#and how a stranger we hurt becomes a family we can never atone for?????? DO YOU FEEL MY PAIN

[maybepolly]

drowning in phoenix and apollo's relationship because it's not easy it's not easy at all but i know apollo is there waiting for the grand gesture and he knows it's not coming he will never admit he wants it but god. he Knows he's somewhat important to phoenix but how much?? is phoenix willing to truly put himself in danger to save apollo? is apollo willing to let him?? or is it going to be yet another step in the cycle of sacrificing for something neither of them truly believe in????

#listen i am agony i need apollo to have ONE good influence in his life and by god i know phoenix wright isnt it #but i want him to be so so badly it would finish their narrative from aa4 full circle just #understanding the impact we have on other people even when we truly have the best of intentions #and how a stranger we hurt becomes a family we can never atone for?????? DO YOU FEEL MY PAIN #apollo justice #phoenix wright #ace attorney #aa meta

[teaberrii]

Chapter Twenty-Eight: My Catnip

Alhaitham has the looks and the smarts. He will also be the stand-in CEO for his grandfather's company for a year.

But, he's been mysteriously cursed to turn into a cat every night since his eighteenth birthday… until he meets you, an employee at his grandfather's company, who rescues him as a cat and changes him back with one kiss.

Alhaitham/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on AO3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

Chapter notes: I couldn't help referencing my Cyno cat story... XD If you know, you know.

You haven't seen or heard from Alhaitham in almost a week, but you're counting the days until your families finally meet. 

How will your relationship turn out? Will you become strangers? Friends? Regardless of what happens, your dynamic with Alhaitham has changed, and it may never return to how it used to be.

When you finally see Alhaitham, he’s sitting next to his mother at a long table. His grandfather and secretary are also present. Alhaitham's eyes meet yours, but what surprises you is the way he looks at you. It’s as if nothing has changed. Yet, he remains pensive, and so do you. This is no time to be reflecting on your feelings or whatnot. Both of you know and understand what kind of situation this is.

Lumine and Aether trail in after you and your mother. You and your mother take center stage while Aether stands beside you and Lumine beside your mother. You’re holding your mother’s hand, reassuring her you have your back if anything goes wrong.

“...Let’s not mince words,” your mother says, her voice slightly shaking. “You were the one who hit my husband.”

Alhaitham’s mother takes a breath. “...Yes.” Then, she bows. “I’m truly sorry.” A short moment later, she stands upright. “I’ve caused you and your family a lot of pain… and I’m willing to compensate for my actions.”

Your shoulders feel a little lighter.

“...You want something in return,” your mother says, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not a fool. You hid this for so long, so for you to come clean about it now, it’s more than guilt. There’s something you want.”

“I’m willing to compensate and atone, but I only ask that… there is no media noise. I wish to settle this privately.”

“...And if I refuse?”

Everyone looks at your mother.

“...Mom,” Lumine says quietly.

She steps forward, and you cautiously let go of her hand. “You don’t want your reputation to be ruined," your mother says.

"That's right. I don't. Again, I sincerely apologize for the pain I caused your family. But, I worked far too long and far too hard for all of my efforts to come crashing down. I simply request a quiet resolution so we can move on from this."

Something twisted inside you wants to see her career crash and burn. She let your father die, for crying out loud. But… what good will that do? It’s not going to bring your father back. Besides, she’s already willing to compensate and atone.

You’re also not a fool.

You know that a big part of the reason why she’s doing this is so she can get some leniency. You look at Alhaitham. You know he knows too, and he probably proposed it to her as well.

Is that the reason why he told you about what his mother had done? If he didn’t… would his mother even admit all of this? But since he told you, there’s a risk of you going to the police. It would hurt his mother more. Thinking about it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

There are obviously more pros than cons to him telling you. Alhaitham could've hidden it from you and continued dating you as if nothing happened. It has been so long, after all. 

No matter how you look at it, Alhaitham is also thinking about you.

“...I accept,” your mother finally says.

You subtly nod in agreement. What good will it do if the media gets wind of this? You’d also be put into the spotlight, and your private life would become a movie for everyone’s entertainment. There’s absolutely no way you’re going to let that happen.

“...Thank you. I appreciate it.”

The meeting ends with the parties agreeing to communicate the rest through a lawyer and going through the legal proceedings of this fiasco. You sigh softly once you're outside. It'd gone better than you imagined. Everyone is civil, but that doesn't mean you'll simply forgive and forget. You definitely won't forget. But can you ever forgive? 

“Sis?”

You turn around and see Aether. “What’s wrong?”

“I was worried about you,” he says, walking up to you. “That… went better than we thought, huh?”

You smile slightly. "...Yeah, it did."

“U-um… maybe right now isn’t the right time to bring this up, but…”

“You want to ask about Alhaitham, right?”

Aether subtly nods. “What are you going to do now?”

You sigh. “I wish I have an answer for you.”

“...So, you’re still not sure?”

"I will never forget what his mother did,” you say. “And... I doubt I can forgive her. Maybe some people can, but I can’t. I have nothing against him, Aether, if that’s what you’re wondering. Alhaitham… he’s truly wonderful.”

"I think so, too," he says quietly. "Do you remember the day he came to talk to me at the hospital? The day where I almost got into trouble with those guys bothering Ayaka?"

“Yeah.”

"Well… no one has ever talked to me that seriously before. I mean… all the other 'adults' I ever talk to, they treat me like a kid, or they don't take me seriously. But, he was different."

“In other words, you felt like he was respecting you.”

Aether nods. “Yeah, he was technically giving me a lesson, but it didn’t feel… condescending, you know.”

“Are you here to convince me to get back together with him?”

“I may not be that smart, but I really can’t think of a reason why he would do this if he didn’t… love you,” Aether says, awkwardly scratching his head. “And… he gives off good vibes. I know everyone’s still pretty tense and stuff because of what’s happening, but I hope you don’t give up on him that easily.”

You put an arm around your brother. “There’s a time and place for everything. I think… for right now, it’s a little early to be thinking about that stuff. When lawyers get involved, well, there’s no room to talk about your feelings.”

“...So, I guess everyone is still on an emotional high. Even though things seem so calm right now.”

From afar, Alhaitham sees you kiss your brother’s head. He’d been debating whether to approach you and ultimately decides against it.

"...You aren't going to talk to her?" Alhaitham turns and sees his grandfather looking in your direction. "She's a strong lady."

Alhaitham subtly smiles. “...Yes, she is.”

His grandfather turns to him. “Are you just going to let this be? What if she misunderstands your silence?”

“...There are other ways to show that I’m thinking about her. I know she has a lot to think about.”

“What if her decision isn’t what you’re hoping for?”

“I’ll respect whatever decision she makes,” Alhaitham says. “...Even if we end up going our separate ways, I will always cheer her on from afar.”

His grandfather nods with a subtle smile. “Since when did you become so grown up, Haitham?”

“Perhaps it was when you appointed me as CEO.”

His grandfather laughs. “Well, maybe I should put you in these positions more often then.”

“...No, thank you.”

You and Aether are about to walk back to your mother's car when you see Alhaitham with his grandfather, who's laughing at something. As if he knows you're looking his way, Alhaitham turns slightly, his eyes meeting yours. Your stares linger for a little too long until you look away.

◆◆◆

When Zhongli's wedding comes around, your mother is still dealing with the legal proceedings. You've been keeping a close eye on her, ensuring she isn't losing sleep over this. You've also been paying close attention to how everything unfolds. You aren't going to show any mercy. So far, things are going well, which makes bumping into Alhaitham a little easier.

Before Zhongli's wedding, you happen to meet Alhaitham a couple of times.

The first time is at the company, days after the meeting with your families.

You are walking down the hallway when he turns the corner. The two of you look a little surprised but actively decide not to ignore each other.

“...How have you been?” he asks.

“I’ve… been sleeping better,” you say with a little smile. “How have you been? Besides, you know, drowning in meetings probably.”

Alhaitham smiles slightly. "I've gotten used to it." Then, with a look of concern in his eyes, he asks, "...You haven't been sleeping well?"

"It's probably the humidity."

Both of you know the real reason.

"...Well, you aren't alone. It's only recently I started sleeping a little better, too." Then, Alhaitham notices something in your hair. He slightly raises a hand and looks you in the eyes. "...There's something in your hair. May I?" Your heart suddenly races as you subtly nod. He reaches over and takes the tiny leaf. 

Suddenly, you hear someone call your name. You look past Alhaitham and see one of your colleagues.

“I, um, I should go,” you say.

Alhaitham nods and slightly turns to watch you leave.

The second time you bump into Alhaitham is at the grocery store near your apartment.

You see him in one of the aisles, and it's cute how seriously he's looking at the two snack brands in his hands. 

“...Need a second opinion?” you ask. Alhaitham looks surprised to see you beside him. You point to the one in his left hand. “This one tastes better.”

Alhaitham puts the other back on the shelf. “I’ll take your word for it.” Then, he looks back at you. “I didn’t know you liked these.”

“Blame Nari. He got me addicted.”

Before Alhaitham can stop himself, he leans slightly closer. "Hm… Is that why you look… a little different?"

“Are you... Are you calling me fat?” 

“I never said that.”

You frown. “Well, that’s what you were insinuating.”

“Would you like me to be honest?”

“...I’m prepared.”

Then, Alhaitham looks you straight in the eyes and says, “You got prettier.”

You're prepared, but not for that. You almost drop the snacks you're holding. “I… that’s… well, of course, I did.”

Alhaitham chuckles as you blush. That’s when you notice the small bag of catnip in his basket.

"...Is that catnip?" you ask. Alhaitham looks at his basket and moves something on top. You eye him suspiciously. "Are you… taking that daily?"

“No…”

“You’re lying,” you deadpan.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You hold his stare for a little too long.

“...It’s been helping me sleep,” Alhaitham admits. “But I don't take it every day.”

You reach into your basket and grab the honey lemon tea bags. Then, you hold it out to him. “...Try this. It's been helping me.”

Alhaitham takes it from you. As he did, his fingers brush against yours, and you feel a sudden, brief adrenaline rush throughout your body. Good Lord. What was that? Did he feel it, too?

“...I’ll try it tonight.”

“Um… tell me how it goes.”

“...Is that permission for me to text you?”

This time, he holds your stare for a little too long.

You and Alhaitham haven't texted in a long while. Though neither of you said not to, it's like an unspoken rule.

“...Well, I’d like to know that the person I care about isn’t getting addicted to anything.”

“Catnip isn’t bad for cats,” Alhaitham says. He almost puts his hand on your cheek. “...You don’t have to worry. But, I’ll take your answer as a yes unless otherwise.”

"Glad to know you can read between the lines, Catman."

You and Alhaitham look at each other, unable to hold back a smile.

The third time you bump into Alhaitham is at Zhongli's wedding.

You're wearing a light pastel pink suit. The blazer is unbuttoned, revealing a white, low-cut top inside. It's one of Candace's designs, and as soon as you tried it on, you loved it.

The last person you're expecting to see is Alhaitham. His hair is slicked back, and he's wearing a red dress shirt with a black blazer and pants. When he sees you, you turn and sip the wine in your glass... as if you hadn't been checking him out.

That’s when Childe and Ayato walk up to you.

"Why am I not surprised to see you in a suit?" Childe asks.

You give them each a hug. “You clean up well, Childe,” you joke, looking at his dark blue suit.

You kept Childe and Ayato in the loop about what’s been happening with Alhaitham. You gave Lumine permission to get Childe up to speed, and Childe also called to check up on you. You gave Ayato a rundown when you saw him earlier today.

“Small world, huh?” Childe asks, looking past you. You look over your shoulder and see Alhaitham with his hand in a pocket and talking with Zhongli and Kaveh. “They’re old friends. Can you believe it?”

You turn back and sigh softly. “I… somehow don’t like that phrase anymore. The world is too small.”

“Still, I think it’s healthy the way you two are handling it,” Ayato says.

You finish the rest of your wine. “I’d like to hear about you two.” Then, you look at Childe. “...How’s your mom?”

Childe smiles. “She’s getting better. I… also had a talk with them.”

“It sounds like things went well,” Ayato says.

“...You think the company is doing me dirty?” Childe asked.

"You're my son, Childe," his mother said. "I've always known you were interested in the Creative Arts."

“...Then… shouldn’t you encourage me? Why—”

"We wanted you to keep it as a hobby," his father interrupted. "We had no reason to take what you enjoy away. But, things are different when money is involved.”

“So… you thought that I would get the short end of the stick? I always thought you looked down on creatives.”

“We would never support someone going into that kind of industry,” his father said. “We don’t look down on the person. It’s the industry.”

Childe sighed. “...I mean… yes, everything is still dependent upon numbers. But…”

“...But?” When Childe said nothing, his mother continued, “We didn’t understand why your company was still assigning you to write commercial scripts. You deserve better, Childe.”

How was he going to break it to them that was not the case?

“That’s why your mother wanted you to come back,” his father said. “I know people who will give you better assignments.”

“...Before I came, my manager asked me the same question,” Childe said. His father and mother looked at each other. “He asked if I wanted to take up something more difficult.”

“What did you say?” 

“I… I said I was comfortable with what I’m doing.”

His father sighed loudly. “...So, the problem was with you all along.”

“I—”

“It’s true I’ve always wanted you to go into business. If that’s not what you want, fine. But ever since you took this career path you chose for yourself, you’ve been stuck doing the same thing. Isn’t writing something you’ve always been interested in? Then, why are you not taking challenges? If I forced this upon you, then it would be my fault. But you’re destroying yourself.”

Childe’s mother took her husband’s hand. “You’re being a little too harsh on him.”

“I’m saying what needs to be said.”

“...Do you want to know the reason?” Childe asked quietly.

Once Childe finishes his story, you’re in complete shock. You’ve known him for so long, yet you never knew about his inferiority complex towards you. He has always shown support and happiness toward your achievements.

“...I called my manager a few days ago,” Childe says. “I told him I want to be part of the writing team that’s adapting that Webtoon for the small screen. It may not be my story… but it’s a start.”

Ayato smiles at him. “Everyone starts somewhere.”

"Gosh. It's not just Signora I need to watch out for now," you say. You smile at Childe. "I have a new rival."

“Is that sarcasm?” Childe asks.

“No! I’m genuinely happy for you, Childe. Healthy rivalry helps both people grow.”

“Hey, what are we talkin’ about over here?”

You look past your friends and see Tighnari and Cyno.

“Hm… I guess we can say we’re celebrating some new beginnings,” you say.

Ayato smiles. “That’s one way to put it.”

Cyno and Tighnari smile at each other. “Well, can we join in?”

“That depends,” Childe jokes. “What are you two celebrating?”

“...I came out to my parents,” Cyno says. He looks at Tighnari. “I formally introduced him the other day.”

“That definitely needs a toast,” you say. “Congrats!”

From afar, Alhaitham sees you chatting with Ayato and Childe. When he saw you in that suit earlier, he couldn't look away. You look absolutely breathtaking. The three of you are laughing about something until Cyno and Tighnari join the conversation. Soon, Aether, Ayaka, and Lumine also come around, and the group clinks their glasses together as if celebrating something.

“How long have you known her?”

Alhaitham looks at Zhongli. “...Who?”

Zhongli nods toward you. “I see the way you look at her. Is… there something going on?”

“It’s complicated,” Kaveh answers.

“...That’s one way to put it,” Alhaitham says.

“How do you know her, by the way?” Kaveh asks.

“She was my junior in university,” Guizhong, Zhongli’s wife, says, coming up to the group. She stands beside her husband.

Zhongli nods. “I met her through my wife.”

“Junior?” Kaveh asks. “But didn’t you study Law?”

“She was the one who wrote the script for the faculty promotional video,” Guizhong says. “I was a volunteer for the production team.”

“She’s talented from what I hear,” Zhongli says.

Guizhong smiles. “Yes. I told you she won the award for Best Screenwriter at the Best Hit Awards.”

“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!”

Everyone turns and sees you looking down at your ruined blouse. A man with white spiked hair looks horrified at what just happened.

A woman with green hair tied into a ponytail quickly comes up to you. “Are you all right?" She quickly pulls out a handkerchief. "I apologize for this. He wasn’t watching where he was going.”

Just when you take the handkerchief, Guizhong quickly walks up to you. “I have something you can change into."

You give Guizhong a little smile. “Thanks. That would help.”

As you walk away with her, the woman with the ponytail says, "It's time for you to stop drinking, Boss."

Eventually, Guizhong leads you into a vacant room at the back of the wedding venue. She hands you a bag, and you see a light pink summer dress inside.

“I hope this will do.”

You take it from her. “I’ll take pretty much anything right now.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

Then, you walk inside the room and lock the door behind you. You change out of your dirty clothes and into Guizhong's dress. Except, the only problem is that you can't get the zipper to zip. After trying multiple times, you sigh and slightly open the door. You peek outside, hoping to see Guizhong or someone—

Your eyes widen. “Haitham?”

Alhaitham is leaning against the opposite wall. He looks at you, a little surprised.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Alhaitham just came out of the washroom when he bumped into Guizhong.

“Oh, Haitham, good timing,” she said, smiling. “Could you do me a favour?”

“A favour?”

“I have to give a speech, but she’s at the back changing into clothes I got her. Could you check on her and see if she needs anything?”

Alhaitham nodded.

“Is something wrong?” Alhaitham asks.

“...Um… well… promise not to laugh?”

Alhaitham raises a brow. “Okay.”

“The zipper won’t zip.” Alhaitham almost chuckles, and you catch that little smile. “You said you wouldn’t laugh,” you deadpan.

“Perhaps it’s the snacks.”

You frown. “Since when did you become a comedian?”

“...If you don’t mind, I could help.”

You look around and sigh. It doesn’t look like you have a choice. So, you let Alhaitham inside. He closes the door behind him. You’re standing in front of a mirror, holding the dress, when he walks up behind you.

You feel one of his hands on your bare shoulder, and you tense up. 

"...Relax," he says softly, and your eyes widen. 

Soon, you feel the dress tightening as he zips you up from the back. You almost jump in surprise when you feel one of his hands on top of the one that’s holding your dress together.

“...You’re not holding it tight enough,” he says quietly.

You try holding it a little tighter. "How's this?"

You feel him try again, and your face turns red. This is so embarrassing. 

"May I?"

“Ah… yeah…”

You slowly let go, allowing yourself to focus on Alhaitham in the mirror as he zips you up. Then, he moves his hands away from you and says, "...All done."

That’s when his eyes meet yours in the mirror, and he smiles. You turn around, and your breath catches in your throat when you see how close he is. You stare at each other, the silence teeming with unspoken messages. When he slowly moves his hand behind your head, your eyes move to his lips.

“...I don't think I can ever let you go.”

You slowly look back up. It's the first time you've seen such a rollercoaster of emotions in his eyes. Sadness. Happiness. Love. Desire. Warmth. It's as if he's spiralling out of control.

“...If you don’t push me away”—Alhaitham leans closer—”I’m going to kiss you.”

There’s no turning back now.

You grab his shirt collar and pull him towards you until your mouth is on his.

Your mind goes blank as your emotions take the reigns. One kiss after another makes you lose all sense of time and space, drowning you in an intense wave where you almost forget to breathe. Nothing could’ve prepared you for this moment where it’s just you and him pouring raw emotions into a kiss that speaks volumes. You're revelling in this fire that only Alhaitham can spark.

Your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer. His hand runs down your back; his body flush against yours. The kiss twists. It turns. And, slowly, as it comes down from its high, it burns and melds until it feels like gold.

You’re the first to break away. Your face is red and your lips are burning as reality starts to hit. You stare at each other, and you can see that Alhaitham is also grappling with his emotions.

Before neither of you can say anything, you hear a knock at the door.

“Sis?”

“Don’t tell me Haitham is in there with you!”

It’s your brother and Kaveh. You and Alhaitham look at each other. When the knock comes again, you quickly compose yourself and open the door.

“Sis!”

Aether and Kaveh look at each other. “Why are you calling my sister Sis?” your brother asks.

“Take a guess, kid.” Then, Kaveh notices Alhaitham. “Haitham!” Kaveh looks back at you and smiles. “So… you two were together.”

“It’s not like that,” you say quietly.

Aether and Kaveh look at each other, their expressions mimicking each other's. Of course, they doubt you. You're doubting yourself.

Alhaitham comes up behind you. “...She needed help.”

“Help?” Aether asks, raising a brow. “With what?”

You clear your throat and walk out of the room. “It’s nothing. Did you need something?”

“You and Haitham were gone for a while, so we came to check up on you,” Kaveh says. “Guizhong told us where you were. Don’t tell me we… interrupted something.”

Aether gasps. “Sis! We’re at someone’s wedding!”

Your face instantly turns red. “It wasn’t like that!” Then, you sigh. “Let’s go.”

Before Aether can say anything else, you put your hands on his shoulders, spin him around, and refuse to answer more questions.

Kaveh looks at Alhaitham. “It’s not like you to get so caught up in your emotions.” When Alhaitham doesn’t respond, his ex-roommate smiles. “But… it feels good, right?”

It didn’t just feel good. It was euphoric.

“Did it feel better than catnip?” Kaveh jokes.

Before Alhaitham can stop himself, he says, “She’s my catnip.”

Kaveh laughs and Alhaitham groans softly, knowing he'll never hear the end of this.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

End notes: There are only 1-2 chapters of this left... o_o. Even I'm a little surprised LOL... The next chapter may be the last chapter, depending on how things go. Let's see...

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @seirenspinel @lxry-chxn @sakiimeo @ash-in-lavender @ceylestia @forsh4dow @deathkat657 @kalpie @elernity @sentieence @chichibleeps @sunsethw4 @hjjks @tanspostsblog @nqctre @just-simping-over-genshin @uchihaeirin @vynbin @ayanokomu @dksfl920 @rin1802 @itztaki @thetwinkims @imkaaayy @angeilix @starlighttotheleft @letthewindlead @certaindreampost @winterpein @warrior-of-justice @theprinceofkhaos @vvyeislazzy @n8mareee

#al haitham #genshin al haitham #al haitham x reader #al haitham x y/n #al haitham fluff #alhaitham x you #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x yn #alhaitham x y/n

[obscuredseclusion]

Dear A.

It seems only like yesterday when you were amongst the living, I recall how several years ago you reached out to me on here, that is why I think it is a bit fitting to write this letter. One natural sequence led to another and developed into further happenings, which made us become acquainted with each other. Spending nearly every day interacting and how you reminded me of my younger self.

Today it has been exactly a year since the untimely and tragic event of your death, ever since the truth was revealed during the time of spring, it has caused for too many altercations in my everyday life. There are times when this heavy weight of grief became too much to bear, instilling me with profounder senses of regret, to which I was previously a stranger alone in terms of extend. Within this realm of endless considerations and overthinking belonging to past tense, guilt naturally thrives on the conscience mind or maybe I am typically too harsh on myself. These ideas generally revolve around different outcomes and what if scenarios, based on past choices and I know by this acquired aftertaste of bitterness, that I cannot undo them. Except for having to live with the consequences, or as I have tried to atone for them. 

Whenever I lost myself consumed in the grief from your loss, it was too overwhelming to participate in even the slightest movements of any given day, despite all the immeasurable number of reasons why I must go onward to meet my own natural conclusion and ending. For sometimes this life seems like a rather impossible task of commitment, after feeling that I had failed you so miserably in my shortsighted perception. How truly foolish and blinded I was by the false impression and harvested conviction, that you were in fact doing wel, even though we no longer interacted with each other, I was genuinely happy seeing you immerse into more social environments, following your own path and ideas. Which appeared to my eyes, as if your world was unfolding before you, with new and positive outcomes and experiences as well. This further reinforced the idea in my mind, that it was indeed in the better interest for us both, to no longer be in contact after not interacting for months by then. Even so, every day I preserved you in my memory despite of how hurting it was. These memories however lingered on to deeper reaches, once I stood there at your resting place knowing you were gone forever, without even a spoken word or notice nor any letter left behind, leading to that one impulsive decision. Perhaps it is nothing but wishful thinking on my part, if only you had reached out during that decisive December morning, maybe you would still be alive. Because there were times in the past, when it was so apparent that our interactions proved to be helpful and healing to you, especially when you made that half joking remark how you considered paying me and preferring to talk with me instead of your psychologist. After much introspective and immersive reflection on our conversations even the depressive topic of suicide, I would have never have foreseen this outcome becoming a reality, because looks had me deceived all along. How strange it is to part ways both through life and death, preserving you in my memory at times begs for questions to no ending it seems, to which I know there are never going to be any answers for. Such as potential motives of what had driven you to this permanent decision? I can only speculate... It seems that in the last saying of everything collectively, you’d left me behind one last time in death. I don’t know for how long I must endure this torment, by my conscience because I am trying to prevent myself from allowing it, getting out of control because of how harmful overthinking can really be, pondering over these ideas that somehow I could have made a difference. 

In the month of May, I managed to visit the various places to which you were acquainted. The house where you grew up with your family, or the apartment where you lived on your own and where you ended it all, and your resting place. It was all rather too overwhelming to undergo during a single day, when I met briefly with your mother before she left to her work, it was quite contradicting your words were exactly opposed to hers...  She tried to enforce blame on every person you were acquainted with except for herself it seems.

There are many tender memories of you which I hold dear, they make me very grateful for the chance of having known and spend time together with you. During these days, I have especially been listening to the music we used to share with each other. 

I remember at the time as I stood there at your grave, something happened to me which I can’t write down or find words for and is better left unwritten. It was rather coincidental that there was a Eurasian magpie at the graveyard, which also resides in my area. Ever since then, whenever I see this bird I am immediately reminded of you as a sign that you are around me, and it kind of haunts me. 

What makes me sad to this very day is how your death overshadows your life by some, how everyone seem to remember you as the person who committed suicide and barely anything else. You once said that the meaning and derivation of your name stems from the Hebrew word meaning peace, and I hope with all of me that you were able to find it in the hereafter, being free from the contraptions of this world. 

[writingvenusian]

Why couldn’t you have killed me when you had the chance.

I’m begging you, don’t leave me—I might not make it again

You’ve gotta tell me why you didn’t draw the knife, why you didn’t cut my teeth upon the sword

(It’s not like you were a stranger to me

Like we’d never done this before)

I’ve fought and I’ve killed to get to you

You’ve bled bone dry to wait for me

Skin and marrow cried for you

For your harsh justice,

“The wicked get no mercy.”

Are you tired? Are you aching with the way

That honeyed night has bested us into our silent graves?

What do you do with an age-old fight when the way that it ages you no longer seems right?

How long have we been doing this?

You don’t remember either.

Of course you don’t. The way you cower now

makes me sick, makes me vomit,

Makes me want to tear out your hair and get you to confess that

“WE WERE WRONG, GODAMMIT, WE WERE WRONG!”

SAY IT! SAY IT WAS WORTHLESS!

SAY THE KINGDOMS WE LEFT IN THE HILLS HAVE LONG SINCE ROTTED!

You don’t get the luxury of fading away with the rest of the nobility.

I’ve been your villain for eons, but who’s the real villain now?

CONFESS TO YOUR SINS, OH GREAT ONE!

The heroes always get remembered,

But it’s been too long! It’s been too long!

Your admirers are dead, oh dauntless one!

Look at me. Look me in the eye when I tell you the truth.

I was never going to have ballads in my honor.

Never would I have a legacy.

My actions would be picked apart, scrutinized,

“What went wrong, what went wrong, what went wrong”

Sung over my body like a summoning chant for a few brief years

Before everyone forgot my name in favor of yours.

SAY IT! SAY THAT YOU ARE INDISTINGUISHABLE FROM ME!

YOU DONT GET THE PERFECT ETERNAL REVERANCE YOU EXPECTED!

I’ve watched your denial grow as the years of unsung stories weighed on you and you realized that eternity means forever.

That’s the problem with you—your insufferable idealism.

“If I can only kill the villain, they’ll remember me.”

I watched as they forgot us and I shrugged.

It was never about the accolades, the honor.

I watched my chance for real victory slip away with the centuries

And I drank for a decade and then moved on.

But you—you and your pride

Were always blind, so full of the hope that when you would win there’d still be enough honor left in you

To warrant a joyous return.

BUT WE WERE WRONG!

THERE IS NO HAPPILY EVER AFTER FOR EITHER OF US!

SO NO, you don’t get to pretend that you did it for the dead.

YOU DONT GET TO DIE WITHOUT CONFESSING WHAT YOU’VE DONE.

You hunted me down, you pulled me out, you killed me and brought me back, you begged for admission into sealed and dusty tombstone hearts, and you never stopped.

YOU SHOULD HAVE KILLED ME THE FIRST TIME.

LOOK AT YOUR DUSTY ROBES! LOOK AT YOUR BLOODY HANDS! LOOK AT HOW THIN AND COLD YOU’VE BECOME!

SAY IT! SAY THAT YOU BURNED DOWN VILLAGES TO MAKE ME ATONE FOR MY OWN BURNINGS.

SAY THAT YOU SALTED FEILDS TO KEEP ME FROM SALTING YOURS.

SAY THAT YOU ABANDONED YOUR COUNTRY AND FAMILY TO THE FLOW OF TIME

JUST SO YOU COULD BE THE ONE TO CRACK ME OPEN.

Let it DIE already. Let your hope die. Let me die.

I’m dusty and bloody too. I’ve always had that red pallor,

But the roads you made me flee and charge across have caked to my skin.

I’m thin and cold too.

Too many long nights waiting for you,

Too many hard beds trying to hunt you,

A hundred too many, a thousand too many.

Could your precious people even distinguish between us now?

I’ve known that we were wrong for years, and by god, I’ll make you say it.

You can’t die with an excuse on your lips.

Call me vindictive and angry (I am, I am, I always will be), but you’ve hurt me too much to die without a confession.

HERE YOU ARE FLINCHING AWAY!

But by all means, hail to the cheif! Hail to the Hopeful, the Brave, the Unyeilding, the Unwavering, the Persistant!

Hail him, hail him, hail him one last time as he confesses! HAIL HIM!

DONT YOU GET IT? THERE ARE NO REWARDS FOR ENDLESS BATTLE!

#dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #writing #my writing #art #rant #monolouge #villain #hero #enemies #nemesis #writing prompt #prompt #light academia #chaotic academia #immortality #anxiety #writer #mental health crumbling in favour of allowing these characters to wreak havoc in my bones #running wild and echoing in the halls #crumbling #it all crumbles down #how old am i #how long have i been here #sixteen years is too few to match with what has accrued in me #mental health

[fermented-writers-block]

With the recent developments in Mr. Universe and Fragments, I couldn’t help but be reminded of an old thought I came up with several months ago, back when the fandom thought that Steven’s pink mode was simply a heightened emotional state of some kind, and even though we know now that it actually is a stress response reaction, I can’t help but think it might still be applicable here to Steven’s current situation.

TLDR: Over the course of the series, Steven’s views of his mother had fallen and continued to fall very far away from its original pedestal due to the sheer barrage of harsh realities and troubling secrets constantly being upended and revealed, and the shifts in how he has felt about his mother’s legacy seems to tell a very interesting story. One of a long, rocky uphill battle against a mountain of expectations, and a sudden, sharp plunge into a ravine of self-loathing before finding one’s way out of the darkness.

When the original series first started, he looked up to Rose Quartz the protector of Earth, seeing her as the always kindhearted and perfect person whose legacy he felt like he had to live up to. He tried so very hard to be more loving and thoughtful like Greg and the Gems had told him Rose had been like thus far into the show - like he felt they expected him to be if he wanted to stay useful and thus someone they would actually keep around like In Dreams suggests - and he struggled with his constant failures to match up with such an impossible image, potentially even as early into the show as Laser Light Cannon with his desperate pleading for the titular weapon to work.

In the middle of the original series, as he heard more intimate stories about what Rose was really like in person from his family, found out about Bismuth’s bubbling, and had to be told by a stranger that his mother, someone he had been led to believe had always promoted peace, apparently shattered someone, his image of Rose the flawless hero turned into that of Rose the liar with an unknowable amount of secrets that hurt his family immensely. 

He struggled with the question of whether Rose had made him for some untold grand plan, and he felt like he had to take care of the messes that she left behind, putting such a burdensome expectation on himself even though the Gems no longer expected him to be more like his mother. This culminated in I Am My Mom with his attempt to save his family from harm by resigning himself to sacrificing himself and atoning for his mother’s sins.

For the end of the original series, Pearl’s revelation that Rose Quartz and Pink Diamond were the same person the entire time finally gave Steven a fuller picture of Rose the person, someone who was flawed and still had positive qualities, someone who tried very hard to become a better person. He felt like he had really found his space with the Crystal Gems, and they expected him to be himself.

And yet, with the strange and inexplicable glimpses of Pink Diamond’s memories as well as White Diamond's existential questions either inspiring or bringing such a thought to the front of his mind, Steven struggled with the fear that his mother was still alive somewhere deep within his consciousness, and that ‘Steven’ the person had just been a lie the entire time. 

Post CYM and another of his mother’s secrets coming back to haunt him with Spinel, Steven had stopped worrying about who he isn’t. He now knows for certain that he’s not his mother, that she isn’t living in some dormant part of his gem ready to take back control.

But after years of trying to live up to the ideal of Rose the protector, fixing the mistakes of Rose the liar, and doing better than Rose the person with the way he pushed himself to help others, he now worries about - if there’s no one else left to help but himself - who and what Steven Universe is like if he isn’t his mother.

We’ve seen him struggle to deal with this identity crisis in Little Homeschool and Little Graduation, pushing himself to solve problems that he either couldn’t find a working solution towards or likely projected onto others out of desperation from his anxieties over being left behind. 

He expects himself to already do better, already help better, already be better than all of this. His approach of putting other’s problems above his own has worked before, so he shouldn’t be failing if he’s still doing the same thing he’s done before, but with every inevitable misstep and every doubling down on trying to be more like he expects himself to be and failure, the more those expectations feel impossible to ever actually meet.

I’ve been a longtime follower of the Worm Theory ever since @novantinuum made the first post that really kicked things off for it, and soon after Volleyball aired, a thought had occurred to me in light of Steven’s attempt at managing Amethyst’s program.

With Steven’s expression from his cracked reflection at the Reef, I couldn’t help but wonder if Steven might develop the fear that - while he isn’t his mother - he might just be becoming like his mother, and especially in regards to her flaws and repeating her mistakes. 

Let me be clear, I didn’t and still don’t think that the stress from such a fear would be even remotely close to being a major instigator for Steven to become the creature from the intro from his pink mode stress response, but with these newest episodes - particularly the ending to Fragments - it has felt like all of this had come to a head for Steven, and that we’ll soon see one of the actual instigating fears for his transformation in the finale.

In the promo, Steven looks like he’s trying to assure himself that he isn’t a shatterer, trying to reaffirm what he knows about himself in the wake of his accident with Jasper, but with the shot of him clearly leaving Jasper and the Gems behind, I feel that Steven may be struggling with the fear that he’s become like his mother there.

Or rather, the (apparent) reality that he’s become “WORSE” than her.

Even with all the horrible secrets she kept, Rose Quartz and Pink Diamond had never shattered anyone, and yet here Steven is, having done exactly that.

Never mind the fact that it was an accident, never mind that he is still the same kind and loving person at heart, never mind that he deeply regrets what he did, Steven’s sense of identity has been crumbling for a good while now with losing what he defined his life by in his ability to help people, and the fact that he had shattered someone and that said someone immediately acknowledged him as their Diamond could disintegrate nearly all of what sense of identity he has left.

These last few episodes, Steven’s mental health has been on a nasty decline in struggling with feeling like he either can’t rely on his support structure in Greg and the Gems for advice with his problems or that his support structures in Connie and his friends are drifting away, and because of this and how he might feel about himself after what happened with Jasper, the only place he may feel like he should be is on Homeworld.

Steven has put so much weight on himself to be a good person, to be better than his mother and all the horrible things she did, that this might just feel like a confirmation that he isn’t a good person, that even Rose was a better person than him despite the stuff she failed spectacularly at. There’s no more expectations to live up to on top of him, only what he really is now.

He had abandoned his human side in Mr. Universe, and now all that’s left is his gem side - that is, his Diamond side.

Or at least, that’s how it’d likely seem to him. 

It’d feel like the only point of support and belonging he has left is with the other Diamonds, as the one thing Rose wasn’t and tried desperately not to be in the end was a Diamond herself, and he may feel like he should just embrace his place since he’s “just as bad as them.”

Not only that, but he also tried to emulate Jasper’s mentality, coping methods, and appearance in his struggle to find some kind of ‘solution’ for his ‘diamond powers,’ and as such, there’s one final place where he might just be able to get a ‘solution’ - even though there’s no such thing as a full on solution for dealing with trauma.

With that said, while they most likely won’t initially understand or be that concerned with Steven giving up on his humanity to be with them, I can’t help but feel like the Diamonds have changed enough that seeing Steven act “like a Diamond is supposed to” would shake them HARD.

Acting that way had been what hurt themselves and each other for millennia, and they’ve been able to feel happier and create a relatively healthier dynamic between the three of them under Steven’s guidance, so to see Steven turn his back on all of that could make them VERY concerned for him. 

It’d put up an unsettlingly ugly mirror in front of the Diamonds to the people they used to be, and that for as much as they may have wanted Steven to be with them, this isn’t what they had in mind at all.

Perhaps that might end in an ironic reversal of what happened at the end of CYM, where instead of denying Steven as individual from his mother and trying to force him to be his mother out of a callous and arrogant kind of love, White acts out of a fuller love and genuine concern for Steven, and in the heat of the moment, accidentally slips back into some old behavior.

“I only want you to be yourself! If you can't do that, I'll do it! For! You!”

But whatever their response may actually be, this could very well be the second to last major tipping point for Steven at the very least, as at that point, EVERY person and place he thought he could turn to for advice or just finally belong to would likely either feel to him like they let him down or that they’re scared of what he feels he’s become.

Not even the Diamonds themselves feel like he belongs with them, and with how he felt like Connie had flat out refused to marry him instead of leaving an opening for them to talk about it later, I can easily see him extrapolating from the Diamonds’ reactions that he’s become not only worse than his mother, but ALL of the Diamonds.

Of course, the stress and anguish from this fear of himself and what he’s become most probably wouldn’t be the key factor behind him turning into the worm creature, just one of several major stresses that would likely influence such a transformation. 

Like @faelapis has discussed, most of the other contributing stresses had already been unbalancing Steven for a long time towards this direction in his tightrope act, and this kind of recent fear would merely be the final gust of wind to finally push Steven off. 

As for how Steven could potentially be brought from the brink of this particular fear (since I’m withholding speculation on what the exact other stresses could be until we get there), I can see one way that could help Steven with this and his struggle with holding himself to the standard of always being able to help others.

Mainly, with a potential mixture of something clicking for him to help him fully understand his mother’s choices and the self-loathing that seems to have been behind so much of said choices, and for something to help him with feeling like he’s supposed to always be a hero and fixing things, instead changing it to feeling like he’s a person for whom it’s completely okay to make a mistake, like it’s okay for him to not live up to an impossible ideal.

Like he is a human with both the bad and the good that comes with it. 

That just because he has the power to change doesn’t mean that he should pressure himself to never screw up badly even by accident, and that just because he’s capable of screwing up badly even by accident doesn’t mean that he is incapable of learning, growing, and improving afterwards. 

Whether this is accomplished through a combination of Greg and the Gems acknowledging how, even though they love him, they’ve messed up badly while raising him, Connie relating to his struggle to push himself to be better with her studies as well as the shared experiences they’ve been through, and some help from all the other countless people he’s helped over the years, I can’t claim to know.

But even though it can feel hard to do, even though it feels like you’ll never be able to pull yourself out of the dark, even though it may feel like you just keep failing over and over and over again, you can still always pick yourself up and change for the better.

#su #su meta #su spoilers #suf spoilers #steven universe #long post

[writing-the-end]

WS Chapter 42- Worth Fighting For

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

Back to our regularly scheduled angst :))))). This entire chapter was written with a specific song from a video game soundtrack in mind, and you can actually notice some choice language because of it. If you want a good song to listen to while reading, listen to “The World and All it’s Lessons” by Joris De Man. 

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Selene belongs to @to-dem-stars​

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

Warning: This chapter contains general angst and brief hints (never indepth) mentions of depression. 

There are lots of places to hide in the deep ocean. Coral outcrops, underwater ruins, decaying shipwrecks. But it was the caverns that Red found most comforting. Complete darkness, with only glowing algae that spreads across the walls like nebulas to aid her vision. Her own skin glows in response to the darkness, but none of the light offers warmth. 

She doesn’t want the warmth. She just wants to freeze out everything, forget the world. All it’s joys, all it’s sorrows. All its warmth and cold. To just forget what it means to live. Red finds a small hole in the tunnels, just big enough for her to curl into. She cradles her knees to her chest, burying her face into her arms. She can feel the warm tears on her skin, but they simply are washed away by the briny sea. It’s as if she doesn’t have tears at all, making the pain ache within her all the more. 

It doesn’t matter what’s going on beyond the hole that Red is curled up in. The entire ocean could be dead, for all he cares. Everything important to him is gone. The creature that raised him is dead, taken by the hellspawns. Red just wants to forget the whole adventure, forget the daring escapes and bright nights. He wants to forget his new friends, Ecto and Avon and the hermits. He wants to forget the whole world, all it’s lessons and enemies, all it’s hopes and hates. 

He doesn’t care anymore. The hellspawns won. They have their victory, and whatever the hell they want. They can’t take any more from Red. 

Mama Gummi was always there for Red. She never got to know her real family, she was separated from them long, long ago. But she had Mama Gummi, such a kindhearted elder guardian, and her horde of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. The entire monument took Red in, became her family. They raised her, teaching her how to swim and catch fish, how to keep a pufferfish from blowing up and a dolphin from stealing her toys. In her adventures in this ocean, she befriended the drowned- lost souls of ships cast into the depths, bodies revived by the immortal currents and stitched together with algae and seaweed. She honed her building skills by making abodes for the drowned. 

Red has been through many friends, passing and pushing onto her. Friends who wounded her, physically and mentally. Friends who slandered her home and name, friends who twisted words and deeds, who took what they wanted and left as quickly as the wind would change. People who called themselves friends, but were exactly the opposite. In all those times, it was always Mama Gummi who comforted the wounded kipling. Such a big heart, so open and lonely. An easy target for the monsters in the night. 

But Mama Gummi loved Red’s noble heart. When Red would bring home sea turtles with wounded flippers, nursing them back to health, Mama Gummi always helped in any way she could. They may not be related by blood, but Red takes after his adopted mother in kindness. And Red always thought it was kindness, an open heart that would fix every problem. It’s what Selene fell in love with. It’s how he managed to break Avon out of her shell, how to get Ecto to trust them, how they were freed from Area 77 and made it around the worlds. 

It couldn’t stop Blu, and whoever else he’s working with. It couldn’t stop them from killing Avon’s family, from destroying Ecto’s home. It couldn’t stop them from doing both to Red. Why her? Why did they have to do this, to sicken an entire ocean till it’s toxic to breathe, and kill off the creatures that call this place home? What kind of threat is Red to them? She can’t even hold a sword right, much less fight like Ecto or Avon. Why her, why her home and her family? 

Red doesn’t realize he’s cried himself out, and all that’s left is the whimpers and whines. His head is dizzy, dehydrated despite being surrounded by water. The cold, hard walls cradle the lost and lonely child, orphaned twice now as he falls asleep to the sounds of his own cries echoing down the stone hall. 

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

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Red this distraught.” Selene whispers, collecting the potion bottles from Ecto and Avon. The three swim into the open ocean, escaping the mouth of the dying monument. Its last few ragged, stale breaths against the illness plaguing it. Selene looks across the murky waters, thick with algae and death. “What kind of messed up shit is causing this?” 

“Remember when we were pushed into another world?” Ecto swims to the seafloor, running her fingers across the grains of sand. Trying to not get lost in all this water, lose which way is up and down. “This is the work of the nether.” 

“Blu.” Avon whispers. 

“I met with my mentor, Sylaeus. He’s the smartest man I know, but he said he heard buttfuck nothing about people from the nether.” Selene leads Red’s friends as she talks. She knows this ocean, they’d be lost without her or Red guiding them. She also knows where Red is most likely to hide. “But he did point me to a book about nether fortresses. That they were obviously made by people, in the same way ocean monuments were. Perhaps, unlike ocean monuments, they were never truly abandoned.” 

“Well we met one of those people. Beat the shit out of us.” Ecto growls, running a hand along the wounds left by Blu. 

Selene stops dead. “You met one? You lucky bastards fought a person from the nether?” 

“A hellspawn seems to be what they are commonly called. But yes, we were thoroughly thrashed by Blu. Red got lucky he wasn’t as badly hurt.” 

“Well what the fuck did he say? What kind of information were you able to glean?” Selene is starved for information. She doesn’t like not knowing things, and this mystery has been haunting her since Red left her home. Red has never traveled the world, she’s lucky to have these strange new friends to keep her safe. And they’re lucky to have Red, to keep them calm and collected. 

“He didn’t really say much, just started attacking us. But...they’ve been ambushing our homes while we’ve been traveling.” Ecto’s fists clench as she remembers her desert. Buried in snow, frozen and left to shatter against the wind and waste. 

“They even made it into the End. Nothing as bad as this, though.” Avon looks around, the bony fingers of coral reaching out and grabbing at the strangers. Sick fish hide among the bleached coral, swimming past in weak flicks of their rotted tails. Even the drowned’s gurgles are foamed and gasping. Struggling to breathe the toxic water. Filter oxygen through the turbid water. 

Selene peeks into a small hovel, the roof a tangle of staghorn coral. No Red, but memories do whisper across Selene’s memory. The first time Selene followed Red underwater, they rested under this very coral while Selene recuperated from being pricked by a pufferfish. She remembers the vibrant blues and reds, intertwining in an intricate dance. The shafts of rippling sunlight blinding Selene. And illuminating the strange creature before her. Red looked so different underwater than when they first met. After he saved her from drowning. He was just another fish in the reef, a part of the ecosystem.

The coral is too different, too dead. Red wouldn’t hide here. Selene racks her head, trying to think like Red. If she were Red, where would she go? She would go into the darkest corner of the ocean, far away from everything. Selene sighs as she realizes where Red is. “I really didn’t want to drink more damned water breathing potions. Shit tastes like fucking ass.” 

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

“Red?” Selene’s soft voice warms across Red’s ears, stirring him from sleep. He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep, but he can still feel the swelling in his eyes and aching in his heart. Red glances over his shoulder, seeing three faces bobbing at the entrance of the small hole he’s squeezed into. Three concerned, pitying faces.

She turns back over, pulling herself into a smaller ball. She just wants to be left alone. Left to become another stone among the cavern, forgotten by time and life. A whine escapes her lips as someone grabs her by the tail and drags her from the dark corner. Selene’s conjured a warm, comforting orb of light, completely unaffected by the water surrounding it. Ecto releases Red from her grip, allowing her to sit up. Red buries her head into her arms.

“Red...I’m sorry about Mama Gummi. I can’t imagine losing someone like that.” Avon whispers, trying to comfort her friend. But she’s no good at this emotional stuff.

“What does it matter? There’s nothing left for me.” Red whispers. 

“There’s so much more for you, Red.” Selene whispers. “There’s us, and the remaining guardians at the monument.” 

“All the guppies. They need someone to teach them to swim.” Avon adds. Red can’t help but let a wavering smile appear on his face, remembering the baby guardians. Fresh from hatching, wiggling tiny bodies and even more tiny tails. “They need you just as much as you needed Mama Gummi.” 

“And you aren’t going to let her die in vain, are you?” Ecto questions. Red frowns. He hates that Ecto’s words rile him up. “These bastards must atone for wronging you. For destroying our home, killing your family.” 

Selene bites her lip. Red is hard to anger, but she knows well enough that crossing a kipling is not a good idea. And Red’s desire for vengeance can turn the kindhearted person into a sinister being.

 “And Mama Gummi wouldn’t want you to give up.” Red’s anger, her guilt fades as she hears Selene’s calm voice. Selene knows exactly what to say. All three move closer, cocooning Red in warmth. Bringing her back from the brink. Selene continues, seeing she has Red’s attention. “She would want to see you fix this problem. To be the hero not just for the monument, but to everyone. To do great things, because she knows you’re just as great.” 

Red doesn’t realize she’s being held by her friends, hugging her. Returning her to light, out of dark. She can’t give up. It would be what Mama Gummi wanted. She needs to be there for the rest of the monument, for the guppies orphaned by the plague. And she needs to make sure whoever did this, including Blu, pays tenfold for the suffering they caused this ocean. The lives it’s killed and ruined. Red wipes at his cheeks, despite tears being long gone. “We should take care of the babies.”

#wandering stars #ecto #avon #red #selene #minesona #mcsona #minecraft persona #mineblr #minecraft #writing #cw angst

[keichanz]

Resolution

A bonus Spooktober chapter, following a few days after the events of Possession.

Inuyasha was sitting at his desk, trying quite unsuccessfully to get some work done with his mind so preoccupied with a certain silver-haired teenage daughter of his, when he heard the side door slam shut and footsteps stomping across the house toward his office. He froze and tensed in his chair just as her familiar scent, tinged with the bitterness of anger, drifted into the room and he turned his head just as the girl in question arrived at his door.

Standing in the doorway to his office, body stiff, fists clenched, and face screwed up into a fierce scowl, Izayoi silently glared at her father. Her little chest was heaving and she was practically trembling with the intensity of her emotions, ears pinned against her head and teeth clenched tightly.

Inuyasha regarded her mutely for a few seconds more before wordlessly saving his work on the computer, removing his reading glasses, and setting them on the desk before swiveling in his chair to face her fully. Leaning forward he propped his elbows on his knees and gave her his undivided attention, patiently waiting for her to begin.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“I didn’t want to come home after school,” she started in a soft hiss. “I wanted to go to the store with Rai like we originally planned, because I’m still mad at you, and maybe even have a little bit of fun so I wouldn’t be having such a crappy birthday, but do you know who convinced me to come home instead?”

Inuyasha tightened his jaw and forced himself to remain silent, knowing his daughter needed this.

“Raiden did,” she supplied and her father’s eyes rounded slightly in surprise. “Yes. That Raiden. And do you know why? Because he didn’t want my relationship with my dad to suffer just because said dad is a big jerkface, because that’s the type of person Rai is!”

Her dad flinched and still said nothing.

“I like this boy, Dad,” Izayoi continued fiercely and hated the way her voice caught in her throat. Her eyes burned with the threat of tears but she continued, determined to say this now that she’d started.

“A lot, and by some miracle I think he likes me back, and you humiliated me in front of him and I was terrified he was never gonna talk to me again, but he did because he’s a good person.”

Izayoi couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and they streamed down her face, blurring her vision, but she forged on, roughly dashing a hand cross her eyes. She knew her dad hated it when she cried, but right now she couldn’t find the strength to care, and it wasn’t like she could help it anyway. She’d been teetering on the edge all day, her emotions throughout the day having been so strung tight and frayed it was amazing she’d held out as long as she had. It felt good to release some of the pressure that had built up and so she continued, her words heated, her voice passionate.

“He genuinely cares about me and he feels guilty about what happened Friday even though he’s not even in the wrong here. Raiden is nothing like Daisuke, and in fact he saved me from Dai today, but that’s not the point.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath and once more fixed him with a stern look. “I am thirteen years old now, Dad. You can’t protect me forever and I don’t want you to.”

Her father winced but she forced herself to go on, her tears running unchecked and her breathing becoming a little uneven. It was getting harder to push words out, but she couldn’t stop now despite the sudden, savage urge to throw herself into her father’s arms and let him take away the pain like he used to when she was little.

“I’m not that little girl anymore,” she rasped and try as she might she could not hold back the sob that erupted for her throat. “I know you just want to keep me from getting hurt, but you have to realize that you can’t—you can’t shelter me from everything and—and I just—it’s not f-fair and I want—”

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around her shaking frame and with a sob Izayoi collapsed into her father’s arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and weeping into his shoulder as he gathered her close to him and held her as she cried. She clung to his shirt as he rubbed her back and murmured gently to her, nuzzling her head and allowing this desperately needed relief.

“I’m still m-mad at you-u-u,” Izayoi managed through her sobs, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself down. It wasn’t really working.

“I know,” Inuyasha replied with a hint of a smile, closing his eyes and tightening his arms around her. “You can be mad at me all you want. Your big jerkface of a dad deserves it.”

Izayoi made a sound that might have been a choked laugh but he couldn’t be sure so he just continued to hold her, rocking her gently in his arms, rubbing her back and growling soothingly in an attempt to help calm her down. She hadn’t let him come near her the entire weekend, and he relished having his little girl in his arms again, her scent in his nose, infinitely glad that she was finally giving him a chance to atone for his stupidity. He knew it stemmed from the fear of her growing up too fast. She was suddenly liking boys, and having a social life, and Inuyasha realized that as much as he wanted time to slow down, he knew he couldn’t and he had to come to terms with the fact that his little girl wasn’t so little anymore. Hell, she nearly reached Kagome’s shoulders; a few more years and she’d be taller than her, Inuyasha was sure.

With a shaky sigh, Izayoi moved to pull away and Inuyasha reluctantly loosened his grip, but didn’t remove his arms from her. He knelt there as she pulled herself together, wiping at her eyes, sniffling and regulating her breathing as he contented himself with rubbing a downy ear, waiting patiently.

She dropped her hands and blinked bright amber eyes at her father before offering a tentative, trembling smile. Inuyasha quirked a grin back and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. Both of their ears flicked when the ring of the doorbell suddenly echoed throughout the house, but it went ignored.

“I’m sorry,” he said and then added with a sigh, “And you’re right. I know you’re not a little girl anymore, Iz, but you’ll always be my little girl, whether you like it or not, so I’ll offer you a deal. You do your old man a solid and try to be patient while I try and deal with you growing up faster than I can keep up with, and I’ll do my best to give you your space and understand that there are some things I can’t control. I’m sure it won’t be easy, but if it’ll avoid shitstorms like this in the future, I’m willing to try.”

Inuyasha aimed another crooked grin at her and nuzzled his nose with hers. “So whaddaya say? Yay or nay?”

He was finally grace with one of her beautiful smiles she got from her mother and nodded, eyes identical to his own brightening and showing more than a little bit of relief.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Deal. I love you, Daddy.” Izayoi pulled him in for another hug, her arms going around his neck and Inuyasha felt his chest tighten as he returned the embrace.

Ridiculously he felt his eyes grow hot as he rasped, “Love you too, babygirl,” and kissed her cheek.

“Inuyasha?” Kagome appeared in the doorway and smiled down at her husband and daughter. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Inuyasha sighed and reluctantly pulled away, dropping another kiss to his daughter’s head before standing up and going to see who was at the door. Izayoi sniffled and rubbed at her cheeks, accepting her mother’s hug when Kagome wrapped her up in her arms.

He’d already caught the familiar scent drifting down the hallway so when Inuyasha reached the foyer he wasn’t surprised to find their visitor standing there before the doorway, hands in his pockets and looking a little uncomfortable. To his credit, however, he didn’t look away from the half-demon’s gaze as he stopped a little ways before him, arms crossed and his posture lacking any of the hostility he’d had from their last meeting.

He heard footsteps approaching behind him then Izayoi’s soft gasp as she realized who it was but he didn’t glance at her and kept his expression a neutral mask of indifference. He had a feeling he knew what this was about, and he had to admit, he liked the kid’s tenacity.

Trying not to fidget where he stood, Raiden spared a brief glance Izayoi’s way to toss her a quick reassuring grin before turning his attention to the taller figure beside her. He cleared his throat, gathered his nerve, and sucked in a deep breath before starting what he came here to do.

“Mr. Taisho,” he began politely and bowed to both him and Izayoi’s mother who stood just behind her husband with a friendly smile. “Mrs. Taisho. I’m, uh, I’m sorry for coming unexpectedly, but I wanted to clear the air a little because of how things went on Friday. If that’s okay.”

Izayoi smiled while her father nodded his head to continue.

“Look,” Raiden began a little awkwardly, grimacing as he rubbed the back of his neck and dropped his gaze. “I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have assumed that your daughter was free to go out with a complete stranger that you’d never before, and I should have asked first if it was alright if I can spend time with her. Izayoi told me what happened between you guys and I just—I feel bad.”

Actually he’d heard it from Rin, who was the school’s biggest gossip and also cousin to the girl he was interested in, but he doubted it was a good idea to mention their family drama is being broadcasted all over school by his niece. Judging by Izayoi’s grateful look, he’d made the right call.

Giving up on remaining stoic – he’d never been very good at hiding his emotions anyway – Inuyasha sighed heavily and then grimaced. He caught Kagome’s gaze, who shrugged and then nodded, and the half-demon grumbled slightly before turning back toward the boy.

“Actually,” he rumbled, frowning as he glanced at his daughter who had yet to take her gaze off of the younger dog demon. “She is.”

Raiden blinked and frowned a little. “She is...?”

He sighed again and reluctantly admitted, “She’s free to go out with who she wants without our permission. Iz has a good judge of character and I know she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. Just ask Daisuke,” he added in a mumble.

Raiden heard it anyway and perked up a little, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “You mean how she broke his nose, right?” At Inuyasha’s surprised look, he shrugged. “I overheard her talking to him while he was harassing her at school today and she asked him if he wanted her to break it again. He certainly deserved it for being a dick,” he said bluntly, unapologetic.

While Izayoi groaned softly and covered her red face with her hands, Inuyasha was thinking that maybe this boy wasn’t so bad if he was of the same mind of that brat that he was. And hadn’t Iz said something about him saving her from Daisuke or something? So he’d stepped in when his girl was in trouble. So to took action and didn’t hesitate to protect her. Definitely admirable.

“Inuyasha,” Kagome said suddenly, drawing both of their attention as she stepped forward and put a hand on her husband’s shoulder with an encouraging smile. “Don’t you have something you need to say to Raiden, too?”

While Raiden looked confused and Izayoi was lookin back and forth between them, Inuyasha rolled his eyes and dragged a hand down his face, knowing his wife was right, but still not liking the thought of admitting he was wrong.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled at Kagome’s gentle reminder and faced the boy standing before him. “Raiden, was it?” he asked, and the brat—er, kid nodded. “I’m sorry too. For, uh, acting like an asshole Friday and threatening you and shit.”

The boy nodded again and looked relieved. “It’s cool. You just wanna protect your daughter, right? I get that.” Then he smiled and said, “I wanna protect her, too.”

Kagome gasped and put a hand over her heart while Izayoi flushed deeply, infinitely pleased, and Inuyasha struggled to not pick his girl up and whisk her away.

So instead he grunted, looked down at the girl in question and asked resignedly, “You said something about going to the store.”

Izayoi blinked then her eyes widened and a small, hopeful smile curled her lips upward. She nodded and Inuyasha sighed—again—before looking at Raiden.

The kid met his gaze, unwavering, and satisfied, Inuyasha rumbled, “Have her back by seven. It’s still a school night even if I don’t wanna scare you off anymore.”

“Inuyasha,” Kagome chastised, nudging his ribs, and he grunted, unrepentant. It was true, dammit.

Raiden visibly brightened while Izayoi wasted no time in fetching her jacket and hurriedly shrugging it on.

“Yes, sir,” he answered and bowed respectfully.  “I promise to have her back not even a second later. Thank you, Mr. Taisho. For giving me a chance.”

Inuyasha pulled a face. “Don’t make me regret,” he grumbled called out as his daughter passed him on the way to the door, “Izayoi.”

She paused and looked over her shoulder, a mite impatiently, then sighed when he gestured her over to him. He waved to Kagome and she produced their daughter’s new phone out of nowhere – more likely she retrieved it from her backpack when no one was looking – and handed it over.

“For my piece of mind,” Inuyasha rumbled softly, “so I know you have a way to call me if something happens.”

Izayoi smiled in understanding and nodded, taking the device and sliding it into her back pocket. Then she surprised him by wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tight. Inuyasha glanced at the door, toward Raiden who was patiently waiting and politely looking away, and kneeled down to hug her back, kissing her cheek.

“Happy birthday, babygirl,” he whispered.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, pulling back to beam brightly at him and kiss his cheek. “You’re the best.”

He grinned at her. “I try.”

Giggling, Izayoi bid her mother bye as well before hurrying over to Raiden, who smiled at her before looking over toward he parents and giving them a nod and small wave. Then they were walking down the steps, toward the sidewalk, and then Inuyasha’s view of them disappeared when Kagome closed the door.

Inuyasha groaned and dragged a hand down his face, suddenly feeling exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to go collapse on the couch and maybe take a nap but a gentle tug on his pants prompted him to look down to find his son staring up at him with big amber eyes, undoubtedly wondering where his sister was and what had just happened.

With a little smile Inuyasha lifted him up into his arms. “Tai,” he said and poked his tummy with a finger, “if you ever put me through half the shit your sister does, I’m gonna beat you bloody.”

The young half-demon blinked and then giggled. “Okay.”

Inuyasha nodded, satisfied. “How about you and me go watch some cartoons and call it a day? Your old man needs a break from life.”

“Yeah!” Tai said with a grin, always excited to watch cartoons on the big screen TV.

“You pick. What are we watching?”

“Spiderman!” he crowed, throwing his hands up and Inuyasha grinned.

“Spiderman it is, then.”

Watching with an amused smile, Kagome piped up, “Is mom allowed to join or is this a boys only thing?”

She watched as her boys exchanged a speaking look and tried very hard not to laugh when Tai’s face screwed up in intense concentration. Then he nodded once, Inuyasha nodded back, and when they turned to her she hoped the amusement was gone from her face.

“You can join, Mama,” Tai told her. “You don’t have cooties.”

Inuyasha choked on his laugh while Kagome said dryly, “Oh, I see. Well that’s a relief.”

Grinning, Inuyasha lifted an arm and his smiling wife tucked herself against his side. Together the three of them wandered into the living room to watch an animated Spiderman kick evil butt although between Inuyasha and Kagome, they had more fun watching their son reenact his favorite scenes while yelling, “My Spidey senses are tingling!”

#resolution #spooktober bonus #oneshot #inuyasha #kagome #izayoi #tai #raiden #keizfanfiction #fanfiction

[rainythefox]

Reap What You Sow (FarCry 5 fanfic)

Chapter 9: The Red Room

He guided the pen along the parchment in slow, graceful loops and turns, forming words that the Voice spoke to him. He had lost track of time, he was sure, the church deathly quiet with only his thoughts to distract him and the Voice to guide him. Thunder faintly rattled in the distance, but only a light drizzle fell from the darkening clouds for now.

The groaning of door hinges echoed through the empty church, soft, gray light spilling in from outside before the door closed shut, leaving behind a cool breath of wind.

Joseph paused in his writing. The boots stepped along the nave, coming towards where he sat at the altar in the back of the church. There were more than just the boots walking along the wooden floor. The ticking of claws, he heard, walking evenly with the boots. A slower, softer pair of footsteps were behind the boots.

The Father was quiet, scooting his chair back from his makeshift desk he made near the lectern. He rose, his back still to them. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, taking a moment to clear his head.

"Joseph."

His eyes opened. He slowly turned around, looking down at Jacob as he stood just before the chancel. His Judge, Gideon, stood at his side at attention. Behind him, stood a smaller, lankier young man who held his arms crossed close to his chest, eyes darting around.

"Here he is, just as you've asked," Jacob stated, motioning to the follower behind him. "Come on, beanpole."

The young man stared up at Joseph in awe. The Father stepped down off the chancel to even his height with theirs. It took him but a moment to recall who the young man was and why he had Jacob bring him here. Smiling, Joseph held his arms out beckoning the man forward to him.

"Ah, yes. Aiden. Come here, my child."

Jacob stepped aside, folding his arms. Gideon sat on his haunches, ears pricking at Jacob's every movement. Joseph could tell the young man was nervous as he stepped over to him, but he didn't miss the child-like wonder the young man held as he listened.

"F-Father, it's an honor. Bless be to you!" Aiden greeted giddily.

Joseph cupped his hands on either side of the young man's face, peering at him for a moment. "Look at you, Aiden. You've grown spiritually since I last saw you. How are you faring?"

"I-I'm doing fine, just fine. Thank you for asking, Father. I-Is there anything I can do for you? I would love to serve you in any way that I ca-can!"

Joseph twitched his lips, the smile barely noticeable. He patted Aiden on the shoulder. "I love your passion, Aiden. It is people like you who are the heart and soul of this Project. Go and sit right over there on that pew, I will be with you shortly."

He motioned down at the rows of pews and Aiden nodded. The young man left Joseph's side, picking the front pew to sit down on and wait. Joseph motioned at Jacob and turned, stepping up onto the chancel and walking into the back to the sanctuary. Jacob gave a cue to Gideon, and the Judge remained sitting where he was, eyes fixed on Aiden.

Jacob followed behind his brother to the sanctuary. He remained stoic, waiting for Joseph to initiate the conversation.

"So, I heard correctly? You also captured Allison?"

Jacob dipped his head. "Yeah. She's with John now. He took her last night."

"She's escaped him once already. Did you track her to the Henbane River? Is that how you caught her?"

"It was John. He used her brother back there to set her up, draw her out. Knew exactly what she was gonna do. I just picked her up for him as a favor."

Joseph choked on a laugh. "I thought we were better than having to resort to trickery and deceit to guide the lost into our fold?"

Jacob glanced back towards Gideon and Aiden for a moment, then shrugged. "It's not my usual tactic either, but it worked. The deputy is flighty, and she's resourceful. She isn't like the others, and John knows that. He's already got her figured out, and he used that knowledge to get her back to us. In the end, it prevents her from inflicting anymore damage on this Project."

Joseph heaved a sigh, closing his eyes and looking away. "I suppose you're right. I'm just…disappointed in him. I went to the Cleansing the other night when I was told of her capture. And John…he was…mocking the Cleansing, playing with her, almost drowning her. Like a cat with a mouse, and I saw it. I saw his sins seeping out and he wasn't bothering to contain them."

Joseph looked to Jacob, but his older brother remained quiet, watching him closely, strong arms folded and still like a statue.

"He and Allison have a lot in common…so much they can share. I thought, maybe if I gave him an ultimatum it would wake him up. I told him, he would get her to atone, to become one with us, or the Gates of Eden would be shut to him."

Jacob slowly nodded. "You think he can do it?"

Joseph ran his fingers over the dancing tips of candlelight fire of a nearby table, taking comfort with their warmth. "Of course I do. I have faith in him. The question is, does he have faith in himself?"

"Then what troubles you?" Jacob asked.

"You know me too well," Joseph chuckled. The Father then sighed once more, clenching the hand with the rosemary necklace. "I don't know, I think…maybe I was a bit too hard on him. Or do you think I wasn't hard enough?"

Jacob laughed this time. "Joseph, you never second guess yourself on anything. What makes this different? Because it's John? You know how he is. He sways back and forth. He's…damaged. You know that, like the both of us. He's just…got a bit more to go."

"I know why he is the way he is," Joseph replied, voice soft. "I just fear his constant slipping will be the damnation of him…or the death, whichever comes first."

Jacob became noticeably uncomfortable, a rare sight. It caught Joseph off guard, although he didn't show it. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked to his older brother. Jacob had his jaw gritted, eyes down at his feet, a single fist clenched.

"What is it, brother?"

Jacob swallowed whatever that was troubling him. "N-nothing. Just a lot on my mind."

Joseph narrowed his eyes at Jacob. "You know better. Tell me what troubles you."

Jacob was silent for a long moment. "We've been through this lots of times…I still…blame myself."

Joseph looked perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"When I burned down that farm and killed our foster parents for the way they were treating us…I was trying to protect us. But it tore us apart. It left you alone in that god-awful orphanage and it put John in the hands of those…fucking Duncans. It's my fault John is…well, messed up."

Joseph put his hand on Jacob's shoulder. "No, it isn't your fault. We had our own paths to walk in life. It was God putting us through our own trials, preparing us for what we are doing right now, in this moment. It seems harsh, but it was necessary. We've overcome those trials. And now we are here…together. That is what matters now."

Jacob closed his eyes. "If that is what you think."

"It is what I know," Joseph replied, removing his hand, his eyes remaining on his brother. After a moment, the Father stepped back and motioned to the soldier. "You look tired, Jacob. Go home and get some rest. Tomorrow is another day."

Jacob slowly nodded. "What about Aiden?"

"I'll keep him with me for now. Come now."

Joseph escorted Jacob to the front of the church, even walking with him to the front doors. Jacob whistled for Gideon to follow, and the bleached wolf got to his paws and padded along with the oldest Seed brother. Joseph opened the door for Jacob. Cool wind swept into the dim lit church, the drizzle having been pushed into a steady downpour now.

"Rest, dear brother. I will talk with you soon," Joseph said.

Jacob merely nodded, stepping out into the rain. Joseph could still tell that Jacob was unsure, stuck in his head with his own doubts of the past. Joseph called out to him again, and the soldier stopped, turning back to him.

"One last thing," Joseph said. "Is it true that John murdered two of his followers in his own home?"

A stranger wouldn't have been able to see the faintest of flinches in the rigid soldier's posture, but Joseph knew his brother too well, and caught it on the spot. Jacob shook his head. "No. They were a danger to the Project. And so, John handled them the way I would've."

Joseph barely tipped his head, pulling the door closed. He stood there a moment, not sure to be in shock or troubled that Jacob had lied to him. Jacob had never lied to him before. A sneeze caught his attention, and the worry left him as the Father turned, remembering Aiden.

The prophet walked over to the young man. Upon seeing him approach, Aiden eagerly jumped to his feet to show his courtesy. Joseph motioned for the young man to follow him, and they stepped up onto the chancel and went into the back into the sanctuary. Joseph pulled up a chair for Aiden, patting the top of it. Aiden was quiet as he slipped into it. The Father sat down in front of him in his own chair. Aiden's eyes looked around, admiring the church's scriptures written on the walls as well as the décor.

"Do you know why I asked for you, Aiden?" Joseph asked gently, studying the young man intently.

Aiden shook his head, still looking nervous. "N-no Father. How can I be of service to you? It would be an honor!"

The Father's lips twitched, revealing the faintest of smirks. "I was hoping you could do a favor for me."

"S-sure! What is it?"

"Your sister, Allison, I wish to know all there is to know about her. Could you tell me about her? About your lives growing up?"

Aiden lowered his eyes, deflating a little. "Oh…s-sure."

"Something the matter, my boy?"

"I just…I know she's been causing trouble. Are you…are you going to hurt her?"

Joseph leaned in closer, his elbows resting on his thighs. "Of course not. I want to save her. You know that is what I do. Allison is a sinner, just as you used to be. If I am to save her, to bring her within our family, I must understand her better. I must know why she is the way she is. Can you help me?"

Aiden slowly nodded, looking almost pained. "O-of course. I'll do my best. What would you like to know first?"

Again, the Father's lips twitched into a ghostly smirk. "Start from the beginning."

Her head was pounding, pain seeping through her skull and limbs. She felt high, really high. She remembered hearing faint voices in her head, voices from the past. She wondered if it had all been a dream and she would be waking up in a jail cell from shooting up too much or from getting in a brawl at a bar.

When Allison's eyes opened though, she realized it wasn't a dream, and that her nightmare continued. She blinked, tears from the Bliss watering her eyes as she tried to shake the blurriness from them. She realized she was in a chair. She tried to reach up and touch her aching head but found her arms were bound to the chair. The cloudiness in her mind from the Bliss slowly started to dissipate the more she became aware.

A red light cast the room in a splay of crimson and shadow, bathing walls and the floor in the shade of blood. Allie couldn't quite understand what kind of room she was in. One wall, though mostly in shadow, she could tell was concrete, to her left. The wall to her right was metal bars crisscrossed like a large animal cage, and the red light cast the square shadows across the floor. She saw heavy equipment in the back corner, but for what, she couldn't quite know for sure. The floor was diamond metal steel, although Allie noticed bloody towels and rubber mats strewn around the floor as well. Large cables laid across the floor in certain areas, connecting to heavy equipment or disappearing into the walls.

A small table sat just to the left of her chair with a lamp on it. She also saw a propane torch and a Book of Joseph there as well. She saw another table with a backboard attached to it to her right. The room smelled of mildew and concrete, although Allie smelled a small tang of something rotten as well. None of these things helped her figure out exactly where she was.

She heard struggling, heard muffled cries. Blinking, she saw a figure across the room she was sitting in. There was another person, like her, bound to a chair. They struggled with their bindings, crying out in muffled sounds to her, and Allie realized their mouth was covered in duct tape. It took her a moment, but she realized the person across from her was Joey Hudson. Then it hit Allison. She had to have been in John's bunker if Hudson was here with her.

"Hudson!" Allie hissed, relieved to see her coworker, although she could tell that the experienced deputy looked way worse than when they had been split up at the Father's compound. She too started struggling with her binds, looking around for any way to get free. Hudson was trying to speak to her through muffled cries.

A grating sound of metal on metal echoed through the small room, like a large door had been slid open and then back shut. The sound hurt her ears, but Allie noticed that Hudson had fallen quiet. She stopped fighting. That's when she heard the whistling, and her heart leapt to her throat. She knew who it was even before seeing him.

John stepped in front of her, sitting a stainless-steel bowl down on her table that had a sponge and clear liquid in it. The faint smell from it hit her nose, and she could tell it was rubbing alcohol. He kept whistling his tune as he sat a toolbox on the other table to her right, wiping the dust off its surface. Allison recognized the song he was whistling. It was 'We'll Meet Again' by Vera Lynn.

John took a small tray out of the toolbox after he opened it, and then his whistling stopped. Allie darted her eyes around, tugging at her restraints. They didn't budge. Hudson had let her head fall, and she was now quiet. It was troubling to see the fire that was usually within her snuffed out.

John faced her, eyes twinkling as he leaned on the table. Allison felt very much like a bug trapped in a spider's web. And the spider was closing in.

"My parents were the first ones to teach me about the Power of Yes," John started. He turned around, grabbing something from the toolbox. A staple gun she saw first, and she squinted her eye at the other thing, the thing he was going to staple to the backboard. Cloth? No. Then it dawned on her. Skin…

"One night, they took me to the kitchen, and they threw me on the ground…"

Her heart lurched at the words, and she jumped when the staple gun went off. He turned back to face her.

"And I experienced pain, after pain, after pain, after-" he slammed the staple gun on the table, startling both her and Hudson. Allison had never heard John's voice laced with so much hate than she had in that moment. He took a moment to compose himself, looking from her then to the toolbox once more.

"And when I didn't think I could take anymore…I did."

This time he grabbed a smaller tool, and as he walked towards her with it, Allie realized it was a tattoo gun. She kept his eyes as he came over, flicking on the lamp beside her and moving it to where the light shone on her, making her squint.

"Something…broke free inside. I wasn't scared, I was…" John paused, a twitch from his lips. "Clear."

He took a cord from the table next to Allison and plugged it into the tattoo gun. "I looked up at them and I started to laugh…All I could say was…Yes."

He clicked the tattoo gun on, his eyes still searching hers, lips still holding a small smile, although it felt forced to Allie. The tattoo gun's metallic drilling echoed through the chamber like a haunting sound. She thought about his words, receiving back-flashes of her own vile memories. She shuddered.

John turned the tattoo gun off and sat it on the nearby table. "I spent my entire life looking for more things to say 'yes' to."

His hands were open, and he stepped forward, almost lunging. Allie, thinking he was going to wrap them around her neck, tried to call out but the Bliss still clouding her made it only come out as a whimper, her head pulsing in pain. John didn't grab her throat, instead grabbed a hold of her purple button-up shirt she was wearing. He tore it open, revealing her chest and cleavage and bra. Between the coolness of the air in the room and John's warm breath, her flesh became aroused with goosebumps.

She was frozen as John stared at her chest, his eyes lingering, his fingers caressing along her collarbone and breast, making her gasp.

"I opened up every hole in my body and when those were filled," he now looked up at her. "I created more."

Allison kept his gaze, although she couldn't quite understand what she was feeling at the moment. She was disgusted, but she felt bad for him, the words he was saying that were a nightmare, she knew them. As much as she thought she understood this man, she now knew she was only beginning to scratch the surface. And this scared and intrigued her more than it should have.

John pulled back, picking up the bowl of rubbing alcohol. "But it was Joseph that showed me just how selfish I was being."

He squeezed the excess alcohol out of the sponge and then started rubbing it along her chest. The liquid was cold fire, exfoliating her flesh and making her even colder. The smell hit her nostrils and she coughed.

"Always receiving …always taking. The best gift isn't the one you get, it's the one you give."

John searched her eyes as he rubbed the sponge a few more times over her chest. The excess alcohol trickled down her breasts and soaked her shirt. Allie could only keep his gaze, words still escaping her.

"Giving takes courage," John continued. He pulled back, sitting the bowl down and moving away. She finally took a breath, not realizing she had been holding it. John was back at the bigger table where he had stapled the piece of skin, looking between her and Hudson. "The courage…to own your sin. To etch it onto your flesh and carry its burden and when you have endured…when you have truly begun to atone…"

He stood tall, a light smile back on his lips, his tattooed hands moving to express his words. "To cut it out, like a cancer, and display it for all to see." A small laugh echoed within the red room as he clenched his fists tight, his smile growing wider and surprisingly less malicious. "My god, that's courage."

He took a deep breath, and turned back to the table, grabbing up another tool from the toolbox. A knife sharpener. "I'm going to teach you courage."

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and Allison knew it was time to find a way out. She tried to tug at her restraints once more, but they didn't budge.

John's composure changed. He walked forward, holding the knife sharpener tightly. "Teach you how to say 'yes' so you can confront your weaknesses. Confront your sin."

Hudson was shaking her head, weakly tugging on her restraints. John looked between them, turning back to the large table with wide strides.

His voice sounded pained, resolved. "You will swim across an ocean of pain and emerge…free."

John faced her, walking towards her with the knife sharpener pointed directly at her, and she wondered if he could hear her heart speeding in her chest. "For only then can you truly begin to atone."

He jabbed the point of the tool into her collarbone, smirking down at her. He raked it across her skin, and turned away, walking to the table. The knife sharpener didn't cut her, but she felt the welt it caused from his forceful drag of it across her skin.

Allison clenched her jaw, looking to Hudson who had grown quiet again. She looked to John. The Baptist had leaned himself against the larger table, holding the knife sharpener up as he peered between the two deputies in his possession. However, Allison did not miss how John's eyes were more drawn to her.

"So. Who wants to go first? Hm?"

His question made her heart leap to her throat. His eyes burned on her. Allie tore her gaze away, trying to look down at her restraints, her head still hazy from Bliss.

"Which one? Hm?"

She looked up again. John's eyes still held her. Despite his asking, John's lingering eyes on her told Allie that he was expecting her and only her to answer him. But she wanted to fight. And so she remained quiet, tugging at her restraints once more. She saw Hudson's eyes widen across the way, and she shook her head, fighting her own bindings. The duct tape muffled any cries she was trying to let out.

"This is lesson number one…"

Hudson was trying to speak something, her eyes on Allison, but the junior deputy just couldn't understand what she was saying. The loud, muffled sobs just echoed throughout the red room and were lost under John's rising agitation.

"Someone's got to choose!"

He was still staring at Allison, clearly wanting her to say Yes. But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Allison tugged on her wrists, wriggled in her chair, groaned out. There had to be a way to escape.

She heard more metallic clacking, and looked up. John had grabbed a hammer from the toolbox and was now walking over to Hudson. Her muffled cries became louder. Allison watched in horror as he slammed the hammer into Hudson's kneecap. The deputy wailed out, and the Baptist drew back the hammer to strike her leg again.

"Stop! Stop! For fuck's sake! Yes! I say Yes!" Allison yelled out. "J-just leave her alone!"

John had ceased. He turned to her, a grin on his face as he tossed the hammer onto the table. It hit the toolbox with a loud crash but remained on the table. He walked over to her and Allie glared at him. Her eyes went to Hudson who shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she stared back at Allie.

"Now that's more like it," John purred. "You won't regret this, Allison. I promise."

He reached up, running his fingers through her hair once more and she winced. He drew back a moment later, going back to his full height. He moved away, pointing over to her coworker.

"Now, before we begin, I think it's only proper that Deputy Hudson goes back to her room."

Hudson started fighting once again when John came nearby to grab her chair. He started rolling her over towards Allison.

"Confessions are meant to be private, after all."

The rolling of the chair's wheels on the metal floor bounced off the walls within the chamber, and Hudson started freaking out. Allison, too, still tugged at her restraints, to escape, to punch John out, to do something. John stopped the chair with Hudson in front of Allie, and hushed them.

"Shh shh shh shhhhhh…I am not here to take your life," John said gently, looking between them. "I'm here to give it to you."

John let go of Hudson's chair and came back over to Allison, moving the lamp out of the way. He towered over her, his hands coming up towards her face. "I'm going to open you and pour your worst fears inside…"

His fingers wrapped around her throat once more and tightened, and for a moment Allie couldn't breath as she stared back at the Baptist. "And as you choke, your sins will reveal themselves."

His fingers loosened to where she could breathe and she gasped, but they lingered there on her throat, caressing her skin. "Only then will you truly understand the Power of Yes."

Allie felt his fingers glide off her neck as he drew back once more. He grabbed ahold of Hudson's chair and she started muffling words again, shaking her head. Allie stared at her in fright, in confusion, not like seeing her so broken and scared.

"I'll be right back," John said, smiling.

"NOOO," Hudson cried through the duct tape on her mouth.

Allison couldn't crane her neck to see behind her as they left. She heard the heavy metal doors open and crash shut, locking her in the red room alone. All became quiet. Only the faint hum of distant machinery echoed along the metallic chambers all around her.

"Fuckin' hell," she hissed, still tugging on her restraints. Frustrated, she started to move her whole body, to find some kind of give in her chair. With small squeaks, the wheels of the chair slowly rolled her along the red room.

Allison knew she had to escape. It was her only chance. She would get out of this room, find Hudson, and they would both get the hell out of this bunker. She wasn't exactly sure how she was going to pull this feat off. She had never been in the bunker before, and there was no telling how big it was or how many of John's men were down here.

One restraint started to slowly give. Allison fought it, threatening to tear the skin from her hand to escape its hold. Biting back the pain, she gave one last forceful tug and it snapped. The snap knocked her arm back, causing her to lose balance. The chair toppled over, and she hit the metal floor hard.

She wouldn't be rolling her way to escape now. The chair pinned her, but with her free hand, Allison felt around for her other bound hand. If she could free her other hand, she could work on getting the chair off of her and untying her legs.

Allison cried out in relief as she felt the other restraint snap. Her almost victory was short-lived however, because the grinding of metal doors echoed again, making her heart leap to her throat. Boots stepped along the metallic floor, echoing softly. She heard an amused chuckle. Closing her eyes, Allison gave up.

"My, my, aren't you a little spitfire," John chuckled.

She felt him grab her chair, and she was lifted from the floor back onto solid ground, becoming upright. She glared at John as he spun the chair around to face him, still looking amused.

"Always looking to escape," John said, shaking his head. "I assure you, that will shortly change."

"Highly doubt it," she snapped.

John's blue eyes twinkled, and he eased a smirk, looking her over. "Well, that depends on the stakes, yes? Are you willing to give Hudson's life for a chance to run away?"

She glared at him. "You wouldn't."

John stood up tall, moving to the side and motioning to the door. "There's the door. Be my guest, Allison. I assure you that you will not get far, and Hudson will pay dearly for it in the end."

Allison looked away, feeling defeated for the moment. She couldn't risk Hudson's life. She would have to think of another way to get them out of here.

"What do you want with me?" she whispered, hating herself and where she was at this moment.

"You know what I want," John said, moving away from her.

She looked up when he had gone, but he was soon coming back, pulling over a metal chair to sit in front of her. He had pulled the chair up close. Their knees were only a couple inches away from each other.

"I want you to confess," John continued. "To atone. I want you to be saved. I've told you this before. I am here to guide you through the process. And we are not going anywhere until you do."

He grabbed her hand, the one he had stabbed at his ranch, though now it had started to slowly heal. The wound on his hand was slowly healing as well.

"I made a pact with you, remember? So…no matter what happens…I will get you to confess…to atone. Until then…you're all mine."

A/N: Sorry for this chapter taking a bit longer, life got carried away. As such, it's also a shorter chapter. But don't worry, next one should be longer (and hopefully not take as long). As you can see, this chapter is taking a big turn away from the game. It will still follow the game, but in my own way :3 Thanks to all who have fave/followed this story and I appreciate all the reviews! Have a good week! :D

Read the full story here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12917971/1/Reap-What-You-Sow

#far cry 5 #farcry 5 #joseph seed #deputy x john seed #john seed #faith seed #jacob seed #fanfiction #fanfic #romance #Action/Adventure #fanfiction writing #Junior Deputy #deputy #eden's gate

[chestshot]

A Cautionary Tale of India Pale

Prepare for Trouble, B-Side: A Cautionary Tale of India Pale,

Dark Holes and Transformations, or My Love Affair with xoxo<3Ms. Hopps <3xoxo

 Little children were playing behind me. I was in space. Time was forgiving. Never get caught in a blackout. Some never find their way home. As the streetlights illuminate the path of the righteous, the guardians watch over as we sleep. The beetles and moths have gathered in a procession, to welcome the night. “So, where were you?”  “I was playing in the dark, and I got lost. I had some breadcrumbs, thankfully.”

“This is going to hurt me more than you.” I never understood that logic. “So why can’t I do it to you, like you did it to me?”  “I’m doing this because I love you. Your soul is in danger.” We used to kneel on the bare floor covered in rice.

What is obedience, and what happens when it is forced? Believe in unity. Value brotherhood. Seize any opportunity to join hands. Even as the big hands crush the small hands, like a fist full of lavender flowers. Don’t think so hard. The guardians have done all the thinking for us. Some things do not need an explanation. Guardians discourage the children from scrutinizing every detail. All we need is to believe. Can’t we all just come together as one? If I wanted to find everlasting life, why did I have to lay it down to begin with?

           The Knights of Columbus hosted Sunday breakfast every month. My mother would always hand me a folded dollar bill when the collection basket came by. It was a little secret between our Father and I (Mathew 6:1-4). I was planting a seed for his kingdom, and if we did not fork over the dough, let us just say there was hell to pay.

           The instructor told us that Jesus loved us, so he died on the cross for us. If we loved Jesus, too, we had to love each other. We colored the nativity scene and learned a few prayers. We were taught a theology approved by the Roman Catholic Church, and classes were $25 per child. Those must have been some expensive ass crayons. I was a good boy. Never an altar boy.

           I had refused to help in the family garden in the front yard one time. The bathroom floor was cold on my cheek. The sweat and tears running down my neck fell on the yellow linoleum. My arm, bent around my back. Wrists too tight. Cheeks got so hot that the salt water started to dry up and irritate my skin. Was it worth it? I know it was fucking hot outside. The neighbors can hear. I’ve been getting ass beatings since I was alive. From the guardians, then from bad decisions, and possibly society. Sometimes the floor can become comfortable, waiting for the blackouts to cast a final spell.

           “God helps those that help themselves”®…Is not in the bible!

           The Sunday breakfast consisted of yellow “just add water” scrambled eggs. I was too young for coffee. Pass me the milk. I ate next to a church girl with an intellectual disability. Did God make her like that? I did not know. All I knew was that we were all equally hungry. I felt like all the dark holes in the floor were so much smaller back then. If I stepped on a crack, I could always find my balance, or the guardian would help me till I recuperated.

“Hey guys. Where’s Jesus’s cloths? Yeah… haven’t been able to hit up hot topic since COVID-19.”

           Societies fascination for making atonement. Drink and drive? Dui. Tax evasion? Prison time (unless its some shit like a white-collar crime). $50 dollar fines for parking in front of a fire hydrant, that one time I moved out of my parents’ house and rented a room from some asshole named Evander. Not a child anymore. Learning from experience. If I only learned to come home on time. Nothing good happens after 2 a.m. The dark holes were still manageable. No claws yet. No transformation.  The delinquencies were not ripe. There was not enough blood.

           I helped myself to a glass of orange juice. High pulp. Tart. Almost as refreshing as the forgiveness of sins. Dixie paper cups. An old couple. They must have both been in their eighties. With not much time to live, they both enjoyed the pancakes with light butter. No syrup though. Diabetes. He pulled the chair out for her. He took off her sweater and placed it behind the chair. He wiped his head with a towel, then his mouth. He regained his balance. and shuffled to his own seat. Where had the time gone? Playing with little toy cars and dirt, in the streets of his home country, and now using dentures. There was such an age of trusting that the streetlights were guiding him all along. When he could hear his mother’s voice and know in his heart that the night was near, but only to visit. He led the prayer and they both sat down to share maybe their last breakfast. Listened to your guardians. You might live as long as them.

           One time, Father Manuel unofficially sponsored Mission Tortillas. “Como Dios Manda” literally means “How God Orders” or more precisely “What God Demands of us”. He was calling out the young women who decided club wear for a Sunday mass was appropriate. Father Manuel roasted them. “Esta bien que sea Qinceniera. Pero esta es la casa de Dios.” We were all sinners, but some of us did a better job at hiding it. We were all trying to avoid the transformation. We all needed to love. We just needed time to patch things up.

           Mother Theresa believed that suffering was how you got closer to God. She refused to let some children receive treatment, so naturally, they would die. Bandage them up and throw them in the dirt. Suffering is the polished rock for sharp claws and feasting vultures. This psychic in San Francisco told me that I would be responsible for what I touch and what I know. I did not let him read my palm. I was swimming in ignorance, and the spirit would guide me.

Their little Calcutta souls belonged with the Lord. For a while, I started to believe that I was suffering, and therefore, there was no God. Those little Calcutta souls were all fucked. I think we suffer because we think we must. We like to convince ourselves that it’s all part of some divine plan. We suffer because we all have things we conveniently forget about. We should know better.

It’s not normal to stay up all night. It’s not normal to operate a vehicle under the influence of anything. It’s not normal to lie to the person you are with. It’s not normal to wake up at 3 pm every fucking day. It’s not normal to put things up your nose. It’s not normal to get in the car with a complete stranger. It’s not normal to think that you can live with people for free. It’s not normal to pass out at the bar. It’s not normal to constantly burn bridges. It’s not normal to forget what you did the night before. The blackouts swallowed me alive, over and over and over. I couldn’t see the streetlights. There was no one left to pay for my sins.

Last week, and then the week before, and before that. I lost a part of me. I’ve lost a few parts of me. Like a lot. Who was I? I had checked into the catacomb of wasted ambitions. The creatures of the dark had left. I looked in the mirror and could not accept what I had become. What big claws and teeth. The beer was gone. It was a scared man. No. A big bad wolf. My tail was between my legs. I was pitiful. My drinking career choked on it’s vomit. My guardian told me there was going to be hell to pay.

           I had a dream I was filling up one cup with another cup, like an endless water mill. I’m not sure why I always felt this way. An endless repetition that never ends, like new ideas filling old ones, but never quite arriving at a solution, or like fish eating fish eating fish… Like a two gallon hourglass, constantly being flipped on it’s other end, ass up, face down, full of itself. The air bubbles, trying to escape. The lump in the throat of my life, always sinking into my stomach. The transformation was complete. I was living in a blackout.

           The beta, or Siamese fighting fish, is native to Thailand and Cambodia. You can pick them up at your local swap meet. I used to love going to the Broadacre swap meet after Sunday mass. I got my hands on everything an eight-year-old should never get their hands on: laser pointers, chained wallets, pocket knifes, fart bombs, shock pens, pet’s I wasn’t able to take care of. I’m not sure what the fish were so angry about. Probably from being confined to a tiny ass sandwich bag.

I got my ass kicked in a bar fight once, in 2018. Three against one. I do not remember. I was asking for something that was not on the menu. I was being annoying. Swings broke out like a Florida coastline and faster than you can say Tallahassee’s televised turnout tremendously terrified pterodactyls. Too small. Smack. Too slow. Smack. I fell to the floor, head between my knees. My jeans ripped. All I see is stars. I raised a barstool over my head and threw it against the bar, not sure if it landed on anyone. Always bust out the bar stool when you know you are going to get rocked. I ran out through the front entrance and I called 911. I left my bicycle behind. The cops were nice enough to drive it down to me. They told me that the security guard told them I was trying to buy drugs. I told them it was a hate crime. They told me to go home. I told them I would never go back to that bar again.

           Pigs in a blanket. I think there was bacon. Bacon or sausage. No. I think there were both. I woke up at 6am to eat this at 10am. 10:15 if there was a line. Couldn’t everyone break bread the way we did? Always have to start a fight during a meal. If you’re a man of culture who would prefer to drink their meals, our fists made toasts to live long and pasta. The indigestion was the worst. I could not eat breakfast too early because my stomach lining was sensitive from the binge before. This did not stop me from killing a whole order of carne asada fries at night. I felt the weight of a bowling ball in my diaphragm when I woke up the next morning. Drinking water felt like swallowing marbles. This wasn’t normal. Nap. Bagel. Throw up.

SpaghettiOs. That’s not pasta. That’s an impasta.

           My older sister became an usher at church. She showed everyone to their seats. She wore a sash that said “Orden” or literally “Order”. She asked people if they could scoot over. She made room where people were resting their purses or when someone decided that they needed to sit with their legs wide open. Me and my younger sister always got pinches during service if we were joking around or being distracting. How did the people really bring their kids to church like that? We were so rambunctious!

The dark holes just seem like the better option sometimes.  If the blackout won’t take me now, then maybe tomorrow.

I had never wanted to grow up. I was so afraid that I would grow up to be a man with a wife and a house. I sounded like one of those kids who shits all over “the nuclear family” and the “white picket fence”. I had even said “I don’t want to have kids. I don’t want to bring more suffering into the world.” Then I would roll my eyes, take a puff of my cigarette and be proud of how postmodern I was.

The truth is, I was 26 years old, holding a fucking sign on the corner of Flamingo and Pecos at some Piano Lounge. Nobody wanted to marry me. I was living at my mothers house. I didn’t have a car or a drivers license. I hated everything I didn’t have. I still had my Lagunitas though. 7.1% a bottle meant I got nice and toasty after a six pack.

The Jack and Coke was just a nice butter and marmalade on top. Can’t have a nice toast without some warm butter and tangerine marmalade, raspberry jam. Ex-Pentecostal Holly Roller. I was so mad about that God Shit. I broke bread with my damaged complexion. I was a messy eater, leaving crumbs everywhere. Licking my claws like that racoon from Pocahontas. Like that, but still a big bad wolf…

           I was on my way to the "party bridge" on the Las Vegas strip. I had just got off the bus, after a 6-8 hour shift holding a sign on the corner of Flamingo and Pecos. The job was shit, but it didn’t require much interaction with people. God, I used to hate people.

When I got there, the police were harassing a group of street performers. I like to get faded, and I like to do it on the street. I buy some street performers some beers, ask if I can play a couple of songs on their acoustic guitar, and we get smashed. The police were pissing on my parade and I was not going to let that happen.

I went to the CVS and bought a case of PBR. When I got back to the bridge, I started handing out some cans to the street kids being interrogated. The police told me to stop, and I did not listen. I got arrested for obstructing an officer and resisting arrest. This was probably one of the most punk rock things I ever did in my life. Resisting authority was my raspberry jam. I liked that it made me feel bad to the bone. I felt like even more of a bad ass when I offered the holy spirit into my life, on the rocks with a pickle back shot.

           The police officer put me in handcuffs and took me to the cop car, outside of the Aria. I thought that I was standing up for the street performers. Really, I was just sticking my nose where it did not belong. When I got to the detention center downtown, the nurse asked me some questions. “Do you have a history of cocaine use in your family?” “Tu Madre!” I said. What the fuck did that have to do with anything? Faster than you can say “Pharmaceutical petty punks pretentiously pandered pedestrians” Five correction officers pin me to the wall. One of them had my arm bent behind my back and they were waiting for any reason to snap off my ring finger.

           I stretched out my ear lobes. The holes were wide enough to stick a sharpy permanent marker through. One of the guards whispered in my ear “I like to rip out gauges.” My body went limp. I was going to get ripped apart like a fucking lasagna. “Please don’t do that.” One of the other guards brought in a retainment seat, on wheels. Think of an elementary school chair with straps. The blue ones, or orange, sometimes. Class was in session.

I was wheeled to a retaining room with another inmate who had acted out. He had asked to use the restroom, so he was granted the privilege to defecate. They wheeled him away. I pissed myself. One of the guards came in to get me and realized what I had done. “Son of a bitch.” He said under his breath, realizing that he still had to maintain professionalism. The female officer following him said “Mark.” With disapproval. Fuck authority. I’m still a big bad wolf. Its society that has to change. Do you know who I think I am? I’m no impasta.

           The secret to having a good time is to show up to the bar with a few ounces of hard liquor already in your system. You save money and time. The bartender can never cut you off because they don’t even know what you act like when you’re sober. They’re not aware of the transformation. Pretty soon, I’m the big bad wolf with a bad haircut and jeans my mother bought for me at Ross. I say “LAGUNITAS” and the bartender takes my five. A cautionary tale of India pale: this shit will turn your brain to shit. Shit toast. From a shithole tavern, or Albertsons if I was emo and wanted to drink alone at the park.

           I always went to the bar by myself. I would try and make conversations if I was feeling sociable. The best way to do this was to smoke a cigarette, and let the acquaintances come rolling in. “I’ll tell you a joke for a cigarette” was always a good conversation starter. I would have also accepted “hey man, can I give you a dollar for a cigarette? I left mine at home.” I didn’t always have spare cash, but when I did, I liked to drink around strangers and not feel the isolation covering me, like stars just beyond my reach. Like aircrafts. Black night sky. The tar in community college lungs. Little Red Riding Hood didn’t show up. Probably cause her sisters were talking shit about me. It’s ok. I’m still big and bad.

Drink some water. Jesus fishes. Say a prayer. Missing pieces. Dying wish. Deep dish pizza.

Cheap not-the-real-Bel-Air hotel. Right on the corner of Ellis and Jones. Junkies were chasing dragons in high definition on the sidewalk. God checked out. No housekeeping. Ash tray on the nightstand, some beer cans, and $6.14 in cash. What a splash. Making out with Hopps. She gives my stomach purple ulcer butterflies. Sedates my lungs a car crash plum. Mind calming lavender razorblades cut gently. Her love is a condor. She picks at my liver like silver bullets diving into passion fruit scum.

#publish #recovery #non fiction #pulp #fight club

[jellantria]

Never Thought You’d Fall So Far, chapter 13, excerpt

“I am Felicity as Levi told you and as we spoke from the phone.” Her features were soft and kind. She did this gladly and I could tell she was exactly how Prof. Ackerman promised. “Pleased to meet you, and thank you for choosing me for this adventure of yours.” Her catty eyes shined with a playful gleam.

“Adventure?” I chuckled.

“But, of course. You won’t be the same after that. I mean you will of course still be you…with your values and your beliefs and everything that makes you...you. But, you will also have more tools in you. You will be able to control the greatest beast.” She paused.

“Your mind.”

I liked her.

I could see why Levi recommended her to me. They had the same theatricality in their way of speaking. Levi talked about dragons and she spoke of adventures and beasts.

“You know, Marco.” She continued. “In the years of my experience in this job, I find that it’s easier sometimes if you take it all a bit lighter. Like a fairytale or a game. It makes it easier for you and more bearable.”

“I can see why.” I admitted.

“Oh, why?”

“Well, fairytales and adventures are taught to us from our childhood. We know that the hero always wins, no matter how badly the odds are against them. Therefore we name ourselves the hero of our own tale and we know we will win in the end. No matter how long this will take us. We will get there.” I still could not find the courage to look at her for long.

I could see her nodding “You get it.”

“So, Marco…from where would you like us to begin?”

And so I told her everything I had told Jean about my childhood and about my past troubles. I told her everything about Jean as well.

I was glad that our first session was two hours instead of the classic one-hour therapy because I couldn’t find myself to stop talking.

I was so anxious when I first arrived but now it was like I was talking to an old friend.

“So, why do you think all of this began? Do you think you know the root of these feelings?” she asked.

“During my life…” I paused. I knew what I wanted to say but I had to put it in the right words, to let it out of my chest in the right way.

She waited and I was glad.

I fidgeted with my hands and began again. “During my life, I was always dubbed as perfect. I was hearing it from everyone…my teachers, my friends, my family. Everyone.” I closed my eyes and inhaled sharply.

“At first, it made me really happy. I was perfect. Who wouldn’t be happy about that? I was perfect. I was accepted. I was helping others to reach perfection as well. I was whole.” I felt my lips trembling as I reminisced these times of my childhood.

Happier times. I thought to myself and my heart banged in my chest.

She slid a packet of tissues close to me, but I was not crying…I don’t think I was.

“But, then, when my first missteps came along, I was lost. Confused and stunned.” I looked at her, deep in her green shining eyes.

“I was perfect…how could I fail?” I asked her.

“How could I mess up?” I asked again as if I expected her to know the answer. She didn’t answer nor did she take her eyes from mine.

“It didn’t make any sense…It was like I was frozen inside my brain and forced to watch myself making mistakes and ruining things.” I sniffled as memories of me shouting to my mother came to my mind. Memories of me in my room crying, not being able to understand why I was acting like that. Why I was angry all the time.

“All I could whisper was ‘why’…” I tried to swallow but my throat felt sore as if I was screaming from the top of my lungs, so I decided against it.

“When you are told all your life how much perfect you are and then life happens…it really takes a toll on you, you know?” I frowned and rubbed my hands together. I felt so small. So vulnerable. Like a newborn infant.

But, she didn’t speak. So, my turn wasn’t over yet.

“You become hyper-aware of every little mistake that you make…Even if it is choosing the right words in a conversation or talking in the right tone to a stranger…”

“It’s…It’s a nightmare, really.”

“It’s like you are an exposed nerve in a world of constant stimulation. You could make a mistake anytime, at any place! Oh, maybe you already did while you were busy thinking all of these!” I huffed loudly and I felt the knot in my throat tightening again.

Fuck.

A glass of water was found next to me so I gulped some down. I needed air but water could make a do for now.

“And of course…” my voice sounded hoarse but I was on a rant now.

I didn’t care.

“You cannot let others know! They believe you are perfect, remember?? For some weird fucking reason, they don’t see your flaws, your imperfections, your mistakes.” I was angry and I could feel it boiling down in my stomach, aching in my heart.

“You…you persuaded them somehow that you are pure…and perfect.” I spat the last word as if it was poison.

“So, you gotta keep it that way…You have already disappointed yourself…You can’t afford to disappoint others as well…But, eventually…you do.”

“Cause all of this stress and anxiety of not making any mistake, they keep piling up inside of you and they take even uglier forms.” I bit my lip in embarrassment. I remembered my lashing outs, my fits of rage, my hoarse throat and me slamming my door.

“For me it was anger.”

I closed my eyes and tried to keep the memories away.

In vain.

“God…I was so angry. So angry.” The word felt like a sin in my lips.

“To myself…Perhaps, I was angry with the others who burdened me with this perfection and their expectations...who wouldn’t let me be my own damn flawed self.”

Expectations go to hell. Or send you to it.

“But, I took the blame. Like I always do…So, I turned the anger to myself and began hating me with a burning passion. After all, I was my best critic…I was the only aware of my imperfections, so I was the only one able to beat myself up for it.” I breathed in and let myself feel the moment.

Those words have never been spoken to anyone before. Not even myself.

I felt so strange. Guilty, and yet lighter at the same time.

“I became a shell of myself. I was like a landmine, really. The wrong kind of pressure could make me erupt and when I did…it was ugly and messy.” My eyes stung but I carried on.

“I made my baby sister cry once…you can only imagine the self-loathing afterward.” This memory hurt me still.

“The ‘perfect’ label is a damn heavy burden to carry.”

“And a burden I don’t WANT to carry. I want to be me.” My voice cracked and I felt five again…searching for my mother and her embrace that could hide me from the world and its cruelty.

“My stubborn, flawed, imperfect self.” This sounded like a cry for help, and it was. “I want to be able to breathe again.”

There was a long pause, I think. But, again, she waited. I decided I really liked her for that.

“But people keep dubbing me as perfect and therefore the vicious circle carries on.” I chuckled with a sad smile.

“You know…sometimes I warn them. I tell them that I am not perfect and they shouldn’t believe I am, because they will be disappointed eventually.”

“Because I can’t bear to see the look people give to you when this realization hits them. And I know this kind of look much too well.”

“Much too well…I’ve seen it from everyone around me…Friends, family…Family…Fuck, that really messes you up.” I closed my eyes again for a moment before looking at her again.

“Hell, I’ve even seen this look from myself. It’s the look I was seeing in the mirror for all these years…”

Then she spoke.

“But, not anymore?”

Her question surprised me but I found myself answering with a smile “…Not anymore.”

I touched my cheek and found it wet. I didn’t even realize I was crying after all.

“Because of Jean?” she pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Yes. But, because of me as well. He would huff at me and shake his head if I dared to give him all the credit.” I chuckled and ruffled up my hair.

“You know…I believed that by saving the others I would atone for my own sins. I believed that by saving them I would prove to myself that I had some kind of worth. I believed that even if I sacrificed my own sanity or, well, whatever left of it, I would be a martyr lost in a good cause.”

“Cause what’s better than losing yourself to save another?”

She didn’t answer.

There must be better causes then.

“But, of course, this battle with the demons of other people only added up to the battle with my own demons…”

“That…” I cracked my knuckles.

“That broke me.”

“Now, sometimes this old habit of mine comes up to my mind again and makes me wonder ‘Do I care enough about anyone anymore?’…”

“Do you know the answer?” she startled me and gave me an apologetic smile.

I returned the smile “No” I shook my head. “I didn’t know myself…but he whispered it to me one night…and I believed him.”

I met her eyes again.

“He told me ‘Even by this thought you show you care…if it didn’t matter to you, your devious mind would let it drop.” I remembered this night fondly and I would treasure it forever.

“You care, Marco.’ He told me. ‘Still, you care so much…Having limits and protecting yourself in the process doesn’t mean that you don’t care…It means you learned to care about yourself as well.”

“He’s right you know.” Felicity tilted her head and rested it in her hand, looking at me fondly.

“I know…”

It was almost time now.

To go.

I didn’t want to. Not yet.

“He sounds lovely. He sounds exactly how a person by your side should be, and he sounds mature as well. I am glad you have him by your side, Marco.”

I only smiled in response. My eyes fixed on the clock behind her.

“Until next time, Marco, please remember: allow yourself to feel. Anything. It shows you are human. Whether it’s pain or sadness, anger or despair. It’s a feeling nonetheless. Don’t be ashamed of feeling.” Her eyes had such a soft look I felt like she spoke directly in my heart and in my brain. Soothing them, reassuring them that they did well. I did well.

“And like a physical wound, when you can locate the place from which it bleeds you can begin to heal it. Let yourself feel in order for you to let yourself heal.” She expected an answer I figured.

“Okay.” I smiled softly, truly meaning it, and I think she realized it too as she gave me a wide smile.

“Next week?” she got up and walked me to the door.

“Next week.” I promised and closed it behind me.

[jewishandmore]

Give Away the Woes of the World

Kol Nidrei - 10 Tishrei 5778 - Friday, September 21, 2017 Temple Beth Zion, Buffalo, New York

G’mar Chatimah Tovah - may we be sealed for goodness in the Book of Life.

A fortuneteller was walking between town fairs. On the road he met an old man driving a noisy cart. The cart-driver stopped and said, “We seem to be heading in the same direction, rest your feet and join me on the wagon.”

The fortuneteller considered the caring eyes of the older man, and said, “Thank you! I have little to spare to pay you for your trouble, and I don’t want to take advantage of your generosity.”

With a smile the driver replied, “Maybe you have something to trade?”

“I can tell your fortune.”

After a pause and a deep look at the fortuneteller, the older man smiled again, and agreed, “Done. A fortune for a ride.”

The fortuneteller gazed deep into the light gray eyes of the stranger and was drawn in, seeing depths and mysteries - he saw no glimmer of the futures that normally came so easily to him.

“I see nothing, no fortune at all. I can’t accept your ride.”

“I have no fortune that you can see, good enough. Join me. You’ve earned your spot.”

They rode together. The hooves of the donkey keeping time with a sound that emerged from inside the wagon.

“That sound, what is it?” asked the fortune-teller.

The old man sighed, “The woes of the world, my friend.”

They made good time and reached the town’s fair. Setting up next to each other, the fortuneteller saw that the old man was a peddler of precious stones. White, pink, blue; brilliant and pale, polished to perfection. The old peddler kindly kissed each stone before placing it into a buyer’s hand.

The fortuneteller saw clearly. Through his clients’ eyes he sampled despair.

The peddler sold amethyst, “a regal stone”, to a mother for her newlywed daughter.

The fortuneteller looked into a young woman’s eyes and saw her heartbreak on the horizon.

The peddler sold fiery opals, “a stone of the heart,” to a young man for his first love.

The fortuneteller looked into a father’s eyes, and saw his loss around the corner.

The peddler sold topaz, a gift to lift a friend’s spirit.

The fortuneteller looked into a well-dressed woman’s eyes, and saw the betrayal before her.

“It’s been a good fair,” the peddler said as he packed his booth. “Let me give you a stone for my future. Perhaps you will see more this time.”

“Why should I see more this time than the last? Why should you lose a stone?”

“I cannot lose a stone. I can only give it away. Which will you take?”

The peddler spread quartz, sapphire, and topaz before the fortuneteller. It was a green tourmaline with striations of anguish that held the teller.

“It is yours,” the peddler said. He kissed the tourmaline and placed it in the fortuneteller’s hand. “Now, what is my fortune?”

The fortuneteller gazed into those kindly grey eyes, seeing depths, mystery, and beyond them only light. “I see no future, only the present,” was all he could say.

“Such a gift you have, to speak the truth. Well worth the stone. Shall we ride to the next fair?”

The teller wondered, “We seem to be going the same way, to the same places, and still I have never seen you.”

“We’ve been traveling different circles,” the peddler said. “My path now seems linked to yours.”

As they rode on, the peddler asked, “How long have you been traveling?”

“Two years now. Two years since my family died.”

The fortuneteller didn’t intend to say so much.

The noise from within the wagon was louder this time, and again the fortuneteller asked, “Such noise back there. What is it?”

“The woes of the world. How did you lose your family?”

In two years, he had never spoken of it.

“In a fire. I was a broker of land. We had a wonderful home. I traveled to close a deal. When I returned, my life was ablaze, my family trapped inside.”

The continued on in silence.

After the next fair, the noise from within the cart was louder than ever. “The woes of the world”, again explained the peddler, and asked, “How did you come to be a teller of fortunes from being a broker of land?”

“The loss of my family opened my eyes. Before I could see only happiness. At weddings I used to rejoice for the bride and the groom. Bur after the loss of my family, I saw not only the happiness, but also the pain and the sorrow. I saw one dying first and the broken heart of the other.

“It used to be when a child was born I would rejoice. But after the loss of my family, I saw the joy the child would give, but also the heartbreak.

“No longer could I see only happiness. I saw the other side as well, and what I saw was what would be. I saw the truth. So I went on the road to speak the truth. My friend, it’s easier to sell stones than to speak the truth. You get repeat customers, I do not.”

The peddler made a turn away from the next town.

“The fair is the other way,” the fortuneteller said.

“We have a stop to make first.”

The wagon climbed the hills into the night. Dark as it was, the peddler did not stop.

Where were they going?

“Here,” the peddler said, answering the unspoken question.

He stopped the wagon, lit a lantern, drew the cover back from the wagon bed. Within was machinery the likes of which the fortuneteller had never seen. A contraption turned by the power of the wagon wheels to do some work within a closed box. The peddler opened the box, removed polished stones, each glowing its unique color in the lantern light. He added them to his inventory, one at a time, each with a kiss and a thank you. “Thank you,” he said to the agate. “Thank you,” he said to the amethyst. “Thank you,” he said to the aquamarine.

When the box was empty, he handed the fortuneteller a shovel, and took a strainer for himself.

“What are we doing?” the fortuneteller asked.

“What is necessary,” the peddler said. He walked to the side of a hill, held out the strainer, and motioned to the fortuneteller. The teller drove his shovel into the side of the hill, the grating of metal against rock echoing into the distance. He struck again and again. Sand and earth sifted through the strainer leaving behind a pile of jagged rocks.

“What are these?” the fortuneteller asked.

“These are beryl and chalcedony, citrine and emerald, garnet and jade. All the precious stones of the world. All exist everywhere at all times if you just know where to look.”

“All I see is rocks.”

“You are a teller of fortunes,” the peddler said. “Look more closely and see again.”

The fortuneteller looked into the rocks and saw - buried within - moonstones. And opals. And turquoise. He saw the tumbling each would endure to allow its beauty to shine. He saw that some would shatter and never emerge, but others would be polished to perfection.

“A stone for my fortune,” the peddler said. In his hand was a shard of rock. The fortuneteller saw within it the stone it would become.

“Why should I be able to see a fortune where I never saw one before?”

“Because you’ve tumbled to this place,” the peddler answered. He kissed the stone, and placed it in the peddler’s hand.

Deep in the eyes of his friend, the fortuneteller looked into the light and saw a man, once in pain, a man who had lost his own family decades before. A man who ever after knew the truth and wandered from place to place until he encountered his own vendor of precious stones. He saw the eyes of a man who had risen from despair to beauty and hope.

“Yes, you see,” the peddler said. “I’ve been waiting for you quite some time. Quite some time. Thank you for receiving my stones. They and the wagon are now yours.” The peddler smiled as he surrendered his burden.

The fortuneteller saw his friend buckle at the knees. He reached for him, embraced him, kissed his cheek as his life expired.

The fortuneteller cried for his friend. He cried for his family. He cried for the woes of the world. He buried his friend by the side of the hill. He said Kaddish, for his friend, and then, at last, for his family.

The rough rocks he put into the box in the wagon bed. As he drove on he heard tumbling behind him all the woes of the world. Ahead was the fair and the customers waiting for polished stones, each stone to be given with a kiss and words of comfort.

This is a story inspired by one of my favorite teachers and mentors, Rabbi Mitchell Chefitz [from his book, The Curse of Blessings, “Polished Stones”, pp. 29-37]. I have taken his words, adapted them, rethought them, and tumbled them to make them my own. Mitch tells us to do this with all stories.

On Rosh ha-Shanah we make t’shuvah - we return and make amends.

On Yom Kippur we confess and atone.

The list of our transgressions is long, but we are more than what we have done, We are also our feelings about what we’ve done and what has been done to us.

We are people who have been rumbled and tumbled, sometimes not so kindly, by and through the world.

We focus so much on our guilt. And then our tragedy, anger, and resentment remain in our vision.

We are transgressors.

But we are also heroines and heroes, the protagonists in our stories. It is only natural for us to feel more as if we are wronged than the wrongdoer.

On this day of all days we are more than one thing.

And so are the woes of the world.

The entire world seems to spiral with suffering and misfortune, resentment and alienation. We see tragedies befalling people everywhere, divisions that erupt in our country and in our families, the deep hurts of understandable outcries, the simmering and pent-up resentments, offenses taken, blames assigned. More misfortune than anyone deserves, dragging us deeper each of us into our own isolated selves.

Can we climb out?

We see so clearly all the problems. Can we see the goodness too?

Everyone has suffering, how do we overcome the woes of the world?

We must remember that we are more than either wronged or wrong-doer. We repeat our confessions so many times to remind ourselves that no matter how wronged we feel, no matter how heroic we are, we are all together in doing good and doing wrong.

john a. powell, who writes about the roots of racism, wrote: “We must begin to work for a new set of arrangements that will support a new way of relating, a new way of being.” [Racing to Justice, pages 158-159]. In this he echoes the great Jewish philosopher, Martin Buber, who teaches that only by encountering every person as a fellow teacher, will we truly relate to one another. Both scholars are asking us to remember that we live in a world filled with main characters - each of us is deserving of being a hero in a story that we all share together.

Each of us must recognize that we are not alone in our troubles. That by remembering that we are all wrong-doer’s we can also encounter everyone else as fellow travelers. That by remembering what we can do, what we can give, instead of what can be taken from us, we empower ourselves and overcome our impotence and silent suffering.

Our sages give us a Jewish answer to suffering, to resentment, to the loneliness of a world filled with personal and communal hardship. This answer is simple and difficult: give.

Give until the world feels a little bit more like we hoped it would. Give until we feel a little bit more like the person we hope to be.

Everyone must give tzedakah - no one is too poor to fulfill the obligation of giving to others. We are taught that even the poorest person must still give something. We are taught that giving is for the giver.

When we focus on the action, the doing of something kind, the giving generously, we can begin to cope with the harshness that we cannot solve. Our response to unfairness, from bad fortune or the hurt we feel, instead of turning inward to blame, anger, and resentment, must be turn outward, foster kindness, create sympathy, connect with generosity.

Find something of value, share it with a fellow traveler.

We do not need to find forgiveness for people who have not apologized, and, we must not cope with all the woes of the world by trying to find someone to blame. These are both dead ends.

Easing the weight of trouble must be our goal, not just for other people, but for ourselves. We ease the burden, see past the trouble, when we give.

Giving is for the giver.

May our Yom Kippur be one where we find kindness within ourselves the most valuable thing we each have, in limitless supply, hiding in plain sight, and share it with one another, those in need, all of our fellow travelers.

G’mar Chatimah Tovah - may we be sealed for goodness in the Book of Life.

[libramoon2]

[evening dionysian]

working title: [evening dionysian]

Dancers dance musicians play Enchanting sylph narrates stories while seductively moving to sinuous back beat, tick of chimes. Occasionally emphasizes subtle percussions with intense expressions, leaps, cunning stumbles, falling to crawl into spellbound speech. Scheherazade myths, archetypal passion escapades, poignant weeps, salient shouts to power. Exquisite meditations on mystic climes, spirit and form. Merry masks, sparkly costumes, paint and glitter as embellishment to the tellings. Theater as intimate ritual. Anything could manifest.

.

.

Pisces murky androgeny Libra emits graceful beauty Scorpio at home in passion Deeply attractive Complicated self-hatred urging service and demeaning. At core strong self-belief expressed intuitively. Stories from the collective well, mystic ether, imbued in earth, exhaled by flames. Centering, sense memory trances exhibits as sinuous performance.

.

.

This world is ending …

.

.

Even happy families share dissonance, complex histories, emotional triggers. Happy families learn to thrive, profound mutual respect as guide, resort to good humor for smoother passage. Why fight, divide strength from where it is better spent? Folk who pull together by choice rejoice in shared communion.

.

.

Outside self-circumscribed worlds Diverse perception of views Sight with wide spectra of hues

.

.

She heard him crying, a lost child in the night. In her prophetic heart she knew only she could comfort him. But she was only a child who was never allowed to be lost. How could she comfort this lost boy when she had no freedom to reach out? Late in quiet dark, after her people, asleep, would not be checking on her, she opened her window and made daring escape. Wandering in the outside dark, she listened for his cries. At first she discerned wind among leaves and branches, small creature forays, clash of metal against pavement, perfumed strains from afar. Then, yes, whimpers, ragged rhythm past exhausted weeping. He was huddled, hidden, on the alley side of a cold brick building. Seeing him, frightened, lost, she did not know what to say. He smelled of rancid sweat and fear. She did not know how to speak. She cried. She emptied herself of every caustic tear, every regret held for guilty ransom, every sadness kept inside so no one would fuss. He looked up at her watery face and asked with amazed concern: “Are you lost, too? Because if we are lost together, really we have found each other. We don’t have to stay scared and alone.” She looked around, realized that in al her blind wandering she had lost her way. She had no idea where they were. She knelt beside him. They smiled and hugged. For that precious while they became beloved kin. Perhaps some special night they’ll meet again.

.

.

Mythy visions to transcribe; thought fragments to form. Myths we live, and how to rewrite them.

.

.

She knows she has awakened. Every effort of her body pinches, aches, demands refuge in self-talk, reason, mental override of pain. Carefully, she measures out tools of destruction, what she must carry in her pack into the city, to her place of destiny. Doing what one can to make sense, have meaning. Life is short, ugly, pointless, unless you get that call. Trying to act cool with familiar friends, laying low, hiding from everything that doesn’t allow relevant existence for dregs like us. Recognition? Commendation? A scrap of real notice? To sacrifice this humorless joke to Godly cause, that’s got to be imbued with meaning, to be holy. How not find zealous courage, so dishonor numbing a drug, one point of focus. All my sins, my impoverishments, inadequacies, forgiven in ultimate atonement. God can love me. I am made pure in His sight. A tool, a weapon, no matter how lowly, bestowed sacred purpose in this great fight. My parents, my kin, vindicated, their suffering denied nobility avenged. Cleansed in adventure’s icy plunge, only ever young in throes of romance, a chance for breathless rush of brief immortality.

.

. question everything accept or reject with clear awareness and flexibility

.

. purity of essence is to will one thing

.

. She didn’t like her skin. So hard to blend in. She didn’t like her body, jutting awkwardly, too bulky, not compliant to conscious control. She ached to let her spirit free from matter’s burden, to ooze out onto open air. Her envisioned wish took her to aerial glee, and no more. “What would I see, outside of eyes, no biological boundaries?” Her attention, turned to this yearn for omniscient sight, was caught, held strong and seduced. Ever present, ever expanding through every crevice of her consciousness, she became inured to matter’s inadequacies. She desired entirely. No one could reach her, though no one tried. She trance-walked through her duties and habits with none to notice any lack of aliveness, lack of any impish spark within her eyes. Self-consumed, obsessed, absorbed in apotheosis, physical possibilities no longer matter. Her spirit no longer held to this room, this body. Blind to her unseeing world, enraptured in unfiltered light, colors far beyond our rainbow.

.

. A brave and learned man hired out to guide a motley assortment through a narrow, rocky passage to a settlement in need of laborers. At this time, he was a stranger to settlers and these prospective immigrants. He had an idea of joining their project, but felt nag of doubt enough to only commit as far as hiring out for specified work and pay. This Job – this man who gave his name as Job – was curious, clever, aloof because caught up in thoughts complex, calculating, critical, cynical, contemplative, entertaining. He spoke as necessary for terse communication. He listened as if a subtle etching of rain on sand. He sucked in sounds and all their meaning to nourish his chattering brain. Though his behavior, demeanor, presentment appeared distancing, others tended to respect his leadership, his abilities. Even those who mocked or boisterously complained in private camaraderie in which he did not join agreed that he bested them at coming through. After their passaging, safely gathered at the settlement, words and gestures of gratitude lauded upon him were spontaneous and sincere. As settlers and new arrivals met together to discuss their common project, ask questions, give opinions, figure out teams and chores, Job continued his passage. Busy in their plans and adaptations, no one noticed him disappear.

.

. Capture my imagination Take me for a ride self-discipline, acknowledge without judging

.

.

Philip, he so tired, exhausted, can’t bear the nattering. Silly people, spew of soft-heart advice. Stupidly happy people, smug in their hugs and white smiles. Philip recedes into deep, dark hate – so mired and convoluted spirals down his mind. Lethargic impulses, held back, kicked down, pounded to weakness as he grew in twists and turns. “Don’t look at me.” He hears his silence scream. Horrid beast snarls, whimpers. Philip aches to hide from his own mind, beastly child whining, cringing around cutting steel for comfort. Snappy, happy babblers burst like saliva balloons, insult, annoy. “Don’t speak to me. Don’t daintily pretend you understand; oh so precious extended hands, limpid eyes question, judge, sentence to demented status. “I am fine, or will be when you all leave me alone. Ignore my retreat into secure solitary recrimination, whip lash of vengeful sin. You know you don’t really want to be let in, to feel the wrath I am. Scatter, you flesh-covered delusions who choose to disturb my sleep, my darling nightmares’ stomping victory. You clearly don’t need my input to be complete. Complete fools – go do your better things. Enjoy your day. I’ve no more to say, to share.” Aloud? Allowed? He allows himself to voice complaint aloud. And the folk crowd ebbs out beyond his self-fixed point. “Express your truth,” he silently affirms. People may listen.

.

.

Imbibe trance Fall into story Record intimately

.

Become one story Imbibe trance intimately Record while falling

.

face shifter. story spinner. dervish zeitgeist possessed. defined by shades, by shadows, by negation.

.

.

Sammy scary loco crazy. They say he got the paranoid schizophrenia. What he got is commandos tracking his thoughts, grinning. Party of demons who been with him, telling him what to do, clever talk when he needs to answer some fool. He’s got my nightmares, but can’t shake them awake. No one wants to listen to me or him when we say what’s real. They want us to be kids, whatever that is. They want us to make them feel alive in their self-comforting fantasies about responsibilities. What is Sammy responsible for or to? Because he suffers disability, because he can’t break through Hell’s circles, flames of purity. I walked from Hell. My mind still burns. I am strong, a born survivor. He survives as he can. Is that weakness, or alternative dimensions habitated? I am amazing, mobile, continuing, sensibly explaining, harmoniously relating, conversing like a pro. I struggle. I hurt, it feels unbearably. I work until I want to scream, become explosive screaming. I stifle, call up mania to work on. Efforts only I applaud – amazing me! Nothing spectacular to entice the jaded they. Sammy is spectacular. I am seriously amazing. I won’t let them blind me.

.

. They walk in and out of patterns, broad swath of night. No designated home; no one has to accept them. They walk. Dust, dirt, soot, effluvia collect, protect in the sense of repel. In safe dark none encounter to harass. Those alive by day buried in bed. They walk without notice or plan. This is their closest approach to sleep, hypnotic glide through distance. Landscape undifferentiated by visible presentation. Footsteps feel clearly what comes under, it seems by instinct — or possibly familiarity. They walk on perhaps forever with no where to stop. Pit stops. Beg for food or find leavings. Play merry fool, eyes gleaming, lips voice hands form expressive grand soliloquies, hoped fee implied (implored). Sustenance they afford varies by mood of kindness, unswayed by desperation. Exhaustion only dulls, removes any attractive shine. As air blows colder, nights freeze over, they seem to dissolve into neverwere. Empty shadow, haunted tingle bereft of cause. “They were never us, nothing like us.” Unspoken song bears rhythms of walking unseen.

.

.

She awoke in a body, young, womanly, driving consciousness on hold somewhere like dreamless sleep. It was her occasional brief invasion to feel in touch with mortal concerns. She is to be a bride, again. Foolish, innocent yet of so many regrets and betrayals to come. She is ready to exult in the veil and it symbolic lift. Happy to perform, darling of her audience of familiars. Happy day, swept clean of trepidations, of all yesterdays and their burdensome effluvia. Today is always hers. These ceremonies, traditional duties and pleasures, bind her to cults, cultures, accumulated lore and intuition. Not creature, but weaver – still she is inseparable from the story. Today she again assumes bridehood. Tonight, awash in festivities, again she removes her spell of possession. This new bride returns to a familiar world, changed. No longer civil child nor spiritual supplicant, she has ascended. People see her differently, treat her with more deference, more distance even as they proclaim her their precious chosen intimate, ply her with cherished secrets as if her allegiance would add value. Her bearing carries an air, an enhanced spirit, a subtle awareness, unspoken by any inner voicing. Language is a human art.

.

.

Gathered on picnic table benches behind the home, hot in sunshine. Karen explains, fact by fact, how Gus became her inseparable soul. They beam together. He gives consoling hand to shoulder as she grieves children left with their father, her ex’s condemnation, stern paternal assertion of power. Saving his kin from this unrepentant whore. Karen cries, again – unrehearsed habit. She carries sadness; leaks occur. Gus hardly speaks. His troubled eyes, weary stance, gentle pull and pass of their pint bottle as he glances with deep countenance to each face around is eloquent conversation. Sweat smells, condensed alcohol, burnt tobacco, drying shit from local dogs, passing fumes from the road out front, all permeate, help set the mood. They treat the stranger in their midst as a friend of long acquaintance, just another straggly member of a morphing crew. “Ain’t we all strangers of long acquaintance – everybody a wrapping of layers, appearing in colored bits along our drowsy companionship. Strange friends, welcome distractions, smoky mirrors that let us see as we discern.” Bonnie and Denise giggle at Big Dan’s pedantic speech. They solicit contributions for their liquor store expedition. Enough gets thrown in to make it a go. Go, girls. We’ll be waiting, celebrating what we can because here we are.

#short takes #flashes of vision #theatre of imagination

[chestshot]

Creature in the dark love to scare the little children. The grownups say a prayer, and the demons are forced to return to the shadow realm. Never get caught in a blackout. Some never find their way home. Come in as soon as the streetlights illuminate the path of the righteous. The beetles and moths have gathered in a procession, to welcome the night. “Where were you?”  “I don’t know” was never the right answer. It is never going to be the right answer. “Stop crying. I’ll give you something to cry about.”

In this house, the belt and extension cords keep the disobedient in line. Sticks leave bruises. No Bueno. Back straight. “This is going to hurt me more than you.” I never understood that logic. “So why can’t I do it to you, like you did it to me?”  “Porque yo soy la puta que te pario (because I am the bitch that birthed you). I’m doing this because I love you. Your soul is in danger.” We used to kneel on the bare floor covered in rice. We were made to carry these bags above our head for twenty minute and think about how we were not supposed to fight. She went easy on us this time. “Now kiss your sister and tell her you love her and you’re sorry.”

What is obedience, and what happens when it is forced? Believe in unity. Value brotherhood. Seize any opportunity to join hands. Even as the big hands crush the small hands, like a fist full of lavender flowers. Don’t think so hard. The guardians have done all the thinking for us. Some things do not need an explanation. Guardians discourage the children from scrutinizing every detail. All we need is to believe. Can’t we all just come together as one? If I wanted to find everlasting life, why did I have to lay it down to begin with?

           The Knights of Columbus hosted Sunday breakfast every month. It was a fundraiser. As if the crusades did not provide enough funding. As if the parish had not given enough during the second collection. My mother would always hand me a folded dollar bill when the collection basket came by. It was a little secret between our Father and I (Mathew 6:1-4). I was planting a seed for his kingdom, and if we did not fork over the dough, let’s just say there was hell to pay.

           I went to Sunday school. I had to. Otherwise I could not get baptized or have my first communion. The instructor told us that Jesus loved us, so he died on the cross for us. If we loved Jesus, too, we had to love each other. We colored the nativity scene and learned a few prayers. We were taught a theology approved by the Roman Catholic Church, and classes were $25 per child. At the baptism, donations were formally encouraged. Those must have been some expensive ass crayons. I was a good boy, but never good enough to be an altar boy.

           I had refused to help in the family garden in the front yard one time. The bathroom floor was cold on my cheek. The sweat and tears running down my neck fell on the yellow linoleum. Now a grip on the arm, bent around my back. Too tight on the wrists. Cheeks got so hot that the salt water started to dry up and irritate my skin. Was it worth it? I know it was fucking hot outside, but couldn’t I have just done a shitty job or at least bullshit? Close the door. The neighbors can hear. Plus, the ac is on. I’ve been getting ass beatings since I was alive. If not from the guardians, then from bad decisions. I want to make them happen, but I always keep getting in my own way. Sometimes the floor can become comfortable. Just waiting for the blackouts to swallow me whole.

           God helps those that help themselves…. Wait.. That’s not in the bible!

                The Sunday breakfast consisted of yellow “just add water” scrambled eggs. I was too young to get hooked on coffee. Pass me the milk. I ate next to a church girl with an intellectual disability. Did God make her like that? I did not know. All I knew was that we were all equally as hungry after service. I felt like all the dark holes in the floor were so much smaller back then. If I stepped on a crack, I could always find my balance, or the guardian would help me till I recuperated.

“Hey guys. Where’s Jesus’s cloths. This is not funny. Oh… you guys hung him like this? Why? He was giving everyone free healthcare and food and shit. He doesn’t deserve this shit! Bring him down! Now!”

                Societies fascination for making atonement. Drink and drive? Dui. Tax evasion? Prison time (unless its some shit like a white collar crime). $50 dollar fines for parking in front of a fire hydrant, that one time I moved out of my parents’ house and rented a room from some asshole named Evander. I was not a child anymore. I was learning from experience. If I only learned to come home on time. They say “Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.” I could have only imagined why, but the dark holes were still manageable. No claws yet. No transformation.  The delinquencies of adolescence were not yet ripe. There was not enough blood.

           I helped myself to a glass of orange juice. High pulp. Tart. Almost as refreshing as the forgiveness of sins. Dixie paper cups. An old couple. They must have both been in their eighties. With not much time to live, they both enjoyed the pancakes with light butter. No syrup though. Diabetes, you know. He pulled the chair out for her. He took off her sweater and placed it behind the chair. He wiped his head with a towel, then his mouth. He regained his balance. and shuffled to his own seat. He led the prayer and they both sat down to share (maybe their last) Breakfast. Listened to your guardians and maybe you can live as long as them.

           One time, Father Manuel unofficially sponsored Mission Tortillas. “Como Dios Manda” literally means “How God Orders” or more precisely “What God Demands of us”. He was calling out the young women who decided club wear for a Sunday mass was appropriate. Father Manuel roasted them. “Esta bien que sea Qinceniera. (it would be cool if this was a Quincenera) Pero esta es la casa de Dios (but this is the house of God).” We were all sinners, but some of us did a better job at hiding it. We were all trying to avoid the transformation. We all needed to love. We just needed time to patch things up.

           Mother Theresa believed that suffering was how you got closer to God. She refused to let some children receive treatment, so naturally, they would die. Their souls belonged with the Lord. For a while, I started to believe that I was suffering, and therefore, there was no God. I think we suffer because we think we must, like it’s all part of the greater picture. I also think we suffer because we all have things we conveniently forget about. We should know better.

It’s not normal to stay up all night. It’s not normal to operate a vehicle under the influence of anything. It’s not normal to lie to the person you are with. It’s not normal to wake up at 3 pm every fucking day. It’s not normal to put things up your nose. It’s not normal to get in the car with a complete stranger. It’s not normal to think that you can live with people for free. It’s not normal to pass out at the bar. It’s not normal to constantly burn bridges. It’s not normal to forget what you did the night before. The blackouts swallowed me alive, over and over and over. I couldn’t see the streetlights. There was no one left to pay for my sins.

August 15thth, 2020, 2:30 A.M.-ish

I said I was going to work on it las week, and then the week before. I had checked into the catacomb of wasted ambitions. The creatures of the dark had left. I looked in the mirror and could not accept what I had become. What big claws and teeth.

                I had a dream I was filling up one cup with another cup, like an endless water mill. I’m not sure why I always felt this way. An endless repetition that never ends, like new ideas filling old ones, but never quite arriving at a solution, or like fish eating fish eating fish… Like a two gallon hourglass, constantly being flipped on it’s other end, ass up, face down, full of itself. The air bubbles, trying to escape. The lump in the throat of my life, always sinking into my stomach. The transformation was complete. I was living in a blackout.

           The beta, or Siamese fighting fish, is native to Thailand and Cambodia. You can pick them up at your local swap meet. I used to love going to the Broadacre swap meet after Sunday mass. I got my hands on everything an eight-year-old should never get their hands on: laser pointers, chained wallets, pocket knifes, fart bombs, shock pens, pet’s I wasn’t able to take care of. I’m not sure what the fish were so angry about. Probably from being confined to a tiny ass sandwich bag.

I got my ass kicked in a bar fight once, in 2018. Three against one. I do not remember. I was asking for something that was not on the menu. I was being annoying. Swings broke out like a Florida coastline and faster than you can say Tallahassee’s televised turnout tremendously terrified pterodactyls. Too small. Smack. Too slow. Smack. I fell to the floor, head between my knees. My jeans ripped. All I could see was stars at that point. I raised a barstool over my head and threw it against the bar, not sure if it landed on anyone. Always bust out the bar stool when you know you are going to get rocked. I ran out through the front entrance and I called 911. I left my bicycle behind. The cops were nice enough to drive it down to me. They told me that the security guard told them I was trying to buy drugs. I told them it was a hate crime. They told me to go home. I told them I would never go back to that bar again.

           Pigs in a blanket. I think there was bacon. Bacon or sausage. No. I think there were both. I woke up at 6am to eat this at 10am. 10:15 if you consider waiting in line. Why couldn’t everyone break bread the way we did? People always have to start a fight during a meal, or beer, if you’re a man of culture who would prefer to drink their meals. The indigestion was the worst. I could not eat breakfast too early because my stomach lining was still sensitive from the binge the night before. This did not stop me from killing a whole order of carne asada fries at night. I felt the weight of a bowling ball in my diaphragm when I woke up the next morning. Drinking water felt like swallowing marbles. This wasn’t normal. I’m not going to lie.

Well that’s great news, kind sir, because I can not condone dishonesty. Now please leave the patrons alone or get out of the bar.

           My older sister became an usher at church. She showed everyone to their seats. She wore a sash that said “Orden” or literally “Order”. She asked people if they could scoot over. She made room where people were resting their purses or when someone decided that they needed to sit with their legs wide open. Me and my younger sister always got pinches during service if we were joking around or being distracting. How did the people really bring their kids to church like that? We were so rambunctious!

The endless cycle of Life: that our guardians had to beat the shit out of us. So that maybe we could learn. Or so we would avoid the transformation. In the end, we resent their efforts and only make it worse for ourselves. I try to push myself up, but my left arm is too mangled to lift any weight. The dark holes just seem like the better option sometimes.  If the blackout won’t take me now, then maybe tomorrow.

The holes are patched up today. I found my way through the dark. My guardians were there all along.  I just needed some space. My mind is clear. I can focus again. I can have breakfast again. The nights can be long and dark, but I know the demons have left. My house is in order. My mind is clear. I finally have a clean conscience. I want to go back to the time when I was a child. Back to a time of trusting that the streetlights were guiding me all along. When I could hear my mother’s voice and know in my heart that the night was near, but only to visit.

Drink some water. Jesus fishes. Say a prayer. Missing pieces. Dying wish is - God’s my witness – you just know** * the nighttime* ** only** came to** visit**.

#author #beat #person of color #litterature #publishing #violence #recovery