So, I don't think we're going to get this, but that just means someone needs to write it! So here goes.
*****
It had been on the mat when they'd got back from their weekend. John hadn't noticed, too happy after their weekend in Rhyl to notice anything, but Aaron knew what it was and stuffed it in his pocket. He'd decide what to do with it later.
"You alright?" John slides a hand around his waist.
"Just tired. Shouldn't you be getting ready for work." He turned to face him, trying to keep the smile on his face and not think about the prison letter burning a hole in his pocket. "Unless you want to stay home with me all day."
"Can't let Liam down, he needs me. How about instead you meet me for lunch in the pub. My treat."
"You really want to spend time with my mother the day we come back from honeymoon?"
"I like your mum. Come on, it'll save cooking." He nods and then he's gone, slamming the door as he goes.
He doesn't open it right away, tells himself to just ignore it, that Robert had known what he was doing, and what the consequences were, and he wasn't Aaron's problem anymore. So why couldn't he throw it away, why did he keep looking at it.
He's still doing it when he's waiting for John in the garden at the back of the pub, looking at Grace's garden that he and Robert helped to build. Sometimes he wishes he'd stayed away, where there were no memories to hit him at every turn. But then he would never have met John.
"You don't look like a man who just came back from his honeymoon." He rolls his eyes as Mack sits down beside him, beer slopping out of his glass onto the table. "Ooh, a letter, anything interesting?"
"Just junk."
"Always carry your junk mail around with you, do you."
"Anyone ever tell you you're annoying."
"Many many people. So, go on, what is it."
"A prison visiting order, or at least I think so." He glances behind him, the last thing he needs is his Mum earwigging and telling the whole village.
"Right..."
"From Robert."
"Ah. Well I guess he doesn't have many people to send them to."
"After what he did, why does he think I want this?"
"So chuck it and forget about him. Unless...you don't want to."
"Of course I do. I married John didn't I."
"Sadly yes." He doesn't even have to look over at him. "Sorry sorry. I'm just messing. Still doesn't answer my question about why you're fondling that envelope like it's a long lost lover."
"And to think you were meant to be my best man."
"Says more about you than me." He sips at his beer, sighing. "I'm guessing you haven't told hubby."
"He had to rush to work."
"Sure. Well you've got two choices. You can throw it away, forget all about Robert Sugden which will be hard as you're married to his brother and all, or you can mope about for days before finally deciding to visit him and see what he wants."
"I know what he wants. Me."
"Man obviously has no taste. You already know what you're going to do so I say get it over with."
"I'm meant to be meeting John." There was never really a question, he could fight it as much as he liked, he would never leave Robert alone in prison and wasn't that the whole sticking point in the first place.
"I'll tell him you got called out on an emergency scrap run."
"Just that, none of your dramatics. Tell him I'll meet him for tea instead." He insists as he gets up from the stool.
"You're doing the right thing you know."
"You don't even know Robert."
"For you, idiot. Now go on, before you change your mind and we have to do this all over again. You're making my pint go flat."
He doesn't think twice, gets in the car before he can change his mind.
I will not open myself up this way again.
An oval window lets the soundlets swirl and vibe
The way a poet whispers softly with her pen.
As sleeping giants grumbling leave their winter dens,
As thunderous clouds release relief without a bribe,
I will not open myself up this way again.
Leading lady falls, becomes tragedienne,
And all the world’s a stage until the music dies.
The way a poet sings out violence with her pen
Reveals a bleeding heart and all the severed veins—
A massacre of innocence not worth the hype.
I will not open myself up this way again,
But I will release a secret every now and then,
And weave a tiny mystery in every line
The way a poet spins a story with her pen.
Don’t think of me inside a cage, a trembling wren.
These walls were built by my own beautiful design.
I will not open myself up this way again
The way a poet proves the poison with her pen.
“I have to go. If…if I stay here….Please Osamu. Let me go.”
“….Okay.”
Dazai Osamu let out a loud groan of boredom as he spun his chair. Gods does he hate paper work. How does Kunikida enjoy this? The six years he known this silly little man, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Paper work this, paper work that.
Ugh.
Dazai could feel goosebumps of disgust run up his tied up arms.
“Oi! Do your work you wast of bandages!” The said man snapped from his desk without looking up.
The older brown haired man gave a playful pout, not that the blond could see. “But Kunikida! If I do anymore, my arms will fall off. How could you be so cruel.”
He cooed in a tone he knew that would clawed into his brain. The rust brown eyes dances as the thin string of patience came close to snapping. Dazai counted the minutes as he always did, wanting to know if he could break his record from last time. The bandaged covered man’s lips curled into a facsimile smile, trying not to giggle.
“What a horrible co-worker I have.” He continued with a cheerful, mocking tone. His expression filled with pillory as he caught sight of trembling shoulders. Huh, only 30 minutes. One minute less this time. Have to do better next time. “Kuni-ida.”
“YOU DAMN BASTARD!” Kunikida Doppo snarl a like a tiger (Dazai twitched slightly. Tiger…no. He has to focus on this, not that.) as he slammed his hands on the table. The chair he was using flew backwards and hit the wall causing everyone to look up with a sigh. “HOW DARE-”
“Gentlemen. Enough.” A strong voice rang out, freezing everyone in place.
“President.” Yosano Akiki acknowledged standing up, pulling whining Ranpo Edogawa along. The others followed. “Is there something you need sir?”
The leader of the Armed Detective Agency, Fukuzawa Yukichi, gave her a sharp but not unkind nod as he used his wooden cane to help him glide into the room. Dazai shift his footing, trying to stand still, at the sight of the timeless ruler of their small kingdom of light walk tiredly towards the door of their work place. The ex-mafia, not the first time, cursed at the Decay of Angels for destroying the image of immortality that was once the great swordsman.
“We have a case. A string of mysteries murders that looked as if the victims were attacked by a wild animal.” The strong baritone of the president called for his unwavering attention once again. He reached for the silver door knob and pulled it open with such grace that a dancer would feel envy. “Thankfully we have someone with such knowledge of animal attacks.”
“Good afternoon everyone. It’s nice to meet you all.”
Dazai felt as if he was waterboarded.
That voice…
Air felt thick and dry.
It’s been so long since he heard such a soft tone. But was slightly different now. Stronger. More assured. Firm but still gentle with a hint of sass and defiance intwining.
“I mean sure we already met but it’s been four years now. So it’s like our first meeting all over again. Anyways, I’m in your care!”
Standing tall with a fanged grin was…
“Atsushi!” Kyouka Izumi breathed with wide blue eyes.
~.~.~.~
Will add more in ao3 later. Maybe it’ll be a one shot or maybe chapter story. I don’t know yet…hmmm
Tagged by the amazing @lover-of-mine thank you!!! 💜💚
Slight Air and Purging Fire is slowly coming along, but I had inspiration to work on Distress Call for my BTHB. I've also decided on a different direction for it. The previous snippet, however, will still be part of the fic. Here's a snippet that takes place just before the shit hits the fan:
"Now what do we do?"
"I guess head for the main house," Buck shrugged.
It was as good a place as any to start. "As long as no one's-"
"Don't you dare make a shooting joke, Eddie Diaz," Buck protested, shoving at Eddie's shoulder.
Eddie raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not tempting fate today."
"Eddie, our entire lives have been tempting fate," Buck deadpanned.
Eddie just can't leave well enough alone, can he?
Absolutely no pressure tagging: @monsterrae1 @13shadesofanni and anyone else who wants to share!!! 💜🥰🩷
In a world filled with magic, everything falls apart. Power has always divided people, but magic makes it deadly. Every war was waged with warlocks. Every ruler was counciled by a mage. Every governing body wanted to monopolize the power of a few to control the greater. And within the herd of sorcerers was a natural divide of their own.
From the Fanatics who believed that magic was meant to change the world, to the Conformists who wanted to keep the status quo. And the Runaways who used the power for their own gain at great cost to everyone else. Those with the most power typically followed one of two groups. The Rulers and the Knights. The former believe they deserve to rule the masses. They act as the police for the magical community as a whole, keeping everything in order. They wrote the Law and they enforce it. The latter firmly believe that power begets great responsibility and so they swore to serve the masses.
The Knights placed themselves in charge of the Breaches. All manner of beast and monster would come crawling out of the Tears. Rips in the fabric of reality. Worlds colliding in small instances. Doing irreparable damage to the world. Closing a Tear took immense power that was difficult to direct. And failure made the Tears bigger and harder to close. On extremely rare occasions people would come through the Breaches. They were known as Breachers. And I was one of them.
Wei Ying was five when his parents disappeared. They had tucked him into bed at an inn, kissed his forehead, and promised to be back by breakfast. He woke up to banging on the door and the innkeeper shouting that it was well past checkout time.
Wei Ying had opened the door, confused and a little frightened. He asked where his parents were, but didn’t get an answer. The innkeeper snapped at him to get his things and get out, he had other guests who needed the room, so Wei Ying packed his bag, pulled on his outer robes, and hurried out.
His parents had already paid for the night, which was good, as they hadn’t left behind any money for him, but they were late returning, which meant he couldn’t buy himself breakfast. Though, based on the position of the sun, it seemed to be closer to lunchtime, anyway.
Wei Ying was alone in an unfamiliar city, and could only wait outside the inn for his parents to return. He sat on the steps for some time, until the innkeeper shooed him away for putting off potential customers. So he moved to the grass at the corner of the building, where he was less in the way, but could still see if his parents approached.
The sun was starting to set when he realized something must have gone wrong. He knew they were on a nighthunt, they had gone many times before, and his mother had even started to teach him a little, so proud when he had developed just the start of a golden core already, but he was much too young to go on hunts yet. Wei Ying knew it was dangerous, that people could get hurt, or even die, but he never thought anything would happen to them. Mama and Baba were strong and brave, and they had promised to come back for him.
He fell asleep there, clutching his bag and sniffling, stomach aching after a full day without food. But he was sure, they would definitely be there in the morning.
He was awoken by the innkeeper kicking him and shouting again. This time, he was chased away fully, running from the angry man who continued spitting obscenities he didn’t understand after him. Wei Ying wandered the city nervously, holding his small bag of possessions tightly. He didn’t know this place, or where his parents had gone, or when they would be back.
Eventually, he found himself at the gates of the city, and settled down under a tree nearby. It wasn’t beside any shops or inns, so no one would chase him away, and he could see the road and the river from there, meaning he would see when his parents returned. It was well past noon, now, and he was hungrier than he had ever been before.
Looking up at the shady branches of the tree, his eyes brightened and he grinned. Hanging among the green leaves were fruits with red skins. Eagerly, Wei Ying started climbing the tree, desperate for just one piece. He managed to scramble his way up and pick an apple, which he bit into immediately, moaning at the burst of sweet juice across his tongue. He sat in the tree, eating all the fruits he could reach from his perch, until he was full. Then, with sticky hands, he started to make his way down, only to slip and fall halfway there.
The wind was knocked from his lungs, leaving him stunned and startled, before he began to wail. He expected his mother or father to pick him up, hold him close, and comfort him, but no warm hands came to lift him to his feet. He cried for a long while, even after the pain had passed. He missed his parents, he was scared, and he just wanted to be held.
He cried himself to sleep just after sunset, curled up under the tree.
Wei Ying considered climbing the tree again in the morning, but the remaining fruit was even higher up, his hands were scratched and scraped from the bark, and if he fell again, he might really hurt himself. After another day of just sitting and watching, he fell asleep hungry again. The day after that, he ventured into the city once more, hoping to find a shop owner willing to spare something to eat.
He wandered the streets, but anytime he approached a market stall, he was scolded and shooed away. Eventually, he felt he couldn’t keep going and sat down in a small alley between two large buildings. He just needed to rest for a bit, to build up his resolve to try again. The sun was setting once more, and he realized he didn’t know the way back to the gates.
Wei Ying had gotten lost in the city, and now he didn’t know if he’d even be able to find his parents when they came back. He sat there for a long while, stomach complaining sharply. He was startled by a noise just before it became fully dark, and looked up to see someone throwing out trash from an inn. He watched quietly until the man went back inside, and then crept his way over. Perhaps there were some scraps of food that had been thrown out?
He made his way over cautiously, afraid of being caught and scolded again, but no one appeared. Reaching the pile of garbage, he knelt down and started digging through it.
It smelled of rot, so he held his breath as he dug around, finally coming up with a half-eaten chicken wing, which he hungrily devoured where he sat. He rooted through the pile again, discarding the bone, and found nearly an entire loaf of bread. It was slightly moldy, but Wei Ying was so hungry that he simply tore off the bad part, and gobbled down the rest.
Feeling full enough, he left before he could be caught, and started looking for somewhere to sleep.
Days and days passed like this. Sometimes stall owners would offer him a little something, but usually they scowled and chased him off. Sometimes he would find a plant bearing fruit, and sometimes he would resort to digging through trash. Sometimes he would be discovered by an innkeeper or home owner and scolded, and once he had even been chased from a pile of trash by a pack of dogs.
Wei Ying was hungry all the time, and he had been dirty for so long that he could no longer smell it on himself, but the glares from people in the street, who covered their faces and turned up their noses, told him that others could. He had lost track of the days, it had been more than he could count, when he finally heard the news.
A stall owner had taken pity on him that day, giving him a dumpling filled with meat. It was old, the breading stale and the filling dry, but it was the best thing he’d eaten in days, so Wei Ying was grateful. He hid around the corner with it, so no one would take it and he wouldn’t bother the lady that had gifted it to him. He could hear her talking to another customer, but wasn’t paying much attention, until he heard the name.
“Cangse SanRen, and her husband. Their bodies were found last week. Nighthunt gone wrong, apparently.”
Wei Ying froze, eyes wide, and suddenly the food in his mouth tasted like nothing. The rest of the bun fell from his numb fingers, and he rushed back out of his hiding spot. “What?” he choked out, staring up at the man who had spoken. The adults turned to him, frowning, and the customer glared a little. “Please, M-Master, what happened?”
The man, who was nicely dressed, but not so nicely as to appear truly rich, scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What matter is it to a street rat like you?”
Wei Ying staggered forward, half-bowing, but reached for the man’s robe to beg. “Please-”
The lady who had fed him struck him, then. “Who do you think you are, to grab at people like that? Was my kindness not enough for you? Shoo, before you cost me a sale!”
Wei Ying whimpered as he stumbled back again, looking up with wet eyes. “P-please-”
“What does a little boy care about a pair of rogue cultivators dying at the hands of the beast they went to fight?” she scolded, lifting her hand to hit him again.
He flinched and ran, forgetting about the food he had dropped. His eyes were full of tears, now, bumping into numerous people as he raced toward the quiet place he had found to sleep. When he reached the spot, a few bushes with just enough space for him to wiggle under, which kept him safe from most of the wind and rain, he began to weep.
That was his mother’s name, and the stranger had no reason to lie about it. His parents were dead, and they really weren’t coming back for him. Wei Ying was alone in this strange city, and he had no one coming for him and nowhere to go.
He was truly alone now, and would be for years. He would eventually have to fight off dogs for food, and resort to even stealing sometimes. He would spend downtime trying to meditate like his mother taught him, growing his tiny core little by little. He would be bitten, and beaten, and nearly starved, but he would stubbornly survive, until, finally, someone took him home.
