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kookie-doughs · 3 years ago

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything is now ruined.

Chapter 22: Then It Ended

As soon as we came, Annabeth ang Grover tackled me. We were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke, so of course everybody treated us as if we'd won some reality-TV contest. According to camp tradition, we wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in our honor, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where we got to burn the burial shrouds our cabins had made for us in our absence.

Annabeth's shroud was so beautiful—gray silk with embroidered owls— Percy told her it seemed a shame not to bury her in it. She punched him and told him to shut up. Percy being the son of Poseidon, he didn't have any cabin mates, so the Ares cabin had volunteered to make his shroud. They'd taken an old bedsheet and painted smiley faces with X'ed-out eyes around the border, and the word LOSER painted really big in the middle.

As I was still unclaimed, Hermes cabin had made me one. (Just... IDK go crazy with your shroud IG) It was fun to burn. As Apollo's cabin led the sing-along and passed out s'mores, Percy and I was surrounded by my Hermes cabinmates, Annabeth's friends from Athena, and Grover's satyr buddies, who were admiring the brand-new searcher's license he'd received from the Council of Cloven Elders. The council had called Grover's performance on the quest "Brave to the point of indigestion. Horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past." The only ones not in a party mood were Clarisse and her cabinmates, whose poisonous looks told me they'd never forgive us for disgracing their dad. That was okay with me. Even Dionysus's welcome-home speech wasn't enough to dampen my spirits. "Yes, yes, so the little brats didn't get themselves killed and now they'll have an even bigger head. Well, huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday...." Going back to the cabin I finally had time to talk to Luke. Who just expressed his relief of me being fine, and how he was scared when Annabeth told everyone about me. No wonder everyone was so shocked seeing me come back with Percy. On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a fireworks display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus's kids, they weren't going to settle for a few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They'd anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Annabeth, who'd seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced so tightly they'd look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of hundred-foot-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colors. As Annabeth, Percy and I were spreading a picnic blanket, Grover showed up to tell us good-bye. He was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt and sneakers, but in the last few weeks he'd started to look older, almost high-school age. His goatee had gotten thicker. He'd put on weight. His horns had grown at least an inch, so he now had to wear his rasta cap all the time to pass as human. "I'm off," he said. "I just came to say ... well, you know." I tried to feel happy for him. After all, it wasn't every day a satyr got permission to go look for the great god Pan. But it was hard saying good-bye. I'd only known Grover a year, yet he was my oldest friend. Annabeth and I gave him a hug. She told him to keep his fake feet on. I asked him where he was going to search first. "Kind of a secret," he said, looking embarrassed. "I wish you could come with me, guys, but humans and Pan ..." "We understand," Annabeth said. "You got enough tin cans for the trip?" "Yeah." "And you remembered your reed pipes?" "Jeez, Annabeth," he grumbled. "You're like an old mama goat." But he didn't really sound annoyed. He gripped his walking stick and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He looked like any hitchhiker you might see on an American highway. "Well," he said, "wish me luck." He gave Annabeth and I another hug. He clapped Percy on the shoulder, then headed back through the dunes. Fireworks exploded to life overhead: Hercules killing the Nemean lion, Artemis chasing the boar, George Washington (who, by the way, was a son of Athena) crossing the Delaware. "Hey, Grover," Percy called. He turned at the edge of the woods. "Wherever you're going—I hope they make good enchiladas." Grover grinned, and then he was gone, the trees closing around him. "We'll see him again," Annabeth said. July passed. I spent my daysplanning out strategies with Luke for capture-the-flag and making alliances with the other cabins to keep the banner out of Ares's hands. I got to the top of the climbing wall for the first time without getting scorched by lava. From time to time, Percy and I would walk past the Big House, he'd glance up at the attic windows, and think about the Oracle.

I tried to convince him that its prophecy had come to completion. "You shall go west, and face the god who has turned." "Been there, done that—even though the traitor god had turned out to be Ares rather than Hades." "You shall find what was stolen, and see it safe returned." "Check. One master bolt delivered. One helm of darkness back on Hades." "You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend." Percy recited. "Ares had pretended to be our friend, then betrayed us. That must be what the Oracle meant.... Or maybe Nereid?"

"And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end." He sighed. "I had failed to save my mom and lost you..."

"So why are you still uneasy?" The last night of the summer session came all too quickly. The campers had one last meal together. We burned part of our dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads. Percy and I got our own leather necklace, and when I saw the bead for my first summer. The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.

"This is so beautiful..." I smiled to Percy. "The choice was unanimous," Luke announced. "This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!" The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares's cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena's cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause. I'm not sure I'd ever felt as happy or sad as I did at that moment. I'd finally found a family, people who cared about me and thought I'd done something right. And in the morning, most of them would be leaving for the year. * * * The next morning, Luke called me. He gave me a paper, telling me to fill it out, and asked me to meet him as soon as I could. I knew Dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong: Dear (WRONG NAME) , If you intend to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, you must inform the Big House by noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated your cabin or died a horrible death. Cleaning harpies will begin work at sundown. They will be authorized to eat any unregistered campers. All personal articles left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit. Have a nice day! Mr. D (Dionysus) Camp Director, Olympian Council #12 That's another thing about ADHD. Deadlines just aren't real to me until I'm staring one in the face. Summer was over, and I still don't know what to do. I had no where to go to. The only option I had was Percy's or maybe Hades was not joking about inviting me back to the Underworld. Sighing I decided to just meet Luke before filling it for second opinions. The campgrounds were mostly deserted, shimmering in the August heat. All the campers were in their cabins packing up, or running around with brooms and mops, getting ready for final inspection. Argus was helping some of the Aphrodite kids haul their Gucci suitcases and makeup kits over the hill, where the camp's shuttle bus would be waiting to take them to the airport. I was walking around looking for Luke. I jumped when I felt someone tap me from behind. I instinctively unsheathed my knife and turned only to see Luke with his hands raised.

"Whoa! Calm down just me." He laughed.

"Kinda weird seeing someone laugh at a knife pointed at them." I smirked sheathing my knife.

"I only laugh since its you." He smiled and ruffled my hair. "Are you done with everything?"

"Not really. I don't know whether to leave or not yet. That's why I came. Help me?" I asked him.

He turned to me and to the forest. "How about you hear me out about something... important and private... then decide?" He gestured towards the forest.

"Not planning on killing me are you?" I squinted at him.

He gasped. "Not you. Never. I would never hurt you."

I let him lead me to a shrouded area of the forest.

"How serious is this thing that you can't let anyone see? I am blindly trusting you here Luke." I laughed nervously. But when he didn't reply I felt something was off. "Luke, okay this isn't cool. How deep into the forest do we have to go?"

"Y/N remember when you said... You want to be the person I trust...? How you promised to help me?"

"Luke?" He took my hand and pulled me sharply. I winced at how hard he pulled me. "That hurts! Let me go!"

He snapped back and let go of my wrist. "I-I'm sorry... Y/N..."

As much as I knew I had to leave, I couldn't I was worried about him. I reluctantly placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's happening?"

"I did it..." I said and sat on the ground. "I swear I didn't mean to get you hurt. But, I confess to everything. I stole bolt and helm, I summoned the hound, I gave Percy the cursed shoes... And just now, I tried to kill Percy Jackson." He looked at me with empty eyes.

I shot up and looked at him in emotions I couldn't put in words. "W-Wh---" I wanted to leave and check on Percy. But once again, seeing him right now... I need to stay with him. "Why are you telling me this...?"

"Join me... please?" his voice was weak. He sounded vulnerable. "Let's serve my Lord together..."

"L-Luke... no. I-I can't do that!" I took his shoulder, "Y-You should stay with me instead. How about that, huh? L-Let's explain to Chiron and the others... come on please. I could help you!"

Nothing was working.

"Come with me..." He muttered.

"Luke, I won't join you. You have to change your mind. You can't do this."

"I can't change my mind."

"I can help you with that? How about you go with me huh? I could spend all my time doing this and that. Please, just change your mind."

He didn't reply for a while until he whispered, "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"You'll stay with me."

"What? Luke I wo--"

"You won't join... Just...don't stay here for the year... and stay with me."

"I-If I stay with you... what would that mean?"

"Yo-You... might change my mind."

"I'll go." I replied with no hesitation. "I'll leave camp for the year. And I'll find my parent to prove to you that Gods and Goddess aren't all bad. We'll find my parent together."

"I do my lord's bidding--"

"You can still do it. If you want to. But whatever happens... stays only between us. I'll stay with you until I change your mind. And I'll bring you back to camp."

"I would never do anything to ruin your trust in me." He knelt down. It was kinda awkward but hey... "I need you."

Worry not hero. We shall stay.

"Please..."

We'll meet again. Wait for us, we shall join you soon. Now leave.

I had no idea what happened since when I came to Luke was gone and there was no sign of him anywhere. How were we going to st---

We will meet him once we leave. Now go as our hero needs us.

I suddenly remembered Percy's state that Luke had told me about. So I ran. I ran to the Big House

***

Percy finally opened his eyes. He was propped up in bed in the sickroom of the Big House, his right hand bandaged like a club. Argus stood guard in the corner. Annabeth and I sat next to Percy, I was holding his nectar glass and she was dabbing a washcloth on his forehead.

"Here we are again," Percy said. "You idiot," Annabeth said, "You were green and turning gray when we found you. If it weren't for Chiron's healing..." "Now, now," Chiron's voice said. "Percy's constitution deserves some of the credit." He was sitting near the foot of the bed in human form. His lower half was magically compacted into the wheelchair, his upper half dressed in a coat and tie. He smiled, but his face looked weary and pale, the way it did when he'd been up all night grading Latin papers. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Like my insides have been frozen, then microwaved." "Apt, considering that was pit scorpion venom. Now you must tell me, if you can, exactly what happened." Between sips of nectar, he told them the story.

I bit my lip trying to keep what happened between Luke and I private. It was a risky move that would not be approved by anyone after all. The room was quiet for a long time. "I can't believe that Luke..." Annabeth's voice faltered. Her expression turned angry and sad. "Yes. Yes, I can believe it. May the gods curse him.... He was never the same after his quest."

Percy was looking at me as if checking what was my reaction to his story. "This must be reported to Olympus," Chiron murmured. "I will go at once." "Luke is out there right now," Percy said. "I have to go after him." Chiron shook his head. "No, Percy. The gods—" "Won't even talk about Kronos," Percy snapped. "Zeus declared the matter closed!" "Percy, I know this is hard. But you must not rush out for vengeance. You aren't ready." "Chiron... your prophecy from the Oracle... it was about Kronos, wasn't it? Was I in it? Y/N? And Annabeth?" Chiron glanced nervously at the ceiling. "Percy, it isn't my place—" "You've been ordered not to talk to me about it, haven't you?" His eyes were sympathetic, but sad. "You will be a great hero, child. I will do my best to prepare you. But if I'm right about the path ahead of you..." Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the windows. "All right!" Chiron shouted. "Fine!" He sighed in frustration. "The gods have their reasons, Percy. Knowing too much of your future is never a good thing." "We can't just sit back and do nothing," He said. "We will not sit back," Chiron promised. "But you must be careful. Kronos wants you to come unraveled. He wants your life disrupted, your thoughts clouded with fear and anger. Do not give him what he wants. Train patiently. Your time will come." "Assuming I live that long." Chiron put his hand on Percy's ankle. "You'll have to trust me, Percy. You will live. But first you must decide your path for the coming year. I cannot tell you the right choice...." I got the feeling that he had a very definite opinion, and it was taking all his willpower not to advise me. "But you must decide whether to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, or return to the mortal world for seventh grade and be a summer camper. Think on that. When I get back from Olympus, you must tell me your decision." "I'll be back as soon as I can," Chiron promised. "Argus will watch over you." He glanced at Annabeth. "Oh, and, my dear... whenever you're ready, they're here." "Who's here?" Percy asked. Nobody answered. Chiron rolled himself out of the room. I heard the wheels of his chair clunk carefully down the front steps, two at a time. Annabeth studied the floor. "What's wrong?" Percy asked her. "Nothing. I ... just took your advice about something. You ... um ... need anything?" "Yeah. Help me up. I want to go outside." "Percy, that isn't a good idea." Percy slid his legs out of bed. Annabeth and I caught him before he could crumple to the floor.

I said, "I told you ..." "I'm fine," He insisted.

He managed a step forward. Then another, still leaning heavily on me. Argus followed us outside, but he kept his distance. By the time we reached the porch, his face was beaded with sweat. But we had managed to make it all the way to the railing. It was dusk. The camp looked completely deserted. The cabins were dark and the volleyball pit silent. No canoes cut the surface of the lake. Beyond the woods and the strawberry fields, the Long Island Sound glittered in the last light of the sun. "What are you going to do?" Annabeth asked us. "I don't know." Percy replied. "I got the feeling Chiron wanted me to stay year-round, to put in more individual training time, but I'm not sure that's what I want. I also don't want to leave you both with Clarisse only." Annabeth pursed her lips, then said quietly, "I'm going home for the year, Percy." He stared at her. "You mean, to your dad's?" She pointed toward the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Next to Thalia's pine tree, at the very edge of the camp's magical boundaries, a family stood silhouetted—two little children, a woman, and a tall man with blond hair. They seemed to be waiting. The man was holding a backpack that looked like the one Annabeth had gotten from Waterland in Denver. "I wrote him a letter when we got back," Annabeth said. "Just like you suggested. I told him... I was sorry. I'd come home for the school year if he still wanted me. He wrote back immediately. We decided... we'd give it another try." "That took guts." She pursed her lips. "You won't try anything stupid during the school year, will you? At least ... not without sending me an Iris-message? Both of you?" Percy managed a smile. "I won't go looking for trouble. I usually don't have to."

"You already know my plans."

"When I get back next summer," she said, "we'll hunt down Luke. We'll ask for a quest, but if we don't get approval, we'll sneak off and do it anyway. Agreed?" "Sounds like a plan worthy of Athena."

She held out her hand. Percy shook it. She gave me a hug. "Take care, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth told Percy. "Keep your eyes open."

"You too, Wise Girl."

Then turned to me, "Good luck on your own quest Droopy."

"Of course Peabody." We watched her walk up the hill and join her family. She gave her father an awkward hug and looked back at the valley one last time. She touched Thalia's pine tree, then allowed herself to be lead over the crest and into the mortal world. "I made my decision." Percy said. "What's yours?"

"I'll be leaving camp... I'm going to look for my parent..." He looked at me in shock. "I'll be back next summer," I promised him. "I'll survive until then."

"Alone?"

I smiled at him.

"Don't you want to stay with us? Mom said---"

"I want to find my parent. I need to. I'll be fine Percy."

I helped Percy to his cabin so he could pack and went to mine. To my surprise I see a middle-aged man with an athletic figure slim and fit with salt-and-pepper hair, and a very familiar sly grin. He had bags at his foot.

"Delivery for Y/N L/N."

"Uhm..."

"Hermes." He said.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Personally packed. As a thank you for what you're about to do." He smiled softly and handed me the bags.

"H-Huh...?"

"For helping Luke."

"I..."

Don't forget her mail!

Ooh! And tell her to bring us snacks next time we meet since it'll be often now!

No it wouldn't be often! She'll be with Luke!

"Both of you keep quiet." Pulling out a mail he handed it to me. "Luke... prayed to me telling me about your plan. He asked me to help you. I don't know what or why he did it. But I know he'll change thanks to you. So do guide him."

"Sorry you lost me at the talking air..." I blinked.

Hermes laughed and showed a caduceus. "It's just George and Martha."

"Hi?"

Hello!

"I just wanted to let you know. No god or goddess could see you. No matter how hard they tried. So your secrets.. are really secrets. Good luck on your travel."

Next time we meet you should have snacks.

Then he vanished.

Staring at the letter on my hand, I was stunned seeing it was from... my mom and dad.

Sweetie,

You've made quite a friend here.

-Mom and Dad.

I immediately knew where to look. I hurriedly took my bags not bothering to check the contents. I ran to Percy's cabin and helped him out so we could leave.

Percy got a cab and looked at me worriedly.

"I'll write you. Stay safe Arthur Curry." I ruffled his hair and watched him go.

I didn't know where to go so I just went to the first secluded area I saw.

"You have more stuffs than when you arrived." I heard someone behind me.

"You prayed to your dad. I hope he knows how to pack." I sighed turning to him. Turning around I barely made out Luke from the few days I last saw him. "You okay?"

"Do you know where to look first?"

Call upon our hound.

I whistled, I don't know why. But when I did, D/N came out of the blue. Luke looked at me and my dear dog, who was probably bigger than the hound he'd summon back then. "How do feel about L.A?" I said riding on D/N and making space behind me for Luke.

~~~END OF BOOK 1~~~

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END OF BOOK ONE!!! THANK YOU FOR READING YLATHB I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! I'LL PUBLISH BOOK 2 WHEN I'M DONE OR EVEN AT LEAST HAVE WRITTEN 5 CHAPTERS OF THE BOOK 2 ;))

I HOPE TO SEE YOU NEXT TIME!!!

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tenthgrove · 4 years ago

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L’Inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 2: Dove La Mia Passione Mi Porta (Prosciutto)

Word count: ~3300

Warnings: parental illness, parental death, parental rejection, implied transphobia, drinking

Don Crepuscolo flicks idly through the corner of a book as he sits in his study. His mind filters out the occasional clatter of footsteps on the upper floor of his Neapolitan mansion- the maid, most likely, as well as the visiting capos he permitted a tour of the bedrooms, to get them out of his face for a while until the meeting scheduled later in the afternoon.

The middle-aged don jolts at the sight of the young man in his doorway, having approached the office quiet as a snake with no disturbance to the man’s wavering focus. Crepuscolo collects himself, joyed with recognition of the figure come to see him.

“Maiale! Daughter!” Crepuscolo greets. He opens his arms and beckons the young man to embrace him. Hands folded, he approaches quietly, and seats himself a distance opposite the desk.

“Hello, father,” Prosciutto speaks apathetically.

“Maiale, my dear, hello! I believe this is the first chance you’ve given me to congratulate you on the excellent results you’ve achieved on your examinations. Truly, I knew in my heart you’d do me proud,” the don praises. Prosciutto glances out the window.

“Yes, a pity your mouth did not agree with you until now,” he utters.

“No matter, no matter! What truly pleases me with your visit is that, well, you’ve simply been away on your- little celebrations so much this last month I’ve barely had any chance to see you! I really must know, what are your arrangements for your future now the necessary grades have been secured?”

Prosciutto takes a deep breath. He pushes a little dirt from under his nails and, after a few more moments, speaks. “As you know, it has always been my intention to go onto university.”

“Yes, yes, you had your eye on a place in Milan, last I checked.”

“No, Florence,” Prosciutto refutes him. “But anyway, I simply intend to go where my passion takes me.” Crepuscolo leans forward. He smiles.

“Practical and so assured, yet with a distinct streak for adaptability and the eclectic. Some things never change, do they Maiale?”

“No father, perhaps not.”

“Clearly. Now be a good girl and answer the question I asked you,” the don demands, gritting his teeth. Staring blankly, Prosciutto uncrosses his legs.

“Well father, the first thing I’m going to do is disown you,” he announces. Crepuscolo stutters in shock. “Disown?! But Maiale! How would you even do such a ludicrous thing?!”

“The normal way,” Prosciutto responds calmly. “I’ve been able to track down a lawyer. The same one who handled Mother’s will, incidentally, and begin the process of removing you as my next of kin and transferring it over to Signora Loreta. I have relinquished you of all obligations to me, and mine to you.”

“Have I taught you nothing, girl?” Crepuscolo snaps. “I am your father. I allowed you to live in this wonderful house, and paid for your tutoring and clothes, and let you live in luxury while half the children in this city wallow in the streets. You will never be free of obligation to me!”

“And as you were doing all that, you also threw your one year old son out into those streets the children wallow in!” Prosciutto retorts, his voice finally beginning to raise. “It is only right you should receive the same level of regard from your children, Don Crepuscolo.”

“But I always treated you well, Maiale!” the father insists. Prosciutto clenches his fists, and scowls.

“You left me alone at my dying mother’s bedside, while you were off in The Caribbean, with a girl half your age! If that doesn’t free me of any and all moral obligation to you, THEN WHAT DOES?!” he shouts. Don Crepuscolo goes quiet, then grips his desk in anger. Prosciutto gives his father a curt nod, and stands up, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. He turns his back on his father.

“You will have no penny of my wealth!” the don yells. Prosciutto turns around. The corner of his mouth flickers into a brief smirk.

“Nor would I ever ask for it. Mother’s lawyer and I had other discussions, regarding the specific terms of her inheritance. As he advised me, the criteria laid out for taking charge of her fortune myself could be fulfilled as simply as presenting my graduation certificate to the relevant parties. Since the clauses regarding my personal, direct inheritance were filed under a separate executer to the rest of her testament, you father, have no role in their fulfilment. My request to the bank is being processed as we speak,” Prosciutto explains. “So, I will make my position very clear. You are a sinking ship, and I do not need, nor intend, to be around when the engine blows. Goodbye, Don Crepuscolo!”

Prosciutto makes his way to the door. As he reaches for the latch, Don Crepuscolo smashes down on his desk.

“MAIALE!”

“Do NOT call me that!” Prosciutto screams. His body goes still, eyes wide. He gathers himself and storms out, grabbing the last of his bags outside the door and sprinting for the mansion’s back exit.

::::::::::::

Prosciutto steps off of the bus and strolls along the concrete pavement, towards the little white cottage at the end of the road. Setting his suitcase down on the porch, he knocks quietly on the door. He receives no response.

“Loreta!” he calls. “Signora? It’s only me! May I come in please?” An eager patter of footsteps approaches him. The door swings open.

“Prosciutto!” The woman greets eagerly. She is younger than she perhaps ought to be, not even a decade older than Prosciutto and with an appearance of perhaps less than that. Her thick, green hair is tied out the way at the back of her head, and Prosciutto notes the impracticality of her pink and brown jumper in the summer sun. “Oh Prosciutto,” she coos, bringing her hands to her mouth in joy. “Your voice, it’s wonderful!”

“Is it?” Prosciutto remarks, startled. “I didn’t think it had changed much yet. Father certainly didn’t notice, not that that’s a bad thing.”

“The don never did pay much attention, did he? Well, it certainly sounds like progress to me, so you should be proud of yourself, Prosci. Now, come in, come in!” she urges him, taking my the wrist and leading him to the house’s small kitchen. “So, tell me what you and your father talked about. I know you were very anxious about seeing him. Did you... take the big step?”

At that moment a young boy bounds in from the hallway, flinging himself at Prosciutto with open arms. “Fra!” the child shouts excitedly. Prosciutto picks him up and holds him.

“Hello Pesci, how are you doing, eh?” Prosciutto greets him. The young boy babbles something incoherently and bites his knuckles. Loreta gives a little laugh and takes her son from his brother’s arms.

“Pesci’s doing great, thank you. He’s settling into the new daycare and making a couple friends,” she announces, putting him down on the ground.

“Wonderful,” Prosciutto remarks with a smile. He leans down to address the child. “Now Pesci, why don’t you go play in your room for a minute. Let your mother and I discuss some business. If you’re good, I’ll take you to the park afterwards,” he promises. Pesci nods and hobbles back to his bedroom. Prosciutto sighs and stands up, turning back to face Loreta.

“Yes, I told my father I don’t want a relationship with him any more,” Prosciutto affirms. “He took it... poorly, but I believe he understands that I can’t be stopped. I shouldn’t be seeing much of him any more.”

“Congratulations. That was very brave of you, Prosciutto, and very good. Hopefully this will make things much easier for you from now on,” Loreta praises him.

“Yes, it very much will. I don’t have to worry about him finding my pills any more, and I’m looking into getting my first surgery before the end of the year.”

“That will be excellent for you! Changing the subject, you’ll have to remind me, my memory’s completely gone! What is it you’re planning on studying?” Loreta enquires.

“Politics, with a little literature on the side,” he answers.

“Politics? Do you plan to work with theory or practice?”

“Theory, god, never practice. If I tried that, father really might send an assassin out for me. I’m hoping to go into journalism, or something of the sort, though eventually I want to veer back into academia. I think it would suit me.”

“Definitely!” Loreta enthuses. “You could do anything you put your mind to Prosci!”

“I can only try. Now, your attention please,” Prosciutto says, whipping out a slip of paper from his pocket and places it down on the table. “I’ve done some maths. With the amount I’m getting from the inheritance, I can up what I’m giving you to 1 million lire a month, all the way up until Pesci turns 19. This is excluding a little extra to help with university costs, as well as some flexibility for you to take more in an emergency, say, if you ever lose your job. What do you think?”

“Prosciutto... I could never take from your mother’s money, it just wouldn’t be right,” Loreta refutes him.

“You were young, Loreta, you didn’t understand what you were doing. Believe me when I say that if my mother were here, she’d forgive you. Besides, father didn’t throw you out as his mistress, he threw you out as his wife. You deserve this money, Loreta, and I’m going to give it to you,” Prosciutto insists.

“It isn’t right,” Loreta repeats sadly. “Horrible thing, what happened to that woman. To just waste away for years on end while your husband prances around with some... girl. I should never benefit from that suffering. If I ever get sick like that, Prosciutto, just pull the plug. Pull the plug.”

Prosciutto sighs.

“If not for you, then take it for Pesci. Regardless of how she felt about you, I know my mother would never approve of any child living in poverty, especially not one I call my brother. Take it for him, please,” he begs her.

“Alright...” Loreta concedes. “I suppose I do really need it. Thank you, Prosciutto, it means a lot to me.”

“It’s what you deserve. Now, you’ve got your money, and I’ve got my freedom, and it’s all thanks to my mother’s will,” Prosciutto begins, pouring out two glasses of brandy from the cabinet. He sits down at the table. “To Signora Crepuscolo, for both our salvations.”

Loreta smiles and raises her glass, before drinking. Pesci returns from the hallway, and she quickly hides the glass and bottle behind her torso.

“What’s the matter darling, are you having fun?” she asks.

“I wanna play with Fra!” the boy insists.

“I suppose we’re done here anyway,” Prosciutto concedes. “Shall we?”

“I’ll just get Pesci’s coat,” Loreta agrees. She hurries off into the hall.

::::::::::::

A mere street away from the young family, a group of youths gather in the abandoned office. The youngest of the boys, a slender young man of 17, with raven hair and a hateful eye looks around the group critically as he shuffles on his feet.

“I’m in the right place aren’t I?” he asks. “Cause right now I feel like I’m either here to play tag or get stabbed, and neither of those is what I was called in for.”

“Depends,” one of the other boys says. “Are you Sorbet?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Who’s asking?”

“Name’s Matteo, I’m in charge here. I’m the one your pay’s been coming from,” the group’s leader explains. Sorbet looks him up and down and sees a sad, dishonest looking man only a few years older than him. It’s clear this boy isn’t actually where the buck stops rolling in this sad little street gang of theirs, but the fact Sorbet hasn’t been attacked yet tells him the boy’s story is at least close enough to the truth to trust what he’s about to say. He decides to hear him out. “I’ve heard a lot about you. ‘Said you’re good with your fists and better with a gun. Is that true?”

“That’s correct,” Sorbet says with a smirk.

“What is it you do right now? Errands?” Matteo asks.

“Mostly. Though lately I just do whatever’s needed. I guard meet-ups, deal with troublemakers-”

“Yes, that’s what we’re here to talk about,” Matteo interrupts. “Word is, you’re good at it. How would you feel about... maybe doing a little more than beating them up for a change?”

“You want me to kill someone? Done. The pay better be good though,” Sorbet agrees unconcerned.

“Oh, it will be. But what if I wanted you to kill multiple people? What if, you became the guy I call when I want someone killed?” Matteo proposes.

“I’m up for it, but I’d want to know why. Why’s a group like us suddenly need a massive hit list?”

“Opportunity,” Matteo answers. “It’s not that we’ve got a hit list, just that we might be able to afford one at some point in the future. “With Crepuscolo and his lot on his way out, it’s only a matter of time until we can come out of the shadows.”

“Ambitious. What makes you think we’ve got the manpower to usurp them?”

“Maybe we don’t, but we’re hoping whoever does will let us do what we want a little more. You know?”

“Passione, I imagine,” Sorbet surmises. The others nod in agreement.

::::::::::::

It is January of 1989 and Prosciutto is freshly 24. His diploma hangs over the wall of his lounge, above his typewriter and an array of open books. He pours a glass and relaxes, sitting back against the comfortable expanse of his settee. He takes a sip of red wine and flicks through his calender. Loreta will be visiting tomorrow with Pesci, and Prosciutto is looking forward to it very much. Supposedly, Pesci learned to ride his bike the other day, and he’s eager for the two to go out together.

Prosciutto feels he deserves a bit of a celebration. His last article, by all early measurements, performed very well, and there’s talk of promoting him among the newspaper agency. If all goes to plan, he might not need to rely on his mother’s inheritance for much longer. Perhaps, he might even be able to buy Loreta a new house. Pesci could use the space now he’s bigger.

Someone knocks at the door frantically. Prosciutto gets up cautiously, conscious of how incredibly late it is for someone to be looking for him. The knock rings out again, louder this time, and Prosciutto reaches for the door of the living room.

There’s a mighty crash, and several footsteps rush into the front room. Prosciutto rushes for the drawer to get his gun, always a good thing to have when you’re the estranged son of a crime boss. He aims it readily as the living room door is bashed open.

Four men, armed to the teeth, spill into the sitting room. They aim their weapons at Prosciutto, held back seemingly only by the warning hand of their leader. The man looks down at the photograph in his hand, and back up at Prosciutto.

“I take it you don’t go by Maiale any more.”

“No, but thanks for checking. Why the hell are you in my house?” Prosciutto demands.

“You are the eldest child of the late Don Crepuscolo, yes?” the man asks. Prosciutto lowers his gun.

“Why do you say late?”

“Your father was executed by order of our boss, yesterday evening. Depending on the course of this conversation, you may or may not be joining him,” the man explains. “Now kindly drop the gun.”

Prosciutto complies.

“We’re from Passione, if you didn’t know,” adds one of his companions. “They said you were a journalist, so I’m surprised you haven’t heard about the war that went on,” he notes.

“I... try to avoid covering stories related to the syndicates,” Prosciutto explains. His heart is hammering at a million miles an hour. This feels surreal, dream-like, but deep down Prosciutto knows it’s very, very real.

“Long story short,” the leader continues. “If you want to survive, it will be in Passione’s debt. Gotta make sure the boss can keep an eye on you after all. Now come on, you and I are going to get into the car. Sorbet, Gelato, go upstairs and take anything of value.”

“What? You’re taking my stuff?” Prosciutto protests. The leader shrugs.

“You got it all from your parents, didn’t you? We own all your parents assets now. That makes it ours.”

As Prosciutto stares dumbstruck, two young men with interlinked arms head up the stairs. His stairs, his house. He stand’s defenceless as the groups leader grabs him by the wrist.

“And by the way, Crepuscolo, we know about your brother. Just in case you were planning on making a run for it at any point.”

Prosciutto Crepuscolo is compliant as he is dragged from his home. Driven away in the backseat of his captor’s car, he watches helplessly as his house is burnt to the ground.

::::::::::::

“My father’s house didn’t last long either,” Prosciutto adds. His audience, consisting of one attentive Risotto Nero, and the passed out body of Gelato over the back of the sofa, remain quiet. “They knocked it down the other year. I’m sure you would have seen the construction work.”

“Yes, I think I recall that,” Risotto answers.

“Now here I am, second-in-command to the brand new assassination squad. Truly I’m honoured,” Prosciutto tuts. He downs another shot of alcohol, and Risotto apprehensively takes the cue to do the same.

“You don’t have any resentment to Sorbet and Gelato for the house?” Risotto asks.

“I can’t really, they didn’t benefit from it. Besides, at the end of the day, this has worked out for me. I don’t think I would have really made it as a journalist,” Prosciutto maintains.

“I wouldn’t agree!”

“Yeah, well you can keep it to yourself. I gotta cope somehow. Honestly though, the one part of this I do regret is my brother. I wish I could have spent more time with him, growing up, but I didn’t want to mix him up in... this.”

“He’s the reason you rejected the role of captain, isn’t he?” Risotto realises.

“Yes,” Prosciutto admits after a pause. “If I were in your role I don’t think I’d be able to make time for him at all.”

“I understand. It’s very noble of you, Prosciutto. To look after him like that.” Risotto judges. Prosciutto tuts.

“Whatever.”

The doorbell rings and Risotto tries to stand up.

“No, no, I’ll get it,” Prosciutto insists. He puts down his glass and heads downstairs to the door. The boy behind it trembles heavily as he looks up at him with pleading eyes. “Pesci?”

“Hi, Fra,” the boy says weakly.

“Pesci what in god’s name are you doing here? I told you not to come to this house for any reason!” Prosciutto admonishes him.

“I’m sorry! I know what you said but- Mum’s still in the hospital and... I really didn’t want to be alone again tonight.”

Prosciutto leans down. His eyes widen with worry.

“Alright, if that’s the case then you can come in,” he permits. Pesci steps forward and falls into his arms. He starts to sob.

“She’s really sick, Fra.”

“I know Pesci, I know. I’m here.”

#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #prosciutto #prosciutto jjba #l'inizio

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alj4890 · 6 years ago

Text

Would You Kindly Calm Me Down?

Inspired by Meghan Trainor's song Kindly Calm Me Down

Requested by @alleksa16. (Thomas Hunt x oc* Amanda) from my series, And Then I Met You

Requested Prompt: I've got everything under control.

A/N I took this down a darker path and hope that is okay. I thought it was time to see these two when their worlds fall apart.

@walkerinfolkvangr @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @fullbeaumonty @cocomaxley @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @krsnlove @littleblossom357 @annekebbphotography @gibbles82 @bella-ca

"I've got everything under control!" Thomas yelled at Holly for trying to slow him down. He quickly shoved clothes in a suitcase.

"Thomas," Holly reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "You have to let us drive you to the airport. You are in no condition to get there safely. Amanda would have wanted..." her voice trailed off as her words of comfort seemed to make things worse.

Thomas dropped his bag and sat on the edge of the bed. He placed his head in his hands, trying to calm down. The guilt was eating him alive. If he had only gone with her, perhaps then... He could have gone. He could have postponed the reshoots until the next day. But no! He in his infinite selfishness needed to remain here! His mind tormented him, reliving the last time he had been with her.

A couple of days earlier

"There's a formal dinner Liam and Riley are hosting in New York. They are trying to rally as many nobles as they can to show support for these new laws in dealing with terrorists the U.N. is working on. I think after all that happened with the Sons of the Earth, Liam is anxious to have new procedures firmly in place." Amanda finished putting the lasagna in the oven and looked over at Thomas. He was studying some notes at the counter, completely oblivious to her.

She chuckled and hopped up on the counter beside his notes. He looked up at her and smiled when she kissed him. "Be honest." She teased. "You didn't hear one word I said, did you?"

He wrapped his arms around her. "Forgive me. I have been having difficulty getting this one scene the way I want. It has been driving me to distraction."

"If I have learned anything from your films, you will capture it perfectly." She pressed another kiss on his lips before hopping down. "The dinner is the day after tomorrow. Do you think you will be able to be my date?"

He grimaced as he looked down at the scene. Thomas started to nod out of obligation when his wife let out a laugh. "Never mind. I know you will not enjoy it and will not be up to speaking to pompous lords and ladies with that scene on your mind. I do expect you to be driven to distraction in missing me while I am gone."

Thomas grinned at her knowing him so well. She never demanded he stop trying in his movies or become angry at his focus being anywhere else. She was correct in how much he would miss her. She was the one he turned to when he needed someone to listen or understand. Just like now, giving him guilt-free time to try again.

He followed her upstairs and watched her begin to pack a suitcase while calling the airfield. Amanda went into their closet and looked through some of her formal gowns. He leaned against the door frame and saw her pull one out to examine more closely. He slipped his arms around her and kissed her.

"Mr. Hunt! Are you trying to keep me in California?" She held him close as his lips brushed her ear.

"No, Mrs. Hunt. I'm trying to keep you with me." He stole another kiss and pulled out a red gown. "This is the one." He whispered against her lips.

"Hmm. Olivia is part of the group working with the U.N. on this. Wearing her house colors will let everyone see I support her."

"I picked it because I love how it looks on you." He admitted.

His grin flashed as she smiled and promised to wear it for him. Nothing made him happier than seeing her laughing or smiling, especially when it was because of him. He knew she would only be gone two nights, but it was going to be a long two nights.

Whenever he walked in their home and she was away, it seemed as if the very heart of the house had stopped beating, the light snuffed out. He hated it and would often work continuously until he fell asleep on the couch in his study. Sleeping in their bed without her warm prescence was usually filled with nights of tossing and turning. He was mystified at her being the central figure to his comfort, his very sense of peace.

She finished packing and making a quick list of things she needed to do before she left. Once she was done with all she could, she took his hand and led him back downstairs. He pushed all thoughts of the film from his mind until after they finished dinner. She kissed him as she gathered the dishes. "Thank you." She said softly, knowing he had purposely tried to make their dinner together pleasant. "Now go where you can work without interruption."

He helped her clear the table and gathered his notes. He headed to his study and got to work. Around midnight, Amanda came in and found him asleep on the couch. She gently woke him up and made him come to bed. He wrapped his arm around her and fell back asleep beside her.

The next day, he left her at the airport with a kiss. His mind was consumed with his film and he spoke of his love for her absentmindedly as he waved goodbye.

Now

He had to force himself to stay seated in the plane. He flipped on the news and froze when he saw the devastation the bomb had caused at the hotel where the dinner was held. Firemen frantically searched the smoldering rubble for people. He caught glimpses of some nobles he knew, wrapped in blankets. Their faces were dirty and bleeding. Designer clothes torn and even burned. Tears mixed with mind numbing shock was reflected in their eyes. Thomas covered his mouth as he saw some on stretchers hoping he would see his wife, then hoping he wouldn't.

Liam and Riley were shown following close beside a stretcher, faces in utter sadness. Bastien held his hands down on the person in the stretcher as if trying to hold something in. He then saw the red material of the dress he had picked for her. Her hand, with her wedding rings and the bracelet he had given her for their anniversary, hung limp off the side. Bright red blood covered her skin. Her face was turned away from the camera, but there was blood on her neck and matted in her dark hair.

He covered his face and fought the fear of arriving too late to speak to her. Hold her in his arms. He was alone in the private jet, but he was truly alone for the first time since he had met her. She was his comfort even before they became romantically involved. Her lopsided grin or the simple touch of her hand on his brought him a deep sense of calm unlike anything else.

"Dear God," he prayed silently as his fear caused him physical pain. "Please, don't let me lose her."

Once the plane landed, he raced through the airport to the waiting car. He was driven through a city in panic over this latest attack. Reporters nearly blinded him with their camera flashes and lights while throwing questions at him as he tried to gain entrance into the hospital.

As he ran to the areas he was told might be where his wife was by an overwhelmed administrator, he bumped into people he had met since becoming the Duke of St. Orella nearly two years ago. They stared blankly at him as he asked if they had seen Amanda.

When he entered the triage ward, he saw a piece of a red dress and hurried over only to discover Olivia. Her arm was wrapped in a cast and held in a sling. Bruises and cuts covered one side of her face. She had her head resting on Drake's shoulder as he held her close. His clothes were ripped and burned in areas, but he seemed relatively unharmed.

"Amanda!" Thomas gasped to them. "Is she...?" He couldn't get the word out. "Where is she?" They looked up at him and tried to tell him they didn't know.

"I didn't see her when it happened." Drake said. "I'm not sure where she was. She had mentioned something about getting a glass of punch, then everything happened in a blur."

Thomas looked around for anyone who might know more as doctors and nurses rushed around him. He saw Maxwell and ran over to him. He and Nadia were unharmed. They had snuck out for some alone time and were dealing with guilt over it while their loved ones were hurt.

"Have you seen Amanda?"

Nadia nodded. Tears fell as she choked on a sob. "ICU. 14th floor."

Thomas pushed his way to the elevators and quickly hit the 14 button. He watched the numbers flash, while silently cursing each stop for someone else. He shoved past people when the doors opened and saw a bruised and disheveled Liam talking to a doctor in surgical scrubs. He dashed over to them.

Liam's relief was evident when he saw Thomas. His face was smudged with soot and blood while his clothes were singed in places. "This is Amanda's husband, Dr. Zelig. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do." He stepped into the waiting room with Riley and Bastien while Thomas spoke to the doctor.

The sorrow on his face caused Thomas to feel as if his world was shifting. Dr. Zelig led him to a private room and motioned for him to sit. "Mr. Hunt, I was unable to save them both."

Thomas looked at him in confusion. "Both? I don't understand."

Dr. Zelig lowered his eyes a moment. "Your wife was eight weeks pregnant. The trauma from the blood loss and injuries was too much. I..." He swallowed. "My team and I discovered she was miscarrying when we began the operation. I am so sorry."

Thomas dropped his head. "I didn't know she was pregnant either. I don't know what to say." He covered his face at this unexpected news and loss. Dr. Zelig began to speak of all that had been operated on and the extent of her injuries. He told him of the units of blood she had required and gave Thomas a moment to come to terms with all of the information. He sat up and took a deep breath. "Is my wife going to make it?"

"She should make a full recovery. After the blood loss and emergency surgery, we wanted her to be watched more closely in ICU these next couple of days." He led him to her room and opened the door for him.

Thomas sucked in a breath when he saw her face. There was hardly a mark on the very pale skin. All injuries had been to the left side of her body from the shoulders down. She lay there breathing slowly and deeply in sleep. The soft beeps of the IV's and heart monitor were the only sounds in the dimly lit room. He quietly stepped toward her and collapsed in a chair next to her bed.

Her eyes opened at the creaking sound the chair made and she looked up at him. "Thomas?" She whispered. "You're here?" Tears formed in her eyes as she reached for his hand.

He took her hand and kissed her palm, leaving his lips pressed there as he began to shake uncontrollably. Tears fell into her hand as he tried to get control of himself. Thomas never cried. He could not recall a time in his life where he had broken down like this before. When he heard her voice and felt her hand, he was overcome with relief that he still had her and broken at how hurt she was. He felt her other hand softly running through his hair, trying to comfort him. Once he calmed down, he lifted his head.

"I'm here." He said as he pressed a tender kiss to her lips and forehead. Each touch of her warm skin against his helped make his panic disappear. She looked at him while tears fell silently from her eyes. "I'm so thankful you're here. I was afriad I might never..." Her voice trembled as she looked at him. "I love you so much." Her chest shook with her sobs.

He held her hand and tried to get her to calm down. He got up and ran cold water over a rag. He gently wiped her face and talked soothingly. His voice cracked when he saw the stitches along her left shoulder, knowing they were just the tip of the iceberg. He forced himself to stay focused on her eyes.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't with you." He knelt down by her bed, gently smoothing her hair. "I'm so sorry." She tried to argue with it not being his fault, but he refused to listen. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking of seeing her on the news with all the blood. "I love you. More than you will ever know."

Amanda turned her face away as a pain she had never experienced consumed her. He felt the instant worry hit and he rose from his chair to call for a doctor. She opened her eyes. "Thomas, I didn't know."

He paused. "Know what?" He asked softly as he sank back down in his chair. Her tears fell faster as she struggled to get the words out. "I didn't...know..." she pulled her hand from him and covered her face as she shook with sorrow, " that I was pregnant." She lifted eyes filled with agony to him. "I'm so sorry I didn't know." She turned back to staring at the ceiling as her face crumpled with her cries. "I didn't know the baby was there but knowing he is gone is..." Her gut wrenching cries echoed in the room as he tried to comfort his wife, his heart breaking at seeing her so grief stricken.

He sat there at a loss of what to do, knowing he could never fix this for her. His eyes filled with tears as Amanda's heartache was laid before him. He knew the words people usually said in this instance is that, "there will be other children," but that seemed so heartless. If they were to fill their home with babies, there would always still be one missing.

He wasn't sure how long they sat there crying over the loss they didn't even know they had. Her cries soon lessened with exhaustion and the morphine drip. He carresed her cheek. "I'm sorry about the baby too." He said softly. His fingers smoothed over her skin, wiping the tears. "I know there is nothing I can say or...but I am here and love you. I will do whatever you need me to do."

She weakly squeezed his hand as stray tears fell. "Will you stay? At least until I fall asleep? I need you near me for a little longer." Her face softened as she looked at him. "You make everything right for me."

Thomas swallowed against the lump in his throat. His voice was raspy as he gently wiped her tears. "I won't leave your side." He pressed another kiss to her lips. His dark eyes remained locked on hers. "You make everything right for me too."

As he held her hand while she slept, his world calmed down and slowly began to right itself.

#chocies #thomas hunt #thomas hunt x oc #trr drake #choices trr #trr liam #trr maxwell #choices red carpet diaries #choices the royal romance

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goldendream-s · 6 years ago

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tied down; pt. 2

part 1 masterlist || request

a/n; the gif is totally irrelevant but i couldn’t help myself LOL

Knocking on the door of the address his manager gave him, Shawn played with the strings of his hoodie. After a much needed month-long rest following his European and Asia legs of his tour, he’d be meeting his opener for his American shows. Shawn usually had opening acts who he was already familiar with, but this opening act was one he’d never met in person. After hearing some of his tracks, Shawn insisted on spending the day with the guy he’d be spending the next part of tour with.

To be frank, Shawn would much rather be by himself figuring a way to win you back, but didn’t want to make any bad first impressions on Tyler, the guy he’d be meeting soon.

The door finally swung open, removing Shawn from his drifting thoughts.

“Hey man, it’s nice to meet you. Sorry if I kept you waiting for long,” Tyler kindly greeted as he shrugged on his jacket and closed his door. He was slightly shorter than Shawn but had resembling black skinny jeans. His light brown hair was slightly quiffed and feet clad in converse. Shawn introduced himself, complimenting Tyler’s music as they got ready to leave. The two planned to go to nearby guitar shops in hopes of finding a new instrument to bring along on tour.

Tyler and Shawn quickly clicked together and Shawn could already feel a great friendship on the rise. The two were about the same age and shared the same love for guitar ballads, songwriting, and hockey, making every second of their conversation interesting. Sure, they had been talking over text for weeks now, but Shawn didn’t expect to relate to a new friend that easily. It was refreshing for him to meet someone who treated him like Shawn, the teen boy from Pickering who was obsessed with Harry Potter and magic. Not Shawn Mendes, who was touring the world and holder of numerous awards and multiple platinum titles.

Gazing across the wall decorated in electric and acoustic guitars, the two new friends requested for some to be taken down to try out.

“Do you have any particular guitars that you came here for?” Tyler asked, eyeing a turquoise electric.

“Nah, I’m just gonna look around and see if any guitars would be good for the next album,” he replied, thinking about a song that he had written on the flight back home.

Although the last thing Shawn needed was another guitar to add to his already massive collection, he craved something to distract him from the thought of you.

Looking up from his feet while waiting, Tyler diverged the topic, “I hope this isn’t too random, but could I ask you a question? You know, about touring?”

Shawn nodded, understanding how scary it could be going on a big tour that would last for another set of months.

“So, this girl and I have been going out and I really wanna officially ask her out. I would do it in a heartbeat, but I don’t know if tour would get in the way of our relationship. I’ve heard stories of people feeling tied down, but I also feel so many things for this girl,” Tyler slightly rambled, a small blush grazing across his tan cheeks.

At his seemingly innocent words, Shawn merely choked, gripping tightly onto the neck of the guitar he was holding. It had been months, but the mention of being tied down hit too close to home. It was like he was seeing himself in a mirror reliving his fears again.

“How serious are you about her?” Shawn questioned. Although he hadn’t been in too many relationships, he was a hopeless romantic.

“Honestly? I think I love her,” he replied, “like, it’s so crazy how fast I fell for her but I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tyler continued.

Listening to Tyler’s sweet words made Shawn’s heart wrench. He admired how highly he talked about the girl, wishing he had told you how beautiful you were more often.

“If you’re sure about this girl, I would just do it. At the end of the day, sometimes a relationship can be so much more worth it than some random hookups and it seems like you really like this girl from the way you’re talking about her,” Shawn answered.

“It’s great to have someone to keep you grounded. Of course, there’s going to be times where you miss her, but there’s no better feeling than to come back home to them,” he continued, giving the advice that he wishes someone would’ve told him months ago.

He didn't want Tyler to make the same mistake as him. He didn’t want Tyler to spend nights drinking into oblivion or have a notebook’s worth of songs about a broken heart like he did. Didn’t want him dwelling on “what if’s” and “could have’s.”

What he wanted, was to have you back in his arms - to get a chance to explain to you that he had made the biggest, dumbest mistake of his life.

Tyler nodded, a smile gleaming across his face.

“How long have the two of you been talking?”

“We met through some mutuals just a few months ago. Her last breakup turned out bad and she said she was over it, but I don’t wanna rush her,” he explained as the employee brought out two new guitars.

“I think you’ll be able to know when she’s ready, but a tour is definitely a huge test for any relationship,” Shawn spoke, his mind taking back to the late nights he spent talking to you. He hated not hearing your soft voice for more than a day, but sometime down the road, Shawn somehow convinced himself that commitment was something he wasn’t into. He managed to tell himself that he was missing out on the rockstar lifestyle because he had someone waiting for him back home.

“Yea,” Tyler chuckled, strumming a bright melody, “I guess I still have a week to see how things work out.”

A few days had passed since Shawn’s day with Tyler and the moments before tour were ticking down. As he sat in his living room floor writing tags for his suitcases, marker cap between his white teeth, Shawn focused on using his neatest handwriting.

Shawn could practically hear your voice in the back of his head, remembering how you would always complain about his handwriting and inability to draw something as simple as a heart. You would always help him with the luggage tags anyway, so Shawn didn’t mind your teasing. He didn't realize how much he hated packing alone until he was sitting by himself, no one near to coax his worries for the next part of tour.

It would be almost four months and half since Shawn has last seen you, but it was as if his love for you never died. You were intertwined in all of his best memories and every time he tried to rid of them, he seemed to be unravelling himself.

He wanted to call you so many times after that night in the hotel, but he shot himself down every time. As much as he wanted to beg you for your forgiveness and to give him another chance, Shawn told himself he’d wait until he could say it in person.

He kept your note in the back of his phone and would read it when the pressure was all too much. He practically had the note memorized at this point but despised himself for doing so because it would always lead him to wonder if he was on your mind as much as you were on his.

Shawn tells himself he hasn’t tried reaching out to you in person because you probably hate him, but knew it was really because he’d hate himself more for letting you go if he saw you again. Eventually, even Shawn’s team became tired of seeing him mope around and persuaded him to make amends before the American tour.

Finishing up with the last of his packing, Shawn made for his car. Earlier, he had called in for an order of flowers, nearly buying out all of the store’s pink carnations. According to the flower shop, they were great apology flowers and symbolized ‘undying love,’ which Shawn saw as fitting.

Shawn knew forgiveness from you would not be as easy as some flowers, but he felt obligated to do this to let you know he still cared. He wanted —no, needed— to let you know that he had made the wrong choice and that you were still the one for him. Shawn couldn’t get over you without at least knowing that he tried to make things better.

Pushing through the door to the hole-in-the-wall flower shop, the subtle aroma of flowers immediately filled Shawn’s senses. His mind couldn’t help but take him back to all of the times he came here to get you flowers, the sickly sweet smell suddenly going pungent at the thought.

“Shawn! I have your flowers right in the back, so let me go get them,” Brenda, a middle-aged woman greeted, already making her way to the carnations he had ordered the day before.

While waiting, Shawn made sure his button up was perfect and hair shaped. He planned to come by to your house later that day to try and to explain himself in hopes that you’d still be willing to talk to him. Shawn didn’t bother rehearsing any words, though because he knew he’d forget them as soon as he saw you.

He wondered if you’d look any different, pondered how much of your life he’d missed during his time away.

Shawn wondered if you ever cut your hair that you were too scared to chop off or if you ever got your ears pierced like you talked about before tour.

Wondered if you got that dog that you had wanted for so long. The same puppy that despite being allergic to dogs, Shawn nearly bought for you because he was addicted to seeing you happy.

Brenda walked through the doors, arms full with the flowers. Shawn was quick to help her out as they walked to counter for him to pay.

“So, who’s the lucky girl?” Brenda curiously questioned. The question wasn't meant to be harmful, but it still tugged a little at Shawn’s heart.

“Um, well, she's actually my ex,” Shawn anxiously spoke, chuckling to lighten to situation.

Brenda’s luminous grin slightly faltered for a second before she nodded and swiped Shawn’s card. Wishing him good luck, Shawn thanked her for the flowers again before exiting the shop.

Nervousness and fear flowed through Shawn’s veins as he set the last of his flowers in the back of his jeep. He didn’t know if he was making the right decision by coming to your house unannounced, but it was now or never.

Pulling up into your neighborhood, Shawn had to remind himself to take deep breaths. He had called your dad in advance to make sure you were home, to which you luckily were. Although your dad knew you were no longer with the singer, he still treated Shawn like family. Shawn even contemplated why your dad was so nice to him, curious if you ever told him how he really broke up with you.

As he rounded the turn onto your street, Shawn scrunched his eyebrows as he saw you already standing at front of your door. Eyes moving around your surroundings as he neared your house, he noticed that you weren’t alone. Although the boy’s back was turned to Shawn, he could see your glimmering eyes laugh at what must’ve been a joke the boy told.

You looked good. No, you looked drop dead gorgeous. Although you didn’t look drastically different, your features seemed to mature, eyes bright nonetheless.

Shawn was quick to recognize the black hoodie and skinny jeans from earlier this week as none other than Tyler’s. His hair looked more neat than the last time Shawn saw him, a bouquet of red roses was tucked behind his back.

By now, Shawn had parked his car a few houses away though you and Tyler were seemingly too preoccupied to notice. His heart continued to race as confusion mixed with the uneasy feeling in his body.

What happened to the girl Tyler was going to ask out? How did he know you?

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as each excruciating second pricked at Shawn’s heart. Tyler, as if on cue, leaned in as his lips met yours. Shawn’s rapidly beating heart seemed to shatter and drop to the pit of his stomach all at once. Everything around him suddenly felt too real as he took in the unveiling scene in front of him.

You were the girl Tyler was going to ask out. The same girl who came off of a bad breakup, the same one Tyler couldn’t seem to stop talking about.

Shawn wanted to look away, but he couldn’t stop from noticing your smile that felt two times wider than he’s ever seen. He wanted to scream, wanted to throw away all of the flowers he had stuffed in his backseat.

He needed something to distract him from the fact that he was simply too late. You had moved on with someone that wasn't Shawn.

It felt as if you and Tyler had been kissing for minutes now, though in reality, it lasted for only a fraction of that. Shawn watched from afar as Tyler’s hand rested on your hip like Shawn’s used to. He watched you put your hand along Tyler chest, heart sinking when he noticed you were no longer wearing your ring. He didn’t expect you to keep wearing it after things ended, but he didn’t expect for its disappearance to hurt so much either.

Leaning back into his seat, Shawn felt the irony of how he was the one that suggested seeing other people, yet he ended up being the lonely one in the end. As selfish as it sounded, Shawn wanted to let you know that no one could love you like he could. Watching Tyler give you the bundle of roses he had, Shawn wished he had just come to you sooner. Shawn wanted to run to you and get on his knees for forgiveness, but he was finally seeing your smile that he had longed to see.

It was hard to be completely upset when all Shawn wanted was to know that you were happy, yet he couldn’t suppress the overwhelming sadness. His vision clouded with the tears he was all too familiar with.

While Shawn was wondering if you would look any different, he should’ve been wondering how things would be different if he never let you go. He should’ve been wondering how dumb he was to think you’d want him back after what he said.

Shawn was ready to give you the world, yet you had already found your own with someone new.

feedback would be greatly appreciated!

+taglist:

@pinkanddepressed @softshawns @nocturnalmendes @mendesruin @itsabouttymeee @illuminatedestiny @mutual-shawn @ashtonwahs @everydaymendes @spn-marvel-nerd @ironfurycollector @kobeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee @ourlittleshawnie @ashwarren32 @super-fire-breathing-girl

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes imagine #shawn peter raul mendes #my writing

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moustacheimpossible-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Smoke and Mirrors (Ch.1)

P.S. Thanks to those reading me! I just would like to add that English is my second language, so I’m trying my best to write without too many mistakes! Thanks and hello to my new followers :D

When Special Agent Charlie Callaway from the CIA goes Rogue, Erica Sloane sends her Top Agent August Walker after the Rogue woman with the obligation of bringing her back to Washington. Walker's new mission isn't something he had expected to be easy. Even though the young agent gives him a hard time, Walker isn't ready to give up on his mission yet and has more than one trick up his sleeve to catch the young rogue agent.

CHAPTER 1

Erica Sloane tossed a secret file on Special Agent Walker's desk, before putting back her hands on her hips.

"You've got a new Mission Walker! Open the file!" She ordered him with a firm tone. Walker grabbed the file and opened it. A confused gaze grew on his face as he recognized the young blonde agent. Not that he had worked with her in the past, but he had seen her several times at the CIA headquarters in Langley, he even knew where her residence was located. She even had a twin brother named Dave Callaway.

"Agent Callaway has gone Rogue... We don't know why, and we think she could be under the control of a man named Gael Hayden, but like I said we don't have much more information than this. The last time the 32-year-old agent was seen was a week ago. She was seen in London having lunch with a mysterious man. Probably Gael, but we weren't able to take a clear picture of his face."

As Erica explained to Walker what was the deal with Agent Callaway, August kept looking at the pictures found in the file. Most of the pictures were shots taken from afar, there was even one of Agent Callaway in a bathing suit on a popular European beach resort. Agent Walker couldn't help snickering when he observed the picture of Agent Callaway dressed in a bathing suit, obviously posing for someone, probably for the man taking the picture.

"I'm very serious Walker! There's nothing to laugh about in here. Special Agent Charlie Callaway was supposed to land back in Washington a month ago, and she's out there by herself. She's a precious Agent and I want her back, alive.

Walker scrubbed his stubble before raising his blue eyes to Erica.

"Why me? Don't you have other Special Agents already in Europe?" Erica sighed, and Walker understood that she wasn't in the mood at all for joking.

"I've chosen you because once Miss Callaway would've returned in here, she'd have joined you for a mission. Alas, this mission has been given to someone else since Agent Callaway hasn't returned. She would've been your new partner, charming isn't it Walker? She knew it, therefore I do assume that she was already trusting you! I only told her good things about you Walker.

Walker pushed his tongue against his cheek, looking at the pictures one last time. He found interesting that this Agent would've joined him for a Mission, something no one had told him about before.

"Fine, I accept your mission! It's not as if I have the choice at this point... Where do I go now?"

Erica finally displayed the hint of a smile as Special Agent Walker accepted the mission.

"First you'll have to pack your stuff and you'll stop at her residence, she does share her place with her twin brother. We weren't capable of reaching for this man because he was away on a trip, but he's back home now, perhaps he'll tell you things that could help us with understanding her change of mind. Then, I'll give you your flight tickets for London, this is where Gael Hayden is based, so she shouldn't be far. At this point, it will be your job to find her..."

Walker sighed, wondering why this young agent had decided to go Rogue... Was she in love with someone? Was she kept against her will? He didn't know and to be honest, he felt like this one wouldn't be an easy task.

"Alright!" He stood up from his desk and departed his office with the secret file held in his right hand. He headed home, took a shower and packed his suitcase with every item he'd need for his new Mission. He chose a classic blue navy suit, with a white shirt fitting with his dark tie. He dressed and grasped his Dolce & Gabbana perfume in order to feel neat. the Woody and masculine fragrance applied on his neck slowly filled the air of his bedroom. Knowing well that he had a long flight ahead of him, he didn't want to smell bad during his trip and decided to pack in his suitcase this new bottle of perfume he had recently purchased as a female friend suggested him it would fit him well. Ready to leave his house, Walker made sure his place was secured and placed his suitcases in his black Range Rover SUV before hitting the road.

It took around 25 minutes for August to reach the home of Charlie Callaway, luckily for him her twin brother was outside mowing the lawn. Walker parked the SUV on the side of the street and stepped out of the luxurious vehicle.

"Hi, I'm Special Agent August Walker!" He displayed his badge to the short blonde man standing near him.

"What do you want?" Asked the young man to Walker. August could tell he was worried for his sister.

"Don't worry, I don't have any bad news concerning your sister, but perhaps you could tell me more about her. Did you get any of her news since she decided to go rogue?"

The blonde man stopped the lawnmower and glanced at Walker with desperation.

"She called me a month ago and she told me how she had enjoyed two days at the beach in Europe."

August attentively listened to the man, cocking his head to the side when Charlie's brother mentioned that she had spent two days at the beach.

"Do you know if she was alone at the beach?"

Dave ended up snorting at Agent Walker.

"Charlie is... How could I explain it? Yes, she told me she had met someone over there. A man in his early 40's I think. Charlie is the kind of woman to fall in love quite rapidly, and she doesn't always fall for the right ones... But I doubt that she would've given up her whole life for a man though..."

Walker blinked his eyes rapidly, wondering if an Agent like Callaway could have really fallen in love with a man to the point of going rogue.

"Did she tell you who was this man?" The young man sharing a resemblance with Agent Charlie Callaway gulped loudly at the question asked by Walker.

"Nope! She didn't tell me anything, she just sounded in a hurry when she called me a month ago. I didn't really pay attention to it, I just convinced myself that she perhaps had met the love of her life and that she was just taking some few days off with him, but when I arrived today and found out that my twin sister wasn't in here, I couldn't help calling the headquarters and this is when Miss Sloane informed me that Charlie had gone rogue."

He was indeed saddened by the turn of event, and Walker didn't blame him at all.

"Alright Mister Callaway, I think that'll be enough for today. Erica has your phone number, so I'll try to keep you updated with your sister. Hopefully, I'll find her as soon as my contact will inform me of her location. I'll bring her back to you!"

He nodded at the young man and returned in his SUV, but just before driving away from the Callaway's residence, the twin brother knocked on the window on August's side. Walker lowered down his window to hear what he had to say.

"If you find her and can't convince her to come back, tell her that our grandmother is very sick. She wouldn't forgive herself if her grandmother was passing away before she could see her one last time."

Walker couldn't help snickering when the young man obviously had no idea what his job was.

"Don't worry, I won't even need to convince her. That will be quite easy to bring her back my friend!"

Walker's SUV was then seen speeding off the residence, leaving the twin brother back to his lawnmower...

He drove off to the airport where he encountered Erica Sloane that was waiting for him near the Airport Check-In. She had his flight tickets ready...

"Any news concerning our blondie Agent?" Walker narrowed his blue eyes as Erica focused on the fact that she was blonde. It was rare that Erica was being familiar with an Agent, he didn't think that Erica was this close to Charlie, but he knew that Erica had helped Charlie at some point in her life, which probably explained why Erica wanted Charlie to be back and safe as soon as possible. She must have considerate Charlie like a daughter thought Walker.

"I spoke with her twin brother, and he told me that she called him while she was relaxing at this beach resort in Europe. He also told me that Charlie had met a man and that she was apparently in love with him. That could explain why she went rogue."

Walker quickly caught Erica's eyes turning into narrow slits, not appreciating what she was hearing at all. If looks could kill, it'd be the one trapped on Erica's face by now.

"I hope for her it wasn't a one night stand, she will have to explain herself when she'll be back in Washington, she will realize that her little escape with the love of her life has a price!"

Even though Walker found the situation funny, he knew better than laughing in front of a preoccupied Erica. He also knew that she was caring about this young agent, but at the same time, he could tell that she was disappointed by the way things had turned out.

"No worries, I'll find her and I'll bring her back." Walker informed Sloan that he'd do anything in his power to find the young woman.

"Do whatever you have to do Walker, even if you have to kidnap her against her will, I don't care, I just want her alive in front of me!"

Walker nodded his head and grabbed the tickets as Sloan held them to him. He caught his flight and slept throughout the whole trip from Washington to London in order to start his mission without any delays.

Also Available at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15583413

#August Walker #Henry Cavill #Fanfic #mission impossible fallout #Smoke and Mirrors

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speedilyloudpaper · 6 years ago

Text

You boarded the train at Manchester Piccadilly at 4.47pm, starting your journey to Sheffield via Stockport at approximately 120mph. You are going meeting Dom in his new house. You’ve never been to Sheffield but you’ve heard it’s a pretty nice city, according to Dom, anyway. The Trainline.com app said that the journey takes around 50 minutes. It has been 45. The last two of which have been spent in darkness.

Since boarding the train, you read a chapter of the book that Chris lended to you that you promised you’d read, you got bored and wished you’d brought some fiction, then decided to take your earphones from your bag and listen to some music and scroll through Reddit. In the last 10 minutes you assumed you were approaching Sheffield and, for the first time, acknowledged what was zooming past the window. You didn’t expect much, but even so you were slightly disappointed that there wasn’t anything to see from which you could begin to get a feel for what kind of place the city is. Sheffield had seemed like a bit of a strange place for Dom to choose to live in, and you were slightly eager to form some kind of opinion on the place, see what it was that had attracted your best friend to cross the peak district to a new life in Yorkshire. So far you’d only seen the normal trackside stuff; trees, backs of houses, litter, an industrial park. Nothing interesting. Then you’d entered a tunnel you didn’t see coming. That had been 3 whole minutes ago and you are still inside the tunnel; still the windows only show the reflection of the inside of the carriage. You think about taking a picture on Snapchat, with the caption ‘What a view!’, or something similarly witty.

It’s been 5 minutes since you entered the tunnel now. Getting a bit ridiculous, and also a bit weird. You look around at everyone else on the train. Nobody seems at all phased by how long the train has been travelling through darkness. You drop Dom a message: ‘How long is this fucking tunnel lmao’. He isn’t online so you don’t expect an instant reply and put your phone back in your pocket. You take a sip of your Sprite and realise Blue Monday by New Order is playing towards the end, so you start it again because you don’t feel like you’ve appreciated it enough while you were distracted. You lean your head back on the seat and close your eyes, not only to focus on the music but because you’re tired. Admittedly, it isn’t even 6pm and you haven’t done much all day, but your suitcase was kind of heavy, and travelling is tiring.

The song ends before you know it. You had started drifting into a light sleep, which is a little bit annoying because it is a bloody good song and, again, you didn’t listen to it fully enough to appreciate it. You look at the window. Still black. Wait. Still black? That song is like 8 minutes long, how the fuck are we still in this tunnel? You check your phone. It is 5.55. Dom has messaged you back.

‘What tunnel?’ Ok that panics you a bit. Dom makes the Manchester to Sheffield train journey fairly regularly, surely he would have noticed a tunnel that takes over 15 minutes to get through. Where the fuck is this train going?

You start messaging back Dom: ‘the giAnt fUcKing tunnel on the way to Sheffield, been in it f-’ Your phone dies. Black screen. You press and hold the power button in an attempt to turn it back on. Nope. Unresponsive. (Perfect)

Maybe you got on the wrong train, one that goes underground. But you remember checking the app five times to make sure you didn’t. And you didn’t see or feel the train descending, if it is indeed underground. (which is your best guess right now because surely you’d know about it if there was such a huge tunnel somewhere in the North of England)

You lean over towards the bald 40 year old man in the seat across the aisle from you

‘Excuse me… Where is this train headed?’

The man lowers his newspaper. You notice his eyes quickly flick up and down as he looks at you. You hope you don’t look too panicked. Or stupid.

‘Sheffield… we’ve almost arrived there,’ he replies, apathetically.

‘Cheers,’ you reply automatically, and begin to lean back into your seat, satisfied with the answer. Actually, no you are not at all satisfied with that answer. If anything, that raises more questions. You lean forward again.

‘Was the train rerouted or something?’ The man looks at you, blinks, and responds ‘I didn’t hear any announcements, did you?’ with a slight condescending tone and a glance towards the overhead speaker next to the digital display of the stops.

‘No.. I guess not’ you reply and slink back into your seat, then become annoyed at yourself for such a weak reply to his condescending tone, the kind of weak shit that justifies his use of tone, maybe to him at least. Maybe they rerouted the train and didn’t announce it. But why wouldn’t they? Maybe the route got changed sometime in the last week, between now and the last time Dom travelled from Manchester and Sheffield, so there would be no reason for them to announce it during this journey. Either way, fuck that guy.

Forgive others, not because they deserve forgiveness, but because you deserve peace. A quote you remember seeing on Instagram, but who said it?

It’s been another 7 minutes which you spent brooding about the condescending tone with which the man responded to your completely understandable (given the situation) question, and you decide you need to forget the whole thing. You always let things like this take too much head space, and take things too personally. It is for these reasons that in the past you have thought about the ways you could kill or severely hurt someone for a good half an hour simply because they were rude to you and made you feel small. Of course, you wouldn’t admit these thoughts to anyone else, and you certainly wouldn’t ever actually carry out any of these fantasies, would you? (Is it my impulses or my inhibitions that represent my true self?) Not the time to think about that. The pain in your asscheeks serves as a reminder of how long you’ve been sat for, and you get the urge to be proactive and find out what the fuck is going on.

You sling your black rucksack over your back and set off down the aisles to find someone else who might know what is going on. The train is lined with rows of heads in books and newspapers and phones, a few sleepers and a few talkers. Nobody but you seems to be phased by the fact the train has been in darkness for the past 25 minutes. Just a typical train journey.

((The whole cast is here))

WhAt?

You get to the end of the carriage, where the doors are. Three people stand in here, leaning against the walls. A young Asian man is stood half in front of the door that leads to the next carriage, looking at his white iPhone with one earbud in.

‘Excuse me..’ you mutter.

No movement. He hasn’t noticed you. You clear your throat with a small cough and repeat yourself, more loudly this time. Still no acknowledgement. Whatever he’s looking at must be pretty fucking engrossing. With a sigh you step forward, tap him on the arm and begin to squeeze past him, when he finally looks up and steps aside, apologising. But there’s something about the way he does it that you find a bit off, and you feel him watching you as you step between the carriages. The engine is roaring loudly here and you can hear air rushing past. You wonder if perhaps you’re not in a ridiculously long tunnel but in fact the train is just going really slowly, however it doesn’t sound that way from here. Pushing the door through to the next carriage, the first thing you notice is that the lights seem a little brighter, everything looks a little clearer. Something feels very different, but you can’t put your finger on it. You are hit with the feeling that you shouldn’t be th-

He wasn’t startled at all.

That’s it, right? The thing that felt off about the guys reaction. Surely if you were totally oblivious to someone’s presence, you’d be a little shocked by them touching you. Instead it seemed as if, upon being touched, he had just decided to become responsive. You probably just imagined that though, right? Your mind is playing tricks. You must admit, the whole situation has you a little bit spooked and you feel uneasy as hell. What if you’re not in a tunnel, what if the whole fucking world has fallen into darkness. Stupid? Yes. Impossible? Indefinitely. But fear doesn’t listen to rationality.

In the next carriage, you see an overweight 40 year old woman outfitted in a Northern Rail uniform checking tickets. She might know something. You make your way down the aisle until you are stood near her, and wait for her to finish dealing with the passenger she is selling a ticket to.

It is only then that you realise how quiet this carriage is. In fact, silent.

She turns towards you, looks you up and down and flashes you a polite occupational obligation of a smile that says ‘What do you want from me?’

Something about the silence of the carriage makes you feel under pressure.

‘H-has this train been re-routed..recently?’ you ask.

Why’d you have to st-stutter like that? Just like you used to every time you had to answer a question back in high school. Back when you used to wonder how people could talk so confidently all the time, how they could really own their sentences and use their words as if the act of announcing an idea would make it official and important, rather than let their thoughts leak from their mouths and be bastardised by a barrier of awkwardness and anxiety whenever they were forced to speak.

‘This is the same route as always, do you need any help?’ replies the ticket collector. This is the opposite answer to what you expected; what you wanted. A simple ‘Yes’ would have explained everything away, put your mind at rest, and you could sit back down and wait to arrive in Sheffield.

‘Then where the hell are we? Why have we been in a tunnel for half an hour?!’ you blurt out without thinking about it, and you’re surprised by your own sudden brashness.

‘Tunnel?’ she replies with genuine confusion which you cannot believe. You glance towards the windows impatiently, and her eyes follow your gaze. As before, nothing but blackness and the dark reflection of the train’s insides. The woman seems to freeze up in front of you, staring at the black rectangles on the wall with slightly raised eyebrows and a mouth held tightly shut.

What the fuck is she doing?

It feels like a whole minute before she replies. She awakes from her trance with an awkward and apologetic cough. She looks at you.

‘I think you should sit down, we will be arriving shortly.’

You are halfway about to take her orders and sit the fuck back down and wait, but now you have more questions that need confronting. The situation makes even less sense.

How the fuck hadn’t she noticed? Why has nobody else noticed?

In your head you have started a mission that you need to finish, the confusion and unfamiliarity of the situation has fed something inside you. There is something else though, isn’t there? Something making you act. Something about the way the people around you aren’t doing anything, or at least not doing anything they wouldn’t be ordinarily.

It is most obvious in the people, but it isn’t just the people.

What is it then?

The light still doesn’t look right.

Why does that matter?

‘I-I’ you begin to say something to the stewardess. ‘I demand answers’ is what is on the tip of your tongue, but think it a little dramatic to announce out loud.

‘Can I speak to the driver or something?’

‘I think you should just sit down.’

‘I want to speak to somebody else. I want to speak to the driver.’

You don’t quite know why you’re making such a big deal, but there’s no way you’re sitting down. You start to squeeze your way past her, hoping she’ll take a hint and move out of the way, as there is no way you could push your way past this obese obstruction before you. She doesn’t budge at all, in fact the opposite; the vast weight difference means a gentle shove throws you into the seats beside her.

What the fuck?! Did she really just push me?!

The obstruction takes a deep breath, giving you a malicious admonitory look before continuing down the aisle.

Confused and pissed off, you take half a minute to comprehend what just happened. Before you’ve finished thinking about what to do next, you feel yourself running towards the door on the other end of the carriage. Yes, running! When was the last time you ran in front of other people? You can no longer even rely on your own fucking actions to be predictable.

‘Hey!’ you hear from behind you. The obstruction starts a high speed wobble down the aisle towards you, which in any other situation you would’ve found comical (followed by feeling guilty for finding it so funny), however right now, the sight of her pursuing you spurs you desperately towards the door. You swiftly push down the cold metal handle and pull open the carriage door, letting it swing into someone’s suitcase. The adjoining room is empty. Before you is the door to the driving room. You place your fingers over the handle. A meaty hand grabs your shoulder, sending electric bolts throughout your joints. Violently twisting your body round, you face The Obstruction, who you could swear has doubled in size. With all your weight and strength of desperation and madness, you shove her away from you, and are surprised by how easily her immense weight is imbalanced. You’re no physics expert, but you can see when her centre of gravity shifts beyond the back of her ankles. She falls backwards, with her rib awkwardly jamming into an armrest on the way down, creating a muffled crack like a floorboard under a carpet. She curls into a fetal position, an automatic reaction, as if you hit a reset button on her body.

Oh shit oh fuck oh shit WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Breathing hard and fast, you pull shut the carriage door and you find that hiding the situation from your view calms you a little bit. You lean against the wall; you’re sweating and your head throbs.

You look up and see the blue door that leads to the driving room.

What are you going to ask the driver? What do you expect to find out?

Questions like that stopped needing answering a while ago. The feeling you don’t belong feels stronger than ever. Rationality is out the window. It doesn’t matter what is behind that door, something doesn’t want you here.

You place your hand once again on the handle and push down.

Darkness

Loud noise.

Everything becomes black. You are surrounded by pitch black nothingness, as if you’ve been transported to inside a black hole. Suddenly lines of light appear, appearing all around you and joining together, creating a wireframe model of the train around you. You think of your childhood bedroom, when the room was pitch black and the light from the hallway would shine through the gaps between the door and the doorframe, creating the outline of a rectangle.

The exploding engine and whirring wind are deafening now, as if you are outside the train.

Where am-

Suddenly silence. Light returns. You are in the room at the edge of the carriage, standing before the driving room. The door to the left of you slides open to a train station. A blue sign that says ‘Sheffield’ hangs on the brick wall across from you.

You don’t quite dare step off the train, in case upon stepping off, the ground swallows you up and everything disappears again. You look into the seating area of the carriage, where people are grabbing their bags and leaving the train at the other end of the aisle. The ticket collector is in the middle of the carriage, and she turns and gives you a service industry smile like nothing has happened. Through the windows you see the other passengers exit the train and disperse around the station, to wherever they are off to next. You consider going back to your original carriage to get your suitcase from the shelves.

What the fuck does it matter now?

Hesitantly, you alight the train now that you are the last person aboard. The station is empty apart from you and the other passengers from your train, who are making their way to the exit or to other platforms. The place feels more than just unfamiliar, but otherworldly. You need to get out of there, away from anything to do with that train.

Following the signage, you make your way to the exit. The station seems to become more and more crowded, as it should be at this time of day, as you shuffle your way towards the city centre exits.

You are outside the train station, in a kind of public square. Water rushes down giant concrete steps of a water feature. You notice the way the light reflects off the moving water. You look up at the giant cuboid buildings of the city before you, more aware than ever of how 3 dimensional they look, and you wonder what is inside them.

The next thing you take note of is the people bustling up and down the slope that leads from the train station to one of the main roads of the city centre.

It is most obvious in the people

You wonder where they are all going, and whether they have the rest of their lives to get back to, or if they just cease to exist when they go out of view.

Where do you go from here? What do you do now,`````````* when faced with what seems like undeniable proof of something part of you had always suspected. That impulsive part of you that says ‘What the fuck does it matter, if nothing matters?’. The part of you that needed to be controlled, before you acted out all of your impulses and got killed or made a killer.

Do you jump into the fountain because the water looks cool? Run into the traffic? Punch somebody in the face just to see what happens? Or does part of you still cling to what you used to fully believe, what you had to assume to be true in order to function as a cognitive being; That everything you see is real?

But reality doesn't disappear and reanimate itself before you.

What do you do when an experience throws reality itself into question?

*my cat’s contribution that I decided to leave in, she trying to help.

#short story #writing #fiction #literature #horror #(maybe idk)#second person #reality #train #travelling #commute

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theartofbeinganerd · 8 years ago

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pleasewritethejemmapovpleaseandthankyouandloveandpeace

Alright! By popular demand, here is Jemma’s POV of the latter half of this fic (which is also now on Ao3)!

Enjoy!

(Ao3)

“I’m sorry dear, butLeo still isn’t feeling well.”

Jemma’s shoulders sagged in disappointment as she told Mrs.Fitz dejectedly, “Alright, thank you.” Hanging up the phone, she sighed heavilyand rested her chin in her hand. She just didn’t understand, because Fitz hadn’t ever passed on the chance to speakwith her before, even when he’d been terribly sick with a stomach virus at theAcademy. In fact, even when he’d spent the next couple of days almostconstantly vomiting, she’d been therefor most of it (he hadn’t seemed to want her out of his sight, and had rather dramaticallyinsisted that didn’t want to be “left alone to die”).

But, she supposed, he had his mother now, so why would heneed her?

That thought only served to depress Jemma, even though she knew she wasn’t exactly being fair –just because she was missing him and his voice and his laugh and the way he soeffortlessly finished her sentences, didn’t mean he was obligated to speak toher every single day, especially whenhe was sick.

So, attempting to take her mind off of it for now, Jemmaabandoned her seat beside the phone and left the house for the first time inwhat felt like days. Catching sightof her father trimming the hedges, she went over to join him, and he glanced upwith a warm smile at her approach. “Hello dear,” he greeted, “what’s got you sodown on a gorgeous day like today?”

Trying to brush it off without going into detail (she couldn’tseem to put her finger on why not talking to Fitz had her so upset, anyway),Jemma shrugged and answered simply, “Oh nothing, I just haven’t spoken to Fitzfor a couple of days, that’s all.”

He hummed contemplatively, giving a few snips with hisgardening shears, then admitted, “I wasn’t going to say anything, since you’vebeen so content to spend your whole summer at home, on the phone with Fitz, butsince you’re left without anything to do…”

When he trailed off, Jemma arched her eyebrows curiously andleaned in excitedly. “Yes?” she prompted, “What is it, Dad?”

He chuckled, lowering his shears and turning to face hercompletely. “Well, your uncle Vince and aunt Claire are going to be in Parisfor the next few weeks, and they rang me just the other day to see if you’d beinterested in joining them.”

Jemma gasped in surprised delight, practically jumping upand down as she mentally ran over the list of museums and historical sitesParis offered. “Paris has the largest science museum in all of Europe!”

Her father gave a full laugh at that, asking teasingly, “Ah,so I suppose this means you’re interested, then?”

She nodded rapidly, clasping her hands in front of her. “Yes,” she assured him firmly.

“Alright then,” he said, nodding back toward the house, “goon and phone them, then, and start packing; their flight leaves first thingtomorrow.”

Nearly vibrating with pent-up enthusiasm, Jemma surgedforward to grab her father in a quick, fierce hug, then hurried back inside tograb the phone once more. She began to dial, but stopped herself halfwaythrough when it occurred to her that it wasn’t her aunt and uncle’s number, butFitz’s.

Startled, she gazed blankly down at the receiver as sherealized that her very first instinct had been to share the news with Fitz.But, he obviously wasn’t going to come to the phone now anymore than he hadjust twenty minutes ago.

Sighing as her happiness dimmed a bit, Jemma hung up thephone before redialing.

The next morning, Jemma was up bright and early, even afterspending most of the previous night hurriedly packing for the trip, all whileagonizing over whether she should call Fitz’s house and leave the informationabout her trip with his mother, or wait until they spoke personally again – she’deventually decided on the latter, wanting to hear his response for herself.

She’d just handed her uncle Vince her suitcase to pack awayin their idling cab, when she heard her mother call, “Jemma, hold on dear! I’vegot something for you!”

“I’ll be right back,” she told her aunt Claire, hurryingback up the driveway toward where her mother stood in the doorway. As she gotcloser, Jemma noticed that her mother was leafing through the day’s mail andholding a plain white envelope apart from the rest, and she picked up her pacewhen she realized that it was likely Fitz’s latest letter.

Grabbing it from her smiling mother, Jemma grinned from earto ear as she caught sight of her own neat handwriting, detailing her name andaddress – she’d written several of them out for Fitz to make sure he’d actuallyget something posted, because if she’d left it up to him, he’d inevitably havegotten distracted during the time it’d take to retrieve an envelope and fill itout.

“Now I’ll have something to read on the plane,” Jemma toldher happily, and as her mother chuckled lightly, she gave her another quick hugbefore hurrying back to the cab idling on the curb.

The entire journey to the airport, then during the wait fortheir flight, Jemma was antsy; in fact, she was looking forward to gettingsettled on the plane and opening Fitz’s letter more than she actually was toarriving in Paris. She even already had a crisp piece of paper and a set ofpens ready to write out a response as soon as she was finished with it.

Finally, after what seemed like far longer than an hour,they’d gotten onto the plane and taken off, and as her uncle settled in for aquick nap and her aunt cracked open a half-finished paperback, Jemma peeledopen the envelope and unfolded the paper inside. It was strangely creased andwrinkled, but she figured with a fond roll of her eyes that he probably hadn’tbothered to find a fresh piece of paper.

Dear Jemma,

I’m sorry. I’m sosorry. I’ve tried, I really have, but it just won’t go away. I want things togo back to normal, I want to turn back the clock and well, we both know time travel is impossible,but I hope you’ll forgive me for saying that in the first place, I’m kind of amess right now. But, it’s true, if it were possible, I’d give anything to goback in time and stop this from ever happening.

Jemma, I’m in Ithink I I love you, okay? Not just like friends, even though I do, I lovebeing your friend! But all of sudden I want to be around you all the time and –well, that’s not much different from how we usually are, is it? But it is,because now there’s this ache in my chest and I know it’s physicallyimpossible and you’re probably having a good laugh at my expense saying ‘sillyFitz’ right about now, but it feels like my heart is honestly breakingevery moment I’m not with you. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m sorry, Iprobably sound like some dumb romance movie, but…I don’t know.

I’m sorry I’mrambling, I don’t really know what I’m feeling or how to explain it, and I’mlikely doing a rubbish job. All I know is that I love you so much I want totear my own heart out of my chest and hand it right over to you so thenmaybe it’ll stop crying out for you so much.

Oh Christ, I’m sorry,I’m so so so sorry Jemma. I’m gonna try to forget all ofthis, and then things can go back to normal and we’ll go back to the Academyand spend all day in the lab fighting about the silliest things and crackingjokes in Professor Vaughn’s class until he catches wind of what we’re up to –which he won’t, of course.

Don’t worry about anyof it, okay? ‘Cause even if these stupid feelings won’t go away, I’ll still domy best to ignore them and just be your friend and you’ll never have to know. Ipromise, this doesn’t have to change anything.

Please don’t letthis change anything.

Fitz

By the time she’d reached the end, Jemma couldn’t quitebreathe, and she was taken aback to find that her numb fingers were tremblingwhere they were gripping the letter tightly enough to wrinkle it further. Herthoughts were racing, competing with the climbing beat of her heart inside herchest. Unable to believe what she’d just read, she scanned back over the sloppyhandwriting, her mind catching on phrases like, “I love you, okay?”, and “Ilove you so much I want to tear my own heart out of my chest”.

How long had he felt like this? How had she not known? Why was he choosing to tell hernow? What did this mean for their friendship?

And most importantly – how did she feel?

“Are you alright, dear?”

Startled out of her increasingly panicked thoughts, Jemmaturned to her aunt with wide eyes, not at all sure what the answer to thedeceptively simple question was.

Her aunt frowned in concern, tapping her cheek as shepointed out softly, “You’re crying, love.”

Automatically, Jemma reached up to touch her own face, andwhen her hand came back into her sight, she was surprised to find wetness clingingto her fingertips.

That night, Jemma lay in bed, wide awake. It was still earlyin the evening, but when her aunt and uncle had asked if she’d wanted to go outfor dinner, she’d told them she wasn’t feeling well and stayed in.

She was curled up on top of the covers in their fancy hotelsuite in Paris (she could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance out her windowfor god’s sake), but all she couldthink about was the fact that Fitzwas in love with her.

She’d been through a rollercoaster of emotion since she’dfirst read that letter – afraid that his feelings would change things betweenthem, angry with him for falling in love with her in the first place, concernfor him and how long he’d likely struggled with this in silence, confusionabout how it all made her feel, andabout a thousand other feelings she couldn’t even begin to parse out.

And as if that everything else wasn’t enough, she’d heardher cell phone ring multiple times since they’d checked into the hotel and she’dturned it back on to tell her mother they’d gotten in safely; she knew that it had to be Fitz on the otherline.

It wasn’t that Jemma didn’t want to talk to him, because oh did she ever (she knew that he wasprobably going insane with worry about why she hadn’t tried to talk to him yet)– but on the other hand, how could he expect her to just be fine after reading that letter?

Yes, alright, he likely needed reassurance that they wouldstill be friends despite his feelings, and she would absolutely give it to him(because god she couldn’t lose him,not for this, not for anything), but she just needed some time to processfirst.

Fitz would understand – it was just how she was when it cameto things like this. Though, she had to admit that this was a bit different;after all, she couldn’t ever say that she’d had to come to terms with her bestfriend in the world being in love with her before.

Sighing heavily, Jemma squeezed her eyes shut in frustrationand rolled away from the gorgeous sight of the city lit up in the night, waitingthere just outside her window.

Some things were more important than Paris, apparently.

A few days had passed, and Jemma had finally beensuccessfully lured out of her hotel room to spend a bit of time taking inParis, but it still just didn’t…feel right, for some reason. She’d triedputting the Fitz situation to the back of her mind, leaving it to mull over atnight (though she still hadn’t come to any kind of conclusion, much to herfrustration – Fitz’s messages and e-mails only continued to add up), but stillshe felt strangely empty, even in one of the world’s most beautiful cities.

Her aunt and uncle could obviously tell that there wassomething wrong, and they seemed to have finally arrived at their last ditcheffort to tempt her into a good mood, as that day they’d announced an imminenttrip to the Cité des Sciences et de l'Industrie.

Of course Jemmawas excited at the prospect, and she’d been nearly incapable of removing thegrin from her face the entire journey to the museum. But, once inside, as she begantaking in the exhibits, she found herself turning automatically discuss themwith Fitz, and had to keep reminding herself that he wasn’t there.

After the fifth time, with her enthusiasm all-but gone, ithit her all at once that she didn’t want tobe there without Fitz, that it just wasn’t the same. In fact…she never wanted another day to go bywithout him there beside her and that…that wasn’t normal best friend behavior,was it?

So, there Jemma was, standing in the middle of the bustlingmuseum, groups of young children being herded past her by frazzled parents, andall she could think of was the crossed-out line of Fitz’s letter about wantingto tear his heart out and hand it over to keep it from aching. She pressed ahand to the center of her chest, where her own was positively throbbing at the constant reminders thatFitz wasn’t with her, and it finally occurredto her –

I’m in love with Fitz.

Feeling lighter and freer than she had in days, Jemma let out a watery, disbelievinglaugh, because how had she not realized before…?

She lifted her hands to cover her mouth, muffling herlaughter that nearly verged on a sob as tears rolled down her cheeks, and shewondered to herself, what do I do now?But, the answer was obvious.

Go find Fitz, ofcourse.

With that in mind, Jemma rushed over to where her aunt anduncle had been studying a display a bit ahead of her, conversing in low voices.As she appeared at their side with tears pouring down her face, but laughingalmost wildly and grinning so widely it hurt, they exchanged worried glances.

“Jemma dear?” her uncle prompted, “Are you feeling well?”

“What’s the matter, darling?” her aunt added gently.

“Everything’s wonderful, actually.” She sniffled, absently wipingaway a couple of tears as she went on matter-of-factly, “I need to leave. Ineed to…I have to go to Glasgow. Today. As soon as possible.”

And that was how Jemma found herself on the first availableflight to Glasgow later that night, squirming anxiously in her seat the entiretime and taking deep calming breaths. It was a near-constant battle not to cryyet again; now that she’d noticed it for what it truly was, her love for Fitz wasso strong, it threatened tocompletely consume her.

Oh, what a blind foolshe’d been.

It was pouring when she arrived in Glasgow, stepping out ofthe airport to catch a cab, but Jemma barely even noticed because she justneeded to get to Fitz, and…and she wasn’t really sure what then – all she knew wasthat she had to tell him now, that itcouldn’t wait another moment.

And finally, she was right there on the doorstep of the cutelittle house he shared with his mother, and she was positively soaked through,shivering both from the rain seeping through her clothes and the nervousexcitement bubbling up inside of her.

Jemma knocked on the door quickly, shifting anxiously fromfoot-to-foot as she waited. However, as the time seemed to stretch on and on,she was hit with a sudden, blinding moment of pure panic – was she doing theright thing?

What if they became more than friends and it ruined theirincredible friendship? What if they didn’t work out, and then he never wantedto see her again? What if they ended up hating each other? What if she’d finally found him, only to lose him?

Just as she contemplating dashing down the steps and fleeingbefore she could make a terrible mistake, the door opened, and there was Fitz,curls rumpled adorably and his eyes wide with shock and wonder at the sight ofher, and Jemma knew that this couldnever be a mistake.

So, without giving him a chance to say a word, she started speakingin stops and starts, the words torn straight from her heart (she knew she should’ve planned this all outahead of time – why hadn’t she again?).

“Hi Fitz. I…I just…I had to see you.” Giving a little shakeof her head, she laughed at the idea that she was really there doing this,really saying all of this to him. “Ileft Paris, got on the first planehere, and… I feel ridiculous, to be honest, but…” She paused there to take abreath in an attempt to steady herself, smiling through the emotion building upinside of her and threatening to choke her as she repeated the words that hadn’tleft her alone since she’d read them, “I’d just as gladly tear my own heart outand hand it over to you, Fitz – if such a thing was possible. I…I’ve been soconflicted, all summer, because I wanted to be happy to be home and with myfamily, but all I wanted was…to be with you,and I didn’t understand what it all meant until I read your letter and…and itclicked, and…”

Jemma had to force herself to stop there, cutting off hernervous rambling with a firm shake of her head. Taking another breath, her eyesbriefly slipped closed as she focused solely on the love pounding through her,flooding her veins and filling her through to the tips of her fingers. It had abrilliant smile splitting her face nearly in half, and she reopened her eyes sothat she could see him as she said the words her heart was crying out for herto finally release.

“Oh Fitz, I loveyou too.”

Fitz’s expression was soft, awed, as though he couldn’tbelieve she was truly saying all of this…but also wearing the love he felt forher right there plainly on her face for her to see and accept or reject. Jemmacould help herself no longer – she reached out to grasp a fistful of hist-shirt, pulling him right out into the rain, right into a kiss.

He let out a surprised sound, muffled by the kiss, but hishands hastily came up to cradle her waist, and Jemma smiled against his lips asher fingers tangled in his wet curls.

Nothing in her life had ever felt so utterly right before, and she knew that nothingever would again – not when she’d already found right where she belonged.

#shayna writes #fsfic #fitzsimmons #asks #academy era #follow-up fic #alternate universe #hope you all enjoy this as much as the first one!#hemnalini

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prayingwithfeet · 8 years ago

Text

Mercy Continues

Even though life has been in the way of updating this blog, that does not mean my thoughts have stopped…nor my experiences as a pilgrim.

My pilgrimage to Assisi, Rome, and Krakow has seemed to have left an indelible mark on my spirit. During my travels, I visited new places and returned to old. I met new people and saw familiar faces in a different light. I tried new things and engaged in the same routine with a renewed vision. I walked through doors of Mercy that have been opened to pilgrims for hundreds of years, strolled down roads in the home town of saints, and stood in silence before the Gates of Hell. I visited the home town of a beloved pope and listened to the wisdom of another. I found joy in difficult moments and saw hope flourish from the ashes of hate.

My suitcase didn’t come back heavier with souvenirs. I couldn’t seem to stop for a moment to go shopping because I wanted to experience every movement to it’s fullest. I did end up bringing back with me two things: Mercy and Trust.

As it was the Year of Mercy, this is a no brainer. The Divine Mercy Chaplet was said throughout the pilgrimage, we walked the pilgrimage walk of Mercy in Rome, and in every reflection we heard from the Pope, a Cardinal, Bishop, Priest, Deacon, or Lay Person Mercy was in their words. We were in the chapel where Christ asked us to pray for Divine Mercy and received Mercy through the sacrament of Reconciliation in its shadow.

In the Field of Mercy pilgrims could receive the sacrament of Reconciliation. In the background is the Shrine of Divine Mercy built next to the small chapel (green roof) where St. Faustina received Jesus’ message to give the Divine Mercy Image to the world along with the Divine Mercy Chaplet.

Trust was another gift that was given. On pilgrimage, you often have to rely on the goodness and kindness of others. You have to trust others to lead you where you need to go or trust that you can find your own way. You have to trust that you can figure out problems when they arise. You have to trust that you will be able to walk when you feel like your feet cannot carry you any further. The phrase “Jesus, I trust in You,” echoed in my heart with every step I took. When I faltered and failed to trust, those words came back and I literally saw the light (true story: I was looking for a candle during the evening vigil in Campus Misericordiae and started to panic with the thought that I wasn’t going to take part in this important moment. I left my group and found found where they were distributing the candles. Relieved, I came back to my group, only to find that they already received candles. Should have trusted…).

Me waking up in Campus Misericordae along with a million of my closest friends.

So why am I writing this now? I’ve been back for six months. Why now?

My beloved country is on the eve of a tradition that has taken place 44 times in its history: the peaceful transition of power from one president to another. There are strong opinions and thoughts on both sides. Celebration and fear. Hope and despair. Optimism and pessimism. Activism and apathy. Civility and bullying. Pulling each other up while some push others down. We’ve seem to be a country of extremes.

While I am not happy with the results of the election, as we were reminded while watching “Sherlock” on PBS, “It is what it is.” We can’t change the results of the election. We just can’t. But we can change how we respond.

My prayer for the United States of America is three fold: One for Mercy, One for Trust, and one for Unity.

Prayer for Mercy: Mercy, as I have come to understand it, is the loving compassion we can show another person, even if we feel like they don’t deserve it. Giving and showing Mercy is one of the strongest things anyone can do. This election cycle has challenged me in this aspect. I am not a fan of the man that was elected president. His words and deeds have hurt me, have marginalized others, and have been against my values (especially on the topics of giving dignity to each human life). And yet I am called to love him as a child of God. I am called to give him Mercy. That does not mean staying silent when his actions will end up hurting others or go against the values of Catholic Social Teaching. It is the duty of every citizen to speak up for the marginalized and give voice to the voiceless. But we must do it with Mercy. We must speak about our neighbors with compassion and understanding. We must continue to give and be love even if we don’t agree. At the end of the day, our next president is just a human man, with faults and, though this is an assumption, a sad, lonely life. And our neighbors who we disagree with want to find their place in the world as much as we do. Name calling and spewing hate will not win battles. It will only deepen the wound. As St. Faustina wrote, “Be always Merciful.”

Prayer for Trust: There’s a lot of apprehension and uncertainty within many of my fellow citizens, myself included. Change is scary especially if we didn’t want the kind of change we are receiving. If we are to look to someone’s past as a predictor of what they might do in the future…well, we might have the right to be nervous. Those who depend on the Affordable Care Act for health insurance are right to be concerned that they may loose it. Those who depend on the DREAM act to receive dignity as a worker have a right to be anxious. There is a lot to be uncertain of and we have the duty, the obligation to take action if our neighbor’s dignity is under threat. Even through all of this, we are called to trust. “Jesus, I trust in You,” the saying at the feet of Jesus in the Divine Mercy image, isn’t there because it makes a pretty border. It’s there because that’s what Christ is asking us to do: trust in Him. Through that trust, mercy can flow. Through that trust, our hearts open to loving others more purely. Through that trust, we find solace and comfort. It’s like when Jesus called Peter to walk out of the boat and into the storm. Peter initially thought that the safest place was where he was standing, on the wooden floor of the boat. When he gave in and allowed himself to fully trust in Jesus he was able to walk out into the raging water and clearly see the face of Christ. We might be walking into a storm of uncertainty and despair right now, but when we trust in God…oh the wonders that we can achieve! Imagine a world of love and forgiveness and mercy. When we open ourselves and listen to what God is calling us to do and to be, we can make something beautiful together!

Prayer for Unity: We can’t do anything alone. That might need to be America’s mantra for the next few years. I can’t do anything alone. When I push people away, I miss out on the opportunity to learn from someone else, even if it is a clearer understanding of what we disagree on. I can’t do my job without interacting with others. I can’t go to the grocery story without realizing that the food I am buying was placed on the shelf by a person, and before that, was packaged by a group of people, and before that was grown by human hands. Everything I own is because of interconnections of our existence. Martin Luther King Jr. once said: “In a real sense all life is inter-related. All men are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be… This is the inter-related structure of reality.” When my neighbor’s house is on fire, I can’t stand there and watch it burn because my house might catch fire next. In order for me to succeed, my neighbor has to succeed along with me. On the night I was searching for a candle, Pope Francis was delivering a homily. I remember very clearly hearing Pope Francis call for us the young people of the world, to do one simple task: Build bridges made of living hands reaching out to each other.

There is so much good in each other that we miss it when we are focusing on our differences. When we are yelling and accusing, we forget to treat the other with love and respect as God has called us to. What would happen if we challenge ourselves to work with or talk to someone whose political background is different than our own? I’m guessing the bridges of prejudice and judgement would disappear and we will instead gain a deeper appreciation for the unique, loved person that they are. We might even find that we share some of the same values. In other words…

Leslie Knope is my spirit animal. I once, unknowingly, ate at the same waffle restaurant in Washington DC as she did in “Parks and Recreation.” When I found out, I about died out of sheer happiness.

On this inauguration day, I’m going to spend it doing what I always do: go to work, interact with a vast array of people, and help whenever I can. I’ll probably add in there a Divine Mercy Chaplet (or 3). Join me in prayer if you would like. Exercise your constitutional right to express your thoughts and opinions. Be kind to your neighbor. Be Mercy.

Pax et Bonum Peace and All Goodness

Vicky

PS: I created a playlist that was inspired by this pilgrimage. Enjoy!

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