#besides reality is subjective and my reality is that i have crossed paths with five beings who seemed distinctly angelic

[helpimhyperfixating]

Photos and Crushes - Cowboy AU Jotaro x Reader P1

Look, I’ve been playing some Red Dead Redemption 2 again and I just got this idea. Sooo, rooty-tooty-guns-n-shootie, takes place in 1887 ish, America.

Part 2  |  Part 3

Word Count: 7704

You are a kindhearted, positive, gentle person. Despite the harsh reality you live in, you try to see the good in people, even if it sometimes might not be there.

It has gotten you into plenty of trouble before but, it has gotten you so much more positivity as well.

Jotaro was one of those positive points. Angry, aggressive and dangerous in the eyes of others, you were one of the few who didn’t judge him for how he looked and carried himself. And thus, a miraculous friendship was born.

Whenever you would hang out together, people would always be wary of the strange duo, more so for your safety than what you would be up to. But you never paid them any mind. If they wanted to judge Jotaro, that was fine, but you wouldn’t let it ruin the time you had with him.

Jotaro, of course, noticed all the stares and whispers, but he didn’t give a shit.

When he had met you two years ago, you were being cornered by a couple of guys who had taken advantage of your kindness, pretending to ask if you could lead them to the general store, only to drag you into a secluded alleyway.

It just so happened that Jotaro had been across the street, seeing you happily chatting about the town to the boys, oblivious to the malicious glint in their eyes.

At first he didn’t want to get involved. He had seen you around before but never talked to you and if you were dumb enough to not see their true motive, why should he involve himself? But then you looked around and crossed eyes with him, and instead of instant swooning or darting your eyes away and cowering in fear, you sent him a polite smile and a wave, since you recognised him from around town. It surprised him, seeing you act so casually and greet him like a person.

Gritting his teeth, Jotaro looked down at his feet for a second, grabbing the bill of his hat in frustration, only to abruptly let it go and stand up, discreetly starting to follow you and the boys.

Not a few minutes later and the boys executed their plan, pulling you into an abandoned alley, much to your surprise. They didn’t get even twenty seconds before Jotaro slinked up behind them. Just the image and threat of the imposing nineteen year old was enough to get the boys to scamper off with their tails between their legs.

Upon being saved, you practically dragged Jotaro along, insisting on paying him a drink as thanks and from there on, the two of you hit it off.

Ever since then, you two regularly hung out. And Jotaro had taken it upon himself to become your self-appointed bodyguard.

Right now he was headed to the church.

The town you two lived in was of moderate size and, since there were so many people in one place, a small church was built there. But Jotaro wasn’t going to the church so he could pray to God, no, he was going because you were there.

He knew you had started teaching kids how to read. Most of them were homeless, piss-poor or sticky-fingered little brats, but you taught them all the same.

Jotaro had once pointed it out and asked if you knew what those kids were actually up to every day. You had answered with a shrug, saying it didn’t matter and that you just wanted to help them. Jotaro had just grumbled at that and pulled his hat down. It didn’t matter to him, as long as they kept their grubby hands off of your belongings and didn’t harm you.

He rounded a corner and the church finally came into view further down the dirt-path. For a second, Jotaro reconsidered whether he wanted to visit you or not. He had nothing to do and wanted to share in your company, but he also knew that if you weren’t done teaching yet, you would not go with him until you were; which would mean Jotaro either had to leave with his tail between his legs in front of a bunch of brats, or he had to sit down and endure their incessant squabbling.

Shaking his head, he just decided to go for it. Regrettably enough, Jotaro just really wanted to see you right now. Recently, a gang of thieves and murderers had swept through town and pretty much everyone had been holed up inside, making him unable to see or spend time with you.

Finally reaching the church, he looked past the gates to see you sitting on the steps, about eight kids with you, of which five were sitting around you, while the other three were fooling around on the small grass churchyard that sat in front of the steps.

God, you were beautiful. Jotaro could immediately tell some of these kids were violent, thieves and just straight nasty, yet you talked with them as if they were your own.

Your own.

Jesus, how his stomach twisted at the thought. You both were 21 now and Jotaro knew he should be looking to the future. If there was someone he wanted to be with, it was you. And just the thought of you, your belly swollen with his child? It shook him to the core.

As he reached the gate, he must have stared at you for a little too long because as soon as he had put two steps inside, the three boys that were kicking around on the grass stopped in front of him, seeming to be between the ages of eleven to thirteen.

“Whoa there, mister! What do you think you’re doing?” The dirty blond to his right said and Jotaro looked down at the boys, raising an eyebrow at them for stopping him. “We don’t like that look in your eyes.” The boy continued.

“Yeah, need we remind you you are on church grounds?”

“What were you staring at Miss Y/N for, mister? What do you want with her?” The third kid spoke up and Jotaro was now annoyed, feeling ticked off at their questioning.

“That’s my business, now get out of my way.” He glared, but though he could see he scared them, they held their ground.

“No! We are not letting you hurt her!”

“You wanna fight for it? Let’s go then!” The one right in front put his fists up.

“Yare yare daze, just move, kid.” Jotaro sighed, tilting his hat over his eyes to stay calm.

“Now you’ve done it! Haaa-!” The blond yelled out, punching Jotaro in the stomach, but the man didn’t even flinch. The kid’s eyes went big.

He looked to his friends for help and they got the hint, all three of them now rearing up for an attack as they each shouted a battle cry, going to throw punches while Jotaro grit his teeth in annoyance. As much as he despised these little shits, he couldn’t punch them, and so he just decided to let them vent and then move on.

Someone else however, heard the screaming. “Hey! What’s going o-! Oh! Hey, Jotaro!”

Your sudden happy greeting stopped the boys in their tracks and two of them stumbled as they made their punches go wide to miss the intimidating man.

Jotaro put his hand up in greeting and you beamed a smile, much to the confusion of the kids. You excused yourself from the five around you and walked over.

“So, what’s going on here?” You asked sweetly, yet there was a warning undertone in your voice.

“N-Nothing!” The blond squeaked, holding a not so convincing smile, his face screaming ‘guilty’.

“Good grief, I told you they were brats.” Jotaro once again lowered his hat over his eyes, feeling a kick to his shin that made him glare at the boy beside him, instantly making him run off in fear, the other two following not a second later.

“Oi, don’t be mean to my kids.” You scolded him, rapping your knuckles on the top of his head.

“They’re not your kids.” Jotaro deadpanned and you sputtered a bit.

“Yeah, well, not technically no, but-“

“That little shit stole from me two weeks ago.” He pointed to the auburn haired boy that had been standing to his left earlier.

“He did? What did he steal?” You questioned, your brows furrowing.

“Pack of cigarettes and my lighter. That shit ain’t cheap you know.” He grumbled as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Oi, stop swearing every other sentence. You’re on church grounds.” You lightly smacked him on the chest while Jotaro just gave you a look that said ‘does it look like I care?’. “So... why are you here?” You then asked, diverting the subject.

“Just came by to see you.” Jotaro shrugged.

“Aw, how sweet.” You teased a little but a small blush did make its way onto your cheeks, making Jotaro’s heart skip a beat. Could that mean you...? No, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. “Why don’t you come sit down?” You suddenly asked and Jotaro looked down at you.

“No, I don’t-“

“Too bad, too late!” You grinned as you grabbed his hand out of his pocket and dragged him back to the stairs with you, not even giving him any time to protest. “Everyone, this is Jotaro! Jotaro, this is everyone.” You smiled as you introduced him to the terrified kids on the stairs.

A small girl then slowly stepped forward, her hair almost white-blonde and braided in two braids down the sides of her head.

She looked up at Jotaro with big eyes, the man staring back, before smiling wide, holding her arms up at him and making grabby hands. “Uh.” Jotaro hesitantly looked at you while you just held the biggest smile.

“That’s Amelia, she’s seven years old and mute.” You explained before urging Jotaro with your eyes to do as she asked and pick her up.

Sighing, he leaned down and grabbed the girl under her armpits, easily lifting her up into his arms and looping an arm under her to hold her. Amelia immediately wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, smiling brightly as she looked into his eyes.

Jotaro averted his gaze from the girl in his arms, over to you, to see you nearly melting on the spot. He rolled his eyes in response to you freaking out. “Happy?” He grumbled out and you just nodded vehemently.

A tugging broke Jotaro from watching you and he looked down behind him to see a little boy tugging on his pants, pointing up at him.

“You want to go up too?” You questioned and the boy nodded enthusiastically, shouting out a ‘yeah!’.

“Wait, Y/N-“ Before he could do anything about it, you had lifted the boy and placed him on Jotaro’s back, letting him cling by himself since Jotaro was using both hands to hold the girl.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the disgruntled look on Jotaro’s face as the boy giggled loudly, clinging tightly on his back.

The other children were suddenly a lot less terrified, as two others stood up and started tugging on his pants as well. It was clear that the younger kids had stayed around you as you taught the lesson, while the older three had drifted a bit away. This meant however, that Jotaro was now surrounded by small kids, two of them on top of him.

“I’m not a horse you know.” He grumbled, looking at the two hanging on his pants a little warily, watching where they put their hands.

“You’re not, but you’re just as tall, if not taller, and a lot less dangerous.” You grinned, earning a glare from the man though you knew there was no real hostility in it.

Just then, the doors to the church opened and a nun came walking out. “Ah, miss L/N! How goes the reading?” She questioned and you turned your gaze from watching Jotaro, to the nun.

“Ah! It’s going fine, thank you! And thank you again for letting me use this space.” You smiled sweetly.

“Of course, our doors are open for you anytime.” The nun smiled back before turning to see the remarkable sight of Jotaro, surrounded by kids, holding a small girl while another child clung to his back. “Mr. Kujo.” She smiled, pleasantly surprised.

“Hello, Sister.” Jotaro greeted back. He may be a hardass, but he at least had respect for those who deserved it, unlike a lot of other people.

“It is good to see you again. Coming to visit Y/N I see?” She smiled and Jotaro dipped his head a little in response, both as a way to answer yet also as a way to hide his eyes from the Sister, for he knew she could look through him as though he was shouting out his thoughts and emotions. “Well, no matter.” The nun smiled slyly to herself, seeing through the action. “Who here is hungry?” She then spoke out a little louder and almost every tiny head perked up.

You giggled at the sight and swiftly moved to behind Jotaro, grabbing onto the boy hanging there and lifting him down from his back while Jotaro himself carefully sat the girl down. In a matter of seconds, all of the kids were lined up in a row and quickly started following the nun into the church, the doors closing behind them and leaving you and Jotaro on the steps.

“Whoo, they are always a lively bunch.” You chuckled, turning a little to face Jotaro before walking up to the stairs and sitting down on them, grabbing the book you had been working on with them, as well as the notebook and pencil.

“What book were you reading?” Jotaro asked, sitting down next to you. You took notice of how close he sat though, his arm touching yours as you sat side by side.

“King Arthur and the knights of the round table.” You said it in a fancy manner and held the book up for him as he took it from your hands.

“Knights? Really?” He scoffed as he briefly leafed through the pages and you playfully bumped your shoulder into his.

“Hey! It’s good for their imagination.” You chuckled. “Besides, it needs to be engaging for them. Lord knows I can’t try to teach them to read with the kinds of books you read. ‘How wagons are assembled’ or ‘how nature works’. Oh! Oh! ‘How a steam train or steam boat functions’.” You giggled a little as you poked fun at him, lowering your voice near the end to match his as best you could as you spoke.

“That’s not what I sound like.” Jotaro rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Sure you don’t, tough boy.” You leaned forward until you could look at him from under the brim of his hat, now hovering over his lap as you cocked your head with a smirk. “I have heard you rant about inventions and discoveries made more than anyone else, I’m pretty sure.”

Jotaro just scoffed and looked to the side, unable to hide his slightly embarrassed blush since you were right below him. Oh god, you were right below him, your face so close to his. He only needed to lean down a little and- Clearing his throat, Jotaro leaned back a bit, giving himself some space and prompting you to sit up again, none the wiser from what was going through his head.

“Hey, did you know they were setting up a new shop last week? Apparently you can get your picture taken there.” You suddenly started, looking forward through the churchyard as you mused.

“Oh?” Jotaro spoke, trying to sound disinterested yet listening intently.

“Would you... perhaps want to take a picture with me there?” You hesitantly asked and Jotaro’s heart skipped a beat though he didn’t show it. “I always wanted to see what I would look like on one of those.”

“Not very different from what you look like when you look in a mirror.” Jotaro cringed at how roughly that came out but he had said it before he could stop himself. He just hoped it didn’t dissuade you from wanting to take a picture with him.

“Say, are you insulting me, Mr. Kujo?” You teased lightheartedly, nudging him again and a tiny relieved smile played on Jotaro’s lips.

“I wouldn’t dream of ever insulting you.”

“Alright, now I know you’re just taking a piss.” You laughed. “Either way, what do you say we-!” You suddenly stopped your excited exclamation, catching Jotaro’s attention. “Oh wait, it’d probably cost a lot huh? Shoot, never mind, we can go do something else...” You deflated but quickly shook it off, perking up in feigned happiness again. “Do you have anything in mind!?”

Jotaro however, studied your face close. He hated to see how your excitement got washed away so quickly. “Yare yare.” Standing up from the stairs, he held his right hand out to you.

“Oh, you’ve got something?” You asked, seemingly back to your happy self as you put your hand in his and allowed him to pull you up.

“Let’s go get that picture taken.”

Your face turned into shock as he said that. “Wait, really? But I just said- I- you- You mean you’ll pay?”

“As long as I can be in it as well, yes.” Jotaro gently tugged your hand, still holding onto it as he now used it to coax you along. “Let’s go then, we don’t know when it closes and it is getting late.”

Jotaro started walking, very consciously keeping hold of your hand. As you fell into step with him, excitedly buzzing, he made a bold move as he re-gripped your hand to fit more comfortably in his; as if you were intentionally holding hands from the beginning instead of just still awkwardly holding on after Jotaro pulled you to your feet.

You didn’t seem any wiser while Jotaro felt his heart pounding in his throat, relishing in how his hand fit around yours, your hand unconsciously still holding onto his. He was so tempted to rub his thumb over the back of your palm or to actually entwine his fingers with yours, but decided against it since that would definitely draw your attention to your hands and he didn’t want that. Right now, he would just hold on, silently musing to himself how small your hand was compared to his and how right it felt to have your hand sat in his.

In this moment, it was one of the few times Jotaro was actually glad for your obliviousness.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach the photography shop and you both stood in front of the door, slogans and examples of pictures slapped everywhere to lure people in.

‘Get your photo taken with your loved one and display the memory, so you may never forget!’

That and more was plastered on the display window, yet Jotaro couldn’t take his eyes off of that particular one. ‘With your loved one’. His attention automatically reverted back to how you were still holding hands and he had to try everything in his power to keep his face from heating up.

“Let’s go in!” You jumped once, breaking him out of his focus as you started dragging him to the door, opening it not a second later, the tall male in tow.

“Good afternoon, how can I help the lovely couple tonight?” A man standing in front of a camera asked when he saw you two come in, hand in hand.

“Oh, uh. We’re, uh.” Your face burst into flame as he commented that, your eyes drifted up to Jotaro and then to your entwined hands, realising you were still holding onto him.

You quickly made a move to let him go but Jotaro kept holding on, preventing you from pulling away as he squeezed your hand a little tighter.

“We’re here to get a picture taken, old man. What else.” He snapped a little and you sighed good-naturedly. Good ol’ Jotaro: intimidating people and being scary upon meeting them for the first time.

“Oh, haha, of course.” The owner chuckled nervously, though you swore you could hear him mutter a ‘I’m not that old’ as he turned to check his camera. “Uhm, you can just take your place in front of the background there.” He then smiled, motioning to the wall the camera was set up in front of.

The ‘background’ was a painting of an open plain, a rock formation with a modest waterfall in the back, as well as an eagle in the right hand corner.

Your jittery yet excited nerves for doing this came back, making you forget the flustering comment of the shop owner and you started walking towards the wall.

“Hope it’s gonna turn out alright.” You grinned up at Jotaro and he sent you a rare reassuring smile. It was small, but it was there, and suddenly, you were completely calm and ready to get this photo taken. The two of you took your place, Jotaro standing right up against you, making you blush.

“Alright.” The owner nervously rubbed his hands together, obviously still a bit scared of the nearly two meter tall man in black. “Ah, you are already in the perfect positions, you are naturals at this.” He tried to crack a joke but it came out a little awkward and he cleared his throat. “Look here please.” The man pointed at a spot right above the camera before ducking behind the device.

And just like that, the photos were taken.

After this entire time, Jotaro relinquished his hold on your hand, figuring it was best to let go, lest he was too obvious and even you would notice. Hell you, probably already did but thought nothing of it. Your obliviousness shining through again.

In the end, the two of you picked out the two best ones, nearly identical, and took one each.

That night, as Jotaro walked back home, he admired the photograph in his hand. He didn’t care much for how he looked in it, but it was the exact opposite with you. You looked so happy in it. Your smile shining bright and your energy nearly radiating off of it even through the photo. Yet what Jotaro treasured more than all in it, was the way your hands were entwined in the photo. Right in the middle, screaming for him to look at it. And look he did, feeling his cheeks heat up a little.

Opening the door to his home, he was immediately bombarded as his mother latched to him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

“Jotaro, you’re home!” She cheered happily. “You missed dinner so I put some to the side for you.” She smiled and Jotaro just huffed a little, pushing her off of himself. He wasn’t even hungry, he just wanted to go to bed.

That wish was short-lived however, as someone suddenly tackled him from behind, making him face plant into the floor.

“Jotaro! My boy!” The oh-so familiar voice of his grandfather sounded.

Question marks went off in the younger man’s head. His mother hadn’t told him the old man was coming for a visit?

“Get off.” Jotaro grunted as he attempted to shake his grandpa off but it was futile, as Joseph instead put him into a deadlock, pulling his arm behind his back and trapping it there, which made his eyes widen. The fucking photograph was in that hand and if that old man got even a single crinkle or fold in it, he would have his head.

“Good evening, Jotaro.” A familiar accented voice spoke and Jotaro looked up from under his hat to see Caesar sitting in the arm chair facing him, giving a disappointed look at Joseph.

“Caesar.” Jotaro grunted back a greeting as Joseph found that exact moment to twist his arm a little further.

“Oh, what’s this?” The voice on top suddenly curiously spoke and Jotaro felt the photograph be swiped from his fingers, making his eyes widen.

His grandfather was an expert at pinning people down thanks to years of random fights and being friends with Caesar. Yet you should never underestimate a desperate man trying to keep his dignity who also has a temper to match.

Thanks to Joseph using one hand to look at the paper in his hand, he had lost his hold on Jotaro’s right arm and the young man took full use of it.

Pushing himself up a bit, he threw the older man off of himself and turned around to swipe the photo back, but Joseph was way quicker and had used the momentum to get to his feet and run over to Caesar, standing behind his chair as he turned the paper around, feasting his eyes on the photo again.

“What’s this, Jotaro? Who’s that with you?” He asked in disbelief and Jotaro clenched his jaw. His mother, upon hearing her father say the sentence, zipped over and curiously looked at the photo as well, gasping a little once she saw it, before looking up at her son and sending him a giant grin.

Jotaro pulled his hat down a little and stomped over, attempting to swipe at the photo. “Give it back.” He growled as he tried to grab it, but Joseph moved it out of his reach.

“No way! You have some explaining to do, I mean, you’re smiling in this!”

“I’m not.” Jotaro grumbled, once again lunging forward to get it back, but Joseph tittered away, way too giddy and happy about what he was finding out about his grandson.

“Yes you are! Look! It’s small, but it’s there!” He turned the photo around and pointed at Jotaro’s face in it. Holly took a closer look and her proud grin grew even more.

“Would you stop, old man? It’s nothing, so just give it back.” Jotaro once again walked across the room to try and reach his grandfather, but Joseph danced out of his grasp once more, skipping over to Caesar who had stayed seated in this entire ordeal and showing the photo to his lifelong friend.

“Look Caesar! You see it too right?”

Caesar, who had had his eyes closed, opened them and slowly looked up at Joseph, grasping the photo with his left hand before harshly grasping his friend’s wrist, prying his hand away from the photo before getting out of the chair and moving over to the younger man.

“Here you go.” He spoke as he returned the photo.

“Thanks.” Jotaro spoke, a little unsure of what to say.

“Tell her how you feel soon. Don’t let it slip through your fingers.” Jotaro blinked a few times, feeling his face heat up a little as the Italian man gave the advice, speaking loud enough for only him to hear it. With a soft tug, he pulled down the brim of his hat over his eyes and nodded, quickly making his way out of the room so he could finally just go to bed.

As he walked through the hall, he heard his grandpa’s despairing cries, questioning Caesar why he would do that, and a small smirk appeared on Jotaro’s face. He could always trust in Caesar.

- - - -

Two weeks had passed and Jotaro was sitting on the steps of the church. To his left, he heard your gentle and caring voice reading passages of the book to the kids around. To his right, the little girl, Amelia, was practically glued to his hip as he read his own book, just silently sitting through your class.

He had been doing this more and more frequently, just coming by every once in a while, not really saying anything and just sitting with you as you taught the kids.

As he turned the page of his book, he suddenly felt something being lifted from his front pocket however and he snapped his head up, looking to his left to see the dirty blond, who he now knew as Jack, lifting his pocket watch from its place. The boy immediately noticed he was found out and bolted, laughing as he ran across the grass to the fences on the other side.

Jotaro however, was pissed as he slammed his book shut and walked over to Jack with large strides. “Give it back.” He spoke lowly, a threatening glare directed at the boy.

Jotaro physically saw him gulp, smirking a little to himself to see he still had his intimidating presence with these kids. But it was short lived, since Jack seemingly found a bit of courage again - continuing on with the plan, unknown to Jotaro.

“Why? I’m sure you can buy another one. Unless... this one is special?” Jotaro narrowed his eyes dangerously and Jack could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked open the watch and there was a triumphant glint in his eyes. “Aha.” He spoke and smirked up at Jotaro, only for that smirk to leave as he saw the dangerous aura radiating off of the man. “Tommy!” He yelled and threw the pocket watch, making Jotaro’s heart sink for a moment, scared it would drop on the stone steps and break.

“You little shit.” He glared at Jack before turning around to Tommy, who was standing on the steps of the church.

“Hey, what’s going on!” You called out, looking up from your book while the children around were trying to write letters in your notebook.

Tommy immediately took this chance and rushed over to you when Jotaro started taking threatening strides towards the boy. He didn’t want to hit a kid but so help him god, he would get that pocket watch back. Jotaro wasn’t fast enough however, as Tommy zipped over to you and flipped the pocket watch open, shoving it in your face.

Jotaro faltered in his steps, nervous sweat rolling down the side of his face. Those little brats had planned this all out. They knew. Jotaro hated to say it, but he had made it too obvious that he was sweet on you and they knew.

“Jotaro!” Your exclamation of surprise ripped him from his thoughts and he looked over at you, doing his best to keep an expression of indifference. “How did you manage to do this? I had to make a bigger frame to fit mine!” You turned the pocket watch around so he could see the inside, showing the clock on the right while on the left, on the inside of the cover, he now had a perfect view of the photograph of the two of you that he had stuck in there.

Jack and Tommy groaned while Jotaro’s shoulders slumped a bit. In both relief, as well as disappointment for some reason, seeing you were none the wiser.

Jotaro just waved his hand a bit, dismissing your question as he walked over and took the pocket watch back from you. Looking it over to see if it was damaged but luckily, it wasn’t. Concluding that, he flipped it shut and put it back in the pocket where it belonged.

“Well?” You looked up at him with hopeful and curious eyes and Jotaro pulled his hat down over his face. You looked... cute.

Jotaro didn’t lift his hat as he took his spot next to you again. “I went back and had a photograph taken of the photograph.” He said through gritted teeth, reluctantly telling you how he did it, embarrassment flooding through him over having to admit that.

“Oh, that’s so clever! I should do something like that as well.” You giggled, then dreamingly looked forward.

You were pulled out of it by a small tug on your sleeve. “Miss Y/N, can we have a break?” The small boy asked and you smiled sweetly, nodding.

“Of course, you go ahead and play for a bit.” You shoo’ed all the kids and they erupted into talk and laughter, all of them getting up and finding a place to play.

As the kids were running around a bit during the break, a shadow got cast over a specific pair of boys, making them freeze and slowly turn around to the imposing figure. “Tommy. Jack. Any of you touch my shit ever again and I will make you severely regret it.” The threat and danger in Jotaro’s voice was real and the boys swallowed heavily, nodding frantically before busting out into a sprint, running away as far as possible before squeaking as Jotaro made his way back over to them, since they had ran towards where you sat on the steps and that was where Jotaro wanted to sit down again as well.

“Did you have to scare them like that?” You questioned with a chuckle and Jotaro just huffed in amusement as he sat down.

“Yes. They need to know not to take my stuff.”

“You know, you’re right. That is a good lesson to learn.” You chuckled, only for your smile to slowly dim down as your attention got taken by several pairs of horse hooves thumping across the ground. “What’s that?” You questioned as you looked at the large group of riders, watching them trot closer and closer, slowing down the closer they got to the church. All of them carried rather large guns and other weapons.

You nervously looked up at Jotaro, who had his eyes narrowed as he looked at the large group as well. “Stay alert.” He spoke quietly and you nodded, the both of you getting up.

Jotaro whistled loud and curtly, gaining the attention of all the kids. You quickly motioned your arms for all of them to come, not wanting to verbally shout it just in case the riders would hear and take it the wrong way.

Taking the hint, the kids all started to run into your arms and Jotaro took a step forward, holding his arms out a little to keep you and the children behind him.

Everyone had fearful looks as Amelia was the last to reach you, running behind you and around, hanging on the back of Jotaro’s pants. It wasn’t a few seconds later that the riders all stopped in front of the church.

“Howdy, partner.” The leader of the herd spoke up after a few seconds but Jotaro immediately picked up on the false friendliness in the voice.

“What do you want?” He bit back, glaring vehemently.

“Whoa, so angry.” The man mocked with a large grin, turning back to his friends behind him who laughed softly. “You should show me some respect you know.” He then continued, turning back to Jotaro with that grin still on his face. “Did your momma never teach you respect?” He continued jesting but Jotaro didn’t give any reaction, just holding the intimidating glare on the man.

This made him feel as if he was losing grip of the situation, so the man decided to take another approach and laughed a bit while calling out. “Why don’t I teach you some then?” He jokingly pointed his gun at Jotaro and the children whimpered and gasped in fear from behind him. Your grip on his trenchcoat tightened and Jotaro’s reaction was immediate, his right hand pulling back to behind his back before snapping forward, a gun now pointed at the man’s head.

“Try it.” Jotaro’s voice was low and dangerous and even the rider took note of it. “I know exactly what you’re up to. This is a community church, it has nothing of value for you, so take your little group and piss off. You’re scaring the children.” Jotaro calmly spoke as he stared down the barrel of the gun, showing not even a hint of fear, nervousness or hesitation.

“Now... calm down, friend.” The man tried, re-gripping his gun a little nervously.

“We ain’t friends and you know it. Get the hell away from here.” Jotaro’s hand was as steady as ever, his gun constantly pointed at the man’s head without even a single tremor or twitch from holding the iron up.

This angered the man. “You seem to not understand that you are outnumbered here, friend.” He spoke, calling Jotaro that again on purpose, signalling his mates in the meantime, who all grabbed a gun and pointed it at Jotaro as well.

The children cowered even more, small shrieks leaving them and you tried to shush them. “It’s alright, just stay behind me and Jotaro. You’re alright.” You spoke in a hushed tone, petting the heads of those you could reach. You discreetly saw the door to the church open and saw the Sister poke her head out. You quickly and frantically shook your head, a message for her to stay where she was.

“Are you really going to threaten children on church grounds?” Jotaro questioned calmly and the leader growled a bit in anger.

“Stop acting so smug or I’ll blast your head off! And that of that girl too! Give those brats something to look at!”

“Threaten her again and I’ll make sure you’ll never speak again.” Jotaro’s retort was immediate as he glared at the man, lowering his gun just a little to point directly at the mouth of the loud-mouthed bastard.

“Hit a nerve?” The guy smirked. “I’ll say it again, you’re outnumbered.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, son.” A new voice spoke up and everyone’s head whipped to the source. “What’s going on here?” The sheriff spoke, tilting his head a little while two of his deputies joined his side, all of them having their hands hovering over the guns strapped to their belts.

Now that there were a lot more possible enemies, the man wavered. Slowly and reluctantly, he lowered his gun. “Nothing, sheriff. Just a bit of harmless fun.” He spoke and his friends took it as a sign to lower their guns as well.

“Was it? ‘Cause as far as I can see you are threatening innocent children. Now, will you move on yourself or will we have a problem?”

“Tch.” The man gritted his teeth before hitting the reins of his horse, simultaneously softly kicking his feet into its belly, making the animal start calmly stepping forward, the rest of his group following his example as they started riding away at a slow pace.

“Follow them and make sure they leave proper.” The sheriff whispered to his deputies before leaving them to their business and walking over to the gate leading into the church grounds.

Jotaro kept his gun up the entire time the gang of riders were riding away, all of them sending occasional glances back that kept Jotaro on high alert. Only once the deputies rode past and started tailing the men did he finally lower it.

Once he un-cocked the gun and sighed out, the children still cowering behind the two of you finally relaxed a little, two of them bursting into tears as the sheriff walked through the fence and towards the steps of the church - to which you immediately started trying to console them.

“Holy crap! You just won that standoff singlehandedly!!” Jack shouted as the sheriff stepped into earshot, the boy jumping in front of Jotaro with his hands thrown in the air as he looked at the man before him in awe.

“That was so cool!! It was like twenty to one and you still won!” Tommy piped in with an exaggerated number and Jotaro lowered his hat over his eyes, softly letting out his usual catchphrase.

“Are you boys all alright?” The sheriff walked up and Jotaro lifted his gaze again, briefly looking back to see you had succeeded in calming the children down, four of them now clinging to you in a group hug as the doors to the church opened properly, the nun quickly walking out to help comfort the children.

“Yes. Thank you for stepping in.” Jotaro spoke back, nonchalantly putting his gun back in its place, hidden behind his trenchcoat.

“Well, that’s my job.” The sheriff joked before turning a little more serious. “What happened exactly?”

Jotaro looked back at you once again, seeing you now quietly talking with the kids to calm them down. This earned him an elbow poke in the ribs from Tommy and he glared at the kid, making said boy giggle to himself and drag Jack with him, running over to you.

“They came to rob the church, believing it to have many riches like those city churches have, probably.” Jotaro sounded a little indifferent as he turned back to look forward and the sheriff hummed.

“Mr. Kujo saved us, sheriff Miller.” The sister spoke as she walked up, placing a hand on Jotaro’s shoulder blade. Jotaro just looked down at the nun, getting a grateful smile from her and he gave a small barely noticeable nod back.

Something suddenly latched onto his right leg and Jotaro looked down to see Amelia hanging on his pant leg, burying her head into the fabric.

Jotaro just looked at her for a second. He didn’t know what he had done to get her like this, but Amelia had really attached herself to him. Jotaro on the other hand, still had no idea what to do around children. He awkwardly patted her on her head, making her look up. “Go to Y/N, it’s alright.” He spoke, trying his best to sound gentle but it still came out quite gruffly, regrettably enough.

Amelia didn’t seem to care though and stayed latched on his leg while both the nun and the sheriff chuckled discreetly at the young man trying his best. Crouching down to get on eye height with the girl, the sheriff got her attention. “Are you alright?” He asked and Amelia turned her head, half of her face still buried in Jotaro’s trousers but still paying attention. She nodded softly and the sheriff smiled.

“Why don’t you go to Miss L/N, Mr. Kujo? I’ll handle the rest.” The Sister smiled and Jotaro nodded at her, turning around.

Amelia let go of his leg and instead grabbed his hand, trying to pull him along now as she tried to hurry over to you.

Once he was close enough, you noticed and got up, turning around to face him. Amelia let go of his hand and ran to her friends while your eyes crossed with Jotaro’s.

Tears were pricking in the corners and that shocked Jotaro slightly. He had no time to react as you ran over to him and jumped into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you buried your head in his shoulder.

He immediately caught you, wrapping his arms around your body and holding it against himself to hold you up. Yet, his eyes were wide as he felt his heart thump. He had no idea what to do. He felt you pressing your face even deeper into his neck, trying to keep yourself from crying in front of the children but Jotaro knew you wanted to, more than anything.

His brain short-circuited and all he could think to do was tighten his hold on you, letting you know he was there.

Some noises to his left caught his attention and he looked over to see Jack and Tommy making kissy faces at him. In an immediate reaction he kicked a rock that lay at his foot to them, making them dodge it and giggle while running away again, joining the other kids while Jotaro silently grumbled to himself, trying to calm his beating heart.

“You alright?” He asked after a minute more of silence and he felt you nod into his shoulder.

“Yeah... you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jotaro questioned and you lifted your head, leaning back a bit to look at his face. Your eyes were a bit red and you sniffled softly.

“Well.” You started with a small sad chuckle. “You did just nearly die.”

To that, Jotaro rolled his eyes. “You clearly read the situation wrong then.” He put you back on your feet, looking to see the nun walking back over to the children while the sheriff was now walking away, sticking his hand up as he looked back in a goodbye before turning around fully and walking back to his horse.

Because he was looking to the sheriff walking away however, he was unable to brace himself when you took a few steps back and jumped right into him, tackling him to the floor.

A heavy ‘oof’ left him as he crashed to the ground with you right on top of him. You immediately sat onto his stomach and Jotaro had to try very hard to suppress a blush at the sight.

“Don’t you dare accuse me of seeing things wrong when I am just worried for your safety.” You spoke, poking his chest in warning, but the teasing look in your eyes told Jotaro exactly what you were thinking.

In return, Jotaro grabbed your wrists and rolled the two of you around so that you were now pinnend under him. “I will accuse you, because you will always remain oblivious.” He spoke, his voice sounding a little strained even though he held a small smirk.

“Oblivious to what?” You questioned, narrowing your eyes. Jotaro didn’t say anything, just looked deeply in your eyes. Neither of you really noticed he was leaning down until his face was inches from yours.

Yet before anything else could happen: “GET HIIIIMMM!!” A young voice screamed out and Jotaro jerked his head back up, looking up past his shoulder only to have three different bodies flung on top of him.

You burst out laughing at Jotaro’s surprised face that only you had a view of, even though you were still trapped under the man, his hands on either side of you as he attempted to keep himself from toppling over and crushing you.

“No, no! Oh dear.” You heard the Sister laugh, having tried to stop the children, only to fail miserably as six of the eight were now on top of Jotaro, trying to bring him down.

Part 2  |  Part 3

[dameronology]

love in the time of PTA meetings {marcus moreno} - 1/5

summary: despite what pinterest shows, being in a parent in the twenty first century is hard; especially a single parent. your kid takes up your entire life and the idea of finding a fairy tale is laughable - that is until you finally attend a p.t.a meeting and cross paths with a certain marcus moreno.  {series masterlist}

warnings: i do not have children. i don’t know children work. this written entirely what i have seen them do in the sims 4. also, swearing. 

- jazz

Leaving work early was never a good look.

Leaving work early because your child had managed to set fire to a trash can was...well, it was something else entirely.

After rushing out of a very important meeting and parking your car in a did-you-park-it-or-crash-it manner, you were sprinting across the play ground and towards the front entrance. Having given up half way through, you’d kicked your stupidly high heels off and held them in one hand, trying to organise your slightly disheveled hair as you entered the building. Most parents might have been nervous to collect their kid after a call from the principle, but this was a regular Tuesday for you. Jack was a good kid, perhaps just a little...misguided. In your books, it was impressive that a five year old had managed to discover pyrotechnics, though you sensed the school might have been a little less lenient about it. 

‘Hey!’ You greeted the principle with a smile as you breezed through the doors. 

Jack was in a chair by the front desk, a gleeful look on his face when he saw you. As far as he knew or cared, he got to go home early and watch Paw Patrol for the rest of the day. 

‘Afternoon.’ He replied. ‘You’re lucky it was only a phone call.’

‘I know, I know.’ You grumbled. ‘I’m sorry. He’s...adventurous-’

‘ - he singed off his class mate’s eyebrows!’ The principle cut you off. ‘Given Monday’s biting incident, I see it fit that Jack take the rest of the week off.’

‘Right.’ You sighed. ‘Thank you. And sorry again.’

‘I’ll email you a list of...behavioural specialists.’ He muttered.

‘There’s nothing wrong with my kid. He’s just...curious.’ You insisted. ‘C’mon, buddy. Let’s go home.’

Jack sprung up from the chair, taking your hand in his and skipping out the door beside you. Parenting had been hard enough when you’d been married, and even harder now that his dad was out of the picture. It meant that everything fell on your shoulders; school runs, packed lunches, earning money, staying sane. You barely found the time to sleep, let alone go to soccer matches or take him to extra curricular activities. It meant that the stay-at-home mums - the ones who drove minivans and had specified walking shoes and shared memes about parenting on Facebook - muttered about you. 

I heard Jack’s mum couldn’t make it to the parent-teacher association meeting because there was a divorce hearing. 

Look at the kid’s lunch! Oh the saturated fat, the horror!

What do you MEAN your five year old isn’t vegan?!

Frankly, you wanted to whack them over the head with their own damn vision boards. So what if your kid was a little rough around the edges? He’d discovered fire today! If it had been in the stone ages, that would have been impressive. The kind of thing that would have earned him a McDonald’s, had the fast food chain been around at the dawn of time. With the way things were going, paired with the fact you knew your fridge was empty, it looked like you were heading for a Happy Meal anyway. 

‘So do I get all week off?’ Jack peered up at you, tugging on your arm.

‘Yup, all week.’ You sighed. ‘But it’s not a reward, okay? It’s...’

You stopped in your tracks when you saw Marcus Moreno’s car pull up in the lot. Naturally, it was expensive and electric and perfectly between the white lines. He gave your less-than-stellar parking a frown as he breezed by - not that you noticed. Frankly, you were too busy admiring him. You saw his face more on the news than you did in person, but he was beautiful. Talk, dark, handsome and mysterious, but also...friendly and approachable. He’d held the door open for you once two years ago and that had been it for you. There had been whispers about the fact he was a widow, though you’d tried not to pay attention to them. It wasn’t anyone’s damn business. You knew he was a good dad; you’d had the chance to meet Missy when Jack had got his head stuck between the playground fence and she’d helped pull him out. She was sweet and well-behaved and clearly well brought up. Could you say the same for your own kid? Eh, parenting was all trial and error. 

‘It’s what?’ Your son’s voice dragged you back to reality. ‘Am in trouble?’

‘What?!’ You jumped at the question. ‘No, I just...’

‘Because Principle Eikner said I’d done something bad.’

A small sigh escaped your mouth; placing his backpack on the ground, you knelt down to his height, gently placing your hands on his shoulder. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong, little man. We're just gonna take a few days out to talk about the rules and what it means to do the right thing, okay?’

‘Dad always said not to listen to the rules.’

‘Your dad said a lot of things.’ You reminded him. You stood back up, offering your hand to him. ‘Let’s go home.’

After a few minutes of bartering and the promise of a McDonald’s, you finally made your way back to the car, now with Jack attached to your back. If giving him a piggy back ride meant getting home quicker, it was a price you were willing to pay, especially since the other mums were starting to arrive to pick up their kids. The parking lot was slowly filling up with minivans - compared to your decade-old Honda Civic. It had seen better days, and one too many run ins with other cars and parking lot bollards. Still, it got the job done. 

‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you!’ You froze in your tracks again. This time, it wasn’t because of Marcus Moreno’s otherworldly presence, but rather due to the sound of the resident soccer mum. 

‘Carol.’ You turned around to face her (slowly, given the five year old on your back) with a forced smile on your face. ‘Hi.’

‘I take it you’re here for the parent-teacher’s association meeting?’ She gave you a phoney grin, handing you a leaflet. ‘I know you couldn’t make the last one, because of your...d-i-v-o-r-c-e hearings.’ 

‘I can spell!’ Jack chirped from behind you.

‘It’s okay, buddy.’ You reached up to ruffle his hair, smile not faltering. ‘But yeah, you’re right. And what about it?’

‘Nothing.’ Carol quickly shook her head. ‘So you are coming to this one? It starts in ten minutes.’

Truth be told, you’d no idea there was even a meeting tonight. You usually ignored the damn things until the news letter came out, and then you could read it from the comfort of your sofa with a glass of wine. There was nothing you stopping going tonight, aside from your intense hatred for them. 

‘I wanna get home and watch South Park!’ Jack chirped from behind you.

‘I don’t - I mean...I don’t let my five year old watch South Park.’ You said. ‘He walked in on me watching it one time and...point is, yes, I’m here for the meeting!’

‘No, you’re not-’

‘- Jack, just sssh!’ 

Carol blinked in surprise, but her phoney smile returned a moment later. ‘Excellent! I’ll see you inside.’

You inwardly groaned. Why had you just done that? You fucking despised sitting in a stuffy gym for the better part of an hour, listening to the perfect mums bang on about healthy eating and limiting their kids’ internet time. You already questioned your parenting skills as it was - the meetings only made it worst. You didn’t assimilate into that crowd; they were all married, with big houses out in the ‘burbs and bank accounts that could cover their kids ever-expanding interests and activities. Meanwhile, you were living on one wage and your two-bedroom apartment had a balcony, not a back garden. If Jack wanted to go on a field trip, you usually had to save up for months. You didn’t know if you envied the other mums’ lives, but you certainly weren’t jealous of how they viewed working mums and single parents. 

‘That lady is mean.’ Jack murmured from your shoulders.

‘Yeah buddy, I know.’ You nodded. ‘Guess we’re going back to school.’

--

Lugging the kid and his bag back up the school yard and towards the building was exhausting - at least it was your work out for the week done. By the time you’d reached the gym and placed Jack back on the ground, your shoulders were aching and you were disappointed to see that the refreshments didn’t have any alcohol. Was it too late to sneak out? The fire exit was right there and-

‘- shame this thing doesn’t have any wine, huh?’ A man was stood next to you, arms folded across his chest as he stared at the luke-warm jug of coffee on the table ahead. 

Tall, dark hair, stubble and with a faint hint of expensive aftershave you pretended not to notice? Hello, Marcus Moreno. Goodbye, ability to form coherent sentences.

You blinked in surprise. ‘Yeah. I could do with a glass. Or ten.’

‘So you hate these things too, huh?’ He smiled. 

‘With a passion.’ You returned the gesture. ‘I’m only here because Carol and her Karen Committee kept muttering about me not being at the last one.’

‘Yeah, same here. I was attending an emergency meeting about nuclear arms in Vienna, but I guess this is more important.’

‘I was...’ in court, signing documents to end my marriage, ‘otherwise occupied too.’

Marcus nodded in understanding. ‘Kids alone are a full time job, huh? ‘Specially when you’re the only one who’s running around after them.’

He knew about your situation and in return, figured that you knew about his. He’d heard the whispers about the divorce and presumed that the loss of his wife had been subject to similar gossip. The environment amongst the parents was shockingly similar to high school and things got around pretty quickly. You both hated it, especially given the nature of both your circumstances; death and separation was not something other people should have been talking about. Especially when you all you wanted to do was mind your own business and raise your damn (chaotic) kid.

‘Yeah, tell me about it.’ You replied. ‘My kid is like...a baby crackhead, as well. He’s been sent home twice this week and it’s only Wednesday.’

‘Oh, Jack’s your kid?’

You let out a groan, holding your face in your hands. ‘Yeah. Famously so, apparently.’

‘No, it’s not a bad thing!’ Marcus chuckled, pulling your hands away. ‘He played a brilliant baby Jesus in the Nativity last year.’

‘Aside from when he bit one of the three wise men, yeah.’ You could feel your cheeks heating up. ‘Missy actually helped him once. She seems really...not at all like my child. Which is good.’

‘She told me about the fence incident.’ He nodded. ‘May I ask why he was shoving his head out of the school gates?’

‘He saw an interesting looking slug.’ You replied.

Your conversation was interrupted by Carol, who had now climbed up on stage. She tapped the microphone and cleared her throat, gesturing to everyone to sit down so that the meeting could start. You wanted to curse her. Whatever giddy conversation you were having with Marcus was a thousand times more interesting than the PTA. At least you could revel in the fact he didn’t want to be here either.

‘Shall we?’ Marcus gestured to two empty seats a few rows back.

‘I mean, it’s an aisle seat, which is good for a quick escape if Jack decides to be Jack,’ you nodded in agreement. ‘Hey kid, c’mon!’

Turning away from the other kids, Jack sprinted towards you, hurling himself into your lap as he sat down. You let out an oof! and a groan. He wasn’t as light as he used to be a toddler. He stayed still for a moment, tiny hands clasping yours, before he realised who you were sat next to. The kids’ impression of Marcus was not quite the same as yours - he’d only seen him on TV, with the likes of all the heroes. You couldn’t remember their names (but in your defence, they were kind of ridiculous). 

‘Are you a superhero?’ He reached up, poking Marcus in the cheek. 

‘Jack!’ You hissed. ‘You can’t-’

‘- yeah, buddy.’ Marcus ruffled his hair. ‘But it’s my day off today, so I’m doing all this boring stuff instead.’

‘Can you fly? Do you know Miracle Guy? Have you fought aliens? Do you have a super suit? Do you know Iron Man? Wait! Can I be a superhero?!’

‘No, yes, yes, no, no and maybe when you’re older.’ He counted the questions off on his fingers. ‘But for now we have to keep quiet for the meeting. That would make you a superhero.’

--

You wanted to marry Marcus Moreno.

Seriously, you wanted to marry him.

His little comment had kept Jack quiet the entire meeting. And it was a long fucking meeting indeed. The last time he’d shut up for that long was...probably before he learnt to talk. You loved he was full of curiosity and questions, but he didn’t always understand that there was a time and a place. At least now you knew what would shut him up. 

‘How does Miracle Guy fly? Is Batman real? Are you rich? Do you know Wonder Woman? How does her lasso of truth work?’

‘Jack.’ You groaned. 

You were walking out of the school now and down towards the car park. Missy was in tow, tapping away on her phone, whilst Jack trotted alongside you and Marcus. He’d been spewing questions at the poor man pretty much since the meeting had ended - and yet, he seemed happy to answer them. Excited, even. It was clear that he loved his job.

‘You gotta give Mr Moreno a break, little man.’ You said.

‘Hey, just Marcus is fine.’ He replied. 

‘Hey Just Marcus, I’m dad.’ Missy chimed from beside you, not even looking up from her phone. It was...impressive, actually.

‘I already regret buying her that.’ Marcus murmured. 

The two of you eventually reached your cars. The Civic was still terribly parked across two spaces - you were a good driver, you’d just been in a rush. The dents and scrapes all over the doors and bumper implied other wise but hey, we move. You had a thousand and one other things to save up before a new car. Putting down the deposit on a house - one you could actually own, maybe a little further out from the city - was your number one concern. Paying off your divorce attorney came after that. 

‘It was nice to meet you properly.’ You pulled your keys out your back, tugging four empty packets of crisps and three bags of gummy worms with it. 

‘I’m not done asking questions-’

‘- you gotta let Marcus go, JJ.’ You peered down at Jack. ‘Sorry. He’s a little obsessed with the Heroics, but I guess you’ve worked that one out.’

‘Can I visit your base?’ He continued, ignoring you. 

Marcus knelt down to his height, a grin on his face. ‘I’ve got a free window tomorrow afternoon. You wanna come by? Your mum tells me you’re off school for the rest of the week.’ 

‘Really?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘I mean, I’m sure he would love that but I’m at work and he’s gotta go to my mum’s.’

Your mother also doubled up as your baby-sitter. In an ideal world, you would have been able to afford a professional, but this was very much the opposite of an ideal world. It was the real world, and you were constantly juggling a thousand things at once. Never in a million years would you have changed it but there were days when you wanted to cry. When it was 9PM and Jack suddenly chimed in that he had a science project due the next day, or when he refused to eat his dinner because his chicken nuggets weren’t shaped like dinosaurs and fed them to the dog. 

Marcus looked, on the surface at least, like he had his shit together. He worked in a public facing job and he always looked put together. His car wasn’t covered in bumps and bruises and the inside probably wasn’t covered in yoghurt like yours. He seemed as though he got more than five hours sleep a night and his child was well-behaved. 

‘I’m sure we can work something out.’ He said. ‘If you give me your number, I’ll give you a call.’

‘Uh, yeah! Of course.’ He’d asked for your number. No big deal. 

You switched phones - naturally, his was much more high-tech than yours - and entered in your respective numbers. The whole thing made you admire Marcus even more; he didn’t have to have your tyrannical son over to his office, yet he offered to. He’d clearly seen how excited he’d gotten and it seemed like he’d found it endearing. 

‘Are you okay?’ Marcus asked quietly, suddenly putting his hand on your shoulder. ‘You suddenly zoned out.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You rubbed your eyes. ‘I got about three hours sleep last night. I would blame it on the terrible twos but I guess it’s the...fucking awful fives?’

He quickly turned his attention to Jack, opening the car door for him. ‘You wanna hop in? I’m just gonna talk to your mom about you visiting, yeah?’

'There’s Cheetos in the centre console!’ You called after him.

Once Marcus had shut the door, he turned around to face you. There was silence for a minute, and he just kind of...stared at you. You couldn’t read his expression or quite figure it out, but he had an eyebrow quirked and a look of...concern? Sympathy?

‘I recognise that look. It’s the help! I’m suddenly a single parent to a five year old and it feels like the world is eating me alive look.’ He said. ‘It’s the exact same one I had six years ago. Missy was about Jack’s age when...when it became just me and her.’

You softly smiled. ‘It’s not been easy.’

‘You’re doing a good job, okay?’ He gave your shoulder a light squeeze. ‘And if you ever need him off your hands for a few hours, I’ll gladly give him a tour of our headquarters.’

‘Thank you. So much, for both of those things.’ Your eyes fell to the ground. ‘It’s a refreshing change from Carol and her Pinterest boards and half-assed invitations to potlucks.’

‘God, I can’t stand all that.’ Marcus chuckled. 

‘I gotta get back now because I can see that Jack is about smush Cheetos over my break pedals but I’ll...’ you trailed off, forcing yourself to look at him and smile. ‘I’ll call you.’

‘I look forward to it.’ 

[thegoldenreport]

GOLDEN REPORT

You are now a staff writer for the Golden Report.

Welcome to your first day!

We understand it is dark and cramped and that your primary emotion must be an acute paranoia. Do not be alarmed. That is a very common feeling when one suddenly wakes up in a place they don’t recognize. 

You might be wondering what your “work” is, what to do. Well… 

Why don’t you go outside and interview a stranger? Get those journalistic juices flowing. See what happens. Post your findings.

And remember, sunshine drips slower in dreams.

…

To be honest, I don’t know how I got here. And I don’t think anyone who works for the Golden Report does either. They just sort of…take you one day and then…this is your job. You don’t question it. You just start writing.

The panel opened shortly after I awoke and read the above message. My eyes squinted at the beam of sunlight. Surprisingly, I did not see this as a perfect time to escape. Didn’t even register in my mind to try.

I grabbed a notebook and pen from the left cabinet drawer of my obsidian desk and headed outside. I found myself in some kind of terrace or garden. A stone slab path winded around ivy bushes and other greenery. It didn’t take me long to find a subject. As far as I’m aware, she was the only one besides me in this whole park.

There she reclined on a wired bench, cloaked in an olive green overcoat and black goggles over her eyes. Her arms were crossed as I approached her. My voice cracked when I introduced myself. I stumbled over my words. She smirked. Beckoned me to sit next to her. Almost like she had been asked many times before.

She called herself the Architect and would not give me any other name. So this was our conversation in full.

GE049: Good evening, my name is GE049 and I am a staff writer for the…

ARCH: I know your kind.

GE049: Do you consent to an interview?

ARCH: Of course. Let’s begin.

GE049: First off, who are you?

ARCH: I’m the Architect.

GE049: Okay. Do you have a…another name?

ARCH: No.

GE049: Architect. Now what does that mean?

ARCH: I build. I tear down. I rebuild.

GE049: What exactly are you building?

ARCH: If it’s in your mind, I’ve touched it.

GE049: Interesting…

ARCH: Very.

GE049: Is this a character you play?

ARCH: Are you not also playing a character now? The nervous writer, first day on the job and the mysterious architect, full of cryptic responses…all part of one big overarching story. A living myth. Yet we do not merely play characters. It’s who we are.

GE049: If this is a story, than what side are you on?

ARCH: Side?

GE049: Good vs. evil?

ARCH: Both. As is the Golden Report.

GE049: How often do you spend in this park?

ARCH: You’re an odd one.

GE049: And by the way, where are we?

ARCH: You’re in the Spiral���quaint and mindnumbing. A labyrinth for your thoughts to get lost in. I’ve been sitting on this bench for approximately five hours.

GE049: Sounds nice.

ARCH: It is…easy to just let them go.

GE049: Do you listen for anything in particular?

ARCH: Not usually. Maybe the wind. The snake rattle through the trees. But I come to the Spiral to be less aware. 

GE049: Explain what you mean by that.

ARCH: There is a museum, a gold open dome where clay figurines dance to the ticking of a clock. Inside this dome, there is also a white room. Ten by ten foot surface area, which houses the watchers in their white robes and raspberry eyes. I meet with them often. They speak to me strangely. Symbols. Codes. Flashes of images speckled with visual snow. It takes the whole day to translate and understand what they mean. So then I come here. Where their words will run the Spiral. Unspin themselves.

GE049: You seem the keeper of some great purpose.

ARCH: I am no better than you. 

GE049: Why are you with us?

ARCH: All things are vulnerable. All things are bound to crack. But you…and I, we fill in the cracks with liquid sunlight. Fluid and flexible. Reality bent, but never totally broken.

GE049: This is my final question. What do I need to hear right now?

ARCH: Do not fear the twists. Lean into it…as they come.

At this time, the Architect stood up and sauntered off, further down the path. I returned to the black box, my office, I guess you could call it, and compiled my first report. 

I do not know who this woman is. I get the feeling she is more important to the story than she lets on. I am grateful to have wandered through her world, if only for a moment. I hope we see her again.

[happyandticklish]

A Study in Weakness

Shinra is pointing out different weaknesses in human beings when he discovers a particularly interesting one in his friend. 

Shinra Kishitani often wondered how he had ended up with the friends he had.  A man in possession of super human strength that scientifically speaking shouldn’t be possible, and an info broker who delighted in the fulfillment of his every sadistic urge. Certainly he had received a rather strange lot in life. Although then again, Shinra wasn’t the most normal person himself.

That day, however, Shinra found himself discussing one of the only interests he and the info broker had in common: human beings.

“Isn’t it fascinating that no matter how strong or invincible a person may be, they still fall prey to the most insignificant of things?” Shinra was saying. Besides him, Izaya watched him with a look of ambiguous interest. “Physical attacks like concussions and colds can take us down instantly, not to mention mental weaknesses like fear and the blinding passion of love.”

“You consider love to be a weakness?” Izaya inquired curiously, raising an eyebrow. “That’s ironic coming from you.”

Shinra chuckled. “Yeah, but I don’t consider my love for Celty a weakness. Our bond only makes us stronger together!” He sighed happily, his whole face lighting up at the mention of his beloved Dullahan. His devotion to her was near unsettling, but so were a lot of things about Shinra.

They turned a corner, the sun shining hot on their faces so that they had to squint to see where they were going. “It is intriguing, I will admit,” Izaya agreed, hoping to put a stop to another rant about Celty before it could begin. “Humans are such interesting creatures. So very delicate, no matter how many pretenses they put up. It’s a wonder they manage to survive at all.”

“You’re a human too, you know,” Shinra pointed out wryly, plopping down on a park bench and hissing as the warm metal burned his thighs. “You don’t have to talk about us like we’re an alien species.”

“I suppose,” Izaya murmured with contempt. He turned to Shinra suddenly, resting his chin on his knee. “What about you? What’s your weakness, my dear friend?”

“Oh you know, the usual things. I have seasonal allergies, a hopeless devotion to a girl who doesn’t look twice at me, I’m unbearably ticklish, I have a crick in my neck that’s never gone away—”

“Hold up,” Izaya said, and Shinra paused his list. “You’re ticklish?”

“Yeah,” Shinra confirmed, seeming completely unembarrassed by the fact. “I think everyone is.”

That was news to Izaya. It was strange how you could know someone for so long and not know such simple things about them. He wondered what other secrets Shinra was keeping from him. Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed it when Shinra mentioned him.

“I bet even you’re ticklish, Izaya.”

Izaya scoffed. “Me? Ticklish? Please.”

Shinra narrowed his eyes. Izaya shifted uncomfortably on the bench. The conversation was going in a decidedly unpleasant direction. “I think you’re lying.”

“Oh?” Izaya replied tersely. “And why is that?”

“Everyone’s ticklish, at least a little bit,” Shinra explained. Izaya wished he would stop using the word so casually. It made his skin crawl.

“Well, I’m not. So I guess you’re wrong—”

“Prove it.”

“What?” Izaya snapped.

“Prove that you’re not ticklish. I’ll tickle you for one minute and if you can resist me I’ll believe you.”

Izaya found himself trapped in the scientist’s gaze and he swallowed, squeezing his knee tighter against himself. “Why should I?”

Shinra shrugged, turning away. “It’s up to you. I’ll just know you’re lying if you refuse.”

Though Shinra had seemingly just provided him with the perfect out, Izaya knew a trap when he saw one. If he refused right now then Shinra would know he was lying, and there was no chance that he wouldn’t use that information against him later. But if Izaya could hold out, even for just one minute, he wouldn’t have to worry about any of that.

Izaya forced a smirk, sprawling back so his body sat open and defenseless to the touch. “Alright then. Go ahead. But it’s not going to work, I’m telling you.”

If Shinra was deterred by his comments he didn’t show it. Izaya tried to ignore the pounding of his heart inside his chest, focusing instead on trying to somehow manually shut off his nervous system. Shinra moved so that he was kneeling in front of him, hands resting lightly against his sides. For a moment no one moved.

Then Shinra curled his fingers.

An unmistakable shudder of feeling coursed through his body. It had been a while since anyone had tried to tickle him and he was unprepared for the onslaught of ticklishness he experienced then. He was far more sensitive than he remembered. Izaya had never felt more present than he did in that moment, and he swallowed back an involuntary noise. Shinra appeared unaware of the effect he was having on Izaya, and continued to wiggle his fingers in that same, deadly spot on his sides.

He couldn’t do it. There was no way that Izaya could just sit there and let himself be tickled. He was practically holding his breath as he mustered every ounce of self-control he had to stop himself from squirming away or making any kind of noise at all. It was annoying, actually, how ticklish he seemed to be. Izaya couldn’t remember the last time he had been tickled, though he was sure there had been moments when he was a child when the subject had organically cropped up. Still, it was really unfair that it was only now that he was discovering the sheer depth of his sensitivity.

Despite all of that, though/, he found himself almost enjoying himself. Tickling was something that he had always found fascinating about humans, how such a seemingly innocent thing could send the greatest of fighters into hysterics in an instant. Izaya enjoyed taking risks in life, and he saw this almost as a show of endurance to see how long he would be able to hold out, as he had never been able to test himself before in this area. He made up his mind that no matter what Shinra did he would not crack.

This resolve lasted about five seconds before Shinra’s path descended to his hips. Shinra stared at the hands now clamped about his wrists and the reluctant grin evident on Izaya’s face. “I thought you weren’t ticklish.”

“I’m not,” Izaya corrected immediately. Even though by this point that was obviously not the case, he still wasn’t willing to admit it.

Shinra raised his eyebrows, grinning infuriatingly. “Uh-huh. I may not be as attuned to human nature as you, but I know when someone’s lying.”

Izaya released his wrists, choosing instead to cross his arms across his chest. It was a gesture he was hoping Shinra would see as casual, while in reality he just wanted to have his hands somewhere where he could control their movements. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Then you won’t mind me trying again, will you?” Shinra’s tone was light and teasing and struck a chord somewhere deep inside him; Izaya didn’t want to lose.

Izaya hesitated for a moment. “Not at all.” Maybe he could control himself better now that he was used to the feeling.

Unfortunately for him, the anticipation only made it worse. As Shinra reached for his sides, Izaya watched them with a hawk’s eyes, his body quivering despite himself. At the last second, however, Shinra’s hands darted down to squeeze his thighs instead.

Unprepared, Izaya jumped, his lips pressing down into a firm line as he barely repressed a squeak. Shinra was unperturbed. He traced lightly over the trembling thighs, bare due to the heat from summer. Izaya drew in a sharp breath, choking back whimpering giggles. The fingers climbed his thighs, continuing their ascent beneath the hem of his t-shirt.

When Shinra’s fingers first touched bare skin Izaya had two realizations. One, that he was a lot more ticklish than he had ever thought possible, and two, that this had evolved very quickly past friend territory. There was a nervous energy in the air that had absolutely nothing to do with tickling, though that certainly didn’t help. At another time, when Izaya was thinking more clearly, he might have had the common sense to stop Shinra, to put an end to whatever charade they were putting on. Instead, he found himself strangely content to allow the other boy to continue. Izaya chose not to dwell on that information, saving it for another day.

In the meantime, he struggled to contain the effect Shinra was having on him, biting his lip as his skin jumped under the feather-light touches. Shinra wasn’t shy about switching between his torso and his legs either, and Izaya fisted his hands by his sides, never able to familiarize himself to the sensation. By this time a minute had passed and Izaya had technically won their little game. Both of them had long since given up on counting, however, quickly realizing that this was about something else at this point.

“Is something the matter?” Shinra asked sweetly, scratching persistently at a certain spot on his inner thigh.

“Hmm, hah, n-nope, nohot at a-all,” Izaya replied just as sweetly, trying to glare at his attacker. But the effect was ruined by the smile plastered wide over his usually sarcastic expression.

His pretense could only last so long, however. It wasn’t anything big that broke him—a single finger sweeping over his side—but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. First a giggle, then a snort, and soon he was full on cackling as he squirmed under the ticklish assault. He didn’t stop him, weirdly, even though his laughter technically meant the end of their game. It was a couple minutes before Shinra himself finally relented, pulling his hands away and letting his friend breathe.

“I knew you were ticklish!” Shinra declared as Izaya tried to rub away the phantom tickles that still tingled all throughout his body.

“You’re dead Kishitani,” he growled, trying to recover any semblance of dignity. His cheeks were pink from laughter and embarrassment. “Just you wait—”

“Oh yeah?” Shinra challenged, raising his chin confidentially. “And just what are you going to do about it?”

Izaya smirked then, a predator’s glint in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll see.” And with that he pounced on his scrawny friend, long fingers digging into bony ribs with an untamed ferocity.

Unlike Izaya, unrestrained laughter immediately fell from Shinra’s lips as he jerked backwards. Shinra’s laughter was loud and buoyant, so exactly like his personality. He squirmed on the bench and pawed at Izaya’s hands, but not once did he protest the torture or try genuinely to escape. Izaya frowned, the lack of embarrassment on Shinra’s face irritating him. He momentarily stopped tickling him to stare critically at his friend. “Why aren’t you asking me to stop?”

Shinra drew in a deep breath, flushed and panting, but very obviously happy. He shrugged in response. “I don’t know. I guess I kind of liked it—it was fun.”

Izaya furrowed his eyebrows. “Fun?”

“Yeah!”

Izaya felt a blush blooming to his features, though this time it was for an entirely different reason. To cover up his own embarrassment, he smirked, looming over the smaller boy. “Alright then. Just remember you asked for this then!”

He jumped on him again and Shinra fell back into hysterical laughter, never once asking him to stop, and for a brief moment Izaya found himself smiling genuinely. This time, it wasn’t from the tickling.

[re-diesirae]

9. Leon

It was getting dark, and with the fading sunlight, Leon and Claire grew more and more restless. So far, they had been lucky. All the foes that had crossed their path had been relatively weak and easy to handle. Things would not be as easy once the shadows fell over them.

Leon was worried. He noticed that Claire's movements were starting to slow down. She was growing tired. The woman would not say it, but it was pretty obvious.

"We should find refuge before the sun goes down completely," Leon said, stopping to look at Claire. "If you are correct, those monsters will come out as soon as the sun goes down."

"Uhm, you are right," Claire sighed.

"Besides, it's been a long day. We need to rest," Leon said, cleaning the sweat from his forehead. "We are both tired, and we need our strength to fight. Pushing ourselves to the limit is a stupid decision."

Claire rubbed her neck and sighed.

"You're right," she said, "The question is where?"

Leon looked at her. Claire was looking pale again, and her cerulean eyes showed what she refused to say.

Leon was not an expert at survival mode; that was probably more Chris's area, or perhaps even Claire's.

After walking around the cliff for a while, they found a small cave, hidden between some bushes. The entrance was small, which Leon thought was an advantage. It was easier to fend off enemies when they had something stopping them.

Leon made sure the cave was clear before they finally settled down inside. He picked up some branches and plants and made a makeshift door to camouflage the entrance. It would be useless to keep enemies out, but at least it would keep them concealed.

"So that's what the government teaches their agents? How to make woodland crafts?" Claire asked playfully.

Leon smirked, putting the "door" in its place.

"Sure," he answered in the same playful tone, "It's rule 4 in How to be an agent 101."

Claire laughed and rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes.

"Chris would kill us if he saw us," she whispered.

"Why?"

"Keep yourself focused. No time for jokes," Claire said in a low voice that tried to mimic Chris's grunt.

Leon laughed at the impression. It was perfect.

"Sounds about right," Leon laughed, "I can't picture Chris joking around in normal circumstances, even less in a mission."

"I keep telling him that sometimes a little humor is what you need to keep yourself going."

"Maybe he needs to learn. You should teach him."

"Uh, I doubt he will be willing to learn from me," Claire chuckled, "but Chris wasn't always like that, you know. He used to be a little more chill."

"Chill?" Leon said incredulously, "Is that even possible?"

Leon had always wondered how Chris and Claire, being siblings, could be so different and yet so alike at the same time. Claire was cheerful and charming; she always found a way to lighten the mood, and her whole personality made her an approachable person. Chris, well, Chris was just intimidating.

"You are one to talk. Each time I see you, you're grumpier than before," Claire said, resting her chin on her knees.

Leon sighed. Claire was right. After so many years of working with DSO, he had become more reserved and shut-in. Things only got worse after all the tragedies that Leon had found himself forced to witness. Then again, he was not the only one that had faced tragedies. Claire had her share of hardships, and yet, she was the same lovely woman he had met in that pit stop in Raccoon City.

"Then, maybe I should ask you to teach me, too," he snorted.

"What are you saying?" Claire said, rolling her eyes. "Sometimes, I feel like I should be more like you two."

Leon shook his head.

"You are perfect the way you are, Claire. It is enough with one Chris Redfield or me in this world. There's no need to add another one into the equation," he said, "and honestly, the world would be a better place with more people like you."

"If there were more people like me, the world would be chaos," Claire snorted bitterly,"I caused a lot of trouble because of my naiveness."

Leon looked at Claire. Her face was getting wrapped by the darkness, so he could not see her expression; however, her voice sounded mortified. Sometimes Leon forgot that Claire had her inner demons, too.

In his mind, Claire was that brave girl, filled with optimism, willpower, and a heart of gold. He sometimes forgot that she was human, too, and like any other human, she could feel doubt, fear, and grief.

"It sounds like you are too hard on yourself, Claire."

"And you, guys, are just too soft on me,"Claire sighed, "When I think back of all the things I've messed up…"

Leon was ready to say more, but a distant roar interrupted their thoughts. Leon reached for his gun, and he heard Claire do the same. The pair exchanged knowing looks and moved, quietly, towards the entrance to peek out through the makeshift door.

The forest was dark, barely lit by the dim light from the waning moon. A group of Plagas infected subjects wandered at some distance from them. None of them seemed aware of their presence, so Leon did not worry much about them, but the owner from the roar was what had him on edge.

They had a poor sight from their position, but Leon tried to scout the area the best he could.

At first, he didn't see anything, but then he felt Claire grab his arm. She was staring blankly at some rustling shrubs behind the group of Plagas.

The creature was the most horrible thing Leon had ever seen. The monster had pale skin, so pale that it almost looked like it glowed under the moonlight. The body looked stretched, and its back made a curve in a nasty deformed hump as it moved through the darkness on its black limbs. Pieces of tissue hung from its body as if it was falling apart. If the monster had eyes, Leon could not tell where they were. The face was a lump of bloodied meat with no distinguishable features aside from the largemouth filled with a row of yellow fangs.

The monster sniffed the air, and without warning, it jumped forward, snatching several Plaga infected and ate them with a roar.

That's new. I've never seen B.O.W.s eating each other.

Leon watched the gory show with a frown. The monster ate every Plaga carrier in the area, and once it had finished, it let out a roar and began to twist and contort on the ground.

"What the..." Leon whispered.

"It's mutating, I think..." Claire said from his side.

"Mutating?"

"Yes, that's how it looks."

Leon grimaced. Mutating monsters were never good news.

"Is it the one you saw yesterday?" he asked.

Claire shook her head.

"No, this one looks different."

The monster howled again, making a painful sound. The body twisted on the ground, and more pieces of tissue fell to the ground, revealing the raw muscle. By now, the creature looked like a giant licker, except for its head.

Leon was not sure of what had just witnessed, but there was something he was sure about that was not a monster he wanted to face if he could help it.

The pair watched the disfigured creature disappear into the darkness again, and both let out the breath they'd unconsciously held. Claire and Leon did not speak until they felt sure that the monster had left.

"I think I understand what you meant by bigger friends," Leon whispered, turning to the woman beside him.

Claire was calm, but Leon could see the horror hiding behind her beautiful aquamarine eyes. She gave him an ironic smile and shrugged.

"We didn't see anything like it during the day, so either we were lucky, or you are right, and they are nocturnal."

"B.O.W.s that come only during the night. Talk about nightmarish monsters..." Claire sighed, "I am just glad they didn't find us, but I've got the feeling that our luck won't be that good for too long."

"Well, we'll face it when it comes. Don't worry about it," Leon sighed.

They returned to the back of the cave and sat down quietly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Me?" she asked, surprised, "I'm peachy."

Leon looked at her skeptically.

"You can't fool me, Claire. You've been struggling since that climb we did," Leon said, "Is it your head? Is it bothering you again?"

Claire let out a vague snort and shook her head.

"I told you I didn't like hiking," she replied, "I am alright. My head bothers me a little when I am tired, but it's not bad. You should know how concussions work."

"Yeah," Leon sighed, "Try resting a little."

"I had my share of sleep yesterday," Claire said, shaking her head, "You must be exhausted, though. You didn't sleep at all. You should be the one taking a nap."

"I work better with less sleep," he half lied.

In reality, Leon knew he worked a lot better with five or six hours of sleep, perhaps even four. His senses seemed more alert under those conditions, but his body still needed the rest.

"Liar," Claire muttered. "You know you don't need to act all cool with me. Get some sleep, idiot. I'll take the first watch."

"Fine, but only if I can use your lap as a pillow," he joked, earning a soft smack on his arm.

"You are such a flirt, Leon. I guess that side of you has not changed," Claire chuckled. "Go to sleep, idiot."

"You know, I think you are the only person who dares to call me an idiot."

"Well, if I can call Chris an idiot, I can definitely call you an idiot."

Leon laughed. Claire had to be the bravest woman in the world if she dared to call the almighty Chris Redfield an idiot, but then again, Claire had a privileged position in Chris's eyes. Leon was sure that Claire was one of the few people, if not the only one, with whom Chris would never be mad at no matter what she did.

"Now, I have to argue about that. No one would dare call Chris an idiot, but you have special treatment."

"Do I get special treatment with you?"

"Maybe..." Leon smirked.

"Do you tell all your partners that?"

"Only those who I like. What? Getting bored with paperwork and considering a career as an agent?"

If Claire had been an agent like himself, he would have considered asking her to become his permanent partner. He worked well with Helena, but Claire had her charm; his mission would be a lot more enjoyable with her by his side, but Claire did not work for the DSO.

"Nah, I am not agent material. You know that, Leon?"

"What are you talking about?" he chuckled, "You were agent material even before I was. Rushing into Raccoon City in search of Chris and saving Sherry, and taking care of all of us..."

"You sure are sentimental today," Claire snorted. "What's up with you today?"

"Well, this brings back memories," Leon sighed, "Can you blame me?"

"It does?" Claire asked.

"Yeah. I think I kind of missed this."

"Sleeping in a cave surrounded by bloodthirsty parasitic entities and mutant monsters? I can't say I share the sentiment, but who am I to judge?"

Leon smirked at the comment. The darkness in the cave would not let the woman see his face, and he was somehow glad that it was like that since he was sure that he looked like a fool.

Leon leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as tiredness began to engulf him.

"I was talking about you. I missed you, Claire," he muttered in an almost inaudible whisper.

NOTE: if you guys want to come and chat about the fic, or just about CLEON in general. Feel free to drop by the discord and say hi! JOIN SERVER

[oncejaw]

Bertholdt or Reiner?

--------------- The little boy pauses to contemplate the dilemma; legs crossed and elbows planted in the crook of his knees, chin resting in the crook of his palm. He cannot take those questions lightly - as hypothetical as they may be, they feel like a test, and his comrades are not a subject Marcel Galliard ever takes lightly. Not when there is so much at stake, for all of them. Bertholdt or Reiner - those two so closely entangled all the time, you might as well be asking him to choose between a fork and a knife. Alas - and he doesn’t like to admit it, but honesty compels him - it doesn’t take him long to choose. 

“Bertl.” He says after a moment of reflection, without a trace of hesitation - hesitation is not a trait he has often been associated with. Once on a path, Marcel Galliard does not deviate from it. He does not know it yet, but one day, this will be his downfall. “It’s nothing against Reiner. But you want me to be honest, so I’m being honest. I’ve known Bertl since he was five years old. We all grew up together, but it’s even more true for him. He’s like another little brother to me, y’know?” In the flicker of a second, Marcel’s face lights up, beams with pride and affection. But reality and its multitudes of complexities quickly catch up to his young mind, force him back into more somber considerations, ones a child his age should never have to envision in the first place - but he doesn’t make the calls, now, does he. “Besides, when it comes down to it, I know Bertl will always have my back. Reiner...” Marcel’s voice dies in his throat, and he falls silent. In the maze of his young memory, Reiner’s voice rises in panic and anger against Porco - you’re a restorationist, aren’t you? He doesn’t mean it (does he?). But Reiner is too insecure, too eager, ironically, too scared, for Marcel to be able to give him what he has granted some of their other comrades. Bertholdt, in comparison, is as sure and steady and ever present as his own shadow. The choice isn’t difficult - acknowledging the sad truth behind it is the hard part.

“... I can’t trust Reiner the way I can trust Bertholdt. That’s how I see it.” He admits, voice heavier than before, all too aware of the cruelty of his judgement - but cruelty is one of their survival tools. They have long learnt that. “Don’t get me wrong. Even so, Reiner is my comrade, my friend, and I care about him. Nothing can change that. I’d give up my own life to keep him safe, too.” 

[psycho-slytherin]

Turtledove

Your love of nature pays off... in an unexpected way.

Request: Could you do fae prince!Jungkook who has stolen you away? 

Pairing: Fae Prince!Jungkook x Reader

WC: 1.5k

Genre: fluff, drabble, idk?

A/N I just like bees, ok? Thanks for the request, anonie!

|mlist|

“Let me be your ruler, ruler, you can call me queen bee…” You sing to yourself as you weed your backyard. You’ve got half a dozen lavender bushes waiting to be planted, but first you’ve got to prepare the soil. Just as you’ve finally yanked out a particularly stubborn nettle, you feel a soft tingle on your skin. A bee has apparently made itself comfortable on your wrist.

“Hey, little lady,” you say with a smile. Maybe this is your signal to take a break from the relentless sun. You’ve never been scared of bees. Even as a child, you always seemed to attract insects and animals. Your mom called it magic; you’re of the opinion that good souls can sense each other. “It’s hot today, huh?” You ask the bee, who buzzes contentedly on your hand as you move back into a shady patch beneath the cherry tree. “You’re gonna like the lavender once it’s all grown up, there’ll be plenty of pollen.” It must be your imagination, but it seems like the bee buzzes more happily at your words. “Well, go on,” you say, waving your hand lightly to encourage its flight. “Get back to your queen, honey- ow!”

Almost in slow motion, you watch the bee press its stinger into the flesh of your palm before looking right into your eyes. The world tilts sideways and everything goes black.

Something cold pokes your cheek and you suppress a groan. You feel dirt and leaves beneath your feet, and something softer, wet– moss?

“Mina, you weren’t supposed to kill it,” an airy, male voice says.

“I didn’t mean to,” a girl whines. “I panicked.”

Your head is killing you, and when you at last open your eyes, you blink weakly. “Where…?”

“Ah, good, it’s awake.” And in front of your eyes is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen– his hair is a soft forest green, his skin inhumanly perfect, his nose tilted up just slightly and his ears pointed, as though he’s wearing prosthetics. He’s draped in shimmering green-blue robes that seem to move despite the stillness of the air. “I’m sorry for Mina.”

“Who…?” Normally you’d be scared, but the ethereal man in front of you practically radiates calm; against your instincts, you feel yourself relaxing. “Who are you?”

The man opens his mouth but before he can respond, a blue-haired girl– this must be Mina– claps her hands excitedly. “This is his royal highness, heir to the forest fae kingdom, the Crown Prince Jungkook!”

“Thank you, Mina,” the… prince? Responds bemusedly. “This is Mina, my aide, and the one who brought you here.”

You stand up groggily. “Where’s here?” You’re in a forest, certainly: tall trees with broad leaves create a dappled pattern of sunlight on the soft floor. You don’t hear even the hint of civilization. No cars, no chatter, just the occasional bird call.

“Oh, this is my kingdom. And you, human, are my guest.” He snaps his fingers and it’s like reality melts away. Where there were nests or messy branches suddenly appear small treehouses. What you thought was an animal’s burrow transforms into a beautifully decorated hut built into the earth. The messy rocks and moss beneath your feet rearrange themselves into neat paths leading throughout the forest. And right behind the prince, an enormous redwood tree simply becomes a magnificent palace, complete with arching doorways and large windows, perfect except for its size.

“Wo-woah…” you take a step backwards in wonder, suddenly feeling dizzy. You’re hallucinating, right? An allergic reaction to the bee sting? Or you’ve been kidnapped by a very handsome and definitely psycho magician?

Although… You know it’s irrational, but you can’t help but sense goodness in him. And Mina too.

“Am I dreaming?” You whisper, suddenly realizing that those pointy-ear prosthetics look very real.

“You’re not dreaming.” Prince Jungkook draws closer. He smells like clover and rain and lavender. “Human, all your life you have been good to us. The butterflies and bees for whom you planted flowers, the hummingbirds and squirrels you kept well-fed, and the very earth beneath your feet, which was always left fertile and healthy. I have watched you save my subjects from ill-meaning humans, from injuries, from cold.” He reaches out a hand and lightly touches a finger to your chest, right above your heart. You can feel it beat faster in response. “And for that, I shall reward you with a glimpse into my world. Will you come?”

His eyes are a deep green, and staring into them, you feel like your every sense has been heightened. If you’re dreaming, it’s the most intensely sensory dream you can remember. And if not… “Yes.”

The prince’s eyes flash. “This may hurt a little.”

From his finger on your chest you feel warmth spreading throughout your body. “Ah!” What began as a pleasant warmth morphs into pain; You feel a sharp, searing ache shoot through you. Your ears, eyes, and back especially feel as though they’re burning. “Stop it!”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the pain stops and you collapse onto the moss, which seems bigger now. Your body feels inexplicably light, and when you look back at the prince and Mina, your jaw drops.

“Holy– you have wings!” Tossing your confusion to the side– it’s a dream anyways, it doesn’t have to make sense– you bound over to Mina, who indeed stands before you with beautiful blue and black wings fluttering lightly in the breeze. Prince Jungkook’s wings are silver, almost transparent, and yet so bright they practically glow. “Can I…” you reach forward cautiously. “Can I touch them?”

“Gently,” the prince replies.

“But, your highness–” Mina says, falling silent as you lightly stroke the prince’s wing. They seem to emerge from between his shoulder blades, and though you thought they’d be light and fragile, you can feel a strength in the material. You notice the prince tensing slightly at your touch.

“This is all so beautiful.” You finally take a step back and look beyond the fae in front of you. “Oh, wow.”

The burrows and treehouses have grown in size. The palace that seemed awkwardly small now looms over you, impossibly large. In fact, everything seems much bigger now. You stare at your hands and finally notice that they look tiny in comparison to the humble blade of grass beside you. Nothing’s grown– you and the faeries have shrunken.

“Do you remember some fifteen years ago? You were just a child when you found a turtledove with a broken wing.” Prince Jungkook says with a soft smile.

You do remember the incident– you’d come into the house crying, asking your parents to help you bring it inside.

“You spent days and sleepless nights nursing it back to health. And for years the turtledove would return, wouldn’t it, to say hello?”

“Y-Yes. It always slept in the fig tree outside my window.” The dove stopped visiting four or five years later; you figured it had died.

“That turtledove, lovely human, was me. And this is my kingdom.” He gestures, and the silent forest suddenly bursts into chatter, movement, noise. Hundreds of faeries appear as though they’d been there all along, walking or flying, dressed in all manner of tunics and robes. Most seem to be going about their business, running errands, or doing work. Some stop and stare at you, or greet the prince with a bow. The doors to the redwood palace swing open, and you hear an unfamiliar kind of music fill the air.

“Will you join me?” Prince Jungkook asks, a brilliant smile lighting up his features.

You grin mischievously. “That depends, do I get wings too?”

“Oh, Y/n. Look behind you.”

“What?” You crane your neck and yelp in surprise; In your peripheral vision you can see the edges of black-and-yellow wings, the pattern resembling a cross between a monarch butterfly’s and a bee’s. You focus intently on your back muscles and for a brief moment, you see the tips of your wings flutter.

“Er… your highness, can I keep them?” You ask the prince, hurrying to keep up with him and Mina as they enter the palace. The interior is beautiful, perfectly blending the decor in with the natural color of the wood. Patterns and symbols you don’t recognize are carved into the walls, and well-dressed faeries turn to eye you from around the foyer.

“Call me Jungkook. The wings are yours within the fae world– and you are welcome to stay as long as you’d like, princess.”

Your heart seems to glow. You’re a faery, a real faery! Even if it is just a dream… you never want to wake up.

“Jungkook!” You say his name like it’s a ray of sunshine, laughing at the pure delight flowing through you. The prince stands next to you, his wings catching the light of the lanterns. “Jungkook, thank you. Your world is so wonderful. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Jungkook takes your hand and draws it to him, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. “No, thank you. You’re all goodness, princess. Now, let me show you around.”

[cosmicmoved]

TSAI YUCHEN    /    self - para

a reflection on the first time a then-sixteen year old yuchen met his friend from the beach, a girl who had died by way of drowning in the ocean some years prior (this is not mentioned at all in the story, there’s no detailed reference to any death). yuchen, for the record, is utterly unaware of this. to this day, yuchen is wholly not aware of abilities so it might help to read this as though it was written in the future. this is a slightly older yuchen looking back on his memories.

( also, this is an edited version of a short story i submitted for class and that’s why it’s fairly vague and ends abruptly, as it was intended to read as an excerpt of a longer story that i will never write. it is edited because i had to cut a lot of things from the original draft to meet the word count but the version i submitted was also better than the original draft so i decided to just add certain things back into the final version rather than share the messy original.)

Looking back on it, I never considered my friend from beside the sea might have been dead. I can’t say I’d know right away if I were to meet her for the very first time now either. Maybe you’d work it out much quicker than me but. whether or not it was down to goodhearted ignorance. the thought never crossed my mind. I was only sixteen the first time I saw her but I remember the whole thing clearly, the first time I met her and every other time after that. There are things I’m good at forgetting, like what time I’m meant to show up somewhere and where I put my phone when I’m distracted, but I’ve always been good at remembering people. This might well have been last week.

I had this routine of going to the beach after school and, because I refused to tell anybody why I was going, I felt terribly mysterious. It sort of became this secret rendezvous with myself. The reality, however, was pretty shallow especially compared to what I’d learn in the next few months. You see, this was when I’d first found my love of dance and any time of the year it wasn’t teeming with sun-seeking crowds, the beach became my own personal dance studio.  a year or so before I’d gotten really into dance. I’d lock myself up in my bedroom, copying tutorials on YouTube, and I thought that was private enough. It wasn’t. All it took was for my mum to walk in on me once and that was my perfect little bubble burst. It took me about a year to forgive her for joking about it at a family gathering that same weekend. I remember somebody (some aunt or uncle, I was too dizzy with humiliation to care who it was) saying that it didn’t matter how well I could dance, I was too short for it not to look all wrong and I really took it to heart, swearing through a clenched jaw that I’d grow tall and shock them all. Right now, I’m a whopping five foot six so you can tell this didn’t exactly pan out. From the day of my mum’s intrusion onwards, I’d storm down the road by myself as soon as school ended and it didn’t matter much that I wasn’t spending this time with other kids because most of them didn’t seem to like me much anyway. I never knew why but befriending stray beach spirits probably didn’t help.

This February afternoon was no different than any other. The air was thick with the coarse clammy scent of wet sand, the tang of salt and fish lingering beneath, and the cold bit away at my cheeks until they were red raw. My ears were buzzing with the music blaring through my earphones -- the soundtrack to my dance routine. I was used to staying there all evening and not seeing another soul, besides the odd dog walker, but she had been a surprise. Catching sight of her, I stopped mid-spin but felt my gut go on without me. I stood stock still like the bitter February air had frozen me through in the hopes it wouldn’t look as though I’d just been dancing but, even if I weren’t about as subtle as a foghorn dressed with twinkling fairy lights, the Swoosh-emblazoned footprints dashed and circled across the sand were a dead giveaway. If she thought I was funny, she didn’t laugh. As a matter of fact, she didn’t do anything. Her skin was pallid and her eyes distant and hair clung to her forehead in damp tresses.  I took one good long look at her and instantly took her for someone grim and miserable. A goth, maybe?

Despite my shock, I managed wave to her with a stupid, lopsided grin on my face. Her eyes widened just a fraction and she turned her head away. I sighed for relief, reassured that I wasn’t the only one around here daft enough to believe that standing in the middle of an empty space could hide you from anything. ‘Aren’t you cold?’ I called out. She looked for a moment as though she wanted to scurry off and away from me but she did not move an inch. Despite the dismal weather, she was dressed only in a school uniform, the sleeves short and her legs bare beneath the hem of her skirt. ‘I don’t think you should talk to me’, was her only answer. Her voice was muffled like a person submerged. ‘People don’t talk to me.’ ‘They don’t talk to me either. Are you sure you’re not cold?’ She didn’t answer and hung her head, as if in defeat. I was often told I was bad at recognising boundaries. The weight of coins in my pocket called out to me then, almost like they too were aware that I needed to change the subject, and I was reminded of the van down the street that sold hot snacks all year long. Even when I had no money to spend, I would smile at the man inside, seeing anybody else who spent their Winter by the sea as a kindred spirit. My stomach was reminded of this too and I felt it start to tighten with hunger, like it didn’t think the guilt was working hard enough. ‘Erm, I’m gonna go buy fried chicken,’ I told her, pointing vaguely in the direction of the van. I was eager to calm myself with the smell of grease and sugar, ‘I’ll get you one too.’ Without even raising her head, she shook her head and told me she couldn’t eat them. ‘Ah,’ I said, all sympathetic and understanding, ‘It’s cool, my cousin’s vegan too. I get it.’

And so I sped off, across the sand, up the path and onto the street, my feet thundering against the concrete. I don’t know how long it took me to get there and back but I knew I was developing a stitch in my side. When I did get back the beach was empty yet again, save for me, a piece of fried chicken that was almost the length of my head and a bag of hopefully meat-free fries. I looked around, eyes narrow, trying to work out she possibly could have gone so but for all my efforts, the only footprints I could see were my own.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Good Friday - April 2, 2021

Good Friday (also called “Great Friday” or “Holy Friday”) is the most somber day of the entire year. A silence pervades, socializing is kept to a minimum, things are done quietly; it is a day of mourning; it is a funeral. The Temple of the Body of Christ is destroyed, capping the the penitential seasons begun on Septuagesima Sunday and becoming more intense throughout Lent. Traditional Catholics wear black, cover their mirrors, extinguish candles and any lamps burning before icons, keep amusements and distractions down, and go about the day in great solemnity.

by Fr. Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

“Now there stood by the cross, Mary His mother.”–John xix, 25.

Yesterday, beloved in Christ, the example of Judas the traitor was held up to us as a terrible warning upon which every sinner might meditate, and, perhaps, realize the consequences of such total atrocity and utter hardness of heart. That warning might be, for many, the very last grace vouchsafed by God! Oh, may it not be in vain! What reason has not the sinner to strike his breast, and cry out: “O God, be merciful to me, for my sins have been as great, perhaps, as those of Judas, and more frequent!” Yes, sinners, it is even so; for Judas, wretch though he was, did not try to pervert his fellow-laborers, the Apostles; while you, how many innocent souls have you not led astray, both by word and example? How many souls, most dear and precious to the Heart of Jesus, have you not turned away from Him?” Woe to him by whom scandals come. It were better for that man that a millstone be hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depths of the sea.” And yet, my brethren, if, among my hearers there are any who have been guilty of grievous sin, I would say to them, do not despair. Even though each passing year has witnessed the commission of crimes, each one more terrible than the last; nay, even if you have lived as an incarnate devil, do not despair. Look upon Mary beneath the cross. Call upon her; she will take you under her maternal protection; lead you to her divine Son, who can refuse her nothing; and obtain for you the grace of a true conversion; for is she not the one chosen by God, and destined to be the Mother of mercy, the refuge of sinners?

As the subject of our present meditation, my dear brethren, let us consider the wonderful power contained in the words uttered by Jesus on the cross, those seven last words which inspired the sweet heart of the Virgin Mother with an ardent wish to save and rescue sinners. O Mary, Mother of mercy, show thyself a merciful mother, especially towards those erring children, who have come here tonight, their hearts heavy with the burden of sin! I speak in the holy name of Jesus, for the greater honor and glory of God!

As it seemed good to the Lord to place a helpmate by the side of the earthly Adam, so we behold at the side of Jesus, the heavenly Adam, Mary, the Eve of the New Law; that, as by the fall of the first Adam and Eve the whole human race was plunged into an abyss of woe, so through the second–Jesus and Mary–rescued man was led to hope for heaven. It is true that, in the abstract, it was the merits of Christ alone which effected our redemption, yet, that its fruits might be imparted to man individually, Jesus was pleased to place by his side a mother–Mary–for the consolation and assistance of the human race.

Jesus merited; Mary distributes those merits. Therefore, God filled her heart with the most fervent affection for us, who have been born in sin, ensnared by numberless temptations, walking in the path to heaven, it may be, but in constant danger of going astray, and persecuted by the enemies of our salvation who rejoice when we make but one false step, hoping thereby that we will become their prey forever. Mary’s heart is filled with the most unspeakable compassion for us ; and no mother, of her own natural inclination, so fondly loves a child, so tenderly cares for its welfare, so untiringly watches over it in every danger, as does Mary in regard to the children of men; especially if they have had the happiness of receiving baptism as members of the Holy Catholic Church. “Come ye all to me, and be filled with my fruits.” Thus does Holy Church cry out to those who zealously walk under her protection and patronage in the way of perfection, the path which leads to the joys of heaven.

But with far more earnestness and devotion does this exclamation come forth from the mother of love and mercy to every soul that has fallen into sin. “Come back,” this tender mother cries: “forsake your sinful lives, and live for God.” The reason why the Saviour placed His mother beneath the cross is given by St. Bonaventure, in the following touching words: “Divine mercy was pleased to place beneath the world’s redeeming wood, a creature who would be wholly merciful, and her name is Mary.” Jesus did so that no sinner need ever despair, that no soul need be lost. St. Bernard says: “You dare not go to Christ because you have crucified Him, and, besides, He will one day be your Judge; but look at Mary, hasten to her; she is all mercy. In her, so tender, kind, and loving, there is nothing at which you could take alarm. She is a mother who will lead you to her Son; who will reconcile you through that precious blood He shed upon the cross, to His eternal Father.” Mary herself gave the same assurance to St. Bridget in a vision: “There is no sinner so great,” she said, “who, when he calls upon me and comes to me, will be cast off, and refused forgiveness.” During the earthly life of the Blessed Virgin, her heart burned with the desire to lead souls to Christ.

Oh, with what joy did she behold them return to the path of virtue after they had strayed therefrom, and to a life of sanctity after they had abandoned their evil ways! But, beloved in Christ, how immeasurably was this desire increased when she stood so near her dying Son, and heard the words uttered by His parched and livid lips:

“Father, forgive them; they know not what they do,” were the first precious words which welled up from the agonizing heart. The mother listened, and resolved to make it her dearest care to lead the sinner back to God, that the blood of Jesus might not be shed in vain. “O my Jesus!” was the prayer she put forth to her crucified Son, “I know well that for love of souls Thou didst choose this painfnl death, to deliver them from the curse of sin; therefore, I unite my petition to Thine, and cry with Thee: Heavenly Father, forgive! Receive my only-begotten Son; I offer Him to Thee with all His merits, together with my own, which I have gained by Thy divine grace, or may merit until the end of my life. Have mercy, I beseech Thee, upon the sinful children of men!”

“Amen I say unto thee; this day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise.”

Mary listened, and still her desire for the salvation of souls increased; for her compassionate heart shuddered at the terrible torments into which those who were lost would be plunged. And in proportion to the number saved by the life, death, and passion of Christ, will the glory and beatitude of the Sacred Heart be increased in heaven.

“Woman, behold thy son; son, behold thy mother.”

How precious are the words which fall from the dying lips of a beloved friend! How much dearer are they when it is an only son. Mary listened, and the wish of her heart grew still more intense, as the Saviour spoke, to save every soul. By these words He solemnly declared before heaven and earth that to Mary He bequeathed the children of Adam, that she might, through her intercession, aid in their salvation with the love, tenderness, and magnanimity which has marked her love for Him. And can we doubt that the sorrowful mother promised to do so? And the blood, which gushed from the five sacred wounds, fell upon her there, thus sealing the solemn promise she made to Christ.

“My God! my God! why hast thou forsaken Me?”

Mary understood the meaning of this complaint. Christ suffered, as it were, the punishment of separation from God, incurred on account of sin; but what more than all afflicted His heart, was the knowledge, that in spite of that blood He so freely shed for man amid temptations, trials, afflictions, and intense pain, for so many it would be shed in vain.

“I thirst!” It was not sufficient for the Saviour to deliver us from the curse of sin, but He would fain induce us to imitate His example, though life itself might be the penalty. Mary heard and understood the plaintive cry, and her wish grew stronger still to win souls for heaven, and console the Sacred Heart.

“It is consummated!” The work of redemption is finished, and Jesus leaves this world with the words: “Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.” “Behold the completion of the work for which Thou didst send me here.”

This perseverance unto the end is the perfect fulfillment of the divine will; but it is a grace which, in reality, not one of the saints in heaven who reached that happy home thereby merited of himself; but as Holy Scripture tells us, and the holy fathers unanimously assert, a solid and tender devotion to Mary is a certain sign of election. “Whosoever finds Me finds life, and draws salvation from the Lord,” says the Holy Ghost, through the Church, in reference to the ever blessed Virgin Mary.

“Father, into Thy hands I commend My Spirit.” With the most implicit confidence may her devoted clients, as this world recedes from their dying eyes, breathe forth the prayer which the Saviour uttered on the cross.

When St. John of God was dying, suddenly there appeared to him the pure and loving Mother of Jesus at the very moment that he had ceased to hope for that favor. But Mary, who had promised to be there, sweetly said to this faithful servant: “My dear son I never forsake my children in this solemn hour.” O sinners, do not lose courage, hasten to Mary, call upon her, seek her assistance, and she will help you to make a good confession! Draw from her bleeding heart those seven swords of grief which your sins have thrust therein,–the sword of delay in conversion, of impenitence, of scandal, of indifference in matters of religion, of disdain towards the Church and her ministers. Judas forgot to call upon her. O sinners, for Christ’s dear sake forget not so sure a refuge, who is ready to help, who longs to save your souls!

O Mary, with St. John we sink down at thy feet, even as if, with Him, thy adopted Son, we were now on Calvary, and cry out from the very depths of our contrite hearts: “O Mother of mercy, be merciful unto us, by the memory of those sorrows which thou didst endure upon the sacred mount. Obtain for us the grace of true contrition of heart, a life free from sin, and a happy death through Jesus Christ, our crucified Lord and Redeemer.–Amen!

“And when Jesus saw His Mother and the disciple whom He loved, He said: Behold thy Mother,”–St. John xix, 26.

Yesterday we considered St. John, the disciple of love; and his beautiful example pointed out to us, in the clearest manner, the conditions necessary for approaching the Table of the Lord, so as to partake of the heavenly food in a worthy manner; and, after its reception, to unite ourselves so intimately with Christ that our reception of the Holy Communion may be indeed like that of St. John, and produce in our souls the same effects of sanctifying love. Today the scene is changed.

Let us glance at him as he stands beneath the cross, beside Mary, the Mother of fair love, and learn no less expressly the conditions upon which we, ransomed sons of men, through the passion and death of Christ, may reap the fruits of the Redemption in their fullness for time and eternity. Today also his characteristic feature, as disciple of love, exemplifies these conditions. And why? Because the more sincere our love for Jesus, the more perfectly will our hearts be prepared to appropriate these fruits; and, from the wounds of our crucified Saviour to receive, without intermission, new distributions of grace.

O Mary, who, under the cross, didst adopt St. John as thy son, adopt us today in like manner as thy children, and obtain for us that love for Jesus which filled his fervent heart! I speak in the most holy name of Jesus, for the greater honor and glory of God!

If yesterday we beheld in spirit St. John at the Holy Table resting upon the Sacred Heart of Jesus, we learned also how fully he merited, above all the other Apostles, the title, “disciple of love.” And, on this day, so sad, so full of mournful memories, and yet replete with consolation too, we perceive that again he is favored, above all the other Apostles, in being allowed to stand by the Mother of Jesus beneath the cross. Oh, that we all would avail ourselves of the privilege, of being near Jesus–present in the Blessed Sacrament–by visiting and receiving the Son of God!

The fervent love which inflamed the heart of St. John shows us at once what will render our intercourse with Jesus like unto his. And now the love, which burned so brightly amid the spiritual joys of that holy eventide, retains its ardor toward the crucified One in all the desolation of this bitter hour. It glowed in the faithful heart of St. John on Calvary, and exercised a sublime influence upon the holiness of his after life.

To understand better what kind of affections they were which rendered St. John so dear and precious to his suffering Saviour, let us glance first at Mary– the, Mother of Sorrows, the Queen of Martyrs, and the type of all that is holy and beautiful in love–and think of the sentiments which filled her maternal heart as she endured each separate pain inflicted on her beloved Son, for it found its echo there. And these affections were mirrored in the dear disciple’s faithful heart, causing Jesus to give, before He left this world, His loving Mother an affectionate son. And what were the feelings of this blessed Mother in that solemn hour, when she beheld the consummation of what had begun some three and thirty years before? Compassion, adoration, thanksgiving, and perfect resignation to the most holy will of God.

Ah, yes! compassion. The sight of a poor body covered with wounds, bruised, and bleeding, always awakens it, especially if the sufferer be the innocent victim of malice; and this feeling is intensified if he be connected with us by the ties of love or blood. Imagine, then, the feelings of a loving mother when her darling child lies wounded or dying in her arms!

During one of my missions the following painful illustration of this came under my personal observation: Two children–two innocent little children– were at play in the yard near by their dwelling, where an elder brother was splitting wood. Unfortunately, the stroke of the axe fell on the hand of the little golden-haired boy of five–the youngest of the three. The hand was almost completely severed from the wrist, and was kept thereon only by a slender piece of skin. Horrified, the brothers carried the little one to his mother, who gave one look and fell fainting on the floor. Judge, then, of the grief of the Blessed Virgin, who possessed the feelings of a loving mother in the highest degree.

And yet, with the sharp sword of sorrow piercing her heart, she stood calmly by, and thought of the priceless value of those sufferings which Jesus underwent. She, who bore so large a part in the redemption of man–Queen of Apostles, and seat of divine wisdom–adored the decree of God, which was completed through the passion and death of Christ, that through the sufferings of a God mankind should be redeemed.

Mary’s heart was full of adoration combined with gratitude for her own election as Mother of the Redeemer. Gratitude that she was permitted to stand by the cross and nearest to Him. She thanked God that she was permitted to unite her sufferings with those of her divine Son; and that unto her was given to be mediatrix between Him and the human race. She bowed in meek submission, saying, as first she did in Nazareth: “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it done unto me according to Thy word.” Thus prayed the Mother of God, even while the shadow of the cross was darkening her future life, and the sword of grief, which Simeon promised, pierced through her very heart.

And in all this St. John, the beloved disciple, was her counterpart. He felt the most tender pity when looking up at the dying Saviour, now truly the Man of Sorrows. What a change in Him since the evening of the Last Supper, that Holy Repast, the intense joy of which could never be forgotten, and which proved the sweetest solace in the anguish of the present hour! There the Son of God appeared the most beautiful among the children of men; now, the glory was dimmed, and there was no comeliness in Him. St. John was also deeply grateful for having been chosen by Christ to walk by His side through life, to stand by Him in death. He, too, made the sacrifice of his own will, as the Blessed Mother did. Compassion, adoration, gratitude, and submission!

We, too, can participate in these affections; and we must do so, if we would share to the full extent in the merits of Jesus’s death. But will it suffice to stop at mere feeling? So far from it, that to think so would be one of the greatest illusions, and must be severely guarded against; for St. John tells us that we must love, not in words alone, but in deeds. That our love for the crucified One may prove itself as true, sacrificing, and faithful as that of St. John, let us keep ever in view the words spoken by Him upon the cross, which, falling upon the ear of affection strained to catch even the faintest whisper of his beloved Lord, illumined the soul of St. John for the rest of his life, and guided him in the way of salvation with their beautiful light.

Let us apply them to ourselves, and imagine that Jesus addresses us thus: “Souls redeemed by Me at the cost of such bitter anguish, if you love Me, sin no more; but profit by these my sufferings, and aim for the joys of heaven.” Ah, yes! my dearest brethren! when pleasure’s seducing cup is held to your lips, and you can not quaff therefrom without committing sin, pause then, and think of the weary years of pain which Jesus spent on earth! Think of that life of toil and trial crowned in the latter years by suffering and anguish such as the mind could never conceive, and an ignominious death, and all for you! Think of this, friends, and dash the poisoned cup away!

Yes, it was sin which crucified your Saviour; and St. John grieved over the slightest shadow of evil which might have fallen on his soul; but we may well believe that, after he listened to the words: “Father, forgive,” his beautiful soul was never stained with the smallest fault.

“Amen, I say to thee; this day thou shalt be with Me in paradise.” To St. John was granted the wonderful privilege of beholding the glories of heaven while yet on earth. Detach your hearts from the empty treasures of this world; for, if you would arise with Christ, seek first the things which are of Christ.

“Woman, behold thy son.” “Son, behold thy Mother.” St. John heard the words; he glanced at Mary, drew nearer, and threw himself at her feet beneath the cross. Then he embraced his adopted Mother with all the fervor of filial love. My dear brethren, show your love to Jesus by a tender devotion and love to Mary. Love her with a truly filial love; for Christ, according to St. Bridget and other spiritual writers, has given, in the person of St. John, the entire human race to Mary as her children.

“My God! my God! why hast thou forsaken Me?” Man’s life is a warfare; and, at times, it seems indeed as if we were entirely forsaken. Let us, then, like St. John, be ready to suffer every thing, and to give up our very lives rather than commit one single venial sin. Look, with the beloved disciple, at Jesus, the crucified One, and you will conquer and overcome.

“I thirst.” St. John listened. Jesus thirsts after souls, and this favored Apostle understood the mournful cry. And do you not think that he promised the Lord, as a true disciple, to spread His kingdom, and to labor for the salvation of souls, the value of which he saw more clearly in that solemn hour when he witnessed the incalculable cost of their redemption? Try, beloved in Christ Jesus, to imitate him in his zeal for the rescue of human souls.

“It is consummated.” Fidelity to the very end is the most convincing proof of true love, which “many waters can not quench,” as Holy Scripture affirms. Be faithful, then, O Christians, whose salvation has been purchased at such a price; and, for love of Him whose sufferings we commemorate tonight, falter not, but persevere until the last. And then when that awful day will dawn, which hath for you no night, or that evening twilight fall, of which you will never see the morn, with perfect hope you can sigh: “Come, my Jesus, come,” and yield up your spirit in the affections of your faithful love to Him with the longing desire of St. John, and the holy confidence of St. Francis Xavier. Ah, yes! then you may well cry out: “I have loved and trusted in Thee, O my God, and will therefore never be confounded. I die in Thy blessed arms, O Jesus, my Crucified Love.”–Amen!

“O death, where is thy sting?”–1 Cor. xv, 55.

If I, dearly beloved in Christ Jesus, have meditated with you upon the manifold miseries which drape our lives with the sable hue of gloom, I have also reminded you how Christ, the luminous Sun of justice, shines even amid this mournful night and brightens it with the most consoling rays of hope. There is, however, a still greater likeness between a dark and starless night and the condition of the departing soul. Oh, how terrible is the darkness which overshadows it at the approach of that moment which is to witness the separation of the soul from that body to which it has been so long and so intimately united–when it must depart alone, and, uncheered by the companionship of even one earthly friend, enter on a path all new and strange, “the house of its eternity!” The sight leaves the dim and fading eyes, and night comes for that dying man, although the sun’s bright glow may fill the room. But, alas! the shadows fall deeper still when despair sets in, and envelop the departing soul in a night of desolation and woe.

Yes, even to God’s saints has it been given to walk through the dark valley of bitter agony before they could enter the joys of heaven. The great St. Hilary trembled when his death hour approached, thinking of the words of St. Paul: “It is terrible to fall into the hands of the living God;” but, taking courage, he exclaimed: “What! You have served God for seventy years, and now are afraid to appear before Him. Fear not, my soul, but go forth to meet your God; ” and so he departed, full of holy hope.

Would you also, my brethren, be blessed with the sweet confidence of St. Hilary at the hour of death? It is in your power–for what animates the dying Christian who has faithfully served his Lord, is a glance at the crucifix which is placed in his hands; for Christ is the Sun which brightens the dark hour of death.

O Mary, Mother of a happy passage, as the twilight of life gathers over our souls, assist us by thy prayers, that our eyes may unclose upon the eternal day! I speak in the most holy name of Jesus, for the greater honor and glory of God!

As we read in the lives of the holy fathers in the desert, who lived in their little cells in Egypt, it came to pass that an Abbot of great renown lay on his dying bed. His spiritual children, who loved and revered him for his wonderful sanctity, gathered from far and near to witness that edifying death and pray for the departing soul. The face of the dying man was illumined with divine love as he uttered distinctly the words: “Behold, the choir of patriarchs approaches to meet me.” The hermits, in awe, remained silent, and ventured not to speak; when, after a short pause, there fell upon the listening group an exultant cry: “Behold, the venerable prophets are coming to meet me.”–After a brief silence his countenance became still more brilliant as, lifting up his voice, he exclaimed: “The apostles of Christ are here, and wish to bear me away to heaven.”–Another interval of silence; the lips of the venerable servant of God moved again; and on being asked with whom he was conversing, he replied: “The angels are here, and wish me to go with them, that they may introduce me to the joys of heaven; but I ask them to leave me here still longer, that I may perform more penance for my sins.” One of the fathers then said: “Venerable Abbot, you do not need to do longer penance.”–And behold, his face shone as if he were in an ecstasy of delight, and he cried: “Jesus my Saviour cometh!” and with these words the lovely dawn of a happy eternity broke upon his soul, as it went forth to dwell forever with God.

My dearest Christians, a similar halo of consolation may one day irradiate your dying bed, if you be but faithful, when Christ the Lord, not only in vision, but with body and soul, divinity and humanity, comes to your hearts. The priest will administer to you the Sacred Host as viaticum before you go to receive the reward of a well-spent life.

This blessed assurance which I give you, however, from this holy place, can not be offered to every dying person, but only to such as have believed and hoped and loved during life, and who have observed all the commandments of God and of His Church. Even they, as I said before, may in their last agony, by the permission of God, feel a great interior desolation for their greater purification, that they may enter at once into everlasting bliss.

We have considered the trials which, from the cradle to the grave, are the lot of man, in my discourse of yesterday, and beheld the five rays which come from the sorrowful heart of the agonizing Jesus, to encourage us amid these trials and troubles, and also in the many and violent temptations which will encompass the soul.

In the terrors of death’s dark night, my dear brethren, there will be seven consoling rays in the seven words which Jesus spoke upon the cross, and of those I will speak tonight.

“Father, forgive.” This is the first ray which illumines the night of death for the faithful child of the Church. It is a most sweet solace for those who have never offended God by mortal sin–who have ever cherished unspotted the white robe of their baptismal innocence. Alas! they are but few. We know that the angelic youth St. Aloysius received the tidings of his approaching death with the greatest joy, for he immediately entoned the Te Deum.

But few who pass the morning of life, not to speak of those who have borne the burdens of years, leave this world with their baptismal innocence unstained. I look around this sacred edifice and see before me a goodly multitude who have come hither to commemorate the Saviour’s death, and perhaps–alas! I fear is more than a perhaps–many of them have so deeply offended the crucified Saviour that conscience torments them and gives them no rest; and they say: “What will become of us if, in our dying moments, Satan holds up the long list of our offenses in all their enormity?” Do not despair: confess those sins with fervent sorrow; the blood of Jesus will wash the guilt away; else, why did He cry to the eternal God: “Father, forgive”?

It may be that, although you have sinned, you have already repented and sought reconciliation with God by a good confession. If so, how sweet those words for you: “Father, forgive”! And Who uttered them? The same Christ Who said to His Apostles and their successors in the holy ministry to the end of time: “Whose sins you shall forgive, they are forgiven them; and whose sins you shall retain, they are retained;”–the same Jesus Who, to strengthen you at the hour of death, instituted the sacrament of Extreme Unction, which washes away the least trace and stain of sin from the soul, and even the relics of sin. It is the same Saviour Who will forgive your sins at any time while the breath still lingers in your body, even at the very final moment, through the infinite merits of His passion and death. Yes, my brethren, He will do this if you but turn your dying eyes upon Him with a confiding and repentant heart; for a single drop of His precious blood, of which the value is infinite, would be sufficient to redeem a thousand worlds.

Why, then, O Christians–why should you despond? Christ is praying for you to the Father. He, the Lamb of God, Who taketh away the sins of the world, has He forgotten you? Detach your hearts from earthly goods and pleasures, for, believe me, what darkens the dying moments of so many Christians is an undue attachment to them. If a person, during the course of a long life, has set his heart upon the riches of this world and labored to amass its treasures, how grieved will he not be, at the hour of death, to feel that they are slowly but surely slipping from his grasp! Oh, then, “die daily” to the world! Seek first the Kingdom of heaven, and you may indeed cry out: “O death, where is thy sting?”

“This day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.” These consoling words were spoken by Christ upon the cross. Oh, what a flood of light they pour upon the obscure night of the departing soul! The thought–“I leave the delights and treasures of the world; but what are they in comparison to those which await me in heaven?”– inspires the heart with the wish to possess the goods of the Lord in the country of the living, and to enjoy that bliss of which St. Paul affirms: “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered the heart of man what God has prepared for those who love Him.”

What throws a shadow of gloom over the dying hour is the grief the sufferer feels at leaving behind the friends he sees weeping around his bed. This is a feeling from which even pious souls are not exempt. But, Christians, be consoled; Jesus from the cross cried out: “Woman, behold thy son! Son, behold thy Mother!” If you have honored Mary, like a good child, and followed her holy example, then will she assist you in your last moments, even though father, mother, sisters, and brothers should forsake you.

Oh, what a luminous ray of celestial light is contained in the thought: “The Holy Virgin will be with me; St. Joseph, the Archangel St. Michael, and all the saints whom I have begged to obtain for me a happy death, will surround me; my guardian angel will defend me from the spirits of evil, and strengthen me to resist their attacks.”

It is true that I must leave those who are dear to me, but I will be welcomed by those of my friends who await me in heaven. Oh, what joy to be forever united with them in a home where neither death nor sorrow can enter!

“My God! my God! why hast thou forsaken me?” Thus did Christ pray in accordance with the psalm which predicted His sufferings. The pious child of the Church need never complain that God has forsaken him. Christ comes to him in the viaticum, to strengthen his soul in the supreme moment of his last agony.

My friends, it is hard to die. Death is a punishment of original sin. But how encouraging the thought: “It is the act, the most precious act, by which I give back my life to Him Who bestowed it, if I so overcome myself that I resign myself willingly to His divine decree and unite my will so entirely to His as to desire this very death, in this very place, and in this very manner, and all because my loving Saviour wished it so.” If, beloved in Christ, you can meet death with such entire resignation, the flames of Purgatory will be extinguished for you, and your Lord and Judge will bid you enter at once into the joys of His heavenly home.

“I thirst!” This plaintive cry deeply affected the Blessed Virgin and St. John. Happy the Christian who has lived only for Jesus. At the hour of death his heart will be filled with the desire of the Apostle “who longed to be dissolved and to be with Christ;” and this the more because death takes from us the possibility of ever again committing sin.

“It is consummated.” What a sweet assurance of rest and peace is contained herein! The burning love from the heart of the dying Saviour illumines the words with the brightest rays of consolation and hope. “It is consummated.” The life of toil and sacrifice of three and thirty years is over; the cruel scourging, the sharp pain of the stinging thorns, the anguish of the crucifixion, are over: “Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.” O blessed eye which heralds the dawn of eternal glory! What a consoling ray of divine hope, not only for the Saviour, but for the Christian about to leave this world, if he too has been faithful unto death! How trifling will then be all the labors, toils, and mortifications he endured for the love of God, and how sweet the thought of the consequent bliss which awaits his soul!

Let us so regulate our lives that we may taste this sweetness not only at the close of life, but at the close of the day when we sink into sleep, “the image of death.” “It is consummated.” “Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.” One glance at the crucified Jesus is sufficient to inspire the heart with the certain hope that sustained St. Francis Xavier in his last moments, as he pressed His image to his lips: “O my crucified Love, I have trusted in Thee and will never be confounded.”

Dearest Jesus, so dispose our hearts in life that at the last dread hour You may appear to us as the glorious Sun of justice, to brighten with these sevenfold rays the gathering gloom which fain would darken our passage into eternity.–Amen!

Good Friday: The Greatest of All Sorrows

by Bishop Ehrler, 1891

“O all ye that pass by the way, attend, and see if there be any sorrow like to my sorrow.” (Lament, i : 12.)

I present to your pitying contemplation, this morning, my dear brethren, the mightiest, the most profound sorrow that earth has ever witnessed. It is not merely a single affliction, (such as is often endured by the human heart), but the sum of all suffering and woe, that fullness of all sorrow, united and enclosed in a single heart, and that heart, the sacred heart of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ! The King of martyrs, our divine Redeemer, appears, today, before our minds in bloody garments, saying to us: “Oh all ye that pass by the way, attend, and see if there be any sorrow like to my sorrow.” Who will refuse to compassionate Him, overwhelmed with the bitterest anguish for our salvation? Who can live through this day, of all others in the year, without being penetrated by the most profound and sincere compassion for the mangled and martyred Lamb of God?

Behold, how our holy Church, the Bride of the King of martyrs, laments for her beloved! She can not find words to express her deep, sharp pain. Clad in the garments of mourning, with anguish in her countenance, and tears in her eyes, she sits before the Cross of her Bridegroom, and tenderly bewails His sufferings and death. To each of her children she cries out, today; “Let tears, like a torrent, run down day and night; give thyself no rest, and let not the apple of thy eye cease. Arise, give praise in the night, in the beginning of the watches; pour out thy heart like water before the face of the Lord.” (Lament. 2: 18, 19.)

The bitter Passion of Jesus should always and continually engage the contemplation of our souls. Day and night, like the blessed in heaven, should we adore the wounds of our Redeemer; ever and always, should we weep with all holy souls over those sufferings which were borne for love of us. But today, my brethren, when all these agonies pass swiftly before our eyes, when the blood flows afresh, and the death-sweat oozes from his body, must not the stream of our tears, like a torrent, run down day and night? Ah! yes: the Passion and Death of our dear Redeemer reveal to us this Good Friday morning the greatest and deepest of all sorrows.

I. Because of the extreme torments suffered;

II. Because of the person who endured those torments; and

III. Because of the cruel cause of those torments.

I. Who can fathom the depths and the bitterness of the deep sea of human anguish? Who can count the tears that have been shed since the unhappy fall of Adam? Who can reckon the cries of woe and misery, of agony and despair, that have issued from the mouth of one single suffering man? Yet there has been no earthly sorrow which can even be compared with that of our Saviour. If ail the pains and miseries of the whole earth were collected together and united in one great mass of anguish, the sufferings of our Redeemer would far outweigh them all. So immense, so profound, so overwhelming were they, that only the mighty heart of the God-Man could endure them.

1. The prophet Isaias beheld in a vision the future sufferings of the Messias, and saw the holy Victim covered with blood and wounds; but when he attempted to paint the picture of the King of Martyrs, O then, my brethren, he was bewildered by the terrible, the awe-inspiring apparition. “Who hath believed our report? And to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed? He shall grow up as a tender plant before him, and as a root out of a thirsty ground; there is no beauty in him, nor comeliness; and we have seen him, and there was no sightliness that we should be desirous of him; despised, and the most abject of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with infirmity.” (Is. 53: 1-3).

“A worm, and no man; the reproach of men, and the outcast of the people,” (Ps. 21 : 7.), our Lord Jesus Christ has suffered all the pains which the soul can suffer. He has borne the excess of mental sufferings, such as anguish and fear, sorrow and desolation, dejection and dereliction–all that can inflict torture upon the heart of man. He cries out: “My soul is sorrowful even unto death” (Matt. 14: 34.); and then He sinks to the earth overcome by so fierce an agony that it forces a bloody sweat to issue from every pore of His sacred body. Each separate torment which He afterward endured in all the members of His body, He consented to suffer beforehand in His heart and soul. “Where is there a grief like unto my grief?”

2. Yes, my brethren, He suffered in every member of His sacred body. “From the sole of the foot to the top of the head, there is no soundness therein; wounds and bruises and swelling sores: they are not bound up, nor dressed, nor fomented with oil.” (Is. 1 : 6.) His head is crowned with piercing thorns; His eyes are filled with blood that streams from His wounded brow; His cheeks are bruised by the blows of a wicked servant; His hands and feet are pierced through with cruel nails; His heart is opened with a spear; His shoulders are torn with terrible lashes, and all His wounds are inflamed and widened by the repeated taking-off and putting-on of his sacred garments. “Where is there any sorrow like to my sorrow?”

He endured every kind of affliction–His bitter chalice contained every form and species of woe. As a babe, He was repulsed by His own creatures, and forced to accept as a birth-place, a cold and miserable stable. As a helpless and harmless child, He was threatened with death, and obliged to flee from His own country into a distant and barbarous land. When grown to manhood, His chosen people, to whom He had shown naught but kindness, whom He had loaded with favors and benefits, despised and persecuted Him. They said: “He hath a devil,” and they sought to take His life. They tried to rob Him of His honor and reputation. He was betrayed by one of His own disciples, and sold by him for a contemptible sum of money, and this under the mask of friendship. He was deserted by His cherished disciples, who had sworn to follow Him unto death. He was bound with cords, and led forth like a criminal amid the wild clamor of His enemies. He was falsely accused, and dragged about from one tribunal to another. He was mocked and despised; a murderer and robber was preferred before Him. He was deprived of His clothing before the eyes of the whole people, and thus, stripped naked, was nailed to the cross: and even on the cross He was scoffed at and denied unto the end. Indifference and cowardice, human respect and treachery, hypocrisy, derision, malice, in fact, every kind of evil, had a share in His torments. “Where is there any sorrow like to my sorrow?”

He suffered from every class of men, priests and laymen, princes upon their thrones, and the scum of the people; strangers who knew Him not, and those of His own race; pagans who persecuted Him through ignorance, and Jews who had been instructed in the Law; soldiers hardened by cruel warfare, and judges who were appointed to protect the innocent; the ignorant who were the blind tools of the malignant Pharisees, and the learned who were filled with evil wisdom–all conditions of human society, all degrees of rank, became His enemies. He had not one executioner alone (as has the greatest criminal), but hundreds and thousands of them. “Where is any sorrow like unto my sorrow?”

He suffered throughout His whole earthly career, since no moment of it was free from pain and affliction. All the days of His life, the awful vision of His future sufferings stood out clearly before His omniscient eye, filling His soul with unspeakable woe and dread. Death itself did not put an end to the outrages heaped upon Him; for when He hung lifeless upon the cross, His enemies continued to wreak then vengeance upon His sacred remains. They pierced His side with a lance; they sealed up His grave and placed a watch upon it so that “that deceiver,” as they called Him, might not come forth from the tomb. Jesus, as St. John remarks, knew ” all things that were to come upon him.” (John 18:4.) “My sorrow is continually before me,” the Psalmist says in His person. (Ps. 37 : 18.) “My enemies have trodden on me all the day long; for there are many that make war against me.” (Ps. 55 : 3.)

3. Where is there sorrow equal to His sorrow? He suffered all these pains and sorrows from those who had been His friends, and for whose salvation He had descended from heaven to earth. His people, chosen before all the nations of the earth, whom He had led out of Egypt, fed with manna in the desert, opened the fountain of living water in the hard rock; whose enemies He had subdued, through whose cities, towns, and villages He went about blessing and doing good–this, His chosen people, prepared all these afflictions and humiliations for Him, their Messias. “The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib; but Israel hath not known me.” (Is. 1 :3.) “I have brought up children, and exalted them, but they have despised me.” (Is. 1 :2.) Hearing these lamentations of our outraged God, must we not again exclaim: What sorrow is like unto His sorrow!

4. He endured all these sufferings without the least alleviation. No earthly consolation was offered Him, for His disciples had all fled; no heavenly comfort was sent to lighten His pain. He offered Himself willingly to suffer, and He wished to drink the bitter chalice even to the dregs. For this reason, He refrained Himself as far as possible from the succors of His Divinity, so that He might be, as it were, abyssed in the very depths of sorrow. “I have trodden the wine-press alone, and of the Gentiles there was not a man with me.” (Is. 63 : 3.) “I looked for one that would grieve together with me, but there was none; and for one that would comfort me, and I found none. And they gave me gall for my food; and in my thirst, they gave me vinegar to drink.” (Ps. 68 : 21, 22.)

In heart-felt sympathy, my brethren, let us, today, contemplate this deep ocean of suffering, for to nothing else can the great and bitter sorrows of our Redeemer be compared. “Let tears like a torrent run down day and night: give thyself no rest, and let not the apple of thy eye cease.” The earth, the elements, and all inanimate nature once trembled on this day with grief and compassion for the mangled Lamb of God, and shall we, for whose salvation He was slain, alone remain indifferent? Let us fall upon our knees before our crucified Jesus,–let us venerate His sorrows, and detest with bitter tears the sins which caused His unspeakable sufferings.

II. Consider next, my beloved Christians, the dignity of the Person who endured those sufferings.

1. Who is this Man of Sorrows who appears before us, with torn and bleeding body and pierced heart?” Who is He that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bosra?” we ask in astonishment with the prophet Isaias. (Is. 63 :1.) “Why then is thy apparel red, and thy garments like theirs that tread the wine-press?” (Is. 63 : 2.) No human heart is strong or heroic enough to carry such a burden of sorrow, without being crushed, broken, annihilated! Ah, my beloved, the Man of Sorrows is the only-begotten Son of God–the strong and mighty Deity, who, for love of us, has borne all these torments; who in order to make satisfaction for our sins, took their crushing weight upon Himself and suffered in our stead. He, the Man of Sorrows, saw the want and misery of the earth, He saw the corruption of sin which had opened the abyss of hell, and closed the gates of heaven. From the throne of His heavenly glory, He looked down with grief upon the earth, and saw that only His own almighty hand could rescue it from its extreme and hopeless wretchedness. The prayers and sacrifices of centuries had been inadequate to appease the divine wrath. Neither Angel nor Archangel could make the requisite satisfaction to the offended majesty of God, or deliver the world from its impending ruin. Penetrated with an incomprehensible love, the Divine Word cries out to His heavenly Father: “Sacrifice and oblation thou wouldst not; but a body thou hast fitted to me . . . then said I, behold I come . . . that I should do thy will, O Lord!” (Heb. 10: 5-7.) “The Father did not lay the cross upon His Son without His consent,” says St. Cyril, “but the Son has given Himself for us on the cross, and the Father has agreed to it, so that the mystery of salvation might be accomplished.” (St. Cyril.)

2. The Man of Sorrows bore within Him a divine heart, and He suffered with the strength and supernatural power of a divine being. It is true that while He suffered intensely in His human nature, the divine nature was incapable of suffering, yet the divine, being united with the human nature, could not but sympathize with the sufferings of the latter. Indeed, Christ as God wished to sympathize with and share the sufferings of His humanity, so that, thereby, a sacrifice of infinite value might be offered to His Heavenly Father, as an infinite atonement for our sins. Where is there a sorrow like unto this sorrow?

Go through all the ranks of human beings, my dear Christians, and contemplate the misery which meets you on every side. Ponder well the greatest sorrow that has ever been the portion of any earthly creature, and you will acknowledge, after all, that it is only the suffering of a human heart. For all its depth and intensity it is only the trembling outcry and complaint of a finite human soul. But the sorrow which Jesus Christ endured, contains within its unfathomable depths–the unsearchable emotions of an incarnate God! Again: were it possible for the Angels of heaven to experience pain; nay, more, if they accepted it with the whole power of their angelic nature, the united sufferings of all that multitude of mighty spirits compared with those of our Redeemer, would be only as a soft sigh which trembles for a moment on the summer air. Where is sorrow like unto his sorrow?

3. Behold, again, this Man of Sorrows, and meditate upon the lessons of His wounds. Consider not merely that grand, divine Heart which bears human suffering with superhuman strength, but, if you would still further sound the depths of Christ’s excessive sorrow, contemplate, also, that sacred body which is led like a lamb to the slaughter. Not a human body formed from base and sinful dust of the earth is the body of Jesus Christ, but a miracle of the omnipotence and wisdom of God. It is a wonderful creation formed by the Holy Ghost in the immaculate womb of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary. Not merely royal blood flows through His veins, the tender plant from the root of Jesse, but this body is created by the divine operation of God Himself. As all the works of God are more perfect, the clearer and the more forcibly they show forth His power; as the manna which the Lord sent from heaven was sweeter and more exquisite than any earthly food; as the wine which our Saviour created at the marriage of Cana was finer than any juice of the vine; as Adam, the first man, had a most beautiful and perfect human body, because God Himself had formed it from the slime of the earth–so the body of Jesus Christ was more wondrously beautiful and perfect than that of any other human being. It was fine and delicate and perfect beyond all creatures, and formed with special capabilities for suffering. He was appointed to be the Lamb of God, to bear, and to take away, the sins of the world. According to the will of God, as well as through the nature of His holy body, the humanity of our Redeemer must have felt all His pains and sorrows much more keenly and intensely than could any other human body. The greatest and sharpest agony struggled and raged in the most sensitive and delicate of vessels; but through the will of God and the love of our Saviour, the vessel, not being able to break, endured and felt that extraordinary anguish to the bitter end. The fiercest fire, finding the most inflammable material, continues, without consuming or annihilating it, to feed upon it with ever increasing violence, as long as divine Justice requires the holocaust! Where is there a sorrow like unto this sorrow?

4. “Go forth, ye daughters of Sion; and see King Solomon in the diadem wherewith his mother crowned him in the day of his espousals.” (Cant. 3:11.) Behold your Bridegroom, who has delivered you through such exceeding sorrow, and has espoused Himself to your soul at such a great price! Not only will we fall down in adoration and extol the sufferings of our Redeemer, but lovingly we will raise up our eyes to the King and Bridegroom of our souls, and gratefully consecrate the love of our hearts to Him, the Incarnate God, who has given the whole of His divine and human nature to suffer for our redemption!

III. Come now, my dearly beloved, and descending once more into the deep abyss of our Saviour’s Passion, let us search with sincere earnestness for the cause of these terrible sufferings, this ineffable sorrow.

1. On account of our sins, my brethren, the Son of God came down from the glory of heaven. A great invalid lay suffering upon the earth, and a great Physician must needs appear to save and heal him. Love moved the good Samaritan Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, to take pity on sick humanity, and to offer to His heavenly Father the atonement for our sins. But was it necessary that our Saviour should suffer so much and so deeply? Would not a single sigh from his divine Heart have sufficed to appease the wrath of the Eternal Father? Certainly; one single drop of His precious blood was sufficient to cleanse the whole world from sin. A single work of our divine Saviour is everlasting and infinite in its redeeming power. Then, wherefore, has He borne the supreme measure of sorrow? Why did He wish to drain the bitter chalice to the dregs? It was to expiate our sins in general, as well as in particular. Every sin that has been or will be committed upon the earth He, in His character of Mediator, has atoned for. “Behold the man,” cried out Pilate, as he presented the scourged and bleeding Redeemer to the gaze of the Jewish people. “O, Pilate!” we must exclaim, “thou hast announced a deep truth!” Before us stands the Man who has taken upon Himself all the sins of the human race, and who bears them and atones for them in His own body. Before us stands the Man in whom we can see our sins and their punishment. “Surely He hath borne our infirmities, and carried our sorrows; and we have thought Him as it were a leper, and as one struck by God and afflicted. But He was wounded for our iniquities, He was bruised for our sins; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and by His bruises we are healed.” (Is. 53 : 4, 5.)

2. Contemplate, today, the sufferings of our Saviour, my beloved brethren, and see if there is one sin which He has not taken upon himself and expiated. Consider first, our individual sins, and in them you will recognize all the sins of the world. Faithless and ungrateful, humanity has turned away from the the good God, and bartered His friendship and love for the miserable wages of sin. The disciples, fleeing, abandon their divine master; Judas betrays Him for thirty pieces of silver; His enemies take Him prisoner, and bind Him like a criminal; they drag Him from one tribunal to another. Behold the man who continues in his vices, who is not satisfied with one sin or one insult to the Lord! They weave a crown of thorns and press it upon His head; they place a reed in His hand, and clothe Him in a garment of mockery. Behold the man who raises his head proudly and haughtily, who would elevate his throne as high as the stars in heaven! They scourge Him with cruel lashes, until His sacred body, which is exposed naked to the gaze of the rabble, is covered with blood. Behold the man who shamelessly wallows in the lusts of the flesh, rejoicing in them, and defiling his body with the filth of iniquity. Pilate releases a murderer, and condemns innocence to death. Behold the man who, full of envy, and jealousy, grudges his neighbor his position, or his fortune. They pierce His hands and feet with cruel nails. Behold the man who misuses his members for sin, whose feet hasten upon the road to ruin, and whose hands are greedily stretched forth towards injustice. They give Him gall and vinegar to drink. Behold the man who indulges in gluttony, and gratifies all his sensual appetites! They mock Him in His sufferings, and cry out to Him: “If thou art the Son of God, come down from the cross!” Behold the man who, in his anger, knows no limit to his hatred and revenge! In death, they pierced His Sacred Heart; and at the same time they pierced the soul of the man who had given away his heart to strange gods. Behold the man of sin! Behold the man of punishment!” It is not the Redeemer and the Saviour,” each one of us might exclaim, “that hangs before me upon the cross, it is I myself whose sins he has borne and atoned for, it is the man of sin that is crucified in Him!”

“What was the cause of Thy suffering, O Son of God?” exclaims St. Anselm. “I was the scourge of Thy pain; I the cause of Thy death; I the sting of Thy torments; I the ground of Thy condemnation. O marvelous verdict, O mysterious dispensation! The wicked sin, and the just is punished; the guilty commit the offense, and the innocent atones for it; the master pays for what the servant has broken; God becomes surety for the debts of man.”

3. Wherein lies the cause of all these incomprehensible sufferings of our Saviour? He did not wish merely to bear all the sins of the world in His afflicted person, but, also, to make an everlasting and superabundant satisfaction for us, in order to lay up for us an everlasting and superabundant merit. “Christ has paid much more than we owed,” says St. Chrysostom; “as much as the ocean exceeds a drop of water, so much do Christ’s merits exceed our guilt.” (Hom. 20 in Epist. ad. Rom.) This superabounding merit of Christ does not merely blot out all the stains of sin and its punishment in us, but it, also, wins for us in the richest measure all the graces necessary to our souls for the gaining of everlasting life. As the good Samaritan did not merely raise up the wounded man from the wayside, and wash his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, but, also, out of love, placed him upon his horse, and brought him to an inn, and left money for his further care, so our Redeemer, the genuine Good Samaritan, does not simply heal the wounds of Our hearts through His atonement; but, also, gives us, through His holy Passion, all graces in the highest degree. He would reveal to the world His everlasting love and its great power; therefore has He suffered so much for us. As the loving pelican opens its breast and gives its own life-blood to feed its famishing brood, so does Jesus, our Pious Pelican, nourish and strengthen our souls with His own sacred Blood, the last drop of which He shed for us.

Today, then, my beloved brethren, let us descend into the holy mystery of the Passion of our Lord. And when we have gone down into the deep well whence such streams of suffering and sorrow burst forth, each one of us may strike his breast remorsefully, and cry out to himself in bitter sorrow: “Thou art the cause of all these innumerable sufferings of Thy Redeemer!” Our sins have prepared these pains for our loving Saviour. Therefore “let tears, like a torrent, run down day and night: give thyself no rest, and let not the apple of thine eye cease.” Today, at least, dear Christians, let us pour out our hearts like water before the face of the Lord. When King David learned and recognized of old the justice of God in his family, and when the punishing hand of the Lord was revealed to him, then that royal penitent “kept a fast, and going in by himself, lay upon the ground. And the ancients of his house came to make him rise from the ground, but he would not: neither did he eat meat with them.” (2 Kings 12: 16, 17.) So let us spend in the holy practice of prayer and penance this solemn day, in which the Justice and the Mercy of God have been so clearly revealed to us: and let us promise the Lord, my dear brethren, at the foot of His cross that, henceforth, we will never again renew His endless sufferings, and unspeakable sorrows, by any future relapses into sin. Amen.

[phantom-of-the-keurig]

☆ Bitter Revelations ☆

Chapter 3: Hard Truths (Read it on Ao3 here)

………

The journey from Thrawn’s office to their newly assigned living quarters had been a silent one. Threepwood had splintered off at some point, muttering something about wanting to stop by the commissary. He hadn’t offered for Cody to join, and Cody hadn’t asked.

That was over two hours ago. Not that Cody minded. The silence was -

Who is Rex?

- unceremoniously interrupted by a series of beeps from across the room.

Cody sighed. “You’re supposed to be rebooting,” he replied pointedly.

Eve chirped mischievously. Cody didn’t bother to look up from the holophoto in his hand; he knew that Eve was probably already trying to creep away from her charging station. As sneaky as the little seeker droid thought she was, Cody could map her path across the room without so much as a glance.

Feigning indifference, Cody listened as Eve slid from the desk against the opposite wall and plopped onto the ground. Her tiny, durasteel legs padded across the floor as she quickly scampered behind the footlocker at the end of his bunk. He only had to count to three before she made a sudden break for the nearest leg of his bunk. He smiled, despite his sour mood, and Eve scampered up the rail like a kowakian monkey-lizard before landing with a soft thunk beside him.

Cody huffed. Eve released a handful of triumphant whistles and rewarded herself by pouncing onto his shoulder. In all reality, Cody had no one to blame but himself; he was the one that had decided using a BD unit as her foundation was a good idea.

They were called Buddy Droids for a reason.

Eve nuzzled his neck and fluttered around to get a better look at the photo in his lap. Who is that? she inquired with a slow, gentle blink of her eye.

“That one is Fives,” Cody said, holding the frame up with one hand and pointing with the other. “And that’s Echo.”

Eve trilled, one of her front most appendages reaching out to eagerly tap against another figure within the photo. Who is that? she repeated.

Cody sighed. “That’s me.”

His regret was swift and immediate as Eve began to laugh. The droid chirped and warbled as she bounced from one shoulder to the other; the white rim of her eye constricted to a tiny dot within the center of her orbital socket.

“Very funny.” Cody rolled his eyes, but there was no bitterness behind it. He had never enjoyed being laughed at, but for some reason found it endearing when Eve did so.

Perhaps the Cody of ten years ago would have thought such a profound friendship with a droid to be absurd, but the Cody of the present day was grateful for whatever companionship he could find- even if it came in the form of a bite-sized droid with too much loyalty and too little self-preservation.

It wasn’t like he had many options. Clones were incredibly social by nature, having been engineered from birth to depend on their brothers through the formation of close knit bonds. But he hadn’t seen another clone besides Threepwood in years, and none of the natural born troopers wanted anything to do with an old relic like him.

More often than not, Cody wondered why Threepwood even bothered to put up with him.

The gears inside Eve’s legs whirled as she tapped at his cheek once, twice, three times before Cody finally blinked. His brain fought to play catch up, having grown sluggish from his darker inner musings, as Eve pointed at the final figure within the photo.

Who is that?

“Rex,” Cody said softly. “That’s Rex.”

Who is Rex?

There it was again. That question Cody had no clue how to answer. Never mind to a droid; he had no idea how to explain it to himself. Did he answer with what Rex once was? A brother, a friend, someone Cody would have laid down his life for without a second thought?

Or did he answer with what Rex was now? How did he explain to Eve that Rex had been the subject of nightmares that had plagued him ever since the 332nd Company had been declared KIA? Was it even possible to explain that Rex had haunted him for over a decade, a shadow that lingered in the back of his mind and only emerged when Cody felt he had finally conquered his grief?

There was another answer he could give the droid, one that he still couldn’t wrap his head around; Rex was a traitor.

Cody gripped the edges of the holophoto so tight that the frame began to creak. Eve beeped in alarm. It was only when she began to pry at his hands that he came back to himself, the room spinning and his jaw aching from how firmly he had clenched it.

“Sorry,” Cody gasped, tossing the photo away as if it had burned him. It clattered against the floor and skidded beneath his desk. Cody scrambled further back on the mattress until his back met the wall. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - ”

Okay? Cody okay? Eve will call Threepwood -

“No,” Cody barked. Eve locked up, the sudden stillness beside him making him flinch. Cody exhaled, counting backwards from ten in his head and extending his hands as he opened and closed his fists. “No,” he tried again, softer this time. He cleared his throat. “That’s all right Eve, I’m fine.”

Promise?

He nodded, still running through whatever vague breathing exercise he could remember from his training on Kamino. “Promise.”

Cody closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. He counted all the way up to one-hundred, and then did it three more times before he felt his heart start to slow. He felt defective, having to rely so heavily on a technique that was taught to cadets after their first live-fire simulation inevitably went wrong. He hadn’t needed it back in the war, not even when he found himself pinned beneath a gunship on Anaxes.

Anaxes. Rex. His chest constricted. Cody drew a shuddery breath and, reluctantly, began to count again.

………

Cody hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until the door hissing open made him jump. Threepwood paused, a ration bar in each hand, and titled his helmet to the side.

“Are you, uh - ”

“I’m fine.” Cody waved the other trooper off and rubbed at his stiff neck.

“Well, if you say so.” Threepwood shrugged.

Eve, sensing an opportunity, scurried away from where she had curled up beside Cody and charged at Threep. He yelped, swatting at the droid as she clambered up his armored legs.

“What the hell is this - ”

Before he could do more than just protest, Eve snatched one of the ration bars from Threep’s hand and retreated back to Cody. Like a loyal Massiff fetching a hover ball, Eve dutifully dropped the stolen bar on his lap. He smirked, and Threepwood glared.

“That droid,” Threep began, leaning against the frame of their bunk and brandishing his remaining ration bar like a blade, “That droid isn’t right.”

Cody refused to dignify such an accusation with a response. He had built EV-3 himself, and he knew she was perfect. Instead, he unwrapped the ration bar Eve had claimed for him and began to pick at it.

Threepwood groaned, and tossed his empty wrapper at Cody. “You’re impossible.”

Threep stormed off to the attached refresher. Eve beeped lowly, rounding on the wrapper as if it were a piece of prey. Clutching the offending item in her frontmost appendages, the droid quickly deposited it on the top bunk for Threepwood to later collect.

Cody patted the top of her head when she returned. “Attagirl, we’ll show him yet.” He scoffed, leaning forward to launch his own wrapper onto Threep’s bed. “Not right,” he muttered, settling back against the wall. Eve climbed onto his lap and he patted her head again. “Only thing not right is him. ‘S why they stuck him with me back on the garrison. Someone had to keep an eye on him.”

“Stars above,” Threepwood cursed from the ‘fresher. He popped his head out, having dressed down to the dark body glove beneath his armor. “Will you please stop talking to the damn droid?”

“I either talk to the droid or I have to talk to you,” Cody shot back.

Threepwood narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying you’d rather chat with the droid than with me?”

“Absolutely.”

The look of disbelief and utter disappointment on Threep’s face almost made him laugh.

“That’s cold, Commander. Stone cold.” Threepwood’s face retreated back within the refresher, but his voice echoed back out. “I don’t remember you always being so ornery, sir. Maybe my memory has gone a bit wonky, but I could have sworn you were pleasant once upon a time.”

Threep’s use of Commander and sir, despite them being off duty, and the impish tone of his voice told Cody that his remark was meant in jest. This was the part Cody was supposed to grumble back something about how Threepwood had always been annoying, and Cody had never been pleasant.

But that wasn’t true.

Cody stilled, his retort stuck in his throat. Threepwood was right. He hadn’t always been so difficult to be around. And it hadn’t always been so unpleasant inside his own head. Back then, when the only other soldiers were clones like him, Cody hadn’t been known as a bitter, fractious Commander that would snap at the smallest of slights.

“Hey,” Threep was back beside him, nudging his shoulder. Cody wasn’t sure when he had got there. “I was just kidding, you know that … right?”

“Right, yeah,” Cody said softly. He rubbed at the back of his neck again, uncomfortable under Threepwood’s concerned gaze.

“I was kidding about the droid too,” Threepwood said earnestly.

“I know that, Threep.” His voice may have been sharper than he had intended, as Threepwood held up his hands in surrender.

“All right, okay, just - ” Threepwood sighed and pressed off the bunk onto his feet. “Just making sure..” He trailed off, suddenly distracted by something.

Cody dropped his hands from where they had been irritably rubbing at his face. He watched cautiously as Threepwood crossed the room and kneeled to pick something off the ground. It only took a moment for Cody to recognize it, and he groaned, falling back on his bunk.

He wasn’t in the mood for this conversation.

“Where did - ”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cody said. He held out his hand over the side of the bunk. “Just give it here.” When nothing appeared in his hand, and Threepwood failed to move, Cody snapped his head to the side and growled. “Threepwood.”

The other trooper looked entranced as he took in the holophoto that Cody knew by heart. Cody leaned up on his elbows and emphasized his open hand with an impatient shake.

“Threepwood,” he barked. “Give it to me.”

“I’ve never seen this before,” Threep murmured. It seemed to take an immense amount of effort for him to tear his eyes away. “Why haven’t you, I mean...are you supposed to still have this?”

“Are you going to report me, trooper?” Cody challenged.

Threepwood’s eyes went steely. He tossed the holophoto none too gently, and it bounced off Cody’s chest. “No, I’m not going to report you. Sure as hell like to, maybe then you could get your ass reconditioned and come back how you used to be.”

Cody wasn’t sure who threw the first punch. One moment he was launching himself from his bunk, and the next he and Threepwood were trading blows and knocking against the floor like a pair of feral cadets. He tasted blood in his mouth and something wet on his face, while the bridge of Threep’s nose looked like it had been shifted to the side.

It was Eve frantically shocking the hell out of them with one of her scomp links that finally drove them apart. Cody heaved and wiped at his face. His palm came back bloody. Eve danced about his feet, whimpering, and he immediately opened his arms for her to leap into.

Eve did no such thing. She cowered away from him, and then turned tail to retreat beneath the bunk. It felt like someone had shot a blaster at his heart.

What the hell is wrong with you?” Threepwood spat from the opposite side of the room. His arm was wrapped around his ribs, his shoulder pressed against the wall for support. “First you nearly have an aneurysm on Seelos, then you act like you’re about to take that blasted helmet and run in Thrawn’s office - ”

“Don’t - ” Cody hissed, but Threepwood ripped himself from the wall and marched forward.

“Shut up, shut up, I’m not finished!” Threepwood doubled over and wheezed. Instinctively, Cody reached out to steady him, but Threepwood slapped his hand away with a snarl. “And then, oh but this is the best part, then the Grand Admiral starts teasing some stupid plan about capturing Rex. And I’m thinking ‘oh this isn’t good, Rex is a traitor and all, but the Admiral wants us to bring him in so he can put him on display like a piece of art’. But you - !”

Threepwood lashed out, shoving Cody back against the wall. “You fell for it! Head over heels, there you went! Thrawn had you like a Hutt has slime and you didn’t even notice!”

“Notice what?” Cody shouted back.

“That after we bring the captain back, Thrawn is gonna string our sorry asses up and mount us on that wall right next to Rex!”

Cody bristled. His blood suddenly ran cold. “What exactly are you suggesting, trooper?”

Threepwood threw his hands up and groaned. “That we get the hell out of here, before we end up as some wall decoration.”

“That’s treason,” Cody whispered. He lurched forward, gripping onto Threepwood’s shoulders. “Listen to me, you can’t say things like that,” Cody pleaded, shaking Threepwood for emphasis. “It’s not our place to question the Grand Admiral’s intentions, and if someone heard you talk like that - ”

Cody paused as his throat began to close up. His eyes watered. He brought one shaky hand from Threepwood’s shoulder to rest against his cheek. “They’ll take you away, Threep. They won’t just recondition you, they’ll decommission you. And I - ” Cody shuddered and shook his head. “I’ve lost so many brothers already, Threep, I can’t lose you too.”

He bowed his head in shame, hiding the bitter tears that burned across his face, and waited for Threepwood to tear into him. But instead of another blow, or a revamp of Threep’s earlier ravings, Cody found himself crushed against the other trooper’s chest. He froze, petrified Threepwood was about to slam him into the ground, but his brother only continued to embrace him. Eventually, Cody’s brain caught up.

This was a hug. Threepwood was hugging him.

The realization only made him openly weep. He hadn’t hugged someone since he and Gree had said goodbye on Coruscant. Gree had died after that, and if hugging Threepwood meant he would die too -

“You’re not gonna lose me, Cody. I promise.” Threepwood was just as much of a mess as Cody was, and they made a sorry pair as they clung to each other, battered and bruised. Threep patted his head, and Cody winced. “Sorry.”

“‘S fine,” Cody mumbled, feeling dead on his feet. “Since when do you hit so hard?” Threepwood actually threw back his head and laughed. Cody could only manage a lopsided grin.

“I dunno, I think you might just be getting old.”

“Shut up,” Cody groaned. “I’m only two years older than you.”

“Yeah, but you sure as hell have a lot more grey than me.”

Reflexively, Cody carded a hand through his hair. It was true, but it didn’t mean he liked it. “Shut up,” he said again, but nodded in the direction of the ‘fresher. “Go get cleaned up, yeah?”

Threepwood nodded and limped ahead. The moment the hydraulic door hissed closed, Eve waddled out from her hiding spot. Cody kneeled, and something twisted in his chest when the droid hurried to him but paused just outside of his reach.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he said gently. “Guess we got carried away. Brothers fight sometimes, ya know?”

Eve pointed an accusatory pincer at his face. Okay?

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little bruised.”

Threepwood beat you up?

Cody scoffed. “No, Threepwood did not beat me up, thank you very much.”

There was a small hum as Eve’s internal processor mulled it over. Finally, she chirped, and shuffled closer. Eve saw. Threepwood beat you up.

“Okay, fine. He beat me up. He got me real good, see?” Cody put forth his best grimace and clutched his side. “Ouch - that really hurts.” When Eve still wasn’t convinced, he let himself teeter over to the side with a mock yelp.

His bluff paid off, and Eve flew forward. She crowded around his head, beeping unhappily as she poked and prodded at his face. The droid continued to scold him as she fetched a series of bacta patches from his locker. She made the perfect reluctant medic, and her fretting reminded him of-

Cody closed his eyes. Dwelling on his brothers wouldn’t do him any good. His brothers were all but gone. And, he thought darkly, even if they were around, they probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him.

Distantly, he hoped at least Rex would be happy to see him.

[char-thenerd]

Flight of the Mind 

Part 25 

Series Masterlist

A/N:  HELLO IM BACK FROM THE DEAD!!! Thank you for your continued patience with me this last month but Its finished finally.  Also I should say i didn’t really edit this so it might be terrible.  however I love you all! Hope you have a wonderful afternoon! 

Y/n and Seonghwa had assumed their small moment of passion together had gone unseen, but they didn’t realize that they had made a mistake until it was too late.  When they returned to the castle they didn’t even have a moment to rest before they were called to the throne room, unaware of the fate that would shortly befall them. 

 Once they both stood in front of the throne Queen Hyuna snapped her fingers and guards quickly restrained them both, ridding Seonghwa of his weapons.  

“I expected better of the two of you.” She said once the guards forced them to kneel “Lady Lisa has shown me that you two have broken your vows to be loyal to me and only me.” 

“What do you mean?”  Y/n asked panicking. 

“Your dating ban, we have seen your relationship, sealed with a kiss.” Lady Lisa responded with a small smirk.  

“She’s lying we would never-“ Seonghwa started to defend before being cut off by the queen slamming her hands down on the arms of her throne. 

“DO NOT LIE TO ME!” She yelled eyes ablaze with fury. “The photo of your passion is enough proof that you two are obviously weak and I can not allow the weak to continue at my side.  For this indiscretion, the two of you will be publicly executed to remind the people what I do to those who cross me and disobey my orders. It will occur tomorrow, for now take them to the dungeons.”  She finished with a flourish of her hand, before the guards holding them pulled them to their feet and completed what Hyuna had ordered them to do,  with both y/n and Seonghwa fighting and screaming every step of the way.  Seonghwa nearly escaped when they reached the cell by kneeing one of the guards in the crotch but he was quickly subdued again by another guard standing by and forced back into the dark cell knocking y/n over in the process. After making sure y/n was alright and not hurt by the force he was thrown onto her, seonghwa attempted to find some way out of the cell angry with himself that they had been caught, while y/n just seemed resigned to the fact that she was to die, simply accepting their fate.  After watching him struggle for nearly half an hour y/n spoke attempting to pull his attention away from the obviously impossible attempts he was making. 

“Seonghwa, You of all people should know that there’s no way to get out of here.” 

“There has to be a way,” he responded quietly before raising his voice to a yell in anger “I’m not going to let you die because of my mistake!”

“Seonghwa this is just as much my fault as it is yours, you can’t take all of the blame.”  Y/n retorted attempting to keep her voice calm, despite the fear and anger she was feeling. After waiting a minute she approached him from behind and began rubbing his back, his wings fluttering slightly “We both need to accept the blame, but if we truly are to die, I would rather spend the time we have left together in peace, and not wasting our energy on something we both know is pointless and allowing anger to get the better of us.” At the end of her words, seonghwa simply broke down crying, his whole body shaking in an effort to keep the tears at bay.  In an attempt to make themselves more comfortable, Y/n took his arm and led him to the wall at the back of the small cell and sat them both down on the cold dirt floor.  Seonghwa continued crying into y/n’s shoulder, as she tried to comfort him, knowing that it wouldn’t matter.  How could you truly comfort someone that knew they were going to die? With that realization, Y/n broke down too, understanding that this was truly going to be her fate.  To die next to the man she loved. 

“I was going to grow old with you.” Seonghwa admitted with a shaky voice and tear stained face. 

“What do you mean?” Y/n asked wiping the stray tears from her face looking at him, trying to keep her composure enough to hear him out. 

“When this was all over, I was going to take you away, maybe back to your village, maybe back to Elyxion, it doesn’t matter just away. I was going to bond with you, start a family with you, and continue to love you for the rest of our lives.” Y/n began thinking about the roads they could have taken together and broke down crying again, before Seonghwa asked “Would you have followed that path with me?” Y/n responded in a voice no louder than a whisper. 

“I would follow any path, as long as you are at my side.” 

“Even this path? Where we both meet our untimely ends.” 

“Yes,” she said looking into his bloodshot eyes.  “We knew that this was a risk when we started, if I didn’t think that it would have been worth it, I would have left our night in that hotel be a one time thing.  Seonghwa this has been worth every moment we’ve spent together.  Even though it has been short, we made it together.”  

“How are you this calm?  We’re going to die tomorrow?”  

“I’m not sure, this just doesn’t feel like the end to me.  I might be crazy but it feels like there’s something waiting for us on the other side.”  

“If that’s what brings you comfort, it might not be a bad thing to believe in.”  He responded finally calming down enough to stop crying.  

“I hope you know that I am glad we’ve had this time together Seonghwa.” She said, putting her head on his shoulder.  

“Me too.” He responded kissing the top of her head before placing his own head on top of hers, falling into a comfortable silence that eventually lulled them both to sleep.  

Even though the scheduled execution had only been announced the day prior, thousands of subjects arrived to see if the announcement was true.  Were the two most loyal people to the queen, one of whom had commited murder for her, truly going to be executed, simply for being in love?  Most came to see, if she could kill those who were closest to her, why would she hesitate to kill people she had no connection to?  The sun shone down on the gathering, causing the heat and tension to rise as they waited for the Queen to present herself before them along with the two 'accused’.  Once she appeared, there was no cheering, no applause, simply silence tinted with fear.  After a few moments she began to speak.  

“Bring out the accused!” The disdain in her voice prominent.  With the command a door leading from the dungeons opened revealing five guards holding a struggling Y/n and Seonghwa. “These two have defied my direct orders and are now being labeled as traitors and being executed for treason.  To all who would think to defy me, those who would think of rebelling against me, let their heads be a signal and reminder as to what will happen if you defy me.  Begin with the execution.”  As soon as she finished speaking, the guards brought the two victims towards the blocks, walking them to their deaths, while they continued to struggle.  Once they reached the blocks however, they were quickly subdued and tied down so they could no longer move.  However, y/n continued to struggle, with the calm she had felt yesterday completely gone from her brain, pain and fear taking over her senses, making it difficult to breath.  With their heads secured to the blocks, y/n and Seonghwa were able to look at each other.  He saw her panic and attempted to calm her. 

“Y/n, I love you, but we can't get out of this. It’s time to go home love.”  He spoke to her while tears streamed down her face.  

“I know,” She responded staring into his eyes “I’ll see you on the other side.”  Once they had their moment, the two executioners took their places beside the two victims.  Y/n knew that there was no going back now,  but all she wanted was to continue looking at Seonghwa.   Even as she saw the axe being raised above his head, knowing that the same thing was happening on her side, just out of her vision.  She spoke one last time to him “I love you Seonghwa.”  As soon as the words left her mouth, the axes descended on them both.  

Y/n’s vision blackened for a second before her eyes shot open, loud beeping happening next to her, choking on something shoved down her throat, unable to breathe properly, she struggled to get oxygen back into her lungs as she heard people shouting in the hallway and the sound of shoes running.  She quickly heard a familiar voice approaching her.  

“Y/n, My name is Dr.Park, if you can hear me blink.” Seonghwa said, coming into her line of sight.  She made a dramatic show of closing and opening her eyes, still attempting to process everything happening.  “Lift your thumb for me sweetheart, lift your thumb.”  She proceeded to do what he asked.  “Ok perfect, we’re going to pull the breathing tube out. It might be a little uncomfortable.”  Y/n blinked to show her understanding.  “Nurse on three, one, two, three.”  When the tube was pulled out, y/n began coughing uncontrollably.  “It’s ok love, breathe.”  Seonghwa quickly placed an oxygen mask around her nose and mouth.  “Deep breaths, there we go.” Once her breathing and heart rate regulated, seonghwa secured the oxygen mask to her face.  After a minute Y/n tried to ask what was happening but the only sound that came out was a small squawk. Seonghwa laughed a little at her attempt to speak. “It will be hard for you to speak after having the breathing tube pulled out but you should regain your voice soon. Do you know where you are Y/n?”  After trying to speak again with the same results, she shook her head no.  “You’re in the icu of Seoul General Hospital. Do you remember what happened?” She repeated the same movement showing obvious confusion in her eyes. “You had a bad accident cliff jumping with your friends.  You hit your head and have been in a coma for three months. You're lucky to be alive y/n.” She looked away from Seonghwa to stare at the wall attempting to rack her mind around what was truth.  Was this the afterlife? Was this reality?  After a few minutes of silence seonghwa spoke again “I can see you trying to remember everything, but don’t worry. You may not be able to remember the actual accident but you should come back to normal after a day or two ok? Will you be ok if I leave to let your family and friends know that you’re awake? I’ll leave the nurse here to watch out for you.” Y/n looked back at him and nodded slightly, not really wanting him to go but knowing he couldn’t stay. Y/n still lying down continued to think about everything that was happening.  Her death, her whole world, confusion still clouding both.  “Y/n.”  Seonghwa said bringing her attention back from her thoughts, causing her to look up “Your brother and friends should be here soon, but I got you something to help you communicate while you recover your voice.”  After he entered farther into the room holding out a notepad and pen.  “What’s going on in that head of yours?”  She quickly grabbed the pad and wrote 

(Is this the afterlife?)  

“What makes you ask that?”  He asked after reading her question. 

(We were beheaded for betraying the queen.  Why are we not dead?) 

“Ah, that makes more sense.” He responded taking in her question.  “Y/n you suffered a head injury when you jumped from a cliff, Your brain wanted to keep you alive so it created a world to keep itself active and functioning even if you weren’t conscious.”  She looked at him even more confused.  “I know that this seems like the afterlife since you died in your dream but I can assure you y/n this world is in fact real, and just as alive as you are.  You’ll get used to it again.”  

(But we died Seongwha, how can I prove that We’re not actually dead?) 

“That unfortunately is something only you can figure out.  As much as I can try to help you you’re going to have to be the one work that out in your brain.”  When he finished his sentence there were loud voices coming from the hallway. Which caused seonghwa to leave his spot beside y/n to see what was happening. 

“Sir, I’m afraid you can’t go in there.”  A female voice said sternly.

“I don’t give a damn, I was told my sister was awake and I want to see her!” A familiar voice said.  

“Sir if you can’t calm down I will have to call security.”  She said matter of factly.

“That won’t be necessary Nurse Lisa,  Baekhyun can come in.” Seonghwa said stepping into the hallway.  “I do have to warn though,  She was dreaming while she was in her coma so she’s having a hard time understanding that this is reality.”  

“Is she not remembering who she is?” Baekhyun asked with a hint of underlying fear.  

“She was in a dream world and in her mind that was real, so she’s under the impression that this is the afterlife.  I have a feeling that she’ll be ok with a few reminders, which is why I’ve also called Mingi and Jongho.” 

“Can I let Mingi and Jongho know what’s up before I go in?  I don’t want them barrelling their way in here just to be blindsided.” 

“Of course.  Take your time.” Seonghwa walked back into the room while Baekhyun pulled out his phone and quickly dialed Mingi’s number, knowing Jongho would be the one driving to the hospital.  

“Hey hyung, did you hear! You’re on speakerphone by the way!” Minigi yelled causing Baekhyun to flinch and pull the phone away from his ear for a second.  

“Yeah Mingi I know, I’m at the hospital now.”  

“What’s wrong Hyung?”  Jongho asked, calmly.  

“Just giving you guys a heads up, because of the injury, she might not remember you.  Dr. Park gave me a warning before I went in.  I just wanted to let you guys know so you don’t come rushing in with guns blazing.”  

“Dr. Park warned us when we thought she was going to wake up those few weeks ago.  But we’ll keep that in mind.  Thanks hyung.” 

“Yeah, It’ll be ok hyung.  We’ve got pictures if she doesn’t remember us!” 

“We’ll be there in 20.” 

“K, See you guys soon.”  He pulled his phone down to see a text from Chanyeol.

After he put his phone back in his pocket, Baekhyun approached the room and watched from the doorway as Dr. Park was gently talking to y/n.  Even though he didn’t want to interrupt their conversation he knew he would have to face them eventually so he knocked softly simply to alert them that he was there.   Both of them looked up towards the door.  

“Come on in.” Seonghwa said to Baek, once he had sat down on the chair by her bed, Seonghwa asked y/n.  “Y/n do you Know who this is?”  She pulled off the top piece of paper and wrote 

(He’s Baekhyun) showing them both.  Giving Baek a flicker of hope 

If she can remember my name, she can remember who I am. he thought to himself.  

“Good, do you remember who he is to you?”  She began writing underneath 

(He’s the one who helped me with my light magic)  his face fell after she wrote that, when she noticed she wrote again (I’m sorry if that’s not right) Baekhyun quickly corrected her.  

“No, don’t apologize. That’s what you know, but I can say that we don’t have magic here and also,”  he paused and looked at Seonghwa who gave him a small nod. “I’m your brother.”  She looked confused at the revelation, quickly writing, 

(like biologically?) 

“Yes, here.”  He answered, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening his photos and began showing here photos from growing up together.  From when their parents brought her home from the hospital, all the way to his wedding to Chanyeol.  Explaining what had happened in every photo.  She looked at each photo with an intense stare as if trying to force something to come back to her.  She looked like she was about to write another question when there was another knock at the door, when they all had turned they saw Mingi and Jongho standing in the doorway.  

“Hello boys, we were just trying to jog y/n’s memory here.” Seonghwa said, smiling at them as they both walked into the room and pulled chairs from the wall to sit at the foot of her bed.  

“Do you remember who we are y/n?”  Jongho asked softly.  She nodded slightly and quickly wrote 

(Mingi and Jongho, but I think that you’re different people than what my brain is telling me.) 

“Maybe,  we’ve been best friends since elementary school.”  Mingi said pulling his phone out.  “Do you want to look at some pictures?”  She nodded yes to his question.  Seonghwa stood up from his spot next to her and said 

“I trust you all to keep a good eye on her, I have other patients to go check on but I will back ok?”  He asked all of them nodded while Mingi took his spot next to y/n. By the time Seonghwa had reached the door, Mingi and Jongho had begun to repeat the same process as Baekhyun trying to get her to remember her past, Little did he know that by the time he would return two hours later to check on her that she would have regained full memory of her past life and had begun to make plans as to where the rest of her life would take her.

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 35

“El?!”

The name slipped out of Mike’s mouth before it even crossed my lips; the tall lanky boy stepping forward to take her in for what must’ve been the first time in over a year.

His face swept through five different expressions; managing to convey more emotion than I’d seen from the kid all night.

Shock, excitement, betrayal, anger, and finally settling on relief as he finally closed the gap between them and embraced her in a hug so tight; I could see his arms shaking.

“Is that...” Began Max; already so caught up in the near mythical stories that surrounded Eleven that she looked as if she couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Dustin and Lucas both nodded in confirmation; their mouths hanging slack jawed in astonishment as they watched their two friends reunited after what must’ve seemed like the end.

I couldn’t quite believe it myself.

Not because I thought she was dead like so many here tonight. But because she was meant to be home. She was meant to be safe.

My eyes flickered back to my dad; his expression hard to read as he watched the two kids reunited.

“I... I never gave up on you...” Uttered Mike, finally releasing El from his unrelenting grip.

“I called you- - I called every night... every night for—“

“Three-hundred fifty-three days.” Eleven finished his sentence for him; guilt momentarily wracking her features.

“I... heard.”

“You were... there? Listening?” He exclaimed; that slight look of betrayal returning once more.

El just nodded; lip trembling, and were those tears?

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me you were there? That you were okay?” Betrayal gave way to anger as Mike began to throw accusation filled questions at El.

“Because I wouldn’t let her.” My dad answered the question for her, stepping forwards and into the conversation.

His eyes fell on Eleven, taking in her newly minted look with distinct disapproval.

Black eyeliner, slicked back hair, heavy men’s jacket; she almost looked pretty punk.

She almost looked like me.

“What is all this? Where have you been?” He interrogated; already drilling her with twenty questions at once.

“Where have you been?” She snapped back; her attitude matching her new sense of style.

The tension didn’t last for long though; my dad’s apparent relief of her returning okay overshadowing whatever anger had been there.

He broke into a smile, pulling her in for a fatherly hug, kissing the top of her slicked back hair.

When they eventually broke apart; I stepped forward, taking in the girl who I’d rapidly begun to see as my sister.

“Dig the new threads.” I remarked, though perhaps I should’ve been more concerned about where she’d got them from, considering I recognised none of them from my wardrobe.

Apparently there were even more secrets being kept in the Hopper family; one’s even being kept from me.

But I didn’t have the heart to be mad; El quickly wrapping her arms around me in a warm hug that was still so very sweet, despite her less than sweet demeanour.

“Missed you too; El.” I smiled, squeezing her skinny frame tightly in my arms.

“You’ve been hiding her... hiding her this whole time!” An outraged voice cut through the moment of cute familial domesticity, as the reality of the past year finally dawned upon Mike.

I released El from my arms, both of us stepping back to see how he’d handle this one.

Dad didn’t even bother to deny it; the truth  too painfully obvious for all to see for him to even bother making excuses.

Mike looked about ready to explode; anger and pure outrage mingling with the hurt of a year’s worth of mourning, creating a noxious Molotov cocktail that was ready to blow at a moments notice.

“Let’s talk. Alone.” Dad requested; his voice calm and level in the face of the kid’s fury, and in these times it was easy to remember why he was a cop.

To my surprise; the kid followed, trailing off after him to a bedroom where they could have a shouting match in relative privacy.

—————————————————-

With Eleven back in the loop and Will under control, going back to the lab and closing the gate head on wasn’t seeming so much of a suicidal plan after all.

Not all of us could go along for the ride; that bit of truth was left unsaid. It was dangerous, and too big of a party was sure to attract too much attention and bring the Demodogs down on us quicker than rain in hurricane season.

It was gonna need a small attack and disperse team; special ops military tactics, or some shit like that, and we couldn’t afford to have to worry about defending thirteen year old kids without mind powers.

That’s why I was loading up my shotgun; thankful that buried amongst the space heaters and gardening tools in the Byers’ shed, they had some actual buckshot packed away for a rainy day.

“You serious about doing this?” Steve asked, sidling up beside me with an apparent nervousness in his voice.

“As the grave.” I replied, cocking my shotgun with an unapologetic click.

“Lo; you don’t have to go. Your dad can handle this—“ He attempted to talk me out of it, but we’d already had this conversation before.

“Steve; stop it.” I interrupted him; my voice firm and resolute.

“I’m going, and there’s nothing you can say that will change that.”  

“Bu—“ He began, but I held up my hand to stop him.

“Steve.” I warned, and his mouth closed; lips pursed as I could tell he was trying not to argue; trying to let me make my own damn decision for once.

But it was hard for him; so full of care and concern that the very knowledge he was condoning me to walk straight into danger made his stomach churn.

He wanted to stop me; to find a way to make me stay whether I wanted to or not, but he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his place, and I wasn’t about to give him an opportunity to think otherwise.

I got up and began walking to the door, deciding to forgo goodbyes, because they were depressing, and somehow felt like I was admitting I might not come back from this.

“Lo?” Steve called from the other side of the room, and although my better instincts told me to ignore it and keep going, I stopped and turned to face him.

“I told Nancy it was okay.” He said with a nod, and I crinkled my eyebrows in confusion.

He told Nancy it was okay?

“I told her... I told her it was okay.” Steve continued; his voice staccato and broken, as he looked at me with wide doe eyes.

“Okay.” I replied quietly, though I’m not sure it was what he wanted to hear, before continuing outside.

He told Nancy it was okay?

What the fuck?!

—————————————————-

I strode out of the Byers’ house; Steve’s words still fresh in my head, as I made a beeline for my dad’s truck.

Him and Eleven were about ready to leave, making up two thirds of the terrible trio which would destroy what Hawkins labs had unleashed upon us for good.

“And where do you think you’re going?” My dad asked; his voice dripping with reprimand.

“I’m coming with you.” I stated matter-of-factly, still striding towards the rear passenger door of the Blazer without a moments hesitation.

“Uh; no, you not.” Dad responded, stepping forwards to block my path.

“You’re staying here with Steve.”

“C’mon Dad; I want to help.” I insisted, trying to manoeuvre my way past him despite his insistence otherwise.

“And you will...” Dad assured; lowering himself down to my height as if I was still that twelve year old kid he could barter with.

“By staying here and making sure these kids stay out of trouble.”

He rose back up and began to climb back into his truck, already settled that he’d had the last word on the subject.

He’d be wrong.

“Seriously, Dad; Steve’s got it covered. I can watch your back—“ I began; resolute that I wouldn’t be left behind to play babysitter again.

“Absolutely not.” Dad rejected point blank; still determined in making this decision for me.

“It’s bad enough having to put El in danger; now you’re asking me to do the same to you—“

“Dad; I’m not a kid—“ I protested; sick and tired of everyone treating me like something that needed protecting.

I could handle myself; goddamnit!

“Lola; this isn’t a negotiation!” He yelled; railroading over my words with all his signature bullheadedness.

I stopped, pursing my lips a little too much like Steve for the situation, as my dad managed to reign in his temper.

“Look...” He sighed; his anger simmering down to a petitioning frustration that only just masked the true concern in his voice.

“I don’t ask much from you, Lo, but please listen to your dad just this once and stay behind!”

I opened my mouth, ready to object, because when it came to dad attempting to smother us; it was never just this once.

“I’m not gonna argue with you on this, but promise me; promise me, you won’t do anything stupid.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes, because part of being a Hopper was knowing when someone had you beat.

“Fine.” I gave in, though the look on my face still told him I wasn’t happy with it.

“Promise...” Dad instructed still not trusting me without my word, and barely trusting me on that.

“I promise.” I conceded, knowing that it probably wasn’t wise to keep my fingers crossed behind my back on this one.

“Good.” Dad smiled, climbing back into his truck now he knew I wasn’t going to follow after him.

“Now you gotta keep it. And remember; no omissions.” He reminded me; pointing a warning finger in my face, already well aware with how conniving I could be.

I had to smile at that, because we both knew how shit we were at keeping promises.

He pulled me in for a quick half hug, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and planting a kiss on the top of my head.

“I love you.” He mumbled into my hair, and I tried not to let my smile fall, because I knew that this could be it.

The last time we saw each other.

“I love you too, dad...” I replied back, trying not to let the crack in my voice be heard, because, yes; this could be it.

We separated, and I stepped back, allowing my dad to shut the door between us; to shut me out once more.

He started the Blazer, and it whirred to life with a distinct VROOOM!

I made my way back to the front porch, trying not to let my own uncertainty show.

Steve was waiting there for me with the kids; that same sad look of concern on his face that just heralded the; “are you okay?” I knew was about to come out of his mouth.

I forced a small smile, hoping that alone it would be enough to convince him to keep any well meaning questions to himself.

I turned and leaned against the bean opposite him, already sensing the question in the air as he opened his mouth.

“Harrington...” My dad spoke first, calling out of his open truck window to the boy in question.

Steve looked up; alarm, and was that fear on his face?

“Keep an eye on her for me...” My dad instructed, and I already knew it was one Steve would follow to the letter.

“And if I hear of you dragging her off on any more monster hunts; you won’t make it to college...”

I could barely stifle a laugh, because of course; my dad would make time to make some kind of threat.

Steve looked less than amused; wisely taking the threat at face value, instead of the sharp edged jibe it probably was, but better safe than sorry.

Dad turned the car and drove away, followed closely behind by Jonathan and co. in his car.

Steve, the kids and I watched silently as the cars disappeared into the dark of the road again, suddenly left stranded amongst all this chaos.

Alone; at last.

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 53: Epilogue

Sunday June 29th, 2036 - Talk Story Bookstore, Kauai, Hawaii.

Stepping inside Talk Story after two decades had passed was surreal. It remained essentially the same, right down to the red painted walls. I, too, remained essentially the same, if you ignored the wrinkles that had begun to etch themselves into the flesh of my fifty-eight-year-old face…laugh lines, frown lines, and a downright furrow between my eyebrows from a lifetime of what-the-fuckery. The grey hair that had first appeared when I found myself wrangling three children all under the age of five was now expertly masked with copious amounts of dye applied by the talented folks at Zig-Zag Hair & Body. I still did yoga on a regular basis, more now that the kids were…well, grown, I guess. For the most part. Which was really a mind-blower, as is everything else associated with the passage of time in regard the human condition. Aging, kids, is not for the weak. No one tells you that if you sleep too long, your body parts will hurt. Your tits will sag, you’ll pee your pants when you cough, sneeze, or laugh too hard, your hands will ache if you, you know, use them to do stuff…like hold books. Your knees will creak to the point where you aren’t sure if it’s you making sounds or the stairs you’re descending. After you’ve finished a round of particularly vigorous doggy-style, you’ll find yourself uncertain as to which will be more detrimental…remaining in place or attempting to get off the bed. It’s an unimaginable brutality, standing powerless against the effects of time on your physical being while the inner you, the corporeal you, does not follow suit. This Maude was the same Maude who had married the love of her life in this very place, right down to her limitless desire for Lindor truffles and continued disgust at the idea of pineapples on pizza. I can, however, confirm that time does aid in the healing process, which is how we ended up back on Kauai. Each year that passed put more distance between us and the horror we’d endured, and little by little we were able to work through it, first by being able to actually view our wedding photos and videos, then feel small bits of joy while doing so, until finally, sixteen years out, the fear and anxiety was almost fully overridden by that joy. And here we were, on the day of our 20th wedding anniversary, right where it had all begun.

Some unpleasant memories, though faded and dim, still lingered, and as a result neither Tom nor I could bring ourselves to return to the Coconut Beach Marriott. The kids were all aware of the circumstances surrounding our wedding and the days that followed, as we’d vowed to be open and honest about it if the subject ever came up, because we preferred that they learned the truth from us rather than believing what they might have seen on the internet. Two years ago the need for the ‘the talk’ had arisen, and Henry’s reaction had utterly floored me…he’d leapt up off the couch, pulled me into his arms and whispered that he’d hoped his presence had brought me some comfort and that he wished he’d been able to do more. He’d turned nineteen in February, my firstborn, and even though as a parent you’re not supposed to, like, have a favorite…he was, in fact, my favorite, at least in the sense that there was a depth and level of understanding between us that was akin to psychic connection. Perhaps it was due to our shared trauma, or perhaps it was the trauma that caused me to relate to him differently…though in the end, it didn’t matter because I’d never expressed such a sentiment out loud, nor would I. Besides, I’d always known that he already knew anyway.

 Henry…also known as Our Son the Writer, as well as Indy Gallagher, his chosen pen name. He’d taught himself to read at age four, having grown frustrated with Tom and I not being able to drop whatever we were in the middle of, which was usually dealing with one of his siblings, in order to do it on his behalf. From that point forward, books and the stories they contained were his passion…he was never without reading material, absorbing any and all information he encountered and losing himself completely in imagined realities, always longing for more. It was that longing which set him upon the path to becoming an author when he was thirteen, having found himself unwilling and unable to accept that George R. R. Martin’s ‘A Song of Fire and Ice’ series had gone unfinished and deciding he’d tackle the task on his own. A year and many kudos on AO3 later he’d started to build his own fictional universe, and when he self-published the first book of the series, ‘Times Prior’, in August of 2034 it sold a half-a-million copies inside of sixty days without any marketing whatsoever. The main characters were inter-dimensional entities left stranded on Earth, their memories thought to have been wiped clean, and the story followed their journey as they sought to combine the snippets of their past that remained into a single coherent whole that revealed their history while attempting to covertly integrate with humanity. Book two, ‘Presented Puzzles’ had been released in early December of last year, hitting the million mark within two weeks. Though I already had first edition tucked away at home, I hoped to find one here to purchase so I could secure the receipt to the flyleaf with a notation that this copy had been purchased from the location where Indy Gallagher’s own story had begun.

 When I felt Tom’s hand on my back as he stopped to stand on my left, I turned my head his way, peering upward. Though he had his share of wrinkles and his hair, which he’d taken to wearing long enough to brush his chin, had gone completely grey at the temples with salt and pepper throughout the rest, the fucker did NOT look fifty-five. Not to me, anyway…when you’re young and you imagine being fifty-five it seems so damn old, but when it’s staring you in the face, or especially once you’ve passed it by yourself, not so much. There were still bricks in his stomach, his ass remained quarter-bounce ready, and, now that the Hiddlespawn had matured, I took advantage of the Silver Fox Hotness Level One Billion as often as humanly possible. As you do. He grinned at me, then leaned in to nuzzle my cheek with his own.

 “Well, here we are, my love, at long last. How the ever-loving fuck has it been twenty years? Speaking of…perhaps I can interest you in a waltz down memory lane via a certain out-of-the way restroom?”

 My jaw dropped open. “Oh my god, how dare you? Since when am I the kind of woman who has sex in public places?”

 He laughed, tongue poking out between his teeth. “To the best of my recollection, since…forever.”

 I crossed my arms, eyes rolling skyward. “Your recollection has clearly become unreliable, old man.”

 “Mmm hmm. Meet me there in twenty?”

 "Absofuckingloutely." I uncrossed my arms with the intention of pinching his nipple through the fabric of his white V-neck T-shirt, but was interrupted by the arrival of our entourage as they filed through the door and filtered into the space around us.

 Simon settled in to my right, with Luke at his side, as per usual. Simon’s approach to aging was best described as rage, rage against the dying of the light…his hair remained blonde, though these days, much like Tom, he’d been wearing it longer, so much so that he occasionally sported a ponytail. Just a ponytail, never, ever a man bun. Never. I was, and I quote, to ‘dispatch him quickly and without prejudice’ if I ever witnessed him committing such an unforgivable offense. Fillers and chemical peels were a regular occurrence, as were weekly spa visits and a thorough daily skin cleansing and hydrating regimen. He made use of our gym more than Tom or I did and had taken up running more than a decade ago, which he’d deemed necessary in order to have enough physical stamina to open his own restaurant. It was a joint venture with his son Roland, aptly named Ka-Tet…with permission from Uncle Steve, of course, who was still cranking out wordy goodness at eighty-nine. It was located close to home, near Regent’s Park in the space formerly occupied by Odette’s, with a décor that was best described as dystopian spaghetti western. There was no set menu…Simon decided he’d be preparing whatever the fuck he felt like making on any given day, take it or leave it…and they were only open Friday and Saturday nights, which created an air of exclusivity that resulted in the place being booked almost a year in advance. It was perfect work-life balance for him, and whenever anyone mentioned how youthful he appeared he’d nod and reply that all credit belonged to his favorite preservation method…daily alcohol infusions.

 Luke remained at the helm of Prosper, though he’d pulled back significantly since Ka-Tet had opened and essentially served only in an advisory capacity. He’d begun to lose his hair just prior to turning forty, and he’d opted to just shave it all off and embrace baldness as opposed to undergoing transplants or wearing a toupee. It suited him, honestly, and his penchant for quirky glasses and three-day stubble seemed to transform him into the way he was always meant to look. Scholarly, like a college professor. Which he and Simon had role-played, as I’d been forced to discover even though my hands were covering my ears, because Simon wouldn’t take no for an answer and spoke louder instead when I requested that he keep that shit to himself. I watched as he reached for Simon’s hand without even a glance downward, their fingers twining together in a gesture so often repeated it was automatic, built into the fabric of their muscle memory. They turned to smile at each other, then shifted their gazes in unison to focus on their daughters as they passed by to their right.

 Seph’s light brown hair was wound up in a bun that rested at the base of her neck, dressed in a light blue linen tank dress that matched the frames of her glasses. She resembled Luke a great deal, other than her lips and nose, the former much fuller, the latter more rounded at the tip. Her frame was lithe, almost lanky, and she stood an inch or two taller than me sans heels. In the fall she’d be returning to Cambridge for her second year in pursuit of her BA Tripos Degree in Law, after which she intended to obtain a Masters in Law, then finally a Doctorate in Law. Ez, who was essentially a carbon copy of Simon as far as physicality was concerned, was currently a student at the New York School of Design and would be heading back to the city after our vacation. She’d just finished the Fashion Design certificate program and was scheduled to intern at Manhattan Fashion in the Garment District from July 15th through September 1st, at which point she’d return to NYSD to complete their Couture and Menswear programs back to back.  She’d designed the dress Seph was wearing, as well as her own, a white cotton sleeveless wrap-around that hugged her curves and accentuated her impossibly tiny waist. Which I supposed was made possible, along with exceptional genetics, by running six days a week, an activity she’d often participated in with the other masochists in my life…Simon, Tom and Henry. Now that she was based in New York it was solely Henry, their ability to pair up simplified by the fact that both of them resided in the same building, Henry in my old apartment, Ez in hers two floors below. He was standing next to her, dwarfing her five-foot-six frame with his own, his height topping out at six-foot-one, just an inch shy of Tom’s. His hair, worn shoulder-length, was black like my mother’s but curly like mine, eyes identical to Tom’s in shape and color. He had Tom’s nose as well, but my lips and jaw. Like his father, he was lean but muscular, blessed with a gracefulness that I had never possessed. He’d relocated to New York the previous summer to focus on writing, opting to forgo college in the wake of the success of his debut novel. I agreed that college would be a waste, being a firm believer in the fact that one could either write, or couldn’t, but I’d called bullshit on the ‘going away to focus’ aspect, at least privately when Tom and I discussed it. He and Ez had always been very good friends, nearly inseparable, and I felt it in my bones that the real reason he’d decided to leave London was so they could remain in close proximity to one another. Her desire to live in the same building had been presented as great way for both of them to adjust to new surroundings without feeling isolated, which was true, but again, my bones had whispered that there was something bubbling beneath the surface. There had been no confirmation as yet, and I’d stopped mentioning it when Tom, the most hopeless romantic amongst all hopeless romantics, told me I was turning into an even more hopeless romantic than he’d ever been. But it hadn’t stopped me from, you know, looking for signs.

A flash of flaming red glimpsed out of the corner of my eye caused me to turn and look to my left, basking in the breathtaking sight of the whirling dervish that was our daughter, Mona Diane Hiddleston, born at sunset on Wednesday, June 17th, 2018. Her hair was the color of my father’s and Tom’s paternal grandmother’s, wavy like Tom’s, worn long and loose and hanging halfway down her back. Her eyes were brown like mine, and shaped like them as well, but the rest of her face was all Tom. She was five-foot-nine, and often described as a force of nature, at which point I’d smile and say that I had not the slightest idea who she’d gotten that sort of personality from. She’d be relocating to New York in mid-August to begin her dual-enrollment program at Julliard, studying both Instruments and Composition with the goal of a Doctorate in Musical Arts and a career as a conductor in mind. Unlike me, she could read and write music, and play any instrument she was handed with little to no training. Her singing voice was exceptional, her range higher than mine though not quite as broad, but she’d never expressed any interest in developing it other than participating in the school chorus because she needed an elective to flesh out her schedule. Mona had been our ‘difficult’ child…as a baby she’d been fussy, easily irritated with a sleep schedule that was measured in fifteen-minute increments, and as a toddler we’d dealt with outbursts and tantrums over what we considered to be thoroughly minor issues, such as the lights being too bright, her clothes being too tight, or the seams of her socks being ‘wrong’. Throughout it all, the only consistent way to soothe her had been with music, be it listening to it or creating her own using our piano, pots and pans, or anything else that provided rhythmic sounds. Shortly after she turned five, she was diagnosed with sensory processing disorder, which we learned later on went hand-in-hand with her being highly gifted. All three kids were, which wasn’t exactly a surprise given Tom’s and my placement on the IQ scale, but giftedness manifests differently in each individual with a variety of traits, some more challenging to cope with than others. Once we’d established a methodology for managing her SPD, she was like a different human being…strong, steadfast, boisterous, fully confident in her sense of self and intent on extracting each and every thing she expected from this world without apology. And my god, I was so very, very fucking proud to be her mother. And honored. She’d noticed I was staring at her and had just opened her mouth to ask me why when our youngest bounded out from behind her, paused briefly at her left, then pivoted to park himself directly in front of her.  

 Sean James Hiddleston, born Friday, October 23rd, 2020 five minutes before midnight, named as such due to the fact that the blue hue of the eyes that peered up at me when he opened them for the first time was identical to my father’s. He’d been a complete surprise, so much so that I hadn’t even realized I was pregnant until I was three months in…at 42, I’d figured missed periods meant I was embarking on the journey into menopause, and when Tom suggested that perhaps I should take a pregnancy test I’d laughed and laughed. Henry had just turned three and Mona wasn’t quite two, and when I saw the giant plus sign in the test window the laughter faded damn fucking quick when I realized Tom and I would shortly be outnumbered by a trio of ankle biters all under the age of four. After the initial shock dissipated, we were overjoyed, in awe of how the universe continued to be so generous to us, providing yet another miracle. By the time I’d begun to show Henry was cognizant enough to ask questions, and when I informed him he’d soon have a new brother or sister his face had paled and he’d whispered ‘Mamma, will it be like Mona?’, causing Tom to run out of the room, unable to keep his shit together, while I comforted Henry by explaining that every baby is different, the entire time asking myself the same question he had internally. As it happened any worries about his temperament were for naught, because Sean had been a jovial soul right from the get go. He was the child, however, that we had to keep the closest eye on because if left to his own devices even for a second he’d be into something he shouldn’t have been, and when confronted he’d just grin and simply say ‘But I’m learning things.’ Even still, at fifteen-going-on-thirty, he uttered that same phrase at least once a day. Sometimes more. Like when I’d caught him trying to remotely hack into my brand new Alienware laptop two weeks prior…you know, just to see if he could. And, of course, he could. Of all three children he resembled Tom the most, blond wavy hair, same blue eyes, nose and jaw…the only bit of me in his face were his lips. He’d begun his adolescent growth spurt just after Christmas and had shot up from five-nine to six-two in what seemed like no time whatsoever, and if I did a side-by-side of him and Tom from his Eton days it wasn’t easy to tell who was who. Despite their physical similarities, Sean had been cursed with my lack of grace and had already broken almost every toe and sprained various extremities on the regular. He had been blessed, however, with my engineering and mathematical skills, and his abilities made an accelerated program via online courses the best option for him after he’d finished year six. Once he turned sixteen he’d be permitted entry into Cambridge’s School of Technology, where he planned to focus on Computer Science, but the next round of required classes wouldn’t be available until fall of 2037. Starting in September of this year he’d be officially interning at CodeHex, working both with me and other high-level employees across our departments. I say ‘officially’ because he’d been interning in an unofficial capacity for nearly four years, popping in every weekday as soon as he’d finished his online courses back at our flat. When he was a preschooler he’d spent a good bit of time there as well, at my side or on my lap, as I worked to establish the CodeHex company and brand during my ‘free’ hours while Henry and Mona were at school. On the first day of his own year one he’d frowned as Tom and I hugged and kissed him goodbye outside the school’s entrance, stating that while he was very excited to make all sorts of new friends and learn new things, he’d very much miss his old job and old friends. Then he’d spotted a girl with a Captain Marvel backpack and promptly ditched us in order to run over and introduce himself, turning back to wave and smile at us before returning his attention to her and walking into the building while Tom and I stood on the sidewalk crying our eyes out like a couple of schumucks.

 He’d moved closer to me, though still blocking his sister, arms raised and hands extended, palms toward Tom and I as he spoke.

 “This is it, then, is it Mum? Where you and Dad met? All those years ago? Right here? In this bookshop?”

 I nodded. “Yeppir. Also where we got engaged, and where we got married.”

 Tom elbowed me, and Simon twisted his torso sideways to gawk at me, his head cocked to the right.

 “Woman, have you finally lost your mind? You were married at the Marriot. I was there, looking resplendent in my purple tux while you puked in the bushes, remember?”

 Opting to attempt to make a royal fuck-up appear as if it were a conscious choice, I turned my head towards him, index finger of my right hand raised and pointing toward his chest. “Well, you’re not totally wrong…we were married at the Marriot, but that was actually our second ceremony. The first one happened here, right after midnight so it was officially on the twenty-ninth.”

 Simon gasped, placing his right hand over his heart, finders splayed wide. “Are you telling me right now, twenty fucking years later, that the two of you snuck off and got married without your best friends and spent the entire next day pretending your entirely invalid not at all legally binding apparently just for show wedding ceremony was one-hundred-percent genuine?”

 I bit my lip and glanced skyward briefly, then back at Simon. “Yes. Yes I am.”

 He reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Maude Hiddleston, I have never been prouder of you than I am at this moment, you sneaky little MINX. How did you keep it a secret this whole time?”

 I shrugged. “Only four people on the planet knew…me, Tom, the judge and Roger Marshal.” While researching our trip we’d learned that Roger had passed away in 2033, but his daughter Denise had taken over the business. Tom and I planned on seeking her out during our visit, but hadn’t provided any advance notice as we felt that expressing our condolences in person would be most appropriate since Talk Story, and her father, had played such an important role in our lives. I poked Simon’s left pec with my right index finger. “Shouldn’t you be all ragey because you weren’t there or something?”

 He released my shoulders and crossed his arms in front of him, rested his right elbow in his left hand as he tapped his lips with his left index finger, then pointed it at me. “You know what? I fucking should be. But I’m not. Because I’m sure it was all mushy-mushy gushy-gushy and there was probably sniffling and crying and Shakespearean sonnet level verbal exchanges and therefore I’m dropping it in the ‘glad to have missed it’ bucket.” He mock-gagged, and as I swatted at him he pulled back and away, flipping me double birds.

 Mona stepped out from behind Sean, her head tilted to the left. “Well that diminishes both the impact and validity of all those lectures on the critical importance of honesty a bit, doesn’t it?”

 Tom roared with laughter, and I smirked. “I look forward to opening the box that contains my ‘HYPOCRITE’ T-shirt this coming Christmas morning. Men’s 2 XL, please. Black with white lettering. Maybe a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ on the back written in a script font?”

 Henry raised his hand as he joined in. “Oh! Oh! There must be some photographic evidence of the clandestine ceremony hidden away somewhere, I’d imagine? That absolutely needs to be on the T-shirt’s front-side. And Dad’s complicit, so we’ll have to have one made for him as well.”

 Sean grinned. “If such evidence exists, you can count on me to track it down.”

 I glanced over at Tom, who was still chuckling. “This whole kid thing…your idea, wasn’t it? I can’t fathom having done this to myself without being coerced by an insanely hot dude via repeated seductions until I…”

 All three of them screeched in unison. “MUM!”

 Tom pointed at them in turn. “The lesson here, progeny of mine, in case you needed a refresher course…your mother is a master of diversionary tactics and especially enjoys their implementation when the outcome is likely her having…hmm…how shall I phrase this delicately?”

 I snorted. “What your voluble father is attempting to convey without incurring my wrath is…the last word. I like having the last word. He neglected to mention that no topic is off limits in the pursuit of achieving that particular goal. So, shall we move on or would you prefer that I begin my dissertation on our wedding night activities?”

 Again, in unison, with Simon, Luke, Seph and Ez joining in this time around. “MOVE ON.”

 We all split off then, singly for some, in pairs for others, and wandered around the shop. Tom and I paused in the precise spot I’d been standing two decades earlier, narrowing down my reading options for what I’d thought would be hours of alone time on the beach. His arm slipped around my waist, and I circled his in turn, each of us leaning into the other, silent in our contemplation of the Before and the After, which is how we both viewed the stages of our lives prior to and since crossing paths. I could hear Sean exclaiming to Mona that he’d located the music section and that she just had to come see it immediately, Seph and Luke laughing as Simon assured them that yes, he did in fact still enjoy reading the Twilight Series novels and that there was nothing wrong with having a little vampy wolfie sad girl angsty fluff in your life thank you very much, and then, footsteps behind us…a strange echo of the past, and this time I didn’t hesitate to spin around to see who they belonged to. Tom did the same seconds afterward, and before us was a woman wearing a tea-length bright green tank dress, her jet-black hair worn in two braids that hung nearly to her waist. She smiled, and my mouth dropped open when I took note of her name tag. She smiled, realizing I’d recognized her.

 “Aloha, Hiddlestons. Welcome back to Talk Story.”

 I shook my head in disbelief. “Alani. Oh my god. Well, this is a mind fuck of epic proportions. And I’m spewing profanity. Whoops. Sorry.”

 Tom somehow managed to speak like an actual human being. “Alani! What a marvelous thing, seeing you again in this very special place…you’ve been well, I hope?”

 She laughed, then stepped forward to embrace both Tom and I, then pulled back. “I have. I teach at the Waimea High School during the year…9th grade English Literature. Weekends and summers inevitably find me here. This place seems to have a gravitational pull I’m unable…and unwilling…to escape.” Sighing, she glanced around the room, then fixed her gaze back on us. “Have you heard?”

 Nodding, I reached for Tom’s hand and took hold. “About Roger? Yes, but not until we started researching our trip. We wanted to wait to meet Denise to express our condolences. Is she available?”

 Alani shook her head, frowning slightly. “She’s not, I’m afraid. Honestly, we’ve not seen very much of her at all, and she hasn’t been back since she told us she was putting the place up for sale. Of course, I understand that it reminds her of her father and…”

 My grip on Tom’s hand tightened, as did his on mine, so much so that we both let go as if we’d received an electric shock. I took a deep breath, telling myself to be cool, Maude, be fucking cool before giving nonchalance a go.

 “So. Talk Story’s for sale? Huh. Well, we most definitely hadn’t heard that. I don’t recall seeing a sign…”

 Tom cleared his throat. “Neither do I. Does that mean a sale is pending, or is the property still available?”

 She nodded, which was not at all helpful, but the words she spoke afterward were. “It’s still available. The sign’s off to the right of the building, attached to the potted tree so it faces oncoming traffic. The realtor’s been in a few times since it went up in January, but never with any clients. Our revenue isn’t even a quarter of what it was a decade ago, and Denise isn’t very involved so things have gotten worse since Roger passed. At this point, I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to remain open, but I’m going to keep hoping that someone sees the value here, the history this place contains…” She cleared her throat, then shook her head back and forth slowly. “Goodness, I’m so terribly sorry. I honestly only meant to say hello…everything else just sort of…happened. I don’t know what came over me.”

 I reached out and patted her upper arm. “Please, no worries. This place seems to foster that sort of thing. Books aplenty with the occasional divine intervention. That’s so going on the marketing materials. You on board with that, Tom?”

 “Oh yes. Yes I am. Alani, do you happen to have the realtor’s number handy?”

 One walk-through, two hours, and countless document signatures later we were officially in contract to purchase Talk Story, with a closing date set for Tuesday, July 1st at 1 PM at the Kauai Coldwell Banker Realty office. Much like I had twenty-one years earlier, we all had to haul ass back to Kapaʻa in order to make our dinner reservation at Kauai Pasta, though this time we were a party of nine instead of three. We’d requested the same booth area, spilling over into the two additional sections in the same row that backed the wall. Tom and I, in an effort to be appropriately extra, ordered the exact same meal we’d ordered the day we met, but sat side-by-side instead of across from each other. Midway through the main course we turned to each other, smiling as our eyes met, and all the noise of friends and family faded into the background as we paused to remember, lost in our thoughts of days gone by, and I felt this monstrous rush of emotions…love, joy, peace, and so many more…and I was so…so…grateful. Granted, I was grateful every day, but this was an all-encompassing gratefulness, and I looked away for a moment to survey our friends, their children, and each of our own children in turn. Life is incredibly strange and unusual, even downright cruel at times, but like the weed-dealing kid in American Beauty said, “sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in”, and that’s where I was at in that moment, in the very same space that had fanned the flames of the spark that had emerged at Talk Story. Which we’d just bought. For nine-hundred and fifty thousand dollars, all contents included. I turned my gaze back to Tom, my head tilting to the right.

 “Did we, like, just actually buy a bookstore? As in, the bookstore we’ve always considered ‘our’ bookstore is now…our bookstore?”

 He nodded, and I felt his hand first on my knee, then creeping up under my shorts. “We did. And while I’m thoroughly delighted with that particular development, I’m also a tad disappointed because we missed out on our restroom rendezvous this go-round. Care to christen this one instead?”

 “Oh, that’s a bold move right there, Thomas. The ladies’ room is literally separated from this table by a single wall. I’ll go first, you get up five minutes later and lurk outside the door…I’ll leave it open a crack so I can keep watch. When the coast is clear I’ll pull you inside.”  I lowered my voice, whispering in his ear. “And then I’ll, you know, pull you inside again. And again.”

 He groaned quietly. “Woman. Cease. And go. Go now.”

 I excused myself, and that five minutes seemed to take a thousand years. There was fire in his eyes when he shut and locked the door behind him, and without a word he turned me around, bent me over the sink, pulled off my shorts and underwear and fucked me so hard I couldn’t help but cry out his name as I came, which he muffled quickly by covering my mouth with his left hand, which made me come again. And again. He soon followed, leaning down and biting my clothed shoulder gently to stifle his own cries. After he pulled out I stood upright, and he leaned in to kiss me, sucking my tongue into his mouth as he zipped himself up, peeked out the door, then exited and darted into the men’s restroom next door. I used the facilities, washed up, and waited for three minutes after I heard him finish up and walk by. A sly grin spread wide across his face awaited me as I returned to the table, and as I sat down Sean asked if we’d be ordering desert. Simon, ever the obnoxious asshat, smirked and commented that he was reasonably sure that some of us had already had their desert, which left Sean puzzled, Mona and Seph disgusted, and Henry and Ez blushing like mad, which really got my Spidey Senses all a-tingle. Luke simply smiled at me, shrugging helplessly, and I sighed, nodding, both of us silently accepting yet again that yes, this was indeed the life we’d chosen.

 As it happened, no desert was ordered…instead, we headed back to the beach house we’d rented on the Coconut Coast, in Anahola Beach Park, which was seven miles or so up from the Coconut Beach Marriott. With only four bedrooms, it meant the kids had to share, so Sean and Henry were in one room and Mona, Seph and Ez in another, but it was literally steps from the beach, totally private, and had a pool and a hot tub. All of that was lovely, but lovelier still was the item tucked away in the fridge…a two-tiered chocolate cake with layers of cheesecake filling, iced with white buttercream and decorated with green and purple fondant orchids. As Tom and I fed each other a slice, Simon smeared icing on the back of my neck. I retaliated by flinging a banana from a bowl on the counter in his direction because bananas are disgusting and there was no way I was wasting cake, and suddenly we were in the middle of an all-out food war that ended with all of us jumping into the pool fully clothed. Fun was had, at least until we clambered out of the water and got a gander at the current state of the formerly pristine kitchen. It was almost midnight by the time we finished cleaning up the mess we’d made, but we’d powered through by taking turns listening to our favorite playlists. Just as we’d begun to discuss our shower schedules, the first few notes of Adventure Of A Lifetime began to play. Without pausing to determine who was responsible for choosing it, Tom and I gravitated toward each other and began to dance, then sang, and as the song progressed we were joined by Simon, Sean, Henry, Ez, Mona, Seph and Luke. By the end we were essentially screaming the lyrics, a troupe of dancing fools bound by love and blood still sharing the same adventure, celebrating where we’d already been, exited for what we’d discover down the road. Everything you want’s a dream away…we are legends, every day.

 Later on, after all the good-nights were said and Tom had passed out after our engaging in some seriously spectacular anniversary shenanigans, I found myself wide awake. I walked to the glass sliders and stared past the pool at the reflection of the moonlight on the waves, the ebb and flow of the ocean that had always, to me, seemed representative of the back and forth, the ups and downs…all the moments of our lives as we pass through them. And then, there they were…Henry and Ez, walking toward the pool, holding hands. They too stood gazing out at the waves, and released each other’s hands to slip their arms around each other’s waists. Without warning, since I wasn’t privy to their conversation, Henry leaned backward, face to the sky, laughing the laugh that I knew sounded so very much like his father’s. I could see them both shaking with mirth, and they quieted slowly, her hand rubbing his back. As I continued to watch, transfixed, she rested her head against him, and he turned to pull her into his arms, then leaned down to kiss her.

 At that point what migh happen next was absofuckinglutely none of my business, so I turned around and headed back toward yet another temporary bed that contained the sleeping form of my personal, perfect, permanence, awash in moonlight. I was now more awake than ever, so I remained in a seated position next to him, my back resting against the headboard. He mumbled in his sleep, rolling over to drape his left arm across my lap. The desire to wake him up and share what I’d seen so I could have a ‘HA, I told you so’ moment was strong, but it was cast aside by a vivid memory from when Henry had been an infant. Tom had just returned from promoting Kong, and I, in my incredibly sleep deprived state, experienced an instance of déjà vu that evolved into a vision of me, at some point in the future, passing the sleeper Henry had been wearing that night to a young man. Back then, the voices I’d heard weren’t familiar, nor recognizable, but now…now they were, because I’d been listening to them all day long. I recalled that when I was still carrying him inside me, each time I’d held Ez, Henry had thrashed about wildly, something that had never occurred in such a fashion with anyone else. The entanglement particle theory came to mind, one that Tom had referenced in Only Lovers Left Alive, which Einstein had dubbed ‘spooky action at a distance’. If entwined particles become separated, even if they wind up at opposite ends of the universe, if one is altered or affected, the other will be identically altered or affected.

 I started down at the ring on Tom’s left hand, and the two on my own, one which had been inscribed with two lines of text at the bequest of the man who’d become my husband twenty years ago. On the first was ‘Talk Story - 6/29/15 - Our Story’, and on the second, ‘My Light in the Mist’. I was, briefly, unable to breathe, feeling that I suddenly, and for certain, temporarily, understood life, the universe and everything.

 Even in the darkest hour of our journey through this life, there’s light. You won’t see it in that moment, you might not see it for a long time afterward…but it’s there, hidden by darkness, and as the darkness begins to fade there will be tiny specks of it in the distance. Chase after them, because those specks – they’re hope. The fading darkness transitions to a thick fog, then a translucent mist…you may find yourself lingering there, in the in-between, reasonably content. Living, but with a sense of incompleteness that you can’t seem to define, are able to suppress, but can’t quite shake. That’s the light, reaching out for you. And one day, it will finally make contact. And if you’ll allow it, the light will take you by the hand and lead you out into the open where the sun can fully shine upon you again…or perhaps for the very first time. And I’m here to say…allow it. Grab that hand. Grab it with everything you have, and never let it go. No matter what, never, ever let it go.

- Maeve Curry, June 2015- July 2019

[freshprinceofverone]

For the “Things you did for me” ask meme : 18 Juliet/Benvolio and 15 Tybalt/Mercutio

This has taken so long I’m so sorry, but I’ve decided to write two prompts in one fic so…

I hope you enjoy world-building and long descriptive passages because I have written a lot of that. It’s also kind of a reflection about the notion of letting go(???)

Benvolio/Juliet: Held me while I cried & Tybalt/Mercutio: Trusted me enough to show vulnerability

Enjoy!

It was snowing in Verona. The summer fever that had taken hold of the city only a few months before had sweated itself out. Mercutio and Tybalt had both been severely injured during a duel. The next day, Juliet’s hand had been promised to Lord Paris, and she and her husband Romeo had tried to take their lives. The feud between the Montagues and the Capulets and the ensuing bloodshed had only ended when Friar Lawrence had spoken with Prince Escalus and they had exposed how both families’ selfishness and hatred had nearly cost them what they treasured most. Peace had been reached thanks to Friar Lawrence’s negotiating skills: Juliet and Romeo had accepted to reconsider their wedding as an engagement.

The summer passions had indeed dimmed as the weather had cooled and the weeks had passed. In their stead came strong, secure attachments – less romantic perhaps but also less deadly. Juliet had been introduced to Benvolio and Mercutio. They quickly became friends and even learnt to enjoy each other’s presence without Romeo. Juliet braided Mercutio’s hair, or tried to sit on both the boys’ laps at the same time and they laughed so much people in the streets stared at them.

At the start of the winter Juliet had invited Tybalt to join their friend group. All involved parties thought she took a risk, but perhaps they had used up all their hatred during the heatwave, or perhaps they understood the value of friendship better once they had nearly lost so much; in any case the five of them became firm friends.

As everyone became used to Romeo and Juliet’s engagement, it became less of a subject of conversation. At the same time, the two lovers themselves seemed to become more casual.

Benvolio in particular was grateful for the change. He had no reason to object to Juliet – far from it – but Romeo tended to be obnoxious about his love life. Besides, as time went by, Benvolio started to believe that she and Romeo were not as well-matched as they had once thought.

**

Romeo, Juliet and Benvolio were strolling in the snow-covered streets, holding hands. Juliet’s gloved fingers seemed tiny in Benvolio’s. The three of them had started holding hands ironically and the surprised looks it produced in strangers had persuaded them to do it regularly, Juliet always standing between the two cousins.

A few feet behind them walked Mercutio and Tybalt, arguing. It was so usual for them that the others hardly took notice. Only Romeo could sometimes be persuaded to listen.

“Hey Romeo!” called Mercutio. “Help me prove a point!”

Romeo rolled his eyes but let go of Juliet and fell back. Benvolio was left holding her hand, and suddenly the situation felt terribly awkward. When the three of them were together it felt right: they were young and cool and they did not care for strangers’ disapproving looks. If Romeo went away however Benvolio was left holding his cousin’s fiancée’s hand. So after a few steps he dropped her fingers, clearing his throat with a sound that could have been a very small “sorry.”

Juliet smiled but did not say anything, so they continued to walk in a comfortable silence only broken by the argument behind them that was continuing with Romeo. Silence was always comfortable with Juliet, it mostly meant that Romeo was not chattering away. Words were sometimes superfluous.

Behind them, the argument was centred on whether the weather was cold enough in Trento – about 100 kilometres north of Verona – for there to be penguins. Mercutio said that yes, Romeo argued that penguins lived in Antarctica and that if it was really cold in Trento maybe they had razorbills, and Tybalt mostly expostulated that the other two were stupid.

**

That night Tybalt was awoken by a noise outside his window. He quickly lit a candle and saw someone softly knocking on the glass pane. It was Mercutio.

Tybalt opened the window and Mercutio climbed clumsily through.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he whispered angrily. “This is literally the second floor.”

“Well I evidently climbed to – and then through – your window,” answered Mercutio a little too loud.

He was drunk, and his hair and coat were covered in snow. He sat on the carpeted floor.

“Listen,” he said, “I was with Romeo, and he’s in bed now…”

“And you-…?”

“Well I’m a bit drunk…”

“Oh are you?” said Tybalt sarcastically.

“Romeo was way drunken-er than me y’know.”

Tybalt huffed: “If that’s all leave now.”

“Oh, sorry…” said Mercutio standing up uneasily. “I just wanted to talk to you…”

Tybalt was cross. Once he was awake he would not go back to sleep before sunrise. He might as well spend his insomnia talking with a friend, or at least someone with whom he had common friends.

**

Soon they were both sitting on Tybalt’s bed – Mercutio had been given a glass of water and a change of clothes. Tybalt was impressed with his own civility.

“Romeo and Juliet aren’t engaged anymore,” finally said Mercutio.

Tybalt’s mind went blank. Mercutio nearly upset his water as he lied down on his back.

“She’s the one who called the shots,” he continued. “And… This is weird, am I sobering up if I want to confess stuff to you or am I even more drunker than I thought? … Anyway, it’s kinda like it was before: Romeo, Ben, and me, except… it’ll never be the same will it? You’re not going to like go away or anything…”

Thoughts were swirling in Tybalt’s head. He tried to cling to the idea that if Juliet was single he had his chance, but the thought kept being chased by new others.

“It’s never going to be the same yeah…” said Tybalt, still lost in thoughts.

“Cool.” Mercutio’s tone brought him back to reality and he shook his head.

Mercutio sat up, finished his glass of water and placed it on the floor.

“You know I tease you and stuff but… it’s easier to be detached and ironic than serious … and arguing is just a way to not address the changing nature of our relationship and feelings… Whoa I’m getting so deep I can hardly see the surface right now!”

Tybalt deemed that their conversation felt more like he was getting repeatedly slapped in the face by what Mercutio was saying.

“Anyway!” he concluded. “Sobering up now gotta go!” He sprung up, grabbed his clothes, and bounded to the window. “Thanks for the water, I’ll send the clothes back tomorrow… today, later… Soon! Byeee!”

Tybalt leapt after him but as he got to the window Mercutio was already touching the ground. The sky had become lighter. Tybalt still did not feel like sleeping.

**

It was early morning when Juliet paid a visit to Benvolio. He was having breakfast – Romeo had stayed out late and did not seem ready to face breakfast, let alone the ordeal of getting up.

“Hi!” said Juliet. “How’s Romeo?”

“Probably hungover, what’s up?”

Something was off.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked sitting down on Benvolio’s bench.

“Of course. What’s the matter?”

Juliet told in detail how she had plucked up the courage to talk to Romeo about their engagement, and how they had gone back on it. It did not feel right out of the context of that summer. They would presumably stay friends though. “But I feel horrible for inflicting all this pain on him for no reason? Because he’s sweet and he’s one of my best friends in the world and I just leave an engagement because I feel I don’t love him enough? How selfish is that!”

Benvolio shifted on the bench and opened his arms around Juliet, who squeezed him in hers. He closed his arms around her and they embraced each other for a long time, rocking gently to and fro. Juliet started shaking with repressed sobs, and Benvolio only hugged her more firmly. She cried, and still Benvolio held her in his arms, until her sobs subsided.

“Thanks,” she said as their embrace loosened.

“It’s ok. You’ll both work it out somehow some time.”

Juliet made a watery smile and said, “Also I kind of have a crush on someone but I want to take it slow this time, even if he did happen to like me too. Plus it would only make things worse for Romeo if he thought I’d left him for his own cousin…”

“… His what now?”

**

As spring came around the corner Mercutio and Tybalt were discovered to have been together since the end of January. (“You could’ve told us!” complained an offended Romeo while the others, remembering the summer’s events, rolled their eyes.)

Sometimes Benvolio and Juliet held hands but no one thought anything of it. They took their time, and summer was well underway when Benvolio asked her out. Romeo was not as hurt as they had feared he would be.

Sometimes we need to let go of the burden of our past selves in order to find the path to our happy endings to come.

[dreamlogic]

"I've met a few angels" Really? That's so neat! Would you elaborate on that? 🌱🎶

aaaahhhh lmao perhaps “met” is the wrong word. it’s more like “happened to be in the way while they were doing their jobs and caught a glimpse of them, then spent a week not sleeping about it.” angels are intimidating af. even my guardian angel, who’s kind of a punk, carries himself with an incredible amount of power and authority. they’re incredibly graceful– so graceful that it’s a bit eerie how smooth and confident their movements are. i’ve encountered five angels over the course of my life (that i know of) and i don’t think i could ever forget any of them. and bc you caught me in a chatty mood, i’ll ramble a little about them under the cut:

the first angels i met were watchkeepers over the house i grew up in. it was a dinky little trailer in a quiet, well-maintained little park populated mostly by retirees and the occasional meth cook. nothing remarkable in itself, but i’m pretty sure our trailer was situated over some sort of spiritual continental divide or a rift in spacetime or something. weird shit always went down there, and i never realized how much weird shit went down till i moved out. my mom (who is also v sensitive to the supernatural) and i used to joke that it was a “halfway house for wayward demons and lost ghosts.”one night, i was going for a walk around the neighborhood, and when i returned to my house i saw two enormous shadowy figures crouched at each end of the trailer: one east, one west. the way they were perched reminded me of the ark of the covenant. they weren’t humanoid, per se, just shapes of dark cobalt and gold that almost disappeared in the night, with giant gold-laced wings outstretched to cover the majority of the house. one carried a spear, and one a staff with a lantern on the end, and they were crossed in the middle. neither acknowledged my presence, and although i glimpsed them out of the corner of my eye and in dreams several times over the years there, neither ever showed any signs of movement. their presence was grave and heavy, but overall comforting because after they took up post on our roof, the nastier demons tended to stay outside and leave us alone for the most part.

then there’s my guardian angel, for lack of a better word. i nicknamed him marlboro, because during the summer i first met him, i kept finding marlboro cigarette butts under my windowsill, which he eventually confessed to leaving there. did he smoke them? eat them? harvest them just to confuse me? i dunno, but for a while i was convinced it was a peeping tom who was really bad at covering their tracks.voyeurism aside, i also mistook him for a demon the first time i met him. at the time, i was still living in the trailer, and was still near constantly plagued with supernatural bullshit. demons tend to flock in threes for strength (imo trying to mimic the holy trinity), and i had a triumvirate in my room wrecking havoc on my mental health. i usually don’t have anxiety, but they were giving me anxiety attacks that felt like i’d been sliced in half with a blade of PURE RAW FEAR. i was chilling in my room one afternoon trying to calm down from one of these anxiety attacks when i thought i saw a shimmering blade out of the corner of my eye, emerging from thin air like an invisible curtain covering it had been briefly blown aside. thinking it was the demon, i whipped out my fuckin holy water and incense and tried to FITE TF OUT OF IT, but it didn’t budge. instead, it started laughing, this beautiful, but incredibly stressful sound like being stuck inside a giant brass bell while it rang.“are you really trying to exorcise me?” a voice asked, and i felt a bit nauseous. “get the fuck out, demon,” i replied. the laughter got louder and the blade burst into flames, sending light dancing around the room. “bro, seriously? i’m your angel,” it said. “here, watch this.” the point of the blade cut into the floor, opening up a little slice of darkness, and the point hooked around some screaming, squirming thing that it pulled up from the floor. i recognized it instantly as the demon that had been fucking with me: this vile thing dripping rotting blood and green bile, parts one two and three being a rusty spike, a moldering cloth wrapping it up, and a ribbon covered in eyes tying the bundle together. clawed hands reached out from behind the curtain shielding me from the brightness of the flaming blade and unwrapped the demon piece by piece, shredding it while it shrieked and blubbered. then the hands lifted the sword, twisted the blade into the demon’s “heart” and cut it in two easy as cutting air.the laughter stopped, and i felt a gentle weight on my knees and shoulders, pushing me to the floor. “you’re welcome,” the laughing voice said. the sword had disappeared behind the curtain again, and i felt a soft presence slip across my eyes before vanishing. i was so overwhelmed and stressed out by the encounter i took a nap on the floor and woke up four hours later.since then, i’ve gotten to know marlboro better and he doesn’t scare me anymore. his is a welcome presence, soft and humorous (if obnoxiously sarcastic for an angel), but still fiercely intense and a little careless with that intensity. i think he forgets my puny human brain can’t fully conceptualize his existence and sometimes he’s so intense it’s almost smothering. for the most part, he keeps his distance unless i call on him. lately, he’s been hovering over my bed while i sleep to guard my dreams, but for the most part he does his own thing elsewhere and doesn’t pay me much attention. i’ve also gotten a more accurate picture of his physical appearance over the years, but i still have trouble articulating. the ‘curtain’ i first saw turned out to be a garment he wears to shield himself from sight, like an invisibility cloak made of dark matter or some shit. if i had to compare his form to anything, it would be a barn owl, but even that doesn’t do him justice at all. i can’t tell if he carries many flaming blades under his cloak, or if those are feathers, or what, but occasionally i’ll catch a glint of sharp things in the soft, heavy, star-laden darkness under the garment. he exudes a dense rust-grey smoke that obscures everything but his face, and i think it’s another layer of protection he offers me, but i’m not sure. it smells like a bizarre blend of incense, rancid meat, and river water.

unlike my wandering truant angel, my mom’s guardian angel never leaves her side. it stands behind her with a vice grip on her left shoulder, and its presence scares the shit out of my cats. she has to ask it to loosen its grip and back off a bit, otherwise her shoulder aches and she can’t sleep with its overbearing weight on her. i haven’t seen much of its physical appearance, and i really don’t want to. it’s enormous, and tbh kinda terrifying. it wears full-body armor, but i only know what its head/shoulders looks like bc it noticed i was watching it and vanished with a sound like a flock of pigeons taking flight. its helmet is a featureless visor of tarnished golden-y color with plates like a snake’s scutes that slope gently into broad, rounded shoulders. tbh it looked a little bit like these fuckers, the druids from voltron. when they first made an appearance i was like “noooooooo fuckinnn wayyyyyy” lmao art imitates life or w/e.

this last angel came to me when i was visiting a catholic shrine in the rocky mountains. i’d been considering buying a rosary there, but the lil gift shop was closed. i was musing on this in one of the prayer gardens when something abruptly called my attention between two spruce trees on the opposite end of the garden. i felt magnetically drawn to that spot, even though i had to hop two fences and a rock wall to get there. “there” was a statue of an angel dedicated to some long-dead benefactor of the shrine, and to my eyes it seemed to be coated in a layer of glistening, fuzzy white down, like some sort of fungus, or dew-coated wool. from the angel’s outstretched hand was dangling a rosary, which wasn’t exactly uncommon. “i can’t take this, someone left it here for a reason,” i thought to myself. the shrine was littered with trinkets and offerings and it felt wrong to disturb them, but a voice that sounded like wind through a bottle rose from the fluff coating the statue and asked me “why do you think i compelled her to leave it? it’s yours.” after some deliberation (but not much cause you don’t just disregard authoritative talking statues), i unlooped the rosary from the angel’s hand. the second i did, the white down scattered like this [video link, arachnophobia cw]. here’s a pic of the angel statue, but it doesn’t look nearly as awe-inspiring as it did when covered with angel dust, or whatever that was (i’m p sure it was angelic, but i’m not sure if it was a single entity or a flock/hivemind of little luminous beings). the rosary now lives in a bag with my tarot deck bc i’m an awful blasphemous christian.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Synchronicity 9

Fear!AU. The mind-fuck episode. AKA The Vent, the ghosts, and conspiracy.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

(...)“Well, ain’t that a bloody good question, at that, luv?” Lena snickers from the left and slides up her goggles. Each of her movements leaves electric blue lines fading slowly in the air. There are bullet holes in her throat, her right eye is missing from its socket, and her uniform is stained black at the midsection. “I reckon the knobhead really wants you to notice him, Jackie.”(...)

***

(…)

Ghosts of the past always tend to revisit

Rarely will they come bearing gifts of forgiveness

And from the streets to the wars, so much violence he made

(…)

The corridor Jack steps into is unsettling, the long stretch of the polished marble with dark blue columns turned almost black in the dim red light that filters through an arched glass roof overhead. He knows it does not belong here, in this place, it has been ripped out from somewhere else – a memory, his own or Reaper’s – and put here for him to stumble in, purposefully, or by accident maybe.

He swallows and checks the shotgun’s chamber. Three more shots. His footsteps echo in the silence, the only other sounds his own breath and the rustle of his clothes. The door made out of the frosted glass on the other side of the corridor slowly crawls further away from him with every bit of advance made. The tall grass that tickles his palm does not surprise him in the least.

Psychic shock. Hallucinations. Withdrawal. Crazy or not.

“I know you’re here,” Jack stops and defiantly calls out, shotgun lowered, teeth clenched. “Come out. Tell me what do you want from me…”

“I’m always here, Sunshine,” the Beast laughs and with a rushing trickle, the grass drowns in rising liquid, black sludge slowly creeping up until he stands up to his hips in it. It’s warm, detestably so, steaming in the air turned unexpectedly cold. “Now more than ever because, let’s face it, Sunshine, you need me.”

It’s blood. A river of blood. Jack trudges forward against the strengthening current that threatens to take him with it.

“No. Not you. You’re… you’re a part of me. Him.”

“I was, and always be, a part of you, Sunshine,” the Beast’s whisper fades when a claw traces the scar on his face, with care, sadness maybe, and Reaper comes closer, the expression on the ever-changing face struggling to keep its shape inscrutable. Jack holds his breath. The skin is cold to touch, clammy, and the smell of decomposing flesh surrounds them.

“They will all pay for what they did to us. For what they did to him.” The voice changes, travels, sounds from different points in space.

In a way, it is reassuring, the knowledge that he is merely a surrogate for someone already gone, Jack thinks when the surging current, a wave of rolling darkness, knocks him over and dunks him under the surface. The whole world reorients itself along some axis, the turn of perception dizzying, and he presses his palm against the glass door.

Something in the darkness beyond the threshold screams, long anguished soundless wails reverberating in his chest like a sound wave underwater, more felt than heard. He cannot even start to imagine how anything – anyone – can produce sounds like these, with such suffering forced into each single tone, and still live. Still exist.

He pushes on the frosted glass. Vertigo makes him sway on his legs when the reality again stretches and crashes into his senses. Jack wipes the blood away from his nose with his wrist and duly notes that the open gash on his forearm is gone, and only an angry jagged – slightly raised – pink line is left behind.

He is standing next to the vent, the floor and the wall around it are littered with angry red scribbles, fingerpainted, manic, disjointed, but from that chaos, order emerges the longer he stares at it. Letters and numbers form amino-acid sequences and equations, organic reactions reimagining themselves into something living in his mind.

“The formula to create you, Sunshine,” the Beast purrs. “The recipe for making more of you.”

And above all of that, a question, meticulously formulated, blood still fresh and uncoagulated: ‘Can he truly see him?’.

“Well, ain’t that a bloody good question, at that, luv?” Lena snickers from the left and slides up her goggles. Each of her movements leaves electric blue lines fading slowly in the air. There are bullet holes in her throat, her right eye is missing from its socket, and her uniform is stained black at the midsection. “I reckon the knobhead really wants you to notice him, Jackie.”

Jack feels the inevitability weigh down on him, something constricts his throat. He shakes his head as if to clear his mind. His fingertips brush against the wall and smear the blood.

“Now, luv, don’t go shellshocked on my behalf, there’s still a lot of fecking ground to cover,” Lena rolls her remaining eye. “I could do without you going full nutter.”

“How?” Jack swallows, bending down to peer into the vent.

“Does it matter?” Her hand rests on his head. Fingers soothingly card through his hair. “All soldiers are is lambs led to slaughter. Future banquet for worms. Monsters bred to create monsters. A neverending cycle.”

“Yes. It matters. To me.” Jack crouches and almost balks at the stench of fresh viscera and its spilled contents coming from inside.

“Now, Sunshine,” the Beast hisses, “you’ve smelt worse.” Yes, yes, he had, so he slips inside. The light on his visor illuminates metallic lining of the duct. Jack tentatively moves forward on all fours. Lena is beside him.

“You tell me, luv. You ditched the meds, didn’t you? I’m just a bloody fidget of your broken mind, you duffer. What was that thing Shrike said? Psychic shock, luv.” She smiles, white teeth glinting from the corner of her mouth. “So, in all probability, I’m telling you what you want to hear. What you already believe. Or what the wankiest of them all wants you to believe.”

His hand lands with a squelch in something wet. He doesn’t look and sidles – as far as he can, pressed into aluminum wall – past the lower half of a body. Ripped intestines hang down over the ridges of torn muscle.

“So, Jack, luv,” Lena laughs, “don’t keep him waiting. Remember your training. See him for what he is,” she adds somberly, her nails dig into his scalp. “You need to see him. You need to forget your fear.”

An opening, down into another corridor, and now he does not need to wonder where the other half of the body went, it lays just below. Jack swallows and positions himself gripping the edge of the vent, then slowly lowers himself and swings.

He lands with a soft thump, crouched. Everything is silent. Too silent. He has the uncanny feeling that someone watches him through the eye of the camera on the wall, someone hostile, someone with an agenda differing from his own.

Jack looks back at the vent and Lena smiles at him. She pulls down her goggles and gives him thumbs-up, then disappears from his sight.

He inspects the shotgun again. Three shots. The knife is in its holster, the Seegert too. The vest seems to have the integrity intact. The closest exit is reinforced, the card reader again glaring red at him, so he passes it. Around the corner, another camera observes each his step.

“Yes, Sunshine,” the Beast walks with him. “Someone prepared the way for you. I wonder what was his intention.”

There are bodies in dark-colored hospital scrubs littering the floor. Red cross on the wall. He feels no compassion towards them, not anymore. There are singular piles of ash. He tries not to step on them.

The path leads him through another set of cubicles. The feeling of scrutiny makes him paranoid and he glances up at the camera in the corner of the ceiling, catching the briefest glint of movement. Why? He turns, inspecting the office space.

The PDA sitting precariously on the edge of the desk flickers in the dim of the room, the blue glow of the screen bathing immediate surroundings in an eerie light. Jack slowly approaches and takes a hold of it even if every shred of his instinct screams danger. It smells like an intricate trap he’s entering willingly.

The datapad still receives transmission and is logged into the secure network of the facility. He wonders how unlikely it is the little fact the whole infrastructure is still standing got overlooked by Gerard. There is always one position highlighted and he quickly swipes through several menus along the path left for him until his finger hesitates and slowly moves from ‘Blackwatch Personnel’ to ‘Replica Project’ – and then to ‘Subject 76 Field Test’.

“There is no need, Sunshine,” the Beast murmurs, “for you to read this.”

“Why?” It surges around his wrist yet remains silent except for a hushed hiss bubbling just under its surface, so Jack opens the file. The letters seem to quiver on the faintly glowing screen.

‘I’d like to recommend that the next time there is a need for Blackwatch personnel to supervise any kind of prototype testing, they are reminded of proper protocols for handling the test subjects. Proper handling would have prevented the unfortunate loss of several soft assets.

While most of the protocols were breached during the incident, we can deem the field test in its entirety as sufficiently successful, especially because of the issues revealed. There is a need to develop a more secure method of establishing and ending the connection of our subjects to Reaper as it seems that the incident was initiated rather spontaneously without prior activation of Subject 76, due to the physical trauma the specimen underwent.’

Something cold is crawling down his spine and his breath grows short. The letters on the screen start to swim, but that’s because his hands are trembling, Jack idly notices from somewhere beside himself.

‘During the five-minute twenty-two seconds long synchronization event, Subject 76 barehanded had dispatched four acting members of Blackwatch and gravely wounded another two (see attached footage). The specimen itself suffered several combat injuries, none lessening its combat eligibility in the long run after proper recuperation period. The other injuries that lead to the test subject’s activation correspond with…’

He cannot read anything else, the words run together and transform into smears on the screen. It does not matter because there are hands at his throat and his lungs burn when he tries to draw a breath. He drops the PDA and claws panicked at his neck trying to pry them off.

Cold fingers cover his eyes and something – someone – physical stands behind him, the other hand guiding his wrists down away from his bared bloodied throat.

“I’m here,” the voice is distant and distorted, hoarse. “You don’t need to know this. You shouldn’t know this.”

For a brief moment, the darkness that envelops him is comforting, and Jack slowly breathes to the rhythm of the ever-present sluggish beat.