#they had a signed photo of the pope in their living room.

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[portaltothevoid]

God Called In Sick Today — Chapters 1 & 2

Summary: It’s the ghafia fic you didn’t know you needed… When a mission goes south, Copia is left scrambling to figure out a plan to get the mayor-to-be in favor of the Emeritus family. That’s where Arianna Diodati, the Mafia Princess of his (very Catholic) rival, comes in. He plans to use her as a bargaining chip to get what he wants. Did he place the right bet or did he take more than he bargained for?

Word count: 5.8k ~//~ Warnings: mafia au, copia x oc, death/murder, gun usage, angst, physically and verbally abusive relationship, domestic violence (between oc x oc), (brief, almost subtle) dacryphilia, kidnapping, dark copia, cliffhanger, enemies to lovers, slow burn

A/N: Surprise! It's a double feature! Fair warning, the next chapters won’t be up til I have a few under my belt so that they can be posted regularly and since I’m still working on You’re Losing Me as well… it might be a while. But I am so so excited for this, that I had to give you all a taste! Massive, massive thank you to @fishwithtitz @da-rulah and @copias-juicebox for beta reading and listening to me talk about this non-stop as I worked out the plot 🖤(photos in mood board all found on pintrest and dividers by @gothdaddyissues!)

Chapter One -- The Sermon and The Plan

It was never a good sign when Papa Emeritus IV demanded a mandatory mass that wasn’t on Sunday. Usually, meetings such as this would be for the upper echelon of the clergy and the Ghouls, but this time around, every single member of the Satan’s Ministry was in attendance. No one dared speak or even look away from their Papa as he stood, eyeing everyone in the room like the disappointed father he was. 

Those in the front row could hear his leather gloves squeak against the oak of the pulpit as he gripped it like a stress ball. His unique set of eyes, one green and one white, focused on one specific Ghoul. His expression darkened like an approaching storm, which made for his already intimidating skull-painted face to become menacing. As for the Ghoul, if it weren’t for the silver-horned mask covering his face, even Papa would have seen the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of it. He knew he was the reason everyone was here and why Papa looked beyond furious. He knew it the moment he saw the blue and red flashing lights at the docks.

“As most of you know,” the Satanic pope began, “our latest operation was thwarted by carelessness. All of you deserve to know why, but first, it isn’t a true Mass without a sermon, hm?” 

He clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to walk to his right, addressing those in the pews in front of him. “Pride and greed. Two sins that often go hand in hand. Sins which we celebrate here. It seems I need to remind you all that the celebration of sin, any sin, does not give one a free pass to do whatever the fuck they want, eh?”

He turned again, to walk to the other side of the sanctuary. “Every coin has two sides. At what point does living in sin, celebrating sins, become a hindrance? 

“Pride. An excessive belief in one’s abilities. Pride can make one think they are untouchable. Pride is the sin that pushes us to achieve greatness not just in the name of Satan, but for ourselves. And there, we find greed. A desire for wealth, for gain. But, again I ask you all, when does celebrating these glorious sins become a hindrance?” 

Now, he was in front of the pulpit. Leaning against it was a cane, something he only brought out for show or to inflict pain. While he was addressing everyone, his dichromatic eyes landed on the trembling Ghoul in the center. “Excessive or grandiose sinning becomes a deterrent when it puts the lives of others at risk, when it puts an institution, a family, that you’ve devoted your life to at risk.” Grabbing the cobra head handle, Papa gracefully jumped down to walk in front of the first row. “Many of you are aware of a mission we set out on recently. A mission to save helpless women and children from a sex-trafficking ring. There also was to be an exchange of money. These degenerates were exchanging quite a large sum of money for this transaction. Those prisoners were denied the choice of freedom we offer here. We were denied what was to be used as payment to put the malleable Gregory Osorio in our corner. We have very little time to come up with this sum to get a powerful, up and coming politician in our corner. One who could turn votes in our favor. One who would look out for us. One who would defiantly oppose the Diodati dickheads.

“This mission was not successful. By the time our Ghouls arrived, the prisoners were ‘rescued’ by the police. The money – that should have been ours – confiscated. I know many have wondered how this could have happened. Well, children, the answer is simple.

“Pride… and greed…” he spoke slowly, as he walked down the center aisle, dragging his cane along the ends of the pews. “Someone felt too secure in themselves… Felt they could just… open their fucking mouth to anyone who would fucking listen… while not realizing… They were fraternizing with an informant for the enemy.” He paused his promenade. “This was not a simple mistake. This was blatant negligence from someone who I know, for a fact, knew better. This Ghoul broke our Sacramentum Secreti (Oath of Secrecy).” He began walking again. His cane hit a pew with every word. “Internal problems will be dealt with.”

He stopped. Everyone turned to look at Papa, except for one Ghoul. Papa reached over, using the tip of his cane to force him to look at his figurehead, his boss. With a look that could kill and a wave of his hand, he indicated the Ghoul to walk in front of him back up to the sanctuary.

After twenty paces, “Ghoul, you seem to be limping. I wonder why that is… Is it because your pain and suffering is a message from La Famiglia Diodati?” he remarked snidely. 

When Papa planted himself behind the pulpit, he pointed the cane to indicate a spot on the ground. “Kneel,” he commanded. On shaky legs, the Ghoul did as he was told.

Papa dragged his gaze up to the choir loft before him, where one of his best Ghouls was waiting for the signal. Painstakingly slow, he looked back at the insurrectionist. “Per aspera, ad inferi,” he prayed. Again, he made eye contact with the one in the choir loft, giving a solitary nod.

In the blink of an eye, the Ghoul to Papa’s right jolted back slightly, a red dot forming in the center of his forehead. As deep burgundy liquid dripped from it, the congregation gasped, and the Ghoul toppled forward onto his masked face with a deafening thud.  

Papa bowed his head, but his eyes passed over everyone clutching their rosary beads in front of him. Somehow, this look was more sinister than it was at the start. “Let it be known that internal problems will be dealt with,” he paused dramatically, “by whatever means necessary.”

And with that, he turned heel and left through the back door, concluding mass.

“Do we really need Osorio this time around? Putting our efforts into driving back the Diodatis would be more beneficial,” Secondo, the second oldest Emeritus, argued. The highest members of the clergy and of the Emeritus family were gathered in their meeting room reserved for familial “business” matters. 

A leather clad fist slammed on the dark cherry wood table. “And what the fuck do you think getting Osorio on our payroll would do?” Papa snapped. Secondo just rolled his eyes in response. “We’re running out of fucking time.”

“There’s that charity gala, or whatever the fuck, tomorrow. I could just use my lascivious charm to reel in Osorio,” Papa’s predecessor and brother, Terzo, waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Papa pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back in his luxurious leather office chair. 

“Copia, he actually–and it pains me to admit this–might be onto something. That gala could be a way in,” the eldest Emeritus agreed as he pressed his elbows into the table, his fingers interlacing in front of him, as he stared down his youngest brother and the church’s current Papa. 

Terzo waved his hand and his smirk deepened with Primo proving his idea had some merit. 

“We have nothing to give Osorio! The whole point of that mission was to dangle that money in his face,” Copia countered. 

“So instead we ask him his price,” Terzo shrugged nonchalantly. 

“How many of Sal’s men will be there?”

“I believe just his right-hand, Alessio Fidanza and his fiancée and probably only a handful of his associates,” Primo relayed. 

Copia’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of the fiancée. “Isn’t that Sal’s daughter? The prim and proper Mafia princess?”

“Sì.”

“For what it’s worth, my advice as your consigliere would be to attend this gala for recon purposes only. Yes, our time is running out, but we still have time to sway Osorio.” For the first time an older woman, who everyone called Sister Imperator, spoke up. She had been keenly observing Copia’s every move, just as any mother would her son, carefully watching knowing he was especially volatile right now. 

“And Sal, what about him? He’ll be there too?” Copia asked, ignoring the woman beside him.

“As far as we know, yes.”

A wicked, devilish smile spread across Copia’s face, exaggerating the black paint reminiscent of a rat’s skull around his mouth. 

“No… Copia, what are you thinking?” Sister Imperator asked hesitantly. She knew that look. They all did.

“Oh we’ll get some information. We will find out Osorio’s price and we will get Diodati’s attention.”

“Elaborate, brother,” Secondo said wearily. They knew Copia had just hatched a plan and from the look on his face, it was going to be far from easy.

“Diodati thinks he has the upper hand, sì? We can kill two birds with one stone. Show him who has the power here and get the money from him to pay off Osorio so those Catholic fucks can’t use God as a basis for politics.”

“And how exactly… would we do that? Are we intercepting one of their shipments or–” Sister Imperator began to ask hesitantly until she was cut off.

“It’s simple,” Copia stated. He leaned back in his chair casually this time, his elbows perched on the chair’s arm rests. He waved his hands in front him as if he was presenting a physical idea. “We kidnap la Principessa di Dio.”

Chapter Two -- You Should Be Scared

The last thing Arianna Diodati wanted to do was attend some pompous charity event chained to her fiancé wearing a designer dress she hated and a fake smile. She thanked God that she didn’t have to endure the after parties; she could retreat to solitude and her husband-to-be could do whatever (and most likely whomever) he wanted there. Not knowing what happened at those parties used to ruminate in her mind like a catchy pop song… until she actually found out. 

The infidelity bothered her at first, caused her to lose sleep at night, and question her worth. She used to be confrontational. She used to stick up for herself. She used to care. Arianna learned the hard way that Alessio Fidanza never actually wanted her or truly loved her. Maybe at first he did, but as time marched on, she came to realize the only thing he cared about was having an in with the most illustrious mafia family in New York City. The closer he got to her, the closer he got to Arianna’s father aka the boss of the Diodati family, and the higher up in the ranks he rose, the less he paid her any attention – or respect. In less than a handful of years Alessio was promoted as Salvatore Diodati’s right hand man. He learned the ropes, got enough blood on his hands, and eventually helped call the shots. She was used to her father dictating her life, but now, finding herself under the thumb of another man? There were only two things she could do: watch her life pass her by from behind barred windows and pray to God someone would eventually notice (and care enough about) her imprisonment to save her.

Nevertheless, she admired herself in the mirror; for once, she wore a dress that made her feel confident. Her black cherry red curls cascaded around her face. For a moment, she could see a sparkle, or a glimmer of hope, returning in her hazel eyes as she noted how the asymmetrical dress framed her body perfectly. Satin jersey panels on the two thirds of the dress accentuated her curves as it snaked down the length of it. It draped up, slightly off one shoulder while the other was a simple strap clad with the subtle (yet signature) Versace Medusa emblem. That side of the dress was a simple satin. A slit allowed one of her toned legs to peek through adding an air of sexy sophistication to the look. She was almost smiling until she heard her fiancé behind her.

“You’re wearing that tonight?” And with that snide question, the sparkle in her eye dimmed once more, returning to their usual lackluster shine.

“Um, yes? I showed it to you, remember? You said it would be fine…” she said hesitantly, her voice dancing on eggshells, and her small smile fading.

Alessio scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Do you think I pay attention to half the stuff you show me? If I saw something like that, I would have remembered. Wear the other Versace dress. The one I had Roberta pick up for you.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Specifically for tonight,” he added, his tone proving he had little patience for her tonight.

“But what’s wrong with this one? It’s not like it’s–”

He sprung at her, his nostrils flaring as he gripped her arms tighter than a blood pressure cuff. She fought back the tears that pricked in her eyes. “You look like one of Satan’s whores. Now,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “put on the other dress.” He shoved her back, her arms flew out to find purchase on the dresser beside her so she wouldn’t fall. The few perfume bottles that toppled over made an almost deafening sound amongst the tension. Her breathing was ragged as she glared at him. His look back at her served as a warning. 

She never understood how someone who claimed to be so devoted to God could be so evil, but she had to trust God’s plan for her. This all had to serve a purpose, didn’t it?

Her eyes closed as she composed herself, doing her best to stuff down the ever-raging storm of anger that lately seemed to be constantly brewing inside her. “Yes, Alessio. It’s the one still in the garment bag?”

Slowly he rolled his head up to look at the ceiling, before bringing it back to glare at her. “Obviously, you dumb bitch. Hurry up and get fucking changed. I can’t afford to be late tonight because of you,” he spat as he walked out of their room. 

Once more, she took a deep shuddering breath, her whole body trembling on the exhale. Stepping out of her preferred dress, she left the almost four thousand dollar garment lying crumpled on the floor. 

Now as she looked at herself in the mirror again, she saw a stranger she didn’t even recognize despite the only thing that physically had changed was her dress. She noted how her eyes seemed more hollow. The color in her face had paled. There was nothing but a stranger who once had dreams and ambition staring back at her. None of this felt real. 

The worst part of it all was that under any other circumstances, she would have loved wearing this. It was a black viscose material. A slim-fitting, hooded crêpe dress with a plunging V-neckline that was much more revealing than her own choice, but this one had long sleeves and went down to her mid-calf. There was a criss-cross belt also adorned with Versace’s Medusa logo, only this one was more prominent than the one on her choice of dress. 

She let out a humorless laugh as she adjusted the long sleeves. All she wanted tonight was to feel confident, to show off some skin, because things had been relatively quiet as of late. Alessio was kept busy, his attention divided elsewhere. For the first time in a while, her arms didn’t look like an abstract painting. 

If she had been the one to pick out this dress, her sentiments towards it would have been different. She didn’t want to hide, but this was what Alessio wanted her to wear. There was no way around that unless she wanted to pay the price. Letting out a heavy sigh, she put the hood up. This dress felt like the most high end and lavish prison jumpsuit. No one would know how much it felt like she was wearing shackles, a stark reminder that her choices were never own. But at least tonight she wouldn’t have to come up with a lie to explain the fresh bruises on her arms.

A single tear slid down her face, which she quickly wiped away. With a shake of her head, she put her emotions under lock and key, tucking it away into a dark corner of her mind. She practiced her million dollar smile and nodded to herself, putting her shoulders back and her chest out –a mirage of confidence and happiness– and made her way to the Bentley that was waiting for her. 

No matter the formal event, the routine was almost always the same. Arianna would find her father, talk to and dance with who he (or Alessio) told her to, have two strong drinks (but no more than that or else she’d have to deal with a very irate Alessio), fake pleasantries with the other ladies who were just as much a prisoner to this life as she was, then once the crowd began thin, could she retreat. Tonight would be no different. At least, that's what she had assumed.

She greeted her father with a kiss on the cheek. “Arianna, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he father said, ushering over to a man that was just about six or seven years older than her. He looked just like everyone else here like he came from money and would stop at nothing to get more. “Greg, this is my daughter, Arianna. Arianna, this is Gregory Osorio, our soon to be Mayor.”

This Greg guy let out a low whistle as he looked Arianna up and down. “Sal, you weren’t kidding. She is absolutely stunning. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so many things about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” she said with a smile that would never quite reach her eyes. 

“Oh, absolutely! Your dress looks like it was made for you. Ah, how do you say it… You look… bellissima!” 

“You’re too kind. Alessio convinced me to wear this tonight. I have to give all the credit to him,” she laughed, keeping up the ruse of niceties as Alessio dug his fingers into her side. It was his retaliation for the subtle jab she just made at him, even though these people would never ever know that it was. 

“Fidanza, you are a lucky man!” 

“I thank God everyday for her,” Alessio said, giving one more bruise-worthy squeeze on Arianna’s waist. He dropped his hand when everyone’s attention snapped towards the door. The group that had just arrived turned heads as they sauntered in. 

“Who invited those Emeritus fucks?” Sal snapped. 

“Copia put a call in himself to my office about a sizable donation for tonight. I figured if he's willing to be a top donor–perhaps even the top donor tonight–they might as well enjoy some of the festivities, no?” Osorio responded cautiously. “If you’ll excuse me, Sal…”

They exchanged nods as Gregory meandered through the crowd. Sal snapped his fingers. “I want eyes on them. They’re fucking up to something. Never once have they given a shit about things like this.”

“On it, boss,” one of his men said before he disappeared amongst the throng of people.  

Arianna never liked the Emeritus family. In fact, she borderline hated them with their menacingly painted faces and blasphemous way of life. She never quite understood how they rose to rival that of her family. Perhaps they really did make a deal with the devil.

“I’m going to grab a drink,” she said quietly. Alessio just waved her off, her father already in a passionate discussion regarding something she couldn’t care less about.

She made her way to the bar, getting the attention of one of the bartenders. “Your usual, Ms. Diodati?”

“Yes, please,” she smiled. 

It wasn’t long until she felt a pair of eyes on her from the other end of the bar. She looked up to see Copia, the ringleader of the Satanic circus, staring her down like a hunter watching its prey. It sent a shiver down her spine, but all he saw was the scowl that encapsulated her face. That only made him smirk at her.

She rolled her eyes in disgust, looking away from him. Out of the corner of her eye, though, when she knew his attention was back on someone that wasn’t her, she couldn’t help herself from taking in his appearance. She hated to admit, he looked… elegant. His burgundy pants were impossibly tight in all the right ways. It pained her to acknowledge the way they perfectly hugged his thighs. He had foregone his suit jacket, leaving just his matching burgundy vest and black dress shirt and tie. His sleeves were rolled up and she could see his muscles flex as he grabbed his drink.

Her eyes lingered for a few seconds too long. This time, he caught her watching him. His mouth curled up again into a sly half-smile as he took a drink. His dichromatic eyes never left her. The instant her drink hit the counter, she brought it to her lips and weaved her way through everyone back to Alessio in hopes of putting distance between her and whatever exchange had just taken place.

Shortly after she resumed her role as the token arm candy she was, did her father tense up when a leather clad hand slapped his shoulder. “Salvatore! Come stai (how are you)?”  

“Copia,” he greeted stiffly. “To what do we owe this… surprise?” The words rolled off his tongue as if they made his skin crawl. 

“Can’t a man just be willing to support a good cause such as this?”

Sal’s only response was to purse his lips. Copia was reveling in the fact that just his presence alone was getting under his enemy’s skin. “Say, Copia, did you hear about the girls that were rescued from trafficking by the docks the other day?” A condescending smirk now replaced the sour look on his face.

Copia’s eyes darkening was the only acknowledgement of Sal’s jab he let slip. “Ah, yes, thank the Gods below they’ve been transferred from one prison to another, being treated as criminals instead of victims.”

“Well, a whore contained is better than a whore on the street.”

Copia laughed sneeringly. “Ah, and I’m sure by whore, you mean a two-bit one. Tell me, though, what are the plans after this? Anyone escorting you to the after party?” he smirked as it was Sal’s turn for his expression to darken. 

Arianna didn’t realize she was watching this with bated breath, or that she was clinging to Alessio until he shook her off him. Copia's eyes immediately darted to Arianna’s fiancé breaking free of her almost death grip to take a step towards him. “You know, since you’re here, a thanks is in order,” Alessio said cunningly. “Those girls couldn’t have been saved without the helpful information one of your soldiers let slide right off his tongue. I’ve gotta say, that was a lucky group of girls.”

“Life’s just a game of luck, isn’t it?” Sal chimed in with a shrewd smile directed at Copia. 

“And I thank you as well, gentlemen, for helping me shed some dead weight.” The tenison grew thick as the flames of their rivalry were fanned with each remark. “But, a real man makes his own luck.” He casted a quick astute glance with an accompanying nod to Sal before he turned to directly face Arianna. “Perdonami,” he murmured gently, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Arianna, e come stai stasera, principessa (and how are you tonight, princess)?” 

Her heart thumped wildly against her sternum and her eyes flashed nervously over to Alessio. She knew somehow this man’s unprompted actions would be her fault. Both men noted immediately how her body stiffened. One was amused by her fear while the other felt a pang of pity. “Bene, grazie (good, thank you),” she piped up meekly. 

“Would it be alright if I stole la bella donna (the beautiful woman) for just one dance?” he asked the two men beside him, only taking his eyes off Arianna for a mere second.

Giving Alessio a slap on the back, “She’s practically yours now, son. That’s your call to make,” her father laughed as he walked off towards the bar.

Arianna widened her eyes, begging Alessio to say no. Rolling his lips between his teeth as he pondered his decision quickly. He nodded, another sly smile curling the edges of his mouth. “One song wouldn’t hurt, eh? Careful though, she’s a pistol. Hope you can handle her. Lord knows some days I barely can.”

Copia laughed dryly. “I think someone of my stature knows how to handle one of those quite well,” he challenged, ushering Arianna away quickly.

Alessio reached out and grabbed her by the arm, just like he had earlier, turning her towards him. She inhaled sharply through gritted teeth at the pain as he had constricted her already tender bruises. “I’ll be waiting by the bar for you,” he hummed as his eyes flicked back and forth between Arianna and her new dance partner, before they lingered on her. She knew that look on his face. It was another warning. Without a sound, he let go of her, and followed the path of her father.

Copia’s arm snaked around her waist. He made it a point to do it gingerly, but that did nothing to calm her rattling nerves. “You’re trembling, cara,” he noted quietly, turning to face her, placing a hand on her hip on the same spot Alessio’s fingers left painful imprints. Her eyes fluttered shut when she involuntarily shied away from him. He eyed her curiously as he switched hands, placing one on her opposite hip and taking her hand in his other. She never quite understood the random ballroom dancing that happened at some of these parties.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

A sinister laugh quietly bubbled from him as he leaned to whisper in her ear, “You really should be.”

“And why’s that?” she challenged as they stepped in time together. Unsure of how, or why, but she could feel some of her old fire ignite inside her. 

“Now, now, if I answered that it would ruin the surprise.”

She spoke in a way so her lips didn’t move, but Copia could understand her muffled words perfectly: “My father has eyes on you, you know.” This came off as more of a warning of caution than a threat. 

“I’d expect nothing less from him. The real question is, does he have eyes on you?”

“I highly doubt it. I’ve proven to him I’ve learned from my rebellious ways,” she scoffed.

“Oh?”

“The consequences aren’t worth the… It serves no purpose anymore.”

After a few beats of silence, Copia asked, “Why do you let them treat you like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like they own you.”

For the first time since their dance began, she looked directly into his two-toned irises. Her breath hitched. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone, never mind a practical stranger, had even acknowledged her feelings or that she might have any at all. Her life wasn’t her own; it was already planned out. She could picture her life with Alessio as if she already lived. It’s mostly the reason she had become a shell, a carbon copy of herself. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a tall cliffside with no one to pull her back and no one who noticed, or even cared… So why was her father’s sworn enemy acting as if he did? And why in God’s name did it make her stomach flip and her heart flutter? “Because they do,” she finally managed to say through barely parted lips.

As the song ended, Copia regarded her with a smug, yet sympathetic look. He stepped towards her, pressing his body against hers, bringing his forehead down to hers. Standing there frozen, there was nothing she was able to do except stare into the most intriguing pair of eyes she’d ever seen. “Il mio agnellino (my little lamb)…” he purred. A devilish smile creeped onto his face. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He abruptly left her standing there like a deer in headlights with her heart hammering in chest, and disappeared into the crowd. She sucked in a deep, ragged breath as she looked around checking to see if there were any witnesses to what just happened. 

That man was evil. She knew this. He was ruthless. He worshiped the devil. He was the enemy.

And yet, what terrified her the most wasn’t his veiled threats, but her reaction to them. There was an allure to him, an air of mystique. Someone heard her faint cries for freedom… She shook it off and went to find Alessio, fearing what he would do if she waited any longer.

Arianna caught his eye as she walked up to him leaning against the bar, alone. He knocked back the remainder of his drink and forcefully grabbed her wrist, dragging her out to a deserted hallway. Not a single person batted an eyelash as they rushed past. 

Once he assumed they were completely by themselves, he forced her up against the wall. Her back stinging in protest as the coolness of the concrete seeped into her skin. Unbeknownst to the nowhere-near-happy couple, Copia and his ghouls were waiting in a nearby room. Every part of his plan was falling in place like dominos. 

“Alessio wh–” Arianna started to question, but was cut off by Alessio slamming his fist on the wall right next to her head.

While he now had her caged in, he pointed a finger in her face. “What the fuck was that about? You fucking wanted to dance with that vermin?”

She stared at him in horror. Even though she knew he would pull this card, it never made it easier any time it happened. “What are you talking about?! Did you miss the look I gave you? I wanted nothing to do with him! I wanted you to say the ‘no’ that I couldn’t!”

“You wanted–” he scoffed. “You wanted me to say no? Since when do I make your decisions for you?”

“Only every fucking day of my life!” she spat back at him, seething. Though he embodies sin and everything unholy, when Copia switched the hands on her hips, when he noted her fear… Those actions, so subtle, spoke volumes. She was reminded of what it means when a person has compassion, empathy, and even a trace of humanity inside them. If she ever experienced that with Alessio it had long be wiped from her memory, overridden by every terrible thing he had done to her and put her through.

The rage that erupted from him, the hatred that bled from his eyes, haunted her nightmares. Instantly after the words left her mouth, her whole body tensed. When the blow from his hand landed across her face, she didn’t even have time to react before he gripped her arms again, somehow even harder than the two previous times.

“You think you can just go dance with another man without looking like one of the devil’s whores? Maybe I should have let you wear that dress, since here you are, being one instead of just looking like one.” He shook her as he berated her. 

“Alessio, please, you’re hurting me,” she whimpered, tears streaming down her face as her fiancé screamed at her. His voice drowned out from the thumping music and the raucous party-goers in the other room.

“You little fucking cunt, if it wasn’t for your father I would have left your pathetic ass years ago,” he snarled through his teeth just before he tossed her to the ground like a rag doll. “Get the fuck home. I don’t want to deal with this right now. And you better think of a good way to make this up to me…” he warned before he cracked his neck, fixed his shirt cuffs, and sauntered back into the party. 

Quietly, she sobbed into the tile floor. Her body was alight in a flame of pain. “Please, God. Please help me. I can’t… I just can’t…”

A hand gently touched her shoulder. She recoiled, flinching, and pressed herself into the wall behind her.

“Oh, Principessa,” Copia tutted. He crouched down in front of her and used his thumb to wipe away her tears. She watched as he brought his hand closer to inspect how they glistened on his leather glove. His eyes bored into hers as he brought his thumb to his mouth, nearly sensually cleaning off her agonized tears with his tongue. Fear coursed through her harder than the adrenaline did when she spoke back to Alessio. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that God called in sick today,” he leaned in closer, hovering over her forebodingly, “and he sent me to handle your prayers,” he cooed disparagingly. 

He stepped back from her, offering to help her up. She stared at his hand, her eyes wide with panic. When he waved it to snap her out of her trance, she scrambled to her feet. Automatically fearing supposed repercussions. 

“How much… how much of that did you hear?” she whispered.

“All of it.” With a snap of his fingers two ghouls appeared, seemingly out of nowhere from Arianna’s perspective, and grabbed her arms. Their grip firm, but it wasn’t lost on her how they somehow managed to avoid touching where Alessio had hurt her. 

“Wh-what are you doing? Let me go. Let go of me!” she cried out, feebly attempting to wriggle from the ghouls’ grasps. 

Copia stepped forward, taking her face in his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheeks. With his face inches from hers, that diabolical smile reappeared. “I’m sorry about that too, but I can’t allow that. You see, il mio agnellino, you won’t be going home tonight.” He snaked his hands down from her face and along her neck before he leaned in so close to her, his breath tickled her ear. The way his lips moved against her skin sent shivers down her spine. “I told you. You should be scared of me.”

As he backed away from her, a third ghoul put a cloth over her mouth. Her screams were muffled as she tried to thrash and escape from her captors. Soon, her movements slowed and her vision blurred. The last thing she remembered seeing was that haunting pair of eyes, one green and one white, watching her with a smirk that rivaled that of the devil’s, before something covered her head and plunged her into darkness as her body went limp.

Next Chapter || taglist: @gorie-talks-a-lot @haelithra @love-is-all-you-need-13 @lydzlore @megachaoticstupid @onlyhereforghost  @state-of-longing @werich @whenparadiseislost 

[sappy-seresin]

left behind (j.m)

A/N: This imagine is based off of the song “All My Friends,” by AJ Mitchell. It doesn’t entirely relate to the song, and didn’t turn out exactly how I thought it would, but I hope that you enjoy it nonetheless. This is my first “Outer Banks,” related imagine, I’m sure it doesn’t do the show justice, but I thought I’d try because I can’t stop thinking about the show.

The sections in bold are song lyrics and flashbacks are in italics; just to clear any potential confusion.

Requests are open, as always, feel free to request anything Outer Banks related...or any of the other that fandoms I write for! 

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

“I’m done, I can’t do this anymore,” JJ broke down rushing around his room to aimlessly throw his belongings into his bag.

“JJ, please calm down,” I beg, reaching out to touch him until John B’s arms wrapped around my waist, halting my movements. I look up at him in frustration, trying to force myself out of his arms. 

“Stop, he needs to do this,” he commands softly, holding me against his chest. Kie, Pope, and Sarah watch the scene in silence, the tension in the room growing thicker as we watch JJ pack his bags. 

“JJ-”

“Don’t Kie, nothing you say is going to keep me from leaving,” he barks, glaring at her. His whole body trembling with anger due to argument that he had with his dad moments earlier. “I’m done.” 

My heart drops at the sight of him; knowing full well that even I won’t be able to convince him to stay. 

An hour later we stand on the dock watching hundreds of people board the ferry. Everyone stands in silence anticipating having to say goodbye, but seemingly afraid of the moment that we’d be forced to do so. 

JJ’s hand slides into mine tightly gripping onto my fingers. I close my eyes, trying to stay calm and support his decision of leaving the island, even though I want to beg him to stay. 

“It’s time,” Pope sighs, breaking the silence as we all share sad glances.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I whisper to JJ, pulling him into my arms. “I’ll talk to my parents, you know that they’ll let you stay with us. Please, just don’t leave me here.”

“I can’t move in with you,” he states, his words slightly muffled by my hair. “I have to go, and I need you to support this decision.”

“Then let me come with you,” I insist, frowning when he pulls himself from my grasp so that he can look at me. “We promised that we’d never leave each other-”

“We were four years old,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I love you but this is something I need to do on my own, okay?” I simply nod in response; not trusting my voice. He pulls me back into his arms one last time, whispering a “thank you” before he moved to say his goodbyes to everyone else. I stand to the side, looking anywhere but at my friends as each of them had their moment with him. 

Kie and Sarah joined me, giving me sympathetic looks before pulling me into side hugs so that we could stand together. I lay my head on Sarah’s shoulder, watching John B pull JJ into his arms one last time.

“Take care of yourself, JJ,” he stated as they pulled away from each other.

“You know I will,” he winked, clearly trying to lighten the mood and take our attention away from the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He takes a moment to salute at us, his eyes meeting mine one last time before he spun around to board the ferry without looking back.

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

“Why can’t I just hide in my room,” I huff exasperatedly flopping on my bed backwards tired of hearing my mom ramble about needing to get back to a normal routine.

“Listen to me, it’s been nearly a month. I know how deeply you care for him, but this has got to stop,” she states walking out of my closet empty handed. “You’ve never liked this house, and now it seems that all you want to do is spend your time here. As much as I love having you around, I’m worried.”

“Mom,” I groan, shifting to face her. “You don’t have to worry. I’m perfectly fine.” 

“I’m your mother. As much as you think you can lie to me, you can’t. So don’t start,” she warns, raising her eyebrows as she sat on the bed next to me. I sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat, as the front I attempted to put on slowly vanished. “Love is strong, especially when you’re young. Sadly, when you sign up for love you also sign up for potential heartbreak. The fact that you’re hurting so deeply just shows that it was real.” I listen intently, tears springing into my eyes at her words. 

“But I didn’t sign up for it, mom. He’s my best friend, not my boyfriend,” I huff, as if trying to deny what I already know is true.

“You and I know full well that you don’t have to be dating someone to be in love,” she replies, sending me a gentle smile. “Your relationship with JJ is a prime example of that. You’ve been in love with that boy for years and, from what I’ve seen, he is just as in love with you.”

“I know that you’re mourning what you lost, but you can’t stop living because of this,” she continues, tucking hair behind my ear, caressing my cheek. Her thumb wiping away the single tear escaping my eye. “You have friends that love you; who want to be able to walk through this with you and quite frankly, I’m running out of excuses as to why they can’t come see you.” A quiet laugh falls from my lips between quiet sniffles, still unable to muster up any words. 

“I know you feel alone, because you love him, but your friends are working through letting go of JJ too. You weren’t the only one the boy left behind when he left the island. He was their best friend too,” her fingers tenderly brush through my tangled hair, knowing how that it’s always helped me relax. “With that being said, I think you would start feeling a lot better if you stopped pushing them away, don’t you?” 

“I guess,” I sniffle, not enjoying the fact that she’s right. 

“Great, because I told them to pick you up on the dock in an hour,” she smiles brightly, scrunching up her face as she awaits my response.

“Mom,” I exclaim, shooting up from my bed. “Why would you do that? I haven’t showered in a week! There’s so much that needs to be done!” 

 She laughs from her spot on the bed, watching me haphazardly pull clothes out of my closet. I hurry towards the bathroom with a heap of clothes in my arms, pausing to drop everything on the bed to wrap her in a hug. “Thank you.”

------

Crowded but a lonely place

Sittin’ at a table full of double dates

And everywhere I go, I wanna see your face

I take a sip from the solo cup in my cold hands, shuddering due to the breeze that passed by. My attention on John B and Sarah seated across from me, laughing at something Pope had said. The boneyard buzzing with multiple groups of people due to the kegger currently taking place on the beach.

 I zone out from the conversation to study my surroundings. A familiar emptiness settling in as I mindlessly scan the crowd in search of JJ even though I know he isn’t here. Scanning my surroundings in search of him has become a part of my routine; seemingly a side affect of missing him. 

My eyes trail over my friends, each looking exceptionally light, carelessly engrossed in their conversation. Two months ago, I would have been happy at the sight but something is missing. Someone is missing and I’ve caught myself feeling completely alone in moments like this one. JJ’s arm should be carelessly draped over my shoulders but instead there’s an empty spot next to me, and a deep longing that never seems to go away. Our group has been perfectly paired up ever since Sarah and John B got together, Pope and Kiara following soon after, but now I’m always left feeling like a fifth wheel on a double date. 

“Hey,” Kie’s voice cals, pulling my attention back to my friends. The small fire in front of us casts shadows on each of them as I’m met with Kie’s concerned face. “You good?” Her question catches me off guard and forces me to shift uncomfortably in lawn chair under everyone’s gaze. 

“Um, yeah, I’m fine. I guess that it’s kind of hard to enjoy parties anymore,” I shrug, trying to muster up a reassuring smile. “They’re not the same without JJ.” Her concerned expression drops into one of sympathy and I immediately regret saying anything. John B whispers something to Sarah, pressing a soft kiss against her temple, before he moves to take the empty seat next to me. He wordlessly slings his arm over my shoulders and pulls me into him, resting his chin on my head.

“I miss him too,” he whispers looking down at me.

“I should’ve gone with him,” I state, John’s eyes softening at the tears filling my eyes. “When we were young, we promised each other that we wouldn’t leave unless we were together.” A tearful laugh falls from my lips at the memory. “Yet, when it actually came down to it, he didn’t seem to give leaving me behind a second thought. I should have tried harder to-”

“Stop,” John interrupts gently tilting my chin so I would look at him. “I know it hurts, but I love you too much to watch you do this to yourself.” 

His thumbs catch tears that I didn’t even realize were falling. “JJ is stubborn and hard to get through to, you know that. I know there was a part of him that wanted to take you with him but he needed to do himself. We’ve been cleaning up after him for as long as I can remember. I think he realized that he needed to be able to make his own decision without having anyone else to worry about.”

“I want to hate him,” I admit with a heavy sigh. “I feel like I want to be angry with him but I can’t.” John nods in agreement, seeming to understand what I meant. “I just feel so broken, JB. He’s my best friend.” 

“I know,” he sighs, pulling me against his chest again. “We’ll get through it together.”  ---------------- Pictures, I’m reminded 

Of good times, how we tried it

Don’t know how to get you out of my mind

I don’t have it in me to deny it

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the guest bedroom at the chateau, I shuffle through the old photo album I’d found. My lips curve into a smile when I come across a couple of more recent photos that were haphazardly stuffed into the back of the tethered book. They were taken on a cheap disposable camera that JJ bought me after he overheard me talking to Kiara about how much I’d been wanting to buy one.

It was a beautiful day so we’d packed the HMS Pogue up with fishing supplies and snacks having opted to spend the day on the water. 

The sun had just started going down, each of us sun kissed and slightly tipsy as we waited for the sunset. I was curled up on the front of the boat with JJ, clad in his t-shirt with a blanket strewn across our laps. My back rested against his front, his chest vibrating with soft laughter as John B clambered back into the boat, soaking wet, after he’d lost his balance while wrestling with Pope. John B let out a string of threats as we all laughed at him, mostly due to the look on his face when he realized he was going down. 

I smiled at the way that JJ hugged me closer to him when our laughter died down. He adjusted me in his lap, his arms still wrapped tightly around my torso as I focused on the sunset ahead of us. I was so focused on the view that I didn’t notice Kie approaching us with my camera in her hands. We’d all taken turns taking photos on it because I was antsy to get them developed to see how they would turn out. 

JJ, also oblivious to Kie’s presence, pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of my head right as the flash of the camera went off causing both of us to jump slightly.

“My eyes,” JJ exclaims, a laugh falling my lips when his hands suddenly moved in front of my eyes as if he was going to protect them from another flash. I heard the camera click again causing JJ to protest. “Kie, I’m going blind here.”

JJ’s hands fell from my eyes; returning to their original spot on my waist. Kie stood in front of us lifting my camera again to taunt him. My head fell back against JJ’s chest, loud loud laughs falling from my lips, as JJ shouted threats at Kie. Pope and John B had since joined in on the fun, egging Kie on. JJ halted his movements, an endearing smile on his face as he looked down at me, watching me laugh.

“Now would be a good time to take a picture, Kie,” John whispered, prompting her to catch the sweet moment.

I shake my head; fingers delicately brushing over the pictures.

“I thought you’d be hiding in here,” John’s voice rang, pulling me out of my trance. I look up at him from my position on the floor. His arms cross against his chest, a lazy smile on his lips, as he leaned against the door frame.

“Yeah, sorry,” I blush, watching him stalk over to where I’m seated.

“I remember that day,” he smiles, taking one of the pictures from my hands. “Times we much simpler then.” I nod in agreement; wordlessly pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“I thought he was going to kiss me,” I admit with a small laugh.

“Me too. I’m convinced that he would have if Kie hadn’t ruined the mood,” John replies, moving to flip through the photo album on the floor.

“Actually, the mood wouldn’t have been ruined if you hadn’t encouraged her to take the picture. So I think you’re the one to blame,” I joke, shoving his shoulder.

“That may be true, but at least we captured the moment and you can keep it forever.” He throws his hands up in surrender and gestures to the picture before returning his attention to the photo album.

“He loves you a lot. You know that right?” John asks, breaking the comfortable silence. “God, he always looked at you like that.” John’s voice broke with a lighthearted laugh.

“He did, didn’t he?” I whisper, relishing in the memories of how JJ always looked at me as if I was all that mattered. “I can’t stop thinking about him, John B. I mean, he’s been gone for weeks and hasn’t even bothered to call. Doesn’t he realize that we’re worried about him? I can’t walk into a room without looking for him or go to sleep without having nightmares about him being alone.”

“Hey, it’s JJ we’re talking about. He’ll come around eventually. I miss him like hell, but I know that he needed to go.”John assured pulling the pictures out of my hands so that I would look at him. His hand came up to caress my cheek, just like JJ had done since we were young. “I also know that he’d hate it if he knew how much this is hurting you.” 

“I just wish he’d call. I hate missing him.” 

“I know,” he sighs, pulling me into a loose hug. We stayed like that for a long time, John holding me against his chest as he quietly shared stories about his dad. We only moved when my head began lulling to the side, fighting to keep my eyes open. John wordlessly stood up, sticking his hand out for me to grab. “I’ll tell your mom that you’re staying over again.”

“Thank you,” I yawn, giving him a quick hug before he exited the room. I turn around, pulling on one of the sweatshirts JJ always left out for me to wear. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, but still brings me the same sense of comfort that it always has. 

Spending the night at the chateau is the only way I seem to be able to get a decent nights sleep nowadays. Something about staying in the guest room, that JJ practically claimed as his own, seemed to cure my tendency to lie awake at night worrying about him. I curl under the covers feeling myself relax almost immediately as sleep welcomed me.  --------------------

Cause everybody, everybody knows something I don’t

Where are they? I think to myself, eyebrows furrowing together when I notice that the Twinkie isn’t parked in front of John B’s house. I stalk up the driveway and let myself into the house. 

“Hello,” I call, only to be met with silence. I pull my phone out of my pocket, quickly dialing Kie’s number in confusion.

“Hey you,” She answers, sounding slightly nervous.

“Where are you guys? I thought we were meeting at the chateau,” I respond, ignoring her tone. 

“Pope was supposed to call you,” she sighs, only making my confusion grow.

“What do you mean, why?”

“Well, we all kind of got called into work last minute. The boys are helping Heyward set up for midsummer’s and I have to cover for a waitress that didn’t come in,” she explains, and I hear hushed whispers on the other line. 

“Why do you sound so weird? What’s wrong?” I ask, noticing the weird strain in her voice. 

“Weird? I don’t sound weird. Everything’s fine,” she dismissed. The whispers on her end of the phone only growing louder. I can’t make out what’s being said but I’m certain that John B was among the people whispering. 

“Kie, what is going on? Are the boys th-”

“Hey, I’m sorry I have to go. Sorry for bailing on the plans last minute, but it’s urgent. I’ll meet you at Sarah’s to get ready for tonight,” she quickly rushes before hanging up the phone. 

I slide my phone into my pocket with a frown, deciding to walk to Sarah’s now seeing as everyone else seems to be busy. I kick at loose rocks on the ground; thinking back to my conversation with Kie. They’re definitely hiding something. I furrow my eyebrows, feeling annoyed due to being in the dark about what was going on. 

I can’t seem to settle down,

Cause I’m waiting on you to come around

Midsummers has been going on for nearly an hour, and I’ve been on edge the whole time. This year was the first year that all of the Pogues, excluding JJ, are attending the party. Pope being here to help Heyward prepare food while John B is Sarah’s plus one. 

I’ve been eyeing my friends closely all night, noticing multiple moments of hushed whispers whenever I came back around. I’ve only grown more and more frustrated at their lack of explanation as to why they are acting so suspicious. 

“Okay, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m over it. If someone doesn’t give me answers right now, I’m leaving,” I huff, walking over to my friend group, huddled by the food tables away from everyone else. They turn around in surprise, my tone clearly catching them off guard. I cross my arms, patiently waiting for someone to speak while they share a glance. Everyone’s eyes landing on John B. Whose eyes were trained on something behind me, a slight smile adorning his face.

“Leaving so soon? But the party just got here,” a familiar voice states behind me causing goosebumps to rise on my skin; my breath catching in my throat. My heart pounds against my rib cage as I turn around in shock, a loud gasp leaving my lips at the sight of the blonde boy standing in front of me with his hands in his pockets. 

“JJ,” I choke out, hands shooting to my mouth in disbelief. His figure blurs with the tears filling my eyes. I wordlessly watch him step closer to me, seemingly frozen in place at the sight in front of me.

“It’s me,” he whispers. “I’m right here.” All of my emotions hit me the moment his hands tenderly cup my face, thumbs brushing away the shocked tears. I throw my arms around him, trying not to make too much of a scene as quiet sobs fall from my shaking frame. A wave of peace rolls over my body at the realization that JJ is okay and is safely tucked in my arms.

The rest of the Pogues come around us, wrapping us in the middle of an emotional group hug. When the hug breaks, I cling to JJ for a few more seconds, not entirely convinced that he’s actually in front of me. His lips press a gentle kiss on my forehead, quietly assuring me that he was there. 

“Don’t leave me again,” I demand, pulling myself away from his grip. “My heart can’t handle it.”

“I promise, I’m here for good,” he laughs, pulling me into one more hug before we return to reality. We spend the rest of the party catching up and enjoying each others company. For the first time in weeks, things feel okay. 

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

And everybody lookin’ like a honeymoon

But all that I have been looking for is me and you

Glancing around John B’s living room, a content smile forms on my face. I take a mental snapshot of the moment; relishing in how good it feels to be together again. Our bodies clad in pajamas all squished together on the small pullout couch. We shared stories for hours, everyone falling asleep one by one until me and JJ were the only two left awake.

“Do you want to go to the guest room? As much as I love these guys, I don’t really want to wake up groping any of them,” he whispered, pausing when Pope stirred in his sleep. I smile, pressing my finger to my lips to signal him to be quiet as I slowly crawl out of bed, trying not to wake any of them up. JJ follows soon after, successfully making it off of the mattress without disturbing anyone. He nods toward the hallway, lacing his fingers with mine before pulling me towards the room. 

We wordlessly crawl under the covers and settle into a comfortable silence, noticing the sun beginning to peak through the blinds. JJ wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest with a content sigh. 

“I’ve missed this,” I murmur, breaking the peaceful silence. JJ hums in agreement, pressing a chaste kiss on my forehead mumbling a soft, “me too,” against my skin. My heart swells at the feeling, a sudden wave of confidence spreading through my body forcing me to sit up in the bed abruptly, pulling myself out of his grasp.

“What’s wrong,” he asks, mirroring my movements as he shifts to face me. I instinctively grab his hand; fingers tracing the lines on his palms to keep myself from looking at him.

“I need to tell you something,” I state after a few moments of silence, hesitantly tearing my gaze away from our hands. I’m met with a concerned expression, his hand moving to push my hair out of my face.

“What is it?” I sigh at his question, nerves beginning to settle in as I stare at him. You have to tell him, I think to myself, there’s really no going back at this point. 

“JJ I-” I pause, pressing my lips together in a thin line. The fear of telling him how I feel eating away at me, while he patiently waits for me to continue. 

“You can tell me,” he smiles, a slight glimmer in his eyes.

“The last three months have been absolute hell,” I admit, watching his supportive expression drop at my words. “I was forced to watch everyone else continue on with their lives while I was just stuck.”

He opens his mouth to say something but I shake my head, silently beginning him to let me continue. “You’ve been this constant thought on my mind. It’s kind of funny actually, it seems that you constantly demanded my attention even when you weren’t here,” I laugh lightheartedly, wiping away the tears that escaped my eyes. 

“Anyway, your being gone gave me a lot of time to think and I’ve realized that I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel a certain way about you,” JJ’s eyes urge for me to continue as his hand gently squeezes my own. “JJ, I’m in love with you.” 

My words echo in my ears, heart beating rapidly in my chest, as I stare at my best friend. “I can’t keep pretending that I’m content with just being your best friend. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but I have to be honest with you. All I could think about was-”

“Stop talking,” he interrupts, hands gripping my shoulders as a serious expression crosses over his face, making my heart drop. Our friendship is over. I just got him back and I’m going to lose him again. “You’re insane if you think I don’t feel the same way about you.” He moves his hands to cup my face, his eyes flickering down to my lips. “Leaving made me realize that the only time I feel safe is when I’m with you.” He hesitated for a moment before closing the gap between us with a kiss. His lips pressing against mine urgently as he pulled me into his lap. 

“God, you’re all I’ve ever wanted,” he sighs, after breaking the kiss. Our chests heaving slightly due to the previous lack of air. 

“Don’t leave me again,” I state, shoving him backwards onto the bed, watching him laugh in surprise. He flips us over, pinning me to the bed as his lips met mine again.

“I’m here for good,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms after collapsing next to me. The beating of his heart lulled me into a peaceful sleep, resting on his promise to stay. 

[mudhornchronicles]

dreamboat | greaser!frankie | part three

photo credit

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader; greaser!frankie x f!reader

warnings: violence, mentions of racism towards latinos, cursing

dreamboat: part one | part two | part three

masterlist

Frankie has been in this cold and dark cement cell for what feels like months – it has been 19 hours. It was only 3 in the afternoon and would be in this cell until 5 when his mother got off work. He may have been 18 years old, but the sheriff did not care – especially being Frankie. Frankie would not stop pacing to and from one side of the 6-foot by 8-foot jail cell and the sheriff was getting quite annoyed.

“Frankie, ya want a metal cup to rattle against the bars or will ya quit bein’ dramatic? Stop pacin’ or you’ll make a hole through the cement, kid.” Frankie stops pacing and looks at the sheriff sitting at the desk situated in front of the holding cell. “Ya actin’ like ya goin’ to federal prison. Tu madre viene por ti a las cinco, hijo. Relajate.”

Your mother is coming for you at 5, son. Relax.

Frankie sits on the floor, putting his head in his hands. He lets out a sigh as he rubs his face. He looks back up at the smiling sheriff and raises an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

The sheriff takes a drink of his coffee and nods his head over at Frankie. “You are kid. Ya only got in a fight; ya didn’t hold up a bank.” He reaches in his desk’s cabinet and pulls out a silver flask. He pours a generous amount of a golden liquid in his coffee and goes to close the flask. He tuts as he looks back at the steaming black liquid and pours some more whiskey. This causes Frankie to laugh at the sheriff he came to know and like. The sheriff stands and walks over to Frankie, his mug of coffee in one hand and dragging his chair with the other. He places the chair in front of Frankie’s cell and takes a seat. He takes a swig of his coffee and looks at Frankie.

“I hope ya know your mom is goin’ to have a cow when I tell her why you’re in here.”

Frankie smirks and nods. “Ya ain’t tell her, yet?”

“What? That ya gave Oberyn a beatin’ ‘cause he was givin’ ya shit? Hell, that little bastard deserved it. If I don’t tell ya mom, you will.”

“Yeah? Well he was cruisin’ for a bruisin’. He should’a seen it comin’. Next time I see that cat, he’s gettin’ more than a couple’a shiners,” Frankie huffed. All he was able to give Oberyn was a good black eye and a couple of other bruises. The sheriff got called the second the boys went outside. He knew Rosie must have called the sheriff, but Frankie couldn’t be mad. The boys promised Rosie that there would be no confrontations in front of the diner – they did not do that last night. “Why I gotta tell my mom for? Aint you the sheriff? Shouldn’t ya be the one to tell ‘er why I’m in the can?”

The sheriff takes a deep breath and sighs. “Frankie, listen to me.” Frankie scoffs and rolls his eyes, waiting for the sheriff’s spiel about being responsible for his mother’s sake.

The sheriff sits straight and places his mug on the floor. He clears his throat and speaks to Frankie in the tone Frankie knows to shut up and listen. “Francisco, you listen here you little shit. You been in this very cell three times now, Tom having the record of 38, and ya feel like what? Ya feel like ya cool or somethin’? Ya mom already don’t like the friends ya hang with, except for Santiago. Ya think she likes seein’ you behind these,” the sheriff bangs on the metal bars for emphasis, “bars here? Now, I ain’t ya daddy, son. Nobody will ever compare to the man ya father was, but I know good and damn well he wouldn’t wanna see his only kid behind these bars. That man fought too fuckin’ hard for you and ya momma for you to be fuckin’ up ya life.”

Frankie stands up and leans against the cell, holding a metal bar in each hand. “’The fuck ya on about? You said it ya’self! I just got in’a fight. How’s that fuckin’ up my life?”

The sheriff stands up and gets close to Frankie. “Watch ya tone with me, boy. I ain’t one of your little friends to be gettin’ an attitude with, got it? You know that little betty you had ‘round ya arm? Her momma don’t like ya. Her momma got her head way up her ass, she don’t like anyone whose shoes aren’t new every day.”

Frankie chuckles at this.

“Hell she don’t even like me very much and I’m the law. Ya think she wants her daughter ridin’ round town with ya? Ya like her right? The more you get behind these bars, the further you get from her, you got it?”

Frankie nods as he walks away from the sheriff and sits on the concrete bench with a slump. The sheriff lets out a sigh and drags his chair back to the desk, taking a big gulp of his coffee. He grabs his newspaper and flicks it to straighten it out. He looks at Frankie and frowns. He decides to give Frankie one last piece of advice – something he promised himself he’d never use but he knew the young man needed to hear it.

“Francisco,” he says to catch Frankie’s attention. He continues even if Frankie doesn’t look at him, he knows he’s listening. “Tu padre murió por ti. El murió para que tu vivieras la vida que deseabas. Yo sé que este estilo de vida no es para ti y si lo eliges, entonces tu padre murió por nada.”

Frankie’s head snaps up and watches as the sheriff stands and walks out for a smoke. Frankie knew the sheriff wanted to leave the room for air because he would always smoke inside. From this moment to a quarter after 5, Frankie remained silent and still as he pondered on what the sheriff had said to him.

Your father died for you. He died so you could live the life you wanted. I know this lifestyle is not for you and if you choose it, then your father died for nothing.

As much as he wanted to cry and fight the sheriff, Frankie knew that the sheriff spoke only truth. Frankie’s father would have been incredibly disappointed, which only hurts Frankie the more he thought of it. The sheriff said that his father died for him and it’s true. If his father would have put Frankie’s name on that sign up, Frankie would have been dead by now. Instead of drafting 18-year old’s as stated, the US became desperate and sent off 16-year old’s with the promise of compensation for their families – that didn’t ever happen.

Frankie heard rapid heels clicking coming from the corridor and he knew it was his mother.

“Francisco Morales! ¿En qué pendejada te metiste ahora? Fue por ese Thomas, verdad? Ni se te ocurra mentirme.”

Francisco Morales! What bullshit did you get into this time? It was because of that Thomas, right? Do not even think about lying to me.

“Hi Mom.” Frankie sadly says. His mother holds up one finger at Frankie and turns to the sheriff. She offers him a tired smile and a quick hug.

“Ahora que hizo, Javier? Por favor dime que me lo puedo llevar a casa.”

What did he do now, Javier? Please tell me I can take him home.

Frankie hears his mother say. She sounds as if she’s about to burst into tears, her voice pleading and shaky. Frankie immediately feels a wave of guilt wash over him. He saw his mother break apart when they lost his father and was thrown as being the sole breadwinner – he couldn’t put her through pain again.

“Yes, Monica, you can take him. He just had a run in with that Oberyn kid again.” Frankie’s mother lets her head fall back as she groans. She looks back at Frankie and shakes her head.

“How many times do I have to tell you to ignore that boy, Frankie? He isn’t worth getting into it with. Did Tom throw you into it? He can never fight his own battles and he threw Santiago in last time. Pope’s lucky Javier called me and not his mom - poor woman would have a heart attack.”

Frankie shakes his head. “No mom. I got myself in it.” Frankie looks at Javier, the sheriff, and Javier gives him an assuring nod. “The boys and I took the new girl in town out to Rosie’s and Oberyn decided to ruin the night as usual. He just got out the can so he was lookin’ for a fight I guess.”

His mother and Javier stride over to Frankie. Javier unlocks the cell, allowing Frankie to come out and hug his mother. His mother gives him a kiss on the cheek and holds his face in her hands.

“Francisco, I know you thought you were doing the right thing. Did Oberyn lay a hand on the girl?”

“If I hadn’t punched him, he probably would’ve.”

Monica, his mother, gives her son a warm smile. “If you got in here for defending someone because you thought it was the right thing to do, then okay. I suppose what done is done, but I never want to see you behind bars ever again. Tal vez tengas 18 años, pero todavia te doy una paliza, cabrón.” she jokes - well half-jokes.

You may be 18 years old, but I’ll still beat your ass, dumbass.

As Frankie and his mother collect his things and sign the necessary paperwork, Javier calls for Frankie’s attention. He simply tells him “remember our little talk, Frankie. I ain’t try’na see you behind those bars again.”

A little talk Frankie will always remember and think about every day.

Frankie knew he should be going to his fifth and sixth periods, but he had already missed the first four, so why they hell not miss. He wanted to because he wanted to see you after the fiasco, but he was nervous. You saw him fight, get arrested, and get dragged away by Javier. He saw your eyes widen and fill with fear when he spat out blood and get put into handcuffs.

“So ‘Fish… where’s that little dolly of yours? You two get it on yet?” Redfly says. “Oh wait… ya been in the can!” The Bandits all laugh and Santiago slaps his knee while Will wheezes at the thought of Frankie in jail. Frankie takes a drag of his cigarette, staring at his friends and offering an eye roll.

“Alright laugh it up. I made it out, didn’t I?”

“yeah,” Santiago starts, “that’s only cause Javi likes us. If it were Oberyn in there, Javi would’a still had his ass locked up.” Pope gives his best friend a slap on the shoulder paired with a laugh and a quick just kiddin’ buddy.

The bell rings and the sea of people wave into the hallways. The boys bid farewell to each other, Will and Frankie walking to their class together. Will was the first to spot you in the crowd of people. He saw you walk with a student you had all your classes with; Maxwell Lorenzano, or Max Lord as he liked to be called now. The Bandits knew him, they knew him very well.

Max was a soc kid who would hang out with the other popular socs, but in actuality, Max was another Latino kid whose family were more like the Bandits. Both of his parents were greasers, and they knew what it was like to work hard yet not have a lot. His father worked all the time as a mechanic and his mother was a stay-at-home mom. His dad was always working on a motorcycle that would become his son’s first ride, but then something in Max changed. His whole life, Max wore a leather jacket and slicked back hair, not caring what the world thought of him, but as the times went on, the bullying got worse.

Just like Frankie, Max’s family was not always welcomed, but his aunt’s family was. His aunt was a greaser too, but her husband was a complete socialite. His family created and owned an oil business which allowed them to want for nothing. When Max saw the acceptance his aunt had received from her in-laws, it was a flipped switch. He asked to work with his uncle to learn all about the business. His uncle was elated to find out his nephew wanted to leave the “delinquent” life and become a businessman. Max’s face was plastered on the company’s ads and the popular kids wanted to be friends with him. He was accepted as a soc and even though his parents were upset, Max wasn’t entirely honest at school.

Max still worked on his dad’s motorcycle project. He still had his leather jackets and wore them at private family gatherings. He still knew the slang and attitude. He was still loyal to the people who liked him for him.

Max and The Bandits looked after each other as brothers. Even though he was not officially a member, Max had his BANDITS leather jacket at home, hung and clean. In order to keep his soc image at school, Max and the boys pretended to hate each other. Max pretended to be disgusted with their way of life and would throw insults here and there when the other kids would.

When Max saw Will and Frankie coming their way, Will gave him a discreet nod and Max reciprocated.

“Look what the cat dragged in… a couple of worthless hoodlums.” Max said. He turns to you and says, “C’mon, you shouldn’t associate yourself with these… things.” You look up and meet Frankie’s beautiful eyes. He seemed as if he wanted to jump out and say something to you but couldn’t.

“Don’t get yourself twisted up, Lord. Your little petty pants will wrinkle,” Will snickers.

Max rolls his eyes at him. “Move out of our way, Miller. We’ll be late.”

Will laughs and moves out of the way and gestures for him to walk. “C’mon, Polo. Keep it movin’.”

As you walk past the boys, Will offers a quick hey and you answer with a smile. You walk away, but Frankie calls you by name, causing you to stop and take a breath. You ask Max to give you a minute, him checking his watch and agreeing. You walk up Frankie and look at him, silently asking him to continue.

“I… I- Hi. How are you?” Frankie sputters out. He mentally slaps his forehead and cursing at himself. Is that the best he can do?

“I’m doing fine, thanks.” you quietly say.

Frankie tries to put together a mix of words, but none of it is coherent. Will lets out a loud and obnoxious sigh and puts his arm around Frankie’s shoulders.

“Catfish here wanna know if you wanna hang with’im after school. How ‘bout it sweetheart? The guy just got out the can and in need of company.” You raise an eyebrow at Will.

In need of company?

Max lets out a sarcastic laugh and walks to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you away.

“Her mother would have her head if she were caught with you guys again. You already got her in trouble once; no need for it to happen again.”

You look back at Frankie, silently apologizing, but in the end, Max was right.

When you got home that night, Will assured you that nobody would talk about it. The next day, your mother came back furious and you were ultimately grounded for being seen with those boys. Your father was not too happy either, but was mainly concerned about your safety, which was a valid concern. Your mother demanded for you to never talk to Frankie or she would have to take action.

What action? You were not too sure.

No matter how hard Frankie tried to talk to you, Max would either pull you away saying he needed your help, or your teacher would ask him to quiet down. Frankie was not one to give up, but he also did not want to be a pain in your side. He felt as if the odds were against him, but he was going to get you to talk to him one way or another – at least a single hello in the hallway so he does not feel as if he messed up entirely.

It was now Wednesday, and The Bandits sat at one of the outside tables by the cafeteria. They “joked” with people, rough housed as usual, having a good day so far, but when the soc table kept staring, the boys didn’t feel so cheery.

“Fuck ya lookin’ at, soc? You got a starin’ problem?” Tom yells.

“You should get daddy’s money to check that out,” Benny continues. Frankie turns in his seat and looks at the group of the popular rich kids sitting at the opposite table from them. He lets out a sigh, letting it pour out of his nose, as he sees you sitting next to Max at that same table. When he gets a chance to really see you, he sees red.

Michael, the school’s top athlete, has his arm around you and you appear to be uncomfortable – something Frankie never wanted to do. You look around awkwardly as Michael stands up and confidently walks over to the boys, other soc boys in tow.

“Look here boys. A bunch of nothings thinking they’re something,” Michael says. The soc boys all laugh and Tom remains tall, chest puffed out.

“Ya better watch what ya sayin, Mikey. Wouldn’t want ya to get hurt.” Tom rebuttles.

Two of the boys behind Michael walk up to the Miller brothers, a bit shorter than the two but still reeking of false confidence.

“You three must be tired of carrying these two brown boys, huh? Always quiet and only get involved when they’re forced.”

Max walks over to Michael, you trailing behind him, and tells Michael to stop and to come back to the table. Michael refuses, asking Max if he is worried about him hurting his own kind. You gasp and get in front of Max, facing Michael.

“How dare you? You dare call Max a friend and still, you berate him and these boys,” you start, motioning to the Bandits, “because they aren’t “your kind?” I’ll have you know that these boys are some of the most intelligent people I have ever met, a lot smarter than you.”

“Is that so, sweetheart? You think these delinquents are worth getting in trouble?” To this, you give him a confused look. “You think your mom hasn’t gone around rambling about how her daughter was seen with the worst kids in town? These guys bring their parents shame. Well… except Francisco over there… he got his old man killed.”

Michael barely got his final word out before he was on the floor holding his bleeding jaw Santiago caused. Santiago grabbed his hand in pain; it was a while since he punched someone so suddenly like that. No matter the pain, he wasn’t about to let the spoilt rich kid get away with insulting his best friend and his best friend’s father.

You look over to Frankie, who is still sitting at the bench stone faced. How could he just sit there after Michael insulted him and his father? You go to walk to him but Max pulls you, walking away telling you that you’ll talk to him later.

“I’m taking you home after school, okay? Michael called a meeting after school and I told him I’ll be there when I get you home,” Max explained. He talked fast and seemingly out of breath. He knew something was going to go down – no one drops Michael like that without consequences.

“Why are you worried? Max, is something going to happen?” You ask. He looks around and explains to you what has happened when Michael wants revenge. From legal actions to physically hurting someone, Michael will stop at nothing to make himself look strong and important. Max just told you to be careful and to stay inside.

And something must have happened because Max came knocking down your door and asking your mother if it was okay if he took you around town. Your mother oddly was happy to agree and Max piled you in the car. He drove fast and parked inside a green home’s garage. For a second, you were terrified that Max was forced to bring you to Michael, but soon let out a breath of relief when you saw Will come into the garage and greet you.

“Alright, Maxie,” Will said. “What is so important and secretive that you called us all here and brought her along?” Frankie adjusted his hat, a baseball cap that suited him quiet well, and played with his hands.

“We have to hide Frankie’s car. Now.” Max stated rapidly.

Frankie’s head shot up and the boys all together threw questions as to why we had to temporarily get rid of Frankie’s car.

“Max. What are we hiding my dad’s car for?” Frankie asks. His voice is quiet and laced with worriedness.

Max takes a deep breath and apologetically looks straight into Frankie’s eyes.

“Michael’s planning on crushing your car.”

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[thefloorisbalaclava]

pragma - part two

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female reader

Warnings: mention of drugs

A/N: This part is entirely from Frankie’s point of view. I think it’s important to talk about what he’s feeling too. I also bring up the “charge” they mention like once in the movie. I wanted to expand on it a bit since we kind of got left hanging.

Summary: Frankie adjusts to you being in his life again and in turn is left facing more than one dilemma.

pragma masterlist

Frankie walked to the living room and sat on the couch, throwing his hat on the coffee table before covering his face with his hands and sighing. He looked down the hall as if he expected her to walk down it any minute.

What the hell was she doing here and why? His heart hadn’t beat normally since he saw her in the bar and now she was here in his fucking house. He told himself long ago that be would never forgive her for what she did, but he turned into a pile of mush as soon as she smiled at him.

Just like old times.

“Fuck,” he whispered. Things he hadn’t felt in so long came flooding back and he had no idea what to do with them. He kicked off his boots and laid down. When he slept, if he slept, he hoped it would help him see things clearer in the morning.

He woke to somewhat of a hangover and a stiff back on account of him sleeping on the damn couch.

“Damn,” he groaned as he stood and stretched before remembering that she was here. His gaze moved to the end of the hall and he quietly walked down to the last room. Then he lingered outside the door like he was afraid. After a few quick knocks, he pushed the door open and found her asleep, curled up holding a pillow.  

How the fuck does she manage to be beautiful even when she sleeps?

She stirred and he stiffened. He could see the confusion on her face as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings. She rolled over and her eyes widened when they found him.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah. Mornin'.” He sat on the end of the bed as she got herself together.

“Why am I here?” she asked through a yawn.

“You got shitfaced and needed to sleep it off. I would’ve taken you home but I don’t know your address.”

“Oh…okay. Thanks. My car here?” He nodded and she swung her feet off the bed and to the floor. “I feel horrible.”

“I’ll get you something,” he offered, standing quickly and walking to the bathroom. While he did that, she must have gotten herself moving because he found her in the living room looking at pictures. He handed her the pills and a glass of water.

“Thanks.” She handed the glass back when she was done and kept looking at pictures then she gasped and he thought something was wrong. “I can’t believe you kept this picture. Look at us.”

“You can have it if you want.”

“I have a better idea.” She pulled her phone out and snapped a picture of the photo. “There.”

“You were always the smart one,” he teased.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Frankie. You’re fucking brilliant, you know?” When she looked at him, he felt completely glued to his spot. She eventually looked away and picked up the hat he threw on the table last night. The smile on her face was one of nostalgia but then it fell. “I should go.”

“Oh. Do you think you can drop me off at the bar so I can get my truck?”

“Of course. Come on.”

*

“You still listen to the same shitty music, huh?” he asked as he skipped song after song in the car.

“My music is not shitty, you just don’t have the ear for it,” she jabbed playfully.

He scoffed and kept playing with the radio. “Why’d you get married?” he asked suddenly as she stopped at the light.

“Uh…I guess I thought I was in love. Felt like it was the right thing to do at the time. And why didn’t you get married?” she asked.

“Eh, I don’t think I’m the marrying type. I’ve had relationships, some serious, but it never went further than that.” He looked at her as she nodded and kept her eyes forward to drive. “Would you ever get married again?”

She pulled into the lot for the bar and turned off the car. “I don’t know. I won’t be able to if this man doesn’t sign the damn papers anyway.”

“Can’t you, I dunno, sign for him?” he asked.

“That’s illegal, soldier.”

“Alright fine. I was just trying to help.” He shrugged and opened the door. “So…your address.”

“Oh, right. Got anything I can write on?” She looked around then just grabbed his hand. “Forget it. Here.” She scribbled the address in his palm with a pen she found in the cupholder.

“You could’ve just asked to put it in my phone, you know?”

“Frankie…I didn’t know you had a phone." She sounded exasperated.

“I gave you my number last night or did you forget?” The smile on his face grew as he teased her.

“It could’ve been for a landline! How was I supposed to know?”

“You know what, maybe you aren’t the smart one after all.” He chuckled as she punched his arm.

“Get outta my car.” She shoved him and he stumbled out while still laughing. When he looked into the car again, she was grinning ear to ear.

“That smile…it still…” He stopped suddenly before he said something he might regret.

“It still what?”

He shook his head and looked down at his hand. “You live there?” he asked. “There’s a lake up there I like to-"

“Go fishing at. I know. You took me once…the morning after we-" She stopped herself and gripped the steering wheel.

And now you both had left words unsaid—words that held too much of the past in them. One day. One day they would talk about the past in detail, lay all the cards on the table, but today wasn’t that day.

“Thanks for the ride,” Frankie said leaning into the window.

“And thank you and Santiago for making sure I got somewhere safe last night. I appreciate it. It was so good seeing you two.” Her smile was genuine and bright. Even with slightly messy hair and tired eyes she was the most ethereal thing he had ever seen.

“We’ll see you again soon I hope.”

“You have my address,” she reminded him.

“And you have my number.”

“I do.”

“Use it, okay? Please.” He stood up straight then walked to his truck, missing her quiet ‘I will'. There was a reason he didn’t say goodbye. He was afraid to. He was afraid that if he said them again, he would have to go another five years without seeing her. Or has it been longer?

His phone rang as soon as she drove away and he got into his truck. He went for it excitedly only to see that it was Pope.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Are you still with her?” Pope asked and the smile in his voice could be heard by anyone.

“Just saw her off. Gimme a minute.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and snapped a photo of his hand before he forgot.

“Anything happen?” the other man asked.

“Was something supposed to happen?” Frankie started the truck then sat back. “Look, I like my women conscious and…unmarried.”

“She’s going through a divorce, Cat.”

“Yeah, but it ain’t official yet.” He backed out of the parking space and pulled onto the road.

“She could be your saving grace, Frankie. Don’t scare her away again.”  

“Scare her a—what the fuck, Pope?!” He was angry because, in reality, it was the truth. She wasn’t completely innocent, but he knew what her last straw had been. “She broke my heart. She left me.”

“And you remember why she left, don’t you?”  

“I got worse after she left. She could’ve stayed. She could’ve helped me.” He stopped when he realized just how selfish that sounded. “I’m coming by." He hung up and turned a little too fast down Pope’s street.

Pope met him outside and held up his hand as he got out of the car. “If you’re here to yell take it inside.”

Frankie slammed the truck door and stormed inside, turning to Santiago as soon as he closed the door. “Why are you bringing it up, man?”

“Because it needed to be brought up especially now that she’s back. Did you tell her?” Pope stood in front of him.

“…I’m fine. She doesn’t need to know. I’m functioning.”

“You know damn well that she can smell a problem a mile away. She’s gonna be able to look at you and figure it out. You never stopped after she left…”

“I never stopped because she left!” Frankie snapped. He laughed bitterly. “How the hell am I supposed to even bring it up? ‘Hey, welcome back. By the way, I’ve been charged with possession of cocaine’.”

“Cat…come on. Sit down.”

He sat and sighed loudly. “Don’t scare her away...man, if I tell her that I’m still using she might leave the fucking country this time.”

“The only reason she’d leave again is if you start blaming her for your problems. I get it, okay? Her leaving didn’t do you any good, but that’s not her problem, you understand? She didn’t put the drugs in your hand and say ‘hey, take this'.” Pope walked to his kitchen and came back with a glass of water. “Now, we don’t have to talk about this anymore if you don’t want.”

“I never realized how much I missed her, Pope. Last night when I carried her and she pressed her head to my chest…I can’t remember the last time I felt my heart beat that way.” He took a sip of water. “It’s so fucking cheesy.”

Pope laughed and patted his shoulder. “You still got it bad. It’s kinda cute.”

“Cállate,” Frankie said, giving Pope the finger.

“You gonna see her again?”

“Oh…” Frankie showed the other man his hand excitedly. “Address. Don’t worry I took a picture of it. You’re gonna come with me, right?”

“Why?”

“Because she said we should visit.” Frankie couldn’t fathom going up there by himself. Being alone with her that short time this morning already had him on edge.

“But we both know who she really came back to see.”

“What if she just came back to, you know, visit?” Pope made a face at that and Frankie shrugged. “If I go there, I’m not gonna have any idea what to say or do.”

“She still has that effect on you, huh?”

Frankie took his cap off and ran his hand through his hair before putting it back on. “You have no idea.” Suddenly his phone rang and he took it out his pocket then stared at it. It was a number he didn’t recognize.

“Uh, you gonna answer?” Pope asked.

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me.” Frankie nearly dropped the phone at the sound of her voice.

“Oh…h-hey. Everything okay?” He rolled his eyes at himself while Pope laughed then mouthed ‘is that her'. Frankie nodded.

“Everything’s fine. I was wondering if you guys wanted to come up for a late lunch kinda thing. Do some more catching up.” He could hear stuff clanging around in the background.

“You cooking?” he asked looking up at Pope who shook his head then whispered ‘it’s all you, hermano’.

“Yup. Can you guys make it?” she asked.

“Uh…I can. Santiago is busy today.” He immediately regretted telling her that because she became quiet.

“Okay. Just us then.”  

“Just us,” he repeated feeling his heart beating faster.

“Maybe we can walk down to the lake after,” she suggested.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.”

“Is 3 good for you?” More noise in the background.

“Sure." His palms were sweaty. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Okay, see you then, Frankie. Bye.”

He hung up without saying goodbye and didn’t even realize it. He felt as though he was in a trance.

“Well, what are you sitting here for? Don’t you have a lunch date to get ready for?” Pope pointed out.

“It’s not a date, man.”

“Sure. Go home, shower, and try to find something a little nicer to put on. And lose the hat.”

Frankie stood and before walking to the door to leave, he looked at Pope. “She likes the hat.” With a shrug and the other man laughing, he walked out and got into his truck where he finally realized that he agreed to meet her at her house…alone.

*

At home, Frankie took a little extra care in his appearance though after thinking about it he realized it was stupid. She knew what he looked like. And still he took the time to wash his hair, find a t-shirt that wasn’t thrown on the floor, and find a pair of jeans that fit him a little better than the others. He even used the cologne that had been sitting in the same place, unused, for God knows how long. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he shook his head.

“What the hell, Cat?” he whispered. He picked at his scruff and thought about shaving it, but he remembered how she scratched at it and figured that was something else she liked so it wasn’t going anywhere. And the hat. It probably wasn’t the best idea to put hat on after washing his hair but it was his thing. Besides, it was the hat she got for him. He put it on right before walking out the door.

*

The drive to her place was right around forty-five minutes like she said. He still couldn’t believe she had been this close the entire time and near one of his favorite places to boot.

She must have heard him pull up because she came to the door to greet him before he had a chance to get out of the truck. He gave himself a quick once-over and popped a mint before getting out. After a deep breath he walked around the truck and greeted her.

Shit. Should he have brought something?

“Hey.” He lifted his hand awkwardly and she waved back.

“I’m so happy you could make it. Come on in.” She walked in and held the door open for him.

“Sorry I didn’t bring anything.” He put his hands in his pockets and she laughed. “What?”

“Nothing…it’s just the hands in the pockets thing…you’ve been doing that since forever.” She led him to the dining room where the food had already been set up. “And don’t apologize for not bringing anything. You’re here and that’s what I asked for, right?”

“Right. Oh.” He took off his hat and shoved it, bill first, into his back pocket. “This place is really nice,” he said looking around. “Your husband buy it?”

“My soon-to-be ex-husband didn’t buy a thing. This house is mine.” She walked to the kitchen and Frankie snuck a quick look at her. She still moved like she was floating on air and no matter what she wore it fit her perfectly. Today she had gone with a pair of black jeans and a tank top with a flannel thrown over it.  

She talked but he hardly heard her. He was too busy thinking about how if he had gotten his shit together, he could be living here with her, taking walks to his favorite lake every day.

“You okay, Frankie?” she asked, bringing him back to reality.

“Yeah.”  

Instead of sitting across from him, like they did in those movies with the fancy dining rooms like this one, she sat beside him and put her chin in her hand.

“I’d kill to know what you’re thinking about.”

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “You did really well for yourself.”

“Thanks. And what about you, Frankie?”

“Eh, I did the Army thing. Became a pilot. Nothing exciting.” He looked around but his gaze fell on her again. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” he asked. Suddenly, he felt self-conscious and had to keep himself from smoothing down his hair.

“I’m just remembering. That’s all.” She smiled then began passing him food. “Take as much as you want.” She watched him for a while before speaking again. “So…a pilot? I don’t know how the hell you do that.”

“What do you mean?” It was probably rude of him to talk with food in his mouth but she didn’t seem to mind.

“I terrified of flying,” she admitted, filling her plate so she could eat.

“You? You were never afraid of anything.”

“Oh yes I was. I was just really good at hiding it.” She giggled when he sipped the wine and made a face. “I got beer.”

“Please.” He watched her walk but told himself to stop and looked at his plate.

“Here. And here’s the-" She tried offering him the bottle opener but he had already opened it himself. “Okay then.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She had the brightest smile on her face so everything must be okay. “Are you gonna tell me how you’ve been?”

“Thought I did.” He sipped his beer but noticed that she was still looking at him. That’s when he knew she knew just like Pope said. “That’s not what I came to talk about…”

“Okay.” She began eating again. The silence stretched on and it was driving him crazy. He wanted to talk but what was he supposed to say.

“I couldn’t forget,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to forget.”

She looked at him sadly. “Happens to the best of us.”

That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting at all. He thought she would be screaming and waving her hands all over as she called him every name in the book. Instead she placed her hand on top of his and squeezed.

“You don’t need it, Frankie,” she said, “You never have.”

He never considered himself an emotional man but no one would blame him if he would have burst into tears at that moment.

“How’d you know?” he asked, voice on the verge of cracking.

“I notice everything…especially when it comes to the people I love.” Upon hearing that word, his head turned so quickly to her that he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Now, are we gonna take that walk to the lake?” She hopped up and walked to the door to put her shoes on.

“Um yeah.” Frankie shook his head slightly in order to focus.

*

He loved walks like this. It was quiet all except for the bugs and birds and…the sound of her voice. She talked about everything and he hung on every word.

When they reached the lake, she immediately kicked her shoes off and rolled the bottom of her jeans up so she could put her feet in.

Just like old times.

The way she sat back slightly with her hands on either side of her to balance as she kicked at the water to see how cold it was took him back. He remembered. The sun shined on her as she looked up at him.

“Cold,” she giggled and it made him smile. With an exaggerated groan he sat down beside her then pulled his boots and socks off. He dipped his feet in then pulled them away quickly. “Told you.” He eventually got used to it and let his feet dangle in the water. She was like his fountain of youth because every time he was around her, she made him feel young again.

He closed his eyes and remembered. And she opened her eyes and looked at him. His eyes opened only when he felt her pinky finger touch his. He looked down at their hands then at her. She had closed her eyes again but he could tell by the little smirk on her face that she knew. He moved his hand a little more so that he could slightly lace his fingers with hers.

It’s funny how the simplest touch can cause the most complex feelings—feelings that he had sworn he buried deep inside of him somewhere. It was a complicated thing trying to be angry at her because in that moment all was forgotten and forgiven.

[three]

Tags: @cable-kenobi​ @saltywintersoldat​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @pedrosdoll​

[natromanxoff]

M (Myth): "There are few photos and videos of Queen in Puebla because people were unable to operate their photography or cinema devices because the batteries of their cameras or devices were confiscated." R (Reality): Most of the home photo cameras of the time were mechanical, they did not require batteries to take photos or operate the flash. Home cinema cameras for filming film (in Super 8 format) were expensive and rare. With the passage of time this material has been lost.

M: "By confiscating the batteries at the entrance to the Ignacio Zaragoza Stadium, there were few recorders available to record the concert on October 17 in Puebla." R: Hundreds of recorders were introduced that recorded the full audio of the concert.

M: "People were upset and threw batteries on stage thinking that Queen had given the order to resell those that had previously been confiscated, that was the strange explanation that the Argentine promoter José Rota gave to Jim Beach and Gerry Stickells, according to Peter. Freestone; that erroneous version is the one that has spread everywhere over the years ”. R: The Mexican knows of the corruption that exists in his officials and authorities, so it was not strange for them to resell the batteries previously confiscated inside the stadium, in this regard Peter Freestone (friend and personal assistant of Freddie) commented that the Argentinian promoter José Rota, was the one who told them that the anger of the people in Puebla was due to the resale of batteries.

M: “The concert was broadcast live on Radio Éxitos AM". R: The concert on Saturday in Puebla was not broadcast live on Radio Éxitos 790 AM, instead it took 78 min. Deferred from the Monterrey concert, due to that the concert in Puebla started late; of the concert on Sunday they spent an edition of about 60 minutes.

Photo Notes: Freddie at the Hotel Mesón del Ángel in Puebla, few people were able to approach to request the coveted autograph. 4 football helmets were ordered for Queen's protection for the Sunday concert. Roberto R. one of the interpreters from Puebla asked him to sign one of the helmets that were not used in the end. Faced with the request and feigning anger, Freddie commented: "The things you have to do for a helmet", a phrase similar to the one he said at the LP Live Killers concert, after playing Dreamer's Ball: "The things you have to do for money." (Photography: Ricardo Quintana)

Photo Notes: John Deacon posing smiling in front of American football helmets, on the terrace of the Hotel Mesón del Ángel on Sunday, October 18. They were purchased at the only sporting goods store open on Sunday in Puebla: Deportes Marti, by the 2 Puebla interpreters at the request of Jim Beach for Queen's protection, in the face of the projectile rain the day before. Fortunately it was not necessary wear them for the concert that day. (Photography: Ricardo Quintana / José L. Molina)

M: “A video of Queen in Mexico has been widely circulated on the internet." R: A vivales edited the video of Queen in Brazil, to which the audio of the concert in Puebla synchronized; it is easy to discover the deception, since in those images it is observed a giant screen that was not in the Ignacio Zaragoza Stadium, also Freddie wears blue knee pads that he did not wear in Puebla.

M: "There was a filming of Queen in Mexico made by Televisa but it was lost in the 1985 earthquake." R: In a telephone interview, Luis de Llano Macedo, a senior executive of Televisa, was asked what was true of the existence of a video of Queen in Mexico recorded by them; categorical stated that there is no such recording, nor was there any plan to broadcast something related to Queen in Mexico on TV.

M: "People were offended that Freddie wore a Zapatista hat." R: People were not offended that Freddie wore a Zapatista hat, and before that, famous personalities who visited Mexico wore typical hats as a way to empathize with Mexicans, such as the Apollo XI astronauts, Pelé or Pope John Paul II, and the people did not bother, on the contrary.

M: "Freddie made fun of people by wearing a Zapatista hat." R: Freddie was not racist for wearing a big hat, before, in an effort to empathize with different audiences, he used local elements, such as in Argentina, where he put on the shirt of his national team and even Maradona was invited on stage to present a song.

M: "There was a slam at the concert." R: The practice of slam was not known in those times, and there was no room for it.

‘Queen in Pueblo, Mexico 1981’ by Francisco Arellano Baltazar: 1/?

Thanks so much to him for letting me share the text parts! And credits to Jack Salazar for translation. I added both languages for those who speak Spanish too.

Please do not repost!!

[shakespeareanwannabe]

Heartbeats

Santiago Pope Garcia x F!OC/Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary: A first date at a Beer Garden shouldn’t be difficult to manage, especially with his team at his side, but Santi still has doubts.

Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol Consumption, Swearing, Benny being Benny, references to war time injuries, references to Anxiety if you squint

A/N: Hey y’all. Sorry it’s been a while. Some stuff came up, but I am so happy to finally have this chapter out to you all! Anyway, this is chapter 3. Please enjoy!

**********

Listening to his own heartbeat had become something that Santi was pretty comfortable with. When the Humvee had hit a landmine during his first deployment, sending him, Frankie, and Will sky high, he’d woken up in a military hospital in Germany, with only the steady beeping of his heart monitor to keep him company. Well, it kept him company until Will wandered in with a cup of coffee. The youngest member of the team had somehow managed to walk away with a couple of cracked ribs and some scarring on his back, whereas Pope had fractured his knee and given himself a pretty nasty concussion. At that point, Frankie was still out. He had broken a rib, punctured a lung, and fractured his hip, all on top of a nastier concussion than Pope’s. There was a harried moment when they thought he wouldn’t make it, but Fish was the toughest bastard out of any of them, and within nine months he was patrolling the desert with Santi once more.

After various near-misses, his multiple knee surgeries, and his so-called miracle neck surgery, Santi woke up to that same sound of his heart beating. It reminded him that he was alive. It was a comfort.

Now, his heart was beating so loudly in his ears he couldn’t think straight. And, the kicker was, he wasn’t even in country or recovering from a near miss. He wasn’t getting shot at or sneaking around an enemy compound. He wasn’t even sitting in the back of a helicopter while Fish tried to fly it over the fucking Andes while carrying too much weight and, fuck, he was an idiot. He hadn’t even been able to pull off a ‘sure thing’ mission. He hadn’t been able to pull of a relationship with a girl that everyone thought he was fucking anyway. Why the fuck did he think he would be able to pull off impressing this much younger woman who, for some god forsaken reason, thought he was worth her time?

Rebecca was a professional. She had a fucking Masters of Fine Arts that she used to lead tours and co-curate the art museum while also teaching art lessons to kids all across the state. And then there was him. Santiago Garcia. A washed up, beaten down, half-broken retired soldier who was living off his (not unsubstantial) savings and the kindness of friends, who had almost no prospects other than signing another damn contract and going off to shoot questionable people under the orders of even more questionable people until his knees gave out or he broke his fucking neck running around on favela rooftops. She was so far out of his league, he had no clue how to even find her league.

And yet, he found himself sitting outside her apartment in his truck, about to go and buzz up to let her know that he was there. Early. To pick her up. For their date. What was he thinking?

He was shaken out of his negative reverie when his phone buzzed four times in quick succession.

“I swear to god, if you’re sitting outside her apartment deliberating over actually picking her up or standing her up, I will drive there myself and beat some sense into you.”

“Hey man, Charlie’s had a little too much to drink (first weekend alone without Mateo) and she’s threatening your manhood if you stand up your date. Do not show up here alone, cabrón.”

“Dude, you’re bringing a date? Why haven’t I heard about this lovely lady?”

“Ignore him. He’s drunk.”

Pope could imagine his friends, his team, sitting around their reserved table at the beer garden, acting like millennials with their phones out, texting him and ignoring each other for a moment. They were insane…He loved them.

“Keep your shirts on, I’m coming.” He copied and pasted the message into the four separate threads and sent them off, ignoring when his phone buzzed again with what could only be a “That’s what she said” reply from Benny as he exited his truck and made his way to her lobby door.

He pressed the small white button next to her name and waited impatiently for her response.

“Hello?” the tinny machine garbled, but he had become accustomed to her voice. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds, like the sound of the waves at the beach or the sound of his own heartbeat. Soothing.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey, c’mon up! I’ll be ready to go in five!”

Santi gulped then shook his head and pulled the door open when the lock clicked, signalling that she had unlocked it for him. What was he nervous about? He was god damn Delta Force. Some girl should not be shaking him up this bad.

Santi took the short elevator ride up to the fifth floor, trying to calm his hammering heart, and knocked on her door.

When the door creaked open, he was reminded that Rebecca Cooke wasn’t just ‘some girl’. He had taken one look at her, sweaty and red faced and face distorted from pressing into a massage table and been smitten. Every conversation he had with her dragged him further in, until he was hooked.

Now, standing in front of him, dressed in a sapphire blue lace dress that swished around her knees, he was smacked in the face with the fact that she was, in fact, the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. The short sleeves showed off the smoothness of her arms and the V-neck had him having to drag his eyes away from her décolletage.

“Hey Santi,” she smiled gently at him, moving in to place her hands on his shoulders as she placed a hesitant kiss on his cheek.

“Um…hey,” he replied, mentally kicking himself for being so lame. “Uh, these are for you.” He handed her the bouquet of wildflowers he had bought on a whim on his drive over.

Rebecca smiled up at him, a slight glimmer in her eyes as though he had just made her the happiest person on the planet. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he blurted. She giggled, turning her back to him and he grimaced at the stupid cornball line.

“Let me put these in some water and grab my shoes, and we can go, okay?” she called back. He looked towards her retreating form and gulped at the sight of her bare back. Fuck, this was going to be a long night if he couldn’t get himself under control. If he was going to actively pursue Rebecca, he was going to do it properly.

“Uh, yeah. No worries.” He followed her a few steps into her home and peered around at the small space. It was a small apartment, cozy and warm. A suede sectional sofa overtook most of the living room, a soft looking throw blanket tossed over the side and brightly coloured patterned pillows were piled up on one end as though she had been searching for something. A variety of prints and pictures decorated her walls, everything from the infamous Kissing on VJ Day photo to a print of San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk by Monet, drawing his eye from one frame to another in rapid succession, drinking in the little details of the life she lived that he so desperately hoped to be a part of.

“Ready to go?”

His eyes were drawn back to her like magnets as she exited the small but spacious kitchen, glass vase in hand. She deposited the vase with the wildflowers on the side table next to the sofa, picked up her purse and held up her other hand, a pair of strappy sandals hanging from her finger.

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. It’s a, uh…it’s a nice place you’ve got here,” he managed to get out, cursing himself internally at his stupidity.

She smiled sweetly at him, that starry-eyed look still in her eyes as she clutched his arm to slide her sandals on.

“Thanks. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

She didn’t release his arm as they exited the apartment, clutching him close as she locked the door, as they rode the elevator, and exited the building. He shifted carefully to grip her hand and help her into his truck, closing the door softly behind her as he paced over to his door, silently coaching himself to not be a total idiot on this date.

She was into him. Holding onto his arm, looking at him the way she was. She liked him. All he had to do was not screw it up…and not let his friends screw it up.

He hauled himself up into the driver’s seat of the truck and let it idle for a minute as he double checked his mirrors. Finally, he pulled out of the parking lot and began the ten-minute drive to the Beer Garden.

“I, uh, I meant what I said. About your apartment. And about how beautiful you look. Because you do. Look beautiful, I mean. That dress is…nice.”

“Thanks.” An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and Santi fidgeted with the wheel. He was halfway to convincing himself that this whole thing had been a bad idea when she turned to him. “Are you as nervous as I am?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathed, causing her to giggle. “I swear to god, I’m not normally like this.”

“I know, that’s why I asked! I thought you were either really nervous or completely regretting asking me out,” she sighed, leaning back in her seat as the tension began to slowly dissipate.

He waited until he pulled up to a red light to turn and meet her gaze. “The only regret I’d have is if I didn’t ask you out at all and was left wondering what might have happened if I’d just gotten my balls up and asked.”

He watched her eyes widen as she looked down at her lap, jerking the car back into motion as someone honked behind him.

“Can I confess something to you?” She waited for his nod. “I had a shot before you got to my place to try to calm my nerves, but I don’t think it worked. I just…why are we nervous? We’ve been friends for a couple of months now, right?”

“Right!” he exclaimed, laughing as he risked another look at her. “I don’t know, Bex. Maybe that’s why we’re nervous?”

She shrugged delicately, pulling her legs up into the seat as she twisted to watch him drive. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just…I really want this to go well, you know?”

Santi took a hand off the wheel and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I know. I really know.”

She sighed, twisting her hand in his grip until she could interlace their fingers. “Okay. So. We’re two friends. Going on a date. We’ll just…see how it goes, okay? At the end of the night, if we decide we’re better off as friends, you drop me off, give me a high five, and we’ll see each other on Monday at the clinic.”

“But?” he asked anxiously because, like he said, he knew. He knew how badly she wanted things to go well because he desperately wanted the same thing. He’d been drowning in her for months, and he felt like he was just now being taught how to swim.

“But…” he heard her take a shuddery breath. “But if things do go well, and I really hope they do, Santi…If things go well, we agree to go on that coffee date before our sessions on Monday. Deal?”

He squeezed her hand again. “Deal.”

**********

The Beer Garden was a nice place. A solid first date choice. There was liquor to settle the nerves, incredible food to snack on over conversation, a live band to dance along to, mood lighting, and an outdoor patio with fairy lights that was pretty fucking magical, if Santi was allowed to say so.

He and the team had been there once or twice, usually after completing a room at Santi’s house, but this was the first time both Charlie and Frankie would be joining them, since Mateo was off for a sleepover at Grandma’s house. In a way, Santi was grateful. Rebecca knew Charlie, and Charlie was very protective of her patients both inside and outside of the clinic. Santi knew that Charlie and Frankie would help make her feel welcome. Will wouldn’t be an issue. But Benny…when the kid drank, he drank hard, and he was a loudmouth stone cold sober. Hopefully, Will would be able to keep his kid brother in line.

Santi slowed as he felt the distance between him and Rebecca grow, their arms growing taut until he was forced to stop and turn around, lest he let go of her hand.

“Hey, you okay?” he moved to stand in front of her, shielding her from the busy wait staff and slightly drunken customers who were milling around the door to the outdoor patio.

She offered him a distracted nod, her free hand coming up to smooth her hair behind her ear. “Uh, I’m just gonna…” her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of Charlie sitting at a long picnic style table with a bunch of large men. She met his eyes urgently. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

Again, Santi found himself watching her retreating form as he cursed his own actions. He thought that having a group hangout would be a good idea for a first date. It kept things loose and informal and, after their conversation in the truck, he thought it couldn’t hurt to have some people there to help things continue moving in the right direction. Besides, so many people had group first dates. It kept things light. Only, now Pope was seeing his mistake. He wasn’t just introducing Rebecca to his friends. He was introducing her to the most important people in his life. His closest friends. His team.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself as he watched her duck into the bathroom before nearly sprinting outside to the table. He dodged a few waiters and barbacks before slamming his hands down on the table, causing Benny to jump. “She’s in the bathroom, Chuck, don’t start,” he quickly stated, watching as Charlie’s eyes went from murderous to understanding in the space of a blink. He slowly met each and every one of their eyes. “If any one of you motherfuckers ruin this for me, I swear to god I’ll find a way to end you.”

“Hey, I like her already,” Charlie shrugged, tipping her glass back to swallow the last of the foam. “If you ruin this with her, I’ll be the one ending you.”

“Noted. Fish?” His best friend cocked an eyebrow at him and Santi nodded, communicating in that way that only best friends can. “Fair enough. Will?”

“Hey man, I just came out for a drink.”

“Yeah, I know,” he conceded, before fixing his eyes on the youngest member of the group. “Benny?”

“What? What am I gonna do?”

“Considering you’ve stared at every waitress’ ass as they walk by, and commented on two of the barbacks’ butts, I’d say you’re definitely the problem here, Ben,” Charlie commented lightly, leaning over to rest her head gently on Frankie’s shoulder, smiling softly when he planted a sweet kiss on her temple.

“Hey, I—”

“Shut up, she’s right,” Will growled into his glass.

“Fine, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Happy?”

“Ecstatic. Charlie, did you collect on your little workplace bet?” She offered him a slightly drunken thumbs-up. “Good, you’re buying.” Pope considered the table before him before straightening and taking a few steps back towards the door. “Please, just be nice?”

“Hey, I’m always nice!” countered Benny, a cocksure grin on his face.

“Yeah, that’s what he’s afraid of, dipshit.”

The din of another Miller argument faded as Santi returned to his post just in time for Rebecca to emerge from the bathroom.

“Uh, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Santi wrapped his arm around her shoulder as he led her out onto the raised wooden patio. “You’re still nervous, huh?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Charlie’s fine, but the rest of your friends…”

Santi tugged her gently to the side and pulled her to a stop.

“Don’t worry about them, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Santi, you fought a war with them. That’s not something I can just not worry about.”

“Look, they’re gonna love you. Trust me…” he looked over his shoulder to peer at his friends, who were all surreptitiously trying to both look at them and look natural. “They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots. Look…see that blond guy? That’s Will. You could set a bomb off next to him and he wouldn’t flinch.”

“Oh, so that’s Will the Wise?” Santi smiled at the moniker. He’d found himself dropping some of Will’s more memorable motivational quotes during physio, and she had come up with the name for his quiet but forceful friend. “And the one who hasn’t stopped staring at my ass is Benny, I assume?” Santi whipped his head around to see Benny subtly trying to peer around him to get a glance at Bex’s profile. He quickly moved into his field of view and turned his back on him. Benny wanted to check out a nice ass? He could feel free. “And I know Charlie, which makes the quiet one…?”

Santi smiled softly. “That’s Frankie.”

“I like him already.”

His smile grew at the pronouncement. “I figured you would. Frankie’s good people. Easy to get along with. Now, please don’t worry?” he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze before running his hands up and down her arms soothingly. “They’re gonna see exactly what I see.”

“Which is?”

He smiled. “A stunningly beautiful, intelligent woman who I somehow suckered into going out with me. Ready?”

She gripped his hand again and smiled up at him. “Ready.”

**********

Things were going…well. Better than Santi had dared to hope. He didn’t know what Will had said, but Benny was being a real gentleman and keeping his mouth shut other than asking polite and interested questions about Bex’s work. Bex and Frankie had taken off like two peas in a pod, which gave him a warm feeling in his chest that he dared not name. Not now, anyway. Instead of examining his feelings, he decided to go get another drink.

He stood slowly, squeezing her hand when the angle got too awkward to maintain contact, and leaned down to ask, “You want another one, Bex?”

She smiled and nodded, “Yeah, would you mind getting me a pale ale this time?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!” Benny interrupted, leaning across the table towards them. “She got a nickname?”

Santi shot Will a look, but the older Miller just held his hands up in surrender, as if to say, “You brought it on yourself”.

“I-is that a problem?” Rebecca asked, looking around confused.

Frankie leaned forward, resting his free arm against the table and adjusting his grip around Charlie’s waist. “Every one of us has a nickname,” he explained quietly. “For us,” he gestured to the men. “It’s a military thing. Kind of like a right of passage.”

“I earned ‘Charlie’ after three months of seriously dating Frankie,” Charlie added, her voice only slightly muffled from her cheek resting on Frankie’s chest. “Chuck came three months after that, and then only Santi gets to call me that.”

“Oh…” Rebecca murmured, wrapping her arms around herself and looking around the table at the demolished plates of nachos, chicken wings, sliders, poutine, and potato wedges. Santi quickly retook his seat, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

It had been instinct, giving her a nickname. Rebecca was too formal for the spitfire who made him laugh so hard his abs hurt more than his knees after a physio session. Becca was cute but she had grimaced at the name, citing overuse in popular culture for her dislike. Rebbie made her snort, and Becky made him want to go find Douchebag Derek and give him a swift kick so there was no way his DNA would be reproduced.

She had loved the name Bex. It was rare, it was quick, it denoted her spark and her wit, and, best of all, he was the only one who used it. Now, it looked like she was feeling insecure in it.

“Frankie’s nickname is Catfish,” he piped up, not wanting her to think too much on the subject of him giving her a cute moniker so early in their relationship (week 3 to be exact).

It worked. Her head whipped around so quickly both Charlie and Santi winced.

“Really? Why?” she asked the man sitting next to her.

Frankie’s quick glare and microscope cock of the eyebrow went unnoticed by the entire table, except Santi, who gave him an apologetic half shrug.

“When we were in basic,” he began with a good-natured grumble. “We were all swapping stories one night, and the only good one I had was the one where my old man and I went out fishing together.” Rebecca watched as Charlie placed a small kiss on Frankie’s chest, just above the third highest button, where Frankie had evidently decided to quit, not that his fiancée was complaining about the excess skin on display. Clearly a sore subject, Rebecca filed away for later. “We went all day without catching a single fish, but just as we were about to call it quits, there’s a tug on my line. And I ended up reeling in a 17-pound catfish.”

“Last time you told the story it was 15 pounds,” Will muttered.

“I always heard 13,” Benny laughed.

“Eh, whatever. It was a big fish to 10-year-old me, okay?” Frankie downed the last of his beer. “Besides, it’s not as stupid as how Ironhead got his name.”

Santi laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one.” Will glared at him. “Hey man, Frankie told his story, now you’ve gotta tell yours.”

Will sighed as he sat forward, leaning in towards Rebecca. “So…I was probably the clumsiest private in basic training. Now, I could do push ups and sit ups like a champion, but the more complicated exercises…Well, let’s just say our drill sergeant didn’t know what the hell to do with me. Climbing a rope ladder? I’d get my foot twisted and end up hanging there like three-day old laundry on the line. Going on a march through the woods? I’d find the only rock in the road and trip over it. Field striping a rifle? I’d yank on something too quickly and give myself a black eye.” Rebecca giggled, bringing a smile to Santi’s face. “And inevitably, every time I screwed up, I’d end up smacking my head. One day, we were doing this exercise and I really got my bell rung. Our drill sergeant sent me to the infirmary because he knew there was no way in hell that I didn’t have a concussion. But I didn’t. Hell, I didn’t even pass out. When he found out, he was shocked. Said I must have the hardest skull on earth. Thus, Ironhead was born.”

“Pfft…” Benny snorted loudly, the sound breaking through Bex’s giggles and Charlie’s muffled chuckles. “It’s not even a good story, man! I coulda told your drill sergeant that you were clumsy as fuck the day you enlisted! Now, Pope’s…that’s a good fucking story,” he guffawed, leaning back as far as the bench seat would let him.

“Benny…” Will put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, which was quickly shrugged off. Santi fixed him with a glare, and Frankie was subtly drawing his hand over his neck, but Benny was too drunk to care.

“Pope?” Bex looked up at Santi confusedly, but he didn’t get the chance to explain before Benny’s crowing laughter boomed out once more.

“‘Oh god, oh god! Yes god! Yes! Please, god. Por favor, mi dios! Oh my god, oh my god!’,” Benny’s voice rang out in a poor imitation of a girlish squeal. He threw his head back and laughed drunkenly, almost falling off the bench seat. “We thought for sure that Corporal had to have the Pope himself in her room for her to be screaming for God that loudly. But no. Turned out to only be Santiago Garcia, known almost exclusively as Pope from then on out.”

Bex looked between the two men, eyes wide, before standing and squeezing out into the crowd, heading back towards the bathrooms.

“At least I got a nickname, jackass,” Santi hissed, kicking away from the table. “I didn’t spend my whole military career known only as ‘Will’s Little Brother Benny’.”

Santi turned and chased after Rebecca, praying she hadn’t gone too far.

“What? What did I say?” Benny asked, half a potato skin hanging out of his mouth.

“If this fucks them up, I’ll kick your ass for both of them,” Charlie groaned, unable to take her eyes away from where her two friends had just disappeared.

**********

He found her standing under the strings of lights that hung above the front door.

“Y-you weren’t thinking of leaving, were you?” he asked in a slightly trembling voice.

She turned to him, eyes bright, and chuckled. “No…I just needed some air. Well,” she looked around the darkened city street. “Some different air. Front fresh air instead of back fresh air. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugged out of his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders as she shivered. “I…I’m sorry about Benny. He’s an idiot most of the time, but when he drinks…”

“He could win the Nobel Prize for Darwinism?”

He chuckled, a soft smirk appearing on his face. “Yeah, something like that.” They stared up at the dark sky for a long moment, a hesitant peace falling between them. “That story he told…I’m not exactly proud of the way I used to be. I hope you know that.”

Rebecca shrugged delicately. “We all have a past. We all have things we’re not proud of. What matters is who we are today. And you want to know something?” she looked up at him with those eyes, and he pressed down the urge to kiss her.

“What?”

“I really like who you are today,” she whispered, bringing a smile to his face.

“I really like who you are every day,” he whispered back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, his smile growing even larger when she leaned into him. “You ready to get out of here?”

She wrapped his jacket tighter around her body. “Yeah, it’s getting a little chilly.”

He nodded in agreement, gave her a quick squeeze and released her. “I’ll go grab my wallet and we can get going.”

Santi wove his way back through the crowded Beer Garden until he reached the table, quietly scooping up his wallet.

“Everything okay?” Frankie asked quietly as Charlie dozed on his chest.

“Yeah, tell your firecracker that she doesn’t have to kick any asses. See you tomorrow?” Frankie nodded as Santi pulled out a crisp twenty and threw it on the table. “Adios, hermano,” he murmured, bringing his hand gently down upon Frankie’s cap and giving his head a slight jiggle. “Will, can you get me that info on that electrician?” Will nodded as Santi clapped a hand down on his shoulder, bringing his hand up to gently clasp his buddy’s forearm before Santi removed it to give Benny a quick swat on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Santi fixed him with a glare. “Yeah, okay. I deserved that. Night man.”

Santi strolled out of the restaurant, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw Rebecca, wrapped in his jacket, staring at the restaurant doors, waiting for him. That warm feeling in the pit of his stomach came back full force, and, for the first time, he didn’t want it to go away.

**********

His truck quietly slid into a parking spot out front of her apartment building.

“Well…” she murmured. “I guess this is me.”

Santi nodded, a sigh building in his chest. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t want a simple dinner date to end, but he wanted it to continue. He wanted to keep talking to her, keep listening to her, keep touching her.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll walk you to the front door,” he stated, desperate to stretch their remaining few seconds as long as he could.

She smiled and waited as he made his way around the front of the truck, opening her door and offering her his hand. They strolled the maybe twenty paces to the front door and stopped, turning to face each other while their free hands sought each other out.

“I had a really nice time. Your friends are great. Frankie’s awesome.”

“He really is.”

“Well…uh…good night, Santi.”

“Bex?” he tugged slightly on her hands, so she remained facing him. “I…” That warm feeling in his stomach burst. “Oh, fuck it,” he pressed forward, planting his lips on hers the way he had been imaging since he had picked her up four hours previous. Sweet and tender, raw and full of something that would go unnamed for a while but had so much potential. He pulled back for the space of a breath, taking in her closed eyes and slightly parted lips. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

Finally, her eyes opened. “Don’t stop,” she quietly pled, freeing her hands to place them on either side of his face, tugging him back to her lips.

They stood there for what could have been minutes or hours, neither knew nor cared. It was like every moment of their friendship had been leading them to this moment, and they wanted to live in it forever.

It wasn’t until the nearby sound of a fire truck siren starting up broke the serene quiet that they broke apart.

“So, uh…coffee on Monday?” she asked, eyes slightly glazed over and lips plump.

“Definitely.”

**********

Tags list: @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell, @buckstaposition, @who-talks-first

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this week - 28

3 by Miyazaki:

✳️✳️✳️ Never-Ending Man: Another wonderful NHK documentary about Old Man Hayao Miyazaki after his 2013 retirement, and as he slowly comes around to create one more animation, the short ‘Boro The Caterpillar’. It follows him unobtrusively for a couple of years, walking from his simple house to his office at the studio, drawing drawing, struggling with self doubt and old age, and yes - driving a bit in his old Citroën 2CV.

It’s such a privilege to be so close to a legendary artist and watch him at close range - 8/10.

✳️✳️✳️ Kiki's Delivery Service, one of my most favorite Ghibli masterpieces, about a 13 year old witch, who flies on a broom to a new city in order to build her independence. With a magical score by Joe Hisaishi. 

- Best film of the week!

✳️✳️✳️ Castle in the sky, Miyazaki’s 3rd feature from 1986, an cyberpunk adventure fantasy which contains many of the elements and characters which will show up fully formed in his later films: Sheeta looks like Kiki, Dola behaves like Yubaba, Pazu as a stand in for Haku, etc. I prefer his quieter, more personal, smaller stories.

✴️

Exit Plan (“Suicide Tourist”) is a Danish film about a quiet man with a terminal brain tumor who signs up for an upscale Norwegian hotel specializing in assisted end-of-life fantasies. Starts as a dark existential tale, ends with a kind of ambiguous mystery.

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau is the guy.

✴️

The Aerial  (”La Antena”) is an innovative Argentinian silent film from 2007,  about a city that had lost its voice, and its only savior, a boy without eyes who is crucified on a Star of David. It’s a surreal allegory in German expressionism style, a weird black & white fantasy about mind control. In short, a unique and inaccessible fairy tale.

“Mommy, are you there?...”

(Photo Above)

✴️

For comparison, I revisited ‘Un Chien Andalou’, Bunuel & Dalí disturbing, groundbreaking masterpiece. Even though every outrageous frame of it is part of history now, the raw imagery is still shocking - Pure id. I can’t imagine being in the room in 1929, and watching it for the first time. No wonder the two surrealists were disappointed at the audience's positive reception.

✴️

2 from French director Mia Hansen-Løve:

✳️✳️✳️ The Future / “Things to come“ from 2016. Isabelle Huppert is a resilient middle-aged philosophy professor whose life suddenly suffers multiple setbacks.

It only has 6 scenes with background music, each punctures the quiet delivery of the story at an emotional peak: A Schubert lieder, a Woodie Guthrie song on the radio, a lullaby...

I loved it!

✳️✳️✳️ Goodbye First Love tells about a romance between a 15 year old and a boy who leaves her, and then comes back 8 years later, after she settles down.

Unhurried, sensitive story-telling, reminisces of Eric Rohmer, with careful use of music and language. It also has a couple of scenes shot here at the Kastrup Sea Baths and on the grounds of Louisiana museum.

Loved it! I’m looking forward to see her new ‘’Bergman Island’.

✴️

Love in the afternoon, the last of Eric Rohmer’s ‘6 Moral Tales’. Exploration of sexual and spiritual virtues in 1972 Paris, by a traditional married man who carries on a platonic love affair with an old flame.

✴️

The White Ribbon - Austrian Michael Haneke’s dark, multi-layered tragedy. In 1913, a series of upsetting events occur in a small German village. A horse trips on a wire and injures its rider; a woman falls to her death through rotted planks; the local baron's son is hung upside down in a mill; parents bully their children; a man torments his long-suffering lover; another sexually abuses his daughter. People disappear.

Relentless inquiry into abuse, cruelty and despair. Shot in gorgeous Bergmansk black & white.

(This is an Italian speaking copy). 8/10

✴️

2 more from 1973:

✳️✳️✳️ First watch - Soylent Green, a pessimistic science fiction story happening in 2022. Very prescient in its dystopian prediction of global warming, over population, resource depletion and income equality.

The 2 minutes opening montage was paced brilliantly. 7/10

✳️✳️✳️ In Scarecrow, Gene Hackman and Al Pacino are two drifters who becomes friends as they hitchhike from California to Pittsburgh. 6/10

✴️

In Pig, Nicholas Cage is a reclusive mountain man, living out in the woods outside Portland, OR, gathering truffles with a female pig, who is his only friend. One night, some tweakers attack him and kidnap the pig. His journey to bring her back takes him on a surprising and completely unexpected places. 

Very un-American!

✴️

“… and Rex Hamilton as Abraham Lincoln”

6 episodes of the 1982 TV series Police Squad!,  a spoof of police procedurals - shorter and funnier than the Naked Gun movies which it later spawned. Zucker-Abrams-Zucker production.

“Who are you? And how did you get in here?

- "I'm a locksmith, and I'm a locksmith”

✴️

“Ever fired your gun in the air and yelled, 'Aaaaaaah?'”

Every time I watch Hot Fuzz, it gets better. "Not just one of the best comedies of all time, it’s one of the best movies of all time", for sure.

Editor Tony Zhou, of ‘Every Frame A Painting’, shot an excellent video essay ‘How to do visual comedy’ about Edgar Wright.

Jim Broadbent as Inspector Frank Butterman: “He had one thing you haven't got... A great, big, bushy beard! “

✴️

Re-watch: Wag the Dog, blackest of black comedies, utterly cynical, nihilistic view of politics. Americans can always be distracted, can always be manipulated, and can always be led to believe anything the powers-to-be needs them to. You can fool all of the people all of the time. 

“Look, look, look. He's fine as long as he gets his medications...”

Amazingly, it premiered one month BEFORE the Lewinsky scandal!

✴️

The Invisible Guest, a forgettable and predictable Spanish murder-mystery thriller from 2016. Best part was the soft, minimalist European style score (or am I just going deaf?)

✴️

How to Become a Tyrant, a new docu-series narrated by Peter Dinklage. 6 short episodes about Hitler, Stalin, Gaddafi, Kim Il-sung, Idi Amin and Saddam Hussein. (Mao is referred to, but doesn’t get his own chapter).

And it doesn’t mention trump, even as a Wanna be Dictator - probably because he didn’t succeed in his (first) attempt.

✴️

Seaspiracy, the most depressing documentary I’ve ever seen. Ali Tabrizi starts investigating plastic pollution in the ocean, and quickly realizes that it is commercial fishing that is the bane of our existence. Basically all fishing must be banned, as there will be no more live fish in the seas in 2048. There were some ‘controversies’ about the claims the movie makes, but they came from mainstream entities, who support incremental change.

Utterly disgusting: We deserve all that befall us.

✴️

A colorful and dramatic Vatican drama, The Two Popes, with excellent ‘Odd Couple’ performances by Anthony Hopkins as the first Pope in 700 years to step down and by Jonathan Pryce who doesn’t want to succeed him. Re-watch.

- - - - -

Throw-back to the art project:

Salvador Dali Adora.

Kiki Delivery Service Adora.

- - - - -

(My complete movie list is here)

[libraford]

Gonna say it first- you are never going to see nearly as many men in a flower shop as you are on Valentine’s Day. Close runner up is Administrative Assistant Appreciation Day, but given that this is our busiest day of the year and we don’t even hire temps for Admin Day, there really isn’t much of a contest. 

On an average day, our shop maybe sees between ten and twenty people walking in, with thirty to fifty deliveries. 

On V-Day, the walk-ins start at 7:30am and do not stop until past 7pm, with upwards 500 deliveries and we have to be there for all of it. 

But our V-Day week doesn’t start on V-Day. 

It starts an entire week before the actual holiday, and why? 

Because someone who should have honestly known better booked her $5000 wedding for February 9th. 

Now, when I say that she should have known better, I really do mean it. This woman works in the floral industry. She manages and operates a greenhouse. Her wedding was actually at the greenhouse. 

For context of what a $5000 wedding looks like, our average wedding account is around $1000. This bride got a discount on all her flowers. 

All of hers was greens and tropicals. Anthurium, orchids, succulents, ivy, African Mask. These were all live plants that we had to cut, and some that were being saved whole for a succulent wall. 

Setup had five locations. The church, the cottage, a corridor, the greenhouse, and the foyer. The average is two. 

Monday, February 4, a man calls and informs us that he has the shipment of flowers. 

“How big is the shipment,” Grandpa asks.

“86 boxes.” 

“...ah.” 

Live plants need to be taken out of their boxes to keep them alive- they need light, they need to breathe, and the wedding is at the end of the week. They began unboxing succulents and miniature orchids at 10:30 and finished with the english ivy and African Mask plants around 3:45. 

These take up a grand total of 5 carts. These are large carts- hardly fitting in a doorway and each holding between fifty and one-hundred plants. 

And the only place we can keep them... is in the front of the store. 

For an entire week- and this is the week leading up to our busiest week of the year, we can neither see nor hear any person coming into our shop. 

My desk is positioned in the back of the room, facing the wall. But when I’m working on casket sprays, I pull out a table and have myself facing the door. 

I became the sentry of customers. And unfortunately this meant that I had to deal with them. Just about all of them wanted to buy some of the miniature orchids and I briefly considered moving my desk to the front of the store so that I could hide among the carts like some kind of orchid goblin- smacking the hands of people who get too close to the plants before retreating back into the foliage. 

The number of people wanting to buy the stock from the wedding only increased when we put a big sign on it reading ‘WEDDING, NOT FOR SALE.’

We began working on them Wednesday. And for the next three days we had people asking ‘how much is this centerpiece?’

Too much. 

The answer is ‘too much.’ 

The Phantom of Phaleanopsis asks for nothing less than your soul. 

Friday-

We put the last of the centerpieces together- which includes fifteen very tall mercury glass vases (a shape henceforth known as a ‘pilsner’)  where the arrangements are designed in a dish and set on top of the vase. 

Because theses vases are so tall, they are set on the floor to be worked on. 

This puts them at about waist-height. 

You know where this is going. 

“Red, can you put this centerpiece away?” 

“Sure thing!”

Red stoops down and begins to carry the vase from the bottom, and just as Grandpa begins to say ‘no, the top- they’re not attached,’ his weight is thrown off and the entire thing topples over and a loud and high-pitched crash resonates through the room. 

If you know mercury glass, you know that when it breaks- it shatters into a million pieces. If you don’t know mercury glass, imagine the last time you’ve seen a busted lightbulb. 

Silence fell over the workshop, and for the first time since we’d opened that day, it was quiet enough to hear the radio. 

I-Iiiiii’m Speechless...., sang Dan + Shay on Central Ohio’s Best Country Station 92.3 WCOL

“Red,” says Grandpa. “Please tell me you know where another one of those might be.” 

Blue speaks up instead. “There’s still one at the front of the shop,” she says, coming to the rescue. Red is very sorry, apologizes profusely and spends the rest of the day outside a five-foot perimeter of Grandpa’s workspace. 

There are at least four more near-misses of the very last pilsner vase being brushed by someone’s leg someone barely grazing the draping ruscus as they walk by. We learn to stay away. Grandpa glares at anyone who comes too near. 

She has just finished the last one and allows Coach to squeeze through to get to the computer. We are cleaning up. We are done. Just one more day and the largest wedding we’ve ever done will be wrapped up and we can move on to Valentine’s Day. 

As Coach turns to go back to his desk, his knee just barely hits a single frond of asparagus fern and we all watch, in slow-motion, as Grandpa catches the centerpiece in one hand, but fails to steady the pilsner. And into a thousand shiny pieces, it shatters- to the tune of Cole Swindell singing ‘...even though we break up in the end.’

“That... was the last one,” she says. “I gotta stop making these things on the fucking floor.” 

That was the last one. There are no more. The only option is to order more pilsners to be delivered at night and hope to every god that they actually bring them. 

It is now Saturday and everything looks amazing: 

And we are due in at 10:30. 

There are no pilsners. 

And add insult to injury, the night driver came in under cover of darkness and stole all of our pegboards. 

Pegboards are thick, interlocking plastic panels with a grid on them intended to hold pegs of PVC pipe securely. Setting arrangements on them and then surrounding those arrangements with those pegs helps transport them safely. 

We can’t move these without pegboards. All of the vases are mercury glass. They will break. 

Grandpa, summoning the rage of every short person in her family tree, screamed into the phone until someone finally agreed to send back our damn pegboards and the fucking pilsners. 

“Do you not understand that this is a $5000 wedding and that the person getting married is one of our vendors?”  I can only imagine the reason they finally sent someone because the three-headed monster that runs this place felt a swift kick in the wallet.

As soon as a person arrives with our pilsners and pegboards, all four persons required to set up the wedding in four separate vans are out the door, and the bride... is on the phone. 

“Um... I’m due to get married in the next hour and none of your people are here.” 

“They just left a few moments ago,” I said to Kris Stapelton’s ‘Broken Halos.’ The fact that I can hear the country music is a sign that everyone... everyone... is listening. “They’ll be there in just a few moments.” 

“They better be.” 

This is the only time I have heard this woman mad. 

Hours pass and we have no word on anything. No word is good word. Phone calls are bad. We don’t like them here. 

The setup crew returns with good news- everything is fine. Red occupied himself with a standee cut-out of the Pope and took a number of photos with him posing next to him. I’m told this is a Catholic thing. No one could confirm it. 

It is 5:00 and we have made it through another day. 

Sunday morning. 9am. 

The phone rings.

No. 

Just... stop. 

“Hello, uh... this is the greenhouse. See the problem is that when we were taking your uh... what are these tall vases?”

“Pilsners?”

“Yeah, when we took them down we lined them all up. But one of the movers didn’t know that the flowers weren’t attached so... they all kinda tumbled down domino-style. And we kinda broke... all of them.” 

Grandpa did that thing where she kind of laughs and weeps at the same time, to the sound of Brothers Osbourne singing ‘Shoot Me Straight.’ 

[anastpaul]

Saint of the Day – 23 November – Blessed Miguel Agustin Pro SJ (1891 – 1927) Priest and Martyr of the Cristero War, Jesuit – known as “Cocol” – born José Ramón Miguel Agustín Pro Juárez on 13 January 1891 in Guadalupe, Zacatecas, Mexico and died by being shot by firing squad on 23 November 1927 in Mexico City, Mexico.   He was 36 years old.

Don Miguel and his wife were the happy parents of eleven children.   Miguel Jr, was the third born.   Four died in infancy.   The two eldest, Maria de la Concepcion and Maria de la Luz, became Sisters of the Good Shepherd.   Two of the boys, Miguel and his younger brother Humberto, were martyred.   The rest of the children, Ana Maria, Edmundo Jose, and Roberto married.   Since a young age, he was called “Cocol” as a nickname. One of his companions, Pulido, said that he “had never seen such an exquisite wit, never coarse, always sparkling.”   He was noted for his charity and ability to speak about spiritual subjects without boring his audience.   Pulido remarked, that there were two Pros – the playful Pro and the prayerful Pro.   He was known for the long periods he spent in the chapel.

Long-time President of Mexico Porfirio Díaz was ousted in 1911 after staging a rigged re-election and a struggle for power – the Mexican Revolution – began.

He entered the Jesuit novitiate at El Llano on 15 August 1911 and studied in Mexico until 1914 when a massive wave of governmental anti-Catholicism forced the novitiate to dissolve and the Jesuits to flee to Los Gatos, California, in the United States.   He then went to study in Granada, Spain (1915–19) and from 1919 to 1922 taught in Nicaragua.

For his theological studies Pro was sent to Enghien, Belgium, where the French Jesuits (also in exile) had their faculty of Theology.   His health continued to deteriorate.   There he was ordained a priest on 31 August 1925.   He wrote on that occasion:  “How can I explain to you the sweet grace of the Holy Spirit, which invades my poor miner’s soul with such heavenly joys?   I could not hold back the tears on the day of my ordination, above all at the moment when I pronounced, together with the bishop, the words of the consecration.   After the ceremony the new priests gave their first blessing to their parents.   I went to my room, laid out all the photographs of my family on the table and then blessed them from the bottom of my heart.”

His first assignment as a priest was to work with the miners of Charleroi, Belgium. Despite the socialist, communist and anarchist tendencies of the workers, he was able to win them over and preach the Gospel to them.

Three months after ordination, he was forced to undergo several operations for ulcers. He remained cheerful and courageous, explaining that the source of his strength was his prayer.

In summer 1926 – his studies in Europe completed – Pro returned to Mexico.   On the way he visited Lourdes where he celebrated Mass and visited the grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes.

He arrived at Veracruz on 8 July 1926.   Plutarco Elías Calles was now president of Mexico.   Unlike his predecessors, Calles vigorously enforced the anti-Catholic provisions of the 1917 constitution, implementing the so-called Calles Law, which provided specific penalties for priests who criticised the government (five years’ imprisonment) or wore clerical garb in certain situations outside their churches (500 pesos).   This law went into effect on 31 July 1926.

By this time, some states, such as Tabasco under the notorious anti-Catholic Tomás Garrido Canabal, had closed all the churches and cleared the entire state of serving priests, killing many of them, forcing a few to marry and the remaining few serving covertly at risk of their lives.   On his return, Fr Miguel served a Church which was forced to go “underground.”   He celebrated the Eucharist clandestinely and ministered the other sacraments to small groups of Catholics.   Details of Pro’s ministry in the underground church come from his many letters, signed with the nickname Cocol.   In October 1926, a warrant for his arrest was issued.   He was arrested and released from prison the next day but kept under surveillance.

A failed attempt to assassinate Álvaro Obregón, which only wounded him, in November 1927, provided the state with a pretext for arresting Pro again, this time with his brothers Humberto and Roberto.   A young engineer who confessed his part in the assassination testified that the Pro brothers were not involved.   Miguel and his brothers were taken to the Detective Inspector’s Office in Mexico City.

President Calles gave orders to have Pro executed for the assassination attempt.   Pro and his brothers were visited by Generals Roberto Cruz and Palomera Lopez around 11 p.m. on 22 November 1927.   The next day, as Pro walked from his cell to the courtyard and the firing squad, he blessed the soldiers, knelt and briefly prayed quietly.   Declining a blindfold, he faced his executioners with a crucifix in one hand and a rosary in the other and held his arms out in imitation of the crucified Christ and shouted out, “May God have mercy on you!   May God bless you!   Lord, Thou knowest that I am innocent!   With all my heart I forgive my enemies!”   Before the firing squad was ordered to shoot, Pro raised his arms in imitation of Christ and shouted the defiant cry of the Cristeros, “Viva Cristo Rey!” – “Long live Christ the King!”.

When the initial shots of the firing squad failed to kill him, a soldier shot him at point-blank range.

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Calles had the execution meticulously photographed and the newspapers throughout the country carried photos on the front page the following day.   Presumably, Calles thought that the sight of the pictures would frighten the Cristero rebels who were fighting against his troops, particularly in the state of Jalisco.   However, they had the opposite effect.

Calles is reported to have looked down upon a throng of 40,000 who lined Pro’s funeral procession.   Another 20,000 waited at the cemetery where he was buried without a priest present, his father saying the final words.   The Cristeros became more animated and fought with renewed enthusiasm, many of them carrying the newspaper photo of Pro before the firing squad.

At Pro’s Beatification in Saint Peter’s Square on 25  September 1988, St Pope John Paul II said:

“Neither suffering nor serious illness, nor the exhausting ministerial activity, frequently carried out in difficult and dangerous circumstances, could stifle the radiating and contagious joy which he brought to his life for Christ and which nothing could take away. Indeed, the deepest root of self-sacrificing surrender for the lowly was his passionate love for Jesus Christ and his ardent desire to be conformed to Him, even unto death.”

This portrait of Blessed Miguel resides in the La Sagrada Familia Basilica in Barcelona, Spain

Saint of the Day – 23 November – Blessed Miguel Agustin Pro SJ (1891 – 1927) Priest and Martyr “Viva Cristo Rey!” Saint of the Day - 23 November - Blessed Miguel Agustin Pro SJ (1891 – 1927) Priest and Martyr of the Cristero War, Jesuit - known as…

[noramoya]

HONORED THROUGH US COMING TOGETHER ... Nov. 4th. 2014

“Each artist makes the world his or her own, and in doing so, elevates it. And, in doing that, elevates us.” – Words And Pictures.

“IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS, MICHAEL JACKSON’S LEGACY IS NOT DEFINED BY THE ONES WHO ATTEMPT TO TAKE HIM DOWN,BUT HOW HE REMAINED STANDING.”

— Michael Joe Jackson Justice Project (MJJJP).

“If Buddha is right and ‘we do not learn by experience but by our capacity for experience,’ then, our endurance has once again been tested. The way we see the world comes out in our choices, our actions and our words ... Our resolve either weakened or strengthened. It is so easy to be drawn in by bullies ! They are loud and spew venomous words that raise our temperatures. Bullies are well-practiced in pushing the right buttons, their unimaginative strategies, tedious. We have heard it all before. Uneducated and refusing to change, they doggedly hang on to old arguments and use inaccuracies and lies as fuel. In Alexander Pope’s words, “Some people will never learn anything because they understand everything too soon.” Our great good fortune is that we come together because we have the Truth, and with that truth, we have a future .Through Michael, we are a community called to reach out to the World as we continue to deliver Michael’s messages. Our energies, not devoted to hate or destruction, follow Michael, who knew the way, traveled the way, and showed us the way. Having studied Michael’s life and legacy, our memories are a net inspired by Michael’s example ... WHO SAVES A LIFE SAVES THE WHOLE WORLD. David Nordahl clearly stated a Truth, when he said that Michael wasn’t a ME kind of guy. He was always thinking about others. That said, we clearly do not have time for destruction and hate. There is too much to be done. Michael’s talent and fire, as an artist, have taken us to places we have never been before, giving us the larger view. His gifts and talents, energies and vision make us feel our best, make us want to be our best. No amount of hating or bullying can ever achieve that. Activism is a part of reaching for Justice, working toward Equality and Fairness , demanding Ethics and Accountability . The unlawful, unethical, unprofessional actions that came together, in an attempt to destroy Michael Jackson, are public knowledge. That history cannot be forgotten, nor repeated.” — Jude Ling .

“HE ABUSED THE LEGAL SYSTEM, COMMITED PERJURY, PAID OFF WITNESSES, COST SANTA BARBARA COUNTY MILLIONS OF TAXPAYERS DOLLARS. HE ABUSED THE SPIRIT, LEGACY AND PERSONAL PROPERTY OF AN ARTIST AND HUMANITARIAN.” — KARE FAYER

“TOM SNEDDON HAS CYNICALLY AND RELENTLESSLY ATTEMPTED TO SYSTEMATICALLY ANNIHILATE MICHAEL. JACKSON . HE HAD WRITTEN TO THE FBI ASKING THEM TO CONVICT MICHAEL UNDER THE MANN ACT, A LAW CREATED IN 1910 TO ENTRAP BOXER, JACK JOHNSON, IN 1912, FOR WHAT ARE NOW REGARDED AS RACIALLY-MOTIVATED REASONS. THE FBI DISAGREEDED, DESPITE LAPD BEING ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT THIS LINE OF INQUIRY. TS OVERSAW A SUCCESSFUL CHANGE IN THE LAW THAT ENABLED HIM TO RESUME HIS BASELESS CHASING OF MICHAEL JACKSON IN 2005. SNEDDON WAS NOTHING MORE THAN A FOOTNOTE IN THE EPIC CULTURAL EVENT THAT WAS THE LIFE AND CAREER OF MICHAEL JACKSON .” •Exerpts from “A Cold Man: An Article on the Death of Michael Jackson’s Arch Nemesis” __— Syl Mortilla .

“Michael Jackson was shrewd and audacious enough to invest his capital into the white man’s game of Music Publishing . A very young and uniquely influential Black Man suddenly became perceived by the establishment as one who was getting disconcertingly above his station.”

“When Michael died, the world came to a halt. News broadcasts were interrupted, traffic came to a standstill, and people left their homes and took to the streets as if pulled by some invisible force, or maybe just a desperate need for support and togetherness. They grabbed sheets of cardboard to craft signs of love or placed balloons and flowers at locations he had visited. Many lit candles in front of framed photos in their living rooms, and celebrities, world leaders, and ordinary people alike poured their hearts out…shock, disbelief, pain…Michael Jackson? Dead…gone forever. In all countries, on all continents, people mourned his passing. No matter race, creed, social status, ethnicity or origin, people were joined in the process of missing him. This is the impact Michael Jackson had on the world !”

“T.S. you were here and you are not. That’s it ... It’s not making a difference. And, in the end, I want to thank you. I want to thank you because through your actions, your callousness, and your hate, you have shown me exactly who I do not want to be. I choose kindness, forgiveness, serenity and compassion, and most of all, I choose love every single time. MICHAEL TAUGHT ME THAT.” — Sandra Sasvari

“THEY WANT TO GET MY ASS DEAD OR ALIVE ... YOU KNOW HE REALLY TRIED TO TAKE ME DOWN BY SURPRISE ... HE DON’T DO HALF WHAT HE SAY... HE’LL STOP AT NOTHING JUST TO GET HIS POLITICAL SAY... HE THINKS HE’S BAD CUZ HE’S BSTA ... I BET HE NEVER HAD A SOCIAL LIFE ANYWAY ... YOU THINK HE’S BROTHERS WITH THE KKK... I BET HIS MOTHER NEVER TAUGHT HIM RIGHT ANYWAY ... HE WANTS YOUR VOTE JUST TO REMAIN TA... HE DON’T DO HALF WHAT HE SAY ... DOES HE SEND LETTERS TO THE FBI ... DID HE SAY TO EITHER DO IT OR DIE ? “ — “D.S.” – Michael Jackson .

“Social Justice, Equality, Ethics, Professionalism, Fairness ... Michael Jackson put his frustrations with the world’s problems into his music, his dance. He called us all to action. Critics, bullies and the media tried to convince the public that Michael’s messages were either ridiculously simple-minded or self-serving… historically getting it wrong over and over again. That hasn’t changed. What has changed is that Truth is in the hands of masses of people. Relying on an uninformed and ignorant world population isn’t working anymore. The NEW MEDIA is enlightened with the Truth ! The degrees of healing continue as wounds heal. We are elevated by Michael’s life and Legacy. We love him deeply because he loved us first. He has taught us that those who bully and hate will continue to twist and turn things into lies. He taught us that if you tell a lie often enough, it will be believed. He taught us to see the larger view. When people feel good about themselves, they are good to one another. He taught us the power of the people coming together as ONE VOICE for change. He told us to always remember the children. He taught us to cry out for one another. He taught us to listen to the Earth . With great pain and struggle, he taught us how to bravely live, by forgiving, not hating. We know from Michael that there is much to be done. LOVE IS THE ANSWER AS WE GO FORWARD TO CHANGE THE WORLD.” — Jude Ling .

[ivyveil]

Somethin’ Bout That Work

the one where Y/N and Harry talk about work, psychics, and Bingo

A/N: This was my most popular series and I’ve decided to re-upload it! :) Check here for the masterlist.

Harry.  Y/N.

How was your day at work? New project, right? xxxxxx.

OH MY GOODNESS

Is this Harry Styles??? 

Did my phone decide to go to Church and get its ass blessed by the Pope?

The ass isn’t where they bless, Y/N. x

Weird, it’s always where I’ve felt my blessings.

Anal? xxx.

Also did you change my name from ‘XXX my ass’ yet - am I finally Harry ?

I’m into the Pope, ngl. What an absolute heartthrob.

[Y/N sent a photo.]

and absolutely not ? I cannot believe you’d shit all over our origin like that.

…so how was work

It was like that yellow drink you tried once - the one Nick texted me about.

That was nasty - I threw it up.

Yeah I have the screenshots honey-boo

But that’s how my day’s gone. Like, I had a presentation about how to transform the brand image and I’m using a mix of techniques that the best-selling juice brands are using, as well as my original concepts.. People don’t wanna drink juices that look gross, you know? Give them fun colors, give them quality things to relate to the juices, not body-loathing and self-hatred.

I’m sorry love :-(. x.

Your weird nose-smiley made me laugh and now I’m sadder.

Why are you sadder ?!

Because I hate that I laughed at a nose-smiley.

How was your day?

It was good, I had a bagel. xxx.

Honestly, I was gonna tease you about being an international popstar who eats bagels and considers that a “good day” but like…true.

It’s a fair evaluation of my day, if I don’t have a bagel - the best it can get is mediocre.

Can Harry Styles even strive for mediocrity? I feel like it’s not in the cards of fate.

I went to a psychic last week, btw x.

Really ? I thought you hated that shit.

Yeah but our texts from last week made me think it was worth a shot. xx.

Was it? What did they say? Are you going to meet a mystery brunette in two weeks?

The mystery brunette is kinda you, tho, you secretive lil punk.

MAYBE YOU’LL FINALLY MEET YOURSELF. Self-awareness n shit.

:-). xxx. 

What did the psychic fucking say, my beautiful boy?

Can you pick a handful of sweet endearing terms for friends and stop trying new ones?

My sunflower from the highest mountain, my oodles of hugs, my baby swathed in the softest blankets, please tell me about your psychic experience.

They said I would be coming up on a hard part of my life, where a lot of my morals are tested and I’ve got to push through - but first decide who I really am, what I really want from life.

Sounds like baloney, you’ll be fine.

It’s something to think about. x.

My psychic told me that I might meet a mystery blonde in the next few days. Said that it would be startling but ultimately lead me to where I’m supposed to be.

I don’t think Chris Evans is in LA

He’s more like a dirty blonde brunette anyway…but TRU

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

Have you ever looked around a room and GENUINELY thought “I’m richer than everyone else here”

It was once and I was 18. It’s justified. xx.

WOw. I cannot believe I actually know an Icon of my Generation.

Awwwww stop it :) xxx.

No! I was thinking about it the other day and I’m genuinely so proud of you. Like, Sign of the Times is going to evolve into something way beyond right now. It’s got that shit that means we’ll listen to it for years to come, consider it something of a snapshot of our generation and our time. It’s massive.

Also Kiwi….

hahaha thank you love x

Shut up I feel like you aren’t taking me seriously

No, I appreciate it.

Do you really or are you saying that

No I am, pinky promise.

..

.You’re the only one I’ve sent my ideas to, anyway.

What?

Like some of my song ideas.

I’m not the only one, Haz. No way

Yeah. I like your feedback.

…

Plus I only send you the ones I’m 99% sure won’t make the 2nd album.

You lil fucker oh my gosH

:-) xxx. I just like hearing your thoughts on them!!

I was gonna ask if you were free to call tonight, but now I just don’t know if I want to. So rude, sending me rejects.

No I’m free, I can do it. Can I let you know when I’m done with helping packing up? Xxx.

Sure. I’m going over to Nick’s and we’re playing Harry Styles Live Bingo.

What’s that ?

…

The free space is “Harry’s suit makes Nick’s Nan stutter” and some other spaces include “he makes everyone sing Kiwi more than twice”, “his suit costs more than Y/N’s rent”, “he calls someone out for not having the Harry Styles definition of a ‘good time’”, and “his hair floofs”

What’s the last one about xxx.

Your hair floofs and I love it.

How is that Bingo

It’s not. It’s just my appreciation and love <3

I’ll take it, then.

I wish you would grow your hair out a bit more though.

You said that last week.

And now you’re wearing bandanas? Don’t think I didn’t notice in that last snap, mister.

I thought it might be a good idea…doesn’t mean you’re right though.

It’s cool, I’m used to not being right. My boss, for instance, has never put “right” and “Y/N” in the same sentence.

…

I don’t want to be out of line…

What

But do you really feel like this job is meant for you?

What do you mean?

When we talk about your job, you never seem properly into it. Maybe this is a sign you’re meant to find something else.

I don’t want to be insensitive, though, I just want you happy and always in the right to your boss. xx.

It’s okay, I agree. You’re totally fine speaking your mind to me, pinky promise. I just have to find some job where I wouldn’t be working with absolute leeches.

…We’re in LA?

OK TRU. But still.

You’ll figure it out, I believe in you. You’re a smart woman.

…

Okay love, I gtg. I’ll call you after, win the Bingo for me, okay? I’ll try to knock out all the ones you mentioned.

OOOH I’ll send you my sheet, give me 10. 

xxx.

xxx my ass boo

————————————————–

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts here, and check out the rest of my works if you’d like!

[zurichtooslo]

Day 45, 4th Oct, Ljubljana

First thing this morning I walked to area called Metelkova which wasn’t that far from my hotel. I had read about it and had heard it was a bit alternative. I had asked the young guy on the hotel counter a bit more about the area and I think he was a bit shocked I wanted to go there. I told him I wouldn’t go at night and he said that would be okay and probably other people will be there taking photos. As it turned out he was correct.

People do live in the buildings but at night there is music and bars. You would only go with friends, so the hotel guy said, at night. Safety in numbers.

I think shoes hanging from wires indicate where you can buy drugs. I think quite a bit of that goes on here. Lots of shoes hanging in a number of spots.

It was pretty interesting the imagination and creative talent of some people. There was a sign up on one building that said ‘We are not a zoo’ but I’m sure all the artists like people looking at their work.

The wall behind this flower sculpture was covered in mosaics.

The whole area was very colourful especially on such a bright sunny day. It was still very cold but great compared to the grey skies of yesterday.

Back out into normality and just wandering. This was a nice looking church in the back streets.

I headed down towards the river as I was on my way to the castle above the town.

Back to the Dragon Bridge.

Great looking dragon.

The market was in full swing this morning.

Hard work to set up each day.

I decided to take the easy option and catch the funicular up to the castle.

You could get a good view of the market area from above.

The castle courtyard up on top of the hill.

Me from the battlements. You had a good view over the city.

An old well from 1588. I didn’t go through the castle as I have done a couple on this trip already.

There were tracks around the outside of the walls so that was a nice area to wander around.

The castle is in very good condition.

Looking down on Ljubljana’s university library. The pink square building with the green roof.

You could see Preseren Square as well with the salmon coloured church.

Any patch of suitable space you usually find a cafe.

I decided to walk back down to the town. Initially it was through the woods but then near houses it was down stone steps.

Looking over the rooftops.

A bit of colour on the way down and art, I think.

A nice scenic walk down but I’m glad I didn’t walk up.

The path down from the castle finished in this square.

Looking away from the main part of the centre area.

Looking back up towards the castle.

I just wandered up this street from the river as it looked attractive.

Further along, unexpectedly, was the entrance to the Jewish museum and Synagogue. I went to investigate and spent a bit of time in there.

I think this says Shalom in Slovenian.

Scull caps for worshippers.

The synagogue was only small. I don’t think many Jews live in Slovenia now. Initially, during the war, Slovenia was an escape route for fleeing Jews from other countries but as the war progressed the Jews were all rounded up and sent to concentration camps. Not many survived.

These were layed out in the synagogue.

The library with a lot of Slovenian Jewish authors on their shelves.

On another floor of the building was a museum that had old photographs and a video playing of two children’s account, now adults, of how they met in Bergen Belsan and were spared by Menagles.

An empty room was saying the names of victims from Ljubljana. Every time a name was said the lights flashed on then went off.

This man was the only Jewish child not taken away by the Nazis when his parents, grandparents and aunt and uncle were. His babysitter, a non Jew,  was in the house and realised what was happening and climbed out the window, into the house next door, with him. His mother did happen to return after the war but the others in his family all died.

On the walls outside there were some attractive posters. I’m not sure what they were about.

There was no English signs to explain but they looked colourful.

Can’t read Slovene so don’t know this one but related to the posters in some way.

This has been a common thing you see in Germany and in other countries in Europe outside doors of where Jewish families used to live. The bronze squares are called ‘stumbling stones’ and they have only recently been located in front of houses in Ljubljana since 2016.

It is thought that if the name of the person is recorded then they will never be forgotten. This person went to Dachau in 1944 and died in 1945.

I had a map from the Jewish Museum showing where other ‘stumbling stones’ where so I wandered the streets for awhile looking. Then I headed to the University Library but the students were studying for exams so the library was off limits. The windows are supposed to look like books. The same architect who designed the long building along the river designed this building. They were both built during the war.

The door handles.

The architect who designed this bridge loved columns which are a feature on all his designs around the town.

A bronze figure along the river.

Back near the cathedral.

This cathedral was built in the baroque style.

The roof was colourful and added to the whole look of the cathedral.

Very ornate.

All over the Cathedral were busts of Pope Francis in different reflective moods.

Outside near the river a big food festival was going on. Lots of people and all sorts of food.

The streets are always full of people sitting, eating and drinking in all the places I’ve been to on this trip. The warmer weather invites outdoor activity.

So much variety.

I think all the local restaurants were represented and more.

Back along the river the central square and stone pedestrian bridges.

The restaurants along the river were all busy with people, as well.

It was a glorious day but pretty cold but when you have a blue sky and sun all is good with the world.

I ended up going back to the food fair for dinner. I got an Egyptian dish just for a change from pizza and pasta.

Ljubljana is a beautiful city. It has a real storybook feel to it. It is the capital of Slovenia but has under 300,000 population so not a huge city. 

[spookyjiimfanfiction]

Seasons

Summary:

Just a nurse from Memorial Sloan Kettering Hospital in New York City, the young woman just wanted to have her life mean something and only wished to help those in need. A few years after working there, she ended up having her world turned upside-down with the news that she had cancer. Despite her friends' constant coddling, she doesn't want to waste anyone's time, but feels the need to live her life now more than ever. But, when Blurryface finally comes for her and her soul, will a certain Twenty One Pilots band member be there to protect her?

Warnings: Slight profanity.

It was a funny thing, growing up. When Sybil had been younger, she was absolutely terrified of hospitals. The smell of cleanliness and sterilization that entered her nostrils constantly made her sick to her stomach, the pale white walls made her uneasy as they did nothing to calm her and then death... Being surrounded by it and knowing that it roamed the halls didn't help matters. Now that she was older and had gone through the process of learning everything there was to know about the field she had grown to love and the location she would be working in, she felt completely safe and secure. Her job had become her life and that meant giving up her own time to help save the lives of others. It was something that she was happy to do, despite the protests of her friends and family. Sure, they had been proud of her, but they hadn't seen her for quite some time and it was straining her relationships.

Making her way down the long corridor within the children's ward, her short legs carrying her as quickly as they could, she heard her work phone go off. Raising an eyebrow, she reached down into the front pocket of her floral scrubs and looked at the number that appeared on the screen -- Holly. Of course it was her. She was one of Sybil's good friends, so it was just common knowledge to her when exactly her shifts started. Answering the phone with a small smirk, she continued walking and peeked into each room to make sure that everything was going smoothly, "Hello there, dear stalker of mine." Laughter erupted on the other end and then sounded as though she was rushing, which seemed odd.

"Is everything okay, Holl? There's not anything going on that I need to be there for, right? I didn't get paged..." She checked the pager on her hip, not seeing anything new.

"Are you kidding me? You don't know who's here today?"

"Um... The Pope?"

"Close enough. Twenty One Pilots are coming here to do a private meet-and-greet and to put on a little show for the kids that were a part of the Make-A-Wish Foundation. You know them, right?"

Brown eyes widened as she heard the name of the band that had changed her life. Twenty One Pilots. And they would be under the same damn roof as her?! There really was a god. Before she allowed herself to squeal excitedly, she mentally calmed herself and tried to act as though she didn't really care about them, so that she didn't seem over-the-top. "Oh, I think that I've heard some of their music. It's nice of them to come by for the kids. Where is it? Third floor foyer?"

"Yeah, they'll be here in about ten minutes. I know that you have one of the Make-A-Wish'ers on your floor, so bring Emmy and come on down with her! I've gotta go, but I'll see you soon!"

Saying her goodbye, she hung up the phone and put it back in her pocket. She hurriedly made her way to one of her favorite patient's room -- Emmy Walstead. She was the most gorgeous little girl that she had ever seen, only eight years of age, but going through so many hardships in her life. She had been diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma at the age of six, but had been battling it off and on since. Twenty One Pilots had been a main segway into forming a bond together and they often listened to their music as she was going through her chemotherapy, so that it would relax her. Poking her head in, she saw the little girl strumming on her ukulele as she stared out her window with a blank look upon her face. Biting her lower lip, she gave a soft knock on the wooden door in front of her and instantly got the attention of Emmy; whose face lit up at the sight of her. "Sybbie!" She exclaimed happily and it made Sybil's heart burst with joy. She laughed a bit and then pulled the little one into a hug, knowing that she only got them when her parents were around. "How's my favorite girl?" She asked, while kneeling down in front of her on the floor as she sat on the edge of her hospital bed. "I'm okay." Emmy responded with a soft voice. Smirking at her, she got up and then brought her wheelchair over to her, which caused a look of confusion to form over the little girl's features. "I have a surprise for you. And you're going to want to take that ukulele with you." She responded and then patted the wheelchair, motioning for her to sit down in it.

Hurrying out of the elevator and making her way toward the foyer area while pushing Emmy in front of her, she pretended that they were driving really fast; making skidding sounds of tires and revving noises for added effect. The little girl laughed loudly as they made their way to the small group of kids and nurses that had arrived before them. She smiled widely to her friend Holly, before finding a good place for the both of them to sit. Luckily, there had been a few seats left up front and she snatched them. Sitting not so patiently in her seat, it was a bit silent in the hall... Save for a few hushed whispers between the nurses and some of the children. But then, the doors opened up and everyone looked up to see if it was really them. Could they actually be real and not just a band that the media had made up? She straightened up in her chair and then saw them. Joshua Dun and Tyler Joseph -- The men that had been there for her through all the rough times. Tyler had always been the cute one, seemingly innocent and shy, regardless of the fact that he got up in front of millions to sing to them and entertain them every week. Then there was Josh. What could she say about Josh that most others hadn't already said? Everything about him screamed perfection. His hair seemed to always be a nice bright shade, which was a phase that she had gone through herself before getting a job at the hospital, although it was more than a phase for him. It was expression -- that's what she adored about him.

Feeling her heart beat ten times faster, the kids in the hall all started freaking out as their idols entered the room. Sybil looked down to Emmy and laughed as she saw how wide her eyes had gotten, before moving her hand and rubbing it soothingly on her small back. She knew how much this meant to her and, secretly, it meant a lot for her too. The boys made their rounds, making sure that they introduced themselves to each and every patient that was there to see them. They even did autographs and selfies with them, which made her heart swell. They made the kids so happy and filled them with hope, when there was hardly anything for them to hold on to. They had wanted that... Needed that. Her eyes unknowingly had followed Josh as they made their way over to the patient beside her and Emmy, almost boring into him. Just as she thought he wouldn't notice, Josh's gaze found his way over to her, which caused her to tense up with nervousness. She instantly looked down to her lap, now feeling his intense eyes on her now.

It was their turn now.

"Hi, it's so nice to meet you! What's your name?" The familiar kind voice spoke out to Emmy, causing Sybil to look up. Tyler was knelt down in front of Emmy as she introduced herself to him and they shook hands. It was the most adorable thing that she had ever seen. "That's the coolest ukulele that I've ever seen. Even cooler than mine. Do you play?" Tyler continued, trying to strike up a conversation with her little friend. Emmy nodded and smiled widely, "Yeah! I've been teaching myself. But, I got this from Sybbie!" She exclaimed and then pointed to Sybil, which caused her to blush a bit. Both of the boys looked to her with a smile, Tyler nodding his head happily. "Good taste in instruments... Sybil." The brunette said her name after squinting a bit to see it on her ID. Sybil laughed a bit and then looked up to Josh, who was watching her closely with a small smirk on his lips. Damn that smirk of his. She watched him back for a few moments, before tucking some of her hair behind her ear and looking back to Emmy. "Can you autograph it for me?" The little girl asked in a soft voice, obviously nervous about meeting her idols. The boys graciously accepted and then Sybil reached into her pocket and got out a sharpie, opening it and handing it over to Tyler. With a "thank you" given to her, Tyler takes the ukulele from Emmy and signs the front of it and then writing underneath it, "Always fight... Never give up!" before handing it over to Josh with the sharpie, as well. Josh signed as well and then gently handed it back to her, looking over to see Sybil stand up from her seat after having the pen returned to her. She got out her cellphone and looked to the boys happily. "Would you be able to take some pictures with her? You guys are so important to her." She spoke and they both nodded, moving to crouch down on both sides of her wheelchair as she held her signed ukulele in her hand, all of them giving a cheesy smile to the phone. She grinned and shook her head, snapping the photo about to thank them and then Josh cleared his throat and motioned for her to come over. "Why don't you get in one with us too?" He asked, sounding a bit nervous. Tyler looked over to him with a raised eyebrow and then smirked -- this wasn't something he normally did with people. So, he knew what was going on without second guessing. "Okay! Why not?" She said happily and then squatted down in front of Josh and Emmy, lifting her arm up with the phone in it and then got them all in the frame, giving the camera a happy smile.

After they moved on, the boys made it through the rest of the group of kids, before settling themselves in the front and getting their instruments ready. Since Josh didn't have his drumset, he settled for a type of wooden box, sitting on top of it and preparing to use his hands against it for acoustics. Tyler had actually brought his own ukulele along, but then looked as though he got an idea. He made his way over to Emmy and leaned down, asking her a question in her ear. She giggled a bit and nodded, handing over her own ukulele. He smiled and took it from her, before going back to the front as they started to play their first song "We Don't Believe What's on TV" with it. The little girl beamed with pride, as she watched the boys play and Sybil felt as though she would melt to the floor in a puddle. Looking over to Josh once again, she swallowed hard when noticing that his eyes were already on her; not even a hint of him trying to look away in sight as he played his "drums". It was that way the whole time and, luckily, no one really took notice. Except for Tyler.

After their performance was over, they said their goodbyes and everyone started to disperse. Tyler and Josh's security, as well as the hospital security, hovered over the both of them as they prepared to leave. Tyler had remembered to give Emmy her ukulele back after the first couple of songs, so she was left with the amazing memories of all that happened there that day. Standing up and going behind her little friend's wheelchair, Sybil held onto the handles and gave one last look to the boys before heading over to the elevator. It would be the last time she got to see them in this vicinity, so she was glad that she had photos to remember it by, at least. Although, she couldn't help feeling a little sad at the thought of them leaving. The stares that she had been receiving from Josh all morning had definitely made her think that could've maybe been something there. But, then she rolled her eyes at herself and pressed the up button to call the elevator to pick them up. Why the hell would Josh Dun be interested in her? He had so many other girls, much prettier than her, that he could take his pick from, she was sure. Shaking her head, she clenched her jaw at the thought and got inside as the doors opened and hit the button to go to the fifth floor to take Emmy back to her room. Just as the doors were about to close, a strong hand slammed against them and opened them back up, causing the two girls to jump in shock. Once the doors opened, Sybil's eyes widened when she saw that it was Josh. He panted, as though he had just run to catch up, and stared at Sybil once again. "I... I couldn't let you go without asking. But, c-could I maybe get your number? Maybe we can set up something and have lunch together? I'm in town for a couple of days." He spoke, sounding completely nervous, which made Sybil smile widely to him. The whole ordeal was incredulous, but she nodded her head to him and laughed slightly, before reaching her hand out for his phone. "Only if I can have your number." She replied, noticing that her acceptance had given him the biggest smile, as he reached into his pocket and got his phone. Once they swapped numbers, he looked over her face for a few moments, then looking down to Emmy. Waving a bit to her, he slowly backed out of the elevator finally to let them go, but not before giving Sybil one more glance. "I'll text you." He mouthed to her and she nodded, before the doors closed.

On the ride up, Sybil felt eyes on her and looked down to Emmy, who had the biggest smirk on her face. The young nurse laughed a bit and playfully smacked her arm, causing Emmy to giggle. She didn't know that her day would turn out this way... And if someone would have told her it would, she wouldn't have believed them. It was like a dream come true...

Josh fuckin' Dun.

[uomo-accattivante]

(Photo by BACKGRID)

SCREENPLAY REVIEW - TRIPLE FRONTIER

Below is a review I recently came across. (I’m not sure if this version is the updated one which includes input by JC Chandor.) 

Pope - Oscar Isaac

Redfly - Ben Affleck

Ben - Garrett Hedlund

Ironhead - Charlie Hunnam

Catfish - Pedro Pascal

Be forewarned - the following review contains SPOILERS:

***

Screenplay Review - Triple Frontier

Genre: Crime/Action

Premise: A group of ex-special forces come together to steal 90 million dollars from a drug lord in the most criminally potent area of the world, the Triple Frontier.

About: Triple Frontier is one of those projects that’s been impossible to get made. It’s had more starts and stops than my neighbor’s 1999 Volkswagon Jetta. But no matter how much talent has come and gone, the project has always been able to replace them with either equal or better talent. That’s typically the sign of great material. That’s because when you have bad material and A-listers drop out, you never get any A-listers back. Your project is doomed to second-tier status. Well, all that waiting has paid off as the film is now in post-production. It stars Charlie Hunman, Oscar Isaac, and Ben Affleck. J.C. Chandor (Margin Call, A Most Violent Year) directed. Mark Boal (The Hurt Locker, Zero Dark Thirty) wrote the script.

Writer: Mark Boal

Details: 136 pages

The heist is one of the most bankable structures in storytelling. Get a group of contrasting characters together (Act 1), give them something they want to steal (Act 3), then slowly build a plan for achieving their goal (Act 2). It’s almost full-proof. And yet, we don’t get a lot of good heist films. In fact, I can’t remember the last one I saw.

That’s because the heist film is one of the most difficult genres to come up with something fresh for. Most of the heist scripts I read involve stealing money from a bank. There just aren’t that many ways to make that premise original. So I was thrilled when I picked up Triple Frontier, which promised to be a new take on the heist genre. Let’s see if it succeeded.

Ex-Special Forces operator Pope has gotten tired of missions to remote parts of the world where he guides local police to take down giant drug dealers. It’s more death, more destruction, and he thought he left all that behind with the special forces. The problem is, a man needs to make a living. And these missions are the only thing Pope knows how to do that pay good money.

Then one day, a Brazilian drug runner discloses to Pope the location of one of the biggest drug runners in the world, Lorea. Lorea has a home in Paraguay right off the criminally infamous Triple Frontier (the nexus of Paraguay, Brazil, and Argentina), where he’s holding 90 million dollars. With Pope’s unique skillset, he believes he can break in the house and get that money. But he’s going to need some help.

Enter his ex special forces buddies: the all-American Redfly, the bipolar Ben, the wily old vet, Ironhead, and the cool-as-a-cucumber Catfish. Some of the men are reluctant and others reared up and ready to go. But in the end, because there wouldn’t be a movie unless they all signed up, they all sign up.

Once in the Triple Frontier, the group begins doing surveillance and planning. And when I say planning, I mean planning. Pope gets his hands on the blueprints for Lorea’s house and builds an EXACT REPLICA in the jungle so that they can practice the heist. But that’s only the beginning of this mission impossible, as they have to figure out shit like how five men can carry away 4500 pounds of money on foot, and how they can escape through a backyard that rings an alarm if anything over 20 pounds steps on it.

After extensively perfecting their plan, they wait out an unexpected rainstorm and sneak in. Everything goes according to plan until they arrive in the money room and… it’s gone. Not a single bill. Just as everyone starts freaking out, Pope notices that the ceiling is leaking. They moved the money during the storm so it wouldn’t get wet! But that means going through every room one by one to find it.

As you’d expect, this leads to them being spotted, and within seconds there are three dozen guards converging on them. The soldiers go into fuck-all mode and start shooting everyone. They know the gig is up. They know they should leave. But they’ve put so much effort into this that they must have that money. So after the money they go. Will they get it? I’m thinking they’ll find a way. But the real test may be what happens AFTER they get the money.

Uhhhh…

This. Was. Good.

Wow.

I’m talking really really good.

Where do I begin? Let’s start with the heist itself. What’s the number rule for writing a good heist film? It’s not what goes right, it’s what goes wrong. Your job, as a writer of a heist flick, is to have your criminals cover all the bases, make sure they’ve found contingencies for every situation, and then when they show up, something goes wrong. And that thing that goes wrong leads to several other things that go wrong. And quickly, the whole damn heist falls apart.

I LOVED when they arrived in the money room and the money wasn’t there. Even when my cynical screenwriting analyst brain kicked in and said, “Of course they were duped. That’s what always happens!” But then Pope looked up and saw the leaking and realized the money had been moved and I said, “oooooooh, that’s good.”

I loved how the script evolved from there. Because what I was expecting to happen is what always happened in these mid-point heist films (a script where the heist happens at the mid point instead of the third act): They get the money home but then the bad guys come and hunt them down.

Triple Frontier instead focuses on the complexity of getting this money out of the country. The special forces guys rent a helicopter, only to find out that the money (which has increased from 90 million to 600 million at this point) will be too heavy. But they decide to risk it anyway, and fly their copter through the endless South American mountain forest. When the mountains start getting too high, they have to make the unthinkable choice of dropping the money and living or keeping the money and likely spiraling into the most hostile terrain in the world.

That was one of the best scenes I’ve read this year, besting even the Mission Impossible Fallout helicopter chase. And I’ll tell you why. It wasn’t just a simple helicopter chase. Difficult choices needed to be made. They MIGHT have been able to make it through the mountains if they kept the money. But they likely wouldn’t have. How do you make that decision? The decision to throw away 600 million dollars?

But the script isn’t just the heist. Boal made the bold choice of using the entire first act to get the band back together. This is a controversial screenwriting choice because modern screenwriting outlets will tell you to move this section along as quickly as possible. A short burst of scenes that has the band back together and ready to go by page 10, page 15 at the latest. They’re afraid that if you include an entire opening act of characters reuniting and talking and establishing their jobs and lives, that the average audience member will get bored.

But the great thing that happens when you extend your character intros out that far is that we get to know the characters better. I mean, it’s simple math. The more time you spend with someone, fictional or real, the more you’re going to care about them. Therefore, when these guys flew off to the Triple Frontier, I felt like I knew each of them. The extra time really paid off.

Now there’s a caveat to this. You have to be good with character to pull it off. You have to know how to set up a flaw. You have to know how to make your characters unique. You have to give each character a defining personality that’s easy for the audience to understand so they can label him properly (Chris Kyle was the introspective sniper). Each character’s dialogue has to be unique and interesting. If character isn’t your strong suit, don’t spend an entire act getting the band back together.

The fact that this script has been sitting on the shelf for so long is insane. I’m guessing it’s because Ben Affleck has a million projects to do and he’s in rehab half the year and they had to wait for him. I’m just glad the wait is over. Cause this movie is going to be damn good.

[ ] What the hell did I just read? [ ] wasn’t for me [ ] worth the read [x] impressive [ ] genius

What I learned: Find a unique place in the world that isn’t well known and build a story around it. What makes Triple Frontier so good is that we’d never heard of the Triple Frontier before. It hasn’t been in any movie. It creates the all important “strange attractor” we can exploit for one hell of a heist film.

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♬ Full Name: Lacey Renee Mikhailov ♪  FC: Abigail Cowen ♫ Alternate FCs: Odette Annable, Alexis Knapp, Casadee Pope, Bella Thorne ♪ Age/Birthday: 23 / October 30, 1995 ♫ Occupation: Baker at Snickerdoodle’s Bakery, cheerleader for April’s Showers ♪ Hometown: Sandusky, OH ♫ Personality: generous, stubborn, guarded, sheltered, ambitious

Take one part warm Ohio summer nights spent chasing fireflies through wide open feels, two parts Sunday church services, three parts abandonment issues, and one part good, traditional Russian cooking, and you have the recipe for Lacey Mikhailov’s childhood. While she won’t go into too many details if asked about it, she likes to tell people that her youth was everything she could’ve hoped for, and to an extent that’s true. Would she have liked to have a mother who was present rather than someone who spent every opportunity away from home? She absolutely would have. But when Brenda Mikhailov got pregnant young by a man she met in a fit of passion one night, it laid the groundwork for what would be Lacey’s life spent with her grandfather as her source of emotional and physical support.

There was never an official discussion about Ilya raising Lacey full-time; it just sort of gradually happened. Brenda asked him to babysit for a day and it ended up being the whole weekend. She said she would take Lacey to her doctor’s appointment, and then call up Ilya last minute to say she couldn’t and he would have to. By the time Lacey started school, it was automatically assumed that her grandfather would be the one to sign her up and take her to her first day, something he did with a giant smile and about three dozen photos snapped and added to a scrapbook that’s still sitting on Lacey’s bookshelf to this day. When Brenda told Ilya that she wanted to “see the world” and move out of state later that year, there wasn’t even a question on if Lacey would be going with her or not. Brenda packed her bags and gave her daughter and father a hug, and then drove off without seemingly any second thought.

Despite growing up outside of the traditional nuclear family unit, Lacey didn’t want for anything. She never knew Brenda as her mother, so her loss didn’t sting much during childhood. Ilya wouldn’t let it. Instead, he would spend their time after he got off of work and she got home from school in the kitchen, showing Lacey how to sift flour and press dough to her heart’s content. Back in Russia, he’d been a baker by trade, and watching his granddaughter fall in love with it was nothing short of beautiful. Lacey always insisted on making homemade treats for her school’s Halloween and Christmas parties, and that’s when she came to love the expression on people’s faces when they first tried her creations.

When she as in middle school, her aunt Dory moved in to give Ilya a hand raising Lacey, and the three of them became a family that was thick as thieves. Ilya and Dory were at every science fair, church program, and poorly-played volleyball match of Lacey’s life and she couldn’t imagine it any other way. Last she heard, her mother had settled somewhere in Washington where she married and had three replacement kids whom Lacey has never met. She doesn’t even know if her step-father or half-siblings know she exists, but she tries not to think about it too much. If you ask her, she drew the best lot in life. She would express to her Aunt Dory (not her grandfather, never her grandfather — the last thing she would want is for him to think he was anything less than amazing) about how it hurt to think about her biological mother not wanting her, something that is still painful to think about even now that Lacey has grown. Dory would assure her that it was entirely Brenda’s loss, but that has never completely dulled the ache.

Losing Ilya was painful, but not entirely unexpected. Lacey was in her junior year of college at the time, earning an obligatory business degree in the hopes of one day opening her own bakery. Saying good-bye to the person who taught her everything she knew definitely left her feeling lost, and she wound up taking the following semester off of school because she simply didn’t have the capacity to give it the focus it deserved. To this day four years later, she still doesn’t really know what compelled her to go to New York in the first place. She’d talked it over with her family and friends, idly wondering if maybe a change of scenery would do her some good, and before she knew it her and her aunt were looking at flights for the East Coast.

It was originally meant to just be a vacation for the two of them, to help set a new pace now that her and Dory were learning to cope. But it’s like as soon as the plane touched down in the city, Lacey felt at home. They were only there for a week and a half, hitting up the city’s tourist traps as well as tracking down some little hole-in-the-wall places. Still, within the span of a few days after returning home to Sandusky, Lacey told her aunt she wanted to move out there for real. By the end of the year, Lacey found herself settling into the city, feeling both terrified and unbelievably proud all at once. Her grandfather had always told her to never hold herself back and being inNew York felt like the ultimate testament to that.

She finished up her last year of classes online and earned herself a degree in business, and was able to soon find a job at a bakery that her and her aunt had stopped by during her first visit. Currently, Lacey’s biggest source of pride has come from introducing a few recipes taught to her by he grandfather into the small business, which now offers a select range of Russian desserts courtesy of her. The next step is to actually invest in her own business, the same goal she’s had since she was little. Lacey’s vision board is filled with photos and inspiration to keep her focused on that goal, and every last bit of money goes into an account to help her get her feet off the ground.

Pets: Two cats with her, plus two more living with her aunt back in Ohio. The little babes in Ohio (Peanut Butter, or PB, and Jelly) were much too attached with her aunt’s dog and Lacey couldn’t bear to separate them. She adopted Eva and Zsa Zsa shortly after she moved to NYC. Zsa Zsa is definitely the more rambunctious of the two and likes to hide in places to spook Lacey (and now her roommates). Good luck opening a cabinet to not find her sitting in there. Eva is much more relaxed and introverted and likes to camp out on Lacey’s pillow, but she’ll wander out to ask for pets every so often.

♬ April’s Growers

Lacey has an entire lifetime’s worth of love to give and was raised knowing the importance of giving back, so she recently signed up to join April’s little committee. She makes sure to give her fellow members nothing but support, but she does struggle when it comes to voicing her own ideas. She’s working on it though, and the more comfortable she becomes in the group, she hopes to be able to give it her all without hesitation.

♪ Jemma Sterling

Coming from a small city, Lace way underestimated how much she’d be able to live by herself in New York. She was able to rent a room from a nice little Russian couple in Brighton Beach for a while, but ultimately decided to move closer to work and ended up finding a roommate in Jemma. She is… more than a bit intimidated by how open and free Jemma is with herself, and she’s seen more of her naked than she ever planned on, but Lacey can appreciate how to-the-point and amusing her roomie is.

♬ April’s Showers Cheerleaders

Lacey loves spreading positivity and showering people with support, so when she first became aware of the little cheering squad for the soccer team, she jumped right in to join. She enjoys all the other ladies, and despite knowing almost nothing about sports, she’s trying to at least get to know them better and have them teach her the ins and outs of soccer.