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manicplank · 10 months ago

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(Modern tech Anon here, finally confident enough to ask with my account LMAO) For the non-human characters, what would their reaction be to suddenly being human? For those who are already human, what about their reactions to their now-human friends? (I may or may not be writing a story based on this very concept lol)

Hello former anon!

Suddenly being human! (This one is long so buckle up.)

Pepperman: He woke up feeling really weird. He looks in the mirror and screams loud enough to cause tsunamis. WHO IS THAT?? WHY IS HE COPYING EVERY MOVEMENT HE MAKES???!?!?! Oh, wait... Is that HIM?? Huh... He flexes his muscles and ends up staring at himself for hours. Niiiice. This gives him an idea! He makes a statue of his human greatness as well as a painting. He went out for a walk around the tower in his fanciest clothes. "See something you like?" People in the tower are SHOCKED. This weird strange pepper is now a handsome hunk of human! Pizzahead wants to "talk to him" in another room. (wink wink) Just kidding! He explains the anomaly situation and offers to change him back to normal, but Pepperman wants one day of being a human.

The Vigilante: He went to Noisette's Café in the morning to get his usual cup of hot, bitter black coffee. However, when he walked in, she screamed. He was incredibly confused. "WHO ARE YOU, MONSTER MAN," she yelled at him. "Noisette, it's me! Vigi! 'Member?" She screams again. He goes into the restroom and looks in the mirror. "HOLY CHEESUS CRUST IN HEAVEN! CALL THE PRIEST! I'VE BEEN CHANGED INTO A WEREHUMAN!!" He goes home and hides. He's absolutely terrified. The Noise busts in to see what Vigi did to Noisette and why she was crying. When The Noise saw him, he laughed and took a picture. He showed the ENTIRE tower, and The Vigilante was so embarrassed. Pizzahead came to the rescue. He explained that there's some sort of weird anomaly going around the tower that's been turning people into humans. He takes him back to the lab and turns him back to normal. Phew! That was scary.

The Noise: He woke up, used the bathroom, and went to go brush his teeth. As he did, he was staring himself in the mirror. Something looked... different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Hey, Noisette? Can you come in here for a minute?" Noisette enters the room to see her boyfriend is suddenly taller with a smaller nose and normal ears. "Uh... Noisey," she clears her throat, "are you feeling okay? You look kind of weird..." He looks back in the mirror. Huh... That's strange... He looks... Human?? Whatever, he figures, it's too early for this shit. He tries to get ready for the day, but his clothes don't fit the same, especially not his costume. Noisette stares at him with conflict in her eyes. She's concerned that her boyfriend looks so different, but... He's kind of fine. Noise dresses himself in whatever clothes he can squeeze into and storms over to the lab. Pizzahead is shocked. The anomaly keeps moving from person to person. The Noise was pissed and damn near assaulted Pizzahead. Thankfully, Pizzahead threw him in a tube and turned him back to normal before he could throw a punch.

Noisette: After that whole fiasco with The Noise becoming human, she was ready to put everything behind and go to bed. However, when she wakes up in the morning, she looks in the mirror to find that the exact same thing happened to her! She screeches loud enough to wake The Noise up. He rubs over to her in a panic but is disappointed when he sees that she's completely okay. "WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO PEOPLE," she shouts. He sighs and grabs her hand. "Come on," he mumbles tiredly, "let's go see Pizzahead." They get to the lab, and Pizzahead is not amused. He's frustrated that this anomaly keeps spreading from place to place. He can't seem to catch it. He throws her in a tube and snaps his fingers. Boop! Back to normal. She squeals with joy! She grabs Noise by the hand. "Okay, let's go home and go back to sleep!"

Fake Peppino: Eugh... He feels kind of weird today... He tried to catch a fly with his tongue, but it wouldn't stretch out. Weird... He tried to crawl in the vent, but he was too chunky to fit! Weird! He gives out a frustrated groan only to sound line a normal person! He screams bloody murder. Pizzahead hears him and figures it's just Peppino. Fakey manages to escape Bruno's and races to find Pizzahead. He bursts into the lab at Mach 3, startling Pizzahead. Fakey points and screams. Pizzahead is confused. "Peppino? I don't understand, the timers should've started as soon as you entered the War level!" Fakey screams again and jumps up and down, flailing his arms. "Fakey?? Is that... Is that YOU?!" Pizzahead scoops him up and throws him in a tube without hesitation. However, it takes a few hours for Fakey to return to his normal, goopy self.

Pizzaface: Huh... His gears aren't grinding today, but he's still moving. He feels weird. Something is off... He goes to Pizzahead immediately. "What did you do to me now," he shouted. Pizzahead was just as shocked as he was. "Uh, ok so," Pizzahead clears his throat, "there's this weird anomaly thing going around turning people into humans. I guess it managed to turn you into one, too. So uh... Get in the tube, and I'll fix you up! Hopefully..." Pizzaface gives him a scowl. "You haven't even TRIED fixing the anomaly, have you?" Pizzahead puts his head down in shame. He hasn't done anything about the anomaly other than turn people back into what they're supposed to be. Shun. Pizzaface gets into the tube, and BOOM! Once he's turned back into a machine, he burst the tube as he was too big to fit. Whoops. He flies off in a huff.

Pizzahead: Before he goes to bed, he thinks about the anomaly. It's so strange to him. Is it a curse? A blessing? Is it some sort of strange deity possessing people? He's starting to get frustrated. What is it, why is it, and what can he do to stop it? He sighs and lays down. He wakes up in the morning less ticky than usual. Oh my GOD! It got him! The anomaly has finally caught up to him. While he should be concerned, he is delighted. He's always wondered what it's like to be a human. He doesn't entirely recognize himself, but he's in awe. He's still obsessed with his own appearance. He can finally experiment and figure out what this anomaly is all about! Once he gets to the lab, he blanks out. What is he even supposed to do other than fix himself? Hmmm.... Oh well! He figures he can experiment with it on whoever gets it next. In the meantime, he's already had enough of being a human, it sucks! He presses a button and hops into the tube. POOF! Ahhh, back to normal.

Pillar John: He had dozed off out of boredom due to the fact that he can't do anything or go anywhere. However, the tower starts rumbling and wakes him up. Huh... How did the roof vet all the way up there? He sits up to find that he suddenly has human legs. Wait... WAIT... Uh oh... Without him supporting the tower, it's starting to crumble. As much as he'd like to look into this whole being human thing, he's panicking! Pizzahead runs over to him. GOD DAMN IT, IT'S THE ANOMALY! He grabs John and rushes to the lab. He has to be fixed before the tower collapses! He literally THROWS John into a tube and presses the button a million times. Poof! He's a pillar! Hooray! Wait... How's he gonna get John back to the main spot? Hmmm. POOF! He's a human again. "John! Grab that tube, and let's go!" The two rush back to the soft spot of the tower. POOF! Once again, he's a pillar supporting the weight of the tower. Phew! Wait... He totally missed his chance to escape!

Gerome: POOF! He wasn't even sleeping when it happened. Suddenly, within a blink, he was just taller. He was unamused. Whatever. He couldn't care less. He has weird human legs and arms. Again, doesn't care. He just keeps mopping the same spot over and over again. The tower is so FILTHY. Pizzahead pops by. Yep, Gerome's a human just as he suspected. He throws a tube at him. BANG! While it hurt, Gerome was once again made of stone. Cool. Still doesn't care.

This one was fun

#pizza tower #noise #the noise #headcanon #pizzahead #noisette #fake peppino #pepperman #the vigilante #pillar john #pizza tower gerome

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kiyfra · 11 months ago

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My latest fanfic for Fear and Hunger: Termina is complete! It can be read here or on AO3.

There was a celebratory air in the train cabin and the small group of survivors talked animatedly amongst themselves as that cursed town gradually faded from sight. They talked about the first things they were going to do when they got back and their plans for the future, all of them in high spirits.

The relief and joy of escaping Termina with their lives was only slightly dampened by the knowledge of how many of them never returned. Half of the initial fourteen contestants were lost to the horrors of Prehevil; still a higher survivor count than was assumed possible.

Samarie had resigned herself to her short life being cut even shorter, but something happened after that girl with the glasses, the Oldegårdian mechanic and the yellow mage left for the museum. Whatever they did, it somehow ended the festival and everyone knew it. The voice at the back of their heads insisting they had to kill, the guilt and regrets growing bigger until they were overwhelming; all of it dissipated with the fog. Gradually the remaining contestants made their way back to the train, now in perfect working order, and left for the next station.

The sound of the rail-tracks was a peaceful background noise to the celebration as Samarie remained hidden within the shadows at a corner of the cabin. She tuned out the unwanted voices and thoughts to focus on the only person there that really mattered, the girl in the collared blouse and pink skirt whose hair fell in loose curls.

The brilliant occultist from the Vatican who Samarie could recall the opinion of every book she stayed up late to read, every step of her makeup routine and what she thought about in her most private moments with perfect clarity. Ever since she first felt her similar yearning for freedom after moving past the upbringing and people that were only holding her back, Samarie understood she was in love and belonged to her completely. Those dark and lonely rituals became profound when their thoughts were intertwined before the eyes of Sylvian and she longed for Marina to know about the intimate moments they shared.

For hands belonging to someone else and fingers that weren’t long and spindly. For another person’s voice in her ear and the feel of damp skin, like that of an insect that just wriggled out of its cocoon. The air in the train car felt too hot to Samarie and her breathing became heavy and ragged. She could sneak off to another cabin by herself; it wasn’t like anyone was paying her any mind.

The sound of glasses clinking in a toast brought her back to the present. Marina’s cheeks were pink from laughter and the drinks the salaryman was sharing with the other passengers, a radiant smile stretching from ear to ear as she sat and talked with that boy in the army coveralls. Samarie watched her excitedly discuss a book with him they had both read and a jealousy burned deep within her gut. He couldn’t have possibly understood her on the same level she did, even if Marina told him the secret she kept hidden from everyone else. The depth of his feeling paled in comparison to hers and his small, hesitant smile seemed too innocent for the lewd thoughts typical of teenage boys she knew were lurking within his mind.

But she couldn’t be angry that someone far less broken than her had won the occultist’s affection. It wasn’t as if she had any right to her love after what she’d done; the kindness Marina showed her was already more than she deserved. The priest’s daughter found her in that dark realm of boarded walls and mounds of veiny clay, crying her eyes out and struggling to breathe with partially dried blood on her hands.

That nasty and despicable man was a plague on his daughter’s mind and the source of every ugly bit of her self doubt, but when did Samarie decide murder was the only answer? She didn’t board that train to Prehevil with a plan to end his life. The festival’s insistence on violence convinced her she wanted him dead and she started to believe that insistence was her own voice. So she made her way to the church with a knife in hand and planned to kill a man in cold blood.

Marina should have hated her after she walked in on her disastrous confrontation with Father Domek. Instead she sat with her and calmly talked her through the crushing panic squeezing her chest until her hysterical crying slowed and eventually stopped. She couldn’t act like a kicked puppy rather than the coward and murderer she really was and refused to leave, only for Marina to firmly tell her it didn’t matter and insist she return to the train with the others.

When she came back to check up on her, Samarie tried to clarify why she did it with her awkward stuttering voice. She felt compelled to finally confess her feelings; how she felt they shared a bond, how she wanted Marina to be the meaning in her life and how she knew she hated her father. Samarie didn’t need to read her mind to understand the disgust written plainly on her face, the occultist’s words careful and measured as she navigated her declarations of love and pining. Marina only brought her back out of the same empathy she would have for any other human being, or perhaps Samarie was just pathetic enough to tug at her heartstrings despite what she’d done.

It was doubtful the occultist would end up partaking in the festival, even if she deserved to win more than any of them. She’d stand a good chance of winning if she joined the slaughter like Per’kele wanted, but it was likely Marina would wait out the three day time limit and suffer whatever fate the moon god had in store for them. They could die together on the same day or the black haired girl could become a stepping stone on her path to escape. Samarie would be content with either outcome, so she sat on the train and waited to see if the occultist got desperate enough to board with murderous intent. Instead the train was now filled with the voices of survivors finally heading home.

...

Good for them.

Some unimportant bickering between the doctor and the journalist came to an end and the sharp dressed man walked over to the two teens.

“Do you two know where you’re going when we reach the next station?” he asked.

The boy in the coveralls looked startled, like he was still unused to that kind of cordiality.

“...No, not really.”

“Well, I’d offer to take you back to Vatican City with me,” Marina spoke up. “But I doubt the nuns would be thrilled if I tried to keep you in my room.”

She frowned at that and Samarie listened in on her thoughts like she had done countless times.

“Am I really just going to go back to my studies like nothing happened? I’d rather shoot myself than sit through another lecture on the old gods and rituals after all this.”

Samarie didn’t know what the priests at the Ninth Circle would say or do if she returned, but where else could she go? She had no money or place to stay and would just be some crazed street urchin raving about gods and occult conspiracies. The thought of returning to the basilica with it’s ornate visage hiding the decrepit lower floors filled her with a sickly dread. She could look forward to spending the rest of her life drained of blood on ritual circles, half conscious and imagining herself as a caterpillar that would one day metamorphose into a hairy moth, reborn from its own fluids.

When Samarie spent the last of her stolen money on that train ticket to follow the occultist, she thought she could finally shed her old useless skin and emerge as the person she was meant to be; someone befitting of the radiating soul. Of course she’d follow Marina wherever she went, but Samarie desperately hoped she’d never see that place again.

“I’ll wait until I get my inheritance then think of what I’m going to do when I skip town. Huh. I guess that makes us both orphans now.”

The doctor took a long drag from his cigarette before he spoke again.

“There are plenty of guest rooms at the manor for you to stay as long as you need,” he addressed the ex-soldier.

“Really? Are you sure it’s okay if I stay with you?”

His eyes were wide with disbelief at the offer; it sounded too good to be true.

“It’s no problem at all. But if you want to live at the manor long term, I have one condition.” A plume of blueish smoke lazily drifted to the ceiling of the cabin.

“You have to be serious about getting clean. There are people that can help you and I’m certainly not short on any funds required for their services, but you need to put in the effort.”

The doctor’s proposal sounded exceedingly generous and Samarie didn’t trust that his intentions were benign, scanning his mind for some sinister motivation.

“I’m under no illusion of how difficult this is going to be, but it’s a damn miracle any of us are still alive, so please don’t throw your life away. Besides, I need some reason not to take the cat’s offer and a responsibility is as good as any.

...Maybe I should stay in touch with some of these people.”

The rest of his thoughts were a tangled web of treatment plans and legal documentation to discuss later and all of it came with an undercurrent of caring that was alien to Samarie.

“It’s unlikely the military would follow his trail past Prehevil, especially if they find the body of that doppelgänger. But I’ve got enough lawyers and politicians in my pocket if it comes down to that. Add in whatever child soldier expose piece Karin plans on writing and going after him wouldn’t be worth the headache. Still, I wonder if he’d be open to the idea of changing his name?”

There was a pragmatism to ensuring each other’s safety when they were traipsing around the streets of Prehevil, but Samarie didn’t expect the doctor to go to such lengths for someone he met just a few days ago. Flitting through his mind, she read that he saw himself in a boy who thought his life was over before it even really began and she was overcome with a different kind of jealousy.

Both of them spent their lives being used and lied to by people more powerful than them. Children that were considered disposable and put in front of the evils and horrors of the world until it destroyed their bodies and minds. There was no one to look out for her; the only person that came close was Marina and now she hated her. Samarie just wished she could have done something right for once in her pathetic life and managed to make her reason for living happy.

“...I’ll do my best,” the boy said resolutely.

The doctor clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good man.”

“Hey, congratulations on getting adopted,” Marina said half seriously. “I’ll be sure to visit when I get the chance.”

“So he’s going to live in Rondon? I wonder if I could find an apartment there for myself? It seems busy enough and there aren’t priests wandering around everywhere like Vatican. Sounds a lot better than Prehevil, that’s for sure. I’m glad we’re leaving that dump behind for good.”

An idea struck Samarie.

The trio were busy exchanging contact information and she silently made her way to the door to slip away undetected. No one would have noticed her leaving were it not for the older gentleman sitting right by the door to the next cabin. Samarie was usually very good at going about her business without anyone seeing her, but this man must have had better situational awareness than most as he glanced up from the pages of his book at the sound of the door opening. The man felt no need to pry into things that weren’t any of his business and resumed reading.

There were only two small windows in the dingy compartment and specks of dust danced in the small bit of light pouring through. The darker cabin contained too many suitcases filled with random crap that couldn’t possibly have belonged to the initial passengers, ranging from bottles of vodka to dirty toilet paper to pieces of armour. Thought slightly claustrophobic, this section of the train car was cut off from the hubbub of the other passengers and carved into the centre of the floor was an unused perfection circle. Taking a piece of chalk, Samarie drew two simple intersecting lines and a startlingly loud sound tore a bloody gash open into the living, breathing fabric of the world.

She only hesitated for a moment to be certain there wasn’t anyone coming to investigate before she stepped through the blood portal. Cold darkness enveloped her until it took her to her destination, the creaky boarded floors of the restricted upper section of Prehevil’s bookstore. Samarie walked down the stairs and ducked under the rope into the narrow store lined with book shelves and cluttered tables. The surfaces were stacked with books that hadn’t been sorted or put away and were dotted with wax candles to provide light; a necessity now there was no electricity for the lamps. There were several chairs for reading and the dark flooring would have given the building a cozy atmosphere, were it not for the mangled remains of a bobby sitting in the corner. It looked like the store had a selection of recently published books and several of the titles caught her interest, but that wasn’t what she came here for and Samarie ducked out into the cobblestone alleyway. Her destination wasn’t far.

The streets were quiet and devoid of hostile presences. Lifeless bodies littered the moon torched town, some human, most monsters the other contestants had cleared out on their own expeditions. Rher’s influence could no longer be felt in Prehevil and even the poorest sixth sense could have told the difference. There was no constant awareness of the time, no animated remorse lurking inside them trying to force its way out, and no green moonlight crafting horrors to torment lost souls such as themselves. All that was left was a disgusting mess, like the aftermath of a party waiting to be cleaned up now all of the guests had gone home.

Samarie made her way past debris towards the residences near the church and apartment buildings gave way to nicer looking multi-floor homes. Nice by Prehevil standards anyways. Even with some ornamentation, they still looked dreary and depressing, all beige, brown and grey. It was nothing like the beautiful architecture of Vatican City whose wealthy knew how to do opulence and grandeur. She was looking for one building in particular hidden within the dull visage and she soon came to the front steps of her destination. It didn’t stand out from the rest of the generically nice buildings because Alll-mer forbid the upper class like anything with some personality. The uninspiring housing wasn’t some attempt at humility either; just the best of the worst despising anything nonconformist.

This was Father Domek’s house.

Samarie experimentally tested the door and it was locked, just as she expected. She could have searched nearby to see if he kept a spare key hidden, but she was past the need for subtlety. All the ugly feelings of rage and despair the priests never let her express any other way were concentrated into a single point and with a simple arm movement, she cast Hurting. A small vortex of black and red manifested where door met frame and the mechanism burst apart, the knob clattering to the ground. The door swung open easily into the Domek household and Samarie stepped inside.

There was still no electricity, but there were enough windows and plenty of daylight hours left for illumination. Pale sunlight trickled into a simply furnished living room with a fireplace sitting to the left of the front hall and a staircase led to the upper floor. Samarie decided to check upstairs first, mindful of her intrusion and keeping her footsteps as light as possible. A habit she maintained even when there was no one around to care.

The hallway was lined with doors to several rooms and tasteful console tables adorned with vases and other decorations. A few landscape paintings were hung on the wall, but most striking was an eerie painting of a grim faced man whose eyes seemed to follow Samarie wherever she stood. The painting of a dark priest was high enough upon the wall that it could always look down its nose in scorn and judgement at those below. With the ire and quiet menace it emanated, Samarie could have believed it was meant to be Father Domek himself. But the face was too angular and proportions too far off, leading her to conclude is was the dark priest before him, his father. Ignoring the nasty man in the portrait, she opened the closest door. Her objective could likely be found in one of the bedrooms.

The first room she looked into contained a smaller bed with dark oak dressers and bookshelves against the cream coloured walls. A toy chest at the foot of the bed indicated this was a child’s bedroom, albeit one that hadn’t been used in years. The vanity was covered with containers of long expired makeup, various brushes, and other beauty products; the number and variety a bit odd for the suggested age of their owner. They must have been someone who put a great deal of care into their appearance if they used all of those products at a young age and the unusual concern was a reminder this was Marina’s childhood home.

Samarie felt giddy; she didn’t have the opportunity to visit during the festival and now here she was in the love of her life’s bedroom. She lost track of time examining the contents and connecting every stray thought the occultist had about home to something tangible and real. Everything from her tutors’ assigned reading and coursework to toys she had growing up were part of her essence and Samarie had the privilege of bathing in it.

She opened a wardrobe with only a few articles of clothing hung up; anything that Marina was particularly fond of would have been brought with her when she left to study at the Vatican years ago. The clothes still remaining were too small to fit her anymore, having been bought for a child rather than a teenager. Looking at the wardrobe, Samarie doubted these clothes would have ever fit herself; she was a good head taller than Marina and the black haired girl had always been rather gangly. Before she could stop herself, she wondered what it would feel like to wear Marina’s clothes. The notion of being completely embraced by the fabric and scent of such a marvellous person was doing wonderful things to her head and she impishly decided to store that idea away for a future fantasy.

With her survey of the room complete, she sat down on the bed and the springs creaked loudly from the weight. Samarie found herself disappointed; there was plenty of memorabilia worth taking, but she had something specific in mind that she was certain would have been here. She was tempted to take a nap and pretend she was finally in her lover’s arms like all the times she had gone to sleep after a Sylvian ritual, cradling her pillow and hoping Marina would visit in her dreams. It would be better than that because this time they were finally sharing a bed with only time keeping them separate. Knowing her goddess laid here, even if it was years ago, felt shockingly intimate and she could practically hear Marina’s quiet breathing she spent long nights memorizing the pattern of. Unfortunately, Samarie couldn’t stay long; the other passengers might notice she was gone so she reluctantly left to continue her search of the house.

The next room was a study of sorts containing a formal looking reading desk and shelves filled with books of occult literature and dissertations on theology. A crucifix hung prominently on the wall and statuettes dedicated to various Old Gods sat upon a table with enough space to comfortably kneel in prayer before them. Two ritual circles were carved into the hardwood floor for worship, one perfect and one asymmetric.

Samarie had expected something far more sinister, but everything here was fairly typical of a priest’s study. Looking through his desk didn’t produce much in the way of useful information, just boring documents concerning the administrative side of the church and orphanage. It was possible Father Domek destroyed anything incriminating before he died. In fact, she was certain of it. The horror and abuse taking place in those institutions were obvious to anyone that took a cursory glance past the front entrances and there was no way their cruelties didn’t leave behind a paper trail. She saw the vile things that man thought and she saw the devastation he caused in his daughter. She saw the lives he ruined in the face of that jittery, scarred boy the occultist took a liking to. Samarie told herself she did Marina and the world a favour by getting rid of him as she left the study.

The last room of note was another bedroom, this one overwhelmingly dull. In contrast to the inviting warm tones of Marina’s room, the bedroom was dominated by blueish and greenish greys and functional wooden furniture. Separate twin beds rested perpendicular to each other atop a finely woven rug and only a crack of light made its way through the gap between the heavy drapes. This must have been Father Domek and his late wife’s room. A vanity was propped up in the corner for the missus’s use and the shelves were filled with more theological literature by a priest that didn’t have any hobbies or interests outside of the church and the Old Gods. He really was a joyless man who resented people for not being as miserable as he was. A man that was dead because of her.

Her presence started to feel like an intrusion, like the portrait in the hallway was a witness to her attempt at grave robbery. It wasn’t as if she respected either dark priest or valued their opinions, but Samarie still felt self-conscious of the scorn from such powerful and authoritative figures. They were the kind of people that expected deference and could easily turn someone’s life into a living hell if not given. Her voice had sounded so small in that echoey church, despite what she was capable of and how far she was willing to go.

The guilt started to prickle under her skin and she tried to find anything in the sterile bedroom that would humanize him. Everything was immaculately tidy with anything that would have been used on a daily basis put away, like its owner didn’t expect to come back. The bedroom seemed too impersonal, a mere illusion that someone lived here.

He was truly gone.

Samarie tried to tell herself that he deserved it and Marina was happier now that he wasn’t around to ruin her life. But she remembered the way she visibly recoiled from her confessions back at the train, how she filtered her pitying and creeped out thoughts to be as diplomatic as possible and Samarie didn’t understand what she was missing.

Upon a thorough investigation, she found several papers with solid, formal handwriting in a drawer on one of the nightstands; a collection of half-finished letters addressed to Marina. It had been a letter from her father that spurred her to visiting Prehevil and Samarie vividly recalled her feelings of anger and anguish when she decided to travel back to her hometown, though she hadn’t read it herself. By the look of it, these were earlier drafts of the fateful letter informing the occultist her mother had died, all of them cold and emotionally distant. There were changes in the wording and emphasis but what was consistent was the cruel message that they were dead to each other.

Father Domek had planned to completely cut her out of his life and make sure she had no ties to Prehevil, the priesthood, or him. Samarie killed a man and completely alienated Marina for no reason and the realization hit her like a truck. The crushing anxiety from the church and its distorted copy on the other side of the sigil returned, gripping her heart and squeezing the air out her lungs. No wonder the occultist hated her after she did something so unhinged and monstrous.

Samarie clutched her hair and screwed her eyes shut as she doubled over, fighting back the waves of panic washing over her. Marina wasn’t there to bring her out of it this time and she didn’t deserve any more kindness from the occultist. It didn’t matter that Father Domek had done horrible things and could have never left Prehevil; Samarie would forever be a murderer. An irrevocably tainted lunatic that ruined even the slightest chance she might have had with Marina or a shot at a worthwhile life.

Crazy, crazy!

She thought back to that misshapen pillar of flesh the priest had become, how there was no going back for either of them and how they had both sealed their fates to that twisted realm. Their lives, minds and bodies had been forfeited to the Old Gods long before either of them could have understood what was being demanded of them. Did Father Domek stop caring what happened to him too? If he bound his soul to the church like that pillar would suggest, then he had already been dead, possibly for months.

Samarie found that her breathing came a little easier, even if the guilt still coiled in her guts and crawled along her skin in a way that made her doubt a confessional could absolve her. Maybe Marina could never forgive her, but she was finally free and that was worth celebrating. Free from her father, free from the festival, and free from ignorant, small minded Prehevil. Both of them could walk away. The pressure in her head and lungs eased up and the hysterical grief gradually passed like every other time. It returned to a baseline as her despair faded into a more manageable background of acceptance and melancholy.

Samarie didn’t find what she was looking for in the bedroom, which didn’t surprise her. This whole visit was starting to feel like a waste of time and she was starting to doubt it was even here. Maybe she should just give up and head back to the train, chalk the whole thing up to yet another failure in the life of Samarie.

Though she hadn’t really explored downstairs yet and she supposed it couldn’t hurt to give it a cursory look. Quietly tapping down the stairs, the dark haired girl rounded a corner and entered the living room with its cozy fireplace and dead radio. It was easy to imagine Marina as a child playing in front of Mrs. Domek, perhaps with friends over, while music played on the radio and Father Domek was ignoring his family in his study.

Samarie wondered what would become of this place and by extension all of Prehevil now that the festival was over. The investigation and cleanup would be a long, ghastly process and it was almost impossible to imagine anyone willingly living here afterwards. Maybe decades or centuries would pass as the mausoleum of a town decayed, finally torn down when the soil didn’t feel so tainted, when everyone in it had long been forgotten. When every life of quiet desperation was lost to history with only the God of Fear and Hunger to remember them.

Several chairs were arranged around a dining room table with a neatly pressed tablecloth with the black and white tiles of the kitchen in view. Samarie was about to walk past for an obligatory sweep of the last part of the house when she did a double take and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. Sitting innocuously on top of a cabinet filled with expensive tableware was a framed photograph of a woman with light coloured hair that fell in curls below her shoulders. She was in her Sunday best wearing a dress with a simple pattern and had a broad smile Samarie couldn’t determine the sincerity of. With a rounded nose and wide eyes beneath delicate eyebrows, the woman looked like an older version of Marina and must have been her mother.

It was perfect and Samarie could hardly believe how quickly her luck turned around. She gingerly removed the photograph and hurried back to the bookstore with the portrait in hand, ready to return to the train with her souvenir.

———————————

The train finally reached its stop at the mostly empty station, only a few lamps illuminating the platform after the sky had gone dark hours ago. No one noticed the absence of any train personnel as the passengers filed out or paid any mind to their bloodied and disheveled clothes. There was no real way to explain their situation and the apathy was welcomed.

It was a moonless night and the survivors dispersed, some trying to find a pay phone and others continuing on foot to the nearest town. Marina exited the station and reluctantly walked into the foreboding darkness that seemed like it could harbour any kind of monstrosity. And after the horrors they all witnessed in Prehevil, they knew it could. There were unspeakable things lurking just beyond the veil of everyday life, things humans weren’t meant to see or understand. Dark streets and alleyways were known for common street thugs, but fearing something that mundane now seemed quaint.

Marina half expected something from Prehevil to shamble towards her out of the dark and kept startling at vague shapes out of the corners of her eyes. She tried telling herself she was just being paranoid, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something watching her. The occultist stole a glance back over her shoulder and her heart nearly stopped at the sight of a tall figure with pale, sallow skin and empty eyes.

Inky shadows turned into a black dress as her eyes began to make sense of the shapes and the figure became recognizable as the girl from the train.

“Marina... wait,” Samarie pleaded.

The hammering of her heart had slowed down when she realized it wasn’t some monster following her, but that didn’t mean there was nothing to be worried about.

“What’s up?”

Her response was casual on the surface, but she was keeping an eye on the girl while taking stock of her surroundings. Not in a way that indicated an immediate fear for her safety, but one that considered Samarie an unknown factor, a situation to be navigated carefully. She didn’t want Marina to be afraid of her or feel so ill at ease, but she had no one to blame but herself. Maybe now she could change that.

“Um...hi,” she started. “I hope you’re doing well.”

The occultist made some noncommittal sound and waited for her to go on. Samarie couldn’t think of how to formulate what she was thinking and was already starting to get nervous and sweaty. She wished she could just directly share her thoughts rather than awkwardly try to force them into words.

“About what happened back there. You wanted your father out of your life...I know you hated him, but...”

You loved your mother, didn’t you?

Marina took a deep breath and paused before speaking to avoid sounding too frustrated.

“You know, he was probably the only person that really understood what was going on in Prehevil. There was more to it than just the festival. I went back because I had questions for him and now I’ll never get any answers.”

“God, this whole trip was pointless. Father, did you really kill her? I guess I’ll never know what happened to her...”

“I know! That’s why... I-I wanted to do something for you.” Samarie blurted out.

None of this was coming out right and the exchange was testing the occultist’s patience, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Why couldn’t she just open her mouth and say words that actually meant something? It was time to finish this conversation before she could dig herself any deeper.

“H-here!”

She thrust the portrait out face down and Marina took it with confusion. Turning it over, she saw what the photograph depicted and her eyes widened with surprise.

“I thought you might want something to remember her by,” Samarie explained. “You... look a lot like her.”

Marina’s thoughts were a turbulent wave of emotions all directed at different people and hopelessly tangled together.

Sadness, determination, pity, frustration...

...gratitude.

She only said, “Thank you,” as she tucked the portrait under her arm.

Samarie stammered out some response and quickly turned around to run away before she could see her reaction. She didn’t look back to see if Marina made any move to stop her or ask any follow up questions, her heart hammering as her mind raced through their encounter. The pressure was too overwhelming to handle and she couldn’t stand the idea of Marina seeing her spluttering like an idiot and sweating like a pervert. She had messed up so much worse than she thought and Marina’s opinion of her was notpositive.

But it wasn’t hatred either.

More importantly, Samarie had finally done it. She did something that made her chosen purpose in life happy and the feeling burned strongly in her chest. Was it possible that she still had a chance and the occultist could return the affections that consumed so much of her heart and mind?

Absolutely not. Just look at her; a gaunt skeleton of a person with stringy hair and dark circles around her eyes like bruises. Blue veins visible through pale skin and cheek pudge that looked swollen against sharp jaw bones with an unsightly drooping nose that made her want to peel her own face off. A scattershot, dysfunctional, crazed wreck and a murderer that could barely string a coherent sentence together. The radiating soul that couldn’t manage the one thing she was meant to do, what the Ninth Circle had trained and prepared her for. Learning that the priests planned on her being a failure didn’t make it hurt any less. If anything, her body falling apart was all the more painful with the knowledge of how pointless it all was. Samarie had always been pitiable but never lovable, didn’t she know that already?

Even so, she couldn’t help but hold onto the false hope that for so long had been her only lifeline, the tether keeping her from falling into an inescapable pit of despair. Those feelings were the only thing she had to offer and even if Marina could never feel the same way, Samarie would do whatever she asked of her and would treasure every bit of happiness she managed to bring her. After doing this small thing for her light, her meaning, Samarie finally felt that it was all worth it.

#Fear and hunger #Fear and hunger Marina #Fear and Hunger Samarie #Samarina #fear and hunger termina #marina domek #samarie

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wearethecyclones · 11 hours ago

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JoshEddie pt. 3???

Part 1

Part 2

(Coda to 8.06 and 8.07, kinda.)

IDK anyone, but if anyone like idk wants to be tagged in these ?? Let me know ? If you'd like that ? or something ? I'm going to eventually get them making out so..... ;) Okay bye.

Josh could’ve texted Eddie at any point in the last couple of weeks, really. He’d composed a couple texts in his head but hadn’t gone so far as to type them out.

They had spent a long time talking over breakfast that morning after Halloween. Eddie had unloaded some serious stuff on Josh and he keeps thinking about it. Eddie’s grief over his wife, Eddie’s disastrous romances, his batshit insane parents taking his kid… He wants to check in on him at the least, and that’s so normal right? Right. Of course it is.

Or… he could snoop around to find out. He spots Buck talking to Maddie in the break room when he’s on his way for a coffee refill and starts plotting a way to casually ask how Eddie’s doing… which is immediately derailed when he overhears that Buck is spiraling about his boyfriend.

One impassioned elder queer speech later, Josh still has no idea if he should text Eddie or not.

“You’re a lifesaver, thanks for that,” Maddie says, giving him a drive-by hug from behind on her way to her station. He pats her arm right as she slides it away and sits. “And what boy has you feeling so romantic, huh? You said you were destined to die alone and love is a sham blah blah blah last time I asked if you were on the apps at all.”

Josh’s eyebrows shoot up. “Boy?” he asks, incredulous. “There’s no boy. It’s just nice seeing people being, you know, happy and stuff.”

“He was having a meltdown.”

“Well, then maybe I’m just in a good mood about being able to share some wisdom.”

Maddie narrows her eyes at him, unbelieving and mischievous, but she lets it go when a call comes through.

Josh turns back to his tablet, unable to help the furrowed brow and screwed up mouth he sees reflected back at him in the screen. What boy? There’s no boy. He’s not feeling romantic about anything at all.

He thinks about his phone tucked away in the drawer where it will remain until he takes his lunch. He wonders what he could glean from Instagram. He follows Eddie even though Eddie doesn’t post much, but still…

Eddie thought the priest was hot. He’d even maybe entertained the idea of the flirtation but the knee-jerk reaction to affirm his straightness won out. Thankfully, considering the celibacy and all that.

But the conversation still lingers with him. He’d never really been so succinctly called out for self-flagellation.

Well, other than by Josh. That morning over diner coffee and French toast, after Eddie had fully outlined his entire situation, Josh had looked at him and said, “My god, the martyrdom of it all.”

But it hadn’t landed quite the same way. Part of Eddie still thought that someone like Josh would think he took everything too seriously and that he wouldn’t understand just how much Eddie had to be the way that he is.

It’s hard to deny it from a priest, though.

“Once you’ve done your Our Fathers, I want you to do something frivolous, something fun, something that expresses pure joy.”

Eddie thinks about Josh. He keeps thinking about Josh. That moment of connection with him had felt light, somehow. Easy. Eddie wasn’t trying to charm him or be nice to him and Josh hadn’t been either. It had been fun and cathartic.

Eddie pulls his phone out of his pocket and flops onto the couch to agonize over what to text him. What he settles on (and sends before he can think twice) is: If I shave off the mustache, do I lose the emoji?

It doesn’t take long for Josh to answer, either.

You watched me peel mine off my face and still let me have it, so I’ll let you keep it too. Are you shaving it off? Your poor little face is gonna be so cold.

Eddie grins. He bites his lip as he types out a response. If you aren’t on shift, wanna grab a drink to pay your respects?

Josh responds with a selfie of him in his blue polo, headset around his neck, frowning and holding his head up at his desk at dispatch. Raincheck? And please send a selfie of your smooth baby face to hold me over.

That raincheck is legally binding. And you got it. 🫡

It’s for the best considering that Buck shows up on his doorstep with a six pack and a broken heart.

“I am love’s kryptonite,” Josh declares, setting the world’s most perfect blueberry muffin back on the paper plate in front of him after only one bite.

Maddie huffs a laugh. “No, you are not. Your advice was good! I was just telling Buck he cannot control other people’s feelings or reactions, don’t make me give the same speech to you.”

“No, I know, but…” Josh can hardly begin to explain how bad he feels about this. He gives Maddie an exaggerated pout.

She gently shoves the blueberry muffin closer to him. “Eat. You’ve had a scary amount of coffee today.”

He sighs and tears another chunk off and pops it into his mouth. “God, at least he’s doing something productive. Or whatever. These are so good.”

Maddie nods. “He said every time he wants to text him, he bakes instead. Our place is overflowing with loaves, Howie said the firehouse is too.”

“Jeez. He should just text him then.”

She lifts a critical eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that like… the worst thing to do in this situation?”

Josh shrugs a shoulder. “You know what, I’m going to keep my mouth shut before I further destroy your little brother’s life.”

“Oh, please, it’s not your fault. I mean it. And his life isn’t destroyed. I gotta get back out there, but please just eat that and, I don’t know, get some water too.”

“I’ve had a very normal amount of coffee today, thank you very much. Go on, get.”

He slides his phone out of his pocket when Maddie leaves him there. He sorta wants to text Buck to check in on him or apologize or compliment the muffins or something, but instead he taps into his thread with Eddie.

Something he… well… keeps doing for reasons he refuses to think about. The last couple things Eddie had sent include a selfie of him with a freshly shaven face, Josh teasing him for having a pale upper lip and looking like a teenager, and a baby emoji from Eddie.

It’s the picture he keeps looking at, obviously.

Josh taps the side of the phone a couple times before finally typing and sending something.

Might be rich of me to request this, but can you assure me I didn’t make Buck and Tommy break up? 😩

Josh finishes the rest of the muffin waiting for a response. He’s only got a few minutes left on his break and is contemplating another coffee (Maddie isn’t the boss of him, okay) when his phone vibrates.

???? I have no clue how you would’ve had anything to do with it tbh, so yeah I can.

Josh sends a quick summary of events as he cleans up after himself, stalling his return to the floor.

Absolutely not your fault, Eddie responds. Buck just ran headfirst into a commitment-phobe wall because he didn’t have a real conversation with the guy.

Josh tries to think of a response as he walks back to his desk, but Eddie changes the subject.

When can I cash in on that raincheck? Drinks soon?

Josh grins at his phone.

#josheddie #jeddie #eddiejosh #911 show #911 abc #911 fic #amanda writes things and stuff #josh russo #eddie diaz

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televinita · 2 months ago

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Derry Girls, season 2 thoughts!

IN GENERAL

There's often still a pervading sense to me of "we had this great idea for an episode, but it was too expensive so the girls were thwarted and here's a different story instead." That said...

Why did this show not run for six years and a hundred+ episodes. I've never seen anything so consistently delightful or so untethered to continuity or a throughline in my life. These episodes might take place in absolutely any order as far as I know.

Seriously, despite many attempts to ground it with news reports and the still-mystifying-to-me presence of a baby in the background who has clearly grown older since season 1, I have no idea how much time is supposed to have passed in this series.

(if it was more than a year you DEFINITELY could have fit fifteen extra adventures in per season at least)

(Does this show have fic? It should have SO MUCH gen!fic that is just canon-compliant-missing-episodes in style, and yet, I am sure without looking that the vast majority of whatever does exist is simply not that.)

I am loving (almost) all the music! This is the dead opposite of my experience w/ Good Girl's Guide to Murder.

Getting a real strong urge to rewatch "Finding You" btw.

CHARACTERS & EPISODES

+ 2x01: got quite a delight out of Sister Michael's opposite-in-appearance, identical-in-vision Protestant counterpart

+ "I do enjoy a good statue, it has to be said," another iconic line I've known as long as I've known this show.

+ Hot Priest returns to the fold, love that for me.

+ everything about the poetry episode omg.

+ It continues to baffle me that Michelle is everything I should absolutely hate in a character, this is THE miscreant I'm always like "why are you still friends with this loser?" about in YA novels, yet she remains beloved and cherished 2 me just the way she is.

+ The Concert: an episode of pure unfettered delight

+ Let's not talk about the drugs/funeral one.

+ 2x05?? I went into this show with Erin/James on the brain, but with only a single screenshot to support it, so I simply perished of joy when he turned up at her door for Prom.

(also, Orla taking her grandfather because he's the fella she likes best?? awwww)

+ The finale!! I have also known that "you're a Derry girl now" quote (overlaid over different images) for as long as I've known this show existed, but it was still so great seeing it with context.

+ Did I rewind the girls swarming him with hugs at least seven times? Yes.

+ Also, okay, that's it, I need some version of James in a book and I am currently CURSING at how little British YA I have stored in my memory banks to make it so.

(ALSO I just remembered that a book version of Erin's diary exists and I require it. After some investigation, appears I can borrow the physical book via I.L.L. but I equally want the audiobook and it is not on Libby, sadface)

Now that I have forced myself to practice writing down actual thoughts, Imma go queue some gifsets, and I'm still going to make myself sit and process all this footage for another week or two, but VERY excited to get to season 3.

#derry girls related

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dykefever · 2 years ago

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Okayyyy I finished tsasog and without further ado here is me simping:

God I missed your wolfstar the UST, the chemistry is unparalleled. I need my wolfstar pathetic and intense and pining mutually right off the bat and you delivered. Don't think I didn't see Remus's reaction when he caught sight of Sirius in his church that first time!

Ok some of my fave metaphors (not incl. religious) that have stuck with me: spit watermelon seed for Lola. Holding a cherry pit under his tongue waiting for Remus. That whole description of James in the last chapter omg.

Having never watched Fleabag bc of the triggers, to me, the way you described missing your dead friend, and what it felt like for Sirius right after she died-- it's accurate. All of it. Thank you for treating it tenderly and honestly. It made me feel less crazy tbh.

Ok onto the Hot Priest bit. Again, only you and only wolfstar will have me buying into The Hot Priest (like yes, Sirius, Get On Your Knees for Remus where you belong. The fingers on his tongue, like he is receiving the Eucharist, the Body of Christ, only hello it's the body of Remus John Lupin). I weirdly grew up with a brand of priest where being hot was part of their whole thing to like "attract people to God" but then like try being fifteen and in confession and having to tell said priest you let your bf touch your boobs shit got weird.

ON THAT NOTE. I am FERAL for all the religious/sacrilegious metaphors and perversions and commentary. I already talked about Sirius receiving "communion," but Sirius crucifying himself on a FIRE ESCAPE with his pathetic love for Remus? Perfect. If you ever need a beta for that shit PLEASE let me put my catholic education to werk. I once wrote a metaphor comparing a sex facial to the baptism of Jesus in the river jordan. I got a lifetime of knowledge.

I'll end with this: Remus, after he leaves the church and goes to Sirius and professes his love-- that experience was beautifully depicted. Remus saying that religion is a source of goodness and truth and peace, and if you aren't experiencing that, then it's not what you are meant to be doing: SO TRUE. And then there's that feeling of freedom and happiness and joy you have when you are brave enough to truly follow your path, even if it means giving up an identity and a life and a truth you once believed. It's terrifying but exhilarating once you make it to the other side. But yeah, that idea of bone-deep, constant "suffering," as Remus called it, while staying in the church, and then realizing that that is not what church or God or love should actually feel like- that is the *only* way a truly devout person will ever have the strength to walk away from it. You nailed it.

Hope this ask isn't too unhinged but like what is the point of fandom if you cant pull shit like this amirite? Thank you for sharing your writing-- you are doing the lord's work. xxooo

hello hello!!!! i love this ask definitely not too unhinged thank you for all ur lovely words :-) and thank you for including the bits from the last ask i somehow deleted 😭😭

i actually can’t write r/s without UST and like intense amounts of pathetic pining it just doesn’t make sense to me thank you for seeing my vision and loving it!! i’m really honoured you read this work despite it having some triggering material for you - and then also feeling i honoured the events that happen and treated it well. whenever i write difficult topics (grief, mental health struggles, unhealthy relationships etc) im always trying to approach it with care and honesty and vulnerability! drawing from what i know and how i think that character would also react to these events. but yeah thank you :-) particularly irt religion which i have some knowledge of but not hugely, i actually ended up doing a lot of research and like reading priest’s experiences in the church and why they chose the profession etc and then why some leave. and i’m glad the last part resonated because religion isn’t inherently evil or bad and i didn’t want r to be like i don’t want any of it! but to actually connect with his faith again to realise that the way he was practicing and engaging with his religion was no longer healthy and no longer the best way to like connect with it and god!!

and damn i wish i had gotten you on board for the religious metaphors 😭 you would have taken it the next level aidjfjw but thank you so much for all these lovely words!!!! just loved reading all this :-) xxxx

#answered #hihimissamericanbi #tsasog

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denimbex1986 · 7 months ago

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'Andrew Scott has given further insight into why he dislikes the term “openly gay.”

Over the last few years, the beloved talent has garnered critical acclaim for his role as Adam in the film All of Us Strangers and as the ��hot priest” in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s comedy-drama Fleabag.

In addition to his captivating acting performances, Scott has earned praise for being an open book about his sexuality following his coming out announcement in 2013.

“Of course, it’s part of my make-up, but I don’t want to trade on it. I am a private person. I think that’s important if you’re an actor,” he told The Independent at the time.

While Scott has continued to embrace his sexuality across various interviews, he has also expressed his grievances with how the media covers LGBTQIA+ actors.

During a January appearance on Off Script With The Hollywood Reporter, the beloved talent pitched the idea of no longer using the term “openly gay.”

“Here me out, it’s an expression that we actually only ever hear in the media. You’re never at a party, and you say, ‘This is my openly gay friend,'” he explained to Colman Domingo, Paul Giamatti, Robert Downey Jr, Mark Ruffalo, and Jeffrey Wright.

In a recent interview with Variety, Scott shared further insight into his aforementioned comments and the double standard regarding the questions gay actors are asked compared to straight actors.

“It’s wonderful to be able to talk about sexuality in an open way,” he explained. “But I do feel sometimes, other people – and by other people, I mean straight people – don’t have to explain or talk about their sexuality every time they go to work.”

The Spectre actor went on to say that the term “openly gay” makes it seem as if he’s being “defiant” by just being who is adding: “Be open about it? Why wouldn’t you be open about it?”

While Scott expressed support for the use of “out,” he described the word ‘openly’ as “a little loaded.”

Elsewhere in his interview, the Sherlock star reflected on the recent press coverage for All of Us Strangers and Ripley and how it seems like he only discusses the difficulties he faces as a gay man.

“Sometimes I find it hard when you’re doing press because I feel so joyful and so emancipated,” he explained.

“It seems like I always want to talk about the difficulties that I have with being gay, when actually, it’s the greatest joy of my life.”

Scott’s recent interview comes a few weeks after he announced his role in the new erotic audio series, The Queen’s Guard.'

#Andrew Scott #The Queen's Guard #All of Us Strangers #Ripley #Sherlock #Adam #Hot Priest #Fleabag #Phoebe Waller-Bridge #LGBTQIA+

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oniifans · 2 years ago

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Confessions of a Sinner: Priest! Eren Yeager x Female Reader

Summary: You are a sinner. And you've tried to confess your sins, but many times you failed. Today was the day you confess your sins to Father Eren Yeager. But what will Father Eren do when he realizes that he's listening to your confessions about him?

Kinks Include: Toxic Eren Yeager, Top Eren Yeager, Priest! Eren Yeager, Eren Yeager has a manbun, Eren Yeager has long hair, oral sex, face-sitting, slight cunnilingus, confessions, confessional, dubious consent, humiliation, verbal humiliation, degradation, panty kink.

Inspired by: AnnLuVazzel on twitter - Her fanarts of Priest Eren Yeager is *chef's kiss* please check her out. ♥ Thank you. ♥

Disclaimer: I have 0 intentions to offend any religions, faiths, beliefs, and dogmas. I respect all religions and their believers. This is pure fiction, and it has no base on reality of what the church does and think. This is my own interpretation of religious guilt, sins, confessions, prayers, and blasphemy. Since this is a mature and explicit fan-fiction, I trust you, as the reader, can separate fan fiction from reality. Thank you.

You never liked going to church. Not on Fridays or Sundays. But it wasn’t because of the church that you didn’t like to go. It’s not the people that were bent in the pews, quietly whispering their prayers to their God. It wasn’t because of the stupid modest clothes you had to wear due to the strict scriptures you were suppose to follow.

No.

Not any of that.

The main reason why you didn’t like going to church…was because of Him.

That priest.

You sat quietly in the pews, your fingers tracing over the words of the picked scripture for today’s mass. You shifted in your seat, pulling down your skirt before your eyes glanced up to him.

There he was, standing at the altar as his hands were clasped together for a prayer.

Father Eren Yeager.

No one really knew how he joined the church. How he became the Father of this holy place. Everyone was curious to know, except you.

You had your own curiosities. You had a feeling that there was something in between you two. But you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Was it God? Was it taboo? Sin?

When he would talk about sin, his emerald green eyes were pinned to you, as if he knew about your sins. Anytime you meet his gaze, you sit up straighter, your hands on your knees while he continues to speak before moving his gaze back to his scripture.

What’s funny is that…you are a sinner.

After mass, you had the burning urge to go up to him and talk. Talk about what? The service? How good was it?

No.

You wanted to go and confess your sins to him. Sit in that confession box and tell him everything. You were so close the last few times to do it, but you left shortly after Mass. Your confidence deflated the minute he finished his prayer, and you were out the double doors.

You always had that voice in your head when you were walking back to your home.

“You want to be clean, don’t you?”

Was it even your voice?

Or Father’s?

Your mind snapped back to church as you noticed everyone standing up for prayer. You got up to your feet, bowing your head and clasping your hands together.

“Remember, Lord, your creature,

whom you redeemed by your Blood.

I am repentant of my sins,

I desire to put right what I have done.”

You clench your jaw, your heart racing as you glance up. Your heart froze as his gaze met with yours.

“Take from me, therefore, most merciful Father,

all my iniquities and sins,

so that, purified in mind and body,

I may worthily taste the Holy of Holies.”

Fuck. You swallow nervously, his gaze never leaving yours before he looks down and closes his eyes.

“May the almighty and merciful Lord

grant us joy with peace,

amendment of life,

room for true repentance,

the grace and consolation of the Holy Spirit

and perseverance in good works.

Amen.”

You could feel your heart race again before your legs finally bent and you sat back down. Why were you getting all hot and bothered? It wasn’t because he was looking at you, right?

Your fingers fumbled to touch the rosary around your neck, gripping at the cross as Father Eren started to talk about announcements and events that were happening at the church.

Your eyes fell down to the bible.

You need to tell him today. You couldn’t focus at church, not while he’s talking. Your mind would wander back to when you were alone in your room, one hand touching yourself and the other covering your mouth. No matter how muffled and how quiet you were, you would still moan out his name.

Eren.

Father Eren.

Over and over again.

You knew that it was wrong, but you continued like the filthy sinner you were. You want to be pure in the eyes of Father Eren. You would do anything.

You were going to do it. Today.

“And that’s all for announcements. Please, have a lovely afternoon today. May peace be with you all.” Father Eren said as he closed his bible and nodded at the congregation to be dismissed.

He stood at the altar, shifting his notes and bible as everyone started to file out and leave. You closed the bible and set it on the pew. You slowly rose to your feet and shifted out from the pew.

Some of the men met with Father and spoke briefly. Firm handshakes and soft chuckles echoed in the church, along with whispered conversations. You carefully moved out of people’s way as you made your way towards the altar.

Was Father Eren always this friendly? His long black hair was pulled into a loose bun, strands of his hair framing his face while his emerald gaze was gentle, yet firm as he spoke with the members of the church. He wore the green chasubles, along with a brown rosary around his neck and his hands occupied with the bible.

“I see that the Lord has kept you well, Father.” You say as your feet meet at the altar. Father Eren turned to look at you, a light smile pulling at his lips, “And same with you, YN. How was the service?” He asked.

“It was wonderful as always. I wanted to speak with you privately, if you have the time.” You say.

Father Eren nodded quietly, “Absolutely. Please, if you could wait here at the very front pew while I go and change, I’ll be with you shortly.”

You nodded, walking over to the front pew and taking a seat. You watched as he disappeared behind one of the doors on the left side of the altar. You left out a shaky breath and looked around. You were alone.

This was it. You were going to confess your sins to him. No more hiding. No more running away. This was it.

“My apologies if you had to wait so long,” Father Eren said as he walked out of the door, closing it behind him, “getting out of these large uniforms has its difficulties.”

He was wearing the common black clergy uniform with the collar, the brown rosary now around his hands as he approached you. “What did you want to speak about?” He asked.

You rose to your feet, your heart beating out of your chest. “I wanted to confess my sins. I wanted to speak with you privately about it, because it is a bit longer than a short session.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Is that so?” He glanced at the confession box before coming back to you, “We can today, right now if you’d like. I do have time.”

“Really? Oh, thank you Father. I’ve been meaning to do this for such a long time, but I always would leave and hide.” You say embarrassed, “but I don’t want to run away anymore.”

Father Eren stared at you for a moment before reaching over to cup your cheek gently, turning your head so you were looking up at him. “As it says in the bible, YN, If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness,” His thumb grazed over your lower lip, “you should never run away and hide from your shame. It takes a strong person to come clean and be pure once again.”

You nearly melted as he pulled his hand away and readjusted his collar. He had no idea what he was in for. “So, shall we?” He says, motioning his head towards the box.

———————

Father Eren opened the wooden door as you stepped inside. You quietly sat as he closed the door and made his way to his side, taking a seat.

You grew sweaty. You were afraid, but you knew you had to take the chance to talk to him. Confess.

“You may begin when you want to, YN.” Father Eren says.

You made a sign of the cross over your chest before drawing in a shaky breath. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession.” You say softly.

You grit your teeth, your hands gripping the hem of your skirt.

“Take your time, YN. No need to rush.” Father Eren says.

Your cheeks grow warm as you shamelessly start to remember.

“I…I am nothing but a pervert,” You clear your throat, “every Sunday I have impure thoughts of Father Eren. I…I cannot say-!”

“Go on.”

His voice grew husky, tone dripping in honey. You couldn’t hear him, but his breathing picked up just a bit.

“I…F-Father Eren, it's embarrassing to say.”

“Do you want to be free of your shameful sins? Confess.”

You swallow your spit before glancing down at your feet. “I…I touch myself to lustful thoughts of Father Eren. During his sermons, I would think about how his lips would feel on mine, how his hands would wrap around my body. I would dream of the times of when we would have sex. When he would look at me, my body burns with passion and desire. In between my legs, I..I am always aching and wet with need. I am constantly turned on with him looking at me, and I can’t get this urge out of my head.”

Your body was hot, your thighs closing together tightly as heat pooled in between your legs. You can’t think about this now. This was so wildly inappropriate.

“Is that all?”

Your lips trembled before you nodded quietly, “I-I’m sorry for these and all of my sins.”

Silence. It grew, along with tension as you stared at the small window. “Father Eren?” You ask, still wondering if he was still there.

Silence.

Your hands shot up to cover your face. You knew doing this was going to end up awkward. God, you couldn’t face him again. You just told him everything.

Suddenly, the door was ripped open as Father Eren stared down at you. His eyes were cold, body tense as his nostrils flared angrily.

Did you really upset him?

You grew fearful before his lips parted to speak. “Your sins are forgiven by our Lord. However, I am offering you a penance. A penance that’ll purge your sins completely. Please, meet me at my office.” He said in that same husky tone.

Penance? What?

You nod, getting to your feet as you walk out of the confessional. He followed behind you as you made your way down the side of the pews and towards the door.

You could feel his eyes on you. Your mind wandered as you pushed open the door. What the hell was he going to do? Yell at you? Scold you and do fifty Hail Marys in front of him?

You stood in his office, eyes pinned to his desk as Father Eren closed the door behind you, quietly locking it.

Silence filled the room as he passed you, moving to the back of his desk. He set his rosary beads on top of some paperwork. His hands rested on top of his office chair, while his eyes were looking at you.

“How long were you having these thoughts, YN?” He asked.

You couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Look at me.” He commanded.

Your eyes shot to him. “For a while now.” You whisper.

“Show me.”

Your eyes widened. “What?” You ask.

“Show me your pussy. I want to see that aching need of yours.” He hissed, now walking around to the front of the desk, sitting at the edge of it. His arms were crossed while he stared you down.

Your face flushed before you slowly reached your hands down to the edge of your skirt and pulled it up.

You shuddered as you felt the cool air on your exposed inner thighs. Your body burned with shame as you looked away. Eren scoffed as he pushed himself off of the desk and walked over to you.

“How quaint. Even your flesh lies. You confess your sins, and yet,” He let out a harsh chuckle, eyes burning down your body while one hand reached down to touch your clothed core, “here you are, wet and aching with need.”

You gasp, freezing as you look down to see his hand in between your legs.

“You think you deserve this? Deserve my attention? My touch?” He asks, his lips pressing up your ear, “do you want my solution to your aching problem?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Father Eren didn’t like that.

He moved his hand away from your panties and grabbed your arm. He dragged you with him towards the large standing mirror he had next to his closet.

Angrily, he yanked up your blouse, exposing your breasts and hiding your rosary. You didn’t have the heart to look at yourself in the mirror, shame burning your cheeks before his other hand pulled down your panties. Your panties pooled around your feet before you stepped out of them.

There you were: an exposed sinner in the holy hands of Father Eren.

His gaze was intimidating as he stared down your body once more. “Look at you, YN. Look at yourself.” He commanded.

Your eyes stared at your reflection. One hand gripped at your breast, your nipple hard as his thumb and index fingertip rubbed slowly while the other hand traveled down to graze over your outer lips.

Your body sags against his, little whines and whimpers escaping your lips. “See? Even me touching you, confessing your sins isn’t enough. You’re still impure.” He hissed, his lips pressed against your neck as he nibbled on your flesh.

You gasp, his tongue running over your skin as he makes a small mark on your skin. Your eyes shoot to him in the mirror, “What did you do to me?” You ask, panting.

“Marking an impure woman. Just to make sure that everyone can see that to avoid you.” He replies. His hands continue to fondle you, while he still stares at you.

“You will listen to my words,” He began as his hands started to pull away, fixing your clothes, “I have one solution to get rid of these impure desires, YN. But once I do this, I never want to see you again. Not in my church. Understood?”

You frowned, nodding slowly.

“Good.”

It hurt to hear those words. But you didn’t want to cause any problems with Father Eren. Besides, he was doing this to keep you pure. That’s all that mattered, right?

You watch as he moves from the mirror and starts to stack the two chairs. He set them towards the wall, now a large space on the floor.

He crouched down at first before laying flat on the floor. He motioned with his two fingers. “Come to me, YN.” He said.

You obeyed his words, quietly walking to him before you were now standing in front of him.

“Lift your skirt for me.”

You bit your lower lip before your hands slowly reached down to lift your skirt, exposing your wet cunt once more.

“Sit on me.”

Your chest rose and fell. “Father Eren. Are you sure…that it’s okay?” You ask, your eyes glossing over with that familiar lust.

“I will drink away all of your sin. If you want to be pure again, you will allow me to do this. You want to be clean, don’t you?” He raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Now sit.”

You moved yourself so you were directly above his face. You hesitated for a moment before you saw his eyes flash with a warning.

You sunk to your knees, your pussy directly on his face. Both of his hands shot up to hold your hips.

His lips parted as his tongue snuck out to lick at your outer pussy lips. You trembled as he held you still while his mouth worked on you. Your mouth was opened with soft gasps, a small bead of sweat forming on the side of your face.

Little muffled pleased hums escaped him as his eyes closed. You noticed how gentle he was. And yet, he was slowly unwrapping you, lick by lick.

His tongue spread your lips before moving up towards your peeking clit.

You let out a soft moan before his mouth pulled away immediately, “Close your mouth. You’re still in church.” He warned before he went back to assaulting your clit.

Your hand shot to cover your mouth, eyes rolling back as his mouth was fully enveloped on your cunt. He continued to move his mouth, drinking your sweet nectar.

Your muffled moans only made him go faster. But you needed more. Friction.

He grunted as you started to move your hips shallowly against his face. He moved to suck on your clit ruthlessly, eyes pinned as your head rolled back. Lewd, wet sucking noises filled your ears, making your tummy burn.

You were going to cum.

You wanted to stop, that guilt suddenly weighing back before your eyes fell to Father Eren. His tongue laid flat right on your leaking pussy before he started to move his head back and forth quickly.

The feeling of his tongue was too much. He knew what he was doing.

“Do it…give me everything…break for me.” Father Eren said in between his licks.

Your body shook and spasmed as you came. The guilt disappeared as he drank, his eyes closed tightly. His forehead glistened with sweat, his face burned pink.

He slowly pulled his mouth away, the tip of tongue sticking with a long string of mixed fluids before he lapped it up. He moved his hands to grip yours as you got to your feet.

Your chest rose and fell, instinctively taking a few steps back as Father Eren got to his feet. He readjusted his rosary, fixing up his hair before he walked over to the mirror. He cleared his throat before he rolled up his sleeves.

Your mouth dropped to see that his arms were covered in different tattoos. He glanced down to see your panties as he leaned over to pluck them from the floor.

“Father Eren, what are those? How long have you been hiding them?” You ask, alarmed at the sight.

“That is none of your concern. Now leave.” Father Eren said coldly, looking over at your panties before his fingers rubbed over your middle stripe, scoffing as it was still wet.

“But the Church will find out if-!”

“The Church won’t find out about me. And if you say a word, how would you feel if the entire congregation knew about what we just did? No one would believe a single word,” His gaze fell to you, “would they believe that the priest would actually do such lewd acts with a whore?” He took a step to you, “a whore who confessed such lusts about me?”

He backed you up against the door, your eyes pricked with tears. His fingers found the lock to the door and quietly unlocked it.

“I already said what you need to do,” he leaned against your ear, “now get the hell out of my church.”

You shoved him off of you and stormed out of his office. Your face burned with humiliation as you wiped tears from your eyes.

Father Eren stared as you left before he closed the door. His hand that held your panties moved to his nose. He inhaled the thick, sweet scent as his other hand moved to grab and rub his stiff cock hidden in his black clergy uniform.

“Father forgive me for my sins,” Father Eren whispers, his eyes glancing at his own reflection in the mirror, “for I have only just begun them.”

#attack on titan #eren aot #eren jeager smut #eren jeager x reader #eren smut #eren toxic #eren yeager #snk eren #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin

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isolatedbubble · 3 years ago

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Romance in MXTX, Priest, and SHL

MXTX: Flower, Wine and Dreamworld

The romance in MXTX's works is like flower that grows in ice and snow; colorful, bright and hopelessly romantic, blossoms in misery and hardships.

It features a distinct "us against the world" mindset, depicting love as the only constant in the world. It's an eternal "dreamworld" detached from worldly matters, the perfect escapism as well as a source of strengths in the face of cruel reality.

Both MDZS and TGCF are a critique of mob mentality.

The contrast between CQL and MDZS is very interesting. While the former ends with LWJ taking charge, and therefore changing the world for the better, the novel ends with wangxian isolating themselves from grand politics and focusing more on helping individuals as recluse. It has an essentially pessimistic attitude towards the morality & intelligence of the collective.

TGCF takes a slightly more optimistic approach, featuring the crowd being courageous under the right circumstances. However, both works share a similar undertone: putting one’s absolute faith in the collective is dangerous, whereas unconditional trust and devotion can be only found in one-to-one connection

MXTX herself compares MDZS and TGCF to 花间一壶酒 (A cup of wine among flowers), MDZS being the wine and TGCF being flower. She also compares MDZS to 风雪夜归人, the person returning home from snow and wind, and TGCF to 红泥小火炉, a small red furnace.

Priest: Breezing Wind and Burning Iron

The romance in priest's works is more complicated. It's the most gentle in its normal state, when it is rational and collected, in which case it's like the breezing wind, soothing, sweet and light-hearted. It gives the individuals more incentive to achieve their individual and/or societal vision, as well as more reason to value their own lives & well-being.

In Faraway Wanderers, the most distinct feature of WenZhou relationship is how in naturally sync they are, and how comfortable & smooth their dynamic is. They both have past burden, but it doesn’t matter, because they bring simple joy, understanding and happiness in each other’s lives.

In Sha Po Lang and The Guardian, the ML’s lingering love for the MC motivates them to become better version of themselves, to care about others, and to form a holistic vision about bettering society.

In The Defective, Lin Jingheng(MC) explicitly said that Lu Bixing(ML) is the only meaning in his life. He had little incentive to care about his own life after his revenge plan fell apart. LBX helped him reconnect with his inner idealism, and gave him a reason value his life.

When the passion and fiery energy manifests itself, however, the romance is like burning iron, blood and fire. It isn’t actually toxic or unhealthy, but it's not pure and innocent either; in this case, it strives for something deeper and more intense, never content with the past or the present. The sheer intensity of relationship is like a double-edged sword, walking the fine line between unconditional devotion and dangerous obsession.

SHL: Spring Water and Healing Open Wounds

The romance in SHL is like "spring water"; it's warm, gentle, nurturing. It breaks through the boundary between individuals to bring the couple closer to each other, taking them back to a utopia of their childhood dream, away from social pressure and responsibility. The theme central to their relationship is “salvation”: how love is able to bring people back to integrity.

Both drama wkx and drama zzs have lots of regret about their past sins and wrongdoings. Four Seasons Manor is essentially a metaphor for purity, acceptance and the safety of childhood home. How to make drama wkx open up and accept this safe harbor as his home is one of the most significant plot-lines of the show.

SHL couple is way more emotionally vulnerable and expressive. A significant part of SHL arc is healing the wounds in an open and honest way. They cuddle and confide in each other way more often, talk about their shameful past and even cry about their regrets in front of one another, which is very rare among MXTX/Priest works.

The heat of the relationship sometimes gets too hot and even burns; in other words, there are constant miscommunications, conflicts and misunderstandings in the relationship. However, they can never let each other go, because it's the only source of warmth left for them in their hopeless lives filled with regrets and guilt.

Similarities and Differences

*Note that this is not a SHL/TYK comparison. TYK is kind of an “unorthodox” priest novel; you will know what I mean if you have read 3+ of her works.

Relationship Dynamic & Narrative:

In MXTX’s works, the concept of “romance” itself is divined; and the characters are illustration of the ideal of “undying love”. People are made for one another, to complete one another. Her works use colorful symbolism (silver butterflies, the emperor’s smile, the 3 thousand lanterns, etc.) to depict this romanticized ideal of love.

For MXTX, the romanticization of “destined love” is one of the most recurring themes of her novels. Therefore, the readers look at their relationship through rose-color glasses. Obsession is usually framed in a jolly & romantic light, and doesn’t feature much tension or stress, and has less negative or unhealthy undertone.

In most of priest’s works and SHL, soulmates are not born but made, so they have to figure out how their relationship works step by step. Therefore the narrative is less of a “rosy picture”.

Priest has a habit of using derogatory terms to describe relationships that are mostly healthy, but somewhat “bloody” and edgy, full of excessive passion and obsession. The most common phrase is “爱生忧怖”, a Buddhist term meaning “love results in worry and fear”.

SHL obviously has to be more subtle in expressing love. That said, drama WenZhou are way more emotionally vulnerable and expressive than their novel counterparts, as well as most Priest & MXTX characters. They have a dramatic falling out once in a while, even towards the end. They barely fit the Chinese definition of Zhiji (to know me/to understand one another), but are “lovers” who are buried deep in their passion instead.

Past, Future and Evolvement:

In SHL, characters are encouraged to treasure past impressions that are thrown in figurative “wrappings”, whose luster is derived from age-old experiences (Psychological Types, Carl Jung). In other words, they are encouraged to root their love in a shared past, a Utopia of innocence.

The contrast between The Defective and Word of Honor is very interesting to observe. Both involve long separation, and the suffering and personality changes hat comes from it. SHL narrative frames their innocent childhood as something to cling to and return to. Drama WKX is encouraged to accept his identity as Four Seasons Manor disciple because it was part of his childhood past. This is a significant part of drama WenZhou relationship.

In The Defective, the narrative doesn't encourage the couple to dwell on the past that much. On the contrary, the all-knowing AI explicitly discouraged the MC from “comparing past to present”. They are advised to accept changes, however painful it might be, and build a better, more equal dynamic out of it, evolving from one-sided pandering to fighting side-by-side.

In Priest’s novels, the characters rarely return to something in the past, but look into the future. Change is usually framed as inherently beneficial, albeit usually painful and rocky, the implication being that you need to constantly strive for something better.

Sha Po Lang is a good example of this, with Gu Yun’s changing attitude towards Chang Geng after he as he matures, gradually showing his intelligence in politics. CG starts referring to GY as Zixi instead of YiFu is also a sign of this change---to see him as equal rather than a parental figure & protector.

The Defective is even more obvious in this regard, with both parties uncomfortable with the change initially, but gradually adjusting to the changes during their 16-year separation. The ML also stops calling MC by his surname “Lin”, as a sign of viewing him as equal.

In MXTX’s works, change in personality or relationship dynamic is neither framed as painful or good. It just happens. It’s a natural flow that take place when it does. Their relationships are rarely challenged by change. They are objectively at a better place compared to their past, but it’s merely the result of a series of events rather than a deliberate choice or struggle.

WangXian’s relationship naturally changes over time after WWX’s rebirth, but neither of them really struggles with the change.

Xie Lian doesn’t even recognize Hua Cheng as the someone from his past, so they start out as friends getting to know each other.

Salvation and Changing one another:

Priest herself stated in an interview that she doesn’t believe in the concept of salvation, since people have the inner capacity to be their own savior. Therefore, priest characters usually don’t actively try to change their partner’s morals or personality. Some might be willingly influenced by their partner, but there’s rarely an element of moral condemnation. Even when there is a conflict between different values, the options are 1) to reconcile them by choosing the middle ground 2) to maintain their independence and tackle it with nuance 3) to break up.

On surface level, Mo Du/Silent Reading is about Luo Wenzhou being Fei Du’s salvation. However, as LWZ pointed out himself, Fei Du would’ve been a good person at heart with or without his influence.

In The Defective, when Lu Bixing mistakenly thought Lin Jingheng stayed in the Eighth Galaxy against his own wishes because of their relationship, and that their priorities are irreconcilable, he even thought about breaking up. Of course he was not serious about it, but this showcased that he would never try to change LJH’s convictions.

In SHL, however, the concept of salvation is central to the theme. Some find it strange that SHL make drama zzs the more “moral” one of the two, despite his action being more objectively questionable. In fact, the only reason he get framed as more “moral” is that he admitted his fault sooner, and therefore could guide drama wkx’s path back to salvation: to recognize the goodness in people, make peace with external world, to clear his name in Jianghu, and to follow due process with his revenge plan to avoid collateral damages.

“I tried to change you, but you end up changing me”, said drama ZZS. This relationship dynamic is never present in any of priest’s works I’ve read. Priest characters don’t *try* to change one another.

Does MXTX believe in salvation? Hard to tell. One could argue that Hua Cheng would have be way more amoral and even immoral if it hadn’t been for XL. This is complicated and is a topic for another time.

However, it is certain that MXTX MCs don’t condemn each other morally. “The orthodox one defending their unorthodox partner in front of the world” is a common wuxia trope, but the way MXTX novels approach it is very different from SHL.

HuaLian never had a serious falling out about being on different sides. Even when they disagree, they respect each other and love each other exactly the way they are. Hua Cheng didn’t approve of Xie Lian saving Mu Qing, but he didn’t interfere with Xie Lian’s decision. Xie Lian feels responsible for helping Shi Qingxuan in Blackwater arc, but he is perfectly fine with HC helping He Xuan keep secrets. In several cases where they have different values, they are able to make it work with ease.

LWJ never *morally* condemned WWX for his action, and never once objected to WWX practicing demonic cultivation after his rebirth. In fact, LWJ never objected to WWX’s morals; in their previous life he was worried about his safety, and struggled with what to do about certain situations due to his family background, but difference in morality is not an issue for them.

The “righteous” one does not feel the need to guide their unorthodox partner or to be their salvation with regards to integrity.

*The similarity & differences part is a bit messy and some points are not fleshed-out. Sorry about that.

**I don’t claim to have the right interpretation. The lens by which we see different styles of romance is ultimately subjective.

#mdzs #tgcf #mxtx #tian ya ke #mdzs meta #word of honor #shl #sha po lang #mo du #can ci pin

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bokutosworld · 4 years ago

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then and now | kuroo t.

pairing: kuroo tetsurō x f!reader word count: 1863 words, fluff! mutual pining! warning: manga spoilers, with mention of kuroo’s timeskip occupation summary: always the bridesmaid, never the bride. you thought your time would never come until someone from your past comes along and brings up something you’ve long forgotten. OR where you and kuroo make a silly marriage pact and he shows up after years apart to make it come true.

He chuckled, now comfortably holding your one hand and hiding it in his pocket to keep it warm. “Here I was wondering if you were waiting for me.

Because I was.”

The church bell tolls, white doves are released, and joyful cheer and applause erupts from the crowd as the newlywed couple steps out from the cathedral. The now husband-and-wife gaze at each other full of love, and it is a sight guaranteed to make one envious and long for that same kind of affection.

But to you, it’s a scene that you’ve seen so many times that it already feels like a short film played on repeat. For the past year, you’ve lost count of how many weddings you’ve attended – whether as a guest or part of the bride’s entourage – that you’ve acquainted yourself with the workings of the event.

Heck, you’ve even memorized the readings of the priest that if they ever need a replacement, you can be the stand-in and officiate the program.

However, this wedding was different. Your best friend of more than fifteen years is the one who walked down the aisle, and you’re more emotional than you expected you’d be. Earlier in the morning, she woke you up, feeling sentimental, and demanded a pep talk. It was laughable because, more than her, you thought it was you who needed that assurance as you sent off your childhood friend to a new journey in her life.

The whole ordeal felt surreal and somehow, a tad more personal, because it wasn’t just any bride – this was the same girl you grew up with, the one you’ve seen in diapers, the one who held your hand in the playground, the person who you always ran to for boy troubles. Watching her exchange vows and rings felt like a coming to life of a scrapbook page, a long-awaited dream that you’ve talked about together in sleepovers where none of you really slept.

It made you wonder if you will ever march down the same aisle towards the waiting arms of your beloved.

---

“What a wedding, huh?”

The hotel reception was no different to the ceremony that took place prior. This time again, you wore the bride’s maid-in-honor hat and only after making sure that everything – that included the food, drinks, and entertainment – were in place did you take your place on the table and chatted with your old friends from high school.

The conversation started off with comments on how grand, intimate, and special the ceremony was. They talked about how it was wedding season, counting just how many of their schoolmates have already been wed. And before you knew it, eyes were on you and you had an inkling of what would follow.

“So,” Yoshioka, your former student council president, turned towards you. “You’re the only bachelorette left in our batch. We’re just curious.”

You laughed awkwardly, “No, please don’t expect a wedding invitation from me anytime soon. I’m still happily single.” The smile you wore felt strained, but whether the other girls recognized it or not, they chose to not comment further.

“Besides, it’s a great source of joy for me just being able to see you guys get married.” Noticing that the lights have begun to dim and focused on the spot on the stage, you clapped your hands, “Now, let’s just enjoy Yukie’s wedding, alright! Look, they’re coming out.”

As soon as the couple walked to the floor for their first dance, you heaved a sigh of relief and slumped in your cushioned chair. They moved gracefully as one across the dance floor, seemingly lost in their own world as they gazed deeply in each other’s eyes and swayed to the tune of the love song.

You thought back to the conversation earlier and weirdly, you felt a pang inside. Truth is, in every wedding you’ve attended, you can’t help but feel wishful. You consider yourself successful in almost every aspect of your life but sometimes, it can feel dejecting when you return home to an empty apartment at the end of a tough workday.

A part of you craved to make that little girl’s dream come true of wearing the wedding dress that you’ve designed, staying up all night for a bridal shower, and walking down the aisle to where your lover was waiting.

When the couple’s first dance ended, the host entered the stage and the program officially began. You could only hope that hours would pass faster.

---

Two hours into the reception and you can already feel the shots kicking in your system.

It wasn’t a really good idea downing five straight shots of tequila. At first, you thought it would quell your nerves, make you let loose and be the funnier version of yourself as you stepped to the podium to deliver your congratulatory speech to the couple.

In retrospect, it looks like the drink did its job as you managed to emit laughter and emotional tears from the crowd as you reminisced on your relationship with the bride, recounting the story of how she fell deeply in love and decided that he was the one.

But now, hunched in your seat with head on your hands, you were seemingly tipsy and all you could think about was escaping outside for some fresh air.

So, you did. When the groom’s best man took the stage, you saw this as an opportunity to quietly slip to the balcony.

Shutting the door behind you with a quiet thud, you eyed the empty balcony and sat towards the nearest bench. The surface was a bit cold as the city was now ushering the season of fall, signaling the arrival of long nights and chilly evenings. You shivered slightly and tucked your coat closer to your body as you stare at the darkness.

You don’t know how long you’ve been outside until you heard the door open and in came a tall, attractive, and oddly familiar man. His face held a warm smile as you noticed that his gaze was directed towards you.

“Long day?”

And it was only until he stepped closer and stood in front of you, the moonlight illuminating his face and accentuating his features, that you realized who he was.

“Tetsurō?!”

When was the last time you saw the Kuroo Tetsurō? You racked your brain for your last encounter with him and your memories point to your high school graduation. All of a sudden, you felt small and your surroundings became hot as you stood in front of him. Your former childhood neighbor. Former best friend. Former crush.

Not that he had any idea about that last item.

“I thought I saw you earlier before the reception started,” he made himself comfortable on the bench, patting the space beside him to urge you to sit as well. “But it’s been so long since I last saw you so of course I thought I was hallucinating. Then you gave a speech on stage – which by the way, I thought was awesome, you’re still as witty as you were before – and my suspicions were confirmed.”

You were breathless. Speechless. What were the odds that your reunion with him would be at a wedding?

“Did Yukie send you the wedding invitation?”

His laugh echoed in the darkness of the night, “Yeah, she did. It was nice to see familiar faces again.” He stared back at you, “I missed everyone.” I missed you, he wanted to say.

You hummed in agreement and without realizing, the two of you engaged in a comfortable conversation with Kuroo leading just as he always did. Being charming just as he always was. Telling you stories from the part of the past that you didn’t know. Catching you up with his present where he now works in the sports promotion division of Japan Volleyball Association.

A small part of you was relieved to know that Kuroo was doing well and successful just as you always hoped he would be. Years of no contact with the boy that stole your heart from day one certainly left you lonely. You wouldn’t say it out loud but he was part of the equation of why you still haven’t tied the knot. It was silly but you always thought that no one could measure up to him.

Absentmindedly, you started fiddling with your fingers, a habit you’ve formed when you were feeling cold, and Kuroo noticed. And just as he always did back then, he enveloped your hands with his and brought them to his lips to blow warm air on them.

“That better?”

Your heart threatened to flutter, “Yeah, thanks.”

After a long while of silence, Kuroo spoke. “I see there’s still no ring on your fourth finger.” He was now nonchalantly stroking your hands, letting his fingers slip in yours.

You coughed nervously, averting your eyes from his deep ones. “Well, I haven’t really found anyone.”

He chuckled, now comfortably holding your one hand and hiding it in his pocket to keep it warm. “Here I was wondering if you were waiting for me.

Because I was.” Oh no, be still my heart, you thought.

Kuroo went on, “Remember that silly pact we made on the night before graduation?”

Your mind takes you back on that evening when you and Kuroo were sitting on the rooftop, away from the noisy crowds and drunk soon-to-be college students. This was your thing, enjoying the calmness and admiring the stars spread out in the night sky.

That evening, you and Kuroo talked about the uncertain future that lied ahead. That evening, you bared your soul to him, letting him in on your worries and you fell apart in his comforting presence. He, as always, acted as your anchor, assuring you that he would always be your biggest supporter and that he’d always cheer on you even from afar.

That evening, with the two of you drunk on the excitement and the many possibilities for the new chapter of life, he brought up a proposal.

“I have a crazy idea.” Kuroo linked his pinkie finger with yours. “If we’re still single and not yet married by the age of 35, I’ll find you and we’ll get married.”

Swept away in the moment and the thrill of the idea, you agreed and sealed the proposal with a harmless kiss.

“You still remember that?” You questioned, not expecting him to actually remember that silly pact. Not expecting him to be holding on to that agreement.

“Sometimes, I wonder where we could be now if I just manned up and asked you out that night instead of pulling that act.” He holds your gaze, careful as he brings a hand to cup your cheek. “I’ve liked you for the longest time. And if you’re still available, if you’ll still have me, I am yours.”

“But we’re not yet 35, Kuroo,” you teased. He chuckled and playfully shoved you before bringing you in an embrace.

“I’ve decided years ago. You’re the only one for me,” he pulls away. “I’m sorry it took me a long time.”

And that night, it wasn’t only your best friend that went home feeling the happiest girl in the world.

Because there was Kuroo who was ready to make up for lost time and give you a reason to look forward to your trips back home.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #kuroo x reader #haikyuucreations #haikyuu fluff #kuroo fluff #kuroo scenarios #kuroo imagines #kuroo tetsuro x you #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu one shot #kuroo tetsuro fluff #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu x you

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carry-on-my-wayward-son · 2 years ago

Text

Day Two of the Number of the Beast Week:

<3 @1967-impala no this isn’t late idk what you’re talking about

Too Many Think Lightly of Sin

─────── •°.༻•.°𖤐°.•༺.°• ───────

summary: Castiel, a faltering priest. Dean, a soldier returned from war. Between struggles of religion, mental health, and a love unaccepted by the church, Dean finds himself broken and betrayed.

pairing: destiel [mlm]

genre: angst, priest/soldier AU

rating: mature (not explicit, SFW, mentions the topic of sex to emphasize the difference between platonic love and lust in a religious manner)

warnings: major character death (not graphic), dark themes, religion, homophobia (internalized & externalized), PTSD, war, mental health, alcohol, implied suicide, etc.

word count: 1.9k

author's note: thank you, @1967-impala for proofreading this!! I hope that it doesn't disappoint <3

─────── •°.༻•.°𖤐°.•༺.°• ───────

Defender of Faith.

Sing a prayer for a little lost Love, my darling.

𖤐

He looked charming in gold. Unlike the church, housing glass and black and silver. The priest was something else.

"Did it hurt?", the soldier asked.

"You think I haven't heard that one before?", the priest responded.

"I don't think you've heard it from another man before, no."

The soldier's ego faltered as he recalled the conversation.

Had that really been their first?

He had felt like an idiot after the words slipped out of his mouth, but the priest...

There was no shame. The small laugh, letting the jester know that he can take a joke, the sly smile on the lips. The interaction bordered on sinful, but there was nothing unholy about it.

No lies,

no greed,

no envy,

no lust:

just the human yearning for unconditional Love.

─────── •°.༻•.°𖤐°.•༺.°• ───────

The blue eyes, blue like the ocean, blue reflecting the gold hues surrounding them, bright blue- a color that is fundamentally cool- yet the warmest thing that the soldier had ever felt gazing down on him.

Girls?

Oh, girls he could kiss and run. Girls he could have one-night stands with, girls he could leave before the glowing sunlight of morning let them see the freckles on his face.

Girls... Girls, he could hurt.

The- thing that he felt for Cas was a whole different breed.

Cas.

Castiel.

God, even his name sounded Angelic. The way that-

"...animals procreate is in a different manner than humans do. It's irrational, it's for survival, no matter whether pleasure and consent are existent in the procreation or not..."

The end of their conversation drifted away from the soldier's mind. He didn't want to remember the words that flew out of the priest's mouth, a desperate attempt to cover up whatever the Holy man thought he had committed.

He didn't understand.

The soldier never asked to sleep with him,

never implied it-

But the priest was just like the rest.

Believing that the only love two men could experience would be sinful.

No sin.

It was a hit and run by the one he looked up to, the man that the soldier wanted.

A hit and run that left roadkill of a Heart.

𖤐

"Are you a religious man, Mr. Winchester?"

The soldier wasn't necessarily Happy in the earth-toned therapist's office, but any trace of Joy that showed on his face quickly drained.

"No."

"Were you raised religious?"

His father: the atheist.

His brother: the omnist.

His mother: died when he was too young to even understand or ask what religion was.

A word flashed behind his eyes: "agnostic".

"I don't have a specific opinion, religion is based on what humans fear exists after death, not usually what they should be doing in their life. At least that's what I've noticed."

Set up for disappointment if you believe in the Ethereal Perfection of Heaven.

And set up for Eternal Damnation if you don't.

"I guess I believe in the effect that we have on each other here on Earth."

"So, Mr. Winchester, what effect- what impact, what legacy do you believe you will be leaving behind after you die?"

𖤐

Chest pains, crying, anger, screaming in the darkness, punching arms and legs and sides and heads and hands, muscle spasms, hot flashes, cold flashes, dry heaving, nightmares.

"I served, too."

The soldier glanced toward the front of the church, realizing that the priest had been present for the entirety of the time that he had spent there.

"How did you know that I-"

"I can see it in your eyes."

He walked towards the seated man in the back of the building, who was considering leaving before he got himself into a conversation that he didn't want to have.

"And what do you see?"

"Heartbreak. Terror. Loneliness. Fear. Nothing."

The soldier’s eyes fluttered, avoiding the religious figure's gaze.

"I'm not lonely. Or afraid."

The priest patted his shoulder gently, sitting on the bench beside him.

"Oh, sure. If that's what you think."

His words weren't harsh, they were filled with floating sincerity. If that's what the soldier thinks.

"It is."

"Alright... May I ask you a question?"

He wouldn't prefer it, but this was his home, his territory, his Kingdom, and he couldn't deny the man's request.

"Shoot."

"Do you pray?"

“Not a day in my life.”

“You don’t talk to anyone, any higher power, any god when you feel trapped?”

“No, not my thing.”

“You should try it sometime, it might help.”

The soldier smirked, repeating the Pure man’s words from earlier:

“Oh, sure. If that’s what you think.”

The priest smiled, a wide, Joyful smile, standing up to leave the stranger alone.

“Did it hurt?” Dean asked, leaning back, arms strung around the back of the bench.

And the small laugh from Castiel followed.

𖤐

The stench of beer floated into Dean’s nostrils, and he wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave.

But Cas was his companion,

his buddy,

his Partner.

“Drinking partners?” Cas had asked.

“Why the hell not?

A chuckle echoing in the church corridor.

“Tomorrow, at 7:00 PM.”

“Whatever you say, Cas.”

“Cas? I don’t think you’ve ever shortened my name before, Dean.”

The soldier felt a twinge of embarrassment as he realized that once again, his head had deceived him.

A whole world, a sorrowful, hopeful, heartbroken, terrified, fearful, empty world in his mind.

“I haven’t? Do you mind?”

“Not at all, in fact, it rolls off your tongue quite nicely.”

No lies,

no greed,

no envy,

no lust:

just the human yearning for unconditional Love.

No sin.

Cas had hooked his arm around Dean’s as they entered the bar without thought.

It was Natural, warm, perfect.

And the sickening feeling and memories of hangovers and drinking to forget the pain disappeared.

As they sat, and drank, and talked, with pats on the shoulder and slamming glasses on counters, Dean had pushed Cas’ hair to the side. It had been falling into his face all evening, and Dean didn’t like how it covered his eyes when he looked down.

But as soon as Dean’s hand had brushed the hair- spending just an instant too long with his forearm lingering against his cheek-

Castiel pulled back slightly.

And Dean knew it would never work.

Yet he, the soldier, had Faith.

Sing a prayer for a little lost Love, my darling.

𖤐

A drink turned into a dinner,

a dinner into an evening,

an evening into a second date.

Date?

Neither of them would admit they were dating.

But they could see it in strangers' eyes-

how they watched the two men hold each other in their arms, taking walks together in the night, glancing at the reflection of the stars in their eyes, wishing desperately for the morning sun to never arrive...

for the light to not reveal what they had done-

and in those strangers' eyes, they could see their Love glancing back at them.

Dean could see their silhouettes, the perfection of the broken man and the Holy one comfortably nestled together.

But Castiel couldn't.

All the priest saw was the agonizing formation of lust and regret.

No sin.

No sin...

𖤐

One day.

Then two.

Then five.

Then a week.

Then he stopped counting.

He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had stepped foot inside the church.

He couldn’t remember the warm golden glow, the specific hue that was the color of his eyes. Blue like the sea? No, not the sea. No, no, blue like the sky…

Shouldn’t they be the same?

Shouldn’t they be Equal?

Equal.

Balanced.

A Heart against a feather.

“Oh, Father. I- I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dean, Dean Winchester, but I was hoping to find-”

“Castiel, I expect?”

“Yes, is he here? Is Cas…” The nickname faded away, his voice failing him, as if he had been shouting for hours on end. It felt foreign now, a hollow compilation of sounds.

The balance tilted.

“Moved about… a month ago, I guess? Left the church.”

“He- he left the church? As in, he’s not religious anymore?”

Faltered.

“I don’t know the specifications, Mr. Winchester. Is there anything that I may help you with, or were you only looking for the specific man that you were… interested in?”

And the balance tipped completely to one side.

Dean was shocked at the words, the bitterness ringing in his ears.

Somehow, he knew. This man knew what he wanted, what Cas had wanted, pretended to want.

“Have a good afternoon, Mr. Winchester.”

𖤐

Why had Cas-

Why had Castiel insisted on following the truth?

The written rules, never designed to be followed in this age, never created for men like him.

Like Cas.

But Cas had disagreed.

“It won’t work, D.”

The only time a friend, a Lover, had shortened his name, a softness added to the end of the name he had heard so many times with hints of anger, hints of guilt.

From fathers, from brothers, from generals.

“Did you hear me, Dean?”

And then it was gone.

“Yeah, Cas. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”

“We weren’t thinking, Dean. Neither of us, that was the problem. But I prayed to God, and-”

“God?”

Blood formed on the interior of his cheeks.

“God has nothing to do with this, with us. God doesn’t understand what we have, religion doesn’t understand. The Bible was written by men who existed in a completely different society, a different world than us. They thought it was wrong, it-”

It doesn’t have to be, Cas.

Again, their minds read each other’s.

You know it does.

“I don’t have a choice, Dean. I need to follow what’s right for me.”

“Oh, sure. If that’s what you think.”

And the Angel walked away, leaving a stunned demon behind, an empty shell of a loveless man.

Sing a prayer for a little lost Love, my darling.

𖤐

Another month, come and gone, another full Moon with cool light shining down onto the soldier.

A fall, a blade, a gun, a bottle.

Heaven, Hell, something in between, reincarnation, nothing, everything.

At that point it didn't matter.

He was a soldier, a soldier who won the war but lost the battle.

Who surrendered to the kingdom of his mind.

No, not surrendered.

There was nothing optional about this.

A fall, a blade, a gun, a bottle.

And his mind made his decision.

And his mind fell blank.

And his mind ceased to exist, a rapid firing of electronic signals- the very things that housed all of his emotions and thoughts- before any life died out, flittering energy towards whatever outside could find.

He could feel the floor hit his-

his body hit the floor with a hollow thud.

And somewhere, somehow, Cas knew that the soldier was gone.

And Castiel dropped to his knees.

𖤐

Risen up,

with glowing halos...

a fallen soldier,

an Angel,

a Friend,

a shining symbol of Peace-

sitting on his throne,

nesting in a place filled with new opportunities-

looks down at his Love with uncertainty.

Broken down,

with tattered wings...

a fallen Angel,

a knight,

a soldier,

a crushed symbol of Hope-

kneeled at the altar,

once again returning to the place that had held him back-

looks up to the sky at his Love with betrayal.

𖤐

Sing a prayer for a little lost Love, my darling.

─────── •°.༻•.°𖤐°.•༺.°• ───────

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ficforce · 4 years ago

Text

Cold Season

I wrote this whilst I was ill… It’s likely awful. Hinawa: No one even realised that Hinawa was sick until after he had collapsed in the break room. He had been quieter than usual and didn’t seem to take notice of the chaos that Arthur and Shinra were causing whilst Maki tried to stop them, Y/N had made him tea earlier but he had barely touched it… then he just passed out. Y/N had been closest after Obi and they laid him out on the couch to check his vitals, she noted right away that his skin was hot and with his hat removed she could see how pale he was. Why hadn’t she noticed? She was his girlfriend for goodness sake! “I’ll carry him to bed, Y/N, would you mind looking after him for a while?” Obi lifted the other man like it was easy and she followed after him quickly, “He’s real stubborn when it comes to his health, he’ll tell others to take a break or rest but when it comes to himself…” “He’s like any mother hen, he puts the chicks before himself – it’s one of the things I really love about him, Captain.” Obi threw a smile her way as she opened the door for him, “But you still wanna punch him for not saying anything, right?” “That’s correct, right in his dumb face.” They got him on the bed and Y/N unzipped his orange jumpsuit, “I’ll take care of it from here, would you mind sending some cold water and a flannel down, maybe some painkillers?” The man gave her a nod and headed out, Y/N pulled his arms out of the sleeves and tried to lift him a little to get it off; why did he have to be so heavy? Hinawa let out a soft groan and his eyes opened groggily, realising what was going on he sat up and made to get out of bed, “You’ve got a temperature, Takehisa, don’t you dare get up. Captain told me to look after you.” “… Then at least let me get out of these clothes.” Her eyes widened as she realised he wasn’t going to argue and she moved so he could change into a loose pair of pants and a tshirt before he laid back down. Y/N brushed her fingers over his jaw and then removed his glasses to set aside, “You should have said something sooner.” He let out a sound that was either denial or agreement to her words, “You got a headache?” “A little.” He hadn’t wanted to cause trouble for anyone, he wasn’t good at asking for help in the first place and now he had taken a member of their team away from duty to look after him, “I figured I would be fine.” “You’re just not used to being looked after, you have me now, Takehisa, you have Company 8 too, we’re your family and we can’t have our Mother running himself into the ground.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and spent the rest of the day looking after him. Obi: Y/N nearly jumped out of her skin when the sound of metal crashing down onto the floor startled her. Turning her head she was surprised to see that Obi had dropped one of his ridiculously heavy dumbbells, “…You forget to chalk your hands or you just didn’t like the floor?” “Felt like all the strength left my arm…” his muscles had been aching since he’d gotten up that morning and felt out of breath, he hadn’t felt great the night before but he had hoped it would go away. “I think I’m gonna go lay down for a while.”

The woman got up from her seat and reached for his forehead, “You’re a little warm, you did sound a little raspy at breakfast too – you could have caught Vulcan’s chest infection.” His eyes seemed a little glazed over and he was swaying ever so slightly on his feet, “Come on, I’ll get you some medicine and let Lieutenant Hinawa know you’re not feeling great.” Obi went with her obediently, they passed by Iris and Tamaki, the two girls sympathetic at their Captain’s condition, they agreed to let Hinawa know so that Y/N could look after Obi. “Wow, you’re fading fast, Akitaru,” his pace was slowing and he had to stop to lean against the wall as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, “Easy… come on, we’re nearly there.” He practically fell onto the bed when they got there, he hadn’t felt this weak since last time he was ill – it was a rare occurrence but when he was hit he went down hard, “I want the mascots at my funeral, make sure Hinawa wears something normal… tell my girlfriend I love her.” “I love you too,” she ruffled his hair a little, “And you’re not going to die… it’s just a cold.” “Will you feed me soup and rub that gross stuff on my chest to help me breathe?” Obi caught her wrist and brought her down for a hug; who knew he would be such a baby?

Rekka:

Rekka was either too stupid to stop or too stubborn, Y/N wasn’t sure which and she exhaled loudly when the man hunched over to cough almost violently. He was trying to finish his morning laps despite being told he was too sick, he’d come down with a cough a few days before and thought he could burn it out through sheer willpower and prayer. “Rekka,” she called and began uncapping the bottle of water she had brought, “Oi! If you start running again I’ll kneecap you! Rekka!” He waved her off with a dumb grin and made it a few more paces before he fell onto his hands and knees. “Nuisance is gonna be a nuisance… what a nuisance.” Karim had come out after Burns had told him to fetch the moron on the running track – he figured that the Captain meant Rekka. “If he’s not listening to you, Y/N, I’ve got less of a chance.” “Leave it with me, I didn’t come all the way across Tokyo to watch him run; he’s such an inconsiderate man at times.” “He’s hot-blooded, probably burned right through his fever. Want me to freeze him?” Y/N looked at him with a raised eyebrow, he looked vaguely serious so she shook her head and wandered over to her fallen priest. Her hand stroked his back and she handed him the bottle, “You’re setting a bad example for the kids, you tell them to rest when they’re ill but you’re out here trying to literally fight a cold.” Rekka looked up at her, his expression forced as he tried to tell her he was fine but then he slumped into her arms, “Rekka!” He was out of breath and when she cupped his cheek to bring his head up a little he pressed into it with a mumble of her being cold; perhaps he hadn’t burned through his fever. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll make you something good to eat and even bring it to you in bed, how’s that sound?” “My stars…” it was a little mumble but he sounded somewhat happy for her offer. Foien Li: Foien was a sensible man, as soon as he had felt himself coming down with a cold he had signed himself off for a few days, he stayed in his room and tried a few home remedies. There was a day when he felt terrible, he hoped he could sleep it off and start to feel better… A knock on his door alerted him to a visitor and when it opened a little he smiled at Y/N peeking through at him, “You’ll get sick too.” “Then you can take care of me,” she placed a tray down on his desk, patiently waiting for him to sit himself up before handing him a mug of hot honey and lemon, “I brought you a couple of books to read, It can’t be any fun locked up here… Did I see you at the back of the Cathedral this morning?” “I wanted to attend prayers but I didn’t want to get anyone else sick,” Foien gave a sigh as she pressed her hand to his forehead, it felt cooler than his skin and he pressed into the touch, his eyes opened a little and Y/N gave him a bright smile – she always said he had the prettiest eyes. He was grateful to her for looking after him and even though he risked making her ill and having to confess later, the man leaned over to kiss her cheek, “What would I do without you, Y/N?” Y/N adjusted her habit a little to hide her flushed face, “You’d have to rely on Karim to look after you and he’d complain the whole time…” “It would give me more of an incentive to get better.” His answer made her giggle, the sound made him feel better already. Karim: “I told you to go to bed,” Y/N walked toward the back of the Cathedral where the Lieutenant was leaning his head on the pews in front of him, his slumped over form didn’t move even as she poked him in the shoulder. “Karim, come on, you should be resting…” He raised his head and she sighed at him, he looked all stuffy and his eyes were watery, it was amazing he was even able to walk there in the first place. He never missed her choir practice, it was sweet that he would come even though he had a headache and Foien’s cold from the week before. Y/N took his hand and pulled him up slowly, “Come on.” Karim followed her obediently, no smart comments or sarcasm escaping him as they made their way through the large hallway, they reached his room and she reached

into his pocket for his key, “Should get your own key.” “Imagine the gossip,” She followed him inside and helped him with his clothing, “Though they already talk about us like we’re committing a criminal act, couldn’t you just quit being a priest and then it might be better?” “How about you stop being a nun?” He knew she was kidding, they both took some odd joy out of upsetting the really pious followers of Sol with their relationship, “If you did that though I wouldn’t get to hear you sing anymore…” Karim laid down on top of his covers and coughed, he didn’t understand how he seemed to be worse than Foien was with this, the other Lieutenant had given it to him in the first place. “So sick of being sick.” Y/N pet his hair gently, “Only two repetitions? You must be ill,” Karim gave a half shrug and pulled weakly at his pillow, “Want me to get you anything?” “Just stay with me, Y/N…” Burns: She couldn’t figure out if he was running a fever or not, the Captain retained a large amount of heat at all times, Y/N gave a sigh and offered him an apologetic smile, “I never was a very good nurse, how do you actually feel?” He hadn’t complained about feeling ill but she doubted he would be too verbal about it, the fact that he was wearing his jacket properly and looked like he was cold was really her only clue. “It’s just a bug my kind Lieutenants have gifted me – I’m a little chilly but otherwise I’m sure I’ll survive. You don’t have to worry about me, Y/N” He wasn’t used to being coddled and Leonard felt somewhat pleased by her attention, “I’ll make sure to rest a little.” “It’s hard to imagine you would ever feel cold, you can stay here for a little while and rest, I’ll make you something to eat and you can use the phone to let your Company know. It’s nearly a full hour back home for you, besides, it’s getting late.” He had only come out because she had asked him to visit on his day off, if Y/N had known then she wouldn’t have. Y/N took his hand and gave it a squeeze, “Please, Leonard, let me look after you just this once?” She was looking at him so sincerely that he couldn’t find it in him to say no, the man gave in and nodded, “Just this once.” Konro: “Konro’s dying!” Hinata tugged on Y/N’s sleeve whilst Hikage nodded alongside her. “Konro’s not dying, he’s got a cold.” She shooed the girls away toward the door and told them to go play, it was hard enough looking after her boyfriend without the twins trying to help. Y/N heard him coughing from the hallway and she couldn’t help but wince a little at how painful it sounded – his lungs were already shot from the tephrosis. There was no doubt he was suffering but he was pretty stubborn in keeping it to himself. “I brought you something to hopefully help your throat,” she knelt beside his futon and helped him sit up, Konro gave her a weak smile and once more insisted he just needed to nap it off. “Drink this, then you can take a nap… it’ll probably help you sleep better too.” He wasn’t getting much rest as it was, the coughing would wake him up and then he wouldn’t be able to settle down again for a long while. Konro hated feeling like a burden, he felt like that most days and now he was knocked out by this… it was irritating how he could fight most things but a cold simply wasn’t one of them. “You know you’re gonna get sick too, right? It’s probably too late to stop it from happening now.” “If I get sick, will you look after me?” As if she really had to ask. The man reached out and gently cupped the back of her head before pulling her close and pressing his forehead to hers, “Course I will, I won’t be as good as it as you are but I won’t let that stop me.” Benimaru: Benimaru reverted into a small child when he got ill, he had ignored it for so long that, one day, every symptom hit him at once and the Captain went down. His eyes watered, he couldn’t hear out of his left ear, his throat hurt, his chest hurt, he was cold and there was nothing he could do about it now. He’d bundled himself up in a large blanket and huddled against his girlfriend as she had sat

minding her own business. Y/N had moved the blanket a little to peek under the hood he had made with it and glassy red eyes looked at her almost pleadingly. Benimaru wasn’t clingy. He especially didn’t come into the main room, wrapped in a blanket cocoon and nestle into her side like a sad, oversized toddler. “Good Luck moving him.” Konro sighed as he entered the room, he was fully aware of the Beni Bio-hazard Blanket, “I’ll get some medicine for him… you’d better just accept you’re not moving from there without him.” Y/N looked back down at her boyfriend and reached in to stroke his hair, “You can’t fight a cold, huh?” He wriggled a little closer to her and rested his head on her shoulder, content for her to pet his hair and when Konro returned with the medicine, he made her feed it to him; his excuse being that he was cold and trapped in the blanket. She figured he was just craving the attention and felt needy from being so poorly. For the rest of that day he communicated in differently toned whines, grunts and ‘tch’, the only time he left her side was when one of them needed to pee.

#shinmon benimaru #hinawa Takehisa #obi akitaru #rekka hoshimiya #foien li #karim flam #leonard burns #sagamiya konro #reader #sick #HC

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