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Jack Soto

0 · 123 views · located in Edenholle, Arizona

a character in “HELLS HALF ACRE”, as played by Bartholomew Finch

Description

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Isaiah 64:6

All of us have become like one who is unclean,
and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags;
we all shrivel up like a leaf,
and like the wind our sins sweep us away.
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The Woods

You'll wake up with a sudden hurt
With mouth and lungs all full of dirt
We went the two of us into
The woods behind the little school
Yet I'm still buried in the mud
Skin and bones and brains and blood




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Who are you Jack Rabbit? Where are you going?

What will you do Jack Rabbit? Who are you following?



ImageWear your sunday best, bow your head in prayer, follow the guidance of your elders. Never talk back, never speak your mind, opinions are only for your betters. Children weren't meant to be heard Jack, only seen. Do you understand Jack? Never heard.

He was a rabbit born to run, a beating heart cage by flesh and bone. Raised on a fathers branding fist and a mothers sorrows. The carrier of others weight, draped across his shoulders. Jack was a great many things more than anyone would ever think of him. He wasn't the expectations that were misguidedly placed upon him. He wasn't his brother - the cataclysm that brought tears to his mothers eyes. He was the shadow of a good son, the second born regret that ached for liberation. Burned with the need to find his escape. To run and run till his lungs seized in his chest.

He never thought he would return home when he ran.

His feet had carried him across the imaginary borders, endless grassy fields and rocky hills. Through cities reduced to smog filled wasted and towns smaller even than the one he came from. Hopping trains from here to there, as far as it was away from anywhere he had been before. Sleepless nights were spent watching the stars in the sky, they never once judged the way he hid his face in the crook of his arm, the fears he felt only in the silence of the night released in sobs. In the day he would walk, and walk, and walk until his feet felt like lead weights.

And despite everything, he loved it.



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He thought he would be gone for good, a ghost of a memory to Edenholle and her kin. That he would never again see the way his mother smiled so sadly at him, as if her entire world had shattered just to see him, telling him "children should never be heard Jack." The way his fathers eyes shone so glossy by the light of the fireplace, the good book clutched in his hands like a lifeline, even as he drank deeply from the bottle at his side. But the world was cruel and his heart was funny in its ways.

He saw his brother, in some nameless city, in another nameless bar. He had told Jack then, that things had changed since he ran. Their father was gone, in the ground for years now and his mother - what remained of her, clung desperately to Machines for her life. So it was true then, that he would never see those things again. But it didn't mean he wouldn't ever see Edenholle again. There was no obligation, just a morbid curiosity. A need to see the headstone for himself.

He returned and saw that headstone.

He returned and held his mothers hand, for the very last time, as she passed.

Maybe it was wishful thinking but Jack felt as if she had waited for him. That maybe she had wanted to see him one last time before the end took her on. But experience told him that it simply had been time, and whether he had been there or not, clutching her hand, she would have gone on anyways. He had left her, and now she had left him, and it felt like the sharp slide of a double edged sword against his skin.

He became a ghost haunting the house he once grew up in, visiting the places he once made trouble in as a kid, the church even - but it had changed since he'd last been. Passed into new hands. Into eyes made of ice and a mouth that spoke the kind of truths that made Jack feel whole. His world had turned on its head, and devotion to his god became his salvation. The repentance he craved with the entirety of his being. Jack was a rabbit born to run. But Jack couldn't run anymore, not when that mouth opened, and spoke those words.

"You look lost Jack rabbit."

So begins...

Jack Soto's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Friday Knapp Character Portrait: Jack Soto
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ImageThe light coming in through the open window bathes two bodies in a golden shadow that is muted enough to tell Friday he’s late. Halloween brings with it the need for the church to be open all day - from morning services for the uptight bible thumpers, to midday festivities for the younger children who have early bedtimes, to right around now when the majority of the town will be looking for a less pagan way to celebrate. And then, of course, past midnight when folks will embrace the amenity of costumes as if that will keep Satan from knowing they belong to him. He’s not late for that, yet, of course, but Father Friday has an image to maintain.

Still, in the comfort of his own bed, with tanned legs draped on either side of his thighs, colorful tattoos etched in the outline of sunlight that catches just right, Friday finds it hard to move. Finds it hard to convince himself that spending the evening preaching about someone elses god is more pressing than being his God. Thinks maybe instead he should pull his silver cross necklace off of Jack’s tongue and replace it with something heavier and needier.

Jack could have stayed this way for the rest of eternity, serving his God, festivals be damned. He needed this, ached for this, and though he knew that there would always be time for more worship there was still a distinct thread of annoyance at the thought of letting go. He knew though that Friday had things to do. Preparations for the coming onslaught of the flock. He himself had fulfillments to meet for tonight's extracurricular festivities. Excitement made him feel as if he were strung tight, ready to burst at any moment.

Though, what was a few more minutes?

A smile pulled at the sides of Friday’s mouth, one meant only for his most devotional of parishioners. He tugged at the chain and Jack came, easy like water, pliant and eager for anything his God may have asked from him. Friday would never admit it, but this was his favorite version of Jack, lost in the heaven they created between the two of them behind closed doors. Oh sure, they got up to plenty doors be damned, but this was different. This was reverence.

“Don’t you have to get ready for work?” he whispered in Jack’s ear, as if he didn’t already know the answer, as if Jack didn’t work for him. As if Jack’s whole world didn’t revolve around him.

"Fuck," Jack couldn't help the whispered groan from slipping out. He tightened his mouth around the metal cross, the sharp edges biting into the soft flesh of his mouth. He leaned into Friday, writhing against him, shivering from each point of contact.

"I'd rather stay here, with you," Jack mumbled around the cross, face pressed to the crook of Fridays neck, mouthing at the skin there. Tasting Friday, his sweat. He was overwhelmed by him, his everything. Did they really have to get out of bed? It already felt like tonight would last forever. A fun forever perhaps, but still forever.

It was no secret that Friday would rather stay too. That, if given the option, he would leave the church in Costance’s hands and lock himself away to die in his own temple. Years later their bones would be found by archaeologists who would name them the new Lovers of Modena.

Jack’s mouth on him was a temptation he could give into, it was well practiced in the places that could bring Friday down to a level closer to Man than Holy Spirit. He slides a hand up Jack’s back, slow, then tangles his fingers into thick dark curls and pulls. It’s a miracle, really, that he manages to touch Jack like that and not fuck him again, even as his tongue draws a path across the brown skin of Jack’s arched neck. When their mouths meet, it’s in a heated, dirty, open mouthed kiss, with tongues that work around the edges of a cross before Friday pulls back, stealing the silver with his teeth and letting it drop against his chest.

“I’ll wear you out,” he says, and takes Jack’s left hand in his to pull the ring from his finger. It, and his matching one, drop on a bible sitting on their bedside table. He can’t be a Soto, tonight. The church demands a Knapp.

“Never,” Jack replies with a soft grin, but he reluctantly relents, they would have plenty of time after tonight anyways - they would always have time. Jack leaned in for a last kiss, nipping at Friday’s lower lip before finally pulling away. There was work to be done after all, and Jack had no intentions of disappointing anyone tonight. He rolled to one side of the bed, stretching out as he went. Relaxing only for a moment into a sprawl before he gathered himself enough to get up.

“I’ve got big plans for tonight,” Jack commented offhandedly as he went, lightly teasing ”It’ll be quite the view.” Halloween would always be his favorite holiday, if only because he could wear the least amount of clothes in public. Nobody blinked an eye when Jack went out half undressed, costume often so skimpy that it left him at the mercy of a potential flashing incident.

Friday grinned, sharp. Plenty of people would pass through Jack’s arms that night, and by the time he was Friday’s again, there would likely be nothing left of his costume. That was fine though, work was work, and Friday had no doubt in his mind just who Jack had given his soul to. Who he shared his body with was of little worth, in comparison. They got ready separately; Jack showering although Friday didn’t bother. If the smell of sex lingered, the only members of his flock that would dare bring it up smelled the same.

He gathered up the last few things he would need for the evening, double checked to make sure his collar was straight, and circled by Jack once more just to say he was leaving. He leaned close to his husband, pressing their foreheads together in their typical separation before saying, “See you later, Jack Rabbit.”