#its the most samuel chapter of all time

[melljam]

samuel always gets interrupted when he tries to beat people with large metal objects

let the man bludgeon people with the force of over a hundred pounds of metal in peace !!!

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Two: [Chemo & Charisma]

Summary: Jake arrives in Rhode Island to accompany his three kids back to Houston Texas the next morning. He expects it to be slightly awkward, but something he doesn’t expect is to be cryptically seduced by you—his ex wife.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Cancer Diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Separation. Marriage issues. Mentions of death. Minor smut (18+)

Word Count: 4.6k

Author Note: Thank you for all the love and support around this series so far. It truly has been an awesome experience getting to create this storyline with you all. I'm excited to see how you all react as the chapters come out. Your concepts, theories and reactions are truly making my December that much better.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Turbulence…it can mean anything from a few little bumps to a catastrophic weather system that could knock your flying tin can right out of the air. In Surgery they call it a complication, the surgeons hit a snag, a bump in the road. Turbulence. 

In your marriage, you called it Separation. One of the most unpredictable things about encountering turbulence is its aftermath. Everything’s been shaken up, undone, turned on its head. So you ask yourself time and time again, if you had the choice to avoid the plane crash, the turbulence altogether, would you take it? Would you play it safe and cancel the flight? Or would you get onboard and take your chances. 

“Dad!” Little Lucy Seresin was just the spitting image of you and your grandmother. She was every bit you except for those big emerald green eyes. “Dad—!” You could see Jake making his way towards you and your three children through the crowd, all standing around your legs waiting for their father. The one who gave all three of your children those piercing emerald eyes that held what seemed like all the secrets in the universe. “Mum! Dads here! Dads here!” 

“I see him sweetheart, there’s daddy.” You replied to your six year old, who, before you even had a chance to stop the only daughter of Jake Seresin, took off running across the crowded airport welcoming area towards her dad. You knew it had been far too long since Jake had been able to see his children, but you also knew it wasn't entirely his fault. The Navy was unpredictable as it was reliable. 

“Hiya Lulu!” Jake smiled as wild as he could as he dropped to his knee to embrace the six year old human he’d helped create. “Oh I missed you sweetheart.” That much was true, Jake Seresin missed his kids every day that passed him by. You watched on with six year old Lennox by your side and two year old Samuel on your hip as Jake picked his daughter up and carried her back over to where you stood patiently waiting. “Lenny, how you going man?” Jake beamed as he tousled his eldest son's hair. “Far out kid, you shoot up any more and you’ll be taller than your mother.” You smiled at the dig unintentionally, before you knew you were smiling Jake had seen the corners of your lips turn upright into an unmissable smile. 

“Mums says I’m growing like an inch a day because I eat all my green beans at dinner.” Jake took a moment to place Lucy back on solid ground before he came up back up to meet your gaze. It had been a few weeks since you had called Jake about your Christmas plans. He still wasn’t sure how to feel about them, deep down he wanted to tell you not to go. Deep down he was screaming at the top of his lungs for you to give him another chance, to come with him and the kids to his mothers for Christmas. But Jake knew better than to make a scene in front of the kids. But that didn't mean he couldn't be petty when he wanted to be just to get a rise out of you. 

“Is that so?” Jake beamed that signature Seresin grin you’d fallen for back in college when he was captain of the football team and you were just that meek library dweller. He made you feel so much more than just the shy history buff you’d been back then, Jake Seresin had taught you a lot of things about yourself in the time you’d been his best friend and wife, now ex. Nowadays however you often caught yourself wondering if he’d miss you if you didn’t make it through the battle you were facing. The battle you hadn’t told anyone about except your mum. The battle that took all your strength to keep a secret close to your chest. The battle that was draining you or all your strength and energy. The battle that late at night you wish you could just end early. 

Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma. Triple positive meaning that your specific cancer fed off oestrogen, progesterone and HER2 hormones. Lucky you right? Your first lumpectomy went rather well, but you were facing twelve weeks of chemotherapy treatment. Three oral tablets daily and two full days of IV sessions a week. 

However, you were taking measures into your own hands as of tomorrow and were scheduled to be back in hospital for double mastectomy. You didn't want to wait and see if the cancer would spread and wanted every single bit out. But Jake was none the wiser about your medical status and assumed that you were off to Canada with friends for a white Christmas in Banff Alberta. 

“Well—“ Jake carefully took little two year old Sammy from your grasp and placed his tied sleeping self on his own jean clad hip. “Mums are always right.” Jake quickly followed up as he looked down at Lenny. “There’s gonna be a ton of green beans at Grandma's house so you might overtake her quicker than anticipated buddy.” Jake gave the youngest of the three Seresin siblings a kiss on the cheek before he fully turned his attention to you. “Hey Hon—“ The way Jake stopped himself from finishing his sentence made your heart sink into the pit in your stomach. “Y/n, hey Y/n.” He corrected himself quickly as he picked up his duffel bag from the ground next to where he stood before you. “You look well.” 

Oh if only Jake truly knew what you had to do in order to look well. The countless hours you spent throwing your guts up in the middle of the night. The sleepless nights that turned into days. The loss of appetite that had you dropping weight faster than you could blink. Your diagnosis had been quick but your symptoms had been even quicker to take over your daily life.  You kicked yourself every day for not getting yourself to a doctor sooner. 

“Yeah, I’ve been doing alright—“ Things used to be so easy with Jake, now he was standing here before you in the middle of the airport bustling with people going to and from for the holiday season and you swore he looked like someone you didn’t even know. “The kiddos keep me busy, don’t you?” You asked Lucy as she reached out for your hand and looked at you like you were telling lies. 

“Mums been sick.” She told her father confidently, like you weren’t about to die then and there on the spot from embarrassment. Little Lucy had a bad habit of throwing you and Jake under the bus with one another. “She said it’s just a cold, but she’s been sick for like four whole weeks.” Lucy didn’t know any better than what you had always told her, that you had the flu. A long flu at that. As soon as you’d get the kids off to school you’d head right back to bed and sleep. The medication your doctors had you on was pretty brutal, and chemotherapy didn’t help although you’d only just started that kind of oral treatment. It packed a punch you couldn't handle.

“Oh?” Jake frowned as the five of you all made your way through the airport and out towards the car park. “Mum didn’t tell me she was sick, if I had known I would have come sooner.” Jake looked at you like he was trying to read the lines on your face. He could tell you were tied, more than normal—but despite that knowledge he’d never say it out loud. His grandmother would roll over in her damn grave if Jake ever dared to point out a woman’s under eye bags or her tired expression. So he went with ‘well’. 

“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but you knew by the hurt look on Jake’s face that it had struck an exposed nerve. He never wanted to separate. “What I meant was, I’m fine, Lulu here sees a runny nose and thinks it’s the end of days, I would have called you if I needed help.” 

“Fair, I mean—you can’t be that sick right? With your big trip to Banff planned and all.” Jake shrugged it off like his heart wasn’t breaking inside his chest. This was about to be his first Christmas separated from the women he loved more than life itself. Being in North Island made it easier to run from his problems, but the minute he got on that flight he was back inside his own head, rewinding and rethinking everything he ever did wrong to drive you away. 

“Right—“ You agreed softly beside the man you loved so deeply that it burned. “Yeah, I’m just so thankful you were so happy to take the kids with you to your mothers house this year.” To be perfectly honest you were expecting Jake to push back, ask more questions, be a little standoffish on the idea of you not being there for the kids on Christmas. But he never did, and you didn’t know what hurt more. 

“They’re my kids as much as they’re yours—kinda think it’s the least I can do considering you’ve had them all year round.” It was the tone you didn’t appreciate, the almost passive aggressive attitude that made you frown as you walked with Jake and your kids back to your car. 

“You can see the kids anytime you like.” You tried to keep your head level, but the way Jake had said it made you question his motives. “I’d never stop you, if you wanna have them more often I’m sure we can—“ 

“Wasn’t that a big part of the reason you wanted to separate?” Jake interrupted before you had a chance to finish what you were saying. You were about to say perhaps you could come up with a custody agreement. Something on paper that seemed fair to the both of you that took your work schedules into consideration as well as your living conditions, the kids schooling, holidays and extended family. You were happy to discuss it more, but this year that had passed the both of you by had gone in the blink of an eye. “You were stuck with the kids too much? Seems a little counter intuitive considering you’ve become their primary caregiver.” 

“Jake—“ You sighed with a longing he’d missed. “Not in front of the kids, alright?” You were trying your best, truly. But here he was in all his glory, the love of your life and father of your children, telling you that you made a mistake just in a different kind of font. “We can talk about it all when we get home.” 

“I’m not doing anything in front of the kids—“ Jake shrugged as he watched you unlock the car. “I’m just trying to understand why you can’t just admit why you really left.” Jake knew why you left, because of him. He knew he hadn’t done enough in your marriage to show you how much he loved you. He just wanted to hear you say it. That you didn’t love him anymore. He wanted you to tell him point blank that you had fallen out of love with him.

But you could never say that, because you never stopped loving him. 

“You know why—“ You had to bite the inside of your cheek and grit your teeth to stop yourself from yelling, Jake Seresin after all these years still managed to get under your skin with ease. “Again, not in front of the kids, let’s just get home.” 

“You seem frustrated.” Jake teased with that award winning grin, he knew exactly what he was doing. You always took the bait. 

“Yeah, you’ve been here for five minutes and I’m already over it.” If you had rolled your eyes any harder than you did you would have fallen over. 

“Little harsh—“ Jake chuckled as he placed Sammy into his booster seat, the little buckles that used to give him a hard time when the twins were younger were seamlessly clipped up in seconds. Jake made sure his youngest was safe and secure before he stood and turned his full undivided attention back to you. “I’ve missed you.” He said genuinely with a love so strong inside his heart you could nearly feel the warmth as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and drew you in for a hug. “It’s good to see you, even if it’s just for one night before you go jet setting.” 

With little hesitation you melted into the man you had married all those years ago with ease. Jake was your home, your guiding light. This past year had been rough without him and you knew deep down it had been rough for him too. 

But sometimes love just wasn’t enough to save a marriage. 

“Yeah—yeah it’s good to see you.” Jake felt your arms wrap around his torso as you let your cheek rest on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you too.” Jake’s scent had alway brought comfort to you, the overwhelming warmth of cedarwood and notes of vanilla bourbon always calmed you, grounded you in reality. “I’m uh—“ You wanted to tell him the truth about what was going on, but you just couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t ask that much of him. Not after everything you’d both been through over the last year. “I’m just happy you’re here for the kids.” 

“Mum! Lennox won’t let me have the window seat!” 

“I’m older than you!” Lennox argued back as Jake groaned into your neck. Oh how he’d missed you, missed the kids, missed his family. North Island was great but without the four of you? Something was always missing. A piece of Jake was always missing. 

“I’m not just here for the kids.” Jake pulled away at the sound of Lenny and Lucy arguing in the back seat over who was taking the middle seat. “But they’re a bonus, Honey.” He winked as he switched into dad mode and dropped his voice an octave or two. “Stop arguing, I’ll flip a coin.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“Oh woah—“ Jake's eyes lit up as he walked through the front door of the home you’d recently finished moving into. He’d only ever seen it over FaceTime. “It’s bigger than it looked.” The little giggle you let out as you passed him by didn’t go unnoticed. Dirty bird, Jake thought to himself as his eyes lingered down to your ass as you walked ahead of him. 

“It’s enough for me and the kids with a spare room.” You replied as Jake continued to look around. Reminisce of cardboard boxes used in your move still remained scattered around the place. “The kids still wanted to put up the Christmas tree even though they aren’t gonna be here.” 

“Mama said Santa will know that we’re spending it with Grandma and Grandpa and will take all our presents there.” Lucy caught Jake's attention as she barreled into the living room where the Christmas tree stood tall and proud, decorated with mismatched decorations that you and Jake had collected over the years either from stores or the kids' school crafts. “She also said I could give this to you when you came to stay the night.” Lucy explained as she dropped to her knees and reached under the tree to where a perfectly wrapped gift labelled with Jake's name on it sat. “It’s from mum.” 

“Lucy May—“ You nearly hissed as you padded into the living room. “Don’t tell lie’s please.” You pointed, the deal had been you’d get Jake one present and one present only knowing he probably wouldn’t have gotten you anything, and that you’d tell him it was from the kids until he opened it. “You tell your dad who it’s from.” Jake knew by the smirk that crept across his daughter’s face he recognised as his own, that it was from you. Lucy didn’t have to say another word. But she did regardless. 

“It’s from me and Lenny.” She replied as Jake sat on the couch he used to sleep on during those nights the two of you couldn’t sleep in the same bed. Those nights where the two of you needed space and those nights where he thought he was doing the right thing by you and giving it to you. He sat on the couch that felt unfamiliar now and took the present his daughter gave him with grace. “Lenny! Dad’s opening our present!” 

“What present?” Lennox frowned as he walked into the living room trying to carry two year old Sam. “Oh! Mums present.” 

“Lennox!” You groaned aloud in utter defeat. 

All Jake could do was laugh to himself as he looked over at you. You were as beautiful as ever, his one and only love. How the fuck did things get so messy where you had to use your children as scapegoats. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine—I know it’s from the kids Honey.” Jake winked as you rolled your eyes and headed on into the kitchen where you were getting organised to cook dinner. You were starting to feel awfully tired–the oral chemotherapy was starting to make you feel sicker than you had been before you knew what was going on. A double edged sword really, you keep taking the pills? You get so sick you die. You stop taking the chemotherapy tablets? You get so sick you die. Either way you were dying or you convinced yourself you were. 

But Jake could never know that, your kids could never know that, so you went about your routine as normally as you could without making a fuss. 

“I might save this for when we get to Grandmas, I wouldn't wanna not have anything to open on Christmas morning Lulu.” Jake smiled as he brought her in for a hug between his legs. “I love you all so much.” 

“We love you too dad.” Lucy replied as she hugged Jake back. “Mum loves you too.” 

“Oh does she now?” Jake knew that putting all his faith in a six year old probably wasn't the best thing he could do, but right now as he held her in his arms, the little girl the two of you had created–he did. He trusted her to tell the truth you wouldn't, because you wouldn't lie and tell him you didn't love him either. “Guess I'll just have to take your word for it then, won't I?” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Jake Seresin had always been a good dad, you had never questioned him on his ability to go above and beyond for his children. That was something you never had to worry about. As you plated up dinner, the laughter of your three children coming from the living room made you smile to yourself. They were loved so fiercely. 

“Alright, let's get ready for dinner, yeah? Mums been cooking up a storm in here.” Jake rounded the corner with Sam hand in hand. “Smells so damn good in here.” You again smiled to yourself as Jake can to stand beside you at the kitchen counter, watching as you scooped some pasta bake onto five plates. 

“When's the last time you had a home cooked meal?” It was a simple question but Jake really had to think about it for a moment as he reached over to steal a cucumber slice from the chopped salad.

“Does food from the bar count?” He asked with a half cocked smile, knowing full well that Penny's burgers and fries wouldn’t be considered home cooked in your opinion. 

“No–” You grinned as Jake leaned in from behind you, trapping you between him and the counter with both arms encompassing you. “No, when's the last time it was a home cooked meal?” Jake didn't reply right away, he simply inhaled your scent slowly from behind you and took in the comforting scent of elderberry and juniper. He missed that all encompassing feeling, that safe and warming feeling of your presence. 

“Uh—probably the last time you cooked for me.” Jake noticed the moment you paused at his words, the revelation that you were having. “And it was probably pasta bake, with salad and pork chops, like what we’re having right now.” 

“It’s always your favourite—“ It was clear from the very beginning that both you and Jake were getting caught in the moment. But as his hands slowly make their way from the counter top to hips, you know you were too far gone to press the pause button. “Jacob—“ 

“I'm a simple man.” Jake cooed as he brought one of his hands up to move your hair from one side of your neck. “Lucy tells me you love me.” 

“She’s got a pretty wild imagination that daughter of ours.” You teased as Jake pressed his lips against your neck in a sweet gesture of gratitude for the woman who gave him three beautiful children. “You need to stop—“ You sighed into Jake's warm embrace as he pulled away and let his chin fall to your shoulder. “I don’t know where or what you've been in recently.” 

“I think she said her name was Vanessa.” Jake taunted as he held you tightly from behind. He felt you tense in his embrace at the very idea he’d been with someone other than you. But you couldn’t hold it against him, not now, the pair of you were separated. You held no claim on the man you had left in favour of putting yourself first. 

But that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt. 

“Vanessa a name I should remember?” You asked with a little attitude in your tone Jake caught immediately. He couldn’t help but to smirk at the idea you were a little jealous of his very infrequent conquests. He loved you to the end of the world but this was such a frustrating situation to be in. What was a guy supposed to do? Be celebate in hopes his wife came running back? 

“Nope—“ Jake reassured you with another kiss to the neck. “I’m not ready to let you go, I thought maybe I could if I just leaned into the whole thing, whatever it is that we’re doing, but I’m just not ready to let you go.” 

“Have you?” Jake had to clear his throat when he asked. “Been with anyone, that is?” 

“Do you think between work, raising three kids with your DNA and missing you that I’d have time to get laid?” You knew what Jake would latch onto, the part where you said you missed him. You saw the light in his eye as you turned in his embrace to face him with a mischievous smile plastered across your face. 

“You miss me?” Yes. Yes you did. With all your might you missed him everyday and every night. But it didn’t change what the two of you became. 

“Don’t try your luck—“ You argued, shrugging Jake's query off like the answer was obvious. To him it was, you did miss him. Other sailors tend to recognise other sailors on the sea and Jake missed you tenfold. 

“Oh I’m feeling like the luckiest guy in the whole world right now.” You could feel Jake pressing himself against you, silently but not so subtly telling you exactly what this whole encounter was doing to him. 

“Really? Is that so?” You asked like you weren’t aware of the rock hard erection pressing against your pelvis. Jake just pressed his lips together in an attempt to hold off the crimson red from creeping up his neck and cheeks. But he wasn’t backing down from a challenge, especially when you were leaving all the right doors unlocked for him to walk right through. 

“So lucky that I couldn’t help but to notice the spare bed hasn’t even been made up?” 

“Oh so you assumed I’d be your personal chef and the maid tonight?” You countered as you looked around for your three small children, not wanting to expose them to such x-rated content before you slowly but surely sunk your hand into the sweatpants Jake had recently changed into. Damn those grey sweats and damn Jake for going commando. “You are perfectly capable of making your own bed.” 

The way your palm wrapped around his length sent sparks through Jake's body like nothing he’d ever felt before. Your touch was so beautiful and elegant, like you knew exactly what he needed and where he wanted it. 

“Or I could just sleep in yours, with you.” Jake nearly begged as your fist slid up and down his hardened length, feeling him twitch under your control. “Honey—“ He nearly moaned as he fell forward into you, letting his forehead rest against yours. “You’re killing me here.” 

“What don’t you get about the fact we’re separated?” You asked almost teasingly like you weren’t pumping him slowly as dinner cooled on the counter behind you while your kids played in the living room. 

“For as long as you have my last name, you’re my wife, end of story.” Butterflies, that’s how you’d describe the feeling inside you when Jake, your somewhat ex husband, told you you were still his. You never wanted to not be his, but you were sure that Vanessa maybe wondered if she’d ever be his too. 

“Oh you are so full of yourself.” You slowly but surely pulled your hand out from Jake’s sweats and watched him nearly deflate at the loss of sensation, but he never missed a beat, Jake was quick like that, he always had been. 

“You could be full of me too if you just let your guard down a little.” 

“Jake!!” You slapped his chest firmly as your kids all rushed in at the smell of food. 

“I’ll take my stuff upstairs shall I?” He grinned ear to ear, knowing by the way your jaw remained on the ground he had you hook, line and sinker. 

“Yeah, you can, to the spare room you idiot.” You watched as Jake fixed himself up and headed in the direction of the stairs. You were still so in love with this man. 

“Lenny! Where’s your mothers room?” Jake turned to your eldest son who always knew that the two of you were going to make it through whatever this rough patch was. He had friends who had divorced parents, and even at the young age of six, Lennox knew his parents didn’t hate each other. 

“Upstairs to the left, it’s the messy one.” You gave your son the stink eye as he beamed up at you. 

“Perfect.” Jake chuckled and sent you a wink. “I’ll be right back.” He was getting laid tonight and you both knew it. 

“I’m—“ You hardly had the energy to keep your whole hard to get act up, so with a sigh, you let your guard down for the man who held your heart in the palm of his hands. “You’re unbelievably.” 

“I’ve been told by the youth on base it’s called Rizz now.” Jake yelled back as he jogged up the wooden stairs, you could just barely hear him as his voice faded the higher he climbed. But nevertheless, you still heard him. 

“Well I can’t wait to get both you and your ‘rizz’ out of my house!” You shouted back, Lenny just laughed as he watched his Dad pull a funny face at your words from the top of the stairs. 

“You don’t mean that.” He smiled up at you. “You and dad love each other.” It made your heart skip a beat, but you had to remember that you were playing a dangerous game here. Letting Jake in now would only break his heart more. You had to do what was best for you, and that was to remain separate. At least while you were fighting for your life. 

“Maybe, but he’s still a pain in my ass Lenny.” 

***~****~****~***~***~***

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 91 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove ve @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination

[electronickingdomfox]

"Final Frontier" review

Novel from 1988, by Diane Carey. Not to be confused with the novelization of "Star Trek V: The Final Frontier", or Carey's "First Frontier", which is the one with the dinosaur on the cover. There may be no dinosaurs in this one, but it was pretty great nonetheless (and crazy as it may sound, I don't think that dinosaurs would have made it better in this case).

The story focuses on a so far unrecorded period in the Enterprise's life: that of its first mission. And by that I don't mean Kirk's first mission aboard. Not even Pike's. But its very, very first mission under the command of Robert April (from the Animated Series), alongside Kirk's father: George. There's tight action, ideological dilemmas, some funny humor, and Romulans (both good and bad), that borrow heavily from Diane Duane's Rihannsu series. The frame story, on the other hand, has Kirk reading his father's letters during shore leave, in his childhood farm of Iowa. While he reflects upon his life choices in the aftermath of Edith Keeler's death. The brief frame chapters, inserted between the main story, present thus a poignant, quiet counterpart to George Kirk's adventures.

I really liked the development of the new characters in this one, and had the impression of knowing them quite well, despite not appearing in the series (or barely at all). Robert April is the laid-back, gentlemanly and ideallistic Captain, and a clear counterpoint to George, the pragmatic man that sports a more militaristic approach for Starfleet. The narrative tends to side more with George's views, as April's decisions are usually ineffectual once the Enterprise enters hostile territory. Though ultimately, both of them end up understanding and adopting parts of the other's philosophy. In fact, at the story's climax, they're forced to stand up at the opposite side of their initial worldview. Thus, Jim Kirk is presented as the more succesful, balanced combination of both (it's a bit like Spock and McCoy's "reason vs. emotion", but translated to politics). Sarah Poole (April's wife in TAS) also appears as the ship's doctor; she has a lesser role, but was given considerable depth nonetheless. George's pirate-like friend, Drake, usually offers the comic relief. While the staple "noble Romulan" and "devious Romulan" are represented by t'Cael and Ry'iak, respectively.

In many ways, the Enterprise could be considered the main character, though. The story follows her baby steps as a yet-not-finished starship, her coming-of-age after being severely crippled and defeating her enemies against all odds, and finally her official baptism. There are sections in which the ship is even personalized as a sentient being, like a chilling scene where her memory is tampered with. Also, April and George act like two dads that can't agree about their child's true vocation.

I can't think of much to criticize this time, though there's a moment where it's stated that the Federation's constitution is directly based on the USA constitution, as the "prime example to follow". I don't know if this is an original idea of the novel, or if it ever was Roddenberry's intention (which could be, judging by episodes like "The Omega Glory"). But the whole thing was pretty eye-rolling...

Spoilers under the cut:

George Samuel Kirk (Sr.) and his friend Drake Reed are bored security personnel at a starbase. Until one day they're kidnapped by three mysterious individuals, who leave them unconscious. Upon waking up, George and Drake find themselves in the cargo hold of a small ship, and once they break free, George discovers it was his old friend, Captain Robert April, who ordered their abduction. April is gathering his most trusted friends (among them Dr. Sarah Poole, his future wife) for a special rescue mission (well, maybe he could have ASKED them!). A colonist ship has been stranded in the middle of an ion storm, and Starfleet has no means to reach it before hundreds of families die aboard from radiation. Thus, April has been tasked with testing a new, revolutionary ship, much faster and bigger than any other at this time: the first starship (you know which one, right?). This is the only way they could save those colonists in time. And George is introduced to a majestic first view of the Enterprise, still lacking a name, when they approach dry dock. April intends George to be his First Officer, as he values his insights above anybody else's. However, the views of the two men about the role of the starship soon start to clash: April wants it to be perceived exclusively as a tool of peace and exploration; while George argues that its weapon capacities shouldn't be overlooked, in order to defend the Federation.

At the same time, we're introduced in some chapters to Field Primus t'Cael and his Romulan warbird, in another sector of space. T'Cael is dealing with intrigues aboard, instigated by an upstart spy from the Praetorate: Ry'iak. Dispirited by the growing suspicions of his crew, t'Cael has become rather seclusive, though he still counts on the loyalty of Commander Idrys. The Field Primus' moderate views have made him fall out of favor with the Praetorate, as t'Cael doesn't think that the Federation has hostile intentions against the Empire, and disapproves of the stealth attack the Praetor is planning.

For its part, the Enterprise has finished preparations for departure. However, soon after they leave dry dock, there's a catastrophic failure of the sealing elements in the warp nacelles. The only two options seem to be, either ejecting the nacelles (and thus losing warp capacity to rescue the colonists), or let the ship explode. But George doesn't believe in no-win scenarios either, so he pressures one of the engineers to think creatively and find an alternative. Using the energy from the shuttles to seal the leak at the last moment, they manage to salvage the nacelles. Nonetheless, George is suspicious of the failure happening right at the most critical moment, so he asks Drake to investigate the engineers, as chief of security. Drake tries to find a saboteur (not very subtly) among engineers Saffire, Graff and Wood, but finds nothing incriminating. Despite Drake not knowing, the reader does in fact find out who's one of the saboteurs soon thereafter, as Saffire breaks into the starship memory banks and tampers with the systems. The malfunction is delayed until the ship enters the ion storm, at which point there's a massive failure of the warp engines and the artificial gravity. April receives a head injury, while the ship is hurled light years away, into unknown territory. Well, not so unknown: they appear right in the middle of Romulan space, and face to face with t'Cael's warbird.

Confronted with the massive starship, the Romulans start fretting over a possible attack from the Federation. But t'Cael chooses to believe April about their ship being disabled and there out of accident. As a show of good faith, he agrees to meet with the First Officer (as April is too injured), in neutral territory on a nearby planetoid. However, once t'Cael gets off the ship, Ry'iak seizes control of the warbird and kills Idrys (a death that took me by surprise, to be honest). Then, he starts shooting at the planet from orbit, attempting to kill t'Cael too. Since humans and Romulans had never seen each other before, George mistakes t'Cael for a poor Vulcan prisoner. And there's a rather comedic scene, where he "rescues" the Romulan from enemy fire. Once the mistake is cleared, George has to overcome his xenophobic sentiments and cooperate with t'Cael to escape the planetoid. The escape involving alien wolves too.

Eventually, the starship manages to rescue George and t'Cael, using the new transporter technology (well, they accidentally transport an alien wolf too, which creates a bit of a mess). T'Cael agrees to help the Federation against his disloyal swarm of warbirds, as he believes that, if the starship is captured, this will precipitate war between the Empire and the Federation. In the later chapters, there's a pretty intense battle between the Enterprise and the Romulan swarm. While George uses a very Kirk-like bluff to discourage further attacks from the Romulans (which, in turn, explains the eventual development of the cloaking device). With the saboteurs finally captured (and in one case, destroyed in a very grisly way), and the warp repaired, the Enterprise can finally return to home space and rescue those colonists.

Spirk Meter: 4/10*. Spock expresses his grief about Jim's decision to quit Starfleet after Edith's death. And at this moment, McCoy understands how much the ship and Jim mean to the Vulcan: "more than a career, more than a refuge, and certainly more than McCoy had ever guessed". Later, when Kirk regains his confidence and chooses to stay as Captain, Spock looks at him in the bridge and acknowledges his "deeply personal synthesis between himself and Jim Kirk".

However, the relationship between Kirk and McCoy is given far more prevalence throughout the novel, and that's why I'm separating the two dynamics. McCoy won't leave Kirk alone in Iowa at his moment of vulnerability, despite Jim's wishes. At first, he tries to lure him with an invitation to have dinner together. And when this fails, he just pops up in the barn, offering "mouth-to-mouth" resucitation (of all things!) if Jim doesn't answer him (unfortunately for poor McCoy, Kirk doesn't seem too eager to receive a kiss from him). Later, McCoy tries to comfort Kirk about Edith Keeler's death, and share his pain, while Kirk assures McCoy that her death wasn't his fault. He also says that McCoy was worth everything. And once Kirk announces his decision to leave the ship, McCoy gets very emotional and tries to reason with him. Just then, Spock appears in the barn and wonders if he's "interrupting something"; to which both of them answer that yes, he's interrupting. For a novel that doesn't actually deal with the TOS characters, they surely managed to cram as much homoeroticism between Kirk and McCoy as possible...

Apart from this, George Kirk has several things in common with his son. Not just being an absent father... but also having very "intense" relationships with his male friends. There's a bit of it with Drake, that April brings along, not because he has much use for him, but because he can't separate him from George. Drake also waltzes into George's quarters and plops into his bed as if nothing. But most of all, George and t'Cael develop a very, veeeery close relationship (for good or bad), and have all these tense stares at each other, and this desire to protect each other. Just so you get an idea of what I'm talking about:

"Like me, George admitted to himself, unable to bury the color that rose in his cheeks and forced him to look away from t’Cael for a moment. When he looked back again, there was a touch of melancholy on t’Cael’s face. [.......]

George moved closer, hoping his eyes conveyed the depth of his promise. Solemnly he said, “Whatever it takes, however long it takes, I’ll personally make sure you have a place in the Federation. I owe you that,” he added, moving still closer. “In fact, I owe you more.”

A sudden, unexpected warmth came over t’Cael’s face, and he broke his communion with the monitor to look affably at George. “That’s kind of you. It will be difficult.” [............]

Allowing their intimacy to linger, George returned the grin,"

Huh, George, didn't you have a wife and kids back at home???

*A 10 in this scale is the most obvious spirk moments in TOS. Think of the back massage, "You make me believe in miracles", or "Amok Time" for example.

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

Wrestling with the Bible's war stories

Spend any solid amount of time with scripture and you'll run into something that perplexes, disturbs, or downright horrifies you. Many of us have walked away from the Bible or from Christianity in general, sometimes temporarily and sometimes permanently, after encountering these stories. So how do we face them, wrestle them, and seek God's presence in (or in spite of) them?

In her book Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again, the late Rachel Held Evans spends a whole chapter on the "war stories" of Joshua, Judges, and the books of Samuel and Kings. She starts with how most teachers in her conservative Christian upbringing shut her down every time she tried to name the horror she felt reading of violence, rape, and ethnic cleansing; I share an excerpt from that part of the chapter over in this post.

That excerpt ends with Evans deciding that she needed to grapple with these stories, or lose her faith entirely.

...But then I ended the excerpt, with the hope that folks would go read all of Inspired for themselves — and I still very much recommend doing so! The whole book is incredibly helpful for relearning how to read scripture in a way that honors its historical context and divine inspiration, and takes seriously how misreadings bring harm to individuals and whole people groups.

But I know not everyone will read the book, for a variety of reasons, and that's okay. So I want to include a long excerpt from the rest of the chapter, where Evans provides cultural context and history that helps us understand why those war stories are in there; and then seeks to find where God's inspiration is among those "human fingerprints."

I know how important it was to Rachel Held Evans that all of us experience healing and liberation, so it is my hope that she'd be okay with me pasting such a huge chunk of the book for reading here. If you find what's in this post meaningful, please do check out the rest of her book! A lot of libraries have it in print, ebook, and/or audiobook form.

[One last comment: the following excerpt focuses on these war stories from the Hebrew scriptures ("Old Testament"), but there are violent and otherwise disturbing stories in the "New Testament" too, from Herod killing babies to all the wild things going on in Revelation. Don't fall for the antisemitic claim that "The Old Testament is violent while the New Testament is all about peace!" All parts of scripture include violent passages, and maintain an overarching theme of justice and love.]

Here's the excerpt showing Rachel's long wrestling with the Bible's war stories, starting with an explanation for why they're in there in the first place:

“By the time many of the Bible’s war stories were written down, several generations had passed, and Israel had evolved from a scrappy band of nomads living in the shadows of Babylon, Egypt, and Assyria to a nation that could hold its own, complete with a monarchy. Scripture embraces that underdog status in order to credit God with Israel’s success and to remind a new generation that “some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God” (Psalm 20:7). The story of David and Goliath, in which a shepherd boy takes down one of those legendary Canaanite giants with just a slingshot and two stones, epitomizes Israel’s self-understanding as a humble people improbably beloved, victorious only by the grace and favor of a God who rescued them from Egypt, walked with them through the desert, brought the walls of Jericho down, and made that shepherd boy a king. To reinforce the miraculous nature of Israel’s victories, the writers of Joshua and Judges describe forces of hundreds defeating armies of thousands with epic totality. These numbers are likely exaggerated and, in keeping literary conventions of the day, rely more on drama and bravado than the straightforward recitation of fact. Those of us troubled by language about the “extermination” of Canaanite populations may find some comfort in the fact that scholars and archaeologists doubt the early skirmishes of Israel’s history actually resulted in genocide.

It was common for warring tribes in ancient Mesopotamia to refer to decisive victories as “complete annihilation” or “total destruction,” even when their enemies lived to fight another day. (The Moabites, for example, claimed in an extrabiblical text that after their victory in a battle against an Israelite army, the nation of Israel “utterly perished for always,” which obviously isn’t the case. And even in Scripture itself, stories of conflicts with Canaanite tribes persist through the book of Judges and into Israel’s monarchy, which would suggest Joshua’s armies did not in fact wipe them from the face of the earth, at least not in a literal sense.)

Theologian Paul Copan called it “the language of conventional warfare rhetoric,” which “the knowing ancient Near Eastern reader recognized as hyperbole.” Pastor and author of The Skeletons in God��s Closet, Joshua Ryan Butler, dubbed it “ancient trash talk.”

Even Jericho, which twenty-first-century readers like to imagine as a colorful, bustling city with walls that reached the sky, was in actuality a small, six-acre military outpost, unlikely to support many civilians but, as was common, included a prostitute and her family. Most of the “cities” described in the book of Joshua were likely the same. So, like every culture before and after, Israel told its war stories with flourish, using the language and literary conventions that best advanced the agendas of storytellers.

As Peter Enns explained, for the biblical writers, “Writing about the past was never simply about understanding the past for its own sake, but about shaping, molding and creating the past to speak to the present.”

“The Bible looks the way it does,” he concluded, “because God lets his children tell the story.”

You see the children’s fingerprints all over the pages of Scripture, from its origin stories to its deliverance narratives to its tales of land, war, and monarchy.

For example, as the Bible moves from conquest to settlement, we encounter two markedly different accounts of the lives of Kings Saul, David, and Solomon and the friends and enemies who shaped their reigns. The first appears in 1 and 2 Samuel and 1 and 2 Kings. These books include all the unflattering details of kingdom politics, including the account of how King David had a man killed so he could take the man’s wife, Bathsheba, for himself.

On the other hand, 1 and 2 Chronicles omit the story of David and Bathsheba altogether, along with much of the unseemly violence and drama around the transition of power between David and Solomon.

This is because Samuel and Kings were likely written during the Babylonian exile, when the people of Israel were struggling to understand what they had done wrong for God to allow their enemies to overtake them, and 1 and 2 Chronicles were composed much later, after the Jews had returned to the land, eager to pick up the pieces.

While the authors of Samuel and Kings viewed the monarchy as a morality tale to help them understand their present circumstances, the authors of the Chronicles recalled the monarchy with nostalgia, a reminder of their connection to God’s anointed as they sought healing and unity. As a result, you get two noticeably different takes on the very same historic events.

In other words, the authors of Scripture, like the authors of any other work (including this one!), wrote with agendas. They wrote for a specific audience from a specific religious, social, and political context, and thus made creative decisions based on that audience and context.

Of course, this raises some important questions, like: Can war stories be inspired? Can political propaganda be God-breathed? To what degree did the Spirit guide the preservation of these narratives, and is there something sacred to be uncovered beneath all these human fingerprints?

I don’t know the answers to all these questions, but I do know a few things.

The first is that not every character in these violent stories stuck with the script. After Jephthah sacrificed his daughter as a burnt offering in exchange for God’s aid in battle, the young women of Israel engaged in a public act of grief marking the injustice. The text reports, “From this comes the Israelite tradition that each year the young women of Israel go out for four days to commemorate the daughter of Jephthah” (Judges 11:39–40).

While the men moved on to fight another battle, the women stopped to acknowledge that something terrible had happened here, and with what little social and political power they had, they protested—every year for four days. They refused to let the nation forget what it had done in God’s name.

In another story, a woman named Rizpah, one of King Saul’s concubines, suffered the full force of the monarchy’s cruelty when King David agreed to hand over two of her sons to be hanged by the Gibeonites in an effort to settle a long, bloody dispute between the factions believed to be the cause of widespread famine across the land. A sort of biblical Antigone, Rizpah guarded her sons’ bodies from birds and wild beasts for weeks, until at last the rain came and they could be buried. Word of her tragic stand spread across the kingdom and inspired David to pause to grieve the violence his house had wrought (2 Samuel 21).” ...

The point is, if you pay attention to the women, a more complex history of Israel’s conquests emerges. Their stories invite the reader to consider the human cost of violence and patriarchy, and in that sense prove instructive to all who wish to work for a better world. ...

It’s not always clear what we are meant to learn from the Bible’s most troubling stories, but if we simply look away, we learn nothing.

In one of the most moving spiritual exercises of my adult faith, an artist friend and I created a liturgy of lament honoring the victims of the texts of terror. On a chilly December evening, we sat around the coffee table in my living room and lit candles in memory of Hagar, Jephthah’s daughter, the concubine from Judges 19, and Tamar, the daughter of King David who was raped by her half brother. We read their stories, along with poetry and reflections composed by modern-day women who have survived gender-based violence. ...

If the Bible’s texts of terror compel us to face with fresh horror and resolve the ongoing oppression and exploitation of women, then perhaps these stories do not trouble us in vain. Perhaps we can use them for some good.

The second thing I know is that we are not as different from the ancient Israelites as we would like to believe.

“It was a violent and tribal culture,” people like to say of ancient Israel to explain away its actions in Canaan. But, as Joshua Ryan Butler astutely observed, when it comes to civilian casualties, “we tend to hold the ancients to a much higher standard than we hold ourselves.” In the time it took me to write this chapter, nearly one thousand civilians were killed in airstrikes in Iraq and Syria, many of them women and children. The atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki took hundreds of thousands of lives in World War II, and far more civilians died in the Korean War and Vietnam War than American soldiers. Even though America is one of the wealthiest countries in the world, it takes in less than half of 1 percent of the world’s refugees, and drone warfare has left many thousands of families across the Middle East terrorized.

This is not to excuse Israel’s violence, because modern-day violence is also bad, nor is it to trivialize debates over just war theory and US involvement in various historical conflicts, which are complex issues far beyond the scope of this book. Rather, it ought to challenge us to engage the Bible’s war stories with a bit more humility and introspection, willing to channel some of our horror over atrocities past into questioning elements of the war machines that still roll on today.

Finally, the last thing I know is this: If the God of the Bible is true, and if God became flesh and blood in the person of Jesus Christ, and if Jesus Christ is—as theologian Greg Boyd put it—“the revelation that culminates and supersedes all others,” then God would rather die by violence than commit it.

The cross makes this plain. On the cross, Christ not only bore the brunt of human cruelty and bloodlust and fear, he remained faithful to the nonviolence he taught and modeled throughout his ministry. Boyd called it “the Crucifixion of the Warrior God,” and in a two-volume work by that name asserted that “on the cross, the diabolic violent warrior god we have all-too-frequently pledged allegiance to has been forever repudiated.” On the cross, Jesus chose to align himself with victims of suffering rather than the inflictors of it.

At the heart of the doctrine of the incarnation is the stunning claim that Jesus is what God is like. “No one has ever seen God,” declared John in his gospel, “but the one and only Son, who is himself God and is in closest relationship with the Father, has made him known” (John 1:18, emphasis added). ...So to whatever extent God owes us an explanation for the Bible’s war stories, Jesus is that explanation. And Christ the King won his kingdom without war.

Jesus turned the war story on its head. Instead of being born to nobility, he was born in a manger, to an oppressed people in occupied territory. Instead of charging into Jerusalem on a warhorse, he arrived on a lumbering donkey. Instead of rallying troops for battle, he washed his disciples’ feet. According to the apostle Paul, these are the tales followers of Jesus should be telling—with our words, with our art, and with our lives.

Of course, this still leaves us to grapple with the competing biblical portraits of God as the instigator of violence and God as the repudiator of violence.

Boyd argued that God serves as a sort of “heavenly missionary” who temporarily accommodates the brutal practices and beliefs of various cultures without condoning them in order to gradually influence God’s people toward justice. Insofar as any divine portrait reflects a character at odds with the cross, he said, it must be considered accommodation. It’s an interesting theory, though I confess I’m only halfway through Boyd’s 1,492 pages, so I’ve yet to fully consider it. (I know I can’t read my way out of this dilemma, but that won’t keep me from trying.)

The truth is, I’ve yet to find an explanation for the Bible’s war stories that I find completely satisfying. If we view this through Occam’s razor and choose the simplest solution to the problem, we might conclude that the ancient Israelites invented a deity to justify their conquests and keep their people in line. As such, then, the Bible isn’t a holy book with human fingerprints; it’s an entirely human construction, responsible for more vice than virtue.

There are days when that’s what I believe, days when I mumble through the hymns and creeds at church because I’m not convinced they say anything true. And then there are days when the Bible pulls me back with a numinous force I can only regard as divine, days when Hagar and Deborah and Rahab reach out from the page, grab me by the face, and say, “Pay attention. This is for you.”

I’m in no rush to patch up these questions. God save me from the day when stories of violence, rape, and ethnic cleansing inspire within me anything other than revulsion. I don’t want to become a person who is unbothered by these texts, and if Jesus is who he says he is, then I don’t think he wants me to be either.

There are parts of the Bible that inspire, parts that perplex, and parts that leave you with an open wound. I’m still wrestling, and like Jacob, I will wrestle until I am blessed. God hasn’t let go of me yet.

War is a dreadful and storied part of the human experience, and Scripture captures many shades of it—from the chest-thumping of the victors to the anguished cries of victims. There is ammunition there for those seeking religious justification for violence, and solidarity for all the mothers like Rizpah who just want an end to it.

For those of us who prefer to keep the realities of war at a safe, sanitized distance, and who enjoy the luxury of that choice, the Bible’s war stories force a confrontation with the darkness.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

[justrainandcoffee]

The Wandering Jew (Alfie Solomons x fem!OC)

"Welcome to end of the World", Alfie said.

Alfie x Rose Masterlist

Summary: It was like an apocalyptic movie. First it wasn't that bad, or that was people thought, until it was that bad. Rose landed in London with the idea of returning home a week and a half later, but few days after that, the PM decided to close everything. His flight was cancelled and getting a new one was an impossible mission. The world is facing a new era and she's there trapped in an Inn, in a distant city with a complete stranger and his dog.

Warnings: Just topics related to covid-19.

Words: 2K. || I'm rewriting the first chapters I posted last year. I changed several things and I'm happier now. You can find the rest of their modern story here.

Series masterlist.

18th March 2020.

The world was starting to panic because of the new virus created in China. Or maybe it was a sick bat that, like a domino effect, caused thousands of deaths already. China was closed, countries around it, too. Italy was collapsing slowly and the WHO already declared that this new virus, called COVID-19, was a pandemic.

Yet, millions of people continued with their lives as always. Working, going to classes, visiting friends or relatives and others, like Rose, were travelling.

Born in London in 1988, Rose Coldwell was returning to her city after eight years living in New York where she moved with her mother and two brothers. She received an important job offer back then and the money was beneficial for the four of them. Louis, her youngest brother went to high school and Samuel, the second brother, begun to study law in a good college there. Now the youngest was studying architecture and Samuel was part of a law firm in Manhattan.

Rose, on the other hand, ran her own fashion blog and had a small business. Nothing too extraordinary, but something that made her happy. After several years of sending mails and filling out forms to be part of any international fashion event and equal numbers of rejections, she sent a mail to be part of an international convention there in London and she was accepted. 2020, it was going to be an unforgettable year, she thought.

And she was right… but the reasons were going to be quite different.

The plane landed and she felt she was returning home like the prodigal son, or daughter. Not even once since she left the country she returned there and it was a pleasant feeling to be back on her land.

Some people around her in the airport were walking fast avoiding the multitude. Some were wearing masks, some not. A woman wearing one was offering alcohol to sanitize people's hands. An old man sneezed and caused several disgusted faces from people around him.

'Probably he's just allergic,' she thought.

While she was waiting for her baggage, she checked her phone. Her mother called her several times and also one of her brothers. She ignored them for now, once she was in her bedroom, she'd be able to call them.

"I think he needs to close everything."

Rose heard two men talking near her, one already had his suitcase, but the other not.

"Johnson already denied that, Luke. We're safe, he said."

"And you believe him?" the one named Luke, asked. "Give the virus a couple of days and we're doom, Fred."

Rose's heart started to beat fast. The fact that she was on the other side of the ocean away from her family, suddenly terrified her. But she shooed those thoughts from her mind. The UK under a strict lockdown sounded ridiculous.

.

The Wandering Jew was an Inn that opened its doors in 2017. The most popular in all Candem Town and its surroundings. Rated by its guests with five stars in websites like booking.com and full of positive feedback.

The Wandering Jew had over 60 rooms and five of them were almost a suite. Not like a the ones you would find in the most expensive hotels, but still quite elegant.

But most of all, The Wandering Jew had a man named Alfie Solomons, the owner.

Alfie bought the building, that was about to be demolished, in 2016 and hired people to reconstruct it. From engineers and architects to construction workers. One and a half years later, it was finished it. It costed him several thousands pounds but it was worth and he was happy with it.

His apartment was above the Inn, so he never really left that place, except to walk his dog and closest friend: Cyril. Every late afternoon it was common to see both of them walking out the Inn to go to a park and spend an hour or two there.

During the day, while Alfie was behind the reception counter, Cyril usually was sleeping next to his feet or greeting some guests.

And that was exactly what Cyril did that 18th of March.

The reception was empty in that moment, most of the guests were out visiting some places and few others were sleeping or at least they were in their bedrooms. Cyril had been chewing his favourite tennis ball, when he heard a taxi and he stood up quickly. The dog ran towards the glass door and spied from there. Alfie barely paid attention to him.

Cyril was excited. He didn't know her, but the dog was still happy. He could smell her as soon as she left the taxi and now that he could see her, his tail was wagging faster than before. His excitement caused to Alfie to finally raise his eyes from the newspaper and put attention to Cyril who was now hopping.

Alfie saw Rose for the first time while she was pushing the glass door with her body. In one hand she had her baggage and in the other her phone. She was speaking with someone and was clearly upset. And had every reason to be mad. The one on the other side of the line, was a bastard whose only purpose in his life was to harass her. No matter how many times she blocked him, he always get a new number to call her.

"Go and fuck yourself, dickhead!"

Alfie was amused, without no doubts that was the best entrance ever. And a very pretty one.

He saw her sliding her phone in her pocket and then watching at Cyril who seemed to be more than happy after she petted him gently. Cyril ran towards Alfie and barked at him.

"Did you see her? Did you?" He seemed to say.

"Calm down, boy," Alfie said to the animal and then he looked at her who was already in front of him at the reception counter. "I'm sorry, he's usually quieter."

"Don't worry, he's nice! And I love dogs." Rose smiled at him and he did the same. "I booked for a room online, two weeks ago. Coldwell is my last name," she told him.

After giving him her ID, and while he was checking the information she paid attention to the place. She had already seen several photos online and she liked it but the Inn was really nice. The paintings on the walls were warm and several represented the sea. A plant over the counter called Wandering Jew, like the Inn itself, captured her attention. Her mother used to have that kind of plans when they lived in London. She asked herself if the Inn's name was because of those plants or there was another reason.

"Everything is okay, Ms. Coldwell," he said giving her ID back and also a key "Room 44. Welcome and I hope you enjoy your days here."

"Thanks! I will!"

"Every room has a phone that communicates directly with this one," he said pointing at a black one over the counter, "if you need anything you can call me... us. Call us."

Rose chuckled and nodded "Thanks…"

"Alfred. Alfie."

"Thanks, Alfie."

_

Two days later, the 20th of March, it was obvious that things were out of control. Hospitals were saturated, the numbers of sick people were increasing, flights become to be a necessity and there weren't enough planes. Countries like Italy, Greece and France were collapsing under the virus. And several of them closed their frontiers. Boris Johnson had already a rope around his neck but he refused to start a quarantine yet.

"No, I'm not admitting new guests," Alfie said to the person who called the Inn "I'm sorry."

His right hand, Ollie, was next to him. Both of them were waiting news from the government but there was nothing except empty words and promises about a bright future.

The convention were Rose had to go was cancelled because the organisers were sick and it was suspended. And in top of that she received an email saying that her original flight to return home was cancelled. The company gave her the money back but they didn't say anything about a reschedule.

She returned to the Inn that afternoon only to see in the TV that was in the reception, that there were riots everywhere. Demanding a lockdown, demanding more medical assistance and some demanded Johnson's and the Queen's heads.

Both men, Rose and an old woman were paying attention to the BBC journalist who was in front of one of the hospitals.

"Welcome to the end of the world," Alfie commented.

He wasn't that wrong.

The night of the 22th of March, it was chaotic. Finally the lockdown was imminent and some people was already leaving the Inn. Ollie, who worked the night shift, was giving them their money back for the days that they couldn't stay. That night Rose didn't sleep. She tried to get a flight and she could hear her mother's voice in her head "you should listen to me."

And yes, Mary Coldwell was right but it was too late now for any regrets. Rose needed to return with her family, the thing was how.

The next morning it was officially confirmed the beginning of the quarantine. Alfie again behind the counter, was attending the remaining guests who were living the Inn. Including those who refused to leave. One particular woman was complaining about the lockdown and she was basically blaming Alfie because of that.

Alfie was trying to remain calmed but this Karen wasn't making things easy.

"You can't expelled me like that. I paid for my bedroom for three weeks and I've been here for only one. I want to stay here for three weeks!"

"But you can't. You can go to 10 Downing Street and talk with the Prime Minister about your holidays, if you want. I'm just a citizen following these new rules, ma'am. Pick up your belongings and get in your car and return home. Stay there until the Quarantine is over."

Rose was sitting on one of the armchairs at the reception. Phone in hand, refreshing the airlines website every two seconds, but not avail. Everything was collapsed and there wasn't any flights. The news showed people sleeping on floors and she knew that was her fate and she was really upset. So hearing that woman was ending with her patience.

"I'm going to sue you, you'll see! And you're going to regret it! This is a complete nonsense! There's no such thing as a virus!! It's the media! And the left and…"

"Shut the fuck up, for once! Fuck!"

Both Alfie and the woman stared at Rose who was frowning. The first one smiled, but the woman seemed offended.

"I didn't pay to be insultated!"

"I'm doing this for free," Rose replied.

Gasping, the woman warned Alfie with a lawyer one last time and left the Inn, according to her, to search a better place to stay. She found none.

The rest of the guests left the Inn without drama and by 4pm only Rose remained there. From all the guests that The Wandering Jew had there at the moment, she was the only one living in United States, the rest were all over Britain. In consequence, the only one having problems was Rose.

"Any luck?" Alfie asked watching her with her phone still in hand.

"No. Not really. My brother is trying to help from his home but he's not having luck either."

"You can stay here for tonight if you want," Alfie said.

"I was planning to go to the airport and stay there."

"Sleeping on the cold tiles in middle of a pandemic? I'm sorry but it sounds risky."

"But…"

"I hanged the sign. For everyone here, the Inn is closed. Don't worry."

"Just for tonight, I promise," she said.

Alfie agreed.

"Just tonight."

How wrong both of them were.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Steven Beschloss at America, America (10.21.2024):

I remember the day after Hillary Clinton lost to Donald Trump. How devastated, how heartbroken, I felt. How betrayed I felt by a country I thought I knew. Here’s what I wrote on Nov. 9, 2016, the night after the polls closed:

[I went to bed literally sick to my stomach. I have woken sick to my heart. I am an optimist. Optimism has never seemed so naive. I am an American. I believe in my country. That's a country built on a bedrock of values like liberty, equality and justice that have shaped our history and nourished our progress. Today I am left to wonder what my country stands for. I am left to doubt whether the days and years ahead will be building a better future or battling a mortal danger to our most basic commitments to humanity and decency toward all. I have believed in the better angels among us. I will continue to seek them out. We will need them now more than ever. We will need to find strength and clarity and solutions together. As the great Irish writer Samuel Beckett put it: ‘I can't go on. I must go on.’]

You don’t need me to tell you how many ways the subsequent four years fulfilled the dark expectations of heartbroken Americans. Eight years later, we have learned a terrible lot about the ability of a felonious malignant narcissist, conman and demagogue to create a cult comprised of tens of millions. We have discovered that—even in America, where democracy and freedom depends on citizens’ capacity for self-governance—a significant portion of the electorate has disengaged from factual reality and accepted whatever their cult leader says. And, as if those facts are not tragic enough, we have witnessed one of the two major political parties and its unprincipled elected members forsake their commitment over and over to the Constitution, to democracy and to the truth itself in their desire to get and keep power. We can see the reality of this played out on a daily basis as they stick by Trump, making excuses for this dangerously unserious man’s appalling behavior.

I was among the many in America and around the world who clinked glasses of champagne and watched cheering crowds dancing in the street when Joe Biden and Kamala Harris were the projected winners on Nov. 7, 2020. We had reason to believe that Biden’s inauguration and Trump’s eviction from our White House would mean that we could begin to put this terrible man behind us. But that belief was short-lived: The Trump-incited attack by insurrectionists on Jan. 6, 2021 was the culmination of long, fraught weeks of denial and lies by a White House occupant determined to deny the people’s will. Until I saw the disgraced, twice-impeached Donald Trump and his wife exit the White House, walk toward Marine One and eventually exit a plane in Florida on Jan. 20, I remained uncertain that this dark chapter would really end.

[...] With just 15 days until Nov. 5, this is a time for closing arguments. And while Donald Trump spent this weekend vulgarly talking about Arnold Palmer’s “manhood” in the late golfer’s beloved hometown of Latrobe, PA, and frying french fries at a McDonald’s to falsely claim the vice president didn’t work at the fast-food giant as a teenager, Kamala Harris went to church in Georgia to shore up the Black vote and reassert the stark differences between her and her opponent. Yesterday, on her 60th birthday, Harris asked Sunday congregants whether they want to live in a country of “chaos, fear and hate” or a “country of freedom, compassion and justice.” She reminded them that they have the power to answer this question: “So let us answer not just through our words, but through our actions and with our votes.” If you’re measuring the election outcome by the current polling, you may count yourself among the worried Democrats. But I am increasingly convinced that the results will not be as close as many observers are expecting. The carnage-loving Trump may resonate with his cult followers, but that will never comprise a majority; the forward-looking Harris continues to have the ability to expand her voting population. Yes, as I wrote on Nov. 9, 2016, I am an optimist. And I still believe that most Americans yearn for a positive future characterized by humanity and decency, not one defined by grievance, degradation and hate. With overwhelming turnout, we can prove that in just a matter of weeks.

Steven Beschloss nails it in this America, America column. We all hope for better days for America.

[blueberryinko]

The King’s Berry Chapter One

King Samuel had been crowned two years ago now and after his coronation, his rule had swiftly turned Hearth into a city of prosperity, its circular walls protecting its people, and he had his own protector in the form of Astra.

Astra had been his best friend growing up, and as the two of them sparred she’d found herself growing into his closest knight and right-hand. She knew it wasn’t proper to make advances but she had hopes, though they were hidden to him. The royal courts wanted him to marry noble and keep the bloodline pure, who was she to get in the way of that.

Even so as he entered the courtyard as she sparred with her young squire he grinned as she pinned him again. “Marcus, come on!” She growled to the teen in front of her. “Sorry Astra, I timed it wrong!”

“You’re getting better though.” Samuel pointed out as he stepped onto the dirt. “Little further and you’ll have it all well in hand. Perhaps you’ll even succeed your mistress.” He unsheathed his own sword as Samuel stood back.

“But my King, I keep losing my footing, how am I ever to be on the same level?” Samuel grinned as Astra held up her sword. “Like this.”

He leapt and with a first strike she ducked under his blade. He gasped as an elbow made contact with his gut, smacking it out of the way before landing a smack with the back of his hand. She blocked and he sidestepped her next swipe. Adrenaline coursed in his veins as they danced around each other, Astra’s sky blue tunic blowing in the wind. Ready…

She growled as she swiped and he dodged, kicking her feet out from under her and quickly pinning her down with his knee. “Thing about your mistress Marcus, is that she’s hotheaded.” He chuckled as she huffed, helping her up. “Only because it’s you.” She grumped.

The trio headed out into the market and as Marcus ran ahead Astra grinned. “He’s like a son to me.” She murmured. He could see it and he imagined her pregnant for what seemed like the hundredth time since his love for her began. “Please Astra, we’re young, do not remind me.”

“The best get started young,” She reminded him. He groaned, remembering how when they were kids he’d always begged her to have babies with him. “I was but thirteen Astra, Gods give me strength.” His cheeks were red with embarrassment, only she could tease him like that.

They wandered further, Samuel’s eyes fixed on Astra like it was the last time he’d ever see her, how she played with the village children, and how she cared for then. Eventually a familiar little girl ran up to them, looking worried. “Astra! Astra! Mummy’s having the babies!”

“Vernestra give me strength!” Astra swore, and the two of them broke into a sprint. She scooped up her youngest sister and they ran together towards their mother’s, Samuel hot on their paces.

Astra’s mother was a sorceress blessed with the gift of eternal youth, and she’d used that youth building the biggest family in all of Hearth, a goal which had meant Astra was never alone much as a child.

The cabin at the edge of the woods was their home, also home to a pocket dimension Astra’s mother had created for all the space they’d ever need. Astra rushed in and saw her mother, looking no older than thirty waddling naked around the house.

“Hey Mama.” Samuel wasn’t sure he was allowed to be witnessing this, but when Aurora noticed him he beckoned them both in. “My Lord, Astra, you didn’t have to.” She was calm as anything, swaying her hips to the rhythm of her contractions.

“Well where is Father then?” Astra reasoned. She loved her papa but he had the oddest penchant for popping off at the most important times. “He got called away for another bounty, we need the money.” Aurora replied sternly.

“We have more than double that from your transfer business!” Aurora also would transfer pregnancies from other women in the village when they were unwanted or when they needed a break. It paid generously, and it was so lucrative it allowed her to sell milk at copious amounts. It was a look into how fertile Astra could be, and the thought got Sam hard, as much as he tried to hide it.

They helped her waddle towards the bathroom where the pool waited. “How dilated are you?” Astra asked softly.

“About two centimetres,” Aurora murmured, Sam getting to work. They’d borne witness to so many of her births they were used to it now, and they separated her thighs together. “Getting there Aurora, just feel it out.”

She dilated quick after that and it was noon by the time she fully opened up.

“Oh, oh!” She groaned, looking every bit the picture of peak maternal prowess.

“I need up.” She said, and Sam and Astra lifted her so she could squat. She bore down, Astra observing as her mother seemed to harness a power above all, totally calm. She would never admit it aloud but Astra felt intensely jealous, she wanted that experience too. And as Aurora laboured, she watched as Sam began to pinch her mother’s nipples.

“Old midwives’ tale.” He explained to Aurora, who moaned at his touch. “D-don’t stop!” She begged. Astra watched, rapt attention solely focused on them, Aurora’s hips gyrating as the first of the twins slid into place. “There we go, that’s it.” Sam beckoned gently, cupping her flushed labia.

Astra dove to attention and quickly pulled her mother’s thigh back further.

“Gonna press on your belly now Mama.” She murmured, pressing down gently and ignoring the twist in her stomach when Aurora crowned, a loud moan drawn from the back of her throat. “No cord, we’re good!” Sam urged Aurora, who bore down again.

Her newest baby brother slid right out after that, and as Astra held him to Aurora’s breast to nurse, she prepped for the next baby.

“Okay Mama, one more.” She was honestly surprised Aurora wasn’t having more, but she guessed it was a blessing of sorts given the huge quantity her family was made up of.

Her baby sister came around late noon when her papa returned. “Oh my Gods! I came as soon as I could,” He apologised to his wife, the orc man leaning down to his shorter wife. “You were working, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Sam and Astra left them to talk and Astra stared wistfully at the scene from behind the door. “I want that..” She murmured, though she didn’t know whether it was to Sam or herself. Her heart hurt.

He was about to reply when a sender rushed into the courtyard. “The Jenin are attacking! They’ve burned the eastern wheat field!” Oh, gods, that was urgent. Astra and Samuel only had to glance at one another before they were racing to the stables.

“That was this season’s grain harvest, we’re already down from last winter!” She couldn’t count how many would suffer because of one act, they had to protect their people.

She would have made a fine queen, Samuel thought, but his thoughts were focused on the attackers. “We ride together full wave. Intimidation to see if they’ll run. Have the garrisons pincer them!” She wove an intricate pattern with her arms, a runic pattern igniting and flying up into the air, dissipating with her message.

They rode towards the Heatherwood fields and the plume of smoke that rose up from them nearly smothered the skies. Ash clung to their tunics and as Astra jumped from her horse, the knights rushed along at her charge. “Just like old times!” Sam laughed as they met the fray with a clash.

“What, before your father?” She giggled, ducking under a swipe, countering with her own blows and severing the opponent’s throat, dancing around Samuel’s blade as he struck a foreman.

“Exactly like dear old Dad!” He crowed, and neither of them noticed the hooded figure racing through the crowd until it was too late.

THUNK!

“AAAGH!”

Samuel whipped around, a blue dart sticking out of Astra’s neck. “Astra!” He caught her fall, legs going faint as a fever danced across her body like the fires of Hell itself. “Sam, Sam, blueberry-!”

Her skin was turning blue. She was turning honest to gods blue and Samuel was panicking. “Marcus!”

Marcus ran up and saw her state immediately. “We have to get her out of here!” Samuel urged. “I have one arm you have the other.” Marcus agreed. Together they hauled her up, watching as the blue ran down her veins, through her face, down into the rest of her body.

She was entirely blue when her belly gurgled, and she started filling up.

“Sam!” She moaned, standing up straight. As she did so, her boys finally noticed the state of her belly. “Astra, you’re blowing up like a pair of bellows!” Sam remembered this from when they were young. An old family allergy that had been passed down to her had caused her once to blow up like this, they’d been eleven when it happened and she’d damn near burst.

“We need to get her back to the city!” The keep would do for now, the fight was almost over, the knights had slaughtered the invaders easily. It had been almost laughable, but Sam was fully focused on his lover.

“Sam, Sam, if I pop, I love you!” Astra whimpered, her belly now looking as if she’d swallowed a whole buffet, stuffed so full it broke the belt she had on, the domed underside of her belly paunching out further and further every moment.

“You’re not gonna pop, you’re gonna be fine.”

Sam didn’t want to believe the alternative, watching as her tunic rode up further and further. She gets fat, and if it weren’t so dangerous Sam would be sporting the biggest erection known to the city’s people at that moment.

“I-I love you more than words can say.” He admitted after a moment. Marcus, while worried for his adoptive mother-figure, felt his heart swoop, they’d finally admitted it after a whole damn near lifetime of dancing around it.

If she didn’t pop, Astra was going to allow him to bend her over and fuck her like there was no tomorrow.

She was rotund now. The seams on her tunic had become so wide her breasts broke through the fabric, unconfined by any bra or underwear she could get on her that morning, she was topless. Her nipples were a deep violet and leaking, thighs so fat they were jiggling even as they raced up towards the keep.

“Let us in, she’s been poisoned!” Samuel ordered, the guards letting them through-

“Oof!”

She was stuck! She was stuck in the doors! “Samuel!” She begged.

“Oh, lords.” Samuel swore, and he and Marcus grabbed her hands. “Pull, man, pull!” He ordered. She popped through the frame with a loud POP, and stumbled, almost falling onto her belly if not for the boys steadying her.

“Come on, come on, to the quarters, we’ll figure this out.” He wanted her to be comfortable, somewhere familiar, maybe it would help. They reached the keep quarters and they bundled her in unceremoniously.

She waggled vestigial limbs and waddled on the spot, crotch brushing the ground. “I-I think I’m slowing!” She gasped, hopeful. Her pants burst in a smatter of fabric and sewn shrapnel, her womanly nature on full display if not for the panties she wore, unflattering on her now positively multi-hundred pound sphericality.

“Marcus… leave us.” She decided. “Go and bathe little man.” He left the room once he was sure she was safe, and as her limbs were pulled into the divots her newly fattened, fruited body had made for her, her swelling slowed to a complete stop, a fat blueberry knight as wide as she was tall. They had a spy in their midst.

“Sam?” She was really about to do this. “Love of my eternity, I want you to fuck me, and I don’t want to leave this room until I’m pregnant.”

Samuel approached, his hands holding her new form reverently, one poke shattering her panties, bursting from her body in a loud-

CRACK!

BANG!

Leaving her positively, beautifully naked. Samuel saw her diameter quake, shuddering with need. “You’re beautiful.” He growled, rubbing her belly. Almost a total orb if not for her breasts, and the wonderful arse she sported, his cock brushed her belly. “Gonna look even better carrying my babies.”

“Anh-Sam!” She gasped, feeling his hands knead her gut. Her nethers were wet, slick with juice and want, she knew he was imagining her pregnant, a turgid gut full of his babies leaving her heavy and damn near immobile. “You’re gonna make me so big.” She whimpered.

“So big,” He agreed. “Hands on your belly, your breasts giving our children’s milk to the world like a dairy cow, following in your mother’s footsteps.” She squeaked as he started gently tipping her onto her back. “Sam, Sam, Sam!”

“That gets you love? Knowing no matter how hard you fought you’d always end up like this? Swollen and turgid, belonging to me and me alone?” Another gush from below splattered his naked thighs and he grinned. “Good girl.”

“H-ah!” Her feet kicked as his cock teased her entrance. He climbed atop her hemisphere and felt his cock slide into her, starting to buck his hips. “You feel that honey? You feel me spearing you, seeding you?”

“I feel you, I feel you!” She felt his cock swell inside her, pressing up against her cervix. Her clit throbbed and she mewed, gasped, begged, anything she could think of. “Please Samuel, make me yours, break my cunt like a cat in heat!”

“Oh I will. You won’t be able to resist me, you’ll grow so fat not even juicing you could shrink you.” She was going to be rolled no matter what, he intended for that, and the sooner she agreed the better. “I’m gonna breed so well, gonna be so pregnant!” She was going to make sure every babe she carried for him was as strong as she could make the,, cramming her womb, stuffing her cunt every time she crowned.

Astra felt him pounding her quicker. “Every baby you birth tells me how much you love me, tells me how devoted you are to me,” He growls into her belly, slapping it rough, enough to leave a purple bruise, her moans now so erratic she couldn’t keep track of all the noise inside of her.

Her mind was so jumbled she was having trouble keeping coherent. “Sam, Sammie- Sammmy- Sam!” She babbled endlessly, his cock spearing her so hard she screamed, gushing juice around his mast as he teased her sex.

He was building up to his climax but he was forming a plan. “Don’t cum.” He ordered her. “Don’t cum, and don’t until I’ve loaded you up with so much cum I have to plug you.”

She gasps, she’d burst! But she keeps quiet, her mind slowly becoming more and more cock-drunk as cum and juice slosh, churn and heave inside her. He rode faster as his cock twitched, then GUSH!

Ropes of cum spewed into her waiting womb, past her cervix and bloating her womb totally taut, her wailing as her mind broke music to his ears. She was taking him so well, her walls clenching around him as he pumped her past her limits.

“Don’t cum!” He reminds her, slapping her belly again. She struggles and whimpers as her skin becomes stretched, creaking and groaning. Her belly is quite literally shuddering but she refuses to let even a drop back out of her puffy labia.

“Who’s a good girl?” He asks.

“Me?” She questions.

“I ask again, who’s a good girl?”

“I am!” Astra cried.

“Who’s a bloated berry cow?” He asked.

“Me, me, me!”

“Now cum, cow!”

“ANNNNAAAAAAHHH!” A deluge of sticky juice pulsed from her sex as she finally came, wailing and screaming over the frankly ridiculous amount staining the keep’s wood floors. He’d get someone to replace those tomorrow.

For now he was focused on his berried lover. “L-love.. I-I don’t think I’m a knight anymore..” She sniffled. Samuel rolled her upright and he rubbed her belly gently. “I know, I know my love, but you’re something better now. I’m going to make you a collar of the finest gold and make you my wife. I don’t care what the courts say.”

Astra gasped, tears brimming up. “O-oh Sammie…” She bawled as he hugged her. “It’s alright, you’re okay, you’re alright.” Maybe she couldn’t be a knight anymore. A part of her she’d adored had been ripped away from her so suddenly, but now she had different ideas, and she had a new life now.

“I’m gonna be okay?”

“You’re gonna be just fine.” He told her firmly.

[gingerlee-holds]

okay so this is gonna be something different lmao- my beloved @lionkid gave me an idea when i was visiting her and i wanted to make this for her-! its not a tword fic, but hopefully it'll become a good story if i keep at it- its the first chapter, and please let me know what you think!! i cant wait to build on it more heehee

also im sorry its kinda short lmao

the title for this story is Trains out of Tranton! enjoy <3

Chapter 1: Home

Words: 630 Warnings: Post-Apocalypse setting

It all happened so fast. I suppose it's easier to see the danger of a situation afterward when you have all the facts, and to us, it feels like the world that came before was a house of cards just begging to be toppled over. Frankly, it's a miracle that humankind lasted into the 20th Century. The scholar says the current year is 1996; we must take his word for it.

I am Jack Flynn, born to Samuel and Laurie in a world bereft of hope. The collapse of civilization was their childhood, a time of empty stomachs, and they were robbed of their American Dream. Samuel's tribe crossed paths with Laurie's in the ruins of Seattle during the most brutal blizzard in living memory, and my father chose to leave his people and join hers. Two decades ago, I came into this world one year after he made that choice, and with her final breath, my mother named me and promised me warmth.

Samuel Flynn, a natural leader, led our people from the old home in Seattle where wild dogs roam with foaming mouths and monstrous beasts proclaim themselves men. He brought us south from the bitter cold, and we found our new home in Tranton. Before the collapse, Tranton was a mere trainyard, but it took on a new role among the sick, hungry, and miserable survivors of my tribe. I was still in swaddling cloth then, not nearly old enough to form a memory of life before Tranton nor a perception of where elsewhere is. 

The world I know is far smaller than my father's. Tranton is barely three square miles in area, filled with thousands of people desperate for a place to sleep. The rails rust under torrential rain, springing forth moss and weeds between the tracks. Aspen saplings shot from the soil below in a mad frenzy, and the tallest of them stooped over our homes like giants. The boxcars of the old world make for tremendous homes for a tribe of hungry refugees, and the cars harbored two families each. Most importantly, though, those cars that could not be utilized for storage or transportation around the settlement were heaved onto their sides and became the walls upon which our soldiers stood watch against the horrors beyond.

From what our patrols inform us, every can of food for miles around has been eaten or destroyed by the elements. As such, Tranton must import their food from outside, and every week, a mule hauls a freight car into town, the shriek of ungreased axles announcing its arrival. The farms are among the few places unscathed by the collapse, and in return for the goods we can scavenge from the neighboring cities, they share with us their harvests. Well, that's not entirely true - those of us who can't scavenge become tinkerers, forming scrap metal into tools for survival and weapons against marauders. The turbines we've fashioned turn a fierce squall into a warm meal and a well-lit courtyard for my father to speak to our people from. Our home is at the edge of this courtyard, a diesel locomotive too old to turn its wheels but with a commanding presence over the surrounding cars. The roaring hearth I warmed my hands against was the firebox, and it was my father's responsibility to blow the train's whistle at sunrise each morning.

This whistle, choked with age, was what I awoke to every day for as long as I can recall. This whistle was normalcy, home. The whistle was the assurance that humankind had not yet died. The whistle promised that things were alright now and nothing needed changing. I hated that whistle; more than that, I hated the man who blew it.

[animatorweirdo]

When the Dragons Fly (Book 2)

You leave the village to fetch something, and Aelon has fun with his friends until it is ruined by none other than Ennard. Ennard says a few nasty things about him and you, igniting a spark of rage.

Chapter 5

Warnings: mentions of the kidnapping, tripping over, Ennard being hateful and a creep, name-calling, slight violence, anger, a dummy losing its head, and a sweet moment with Maedhros.

--------------------------------------

The day has started as usual. The villagers worked in the field, some handling errands outside the village and some doing chores in their homes. Aelon was practicing in front of the house, hitting a makeshift dummy he had created from sticks, rags, and hay. He was hitting the dummy with his training sword. 

You walked out of the house carrying a large basket. 

"You've been practicing hard for a week now," you said as you watched him hit the dummy. 

"Well, you said I have to practice hard,” Aelon hit the dummy in the head. “And next time when I end up in trouble. I’m ready,” he said with a determined look. 

Pride bloomed within your chest, slightly overshadowed by pity since the real reason for his sudden motivation to train hard was because of the kidnapping. 

"Are you going somewhere again?" Aelon asked, noticing the basket beneath your arm. 

"Uhm... yeah. I need to fetch something, and it might take some time. Will you be okay on your own for a while?” you asked. 

"Yeah, sure... I think I'm just going to practice. I wanna be ready enough to hold onto an actual sword!" Aelon declared, making you smile. "That's the spirit. Your offensive is good, but you're still leaving yourself open," you looked over to his feet. 

"How?" Aelon asked, looking at you, and then you softly pushed your foot against the back of his knee, making him yelp and trip. 

You looked down on him as he lay on the ground. "Remember, Ae. Once you're down– you're done for. How about you practice looking and not leaving yourself open for attacks like that?" you advised before helping him up.

"Stay out of trouble, and look for Helena if you need anything," you said sternly. 

Aelon only rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah—” he said playfully, making you smile softly. 

“Take care now. I try not to be gone for too long,” you said as you disappeared into the village, most likely heading toward the stablemaster’s home. Aelon stared at his dummy and prepared to practice again. 

A group of footsteps reached him, and he saw his friends approaching him. A grin plastered on his face when Eweniel ran up to him.

“Hey, Ae! Did your sister go on some trip again?” she questioned. 

“Yeah. (Name) said there was something she needed to get and might be gone for a while,” Aelon answered. “I said I was going to practice my sword skills,” he added while holding his training sword with both hands. 

“Hey! How about you teach us some wooden sword skills?” Eweniel suggested. 

“Sure, do you all want to practice?” Aelon looked at his friends. 

“Yeah!” Samuel said excitedly, with Ramuel nodding in agreement. Rodrick seemed a bit hesitant. “I don’t know— but I am curious to try it,” he said. 

“Then grab a training sword, and let’s get started,” Aelon smiled as his friends cheered. 

His friends eagerly picked up extra training swords you had just in case, and the impromptu play-fighting session began. Laughter echoed as Aelon, with a mix of instruction and playful banter, guided them through the mock battle, creating a lively scene of camaraderie in the village.

They did not pay any attention to the passing time as Aelon guided them on hitting and defending. Eweniel eagerly dueled with Rodrick, who struggled to defend himself against her wild attacks. The twins had fun facing Aelon, who skillfully defended himself against both of them, and laughter filled the air.

Helena had arrived at the scene, watching and enjoying the children having fun. 

“Come on, Rodie! Don’t be a wuss and attack me!” Eweniel said with her training sword raised above her head. “No! You just attack me back!” Rodrick whined while trying to avoid getting hit by her. Aelon laughed at the sight while blocking the twins from hitting him. 

"You children shouldn't be learning something violent," Ennard’s voice was suddenly heard, interrupting the playful fight session. Aelon and his friends stared at the man as he stood beside Helena, who looked annoyed by his presence. 

"It's not bad if you learn to defend yourself," Aelon stated. 

"And from what? The village has been safe for many years," Ennard asked rudely. 

“Like from the dangers outside the village? You do remember me and Samuel got kidnapped by the vampire creature months ago?” Aelon questioned while Samuel nodded. 

“And that was months ago. Things are better now. If there is danger outside the village, we, the Watchmen, will handle it,” Ennard replied. 

“But what if we end up in danger and you aren’t there to protect us?” Aelon asked. 

“That is a good question,” Helena stated while glaring at Ennard. 

"Then—you just have to make sure you don't end up alone in a dangerous situation. Simple as that," Ennard said, then scoffed at them. "But knowing you, it wouldn’t be a surprise if you or any of your friends get kidnapped by a troll or a werewolf next time."

Aelon felt anger rising within his chest. “And what is that supposed to mean?!” he nearly yelled at the man. 

Ennard leaned down on him. “It means— if you weren’t such a useless brat. You wouldn’t end up in dangerous situations,” he spat. 

"Okay! That is enough! Leave the children alone!" Helena stepped between them, glaring furiously at the grown man. 

"And you, Helena! Should stop being around someone like these people," Ennard started. "A woman who lies and teaches children violent things like this and a little freak with purple eyes," he pointed at Aelon. 

"(Name) is not a liar!" Aelon yelled defensively. 

"She is a liar!" Ennard snarled at him. "She carries a sword yet never uses it. Tell me, boy, have you ever seen her use it to kill a man, let alone an orc?" he questioned. 

Aelon remained quiet, unable to answer.

"Tell me. Why would a woman need to carry a sword when they can be perfectly safe in their own house?" Ennard asked. "Because people like you,” Aelon uttered. “What did you say, freak?!” Ennard glared at him. “Nothing!” Aelon stood back, frightened yet still feeling angry. 

"The only danger around here seems to be you and that freak of a woman. Who knows, maybe she stole the sword and kept it in the house for shows," he said. 

"She didn't steal it! It belonged to our father!" Aelon snapped at him, "Oh, then why does she never use it?" Ennard asked. 

"Because you would die if she did," Aelon angrily spoke through his teeth. 

Ennard looked stunned for a moment before a furious glare replaced his face. 'You dare to threaten me, boy!' he shouted, shoving Aelon to the ground. Aelon yelped and groaned in pain as he landed on his back.

"Look at you! One push and you're down," Ennard gloated. 

"Leave him alone!" Eweniel stood defensively. 

"That's enough. What kind of man attacks a child?" Helena stepped in again, pushing Ennard back. Ennard backed away. 

"What's going on over here?" Helena's father called out after noticing something happening between them. 

"Nothing... I was just leaving," Ennard said and then walked away. 

Helena helped Aelon to stand up. "Are you okay, Ae? You didn't get hurt now, did you?" she asked as she brushed off the dirt from his clothes. 

"No..." Aelon mumbled silently. 

"Try to ignore what Ennard said. He is a bitter man. Honestly, I'm sure he only has raccoons in his pants, which would explain why he is so moody all the time," Helena explained. 

"More like a badger..." Eweniel stated. 

Helena and his friends continued talking and insulting Ennard for his behavior, but Aelon remained quiet, thinking about Ennard's words. He felt something hot within him. The longer he thought about the man and the things he said, the more he became angry. It made him want to blow off like a volcano.

The forever-running water flowed soundlessly through the rocks as Aelon smacked the dummy in rage with his training sword. He did not even care to practice his defense. He struck the dummy hard in the head, emitting sounds that could only be interpreted as angry grunts and yells. Beads of sweat formed on his skin as he didn't even stop for a minute.

Deep in releasing his anger on the dummy, Aelon was ignorant of the sounds of hooves and steps behind him. 

Maedhros halted, observing Aelon relentlessly pummel the dummy as if it had committed the most unforgivable crime against him.

Aelon continued battering the dummy, aiming at the head, thinking of Ennard and the foul words he said. He struck harder, which made the hay burst out of the dummy’s head and fall off from its place. Aelon lost his grip on his training sword due to his sweaty hands, and it flew into the river. 

"Damn..." Aelon held himself back from cursing before walking into the water to collect the wooden stick. 

Maedhros thought to himself quietly as Aelon walked out of the river. The boy dropped his training sword and flopped down on the rock, trying to remove his wet shoes. Seeing something was obviously troubling the boy. Maedhros finally decided to approach. 

Aelon set his wet socks on the rocks to dry till he heard someone walking toward him. 

"Even in a fit of rage, you must maintain a strong grip on your weapon. Otherwise, you might find yourself forced to fight with your hands," Maedhros said, making Aelon jump in surprise.

"Oh! Nelyo! Hi!" Aelon relaxed after seeing the elf. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked as Maedhros allowed his horse to stand on the side. 

"You both said I could come for a visit, so I decided to check how you two were doing," Maedhros explained. "But it seems I might have arrived at a bad time," he added.

"Oh no! You're welcome to stay," Aelon quickly said. "(Name) is not here at the moment. She left the village to fetch something, but you are welcome to stay," Aelon smiled as Maedhros sat beside him.

"I saw how you beat that dummy to a bulb," Maedhros said, making Aelon look away in embarrassment as the dummy’s head lay on the ground. 

"Did something or someone make you feel such anger?" Maedhros questioned. 

"How can you tell?" Aelon asked. 

"My brothers and I sometimes do the same when we feel angry or frustrated," Maedhros answered. 

Aelon contemplated before looking up to the red-haired elf. 

"There's this man. His name is Ennard. He's one of the Watchmen of the village, but he has some kind of problem with me and my sister," Aelon explained. "He thinks (Name) is a liar because she is a woman and doesn't carry her sword every day, but I've seen her fight before. Last month, my friends and I got into trouble with a warg," he said, recalling the incident. "I nearly got myself eaten by the beast, but then (Name) came and saved me. She wrestled with the warg and then wrapped her hands around its neck, twisting it hard to the side," Aelon spun his hands around for a show. “I heard its neck let out a loud snap, and it then fell to the ground, dead,” he added. 

"Oh.." Maedhros said with surprise. 

"It's true. That's how her arm got hurt.  The warg bit her pretty badly. You saw her arm," Aelon said nearly desperately. 

"Yes. I remember (Name)  calling it a little incident," Maedhros replied. 

"I'm not lying. It did happen. You can ask the whole village if you don’t believe me. They all saw it happen that day," Aelon hugged his knees. 

"I'm not calling you a liar, nor I'm saying I don't believe you," Maedhros looked at him. 

"Well, Ennard seems to think otherwise. He said something really nasty today about me and (Name)," Aelon uttered quietly. "He even constantly keeps creeping our friend, who is not interested in him romantically," he added. 

"It just made me so angry. That's why I ran off here and tried to let it out by training, but even alone, I only seem to screw up. I can't even hold a stick in anger," Aelon vented as angry tears swelled his eyes. 

He sniffed and quickly dried his eyes, staring into the flowing river. 

Maedhros stared at him sympathetically before laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder, rubbing small circles with his thumb. "Aelon, you're justified in your anger. Feeling angry toward someone who insulted you and your family is normal," he said softly. 

"But I've never felt this angry before. It's kinda scary," Aelon looked up to him. 

"I know, but don't take it as a bad thing," Maedhros said. "It just means you're someone who's slow to anger. And those who are angry yet patients are sometimes considered much more dangerous than those who act immediately to their violent impulses," Maedhros explained. 

"And don't take it hard on yourself. Learning to wield a weapon can be challenging, especially for someone as young as you," Maedhros said, then leaned closer. 

"But I do say... you have a better stance and focus than any of my brothers did when they started learning how to wield swords," Maedhros said quietly with a teasing tone. Aelon lets out a giggle. "Really? I thought you elves were masters at anything?"

"We are good at many things, but even we had to learn at some point, and sometimes it could even take thousands of years," Maedhros replied. 

"One time... one of my brothers decided to throw away the wooden sword and beat our cousin with bare hands. Now imagine how that would look for us..." Maedhros grinned, and Aelon laughed at the thought. 

"But still... I can't seem to figure out this problem I keep having," Aelon stated, using his sleeve to dry his eyes.

"If you want. I could help you," Maedhros offered while standing up. "Really?" Aelon picked himself up excitedly as Maedhros picked up the training swords. "Of course..." Maedhros stopped and turned toward the boy. "But will your sister be alright with it?" he quickly asked. 

"I think she would be more than happy. She's the one teaching me, actually," Aelon smiled. 

"In that case, show me what you can do," Maedhros held on to the stick with one hand. Aelon picked up his training sword and prepared himself. 

The two stood in front of each other until Aelon made the first move, striking Maedhros's stick. Maedhros maintained a defensive stance as Aelon continued to charge but then gently pressed the top of the stick onto Aelon's shoulder.

"You have a good balance, but you're leaving yourself too open," Maedhros said, pulling back. "If you leave yourself too open. The enemy doesn't have to worry about your weapon," he lectured as Aelon tried again. 

Aelon continued hitting Maedhros’s stick before Maedhros knocked the training sword from Aelon's hands. Aelon stood back as Maedhros pointed at him with the stick. "... And you're dead," he stated, pulling his training sword away from the boy. 

"(Name) says the same thing, but no matter what I do. I'm always too open," Aelon picked up his training sword. 

"It looks like you're focusing too much on me and my face," Maedhros stated. “If you only focus on one thing. It will be more difficult to defend yourself,” he added. 

“You should focus more on the opponent’s weapon and how they move. It will be easier for you to block an incoming attack and predict their next move,” Maedhros said as he then swung at Aelon. Aelon blocked the attack and moved away. 

“Like that. Now come again,” Maedhros prepared with a soft grin. Aelon smiled, feeling more confident and eager to duel with the elf. 

The two dueled. Aelon finds himself much more successful in defending and attacking. Maedhros encouraged after a successful strike even if Aelon couldn’t graze a hair on the elf. Aelon had fun, and when twilight began to show, the two bid a moment farewell, and Aelon returned to the village, feeling better than before and happy that Maedhros promised to visit again. 

Taglist: @natchayaphorn​ @kimnamnu@thatrandomidiot182 @springfountain

[stardustbarbarians]

Even Sinners Drink the Wine

A Too Pretty For War prologue

Part One

A Samuel Kiszka / Daniel Wagner fic

Summary: Years before he became the king of Athens, Prince Samuel risked his life in order to save his best friend's.

Tags: Prince!Sam, Court Member!Daniel, war, life or death situations, Savior Sammy, Sam-centric

Trigger Warnings: graphically depicted violence, blood, nightmares, discussion of death and dying (if I miss any please let me know!)

Words: 6.9 k

A/N: An entire year later (to the day), I finally got around to posting that Sanny chapter of this series I promised. I didn't intend to have multiple parts of this fic, but considering the word count came to 17,000+ words, I did not want to subject you all to that. If you've seen the BBC show Merlin at all, this fic might be familiar to you as I was inspired by the episode "The Poisoned Chalice". Also, I tagged this as Danny/Sammy, but we all know what happened in TPFW, so take that how you will. Now, I would be remiss to not dedicate this fic to @t00turnttrauma as I'm convinced she's the biggest fan of this whole universe. I would also love to shout out @ofthecaravel for being a tremendous help and a good sport as I sent her snippets of this as I was writing. And lastly, thank you @safety-sam for giving me the idea for this whole universe a year ago. I feel this is most likely unnecessary, but the title is taken from Greta Van Fleet's Stardust Chords. As always, enjoy <3.

+++

The war had been raging for six years. Six years of bloodshed and violence for a boy that never would have wanted such a thing in all his days. 

Josh had passed six years ago and Sam was reminded of that simple fact every time the sun poked over his beloved sea. 

However, this particular morning was one of the few where the young prince awoke with sorrow absent from his heart. For the first time in three years, Samuel was finally seeing his older brother. 

Jacob was returning home from the battlefield. 

As soon as the sun’s rays began to weakly stream into the prince’s room, he sprang up out of his bed and called his servant into the room in order to be dressed. Samuel was buzzing with excitement as he was wrapped in his silk chiton, hardly able to stay static. 

“Your highness, you must remain still if you do not wish for me to draw your blood,” Pythius warned, ceasing all action for dressing the prince. He held the chiton in place with one hand and a broach in the other hand. 

Sam knew he’d been acting difficult this morning, but he just couldn’t help it. Today was a very special day for him. It was not every day that he saw Jake. How could he contain himself? 

“Apologies, Phythius.” Sam then made a conscious effort to stay as still as the statutes lining the halls of his palace. Though, he could not cease his hands from fidgeting with the ends of his garment. 

After what felt like an eternity, Pythius finally finished dressing the young prince. 

“All done, your grace-” 

Before he had even finished his sentence, Samuel was bolting out the door and yelling his thanks behind him as he did so. Pythius grunted as he made to chase after him, stopping in the doorway. “Prince Samuel!! Your sandals!!” 

It was no use and the manservant knew this. Samuel was forever “forgetting” his footwear, and to attempt to force him into them was a Herculean feat. Leaning against the doorframe, he tossed the sandals onto the floor of Samuel’s chambers as he watched the youngest royal tramp down the hallway that led to the ward’s chambers. 

Samuel scrambled down the halls, the sandstone cold against his bare feet. He could not wipe the beaming grin off his face as the wind ran its fingers through his hair. He skid around the final corner and reached his destination. He barely gave the courtesy of a knock before barging inside the door. 

“Jacob is coming home today!” Samuel’s tone was so chipper, he sounded like one of the birds his mother kept as a pet. 

The ward glanced at his best friend through the mirror he sat before as his dark curls were being manipulated into place by his manservant. He seemed to have caught Sam’s contagious grin, the corners of his petal pink lips curving upwards at the sight of his best friend. 

“Good morning, my darling Samuel,” Daniel greeted, not at all fazed by the royal’s enthusiasm. He’d been dealing with Sam’s overly excited nature for going on a week now. He was used to it at this point. 

“Jacob is coming home today,” the prince repeated, seeming to ignore Daniel’s greeting. He was grinning so wide, he was sure all of his teeth were on display. His hands were balled into fists in front of him, shaking them up and down as he bounced on the balls of his feet. 

With a final word with his servant, Daniel got up from his seat once his hair was deemed finished. It had been pulled back into a bun that was wrapped in a gold string, two perfect curls framing his brilliant face. There was also a gold headband wrapping around the circumference of his head, matching the gold piping accents of his off-white chiton. 

“Yes, so you have said,” Daniel responded. It was said without a hint of exhaustion; if anything, it seemed to make his smile brighten. He outstretched a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Samuel’s ear, something glittering in his eyes that Sam completely missed in his enthusiasm. 

“When do you believe he will arrive?” He searched the ward’s face vehemently, hopeful for an answer that he agreed with. 

With a sigh bordering on wistful, Daniel dropped his hand and turned back towards where he was just seated. That was when Samuel noticed the long cape that flowed from the straps of Daniel’s chiton, the fabric leaving his upper back exposed. When he turned back to face the royal, Sam noticed he had slipped on golden bracelets forged to resemble vines wrapping gracefully around his wrists. 

It was… a different look for Daniel. Usually, he opted for a simple silk fabric and that was the end of it. It was a flattering look for the ward, even if it more closely resembled a woman’s dress. It was upon that realization that a warm flush flooded his cheeks with near violent speed. However, his moment of being flummoxed was quickly overtaken with his elation when Daniel answered his question. 

“Most likely by the evening, if not by mid-day,” he responded, that soft smile returning to his brilliant features. 

Sam all but cheered, jumping up as the thrill of seeing his long missed brother mounted into something that was hardly contained. The ward watched on in amusement as a child-like enthusiasm overtook the prince. 

“I was dearly hoping you would speak something like that,” Sam finally commented after being able to partially put a lid on his emotions. 

His smile turning into a full smile, Daniel turned away from his friend and made for the door. 

“Alright, your highness. Let us get some food in you before you faint or forget,” Daniel urged, opening up the doorway of his chambers into the corridor now lit with the strong rays of dawn. 

Sam, knowing that his best friend was right, walked through the door. The two sauntered down towards the dining area, Sam making conversation that was mostly one-sided. He kept buzzing about all the things he had wanted to do with his older brother upon his return, his passion never-ending. Daniel listened to the prince’s chatter, his patience never-ending. He was always this gentle when Sam got into one of his moods; he had seen one too many times where Samuel’s excitement was unjustly turned down or interrupted due to the listener not caring about his soliloquy. Daniel never was one of those shades, and Samuel was forever grateful for that. 

“Apologies for interrupting. But Samuel, you must not allow yourself to get your hopes too high. Jacob… Well, he might not be as you remember him to be,” Daniel carefully explained, turning his body to fully face the royal. He even placed a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder, his eyes searching for Sam’s own. 

“Whatever do you mean, Daniel?” 

A look flashed across his face momentarily that almost seemed to pain the ward. As though he pitied the youngest royal. But, just like a flash of lightning, it was gone from his features within the blink of an eye. But Sam caught it. 

“Just…” 

Whatever Daniel had wanted to say died on his tongue like an animal who had had its heart pierced by an arrow. 

“He has been away for a long time. He may not be the same Jacob from your memories,” Daniel finally elaborated. Samuel knew that was not what his friend had originally wanted to say. But, he did not have the time to pry out of him whatever the ward had meant before the two were spotted by Samuel’s older sister. 

“Ah, I thought I would find you two lurking about,” Veronica playfully called, making her way over to the pair. Her silk gown billowed out behind her as she approached, similar to how Daniel’s garments had as he strolled down the hallway with Samuel. 

Once again, it had given the young prince a moment of pause, causing his cheeks to flame like the burning sunrise over his beloved sea. 

“They are waiting for you out on the patio. Your chiton is lovely, Daniel.” The princess spoke the last line over her shoulder, guiding the pair towards the patio in question. 

Samuel dutifully followed. Though, as his sister and his best friend made conversation, Samuel tuned them out. Unintentionally, of course. But, his mind was soaring into the clouds as he attempted to parse out what it was about Daniel that day made him so flustered. 

+++

Breakfast came and went with minimal incident. Of course, there was the instance of the king snapping at his youngest for talking incessantly about his brother’s return, but that was hardly a rare occurrence. His mother had placed a comforting hand atop her son’s after he had retreated inwardly at his father’s anger, calming the turmoil roiling beneath his breast. He placed a loving kiss onto the back of her hand before taking his leave. 

Samuel spent the rest of his morning honing his archery skills. He attempted horseback archery, something he had only previously done once before. Despite his nerves, he was able to do a good job at hitting the targets. 

“Althea, you have yet to disappoint me,” Samuel cooed to his horse, patting her dapple gray neck lovingly after he dismounted. She stomped her large hooves appreciatively into the dirt beneath her, her long black tail flicking at the affection. 

The prince clicked his tongue as he held her reins in his hand, his signal for her to follow him. She did so loyally, matching his pace as the two made their way over to where Daniel was lounged under a tree. 

“Are you diligently at work, or simply presenting to seem that way?” Samuel jested as he approached, flashing a brilliantly charming smile towards his best friend. 

“I know you are unfamiliar with the concept of work, so I shall not fault you for not knowing what that looks like,” Daniel shot right back, only briefly glancing away from the scroll he was pouring over to look at Samuel. 

With a good natured laugh emitting from both parties, Samuel turned to Althea to remove her saddle, grunting as he lifted the heavy wood and leather off the animal. She shook after having the weight removed, throwing her head up and down as if stretching. After setting the saddle under the tree on the opposite side of Daniel’s position, he turned back towards his horse. 

“Go and frolic as you wish, girl. You earned it,” he told her before untying her reins from the branch of the tree. With little hesitation, she wandered off into the field that stretched out before them. 

With a fond smile adorning his face, the prince pivoted on his heel and made for the spot the ward lounged. 

“What subject matter are you cramming into that thick skull of yours?” Sam teased as he laid down perpendicular to Daniel, resting his head onto the man’s lap. If he squinted and strained his eyes just right, he could just barely make out the writing on the parchment. 

“Diplomacy,” he quickly answered before pulling the scroll out of the way to gaze at Samuel directly in the eye, “not that you have any inclination as to what that word suggests.” 

There was a devious glint in his eye after he spoke that matched the smirk on his lips. 

“Aye! You cur! Retract that statement at once!” Sam’s demand was accentuated by his finger pointing in the ward’s face. 

Daniel simply chuckled warmly before pushing his best friend’s hand out of his face and sliding the parchment back into his line of sight. “Your demand achieves nothing, save prove my point.” 

The prince crossed his arms over his chest in a petulant act. He had hoped to provoke Daniel into a bit of a tiff for his amusement, but it seemed that he would not rise to the bait. Instead, he preoccupied his time by watching the sunlight dance across the yellowed scroll above his eyes as the wind rustled the leaves with its gentle and warm breath. 

Without even realizing, the man had dozed off. It seems the comfort of being swaddled in his best friend’s scent and warmth as well as having his skin warmed by the afternoon sun were the perfect amalgamation of factors to send him off peacefully towards his dreams. 

However, peaceful they did not stay. 

Samuel found himself shoved into a dark cave, black cloaking his vision so successfully he could not see his hand directly in front of him. With a whimper of fear that he attempted to suppress poorly, he stumbled forward in a direction he could only hope led towards the mouth of it. He dared not make any noise in fear of what beasts call that musty and decrepit cavern home. 

Turning what he hoped was a corner, Samuel felt relief flood his veins as he spotted a far away stream of light that led towards the exit. Only then did he hear a scream that made every drop of his blood turn to ice. 

“DANIEL!!”

With no hesitation, the prince turned away from the cave exit and back down to the bowels of the cavern where the scream originated. He stumbled hastily downwards as the tormented screams of his best friend became more pained. 

When Samuel finally reached him, he was greeted with the most awful sight of Daniel bound to a boulder with iron chains clamped around his hands. His arms were forcibly stretched out above his head, the strained muscles on his chest on full display due to his lack of clothing. And perched atop his ribs was an eagle, its talons digging so deep into his flesh that they seemed to coil around the bones of his ribs. Its head was bowed, its beak violently tearing into the skin right beneath Daniel’s right pectoral. A sickening amount of blood spilled out from Daniel, some of it even dried on his sweat-slicked sinews. 

His face was screwed up in unbearable pain, his teeth gritted against the agony of having his liver scavenged from beneath his still beating heart. Each movement of the eagle made the man cry out in pure arduous torment. Tears even flowed down the sides of his face. 

Samuel’s knees buckled beneath him. He crashed into the cold stone of the ground, horror freezing him in place. There was nothing he could attempt in order to save Daniel. He had been sentenced to this torture under divine order. There was simply no escaping your fate once the Gods had condemned you. 

Knowing that he had limited options, Samuel went with the only one he knew to be possible. He crawled along the floor of the cave, reaching out for his best friend. When he reached Daniel, the royal simply smoothed the curls on the crown of his head. The tortured man’s sobs became stronger as he experienced his first comfort in Gods knew how long, leaning his head into the touch of Sam’s caress that traveled down to his cheek. 

Samuel felt a tear of his own trickle down his cheek as he pressed his forehead into Daniel’s. “I am so sorry.” 

“Sammy!” 

The prince jolted awake at the calling of his name. Blearily, he rubbed at his eyes before searching around to check that he was not still trapped in that awful nightmare. Instead of the oppressive darkness of that cursed cave, he was greeted by the warm embrace of the late afternoon sun. With a sigh of relief, all of his fear seeped out of his bones in his exhale. He glanced upwards, Daniel gazing down at him with a look of carefully masked concern on his face. 

“What is it?” The prince’s voice sounded as though he had swallowed sand. He lifted one of his hands to his forehead, rubbing at his temples that were beginning to throb.  

“Were you having a nightmare?” Daniel inquired, his brow knitting as he closely examined his companion. 

Yes

“No. You needn’t worry,” Sam quickly reassured, waving his hand in a dismissal of his best friend’s concern. 

Samuel watched as the ward regarded him. He was aware Daniel knew he was lying, it was now simply a matter of whether or not he would call Sam out on this. 

After shaking his head, the ward came to his decision. 

“Pythius just came by to offer up the news. Jacob has returned to the palace.” 

Samuel, still reeling from his nightmare, forced himself to react with the same enthusiasm he had emanated for the past week in regards to his brother. Cosmetically, he knew he had managed to muster the appropriate response; his lips parting into a blinding smile as he shot up from his position, forcing his skin to buzz with excitement. But, just beneath was a darkness that was sapping away his true elation and replacing it with an encompassing sense of dread. 

He had dreamt of Daniel as Prometheus, the Gods ultimate scapegoat. And as he bounded off towards the sandstone structure he had called home for the past eighteen years, he could not rid himself of the sinking feeling deep within his stomach that his nightmare mirrored that of his prophetic dreams. 

+++

There was a haunted look beneath Jacob’s otherwise warm disposition. Samuel noticed it right away, though he dared not point it out. For the time being, until the moment presented itself, the youngest prince played along with the facade the warrior had worn. 

“Jacob, it is so good to see you,” Samuel greeted, pulling his older brother into an embrace. The moment he had his brother in his arms again, Samuel felt that affection and enthusiasm surge up in his chest and beat away that dread that had sewn itself into him. 

“Samuel,” Jacob breathed, his arms tightening around Sam before releasing him and holding the youngest at arm’s length. He took in his little brother’s appearance, his eyes scanning him from head to toe. 

“You’ve grown.” There was a melancholy intertwined with the words. 

Sam felt his lips curl up at the corners. “So have you.” 

It was true. Since the last time he had seen his older brother, Jake had grown. Not in height - Samuel still towered over him - but in build. No longer were his limbs thin, but piled with muscles that come with being a soldier fighting for three years straight. He was still in his armor, the bronze chestplate reflecting the light of the late afternoon sun. He even rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

With a smile that finally reached his eyes, Jacob removed the hand he had rested on Samuel’s shoulder only to tangle it in his hair and ruffle it. They both laughed, Sam slapping Jake’s arm away. 

“Cease, you two. I do not want this to turn into a real squabble,” their mother interjected. 

The brothers both spared her a glance before looking back at one another. With a nod of his head towards the hall, Jacob led the way towards his chambers. Samuel scrambled to match pace with his brother before falling into step with him. 

“So, do not misinterpret my intentions behind this question, but why have you returned? When I inquired about this with others, no one would answer me.” 

Jacob paused in his steps, the metal of his armor clattering together at the halting of his momentum. He regarded his little brother with a look that Samuel could not place. 

“They would not answer you?” he repeated. 

Samuel shook his head, some of his hair getting caught in the corner of his lips. He reached up a hand to wipe it away and tuck the loose strand behind his ear. 

There was another beat where it appeared that Jacob was making a decision. With something flashing quickly behind his eyes, the crowned prince clapped a hand upon his brother’s shoulder before offering a charming smile. 

“I missed you. That is all.” With one more pat to Sam’s shoulder, his brother turned away and made for his chambers. 

Samuel stayed in his position, watching on as Jacob trekked down the sandstone floor. He felt conflicting emotions coil up into his chest as he observed Jacob; pain at knowing he was being lied to and pride at realizing that these halls were meant for him. He was the next true ruler of this kingdom and it was evident. 

Sam would never be as fit for ruling as Jacob. But, that was not something Samuel would ever need to fret about. 

+++

As the sun slipped below the horizon, the whole of the castle had gathered in the great hall for a celebratory feast. Each lady was dressed in her finest, the gentlemen wearing the decorative armor. Daniel had abandoned his long silk gown in favor of his finest armor. His curls had been left to fall down to his shoulders, his gold headband replaced by a silver crown piece wrapped around his forehead with a pearl dangling down from the center.

Samuel and Jacob both wore their respective crowns of their own. However, as one would imagine, the one worn by the crowned prince was much more elaborate than Samuel’s simple golden vines. While they were similar in shape, Jacob’s silver vines were encrusted with sparkling jewels that twinkled like the stars of the night sky. They were seated on either side of their parents, the crowned prince on the side of their father and Samuel next to his mother; Veronica was next to Jacob. On Samuel’s right was none other than his best friend.

The two of them had passed the time of the night with endless conversation, never seeming to run out of topics to discuss. More often than not, one of them would become too enraptured in their own corner of the world and forget about the presence of the others in the hall, boisterously erupting in laughter or the like, earning more than a few pointed looks from the queen. 

As the night reached its natural mid-point, the king called for everyone’s attention by tapping his fork along the side of his goblet. When the clamor of the room died down at the noise and all eyes shifted their focus towards the front of the room, the king stood from his throne at the very center of the high table. 

“Gentleman and Ladies of the court, if I may have your attention,” the king asked, his arms raised in an almost placating manner. As much as Samuel hated to admit it, he could not deny that his father knew how to command a room. 

When the din ceased and all eyes were properly fixed onto the most powerful man in the room, he continued with his speaking. 

“I thank you all for joining us, first and foremost. Most notably my son, Jacob, who has traveled from the front lines of war where he fends off those beastly savages, the Spartans. Truly, a hero amongst us men.” The king placed a firm hand on Jacob’s shoulder, a look of pride swelling onto his features in the manifestation of a smile. 

Samuel, having to divert his gaze from the display, felt the claws of jealousy sink into his heart while the ropes of sadness coiled inside of his gut like a snake. His father had never gazed upon him in such a manner and most likely never would. 

“But, this night is not about him. As you are all aware, with the recent passing of our dear Lord Lógios, the crown is in need of a new court advisor. And when it came time for me to name such a man to fill his position, I could think of no one better than that of my ward, Daniel-” 

“This is why Jacob has returned?” Samuel hissed quietly at his mother in order to refrain from putting attention onto himself. 

The queen leaned over towards her son just enough so that he might be able to hear her response. “We kept this from you in fear of you slipping up and ruining tonight’s grand reveal. Apologies, my dear, but it had to be done.” 

Without allowing for any further probing, Sam’s mother returned her attention towards her husband. 

“-you could join me in raising your goblets,” the king held his own in hand before lifting it higher towards the ceiling, everyone in the court following suit, “to Daniel, for that he may guide my son on the right path in the way I trust that he will.” 

“To Daniel!” the room chorused together as they mimicked their king’s gesture. Just as Sam was about to take a drink of his wine, he heard a loud thud to his right. Snapping his head in the direction of the sound, he was greeted by the awful visual of his best friend laying on the floor, his spilled goblet next to him as the remaining wine seeped out across the sandstone. 

“DANIEL!!” Samuel cried, all but tossing his own goblet away in his haste to rush to the man’s side. He was not responding to Sam’s voice nor his touch, causing a spike of fear to lance its way through the prince’s heart. 

Suddenly, there was someone at his side, but Samuel could not tell who it was. All he had the focus for was the fact that he was not certain if the ward was breathing. Someone was speaking to him, a man, but he could not say what was being spoken. There was only one thought repeating in a mantra within his head: He’s not breathing. And that was the most terrifying thought anyone could possibly conjure up. Even in his worst night terrors, Morpheus dared not present Sam with this possibility, for even he understood that was taking it a step too far. 

“Samuel!” 

Jake had taken him by the shoulders and shook him. Finally, Sam was snapped out of his downward spiral and back to the present matter. Stealing one last glance in his best friend’s direction, he spared his undivided attention towards his older brother. 

“Sammy, I need you to stay with me. Daniel is in danger, but being stuck in a panic is not the way of assisting him. Do you hear me?” When Sam tried to look back towards Daniel, he placed both hands on the young prince’s cheeks and forced Sam to look him in the eye. 

With a shaking breath, Sam nodded his head. Right, he was simply wasting time by allowing his anxiety to sink its claws into him. 

“Good. Now, we need to take him to the physician immediately,” Jacob ordered, letting his hands fall from Sammy’s face. 

The prince was so thankful for his brother grounding him in that moment. He would not realize it until after, but Sam realized he had witnessed General Jacob in action in that moment. 

Bracing himself, Samuel slid his arms underneath Daniel’s prone form, carrying him as if he were his new bride. There was a moment where the muscles in his legs protested at the extra weight being added to his ascent to his upright position, but he ignored them as he ran away from the uproarious commotion that had erupted in the hall at the newly appointed advisor’s fainting. Jake was in tow, the goblet Daniel had drank from in his hands. Another person in their wake following them down the corridors of the palace was Giatrós, the court physician. 

“Lay him down on the bed,” Giatrós ordered as they burst through the doors of his chambers. Samuel obeyed without qualm, gently resting his best friend down onto the soft bedding of the healing ward. 

Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be pulled away from Daniel by Jacob to allow for Giatrós to have the space to work. However, he did not let himself be pulled far, insisting on keeping his hand in Daniel’s on the opposite side of where the physician worked. 

“He’s burning up,” the healer muttered under his breath after placing a hand onto the ward’s forehead, “Prince Jacob, would you please fetch me that pail of water and the cloth next to it?” 

The hand on Sam’s shoulder left, Jake following the request of the physician. Samuel watched on as he busily worked up his patient, his face pinching together in a frown that Samuel did not care for as he checked Daniel’s pulse. 

Sam, who at this point had begun to chew on his lip and nails interchangeably, took in the visage of his best friend. He had gotten so pale so quickly, all of the color draining from his sinews. A sheen of sweat had accumulated across his visible flesh, his body wracking in small convulsions as he fought off the chill brought on by his fever. Daniel had rapidly flexed and unflexed his fingers around Sam’s hand, each little grip squeezing his heart as if that was what Daniel was holding in its stead. 

“It will be alright, Daniel, I promise,” Samuel had whispered into the man’s ear, using his free hand to smooth the curls on the crown of his head. He had taken to gently removing Daniel’s diadem when he saw his brother return with the cloth and bucket. All too suddenly, Samuel was struck with the similarities of this to his nightmare he’d experienced just that afternoon. 

“Sam, please,” Jake gently asked, the hand not holding the now wet cloth pulling on his shoulder once more. 

With one last caress of his hand, Sam pulled away once more to allow Jacob to do as he was tasked. 

“Giatrós, please, tell me you can heal him,” Sam desperately asked, all of the emotions saturating his tone causing his words to crack under the weight of them. 

The physician glanced up from his work to look the young prince in the eye. When he hesitated, Samuel realized that the man was becoming blurrier with each passing second. 

“Without knowing exactly what he has fallen ill from, I am afraid there is not much I can do other than treat his symptoms,” Giatrós answered honestly. 

Hot tears cascaded down Sam’s cheeks at the gravity of his situation. Daniel - his best friend and the person he was closest with and whom he had wished to spend the rest of his days with - was about to be torn away from him. He felt as if he was about to fall over, all of the blood in his veins turning to ice. His vision was charring around the edges, that darkness encroaching onto him with every heartbeat. 

Sam began swaying on his feet, his extremities turning fuzzy. Just when it seemed that he was about to lose consciousness, Jake swooped in and caught his baby brother within his arms. 

“Keep your head, Samuel,” Jacob softly ordered, gently propping Sam back up onto his feet. 

Giatrós was still fluttering around his chambers wildly, grabbing vials and small bottles off of shelves only to place them back in their positions. He eventually returned with a mortar and pestle made from a dark stone in his hands, grinding herbs as he approached with his brow knit in concentration. There was a pungent smell wafting out of the mortar as he approached. 

Sam watched him scoop the herbal mixture into a small muslin cloth and then dip it in water before taking the now soaking cloth and squeezing it into an empty vial. He repeated the process about three times until the vial was about a quarter full. 

“Pinch his nose closed for me,” the physician requested, looking Sam dead in the eyes. With a weak nod, Sam did as he was told. Giatrós pried open the ward’s mouth before pouring the contents of the vial into it, clamping a hand over his lips so that he had to ingest the mixture. 

“There, that should assist in keeping the fever at bay for now.” Giatrós removed his hand, Sam following his lead and doing the same. Daniel gulped for air now that the pathways were unblocked, but he still would not open his eyes. It was frightening, it was maddening, and Samuel had to sit by and watch. As the healer said, there was nothing they could do without knowledge of what caused Daniel to have this reaction. 

Samuel took the small strides necessary to place himself onto Daniel’s bedside, sitting down next to the man’s waist as the bed dipped with his added weight. He never released Daniel’s hand, their fingers managing to become entwined without Sam conscious of it happening. He went back to smoothing his best friend’s raven curls with his hand, the silken strands damp with his sweat and clinging to Sam’s fingers. 

“Please, fight this. I beg of you,” Samuel whispered desperately before resting his forehead against Daniel’s. 

One thing that did fan the embers of hope burning inside his chest was that Daniel’s body no longer seemed to convulse with chills. Giatrós’s tincture had worked; the ward’s skin no longer blazed beneath Sam’s touch. 

“Now that he has become more stable, I shall take a closer look at the goblet he drank from,” the physician informed, picking up the ornate silver drinking vessel and staring into it with a critical eye, “perhaps it will provide the answers we seek.” 

“What of the guests at the banquet tonight? Perhaps they witnessed or heard something,” Sam suggested, swiveling his head back and forth between the two men stationed on either side of him. 

“I shall look into that,” Jacob offered, his arms folding over his chest as he spoke. “I severely doubt you will abandon Daniel’s bedside anytime in the near future.” 

Sam felt his face grow warm in embarrassment, his hand tightening within his best friend’s grip. He could not refute Jacob’s claim, as it were. 

“I-” 

“Yell for me if his condition worsens. I shall be in my study,” Giatrós informed before sweeping out of the sick area and through a door that Sam had never been behind. 

“Do not neglect yourself and tend to your own needs as necessary,” Jacob firmly ordered before placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder and looking him intently in the eye. 

Before Sam could respond to such a statement, the crowned prince headed out the door. For the first time that night, Samuel was left alone with Daniel. He felt suddenly as if a massive boulder had just plummeted onto his shoulders, his entire body sagging with the weight of it. 

“You will make it through this,” Samuel’s voice wavered, wrapping his other hand around Daniel’s that he was already holding, Samuel bringing it up to his lips, “I promise.” 

+++

Countless restless hours had passed, many of them spent watching Danny like a hawk. When it had reached the earliest hours of morning, the jaws of sleep had finally snapped themselves fully into Sam, pulling him down into their clutches. However, that rest would not last long. 

A knock on the door to the infirmary roused Sam from his sleep. He lifted his head up from his crossed arms on Daniel’s cot, shaking his hands against the pins and needles buzzing within them. 

“Come in,” he blearily commanded, thinking it to be Jake. Though, after he had finished rubbing his eyes with his hand, he was surprised to see a serving girl standing before him. 

She was clearly very nervous, her hands wringing together as she made herself very small in stature. She also refused to meet his gaze, nervously glancing around the floor as if she expected a nest of vipers to writhe their way out of it spontaneously. 

“What brings you here?” Sam cringed at how supercilious he sounded, intending to come across as soothing. He had never been good at connecting with people, that was more of the twin’s ability. 

“I apologize for disturbing you, Prince Samuel, I did not mean to cause any strife,” the woman rushed out, still keeping her eyes pointed downwards, “but I have some information regarding… well, regarding Lord Daniel.” She cast her eyes over towards his prone form quickly before forcing them back downwards. 

“You do?? By all means, do tell me.” He had managed to make his tone smoother, keeping his volume down in order to keep from disturbing Daniel. 

That seemed to be the wrong response, however. As soon as the sentence left Sam’s lips, the servant’s body began to tremble wholly. Samuel instantly felt his body turn as rigid as a wood plank at the display. And when he realized that the shallow breaths she was intaking were her sobs, his entire body turned frigid. 

“My lord, please do not spill my blood for this. I know it does not justify my role, but I was under threat of death as well as my family,” she sobbed, her voice just above a whisper. Her entire body shook with the force of her tears, finally locking her glassy eyes onto Sam’s. They were so filled with fear… Sam had no choice but to believe that this was how soldiers looked right before being run though by a blade. 

“Please, try to breathe,” the prince uselessly muttered, kneeling down in front of her to try and seem less imposing, his hands resting gently on her arms, “how about you start by telling me your name?” 

The serving girl swallowed hard, closing her eyes and breathing as she was instructed. “Alcmene.” 

“Alcmene, good. Now, start at the beginning.” 

Taking a deep breath, Alcmene launched into her narrative. 

“It was I who laced the poison into Lord Daniel’s wine. But not I the one who conjured up the plan. I was forced to by Lord Aetós,” she explained, her voice dripping with hysteria as she went. Samuel could feel her tremble beneath his hands. 

Lord Aetós. He should have known he would be the one to devise such a sinister plan. The man had been after the position of court advisor for nearing decades now. Only problem with this being the man had no wisdom to speak of. The thought that he would end Daniel’s life in order to try and take his position caused an unfettered rage to burn fiercely inside Sam’s blood. 

“Please, spare me,” Alcmene desperately pleaded. 

Right as the young royal opened his mouth to assure her no such fate would befall her, she spoke again. 

“If you do deem it necessary to execute me, I have just one request. I have a boy of only three, I simply beg of you to ensure his safety.” Her voice trembled with every word. 

“What of his father?” Sam hesitated to ask, afraid he already knew the answer. 

“He perished in the war,” the woman struggled to say, her voice cracking beneath the weight of her emotions. 

Her words plunged deep beneath his skin like a dagger to the chest. She had been forsaken so egregiously by the court and those she served and here she was, standing before the prince fully anticipating he call for her head for committing an act she had no say in doing; and her only thought was that of her boy’s safety. She was the bravest person Sam had ever encountered. 

Dropping his hands from her arms, Samuel removed the golden bracelets he had wrapped around his wrists and handed them over to her. The look of complete shock on her features did nothing to help ease the guilt thrumming behind his ribs. 

“Your highness…” 

“You have done a great service for us today. You may have just saved Daniel’s life, and for that I am forever in your debt. And as a tiny act of gratitude, please take these. Once this is over, I shall arrange that you be paid handsomely in gold for the rest of your days and never have to worry about you or your son’s safety.” 

She stared down at his offering, her mouth hanging open as she digested his words. “I… I cannot accept…” 

The prince used his free hand to gently grab Alcmene’s, opening her palm and closing her fingers around the jewelry. 

“You are the bravest person I have ever come across. Daniel means more to me than… more to me than words can describe and you just risked your life in order to save his. You deserve this. Now, go and be with… what is your son’s name?” 

“Ganymede,” Alcmene answered, a smile finally breaking through her fear. 

“Right. Go and be with Ganymede. My one contingency of this offering is that you must use this money to purchase him a pet of his choosing,” he playfully instructed her, a smile of his own breaking out across his lips as the woman emitted a watery laugh. 

“I shall find him a guard dog; name him Samuel and tell Ganymede about the wonderful prince who will watch over him for the rest of his life,” she laughed, a meaningful look in her eye as she locked gazes with the royal, “thank you, your highness.” 

“No. Thank you,” he emphasized before sending her off to be with her son. With Alcmene gone, he finally was able to focus fully on the blinding rage boiling just beneath his skin. It was a titan in and of itself, his fury. One that even the Goddess Lyssa would pale at. 

Taking Daniel’s pale hand in his, he placed a lingering kiss on the back of it, forcing himself not to notice how chilled his skin was. Gently resting Daniel’s hand back onto the bed, Samuel swiftly made for the exit. 

“Aetós. You shall pay for this with your blood.”

+++

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[pastoralnhappy]

Jonah and the Whale

Chapter 14: The Class Photo

The day before ordination was filled with anticipation and a flurry of last-minute preparations. The seminary grounds were alive with activity, and among the most significant tasks was taking the official class photo. Jonah and Samuel, along with their fellow seminarians, were to gather in the courtyard, dressed in their ceremonial robes.

The courtyard was a picturesque setting, with its lush greenery and the grand stone building as a backdrop. The seminarians, all wearing pristine white robes, stood in small clusters, chatting and laughing. Despite the formal occasion, there was an air of camaraderie and excitement.

Jonah and Samuel stood side by side, their robes fitting snugly over their expansive forms. The robes had been tailored to accommodate their size, and the fabric draped elegantly over their rounded bellies. Jonah felt a mixture of pride and nostalgia as he looked around at his friends, remembering the journey they had shared.

"Alright, everyone, gather around," called Father Thomas, who was overseeing the photo session. He gestured for the seminarians to arrange themselves around a table laden with pastries—a fitting symbol of the indulgence and joy that had marked their time at the seminary.

The group moved into position, with Jonah and Samuel taking their places at the front. The photographer, an older man with a kind smile, adjusted his camera and gave instructions for positioning.

"Everyone, look here and smile," the photographer said, his voice cheerful. "We want to capture the joy of this moment."

As the camera clicked, Jonah felt the weight of the occasion. This photo would be a lasting memory of their time together, a testament to their growth and the bonds they had formed. He looked around at his friends, noting the mixture of emotions on their faces—pride, excitement, and a touch of nervousness.

Father Thomas stepped forward, holding a tray of pastries. "Before we finish, let's take a few candid shots," he suggested. "After all, this is a celebration."

The seminarians eagerly agreed, and soon the formal pose gave way to a more relaxed and joyful scene. They laughed and chatted as they enjoyed the pastries, the photographer capturing moments of genuine happiness and camaraderie.

Jonah watched as his friends indulged, their faces lighting up with each bite. The scene was a perfect reflection of their time at the seminary—marked by acceptance, indulgence, and a shared journey of faith. He felt a deep sense of gratitude for the community that had embraced him and supported him through every step.

"Let's get one more with everyone holding a pastry," the photographer suggested, his eyes twinkling with amusement. The seminarians eagerly complied, each holding up a pastry with a proud smile.

As the camera clicked again, Jonah felt a sense of completion. This photo would be a cherished memory, a reminder of the journey they had shared and the bonds they had forged. He looked at Samuel, who was grinning from ear to ear, and felt a surge of affection.

"We did it," Samuel said quietly, his voice filled with emotion.

"Yeah, we did," Jonah replied, his heart full. "And this is just the beginning."

The photo session wrapped up, and the seminarians dispersed, ready to continue their preparations for the ordination. Jonah and Samuel lingered for a moment, soaking in the significance of the day.

As they walked back to their rooms, Jonah felt a sense of peace and fulfillment. The journey had been challenging, but it had also been filled with love, growth, and joy. He knew that whatever lay ahead, he was ready to face it with Samuel by his side.

The class photo would hang in the seminary's halls, a lasting testament to their journey. And every time Jonah saw it, he would remember the laughter, the love, and the community that had shaped him into who he was.

As the sun set on the eve of their ordination, Jonah and Samuel prepared for the next chapter of their journey, knowing that they carried with them the strength of their faith and the bonds of their brotherhood.

[misshallery]

a list of literary references in aitsf: nirvana initiative chapter titles

tidied up this ol' twitter thread. basically: every single chapter title in aini is a reference to a work of literature, i figured out most of them. here's an explanation of where they came from and what they mean. let us begin.

edit: some gaps filled in by the discord user aaabatteries! thank you!

"a strange tale"/"dispossessed"/"alone" (chapter 0) reference 'the turn of the screw' by henry james.

the framing device of this novella is a group of friends reading a manuscript written by someone else. ryuki being interrogated by mizuki is something of a framing device for what we perceive as his 'side' of the story, six years ago. this is also a quintessential piece of gothic fiction, which is famously concerned with the subconscious and repression- two themes aitsf is very interested in!

"anyone imagines"/"ought to know" (ryuki chapter 1) reference the bible verse corinthians 8:2

"If anyone imagines that he knows something, he does not yet know as he ought to know"

naix is an ideology that has the power of religion over its believers. this quotation reflects that people who don't believe in the ideology who think they understand the nature of the world (and believe it's real) are ignorant to the fact it's a simulation.

"nothing to be done"/"go" (ryuki chapter 2) reference 'waiting for godot' by samuel beckett

"nothing to be done" is something of a reoccurring joke in the play. much time is spent watching characters act aimlessly, accomplish little, and lack purpose. these chapters in the game have a lot to do with ryuki feeling frustrated by tokiko's indecipherable philosophical ramblings.

"farewell"/"joy for anguish"/"smile for tears" (ryuki chapter 3) reference 'farewell' by anne bronte.

"And who can tell but Heaven, at last, May answer all my thousand prayers, And bid the future pay the past With joy for anguish, smiles for tears?"

this poem is about the pain of saying goodbye to a loved one. of course, "saying goodbye" is a classic euphemism for death. these titles likely reference shoma reckoning with komeji's death. the joy/anguish duo are strange parallel chapters where komeji lives or dies.

"well known"/"mind of god" (ryuki c4 r1) reference 'a brief history of time' by stephen hawking

"If we do discover a theory of everything…it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason—for then we would truly know the mind of God."

these chapters introduce us to tearer as a character, who is, of course, closely linked to naix and their ideology. naix believe they understood the nature of human existence, and accomplished the goal of knowing 'the mind of god'.

"i found me"/"past its ken" (ryuki c4 r2) reference "the masked face" by thomas hardy

"I found me in a great surging space, I" At either end a door" ... "There once complained a goosequill pen To the scribe of the Infinite Of the words it had to write Because they were past its ken."

this poem is about people with a negative outlook who struggle to comprehend that there is more to the world than they know. shoma only believed in shallow simulation theory to justify his depression. "past its ken" means beyond one's established knowledge.

"not all a dream"/"she was the universe" (ryuki chapter 5 r1) reference "darkness" by lord byron

"I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish'd" ... "Darkness had no need Of aid from them—She was the Universe."

this poem describes an apocalypse that resembles a natural disaster. fitting that this route leads to the explosion ending, involving the collapse of the underground cave. darkness becomes "the universe"- ryuki is traumatised.

"pass mildly away"/"end where i begun" (mizuki c1) reference "a valediction: forbidding mourning" by john donne

"As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go" … "Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I begun."

this poem is about two lovers parting, but i think the game uses it to reflect platonic relationships. kizuna has lost bibi. bibi lost mizuki. mizuki lost date. family members who love each other deeply have been apart for a long time.

"the expense of spirit"/"hell" (mizuki chapter 3) reference sonnet 129 by william shakespeare.

"The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action..."

this poem theorises that after people satisfy their lust (their desires), they're left with shame. this could be a metaphor for chikara's experiments, but he doesn't seem to feel shame. i think it's about mizuki wanting answers about the institute until she gets them and they're painful.

"all living things"/"of arms and of man" (mizuki chapter 4 m2) references virgil's "the aenid".

"I sing of arms and of the man, fated to be an exile, who long since left the land of Troy and came to Italy to the shores of Lavinium"

i think a parallel is drawn between lien and the protag of the aenid, aeneas. he flees the fall of troy and travels to rome, becoming the original descendant of the ancient romans. lien escapes the 'tragedy' of his life of crime and becomes something of a hero to kizuna.

"who's there"/"bid the soldiers shoot" (mizuki chapter 4 m2/m3) reference the first and final lines of william shakespeare's "hamlet".

the first line is spoken by a guard who hears the ghost of hamlet sr. in this route, jin's corpse is found in the freezer... not quite a ghost. the final line is spoken by fortinbras, an invading prince, upon storming the palace and finding the corpses of the whole cast. he commands the shots to commemorate the deaths of the royalty. lien and kizuna escape among the gunfire of chieda's armed goons... some commemoration.

"all that we are" (mizuki c5 m2) is a buddha quote.

“All that we are is the result of what we have thought: it is founded on our thoughts and made up of our thoughts. If a man speak or act with an evil thought, suffering follows him as the wheel follows the hoof of the beast that draws the wagon…. If a man speak or act with a good thought, happiness follows him like a shadow that never leaves him.”

this chapter precedes gen and amame's end. gen highlights that he considers amame to be a naturally kind and loving person in a way that others haven't been towards him. this quotation implies that good things follow kind people, which doesn't follow considering the tragic end amame gets here.

"sweet silent thought" (mizuki chapter 5 m3) references shakespeare's sonnet 30

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste

this poem is about regrets. when you think "sweet silent thoughts" (contemplate your life), you feel unhappy and consumed by what-ifs. interesting that this chapter is the direct opposite of the poem- lien and kizuna take their chance and run away together. no regrets!

"births"/"the end of craving" (mizuki c5 m1) is a buddha quote once more.

simply put, to reach the end of craving is to achieve the titular nirvana and a higher state of being.

"braver than all flowers" (epilogue) references "proof of immortality "by william carlos williams

"for there is one thing braver than all flowers; richer than clear gems; wider than the sky"

this is a sort of humorous poem about how the one thing that humans throughout history have in common is ignorance. maybe it's a ref to how the mizukis used their wit and investigation skills to overcome that ignorance and win the day?

"all this happened, more or less" (ryuki diverge) references the opening line of slaughterhouse-five by kurt vonnegut.

this is regarded as a crazy opening line for a crazy novel. it's the literary equivalent of "well, that happened" for better or worse, much like this ending.

the only currently missing reference is 'traveler'/'left behind'.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Parable of the Potter

1 This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: 2 “Go down at once to the potter’s house; there I will reveal My words to you.” 3 So I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was, working away at the wheel. 4 But the jar that he was making from the clay became flawed in the potter’s hand, so he made it into another jar, as it seemed right for him to do.

5 The word of the Lord came to me: 6 “House of Israel, can I not treat you as this potter treats his clay?”—this is the Lord’s declaration. “Just like clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in My hand, house of Israel. 7 At one moment I might announce concerning a nation or a kingdom that I will uproot, tear down, and destroy it. 8 However, if that nation I have made an announcement about turns from its evil, I will relent concerning the disaster I had planned to do to it. 9 At another time I announce that I will build and plant a nation or a kingdom. 10 However, if it does what is evil in My sight by not listening to My voice, I will relent concerning the good I had said I would do to it. 11 So now, say to the men of Judah and to the residents of Jerusalem: This is what the Lord says: I am about to bring harm to you and make plans against you. Turn now, each from your evil way, and correct your ways and your deeds. 12 But they will say, ‘It’s hopeless. We will continue to follow our plans, and each of us will continue to act according to the stubbornness of his evil heart.’”

Deluded Israel

13 Therefore, this is what the Lord says:

Ask among the nations, Who has heard things like these? Virgin Israel has done a most terrible thing. 14 Does the snow of Lebanon ever leave the highland crags? Or does cold water flowing from a distance ever fail? 15 Yet My people have forgotten Me. They burn incense to false idols that make them stumble in their ways on the ancient roads and walk on new paths, not the highway. 16 They have made their land a horror, a perpetual object of scorn; everyone who passes by it will be horrified and shake his head. 17 I will scatter them before the enemy like the east wind. I will show them My back and not My face on the day of their calamity.

Plot against Jeremiah

18 Then certain ones said, “Come, let’s make plans against Jeremiah, for instruction will never be lost from the priest, or counsel from the wise, or an oracle from the prophet. Come, let’s denounce him and pay no attention to all his words.”

19 Pay attention to me, Lord. Hear what my opponents are saying! 20 Should good be repaid with evil? Yet they have dug a pit for me. Remember how I stood before You to speak good on their behalf, to turn Your anger from them. 21 Therefore, hand their children over to famine, and pour the sword’s power on them. Let their wives become childless and widowed, their husbands slain by deadly disease, their young men struck down by the sword in battle. 22 Let a cry be heard from their houses when You suddenly bring raiders against them, for they have dug a pit to capture me and have hidden snares for my feet. 23 But You, Lord, know all their deadly plots against me. Do not wipe out their guilt; do not blot out their sin before You. Let them be forced to stumble before You; deal with them in the time of Your anger. — Jeremiah 18 | Holman Christian Standard Bible (HCSB) Holman Christian Standard Bible ® Copyright © 2003, 2002, 2000, 1999 by Holman Bible Publishers. All rights reserved. Cross References: Genesis 6:6; Leviticus 26:32; Deuteronomy 29:19; 1 Samuel 2:30; 1 Samuel 13:13; 1 Samuel 15:33; 1 Samuel 19:4; 1 Kings 9:8; 2 Kings 17:13; Nehemiah 4:5; Job 5:13; Job 27:21; Psalm 35:7; Psalm 48:7; Psalm 52:2; Psalm 59:5; Psalm 63:10; Psalm 106:45; Psalm 119:85; Psalm 140:5; Isaiah 29:16; Isaiah 57:10; Isaiah 57:14; Isaiah 62:10; Isaiah 66:8; Jeremiah 1:10; Jeremiah 2:10-11; Jeremiah 7:3; Jeremiah 19:1; Jeremiah 31:28; Lamentations 3:59; Amos 9:11; Matthew 20:15; Acts 26:20; Romans 9:20-21

Jeremiah 18 Chapter Summary

Key Passages in Jeremiah 18

1. Under the type of a potter is shown God's absolute power in disposing of nations. 11. Judgments threatened to Judah for her strange revolt. 18. Jeremiah prays against his conspirators.

[thehomophobe]

A Little Impish Chapter 5: The Villain I Appear To Be

Stealing. Robbery. Rehab. Sun. Moon. Brother. Murder. Cannibal. Moonlit. Crime. Punishment. Death. Love.

You didn't get any sleep last night. You spent most it researching everything you learned yesterday. God did it feel like you were in a reality show; plot twisted harder than most tv shows you watched. Whatever, you had to get to work today, whether you were tired or not.

...

Maybe a little pit stop wouldn't hurt...

The rehab center was massive. The outer walls were painted a pure white with the only coloring being the lettering of its sign. And while it look older than most doctor's offices in the neighboring areas, inside had the latest technology when it comes down to security and identification.

...

So it may be a bit outdated. 

After parking your car in the staff parking garage, you took your belongings, including the plastic bag hidden underneath your seat. You scan your card through the doors and was immediately greeted by a familiar face.

"Dr. (L/N)."

"Sylvester! I-I mean Dr. Jameson! What are you doing here?"

"Your consulting session with Samuel Celeste has ended." "What?! I-I thought I had more time!" "Actually you've exceeded the limit of consultations. I already redirected you to a new patient."

"But what about Sunny?" "Who?" "Samuel? What about him? He's not on the chopping block is he?"

"Well considering he's not volatile no, but he will not be given anymore consultations further more."

You were devastated. How could you forget? Every patient is given 25 different counselors during their time in the center. Once a patient doesn't complete rehabilitation after their last counselor, they get expunged from the system.

And usually...they'll be given death penalty...

You couldn't have been the last one. You couldn't have. And just when you thought you were making great progress with him. 

Your work was gone to waste...

"Here's your new patient: Ellis Gormendo. Be careful, he's known for an ill-temper so approach him calmly." Sylvester hand you the record before quickly leaving.

"Wait!" You called out. Sylvester stopped in his tracks. "One more visit."

"(Y/N)."

"Please. Just to say goodbye."

...

Sylvester huffed. "Alright. But that's it."

*Creak*

"Sunny?"

...

The cell was empty. And spotless. God did he escape again?! He must've known you were his last counselor and he escape because he didn't want to see you sad. Maybe he's telling the children in the orphanage that the doctor's not gonna be there anymore; or the tenants, telling them his partner not making anymore trips with him; Or Miles, saying that you failed him and that you're just another lazy counselor. Or maybe--

"BOO!"

"Ah-shit!" You jumped. The sound of childish giggles emitted from behind you. From someone you know. Someone you loved.

"Consider it payback for all the times you scared me." Sunny stated. You didn't mean to scare him. It's his fault from having poor peripheral vision. 

"Hi Sunny." You greeted in a calm, but solemn tone. 

"Hi Doc! Gosh, I didn't you'd been here. They've really upped their surveillance game ya know. New locks, faster cameras and everything" He smiled. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay."

"Well that's good. But why are you here?" He raised a brow. "I've been deemed unfit for rehabilitation, so I no longer have consultations." Of course he knew. He would've asked you to join him somewhere if he didn't. At least he was informed this was the last time he was going to see you again.

"I came because I missed you." You confessed.

Sunny smile, only a small one though. "I take it that means you think you won't be able to see me after this?" He responded, eyes looking away from yours. He didn't just know you were his last counselor, he knew he wouldn't get another chance on freedom ever again. That he'll be locked inside these walls forever...

No, you can't let this happen. Sunny is the only patient you felt could be rehabilitated. Can be rehabilitated. What he may have done breaks the law several times, but his cause isn't selfish. He doesn't do it for revenge, or spite, or to keep him entertained. For a criminal he's worked the hardest out of all of them; a cause for others. The less fortunate. The ones who can't fend for themselves.

This consultation was not over. If no one could give him a chance, you'll do it yourself. 

"Would you like to try one more time?" You asked. Sunny looks to you incredibly, as if you've completely lost your mind here. 

"Didn't you not hear what I just said? They say I'm unsuitable for rehabilitation."

"If you're willing to give it another shot, I'll try and convince the higher-ups."

Sunny would've liked to crossed his arms if it wasn't for those stupid handcuffs. "And how do you do plan on doing that?"  

"One way or another I will, even if I have to get on my knees and beg." You promised. You truly would do that if it meant this man gets a better life outside this prison.

"For goodness sake, don't you have any pride?!" Sunny yelled. "Why do you care so much about my rehabilitation anyways?" 

There were many reasons behind this. "Because you deserve so much more than this place. Because you work for a good cause.Because you're a good person, not a criminal."

"Because I want to see you outside from this place." You stated. 

Sunny huffed a breathily chuckled and closed his eyes.

"Sure, maybe one day."

You just don't get. What's stopping him? What's stopping him truly? 

"Aren't you sick of this place?" You prodded. Like you said this consultation was not over 'til you say so.

Sunny grins cheekily. "What's there not to like?" What the heck kind of answer was that? Who would rather stay in prison than be given a normal life again?

"Sunny, how old are you?"

"24."

"Ok, you spend 1 year in prison for petit theft, robbery for 5, and grand theft for about 5 to 30 years. And with what you've stolen in past accumulates both in years and in fees. Do you really want to grow old here?" You argued. "You'll have more freedom outside. You can have a purpose. You can have your old life back, even start a new one. How can this place compare to something like that?"

...

Sunny looked to you softly. God please say something.

"Sorry doc, but my time here isn't up just yet. This is my home after all."

His home? 

"Besides, even if I get out of here, what will I do? Even if you help me settle in, what then? I'll be left alone eventually...I don't want to think about it. I hate being lonely more than anything. I'd rather stay locked up in here than be alone." He looked away, biting his lip.

"Not while my brother's still here." 

Right...Miles...

He's been waiting for him, for what you have searched, about 3 years now. 3 years of (semi-)solitary confinement, you're surprised he's kept his sanity through all that. But with surveillance upgraded, he won't get the chance to move freely as before. This place will make him lose his mind, or turn him cold. And for him to lose his charm is the last thing you wanted.  

"But if you're so worried about me, just come and visit once in a while. I'll put my escape plans on hold and a have a little chat." He smiled charmingly. 

Wait...

"...You're making me another one of your connections."

Sunny giggled. You must've guessed correctly. "Well aren't you a smart cookie!" He smiled. "I'll always keep in touch with you here at the center. I won't be getting out of here for a while. Unless you know, I'm running errands." He winked.

...

You too make a breathily chuckle. 

For a counselor to treat as a friend rather than a patient was probably something he always wanted. And you generally found Sunny interesting, most of the criminals here are either malevolent or completely psycho. It's the reason why consultations exist, but you didn't really like the idea of having to worry about your mentality while talking to another human being. Sunny was a breath of fresh air, he's not crazy nor does he have any evil interior motives. The normal one of the entire center. And yet, the outlier among the criminals. Guess that’s what makes you like him more.   

"I appreciate what you're trying to do for me and what you've done to achieve it. I really do. And I hope whoever's your next patient can see how much of a great friend you are." Sun smiled one last time, but a doleful expression lies behind those baby blues of his.

*Knock Knock*

"Dr. (L/N), your time is up." Sylvester called out from behind the door. This was it. The last time you'll meet Sunny face to face like this again. This was supposed to be a simple goodbye. Oh who were you kidding, goodbyes were never simple. Especially when you leave someone you love.

You felt defeated.

You couldn't cure your patient.

You couldn't help your friend. 

You failed again.

"I'm...sorry I failed you." Your head hangs low with the weight of failure.

...

Hands wrapped around you in a warm, soothing embrace. Sweeter than any hug you received in life, a hug of love.

"You have nothing to be sorry for sunshine. You were the best counselor I had in years! And frankly, that's saying something." He chuckled. "But I rather stay here, a place where someone like me truly belongs. I am a criminal after all. I've stolen a lot of things, so I have to do the time for it." He's right, but you felt a sense of injustice. But this isn't an appropriate crime to take to court, thievery like this is simple and isn't worth asking for lawyers. The least you could do for this--which you've done multiple times in the past--is curse the economy here. You look to the clock, now accompanied by a surveillance camera to watch over you. You really need to get going soon.

"Oh before I go, here." Plunging your hand through the plastic bag on your side, you reveal a plastic container; sturdier than the ones in the supermarket. Inside were plump, fresh fruit glowing with ruby red and bedazzled with yellows seeds stored tightly inside its plastic prison. Sunny's eyes lit up like shining spotlights.

"STRAWBERRIES! Where did you get these?!" The container pops opens and in one swift motion (somehow), Sunny takes a big bite out of the first inside. He hums in delight, it was absolutely delicious.   

You chuckled at his antics. "Turns out the market down the road had a little stand outside of it that was selling these straight from the farm. They sold jams and pies as well but the size limit they enforce here made me not get some." A strawberry pie would've been nice to have though. You could've shared it with him. Sunny sets the strawberries down before into another hug.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" He squealed, wrapping you in sticky sweet hands. A little strawberry juice on your coat wouldn't hurt.

"I'm glad you like them." You patted his back, looking at the clock in heartache. You didn't want to get Sylvester any more impatient. "I have to get going." You stated as you freshen up your coat, the wrinkles of blithe fleeing in fright. You're in a professional environment after all. 

"Goodbye Sunny." You gave a soft smile to your friend, concluding your departure.

"W-Wait!"

"Huh?"

"There's something I want to do first..." 

Sunny took some cautious steps forward, his lip was bit and his eyes looked away shyly. Blush creeps up his freckled cheeks as tawny turned to sunset. Fingers fiddled from constricted hands. You've never seen him so flustered before, usually it was you embarrassing yourself in front of him. What's he doing? Why is he coming closer? Is he--

*Chu~* 

A kiss presses against your cheek.

Ho-ly. Fuck.

Sunny immediately pulls away from your face. His eyes were closed, so by the time he looked at your frozen form more blush blooms from his face. "I-I'm sorry! I shouldn't of done that! I should've ask for consent first! God that was stupid. Why did I do that?!" Sunny turned his back to you in shame and regret, scolding himself for his uncalled-for impulse. You stood there in silence, processing what had just happened.

He kissed you.

What this a joke?

He ain't acting like he's joking.

Did he like you?

Did he like you?

Do you like him?!

No. Impossible. Improbable. 

He can't like you.

He can't love you.

Sunny's voice broke your line of introspective, "I'm really sorry (Y/N), it's just..." He whimper. "I thought it be best to tell you now than never tell at all. Even if you visited it wouldn't feel the same." His eyes kept looking on the side, avoiding the deadpanned gaze of your face. "A-At first, when we met, I didn't think to much of you, just another random counselor doing their job. But then," He mustered up the courage to look into your eyes. "I realized how wrong I was. How I judged you before I even got to know you. You're determined and friendly and loyal and open to everyone you let it. I never thought someone like that existed. Until now." 

A more boyish blush bloomed on Sunny's face.

"I love you (Y/N)..."

God were you blushing? You must be red by now. But how could you not? Someone literally confessed their love to you right now. The last time that happen was in high school and boy, were they not as attractive as Sunny. 

"But it's probably just puppy love, n-n-nothing really mutual." Sunny wavered. "After all, doctor/patient relationships are taboo anyways." He was right, for both things. Your relationship needs to stay professional. Having a relationship with a patient is forbidden. It affects results. It affects the counselor's work. It makes them have a bias, bigotry for the patient. You've had one too many situations when the doctor had relationship with a patient that wasn't platonic. Few were fired due to this.

And the patient was killed. 

Maybe this was just another case of limerence. Or as Sunny said, puppy love. It'll past like the phases of the moon. 

"Oh (Y/N) please say something." Sun pleaded. 

"Don't call me that." You ordered. Sun froze.

"W-What?"

"You are to address me as Dr. (L/N), Samuel." You used his government name. 

"S-Sunshine..."

"Samuel Celeste that's enough."  Your voice is cold and absolute. The man stands barely a foot in front of you, close enough to touch you- to pull you away from the door if he so chooses. His hands haven’t stopped moving since his first admission of affection. His fingers have intertwined and wrung themselves in every position imaginable. Your last words have himself shrink inward.

"Why?" He said shakily. "Why are you...scolding me...?" He’s crumbling, yet still looks at you with a sliver of hope that you'd change you're mind. "Do you not love me either?"

“Please, Sam…” You chided. You're unsure if he can even feel how badly your entire body is quaking. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to tell him no. “Sunny,” you speak as softly as your shaky breath will allow. “We can’t. You know we can’t. What would happen if someone found out? The higher-ups could fire me, they could lock you somewhere else, kill-”

“I wouldn’t let them,” Sun shakes his head, feet firm to the ground. “I wouldn't,

“Sun…”

"This can work. We can be together, even if we're far apart. It'll be like visiting day, when the other people's families come the center and visit. I can find a place for the both of us. And we'll live together just like a cou--"

“It just can’t happen,” you repeat. “Neither of us can risk it.”

His shaking has subsided just the smallest bit. If you stayed any longer, you’d end up regretting something.

“I have to go,” you shifted. You took a glimpse behind you one last time: tears streaks rolled down Samuel's face. His eyes were unfocused, replete with heartache. The levity was drained from him. You've stolen his joy, his emotion. You couldn't look at him anymore. You took a step back, then another and another, “Goodbye, Samuel.”

And you were gone.  

"Took you long enough. How did it go?"

...

"I know, you had a lot on your mind. I knew how proud you were on this consultation based on your reports. You were headstrong towards his rehabilitation."

...

"You did your best Dr. (L/N). And that's all I could ask for."

 Your inability to help Sunny haunted you. He deserved so much better.

And he deserve to be with someone other than his counselor.

You needed to sit down. The lounge was on the third floor so you headed straight for the elevators. Right, keycards. The new surveillance system was definitely more uptight than before. 

Fumbling with your coat pockets, a note slips from the lower region. Scribbled handwriting was written inside the folds.

"I promise to take you strawberry picking next time." -☀

[elisysd]

5. You don't own me, don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

Summary : Kyle Dawson would never be more than a childhood crush to Romy Schumacher and she had made her peace with that fact a long time ago. But when a drunken night leads her waking up next to him, new and old feelings come back to the surface and what started as a mistake quickly becomes an habit. Even if she swore to herself that she would never fall again for the world champion, her heart has other plans. After all, the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: You Don’t Own Me - Lesley Gore

Testings had gone well. Better than what she imagined. She had a good feeling with the car and no bad surprises. Every datas they got on track were matching the ones from the simulation. She still didn’t know where Audi’s performances were against their opponents but she couldn’t wait to find out.  It felt nice being back in the paddock, surrounded by the scent of burned tires and the roaring of engines. She missed it. What she didn’t miss, though, was the media day and the press conference. She was right between Ludwig, Ethan and Elijah Martinez, Ferrari’s first driver. She knew them well, even if she wouldn’t say that they were close friends. She wasn’t surprised either to hear that most of the questions were directed to Ludwig, last year’s vice champion. When she finally heard her name, she smiled. But it soon dropped when she heard the question.

“You were seen out and partying a lot during the winter break while your fellow colleagues focused on getting ready for the upcoming season. Aren’t you afraid that it will affect your performances?” the Italian journalist asked.

Romy gritted her teeth. She was naive to think she would get a different type of question. She sighed and put a nice smile on her face.

“Well, Ethan was seen doing the same thing as I did. Same goes for Ludwig. Will you ask them the question as well, or are you just going to target me?”

“It’s just a question, no need to get on your high horse.”

“Well maybe try to ask a better question next time.” 

No questions about her goals for the season. No questions about the car. No questions about the team and Samuel, who was a rookie. Just one question and it was about her life out of the tracks. She was already fed up; it was the very first press conference of the year. After her little outburst, the host put a quick end to it and she left, not bothering to wait for the others. She should have expected it, she shouldn’t have tried to imagine it going in another way. It was her third year in F1, she should know better. But it never missed to sting. So, she was furious and she had all the rights to be. She walked fast to Audi’s hospitality meeting Jana there, her PR officer, to whom she explained everything.

“I’m sorry, first race of the season and already a mess with the media to handle. You didn’t need that,” Romy apologized, feeling truly remorseful.

“Don’t worry about that, the question was out of the line. How are you?”

“I’ll be fine once I've calmed down.”

She knew how lucky she was to be in such a healthy and supportive environment. It was her safe place. She trusted every single member of the team and not once had they made her feel less than what she was. She could always find someone ready to talk to if needed. It was a chance, she was aware. Thankfully, the rest of the media day went on without an issue. Making her way out of the paddock, she crossed paths with Ludwig with his usual dumb smug proudly hanging on his face.

“My little kartoffel… how are you doing?” he asked, only getting an annoyed sigh from her.

“I’ve asked you multiple times to stop calling me like that.”

“I know. I won’t do it. I love seeing how annoyed it makes you feel.” 

“Jackass…”

“You secretly love it, admit it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I will make you love it, I promise you. I wanted to ask… are you okay? What that reporter said is not okay… makes me feel ashamed to be Italian, I swear.”

“I’m used to it,” she shrugged.

“Well you shouldn't.” 

“And what do you want me to do, mhm?”

“I know… it sucks. Have you seen Kyle? He completely disappeared.”

“Why would I know about his whereabouts?”

“Because you’re friends. Kinda. What is going on between you guys? You seemed close before the winter break and suddenly, whenever I mention your name, Kyle turns into a giant unintelligible mess. What did you do to my best friend?”

“Nothing!”

“You are lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You do. Your eyebrows do this weird thing when you lie.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” she sighed, speeding towards the gates. 

Once arrived at her hotel, she breathed a little bit better. She didn’t know how but she had managed to avoid Kyle and she intended to keep it this way. But life had decided to be a bitch lately and as she was about to go where the elevators were, she noticed his black curls waiting. She stopped dead in her tracks and slowly turned around, heading for the stairs. Eighteen floors were nothing she thought but when she finally reached her room, she definitely thought that she was about to die. She had to get herself together. She wouldn’t be able to avoid him the entire season.

But she managed it just fine the entire Free Practice day and also on the qualifying day where she managed to end up P7. Avoiding him during race day was a little harder and they had crossed paths many times. She had clung to Samuel for dear life, explaining everything to him even when he didn’t seem to care. She could feel Kyle’s gaze on her and it was painful to ignore him when all she wanted to do was be next to him. He had been such a constant in her life since she had started in F1 that she hated having to put so much distance between them. She didn’t want to and she wanted things to get back the way they were before they had started whatever relationship they had now. But first, she needed to gather her thoughts and she was forced to admit that she couldn’t when he was near.

She achieved a nice P5. Not bad for the first race of the season. She was close to the top teams and in front of her teammate. She hoped it would be enough for the media to give her a break. Inside her driver’s room and as she was changing for her post race meeting, she couldn’t help herself but watch the podium celebrations. Seeing Kyle on the highest step of the podium made her smile. He was happy, he was glowing and despite everything, she wanted nothing more but to keep on seeing his smile. Soon after, she was in the meeting room, giving her feeling about the race and how the car had behaved. 

“Very nice job, Romy, today. You improved your tire management,” Seb congratulated her.

“I have a good coach,” she smiled.

“I’m proud of you. Relax and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Thanks Seb. Kiss your wife and say hi to your daughters for me.”

“I will.”

She got out of the hospitality with a nice smile on her face, dreaming of a relaxing bath when suddenly, she jumped, seeing who was apparently waiting for her in front of the hospitality, looking slightly out of breath, messy black hair falling on his forehead, wearing his team gear. He seemed fresh out of the shower.

“We have to talk,” Kyle simply said, looking her dead in the eyes. 

“Now? I’m a bit busy. Not sure I have time… I still need to take a shower. I didn’t have the time to do so, unlike some people,” she replied, eyeing him up and down.

“Well, too bad, because I won’t let you go until I’ve told you what I want to tell you. And you’re going to listen to me. For once. You’re not avoiding me. Not anymore.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you. I have a lot of stuff to take care of, you know.”

As she was about to leave, he took her by the arms, forcing her to stay there and look at him.

“We can’t keep on doing this, Romy. You can’t keep on fleeing everytime we have sex.”

“I can do whatever the hell I want, Dawson. I’ve been clear, I’m not leading you on.”

“I just want to understand why we can’t be normal about this. We have fun together, we are friends first and foremost and yet you are still weird about us, avoiding me during race weekends, not answering my texts, being pretty aggressive… Tell me why.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. If you grew attached or if I made you think that it could lead to something, I’m sorry. Truly. And I’m not weird about us. It’s you who is making it weirder than it needs to be. We are friends. We have fun. Period. I don’t need to spend lazy mornings with you or eat breakfast or whatever it could be. Couples do that. And we are not a couple. So, stop it. There is nothing else or more to talk about.”

He finally let go of her and watched her rush to the paddock entrance. 

She was furious. Against him, of course. But also against herself for being this aggressive. He was right, she was. And he didn’t deserve it. Not when her anger was targeted towards her own self. She didn’t know how to push him away. She could feel him clinging onto her and she didn’t want him to. She would never admit it out loud, but of course she had often daydreamed about what it would be like to let Kyle into her life without conditions. What it would be to let him love her and to love him. But besides being scared as hell, she knew how of a stupid idea it was. She knew about the names people were calling her behind her back, the disgusting rumors made about her when she first arrived and how they were still following her up to this day, what it had cost her. She would not willingly give people pieces of her life to torture her if she could avoid it. She would not go back to the dark places she had fallen into years ago. Not ever. No matter how much being with Kyle and letting him hold her was making her heart flutter. A stupid love story wasn’t worth her peace of mind.

Her feet carried her to the nearest bar. She didn’t know what she was doing there to be honest. She just wanted to let loose and forget about Kyle. Forget his reassuring smile, forget his comforting eyes, forget the safety of his arms, forget him. She ordered a beer and leaned against the counter, scanning the crowd. What was she doing here? What was she hoping for? She should be at the hotel, getting ready for her flight the next day for Qatar. She should be everything but in a shabby bar. She was about to leave when a man came to her and she swore he looked like Kyle, so much that it made her doubt about what was inside her drink.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt you… I’ve been watching you from afar and… Gosh, it sounds creepy , I just… My friends dared me to come talking to you. You’re really pretty and I’m just making a fool out of myself.”

He was cute. How couldn’t he be when he was looking like Kyle.

“You’re not interrupting me. In fact you just made my night so much more interesting all of the sudden,” she smiled, conscious of how flirty she sounded. 

“I’m Sam,” he introduced himself.

“Romy.”

“Can I offer you something to drink?”

“I sure hope you can.”

He made her laugh for what seemed like hours, he made her dance and he made her forget about the American driver. They flirted, in a very not so subtle way, his hands wandering around her waist as he leaned in more often than not and it was no surprise when she asked him if he wanted to come back to her hotel room with her.

As they entered the lobby she almost froze, noticing Kyle talking to Ludwig. As if he was feeling her gaze on him, he turned around and she swore she saw the hurt in his eyes. A hurt that had no right to be there and a guilt in her guts that she shouldn’t feel. So, she did what she knew best, she held his stare in a way that could be interpreted as ‘you don’t own me’.

Contrary to popular belief, Ludwig was not dumb. He was even proud to say that he was often noticing things other people would not notice. So he was quick to pinpoint the slight shift in Kyle’s attitude when Romy arrived. He knew it. Something was odd between them. And suddenly his encounter with a guy in Turin seemed to interest Kyle a lot less.

“I think I’m in love, you know. He is my soulmate. I'm pretty sure of that,” he said, hoping to get a reaction out of his best friend.

“Who?”

“You don’t listen to me.”

“I do.”

“So where did I meet the love of my life, then?” Ludwig asked, knowing perfectly Kyle wouldn’t have the answer.

“I don’t know! You fall in love twice a day, it’s hard to keep up, you know.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I think I’m just tired and I have a headache. I’m calling it a night. See you tomorrow.”

Kyle wasn’t that tired, he was wired. Even more after seeing Romy come back with that stupid guy. He was not the jealous type. He had never been. But when it came to Romy he was feeling territorial and was ashamed to admit it. In the comfort of his bed, he tossed and turned, not managing to fall asleep, his mind obsessing over what he had witnessed in the lobby. The guy’s hands on her and how his face was almost buried in her neck. 

He knew exactly how it felt. He knew exactly what the guy was probably doing to her. How he would slowly kiss her collarbone until she turned in a puddle into his hands. How he would slowly brush her sides, taking his sweet time as he would focus on each of her moans and little gasps. He would carefully undress her and would take his time to tell her how beautiful she was before finally pleasuring her like he always intended to do.

He could almost feel her taste on his tongue and hear her sounds in his ears. He felt hot, skin burning as he slowly imagined her hands on him, her breath on his neck and her voice whispering his name. His pajama bottoms felt tight, too tight and as if his hands had a mind of their own he started palming himself through the material, trying to ease the tension accumulated in his body. When it became pretty evident that it was not making anything better and was only making it worse as he kept on imagining Romy’s hands instead of his, he decided to embrace the fool in him. A desperate fool, hopelessly fantasizing on a girl he could never have. And as he focused on chasing his own release, he kept on imagining the source of his desire doing the same a few floors above.

Author's note: Who wants to slap Romy? Who feels sad for Kyle? But most importantly, who loves Ludwig?

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[smute]

Charlie goes to his crusty bedroom and reads his precious Moby-Dick essay one more time while glugging from a two-liter bottle of bed-Pepsi. We get to hear his favorite part of the essay: “The whale doesn’t have any emotions, he’s just a poor big animal.” As a fat person who has actually read Moby-Dick, even the “boring chapters,” THAT IS NOT WHAT MOBY-DICK IS ABOUT OR WHAT MOBY DICK THE WHALE IS LIKE AT ALL. Obviously we’re supposed to draw some parallel between Moby Dick the actual whale and Charlie the human whale, but, like, why? What shallow fucking bullshit! Can you even map one on top of the other at all? Has anyone ever read Moby-Dick and thought, “wow, what a pathetic loser” about the whale? The ungraspable phantom of life himself???? Thin people don’t think of fat people as powerful and inscrutable phantoms—they’re absolutely positive they can scrute everything about us, our “everything” being CHEESY BUGLES! Hence this movie!!!!! Don’t talk about my favorite book, DARREN. I don’t come to your house and explain The Mystery Method wrong! Anyway, then Charlie uses his cursed rusty mobility aids to turn out the light and go to sleep. Spooky!

[...] How do fat suits work? Does Brendan Fraser have to wear individual little sausage tubes on each finger? I can’t stop thinking about how many awards the visual effects people (or whatever department makes fat suits) are going to win for this. It’s like if I got a Nobel Prize for drawing a mean picture of your grandma. Also, for the record, I know the fat suit was really expensive, but it looks weird! It doesn’t hang right! He looks like the mascot for an NBA team called the Wichita Big Pile of Raw Chicken. Hmm, if only there was a way to depict a fat person in a movie without an expensive flappy silicon slug bag!

While Charlie is in the bathroom crying (really), Thomas shows up again and Ellie introduces herself: “What’s more surprising—that a gay guy has a daughter, or that someone actually found his penis?” Wow, once again, thank you so much to Darren Aronofsky and playwright Samuel D. Hunter for spending TEN YEARS on this extremely humanizing screenplay! I feel seen, unlike my own genitals!!!

Charlie is so moved that he goes, “You wrote these amazing, honest things… You’ve all been so honest with me. I just want to be honest with you too.” And then he TURNS ON HIS WEBCAM and SHOWS THEM HIS HUGE FACE AND BODY! All the students lose it and they’re grimacing and cowering before him and taking pictures of the screen, LOL, even though literally it just looks like a regular guy???????? It’s a Zoom square! It looks like a close-up of a guy’s face! No one would have any reaction to this! If there’s one thing this movie does perfectly, it’s trick thin people into telling on themselves about how uncomfortable they are around fat people!

Then Liz comes back and reveals that, LMAO, what happened to Alan is that he starved himself to death (kind of), and that’s why now Charlie has to EAT himself to death. Wooooooow, who wrote that brilliant juxtaposition? Grover??? Is this supposed to be profound? It's less nuanced than when people say “the terrorists hate our freedom”! Actually, you know what? This detail with Alan is the central problem with this entire movie: Being thin is not the opposite of being fat!!!!!!!! STARVING IS NOT THE OPPOSITE OF EATING. Having a body is a complex state! [...] Then they clarify that actually Alan starved himself ALMOST to death and then jumped off a bridge. Jumping! The most thin-privilege way to die!

sorrynotsorry bout all the whale poasting but this review by lindy west was very cathartic for me! its a shitty movie and extremely triggering not just for fat people but anyone with any sort of complicated feelings around food and your own body tbh. so im sharing it here. butt news has a free subscription and lindy west is hilarious so. go read it and maybe read some other reviews too