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iwrestlenow · 3 years

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Many More To Die, Chapter 5

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 5)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY:

Lord Janus is a man with a past--and a drake with a treasure to protect.

Meanwhile, Logan fades in and out of consciousness while the king and his compatriots sort some things out--including the mysterious cadet's true identity.

Something is happening in Logan's mind, magic that he can't understand at his fingertips...and the palace dungeon master is hell bent on stopping it at all costs.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: more blatant violence against children, but nothing graphic. Also, I rewrote this bastard SIX TIMES and I’m still not happy with it, but it’s a long, meaty chapter.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1025, A.A.

“...are you an angel?”

Janus turned sharply at the sound of the tiny, awestruck little voice. He finally pinned it to a dungeon cell across from the shadowy corner where he'd just sold his father's favorite pocket watch in exchange for information on Corporal Mori—a guard that had a nasty habit of roughing up some of the younger prisoners of the palace dungeons.

Janus was a liar, a cheat, and a thief—but he had no stomach for bastards like that. And anyway, he was well aware the corporal was responsible for wrenching Logan Berry's shoulder out of the socket. Janus liked Logan—he was far too straight laced to be anything but forthright and fair in his dealings.

It was the main reason Janus let him get away with the lies he did tell. If Logan believed you were dealing with him in the same fashion, he'd sell out his own mother. Janus respected that, and he looked after the few people he respected.

Hence digging up blackmail on the corporal—until the boy in the cell piped up with something so ridiculous it actually made Janus laugh.

“Angels don't have scales, kid.” he sneered, pocketing the letters he'd been given before he ambled closer to the cell. The kid couldn't have been more than twelve, with a mop of dark curls and lapis blue eyes that were currently so wide with fascination they looked fit to pop out of his head.

“Have you ever seen one?” the boy asked.

Janus hesitated, then found himself laughing again. “You got me there.”

The boy beamed—absolutely beamed, smile full of all kinds of sickening things like sunshine and rainbows. Ridiculous...yet it tugged at something in Janus's chest.

“Then you don't know.” the boy continued. “You've gotta have the prettiest face I've ever seen.”

Stepping right up to the door of his cell, Janus bared his teeth, his too sharp top and bottom canines on full display.

“There's nothing pretty about me. You'd do well to remember that.” he warned, all cold venom and as much menace as he could muster to shake the weird, squirmy feeling behind his breastbone that was only growing stronger the longer this kid looked at him like...like that.

“Is that why you're tryin' to prove Corproral Mori is havin' an affair with the captain of the guard's wife?”

Janus froze, suddenly vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that he might have to kill a child.

“You heard that?” he asked as lightly as he could manage.

The boy lowered his gaze, finally showing signs of fear—shoulders hunching, breath quickening. Good.

Then he wrapped one hand around his opposite wrist, wringing lightly at it and retreating a little further into himself.

“Yeah.” he admitted softly. “I...I hate it, I hate that I'm like this, but...I hope you do prove it.”

Janus didn't need much more to connect the dots, knowing what he did about the corporal.

“Did he hurt you?”

The boy looked up sharply, eyes too wide—only this time, not with awe. He remained silent, but Janus didn't need more than that look to know, or to see red with a swell of rage that took him by surprise.

“What's your name, kid?” he asked quietly.

“Patton.” the boy replied, looking even more scared as he lowered his head again. “I...don't have a Name.”

Another child necromancer. Of course he was afraid of admitting that—Janus knew what he was expecting. Fear, hatred, revulsion.

The fact that this kid didn't get that Janus understood that...

“Show me your wrist.” he instructed. “The one he broke.”

Patton looked up again, eyes still wide—this time with confusion, did this kid have any other setting besides doe-eyed cherub?--but did as he was told.

Making a fist, Janus took a breath and called on what little magic he had. When he felt the heat bleeding into his fingers, saw the ripple of heat in the air and the coal red shimmer of energy, he extended his fist and opened his fingers. The energy fled his grip and laid over Patton's arm, glowing bright before going swiftly dark again.

“It shouldn't bother you again.” he explained when Patton withdrew his arm back into his cell and ran his fingers over it in fascination.

Looking back up at Janus, his smile was softer this time, his expression so intense and...adoring that he couldn't breathe under the weight of it.

“I'm Janus.” he said, by way of responding to that...expression before he turned around and fled the scene like a coward.

********

Two Weeks Later

“...Hart.”

“That...works surprisingly well. You'll get your books. I always pay my debts.”

“Past performance indicates this is an accurate assessment. Hence my request.”

“Oh...go back to bed.”

“Gladly.”

Janus stepped back into the shadows as Logan turned and promptly settled back down on his pallet to sleep. Much as he respected him, sometimes he simply could not stand the elitist little shit. He was still waiting for some parting jab over his shoulder for Janus's obvious display of weakness...but the longer he waited, the less he worried.

He stayed long enough to watch Logan drift off again, remaining in the shadows beyond his line of sight. He stayed, forced himself to stay, so that he didn't make an ass of himself or tip his hand to anyone that might be watching—if living in the palace had taught him nothing else, it had taught him to assume that he was never alone.

Once Logan started to snore, Janus finally let himself take off, flying through the dungeon halls that were his home—literally, as he hit the home stretch, taking advantage of his dragon heritage to propel himself forward with just a little more force and speed, letting him eat up stretches of corridor in half the time of a full blooded human.

He stopped just short of the cell he was looking for—the same one he'd visited nearly every single day since he'd met the angelic little necromancer that had managed to ignite every single protective instinct Janus had ever denied having. He hated it, hated to admit that he identified with any part of his dragon heritage, but Patton was, without question, a bright and golden thing amidst all the darkness that lived below the royal palace.

Janus had found him. Now, he belonged to Janus—and no dragon worth their weight could resist the overwhelming primal urge to jealously protect and hoard their treasure.

“Patton!”

The cot, a recent addition Janus had seen to obtaining for him, jolted with the force of a lump bolting upright, revealing a sleepy, tousled Patton blinking into the dim light of the hall.

“Janny? That you?” He hissed into the dark.

Rolling his eyes, Janus finally revealed himself, stepping right up to the cell bars. “No, it's the Animator.”

“I told you not to joke about that!” Patton admonished, flinging himself out of bed and stomping up to the bars with a scowl. “I'm twelve, I can't hear that stuff!”

“You've never quite explained that.”

Patton blinked, then scrubbed his hands over his face to banish the sleep before raking them back through his curls.

“'Cause...I can't.” he admitted. “It's...it's hard to explain? The Cleansing took my Name, but there's all kinds of little crumbs that sometimes roll through my head.”

Janus made a face at the mention of the Cleansing—the ritual used to strip a necromancer of their Name. It was horrific, painful, and it always made Janus a little bit sick.

He'd seen one take place in his life. It was one time too many.

“And that's one of those...what you said?” Janus asked.

Patton nodded so enthusiastically his curls bounced, tousling and forcing him to run his fingers through them again to sweep them from his eyes. “It's...there's something important about being twelve among the Necromata—and something bad about bad-talking the Animator. I think they might be connected, but I could be wrong.”

Janus felt his chest squeeze painfully as Patton spoke, free as a bird—like this information couldn't be used against him, like he had no idea.

“You shouldn't talk to me about that stuff.” he reminded him. “My father's the captain of the guard.”

Patton just rolled his eyes with a grin. “You won't tell him, I know that—that's why I tell you stuff! It helps you, and I know you won't use it to hurt me.”

“No, you don't.”

“Uh huh! You're way nicer than you think you are, Mister Dragon.”

“I'm a drake.”

“You're pretty.”

Patton did this every time. Every single time, and Janus...he was not capable of blushing. He did not blush, he would not blush.

“I know it's late, but I have something for you.” he blurted instead of responding, or blushing, watching as Patton's eyes widened, his smile growing impossibly brighter.

“No foolin'? What is it?”

Janus took a deep breath, warring with himself. He'd believed the stories for a long time—the evil of necromancers, that they had no souls, no morals, power hungry and constantly thirsting for fresh blood...

Then he met one. Then he was disfigured...then he met Logan, and now he had this fucking urchin that had latched onto him with perfect faith and trust, and he was so fucked up over it that he was willing to empower him. At least, if he was right and this worked.

Patton just waited. Janus lost his hesitation.

“Heart.”

The boy blinked, brow furrowing curiously.

“Heart?”

Janus nodded. “Patton Heart. They took your Name...I thought you might feel better with a new one. Something to be called, at least.”

The little pout his mouth formed had Janus's heart sinking. It was a stupid idea, he didn't like it, and it damn sure wouldn't work--

Patton's breath hitched, and Janus's attention narrowed to the boy.

His dark blue eyes were shiny with unshed tears...but he was grinning. So bright, so painfully bright that Janus had to bite the inside of his cheek to resist the urge to rip the cell door off its hinges, grab the little bastard, and hide him somewhere deeper and darker where no one else could touch him or even look at him. His treasure, his gold...

Suddenly, Patton stuck his hand out through the bars.

“Pleased to meetcha, Mister Dragon...I'm Patton Heart.”

Cursing under his breath in annoyance—not with a smile, he was not smiling—Janus reached out to shake his hand.

“Likewise—Patton?”

Patton was staring at their hands, features ashen. He was clutching Janus's hand hard enough to bruise—and he was absolutely trembling.

“Patton?...Patton, what happened? What's the matter?”

Was it his wrist? It should have been fine—if Mori came after him again...

“Janus, I...I can feel your hand.”

******** 1033, A.A.

Janus was not okay—and for the first time in his life, it was a good thing.

The north wing of the palace was reserved for ambassadors and other dignitaries—a good choice to keep prisoners, as it was well guarded and the guest suites arranged with a lack of accessible windows or too many entrances to reduce the access for assassins and spies. It was also lavish, with a spacious garden area that had high walls and sprawling lawns.

Watching Patton as Janus led him into the suite he'd selected among those available for the two prisoners to share, something restless and angry that had lingered in his gut for the last eight years finally began to relax, at least a little. Here, in the north wing, cut off from other prisoners, from cruel guards and the dungeon master, now Colonel Mori...

His treasure was finally shuttered away, locked up and safe. The dragon that took up entirely too much space in his skin was settling, knowing that his hoard was safe.

Leaning against the doorway, Janus glanced over his shoulder and dismissed the guard that had been dispatched there, content to watch over Patton himself for a short while before he would have to return to the king's side.

Patton shuffled deeper and deeper into the suite's main living area, as if frightened his steps would be too loud or possibly shatter something. His eyes were wide as ever, taking everything in—occasionally blinking hard and fast when the bright light he was no longer used to made them sting or water.

The part of Janus that had secretly grown to look at Patton like the little brother he never had was very satisfied...but the part of him that had been growing stronger over the last couple of years, the one that was haunted by those deep blue eyes and the greedy way he stole the tiniest touches from Janus through the bars of his cell...

The one that had woken up the first time he allowed Patton to touch his face, his scales...that part of him was keenly aware of the fact that they were alone, and that Patton had no fucking clue that Janus had been all but crippled by his pure heart and beautiful eyes.

“Janny?”

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Janus regarded Patton coolly. “What?”

Patton was in the middle of the room, facing him with a strange look that Janus couldn't parse. He was either distraught or...not...distraught. Whatever it was, the emotion was intense, making his eyes water and his lips quiver, and Janus was caught between bloodlust and the tender, aching thing that tortured him these days with every single second he spent in Patton's presence.

“You remember your promise?”

Janus had to think for a second, but he finally remembered the one promise he'd made to Patton that could apply to this situation.

“...one thing, Janny. Anything in the world you could have, what would it be?”

“Swear to me you won't tell a soul.”

“Pinky promise!”

“...pure blood. Dragon, not human. For the wings.”

“Oooooh, that's a good one!”

“What...nevermind.”

“What about me? That what you were gonna ask?”

“Fine, yes! Happy?”

“Yes—'cause I'd want to get out of this cell so I could give you a big ol' hug.”

“...Seven Hells, Pat...”

“Would you give it to me?”

“No.”

“Second chance?”

“...yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I remember, Pat.”

Patton just stared at him, wrapping his arms around himself—tight enough that he was shaking.

With a sigh, Janus crossed over to him and, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, opened his arms.

Patton all but flew into them, pressing his face against the scales running down Janus's throat. Janus held him lightly, carefully—they'd never been able to do much through the bars of Patton's cell, but Patton had an easier time of acclimating to touch with Janus thanks to the fact that he ran cooler than a human or a dragon. Drakes tended to run cold, courtesy of their magic.

“Thanks, Janny.” Patton sighed after a few minutes, relaxing in small measures the longer Janus held him.

Janus made a noncommittal sound, even if he was rubbing Patton's back gently, feeling like he was stealing something by holding him like this. It was perfectly innocent...but it was Patton. Pure, good, secretly conniving Patton, and he was letting Janus hold him like he was something equally good and pure and safe.

It was just more proof that Janus was a terrible person, because he didn't give a shit.

“Happy?” he asked after a moment.

Patton smiled, and Janus had to supress the urge to shiver when he felt Patton's lips curling up against his neck.

“Yes.” he whispered, just before he burst into quiet tears, falling apart for the first time in eight years while he let Janus hold his broken pieces together in comfortable silence.

********

“...sten here, you little brat, you may be waiting for the crown, but I've known you since—”

“I repeat: I know where the guillotine is. We can even slap him after! He won't feel it, but he'll flinch!”

“Remus, please!”

“What? He's basically calling the king a snot nosed child! Am I wrong?”

...voices. Voices, buzzing at the edges of Logan's self awareness, but only just...

“He is a snot-nosed child, and a conduit to boot! You can't trust the gifted—not the useless conduits, not the lying mages or the spineless Sensitives—and you damn sure can't trust a godsdamned necromancer! Now, can we please stop talking about this thing like he's remotely human, finish the damn Cleansing properly this time, and get my prisoner back into his cell?”

“Or, here's an idea—you could...say...shut the fuck up and listen to the king?”

Itchy. Everything itched. Why was he so godsdamned itchy?...

...threads. Everywhere, all over, there were dangling threads. The colors were innumerable, all glowing with varying levels of light. It was a mess...it was a massacre.

Something had been torn away, and all that was left were these threads, some long and frayed, others short and thick. All of them were brushing every part of him—soft, barely there, and absolutely maddening.

“...compulsion to simply stop living. Imagine—imagine the way you feel as you breathe. You don't think about it, it just happens. Now reverse that. To stop, to let go, to fall...that became the natural instinct. My father succumbed to the same insidious magic, I know it.”

“With all due respect, Majesty, it was clearly the necromancer. He's got power he's been hiding, and at the end of the day? That's what they do, they kill.”

“Eh, sounds like bullshit. No necromancer's ever killed anyone before.”

“You're lying. There's thousands of cases, tens of thousands over a thousand years—I've studied it! Graduated the Academy top of my class.”

“So did I—first in my class, actually, and Prince Remus is right.”

“Shut your mouth, Cadet.”

“When the Seven Hells freeze over. Read the military's historical records: they show every combat death, but none of them involved magic. Want proof? It's in the the Tomes, you'll see. Any sorcerer can show you.”

“No offense, toy soldier—I mean, you're cute as the Seven Hells, but you don't strike me as the kind of guy who can speak any of the Ethereal tongues needed to read the magicians' histories.”

“I can't speak them, not really—but I can read them.”

“How?”

“...I'm a Sensitive.”

“Well, Colonel Mori—I guess you just made yourself a new best friend. Besides me, of course...”

“...Remus, get your spitty finger out of the colonel's ear!”

“Eat my thick and juicy co...”

Warm. Logan was warm, a warmth he knew and understood—and being weighed down by something, a steady and evenly distributed weight that was foreign, but not so alien he wasn't familiar with the feel of pressure, from neck to foot.

...threads, more threads, reaching out from the source of heat and heft, tickling at the surface of his consciousness—all so itchy. He had to scratch, couldn't scratch...couldn't escape, couldn't...

Wait. The colors...that one thread, rippling with gray and white, silver and lightning...there was a matching one inside his head...

“...the plan, then?”

“The plan is, we get the necromancer healthy, and have him recall the king to life...Master Picani?”

“Emile, please.”

“--Emile, then—you were in the crowd today, with the rest of the palace mages—what do the people know?”

“The king was seen collapsing. I can tell you that I haven't heard any announcements being made...but the chit chat I picked up on as I was on my way here? Well, word has likely already been leaked from somewhere.”

“Damn it! Then the coronation will have to be arranged...and then voided once my father has been resurrected.”

“You know there is no guarantee it can be done, Majesty.”

“I do...but I have faith...”

...these threads weren't long enough. He knew where they connected to, but there just wasn't enough slack to reach the tattered edges inside his head.

He reached out, leaned out, tried to follow them back to the source—something inside, tucked neatly into the warmth and the weight pressing, cradling, pulling him back into his prison of broken threads and torn scraps...

These threads were attached to something—something whole, not the entire tapestry but a piece of the picture.

“This man is a murderer! He's a demon, a killer--”

“...King Roman? A word?...”

“Of course, Mast—er, Emile. Master Somnum?”

“It's Remy, gurl.”

“Remy—keep an eye on Colonel Mori. Help the cadet subdue him if he does anything stupid.”

“Only if I can get out of prison mage detail. Being the boss is cool? But I hate this asshole.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“On it, Boss.”

...it was him. There was no question: it was him.

He reached into the source of heat and pulled the fragment out.

“--spineless, useless Sensitives!”

“You wanna see how spineless I am? Take another step, Colonel. I fucking dare you.”

“Oooh, catfight!”

“More like a two hit fight: I'll hit him, he hits the floor.”

“Disrespecting a superior officer? I'll have you court-martialed! Or put into the dungeons...you're too damn close to the Necromata, anyway.”

“We can't use magic, idiot stick, we can only sense or enhance it.”

“So maybe you helped the necromancer kill the king, eh?”

“Oh-kay, Colonel Morose. Back off.”

...this was going to be incredibly difficult. Reconnecting these shorter threads, weaving the ones together in a way that made sense...it was next to impossible....

“...your name, Cadet?”

“Virgil Storm, Majesty.”

“Master Somnum?”

“...he's lying.”

Just a few quick knots on this edge to hold it in place—but it wouldn't stick without...

...there. A shuttle, knotted to the corner of the scrap, carrying a heavy length of glimmering silk.

“...Seven Hells is happening?”

“Oh, well—hello there.”

“Emile? What's happening?”

“It appears that the prisoner is...chanelling.”

“I thought channeling was used to heal?”

“It is—among other things, so don't fucking touch him.”

“Cadet, shut the--”

“Colonel Mori, quiet. Virgil—what's going on? Why can't I touch him?”

“...'cause you're a conduit. You have a ton of magic and no ability to use it, so it's all pent up and shit. Touch him, and you could interfere with what's happening. Your magic, I mean...it can leak out and wreck everything.”

“Is there a spell on this blanket you brought for him?”

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing I'm willing to share with an outsider. It's sacred knowledge.”

“Oh, for the love of...”

...the work was fast, he could finish this edge swiftly—the shuttle was liquid lightning, his fingers moving of their own accord...

“..for not even an hour, and there's a jailbreak in progress?!?...”

“I...Lord Janus...how did you even--”

“I joined the assassin's corps when I was eighteen, and I killed the captain when I was nineteen to take his place. I make it a point to know everythng that happens in this castle.”

“Relax, Lord Janus—I have this in hand. Virgil.”

“What?”

“I swear, on the Spider's Thread, that you can trust me.”

“...Majesty?...”

“...Janus, Remy, get Colonel Mori out of the room.”

...it was done. It was...perfect.

It was...

“--get that thing away from him if I--”

“Colonel, stop!”

...oh, shit...

Sudden lightness. Cold, cold, cold.

The shuttle slipped through his fingers.

Pain, searing pain from head to toe.

If he lost it, he couldn't finish, he had to finish or it would slip away.

Sound, fury, crushing weight--

Fingers in his hair. Gentle pressure on his scalp.

A hand in his.

Hold on. Do not let go.

I never have. I never will.

“Loganberry?...”

The shuttle landed in the palm of his hand. He grabbed on tight--

--and opened his eyes.

#sanders sides #logince #moceit #ts logic #ts creativity #ts anxiety #ts deceit #ts dark creativity #fic #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #no betas we die like men #this is all the artist's fault i'm just a hapless writer that stumbled across it #i don't even know what i'm saying anymore #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

to welcome what is new:

new wine into new wineskins. just as the spiritual truth of the new covenant of grace held in a reborn heart

(inside, Anew)

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 5th chapter of the book of Luke:

Picture these events:

On the banks of Gennesaret Lake, a huge crowd, Jesus in the center of it, presses in to hear His message from God. Off to the side, fishermen are washing their nets, leaving their boats unattended on the shore.

Jesus gets into one of the boats and asks its owner, Simon, to push off and anchor a short distance from the beach. Jesus sits down and teaches the people standing on the beach.

After speaking for a while, Jesus speaks to Simon.

Jesus: Move out into deeper water, and drop your nets to see what you’ll catch.

Simon (perplexed): Master, we’ve been fishing all night, and we haven’t caught even a minnow. But . . . all right, I’ll do it if You say so.

Simon then gets his fellow fishermen to help him let down their nets, and to their surprise, the water is bubbling with thrashing fish—a huge school. The strands of their nets start snapping under the weight of the catch, so the crew shouts to the other boat to come out and give them a hand. They start scooping fish out of the nets and into their boats, and before long, their boats are so full of fish they almost sink!

Simon’s fishing partners, James and John (two of Zebedee’s sons), along with the rest of the fishermen, see this incredible haul of fish. They’re all stunned, especially Simon. He comes close to Jesus and kneels in front of His knees.

Simon: I can’t take this, Lord. I’m a sinful man. You shouldn’t be around the likes of me.

Jesus: Don’t be afraid, Simon. From now on, I’ll ask you to bring Me people instead of fish.

The fishermen haul their fish-heavy boats to land, and they leave everything to follow Jesus.

Another time in a city nearby, a man covered with skin lesions comes along. As soon as he sees Jesus, he prostrates himself.

Leper: Lord, if You wish to, You can heal me of my disease.

Jesus reaches out His hand and touches the man, something no one would normally do for fear of being infected or of becoming ritually unclean.

Jesus: I want to heal you. Be cleansed!

Immediately the man is cured. Jesus tells him firmly not to tell anyone about this.

Jesus: Go, show yourself to the priest, and do what Moses commanded by making an appropriate offering to celebrate your cleansing. This will prove to everyone what has happened.

Even though Jesus said not to talk about what happened, soon every conversation was consumed by these events. The crowds swelled even larger as people went to hear Jesus preach and to be healed of their many afflictions. Jesus repeatedly left the crowds, though, stealing away into the wilderness to pray.

One day Jesus was teaching in a house, and the healing power of the Lord was with Him. Pharisees and religious scholars were sitting and listening, having come from villages all across the regions of Galilee and Judea and from the holy city of Jerusalem.

Some men came to the house, carrying a paralyzed man on his bed pallet. They wanted to bring him in and present him to Jesus, but the house was so packed with people that they couldn’t get in. So they climbed up on the roof and pulled off some roof tiles. Then they lowered the man by ropes so he came to rest right in front of Jesus.

In this way, their faith was visible to Jesus.

Jesus (to the man on the pallet): My friend, all your sins are forgiven.

The Pharisees and religious scholars were offended at this. They turned to one another and asked questions.

Pharisees and Religious Scholars: Who does He think He is? Wasn’t that blasphemous? Who can pronounce that a person’s sins are forgiven? Who but God alone?

Jesus (responding with His own question): Why are your hearts full of questions? Which is easier to say, “Your sins are forgiven” or “Get up and walk”? Just so you’ll know that the Son of Man is fully authorized to forgive sins on earth (He turned to the paralyzed fellow lying on the pallet), I say, get up, take your mat, and go home.

Then, right in front of their eyes, the man stood up, picked up his bed, and left to go home—full of praises for God! Everyone was stunned. They couldn’t help but feel awestruck, and they praised God too.

People: We’ve seen extraordinary things today.

Some time later, Jesus walked along the street and saw a tax collector named Levi sitting in his tax office.

Jesus: Follow Me.

And Levi did. He got up from his desk, left everything (just as the fishermen had), and followed Jesus.

Shortly after this, Levi invited his many friends and associates, including many tax collectors, to his home for a large feast in Jesus’ honor. Everyone sat at a table together.

The Pharisees and their associates, the religious scholars, got the attention of some of Jesus’ disciples.

Pharisees (in low voices): What’s wrong with you? Why are you eating and drinking with tax collectors and other immoral people?

Jesus (answering for the disciples): Healthy people don’t need a doctor, but sick people do. I haven’t come for the pure and upstanding; I’ve come to call notorious sinners to rethink their lives and turn to God.

Pharisees: Explain to us why You and Your disciples are so commonly found partying like this, when our disciples—and even the disciples of John—are known for fasting rather than feasting, and for saying prayers rather than drinking wine.

Jesus: Imagine there’s a wedding going on. Is that the time to tell the guests to ignore the bridegroom and fast? Sure, there’s a time for fasting—when the bridegroom has been taken away. Look, nobody tears up a new garment to make a patch for an old garment. If he did, the new patch would shrink and rip the old, and the old garment would be worse off than before. And nobody takes freshly squeezed juice and puts it into old, stiff wineskins. If he did, the fresh wine would make the old skins burst open, and both the wine and the wineskins would be ruined. New demands new—new wine for new wineskins. Anyway, those who’ve never tasted the new wine won’t know what they’re missing; they’ll always say, “The old wine is good enough for me!”

The Book of Luke, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 13th chapter of the book of Job where Job addresses reverence before our Creator:

Job: Look. I’ve seen it all with my eyes,

heard and understood it with my ears.

What you know, I know, too;

don’t think I am so far beneath you!

Let our differences be clear; I am ready to speak to the Highest One,

eagerly wanting to argue my case with God.

But you! You smear me with lies as if to help,

but as healers you are worthless.

Would that you were totally silent.

At least that would make you seem wise.

Please, just listen while I reason this out;

lean in to hear how my lips will plead.

Will you try to defend God’s cause by telling lies?

Be deceitful on His behalf?

Will you show partiality for Him?

Argue on His behalf?

How would you fare

if He searched your soul?

Do you think you might deceive Him

as you would any other person?

No. He would bring charges against you

even if you secretly show partiality.

Aren’t you horrified at the weight of His majesty?

Isn’t the dread of Him enough to drop you where you stand?

All your quoted proverbs turn to ash;

your clever comebacks crumble like brittle towers of clay.

So keep your mouths shut around me, and let me speak to God.

And whatever may come, let it come.

Why should I lay my body at the mercy of the words of my own mouth

or risk my life with only my own hands to defend me?

Look, He may well kill me,

but I will hope in Him.

Still I will be ready to argue my case before His very face.

In fact, this will become my salvation,

for the godless wouldn’t even dare to approach Him.

So then here is my account. Listen carefully!

Give me a chance to share my side of the story with you.

My case is prepared, and I am confident

I will be found righteous.

And yet who will meet me in court to argue the other side?

If I am out-argued, then I will stay mute until I die.

Lord, I ask only two concessions in this case;

if You grant them, I will not hide from Your face.

First, remove Your damaging hand from me;

second don’t intimidate me anymore with your terrifying presence.

Then send me Your summons, and I will reply,

or better yet, I will speak first and then You answer me.

How many counts do You have against me?

How many sins must I account for?

Spell out the nature of Your indictment against my rebellious ways.

Why do You hide Your face from me;

why is my name now “nemesis” to You?

Would You waste Your energy to terrify a windblown leaf,

or chase down the dry chaff as it tumbles in the breeze?

For I see bitter accusations against me written in Your own hand;

You call me to account for the guilt of my youth.

You fasten shackles at my ankles but still keep close watch on where I walk,

marking the places where my feet may plant themselves.

This is how a person wastes away to nothing,

like something rotten, like moth-eaten clothing.

The Book of Job, Chapter 13 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, April 20 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about clinging to True hope:

Though it is true that God will never leave nor forsake us, he nevertheless allows trouble in our lives so that we will learn to call upon him and know his heart... For how else will we understand the truth of our great need for him, and how else his great provision? "Blessed are the poor in spirit," describes the poignant awareness of our inner poverty, our bankruptcy of heart, the destitution of our condition (Matt. 5:3). We cry inwardly, "Forsake me not, O LORD: O my God, be not far from me" (Psalm 38:21) because we realize our need for deliverance from ourselves; we understand that we cannot take a step in his way apart from his upholding. "Hold thou me up, and I shall be safe: and I will have respect unto thy statutes continually" (Psalm 119:117). "Do not forsake me, O LORD, is the mantra in our darkness, the antiphon of God's promised Presence; it is the cry of the heart that knows that only God can get us through the next moment and its temptation to despair. "Do not forsake me, O LORD, lest I be swallowed up by my pain, my fear, my sadness, my anguish of heart; do not forsake me, for I am nothing but the anguish of the moment, the sorrow of loneliness, the fear of my own heart as I tremble before you in my desperation...

O LORD, You came to heal the sick; you spoke life to those who are without strength or remedy; you came to seek the lost, to find those who are without a place or sense of belonging in this world. O Lord, you know that without you I can do nothing; you know that I weak, poor, and needy; my path is perilous and I have no hope apart from you. Be not far from me; do not leave me to my own devices nor the counsel of my own soul. Save me, O God, for the glory of your Name; be magnified in your heart of love and faithfulness. Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

4.19.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

April 20, 2021

God Is Holy

“Who is like unto thee, O LORD, among the gods? who is like thee, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders?” (Exodus 15:11)

The awesome vision of the throne that God gave Isaiah included a short description of the seraphims. They stood above the throne announcing, “Holy, holy, holy, is the LORD of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory” (Isaiah 6:3). They are cited again in Revelation 4:8 constantly saying, “Holy, holy, holy, LORD God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come.”

Apparently, the holiness of God is all-consuming.

Both the Hebrew and Greek words for “holy” used in Scripture are strong descriptions of separateness, a dedicated detachment from all else. “Who shall not fear thee, O Lord, and glorify thy name? for thou only art holy” (Revelation 15:4). “There is none holy as the LORD: for there is none beside thee: neither is there any rock like our God” (1 Samuel 2:2).

It is this absolute and unique transcendence that sets the Creator of the universe above and beyond all others: “For I am God, and there is none else; I am God, and there is none like me” (Isaiah 46:9). Although there are “gods many, and lords many” (1 Corinthians 8:5), and the “desperately wicked” heart of man (Jeremiah 17:9) twists the “glory of the uncorruptible God” (Romans 1:23) into every vile image possible, “Jesus Christ [is] the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever” (Hebrews 13:8).

Since God is holy, you and I can trust Him without reservation or doubt. “For all the promises of God in him are yea, and in him Amen” (2 Corinthians 1:20). Since God is holy, we can be totally confident that our souls are secure in God, “with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning” (James 1:17). HMM III

0 notes

edourado · 7 years

Note

Not to overbear u with Kastle writing prompts, but can u please write a Kastle coffee shop au? (Karen the bookstore barista and Castle looking for good coffee and a new Jack Reacher novel) I don't think anyone has done this which is surprising because coffee is Frank's lifeblood, lol.

Hello, hello! I’m sorryyyy, it took so long! I was supposed to have answered this one like one day after you sent it, but, you know, life.

Here it is, though. It’s really fluffy, because I need fluff, like alot of it. I do sincerely hope you like it. Let me know.

Much love ♥

Espresso and caramel

He first walked in there looking for one specific novel. After reading the synopsis on a magazine on the subway, he was interested, and walked in this small bookshop near his apartment to look for it.

He found a copy fast enough, it wasn’t difficult. But then he sat down to read it, on the counter of the small café on the very back of the place, and it felt like he got the story by the middle of it.

“That is the fifth book”, came a voice from behind the counter.

Looking up, Frank saw this woman, blonde and blue eyed, smiling at him, a pot of coffee in her hand.

“Coffee?” she asked, her long hair in a low braid, tucked casually but neatly over her right collarbone.

With a nod he hoped didn’t look too foolish, Frank returned her smile with a smaller one, the one, he had been told, was charming.

“There are twenty two Jack Reacher books”, she continued, bringing a white cup to him and filling it with coffee that smelled delicious. “The latest one just came out this year.”

“You a fan?” he asked, noticing a small ink stain on her chin, as if she had chewed on a pen recently.

“Not really. We had a signing when the book came out, I organized it.”

“A signing, huh?” he took a sip of the coffee and looked as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear after setting the pot back in it’s place.

“Yeah, my grandmother is very well connected. She called James and asked if he would like to have a signing here the day the book came out, he was all too happy to agree. This place was packed, I don’t even know how the walls didn’t give.”

Looking at him with the air of someone that just caught themselves at something, she offered another smile, this one with a hint of self consciousness.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. You just looked a bit… Confused.”

Frank closed the book and set it by his coffee.

“I was confused”, he admitted, taking another sip. “I know nothing about this, I read a note about it, thought I’d give it a try.”

With a shrug, she picked up the coffee pot again to fill the mug of a lady that sat on the corner of the counter, reading a thick novel.

“I can help you sort it out”, she offered, smiling at the woman, who smiled back at her. (“Thanks, Karen”, she said), “If you’d like.”

When she was standing beside him in front of the shelf he had found the fifth book, he looked at her while she looked at the volumes.

It has been a while, since he had seen a woman that left him speechless. Beautiful women were not hard to find, it was hard to find an ugly one, but fuck him sideways, this one might not even be human.

“Ok”, she started, eyes focusing on the books in front of them while his inspected her face. “Do you want to read it in chronological order, or in publishing order?”

Frank doesn’t answer, because he’s busy trying to decide if he had ever seen a woman more beautiful than her, ever. She looks at him and he shrugs.

“What do you think?”

She was smiling again and then picking one up from the shelf.

“I’d go with publishing order. If he published them like that, it must mean they should be read at that order, don’t you think?”

Trying not to shrug again, he picked up the book she offered him, and gave her the one he had picked up for himself.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He went back to his seat and she offered him a slice of pecan pie to go with his coffee and his book. Frank found that her voice was a good soundtrack for his reading, talking to the waiting staff, customers, with a woman he assumed was the grandmother she had mentioned, who was the owner of the bookshop. It carried him through his reading, and, before he knew it, he had to go back home and walk the dogs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, paying his bill.

“I’ll be here”, she offered. “It’s Karen, by the way.”

He knows. People have been calling her around him, familiar. She made conversation, served coffee and pie, cake, hot chocolate for children and lattes for teenagers. Black coffee for some. For him. Black coffee and a smile, every time. Sometimes, when he moved to stretch a bit, she would peek and check the page he was in.

“Frank”, he offered, and she nodded once, cocking her head and turning back to go back behind the counter.

“See you tomorrow, Frank.”

He got home wondering if he had spent the afternoon in another dimension, in the company of someone who was not real.

.:.

He was almost finishing the seventh book when when he noticed something different about her.

Her greeting smile wasn’t as bright, she stopped leaning in to read over his shoulder, didn’t ask if he wanted more coffee, just poured more every time she noticed his cup was almost empty. When she asked if he wanted carrot cake, her voice was smaller.

He couldn’t really tell what was different, or if something was wrong, but then, while she finished slicing a very nice smelling cake, her grandmother came behind the counter.

“Matthew called”, she said, in a small voice Frank heard only because he was paying attention. “Again.”

Karen sighed, apparently annoyed.

Ah. Explained.

“You’re not gonna call him?”

“I did”, she answered, short, losing the remaining grip she had on her temper. “We talked. There’s nothing else to say. I don’t wanna talk to him.”

The knife hit the plate under the cake at the word “talk”, as if to emphasize the finality of her decision.

“Alright, dear, alright”, sighed her grandmother, patting her on the shoulder and walking to Frank. “Hello, Frank” she greeted him.

“Mrs. Page how you doing?” he asked, closing his book.

“Good, good. Enjoying the books?”

“I am. She makes me read a different one in between these.” He motioned to Karen with his chin and was glad to see a small smile breaking her otherwise grim expression.

“Oh?” she turned to her granddaughter. “Which ones?”

“Just one”, Karen offered. “’New York Stories’.”

“Hmm”, she nodded, looking back at him. “To cleanse the pallet, heh?”

“That’s what she says.”

With a polite, affectionate smile to him, she turned back around and raised a hand to caress Karen’s cheek.

“Your hair’s gotten long”, she said, and Karen looked at her with the air of a little girl who had been caught stealing from a cookie jar that was meant for her anyway.

The older woman got inside the kitchen and the door swung behind her.

“I like it” Frank offered, if only to make her let go of that sad look, even for a moment. “The longer hair.”

Karen looked from the kitchen door and back to him, sustained his look for a few seconds, and he was happy to see a smile stretch on her lips.

“Do you want cake?” she asked, already turning to pick up a plate for him.

“If I take everything you offer me”, he said, draining the last of his coffee. “I’ll get as fat as I can get in no time.”

She turned to him with a teasing look in her face, a hand on her waist.

“So you don’t want cake?”

“I didn’t say that, did I?”

Turning back, she picked up the plate and placed it in front of him, offering him the fork with a twist of her wrist.

“You see the chocolate chips?” he raised his brows and she lifted her shoulder, charmingly. “I placed them myself.”

“Wow”, he said, sarcastically, happy to see her teeth, this time, when she smiled. “Practically a baker yourself.”

He ate and he read and he drank the coffee she filled his mug with. He pretended to read while she rested her elbows on the far side of the counter to look at a kid’s phone while he showed her something or other.

She was loved by those who frequented her grandmother’s book shop and café. It helped that she knew people by their names and memorized their favorite orders and their birthdays.

Still. Even as she smiled and joked, Frank saw the little sighs and how the smiles dropped every time she turned around and didn’t have to speak to anyone.

It made him wonder if she smiled at him just as she smiled to everyone else or if she smiled like he smiled at her - because she couldn’t help it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked when he got up to leave, like he did everyday, now.

“I’ll be here”, she replied, but he didn’t like that small, less than bright smile. Not at all.

.:.

She put the eighth book - The Enemy - in front of him when he sat down at a table on a Friday, because the counter was full. Men with laughter a little louder than the usual tone of the small café, but not enough to warrant a complaint, even if he could see all the other customers were not too happy with the newcomers.

“I’ll be right back with your coffee”, she said, almost in a intimate whisper, and turned back around with a wink.

Frank was watching her move around and serve coffee and pie to the men on the counter, not liking the polite smile she gave them, finding it nervous and on edge. Not a sincere smile at all. At the very least, the blonde, slightly plump suited man on the very edge of the group seemed to not irk her.

“You know”, said a voice suddenly by his side. Mrs. Page sat on the chair by his right on the square table. “It is not everyone that… Fits here.”

Frank looked at her, her blue eyes, very similar to Karen’s own, looking back at him.

“I thought you wouldn’t, to be quite honest. But you did.” She looked away from him and towards Karen, who now smiled genuinely at the blonde man. “Perfectly, I’d say.”

He didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just sat there and watched.

“She’s not the same, my Karen. Since Matthew, she has been… Dimmed.”

“Matthew?”

“Ex-boyfriend. They were something to watch, those two. I even do believe he loved her just as much - if not more - than she loved him. But, as you must know, men, they…” she made a dismissive move with her hand. “He couldn’t see with his eyes, but all the same. There was too much around him, in his past, that clouded his vision. She denies it, thinks she’s protecting me, but it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s hurt.”

They both looked towards her, who now sat at a table with three girls, taking a selfie.

“We have a secret menu, you know”, said the woman he came to see, he now realized, as his own grandmother. “She came up with it. Just for her favorites. But you have to ask for it.”

“You think I’m one of the favorites?”

The woman looked at him and offered a knowing smile. Patting his hand, she got up.

“Ask her about the secret menu. She calls it ‘Karen’s notebook’, but don’t tell her I said that. If I’m very, very wrong, she’ll tell you there isn’t one.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“You’re smart. I think you can figure it out for yourself.”

.:.

He stuck around longer, that day. Intent on seeing the men leave, on seeing his regular seat on the counter unoccupied, he sat there, not really reading, watching her for the rest of the day.

The group of suits left almost at closing time. The bookshop was empty already, there were only two couples still lingering on the tables, nursing coffee and tea and sharing pies.

Frank was about to tell her he was leaving, too, when she took her phone from her apron, listened to what he guessed was a message and then threw the device inside a drawer, banging it shut and taking a deep breath.

“You ok?” he asked, tired of that look in her face. He wanted the smiles again, the light expression.

Karen looked at him and blinked, making a face and a dismissive move of her shoulder.

“Yeah, just… My ex boyfriend.”

“He giving you trouble? You want me to rough him up for you?”

That earned him a blush and and coy curve of her lips.

“You would do that?”

“Just say the word.”

A little reluctantly, she told him all about this lawyer, this guy she had dated for almost a year, but had screwed things up because his ex girlfriend came back in town and hired him for something or other, and she couldn’t prove he had cheated, but she was positive, because he kept lying and hiding things from her, neglecting her, disappearing, missing dates.

“Stupid man”, Frank let out, and she looked at him with such sad eyes he wanted to hold her in his arms and make the memory of this Matthew guy go away.

“He’s actually very smart.”

“No, he’s not.” He moved his head, looking for her eyes, and she looked up from the counter, right back at him, and her throat moved in a way he didn’t know he liked until that very moment. “So. Am I teaching him a lesson or what?”

With a chuckle, she moved and picked up his empty mug.

“No, that’s ok”, she said. “I’ll keep that offer in mind, though.”

Placing the refreshed mug in front of him, she placed her elbows on the counter and leaned on them, and he noticed her hips going from left to right, a distracted sway of her body.

Her braid flew behind her shoulder when she looked back at him while he took a sip of his coffee - it was too late for coffee, but still -, watching him, her eyes a dark blue in the faded light.

“Did you know we have a secret menu?” she asked, whispering, even if the two couples still occupying tables were far from the counter enough to not hear their conversation.

Frank watched her face, a pleasant, eager feeling rising up inside him.

“Yeah?”

She nodded.

“It really is a secret. If you promise to keep it, I’ll let you have an item from it.”

“What am I having?” he asked after a second, deciding it was ok if she caught him staring at her lips.

“Will you keep the secret?” she whispered, leaning a little bit closer, making him lean, too.

He nodded, excited, eager, a little giddy, happy, even, when she pursed her lips, pretending to think, hummed a pondering note, and got back up from the counter, turning around and getting a tall cappuccino glass from the shelf and a tin pot of coffee from the fridge on the corner.

“Now, this is new. I don’t even know if it’s good, yet. You’ll be my guinea pig.”

She put a bunch of stuff on the counter in front of him, measuring and mixing and stirring. When she was done, she turned the tin pot on the tall glass, filling it with the cold drink until an inch from the top, finishing it with a layer of whip cream - not the canned shit he didn’t even like, the one he knew they made right there in the kitchen - and a thin layer of powdered chocolate.

With a look at him, she slid the glass on the counter towards him and then leaned back on her elbows.

“There you go.”

It looked like something a teenager would order. He was not the biggest fan of iced coffee, but, for her, he would give it a try. Hell, he had already decided he wold say it was good, even if he hated it.

Which he didn’t. It tasted of the espresso he liked, only cold and with a hint of caramel. She instructed him to stir the whip cream in before drinking it, and the texture was a pleasant one on his tongue. Bitter and sweet and smooth, cold down his throat. He wanted another sip immediately.

Frank looked at her, who was watching him. When their eyes met, she bit on her lower lip and raised her brows at him.

“So?”

He nodded, licking his own lips.

“Very good, ma’am.”

There it is. A non sad smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Reaching her hand, she picked up his mug and took a sip from it. It made him exhale sharply.

“You know what I call it?”

He just looked at her, studying her face, full on staring and hummed his question.

“Castle”, she whispered, sliding the mug back to him, looking at him, her eyes sucking his in, he made no effort to look away.

“Should I feel proud or do you mean an actual castle?”

She shook her head, dropping her gaze from his eyes to somewhere else on his face.

“I don’t mean a castle”, she said, and then looked somewhere behind him. The last table was asking for the check.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked after finishing the drink named after him and getting up to put his jacket on.

“I’ll be here.”

.:.

He watched her closing the door to the café and walking to the door of the shop. He was sitting on a bench on the other side of the street, waiting for her.

Karen saw him just before she turned the lights off. While she locked up, he got up and crossed the street, coming to a halt by her side, leaning on the window display.

“I thought you left”, she said, smiling at him.

He shrugged.

“I thought I could walk you home. It’s late. You shouldn’t walk alone.”

Finishing with the locks, she squinted at him.

“I can take care of myself, mister”. Putting the keys in her purse, she turned to him and reached for his arm. “But since you’re here.”

She took his arm and they walked together towards her building.

She lived almost ten blocks away from work, so he suggested they stopped by his place to get his dogs.

“They must be going crazy, I haven’t walked them since this morning.”

She agreed easily, making cute noises at the two huge pitbulls that greeted them at his door.

The four of them walked slowly to her place, stopping when the dogs needed to stop, not rushing to cross streets when the signs were blinking, talking of nothing and everything.

“Here we are”, she announced, too soon to his liking, and he watched as she rubbed the dog’s faces in farewell. When she rose up again, the smile she offered him was something similar to the ones he was used to.

Frank was about to say goodnight, or maybe something else, when her phone vibrated, very loudly, inside the pocket of her coat. That made her smile fade a bit, her eyes unfocusing from his.

In a move he would have curbed if her face was a different one, he took a step towards her and reached inside her pocket.

“Your phone is ringing”, he said, low, his face inches from hers, and she looked surprised, but not displeased. When he got a hold of the device, he pulled it out and looked away from her to check the caller ID. “It’s ‘Matt’”, he announced, the name sounding sarcastic in his voice. “I’m gonna hang up on him.”

She let out a voiceless laugh when he answered the call, just to end it right after.

“Why did you do that?” she asked in a low, almost lazy voice, standing there so close to him.

“I don’t want you to talk to him.”

“Why not?”

“You’re talking to me, now.”

When he leaned in, her kiss tasted of the sweet coffee drink she had made up, espresso and caramel. They started slow, almost shy, the kind of kiss that Frank thought he had grown out of after high school. Apparently not.

Karen sucked a breath in when he nipped on a tiny portion of her lower lip, and it was like there were embers in his stomach. After that breath, he clutched her phone in his hand and moved to put that same arm around her, pulling her closer, her stomach touching his, her hands raising and resting, one on his arm, another on the collar of his shirt.

Letting go was not something he wanted to do. Not at all. But, he figured, they were standing on the sidewalk, it was late, she probably needed to get home, he did, too, he had work in the morning.

One of the dogs - he really wasn’t sure which one, so focused he was on the sound she was making, a gentle humming, and the feel of her hands on him - bit the hem of his coat, pulling on him, and he moved his hand to stop them, but he slowed down.

Allowing himself another second of two - or three. Five. Ten. Thirty -, he pressed on her lower back and moved to place a smaller, chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“You won’t talk to him. Ok?” he whispered in her ear, liking how she moved her arm in an almost hug around his shoulders.

“Who?”

Calm down, ego.

“Matt”, he said, sarcastic, again, with another kiss to her lips because - because.

“Oh”, she said, chuckling, giggling, a small, timid huff of laughter. “Yeah, ok.”

“You’ll talk to me, now.”

She nodded and moved, asking for another kiss, and he gave it, of course he did, because her mouth, her eyes, her hands, this woman-

“You don’t think about him anymore”, he demanded, suddenly so possessive, he wanted her mind on him until they saw each other again. “You think about me.”

“Only if you think about m-”

“I’ll be thinking about you”, he interrupted. “It’s already all I do.”

Frank felt her smile in her kiss.

“Go in”, he urged after another minute, placing her phone back in her pocket, because he had to let her go.

He had kissed her lipstick completely off. Her cheeks were tinged a flattering shade of pink, her lips were a tad fuller. With a smile she tried to hold, she whispered a goodnight and turned around with another pat on one of the dogs.

He watched her climb one step, then another, then turn around and walk back to him.

He still tasted coffee on her tongue. He still felt something run down his back at the feel of her.

“What if he calls again?” she asked against his mouth, and Frank was losing that battle against himself. “What do I do if he calls again?”

There was a list of things, on the tip of his tongue, graphic and toe curling, he was ready to suggest them all, whisper filthy, amazing things in her ear, that she could do, but he thought maybe it was too early to say them to her.

“You’re not making it easy”, he said against her mouth, and felt her lips curving in a smile.

“Easy?”

“I’m trying to be a good guy, here-”

“Stop trying”, she said, kissing him one more time and then stepping back towards the stairs, climbing the first three steps and then looking back at him, keys in one hand, the other stretched towards him.”I already know you are.”

The thought “rebound” did cross his mind. While he stood there on the sidewalk, holding his dog’s leashes, Frank thought maybe he should go home, maybe he shouldn’t rush this, maybe he should make sure he wasn’t just a way for her not to think about the other guy.

But then, there was still the taste of coffee on his tongue. Castle, she had called it, even before this, which meant-

He doesn’t really care what it means, he can think about that later. Right now she’s reaching for him and he’s taking a step towards her, taking her hand and dropping kisses to her temple while she opened the door, climbing the steps behind her until they reached her apartment.

He did call again, that other guy. Her phone vibrated and vibrated inside her coat pocket, but neither of them heard it. Frank was busy learning what she looked like under her clothes, learning the ways of her body, how she reacted when he touched her here and there, when he kissed her on that spot and this, the look in her face when she was trying to be quiet, long dark lashes against creamy, rosy skin, beads of sweat on her neck, slaty on his tongue.

The dogs heard the phone. It was annoying, they were trying to sleep under her couch, on that nice rug that felt good under their paws. But the damn phone kept vibrating, until it fell from her pocket on the floor and Max got it in his mouth, dropping it by the bed, to maybe force Frank deal with the thing, finally.

.:.

Morning found him awake, looking at her hair against the pillows while she slept.

Leaning in, he pressed a kiss on the back of her head, not entirely sure how she was going to react to the fact that he was still here.

To is relief and joy, she stirred awake and turned around, opening her eyes briefly, looking at him, smiling and then closing them again, scooting closer to snuggle against his chest.

“I have to go”, he said, hand running up and down her back.

“No”, was her reply, muffled against his skin.

“I have to get to work”. A kiss on her forehead, another on her cheek, forcing her to wake up and look at him. “So do you.”

“No”. This one was whiny, with an arm around his torso, keeping him close. “Let’s stay here.”

Tempting. Very, very tempting, but he had to get the dogs home, he had to eat something, he had to go to work, he had a lot of things to do.

“How about we have lunch?” he suggested, loving the blue in her eyes when she finally opened them. “And then I’ll stop by for coffee.”Another kiss, because why not? “And then we’ll have dinner.” Another. “And then we’ll come back here, or to my place.”

“And then what?”

“Then I’ll take your clothes off again. And you’ll take mine.”

“And then?”

Positioning himself over her, he got a hold of each of her knees and pulled, one leg on each side of him, making her giggle, dropping to kiss her deeply, too deeply, they had to get up, but not right now.

.:.

He kissed her soundly again three streets away from the book shop. He had to go right and get ready for work, she had to go left and open up shop.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked, musing on how difficult it was to let go of her.

“I’ll be here”, she answered, like she always did, kissing him again and walking away. He watched her cross the streets and she turned back to look at him. “Go”, she mouthed, smiling, turning back around.

Frank sighed, trying not to grin like an idiot at seven in the morning.

“Come on, let’s go home”, he said to the unimpressed dogs.

Hour later, after their lunch and quick rendezvous in a public bathroom, of all places, after he got off work and went to claim his place on the café counter, she looked at him with her usual smile again, and a hint of something more.

“Hello, Frank”, she said, as if she wasn’t wrapped around him just a few hours ago, biting on his shoulder to keep quiet. “What can I get you today?”

“I heard you have a secret menu?”

She squinted her eyes at him, dropping her voice.

“Who told you that? It’s a secret.”

“I’m well connected.”

With a look that made him swallow dry, she turned around and made his drink for him. He had three before she could leave, and she stole sips from every single one. Finally, when he kissed her again, removing her coat and lowering the zipper of her dress, he tasted Castle on her tongue.

#kastle #kastle fic #kastle ff #kastlelibrary #kastle fluff #Frank and Karen #Karen and Frank #coffee shop au #Hell's Kitchen Chronicles #answered #randomdcrambles #prompt #writing

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