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ebiemidnightlibrarian · 2 years

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Cornucopia | II — Castimonium III | Father Paul X Fem!Reader | English

SUMMARY | AO3 | MY MASTERLIST

Chapter Summary: Miriam goes to the Ash Wednesday Mass and the Crock Pot Luck, and feel that maybe her faith have some chance of redemption; She meets Hassan and tries to convince the good Sheriff to help her investigate the island. She drowns herself in a certain pair of brown eyes.

Chapter Title: Castimonium (/castīmōniae/; latin): abstinence; abstinence (sexual/from meat) for ritual; purity of morals; chastity.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of Past Religious Trauma, Mentions of Xenophobia, Religious Imagery, Dialogues from the Show, Mentions of Blood, Minor Mentions of feeding your dog with inappropriate food, Minor Mentions of Animal Death, Minor Mentions of Alcoholism.

Word Count: 12.7K (Yeah, I know, this is HUGE)

Note: Skin, hair and body descriptions were purposely vague, everything has been handled as vague as possible so that everything can be read as a reader fic.

Again, English isn’t my mother language, so I’m sorry for any orthography or writing mistakes you might find.

A/N: I should have mentioned this in chapter 1, but anyway, let's see… Here's the thing, I was raised Catholic, but in name only, you know? Honestly, I've only been to church five times in twenty years, four seventh-day services and the opening of a family-founded chapel. That said, it's not like I've really suffered from religion, as I know some people have.

In general, Catholicism was only a thorn in my side during my teen years for a variety of reasons, so if the way the OFC deals with their faith seems vague, that's because I'm putting my point of view in theirs.

I have my share of childhood traumas linked to religion (just a few, mostly about my sexuality), but nothing that has made me completely abandon the feeling of faith has only made it numb. What I mean is that every part where I describe the OFC's reactions to Paul's sermon was my own, watching the series.

Having said that, I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one might take a while to come out, but I'll do what I can to prevent that. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND KINDNESS!!

THE WOODEN FLOOR at the entrance to the Church of St. Patrick's creaked under her foot. The scent of incense, paraffin, and varnish filled Miriam's nostrils as soon as she entered the church aisle.

That was, in a way, familiar. So many people filled the varnished pews, sharing their faith as they waited hopefully for an answer to their prayers. Harper remembered walking into St. Agnes weekly, obediently sitting on the third bench from the left, praying for the day to come when she would get rid of that place.

Not the worst of memories, she rationalized.

Miriam walked calmly around the side of the church, she was slightly late, but it was clear that the mass had not yet started due to the incessant hustle. Scanning the people seated on the benches, the young woman looked for Erin Greene among the islanders. As soon as her eyes landed on the expectant mother, she felt an unwanted shiver run down her spine as she heard the voice of the last person she wanted to talk to.

“Well, I certainly did not expect to see you here, Miss. Harper.” Beverly Keane's squeaky, smugly sugary voice seemed to poke holes in the accountant's ears.

Slowly, Miriam turned to face the deaconess. With an equally sugary smile on her face, the young woman took a few steps closer. Her shrewd eyes returned to Bev, she was wearing some sort of white ceremonial clause, so long it almost swept the floor. The sunlight streaming through the church's glass windows cast a shadow against the deaconess. That strange detail unnerved another shiver down Miriam's back. Taking a deep breath, the young woman greeted the devotee.

“Good morning, Miss. Keane.” Greeted the accountant, her tone mimicking the sickeningly sweet tone the woman in white customarily used with her, the condescending timbre of someone confident in the certainty of being God's favourite. “In fact, it is not common for me to come to Mass, but I was so kindly invited by Father Paul. That I felt compelled to come and witness one of his much-lauded homilies.” Miriam gave a discreet emphasis when she mentioned the fact that she had been invited, an emphasis she knew the deaconess would not miss.

“I see.” The sugary smile Bev gave her faded and turned sour at the mention of the dark-haired priest. “I found it curious that someone who so openly despises Catholic dogmas should deign to set foot in a church of their own free will. Isn’t that just a guess?” The deaconess clasped her slender hands in front of her, a lopsided smile painting the freckles across her face.

“I assure you, Miss. Keane, that I didn't feel any burning on my heathen skin as I passed through the entrance arch,” the young accountant told her, a simple gaze brushing the orbs, as if innocently not noticing the sarcasm in the words.

Miriam normally harboured a demure tenacity in her responses to the deaconess, but this particular morning she felt especially astute. Beverly Keane grinned, not amused at the insult uttered, but still she didn't give up and very subtly tilted her neck, studying the robes the woman in front of her wore. A slight look of disapproval twisting her face.

Despite not wanting to, Miriam let her gaze stray to her own clothes. Her robes weren't flashy. She was slipping into a plain leaf green dress that stopped just past her knees, — knees that were covered in long, dark-coloured tights for the sole purpose of shielding her legs from the icy breeze. The cleavage she possessed mimicked the clothes that peasant women used to wear. It exposed her bust and shoulders, but she had remembered to cover them with a knitted shawl in the same colour, thick enough in case the weather changed. Or even in case she got some unwanted looks, such as the one the deaconess sent her.

She looked decent, nothing that could be considered vulgar, but obviously Bev had looked at her as if she were wearing a hooker's clothes. Arching an eyebrow, the young woman waited for the deaconess to utter the insult she so clearly wanted. Beverly pretended not to understand the questioning look sent her. The obvious trepidation pricked Miriam's patience.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, still using the condescending tone the deaconess used when addressing her. However, there was a hint of impatience in the words that escaped the young woman. The deaconess smiled.

With a deep inhalation, Miriam shoved her hands into the front pockets of her dress and glanced toward the organist as he began to play one of the hymns from the red hymnal. The murmurs and whispers that filled the church were suddenly silenced. That seemed enough to wake Bev from her silent judgment.

“None. Well, at least, coming to church, maybe, you don't rethink your faith. After all, Lent is a time of repentance.”, she said with a lopsided smile and a nod. The deaconess began to move toward her usual spot in front of the altar, each step firm, an irritating cockiness in the way she moved.

There was a clear contempt in the way she had pronounced the words 'repentance' and 'lent', but not a contempt per se, directed at the words, as if they represented something repugnant, but something more subjective, the disgust and decadent look were directed at the woman with whom she spoke. Miriam, at that moment, assumed that, definitively and utterly, she didn't like Beverly Keane. She also concluded that she was okay with the deaconess not liking her either. Mutual displeasure was indeed simpler to deal with than one-sided displeasure.

“Certainly Ms. Keane. Certainly…”, her exasperated whisper, was covered by the chorus of voices fervently intoning the anthem.

There weren't enough people to fill all the seats, but enough to allow Harper to feel a slightly agonizing feeling of claustrophobia. With steady strides, Miriam took her place beside Erin with a sigh. A knowing look was exchanged between them, the curly woman having spotted the small, disgusted interaction with the outrageous warrior of Christ. Handling her wrist, the pregnant woman turned the hymnal of a vibrant red between them so that both could sing the hymn.

Miriam felt an agony seize her breath, as if there wasn't enough air in that small nave, lit by the golden rays of morning. The melancholy lyrics weighed heavily on the woman's tongue. Taking a deep breath, she caught in her peripheral vision a purple figure beside her. A deep, smoky voice sounding beside her, the very words she chanted so dispassionately.

The priest had his chin resting on the tips of his long fingers, his forehead bowed to the central crucifix. Tiptoeing, the cleric climbed the short staircase that led to the altar, but not without first bowing to his Lord. The purple clause licked the floor as the priest bowed, and returned to hover low to the floor once he rose to his full height.

Miriam could smell the lemongrass and myrrh from the thurible in Warren's hands burning its way into her lungs. The entire devoted chorus of voices fell silent as the good priest took his place behind the pulpit, the organist having stopped playing just before each had taken their seats.

Affectionate warmth spread through Paul's chest as his eyes landed on the small female figure dressed in green. In a way, his awkward visit to the newcomer's abode had inspired him to improve his homily. The preacher in his mind hoped she would appreciate his words.

His dark eyes then darted from the accountant to the growing huddle of worshippers in front of him, honest joy pumping through his veins at the sight. Once again the word of God was becoming necessary and present in the peaceful lives of each one of those individuals of faith who prostrated themselves before him, and once again he would be the messenger of good news to the people of the Lord.

“It's great to see so many of you here today,” he began, his deep, rich voice reverberating through the church aisle effortlessly. “But I do have to ask, why not every Sunday?” The rhetorical question had a graceful air on his lips. His big brown eyes pierced the faces of the faithful in attendance, a little doubt in some of those who didn't usually show up on a weekly basis.

Harper listened to his words, curious to have proof of the validity of Erin's praise. Still, she was lost for a moment in the lighting coming from the window beside the pulpit, the faint gray light adorning the priest's thick black curls like a kind of halo. A silly smile curved her lips without her awareness.

“Christmas, Easter, I get that,” continued the man of God. “But there’s also always an uptick around the start of Lent.” His long fingers played briefly with the red ribbon that demarcated the pages of holy scripture. “Why’s that? What's so special today?” His hands forgot the marker and hovered in the air in front of him momentarily.

The young newcomer watched with unquestioning attention the subtle enthusiasm that hovered in every word uttered by the good priest. The way the man moved his hands, gesticulating as he spoke, and the expectant glint that gleamed in the dark pools of his eyes was almost youthful. Miriam saw a man passionate about his mission.

“Ash Wednesday, beginning of Lent. It's hardly a crowd pleaser.” His rich voice wore a chaste smile at the comment. Both hands rested on the pulpit, a deep inhalation followed, a pause. “The beginning of repentance, making amends for our sins.” Paul averted his eyes the slightest bit from everyone, his gaze wandering briefly to the Holy book in front of him.

There was a weight on his chest. Guilt.

“Sin,” looking up, the word slipped from the preacher's lips just as his orbs inconveniently fell on Miriam.

Harper caught the restrained look the good priest had sent her, the contrition of the word slipping into her mind like a fungus. Her serene expression was slightly disturbed by a confused little crease between her brows. She wondered if he did it intentionally, but the seed of insecurity shouldn't take root, not about this. She blinked a few times to clear her mind as she continued to listen to him.

“This darkness, this blackness that spilled into us.” His tone carries a strange shadow, as do his eyes, a glimpse of the demons guarded in his mind, his conscience heavy. “That darkness, we wear it on our forehead today.” A flick of his hand towards his forehead, a glance at the spot where dear Millie used to be.

The restless shadow that momentarily reflects in the priest's eyes does not escape Miriam's perception. A feeling of familiarity lodged in her chest. There was something about Paul that disturbed her, something she still couldn't name. The most beautiful flowers also have their thorns, the saying rips her mind. Maybe there was something in her soul that shared that thing in his brown eyes, but it was too early to tell.

“Just a smudge of it. Uh…” Paul trailed off for a moment, the scrape of a mournful voice in the back of his mind, derailing his thoughts.

His eyes seek focus on the small, reddened notebook he's jotted down his sermon in, the yellowed pages and the words written on them drowning out the angel's whispers.

“A smudge of death, of ash, of sin for repentance.”, another gesture of his pianist's hand, which soon returned to firm itself in the varnished wood of the pulpit. “Because of where this is all actually heading, which is Easter. Rebirth, resurrection, eternal life. Life that rises again.” There is a clarity in the way he pronounces the words, a timely sincerity that imparts serenity to those who listen. So many years on the job must have drained him, but since his miracle, his faith had been renewed, as had he.

The words are crystal clear, each one expressing a singular purpose, a chaste intention to reinvigorate the faith of those people who so often faced disgrace. Miriam allowed herself to look away from the messenger and pay attention to the way each believer absorbed the Word. The priest's booming voice continues his sermon.

“Even out of blackness, love rises again,” the resurrected messenger intones the words with conviction, a welcome musicality peppering an extra layer of vigor into his message. “Even out of sin. And this island, it will rise again.” A new wave of pure contentment is injected through his veins as he watches the emotional faces of those he has known so intimately for so many years.

Harper feels a brief excitement well up in her core, her long-forgotten faith moving ever so slightly, an affable hope ignited by the dark-haired priest's words.

“Even out of disaster, rebirth, restoration, eternal life.” As he utters those words once more, Paul almost breaks away from the uncertainty that he is right in his mission, the fire of his own faith rekindling mournfully. God chose him, gifted him, and the gift should be shared. “Jesus sees you.” His voice rises, his ebony orbs fondly studying each slightly refreshed face. “Sees you, best of all, and he sees you true.” He flicked his wrist again, gesturing to no one in particular.

Miriam looked closely at the faces of the islanders. Ed Flynn, who sat forward, was nodding with conviction, the scorching pride of his faith reflected in his drooping gaze. His wife, sweet Anne, had a bluish handkerchief pressed up to her nostrils, a fervent emotion pushing tears into her pale eyes. There was a passion contained in that sermon, realizing it spread a welcoming warmth in the newcomer's chest, the words moved something inside her. Looks like I still have some chance of redemption, don't I? She thought, her shrewd gaze straying to the crucified Jesus in front of the altar.

“Because, don’t forget, who did he seek out?” His tone had risen an octave, the lyrical excitement gradually taking hold of him. “Who did he turn to, to build his church? His apostles.”, the good cleric could no longer contain his own delight in recognizing the joy of belief in the teary eyes of those people. His people. “Jesus' first disciples, they were fishermen. One of his first miracles, right?” His hands, once restrained on the pulpit, now gesticulated expansively, like a conductor's ghost. The clause sleeves fluttering around him.

Harper's heart pounded with the passion of the words he spoke. She reflected on the weight that passionate homily had on the island's residents. It was certainly moving to watch these people nurture their belief so beautifully, even for her.

“The nets are empty, fishermen desperate. Jesus said, 'Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch’, and when they pulled up those nets, amounts of fish.”, the smile that painted his face and his voice singing was capable of lighting up an entire city. “He sees you.” In his voice was a relentless conviction, bringing tears to the eyes of the children he had seen grow up. “Oh yes, he sees you, brothers and sisters, and he will resurrect this island, and he will fill your nets.” Hope gleamed in the parishioners' eyes. Looking forward to having your prayers finally heard.

Paul felt nourished. Nourished by the love of God, and he now had his heart warmed by the love of his parish.

“It’s great you’re here today, but please keep coming back.”, the presbytery pleaded in its lilting voice, a polite plea for them not to lose faith. “Those doors, they’re always open, as the gates are always open. You just bring yourself. God will do the rest.”, the good priest wished his beloved parishioners to remain resolute. Blessings would come. “As Psalm 60 tells us, ‘God, You have rejected us, You have broken us down, You have been angry. Restore us again.'” His ebony orbs rose to the heavens, emphasizing his speech.

They'll need your faith intact for what's to come, a voice similar to his, — but not his —, whispered in his mind. God's chosen must show that faith is to be rewarded, another rather more sullen voice covered his own thoughts for not less than an instant. A chill ran down his spine and there was a heaviness in his chest.

Suddenly, there was a slightly overwhelming energy in the church. Miriam could feel the constricting of air in her lungs, the cosy warmth that had covered her chest evaporated into an awkward feeling, an uncomfortable heaviness, one that only she seemed to cherish. A shiver snaked through her back and she shifted uncomfortably against the old wooden bench. She averted her eyes to the red hymnal in front of her, one hand running involuntarily over the white coats of her rosary.

“Do you know what psalms are? They're songs.” Paul turned his gaze to the believers listening to him, their orbs reflecting a now dimmed glow. “The word psalm from the Greek psalmoi. It means ‘music’.”, the bows that his hand executed, slightly waved his clause, giving the impression of being the slender fan of a blue bird. “Songs of prayer. Songs of praise.” The musicianship had found its way back into his voice. “That's who we are. That's who we must be.” As a true and experienced preacher, Paul presided over the mass hypnotically, everyone's eyes fixed on him and his persuasive words.

Each small pearly dimension marked its spherical shape in the young woman's fingers. A deep breath of closed eyes, and she returned the orbs to the cloth man at the altar. Miriam no longer felt the strange sensation, as suddenly as it came, it was gone in the musicality of the priest's voice, leaving in its wake a strange feeling of disturbance, the kind you get just after hearing an abnormal noise in a house where only you reside.

“That’s what it means to have faith,” a deep breath, and then his eyes dropped to the figure in green once more. “That in the darkness, in the worst of it, in the absence of light and hope, we sing.”, An involuntary smile paints his face at the end of the sentence. “‘Restore us,’ we sing to the sky. And He will, my friends. He will.” Averting his gaze from the huddled female form in the background, he turned his gaze to the open Bible, the shimmering glow of the gold-edged pages soothing his mind, drowning out the voice and the weight of his gift. “That same hand that dealt you your hardship, that same hand will make you whole.” And with the same serenity with which it began, his homily ended.

There was a long silence after the sermon ended. Each parishioner absorbed the good priest's refreshing words in silence. And for what felt like the first time in months, Miriam's mind was completely and utterly silent. There was no paperwork, no cat corpses, no anxiety, no grief. Just a sepulchral silence in her awareness.

She remembered those moments of strange peace. As much as she harboured a contempt for the way she had spent her years in St. Agnes, Miriam had bittersweet memories of her times of solitude in the boarding school's small, dark chapel. However, this time, a feeling of familiarity blossomed. Her mind fast-forwarding to the Sundays her mother took her to church, her youthful self little interested in the old abbot's words. She recalled with a slight frown that on the way home, Lyanna had made a point of explaining to her every parable the abbot had quoted during his sermon.

The gloomy notes of the organ suddenly pulled her out of her mournful reverie, along with Erin's harmonious voice murmuring her name. Looking up, — having blinked a few plaintive tears away —, Miriam paid attention around her. A line of parishioners had quickly formed, up ahead, at the head of the line, was Father Paul. The purple clause demarcating his presence. He patiently blessed with a blackened cross the forehead of every link in that chain of faith.

“Are you okay?” Erin asked with her brows drawn together in her typical maternal concern. Harper smiled weakly, and nodded, stroking the expectant mother's hand that was touching her forearm.

“Yes, just,” the woman considered her words, it would not be appropriate to fill the expectant young woman of hopeful eyes with her melancholy. She shook her head once more, purging some unwanted thoughts. “… taking it all in. You were right to sing him praises.” A simple smile curves her full lips, and Erin gives her a look that says, “I told you so.”

Both women rose from their seats and positioned themselves in the row of sinners. On instinct, Miriam wraps herself more tightly in her shawl. The smoky voice of the black-haired priest creeps into her ears, reverberating through the damp-swollen woodwork of the church and back again, in a ghostly echo.

“Ben, remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

With each step closer to her blessing, a disconcerting tightness crept into her chest. Since the visit the good priest had paid her, Miriam had not seen him in the days that followed, the unspoken tension that had built up on the day in question never being undone. Besides, against her better judgment and self-control, her restless mind began to trouble her with at least profane images about the black-haired priest.

“Fiona, remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

Impure thoughts in the house of God? You will burn if he touches you. A cruel, childish voice scratched at her brain. Having the main agent of such thoughts so close to her could certainly provoke an unconscious reaction in her, something that would give her away. This particular line of reasoning sent an embarrassed shudder through her body. Calm down, it's just a blessing, it's not like you're going to combust. An irritating voice whispered in her mind, giving her some reason. Her tense shoulders cause a numb throb in her neck.

The next step was taken, Erin prostrated herself in front of the vicar, her delicate hands clasped under her chin in reverence. Taking a deep breath and straightening her posture, Miriam felt the priest's voice vibrate within her bones.

“Erin, remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

Once the pregnant woman took a step to the side, crossing herself, and returned through the pews to her place among the parishioners. Miriam inhaled deeply, taking a step forward. The green-clad woman kept her eyes down on her black boots, the same mud-stained boots she'd acquired the first day she set foot on that island. The wooden floor looked worn and unkempt beneath her small heels. The distance is less than a step between her and the priest.

“Miriam, remember you are dust…”, his resonant voice trailed off. He had his fist raised to the height of her forehead, yet he stopped, his thumb dipped in dark ash flush with the skin of her forehead, but never touching. Paul wanted to look her in the eye when he blessed her.

A doubt scratched the surface of her mind. Why did he stop? An inconvenient blush crept up the newcomer's cheeks as she reluctantly lifted her shy gaze from the wood floor to the priest's warm ebony irises, she prayed her eyes wouldn't give her away.

Paul was staring at her tenderly, a stubborn lock of black hair hanging disobediently in front of those huge eyes of his. Harper inhaled deeply as she faced him, a dizzying sensation lapping at her skin. The woody scent of sandalwood, myrrh, and something minty like mint filled her lungs abundantly, the scent intensifying as the cloth man moved, tracing his thumb across her forehead, smearing her with the mark of sin.

“And to dust you shall return.”, a warmth covered the words that flowed from the priest's well-designed lips. He lowered his fist, his brown orbs about to engulf the woman in front of him. Paul studied her face, wanting to keep the sight of the lovely blush that covered her cheeks to himself. “Bless you, child.”, he uttered in a subtly knowing tone, after a moment of silence.

Their gazes held for a few moments longer than would be considered appropriate. Miriam lowered her eyes, a trembling hand crossing herself, her face so hot it felt like it was burning. Her heart in her chest resembled a caged sparrow, a heavy breath later, she found her voice.

“Amen.”

The mass did not take long to end after the blessing. In a way, there was a general anxiety on the part of all those present to be early to the end of the service so that they could enjoy the community event for a longer time.

Miriam felt her hands damp in her pockets. A few minutes had passed, her heartbeat had slowed, and as she got up to leave, she hoped Erin hadn't noticed how the measly touch on her forehead had disconcerted her. With a deep breath, she composed herself, eager to leave the oppressive environment she was in. Before she could even set foot outside the church, Harper felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, what a good thing to see you here, Miss. Harper!” Wade said with a smile on his face. Miriam turned, the tension in her shoulders causing a small, fleeting cramp in her neck.

There was an awkward moment when Miriam's eyes landed on the mayor. He looked slightly younger than she remembered, it looked like even some of the gray hairs that had sprouted at his temples and coloured his moustache were gone. The accountant blinked a few times. No, it's all in your head, maybe he just figured it out how to paint them naturally. Anyway, that wasn't the only reason she felt uncomfortable in the politician's presence.

Her investigation into Crockett Island's financial woes turned out not to be limited to just the 'Bev Keane Money Laundering Center' — as Joe had kindly dubbed it. In fact, according to her most recent information there were years of fiduciary fraud going on, on the Island, and not coincidentally, such fraud had started in the records of the year that dated Wade Scarborough's first election as mayor. It was ridiculous how often this sort of thing happened in small towns. After all, if there are no opponents you are always sure to be elected, then there is no reason to worry about having your illicit activities discovered.

Miriam's gaze shifted from the mayor to the two figures behind him: Dolly and Leeza. She wondered if the Mayoress knew her husband was corrupt. She felt sorry for Leeza, after all she would be the most harmed if Dolly knew, and they were both arrested.

“Good morning, Mayor Scarborough. Mrs. Scarborough, Leeza.” Miriam disguised her concern with her best friendly tone and greeted everyone. The young woman in the wheelchair had a bright smile on her face as she waved at the accountant.

The youthful glint in Leeza's eyes returned to Dolly, to whom she whispered something indistinct and expectant. The bespectacled woman nodded, watching her daughter make her way happily towards the altar boys and young Ali. They all smiled in an excitement that only youth can provide.

Harper looked back at the mayor a moment later, her orbs having followed Leeza.

“It's a great thing to have you here,” Dolly said, taking a few steps closer, her slender fingers pushing the clear stem of her glasses back to where they slipped. Miriam kept a thin smile on her lips, not wanting to let her contempt for the mayor's actions show on her face.

“It was a beautiful homily indeed, I haven't heard anything this refreshing since Christmas.” Wade's voice sounded slightly choked, as if he'd cried at the priest's words not long before he addressed her.

“Yes…”, an almost imperceptible blush stained the young woman's skin at the unwelcome memory of the light touch left on her forehead. “Father Paul has a gift for words.” Her voice was serene, but there was an affection that reached only her eyes. She admired how eloquent the man was, of that there was no doubt.

“I'm glad to hear that.”, the priest's booming voice sounded, as if he had been evoked with the mere mention of the name, Paul appeared behind Dolly, Erin followed him and in her beautiful face she had a shrewd look at Miriam.

The expectant mother turned to her lodger with a smile, casting a suggestive look between her and the clergy. Erin said goodbye to the good priest, Dolly, and the mayor, walking with an even more suggestive smile away from the group. The couple did not take long to leave either, both holding hands in calm strides in the direction where their offspring had gone.

Harper's cheeks felt hot, but she didn't let the feeling of self-consciousness overwhelm her this time. Keeping her back straight, she took the remaining steps to exit the interior of the church. A fresh breath of air filling her lungs with the smell of sea air and burnt lemongrass. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the calm for a moment, the warmth of a body beside her bringing her back to the present.

“So you came.” There was a smile curving the priest's lips, a gentle warmth once more spread through his being at the sight of her.

Paul kept his hands clasped in front of his body and studied carefully the way the accountant's face had softened, her hair held on the sides by bobby pins releasing a few strands that caressed the young woman's face. He looked down momentarily for fear of being caught staring when she turned her eyes to him. He scolded himself for his childish behaviour and looked up at the fair that began ahead, around the city's founding monument.

“I said I would.”, she replies with a shy smile, taking a hand out of her pocket to adjust some unruly strands of her hair that had escaped her bobby pins. “I don't say this just to please you, since lying isn't really my thing, but…”, Miriam pondered her words and turned fully to the priest, an absolutely serious look in her eyes. “It was the best sermon I ever heard,” she declares seriously. The accountant smiles as she sees him smother a laugh, a rosy colour covering his cheeks.

“I'll be spoiled if this continues.”, Paul nods, laughing at the ridiculously serious tone she gave the sentence. For a moment, he really feared he'd let her down. His own smile widens when he sees her smiling at his foolishness.

“I'm serious,” a female hand rises dramatically towards her chest to emphasize her speech. “You almost converted me.”, she says with a smile, seeing him bite his lip and shake his head a little at the affirmation. “Almost. There was very little left.”, Her sweet voice has a humorous tone, and she symbolizes with her hands the little that was missing for her so-called ‘conversion’.

“It's a pity my plan to bring this sheep back to the fold has failed.” There is a subtlety in the pronunciation of the words, a delicate sarcasm coupled with the unconvincing way in which it was spoken.

“More luck next time, Father.”, she murmurs with a half smile. There's a biting timbre to her voice, a slight sarcasm. Taking a deep breath, she shoves her hands in her pockets again. An icy breeze makes her shiver.

He lowers his eyes for a moment with a slight smile, turning back to face her a little later. There was an unusual beauty about the young woman, a melancholy that crept into her features, as if there was a strange pain that kept her always at bay, her overworked mind taking her to a dark place, away from the present, away from him.

She looked a lot healthier since the last time he saw her. In the shinier, flowing locks of hair, her skin had a healthier tone, and her lips looked more flushed and smoother than ever. A heretical memory crept through the meanderings of his mind, and he cringed in the slightest. Lust is your new virtue? Will you shame God by breaking your vows, Father? Paul shudders at the dark whisper that pollutes his mind.

Miriam took a step down the steps of St. Patrick, and the glimpse of movement was enough for him to force himself to deviate from that train of thought.

His watchful eyes then capture the rather distant figure of Sheriff Hassan, he is approaching slowly, one hand smoothing the back of his brown neck as if to expunge the tension from his shoulders, the other tucked in his pocket. Harper seems to notice him too, as she takes another step closer to the lawman.

Spread the word… You still have a flock, Father, forget about the straying sheep, the voice of the messenger sent by the lord scratched in his mind. The good priest blinked once hard and watched as Hassan approached. The whispers getting angrier in his mind.

“Good morning, Father Paul,” greeted the policeman with a restrained wave, his black eyes turning in the accountant's direction. “Miriam.”

Harper waved back at him, a patient, suddenly tired smile curving her lips. With her hands still in her pockets, she turned to the priest, her gaze dropping before meeting him, an almost imperceptible blush staining her cheeks.

“Well, I-” Miriam is suddenly interrupted by the squeaky voice of a very prim Bev Keane from inside the church. She no longer wore her ceremonial robes and seemed energetic to introduce her pastor to the local customs.

“Oh! Father, finally.” Her freckled face flashes a cheek-splitting smile for Paul, but as soon as her green eyes fall on the newcomer and the sheriff, she stiffens.

“Well, is there a problem, Sheriff?” she asks, stepping in front of the priest, putting herself in the path between him and the muslim policeman as if she were a shield against the two heathens ahead.

“None, Bev. I'm here to see the event. I saw Ms. Harper, and I took the opportunity to speak with her. We have some things to talk about.” Hassan spoke in a calm tone, exchanging a knowing look with the accountant, hands on hips, at the sudden appearance of the deaconess.

“Exactly.” Miriam began, amending the good sheriff's line. “And I was talking to Father Paul, but I don't want to rob him of his duties. Well…”, she casts a glance in the direction of the purple-clad cleric. “See you later, Father. Ms. Keane.” A restrained nod to both of them and she walks towards the festival, seeing Hassan follow her with a glance over her shoulder. “Having fun?” she asked the lawman with a smile. He snorted briefly.

“The food doesn't look bad,” he begins, taking his hands off his hips and tucking them into the pockets of his blue jeans, shrugging. “The greengrocers don't have anything very different, you know, antiques, flowers, handmade candles… Ali made me buy something in each one of them. He even made me buy a bar of green tea acne soap.” He pulls a brown paper wrapper from a jacket pocket and displays it briefly before putting it back.

“Ali seems like a good boy. Give him a break, he's just wanting to participate.”, Miriam says with a smile curving her lips. She looks up from the unkempt lawn to look around, taking in her surroundings.

The sun is no longer shrouded by heavy rain clouds, its golden rays barely shining, glistening in the white tents of the small greengrocers arranged around the town monument. Flowers, soaps, handmade candles and antiques dot each one. The devout residents of that tiny island crowded among the tents, smiling, drinking and eating to the tune of a local folk band called 'Timmy & The Whack Shack'.

Miriam recognized the lead singer, he was at mass right behind her. A laugh escaped her nose. Hassan looked at her questioningly for a moment as they made their way to the liquor store. He followed her gaze and smiled weakly.

“No cars, or digital files, or any technology that didn't become obsolete in the nineties, but still… They have a folk band. A fucking folk band living right here in Crockett. This is amazing. I'm stuck in a David Pinner book!” Harper exclaimed, raising her eyebrows with an incredulous laugh, earning the looks of a few people who heard her outrage.

“Wonders never cease.” muttered the sheriff, exasperated.

Without delay, as they approached the small makeshift wooden counter, — where a large aluminium barrel rested —, blue drink tickets were handed to them, restrained greetings were extended to the sheriff. Politely, Hassan declined his notes and Miriam accepted hers, even though she had no intention of using them.

Her peripheral vision caught the squat, gangly figure of Joe Collie, hunched over one end of the counter, his scraggly beard and gray-blended moustache drowned in a beer glass. Hassan and Harper exchanged a worried look. As the sheriff walked away to have a few words with Joe, Miriam was more interested in the diligent animal playing with something in the grass.

When she got close enough, Miriam frowned as she saw Pike muzzle a piece of bread. The sausage had rolled away on the grass, and the dog was still lying down, trying to reach the pink chunk of meat. Lowering herself onto the grass, the accountant gained the animal's gleeful attention. She caressed his cheeks and the middle of his ears with one hand, while with the other she picked up the intact piece of bread and sausage. Before the dog could snatch her hand, she walked over to a dustbin next to a bench and threw the thing away.

Miriam had had a dog a few years ago. A huge tricolour fur Bernese named Bento. Harper loved him madly and loved stroking his long, shiny fur, but like anyone who had just had their first dog, she didn't have much of a sense of what he should or shouldn't eat. She would often give him some of her pasta during lunch, after all, Bento seemed to like it so much that it felt cruel not to share her food with her best friend. Over time, obviously, the animal's silky fur started to lose its shine and softness, and poor Bento started to have dandruff and hives due to his improper diet.

Shortly afterward, Lenz informed younger Miriam that she should never feed her dog with flour. The habit of avoiding this kind of food around dogs acted naturally on her, convincing Pike not to eat it.

Harper grimaced, wiping her hand of the dog's saliva from the back of the hem of her dress. Once she approached the dog, it wagged its tail, having risen from its comfortable spot on the fresh grass, only to nearly knock the woman over as it gleefully leapt on her.

“Hello, Pike.”, she smiled widely, balancing again on the small heels and stroking the animal's big head eagerly. “You shouldn't eat wheat, boy, it will make that beautiful fur of yours fall out.” Her voice held a sweet tone, as if Pike was actually a mischievous child and not a dog.

Bento was quite different from Pike, instead of being so gangly and playful, the Bernese was quiet and sleepy, but she decided to like Pike as much as she liked Bento.

She ran her fingers over the creature's thick, glossy fur, scratching with her nails, chin, and ears. When she stood up, Miriam took a few steps closer to Joe and Hassan, both of whom were watching the interaction without much interest.

“What did he have?” Joe asked, his voice still slightly choked, but this time from the alcohol. The dog happily approached its owner, sat proudly and diligently beside him, and received a caress on the chin.

“Someone must have dropped a hot dog. He was snooping around, but I managed to throw it away before he ate.” She gestured briefly towards the trash can.

Hassan stared at the animal gaily prostrate next to him, its big pink tongue hanging out, dripping saliva, almost in a smile.

“Don't let him eat anything that has wheat or sugar, it will make him sick.” Seeing Joe's brows knit, she decided to complete it. “My brother-in-law is a veterinarian, he told me the same thing when I had a dog.”, she pointed and reached into her pocket again.

“I'll remember that.” whispered the animal's owner. With this new information, the stocky old man turned his attention to his nearly empty beer glass with a wave.

Gesturing at the dark fur-covered creature, Miriam sat down on the nearby bench. Pike trotted interestedly toward her, ears pricked, attentive, as he sat on the accountant's feet, his long tongue darting out to lick his own muzzle as the woman began scratching her nails behind his ear.

Having finished his conversation with Joe Collie, Hassan walked over to the newcomer and sat down beside him.

“You don't have a brother-in-law,” he murmured to her in his deep, husky voice. “Actually you don’t even have a brother… or a sister.” She smiled, her discerning eyes very intent on the animal between her thighs.

“No, but I consider Abel my brother, which in turn makes his husband my brother-in-law,” she explained tersely, never taking her eyes off Pike. “It doesn't matter,” concluded the accountant, finally leaning back on the bench, shoulder to shoulder with the sheriff.

“Fair.” There was a pause, the soft air in the policeman's dark eyes fading. “What did Abel say about the files?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning closer to Miriam. His black orbs watched people farther away, making sure no one but them was listening.

Miriam took a deep breath, it was obvious that her peace would only last for a short time, after all, problems just don't solve themselves.

The day after the priest's unexpected visit, Miriam found part of the documentation that implied fiduciary fraud, the fraud that had arisen during the tenure of the current mayor of Crockett. This new information added an extra headache for the accountant, and she ended up emailing her cousin with the prints of the documentation. Abel, like the good lawyer he was, asked if there were any reliable law enforcement officers on the island that she could talk to. Thus, Hassan ended up being abruptly introduced into this situation.

It wasn't enough for Bev to persecute him and his faith, now he had confirmation that she had taken advantage of poor, deranged Pruitt's plight to steal money from the construction of the Recreation Center, overpricing the materials. Besides, less than a day ago, he'd discovered that not only Bev but the mayor had been looting the island's resources.

“It's enough to subpoena them, but I don't have the legal power to do that.”, Miriam says with a sigh, blinking slowly in Hassan's direction. She stared at him for a moment, hoping he would understand what she was asking of him.

“What exactly are you asking me for?” the good sheriff asked, a stern look on his face, dark brows drawn together tightly.

“I'm asking you to investigate. See if there's anything else we missed. There's a limit to what I can do, and I've already reached it.”, she looks him in the eyes heavily, there's a raw honesty in Miriam's voice. She doesn't seem happy to ask him to put himself in the line of fire, but she does anyway.

“Investigate, exactly what? Bev? The Recreation Center? City Hall and Mayor? My God, Miriam. Even St. Patrick?” Hassan shifts uncomfortably against the damp-swollen boards of the bench, his voice low, subdued, as he again traverses the surrounding area.

No intruders in sight.

He takes a deep breath, seeing the disgusted look traced on his companion's face.

“Did I ever tell you why I moved here?” he asks, turning a sideways glance at the blackened stain at the accountant's feet.

“No, I don't think so.” Miriam's voice trails off in response, tiredness digging into her words. She runs her fingers through her hair and pulls the shawl closer to her body, an uncomfortable feeling welling up in her chest.

“Didn’t tell anybody, now that I think about it.” A contemplative bitterness covers the sheriff's husky voice. He continues, his timbre taking on a dry tone. “It’s almost as if nobody asked.” He gestures with a strong hand briefly, then goes back to wrapping it around his biceps.

Suddenly, Miriam realizes that this will not be an easy conversation.

“You know, I was, um, 21 when the Towers went down.”, Hassan says, his voice getting lower and regretful. “Watched it on TV in my dorm room just weepin’” he continued, looking at the beaming faces of the children. “When I was a kid, I wasn’t religious at all, really. But I went to the mosque that day, because they had a blood drive, and the line went for blocks.” A flick of his strong wrist illustrated his speech.

Harper felt that initial embarrassment rise in her chest.

“I wanted to help. I wanted to protect this country.” Another wary look around and the sheriff continued, his disappointment reflected in the way his thick brows drew together. “So I moved to New York and enrolled in NYPD training. Now, some of my friends, they weren't happy.” A frown formed on his lips as Hassan shifted uncomfortably in the seat, glancing peripherally at the woman listening to him.

“‘The NYPD is against us,’ they’d say. But I’d tell them, 'No. You're wrong.'” A pause, a sigh, and the next breath of air brings with it the scent of lavender and cedar. “‘I’ll show them they don’t have to be afraid of us. I'll show them who we are.'’” Uncrossing his arms, Hassan sits more properly, now facing Miriam.

Harper couldn't look at him intently, so she stared at the small flaw he had in one eyebrow. She should have better considered what it would be like to ask for something of that scope from the good man who cooperated so much with her. She should have considered his position in that den of bigotry.

“So I worked my way up.” the sheriff gestured, his breathing steady but almost imperceptibly panting, exhausted. “You know, traffic, and translating and transcribing wiretaps, then Vice” He's gesturing with his brown hands, punctuating his words until he stops, looking away from her to his son.

“I get married. Ali is born, and I’m promoted again. Detective now.” Hassan turns his eyes heavy with weariness to the huddled figure beside him and sighs. “Top-Secret Security Clearance for the Joint Terrorism Task Force. I'm helping the FBI fight terrorists.” With another flick of his wrist he gestures, conviction in gesture and words.

“We’re taking collars. You know, petty stuff, pot, parking tickets and leaning on them hard if they’re Muslim.” There's disgust in his voice as he leans back in his seat. “‘You know, we’ll drop the charge, help you out. You go to the mosque and listen. ’” A sneer breaks out on his lips at the following words.

“I thought we were supposed to be fighting terrorists.” Another sigh, this time one of disappointment. “Not flipping some pothead student in Queens to spy on Americans.” Hassan clears his throat and takes a deep breath, his dark orbs flashing around again as a girl with blonde braids and flowers in her hands walks past them.

Miriam feels the need to say something, but bites her tongue, shifting uncomfortably in the seat, because she wouldn't know what to say. So she just takes a deep breath and wraps herself more tightly in her shawl, one hand snaking down to the damn beads. She looks away from watching a giggling Erin chatting with a withdrawn Riley to a depleted lawman beside her.

“So I complain. Gently…”, a male hand raises a single index finger, in a representative gesture, before the sheriff's deep voice completes. “One time.” Hassan has a palpable disappointment etched in his features. “Everything changed.” There was another pause, an indignant silence. “I was surveilled by other cops. I mean, they even had an official file on me.” Hassan took a deep breath, one hand running through his black hair that was starting to gray wearily.

“And not just me. See, like, after the Towers, Muslim officers were promoted fast. Especially if we knew the language, like, linguistic knowledge, cultural knowledge. We were very desirable for that.” The man's weary gaze focused on some uninteresting fixed point just at the accountant's feet. “But it started to occur to them, with so many of us on the force, elevated to positions of real authority, what if that had been our plan all along?” His normally serene expression twists into a frown.

“What if we were interlopers? What if we were infiltrators? What if we were double agents? And they fucking panicked.” The curse ran emphatically across the cop's bearded lips. “Internal Affairs was suddenly all over us. We were being followed. We’re being recorded. Civilians too. Surveilled at mosques, cafes.”

The entire situation described brought the bitterness of bile onto the accountant's tongue, and a shiver of discomfort unnerved her spine. Pike stood up, sitting up and leaning his big head against the woman's covered knee. Miriam ran her fingers over the animal's ears, staring straight ahead.

“And suddenly I’m out of plain clothes, and I’m back in uniform. Night shift, street beat.” There was an indignation that never left his words, the pain spiked in his tone. “And more and more, I realize that I've lost their trust.” Hassan shrugs wearily. “I roll with it. I keep my head high.” Harper watches the sheriff's bearded chin lift with pride.

“Dignity.” Hassan's voice is raw, bitter. Miriam looks up from the panting dog at her feet to look into the good sheriff's black eyes. There was something reflected in them, a pain, an agony, but also something she knew all too well, grief.

“Dignity is a word my wife uses.”, the good cop's gaze drops, for a moment he just stares at his own hands folded in his lap. “‘Show them dignity. ’” The pain of loss punctuates his words, and Harper feels something tighten in her chest. “And then she's diagnosed.” Hassan's voice drops, almost fails, and Miriam can't look him in the eye.

“And she's robbed of her dignity so fast.”, his words escape in the form of a pained whisper. “And then she’s gone. And I couldn't…”, his controlled tone breaks into something choked, packed with grief. “Ali and I get as far away as we can. And I find this gig. This little island.” Hassan takes a deep breath, lifting his dark eyes back to Miriam, and he realizes she's finally looking at him, a sad furrow marring her forehead.

“So sleepy, it could be dead. No elections, no staff. Just a tiny room at the back of a grocery store, and a bunch of fishermen without a notable incident of intentional violence in almost a century, and I beg for the post.” speech. “Dignity.” He punctuates the word in a firm voice. “Ali is bored to tears. But he's safe.” Looking around, he makes a small nod towards the smiling boy next to Ooker.

Harper straightens up and looks in the direction of young Ali Hassan. The boy was sweet and dedicated, he always carried a bright smile and an infinite desire to help and cooperate. He wanted to belong to that small community without realizing how bad it would do him, how much it would contaminate him. The accountant sighs, lowering her eyes and turning her melancholy orbs to the sheriff.

“And I still think I could maybe move the world that one millimeter. You know, maybe here’s where we make a difference. Not in the big city, but in this tiny village.”, the policeman gestures around, his tone low and controlled to avoid being heard over the music. “Win over the fucking PTA and call it a victory for Islam.”, impetuously he throws his hands up emphatically.

“So I don’t intimidate. I don't overshare or overstep or intrude in any way.” Hassan's tone is cautious, and Miriam knows there's nothing to argue about. So she resigns herself to scratching Pike's head and calming the anxiety. “Miriam, I don't even carry a gun.” He gestures vaguely to the empty holster on his belt, his expression softening for a slight second.

“And still…” he looks around, his tone even lower, before continuing. “Beverly Keane and a few others too look at me like I’m Osama bin-Fucking-Laden.” Miriam looks away once more and feels her cheeks burn with the disgrace of her request. “And you’d like me to investigate them?” it is a rhetorical question, she knows, and guiltily she drops her gaze to the floor, turning as he does, both of them, shoulder to shoulder.

Miriam bites the inside of her cheek and considers her friend's words.

“I'm sorry.”, she says in a low whisper, not meeting his eyes, her fingers playing with the black fur of the dog that was staring at her. “I will not insist that you do this. But I ask that you just consider nominating someone you trust to do this for you. Please.” She hears an exhausted sigh beside her and decides to add. “If it's still complicated, and I know it is, just keep your distance and if someone asks, say that I hired the person and that you didn't know anything, you know, blame the newly arrived and nosy accountant.” weak laugh that escapes the grieving policeman. “I guarantee everyone would believe it.”, Miriam shrugs, letting her eyes roam over the faces of the people around her.

Hassan turns to her from his seat on the bench, his pointed gaze fixed on the accountant's serious profile. When she realizes he's staring at her, she does the same to him, pure and absolute conviction in her features. The sheriff takes a deep breath in silent agreement.

“I think I might know someone, but I need to check if she's still available.” Hassan muttered, folding his hands in his lap. “Otherwise, there's nothing else I can do.”, the sheriff completes between one breath and the next, his dark eyes focusing on Joe's intoxicated figure.

“Thank you,” she murmured in a gentle tone, patting the officer's thigh reassuringly.

For a moment, most of the tension in Miriam's shoulders is gone, and both friends share a comfortable silence.

The sugary scent of candy floss, lavender, cedar, and sea air fills the young woman's nostrils, and she feels calm for a moment. She closes her eyes and absorbs the distant bass of the small band's music. A loud snore from Pike abruptly reminded her of where she was, and jointly awoke something else.

“And the cats? Any news?” Miriam asked suddenly, turning her head on the back of the seat and staring at Hassan's tired profile as he sighed.

“The vet mentioned something about an unusual thing at the autopsy.” He knits his brows together in an effort to remember exactly what it was. “According to him, it wasn't just the laceration that caused the death of all those cats, it looks like something drained the blood from the bodies, completely.”, the dark-bearded man makes a strange face as he says those words, almost as if it makes no sense put them together in a sentence.

A pair of glowing eyes flashes through Harper's mind. With a shake of her head, she pushes the dark memory to a corner of her mind. Taking a deep breath, she ignores a shiver that enervates up her spine and lays her head back on the back, her eyes turned to the mingled immensity of the celestial above.

“Well, at least that explains why there was no blood on the beach despite the biblical amount of bodies.”, she mutters with a frown, gesturing minimally around. The mere memory of the putrid stench of the bodies made her stomach churn.

“Speaking of the bible…” Hassan glances for a moment at the slender cleric approaching them. The sheriff is silently amused as he watches his company's posture stiffen in realization.

Harper takes a deep breath and watches the man of the cassock approach in the distance, he no longer wears the purple clause, but his typical set of boots, jeans, black button-down shirt and cardigan. The mere glimpse of his lush curly mane unnerved a flurry of butterflies beneath her skin.

“Are you staying here?” she asks the dark-haired sheriff in a low voice, her posture straight, her eyes never leaving the tall figure that stood out among the islanders. She blinked after a moment and saw him nod toward old Joe Collie and his glass that never seemed to be empty.

“Just a little longer. I want to make sure he doesn't see any giant-albatross chasing him again.”, he muttered, crossing his arms in a tighter posture with the cleric's proximity.

Miriam reacted to his comment with a noise close to a laugh and nodded in agreement as she stood up. A knowing look was all that ran between the two of them before the pastor's melodic voice filtered into their ears. Tucking her hands into her pockets, she watched the two men.

“Morning again, Sheriff.”, the priest waved one hand briefly at both of them while the other dangled hidden behind his back. His ebony eyes flicker briefly to the woman with a slightly embarrassed smile.

Miriam absorbed the awkward silence between the three of them, biting the inside of her cheek to contain her embarrassment. The good priest seemed to sense the uncomfortable silence he had unintentionally caused, and offered to correct it.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, I-” he started, taking a half step back. His rich tone was abruptly interrupted by Miriam's serene speech.

“Oh no. It's not interrupting, we're done.” She turned to Hassan and nodded. “Give me news about your friend.”, Miriam used her most worried tone, just in case she needed to elude some questions from the parish priest.

The black-haired sheriff nodded and ran a strong hand between Pike's furry ears, briefly losing interest in the interaction between the priest and the accountant.

“Want to go for a walk?” Paul asked, turning to the young woman, a hopeful glint in the dark pools of his eyes. She shrugged and whispered a 'sure', contained, a wave of heat rising up her neck.

Taking a few steps closer to the stocky man who was intently focusing on his drink, Harper asked:

“Joe, do you mind if I take Pike for a walk? He looks bored.”, she added with a smile, casting a gentle look at the animal, who promptly glanced at her upon hearing his name. Joe looked her up and down for less than a moment and nodded.

“Make yourself comfortable, he already got used to you.”, Joe shrugged, watching his canine friend trot towards the woman with childlike glee once she called out to him.

“Come on, Pike.”, she called to the big dog, who happily trotted towards her. Rising from her crouched position, Miriam casts a glance at those left behind and nods to the priest who was watching her with his hands behind his back.

Soon they began to walk shoulder to shoulder. Pike wagged his tail and made his diligent patrol a few steps ahead.

Paul looks at his companion's features for a long moment before taking a shallow breath and extending the hand he'd hidden behind his back toward her, unpretentiously, it took a minute for her to register the gesture. Between the preacher's long fingers is a flower. But not just any flower, it was a gardenia. Miriam wondered if he knew what each white petal of those meant. Secret love, how appropriate. She bit her lip to hold back her laughter.

She runs her fingers over the white petals and picks it up as if it were made of glass, a bubbling blush rushing to her cheeks as her fingers brush the bare tips of his.

“Why the flower?”, she asks, glancing at him before she can hold her tongue. Paul has both hands shoved in the pockets of those damn tight jeans as he shrugs and looks around, a serene look on his features. There's a tenderness in his dark eyes that blows tender heat into her throbbing chest as he looks at her.

“I don't know…” he says, a simple smile curving his well-designed cupid's bow. “A thanks. Maybe I just want you to feel comfortable with me,” he says casually, as if the gesture itself isn't short of priestly manners.

Miriam smiles slightly at the answer, but she can't help but tease him about it.

“Oh, and why is that, Father?” she asks, twirling the short, hairy stem of the flower between her fingers. Paul could feel the smile in her words, the slight teasing in her use of his title. The elder takes a moment to find his words.

“It's just… you usually seem so nervous, so overwhelmed…”, near me. He catches the words on his tongue before they leave his mouth, stubborn heat covering his face. Paul simply gestures with one hand for nothing in particular and goes back to hiding his hands in his pockets. “I just want to fix this.” He looks at her briefly, an expectant look well hidden in his eyes.

A nasal understanding noise escapes the woman, and she lets her eyes roam around her surroundings before responding in a restrained way.

“You’re very kind. Thank you.”, her tone is sweet and soft, like the hum of a bird, and it nurtures an unquestionable affability.

A simple smile curves the corners of Paul's lips as they stare at each other for a short moment, studying each other. Then immediately turn their eyes to the path in front of them.

The crackling of the still icy grass beneath their feet is continually drowned out by the laughter and excited voices all around. Miriam sinks into the sweet scent of the flower bud in her hands, a scent almost as intoxicating as his own. Thinking about it carries her to the disturbing moment when their bodies were pressed together in her kitchen. The way she could feel the heat of his skin even under his clothes. The way he tightly wrapped his arm around her waist to keep her from collapsing, how it felt a little too tight to be unintentional or meaningless. Harper felt herself almost shiver as she remembered how his thick black lashes had so seductively darkened those kind, half-closed eyes.

Her mind was pulled from its blasphemous spiral by the priest's rich tone as he waved to Melinda in her flower shop. Paul turned his attention back to her.

“…so, how are you feeling on your first crock pot luck?” he asks, a chaste smile painting his lips, a dark brow arched in curiosity. The good priest watches her huff a faint laugh as he lifts his head and looks up around.

“Well, it's your first one, too. I believe we both have to answer that. However, I suppose your response will be much more enthusiastic than mine.” This time there was a vague exhaustion bubbling under each word, but still she shot him a weak smile.

“Oh… having a bad day?” he asks in a compassionate tone, his features empathetic to the heralded difficulty. When Miriam glances at him for a second, he has his brows drawn together and his eyes squint at the sun, her mind crawling with images again, and she almost gasps.

“Not exactly, but I've received news that won't make my week any easier.”, the young woman blurts out in a weary murmur. She feels an uneasy bubble piercing her brain as her gaze rests on Bev's rigid, impertinent figure a few steps away.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Paul murmurs, his hand lightly stroking Miriam's back in a comforting way. The cleric feels his companionship shudder under his fingertips.

“Laws of the trade, I suppose,” she whispers, correcting her shallow breathing with a sigh. Her shrewd eyes fell on Beverly Keane's judgmental gaze, who glared repulsively at the diligent animal trotting between Paul and Harper. “Tell me, Father Paul, have you noticed something wrong with your books?” The question runs through the woman's lips once the deaconess is out of reach.

Paul stares at her confused for a moment, and runs a hand through his curls as he crumples to the floor. Miriam notices and stops her steps soon after, facing him.

“What do you mean?” the cloth man asks, tilting his head slightly and watching the accountant approach a few steps, so she doesn't need to speak above a whisper.

“Sorry, I should have been more specific.”, she stops staring at him for a moment. Miriam lets her free hand run along the back of her neck, the tips of her nails scratching her skin weakly as she scolds herself for not being clearer. “I mean, have you noticed anything wrong or weird with the church bills since you arrived?” the young woman rephrases her question, looking around slightly just in case Bev is lurking.

“To be honest, I don’t know, Bev always does the maths…”, the priest is dumbfounded at the perception of the frivolous suggestion of the question. Paul wonders what antics Bev was up to as he drowned in the dark. Certainly nothing good.

“If I may, Father, I believe you should look for yourself, just as a matter of conscience. If you find something wrong, I'd be very grateful if you let me know.” Harper watches in her peripheral vision as Pike circles some plant near the cemetery and relieves himself on it. She turns to look at him. “I'm facing some problems as an accountant. So many things wrong on such a small island…” she rambles, turning the gardenia in her fingers as if it were a hypnotic circle.

“I'll be more attentive, I promise.”, the black haired man forms, briefly touching the woman's forearm with his fingertips, triggering a shaky sigh from her. Forcing himself not to get caught up in that detail, Paul stares at the grass floor for a moment or two. “But why not ask Ms. Keane?” the good priest asks, his gaze still squinted against the blinding glare of the sun.

“Ah…”, she laughs, stepping to the side, making her way towards Pike. An almost bitter laugh escapes her as she tucked a strand of her flowing hair behind her ear. “I'm sure you've heard her opinion of me in her confessions.”, she comments when he places himself side by side with her again. Now it was his turn to laugh.

“I can't say, priest-confessor secrecy.” There is an air of laughter that covers his words as he responds, a sardonic smile on his lips. Paul watches Miriam nod grimly with dramatic seriousness, and it only makes him smile more.

“Um…sure…”, the young woman murmurs, enjoying the simple, comfortable intimacy between them.

Like it or not, the newspaper clipping she'd seen in the rectory from time to time crept into her mind, whether she was in the presence of the good clergyman or alone. Obviously, she'd already heard that ridiculous rumour that every person has at least seven doppelgangers around the world, but good God! She had never seen such a stark resemblance before. Every little mark or crease in his features reminded her of old Monsignor. The more Harper studied him, the more she had an almost dizzying certainty that the two men were somehow connected, almost like an intuition.

“You still have the weird habit of staring at people, don't you?”, Paul had caught her staring at him with his peripheral vision. Once again, she had that clinical, analysing look at him. She knows, get rid of her. The messenger's voice whispered in his mind, but he muffled the noise by focusing only on her.

“You really look like him,” the woman whispers, her intent eyes studying the priest's features. He felt a chill at the puzzled tone she used.

“Who?”, the priest pretended not to know who she was referring to, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end at the mere possibility of her wondering who he really was. However, he always guarded himself so that fear didn't show on his features.

“Pruitt.”, she says as if it's absolutely obvious. There is a break. “If I hadn't been told he's about 100 years old, I'd say you're twins.”, Miriam shakes her head as she reads without much interest the writing at the entrance to the cemetery.

“He’s not that old, he’s more like he's eighty-year-old.”, he argues with a soft smile, a tiny pinch of offence in his voice.

“Sometimes I suppose he could be your father.”, she laughs at her bullshit, shaking her head, and he feels a shiver run down his spine. “You look ridiculously alike.” Harper looks at the good priest for a long moment after that. Paul is suddenly interested in a tombstone epigraph.

“Same person at different stages of life, maybe.” He blurts out his own mind a little too far away as he reads the name 'Alice Mary Pruitt' almost erased on the lichen-covered concrete. Miriam looks at him confused as he runs his long fingers over the headstone. Strange thing to say.

Suddenly, Paul seems to wake up from a dream. Back straight, he shoves his big hands in his pockets and starts walking out of the morbid, melancholy graveyard he knew so well. Once Miriam was close enough, he asked, trying to sound uninterested.

“I see you're close with Joe Collie.” There's a subtle suggestion beneath the words that he knows she won't miss. The good priest glances at her when he sees her sigh.

“I wouldn't say that, but I believe we're friends, somehow.”, she suggests with a shrug. The accountant's sly gaze looked him over from head to toe in an attempt to dig up his intentions.

“I think you should know that Flynn's oldest son, Riley, had a problem with alcohol,” the priest begins, his steps calculated to keep her close, as if he's telling a secret.

“Yes, I heard about something like that.”, the woman says. Of course, she knew about Riley's alcoholic issues, by God, she shared a house with Erin, it would be impossible for her not to know about what happened to poor, withdrawn Riley Flynn. However, she wouldn't make it so clear that she knew, not without first knowing the priest's agenda.

“Well, so he doesn't have to waste a whole day on a trip to the mainland. I volunteered to lead an AA here in Crockett,” the dark haired priest's rich voice begins. Even before all the words escape his lips, Harper already knows what he's going to ask for. She sighs. “I know I might be being invasive by asking you this, but you know it would do him good to go. I'm not asking you to tie him up and throw him in there with me. Just suggest it to him.”

Paul is subtle in his request. There is a chaste, compassionate tone to his words, one that would warm Miriam's cheeks if she weren't pondering the meaning of his words.

“You could do that yourself…”, the accountant counters, looking at the man in front of her with a tired look. She really wouldn't mind, but under the current circumstances, she's too exhausted to have this conversation with Joe.

“He doesn't know me, and besides, Joe Collie harbours a sharp contempt for much of the congregation. But not for you. Please, just try,” he argues, those damn puppy eyes pleading so gently. She releases a defeated sigh.

“Alright…”, there is a long pause in which they both look at each other, the cleric looks at her expectantly. “I can do that.”, the accountant confirms, running her slender fingers through her hair slightly messy from the wind and starts walking towards the fair. Before she takes another step, he wraps a warm hand around her wrist.

“There's one more thing I'd like to ask.” This time Miriam shows no reluctance, her rational brain too paralysed by the touch of him in her wrist to argue, she nods. “I wonder if you wouldn't like to show up at the rectory once in a while. Just to talk.”

Of all the things Paul Hill could say to her right now, this was certainly not what she expected. With a confused look and brows drawn together in uncertainty, she takes a step closer to the priest. His pianist's fingers tickling almost imperceptibly against the skin of her wrist almost made her gasp. With what's left of her self-control, Miriam stabilizes her shallow breathing.

“I feel like there's something bothering you,” he began in his rich, booming voice, making her shiver in her bones as he took a step closer to her. “I just want you to know that you can count on me if you need to talk. I really appreciate our conversations, and I think it would be good for you to unload what bothers you so much. Don't think I'm offering Catholic redemption, I'm not asking you to come to confession, that's not it.”, the man is silent for a moment, his mind working to give him the right words.

He still hasn't let go of her wrist. Paul can feel the heart beating of the woman's pulse against his fingertips, realizing it spreads an inconvenient heat at the base of his spine. Miriam felt the blood boil under her cheeks, she could almost feel every breather of his breath against her eyelashes.

“I just think you’re overworked. And I want you to know that you can count on a friend to vent to whenever things feel too… oppressive.” There is a long pause. The good priest runs his fingers from the woman's racing pulse to the palm of her trembling hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “What I'm offering is just a cup of tea and someone to talk to…” for the first time she really looks him deeply in the eyes, getting lost in those puddles of chocolate.

He has such kind eyes, she remembers thinking when she'd first seen him at church, nearly a week ago. It was still true, but now, after some time together, she could see beyond kindness. There was a darkness in those eyes, pain, guilt, grief, and so many other things she still couldn't name. Miriam wanted to touch him, touch his face, feel the warm skin under her fingers and hold him, until she drowned in those eyes and discovered every little secret hidden in them.

“Father Paul!”

Before she could even think of answering him, a voice called out to him in the distance, and he smiled at her one last time, hopefully. Slowly releasing her hand. The marks around his eyes turned that affable smile into something that made her knees tremble.

“No need to answer now. Just keep it in mind. See you soon, Miriam.” Father Paul said goodbye, and the way her name sounded melodic in his voice crumbled every little resilient nerve in her body, if it were humanly possible she would have turned into a puddle, right there in front of his feet.

Harper was silent for a long moment and felt her cheeks burn.

Pike's tearful bark brought her gaze back.

“Come on, boy, let's take you back to your dad.” Gently, she snapped her fingers a few times and considered making her way to the drinks stall, where a probably drunk Joe Collie was waiting.

However, she didn't move, scrutiny fixed on the cleric's slender figure while her mind could only ask her: Who is this man?

Taglist:

@stardustandgunpowder, @liesandghosts, @pruitts-tight-fucking-jeans, @un-kiss-the-breakfast, @girlwiththenegantattoo, @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade, @sterwild, @thegardenarcher, @snapessecretdiary, @judarspeach, @hungrhay, @midnight-mess, @ledzeppelindeanmon, @vivi-venus, @novywhere

If your name is striped, it’s because Tumblr don’t let me tag you for some reason. =(

Here's a Google form, where you can tell me where you want to be tagged.

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [10]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting, abuse

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: double digit chapter!!! like 3 parts to go everyoneeee woo!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

The nostalgia was strong.

The last time you and Sam were sitting like this, you were deciding on what to make of the bread supply that was now dwindling. The soup had ran out maybe a day or two ago and you were left with just bread, peanut butter and jelly.

You two had to devise an escape plan. You’d been there long enough and now with Sam making his first public appearance as Mob’s Most Wanted, even if it was for a good cause, there was no doubt that people would be after you.

“What if we go back to Ransone and let the rest sort itself out along the way?”

You made a note of it on the paper but you weren’t very convinced with the idea, not with the realisations you had made along the way.

“Do we know any other hideouts?” you asked instead, tapping the pencil against the paper.

“None that you don’t already know.” He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “What are your thoughts on caves? Think we can make a bed outta some leaves?”

You wrote down ‘Sam’s cave idea’, just to humour him. Stupid, but more plausible than other options.

“If we make a run for it, what are the chances we’ll survive?”

“With law enforcement, civilians and gang members looking for us, I’d give us about-” you said candidly, “-two months. Three max.”

It wasn’t like you had no experience running from the state, but it was never on this scale.

“We’d have years if it was only law enforcement, but we had to go get the entire fuckin’ mafia involved,” he huffed in annoyance.

An idea occurred to you that made you pause, but you hated it.

“What if we split up?” you suggested halfheartedly. “It’ll take them more time to find the both of us, if they’re looking for us together.”

When he didn’t reply, you looked up at him from the sheet in front of you.

“We’re not splitting up,” he began steadily, just as you knew he would. “The same people who are after you are after me. We need to stick together.”

“I know. I’m not saying we can’t meet again after that, I’m saying that maybe it’ll be easier for us to hide.”

He couldn’t deny that it wasn't the worst idea, but something didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t want to do it.

“Okay, then how do we find each other after that? When? I don’t have your email; fuck that, I don’t even have your number.”

“We’ll schedule it, I guess,” you murmur, trying to work out the logistics. “Whoever gets there late has to buy ice cream. And I’m particular about the flavour I like.”

You tried to lighten up the mood but he wasn’t having it, as much as he appreciated it.

“I don’t care if it’s more difficult,” he said slowly. “But I’d like us to stick together. Not until we’re out of this mess. Then if you want to never see my face again, which you shouldn’t because it’s beautiful, we’ll go our different ways.”

He was adamant about it, and you knew he’d argue and poke holes into the plan until it didn’t make sense anymore. You weren’t going to argue.

“Okay,” you accepted. “We stick together.”

A smile spread across his face which equated to one of triumph. “You got any other ideas?”

“We stay right here and fight off whoever comes.”

It was dumb. This place wasn’t yours, and staying here would be a death wish. That didn’t stop you from saying it since neither of you were holding back on implausible ideas.

“This is our house now,” Sam added with determination, playing along.

“Damn right,” you affirmed, cracking a smile at him.

Bringing your attention back, you stared at the list. There is one option you wanted to explore but you weren’t sure if you could because you didn’t have the resources. But he may.

“You got any friends whose help we could use?” you asked cautiously, unsure of how this would play out.

He continued chewing on his lip for a second like he was analysing all options, before nodding.

“I got a friend. Well, my only friend,” he corrects himself. “His name’s Riley.”

“He got a place we can stay, this Riley?”

“He does. But I don’t want to involve him. He’s-” he paused, trying to find the right words to frame what he’s thinking “-he’s been through a lot.”

“We’ll leave him alone then,” you assured, realising that it must be a touchy topic for him.

Sam didn’t move on, though.

“I’m all ears if you want to talk,” you offered.

He pressed his lips together, giving you a tight smile. He looked like he wanted to say more but was holding back. You reciprocated, hoping it would give him some reassurance, noting how he exhaled softly.

“When I joined the cartel, I didn’t really have anyone to talk to since everyone was much older than I was. Riley was the first friend I made. He was a mouthy li’l one.” Sam smiled wistfully and you found yourself smiling with him. “He talked so much shit and he had the spunk to back it up but he never really got that far because no one wanted to test their luck with him.”

“We spent whatever free time we had together. He didn’t have a family so he and I-” he trailed off but you knew what he was getting at. “Ransone found out. Didn’t like anyone in his stupid squad becoming all buddies because if we turned against him, he knew he’d lose.”

Shared experience. You didn’t have any friends in the organization either; they were always separated from you willingly or by force. You wondered if that’s why you had taken such a liking towards Sam, knowing fully well that it was the first time in years you were able to be friends with someone without having to worry.

“He started pittin’ us against one another. Combat training, preferential treatment, just plain out sabotage. Riley’s the reason my back’s all kinds of fucked up.” He gave a short laugh. “Tried everything he could to make sure we’d stay away or even kill each other if it came to that.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But we didn’t,” he confirmed. “Ransone fuckin’ hated it, so one day, he decided that he’s going to finish it once and for all. Sent us on a fake mission so that we’d be alone together, then told us that only one of us could come back. One of us had to die or else both of us would. Some sick fuckin’ form of entertainment.”

It was exactly something that Ransone would do. Dramatic, vile and utterly despicable, just for his own joy,

Your eyebrows knit together when his eyes glazed over.

“Riley, he- he didn’t even let me have at the gun. Just straight up chose for the both of us that he was going to be the one who died. He was so tired, of everythin’.” The muscles in your jaw tightened at where this was going. “He didn’t do it though. We figured out another way.”

You didn’t realise how tensed you were until you forced yourself to relax.

“Faked his death.” He shrugged. “It was the only way. Let Ransone believe he bled out and that I buried him behind the warehouse he sent us to. Shot him in the leg to make it look convincing. He’s still got a limp.”

“He made a run for it. Found himself a place in New Orleans, changed his identity, basically made turned into a whole new person. Ransone bought it for a while because I’d make it a point to visit the grave, leave some flowers and shit. Told him that if he messed with it that I’d put a bullet in his head and I was angry enough for him to see that I wasn’t kidding. I knew he’d figure it out eventually but I was hoping I’d get rid of him by then.”

“He lived in New Orleans for years. Never had a problem until recently.”

Sam paused for a second, but it gave you the time to pull up an old conversation you had with him.

“He’s the one Ransone threatened you with,” you connected the dots. “He’s the one he found.”

“Said he’d kill him if I didn’t take out Pierce for him,” his words were bitter, confirming what you said. “Sent me a picture of him in front of his house to prove it.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” you breathed, leaning back. Sam’s situation was more dangerous than you initially thought. Having Riley in the picture just made it more difficult to help Sam get out of the organization, especially since he was now leverage material.

“You asked me once what the scariest thing I had done was.” You didn’t get immediately what he was talking about until you remember the questions you had asked to get to know him better. “It was that. Getting him out of this life and trying not to get caught in the process.”

You didn’t know what to say.

“He’s the only family I got left.” The way his voice dropped made him sound so tired. “He’s already on their radar. If they find out I’m staying with him or that he’s helping in any way, they’ll kill him.”

You didn’t say anything, not like you had anything constructive to offer at that moment.

“That got dark real quick,” he remarked, the corners of his lips quirking upward.

Clearly he didn’t have anyone to talk to about this. To explain the entire thing from the beginning must have drained him completely.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that,” you said quietly.

He paused for a second, looking like he was thinking to himself.

“Me too.”

______

The sky’s beautiful, you decide.

You could stare at the clouds for hours.

Which is what the both of you have been doing.

“If you fucking say it’s anything other than a dog, I’ll push you off the roof myself.”

“It’s clearly a penguin, Samuel.”

“I hate you.”

The cement was cool against your skin even though there was a blanket serving as a mediator between you and it. The sun nipped at your skin and your back was aching from staying in the same place for a prolonged period.

Sam tended to think better when he was outside, unconstrained by harsh white walls and artificial light. So you grabbed a spare blanket, a bottle of water and the ladder to haul the both of you to the roof. It was filthy, as you expected but you managed to tidy a part of it to the best of your ability before laying the blanket down.

“I know why you brought me up here, Y/N,” he piped up.

You just knew that when you needed some space, he often implored you to go outside. You figured the best way to help him was to do the same, not knowing what else you could have to give.

“Just wanted to let you know that I appreciate it,” he added.

Okay good. It helped.

“That’s a tree.” You pointed upwards, avoiding his gaze.

“You get three more seconds to change that answer to a table.”

“That looks nothing like a table. You’re delusional.”

He laughed, not offering a counter argument.

The outside did him good. He was calmer than when you first came here a few hours ago. He didn’t let his spite towards Ransone show very often, especially at this volume. Talking about Riley only reaffirmed how much he despised the man.

“We need to get out of here eventually, you know?” you mused.

You don’t want to. You don’t want to admit that saying it out loud made it worse.

“We do,” he sounded sure and you wondered if he ever felt bad about it too, “but we need a proper plan.”

The clouds shifted. It looked like a kid on a bike; not that you’d ever tell him. He would never agree.

“We need help,” you stated.

“We can’t.” You knew he’d say that.

“You know we do, Sam.”

“There’s no one out there we can trust.”

You liked that he used ‘we’. The only other times you had been referred to as ‘we’ had been for things so sinister, so violent.

His elbow was touching yours lightly. You wanted to move closer, press against him.

“There’s one person who might be able to.”

He turned to look at you questioningly. You did the same.

You waited till he figured it out on his own. His face shifted the minute it clicked in his head.

“No way.” He turned away, almost laughing out of bewilderment.

“It’s our only option.”

“Then we’ll find another one,” he began to sound more insistent, realising you were being serious. It was a crazy idea, you’d give him that, but it’s the only one you had that had a sure shot of working.

“We’ve tried. You’ve tried. There’s only one way,” you knew that getting annoyed wouldn’t get through to him and you also understood his hesitations. “He’ll help.”

“We don’t know that. It’s too fuckin’ dangerous.” He couldn’t afford that; not this late in the game.

“I know it. Lis- Sam. Look at me,” you commanded gently, and he obeyed reluctantly. “I understand that this is absolutely batshit wild, but I promised I’d help you. This is the only way I can think of. But I need you to trust me.”

He looked unsettled.

He didn’t have anything to go on. Only your word and his faith in you. He could say no and he knew you’d spend countless hours pouring over multiple options just to find another way. He could say no and you’d take it in stride and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. It wasn’t about trusting you, it was about not trusting the others.

But he could also say yes and let you take control, trust your instincts. You had never let him down before and he knew you wouldn’t now. He could say yes and help you work on one solid plan that had equal chances of failing as it did being a success, but it was something that you could be sure of.

“I’ll tell you this though, Sam. You always have a choice.”

He felt your fingers trace at his face patiently. He scooted closer, letting your bodies press gently against each other.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

He didn’t know if he made the right choice or not, but the smile that appeared on your face made him think that maybe he did.

God, he was done for.

___

“You ready?” you asked him.

“No, but what the hell; let’s do it.”

You let it ring right to the very end.

“Hello.” It seemed gratuitous at this point because you knew the conversation wouldn’t proceed with that.

“Code?”

“1993.”

“Y/N. Hello,” his voice came back loud and clear.

“Hey.” You snuck a glance at Sam. He was completely stiff.

“How are you?”

“I’ve been… good,” you admitted.

“Oh?” he sounded amused. “That’s a change.”

“Yeah.” You shifted on your feet awkwardly. “Listen, I need help.”

“Help with?”

“We need to get out of here. We can’t do it without you. I mean we can, but it’d be better if you lent a hand.”

“When you say ‘we’, you’re referring to…”

“Me.” Sam stepped forward towards the phone. You shifted it so it was between you.

“Oh, hello,” he sounded surprised, and he had good reason to be. “You know about-”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Y/N, you trust him?”

“Yeah,” you looked up at Sam, “I do.”

“Alright. If shit goes wrong, you’re both fucked. I’m not taking any responsibility.”

“We get that,” you sighed. “Can you help or not?”

There was a momentary silence on the other end as he thought.

“Tell me what you had in mind.”

“We got a hit.”

They turned away from their conversation with the person walking beside them at the interruption.

“This better be important.” They gestured to their companion who looked annoyed at being interrupted. He was too dangerous to have on anyone’s bad side but the agent didn’t care. This was crucial.

“Someone saw him. Wilson.” He was breathless from the flight of stairs he had run to come upstairs.

“Where?” They could hardly believe their ears, restraining to contain the excitement that was threatening to rise.

“A town, miles away from Pierce’s place. Said he roamed around looking for a store, bought some food and then left.” His eyes shone. “We think we might know where they are. A rough sketch at least. Couldn’t follow him too far because he kept checking.”

“Finally,” their face gleamed, completely discarding the guest they had and the confusion on his face. “Some good fucking news.”

“Do you want us to put a hit out on them?” The relief the agent felt was almost overwhelming. His partner may have died but it didn’t look like he was going to.

“No,” they said crisply, certainly. “This one’s on me.”

Next part

234 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

can i ask for a Yan s / o who grew up with Ciel and has already committed some murders but a while after he came back and started working for the queen she lost her interest in him, and he in turn became a yandere for s / o (I sincerely hope you are not confused, have fun thinking about it🤭)

This proved to be a bit of a challenge, but I love some challenges.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, manipulation, blackmailing, sabotage, Yandere being mean, mentions of kidnapping

Yandere s/o who committed murders, but lost interest when Ciel became the queen’s guard dog

☕️You had always seen Ciel as a rather shy and weak boy, absolutely adoring this small blue eyed boy. You realized at some point that your desire to protect him couldn’t be considered as normal, but you honestly couldn’t care less. That’s why you were rather ruthless with anyone who you viewed as a threat. You were too young at that time to kill with your own hands and too be honest it wasn’t your style, but you did manage to pay some guys to get rid of the possible threats. It was amazing what you could reach with enough money.

☕️Your heart was shattered into pieces when you heard that the whole manor had been burned down, hatred clouding your mind and swearing to yourself to kill whoever did this in the most brutal way possible. So when you heard the news you instantly rushed over to the mansion, feeling more than happy that Ciel had survived this. But the moment you looked him in his eyes you knew that Ciel had lost some part of himself.

☕️At first you tried to ignore it, understanding that he needed some time to heal, but when you heard that he had started working for the queen you were shocked. He was too young for that! You tried to knock some sense into him and that’s when he started showing you that he wasn’t the shy and innocent little boy any longer. He told you that he knew that you had been involved into killing others for his sake, calling you pathetic and weak and telling you he wouldn’t tell anyone for now, but only if you would disappear from his life.

☕️That was the moment where you realized that this wasn’t the Ciel you used to know anymore. This was a cruel monster who had closed his heart to anyone. You did as he told you and never once looked back, convincing your parents to move away from London. You needed a good amount of distance between you and him, needing time to heal your broken heart. Years passed by until you saw him again.

☕️When you returned years later to London you had grown into a smart and strong individual. You had come back with your parents because they had been invited to a very important ball hosted by the queen and of course they didn’t reject. You felt a bit dreadful, knowing that there was a chance that you would bump into Ciel on this party, but you dearly hoped that this wouldn’t happen.

☕️But it seems like you couldn’t trust your luck because guess who you bumped into. Ciel! At first you were speechless, not knowing how to act. He had by now grown into a young and handsome man, you gave him that. But that didn’t change the fact that he had hurt you so deeply back then. So you just turned around, not wanting to see him and assuming that he didn’t want to see you as well.

☕️If only you would have known how much Ciel had wanted to see you again. During the years where you hadn’t been with him he had felt...incomplete. He had started to miss your laughter and had started to get irritated without you. Trying to push this feeling away hadn’t been helpful either. It only caused him to get more desperate. He had tried to locate you, but you had made sure that your new home place would remind a top secret, even for someone like Ciel.

☕️Ciel had been flustered when he saw you on the party again, admitting that you had grown into a very beautiful noble, but you did surprise him when you gave him a cold look and turned around. This hurt him somehow. Had you gotten over him? He tried to start a conversation with you, but either ran off to someone else or you quickly excused yourself, making it impossible for him to talk with you.

☕️Ciel slowly started to feel frustrated with all of this until it got to the point where he dragged you away from the party to finally have a chance to keep you in one place so you couldn’t ran off and demanded from you to know why you were acting like such a brat. You just replied that he was the only brat, pushing him away and telling him that he needn’t to worry about you killing someone again since you had lost interest in him a long time ago and wished him a good life.

☕️You lost interest in him? That were bad news for Ciel since he did miss you when you weren’t with him, but to find out after some many years of yearning that you had gotten over him was a hit in the stomach for him. He had expected you to be all over him when you would see him again, but that ruined his plans.

☕️He tried to get in contact with you again, but you ignored any letter or gift he sent you and sent it right back to him. Your parents never knew what exactly had happened between you or Ciel, they only knew that something had happened and when they saw you yelling at the postman to bring the letter right back to Ciel they could only imagine how bad this incident must have been.

☕️Ciel was nothing, but enraged because you refused any kind of contact with him. That’s when he started to use more illegal ways. He wanted you back and he would get you back! The engagement with Elizabeth had been long forgotten he only cared for you.

☕️As the Earl Phantomhive and the queen’s guard dog he has a lot of influence, let’s not forget his “one hell” of a butler. At first he’ll try to pressure your parents into setting up an engagement between you and him, but if they refuse that’s when it will start to get ugly. He’ll start spreading rumors about you and your family and will try to involve your parents into a crime, making it look like they were a part of it. If that works he’ll blackmail you and will tell you if you come willingly to him he’ll make sure to get them free. If all of this doesn’t work for whatever reason he’ll resort to kidnapping. He’ll have you one way or another.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere ciel #yandere ciel phantomhive

175 notes · View notes

danddymaro · 4 years

Text

Addiction | Old Snake x Reader

An Ending to MGS4 that ends in happiness for our good boi Snake

Fixed/Edited

BTW: Let’s shift the events around and pretend he went to go talk to Big Boss Before Meryl's wedding.

Thoughts are italics in quotations = 'Example'

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word Count: 2225

Addiction

From betwixt the snug place of his lips, the smoke in which he took pleasure from was snatched, aggressively pulled out in a single motion,

"Snake," A familiar male's voice said in a harsh whisper, sounding frustrated and disappointed all together, "Just what in the world do you think you're doing!?" Otocon added with the same tone of exasperation.

Silently, Snake's blue eyes drifted right to see the bespeckled brunette male giving him a half-hearted glare, his entire expression full of annoyance as he glared onto the man that seemed many years older than what he truly was.

"You know you shouldn't be smoking," Hal said while shaking his head in the same disapproval, making sure to exaggerate a low dragged out sigh, "Honestly...Snake, you'd think that at least today you'd make an exception." He added.

'Today...' David started, 'Today is a special day... for not just me, but for her too,' He thought while grunting, knowing just what the other man meant, feeling guilt weigh down over his shoulders as he recognized his selfishness.

With a dull gaze as a response, Snake returned the look back to his long-time friend, 'I know this already...don't think I don't,' He silently told the man while pressing his lips together tightly.

Tearing his eyes from the hardened dark chocolate orbs, David then trailed his oculars down to the discarded nicotine as it now lay on the floor, a small, thin line of smoke still rising from its end, a gentle flicker of a red spark still visible as well.

He could pick it back up. After all, it was salvageable, but even so, his reaction remained prolonged.

He stared at it for a few moments before he closed his eyes to rid himself of the tempting image.

"You will end up smelling like burnt ash and tobacco. I don't think she'd like that," Otacon continued to speak, convincing him to make the right choice.

Dropping his shoulders, Snake nodded in defeated agreeance, knowing it to be true.

After a few silent minutes passed, he then gave a frustrated sigh and stepped on it, crushing it under his shoe and making sure it was put out by the stomp.

"yeah yeah," David grumbled, because he was well aware of the fact and had already mentally kicked himself for it.

"I know you're nervous," Hal then said with a soft, understanding smile rising, "it's understandable," he said while placing his hand on his friend's shoulder, "But you should do it for her. " He added, truthfully, also being concerned for Snake's health.

"Now come on, " Emmerich said with brightened brown orbs, "It's about to begin," he reminded the other male, his index finger tapping the little face on his watch as an exited grin overtook him.

Having spent almost his entire life in battle, it wasn't like he could fit into the normal world with ease. He couldn't just chuck himself into an easy everyday life as simple as that, no matter what anyone tried to tell him.

He'd been told to live his life, to enjoy what bits he had left and to salvage it the best he could, but he hadn't the least bit of an idea as to how to do so,

'how? ' He wondered helplessly, uncertain as to just how he could go on so simply.

What could a man that's known nothing but battle do in the normal world?

He couldn't go back to his family as other soldiers would often do, because he had none. He had no mother, father, brothers, or sisters, to fall back to.

Heck, he didn't even have a damn dog to go back to and run toward at the end of the day.

All in all, he had nothing. So, he couldn't just join into the masses of civilians and blend in, because it just hadn't been in his plans.

He'd never thought that far along, and for a long time, he'd thought there was nothing there for him.

But of course, life had its crazy, little surprises, especially one he'd never anticipated...

"Marry me!" She said out loud, her voice rising with plea, the sudden proposal stopping his movements entirely.

His steps came to a complete halt, and the foot that had almost touched the ground stayed suspended for a moment, hovering over the placement by just a centimeter.

He then took two slow breaths before he placed it down to the Earth, turning to the woman with confusion, his brows knotted together to show a visibly painted look of dumbfoundedness,

"wh..what?" He breathed, almost inaudibly as he tried to comprehend what he'd heard.

He was certain that it was just his old age playing with him.

He just knew it was the only explanation as to why he heard her say the words because it was just unfathomable to him,

'I must be hearing things,' He thought to himself, deflated at the sudden realization that dawned upon him.

Dementia; he probably had dementia.

He'd thought he had just a bit more time before then, but it seemed that he wasn't lucky enough, and surely the old age he presented himself with had finally fully beaten him,

"What...what did you say?" He asked slowly, staring at her with furrowed brows.

She took a step forward, inching herself closer to him with anxiousness, seeming uncertain on coming near,

"Did...did you not hear me?" She squeaked, face turning beet red, seeming mortified at the fact that she had to once again repeat herself.

" Perhaps... but I could have been mistaken." He grumbled, watching her continue to move closer to him.

Slowly, and tentatively she stepped forward, soon standing three feet from him, staring up at him with a harsh swallow, a small lump gliding down her throat before she spoke yet again,

"I...I...I said ...I ... I said ... will you marry me..." she repeated with strain, sounding much smaller the second time around, losing all the sense of confidence she'd previously fueled herself with.

"Marry you..?" He repeated, still at a loss.

At her side, he noticed she held the white bouquet full of flowers tightly bound within her hold, and it was the same bunch that Meryl had thrown up in the air not a few moments ago.

When she realized just what he had been staring at, she held it up with a rather quirky smile, " I think this kind of means I'm next, and I don't see anyone better around," she said while raising both her brows to dance up and down until he turned away from her, not in the mood for the show of playfulness,

"Huh?!

- What! Please don't go!" she cried out, rushing after him, soon managing to stand before him, her arms widespread to stop him from moving past her,

"I'm being serious!" She declared, looking up at him with frantic (e/c) colored eyes, "You have to believe me!" she added, continuing on with her story.

She reminded him of the fact that they'd met before. It had been a while back, an event that had embedded itself deep within her heart, even if he'd forgotten,

"Because..." She started, " Because I've thought of you every day after that," she confessed. "And then I spoke to Hal, and he brought me here, he told me that now...Now was my chance to tell you. " She confessed to him.

She'd waited years, pinning for the man through each and every one of them, waiting for the day she'd one day stand before him again.

And it all began to make sense by then, why Otocon seemed so insistent on him joining the ceremony, despite his own refusal to show because he'd had other plans in mind, all of which didn't include infecting everyone with his miserable air.

"I'm not exactly meant for romanticism, " he told her. " And even if I were..." He trailed off, keeping his eyes drawn away from her, his words dying out as he let her fill in the blanks.

Even if he had been willing to take the risk, to suddenly go off and get hitched to some strange woman he just vaguely remembered,

his life was draining, and all in all, he had nothing to offer her.

"You're better off with someone else... " he said lowly, " someone who has the time," he added with the same dejection, moving to leave her behind before she stopped him again,

"Wait," She said with a stilled breath.

Her two hands both grasped his, stopping him and effectively holding him back. The soft, warm palms of her two hands enveloped his own hand which was much rougher and less dainty, " Let's at least try?" she said with hope,

"I already know," She told him, " I've already known about your condition...but still..." She went on, daring to step closer, " Still... Even then, it doesn't change the way I feel, and, in fact, It just fuels me to want to be with you even more, " She admitted.

"It's sudden, I understand, but at the very least, give me the opportunity to come closer to you." She tried to compromise,

"If you begin to feel the same way I do...then... then we can make something of it. " She told him, slowly convincing him with the lovely stare of her pleading, (e/c) colored eyes.

He reflects back to her proposal far more than he cares to mention because it had been the moment his life took a complete turn, going from muted grey and black to cheerful, colorful vibrancy in every step that she accompanied him in.

And it all lead him to where he was now, standing before her, dressed properly and prim, left awestruck at her beauty, moreso than he typically was, reminding him that perhaps his luck wasn't so bad if it had somehow aligned their lives together.

she held his hand in hers as she slid the silver band onto his finger, the smile she wore on her red painted lips never faltering, not once losing its lovely show of fulfilled happiness, because she couldn't be any more joy-filled, something everyone commented on.

- There wasn't a happier bride in the planet.

Her cheek was then pressed to his chest, her nose scrunching up as she let out a soft sigh, not sounding angry, but he knew she wasn't all too pleased either,

"You were smoking..." she said softly, closing her eyes slowly as she let her body be led by his slow movements.

He wasn't a dancer, and she wasn't either, but nonetheless, they rocked together, bodies pressed close as their friends watched the couple's first dance together.

"I can smell it on you," she added with a small sound of exhaled air produced from her nostrils.

She hated loving the scent, the smell of smoke making her think just of him and nothing more.

"I was nervous," he said in defense, his response making her giggle softly,

"Don't tell me you want out already?" she asked him, drawing back slightly to look up at him, saying it in a joking manner, but even then he could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

"Because I think it's a little too late for that," She reminded him.

"...Do you?" he asked her back, and he watched her shake her head in denial,

"Of course not silly," She said earnestly.

And he loved what followed, what always came after she looked up at him,

"I never would," She breathed, her gleaming eyes soon straying down to her wedding band, lovingly eyeing the silver piece, " David, I loved you then..." she started sweetly, her gloved hands sliding up from his chest to his cheeks, " and I love you now..." she reminded him, rising up on her already heeled feet.

His paled blue eyes closed, his mouth melted onto hers before she brought him the tender heat of their plumped goodness.

His two hands then fell over her hips but didn't stop to land on them, instead, they slid around her, his arms taking complete hold of her during their loving connection in an embrace that spoke more than words ever could.

"I'll love you always," she managed to murmur between their mashed mouths.

A squeal of enjoyment left her as he squeezed her tightly within his arms, loving all the attention he fed her.

She lived for it; Blossoming beneath his rays of affection.

"David..." she said again, drawing back, her eyes brightened with a type of light he knew existed only when he stared at her, because the woman adored him, something he'd always found to be unbelievable, yet a bliss.

He'd gone days without the death stick, days which later turned into months, and finally years.

He'd gone the rest of his breathing days without so much a thinking of them, but not a single one of those passing dates did he resist her, always caving in to her, even in their darkest days.

By then he'd found out that there was something far more addicting than nicotine, and it was the sweet flavor of her lovely lips, the warmth of their tender press, and much more the dedication behind each one that she let graze him.

All in all, she became his one fixation, the one thing he couldn't ever dream of living without.

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galaxxyboy · 4 years

Text

gimmie gimmie s’more

summary: Shane somehow convinces Ryan to go on a weekend long, technology free sex-cation in the middle of the woods, with nothing more than a tent and a blanket to protect them from the elements.

or a weekend full of sex and feelings dump in the woods word count: 4,469 warnings: trans character, trans!ryan, explicit smut (vaginal penetration, unsafe sex, safe sane and consensual)

“Ryan. Ryaaaan. Ryan. Ry-guy. Baby. Love of my life. Boogara. B boy. Berryga-“

“Holy shit.” Ryan doesn’t look up from his phone where he’s playing mobile sudoku like an old man, but he does tilt his chin in Shane’s direction.

“Look at me,” Shane says. Ryan complies as best as he can, (Shane is lying on his chest, after all, which is an awkward angle), but at least he’s done with mobile sudoku. Shane casts his eyes up at Ryan, fucking gorgeous and open, and then he claps his hands together and says, “camping.”

“Nope,” Ryan replies, and he’s back to mobile sudoku before Shane can even finish his sentence.

“Ry,” Shane says. He makes grabby hands at Ryan and Ryan finally puts his phone down to lace their fingers together. “It’ll be fun.”

The thing is, Ryan, in spite of Shane’s relentless teasing, isn’t some kind of Californian flower. He’s been camping before with his family as a kid, and actually enjoyed it. That kind of camping, though, involved a rented RV with an actual bedroom and a place to cook food. He figures Shane, a wild midwesterner, has something different in mind. Some kind of rustic camping experience where they’ll both be mauled by a bear in the middle of fucking, or something.

And besides, Ryan would rather take his rare time off from worrying about Watcher fucking Shane in their bed, in their house, and not in the bear infested woods, thank you very much.

“The last time you said something would be fun, I had to bring you to a Vegas ER to have a dragon dildo surgically removed,” Ryan points out.

Shane shudders at the memory. “It wasn’t exactly surgical,” he argues.

“Dude, they knocked you out for a good twenty minutes.”

Shane waves a hand as if he can get rid of that memory. “Well anyway,” he says. He rests his hands on Ryan’s stomach, under his shirt, and looks up at him through big brown eyes. Dirty pool . “Just imagine it, Ry,” he says, his voice soft. “Just me and you. No one around for miles. The sun on our skin.” He moves his hand lower. “ All our skin.”

“I fucking hate you,” Ryan answers, his voice a bit rough. Shane doesn’t answer, and Ryan raises an eyebrow at him. “No more dragon dildos?”

Shane holds his other hand, the one not currently attempting a break into Ryan’s pants, up in the air. “I do solemnly swear.”

Ryan sighs. “Fine!” he answers, and Shane rewards him with a rather mind blowing orgasm, so Ryan can’t be totally to blame for his Pavlonian response to Shane’s puppy dog eyes.

FRIDAY

Ryan isn’t sure if he should feel vindicated or scared that apparently apprehensive was the right word to describe how one should feel about Shane’s camping plans. As Shane unloads his car, it’s brought to Ryan’s sharp attention that Shane has packed very lightly: a cooler full of cheap beer, a small tent, an inflatable mattress (which, like, okay), a single blanket and multiple bags of graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate bars. It seems that he’s brought no real food for a three day camping trip. Ryan’s not entirely convinced that they’ll be able to live off this diet, but Shane, taking off to their location with a tent and cooler in hand, seems non-pulsed.

“Hey Shane?” Ryan asks. Shane turns to look at him and Ryan holds up the cooler and one of the bags. “The fuck?”

“S’mores,” Shane answers, which does not answer Ryan’s question but okay. “Come on. Grab the rest of it. We’re burning daylight, baby!”

Ryan grabs the rest of the stuff, grumbling under his breath as he follows Shane. Shane arrives at the camping site first, true to his word, there are no people around, and pulls out the instructions for the tent. A smirk spreads over Ryan’s face as he watches Shane, furrowed brow and all, reading fucking instructions on how to put up a tent. “Need help, bud?”

Shane looks up at Ryan and rolls his eyes at the cocky face staring back at him. “Nah,” he answers. “I got this. Just sit right there and look pretty, baby. Leave the hard work to me.”

Ryan sits on the edge of the cooler and watches Shane struggle for the next ten minutes, grumbling under his breath. Eventually, Ryan decides to stop torturing the guy and gets up, helps him set up the tent. It takes all of two minutes, and Ryan smiles at Shane when it’s done. “Fuck you,” Shane says. “I totally had that in the bag.”

Ryan laughs. “You’re such a liar.” He puckers his lips at Shane and says, mockingly, “say thank you, baby.”

“Thank you, baby,” Shane replies as he presses his lips to Ryan’s. “Now come on,” he says. “Let’s get this air mattress going.”

Unfortunately, the two of them don’t have as much luck with the air mattress as they did with the tent. “I see,” Shane says, kneeling on the floor. “It needs batteries.”

Ryan rolls his eyes at Shane. “You didn’t think to replace them?”

“It’s not my fault,” Shane defends. He flops the end of the air mattress on the floor. “It’s Steven’s air mattress.”

Ryan is kind of morbidly curious how Shane talked Steven into giving them his air mattress, or why Steven even has an air mattress in the first place, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he says, “well I’ll just take the car and go get some more batteries.”

Ryan reaches for the keys, but Shane shakes his head. “Immersion, baby,” he responds, tapping either side of Ryan’s chest. And that’s how Ryan ends up that night laying on the cold, damp floor with only a blanket and Shane to keep him warm. Comfortable.

Ryan, trying and failing to sleep while staring at the ceiling, says “I hate you,” into the silence. When Shane doesn’t respond, Ryan looks down at him. Shane’s got his head on Ryan’s chest, long legs bracketing Ryan’s, arms around his waist, dead asleep. He looks so peaceful like this, no worry on his face, and Ryan, despite himself, brushes Shane’s hair and thinks about how fucking lucky he is to have someone like Shane.

SATURDAY

Ryan wakes up to Shane sneaking out from their blanket. “No,” he whines, groggy, reaching his arms in Shane’s general direction. When there’s no reply, Ryan squints his eyes open.

Shane isn’t in their tent at all. Ryan thinks Shane may have been mauled by bears which, while obviously traumatizing, would kind of serve him right for not listening to Ryan in the first place.

“Shane?” Ryan calls. He reluctantly leaves the safety of their tent to hunt for Shane’s dead body, which is how he finds Shane sitting over the edge of a cliff, watching the sunrise. The fact that the sun is rising cements in Ryan’s mind that they definitely should be sleeping, but he finds it’s hard to be grumpy at being woken up so early when Shane looks fucking etheral, brilliant yellow and orange rays coating his skin, reflecting off the water, rising heat covering Ryan like a blanket.

Ryan sits next to Shane and laces their fingers together. Neither of them speak for a while, watching the sunrise until the sun has fully risen, and the heat is a little more present. Shane turns to kiss Ryan, whispers, “love you, baby,” like a secret for the two of them to share, and then promptly stands, quickly shreds his clothes (Ryan gives him an incredulous look for that one), and jumps into the water.

“What the fuck?” Ryan shouts down at his boyfriend when he emerges from the water, hair a mess and laughing.

“Skinny dipping!” Shane answers. Ryan feels like he has god damn whiplash from the complete 180 his morning has taken. “Join me, Ry!”

Ryan, as with most things, feels drawn in like a moth to a flame to one of Shane’s crazy schemes. Despite himself, he shrugs off his clothes and jumps in the water next to Shane, making sure to thoroughly soak the asshole to teach him a lesson.

“Hey!” Shane shouts when Ryan resurfaces from the water. He splashes Ryan, and Ryan splashes back, and eventually they’re in a full out splash war like children. It ends when Shane holds his hands up as Ryan splashes a particularly big splash in his face. “You win, you win.”

Ryan’s giggles die out as he takes Shane in. His skin is glowing in the morning sun, his hair a mess on top of his head, his eyes sparkly. Ryan moves closer so that he can pull Shane towards him until their skin is touching. He brushes a piece of Shane’s hair out of his face and says, “you’re fucking beautiful.”

Shane goes red. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he answers, and then pulls Ryan into a kiss. He tastes like seawater and s’mores and something so undeniably Shane that Ryan kind of never wants to stop kissing him, like, ever.

When Shane pulls back, he fixes Ryan with a devious smile. “You know,” he says conversationally, “back in the day, I held the record amongst my friends for the longest any of us could hold our breaths underwater.”

Sounds like a boastful lie, but to be fair, so does most of Shane’s crazy midwestern childhood. “Yeah?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah,” Shane replies. He skirts his fingers up Ryan’s thigh, almost touching him but not quite, and says against Ryan’s ear, all husky in a way that makes Ryan fucking melt, “you wanna see?”

When Ryan nods, Shane backs him up against the cliff and uses the momentum of the water to lift Ryan onto the cliff. Ryan wants to argue that this is really no testament to his breath-holding abilities, but then Shane pulls Ryan close by his ass and attaches his mouth to Ryan’s clit and Ryan really loses the ability to argue anything.

Shane pushes two fingers into Ryan’s hole and moves slowly, languidly, as if he has all the time in the world to make Ryan come apart. He lets up on Ryan’s clit to kiss just above, his thighs, everywhere but where Ryan needs him. Ryan locks his legs around Shane’s head, drawing him in closer. Shane pulls his fingers out just enough to spread Ryan’s lips, and he licks a broad stripe over them.

“Shane, Shane,” Ryan chants, his hands everywhere: Shane’s hair, his shoulders, his arms, wrapped around Ryan’s thighs. “You gotta-you-please-”

Thankfully, Shane has had training in understanding Ryan’s babbling and, perhaps more thankfully, he has a heart today. He pushes his fingers back deep into Ryan, gives him something to clench around, and sucks Ryan’s clit into his mouth again, hard. Ryan feels his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he’s pretty sure he would faint into the water if it wasn’t for Shane’s ridiculously big hands on his thighs. Ryan’s soaked and he’s not sure if it’s the lake or him.

When Ryan starts breathing hard around whines, Shane lets up on his clit and instead lets Ryan grind against the bridge of his nose, thrusting two fingers into him in a way that has Ryan gasping and pushing back against his hand. “Yeah,” Shane says. “Yeah, give it to me,” and then he curls his fingers against Ryan’s g-spot and Ryan sees stars.

Ryan comes hard and Shane follows him through it, thrusting his fingers hard, following the manic thrust of Ryan’s hips with his tongue fucking everywhere until Ryan comes down from it and pushes Shane’s head away. Shane pulls his fingers out of Ryan and says, through heavy breaths, “see? What did I tell you? I could hold my breath for hours .”

He’s so fucking full of himself but he’s also so gorgeous, red lips and wet face, that Ryan kind of has to pull him into a deep kiss.

They spend the rest of the day lazing around, laying in the grass in the afternoon sun, Ryan curled into Shane’s side, both of them naked as the day they were born, with no fear of people coming to find them and seeing them like this. No one around for miles. The sun on their skin. Ryan is a little loath to admit Shane was right.

He must fall asleep for a while, because he wakes up to Shane tending to a campfire. He has a pair of Ryan’s basketball shorts slung low around his waist and not much else, and Ryan just wants to look at him for a while. Unfortunately, Shane has supersonic Ryan detectors. “Hey,” he greets. He turns to Ryan with a goofy smile. “Steven called.”

Ryan reaches out for Shane and Shane complies, letting Ryan pull him into a grass-centric cuddle. “I thought we were having a technology free weekend,” Ryan says, a lazy hand coming up to rub circles on Shane’s bare hip.

Shane laughs a little scary against Ryan’s skin. Ryan pulls back to look at Shane. “What did you do to Steven Lim?”

“Nothing,” Shane answers, though his smile gives away the fact that he’s a liar. “He asked where you were and I informed him you were sleeping and thoroughly immersed in our weekend long sex trip. To which he spluttered and hung up the phone.”

Ryan laughs and tucks his face into the crook of Shane’s neck. “You’re horrible.”

Shane chuckles softly, his voice syrupy, as he dances his fingers along Ryan’s thigh. “You know,” he starts.

Ryan sighs softly and spreads his legs as Shane rubs his fingertips against Ryan’s opening. “I’m technically a liar.”

Ryan tries to push back on Shane’s fingers but he’s trapped by Shane’s arm holding his hips in place. “Oh yeah?” he says as he decides to relax into the feeling. “Why’s that?”

Shane presses a finger into Ryan and fucks him with it slowly. He leans down to whisper into Ryan’s ear. “We haven’t even had sex yet.”

Ryan spreads his legs to give Shane a better angle. “We haven’t?” he asks, his voice breathy. “Wasn’t it you that ate me out until I thought you were going to drown? I was really afraid that I was going to have to call Steven and be like: ‘sorry, bro. He died eating pussy.’”

Shane laughs at that. “Steven would die too, and then you would be down to one CEO.” He rubs Ryan’s clit slowly and Ryan groans softly. “You know what I mean though, asshole. Penetration. Some good ole P in V.”

Ryan huffs out a laugh. “You are such a fucking cis guy.” Despite himself, he presses into Shane’s touch. “Go for it, man. P in V.”

Shane picks up his efforts then, pressing a second finger in beside his first. He stretches Ryan out on them, listens to the subtle changes in breathing. “You’re fucking beautiful,” Shane says, and then, just to be a dick, he presses another in and starts fucking Ryan in earnest.

Ryan puts a hand on Shane’s arm and can feel the muscles contracting beneath the skin. “Shane,” he says, all breathy. “Shane, you gotta stop, man. I’m gonna come.”

Shane’s smile is kind of loopy when he replies, “yeah, that’s the point.” He crooks his fingers and leans down to whisper in Ryan’s ear. “I wanna watch it happen, baby. Wanna watch you get my fingers soaking wet. Wanna make sure you’re nice and sticky inside so I have somewhere nice to put my dick.”

That’s it for Ryan, he comes clinging onto Shane’s arms, rides it out with his hips pressed to Shane’s hand, sucks Shane’s fingers into him as far as they’ll go. When he’s done, Shane pulls his fingers out just barely, just enough for Ryan to see how sticky he is. “God, what a fucking mess,” Shane says.

Ryan gives him a challenging look. “Why don’t you clean it up?”

Shane, as always, takes the challenge. He ducks his head between Ryan’s legs. He laps up the come there, but refuses to touch Ryan’s clit, which just drives Ryan crazy. He sucks Ryan’s labia hard and Ryan very nearly passes out. “Oh my god,” he gripes, a hand in Shane’s hair. “Please, please fuck me.”

Shane gives one last suck to Ryan’s labia before pulling his head back. His face is fucking soaked and he might just be the most beautiful person Ryan’s ever seen. “Well,” Shane says, a hand on Ryan’s thigh, a little breathy. “Since you asked nicely and all.”

Shane hovers over Ryan with his hands on the floor, like some kind of poor intimation of a sex pushup. He uses one hand to push Ryan’s leg up so that it’s bent next to his chest, and uses this new angle to rub at Ryan’s opening with two of his fingers. Ryan whines at the feeling. “Stop being a tease,” he says, but he can’t quite catch his breath enough to sound angry.

Shane rolls his eyes but lines his cock up with Ryan’s entrance anyway. He pushes in slowly, and despite the fact that they’ve done this more times than Ryan could count to in this lifetime, it still takes his breath away every time. Once Shane is all the way in, pressing gentle kisses to Ryan’s face, Ryan feels so full that he might split in half.

“Shane,” Ryan says. He gets his hands on the nape of Shane’s neck. He’s sweating, which should be gross, but Ryan can’t find it in himself to care. He’s getting fucked in the middle of the woods, is probably gonna find grass in horrible places for weeks to come, and all he can think about is how he wants more .

Shane gives Ryan one shallow thrust that has Ryan crying out and canting his hips up. “You good?” Shane asks.

Ryan resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, Shane, A+ dick game. Please fuck me .”

Shane huffs out a laugh but starts giving it to Ryan in earnest, thrusting hard and fast, filling Ryan up and leaving him empty and filling him up again in a pattern that has Ryan dizzy with it. All he can do is hold on, his fingernails probably leaving indents in Shane’s shoulders, and get lost in the feeling of getting fucked right.

Shane pants over him, right in his ear, which Ryan suspects should probably also be gross but is currently just hot as fuck. “God, you’re so beautiful,” Shane says, because even during sex, he can’t shut up. “So wet for me. So tight. Look at you. You’re fucking glowing, Ryan. You’re ethereal.”

Ryan isn’t sure if he wants more to come or to cry. Shane, however, makes the executive decision for him. He rubs the pad of his thumb over Ryan’s clit in nice circular motions and whispers, right in his ear, “you gonna come for me?”

Ryan nods quickly. “Yes, yes, Shane, man, come on,” he pants senselessly, his nails digging so hard into Shane’s shoulders that Shane actually cringes a little.

That doesn’t stop his attack on Ryan’s clit, though. “Come on,” he breathes into Ryan’s ear, presses a kiss against the skin of his neck. “Come for me, Ryan.”

Shane has some kind of sex superpower that makes Ryan helpless to do anything other than what Shane says. He comes around Shane’s cock like he’s possessed, white light gathered behind his eyes, pussy clenching hard around Shane’s cock, keeping him there, his hands fucking anywhere on Shane’s body that they can reach. Shane rubs him through it, only stops rubbing Ryan’s clit when Ryan pushes his hand away, just on the bad side of oversensitive.

“Fuck,” Shane says, his open-mouthed breathing against Ryan’s neck. He sounds absolutely destroyed and Ryan can relate. He presses a hand to the back of Shane’s head and just cradles him to his body. “Can I-” Shane mutters. His hips thrust forward on their own accord and Ryan gasps. “Can I come inside you, Ryan? Please, please, I have to-”

Ryan cuts him off with an enthusiastic nod. “Yes, please, Shane.”

With permission, Shane thrusts his hips forward fast and deep, like he can’t bear to have his cock any further out of Ryan than absolutely necessary. He must have been holding back for Ryan’s sake, because it only takes a handful of thrusts before Ryan feels his cock throb inside him. Shane gets himself as far in as possible and comes, filling Ryan up so much he can hardly stand it. Ryan doesn’t get to see his face, but he can feel the puffs of hot air against his body, hears the way Shane says “Ry, Ry,” over and over, and that’s a treat in itself.

Shane stays shuddering on top of Ryan for a second, shaking with the sheer force of holding himself up for that long and fucking someone into the grass. Ryan would be kind of proud of if there was any more room in his head for thoughts. As it is, he just holds Shane close, enjoys the feeling of Shane’s cock inside him, keeping his come trapped deep inside Ryan.

Once Shane gets his brain back online, he rolls off of Ryan and lands on the grass with a hard thud . Ryan can feel Shane’s come dripping out of him, which he always finds kind of gross, but makes Shane go blurry-eyed. Shane collects the come that’s dripped out and pushes it back into Ryan, to which Ryan whimpers from oversensitivity.

“Do you want me to clean you out?” Shane whispers into Ryan’s ear, his voice deep and rough, and Ryan’s clit gives a weak jump that honestly kind of hurts.

“My guy, are you trying to kill me?” Ryan asks. He pulls Shane to his chest and kisses the top of his head. He likes being able to do that, horizontally, pretty much the only time he and Shane can be the same height. “Time to nap.”

Shane huffs out a laugh against Ryan’s collarbone. “Is that all you frat boys care about?” he asks. “Beer and naps?”

“And sex,” Ryan adds, already well on his way to sleep. “You made me come, like, three times today, dude. My body is begging for a nap.”

Ryan’s eyes are closed, but he can almost hear Shane’s cocky smirk as he says, “yeah. I’m kind of a god, aren’t I?” Ryan slips into unconsciousness, vaguely aware of Shane pressing a kiss to Ryan’s neck and saying, “I love you, baby.”

Ryan wakes up to a dark forest, Shane nowhere to be found. Ryan’s mind immediately goes to bears again, but when he sits up, he finds Shane tending to a campfire, sweats hanging low against his hips, a t-shirt hanging haphazardly from his shoulders, his glasses sideways and his hair a fucking mess as he digs through the utter shit pile of things Shane packed for their trip.

“Shane,” Ryan says. Shane comically drops a backpack, and Ryan sends up a silent prayer to whatever deity is willing to listen to a bisexual trans man that his boyfriend hasn’t broken anything important. “What the fuck is happening?”

“You’re gonna kill me,” Shane says, which is never a good way to start a sentence. Ryan sits up and Shane tosses him a sweatshirt and some pants. Ryan pulls the pants on and stands to put on the sweatshirt when Shane says, “it’s possible that s’mores are the only form of substance I’ve brought.”

Ryan stops with one arm in his sweatshirt and glares at Shane. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish,” Shane says. Ryan pulls his sweatshirt on finally and sits on the ground near the campfire. Shane rips open bags of graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate in quick succession and hands them off to Ryan. He has sticks too, somehow, which makes Ryan a little wary of the fact that Shane ‘forgot’ real food. Maybe his midwestern ass thought they could pillage or something.

“Come on,” Shane says, breaking Ryan out of his thoughts. He already has his marshmallow over the fire, and Ryan does the same. “I’m not telling Steven Lim you died naked in the woods from malnutrition.”

With his free hand, Ryan mimes picking up a phone. “Uhhh,” he starts in a pretty bad Shane impression. “So Ryan died.”

Shane mimes being on the other end of the phone and pitches his voice up in an equally bad impression of Steven. “Oh gosh!” he says, which makes Ryan giggle. “Did he at least die peacefully?”

“Nah,” Ryan answers. He gives an exaggerated sigh and adds, “he was naked and really fucking pissed at me.”

“Oh!” Shane fake laments. “I have to go eat some gold to feel better about this!” He sighs.

Ryan laughs again and pushes Shane’s shoulder. “Man, shut the fuck up.”

They put together their s’mores and eat in relative silence. Ryan can’t help stealing glances at Shane’s face as they eat. He looks gorgeous like this, lit up by the fire, chocolate running down his fingertips. Shane catches him staring when they finish eating and gives him a goofy smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ryan answers. “Just,” he shrugs. “Thank you for convincing me to do this. It really was fun.”

Shane’s smile gets bigger then, somehow. “You’re welcome.” He reaches over and touches his sticky fingers to Ryan’s. “I told you it would be better than Vegas.”

Ryan breaks into a comically big smile of his own. “Shut up, Shane.”

SUNDAY

Shane pulls up to Ryan’s house around midday and parks outside. “I’m glad you had a good time,” he says. He leans over and connects their lips in a gentle kiss. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“See you,” Ryan says softly. He gets out and takes the stairs up to his apartment, where Roland is eating cold pizza in some kind of trance. Ryan guesses he probably hasn’t slept since Ryan left on Friday.

Ryan joins him for a slice of pizza, finally, some real food, and gets a few bites in before there’s a knock at his door. “You gonna get that?” he asks Roland. Roland just shrugs, pretty fucking out of it, so Ryan sighs and, with one last bite of his pizza, goes to answer the door.

“What?” he asks, and is surprised when Shane backs him into the room, pushes him against the wall and kisses him senseless.

“I was wrong,” Shane says when he pulls back for air. “I don’t want to see you Monday. I want to see you right now. And tomorrow and the day after and every second of every day.”

From the kitchen table, Roland says, “ew?”

Ryan doesn’t look away from Shane’s eyes. “Shut it, Roland.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE

this fic is a rewrite of a supernatural fic i wrote when i was 16. i wanted to do this cute camping idea some justice and i hope you enjoyed it! it’s a behemoth and also the longest thing i’ve written in two years. i guess i just really like camping.

disclaimer: this fic dealt with a trans character. i myself an nonbinary afab and i used the language i myself would feel comfortable using and i write from my own experiences.

please please consider a reblog if you liked this!! it really helps! i also post bfu/watcher stuff on the reg and aes stuff so if you like that consider a follow? maybe?

thank you so much for reading and for your support.

- is

#shyan #shyan fic #bfu fic #buzzfeed unclean #otp: we took an oath #otp: skeptic believer #mine #write

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sl-reign · 4 years

Text

Luminous Enigma

Fantasy and Supernatural Novel By Sharina L Martin

Warning, this chapter snippit has Gory descriptions.

Chapter 6. WTF?

I've Just experienced the longest and worst day of my life.

It's 5:00am and its a freezing dark early morning, every surface outside is covered with snow. I throw the last black garbage bag into a garbage bin in a dark unpopulated alley behind some random restaurants. I made sure to fill other garbage bags with unimportant junk to cover the bags I was trying to get rid of. I close the bin then hurry and walk off with my hands stuffed in my jacket pockets.

I stuck around long enough.

Going back and forth from my SUV carrying out at least 6 or 7 bags I was really pushing it. I was so out of breath considering I was a small skinny woman, those heavy bags really took a lot out of me. I look around my surroundings once again as I approach my expensive truck. I quickly pull out my keys then unlock and start it with a push of a button. An old man walking by on the sidewalk with his dog where my SUV is parked smiles at me. I force a quick obvious fake smile and immediately hop into my truck. I watch the old man walking away with his big furry dog in my rear view mirror.

"SHIT!"

I scream to myself while repeatedly hitting my steering wheel. I snatch off the hat I wore to cover my long blond hair and throw it angrily at the windshield. I was hoping I wouldn't be spotted by anyone but that hope just went right out of the window. The day started off so normal and ended with me throwing pieces of someone's chopped up remains in a garbage bin. I don't know how it got this far, and I can't believe I've taken it this far. But I'm not going to prison for murder! I can't! My life is finally coming together. I Just found out I was pregnant a few days ago and I'm getting married to the man of my dreams in a month. His ex-girlfriend came to my house threatening to expose to him that I've been sleeping with someone else. Not only would that ruin my relationship, but it will have him doubting if the child is even his.

He's been away for months across sea's helping different countries that got hit with natural disasters. They needed more medical help and him being a respected traveling doctor, he didn't turn down the opportunity to help those in need. He comes back and visits a week or so out of every month, but I've gotten so lonely with him being gone. He'll finally be back for good in another week, but as my luck had it his ex-showed up yesterday revealing she's been watching and filming me, she even showed me a printed-out photo of me and the other man making out. I asked her what she wanted and she told me to give her fifteen thousand dollars a month for the next year. My fiancé just added me to an adjoined account but there was no way I could just take that money out. We had a lot of money, but it would be such a big repeated noticeable amount gone that it wouldn't be over looked, it was insane. She also revealed that she knew I was stalking him before we dated. She knew I was the cause of their breakup because... I framed her by making him think she broke into his mother's business and destroyed the place. At the time, I learned that her and his mother didn't get along and even argued so it was perfect. Now, she had the raw evidence proving her innocence and my guilt on many levels. She refused to be reasonable and told me to take the deal or leave it. The tramp was a scorned gold digger who lost her trophy and she wasn't letting him get away without getting some money out of him.

"This is all so unreal."

I say out loud to myself.

I was paranoid and frightened. I couldn't get the gory scene I created out of my head. All the limbs and blood that filled up my tub, I was a monster. I sawed her apart and it's a vision that I will never forget. I murdered someone in the big brand-new home that me and my fiancé were starting our life in. I took someone's child someone's friend possibly a sister. The sick part is I had so many chances to stop...

I told her to take a seat on the couch, my mind was racing a million miles a minute. She continued rubbing it in calling me a whore and calling him an idiot. She went on bragging about how she would reveal the evidence to him if I didn't pay up. She laughed at the thought of seeing me as a poor single mother struggling to raise a disgusting bastard child on my own.She went on to talk about my upbringing and how she knew I was homeless for many years then upgraded to white trailer trash.I didn't understand how she knew so much about me. She laughed at the thought of me going to jail for the crime she was falsely accused of. The more she dug up my life the angrier and more desperate I felt. The thought of being found out was eating at my insides like a virus, I almost wanted to faint as the room began to spin. Finally, in a fit of silent rage I grabbed a small marble figurine sitting on my fireplace then came up behind her and hit her on the back of her head. She fell to the side on the coach moaning in pain while swearing at me. I walked around the couch and hit her three more times until she stopped moving. I backed away while looking at her bloody head and dropping the figurine to the floor with shock. What the hell have I just done?

"NOOO!"

I cried out in desperation.

"Oh no, oh no no no no.!!"

I look down at my shaking bloody hands then back at the woman soaking my white couch with hauntingly deep red blood. I spot my cell phone on the table across the room and begin walking over to it. But I stop in my tracks.

"No, I can't call the police my life would be over! I can't do that I just can't!"

I walk back over and look at her.

"What am I going to do?"

I asked myself as I continued pacing.I kept looking from her to my phone as if fighting with my instincts on the right thing to do . My eyes finally break the back and forth cycle once I stare at the hallway that led to the garage door. Quickly, I went and grabbed a big blue tarp from my garage and rolled her onto it. I brainstormed for another couple of minutes until I decided to drag her to my downstairs bathtub. After covering her the best I could with the large tarp I began to drag her. Suddenly, I started hearing gargling and moaning coming from her. She was still alive! I stopped dragging her and stared down at the tarp with eyes as wide as saucers. In complete shock I began to once again pace back and forth while covering my mouth with my hand as tears starting falling from my eyes. I didn't know what to do, I've come so far and if she stays alive my life is sunk. Not only would I lose my fiancé and my baby, but I'd have tough charges pressed against me. Him and his family would hate me! I love his family so much! I finally felt at home with them and it would all be taken away. My child wasn't being born in prison and my child wasn't growing up without me!

Mind made up, I grabbed her legs and continued dragging her to the bathroom. I finally reach the bathroom and sit on the toilet out of exhaustion. She continues making noises as I stare at the tarp moving around slightly. I then get up from the toilet and use all my strength to get her into the large bathtub. After again catching my breath I walk out of the bathroom and head straight to my kitchen. Grabbing a large knife out of a drawer, I quickly walk back into the bathroom. For a moment I just stand at the entryway, I had to take a moment to convince myself that it had to be done. Finally, I walk into the bathroom and stand over the woman wrapped in a tarp inside of my bathtub. The knife is squeezed tightly in the palm of my hands as my breathing gets faster and faster. The woman surprisingly begins to mutter something.

"Please..."

She says in a cracked painfully desperate tone.

My eyes fill with tears as the knife burns in the palm of my hands. The woman mutters the words again but louder. It was then that I knew I had to end it. I lifted the knife up with force and brought it down with all the strength I had in me....I stabbed her repeatedly. I just stabbed her until I was convinced that she was dead. Shaken, I drop the knife then back away out of the bathroom with streams of tears running down my face. Eyes wide in sheer disbelief at myself, my back hits the closest wall and I slide down dropping to the ground. My hands and my pink sweater were covered in blood.

"HONK HONK!!!!"

Back in the present I snap out of my flashback when a car behind me honks at me for not moving after the light turned green. I begin to drive again as I let out a long sigh.Where does my life go from here?

I then find myself pulling up to an apartment complex. I couldn't understand what possessed me to drive here. I park in an empty slot and just sit in the truck.

"I don't even remember how to get home. What is going on with me?"

I put my hands in my face as begin to sob. My face and nose are quickly wet. It felt like invisible walls are closing in on me, I've ruined my life and I've taken a life. If I would have given in and gave her the money that she asked for I would have been figured out eventually. There would have been no way of hiding it! And if I told my husband about the affair he'd drop me and I'd be homeless again. If the child was his he'd take full custody and I'd never see the baby. If it wasn't his I'd be out on the streets with a baby in my stomach. I love my husband but as nice and caring as he is, he could also be a ruthless person. The man that I had an affair with was married and has four kids. He ended things with me when his wife found out about us. She threatened him with divorce and taking the kids along with her money. Even if we did decide to just stay together, he wouldn't even have any money to support the two of us. He married into money just like I did and she made him sign a prenup. He was nothing but a broke pretty boy getting taken care of...I guess it's what we both had in common.

I look back up at the apartment complex then get a moment of deja vu, this place looked familiar. I look around at all the apartment numbers and my eyes are drawn to apartment number 22 on the second floor. I turn off my truck then step out into the cold winter air and look around once more. Snow begins to lightly fall from the sky instantly reminding to reach into the car and grab my jacket. I put it on and begin to walk pass a few parked cars in their assigned stalls before I stop in front of stall 22. There parked in stall 22 was a green Volkswagen. Feeling a chill from the breeze I shove my hands into my coat pocket where I surprise myself by pulling out a pair of keys. Hooked to them was a car remote, I stare confusingly at the keys for a moment.

These aren't mine.

I then instantly remember throwing her keys in my pocket amidst my panicked rush. I look up at the beetle realizing it had the same logo as the car remote. I hit the button and the car chirped and blinked.

"What?"

I then notice that attached to these set of keys was what looked to be a personalized green key hanging on a gold frog charm. I look up at apartment 22. Oh my gosh, no way. Is this her place? Now that I think about it, not once did I wonder about how she got to my place. She must have taken a Lyft. What are the odds of me ending up here...this is so strange. I gulp and a more worried look spills across my face. Is this a twist of sick fate? Being here was a really bad idea.

I began to head back to my car but a thought stopped me and I looked back up at the apartment door.The rest of the evidence to my affair had to be in there. I couldn't just leave it; it would lead the cops to me. I grip the keys tightly in my hand just like I did the knife and curse at myself. Hesitantly I walk towards the Apartment. Finally standing in front of the door I look around before I slide the key in and unlock it. I step inside and close the door, Immediately I'm hit with a foul smell. I cover my nose with the sleeve of my jacket.

"What in the world is that smell?".....

Read Lumious Enigma on Wattpad >>> https://www.wattpad.com/story/240528799-luminous-enigma

#LuminousEnigma #Fantasy #Powers #Drama #diversity #fantasy novel #Sharina L Martin #SLMartinNovels #slmartin-novels #black authors #black writers

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dontgotothenetherworld · 4 years

Text

boo! rewrite (lydia x reader)

so i wanted to rewrite one of my first fics, to see how much my writing has improved, and boo! was the one that stood out to me. if you read the original, i’m sorry. i’m changing basically everything from the original except for the concept because holy h*ck was that painful for me to reread.

reader is barbara’s niece, and she enlists adam, an english teacher, to help her with her essay. unfortunately, it’s the day that adam and barbara die.

2118 words

cw: femreader. brief reference to suicide.

your eyes glazed over the shakespearean english. you couldn’t figure out what anyone was trying to say, and you weren’t entirely sure that you cared enough to try. but you hadn’t bought a no fear version of the play yet, so that had to count for something.

your teacher claimed she could tell when kids just googled a synopsis and such to write their essay, but you weren’t entirely sure. you were also scared of this particular teacher, so you didn’t really want to risk it.

you made it three more pages before giving up. you checked your phone to be greeted by a text from your friend, “we sold out of the no fears. i tried to save a copy for you but my boss wanted to sell it. sorry and good luck.” they sent. they worked at a local bookstore. the local bookstore. the only one in town.

you began to panic. it was saturday, 3:57 pm, and your essay was due on sunday at 11:59 pm. shit. you would probably be able to finish reading the book if you started now, but still remains the problem of understanding it. and all that before you even think about writing an essay, where you have to convince your teacher that you truly get all the inner complexities of england’s greatest writer, as well as applying it to your own life. shit shit shit.

you bit the inside of your lip, somehow convinced that if you just sat there and tried to figure out how you were going to get all of the work done, that miraculously you wouldn’t have to do it anymore. because that makes sense. all you need to do to solve a problem is think up the solution. no further action necessary.

you sighed, and prepared yourself for the “i told you so”s that would inevitably come, as you texted your uncle, adam.

adam always made it known to you that if you ever needed any help in english, that he could help you, but you always told him, “english is my native language, i won’t need any help.” like the smart ass that you are.

”i have to finish a crib for the o'briens, so i’ll have to split my attention, but yeah! come on over!” adam replied. “but i will not write your essay for you, okay?” he sent after a minute.

”thanks, adam! i’ll be right over!” you texted him back. you grabbed your book, your laptop, and your keys, and you were out of there.

you always found it odd how the two sweetest people you knew had the creepiest house in town. the house practically begged to house some vampires, and while you were pretty sure that adam and his wife barbara weren’t vampires, a part of you always hoped they were.

you tried to figure out how they could be actually undead, while you drove to their house. you assumed that adam would’ve had to become a vampire first, because if barbara were a vampire, then that would mean that your mom would also be a vampire, and that just didn’t make sense. but then again, adam doesn’t seem particularly ancient. although if he was from, say, shakespeare’s time, that would make sense why he would understand his work so much. and adam is an ap brit lit teacher…

you shook your silly ideas off and parked in the maitland’s driveway.

even though adam said you would only have his divided attention, he pretty much abandoned working on the crib as soon as you walked in the door, already starting to explain the basic plot of the play.

barbara drifted in and out of the room, offering food everytime she did. maybe that was just further proof that she’s a vampire! wait, no. she would still have once been human, so she’d understand how often humans need to eat. also, shakespeare, not vampires! come on, you need to focus!

after successfully tricking adam into thinking that you had read the whole book, and he told you as many details as he could remember, he decided it was time for a break. you agreed. you needed a little bit of time to figure out how to best get him to write your body paragraphs for you. getting him to just explain stuff to you probably wouldn’t work, because he’s not the most concise person. and getting him to literally type them out wouldn’t work, because adam’s gullible, not stupid.

your aunt and uncle decided to show you around the house. they were in the midst of many renovations, and they wanted to show you what they had done so far, as well as what they planned on doing.

”oh, y/n, would you look at the wood on this banister? i know you don’t really care about all the little details like i do, but it’s just so gorgeous.” said adam.

you walked closer to the stairs, next to the couple.

unfortunately, that was the last thing you did as a living, breathing person. the floor gave out, sending the three of you into the basement. the fall killed you.

you were the first to catch on to that.

you came back as a ghost, because of course ghosts are real. and while the maitlands were screaming about the fireplace and how cold they were, you noticed that your heart had stopped beating. you noticed that your fingers were numb. and when you stopped breathing, you didn’t get lightheaded, nothing happened.

it had been a few days since then. there was a demon who offered to help the maitlands who came. but the maitlands didn’t allow you near him. one of the downsides to being dead is no sleep. you couldn’t lose consciousness if you tried. and you have. compounded with the fact that you were always drowsy, you were pretty sure that you were in a low level of hell.

you had taken to gazing longingly out the windows. you couldn’t go outside, lest you get eaten by a sandworm, whatever that meant, so you settled for this, hoping that the soccer mom walking her dog would look up and freak out when she saw you.

but no one ever saw you.

you considered seeking the demon out to ask him what actually happened when sandworms ate ghosts, but a flurry of moving trucks interrupted your thoughts.

the movers began dragging the boxes and the pieces of furniture into the house, as directed by a tall, bearded man.

you jumped up and glided down the multiple sets of stairs, to the front door.

as a new person walked in, you would scream, “boo!” as you crept up behind them. to no avail. no one as much as flinched.

you eventually gave up, and roamed the first floor. just looking for someone you hadn’t already tried to scare. sitting in the kitchen, was a red-headed woman. you said, “boo.” she looked up, like she had heard you, but then looked right through you. still invisible.

what’s the fun of being a ghost if you can’t mess with people? maybe you needed to just become a poltergeist. that could be fun, hurling cookie jars at these idiots. you chuckled to yourself at the thought of it.

you wandered into another room. a dining room, maybe? the bearded man from before was in there. you slipped a wine glass out of it’s box, and threw it at him. being a bad aim, you hit the wall about a foot to his right, but the point got across. the glass exploded on impact, making the man jump.

you smiled.

you turned around, to leave the room to find more people to torment, but the demon you were supposed to be avoiding was leaning in the door frame. “impressive.” he said.

”go away, lawrence.” you replied. he cringed at the name.

”what? don’t you want me to show you more ways you can mess with them?” he crossed his arms defensively.

”you’re a literal demon, so excuse me if i don’t trust you. and i’ve only just started throwing things at them, so i think i’ll stick to that for a while.” you glanced around the room for another way out, but there were none.

the demon grunted, and walked away, presumably to the attack to talk to your aunt and uncle again. you felt bad for them, but at least you didn’t have to deal with him.

you wandered into the living room, or was it family room? you never knew which was which and why they were two different rooms. but there was a girl, dressed in all black, flipping through a photo album on the couch. she looked to be about your age. this was definitely the first time you had seen her, so you decided to try to scare her using your old way, even though you were really itching to throw the candelabra that was on the other side of the room. you weren’t sure if that was from this new family, or from adam and barbara. it looked cool, though.

”boo!” you yelled.

the girl whipped her head around. her eyes found you immediately. “who are you and what are you doing in this house.” she demanded. she shut the photo album and stood to face you.

”wow you can both hear and see me, that’s a new one!” you exclaimed.

the girl narrowed her eyes.

”uh, i’m y/n. nice to meet you?”

”what are you doing in this house?”

”i- well, uh, this house used to belong to my aunt and uncle before the, um, died. and-”

”if you need to get any of their stuff, you better do it quickly before my dad gets rid of it.” she interrupted you. “but couldn’t you have done this before the house was sold?”

”you see, i was also in this house when my aunt and uncle died. all three of us were standing right about there,” you pointed at a spot a few feet in front of the girl, “and uh, we all died.”

”you’re dead?” the girl asked, her previous hostility turning to curiosity.

”yeah.”

”that is so cool.” she peered oddly at you.

”uhm not really. you’re the first person who’s been able to see me. i mean, i threw a wine glass at your dad earlier and that was kinda fun, but other than that… sucks, man.”

”oh.” the girl slumped over.

you walked closer to her, “what’s your name, by the way?”

her head bobbed back up, “lydia. you said you were y/n?”

”yeah.”

lydia poked your upper arm. “so you’re corporeal.”

”yeah.”

lydia blinked and looked around awkwardly. “does dying make you bad at conversations?”

”i don’t think so. all the other dead people i know are really chatty.”

”so it’s you that’s bad.”

”you are also involved in this conversation, lydia.” you snarked back.

lydia crossed her arms. “you said something about ‘all the other dead people’ you know. are you just talking about your aunt and uncle, or are there other ghosts haunting this place?”

”no and no? i’m not actually sure his dead or alive status, but there’s a demon here.”

lydia laughed. “a demon? that’s hilarious, tell me the truth.”

”you are talking to a literal dead girl right now, why would i lie to you?”

the laughter faded from her face. “you’re right. what does the demon want here?”

”i’m not really sure. he seems kinda gross, so i’ve been keeping away from him.” you wrinkled your nose, “but as far as i know, barbara and adam. that’s their names, by the way. my aunt and uncle. like, i keep accidentally overhearing him hit on them, and it makes me want to gouge my ears out.”

”yikes. that sounds awful. i can’t imagine what would happen if some weirdo started flirting with my dad. or just adults flirting in general is yuck.” lydia shuddered at the thought.

you went quiet.

”what’re you thinking about.” lydia asked.

you bit the inside of your mouth. “it’s just that… like, now that i’m dead, i’m stuck being sixteen forever. and i’m also pretty sure that i’m stuck in this house forever. so not only will there be no one ever to flirt with me, i have to listen to the adults flirt with each other.”

”if the demon is flirting with someone in front of their wife, i’m pretty sure that he’d flirt with you.” lydia suggested.

”i’d sooner rip his throat out.” you threatened.

lydia thought for a second. “well, it sounds like you need someone to fix that problem.” she said, softly. nervously.

@meangirlsx @meangirlmurphy @eliza-is-confused @boredomimi @book--butterfly

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice fanfiction #lydia #lydia deetz #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #adam maitland #barbara maitland #charles deetz #delia #delia deetz #lydia x reader #lydia deetz x reader #fic

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winryofresembool · 4 years

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 9

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Calypso and Leo have a therapy session of sorts.

A/N: New chapter and some (more) Caleo focus this time! About Leo's fear of fire: fire's obviously a big part of Leo's character and ofc I wanted to put that into this fic somehow. I always wished that he would have had a moment in HoO where he would have come to term with his issues (since he in fact didn't like using his power in TLH bc of reasons but then later on just seemed to forget about it) so, that's kind of what I'm trying to do in this fic. Don't worry, he'll definitely deal with his fear eventually!

Big thanks to Cris again for helping me solve some problem parts! :)) I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and let me know what you think!!

Characters in this ch: Calypso, Leo

Words: 1356

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / next chapter / AO3

...

As the fall progressed, Calypso got inspired to burn candles on the common room table to bring some light to the darkening evening. She had already forgotten about the fire alarm incident a few weeks before so when she heard a scream from the common room while she was reading, she didn’t immediately understand the reason for it.

“What’s wrong?” Calypso rushed into the room, worried something had happened to Leo.

“Don’t. never. ever. leave. a fire. here.” Leo breathed harshly and had to sit down to collect himself. He also looked paler than usually, Calypso noticed.

“But… it’s just a small candle… and there’s nothing burnable nearby… and the fire alarm won’t react to such a small flame either…” Calypso tried to reason. “What’s so bad about it?”

“It just is! You never know what it could do if you leave it unsupervised!” Leo exclaimed, gripping the couch fabric hard with both hands.

“I was just in my room, I would have noticed if something had happened!” Calypso said defensively. Then she remembered the talk she had had with Piper earlier and Leo’s burn marks. “Wait a minute. Is this about that fire... In your house?” she asked quietly, looking at Leo worriedly.

Leo was scowling at her, his expression screaming ‘how do you know about my house’, but he said nothing.

“Piper told me,” Calypso said as calmly as she could even though Leo did look kind of scary with his eyes burning as bright as the candle.

He ran his hand through his hair and made an annoyed growl. “What did she tell you exactly?” he asked after a while. Calypso had to admit to herself she hadn’t expected this kind of reaction from him, about a sole candle.

“Not much more, really. Just what happened to the house, that’s all,” she replied.

“Oh. OK. Good.” Leo seemed to calm down a bit after that piece of information even though he still kept glancing at the small flame nervously every once in a while and his hands were as fidgety as ever.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with being afraid after such an incident. I have gone through something similar myself. But I think I could be able to help you get over it. Isn’t it hard to be a mechanic who has to avoid fire? Don’t you have to for example weld the metals?”

Leo rubbed his neck awkwardly. “I usually get help from Jo with that,” he admitted.

“Okay. Well, would you let me help you?” Calypso asked.

“No sé," Leo said and Calypso remembered how Piper had told her Leo often goes for Spanish when he’s nervous.

“Please?” she attempted again, trying to make her best Piper impression.

“Fine. Can’t hurt, can it?” he said, still a bit hesitantly.

“We’ll take it slowly. Promise.”

“Okay.”

Calypso sat down next to Leo on the sofa, which seemed to be a bit too close to the candle for his liking, but still far enough that he didn’t just leave. Then she turned towards him and gently lifted his chin so he was facing her directly.

“Now. Tell me a happy memory. Could be anything that comes to your mind. Just a moment you remember enjoying.”

“What kind of hocus pocus is this supposed to be?” Leo asked skeptically.

“It’s not hocus pocus!” Calypso said with annoyance. “It’s called positive reinforcement, making you associate fire with more positive things than you do now.”

“Fine,” Leo said, trying to think of a happy memory. He was quiet for a good while, almost enough for Calypso to break the silence, but then he finally continued: “One of my favorite memories is from the time I found out that I’d get to stay with Jo and Emmie. Until that moment everything felt so… unsure. I didn’t want to wish that it would actually happen because I was so scared of getting disappointed again. I had a bit too much experience on that already. But then they really sat me down and gave me the papers that would make it official. I have never written anything as fast in my life. After that we had a good meal – tacos, of course, because Jo and Emmie already knew I love them – and Georgie helped them bake a small cake. Best cake I’ve ever had.” He smiled crookedly at the memory.

“Oh, that’s a good one!” Calypso said encouragingly. “Very sweet. Your family sounds great. I’d love to meet them one day.”

“Maybe you will,” Leo shrugged. “They live in this town and sometimes drop me something I’ve forgotten.”

“That would be great! I mean, seeing them,” she added quickly, “not you forgetting something… although it’s not hard to imagine that happening to you,” she said teasingly. “Har har. You should know better than to think that kind of teasing would work on the great Leo Valdez.”

“Great? Sorry, Repair Boy, but you’re just too easy to tease.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

“Is this your idea of distracting me, Sunshine?” Leo asked suddenly.

“What?”

“You are like, 3 inches from me,” he pointed out.

Calypso immediately jumped farther from Leo. She hadn’t even realized that as they were bickering, they had slowly inched closer to each other. Her face turned red and she seemed rather interested in the hem of her shirt when she muttered something like ‘idiot’ under her breath.

“What was that?” Leo asked, a mischievous smile rising on his face.

“Nothing,” Calypso mumbled.

“Anyway,” Leo decided to change the subject. “I shared a memory that’s important to me. I think it’s only fair that you do the same.”

Calypso felt like cursing him, still embarrassed by what had just happened, but then she remembered that she was trying to help Leo get rid of his fear of fire. “Okay.”

She had to think long and thoroughly. Her best memories were from the time when she had still been living with her mother in Greece, which had happened a long time ago. Finally, she remembered one specific moment.

“I was maybe 7. It was summer and we were on a vacation in Malta. My dad had a boat so my mum, my sister and I took it one day while dad was taking care of his businesses and we sailed for a good while until we found a small uninhabited island. We stopped and had a picnic there, nothing too fancy, simple bread and grapefruit, but something about that island… it felt like I was connected to it somehow. Later mum revealed that I had been born there. She and dad had been sailing a few weeks before her due date when she had suddenly started showing signs of being in labor and they had had no other choice but to stop there. It wasn’t until I was already in this world that a medical helicopter had picked them to the hospital.”

“Woah. That’s kinda crazy," Leo commented, looking genuinely interested in her story.

“Yeah. Fate works funny sometimes. Would be interesting to visit that place some time again.”

“Mmmh. I’d like to see some of the world outside this country at some point too.” Leo nodded.

“Well, did it work?” Calypso asked all of a sudden, changing the subject.

“Did what work?” Leo asked with confusion.

“This? Talking? Did it make you forget the fire?” Calypso clarified.

“Oh!” Leo glanced at the flame again but he realized that he had already gotten used to its presence. “You know what? I think it did.”

“Good.”

“But do not push your luck more,” Leo grinned, blowing the flame off. Calypso felt something weird in her stomach when she saw the light reflect from his eyes for a moment. But the moment was gone almost as fast as it had happened and it became darker in the room. Suddenly Calypso felt Leo reach for her hand, squeezing it briefly and telling her: “Thanks, Cal. Maybe we can continue this some other day.”

Calypso was thankful for the lack of light because she was convinced her face was currently more red than her newly dyed hair.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au

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androgynousblackbox · 4 years

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A day on the life of your favourite radio host

You woke up before your alarm did it’s job and then turned it off when it did. After putting on your shoes for home, stand up to open up the window and breath the smell of the beatiful flowers around the house. What a lovely morning! The sun was clear, there wasn’t any bird chirping and you could feel optimistic about today. But then again, when weren’t you a ball of sunshine with that bright smile on your face?

You could have greeted your neighborhood good morning, of course, but there was no one left to greet. The houses both at the sides of your own and in the front were empty, waiting for new owners, but it was so hard on the current economy and so funny for you in particular. How many people have sold their own children for one of those houses? Killed for them? Lied, stole? Oh, who knows! But it was entertaining to think about it as you dressed up.

You wear a white shirt you ironed yourself last night after cleaning it up; the closed vest matching the tone of your pants and your shoes, so pleasantly shiny and clean as if they were new. A wonderful way to start any day as you hummed your way down to the kitchen, preparing some toast and tea. You made a recount of your nocturnal activities and mental notes to keep track off for later. Thank goodness you had such a excelent memory, because the things you needed to remember were not things meant for writing on any common language. After cleaning up everything, you stepped outside and looked at your house with a inevitable sigh of nostalgia. It looked almost exactly the same as when your dear beloved mother was there, even the boarded up window of the attic. To think your own mother didn’t believe you when you said you threw the neighbor’s kid from there. It had been a perfectly honest accident. You just opened up for that small little boy to reach the wooden plane that had landed on your roof and then watched with amusement as he tried to balance out over the inclined surfice, only to finally slip out and meet his bitter end against the ground. You would have never harm a child, that is for sure. A man such as yourself might not have a lot of rules to live by, but that was certainly one of them. But watch them do reckless things without moving a finger to prevent it… well, that was another story, isn’t it? He couldn’t control gravity. And who was he to intervene betwen a boy and his new toy? You walked all the way to the radio station you were working, greeting everyone you knew and even some that didn't; they stared at you with such pathetic little admiration that was hard to resist to aknowledge it. Sat down on your chair, rolled up your sleeve and waited for the signal indicating you were ready to talk. “Good day, my lovely listeners! Isn’t a espectular day today? Our way of living maybe be crushing under our feet and the hope of ever returning to what is normal seems dimmer with every second we are breathing the poison that is our life, but don’t fret, your good friend radio host will always be here for you! Let’s take a look to the news of the day, shall we?” You grabbed on a newspaper an assistant had handed to you and unfolded it, taking care for not to do it over the microphone. “My, it seems like the rate of suicides is rising once again! It seems that everyone’s salary is not the only thing that is dropping, ha! Oh, and it seems so many kids are currently on the streets right now as their parents sold them for their own sake. Better take care of your garbage, listeners, or you might find one of them looking for their lunch as you are listening and then you will have to clean up that mess! Mmm, I guess you could throw away a couple of scraps for the little lads but, between you and me, my friend, do you really want to? But you all know how children are, and unfortunely their attempts can’t be avoided until are not able to keep looking anymore. It’s a sad, sad situation, indeedy, but that is why we must appreciate still the few delights we have left on this corrupted world, my friend. Like music! Let us hear some more about that lady that has everyone perking up their ears.” You flicked some buttons and put one one of the newest records on the station as you received a few calls on the meantime. Most of the calls were about people talking about their own sad situation. I had to sell the precious chinese porcelain of my grandmother, I lost all my money thanks to some thief, the bread is so expensive that my family is eating paper and blah blah blah Almost the exact same speech from yesterday, too boring to lose too much time on them, and instead concetrated on the people requesting for a new song or talking about their new misfortunes that your dear listeners haven’t heard of yet. Someone had to actually eat their pet dog and that got their entire family a food poisoning! Ha! Hilarious! You can make up this, folks! You continued the show until midday and you had to say goodbye for now to give place to the next host. You didn’t have to come back until a couple of hours so you had a chance to grab lunch on some of the few restaurants that remained open. There a lady asked you if you were who she thought you were and you said yes, inviting her to take a seat in front of you and engage on a conversation. There was no wedding ring or the usual bags under the eyes of a mother stressing about what to feed her children, so when the route went about talking for a date, you played along to please her by inviting her to come over your house so you could both have a home meal. She blushed and pretended like it was a hard choice. You played as well, convincing her that it would be fine, just a perfectly decent, not at all attention worthy dinner between a pair of new friends, nothing else to see. After a little of back and forth, she finally promised to be there and stood up to continue with her chores. You made another mental note and kept enjoying your food, that you were almost sure it was actually a cat caught on an alley, but at least tasted good. Back to work, you put music, told a few easy jokes that your mother was so fond of and had a little talk with a carpenter who had his entire business burning just last week, a fire in which all his family died during their sleep. It was highly amusing to ask him about if he still dreamt about their faces so peacefully in the night, as if they were sleeping, but knowing they were never going to wake up again and he was, quite frankly, at least somewhat responsable.

Of course with enough jokes that the carpenter just sniffed a little bit and was able to contain from crying until the microphone was off. Then the night came and you had to say goodbye until tomorrow. And they better wished them luck, dear listeners, because he was going to have a date tonight with some lovely lady! You returned back home with your usual high spirit, humming the most popular song today, and prepared everything for the big event. When your new friend appeared, the dinner was already done and ready to be served. Some delicious deer meat that he bought from some local hunters that before were just doing it for the hobby, but now they practically only survived on their meat, whenever they could find it. Unfortunately the population of aceptable prey had diminished so much since so many other people had similar ideas, so it was getting quite hard out there. Well, at least people were being more creative now! Didn’t you noticed some “feline grace” on your meal today? Ha! You were kidding of course. Not really. Anyway, as you both finished, you took her hand to accompany you into the basement, where you had your record player and they could listen to some nice music more comfortable. Why do you have a record player on the basement, she aks? Why, it was initially just not to bother your sweet mother since she prefered a silent environment to read her books, but even after her death, it became just a habit to keep it there. Yes, it is smells terrible, you know, you assured her as you secure the grip on her wrist and closetd the door with a key only you had. It was dark, you know, and you were aware the smell was so intense that was going to make your darling guest to puke on her beautiful dress. What is that smell? Oh, nothing extraodinary, just the stench of rotting corpses you had yet to get rid of. Oh, what a enjoyable moment of silence was that. Did she thought you were joking? Did she assume you meant anything else but exactly what you said? On the darker stairs you could see her face changing, the beautiful and slow metamorphosis from a pleasant but confused smile to an actual realization that you were not joking, not at all, and your smile wasn’t because you were laughing at her incredulity but rather, at her whole life. By the time she turned her head to the door, you had already pulled her down stair and kicked her knees out so she would stumble the rest of the way and crash her head against the concret cube you had precisely for those situation. Ah, it was almost magical when their fall was just right and their lives ended with a clear and satisfying crack. The truly fun part is when they didn’t die right away, just knocked out for the time being, with some unimportant brain damage nobody cared about; then you had the chance to help them stay alive a little longer… and they'd regret the fall didn’t kill them. You were so excited when you discovered she was still breathing despite the blood and the weird shape her head had adquired. So you hummed happily as you dragged to the center of your hard learned symbols and grabbed some of the ritual knifes all over the wall. When you were done with her, you cut out some of her bodyparts and put it on a bag, but it didn’t seem heavy enough and added some other parts of the other guests you had the past week. They weren’t actually rotting, of course. You kinda exagerated it just for the shits and giggles, but you had to start getting rid of them again. They were so much useful outside on the garden, feeding the flowers that you were proud to keep alive, colorful and beautiful against an ugly reality. As usual, once the bag was sufficiently heavy enough, all that was left was put in a suitcase and carried to your car; it was to be buried under the same tree where the powers you were so devoted to would have their feast. They were so glotonous those rascals, but it was a small price to pay for all the things you were promised long ago. Even if the time you were going to receive those rewards wasn't exactly clear, and even if it was a tiny bit frustrating, you didn't mind. The show must go on, as they say! The job was entertaining per se and you wouldn’t have minded to continue doing it for as long as necesary. Besides, it’s not like you could actually do anything even if you did had a problem. Which you don’t, for sure, so who cares? When you came back on the morning, you were surprised to see some people coming and going the house on your left, not just as sometimes curious youngsters would do, but carrying stuff from one place to another and not minding seeing enter your home, a bright disposition on your face despite still needing a shower. New neighbors, finally! How long was it since you took out the last one? Not that long, that you could remember. Oh, you so hope they were fun people. Or miserable ones, which was almost the same thing as far you were concerned. The last thing you needed in your neighborhood was boredom.

#hazbin hotel #radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #my fanfic #thanks to bb for betareading!

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wheremytwinwatches · 4 years

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[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 37

Last time: Beard was Father Of The Year, General Raven got used as construction materials, and Kimblee was a creep. Onwards!

Some Briggs soldiers walking dramatically towards some light? Or forces from Central that got some fur-lined coats, Sideburns is saying they showed up as Winry’s “escorts” and answer only to Kimblee. Episode 37 - “The First Homunculus” Wait, what? The first Homunculus? Does this mean that we’re getting an episode on Uncle? Awesome! Winry’s tinkering on Ed’s arm while saying she should have been told they were heading north, and no, the excuse of “we were in a hurry” isn’t going to fly buster. And what sort of trouble did they get into to get locked up? Aw hell no Kimblee, don’t you go saying this is all a “misunderstanding” from a lack of communication (and I see what you did there, implying the boys got in trouble because they didn’t talk just like they didn’t tell Winry anything). Oh, how gracious of you to get them released soon. Winry, don’t trust this jerk. See, Ed agrees with me, warning you to stay away from him. But if Kimblee has one thing going for him now, it’s an admittedly smooth twisting of Winry’s emotions by being polite, saying that he was with a group who tried to save her parents, claiming he admired their bravery, and that he found their bodies with a picture of their little girl sweet LETO smite this man down. [Kimblee]: “Your parents were true heroes, and it’s an honor to meet you.” Wow. Ok, Kimblee just earned some serious Evil Manipulator points there. How are Ed’s vague warning supposed to hold up to that? Even he has to admit he only has Riza’s story to go on- oh ho HO! But that wasn’t the only thing they talked about! [Cartoon!Riza]: “Speaking of Winry, you’re in love with her, aren’t you?” [Cartoon!Dog]: *snickering* And here’s Ed, lying on a bed in his undershorts as Winry leans over him- wow. Smoooooth, buddy. Real smooth. Just lie there determinedly facing away from your crush and recite the periodic table, that won’t raise any concerns at all. [Winry, quietly]: *sigh* “Why did I have to fall in love with such a weirdo?” [Ed, snapping out of it]: “Eh? D-did you say something?” [Winry]: “No Ed, I didn’t say anything.” *painful wrench twist distraction, go!* Alright, Ed’s all put back together, although I’m a little worried about this new arm being slightly weaker than the old one. Ah well, when it breaks that’ll give us an excuse for more shy crush freakouts. Oh hey, Buccy! What are you in- uh oh. Run dude, run! Before she sees- too late, Winry is now going gaga over Buccy’s arm, apparently a “M-19 Mad Bear Lightweight Combat Model”. With diamond-tipped claws, to boot! Aw, Buccy’s blushing. Now he’s sad to hear that Winry’s already Ed’s mechanic OW dude what the hell?! [Wounded!Ed]: “What’dya do that for?!” [Heartbroken!Buccy]: “‘Cause life isn’t fair!” *storms out* Now the local mechanic’s offering to show Winry the northern automail in his workshop, Ed protests briefly but then Kimblee swoops in to have a chat. Gee, this’ll be fun. Aw, and Al’s still locked up, with some of Kimblee’s goons keeping an eye on him. Al muses about their strategy of keeping the brothers separated and parading Winry as a reminder of their hostages. Although “I never realized how nervous we make them” is a good point. They just need to bide their time for now and wait for the opportune moment to strike. Just don’t take too long.

Armstrong the Great is checking in at the backup tunnel entrance, a soldier’s saying the Advance Team’s been gone a week when they only had three days worth of food. Buccy’s leading the second team, goes so far as to ask for the entrance to be sealed with concrete if they aren’t back within 24 hours. Yyyyeah, do you remember Sloth? That monster that tore through your foundations a few days ago? These are Goths we’re dealing with, that won’t be enough. Regardless, you’d better hurry. Meanwhile Armstrong the Great tells her troops that she has full responsibility for Raven’s disappearance, if he’s found then they’re ordered to place all blame on her. Down in the tunnel now, the team sets off aaaand we’re in Central now. Right, Roy was meeting with Armstrong the Great’s spy. She says that things are getting rough up north, and what the strong defense of Briggs needs is a good offense. Uh, what? Ok, I can understand the whole defensive aspect of an army built around a massive fort, but they just finished researching Combined Arms to make Tanks. How exactly is their attack power lacking? Whatever, let’s just accept that the North is “lacking” in an aggressive offense and use the excuse to get Roy involved. [Flower Lady]: “Oh no, Madame Olivier needs the strength of your army, not you. She said you might as well just get lost.” Wow. For being the guy to kill Lust, Roy just gets no respect these days. 3500 cens poorer (or quite a bit more if I read all those zeros on that bundle of bills right) but critical intel richer, Roy asks the departing Flower Lady who she is. Get a name for future intel drops, right? [Flower Lady]: “Oh, just someone who’s served the Armstrong Family-” *removes bandana to reveal the Armstrong Hair Curl* “-for generations.” She’s totally Granny Armstrong, isn’t she? Man, she just has to meet Granny Rockbell. Turns out that people you fought through hell with years ago can become close and powerful allies. Who knew? Now… what about all these flowers? Back underground in Sloth’s tunnel thaaat’s a decapitated horse. Ok.

So good news: they found the Advance Team! Bad news: they found the Advance Team, meaning they should probably turn around right now. Oh hey, survivors! Let’s grab them and head back to base to debrief or you could kneel down and talk to them in the middle of this massacre. *headdesk* I thought you guys were supposed to be defensive experts? Wouldn’t that entail withdrawing from an area that is clearly Bad News? Aw crap. There’s an eye, and it does not look happy. One of the survivors is screaming about getting rid of the lights, the Shadow ooh so that’s how they survived, it’s like Vashta Nerada where it attacks with shadows. No lights, no shadows. Oh crap it’s those little arms from the intro, put those lights out! It’s coming! It… stopped? Glared away from the panicking soldier and withdrew. Why didn’t it attack? Well whatever, the troops lucked out this time and are taking the survivors back. Maybe Armstrong the Great can get some proper answers out of them. Riza! Dropping off paperwork for Bradley, he’s not around (talking with the Shadow, maybe?) so Mama Bradley takes them for now, she’ll make sure that HOLY LETO SHADOW ARM LOOK OU Wait, what? Selim? What was… Yikes. Ok, so apparently when it’s not butchering soldiers in tunnels, the Shadow’s playing bodyguard for Bradley’s son. Huh. I guess he really does care about his family. Although that’s going to be problematic, if when we try to take Wrath down his kid intervenes with his “imaginary friend”. I don’t suppose we can convince him to side against his poppa? A butler’s taking Selim back to his room, Riza’s complementing Mama Bradley about her kid- [Riza]: “He seems like a really sharp kid.” [Mama Bradley]: “He certainly is. He’s the pride of pride of pride pride pride FUCK “-pride of my life.” RUN. RUN NOW.

the creepy music has started up as Mama Elric says that Selim is “related to my husband” but we know that Bradley is a Goth, Riza starts to panic as she connects the dots, briskly walks away thinking about how Bradley was raised as a test subject without any family, I suppose he could have had Selim with another woman before he married Mama Bradley but the music points towards a darker possibility [Distorted Voice]: “So, you’ve put it all together?” There’s Selim, standing in the hallway behind a stock-still Riza, she recognizes the presence as the same kind of bloodlust when Gluttony tried to kill her. Little Selim just stands there grinning cutely, saying she has nerve to demand answers as little shadow hands spread across the ground. And he’s insulted when she calls him a Homunculus like Gluttony, as if he’s on the same level as that dumb muscle. Yup. Selim Bradley is Pride. “The First Homunculus” wasn’t Uncle, it was this little kid. Craaaaaaaap. Sooooo, yeah. I just went to Tephi’s room and apologized for taking so long with this episode. Like, WOW. I cannot thank you guys enough for not spoiling this. This is… wow. Mid episode pictures of sweet little Selim with a book (aaaaahhh the Elrics met him in the library and had no idea aaaaahhhh) and Pride, a little red-eyed boy grinning madly surrounded by arms and eyes and so many teeth. We’re back to Riza and Pride, and wow Riza’s got some guts to ask questions even now, trying to figure out what Pride means by The First Homunculus (so what does that make Uncle?). Pride’s amused by her question gaaaaah there are arms going up her legs and around her arms and around her neck and touching her cheek no no no. Pride’s asking if she’d consider joining the Goths oh HELL no you are not turning another of my babies into a Goth, she refuses. [Pride]: “So that’s a no? That’s too bad. Oh well.” Riza just got cut across the cheek wait no you can’t kill her she’s a hostage you do that and Roy will burn Central down oh thank Leto it was just Pride being a jerk, Riza calls him out on the wastefulness of killing your hostage and Pride laughs and withdraws. With one final warning that wherever she is, he’ll be watching from the shadows. Well. This is just GREAT. Back to Briggs, a much, much lesser threat is offering Ed a job. Or actually, he’s passing his own job of hunting down the Ishvalan, Amestrian, and Xingian on to Ed. Wait, scratch the Xing Princess, the third job is “carving a crest of blood” at Briggs. Well that sounds like an upstanding and totally-not-evil task! So what- [Kimblee]: “It’s just like what I did in Ishval. It’s very simple; we kill everyone and soak the land with their blood.”

Of course Ed leaps up and begins saying the proper response, but quiets down when he remembers that Winry is with some of Kimblee’s mooks a room over. Kimblee… dude, really? No I don’t think that Ed joined the Military thinking that he’d be massacring innocents, he even says that he joined intending to never kill. Really now, we’ve already seen you butcher superior officers just to hold onto a Philosopher’s Stone, and now you have two. Why are you still supporting the Goths? [Kimblee]: “I’m curious to see how the world will change.” Huh. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, Kimblee has espoused a sort of survival of the fittest philosophy. Humans vs. Goth, which will win in the end? But you’re a human, why help the other- ah, ok. It’s less about Human vs. Goth, more about Kimblee’s total freedom against those of us who think mass murder isn’t the way to do things. Kimblee’s more confused at the idea of Alchemists who aren’t as self-centered as him, as he places… oh boy. There it is, the one thing that Ed and Al set out to find from the very beginning of our story, what they dreamed would solve their problems until they discovered the cost: a Philosopher’s Stone. And Kimblee’s offering it for Ed’s obedience. Faced with the easy way, Ed lowers his head, and then asks to discuss things with his brother and his mechanic. Back in the cell, Kimblee’s listening in as Ed straight up tells Winry she was brought as a hostage. Wow, way to break it gently. Obviously she’s a little confused and upset to learn she’s being used by the bad guys as a restraint for the Elrics. Meanwhile, Al’s shocked to hear that Ed was offered a Philosopher’s Stone, but Ed shuts him down before he can go on about the ingredients. Too much for Winry to hear? Al looks in shock to his older brother who is nearly crying...oh? Ed’s face firmed up and Al squinted his eyes as the Dramatic Music starts up, do they have a plan? Al looks away and tells Ed to do what he wants, the elder brother tells Kimblee that he’s in on the plan. First step - Find Scar, to get vengeance for Winry. As the Alchemists walk away Al tells Winry the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone, then quickly reassures her that they’d never use one, especially when they think there’s another way: May’s Alkahestry. And since she was traveling with Scar, their best bet of finding her is going along with Kimblee’s hunt for now. [Winry]: “I see. Then I guess I had better hurry up and come up with a believable excuse.” Huh? Next day outside of Briggs, Kimblee and the Elric Brothers are getting ready to drive off, when Winry runs up? Oh! She’s inviting herself along as Ed’s mechanic, claiming she needs to be around to spotcheck any issues with the new upgrade! As Ed and Winry fall to squabbling Kimblee resigns himself to Teenage Crush Antics and walks away. Bye, Armstrong the Great! Nice meeting you, hope you get your second army soon to start the revolution! The convoy drives off, Ed worries that things could go badly for the Trio but Winry is determined to not be the Damsel in Distress anymore. Well alright then! Main thing this episode was of course PRIDE, I have to go back and rewrite so many theories once again because of that reveal. Should be an interesting fight! Then we’ve got Ed pretending to go along with Kimblee’s mission for now, we just need to wait for the best moment to turn around and smack down that jerk. Good luck going on the mission Winry, you’re gonna need it.

#wmtw #where my twin watches #full metal alchemist #full metal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #fmab 37

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foxyotomelady · 5 years

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It wasn't supposed to be, Chapter II (JuminxOC/Reader)

Author’s notes:

It’s still slow burn, guys. I'm really trying. It must be slow burn to make sense. So I hold back not to throw myself in Jumin's arms right away, lol. Wish me luck?

SLOW BURN, keep it SLOW BURN *meditates*

Buy Me A Ko-Fi Have a nice reading!

Several days have passed since the unfortunate dinner with his father. Jumin couldn't stop thinking about his father's new girlfriend. He couldn't understand how this old man could be so reckless, so foolish. He usually made decisions related to business in a very thoughtful way, he never made mistakes... unless women were involved. But still... This time he was more unreasonable than usual. Buy a bankrupt company to please the girl's parents? To just buy HER from them? Like she was some sort of furniture or something? Jumin would never have thought his father would go that far. But it wasn't the only thing that bothered him. This girl... Riyu... He wanted to think that she was just like any other, that she was identical to his father's other women. However... There was something about her that didn't leave his mind in peace. He couldn't name it. But the way she talked, moved and behaved was different from all the gold-diggers he had met so far. She looked like she wanted to run away from that dinner and at the same time, she wanted desperately to make a good impression.

Jumin sighed and rubbed his eyelids. He took a sip of wine, Elizabeth the 3rd lay on his lap - the only woman who was simple to understand, the only one he could predict and control.

Back then... When he went to check on that girl, as his father asked him... He was sure she was almost crying. Is it really because of a stupid damaged dress? He shouldn't care. Why would he? What if it was all just her game? A show she played? He couldn't let his guard down. This girl could actually be even more cunning than the others. Suddenly his phone rang. Jumin raised his eyebrows, didn't expect a call at this time. He raised his eyebrows even higher when he saw his father's ID on the screen. He really didn't want to talk to him right now... For a moment he even wondered if he could ignore him, but eventually, he picked up.

"Hello, father?" "Good evening, Jumin. I'm sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but I have a request for you." Jumin frowned. He had a bad feeling, "Request?" His father sighed on the other side of the phone, "I should invite you to a meeting, discuss this matter at dinner, but... it's quite urgent." "What is it, father?" "Look... I need you to take care of Riyu for some time." Jumin froze. Did he hear wrong? "Excuse me, what?" "I have to go abroad for some time. This is an important delegation, it will take a long time, I don't want my darling to be alone for so long." Jumin didn't know what to say for a long moment - and that happened rarely. Really... Did his father lose his mind!? He pressed a fist to his forehead and closed his eyelids. "I don't think I understand, father. What do you mean you don't want her to be alone? Does she live with you already?" "Yes, she insisted on living in my home almost immediately after I spoke to her parents about buying their business." Of course... He was right about her. She was even more cunning than the others. They did not even... get married, and she already had his father wrapped around her finger, even convinced him to live with her! "Just send her to her parents for that time," Jumin suggested. He was ready to help his father in many matters, to fulfill his many requests, but this... This was insane! "I can't. She asked me not to send her to them. You see, her family is in a very bad situation right now. Riyu doesn't want to be a burden for them anymore." "But she can be a burden for us?" "My son, don't say that! This girl is not a burden to us!" "God... Do you know that you act like you are her father? It's just sickening." "Excuse me?" "Nevermind," Jumin took a deep breath. "Tell me, how do you imagine it? Her living here with me?" "Only for a while. You have a large apartment, a guest section. Most of the time you are not at home, so her presence should not be a problem for you. Maybe this time will help you two get along." "Get along? What else? Should I start calling her ‘mom'? She can be my little sister!" Jumin did not control his tone. "Ah, so that's the point," His father said harshly. "It bothers you that she is younger than me." "No, father. If she was younger by a few years, ten, fifteen even, it wouldn't worry me. But this..." "Age doesn't matter if love is at stake." "God... I can't listen to this." "I see. I understand that we disagree, but please answer me. Will you help me, son? I can trust only you in this matter." Jumin felt dizzy and stuffy. He straightened his tie and then leaned back in his chair, "You know I will always help you. Even if we disagree." "Thank you, son," His father breathed a sigh of relief. "The driver will bring her to you tomorrow evening."

Riyu stared blankly through the window of a great, expensive car. She felt uncomfortable, surrounded by all this wealth, in addition wearing the dress that Mr. Chairman had bought her. She wanted to rip it off from her body. She looked at the tall buildings and expensive stores and restaurants that they passed. She thought that it couldn't be worse... She thought that she had freed herself from her parents, even if it meant living with this old man - it was better to live with him than with them. In any case, Mr. Chairman was rarely at home, and when he returned from work, fortunately, he did not cling to her. She was only afraid of how long he would be so tactful... She shuddered in disgust at the thought. How terrified she was when he said he had to leave for a long time. He wanted to send her to her parents! She begged him not to. Now she pursed her eyes, pursed her lips to get rid of this humiliating memory. She thought that it couldn't be worse... And now she was supposed to live with his son for a while. Who definitely didn't like her. Maybe he even despised her. When they were finally there, she got out of the car without waiting for the driver to open the door for her. She took a deep breath and reached for her bag with her belongings. She didn't have a lot of things with her. Still, the driver insisted that he would help her carry the bag upstairs. This building was huge, tall, inside every store, every cafe, every room looked elegant, expensive, prestigious. And it all belonged to Jumin... And his father was even richer - her parents certainly knew who to set up with. Together with the driver, she took the elevator to the top. He exchanged a few words with the security, who of course was informed about her arrival. One of the bodyguards picked up the bag from the driver, then led her to the door of Jumin's apartment. Her stomach twisted. The security guard rang the doorbell and opened the door when he received permission, "Mr. Han. Miss Riyu Cheong is here." Nervous about the whole situation, she emerged shyly from behind the bodyguard. Jumin was there to greet them. As she expected, he did not look pleased, although it was difficult to read the emotions on his stony face. "Please, take her belongings to the guest room," Jumin said to the bodyguard, without even bothering on some 'good evening' towards her. She knew it would be a long and uncomfortable stay. When the bodyguard did what he was supposed to do and left, leaving them alone... There was an awkward silence. Ryiu didn't know what to do with herself. Jumin just stood there and looked at her dispassionately. "I..." She began, then cleared her throat and forced herself to sound calm and distinguished, "Thank you that you agreed to host me for some time. I will try not to be too bothersome. Now I will go to the guest-" "In the kitchen, you have a phone to call the chef. He'll prepare any dish you want if you're hungry. Feel free to call him," Jumin began a cold explanation. "The bathroom is there. If you want, you can go out of my apartment to the garden. In my building, you have everything you need."

"Thank you," She whispered, not knowing what else to say. Then she heard a quiet mew. She looked at her feet and saw a beautiful cat, white with wonderful blue eyes. She always loved animals, long ago she had a dog she loved very much... "Oh my," She couldn't help smiling and crouched down so that she could scratch the cat behind the ear, "Aren't you cute?" "Her name is Elizabeth the 3rd," Jumin instructed her roughly. "Please, refrain from touching her. I don't think she values your company." Riyu looked up at him, narrowed her eyebrows, "Do you really despise me so much that you won't let me approach your cat?" "She's just very dear to me." "I understand, but I won't hurt her. Besides, despite what you say, I think she liked me," Riyu made a mocking face and went back to scratching Elizabeth, who purred and brushed against her hand. Jumin sighed irritably, "It's weird, she usually recognizes dishonest people easily." "So maybe it's you who are wrong about me." "I don't think so. Maybe you're just smart enough to confuse her." Riyu bit her lower lip to stop her urge to talk back. She knew that this argument didn't make sense. She stood up, straightened, "Yes, you are probably right." She stated coldly and went to the guest room. She closed the door behind her and rubbed her face with her hand. It'll be okay... She thought, trying to cheer herself up. You will be okay. It's better than returning to parents.

The next morning, when Jumin dressed his shirt and chose a tie, ready to have breakfast before leaving for work, Riyu was already up. She was sitting at the table in the kitchen, wearing only a nightgown and a bathrobe. Which surprised him very much, she just ate... porridge. He expected that she take the opportunity to order a more refined breakfast, not just ordinary food. She was eating deep in thought, holding the spoon in her mouth for a long time as if she had forgotten what she was doing. He cleared his throat as he entered the kitchen - only then she noticed him. "Oh, good morning," She said and smiled wryly. "I'm sorry, I will go to my room." Jumin blinked and watched the girl stand up to take the bowl of porridge off the table.

"Wait," He said before he could understand why. "You can eat here." "Will it not bother you?" He shook his head and saw that his breakfast tray was already waiting for him on the table as well. Apparently, the chef thought he would provide both dishes in one go. Jumin felt awkward as he sat at the table in front of this girl, but decided that he could handle it somehow. Something about her still bothered him. "You got up quite early," He said, to break the awkward silence. The girl scratched her head. And again, her not very elegant gestures, which made her more like a young student from the lower class - not a gold-digger. Really, he probably did underestimate her at first. She was very good at acting. But he wasn't going to be fooled. She was the same as other women. No, worse even. "This situation..." The girl started explaining, "It is not very comfortable for both of us. That's why it was difficult for me to sleep. But I will get used to it. And I will not cause problems." "We'll see," He said, which caused a grimace of anger to appear on her face. But she said nothing. So they ate breakfast in silence and Jumin already regretted that he decided to help his father.

When he was going to work, he got stuck in traffic. As if he didn't have enough problems. Did fate get a personal vendetta with him? Not that he believed such things as fate or destiny, but too many unpleasant things have happened lately. He went to the chat room to make himself occupied with something.

[Jumin Han has entered the chat room]

707: Juju! 707: Good that u r here !!! Zen: I can't agree. 707: You must see this lolololol Jumin Han: see what?

Seven posted a link to the article. Jumin had a bad feeling about it, though usually, the things Luciel got excited about were just bullshit. This time it was different...

BREAKING NEWS! Who is this young woman? Is that a girlfriend of well-known CEO Jumin Han?

Under this great inscription was a photo of that unfortunate dinner with Riyu and his father. Wonderful, even the media did not believe that his father could go so far as to date such a young girl.

707: lolololol Zen: ;;;; Zen: Well, I'm not surprised Zen: This girl looks really young 707: WAIT! 707: I'll send u a larger version of the photo! 707: With a close-up on her face! Zen: What? Why? 707: SHE IS PRETTY 707:

By the time Jumin could write anything, Seven had already placed a photo in the chat room with a close-up on Riyu's face. He was furious. He hadn't felt so bad in a long time. Why did all this has to happen?

Zen: Oh my! Zen: In fact, she is beautiful <3 Jumin Han:

707: Oh boy! 707: Jumin Han just used emoji! Jumin Han: Stop fooling around. Jumin Han: You don't understand the situation I'm in. Zen: It's nothing new? Zen: Similar rumors have been circulating in the media forever, about you, your father, even about you and Jaehee. Zen: Why do you suddenly care so much? ;;; Jumin Han: Because these rumors are distorting the situation. Jumin Han: Because my father would rather not like the media to tie me to his woman. Jumin Han: And more importantly, and what can only feed these rumors Jumin Han: This Riyu is in my apartment now. 707:

Zen:

Zen: WHAT THE HELL 707: JUJU! 707: Aren't u fast? 707: I knew you had something of your father in you! 707: But to steal a girl from under his nose!? Jumin Han:

Jumin Han: I already told you. Jumin Han: Stop fooling around. Zen: Why is this girl in your apartment? Zen: Are you sure you're not hallucinating? Zen: Are you sure she's real? lol Jumin Han: I wish I had hallucinations. Jumin Han: But it's real. Jumin Han: I had to leave Elizabeth the 3rd with this girl. Zen: Don't mention that furball! 707: Elly! My poor Elly! 707: Is she in danger? 707: WAIT 707: You entrusted our Elly to this girl 707: And u don't want to entrust her to me? 707:

Jumin Han: It's Elizabeth the 3rd. Jumin Han: And now that you mentioned it Jumin Han: I think I will ask Jaehee to take her to her place while I'm at work. Zen:

Zen: Jaehee has enough work already. Zen: Anyway, why your father's new woman Zen: IS IN YOUR APARTMENT? Jumin Han: My father went on a delegation Jumin Han: And he asked me to take care of her during his absence. Zen: This is... ;;; 707: lolololol, take care of her? 707: Doesn't your father trust you too much? 707: Do you think you will last long? Jumin Han: ??? Jumin Han: I don't really understand. Zen:

Zen: I didn't think I'd say it one day, but Zen: I agree with this jerk Zen: Stop fooling around, Seven Jumin Han: Finally, we left the traffic. Jumin Han: I must take my leave.

[Jumin Han has left the chat room]

#the drama don't even started yet #stay tuned for more #( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)#Jumin x Reader #jumin han x reader #jumin x OC #jumin han x OC #mystic messenger #mysme fanfic #mysme #fanfiction #Jumin #Jumin Han #Zen #seven #SLOW BURN #Jumin is angry

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elenatria · 5 years

Note

Valery's suicide! Did you remember little the details? He aged 10 years in 2 years and ughhh poor thing

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349599/chapters/46352182

Theducks of the Moskva River had a stroke of luck that cold November morning. Theydiscovered a part of the stream that hadn’t been sealed the previous night bythe thick layer of frost, a round opening in the ice near the bank big enoughto accommodate a dozen of them. Every now and then they would plunge theirbeaks under the surface to grab silver slippery fish for breakfast. Soon, asthe pale autumn sun rose above the Moscow rooftops, the feathered refugees wereadditionally blessed with a shower of crumbs.

Similarto stray dogs chewing on leftovers the ducks didn’t question the origin oftheir unexpected meal. To them it was as if the grey-haired man in the ushankahat and the black overcoat, throwing crumbs from his sushki rings, had beenstanding there forever – not unlike the statues of Gorky Park; still, he wasdeprived of the otherworldly air of their bronze immortality. Something in hisposture, the resigned way he was slouching over the railing, betrayed he wasjust a man.

Theperson once known as the Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministers rubbed hisgloved hands over the fence to get rid of the remaining crumbs. His worn blueeyes, fixed on the shore beneath him like nails on the floor, rose only at thesound of muffled footsteps on the snow. A scrawny balding figure with smallpiercing eyes approached him in his fur hat with a heavy wooden carrier inhand. Every now and then a soft mewling sound would come out of the holes onthe roof; as the silver-haired man peered at the box, a pair of green eyessparkled back at him through the wires.

“Volodya,”the former politician rose his hand, a twitch of friendly acknowledgmentblooming on lips that had forgotten how to smile.

“BorisEvdokimovich,” the figure greeted back leaving the carrier on the ground andopened his arms.

BorisEvdokimovich Shcherbina welcomed his old friend with a hug and several pats onthe back before pulling back to inspect him. “You look better than I ever was,”he said warmly.

The journalistfurrowed his brow, struck by Boris’ paleness. “How bad is it?”

“Gettingworse every day…” Boris replied with a dry cough as he pulled a handkerchiefout of his pocket.

VladimirGubarev’s eyes went dark. “I’m really sorry, I’m-”

“Sorryfor what?” Boris cut him off wiping his mouth. “It’s not your fault if I gotsick and you didn’t. Besides you were there only for a week. No one blames youfor that.”

“No,I’m sorry, it’s just that…” Gubarev muttered. “First Valery, now you. I’mrunning out of people to whine about Chernobyl with,” he shrugged in an almostcasual tone, “and my wife is so sick of hearing my war stories.”

Borischuckled discreetly knowing that if his laughter got too loud he would end uphaving yet another coughing fit. He sat heavily on the bench behind them and gesturedover the empty space beside him.

“Doyou think you were being followed?” he inquired.

“Idoubt it,” Gubarev reassured him sitting down. “On a cold morning like this?After so many months? It would surprise me if they remembered our names at all.Besides Valery’s dead. Nobody cares anymore.”

“You’reright…” Boris nodded, his empty eyes chasing a black-headed gull soaring overthe ice. “Nobody cares anymore…”

Heunfolded the used handkerchief in his palm and stared numbly at the ominouscrimson stains. The silence between them was so thick that for a moment Borisforgot he was the one who had called Vladimir Gubarev, the science editor ofPravda, to meet under the cold and unsuspecting Moscow sky. Away from bugs,away from curious onlookers, away from spies.

Thatmoment he thought he might as well be dead, forgotten, lying at the bottom ofthe frozen river, waiting for his body to be discovered days after his demise.

Just like Valery.

Heblinked away the painful thought and forced himself to smile. “What’s hername?” he bended over the wooden box as he slipped the tip of his fingerthrough the wires.

“Inga,”Gubarev smiled watching the tabby feline pawing at Boris’ leather glove. “Hismother’s name. He never had a daughter so…”

Borisrealized his face had instantly morphed into a dreadful mask as the journalistfroze before finishing his sentence. It wasn’t just the paleness and the blackcircles under his eyes, the constant reminders of his Chernobyl heart. It musthave been something crueler, something boiling in his chest, squirming underthe surface of his fragile calmness, threatening to explode.

“Inever-” he stuttered blinking at the cold autumn air. He sat back on his seat.“I never got the chance to ask him about his… about his fa- about his… f-family, oh God…”

Hecovered his eyes and dug his nails deep into his wrinkled forehead.

“Boris…”Gubarev choked giving his shoulder a feeble squeeze.

Beadsof tears formed tiny icicles on Boris’ cheeks and all of a sudden he was beingsucked into a hole of nothingness. The sickness hadn’t managed to break him.But this…

Thiswas worse.

“Therewas nothing you could do,” Gubarev insisted. “They wouldn’t let you. It’s notyour fault.”

“Ishould have… I should have taken my chances,” Boris shook his head, his voicetrembling from the cold and despair. “I should have visited him. Just once.What would they do? Kill me? I’m already dead. He was alreadydead. They made sure of that. Their negligence and stinginess and their prideand…”

Gubarevdrew back his hand and shoved his palms into the pockets of his long coat,looking for something. He turned to gaze at Boris but the former politician wasunable to return the look. Instead he took a deep shaky breath and rested hiselbows on his knees. A broken old man.

“Iwas asking everyone I knew about him,” Boris confessed, his voice raspy anddark with guilt. “Trying to catch any news I could, on his welfare, hiscondition. How he was getting along. I can’t imagine the bitterness he feltfinding out he was the only member of his team at Chernobyl who was not named ahero of socialist labor. Imagine how humiliated he felt, how betrayed.”

“Theygave him a watch instead of a medal, can you believe it?” Gubarev scoffed andthe cold air turned his breath into steam. “It would have been less painful hadthey stripped and beaten him. He was excluded by his own people from a seat onthe council of the Kurchatov Institute. Do you know what they said, Boris?” hespat hatefully. “Do you? ‘We will not be supervised by a boy.’”

Boristurned to glare at him as if he had those prestigious scientists right in frontof him. Within his reach. Within his murderous grasp.

Gubarevclosed his fist against his trembling lips as if to stop himself from cursing.“I wanted to punch them in the face, Boris, I swear to God. I wanted to tellthem ‘Legasov never left Chernobyl but I didn’t see any of you there.Where were you when he was putting his life at risk? Where the fuck wereyou?’”

Borisrested his forehead on his entwined fingers. His bent pleading posture could beeasily mistaken for a man in prayer had religion not been uprooted in hischildhood, when the bud was still young. “God” was nothing more than a mannerof speech to born and bred atheists like him. God didn’t exist. Not when peoplelike Valery were punished for the good they did. Not when the best of humanitywithered and died while parasites, bootlickers and backstabbers roamed theearth.

There was no“God”. How could he possibly exist.

“AllI wanted was hear his voice…” he murmured taking a deep laboured breath, hiseyes glued on the ground. “I would go to public phones, each time on adifferent street, and call him. Strangely enough the KGB never forced him tochange his number – that’s how arrogant they were, how confident that I wouldnever reach out to him.”

“Didyou talk?”

Borischuckled, his head hanging over his clenched knuckles. “No,” he said firmly.“Of course not. I knew his phone was tapped. I knew they’d make his life aliving hell if they heard my voice. It’s not like I cared about my own life.But he did. And I knew they’d tell him if somethinghappened to me.” He tipped his head just enough to watch the seagull take adive. “I-I wanted to spare him the pain, Volodya. They’d mail him my head in abox if they could. He had no reason to suffer any more than he already did.”

Whenthe journalist considered his friend’s tired face there were no traces oftears, no tiny shards of ice on his cheeks anymore. Just a steely blue starecutting through the cold November air like a dagger.

“Iwould call him just to be able to listen to him saying ‘Hello’, you know?”Boris continued, the words falling from his mouth like dead December leaves.“His voice, that’s all I needed…” He closed his eyes. “Just one word, one wordwas enough. Of course I would never answer but he knew it was me, I could tellfrom the hitching of his breath. We would share the silence, the long pausesbetween unspoken words. And that was enough. Sometimes I swear I could almosthear his silent sobs, his shaky breathing – but I knew he was alright, and heknew I was alive. It was enough, Volodya, God knows it was enough…”

Withshaky hands Gubarev drew a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, put one in hismouth and offered Boris the rest. Boris refused with a weary wave. Thejournalist struck his lighter and curved his fingers around the flame takingsharp inhales.

“Sohe never talked?” he demanded squeezing his lips around the cigarette. “Henever said anything? To you?”

Boristurned to face him, his eyes lit with surprise.

Did Vladimir know?

Afterall, among those who had been at Chernobyl he was the only one who was allowedto talk to Valery after the trial.

He must know everything.

VladimirGubarev was a brave persistent soul. He had convinced Yakovlev, Gorbachev’s ownadviser, to let journalists witness the scene. He had called him every dayuntil Yakovlev authorized a group of journalists to go to Chernobyl, includingVladimir.

So, did heknow?

Better leave that questioned unanswered,Boris pondered.

“No…”he said eventually in a broken voice that was doing nothing to conceal histurmoil. “He never spoke. Not one word.”

A lie.

Gubarevtook a few puffs from his smoke before Boris could gather the courage to askhim the burning question that had been tormenting him all those months sinceValery died.

“Whendid you last speak to him?”

Gubarevtook a long pause biting his lip as he dug into the snow with the tip of hisboot. “The day before he died. I paid him one last visit but I didn’t know. Icouldn’t have guessed what he was about to do.”

“Whatwas the last thing he told you?”

Thejournalist regarded Boris with a pained expression. “’Takecare of Inga.’ He swallowed hard. “I said ‘Why? Are you afraidfor your life? Are they threatening you?’ His response was that he was sick,that he didn’t have long to live. I couldn’t possibly imagine that he wouldtake his own life only hours after I left him. Had I known I would have neverleft, Boris, I-”

Boristurned to face the river pursing his stiff lips. This time he was determined tonot let tears make him look like a helpless schoolboy.

“It’salright,” he whispered, “he was bound to do it. He chose the day to do it.Nothing you could have done about it.”

Gubarevnodded slowly letting out the smoke in big puffs that formed a thick mistaround his head. The sun was starting to make the frosty atmosphere bearable,encouraging a few scattered people in beanies and mittens to take a walk alongthe waterfront.

“There’sone thing I never asked you,” Boris broke the silence. “How you got Valery’stapes. I thought they would have confiscated them along with anything ofimportance found in his apartment.”

“Ohthey did,” Gubarev smirked, the first genuine smile since they started talkingabout Legasov. “The committee members took them as soon as they got to hisapartment. But I knew of their existence, Valery had told me. I had encouragedhim to keep a record of what had happened at Chernobyl. He wanted to write itall down but he was sick, he didn’t have the time… So he recorded everything.”

Gubarevsquished the butt on the bench and drew another smoke from the pack. His handhovered idly near his mouth with the unlit cigarette sitting still between hisfingers, as if, like Boris, it was anticipating the conclusion of the storywith bated breath.

“At Valery’s funeral I approachedLigachev, the secretary of the central committee, and told him to give me thetapes or I would go to the Politburo,” Gubarev bragged. “I said ‘The tapesare not meant for you, they’re not meant for Shcherbina. They’re meant forme’. And you know it worked, that same evening they brought the tapes tomy office! They even had an inscription that left no room for doubt – ‘VolodyaGubarev’.” He paused, knitting his brow at the memory. “After twodays I printed a huge piece in Pravda. Those fuckers did their best to erasehim from history books. Rip off his pages, throw them into the fire. But therewas nothing they could do about the tapes. The tapes are mine.”

Boristhrew him a side glance. His lips parted unsure of how to continue, unsure ofhow to utter the next sentence without making him sound like a complete selfishidiot, unsure of how to accept the bitter truth that hid in Vladimir’s words.

“Didhe…” he began as a shade of pink took over the sickly paleness of his cheeks.“Did he leave anything behind?… For me?”

Gubarevgave an amused chuckle and straightened the fur hat on his head as if trying tohide his laughter. He rested his elbows on his knees and turned to Boris whoseblushing did nothing to hide his embarrassment.

Thejournalist’s grin broadened. “Yeah. He did. There must have been a tape foryou, he hinted at it in one of his recordings. He didn’t want the KGB to knowof course. But he said he had hidden something for you in the kitchen,‘B’s gift’ he called it. And oh, you’re going to need this too.”

Heshoved his hand into his pocket and brought out a key. “From his apartment.”

Boris’eyes widened at the unexpected present. “His apartment? How could you have akey? I thought the police took it all.”

“Wellthey didn’t know I had one, did they?” Gubarev’s lip twisted in a triumphantgrin. “He gave it to me the night before his death. He wanted me to have thosetapes, Boris, and he wanted me to save Inga. I never got there on time ofcourse, I never called him until it was too late. When I found out, the policehad taken everything. Lucky for me, Inga had already been rescued by theneighbours.”

“Howso?”

“Shewas the one who notified everyone about his death. Valery had left her severalbowls of food but when she finished it all she climbed up the kitchen windowoverlooking the freight lift and howled her lungs out. Mr Sokolov next doorbroke the glass and took her in, and that’s how they found out Valery was dead.Then they called the police.”

Gubarevshrugged. “It’s not like the KGB would care about a broken window, or Legasov’smissing cat for that matter. Mr Sokolov knew who I was so he trusted me withInga when I arrived looking for the tapes.”

Hehanded Boris the key. “Valery wanted me to have the tapes but I can’t keep Ingaany longer, the wife…” he winced reluctantly. “She wants a dog,” he mutteredthrough his teeth.

Helifted the carrier and placed it in the space between them. “She’s yours. I’msure that’s what he wanted, she’s his kid, you see. Just… take care of her.Alright?”

Borisgazed numbly at the glistening piece of nickel in his palm before shifting hiseyes at the wooden carrier. She must have been freezing in that box all this time,he reckoned with a hint of regret.

He took a deep breath; he never thought he’d finda reason again to wake up in the morning. One last treasureto find and someone to take care of.

Areason to get on his feet and back into motion. Back to life, for as long as hehad.

Somethingdawned in him, something warming him from the inside, more radiant than athousand suns.

Heclenched the key against his chest giving Vladimir a ghost of a smile as hetook the wooden box, feeling its weight against his thigh.

Thewarmth was still there, pulsing in his heart like the last rays of sunshine ona glorious sunset. He knew what it was now and he embraced it like a long-lostfriend.

Itwas hope.

59 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

OMG ! Been waiting for this day for months to make a request ! Would have done earlier low key I hate social media cuz I get bullied but after bookmarking all your stuff for months you made me reconsider and I started a tumblr mainly cuz of your stuff ! If its ok could I request Kurapika and Leorio sharing a love they are like my favs ! Btw you really helped me in this pandemic so thanks a lot and also take care of yourself during this capitalistic nightmare of a holiday they call V-Day XD

😭. Tell me who your bullies are so I can fight them😡. Don’t let their words get through your head, you’re precious and you’re loved by many people❤️💖💝.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, overprotectiveness, mentions of kidnapping, death

Leorio and Kurapika sharing a darling

⛓🧳They’re good friends, sure. But I can somehow imagine that there would be a lot of troubles when it comes to sharing a darling. First of all, Kurapika as a possessive guy would never share the darling with anyone and doesn’t even let them see his friends all that often. That’s how paranoid he is. And if Leorio would fall for you, Kurapika wouldn’t be above threatening him to stay away and better not try anything.

⛓🧳So in order for this to work I think you were most likely Leorio’s darling at first. Leorio is fine with letting you out and is also the type to proudly show you off to his friends and that pretty often. So Kurapika will fall for you during the many times he met you. At first he might just think that he sees you as a good friend and will often point out things to Leorio where he shouldn’t be so careless since it might affect your health.

⛓🧳Once Kurapika realizes his feelings for you he’s the type to drive himself crazy with worries and the fact that Leorio tends to let you out so often will increase his worries only tenfold. And he would instantly tell Leorio about this. He is aware and since you’re Leorio’s darling this would be another story as if you would have been Kurapika’s darling first. I don’t say that it would have been impossible in such a case to share, just much more harder.

⛓🧳There was a heavy argument over this, Leorio protesting against Kurapika’s new feelings and the way he thought he had the right to tell him how to treat you and Kurapika being angry at Leorio for being so incredibly stupid and just taking you anywhere. What if you would get hurt?! Gon and Killua had to stop those two before this might have ended in a fist fight.

⛓🧳It stands open to question whether Gon and Killua made the suggestion to share, the both of them came up on their own with it or even you were the one who came up with the idea. Let’s just say at the beginning none of those two would be really happy about it. Kurapika not because he’s possessive and Leorio endangers, in his opinion, your health with his carelessness. Leorio is on a more open side and would be ready to share, but he loves it when you’re happy and knows that if Kurapika would have the chance, he would lock you all day in, which wouldn’t be very good for your mental health.

⛓🧳The road is rocky and hard, let’s just say it like this. They will often get in arguments about how to treat you since their Yandere types are very different and there are in general a lot of opposite opinions about you. You’ll often have to step in before a fiercely argument turns into a physical fight. They wouldn’t kill each other of course, but both of them are on the impulsive side.

⛓🧳In the end they might come to a more or less unstable agreement since at one point you might get overwhelmed by them playing a game of tug of war with you to treat you like they think you should be treated. You will be allowed to go outside, you and Leorio needed a lot of time to convince Kurapika from this. But only if he can accompany you. He doesn’t really trust Leorio with you alone which will offend Leorio a lot, but at that point he’s just glad that he manages to convince Kurapika to let you out at all. Good luck when going out with those two under people. Kurapika will constantly hold you close to him with eyes glaring at pretty much everyone looking at you. Leorio’s natural jealousy and Kurapika’s paranoia aren’t that good of a mix and you can only feel sorry for everyone who gets yelled at by Leorio or terrorized by Kurapika. Be aware that Kurapika will be almost hasty to bring you back into your shared house again and only the slightest thing is needed for him to drag you back.

⛓🧳How the time between you is assigned is another issue. Both of them, especially Kurapika, need a lot of time alone with you. Whilst Leorio might be more willing to share the time with you together with Kurapika, he can’t deny that that blonde sometimes seriously ticks him off with the way he always thinks he knows how to treat you better and often lectures Leorio about how to treat you properly.

⛓🧳Another important thing to mention in here is Kurapika’s want to start a family. Per se Leorio isn’t against a family, but he has a problem the moment he realizes you don’t want one. That’s when there’ll blossom another argument between those two. Leorio would be a really happy man if he would have a family, but your happiness will always come first and like hell he’ll watch you being forced to do something that’ll influence your life so heavily. I don’t say Kurapika would force you into this, but he’ll lose patience rather quickly and will get pushy.

⛓🧳Kurapika’s intensity is in general a thing that can be really unnerving, especially with those red eyes of his that’ll make you want to disappear in a magic hole. On the other hand Leorio is really touchy whilst Kurapika has a bit more respect when it comes to private space.

⛓🧳Leorio has a really hard time to hold Kurapika back from killing and will often fail horribly. Getting rid of threats is another of those sensitive topics under them. Leorio is loud mouthed and hotheaded and when pissed off enough the type to throw hands and give someone a blue eye. But he’s more of a big talk and dogs that bark usually don’t bite. But that’s a whole different story with Kurapika. His reaction isn’t all that verbal. It’s a more quiet and far more terrifying one with his eyes glowing scarlet red and staring at whoever caused him to feel that way, who endangered you. And that person has to die.

⛓🧳The funny thing here is that we actually could have a good dynamic since we have the goofy and more harmless one and the intense and paranoid guy. But it’s all about how they click together. It isn’t the worst one, believe me, there are far worse ones. But here and there there might be the need for a few improvements. But I guess sometimes it’ll be laughable to watch those two constantly together and bickering each other over the small things. Leorio is the more fun guy to be with since Kurapika tends to be a bit too serious from time to time. Kurapika is the one who’s more quiet, but overbearing nonetheless. Both of them have to hold the other back from certain things in order to not overwhelm or scare you. So Kurapika has to keep an eye on Leorio not getting too touchy and Leorio has to make sure that Kurapika doesn’t get too vehement with you.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere kurapika #yandere kurapika kurta #yandere leorio #yandere leorio paradinight

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lhs3020b · 4 years

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Post Mortem

I promised some thoughts on the nightmarish debacle that has happened. Here they are.

TL;DR I am scathing about everything. Everyone who should have helped us, failed.

It's the morning after. They've won. Continuity Remain is dead; there isn't going to be any second referendum and Article 50 won't be revoked. You cannot imagine how I feel right now, typing those words. However, I have never sought to deny reality (however lovely denial might be) and reality is what it is. We've lost a referendum and two general elections; we're finished. There is no come-back from this. The country has made a sick, twisted, greedy, myopic and stupid decision - but that's the decision it's made. I have nothing good to say for what happened, except that it did happen.

Well, let's look at the one tiny silver lining: since the ship has now sailed, I can indulge my deep, seething pool of vitriol for our collection of useless opposition parties. I'd held back previously because I didn't want to add to the circular firing squad. But they've all shot each other now and the corpses have largely stopped twitching. So off we go. (Before we start, I won't be writing about CUK/TiG/Change-UK, because they were just annoying, and I can't be arsed. I think we've all spent enough time on that shower of idiots.)

Here's the core reason for why I'm so angry: all this was completely avoidable. The media will, of course, spin BoJo's victory as a paragonic triumph of political conservatism. Like that infamous Pravda article from the 30s, on the Soviet constitution, they'll fawn over BoJo and declare him a visionary and a victor, a veritable genius of the ages, dripping with lyricism and wit. He isn't. He's an over-promoted buffoon who lucked into the top office due to the self-destruction of his inept predecessor, aided and abetted by a lying and sycophantic media - and, by a collection of opposition parties whose sole interest was in fighting each other.

Here we have the real core problem. The people on our side only switch on for fighting each other. There's little sign that they actually really care about Brexit, or the wider state of the UK. But pursuing partisan vendettas against each other? Wheeeeeeeeeee!

Let's think back to the summer, when BoJo was faced with stalling polls and a hung parliament. He could have been ousted then - but, of course, the Lib Dems were adamant that they couldn't countenance the idea of Mr Corbyn as Prime Minister. They'd had this tendency for a while - it's not new - but it accelerated and was nurtured under Jo Swinson.

When she was elected as leader I was initially a bit sympathetic - it seemed reasonable to give her a chance. Unfortunately, it turned out that she might be the most rightwing leader they've ever had - I actually suspect now that she might be to the right of Clegg. And she went and turbocharged all of their most self-destructive tendencies. I think what she thought she was doing was clawing Tory Remainers off of the Tories. This ran into two problems; 1) there weren't that many Tory Remainers to begin with and b) most of them are more Tory than they are Remain. So they mostly stayed put, and they few who did leave (thank you, to those of you that did) just weren't enough. Meanwhile, the hard-right tilt scared off the Lib Dem's left-leaning supporters.

A while back I predicted they'd lose seats at this election; I'm sad to have been proved right. I am, however, grimly-amused that Swinson herself lost her seat. The other problem with Swinson's rampany anti-Corbynism was that it partially demobilised continuity!Remain. A lot of people sensed that she was more anti-Corbyn than anti-Brexit; that also implied no plausible chance of an anti-Brexit coalition. Hoenstly, given how overt and personal the vitriol between her and Corbyn got, it's hard to see how it could ever have worked. And there's no point voting for something that you know is impossible. I do wonder if maybe this switched some left-leaning people off, or perhaps even sent a few ditherers back to the Tories (under the assumption that any sort of government is better than no government, I suppose).

As for the Lib Dem campaign, it was a mess. At one point their leader went on air to deny killing squirrels (yes, seriously, this actually happened). She got all excited about thermonuclear genocide at one point, because that's not at all weird and creepy, amirite?! Then there was the bizzarity that was "skills wallets" (don't ask - basically, the sort of policy abortion that happens when a collection of wonks are locked in a room with a boxed set of the West Wing and too much cocaine).

[OK, I'll expand this one. Briefly, skills wallets were a weird continuing-adult-education idea, where you'd have a pot of money that you could access at certain ages, apparently to take some kind of training or re-education or something. Why the ages in question, why that amount of money, and why not just make adult-ed free at the point of use, were never really explained. Then there was the can of worms that was additional voluntary contributions - what I took away from this was it was the adult-ed version of pensions auto-enrollment. I spent the last four years fighting a corrupt auto-enrollment fund, so I have strong feelings here!]

As for general themes, really, the LD campaign didn't have one. There was a lot of "Corbyn, THE MONSTER, the monster, Corbyn!". And, kind of oddly, there wasn't actually that much about Brexit. It actually didn't figure very strongly in their campaign. You came away from watching it all with a) a bad taste in your mouth and b) a nagging feeling that these people didn't know what they were doing.

To be fair to them, their vote share did go up, a bit - from 7.4% in 2017 to 11.4% yesterday. Which is, uh, not exactly dizzying. And it seems to have happened in all the wrong places, so they still managed to lose seats overall.

OK, we've gawped at the piss-stained ashes of the old Liberal Party, lying in state where some eggregious family-member has dumped them, on a roadside verge in the middle of nowhere. (Perhaps some enterprising squirrel has buried a nut amongst them.) Let's move onto the other vast, soul-sucking black hole of despair, also know as the Labour and Co-operative Party.

Oh dear god. The Labour Party.

The Labour Party is Britain's perennial second party, and nothing that happened last night challenged its second-place status. Their vote share dropped by 7.8 percentage points on 2017; this is what produced the Tory landslide, essentially. The Tory vote went up a little, by about 1 point, but otherwise stayed largely flat on 2017. This time, though, Labour collapsed. They lost a swathe of seats across the country, including places like Bolsover and Blyth Valley, which were previously rock-solid.

What went wrong? Everything. Basically, the stars aligned against us, in every single way.

First of all, Labour's campaign was dogged by the antisemitism scandal. And you know what? It was bloody well right that it did. The leadership dealt with antisemitism by ... doing nothing. Anyone who tried to raise the issue instead would get "Corbyn outriders" dumping on them on Twitter. Apparently we're suddenly not allowed to be concerned about racism on the Left anymore? Frankly, fuck that.

What they should have done was a quick-and-brutal party purge, perhaps early in 2018, when there was still time. Take some initiative, get control of the narrative again, and get rid of people who are only going to shit all over your campaign. But, uh, no. That didn't happen. I'll note that the Chris Williamson show in particular went on far, far longer than it should have.

Then we come to Brexit itself. Corbyn spent three years equivocating on the issue. OK, I'll allow that in hindsight, perhaps strategic ambiguity made some sense back in 2017 (though note that they still lost that election too). It didn't by 2019. But Corbyn was still trying to stand in the middle of the road as late as the summer - and by doing so inadvertently opened up political space for the (brief) Lib Dem revival, which in turn shunted Labour onto the defensive. And as I believe Paddy Ashdown once said, if you stand in the middle of the road, you get hit by traffic.

Eventually, the Labour leadership reluctantly adopted a second referendum position, but by then the damage was done. Basically, Corbyn had convinced Leavers that he was a Remainer, and Remainers that he was a Leaver. Labour appears to have lost votes about evenly across both Remain/Leave areas(!). In a way, he actually did unite the country - just against him. Ooops.

The rest of Labour's prospectus was a mess this year. Home Office reform was de-emphasized (arbitrary deportation by the Home Office is a huge concern amongst ethnic minorities). Drugs-law reform seems to have fallen off the agenda. There was no obvious theme to the campaign - surprising given that 2017's "For the Many" theme did cut across. Instead the "offer", such as it was, appeared to be a largely-incoherent grab-bag of spending promises, some of them with very large headline numbers. (The £58 billion for the WASPI pensions thing stands out there.) A lot of people simply didn't believe the country could afford it. You don't vote for things that you fear will bankrupt you.

Also, in a way, there's a parallel to the skills wallets thing here. Labour would have been better off, I think, just doing something straightforward like saying, "If elected we'll raise disability, sickness and unemployment benefits by £x per week, and we'll get rid of the ATOS fit-for-work assesments". It would have the advantages of simplicity, clarity and a clear political theme. Instead we got this weird fiscal machine that would produce some of those effects, except via a complicated multi-part kludge (which probably wouldn't even work properly anyway). I don't know how this came about; presumably it was an after-effect of one of the party's unending internal power-struggles.

Corbyn himself is a controversial figure, from his past associations with the IRA (more vague than the press would have you believe, but still a drag on the doorstep) to the perception of socialist extremism. Again, let me note that the "but he's a Communist, because that starts with 'C' too!" stuff is disingenuous, but this perception exists, and the Party have not found any apparent way to challenge it. Honestly? If your candidate is a ship that's holed below the waterline, yes it is horribly-unfair and all the rest of it, but you do need to run someone else. (I see no point softening that punch ; while Corbyn's been leader, the whole UK has voted 4 times, at 2 general elections, 1 referendum and 1 EU Parliament election. Every time, Labour has bombed. It's hard not to see a pattern here.)

Finally, the Labour Party itself has failed to ever re-unite. It's effectively two political parties in one - or possibly three, depending on how you want to look at Momentum. On a fair day with a strong wind, the Parliamentary portion sometimes manages to move just-about-consistently, but nothing else seems to have that behaviour. Honestly I suspect a lot of people's real fear about a Labour government is not that it would be a socialist tyranny, but rather that it would implode within about six months. Labour has lost its way amongst a storm of factional infighting. To be fair to Corbyn, this isn't new. Ed Milliband's desperate tenure was derailed by internal struggles. Even the 1997-2010 period had the ongoing squabbles between Brownites and Blairites (remember them?).

So yeah, Labour's campaign was an absolute shambles this year, and the whole country is suffering now for that.

Lastly, let's have a quick look at the Green Party. Where were they this year? With Extinction Rebellion making headlines, the Amazon burning, Australia on fire and weather records being smashed everywhere - remember that day when we had summer back in February? - it should have been the Greens' year. Environmental concerns are going up in salience - people are starting to get genuinely worried. And, uh, where were they? I can't recall hearing a single peep from the Green Party during the election. Whatever it was they were doing, it seems to have completely failed to capitalise on the moment. Perhaps they should have been a bit more visible.

The only people who come out of this with any credit are the SNP. I haven't heard anything teeth-grinding about them - though, that might just be because I live in southern England.

Oh, and let's take a final kick in the teeth, shall we? If you add up the shares of the votes received by pro-second-referendum parties ... guess what it comes to? Yup: 52%, versus 48% for the pro-Brexit parties. 52/48 - aaaaargh! Yet, the 48% had a narrative that kept their vote all in one place, so they won an absolute majority at Westminster. Ours got scattered to the four winds by several separate inept campaigns and several useless party leaders. Had there been a second referendum, we could have won it. But we never got the chance, because everyone supposedly on our side were completely, perfectly, useless.

Sigh :(

#UK internal politics #diary of a disaster #We're surrounded by idiots

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misstinfoilhat · 5 years

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Whumptober 2019 #12: Field-Medicine - Bungou Stray Dogs

(This is one of the optional alternatives in the prompt-list for Whumptober, replacing “don’t move!”) xXx12xXx The thought “why do I always find myself in situations like these?” had occurred to Osamu Dazai a number of times. Like, the time he had woken up, stranded on a deserted island without even remembering having boarded a ship, or the time he had locked himself out, on top of the roof of the Agency building in the middle of winter and being stuck there for hours without his coat. It turned out that Kunikida had been well aware of where he was, but apparently had such a strong need of a break from him, that he honestly did not care if he stepped off the ledge and plummeted down from the roof to the sweet relief of his death or not. Obviously, that had totally killed his desire to do just that.

Still, he kinda did. He summoned his inner Chuuya and climbed down two stories, just so he could knock on the office windows, smiling and waving as every face turned towards him paled sickly, and full panic had erupted.

It had been totally unnecessary and completely over the top. Sure, his fingers were freezing and he couldn't feel his toes- one wrong move and he would surely have fallen off. But, he felt like he had the situation mostly under control.

That wasn't necessarily exactly what was going on right now though, but he for sure felt the same way about it. He was stuck in a very unpleasant position without any obvious way of getting out of it.

They were out on a mission, looking for a young boy that had been missing for a couple of hours. The kid had gotten scared when he had realized that he had a special ability. Neither of his parents had any, and the boy had no experiences with that kind of power. They weren't sure what kind of gift he possessed yet, only that it had almost resulted in their entire house burning down. It had been an explosion, but luckily, no serious injuries or fatalities. The fire department had found a gas leak in the grand country house, but the boy was the only one who could answer what had actually triggered the eruption.

In other words, this child could potentially be very dangerous to himself and others if he wasn't found soon.

The search was what had led him into these woods. Dazai absolutely hated the woods. There were mosquitos and horseflies, the air was humid and he had stepped in a puddle of mud, which he was about 85% sure wasn't bear excrements.

So now his feet were cold and he had several of itchy bites all over his arms and who-knows-where-else. Also, he was soaking wet after an undesired swim down the stream.

Oh, and then there was the bullet that was currently lodged inside his thigh.

It would seem like they quite possibly had another Atsushi on their hands, (his name even resembled the tiger boy's own name) because someone was after this kid. Someone they didn't know yet, but dangerous enough to carry weapons and be out here with them in the middle of nowhere, looking for him.

Dazai had been separated from the rest of the group when the shooting had started. They didn't see anyone, but they had clearly seen them. The shooting came from behind a thicket of bushes, and none of them had really felt the need to linger around to check it out once they were being fired at. He had no idea where the rest of them were, but he could only hope that none of them had been fatally wounded.

When he first realized he had been shot, he hoped it was just a graze. Tumbling down a steep hill while trying to avoid the bullet rain that chased him didn't leave much room for stopping and assessing the injury.

Luckily, he had been able to crawl his way off the trail, painstakingly slowly and made his way through the grass, finding a small creek. He was unable to walk, so his best, or perhaps only option to get away, was to let himself flow down the stream for a little bit. He wasn't much of a swimmer, but he wasn't much of a walker right now either. He plumped into the water and drifted down for about a hundred meters, where he spotted a large rock that was placed in a way that it looked like it might have a gap under where he could hide. Once he was back out of the water, he was able to crawl his way over to it and worm his way into the small space. It wasn't a good hiding spot, but it was the best he could do at the time. His phone was obviously dead from the swim, which was so typical that he wasn't even able to be bothered by it.

Now that the adrenaline had started to wear off, the burning sensation in his thigh was making itself very well known. His hands patted the underside of his thigh carefully, and it quickly became clear that the bullet hadn't gone all the way through, which would mean that it was still boarded inside his leg. That was not good. The bullet had also penetrated his flesh way too close to his femoral artery, which meant he had to remove the bullet quickly.

Wearily, he leaned his head back, resting it on the rock and cursed silently. It wouldn't be the first time he had to pry a bullet out of himself, but he had hoped that the time before this would have been the last. Oh well, better luck next time, he scoffed unimpressed. If he was going to get the bullet out on his own, he would need to make an emergency-tourniquet. Making a proper tourniquet was impossible to do on oneself. If done correctly, it was humanly impossible not to faint from the excruciating agony one would feel. That also meant that there was an increased chance that he would bleed out before he was able to get proper medical treatment- well, if he didn't nick the artery in the process of course, which would without a doubt make his demise quick and very unpleasant.

Either one was not a desirable way to die- lying in the woods, being eaten on by maggots and flies and eventually having his face bitten off by some predatorial animal was not what he had in mind when planning his death.

He really hated those goddamn bears. And he would much rather bring his face with him into the afterlife.

Heaving for a deep breath and holding it, he twisted his injured leg a little, winching and biting his lip to not cry out in pain. Of course, it would be the same leg as he held his switchblade on. He lifted his pant-leg and dragged the folded knife out from his sock, before settling back into a more bearable position. He unfolded it with a slight frown, before cutting a long piece off the bottom of his coat.

His blood-covered hands left splatters all over the highly beloved jacket, and each tear in the fabric tore a small piece off his soul.

With quivering hands, he inched the piece of textile under his thigh, a little above the wound and started binding the cloth around his leg. But, he had to pause mid-knot, because the brambles in front of him started rattling. The sound of footsteps came closer and closer, and Dazai tried to sharpen his senses and listen closely.

All he had to defend himself with, was the small folding knife, which would not hold up in a gunfight. The phrase, don't bring a knife to a gunfight, had never felt more fitting.

Out of any other options, he tried to get to his feet. As soon as he laid any weight on his damaged leg, it gave out under his weight and he was left dragging it behind while trying to get some distance between himself and whoever was heading his way.

Right behind the rock he'd been hiding under, he collapsed. Beams of agony fired through his entire leg and blinded him for a moment, long enough to make him lose his footing and topple to the ground. He pushed himself as closely to the cliff as he could and tried to stay hidden while peeping towards the bushes.

The first thing he noticed was a disheveled head of blonde hair and two chubby hands pushing the overgrown plants away before two large hazel orbs watched anxiously from side to side.

It was the boy.

Just as Dazai recognized him, the kid startled abruptly, noticing the blood trail that Dazai had left behind. He backed away with staggering footsteps and was ready to run off.

Dazai threw himself from his hiding spot, hitting the ground and squirming a few feet to make himself visible. If he could only remember the kid's name.

“Wait,” he screeched after him in an asphyxiated voice. His wound was not content with the harsh treatment and pulsated tortuously. His left hand clutched to it, hoping it would stifle the pain while his right hand reached out for the boy.

“Please,” goddammit, what was his name? “Y... Ya- Yasushi? Yasushi Inoue, right? Please, I'm Osamu Dazai, I'm here to help.”

The kid turned around, eyes glossy with unshed tears and he looked horrified at the bloodied man in front of him, still ready to jolt if Dazai gave him any reason to.

“I'm not going to hurt you, and you're not in any trouble,” Dazai deliberated calmly, but couldn't get rid of the tension in his voice. Demonstratively, Dazai held his hands out, showing that he did not have any weapons. The knife was left behind the rock, so he couldn't have reached it if he tried.

“H-how do you know my name?” Yasushi asked in a shaky voice, fighting back the sobs that desperately wanted to escape from his chest.

“I'm from the Armed Detective Agency-” Dazai began but realized quickly how those words could sound triggering to a boy he was trying to convince that he was in fact not armed. The blonde child was already getting ready to split as Dazai quickly tried to clarify. “-b-but not actually armed. We have abilities, you know, just like you,” Dazai explained desperately, catching Yasushi's attention again. Dazai swallowed down a cry of hurt before he was able to proceed.

“We've been hired by your family. They're really worried about you, and not angry. They just want you to come home safely.”

Green eyes looked away, still unsure if he should split, or if he should trust this stranger, lying as a bloodied lump on the ground.

Dazai determined that the child was very smart to not trust him. He didn't look like the most reliable character at the moment.

“Also, I think you should stick with me. There's someone out there. I don't know who they are or what they want, but...” he eyed his leg and chuckled humourlessly, “...but I think we should stay together. I will help you to get back to your family, and, to be honest, I could probably need some help from you too.”

A stout hand quickly brushed over the young boy's eyes, falling back to his side while he approached carefully, like a frightened animal. “W-what happened to you?”

Dazai wracked his brain for the right answer. He had never been good with kids, but he knew that he needed to keep some things from them. It would be unwise to blurt out that he had been shot by someone hunting for the kid when he needed him to be calm and level headed.

Still, there was no denying that he had a gunshot wound to his leg, and he still needed to dig the bullet out before they could move anywhere. This “throwing himself around” business had been hazardous enough, and he only hoped that it had not made anything worse.

“If I tell you, will you promise me that you'll continue to be brave for me and not run off?” Dazai finally returned, peering intently at the boy who had slowly moved closer towards him now.

With a small frown, Yasushi subsequently nodded. Dazai mirrored his motion, taking a deep puff before he began to explain what was going on, keeping a close eye to the kid's reaction.

He didn't respond like Dazai had anticipated. Instead of looking alarmed or distressed, he simply looked guilty. His lower lip started to wobble somewhat, and he bit it tightly to prevent it from showing.

“It's going to be okay, Yasushi-kun,” Dazai cooed. “We're going to to find my coworkers, and then, we'll get you home.”

Yasushi lowered his head in shame and sniffled softly. “I burned it down,” he muttered quietly.

Dazai could've kicked himself. He needed to be more careful about how he chose his words.

“Well actually, they were able to save most of it. Only the kitchen was destroyed from what I read in the report. But you're right, you won't return there tonight. We are going to reunite you with your parents though, and then you're probably going to spend a couple of nights in a nice hotel, or with extended family perhaps.”

The child swallowed audibly and finally looked up. “Okay,” he said hoarsely and bobbed his head. “Okay, I'll trust you.”

“Great,” Dazai beamed. “That's really great. But now, if you would be so kind, I need you to grab my switchblade from over there so I can dig this bullet out of my leg.” xxxxxx

This kid was seemingly a bottomless pit of vomit. He hadn't even been able to assist Dazai in rotating the stick to help to tighten the tourniquet before he was out for the count.

That was certainly a little annoying.

Dazai turned to look for another small stick, luckily finding one close enough to reach without moving and placed it in his mouth and bit down on it hard.

There was no reason to put it off, any hesitation would only make it worse. He grabbed the twig sticking out from the knot in the cloth and turned it quickly, several times until the pain shot up his leg like a lightning bolt and he could feel his teeth quirk from the harsh bite on the branch in his mouth.

He let it go, letting go of the stick between his teeth and allowed his hands to fall to his sides while he strangled a growl and tried to breathe through the nauseating pain. A couple of choked coughs wracked their way through his body and he had to fight to stay conscious.

Good, that meant it was good enough.

As long as he could stay conscious, it would be as good as it was going to get, especially since he was going to prod this bullet out all on his own. Glancing over at the kid, who had finally stopped dry-heaving, that seemed to be the most likely scenario.

“Hey kid, you okay?” Dazai asked weakly, still wheezing heavily. Beads of sweat were trailing down his face, burning lightly at the small cuts that scattered his face from that tumble down the hill earlier in the day. “Y-yeah, sorry.” Yasushi sounded even worse than him, wiping his mouth and getting up from his stance at all fours into a seated position, while being careful not to catch a glance at the gore that was going on behind him.

“Good... This got a bit much for you, huh?”

The young boy only hummed his response, while nodding his head vigorously. Dazai imagined that what he really wanted to do was to shout something along the lines of “fuck yes.”

“Well, uh, just so you know, I'm going to remove the bullet now... If you could talk to me while I do it, it would be of tremendous help,” Dazai admitted.

He wasn't looking forward to this one bit, but it had to be done. It was getting dark, and he was starting to catch a chill from his wet clothes. Yasushi was not dressed for a night in the woods either, only wearing a t-shirt and shorts.

Also, where the hell was the rest of the agency? He hadn't drifted down that far.

“O-okay, I can do that,” the boy agreed and pushed himself a little closer, still looking pointedly in a different direction.

“Thanks,” Dazai replied, shifting his attention back to the wound. The knife was in his hand, and he started to cut open his pant leg. The bleeding had slowed, which had been the point of the tourniquet after all.

The hole in his thigh was almost black from old blood, while still spilling out fresh, brighter liquid. Dazai only wished he had gotten this done when the light was better, but now he needed to get a move on before it got even dimmer.

“I'm starting now,” he announced and pinched around the wound to squeeze out the access blood that was just remaining inside the deep wound. He winched, but kept his hands steady and wiped it away.

“So,” Dazai began, in a tight, tortured voice. “How about you tell me a little bit about your ability?”

“I- I don't want to,” Yasushi denied. He sounded scared, which Dazai determined that he probably had every right to be. It was new, and yes, really scary.

“But, if you don't mind me asking,” the kid continued, falteringly.

“No, not at all, please continue,” Dazai pressed in agony, just as he let go of the pressure.

“When did you discover yours?”

Dazai closed his eyes and mentally prepared himself to put his finger inside the wound to feel around for where the bullet was stuck.

“I can honestly not remember,” he said, slowly inserting his index finger. It was deep, and the bullet had probably hit the bone. A whispered few curses left his mouth as he carefully forced his way through muscle and tendons, breathing through the pain.

“Oh,” Yasushi uttered in disappointment.

“But, I was presumably born with it. It's just always been in use, for as long as I've been conscious enough to know what was going on around me,” Dazai resumed explaining, as he touched the tip of the bullet with his finger and bit his teeth together while he was retracting his hand. Without taking the time to gather himself, he placed the tip of the knife to the wound and made a small, careful insition.

“Can I ask what your power is?” Yasushi asked shyly, knitting the edge of his t-shirt together as a defense mechanism.

“Yyyyes,” Dazai wailed out in obvious pain, while he made the first step towards digging around in his thigh with the serrated knife. “I can nullify all abilities,” he continued in a strangulated voice.

“Are you okay?” Yasushi asked fearfully, half-turning his head to check on him.

“D-don't look right now! Trust me,” Dazai panted, implanting the knife further into his leg while twisting the point, searching for the bullet. “J-just keep talking.”

“Of course, sure. Sorry. Uh.” He desperately sought for anything to talk about, catching the aggravated grunts and moans coming from the older man seated behind him.

Oh God, the only thing Dazai had asked of him was to continue talking to him. Why wasn’t he even able to do that?

“My ability shoots bullets,” he suddenly called out, hastily covering his mouth as if it would somehow take back his dark secret.

“W-what?” Dazai uttered, stopping his prodding for just a second.

“I'm sorry,” the boy begged, finally turning around. His hazel eyes were filled with tears now, and they were steadily gushing down his face. “I'm so, so sorry. I... it was me. I think... I heard you in the woods and I got scared. I sent the bullets at you.”

Dazai looked at him quizzically, one hand holding the knife while the other clamped down around the bullet wound.

“Huh,” he deadpanned and cocked his head. “That was certainly unexpected.”

The boy had scooted all the way over now and was sobbing freely, masking his face with his hands and cradled himself back and forth.

Dazai wasn't sure what to do.

“Listen, Yasushi-kun, I need you to pull yourself together, just for a little bit. There's currently a knife, inches away from my femoral artery and it hurts and I kinda need to focus on that right now.” The child snorted a couple of times, nodding vigorously, rubbing his eyes raw.

“I can do that,” he stammered weakly, slowly peering up into Dazai's dim eyes.

“Thank you,” the ex-mafioso sighed and prepared to proceed.

Yasushi scooted over to sit beside Dazai, a little to the side as not to accidentally look at what the older man was doing. Again, he had needed to think a little about something to say. His expression changed as he suddenly realized what Dazai had told him moments before.

“Dazai-san? You said you could cancel abilities, right?”

“Mhm,” Dazai squawked. All Yasushi could see of what he was doing, was small movements in the slender man’s shoulders, but his voice was pained and intense.

“Then why were you not able to cancel mine?”

“I have to,” Dazai began but needed to quit talking to prevent himself from shrieking out as he reached the bone in his leg, and had to tilt the knife to catch the bullet.

“Ngh, I... I have to be in direct contact with... oh, fuck, with the individual,” he wheezed painfully.

It was so close now.

“I would have to touch you to stop it,” he eventually managed.

“But, if... if I was unable to control my ability, if I was scared, w-would you be able to stop it if you tried?”

“Most likely,” Dazai stated as he finally saw the bullet surfacing from the gaping gash in his limb.

With one last, possibly too rigid jerk, the bullet moved down his thigh and hit the ground. Utterly spent, Dazai dropped and skidded down against the rock with half-lidded eyes. The sweat ran uncontrollably down his face and his breathing was rough and raspy.

“I'm done,” he said quietly, and Yasushi shifted around.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, frowning frightenedly at the pale heap next to him.

“I don't know, but I don't have a bullet in my leg anymore,” Dazai murmured, bearly lucid.

“It's my fault that you're hurt,” the child mused with tribulation.

“Stop that, it's not... you said it yourself, you can't control it.”

“No, but you wouldn't be here if I hadn't run off, and you surely wouldn’t have been shot. I destroy everything.”

Dazai only wobbled his head. It was getting hard to stay awake.

“I have a friend...” Dazai started but quickly trailed off. The boy's green eyes were focusing expectedly at him, and he suddenly remembered what he was saying.

“I have a friend, that you remind me of. He couldn't control his... potentially dangerous ability either when I first met him. I think you two should talk.”

Yasushi perked up, smiling for the first time since Dazai had met him. He was a cute kid when he wasn't bawling his eyes out.

“Atsushi,” Dazai informed silently, smiling himself at the thought of how far the young prodigy had come since he first met the starved kid.

“What?”

“Atsushi,” Dazai repeated, glancing back at the perplexed child.

“What is it?”

Dazai rolled his eyes tiredly. He could not start with this.

“Never mind.”

They sat together in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes. Dazai was freezing, and he could hear the kid's teeth begin to clatter too. If something didn’t happen soon, he wasn't sure if he would be able to make it.

That's when it finally dawned upon him.

“God...dammit,” he uttered, catching a glimpse of Yasushi as he blushed deeply from the bad word.

“Yasushi-kun, if those bullets came from you... there isn't anything out there to be afraid of. The only people out there are my colleagues, and they are out here to help.”

“What do you mean?”

“You should try to find them.”

“B-but, you can't walk.”

“That's why I'm not coming with you, kid.”

Yasushi waved his head. “No, I'm not leaving you.”

“Yeah, you are. Now, get going before it gets too dark.”

“But, what if I'm not able to control my ability again?”

“Then you should aim at the tall blonde man with glasses.” Dazai gave the boy a pointed stare.

He fidgeted a bit, twirling his thumbs and clearly pondered about something.

“O-okay, fine. I'll get them. And then we're coming to get you, okay?”

Dazai gave him a tired smile, finally able to relax his body a little. He nodded faintly at Yasushi before the younger turned and started to walk away, sending worried glances towards the fatigued figure he was leaving behind.

For some time, Dazai was able to stay awake. He would prod lightly at his wound whenever he felt himself drifting off, giving himself a shot of pain to stay alert.

Could bears smell blood? If so, they had a fiest waiting right there.

More time passed, and he still couldn't hear voices or see the shimmer of flashlights that might be out searching for them. But eventually, as much as he poked at the gash (at some point wondering if he should push the bullet back in and start the process anew, just to stay awake), he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

---------

For once, waking up again was a relief. He could hear faint sounds of familiar voices closing in from the distance. He honestly thought he had kept himself awake, but when he blinked, he abruptly gazed up at Yosano's apprehensive expression.

They were still out there, so at least he hadn't been out too long this time, but he couldn't see the kid. “You did a good job at slowing the bleeding down,” Yosano smiled reassuringly. Kunikida loomed behind her with a deep furrow on his forehead.

Dazai could feel his gaze getting more and more blurred, and he knew he didn't have much more time to make sure that Yasushi had found them before he would be out again.

“Yasushi,” he urged in a rasped voice, looking quizzically at the peering eyes that were currently assessing his injuries.

“Atsushi's fine, he's back at the base,” Kunikida answered dryly as he assisted Yosano with something.

Not this again.

“N-no, Ya-sushi,” Dazai tried to over-pronounciate, but all he got in response was Yosano's hand on his forehead, checking for a fever.

“Yeah, he's burning up. We need to get him to a hospital right away,” she told Kunikida urgently.

'No, not what I meant!' was what Dazai aspired to say, but he was unable to move his lips anymore. His brain was processing so slowly and sluggishly now that he didn't even realize that was blacking out again.

He could faintly sense himself being moved off the ground before everything went back to all darkness. --------------

The white ceiling looked vaguely familiar, and the white dots flickering in his vision even more. His head was pounding and he felt generally awful all over.

Only when the sickening smell of antiseptics reached his nostrils, he understood that he had just woken in the hospital.

Damnit, he didn't really feel like waking up yet. Not to the miserable existence inside a hospital room. At least it didn't seem like anyone had realized he was awake yet, so he might as well just go back to...

“Ya-sushi,” he exclaimed suddenly, eyes widening in terror and suddenly completely alert. “Where is Yasushi?”

He tried his best to sit up, but for some infuriating reason, his body just wouldn't let him.

A head of unnaturally light hair came into his vision, dual-colored eyes looking worriedly down at him.

“For fuck's sake,” Dazai cried out furiously before a second blonde head appeared beside the tiger-boy.

“Oh thank God,” Dazai sighed as he recognized that glassy, hazel glare, and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Are you okay, Dazai-san?” Atsushi asked with an anxious pout, looking confusedly at the smaller boy next to him.

“As long as everyone calls you Nakajima as long as you two are in the room together, I'll be just fine,” Dazai exasperated, slowly opening his eyes and smiling serenely at the two boys. ------------

So, I'm not going to pretend to be very familiar with Japanese authors, so I had to look for a name that could fit the original character in this story. I did a google search and found a book called The Hunting Gun, which I figured would make a good name for his ability. Then, I realized the whole name thing, and somehow it took over the whole story. Also, sorry if there’s a lot of spelling errors in these stories. English is not my native language, and my spelling-check is being kind of a brat lately.

#whump community #whumptober #whumptober 2019 #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #Dazai Osamu #original character #OC #field medicine #day.12

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