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nehswritesstuffs · 25 days ago

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ghosts speak in whispers and lies; can’t know what’s real ‘til you’re the one who’s died - Part Four

I rewrote this thing so much, you all, you don't even know. T_T

Part One [FFN/AO3] - Part Two [FFN/AO3] - Part Three [FFN/AO3]

It's time for Robin to see exactly the sort of hold the parasite has on Law's mind, only to be thrown a shocking curveball. [8442 words; Law/Robin]

After cleaning themselves up, Law and Robin left the flat and headed towards his parents’ house. They walked while holding hands, enjoying the afterglow as twilight eased down upon them, washing the pale world in vibrant colors. They did not talk much and simply saved their energy for the upcoming dinner, which was bound to be a tough one.

Except, as the couple were wandering the streets of Flevance, Robin was doing her best to take in the scenery and gather what information she could. It was obviously not Flevance—Torao had said he had been ten when everything happened and the records matched, meaning there were details that would have been fuzzy by nature—but everything was so detailed that it was very clearly a construct of his own imagination. For her, what were the rules of this make-believe place? What could she exploit to make him believe her when it came to the fact none of this was real? How long would it take in both the dream and in real life?

She wasn’t worried about meeting his family, but more what his family’s ghosts were doing to him.

Finally, they turned down a residential street lined with tidy and well-kept rowhouses dividing multiple buildings, passing through a lively neighborhood filled with people both winding down for the evening as well as gearing up for a night out. Law directed her towards the steps of a unit at the end of a building; a narrow cross-street ran between it and the next cluster of rowhouses, leading towards other streets and shared gardens. Robin followed him in, unsure what awaited them.

“Ah! You’re here!” Robin had just barely shut the door when the young woman whom she met in front of the university came out of a nearby room and nearly tackled Torao in a hug. “I was wondering what took so long!”

“Lami, get off,” Law grunted. She didn’t, instead keeping a vice-grip on her brother. He looked at Robin and mouthed help, which was honestly cuter than Robin wanted to admit.

“…and where’s my hug?” she asked. Lami let go of Law and turned her attention to Robin, indeed enveloping her in a tight embrace. As she released Robin, a smell hit the older woman’s nose and she was taken aback. “What… what are we having for dinner…?”

“My parents somehow learned that you like paella and…?” Law punctuated the sentence with a shrug, trying to pass the blame on to anyone but himself.

“Lami… you still need to set the table before Robin gets here!” a man’s voice shouted from further into the house. Lami grimaced and escaped down the corridor into a different room, disappearing just as a man brandishing a dish cloth walked out of another room, looking ready to scold his daughter before realizing that his son and his guest had arrived. “Ah, there you are! Hon, Law and Robin are here.”

Robin then went through what she could only describe as a surreal experience. Law’s mother—Angela—and his father—Lars—were terrifying echoes of their children, both with more wrinkles on their faces and grays in their hair and yet so much life that it hurt her heart. They excitedly hugged her and immediately began to pull her into the kitchen to inspect the paella that they would be having for dinner. It honestly looked perfect and before long they were all sitting at the dining room table serving themselves from the dish.

“So, Law tells us that you’re one of Professor Clover’s brightest students to come from Ohara,” Angela said in an attempt to start conversation, “and that your mother is the Nico Olvia? His successor as Caretaker to the Oharan Tree of Knowledge? It must be quite the honor.”

“Fantastic things seem more mundane if you grow up with them,” Robin replied sweetly. “Professor Clover was more like a grandfather to me than a grand figure in archeology—his memory is different for me in that regard.”

“You’re being modest,” Lars said. “Then again, I understand why you’d move here to the North Blue for post-doctorate work—I almost went to the Drum Kingdom for studying to get away from the Trafalgar name, but life had other plans.”

“…such as…?”

“Here we go,” Lami groaned, rolling her eyes. She then squeaked and glared at Law—he must have kicked her under the table.

“I met Angela when I enrolled in my last year before graduation,” Lars explained. “We were in the same graduating class, but it wasn’t until the final year that the remnants of the three cohorts were combined. She was technically a year ahead, I was technically behind thanks to a gap year, and we hit it off from Day One.”

“He mansplained the endocrine system within five minutes of learning my name,” Angela quipped. The pair shared a smile before turning back to Robin. “We were engaged between graduation and board exams, and the rest is history.” She ate a spoonful of paella to give the conversation a pause. “How did you and Law meet?”

“Through a mutual friend,” Robin claimed.

“That Luffy kid, right?” Lars wondered. Robin nodded. “Ah, so when you and the guys took that time off to get Bepo back to Zou for that thing of his.”

“More or less,” Law shrugged. “I’m just glad the rest of them aren’t around right now—this pan of paella would not survive.”

“Not much survives Luffy when it comes to food,” Robin smirked. Seas forbid—this was almost fun in an odd way, and would be had the circumstances been different. “What do you both specialize in?”

“Amber Lead disorders,” Angela said, tone almost melancholy. “I used to be a hematologist and oncologist, while my husband was mostly in infectious diseases. When the first rounds of the classic Amber Lead Syndrome appeared, we applied our concentrations to the cure effort.”

“What do you know about Amber Lead?” Lars asked. Robin shook her head.

“Most of what I know comes from what I read in the papers at the time it first became a problem,” Robin said, which was the truth. She knew very little about the condition and figured that the Flevance of the dreamscape had been able to tackle whatever the real world couldn’t. Lami sighed again—a medical lecture was coming.

“Amber Lead—the substance you see all around you that makes Flevance so rich—used to be mined with the thought that it was safe for living beings to come into contact with like most metals we use,” Lars explained. “When it’s in the ground, it’s inert as it is now, but before we found the stabilization process it lowly leeched into our bodies and poisoned subsequent generations stronger than their elders.”

“Law and Lami were little when almost the entire country began to show signs of poisoning, including them,” Angela continued. “Due to our respective specializations, we were recruited to help find an effective treatment. Luckily, we succeeded with help from Flevance’s neighbors.”

Huh… the way Robin understood it, things had been the opposite. “They weren’t afraid of developing Amber Lead Syndrome themselves?”

“We all knew it was poison, and besides: they were already exposed simply by proximity,” Lars said. “Once we were able to begin extracting the Amber Lead from bodies, a way to deactivate what had already been mined was developed and now Flevance is a safe place to live again.”

“What kind of system was developed?”

“Well, we’re not entirely certain on the methodology, since that was done in the chemists’ domain, but it’s mostly solution baths and pastes and waxes that are applied that deactivate the heavy metals that would otherwise leech into the body,” Angela said. Robin nodded at that.

“To do such a thing would be like making the mercury in a thermometer safe to touch if it breaks.”

“That’s something they’re actually working on now,” Lars said, “to see what they need to do in order to transfer the toxicity nullification to other heavy metals without changing their properties. In the meantime, Angela and I are observing the long-term effects of Amber Lead on the Humanoid body, since it does many different things to different people outside of the classic symptoms.”

“Watching them take care of Lami was part of what made me want to get into medicine,” Law admitted. “It’s in our blood like archaeology is for you, though it was genuinely my choice in the end.”

“Well, it wasn’t my choice to get sick the worst,” Lami scowled. Robin saw how irritated the younger Trafalgar sibling was—it was clear she was not engaged in the conversation at all. “Does Robin really need to hear all this?”

“She might as well,” Lars said. “I’d be surprised if anyone from here would want to talk to her about Amber Lead and risk spooking her. It’s a miracle Flevance doesn’t suffer from brain drain, let alone is still capable of attracting outside talent. Amber Lead could have driven everyone with means out.”

“It’s not even amber-colored,” Lami pouted.

“It is when unrefined material reflects light, and that luster is part of what made people interested in it in the first place,” Angela stated. “I will enjoy the day when no one comes through my office door saying they came from some distant country because their antique Amber Lead-coated imports poisoned them.”

“There are still cases of Amber Lead Syndrome?” Robin asked. Lami made a noise—how boring!

“Mostly people who bought old tableware and other similar goods treated with Amber Lead, or inherited them from parents and grandparents,” Angela said. “There is a small number of new cases from Flevance, but they seem to be isolated.”

“We hope,” Lars added. Angela threw him a glare, which he proceeded to ignore. “I am of the opinion that it’s a potential rebound of symptoms, since we don’t know the genuine full breadth of long-term exposure, especially after recovery.”

“I’m the oncologist—it hasn’t shown any similarities to recurring cancer.”

“You said yourself that we’ve been seeing Amber Lead poisoning behaving lately in ways unlike we’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe that’s enough of that for now,” Law suggested. He and Robin shared a glance across the table—things were likely going to get worse if the topic continued. “Lami, what have you been covering in classes lately?”

As the topic of conversation shifted to Lami’s schoolwork, Robin felt sick again. She had not needed Law to tell her about how Amber Lead ravaged Flevance and her neighbors turned their backs; what she hadn’t been able to glean from the papers, she knew from accounts of people who were affected by the poison later on. This version of history was one cobbled together by the hopes Law had as a child and it showed. She politely continued to follow the conversation, wondering how much of the ghosts in front of her were genuine and what was conjecture based on what Torao had grown up missing… what he thought he grew up missing.He blushed in irritation at something one of the ghosts said and it almost broke Robin’s heart.

Although she could see past his walls as he slowly let her in, this was well beyond what he normally broadcast. What was it going to take to shatter this layer of comfort that had been built up around him? Would he allow himself to be this vulnerable around her again?

Eventually, dinner ended and Robin was heartily denied the ability to help clean up. Law instead took her into the sitting room, where he stole a kiss free from prying eyes.

“Now that wasn’t bad,” he said, seemingly trying to convince them both. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

“I guess not,” she replied. They sat next to one another on the sofa, just far enough apart to be safe from teasing should his family reappear. “This is a lovely home. This is where you grew up?”

“With exception for a little bit when Lami was sick, yeah,” he nodded.

“Law, we need to talk.” The confused look in his eyes hurt, but she knew this was the only way to get to him. “This… this life… it’s all a dream, a lie.” She watched as he let out a breath—he seemed almost… relieved…?

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed. Wait, what…? He was too calm for that admission. “We’re almost there, though. There’s just a couple formalities that need to happen.”

“What… what are you talking about…?” Robin immediately noticed that Law was getting sweaty. “What’s wrong?” She watched as he jammed his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled something out, immediately putting it in her hands and closing them around it.

“Please, think about it before you say anything, even if it means we don’t talk about it tonight,” he said. She furrowed her brow as she looked at what was in her hands—a felted box. Opening it up, Robin felt her stomach drop at the contents.

An engagement ring.

“I know it’s a lot to consider,” he continued, “but I think we can do it. If we stop lying to ourselves, then we can make it work, I know we can, even if it takes a while to complete the upgrade.”

“I…” All the words she wanted to say became stuck in her throat. This wasn’t fair; this parasite… it was pulling out all the stops. They could never be this normal—this average—even if they tried. An engagement, a wedding, a marriage… was a life for them even possible in reality? For once she found herself cursing a book—whichever one had planted the image of two people romantically being swept away into a life together into Torao’s brain and subsequently made it fodder for the parasite, and she was ready to snap a neck over it.

“Robin…?” She was shaken from her thoughts to see the confusion on his face and it hurt even more. “What’s wrong?” He tucked some of her hair behind her ear, his fingertips trailing down along her jaw. “Are you okay…?”

“I… I can’t do this.” The words hung heavy in the air, seemingly paralyzing Law. He clearly hadn’t expected anything other than an offer to talk about it at-worst, with his calculations leaning towards a yes. She stood and let the box snap shut as it fell to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Before she knew it, Robin was out the door and headed down the pavement, simply wanting to put some space between her and the lie. That’s all it was, even if Law didn’t realize it, and one of them needed to stay level-headed about it… even if it meant breaking his heart.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

There it was, clear as day: a Road Poneglyph. Both Robin and Law stared slackjawed at it, sitting under so much rock and water that it was hidden from all but them and their guide. Sukiyaki was silent, letting the information he had just imparted on them to sink in, for it was truly much to come to grips with. A submerged Wano hiding an ancient weapon? The resting place of one of the most dangerous pieces of stone in history? How opening Wano would have to be a physical act, releasing all the rainwater within its walls? It was plenty to consider.

“You’re very trusting, giving us this information,” Law stated. He turned his attention to Sukiyaki in time to see the old man shrug.

“You helped my grandchildren and my country—I can’t ask for much more in return,” he replied. “Use this knowledge as you see fit, provided you do not share the location of this cavern.” Sukiyaki then turned back towards the staircase. “I’ll leave you two be; there is much to do and I shall guard the kokeshi doll room until then.”

“Seal it up,” Law requested. Sukiyaki raised an eyebrow at him, causing the younger man to open up a Room and Takt some pebbles into the air in front of the former shogun. “Leave these in the room; I can swap us out with them when we’re done.”

“Are you willing to allow such a thing?” Sukiyaki asked Robin. She turned towards him, her eyes sparkling with something akin to glee.

“Yes, I am perfectly safe with Torao,” she assured. “Do you have any large sheets of paper? I am going to need to make three copies.”

“Aye; I can procure that. It shall be in the doll room.” Sukiyaki then left, the clack-clack-clack of his geta slowly vanishing up the stairs. Law both watched him ascend the staircase and kept on the lookout with his Haki, now feeling as though he would be able to flex such an ability with ease in battle.

“So, Nico-ya, what does it say…?” Law saw Robin absolutely entranced by the Road Poneglyph; an expression he had never seen on her before made her absolutely glow in delight. She was finally and truly in her element—this was what she was supposed to do. He slowly approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Can you believe it?” she whispered, voice wavering. “We’re almost there.”

“What… what does it say?”

“Well, it’s written in dialect, so that takes a bit of maneuvering in of itself,” she began. “There are two separate kinds of glyphs—ones that portray a complete word or concept and ones that are functionally individual letters—and that is what makes deciphering the Poneglyphs so intricate, since you can have the same word be transcribed in multiple ways and…!”

Robin gasped as Law grabbed and kissed her without warning, effectively cutting off her train of thought. She forgave him and melted into the kiss, draping her arms around his neck and shoulders as she materialized others to gently rest Kikoku against the railing.

“What was that for?” she chuckled as he broke the kiss. He bit the insides of his lips in embarrassment as he let her go.

“I’m sorry—you’re very attractive when you go on a tangent like that.”

“Now you know how I feel when you start talking about Sora,” she teased, walking out of his grasp. Robin touched the Road Poneglyph—first with her hand, then her forehead—and sighed. “It’s been such a long journey, and now I can see the end goal.” She felt him gingerly place a hand on her upper back—he was with her.

“Can you…” he whispered, “…teach me?”

“We’d be here all night and you wouldn’t be able to grasp the basics,” she claimed with a smirk.

“Is that a challenge?” he laughed in near-disbelief. “You weren’t the only gifted kid, you know.”

“Gifted kids peak early; talented learners are the ones you need to concentrate on.” She placed a finger on a moss-filled glyph and gave him a sultry glance. “A.”

He began repeating after her, watching how her lips and tongue formed the sounds and words etched into the stone before them. They made their way around the Poneglyph slowly as the lesson continued, ending with him putting his hands on either side of her, flat against the stone, while pressing his growing erection against her thigh.

“Please,” he murmured. “I’ve been a good student, don’t you think?”

“Not good enough to do what you want on the lesson plan,” she replied. He felt hands grab him from behind and jerk him back as she smiled, the action nearly making him lose his footing. “Now what is this glyph?”

That’s how she was going to be, hmm? Alright, then he would play.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Robin ran through the streets of Flevance, trying to put as much distance between her and Law as possible. It was all a dream, it was all a dream, it was all a dream! She needed some time to figure the place out before she dove straight into trying to get out, and this proved it. Coming to a stop on a pedestrian bridge over a canal, she breathed deeply as she tried to catch her breath.

‘How am I going to do this if everything is so realistic?’ she wondered. ‘The parasite thought of everything to mimic and now the lines are so blurred even I’m having a hard time…’ She leaned against the railing and tried to steady herself—what in the hell was going on…?!

“…Miss Robin…?” She looked over her shoulder and saw three men from Torao’s crew; they were here too? The one with red hair stepped forward with a concerned look on his face. “We thought you were supposed to be at the Captain’s tonight. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, of course it is,” she lied. “I just forgot something at work and need to grab it before the building is locked down for the night.”

“Uh… the university’s that way…” the polar bear Mink noted, pointing between the canal and where she was running from.

“Contract work,” she said quickly. “I’m fine; don’t worry.”

“Alright…” the third man said, not entirely convinced. “You could just use the Captain’s Devil Fruit to get in, you know.”

“That would be breaking and entering,” the redhead scoffed. “With friends like she’s got, getting a criminal record isn’t one of the things she wants to work on or we’re gonna be the ones who keep posting their bail. Isn’t that righ—hey!”

Robin began to run again, leaving Torao’s crew behind her on the bridge. She ran until she found the street she supposedly lived on and the flat she apparently rented out. Once she was upstairs she locked both doors and collapsed onto the couch.

When was the last time she was this nervous? It couldn’t’ve solely been because of the ring, could it? This was only a dream! Her life was never this—never had the chance to be this—and yet there was so much about it that felt both right and wrong at the same time! Perhaps that was where her nerves were coming from: the fact she was going through such an impossible life event. Mundane, yes, but still impossible. If only the parasite’s hallucination was set after Luffy became Pirate King… after they had solved the puzzle of the Void Century… after traveling together…

No… she was the Nico Robin who infiltrated dozens of pirate crews and organizations, eventually bringing them all to their knees until the Straw Hat Pirates changed all that. She was the Nico Robin who was a talented spy and information-gatherer. She was the Nico Robin who was able to acclimate herself to foreign lands and their customs so seamlessly everyone mistook her for a sultry native. This was not going to get the best of her, this… this… nightmare… this perversion of everything that shaped them both… all it was was a distraction.

Now how in the hell was she going to manage her way out of this distraction and keep them both alive?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Law stared at the felt box as it lay discarded on the floor, not entirely registering what was going on around him until he heard the front door shut. The sound snapped him out of his stupor and he picked up the box. Shoving it in his pocket, he hoped that none of his family saw what just happened. He looked in the corridor that led up and down the length of the house and saw no one was there.

Okay, good; you could possibly salvage some of this, Law. He rushed over to the front door and hurriedly put on his boots and coat, barely hearing his sister question what was going on when he closed the door behind him and made his way out into the night. It was difficult to not draw attention to himself—or at least feel like he was—and he tried to think about what had just happened as he made his way to his girlfriend’s flat. Where else would she be? The rest of the Straw Hats were scattered across the Blues, her mother was in Ohara, the university was closed… then again, it wasn’t like that was liable to stop her… no. Flat first, then the university, then the park. That order. He continued on towards Robin’s place, only to be stopped by… his friends…?

“Hey, Cap, what’s going on?” Penguin asked. He, Shachi, and Bepo were walking together, most likely on their way to his parents’ house to pry after work; it seemed almost too convenient. “We just saw Robin headed over towards her flat in a hurry.”

“She looked upset,” Bepo added. “Is she okay?”

“Did your parents scare her off?” Shachi joked.

“Are you sure she was going towards her flat?” Law asked. His friends looked at one another before turning back to him.

“Yeah… what happened…?” Shachi wondered, now completely serious. Law did not give them any answer, instead walking directly past them and continuing on towards Robin’s despite their protests.

What in the hell was this about? He proposed after having waited for so long, waiting until he was certain she would say yes, only to have it backfire spectacularly in his face. What about their relationship had he misjudged? About her? About… himself…? He wanted to start a real life with her and yet… how far away was it? Truly? As he turned down the street and approached the building, he could see a little bit of light from her windows filtering through the tree branches—she was there!

Once he was sure the goobers did not follow him, he took a deep breath to steady himself and failed several times at putting his key in the lock. Fuck, his hands were so shaky; how could he be so calm and steady when holding others’ literal lives in his hands and yet this was just so… so… nerve-wracking…? He shut the street-level door behind him and went up the stairs, seeing that light was, yes, pouring out from underneath the flat door. He took another breath, then hesitated, before knocking softly three times.

“Robin…?” No answer. “Hey, you in there?”

“Go away,” she ordered harshly from the other side, making him flinch. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Not only did you give me a key, but I can swap myself with anything in there,” he reminded her. Seas, this was difficult. It was taking everything he had to not Shamble himself in and bring her in for a hug until she explained what was going on, but he at least had the self-awareness to understand that was one of the last things he should have been doing. He let that sit for a moment before adding, “Please, I just want to talk.”

A couple contemplative moments passed before Law could hear the lock unlatch. He turned the knob and entered just as a Devil Fruit arm dissolved from the side of the wall—she looked visibly shaken as she sat on the couch, as though she was retreating further and further into herself. It made him fear what was going on… what in the hell in was he had done to make her like this…

“Hey,” he said as he closed the door behind him. She didn’t say anything, allowing him to walk further into the flat. He sat down next to her on the couch kept his eyes on his hands as he waited for her to say something. She didn’t, so he took a chance. “Are you okay?” Nothing. “Are… are we okay…?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” she replied. There was something… off about her voice, something wrong. “I… didn’t think this would happen so quickly…”

“We’ve been dating a while now,” he reminded her. He caught a glimpse of her out the corner of his eye and his chest felt tight at how she was avoiding eye contact. Law knew that face: that was the face she made when she was figuring out how to get them out of something… which meant… she was figuring how to get herself out of this. Why…? “Is this just… cold feet…? Because if it is, you can tell me without all… all this. I’d understand.”

…because he truly would. He’d make himself understand if that’s what it took. He turned towards her and tucked some hair behind her ear so he could see her face clearer. She was acting so differently compared to before she had left for the conference… wait, was that it…?

“Talk to me,” he requested. “It’s the only way I’ll know what’s going on.”

She let out a heavy breath—it was difficult to tell who was more on-edge. “Do you trust me?”

“Robin, I just proposed marriage after having you meet my parents—of course I trust you,” he assured. He was only just holding back the ears welling in his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t crack. She held his shoulders and at looked him directly.

“We’re dying,” she said. He blinked, confused.

“Well, yeah…” he replied, mood completely whipped around. “That’s an integral facet to humanity; our impermanence is a—”

“I’m not talking about philosophy here, but actually dying, in the real world.”

Huh…?

“Robin… this is real…” Her eyes flashed in something dark as she stared into his own; there was something she clearly wanted to tell him, yet could not find the words. “Are you alright? This isn’t like you.”

“No, what’s like me—what’s like us—is being on the Grand Line, in the New World, having just left Wano after helping to liberate it, not in a place that no longer exists.” She was trembling and he didn’t like it one bit. “This place is dead, Torao.”

He scoffed uncomfortably. “Surely you don’t—!”

“Ohara is too,” she added. “The reality of the situation is that neither of us have our homelands, our families… not even our friends were gained how this world tells us they were. We worked and clawed our way not to the top of our fields, but just to survive growing up in a world that hated us. If it weren’t for our friends and our own desires, we would have been dead before our twenties.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Law frowned. He was attempting to figure out what was making her say these things other than…? Hysteria…? That was a pretty old-fashioned diagnosis, not to mention well-outside his normal field. “What’s gotten into you? You’re talking nonsense, about a nightmare I’ve been having, plus you haven’t called me Torao in ages. Are you sure you’re not under too much stress at the university? Because I had a feeling your workload was getting too much once they put that conference on you, and…”

“When did we first start seeing one another?” she asked abruptly. He blinked.

“You know when…”

“…then tell me: confirm how we started dating.”

“That’s easy, it’s…”

Suddenly, Law’s mind went almost blank. How had they started dating…? He could remember kissing her while they were on a ship, his heart racing as though he was still a schoolboy, but the details were extraordinarily fuzzy. They were mutually avoiding someone, allowing them to nurture a prior spark in a dark hideaway. What had they been doing? Where were they going? Better yet: where were they? He could remember her many hands on him, how sweet she tasted, the ache in his thighs and knees as they tried to stay still as possible to… avoid…?

“You…” He hesitated. “You know how complicated it was when we first got together.”

“There has to be a way to get you to understand!” Robin stood and began to pace around the room. Her brows were furrowed as she thought and thought. “It can’t be that; it should be in bloom. No, that’s not it… ah! My books!”

“What about your books?”

“Take one of my books off the shelf, don’t let me see it, but try to read it. If I don’t know what it is, then my mind can’t fill in the blanks.”

“Robin…”

“Law, please, for me.” Her brown eyes were so sad, so uncomfortable with everything… what choice did he have? He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp—this had better be good.

“Alright, if it will make you feel better, I will,” he relented. She smiled in relief and turned around, allowing him to choose a book at his leisure. Law looked at one of the bookshelves and skimmed the titles on the spine before he settled on a good one.

West Blue Kingdoms of the Pre-Void Era

For as much as he had listened to Robin talk, Law knew there was no way he could know what was covered by such a title. Carefully, he slid it off the shelf and held it in his hands. It was a thick book—likely very technical. He glanced over at Robin as he opened it up, seeing that her back was still turned. Hopefully they’d be able to put this to a rest so that they could move on with their lives…

…except when Law looked back at the pages from the middle of the book, he saw they were blank. He raised an eyebrow and flipped through the tome—empty.

“There’s nothing in this,” he frowned. “Robin, I…”

“What are you holding?” she wondered.

“You told me not to—”

“I know what I said: what book are you holding?”

“It’s… uh… ‘West Blue Kingdoms of the Pre-Void Era’… but how would that…?”

Then, without warning, words and pictures began to appear on the pages of the book in his hands, filling it with all sorts of knowledge that was presumably from Robin’s brain, whether she could remember it consciously or not. He nearly dropped the book in shock; what the fuck was going on?!

“Nika above and below…!” He watched as Robin turned back around with tears in her eyes. “How did you do this?!”

“It’s because we are sharing this dream,” she stated. “We currently are capable of exchanging knowledge through it, but only if we are aware of what’s being passed between us.”

“That’s the stuff of sci-fi novels,” he said, putting the book down on the table. Something ached in the back of his head… huh…?

“Novels certainly, but also thanks to whomever attacked you in that port marketplace in the New World,” she replied. Robin looked so much calmer now, though now it meant she was more sad than anything. “Your crew found you with a parasite attached to your face. By the time we figured out what was going on, it had grown to the point it could take my brain as well as yours so that I could help you figure out how to defeat it from the inside. In order to reconcile both our thought processes, it had to fuse our dreams into a single dreamscape, hence the knowledge-sharing.”

“…and what is going on…?”

“Jean Bart says that the parasite is made by a Devil Fruit normally in possession of someone in the employ of the Celestial Dragons.” She watched as his face scrunched up—Jean Bart…? “I knew it had to be me to come get you, no one else.”

Law swallowed hard. “Wh-why is that…?”

“…because…” It was Robin’s turn to hesitate, her cheeks flushing with blush. “They think it’s because I used to infiltrate crews for my own survival, but in reality…”

The pause was deafening.

“…it was because you told me you loved me, back in Wano, after we had sex on the Thousand Sunny before departing.” She seemed to not believe what she was saying either, despite the fact her words held all their normal amounts of conviction for this frank of a conversation. “It was gentle and sweet and it almost convinced me to go with you instead of Luffy. I don’t want what we have to end so soon… I’m as done with being left behind as you are.”

“Say that is the truth: how come you remember this and I can’t?”

“The parasite wants to limit your access to your real memories, or else you might fight back and damage it. Between Jean Bart’s first-hand experience and Chopper’s research, they agree that the best way to get rid of it and not harm you is to destroy it from the inside.”

“This sounds a little too fantastic,” Law tried to reason. Who ever heard of a Devil Fruit ability like that? What would the Celestial Dragons, of all people, want with it? Why would it want him? Only threads of it truly made sense and those threads started to unravel when he remembered where they were—Jean Bart was one of the charge nurses on his floor, with the closest he’d come to seeing a Celestial Dragon being on the other side of a large harbor years ago. “I think that maybe… we should talk about this… maybe over some tea… yeah, herbal tea…” He stepped into the kitchen space and busied his hands with the kettle, taking deep, shaky breaths until Robin slid an arm around him from the side and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“Herbal tea… a very Minkfolk response,” she stated. He froze, his stare remaining fixed on the kettle in his hands. She then began to trace her fingers over his chest in a very specific motion, mimicking something he knew he had never told her about. As she finished tracing the tattoo that wasn’t there, she leaned in and murmured in his ear, “I wonder what Cora-san would have said to seeing them.”

At that, Law dropped the kettle in the sink, metal clanging on metal.

Cora-san!

Shit!

He forgot Cora-san!

Everything suddenly began rushing back to Law at once. His head exploded in pain as what he had thought was the dream—the nightmare—all invaded his mind at once. He remembered fighting monsters in Wano, watching Doflamingo get the shit beat out of him in Dressrosa, stealing pirate hearts on a pirate island and using that as leverage against the World Government, traveling the Grand Line and the North Blue before that in a submarine ship staffed by his friends, scraping to survive with Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi…

…and he remembered Cora-san, who stank of cigarettes and cheap booze, hauling his ass all over the North to try to find a cure for his acute Amber Lead poisoning. The former Marine spy who went worse than native—he grew a fucking conscious at the sight of a sick child and abandoned his mission. Law had only been cured when he could carve the metal out of his body himself with his Devil Fruit, because no one else would help him…

…the only ones willing having already gone up in smoke if not down from bullets.

He cursed to himself, letting the Flevench words he’d clung to so desperately ring in his mind. Or did they flow over his lips? Law clutched his head as it felt like it was going to burst, stumbling out of Robin’s grasp. He could barely feel her grab at him to keep him steady as it truly sank in.

He was living in a lie.

He did not live with his parents and sister in his childhood home; they were long-dead. Killed by soldiers. Immolated. In fact, he had spent more time with his friends than he had with anyone from Flevance. So little about this life was based in what amounted to fuzzy memories, book-learned facts, and wishful thinking that it made him want to be sick. It felt like both forever and no time at all before he realized he was sitting on the couch with a glass of water in his hands.

“Drink.” It was Robin’s voice, far-off and gentle. He did as he was told and drank some of the water, his entire sense of self shaken to the core. Fingers gently carded through his hair as the glass was taken from him and he was eased down into something soft, warm, and comforting.

“Why does this feel so real…?” he whispered hoarsely. Were those his tears on his face, or…?

“What better way to keep a man with a bounty on-par with an Emperor of the Sea docile enough to kill?” She touched his face as a sob heaved in her chest, wracking him as well. He shifted so that he could put his arms around her as he hid in her bosom. Neither were going to admit they were crying, because what good would that do? “I almost lost you.”

Even worse… he almost lost himself. It sat in the pit of his stomach as he realized the implications, gnawing at him painfully as he did his best to not think—thinking was the Darkness that would consume him again if he let it. He couldn’t let himself succumb to it… not again… not as Robin had come to pull him out of his own head.

A church bell in the distance began to announce the time and both of them let everything go.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was morning by the time both Robin and Law were finally composed enough to think rationally. They were sitting at the dining table, both nursing a mug of coffee while picking at some fruit that had been in the fridge. Neither were hungry, but it was the mere act of eating that was comfortable and familiar even if it wasn’t real. It was still so difficult to let sink in that everything around them was only a mental construct—from the tears they had shed to the food they were eating—that it made Law extra-cautious.

“Okay, so how are we going to get out of here?” he asked. After the rough night that found them moving from the couch to the bed in various states of dress, he was only dressed in his jeans, while Robin was next to him in an old t-shirt emblazoned with Flevance’s med school’s logo and shorts. “There had to of been some clue Chopper and Jean Bart uncovered.”

“My guess is that there is something holding us here… something that is not supposed to exist acting as the anchor.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that’s the entire country, along with everyone and everything in it.”

“I would think that it would have to be something personal,” Robin theorized. “If the parasite keeps its victims tethered to an alternate reality, then what better way to keep the charade going then by making the lynchpin something they cannot bear to lose?”

“Fuck, you don’t think…”

“Everything is conjecture at this point,” she clarified. “The good thing is that we’re not in any immediate danger since Chopper is taking care of us. Traditional threats involved with the parasite are minimal, being starvation and torture under the Celestial Dragons…”

“…but we’re still not safe,” Law surmised. “The crews could come under attack by powerful New World forces, we could take so long to escape that our bodies atrophy, we could never figure out what the anchor is and suffer a horrific fate within the dreamscape that could permanently damage our mental processes…”

“Well, the first thing I would do is figure out who ‘owns’ the dream and a potential list of fulfilled wishes this environment provides them.” She picked up a pad of paper and a pen. “You’re the one who was attacked first, so let’s operate under the assumption that the dreamscape’s anchor is yours. Now, what are the things around here that would be the toughest to let go?”

“You, for one,” he admitted. She smiled at him and he blushed; to be openly dating was something they only wished they could normally afford. “I also have my family, friends, a stable and fulfilling career, my homeland… there’s a lot here that’s at stake.”

“Then we should probably go with the conceit of this place while we try to get a better grasp on what it is about,” she suggested. Robin put the pen down and took another sip of coffee. “The engagement ring.”

“What about it?”

“How many people did you discuss it with?”

“M… my dad… Penguin and Shachi… Bepo…”

“Then I think we should act as though this is reality and we’re now engaged.” She had a hand sprout next to the jewelry box and passed it between a row of them before it reached Law. He took it and stared at the velvet covering as though it was not the thing that caused the shake-down of what he had been convinced was his entire life to that point. “It will at least give us an excuse to be together more often than what this reality expects.”

“Yeah.” He opened the box and took out the ring—it was a soft golden color, inset with a modest stone of amethyst flanked by two smaller precious opals whose colors danced in the early morning light. “This is going to be a bitch when I have to keep reminding myself it’s not real.”

“At least you know you won’t be alone in that sentiment.” Robin held out her hands and Law slid the ring on her right ring finger. “What is the custom in Flevance?”

“It moves to the left hand during the ceremony. Vaor’s cousin got married when I was eight and I saw it then.” She held her hand up and watched the stones catch the light. “What about Ohara?”

“Women on the right, men on the left; makes it so they touch when holding hands.”

“Mmm.” He sighed awkwardly, shaking his head. “Now that I know the truth, this feels so… empty.”

“Maybe, after everything’s calmed down a bit, we can consider what we would really do.”

Suddenly, the bell that was next to the door began to ring, the sound bright and loud against the otherwise quiet morning. It was accompanied by a faint noise, as though someone was knocking on the downstairs door. Law and Robin both went to the window, leaning out until they could see the door at street-level—Penguin was pounding his fist on the door and Shachi ringing the doorbell, while Bepo and Lami stood close by.

“We’re up, you idiots,” Law said, catching their attention. All four looked up at them, expressions becoming giddy. “Lami, why are they here?”

“That’s rude, Captain!” Bepo huffed. “We’re your best friends!”

“I have idiots,” he parried. They all began to boo him, giving him thumbs-down. “Alright, alright—let me get a shirt on.” The Goofball Quartet high-fived one another in celebration; there was no amount of coffee that was going to make this bearable. Law popped his head back into the flat and began to hunt around for a clean shirt; too many of his that were lying around smelled of serious funk, the least of which was already on Robin.

“At least they waited until morning,” she noted as she closed the window. Robin grabbed her robe and pulled it on, waiting until Law was negotiating a different t-shirt over his head before using her Devil Fruit ability to unlock and open both doors. Their visitors came barreling up the stairs, bursting into the flat with little regard to anything.

“What in the hell is going on?!” Lami asked the moment she passed over the threshold. “Vaor was being cagey all night after you left!”

“Didja do it, Cap?!” Penguin added. “C’mon—don’t be secretive about this!”

Law exhaled heavily and nudged Robin in the side. She took that as her cue and held up her right hand, showing off the ring. Law’s friends cheered and pumped their fists in celebration, while his sister let out a shrill squeal.

“Aaah! It’s about time!” She pulled them both into a hug that was so tight that Robin was honestly taken by surprise. “I knew that’s what was going on! Why didn’t you stay at the house so we could celebrate?!”

“It took me by surprise, is all,” Robin assured. That much was the truth, after all. “I’m sorry for running out; I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”

“No—Vaor was the one who didn’t mention anything,” Lami pouted. “I wasn’t able to learn anything until I snuck out and met up with Law-nii’s friends.”

“We were headed over to your parents’ house to see if you were there visiting with your hand or what,” Shachi shrugged. Law shot him a sharp glare.

“Since you weren’t there, we decided to look here,” Penguin said in an attempt to save face. “It’s only natural.”

“Now you know, and if you excuse us, we have to get ready for work,” Law scowled. “I have consultations all day and you know what I’m like on Consultation Day.” The echoes of his friends cringed; fuck… he was right…

“…and Lami has a lecture to crash if I’m not mistaking the time,” Robin added. Lami indeed looked at a clock on the wall and hissed. “Better get going if any of you want to be on-time.”

The Goofball Quartet all raced out of the flat in a panic—there was too much for them to do yet before they had time to stand around and gossip! Law and Robin were left alone again, the former staring at the closed door with eyes that were not quite focused.

“It’s going to threaten to break me if I have to keep reminding myself that she’s been dead for sixteen years,” he said. She sighed and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“We’re engaged now,” she reminded him. “You can move in if that’ll make it easier.”

“N-no… I’ll just do what the dreamscape has been making me do: visiting. It makes more sense within,” he gestured at the entire flat with one hand, “everything. It’ll make the parasite less suspicious.”

“I’m sure it already realizes what’s going on,” she said, “so in the meantime, let’s just pretend that everything is as-normal. We’ll claim we’re getting married ‘next year’ to give ourselves a buffer and instead use that time to figure out what the anchor is so we can destroy it and get out of here.”

“I… don’t know if I’ll be able to do it,” Law said. He looked at Robin and felt a massive weight on his shoulders. She was in this mess because of him, and he was already asking too much. “If I can’t… will you…?”

“Of course,” she crooned. She held his face gently and pulled him into a kiss. “Anything to get you back where you belong.”

#One Piece #One Piece fan fiction #Trafalgar Law #Nico Robin #LawBin #Law x Robin #Robin x Law #idk if i should really tag any of the others in this lemme know what you think #it's been so long and i feel bad but what's done is done #Trafalgar D. Water Law

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khepiari · 1 year ago

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LuLaw Fic: The Seventh Wife Of Emperor Nika

A.U. DILF Luffy x DILF Law. Emperor x Healer. Slow-burn. Miscommunication.

Inspired from Bluebeard’s Seven Wives

Written for @truffyfest 2023.

This is my first ever time participating in a Zine project! The story is extremely precious to me, I couldn’t have finished it had @quackquackcey not supported me throughout the process. It was an honour to be part of the fest! I finally found courage 12 years after becoming a LawLu shipper.

You can download A New Dawn: a One Piece Lawlu/Lulaw Zine- here.

Or read the entire collection on Ao3.

Trafalgar D Water Law was heartbroken.

The man he loved, his one true love, his soulmate, was married. Married not once or twice, but married six times.

And as if the pain of this information was not enough, his family was not consoling him either, instead, they wanted him to accept the position of being the Emperor’s seventh wife, in his case male-wife.

“I really can’t understand you, child, you are almost forty, why can’t you agree to this marriage?” Law’s father huffed as he wrote down the list of raw materials they needed to buy the next morning. “Your mother told me you are crying every night if you love him so much, why are you wallowing in this pain? People die of heartache, you know? You can be the ruler of this empire, but you choose to suffer in overthinking!”

“Yeah, tell him, Dad!” Law’s younger sister Lamy added her support from one corner of the backroom.

Law had no answer, he was at his wit’s end. Heartbreak couldn’t be justified easily, in his case he had explained to his family multiple times, that he didn’t wish to be someone’s male-wife, wife, husband or spouse, if they already had six wives in their castle! Now he was suffering from guilt, guilt of loving someone so magnificent that he felt selfish.

“You better say yes, before that Emperor Lover of yours does something drastic!” Law’s mother walked into the backroom carrying the fresh herbs and minerals, that needed to be dried under the scorching afternoon sun. “Lamy, take these out! Dry this girl.”

Without a fuss, the teen took the herbs and walked out quickly, only to return even faster. “Why are you back with these?” Their mother asked. Lamy had returned with a pale face, as if a ghost had visited her in their kitchen garden.

“Answer your Mom.” Their father scolded, finding no reaction, the head of the family continued, “Look at this girl, she learned her attitude from Law”

Finding no reply, the elder brother went to his sister, “Lamy what happened?” Law pressed his palms on his sister’s cheeks. “Why are you cold?” The teen girl stood there like a statue in front of her family, clenching hard on the tray of herbs.

“Did something happen?” Both parents rushed to the teen, fearing the worst. “Did anyone hurt you?”

After a long pause, the teen spoke, “The sun is gone!”

Continue reading The Seventh Wife Of Emperor Nika Ao3

#one piece #LawLu #lulaw #lawlu fanfic #lawlu fanart #lawlu headcanon #luffy x law #law x luffy #one piece luffy #one piece lawlu #one piece law #truffy #truffy fest #truffy fest 2023 #one piece zine #op law #op luffy

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littlelamy · 21 days ago

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thank you so much @cameronsprincess 😘😘

NPT: @rafesheaven @rafesbabygirlx @rafescokewhore @rafesplaymate @kiiyomei @fawnhart @cherrygirlfriend @starkeynation @harrys-housewife @dolcekissy @dollyfiles @drewsephrry @lacydollette @fae-of-prey @fallbhind + anyone else who wants to do it<3

thank you for the tag @rafegetinmybed ♡

without naming them post a gif of 10 (i did 8 bc i drew a blank) of your favorite films and then tag others to do the same.

npt: @starkeysbabygirl @rafesheaven @rafesthroatbaby @rafescvntyclubgf @sarahsangelicdoll @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @cherrygirlfriend @rafescorpsebride @hauntedfawnn + whoever else wants to do it!

#𖤣𖥧 lamy’s garden。 𖤣𖥧

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phantomkeats · 11 days ago

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my anticipated book releases from this month

🥩 The Lamy by Lucy Rose

🌲At the bottom of the garden by Camilla Bruce

ig: Phantomkeats

#books and reading #book community #book mail #gothic books #horror books #books #bookworm

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dulcescorderitas · 1 month ago

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clark leaned against the locker room door, his eyes blazing with an unmistakable crimson hue. the cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips wasn’t just charming—it was downright infuriating. red kryptonite had turned smallville’s golden boy into a swaggering, irreverent bad boy, and he knew exactly how to wield that dangerous edge.

“y’know,” he drawled, tilting his head lazily as his gaze slid over you, unhurried and electric, “i’ve got a talent most boyfriends don’t. i see things… things other guys can only dream of.” his voice was low, gravelly, a sinful mix of arrogance and tease.

you folded your arms, feeling the heat of his stare as though it had a weight of its own. “what are you talking about, clark?” you snapped, pretending the flush on your cheeks was from annoyance and not the way he was looking at you—like he already owned every inch of your body.

clark chuckled, a deep, wicked sound, and stepped closer, the space between you crackling with tension. his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, but his posture screamed dominance. “oh, don’t play coy,” he said, his eyes flashing to yours briefly before dipping lower again. “lacy red with a little bow in the front? cute. but maybe next time, try something sheer. you’re hiding a masterpiece under there.”

your breath caught in your throat, indignation and something darker surging through you. “excuse me?!” you hissed, your hand instinctively tugging your skirt down. “did you just…?”

“did i just use my x-ray vision to admire my girl’s panties?” clark interrupted, leaning down so his lips were just a breath from your ear. his voice dropped, husky and unapologetic. “damn right i did.”

your heart was pounding now, a wild rhythm of embarrassment and excitement. “you’re unbelievable,” you muttered, trying to keep your composure. but it was hard to stay indignant when he had that smug, wolfish grin on his face, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“and you’re gorgeous,” he shot back effortlessly, stepping even closer, his body brushing against yours. “seriously, babe, you should’ve seen yourself bending over to pick up your books earlier. let’s just say it made gym class a hell of a lot more interesting.”

“you are impossible, clark kent,” you said, but your voice wavered, betraying the growing heat between you two. his confidence, his audacity—it was intoxicating.

“impossible?” he echoed, finally pulling his hands free of his pockets and bracketing you against the lockers. “maybe. but you love it.” his lips hovered dangerously close to yours, his smirk softening just enough to be almost sweet—almost. “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll keep your little secret safe… for now.”

#lamy garden #clark kent #clark kent smallville imagine #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #superman comics #clark kent x female reader #smallville #superman #smallville clark kent #smallville 2001 #tom welling #red!clark #red!clark kent #red!clark kent smallville

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littlelamy · 2 months ago

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𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒

author's note: mentions of reader saying she's going on a diet; s4rafe coded. wanted to take a break from posting about burlesque!reader so enjoy! i'm hoping to have one or two more fully edited of rafe and sarah before christmas but i am visiting my family sooo...

rafe’s knuckles went white around the fork as he stabbed at the eggs on his plate. the clink of metal against porcelain made your stomach twist, though you ignored it, focusing on the glass of water in front of you.

"what the hell did you just say?" he asked, his voice sharp enough to slice through the quiet morning.

you hesitated, fingers playing with the hem of your oversized sweatshirt. "i’m going on a diet. i just… i feel like i need to lose a few pounds."

his jaw clenched, the fork stilling midair as he turned his full attention to you. his blue eyes darkened, a mixture of disbelief and frustration clouding them. "are you fucking serious right now?"

"it’s not a big deal—"

"bullshit, it’s not a big deal," he snapped, the fork clattering onto the plate as he stood abruptly. "you think i’m just gonna sit here and let you starve yourself over some dumbass idea you have in your head? hell no."

your stomach tightened as his tone softened slightly but remained firm. "rafe, it’s my body—"

"it’s your body that i fucking love," he interrupted, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he leaned closer, blue eyes locking with yours. "you don’t need to lose anything, y/n. you’re fucking perfect."

before you could respond, he grabbed a plate and started piling it with food—eggs, toast, fruit, and even a slice of bacon. setting it down in front of you with a deliberate thud, he crossed his arms and glared.

"eat."

"rafe—"

"eat the damn food," he insisted, his voice dropping to something dangerously close to a plea. "don’t fucking do this to yourself. you’re perfect the way you are. fuck, y/n, i mean it."

you blinked back the sting in your eyes, his words cutting deeper than you expected.

"please," he added, his jaw clenching like the vulnerability was physically painful.

silently, you picked up the fork and took a bite, avoiding his intense gaze. his shoulders relaxed slightly as he sat back down.

but just as you swallowed, he was suddenly out of his chair again, crouching beside you. his hands gripped your waist, dragging you closer until you were perched on the edge of your chair.

"you know you’re fucking insane, right?" he muttered, his voice low but filled with that same sharp-edged frustration. his lips brushed over yours briefly—just a peck.

you barely had time to process it before he leaned back in, this time slower, pressing his lips against yours with more intent. your breath hitched as his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

his tongue slid against yours, the kiss messy and heated, and when he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, a thin string of spit connected your lips.

"see?" he murmured, smirking as he swiped a thumb across your bottom lip. "that’s how much i fucking love you. don’t ever pull that diet bullshit on me again, alright?"

you nodded, dazed, your cheeks flushed as he leaned in to kiss you again.

"good," he muttered against your lips, his tone softening but still firm. "now finish your plate. we’re getting ice cream later."

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog credits: @dollywons for the png!

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littlelamy · 2 months ago

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STAWPPP🤭😭 *me and you btw*

Wanted to take a moment to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I’m very grateful this year to be apart of this little community and I’m thankful for everyone I’ve gotten to know a little for welcoming me and listening to me ramble!

I just wanna shoutout some moots who deserve all the love and recognition for their works! I’m sure I don’t need to remind any one of how great they are with their writing but I still want to show my appreciation for them! ♥️♥️♥️

@rafeyscurtainbangs

@starkeysprincess

@zyafics

@itneverendshere

@whytheylosttheirminds

@angelicameron

@rafescokewhore

@littlelamy

@nemesyaaa

@cameronsprincess

@starkeynation

@etheraltides

@rafestify

@ivysprophecy

Also a huge thank you to everyone who has supported my writing. I’m so very grateful! I really can’t put into words how much each of you mean to me. This has been an amazing past couple of months, and even though I am sometimes hard on myself I do enjoy writing and I hope to be able to continue. And I hope you continue to love it just as much as I do! ♥️♥️♥️

#𖤣𖥧 lamy’s garden。 𖤣𖥧

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pamphletstoinspire · 1 year ago

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Meditations of St. Padre Pio – Part 5 (Concluding Meditation)

Padre Pio was at the height of his priestly apostolate with multitudes of pilgrims visiting him, for his Mass, to confess to him, and to ask him for prayers and counsel. He was a master of souls; he directed everyone with penetrating words full of deep meaning. His series of "Meditations" was the first complete text of Padre Pio's thoughts. These texts consists of Padre Pio's meditations upon the fundamental dogmas of the Catholic faith. The Immaculate Conception and the Incarnation of Jesus. He then relives Jesus' agony in the garden of olives. Next he reflects on the human condition, and on our need to turn to God in the passing of our days. These are not conventional texts; they are reflections derived from the contemplation of the absolute Truth. “Mary Immaculate” is a more theological text. The others are more human and simple.

Padre Pio, in the first years of his residence in San Giovanni Rotondo (1918 – 1920), when he was freer from the care of souls, wrote a few meditations for his novices and his spiritual daughters of the Franciscan Third Order. They were the text of his lectures or instructions that he gave weekly as their Spiritual Director. After that, between the years 1925 – 1928, Padre Pio compiled other meditations. Fr. Agostino of San Marco in Lamis affirms it in his "Diary:" The Provincial, Fr. Bernardo of Alpicella, once suggested to Padre Pio to “compile a few meditations for the principal feasts of the year for our seminarians.” When Padre Pio was shown the possibility of publishing these meditations, he said: "I have written these things for myself." But, when it was explained to him that "they would do a lot of good to our souls" he smilingly said: "if it is as you say, bonum est diffu sivum sui (good, by its nature, is destined to be spread).

Meditation - Part 5 - The Agony of Jesus In The Garden - Holy Hour

J. M. J. – D. F. C. Note: The initials J. M. J. – D. F. C. Stands for Jesus, Mary, Joseph – Dominic, Francis, Catherine

The cross is always ready and awaits you at every turn." – Imitation of Christ

(Maxim which appears on the door of Padre Pio's cell No. 1)

O Divine Spirit, enlighten and inflame me as I meditate on the Passion of Jesus. Help me to fathom this mystery of the infinite love and suffering of a God who clothed himself in our human nature and endured suffering, agony and death for love of his creatures. The eternal, immortal God stoops down and humbles himself to the point of enduring the greatest martyrdom, the ignominious death of the Cross, covered with insults, contempt and infamy, in order to save the creature who has offended him and wallowed in the filth of sin. Man takes pleasure in sin and because of his sin his God is saddened, suffers and sweats blood in the most appalling spiritual agony. No, I cannot fathom this boundless ocean of love and sorrow unless your grace sustains me. Let me enter into the deepest recesses of the Heart of Jesus, to read there the essence of his bitter sorrow which reduced him to the point of death there in the Garden. Let me comfort him with my love, forsaken as he is by his Father and by his own. May I be able to join him in order to expiate in union with him.

O most sorrowful Mother Mary, unite me with you that I may follow Jesus and share his sufferings and your own sorrow.

O my dear Guardian Angel, guard my faculties and keep them recollected in my suffering Jesus, so that they may not stray far from him. Amen.

At the end of his earthly life, the divine Redeemer, having left us his whole self in the form of food and drink in the Sacrament of Love and having fed his Apostles with his immaculate Flesh, makes his way together with his own to the Garden of Olives, a place well-known to the disciples and to Judas himself. Along the way leading from the Cenacle to the Garden, Jesus instructs his disciples. He makes them ready for the coming separation, for his imminent Passion, and prepares them to suffer calumnies, persecution and even death itself for his sake, showing them how to imitate him, their divine Model.

I shall be with you. Do not be troubled. O disciples, for the divine promise will never fail; of this you will receive proof at this solemn hour.

He is about to enter on his grievous Passion and rather than thinking of himself he is full of concern for them.

Oh, what immense love is contained in that Heart. His countenance is suffused with sadness and love at the same time and his words come from the depths of his Heart. He speaks with deep affection, he encourages and comforts them; he promises to console them and explains the deepest mysteries of his Passion.

O Jesus, I have always been deeply moved by this journey from the Cenacle to the Garden, by the effusion of a love that poured itself out so freely and was merged with your loved ones, by the outpouring of a love that is about to sacrifice itself for others to redeem them from slavery. You have taught us that there is no greater proof of love than to lay down one's life for one's friends and you are now about to seal this proof of love with the sacrifice of your own life.

Who can fail to marvel in such a generous oblation?

When they reach the Garden, the divine Master dismisses the disciples and takes with him only three of them, Peter, James, and John, that they may witness his suffering. Would this same trio who saw him transfigured on Tabor between Moses and Elias and acknowledge him as God, would they be strong enough to recognize him now as the Man-God in the midst of mortal agony and sorrow? As they enter the Garden he says to them: Remain here, watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. Be on your guard, he seems to tell them, because the enemy does not sleep; protect yourselves against him beforehand with the weapon of prayer, so that you may not be led into sin. This is the hour of darkness. With this recommendation he goes apart from them a stone's throw and falls prostrate on the ground.

He is extremely sad: his soul is a prey to indescribable sorrow. The night is far advanced and the air is clear. The moon glows high above, leaving the Garden in semi-shadow. Occasional ominous flashes of light breakthrough the shadows, seeming to herald some serious and sinister events, producing shivers and freezing the blood in one's veins. The light seems tinged with the color of blood. A wind which gives warning of a coming storm stirs the olive trees and with the rustling of the leaves seems to reach one's very bones like a herald of death, going right down into the soul and filling it with mortal sadness.

This is the most dreadful night, the like of which will never again be known.

What a contrast, O Jesus. How beautiful was the night of your birth, when the jubilant angels announced peace and chanted their Gloria. Now it seems to me that they are circling around you at a respectful distance, as if in recognition of the supreme anguish of your soul.

This is the place to which Jesus comes to pray. He deprives his sacrosanct human nature of the strength conferred on it by his divinity and subjects it to indescribable sadness, to extreme weakness, to sorrow and desolation, to mortal anguish. His soul is plunged in this grief as in a boundless sea which at every moment seems about to overwhelm him. There appears before his mind the entire martyrdom of this approaching Passion which, like a torrent overflowing its banks, pours into his Heart to torture, oppress and tear it to pieces. First of all, he sees Judas, the disciple he loves so dearly, who sells him for a few coins, who is at this moment drawing near to the Garden to betray him and hand him over to his enemies. He, the friend and disciple whom only a short while earlier he has fed with his Flesh. Prostrate before him he has washed his feet and clasping them to his Heart has kissed them with all the tenderness of a brother, as if he intended by the power of love to dissuade him from his impious and sacrilegious plan, or at least that when he has committed this crazy crime he may enter into himself and recalling all these proofs of love, repent and be saved. But no, he is lost, and Jesus weeps over his willful loss.

Jesus beholds himself bound by his enemies and dragged through the streets of Jerusalem, through those same streets which a few days earlier he traversed in triumph, acclaimed as the Messiah. He sees himself before the High Priest where he is beaten, declared guilty and deserving of death. He, the Author of life, led from one court to another to appear before judges who condemn him. By his own people whom he has loved and to whom he has given so much he sees himself insulted and ill treated, while with devilish shouts and hisses they clamor for his death, his death on the Cross. He hears their false accusations, sees himself condemned to the most merciless scourging, crowned with thorns, derided, mockingly addressed as King, slapped in the face.

Finally, he beholds himself condemned to the shameful death of the Cross and mounting the hill of Calvary, reduced to extreme weakness from loss of blood, falling to the ground several times beneath the weight of the Cross. Then he sees himself reaching the hilltop where he is stripped and laid upon the Cross, mercilessly crucified and raised up on the Cross in the sight of all, where he hangs by three nails which tear and dislocate veins and bones and flesh. O God! What a long three hours of agonizing torture he endures amid the insults of an insane and merciless throng.

He sees himself with throat and internal organs racked by burning thirst, while this agonizing torture is increased by the taste of vinegar and gall.

He sees himself abandoned by the Father, and witnesses the desolation of his Mother at the foot of the Cross.

Finally, he beholds his ignominious death between two thieves, one of whom recognizes and acknowledges him as God and is saved, while the other blasphemes and insults him and dies in despair.

He sees Longinus approach him and with supreme insolence and contempt rip open his side. Then, like all mortal men, he is subjected to the humiliation of the tomb.

All these things pass before his gaze to torture him and Jesus is seized with terror. This terror takes possession of his divine Heart, holds it fast and lacerates it. He trembles as though in the throes of a very high fever, he is overcome by terror and his soul languishes in deadly sorrow. He, the innocent Lamb, alone, abandoned to the wolves, deprived of all defense. He, the Son of God, the Lamb who has offered himself voluntarily to be sacrificed for the glory of that same Father who abandons him to the fury of the powers of Hell, for the Redemption of the human race. His own disciples have become cowards and desert him, fleeing from him as from the most dangerous of men. He, the Eternal Word of God, becomes the laughingstock of his enemies.

Does he withdraw? No, from the very start he generously embraces all without reserve.

What is this terror and what is its origin? What is this deadly fear? Ah! He has exposed his human nature as a target to receive all the blows of divine Justice injured by sin. In his naked soul he experiences keenly all that he will have to suffer, each single sin that he will have to expiate with its own particular punishment. He falls prostrate because his human nature is a prey to weakness, fear and terror.

He seems to have reached the extreme limit. He lies prostrate, face to the ground, before the Majesty of his Father. That divine countenance, which keeps the angels and saints of heaven in ecstasy in eternal admiration of its beauty, on earth is completely disfigured. My God! My Savior! Are you not the God of heaven and earth, equal in all things to your Father, you who humble yourself to the point of almost losing the likeness of man?

Ah, yes, I understand that it is in order to teach me, proud as I am, that I must be plunged into the depths of the earth if I am to have relations with heaven. It is in order to make reparation and to expiate for my arrogance that you bow down in this way before your Father; it is so draw down on mankind his merciful gaze which has been withdrawn because of man's rebellion against him. Because of your humiliation he forgives the proud creature. It is in order to make peace between earth and heaven that you fall prostrate to the ground as if to bestow on it the kiss of peace. O Jesus, may you be blessed and thanked forever by all men for all the humiliations and abasement by which you have given us God and united us to him in an embrace of holy love.

Jesus rises and looks up beseeching and sorrowfully to heaven. He raises his arms and prays. Dear God, how deadly pale is that face! He prays to the Father who seems to turn his gaze elsewhere and appears ready only to strike him with his avenging sword, with all the fury of an offended God. Jesus prays with all the trust of a Son, but he is fully aware of the task that is his. He recognizes that he alone, on behalf of all, is the One who has outraged the divine Majesty. He realizes that it is he alone, by the sacrifice of his life, who can satisfy the divine Justice and reconcile the creature with the Creator. He longs for this and he desires it efficaciously. But his human nature is terrified at the sight of his bitter Passion. It wants to refuse it all, but his soul is prepared for the sacrifice and does battle with all its strength. He feels stricken but he struggles furiously.

O my Jesus, how can we draw strength from you when we see you so exhausted and stricken?

I understand how it is: you have taken upon yourself all our weaknesses. It is in order to bestow your strength on us that you have collapsed like this. It is in order to teach us that we must placed our trust in you alone during life's battles, even when heaven seems closed against us.

In his extreme affliction Jesus cries out to the Father: If it be possible, let this cup pass from me. This is the cry of his human nature which in its affliction has recourse with confidence to heavenly aid. Although he is aware that his plea will not be granted, since this is his own will, he prays. O my Jesus, why do you ask for what you do not want to be granted? The reason is suffering and love.

Here is the great secret. The sorrow that afflicts you leads you to us for help and comfort, but your desire to appease the divine Justice and restore us to God makes you cry out: Not my will, but thine, be done. In face of this prayer, heaven remains hard as stone.

His broken Heart is in need of comfort. The abandonment he experiences, the battle he is bearing all alone seems to drive him to look for someone who will comfort him. Slowly, then, he rises, and almost staggering he moves off in the direction of his disciples in search of comfort. These men who have lived with him for so long, these trusted ones, will be able to understand his interior anguish and the trial he must undergo in order to end it. They will be able to give him a little comfort.

But what a disappointment! He finds them fast asleep and he feels even more fully alone in that boundless spiritual solitude. He draws near to them and calls them. Then turning quietly to Peter he says: Simon, are you asleep? You who protested that you would follow me until death and would give your life for me, are you sleeping? Then turning to the others he adds: So, could you not watch with me one hour? The complaint of the Lamb who has offered himself to be sacrificed, the complaint of a wounded Heart that is suffering intensely, alone and deprived of all comfort.

But he revives as if from a weakness and forgetful of himself and of what he is suffering, full of concern and love for them, he adds: Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. It is as if he meant to say: If you have forgotten me so quickly, while I struggle and suffer, watch and pray and least for your own sake. But the disciples, heavy with sleep, hardly notice the voice of Jesus. They barely distinguish him as a shadowy figure, so that they do not observe his face is disfigured by the interior anguish which torments him.

O Jesus, how many generous souls, touched by your cry of grief, have kept you company there in the Garden, sharing your sorrow and your mortal anguish. How many hearts in the course of the centuries have replied generously to your invitation. In this supreme hour, then, may this company of souls bring you some comfort, sharing with you more than your disciples did the sorrow of your Heart and cooperating with you towards their own salvation and the salvation of others. Allow me also to be numbered among them so that I too may bring you a little relief.

III

Jesus has returned to his place of prayer and another picture more dreadful than the previous one is presented to his gaze. All our sins with all their filthiness past in detail before his eyes. He beholds all the wickedness and malice of creatures as they commit these sins. He knows to what an extent these sins injure and outrage the Majesty of God. He sees all the obscenity, the immodesty, the blasphemies which rise up from the lips of creatures, accompanied by the wickedness of their hearts, of those hearts and lips which were made to send up nothing but hymns of praise and blessing to the Creator. He sees the sacrileges by which priests and people are defiled, indifferent to the Sacraments instituted for our salvation as the necessary means for the communication of divine grace, but which have become, instead, the means of sin and condemnation for souls. With this filthy mass of human corruption he has clothed himself and appears before the holiness of his Father, to expiate for each sin by a separate punishment, to render to God all the glory they have denied him, to cleanse that sewer in which men are plunged with contemptuous indifference.

Nothing of all this holds him back. Like a surging sea this mass sweeps down on him, surrounds and overwhelms him. Behold him before his Father, facing all the anger of his divine Justice. He who is the essence of purity, he who is holiness by nature, in contact with sin! In fact it is as if he himself has become a sinner. Who can fathom the disgust he experiences in the depths of his soul? The horror he feels? The nausea, the repugnance he experiences? Since he has taken all these things without exception upon himself, this immense load crushes and overwhelms him, throws him to the ground and leaves him prostrate. Exhausted, he groans beneath the weight of the divine Justice, before his Father who turns on him ready to strike him like an accursed being with his full fury.

He would like to shake off this immense load that is crushing him. He would like to throw off this dreadful weight which makes him shudder. His very purity rejects him as does the angry gaze of his Father who abandons him to these turbid and polluted waters of sin in which he sees him immersed. Everything combines within his soul to induce him to withdraw from this bitter Passion. Nature fights against itself and everything tells him to cast off this filthiness and to refuse this mediation. But the image of Justice unappeased, on the sinners not yet reconciled, prevails in his Heart brimming over with love.

These two forces, these two loves, one holier than the other, fight for victory in the Savior's Heart. Which will prevail? Undoubtedly he wants to grant the victory to outraged Justice. This takes first place and he wants it to triumph. But what is the image he is to show forth? The image of one sullied by all the filthiness of men? Is he, the very substance of holiness, to see himself filthied by sin, even apparently? No, not this. It frightens him, it fills him with fear and terror.

As if seeking the solution to this harsh situation he has recourse to prayer. Prostrate before the Majesty of his Father, he cries out: Father, let this cup pass from me. As if he wanted to say: My Father, I want your glory, I want your Justice to be satisfied in full. I want the family of mankind to be reconciled to you. Must I who am the same holiness as yourself see myself sullied by sin? Ah, no, this is not to be! Let this cup pass from me, then, and you, to whom all things are possible, find some other means in the infinite treasury of your Wisdom. But if you do not want this, then: Not my will, but thine, be done!

This time also the Savior's prayer fails to have affect. He feels he is dying and with great difficulty he interrupts his prayer to go in search of comfort. He feels utterly deprived of strength and he staggers, panting, towards his disciples. Once more he finds them sleeping. This increases his sorrow and he merely arouses them. How confused they must feel. But Jesus says nothing to them this time; he only appears immensely distressed. He keeps to himself all the pain and affliction of that desertion, of that indifference and by his silence he seems to regard with indulgence the weakness of his own.

O Jesus, what suffering I read in your Heart already brimming over with anguish. I see you withdraw from your disciples in such deep grief. Ah! If I could only relieve you and comfort you even to a slight extent. But since I am unable to do anything else, I remain beside you and weep. Aware as I am of your great suffering, may my tears of love for you and of sorrow for my sins mingle with your own and made they rise up to the Father's throne and induce him to have mercy on you and on many souls who are still plunged in the sleep of sin and death.

Jesus returns once more to his place of prayer in great affliction and in a state of collapse. He falls to the ground rather than prostrating himself upon it. A mortal agony seizes him and he prays with greater vehemence than before. The Father keeps his gaze averted, as if this were the most despicable of men.

I seem to hear all the laments of the Savior. Oh! If at least men for whom I am agonizing – he seems to say – and on behalf of whom I am ready to embrace everything, if only they were grateful and were to repay me with love for all the suffering I am enduring for them. If they only realized the high price with which I am about to ransom them from the death of sin so as to give them the true life of God's children. Ah, it is love that rends my Heart, more than the executioners will tear my flesh to pieces. But no, he sees men who are unable to profit from all this because they do not want to. Men will continue to curse this divine Blood and the loss will become more irreparable and unpardonable. Only a few will draw profit from it while the majority will hasten on their way to perdition! In the extreme anguish of his broken Heart, Jesus continues to repeat: Of what use is my blood? And he falls down again, utterly overcome.

But those few induce his divine Heart to remain on the battlefield, to face up to all the suffering and sorrow of his Passion and Death, in order to win for them the palm of victory. He no longer has anywhere to go to find comfort. Heaven is closed against him. Even men on their deathbed, beneath the load of their sins, indifferent and ungrateful, ignore Jesus' love for them. Jesus is in mortal agony, he is torn and tortured by love. His countenance has taken on the pallor of death, his eyes are dimmed, an indefinable sadness invades his whole being. My soul is sorrowful even unto death.

O Jesus, I seem to hear from your lips these words in tones of infinite sorrow! They reveal a profound sadness which wells up from the deepest recesses of your soul!

Fear shakes him and makes him tremble all over as a deadly anguish crushes him. He is nauseated by the evil smell of many sins and intense grief invades his soul: My soul is sorrowful unto death. O Jesus, my generous guarantor, these words of yours go straight to my heart. Oh, if I could only raise you up and comfort you. O Jesus, the contemplation of your great torment makes me weep with you.

Jesus! Jesus! He no longer listens to my cry! Love has made him his own executioner. He has fainted and fallen to the ground and from his face and his whole person blood is flowing to the ground. At first, I see it issuing in great drops from his pores, then these drops unite and the blood flows in streams to the ground. He no longer lies face downwards, but on his left side with outstretched arms, in a deadly collapse, his face and his whole body bathed in Blood, his eyes half-closed and almost lifeless, his mouth half-open, while his breast which previously was heaving is now enfeebled and almost motionless.

Jesus, my adored Jesus! Let me die along with you. Jesus! My contemplative silence, as I remain close to you in your death-throes, is more eloquent. Jesus! Your sufferings pierce my heart and I cast myself down beside you. My tears have dried and I groan along with you, for the cause that has reduced you to such agony and for your intense and infinite love which has brought you to this.

O Divine Blood. You pour spontaneously from the loving Heart of my Jesus; the flood-tide of pain, the extreme anguish, the fierce struggle he endures in driving you out of that Heart to ooze from his pores and stream down to the ground. Allow me to gather you up, O Divine Blood, especially your first drops, for I want to keep you in the chalice of my heart. This is the most convincing proof that nothing but love has forced you from the veins of my Jesus. Through you I want to cleanse myself and to purify every place that is contaminated by sin; I want to offer you to the Father.

This is the Blood of his beloved Son which has descended to the earth in order to purify it; it is the Blood of his Son, the Man-God, which goes up to his throne to placate his Justice which has been outraged by our sins. He is profusely satisfied.

But what am I saying? While the Father's Justice is satisfied; Jesus is not yet satiated with suffering. No, Jesus does not want to arrest at this point the outpouring of his love for men.

Man must be given an infinite proof of his love, he must see to what depths of ignominy this love will bring his Savior. He must recognize that his Redemption has been abundant. Even though the Father's infinite Justice measures the infinite value of his Most Precious Blood and is appeased, man, on the other hand, must have tangible proof that Jesus' love is not weary of suffering for him and does not stop here, but goes on to the extreme agony on the Cross, to the point of his ignominious death upon it.

Perhaps completely spiritual men can assess at least partially the love which brings Jesus to endure quite voluntarily this Agony here in the Garden, but those who are engrossed in material things and whose hopes are centered more on this world than on heaven need to see him agonizing and bleeding to death for them on a Cross, in order that they may be shaken by the sight of that Blood and that heartrending torment.

No, his loving Heart is not yet satisfied. He enters into himself once more and prays again: My Father, if this cup cannot pass unless I drink it, not my will, but thine, be done.

From now on, Jesus answers the loving cry of his Heart, the cry of the human race which, in order to be redeemed, demands his death. When the Father pronounces his death sentence, heaven and earth want to see him die. Jesus bows his adorable head in acceptance. Father, if this cup cannot pass unless I drink it, not my will, but thine, be done.

Now the Father sends an angel, an angelic messenger, to console Jesus. What comfort does God's angel bring to the strong God, the Master of the universe, invincible and omnipotent? Jesus allows himself to be susceptible to suffering. He has taken our weakness upon himself and it is the Man who suffers and agonizes. It is the miracle of his infinite love that makes him sweat Blood and reduces him to agony.

There are two reasons for his prayer to the Father: he prays on his own behalf and on ours. The Father does not hear him for his own sake, but wants him to die for us. I believe the angel, bowed down in reverence before Jesus, before this eternal Beauty now covered with Blood and dust, in deferent homage brings him the consolation of resignation to the divine will, imploring him for the glory of the Father and in the name of sinners to drink the chalice which from all eternity he has offered to drink for men's salvation. He prays in order to teach us once again that when our soul is desolate as his own, it is only through prayer that we should seek comfort from heaven.

He, our strength, will be ready to rescue us because he willed to take our miseries upon himself.

Yes, O Jesus, you have to drink the chalice to the very dregs, for you have now taken upon yourself the most agonizing death. O Jesus, may nothing ever have the power to separate me from you, neither life nor death. Following you during life, passionately attached to you, may it be granted to me to breathe my last with you on Calvary, so that I may ascend to you in glory. May I follow you in trials and persecution so that I may one day be worthy to come to you, to love you in the unveiled glory of heaven, to sing you a hymn of thanksgiving for all you have suffered.

But now Jesus rises to his feet, strong and invincible as a lion in battle. This Jesus who desired with great longing this banquet of Blood – with desire I have desired it – smooths his disheveled hair, wipes the blood from his face and with strong and decided steps makes his way to the exit of the Garden.

Where are you going, O Jesus? Are you not that Jesus whom I saw languishing there, a prey to fear, weariness, dread, prostration, desolation and terror? The same Jesus whom I saw trembling and crushed beneath the immense load of evil which was bearing down upon you?

Where are you going now so readily and resolutely and full of courage? To what are you exposing yourself?

Oh! I hear you say: The weapon of prayer has enabled me to win through and the spirit has overcome the weakness of nature; from prayer I have drawn strength and I am now ready to face up to anything. Follow my example and, when you suffer, deal with heaven just as I have done.

Jesus draws near to the three Apostles who are still sleeping. Emotion, the late hour of the night, the presentiment of some grievous event, of something irreparable that seems to be drawing near, as well as their own weariness, all this has plunged them into sleep, into an oppressive sleep that it seems impossible to shake off and which, even when it is shaken off, comes over them inexplicably again, so much so that Jesus has pity on them and says: The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

At the same time he has felt so keenly this desertion by his own that he exclaims: Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? He pauses there. With a great effort, at the sound of his footsteps, they open their eyes. Then Jesus continues: Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, my betrayer is at hand.

Jesus beholds everything with his all-seeing eye. He seems to be saying: You who are my friends and disciples are sleeping, but my enemies are on the watch and are busying themselves about my capture. You, Peter, who felt strong enough to follow me even to death, you are sleeping. From the very beginning you showed me signs of your weakness; but do not worry, for I have taken your weakness upon myself and have prayed for you. When you mend your ways, I shall be your strength and you will feed my lambs. You, John, are also sleeping. You who only a few hours ago, in ecstasy by reason of my love for you, counted the beats of this Heart, are you asleep? Rise, let us be going, this is no longer the time for sleep. The enemy is at the gates and the hour of the powers of darkness has come. Yes, let us be going. I am going forth voluntarily to my death. Judas is drawing near to betray me and I go forward with a step that is firm and sure and intend to place no obstacle to the fulfillment of the prophecies. My hour has come, the hour of great mercy for mankind.

In point of fact, there is the sound of approaching footsteps, a reddish glare from lighted torches shows through the trees of the Garden, while Jesus followed by his three disciples goes forward calmly and without flinching.

O Jesus, give me the same strength when in the light of misfortunes my weak nature rebels. Help me to face, as you did, cheerfully and tranquilly, all the sufferings and torments I may encounter in this land of exile. I unite entirely with your merits, your pains, your expiation, your tears, in order that I may cooperate with you in my salvation and flee from sin, which was the only reason for your sweat of Blood and which brought you to your death.

Destroy in me everything that is displeasing to you and with the fire of your love imprint your sufferings on my heart. Bind me so strongly to you, with bonds so tight and so delectable, that I may never more abandon you in your sufferings. Let me rest on your Heart in all the sorrows of life, to draw from it strength and refreshment. Let my soul cherish no other desire than to live by your side in the Garden and to be satiated by the sorrows of your Heart. Let my soul be inebriated by your Blood and be nourished by you on the bread of your sufferings. Amen.

#padre pio

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sonsofbal · 5 months ago

Text

IV. The Mist Festival pt.1

As Morthal prepares for the Mist Festival that day, Alicent is swept up not just in the village's preparations but in her feelings for Seth, the charming newcomer. While helping her mother with the flower offerings, every glance from him deepens her emotions. With the fog season about to begin, Alicent prays not only for the village's protection but for the courage to face her own heart, hoping this festival marks a new beginning.

That afternoon, the Thaumaturgist's Hut was an obligatory stop for the people of Morthal. They'd come to the outdoor garden to buy a flower arrangement to offer to the gods to ask for their protection during the hardest months of the year. Soon would be the start of the fog season. During the cold months, the fog would fall over the Hjaal region. It would deprive its inhabitants of the warmth of Magnus, the sun, during the day, and hide the stars at night.

The garden had a welcoming feel. It had a magical feel to it with the bright colors of the flowers they had planted. At that moment, while Alicent took a short break from the hustle and bustle of the day, Lami was encouraging Thonnir, who was lamenting spending his first Mist Festival without his wife Laelette. She was chatting with Benor, leaning against the inside of the garden fence. Benor was a Nord on the cusp of adulthood. He sold himself as a mercenary, though he aspired to become part of the hold guard one day. Alice had known Benor for as long as she could remember, and she especially liked him. Although strong and rough, he was always close to her. He was like a big brother.

“That cloud looks like a rabbit”, he said.

Alicent lifted his head to the sky where his finger was pointing, but in spite of his efforts he could not see the animal.

“I see it," she lied.

She often felt unable to disagree with those around her, and she was not sure why. She felt others might think she was stupid or not worth their time if she spoke her mind.

It was then that Alva came out into the garden and walked up to them. Alva and Benor were a few years older than Idgrod. Between them, the age difference was barely noticeable. But with Alicent, it stood out. Alva had a fair complexion, dark straight hair, and her emerald eyes were the perfect complement to her elegant features. She was the prettiest girl in all of Morthal. Although she denied having any kind of relationship with Benor, Alicent always saw them together and suspected that they must be secretly in love.

"You still haven't bought the bouquet for the offering?" She asked in a scathing tone, raising her eyebrows.

Benor responded by snorting sharply without looking at her. Then he lovingly stroked Alicent's hair.

"I worked on it. Ali, why don't you bring me those flowers you were telling me about?" Benor asked, winking at her.

With one look, the newcomer paralyzed Alicent. The very presence of Alva was intimidating. Alicent spun around. Feeling that Alva's eyes were on his neck, she hurried to the back entrance of the building where the various offerings for the celebration were displayed.

Alicent took a few minutes to choose from the remaining floral arrangements for Alva's offering. She chose a combination of lavender, purple flowers, and freshly cut symphocarpium.

"These flowers are from our garden," she explained proudly, offering the bouquet to Alva. "This mixture is offered to Mara and Dibella to ask for their blessings of beauty and love."

Alva accepted the flowers complacently. Alicent smiled broadly at the realization that her choice had been a wise one. Benor snorted, though.

"Love. Haven't you had enough of this, woman?" he growled with a mocking smile.

Alva rolled her eyes at Alicent with a look of complicity. Even standing still, she had a magnetic way of unwinding.

"Men. If it were up to them, they would be offering a bouquet of arrows to the gods," Alva replied.

Not knowing what to say, Alicent forced a smile at the look on their faces. She hated decisions that required her to position herself. At that moment, surprising Alicent and freeing her from the awkward situation, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind.

"Alva, if I were you, I'd buy this bouquet as soon as you can. When Alicent sees who's coming, he won't want to part with those flowers," Idgrod greeted her, a broad smile on his face.

"Idgrod!" Alicent exclaimed as she turned around in her arms.

She greeted Idgrod with a warm embrace, but her eyes were on the garden entrance in search of the only person her friend could have been referring to.

Seth walked toward them. His neat appearance contrasted with Morthal's coarseness. It made him the center of attention. She saw the neighbors, hovering in the yard, turning their heads to comment on Seth's unexpected arrival.

Alicent left the group and approached her guest.

"Seth, you've come!" she exclaimed excitedly.

He narrowed his eyes. His head tilted to one side.

"I promised you, didn't I?" he asked, smiling casually.

Once again, she felt the heat on the top of her cheeks. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. On impulse, she took his hand and pulled him toward the group. Seth's expression was one of surprise at her boldness.

"Come, meet my friends. You already know Idgrod." Idgrod held up her hand to say hello to him. "This is Benor and this is..."

"Alva," Seth stepped forward. He was surprised.

Alva bowed slightly.

"Lord Athan, our paths cross again," she said charmingly.

Alicent felt her stomach tighten. She had felt something similar when Alva had tried to get closer to Joric, but this time it was much stronger. Unlike Joric, Seth was in no hurry to be out of her sight.

"Ali, I haven't got my bouquet yet!” Idgrod exclaimed suddenly, grabbing her by the arm. We'll be right back," she apologized.

Alicent let Idgrod lead her away. She walked to the side of the hut where the bouquets were laid out on a table.

"Are you all right?" asked Idgrod as soon as they were far enough away from the rest of the group. "You should see the look on your face, Ali. You look like you just had a kick from a goat," she commented with a smile.

Alicent looked at her reproachfully. She was hurt.

"I'm..., I'm okay. It's just..."

"You're jealous." Idgrod finished her sentence.

Alicent frowned. She crossed her arms in front of the table and stared.

“I don't... Well, maybe I do a little…,“ she admitted with dismay. “It's just... Why do they know each other? Do you think they...?”

"Listen, Ali." Idgrod cut her off. Her friend shot a sly glance at the group before turning back to her and lowering her voice. "Alva's family was close to Seth's family, as far as I know. Her family was killed by the Renegades, as was Seth's father.

"The Renegades?" asked Alicent before looking back at Idgrod with wide eyes. "Seth's father is...?"

Alicent had no need to finish the question, as Idgrod nodded as she examined a couple of flower arrangements.

"It's complex politics. Alva came here to live with her uncle after that. Seeing each other after such a long time must be difficult for them, I imagine.”

Alicent felt a terrible sense of guilt for having been so wrong in the first place. Idgrod had been right, and she understood that. She was well aware of what the loss of a father was like and how difficult it was to face the memory of that loss. Seth was taken aback; if it had been her, she would have cried.

Idgrod took a bouquet of bluebells with a blue yarrow for himself, and held out another of the same kind to Alicent.

"This will do. Let's go," Idgrod urged.

Alicent looked at the flowers in her hands with a thoughtful expression. It was the same offering they made every year. This year, however, she had something else on her mind. Alicent stared at another bouquet, identical to the one she had given Alva. Idgrod read her intentions.

"Absolutely not. Ali, if you keep being so obvious, you're going to scare Seth away."

Alicent, embarrassed, looked across the garden to where Seth and Alva were still talking. Benor stood off to the side, looking unfriendly as Seth and Alva chatted. Idgrod started walking in their direction.

"Idgrod," Alicent called. Idgrod stopped with a look at her. "Thank you," she said softly with a sweet, intimate smile.

Idgrod returned the gesture, and the two of them bridged the distance that separated them from the rest of the group. They were in the midst of a conversation about the festival when they were at their destination.

"You all seem to be pretty excited about this event," Seth commented. "Is it really so important?"

"Even caravans of Khajiit come to Morthal this time of year," Alva replied with some cynicism.

This made Seth laugh, short and dry. Then he turned his eyes back to the girls.

"I really don't know what you're celebrating," Seth admitted.

Alicent replied quickly.

"The Mist Festival is our village's most important, because when the fog comes, Morthal becomes dangerous," she explained, suddenly nervous but glad for his attention. "The light of Magnus doesn't reach here during the day, and at night you can't see the stars or the moon. Today we ask the Eight for protection until the flowers are in bloom again.

Seth nodded and looked at the bouquets with curiosity.

"And what are the flowers for?"

"We use them to ask the gods for certain favors," Alva answered. I, for instance, am asking Dibella and Mara for beauty and love.

She said the last one in a flirty tone and Alicent's stomach twisted. Seth, though, seemed amused. He laughed, which annoyed Alva, who frowned.

"You don't seem to need any more of that," Seth remarked, trying to make it go away.

The look he gave to her and to Benor was a silent hint.

Alva opened her mouth to reply, but changed her mind at the last moment under Benor's watchful eye. Noting that their offers were identical, Seth turned to Idgrod and Alicent.

"And what is your request? "

"May Stendarr protect us from my brother's brilliant ideas," Idgrod replied without a moment's thought.

Alicent burst out laughing and Seth raised both eyebrows.

"Joric is an avid hiker and has no fear of fog," Alicent explained. "Truth is, it's great to get out of Morthal, even for a bit. And Stendarr has always protected us in our escapades, even though the region is dangerous in the cold months of the year."

Idgrod rolled her eyes and looked at Seth in search of his complicity.

"Two against one, as you can see. Maybe you can help me balance the scales this year."

Seth smiled.

"I'll have to hear those suggestions first," he said. Then he turned to Benor. "What about you?"

"I'm going to put an arrow on my plate so that Talos will give me strength to fight," he replied with challenging pride.

Idgrod looked uncomfortable and Seth raised both eyebrows for some reason. Alva nudged Benor. He gave both a stern look.

"Skyrim belongs to the Nords," Benor said proudly.

He said it in such a confident way that he seemed to be making something clear. Something that everyone there could understand. Everyone except Alicent, who had a confused look on her face. All of a sudden, the atmosphere had become tense.

"Seth..." Alicent began, in an attempt to calm the atmosphere. "Is there anything you would like to ask the gods?"

All eyes turned to him. He thought for a few seconds before shrugging his shoulders.

"Not really. Perhaps new knowledge... or luck in my business."

"Ah, then you should offer a few coins to Zenithar," Alicent replied.

"Or a scroll to Julianos," added Idgrod.

Seth clicked his tongue after a moment's thought.

"I'll see what I can do. Anything else I should know about the festival?"

"Not much. After the sacrifices, there will be dinner and dancing. The usual," Idgrod replied.

Seth froze at the mention of the dance and gave Alicent a quick look that made her heart race.

"You didn't tell me there was going to be a dance," he protested. He was looking directly at her now. This abruptly brought her down.

"I didn't have time", was her defense. She was instantly sorry for the tone of her voice. "I'm... I'm sorry." She stammered.

Idgrod raised both eyebrows and Alva let out a laughing sound.

"Maybe you should offer an arrow to the gods as well", Alva said. “When her boyfriend hears about this, he won't be too happy". She had malice in her eyes.

Upon hearing this, Alicent's jaw dropped and she was at a loss for words. With frowns and pursed lips, Idgrod and Seth had adopted a similar expression, but only Idgrod was looking at Alva. Seth had his eyes on Alicent.

"You didn't tell me Joric was your boyfriend either," he grumbled.

"We're not..." Alicent began, not knowing how to go any further. In the face of such a gratuitous attack, she had gone blank. Her eyes were on Alva, in search of an explanation for her words. The woman gestured sufficiently.

"Sure, sure. Nor me and Benor, right?" she asked, holding her gaze. Obviously, Alva was having a good time.

Alicent lowered her head. Her eyes fell to the ground and she clenched her fists in anger. Alva could be devious when she wanted to be. She did not know why Alva was acting so out of line with her. Fortunately for Alicent, Idgrod came to her defense.

“You are the exception to the rule", Idgrod said matter-of-factly, in a tone that was conciliatory yet sharp.

Alva gave Idgrod a look of challenge, but Benor grabbed her hand before she could reply.

"Woman, you're daedrical. Don't disturb the child," he ordered grumpily. Alva's game seemed to have exhausted Benor's patience. "We're leaving now."

There was a sigh and a roll of the eyes from Alva, but a nod.

"What a bore you are, Beni. See you at the festival, kids.”

Alva and Benor walked away, leaving an aura of unease in the group. Though what had just happened was getting on Alicent's nerves, she couldn't help but think about Seth's reaction. Did he really have a problem with the idea that Joric and I were boyfriend and girlfriend? She looked up and met the boy's gaze. He was still earnest.

"I'm not dating Joric. I don't have a boyfriend." Alicent hurried to explain in a shy tone.

"And not because Joric doesn't want to," Idgrod concluded, slapping Seth's shoulder, who tensed without Idgrod noticing. "You can ask Ali to dance with you if you want to. I give you my blessing."

Seth's expression suddenly relaxed, although his first reaction had been to frown. Averting his gaze from Alicent, he raised both eyebrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't have the time. Lami, who had just finished serving the last customer, was on her way. She was disheveled and had a tired, but satisfied look on her face. There was a smell of herbs and potions on her.

"Are you still here?" Lami asked in a motherly tone, her hands on her hips as she looked at Alicent and Idgrod. "Ali, change your clothes and go out and have fun. I'm going to lock up the shop."

Alicent looked up at the sky; it would not be long before the sun set. She smiled and nodded.

"Thanks mom!" Then she turned to her friends: "Will you wait for me? I won't be long," she promised.

They both nodded, and she ran off in the direction of the hut, leaving Idgrod behind with her flower arrangement. Alicent put on the dress she kept for special occasions: it was yellow and green, unpatched, with a brown belt that cinched her waist and a beautiful heart-shaped neckline. She made an effort to comb her hair as best she could. The orange hue of Magnus' rays announced the end of the day as she left the house.

They were waiting for her on the porch. Seth was leaning against a wooden pillar and Idgrod was sitting on the top log of the fence. They were in the midst of a lively conversation when the sound of the door interrupted their talk. They both looked at her. For a moment, Seth looked stunned, but he quickly regained his composure and took on the expression that had driven her crazy since they first met.

"Nice dress," he commented, as if it were nothing, after a sweep of his eyes over her.

Alicent blushed again and smiled broadly. Next to Seth, Idgrod gave her a complicit grimace.

From where they stood, they could hear the hubbub of Morthal's people, who had already gathered on the other side of the Hjaal River. It did not take long for the ceremony to begin.

"I think we should go now," said Idgrod, who jumped to the ground and took the lead, leaving the couple in his wake.

Alicent appreciated the gesture. She knew that her friend was trying to give them some privacy. Seth offered his arm to walk alongside her, and Alice gladly accepted.

#skyrim #tes art #dark fantasy #dark romance #fanfic #magic #morthal #the elder scrolls #mist

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