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boneblushed · 2 months ago

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And, boy, you got her

synopsis Rafe’s in charge of the pledges during Rush Week. Hazing isn’t a thing. Making you feel so high school is.

wc 3.6K

a/n omgggg Euro Trip Rafe <3333 I was living on pledgetok last week and just couldn’t not write something about it

“Holy shit,” Noah mutters, surveying the crowd over his red cup, “I swear they get scrawnier every single year.”

Rafe nods gravely, taking a pull of his beer. “It’s fucking grim.”

“Like — fuck, look at those two.” Noah gestures toward the shaded veranda, a fresh coat of gloss making its balustrades shine. Huddled in one corner, attempting to take up as little space as possible, two boys donning UNC merch survey the crowd in tandem. “We weren’t that fucking scraggy as freshman, were we?”

“You two weren’t,” Kelce snorts, coming up behind them. Topper brings up his rear, mid-bite of his loaded hotdog. “Thornton definitely was though.”

“Oi!” Topper protests, his words garbled by half chewed sausage. “S’wasn’t that bad. C’mon.” He turns to Rafe then, swallowing his mouthful. “But seriously, you locked in any potentials?”

Rafe furrows his brow thoughtfully, looking back over Delta Chi’s yard. Unsurprisingly, it’s far too early to say. Though the barbecue that they’re hosting is a good way for pledges to mingle, it isn’t exactly hazing material; they’re going to have to get creative.

“Maybe,” he replies finally, shrugging. “We’ll just have to see I guess.”

He tips back his red cup again, swallowing the last dregs of beer before acquiescing. As he’s about to announce his need for a refill, a few pledges sidle up to their group, looking hopeful.

Not overtly, of course. Painstakingly hiding their eagerness behind an armour of insouciance.

“Rafe,” the tallest of the three greets, handing him another red cup. The golden liquid inside it brims to the surface, its white foam dissolving in mocking. “Hey, bro. You need another?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, hiding a grin. “Shit. Table service already?”

The boy grins in tandem, looking a little sheepish. “Big fan, man. I’m Dylan.” He motions at the two guys on either side of him, wearing matching squints and backwards caps. “This is Rahul and Xav, we’re all here from Trinity.”

“Durham and Chapel Hill?” Noah enquires, whistling approvingly when they nod. “Fuck, we used to love having away games there. Those Trin cheerleaders…”

“Haha, shit, what was that chic’s name again?” Rafe asks then, a pull of mirth as he turns to Noah. “The one you messed around with in junior year?”

“Blake,” Noah answers, groaning in a mock-wistful sort of way. “They didn’t make ‘em like her at the Academy.”

Rafe snorts, sending the pledges a sage glance. “Nah. They made ‘em better.”

Noah raises his eyebrows, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, so we are allowed to objectify your girl then, Cameron?”

“Damn, so you’re tied down?” Xavier pipes up, his voice gravelly and low on purpose. Overtly masculine, like he’s trying hard to be red-blooded. “Your girl doesn’t mind you partying?”

Rafe frowns. “Why would she mind?”

“Uh,” Xavier balks, pulling at the bill of his backwards cap, “shit. I don’t know… like, doesn’t she get pissed that you’re constantly around sorority girls?”

“HA —” Topper laughs, and then he falters, thwarted by Rafe’s warning glower. “Uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just say Cameron doesn’t give her any reasons to be suspicious.”

“Because he’s obsessed with her,” Noah adds, unperturbed by Rafe’s expression. He pauses then, an amusing idea popping into his head. “Which means…” he continues, returning Rafe’s glare with a trust me one of his own, “you guys should be too.”

Rafe doesn’t trust him. Like, at all. He sends him a bewildered look, unsure where he’s going with this. “White — what?”

Noah ignores him. He downs his beer and crushes the red cup in his hand, deftly aiming it at the nearest bag of trash. “So,” he says, eyeing the three pledges with interest. “How serious are you guys about rushing Delt?”

“Pretty serious, bro,” Rahul answers, looking to his friends for support. “Think we got a shot?”

Noah throws his arm around Rafe’s neck, his strong bicep taut as he shoots them a grin. “Depends, man, I might know how we could figure that out though.” He begins to steer Rafe away from them, sending one last, faux-somber look over his shoulder. “Be right back, yeah?”

Rafe, whose bewilderment is quickly giving way curiosity, allows himself to be marshalled out of earshot without complaints.

He shrugs Noah off of him once they’re on the verandah, his features ever-bemused as he turns toward him. “The fuck was that about?”

“Bro, I know exactly how we’re going to haze these motherfuckers,” Noah replies, his voice lilted with mirth. “You know… without breaking any rules.”

The bewildered expression on Rafe’s face doesn’t acquiesce. “Okay… how?”

“Instead of getting them to be our bitches,” he answers, a mischievous grin making home on his features. “We’re going to get them to be our girlfriends’ bitches.”

Rafe frowns. “Bro. What?”

“Cameron, it’s perfect.” He swipes Rafe’s beer from his hand and takes a generous pull. “What do frat guys hate more than being called scrawny as fuck?”

“Uh. Doing assignments?” Rafe answers blankly, still frowning. He doesn’t have it in him to think too hard about Noah’s profferance. He’s on hour two of manning this boring event, hour four since he bid you farewell, and all Rafe can bear to think about right now is the imminent taste of your peach-scented lips.

Noah shakes his head. “No, dumbass. Being called a simp.”

“Wrong,” Rafe answers, “I don’t mind that shit at all.”

“You’re the exception,” Noah replies matter-of-factly. “You and Y/N have always been the exception. C’mon, I’m talking about us,” he places his palm over his breastbone solemnly, “mere mortals.”

Rafe narrows his eyes. “Fuck off. How would that even work?”

“We…” Noah pauses to think, a slightly furrow to his brow, “alright, I got it. We assign the pledges to our girlfriends, one by one. Give them a week to make a good impression — you know, carry their bags, buy them flowers, all that sentimental crap you love.”

“You really think the guys’ll agree to this?” Rafe asks, sounding reluctant. “I mean… I don’t know if I’m alright with a bunch of idiots holding doors for my girl.”

“But you’re an idiot that holds a door for your girl,” Noah answers, not missing a beat.

“Fuck off, White.”

“I’m serious. It’ll be funny. And look… if you’re worried about Y/N, I know she’ll find it adorable as fuck.”

Rafe shakes his head. “No way. She didn’t find high-school me adorable.”

Noah raises his eyebrows skeptically. “You’d be surprised, man. Besides, these guys aren’t going to be like high-school you. High-school you was a douchebag.”

“A douchebag who got the girl.”

“A douchebag who got the girl after he stopped acting like a douchebag.” Noah smirks then. “A douchebag who’d give all these fuckers a run for their money if he was pledging Delt this year.”

Rafe grins in tandem, stealing his beer back to take a big swig. “Alright, shit, alright. Harmless shit though, right? Chivalry and all that?”

“Harmless as hell,” Noah agrees. “C’mon. You really think any of these guys has the balls to make a pass at one of our girls?”

“Easy for you to say, White. You don’t fucking have a girl.”

Noah frowns. “What d’you mean? Aren’t we going halves on Y/N?”

“Holy fuck, Noah,” Rafe groans, almost spitting out his mouthful of beer. “If Y/N heard the shit you said when she wasn’t around, she’d probably kill you.”

“Nah,” Noah replies, seemingly unperturbed. “She loves me.”

“Well,” Rafe says grimly, crushing his own empty cup in his head. “She might do now, but she sure as hell won’t by the end of this week.”

—

The first time it happens, you’re understandably perplexed.

You’re en-route to your 9AM, bag strap denting your left shoulder, when a stranger falls into your step and swipes it from your figure. It’s a motion so quick and deft you initially think you’re getting mugged.

As you double back in bewilderment, he proffers, “you alright with this?”

“Uh.” You balk. “What?”

“Your bag,” he answers, readjusting it on his own shoulder. He seems earnest. Nervous, even. “It looked heavy. I can carry it to class for you, if you want?”

You allow a pause to take him in.

“No, I’m…” another pause, more of his demeanour on display. Backwards cap, crisp white polo shirt, smile lines exposing the ghost of a grin on his face. A familiar grin, the kind that pulls a soft, maudlin feeling from your ribcage. “Look, if you’re trying to hit on me —”

“No, no,” he interrupts quickly, his eyes widening in a panic. “Shit — no, don’t tell Cameron I’m hitting on you. I’m just…”

“Wait a minute,” your eyes narrow accusatorially, because of course he’s behind this chivalrous display, “you know my boyfriend?”

The stranger grimaces sheepishly. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Explain.”

“It’s… uh… well — basically, I’m pledging Delt,” he answers haltingly, self effacement juxtaposing his frat boy exterior. “Rafe’s asked us to be all gentlemanly and shit for pledge week, I don’t know. To you guys, I mean. Like… the current frat member’s girls?”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “No he hasn’t.”

“Shit.” He looks far more nervous now that he did five minutes ago. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you grumble, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “No he did not.”

Rafe’s on speed dial. He picks up on the first ring, the way he always does for you.

“Hey baby,” his gravelly timbre crackles through the phone, the low hum of frat house chatter audible in the background. “What’s up?”

“Don’t even. You know what’s up Rafael.”

A pause. When Rafe speaks again, his voice is quick and placating. “It was Noah’s idea.”

“Of course it was.”

“Dylan’s not playing up, is he?”

You raise your eyebrows at the stranger then, assessing him faux-suspiciously. “No way. He’s doing a better job than you ever did in high school.”

“Woah woah woah,” Rafe replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “That fucker’s not calling you dream girl or something, is he?”

“Worse. He’s being respectful of my boundaries.”

“Oh shit. I fucking knew this was a bad idea.”

You shake your head in exasperation, trying not to laugh. The poor stranger’s still standing there at attention, your leather bag looking ridiculous on his arm. “Rafe. Tell me he’s the only one.”

“He’s one…” Rafe starts slowly, sounding sheepish, “of three. Four, counting me.” In the background, you hear Noah pipe up and add, “five, Cameron. How could you forget me?”

“You’re un-fucking-believable, Noah White,” you shout through the phone.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Noah sings, and then he groans, no doubt shoved to the side by his indignant best friend. It’s Rafe on the phone again, voice sweet and thick as molasses as he says, “they’ll behave, baby, and make your life easier in the process. I promise.”

“What?” You accuse, fighting back a smile. “Like you did in high school?”

“Fuck no,” he replies, the grin on his face audible. “They’ll be nothing like I was, sweetheart.”

“What?” You tease. “Absolutely insufferable?”

“And absolutely in love with you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “How can you be so sure?”

“They’re under strict instruction. Have a shiner waiting for them if they pull something funny.”

Another exasperated laugh bubbles out of you, and you begin walking forward again, motioning at the boy named Dylan to follow in your step. “Right. So the boundaries are on purpose, are they?”

“The respect, too. No being inappropriate and charming at the same time.”

“And why not?” You ask faux-indignantly. “What if I like being objectified?”

“Can’t have you falling in love with them, can I?”

“Hey,” you argue, frowning stubbornly. “That is not what made me fall in love with you.”

“It isn’t?”

“Well,” you balk, “not solely that.”

“You’re fucking sexy,” he recites devotedly, almost yells, and you can hear the collective groan of his frat brothers in the background. “Are you wearing those Lululemon pants right now? Point is, I’m thinking about your ass in those Lululemon pants right now.”

“Rafe, I was fucking kidding. Stop.”

“No you weren’t.” You know he’s right; you can picture that stupid smirk on his face. It makes your cheeks warm. Asshole. “You’re blushing now, aren’t you?”

“Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Rafe agrees. “No funny business, alright? Just lots of good deeds.”

Good deeds. You suppose you could get used to good deeds, the embarrassment of attention notwithstanding.

You let out a defeated sigh, halting in front of your 9AM class. “You so, so owe me.”

“I so, so love you,” Rafe replies, and it makes your pulse leap; you’ll never get used to this feeling. “See you later, yeah?”

“Uh huh. Love you.”

Dylan waits until you’ve ended the call before saying farewell, dutifully handing your leather bag back to you and giving you a mock salute. The way he does it, all sheepish and genuine with a charming smile on his face, makes your heart twinge in a junior year of high-school sort of way. You’re feeling sentimental. It’s sweet.

You’re reminded of Rafe before he was yours, stumbling over himself to win your favour. Confusing chivalry with courting, objectifying you in the name of flirting.

Insufferable, but sweet nonetheless. You digress.

—

The next time it happens, you’re ambushed at your favourite cafe.

A dutiful Delta Phi pledge has already queued up and purchased you coffee, handing it over to you with a blushing bouquet of tulips.

You raise your eyebrows at him questioningly. “Is that…?”

“Uh, an oat iced coffee with vanilla?” He asks, sounding nervous. “I asked Cameron for your order.”

“Didn’t ask me about pastries, though,” a voice behind you adds, rough and familiar with a sweetness around the edges. Rafe circles your waist with ease and pulls you into his chest, sponging a soft kiss to your temple before handing you a brown bag.

A glossy, Daily Bread sticker shines on its exterior proudly.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you look up at him expectantly. “Tell me you didn’t drive back home for a single croissant.”

“I didn’t drive back home for a single croissant,” Rafe replies. He grins then, looking that same, sheepish genuine that pulls a maudlin feeling. “I drove back home for twenty.”

“Rafe. Why?”

“Because you like Daily Bread,” he replies matter-of-factly, like it’s obvious.

You shake your head in exasperation, tip-toeing up to press a quick kiss to his lips. It becomes less quick against better judgement. He tastes like spearmint gum and cold brew, the hand he has held to your waist tightening ever so slightly. Slipping under your shirt, massaging the soft skin he finds there expertly, discreetly. Too much for 8am on a Wednesday morning, sans coffee. Your face feels on fire. You pull away in a hurry.

Meanwhile, the freshman pledge balks at the exchange, looking out of place.

Rafe frowns bemusedly at your diffidence, only clocking the reason when you nod over at him.

“I’ll walk her over Ben,” he says, dismissing him. “You’re off the hook, bro.”

“Shit.” The boy named Ben grimaces; he needs to get his hours in, and doesn’t deem this a fair ambush. He scrambles for an excuse. “Right. Can I still give her the flowers?”

“Of course you can,” you beam, accepting them gratefully. You look up at Rafe then, asking, “And if I want to walk with Benjamin?”

Rafe grins down at you, disbelieving. “Do you, baby?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” you say, wriggling out of his grasp. “He got me flowers.”

Rafe falters, his eyes widening in surprise. “Sweetheart, I got you a croissant.”

“Ben got me a coffee,” you hedge. “And flowers.”

��Y/N,” he placates.

“Rafael,” you echo, unperturbed by his exasperation. You take a sip your coffee. “I’ll see you later, okay? Ben’s ticking off a good deed this morning.”

Poor Ben looks helpless, taking the brunt of Rafe’s glare as you motion for him to hold the door for you.

“C’mon Ben, we’re going to be late.”

“But…” Ben pauses, his eyes flitting to Rafe nervously. “This is fine, right?”

Rafe sighs, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth in defeat. “Yeah, bro. You’re good.” He looks to you, then. “You’re unbelievable.”

You smile sweetly. “I’m wearing the Lulu leggings.”

“Oh I noticed,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes falling down your figure in slow, reverent paces. “It’s why I want to be the one holding the door for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Men only want one thing.”

Rafe grins. “Yeah. You.”

—

By the end of the week, you’re more used to the chivalry than you’re willing to admit.

You’ve enjoyed free iced lattes and filled your dorm with gorgeous bouquets, no door left unopened and no walk to class left unescorted. And really, every pledge you’ve come across has been pleasant and unassuming, albeit absolutely terrified of Rafe and therefore extra obliging on instinct.

They’ve even offered to do favours for you, got you into sought after Pilates classes and done last minute grocery runs on your behalf. It’s put you in this constant state of mild exasperation, like you can’t believe you’re worthy of this much love and chivalry.

It’s exactly the way you felt back in high-school with Rafe, and this revelation pulls lots of funny feelings from your stomach, from your chest. Feelings you’ve forgotten that are all yours and all his. Because it’s strange, having someone other than Rafe taking care of you. (Or Noah.) It’s strange because it makes you realise just how much he adored you back in the day.

These emotions come to a head at the pledge week closing bash, Delta Phi lit up with fluorescent lights in technicolour. Inebriation ensues, beer pong follows, and an impromptu DJ deck plays endless songs with heavy bass.

Rafe Cameron has you pulled close, as always, the taut muscle of his forearm pressing heat to your exposed waist. You’re a few drinks down and hyperaware of his proximity, ankles touching, thighs too, torsos close with your head resting on his shoulder.

“I think I like Dylan the best,” you announce suddenly.

“Yeah?” Rafe asks, kneading your skin absentmindedly.

You nod. “He’s sweet. Told me all about his girl back home.”

Rafe grins then, shaking his head bemusedly. “You’re such a sucker for love, sweetheart.”

“Hey!” You glare up at him faux-incensed, looking accusatory. “So are you!”

“Shhhh,” Rafe murmurs playfully. “Not so loud, you’ll fuck up my street cred.”

You scoff. “Since when do you care about street cred?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Rafe agrees easily, leaning down to draw your lips in for a kiss. He’s all patchouli and musk, beer on his tongue and unchaste intentions in his touch. When he pulls away, his lips are still an inch from yours, his voice rougher than it was a second ago, “I don’t care. Like, at fucking all.”

“Good,” Noah snorts from behind him. “‘Cause you never had any to begin with, bro.”

“There you are,” you say then, eyeing Noah over Rafe’s shoulder. There’s a mock accusatory expression on your face, softened by mirth and the alcohol on your lips. “Have you been hiding from me, White?”

Noah grins sheepishly, taking a pull of his beer. “Maybe.”

You narrow your eyes. “Tell me. When did you become worse than Rafael?”

“I didn’t become worse!” Noah insists. “He just became better. You know, after he got the girl.”

You make a face. “Smooth.”

“Hey,” Noah raises his arms in surrender, looking faux-somber, “someone’s gotta teach the next generation, don’t they? I’m committed to their education.” He raises his eyebrows then, a mischievous glint in his eye. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t love it.”

Rafe grins. “She totally fucking loved it.”

You aim a glare at the pair of them, failing miserably at hiding your amusement. “So maybe I didn’t mind it. Sue me.”

“Of course you loved it,” Noah says, throwing his arm around you and pulling you into his side. “You love Cameron, don’t you?”

You narrow your eyes. “Opinions vary.”

“You love me?” Noah tries.

“You fucking wish.”

“Everyone fucking wishes,” Rafe says then, throwing his arm around you too, your figure wedged between the pair of them. Frat boy sandwich, you think tiredly. If high-school you could see you now, you’re pretty sure she’d have an aneurysm. “Especially when you’re in Lululemon.”

“Rafe.”

“I’m kidding. Not really. They all love you, you know that, yeah?”

You look up at him questioningly. “The pledges?”

“Uh huh,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows at you. “This is what I was afraid of, you know.”

“What?” You ask, lifting yours in tandem.

“Everyone falling in love with you, like I did in high school.”

You scrunch up your nose at him, your cheeks warming in diffidence. “No one’s fallen in love with me, don’t be silly.”

“I have,” Noah pipes up unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Noah. I saw you talking to Georgia just before.”

Noah grins, pulling away and offering you a mock salute. “Guilty as charged.” He turns to survey the crowd, spotting her figure on the fairy-light lit porch. “Speaking of…”

And he’s gone before you’re able to tease him any further, leaving Rafe to guide you out of his side and into his chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, his hands exerting a warm, steady pressure into the curve of your waist.

“As I was saying,” you continue, frowning up at him playfully. “No one’s fallen in love with me.”

Rafe’s unconvinced. His gaze skates down your figure again, a tortured groan falling from his throat. “Have you seen you, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, face hot and self conscious. “And even if they have,” you add, “it doesn’t matter.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “It doesn’t?”

“No way. Because I’m in love with you, not any of them.”

Rafe grins then, a devastatingly handsome look on his face. “I’ll never get used to hearing that.”

“I’ll never get used to saying it.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe x reader

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allzelemonz · 1 year ago

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His Boy, Part 9: Found

Dutch Van der Linde X Male Reader X Colm O’Driscoll

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Pronouns: he/him Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Violence Warnings: Mentions of dub-con of another chapter, possessive behavior, past relationship, Reader is an asshole O’Driscoll, shootout Summary: Colm and the boys come to rescue you.

Dutch puts his arm over you as the gunfire picks up. He takes the chance to look around, finding no immediate danger. You push his arm off of you and sit on the ground, your head still pounding and the rest of the pain coming back with it. Dutch peers between a few of the boards that aren’t so close together and just as he turns to you, a voice shouts over everything.

“Dutch Van der Linde!” Colm shouts. “Come on out, Dutch.”

The lantern isn’t anywhere near bright enough to see Dutch’s expression, but you’d bet on anger.

“Unless ya want, uh…” Colm pauses. “Mister Williamson here ta die.”

“Bill…” Dutch mutters. “Damn it.”

“He seemed like a nice guy, Dutch.” You take a deep breath. “Take me out there, let us leave, and never talk to us again.”

“Are you telling me what to do?”

“Yes, your majesty.” You grunt, trying to stand on weak legs that once again feel the pain Dutch inflicted. “There are people in this gang I still care about and I don’t want hurt, so let’s go.”

“Ya got ten seconds, Dutch!”

He doesn’t move for a few of those precious seconds, then he grabs your arm and pulls you in front of him. You feel his arm tight around your middle and a gun pressed to your head as he kicks the door open and walks. Outside, there are a lot of people. The Van der Lindes are all under cover and most of the O’Driscolls hide in the trees. But Colm, he stands out in the open as if nothing can touch him. It worries you more than anything.

Colm settles a scowl on his face at the sight of you and Dutch. “Hand him over ‘fore I blow this handsome fella’s head off.”

Beside him, Bill struggles against the hold of two large O’Driscoll boys. Danny and Lars. You made a point to know everyone’s name a long time ago, at least to make sure they get labeled graves.

“Nice ta see you, Colm.” Dutch shouts, straining your ear. “Why don’t you boys move on, you’re outgunned here.”

Colm shakes his head. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere without what’s mine.”

Dutch’s arm tightens around you.

“Be reasonable, Dutch.” You huff. “No one has to die tonight. Not you, not Colm, not your boys, no one.”

You can feel his hand shake, the gun against your head wavering. Dutch, for all his smarts, gets stressed easily and bringing up the possible death of his family really hits the bullseye. At least enough for you to throw your head back and, from the sound, break his nose. Shots ring out as you scramble behind something. You don’t care about much now aside from getting Colm and the boys out of here, just hoping there’s minimal shooting in the process.

So you move fast, keeping behind things until you can run around the trees and reach one of the boys. Sam, you think, he’s new. He sees you, recognition thankfully covering his face.

“You have a gun I can use?”

He nods. “Yeah, yeah, boss.”

He hands you a revolver and the weight is comforting after being tied up for days. You can see him a few yards away, ducked behind a rock. Colm’s alive. You wind through the trees until you reach him, not bothering to try and shout over the gunfire.

He grins as he pulls you close. “That was a beautiful sight, sugar.”

You return the smile. “We gotta go, Colm. No point in fighting this out.”

“We could kill Dutch, sweetheart. Make him pay.”

You hold his cheek to make him look at you. “Our boys are no match for his, we need to go. We can always find the son of a bitch again.”

Colm looks at you for a moment before he nods. “Fine, let’s get you safe, sugar.”

He whistles and slowly the boys retreat with you, running off into the trees. Colm grips your hand, leading you to his horse and helping you on. From there the boys split off to keep the path to camp indirect. You keep your arms tight around Colm and his hand settles to hold yours on his stomach as he rides. It’s a long journey, you're not sure when your head leaned against Colm’s back or when your eyes closed, but you fall asleep fast.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption x male reader #x reader #x male reader #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x male reader #colm o'driscoll #colm o'driscoll x reader #colm o'driscoll x male reader

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mynameisjessejk · 7 days ago

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Ayas' Quest - A Missing Flock

As the sun tipped from beside to above, Ayas let the ever-present idea of Celyn's view of the world turn his attention to the green hills and riotous palatte of autumn leaves. It was beautiful here, and he was sorry Celyn was missing it.

They crested the lip of a hill and turned down into a wide, winding valley. "Idyllic," Ayas grumbled, and turned Ember slightly to follow his sense of the Hunt.

"Sir Knight!"

Ayas clenched his jaw, and then eased it, and turned Ember towards the voice. He managed to smile Celyn's smile at the woman. "How may I assist?" he asked the young man. Boy, really, Ayas thought.

"Please sir," the youth said earnestly. "Can you help us?"

"Of course," Ayas said, just as Celyn would have, never mind how his mind yearned northward. He dismounted and led Ember closer to the boy.

There was a great aluant at the boy's side, and his white coat was marked with blood. He rested his muzzle on the boy's thigh quite gently, for all his terrifying visage.

"The wolves came in the night," the boy explained. "And Troy kilt three and run the others off, but the flock scattered."

"Troy?" Ayas asked.

The alaunt chuffed, low and easy.

The boy's ears pinked. "Troilus, proper, sir."

"A fine name," Ayas said, hiding his smile. "For a fine hound." He bowed gravely to the hound, and then inclined his head to the boy. "I'm Celyn," he said, for he was, for now.

"Colle, sir," the boy answered, bowing. "Can you help us?"

"As best I can," Celyn promised.

"Thisaway," Colle said, beckoning.

Ayas and Ember followed.

"Hup," Colle added, to Troilus.

They left Ember at a small farmhouse, where Colle explained that his ma was at work spinning, and his sisters and Da had already split off in their directions to search for the flock.

Ayas let the boy point him off into the hills, and then he obligingly hiked off to find sheep. Colle had been full of information about sheep as they'd walked to the house, and given very good directions into the valley, but as Ayas left Colle and Troilus to go in another direction, he was not entirely certain what he was meant to do if he found the sheep.

Ayas had been pondering this conundrum for nearly an hour when a sharp whistle split the misty air of the valley. Figuring that was clear enough, Ayas turned back towards the homestead.

"Sir Celyn!" Colle cried cheerfully as he tramped back into the yard.

"Sir, thank you kindly for joining the hunt," the man who had to be Colle's Da said warmly.

"Gladly," Ayas answered. "Have you found the flock, then?"

Colle's Da nodded. "We're on the way out to run 'em back, now. If you've the time for it, another pair of legs would be mighty helpful."

Ayas nodded despite the sinking in his stomach. "Lead the way. And tell me what to do," he added ruefully. "I've never herded sheep before."

The family teased him good-naturedly as they made their way along. Colle had three sisters, all older than he, and Troilus had a companion-hound, a sleek black-and-white creature aptly called Cressida.

Sheep, it quickly became clear, did not like Ayas. Which made moving them easier in some ways, but their hurry to escape him sometimes had negative repurcussions.

"Nudd's bastard," Ayas growled as he toppled down a steep bank into a mudslick.

"Careful!" Colle called.

Ayas huffed. "Care is not my problem," he said, grinning ruefully as he righted himself. "Clean is my problem."

"My Cath'll right that, if you'll stay for supper," Colle's Da offered as Cressida neatly funneled the line of sheep into the waiting field, fence repaired after the flock's nighttime destruction. "The least we can do."

Ayas nodded. "You honor me," he replied, and let them guide him in to supper, determined they would never know how reluctant he was.

#jessewrites #november novel #the witch of the west mere-land

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hazel-of-sodor · 2 years ago

Text

A Screech in the Night

Ch.10 Theft

Other Chapters

The smallest and oldest tender engine on the Uman and Din was Avon. A small 2-4-0 built by the original Great Western Railway before the turn of the century, before grouping, she was a shy, quiet engine who preferred to listen to others rather than speak herself.

One could be forgiven for expecting such an engine to flee at the mere sight of 4702, but instead, she could often be found alongside the eldritch giant, enjoying the companionable silence.

Avon hauled the stopping local passenger along the line. In recent years she had been joined by Enid upon the younger engines purchase, but before that, Avon had managed the service alone since her arrival in 1917, long before most of her fleet mates had been built.

Screech had noticed the exact details of her arrival were vague at best. One day she'd been headed for the scrapyard, the next she was being overhauled at Swindon for service on the Uman and Din. Screech suspected the U&D's controller, Miss Morgan, was involved but knew better than to push. Even decades later, the woman was a force to be reckoned with. They'd met only briefly, but Screech was left with a sneaking suspicion that crossing the manager would be a grave mistake even for one of her existence. By all accounts, the woman had run the railway through her late husband before grouping and had been the one to wear down the other railway into selling her the line and its current engines.

On this night, Screech had run late with the last freight due to the other railway's train arriving over an hour late. She'd managed to make up nearly 30 mins when she pulled into the Uman yards, but it was still well past dark when she approached the shed.

A group of youths had noticed her absence and decided to take advantage in order to steal parts. Enid had stood guard, but her whistles had gone unnoticed as the workers had been busy unloading the late train. The engines in the shed glared at the youths carrying off arm-fulls of metal parts. None had noticed the unnaturally silent approach of the Eldritch giant in favour of a disagreement playing out.

A girl stood between Avon and the rest of the teens. "We are not stealing parts off of her! That's too far..."

"Oh shut up Molly." A boy snapped, the girl glaring at the name, "It's no different. It's not actually alive. It's just a machine that should have been scrapped years ago."

"How can you say that!" The girl demanded, the engines' angry rumbling behind her.

"Easily." The leader said uncaring, "as easily as reminding you who's in charge will be if you don't move"

"I'm afraid it won't be so easy as that."

Both youths and engines froze as the stalking beast made herself known.

The youths tried to run, but Screech flicked a large tendril and sent all but the girl flying across the yard, smashing into a pile of old pallets.

"Gywn if you would be so kind as to call someone to collect the hooligans."

A few tried to scramble free of the pallets before Screech continued, "Preferably before I grow hungry."

The youths in the pallets quickly decided the pile of broken pallets was far too comfortable to leave, and that they should stay where they were as Gwyn went to call the authorities

Screech turned her attention back to the girl trembling between Avon's buffers.

"Now little thief, what is your name?"

The girl gulped nervously, "Mali, it's Mali Miss Screech."

"Well little thief, it seems despite your good heart, you cannot be trusted to keep out of trouble. My driver used to say idle hands are the devil's playthings. Would you perhaps agree?"

Mali quickly nodded her agreement to the looming behemoth.

"How wonderful. Well then, it would be quite irresponsible of me to leave you with so much time on your hands then, would it not? You will be here with the firelighters before dawn for your shift. They will keep you busy and out of trouble, so you can be the upstanding young woman you clearly already know how to be."

The young woman swallowed nervously, "Yes, thank you Miss Screech."

"Of course. Now run along little thief, you need sleep before your shift begins, and I would hate to need to come looking for you."

Freda laid a hand on Screech's cabside as she leaned out. "Wait at our car, dear. We'll drive you home."

"Thank you, Miss Jones." Mali slowly slid around Avon's buffers, keeping as much distance between her and the Eldritch Giant as possible, sprinting for the car when Screech began chuckling.

Avon smiled fondly at the girl's retreating back, "I like her."

"Indeed."

Screech shimmered as she flipped to face the other direction, backing slowly into her spot.

Enid was smirking at her.

Screech eyed the little tank engine tiredly.

"I saw those tendrils catch the youths right before they hit." She teased.

"The Lady has tolerated my existence thus far. I have no delusions that would remain to be so if I were to harm a child."

Enid's grin grew larger, "admit it. You're a big softie."

Screech reached a tendril above Enid, the tank engine watching curiously. The tendril lightly tapped the wooden beams of the shed room above her, turning them translucent.

Enid screeched as snow rained down on her from the newly intangible roof. Screech tapped the roof back into place as Enid trembled under the snow. The whisper cackling at the tank engine's predicament.

"I believe you'll find me quite cold-hearted my dear."

#U&D #U&DR #Uman and Dim #Uman and Dim Railway #ttte fanfic #rws fanfic #fanfic #eldritch engine #eldritch train #engines that go bump in the night

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gay-mormon-wizard · 7 months ago

Text

"May" by John Clare

Come queen of months in company

Wi all thy merry minstrelsy

The restless cuckoo absent long

And twittering swallows chimney song

And hedge row crickets notes that run

From every bank that fronts the sun

And swathy bees about the grass

That stops wi every bloom they pass

And every minute every hour

Keep teazing weeds that wear a flower

And toil and childhoods humming joys

For there is music in the noise

The village childern mad for sport

In school times leisure ever short

That crick and catch the bouncing ball

And run along the church yard wall

Capt wi rude figured slabs whose claims

In times bad memory hath no names

Oft racing round the nookey church

Or calling ecchos in the porch

And jilting oer the weather cock

Viewing wi jealous eyes the clock

Oft leaping grave stones leaning hights

Uncheckt wi mellancholy sights

The green grass swelld in many a heap

Where kin and friends and parents sleep

Unthinking in their jovial cry

That time shall come when they shall lye

As lowly and as still as they

While other boys above them play

Heedless as they do now to know

The unconcious dust that lies below

The shepherd goes wi happy stride

Wi moms long shadow by his side

Down the dryd lanes neath blooming may

That once was over shoes in clay

While martins twitter neath his eves

Which he at early morning leaves

The driving boy beside his team

Will oer the may month beauty dream

And cock his hat and turn his eye

On flower and tree and deepning skye

And oft bursts loud in fits of song

And whistles as he reels along

Crack[ing] his whip in starts of joy

A happy dirty driving boy

The youth who leaves his corner stool

Betimes for neighbouring village school

While as a mark to urge him right

The church spires all the way in sight

Wi cheerings from his parents given

Starts neath the joyous smiles of heaven

And sawns wi many an idle stand

Wi bookbag swinging in his hand

And gazes as he passes bye

On every thing that meets his eye

Young lambs seem tempting him to play

Dancing and bleating in his way

Wi trembling tails and pointed ears

They follow him and loose their fears

He smiles upon their sunny faces

And feign woud join their happy races

The birds that sing on bush and tree

Seem chirping for his company

And all in fancys idle whim

Seem keeping holiday but him

He lolls upon each resting stile

To see the fields so sweetly smile

To see the wheat grow green and long

And list the weeders toiling song

Or short not[e] of the changing thrush

Above him in the white thorn bush

That oer the leaning stile bends low

Loaded wi mockery of snow

Mozzld wi many a lushing thread

Of crab tree blossoms delicate red

He often bends wi many a wish

Oer the brig rail to view the fish

Go sturting by in sunny gleams

And chucks in the eye dazzld streams

Crumbs from his pocket oft to watch

The swarming struttle come to catch

Them where they to the bottom sile

Sighing in fancys joy the while

Hes cautiond not to stand so nigh

By rosey milkmaid tripping bye

Where he admires wi fond delight

And longs to be there mute till night

He often ventures thro the day

At truant now and then to play

Rambling about the field and plain

Seeking larks nests in the grain

And picking flowers and boughs of may

To hurd awhile and throw away

Lurking neath bushes from the sight

Of tell tale eyes till schools noon night

Listing each hour for church clocks hum

To know the hour to wander home

That parents may not think him long

Nor dream of his rude doing wrong

Dreading thro the night wi dreaming pain

To meet his masters wand again

Each hedge is loaded thick wi green

And where the hedger late hath been

Tender shoots begin to grow

From the mossy stumps below

While sheep and cow that teaze the grain

will nip them to the root again

They lay their bill and mittens bye

And on to other labours hie

While wood men still on spring intrudes

And thins the shadow solitudes

Wi sharpend axes felling down

The oak trees budding into brown

Where as they crash upon the ground

A crowd of labourers gather round

And mix among the shadows dark

To rip the crackling staining bark

From off the tree and lay when done

The rolls in lares to meet the sun

Depriving yearly where they come

The green wood pecker of its home

That early in the spring began

Far from the sight of troubling man

And bord their round holes in each tree

In fancys sweet security

Till startld wi the woodmans noise

It wakes from all its dreaming joys

The blue bells too that thickly bloom

Where man was never feared to come

And smell smocks that from view retires

Mong rustling leaves and bowing briars

And stooping lilys of the valley

That comes wi shades and dews to dally

White beady drops on slender threads

Wi broad hood leaves above their heads

Like white robd maids in summer hours

Neath umberellas shunning showers

These neath the barkmens crushing treads

Oft perish in their blooming beds

Thus stript of boughs and bark in white

Their trunks shine in the mellow light

Beneath the green surviving trees

That wave above them in the breeze

And waking whispers slowly bends

As if they mournd their fallen friends

Each morning now the weeders meet

To cut the thistle from the wheat

And ruin in the sunny hours

Full many wild weeds of their flowers

Corn poppys that in crimson dwell

Calld 'head achs' from their sickly smell

And carlock yellow as the sun

That oer the may fields thickly run

And 'iron weed' content to share

The meanest spot that spring can spare

Een roads where danger hourly comes

Is not wi out its purple blooms

And leaves wi points like thistles round

Thickset that have no strength to wound

That shrink to childhoods eager hold

Like hair-and with its eye of gold

And scarlet starry points of flowers

Pimpernel dreading nights and showers

Oft calld 'the shepherds weather glass'

That sleep till suns have dyd the grass

Then wakes and spreads its creeping bloom

Till clouds or threatning shadows come

Then close it shuts to sleep again

Which weeders see and talk of rain

And boys that mark them shut so soon

will call them 'John go bed at noon

And fumitory too a name

That superstition holds to fame

Whose red and purple mottled flowers

Are cropt by maids in weeding hours

To boil in water milk and way1

For washes on an holiday

To make their beauty fair and sleak

And scour the tan from summers cheek

And simple small forget me not

Eyd wi a pinshead yellow spot

I'th'2 middle of its tender blue

That gains from poets notice due

These flowers the toil by crowds destroys

And robs them of their lowly joys

That met the may wi hopes as sweet

As those her suns in gardens meet

And oft the dame will feel inclind

As childhoods memory comes to mind

To turn her hook away and spare

The blooms it lovd to gather there

My wild field catalogue of flowers

Grows in my ryhmes as thick as showers

Tedious and long as they may be

To some, they never weary me

The wood and mead and field of grain

I coud hunt oer and oer again

And talk to every blossom wild

Fond as a parent to a child

And cull them in my childish joy

By swarms and swarms and never cloy

When their lank shades oer morning pearls

Shrink from their lengths to little girls

And like the clock hand pointing one

Is turnd and tells the morning gone

They leave their toils for dinners hour

Beneath some hedges bramble bower

And season sweet their savory meals

Wi joke and tale and merry peals

Of ancient tunes from happy tongues

While linnets join their fitful songs

Perchd oer their heads in frolic play

Among the tufts of motling may

The young girls whisper things of love

And from the old dames hearing move

Oft making 'love knotts' in the shade

Of blue green oat or wheaten blade

And trying simple charms and spells

That rural superstition tells

They pull the little blossom threads

From out the knapweeds button heads

And put the husk wi many a smile

In their white bosoms for awhile

Who if they guess aright the swain

That loves sweet fancys trys to gain

Tis said that ere its lain an hour

Twill blossom wi a second flower

And from her white breasts hankerchief

Bloom as they ne'er had lost a leaf

When signs appear that token wet

As they are neath the bushes met

The girls are glad wi hopes of play

And harping of the holiday

A hugh blue bird will often swim

Along the wheat when skys grow dim

Wi clouds-slow as the gales of spring

In motion wi dark shadowd wing

Beneath the coming storm it sails

And lonly chirps the wheat hid quails

That came to live wi spring again

And start when summer browns the grain

They start the young girls joys afloat

Wi 'wet my foot' its yearly note

So fancy doth the sound explain

And proves it oft a sign of rain

About the moor 'mong sheep and cow

The boy or old man wanders now

Hunting all day wi hopful pace

Each thick sown rushy thistly place

For plover eggs while oer them flye

The fearful birds wi teazing cry

Trying to lead their steps astray

And coying him another way

And be the weather chill or warm

Wi brown hats truckd beneath his arm

Holding each prize their search has won

They plod bare headed to the sun

Now dames oft bustle from their wheels

Wi childern scampering at their heels

To watch the bees that hang and swive

In clumps about each thronging hive

And flit and thicken in the light

While the old dame enjoys the sight

And raps the while their warming pans

A spell that superstition plans

To coax them in the garden bounds

As if they lovd the tinkling sounds

And oft one hears the dinning noise

Which dames believe each swarm decoys

Around each village day by day

Mingling in the warmth of may

Sweet scented herbs her skill contrives

To rub the bramble platted hives

Fennels thread leaves and crimpld balm

To scent the new house of the swarm

The thresher dull as winter days

And lost to all that spring displays

Still mid his barn dust forcd to stand

Swings his frail round wi weary hand

While oer his head shades thickly creep

And hides the blinking owl asleep

And bats in cobweb corners bred

Sharing till night their murky bed

The sunshine trickles on the floor

Thro every crevice of the door

And makes his barn where shadows dwell

As irksome as a prisoners cell

And as he seeks his daily meal

As schoolboys from their tasks will steal

ile often stands in fond delay

To see the daisy in his way

And wild weeds flowering on the wall

That will his childish sports recall

Of all the joys that came wi spring

The twirling top the marble ring

The gingling halfpence hussld up

At pitch and toss the eager stoop

To pick up heads, the smuggeld plays

Neath hovels upon sabbath days

When parson he is safe from view

And clerk sings amen in his pew

The sitting down when school was oer

Upon the threshold by his door

Picking from mallows sport to please

Each crumpld seed he calld a cheese

And hunting from the stackyard sod

The stinking hen banes belted pod

By youths vain fancys sweetly fed

Christning them his loaves of bread

He sees while rocking down the street

Wi weary hands and crimpling feet

Young childern at the self same games

And hears the self same simple names

Still floating on each happy tongue

Touchd wi the simple scene so strong

Tears almost start and many a sigh

Regrets the happiness gone bye

And in sweet natures holiday

His heart is sad while all is gay

How lovly now are lanes and balks

For toils and lovers sunday walks

The daisey and the buttercup

For which the laughing childern stoop

A hundred times throughout the day

In their rude ramping summer play

So thickly now the pasture crowds

In gold and silver sheeted clouds

As if the drops in april showers

Had woo'd the sun and swoond to flowers

The brook resumes its summer dresses

Purling neath grass and water cresses

And mint and flag leaf swording high

Their blooms to the unheeding eye

And taper bowbent hanging rushes

And horse tail childerns bottle brushes

And summer tracks about its brink

Is fresh again where cattle drink

And on its sunny bank the swain

Stretches his idle length again

Soon as the sun forgets the day

The moon looks down on the lovly may

And the little star his friend and guide

Travelling together side by side

And the seven stars and charleses wain1

Hangs smiling oer green woods agen

The heaven rekindles all alive

Wi light the may bees round the hive

Swarm not so thick in mornings eye

As stars do in the evening skye

All all are nestling in their joys

The flowers and birds and pasture boys

The firetail, long a stranger, comes

To his last summer haunts and homes

To hollow tree and crevisd wall

And in the grass the rails odd call

That featherd spirit stops the swain

To listen to his note again

And school boy still in vain retraces

The secrets of his hiding places

In the black thorns crowded cops~e1

Thro its varied turns and stops

The nightingale its ditty weaves

Hid in a multitude of leaves

The boy stops short to hear the strain

And 'sweet jug jug' he mocks again

The yellow hammer builds its nest

By banks where sun beams earliest rest

That drys the dews from off the grass

Shading it from all that pass

Save the rude boy wi ferret gaze

That hunts thro evry secret maze

He finds its pencild eggs agen

All streakd wi lines as if a pen

By natures freakish hand was took

To scrawl them over like a book

And from these many mozzling marks

The school boy names them 'writing larks'

Bum barrels twit on bush and tree

Scarse bigger then a bumble bee

And in a white thorns leafy rest

It builds its curious pudding-nest

Wi hole beside as if a mouse

Had built the little barrel house

Toiling full many a lining feather

And bits of grey tree moss together

Amid the noisey rooky park

Beneath the firdales branches dark

The little golden crested wren

Hangs up his glowing nest agen

And sticks it to the furry leaves

As martins theirs beneath the eaves

The old hens leave the roost betimes

And oer the garden pailing climbs

To scrat the gardens fresh turnd soil

And if unwatchd his crops to spoil

Oft cackling from the prison yard

To peck about the houseclose sward

Catching at butterflys and things

Ere they have time to try their wings

The cattle feels the breath of may

And kick and toss their heads in play

The ass beneath his bags of sand

Oft jerks the string from leaders hand

And on the road will eager stoop

To pick the sprouting thistle up

Oft answering on his weary way

Some distant neighbours sobbing bray

Dining the ears of driving boy

As if he felt a fit of joy

Wi in its pinfold circle left

Of all its company bereft

Starvd stock no longer noising round

Lone in the nooks of foddering ground

Each skeleton of lingering stack

By winters tempests beaten black

Nodds upon props or bolt upright

Stands swarthy in the summer light

And oer the green grass seems to lower

Like stump of old time wasted tower

All that in winter lookd for hay

Spread from their batterd haunts away

To pick the grass or lye at lare

Beneath the mild hedge shadows there

Sweet month that gives a welcome call

To toil and nature and to all

Yet one day mid thy many joys

Is dead to all its sport and noise

Old may day where's thy glorys gone

All fled and left thee every one

Thou comst to thy old haunts and homes

Unnoticd as a stranger comes

No flowers are pluckt to hail the now

Nor cotter seeks a single bough

The maids no more on thy sweet morn

Awake their thresholds to adorn

Wi dewey flowers-May locks new come

And princifeathers cluttering bloom

And blue bells from the woodland moss

And cowslip cucking balls to toss

Above the garlands swinging hight

Hang in the soft eves sober light

These maid and child did yearly pull

By many a folded apron full

But all is past the merry song

Of maidens hurrying along

To crown at eve the earliest cow

Is gone and dead and silent now

The laugh raisd at the mocking thorn

Tyd to the cows tail last that morn

The kerchief at arms length displayd

Held up by pairs of swain and maid

While others bolted underneath

Bawling loud wi panting breath

'Duck under water' as they ran

Alls ended as they ne'er began

While the new thing that took thy place

Wears faded smiles upon its face

And where enclosure has its birth

It spreads a mildew oer her mirth

The herd no longer one by one

Goes plodding on her morning way

And garlands lost and sports nigh gone

Leaves her like thee a common day

Yet summer smiles upon thee still

Wi natures sweet unalterd will

And at thy births unworshipd hours

Fills her green lap wi swarms of flowers

To crown thee still as thou hast been

Of spring and summer months the queen.

#may #poetry #may poetry

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themadscene · 8 months ago

Text

Caravaggio: Swirl & Vortex by Larry Levis

In the Borghese, Caravaggio, painter of boy whores, street punk, exile & murderer, Left behind his own face in the decapitated, swollen, leaden-eyed head of Goliath, And left the eyelids slightly open, & left on the face of David a look of pity

Mingling with disgust. A peach face; a death mask. If you look closely you can see It is the same face, & the boy, murdering the man, is murdering his own boyhood, His robe open & exposing a bare left shoulder. In 1603, it meant he was available,

For sale on the street where Ranuccio Tomassoni is falling, & Caravaggio,

Puzzled that a man would die so easily, turns & runs.

Wasn't it like this, after all? And this self-portrait, David holding him by a lock Of hair? Couldn't it destroy time if he offered himself up like this, empurpled, Bloated, the crime paid for in advance? To die before one dies, & keep painting?

This town, & that town, & exile? I stood there looking at it a long time.

A man whose only politics was rage. By 1970, tinted orchards & mass graves.

The song that closed the Fillmore was "Johnny B. Goode," as Garcia played it, Without regret, the doors closing forever & the whole Haight evacuated, as if Waiting for the touch of the renovator, for the new boutiques that would open—

The patina of sunset glinting in the high, dark windows.

Once, I marched & linked arms with other exiles who wished to end a war, & . . . Sometimes, walking in that crowd, I became the crowd, &, for that moment, it felt Like entering the wide swirl & vortex of history. In the end,

Of course, you could either stay & get arrested, or else go home.

In the end, of course, the war finished without us in an empty row of horse stalls

Littered with clothing that had been confiscated.

I had a friend in high school who looked like Caravaggio, or like Goliath— Especially when he woke at dawn on someone's couch. (In early summer, In California, half the senior class would skinny-dip & drink after midnight

In the unfinished suburb bordering the town, because, in the demonstration models, They finished the pools before the houses sold. . . . Above us, the lush stars thickened.) Two years later, thinking he heard someone call his name, he strolled three yards

Off a path & stepped on a land mine.

Time's sovereign. It rides the backs of names cut into marble. And to get Back, one must descend, as if into a mass grave. All along the memorial, small Offerings, letters, a bottle of bourbon, photographs, a joint of marijuana slipped

Into a wedding ring. You see, you must descend; it is one of the styles Of Hell. And it takes a while to find the name you might be looking for; it is Meant to take a while. You can touch the names, if you want to. You can kiss them,

You can try to tease out some final meaning with your lips.

The boy who was standing next to me said simply: "You can cry. . . . It's O.K., here."

"Whistlers," is what they called them. A doctor told me who'd worked the decks Of a hospital ship anchored off Seoul. You could tell the ones who wouldn't last By the sound, sometimes high-pitched as a coach's whistle, the wind made going

Through them. I didn't believe him at first, & so then he went into greater Detail. . . . Some evenings, after there had been heavy casualties & a brisk wind, He'd stare off a moment & think of a farm in Nebraska, of the way wheat

Bent in the wind below a slight rise, & no one around for miles. All he wanted, He told me, after working in such close quarters for twelve hours, for sixteen Hours, was that sudden sensation of spaciousness—wind, & no one there.

My friend, Zamora, used to chug warm vodka from the bottle, then execute a perfect Reverse one-&-a-half gainer from the high board into the water. Sometimes, When I think of him, I get confused. Someone is calling to him, & then

I'm actually thinking of Caravaggio . . . in his painting. I want to go up to it

And close both the eyelids. They are still half open & it seems a little obscene

To leave them like that.

#larry levis #caravaggio

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m-blackwell-and-associates · 1 year ago

Text

Do the job.

They called it Cleaning the Grave.

Whenever the family abandoned a territory, it was emptied of anything that could be tied back to even the most distant cousin. Almost as if the family business never existed in the first place. It worked the same when there was a transfer of power. After everyone that could still be of any use was parceled out to whichever family needed them most, the erasing began. Accounts were emptied and closed. Businesses were shuttered. Merchandise sold. Vehicles stripped and scattered. Buildings burned.

Bodies buried.

Simple, really. Loose ends had a way of tangling up. They caused problems down the line. Leaving unfinished business was unprofessional.

Nicky pulled up to the curb before the warehouse and paused for a moment considering the job that waited inside. His cousin John shifted restlessly in the passenger seat. The kid was new at this line of work. He still had nerves that could be ruffled. Not that anyone was going to ask Nicky’s opinion but until the kid found some inner grit, he was never getting the Proxy. Nicky wasn’t entirely sure why the uncles expected him to mentor this arrogant little shitstain, but he wasn’t going to let the pissant fuck up a job this simple.

“Stay here.” Nicky made to get out of the car.

“But I - “

“Stay here. If this goes sideways, go back to the loggia and tell Cassandra what happened.”

John’s face darkened, insulted to be reduced to a glorified messenger boy. “Family doesn’t travel alone.”

“I’m not fucking traveling. I’m going into that building, cleaning up, and leaving. You get out of this car, I’ll fucking shoot you myself.”

His cousin sank in his seat, not cowed but at least he was listening. Shoot a fucker once, they’ll listen the next time you tell them to do something. Nicky got out of the car.

The warehouse was mostly empty, only a corner of the building lit at this pre-dawn hour. Anything worth taking had already been shipped out. Now it was whatever couldn’t make a profit. Everything inside the building now was an acceptable loss. In the half light, he could see a knot of men arguing with each other. When they had left the previous day, the building had been full and business had been steady. They didn’t know what it meant, but they were agitated.

Nicky didn’t feel like explaining. What was the point? Wasn’t going to make them feel any better about what was coming. He drew his gun and fired. Two of the men fell where they stood, unaware that their death had come from them. The rest of the men scattered, some wearing the blood of their former compatriots as the animal instinct to seek cover took over. Nicky followed that scent deeper into the echoing warehouse, picking them off one by one. He could hear the rapid staccato of their heartbeats, see the fear-bright colors of their aura, each one snuffing out like a candle with a single shot.

“Nicky, please!” cried a voice from within a pile of crates. “I got a girl! We’re expecting a kid!”

Nicky stopped, lowering the gun just a fraction. “What’s her name?”

“Rosa! Rosa Gonzalas!” The man’s whistling fearful breathing suddenly bloomed with hope. “We were going to get hitched after this last job! I swear I won’t say anything, Nicky! I swear! We’ll leave the city. We’ll leave the state! Anything! Please, Nicky!”

Nicky waited for a moment, zeroing in on where the last of his former employees crouched. “Where’s this Rosa?”

“21st and Western.” The man panted, slowly rising to his feet in the gloom. His hands were up and out, signaling his surrender with joyful hope on his face.

“I’ll take care of it,” Nicky said. And fired.

The man dropped.

John was still waiting for him in the car like he was supposed to. “How’d it go?”

Nicky didn’t like small talk. “When we get back, I want you to head to St. John’s and have some papers drawn up for a Rosa Gonzalas. Life insurance. Full ride. Whole nine yards. Trust fund for the kid.”

“Why the fuck for? Did one of them give you some song and dance about being a family man? They all say that when the cleaning crew comes in. For someone called ‘the Butcher’ you’re awfully soft - “

The last of the kid’s words were cut off when Nicky shoved the barrel of the gun into his mouth. John struggled and choked, but couldn’t break free.

“Here’s the thing,” Nicky said in reasonable tones. “What happened tonight was business. Nothing personal. In another twenty years after a good life, that kid is going to be grateful for the company keeping him and his mother out of the gutter. He’s going to want to keep that good life and when the opportunity to pay it all back and to take care of his mother comes around, he’s going to jump at it. And be grateful. And loyal. Who the fuck knows if you’ll still be here to see it,” Nicky pushed the gun in a little further, making John flail and gag. “But whatever outfit the new don is running might need a man of those skills. Its called the long con.”

Nicky pulled the gun out of John’s mouth and rested it on this thigh, starting the ignition. The kid spluttered and gasped, trying to recover from his humiliation and brush with death. They pulled away from the curb as the sound of sirens began to wail.

#amwriting #authors #clan giovanni #familia #fiction #flash fiction #m blackwell & associates #no one hates you like family #owbn #vampire #Nicky Giovanni #cleaning #hitman #Chicago by Night #OC #long con #v:tm

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yuichi-ro · 3 years ago

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kay kay kay kay so. watched the first six episodes of fire force. here are my unfiltered thoughts as you have to suffer through them.

SHINRA IS MY BABY BOY NOW ajsjks pls he is sooooo cute he gets all the kisses i wanna pinch his chubby cheeks he gets tiddie sucking privileges.

arthur gets a hate peg. good comedic relief, not my type tho but stuffing his mouth would be fun.

takehisa hinawa is the guy id take home to meet my parents. he gets my hand in marriage. we stan a dependable man.

maki is a goddess oh my god. can she bench press me??? please??? god she is so funny and hot i love her.

the captain (akitaru? smth like that) is fine too, not my cup of tea tho.

tamaki is already getting on my nerves and i hope i never have to see her shitty face ever again but as she is in the intro, i am afraid i will have to see her more often :’). god how can a character be this annoying she embodies the worst of everything. she can go die in a fire for sure lmao.

princess hibana? nah QUEEN HIBANA. i am but gravel at her feet, idk about others but she is right🤷‍♀️ kindaaaa getting the gay vibes from her and iris. that would be a fun threesome. i definitely need a tr setting where reader’s gang is like hibana’s harem lmao thats just perfect tbh.

speaking of iris, she is fine too but only like her in combination with queen hibana.

okay but calling it now already with no knowledge, the brother of shinra ain’t dead. “no bones were found” yep sounds like he got abducted by some dudes from prob the first squad and is now on the enemy’s side and we will see him fighting shinra. god i watch too much shows man.

overall very good i enjoy it a lot probably gonna continue watching it as i finish making my dreaded dinner.

went to the carwash on thursday and changed tires on friday and. the entire time. no bird poo. literally after i cleaned it in the night from thursday to friday? bird poo on top of my fugging roof. bc i cant have nice things smh

don’t mind me screaming about shinra imma be quiet already but fuck he is so adorable😭😭😭

ill prob send in more thoughts as i continue watching lolol

-🌌momo

SHINRA IS BEST BOI AND SHINRA WILL ALWAYS BE BEST BOI LIKE IT'S JUST ILLEGAL TO NOT LIKE HIM 'M SORRY HE'S GOLD STAR STATUS BESTEST BOY FOREVER AND ALWAYS

not a plug but idk if you ever saw my shinra fic from the other blog, always a goldie even if it's an oldie

those be fighting words for the wife she adores Arthur (after ironically hating him, wow sounds like Kisaki 🙄) But also six episodes in is not a good rep of Arthur. Nor is just going off his relationship with Shinra. I'm not much of a "dumb rivals" trope kinda person so their constant bickering irritates me. But once you get Vulcan (the red head beefy guy w/tattoos) Arthur is better bc their friendship/relationship is so gay I love it (especially if you pick up the manga it's real gay)

hinawa always gives me a boner like that's the one I wanna ruin. I need to corrupt him. I need to stretch him. I need it

again, much like Shinra, I feel like it's illegal not to like Maki? Like if you dislike Maki are you just satan yourself? Big beefy woman who wants to be tiny and feminine but learns to love herself? Yes yes to all that we stan Maki here forever and always

obi (the captain) is that character that's very likable but I feel like every straight woman in a fandom with a shitty boyfriend like him. He's just hetero/straight girl bait that he's not my type either but I do like him and would like to work out with him

playing the devils advocate (as a manga reader) Tamaki's character growth should have been what it ends up being from the beginning. But it's very apparent (like Obi) that she was the straight male gaze fan service. The fandom is pretty divided on Tamaki as you'll find out. Her character growth is really important and speaks volume to the way people slut shame but then on the other hand it takes a long time (like end of season two) for Okubo to do that for her. She's so so and she reads better than she watches ngl

how outwardly gay Hibana and Iris are is just like?? my favorite thing??? It's so gay they so clearly had first time crushes on each other?? just?? I love that ship so much I'll always die on that lesbian hill. But I do like Hibana. I love her and Obi's sibling interaction the more we get of them. They're like nit picky brother and sister and I love it

me likes Iris. I've always liked Iris. Less of a crush thing and more of I vibe with the way she thinks. I too carry immense crushing feelings in myself and try to never talk to anyone about them.

I'm totally bias but Fire Force is so binge-able in both anime and manga form. The transitions to arcs. The connections between even just season 1 to season 2. The lore and everything. It's very addictive and I will not lie I'm excited for you to get the scientist and the eye patch smoking dude. I do really think you'll like them idk I just feel it in my bones that you'll be a Joker and Viktor fan. They are....questionable at best. But funny so it's worth it XD

not me biting my nails for you to get to season two bc I'm not ready for your first impressions of my hubby of husbands 😂

#kurono is......not everyones cup of tea #ok im pretty sure he's literally only my cup of tea #HE'S NOT AS WEIRD AS HE'S MADE TO LOOK I SWEAR #but yes shinra is best boy and he is gold tier of what i expect my main characters to be like #actually shinra is probably why i tolerate noe #they would be dumb determined brothers together and i would like them #honestly fire force is one of those animes/mangas that i like most the characters #about the only one that irritates me is the whistle dude but thats bc of the whistle #i love karim hes another church boy questioning his beliefs I fell hard for <3 #also excited for you to meet vulcan bc....well....that is literally my twin #in body and spirt and soul and birthday XD #vulcan and i are one and im a little creeped out in fact #so if you hate vulcan i'll have to sob in the corner bc we're 90% the same personality XD #RIP to the bird poop #my cars like a bug grave yard istg #I would trade all the bug guts for poop bc i cant scrape these dead bitches off Dx #pls i wait with baited breath for more fire force thoughts <3 #🌌.♡#three.talks

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quicksilverownsmysoul · 3 years ago

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Sweet Dreams Are Made of This pt. 9

Dark! Peter x Fem Reader (Mob AU)

Summary: Peter has felt like a piece of him has been missing ever since he was taken away from his mother to be raised by his father. But when you seem to fill that piece there’s no way he’s ever letting you go

Warnings: obsessive behavior, mentions of angst

Word Count: 3k

Peter had cried himself to sleep, exhausted from the day that he had. And when he awoke he found that you had tired yourself out as well. You lashes tickling his cheek, and soft breaths escaping through your slightly parted lips.

He looked at your sleeping face, thinking about how lovely you were and yet how confused you must have been to leave him like that. He shifted so he was laying in between your legs, his arms holding you up as he leaned over your face. You made a noise of discomfort in your sleep and he hoped that you would awake and talk with him. He loved just being in your presence, but it was no fun when you were asleep and he was awake. It meant you couldn't give him the attention he so desperately craved and he had to entertain himself with wild thoughts and outlandish ideas.

That's how he ended up fully convincing himself that your escape was not of your own doing. He had done it earlier in his hysterical thoughts but now that his mind was clear he had ruled you innocent and decided that your actions were unwilling and forced. Someone in the manor must have threatened you and told you that they’d hurt you if you didn't leave.

There was no way you could have found the passhe, he didn't even know it was there for the longest time. Someone must have shown you that passage at the end of the hall. And he had recalled only ever seeing one X-men try to exit through there. That person was Scott Summers, he curled his lip in disgust as if the very name created a sour taste in his mouth without even uttering a single syllable.

He remembered the night Scott had tried to escape, Peter was about 15 at the time, Scott was about 18 and just newly introduced to the house. He was brought as you were brought. He was for Jean though, her episodes were getting worse and nothing seemed to calm her. She had admitted to knowing Scott prior to joining the manor and his father thought it might help to bring him in.

So he was brought, scared as you were but relieved upon seeing Jean. He had thought she was the same as he had remembered, but he was gravely mistaken. This new version of her scared him, she was far more powerful than he had remembered, while he had suppressed his powers she grew her’s, becoming one of the most powerful pawns in his father’s game.

So he had tried to leave. Peter was in Hank’s study when he heard the creak of something out in the hall. He had figured it was Hank coming up after talking with Raven. He opened the door to see Scott, wide eyed and perched in the hole in the wall. Picture thrown open as the wind whistled from the outside world. Peter just watched as Scott whispered hushed prayers to him, begging him not to tell and telling him that he could come with him if he wanted. They could escape together, Scott promised, tears in his eyes.

Peter had thought about it for a moment, the image of his mother, although blurry was pulled from the back of his memory. He thought of her and stepped forward, for a moment thinking of how it would feel to finally be back home. He was still a boy and he was still scared and longed for the comfort of a mother. But the movement caused a pain to go up his back, reminding him of what would happen if orders were disobeyed.

So Peter had called for Hank, alerting the house of Scott’s escape. Scott had jumped out the window in haste, but he didn't make it far. In falling he had broken his leg, Peter had watched from the opening as he limped across the yard before being stopped by the others. Hank had come up the stairs and led Peter down to the courtyard by the scruff of his neck. Jean was sitting cradling Scott in her arms as everyone tried to calm her down.

When Jean saw Peter she just knew that he had been the one to yell, causing Scott to jump. She turned on him, blaming him for it and he stood still letting her. She knew she couldn't touch him; the worst she could do was yell. And she did, she yelled until Erik came down from the manor and the courtyard fell silent.

Erik had been looking upon the scene from the topmost window of his room, seeing how Scott had fallen and how Jean was inconsolable because of it. He had carefully undid the latch of the windows and descended down, making an entrance as he always did, stunning the masses.

Everyone fell silent as they awaited his judgment. He made sure that everyone was present to hear his verdict, not even letting Scott go to the hospital ward as Jean requested. He turned on Peter and he awaited the blow that would surely be dealt. But a ripple of shock was sent through all the tenants when a hand was placed upon his shoulder. It was a gentle clasp, an act of kindness was rarely shown by Erik to anyone.

Erik was approving of his actions, as wrong as they were. Because it was the first step Peter had taken towards obedience and following in his father’s footsteps. He wanted to be revolted by the touch, he wanted to apologize to Jean and Scott but he couldn't. It was the first time Peter had been shown affection by a parent in over three years, and the smile his father gave him sent a wave of pride through him. He realized that he would do anything for the feeling of belonging and acceptance, even at the expense of others. And he did, moving up the ranks of the organization, and in time he was his father’s pride and joy. Though he never let Peter know that.

But there was a shifting in his loyalties, Peter was starting to realign himself with a new cause and that was you. He didn't realize it but in refusing to give you up the way he had done to Scott, hsi father was beginning to lose his hold on him. And it was only the beginning.

The sun was setting, his father would be back soon and dinner would be served. A meal that he couldn't miss, especially after refusing breakfast this morning. Peter leaned down close, letting his lips ghost over yours. He gently laid them against yours and let his eyes flutter shut, a warm feeling surging through him. Even in your sleep he was wrapped around your finger, slumping against your body as a soft whimper was pulled from his throat. It didn't feel the same as it had before.

His movements had pulled you from your slumber, craning your neck back as you felt his cold lips tickle your neck. “You’re awake,” He mumbled against your skin.

He stopped his movements as he leant back, his lips pouted as if he was silently asking for you to return the same affection he had given you. After what happened you figured you owned him as much, you gently gripped his face by his chin, tilting his head from side to side as you kissed either cheek. His eyes were half lidded at the feather like kisses, You pressed your last one to the mole on the tip of his nose and a shiver ran down his body.

When he fully opened his eyes, he gave you a lazy smile and helped you up to your feet. Pulling you close as he had done before. Arms too close, and hands held too tight. ‘Peter?” He gave you a little hum to know that he was listening. “About what happened earlier-”

“Don’t.” He interrupted with a smile. You were taken aback by his simple answer.

“But I-”

“Don’t.” He repeated.

You opened your mouth only to close it. You didn't want to know what he meant by that. You both walked in silence back to the house. It was as if he was trying to deny what had happened didn't happen at all. He didn't even want to entertain the idea, and you were right.

Peter was already erasing your escape from his memory, and he replaced it with his own version. The day had gone by with you reading to him in the library and you both walking out to the courtyard and falling asleep together. It lingered in the back of his mind, reminding him that that was a lie but if he focused enough it didn't seem real.

Peter held the door open for you and you both entered awkwardly hand in hand. You could hear the bustle of life coming from the dining room and smell the awaiting food that was being set out. You were lucky enough to have avoided Breakfast with Erik and lunch with the manor. But the rumble in your stomach told you that it wouldn't be possible to skip dinner.

You walked towards the dining room and found that all the chairs were nearly filled. Everyone was seated and talking among themselves in hushed whispers. The chatter died out as they watched you approach, none dared to snicker at the way you had to stumble to walk with Peter due to his hold on you being far too restricting. But you knew they were taking it all in and formulating their smart remarks to share with one another later.

Peter led you to the chair he had sat in last time and motioned to the one to the right of it, signaling that that would be where you would sit. He had pulled your chair out for you to sit and you had, both of you sitting for only a moment before a screeching of chairs was heard. You scrambled to get up as Peter pulled you up by your conjoined hands.

You were about to ask him for the reason behind his sudden movement but you chose to follow his gaze and the gaze of everyone else. The main doors of the mansion were being opened, Erik entered followed by Hank and a girl you didn't recognize with fiery red hair and sunken piercing eyes. You all remained staining as Erik handed his coat off and strided across the marble tiling towards the chair at the opposite end of the table. Erik sat and all eyes shifted towards Peter. He did the same, he was still holding your hand so you were left standing awkwardly with your arm angled down at his sitting form.

Erik let out an amused snicker before waving his hand in a dismissive manner. Everyone else took their seats and Peter half pulled you back down to yours.

As you had expected, meals in the manor felt more like a business meeting than a meal shared between family and friends. Seating was the same as it had been when you had first arrived, Erik sat where he had the far end and Peter sat at the other as he had done before. T

he middle chair where you once sat was now occupied by many amore and you felt yourself longing for the protected length of space. Now your chair was right next to Peter’s. He had pulled it so close you were almost sitting right next to him, if the arm of the chair wasn't there you would be one move away from being in his lap. You didn’t bother to move over, not wanting to upset him anymore than you already had today.

You kept your head bowed as you ate, face burning with embarrassment, you felt as if you were some exciting oddity at a zoo or museum. Something new for them to gawk at for their own amusement. You figured that it had been a while since someone new had been introduced, you had gathered that Scott was the most recent member. Peter kept your hand in his as you both ate, forcing you to eat with only one hand. And you let him not wanting to cause a scene. A scene you knew would occur if you dared to move from where he had had you placed.

Other than the occasional remark about the food by Erik or a question by an unknown person, or a mumble of agreement there wasn't a conversation exchanged. Even when the questions were open ended and not so subtly directed at you, you didn't speak at all, you knew it wasn't your place to do so. So you ate in silence, listening to who asked who what and trying to better understand who each of these people were.

Initially you had planned on using this meal as a chance to try and find Scott. But you didn't even dare try to find Scott at the table, you could feel Peter’s gaze on you as if challenging you to look anywhere but him. Peter however was staring daggers at Scott. He would send menacing glares down the table and Scott felt as if a shiver was going up his spine at the hard gaze. But every time he tried to find where it was coming from Peter was busy staring at his food or at you.

“So.” Erik started, setting his napkin down on the table as he folded his hands in front of him. His half-lidded gaze was staring down the table, eyes shifting lazily between you and Peter. “Would either of you like to tell me about (y/n)’s escape?”

Taglist: @joshdunstoothbrush75 @enemy-of-wonkru @coffeeandteaintheevening @livingmybestfictionallife @amourtentiaa @madison05x @rottenstyx @raincoffeeandfandoms @ietss @cursedandromedablack @castielsguardianangel22 @nightlockcornucopia @usuck @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @darlingevanpeters @whyisaah @derangedcupcake @hollandlover19 @urfavtemptress @emmylovesxmen @violate-larmon

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imagineredwood · 3 years ago

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“Show them the eyeballs you put at the bottom.”

Summary: Due to a security threat, Miguel has cancelled any outside Halloween plans you may have made, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t celebrate with the crew.

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x female reader

Warnings: None really

Word count: 566

A/N: I really enjoyed this one

"What do you think?"

Miguel smiled warmly at you, resting his hand on the back of your head as he pressed his lips to your temple.

"I think you did a wonderful job, mi amor. They're even better than the pictures you showed me and I'm sure they taste better too."

You grinned as he spoke to you, his beard tickling your skin as his lips moved. You felt proud of your work as you looked down at the ghost-shaped rice crispy treats, plucking off one of the brown M&M eyes and holding it up to Miguel. He took the treat from you, chewing it with a smile as he looked down at the other trays. You followed his eyes and then happily explained further.

"These are rice-crispy treats too, but they're mummies. Then these,"

You held up the white chocolate-covered pretzel that had been dyed orange with a little blob of great frosting at the top.

"Are supposed to be pumpkins, but the stems got a little messed up."

You transitioned onto the other or well executed treats quickly, going down the line and picking up one of the clear glass cups.

"This is supposed to be like a grave, you know? The pudding is the earth, then the crushed up Oreos are dirt, and then it's got gummy worms crawling out of the grave."

Miguel chuckled, both at the creation as well as your enthusiasm, thankful that you had managed to find a way to still enjoy Halloween despite not going to a party or usual outings. Tensions had been high recently and Miguel had forbidden any unnecessary outside interactions, especially in a large crowd. He had felt bad, but you had taken it on the chin knowing it was for safety, and instead had opted to have your own laid-back Halloween party, only with you, Miguel, and the security crew.

They were all in on it, Miguel having told them so they could entertain you, and they were all excited to try the various snacks you had spent the entire afternoon making. Dinner was already finished, the kitchen clean, and now you had all of the snacks laid out for them to come and eat. You grabbed one of the ghost rice crispy treats and held it up to Miguel's mouth just as you had done with the M&M, your husband gladly taking the decorated treat from you and taking a bite, grinning as he looked over the pumpkin on your orange shirt, tiny candy corns littered across your black shorts.

"Cutest pumpkin I've ever seen."

"What about my socks?"

He looked down at your feet, not having noticed the black socks with giant candy corns on them. He chuckled and took another bite of the rice crispy treat.

"You have enough socks, but I'll let it slide since they match."

Your eyes sparkled as you looked at him, arms wrapping around his middle in a soft hug.

“Do you think the guys will want some now?”

He nodded and whistled, Nestor making his way in first followed by the others. Your smile was ear to ear as they all grabbed plates and began filling them with the different treats, compliments and thanks being hurled your way. Your smile brought one to Miguel’s and he kissed the side of your head lovingly, gently pushing you forward to start serving the smoking green punch from the cauldron.

“Show them the eyeballs you put at the bottom.”

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @elcococruz @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @iambabyharry @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @saturnsaree @multiyfandomgirl40 @destynelseclipsa @sadeyesgf @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben @all-the-boys-to-the-yard @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark

Mayans MC taglist

@dazzledamazon @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24 @angelreyesgirl @wrcn9fvlcver @peaches009 @capt-canadian @thesandbeneathmytoes @krysiewithak @darklingveracruz @appropriate-writers-name @cind-in-real-life @blessedboo @montanaraed @kkim120 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @emoengelfurleben @blowmymbackout @abby-splace @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @redpoodlern @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark @danimals1096

Miguel taglist

@omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @maciiiofficial @jatriciaaa @black-repunzel99 @ben-c-group-therapy @witchygagirl @xonickibaby @berniesilvas @myakai13 @fanfictiontrash9

#miguel galindo #miguel galindo x reader #Mayans MC #October 2021 drabble event #mayans imagine #imagines #miguel x reader #soft!miguel

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discarnateohio · 4 years ago

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My friend and I have an interesting historical/paranormal excursion coming up this Saturday. We're taking self-tour of some local legendary historical and haunted locations I've been researching for some time...

THE POST BOY MURDER 1825:

Whoo boy, this is a good one - the story behind this alleged haunting is wild but it's 100% true!

There's so much more to this crazy story about the murder, and the trial and execution that followed, but here's a write-up from our local paper that will tell you enough:

Part 1

Part 2

The haunted part:

I've been researching this story for 3 years and by reading the court testimony and cross-referencing historical maps I've located almost every landmark mentioned in the witness accounts during the trial.

The entire length of Post Boy Road (red to red):

The key events and landmarks related to the murder that day stretch along the western half, in Post Boy Hollow:

We're going to retrace the key players' steps of that day leading up to, during, and immediately following the murder.

Also, just last week I FINALLY figured out exactly where both victim Cartmill's and killer Funston's gravesites are. They both were buried in old family plots that aren't marked on any maps and their locations aren't mentioned in detail anywhere. All I had to go on was that Cartmill was buried in the private Brown family farm plot "on the banks of the Tuscarawas", and that Funston was buried somewhere on or near his family's home - but there is no Funston name on any of the historical plat maps, so apparently they didn't actually own it, which really made things difficult. It took me 3 years of scouring local history on the internet for clues and comparing historical maps to figure them out. Funston is hidden away in the woods and Cartmill is in the front yard of a house a mile or so south of Stone Creek. We're going to visit those, too.

On a related note: The railroad that ran through the tiny whistle-stop known as Post Boy Station that popped up with its arrival in the 1850's didn't exist at the time Cartmill was killed, but during my research I kept seeing mentions of a nearby railroad tunnel near the hollow called Post Boy Tunnel, and people today posting photos of their visits to a tunnel alleged to be PBT. But the location of their tunnel wasn't making sense to me because look at this postcard:

It clearly says PBT was located south of Newcomerstown, and the one people have posted about isn't SOUTH of town, it's actually about 8 miles NORTHEAST by Stone Creek. Why would that be PBT? There's also no curve at SCT. There had to be another tunnel. So I started looking at Google Maps using terrain view to look for defunct track beds. The tracks are long gone and thick woods completely cover most of the area, but on terrain view you can still see the track beds. I followed the old track bed north from Post Boy Station and only a mile or so up, just south of town, you can see the tunnel, with a curve just outside the north end! I found the ACTUAL, totally-forgotten Post Boy Tunnel.

It's twice as long as Stone Creek Tunnel (about 1,000 ft. compared to SCT's 500-600 ft.) and completely hidden by thick forest. I'm sure the entrances have been filled in, but we're going to hike down from the ridge above and take a look in person.

BONUS - Post Boy Sasquatch?? 🤔

I wonder if she was at the real PBT or actually at Stone Creek like the others. I kind of think she had to be at the real one because SCT is right next to a busy county road, with the freeway nearby on the other side. If Bigfoot exists, he's got no cover there.

OLD STONE FORT:

There's a tiny little 14'x14' stone stone fort halfway between Newcomerstown and Coshocton that nobody knows the exact origin of. It's just been there for at least as long as the land it's on has been farmed. Maybe much longer, since the time when the whole state of Ohio was nothing but untamed wilderness. Some experts think it could be the oldest building in Ohio, dating as far back as the 1600's. Others are of the opinion that it's from the mid to late 1700's. But it's for sure ONE of the oldest. Whichever the case, it's a fascinating and mysterious little structure.

It sat abandoned for over a century and by the early 1900's the door had rotted away and roof had colĺapsed. The stone walls remained solid, though, and in 1953 it was restored by the Coshocton County Historical Society and designated a historical site.

We don't know of any reports of paranormal activity happening there, but it's a cool piece of local history and as good a place as any for an EVP sesh and to practice with our equipment and new investigation ideas for future G.H.O.S.T. team investigations.

HAUNTED WINDING STAIRS ROAD:

Just south of Port Washington, Ohio is a reportedly-haunted winding, narrow dirt road, about 2 miles long. Very creepy, being totally enveloped by thick woods for most of its length, and so treacherous in winter the county closes most of it off. There are a few homes on the very southern end where it hits a cross road - that section isn't ever closed down afaik but the other 4/5ths of it is just this:

People have reported strange, extremely-localized weather occurrences (heavy rainstorms when nothing was experienced in town just 1/2 mile north or any of the immediately-surrounding area). Occult/Satanic rituals were supposedly held in the woods along the road in the 70's and 80's. And "radios in vehicles traveling the road change stations on their own and cell phones ring to have either a demonic voice speaking or a high-pitched crackling. Strange furry creatures have also been reported to run in front of vehicles along the road."

HAUNTED CEMETERY:

Just across that crossroad at the south end of Winding Stairs is a very old, small cemetery surrounded by thick woods that's reportedly haunted. The township still mows the grass there but the gravestones are crumbling and it's isolated and otherwise basically forgotten except by us creepy-locale enthusiasts. People have mainly reported seeing black shadow figures rising up and wandering among the graves.

Can't wait, should be fun! I'll post pics and videos after.

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dailyanneofgreengables · 2 years ago

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Chapter 2: Matthew Cuthbert is Surprised (part 1)

Matthew Cuthbert and the sorrel mare jogged comfortably over the eight miles to Bright River. It was a pretty road, running along between snug farmsteads, with now and again a bit of balsamy fir wood to drive through or a hollow where wild plums hung out their filmy bloom. The air was sweet with the breath of many apple orchards and the meadows sloped away in the distance to horizon mists of pearl and purple; while

“The little birds sang as if it were

The one day of summer in all the year.”

Matthew enjoyed the drive after his own fashion, except during the moments when he met women and had to nod to them—for in Prince Edward island you are supposed to nod to all and sundry you meet on the road whether you know them or not.

Matthew dreaded all women except Marilla and Mrs. Rachel; he had an uncomfortable feeling that the mysterious creatures were secretly laughing at him. He may have been quite right in thinking so, for he was an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beard which he had worn ever since he was twenty. In fact, he had looked at twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of the grayness.

When he reached Bright River there was no sign of any train; he thought he was too early, so he tied his horse in the yard of the small Bright River hotel and went over to the station house. The long platform was almost deserted; the only living creature in sight being a girl who was sitting on a pile of shingles at the extreme end. Matthew, barely noting that it was a girl, sidled past her as quickly as possible without looking at her. Had he looked he could hardly have failed to notice the tense rigidity and expectation of her attitude and expression. She was sitting there waiting for something or somebody and, since sitting and waiting was the only thing to do just then, she sat and waited with all her might and main.

Matthew encountered the stationmaster locking up the ticket office preparatory to going home for supper, and asked him if the five-thirty train would soon be along.

“The five-thirty train has been in and gone half an hour ago,” answered that brisk official. “But there was a passenger dropped off for you—a little girl. She’s sitting out there on the shingles. I asked her to go into the ladies’ waiting room, but she informed me gravely that she preferred to stay outside. ‘There was more scope for imagination,’ she said. She’s a case, I should say.”

“I’m not expecting a girl,” said Matthew blankly. “It’s a boy I’ve come for. He should be here. Mrs. Alexander Spencer was to bring him over from Nova Scotia for me.”

The stationmaster whistled.

“Guess there’s some mistake,” he said. “Mrs. Spencer came off the train with that girl and gave her into my charge. Said you and your sister were adopting her from an orphan asylum and that you would be along for her presently. That’s all I know about it—and I haven’t got any more orphans concealed hereabouts.”

“I don’t understand,” said Matthew helplessly, wishing that Marilla was at hand to cope with the situation.

“Well, you’d better question the girl,” said the station-master carelessly. “I dare say she’ll be able to explain—she’s got a tongue of her own, that’s certain. Maybe they were out of boys of the brand you wanted.”

He walked jauntily away, being hungry, and the unfortunate Matthew was left to do that which was harder for him than bearding a lion in its den—walk up to a girl—a strange girl—an orphan girl—and demand of her why she wasn’t a boy. Matthew groaned in spirit as he turned about and shuffled gently down the platform towards her.

She had been watching him ever since he had passed her and she had her eyes on him now. Matthew was not looking at her and would not have seen what she was really like if he had been, but an ordinary observer would have seen this: A child of about eleven, garbed in a very short, very tight, very ugly dress of yellowish-gray wincey. She wore a faded brown sailor hat and beneath the hat, extending down her back, were two braids of very thick, decidedly red hair. Her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, which looked green in some lights and moods and gray in others.

So far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen that the chin was very pointed and pronounced; that the big eyes were full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lipped and expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short, our discerning extraordinary observer might have concluded that no commonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman-child of whom shy Matthew Cuthbert was so ludicrously afraid.

Matthew, however, was spared the ordeal of speaking first, for as soon as she concluded that he was coming to her she stood up, grasping with one thin brown hand the handle of a shabby, old-fashioned carpet-bag; the other she held out to him.

“I suppose you are Mr. Matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables?” she said in a peculiarly clear, sweet voice. “I’m very glad to see you. I was beginning to be afraid you weren’t coming for me and I was imagining all the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up my mind that if you didn’t come for me to-night I’d go down the track to that big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn’t be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don’t you think? You could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn’t you? And I was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn’t to-night.”

Matthew had taken the scrawny little hand awkwardly in his; then and there he decided what to do. He could not tell this child with the glowing eyes that there had been a mistake; he would take her home and let Marilla do that. She couldn’t be left at Bright River anyhow, no matter what mistake had been made, so all questions and explanations might as well be deferred until he was safely back at Green Gables.

“I’m sorry I was late,” he said shyly. “Come along. The horse is over in the yard. Give me your bag.”

“Oh, I can carry it,” the child responded cheerfully. “It isn’t heavy. I’ve got all my worldly goods in it, but it isn’t heavy. And if it isn’t carried in just a certain way the handle pulls out—so I’d better keep it because I know the exact knack of it. It’s an extremely old carpet-bag. Oh, I’m very glad you’ve come, even if it would have been nice to sleep in a wild cherry-tree. We’ve got to drive a long piece, haven’t we? Mrs. Spencer said it was eight miles. I’m glad because I love driving. Oh, it seems so wonderful that I’m going to live with you and belong to you. I’ve never belonged to anybody—not really. But the asylum was the worst. I’ve only been in it four months, but that was enough. I don’t suppose you ever were an orphan in an asylum, so you can’t possibly understand what it is like. It’s worse than anything you could imagine. Mrs. Spencer said it was wicked of me to talk like that, but I didn’t mean to be wicked. It’s so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn’t it? They were good, you know—the asylum people. But there is so little scope for the imagination in an asylum—only just in the other orphans. It was pretty interesting to imagine things about them—to imagine that perhaps the girl who sat next to you was really the daughter of a belted earl, who had been stolen away from her parents in her infancy by a cruel nurse who died before she could confess. I used to lie awake at nights and imagine things like that, because I didn’t have time in the day. I guess that’s why I’m so thin—I am dreadful thin, ain’t I? There isn’t a pick on my bones. I do love to imagine I’m nice and plump, with dimples in my elbows.”

#chapter 2 #2.1 #anne of green gables #anne daily #anne of green gables daily

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

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[CN] Lucien’s R&S - The victim who disappeared (Eng Translation)

🍒This R&S (消失的遇难者) was part of the Dream Heart Lake event which will unlikely come to EN🍒

Angst warning!

More Lucien R&S from this event:

> regarding what books don’t say (important to read this first!)

> my love rival older brother

> the victim who disappeared ♡

> since that rainy night

[ Chapter One ]

Recently, the girls in the precinct have been addicted to a variety program called “Miracle Finder”. When it’s time for lunch, there’d be a bunch of them piling in front of the computer screen, watching and exclaiming.

Filled with curiosity, I lean over to take a look. The girls immediately stop me, recommending it fervently.

“Captain Fan, do you watch this program too?”

“This week’s guest is Professor Lucien. He looks so handsome!”

I shake my head in resignation. “You girls only know how to look at appearances the whole day.”

“Captain Fan, you can’t say that! Our Professor Lucien became a neurologist at a very young age.”

“Exactly, exactly! He’s also a guest professor at Loveland University!”

“Sigh. If I had such a handsome teacher back then, I’d have definitely worked hard.”

Watching the girls chat, I can’t help but tease them. “Don’t all of you have an even more handsome-looking superior? It isn’t too late to start working now.”

The moment I finish speaking, their exclamations completely cover my words. Seems like the young and gifted “Professor Lucien” they’ve been talking about has appeared on the screen. Seeing his refined manner and gentle appearance, I actually feel a sense of familiarity.

“Hurry and look! Even Captain Fan is dazed!”

“We were right, weren’t we? Doesn’t he have an especially good temperament!”

The crinkled and smiling eyes of that boy in my memories overlap with the person on screen. That unresolved case which almost disappeared finally has a favourable turn after so many years. Even though I know that the chances are slim, I still wish to grasp this new lead.

“What’s his name again?”

“Oh? Wasn’t Captain Fan completely uninterested just now?” The girls notice the change in my attitude, becoming enthusiastic in an instant. They start introducing him, their words pouring out in an unceasing torrent. “His name is Lucien, a neurologist who returned after studying abroad. I heard that the thesis he released at twenty was published in an internationally renowned science magazine...”

“Isn’t he just as intelligent as that boy?” I mutter softly, the hope in my heart brightening by a few notches.

Although the name doesn’t fit, if that child managed to survive after that incident 19 years ago, it feels as though he would have gone down such a life path.

“Uncle has worked very hard. Kid, have you been doing your best over the years too?”

Even though I’m unable to find concrete evidence to make public the incident 19 years ago, the least I could do is to shed some light on the truth concerning that kid and his family.

In the midst of a cruel reality mixed with tears and blood, and the truth which cannot be found, the me of the past finally decided to step out of the days of living in a wasteland, plunging deeper into a depthless pool of truth.

[ Chapter Two ]

At night, I dreamt of that day yet again.

It was that boy’s 7th birthday.

Early in the morning on that day, he had headed out with his parents. Before he left, he specially gave me an invitation card to his birthday party in the evening.

He rarely revealed the innocent smile a kid should have. Instead, his mouth remained merciless, saying something unadorable. “I’ve already spoken with my dad. Tonight, he can tell you how to play chess. If you don't improve in your chess skills, I won’t know how to play with you anymore.”

I snatched the invitation card in his hand in an impolite manner, deliberately provoking him. “You’ll have to make do with it, little genius. I’m the only one who’s willing to play with you.”

In a huff, he ran over to where his parents were waiting for him not afar off. Taking their hands, they left while talking and laughing.

I rarely saw this busy couple accompanying their child outside over the weekend. They must have taken a day off from work specially for his birthday.

“Kid, have fun!”

“Mm.”

“Also, happy birthday!”

“Thank you, Brother Fan.”

His parents and him turned around to wave goodbye at me, the three of their smiles under the sunlight, sparkling and bright.

On hindsight, I should have given him his present then.

It was a sci-fi novel which was popular amongst kids, and I’d frequently see children gathered in the yard discussing it together. Although I didn’t know if that kid liked reading other books aside from those profound science materials, I felt it wouldn’t hurt for him to engage with things people his age liked.

He was still a child. From the bottom of my heart, I hoped that he could live a little more like a child.

However, this wish that I never said aloud was completely shattered by that car accident.

That evening, which should have filled with presents, cake, and the sound of birthday songs, only welcomed pattering and whistling rain, as well as blood stains on the asphalt road which couldn’t be washed off even with a scrub.

Sirens from the ambulance and police cars intertwined. Mixed with the sharp cries of passers-by, they composed the saddest and shrillest background music.

[ Chapter Three ]

“Oh my goodness, that’s so horrifying! Those two people are covered in blood!”

“Let’s leave, it’s too pitiful.”

The crowd in the surroundings remarked in soft voices, showing sympathy towards the victims they weren’t acquainted with.

The incident happened on the road outside our estate. After receiving the task, I rushed over to the scene. When I saw the names of the casualties, I was both shocked and had a flicker of hope in my heart, praying that they were people who happened to share the same names. However, after confirming the identities of the two bodies underneath the white cloth, coldness rushed through my body--

Those were the parents of the little genius.

In just the blink of an eye, the couple who had greeted me with warm smiles had turned ice cold, lying in a pool of blood. I didn’t dare to imagine how such a young kid would be able to face such a cruel reality, and my insuppressible tears, along with the rain, drenched my face.

The captain came over to pat me on the shoulder, consoling me with a lowered voice. “Settle your emotions, and do a proper investigation.”

I nodded my head silently, lifting my hand to wipe my tears away. After that, I started taking down records of what the witness had to say.

The witness was a boss of a news-stand nearby, around 45 years of age. He was in a state of fright, hugging his elbows and shivering.

I asked if he needed a rest before supplementing the record, but he shook his head repeatedly, saying that it’d be better to record it early, since he wouldn’t want to recollect such a horrifying image afterwards.

According to his description, the cause of the accident was a large truck which had lost control. It was yet to be confirmed whether the reason for the loss of control was due to a human error, or the slippery road.

After realising that there was an issue with the truck, the driver had frantically tried to turn. But in the end, it still ended up hitting the family of three who were walking on the zebra crossing.

The three of them were sent flying a great distance. The places where they fell turned into pools of blood not long after.

As for what happened after, the boss of the news-stand expressed that he didn’t pay attention due to fright.

After handing him over to the medical personnel to console his emotions, I continued making notes for the next witness.

The images described by all the witnesses were virtually the same. From the various indications of the scene, this tragedy could have been a normal traffic accident.

When I finished making the records, the scene was more or less cleaned up. After wrapping up my work, I inquired about which hospital the boy was taken to. But I was notified that no injured child was found on the scene.

“How’s that impossible! That sketchbook over there belongs to him! That boy suffered such grave injuries - where else could he have gone!”

Agitatedly, I pointed at the exhibits collected, one of them a sketchbook coated in blood. At a glance, I recognised it as the book that boy would carry with him all day. That’s because the flower garland on the cover was a work he was proud of, and it was exactly the same as the one drawn on his birthday invitation card this morning.

He was definitely at the scene when the accident happened. Also, he definitely couldn’t have left on his own.

“Has the scene been investigated? Are there any other suspicious areas or areas we’ve overlooked?”

"Didn’t all the witnesses say there was a family of three at the scene? There’s definitely one more kid!”

“How much time passed after the incident before the scene was cordoned off? Could the kid have been taken away before that?”

I tossed out points of contention in succession, but the expressions of my colleagues remained confused and blank. In a moment of anxiousness, I burned with impatience and went to check the surveillance tape on my own. However, I didn’t notice any suspicious people entering or exiting the scene before or after the incident.

I didn’t have a single clue regarding his whereabouts, and could only hold onto hope as I contacted his relatives one by one.

They were generally not from the city. Most of them didn’t even know that the family had met with an accident, much less the whereabouts of the boy. After consoling their emotions, I hang up dejectedly, turning back to the scene of the incident.

The police cars stationed around earlier had long since left, and traces left on the asphalt road had been washed clean by the rain. Everything returned to peace and quiet, as though nothing had happened. Only the lingering grief served as a reminder that it wasn’t over yet--

The sudden car accident, the missing child, the ignorant relatives - all of these seemed to remind me that this wasn’t a simple traffic incident.

Without any orderliness, I started investigating the vicinity, imagining countless times for that smart fellow to suddenly lunge out from a dark corner, telling me that this whole thing was just a prank he pulled.

However, that didn’t happen. Even after checking every corner of the large streets and small alleys, I ended up empty-handed.

In the end, I sat down tiredly along the side of the road, looking at the pitch-black sky as it started turning into a grey dawn.

Although it was dawn, the truth of the matter would forever be hidden in that dark night.

All my hopes and hopelessness fell into pieces, leaving behind a maze of doubts, akin to a dense fog.

[ Chapter Four ]

On the morning of the second day, without even washing my face, I headed to the news-stand to buy various newspapers, looking through them seriously to search for any reports on the matter.

As it was temporarily classified as a normal traffic accident, the length of all the articles were very short. Also, they were placed in nondescript corners.

I closed the final set of newspapers, realising in disappointment that none of them mentioned the missing child.

It’s as though he had evaporated from the world. Aside from me, no one else remembered his existence.

I couldn't stand for the case to be closed just like this, and finally understood the anxiety family members felt when they asked for our help in conducting investigations. As long as it was related to a living person, there wasn’t anything not worth investigating.

With a determination to investigate the matter and leave no stone unturned, I once again returned to the scene of the accident. I asked around the small shops along the roadside, hoping to obtain just a tiny hint.

Heaven will not disappoint the person who tries. From the lips of an owner of the shop facing the zebra crossing, I received an important lead which wasn’t brought up before - a black car.

“When the accident occurred, I was busy, and even had a scare when I heard the truck braking. By the time I set down my stuff to watch, the police cars and ambulance weren’t here yet. But a black car was stationed here for quite some time.”

Regarding this lead, I first expressed shock. Then, I had doubts.

Based on the surveillance tape I watched on the day of the incident, no suspicious cars appeared. If this person deliberately toggled with the surveillance footage to capture the kid, the remaining investigations would likely be a bitter struggle.

“Why did he take the kid away?”

“Could there be a conspiracy behind this?”

That black car had taken both the truth and that boy, disappearing into thin air.

The scene I had witnessed, the images depicted by the witnesses, the true footage of that surveillance tape, pieces of evidence which weren’t able to fit together, created paradoxes. The entire incident was akin to a vicious cycle, tangled and complicated, twisting and turning, unable to grasp a hint of it, and left one spinning around on a superficial level.

In the end, the police classified this matter as a normal traffic incident. And I could only continue investigating in the dark.

[ Chapter Five ]

Many years passed. From a small police officer who had accomplished nothing, I struggled and worked hard, becoming a captain who solved countless cases.

Even so, the unresolved case concerning that boy hasn’t had a breakthrough.

Over ten years, I found some leads, but they would ultimately be flawed fragments. And along with the passage of time, they’ve eroded even more.

This time, the person called “Lucien” was probably the finally hope of this case.

I visit Loveland University over the weekend, asking the kids about this “Professor Lucien”, but receive scant results even after a long while. He’s indeed very popular amongst students. But regarding his personal life, everyone expressed that they weren’t clear about it.

“Then again, which student would be so free to ask about a teacher’s personal life?” With a wry smile, I take a seat at the resting area of the math building. Without realising it, someone sits beside me. While feeling puzzled over why someone would choose to sit next to a middle-aged uncle when there are so many other empty chairs around, I see the face of the person I was looking for.

“Lucien?!”

“I heard from the students that you were asking about me. So I thought, why not let you ask me in person directly?” His tone is as calm as what I saw in the program, but I can vaguely sense a hint of irritation.

“Please don’t get the wrong idea. I didn’t mean to offend you.” I find an excuse on the fly. “It’s just that after watching your program, there were some issues I didn’t quite understand, and wanted to consult you.”

He listens patiently to the many unorganised questions I have, and explains them thoroughly. That look of concentration makes me think about the boy again.

Finally, I can no longer contain myself. When I’m about to bid farewell to him, I ask, “It might be a little presumptuous of me, but could I ask if you’ve always been living abroad since young?”

There doesn’t seem to be much change in his expression, but he raises his eyebrows slightly.

“In that case, could I be also be presumptuous and ask why you have such a question?

Since things have already reached this stage, I decide that there’s no longer a need to conceal anything. So I tell him the honest truth. “You kind of resemble a kid I used to know, but he’s gone missing.”

Upon hearing this, a sadness dyes his eyes in an instant. He lowers his eyes, his expression sad, as though he had also once known that pitiful child. “I feel deeply sorry for that child... but it’s a shame that I’m not the person you’re looking for. From the moment I could remember, I’ve been living in an orphanage.

“Ah... sorry about that.” I feel uncomfortable knowing that I’ve rubbed someone else’s sore spot. As though he’s talking about matters pertaining to somebody else, he says relaxedly, “It’s all right. I hope you can find that child soon.”

His eyes really do resemble the boy. It’s just that he’s much more modest in how he conducts himself. I increasingly hope that if the boy were still living on this earth, he must definitely be a person who is just as well-liked.

“Many years have passed. To tell you the truth, I think whether or not I find him isn’t that important.” I look into the distance, making a wish from the bottom of my heart. “I just hope that in a corner of the world, he’s living happily and well.”

After Lucien hears this, he chuckles lightly. “I’m almost envious of that boy - that he was able to meet a kind-hearted person who would think of him even after such a long time.”

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc lucien #cncancelled #...T-T

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 24

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 24 - Inside Story

"Sorry." Lin Yan mumbled to the boy's back. He wasn't sure why. No one could see Xiao Yu, which always made him a little anxious. Lin Yan hesitated and for the first time took the initiative to reach out and touch Xiao Yu's statue-like fingers and whispered, "It's lonely, isn't it? Of all the people in the world, I'm the only one who can see you and I treat you badly."

Lin Yan stared at the endless highway outside the window and sighed: "Sometimes I think that, if a person walks down the street but seems invisible, desperately waving and no one responds, desperately shouting and no one hears, this feeling will definitely drive a person crazy. When I sit alone in the study room, I often feel that everyone’s excitement has nothing to do with me. I can’t wait to rush into the crowd and shout that I’m dying alone. If there is a person, no matter who he is, just that he's willing to listen to me patiently, I would have held on to him with a death grip; a sad, loving and even desperate grip."

"But I can't tell anyone. No one wants to admit that they're lonely. They always put on a show to satisfy their pride. They show off their awesome life to others while crying behind closed doors. People are such strange creatures."

Xiao Yu lowered his eyes and grabbed Lin Yan's hand. He put it to his lips and kissed lightly, as if comforting.

Lin Yan turned his head silently. The children at the snack bar were making noise, and the street shop windows were covered with small heart-shaped papers of various colours. Lin Yan looked through a few of them, and some of them were written in highlighter about who they love and who they're waiting for. Some wrote blessings to pass the exam. They were notes of immaturity and youthfulness, the purest and most beautiful wishes.

Everyone had their own wish, whether it was simple or complicated. Their dissatisfaction with their lives making them write out their wishes on paper, hoping that one day the gods can see them. Lin Yan thought silently, people who don't know each other always shine brightly, but only when they are familiar with them do they know their weaknesses. Just look at him, his family was well-off and well educated, but he had never dared to admit that he didn't like girls; look at Yin Zhou, he's from a perfect family but only willing to be a prince in the virtual world; then there's A-Yan, who can't even be a normal person in the eyes of others. Lin Yan gave a wry smile, who would listen to their prayers?

Probably because of the high school student's whistleblower, a group of children at the next table were pointing at him. Someone said something about being a psychopath. Lin Yan smiled indifferently. He took a note from his pocket and wrote a line: "I hope I can successfully help Zhou Jintian find his father." He put the note under a piece of fluorescent paper with a heart drawn on it.

He heard about a child's wish today.

He, Yin Zhou, and A-Yan had snuck into the morgue to search for answers after finding the boy’s record. The old man at the door was basically deaf. Lin Yan yelled the three syllables of the kid's name so loudly and the old man didn’t hear him. A nurse doing some cleaning suddenly intervened and asked him if the child hadn't left yet. He put down the broom and said pitifully.

"I know that kid, his grandma and I are neighbours. His mother died a few years ago. His father was too busy with work to care for him. The child lived with his grandma. One time Jintian had a severe fever and his father came back to see him. Jintian never forgot about it. One day while his grandmother was not there, he fell off of a balcony on the third floor, thinking that his father would be able to accompany him to see a doctor if he fell. As a result, the child lived a short life. His internal organs ruptured and caused heavy bleeding, and he passed away after a few days after being sent to the hospital."

"The ashes are buried in the most expensive cemetery in our city. I went there on the day of the funeral. It's a pity that his father was on a business trip abroad. He didn't rush back to collect the body until two days after his son's death. He didn't see him in the end." The nurse sighed. "I heard that the child kept asking about why his father wasn't coming in his confusion. The doctor lied to him that he was already on his way. As a result, the child lay on the bed and looked out the window every day, and even kept his eyes open when he died."

This story made Lin Yan feel a little heartbroken, but A-Yan said that this kind of soul was easy to deal with. There was no resentment and didn't want to harm anyone. As long as he found the person he was obsessed with and burned paper in front of the grave and talked with him often, he should be gone. But the child’s ghost was the most simple and persistent. If that person didn't come, the child would turn into a grieving spirit after waiting for a long time, which was extremely difficult to deal with.

"G-Ghosts have more of a heart." A-Yan was rather lost when she said this.

Ding. Lin Yan's cell phone went off. Yin Zhou sent Zhou Mo's detailed address and contact information. He turned out to be a local, living in the most remote area of the city, about a three-hour drive away. Lin Yan swallowed the last bite of his spicy and sour noodles and threw the nuts in the soup into his mouth. He curled his lips and said to Xiao Yu: "Let's go. This time, the task is to help the kid find his father. It is much easier than dealing with you."

As he spoke, he grabbed his wrist and walked out, and couldn't help but blow a whistle and laugh as he drove, thinking that if only all the troubles were like today. No matter how bad his luck was lately, his family was always warmly affectionate.

Zhou Mo's family was at the fine line between the urban and rural areas. When he arrived at the destination indicated on his GPS, Lin Yan thought he had gone to the wrong place. In front of him was a rather imposing villa with a sign on the door of a European-style courtyard: private residence, outdoor surveillance. Lin Yan couldn't help being secretly stunned. For a man who owns such a house in this rich city, even if his child is hospitalized in the United States, he was rich enough to go back and forth every day. How could he not even get back to see his child for the last time?

He parked the car outside the courtyard. Lin Yan woke up Xiao Yu, who was dazed in the passenger seat, coaxed him and said: "I know you're upset when I drive you away, but this is something I need to do well, so don’t make trouble later, alright?" He leaned on the cushions and said casually: "I really understand the little boy's mood. When I was a child, my parents were also busy. I only go home once a week. I would cook my own food and sleep on my own. I was afraid of the dark and I always wanted my parents to suddenly come back."

"But I know my parents also missed me. Although they were busy, they didn't forget to buy a bunch of delicious foods every time they went home." Lin Yan changed his position and lay on his side, catching a strand of Xiao Yu's hair. He circled it around his fingers and said excitedly: "Although people and ghosts are different, a father-son reunion is always something to look forward to, right?"

Xiao Yu nodded. He pecked his lips on Lin Yan's face, and slowly said, "Let's go."

"Young Master Xiao, you're finally willing to talk to me. It's so hard to please you." Lin Yan muttered and opened the car door.

The owner’s yard was very delicately maintained, with various seasonal flowers in full bloom. He could smell the warm fragrance floating in the summer night while he waited outside the door. Not far away, there were many koi squeezed close to each other in a shallow pool, the sound of water splashing when they shook their heads and tails making people feel unspeakably calm and relaxed.

Lin Yan waited for a few minutes. A woman dressed as a nanny ran out of the villa and looked at him vigilantly through the hollow courtyard gate. Lin Yan explained that he had come because of Zhou Jintian, and the nanny ran back again. This time it took a full 20 minutes for the door to open. Lin Yan adjusted his shirt and walked across a path paved with pebbles. He rang the doorbell of the small building.

With a squeak, the Victorian-style heavy wooden door opened a gap, and a middle-aged man poked his head out of the door and hesitated: "You are?"

Lin Yan smiled politely: "My name is Lin Yan, a student at X University. You're Mr. Zhou, I came for your son Zhou Jintian." He said respectfully and handed over his student card. The owner checked in confusion, and after confirming that there was no problem, he opened the door a bit wider, but still had no intention of letting him in.

"My son just passed away some time ago. What do you want?"

Although it was backlit, Lin Yan still saw the typical businessman expression on the middle-aged man’s face; snobbishness, arrogance, and calculating. He only wore a purple bathrobe with a belt tied loosely around his waist. His chest was exposed and his body was slightly fat, but he could see that he had a good foundation when he was young. Now there was a bit of fat under his ears, so he didn't like to exercise, or his only exercise was golf.

A rich man covered in his armour.

"I'm sorry about your son. It's like this. I have a relative who's hospitalized in L Hospital. . ." The crystal ceiling lamp in the main hall of the villa was shining and blinding. Lin Yan tried to organize the thoughts in his mind, but the middle-aged man suddenly interrupted him. "You work somewhere, right? I paid all the money that should be paid to the school, the hospital and the cemetery bills have also been settled, and I don't owe anything to the commissary, so what are you doing here?"

Lin Yan hurriedly explained: "No, no, you misunderstand. It's not about money. I know this sounds ridiculous and you might not believe it, but your son's ghost is still in the hospital and he's waiting for you to visit him."

The middle-aged man's expression grew strange, and he held the doorknob as if he was about to close the door: "You're sick. What about my son's ghost? Jintian was buried long ago."

Lin Yan frowned. How could such a father exist? Hearing something about his son, even if it wasn't reliable, there was no way he could just immediately disregard it.

"This is the case; do you know why Jintian had an accident? He always felt sorry that you didn't get to see him before he died. Up to now, his soul has been unwilling to move on. He's attached to my relative's daughter waiting for you to come back. You may not understand, but a little girl being possessed by a ghost is in a dangerous situation." Lin Yan gesticulated anxiously: "Just like in the movies."

"If you don't go, Jintian's ghost will never be able to reincarnate. After a long period of time, not only will he suffer, but he may also harm others. When that time comes, for the safety of my relatives and her daughter, I'll have to disperse your son's soul." Lin Yan was in a cold sweat while talking. If he had said this kind of stuff a month ago, he would've thought he had brain damage. He thought he was cheating him out of some money, but what else could he say? Your son’s strong brainwaves caused a disorder in the hospital’s electromagnetic field, causing an innocent thirteen-year-old girl to develop hallucinations and die?

The middle-aged man frowned. He pulled his right hand back from the door frame and tightened the belt of the bathrobe: "Tell you what, I know about this. I’ve been busy lately. You can contact my secretary. Tell him how much money you want to send Jintian away, and I'll ask him to write a check."

"I said this has nothing to do with money. If you don't meet him, no money in the world could fix this!" Lin Yan really got angry this time. Was there something wrong with this guy's brain? How could he only think of money when it comes to his son?!

"Dad, what are you doing? Mom is calling you!" A five or six-year-old boy suddenly ran out from behind the middle-aged man, hugged his waist and acted like a baby. He saw Lin Yan standing at the door and started sucking his thumb, looking at Lin Yan with a pair of black grape-like eyes wide open. The middle-aged man lovingly picked up the child and placed him on his shoulders. When he looked at Lin Yan again, he put on an impatient expression.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Some mage? You're at my doorstep at night, talking nonsense, and I'm calling the police if you don't leave!"

"Who's been at the door for so long? Another bill collector? I've got no money, tell him to go the same way he came." The door was suddenly yanked open and a young woman in the purple bathrobe stood in front of Lin Yan with an imposing attitude. Her figure was slim, snowy breasts hidden behind a lace corset, and her sharp eyes were like a blade scraping Lin Yan.

Lin Yan's argument had been completely disrupted by the battle in front of him and he stammered: "Uh, I, I'm here about your son, Zhou Jintian. . ."

Before he could finish, the woman instantly changed her face and said in a high voice: "There's no end to this. How much money has been spent on the seed left behind by that yellow-faced woman? From the best hospitals to the most expensive graves; his son cut his own life short and didn't fight to survive, yet he's still shoving his way into our lives?" After speaking, the little boy was shoved in front of Lin Yan: "Okay, this is my son, he's the only one!"

After speaking, she didn't care about her husband's ugly face and slammed the door with a bang.

Lin Yan clenched his fists and stood in the dark doorway, chills in his heart.

He didn't know how he got back into the car, but when he looked out the window, he felt that the whole villa suddenly became ugly, and even the blooming roses in the yard looked like abscesses. He never believed that there were parents like this that existed. He thought that familial love was the warmest, strongest and most unshakable emotion in the world, but this time he really saw the indifference and coldness of the human heart.

Don’t test humanity, don’t, because it was simply unbearable. Lin Yan sat in the car seat and tried to slow his breathing, but his anger still grew, and all Xiao Yang's grieving and crying face appeared in front of him. How much did a child need to miss his father to have the courage to jump off of a third-story building? If his spirit in heaven knew what had unfolded here today, would he feel like his death was all for nothing?

Lin Yan slammed his fist heavily against the steering wheel.

A cold hand lightly touched his face. Lin Yan twisted his head and said hoarsely, "Xiao Yu, don't mess with me. I don't want to coax you now, I just want to beat someone up." He kicked the clutch hard and said: "Fuck this guy!"

Xiao Yu patiently tugged Lin Yan's wrist and wrenching his shoulder to make him face him. His eyes were vicious: "What do you want to do?"

"What can I do? Go back and let A-Yan find a way to make the little brat forget that he has a father!" Lin Yan gasped.

Xiao Yu shook his head, glanced at the outline of the villa in the night, and slowly said, "I'll do it."

"You mean. . ." Lin Yan looked at Xiao Yu blankly, and suddenly understood what he meant. After a long silence, he bit his lower lip and said, "Before this, I always thought I was kind, that there was nothing I couldn't bear, but. . ." Lin Yan stared at Xiao Yu: "I just want to be a fucking asshole! He deserves it!"

"Xiao Yu, I don't care what tactics you use. Before noon tomorrow, I want to see him come to the hospital to apologize to his son!" Lin Yan said viciously in the dark cab.

Xiao Yu squeezed his hand and whispered, "Don't worry."

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #danmei novel #danmei #yaoi novel #yaoi #bl novel #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation

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hanamakkiss · 4 years ago

Text

Pros and Cons

Matsukawa Issei x reader

summary: Being childhood friends with Oikawa and Iwaizumi had few perks, it's all worth it when one of those perks came in the form of one(1) Matsukawa Issei.

Where Matsukawa gets a nickname.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

a/n: yall rmb y/n talking about a hot vb boy? yea also makki is a lil shit but everyone loves him UPDATE: reuploaded sorry😓😓😓

You had made it a point to visit trainings whenever you were free now.

Always popping up whenever the coaches left, Matsukawa’s eyes were instinctively drawn to you when you entered, not that it was hard, considering how much ruckus you made.

After greeting everyone generally, you spent some time chatting with OIkawa when you head whips around to-

Kyoutani?

Oh right, this would be the first time you met him after anticipating it for so long. Matsukawa gestures to Makki about your actions and the two of them pause to watch the show.

Prancing over to the cropped blonde, excitement coming off in waves, "Kyouken! I've heard so much about you! I-"

"Stay away from me." he practically growled.

You froze in your tracks.

"Huh?" your head tilts, taking a step towards him.

"Why?"

Another step.

The growling intensifies, "Or else."

"Or else what? What are you going to do to me?"

Another step.

You're standing directly in front of him now, eye to eye. The sound of balls impacting a gym floor has ceased. Matsukawa tenses, holding his breath.

A second passes, then five.

Kyoutani turns and sprints out of the gymnasium.

Jolted by the sound of feet slamming against the floor, you turn around, head resting on your palm, "Oh dear, I don't think he likes me very much. What a pity," you basically spat the last word out. The contrast between your words and your sinister smile sends shivers down his spine.

Wow. He lets out a low whistle, that sure was something. For a second there, you had the same menacing aura Oikawa sometimes sported. He doesn't know if the stuttering of his heart was fear or attraction.

Somewhere nearby he hears Oikawa's laughter get cut off by a yelp and a stern warning. ("I told you to stop influencing her! Now look at how weird she is!")

Makki comments what he thought, “What, the fuck?”

“Amazing, isn’t she? I thought her that mysELF-“ Oikawa is cut off by a blow to the stomach.

“Shut up, stop looking so proud of yourself, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi scowls.

By this time you had made your way back to them, all smiles. “Sure hope I get to talk to him again someday,”

Makki snorts his water out.

The morning for the study session arrives.

As Matsukawa strolls to your house, he briefly wonders how the day might go. He figures it might become a little awkward if it was just the two of you, so he's thankful that Makki would be present.

Your house comes into view when the devil himself texts him.

He doesn't have to wait long before he got his answer. Just as he presses the doorbell, his phone chimes again.

Ah fuck. He doesn't even have time to curse him before the door is swinging open.

"Hi," you greet him, "welcome, to my humble abode," you usher him in with a flourish.

Ah shit, he takes off his shoes, here we fucking go.

Making his way to your bedroom he takes note of the frankly absurd number of houseplants that filled the place. Every free window, corner and crevice was stuffed with greenery. He vaguely remembers a flourishing garden in the front yard too.

Entering your room was no different, every available space on your desk and windowsill had small succulents and tiny flowering plants. He takes a moment to study while you set up the floor table.

“Doesn’t... having a lot of plants diminish your oxygen level at night...?” Your head whips around, scowl already in place.

“That’s just a myth. Plants don’t produce enough carbon dioxide at night to suffocate, otherwise how would forest animals survive?” The agitation with which you reply clues him in that you got this question too often.

“Also, if that works I would have already died,” you add on as an afterthought.

His eyebrows shoot upwards as he blinks slowly, “Um, alright, good to know?”

You grin in response, patting the floor next to you, “Sorry about the mess, I don’t have many friends who visit,”

“Judging by how much time you spend with us, I was starting to think you didn’t have any others,” he teases, eager to clear the awkward air.

“Eh, that’s true,” you shrug, “you guys are kind of my only friends in Seijoh,”

Oh shit, did he just overstep? He cringes inwardly when you interrupt.

“Why else would I spend so much time with a bunch of idiots?” the playfulness of your tone allows him to relax.

“Considering how well you mesh with us, doesn’t that make you an idiot too?”

Your smile drops, making a noise of indignation as your own joke is played against you. He just laughs as he avoids your smack, opening his textbook.

The previous conversation still weighing on his mind, he contemplates asking you about it.

“What is it.” You don’t even look up.

“What?”

“I can feel you staring at me, and your finger tapping is really loud,” looking up, you scrunch your face at him. “If you wanna say something, just say it.”

“Mmmhm alright then, if you don’t mind, are you on bad terms with your classmates?”

You stare back blankly, “Not...as far as I know?”

“Do you not hang out with any of them?” Are you not friends with them? You sense the unasked question.

“Well...” you trail off for a few moments, contemplative, before looking him in the eyes, grimacing.

“It’s... kind of due to Kawa?” at his confusion you rush to explain, “Not that he did anything! It’s more of... us being so close? Even platonically,” you scratch the back of your neck.

“They’re nice until they find out I’m close friends with Kawa and Iwawa. Then they either outright hate me, or get close to me in hopes of a better chance with him. Not all of them are like that though! But, at a certain point it’s easier to avoid that problem entirely rather than sifting through. Some girls look really nice, I just don’t know how to talk to them, I transferred in so late, after all.” you laugh sheepishly.

He hopes he isn’t letting his indignation show on his face.

“Does he know?”

“God no, that’s kind of a bastard thing to do, isn’t it? Hey, did you know I can’t have any girl friends cause they’re all crazy over you? That’s kind of fucked up yea? He can’t even do anything about it.” You wave a hand in the air, dismissing the idea.

“What about Iwaizumi,” he tries.

An incredulous look, “You think he would understand that? He barely even looks at girls! Actually, now that you mention it, a sizeable portion of the girls who befriended me had a crush on him. Guess it’s because he’s intimidating,” you nod along to your own words.

“So you’ve just been alone this time?” He can’t wrap his head around it.

“I haven’t been alone! I’ve got you guys, don’t I? I wouldn’t change that for anything,”

The look of happiness you pin him with causes his heart to flutter, but he’s not entirely convinced.

Sensing his unease you soften, “Besides, there’s only a few more months left, I can handle it,”

He exhales his frustration, letting the topic go. Nothing much he could help with anyway. The only thing he could do now was stay by your side, if you need him.

“Thank you for your concern,” You pat his hand comfortingly, the sides of your lips tug upwards, and you speak the next words gravely. “But,” breath bated, he waits for you to continue.

“sometimes, it really do be like that.”

He attempts to flip the table, causing you to scramble for cover, choking on your laughter as you do.

The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, asking each other questions here and there.

A few hours pass when both phones chime, breaking your concentrations, “Oh! Makkun’s at the convenience store now, whaddya want?”

He tells you his order and while you type it in, he observes your figure.

You’ve got a thing for nicknames, he’s always wondered about it.

“Hmm? What? Oh, yea, I guess I do, what about it?” Looking up, your gaze is pointed.

“Huh?” Shit, did he say that out loud?

“You said I got a thing for nicknames? What about it?” You leaned towards him, a teasing grin forming.

He feels himself begin to instinctively draw back before forcing himself to still. “Just like Oikawa, was what I meant.”

At this, your grin deepens, “Well, duh. Who do you think he got it from?”

Interesting. He nods in understanding.

“Well,” he drags the word out, mirroring your grin, “you don’t have a unique nickname for me, are we not close enough?”

Your smile turns into an O as you process his words. He’s right, you never really thought about it.

“Huh. I guess not. Do you want one?”

Stupid of him to admit, but he didn’t expect you to ask him that, and he takes a moment to decide. Did he want a special nickname from you? Is that asking too much? Moving too fast? Just as he’s about to reply, you make the choice for him.

“You know what? I’m gonna give you one anyway. Just give me some time to think.”

He just shrugs, accepting, and goes back to doing his work.

Some time passes and he sneaks a glance at you. A cute furrow nestled between your brows, you doodled in your notebook.

“I’ve got it!” You slam your hands on the table, shifting to place more weight on your knees, leaning far across the table now.

His pencil slips out of his hands from the sudden eye contact.

“How about,” you pause for effect, so close now he could count the light freckles on your cheeks, “Issei?”

The sound of his name coming out of your lips causes his brain to short-circuit. He never knew it could sound so sweet.

“Well?” You probe, “It’s kind of a cop out but I like how it sounds,” you sound it out a few more times with different intonations.

He thinks he might die.

“Hey, you okay? If you don’t like it you can let me know, yanno?”

“It’s fine,” he chokes out, “go ahead.”

“Great! Then-“

The doorbell rings.

“Oh! He’s here! Be right back!” You don’t wait for a reply before leaving.

Matsukawa has never been more thankful for Makki’s impeccable timing. Lucifer used to be an angel, he supposes.

He passes a hand over his face, willing his cheeks to cool down.

He composes himself just in time for Makki and you to enter.

Makki lets out a hum of appreciation, “Mad oxygen in here,”

He turns to you, “Say, isn’t it bad for you at night?”

“Oh my god, do the two of you share one braincell?”

#matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #matsukawa imagines

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