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arse-crack-thistle · 3 years

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a firstprince meet-cute

the heroes of olympus au

in which the roman son of apollo meets the greek son of themis

Henry—the quiet son of Apollo and Centurion of the 3rd cohort—leads a team of five demigods through the Long Island woods. Their task: spy on the Greeks and bring information back to Octavian. The golden-haired boy wishes he could’ve refused, but anyone who goes against the Pontifex Maximus gets severely punished and he will not let any harm come to his legionaries. Not again.

The group weaves through the trees, dodging the sight of any patrols. Henry has no idea how he’ll get close enough to hear anything, but he might be able to interpret some battle strategy from the Greek’s night preparations. As his fellow soldiers fan out beside him, Henry inches up the hill. He’d say a prayer to his father if he thought it would help, but he doesn’t. After many unanswered prayers about his sexuality, about his rather fucked up influential family, he doesn’t bother with Apollo anymore.

Henry gestures for his right-hand man—Pez, son of Mercury and the only one who actually knows he’s gay—to peer over the hill with him; the others stay back, keeping watch. The Centurion readies an arrow just in case, while Pez has his hand on the hilt of his blade, and they watch Greek demigods reinforce their buildings, sharpen their weapons, and prepare medical tents. None of them are practicing formations, which doesn’t help Henry or Octavian at all. He has to come back with something, so he puts the arrow away and crawls forward.

This could be really stupid, but he has to try—not for Octavian but for New Rome. It’s the only place that’s felt like home to him. Back in England, there’s his grandmother, the CEO of an underwhelming home goods empire. The stuff is cheap, but they’re still the number one seller back home. His mother and brother have a part in it. His sister ran off a few years back, and he has no idea where she is or if she’s even alive. His father—or rather ex-step-father—hasn’t wanted much to do with him since about three years ago when he found out Henry’s mother had an affair at a music festival fourteen years before.

They had a scandalous divorce, covered by every major news outlet, and Henry found out his true identity when a handsome demigod knocked on his door and told him he was in danger and had to be take to California. Several monsters, a few thousand miles, and a few months with a wolf goddess later, he found himself at Camp Jupiter. Everything that happened to him up until then—the blurry images of creatures at the corner of his eyes every time he turned a corner, the dyslexia that made his passion for writing frustrating, the way he never really fit in with his family—finally made sense. He was a demigod! And when the sign of Apollo appeared over his head after he made his first bullseye at the archery range, he truly felt like he found where he belonged.

Pez whispers for him to come back, but Henry lifts a hand in warning. Just then, someone—a dryad probably—screams an alert to his enemy, and all Underworld breaks loose. His legionaries get in formation behind him, readying themselves for the Greeks. They were taught never to run from a fight, but Henry can’t allow this to happen. He’s been in enough battles to know when he can win and when he can’t. Eventually, they’ll be outnumbered because Octavian won’t send him reinforcements if he can help it. He doesn’t know how violent the Greeks will be, but if they willingly fired on New Rome when their defenses were down, then he can’t take the risk. And he won’t repeat what happened in the Titan war.

Henry orders his soldiers back, telling Pez to take temporary control of the cohort and share the minimal information they gathered with the Pontifex. If they’re to be any casualties tonight, it will only be Henry and the Greeks he can take down with him.

•••

The last thing Alex—the wise-ass son of Themis—wants to do in the middle of the night is go to a counsel meeting at the Big House. He wipes the sleep from his eyes as he walks up the creaky steps. Inside, Chiron and the other counsellors gather around a table. It’s times like this he wishes it was a year ago when the children of minor gods were left out of meetings and decision-making. But as soon as he slaps himself awake, he regains his undying need to get involved and raise hell—fair and just hell, of course.

He sits down next to Nora, the temporary head counsellor of the Athena cabin. She’s bouncing in her seat—no doubt high on caffeine and nectar and ready to get back to developing war strategy. She gives him a wink and taps her fingers like she’s back home typing on a computer. Chiron clears his throat and tells the demigods of a Roman scout team that was spotted an hour ago. Unfortunately, most of the soldiers got away, but they did manage to capture one. He’s being held in one of the Big House’s guest rooms.

Now it’s Alex’s turn to bounce. He’s been waiting for an opportunity like this. A prisoner of war means they’ll need to get information. There will need to be a lawyer present—or a lawyer in training that is. He can preside over the questioning, be the voice of justice, and maybe even get the Roman to see the right side is his. He can picture it now: Camp Half-Blood safe from the Romans and that dude reformed in his ways, joining them to stop Gaia. Yes, this is his chance to step out of his sister’s shadow.

He volunteers to mediate for whoever is charged with the interview. Alex ignores Chiron’s obvious hesitation; just because he can get a little heated—thank gods Leo isn’t here cracking a dumb pun joke at that, which would inevitably leave them both laughing on the floor—doesn’t mean he can’t be objective. So he hates the Romans’ guts and thinks they should go back to their stuck-up little camp, so what? Once he’s in the real world, going to college, running for congress like his father, he’ll have to deal with a shit-ton of people he doesn’t like. Looking at you, Bitch McConnell.

Just as Chiron decides he, Nora, Will Solace, and reluctantly Alex will talk to the Roman boy, a camper from the Aphrodite cabin bursts through the door and tells him one of the Hephaestus girls accidentally blew up a boy from the Ares cabin. Apparently, armor strapped with projectile explosives wasn’t the best idea. So Chiron declares they will talk to their guest in the morning, and in the meantime, they’ll take shifts in pairs guarding him. Alex raises his hand to get the first watch, but Chiron appoints Drew Tanaka and Connor Stoll. They both roll their eyes at the idea of being stuck together for the next few hours. Alex’s chest deflates.

Ever since his sister left—he and June are some of the rare demigods that have the same mortal and immortal parentage without being twins—the responsibility of the Themis cabin has fallen on his shoulders. He wanted it, of course, but his siblings also elected him to the head counsellor position, thinking he’d follow in June’s footsteps: ruling with truth, justice, and wisdom. Just like their mother.

Back in his cabin, Alex stares at the marble statue of her that presides over her children. Her iconic image—blindfolded, holding a sword in one hand and balancing a scale in the other—reminds him he’s definitely no June.

She was a leader of quests; Alex has never been on one. June was the voice of reason at counsel meetings; he struggles just to sit still, let alone calm a room with one enlightening sentence. When the children of minor gods were finally given their own cabins, there was no question who should run theirs. Now, he hears his siblings whisper whether they should hold another election. Gods, you call out your conservative brothers one time—it was way more than once—and suddenly, you’re imposing your opinion on everyone.

That’s not it though. Alex has never been given a chance to step up. No matter how many times he tries to convince the counsel they should establish a court system at camp—nothing settles an argument like a nice, fair trial—he always gets shot down.

Not anymore. He’s not going to sit back this time. Not when the threat to camp is this great. He’ll get what he needs from that Roman. If June were here, she would’ve been trusted to go ahead without Chiron, so Alex will do the same.

•••

Henry wakes up to angry whispers outside of his door. The twelve Greeks overtook him easily, but he did put up a good fight. At least, he did until he was knocked unconscious. On the table beside his bed, a note sits atop a plate of food.

Eat well. Hydrate. Rest. We’ll speak with you soon. -Chiron

A glass of juice spiked with nectar sits next to the plate. Why would those imbecilic Greeks give him what’s essentially strengthening serum? He intakes his surroundings: a bed, a table, a dresser, and a chair. Window to the left. Only door out to the right. There’s a clean set of clothes at the end of the bed, but Henry would rather go to Tartarus and back than put on another camp’s shirt.

He jimmies the window, but it’s locked and to hard to break. He lightly tries the doorknob, but it’s locked as well. By the sounds of it, three maybe four people argue outside his door. Romans never had this much trouble changing guard shifts. Henry fiddles about the room, looking for anything to 1. unlock the door and 2. use as a weapon. He can handle four Greeks, and he’ll do everything in his power to get back to his cohort.

Henry hears the click of the door unlocking. Gods, they’re thick, aren’t they? He grabs the wooden chair, and as the door swings open, he thwacks the person walking in with it. Just as he suspected, the chair breaks, and he uses one piece to press against the throat of the careless demigod he’s pinned to the floor.

The boy beneath him groans. He’s got light brown skin and dark curly hair, and if Henry weren’t about to kill him, he’d think he was quite cute.

“Gods, can you Greeks do anything with finesse? Even your hero, Percy Jackson, as talented as he may be, flies by the seed of his trousers.” Henry grits his teeth.

“Ha!” the boy coughs out. “Jumping to conclusions, are we? I thought you guys were supposed to be strictly trained soldiers. You miscalculated.”

He points behind him, and when Henry looks up, a girl stands battle-ready with a sword in her hand. The distraction is enough for the boy below to wrap his legs around Henry and flip them. The Greek holds a dagger to his neck.

“Listen here, pretty boy, are we going to talk or am I going to go all American Revolution on your British-ass?” He presses the dagger, and Henry yelps.

The boy’s brown eyes peer into Henry’s, and some strange part of him likes it. The Greek looks about his age and, while clearly not as capable as he, definitely has some fight in him.

“I’d like to see you try, graecus. But be forewarned, if you send me to the Underworld, I’ll drag you and your camp down with me.” He keeps his face plain and uncaring, though he can feel the heat in his cheeks. Apollo help him.

The girl interrupts them to remind her partner what they’re here to do. She sheaths her sword and closes the door.

He’s called Alex. Henry swallows. And they need information.

Alex releases him. The two get up off the ground. No one moves to sit or get more comfortable. The boys just stare at each other, long and cold.

Henry can tell this guy is a complete and total arse, and yet he can’t shake the swirling feeling in his stomach. A memory from a quest eighteen months ago flashes in his mind. In Vegas, a priest of Venus dressed like Elvis told him great tragedy would befall his love life, but with the goddess’s blessing, he’d find happiness again.

He already lost someone. The demigod who found him, Daniel, son of Ceres, his sponsor when he joined the camp, his Centurion. Everything was quiet between them—few words needed for mutual understanding. Daniel brought him fresh lavender; Henry played him a tune on the lute. But then the Titan war came. And Daniel disobeyed the Praetors’ orders to save the boy he loved. Henry barely had time to grieve before he took control of the 3rd cohort and lost four other demigods in the process. Not a day goes by when he doesn’t think of the five who died because of him. Because of love.

No. This feeling he has is the desire to beat the Greeks, nothing more. He doesn’t give a damn about happiness in love or this obnoxiously hot demigod before him. Like even as Alex breaks eye contact first, puts his sheathed dagger in his boot, ruffles his hair, puts his hands on his hips, and sighs, Henry feels nothing. Elvis can go fuck himself.

“So,” Alex says, “what do you have planned, and how can we convince you to stop? We’d really like to prevent another demigod civil war.”

Henry laughs, and even though nothing would make him happier than to stop fighting, to rest as Chiron suggested, he tells Alex, “You’re really a dickhead if you think I’m giving you anything.”

•••

“It was an accident!”

“You expect me to believe with our two camps in a centuries-long feud that the one time we let down our defenses, your lot just attacked us on accident? Right, and I suppose Pluto is actually a sweet guy once you get to know him, too?”

“My buddy Leo was being controlled by Gaia!”

“Your mate Leo should come up with a better lie.”

“You’re impossible!” Gods, Alex really hates this guy. “Nora, can’t we just—”

She shakes her head before he can finish. He’s not really sure what he was going to say. Have Drew come back and charmspeak him? Feed him to the harpies? Pin him down again? Wait—what?

“Listen, dude. We’re really on the same side here. Right now, both Greeks and Romans demigods—our friends—are fighting against a greater threat than the world has seen since the beginning of time. That’s got to count for something,” he says.

The Roman is quiet. Alex hates how he looks like a goddamn prince even after a fight. But maybe he got through to him. After all, it is true. For all the shit he talks about Romans, he knows they’re not bad, just different. They actually have more in common than they’d like to acknowledge. Jason Grace taught him that. If there was ever a Roman WASP he could get behind, it’s Jason.

So Alex tries a different approach. He gestures to the bed. “You want to?” The blond boy stiffens, and Alex clarifies, “Sit?”

“How about we start over?” He sits. Nora takes the opportunity to march to the other side and bellyflops onto the bed. “I’m Alex, son of Themis, the goddess of justice. And you are?”

He watches the Roman look from the undefended door to Alex and back again.

“You could run,” Alex says. “But then we’d have no chance to broker peace. Hera thought she could do it by trading heroes, but I think you and I both know it takes more than one person to heal two armies.”

Power swells in his chest. Alex can’t know for sure, but maybe his mother is looking out for him. This is how he can bring the demigods justice for Gaia’s destruction. June would be the better choice, but Alex is here and he has to try.

“Let’s work together. Or at least, get along long enough for the prophesized seven to come back home,” he says.

The Roman hesitates. Alex can see in his light blue eyes the number of strategies racing through his mind. But ultimately, he decides to sit. Nora snores next to them. Five a.m. and a caffeine/nectar crash will do that to you.

“So your name?” Alex asks. “It’s only fair.” Dumb pun but he winks.

The boy coughs, but then he looks into Alex’s eyes. “I’m—er—Henry, son of Apollo, Centurion of the 3rd cohort.”

so this is a little late but we’re just going to ignore that...

i just finished reading toa a couple of weeks ago, and i can’t stop thinking about it!! so when i saw the meet-cute prompt, i couldn’t resist a percy jackson-ish fic! i hope you enjoyed this little short piece. <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

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beneaththetangles · 3 years

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Newman’s Nook: The Parable of Hatchan

Hatchan the Villain

It’s during the Arlong Park Arc of One Piece that readers are first introduced to a group of fishmen who, led by Arlong, have taken over Cocoyasi Village, the home of Straw Hat navigator Nami. It’s a distressing development, as Nami had spent years trying to raise the funds to free her hometown from the clutches of Arlong the Pirate and his band of fishmen troublemakers, including an octopus fishman by the name of Hatchan.

As one of Arlong’s cronies, Hatchan was a willing accomplice to the group’s crimes. He seems like a dimwitted fool, willing to do whatever Arlong asks of him. This leads Hatchan into direct conflict with Luffy and the Straw Hats as they come to the aid of Nami and her entire hometown.

Hatchan as a villain fights hard against our heroes, proving to be an incredibly powerful swordsman who, for a time, is able to hold his own against even Zoro.

But upon losing, Hatchan accepts defeat gracefully. He is later found leaving town as Arlong’s crew leaves. At that point, in a series so vast and featuring so many characters, the expectation might be that we’ll never hear from this octopus swordsman again.

But then, the Straw Hats reach Sabaody Archipelago.

Hatchan the Chef

At the Sabaody Archipelago, One Piece introduces readers to a mermaid who is trying to save a friend she refers to as Hachin. Ever the friend to those in need, the Straw Hats follow along to find that a foolish gag character named Duval (long story, but it’s funny) had kidnapped the mermaid’s friend and kept him in a cage. They free Hachin only to discover who he is—their erstwhile enemy and former Arlong Pirate crewman, Hatchan.

Since leaving Arlong and his men, Hatchan has tried to move on with his life and currently runs a restaurant ship named Takoyaki 8.

He’s also been trying to repent for his past sins, and so when he sees Nami, Hatchan recognizes that he deserves her scorn for life. He knows he has warrant any anger or hatred she might send his way. Hatchan even says that he entirely does not expect her to forgive him. After all, he committed terrible crimes against her family and her homeland. All he wants now is to be able to serve her and the Straw Hats.

At this point, Nami even response by saying that she doesn’t forgive him. However, she adds, they can both move on as individuals and work alongside one another going forward. And honestly, that was more than he could have hoped.

As the crew work their way through the Sabaody Archipelago, Hatchan becomes an important asset. He knows his way around, the players, and the cultural norms of the Archipelago. He is able to give advice and assistance to the entire crew all along the way so they can all keep themselves safe and be on their way. What he does not expect is to have his mermaid friend, Camie, kidnapped while they’re on the island and sold off into slavery.

Hatchan convinces most of the Straw Hats to not rock the boat and see if they can pool their resources together to buy Camie at auction. This entire section of the story is horrific. As you watch other races of beings (giants, fishmen, mermaids) treated as sub-human, you see the inherent, systemic racism these people face every single day. None of them are safe doing everyday things like going to a market or visiting an amusement park, where Camie was kidnapped. Fishmen and mermaids are not co-equal with humans in this society, but less than.

In Paul’s letters to the Colossians and Galatians, he points out that arguments over race are irrelevant (Galatians 3:27-29, Colossians 3:10-11). We are all co-equal in the Lord and our lineage has no impact as to whether the Lord loves us. We should be lucky to see each other that way.

When the Straw Hats fail to save Camie, Luffy goes ballistic and tries to rush at the vile Celestial Dragon who had purchased her as a trophy. Hatchan over and over again stands between them to stop the fight. However, this does not go well.

Hatchan the Martyr

What the Celestial Dragon sees is a sub-human fishman in his way, potentially preventing him from securing his new property. So what does he do? He doesn’t think. He doesn’t talk. He simply pulls out a gun and shoots Hatchan.

As Luffy tries to march up to the Celestial Dragon who shot down his friend, Hatchan calls to him from the ground and takes the blame for every issue they have had.

Hatchan knew he was a sinner. He knew he was a failure. He knew he did wrong. He knew that eventually his evil would catch up to him and, frankly, when it happens, he deserves it. He deserves punishment for his crimes.

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus tells the story of two men (Luke 18:9-14). One is a Pharisee who publicly announces his prayer. He is larger than life and important above all. The other is a tax collector who recognizes his own weakness and sin. He has his head down low and is begging the Lord to have mercy upon him for all his failings.

In this scenario, Hatchan is the tax collector. He knows his own failings and that he is undeserving of mercy. Yet, unlike the tax collector, he sees the cruel world around him and does not ask for anything. He expects the world to remain evil. He is fine suffering if his friends can be saved by his sacrificial death.

The Parable of Hatchan

Before we get too far, I want to say one thing up front—Hatchan does not die here. He survives this encounter and Camie is freed from slavery by the power of her friends. I just want to make that clear before delving any further.

With that said, what can we learn from the Hatchan’s story?

All Fall Short

Various passages in the Bible point to the fact that all humans are sinners, but nowhere is it more obvious than in Romans 3:23. In this passage, Paul explains that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. When he says “all,” he means everyone. He means himself. He means the apostles. He means you. He means me. Everyone has sinned at some point and may sin again in the future.

Hatchan shows us this through his actions and his statements. He freely admits that he was a failure and a sinner who sinned against the Straw Hats, but especially against Nami and her hometown. He recognizes and acknowledges that he falls short.

Evil is Around Us

Evil is a real presence in the world. I am not talking some physical incarnation of evil we see as monsters in fairy tales. I am talking about deep rooted evil that exists in the hearts of man.

I am speaking about the racist evil that led to human beings of African descent created in God’s image to be bought and sold as chattel in the United States.

I am speaking about the evil of police officers who abuse their authority to harm those they are sworn to protect.

I am speaking to the evil of eugenicists who sought to wipe out entire races of people.

I am speaking of the everyday evil of people who lie to their friends or gossip about their enemies.

I am speaking of even the passive evil of ignoring the plight of our fellow man.

Evil is all around us and can be overwhelming. While we cannot dwell on it at all times, we also should not ignore it or pretend it does not exist. Hatchan tried to convince the Straw Hats to turn a blind eye to the evils at the Sabaody Archipelago. They refused. And we, too, have the choice to refuse to ignore the evil happening around us.

All Can Be Forgiven

Hatchan was a fallen criminal, but he was also able to move toward a better future and create a new life despite his past. While Nami does not accept any apologies at first, by the time this arc in Sabaody Archipelago concludes, Hatchan has transformed from a former enemy to an ally of the Straw Hats. All can be forgiven, and forgiveness can be offered.

Christ commands Christians to do just that. We are called to love our neighbors as ourselves. This includes those we may despise. It feels hard to want to forgive those who have wronged us, but let us not forget that the Lord does just that for us. In Romans 5:8, Paul reminds us that while we continue to sin, the Lord loves us anyway and gave His only begotten Son to free us from Sin.

As the Lord forgives us, we are to forgive.

As the Straw Hats forgive Hatchan, we are to do the same.

There is Hope

While there is evil and sin in the world, there is still hope! It becomes easy to lose sight of it, but it nonetheless remains. The Lord provides us with an eternal hope that one day He will make all things right.

In the meantime, though, we can see the world being restored bit by bit. We see it in the compassion of Mary Johnson who forgave the man who murdered her son and helped him get back on his feet after he got out of prison. We see it in the examples of public repentance of the Southern Baptist Convention, a convention which was founded by white slaveowners in support slavery in the United States, over their racist roots. We see it in the stories of the Lost Boys of Sudan who worked together to protect one another after losing their families in the Sudanese Civil Wars.

Things can get better and the Lord is here to help. Yet He requires us to be active participants in changing things for the better. He wants us to be like the Straw Hats. He desires for us to see evil, and then to do the only thing we should—to stand up for what’s right.

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One Piece is published by Viz Media

#Manga #Christianity #One Piece #Hatchan #Newman's Nook #Forgiveness #Repentance #Articles #Author: MDMRN

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chelsfic · 4 years

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Donald PiercexTracker! thots... Donnie shows some young upstart contract merc why his Reavers get it done when the dude fucks up trying to cuff some recent capture who gets loose and almost kills one of his guys. Tracker! watches from the truck, super scared and turned on, when all is said and done she watches Donald drive then begs him to please let her suck him off before he has to put her back. So he let's her try and choke herself on his cock standing in the garage and she says thank you

Hoooooooo boyyyyyyyyy!!! You’ve awoken a deep fire within me, anon. I must know you, surely? You must be one of only a handful of Donnie lovers among my followers.

Anywhooooooo, here’s my response to this very compelling concept!

Warnings: blow job, praise kink, punishment, dirty talk, stockholm syndrome, dom/sub

Worship

“Wait,” the word falls unbidden from your lips, piercing the silence of the empty parking garage.

Donnie pauses securing the manacles to your wrists. He lets out a weary sigh. He’s exhausted, sweaty and there’s a still-bleeding cut at his hairline that will probably need stitches.

“Not in the mood for this today, baby,” he grumbles, locking your wrists together and giving a tug to get you moving. You let your heels dig into the concrete and he turns on you with a lethal glare. “Are you fuckin’ serious? You wanna be manhandled, is that it?”

He crowds you against the side of the tactical van, his massive frame looming over you. You can practically feel the aggravation beating down on you with the intensity of his blue-eyed stare. But rather than cringe from him you’re drawn in by the sharp scent of his masculine sweat, the obscene streak of blood across his face, his heaving chest and muscles trembling with leftover adrenaline.

Earlier, when that mutant had freed himself and nearly killed one of Donnie’s new recruits, you’d quaked in fear from behind the bars of your little cage. You watched with your heart in your throat as your man took down a mutant twice his size, throttling him with his cybernetic hand. The thought of that hand, capable of such vicious cruelties, wrapped around your throat...cupping your face...tracing over your skin...it had done things to you. You spent the drive back to base clenching your thighs together in a feeble attempt to quell the aching heat pooling in your pelvis.

The idea of going back to that little cell without touching Donald is unacceptable. All you want is to feel the power of his body bearing down on you, inside you, taking and controlling every part of you. You don’t know how or when things changed. When had you grown so addicted to Donnie’s approval? When had you begun to crave his touch, his voice, his body, like a desperate whore? When had you started thinking of him as a beloved master--a demi-god deserving of your worship? All you want to do right now is fall on your knees and offer yourself to him in sacrifice to the raging, passionate violence of his soul.

But how can you put all that into words?

“Donnie,” you whine, letting your head fall forward against the hard plane of his chest. “Please.”

“What is it, Darlin’?” he questions, his voice pitched low as he senses the desperate arousal driving you. “What d’you need?”

But you can’t say the words. You decide to show him instead, going down on your knees in front of him and nuzzling your face wantonly into the crotch of his denim pants. You look up to see a knowing smirk spread over his lips. He drags his hand through his sweat dampened hair and looks back at you with appraisal. What does he see? A mewling, desperate supplicant on her knees before her god.

“So, that’s what you want, baby?” he teases, his eyes clouding over with lust at the sight of you mouthing his growing erection through the fabric of his pants. “You think you can throw a tantrum to get what you want? Think you can act like a spoiled little brat and get rewarded with my dick?”

“ ‘M sorry, Donnie,” you mumble, lost in the haze of your desire and not caring how pitiful a picture you must make, kneeling on the dirty ground and practically drooling on his crotch. “Please, let me suck it, Donnie. Please, I’ll be a good girl.”

You reach your bound hands up to his waist, intending to undo his belt buckle but quicker than you can imagine his robotic hand grabs the manacles and shoves your hands away.

“No hands,” he warns you, his gravelly voice goes straight through you and your cunt feels heavy with arousal. You nod your head rapidly, watching as he slowly undoes the belt, opens the top button of his pants and unzips his fly with an obscene sound that seems to echo through the silent garage. What if someone sees you? You’re not exactly hidden. Anyone could walk through and see you squirming on your knees begging your handler to shove his cock in your mouth. Would you even care at this point?

He finally pulls it out, letting his thick, heavy shaft smack against your cheek as he frees himself. He rubs it across your face, letting the bead of precum paint your lips.

“This is what you wanted, baby? Were you thinkin’ of this all day? Hoping I’d let you suck me off if you were a good enough little mutie for the team today?”

“Yes! Donnie I think about it all the time…,” you whine, leaning forward to nuzzle your face against the straining erection. Donnie reaches down with his robotic hand and pushes you away, holding you in place as he teases your desperate lips with the head of his dick.

“Good girl,” he praises and the warmth of his words flows through you. “But you weren’t as efficient as you could have been today, baby. The team was tired by the time we finally tracked that fucker down. When the team’s tired, mistakes get made. Sometimes mistakes cost lives. So, I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, baby. Gonna have to fuck that pretty mouth and make you choke on it. Is that what you want?”

Holy shit. You’re still straining against his hold on your head, but you look up to lock eyes with him and nod your consent. God, you want this. You want to let this man take you apart and put you back together again.

“Open your mouth,” he instructs, his voice rumbling down into a breathy whisper.

He presses the head of his cock past your lips and you moan at the weight of him on your tongue, drool already spilling from the corners of your mouth. He isn’t gentle or slow. Not this time. He’s burnt out and exhausted and barely managing to stay up on his feet. He doesn’t have it in him to be nice. His hands cup the back of your head and he pushes and pushes until you feel him hit the back of your throat and your nose is buried in the nest of curls at the base of his cock. Your throat immediately rebels against the invasion, choking on the impossible length of him. His fingers tighten in your hair.

“Shhh shh shh,” he tuts, jutting his hips against your face to punish your throat even more. “I want you to breathe, baby. Through your nose. There you go, my good girl.”

Saliva is pouring from your stretched lips and tears prick at your eyes but you try to do as he says. Taking long, shaky inhales through your nostrils as he starts to pulse his hips, ruthlessly thrusting his huge cock into your mouth.

“This is what you want, isn’t it? What all mutants want. To serve their betters. I knew it the first time I saw you, baby. Hidin’ in that warehouse like a scared bunny rabbit. I knew you’d come ‘round to seein’ where you belong. On your knees...my little pet...mutie...Jesus fuck!” His words are absolutely filthy and downright degrading, but you don’t care. You fist your bound hands into the fabric of his pants and frantically clench your thighs against the wetness between your legs. Donnie likes to talk like this when he has you in bed--or...out of bed--but when it comes down to it, he’s the only person in this place who makes you feel like more than “mutie.”

He dissolves into incoherent moans and keening cries as his pace turns ragged and chaotic. When he comes his cock is so far down your throat you have no choice but to swallow his semen. He pulls out, panting and quivering with the power of the orgasm, and falls to his knees beside you. His arms go around you, wrapping you up in his strong embrace.

He lays his cheek against the crown of your head and shuts his eyes, catching his breath. You nuzzle your face into his chest once more, tucking your bound hands between your bodies and sighing with contentment.

“Thank you,” the words are a prayer, an offering to this man who holds your whole life, your whole soul in his killer’s hands. He hums in acknowledgement, flexing his arms around you to communicate all the things he’ll never say.

Too soon he’s getting to his feet and pulling you up with him. You’re mentally bracing for the return to the stark prison cell when he tugs you across the parking garage towards his own sleek sports car.

“C’mon baby,” he says, tucking you under his arm like you’re a couple out on a date instead of a prisoner and her jailer. “I’m takin’ you home tonight.”

Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47 @lackofhonor @sabinemorans

#donald pierce #donald pierce x reader #boyd holbrook #smut #chelsfic #ask #tracker!verse #boyd holbrook imagine #marvel #logan

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

Text

Loving You Is A Losing Game

Ivar+WIfe! Reader (Vikings! Era)

Chapter 1; Alcestis.

“Admetos, I am dying. This is my last request of you, so listen well. Of my own free will I gave my life to let you live. I am dying for you, Admetos, but I did not have to die. I could have chosen otherwise”

“Alcestis” by Euripides

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I was actually supposed to write this after ‘To Kill a King’ as a sequel, but in the end I just loved so so much this idea that I couldn’t stop myself from writing in order to wait.

Still I know that this fic might seem ‘similar’ to some others I wrote, so I am very anxious for any feedback you mgiht want to send my way, because as always not only it helps my writing but it makes me write faster!

Have a nice day!

SUMMARY: Everything in your life is falling apart: your husband might face the extreme punishment for is treason and be executed, and whenever you try to convince him to beg for forgiveness, you are pushed away further, unable to recognize the man you loved.

But soon, more worrying things might come and the only way to save yourself and the one you love is to endure and be cunning.

WORDS: 7,78 K

WARNINGS; Unstable Relationship (I think that honestly Reader and Ivar’s relationship is borderline abusive, even more if set up in the modern era, there is no physical violence, but there might be some psychological one so please be careful sweeties), Pregnancy, Talk of Abortion, Mention of Death, Betrayal, Kidnapping Historically Inaccurate, and Not following the series path.

Life with Ivar had never been easy.

But you had loved your husband with the intensity of a million of suns.

And he had loved you back with the same intensity.

And for a certain time, you had had it.

But then his own raising ambition had gotten in the way of it all.

You had always been part of your husband’s planning but this time you had been kept outside of the conjure that had tried unsuccessfully to take over Lagertha’s throne.

They had been betrayed from the inside and your husband had been taken to the prison cells, waiting for the queen to choose what to do with his fate.

But you already know what it would have been.

Death.

And as much as the wound of betraying hurt your heart you couldn’t deny him your love and your prayers as you asked mercy for him to Lagertha.

‘We’ll go in exile, we’ll disappear from your hands, we’ll…’ your voice had broken down with gentle sobs as the queen quickly ushered everyone outside of the Great Hall leaving simply you and her, as she gestured for you to come closer.

‘Sat, my sweet’ she had mumbled gently, as she had moved a few strands of hair away from your face as you gripped tightly on her hand, unsteady on your own feet and your body shaken by your fear of failure ‘… I do think that I could grant that, but your husband would never ever forget a promise’.

‘I’ll convince him!’ you shouted pleadingly, although you were aware that you had had to lie to Ivar to justify your disappearance by his side, told him you’d be seeing your family to assure their support to his cause.

Your family had been the reason why you weren’t sharing his cell, alongside the fact that you had been kept in the shadows about this entire plot.

‘It was to ensure your safety, my sweet’ had commented Ivar as you had asked him why he hadn’t involved you in it ‘… because I need my small bird to continue on chirping in my ear’.

But you had been rudely woken up during the night by burly men asking you if you knew what your husband had done.

And you still weren’t able to properly sleep, taking the offer of staying at your brother’s house, with his wife fretting around meanwhile she waited for her first child.

A painful sight for you, whose stomach was still flat after a year of marriage.

‘You had sworn that you wouldn’t have done anything till I gave you an heir!’ you had protested against Ivar, remembering your words, when he had allowed you a small moment of calmness from the plotting and avenging.

You hadn’t been inclined on motherhood, more interested in the threads behind battles, wanting to enjoy your youth without having to waddle behind children, like your mother had done.

But Ivar had wanted one heir desperately, since it would have cemented his position as the rightful heir of Kattegat, and you had eventually allowed him.

Allowed him to lay his seed inside you.

But after a year of trying, nothing came from it.

And you felt Ivar’s heavy disappointment on you.

Lagertha’s voice brought you back to reality as she raised lightly your chin for you to meet her light eyes, and as much as you had hated her, always sympathetic to your husband’s cause, in that moment you just saw another woman who had been betrayed by her husband.

‘I know that you’ll try, sweet one, you were always a perfect diplomat, but with men like Ivar, you can’t win the game’.

There was an unspoken knowledge due to her own experience with Ragnar in her words and you couldn’t help but sigh loudly, as you gripped your stomach, the reason behind everything, your failure.

‘… I just… I don’t want to see my husband dead’ you moaned in pain at the sole thought as Lagertha gently caressed your cheeks, before she dropped her hands on the table separating you both ‘… he may be cruel and he has the worst temper, but he loves me and…’.

‘Ragnar was the best man I ever knew’ she commented softly, breaking your own train of thought ‘… but he left me, betrayed me for another woman and that made me think about myself, and my children… he may have loved me still, but… that wasn’t enough’.

‘I just…’ your voice broke down, because although Ivar hadn’t betrayed you with any woman, what Lagertha spoke was true.

Your father, an earl, had been disappointed to discover your liaison with the youngest son of Ragnar, the one he, himself, called a ‘deformed monster’.

‘He’ll only break your heart, (Y/N),’ he had said as he downed another cup of mead and you had dismissed his words as the ones of a drunkard who knew nothing of love and feeling ‘… and I won’t take you back when that’ll happen’.

Your brother had also been cold about this relationship, but he hadn’t rejected your offer to give you to Ivar the day of your wedding.

‘If you are so so sure about doing this, I’ll deliver you myself to him, before you do the stupid thing of eloping’.

And although he didn’t say it, you knew that he despised your husband since you had set foot back in his house.

‘… I know that this is hard to understand, but…’ Lagertha now moved her eyes away from you, stealing a small look at the window ‘… sometimes, love is simply not enough’.

And as easy as that, you started crying fully releasing all the sadness you had been holding in yourself for days, well aware that you were breaking down right in front of your husband’s enemy.

He would have thought you weak to do so.

But Lagetha simply collected your tears as she delicately dabbed a piece of cloth on your face, before gripping your hands tight.

‘… I’ll accept the exile proposition, but I don’t think that your husband will ever accept it’ she proclaimed queenly, although her eyes spoke of sympathy, not pity, of somebody who had fallen in the same trap ‘… in that case, he’ll be executed for treason’.

‘I don’t think that I can live without him’ you mumbled, a few sobs interrupting the phrase as you stuttered it out.

‘… you’ll learn to’ she spoke gently and sternly ‘I did, and I am happy… I have Astrid, a new love will come also for you’.

The last words were a whisper from afar to you, as you thanked her almost mechanically for listening to you, as you exited the great hall with a dreadful feeling.

That Lagertha had spoken the truth.

---

You found out soon, as Ivar threw his cup of mead onto the prison bars, some of it staining your dress, a simple fantasy of fabric that used to be Ivar’s favorite, hence why you had worn it to give him the news of the exile.

There had been a time when you were both younger when Ivar had been enchanted by every word you spoke, even going as far as to do the silliest of things because you dared him to.

You kind of missed that power you had on him.

‘We are equals’ he had spoken on your first night of marriage as he had linked your hands ‘… you are the only person I can see standing by my side’.

And now he just threw a cup of mead to you.

“Are you crazy?!” he spoke, as he dragged himself closer to the prison bars, since they had stolen his braces, thinking that they could easily be weapons.

And you were well aware of how much that choice pained him.

“I am just trying to do my best to keep my husband alive!” you retorted, although you backed off slightly, attracting the look of a prison guard.

Pity in his eyes.

“Oh… and let me ask you, my beloved wife, how did you think that sucking mercy from Lagertha’s tits would have saved me?” he spoke arrogantly as he gripped tight the bars, showing you his teeth as he growled those words “… and worst of all… you come here asking for exile!”.

“You said you would have run away with me…” you whispered softly, trying not to alert the prison guard again, as you crouched down at his level, pushing on hand over his as he gave you an annoyed look.

“Only cowards run” he spoke, as he turned his head away from you, but you gripped tighter your hand over his.

“… you could run and we could plan a better way to take Kattegat” you spoke gently, as your eyes shone with hope “… or we could go to exile and then do the same, we’d be both alive, Ivar, that’s all that matters”.

“No no!” he hit with the other hand the bars, making you choke back a breath as your eyes shone with fear “… nothing else matters till I get my crown back and my mother is avenged”.

Although you were well aware that it was what Ivar wanted above anything else, even you, it never failed to pain you deeply.

“… I don’t matter to you, is this what you mean?” your voice trembled and you also turned your head to the side to withhold the tears in your eyes, as you pushed away your hand over his.

It took Ivar a long huff of annoyance before he replied to you.

“Of course, you matter to me, (Y/N)” he mumbled almost scorned by your question “… but there are a lot of things that also do…”.

“I love you, Ivar, you are all that fucking matters to me!” you shouted, as you raised to your feet, annoyed and profoundly hurt by his words “… all I want you is to be fucking safe, is that so hard to understand?”.

And your husband, almost challenged by your shouts, replied.

“And all I wanted was an heir, but your stomach is still flat, isn’t it?” he didn’t even need to raise his voice, because he always knew how to hurt you and you stood there breathing through your nose as you tried to calm yourself.

“… maybe I am not the problem”.

You knew that you had hurt him as you turned and run away.

You had learnt from the best, after all.

---

That night you were restless, enough to startle awake your sister-in-law who came to check on you, worried you might have caught a fever.

But you were cold, almost frozen and eventually she had given you a small drug to allow you to sleep, but it hadn’t last much.

Your nightmares were too strong and for once it wasn’t the worry for your husband, making.

You had dreamt of him as hanged or without his head, but it was you who was the center of the nightmare of tonight.

You were on a table and your legs were open, your dress bunched up as scorching white hot pain went through you, a few women with no faces but white masks were all around you, doing nothing but observing you, as you pleaded with them to help you.

Help you push out your child.

And when the child was out, another pain shot through you as the child was raised by a man, taken away from your screeching arms, holding out for the child, but your entire body was chained and all the white masks were now laughing at you.

Laughing so loudly that they overcame your screams and as you woke up, you immediately retched by the side of the bed, cold sweat all around you, as it stained the clean sheets and both your brother and his wife came immediately to you, helping you calm down as you continued on shouting for your child.

Eventually breakfast had come, and both your sister-in-law and your brother suggested you paid a visit to the healer, so that you could ask her about the dream and maybe plead with her to give you something to calm you down and make you sleep better.

You had refused their company for the small walk, sure and steady now that night didn’t cloud your eyes, always feeling a bit better when you walked, since it helped you clearing your mind.

But you had overheard them as your brother hugged tightly Tala, his soft-spoken wife and mumble:

‘I should have never allowed this, after father died… I shouldn’t have let her marry him’ and then he had grumbled out ‘… I should kill hm for what he is doing to her’.

‘You had no idea of what would be happening’ had suggested Tala and you could almost see the way she would gently bring back behind his ears a few strands of hair, before proceeding to kiss his cheeks ‘… she loved him’.

Tala and Felix had been a match made in heaven and burned of a soft love that would have blessed them with the typical fairytale ending you had always dreaded.

But now… oh… how much you longed for it.

“… he is a bastard who can’t love anything else than himself” had replied bitterly your brother.

And as much as you hated to admit that your brother was right, you knew that he wasn’t completely unaware of who Ivar truly was.

Maybe he knew him better than his lovesick wife.

You had left them to their own domestic intimacy, as you had moved to reach the healer, hopeful that she would give you something to ease your mind, although your mind was so damnably fast and worried that you had already an headache halfway through reaching the healer’s hut.

The healer welcomed you softly, immediately hugging you as she asked you to join her by her table, to consume a bit of food together, since she could already see ‘that you looked pale and tired’.

“… what happened, little bird?”.

Ylva had been a friend of your mother and she had taken care of you after she had passed away from an illness, caring after you and your younger sister, as she had taught you about your first period, how to calm Ivar’s pain with herbs and how to cure any superficial wound.

“My head is just… messy” you muttered well-aware that she probably already knew of the mess Ivar had gotten himself into and how badly you were reacting, although you hadn’t left the town since the start of it.

But rumors were faster than anything else.

She had been one of the few that had supported your relationship with Ivar, mumbling a simple ‘you are good for each other’ as you had brought Ivar to meet her once, making the boy slightly blush under her steely glance.

“… oh sweetie, having trouble sleeping?” she suggested, always knowing what was on your mind “… and eating from what I can see…”.

Since you had started playing with your food, barely able to eat it.

Lately you had felt like your stomach was completely closed, and this situation had been going on for days.

But you had justified it saying that you couldn’t think about eating when your husband was closed off in a cage and risked being executed.

“I am just worried, Ylva” you mumbled, smiling sadly, as she took the plate from you before she replenished a glass with some water, which was the only thing that you could down “… my husband is in chains and last night I had a rather confusing nightmare…”.

“What was it about, sweetheart?” although Ylva tried to keep her tone light you could feel she was worried.

“… I was giving birth… in chains and there were all these people staring at me, doing nothing but staring and then… they took the baby from me…” you mumbled confusedly, but Ylva seemed to follow your train of thought “… I don’t… I just don’t understand why I worry for a child when I should be worried for my husband”.

Ylva’s eyes became soft and a look of pity was shot at you, as she gripped tight your hand, before another went to your flat stomach, to which you sent a small look, even more confused.

“Sometimes our dreams tell us truths we aren’t ready to discover” she explained softly, as she cupped your flatness, almost groping it in an uncomfortable way “… when have you last bleed, (Y/N)?”.

And then it all linked in your mind.

“I am not with child, Ylva” you protested soundly, immediately backing off, as she shot you a stern look.

“… when have you last bleed (Y/N)?” she repeated, as she gripped tight your wrist to keep you still from raising up “… I could feel the change in you but I didn’t think it was because you were with child”.

“Because I am not!” you were starting to become hysterical.

“Just let me run a quick check” she begged, and you couldn’t help but calm down “… if you are not pregnant you have nothing to hide”.

“… alright” you had huffed out as you added “… I haven’t bled in a month but I should in a few days, it isn’t rare for it to be… late”.

It had brought you and Ivar quite a few surprises.

The first time it had happened, you had come to your husband and gently hugged him, smiling on his lips as he brought you in a kiss, surprised by your good humor, but definitely not against it.

‘… what has happened?’ by now you had been married for three months and all your thoughts were sweetened by your conquests in England.

‘I might be pregnant my love’ you had announced softly ‘… I haven’t bled’.

And a few days after you had.

And no matter how much your husband attempted to hide it, you could see the disappointment on his face.

Hence you knew better than to think the lateness in your bleeding to be an indicator of a sure pregnancy.

“Have you felt sore, both in your breasts and… intimate places?” proceeded to ask Ylva “… you have already shown nausea and uneasiness to eat”.

“Ahem… my breasts are swollen…” you hadn’t given it too much thought, again blaming it on your monthly bleeding “… and I am tired, I thought it to be a consequence of many sleepless night, but it isn’t simply… me being sleepy, I just feel so easily without energy”.

“Sweetie, would you lay down for me?” she had asked, before guiding you to her bed, gently raising your skirt to reveal your naked stomach, lowering lightly your underwear as she softly delivered light touches to your stomach, prodding in an almost uncomfortable way “… you are swollen, sweetie”.

“… it might not be because I am with child” you mumbled softly, scrunching your eyebrows “… my bleeding might also cause that”.

Ylva scrunched her nose as some would do with an annoying child and she moved to dip her finger inside you, making you squeal uncomfortable and she soon retrieved her hand, with a smile on her face.

“You are with child, little one” she replied softly “… believe me, you might not believe it, but I can feel it and the more you deny it the more you suffer”.

“I can’t be with child” your scream sounded so damnably cringey that you also cringed at your tone “… it’s just horrible timing! I have been trying to get pregnant for so long and it… they were merrier times, but then… it happens when my own husband is to be executed”.

“A child might ask for mercy…” consoled you Ylva, kissing your forehead, probably happier than you about this new “… both from Lagertha and Ivar”.

“But what if this…” you gestured to your still-flat stomach, although Ylva had been right when she had said that you were swollen “… if this doesn’t change anything?”.

Because Ivar’s own ambition might come even before an heir.

And Lagertha wouldn’t have had any second thoughts simply because you had a traitor’s child in your body.

“… (Y/N)” the healer softly collected your tears, that you realized solely now you were shedding “… there is an herb, it’ll make your stomach… it’ll make it flat again”.

You had heard of it, many thralls used it in case they ended up being pregnant of their masters.

It did the job well, from what you had heard.

But would have Ivar ever forgiven you for such a gesture.

“… I can’t raise this child on my own”.

Because truth was that you didn’t even know if you wanted a child.

Life had always been so freeing without them and although you’d cherish them playing around the market and jumping on their fathers’ laps, you just couldn’t think having one of your own.

You had grown up as the second child, the first daughter of an earl and your mother’s presence had been overbearing to the point that she had eventually fatigued too much herself and it had made it easy for the illness to creep up on her body.

Although you had never held much love for your parents, you feared such an end.

The end of a woman who had never lived fully, just devoted to children that would outlive her and a husband that would join her after mead did its rightful job.

Had Ivar been with you, you would have considered it.

One of the many reasons why you loved Ivar so much was how there always seemed to be a solution for anything according him and that was why you felt definitely lost without him.

“… you wouldn’t be on your own, sweet child” she promised you Ylva, taking your hands “… there would be me, your brother and his wife to help you, you wouldn’t be alone”.

She ripped off the veil that was protecting you and you couldn’t help but shrink in yourself as you mumbled the uneasy truth.

“I don’t even know if I want a child”.

Ylva’s face suddenly become serious and you were painfully aware that infertility had stopped her from having children and you couldn’t help but think how badly she would judge you for having the chance that she didn’t… and ignoring it so abruptly.

“… my sweet that is…”.

“Am I a monster for not wanting it?” you couldn’t help but cry, maybe it was due to the baby, since it was known that babies made women frail, but you couldn’t help but feel this anguish.

This betraying and hurtful feeling that you were being a horrible person.

“Oh no no, you aren’t absolutely little bird” Ylva’s hands gripped her face gently, bringing your shiny and teary eyes to meet hers, a softness in them that hurt you, because you didn’t deserve it “… you are nothing but a child, stuck in a difficult position, I wouldn’t expect you to be blamed for this choice”.

And she kissed your forehead hugging you tightly as you let out the crying fit you hadn’t been having for a long time, that you had denied in a desperate attempt to appear strong in public.

But with Ylva you were, indeed, nothing but a child.

“… shhh shhh, my sweet, you’ll sleep this over, talk with Ivar and then decide” she suggested, as she loosened the hug, kissing your brow as she helped you compose yourself “… do you want me accompany you in Kattegat?”.

You shook your head, as much as Ylva’s presence was comforting, it was clouding your mouth with emotions you had to shoot down and separate from.

“… if you do decide that…” the words seemed to burn on Ylva’s mouth “… if you don’t want to swell, come here again”.

“I’ll think about Ylva” you promised, kissing her hands as a ‘goodbye’ “… thank you, not solely for your check-up”.

“… may the gods be with you, little bird”.

---

You were jumpy on the road back home, your mind shifting on thoughts about you as a mother.

Would you have looked like your tired mother?

Or would you have looked like a different woman, completely?

The latter thought scared you even more because it opened a variety of possibilities that made you think about the worst that could have happened.

Would you have been a horrible mother?

You weren’t even sure of wanting your own child, but what was worse than that was the fact that you doubted that Ivar would have been a good father either.

A man who forgot his family for his ambition, wouldn’t have raised a happy child.

You were so deep in your thoughts that when a soft touch reached your shoulder, you almost jumped immediately turning to the woman, who revealed herself to be Astrid, Largetha’s lover and trusted soldier.

You had seen the blue-eyed woman a few times in the great hall, but she had never approached you, so you were slightly wary of actually talking with her well aware that she hadn’t snooped in for a quick salute.

“… princess (Y/N)” she raised her hands to show you she was unarmed “… I am sorry to have scared you… I just saw you and thought I would introduce myself”.

And maybe snooped in to know what Ivar’s faithful wife was doing so far away from her husband.

“Thank you, Astrid and sorry for bothering you” you mumbled softly, trying to assume your most innocent smile as you softly bower in respect to her.

“What are you doing so far away from your rightful home, princess?”.

Well at least she wasn’t one for silly pretenses.

“I visited the healer Ylva” you explained softly “… I have had trouble sleeping and asked for some herbs that might help me”.

“… your hands are empty” you almost couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her evident questioning, but simply replied with a sickly-sweet smile.

“The herbs I have been suggested isn’t farmed here, Ylva told me I would have found it at the market” you explained quietly, trying not to raise any suspect in the beautiful woman.

Although you had nothing to hide, her gaze made you feel dirty.

And Astrid seemed to realize it backing off both verbally and physically.

“… can I escort you in the city?” ‘to avoid you buying a plan for your husband?’.

“Thank you, lady Astrid” you accepted softly, offering her your right arm, which she accepted gladly “… how are you?”.

“Fine, although I do have to admit that it has been a busy period”.

‘Because of my husband’ you almost wanted to add but simply nodded softly.

“… summer is almost finished, and everybody is rushing in with the last touches for the harvest” you tried to make polite small talk.

“… and soon they’ll start raiding again” mumbled Astrid almost “… we have been training girls who are just desperately waiting to fight…”.

“Ahhh I remember that feeling of the furious energy before a battle”

Although you weren’t a shieldmaiden having grown with two older brothers had taught you what you needed in the fighting field, and you had fought a few times, whenever your family was involved and alongside that before Ivar started being stubborn and stopped you from joining battles.

‘You are my wife, now, (Y/N)!” he had shouted at you, as you had protested against him forbidding you to take a stand on the battlefield “… everybody will know that and they’ll aim for you to hit me”.

And you had accepted to step behind, pulling the threads of every operation behind his actions.

It suited you more, since your mind was twice as sharp as Ivar’s.

“… oh yeah, I tend to forget that you used to fight, princess” and it would be ever more difficult for you to do it again, if you kept the baby “… have you ever thought to come back to it?”.

A huff pained your lungs as you coughed lightly to hide your uneasiness.

“… I’d love to, but I do think that the gods have chosen my spot to be behind the battlefield” you mumbled softly, the perfect depiction of the loyal wife.

“I was told that you are the reason behind many great victories back in England” she mumbled, admiration shining in her eyes “… your husband, Ivar, never ever failed to shout about it during feasts”.

You laughed, because that was the Ivar you had fallen in love with.

The energetic and idiotic boy that would make you blush because he thought you were the best person ever.

His beloved (Y/N).

Sometimes you asked yourself if marriage had been what had ruined it for both of you and him.

You had married each other just after your father had died, you were nothing more than sixteen and Ivar was barely a bit older than you, and your marriage hadn’t born from actual thought but from your own need to show others wrong.

You, your father, Ivar, everybody else.

And although effectively nothing else had changed, you still couldn’t help but feel like with the marriage and the official recognition of your union had put you and Ivar through useless obstacles.

Such as him stopping you from joining the battle or wanting a child.

You had just made everything more complex.

“… you could teach the girls a few things…” mumbled Astrid surprising you “… you are as young as them so your voice will be both fresh and experienced”.

You couldn’t help but listen to your heart pounding at such a proposal.

It was definitely something that stroked your ego and your brain, as you nodded softly, not thinking about Ivar in a cell, or your heavy ring.

“I’ll think about it”.

“That’d mean the world for the girls” she promised you but didn’t push it because immediately you both heard a strange noise, something that low key made you nervous and stood on your guard.

You shared a quick look with her, and both moved to watch each other’s shoulders.

“… do you have a weapon on you?” she asked reaching out for her pocket, but before she could reach for her knife she was knocked back from a man, who you had just the time to look in the eyes, before you were also hit on the back of your head.

And all you could was tuck and arm over your belly to protect the child you didn’t know whether you wanted or not.

---

His heart ached at the thought of you.

Of your last, unpleasant, parting.

The way he had thrown accusations in your face, when you already were already hurt for everything that had happened.

Because of him.

And not because of you.

But you had wounded his ego.

You had suggested him to just flee like a coward, leaving his mother unavenged and his rightful territories.

But yet, would it have been worth it?

He wasn’t scared of his death.

He had almost longed for it on certain days, when pain was all he knew.

But with you in his life he couldn’t help but think about what would have happened to you as a widow.

You’d move on certainly after his death, you were smart enough to live on your own but, not only the thought of another man having you made him go crazy, but he knew the pain you’d go through.

And if there was one thing that Ivar hated more than anything was to see you in pain.

But his blind pride offered no other solution.

And being stuck in a prison cell didn’t help.

What would have made the difference was you being pregnant.

An heir would have stabilized his position on the throne.

Lagertha’s claim was weak and bloody, and an heir such as Bjorn was problematic to say the least since it could have had many repercussions, because of his wandering ways.

But Ivar with his strong mind and his victories, and a healthy baby to continue the succession would have been far more accepted.

But that blessed child had never appeared, in over a year of wedding, something that was starting to get on his own damnable nerves, although he didn’t blame you, fully, you were healthy and young.

He was the problem.

Maybe his prick might work with you, but his seed certainly didn’t, not taking its seat in you and blossoming in a baby, something that was a motive of shame for him.

What would others think of it?

But maybe it was some kind of ‘blessing’: the gods didn’t want any more cripples.

Whatever it was, it had made him snap at you, and with the look of disappointment you had sent his way, he doubted that you’d ever come back to discuss again with him, even more since you had spoken the silent truth.

That maybe he was the fault.

That maybe he was the origin of all your problems.

While he was saddening himself with all the bad thoughts he could find, suddenly he heard a noise and immediately turned to see in what the hell the prison guard had stumbled, but as he turned to look around, he saw the guard…

… a bloody hand at his ripped throat and behind him a big silhouette, which quickly stole the keys to the prison, and Ivar rushed to grab the small pointy wood he had shaped during these days of boredom.

But the man inched closer to him calmly.

“Ivar…? Ivar, son of Ragnar?” he called out and Ivar didn’t know whether to make his presence known or not, but in the end, he inched closer to the prison bars, hiding carefully the pointed wood stick.

“… who is asking?” mumbled Ivar as he heard the familiar sound of a key slipping through a hole as the prison bars were opened for him.

“I work for Gustaf The King” replied the burly man, as he pushed the bars away, actually freeing Ivar and before he could continue, the pointy stick was stabbed in his guts and he immediately rushed to steal his sword to him, cutting his throat open.

The man tried to close the gap, but he fell beside Ivar, who he had the time to steal the keys before they were dipped in blood.

“… well I don’t know whoever that asshole is, but this is my fucking city”.

He had proceeded to free all his fighters and had challenged any men of this fucktard Gustaf, although they might have thought he would fight against Lagertha, he wouldn’t support any stupid conqueror coming for city.

Even more when his wife was in it.

(Y/N) knew how to fight, he knew it.

But in cases like this, his worrying nature got the best of him and he desperately fought with anybody who might stand as an obstacle, eventually coming to the great hall where everyone was stored inside, coming even shoulder to shoulder with Lagertha and her shieldmaidens, as they contrasted with her the threat.

Eventually the men moved in retreat, or at least what had remained of the people Lagertha and Ivar had spared, more in an attempt to send a message than for actual mercy.

“… what are you doing out of your cage?” asked Lagertha, not lowering her weapons and Ivar keeping them up as straight as he could cradling on the ground as he looked through the shieldmaidens line, hoping to find your face, but no one was quite like you.

He hoped you had had the good sense of hiding in the great hall.

“They freed me, thinking that I could have helped them, but I didn’t” he replied, as he gave his men order to relax, Lagertha doing the same, as she turned, proving herself to be vulnerable.

… all he would need was a to raise his sword…

But not before he saw you inside and safe.

“… I won’t say ‘thank you’ for what you did” mumbled Lagertha, opening the big door of the great hall.

“Wasn’t expecting you to” he replied harshly, his eyes immediately ranking over the figures in the great hall.

Hadn’t you been pissed with him, you would have probably moved to hug him, coming at him and tripping him, as you did when you were younger, smirking softly at him.

‘You took your time, cripple’ you would say, and then kiss him on the lips so damnably softly that he would have felt the need to deepen the kiss in an almost desperate way, to prove that you were alive and breathing beneath him.

But you were pissed so he didn’t expect you to come to him.

But he didn’t see you.

And then he spotted Tala, your sister-in-law, she held her pregnant bump with a pure look of fear in her face, which wasn’t eased as Ivar came closer to her, completely bloodied, so he tried his best to remember to be nice with her.

Tala, unlike your brother, had always been nice to him, a bit obtuse but nothing so bad.

“… Tala…” he shook her gently, trying to avoid touching her on her hips, knowing that soon-to-be-mothers could be quite fierce, when their children were touched “… where is my wife? Where is (Y/N)?”.

“(Y/N)?” for a minute Ivar thought she was too confused to speak and his anger flooded his insides, but then she blurted out “… she went to see the healer, had strange dreams… and retched”.

Which wasn’t a good thing, but it was better than to know that those brutes had done something horrible to you.

You were probably at Ylva’s, chatting and gossiping, but then something caught his eyes as he thanked Tala, and her husband, your brother, moved to take care of her as she slumped down in his arms, exhausted.

He gave no look at Ivar and he was thankful for it.

Your brother had always been fiercely protective of you.

What caught his eyes was the way Lagertha moved around worried.

“… have you seen Astrid?” he heard her utter and suddenly a doubt went through him.

What if Astrid wasn’t the only one missing.

What if…

“Who is this Gustaf The King, who tried to take Kattegat?” although the attack had been damnably chaotic and he could definitely see that who they had fought against were unproper warriors, he could also see the strategy behind it.

This had all been a distraction, but for what?

“He is…” Lagertha seemed almost out of breath due to the worry in her voice “… is a small lord, but he has been calling himself king because he has been rallying a few rebels from different areas, promising them glory”.

“And why didn’t you notify us of this?” because he hadn’t heard of this, and it had passed more than three months since he had last come back from England “... this seems like a threat”.

“He is nothing more than a small lord and has an unorganized army, it is nothing to worry” now her tone was a challenge, as if she wanted to quickly shut up Ivar’s mouth, but he was a fretting husband with a missing wife “… why aren’t you back in prison?”.

“Because I just saved your ass, although you won’t admit it”.

As much as Lagertha’s army was strong, the help of his had been substantial to it all.

Lagertha didn’t admit but let out a huge huff of air, before a small shieldmaiden barged through the huge doors, immediately moving to Lagertha who took in her worried.

“Gyda, what happened?” she asked softly, brushing away a few of her hair drenched in sweat “… is everything…?”.

“I wanted to speak with Astrid after out training” her voice was breathless but loud enough for also Ivar to hear her “… she told me she would be back in the city but when I came on the road to be back in Kattegat, I…”.

And instead of completing the phrase she exited Astrid’s knife, a beautiful polished thing, almost as deadly as the woman who held it and what was attached to it, scared even more Ivar.

The queen pendant he had gifted you the day before you had come back to Kattegat, when you had sealed your deal with evil: an heir for a truce.

He had secured the small necklace around your neck, the heavy pendant dipping between your breast, as you kept your eyes closed waiting for the surprise Ivar had promised you, and as he told you to open them, you had gripped the pendant, in your hands.

‘… you do know that us girls like things that shine don’t you’ you had mumbled faking disappointment, as Ivar just huffed annoyed, setting himself beside you on your shared bed ‘… I am joking, Ivar, it’s beautiful, but…’.

‘You are the queen, and I don’t mean it simply as a promise of what I’ll make you become, once Lagertha is off the throne…’ you had then taken his hands softly in yours.

‘… I don’t need a promise of a title or a crown to be happy with you Ivar’ you had mumbled softly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, as you moved forward for a kiss, but he pushed himself back, pleading you to let him continue.

‘… but also because the queen is the strongest piece on the board, the one who can do everything and the true source of the king power, which is what you are also to me, you aren’t a ‘pawn’ or an ‘horse’, you are the sole queen, and I hope this’ll remind you of it’.

And as you had been moved by his discourse, you had hugged him tight, mumbled in his ear about ‘how sappy he could be with you’ as he protested, trying to reject the hug.

‘… I’ll never take it off, Ivar’.

And the fact that you didn’t have it in you, was a terrible sign.

You couldn’t have just disappeared.

Where could you have gone?

---

As you woke up, your head pained you more than anything else, and you almost thought that you had just woken up from another nightmare.

One in which you hadn’t been kidnapped alongside Astrid.

But sadly, it wasn’t a nightmare.

You weren’t on earth, since you could feel movements under your ass, ad as you raised your head you found out that you couldn’t see the sky, but you were trapped under a wooden roof.

Everything certainly making it seem like you were trapped in a boat.

Your hands were bound alongside your feet and as you turned you found Astrid beside you, immediately taken aback by the fact that you were awake, as she rushed closer, dragging her body around the pavement.

“… are you awake, (Y/N)?” she called out to you, whispering lightly.

“Yes, I am simply…” your head fought to stay lucid as you found your words being slurred and a sudden nausea hitting you up, even stronger than your headache “… my head hurts as if it had been used to be kicked around”.

“They hit us pretty strongly” she explained with a sad smile “… I do think that I’ll have a big bruise where he hit me”.

“Where are we?” you asked, rushing in as you tried to break free from the rope, but it was tight enough to hurt your wrist and when you had been tied, you hadn’t been able to use any trick to make your hands seem bigger, swollen.

You looked around to find something sharp but not only the room was extremely dark, but you couldn’t move much, again the nausea making you dizzy.

“… a boat, from what I can hear, but I don’t know much more…” she sent you a meaningful look “…I am sorry, I tried to make some noise, but they seem d…”.

As she was finishing talking, you both heard footsteps and protests being shout as you both moved away from each other, trying to assume innocent poses, as much as your nausea could allow you to.

You were biting your tongue till blood crept out, enough to distract you from the need to retch on your feet.

And then men appeared behind the door on your left, letting a bit of light in, as they dragged alongside themselves candles, and if it was already night… you were rather far away from Kattegat.

And there it hit you, as the adrenaline left you and you realized that you were lost.

The men were three and they approached with strong steps shutting any other sound and coming closer to you both, as a man, a beauty in gold with a strong face and a proud jaw, gently crouched down to you.

As if he almost wanted to comfort a scared animal, holding out a hand for your face, as he checked you, before asking.

“I fucking told Eric to only grab the queen’s bitch, but he also grabbed you” he spoke slowly, so that each word destroyed you completely “… so tell me, little girl, who the fuck are you?”.

“A no one” you replied, breathing out your answer and Astrid was smart enough not to contradict you.

As the wife of a prince you were valuable for any exchange, and you had learned long ago that if you were captured, you should have never ever revealed your true identity for the wellbeing of your husband.

“… a pretty no one” muttered a fat soldier beside him, probably the Eric who the blond man was talking about, as the he tightened the grip on your face.

“… we won’t keep whores here” muttered the other unknown man, who held the candle, bringing it closer to your face and suddenly some kind of look of recognition showed on his face.

And you got worried.

“… but she isn’t a simple whore, she is Ivar The Boneless’ whore” he muttered as on the blond man’s face appeared a bright smile, turning to a relieved Eric and you couldn’t help but feel again the need to retch, but this time it wasn’t because of a bodily reaction “… when I fought back in England I always saw her perched on that fucking lucky son of a bitch of a cripple… and you know what is worse?”.

“… no, tell me” the look on the man’s face brightened, almost victoriously as you tried to hide your fear.

“… he fucking loved her”.

Only there and then the blond man abandoned the grip on your chin, but you were well aware that you were thoroughly fucked.

“Eric” he called out to the fat soldier, the one who had kidnapped you and Astrid “… apparently you didn’t simply bring me the lover of a queen, but also the beloved wife of a prince”.

And then a scream of pure utter victory was released.

And in that moment, you did retch on your own boots.

---

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agentargus · 3 years

Text

So this was in my drafts and I figured I’d finish it up. @thatdamnokie and I had talked about the possibility of Seraphim interacting with more of my characters and this was the result. It’s intended as a sequel to Morgan’s Drabble about Seraphim’s first mission with Nova.

Loath as Dante was to doubt Caroline’s judgement, especially in matters of their shared trade, he could hardly pretend that he didn’t have questions. Exorcists were Repubblica’s bread and butter—or rather, bread and wine. What could possibly be so special about this one’s injuries for Caroline to suggest such desperate measures? He found cold comfort in the fact that she trusted him with a task like this, but he only hoped that this whole trip would prove to be unnecessary.

“Agent Seraphim?” Dante poked his head into the examination lab, scratching at the sigil at the back of his neck absentmindedly at the sight of her, “or would you prefer ‘Morgan?’”

“Morgan’s fine, thanks,” she replied You must be Dr. Argenti.”

Oh no, darling,” Dante laughed, “I’m barely a soccorritore* Dr. Argenti is my mother,” already finished established in her field at his age, in fact. The unwelcome reminder unfurled itself from the corners of his mind like the first clouds of a storm. Swallowing hard, he busied himself with washing his hands to keep the thunder of his thoughts at bay. Remember your training, as much a prayer as it was a constant reminder within the Societies. “Looks like you’ve got your shoe off and your foot propped up already. Sei propiro in gamba...”**

“What?”

“That was supposed to be a pun, but it doesn’t make sense in English. Anyway, let’s sneaker a peak at that foot of yours.“ She did not laugh, but he’d hardly expected her to, not if she was in pain, anyway. “Beautiful work,” he studied the tiny spiral of scar tissue with consideration, “no less than I’d expect from Cara. You could say she toes the line—toes, as in feet? Never mind. But it’s still hurting you?”

Morgan turned away from him at this “It’s not that bad. I’m only here because Caroline insisted...”

“You flatter me, but just because you made your hospital bed, that doesn’t mean I’ll let you lie in it.”

“What?”

“You’re lying,” Dante could only hope that his squint would mask the crimson glaze that always seemed to fall over his eyes at the realization of a hidden sin, “about how bad the pain is, I mean. I’m a fool, not an idiot. If it wasn’t crippling, Cara would have given you something for the pain and sent you on your way. Perhaps she already did, but you’re still hurting enough to have come back to her. She flew me out from the Vatican, darling—and boy, are her little cherub wings tired. If the pain wasn’t serious, I wouldn’t be here.”

I...” Morgan’s eyes narrowed slightly and she pursued her lips for a moment before finally sighing, “...okay fine. My fiancé insisted I go back to medical. It doesn’t hurt all the time, but I get these really awful flare-ups...”

“When you feel particularly guilty, yes? Or when you’re attacked during an exorcism.” When she didn’t respond, suggesting to him that he was right, he continued, “you blame yourself for Agent Nova’s injuries too, and the fact that she had to remove the needle, though all of that was hardly your fault.”

Morgan raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “how did you..?

“You didn’t read the release form that Cara gave to you for to sign? For sign? To sign?” English, always a welcome distraction with its many idiosyncrasies, “To sign! That’s it. But you did sign it...” again, no response. As silent as a priest upon hearing a particularly scandalous confession. Fitting for an exorcist, really. “You know,” he continued, “it was very tempting to pretend that I was reading your mind, but I’m beginning to think that the joke would be as lost on you as...well, as lost as an angel in hell.”

Morgan flinched slightly, steadying herself with almost indecent haste “...Sorry.”

“Marone! I’ve gone and made you feel guilty,” then more to himself than to Morgan, “I just make things worse! This is why I can’t get into med school...”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine...”

Not so much a traditional confession, Dante realized. Rather, it was as though the confessional vestibule stretched between them like a volleyball net, guilt and forgiveness bouncing from one side to the other...Well, it was an amusing visual at least. “I expected you to say that. You knew it would hurt you more if you projected it outward, because the ultimate guilt is that anyone else should hurt the way you do, which makes the guilt worse. A...circolo vizioso...a vicious circle?”

“You mean a vicious cycle? Yeah, I guess?”

“I see. Well, it isn’t infected, the scans in your file don’t suggest any traces of the poison left inside. Cara is beyond compare when it comes to these things. The bulk of the damage that remains is spiritual, rather than physical in nature. Then again, we could simply amputate your foot; it could give you a leg up...”

“Now I know you’re joking.”

“Only partially,” he forced a smile, hoping to God she didn’t suspect that he was stalling, “anyway, I’m imagining you’ve already been to see a therapist—and that gorgeous priest of yours, Agent Exorcist. Incidentally, have you heard the one about how a priest is like a Christmas tree? The balls are only for decoration!”

Finally, a good solid laugh from Agent Seraphim. Maybe this would be alright after all. Agent Cherub wouldn’t have brought him here if she didn’t trust him, and who was he to question her taste?

“The very business of hell is the separation of guilt from pain, yes?” Dante continued, “for what are true sinners but people who feel no guilt from the pain they inflict? Your guilt isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, but we might be able to separate it from the pain. I suspect a summoner might transfer the pain into their own body when the demon left them, so that eliminates the average magic-user. Sending you back through the hellgate is out of the question, of course...” this new boost of confidence was more fleeting than he’d realized, draining with the reasons he could muster to keep stalling. His heart raced in his throat and he took several deep breaths before conceding, “there really isn’t a better option, is there..?”

“A better option than what?”

Just blurt it out, he told himself, don’t think it through, don’t dance around the truth anymore. Then, deciding himself better off throughly ignoring his own advice, he replied as carefully as he could, “I’m a terrible liar so I’m not even going to try: I’m afraid. Why do you think I haven’t stopped talking the entire time you’ve been here? You’re an exorcist. Once you stop hearing me, you’ll feel me. You’ll know what I am and what I’m made of and you’ll understand why Cara thinks I can help you. She thinks that this...this part of me can do something other than punish people, other than hurt people, scare people into running—thank God I didn’t wear eye makeup today, because that would be running too if I had.”

He hadn’t expected her to take his hand, much less that her grip would be so firm. “Wait...just let me...” Morgan’s voice was soft, more gentle than authoritative. Her gaze, by contrast, rippled through him, awakening the dormant forces beneath his skin now struggling against their tattooed restraints. An anxious lurching, like the flutter of wings, pulsed within his stomach. He could see her lips purse and her shoulders tense in pain, but she never turned from him, not once.

“I’m sorry, Morgan...” never enough. Eventually, the realization always came.

“Hey, like you said, I was going to find out anyway,” Morgan’s forced smile was a mirror of Dante’s own, “it’s alright. I know how to handle demons...”

“But if we both doubt ourselves...”

“We have to believe in each other instead,” she finished for him, “I’m an exorcist. Literally been through hell. I’ve got this.”

Dante heaved a deep sigh, pulling up a stool to the examination bed, “alright. How did you want to do this?”

“Close your eyes. Let your heart rate slow. Relax your shoulders and think of something calming. Let go of your inhibitions. I’ve got you. You’re safe... Vefa mena Murmux ayer...”

His mind filled with memories of home. Far away, among the souls of the dead, towering and sequestered in blue—was it sky or water? Heaven or Poveglia? Did it even matter?

“Vefa mena Murmux ayer...”

Home that was not home, that place where he could not be what his creator intended, never quite fit, so he couldn’t stay.

“Vefa mena Murmux ayer...”

Too much for heaven to contain, too much trapped within a prison of flesh frozen in time. He’d broken through the shell of his cosmic egg, transformed, a baptism of fire, of his own destruction and rebirth. Graying plaster dust and fallen stars, fraying straps on a white straightjacket, an angel’s robes singed...and smoke. So much smoke...

“Duke Murmur?”

Fluorescent light swam around her with an angel’s glow. A little star bereft of the warmth her light might have exuded long ago. Now she sat before him, cold and small and fragile as all humans were. “Pretty little seraph,” he hummed, “fell and hurt yourself, did you?”

“I was injured restoring Prince Krueger to his position. The court of the Fallen owes me a debt. Will you pay it for me?”

He reached his neck as long as it would go, lips stretched white in semblance of a smile...“I was a throne, once, I think; if memory serves, I would have served you.”

Unflappable, she was. “And will you serve me now?”

“I live to serve,” this abject truth should have come up bitter. Perhaps it would have, when he was young and falling, drowning—sky or water, toward Hell or the bottom of Venice Lagoon? He couldn’t remember—all for a creator who would sooner let him fall than accept failure. But now, now he found himself in service to a trade to which he was uniquely suited—and in service to humanity.

He struggled against the shackles tattooed upon his human body’s flesh, trying in vain to grow. Such tiny hands to carry so heavy a burden...but perhaps, just this once, he could be enough.

Slowly, he caressed the seraph’s wound with one of those tiny human hands. She tensed beneath his touch as he found the throbbing agony within her, drawing it out like a splinter until it became indistinguishable from his own. “The debt has been paid.”

“Thank you, your grace,” she hummed, lowering her head in what seemed to be more relief than reverence.

Then, his chest tightened; pang of fear, a sinking doubt. Human insecurity or fear of God, he could not tell, “are you going to try where the others have failed, little seraph, going to send me away, little exorcist? You wouldn’t be the first to waste the effort.”

“That depends entirely on what you do to me.”

He could see her, really see her, even with just two eyes, perhaps with greater clarity than either one of them could see themselves, “I remain here because humans wished to be more than they were. You remain here because humans feared that they couldn’t be more than they were. A fallen angel is her own inner demon. The only thing I can do to you that you’ve not already done to yourself is ease the pain of the fall. I revel in the knowledge that we’re more alike than could ever be entirely comfortable...and that, little seraph, is why we’re both here...”

It was closeness that the both of them desired, warmer, like Icarus to the sun. Was it the sadism and masochism equally present within the fallen that relishes the suffering he shared with her? Or was it the desperation of his humanity that valued what companionship might arise from that suffering? Perhaps both.

Perhaps not comfortable, but fitting. Doubt and guilt and pain, suffering for something distant and divine. Perhaps there was solace in the bonding, mutual discomforts canceling each other out, community among the outcasts for whom the binaries of heaven and hell had been shattered into the sands of the earth. Demons and angels and humans.

After all, he was human, wasn’t he? He was small and fleshy and hungered for Morgan’s friendship, or at least her approval. One bleeding into the other, the separation imposed only by the limits of the human body. Slowly, the star’s glow faded, Morgan coming into back into focus.

“D-did it work?” Dante asked apprehensively

“I think so. My foot feels better, anyway. Do you remember anything?”

Dante pursed his lips “I... I think so. Sort of...should I be worried if I remembered?”

“Why would you be?”

“Because it would mean that Murmur isn’t as separate from me as I’ve been trying to convince myself. Demons, they’re supposed to possess you completely, but I am still myself when I’m him, in a way. Does that make me evil?”

“I don’t know as much about this stuff as you give me credit for...” Morgan signed, humbling herself as usual.

“You are an exorcist. You see me. You see him. When you look, where does he end and I begin?”

“Honestly, I can’t tell. More importantly, I’m not sure it matters. It’s what you do that’s important, not who you are.”

“I don’t think I did anything I wasn’t supposed to...Did I hurt you? I don’t remember hurting you...”

“You didn’t hurt me, I promise.”

“A miracle from heaven, then. Gloria patri!” It was as though a weight had been lifted. No longer drowning, floating to the surface, as close to heaven as a demon reborn human could manage... “And now, lunch! Carter—Agent Thorn— and I were going to get Chinese food when I was finished working on you. You should come. It’ll be...”

“Let me guess, chow-fun.”

Dante beamed “I was actually going to say the ‘mein event’ of my trip, but ‘chow-fun’ is much better.”

“Chinese food sounds great. Thanks—for everything.”

“Well, I had a bit of divine intervention.”

——

*An emergency medic who works in a specific kind of ambulance. The closest English equivalent would be an EMT or a paramedic.

**”in gamba” literally means “on leg,” but is an idiom meaning that someone knows what they’re doing.

#the high priestess (agent seraphim)#the page of swords (agent alichino)#murmur #mun’s writing

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annes-andromeda · 3 years

Text

Ragnarök: Asgard’s Twilight

Chapter 6: Planet Sakaar

N/: Sorry for not posting a new chapter, I’ve been busy with school and overall being lazy😅But here ya go.

The Bifrost lit up as Skurge looked to the portal. It opened to reveal Hela walking with a natural grace to her. He had expected Thor to walk out, but instead, he saw the figure of a thousand Asgardian children’s nightmares.

Hela exhaled the familiar atmosphere. No longer was her outfit ripped, for it was now magically fixed and looked almost brand new. She looked to the man in front of her, who stared at her silently.

“Odin’s beard...” Skurge muttered under his breath

The woman in front of him chuckled and shook her head “I’m afraid he won’t be here to listen to your prayers any longer”

Skurge lifted the staff in his hand and pointed it defensively at Hela “What are you talking about? What have you done?”

It seemed that Hela ignored him, sashaying towards and then away from him. She looked over the bridge and took in the sight of Asgard. The golden castle glistened in the sunlight, it’s shine almost blinding Hela.

“Hmm, now that I think about it” She began, turning back to Skurge “I may need some assistance in reclaiming my throne. What say you to getting a new job?”

The staff in Skurge’s hand lowered as his brows furrowed “If I accept,” He contemplated “Will you tell me your purpose here?”

Hela mockingly bowed “But of course. What kind of Queen would I be to lie to my own subjects?”

A wicked smiled was on her lips, as she motioned for Skurge to come with her. Once she took her first step upon the rainbow bridge, Hela felt all the power surging within her. With the Odin force at her disposable, the goddess of death was going to claim her throne.

Thor felt like he was falling forever. In his peripheral view, he could see what looked to be giant hills. His body crashed into one of them, spinning and turning as he landed on the ground. Thor grunts in pain, getting up on his feet.

He surveyed the atmosphere around him, unfamiliar and strange. Piles of trash covered the beach, almost never ending. Thor walked atop the junk and looked to the distance, where a colored city and ships flew in the sky stood.

Great. He was in the middle of nowhere and now his...sister, was on her way to Asgard. Thor still couldn’t process this information. Everything seemed to be falling apart in seconds, not giving him any time to breath. He wanted nothing more than to scream at his father, the void, the wall. Just anything.

Before he could think any further, however, a strange noise caught his attention. Thor turned back and was startled to see odd creatures with masks running towards him. He braced himself as they surrounded him.

“Food or fighter?” One of them asked, who appeared to be the leader of this gang

“What?” Thor questioned

A blaster was then pointed directly at his face as the scrappers got closer “Food. Or. Fighter”

Thor glared at the lead scrapper “Neither” he answered

The scrapper turned to his colleges “Take him to the Vixen for evaluation. See what the Grandmaster wants with his new toy”

He was about to speak, but then, Thor felt a burning pain on the back of his neck. Unbeknownst to him, one of the scrappers has placed a disk on his neck, which caused the veins in his body to tightened and have a purple hue, all the while his skin burned. Thor hissed and groaned in pain, getting down to his knees.

The scrappers took advantage of this and captured the god of thunder with a net. Dragging him to their ship, Thor fought back, but was beaten with sticks and clubs. His head banged on the ship’s floor hard, adding onto the pain of his aching body. He could hear the ship starting up and lifting off.

Carefully, Thor scooted over to the part of the floor that was glass. He tried observing the ground below, but could only see more junk and buildings that were beyond an eyesore. Once he looked up, however, he spotted a tall tower which the ship was heading towards.

Once the ship landed, Thor was once again dragged and pushed against his will. One of the scrappers had hold of his wrists, which Thor tried to fight from the restraint.

Suddenly, he was once again brought to his knees as the scrappers stopped. When he looked up, Thor could see another native to this strange place. She appeared to be wearing a blue mask that hid her face, alongside a cloak that draped over her shoulders, and black leather.

“Got a little something for ya, Vixen” The lead scrapper said. Thor looked to the woman apparently named The Vixen “Figured the boss would appreciate a new toy since he’s done nothing but complain about his old ones”

She bent down and let out a ‘hmmm” noise as her hand grabbed Thor’s chin. He felt her tug at the hairs of his beard, practically forcing him to look up even more and strain his neck. Thor pursed his lips at the woman, not saying a word.

The Vixen tilted her head and then looked to the scrappers “Where did you find him?” She asked the leader

“Along the beach in one of the trash piles” he answered in a rough voice ”Figured you’d know what to do with him considering how well the Grandmaster takes your gifts”

Thor grunted as he pulled away from The Vixen’s grasp “Whoever you people are, there’s no time for this!” he argued “Release me at once!” One of the scrappers turned on the disk stuck to his neck and he groans in pain.

He could hear the creatures laughing at him, but The Vixen promptly hushed them “My, he’s quite resilient, isn’t he? Most people would faint by the time the first shock hits their veins. The Grandmaster will be quite happy with this one”

With that, Thor was forcefully brought to his feet and dragged away from The Vixen, who stared at him intently. Thor was never good at reading expressions, always focusing on actions than faces. So despite being apparently a new prisoner, The Vixen was...oddly tame with him.

She then turned away from him, which caused him to do the same. He was put into a chair and his fists were restrained. The lead scrapper lifted up the fob that powered the obedience disk, waving it in front of Thor as if waving a stick in front of a dog. Then, he pressed the button and didn’t let go. Thor screamed agonizingly loud, every vein in his body like fire.

When it was over, he felt his body grow weak, his eyes fluttering until they were shut and his body going limp.

“Some of you might know who I am” Hela spoke. She stood in front of a crowd of Asgardians, with guards between them pointing their spears at her “Your mothers may have told you of me within stories, or perhaps your fathers told you. It doesn’t matter. I’ve been spoken of all within the Nine Realms”

Hela continued “I am Hela, the goddess and mistress of death” The gasps that erupted from the crowd almost pleased her “Queen of Niffleheim, Lady of Helheim, and rightful heir to the throne of Asgard”

As she looked into the crowd, she could see two men walking towards her, their glances clearly antagonistic. Volstagg and Fandral stood in front of the crowd and looked at Hela.

“What do you mean ‘rightful heir?” Volstagg questioned “What have you done with Thor and the All-Father?”

Hela could only roll her eyes, the situation seemly a joke to her “Of course he never told you. Even after my banishment that fraud still tells lies in my stead” she sighed “Odin has told you false truths. The Mighty Thor was never the heir to the throne, nor Odin’s firstborn. I am”

The crowd could be heard gasping and muttering to one another. Hela took it as a mere sign of astonishment, the good kind that made it feel as if you were like no other “I have returned to reclaim what is rightfully mine. All I ask is one thing: join me, and as your queen, I shall restore our seat of ultimate power within the Universe”

“And what of Odin?” Fandral could be heard saying, Hela looking down to glare at him “What about the All-Father whom you claim to share relations with?”

Moving her hands over her head, Hela summoned her headdress “Odin...is dead” she said bluntly, no remorse in her voice or demeanor as the crowd quavered in shock. But Hela only lifted her chin with pride “As punishment for his lies and his arrogance, he was executed under the blade of his own kin. And as his firstborn, it is in my right to take the throne”

With a wave of her hand, her blade was in her hand “So, I suggest....you stand down” Hela said, eyes shooting bullets at the Warriors. Fandral gave Hela a challenging look, while Volstagg held onto his arm, pulling away.

Volstagg leaned into Fandral’s ear “We need to tell Heimdall” he whispered, low enough for only both of them to hear. They moved through the crowd, away from Hela.

Once they were out of view, Hela put away her blade. She took a deep breath and smiled, looking over to Skurge.

“Now then” she said “Why don’t we go and see my throne?”

Thor slowly opened his eyes. He tried moving his wrists, but they were restrained alongside the rest of his body. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked around him. There were people in strange, bright clothes talking to each other and holding drinks in their hands.

In front of him, was a man sitting in a chair wearing colorful fashion as well. He also held a glass in his hand, drinking from it as he eyed Thor closely. Next to him was a woman with white face paint holding a staff.

“Well” The man began ”It looks like my new toy is finally up” he looked over to his body guard “Isn’t he amazing? Vixen always finds me the best play things, doesn’t she Topaz?”

Topaz had a stern expression on her face “Just so she can go and be some booze hag...” she muttered

The man swatted at her arm playfully “Hey, it’s well pay. We don’t discriminate here. If Vixy wants to invite some nice guests to her condo and get tanked up, then it’s fine so long as she does her job”

“Excuse me!” Thor barked “Who are you and what is this place?”

A small ‘oh’ and a chuckle came from the mans lips “Where are my manners?” He laughed, getting up from his chair and bowing mockingly before Thor “En Dwi Gast. Most of the universe calls me the Grandmaster. Since my creation, I’ve been looking for volunteers to entertain my guests. And thanks to my lovely assistant, she has granted me the chance to show my audience a new spectacle”

Thor furrowed his eyebrows, but before he could say anything, Topaz interrupted him “Perhaps we could put him in the brothel. He looks like he could put on a show”

The Grandmaster shook his head “No, no, I think there’s more than enough pastries in the bakery to go around”

“Why not put him in the mines to help the slaves”

An ‘ah,ah,ah’ came out of the Grandmasters lips “Don’t say that word, it’s too explicit”

Topaz sighed “Sorry. Why not put him in the mines to help the prisoners with jobs”

“Much better” The Grandmaster smiled

Thor groaned as he pulled at his restraints “You will not sell me like some worn down cattle! Release me from this chair so that I may return to-“ He was then silenced as the obedience disk turned on and burned into his body. The Grandmaster was shushing him, his finger pressed to his lips.

Putting his hand under his chin and looking up to the ceiling in a thinking manner, the Grandmaster thought for a moment. His eyes lit up “I know how we can settle this. Why don’t we have our new guest decide where the Golden Lion will make his due”

The god turned his head and his eyes widened. Walking towards him was Loki, wearing clothing that was certainly not Asgardian. Thor tried not to show any emotion, but all he wanted to do was break free from the chair.

“So” said the Grandmaster “What should we do with this specimen, huh...uh, what was your name, again?” He muttered to himself “Luke-Luke, right?”

Of course Loki wouldn’t use his actual name. He was smarter than that.

“Yes” Loki answered bluntly “If it’s any consolation, I believe the Golden Lion should not be placed in the brothel nor in the mines. He would be wasted in them. Perhaps you could display him in a different manner to your audience, one that would best suite his stature. Or if not, then perhaps you could simply place him in the cells and let the caretakers have at him”

Thor could only gape at his brother. Did he want him to get killed?!

“Hmm...” The Grandmaster thought “Oh, I know! Let’s have him in the Contest of Champions against my contenders!”

Both Thor and Loki’s eyes widened. They looked at one another and then back at the Grandmaster in a whim. The Grandmaster seemed to be waiting for Loki to respond. Thor furrowed his eyebrows, as if having a conversation with his brother in his head.

Loki regained some composure and straightened his back “Very well then. Let’s see him fight”

The face Thor made would’ve made Loki laugh in any other situation, but all he did to react was lightly shrug his shoulders and scrunch his nose at him.

“Alright” The Grandmaster said, clasping his hands “I’ll inform the caretakers of their new addition and we’ll prepare him for tonights show!” And like that, he left with Topaz by his side.

A sigh of relief escaped both of the brothers lips. Loki stood in front of Thor, careful not to let the Grandmaster notice them “Are you alright?” Asked Loki

Thor scoffed “Does it look like I’m alright? What is this place? How come that bastard doesn’t have you in a chair?”

“This is Sakaar” Loki answered “It’s practically a wasteland created for the Grandmasters twisted games. No one knows how old he truly is, but he’s infamous for using people like pawns on a chessboard. He also supplies in slaves and hosts contests so his ‘contenders’ can all beat each other to death”

“Sick old squib, sounds like it” Thor interrupted “But why am I in a chair and not you?”

“I managed to gain the Grandmasters favor. All you have to is play along so he doesn’t see you as conspicuous”

“Where’s Jane?” Thor asked, worriedly “I thought she would’ve been with you”

Loki shook his head “I haven’t seen Jane since Hela threw her out the Bifrost”

That alone made Thor tense up. Unlike him and Loki would could handle more than any average person, Jane was mortal. A blow like that could’ve harmed her, let alone killed her. Norns above, don’t let that be a possibility.

“I’m sure she’s alright” Loki said “If it’s any consolation, perhaps Heimdall has seen her. Foster survived the Aether, brother, I’m certain she can survive the Bifrost”

Thor was going to say something else, but was stopped by some strange alien creatures who shoved Loki away. Thor’s chair was slid across the floor and he was taken away from his brothers vicinity. Loki tilted his head, almost shaking it as a way to tell Thor ‘Don’t fight, just blend in’.

Despite his desperation to break free from his restraints, Thor knew it wouldn’t make the situation any better. He’d just get shocked by the disk again and pass out. He looked back to Loki, who gave him one last look before he turned away, grabbing a drink so as to blend in to the sea of people.

Thor’s mind fell into Jane and her whereabouts. Of Asgard and Hela. His world was falling apart, his people in danger. He could count on his friends. Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif. They were to be trusted; natural born warriors who could handle their own.

Hopefully.

#marvel #my writing #fanon marvel #ragnarok rewrite #anti ragnarok #hela odinsdottir #thor odinson #loki friggason #anti thor ragnarok #gagnarok

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fairie-gothmother · 4 years

Text

In The Shadow of Starlight, Part 6: Gut Instincts

First part: The Fall

Previous: The Sheep Will Flock

How long had it been? Days, weeks? Troy lost track of time while he’d been slowly starving to death. Since his excommunication, each moment blurred into the next as whatever he possessed of the leech power fed off of his own body. Finally, he had some relief. He couldn’t help but be grateful for the scientist’s carelessness during the lab experiments. That was the first time he’d taken from any siren apart from his twin. It felt very different. This energy was more restless than he was used to. Maybe this what Ty meant by saying she could taste what she leeched.

Now that Troy had some extra juice, he felt incredible. Even after Lilith dumped him in Sanctuary’s garage on the bottom deck, he was amped. And what did Troy do when he was hyped up and left to his own devices? He beatboxed. The Calypso bobbed his head and swayed to the groove, bustling around the room and inspecting the equipment. He had to admit, it wasn’t a bad setup. He knew everyone was talking about him, probably deciding where to eject him into space, but he wished they’d hurry it up already.

He paused when a noise from nearby threw off his rhythm. A beep came again from a cluttered desk. With no regard to the desk owner’s privacy, he opened one of the drawers to find an Echo device inside. It was an older model, but obviously still in working condition. Troy glanced over his shoulder and scanned the room for cameras before putting the Echo on silent mode and slipping it into his pocket.

“Hey.”

Troy reeled around, startled from the voice and saw the blue haired siren descending the stairs into the workshop.

“Relax,” the sapphire siren said. She wiped the dust off a tool box and casually leaned against it. “Don't look so guilty. I, uh… Sorry for phase-chucking you across Tannis’s lab. You alright?”

Oh. He wasn't busted after all. Still, Troy couldn’t help but be suspicious. No way she cared to chat. Probably cared even less about hurting him. A golden canine glinted through his lopsided smile. “I did ask for it, didn’t I? But yeah, I’m good. No hard feelings, Meg.”

“It’s Maya,” she said, obviously annoyed. “Get it right next time. Okay, Trent?”

Excuse me? Troy furrowed his brow and glared at her. She wore a playful smirk and raised her eyebrows as if daring him to correct her. Interesting. She was messing with him.

“Alright then, Maya. Let’s hear it already,” he folded his arms across his chest. “Are you guys gonna launch me into the nearest sun? Or does the scientist want me as a lab rat for unethical tests? Whatever it is, please don’t tell me it’s life in prison. That’s boring. I deserve something creative.”

Maya shook her head. “Oh, no. You don’t get off that easy. You’re still helping us fight the COV.”

Troy cocked his to one side, analyzing the siren in a skeptical stare. As hard he looked for the smallest hint that she was full of shit, her body language suggested she was telling the truth. He huffed, “So what, no punishment then? I figured the Firehawk would want this handsome mug served on a silver platter.”

Maya gave a one shouldered shrug. “You said you didn’t leech Tannis on purpose. Sometimes powers are weird like that. With some training, you might be able to control it.”

Easy for her to say. If only it was as simple as meditating on a mountain to master his broken siren powers. “Ah, right. You’re from Athenas. I’m sure those monks taught you all about control and restraint, great power is great responsibility, blah-blah-blah. But it’s pretty safe to say that I’m a special case. Clearing my chakras isn’t gonna do it for me.”

“It would at least help with that attitude of yours.”

Troy began pacing and brought his flesh hand to his chin. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be considered very zen if I accidentally ended up leeching you. Then again, you might taste like chamomile tea.” He cast a half-hearted sideways glance in Maya’s direction.

Maya rapidly drummed her fingernails on the tool box and said, “I take it back. I’m not sorry to phaselocking you.”

“That’s what I thought,” Troy snickered. “Be honest. How many times a day do you phaselock stuff just because you can?”

Maya closed her eyes and clasped her hands in front of her, mimicking a monk’s prayer pose. “I take a great amount of pride in my self discipline so if you must know-” She raised her left hand, and her fingers sparked. A ball peen hammer levitated from a workbench and hovered across the room into Maya’s hand. “I do it all the time.”

Troy scoffed. “Show off.”

The two were locked in a stare down. It wasn’t clear who cracked first, but neither of them could keep a straight face for long. A gentle blue glow emitted from Maya’s siren marks. Troy’s smile dropped as he looked down to his left hand, noting the harsh red light of his own marks.

“You really didn’t know that would happen to Tannis, did you?” the blue haired woman asked softly.

“No,” he answered honestly. “I’m still trying to get a grip on everything myself.” All his life he’d been broken. His parents treated him as a burden, although they never said it outright. He was constantly sick and needed extra help when he struggled with the use of only one arm. And Tyreen never considered him an equal. Even as one of the twin gods, he wasn’t seen in the same light as the God Queen. And now that he knew he possessed siren power without knowing it, his whole outlook was in question. What did it mean? What other parts of himself remained untapped?

Maya said, “Even if it’s only half, you’re still a siren. It’s not an easy life. Sirens have always been feared, hunted, extorted… worshipped.” Troy met her blue-gray eyes for a moment, then redirected his gaze to the wall. “We’re just trying to find our place.”

Troy’s heart skipped a beat. We?

“Yeah,” he said in a voice just above a whisper. He snapped out of it and quipped, “But, you gotta admit. Life would sure be a lot easier if I could phaselock grapes into my mouth all day.”

Maya scrunched up her face and flung an empty can at Troy, who reflexively caught it in his mechanical hand with a metallic clang. He waved it, shook his head, and grinned at her.

“Nice catch, wise-ass. Now, get in the drop pod,” Maya teased.

That tiny thing? Troy had used porta-potties with more legroom than that. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Troy groaned. The siren smiled wickedly as she held the hatch open and ushered him inside. He sighed knowing the ride back to Pandora would not be a comfortable one.

~~~

On a normal day, Ellie was a delight. Today was not a normal day considering her garage was used as solitary confinement for one of the most hated influencers in the galaxy. Maya recalled her saying, “He’s about as welcome as an outhouse breeze.” It took a while to convince the mechanic that her garage was just as she left it. Eventually, she cooled her boiling blood down to a simmer.

If Maya was being honest, she didn’t actually believe that Troy hadn’t messed with something. Call it a gut feeling. The same gut feeling that knew Ava would be a siren someday. The same gut feeling that told her to go talk to Troy just now. Her gut hadn’t lied to her yet so she didn’t question it. The ex-God King was absolutely still on thin ice, but she was willing to give him a chance. Maybe he just needed some guidance. Either that or he was a hopeless, cocky little shit.

Hydraulics hissed from the rising door as Maya entered the ship’s bridge. The orbital view of Pandora loomed outside the windows of Sanctuary’s observation deck. Crew members clacked away on keyboards at their posts. Lilith and Tannis stopped mid-conversation when they noticed Maya approaching.

“Troy’s on his way back to base,” Maya announced, slightly out of breath from rushing up three flights of stairs. “Cramer should be waiting for him when he lands. What did I miss?” she asked when she noticed neither of them would look her in the eye.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you about Tannis sooner. I decided the fewer people that knew about it, the better. These days, being a siren puts a target on your back,” Lilith apologized.

The revelation that the two of them were keeping Tannis’s siren powers a secret was shocking to say the least, but Maya wasn’t upset. She understood. Her own siren powers had been used by others to threaten an entire planet’s population. “I get it. I’m glad to have another siren on our side.” Maya smiled at the scientist, who awkwardly returned the gesture. It was cute when she made an effort.

“How are you, Tannis?” Maya asked.

“I'm fine. No need to fuss,” Tannis said. “It was actually interesting to experience the leech power first hand.”

Lilith knitted her brows. “Troy could have killed you. We still don’t know his intentions. Who knows what other abilities he’s hiding.”

Maya recalled the look of shock on Troy’s face while he held Tannis’s wrist, and the way he kept his distance from the two sirens afterwards as they processed what the hell just happened. After the conversation she’d just had with the Calypso, Maya felt the need to voice her opinion. “It seems like he doesn't understand his abilities either. I really don’t think he leeched Tannis on purpose.”

The commander was unconvinced. “Even if that’s true, we can’t underestimate what he’s capable of. This is still Troy Calypso.” Lilith stared out of the window at Pandora below. “For now, he’s useful to us. We’re going to need all the power we can get. It’s about time to make our move on the Holy Broadcast Center. There’s been a lot of activity lately. I’ve got a feeling something big is about to go down.”

Claptrap’s eardrum piercing voice called from the command console, “Incoming transmission!”

Speak of the devil. Maya’s heart sank as Tyreen’s smug face appeared on the overhead monitors. She was beginning to wonder if the COV had tapped their coms. Their timing was unusually coincidental.

“Hey, Lil!” the cult leader said in a singsong voice. “How’s life been as a non-siren normie human? Does it suck? I bet it sucks. Not gonna lie, these powers of yours are pretty sweet.” Lilith was seething. Tyreen had a knack for getting under her skin. The Calypso continued, “But hey, you don’t have to take my word for it. You know someone who knows all about my Firehawk upgrade. Just ask my brother.”

Damn. Word had finally reached her. Now Tyreen knew the Crimson Raiders were harboring her disowned twin.

“By the way, did that traitorous freak happen to mention the fact that he stole something from me? Can you believe it? Yoinked it right out from under me. I don’t want your grubby normie fingerprints on my stuff so if he shared it with you, I’m gonna need it back.”

Lilith calmly replied, “I assumed you’d know better since you were the one who dumped him in the middle of nowhere. He wasn’t exactly in any condition to exchange gifts when we found him. He’d been stripped and unarmed.”

Tyreen paused before shrieking with laughter. “She said unarmed! Please tell me you meant to make that pun.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I needed that. No big deal. It’s a matter of time until I find it anyway. Well, I’ve got places to be. Big milestone event coming up. You’re gonna love it. Oh, and tell Troy I said hi before he runs outta juice and shrivels up. 'Kay? Laterz!” The Calypso winked before the feed was cut.

Maya’s fists tingled with the urge to meet that punchable face. She hollered back at the empty screen, “Troy will be the one kicking your door in, you cocky bitch!”

Claptrap said something about the video transmission’s crappy production value, but no one was listening. Lilith grit her teeth. “Using Troy was the plan, but that’s only if we can keep him alive long enough to get there.”

Maya squeezed her fists tighter, causing her fingernails to dig into her palms. Tyreen was always one step ahead of them. She couldn’t care less that her brother was in the Raider’s custody. Because of Troy’s dependence on her, she never even saw him as a threat.

Tannis chimed, “I have a theory, but you aren’t going to like it, Lilith.” All eyes turned to the scientist. “It is apparent that Troy cannot absorb the life force from living things through touch alone, with the exception of sirens. According to my experiments, it’s highly plausible that he can gain the same effect by ingesting it directly via anthropophagy or hematophagy.”

The room was silent apart from the humming of the spaceship. Maya blinked and said, “Tannis, no one understands you when you talk like that. In layman’s terms, please?”

Tannis sighed in disappointment but explained, “Troy should be able to regain energy from cannibalism or drinking blood.”

~~~

Sorry it took so long for an update. I’ve been working through a serious creative block. Showing my girl Maya some love in this part. This was a little shorter than usual, but I hope it was still entertaining. As always, thanks for reading my garbage! <3

#troy calypso #borderlands 3 #redemption #fanfic #fanfiction #Troy #calypso #au #in the shadow of starlight

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years

Text

Beloved Memories, in Notes (Vol. VII)

Pairing: Aqua/Terra Rating: T (for horror elements) Word Count: 11,074

Summary: His mission was to be her friend, but she didn’t want any. Terra and Aqua meet. Terra is 9, Aqua is 8.

Read on AO3

A/N: This chapter was always going to be the angsty one of this collection (kind of, it ends well). This specific story is honestly my favorite in this collection, and I’m so excited to move on with it. I’m very proud of the ending to this tale, and I just want to be able to cover it lmao.

****

A Tale of Stars, Pt. 2

It was hot, and it sucked.

There was still hay sticking to Terra's arms after he brushed them all off, his sweat just as sticky as the humidity that clinched him. The Master was in just as much of a grumpy mood.

Cows always made Terra laugh though, and Abigail's moos were a welcome cheer for a morning that could either go really well or really badly. Terra needed to be on his best behavior, for this was his very first mission - and he barely even started real Keyblade training.

He already had a to-do list to make him successful. The first step (and the most important): to be Aqua's friend.

But this was also the hardest.

Aqua was in the backyard, pumping water into a pail out of an iron press, before dragging it back to the Widow Tweed's quaint farmhouse, with Tod the fox tailing her feet closely. He noticed that she barely gave either of them the courtesy of a glance when they strolled out of Abigail's barn.

An owl stood at a tree watching them, and Terra didn't know which was weirder: that an owl was out at dawn, or that it enjoyed the company of a sparrow and a woodpecker.

Mrs. Tweed handed them their breakfast (plain old sausage with a sprinkle of salt), and Terra only finished half when Aqua appeared again, hair in classic long pigtails as usual, with Tod following her like he was her best friend. She straggled toward the woods in a daze that made her seem more like a zombie than anything, as if this was the most basic routine for the most basic day and she didn't know what else there was to do.

"You should join her," he heard the Master say.

Terra chewed on his meat with spite. "She doesn't like me."

"She does not know you as a person."

"Still hates me."

"Then she'd be the fool," Eraqus said with confidence. "To pass judgment on mere glance would say much about her and nothing of you… You still have your responsibilities, however, so you must try."

Terra stopped a piece from reaching his mouth, his fingers grasped tightly around his fork. "What if she says no?"

"Then you respect her decision."

A more frightening possibility crept into his mind. "What if she says yes?"

"Then you join her." Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Terra stuffed as much sausage into his mouth until his cheeks almost burst because he hated all the answers and pouted at his Master. It didn't work.

"Continue with that and your cheeks will sag," the Master grinned.

The image of long flabby cheeks terrified him, so brave Terra faced his fears, swallowed all the sausage at once (which hurt), and raced over before she disappeared into the trees. This was still a mission, and he was still being tested.

"Aqua," he panted, and she at least treated him with the decency of acknowledging his presence. "Are you going out to play?"

"Yeah," she said lowly. Honestly, she looked super-exhausted, despite that it was morning.

"Can I join you?"

She turned and left him behind. "Sure."

Now what was Terra supposed to do? Follow, he supposed.

Aqua walked with the grace of someone who memorized where all the uplifted tree roots would snag her, barely putting any thought of where to step her feet while Terra took an extra second or two just to make sure he wouldn't trip. Tod led the way, excitedly rushing onward only to have to come back because they were going too slow for him.

They walked in silence - Terra didn't know what to talk about.

Toys - does she still have any? Pets - I don't know a thing about them, much less foxes. School - well, we obviously don't take the same classes, and I don't study math, so we can't even talk about something we hate.

Her silence sucked just as much as the heat, and why, oh why did Terra have to deal with this?

They reached a pond, where a creek ran the end of its trail into its reservoir, and willow trees overlooking the surface and dragonflies dancing on longrass.

"Do you want to skip rocks?" Terra asked. "It's really fun."

She sat on a log, bringing her knees to her chin and saying nothing in return.

Tod went ahead and buried his nose in the crooks of pebbles that littered the ground, sometimes yipping at something he found, which were mostly uninteresting - frogs, maybe.

"It's really hot," Terra said, and he didn't know if she agreed - she said nothing.

"Maybe we can swim?" he asked, and immediately blushed. Normally he'd strip to his shorts but he probably shouldn't be asking girls to take off their clothes to go swimming with him.

Again, she said nothing, her eyes drifting off into some made-up land. Terra had never seen a child, even at the orphanage, who looked this horrible.

The adults running the orphanage always said that having parents was the best thing that could ever happen, and that each child could have a pair as long as they behaved well. Terra never really wondered if having them (or losing them) would hurt just as much, too.

It was suddenly too quiet. Tod stopped his hustling of innocent forest insects, and slumped his shoulders while he waited.

He and Aqua looked the same: abandoned.

Finally, she spoke. "Copper is late."

"The hounddog?"

"He always comes," she said with a tighter grip around her knees, like she was remembering a punishment.

Copper was late and Tod was sad about it, too. That was what hurt them: missing someone.

Aqua huffed, willing whatever cloudy thoughts that haunted her to go away and stood up with her head held high, marching deeper into the forest. If Terra didn't know any better, he'd say that she was ready to punch somebody.

He and Tod followed, and it turned out that they hiked somewhere uphill, where they eventually reached a rundown farm within several acres of empty land, half-neglected and half-loved.

She gasped - Copper was there, a rope tied around his neck for a leash, where the weight of an empty barrel kept him grounded. Nearby, a much, much bigger gray dog snuggled in his own barrel and snored.

The children sneaked up to the wooden fence that marked the beginning of the forest and the end of this farm's territory. Aqua held Tod closely, quieting his fidgeting and stopping him from racing across to the dogs.

"Mr. Slade is so mean," she whispered with disdain. "He's always trying to keep Copper and Tod apart. Who would do such a thing?"

It was still Terra's opinion that a fox and a hound were strange friends indeed considering their nature.

Maybe he expected Aqua to know better, and yet here she was on the verge of going back to hiding in her mind.

Well, his mission was to be her friend, and he read in books in that friends made each other happy. If she wanted Tod and Copper to play together, as weird as that was, then he was going to do just that.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, Tod squirming more in her arms.

Terra had lifted one leg in between the logs barring up the fence, and ducked under to get to the other side. "I'm getting Copper, what does it look like?"

"Chief will hear you."

If she was talking about the snoring dog, then he didn't know what she was so worried about. Terra was training to be a Keyblade Master, after all, what was a mangey old mutt going to do?

"I can sneak."

"You're going to get in trouble," she barked like a mean teacher.

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will."

He liked her less when she talked.

"Calm down." He dismissed her with a wave and crept, keeping his body close to the ground as he waddled over, the grass patches taller than him. This farm really needed a lawnmower.

Aqua huddled behind a bush, watching him closely and mumbling small prayers to herself as she kept a firm hand around Tod's snout. She worried too much.

Terra, on the other hand, crawled confidently - he was more afraid of Mr. Slade catching him in the act than of an old, tired dog sniffing him out.

He chose to do this for her, and was going to see it through.

Copper was very smart and perceptive, understanding the consequences of being caught by a large quadruped such as Chief, so he shied away from Terra at first.

Of course, Copper was still a young puppy, and the moment Terra followed through on some unspoken promise of releasing him from his prison, he yipped.

"Shhh," Terra said, ever so gently holding Copper's snout. He held his breath for a few seconds, Chief wiggling and kicking his feet from the sudden noise -

Only to go back to sleep.

Terra was more relieved than he wanted to admit. "Don't you wanna play with your friend?" he whispered, and started to head back to Aqua and Tod with the puppy riding in his arms.

But then Chief finally got a whiff, and finally started barking.

Chief spit, Chief noticed exactly who was in Terra's arms, and when he did, Chief lunged with a loud growl. Terra's heart jumped straight up into his throat at the sight of such carnivores, and he swallowed it back into place.

Luck smiled on him though, since Terra only managed to escape because Chief, too, was leashed.

Aqua immediately bolted back into the thicket, with Terra and a pup in his arms following closely, the bark of an angry, old man inching closer, throwing a gunshot for a warning but even then, that faded into the background, too.

*****

Tod and Copper reuniting turned Aqua into a different person - though she was still stuffy, ungrateful at worst, as she yapped about how they were teaching these little innocent animals terrible lessons that could get them into trouble later on, and wasn't this considered dognapping, blah blah blah.

(Honestly, it wasn't dognapping if they were going to return Copper, right?)

But - and that was a huge but - Aqua was at least more willing to talk, more brave to look him in the eye when she did (he realized she had very large, bright eyes, making it hard not to stare).

Who knew that all he had to do was steal someone's pet to open her up?

He could have snarked back by saying that she wasn't a perfect princess either since she was now happy that Tod and Copper were together, but he kept his mouth shut.

She did make some good points, after all. If the Master ever found out what he did, he'd fail the mission.

But... if he didn't do this for her, then she would definitely refuse to be his friend, and that meant he failed, too.

Ugh, Mr. Slade shouldn't have been a jerk in the first place because he made Terra's life miserable (and everyone else's included).

As Tod and Copper rolled in the dirt, Terra kicked a rock and said, "No one should know."

She fiddled with her apron, her dress sprawled over the log they sat on. "Okay. I won't tell a soul."

The worst feeling was keeping this from the Master, and Terra never expected this would ever happen in his entire life.

Was it worth it?

He didn't know. He knew he felt content when Copper approached him with a wagging tail, when the pup crawled onto his lap for a short snooze, alongside his best friend Tod, who helped himself to Aqua's lap.

They looked peaceful, like they had been given a second chance at something important to them. Terra felt like he was a hero, which was always what he wanted to be… and the Master did always say to do what was his heart told him was right.

So would he really get into that much trouble if Terra argued that this was the right thing to do?

Maybe.

That uncertainty was too much of a risk, and Terra didn't know how to feel.

It suddenly dawned on him - this was his first secret that he shared with someone else. Anyone else in his entire nine-year-life!

Wait, it wasn't like they actually promised to keep it to themselves - they merely agreed to never speak about it. She gave him a simple nod when she complied, afraid of the consequences that would chase her if it ever got out. It was not a pinky-squeeze, not a handspit, or a blood oath.

He understood perfectly. This was about survival, not friendship.

*****

By evening, Mr. Slade blamed Tod for the dognapping - he didn't actually see the fox though, and therefore had no basis for his arguments.

The Master's presence was imposing enough to shut it all down. Eraqus was so much taller than Amos Slade that a shotgun to the chest didn't really diminish how intimidating he was, and since everyone thought of him as an investigator, his dismissal of the Case of the Missing Puppy was final.

By morning, it was time for Aqua to go back to school, and Eraqus offered to take her (for protection protocol).

The three of them traversed twisted, muddy backroads to the town square, since the main road would take her right by her destroyed house and it was best to avoid all of that for now. It would have been a pretty stroll, tucked away in the forest trees with the sun shining through the canopies, if it wasn't for the heat. Terra couldn't wait to leave this world and never come back.

It didn't help that Aqua wasn't very receptive to Eraqus trying to open conversations with her, and it left Terra feeling like he had to start back at square one all over again. It was a wonder how the Master didn't feel so personally attacked by her silence.

Being such a small world where everyone knew everything, the people in town cast looks on Aqua as they walked by, whispering gossip and identifiers as they pointed to the girl whose parents were brutally murdered in a town where such things never happened.

When they approached the schoolhouse, children gathered in the windows to look down on her as she crept closer to the entrance, and while Terra couldn't hear what they were saying, they were absolutely riled up like she was a spectacle at a zoo. It was rude.

Since Terra couldn't join her because he wasn't a student, Eraqus took him to the public library - a small wooden thing that was pathetic in comparison to the castle's massive archive.

Eraqus left him behind so Terra wouldn't be in danger, since he was going straight to the outskirts of the town to investigate the last sightings of the demon wrecking this town apart, appearing as a man seemingly named Ardyn.

The Master had only one request: "Let us not kidnap any more puppies today, shall we?"

Terra feigned innocence. "Sir?" When that didn't work, he continued, "Yes, sir."

Equipped with only one ceiling fan for reprieve (it barely worked to keep him cool), Terra busied himself to a number of random books; a good Keyblade wielder spent his time studying about the world he was investigating, as it helped him fit in better.

He tried really hard to be quiet - really, he did. He was the only one there aside from the librarian, a young woman wearing a bun and glasses that made her look older. But he did a spectacular job at being noisy even though it wasn't his fault; the wooden floorboards under him just wouldn't stop squeaking with every step he took.

It turned out that Terra didn't have to be so respectful with keeping up the integrity of the library - a young guy marched into the library, his muddy boots stomping like crackling whips onto the wood beneath.

Immediately, he and the librarian hit it off like they were flirting, and Terra wondered why he ever tried so hard being quiet.

Much of the talk was boring - news of someone's married cousin, and whether she had time Saturday night to go look at some horses… Hopefully she realized that this guy chatting her up was the lamest of the lame and she wouldn't agree to it.

She dodged his question entirely by changing the subject, acting like she didn't hear him. This was where it got interesting - she brought up the subject of the murderer, and asked the guy if he heard anything new.

"Yer tellin' me you didn' hear?" he gargled. His teeth were yellow. "They found the preacher's daughter."

The librarian hesitated. "Is she…?"

He shook his head. "All mangled up by the river. Funny thing is the fog's still rollin' when it shouldn'." He wasn't creeped out about the death, but acted like he was important enough to deliver such news. "Word is she was covered in oil when they found her."

The librarian at least had the decency to be upset. "The poor thing. Who found her?"

"That investigator comin' from the city." They were talking about the Master. Terra pretended to read, with one stack of finished books to his left, and a dwindling shorter stack of unread ones to his right, but he inched a little closer to listen more. The man continued, "If he hadn' found her, she'd continue ter sit there and rot."

Images of the Master finding a dead body burned in Terra's mind. Eraqus was strong, always had been - a hero had adopted Terra the day they met. But suddenly it scared him to think about the Master following Ardyn's trail.

"Makes me wonder," the man continued, his finger lifted in the air as if to make a point, "if Jim Bob'll get his fair share."

"Jim Bob, was that the one who beat his horses?"

"Is that what you 'eard?" He pulled on his suspenders. "Ha! I 'eard he poisoned 'em."

"Well, I don't believe any of it. Jim Bob loves his horses, I figured that nastiness was the work of that creeper."

"Did ya hear? Jim Bob claims the creeper doin' all of this lives in his paintings. Crazy loon. And 'pparently the creeper fancies hisself a fedora. Can you believe that?"

The librarian leaned forward, making sure she heard correctly. "You don't say?"

At this, Terra stood up, and the two adults suddenly quieted, as if their conversation was too inappropriate for a kid.

Not like Terra cared, waltzing up to the front desk with a very specific task in mind.

"Ma'am," he began, giving her a smile. "May I ask for a book about fedoras?"

She blushed at the proof that he heard their every word. "W-what are you needing, exactly?"

"I want to know what one looks like." Terra smiled wider, ignoring the way the man cleaned his own teeth with his tongue.

The librarian nodded quickly, like she had just been given orders by someone very important, and rushed off to find a book from a nearby shelf. She did Terra the favor of flipping through it for him, handing it over with pages showing off hats: fedoras, some with large rims, others short, all of them with similar dips at the top.

"You're a very smart boy," he heard her say, making him look up.

"Thank you, ma'am."

She squealed with glee. "And so very polite, too, they don't make kids like you these days no more." She leaned on her hands, looking down on him from her desk. "I've never seen you 'round here before."

Terra cleared his throat. He was instructed to tell very specific stories should anyone ask. "I'm from the city, miss."

She leaned further at the sound of his answer, like he was just as much of a specimen - it reminded him of the way people gawked at Aqua. "You don't happen to be the investigator's son now, are you?"

My dad?

That was right, if anyone asked, he was supposed to agree. Eraqus was so focused on proper obedience that the most proper way to address him was always "Master," and Terra wondered if it meant he was doing something bad if he lied about their relationship.

Was he, really, if he was lying for a mission?

Either way, it made him feel good to say yes.

*****

When school was over, Terra had instructions to find her.

He'd spent so long being the only kid at the Land of Departure that seeing a mass of children rummaging through the school grounds was like a punch to his heart, reminding him of the orphanage. It made him wonder how the ones he left behind were doing… did they find parents? Did they still hope for some or did they give up? What about Miss Quistis, the lady who ran the orphanage - was she still there? She always smiled.

Terra spotted Aqua, surrounded by other girls and one boy, who asked her incessant questions and ate all of her answers. Aqua was either uncomfortable or shy - he couldn't tell.

This was where Terra was completely useless, making new friends. He was going to be a Keyblade Master, a hero and savior to anyone who needed help, so sure, he'd be brave in the face of danger, or in the game between life and death.

But he remembered the lesson he kept facing again and again at the orphanage: other kids didn't want him around.

So he did what he thought he'd never do again: sit on a bench by himself and watch the others talk and play ball.

He was already so good at staring at rocks that he didn't notice that another child approached him -

Aqua, with her hand extended. He almost thought she wanted him to save her from her nosy friends, but he wasn't going to be fooled that he was necessary in a predicament like this.

"Come play with us," she said.

What was that about being a savior when she was the one to save him?

He was shaking when he took her hand, and didn't know if he was shaking harder as she led him through groups of wandering kids that broke off into their own cliques. Mostly he just stood there when she introduced him to her friends, and needed verbal permission to play skip rope with them.

Terra was smart and got the hang of it, and let himself enjoy some of the games - that is, until the other kids gaped with eyes wide open at someone behind him. The yard surrounding the school dulled into silence - and it wasn't because the kids went home.

Some pudgy kid with a round face, a mean look, a swollen eye, and oily hair approached their group, and with such vigor that everyone else made space for him, like he was king and they were terrified of him, and he knew he terrified them and he took pride in that.

"Looks like the cursed girl is back," he chipped in, and no one had anything to retort.

"Shut up, Pap," Aqua snarked, and the other kids stared in shock.

"Best be on the lookout or else being 'round her will curse your parents, too," he said with cackle, searching for nods of agreement from the other children nearby. He was a giant of a child, definitely a head taller than Terra.

What was most surprising was how literally no one mentioned how cruel that was to say - it nearly made Terra want to punch this Pap in the face… but adults always punished him for getting into fights.

Aqua's lip quivered for a moment before she went cold. "The only reason why no one went after your dad was because his breath stinks. Who'd go near him?"

Pap's face twitched at the sound of giggles from the other kids. "You know," he said with a crunch of his knuckles, "Preacher said your parents must have sinned an awful lot to get what was coming to 'em."

Terra searched for any adults who might be watching. There was no one.

Pap continued his crap. "So yer one to talk. I normally don't hit girls."

"Try me!" Aqua shrieked, pushing him like she didn't care in the world what could happen to her.

That pissed Pap off.

He went ahead, fist in the air for a clean strike.

Despite urging him on, Aqua scrunched her fists into her skirt, like she didn't know what she got herself into.

Terra had no choice.

Grabbing the fist, twisting the arm over, and tripping Pap by the ankle came so fluidly, so naturally, that all the children blinked once just to realize that his huge butt landed on the ground before he even got close to Aqua.

"That was easy," Terra smirked, now standing in between an idiot covered in dirt and Aqua.

It was easy. No one compared to Master Eraqus.

There were some loud gasps and name-calling from the crowd, followed by silence.

"Y-you don't belong here, ain't got no reason to-" Pap's surprised stutters and the drool coming out of his mouth was the first sign of him turning his heel and leaving them alone, yelling something like "I'mma tell my pa!" before he disappeared.

The crowd dissipated slowly, giving Terra and Aqua stares like they were the next most dangerous thing. Like they were freaks, even though Terra had just stood up to the one bully terrorizing them. Why? Not even her friends wanted to be near her, acting like she wasn't even there.

Aqua sniffled behind him, but she just left him alone when he asked if she was okay, taking a place on a bench near the road.

Maybe Terra was used to that by now, but he followed her, paying no mind how she refused to look at him. "Don't think about Pap, he's stupid," he said.

"He is stupid," she croaked, before raising her voice to a yell. "And school is stupid and everything is stupid."

She glared at her lap and Terra didn't know what to say. The other children eventually left the school in droves, some walking together to wherever they've decided to go, while others had their parents pick them up.

"Who usually picks you up?" Terra asked after a while, hating the silence.

Aqua raised her head to meet him in the eye. She didn't cry, but she looked like a pet anxiously waiting at a windowsill for its owner. She looked like Tod.

"My daddy."

Terra didn't have a good reply to that. Eraqus wasn't around - Eraqus wasn't around, and a horrid thought lurked in his stomach. What if they were both now left alone here for good?

It lasted for merely a second. Thankfully.

"I apologize for my late arrival," the Master said, which didn't matter. He still came and Terra found his breath again. "Would any of you like treats? Maybe some flavored ice for this dastardly weather?" He wiped his brow with a handkerchief.

Aqua didn't reply, but reached out to hold his hand with both of hers, and hid her face in his robe. Terra was still processing whatever it was that made him nauseous.

Eraqus smiled but acted like nothing out of the ordinary happened. "I am quite fond of lemon flavor myself."

******

The walk back to Mrs. Tweed's farm seemed longer, and the Master filled it with random stories of the games he used to play as a child. Terra had heard some stories about the past before, but Eraqus left out certain key details that would have marked him as a foreigner to this world, and one day Terra would have to do the same.

Aqua didn't say much, just gripped the Master's hand tightly as she followed him, her eyes lazy and missing, like the road she was staring at didn't exist.

It didn't matter that she never spoke back, the Master kept looking over his shoulder to see if she was listening, smiling at her like she gave him acknowledgement of his words.

Then, she stopped on her feet, and the Master complied. By now, the sun was halfway down to setting.

"I told them," she whimpered.

"Told who what?" the Master asked.

"I told my parents about the bad man."

What dropped first was the Master's smile, then he knelt before her. "The bad man?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded. "We met him at the summer fair. At night. He sat at a table drinking ale and we passed by him. He asked about me, and my parents answered some questions like I went to school and I danced."

"Was that all?"

She shook her head. "I told them he was bad."

Eraqus cocked his head, more attentive than ever. "How did you know this?"

Her face contorted, her brows scrunching into wrinkles and her lips bending at the center. "I just knew he was bad. I pulled on mama and told daddy to stay away, but they said I was rude."

Then the first tears Terra saw on her face fell, and she struggled to breathe. "They didn't believe me," she said.

She wailed, the most horrid sound Terra had ever heard, and it was so loud that it filled his ears and invaded his chest, and he nearly cried from it, too. It hurt to hear it and it hurt to think about why.

Eraqus picked her up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, with words that said, There, there, you are safe and sound, safe, safe, safe, as they trudged down the road, leaving Terra to carry her bookbag.

She was limp, all her energy seeping into sobs on the Master's shoulder, and all the noise she made frightened the rabbits and the birds nearby.

******

Since they got back, Abigail fussed hard like the air was suffocating her.

"She's doing a little better," the Master observed when he found Terra alone in the barn, brushing the cow, which really helped her calm down.

But now it was Terra willed into silence, Abigail's chewing of hay filling the room.

"Are you alright?"

Terra nodded. "Is it true you found the preacher's daughter?"

Eraqus' nostrils flared and he inhaled. "Word surely spreads far in this world. Yes, Terra, I did."

The Master took his place on a short stool normally setup for milking, but instead of fetching a pail, he rubbed on the hairs of his mustache with his thumb and forefinger.

"This man, if he could still be called one, is very predatory… I saw him today."

Terra nearly dropped the brush. "What?"

"Ardyn, I came into contact with him at the horse farmer's home. It's become a dreary place. Even with the sunshine, the halls of that house stay dark." Eraqus cleared his throat and took the milking pail, though he did nothing with it. "A terrible thing, the darkness. Being near it for too long will compel anyone to commit atrocities they otherwise would not do with a sane mind." He raised a finger at Terra, ready to lecture. "This is why you must never tread on that path, lest you want regrets, Terra."

"Yes, sir."

"Ardyn had found refuge within the oil paintings across the farmer's house, and I've chased him. He would appear and disappear at a whim, taking occupancy in frames he didn't belong… until he stepped out of one."

"And then what happened?" Terra asked quietly. "Did you fight?"

Eraqus nodded, and Terra's stomach dropped. "Unfortunately, he melted into his own shadows, escaping." He took a side glance. "I do not believe this beast is blind like it describes in my records."

"Sir?"

"Terra, do you remember your lessons about the nature of light and darkness?"

Of course he did, he was a good student. He recited, "Light attracts darkness, and darkness will hunt down the light. They are designed to recognize each other."

"Yes. Yes, indeed." Eraqus stared at nothing, gathering thoughts before he put them to words. "Aqua's intuition in recognizing the darkness only asserts my suspicions - I believe he hunted her down for the immensely bright light within her."

"... Why did he go after her parents?"

"Hmmm… the more I ponder over it, the more I see why the records have him labeled as blind. As a hunter, he is barely decent. When I fought him, nothing about his movements and his aversions to my presence gave me the impression that he couldn't see. It was more of… he can sense light when it is near. It alarms him but it deceives him. What I have noticed is his breath, it is so deep when he fights it as though he is drowning."

"So he sniffs the light when it's around?"

"In a way. He approached Aqua's house in daylight, when she was in school, so it would be sensible that her presence would be smeared all over her home, where her parents resided unaware."

"Then why doesn't he find her now?"

Eraqus, pensive and tense this entire time, sighed, like he just remembered that he was talking about human beings. "She is grieving. We all have light and darkness within us, Terra. Grief and rage will cloak our very best selves, and while she is under that state, it hides her from him.

"This is why," Eraqus continued, needing Terra's attention, "it is important that she understands there are others who care about her. To give her inner light a chance to shine again, and remember what it feels like to be happy. A dark mind lends to a dark heart and too much of that will warp her. Do you understand what I am saying, Terra?"

"Yes, sir. I've been trying to make her smile."

"Good. I know I can count on you." Eraqus' smile was brief as if he didn't have the time for it. "As for the preacher's daughter, unfortunately I believe she was mere collateral. A source of light that he found confusing, and he attacked her as such. There is so much darkness to be found in many worlds, Terra, and they wear many faces but this is the most gruesome that I've seen in my lifetime."

So Ardyn could find anyone with enough light, and just… end it all.

"Why?" Terra choked. "Why would anyone do that?"

Eraqus rubbed his student's head. "The reason will differ for each, but it is all senseless and primitive."

The tears were hot and Terra wasn't strong enough to stop them.

Eraqus reached to hold him, alarmed at the sight. "What has gotten into you? Are you frightened?"

Terra sniffed quietly and nodded, using his forearm to wipe his face.

"What if you die?" he squeaked.

"Terra, look at me." He was gentle, but firm. "I will not die."

"Aqua's parents died. And the preacher's daughter."

His Master sighed, rubbing Terra's arms before brushing his hair out of his tear-stained face. "Terra… they had no means of defending themselves, but I am very different. You have no reason to fear. Dry those tears."

He swallowed. "Y-yes, sir."

"If this is too much for you, I can send you home where you'll feel safe."

"No, sir." He stared at his Master's shoes. Under no circumstances did Terra want to go home, abandoning the mission, wondering for days if everyone was okay. And Aqua was so sad, today. "If I leave, then Aqua will be all alone, and I want to be brave."

"You possess an extraordinary amount of courage, capable and necessary for any true Keyblade wielder." Eraqus leaned over to make sure that Terra understood correctly. "The amulet I gave you, Terra, do you still mind it?"

"Y-yes, sir." Terra hurried to pull the knotted, looped cross from under his shirt. "I don't even take it off for a bath."

"Very good. You remember what I told you?"

"If anything-" He swallowed. He didn't want anything to happen. Now he wanted to go home and have Eraqus all to himself. "If anything happened, I need to stay calm and find you."

"And it will protect you. Be mindful of the fickleness of protection spells, Terra. They are powerful but they expire."

"Yes, sir."

The Master wiped Terra's face with his robe, and brushed through his hair with his fingers. Then he took the pail near him, ready to take on Abigail. "You are dismissed, Terra. Take some fresh air outside." He gave a smirk. "Let us hope the next time we speak of such evils, you would be a stronger, braver Keybearer ready to take on the challenge."

"Yes, sir."

******

Dragging his feet on the ground as he welcomed the cool breeze that hit his face, the vastness of the stars above him made this world seem bigger than it truly was. The forests beyond faded into darkness, the shadows mean under the moonlight.

At least Aqua was there, settled in the grass where Tod curled on her lap, his bright red fur the only spec of color to be seen in a night like this one. She was watching the forest but she was not really on her guard, like she didn't consider that something dangerous could be hiding where she couldn't see.

She wasn't crying anymore but her face was still puffy, and Terra took a spot next to her. She nudged over to give him more space, lending him a half-smile as a greeting. The grass was soft but itchy, too tall and in need of grooming.

"Everyone at school now knows me as the girl with no parents," Aqua said, eyes downcast with her hand sunk in Tod's vibrant red fur, and a tone that said she'd rather be known as literally anything else. She sounded tired, too - sick of being sad.

"I don't have any parents either."

She gaped at him with a pity he didn't comprehend. "Mr. Eraqus…?"

For once, Terra shook his head. "He's my teacher."

"Oh…" And there she was again, sad, and he got the notion that it was for him even though he didn't need it. "What happened to them?"

"They gave me up when I was a baby," he said simply. He lived with this knowledge all his life; it wasn't a big deal. Well… it kind of was. All the children went through a phase at some point that maybe they didn't deserve to have a family. But it really wasn't that big of a deal. It wasn't. "I grew up in an orphanage… but I have Master Eraqus now. Everything's great."

"But you live with your teacher."

"The best teacher ever."

She quieted. "...Do you even go to school?"

Terra didn't know what to say. He was supposed to talk about Eraqus being his father this entire time that he didn't have backup answers. "Sorta. I'm his only apprentice. We live in a special academy up in the mountains."

"Really?" She eyed the West, toward the direction of what these townspeople called mountains in this world. "Where?"

"Uh, very far away."

"Hm. So is it a lie that you're from the city?"

"No!" He said too quickly. "I come from a city - a really big one. All the buildings there are taller than your mountains here."

She gave him a… snooty look. "There's no such thing as a city like that."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't."

"It's true," he pleaded. She was such a hard nut to crack. "Okay fine, there's more to it but... can you keep a secret?"

She lit up. "Yeah."

"You have to promise not to tell anyone, or I'll get in trouble."

"Cross my heart."

If she put her heart on the line, then she was serious. "The Master and I aren't from around here."

"Well," she scoffed, "duh."

"No, I mean…" He waved to the sky above them, stars twinkling like they wanted to be noticed. "We're from very, very far away."

It took her a second to think about what he was saying, then she rolled her eyes. "Are you saying you're aliens? That's ridiculous."

He laughed – it wasn't the response he expected, but it wasn't exactly the wrong interpretation either. "Kind of? We are from a distant star, and we flew from there."

"Pfft."

"I'm not lying."

"Sure, you're an alien."

Why she had to be such a snob at all times, he didn't know. Still, Terra felt like a complete idiot – here was someone finally willing to listen to him, to share a secret with and be his friend, and he blew it. He hated the silence penetrating between them now.

Aqua suddenly threw her hands in the air, as if she had enough exasperation to last her the day. "Aliens are supposed to have green skin, okay? They look like bugs, with antennas, and they're bald-"

Like she was the expert.

She said it in a way as if asking him to prove her wrong, and he swayed right back into smiling. Maybe he didn't blow it after all.

"There's more to the stars than you think," he said smugly.

Aqua crossed her arms and studied him for a bit.

What she said next surprised him - not because she believed him, or because she had her own secret to tell, but because he never really experienced someone who missed him before.

"Does that mean you'll have to leave soon?"

Those brief moments where she was smiling were so short.

"Maybe…" And Terra found himself sad, too. "Yeah. When the Master catches Ardyn, we'll have to go back home."

He didn't know if she was going to cry, but she didn't. She turned her nose up at him.

"You can't leave."

"Why not?"

"Because you're my friend now, and I won't let you."

Terra laughed because he had no other reaction. He didn't want to leave either, but he didn't say that out loud. What he realized instead was why she was so attached to Tod and Copper staying together: friendship meant a lot to her, maybe even as much as him, even though he didn't have any.

"We should find Copper tomorrow," he said. "It's wrong that they're separated."

She lit up. "Tod is lonely without him."

And Terra didn't want Tod to be lonely. "We could think of ways to get him back so we aren't caught."

"Promise?" She leaned near him, scanning his eyes for his oath.

Terra traced over his heart with one finger, and swore his first promise to someone who wasn't Eraqus. "Cross my heart."

******

After school the next day, Aqua minded her chores with such focus and speed that she finished earlier than expected and sought out Master Eraqus in the barn.

When she asked, "Mr. Eraqus, can Terra come out to play?" it was proof that yes, Terra did have a new friend. She was ready for the woods, replacing her dress with overalls and an excitable Tod by her feet.

Eraqus of course was pleased to hear that and sent Terra a smug grin before agreeing, which was probably the first time that Terra could remember being let go from his chores early.

Finding Copper was easy, and getting him out wasn't as hard as anticipated. Amos Slade relied too much on his intimidations, apparently, because Copper was there just the same. It took stealing a dog muzzle to contain Chief's barking so no one would be alerted.

Terra felt bad. He promised Chief that they'd all come back, even though Aqua told him that Chief hated Tod and wasn't nice either to anyone either.

Little Copper though was delighted.

And it turned out, babysitting small animals was tiring, and the two of them still went at it with their games while Terra and Aqua took turns lazily guessing the shapes of clouds.

They even talked some more about what he did as Eraqus' apprentice: what kind of classes he took, how far into defense training he had progressed so far, and whether he ever had to tolerate something dumb like math.

His answers were pretty honest except he never once mentioned the word Keyblade. It was a Keybearer's most important clause to keep that secret.

Watching dog and fox toss and tumble, practicing their survival skills on each other, gave Aqua a peculiar idea.

"Can you teach me how to fight?"

"That'd be fun. You're gonna show Pap's who's boss?"

"It's something I've always wanted to do, but Mama said it wasn't ladylike. It's too ferocious."

Terra stood up, at the ready. "It's not hard."

She hopped to a stance, her hands already in lifted. "Then show me."

"Well first…" He grabbed her wrists and brought them closer to her face. "You need to always protect yourself, and this will make it easier."

Then he lifted one open palm. "Try hitting me."

She threw her fist, and it smacked enough to sting.

"Ow," he whined.

Aqua's knuckles were already red from one punch, and she winced.

Terra shook his hand to relieve the pressure. "You hit hard, which isn't bad, but you're also hurting yourself." He lifted his other palm to spare the first. He remembered the way Eraqus spoke to him when he taught, going back to his earliest lessons. "Try thinking about your strength coming from your back, and use that to direct the punch."

It took several times, and Terra often switched palms for her to strike (it helped ease his pain). But Aqua took his lessons much faster than he expected, honestly, finally getting the proper amount of force in her punches without expecting her fingers to break.

"We use the same advice in ballet," she said.

"Really?"

"It's to make sure you're in alignment and you're moving properly."

"Oh!" He dropped a hand after she finished another throw straight into the center of it, now leveled off so that it didn't sting him anymore. "The Master and I talk about that stuff all the time. I didn't think it'd be useful in dance."

"Pfft." Suddenly she leaned off her focus on slugging and stood as straight as a rod. "Observe."

With feet turned out and a curve at her elbows, Aqua started to… well, bend her knees repeatedly.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"It's called a plié," she said as though he should know better. "Try it with me."

Turning out his feet was more uncomfortable than it looked, and he copied her movements, even when she brought one arm out to her side and swept the other across and over her head.

It looked easy to copy and honestly he got bored, but she started laughing -

He realized he never really heard her laugh before. It sounded like small bells, with a sparkle to her eyes. She looked different, alive almost.

"What's so funny?"

She mimicked what he was doing: hunched over, with his arms so curved that it looked like he was about to scratch his side and his head. "You look like a monkey."

"I do not."

He gave up, stomped his foot on the ground and swore to himself that he'd never dance again.

"Aww," she breathed, swallowing the rest of her loose laughs to regain some composure. "I didn't mean it that way. We can try something different."

"How about this," he interrupted, with a finger to command her attention. "We do a little competition and whoever wins gets to decide what game we should play."

Terra already had an idea in mind where he was sure he'd win.

"That sounds fun! What should we do?"

"Whoever does a handstand the longest wins."

Initially, he expected her to be intimidated, but she replied with, "That sounds easy. Let's do it."

It sunk his stomach, but he knew that he was good with this, so he should still be fine.

They bent over, and on his count of three, they lifted their legs into the air and balanced on their hands.

The blood rushed to his head, but he'd done this so many times that he breathed through it.

"Should we count it out?" he heard her say, his gaze somewhere off to the forest where Tod and Copper took a break from their roughhousing.

"What?"

"Count it out, like how many seconds it takes to do this?"

What was harder than breathing was talking in this position. "Nah."

"Okay." She sounded like she had no struggle in the world. "I used to take lots of gymnastics. I really miss it."

He really wished she would stop talking so he could concentrate on staying still.

"Cool," he muttered.

"I had a teacher who thought I would do well in competing," she continued, "but Papa wanted me to stay in school."

"Okay," he huffed.

"I've always wondered-"

He groaned, falling over onto his stomach into the thick grass underneath him, his head light. She glanced behind her, and with a smirk, gracefully went back on her feet and looked over him.

"I win!"

"Obviously."

"And I choose the game of…" She took a finger to her chin, very proud and very dismissive of his utter disappointment. "Hide and seek."

"Seriously?" He was going to refuse because he had pride and hurting it made him fume.

"I won, so we have to play. But Tod and Copper stay with you."

"Why?"

She waved her arm at him, already on her way, like he asked her a silly question. "They'd give my location away, and I'm not gonna let you cheat."

"Fine." He buried his face in arms against a tree and started to count out loud, listening closely to the direction of her steps so he had as many clues as possible; he was going to find her so quickly, she'd know immediately that he was worthy of respect, and she shouldn't ever laugh at him again.

"... Eight, nine, ten. Ready or not, here I come!" he yelled, the branches and bushes that surround him lightly swaying to a song he couldn't hear. The wind was just as gentle, leaving him alone to hear his own breath.

Copper sniffed the air, and Terra had the sinister thought of asking him to track her down - but that would be cheating, and Terra was better than that.

When he started his trek, the animals took notice. Tod's ears perked a little too much, like trying to decipher a sound that was garbled.

Terra went down the trail he believed she took. "Aqua?" he called - this never worked in hide and seek, but maybe it would trick her into giggling.

Tod and Copper followed closely at his ankles, never running ahead, never falling behind - which was weird, wouldn't they immediately react if she was nearby?

"Aqua," he called again, listening in for any ruffling.

It was quiet, like the forest was dead despite its lush green vitality, despite that it was daylight.

At this point, Tod's fluffy tail curled underneath him, and Copper dagged himself too close to the ground, chasing a scent in the dirt that took him in circles.

At this point, Terra spotted an owl - an owl - up at this hour, watching him like he was prey.

Getting into a staring contest with an owl was useless, and the longer Terra looked at her, the more he realized that she was waiting for something to happen.

The owl hooted, and against such quiet, it was thundered in his ears. Tod and Copper perked up at the warning -

And split from him, sprinting so quickly it was like they had to win a race to be allowed to live.

"Wait a min-"

They were gone, the owl leaving with them.

Aqua probably would yell at him for losing them.

If he'd ever talk to her again, that is.

"Aqua?" he called again, desperate for an answer. Praying that he'd find her fast, tripping over loose tree branches, hearing nothing but the noise of his own footsteps.

"Looking for someone?"

The voice came from behind.

A tall, tall man watched him with a diabolic smile. Wavy hair to his shoulders the same color as wine like it begged to be touched, thickly dressed in messy layers like he was homeless, like he was cold (it was way too hot for that).

Terra's heart beat and it went cold the moment he noticed the large-brimmed fedora.

"I-" Terra swallowed. A Keybearer was supposed to be brave. "I'm not, mister."

"Hmm," the man named Ardyn rubbed his chin. "I was wondering if you could point me in the correct direction," he said, words clearly pronounced and laced with an amusement that'd never die even if threatened. "I seem to have lost my way."

Terra nearly asked to please not hurt him, he didn't do anything wrong. "Town's over that way, mister." He pointed north, away from the Widow Tweed's farm.

Another voice rushed to his side. "Terra, don't!"

It was Aqua, breathless when she grabbed his hand. Her pupils shrunk to the size of flies, and she whispered to his ear, "It's the bad man."

"Aha!" Ardyn exclaimed like greeting an old friend he forgot about. "How long it has been to see you, Aqua." Ardyn slipped off his hat and bowed his head to give her a more respectful greeting.

Aqua shuddered, her grip on Terra's hand cutting off circulation to his fingers.

Terra didn't know what to do. This man looked bigger than his Master, and Terra never defeated his teacher in hand-to-hand combat before.

So he froze.

Worse - the moment Ardyn straightened out, his face was different: glowing yellow eyes, black oil seeping from them and from his scalp and from his mouth. He was already a dead man who spoke.

"It's been a pleasure," he said as he wore his hat again. "Good night, sweet child. Sleep will certainly hurt less."

Terra gripped her hand back.

Aqua hid behind his shoulder.

Ardyn raised a palm, the glow of magenta and black puffs of smoke electrifying at his fingertips.

Terra looked away, shut his eyes, got closer to her.

It hurt. It was sore like a dull hit to his chest and it banged loudly -

But he flew, with Aqua grabbing him by the waist and flying with him, as the blast threw them background and they used the momentum to float away, past the trees, past Tod and Copper who were still running, until they were dropped to the ground, rolling in a mess of fallen leaves.

Terra was alive, and finally he breathed. They were near Mrs. Tweed's house, her chimney sticking up above the trees.

He scurried to his knees and fiddled with his necklace, pulling out the knotted symbol. It disintegrated into dust after carrying them here.

The plan! Stay calm. Find the Master. Immediately he stood on his feet, and slipped on leaves.

The mission! He still had to protect the mission. He turned heel and went back to Aqua.

"What was that?" he heard Aqua mumble. She was still picking herself up, removing leaves from her hair.

"Magic. C'mon." He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her, running as fast as he could.

"Master!" he cried when they got near the farmhouse, Tod and Copper yipping from their fright.

Abigail fussed and she was loud enough that they heard her from the barn. In the distance, Chief wouldn't stop barking. The wind howled, and the clouds darkened. A gunshot ruptured in the distance.

Eraqus stepped off the front porch, telling the widow to stay indoors. "Step inside," he instructed Terra and Aqua. "And stay inside."

"Master-"

"Now."

Another gunshot, closer this time.

Copper and Tod followed them inside the house, rushing under furniture. Mrs. Tweed locked the door behind them as Eraqus continued his way into the field. Terra climbed the kitchen counter to take a look.

"Stay away from the windows!" she commanded, and Terra jumped off to head upstairs.

"Wait for me," he heard Aqua squeak but he paid no attention to her.

He rushed through the upstairs hallway, into the master bedroom, right to the windows where he threw the curtains open.

Moments ago it was broad daylight but now it threatened to storm.

Eraqus summoned his Keyblade in a crackle of light, Ardyn now creeping close.

The demon hunched over, the oil dripping out of his coat-sleeve. Sparks of purple light surrounding him, and the ghosts of swords and axes and cleavers swirled in the air in a cycle, a record of ages that passed by for how long this thing had been living.

He used them to strike the Master, slicing and dicing and scratching metal with metal.

Deflected, far enough to strike a tree nearby the second-floor window and Terra and Aqua had to duck.

"Your Master is a sorcerer?" she asked.

It wasn't incorrect. "Eh?"

"I read about them in books," she said as they peeked over the windowsill.

"Shh."

Eraqus summoned chains, gold and blinding and huge, to whip Ardyn - it was the coolest thing Terra had ever seen him do.

Ardyn said something indecipherable, and with a yell, Eraqus summoned something larger: a giant warp that swallowed the demon away before reshaping into a giant keyhole in the sky.

One that the Master promptly locked, the sound of the turnkey snapping everything into silence.

The sun fought through the clouds, and the wind calmed slowly.

Eraqus trudged back to the house, holding his arm as he dismissed his Keyblade, and he limped enough for Terra to bolt back downstairs, leaving Aqua to follow him once again.

The house was messier, like it survived a small earthquake with books toppled over and desks in the wrong position.

He found the Master settled on a loveseat while Mrs. Tweed rushed to get him water.

"I was unable to vanquish him," Eraqus said through large breaths. "But he has been barred from ever coming back to this world."

"Miracles do exist!" Mrs. Tweed exclaimed as she handed him a mug. "Bless you, good sir. I never in my life expected such a spectacle when you showed up around here."

"Miracles," the Master repeated. That was going to be the story for the rest of time to these people, of a man who came from nowhere to perform miracles that saved the town, Mrs. Tweed being the only witness to a harsh storm that raged and died in a matter of minutes.

Terra sat closely to his Master, not to take his hand or to hug him, but to listen to him calm down.

In the chaos, Terra didn't realize that it made him scared to watch Eraqus march his way to battle. Knowing now that everything was alright, it took all his strength to look like he wasn't overwhelmed.

Now the people of this world were safe, and Eraqus was the hero. The thing about his Master was that he showed no fear in the heat of battle, when Terra nearly wet his pants earlier. If he was ever going to get better, he had a long way to go.

Mainly, Terra was just happy that he still had family at the end of it all.

"I want to do what you do," he heard a small voice pipe up.

Aqua stared hard at Eraqus, determination on fire in her eyes, awed and fierce and hopeful.

The Master wasn't surprised by her admission. "You want to save people?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Mrs. Tweed threw her hand to her chest. "In all my life-"

"I want to banish demons," Aqua continued.

"That sounds perfectly unsafe," Mrs. Tweed said.

Eraqus chuckled. Terra thought that he may have succeeded his first mission because it gave the Master what he wanted - a new, promising student. "It can be a dangerous life, but I assure you that she would be safe with me."

Mrs. Tweed eyed Terra, suspicions mounting in her mind. "The young boy, he is…?"

"Yes, ma'am," Terra said. "I'm his apprentice, and I'm training to do the very same thing."

"Aqua," Mrs. Tweed implored, "you are certain?"

A sad cloud hovered over Aqua's eyes before dissipating in an instant. "Thank you so much for taking care of me, Mrs. Tweed… but I've been called a hippie all my life for my name. I don't belong here. I never did."

Eraqus stood straighter, interlacing his fingers and addressing the widow. "I only take children who have no families nor a place to go, children who I am certain will perform spectacularly."

Aqua leaned forward with a hand to her heart. "Please take me. I'll be a good student. I can do ballet and gymnastics, I'll make perfect grades and-"

"You have a strong heart," Eraqus said to her with a warm smile.

She blinked, not understanding what he really meant but she nodded anyway.

And Terra saw it - or felt it, he wasn't sure. It was like a tug to his own heart, a flash and a tickle before it faded. This was what Eraqus was talking about.

He saw the light within Aqua, a warm, strong embrace, like he was meant to feel safe with her and meant to keep it protected.

It was pretty even though he couldn't really see it.

And Terra wondered if he emanated the same. He thought that one night when he tried to bring it out of himself and he couldn't, and how he went to sleep wondering if he had it at all.

He wondered if his was as strong as hers, and if he was doomed to fail because it wasn't.

******

Aqua said she cried more than she expected when she said goodbye to Mrs. Tweed, even though Terra never saw anything.

She was stronger when she said goodbye to Tod, rubbing the fur on his chest a little while longer because she never wanted to forget the way it felt.

"Do you think they'll stay friends forever?" she asked Terra.

If she was talking about Copper… "Of course they will." A fox and a hound were opposites by nature, in a violent cycle that would never end but friendship was supposed to be strong and indestructible, and Tod and Copper were the very best of friends. Nothing would tear them apart.

"Always stay together, okay Tod?" she whispered to the fox, before giving him a quiet farewell.

This was a few days after the battle with Ardyn. By this time, people started visiting the farmhouse to ask Eraqus all sorts of questions: if he was a magician, if he was sent from the heavens, if he was the devil, if all the demonic stuff was nonsense, if the murderer was killed…

Either way, Eraqus respected the laws of the world and they all had to wait until papers were written, agreed upon, and signed for his protection over Aqua as one of his own.

Today was the day to finally take her to the Land of Departure. She didn't have much: one pack of luggage, and one hard, gray folder.

When Terra asked what was inside, she said it was the only picture of her parents that survived the fire.

The three of them hiked into the woods. She started asking the basic need-to-know: what a Keyblade was, the eternal fight between light and darkness, where the Land of Departure was located -

"We're going to fly there, right?" Aqua asked.

Eraqus shot Terra a look, now that she admitted that she knew information she wasn't supposed to know.

"We are indeed." Eraqus stopped the hike, halting the other two behind him, and bent to his knees. "I have one question left for you, Aqua."

By the sound of his voice, Terra knew he was testing her.

"In the deepest part of your heart, why is it that you want to wield the Keyblade?" he asked.

She took a moment, the folder with her parent's photo wrapped in her arms. "I want to make my parents proud. I want to make sure nothing like this ever happens again to someone else."

By the way the Master nodded, she passed. "The Keyblade is a powerful weapon, Aqua. You are still young, and you won't be able to conjure your own for a few years, but you must always know that your strength is bright and strong. It is not to be used for purposes of vengeance."

Aqua nodded. "Revenge feels yucky to me."

With that, the Master was relieved. He patted her head. "Admirable. When we arrive at the castle, you will spend the rest of the day for leisure, but tomorrow we will start your first formal class."

She beamed, and Terra remembered similar excitement at the thought of starting classes with Eraqus, too. He used to be called a nerd for liking school.

"We're going to be students in the same class," she said to Terra, like she was looking forward to it.

Terra didn't know how to respond. Class was class, students were students. Friends were… they acted like they cared. "Uh, yeah."

"I can't wait, Mr. Eraqus," she said. "I'm going to make the best grades."

"W-wha?" Terra stuttered.

"First I must start your bequeathing, Aqua. Come." He gestured to her over by the nearby creek.

"This is going to be fun," she said to Terra before hopping over.

He watched the bequeathing, similar to how he went through it for the first time years ago, when the Master summoned a giant key and spoke a few fancy words. The energy from the magic passed from the weapon through his fingertips, up to his heart to ignite something that Terra later realized was probably always there.

The Keyblade was picky about who it chose and it chose Aqua today.

What it'd be like to wake up to a new person in his home, Terra had no idea what to expect. They would play and swap stories, he'd have a new fighting partner. Maybe he'd be allowed to go into the woods without supervision.

Something about it bugged him, though. Was it possible that he could be kicked out of the academy if he didn't measure up? What if Eraqus liked her better and liquified his adoption?

What would happen once Eraqus found out that her light was brighter than Terra's?

Suddenly, having a friend sounded like more trouble than it's worth.

To be continued...

This chapter makes references to the Fox and the Hound (1981).

#terraqua #terra #aqua #eraqus #ardyn izunia #the fox and the hound #kingdom hearts fanfic #kh fanfic #LOOK WHAT CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD #my fic

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lisinfleur · 5 years

Text

Sin

Author’s Notes | Sorry for being this late. I was really sick on Sunday and last night I was without electrical energy T-T But here it is! Late, but done! Enjoy! Special thanks for @bloodyivar for remembering me the rape trigger warning! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Christian Num! Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon, queued for 5CW2 Words | 3253 ⁑ Warnings: ANGST, religious conflict, faith conflict, mentions of the Bible, rape, bad memories, and past abuse. +18. Caution is recommended: the following content may be triggering!

The heavy steps of a Norseman could be heard into the room, scaring all the ones they were keeping prisoners into that place.

As a former member of the royalty now dedicated to the services of God, you knew those Norsemen better than anyone else in that room and when the one with a long red braid said they wouldn't harm against anyone, you believed in him.

However, the younger leader of the army that invaded your monastery wasn't that peaceful when he came into the room.

"Is there any healer among you? Answer me!"

The women around were too scared to do more than just shrink trying to avoid what they believe to be a demonic man sent by God to punish the sins they thought they didn't have.

But you weren't afraid.

"I can help," you answered him, attracting the attention of the warrior who walked towards you, towering upon you, taller and bigger.

"Don't try anything stupid," he said, guiding you out of the room and closing the doors behind the two of you, leading the way through the halls you used to know so well.

The honey-haired man in front of you was looking nervous. But even then, you tried your chances...

"What will you do with all the others?" you asked, causing him to look at you and sigh.

"My brother asked me not to touch you. Any of you. We gave orders to our men to be away from you for this place wasn't in our plans and we just stopped here because of Ivar. So, as soon as you can make his pain stop, we'll leave." he answered, taking you to one of the rooms that were used by the nuns before those men invaded the place.

From inside, you could already hear the grunts of pain in a male voice. Noises that became higher when the man opened the door, allowing you to see the red-haired man from before, sitting beside the one they called Ivar on the bed.

The third one - a cripple - was sweaty and tense, grunting and panting in pain over the bed. He seemed to be in fever and his eyes were absolutely blue, surprising you a little.

"His eyes are very blue today," the red-haired said, coming near you "Whenever he's like that, his bones break like glass. He has broken bones in his legs and we don't have anything to care for it properly. You care for my brother. We'll leave without causing any damage." he promised again, over his younger brother's words.

Like his brother, that man was really distressed and you could understand.

Unlike the great majority of people of your kind, you knew the Norsemen were men, simple men, like all the others. Made of flesh and bones, with blood in their veins. They feel pain and could die like any other man.

And that one over the bed was dived in deep pain.

He gripped your wrist tightly when you touched the blankets to uncover his legs, but the older one touched his hand, speaking in their language something that made him let go of your hand.

However, when your eyes landed over his legs you sighed.

"You shall stay for a while."

Not one, but multiple times, the thin legs of that man were made into pieces! You could only think about the terrible pain he should be feeling and how fragile his bones were for being broken like that.

But you had the destinies of all those women in your hands, and you were really disposed to make things work for them and for saving that man from the awful pain he was facing.

"I'll need more help..." you started.

And the nervous honey-haired answered almost readily.

"We won't release more of you! We're no fool!" he said, clearly afraid you could lead a riot, using his brother's fragility to release the nuns.

You sighed. He was just worried... It was his brother in that bed.

"Hvitserk!" the older one called his attention and you looked at them.

"Hvitserk," you repeated, calling him by the name, "I'm (Y/N). And the help of those women won't change anything for me. I need your help. Strong men that can bring a bathtub into this room. Do you think you can provide this to me?"

His shoulders relaxed a little and he nodded.

"There is a tub two rooms to the right from here. Bring it to me. And warm water. You can find clean water at the end of the corridor, at the kitchens. Do you know how to warm it?"

He nodded again.

"Good. Bring it to me. I know how to relieve his pain," you said, going to the nightstand, picking up some specific leaves from the stock in the room and offering them to Ivar. "Chew them. It will help you to feel lighter and it will be easier to deal with the pain."

"Why should I trust you, Christian?" he asked, pushing your hand with the leaves away from him.

And then, the red-haired came again, touching his brother's hand.

"We have no choice, Ivar. She won't hurt you. She doesn't want us to kill everyone in this place." he threatened.

But you could see it wasn't coming from more than his mouth.

"I know you won't," you said, looking at them "But also, you're right, I'm a Christian. A nun. To lie would be a sin for me, to kill as well. Unlike the majority, I do as my sire and Lord taught us to do and I do the good without looking to who I'm doing. I help the ones who need help. I give food to the hungry and I bring relief to the ones in pain. It doesn't matter if you're a son of my Lord or a foreigner. This way told us our Lord: Come to me, all you who labor and are heavily burdened, and I will give you rest. This way I shall proceed," you said, parting the leaves in your hand and taking a small part of them into your own mouth, chewing them so the man wouldn't think you were poisoning him.

The other part, you offered to him once again.

Ivar took the leaves from your hand, starting to chew them while his older brother was looking at you, kinda surprised.

"You..." you started, looking at him.

"I'm Ubbe," he said, looking back at you.

"Ubbe... Are you able to lift your brother up into your arms? We'll need to put him into the tub. With some herbs, I might be able to make the pain bearable for me to put some wood and bandages that may keep your brother's legs immobile to heal the bone breaks."

"I do," he said, while Ivar appeared to be curious about the leaves you gave him.

"It's getting better?" you asked.

"What kind of witchery is this, woman?" he asked, causing you to giggle, smiling at him.

"I'm no witch. Before being a nun, I was a princess. And women from any places must know how to heal a wounded man, my lord. I was supposed to be married. Mother raised me to be a good wife. However, a terrible thing happened and my parents brought me to this place so I can live for our Lord and purify my soul from the sins I committed."

Not your sins... His sins... The sins of your uncle who stole your precious chastity and made everyone believe you seduced him into your bed. Confined into that monastery, you hadn't a say in your own life...

Through the years, you trusted that God would be able to take this burden from your heart. It never happened.

With time, even your mother stopped coming to see you and you knew your family was probably pretending you never existed... Covering their shame...

Something you could handle, right?

You became silent. Your silence made them curious.

The things you asked were provided and after a long bath in the herbs you prepared, with his legs immobilized by the bandages and wooden boards you used, Ivar was feeling better and almost painless.

"He must chew the herbs from time to time and I'll be awake to care for his fever. I suggest you sleep for tomorrow I'll need to take some rest and someone will have to care for him," you said to his brothers.

Hvitserk was appearing to be really tired and he took your suggestion readily.

Ubbe took a while to leave, but in the end, the sleepiness took him as well and he left the room warranting your companions would be safe.

In the morning, you would talk to them about the situation and ask the women to not to react. But this night, you were dedicating yourself to the care of that strange man.

"You should be sleeping," you said, exchanging the cloth in his forehead.

"What is a sin?" he asked back, looking at you.

"It's a crime. Something our Lord forbids us to do," you explained.

"How do you know what you can't do?" he kept asking, causing you to look at him.

You sighed. He was like a child, clearly looking at you with that expression that was telling he wouldn't sleep without his answers.

"There are rules in our sacred book called the Bible. There is the word of our Lord and he determines what's wrong and right. We must follow his commandments to live a straight life," again, you explained patiently.

"Your God never talked to you?" he asked, causing you to sigh.

You made your prayers every day, every night...

But not a single answer.

"Why do you wanna know?" you asked, looking at him.

"I'm trying to understand," he said, laying his back on the pillows, sighing "It makes no sense for me to follow a God that doesn't speak to you. When you need answers, where do you go? To a book with words pre-written?"

"Yes. What do you do?" you asked, looking at him.

"I ask my gods through the Seer. And they speak to me, through him, or personally," he answered, naturally.

Causing you to feel even more curious.

But then, the ask you were waiting finally came.

The one you didn't want to answer.

"What was your sin, woman?"

You looked away from him, picking up the bucket to exchange the water for some fresher.

"I had a man... Before I got married," you explained very superficially.

Hearing when he laughed of your crime.

"What? What is the matter about it?" he asked, looking at you "You had sex. And what's the point?"

"It's not right!" you answered, nervously "I was promised to my groom! When my uncle came, I... I should have..." tears formed in your eyes and you tried to focus on your chores, as always, trying not to think about that awful situation once again.

It wasn't good...

Why would you attract your uncle to such a horrible thing?

But your tone and the way you were shaking seemed to call Ivar's attention. And when you came back, he held your wrist that way again, almost forcing you to look at him.

"I wanna know... What really happened, Y/N?" he asked, firmly keeping the grip when you tried to pull your wrist from his fingers.

"Please!" you begged.

But he only held your face with his other hand, pulling your chin up, forcing you to look at him this time.

"Don't make me talk about this... I beg you, my lord!"

"You didn't want... Did you?" he asked, causing the tears to break from your eye line, rolling down your face.

This time, he chuckled disgusted.

"You're not here to purify anything. You're here to clean up his ass... Was he your mother's or father's brother?"

You shrank in your chair, distressed.

"My father just wanted the best for me... It was the only way..."

"I see many other ways to solve this problem... Tell me, how could it be the only one?" Ivar asked, annoyed.

"My groom found us!" you said, looking at him full of shame and sadness into your eyes "When my uncle forced himself in between my legs I screamed and my groom found us into my room... It was a shame to the whole family for my uncle told my father I seduced him. With my nightgown... And... My lower voice..."

You were sure you spoke low that night because you didn't want to wake anyone.

You never thought your gown was something sinful...

Ivar laughed again, causing you to lose your composure.

"It's not funny!"

"It is!" he answered, acid "It is funny that a bunch of men can really convince a woman her violation was her own fault! You did no fucking shit! Your uncle wasn't able to keep his dick into his trousers and blamed you for his own wildness!"

You covered your mouth, scandalized by his words so open.

But for the first time, someone was saying something about that night that wasn't sounding like a huge lie...

You never wanted what happened! It hurt you, it made you ashamed, it destroyed the marriage you were waiting for years... You never saw your uncle as more than what he was: your uncle.

You were raised for the marriage he took from you and since then, you were locked in that monastery, being treated as the family shame while he was freely walking through your father's castle alongside your sisters...

You felt his fingers in your chin once again and his eyes found yours, firm and fierce.

"If you were my bride? I would have cut his dick out for the audacity of touching what wasn't his."

Your groom accused you to be a witch...

He left your house in that same morning, saying now he could understand why your smiles were catching him so mesmerized...

The shame was too much for your family to handle...

There you were, locked for a crime that heathen was saying wasn't yours...

"But... I..." you was confused.

And Ivar didn't let it pass.

"Did you invite your uncle into your room?"

You said he should be sleeping...

"No..." you answered, remembering those moments one more time.

"Did you said he could touch you?"

You said he shouldn't be so close...

"No!" you answered, feeling the agony of his hands over you once again.

"Did you said he could come in?"

You yelled, begging for him to take out...

"No!" you pushed Ivar's hand away from your face, sobbing, feeling all that anger and pain into you once again, "I told him to stop! I begged him to stop! I said he shouldn't be in my room! I told him it was wrong! I didn't want to! I never wanted to! He forced me! It... It...."

“It wasn't your fault," Ivar said what you couldn't and you became silent. "That's why I don't believe there is really a Christian God talking through written words or metal crosses... If there is such a thing, where is this God to tell your father about your innocence now?"

You remained silent. And he smiled.

"That's what I thought," Ivar said, before laying his body back on the bed, sighing deeply and closing his eyes, appearing to be finally ready to sleep.

You spent that night awake, but not only because of his already inexistent fever. Your thoughts didn't let you sleep.

Why didn't your father let you talk and explain what happened?

Why didn't your groom heard what you wanted so desperately to say?

Why did your uncle lie?

And if lying was also a sin...

Why were you being punished by your uncle's sins?

You went to your bible, trying to find your answer. But all you found were words saying how impure the women were. How unquestionable were God's plans. The words of the Abbess also resembling your parent's words about how grateful should a sinful woman like you to be for God would forgive you and accept you among his nuns...

But what were you being forgiven from?

"What was your sin, woman?"

Ivar's question remained without an answer in your mind.

What was your sin after all?

The days passed and Ivar's legs were healed in few more than a month. As they promised, your mates were released and untouched and the dependences of the monastery were left without damage or stolen objects.

But they couldn't say they were leaving without any harm being caused. Your mind was broken...

And so was your faith.

You couldn't pray anymore. You couldn't find answers and the words in your bible were just more and more meaningless.

Through the days those heathens were there, you couldn't stop thinking about Ivar's words and that confinement that was only your salvation now sounded as an unfair punishment for you didn't commit any crime.

You were innocent and even then, three times you were stolen and denied by your God: first by your uncle who stole your chastity by forcing himself over you on your bed that night, then by your groom who stole your innocence by blaming you of things you never did, then by your father who believed them both and stole your freedom by locking you in that monastery, in a habit you never want to dress.

You dreamed to get married. You wanted to have children and care for a husband who would respect and love you. You never wanted to be a nun.

You wanted it pretty less now that you knew the truth...

Back to his leg guards, Ivar was straightening himself in the bench of his chariot when your voice sounded, surprising the nuns around you and his brothers.

But not him...

He was waiting for this, to be honest.

He knew, sooner or later, your confusion would lead you to this...

"Take me with you."

Ubbe and Hvitserk looked at each other and then to Ivar who was smiling.

"Are you sure this is your will, nun?" he asked.

Causing you to pull the veil, exposing your hair and breaking the habit and the vows when you disposed of that thing you were now so angry for being forced to use.

"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free," you said, looking at him "That's the only line I can read now. That's the only word that sounds real to me. It wasn't my crime! Why shall I pay for mistakes that weren't mine? I wanted to get married, to have children! I would have been a wife, a mother! Why shall I be locked in this place forever when my dreams are not here? I know the truth! I want my freedom back!" you said, causing his smile to become bigger.

Ivar leaned himself towards you, extending his hand for you to come up into his chariot. And after you were by his side, he caressed your face, softly.

"Come, sweet Y/N. I'll give your freedom back, princess. And maybe I can give you more than your freedom. Maybe I can give you what your heart really wants..."

He softly touched your lips with his before clicking his tongue pulling the reins and making his horse start running away from the monastery.

Away from your prison.

And in the sweet flavor that he left in your mouth, you knew maybe your dreams would come true by his side...

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 5 years

Text

June 30 devotional: liberation for our oppressors too??

[ Today’s devotional comes from Chris Glaser’s The Word Is Out: The Bible Reclaimed for Lesbians and Gay Men (1994). It’s his entry for June 30.

Se puede leer el pasaje en español aquí, p. 183. ]

content warning for today’s Bible story: a man almost commits suicide because he believes he is going to be executed, but is stopped before it can happen.

_____________

But Paul shouted in a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” - Acts 16:28

Paul and Silas are beaten and jailed for delivering a young female slave from those who were exploiting her psychic powers. Midnight finds them praying and singing hymns to God, when an earthquake opens the prison doors and unfastens all the prisoners’ chains. The jailer awakes. Knowing that the penalty is death for allowing an escape, he intends to take his own life. But Paul shouts, assuring him that no one has escaped.

Paul’s generosity of spirit prompts the jailer to ask about the gospel, and he is converted, caring for their wounds and feeding them.

The chair of the committee guiding my preparation for ministry opposed my ordination because I was gay. Years later, on a visit to the church I served in a non-ordained capacity, he asked more about the gospel we proclaimed. His son had come out to him. In our dialogue that followed, I invited him to serve on the board of my ministry.

Our liberation is not complete until we free those who imprison us. Through prayer and singing, God will give us the grace to prove redemptive even to our captors, and proclaim the gospel of the integrity of spirituality and sexuality.

God of Mercy, we pray for the liberation of our captors rather than their harm. Grant us grace to be gracious.

_____________

[ Whew. This is difficult stuff. (I mean first of all, and this is not even the part of the Acts 16 passage that Glaser above has chosen to focus on, I can’t keep myself from pointing out that there’s more going on with the enslaved young woman than most commentators bother to explore -- my pastor gave a sermon focusing on her last year that I appreciated.) But let’s just look at what Glaser does focus on in this passage: the mercy that Paul shows his persecutor.

That’s what’s really hard for me -- what about you?

What do you think the balance between mercy and justice is? Must our oppressors be set free from their own oppression as Glaser says, or is it more just for them to be punished?

....

Did this jailor “deserve” to be shown mercy by Paul? Sure, he was just “doing his job” in jailing innocent people, but we know how poor an excuse “I was just following orders” is; it doesn’t justify letting injustice occur, ever.

This man was a cog in Paul’s mistreatment -- and for the jailor to get his just desserts, Paul doesn’t even have to lift a hand against him! Paul doesn’t have to kill the guy himself; he just has to watch passively and let the jailor do the dirty work for him.

And he doesn’t. Instead he speaks out, saving the life of his persecutor.

When I read Glaser’s commentary -- that this passage reminds him of the man who prevented him from being ordained, who stopped Glaser from living into his God-given vocation for years because of his homophobia....it fills me with wonder that anyone can express such generosity of spirit as Paul did so long ago and Glaser did not-so-long-ago.

Glaser was severely mistreated by a man claiming to represent God’s Church -- yet Glaser was willing to dialogue with him. When this man came back years later and confided in Glaser that his son was gay, Glaser’s response wasn’t “You hurt me, I want nothing to do with you” or “Serves you right! a homophobe like you has to live down having a gay son, how’s that for justice!” No. Glaser talked to him, treated him with compassion, and welcomed him even deeper into his life.

I can’t imagine how hard a decision it is to show that generosity of spirit -- and maybe, maybe, it’s not a decision we make at all. Maybe generosity of spirit is generosity of the Holy Spirit -- not a thing we achieve on our own but a gift the Spirit bestows upon us. ...Upon all of us, all the time? or only in certain circumstances? I’m not sure.

I’m not sure that God demands that we always make peace with our oppressors on this earth -- because too often, those oppressors will just keep grinding us and other vulnerable people into the mud if we try to open our hearts to them. I do stand by a post I wrote a while ago that Christians must stop pressuring ourselves and others to forgive -- forgiveness is not an easy path, I don’t know that it’s always the right path, and it cannot be compelled.

But Paul’s story in Acts and Glaser’s story in his devotional for today is evidence that generosity of spirit, an openness to dialoguing with those who once hurt us, can at least sometimes bear good fruit.

Paul saves his jailer, and this jailer has a mighty change of heart.

Glaser converses with the chairperson who denied him his ordination, and gains a partner in the efforts to fight homophobia in their denomination. He likely also helped the son of this man -- if he had turned the chairperson away with a “serves you right!” instead of sitting him down and helping him explore God’s good news for LGBT persons, that father might never have learned how to love and support his gay son.

...That’s something that helps motivate me, if nothing else can -- when we make the effort to help liberate our oppressors from their own unjust ways, we are also helping others they may oppress.

Finally, I think it’s valuable to note that while Paul acted with immediate mercy, saving his jailer without any evidence that the man felt remorse for jailing innocent people, Glaser did not immediately cultivate a relationship with his persecutor. He might never have talked to the guy ever again, if this man hadn’t reached out to him first, years later and with a heart ready to listen to Glaser’s side of the story.

So perhaps sometimes, we are called to show incredible mercy -- the kind of mercy that humans can’t possibly show on our own! -- quickly, before we can say it is “deserved.” But perhaps other times, we are called to wait, to withhold that generosity until the wrongdoer expresses remorse or openness. And maybe there are also times when the time for reconciliation won’t come in this lifetime at all.

What do you think?

Must we forgive everyone at every opportunity -- even without them showing remorse? even if they are still causing harm?

What does it even mean to “forgive”? is it just a simple statement, “I forgive you”? or is it a longer process than that? do we have to keep in contact with the people we forgive?

Do you agree with Glaser’s statement that “our liberation is not complete until we free those who imprison us”? (It reminds me of liberation theologians who argue that God’s preferential option for the poor is “good news” for oppressors as well as those they oppress -- because in harming others, oppressors impoverish their own spirit and need God’s liberation too.)

More comments on forgiveness that I have found helpful can be found here. ]

#forgiveness #mercy #devotional #oppressors #chris glaser #what do you think?#essays #acts 16

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hareblazer · 5 years

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and they cried holy holy holy

its very hard existing in a world that doesnt love you

fic focused on the affects of the religious south via larrys childhood + internalized homophobia now. tw for religious trauma, homophobia, the q slur, implied child abuse, self harm, implied suicide. separated into 6 parts.

all of these things are pretty normal for the time/context/situation i promise i didnt go ape shit on him ctvgbhn

im gay. some things were minorly edited because of my own experiences. all conversations are inspired heavily by convos ive had.

ONE

“Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.” The pastor had told him. “Queers go to hell. It is the will of God.” Larry’s mother elbowed him, a way of saying this included him. “Join me in prayer so the sinners may reach Salvation and Repentance.” He raised his arms, framing the holy cross behind him. “Peace be with you.”

“And also with you.” All stood. Except Larry.

“God is Good.” He said.

“All the time.” All prayed. Except Larry. His father glared at him. He could feel the eyes of everyone around him- even if they weren’t looking- he knew what they thought of him. He wished he was good and pure. He wanted nothing more than to be loved by God like everyone else was. But he was just a sinner. A blemish on the tapestry of God’s vision.

None of that was true, of course, but as an 11 year old in the deep south in 1935- he had no choice but to believe.

“Larry.” His father whispered angrily. “Stand. Up. Now.”

“I don’t wanna.” Larry whispered back. He didn’t. He was tired. Ever since his parents found out about his preference for boys they had woken him up early almost every morning to pray- to be reminded of his damnation- to go to church and be told over and over again he was unnatural. He was so tired.

“Larry. If you don’t stand right now- You’ll be choosing a switch when we get home.”

“I’m tired-” He kicked his feet.

“Lawrence Michael Trainor.” His mother hissed. “You’re embarrassing us.” Larry could hear a waver in her voice.

“-in God’s name, amen.” The pastor finished.

“Amen.”

“You are dismissed.”

“Bless you, father.” someone behind Larry said. He couldn’t see very well through his own tears. He couldn’t help but feel like it was all his fault. Now was, in Larry’s opinion, one of the worst parts of church. His parents beelined to Benjamin Quincy’s- probably to tell them to keep their son away from him. Again. Larry could already hear them berating Ben’s poor father- accusing them of turning their sweet son to the Devil and a path of damnation.

This was almost 90 years ago, but Larry could remember it like it was yesterday. He’d never admit it- but sometimes he still felt like that scared boy praying for a salvation that’ll never come.

Chief had bought him a bible, when he first moved into the manor, thinking it would remind him of home. He didn’t know, of course, the kind of history Larry had with religion- but it was enough to release the spirit on a rampage. Chief thought that was interesting. Larry thought it was a headache- literally and metaphorically. He actually wasn’t sure where it was now, actually. It had disappeared mysteriously years ago- after he had given Rita a vague idea of how his childhood was. He never looked for it.

It wasn’t until the patrol had to go into a church that Larry really thought about this again. Ordinarily he pretends it never happened- that he never had a childhood at all. It was easier than having to face it. He forgot why, exactly, they were there- but-

“Larry?” Cliff turned back, already halfway through the doors. Larry had stopped about ten feet off- Jane near him. “You coming?”

“Ah.” was all he could say in reply. This looked like his old one. His lungs felt like they were full of water. Jane tilted her head at him. She had a reason to hate this place- not to say he probably didn’t have one too- but she had definitely never heard about this before. “I.”

“We have two people against this stuff, now?” Cliff. He meant well, but he was about as sensitive as a brick. “What happened to you?”

Larry said nothing. Jane stepped up. “He doesn’t have to tell you. Just- go without us.” Cliff did the closest thing to a shrug he could do and left. Larry wanted to thank Jane- in his own quiet way- but he was a little overwhelmed for that. God. He could still hear the pastors words stinging his heart. He felt Jane’s eyes on him.

Repent, old sinner. Repent and be redeemed.

“Fuck.” Larry turned and walked away. “Fuck!”

“I guess the church screwed both of us over.” Jane crossed her arms. Larry only sighed.

“It screws everyone over. Whether they realize it or not.”

“Hm.” Jane agreed. “It’s a fucked up institution.” Larry’s chest glowed gently.

“God. I want to go back to the manor.” He placed a hand on his chest, trying to soothe the spirit. “Take a nap.”

“Me too.” Jane leaned against a wall.

They stood in silence, before Larry spoke again.

“The church by my house looked like this. Growing up.” He glanced back at it for a moment. “God. I hated that place.”

Jane watched him for a moment. They were the two most closed off people in the manor- this was literally the most he had ever said about himself to her.

“Boring?”

“I guess.” Larry did not say it was because they hated him. He did not say that the priest told him he deserved damnation. He did not say that he still had nightmares about it. “I was. Not well liked, I guess.”

“Oh.” Jane did not share her own trauma related to it. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. “Are you still…?”

“God, no. I’m not a fan of- any of it, really. I don’t know.” He tries to tell her without really saying anything at all. “They. Really. Don’t like the kind of person I am. Is all.”

“Me neither.” She nodded. This conversation was so. Fucking. Awkward. But it was still the most they had talked in a long time. “Bad church experiences club.”

Larry chuckled. “Bad church experiences club.”

TWO

Larry was in class. Thirteen years old and already fully aware of his fate. Homosexuality is an abomination, he knew. God does not make mistakes, he knew. So why is he cursed with these feelings?

“God created all creatures in the Beginning-” his teacher was explaining in the background. Larry had heard this story a million times- both in and out of church. He was daydreaming about the boy who sat in front of him- he had the bluest eyes, and- no. No. Larry couldn’t think like that. That was a sin. He mentally scolded himself for letting his guard down. He had to have a wife. A family- or suffer for all eternity.

“God is love,” said his teacher.

It doesn’t feel much like love to Larry.

He regretted doing this. Larry found himself standing in front of the team- during Cliff’s sudden group therapy session and subsequent freakout.

“Well.” He started, but paused. God. God. God. Why did he think he could do this? Why did he think it would be a good idea to come out? To let the only people he ever felt like he could trust learn his ugly, terrible truth and scorn him just as his own family did?

“I’m-”

“GAY!” Cliff interrupted suddenly. Larry froze. Oh god. Oh god. They knew. They KNEW. How did they know? No. Fuck. He was reading too far into this. Unless he wasn’t. The others protested Cliff’s outburst.

“Okay! I just thought Larry was about to come out- and it would’ve been so healing for him!”

Larry is thankful for the bandages covering his tears.

"I think all I wanted to say was...it gets lonely, not touching anyone for 60 years. the last person I ever touched was John Bowers. I- I loved him. and I drove him away." Larry hoped that was vague enough. God. He could see it now- remembering how his parents reacted when they figured it out for themselves- how the church had reacted- how the other boys had reacted- how he had joined the army in an effort to make himself more masculine, more straight- he couldn’t help but think about all the possible ways he could kill himself right here right now.

“I knew it.” Cliff stood. Larry panicked. “I just want you to know that you’re loved- and accepted-” He hugged Larry, and Larry didn’t know what to do.

He’d never been offered acceptance before. How do you react to that?

“I’m not done.” He snapped. It was the best he knew how to do.

“I’m only sharing this because it’s the thing Mr. Nobody shoved in my face.” A clarification he knew this was immoral. He knew he was wrong. “What’s left, of my face.”

Pause.

“That was a joke. God- these bandages are the death of all nuance.” He failed to lighten the mood. He could feel everyone’s judgement, burning his skin like the fire did so many years ago. “Look. If Mr. Nobody’s goal is to torture me, well- I’ve been doing his work for him. Whipping myself in a- a prison of my own making.” Fuck. That sounded kind of cliche.”And wh- what if I trusted John, what if I’d been more brave- and guess what? I’m sick of it! I’m not just hurting myself- I’m hurting this thing inside of me and it’s hurting me back, endlessly, until there’s so much self-loathing I can barely breathe.” He’s trying so, so hard not to break down. He returns to his spot on the couch and slumps, already tuned out and waiting for his inevitable punishment.

He’s only greeted with Rita’s hand on his back, a small comfort, but a welcome one nonetheless.

THREE

The last time Larry was in love was with John. It was, admittedly, most of what he thought about, these days- but it was the only time he could ever exist in peace around another person. Even if John was a little too open for Larry’s comfort, he was comfortable in his own skin during the rare times they could sneak a moment together.

He missed John so, so much. Not only because he loved him- though that was a big part- but because he missed feeling safe. He missed feeling loved. He missed feeling anything at all.

“So. You’re gay?” Cliff had asked, one morning.

“Yes.” Larry answered, a little too shortly.

“Aren’t you from- like- the 30s?”

“Yes.” Larry said again, knowing full well what question was going to come next.

“Did your parents-” Cliff paused, trying to find the words. “Take it well? How did you- do that? Back then?”

Larry didn’t answer, at first. He actually had no idea what Cliff was referring to. “What?”

“Y’know- you said you had a boyfriend? John? How did you hide it? Since homosexuality was, like- illegal.”

Larry considers losing it. “They. Did not take it well.” He started, failing to mention how most parents in the day had a habit of ‘beating the queer’ out of their children. “We hid it with difficulty. I mean- we risked getting murdered- or worse, if we were caught.”

“Damn.” Cliff said. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah.” Larry sighed. He hated this conversation so much. “I married a girl I knew right out of high school- that was normal, back then- but I guess I thought if I just forced myself into it I’d turn straight, or something?”

“Did it work?”

“No. I cheated on her for years with other men and ruined my family.”

“Oh.” Cliff feels so awkward. “I mean- I did that too. Cheated on my wife. But I didn’t have a good reason for it. Like you did.”

“Cliff, I didn’t have a good reason. I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“Sure you did! I mean- cheating at all is a dick move, no matter what- but, like, you’re gay. And you got forced to marry a woman so you wouldn’t die.”

“Cliff-”

“And gay marriage is legal now! So- like- it got better! Gay rights!”

“It’s legal?”

“Yeah! In 2015- thought we celebrated it! But then you wouldn’t leave your room because you were sad about something again, and then Jane-”

“It’s legal now.” Larry said again, not listening to anything Cliff was saying. “Holy shit.”

“-Then Hammerhead threw me across a room and Chief had to wire my legs back on.”

“I hated myself so fucking much for- so long-” Larry’s face is unreadable to Cliff. “The number of times I considered killing myself because I thought there was no other option- and it’s been legal for almost five years. And I didn’t know about it.”

“How did you find out you were. You know?” Cliff asked, trying to avoid talking about Larry’s apparent suicidal tendencies.

“What?”

“How did you know you were gay?”

“Oh. I mean- when I was a kid it was pretty watered down- but I never liked the idea of having a wife or a girlfriend like everyone expected me to. In middle school, though? The boy’s locker room was definitely an eye-opener- and in my twenties I-” Larry was not going to finish that sentence. Cliff hadn’t unlocked that part of his backstory yet. “God. I tried to repress it for so long, though. It’s really weird, having other people know.” Larry’s chest glowed gently.

“It’s okay, now. There’s even gay hookup apps, and stuff. I bet Vic could help you set one up.”

Larry shrunk into his coat. He could barely handle seeing a man in shorts, the other day. He really didn’t think he was ready for this. “Cliff. I’m not. I can’t do this.”

“Why not? You’re free to be yourself!”

“Cliff. It’s been ingrained in me since I was a kid that being gay was some- awful, horrible thing. This- acceptance? It’s too new to me. I’m not ready to embrace it. I can’t.” I can’t go to hell, was what Larry was thinking. I can’t do that. “Ninety years of- of repression- and self hatred- and hiding- and all of that, I can’t just- bounce back, Cliff. I need time to think about this.”

“Do that! You can talk to me, if you need to, Larry!”

“Maybe I will.”

FOUR

Larry was 16 when he hurt himself for the first time. It wasn’t on purpose- he was trying to whittle a little plane in class when he sliced his thumb- but he never really stopped. He felt like he deserved it- maybe the sins he held would leave his body, dripping like blood down his arms. Or maybe he just wanted to feel something other than shame. Either way- it was the one thing he could feel totally in control of. Something that finally felt justified. Unlike his unwavering attraction toward the other boys in his classes- like the now-constant disdain of his parents- unlike the smile his first kiss gave him before they left each other behind. His parents never actually knew about this habit, but Larry convinced himself they did.He told himself this was what they really wanted- between the constant threats of going to hell, or the reminders he’s ruining their perfect family- maybe they did just want him to hurt. Suicide, back then, was almost unthinkable. Nowadays, Larry considers it often. -

Rita noticed something was- more off than usual. Larry had always been a melancholic person, but even Cliff had realized Larry not leaving his room for three days wasn’t normal. She eventually took it upon herself to drag him out of whatever slump he had gotten himself into, again- whether he liked it or not.

“Larry?” She called through his doors. Sound didn’t travel well through all that- but she was very good at being heard when she wanted to be. “Larry!”

Larry did not answer. He was bandaged, luckily, as he knew Rita would inevitably come storming in, but he didn’t want her to see the blood seeping through. He had relapsed, again, though he had nobody left to report it to with the Chief gone. That was for the best, he thought. “LARRY!” Rita knocked on the door. “I’m coming in there!”

Larry groaned. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t stopping her. He could easily just say it would be too dangerous, or-

He could hear the decontamination chamber hiss. Fuck. He had to clean himself up fast.

“Can you- wait just a-” Too late. Rita entered, concerned. “Fuck.”

“Ah.’ Rita started, but paused, seeing Larry’s red bandages. “Larry. What were you doing in here?” Larry kicked the pocketknife he dropped under his dresser.

“Nothing.”

“Larry. You’re a terrible liar and I just watched you hide something. What did you do?”

Larry shifted his weight nervously. Everyone else he was positive wouldn’t care too much about this- though, of course, that wasn’t even remotely true- but Rita?

“I.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. How is he supposed to tell her he was just cutting up his own arms in an attempt to feel better about himself? To punish himself for being gay? How do you say that casually? “I was.”

“You were?” In truth, Rita already had an idea what he was doing. She just needed him to admit he needed help.

Larry avoided eye contact, though that was invisible to Rita through his goggles. “I was. Dealing with. Things.” He can feel the dams breaking. He really, really does not want to cry to Rita right now.

“Dealing with what?” Come on, Larry.

“Shit.” was all he could get out before he started sobbing. Rita sighed and put her hand on his back, like she always did when he has a hard time. This was not the first time she’s seen him at his lowest, and she knew it wouldn’t be her last. It used to be a mystery to her- she always knew he was hiding something important about himself, but what it was, exactly, she couldn’t guess. Now that he came out, though, she had a whole new perspective on it all.

This explained a lot, actually. She had thrown away the bible Chief had gifted him, because she knew he did not like the church, though she didn’t understand why until now. He had always avoided talking about relationships at all, and would shut down when asked about his past. Larry didn’t know that she knew about the times he would hobble gingerly toward Chief’s lab, blood dripping from his limbs and the burden of being a sinner on his mind. Larry was especially bitter toward the spirit, after those nights. Now Rita knew how he was so sure it won’t let him die.

“It’s okay, Larry.” was all she could think to say. “You’re safe, now.” He couldn’t answer past pulling her into a hug. Rita was pretty sure he was getting blood on her dress- but she didn’t mind. “I’d offer to patch you up, but I think you have enough bandages.”

Larry couldn’t help but laugh slightly at that. “God, Rita. I’m sorry. I hate to involve you in my own shit-”

“Larry. You’re my best friend and I care about you, even if you don’t care about you.”

“I know. I just- I should be over this already. I haven’t been to church in over sixty years- my parents have been dead for seventy- John’s already moved on- I just- goddammit, Rita. I’m lonely.” He pulls away to sit on his bed, head in his hands. “I haven’t touched another man in- god knows how long- and all I can think about is how wanting to is in itself a fucking abomination-”

“No.” Rita interrupted. “I’m not allowing that kind of negativity! It is not an abomination and you know it.” Larry only looked at her. “Now continue.”

“Uh. Okay. I miss- god, it sounds so stupid, but- I really miss-” He struggles to find the words. “Kissing men?”

Rita only nodded.

“I didn’t have the chance to- very often- but- god, Rita. There was this club- near one of my posts at the military. Before I met John. It wasn’t officially anything, but it was already a pretty established gay club. But, you know- it was more of a secret.”

“There was one of those near my apartment, you know.” Larry nodded.

“They were usually old speakeasies. But there was this man there- he was- he was really something, Rita. He was a regular, I think. Really tall.” Larry sighed wistfully. Rita smiled at him. She liked seeing him like that. Happy- or at least as close to happiness as she’d seen him get. “We spent… a lot of time together. Mostly in motel rooms.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t remember. It was so long ago. I miss him anyway, though. Even if it was just a fling.”

“I understand.” Rita said, simply. “Have you considered- getting out there, again?”

“What, like dating? Cliff suggested it to me, but- I thought he was too enthusiastic about it. I don’t know.” It scared him, to be honest.

“I’m sure there are other gay metahumans.” Rita assured him. “With a tolerance for radiation.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about.”

“What, then?”

“How can someone love me when I can’t?” Larry was emotionless through the bandages, but Rita thought she could hear a frown. “I hate myself so. Fucking. Much, Rita. I can’t kill myself no matter how much I try- but what good is someone who’s only alive because something else is forcing them to be? Who would want that kind of baggage, Rita? Not even the fucking spirit can handle it, and it’s the thing keeping me this way.” His chest glowed.

“The first step is realizing you have a problem.”

“I realize I have a problem, Rita. I realized it when I was seven years old, thinking about some boy in my math class. I realized it every-goddamn-day when my own mother would cry and tell me she wished I’d never been born- that no matter what I did she would always love God more than me.” His voice wavered. “I realized it in church, and in school, and at home- every time the newspapers would come in with more horror stories about gay men found dead- every time a kid got the shit beat out of him by his own parents. It’s nobody’s fault but my own, Rita.” He huffed, and Rita faltered. She had never seen this from him before. “God-fucking-dammit! If I could’ve just been a normal person- for once in my goddamn life- god. Oh my god.” He stopped.

“Larry?”

“I fucking died, didn’t I?” He stood suddenly. “I died in that fucking plane crash and this is hell. I can’t die. I can’t touch anyone. I’m stuck wallowing in my own self-loathing like a fucking-”

“Larry.” Rita said again, firmly.

“And I deserve all of it! I destroyed everyone I ever loved! Just because I’m not attracted to women? Big fucking deal! I should’ve just sucked it up. I’m a fucking coward! I should’ve killed myself when I was twenty like I planned! But no. I was too scared. Fuck this! I-”

“Larry!” Rita half-yelled, stopping Larry mid sentence. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you are not helping yourself. Stop having a pity-party and listen to me.”

Larry didn’t answer. He was breathing shakily. Rita could tell he was likely crying under there again.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing!” She held up her hands. “I’m sorry you were told there was, but they were blatantly wrong. All of them. Liars.” She paused to watch him. He was standing as still as a statue, watching her silently. She hoped that meant he was listening. “I know it’s been ingrained into you. But you need to leave it behind. Stop dragging it with you. It will only hurt more. You’re accepted here, Larry. Nobody would even consider hurting you over something as simple as your sexuality. You don’t need to carry that weight anymore.”

Larry sighed. “I’m sorry, Rita. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“It’s okay, Larry. I can’t imagine what you could be going through- but I offer my support, nonetheless.”

“I.” He paused. “Thank you.”

FIVE

When Larry was in the ant farm, he did not fear the torture. He knew he had it coming, anyway. It was God’s Will.

“You transferred a lot, Larry.” Forsythe would say, through the glass. “You were running from something. I intend to find out what.”

“I wasn’t running from anything.” Larry would say, over and over again.

The truth was Larry was running. Every time he thought his secret would be compromised he ran. Every time a fling ended or a boyfriend left or any of his army friends even joked about him being gay- he ran.

Now he faced the consequences for his actions, and he understood.

“Larry.” Chief said, bringing him back to attention. “What’s troubling you?”

This was before it all went downhill. Before Larry would come out. Before Mr. Nobody would remind him of every mistake he’d ever made. Before everything.

“Nothing. Just- remembering, is all.” Larry answered, quietly. “Before the accident.”

“Before the accident?” Chief knew it wasn’t really an accident. Larry did not. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

“No.” Larry said, quickly. Chief already knew there was something about him and John. He couldn’t risk him figuring that out. “No. The past is- it’s already happened. It doesn't matter.”

“Oh, but it does, Larry.” Chief answered, in his usual way. “The past may not define us as much as the future, but it still needs to be learned from.” Larry sighed. He had heard this so many times.

“I did learn from it, Chief.” He learned very, very well. “It just sucks.”

“Is this about your friendship with John?” Larry froze. “I know you two were very… close.”

“We weren’t. I don’t want to talk about him.” He shrunk into his coat. Chief raised an eyebrow.

“You never want to talk about him, Larry. It’s not healthy.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s probably dead, now.”

“Do you miss him?” Chief tilted his head. He knew there had to be a way to get through Larry’s shell. If he was to be a hero, like Niles intended, he had to face this head-on.

Larry took a moment before answering, assessing the risks. Was it too obvious to say yes? “...I do.” He paused. “A. Bit.”

Chief nodded. He was getting closer. “Quite a bit, you would say?”

It was Larry’s turn to nod, adrenaline flaring up hot in his chest. “We were friends. That’s it.”

“I wasn’t implying anything else.” Larry breathed in slightly. Chief could tell he was getting anxious. “Though- we both know- you two were… a bit more than friends, yes?”

“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Larry glanced around, starting to panic. “Whoever told you that, Chief- I- it’s not true. I didn’t even like him!” That was a bold lie. “I mean- if anybody was cheating- I mean- Sheryl and I were strained by the end of it-” He’s grasping for straws.

“Larry. We both know Sheryl was-” Chief was interrupted by a flash of light and Larry’s head slamming on the table. The spirit stood through the table, eyeing Chief down. He couldn’t tell how it was feeling- but judging from how agitated Larry had been beforehand, he didn’t think it was happy with him. No matter.

“There you are.” He started, but the spirit shook its head. “No? You don’t want to talk to me?” It shook its head again and held up a hand. “Oh. Who taught you the middle finger?” It tilted its head. Chief could feel it glaring daggers at him. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It’s important that Captain Trainor learn to-” The spirit had enough of that. It flew in a small circle around Chief, shorting out the lone light in the room. A threat. It knew Chief knew what it was capable of.

Larry awoke suddenly to Chief watching him. He must’ve needed the spirit for something- he doesn’t really know about John. He sighed, instinctively rubbing his goggles.

“That was… unintentional. I apologize, Larry.” Larry looked at him. What the fuck was he after? “Now- John-”

“No. Fuck, Niles. I’m not doing this.” Larry stood. “I’m not reliving my mistakes for you. I’m going to take a nap.”

“Larry. We both know it wasn’t a mistake.” Chief held out his hands. “You cheated on your wife. You hid. Why?”

“I did not cheat on Sheryl. I did not hide. Niles. I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m not going to-” He paused. “I’m not going to do this. I cared about her.” That, at least, was not a lie. “I loved her.” That was. “It’s over, now. I’m paying for what I did- who I was. Just- let that be.”

“Who were you, though?”

“I was a sinner, Chief.” Larry left.

SIX x3

“Sheryl.” Larry had said, so long ago. She looked over, glowing in the moon, her hair slightly in her face. He felt no attraction whatsoever for her. He tried to force himself to, anyway. It was sinful. He had to do this.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?” She smiled. She was his friend. He chose her only because she was the only girl he felt he could at least live with.

God. He felt sick. He knew this would hurt her, too. He didn’t want this.

“I love you.” Lying is a sin, too. A lesser of two evils, he had decided. Anything to avoid burning in hell. Anything. Just like his parents had told him. Just like the ministers said.

“Larry!” She had laughed. He felt like throwing up.

Outwardly, Larry had been untouched. Untainted by tragedy and self-hatred. Inwardly, he had become a flaming wreck long before that crash.

“Vic.” Larry stood in the doorway, nervously. “Hey.”

“Hey, Larry.” Vic turned to give him a wave. “What’s up?”

“Well. I. Uh.” Larry paused. This was terrifying. “You know- computers and stuff, right?”

“Uh- yeah! What do you need?” Vic looks at him for a moment. He really didn’t mind helping everyone with modern technology! He just never really realized how old everyone was until he was explaining to Larry how color TVs worked- or that cocaine was not a viable medicine anymore to Rita.

“I. Want to meet people.” He held up his phone. “I don’t. Know how.”

“Oh. Where did you get that phone?”

“Rita said I could borrow it.”

“...Okay. What do you want me to do?” Vic hasn’t dated since he was in high school. What was Larry expecting from him?

“Cliff said there are apps for it. For men. Meeting. Other. Men.” Larry is gritting his teeth. “You know computers. I want to. Download one.”

“Oh. Oh! I can help you with that. To an extent.” Vic clarified. “I’ll only help you set up and show you how to use it- the chatting is up to you.”

“Okay.” Larry handed him the phone.

“What are you after? There’s apps for metahumans, and gay people- I’m pretty sure there’s one for veterans-”

“Well. I guess I’d need. The metahuman one. Since they’d need. Some kind of.” He held up his hands. “Immunity.”

“Right.” Vic did not like that implication. “Does Rita know you want to hook up with guys through her phone?”

“Yes. She helped me prepare for this conversation.” Larry shuffled his feet nervously. “It. Did not work. Still awkward.”

“You two are close. Okay- so I downloaded an app called Metameet- it’s mainly for metahumans but there’s an option for gay members. You’re- what, 95? So I already set your username as larrytrainor. That’s usually what- people around your age do.”

“I’m 92. Though the accident was when I was 30-something.”

“Okay. I’ll put that as your age. And. Probably mention that you’re immortal.”

“No. Wait.” Larry put his hand on Vic’s shoulder. “Don’t put that I’m gay. Please.”

“Larry, it’ll say you’re a man seeking a man either way.”

“I know. I just- I can’t be gay. I can’t.” He nearly gagged on the word both times. Vic only looked at him.

“...Okay.” He hit the backspace button. “What’s your problem with it?”

Larry froze. Over the past month he’s had to explain this- five times? “Uh. I.” Fuck. Fuck! He doesn’t deserve this. “It’s just not allowed. I’m not- I’m not supposed to be- into men.”

“You know that’s not true, right?” Vic gave him a confused look. “You… are allowed to be gay, Larry.”

“It’s not like that. I-” He breathed in. “I guess you’re a little too young to really get it.”

“Try me.”

“In the 30s and 40s when I was a kid- it wasn’t- legal. To like. Others. Of the same sex.”

“Yeah?”

“Everyone was really religious, too. So. As hard as I tried to hide it- my parents eventually figured it out. I was 11. After that it just-” He paused. Vic nodded.

“Oh. We learned about that in history in high school.”

“Yeah. It was pretty common for parents to try and beat it out of us.” He paused. “Didn’t work.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Vic started-

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter, now.”

“Okay.” A pause. “I’m going to put ‘radiation immunity’ as a must.”

“That’s a good idea.” Another pause.

“Can I ask…?”

“Ask what?”

“How did you meet him?”

Larry went silent for a minute, and Vic was scared he made him sad again, somehow.

“We were in the same squadron.” He started slowly, remembering. “He wasn’t my first, honestly- but he was the- he was the one I really loved. I- honestly? If it wasn’t- literally illegal- and I was already married- I probably would have-” He stopped. He never said that out loud.

“That’s. That’s rough, Larry.” He stopped to think. “You can do that now, you know.”

“Yeah. I think- I think that’s why I’m doing this.” A pause.

“I think I’m ready to live the way I always wanted to.”

#fic #doom patrol #dp #larry trainor #fanfiction

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romancatholicreflections · 5 years

Text

14th April >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 22:14-23:56 for Palm Sunday, Cycle C: ‘Father, into your hands I commit my spirit’.

Palm Sunday, Cycle C

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Luke 22:14-23:56

The Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Luke

Key: N. Narrator. ✠ Jesus. O. Other single speaker. C. Crowd, or more than one speaker.

N. When the hour came, Jesus took his place at table, and the apostles with him. And he said to them,

✠ I have longed to eat this passover with you before I suffer; because, I tell you, I shall not eat it again until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.

N. Then, taking a cup, he gave thanks and said,

✠ Take this and share it among you, because from now on, I tell you, I shall not drink wine until the kingdom of God comes.

N. Then he took some bread, and when he had given thanks, broke it and gave it to them, saying,

✠ This is my body which will be given for you; do this as a memorial of me.

N. He did the same with the cup after supper, and said,

✠ This cup is the new covenant in my blood which will be poured out for you.

And yet, here with me on the table is the hand of the man who betrays me. The Son of Man does indeed go to his fate even as it has been decreed, but alas for that man by whom he is betrayed!

N. And they began to ask one another which of them it could be who was to do this thing.

A dispute arose also between them about which should be reckoned the greatest, but he said to them,

✠ Among pagans it is the kings who lord it over them, and those who have authority over them are given the title Benefactor. This must not happen with you. No; the greatest among you must behave as if he were the youngest, the leader as if he were the one who serves. For who is the greater: the one at table or the one who serves? The one at table, surely? Yet here am I among you as one who serves!

You are the men who have stood by me faithfully in my trials; and now I confer a kingdom on you, just as my Father conferred one on me: you will eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and you will sit on thrones to judge the twelve tribes of Israel.

Simon, Simon! Satan, you must know, has got his wish to sift you all like wheat; but I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail, and once you have recovered, you in your turn must strengthen your brothers.

N. He answered,

O. Lord, I would be ready to go to prison with you, and to death.

N. Jesus replied,

✠ I tell you, Peter, by the time the cock crows today you will have denied three times that you know me.

N. He said to them,

✠ When I sent you out without purse or haversack or sandals, were you short of anything?

N. They answered,

C. No.

N. He said to them,

✠ But now if you have a purse, take it; if you have a haversack, do the same; if you have no sword, sell your cloak and buy one, because I tell you these words of scripture have to be fulfilled in me: He let himself be taken for a criminal. Yes, what scripture says about me is even now reaching its fulfilment.

N. They said,

C. Lord, there are two swords here now.

N. He said to them,

✠ That is enough!

N. He then left to make his way as usual to the Mount of Olives, with the disciples following. When they reached the place he said to them,

✠ Pray not to be put to the test.

N. Then he withdrew from them, about a stone’s throw away, and knelt down and prayed, saying,

✠ Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me. Nevertheless, let your will be done, not mine.

N. Then an angel appeared to him, coming from heaven to give him strength. In his anguish he prayed even more earnestly, and his sweat fell to the ground like great drops of blood.

When he rose from prayer he went to the disciples and found them sleeping for sheer grief. He said to them,

✠ Why are you asleep? Get up and pray not to be put to the test.

N. He was still speaking when a number of men appeared, and at the head of them the man called Judas, one of the Twelve, who went up to Jesus to kiss him. Jesus said,

✠ Judas, are you betraying the son of Man with a kiss?

N. His followers, seeing what was happening, said,

C. Lord, shall we use our swords?

N. And one of them struck out at the high priest’s servant, and cut off his right ear. But at this Jesus spoke:

✠ Leave off! That will do!

N. And touching the man’s ear he healed him.

Then Jesus spoke to the chief priests and captains of the Temple guard and elders who had come for him. He said,

✠ Am I a brigand, that you had to set out with swords and clubs? When I was among you in the Temple day after day you never moved to lay hands on me. But this is your hour; this is the reign of darkness.

N. They seized him then and led him away, and they took him to the high priest’s house. Peter followed at a distance. They had lit a fire in the middle of the courtyard and Peter sat down among them, and as he was sitting there by the blaze a servant-girl saw him, peered at him, and said,

O. This person was with him too.

N. But he denied it.

O. Woman, I do not know him.

N. Shortly afterwards someone else saw him and said,

O. You are another of them.

N. But Peter replied,

O. I am not, my friend.

N. About an hour later another man insisted, saying,

O. This fellow was certainly with him. Why, he is a Galilean.

N. Peter said,

O. My friend, I do not know what you are talking about.

N. At that instant, while he was still speaking, the cock crew, and the Lord turned and looked straight at Peter, and Peter remembered what the Lord had said to him, ‘Before the cock crows today, you will have disowned me three times.’ And he went outside and wept bitterly.

Meanwhile the men who guarded Jesus were mocking and beating him. They blindfolded him and questioned him, saying,

C. Play the prophet. Who hit you then?

N. And they continued heaping insults on him.

When day broke there was a meeting of the elders of the people, attended by the chief priests and scribes. He was brought before their council, and they said to him,

C. If you are the Christ, tell us.

N. He replied,

✠ If I tell you, you will not believe me, and if I question you, you will not answer. But from now on, the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the Power of God.

N. Then they all said,

C. So you are the Son of God then?

N. He answered:

✠ It is you who say I am.

N. They said,

C. What need of witnesses have we now? We have heard it for ourselves from his own lips.

N. The whole assembly then rose, and they brought him before Pilate.

They began their accusation by saying,

C. We found this man inciting our people to revolt, opposing payment of the tribute to Caesar, and claiming to be Christ, a king.

N. Pilate put to him this question:

O. Are you the king of the Jews?

N. He replied,

✠ It is you who say it.

N. Pilate then said to the chief priests and the crowd,

O. I find no case against this man.

N. But they persisted,

C. He is inflaming the people with his teaching all over Judaea; it has come all the way from Galilee, where he started, down to here.

N. When Pilate heard this, he asked if the man were a Galilean; and finding that he came under Herod’s jurisdiction he passed him over to Herod, who was also in Jerusalem at that time.

Herod was delighted to see Jesus; he had heard about him and had been wanting for a long time to set eyes on him; moreover, he was hoping to see some miracle worked by him. So he questioned him at some length; but without getting any reply. Meanwhile the chief priests and the scribes were there, violently pressing their accusations. Then Herod, together with his guards, treated him with contempt and made fun of him; he put a rich cloak on him and sent him back to Pilate. And though Herod and Pilate had been enemies before, they were reconciled that same day.

Pilate then summoned the chief priests and the leading men and the people. He said,

O. You brought this man before me as a political agitator. Now I have gone into the matter myself in your presence and found no case against the man in respect of all the charges you bring against him. Nor has Herod either, since he has sent him back to us. As you can see, the man has done nothing that deserves death, So I shall have him flogged and then let him go.

N. But as one man they howled,

C. Away with him! Give us Barabbas!

N. (This man had been thrown into prison for causing a riot in the city and for murder.)

Pilate was anxious to set Jesus free and addressed them again, but they shouted back,

C. Crucify him! Crucify him!

N. And for the third time he spoke to them,

O. Why? What harm has this man done? I have found no case against him that deserves death, so I shall have him punished and then let him go.

N. But they kept on shouting at the top of their voices, demanding that he should be crucified. And their shouts were growing louder.

Pilate then gave his verdict: their demand was to be granted. He released the man they asked for, who had been imprisoned for rioting and murder, and handed Jesus over to them to deal with as they pleased.

As they were leading him away they seized on a man, Simon from Cyrene, who was coming in from the country, and made him shoulder the cross and carry it behind Jesus. Large numbers of people followed him, and of women too, who mourned and lamented for him. But Jesus turned to them and said,

✠ Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep rather for yourselves and for your children. For the days will surely come when people will say, ‘Happy are those who are barren, the wombs that have never borne, the breasts that have never suckled!’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us!’; to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ For if men use the green wood like this, what will happen when it is dry?

N. Now with him they were also leading out two other criminals to be executed.

When they reached the place called The Skull, they crucified him there and the two criminals also, one on the right, the other on the left. Jesus said,

✠ Father, forgive them; they do not know what they are doing.

N. Then they cast lots to share out his clothing.

The people stayed there watching him. As for the leaders, they jeered at him, saying,

C. He saved others, let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, the Chosen One.

N. The soldiers mocked him too, and when they approached to offer vinegar they said,

C. If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself.

N. Above him there was an inscription: ‘This is the King of the Jews.’

One of the criminals hanging there abused him, saying,

O. Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us as well.

N. But the other spoke up and rebuked him:

O. Have you no fear of God at all? You got the same sentence as he did, but in our case we deserved it: we are paying for what we did. But this man has done nothing wrong. Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.

N. He replied,

✠ Indeed, I promise you, today you will be with me in paradise.

N. It was now about the sixth hour and, with the sun eclipsed, a darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour. The veil of the Temple was torn right down the middle; and when Jesus had cried out in a loud voice, he said,

✠ Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.

N. With these words he breathed his last.

All kneel and pause a moment

When the centurion saw what had taken place, he gave praise to God and said,

O. This was a great and good man.

N. And when all the people who had gathered for the spectacle saw what had happened, they went home beating their breasts.

All his friends stood at a distance; so also did the women who had accompanied him from Galilee, and they saw all this happen.

Then a member of the council arrived, an upright and virtuous man named Joseph. He had not consented to what the others had planned and carried out. He came from Arimathaea, a Jewish town, and he lived in the hope of seeing the kingdom of God. This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. He then took it down, wrapped it in a shroud and put him in a tomb which was hewn in stone in which no one had yet been laid. It was Preparation Day and the sabbath was imminent.

Meanwhile the women who had come from Galilee with Jesus were following behind. They took note of the tomb and of the position of the body.

Then they returned and prepared spices and ointments. And on the sabbath day they rested, as the Law required.

Gospel (USA)

Luke 22:14—23:56

The Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ.

When the hour came, Jesus took his place at table with the apostles. He said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer, for, I tell you, I shall not eat it again until there is fulfillment in the kingdom of God.” Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and said, “Take this and share it among yourselves; for I tell you that from this time on I shall not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” Then he took the bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which will be given for you; do this in memory of me.” And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which will be shed for you.

“And yet behold, the hand of the one who is to betray me is with me on the table; for the Son of Man indeed goes as it has been determined; but woe to that man by whom he is betrayed.” And they began to debate among themselves who among them would do such a deed.

Then an argument broke out among them about which of them should be regarded as the greatest. He said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them and those in authority over them are addressed as ‘Benefactors’; but among you it shall not be so. Rather, let the greatest among you be as the youngest, and the leader as the servant. For who is greater: the one seated at table or the one who serves? Is it not the one seated at table? I am among you as the one who serves. It is you who have stood by me in my trials; and I confer a kingdom on you, just as my Father has conferred one on me, that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom; and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.

“Simon, Simon, behold Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed that your own faith may not fail; and once you have turned back, you must strengthen your brothers.” He said to him, “Lord, I am prepared to go to prison and to die with you.” But he replied, “I tell you, Peter, before the cock crows this day, you will deny three times that you know me.”

He said to them, “When I sent you forth without a money bag or a sack or sandals, were you in need of anything?” “No, nothing,” they replied. He said to them, “But now one who has a money bag should take it, and likewise a sack, and one who does not have a sword should sell his cloak and buy one. For I tell you that this Scripture must be fulfilled in me, namely, He was counted among the wicked; and indeed what is written about me is coming to fulfillment.” Then they said, “Lord, look, there are two swords here.” But he replied, “It is enough!”

Then going out, he went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him. When he arrived at the place he said to them, “Pray that you may not undergo the test.” After withdrawing about a stone’s throw from them and kneeling, he prayed, saying, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done.” And to strengthen him an angel from heaven appeared to him. He was in such agony and he prayed so fervently that his sweat became like drops of blood falling on the ground. When he rose from prayer and returned to his disciples, he found them sleeping from grief. He said to them, “Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you may not undergo the test.”

While he was still speaking, a crowd approached and in front was one of the Twelve, a man named Judas. He went up to Jesus to kiss him. Jesus said to him, “Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?” His disciples realized what was about to happen, and they asked, “Lord, shall we strike with a sword?” And one of them struck the high priest’s servant and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said in reply, “Stop, no more of this!” Then he touched the servant’s ear and healed him. And Jesus said to the chief priests and temple guards and elders who had come for him, “Have you come out as against a robber, with swords and clubs? Day after day I was with you in the temple area, and you did not seize me; but this is your hour, the time for the power of darkness.”

After arresting him they led him away and took him into the house of the high priest; Peter was following at a distance. They lit a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat around it, and Peter sat down with them. When a maid saw him seated in the light, she looked intently at him and said, “This man too was with him.” But he denied it saying, “Woman, I do not know him.” A short while later someone else saw him and said, “You too are one of them”; but Peter answered, “My friend, I am not.” About an hour later, still another insisted, “Assuredly, this man too was with him, for he also is a Galilean.” But Peter said, “My friend, I do not know what you are talking about.” Just as he was saying this, the cock crowed, and the Lord turned and looked at Peter; and Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said to him, “Before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times.” He went out and began to weep bitterly. The men who held Jesus in custody were ridiculing and beating him. They blindfolded him and questioned him, saying, “Prophesy! Who is it that struck you?” And they reviled him in saying many other things against him.

When day came the council of elders of the people met, both chief priests and scribes, and they brought him before their Sanhedrin. They said, “If you are the Christ, tell us,” but he replied to them, “If I tell you, you will not believe, and if I question, you will not respond. But from this time on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God.” They all asked, “Are you then the Son of God?” He replied to them, “You say that I am.” Then they said, “What further need have we for testimony? We have heard it from his own mouth.”

Then the whole assembly of them arose and brought him before Pilate. They brought charges against him, saying, “We found this man misleading our people; he opposes the payment of taxes to Caesar and maintains that he is the Christ, a king.” Pilate asked him, “Are you the king of the Jews?” He said to him in reply, “You say so.” Pilate then addressed the chief priests and the crowds, “I find this man not guilty.” But they were adamant and said, “He is inciting the people with his teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee where he began even to here.”

On hearing this Pilate asked if the man was a Galilean; and upon learning that he was under Herod’s jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod who was in Jerusalem at that time. Herod was very glad to see Jesus; he had been wanting to see him for a long time, for he had heard about him and had been hoping to see him perform some sign. He questioned him at length, but he gave him no answer. The chief priests and scribes, meanwhile, stood by accusing him harshly. Herod and his soldiers treated him contemptuously and mocked him, and after clothing him in resplendent garb, he sent him back to Pilate. Herod and Pilate became friends that very day, even though they had been enemies formerly. Pilate then summoned the chief priests, the rulers, and the people and said to them, “You brought this man to me and accused him of inciting the people to revolt. I have conducted my investigation in your presence and have not found this man guilty of the charges you have brought against him, nor did Herod, for he sent him back to us. So no capital crime has been committed by him. Therefore I shall have him flogged and then release him.”

But all together they shouted out, “Away with this man! Release Barabbas to us.” —Now Barabbas had been imprisoned for a rebellion that had taken place in the city and for murder.— Again Pilate addressed them, still wishing to release Jesus, but they continued their shouting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Pilate addressed them a third time, “What evil has this man done? I found him guilty of no capital crime. Therefore I shall have him flogged and then release him.” With loud shouts, however, they persisted in calling for his crucifixion, and their voices prevailed. The verdict of Pilate was that their demand should be granted. So he released the man who had been imprisoned for rebellion and murder, for whom they asked, and he handed Jesus over to them to deal with as they wished.

As they led him away they took hold of a certain Simon, a Cyrenian, who was coming in from the country; and after laying the cross on him, they made him carry it behind Jesus. A large crowd of people followed Jesus, including many women who mourned and lamented him. Jesus turned to them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep instead for yourselves and for your children for indeed, the days are coming when people will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed.’ At that time people will say to the mountains, ‘Fall upon us!’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us!’ for if these things are done when the wood is green what will happen when it is dry?” Now two others, both criminals, were led away with him to be executed.

When they came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him and the criminals there, one on his right, the other on his left. Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” They divided his garments by casting lots. The people stood by and watched; the rulers, meanwhile, sneered at him and said, “He saved others, let him save himself if he is the chosen one, the Christ of God.” Even the soldiers jeered at him. As they approached to offer him wine they called out, “If you are King of the Jews, save yourself.” Above him there was an inscription that read, “This is the King of the Jews.”

Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us.” The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, “Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He replied to him, “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle. Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit”; and when he had said this he breathed his last.

Here all kneel and pause for a short time.

The centurion who witnessed what had happened glorified God and said, “This man was innocent beyond doubt.” When all the people who had gathered for this spectacle saw what had happened, they returned home beating their breasts; but all his acquaintances stood at a distance, including the women who had followed him from Galilee and saw these events.

Now there was a virtuous and righteous man named Joseph, who, though he was a member of the council, had not consented to their plan of action. He came from the Jewish town of Arimathea and was awaiting the kingdom of God. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. After he had taken the body down, he wrapped it in a linen cloth and laid him in a rock-hewn tomb in which no one had yet been buried. It was the day of preparation, and the sabbath was about to begin. The women who had come from Galilee with him followed behind, and when they had seen the tomb and the way in which his body was laid in it, they returned and prepared spices and perfumed oils. Then they rested on the sabbath according to the commandment.

Reflections (5)

(i) Palm Sunday

We have just been listening to Luke’s account of Jesus’ final journey. Like any human being, Jesus recoiled at the prospect of crucifixion. It is only Luke who tells us that on the Mount of Olives, while praying intensely, his sweat fell to the ground like great drops of blood. Jesus did not choose to be crucified. He choose to be faithful even if that meant being crucified. He choose to be faithful to God’s love for all of humanity. Although we have just heard a very tragic story, we consider it good news, gospel, because it is a story that proclaims the triumph of a truly life giving love. In Luke’s account of Jesus’ passion and death, Jesus refers to himself as the ‘green wood’. The cross, which was an instrument of torture, came to be venerated as the tree of life, because it is the place where love triumphed over hatred and life over death.

Calvary was a very dark place, an expression of human brutality at its worst. Yet, in the light of the resurrection of Jesus, the early church came to recognize that what happened on Calvary was more than just a monument to human brutality. There was already a light shining in that darkness, the light of God’s unconditional love for all humanity, including those who crucified Jesus. The church came to see that God was present in that place which seemed to proclaim the absence of God, God’s abandonment of Jesus and of humanity. There was a recognition ever after that God could be present in a loving way in the darkest of human situations. When faced with the cross, we can either renounce our faith in God, or open our hearts to God present in our suffering, loving us with a love we will never fully comprehend in this life. Just as God was present to Jesus and to all of humanity on Calvary, God is present in every experience of the cross, suffering with those who suffer, loving them into a new and fuller life.

The story we have just heard reveals both the worst and the best of the human spirit. The worst of the human spirit, the brutality of the absolute power of the Roman Empire, is there for all to see. Yet, as is often the way, the worst instincts of some drew forth the best instincts of others. It is above all Jesus who reveals the best of the human spirit in this hour. He dies as he lived, standing in loving solidarity with sinners, praying for those responsible for his death, promising paradise to a condemned criminal who turned to him for support. Those best instincts of human nature in the story we have heard can inspire us. We all struggle to forgive those who have hurt or damaged us, but, like Jesus, we may find it in us to pray for them, asking God to forgive them. We can all be a Joseph of Arimathea to others, working to take the wounded body of Christ, our suffering sisters and brothers, off their crosses. In the story of Jesus’ passion and death, we not only hear the good news of the Lord’s tremendous love for us, but we also hear the call to become that good news for others.

And/Or

(ii) Palm Sunday

Some of us may have accompanied loved ones on their last journey, as they passed from this life to the next. The stages of the final journey of a loved one can remain etched in our memories. Their journey was, in a sense, our journey. We travelled it with them. Very often, it is only some time after the death of our loved that the true significance of that final journey becomes clear to us. We come to see it in a new light; we come to understand what was going on in a way that was not possible at the time.

The final journey of Jesus was etched in the memory of his disciples. They too came to understand the full significance of that final journey only afterwards, in the light of Easter and with the coming of the Spirit. What they initially regarded as a great tragedy came to be seen as good news. A story of brokenness and failure came to be recognized as a story full of promise and hope. That is how we read and listen to Luke’s story of Jesus’ last journey this Palm Sunday. We hear this story, not as a depressing word, but as a word that nourishes us and strengthens our faith and hope.

Luke emphasizes that Jesus died as he lived. He lived prayerfully and he died prayerfully, praying to God that Simon’s faith would not fail, praying for forgiveness for his executioners, praying that his Father’s will would be done in his life and, with his final breath, praying himself into the welcoming hands of his Father. Jesus lived compassionately and he died compassionately, healing the wounded ear of one of his enemies, granting Peter a look of acceptance at the very moment that Peter denied him, promising Paradise to the condemned man who turned to him in his hour of need. The experience of his passion and death did not change Jesus. He remained in death all he was in life, a person in prayerful communion with God and in compassionate communion with all men and women, including those who rejected him and failed him.

The Jesus who lived and died is also the Jesus who is risen. As risen Lord, he remains in prayerful communion with God, interceding for us, and he remains in compassionate communion with ourselves. He joins us on our own life’s journey, as he joined the two sorrowful disciples on the road to Emmaus. As the Lord journeys with us, he pours out his Spirit into our hearts, so that we can journey in the same prayerful and compassionate way that he journeyed. His Spirit enables us to be prayerful and compassionate people as he was, in good times and in bad, when the path of life is easy and effortless and when it is painful and difficult. The portrait of Jesus that Luke gives us in his passion story is also intended as our portrait. We are being invited to identify with Jesus, to follow him, to become, with the help of the Holy Spirit, the person he was and is.

As we listen to Luke’s passion story we might find it easier to identify with the other characters in the story. We might recognize something of ourselves in the disciples who, at the last Supper, argued as to which of them was the greatest, in the followers of Jesus who, at the moment of his arrest, resorted to physical force when a different response was called for, in Peter who lacked the courage of his convictions under pressure. We might even recognize something of ourselves in Judas who turned a sign of affection into a signal of betrayal. I suspect many of us could also recognize something of ourselves in those who responded well, in Simon who helped to carry Jesus’ burden, in the good thief who confessed his sin and turned to Jesus in trusting prayer, in the centurion who saw more deeply than any other Roman, in Joseph of Arimathea who did not go along with his peers in the Jewish council but stood apart. Wherever we locate ourselves in the story, the prayerful and compassionate Saviour opens his arms to receive us. That is why this story is good news for us all.

And/Or

(iii) Palm Sunday

We have just heard the story of the last hours of Jesus as Nazareth as told for us by St. Luke. It is this story that we will be reflecting upon in the coming week. The passion narrative is a preview of the whole of this week, the only week in the church’s year that is called Holy Week. The story we have just heard is in one sense a tragic story, the story of the cruel execution of an innocent man. Luke’s telling of the story goes out of its way to declare the innocence of Jesus. Pilate declares Jesus innocent no less than three times, ‘I have found no case against him’. One of those crucified with Jesus declares, ‘This man has done nothing wrong’. The centurion, seeing how Jesus died, proclaims, ‘This was a great and good man’. Jesus dies as the innocent victim of a grave injustice. Therein lies the tragedy of the story we have just heard.

There have been many innocent victims of grave injustices since then, even close to home and in recent times. There may have been times in our own lives when we felt that we were unjustly treated. Such experiences can leave us feeling angry and our anger can turn to bitterness and resentment. The unfair and unjust treatment that we believed we received leaves us diminished. One of the extraordinary features of the story we have just heard is that the injustice done to its main character, to Jesus, did not diminish him in that sense. He retained his goodness, his love for others right to the end, even as the unjust forces were doing their worst to him. It is Luke who again brings out this dimension of the story more than the other evangelists. Luke portrays Jesus as healing the ear of those who came to arrest him, turning to look compassionately at Peter at the moment Peter denied him for the third time, praying aloud to God for forgiveness for those who were executing him, and in his last communication with a fellow human being, promising paradise to one of the criminals who were being crucified with him. Here was the triumph in the midst of the tragedy, the triumph of goodness over evil, of love and mercy over sin and injustice. This triumph would become visible to all when God raised his Son from the dead on the third day.

Luke’s story of the last journey of Jesus reminds us that our greatest triumph lies in how we respond to others, regardless of how they have treated us. We sometimes have little control over how others treat us or regard us. We have some control over how we respond to others. If we respond in the way Jesus did, then we share in his triumph. When we retain our goodness, our integrity, in the midst of forces that threaten to diminish it, then the Lord’s triumph, the triumph of this Holy Week, takes flesh in our lives. The story of Jesus becomes our story. That is the call this Holy Week makes on us.

And/Or

(iv) Palm Sunday

We have just heard the story of the last hours of Jesus as Nazareth as told for us by St. Luke. It is this story that we will be reflecting upon in the coming week, the only week in the church’s year that is called Holy Week. The story we have just heard is in one sense a tragic story, the story of the cruel execution of an innocent man. Luke’s telling of the story goes out of its way to declare the innocence of Jesus. Pilate declares Jesus innocent no less than three times, ‘I have found no case against him’. One of those crucified with Jesus declares, ‘This man has done nothing wrong’. The centurion, seeing how Jesus died, proclaims, ‘This was a great and good man’. Jesus dies as the innocent victim of a grave injustice. Therein lies the tragedy of the story we have just heard.

There have been many innocent victims of grave injustices since then. There may have been times in our own lives when we felt that we were unjustly treated. Such experiences can leave us feeling angry and resentful. One of the extraordinary features of the story we have just heard is that the injustice done to Jesus did not fundamentally change him. He retained his goodness, his love for others, right to the end. He remained the person he had been all his life, even as he unjustly endured so much hostility and hatred. Luke portrays Jesus as healing the ear of one of those who came to arrest him, turning to look compassionately at Peter at the moment Peter denied him for the third time, praying aloud asking God to forgive those who were executing him, and in the final words he spoke to another human being, promising paradise to one of the criminals crucified alongsie him. Here was the triumph in the midst of the tragedy, the triumph of goodness over evil, of love and mercy over sin and injustice. I am reminded of Saint Paul’s words in his letter to the church in Rome. ‘Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good’.

Luke’s story of the last journey of Jesus reminds us that our greatest triumph lies in how we relate to others, regardless of how they relate to us. We sometimes have little control over how others treat us or regard us. We have some control over how we respond to the way others relate to us. If, with the help of the Holy Spirit, we respond in the way Jesus did, then we share in his triumph. When we retain our goodness, our integrity, in the face of forces that threaten to diminish us and violate our dignity, then the Lord’s triumph, the triumph of this Holy Week, takes flesh in our own lives. The story of Jesus becomes our story, and the love of God which Jesus revealed most fully in the hour of his passion and death is revealed in our lives.

And/Or

(v) Palm Sunday

According to Luke’s version of the passion and death of Jesus which we have just heard, three groups mocked Jesus as he hung from the cross. Each group called on him to save himself. The leaders jeered at him saying, ‘He saved others. Let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, the Chosen One’. The soldiers mocked him, ‘If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself’. One of the criminals hurled abuse at him, ‘Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us as well’. They all wanted Jesus to come down from the cross. Otherwise, he could not be taken seriously as the Christ of God, the king of the Jews.

The notion of a crucified king, a crucified Christ or Messiah, was a scandal. As Paul declares in his first letter to the Corinthians, ‘we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles’. If the notion of a crucified Messiah was a scandal and foolishness, a crucified God would have been even more scandalous. Yet, we believe that Jesus was Emmanuel, God with us, not only when he was preaching and performing miracles in Galilee but when he was hanging powerlessly and silently on the cross. We believe that Jesus was God in human form from the first moment of his earthly life to the last. When we look upon the cross we are looking at a crucified God. Here is a God who is not removed from human suffering but who, in Jesus, enters fully and deeply into our suffering, not just our physical suffering, but our emotional, mental and spiritual suffering. Jesus suffered in all those ways on the cross; God suffered in all those ways on Calvary. We believe in a God who is with us in our darkest moments. We believe in a God who suffers with us whenever we suffer, which is the true meaning of compassion. Whenever we find ourselves undergoing our own Golgotha, our own Calvary, we can be certain that God is with us, that the Lord is with us, as one who knows that experience from within, and, so, can be our strength in weakness. When Saint Paul was experiencing his own Golgotha in a Roman prison he wrote to the church in Philippi, ‘I can do all things through him who strengthens me’. We can all make those words of Paul our own.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

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