and Bucky surveyed the area for any sort of sneak attacks. Bucly’s gun swung from left and right, then back again as he moved carefully on his feat.

“Oh, I'm sure you could, Mr. Stark. Given time. But then you'd never know why you came,” the man stated.

“You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?” Steve asked, anger brewing beneath the surface of the question.

“I thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. But now that you're standing here, I just realized... there's a bit of green in the blue of your eyes. How nice to find a flaw,” he said with a hint of a smirk.

“What is this?” you demanded, your nerves bristling. You didn’t like this at all. Something was wrong. This guy planned and did way too much just to get you all in a room.

Why? What was his end game?

“You're Sokovian. Is that what this is about?”

Steve and the curious man went back and forth on why were there. Then he mentioned something about toppling from within again. An empire being dead forever. A monitor turned on with a date. All of you gravitated to the screen to see it.

“I know that road,” Tony suddenly informed. “What is this?” Tony called to the man in the room.

The man didn’t answer though as all of you stared at him, he stared back, a cold look on his face. A car slammed into a pole on the video, someone on a bike doubled back and pulled up beside the car. Your eyes flashed to Tony’s face as he examined the footage. You had no idea what this was. A man was crawling out of the car, but another man...Bucky...walked to him, grabbed his hair, and pulled him up. That was Howard Stark. You’d seen his face before from numerous videos online and pictures in Tony’s room.

Tony looked up to Bucky, astonishment and horror painted on his face. Bucky’s eyes finally met Tony’s before Tony’s eyes flashed back to the screen. You both looked and Bucky’s fist smashed into Howard’s face a few times before he let him fall.

You gasped and covered your mouth with your hand. Tears welled in your eyes as they flashed to Bucky. You knew he couldn’t help what he did but the brutality...the coldness of it was shocking to you. Bucky seemed so...gentle to you. He wasn’t capable of murdering your friend’s parents.

On the footage, he drug Howard back to the car and put him in the driver’s seat before moving to the passenger seat and assumably killing Tony’s mother. When the job was done, he shot out the camera.

The footage stopped.

As did your heart.

Tension in the air was so thick you were practically choking on it.

You wanted to console Tony. That had to be the most horrifying thing for anyone to witness.

Tony moved to go after Bucky, making your eyes flash up to them. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at either of them until then.

But Bucky stepped back, lowering his gun for whatever Tony was going to do to him. That’s when you realized….He wasn’t the monster that was on the screen. A monster would fight Tony, not lay down his guard and accept any fate dealt to him. The same sweet, broken man you had fallen for was still in there. He was still good.

Steve stopped Tony and he spun back to him.

“Don’t.”

Tony turned around and asked Steve, “Did you know?”

This was a question you had wondered yourself. Could Steve have possibly known that Bucky killed Tony’s parents and...withheld that information? He wouldn’t do that...would he?

“I didn’t know it was him,” Steve answered.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers! Did you know?” he demanded again.

“Yes.”

Tony jumped away from Steve and you felt your heart break for Tony and for you. The shock from his answer made you take a step back. How could Steve not tell you or Tony? How could Bucky not? How...how could he do it?

Betrayal and heartbreak snaked through your body.

You knew he couldn’t help it. You knew he couldn’t control it. But that didn’t change the fact that Tony was like family to you. The Avengers were the only family and friends you had. The fact that he killed Tony’s parents wasn’t something you could just...forgive or forget. Whether he could help it or not.

Bucky’s eyes flashed to yours for a fraction of a second, trying to assess your thoughts of him, but your glassy eyes just peered back into his. You didn’t know what your thoughts were of him. Your system was on total overload and you were sure your face expressed that, because a look of loss was injected into his gray-blues.

After a moment, Tony suddenly slammed his arm hard across Steve’s face, sending him flying.

“Tony!” you shouted. Seeing them fighting made your heart hurt so bad you thought you couldn't stand it. Tears finally spilled onto your cheeks.

Bucky raised his weapon to face Tony who was now fully suited up. Tony blasted the gun out of Bucky’s grasp and they started to fight hand to hand. Tony grabbed Bucky by the throat and started to fly off.

“Tony, no!” you screamed as you formed a glider and followed him. “Tony, stop!” you begged, horror, anxiety, fear, and worry all balling together to make a tight ball in your throat and stomach.

You knew that Tony killing Bucky would bring him no peace, and that Bucky couldn't help what he had done. If it wasn’t Bucky, it would’ve been some other poor soul that Hydra fucked up in the head sent to kill Tony’s parents.

Just as you had told him on the jet: he had no choice and we couldn’t let our pasts define us.

He slammed Bucky onto the ground, held his metal arm down with his iron boot, and aimed his blaster at his face.

“No!” you screamed again, knocking into him. Of course it didn’t phase him though. Steve threw his shield and knocked him off Bucky. Tony got up and charged at Steve, knocking him back as he threw a handcuffing device to his legs. Bucky got up and hit Tony in the jaw. Tony picked him up and held him against a container. Bucky grabbed his arm and broke his blaster shield.

Tears were still flowing freely from your eyes. Your two best friends in the world and a man you had already fallen in love with were at war with each other and you weren’t sure where you stood.

Tony pulled his arm back and opened up a rocket launcher to which Bucky diverted it, causing it to blow up a large piece of equipment above you. Steve worked to free him of his shackles. Nothing you had would even stand a chance against Tony. The equipment started to fall, breaking the fighting men apart.

You raced over to Bucky to check on him.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded as he got up. You two looked to Steve.

“Get out of here!” he commanded. The two of you began running, checking over your shoulder for Tony. You ran around the corner and right behind you, a blast came at the wall. Bucky hit a button and a door opened up at the top of a shaft. Bucky started to climb as you formed a glider.

“Come on!” you urged before your eyes found that Tony was in the area with you, blasting an area so that Steve couldn’t come in. Tony tried to fly  up to bucky who was hopping and running to each platform. You took your eyes off of them for a second and Tony kicked him across the shaft.

You immediately flew down to protect him. Kneeling in front of a hurt Bucky, you formed a shield. “Tony! Don’t! Please!” you pleaded through a rough lump in your throat.

“Move, Y/N. I will go through you to get to him, don’t test me,” Tony warned.

“Please. Tony, if it wasn’t him, they would've sent someone else,” you stated.

“And I’d kill them too,” Tony said as he blasted at you but you formed a shield, trying to keep it in tact from his blast.

You cried out in pain as you pushed yourself harder than ever before to keep your shield up and intact.

A shield hit Tony, distracting him for a second. Tony blasted down to Steve, but the hit bounced off the shield and knocked Tony back against a wall. You urged Bucky to keep going up with you. Below you, Steve had yanked Tony down with a cord, slamming him into a platform far below. Steve threw his shield and Tony deflected it.

Finally, you reached the ladder, almost out, Bucky right ahead of you. But a missile hit the hinge and the blast knocked both of you back. Bucky hit a platform but you fell in the middle of the shaft, falling fast.

“Y/N!” Bucky screamed as he rolled over to see your falling form.

You formed a shield of sorts under your back, hoping it would stop or at least cushion the impact. It didn’t help though. You landed hard on the concrete, an unbearable pain rocketing through your entire bod, knocking the wind out of you.

“Ugh!” you wheezed as soon as you could breathe again. Your vision was hazy, your head hurt, your back ached. Through blurry vision though, you saw that the three of them were still fighting high above you. Until suddenly Tony and Steve were crashing to the floor and you had to roll to avoid them.

Steve and Tony stood up but you were still doubled over in pain, blood starting to spill around you. You thought it was yours but you weren’t sure.

“This isn’t gonna change what happened,” Steve suddenly said from below you and Tony.

“I don’t care, he killed my mom.”

Tony launched over to Steve and they began fighting, from what you could hear.

A second later, Bucky landed beside you.

“Oh my god...Y/N...I never wanted you to do this for me,” he said as he lifted your head and blood covered his hand.

“I told you...You’re my mission. I have to protect you,” you said weakly, the smallest grin on your face.

“No. No. No…” he said as a plea, his face pinched in pain and fear. This fear was new though. For the first time, it wasn’t fear for what would happen to him. It was fear for what would happen to you.

“Go...Steve needs you,” you encouraged. Steve needed Bucky more than you did. You couldn’t lie here uselessly while Tony was on the grief driven warpath.

“But you’re hurt...bad,” he replied, his eyes brimming with despair as they frantically looked onto you.

“I’ll be fine,” you assured. “Now go.”

He nodded before he let you go gently, then picked up the shield and dove at Tony. You were fading in and out of consciousness. But you suddenly heard a blast that was louder than the others. Gathering some strength you had left, you rolled on your side and began to pull yourself until you reached the edge of the platform-like area and looked down to see Bucky standing with his back to Tony, his left arm blown off, right before Tony blasted him again.

“No!” you shouted, the pain in your head still pounding as you laid there, useless and weary.

Steve launched up and ran forward at Tony. They continued to fight, each blow another blow to your heart. Bucky lay there, wounded and out of breath.

Tony blasted Steve’s stomach, forcing him to his knees.

“He’s my friend,” Steve said in defense.

“So was I,” Tony reminded before he landed a hard punch to his cheek. Tony battered Steve until he threw him between two rounded pieces of the construction. “Stay down, final warning.”

Steve stood up, his fists raised. “I could do this all day.”

Tony raised his blasters and you screamed for him to stop but he ignored you. Just as he was about to fire, Bucky grabbed his foot and tried to pull, but Tony landed a swift and terrible kick to Bucky’s face, a gut wrenching cry escaping his lips. The sight of that was more unbearable than you thought it could be.

You finally mustered strength and hobbled down to Bucky, each step down the ladder sending a new wave of pain over your body.

“Are you okay?” you asked, a fresh wave of tears coming.

He wasn’t moving though.

“Bucky?” you pleaded, cradling his head between your hands as Steve and Tony fought mercilessly. “Stop it! Stop it both of you!” you practically demanded as you turned to look at them, the sight making your chest tighter than ever.

But the pleas fell on deaf ears as they continued to wage war on each other, until Steve obliterated Tony’s face mask with the shield.

“Steve,” you began before he raised his shield again, ready to slam it down on Tony. “Steve!” you screamed so loud it made your throat hurt. But the shield landed on the heart of the suit, disabling it with a hard, effective blow.

In utter shock, you kneeled there open mouthed as Steve stood up to help Bucky up. The three of you started to walk away before Tony told Steve the shield didn’t belong to him, and he dropped it on the ground. The sound deafening your ears. You knew in your heart what that meant. He wasn’t just dropping a shield.

Steve started to help Bucky up the ladder as you gave a final look to your friend. He had moved to a kneeling position.

You walked over to him and knelt, the anger and betrayal clearly painted on his face.

“I’m sorry,” was all you said.

“Leave,” he ordered in a low voice, his eyes avoiding yours.

Without another word, you stood up, and the three of you left.

[myfandomruinedmylife]

Reaper76

The sounds of war were eerily familiar to Jack. They constantly raged around him; defining his every move, calling his every action. He had grown to memorize the screams of his fallen comrades, tasting every last syllable of their cries of panic before they were silenced by the enemy.

But even so, in the midst of battle, he never faltered. He never let anything affect him as he shot round after round, deploying biotic fields whenever he could and fighting back screams of agony when they were not enough as bullets ripped through his chest or electricity lit his veins on fire.

And eight seconds later, he returned to the vicious cycle, biting back curses and instead shouting orders to his teammates, finger tightening around the trigger of his weapon whenever a set of footfalls grew too near, or when he could just barely make out the sounds of gunfire in the distance.

Jack never let his soldier-like façade crack during battle. He never hesitated to murder and often pulled the trigger on his own comrades, if they startled him enough. Soldier 76 was nobody special. He wasn't stealthy like Genji, or powerful like D.va and Bastion. He was just a guy with a cool visor and a gun.

Jack, in simple terms, was weak. And he hated it.

He hated every second that Mercy hesitantly trailed behind him instead of the other heroes; as if he were made of porcelain that could easily crack and needed to be healed immediately; as if he couldn't hold his own against someone like Sombra.

He hated the other heroes’ sympathy whenever he would return more ragged than the rest of them. He hated trailing along the sidelines, taking shots whenever he could instead of jumping straight into the action like he oh-so-desperately wanted to do.

Jack loathed not being able to stop sprinting in fear of injury for just one second, just enough time to catch his breath. He was miserable all the time under his minimal armor, though it didn't make a difference, as he never let anyone see his scarred face, anyway.

But being a hero was just the soldier’s job; he had no say in whether it was fair or not.

Adrenaline burned through his chest as he pumped his legs faster and faster, darting across the outside edge of the town. Cold eyes flicked left to right, heart rate increasing as he wet his chapped lips under his mask.

He had no idea where he was.

Jack had tried to listen for those familiar screams of terror and agony that had burned themselves into his memory but was only greeted with the distant sound of gunfire in a direction he couldn't quite place.

He was running blind, desperately clinging onto the far-fetched hope he could reunite himself with his team before the clock ticked down to zero and he was forced to head back to base.

Soldier 76's breath hitched in his throat, heart dropping into his stomach as he heard the unsteady, panicked footfalls of someone heading his way. He held his breath as he dove into the nearest building, slamming his back against the wall and reloading his gun as quickly and silently as he could.

D.va’s scream of pain just outside caused his muscles to clench, eyes squeezing shut as he took his bottom lip into his mouth. He tensed, prepared to jump out and defend his comrade when he heard the unmistakable sound of the chamber of a handgun being clicked into place a couple of feet away.

“It’s high noon,” drawled a strong southern accent, and D.va desperately tried to call for her mech before the bullet ripped through the air and into her skull.

Jack held his breath as her body hit the dirt just outside, blood splattering into the room he was in and staining the broken tile flooring.

His ears twitched as McCree took two steps forward, towards the open doorway. Chains on his outfit clinked together as he stopped, almost on top of Soldier. Jack could smell his cologne, the strong scent of peppermint and wood invading his senses. If the hero took even a half step forward, Jack would be discovered and killed.

It seemed like eons of silence, to the point where Soldier wasn't sure if McCree had been silent enough to walk away without him noticing, or was waiting only inches away to strike him down. Jack wasn't sure which option scared him more.

Finally, the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding released itself as the sound of leather boots stomping away grew fainter by the second. He was alone again.

“I didn't take you for a coward, Soldier,”

The low, rough voice startled Jack, and he instantly drew his weapon and aimed at the man standing in the doorway. Reaper’s hellfire guns were clutched loosely in either hand, and he took a silent step forward as Soldier 76 reloaded his weapon, aiming directly at his old friend’s heart.

A deep, calm chuckle resonated around the room, and Reaper shook his head slightly, as if amused by the soldier’s actions. “Are you going to shoot me, Jack?”

“That's not my name,” Soldier’s fingers tightened around the trigger as he uneasily shifted from foot to foot. “You can't call me that anymore.”

Reaper was still, head tilted to the side, as if gauging Jack’s every move. “Why are you afraid?”

Jack Morrison didn't answer, only ground his teeth under his mask and tried to keep his feet still. He wanted to say so many things, to scream at the man and to shoot him over and over, to kill him again and again until it hurt to breathe. Instead, he took a breath, feeling his shoulders relax the slightest.

“Why haven't you killed me yet, Gabe?”

Reaper froze at the sound of his name, eyes widening under his mask as he, perhaps, realized just how much he missed hearing the word come out of Jack’s mouth. He quickly tried to compose himself, readjusting his grip on his guns as he cleared his throat once. “...I just-”

He cut himself off, biting his tongue as Jack’s attention never diverted from him, not even for a second.

Jack paused the thoughts whirring around in his head to stare at his former partner. In that instant, he only saw Gabriel Reyes, just a twenty-something-year-old guy who would joke with him and pull pranks on Jack at two in the morning and laugh when the soldier shoved his face into his food the next morning. Gabe had never really cared for Bran Flakes, anyway.

Soldier 76 froze in his spot when Reaper raised both of his weapons, aiming directly at Jack’s head. Of course, he was wrong. This wasn't Gabriel Reyes, who would die before he had even laid a finger on Jack Morrison; this man was a monster who killed without batting an eye. Jack wasn't one to talk, however, as he knew exactly what was going on inside Gabe’s brain.

“So you're going to kill me, then,” Jack swallowed, slowly lowering his gun to pose as less of a threat. Reaper was dead silent, not moving a muscle as tension vibrated in the air.

And then Reaper mumbled the word that would save Jack’s life.

“Duck.”

Instantly, Jack went down like a sack of dog food, rolling towards Reaper as his friend shot a couple of rounds into the doorway. He discarded his guns and grabbed a new set as the body of Jesse McCree fell limply to the dirt just behind where Soldier was standing.

Jack turned to Gabe with an almost awed expression on his face. The moment, however, was cut short, as the sword ripped through Soldier’s chest before he could blink.

With a shout, Reaper whirled on Genji, firing at the stunned kid and slamming his body into the wall, before it peeled off and fell to the floor, dark blood staining his suit and seeping onto the dirty ground below him.

Reaper turned and caught Jack as he fell. He didn't even have enough strength to deploy a health pack, and he was forced to endure the next couple of seconds of ripped organs and internal bleeding.

“I came... I came because I missed the old days. I miss... I miss being a hero, Jack.” Gabe's voice was dull, as if lacking emotion completely as he stared down at the fallen soldier.

Jack let out a laugh, the emotion tugging at his lips as he stared up at Reaper, his vision starting to dot and his chest going numb. “You're more of a hero than I ever was, Reyes,” Jack mumbled, believing what he said with every fiber of his being.

“No, Morrison-”

“Don't get sappy,” Soldier 76 coughed, blood dripping out of his mouth. “I’m fine, really. And besides,” he tried for a weak smile, though Gabriel couldn't see it under his broken mask. “I'll see you in eight seconds.”

Jack Morrison stared up at Gabriel Reyes’ face for the last time before his vision darkened to black completely.

[axburrows]

“My Plague Journal”

By RICHARD LITTLETHOUGHT ‘The Voice of Truth, if by “Truth” you mean “Profoundly Right-Wing Assertions”.’

DAY IV

Readers, I do confess this self-isolation business is getting to me at the very roots! The other day, I was having a harmless browse of some of that P.G. Wodehouse – ‘fun for all the fam’, as the rappers would say. But several chapters in, my heart ached and a drowsy numbness pained my sense, as though of Benylin® I had drunk.

In my delirious state, I saw myself attired in a starched collar and claw-hammer coat to boot. My man-cave was gone. Looking around at this new opulent interior, I surmised that I’d entered into the employment of a top-drawer citizen: Mister Bertram Wooster! Distantly, I heard the tinkling of a bell. I pursued the sound up a long and winding staircase. I opened an oak panelled door and stepped into my master’s bedroom. He was lounging beneath candy-striped bedclothes, a little bell in his hand.  

‘You rang, sir?’ I said.

‘Now look here, Littlethought’, Wooster intoned, ‘My squeeze, Emily Maitlis, is coming round for supper later and I want to make a bit of an impression – if you catch my meaning?’

‘Indeed, sir.’ I said.

‘I’ve got a grocery list here for her favourite dish: Greek moussaka with a special side salad – Yukon potatoes, artichoke hearts and a caramelised fig – that sort of caper.’ He waved this scroll of decadence beneath my salt-of-the-earth nose. ‘Now be a sport and toddle down to Whole Foods, would you?’ 

‘Indeed, sir’, I intoned. I took the list and shimmered out.

Coming down Kensington High Street, the pavements billowed with a thousand coxcombs in primrose scarfs and crushable bushman’s hats. Through the window of a Wasabi, the Monopoly Man was licking ramen off a glass table top while a prostitute clapped. I turned and saw a parade processing up the road, at the centre of which was a massive Chinese dragon with the face of a polystyrene James O’Brien. Fire-eaters and acrobats pranced around it performing tricks, whilst Sandi Toksvig saluted the crowd from an amphibious rocket launcher. Jess Phillips played ‘I Will Survive’ on the ocarina. A marmoset was on Skype!!! I’m a stranger in my own country! I thought. 

Behind me, I heard a fragile voice singing from the doorway of an Alms House.

‘Jesus blood - never failed me yet - never failed m’yet - never failed me...’

‘Mister Farage!’ I said. ‘Whatever became of our Man of the Hour?’

‘I’ve been stripped of m’assets, boy. Stripped of m’assets.’

‘Wassat?’

‘M’Youtube videos have been de-monitised, I tells ye! All m’lovely Youtube videos!’ 

‘They’ll never get away with this, Nige! God’s honour, they won’t!’ 

‘Thruppence for a vodka jelly, will ye?’  

I was about to knee him in the groin and make a speech about the undeserving poor, when an affectless young man approached and forced a limp handshake. The young man then turned and gestured to a bunch of phlegmatic-faced tweens in furs doing coke off a padlock key.

‘Hey, guys, come on over!’ he said. ‘It’s a load of pre-gentrification First Peoples!’ 

They introduced themselves as characters who’d escaped from an Andrew Doyle satire. They were now surviving hand-to-mouth as a band of marauding postmodernists. They tried to impress me by showing me colourful objects from their ‘superior culture’, including Nespresso pods, scalp wax and a pencil sharpener from the Barbican Centre. A young woman in turquoise brogues read a poem about having adulterous sex in a library. When I told her I thought poetry was a form of character weakness, she cried onto her shoes (AND HER LACES TO BOOT!!hooho!). One tired-looking bloke – who claimed that sleep patterns were ‘just a construct’ and favoured instead a politicised version of rest known as ‘free-sleep’ – asked if I’d considered taking ‘powerful antidepressants’ to cure my conservatism. I told him that I was in love with my own sadness. I said I wanted to live my life ‘like a powder keg: short but sweet’ – I winked at the shoe-lady. The bloke explained that he wanted to live his life like an otter: ‘a very long and chilled one’, on his own, lying on a beanbag, eating stems of barley, with infrequent but carefully scheduled sessions of masturbation. I looked him squarely in the eyes and asked if he’d ever had a wet shave. The woman interjected and said I should join a Union, as ‘a working-class person!’ 

‘Who’re you calling working-class?!’ says I. ‘I’m a small business owner, don’t y’know!’

………………

I was referring to a small business I tried to establish in the late 90s, selling knock-off Toby jugs from the boot of my Mazda, just off the A13 trunk road. We got busted by a gang of hired bravoes sent by the Wedgwood company. I was left lying on the verge with a pair of broken legs surrounded by shards of homemade ceramics. The police managed to trace the bravoes as far as Stoke-on-Trent where the trail ran cold, thanks to a conspiracy of silence among the city’s terrified residents. I had a meltdown not long after that. In my despair, I overdosed on Vick’s VapoRub and tried walking into the sea one night down in Billericay. I was saved, after I mistook the inchoate outline of a miniature schnauzer for the spiritual form of a Toby Jug. It hovered above the sand, glowing. 

Don’t give up, Dick. Don’t give up the ju-ugs! 

But I can’t, Tobias, mate. The porcelain industry is eating me alive! 

No one else can potter like you, Dick! That’s the truth.

But the jugs have become a burden, mate!  

It is your destiny, Dick. The jugs are your destiny! Swear. Swear. 

What are you? Angel or Devil?

I AM IN HELL!!!!

………………….

Once I had absquatulated from the students, I entered the vast baize complex of Whole Foods. I’d never seen so many vegetables in my life [INSERT GIBE ABOUT THE SCOTTISH]. The building was at least 100 storeys high, buzzing with flying cars and hydraulic escalators. It was like the Tower of Babel itself! Fritz Lang’s Metropolis crossed with a farmer’s market.  

The affluence of the place sickened me to my very claw! I walked past some Houynhnhnms, cantering along the ‘Oats’ aisle. They gave me sideways glances and whispered to one another. 

‘Darling, is that a Leaver?’

‘Darling, do you know, I think it might well be!’ 

‘In Whole Foods? I say, do you think he’s here to get his methadone injection? Someone should tell him, it’s not that kind of supermarket.’ *Goya-esque braying*

I’m a creep, I thought. I’m a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.

Near an aisle of artichokes, my bum was perused by the ghost of W.H. Auden. 

‘Sir! If I may say’, he whispered, ‘Your arse is so muscular, I should wish to immortalise it in verse!’ I bristled at the scent of cherry brandy on his lips.

‘I concur, Wystan!’ crooned the fay shade of Lytton Strachey. ‘A truly delectable specimen.’

I swung at them. ‘Naff orf, you bloody wagtails!’

‘Oh, I say!’ preened Wystan Hugh.  

At which point the ghost of Jean Cocteau approached, his eyes gleaming like a deviant, his fingers wriggling, ‘Ohohoho! Il a un cul chaud!’ 

‘Now look ere, Frenchy! One step over this ere threshold and I’ll knock yer flippin block off, comprehend-e?’

‘Je recommanderais le chou-fleur.’

‘Watch it! I’m warning you!’

‘Oh, Jean. You old nag!’

‘Oui. Je suis un cinéaste.’

‘I can’t make head nor tail of this! I bluddy hate these romance languages’ I said to myself, sotto voce. I felt a stranger in my native land.

Once I had absquatulated the scene, I returned to the penthouse to prepare supper while Wooster billed and cooed with Ms Maitlis. (It was like the courting ritual of kestrels!!) Around midnight, I brought in the third course of banana shallots. The room was billowing with the scent of orange blossom and legal highs; I nearly fainted. Maitlis wore large, exotic torques from the Barbican Centre gift shop. She was hunkered over a big, indulgent glug of “Chateau de Liz Kendall”. Her eyes were as brown as spear handles!! Her face was firm yet glam, like the prow of a Russian oil tanker steered by Bianca Jagger. Her throaty voice, with its alluring masculine depths, was both thick and sweet, like oil on a scone (in an M&S advert sponsored by Shell). 

‘Your butler’, she intoned. ‘A bit wet behind the ears, don’t you think?’

‘Oh gawd,’ my master said, his saliva moonlit, ‘don’t I know it, Ms Emma! Hum-hum-hum-hum.’

Now easy, Dick, says I to mine-self. Easy does it now. 

Her voice sank deeper: ‘If you want to move in with me, Wooster, we’re going to have to find you a new man!’

‘If you like, I could fire this bounder on the spot! Just for you. I would do that, Emily. For you I would! If you’d like!’ 

She grinned and they stared into each other’s eyes for a good minute. Then she glanced up at me, a touch dismayed. Wooster turned around - he had a scheming look. 

‘Oh, fetch us dessert, would you, Littlethought?’

I shimmered out. I returned a few moments later with an inappropriately large jelly designed by Norman Foster. 

‘Ta, Littlethought.’

‘Sir.’

‘Oh, and Littlethought?’

‘Sir?’

‘You’re dismissed.’

‘Sir?!’

‘Dismissed. Arrivederci, Littlethought. We’re replacing you. Don’t come back tomorrow. You can leave your key card on the salver.’

I TOOK OUT A BOMB. I SCREAMED LIKE A CELT!

‘I say, steady on there, Littlethought!’

‘YIPPEE-KI-YAY, MOTHERFUCKERS!’ I intoned.

‘I didn’t know you spoke French, Littlethought!’

I pulled the cord! ‘FOR ENGLAND!’

Unfortunately, I was the only casualty. I wish I had died to avoid legal culpability. But it was a British explosive, so I incurred only minor tissue scarring. My master and Ms Maitlis immediately pressed charges. Because of my two-year-long media campaign against legal aid, I could only afford to be represented by a sparrow. The sparrow had yet to graduate to the bar, having only recently built his nest outside the chambers at Gray’s Inn where I hoped he’d at least absorbed something of the finer points of tort law. I appeared in court the following week in a plaster cast, where I was sentenced to life by Justice Lady Hale. 

‘Well, well, well, Mithta Littlethought’, lisped Lady Hale. ‘A Leaver in the dock, I thee! It mutht be my lucky day! Yum yum yum!’ (She rubbed her stomach and mimed eating me - which I thought excessive.) A roll call of witnesses for the prosecution sealed my fate: Kojack, David Blunkett, and Charlotte Church in a bonnet who jumped up on the plaintiff’s bench and called me ‘a witch’ and then fainted. Lady Hale said I was ‘weak and scum’ - or ‘thcum’, to be precise (which is Welsh for ‘seamen’, FYI). 

‘I thenenth you to 55 yearth, Mr Littlethought!’ she crooned. ‘55 backbwaking yearth!’ 

She banged her gavel. A loud cheer broke out across the gallery. I looked at my sparrow in his tiny little fucking wig, cursing him with my very blood. 

‘May God have merthy upon your thoul, Mithta Littlethought!’ Hale said. 

The sparrow immediately took wing – with my car keys in its beak – and escaped from a clearstory window. I’d lost everything. As I was bundled out of the courtroom, my faithful but still vividly puce-legged wife, Vanessa, surreptitiously passed me a cyanide capsule and an After Eight mint. She kissed me. 

‘I’ll never forget you, Monsieur Robespierre,’ she said. ‘I’ll never forget you – you – you – YOU…’

I woke up. My body was covered in sweat. It had all been a dream. I sighed with relief. I drew back the coverlet. But then, in the palm of my right hand: was a melted After Eight! Had it really been a dream? Yes. I had fallen asleep on top of a box of After Eights. I showered the mint chocolate off my cords and wept.

 -----------   b l  a  c  k  o  u   t  ------------

Grams:           ‘Underneath the   Arches’  (Flanagan/ Allen - ft. Dua Lipa)

CODA:

[snazz-master-m]

You want an angsty one shot? We'll have a kinda angsty one shot

Why did she go to this dimension. Ivor said it would be fun, a bit scary but FUN! Now he is probably on a date with Harper or something. God she was being salty. Yes, Gabriel had agreed to go but he had suddenly come down with a fever and Ellie forced him to stay at home. Damn it. If he was here she probably wouldn't be stuck in a rapidly decreasing space. The panels battered her arms and legs as she struggled against the pressure. Tears pricked her eyes as her arms gave in. She was going to be crushed to death. Taking one more shuddery breath, she closed her tired eyes. There was a groaning sound and the panels ground to a halt. She couldn't move her arms, but Jesse was alive. She was alive! Relief spread through her body just for a second. Relief soon turned to a sick feeling as a dark grey/white gass filled the tiny chamber. The taste. The taste of salt and what could only be described as zombie blood filled her mouth. Jesse struggled to even breath as the silver gas began to wrap around her throat. Well. Gas she thought, but now it felt like pure death. Her lungs were on fire and every muscle felt like molten lava. Her eyes were teared up and her nose was bleeding, and a few minor cuts she had got before being captured were pumping out her scarlet blood at an alarming rate. The armour meant to protect her was now rendered useless. The raven haired girl felt a ghastly chill run across her body, and let out a cry of defeat before everything turned that silvery grey. When Ivor had bought Jesse to this dimension, he explained it was a very peaceful one. So when he went off to go see Harper about a new machine, he thought Jesse could handle herself. As he and Harper were walking back, he heard an ear shattering creak and groan. Running to get back to where Jesse was meant to be, he spotted patches of blood on the floor. His heart sunk as he saw that his apprentice, his daughter almost, was missing. In her place a note. "Hope she dosent mind cramped places. Hope you don't mind her blood. Love from your pal.... PAMA" Ivor let out a sob, just as Harper arrived. She gave a confused look to the usually grumpy man. He simply wiped tears from under his eyes and gave her the note. Harpers eyes widened at the last few words. PAMA?! How was he alive. How was he in this dimension. Unless... Ivor's head bolted upright at a sudden ghaspy squeak. He knew that little scream anywhere. JESSE! He ran like he had never before. Harper only caught up with him as he got to the grey building. It was covered in cobwebs and had a few zombies outside. His blood ran cold as he saw that they had red eyes. Now Harper had been careful about going to different dimensions. She always carried water after the PAMA ordeal and now seemed like a good time to utilise it. "Go, see if it's Jesse in there, I'll kill them." Ivor took no time launching into action, breaking a redstone circuit and breaking open the top of the machine. Inside was Jesse, unconscious, bleeding,crying,and in a space which a contortionist would have a struggle to fit into. There was a thick, silver gas surrounding her and she was coughing and spluttering all over. Pulling her out of the tiny spot, Ivor put his head to her chest, but then quickly put his hand on her throat because he remembered that that was a good way of checking pulse. It was slow, it was very faint, and he didn't know if her was imagining it but it was a heartbeat. He cried in relief and went to check if she was breathing. He opened her mouth only to see that a black liquid filled it. Tipping her onto her side, he got a lot of it out. Still, no breath. Harper arrived looking slightly damp, and saw that the teen wasn't even taking one breath. "We've got to get her out of here, look, I've got a potion of water breathing, maybe that'll help." Ivor muttered breathlessly. Ivor held the potion in his hand before tipping the gloopy contents into jesses mouth. It ran down her through without much resistance. He noted the red streaks down her armour, and how parts of it were crumpled. He and Harper ran to the portal entrance at full speed and didn't stop even in the portal corridor. At least she was kinda breathing now, though it was broken up with pained noises and murmurs that spilled from her mouth. Running through his home portal and tripping as he went through, Ivor gained his footing in the nick of time. Petra was doing her usual patrole of the woods near the portal exit so Harper ran head first into the ginger warrior. "Ow Harper why did you do that girl?" She said in a jokey voice. "Jesse n-not good. P-p-p-PAMAS back. Jesse -- almost dead. Get help" Ivor said in a high pitched and staggered voice. Petra saw the now dribbling girl and took Harper and Ivor by the hands. She was running too now. They ran to a settlement the new order had made that was away from the city so the old order could train there without being egged. When Ellegaard went to open the door, she expected Ivor and Jesse to walk in happily, not too many injuries(obviously some for Jesse but she could trip up in space.). Why did she never get her wish. As Ivor, Petra and Harper ran in, carrying a very disheveled Jesse she immediately ran to get a doctor. The day got worse. First Gabe now Jess. God. When Jesse woke up, she couldn't see. She didn't even want to open her eyes. The taste of salt and zombie blood lingered in her mouth, and she thought she was still in the machine. The gas felt as if it clung to her and a liquid covered her mouth. She spluttered a bit and a cold thing on her lip was removed. Everything hurt. Her arms had cramps, her stomach was eating its self, her lungs felt like she had smoked 20 packs of cigars a day for ninety years, her nose felt goopy and her back felt as if hornets were stinging every cell at the same time. Slowly, she opened her red eyes and saw that Ellegaard ,while very blurry, was looking at her intently, holding a bottle of water. The gas was there but the machine was missing. Jesse blinked a few times, and her focus improved. "Wait but I I -*cough* don't understa*cough*nd why m I here*cough* where's the...what? Is goin o*cough cough cough*" Ellegaard shushed her as her throat tightened. "Jesse, it is basically torture to make you tell us what happened so I'm going to ask you to write it down.Is that okay?" Jesse flexed her hand and was met with a spike of pain. She tapped her fingers together to test preassure and the pain increased. The wincing did not go unnoticed. "Scrap that. Tell me in vague words what happened and then when you get better you can complete it." "Dimension with Ivor. Ivor went to see Harp*cough*. Zombies caught me*cough*. Machine went in and in. Silver gas*cough*."Jesse squeaked and had another coughing fit. Olivia, who had been waiting outside the whole time, ran in, unable to stand hearing her friend in pain again. "Pass me the water" Ellie obliged and Olivia poured some down jesses throat. The green eyed girl struggled for a second but drank some anyway. She was shaking and when Olivia took away the bottle, she made a gagging noise. Olivia noted that her eyes were not the bright emerald green, but a darker, dull moss green. Her eyes began to fluttter closed and her body relaxed slightly. Olivia smiled as she realised she was asleep. Then, the goggled girl left the room with Ellie Ellegaard was the first to speak to Ivor about Jesse. She explained the situation, and that the silver gas was uncommon and fatal. She explained that Jesse had a very high chance of dying, but with the right help she could just about survive, although she would be claustrophobic and most likely scared of brewing potions. The gas its self is a strengthened potion of wither. Ellegaard also explained that there was a cure, but it was painful. Ivor went to jesses room. She looked so small, surrounded by the bed. She squeaked and squirmed in her sleep. She was pale and her stomach made awful growling noises. Ivor knew that the town didn't know that their hero was dying because of him. Or so he thought. In jesses mind, she was not in the chamber, but watching as her friends one by one were choked by a different gas. Purple. Then, they were replaced with darkness as she was placed back in the grey chamber to die once more. She snapped upwards. Then immediately regretted it as her body screamed in pain. She was in a cold sweat and her breathing erratic. Ivor asked if she wanted something to eat. Nodding and coughing once more, she flopped down onto the bed. The coughs were wheazy and partly squeaks. Ivor left the room and came back with a bowl of beetroot soup. Little did Jesse know that he had poured Ellegaards 'miracle cure' into the soup. As she drank it, her face turned from pained to satisfied. She finished it, and immediately looked better. There was a feint pink in her cheeks and her eyes didn't look as tired. Ivor smiled as her shoulders relaxed. "What was in that?" She asked, her voice still a little hoarse "A potion Ellegaard gave me, her doctors have a small supply of them after a boomtown civilian came to them with a dampened down set of the symptoms you have." "Oh! That's not good. But like what was in the cure." "Gunpowder, glowstone, potion of instant health, regen and a golden apple. So tell me, was PAMA there." "PAMA?! Ha. You're kidding. PAMA wasn't there why'd ya think that?" Ivor showed her the note. Jesse looked incredibly confused. "Wait wait wait wait wait that looks like hold on" Jesse scrambled about in her pockets for a book. "See. The handwriting is exactly the same." "Oh. Who's the book by." There was silence for about five minuets. "SOREN I SWEAR TO NOTCH I WILL RIP YOUR INTESTINES OUT AND SHOW THEM TO YOU!" Said Olivia angrily

[dailyofficereadings]

Daily Office Readings July 29, 2020

Psalm 72

Psalm 72

Prayer for Guidance and Support for the King

Of Solomon.

1 Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king’s son. 2 May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice. 3 May the mountains yield prosperity for the people, and the hills, in righteousness. 4 May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor.

5 May he live[a] while the sun endures, and as long as the moon, throughout all generations. 6 May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass, like showers that water the earth. 7 In his days may righteousness flourish and peace abound, until the moon is no more.

8 May he have dominion from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth. 9 May his foes[b] bow down before him, and his enemies lick the dust. 10 May the kings of Tarshish and of the isles render him tribute, may the kings of Sheba and Seba bring gifts. 11 May all kings fall down before him, all nations give him service.

12 For he delivers the needy when they call, the poor and those who have no helper. 13 He has pity on the weak and the needy, and saves the lives of the needy. 14 From oppression and violence he redeems their life; and precious is their blood in his sight.

15 Long may he live! May gold of Sheba be given to him. May prayer be made for him continually, and blessings invoked for him all day long. 16 May there be abundance of grain in the land; may it wave on the tops of the mountains; may its fruit be like Lebanon; and may people blossom in the cities like the grass of the field. 17 May his name endure forever, his fame continue as long as the sun. May all nations be blessed in him;[c] may they pronounce him happy.

18 Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, who alone does wondrous things. 19 Blessed be his glorious name forever; may his glory fill the whole earth. Amen and Amen.

20 The prayers of David son of Jesse are ended.

Footnotes:

Psalm 72:5 Gk: Heb may they fear you

Psalm 72:9 Cn: Heb those who live in the wilderness

Psalm 72:17 Or bless themselves by him

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 119:73-96

73 Your hands have made and fashioned me; give me understanding that I may learn your commandments. 74 Those who fear you shall see me and rejoice, because I have hoped in your word. 75 I know, O Lord, that your judgments are right, and that in faithfulness you have humbled me. 76 Let your steadfast love become my comfort according to your promise to your servant. 77 Let your mercy come to me, that I may live; for your law is my delight. 78 Let the arrogant be put to shame, because they have subverted me with guile; as for me, I will meditate on your precepts. 79 Let those who fear you turn to me, so that they may know your decrees. 80 May my heart be blameless in your statutes, so that I may not be put to shame.

81 My soul languishes for your salvation; I hope in your word. 82 My eyes fail with watching for your promise; I ask, “When will you comfort me?” 83 For I have become like a wineskin in the smoke, yet I have not forgotten your statutes. 84 How long must your servant endure? When will you judge those who persecute me? 85 The arrogant have dug pitfalls for me; they flout your law. 86 All your commandments are enduring; I am persecuted without cause; help me! 87 They have almost made an end of me on earth; but I have not forsaken your precepts. 88 In your steadfast love spare my life, so that I may keep the decrees of your mouth.

89 The Lord exists forever; your word is firmly fixed in heaven. 90 Your faithfulness endures to all generations; you have established the earth, and it stands fast. 91 By your appointment they stand today, for all things are your servants. 92 If your law had not been my delight, I would have perished in my misery. 93 I will never forget your precepts, for by them you have given me life. 94 I am yours; save me, for I have sought your precepts. 95 The wicked lie in wait to destroy me, but I consider your decrees. 96 I have seen a limit to all perfection, but your commandment is exceedingly broad.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Judges 3:12-30

Ehud

12 The Israelites again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord; and the Lord strengthened King Eglon of Moab against Israel, because they had done what was evil in the sight of the Lord. 13 In alliance with the Ammonites and the Amalekites, he went and defeated Israel; and they took possession of the city of palms. 14 So the Israelites served King Eglon of Moab eighteen years.

15 But when the Israelites cried out to the Lord, the Lord raised up for them a deliverer, Ehud son of Gera, the Benjaminite, a left-handed man. The Israelites sent tribute by him to King Eglon of Moab. 16 Ehud made for himself a sword with two edges, a cubit in length; and he fastened it on his right thigh under his clothes. 17 Then he presented the tribute to King Eglon of Moab. Now Eglon was a very fat man. 18 When Ehud had finished presenting the tribute, he sent the people who carried the tribute on their way. 19 But he himself turned back at the sculptured stones near Gilgal, and said, “I have a secret message for you, O king.” So the king said,[a] “Silence!” and all his attendants went out from his presence. 20 Ehud came to him, while he was sitting alone in his cool roof chamber, and said, “I have a message from God for you.” So he rose from his seat. 21 Then Ehud reached with his left hand, took the sword from his right thigh, and thrust it into Eglon’s[b] belly; 22 the hilt also went in after the blade, and the fat closed over the blade, for he did not draw the sword out of his belly; and the dirt came out.[c] 23 Then Ehud went out into the vestibule,[d] and closed the doors of the roof chamber on him, and locked them.

24 After he had gone, the servants came. When they saw that the doors of the roof chamber were locked, they thought, “He must be relieving himself[e] in the cool chamber.” 25 So they waited until they were embarrassed. When he still did not open the doors of the roof chamber, they took the key and opened them. There was their lord lying dead on the floor.

26 Ehud escaped while they delayed, and passed beyond the sculptured stones, and escaped to Seirah. 27 When he arrived, he sounded the trumpet in the hill country of Ephraim; and the Israelites went down with him from the hill country, having him at their head. 28 He said to them, “Follow after me; for the Lord has given your enemies the Moabites into your hand.” So they went down after him, and seized the fords of the Jordan against the Moabites, and allowed no one to cross over. 29 At that time they killed about ten thousand of the Moabites, all strong, able-bodied men; no one escaped. 30 So Moab was subdued that day under the hand of Israel. And the land had rest eighty years.

Footnotes:

Judges 3:19 Heb he said

Judges 3:21 Heb his

Judges 3:22 With Tg Vg: Meaning of Heb uncertain

Judges 3:23 Meaning of Heb uncertain

Judges 3:24 Heb covering his feet

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Acts 1:1-14

The Promise of the Holy Spirit

1 In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning 2 until the day when he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. 3 After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. 4 While staying[a] with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father. “This,” he said, “is what you have heard from me; 5 for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with[b] the Holy Spirit not many days from now.”

The Ascension of Jesus

6 So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” 7 He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. 8 But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” 9 When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. 10 While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. 11 They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

Matthias Chosen to Replace Judas

12 Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day’s journey away. 13 When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying, Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of[c] James. 14 All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.

Footnotes:

Acts 1:4 Or eating

Acts 1:5 Or by

Acts 1:13 Or the brother of

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Matthew 27:45-54

The Death of Jesus

45 From noon on, darkness came over the whole land[a] until three in the afternoon. 46 And about three o’clock Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 47 When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “This man is calling for Elijah.” 48 At once one of them ran and got a sponge, filled it with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink. 49 But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.”[b] 50 Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last.[c] 51 At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. 52 The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. 53 After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many. 54 Now when the centurion and those with him, who were keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were terrified and said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!”[d]

Footnotes:

Matthew 27:45 Or earth

Matthew 27:49 Other ancient authorities add And another took a spear and pierced his side, and out came water and blood

Matthew 27:50 Or gave up his spirit

Matthew 27:54 Or a son of God

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[dailyofficereadings]

Daily Office Readings August 01, 2018

Psalm 72

Psalm 72

Prayer for Guidance and Support for the King

Of Solomon.

1 Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king’s son. 2 May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice. 3 May the mountains yield prosperity for the people, and the hills, in righteousness. 4 May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor.

5 May he live[a] while the sun endures, and as long as the moon, throughout all generations. 6 May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass, like showers that water the earth. 7 In his days may righteousness flourish and peace abound, until the moon is no more.

8 May he have dominion from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth. 9 May his foes[b] bow down before him, and his enemies lick the dust. 10 May the kings of Tarshish and of the isles render him tribute, may the kings of Sheba and Seba bring gifts. 11 May all kings fall down before him, all nations give him service.

12 For he delivers the needy when they call, the poor and those who have no helper. 13 He has pity on the weak and the needy, and saves the lives of the needy. 14 From oppression and violence he redeems their life; and precious is their blood in his sight.

15 Long may he live! May gold of Sheba be given to him. May prayer be made for him continually, and blessings invoked for him all day long. 16 May there be abundance of grain in the land; may it wave on the tops of the mountains; may its fruit be like Lebanon; and may people blossom in the cities like the grass of the field. 17 May his name endure forever, his fame continue as long as the sun. May all nations be blessed in him;[c] may they pronounce him happy.

18 Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, who alone does wondrous things. 19 Blessed be his glorious name forever; may his glory fill the whole earth. Amen and Amen.

20 The prayers of David son of Jesse are ended.

Footnotes:

Psalm 72:5 Gk: Heb may they fear you

Psalm 72:9 Cn: Heb those who live in the wilderness

Psalm 72:17 Or bless themselves by him

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 119:73-96

73 Your hands have made and fashioned me; give me understanding that I may learn your commandments. 74 Those who fear you shall see me and rejoice, because I have hoped in your word. 75 I know, O Lord, that your judgments are right, and that in faithfulness you have humbled me. 76 Let your steadfast love become my comfort according to your promise to your servant. 77 Let your mercy come to me, that I may live; for your law is my delight. 78 Let the arrogant be put to shame, because they have subverted me with guile; as for me, I will meditate on your precepts. 79 Let those who fear you turn to me, so that they may know your decrees. 80 May my heart be blameless in your statutes, so that I may not be put to shame.

81 My soul languishes for your salvation; I hope in your word. 82 My eyes fail with watching for your promise; I ask, “When will you comfort me?” 83 For I have become like a wineskin in the smoke, yet I have not forgotten your statutes. 84 How long must your servant endure? When will you judge those who persecute me? 85 The arrogant have dug pitfalls for me; they flout your law. 86 All your commandments are enduring; I am persecuted without cause; help me! 87 They have almost made an end of me on earth; but I have not forsaken your precepts. 88 In your steadfast love spare my life, so that I may keep the decrees of your mouth.

89 The Lord exists forever; your word is firmly fixed in heaven. 90 Your faithfulness endures to all generations; you have established the earth, and it stands fast. 91 By your appointment they stand today, for all things are your servants. 92 If your law had not been my delight, I would have perished in my misery. 93 I will never forget your precepts, for by them you have given me life. 94 I am yours; save me, for I have sought your precepts. 95 The wicked lie in wait to destroy me, but I consider your decrees. 96 I have seen a limit to all perfection, but your commandment is exceedingly broad.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Judges 3:12-30

Ehud

12 The Israelites again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord; and the Lord strengthened King Eglon of Moab against Israel, because they had done what was evil in the sight of the Lord. 13 In alliance with the Ammonites and the Amalekites, he went and defeated Israel; and they took possession of the city of palms. 14 So the Israelites served King Eglon of Moab eighteen years.

15 But when the Israelites cried out to the Lord, the Lord raised up for them a deliverer, Ehud son of Gera, the Benjaminite, a left-handed man. The Israelites sent tribute by him to King Eglon of Moab. 16 Ehud made for himself a sword with two edges, a cubit in length; and he fastened it on his right thigh under his clothes. 17 Then he presented the tribute to King Eglon of Moab. Now Eglon was a very fat man. 18 When Ehud had finished presenting the tribute, he sent the people who carried the tribute on their way. 19 But he himself turned back at the sculptured stones near Gilgal, and said, “I have a secret message for you, O king.” So the king said,[a] “Silence!” and all his attendants went out from his presence. 20 Ehud came to him, while he was sitting alone in his cool roof chamber, and said, “I have a message from God for you.” So he rose from his seat. 21 Then Ehud reached with his left hand, took the sword from his right thigh, and thrust it into Eglon’s[b] belly; 22 the hilt also went in after the blade, and the fat closed over the blade, for he did not draw the sword out of his belly; and the dirt came out.[c] 23 Then Ehud went out into the vestibule,[d] and closed the doors of the roof chamber on him, and locked them.

24 After he had gone, the servants came. When they saw that the doors of the roof chamber were locked, they thought, “He must be relieving himself[e] in the cool chamber.” 25 So they waited until they were embarrassed. When he still did not open the doors of the roof chamber, they took the key and opened them. There was their lord lying dead on the floor.

26 Ehud escaped while they delayed, and passed beyond the sculptured stones, and escaped to Seirah. 27 When he arrived, he sounded the trumpet in the hill country of Ephraim; and the Israelites went down with him from the hill country, having him at their head. 28 He said to them, “Follow after me; for the Lord has given your enemies the Moabites into your hand.” So they went down after him, and seized the fords of the Jordan against the Moabites, and allowed no one to cross over. 29 At that time they killed about ten thousand of the Moabites, all strong, able-bodied men; no one escaped. 30 So Moab was subdued that day under the hand of Israel. And the land had rest eighty years.

Footnotes:

Judges 3:19 Heb he said

Judges 3:21 Heb his

Judges 3:22 With Tg Vg: Meaning of Heb uncertain

Judges 3:23 Meaning of Heb uncertain

Judges 3:24 Heb covering his feet

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Acts 1:1-14

The Promise of the Holy Spirit

1 In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning 2 until the day when he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. 3 After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. 4 While staying[a] with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father. “This,” he said, “is what you have heard from me; 5 for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with[b] the Holy Spirit not many days from now.”

The Ascension of Jesus

6 So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” 7 He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. 8 But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” 9 When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. 10 While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. 11 They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

Matthias Chosen to Replace Judas

12 Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day’s journey away. 13 When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying, Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of[c] James. 14 All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.

Footnotes:

Acts 1:4 Or eating

Acts 1:5 Or by

Acts 1:13 Or the brother of

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Matthew 27:45-54

The Death of Jesus

45 From noon on, darkness came over the whole land[a] until three in the afternoon. 46 And about three o’clock Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 47 When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “This man is calling for Elijah.” 48 At once one of them ran and got a sponge, filled it with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink. 49 But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.”[b] 50 Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last.[c] 51 At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. 52 The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. 53 After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many. 54 Now when the centurion and those with him, who were keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were terrified and said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!”[d]

Footnotes:

Matthew 27:45 Or earth

Matthew 27:49 Other ancient authorities add And another took a spear and pierced his side, and out came water and blood

Matthew 27:50 Or gave up his spirit

Matthew 27:54 Or a son of God

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.