#Maybe Hawks gutting Twice with the knife?

[oneoftheextras]

Day 30 | Dabi | Kinktober 2021

kinktober 2021 masterlist

30th October - Degradation

paring: dabi x prohero!reader

summary: hawks was the last person you expected to betray you, especially to this level. you hated him, but not more than you hated the villain he left you alone with

words: 3.2k

warnings: no spoilers for any season, 18+, smut, dub-con, degradation, name calling, pain, emotional manipulation, hair pulling, restraints, oral (m receiving)

a/n: first time writing dabi, let me know your thoughts

← day 29 | spitting | tobio kageyama      day 31 | cucking | levi ackerman & erwin smith →

“Come on, I dislike this as much as you do,” the red winged man rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. It had been hours and your resistance was starting to wear him down.

If anyone was to be complaining it should be you. The chair they’d tied you to was cold and hard, your ass had gone numb ages ago and you could barely feel the tips of your fingers from how tightly they’d bound your hands to it.

“I doubt that,” you stared him down with a look that could kill. 

Hawks, Keigo Takami - your former best friend. Had sold you out to the League of Villains without batting an eye.

Hurt didn’t begin to describe how you felt. “Just tell them what they want and this’ll be over,” Keigo crouched in front of you and put his hands on your bruised knees, you immediately jolted in your chair to try and avoid his touch but your restraints were too tight.

“I’m not a traitor like you,”. His eyes still held their kindness for you whilst yours leaked with venom. 

“Nah, but you’re the dumb bitch that let yourself get caught,” Dabi didn’t give you the courtesy of glancing in your direction as he spoke about you, instead continuing to lay on his back and stare at is phone from the worn looking couch.

Your eyes darted nervously to the dark haired man, that was the first thing he’d said since you got here. He was the one that had overpowered you enough to put you in this chair and keep you there while Twice and Toga got to work with the rope. 

Dabi was the only person in this room that truly frightened you.

Suddenly, a memory invaded your vision. It lasted for a nanosecond but it felt like you were reliving the moment in it’s entirety. 

Keigo and you were drunk after a long week of Hero work, talking about things Heroes shouldn’t talk about - you’d confessed to him some of your darkest kinks; as well as some of your fantasies. 

Out of the corner of your vision you could see Hawks eyeing his newly found comrade, the small twinkle of an idea dancing in his golden irises.

You turned your head back so you could fully take in his expression, searching for anything that would tell you that your gut was wrong, but when Hawks made eye contact with you again you were met only with the essence of guilt.

“Kill her already, this is pointless,” Shigaraki waved his hand and Toga gripped her knife excitedly, “Wait!” Hawks shouted, extending his hand out in a pushing motion to stop any of the Villain’s advances.

His eyeline was on the floor as his mind quickly weighed up the pros and cons of the decision he was about to make.

“Keigo,” you whispered low enough for only him to hear, his eyes trailed from the floor and met yours, “Please don’t,” you begged - attention subconsciously darting to Dabi on the couch for a brief second.

Hawks swallowed a large lump of saliva before standing to his full height, “I’m sorry,” he muttered before lifting his head and avoiding eye contact with you.

“Dabi-” he called from across the room, “Keigo!” you sounded more desperate than before, voice cracking as you begged for him not to do this to you, “-Why don’t you give it a try?” Hawks stepped away from you and towards the group of people he’d betrayed you for.

“I’m not wasting my time on a Hero slut,” he moved his scarred arm to rest behind the back of his head as he continued to scroll through his phone.

A breath of relief audibly left you. Maybe you’d get out of this unscathed.

Hawks ignored the man’s protests and stood next to Shigaraki, he said something inaudible to him and you watched as his features lit up with what you assumed to be surprise.

Shigaraki stared at you with a shit-eating grin that immediately put you on the defensive, “The fuck you looking at?” you tried to sound as intimidating as possible and it worked for a second before you saw his expression go from smiling to grinning.

“Go on Dabi, scare her,” Shigaraki gestured towards you with his head. Your eyes flicked between Hawks and Shigaraki, the two men couldn’t be more opposite - Hawks seemed as though he was already regretting his decision whilst Shgaraki looked like his favourite show was about to start.

Maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

A heavy sigh came from across the room and you refused to give your attention to it, when you saw the figure getting closer to your position you locked eyes with Hawks instead. This was his fault after all.

“Don’t hurt her!” you saw the blonde man say, “No, no,” the deeper voice waved his hand with a dismissive gesture, “If you ask for my help I do it my way!”.

You were very aware of the presence standing in front of you. His hands were in his jean pockets and you could feel his gaze burning into you already but you refused to give him the satisfaction of your attention.

“Hey!” a heavy boot kicked one of the chair legs and you felt the structure shake under it’s force - you ignored it, maintaining your death stare on Keigo who was looking between you and Dabi nervously.

A frustrated low growl came out of him as he gripped the arm rests of your chair, leaning his tall frame over your body just enough for only you to be able to hear his words.

“He’s not going to help you-” he started with a sigh, “-He’s the one that sold you out, remember? He abandoned you! Basically signed your death certificate,” he had an amusement in his voice that you found equal parts attractive and terrifying.

“Either way you’re dead so tell us what we want to know so I don’t have to keep looking at you,” you didn’t need to see his face to know he was clenching his teeth.

His patience was thinner than you thought. A hand shot up and gripped you by the cheeks, forcing you to make eye contact with him, “Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” you were met with the most fierce turquoise eyes.

“Or do you not know?” he tilted his head to the side, examining the defensive glint in your eye that was slowly fading at the realisation that Dabi didn’t mind getting physical if he needed to. 

A sickening laugh echoed off the walls and bounced back into your ears, “You don’t know! Imagine being that much of a failure that your boss doesn’t trust you with the smallest bit of information-”.

The skin around his staples strained as he made no attempt to stop the gleeful smile growing on his face, “What exactly were you to them?” he let the question fester in your mind.

You were an asset to the Heroes Commission, you knew that! That’s why they always gave you the tough jobs - although, Hawks seemed to get the more important and less life threatening ones.

“You’re expendable.” Dabi spoke the words that were forming in your brain.

“Probably a worthless bitch for them to fuck when they were bored. Yeah, you look like the type-” his rant was cut short by your spit hitting his face followed by a venomous, “Fuck you!”.

The room went silent as Dabi let go of your face and straightened his posture. The only noise in the room was your heavy breathing paired with the harsh rise and fall of your chest.

He stared at you, face devoid of emotion. The calm expression gave you chills; it was better when he was laughing.

“Get out,” his voice was quiet but it carried through the room, his palm crackled with a blue hue and you knew you’d crossed the line. “Don’t hurt her!” Hawks repeated his plea from earlier but it landed on deaf ears as Dabi placed his hand on your thigh and you felt a searing pain shoot through the fabric and directly onto your skin.

You grit your teeth together and clenched your jaw to hold back the scream that you trapped in your throat, half because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction and half because you didn’t trust it to be entirely an anguished scream. 

The pain wasn’t that bad, you’d definitely had worse but you could tell he was holding back.

“Are you deaf? I said get out!” Dabi said a bit louder than before and the room started to move hurriedly towards the door. 

Hawks was practically forced out of the room by Compress and closely followed by the others, only Shigaraki remained to whisper something to Dabi before he too made his leave.

The door let out a metallic boom as it was pulled shut fully, leaving you and Dabi in an eerie silence.

“What did he say?!” your voice croaked from holding back your cries but you still tried to sound tough. Dabi made no attempt to answer your question, instead he walked over to one of the other metal chairs and dragged it towards the only exit this room had.

The sound of metal scraping across the stone floor was unpleasant, small sparks flicked the ground as he forcefully shoved the back of the chair under the door handle.

The first thought that crawled into your head was that he was blocking your exit, but a sickening feeling nuzzled itself in your stomach at the prospect that he was trying to stop other’s from coming in.

“Why do you wanna know? Got something to hide?” his voice rang through the room as he turned his attention back to you, strolling towards your bound body.

You did your best to meet his eye but the knowing tint in them made you look away, “Sick little fuck aren’t you?” he scoffed.

Putting the tip of one of his boots on the small part of chair that was visible between your legs, he pushed your chair backwards making you feel like he was going to tip you over completely.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m a-” you started but were interrupted by a yelp that left your mouth when the chair almost lost it’s balance entirely, “What? A good girl?” he mocked you, even though that wasn’t what you were going to say.

He put all his weight on the chair harshly and all four legs slammed back onto the floor, you were amazed that they didn’t break under the force. Dabi was surprisingly strong for such a lanky man.

“You Heroes are all the same, you think you’re the pinnacle of perfection but you’re not,” he crinkled his nose in distaste as he spoke, “What’d you think the Commission would say if they knew you had the hots for a Villain?”.

He waited and observed your face. He wanted to watch the realisation hit you; the realisation that he knew the dirty thoughts you’d had about him. He was disappointed when your face hardly changed.

“I don’t.” you said bluntly, turning your head to the side and avoiding eye contact with him. You had to stay calm, at this point it was Hawks’ word against yours, if you could just keep your cool then you’d be fine.

His fingers curled into your hair and yanked your head backwards making an unexpected moan come out of your mouth - it was quiet and it could’ve easily been mistaken as a pained yell.

He pulled and pulled until your whole throat was exposed to him and you had a choice between staring at the ceiling or closing your eyes, so you opted to inspect the ceiling, closing your eyes might make it seem like you were enjoying this. Which you were, but you wouldn’t let him know that.

“Sure you don’t,” his voice was laced with sarcasm, he shook your head lazily as he admired the strain your neck muscles gave against his grip.

His free hand cupped your crotch and your body jolted at the sudden contact. Instinctively, you tried to close your legs but your knees hit the steel toe of his boot.

He watched your face intently as he gently rubbed his fingers against the fabric, this was the first thing he did that wasn’t rough. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself? ‘Cause you’re already soaked,” he let go of your hair and your head dropped down from the lack of resistance his hand gave you.

You fought against your restraints as well as your own body, you wanted to make noise so badly but you wouldn’t give in that easy. “I’m surprised you-” you took a sharp intake of breath to stop the moan he almost pulled from you, “-can feel anything with those hands,” you mocked his purple patches bitterly.

Ordinarily, you’d never talk about someone’s scars but you were on the defensive and would try anything to change the subject.

He wasn’t deterred by your comment, instead it seemed to spur him on as he slipped his hand into your pants, “I can feel plenty,” he sigh like he was the one being touched, the feeling of your wet walls encasing his fingers was heavenly.

He pushed two of his fingers inside you without preparation, the angle wasn’t the best but the way your legs had been tied meant that your thighs would never meet even if you wanted them to.

A whimper struggled against your closed lips, you’d locked your jaw tight and bit down on your bottom lip, anything to keep the noises from spilling.

He had to admit, if the last couple of hours had taught him anything, it’s that you were stubborn - but he was more so.

When he picked up the pace and started to rub your clit with his thumb it was obvious that you were enjoying this, more than he had expected, you were practically a moaning mess with your mouth closed.

You scrunched your eyes shut, he was hitting every spot like he knew your body inside and out, you were getting closer to your orgasm and you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep quiet.

“You’re disgusting,” his tone contradicted his words, but you tensed around his digits regardless. He stopped his movements and you held back a whine at the lack of friction.

The cogs were turning in his head, Dabi wasn’t dumb, he quickly realised what was going on. He laughed a belly laugh at you, “No. Fucking. Way!” he punctuated each of his words with a pump of his fingers, “This is great!” he sounded like he was having the time of his life.

“Fuck you!” you snarled at him, trying to convince yourself that if you hated him enough then you’d hate the way he made you feel, “That is the plan, but not yet,” you looked up at him just in time to see him pull his cock out of his jeans.

Most noteworthy was the Jacob’s Ladder piercing trailing up the underneath of his length.

Your eyes widened and shot up to his face, “What?” he tilted his head to the side as he smeared his precum over his leaking head, “I would’ve thought a slut like you is used to seeing dicks,” there it was again, your walls squeezing his fingers.

He released his shaft and forcibly gripped your chin as he fucked you on his fingers, “Open up,” he taunted you but you shook your head while looking up at him with pleading eyes. You knew as soon as your mouth was open all sorts of noises would tumble out.

“Are you too fucking dumb to understand a simple instruction, I said open!” he growled as he forced your mouth open. The second your lips parted a lewd moan vibrated in the air, you prayed that no one had decided to stand on the other side of the door otherwise they would’ve definitely heard you.

He didn’t immediately shove his dick in your mouth which you expected him to do, instead he held your mouth open as saliva trickled down your chin. Once you’d truly made a mess of yourself, he slid his cock into your mouth.

You felt the weight of him first and then the cold bars of his piercing hit your tongue. He didn’t relent with his other hand, he instead added another finger and you screamed in delight around him. He placed his spit covered hand on the back of your head and moved it to meet his thrusts, he had no intention of being gentle with you.

No matter how badly you tried to hold back your noises, with him thrusting into your mouth wasn’t enough to muffle the sounds, instead they would be momentarily garbled from the action of his cockhead hitting the back of your throat.

It was too much, you glanced up towards his face and noted that he head was thrown back in pleasure. That was the tipping point, your walls fluttered around his fingers and you felt your release approaching, that’s when he pulled his hand from you and fucked your face harder.

You would’ve complained if your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. Dabi groaned and lifted his head so he could see just how disappointed you were at your orgasm being stolen from you.

He cooed at you and pouted out his bottom lip, “Aww, did you wanna cum?” he laughed as his own thrusts became erratic, he gripped the back of your head harder and forced himself to bottom out, “This is for spitting on me!” you felt his dick throb, then a deep moan rumbling from his chest followed by his release shooting down your throat.

The only option was to swallow, not that you opposed the idea, you just wished he’d given you a warning.

Just as quickly as his hand had moved, he slid himself out of your mouth, making no attempt to keep you clean. You gasped for air, not realising just how long you’d held your breath.

He’d tucked himself back into his jeans and composed himself, “Tell us what we want to know and I’ll think about giving you what you want,” he trailed off the end of his sentence as he removed the chair from the doorway and banged on the door loudly.

As though nothing had happened, he went back to sitting on the couch as the others started trailing in. 

Hawks paused in the doorway when he saw the state of you; dishevelled hair, spit and- something else- running down your chin as you panted like you’d just been for a run. 

“Well?” Shigaraki said aloud, “Did she tell you anything?” he asked Dabi. When you finally looked up at Hawks, he was staring at you with a expression of disbelief. It made you furious, what exactly did he expect to happen?

“Not yet, but she will,” Dabi tapped mindlessly on his phone, a wicked smirk forming on his face, “Just let her throat recover first,”.

@mylife-demonstrates-murphys-law @hereticpriest @enagmaticether @anxiousgoddest @kodzu-ken @moonnei @diesinspanishbcimhispanic  @fvckmeupyoonz @homosexualjohnwayne @notplutos @moth-baybee @answer-the-sirens @ochakoakabane

#dabi x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2021 #dabi

[nightowlfandom]

Yandere! Hawks (Keigo Takami) - Scratches and Bruises

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

Alright I’ll do it...I’LL WRITE HAWKS SMUT....but I won’t like it.

Okay people so This is gonna have talks of death, abuse, yandere shit.

Leggo!

...

“What’s a pretty girl like you do sad for?”

You looked up from your phone to find a man practically leaning over the restaurant table. You could smell the alcohol from miles away and the way he was moving wasn’t helping his case either. You were instantly put off by him. Correction: You were disgusted by him.

“What’s a ugly man like you so bold for?” you smiled sweetly as the venom dripped off your words. “I’m really not interested.” you looked back down at your phone. You were just about to get a new high score on your favorite phone game and this asshole was ruining your chances. Your character almost died twice since he began bothering you. It was really starting to get on your nerves. If you didn’t unlock that new skin, you might kill someone.

“Oh come on.” he slurred. “Can a guy just compliment such a pretty lady?”

“Not when he looks like fucking Voldemort.” you replied just as quickly as he ended his sentence. “You’re kind of bothering me right now.” you pressed pause on your game and looked up again. “I’ll ask again. What do you want, seriously?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a guy at one of the booths, staring over at you. It didn’t feel creepy, but it was enough to capture your attention. 

“I wanted to-”

“What do you want?” you cut him off again. “We’re wasting time here.” you threw your phone on the table. “Save me the headache and save your ego...” you crossed your arms. you faked a smile. “Goodbye.”

“You bit-”

“Is there a problem?” 

A new person walked up to you two. The same guy who you had noticed before stopped in front of your table. He had sandy brown hair, and very sharp looking eyes. You swore you’ve seen him somewhere. You weren’t too sure.

“Nothing buddy, just about to show this bitch who she’s talking to-”

You crossed your arms and shifted around in your seat. “I mean I don’t need to be shown anything.” you shrugged.

“Oh are you?” he laughed. “Well I hate to break it to you but I’ll have to intervene” the stranger laughed out loud. 

“What do you mean-”

The drunk was instantly floored as this stranger grabbed his by the neck and slammed his face against the table not even an inch away from your phone. The drunk landed on the floor with a thud, moaning in pain. You weren’t even sure if he was registering the pain he was in or the fact that he had gotten his ass handed to him in the first place. All that you knew was that he was being peeled off the floor and escorted (more like thrown out.).

“You’re welcome, lady.” the guy didn’t take another look at you before be took a step forward. 

“I didn’t need your help.” you snatched your phone off the desk. “I can take care of myself.” you rolled your eyes. “And I wasn’t gonna thank you, either.” you stood up. “I’m definitely not going to now.”

The man slowly turned around, revealing his face clearly. “Oh really?” 

He was attractive, no doubt about it. His tight black muscle tee with baggy jeans and boots...damn he was a looker. Yet you weren’t like most MC’s...it would take a bit more than that for him to have any impact on you.

“Really.” you repeated. You put a hand on your hip. “Now if you’ll excuse me...I’m off to find another table to sit at.”

The man who ‘saved’ you didn’t take his eyes off you all night. Even when your friends came and joined you. 

“Hey Y/N, is that Keigo Takami looking at you?”

“I think it is!” another friend piped.

“Who?” you stared at her as you lowered your drink. “Who is Keigo Takami?”

“Y’know...Hawks.” she whispered. “I heard they call him that when he served time...” 

“He’s a literally crazy person. He’s an absolute menace! He’s a former hero...”

“Can imagine why...he beat the shit out of this guy who tried to hit on me.”

“Him?! I haven’t heard of him ever doing that for anyone before.” your other friend widened her eyes. “Y/N, I’ve heard of his past relationships...they didn’t end well. They all ended up missing...or in therapy.”

“I can take care of myself.” you shrugged. “I’m sure whatever Hawks has for me, I can take.”

“Don’t say that so freely, Girl. I heard he has a lot of screws loose.” your friend put a hand on your shoulder. “Like a lot.”

“Well whatever Mr. Man has in store for me, I’ll be prepared. It can’t be that bad, right?” your confidence dispersed a little bit. You looked behind you back at Keigo who had been cracking open a can of beer. He looked a little to interested in his own world to see you staring. 

“Y/N...Y/N!” your friend snapped her fingers in your face. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah!” You focused back on your friends, feeling your emotions sort of switch. 

From the corner of the room, Keigo’s eyes followed you. He took his bottom lip between his teeth as he studied you. Never in his life had he ever seen a girl like you before. He had never been so...fascinated either. Something inside him snapped, he had to get to know you.

He had to.

...

“Is there a reason  you’re following me?”

On a trip to the supermarket, you couldn’t help but voice your opinions. Keigo was hiding in behind a display of cans whilst you stared at the cheese. Hmmm Cheddar or American? Maybe Havarti! Hmm Pepperjack? Why were there too many types of cheeses?! Too many options!

“You have a very keen eye.” he revealed himself. “I like that.” he began walking along side down down the aisle. “Try this one, it’s the best on burgers.” he grabbed a package of Pepperjack cheese and tossed it in the cart.

“I’m just very aware.” you replied boredly. “It comes with the territory.” you opted to ignore him trying to shop for you. 

“Of being a hero?” 

His words made you freeze. You hadn’t been a hero in years, let along thought about it. It had been so long...

“I hung up my cape years ago.” you rebutted. Your tried to keep your voice steady, but he could tell his words affected you. It made you wonder how he even knew that.

“I can say the same.” he winked. “Only I traded the cape for...other things.”

“I can tell...Hawks.” you grumbled in reply. “That’s what they used to call you right?”

Keigo knew you were challenging him. Part of him was angry, others not so much. He was interested to say the least. No one dared call him that anymore. Hell, no one lived long enough to even finish such a sentence. What made you so different? You had guts...he liked that.

“Yeah...that part of my life is over now.” he began following you down the aisle. “What about you? Why’d you give up hero work?”

“That’s not something I want to discuss with a stranger in the middle of the store.” 

“I get it...how’s 7:00 sound?”

“Pardon me?” You and your cart skid to a stop. “What did you just say to me?”

“I’ll meet you at the bar we met around 7! Don’t be late, and tell the bartender Takami Keigo is gonna be waitin’ for ya.” he winked. “Don’t leave me waiting princess...”

“I don’t even know you!” you were taken aback. “You don’t even know my name...”

Keigo’s face twisted into a smirk. He took a step towards you. You flattened yourself against the aisle wall as he trapped you against the cereal. “So tell me...What’s your name?”

“Huh?!”

“For a hero...you’re pretty dense.” he chuckled, nearing his face closer. “I asked your name, Hun.” he winked. “Won’t you tell me?”

“Y/N.” you replied breathlessly. “My name is Y/N.” Why did you tell him that, you had no clue. Idiot!

“Okay then Y/N.” he neared his face towards yours. “7:00 tonight...okay?”

“Uh huh.” you nodded. 

“Wonderful, I’ll see you tonight, princess.”

... 

You sat at the bar stool, spinning around lazily. You called all of your friends, your parents, hell even your grandparents. You didn’t tell them the details, but you told them if you didn’t message them back by 9:00 AM the next morning, call you just in case.

“What can I get you?” the barkeep walked up, wearing a kind smile on his face. You suddenly remembered that Keigo had told you, and you didn’t trust it one bit. “Can I get a water please?” 

“Coming right up, young lady.” the older man kindly looked at you. “Anything for the former Number 1 hero!”

You giggled bashfully. “Please, that was years ago.” you shook your head. “I appreciate it though.” you smiled. Hero work, the bane of your existence. Your past buddies and partners had all begged you not to leave, but with the amount of scars and suffering you endured, you had no choice.

You wouldn’t put yourself through that again, not for anyone. 

“Here you are miss.” the glass was set in front of you. 

“Thanks.” you put your hand over the top of the glass. Now that it was in yoru hand, you could move accordingly. “I was also supposed to meet someone here?...Told me to tell you to expect me...Keigo Takami?”

The barkeep’s face fell, fear striking his features. “O-oh! You’re Mr. Takami’s company for the night! I’m supposed to escort you to his special booth.”

“Special booth?” you repeated.

“Y-yes, please follow me!” he urged. “Only VIPs are allowed back here, but he rented out the entire back area just for you!”

You felt your senses go off, fight or flight mode. Now or never. You reached in your purse. Knife, check. Mace, check....Gun...check.

The kind barkeep took you to a back area. It looked like the main dining area, only a lot more high end. Slow jazz music was playing in the background and the lights were low. He was right, there was no one here...except one person.

He dawned a brown leather jacket, black skinny jeans and those all to familiar boots. He tapped his fingers against the table as he stared down at his phone.

“Mr. Takami. She’s here.”

Keigo looked up with that shit-eating smirk. “Thank you Hideo, leave us.”

The barkeep stalked off leaving you alone. You suddenly felt out of place. You looked around, taking note of the city beaming outside the windows. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” 

You looked back over at Keigo again, almost surprised. “Yeah, it is.” you nodded.

He motioned next to him. “You wanna sit down or are you gonna stand there staring at me? I don’t bite.” he winked.

Silently, you sat down, still keeping your distance from the man. You were about a good two feet away from him. You weren’t too keen on getting any closer.

“I’m surprised you came. I thought you’d find a way to get out of this.”

“I am too, but I figured I’d entertain this idea...just for tonight.” you shrugged. “Don’t try anything, got it?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Keigo cracked a genuine smile. You looked stunning and he wanted to tell you that. He wouldn’t admit it, but he knew about you when you were going by your hero alias. He recognized the way you walked, the way you spoke. You could have killed that freak who hit on you if you wanted to. However you didn’t. He was curious about that.

“Why did you ask me out?” you raised an eyebrow before he could get a word out.

“I’ll let you know in a minute.” he winked. “I’m more interested in you.”

“Like what?” you raised an eyebrow. “How interesting can I be?”

Keigo didn’t want to say he did extensive research on you and couldn’t find shit. It drove him crazy. It was making him go quite literally insane. He was more that interested. He was invested. When he didn’t answer, you sighed.

“You tell me first.” you crossed your arms. “I know your reputation proceeds you.” you raised a brow.

“Princess, that’s not how this works.” he tried to sound as if he was joking. “I ask the questions here.”

“Well it is today.” you shrugged. “Either we have an even exchange or you’re out of luck.” you shrugged. “You decide.”

Keigo stared blankly at you. You were a tough nut, that was for sure. Plus you sure as hell weren’t afraid of death. That must have meant you had no idea what he was capable of. Then again, it must have been your Hero Side taking a stance.

After what felt like a minute, he sighed in defeat. “...A friend of mine was killed by a hero.” he confessed. “You ever hear of someone called The Bronze Monk?”

“That name sounds familiar?” you raised an eyebrow. “He’s another hero, right? He can turn his fists into bronze.” You tried to recall.

“Mhm...He killed my friend.” Keigo clenched his fist. “I did 6 years because of him....”

“I don’t understand.” you raised an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with you?”

“This was while you were dominating the game I guess, so I don’t blame you for not knowing.” he shrugged and he slapped a hand on the table. “HIDEO! TWO BEERS.”

“So I’m confused. I heard The Bronze Monk died mysteriously...he fell from over 500 stories...”you paused. You took to time to noticed that Keigo has aired out his wings this time around. You didn’t even noticed he HAD wings. “It was all over the-...wait a second...You never said who your friend was.”

“She was a- she was a villain.” Keigo sighed. “She was like a sister to me and I was tryna get her to stop being so dumb...turn over a new leave and she was doing so well! Shit, but...one day she dumbly got into a fight with that asshole and I watched my friend die right there.” Keigo hitched his words slightly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” you said sadly, regretting opening your big mouth. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No...it’s fine. I guess in order to move on I gotta talk about it right?” he sat up straight as the barkeep came back with two mugs and quickly stalked back off. “I was so blinded by my own anger. What type of hero would go out of their way to punish someone trying to make amends....” he seethed. “I flew him up to the tallest building in the city and dropped him...I only got off on good behavior...”

It finally all made sense, to you at least. You let what he said marinate and sit well...it felt surreal.

“So.” Keigo grabbed his glass and took a huge gulp. “I’ve said my peace. You’re turn.”

You stared at this guy for what felt like ages. Something told you that this guy couldn’t be trusted. All the alarms were going off at the same time...but for some reason-

“My parents wanted me to be a hero.” you said. “My quirk is hereditary, so it’s passed from person to person.” you shrugged. “I loved saving people, helping people...then-” you paused. “I saw how corrupt, and hateful, and disgusting these so-called heroes were...I lost someone important to me too.”

Keigo raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested. You took a swig of beer, trying to gather your thoughts. 

Keigo took note of the way you were fiddling with your left hand. Your thumb grazed over your ringer finger as if something was missing...something important.

“Who was the guy?” Keigo asked, snapping you out of your trance. He had a gut feeling he already knew, but he wanted to hear it from your mouth.

“...H-he was um...we dated since high school.” you shrugged. “We were a team, him and I.” you smiled at the memory. “When he turned his back on the hero world, they turned their back on him too.”

“Meaning?”

“They sold him out.” you choked. “They left him for dead and told me he would be okay. I should have gone back for him but they held me back, they told me there were other people that needed my help.”

“What happened when you learned the truth?” Keigo asked. He only knew that a poor hero lost his life, he didn’t know that the only other survivor just so happened to be his future wife.

“I had to choose...my friends and my morals or being a hero. If anyone knows just how two faced and conniving these people are, it’s me.” you shuddered. “I’ve met traitors, and killers disguised as good guys. At one point I couldn’t take it anymore and I gave up! Forget being number 1, forget status, forget everything...Being a hero...lost me everything.”

“Hm. Thank you for sharing that with me, Princess.” he replied. “It must have been hard to do...it’s nice to know you trust me so much.”

“It was only fair, I guess.” you boredly drank. “It not that big a deal.” you stared down at your fingers. “It was years ago, I’ve moved on.”

Keigo took note of how your mood faltered. He couldn’t have that.

“Hey, look at me?”

“Hm?” you looked up from your glass.

“I’m sure where ever your fiancé is, whatever he’s up to. He doesn’t blame you.” he put a hand over yours. “He wouldn’t hate you for moving on either.”

“He wouldn’t?” you narrowed your eyes. “How do you know?”

Keigo couldn’t answer, he just wanted to say something, anything, to put a smile on your face. It was like a second nature in such a short time. He wanted to be your hero. “It’s just a hunch...you shouldn’t be afraid to move on...sometimes all you need is a push out the nest.” he winked as his wings twitched behind his back.

“Bird humor? Really?” you scoffed.

“It’s what I do, princess.”

...

After the heavy and depressing, you don’t think you laughed that hard in years. 

“Wait hold on.” you stopped laughing. “Pause for a minute! You, with those big ass wings got your ass handed to you by some chump named ‘The weather man?’” you were crying from laughing so hard.

“He could control the wind!” he defended, also laughing. “You shoulda seen it!”

“Well maybe you need to exercise your quirk more.” you crossed your arms.

“As if you’re the master of your own.” he playfully rolled his eyes.

“As a matter of fact, I am!” you raised an eyebrow. “Shall I demonstrate?” you scooted out the booth and stood up. “Don’t blink or you might miss it.”

Keigo leaned back in his seat, now very interested in what you were about to display for him. He watched your eyes narrow in focus as you held your hands out in front of your face. Slowly, a very tiny tornado formed in your hands, small and handheld. This mini tornado was soon replaced by a tree sprouting out of the top. You waved your hand around and miraculously summoned rain out of your palm. 

“Okay Y/N, focus.” you mumbled. Suddenly, out of everything, a flame erupted from the center of your hand. 

He watched in awe, he had never heard of anyone with a quirk like this one before. With another flick of the hand, everything you had summoned disappeared. “Ta-da!”

“That was amazing.” he commented as your sat down. “What was that??”

“I come from a long line of ‘benders’. Funny name, I know.” you giggled. “I can bend another element...spirit. I can only do it when I’m really happy though.”

“Why didn’t you try that one?”

“...I said I can only do it when I’m happy.” you smiled sadly. It didn’t take long for Keigo to catch on. 

“Oh.” he raised a brow. “Sorry, I-”

“It’s alright.” you shook your head. “Ever since...he died...I’ve never been able to do it.” you shrugged. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to.”

“I’d love to witness that.” Keigo laced his fingers within yours, making your face heat up. “I bet it’s beautiful.”

“...S-shush.” you scoffed, looking away bashfully.

Suddenly the song changed, a slow jazz song began playing. A slow beat, with soft drums and what you could describe as a romantic saxophone.

“Dance with me.” he held out his hand. 

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully as you took his hand and stood up. He guided you to the middle of the floor. he pulled you flush against his chest. The slow music seemed to drown out the hustle of the city noise outside. He hummed thoughtfully, singing to the tune for you. 

“You never told me.” you mused as you two moved in sync.

“Told you what, princess?”

“Why did you ask me out?”

“Truth be told, something drew me to you.”

“Like what?” you innocently stared. “What about me could possibly interest you?”

“Out of everything you’ve told me, everything really.” he bit his lip. “You’re amazing, everything about you.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself, Keigo.” you shyly replied. You turned around and rested your back against his chest. He rested his head in the divot of your shoulder. He wrapped his arms around your waist, guiding you along to the music. 

He was right, he wouldn’t leave you, not now. Not ever. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it, princess.”

“If I admitted I was wrong about you, would you hold it against me?”

Keigo nearly froze. A shock was sent up his spine as the words left your lips. “You shouldn’t say things like that, princess.”

“How come?” you turned around to face him. 

“I want to-” he bit his lip. A gentle hand rested on the base of your neck, his thumb caressing your throat. He laid a kiss on your lips, passion dripping off of every peck. His tongue slipped through the small gap as he moaned against your mouth. You whimpered and shivered feeling his tongue dominate your mouth. He responded with sounds of his own. Shaky breathes and low groans.

You responded to his touch, allowing his hands to travel under your shirt. “Keigo.” you whimpered. Your feverishly ran your hands through his hair, practically gluing your bodies together. You felt his fingertips creep under shirt, dancing across your skin. “W-we can’t do this here.”

“You’re totally right.” he didn’t cease, instead opting to kiss down your neck. “So...my place or yours.”

You felt yourself lose all sense of direction. “Y-yours.”

“You’ve just opened up Pandora’s Box, princess.”

...

You fell back on his bed, crawling backwards. He rid himself of that jacket and his shirt, leaving him to flex his muscles, his wings, and everything. You stared up, trembling in anticipation. 

Your friends would probably kill you, but you didn’t particularly care. You hugged yourself, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. 

Keigo loved it. It meant you still had innocence flowing in your veins, not for long. He would toy with your brain. He would bend you to his will and drive you insane with lust. You would be the perfect sidekick for him. He stalked over to you, biting his lip. 

“Look at you.” he mused. “You’re so cute.” he giggled. He rested a knee at the edge of the bed, beginning to crawl towards you. 

You noticed his wings were spread wide, covering over you two like a shield.

“C-can I?”

“Go ahead Princess.” he smiled knowingly. He had the look as if he knew something you didn’t. You reached a trembling hand to gently brush his beautiful feathers. A low groan erupted from his throat.

“Oh my gosh! Am I hurting you?” you almost withdrew your hand back.

“Don’t stop...please.” he growled lowly. 

It was only then you realized, this was turning him on. You ran your hands through his feathers. They were soft, shiny even. 

“Enough!” he grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “Look at you, princess. All ready for me.” he laughed. “I wonder how wet I can make that pussy for me.” he used his other hand to fumble with the button of your jeans.

You trembled under his touch, feeling your pants slide down your legs. You were completely drowned in your own lust. A fire was prominent in your chest. You were shaking under his fingertips. 

“Enjoy this, princess.” he winked before crawling down. He lifted your shirt up and planted little kisses along your stomach. He grabbed the hem of your panties with his teeth and pulled them down. 

You were squirming in anticipation, waiting. 

“You smell so...so-” he didn’t finish his sentence because he had drove his tongue up your slit. A gasp escaped your lungs. Absentmindedly, you had grabbed a fist full of his hair. 

“Fuuuh~” you couldn’t speak. You weren’t even sure he’d be able to hear your over the sound of your wetness. You could feel your water dribble down your thighs. 

“Wrapped your legs around my head.” he growled, digging his nails into your thighs. “Grind that pussy against my tongue, princess.” 

You thrashed against his mouth, feeling warmth gather in the pit of your stomach. “Keigo!”

He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked harshly, making you cry out even louder. 

Keigo felt himself lose touch with everything, he was only focused on you in the moment. Fuck, was he hard too. Hearing your moans. Shit, he couldn’t wait to bury himself into you. 

“Baby, do you hear that?” he looked up at you as he promptly replaced his tongue with his fingers. “Listen.” he pumped his fingers into you. “You sound so fucking cute” he groaned, mimicking your soft whimpers. “It feels good, yeah?”

You couldn’t speak, so you just nodded. 

Suddenly, he yanked his fingers out of you. His head fell forward to rest on your pubic bone. He sounded as if he came just now even if it was you getting all the pleasure. 

Like a predator stalking after it’s prey he meet your eyes. He wore a sadistic grin with his bottom lip taken between his teeth. He sat up, fumbling with his belt buckle. 

“You ready for me, princess?”

“Yes, p-please?” you whimpered. 

Fuck, you couldn’t do that to him. He had a mind to tear you apart where you lay. Your jaw went slack as his cock was released from its restraints. Would that even- Inside you?! 

You felt it brush against you, slightly. You met his eyes and froze there. He was staring down at you. He looked absolutely feral. You could barely look away as he slid himself inside your throbbing hole. He painfully slowly rolled his hips into you. He twitched inside as he bucked his hips into you. 

“Look at how good we fit together. That’s right.” he managed through clenched teeth. “My cock was meant to be here. I was meant to fuck you.” he snarled. 

You tightened around his length as he thrust harder. “You’re so fucking beautiful, princess.” His jaw dropped again. “Say my name, please?”

“K-keigo.” you obeyed. You felt a warmth in your chest as well as your core. It was like a fire was being ignited in the pit of your soul. “I’m gonna-”

“Fuck! Don’t finish that sentence.” he snarled. “You don’t wanna know what I’m gonna do as a result.”

In a swift motion, you were suddenly staring down at Keigo. He had a death grip on your legs as he was now thrusting upwards. You had your hands on his chest in an attempt to support yourself.

“I think I like you more when you’re riding me.” he bit his lip. “You look so fucking sexy. Those moans, that body, your pretty fucking pussy-”

“Keigo, please! I can’t it anymore.”

“Oh yeah, you gonna cum? You wanna cum for me, baby?” he spoke in a babyish voice. “You wanna cum all over Papa Bird’s cock? Do it, do it for me...ARGH FUCK!”

You felt his warmth inside you at the exact same time you had came. He was shaking under you, rolling his hips upwards to relieve the friction he had caused. 

Keigo stared in amazement at a bright light erupted from your chest, a small bird in the shape of smoke began flying around the room.

“That would be spirit.” you laughed tiredly, watching the quirk you had thought died reactivate out of nowhere. 

“I hope you know...you can never leave me now.” Keigo sat up to lay kisses on your neck. “You’re mine now.”

(AND DONE! This was Hawks debut on the blog so lets all give hem a huge hello!)

#anime x reader #anime imagines #anime scenarios #anime headcanons #anime x reader imagines #anime x reader scenarios #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha hawks #bnha keigo #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #x reader #imagines #hawks x reader imagines #keigo takami bnha #keigo takami smut #keigo takami lemon #bnha lemon #hawks lemon #hawks smut #smut imagines #fan fic #nightowlfandom

[baejax-the-great]

Aches

Fenris x Hawke (G)

1850 words of banter about old injuries between even older friends. Mentions of alcohol, spiders, and aging.

Read on AO3

~

When Bethany summoned ice from thin air, Varric reflected for the umpteenth time what a fantastic waste locking up all the mages had been for all those years.

“Thank you, Sunshine,” he said while scooping it into a handkerchief.  It would soak through eventually, but it was going to get the job done.

Hawke watched him with a raised eyebrow. “Was I the only one who thought the ice was for our drinks?”

“Ice in wine? Yes,” Fenris replied.

“I don’t know, it might have been nice to try it cold. Something new?”

Fenris shook his head.

“I’m an old man now,” Varric explained as he tied a knot to hold the ice in, “I have aches and pains, and in my time in the charming south, ice helped.”

“What aches?” Bethany asked.

“My wrist,” he replied. He rolled his eyes at Hawke’s failure to hide a childish smile. “There’s a cranking motion I have to do for Bianca and—”

Hawke was no longer pretending to listen seriously, giggling to herself, and Varric put his hands back on the table, regretting his choice to act out the motion in the air for more than just the predictable pain that came with it. He set the ice to do its work.

“Tell me more about how you crank Bianca,” Hawke said with a flutter of her eyelashes.

He shook his head. “I know I’m not the only one here suffering. Come on, Hawke, you’re practically a walking bruise at this point. Maybe you’d like to be put on ice for a bit.”

She grinned. “Well there was the old shoulder injury. And the knee injury, of course. Every time it rains it starts creaking. And I really did roll that one ankle too many times. It seems always on the verge of rolling again.” Bethany quietly began summoning more ice as she spoke. ”And, well who could forget my back that one time, except that the answer was all of you forgot my back or nothing would have happened to it in the first place…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bethany tied up the ice and handed it to her sister, who only used it to gesture in the air as she said, “Honestly, at this point I take a healing potion prior to fighting just so I can make the stabbing motion without wincing. And I’m still not half as fast as I used to be.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was whisky.”

“You thought I was getting drunk before fights?”

He nodded. “I was worried about you. Now I know you are in too much pain to hold a blade. That’s much better.”

“Not after I take one of these,” Hawke said, wiggling a small vial in front of him. She seemed to remember the ice in her other hand at that point and after some consideration she balanced it on her right elbow, her smile fading into consternation. “And then take three more the minute we’re done, or I’d have to make you carry me home.”

“Give me that—” Bethany said, snatching the vial before Hawke had the chance to protest. She swirled it in the light, popped the cork to delicately sniff it, then sighed. “You really shouldn’t be taking four of these in one day.”

Hawke snatched it back with her tongue stuck out. “It’s better than taking a knife to the gut, but I’ll keep that in mind. Not all of us can shove healing magic into our shoulders after every fight.”

“Maker, don’t remind me. All that twirling has taken its toll.” She sighed. “And Alistair—all that plate mail on his big body—his knees are practically dust at this point. I think magic is all that’s holding them together.”

Hawke laughed and offered her elbow to Bethany, who prodded at it a bit with some magic. Fenris was conspicuously silent through all of this, and Varric just couldn’t help poking.

“What about you, elf?” he asked, “Where’s your worst pain? No, don’t tell me. It’s either the shoulder or the elbow, and my money’s on the elbow.”

Fenris took a slow drink of ale, and Hawke, to her credit, didn’t shout out the answer. “I may not know my age,” Fenris drawled, “But I am now certain I am younger than all of you. My joints are fine.”

Hawke laughed. “Maker, but you were a haggard teenager when we found you,” she snickered.

“Bull shit,” Varric replied. “And here’s how I know it’s bullshit and that it’s your elbow. I haven’t seen you do that over-the-head hack move in two years. Now I know you’re strong enough to lift that enormous sword of yours, but I’m guessing your elbow won’t let you do the follow-through.”

Fenris shrugged. “It was an inefficient maneuver,” he replied simply to Hawke’s giggles.

Bethany, who had prepared yet another handkerchief full of ice, turned to Varric and asked, “Should we play pin the ice pack on the elf? Honestly I’m guessing there are no wrong answers.”

Of course, with her time spent healing, she had an eye for these things. She leaned over and whispered in Varric’s ear.

He grinned. “Alright Mister-Younger-Than-The-Rest-of-Us, let’s have a demonstration of your peak physical condition. We’ll start with something nice and easy. Put your hand all the way up in the air, as far as it will go.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and started to raise his hand.

“The other hand,” Varric and Bethany protested at the same time.

Fenris considered the hand currently holding his cup of wine. “No.”

Hawke accepted the ice pack from Bethany and placed it on his shoulder for him.  “I really thought I’d be much older when all my conversations devolved into what hurt where and how bad,” she said, Seems like a conversation for people with white hair.”

Fenris gave her a very pointed look.

“I mean like Varric,” she sighed. “He’s not nearly gray enough for this conversation.”

“Thanks, Hawke.”

“Any time. Anyway I suppose we’ll really be lost when we start arguing over whose pain is the worst.”

“It’s you,” Bethany said simultaneously with Fenris’s “Yours is.”

Varric, who might have enjoyed a great sympathy for his poor wrist that started the entire conversation, had to agree. “We all saw—”

“Don’t bring up the Arishok,” Hawke interrupted flatly, “I’m so tired of talking about the blasted Arishok—”

“That golem-looking thing in the Deep Roads that crushed your foot,” he finished.

“I was going to say that time a Maker’s Fist blasted her right off a cliff on the Wounded Coast,” Bethany said, “I think she hit every shrub on the way down.”

“I was thinking of the Arishok,” Fenris said.

Hawke elbowed him.

“We all had our fair share,” she said, “What about that time Merrill got that spider bite and we had to carry her home?”

“That was nothing,” Varric said, “She was fine by the time we got back, but I think she was enjoying the ride. Void, she probably weighs less than Bianca, so it wasn’t some big imposition or anything. Whoever had to carry her staff got the worse end of that deal.”

“What about when Isabela got that nasty burn? I can still remember the smell,” Bethany said, scrunching up her nose.

“But you healed that in about a minute,” Hawke said, “She hardly suffered at all.”

The rest of the evening was spent arguing over not over which injury was the most grievous, but which injury was the stupidest in their history. Isabela’s hand blowing up twice its usual size because of what turned out to be a very infected splinter was right up there with the time a crab snapped Fenris’s bare toes and refused to let go until Varric bolted it. Varric personally felt that while Isabela’s injury was more serious, Fenris deserved the crown because he could have just done his lyrium thing at any moment to get away, but instead hopped around like an idiot for a solid minute before Hawke got him to hold still.

Regardless, the ice eventually melted, leaving them all a little soggy, a little nostalgic, and definitely ready for bed.

~

In their bedroom, after their slow, verbose goodbyes to friends and family that involved Hawke hugging everyone at least three times, including Fenris who was going nowhere, Fenris asked Hawke, “So what happens now?”

She frowned. “Well I was going to peel off this shirt and toss it in the hamper, and then normally I would take two more of these so I could go to bed, but Bethy just told me to limit myself to four.”

Fenris stared at the potion in her hand. “You’ve already had—that is not what she said—”

“Maybe a bath?” Hawke continued as if he had said nothing at all, “With those fizzy salts. That should help, right? Everyone always says those help. Have a bunch stored in a drawer somewhere.”

“No, I meant…” They had slowed down. Fenris had been mostly joking about the whisky, but he hadn’t really registered the extent to which Hawke was in pain. They were both in pain. “Are we…?” He didn’t even know how to phrase the question. What were they if not mercenaries, champions, and warriors? “Are we done?”

“With fighting?” She tossed her shirt away with a small grunt. “Maker, yes. That’s done. We’re old, it’s over, you couldn’t pay me to pick up my blades again, which no one does anymore anyway. May they rust wherever I dropped them last time we came home.”

He nodded, though he couldn’t quite tell if Hawke was serious or not. “Just like that?” he asked.

Hesitating a little, her flippant attitude smoothed into sincerity as she walked over to him and rested her arms over his shoulders.  “Do you remember that time you got bashed over the head?”

“Not really, no,” he replied very honestly.

“Right. Of course. I do, though, and after tonight’s conversation, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The slower I get, the stiffer I get, the greater the chance it happens again. Only this time I might not finish off our assailants on my own, or get you to the healer in time, or be able to carry you at all if I have to.”

Fenris rolled his bad shoulder. That thought had crossed his mind once or twice, that should extraordinary circumstances occur as they often did around Hawke, there was less certainty of them prevailing. Still, he didn’t know what a future of quiet peace looked like.

Perhaps it looked like Hawke, slowly undressing as she spoke.

“So I’m done,” she continued, “Didn’t realize it until tonight, but I am serious. Someone else can clean up Darktown or mend the Wounded Coast. I’ll be in the bath, with my salts.” She tossed the rest of her clothes and sauntered toward the bath, pausing to look back at him. “Are you coming?”

Questions of the future aside, what could Fenris do but follow? She had certainly led him to worse places before. “Always.”

#hawke #lea hawke #fenris #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #bethany #bethany hawke #varric #varric tethras #my writing #alcohol mention #feels good to write a dumb one shot again

[askderynsharp]

Vamp Au Cont. 8

Even as sunlight crept dangerously across the mountains, Deryn made no attempt to shield her eyes as she watched the enemy bound towards them. Was that a canon on the front of that contraption? With all the hydrogen in the air just one shot would…

 “What do you mean- a stormwalker?”

Deryn snapped out of her thoughts to glance at Alek. He was squinting into the dawn as well, even as his eyes were nowhere near strong enough to see from that great a distance. After a whole night of being jumpy and terrified the boy didn’t seem frightened at all. Deryn supposed that made sense- poor lad must be exhausted, but…

 “Is that…” Deryn said, “Is that your family?”

 Alek pushed away from the window with a sigh.

 “Ah,” he said, sounding more disappointed than anything, “As I expected.”

 “Expected? Expected?!” Deryn cried, “They’ve sent a bloody war machine!”

 How many of the crew had entered the hive since the sighting? How many were blacked out, or near blacking out? Even with full staff the Leviathan itself was pure dead hopeless, a ship of flechetts and strafing hawks had no leverage against an attack from the ground. The only thing keeping her home from going up in flames was Deryn, and she was stuck between a direct order from the captain to return to hive and a boy with every intention of getting her staked.

 But none of that mattered now- Deryn searched for some way to get down. She had to stop this now!

 “I thought Volger might take a more direct approach,” Alek said, his voice almost mournful, “We’ve run out of time.”

 Deryn whipped around to face him, still shocked at how calm he was.

 “And speaking of direct,” She said, “Why, in all your insistence that we get you home as soon as possible, did you neglect to mention that the consequences involved the barrel end of a walker?”

 “I did say you’d all die. You just made a joke about it."

  “And you let me?”

 Looking again out into the snow, Deryn could see it was no mistake. It was a stormwalker, and it wasn’t taking its time getting here.

 “Come on, we’ve got to do something.”

 Alek didn’t need to be told twice. Even as Deryn wasn't as slow or careful leading him Alek managed to keep up in his own right.

 The remaining crew left on the ship were scattered and disorganised, all clustered together when they reached the gangway. The crewman who were trained and equipped to handle the ship’s defences were the first to enter the hive, leaving clueless riggers and officers to carry large crates labeled 'high explosives' to the spine.

 “Watch it!” Deryn hissed to Alek, “Aerial bombs, and those men aren’t used to handling them!”

 Alek’s eyes widened, his pulse jumping again. The surrounding crewman flinched and looked up. That didn’t help Alek’s nerves.

 It’s never good idea to allow a hungry dog to handle explosives, but if one does, it’s a worse idea to do so with a bone in the room. Deryn turned away from the crowd and dragged Alek in the opposite direction.

 “We’ll have to find a window.”

 Deryn had been hopping on and off the ship like a flea all night, but Alek might not make the jump so easily. Luckily the middies’ mess had taken the most damage in the fight and was close enough to the ground thanks to the loose harness.

 Arriving sent a pang of anger through her – The windows were shattered and chairs flung about in disarray. Aside from her little crate the mess had been her safest refuge on the ship. Long hours spent learning about the ship, practicing her Mesmer on the other boys, crowding around the window to peek at the normal human cities whenever they passed over them. Seeing it so trashed twisted her guts. The enemy always shot at the Leviathan, that’s what enemies do, but in all her years she’d never seen the mess so defiled.

 Wherever those bastards landed, they’d best hope they were already dead.

 Wasting no time, Deryn jumped up to the nearest windowsill and looked down. Even with the gondola at this angle, it was a farther drop than she might have hoped.

 Alek climbed up beside her, looking down dubiously.

 “I do it all the time,” Deryn said carefully, “Constantly, since we’ve crashed.”

 “That’s not very encouraging.”

 “Snow’s dead soft.”

 “Perhaps the gangway has cleared…”

 “No time!” In a quick movement Deryn grabbed Alek's shoulder with one arm whilst the other swept up his legs.

 The jump was as easy on her as it always was, though she had to worry about the way the boy rattled in his arms when they landed. But he seemed fine enough when as he cursed and tried to wriggle free. Happy to oblige, Deryn dropped him with a crunch onto the snow where he scrambled furiously to his feet.

 “That was hardly necessary!” he said, his face flushed from more than just the cold.

 “You were hesitating!” Deryn said as she patted the snow off his shoulders, “And look- you haven’t even broken anything. Now come on, no time to dawdle!”

 Alek bit down his response and they resumed their hurried pace across the snow.

 As they ran, Deryn could feel the machine’s footsteps rumbling beneath her now, and the roar of its engines shaking the air. Its huge feet thrashed the snow, raising white clouds in its wake.

 “At least they aren’t shooting yet.”

 “They’re well within range,” Alek said. “But they don’t want me getting hurt.”

 “That’s what I’m counting on.” She pulled him across the snow, past the crewmen arrayed to defend the ship.

 Deryn could see the plan the captain had slapped together. A second ascender was in the air—Newkirk aboard, clutching an aerial bomb in his arms. More bombs lay half buried in the snow ahead, wires running to them. If the walker stumbled too close to one, maybe they could blast it off its feet.

 As she and Alek ran through the defences, someone called after them. But Deryn pretended not to hear. She had to get Alek out in front before the shooting started.

 “Do you reckon they can see us yet?” she asked.

 “Let’s make sure.” Alek slowed, waving his arms.

 The walker thundered toward them for another few seconds, then suddenly tipped backward. Deryn thought for a moment that it was going to fall. But then one steel leg stretched out in front, plowing through the snow and bringing the machine to a sliding halt, an icy cloud drifting up around it.

 “Nicely done, Klopp,” Alek murmured, then turned to Deryn, “They see us.”

 “Brilliant! Oh, and sorry about this.” Deryn yanked Alek’s head to the side as she held him in a death grip, mustered all her will to pull the most vicious monstrous face she could manage, and flashed her fangs near his neck.

 “What- but you… the rules-“ Alek choked out.

 “Don’t struggle or I’ll nick you by mistake,” she hissed, “Your family doesn’t know about the rules. I’m just making sure no one gets hurt.”

 “You could have used your knife!” Alek growled through gritted teeth.

 “I lost it.”

 With her head bent like this, all Deryn could do was roll her eyes up at the walker and hope it only served to make her more intimidating. It was awkward baring her teeth like this, she wasted no time in shouting her demands.

 “Hey in there!” She shouted up at them, “Don’t take another step or your friend here is…”

 She wavered, feeling a bit dizzy at the mere thought of her threat. “Don’t take another step!”

 “Brilliant delivery,” Alek snarled, “You look like you’re about to faint.”

 Deryn rolled her eyes and ignored him. You’d think the daft boy would be less judgmental in his position. But Deryn’s plan had worked, the machine’s head began to move. Two sets of steel slowly opened, revealing a pair of faces inside.

 “Hah,” Deryn said, “They seemed to believe it!"

 Alek snorted. “Yes, but now what? You’re not exactly endearing yourself.”

 Deryn frowned. “I’ll come up with that bit I’m sure.”

 Alek twisted his head in her grip to glare at her. “You are an idiot.”

 “Me, an idiot?” Deryn cried, “I just saved us all from being blown up!”

 “They wouldn’t have just…” Alek began, then sighed in disgust, “Just yell for Volger to come down under truce. He’ll know what to do.”  

 Deryn thought this sounded sensible, whoever Volger was. She took a deep breath and shouted, “Attention, Clankers! Send down Volger, under truce.”

 There was a long wait. Deryn looked over the Walker, wondering if the time was spent loading a canon or searching for a rifle. What’s more, morning light slowly crept up the mountains and in the rush Deryn hadn’t the time to assemble her day uniform.

 Might end up a bit counter-productive, coming all this way to save the ship only to go up in flames herself.

 Behind them the airship’s crew was silent, the wind almost still. The only sounds were ticks and pops from the war machine as its engines cooled. Deryn wondered how many of the officers were up and about and if any could see how close her fangs were to a forbidden slaughter.

 Of course, once the ship was saved she’d have the time to explain her rouse, wouldn’t she?

 A soft metal groan pulled her eyes back to the walker, her grip on Alek tightening. Some sort of hatch was swinging open between the walker’s legs. A ladder made of chains spilled down from it, jangling wildly for a moment, the sun flashing from its steel rungs.

A man climbed down then, slowly and carefully. Deryn noticed a sword swinging under his fur coat.

 “Is that Volger?” she whispered.

 Alek nodded. “I just hope your captain honours the truce.”

 “Aye, me too,” Deryn said. One shot from that cannon could still destroy the Leviathan where it lay.

 The man named Volger made his way towards them, careful on the ice. For all his kin seemed in deathly peril at the hands of a monster, he didn’t seem too concerned. Perhaps it was a fancy clanker thing.

 Deryn heard Alek swallow hard, an embarrassed flush coloring his face again. By both of their behaviour, it seemed more like Alek had been caught with his pants down at a village dance.

 But Volger seemed to respect Deryn’s fangs at least. He stopped a few meters from them. Even underneath those bushy brows Deryn could see his gaze darting between her and the ship behind her. He had the kind of face that looked like it was stretched over a clock, its gears whirring as he considered the situation.

 Alek said something in clanker talk, and it didn’t carry ‘frightened hostage’ tone Deryn had hoped for. That was a bit irritating, just seconds ago he was the one critiquing her acting!

 The man looked at Deryn again and she almost dropped her snarl under his glare. He had the same authoritative air as Mr. Rigby, even without the undead aura of bloodlust. His voice was low and steady when he spoke, and even in clanker talk Deryn knew a scolding when she heard it.

 Alek wilted at his words- more so than he had when Deryn threatened to bite him, and answered shyly. Still speaking bloody clanker.

 “Hey!” Deryn said angrily, “Stop all that Clanker-talk!”

 Volger only offered her a bored look, and continued as if she hadn’t said anything. Alek did so as well, and Deryn was getting rather fed up of the treatment. She might have no intention of hurting him, but that didn’t mean she’d stand to be belittled!

 “What are you two saying?” Deryn barked, her grip on Alek tightening. 

 “My friend does not speak your language, I am afraid. He would like to meet with your captain- I mean- he’d like to speak with someone who speaks German and your captain…”

Perhaps Deryn’s threat had worked too well, Alek’s words sounded stiff and awkward. Blisters, she didn’t mean to scare the poor boy that badly…

 Deryn looked up at Volger, then up at Newkirk in his Huxley.

 “All right,” she said, “But no funny business.”

 Alek coughed politely. “If I promise to avoid funny business perhaps you could let me go?”

 Deryn’s eyes widened and she dropped him as if he'd stung her. “R-right, sorry.”

 Alek stumbled away and rubbed his neck. For an awful moment she thought he’d move his scarf enough for anyone to see to the two pinpricks that were already there, but his hand dropped and he dutifully moved to follow her. 

 “I wouldn’t have actually bitten you,” Deryn whispered when he was close enough.

 “Again.” Alek said flatly.

 “Aye,” Deryn coughed, “I’d never bite you again.”

 “How kind of you.”

 For a moment Alek seemed to consider.

  “…And I suppose that was quick thinking,” His voice was noticeably softer, “Getting me down here.”

 Deryn choked out a nervous laugh.

 “It was!” she said, “Pure dead brilliant, me. I just hope the officers don’t think I’ve done anything er… impolite.”

 Alek sighed and fell back to resume his muttered conversation with Volger. So much for gratitude.

 Chewing her knuckle, Deryn sheepishly lead the clankers to the ship.

#leviathan series #deryn sharp #prince alek #vampire au #count volger #vampire deryn

[ravishankarsivasubramaniam]

Shovel, Knife, Story, Ax

Erika Howsare | Longreads | May 2019 | 18 minutes (4,826 words)

I am going to tell you a bunch of stories about killing and death, but the first one is a story about a story. It was short, and my neighbor was the storyteller. He told it to John and me ten years ago, the first time we met him. After hello, his very next words to us were: “I once killed a copperhead on your kitchen table.”

Taken aback, we laughed. In those days, we had no killing stories of our own. Now, things are different.

Hear the self-defense in this one:

One morning last June, the day of the solstice, I had a little time on my hands. We had a vet appointment at 10:30 and it was 10:18, a bit too soon to wheedle the cat into the car. I brought some things down to the basement of our old house to put them away.

In the underground chill I deposited the laundry basket on top of the washer, turned back toward the stairs, and heard a little sound. Like a soft slap, an object slipping onto the floor. I looked. There are often animals in the basement, birds and crickets and mice. This was a snake.

Pages shuffled, then laid flat in my brain, one on top of the other. It wasn’t very long, maybe the length of my arm. It was rather fat in the body. I was checking its markings against the mental files called Copperhead and Not Copperhead. My brain dispassionately placed this one in the Copperhead column. It was holding perfectly still, not coiled, but certainly watching me, wary in its posture.

I didn’t have to move any closer to the snake to reach the stairs. I mounted the steps, quickly but not running, and already my voice was announcing to my two tiny daughters, Ooh, there’s a copperhead down there!

We all stood at the top of the steps and looked at it. It was on the far side of an old screen door which was propped up on its long edge. Through the screen we could see its tail, maybe eight or ten inches of it, still not moving.

My first thought was to close the door and go to the vet. Just save this problem for another hour, another person. I am not the one who handles snakes.

But John would not be home for more than seven hours. I imagined calling him, looking for advice or some kind of permission. I imagined being late to the vet, then being on time to the vet. I imagined getting home from the vet and looking down from the top of the steps and not seeing the snake.

This was the worst scenario of all. There are ten thousand places for a snake to hide down there. If the copperhead disappeared into some secret basement corner, it would be years before I could go downstairs comfortably again.

I was working it out aloud, half to the girls, half to myself. They craned to see the snake. No, you can’t go down there, I answered them. I heard my dad’s voice in my head, last summer after another snake encounter, exhorting me to be ruthless toward dangerous beasts invading my territory. At the time, I’d argued for mercy. I thought of a woman in a memoir I read years ago, who told of confronting snakes in the cabin where she lived alone.

I would not call my snake-killing neighbor; I don’t even have his number. I would not call John.

I went to my bedroom and kept up with answering the girls’ excited patter as I exchanged my shorts for jeans and my sandals for boots. I put on John’s heavy coat. I looked for his work gloves but couldn’t find them. Elsie wanted to write down John’s phone number in case of emergency. I gave it to her one digit at a time. She wrote the 6 backwards.

I found the long-handled shovel right outside the back door — hiding, like the snake, in plain sight. I walked in my boots through the kitchen, shushed Rosa, descended the basement steps and hardened, hardened, rounded the corner and faced the serpent. There was no pause. It never budged. I raised the shovel, blade edge down, and thunked it directly down onto the snake.

I hit it about six more times, its body flopping each time the metal shovel blade sliced into its fatness. A chunk broke off. It was belly-up, black and pale instead of the handsome pinks and browns of its back. It was just flesh without intention, a little blood on the floor, some guts poking through a hole in its side.

Shaky victorious back up the steps. Shovel back in its place. Clothes changed. We were only a few minutes late to the vet.

An unmistakable high, the satisfaction of violence, of having become in my total being a weapon that was perfectly effective. All day I was full of adrenaline.

*

Kills make great stories. There are always words around killing animals.

There are always questions, too. Was the victim one of us? Wild, habituated, domesticated? Photogenic, charismatic?

Is the killer now regretful?

What about you; have you ever harmed a fly?

Deflection.

A few weeks after the copperhead killing, John found a blacksnake in our chicken coop. It was curled around eggs but hadn’t yet eaten any; he reached inside the loop made by its body and retrieved the eggs and then we brought the girls out to see it by flashlight and touch its skin, chilled from a day of rain and clouds.

I walked into the basement, maybe twelve hours after the last time I’d been there, and a thick spiderweb wrapped my legs.

John was cleaning the shed and found, in an old box of leftover tile, a mother mouse with two newborns hanging onto her teats. The mother scooted away, dragging the babies. A little further down in the box, he found one more baby.

We took our girls to a wildlife hospital for a group tour. I was sitting in the audience, shaking my head in disapproval along with everybody else as a hospital employee told the story of a turtle patient who’d been hit by a car. “Some woman swerved deliberately to hit it,” she said. We all clucked our tongues.

*

When we moved here, to Virginia’s Blue Ridge, I did not appreciate how different our life would be than my childhood. I grew up in a rural village south of Pittsburgh, thinking I lived in the country. But it wasn’t, really. It might as well have been the suburbs. Our entire lawn was shorn; I never went walking in the woods. I never played in creeks. I read in my room and was driven to piano lessons. We swam in a swimming pool in town; my parents gave up gardening sometime during my middle childhood. The country was, for us, a pretty view out the western windows of the house.

Kills make great stories. There are always words around killing animals.

Somehow, John and I have landed in a much wilder place. Our yard ends where thousands of acres of woods begin. There is a national forest at the end of our dead-end road, and a perennial creek borders our property and fills the air with its sound. There is a vital energy to the place, a sense of living among large forces and forms.

Right after we moved in, a blacksnake appeared in the bathroom early in the morning. Phoebes nested on the porch. Once or twice, blacksnakes climbed the porch column at night to eat the hatchlings; we shooed them away.

We brushed stinkbugs off the lamps into cups of soapy water and flushed ticks down the toilet. We trapped mice. Our garden got bigger and bigger as we kept digging up more beds behind the house. One evening John was weeding and looked up to see a black bear regarding him from the edge of the woods. The bear turned and noiselessly retreated.

*

After we got home from the vet I found a faded red bucket and took the shovel back downstairs and scooped up, with much less aplomb than I’d shown in the killing, the slippery body of the copperhead. It seemed to shiver a little with every touch of the shovel. Its blood mixed with a little water left in the bucket. Its head was separated and flattened; it insisted on lying upside down. The girls and I examined the corpse; I wanted them to learn to identify this snake, the most dangerous one they’re likely to encounter on our property. I had to tip and jiggle the bucket to turn the snake over and show its hourglass pattern. Rosa wanted to touch it but I couldn’t take the thought, somehow imagining that soup of fluids in the bottom of the bucket was laced with venom. The high had curdled. Thankfully, there was no smell.

A few hours later, I looked again and found two different kinds of beetle feeding on the carcass. Two species, of dazzling colors, I’d never seen before. It was as though the snake had drawn them to its body from another plane of existence. They ran around frantically inside the bucket.

Late that night, John and I sat with gin and tonics on the deck, looking at fireflies and stars. The red bucket and its contents sat not far away. A charged vessel. One website I’d looked at in the afternoon said “The best way to get rid of a copperhead is to leave it alone.” Another said people routinely misidentify copperheads. I sipped my drink. John said absolutely I had done the right thing, that this was definitely a copperhead, and admired the way I’d managed it, and I couldn’t help grinning in the dark. Full of a rite of passage. I’ve been shocked by the electric fence, I’ve eaten the rabbit John hunted, I’ve plucked a chicken, and now I’ve killed a snake with a shovel while my babies watched. I’m a real country lady, just like the woman who wrote that book.

John suggested throwing the body to the chickens. This idea, for some reason, revolted me. Chicken beaks dismantling a pale, smooth, venomous body. The snake and all that fearful, fierce energy becoming transmuted into our most domestic commodity, the eggs we eat for breakfast. I said I’d throw it in the woods instead. An act of, in some measure, shame.

*

Every time we saw our neighbor after that initial copperhead-on-the-table story, there was a corpse in the conversation. “I got that hawk,” he’d say. “I got that fox.” “Seen any snakes? I got a snake.”

At first, what seemed funny and crazy about this to us was the sheer zest for blood. We were encountering plenty of animals but it never occurred to us to end their lives. Unless they were stinkbugs or mice or ticks. That was a line that we drew without thought.

It was when we began keeping chickens that more and more of our animal experiences seemed to involve carcasses, and the lines started to shift.

Our very first day as chicken owners was touched by death. We’d driven our five new laying hens home in the sack into which our farmer friend had stuffed them, and when we opened the sack — they’d been in there nearly an hour, apparently getting dangerously overheated — two of them looked dead. John managed to revive one, but the other never came around.

Revive, revise. We couldn’t undo our decision to trust that those hens would survive the trip. Our friend’s judgment had been wrong.

After some anxious deliberation, we decided to pluck and clean the body. As we dismantled it, a warm egg slipped out of the chicken into our hands. Then several eggs-in-waiting, jelly and yolks not yet enclosed in shells. The chicken’s body, we now viscerally understood, contained an egg assembly line. John cut off the head and feet. We pulled off feathers and pulled out guts. Working from online instructions, we transformed the limp corpse into a tidy, naked, iconic-looking chicken ready for roasting.

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Our farmer friend, Richard, was apologetic about the death, but highly approved of our decision to turn the bird into food. He himself was a lifelong handler of livestock: pigs, cows, sheep, chickens, all the standard barnyard animals that form the cartoon lineup seen by every American child from earliest childhood, but which are actually real creatures, made of flesh and eyes and packed with slime and shit. Richard had spent his life around these animals: helping them birth, resuscitating babies who came out looking bad, kicking them away from openings in fences, slicing their throats and cutting up their bodies for meat.

It was on his farm where I’d opened the door of a walk-in cooler, a box of kale in my arms, to find the skinned carcass of a hog hung by one ankle (O, the bite of the hook behind the Achilles tendon), its head staring from a plastic bin on the floor beneath. I’d observed the comings and goings of various animals: the injured lamb who lived in fly-riddled misery in a crate for a couple of months in the barn, the enormous-testicled hog who sauntered around in the pig fence.

Richard’s attitude toward his livestock was entirely businesslike. He shouted at his dogs and shot one who killed chickens. He had zero sentimentality, though in a way he had respect for the animals: hard-earned knowledge of their natures.

I’d worked on the farm for three summers in my twenties. An absorbing tapestry of smells permeated the place: red clay mud, compost, blood, manure, and a high note of fresh basil. The tomatoes were thrillingly ripe when they came in from the fields, but within a few days a ripe tomato becomes a puckered sack of mold. Feathers and bones and eggshells and wilted cabbage trimmings were everywhere, mixed with straw and clods of dirt. Sparkly white quartz turned up in the rust-colored soil.

I joyfully immersed myself in all this life, all this fecundity; it made me hungry in a way that I’d never felt before. I embraced the considerable measure of decay intertwined with the growth, but since I was working only with vegetables and not livestock — I didn’t even eat meat at the time — I wasn’t really going all the way. It’s one thing to strip a kale plant of its leaves, bundling them with a rubber band; it’s another thing to end the life of a creature with eyes and a brain.

We had unwittingly embarked on a new relationship with death.

With that first chicken cleaning at our own house, we’d entered a different realm, and Richard knew it; that’s why he was proud of us. Yet he surely knew what we still didn’t realize: that this would hardly be our last dead chicken, and that chickens would more often die at the teeth and claws of predators than through strange accidents like overheating.

The hens, silly and vulnerable even inside their electric fence, seemed to act like magnets, drawing carnivores out of those thousands of acres of woods, each armed with its own clever tricks for killing. Hawks came first, leaving a scatter of feathers in the grass when they swooped to grab a bird. Possums and raccoons penetrated what we thought was a fortress-like coop in the night. Our flock was always changing number: down to two, up to seven, down to six. We stopped naming the chickens. The more accustomed we became to chicken chores — feeding, watering, moving the coop — and the more the birds wove themselves into our sense of home, the less attached we felt to each hen. They became sentient egg factories, temporary storage for energy that our bodies could use.

We were both predators of our hens, and protectors.

One fall, we began to lose a chicken every night. This was something of a mystery until one afternoon, under a heavy grey sky, when I looked outside and saw a coyote wrestling with one of our two remaining hens. She was caught in the fence and the coyote was shaking her back and forth with its teeth to free her. With little thought, I left my baby daughter in her high chair and ran outside, yelling hey! Hey! The coyote dropped the bird and ran off. I inspected the bird. She was fine. But that night, during a violent storm, she disappeared. The last one followed a couple of nights later.

We had unwittingly embarked on a new relationship with death. We were often failing to keep safe these creatures for whom we had taken responsibility, and we had to confront the messes. These experiences smoothed the way for us to become the killers ourselves. One hen contracted Marek’s disease, a disturbing ailment that causes partial paralysis, the hen’s legs splaying out cockeyed on the ground. There is no cure. John cut her head off with an ax and composted her unappetizing body.

Our first rooster was healthy as could be, but we killed him because he was too aggressive, attacking any human except John who entered the fence. I still have a mark on my leg from the point of his beak, and our friends had to fend him off when they were feeding our animals while we traveled. One used a garbage-can lid for a shield. After he chased our daughter, then two years old, we decided to put an end to him.

I should acknowledge that, yes, we could have tried to find him a new home. People did that often on the chicken-keepers’ listserv that we subscribed to. But there was a woman on that list that we knew, a culinary expert who taught canning and other homesteading skills and reminded me of Richard in her old-time, no-nonsense attitude toward animals. Some folks on the list — mostly town-dwellers — would write long concerned-sounding posts about their unwanted roosters, complete with fond nicknames and declarations that they would only release their troublesome boys to “good homes.” This lady would invariably reply with a simple suggestion: Kill him and eat him.

Such practicality, with no thought of apology, has a long history. Check out a nursery rhyme or a time-polished folk song: They speak of this relationship between humans and domestic animals and predators, a potent and paradoxical mix of fondness, admiration, need, and brutality. I can’t resolve this mess here.

But we did resolve it then. John caught the rooster — not an easy task — and we carried him across the yard to the big walnut tree, where he’d nailed a cone made of sheet metal. Held upside-down by the ankles, the rooster was calm. John put him into the cone with his head sticking out the small opening at the bottom.

Unfortunately, our knife should have been sharper. It took a few tries for John to decisively cut the artery, resulting in an ugly thirty seconds or so.

We invited all our friends who’d battled the rooster for us and set up a long table on the deck with flowers in vases. Rooster enchiladas with homemade tortillas: The meal was glorious, but John couldn’t really enjoy it. Can’t revise it.

*

By now, John and I have collected many stories of animal death. I am telling these stories here in part to try to work out where and why we draw the ethical lines that we do. But in truth we have told these stories orally, over and over, just for entertainment.

And there is another problem: The animals themselves are outside the realm of ethics; they’re unaware of our deliberations; they just die, and become nothing more than a collection of material, already beginning to disperse, one molecule at a time.

This is an analog to the fact that our children do not ask to be born. Because of our choices, they enter the world, and we then carry the heavy responsibility for the ethics of their upbringing. But the grace of nurturance is that it’s a process. You fail, but you can try again. You can revise.

*

I was a vegetarian for more than a dozen years, not particularly out of ethics, more out of distaste. My decision to stop eating meat was made without much deliberation. I’d never liked meat, and all my friends were vegetarians or vegans, and it was easy just to let it go.

Later, meat crept back in as I allowed myself small tastes of local beef, then chicken, from the farmer’s market. I realized that my lifelong aversion to flesh foods (as I once heard them flatly called) probably had something to do with the low quality of meat I’d been served as a child. Animals that had lived and died badly, factory-farm products, had been an ambivalent kind of nourishment when, one molecule at a time, they entered my blood.

I went back to carnivorism when I was pregnant. My midwife put it like this: You need to eat a lot of protein, because babies are made of protein. One molecule at a time.

*

Now that our babies are grown enough to ask questions, explaining death is part of our job as parents. The explanations sometimes involve our belief that food worth eating should have a known origin. Being involved with the sources of our nourishment means dealing with, sometimes dealing out, death. Last year we started raising chickens specifically for meat, and the conversation with the girls includes this: “Don’t get too attached to these chicks.”

Sometimes this is fully expected; other times the killing is unplanned, even hasty. When a blacksnake began showing up regularly inside our coop, we at first adopted a liberal policy of leaving it one egg each day. Blacksnakes are helpful in many ways, controlling rodent populations and, it’s said, keeping copperheads away.

Our knife should have been sharper.

But then John found the snake with a young chicken — a pullet — halfway down its throat. Snakes sometimes attempt to eat pullets, which die in their mouths; the snake then lies immobilized on the ground while it tries to swallow this huge, feathered prize. John lost his temper. We were trying to raise up the pullets as future layers, and this had a note of waste about it, since it seemed so unlikely that the snake could ever get the bird down. He fetched an ax and beheaded the snake, then threw both bodies in the compost pile.

Later that night, he was hit with regret to the point of tears.

Explaining such events, to ourselves or anyone else, is kind of futile, but through our stories, we have to try. The stories are part of how we come to know that an act we can’t revise must, at least, prompt a revival of a question.

Still, sentiment and tradition are always meddling in the ethics. Blacksnakes seem innocent, somehow; that was part of John’s grief. Possums, to name a different example, seem vicious, at least in relation to chickens. And John did kill a possum or two in defense of our hens before he decided to move that particular line. This wasn’t out of softhearted affection, but more out of rational conscience. We determined to give a pass to animals who are, after all, just trying to make a living. Our real job, we now believe, is to properly fortify the coop. Apologies to the animals who were harmed in the making of this policy.

*

Animals themselves do not apologize.

Two winters ago, after a week of snow cover, we found three dead chickens near the coop and a bunch of strange tracks all around, inside and outside the fence, and heading off into the woods, feathers strewn alongside.

John picked up the three dead birds by the legs and stacked them beside the coop; he was putting off burying them because of the frozen ground. Our surviving birds had escaped the fence in their panic and were scattered around the yard. Stupidly, we didn’t round them up after dark, but let them roost in bushes for the night.

So, of course, late that evening we heard a chicken in distress, just outside the kitchen window. We threw on the outside light and opened the deck door. And there it was: a bobcat in profile, pausing to look back at us, with our Speckled Sussex in its mouth. A beat; we all stood still.

And then I said to John, “Do you think we can save her?” In his socks, he ran into the snow. The cat dropped its prey and ran off. The hen died in John’s arms a few minutes later. He put on a big pot of water to boil.

The bobcat encounter felt like a visit from another plane. Though we’d hardly had time to observe it, I can still picture the cat silhouetted in our porch light glare, before the black curtain of night: a being of deep mystery that had descended from the mountains.

We were even more amazed in the morning when we realized that the bobcat had also taken away the original stack of three dead birds. We read that a male bobcat can provide for several families of females and cubs within his territory; perhaps this one was a father, on a mission to keep many offspring alive, delivering food to various dens hidden in the higher elevations. Feeling not a shred of doubt.

*

There is a strange hierarchy of animals within which we deploy our weapons and our notions.

The bobcat’s tracks seemed to vibrate with meaning and power; I kept going to look at them again and again, reconstructing its path, feeling privileged despite the loss of so many birds.

Though it was the most efficient killing machine ever to have visited our coop, we would no sooner have harmed that cat than I would have messed with the bear that waddled down the driveway one afternoon to visit our neighbor’s apple tree. We categorize bobcats as utterly wild even when they are helping themselves to domesticated chickens.

If our behavior is inexplicable to animals — those we nurture and those we destroy — their behavior also sometimes baffles us. Raccoons and possums kill chickens, take only the heads, and leave the carcasses to the remaining birds, who then eat them greedily.

Most of our dealings with animals seem, if not illogical, at least sort of bewildering. Taking my cat to the vet for human-style medical care immediately after murdering a snake. Eating eggs from a bird who eats her dead sister. Feeling lucky to see a woodpecker but annoyed by deer. That we decide, citing a kind of faux logic riddled with nursery-rhyme precedents , to end the life of a possum or to cherish the presence of wrens.

It seems that experience is the only real teacher; we try things and see how they feel.

Having killed the copperhead feels like a sickly mixture of pride and revulsion. The smell of the basement is now married to the dread of snakes; killing made me more fearful than I was before, seeing them in every stick and hose on the ground. To drive over a dead one in the road gives me a whole-body shiver. Doing violence, it now seems clear, has harmed me.

We’re all just improvising within a welter of situations. And the encounters will not stop anytime soon. There are stories I’ve left out here, and as I’ve been writing this, more stories keep taking place.

*

A month ago, I was home alone with Rosa and discovered a dead hen, her throat gouged open, tangled in the fence. Ah yes — we’d seen a hawk half an hour earlier; the raptor must have abandoned its prey when she fled into the netting and it couldn’t pull her free.

I touched the hen and she still felt warm under my fingers. She was a dead body, a ruined investment, a lost member of the household, another death for the list, another story for the repertoire. And she was a freshly slaughtered, otherwise healthy carcass. She was food. Saving her from being wasted felt like the imperative of the moment: one small way to atone for all the other decisions I’ve made, and been part of, that haven’t sat right, and can’t be undone.

So I found the sharp knife in John’s dresser and boiled a big pot of water. Then I laid the hen over a rock and decapitated her. In my somewhat flustered state I left the head lying on the ground.

By the time I came back for it, two hours later, the hen was gutted and bagged in the fridge, and some wild scavenging creature — someone looking for food, someone outside ethics, someone who tells no stories — had come and carried off her head.

* * *

Erika Howsare’s new book, How Is Travel a Folded Form?, is recently out from Saddle Road Press. She often posts photos of the ground at erikahowsare.com.

Editor: Dana Snitzky

#Longreads #Food #Ravishankar Sivasubramaniam #Erika Howsare

[soloshow131]

Updated show

Bring Back Chain mail -

Salterello music - 

Unit 1: Introduction 

Welcome to my castle.

My name is Thomas Paul Anthony Campe. That’s what I tell my family and friends. But I really identify as a medieval squire - squire Tom. . 

Unit 2: Self conscious 

Aye, I appreciate medieval culture. I like knights. In this day and age, I can become one! 

Unit 3: Premise 

Allow me, my lords, my ladies, to share with you the toils and triumphs, the highs and lows of my still ongoing quest of becoming a knight. 

Unit 4: A knights purpose

A knights purpose around the year 1000 wasn’t just to fight, but to serve. The word Knight itself comes from the Anglo Saxon word cniht, which means a servant – you may have noticed my dutious serving of (food) behavior before the dance. Bound to a king or lord by contract, in exchange for his loyalty, a cniht would be given lands; property on which he could grow and sell his crops. On this land, a cniht would produce heirs, the first born of whom would inherit this land and train as a squire to become a cniht! Ahh, the circle of life. 

Unit 5: My land 

My land is 1 Highfield Drive, Lexden road, Colchester, co3 3qa. My lord is the renowned sir Stephen Campe of Swansea. (Take out picture of Steve) Legendary pilot in his youth, and now a humble crafter of fibre optic cables.  

Unit 6: Cheeky

I’ve yet to produce any heirs yet, but give me time! I’ve fathered a bastard or two - you can ask any serving girl in ye olde playhouse about that.

Unit 7: Cleggy:

 They knight anyone these days. (Mock) 'Ser Nicholas Clegg', 'Bill Gates'  -  they knight Americans! They’re not even British! (Squint). Nay, I can't see them galloping into battle! Knighthood has been devalued!

Unit 8: Arthur

Where’s all the swords and chain mail? I’d grab my armour and join the queens army right away but firstly, I can’t afford any chain mail because I spent the last of my student loan on a pewter replica of Arthur and his round table - complete with all 14 original knights! And secondly, I disapprove of our military.

Unit 9: The Army:

They no longer want to get close and personal with our enemies. Everything is done with buttons or triggers from a distance. Where’s the respect?

Unit 10: Ned Stark: 

Ned Stark from game of thrones said that “If you would take a mans life, you owe it to him to look him in the eye and hear his final words, and if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps he deserves to live.”  Forget missiles, bring back flails! Maybe if weapon technology wasn’t developing so rapidly, war would slow down - and we’d actually enjoy it more! nbsp;

Unit 11: Knife and Fork

(gesture out to them) Since a child,  I’ve been developing my own style of warfare. A Squire must be innovative - In close quarters, spontaneous. I ask ye all, at what time of the day are you most likely to be attacked? On the battlefield? Nay! When you eat! Three times a day, breaking your fast, supping your supper and... digesting your dinner - when better a time to have your gullet opened than when you’re hunched over a roasted hog, stuffing your guts - or sucking the bone marrow out of a honeyed Pigeon! Fortunately, we have by our sides two companions, often undervalued as basic eating utensils. The knife and fork. (say it as fuck). Or as I like to call them, instruments of war. Versatile and reliable; let their inconspicuous nature be your advantage. A range of vendors claim that theirs is the superior quality but - I recommend ye purchase from IKEA for a well balanced pair of arms. (show knife)  

I once stabbed straight through a gluttonous hand with this beauty... if your enemy happens to have his own utensils, fear not to engage in combat. To demonstrate the effectiveness of the knife and fork, I invite a lord or lady to the stage…

 Attempt to steal my Potato! And I’ll judge your worth. You have ten seconds. But first, safety (Hand them a glove) Bard! Some battle music if you will! Oh, curse you for a villain. That won't do – leave us! My lords, my ladies, I apologize. Pray, try to conjure up some imaginary music.  

Let us begin! (Do funny voice and taunt the opponent)  

En Garde, pre, parri!

Lunge, riposte, parry, counter stab, disarmed!

(We duel over a bowl of potatoes.)

 Haha! I am victorious - but humble. I will share with you the spoils of war.  

Unit 11: Fair Maidens:

But just as a knight needs his fork, he needs a sheath for it. Fair Maidens, they’re hard to come by in Colchester. All the best stock are taken and linger outside McDonald’s, their greasy hair just like mine, glistening in the sunlight. Lady Shanara Stone of Highwoods. I’ve had my eyes on her like a Hawk does its prey.. if only I could grasp her. 

Unit 12: Favour:

She gave me her favour. A token of her gratitude.. I’ve got it here. Sometimes, I can almost taste her.. 

Unit 13: Sonnets:

She is worthy of all the sweet sonnets and ballads there are, for through her stems all good virtues.

Unit 14: Tyler:

If only she wasn’t with that vile Sir Tyler of Greenstead Estate... Friends, dost thou scent that? Lynx aroma, and more than a hint of cannabis? Hah! I knew it. Ser Tyler. Dost thou insist to fill the world will foul qualities! After I’m through with you next is your mother. HEMA club taught me this one - historical european martial arts. nbsp;

Unit 15: Knights in White Satin:

 Oh Shanara.. why him! (song)

Part of the difficulty I have as a modern day squire is that I’m all alone. I cannot trust anyone… I need loyal companions, fellow squires who too seek to bring light to this dark plain we tread on. So.. (sigh) I’ve decided to create my own order, with fresh statutes, in the hope that they’ll tempt some of you lords and ladies into joining me on my adventures.

I researched some of the rules from knighthood orders in the past such as Williams the conquerors laws. On of them is ‘One God to be revered throughout the whole realm’. Now I understand that some of us here may worship different gods, some of us may not worship any god at all, some of us may be considering worshiping a god but need a little proof. Well fear not! (take out second chair character). One god to represent them all! Take your pick, hah! He’s not much of a talker, but most gods aren't - and this one is completely physical. Seeing is believing! He’s right here guys, you can’t deny it. What shall we call him? Great. I’ll leave him here, to watch over us.

Okay law two I found on the English defence league website and it’s to 'refuse to tolerate the intolerant’ right, now I thought this would be good rule to adopt as it’s ambiguous isn’t it? We all find people intolerant and as founder of this order, I don’t mind who you chose not to tolerate as long as you’re not violent towards them. That's all I've got for now, but I've left some parchment outside the inn so do ink down some of your own suggestions after.  

To symbolise our new community I have chosen our tools of warfare and defence - the knife and fork. Now, for the special part. The knighthood. Who will step forward? You will represent all the others. Kneel. Be without fear in the face of anything that has a face. Know that I love you as a brother, and shall throughout eternity. Speak the truth even if it leads to your imprisonment and a criminal record . Safeguard the helpless and bear your knife and fork with honour. That is your oath! Welcome brothers, sisters! To the order of the Knife and Fork!

Unit 15: Reflection:

Often I wonder, do I belong in this life, do I have a purpose? I strive to be a true knights and yet  am accused of being sexist or patronising. Yesterday morning, I broke my fast at university and held the door open for a fair maiden, despite her ingratitude I remained, my arm bearing the weight of that upright plank of wood while not one, by five others passed through my gateway of kindness. Still I stood strong as ten others passed, along with ten more minutes of my life. An hour gone and the whole room had emptied, save for but a young lad who gazed at me belligerently. 

Unit 16: Ungrateful 

(To Tyler) I do this twice a week! I don’t even lift! It never gets any easier and yet no one seems to care!

Joe comes on. Tom, can I go home now? I'm tired.

Go home? Retreat? Now? You'll stay here until the end of the congregation.

This is so pathetic. You're not a knight! You're a friendless nerd who doesn't wash and mum wants you to buy more tin foil because you've left it in a right state. I'm going now.

Nay, Joe. Come, this is folly!

Piss off Tom. (leaves)

Unit 17: Give up

Who am I kidding. I’m not a knight.. I’m not even a squire. I’m a student who can’t face up to his dull reality. I return home to my mother and fathers castle, not mine. I owe them for all that I have. So many years I’ve wasted, cocooned in history, reading about greater men than me, letting my hair and finger nails grow long, chasing a way of life that vanished hundreds of years ago.. only the folks at the medieval fair here in Colchester understand me and I can’t stay connected to them for I don’t agree with modern technology! This is all self indulgence. Romanticism. Chivalry, whatever it is.. is dead. nbsp;

Unit 18: Hope 

Phone call My lady? What? You really want to come? Well, it’s at castle park… they have archery and a hog roast… I could purchase you a broach if you like! Oh, brilliant, marvellous! I shall see you at 10:66! Oh, ten past six, right. Huzzah! nbsp;

Music

[whydoyouthinkileft]

aos spoilers

having my breakfast - at 12:30 and so excited about this ep because of reasons so let's go

-btw watching the previously I just remembered Kasius and the other alien lady having their talks (Because he wants to leave that planet) and trying to top each other while also trying to sound like they don't hate each other's guts?  It was hilarious to me, it was like watching ANY conversation between people in my town ever (incidentally, my town if you live in it long enough does give you the feeling you are trapped underground waiting for giant roaches to suck the life out of you)

-oh hello lil cute boy -how old is he? is it me being weirdly old if I say that?

-oh even the white slave-owner guy has a soft spot for him?

-NO HE DROPPED THE FRUIT

-I feel like I'm too invested in him eating already

-senator Gaius whatever is also someone I could see living in my town

-thaaaaat's the scene from the promo. also can you imagine if ALL the people there are lying their asses off to look more evil?

-he looks soooo fantastic to me, I love cowboy in space clothes

-OOHHHHHHHH -the look on his face and lack of breath -I died fifty days over it -Kasius should have just been in something like Desperate Housewives -also I'm starting to find funny how he reads what Sinara says just from her expression and she never has to talk -Jemma looking at space and being deaf OH MY GOD FITZ. IS HE GONNA TALK. IS HE GONNA GO ALL I LOVE YOU I WANNA MARRY YOU HAVE MY BIOCHEMENGINEER BABIES and she's gonna walk away? -oh my god. He realized the universe can't stop them, they are stronger than curses. Now that she's deaf. He needs to repeat it. And then let her make fun of him for the curse thing for other 74 years -I FUCKING KNEW IT. I KNEW HE'D PROPOSE -nooooooooooooo the deaf thing -'oh are they' Fitz would love to kill him, wouldn't he -OH MY GOD HE'S TOUCHING HER FACE IN FRONT OF FITZ -Of course Kasius would appreciate that sentiment from Fitz. If all he's going to use from the Doctor is talking about bullshit and pain like a villain would, give those speeches, while he doesn't believe in a word he says and the actual bad guy there is like 'uuhhh this is my new friend' I'm here for it. This is basically high school and becoming popular. -Also still here if Jemma wants to break a pitcher on Kasius's face though -I am worried though because Jemma wasn't 100% chill when she saw Fitz's face -oh my god the look on Fitz's face after Kasius walked away -Tess just quoted me with 'soft spot' for the kid. I'm Tess now. -Flint 'if I turn I won't have to beg around' yeah well he's NOT WRONG, mind you -is Jemma going to mother this one too and then Daisy will train him? -AAAHHHH FITZ AND JEMMA -the hatred on Kasius' face whenever he speaks to all people who are supposed to be on his same level or higher makes me laugh, I'm so sorry -they are just so... mundane about 'uhhh your daddy gave your big brother the big job and you are stuck in here lmao' -evil eyes of hatred- -I'm glad Daisy is befriending the mind-reader, he's adorable -also he didn't expect her to go all 'I'm sorry' and he's even more adorable -no seriously they seriously could be living in my town -Fitz. Fitz don't fuck this up, my boy. -the almost smile when he describes it tho, that kinda sells it as him being a bitch so... good -what is that snail thing, also I TOO FIND MOIST CREATURES (and stuff that changes from hard to soft depending on the bite, and really most meat) DISTASTEFUL BUT NOBODY LAUGHS WITH ME WHEN I SAY IT AND REFUSE TOT IT, THEY CALL ME SPOILED. ALSO I RAN OUT OF THE ROOM IF THERE ARE SNAILS BECAUSE NO. Next fucking time we have a dinner with other people I'm going to talk with that attitude and slam the food on the plate and wait for someone to laugh. I'll instruct my little brother to laugh and make other people feel like they have to laugh -sidenote: the jackass who brought it up attempting to laugh along not sure of what's happening is amazing. I don't know which one of those guys is really the loser in the real tvshow that is going on in there. Kasius, cast away and trying to climb up the ladder and become a Big Shot, the snails guy who is soooo loud and soooo friendly and everybody knows he's just desperate to keep being in the inner circle, or what -HAHAHA the Kree discussing why the kid disappeared like. Even before they looked around like 'did we crush the kid' 'how did he disappear, what did we do wrong? look under your shoes' and now 'maybe his power is to disappear' 'nah' I can see these Kree driving a car and talking why they stopped -lmao 'you mean this guy?' 'no he's just cool' -Mack looks proud of himself- you are cool, Mack. You are big enough you don't need superpowers -at this point Kasius and others are just courting Fitz -MAY, IT'S MAY. MAY WILL FIGHT HIM. GET THE HELL OUT. also he KNOWS Jemma and Daisy were laying and how the ell idd he find out her name is Melinda May -Melinda and Fitz looking at each other like that, oh my god. And she hasn't seen what happened of Jemma yet after she let her go -is... Fitz... bromancing Kasius to trick him? what is this episode?? this is also perfect because Fitz's superpower since s2 has been to befriend EVERY person he met and get a circle around him super fast, first Hunter and Mack and then Hunter and Coulson, then he grabbed Bobbi too, befriended Radcliffe super fast, like, of course he can use his 'father's memories (with Jemma watching like a hawk - with impared sight) to get to Kasius. Fitz in this episode is me in high school, I'm not even kidding anymore. You gotta fit in to survive, so fit in in a way that will make people fight to sit next to you without even lying -is telepath boy going to tell May how to behave because he SHOULD -lmao May hitting him without thinking and succeeeding, bet he didn't see that coming -if it wasn't for her leg he'd in a world of trouble -LMAO KASIUS' FACE when Fitz went 'this fight bores me' -he just insulted May's age and just... her face. -the horror at Flint not knowing what tacos are -we finally know Elena's terrigen story lol -oohhhh my god white guy needs to die -he's about to kill him because he lied, oh my god, OH MY GOD, BEN. NO. NOOOO. DON'T DO THIS. -FITZ, don't try to control Kasius too hard, he'll know -one more death in Daisy and Jemma's conscience oh my god are you kidding me poor sweet Ben -oh the white guy had a second when asking about the prophecy and he might buy it later -aw Jemma and Daisy, with Jemma being able to hear -'there was nothing you could do' 'I have to kill him' 'you'll have to get in line'  just... Jemma, of all the people, always reassuring others that it's not their fault, but also REALLY, let Jemma kill at least one person who humiliated and hurt her instead of having her fail and get someone else to do it? -I KNEW IT. I KNEW JEMMA LIKED THE CARDIGANS, PREFERRED THEM. I'M THINKING OF S2. THEY WERE SO SOFT LOOKING -I love that their having girls talk in the middle of this too because oh god they are 29-30, and yes, they have been through hell, and in situations like this people don't necessarily act like super efficient zombies, they find humor, they find reasons to chat with friends, they still smile, and I always found unrealistic when in tvshows, including aos, they were only shown super serious ALL the time. -Daisy the shippers is back. Which I don't know why people don't like or find weird because honestly, I ship my friends with their loved ones when they are so in love -Jemma has a knife. Jemma KEEPS STEALING KNIVES AND WILL STAB PEOPLE, YES -Elena being tortured twice now -uh oh controlling rocks. BREAK HIS HEAD. CRACK HIS HEAD OPEN. YES FLINT -also the loooook between Jemma and Fitz was so lovely, they almost got to talk -Kasius is peacocking so much over his brother -oh they have a plan B, alright -oh wow Kasius' brother is such a sweetie, 'there is no honor to be found in this human cesspool'. that's kinda my attitude when they force me to go out for holidays. -oh yeah, Kasius 'pleeease Sinara fight for me' and then trying to talk her into not being mad at him lol. Also yes for Sinara dying. Fuck you.  You kept killing people with your stupid-ass balls. Your turn now. -jesus for a second I thought they had hung Tess for her neck -IS SHE? DEAD?? NO??????!!! -Daisy's look is so cool tho -KILL SINARA. KILL HER, KILL -aw shit they have a barrier -break her neck, break HER NECK -NO KILL HER. KILL HER FOR REAL. -JEMMA FUCKING SLIT KASIUS' THROAT I'M SO ALIVE FOR THIS, ALSO FOR DAISY FLYING UP LIKE THAT OH MY GOD -OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK -THEY HAD A REUNION KISS FOR FUCKING ONCE -JEMMA PROPOSED TOO AND HE ZFHAADSKJHFKDF -THEN THEY PICKED UP DAISY I'M SO -AND FITZ TALKING ABOUT HOW HE PROPOSED EARLIER THO I'M GOING TO HAVE A HEART ATTACK -honestly I said that I didn't want them to propose and get married until they were a little healthier but that can be solved writing fanon, when it comes to canon, if... Fitz managed to somehow work through his doctor issues and just needed one last push from Hunter (maybe that's also what happened in those six months) and to not be holding back on his love for Jemma anymore because he's completely there and not worrying about the cosmo... then I guess it's fine? honestly, I'm a sucker for this sort of thing so I'll just accept it in the show and then write 59494864 things in which they process things slower after the proposal, they'd have been together anyway -I CAN'T HELP IT OKAY I'M JUST EXCITED -ENOCH LIES THE WAY JEMMA LIED IN S1 OKAY, I LOVE HIM 'hello friend' 'who are you' 'I am a Kree as I've always been, brother' -I love everything about them dividing tasks and Jemma finally getting revenge on Kasius and Fitz finishing Sinara after Daisy did her fighting and also Daisy is there to listen to the proposal, I'm laughing oh my god

#ele watches aos #aos spoilers

[shadesyste]

Goodbye 2017

So to end the year off, I decided to look over some of the writing I did this year. They’re just excerpts, and there’s barely anything there, buuuuuuuuttt every little bit counts, right?

Here’s to a new year with more motivation!

Writings from the Aphion series:

Idris dropped to the dirt, bowing as low as he was physically able. His heart pounded in his throat, his anger instantly dissipated.

“My sincerest apologies, Your Royal Highness,” he stammered. “I did not mean to-”

“Come now, there’s no need for that,” the Queen spoke gently. “Please, stand.”

He couldn’t stop the quick shake of his head. “That would be improper, Your Majesty,” Idris insisted, though he did raise his forehead from the ground just a fraction. “I have already insulted you enough with my outburst.”

“Well at least he has the right of that,” Aldon muttered. Asteria shot him a disapproving glance from the corner of her eye, but deigned to remain silent. Instead, she carefully crouched next to the prostrated man, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Ignoring his flinch, her lips quirked in a reassuring smile.

“Nonsense.”

“Forgive me for inserting myself into this matter, Captain Aldon, but I could not help but overhear. Is what this man says true? You’ll not allow him entry into the tournament?”

“He is an inutíl , Your Majesty. Some of the most powerful warriors in the kingdom are here to compete today, and I’ll not let some unskilled boy get himself killed because he has something to prove.”

“You have seen him fight then?”

“I-” the Captain frowned, a furrow forming between his brows. “No, Your Majesty, I have not.”

“If I recall the rules correctly,” Asteria stated softly, “there are no statutes prohibiting the entry of non-magic baring individuals from the tournament. We cannot deny him based on a level of skill that we have yet to see. So long as he is of age…”

Idris risked a quick glance up from the dirt, meeting the patient azure gaze of his Queen. “I am, Your Majesty. I am of age,” he blurted carelessly. Asteria smiled and graced him with an approving nod.

“So it stands. He deserves a fair chance just as any other citizen is allowed.”

The spell slammed into his chest, and sent Idris sprawling across the courtyard

“What are you doing?” Asteria cried, rushing to his side. Idris rolled onto his hands and knees and shook his head.

“I can’t,” he stated simply.

“You can’t want?” Bewildered, Asteria rose to her feet.

He glanced up to stare the young queen in the eye. “I cannot, will not fight you, Your Majesty.”

Asteria stood gaping for a moment before her expression shifted into a glower. “I order you to stand and fight me this instant!” She commanded. Idris shook his head and bowed low, his forehead pressing into the stone of the courtyard floor.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I will not.”

“Excuse me?” Asteria snarled.

“Punish me if you must, my Queen, but I will never raise my hand against you. Not even for this.”

“They sound Irish… or maybe Scottish,” Eden whispered conspiratorially.

“Do you have any idea what she’s making reference to?” Gavin asked, glancing disinterestedly around the docks.

“Not even remotely.”

“Oh good, I’m not the only one, then.”

“Rude!” Eden grumped.

"Wha-a-a-at? But you promised we could go look around the city!" Eden cried.

"I said that we would see. We've already been here too long."

"You said we could go explore! You can't just get a girls hopes up like that and then say NO, Draven! It's... it's like eating the last piece of cake!"

"Obviously a fate worse than death," Draven deadpanned.

"Come ON," Eden pleaded. "Pleeeease?"

"You nearly DIED, Eden. You need to rest and regain your strength."

"But I didn't," she pointed out. "I'm alive! So let's go celebrate by exploring the city!"

"Oh for the love of... just say yes already, would you? You know exactly how this is going to end. She's going to bat her eyelashes, the lip will start to quiver, and then you're going to crumble and take her into the city anyways," Gavin griped.

"See! He agrees that you should take me. Come on Draven, we could go to the blacksmith and look at a new sword for you!"

"I don't need a new sword."

"Okay then, we can get you some new books!"

"No."

"I could use some new books!" Gavin chirped.

"He doesn't care what you want," Eden pointed out.

"Truly. I don't."

"It's so nice to be part of the group dynamic."

"Fine, then I'll just go with Gavin."

"Eden, dear, that thing you do? Where you endanger my life by trying to involve me in overthrowing our all-powerful leader? Please stop doing it. I quite like my innards where they are at the moment. You know, inside me."

“Rohan gave you a knife, didn't he?”

Sohalia frowned, reluctantly drawing the dirk from her pocket. “Yes...” she acknowledged slowly.

“Show me how you attack with it.”

Sohalia startled, taking a small step backwards. “What? I'm not going to attack you! Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. It's against my vows!”

“I would suggest defending yourself, little girl,” Tanav said simply. Before Sohalia could question his motives, Tanav lunged at her, grabbing her by the arm and tossing her to the ground. She cried out when her shoulder struck a rock, spitting out a mouthful of dust as she clutched the forming bruise. “In the real world, little one, no one is going to think twice about gutting you, if they have half a mind to do it. Don't give them the chance.” The girl glared up at him from the ground, but Tanav just grinned. He reached down and plucked her from the sand, setting her on her feet.

“A word of friendly advice? This lesson won't be nearly as painful after you take the sheath off the blade.” Sohalia frowned, but quickly unsheathed her dirk after the bandit took a threatening step towards her.

“Good,” Tanav praised. “Now try to come at me.”

“Tanav-” Sohalia started to protest, but was cut off by a raised hand from the large man.

“Let me rephrase that. 'Now try to come at me,' before I toss you again.” The scholar glowered at him, but Tanav simply cocked a brow at her in response. With a deep sigh of resignation, Sohalia complied, hesitantly moving in to attack. Before she could come close to striking distance, however, Tanav had his hand around the back of her neck, flinging her into the sand once again. Spluttering against the second mouthful of grit, she rolled to her side.

“I did what you asked me to do!” she cried.

“No,” he said, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “I told you to attack before I could throw you again. In the time it took you to even grasp your blade, I could have incapacitated an entire enemy camp.”

“What is even the point of this?” Sohalia groaned, struggling to her feet. “I'm not a fighter, and I never will be!”

“The point,” said Tanav gently, “is for you to be able to defend yourself. You aren't in your tower anymore; there are no walls to keep you safe from the outside world. You're exposed now, and people will hurt you solely for the sake of hurting you, Sohalia. I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening, but I'm only a man. A day may come when I can't reach you in time. You need to be prepared for that day.”

Shuffling her feet, Sohalia frowned and stared at the ground. “I see...” she mumbled.

Tanav smiled, the scar that slashed through his face crinkling around a dimple, and reached out, patting her fondly on the head. “You can do this, have no doubt. Now come, show me how you grip the hilt.”

She reached down to retrieve the blade from the ground, sliding her fingers around the handle and glancing at Tanav for approval. He tsked and stepped behind her, reaching around and curling his fingers around hers. “You're holding it down here at the bottom. That makes it easy for opponents to flip it out of your hand.” Carefully, he slid her hand up the hilt, squeezing when he had her fingers positioned where he wanted them. “Grasp it near the top. It gives you a firmer grip and the guard will better protect your hand.”

Sohalia nodded, trying to fight the blush creeping up her neck. She had never stood so close to a man before, and she had certainly never been touched by one like this. Thankfully, before the lesson could continue, Rohan's voice broke through the still night air, cursing and hollering for Tanav, the “big, half-blind idiot,” to come and assist him with some matter or another.

Tanav chuckled, and Sohalia could feel the rumble through her back. “It seems my intrepid leader requires my presence.” He gently patted her bruised shoulder as he disentangled himself. As she returned the dirk to its scabbard, he loosened one of the many belts from around his waist. Gently withdrawing the knife from her grasp, he looped the sheath around the warm woven leather of the belt before carefully cinching it around her hips. At her rather obvious blush and questioning look, the man simply smiled. “It won't do much good in your pocket, little one.”

The girl was tall, with piercing golden eyes, like a hawk.

“Prince Anton?” she questioned. Her voice had a strange, foreign lilt to it. “My name is Zaria, of Nuvaelis. I was sent here on behalf of my mother, Queen Asteria, to escort you to safety.

Anton struggled against the lump in his throat for a moment, finally choking in a hoarse voice, “My… my brothers and sisters…” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of their blood, so much blood.

The girl's gaze softened, a sympathetic look washing across her slight features. “Yes… I know. I am sorry for your loss, and offer my condolences.” She glanced quickly at the charred bodies surrounding them, shaking her head and rolling her shoulders to her full height. “But there will be time to grieve later, when you are safely out of the hands of these assassins.”

Writings from Thieves and Legends:

Suddenly, white-hot pain lanced through her skull, and Riane collapsed in a heap to the floor. Something warm and wet trickled down her scalp. Distantly, she was aware of the uneven stone floor digging into the flesh of her cheek.

“It’s nothing personal, Riane, truly.” Virani’s face swam into view- what Riane could see of it through unfocused eyes. As her befuddled mind tried to comprehend what had just happened, one thought managed to float to the forefront of her injured brain: Virani had attacked her. The little Breton struggled to voice her accusation, but the only sound that escaped her lips was a strangled wheeze.

“Shh… now, now. I know this must be terribly upsetting for you; being double-crossed typically is. Your lineage is revoltingly unfortunate, however.” Virani’s voice had taken on an eerie quality; Riane was reminded of the cultists her and Solding had faced a few weeks ago.

Solding.

As her vision started to dim, she tried desperately to cling to consciousness. What had Virani done to Solding? Was he hurt? She had heard him shout when she’d collapsed, but he had yet to make a sound since. Riane again attempted to call out, to make sure he was alright, but could only manage a pitiful moan. Her head swam- she was experiencing the most curious feeling of floating, and despite her best attempts, she found herself slipping into the darkness.

Her scowl deepened when she saw him start towards Jorvaskrr. If those fools wanted to participate in whatever drunken escapades they were so prone to before the sun had even risen, so be it. But she refused to engage in whatever strange ritual they may have drummed up at this ungodly hour.

“Will you please tell me why you’ve dragged me out of bed before the bloody sun has even risen?” Riane groaned. When Solding failed to reply, she fought down the urge to throw a rock at his head. Cresting the top of the stairs, Riane’s brow furrowed as instead of heading into the mead hall, Solding veered left, towards the Skyforge. Despite the early hour, she found her curiosity now peaked as she trailed after the hulking Nord.

~~~~~

"Custom made. Just your size." "Was that a height joke?" Riane asked blandly. "String it." Eorlund thrust the bow at her, ignoring her snark. Riane quirked an eyebrow before turning her still-bleary eyes to the bow. It was sleek and elegant in her hands, though considerably heavier than Windcaller had been. After a bit of struggling, however, she was able to stretch the length of sinew between the tips. She tugged experimentally at the bow string, testing the tension. Eorlund nodded, seemingly pleased. Then he stepped aside and motioned towards the target at the far end of the forge. "Hit the center," he commanded. "Why?" Riane felt her brows pull together. What reason was there for this impromptu demonstration? "Because I told you to," the old smith growled. Riane scowled delicately, but took her stance nonetheless. Accepting the arrow quietly handed to her by Solding, she slid it into the arrow rest and pulled back on the string. It has hard. The tension was so much stronger than Windcaller's had been; her arms shook slightly from the effort. Finally, after a few frustrating seconds, she pulled the bowstring taut, taking only a second to sight her target before loosing the arrow. It hit a few inches to the side of the center. Riane frowned as she relaxed her stance. Dammit… she growled to herself. This bow didn't fire as she was used to, and her aim suffered for it.

~~~~~

“You need practice with it; your aim is atrocious.”

She regarded him sourly. “We were having a moment. Now you’ve gone and ruined it.” The corner of his lip twitched into a nearly imperceptible smile.

Edited cause I found another one I liked

#js writes things #drabbles #excerpts #skyrim fanfiction #original fiction #goodbye 2017 #you were a pretty shit year #here's hoping 2018 is better

[soloshow131]

Uniting

Salterello music - 

Unit 1: Introduction 

Welcome to my castle.

My name is Thomas Paul Anthony Campe. That’s what I tell my family and friends. But I really identify as a medieval squire - squire Tom. . 

Unit 2: Self conscious 

Aye, I appreciate medieval culture. I like knights. In this day and age, I can become one! 

Unit 3: Premise 

Allow me, my lords, my ladies, to share with you the toils and triumphs, the highs and lows of my still ongoing quest of becoming a knight. 

Unit 4: A knights purpose

A knights purpose around the year 1000 wasn’t just to fight, but to serve. The word Knight itself comes from the Anglo Saxon word cniht, which means a servant. Bound to a king or lord by contract, a cniht would be given lands; property on which he could grow and sell his crops. On this land, a cniht would produce heirs, the first born of whom would inherit this land and train as a squire to become a cniht! Ahh, the circle of life. 

Unit 5: My land 

My land is 1 Highfield Drive, Lexden road, Colchester, co3 3qa. My lord is the renowned sir Stephen Campe of Swansea. Legendary pilot in his youth, and now a humble crafter of fibre optic cables.  

Unit 6: Cheeky

I’ve yet to produce any heirs yet, but give me time! I’ve fathered a bastard or two - you can ask any serving girl in ye olde playhouse about that.

Unit 7: Bradley Wiggins:

 They knight anyone these days. Bradley Wiggins, Angelina Jolie - they knight Americans! They’re not even British! Knighthood has been devalued!

Unit 8: Arthur

 Where’s all the swords and chain mail? I’d grab my armour and join the army right away but one, I can’t afford any chain mail because I spent the last of my student loan on a pewter replica of Arthur and his round table - complete with all 14 original knights! And secondly, I disapprove of the army.

Unit 9: The Army:

 They no longer want to get close and personal with our enemies. Everything is done with buttons or triggers from a distance. Where’s the respect?

Unit 10: Ned Stark: 

Ned Stark from game of thrones said that “If you would take a mans life, you owe it to him to look him in the eye hear his final words, and if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps he deserves to live.”  Forget missiles, bring back flails! Maybe if weapon technology wasn’t developing so rapidly, war would slow down and we’d actually enjoy it more. nbsp;

Unit 11: Knife and Fork

Since youth I’ve been developing my own style of warfare. A Squire must be innovative - In close quarters, spontaneous. I ask ye all, at what time of the day are you most likely to be attacked? On the battlefield? Nay! When you eat! Three times a day, breaking your fast, supping your supper and digesting your dinner - when better a time to have your gullet opened than when you’re hunched over a roasted hog, stuffing your guts - or sucking the bone marrow out of a honeyed Pigeon! Fortunately, we have by our sides two companions, often undervalued as basic eating utensils. The knife and fork, or as I like to call them, instruments of war. Versatile and reliable; let their inconspicuous nature be your advantage. A range of vendors claim that theirs is the superior quality but - I recommend ye purchase from IKEA for a well balanced pair of arms. (show knife)  

I once stabbed straight through a greedy hand with this beauty. If, however, your enemy happens to have his own utensils, fear not to engage in combat. To demonstrate the effectiveness of the knife and fork, I invite a lord or lady to the stage…

 Attempt to steal my Potato! And I’ll judge your worth. But first, safety. (Hand them a glove)  

 (Do funny voice and taunt the opponent)  

En Garde, pre, parri!

Lunge, riposte, parry, counter stab, disarmed!

(We duel over a bowl of potatoes.)

 Haha! I am victorious - but humble. I will share with you the spoils of war.  

Unit 11: Fair Maidens:

But just as a knight needs his sword, he needs a sheath for it. Fair Maidens, they’re hard to come by in Colchester. All the best stock are taken and linger outside McDonald’s, their greasy hair just like mine, glistening in the sunlight. Lady Shanara Stone of Highwoods. I’ve had my eyes on her like a Hawk does its prey.. if only I could grasp her. 

Unit 12: Favour:

She gave me her favour. A token of her gratitude.. I’ve got it here. Sometimes, I can almost taste her.. 

Unit 13: Sonnets:

She is worthy of all the sweet sonnets and ballads there are, for through her stems all good virtues.

Unit 14: Tyler:

If only she wasn’t with that vile Sir Tyler of Greenstead Estate. Dost thou insist to fill the world will foul qualities! After I’m through with you next is your mother. HEMA club taught me this one - historical european martial arts. nbsp;

Unit 15: Knights in White Satin:

 Oh Shanara.. (song)

Part of the difficulty I have as a modern day squire is that I'm all alone. I cannot trust anyone... I need loyal companions, fellow knights who too seek to bring light to this dark plain we tread on. So, I've decided to create my own order of statutes in the hope that they'll tempt some of you lords and ladies into joining me on my adventures.

I researched some of the rules from knighthood orders in the past such as Williams the conquerors laws. On of them is 'One God to be revered throughout the whole realm’. Now I understand that some of us here may worship different gods, some of us may not worship any god at all, some of us may be considering worshiping a god but need a little encouragment. Well fear not! For I have on my person a solution to our problem (take out second chair character). He’s not much of a talker, but not all gods are. Seeing is believing. He’s right here guys, you can’t deny it. What shall we call him? Sam? Great. I’ll leave him here, to watch over us. Okay so that's rule number one - Nicola dear, write these down please.

Okay law two I found on the English defence league website and it's to 'refuse to tolerate the intolerant' right, now I thought this would be good rule to adopt as it's ambiguous isn't it? We all find people intolerant and as founder of this order, I don't mind who you chose not to tolerate as long as you're not violent towards them. That leads me onto my next rule -

To symbolise our new community I have chosen our tools of warfare and defence - the knife and fork. Now if you'll all line up and kneel before me, I'll knight you.

Unit 15: Reflection:

Often I wonder, do I belong in this life, do I have a purpose? I strive to be a true knights and yet  am accused of being sexist or patronising. Yesterday morning, I broke my fast at university and held the door open for a fair maiden, despite her ingratitude I remained, my arm bearing the weight of that upright plank of wood while not one, by five others passed through my gateway of kindness. Still I stood strong as ten others passed, along with ten more minutes of my life. An hour gone and the whole room had emptied, save for but a young lad who gazed at me belligerently. 

Unit 16: Ungrateful 

(To Tyler) I do this twice a week! I don’t even lift! It never gets any easier and yet no one seems to care!

Unit 17: Give up

Who am I kidding. I’m not a knight.. I’m not even a squire. I’m a student who can’t face up to his dull reality. I return home to my mother and fathers castle, not mine. I owe them for all that I have. So many years I’ve wasted, cocooned in history, reading about greater men than me, letting my hair and finger nails grow long, chasing a way of life that vanished hundreds of years ago.. only the folks at the medieval fair here in Colchester understand me and I can’t stay connected to them for I don’t agree with modern technology! This is all self indulgence. Romanticism. Chivalry, whatever it is.. is dead. nbsp;

Unit 18: Hope 

Phone call My lady? What? You really want to come? Well, it’s at castle park… they have archery and a hog roast… I could purchase you a broach if you like! Oh, brilliant, marvellous! I shall see you at 10:66! Oh, ten past six, right. Huzzah! nbsp;

Music