FreeFly13
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- Борис.. - я сглотнул подступивший предательский ком. - я не хочу уезжать.
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кто-то стоял надо мной, высокий, в темном бомбере, на ногах берцы, в руке арматура. Тони и его дружки что-то огрызались еще, я не слушал, я лежал затылком на мокром асфальте, силясь разглядеть хоть что-то в темноте и потоках воды, голова кружилась. ко мне наклонились. бледное лицо, брови-галки, демонические глаза.
- Борис?..
- привет, Поттер. -
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я нашел его в феврале спустя три года после Амстердама.
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It has been two years and four months since he has heard Eoin’s voice
Paddy takes a shuddering breath, fixes his gaze on the lapping water in front of him. Eoin has never spoken to him before, had always remained that perfect image lingering on the edge of his vision, haunting him. A reminder of what he had lost, what he yearns for, the other half of him that has been missing now for longer than Paddy had had him. He hasn’t allowed himself to think like this. Been easier to pretend that Paddy is repenting for an unmatched love, a debased desire, the sinful revisionist rewriting of history. That it hadn’t happened at all.
Bookmarked by FreeFly13
04 Apr 2026
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Bookmarked by FreeFly13
04 Apr 2026
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Cooper pointed towards the south eastern corner of the ruined chapel. “Mary Magdalene, as I’d mentioned. Come and see.”
There were flowers before the small shrine, several bunches, all wilted; four burnt down candles, a faded image of a young woman, hair loose, an alabaster ointment jar tipped in her hands, kneeling before nothing. An absence.
“She came to anoint him,” Cooper said, slowly, “and he wasn’t there.” His eyes hadn’t moved from the image. “Ointment. Oil. Same gesture, really.”
And then, still looking at the shrine, still perfectly conversational:
“He never did get to fuck you, did he.“
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Italy, August 1943. Cooper loses his filter, Paddy confronts his grief.
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- Part 2 of Feral
Bookmarked by FreeFly13
04 Apr 2026
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Because he'd not heeded the warning signs, had he. Not in the past months—years, even, since he'd met Eoin by the side of the always green pitch—and not in the past days, where, through poetry and gritted teeth, he had allowed himself to notice things, things small and dreadful.
The way the lamplight would fall on Eoin's neck when he knelt between his legs, how he'd scrunch his forehead when holding the scissors in his mouth while fiddling with the roll of gauze, the way he would set the sulpha powder's cap in the same place each time, and how Paddy's body already knew the exact shape of his movement.
He'd clasped at Yeats as much as at the remnants of the pain, willing it to hurt more than it did.
And yet here he was, foaming at the mouth, and snapping at thin air.
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- Part 1 of Feral
Bookmarked by FreeFly13
03 Apr 2026
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Belfast 1946. After coming home from the war with the news that Eoin McGonigal is alive, Paddy goes to see him for the first time.
Bookmarked by FreeFly13
03 Apr 2026