#and just stew in my misery and try and fail to find a way out of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sublieu · 2 years

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IF YOU CAN STILL REMEMBER THE MK X LISTENER PLOT, UH- CAN YOU MAKE IT? You can have your own version of it!

╰┈➤❝ [⋆· *Demi Demon Ruts༉‧₊˚.] ¡! ❞

Warnings: cumflation, cunnilingus, [semi] finger fucking, flirty/perverted Mk, ruts, marking

A.n: I'm still gonna do a fic on him. Don't think I'm not gonna.

Mentions: @mortal-mayhem @zmzsnakes @yellowaxol @fallenplantation

Ah yes, the time of mating season, where demons, animals, gods and goddesses come together to be rid of their awful punishment their body decides to lay upon them.

But for Mk, this affected him worse.

He could barely concentrate on working, helping and partying. It was as if the whole world was colliding in on him, and now he's stuck in his room hiding away and trying to bear through the suffering.

Mk was confused, everything felt fuzzy and dizzy. The room had an unbearably thick smell, as if you were there attempting to comfort him as he wore your favorite oversized shirt that you 'borrowed' from him. Until Wukong showed up.

"Kid, you've been missing trainin- jesus christ did you spray the place or something?!"

Wukong yells as he coughs and wheezes, Mk just hid deeper inside him fluffy blanket, he felt as if he was gonna die from embarrassment when everything suddenly clicked for the golden brown monkey.

"Mk, are you going through a *pfft* rut?"

He stutters as he fails to hide his laughter, plopping down on his bed whilst continuing to laugh at the brunette's misery. Patting down his back and hearing him purr shortly after.

"How is this even possible?! I'm not even a demon much less a demigod!" "Well, technically.. you are a demigod, but that still means you're gonna suffer ruts like every other demon does."

Wukong sighs and pulls the blanket away, his heart breaking when he sees how much poor Mk was suffering as tears ran down his eyes. Silently sobbing as he held his knees together to ease the pain for him in a way.

"Kid, I can find a way to help you deal with your situation buuutttt it's gonna cost you" "Anything Wukong please!"

Mk sobs and begs, the demon groans as he scratches his head, looking for bugs as gets up and summons his Nimbus to collect some ingredients.

"You're gonna need to isolate yourself for atleast 2 weeks, not only that, you have to keep physical touch to an absolute low. Which means your little girlfriend and your friends are gonna have to keep a far distance from you for the time being" Wukong starts as he picks up and empty bottle he could find around Mk's room that he wasn't using at the moment.

Mk laid there as he tried to rest, his eyes slowly starting to drift as Wukong's last sentence was a blur.

"Oh and do not touch yourself, no jerking off nothing. Understand? I'll tell Pigsy and your friends to let you rest for the next 2 weeks" the demon continues and stands on his Nimbus before flying off to let his apprentice rest.

Diary entry #1

So I just cleaned up my room (finally) and is currently eating noodles Pigsy made for me. Honestly if it wasn't for him Mei would have to cook and I'm scared of her cooking cus the last time the fish stew she made for me actually bit on my fork. IT BIT MY FORK. Signing off, finna watch tawog and get some more rest -Mk.

Diary entry #2

Y/n just came by my house to drop off groceries today, honestly I love her so so much, she even got me my favorite chocolate too! I'm gonna repay her one day, I'm saving up to buy her V.I.P tickets to that new movie [movie name] that she's been talking about. Lets hope I can save enough to buy her something after. Signing off today again to rest -Mk

Diary entry #3

Just came out of the shower, honestly the cold feels nice for once. I couldn't help but think about y/n today again! I wonder what she's doing? probably playing games or reading something, I just love how cute she looks whenever she's doing something. I could listen to her talk all day and still say nothing cus she's so cute! Signing off today, gonna make some food and go sleep -Mk.

Diary entry #4

I woke up to my 'friend' today, obviously I didn't want y/n or anyone else to come and see me like this. Who knows what they could think! so I touched myself for the first in weeks, I might buy y/n those cute paw stockings she loves so much -Mk.

Diary entry #5

It happened again when I was showering, first I'm thinking about making breakfast and now I'm thinking about y/n bending over just to reach the sugar container. God the way she looks in that cute miniskirt she always wear around the house just makes me feel... fuzzy... -Mk

Diary entry #6

... Nothing new today, same old thing. Read, eat, watch a movie and text y/n.

Diary entry #7

I'm calling her... I can't stand staying in this fucking house alone

Mk writes and proceeds to reach for his phone when out of the blue, Wukong contacts him to check in on how he's doing; Stirring what seems to be a pot in the background as Mk continues looking on his phone.

"Hey Mk!! How ya holding up?"

Wukong starts and wipes a sheen of sweat from his face. Mk responds with an I'm good as he calls y/n, as if completely ignoring his question and paying attention to you.

"M'doin great, You wouldn't mind coming over for some video games or something? - No no it's just the two of us! Promise! - You will? Aww thanks, I'll unlock the door k?"

Mk smiles and hangs up his phone, leaving Wukong confused and slightly worried.

"Mk. who exactly are you calling over?"

He asks and stops stirring as he looks around the boy's room then back to him when he notices how fidgety his fingers were before putting two and two together.

"Mk. No-" "Oh cmon Wukong! I won't bite, too hard atleast" "Mk I'm serious- DON'T YOU DARE HANG UP ON M-"

Wukong threatens before being hung up by Mk, stirring even faster in an attempt to hurry and bring back the medicine when Xi stopped him and told him to stir as gently as possible.

Whilst you stood at Mk's doorway, fixing yourself one last time before hearing his door click and open to see him heaving and wheezing as if he just ran down the steps. You giggled and gave him a kiss on the cheek and entered the well lit house, completely ignorant to the sound of his door clicking and locking.

"So what're you planning to play first? Dance dance revo 3 or Wukong mashup?"

You'd start up a conversation as you were ready to setup his gaming station, placing the games on his carpet when he kneels down beside you to pick. Ultimately choosing dance dance revo.

After hours and hours of just you two giggling and having fun, Wukong texts Mk stating he's almost done making the remedy. Ignoring the message and paying attention to you as you continued dancing.

The way how you were just so steady to the beat, your boobs would jiggle to the slightest movement of your body alongside the sheer amount of sweat you were producing. He was in awestruck as you sat down on the carpet for a breather.

(ง•ᴥ•)ง♪ (◕3◕)╯♫ (¬ᴥ¬)◠◡ ♬ (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)╯♩ 「ᵔᴥᵔ」♫ (¬ᴥ¬) ♬ (ツ)♭

Your bra would reveal itself to the white shirt you were wearing, making you all the more delectable for him. Mk was already struggling just seeing you move and now this? it was almost as if you were subtly punishing him. Whilst distracted, you crawled in between his legs to hug his waist and giggled after he looked down at you, god you were just so cute, how could anyone resist you?

He gave you a quick forehead kiss before slowly trailing down to your lips, things already getting heated between you both as you were quick to take off the other's clothes, leaving you both naked and flustered.

His hands would grab hold of your butt and pulled you closer to him, sloppy, wet kisses would trail from your lips all the way to your chest as he puts his hand down your panty. His cock throbbing and leaking pre the more he played with your body.

Heavy, ragged breaths escaped your lips as you attempt to close your legs. Only for him to pry them open and go down to your dripping pussy, kissing your tummy and licking your clit, sucking on the bud as he pushed two fingers inside. Chuckling at your whimpers and pleas.

You looked so pretty from this view, little tears running down your eyes as you bit your finger hard enough to leave it slightly bleeding. But you couldn't care at the moment as his tongue was already past your slit and inside your velvety walls, until he stopped, popping his tongue and licking his lips as he pulled you closer; His cock pressing at your little bundle of sensitive nerves.

Mk would push the tip inside before snapping his hips upwards inside, making you jump whilst Mk pushed you back down on the carpet. He snickered and kissed your forehead as he held your hand and cooed praises at you, your pleas for him to fuck you comforting him as he gave you a soft thrust up inside you.

You were always wondering why he wore his hair upwards if he looked so cool, and now you finally got the reason why; His sharp teeth alongside the subtle glow of his eyes left you in fear and pleasure.

As your legs wrapped around his waist, it seemed as if he picked up in speed. His thrusts getting faster and rougher as you played with his hair, your moans of his name slip off your tongue like butter as you'd clench your toes from the thrilling pleasure. Your eyes flashing to white when you came for the first time, clawing at your neck and grabbing onto his hair to limit his movements. That ultimately not working as he kept pounding your pussy like it was a toy.

He kept muttering your name as if you were about to disappear if he didn't hold onto you long enough, moaning about how snug and inviting your body was, as if you like molding jelly. Soft to the touch and comfortable to hold, almost like a pillow.

You gave him a soft kiss which he immediately returns, his hands securely colliding your hips to his, you were gonna have marks later for sure you thought.

"Keep going~" "You're doing so so good Mk~"

You whisper to his ear, cooing and coddling him even though he's fucking to cloud-9. Your hands reaching to hold his as your climax was coming closer and closer, almost feeling him kissing your womb as you told him to go faster. Throwing your head back and looking into his eyes a second time, seeing that the glow changed to pink and his growling was being ever so evident. Was he staring at you or was he so distracted by your body he couldn't even look at you. But he was actually close to cumming soon too, getting ready to flood your ovaries with his sticky, warm cum.

Your eyes were flashing to white again, your manicured nails digging into his flesh and leaving cuts all over his arms as he fucked every bit of his cum inside. Your belly bloating as he rested on your chest after pulling out, most of his cum seeping out of you and onto the carpet you shared as you both started laughing and share a kiss.

"Didn't your mentor say that we shouldn't be around each other for two weeks?" "Honestly fuck him" "Wooooow real fucking nice Mk"

Wukong sarcasticly speaks up and caused you two to jump up and scramble to cover up. He sighs and throws the bag of pills and liquid for Mk to hold as he made orange juice.

"You guys even fucked on the carpet, seriously? the carpet? Couldn't you have atleast done it on the couch? And you call me and macaque fucking animals".

©𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐮 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐; 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

#lmk smut #lego monkie kid x reader #lmk x reader #lego monkie kid mk x reader #lmk mk x reader #lmk mk smut #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid mk smut #mk smut #mk x reader #lmk mk #lego monkie kid smut #🍑 monkie kid smut

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cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness · 1 year

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A03 First Lines Tag Game

tagged by @redxluna , thank you!

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Giant Tamer | Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

The first time Geralt saw Jaskier's cock, it was by accident. Well, not really, because he'd been wanting to know what it looked like, but didn't plan for it to happen this way.

2. teeth of the hydra | Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

The steady beats of the bass vibrated through the wall Jaskier was propped against, the music muffled just enough that he couldn’t discern the words of the singer. It didn’t matter, he knew the lyrics by heart anyway. He muttered them under his breath as he searched through his jacket for his lighter. The first hit of nicotine did its job of relaxing him, or maybe it was a placebo effect. Either way, he found himself in a better state of mind to answer Essi’s prodding.

3. Would you be kind and put away your sword? | Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

Jaskier and him have been together since Midaëte. Their relationship is good, better and more than Geralt has ever expected. They’ve been traveling together and been in each other’s presence for a long time, and although Jaskier has never failed to brighten his days, in spite of Geralt in the beginning, it’s different now that he’s allowed to touch and show his feelings without the fear of them being too much. He hasn’t known it could be like this, so easy with someone else, until Jaskier.

4. Even grouchy men like to cuddle | Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

"Are you sure you need to go right now?" Jaskier asked Geralt, trying his best not to pout. He knew he wasn't succeeding very well when Geralt turned and his face softened.

"I do. The villagers have been terrorised long enough, I won't prolongate their misery any more than I ought to."

"I'm sure they'll heavily thank you for that, too, by trying to throw you out with a fraction of the pay," Jaskier mumbled, soaking his bread with what remained of his hearty stew.

5. tainted | Morston - Arthur/John

This is a stupid idea. Not only Johnny boy has left for a full year, but he's gone soft and stupid during that time too, forgetting the ways of the gang he's spent fifteen years with. Arthur has told Dutch and Hosea that it wouldn't go well if they sent Micah and John together to scout ahead, but have they listened? Of course they haven't, and now John is missing and it's down to Arthur to find and bring back this fool. It's not because he doesn't feel the cold that he can't be an asshole about it.

It's more difficult to track scents in the snow, but what John hates more than responsibilities is bathing, which is useful in these circumstances.

6. Tight Space | Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

Geralt took one look at his own hand and shook his head. "It won't fit."

"You haven't even tried," Jaskier protested.

"Don’t need to, I have eyes. Hold up your hand."

7. Fifteen Years | Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

“This is a cosy place, if we ignore the mice droppings,” Jaskier commented, hands on his hips as he inspected their room. The surfaces had been recently cleaned and the bed sheets, changed, which wasn’t something every inn provided in their services. “They tried to hide them with a rug, we have to give them that. Too bad the mice seem to now be eating it.”

8. The Hanged Bard | Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

That wasn’t how Jaskier had pictured his day to go, he mournfully thought as he stared at the wall from his upside-down position, his feet chained to the ceiling. His blood was almost entirely lodged in his head already, he reckoned, what a charming look. He didn’t know for how long he’d been hanging like that, he was hesitating between too long and my head’s about to explode.

9. I'm learning to be (so much more than what they shaped me into) | Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

Daylight hours were increasing with the snow melting and the blossom of the colourful spring flowers. It was just getting warm enough that Jaskier wasn’t complaining about his toes swimming in cold sweat anymore. Just like the weather, his mood was lifting up and he was filled with newfound inspiration for composition.

10. That shirt would look better on the floor | Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

Geralt had finally brought Jaskier on a monster hunt with him, nothing too difficult to handle for his first time. They hadn’t gone far from Rosemerrow to find a nekker nest that had been terrorising a road. Jaskier had mostly observed Geralt take down the ugly little monsters, but he’d been the one throwing the bomb before running to take cover behind a rock. The explosion had been satisfying; the monster bits in their hair, less so.

Tagging @tristinai @acaranna @borealwrites @luteandsword @hum-my-name @velvetjinx and anyone who wants to share their writing!

#tagged meme #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #morston #arthur morgan #john marston #red dead redemption 2

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the12thnightproject · 11 months

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Chapter 41: Miles to Go Before I Sleep. Katsu and Yukimura set off to look for Toshiie, and try to convince themselves they’ve done the right thing. Also... Katsu gives Yukimura advice on women.

Shingen x OC; Kenshin x MC (Mai)

Previous Chapter: Here

Logline - Disguised as a boy, Katsuko finds herself working for Shingen, but her dangerous masquerade becomes difficult to sustain when she falls for the man with a fatal secret.

“What the hell did you guys just do?”

Maybe it was my imagination, but Mai’s question felt like it echoed in the quiet temple. What the hell did we just do? Saved his life, saved his life, saved his life. Was that the answer? Or a mantra? Please, let them be able to save his life. What if all we had done was send him to a new world where he would die alone?

“It was necessary. Sasuke will take him to a healer in your time, and they will cure him.” Kenshin spoke firmly, as if no modern doctor would dare fail in that task, or Kenshin would hop into the next wormhole and stab them in retaliation.

“Cure… of what?” Mai turned to me. She’d not only been kept out of our plans – she hadn’t even known they were necessary.

“I don’t know. He was dying. He told me he didn’t believe he would s-s-survive…” I took a deep breath. “Survive past this winter.” Honestly, I couldn’t talk, or even think about it any longer, so I gave Mai an apologetic smile, made an excuse about wanting to check on my horse, and went outside. Kenshin or Yuki could explain it to her.

Once outside, I ignored the muzzling rain and buried my face in Moonlight’s neck. Up until that last moment, I had hoped that one or all of us would call it off, or that Shingen would change his mind and volunteer to go to the future. But the look of shocked betrayal on his face, and Mai’s horrified What the hell did you guys just do, was playing like a skipping record in my mind. I had no way of turning it off. It would likely loop all the way to Ikuno.

“Katsu?” I lifted my head to see Yuki standing there, looking about as uncomfortable as I had ever seen him. “Aw geez, you aren’t crying, are you?”

Was I? I brushed my hand across my face. “It’s the rain.” Who was he to sound so horrified over a few tears when his own eyes were wet? “What?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Nothing. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t up and left for Ikuno.”

Oh. Actually, I’d probably been about ten minutes away from reaching the conclusion that I could just leave. I gave him as much of a smile as I could manage. “Well, to quote Sasuke, there was a nonzero chance of that happening, but I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

He scrubbed his hands through his hair so that it stood on end. “Kenshin and Mai will be out in a moment. We can say goodbye to them then.”

“Alrigh- what?” We? Them? Did I hear that right?

“He’s going to be mad enough at me enough already. There’s no way I will let Shingen’s woman travel alone to Ikuno.” It was said in a casual tone of voice, but the set of his shoulders told me I shouldn’t argue.

Even so, I put up a token protest. “I can take care of myself.” I could. However, to be honest, I felt torn between wanting to stew in private misery and wanting company to keep me from doing just that.

“I know. You don’t have to. Besides -.” He looked over his shoulder to where Mai and Kenshin were emerging from the temple, looking like they were a single unit unto themselves. “The last thing I want is to be the odd man out on their trip home.”

Hm, ok, yeah. Yukimura trapped for four days with Kenshin and Mai without the mitigating presence of Sasuke was a stabbing incident in the making.

Mai hurried over to me and I braced myself for a lecture. “I’m not sure I agree with what you did.”

Fair point, given I wasn’t convinced it had been right either.

“But I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing, if I were in your shoes, so I understand.” She hugged me, and I imagined that she was also offering a shoulder to cry on, if I wanted.

I didn’t want that though. If I allowed myself to cry, to really cry, I might not be able to stop. So, I stepped out of her embrace and simply thanked her.

Kenshin convinced us (translation, at sword point) to get a few hours of sleep before setting off, pointing out that we’d be safer travelling in daylight. Yukimura and I reluctantly agreed. After a few hours of fitful sleep at a posting inn on the outskirts of Kyoto, and one last morning ‘kill,’ I was more than ready to get on the road.

As shattered as I still felt at saying goodbye to Shingen in such a manner, there was, behind that sadness, anticipation of the reunion with my brother. For the first three quarters of my life, he had been my other half, the person who could always be counted on to balance me out, the one person I didn’t need to tell anything to, because he’d been there through all of it. Now that we’d missed six and a half years of each other’s lives, would we still have that connection?

“Safe journeys, Katsuko,” Kenshin said. “I hope you find your brother in good health. He is as welcome in Kasugayama as you are.”

Well. That was an interesting idea. I imagined that Toshiie would be in sheer bliss, surrounded by all that beefcake in the castle. “Thank you. But you can’t kill him. Toshiie is a healer, not a fighter.” At least the Toshiie of my memory had been. But I wasn’t the same person I had been seven years ago – I wasn’t even the same person I had been that day seven weeks ago, when I shot the sniper out of the tree. Therefore, I shouldn’t freeze my brother in time either.

Kenshin scowled. “He must train to fight. It is a necessary skill.” He looked ready rhapsodize on the issue, but Yuki stepped in and reminded him that we needed to get going if we were going to reach Ikuno in another three days.

Without any additional fanfare, Yuki and I set off. Behind us, I heard Mai suggesting that since they were so close to Azuchi, they should drop in on Nobunaga so she could say hello to her friends. We encouraged our horses into a trot, neither of us wanting to be anywhere near Azuchi if Mai succeeded in convincing him that was a good idea.

Yukimura proved to be a good traveling companion. Though I at first had resented the thought of company, Yuki was the type to stay quiet unless he had something worth saying. He would occasionally point out something or someone interesting along the route and he had a knack for befriending other travelers to the point where they would tell him their entire life history. It was a useful talent to have – I imagined that Aki would have enjoyed having him as one of his scouts.

“What’s so funny?” Yuki asked me, on the third evening of our journey, when we had stopped to camp for the night.

I handed him a bowl of rice, then found a log near the fire to sit on while I waited for the tea water to boil.

“I was just thinking that my previous employer would have appreciated your um, people skills.” Then, because he looked a little confused at that, I added. “Basically, I was admiring your ability to talk to anyone, no matter what their station in life.”

“Any man,” Yuki corrected, with his mouth full. Ok, yeah, his table manners might be a little rough (and Aki... would likely have called him feral). “I can’t talk to women, remember?”

Would it be worth pointing out the obvious? Reminding Yuki of my gender when I was dressed as Katsu might actually prove his point, so I approached the issue from another angle. “So, when you talk to a woman, pretend you’re talking to man.”

Once again, he roughed up his hair with his hands. I could always tell where Yuki’s emotions stood, just by looking at the top of his head. “Yeah, yeah sure. If I wanted to have a conversation. I’m terrible at flirting – and I hate it anyway, so why bother?”

“Conversation is really important Yuki.” The tea water was finally boiling, so I got up to prepare a couple cups. “If you prefer to just talk, I guarantee lots of women would be happy with that.”

That comment was rewarded with a patented Yukimura Eyeroll (TM). “Yeah. Right. Hard to take your word for that. You’re with one of the biggest flirts in the country.”

Was this some kind of Sengoku era Godwin’s Law where all conversation inevitably returned to Shingen? “Well, that’s a bug, not a feature.”

“Katsu, please don’t think you have to take Sasuke’s place by making weird comments… Thanks,” he added when I handed him a cup of tea.

“Aw. So I shouldn’t call you bestie?” I plopped back down opposite him.

“Please don’t.” He sipped at the tea, and when he didn’t wince, I figured I had remembered how he liked it. “What did you mean about the bugs?”

I thought back. “Oh. The flirting thing. I fell for Shingen because of how he treated me when he thought I was boy.” His kindness… the way he took me seriously… the way he helped me after I had killed the sniper… the way we could just… talk.

“Huh.” I could tell that Yuki didn’t believe me, but I didn’t plan to go into any more detail, so that was that. “And, not that I was around for any of it,” a fact that I was really grateful for, “but I cannot imagine that Kenshin flirted with Mai.”

“No. He threw her in the dungeon.” He rolled his eyes again (a sentiment I agreed with one hundred percent).

Ugh. Right. She’d mentioned that. “See. No flirting. Although I wouldn’t recommend imprisonment as an effective romantic tool. Everyone is different.”

Yuki kicked his feet in the dirt in front of him. “Where do the bugs come into it?”

I sighed. “Well, probably you’re going to need to find the girl who understands that when you put a bug down the back of her kimono, you’re actually telling her that you think she’s cute.”

He threw a twig at me. “I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“If you say so.” Anyway, I imagined that if Yuki ever found a woman he wanted to pursue, he would figure it out, or… er….. huh. “When you meet the girl of your dreams, come and ask me, or Mai for help, ok?” Between the two of us, we’d make sure he didn’t torpedo the relationship before it set sail.

“Yeah. Alright.” Sounded like he didn’t think such a girl existed anyway.

“We’ll sort you out.” Or. Mai would, if I wasn’t around any longer.

He was quiet a long time, and we sat there listening to the cicadas buzzing and the wind rattling the trees. “First or second watch?” he eventually asked.

“Second, unless you are really tired.” On our first night after leaving Kasugayama, Yuki had had the watch immediately after mine, and I nearly had to dump a bucket of water over his head to wake him up.

What the hell did you guys just do?

Kaya, it was too late – you just cursed him to die alone… as will you. You’re a tool that has outlived its usefulness. No use yelling. This time there’s no one around to hear you.

My hands pounded on the side of the crate, fingers scrabbling at the splintering wood. Without seeing it, I knew the sides of my coffin would be smeared with blood.

I kicked and pounded at the sides of the crate, yelling for someone to hear me.

“Katsu! Katsu! Wake up, damn it!”

Clearing the border between sleep and awake in seconds, I sat up. “What? Are we under attack?” I reached to grab my dagger from where it was sitting next to my bedroll and discovered a fistful of twigs and leaves was already in my hand.

“No. Shit. You were making so much noise I thought you were the one being attacked.” His face shadowed by lantern light, Yuki rocked back on his heels and raked his hand through his hair. It was at critical mass. I must have scared the crap out of him.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I have bad dreams sometimes.”

Yuki awkwardly patted my shoulder. “Unless you, um, need a hug.” His tone of voice pleaded for me to not need a hug.

“I’m ok. Thanks. It’s probably time to switch out anyway.” I scrubbed the sand out of my eyes.

“Yeah.” He looked away while I got out of the bedroll, a polite, but unnecessary gesture, as I was fully dressed.

“Yuki?” Maybe it wasn’t worth asking his opinion, but the dream had left me rattled. Iekane always left me rattled, even if the dream Iekane was only a product of my subconscious. “Did we do the right thing?”

Again, the hands went through the hair. He was likely to be bald by the time we got to Ikuno if he kept that up. “Shit. Yes. We had a good reason. That counts, right?”

Yeah, but that thought wasn’t keeping the nightmares away.

But he wasn’t finished speaking. “We did it. There’s no use thinking about it now.” He sighed. “As long as we’re both awake, why don’t we just get an early start?”

Maybe I should have objected – he hadn’t had a chance to sleep… but I wanted to see my brother, so without another word, I nodded and packed up my stuff.

Thanks to decent weather and no sudden obstacles, we made it to Ikuno late that afternoon. Ikuno was a small mining town – small enough that I only needed to ask one person where to find the Healer, in order to be pointed to a small house on the outskirts of town.

In my head, I was chanting, please be the right person, please be the right person as we approached. A woman was gardening out front. When she saw us, she dropped her spade and put her hand to her chest. She jumped to her feet and rushed inside.

This can’t be good. Moments later, a man rushed out of the house, musket in hand. He stared into the road, and raised the gun, pointing it right at us.

@bestbryn

#TBT12Lies #throwback thursday #twelve lies i told shingen takeda #ikesen shingen #shingen takeda #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen fanfic #ikesen yukimura

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ash-and-books · 5 months

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Rating: 4/5

Book Blurb: The follow-up to Foz Meadows's A Strange and Stubborn Endurance, All the Hidden Paths is a sultry political & romantic fantasy exploring gender, sexuality, identity, and self-worth.

With the plot against them foiled and the city of Qi-Katai in safe hands, newlywed and tentative lovers Velasin and Caethari have just begun to test the waters of their relationship. But the wider political ramifications of their marriage are still playing out across two nations, and all too soon, they’re summoned north to Tithena’s capital city, Qi-Xihan, to present themselves to its monarch.

With Caethari newly invested as his grandmother’s heir and Velasin’s old ghosts gnawing at his heels, what little peace they’ve managed to find is swiftly put to the test. Cae’s recent losses have left him racked with grief and guilt, while Vel struggles with the disconnect between instincts that have kept him safe in secrecy and what an open life requires of him now. Pursued by unknown assailants and with Qi-Xihan’s court factions jockeying for power, Vel and Cae must use all the skills at their disposal to not only survive, but thrive.

Because there’s more than one way to end an alliance, and more than one person who wants to see them fail…and they will resort to murder if needed.

Review:

Picking up where the first book left off Velasin and Caethari are now married and navigating the new waters of their marriage while dealing with assassins, politics, and trying to find love. Velasin is still dealing with his ptsd from the assault from a previous lover while trying to stewing in his own self misery and what he wants his relationship to Cae to be. Caethari is made the new heir to his grandmother and must travel to establish his title. Cae never wanted to lose his grandmother and is also still reeling from his sister's subsequent betrayal and her murdering the rest of their family. Cae is wracked with guilt and grief while Vel is struggling with trying to express what he wants and keeping everything to himself. They are both pursued by unknown assailants and are trying to navigate Qu-Xhan's court factions who are vying for power. Vel and Cae's relationship was a really slow burn one, the miscommunication, lack of talking to your partner, and just dumb decisions could be so grating but it paid off in the end. We are also introduced to Asterion, someone who is blackmailed to either seduce or kill Vel or Cae, by Vel's own family. Asterion doesn't want to do it but his mother's life is being threatened and he'd do anything to protect her... yet he finds himself drawn in by General Naza, someone who is powerful yet soft with him, someone who knows exactly what Asterion needs. Can Cae and Vel work out who is trying to kill them and finally be clear with each other about their feelings, or will they die before they even get to tell each other the truth. This was a really interesting second novel, it was hard at parts to read because you really do care for the characters and you want them to heal and be happy, but it's hard and difficult, and they do make frustrating decisions, but in the end it was a really great read and I can't wait for the second one.

*Spoilers: Cae and Vel do finally tell each other they love each other, and despite Asterion trying to seduce either of them they remained faithful and firm in their love for one another. Asterion manages to get his mother out safe and General Naza (quites his job) and they do become sort of lovers. Naza clearly cares for Asterion but they are unsure about their new feelings as Naza had left his post and he and Asterion traveled to meet Asterion's mother together. Cae and Vel find out that it was one of other tiern's who wanted power for herself and to marry Cae but she ends up killing herself after revealing the truth and making her heir Ethian (an innocent who had a crush on Vel). Markel , my icon, is still alive, hilarious, and healthy. We stay winning yall.

*Thanks Netgalley and Tor Publishing Group, Tor Books for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #bookish #all the hidden paths

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paimonial-rage · 1 year

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i am completely fine without the one shot!! i am actually more interested in the analysis, haha! if you don’t mind, here i go! I’ll send another ask addressing the other topics. (sorry this is kinda long).

i think my strength lies in being self-aware. i’m always reflecting and doing after reviews of my actions, but sometimes i get overwhelmed by my imperfections and i laze around rather than act in ways to better myself. i’m working on this because i believe my destiny is determined by me. there are things i cannot control therefore i want to control the things i can (myself).

many of my friends have mentioned i’m an easy person to talk to, but i’m not good at replying or comforting, haha. they’re rather surprised i like dark humour and i can be mean as a form of tease despite first impressions of me commonly being “you look very innocent”.

send me a message and i’ll probably reply 2 weeks later — calls are for the Real emergencies. i try to be patient and understanding, and sometimes it unnecessarily bleeds to my inability to say “no” or put my foot down. i don’t really like gifts, but i love hanging out with friends. even if i didn’t get to say anything, i like being present and hearing them chatter.

lastly, i love animals and eating but i’m a picky eater, lol. it has gotten better as i trained myself to just eat whatever is presented, but i can be uncontrollable —watch me chug 1L of milk without hesitation but cringe at prawns even though i will eventually eat them. — @milkstore

Ooh, Milk (sorry I couldn’t find what you go by on your blogs), can I just say that I find the desire for self-awareness a very attractive trait. Some people tend to get frozen by their imperfections, preferring to stew in their weaknesses rather than change. They become overly negative and sensitive, complaining and venting because they don’t want to admit they’re addicted to their misery. You’re not like that. While there are times you do become overwhelmed and fall off track, it’s never a permanent thing. You always get back on your feet once more.

To me, you seem like the kind of person that, while you may feel you’re not necessarily “warm,” you actually care a bit too much. You have an inability to say no, which I’m wondering is the reason why you take a while to reply to messages. To reply means assigning yourself responsibility to a situation, to give emotionally when you do not have the energy reserves to fully do so. Going off on another limb here, I’m wondering if you’re the type that only wants to give your 100% to your friends, never anything less.

That’s why… okay, hear me out. I know he isn’t the most popular character, but he is definitely one of my top 5 favorite characters, but…

Gorou

I can’t exactly say how people feel about him in this community, but it doesn’t really feel they give him the credit he deserves. The reason why I feel he’d match you well is that, like you, the goal of continuously bettering himself is something he always keeps at the forefront. Not only that, I feel like he’d keep you accountable and you’d do the same for him. You both will never be stagnant in a relationship.

Unlike the kind of relationship I feel a lot of people want on this website, a relationship with Gorou wouldn’t be drowning amounts of soft times, fluff, and kisses the whole time. While you are similar in some ways, you are still both different. You’re introverted while he’s extroverted. You enjoy teasing while he’s incapable of it. You don’t seem as open to trying new things while he is. You have a hard time verbalizing your boundaries while he makes it a point to do so even if it’s hard. However, I don’t think these differences will hinder a relationship, but will cause you to grow as people.

That being said, Gorou is not a slave driver and neither are you. You both will not force each other to improve, nor harp on each other’s faults. You both understand the need to rest. You both understand that you will fail from time to time and that’s okay. I think the fact that he will do his best to be encouraging with you will drive you to do the same with him. At the same time, you both are not weak people, so I don’t think this would be a regular thing. You both will care for each other, but at the same time will not be caretakers.

I can see you feeling Gorou is a bit too much at times being that he’s quite active. He’d view you as someone not communicative enough (in the area of replying to messages). In the friendship/dating stage, I can see him completely bypassing the phone calls and visiting you at home to ask you if you want to go for a walk. That being said? I personally feel like everyone needs someone like that in their lives. We all need someone that breaks the monotony and brings us out of our own heads. At the same time, you’ll teach him moderation, that people also need time to themselves and also to relax.

Seeing that you both rate quality time highly as a love language, I imagine you both would have a very leisurely relationship. I imagine him dragging you out to go hiking and enjoying nature. He’ll chat about the letters he’s got for his That’s Life magazine job, you’ll tease him, he’ll get flustered, you’ll laugh because his reaction is cute, you’ll know you should go easy on him but that only makes you want to tease him more. Overall, the kind of relationship that will not weaken over time.

@milkstore

#genshin impact #gorou #gorou x reader #anon analyses #genshin x reader

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some-dr-writings · 3 years

Text

Nagito, Korekiyo, and Rantaro’s S/O can’t convey their feelings

Nagito Komaeda:

· One of the things that Nagito admired most about you most was your determination. No matter the task, you always put your all into it and would never give up till the task was complete! Unfortunately you seemingly had a talent for everything to go wrong during pivotal moments. At first Nagito thought it was his luck and would always apologize to you, that was till he heard tale of your other disastrous incidences with your class.

· This even seeped into trying to confess to Nagito in the first place. You tried telling him but you got knocked out by a falling tree branch, you tried giving him a letter but the first time it disintegrated in the rain and the second attempt it got burned by a wayward spark, you tried calling him but you both only heard static no matter where you went, you tried texting it to him but either everything was auto corrected to other words or you misspelled everything so horribly the words together was meaningless, no matter what you tried out it always failed.

· Exhausted from trying for a month non-stop to convey your feelings but to no avail you decided to take a break.

· By laying face down in your local park stewing in your own misery, confessing feeling more like a burden then something exciting. Truthfully knowing yourself you might have chickened out, but damn it, at this point you at least wanted a chance even if you would miserably botch it up!

· You mumbled a thank you to Nagito feeling him pat your head, something he always did when you got frustrated when things went wrong in the last moment. “There, there. You’ll find some way to push past this, I know you will.” You only groaned in response. “So it was really bad this time?” You groaned a little louder. “I see.” Nagito sat before you, stroking your head.

· You rolled over, looking up to the man who sat before you, his silhouette cast against that bright blue sky. “Why must it be so freaking hard to just say I love you!? Look like this. I have a crush on you Komaeda! See was that really so hard! But NNNNOOOOOOOOO the universe decided that would have to be the one thing I have to have the most struggle with saying! It’s so stupid!” You stood up, begging to pace around. “Like really, of all things, why this specifically!? Do I ju-” You then tripped over your own feet, rolling down the hill and crashing into a tree and getting knocked out.

· Nagito stayed by your side the whole time till you woke up. “You… love me?” “… OH MY GOODNESS, FINALLY THE MESSAGE HAS GOTTEN ACROSS!”

Korekiyo Shinguji:

· “Kiyo! What’s a full proof way of telling someone something without the message being warped or being misunderstood?” “… I’d say directly saying it like that would be one way.” “No it’s not! I could get tongue tied, or stutter, or faint while speaking or get cut-off any number of other ways!” Ah, so this must have been what was troubling you as of late. Korekiyo had noticed you had been acting antsy and admittedly he had been curious as to what was troubling you. “So, a full proof way of telling someone something. I do not believe there is a way that could never go wrong, but there could be a few ways that come rather close.” “UGH! But I need a hundred percent guarantee! Should I give you a blue feather? But have you even played those games!?” And you were now mumbling to yourself as you paced around, a habit you had when you were concentrating on something. You had to do something mindless when thinking hard on something like cleaning or walking, something to get the blood pumping a little. A habit of yours he found rather cute. “How do I tell you I love you without you misunderstanding!?” “Oh? Me?” “Yes you, now how do I do this? What culture are you studying-” “Well, I am rather fond of you too.” “No, that won’t work. Maybe send you a gift, but then-”

· … Huh… you didn’t even notice. As cruel as it may be Kiyo thought it would be intriguing seeing how you’d try confessing.

· You poured yourself into doing research asking him for assistance, looking through history for some perfect way of confessing. Kiyo was admittedly tempted to tease you but seeing how you’d go about this naturally, undisturbed, was more intriguing. You already spent much time with him, but it quickly grew and grew. Kiyo rather liked this development.

· “So, Kiyo… if someone were to confess to you that they had a crush on you, what would be the perfect way?” “For me? Well… if I must answer I would say, I would like for them to… Hmm… I believe I’d simply wish for them to tell me.” “What if I told you I had a crush on you?” “I’d tell you I had a crush on you too, and would ask you out for a date. It is such a lovely day after all. Would you accept if I invited you?” “Yeah. Would you like to go for the date right now?” “Certainly. Shall we be off then?” “… I-I’d like that.”

Rantaro Amami:

· “Hey, Y/N. Want to go out?” Rantaro knew dating would be difficult given he was always traveling and searching for his sisters, but he liked you and he thought taking a chance couldn’t hurt.

· He liked how you easily got flustered but never held back when giving or receiving affection. He liked how you tried your best to help him in his search. He liked how you always supported him but also took care of yourself and would step back if needed. He liked you you’d always send him morning and night texts everyday in accordance to whatever time zone he was in. He liked how you always sent him pictures of whatever gifts he had sent you showing they had arrived safely. He liked so many things about you.

· Rantaro did notice something… it wasn’t bad but it was something he noticed. You never spoke of your feelings. Or wrote them. Or anything. But it was not for lack of trying. He had found crumpled up letters in your room about how you missed him and loved him when on his trips. On occasion he had caught you confessing your feelings for him to the bathroom mirror only to start stuttering and stumbling over your words. Rantaro found this adorable, it was always a pleasant surprise to catch this.

· After an especially long trip you were there to pick up an exhausted Rantaro from the airport. He soon found himself on your couch, you draping a blanket over his shoulders. With you so close Rantaro couldn’t resist hugging you. Holding you tightly and closely he flopped over, wrapping you in the blanket as well. He lightly chuckled seeing the tips of your noses were touching. “I love you, you know that?” He could feel the heat of your blush radiating off your cheeks. “Ah, I, uh, I-I, I like, live-love you too? Oh no, did I mess up!? Did I say it wrong? Ah, I probably said something stupid!?” “No, you said it perfectly.” You buried your face into your hands as Rantaro held you even closer.

· Perhaps… hearing you say it meant more to Rantaro then he had realized. It just… felt so good. “I don’t care if you mess up, stutter or trip over your words, just please keep telling me that in some way, please.”

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herohotline · 4 years

Text

“Why Would You Want Me?”

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinso/You

Summary: Telling the story of how you and Hitoshi became friends, how he doesn’t know how to deal, and how you fall for him anyways.

Word Count: 2,300+

A/N: i kinda went fuckin OFF on this one. Hopefully, yall like all the small things i put in!

Boredom.

That’s what Shinso felt most days- boredom and a constant ache in his jaw that begged him to yawn. There’s another feeling there, lingering around the back of his mind that makes him drag his feet and look at the tile when he walks in crowded hallways. It’s something similar to depression, and if that’s what it is- he supposes it was only a matter of time.

He knows better than anyone else that he’s playing a part in his own apathetic and withdrawn behavior. Shinso knows that life could- would- be better than this if he tried a little harder, but he couldn’t find the effort in him to do so.

His heart yearns for the life of a hero. But his mind? It’s so stuck in his own misery that he can’t do a thing other than continue to go to classes he’s too smart for and talk to people he borderline hates.

But then there’s you- and you’re a big fat question mark in Shinso’s life. You’re quiet and reserved, much like him, but there’s a light in your eyes that his own lack. This is General Studies, so he doesn’t even know your quirk- but he’s sure that you know his. Everyone does.

Everyone hates him. He’s sure that you do, too. So he pays you no mind and goes on with his day, each one just as boring as the last- at least that’s what he tries to do.

You take the first initiative- you actually talk to him. He’s vaguely aware that a group project has been assigned in the class, but he usually doesn’t pay it any mind since no one ever dares to pair up with him. But you hold out your hand and introduce yourself in such a normal way that he can’t help but look at you strangely.

“What?” He asks you, purposefully. It’s practically a challenge. Would you answer him, take the chance of him hijacking your head? Or would you run away like everyone else?

You don’t even stutter or hesitate. “I said I’d like to be your partner. I think we’d do a good job.” Your hand goes back to your side once you realize he isn’t going to shake it. “Will you be my partner?”

Of course he doesn’t use his quirk on you- he never does. Shinso continues to stare at you as if you’re going to change your mind at any second and turn around. You don’t- so he does the only thing he can do in a situation like this.

“Alright.”

He agrees.

---

“Why’d you talk to me?” Shinso asks one day during your study session together for the project. The two of you sat quietly in the library, a board on the table you shared that you taped pretty blue paper on.

“I needed a partner,” you don’t even spare him a glance. “And I was sick of you looking like that.”

He doesn’t even know what you mean but he frowns, offended. “Like what?”

“Like you’d rather die than spend another second in that classroom,” you purse your lips as you look at your handiwork, leaning back with a concentrated hum. You stick out your hand and wiggle your fingers- subconsciously he hands you the stickers. “You always look like that. I can take a good guess as to why, so I thought I’d do the least I could do and not leave you alone.”

“So you asked me out of pity?”

“Pretty much, yeah. What do you think?” You finally look at him, pointing at the board. Shinso squints at you, looking absolutely disgusted.

“It looks like a second-grader put it together.”

“Fuck you, man!” You immediately shout at him, not even considering the fact that you’re both in a library.

Shinso finds that he loves your blunt and carefree personality. No one has ever told him to fuck off in a library before- and he finds that he likes the way it makes him snort and laugh right in your face.

---

Together, you earn the first non-perfect score Shinso has ever made since entering U.A. He should be upset, but he’s not. Especially since you continue to talk to him even after the assignment is done.

He likes that you stick around, that you never hesitate to answer his questions, and that you never let him off the hook. You’re always calling him out- it’s small things like forgetting to bring a lunch and letting his hair grease up from not taking a shower- small things that show you care about him at least a little bit.

You care about him enough to nag, so inevitably, Shinso finds himself caring about you, too.

---

The two of you hang out in your dorm when classes aren’t scheduled. You tried hanging out in Shinso’s once, but it was so ‘boring’ to you that you just went to yours instead- Shinso really didn’t care either way. Most of the time you play games on your TV as Shinso read some of your comics. It was a nice, relaxing downtime that he never had before, so even though you both don’t talk he thinks that’s okay.

You’re playing another dumb otome game today, something Shinso never fails to roll his eyes at you for as he pretends to throw up. You promptly tell him to go fuck himself as you keep dating the flashy, dramatic anime men on screen.

“Who’s your favorite?” He finally finds it in himself to ask. There’s a reason you like these games, right?

“Haru, hands down. I would gladly ride him and he would thank me afterward because he’s fucking gentlemanly like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” Shinso grows a look of disgust and sits himself down next to you, looking at the screen with a scowl. “Is that him?”

“No, this is Maru. He’s okay, I guess. I’m just trying to get achievements.”

“...Do they all have the same name like that?”

“...Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Look, this is a judgment-free zone, okay!” You flush in embarrassment and Shinso grins- a Cheshire cat sort of grin. “This is Haru.”

The first thing he notices is Haru’s wavy, purple hair. His eyes widen and he can’t help but ask, “really?”

“No, I’m absolutely fucking with you. This one is Taru.”

He doesn’t hesitate to grab the pillow beside him and smack you upside the head with it as you cackle loudly at him. This time, he’s the one who’s red in the face, but he supposes he deserves it.

---

It’s another off day, and Shinso should be heading to your room any minute now, but he doesn’t.

He’s fresh from the shower, his hair still wet and dripping as he stands in the middle of his room. An odd, strange, and intense feeling drapes over him like a thick blanket and suddenly Shinso doesn’t want to go anywhere. He doesn’t want to get dressed, doesn’t want to eat and he sure as hell doesn’t want to go and see you.

Some part of Shinso really believed that this hard part was over, but things weren’t ever that easy. He doesn’t even register falling down on his bed and crawling under the covers, his body does it on its own, gladly embracing the empty feeling that came rushing back in tidal waves.

He doesn’t see you that day- and you don’t come knocking on his door to see if anything’s wrong. You don’t say anything at all and somehow that makes the awful ache in his chest so much tighter.

---

Depression is like that- acting like it’s not there never fixes it. The next day, Shinso slowly gets out of bed. He doesn’t eat and he’s late to class, but at least he’s there so that counts in his book. You’re there, watching him as he makes his way to the seat and slumps against it- he ignores you completely.

When the first two classes end and it’s lunch period, you make your way to his desk and gently ask him what’s wrong. It irks Shinso for a reason he can’t quite place. Nonetheless, he assures you that he’s fine.

Why should you care?

Maybe you don’t. Maybe that’s why you walk away from him, leaving him alone in the empty classroom. Shinso’s fists tighten on his desk, nails biting into his palms in crescent shapes, and his jaw clenches.

Of course you don’t care.

---

“Hey.”

Shinso’s body doesn’t move and he doesn’t look up, but he can tell that it’s you standing next to him again. A loaf of bread and a bowl of stew is placed on his desk.

“Have you eaten at all today?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Are you okay?”

Silence.

“...Why are you doing this?” He hears you sigh and then you sit on the desk next to him, leaning your elbows on your knees as you try to look at him. “Why aren’t you talking to me?”

“Why do you care?” Shinso’s eyes burn holes into the bread on his desk. It’s going to leave crumbs and grease.

“Because we’re friends, and I care about my friends. You know that we’re friends, right?”

Don’t do this. Don’t ruin this.

It’s a small voice in his head- he supposes it’s his conscience.

“I know,” he barely whispers. “I just don’t want to talk.”

“...Okay,” you nod and lean back, crossing your legs. “I won’t talk. Eat your food, though. You’ll feel a bit better.”

Shinso does it- and he hates that you’re right. The funk in his head isn’t fully gone, but the rest of the day flows easier thanks to the energy the food gave him.

He’ll have to thank you later.

---

“I’m sorry.”

It takes a few days, but eventually, Shinso comes knocking on your door with the best apology he can manage.

It’s totally lame, but he means it.

“It’s okay,” you let him in your room and close the door behind you and he notices how your eyes look him up and down. “I’m glad you’re doing better.”

“I’m glad I’ve passed your cleanliness test,” he shrugs. He did try to put on some clean clothes before he saw you- though he was tempted to stay in the dirty ones just so he could hear you nag. “...It’s just a funk. Comes every so often. I’m not… used to having friends.” It’s the best explanation he can offer.

“I’m not, either, you know,” You smile at him gently. It makes his stomach flutter, and it’s kind of sickening, but Shinso supposes it’s a better feeling then what he was experiencing before. “I know it’s difficult… But I’m here for you.”

Shinso smiles, too. Because- deep down, despite the depression that skews his view on the world every so often- he knows that you’re telling the truth.

“...Do you wanna play games?”

“Hell yeah.”

---

About a week after that, you do something completely unexpected.

You confess.

“You know… I was lying before.” There’s a noticeable red tint to your cheeks as you look up at the ceiling, directly away from Shinso. “That boy in the game before was actually Haru.”

“...The purple haired one?”

“Yeah.”

His eyebrows furrow together.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I was embarrassed!” You yell at him, and he thinks yeah, obviously. “Because I play dumb otome games and it’s weird. And I totally crushed on Haru because he looks like you.”

Oh.

“This is a really weird way of saying I like you.”

Oh.

“You play an otome game with a guy that looks like me because you like me?” He stares at you, and then he unwillingly snorts with a grin. “That’s so sad.”

“Shut the fuck up! I’m saying I like you, you fucking big-headed idiot, don’t change the subject!”

“Right,” Shinso hums. He’s relaxing against some pillows on your bed and he slowly sits up, his shoulders hunched as he stares at the blankets. “Why?”

“Why, what?” You give him an odd look.

“Why would you…” He huffs through his nose. “Why would you like someone like me, anyway?”

He feels like a dumb teenage girl in some dumb American movie, twiddling his thumbs on your bed as he wallows in self-doubt and waits for your answer. Shinso isn’t a guy who fishes around for compliments- he just genuinely doesn’t get it.

Why would you want someone like him?

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Your answer makes him snap his eyes in your direction, wondering if you’re serious. You look like it, and you scoot closer as you take his hand. “I know you don’t think so, but there’s nothing wrong or undesirable about you. You’re a good friend, you make me laugh and you make me happy… And I don’t really control my feelings, you know. It wasn’t my choice to think about kissing a loser like you.”

His face flushes even darker. “You think about kissing me?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, even though you literally just said it. “Do you?”

Hmm. Shinso swallows, his throat feeling awfully dry and he looks down at your hand that’s clasped around his own. He shifts around uncomfortably under your stare. “I dunno,” he mimics you. “Maybe.”

Fuck yeah, he’s thought about it, but he’s not going to directly tell you that. You’d gloat about it for days, he knows you are because you’re just like him and he already knows he’s going to gloat about the fact that you said it.

“Then, can I kiss you?”

His lips twitch. “Maybe.”

“That’s- that’s not. Dude. I need an answer, here.”

His lips twitch again, forming a grin and he laughs- a flustered small laugh that makes him feel pathetic and embarrassed. “Yeah.”

When your lips meet his, those self-deprecating thoughts melt away. It’s only a second, it’s just a peck- but Shinso licks his lips and finds himself wanting more. “Are you sure?” The boy can’t help but ask- at least he’s looking in your eyes this time. Your beautiful eyes that still have that shine when he first saw you.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” and then you kiss him again.

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thewritingcoroner · 3 years

Note

here's your prompt:

Character A tries Character B's cooking for the first time and Character A doesn't like it so they lie, yet Character B knows them too well. Character B makes Character A eat more and more.

Sorry this took so long! But I threw this together set in the TGT universe! I think it really encapsulates their early relationship quite well. (A= Wil and B= Reese)

Reese had to admit, she wasn’t a good cook.

She and Wil sat across from each other, the fire crackled between them. The smoke from the wood and dead leaves they burned wound itself upwards from underneath a boiling stockpot of stew and between the interlocking branches of the treetops above them. The coals of the fire glowed a soft orange, and Reese was mesmerized. The soft bubbling of the stew along with the crackling of the fire lulled her towards sleep, but she knew if she fell asleep it could mean their deaths.

Besides, dinner was almost done.

She didn’t have fresh meat to cook and include in the stew, so she substituted the jerky she packed before they left the village. She also didn’t have any bone broth, so she simply salted some water and hoped the jerky would leach some juice. Because that’s how it works right?

In hindsight, her training probably should have consisted of basic cooking skills and not just survival on the barest supplies.

She had also brought some vegetables, they were chopped and packed tight in her pack, so she had dumped those in as well. It would be a hearty stew, not very tasty but they’d survive.

Or so she assumed.

Wil on the other hand, had probably never really spent a night hungry in her life. Her camping experiences included pre-prepped meals and fresh meat from hunting. But Reese wouldn’t let her go off on her own to find a rabbit or a squirrel or something to eat because of the dangers presented in an unfamiliar forest. So they settled for jerky stew.

Once she felt the vegetables had fully cooked, Reese spooned out two bowls and handed one over to Wil. The steam smelled essentially of salt water and mud, and Reese knew immediately that this would be a miserable experience. Wil would make fun of her and she’d have no way to defend herself because even she’d have to agree that this was gross.

She’d be damned though if she let Wil know that she hated it too.

She took her first bite, a little bit of vegetable, a sizeable chunk of jerky, and salt water, and it was exactly what she expected. Between overly mushy, flavorless vegetables; tough, soggy jerky; and too much salt by far, the stew was objectively bad. Reese schooled her expression and kept her face as emotionless as possible, but she watched Wil try and fail to hide her disgust. She knew Wil was spoiled, but she was also hungry so Reese doubted that Wil would give up a meal after a long day of walking.

Of course, Reese would have to mess with her.

“How do you like it?” Reese asked, keeping her voice a little gruff to avoid giving herself away.

Wil looked up like she’d been caught. “Uh, it’s very good.”

Oh, perfect. “Really? I’m glad you like it. We have plenty for tonight, and we can’t really take it with us.” Reese nodded towards the stockpot.

“Oh, great.” Wil managed a weak smile, much to Reese’s delight.

They sat in silence again, bugs chirping and buzzing around them, almost drowned out by the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Reese managed to choke down her bowl and with a great relief set it down off to the side.

Wil had mostly finished her bowl, though everything about the way she picked at the leftovers suggested that she was not thrilled about eating it. Reese was about to say something snarky when Wil’s stomach let out a gargle. She wasn’t as used to heavy exercise as Reese was, she must have been a lot hungrier than Reese expected. Reese jumped on the chance to cause extra misery. “You’re still hungry?” She asked. Without waiting for an answer Reese filled Wil’s bowl with even more stew, quite enjoying the alarm on Wil’s face.

Wil muttered a quiet thanks and took another hesitant bite. She took a long time to chew, so Reese assumed she had gotten a particularly tough piece of jerky. Tonight was shaping up to be a pretty good night after all.

Wil took twice as long to finish this bowl. Reese leaned over to check what was left of the stew. “Only enough for one more bowl.” A wolfish smile spread across her face. “You can have it. I’m full, and you’ll need the energy for tomorrow. You’re not as used to strenuous exercise as I am.”

Wil looked ready to protest, her mouth opened just a little as Reese watched protests bubble up. But Wil pushed them back down and offered her empty bowl to be refilled. Reese grinned as she ladled the last of the stew into Wil’s bowl.

It took Wil nearly an hour based on the position of the moon to finish it. She spent entirely too long chewing each bite, which Reese knew from experience only made it worse. The longer it spends on your tongue the longer you have to taste it. Swallow bits whole if necessary.

Wil did eventually finish it though and Reese felt a surge of disappointment that she hadn’t said anything the whole time. Wil handed her bowl back over to Reese to be cleaned and repacked and Reese smirked at her.

“You know, that shit was nasty.” Reese shook her head. “I don’t know how you finished three bowls of that stuff. Not my best work.”

The look on Wil’s face said it all.

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poppy-pelican · 4 years

Text

Darkness on Fire (Chapter 3)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692747/chapters/65866213#workskin

Chapter 3: Mustang and Hawkeye escort the Elrics to what they hope is a safe place.

Roy went back to bed while Hawkeye stayed awake. They were all unnerved after sending Dr. Rockbell home with a vial of blood to give to the rest of his family just in case they had been compelled, too. Hawkeye promised to keep watch so the vampires could sleep. She seemed well, full of vitality, thanks to his blood. It was more than he could say for himself. She’d taken a bit too much from him. He drank some animal blood before going back to bed, but it was unappetizing when he was craving hers so badly.

As he slept, he dreamt of being wrapped in sheets, Hawkeye’s bare skin, his fangs deep in her throat. He woke up with a gasp, his cock hard, fangs elongated. It took him a few minutes to orient himself to where he was, not in his comfortable basement apartment, but in Hohenheim’s study. Roy was grateful Hawkeye wasn’t in the room—and the temptation to have one off quickly was there, but with two impressionable boys around, he stewed in misery instead.

This assignment had gone to shit, fast. As he dressed, he realized why his dreams were plagued with images of Hawkeye. He had given her his blood, and for vampires that was as good as attaching a piece of your soul with them. He’d given his blood to his aunt, and a few others he had fed from, and he could sense them distantly. But Hawkeye was in the same house, tantalizingly close.

Downstairs Ed and Al were complaining to each other because they weren’t allowed to say goodbye to Winry or the rest of the Rockbells.

The moment Roy caught sight of Hawkeye, scrubbing her bloody shirt in the sink, his fangs descended, his whole body tuning toward her. He made sure to keep his mouth shut and went to grab more animal blood. He poured it into a glass, and Trisha swung by and offered him some wine.

“It helps it go down easier,” she said.

“Having more already?” Hawkeye asked, eyes crinkling in concern. “Did I take too much?”

“You’d been stabbed. I think you took what was necessary,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. She would worry too much otherwise. Her guilt about his vampirism was greater than it should be, especially considering how much he enjoyed his new lifestyle. Sure, burning to a crisp in the sun was a major sacrifice, but it was manageable most of the time.

“Hmm,” was all she said in reply, going back to her shirt. “I might have to call this done for. Even if I could fix the hole, this blood is not coming out.”

Roy took a final swig of what he was going to call sheep wine and ignored the urge to offer to suck the blood out of her shirt. He admonished himself. He wasn’t even thirsty in the usual way. It could be compared to wanting a dessert, delicious but not essential.

“Let me see if I can’t find something else to try. The boys are always staining their clothes,” Trisha said, disappearing to search upstairs.

“I think I might have a quick look around in town before we leave,” Roy said to Hawkeye. “I shouldn’t be gone more than half an hour.” If possible, it would be easiest to take the Elrics to a safe house Hohenheim owned by train, although he assumed the station would be watched—Selim would expect it.

“You’re too thirsty to go burning energy like that,” Hawkeye pointed out. “You’ve only had animal blood after giving me a lot of yours. You know how you get.”

“Well, this town doesn’t exactly have a wide selection of willing humans. And Hohenheim would kill me if I asked Trisha…though it would hold me over a lot longer.” As it always did with vampire blood. He needed human blood at least once a month, preferably once a week, to keep him at full strength. When he acted as a donor it was more frequent. Vampire blood could sate his thirst for twice as long.

“You could drink from me. Just this once,” she said, holding up a finger in warning. “Since you gave me some of yours earlier. It’s only fair.”

“But you were just hurt.” His hunger told him to shut up and go for it. It was exactly what he wanted.

“And I feel twice as healthy as normal. I can spare some.” She dropped her wet shirt into the sink, drying her hands on a towel.

“I shouldn’t—”

His fangs betrayed him, descending with thirsty enthusiasm. He covered his mouth as she gave him a smug smile.

“Go ahead.” She rolled her eyes at his hesitation. “Just because I don’t want to be a regular donor doesn’t mean I can’t handle it.”

“I know.” That wasn’t why he held back. The last time he’d tasted her blood, he’d wanted to rut against her like an animal. But that was different, he reminded himself. He had better control now, more practice.

“Wrist or…neck?” she asked.

He shouldn’t. There was a reason he always drank from the wrist.

“Neck,” he said lowly, the words flying out before he could stop them. So much for control.

She pulled her hair to the side, revealing the beautiful curve of her neck. Before he could second guess himself, he cradled her head and shoulder, holding her in place. She gasped at the suddenness, and he heard the warm, wet gushing in her heart pick up speed.

He bit down, taking care to ease his fangs in gently.

She’d always smelled better than anyone else to him. He wondered if it was because her blood initiated him into this lifestyle. It was overwhelming, flavors and feelings pulsing through him rapidly. He usually hurried to drink and leave, but he slowed down his pulls to savor each flow of liquid across his tongue. Why was it so good? Would she let him do this again? God, he hoped so.

He couldn’t stop himself. The quietest moan escaped him, and suddenly it was just like the first time. He was unbearably aroused—almost senseless. He wanted to bury his cock inside her while he fed from her, something he had always thought was overkill. He grunted, biting down the tiniest bit harder. Her breath hitched, and he wanted to grind against her, but he held himself in check, remembering the Elric brothers in the next room—and Trisha upstairs.

Caving to one last taste, he released her with a gasp, licking the wound closed out of habit. Hawkeye shivered against him and he leaned back just enough to gauge her reaction. Her amber eyes were soft, pupils blown wide, and her steady heartbeat danced just a little faster. He wanted to kiss her, but he was also a coward.

“Better than the sheep wine, that’s for sure,” he said, breaking the tension. He didn’t want to let on how turned on he was.

“Sheep wine?” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to know.”

Roy sprinted to town as soon as it was dark enough and found several humans standing suspiciously still and quiet near the train station, positioned at every entrance. They were waiting.

He expected it, but Hawkeye wasn’t going to like it. This meant they would have to cut across the country on foot to the next town over.

Returning to the Elric house, Roy gave Riza the bad news. She sighed. “Well, I better go consolidate our bags—two bags will be too cumbersome if I have to be carried.” She held up an angry finger. “On your back.”

Roy laughed, his smile lingering until he took his post outside to keep watch. He settled under the tree, checking his gun and his gloves.

It wasn’t long before Ed appeared.

“Riza is not happy about this,” Ed informed him. “She told Mom it makes her feel like an invalid.”

“Well, to make it to our destination before sunrise, it’s what we have to do. She knows that,” Roy explained, watching the boy in amusement. Ed was fidgeting—tugging his braid, tucking his hands in and out of his pockets.

“Why is she still human?” Ed asked out of the blue. “She has your blood in her. Why don’t you just snap her neck and keep her forever?”

Roy choked. “What?”

“Riza,” Ed clarified, as if Roy just hadn’t known who he meant.

“Turning someone…isn’t a science. It fails almost as often as it succeeds.” And Roy had no plans to live forever. He would step into the sun when the time was right. Immortality had no appeal to him. Hawkeye’s own thoughts on immortality were…murky. She once said being a vampire was better than being dead, but he wasn’t sure she thought it was better than being alive and human. Going out into the sun.

Roy wouldn’t say vampirism was superior to humanity, but if he could choose to return to being a human, it would be a difficult choice. Blood was divine—Hawkeye’s was especially intoxicating. Smells were stronger, but not in a bad way. It made things interesting. And with the difference in his vision and senses, the moon felt as warm as the sun had when he was human. Regular food tasted better, too. He didn’t need as much anymore, but what he did eat was a full explosion of flavors, even if it was just a simple tomato off the vine. The increased strength and speed were undoubtedly his favorite though.

Ed must have been deep in thought too because he said, “That must be why Dad says I can’t go around changing all my friends into vampires when I’m older.”

Roy held back a laugh. “Probably not the best idea, no.”

“But…I don’t want to live forever without Winry.” Ed sighed. “Don’t you feel that way about Riza? You guys are best friends, right?”

A dark something twisted in Roy’s gut.

“Yes, best friends. I’ve known her since she was about your age.” Back when her best friend was a dog, and Roy’s best friend was his alchemy studies.

Berthold Hawkeye was a brilliant man, but a mediocre father. He’d been fearful of vampires ever since his wife was killed by one, and his research in flame alchemy was born from his desire to destroy vampires. It had taken precedence over everything in his life, even raising Riza. But Berthold loved his daughter, and Roy guessed that some of his obsession in finding a weapon against vampires came from the need to keep her safe. Roy had been tossed out of the house when he’d argued making peace with vampires was for the good of all, but when his master was dying…he had asked Roy to protect her.

An underground tunnel beneath the house had been as much a surprise to Edward and Alphonse as it had to Riza and Mustang. Trisha had given a nervous smile as she uncovered a secret opening in the closet floor.

“Wow!” the boys cheered, jumping down into the dirt, bags over their shoulders. Riza was much less enthused, but grateful they could leave the house unseen from the outside.

“Hohenheim has been working on these since he turned me,” Trisha said. “About fifteen years ago.”

“This is the best trip ever!” Al said, his voice muffled inside the tunnel.

Trisha dropped down next. “Boys, don’t run ahead. There are some dead ends your father constructed on purpose. You’ll get lost on your own and wind up in Xing or someplace.”

“Al’s right. This is kind of fun,” Mustang said, grinning at Riza as he took their bag and leapt into the tunnel. Riza was last. She peered down the opening. It was a farther drop than it looked. Of course, Hohenheim built it with vampires in mind, not a petite human.

“Is there a ladder?” she asked, without hope for an affirmative.

“Just slide down on your stomach and I’ll catch you,” Mustang said.

And probably get an unflattering view of her backside, she thought sourly, but she did as instructed, aware that dropping straight to the floor would likely sprain her ankles if Mustang missed.

“Ugh,” she said, fighting the urge to kick her legs for a foothold the farther down she went.

She felt Mustang’s hands steady her, easing her descent. Then things went in a different direction as she lowered herself more. His hands ran up her legs, across her hips, until she was on the ground pressed against him, chest to chest. Oh, that was—

He released her with a nervous chuckle, practically shoving her away.

“See? Simple,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, taking in the tunnel before them. It was pitch black. “I won’t be able to see a thing.”

Mustang snapped his fingers, illuminating the long tunnel before them. He also lit a candle Trisha was suddenly holding.

“You’ll still have to be carried,” he told her, “but any light will just blow out.”

Riza understood. Not only did she have to be carried like a child, she had to do it while blind. She couldn’t shoot in the dark.

“I can’t remember the last time I rode on someone’s back,” she groused, as the boys giggled at her predicament.

“Just hop on!” Al said encouragingly. He demonstrated by tackling his older brother, then squeezing his neck in a pretend chokehold while Ed dramatically gasped for air.

“I hate being such a burden,” Riza said, but as Mustang squatted down, she winked at the boys and ran at him, pretending to choke him just as Al had done to Ed. She grinned as they laughed—even Trisha’s worry lines fading as Mustang acted like he was going to drop her. He recognized what Riza wanted to do for the family: put them at ease.

“I’ve given you a piggyback ride before, you know,” Mustang said. “You must’ve been twelve because I was about sixteen. You sprained your ankle and couldn’t walk home from school,” he said.

“Oh! I forgot. That might have been the last time I did this.” She’d been in too much pain to have any fun with the experience back then.

“And here we are again,” he said fondly, except when he gave her thighs a friendly squeeze, it made her heart race in a very non-platonic way.

The rest of the run through the tunnel was as unpleasant as she expected. Her human body wasn’t made for being jostled at high speeds, and her teeth were clenched together to keep from biting her tongue. No matter how careful Mustang was, he could not cushion her perfectly. Worse, being totally blind meant she could only concentrate on her other senses. The smell of Mustang’s aftershave, the way his large hands adjusted his grip on her thighs whenever he took a turn or ran down a steep slope, the warmth of his back…

Forcing those thoughts from her mind, she concentrated on alternate routes to the safe house in Central Trisha wanted to go to.

They finally stopped at an exit, which was as bad as the entrance at the Elric home. This time Trisha gave Riza a boost while Mustang pulled her up. Out of the tunnel, they found themselves under a bridge that reached over a wide creek—which explained the earthy-fish smell that had appeared in the tunnel.

“I know my way around, so I’ll go check the train station. They have a midnight train we could still catch,” Trisha said.

“Mom,” Ed started to protest, but she blew her sons a kiss and vanished. Mustang didn’t have time to argue either.

“It’s probably for the best. You’ve never been here before,” Riza said. “And leaving me with the boys in the dark—” She shrugged.

“Yes, you’re right,” Mustang said. “If your mother takes longer than thirty minutes,” he addressed the boys, “I’ll go after her.”

“At least the tunnels were fun,” Al said optimistically. “I wonder why Mom and Dad didn’t tell us?”

“To keep you quiet about it. You know you can’t keep a secret,” Ed teased.

“Yes, I can!”

While the boys began listing the various secrets the other had spilled over the years, Mustang turned to Riza.

“We might have to separate,” he said. “You could go with the boys to the safe house. Travel in the daytime.”

“Only if we have to,” Riza said, but his logic was sound. She was torn between her responsibility to watch over Mustang versus the family. She could not protect them all.

When Trisha returned, she was running at full tilt, her dress flying behind her. Roy heard her arriving before the others, so he leapt to attention, nudging Hawkeye.

“Quick,” Trisha whispered urgently. “Back to the tunnel!”

The boys dropped in first, followed by Trisha, Roy made the executive decision to grab Hawkeye and leap down with her in his arms. He could tell it was a rough landing, but she only grunted.

“We need to seal the entrance with alchemy,” Roy said. Ed was quick, concentrating for a moment before clapping. With a brief glow, it was done.

“Now we run. They can probably still hear us down here,” Hawkeye said, wiggling out of Roy’s arms. He was momentarily confused as she kept her hands on him, fingers tracing across his chest and arms, before he realized she couldn’t see in the darkness and was trying to climb on his back. He helped her up, reveling in the sensation of her arms around his neck. She smelled good, and his fangs, wildly misbehaving on this assignment, were aching to sink into her veins.

They kept a brisk pace until the boys tired and needed a more human speed. Roy could feel Hawkeye’s relief as she relaxed against him.

“I could walk,” she said, and he heard the sluggishness in her voice. He wondered how much sleep she’d managed the past few days.

“Stay put,” he said. “If we need to take off, you’re already in position.”

The group remained quiet, fearing anyone following them would overhear them. Trisha led the way—only she knew where they were going.

It was almost sunrise when they neared the other safe house’s entrance, stopping far enough out that their presence wouldn’t be noticed.

“A friend lives here,” Trisha said. “Well, Van’s friend. I haven’t been able to meet him much. He doesn’t know about the boys.”

That wasn’t ideal. “Can you trust him?”

“Van believes so. And they have an agreement about the tunnels. Barry can come to our home as easily as we can go to his in an emergency. It’s been a couple of years and he’s never abused it. He’s one of only a few who have direct access.”

Roy clutched Hawkeye closer. He wasn’t sure how he felt about introducing an unknown vampire to his very human companion.

“How about Hawkeye stays back with the boys while we introduce ourselves?” Roy suggested.

“Good idea,” Trisha said.

Roy reluctantly put Hawkeye down, guiding her to sit beside the boys. He got the candle Trisha had brought along, setting it up in front of them with a snap of his fingers.

“Can we eat something?” Al asked. “I’m so hungry.”

“Just wait until I get back. I have some snacks in the bag,” Trisha said.

“And what if Dad’s friend doesn’t let us in?” Ed asked.

“Then we sleep in the tunnels. It will be like camping,” Trisha said, forcing a smile.

No one wanted to sleep in the cramped tunnels. It wasn’t even wide enough for two people to walk comfortably side by side. Not to mention the many little creatures who had made their home here.

It was with this concern in mind that Roy and Trisha hurried down the tunnel. Unlike the other exits they had passed, this one had a heavy door with an elaborate “S” carved into the wood—an old symbol for vampires to know they could find shelter there. Trisha forced open the trap door. Roy watched from below, ready to snap.

“Hello!” a grating voice cheered from above. “Trisha, my beauty, is that you?”

“You shameless flirt,” she said, flustered.

A stocky man with wild, stringy hair peered down at them.

“And who’s this guy? You cheating on my man Van?” Barry asked, his voice teasing. Then he inhaled deeply, his eyes focusing on Roy. “And you have a tasty smelling human with you. And…two others?”

Roy was impressed with Barry’s sense of smell, but very displeased with his description of Hawkeye. Even if he agreed.

“We’re in a bit of a bind,” Trisha said, letting Barry hoist her out of the tunnel. Roy pulled himself out, keeping an eye on Barry. The tunnel connected to a small, messy wine cellar. There was more wine than it could contain, and the bottles had been lined in tight rows on the floor with no semblance of order. Barry was either a lush, a hoarder, or both.

As Trisha explained the situation to Barry, the vampire just laughed and laughed as the story got more outrageous. He didn’t seem to hold it against them that Hohenheim and Trisha hadn’t mentioned their sons before, but Roy didn’t know Barry well enough to tell if he was putting on a front. Barry was also delighted to have a vampire celebrity gracing his home. The Flame Alchemist had a reputation, for better or worse. At least he knew Roy could burn him alive if he tried anything.

An hour later, Barry had put together a small but strange feast in his blacked-out dining room. The table had been covered in old newspapers, dishes, and knickknacks, but Barry had cleared it off without complaint while cooking dinner.

“I used to be a butcher, but I was never a good cook,” Barry said as the water boiled over. Trisha had stepped in to help, and together they found enough to feed everyone. Trisha acted cheerful and helpful, but she had borrowed Barry’s phone and gone through half a dozen numbers attempting to reach Hohenheim. He hadn’t answered, meaning he had no idea what had happened to his family. When Roy saw her hang up the phone the last time, she had looked defeated, her face pinched unpleasantly.

At dinner, Ed and Al were all over the sandwiches and spaghetti like it was the perfect pairing. To kids, it probably was.

Hawkeye tackled the spaghetti with perfect manners, but Roy could tell she wanted to dig in with the same gusto as the boys. Her stomach had been growling with hunger for hours. Roy and the other vampires didn’t need to eat as much, so he gave her half his sandwich when she wasn’t looking. He could admit some of it was for selfish reasons—her blood smelled better when she was well fed. She ate it without complaining of his generosity, which said something of her hunger.

“Dad said you used to kill people when you were human,” Ed said to Barry, in that forthright way he always used. “Is that true?”

Barry guffawed. “Oh, he told you that, did he?” Roy looked over at Trisha who was avoiding his gaze. “It’s very true. You might know me as Barry the Chopper.”

Roy’s eyebrows shot up. He knew well of that serial killer. “You were supposed to have been executed!”

“And I was,” Barry said, putting on a ghostly voice as the young boys listened raptly, eyes wide. “Before my execution, a strange woman came and started asking me questions. Was I related to any other vampires? Had I had vampire blood before? Had I let a vampire drink from me? On and on. After I was executed…I woke up in a lab, and they studied me like a lab rat.”

“Then the government was behind this?” Hawkeye asked, putting down her fork. Her undivided attention to her food had been diverted.

“They wanted to see if there were any conditions that made vampire transformation more favorable,” he said. “There were many others there in the labs—some prisoners, some folks taken right off the street. All vampires. And just as many corpses leftover from the failed attempts.”

“So they wanted to turn more vampires,” Roy said, the grim truths behind the former regime were endless. Just when he thought he’d heard the worst of it, something new was uncovered.

“For a vampire army,” Barry said, laughing again. “Crazy bastards.”

“How long were you there?” Hawkeye asked.

“Only a year or so. Then the uprising began. They wanted us all to fight for their side, but many went AWOL. Including me.”

“And did you start killing innocent people again?” Hawkeye asked. The conversation was beginning to sound like an interrogation.

“Nah, as a vampire, turns out my bloodlust is easier to sate now that I drink blood,” Barry gave a toothy grin. “I’ve been on my best behavior since I turned.”

Hawkeye looked skeptical but said nothing. Roy wagered she didn’t approve. He mused over the ethics of Barry’s situation. Technically, Barry had suffered the punishment of his crimes. Should they imprison him again? Capturing vampires during the uprising had been challenging, usually ending in death rather than imprisonment, but they had found the right blend of reinforced metals that had successfully held vampires. Or most. Alchemist vampires were a different breed altogether.

But Roy had a bigger question on his mind he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Did they learn the secret to becoming a vampire?” He tried not to look at Hawkeye because he wasn’t going to change her when she was healthy and well, but if she was dying…

“No. It remains a mystery,” Barry said. “Ol’ Van delved into it, too, when he found this pretty thing,” he said, leering at Trisha.

“Gross,” Ed said under his breath.

“You and Hohenheim were together before you were a vampire?” Hawkeye asked her. Roy had heard the story from Hohenheim. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell Hawkeye about it. It wasn’t a story he would share in front of children, either.

Trisha nodded. “We were. I found him irresistibly charming.” She said softly, eyes misty. “We were already married when I became very ill quite suddenly…” she drifted off. She looked at her sons and was able to summon a genuine smile. “And luckily when I died, I was able to return.”

Trisha left out the worst of it. Hohenheim said she was so ill near the end, her quality of life in shreds, that she had asked for his blood one last time. The next morning while he was in town, she’d ended her suffering. Alone.

Roy hid his grimace with his glass of wine.

He reflected on Hohenheim’s original plan. After marrying Trisha, he wanted to age himself alongside her. Vampires usually manipulated their age to be younger, but growing older beside a treasured human had been done on occasion—or so Roy had heard.

If Trisha’s transformation had failed, her husband would have let the sun end his immortal life.

Roy could think of only one person whose death could drive him to do the same, but he also had made her a promise to destroy the vampires who sought to enslave humanity. Could he strive for that goal without her by his side?

“What about little missy here? How’d you get mixed up with the Flame Alchemist?” Barry asked, his eyes on the pulse in Hawkeye’s neck. Roy fought the urge to pull out his gloves.

“He used to give me piggyback rides when I was a girl,” Hawkeye said, glancing at Roy as her amber eyes twinkled.

Barry laughed uproariously. “So you’re just…old friends? Or do you hang around as a donor?”

“To be most accurate, right now he’s my boss,” she replied, casually twirling her fork on her plate. Didn’t she see where Barry was headed with this line of questioning? Roy threw back the last of his wine like a shot.

“I just need to know about the sleeping arrangements,” Barry said. “If you two want to bunk together, or if you want to share with me, or—”

“Barry! Can’t you tell Uncle Roy is about to incinerate you?” Ed chimed in, causing Al to spit out his water as he giggled. Trisha halfheartedly scolded Ed for rudeness, but she was smiling too much to be effective.

Hawkeye turned to Roy. “Really, sir?”

He held up his hands in surrender.

“Uncle Roy and Riza were sharing a room at our house,” Al said innocently, slurping up a noodle. “And I saw him drinking her blood in the kitchen.”

“I see how it is!” Barry said.

“It’s really not like that,” Hawkeye said, and Roy was pleased to see her cheeks were pink.

“So you didn’t give him your blood?” Trisha asked, sounding a lot like her younger son. Deceptive. Trisha came off sweet and motherly, but there was a feisty vampire in there, after all. Roy’s respect for her rose.

“Well, yes,” Hawkeye stumbled over her words.

“From the neck!” Ed added. “And everybody knows what that means.”

“What does it mean?” Al asked, baffled.

Trisha shushed them. “Boys, finish eating. It’s far past your bedtime.”

Living the bachelor life, Barry had only one extra bedroom. He gave his own to Trisha and the boys, offering Hawkeye and Roy the other while giving an obscene wink. He also insisted on taking over the watch, saying the five of them needed their rest. Roy was hesitant, but there was no polite way to refuse him. Besides, it was daytime, and threats could only be compelled humans. Easy enough for one vampire, and there were two more on hand plus a sharpshooter.

Roy and Hawkeye each took a look around the house, familiarizing themselves with the floor plan before returning to their assigned bedroom. Everything was a bit messy. Barry had haphazardly tidied up, shoving books and clothes onto the floor with enough room to walk to the bed. Roy was sure it was never used for guests. There was a disturbing collection of butcher knives displayed on one wall, warning anyone who wanted to sleep here that their host was a madman.

Hawkeye crawled onto the bed with the determination of a soldier, boots still on.

“You’re just going to sleep?” Roy teased, but he was oddly apprehensive seeing how small the bed was. He didn’t trust himself. Her cloying scent invited him closer, and he barely kept his fangs in check.

“I could go keep watch with Barry, if you’d like,” she said, propping her head on her hand. Roy buried the rush of unreasonable jealousy at the thought of her alone with their creepy host.

“Just wondering where that atrocious nightgown is,” he said instead.

“I had to leave it at the Elric home,” she said. “Not enough room in one bag for both our things.”

The disappointment must have shown on his face because she sat up on the bed.

“I’m on to you,” she said, wagging a finger at him.

“It’s hideous,” he insisted, even as his cheeks grew warm.

She grinned and settled back down to sleep. Roy turned off the light, deciding to take his cue from her and keep even his shoes on. Even with the light off, his vision still allowed him to see her. The room was stuffy and warm, but it meant no blankets, so he watched her curl up on her side, leaving him space behind her back.

He crept in beside her, aware of the creaking of the bed as his weight joined hers. It all felt incredibly intimate. He only shared beds with women he had sex with. He listened greedily to the swiftness of her breathing and heartbeat. Outwardly, she was stoic and still. If he were still human, he’d think her unaffected by his proximity. She was not.

Why she was reacting was a mystery he couldn’t confidently solve. Was she attracted to him? Possibly. Was it merely the novelty of sharing a bed with a man? Or because he was that man? Since learning she was still a virgin, he had been replaying the years of their friendship in a new light.

Hawkeye had been so young when she gave him the secrets to flame alchemy—only sixteen. Roy had been twenty, but his thoughts had been academic and focused. Now it made him wonder if he was the only one to have seen her lethal tattoo, and why that made him so happy.

The ambush came midday. Riza was awakened by Mustang jostling her awake.

“Get your guns, head to the Elrics’ room,” he whispered. He bolted out the door.

Familiar with this kind of wake up from her days in the militia, Riza was out the door in under a minute, heart pounding, mind focused on her destination.

Gun drawn, she heard scuffling and snarling downstairs. A snap followed by gut-wrenching screams. Riza knocked on the door where the family had been sleeping.

“Trisha? Are you all okay?” Riza asked, watching the staircase—the only way to access the upstairs. Windows, maybe, if they were desperate.

“We’re fine,” Trisha said through the door, her voice strained. “They somehow transported vampires here. I think there are at least two.”

As if summoned, an unfamiliar vampire blurred at the top of the stairs, rushing at Riza. He was heavyset, but frighteningly fast—and armed. Riza aimed her pistol for his bald head, pulling the trigger at the same time the vampire returned fire. Blood and brains sprayed across the wallpaper, and Riza dodged, tumbling into a stack of boxes. Something sharp cut across her hand, but the vampire’s bullet missed her. She repositioned herself behind the boxes, adrenaline thrumming through her as she waited a moment to see if anyone else appeared. The violent noises from below continued.

As stealthily as she could manage, she hurried down the stairs, past the corpse of the vampire, pausing at the bottom to peer around the corner. The clutter of Barry’s home looked like a tornado had swept through. The stench of burnt vampire hung in the air, and two humans writhed on the floor in agony, while two others wrestled against Mustang’s far greater strength. Riza could tell he was trying to be gentle, in case they were compelled, but Riza had no such qualms. She shot one in the leg, the other the arm. The pain overrode their ability to fight back.

“Thanks,” Mustang huffed.

“Is that all of them?” she asked, not moving from her post.

“Two more humans outside. You got the big guy?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “And the family is safe.”

“Good. Can you take care of the two outside? I’ll deal with these four,” he said, binding the intruders’ hands with scraps of fabric he ripped from their own shirts. The humans were all large, younger men, dressed in rough clothes—something poorer folks would wear. Riza suspected they had been compelled because of their strength. If they even had been compelled. Sometimes people pretended to be compelled to escape consequences. Mustang would find out.

Riza slipped outside into the bright sunshine, seeing Barry’s home from the outside for the first time. It was an isolated house, surrounded by trees, with a long driveway where a large truck was parked. There was no sign of the two humans except the truck’s motor rumbling. Riza bumped into a large box, and she figured it must have been used to somehow smuggle the vampires into the house—unless they had known about the tunnel, which was a possibility if Barry had betrayed them. She hadn’t seen him with Mustang.

Riza hunkered behind the box, wishing for a little more coverage to approach the truck. There was too much open space.

But her targets made it easy for her. They dropped out of the truck, guns drawn without skill, more for threatening her. Riza disabled them as she had many soldiers over the years. A bullet for each of them.

“Drop your weapons!” she yelled, approaching with caution. She didn’t want to shoot either of them again, but she would. They refused, and one of them aimed at her. She shot at his wrist, forcibly disarming him. The other took a shot at her, but his arm had already been shot. His bullet went wide.

After that, her greatest challenge was dragging two grown men across the wide expanse of yard as they cussed at her and cried out in pain. One of them took a swing at her, and her cheek was still throbbing when Ed and Al tiptoed into the yard like skittish kittens.

“Mom said we could help you,” Ed explained.

“Go for it,” she said. Or she was going to lose her temper and shoot the intruders dead.

The brothers had no sympathy for the humans, pulling them through the gravel without mercy much faster than Riza was capable. She took more satisfaction than she should have from the men’s shock as they were bested by mere boys.

Inside, Mustang was donating blood to each human, and compelling them for answers one by one, despite what looked like worrisome injuries. He was pushing himself too far again, Riza thought.

Trisha had also made an appearance and had her wrist in Barry’s mouth. He was covered in slashes. It looked like he had been thrown against a wall, based on the dent above him.

He finished feeding and groggily waved Riza over.

“Oh, missy, you have a shiner marring that gorgeous cheek of yours,” he said, his words slurring as he sat up. “I’d give you some of my blood, but as you can see, I’m fresh out.”

Riza smiled gently. “It’s nothing serious, but thank you for the offer.”

Trisha joined Mustang compelling the humans. After they had their information, they compelled the men to forget everything and go home in the truck.

“Two of them did it for money, the rest were compelled,” Mustang told Riza grimly. “I think the female vampire,” he pointed at some ashes, “was the same one who used Dr. Rockbell.”

“That’s a relief,” Riza said.

“Yes and no,” Mustang said. “How did they find us here? Do they know the tunnels and where they connect to?”

“Maybe we should avoid the tunnels for now,” Trisha said, attempting to sweep some cracked drywall from where Barry had been smashed into it.

“I think that’s best,” Mustang agreed. He ran his hands through his hair, falling into a chair in exhaustion. “We’re all tired. We have no way to contact Hohenheim safely…Let’s rest until sunset, then head out on foot.” Riza’s exhausted body approved of the idea.

“I could drive you part way,” Barry said. “I have a safe place on the way to Central. It’s not much, but you’ll be protected from the sun.”

The boys were sent up to bed while the adults sketched out a more thorough plan for nightfall and fixed up Barry’s house. It was only when Riza finally marched up the stairs to return to bed that she remembered the body of the vampire she had killed—but it was gone, only a black, smoky spot left behind.

She hoped the boys hadn’t seen it before Mustang took care of it. As if reading her mind, he caught up to her.

“Only Trisha saw him. And good riddance to that bastard,” he said, giving Riza a nudge toward the bedroom door. “He took a bite out of my arm!”

Riza looked closer at Mustang with concern. His black shirt disguised the fact he was covered in blood. Like Barry, his wounds had healed, but Mustang and Trisha had only had animal blood from Barry’s stash. Mustang was still stronger than Riza, without question, but he wouldn’t be as strong as a well-fed vampire. His thirst would be a weakness she would need to compensate for.

“You’re a mess. Why don’t you go wash up first?” she offered. He nodded and left.

Riza went to the bedroom, brushed her hair and picked out a clean change of clothes while Mustang was gone. Then she took a turn in the bathroom. Looking in Barry’s dingy mirror, she could tell she was going to have a black eye. And while washing her hand she reopened the cut on her palm. She would have to dig through her bag for some bandages.

She opened the door to the bedroom quietly, and found Mustang already lying down, hands tucked under the back of his head. The moment she shut the door, he scurried to the end of the creaky bed.

“Uh, you’re bleeding,” he said, his whole body rigid and focused on her. Like a predator. It was very unlike him. She had cut herself numerous times in front of him—and other vampires—without issue.

“Oh, yes, I scraped my hand. Nothing major,” she said. She gasped when suddenly he was only a foot away.

“Sorry,” he apologized, stumbling back to the bed. “I’m a bit thirstier than I thought.”

“I don’t want to make a habit of it, but…I can give you mine again.”

His tongue ran across his fangs. “You’re tired. And hurt.”

“You’re the one best equipped to protect that family. You need to be at your best.” She thought of the embarrassing teasing from the boys at dinner and offered her wrist, resisting the urge to crane her head to the side.

“You’re far too generous, Hawkeye,” he said. He took her hand instead, spreading her fingers apart and studying the thin slice that marred her skin. His breath fanned over her palm while she held her own breath in anticipation. He merely licked across her hand to ensure the wound would close.

She shivered at the sensation of his tongue but was startled by the burn of disappointment he wasn’t going to feed from her. Then he quickly yanked her into his lap as he settled them on the bed, his hand hot and intimate on her waist. His lips brushed the side of her neck, hesitating as he waited for permission.

And part of her thought she should stop him, offer her wrist and return to the vampire hunting partnership they had before—nothing but a professional friendship.

She arched her neck.

“Please.”

His fangs pierced her neck, groaning as he sucked on her flesh. His hand stroked down to the small of her back, resting just above the curves below.

Heat flooded through her, radiating to her core. Fighting the urge to squirm on his lap, she clutched his shirt tightly as she panted raggedly. What was it about feeding him that aroused her so much? She knew there was a relaxant in their saliva, kind of like certain spiders, but this was different. Her whole body hummed in anticipation, like his bite was just preparing her for something more carnal. Maybe she should be worried. She wasn’t.

A woozy feeling overcame her, and she reached her hand to cup his cheek.

“Roy, that’s too much,” she said.

He immediately pulled back, biting his wrist and holding it up to her. Still high from the intoxicating experience of feeding him, she bent her head to drink, the heady taste buzzing through her like strong wine. It was addictive.

Her mind lost to sensations, it was with dim awareness she realized she was rocking against something thick and hard. She stilled her hips as embarrassment coursed through her, releasing his wrist and licking her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She closed her eyes, unable to look at him.

“Never be sorry for that,” he gasped. And then he rolled them so he was on top of her, her legs wrapping around him instinctually to grind against him through their clothes. She wanted more friction, more bare skin.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, nuzzling into her neck as she carded her fingers through his hair. “I want to taste you everywhere.”

Then his hands froze at her waist, body tensing.

“What is it?” she asked, mirroring his posture. The high of being in his arms was washed away with cold fear. And something that was almost regret seeped into her bones.

Then Mustang rolled off her with a string of frustrated curses, and she realized she was missing something.

“Barry is a bastard,” Mustang said, voice at regular volume. A cackle came from downstairs. Oh.

“It’s for the best. You’re always mixing food with pleasure. It was bound to happen,” she said, giving him an out. Or herself. She wasn’t sure.

“Uh, yes,” he said with palpable relief. “I’m sure your father would disapprove of you working for a vampire, let alone…” He trailed off awkwardly.

“Very true.” Her father would have never given a vampire sympathizer his alchemy, or even worked with a vampire. And he would have thrown her out for willingly sharing blood with one.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” Mustang said, disappearing without another word.

She heard Barry laughing again and another rush of mortification hit her. If Barry had heard her with Mustang, the Elrics could have, too. With shame, Riza remembered they were on a dangerous assignment, protecting a lovely family from harm. It was not the time to fall into bed with her boss. And realistically, it should never happen, assignment or not. There was a complex, painful history between them that she was sure sex wouldn’t help whatsoever.

Maybe if there were some genuine feeling on his end, but she knew Roy Mustang. He flitted from woman to woman, and while moments ago Riza wanted to lose herself to the thrill of touching and being touched by him…She also knew she was a serious, monogamous person. It was one of the reasons she was still a virgin. And with Mustang, her heart could not afford to be careless. He was too important to her.

#royai #royai AU #roy mustang x riza hawkeye #vampire roy mustang #fanfic #Fullmetal Alchemist #ao3 #FMA #riza hawkeye #vampire au

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megashadowdragon · 3 years

Text

on lukes moment of weakness and how it is fitting for luke among other comments

Personally I TOTALLY believe that George's Luke would have been VERY similarly to Rian's Luke.

And here is the reason why.... Luke has almost always been George's insert (lucas pronunced luke S ) and it makes total sense for Luke to be "exiled" and secluded away just as George became with Star Wars after the backlash of the prequels. But at the end of it, he comes back and stands up for what makes Star Wars what it is. Which is what Luke does for the Jedi and themes of Star Wars by the end of TLJ. He has learned from his mistakes, atoned for them, found redemption, confronted those he has failed, inspired hope, and learned to show compassion once again.

Now while George may have done it differently, I do believe that Luke being in exile was a metaphor for George's own relationship with Star Wars and its fandom.

www . reddit . com/r/StarWars/comments/ebb4f3/lukes_momentaneous_thought_of_killing_ben_solo/

I know I'm stepping on dangerous territory here by talking about The Last Jedi, and I only do this because I think this is an interesting take on a key moment of the movie. Just bear in mind that I do not intend to make my point-of-view the absolute truth of it. After all, this is just my opinion.

We all know very well how divisive Episode VIII was, with many people pationately hating that movie. One of the main reasons of complaint is the fact Luke Skywalker had attempted to kill his apprentice and nephew, Ben Solo, because he sensed the Dark Side to be too strong in the latter. Luke Skywalker, the only person in the entire galaxy that saw there was still light in Darth Vader, tried to kill his relative. When even Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda had lost all hope Anakin could be saved, Luke helped putting him on the path of redemption, helping Vader turn back to the Light and fulfill the prophecy of the Chosen One. It seems to be an insult that this same character gave up on his nephew so easily and tried to kill him.

I believe things must be analyzed more carefully.

I've just finished marathoning the Skywalker Saga (by the way, I STRONGLY recommend the Ersnt Rister order: IV-V-I-II-III-VI) and noticed something very interesting while watching Return Of The Jedi.

During the final moments of Luke and Vader's duel aboard the Death Star II, we see the young Jedi Knight wants to avoid fighting his father so as not to fall in the trecharous web of Palpatine, who wants to turn the young Skywalker to the Dark Side. Luke is hiding beneath the Emperor's throne. Vader chases him and, through the Force, reads Luke's thoughts to lure him into confrontation:

You cannot hide forever, Luke. Give yourself to the Dark Side. It is the only way you can save your friends. Yes, your thoughts betray you. Your feelings for them are strong. Especially for... sister! So, you have a twin sister!

In this moment, we see Luke's face and he's completely terrified by the idea Darth Vader found out about his sister. It is something new and Luke fears for Leia's well-being. Also, we hear from Vader's words that he cares a lot about his friends, the people he loves. Vader continues:

Your feelings have now betrayed her too. Obi-Wan was wise to hide her from me. Now his failure is complete. If you will not turn to the Dark Side, THEN PERHAPS SHE WILL!

Now we have something different. Since he was brought before the Emperor, Luke had been constatly confronted by Palpatine and Vader with the idea of him turning to the Dark Side. When Vader talks about the possibility of that happening to Leia, it's not a threat directed to him, but to someone he loves. In this moment, Luke loses it completly and attacks Vader viciously, totally enraged. The Sith Lord can't stand the power of his son, fuelled by hate and falls to the ground, defeated. In this moment Luke is prepared to make the final blow, but then he hears Palpatine laughing and clapping. This makes him go back to his senses and realize what he's been doing. He then turns off his lightsaber and refuses to kill his father.

"I'm a Jedi, like my father before me" and so on... we know what happens, so let's fast-forward to The Last Jedi.

When Luke is confronted by Rey, who demands him to tell what had happened between him and Kylo Ren, we learn how things unfolded through Luke's perspective:

I saw darkness. I sensed it building in him. I'd seen it in moments during his training. But then I looked inside, and it was beyond what I ever imagined.

In this moment of the flashback we see Luke's hand reaching out to his lightsaber, almost unconsciously. He then proceeds:

. He would bring destruction and pain and death, AND THE END OF EVERYTHING I LOVE BECAUSE OF WHAT HE WILL BECOME, AND FOR THE BRIEFEST MOMENT OF PURE INSTINCT, I THOUGHT I COULD STOP IT.

Here it is again. Like in Episode VI, we see Luke reacting in a similar way by the notion of something posing a threat not to him, but to the people he loves and cares about. Luke feared Ben would destroy everything he cherished, just like Vader had threatened by turning Leia to the dark. And, just like in the OT, it was a passing shadow:

It passed like a fleeting shadow, and I was left with shame and with consequence. And the last thing I saw were the eyes of a frightened boy whose Master had failed him.

I've already written way more than I expected, so I'll just conclude here. I've realized the act Luke commits in the Sequels is the same (or at least VERY similar) as from the OT: he attempted to kill Vader then his nephew, out of fear of seeing what/who he loved destroyed. He repented and managed to stop himself in the act in both situations. And he was ashamed. So, at least regarding this point of the movie, I see the same Luke Skywalker.

(luke had more to lose now then he did before

another example which I saw dont remember where I saw it but I saved the comments unfortunately I didnt put in the links:

edit: (now I remember www . reddit . com/r/StarWars/comments/9a3hdl/)

Luke considered killing Ben for about two seconds in a vulnerable moment

Sort of like he almost got baited into killing Vader by a few mocking words, and cut the hand off his own father in blind rage.

Luke is still just a person. If we've learned anything in Star Wars it's that the Jedi are not superhuman paragons of virtue and perfection, no matter how they might appear to the unwashed masses in the SW universe. They have the same flaws, temptations, failures, etc as anyone else. Yes the Force can help them overcome some of this, but they're far from perfect. Luke could have, and I agree should have grown in a positive way, but it's not impossible or even unbelievable that he didn't. He just had his life's labor wiped out in front of him and blamed himself for it. All those years of finding lost Jedi knowledge and artifacts, being what he believed to be the last Jedi in the universe with the responsibility to restart the order on his shoulders alone. All those lives that he took under his protection and guidance as the Master of the new order, wiped out in one night. Because of him (at least in his mind). Everything he was working towards for years just totally undone in a few hours and it was all his fault.

So he leaves and says fuck the whole lot of it. He lives by himself, stews in his misery and regret, retreats into himself and rejects the most foundational principle of the whole concept of being a Jedi: to help people. He's the most powerful Force user alive and he's wasting away by himself on some desolate rock, swearing off the rest of the galaxy because he thinks that he's a failure, that he wasn't strong or good enough, that he can't win, that it's not even worth it to try anymore, and that even at the height of his wisdom and power, it was all undone, and by himself no less.

another comment

Stuff has changed, I mean he’s quicker to come to his senses. I wouldn’t call that his flaw though. His flaw is one of his greatest traits, his care for his friends and family. It’s a flaw cause it causes implusive actions, lashing out on Vader, leaving Yoda, a single thought that he could stop a horrible fate in Ben.

I personal struggle with a temptation in my life, a temptation to do something my faith says is wrong to do. I may have overcome it some days, but other days, whether the same circumstances or not, I might fall into it. Temptations are a constant battle, not a one and done thing. Flaws are similar, you don’t just grow past a flaw after one instance.

Because a day may come when you will brought face-to-face with that temptation or flaw again, but the circumstances will be different, and it won’t be so easy to overcome.

You mentioned Toy Story in a post, and that’s a decent example when it comes to one facet. Woody might not get jealous when another flashy toy comes along that gets more attention like Buzz did.

A better example of the nagging of a temptation, like Luke dealt with, is in Lord of the Rings. The Ring is a constant temptation to the bearer and those around them. At least by the film, Frodo may have resisted the urge to use it under the tree, but he still was tempted to use it at other times, and it was a constant battle. Same with Bilbo. Bilbo held the ring for 60 years. And the temptation of it held him greatly. He drops the Ring in Bag End, letting it go. If he was viewed similarly to how people viewed Luke tossing the saber, that’d mean he freed himself from it’s grasp and from the temptation to take and use it. We see in Rivendell that isn’t the case for him. He has a moment of wanting to take it back, and even at the end of his time in Middle Earth, he inquires about it, although more innocently curious.

That would be more similar to Luke’s case. To fall to the dark is a constant temptation that Jedi should always be aware of, and if you get close at one point, there’s the possibility that it’ll happen again, and if you aren’t prepared or it comes in a different form, you’ll either fall or get really close.

That turned out longer than I meant it, but I see this idea and..it’s just not the case.

another comment

Just because you get older doesn't mean you necessarily get wiser and better.

Jedi are still people (and some aliens, but you get the meaning), and the prequels (and even the OT) showed that even the oldest and wisest among the Jedi were capable of mistakes and misjudgments.

I think it's unreasonable to assume Luke should have become incapable of making, or even repeating mistakes and succumbing to emotion.

Right because people only get better as they get older and we grow past our flaws and doubts permanently right?

You guys are weird.

Luke overcame that moment of doubt before he almost struck Vader down and you think what ....... Luke got some kind of videogame like powerup where that character flaw would never come back again?

Some of you have a very black and white (boring) opinion on life and human growth.

Spoiler: People have flaws, we don't all overcome those flaws.Your boy Luke is no exception.

Consider what nearly proved to be his downfall in Return of the Jedi: for all the Emperor's taunting about the Rebel Alliance's imminent demise, it was Darth Vader who finally pushed his Berserk Button by discovering that Leia was his twin sister and suggesting that if Luke didn't change sides, he and his master might have better luck turning her. Then, when Luke went berserk, it totally worked: he curb-stomped Darth Vader and still didn't go evil in the end. His father's killing off the Emperor also put an end to a whole lot of the Empire's evil and birthed the New Republic.

Flash forward thirty years, and once again someone is threatening everyone and everything Luke loves, and killing the guy would surely preempt a whole lot of trouble. In his heart of hearts, he doubtless remembers what Yoda taught him about how easy and seductive the Dark Side is, but he also remembers how Yoda's mistake of hiding the truth about his lineage from him nearly brought his downfall. He also remembers how killing the Emperor solved so many problems the way he'd better not try to solve them this time... Well, what's so tempting about that?

Luke had more to lose at this time. He knew what a relatively free, peaceful Galaxy looked like, and had other students to care for besides Ben. Instinctively, he was acting out of concern for them. Luke makes an important point when he gives Rey the truth: it is a split second. Luke is a hero, but he's human. He was impulsive and acted on instinct in his youth, so the fear of Ben turning is enough to push him to the edge for a second.

hopeforben . tumblr . com/post/623000635980333056/theres-a-significant-portion-of-the-fandom-that/embed

@emeraldspiral

@daughter-of-water

@someoneintheshadow456

#star wars #star wars the last jedi #luke skywalker #star wars meta

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pikapeppa · 5 years

Text

FenHawke & Cullavellan pirate AU: Soiled Water

Chapter 22 of my and @schoute’s lovechild project Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me is up on AO3! A little early this week since I’m going away for the weekend; wanted to get these out before I go AFK. Read here on AO3.

In which I fix the angst from last week. I promised I would. ❤️😉

*****************************

- FENRIS -

Fenris stepped into his cabin and closed the door, then sank down on his bed and buried his head in his hands.

He’d failed. The entire time he and Varania were trapped in Danarius’s household, he’d failed at keeping her safe from harm.

Protecting her was the one thing he’d held onto for all those years. During the gruelling weapons training and the beatings, the verbal abuse and neglect, the burning agony of the fresh tattoos and the hostile stares of the other slaves, Fenris had held onto one thought: at least he was protecting Varania.

But in the end, he hadn’t. He’d failed to do the one thing he’d meant to do. So of course Varania had left. Of course she’d found someone else to protect her and take her away. Why should she stay in Minrathous if Fenris couldn’t provide her with the safety she deserved?

He sat in the semi-darkness of his cabin for some time just stewing in his agonized thoughts. He hadn’t protected Varania like he’d thought. He hadn’t protected Hawke the way he’d meant to. His sister was abused by Hadriana and her minions, and Hawke’s head got sliced open when his back was turned. If he wasn’t able to use his misbegotten combat skills to protect the people who mattered the most, then what was the point?

Being together wasn’t enough. Varania’s cruel words surfaced in his mind once more, and he breathed carefully through the pain they raised in his chest. But perhaps she was right. It wasn’t enough that he cared about his sister. If he had nothing to offer her, no protection or security or safety, then what reason would she have to remain by his side?

He had nothing to offer. He was a former slave with nothing to claim but a vocabulary of violence and the scars on his skin.

And to think he’d been planning to follow Piper’s advice and tell Hawke how he felt when they were in Afsaana.

He rubbed his face in exhaustion, then lowered his hands and stared at his filthy palms. His suntanned skin was marked with the residue of the scrap this afternoon: dirt under his fingernails and dried blood in the creases of his palms, the usual fare after an unfortunate encounter in a primarily pirate-occupied town. But beneath the dirt and the blood were the livid white lines on his skin, and those marks – those cursed tattoos that had been forced on him against his will – those would never wash away.

Eventually he rose to his feet, then exited the officer’s quarters and fetched a bucket of seawater to wash himself. He returned to his cabin and sat on his plain wooden stool, and with his right arm, he pulled his torn and filthy tunic over his head.

The fabric was stuck to the dried blood of the wound along the lower margin of his ribs, and pulling it off sent a fresh ripple of pain across his sliced skin. He tossed the ruined tunic in the corner and peered at his side, only to find the long but shallow gash still bleeding sluggishly.

He sighed, then used his right hand as best as he could to splash his face and neck. He picked up a clean rag and started to wash his left shoulder and arm.

There was a knock on the door. “Fenris?”

It was Hawke. Fenris clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to see her. She was going to look at him with that soft and sympathetic face, and he didn’t want her sympathy. If he was perfectly honest, there were many things he wanted from Hawke: her laughter and her incomprehensible sunny attitude and her hands on his blasted spoiled skin. But her pity was not one of them.

She knocked again. Without thinking, he dragged his left hand through his hair, and a hot ripple of pain ran across his left side.

“Venhedis,” he hissed. Then he raised his voice. “Come in.”

The door inched open, and Hawke slipped into his room with a nervous smile. She was carrying a basin of water and a doctor’s kit in her hands.

Her eyes skimmed over Fenris’s bucket and rag, and her smile widened. “Washing up, are you? At least I didn’t take you by surprise this time.”

He grunted and dropped his gaze to the rag in his hand. He dipped it into the bucket of water, then hesitated. With a growing sense of awkwardness, he realized that he couldn’t wash the right side of his body without making his wound bleed even more.

Hawke placed the basin of water on the floor next to his bucket, then kneeled on the floor beside his stool. “Let me have a peek at that wound,” she said.

He shot her a brief sideways glance. Her expression was warm and neutral, but there was no pity there.

He relaxed slightly, then raised his left arm halfway so Hawke could see the wound. A moment later, her cool and gentle fingers were touching his ribs.

He held his breath and stared vacantly across the room as her fingers carefully prodded his inflamed skin. “Mm,” she murmured. “Thank fuck it’s shallow. I was worried he’d cut you to the bone.”

“I knew it was shallow,” Fenris muttered.

She shot him a chiding glance. “Well, I would have known too if you let me look at it before.”

He scowled and didn’t reply. Her gentle fingers continued their exploration for a moment more. Finally she let out a soft sigh. “I don’t think I’ll stitch it. Your torso moves too much. The stitches will just tear, and that’ll make it even worse.”

Fenris nodded silently. Hawke reached into her basin of clean water and picked up a cloth, then hesitated. “Actually, it would be better to wash away most of the, er, grime before I dress the wound.”

Fenris clenched his jaw. “I can’t wash myself,” he admitted with difficulty. “The wound–”

“I know,” she interrupted gently. “Can I help you?”

He shot her another brief glance. Her eyebrows were raised expectantly, and there was still no pity in her expression.

Suddenly she grinned. “All right, fine, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I’m pretending to be all doctor-like so I can get my hands on that fine body of yours. Can I help you anyway?”

His shoulders loosened. Somehow her lewd humour made him feel more at ease than her doctorly manner.

He nodded again and handed her the rag, and she rose to her feet and took the rag and bucket of water to stand behind him. A moment later, she started washing his shoulders with the damp cloth. She wiped his right shoulder and bicep, then dipped and wrung the cloth with a quiet splash.

Then her left hand was resting on his shoulder blade.

He held his breath. Hawke’s other hand was still wiping his arm, but all of his attention was on her warm palm on his back.

She dipped the cloth once more, then gently ran the cloth over his right shoulder blade. “You were whipped,” she said softly.

He licked his dry lips. “Yes,” he said.

The cloth moved down his shoulder blade, followed by her gentle fingertips. “When?” she asked.

He took a deep breath and kept his eyes on the far wall. “On the slaver ship. After I escaped Minrathous.”

Her hands went still for a brief moment, and his throat swelled uncomfortably, but she said nothing more. There was another soft splash, and then her hands and the cloth were moving in tandem again. Hawke carefully cleaned his tattooed skin, and her fingers traced carefully along the ugly raised scars that criss-crossed his back.

She dampened the cloth again and mopped the center of his back. Then she gently stroked the back of his neck.

Fenris closed his eyes. Her fingers smoothed through the hair at the back of his neck, and he tried to quell the burning feeling that was swelling in his throat.

A few minutes later, she lifted the damp cloth and her fingers from his back. “Can you stand up?” she said softly. “It’ll be easier for me to clean your left side.”

Without looking at her, he rose to his feet and stepped away from the stool. Then Hawke was standing in front of him.

Her eyes were red-rimmed as though she’d been crying, and his belly jolted with discomfort. She cleared her throat. “Lift your, um, left arm and just… rest your hand on your other shoulder so I can get at the side.”

He did as she asked, and she began carefully wiping the worst of the dried blood away from his side.

“I’m sorry, Fenris,” she said suddenly.

His stomach dropped. This was what he’d been dreading: her unwarranted and undeserved sympathy.

He looked away from her. “You are not responsible for my misery.”

“I know,” she said. She rinsed and squeezed out the cloth once more. “I just mean… I’m sorry for you and Varania. That things… ended poorly like that.” She let out a weak little laugh. “Neither of us is very lucky in the sibling department, are we?”

He didn’t reply. She wasn’t wrong. In fact, she was extremely correct. And she was the one who’d suspected that something was off when they were in Afsaana. She’d suspected that Varania’s departure from Minrathous was more complex than Fenris knew, and she was right.

But Hawke was also wrong about something. She thought she was like Varania, but the similarity was superficial. Varania was angry at Fenris for a good reason, whereas Carver had no right to be angry at Hawke.

“Our situations are not the same,” he told her. “You did nothing wrong.”

She looked at him in surprise, so he elaborated. “Carver did not care for you enough. He should have taken care of you.”

Her eyes widened even further. “Wha–? No! No. I… it wasn’t his responsibility to know what was happening. Especially since I never told him what was going on. I…” She trailed off and sighed, then gave Fenris a resigned look. “Honestly, Fenris, I don’t blame you for seeing me and Varania the same way.”

He frowned suddenly. What did she mean by that? “I don’t–”

She pushed on regardless. “I mean, she’s a lot more pissy than me – not that she doesn’t have a good reason to be – but I do think she was trying to shield you from how shitty things were for her, in her own resentful way.” Then she frowned as she continued to clean his ribs. “But she shouldn’t have expected you to protect her from everything. That was unfair.”

He recoiled slightly. “Yes, she should. I swore that I would protect her.”

“You were twelve when you made that promise,” Hawke said archly. “You were a child. You had no idea what you were in for.”

He scowled at her. “What are you saying? That I shouldn’t have cared what became of my sister?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “That’s obviously not what I’m saying. But it’s not fair that she’s so angry at you for everything that happened to both of you. To both of you,” she repeated emphatically when he glared at her. “Varania’s not the only one who had a shitty life. You had a shitty life too, and from the sounds of things, you spent the entire time trying to make hers better.”

He shook his head and tried to turn away, but she grabbed his arm. “Stay still,” she scolded. Then she started to wash his chest.

The silence grew tense as she cleaned the left side of his chest. Water from the cloth dripped down toward his abs, and Hawke used the fingers of her free hand to sluice the water away from his waistband, and despite his agitation, a perverse part of his mind couldn’t help but thrill at the feel of her fingers so close to the edge of his breeches.

She bent over and dipped the cloth again, then squeezed it out and began to wash the right side of his chest. “I don’t blame Carver,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t his responsibility.” She looked up and met Fenris’s eye. “And it’s not your fault that Varania–”

“It is my fault,” he snapped. He pulled her damned slender fingers away from his chest. “It was my only responsibility. That was all I had to offer her. If I couldn’t protect her, if I couldn’t do that one simple thing, then… then what–”

Hawke stepped closer to him, and he broke off in surprise. Then her warm soft hands were cradling his face.

He stared at her dumbly. Her beautiful amber eyes were fierce and hard. “You are not a fucking bodyguard,” she said.

He dragged in a breath. “I know that,” he said faintly.

“No, you don’t,” she said forcefully. “You’re still acting like that’s all you’re good for. They forced you to think that, but it’s nugshit. It’s not who you are. You’re…” She paused and exhaled slowly. “You’re a ridiculously intelligent and ridiculously handsome elf who is selfless and overprotective, and who deserves to be happy sometimes instead of… of sitting here alone in your quarters half the time.”

Fenris swallowed hard. Her praise and her scolding were filling his belly and roiling into a terrible sort of ache that seemed to clog his throat. Did Hawke think he didn’t want to be happy? Of course he wanted to be happy. He wanted to walk beside her without worrying that she would come to harm. He wanted to laugh at her antics and to return her tempting flirtation without worrying that she would walk away someday. But he’d been alone for so long, and he’d been – venhedis, he’d grown so accustomed to being miserable all the time, and he didn’t know any other way.

Heedless of his frustration and his anger, Hawke was still talking. “Varania has a right to be angry. But she shouldn’t be angry at you,” she said. “What she went through wasn’t your fault.”

“Stop,” Fenris blurted. Her words were too much. It was too much to think about, and he was already unbalanced by the terrible twisting events of the day, and Hawke’s soft and caring hands on his face were more than he could bear.

Those soft and caring hands moved down to cradle his neck. “Fenris, I mean it,” she insisted. “You weren’t responsible–”

He pushed her hands away. “Don’t comfort me,” he yelled.

He regretted the words the second they left his mouth, and even more so when her face twisted with hurt. A split second later, she was smiling again.

“All right,” she said affably. “Sorry. I suppose I should just do my doctoring. Stick to what I’m good at, right?” She chuckled and bent over to dampen the cloth once more. “Actually, scratch that. If I stick to what I’m good at, I’ll never get any better at combat, and I haven’t learned how to fight three fellows at once yet, so never mind. That’ll be a fun month of lessons for you.”

She was smiling still, and she wasn’t looking at him. She continued cleaning his chest more quickly than before, and a horrible mixture of guilt and longing curdled at the back of his tongue. I’m sorry, he thought, but Hawke was still talking.

“Listen, I’m just going to dress the wound with some elfroot salve and a bandage,” she said. She replaced the rag in the bucket, then lifted the cloth from the freshwater basin and began to gingerly clean the wound itself. “I’ll check on it every day, and once it starts healing, you can take the bandage off at night to let it breathe a bit.”

She continued to treat the wound, smearing a thin layer of cool salve on his skin before wrapping his lower chest carefully with linen bandages. Fenris tried to force himself to apologize, but Hawke babbled continuously the entire time that she was dressing his wound: she talked about some foolish prank Sera had played on Anders and some amazing salad recipe that Merrill had given her, and by the time she was tidying up her kit and readying herself to leave his room, his heart was pounding in near-panic at his own failure to speak.

He took a step toward her. I’m sorry. Don’t leave, he thought. “Hawke–”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to be a pain in your ass. But if you, um, you know.” She tugged her ear, then finally looked him in the eye and smiled. “I’m around, all right? Your quarters are cozy and all, but you don’t have to be here by yourself all the time.”

That was just it. He didn’t want to be here by himself. He wanted her to stay. But her medical kit and basin were in her arms, and she was moving briskly toward the door, and before he could gather the courage to speak again, she was opening the door.

“I’ll see you later,” she said. And then she was gone.

He stared morosely at the closed door for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed to nurse his roiling thoughts. This entire day had been so much more than he’d bargained for: trying and failing to tell Hawke how he felt in Afsaana, seeing Varania and losing her again, the horrible realization that he wasn’t the protector he thought he was, and then Hawke’s tender words and her tender hands carefully cleaning his skin…

Being together wasn’t enough, Varania said. But he and Hawke had stayed together this entire time.

She fought by his side against those thugs even though she could barely hold her own, and she stayed by his side through the terrible row with Varania. She came back to the Lady Luck with him even though he was silent and sullen, and when he shouted and pushed her beloved hands away, she just smiled and laughed like he’d done nothing wrong.

And now that she was gone, all Fenris wanted was for her to come back.

He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to his hands. They were clean now, free of blood and grime thanks to Hawke’s careful washing, and the bucket of seawater was murky and dark with dirt.

Fenris stared blankly at the bucket of filthy water for a long moment. Then he stood up and went to the chest of clothes in the corner.

He pulled a clean sleeveless tunic from the chest, then pulled it on with some difficulty and walked over to the door.

He took a deep, fortifying breath, then opened the door and stepped out of his empty quarters, leaving the bucket of soiled water behind.

- RYNNE -

Rynne sat on the forecastle deck with her back resting against a bench and her knees pulled up to her chin. The Lady Luck was occupied only by a skeleton crew of ten or eleven sailors, everyone else being in Afsaana, and Rynne was uncharacteristically grateful for the quiet.

She sniffed hard and wiped her cheek on her knee. As much as she loved the Lady Luck, there weren’t many private places she could go for a moment of self-indulgent snivelling. She could probably use Dorian’s quarters, but they were right next door to Fenris’s, and she wanted to give Fenris his space. Besides, she didn’t want him to know she was crying about him. It was embarrassing enough that she was crying at all.

Rynne didn’t enjoy crying. She much preferred to divert the sadness into more pleasant activities like a game of cards or an amusing chat. Ever since her mortifying moment of weakness during the camping trip on Sundermount, she’d managed to distract herself from her pining by spending time with all her other lovely friends on the crew.

But everyone else was in Afsaana, so crying was all she could do for now.

She had to let Fenris go. She couldn’t see another alternative. Every time he rejected her was like a fresh knife to the heart, and as much as she wanted to be around him, it hurt too much knowing he didn’t feel the same way.

Drawing away from him was going to be awkward, though. Especially since he was the master-at-arms and she still desperately needed weapons training. Maybe Kaaras could help with her training instead. Or Rylen or Cullen, now that they were officially part of the crew. Or Piper! Piper’s chaotic combat seemed much more up Rynne’s alley than Cullen or Rylen’s structured style. Training with Piper could be so much fun.

But Piper was busy with her captain duties. And if Rynne was totally honest, she didn’t want to be trained by Kaaras or Cullen or Rylen, or even by Piper. She wanted to be trained by Fenris, with his lovely stern voice telling her what to do and his lovely strong hands showing her how to move her body.

Maker’s balls, she just wanted Fenris.

Another stupid tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away.

“Hawke.”

She jumped in alarm, then hastily wiped her cheeks as Fenris came to sit beside her on the deck. “F-Fenris!” she squeaked. She wrestled a smile onto her face. “What are you doing out here? I thought you’d be brooding for another–”

“What do you want from me?” he said.

Rynne gaped at him. His words seemed rude, but his tone was earnest and his expression was… not at all angry, actually. He looked serious and soft, in fact – the same sort of softness as when they were talking on the boardwalk in Afsaana.

Her heart did a nervous flip. She let out a little laugh that sounded shrill even to her ears. “What sort of daft question is that?” she asked.

He gazed steadily at her. “I’m a former slave with a tarnished past and no worldly possessions to my name. None of those things bother you?”

She laughed again, more genuinely this time. “As though I didn’t already know all of that,” she said playfully. “Why would you think any of that would bother me?”

He gazed at her for another moment, then looked away and ran a hand through his hair. “I have hidden myself on this ship for over a year. I… Piper gave me a new chance at life, and I have barely taken it. I shunned any luxuries, and I left the ship only when it was required of me–”

“That’s not true,” Rynne said. “You came to Rialto with me. That wasn’t required.”

“Before you,” he clarified. “I didn’t want anything before you.”

Oh Maker. What did that mean? That sounded promising, right? Was she hallucinating, or did that sound promising?

Her heart seemed to agree. Her pulse was racing with excitement now, but Fenris was still talking. “Once I was freed, I… I failed to take advantage of what that freedom offered.” He turned to face her more fully. “You were not wrong in what you said before. I never tried to be happy. I simply… survived.”

His face was so serious and earnest, and a rush of tenderness rose in her chest. She reached out and took his hand. “Don’t beat yourself up for that. You needed time–”

“I have nothing to offer you, Hawke,” he said bluntly. “I… you must know that.”

She inhaled carefully through a sudden dizzying rush of hope. If he was saying what she thought he was saying…

She took his other hand. “I don’t want anything from you,” she said. “I just want you.”

His fingers tensed in hers but he didn’t flinch away, and Rynne gazed desperately into his brilliant green eyes. Her chest felt squirmy and full, like her heart couldn’t quite decide whether to melt or to beat even harder than it already was, and before she could stop to think twice, she was saying the words she’d been squashing down for the past couple of weeks.

“Fenris, I love you,” she blurted. “I know it’s only been a month or so and you probably think I’m acting like some silly girl in a romance novel, but I just… I love you.”

His eyes widened, and a spike of panic prompted her to keep talking. “Honestly, I’ve never felt this way about anyone else and I’ve met a lot of suitors, believe me, but you’re the only one – I mean, not that you’re a suitor, you never even meant to… Maker’s balls.” She released his hands and nervously patted her burning cheeks. “All I mean to say is I… I know I said we could just be friends, but it’s so fucking hard because I just want to be with you and it’s eating me from the inside like little fishes inside my chest just nibbling away at me–”

Fenris cradled her cheek in his palm, and Rynne shut her wayward mouth. His face… Maker’s balls, his beautiful face, this face that she admired more than any face she’d ever seen: he looked so tender, and the tilt of his eyebrows matched the gentle tilt of his half-smiling lips.

He shuffled closer to her, and her breath caught in her chest as the warmth of his shoulder pressed against hers. “Hawke, I…” He trailed off and gently stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, making her heart flutter with joy.

“I’m frightened,” he whispered. “I am frightened to want something. To want… you. But I do.” He swallowed hard. “Even before, when I… when I stopped the kiss.” He gazed seriously into her eyes. “I remember that kiss as if it were yesterday. I wanted to be with you even then.”

A little hiccup burst from her throat. “Then why did you… why couldn’t we?” she asked plaintively.

He exhaled slowly and smoothed an errant tear from her cheek. “I was a coward,” he said. He dropped his gaze and lowered his hand from her face. “I was… afraid. That you… that I would lose you.”

She took his hands in hers. “How could you think you would lose me?” she demanded. “I’m not going anywhere.” If he knew how many nights she’d spent lying her hammock thinking about him, or how much idle time she’d spent just fantasizing about sitting next to him and holding his hand like this, he would never think he’d lose her.

“I have been left before by someone who was supposed to care,” he said quietly. “As you now know.”

She softened and squeezed his hands. “Well… I suppose no one can promise they’ll never leave. No one can say that for sure. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

“I know that,” he said sharply. Then he sighed and looked her in the eye. “I want to try. That’s why I…” He trailed off. “What are you doing?”

Rynne had shifted away from him and was feeling around in her pocket. A moment later, she pulled a crumpled scrap of parchment from her pocket and held it out to him.

He gave her a chiding look. “You know I can’t read that.”

She winced. “Oh, balls. Of course. I’m an idiot.” She opened the crumpled parchment. “It’s the note Carver put in the pouch of coin he gave me. Can I read it to you?”

He looked even more nonplussed, but nodded anyway, so Rynne unfolded the note and read it out loud.

Rynne,

This is emergency money. Keep it safe and hidden. When you get tired of running around with those pirates, use this to come home. Make sure you pay for passage on a reputable ship.

You’d better not be in a “family way” when you come back, though. If Mother found out you were going to have a little half-elf baby, she would throw a fit.

Love Love,

Carver

When she finished reading the note, she looked at Fenris expectantly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I meant to be insulted by this remark about a half-elf baby?”

She tutted and lightly smacked his hand. “That’s not the point. But please do take note that even my dense baby brother could tell how much I fancied you.” She gave him a serious look. “I gave that money away, remember? I don’t need a way back to Kirkwall. I’m not leaving this ship. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Fenris’s sardonic expression melted into a heart-wrenching look of vulnerability, and he dropped his gaze. Rynne cupped his face in her hands once more and pressed her forehead to his.

“This is exactly where I want to be,” she whispered. “Here on this ship with you.”

Fenris inhaled slowly, and Rynne finally did what she’d been wanting to do for weeks: she slid onto his lap so she was straddling him.

His eyes flew wide in surprise. Then Rynne wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him as tightly as she could.

He was stiff and frozen for a moment. Then he released a shaky sigh against Rynne’s collarbone. Suddenly his arms were sliding around her waist and pulling her closer, and when he buried his face against her neck, a joyful ripple of goosebumps ran down her spine.

He pressed his palms into her back, fingers tense as he held her tight. “I hope you can forgive me,” he whispered.

She carded her fingers through his beloved hair. “Forgive you for what?” she asked.

“For turning you away before,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t. I wish…”

She squeezed him harder and pressed her lips to his hair. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to apologize.”

He exhaled tremulously and pressed his face more firmly to the crook of her neck, and Rynne hid a huge silly smile in his hair. His hair smelled wonderful, like the sweetness of his skin layered with the faint musk of his sweat, and as she savoured the heat of his palms through her shirt and the tightness of his arms as he held her close, she marvelled at the fact that the day had ended here.

When she’d stepped off the ship in Afsaana this afternoon, she hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t really expected anything, truth be told, aside from an interesting trip in a foreign town.

This was better than anything she’d dreamed. This was better than any of her countless fond fantasies, because this was real. The firmness of Fenris’s arms clutching her body close, and the rise and fall of his chest pressed to hers paired with the caress of his breath against her neck: this was real, just as real as the joyful pounding of her heart and the fluttering rush of hope racing through her veins, and the reality of Fenris was all she had really wanted all along.

Fenris was more than the bodyguard he thought he had to be. He was more than the vapid manly heroes in Rynne’s favourite romance books. He was hurt but he was hopeful, and he was scared but he was trying. And now that he was here in Rynne’s arms, she couldn’t wait to shower him in all the love she’d been waiting so long to give.

#fenris #fenris fic #where the winds of fortune take me #pirate au #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenrynne #pikapeppa writes #pikascout

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another-miracle · 5 years

Text

between redemption and living, a Kyoru fic

AO3

1. redemption

It takes two steps to reach out to her.

The autumn wind blows against them, tossing the sheets surrounding them through the air. Her voice trembles through the cloth, and Kyo listens with a breaking heart as she recounts the childish actions she took upon her mother’s death. She chokes on her words, as if them escaping her is a sin, and Kyo scarcely can take it any longer.

His fingers find purchase on her shoulders through the sheet, grasping them gently. She lets out a soft gasp that has his blood thrumming through his veins. He swallows past the lump in his throat.

“I’m sure your mother understood without a doubt,” he murmurs into the blanket. His head leans against what he only assumes to be hers, and he feels her stiffen in his arms.

“D-do you think so?”

He grips her tighter. Not worth comforting.

“Definitely. Believe me.”

And then, “Say as much as you want. I won’t be disillusioned.”

She falls heavily on his shoulder and grips the blanket between them in her hands. Kyo closes his eyes.

This must be a redemption of some sort, he thinks, a kindness the world has bestowed upon him. The guilt tormenting his heart for years eases some, and for a breath, he thinks she may forgive him.

But as quickly as it arrives, the feeling disappears in a puff of smoke.

Desperation claws at his throat. Talons in his hair pull and swing him against the nearest wall. He chokes out an apology to a sin he did not commit, trembling on the floor, and cowers away from the man who holds the meaning to his existence.

Putrid. Disgusting. Monster. A mantra, every day.

The door to his cage slides shut. Footsteps resound outside before fading away. Kyo sits up and cradles his arm against his body. Dazedly he wonders how many days like these it will take for his debt to be repaid.

It is on days like these he remembers Kyoko, blood seeping out of her mouth, eyes dead, speaking words that will sear his soul for years to come. It is on days like these Kyo relaxes into the security that he is only getting what he deserves.

I’m sorry, he speaks to no one. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep your promise.

It must be hysteria that clouds his mind, however, because from one breath to the next, Kyo releases the words he has been dreading to offer for more than three years.

I’ll take care of her better next time.

It’s like she does not want me to forget, his mind shouts angrily as he eyes the slight girl leaving the room with that damned rat. At the corner of his eye, Kyo sees Shigure scratch his head and look at the roof. With a sigh, the man walks out of the room without so much of a glance at Kyo.

The nonchalance of the action pierces through Kyo, reminding him of his place among the zodiacs. Even worse, it reminds him of the child he is being - the lack of growth he has shown since then.

Her voice continues to echo in him. Remember our promise, it mocks. Don’t forget.

A scoff leaves his mouth as he makes his way downstairs, ready to banish the girl from his life within the shortest goddamned notice.

If this is how Kyoko is going to play, he sure as hell wants out of the game.

Her fingers brush against his ears. In the quiet of dawn, it is only the two of them that exist in a field of dew-stained grass. He is perched on her knees, paws draped over her thighs. She calls out his name once, her voice soft in the early morning.

Sunlight peeks past his eyelids, but he is nary a care as she picks him up along with his discarded clothes and cradles him to her chest. Belatedly, he zeroes in on the memory of her lonesome form he’d seen through the window of her childhood home, and marvels at how she has somehow navigated her way here; where remption lays, where loneliness ends, where together begins.

Kyo doesn’t believe in miracles. Still doesn’t.

But hell if the girl; whose hands cup against a body he loathes, whose entire being trembled as it held onto him, whose words brought him out of darkness into a new dawn; isn’t going to help him try.

It is easy to forget when they sit together like this. They talk about the mundane - you don’t know how to swim? - and tease at the other’s expense - you haven’t learnt how to breathe? They laugh and the warmth in Kyo’s chest swells.

It is simple, so simple, to be with her. With every word, she reminds him of the life worth living, hinting at a future beautiful and ideal. Kyo cherishes what he can get, hope still balancing on the pinpoint of a deal made seemingly eons ago that he may someday emerge victorious in.

Shishou returns soon after, a fond smile on his face that Kyo is minutely embarrassed by while Tohru stands at the side with a smile reminiscent of when Shishou bested him before calling him ‘son’. Kyo gathers all these smiles, goes home and burnishes them. He uses them as fuel to stoke a fire to spur him towards living-

-however futile it may be.

“-till death,” Akito tells him.

Vaguely, he wonders if this is what Yuki went through in his childhood. At the thought, his stomach churns, bile rising up his throat. Misery seeks company, but not like this. The thought of a child - barring one he has resented his whole life- going through the same torment as this is absolutely insane.

Renewed hate for Akito ignites in Kyo, but with no outlet, it stews and simmers, and eventually dies. There is no room for hate. There is no room for anyone either. Only Akito. His worth is Akito.

Picking apart his memories, he begins to forget. What was the walk back to Shigure’s house like? Were there flowers that grew on the sidewalk? He would’ve picked them for her. He should have.

How did Tohru call his name? What was the exact cadence of her voice? Does she remember him? Does she wish to see him? Does she miss him?

Closing his eyes, he lets himself indulge in a memory of her.

They sit on the roof of Shigure’s house under a blanket of stars, her warmth next to him. She turns to him, distant city lights casting shadows on her face. Her eyes crinkle and Kyo reaches up to poke at the dimples indenting her cheeks. She giggles in response and Kyo laughs along, brushing her fringe from her forehead and leaning in-

The door slides open with a loud bang.

Choking on reality, Kyo gasps for breath, trying- and failing to return. His fingers search for the comforting roughness of roof tiles, but all that greets him is the scratch of cold tatami against his nails.

He looks up, vision blurry, as a kimono-clad figure walks through the door.

“Hello, monster,” Akito calls. “How is my favourite creature today?”

The walk home is potent with silence, their footsteps the only sounds amidst bouts of shuffling, catching-up, turning around to check on the other. Kyo glances at Tohru for the umpteenth time, only to immediately swing back around after finding that her face is entirely flushed. His own cheeks heat in response.

In the heat of the moment, he didn’t think- couldn’t think of how she might have felt when he leaned his head on her shoulder. All he knew was that she was waiting for him while he was being an idiot. And Yuki was right; he made her worry.

Now as they awkwardly attempt to have a very normal walk back to Shigure’s house, Kyo can’t help but groan at the audacity he had to do something like that to a poor innocent girl like Tohru. Is he a pervert? God. What was he thinking?

Suddenly, a soft giggle sounds from behind him. Kyo’s hand falls from his head-when did it get there? -and turns to look at Tohru. A little clenched fist balances over her lips where an amused smile plays at. Tohru glances up at him, cheeks still flushed, before her gaze shyly retreats again.

Kyo feels his lips purse into an annoyed pout.

“What’s so funny,” he grumbles under his breath.

Tohru giggles again. “Nothing, Kyo-kun. You just look so distressed over what is probably a small matter.” She smiles sweetly at him, hand falling to grasp the straps of her bag.

“Back in classroom,” her eyes avert away for a moment, “I-I didn’t mind. It was sweet of you to think of me.”

Kyo slams a hand against the wall, fingernails trying to find purchase on the concrete. Goddammit, it should be illegal to be that cute. Fuck.

His head hangs away from Tohru, missing the probably flustered look on her face, judging by the little shouts of surprise coming from her. Kyo clenches his eyes, before braving a look at her.

Fuck, still cute. Dammit.

With a huff, his hand leaves the wall to bonk her on the head. His ears are burning. She looks up at him in surprise, eyes wide and questioning.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

Then quieter, “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“I’ll just need to wait for you,” she whispers.

Kyo almost misses it over the sound of the television. He turns in his seat and is greeted by the sight of Tohru crying into a washcloth, tears streaming down her face and onto the tabletop.

“H-hey,” Kyo starts, quickly lumbering over to her side of the table. He begins to take her hands from her face, but she abruptly pulls away. Helplessly, he chokes out a soft, “Don’t cry.”

At this, she seems to sob even more, her knees coming up to bury her face in. Kyo watches her break down, words of comfort drying up in his throat.

He…doesn’t know what to say. He told her a few months before graduation - about the cat’s fate, the bet with Akito - and to his surprise and horror, she told him she already knew. Akito had informed her about everything during his visit to the summer vacation home, fabricating stories of an endless banquet and the zodiacs never leaving his side. It was cruel and strange and absolutely foreign. She didn’t want to believe it then.

But with tomorrow looming, it no longer matters what Tohru thinks. Kyo lost the bet and from tomorrow onwards, he will take up new residence in the Sohma estate, a corner reserved only for him - in the Cat’s room.

Once before, in the days leading up to his mother’s funeral, his father brought him there.

“This is where you will live to pay for your sins,” he said, dragging Kyo towards the door. “All I need is the head’s approval, and I will be rid of you forever, you filthy scum.”

Now, ten years on, Kyo lives in one of the warmest households he’s been in, where he lets time pass wastefully, only to have it snatched away by a fate he knows is a long time coming.

Kyo sighs. “It was only a matter of time,” he tells her. “There’s no use crying over something that can’t be changed.”

He feels her grip onto his beads, her fingers slipping under before reaching for his pulse.

“It wasn’t wasted,” she says with finality, determination glinting in her eyes. “Your time outside wasn’t wasted.”

The next day, they send him off at the fringes of the Sohma estate. Tohru holds his hand until the last moment and tangles their fingers tight together. Selfishly, he grips back, closes his eyes and imagines a future that will never be, holds onto hope.

He squeezes once, twice- breathes, then lets go.

10.

He wonders what it will be like to have something like that DVD. Of course, it’ll be nice to have something to record all the quiet moments, all the happy times. But if it plays back things like that, she might not survive the fall.

And he’s afraid- that she won’t let go, that she’ll wait on him forever. Replaying the memories over and over, he’s scared that she won’t let herself forget. It’s one thing for him to be subject to this fate, but a person as bright, as innocent and pure as her, should not be saddled with a burden such as he. The curse was never meant to extend beyond the family, yet he selfishly allowed it to be so.

In a way, there isn’t much he can do at this point. What she said during the play- that awkward interruption, paired with a devastated grimace- he heard it loud and clear. Kyo lies sedately on the floor, arm under his head. This is absolutely not what he wanted. He was supposed to leave from the beginning, a mere sojourner passing through her earth. He didn’t intend for this to happen. He didn’t intend to leave things behind.

He didn’t intend for her to fall in love as well.

11.

It comes like a seabreeze from a distant shore, a memory from a long, long time ago.

Tears fall from his eyes without his consent. They dribble down his cheek, dripping off his unshaven chin. Kyo sits up and looks around.

In an instant, nothing makes sense. Nothing about where he is, why he is here, who he is, makes sense. Why are there walls confining him? What was his purpose here? What held him back from leaving?

Why did he not go to where she was?

Suddenly, the door to the room slides open. Kyo bristles and readies himself, an instinct ingrained in his body. But strangely, he no longer feels fear.

Shigure steps into the room, yukata-clad as Kyo has always remembered him to be, and faces him. He smiles briefly, eyes lacking the pity Kyo is used to seeing from him.

“Hey,” Shigure says.

Stunned, Kyo gives a confused wave.

Shigure laughs. It comes out slightly choked, with a tinge of hysteria. He comes up to Kyo and clamps his hand over Kyo’s shoulder. Shaking him, the tears fall as well.

Kyo looks up at him, cheeks still wet.

It’s over.

12.

Kyo stands in front of the mirror and gazes at his reflection. He doesn’t know how long he’s been in the Cat’s room, but the beard growing out of the sides of his face betrays the amount of time he’s been alone. Picking up the razor balanced precariously on the edge of the sink, he slowly begins to shave. His fingers stutter in their grip, and Kyo almost cuts himself.

“Do you need help?” Hatori asks, an eye peeking out through the fall of his hair. Absently, Kyo stares at the man a little longer, noticing the lack of pity he has grown accustomed to in his voice.

“N-no.” Kyo looks down and washes the razor for the umpteenth time. “I’m good.”

It’s difficult- witnessing all these changes firsthand. There is so much to say, yet there is nothing to say at all. It seems like they have all come to an agreement without voicing anything, and everyone around him has accepted it, including himself.

Hatori passes him a face towel and Kyo takes it, murmuring a soft noise of gratitude. He wipes his face, before staring at the mirror once more. There is something unrecognizable in his reflection. It’s him, yet it isn’t.

In an instant, Kyo’s gaze is drawn to the beads encircling his left wrist. He slips his fingers under them for a moment, thumb and forefinger playing with one of them. Slowly, finger by finger, he grasps the beads- string and all- in a fist, and pulls.

They drop to the floor like marbles, bouncing once, then rolling away.

And Kyo is already crouched on the ground, sobbing. He curls himself up next to the bathtub, burying his head in his knees. A part of him is waiting for the inevitable, and yet a part of him knows that it will never come and haunt him again.

He’s…free.

Hatori comes down to crouch next to him, and in a rare act of comfort from the man, wraps his arm around Kyo’s head and begins patting his hair. After existing so long without the warmth of another, Kyo clutches onto Hatori’s shirt and cries. In that moment, he grieves for what both of them have lost, and grieves for what both of them have gained. Kyo is lost, and found. Confused, yet so, so secure. He is empty, therefore he is full.

After about ten minutes of full-on sobbing into the shirt of a man whom he has barely spoken more than a few sentences to in his life, Kyo awkwardly removes himself from Hatori’s chest. To his embarrassment, all Hatori does is give him a small smile, cheeks slightly damp, and pats his head once more. Shyly, he scratches the back of his head before moving to stand, Hatori following suit. As he looks around the bathroom, Kyo finds himself at a loss. He has so many questions, but they get lodged in his throat when he attempts to ask.

Hatori must see the look in his eyes because he clasps his shoulder and says, “Ask Honda-kun. She’ll tell you everything.”

13. living

Kyo can’t wait.

No, of course he can. It’s been years.

It’s been years, that’s why he can’t wait, dammit.

He can’t do this. This is too much. What if she’s forgotten? What if she no longer wants anything to do with him? He did leave her once before- what if she decides she can’t take another person leaving and being left behind again?

And what about him? Does he still want to see her? Does he still want her? What about her did he like? What did he use to do with her? What was their life like when they lived together? What if-

A smack sounds across the back of his head. Kyo’s hands immediately go up to cradle his head, only to be met with the annoyed glare of one Yuki Sohma.

“Get it together, you stupid cat,” Yuki bites out. “She’ll be here soon.”

A snarl almost makes it past his throat, but Kyo remembers that…they don’t need to do this anymore.

For a moment, Kyo is baffled by the rivalry manufactured so intently between them. He’s layered hate upon hate on this man before him without even realizing how foreign the idea was in the first place. The anger fizzles out in his chest, and all that’s left is guilt. Guilt of tormenting Yuki since the first time they met, right until the moment before he left. Guilt of pushing the blame onto Yuki every time something upset his seemingly miserable life. Yuki had it hard as well, he knows. He just refused to acknowledge it.

“I’m…sorry,” Kyo tells him, looking up with furrowed brows. The words taste unfamiliar on his tongue. Yuki narrows his eyes at him, before taking a seat adjacent to him in the kotatsu.

He sighs.

“We’ve been terrible to each other, haven’t we?” Yuki starts.

Kyo places his hand back on the table in front of him, finger spreading out before clenching once more. “Yeah, we have.”

“What were we even mad at each other about anyway?”

“I don’t know. I think we were just always being pitched against each other. It pissed me off.”

“Yeah, well. You were being quite an idiot about it too.”

“Hey-“

“Don’t worry,” Yuki puts up his hands in surrender. “I was a pretty big dick to you too.”

Then softer, “I’m sorry.”

At the words, Kyo finds himself being released from a crime he has spent so long believing he had done. He thinks back on what Kyoko said, about not having a designated person to hate and blame, and finally sees the beauty that she was trying to convey. All he needed was an outlet for all the hurt he experienced in his life, and when he realized that there was hope, that there was redemption somewhere, it began to dig him deeper and deeper into a cycle of rehearsed loathing, fashioned it into something so grotesque, Kyo couldn’t recognize it in himself anymore. He couldn’t even recognize himself anymore.

All the wasted years, Kyo briefly laments. But it brings comfort that the bridge between Yuki and him has not been completely burned. Kyo knows who to thank for that.

The front door suddenly slams open and footsteps sound through the hall into the kitchen. In a flurry of brown hair and pink dress, she appears before him, panting heavily and looking straight into his eyes.

His eyes widen. “Tohru-“

Her arms are around him before he has the chance to say anything else. She squeezes him tight, burying her face into his neck. The ends of her hair tickle his jawline, and Kyo feels a dampness against his skin. She shakes in her hold, shifting her face back and forth into the cloth at his shoulder.

Kyo continues to stare in shock at the wall in front of him. The door to the room slides shut quietly, and he realizes that Yuki has left the room.

Slowly, his hand reaches up to the back of her head before sliding down the length of her hair. He repeats the action over and over, his fingers tangling in the soft strands. He combs through her hair, his other hand coming up to rest against her waist. She sobs harder and harder, her words incomprehensible.

“K-kyo-kun,” Tohru whimpers. She clenches a fist in the back his shirt and tightens her grip.

Immediately, something in his chest cracks. Kyo buries his fingers in earnest in her hair, clutching her tightly against him. His arms band around her frame and the tears that were held at bay fall from the corner of his eyes down his nose. He turns his neck and places his lips at her pulse, each beat thrumming through him, signalling to him that she’s here and she’s real.

How many times had he imagined this moment? The smell of her hair, the softness of her skin? No matter how much he polishes every memory of her till they shine, it can never compare to how she feels in his arms right now. The senses that have shut down so long ago from repeated rejection from others in his life, the loss of hope that someone, someday, will hold him like this, like they never want to let go, explode to life and Kyo takes in whatever he can greedily, selfishly, and as much as he wants. He steeps in the luxury of a hug from a girl he cares about most, and soaks in every detail, every sensation he has missed out on in the past few years stolen from his life.

They hold each other a while longer, before slowly separating to look into the other’s eyes. Tohru lifts a hand to Kyo’s cheek, and he leans into it, nosing her palm and brushing his lips across her wrist. She runs a finger repeatedly under his eyes, catching the tears there. Kyo does the same to her, cradling her face gently while brushing her fringe away. They lean their foreheads against each other, broken smiles playing at their lips.

“Kyo-kun,” Tohru calls him.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice cracking.

“I missed you.”

“I-“ inhale, “I missed you too.”

“Kyo-kun,” she calls again.

“Y-yeah.”

She laughs and places a kiss on his forehead. He closes his eyes and grips her tighter. In the deepest corners of his heart, there is a smidge of doubt, an inkling of fear, that rejection will come sooner or later. But when Kyo opens his eyes and sees Tohru smiling through her tears, he is strong, and brave, and fearless, and ready to love and to love and to love. Then, she tells him the words that overwrite the pain he’s gone through, that cancel out the unforgiveness he bears within himself, that make him feel stronger than he has ever been before.

“Kyo-kun, look,” she places a hand on his left wrist, leave a kiss there, and smiles.

“You’re free.”

———————————————

Inspired by a line in @sariedust ‘s fic, If Only:

"This would be a memory he’d polish over and over during the years.”

Do check it out (:

#fruits basket #fruits basket spoilers #kyoru #kyo x tohru #kyo sohma #tohru honda #yixin’s fic

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

The Darkest Knight

The front door thundered, rattling in its hinges. The sudden and loud banging noises startled Mister Sherman Hill. Inside his humble home, he stood now, paralyzed with fright. He stared at the small puddle of water he had spilled from the pot on his way to the stove.

A visitor hammered his fist against the door again. Through the fog on his windows next to the entrance, Sherman saw this visitor lean over and shoot a glance inside. The silhouette and garb of this visitor caused the blood to freeze in Sherman’s veins.

The man outside, continuing to rap at his door, wore the black robe and hat of an inquisitor. Although the dirt and fog prevented Sherman from getting a good look at his face, the rhythm and the fierceness of this knocking filled him with dread.

Instead of opening the front door, Sherman set the heavy pot down on the stove, spilling some more water onto the iron surface. Steam rose where the water fell and sizzled.

Sherman had no eyes for the precious water he had hauled from the town’s well this afternoon, and instead rushed through the rooms of his home. Sherman ripped open cupboards and drawers and hid things inside them—the various hex dolls and talismans that adorned his home.

“Open your door, man. I know you’re in there,” said a voice through the door. Muffled, but burning with anger.

Seconds later, the impatient knocking continued.

After clearing out the last bit of evidence of his family’s pagan traditions, Sherman straightened his jacket by the collar and emitted a sharp sigh.

While approaching the front door, cringing at the ferocity of the inquisitor’s knocking, the following thought kept echoing in Sherman’s mind: the inquisition has no real authority.

With his hand clutching the door handle, he paused and hesitated to open the front door to this zealot outside.

Sherman wondered without speaking out loud, “But what about the new inquisition?”

He opened the door a crack and interrupted the inquisitor’s incessant hammering. Bright afternoon sunlight from a clear blue sky caused Sherman to blink and wince. Once his eyes had adjusted, he glared at the man outside.

Pushing his fears to the back of his mind and summoning up all the indignant disdain he could muster, Sherman sneered and asked the inquisitor, “What?”

The inquisitor had a long, angular face. Wrinkled, crow’s feet, and a thin mustache framing a mouth that drooped in what appeared to be a constant frown. He looked Sherman up and down.

“I am Inquisitor Virgil Armstrong. I have questions for you, and you will please answer me them,” said the visitor. His face crinkled and he sneered back at Sherman before adding, “All of them.”

“Alright, alright,” Sherman muttered, growing wearier of this exchange by the second. “What do you need to know?”

The inquisitor pointed a black-gloved finger at the door, “It is cold outside, Mister Hill. Would you not invite a servant of the lord into your own four walls?”

Sherman groaned and stepped outside. He shut the door behind himself.

“An act of solidarity, then,” Armstrong muttered, each syllable dripping with audible sarcasm. “It’ll do.”

“Don’t know what sort of help you’d expect from me. Reckon you’ll find none with my humble self,” Hill said.

“I want you to tell me what is going on in this town of yours.”

“That’s not a question,” Hill said quickly. The inquisitor’s mien darkened instead of countering Hill’s glib remark.

Armstrong produced a folded set of papers from his bag and unfurled them. He tapped them with two fingers and held them up so Hill could see the inked writing upon them. Being illiterate, he only gave the papers a passing glance and shrugged.

“This is the written testimony of Father Simpson, who visited your town to investigate a series of disturbances in your cemetery. What happened to the priest?”

Hill glowered at Armstrong when he replied, “Buried him in the cemetery, we did. Same night after he passed away, we did.” With a smirk, he added, “Good load his faith in the good lord did ‘im, eh?”

Armstrong’s forehead turned into a roadmap of wrinkles.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Not sure I have to, sir. Last I checked, the king severed the church from the state, and this new inquisition of yours has no say in our parts.”

Armstrong lowered the papers with a painful slowness. He folded them with an eerie care and calm, then inserted them back into the bag hanging from his shoulder. All the while, he never broke eye contact with Hill, staring daggers at him.

“Did you say 'we’ buried the body? So you are admitting you’ve been in the cemetery recently?”

Hill swallowed emptily and pondered the inquisitor’s questions.

“Yes, but what does that—”

“That would make you a suspect in acts of desecrating the mortal remains of your fellow villagers. I can certainly return with men from the constabulary and recommend it to them to question you. Our cooperation with them has been very fruitf—”

“What? I’ve done no such thing. How dare you?”

The inquisitor took a step towards Hill. He stood so uncomfortably close that Hill could feel the warmth of Armstrong’s breath against his own skin. His breath smelled of meat stew and reminded him that he had wanted to make a good carrot stew of his own before this insufferable inquisitor disturbed his privacy.

“I’ve accused you of nothing, Mister Hill. But all suspects are questioned without fail. Such is the due process of criminal investigations. If you’ve nothing to hide, then you’ve nothing to fear from such questioning, yes?”

Hill shook his head, quipped, “You bloody—”

But he stopped himself and took a step back from the inquisitor.

“Sure, fine, then. Bring the police to my doorstep. You don’t scare me.”

The inquisitor took another step towards him, provoking Hill to take another back. But he bumped into his own front door.

“Oh, trying to scare you? I would never. I would also never be involved in any sort of lynchings or mob justice. A cursory questioning throughout your quaint little town has told me that most folk here are adherents of the good god. Some of them rather zealous, I gather. T'would be a real shame if anybody found out about your pagan traditions. I could never forgive myself if anything—happened.”

Hill could feel the blood drain from his own face and a sudden gust of cold wintry wind made him shiver.

“Not that I’m accusing you of such deviltry or witchcraft or what-have-you. I don’t believe in that bunk, Mister Hill,” said the inquisitor. He leaned forward, continuously shortening the distance between their faces, inch by inch.

Using both hands, Hill pushed Armstrong away from himself, and the inquisitor stumbled back a few steps before catching himself and standing up straight as a candle. A tall, black candle, never not sneering at him.

“So what if I respect some of the old ways? Those damned traditions used to keep our homes safe in the old days,” Hill said. He puffed out his chest and crossed his arms in defiance.

He would not let this blasted inquisitor push him around in his own hometown, where generations of his family had lived in prosperity.

“Far as I’m concerned, you arriving here is the only bad thing that’s happened lately,” Hill said. He then spat on the ground, but it hit the tip of the inquisitor’s shoe.

Armstrong’s gaze wandered up from the wad of spittle until he locked eyes with Hill. The inquisitor’s eyes burned with anger.

“Ah, yes. No matter nor mind about dead bodies without faces showing up in your cemetery, and your fellow townsfolk huddling in your homes, quaking in fear of something that hides in the woods out there. Tell me, Mister Hill. How are those 'old ways’ working out for you now?”

Sherman lost his temper and threw a punch at the man in black. The next thing he knew, he was pushing himself off the ground, using his sleeve to wipe filth from his face and noticing that he had gotten mud all over his jacket.

“I think you misunderstand me,” said the inquisitor, looming over him like a dark tower. “I am here to help you. I don’t believe in some hogwash about fair folk or witchcraft or some such nonsense. I do, however, believe that some crusty old cult of pagans will cover for one another, and you might know who’s to blame for your town’s recent misery.”

Back up on his feet, Sherman turned for his home’s front door, eager to shut the inquisitor out and pretend they never met. He could feel the burning gazes of his neighbors peering out through their windows, witnessing this odd spectacle unfold in front of Hill’s house. He ripped the door open.

“Tell me where to look for the culprits, and I will make this stop,” said Armstrong, raising his voice as if Hill had trouble hearing him.

Hill slammed the door shut behind himself. He trembled with fear, rage, and other things. He had trouble identifying everything that coursed through his body right now.

“God help you, man. I cannot—if you don’t cooperate,” the inquisitor continued talking, now muffled once more by the closed door between them.

Hill’s heart raced. A distinct lack of sounds indicating the inquisitor’s departure led him to sense the man’s presence just outside his door, waiting for a response.

Every fiber in Sherman Hill’s body rebelled. He wanted to just tell this inquisitor what he knew so he would go away. So he would leave him alone.

Maybe the people from the church could truly make this terror stop?

But his grandfather had always forbidden them from speaking that name. “The roads of our village will run red with blood and entrails if we betray the ancient oaths,” old Derec Hill used to say. “Never speak the Prince’s name. For us, he is to be called nothing but the Fair Prince of Fragrant Flowers, especially to unwary outsiders.” His grandfather never explained why. Only how.

Hill opened the door a crack. The inquisitor had already turned to leave, walking towards the road through the town of Hallowglen.

“In the Blackwood is an old ruin,” Hill spoke.

The inquisitor stopped dead in his tracks and peered back at him over his shoulder.

“Old monastery or some such, don’t know. Beyond that is a dark cave, surrounded by vines and leafy trees that stay evergreen even in the deepest of winters,” said Hill.

The inquisitor said nothing. He just listened.

“That’s his lair. The one you’re looking for.”

The inquisitor’s brow arched as he asked, “Whose lair?”

A gust of wind shot through the crack in between frame and ajar door, sending new shivers down Hill’s spine.

“Prince Fainlahset,” whispered Hill.

The inquisitor sighed and continued on towards the road.

“Good day, Mister Hill,” he said without turning around to face the man.

Hill grimaced. Anger welled in his stomach. He sensed that the inquisitor now ignored him and did not believe what he had just been told. He closed door and bolted it shut.

He had been looking forward to that carrot stew and the tea from earlier had invigorated him. But this encounter with the inquisitor had left Sherman Hill weary; wearier than any of his work had ever left him before. Exhausted, even.

Removing his jacket, he sat down at the table. A jumble of thoughts invaded his mind, whispers and echoes from the past. Dispelling them in one instant, he slammed his fists onto the table, causing his lantern to jump up and fall over.

His stomach knotted. Hill felt like something terrible was afoot now. His hands trembled when he buried his face in them.

He jolted up, sitting upright in the chair at the table. Sleep must have overtaken him, as the broad daylight pouring in through his foggy windows had yielded to a suffocating darkness. The room was deathly cold now, the fire in his stove long died down without anybody to stoke and feed it.

Something strange hung in the air—a sweet fragrance. Not as strong as a woman’s perfume. More like carrots. Or wild strawberries?

Hill fumbled around on the table until his fingers found purchase on the cold surface of his gas lantern. He switched it on.

The light it cast illuminated a figure sitting across from him at the table. The unexpected and unwanted guest’s presence made Hill grip the sides of his chair lest he fall off of it.

The figure there looked human at first, but the proportions of its limbs were all wrong. Its skin reflected the light, shiny and sleek—its skin was no skin, but a silvery, metal armor, completely encasing the creature and revealing not one bit of skin. Two dots, like tiny lights, stared at Hill through a thin slit of a visor. The gauntlets of this guest rested on the table’s surface, but featured only two fingers and a thumb each, hooked and shaped like monstrous claws.

Whispers erupted from its ghastly helmet, smithed to resemble a beastly maw of sharp teeth, like that of a misshapen wolf or abominable bear.

It took Hill a moment to understand that those whispers carried words, but no words that he could ever hope to comprehend.

Scampering, skittering sounds erupted all around him, scurrying about. Hill’s head and eyes darted and flitted back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse—any glimpse—at what else had invaded his home. But whatever those things were, they were small and eluded his sight, hiding in the dark corners of his home and watching at him from the darkness.

The armored creature across from him whispered more words in a guttural tongue that Hill failed to decipher. The things around him neared, tiny claws clicking and scraping over the floorboards as they crept closer. The terror that now gripped Hill, cutting through his flesh and bone and right down into his heart, told him not to turn. To not see what lurked behind him.

Not even when dozens of needle-like pinpricks pierced his flesh. Something warm and sticky soaked Hill’s clothing. The man wanted to move, but his limbs refused to obey him now. Hill whimpered and the armored figure whispered more sentences at him.

Just one word—or a name—kept repeating. Something that sounded like, “Senethean.” Dread and hopelessness flooded Hill’s mind like a fog, drowning out everything else. Even the growing sensation of pain, flooding in from all those frayed nerve ends. He wanted to scream, but something sharp and salty lodged itself in his throat. And came out the other end, though he dared not move or look down. If he even could, now.

Although Sherman Hill could not understand a single word of this ancient tongue, he instinctively knew what he was being told.

“You have betrayed the sacred oaths.”

And that smell. That sweet, sweet smell. It clouded everything, draped itself over his mind, numbed the pain. Hill’s thoughts and suffering made way to sleep. He would sleep. He knew he needed to stay awake to live, but the combined burdens of a lifetime weighed down on his eyelids until the world turned black.

The “Senethean” in its silver armor stared at him all the while, whispering its deathly sentence.

When the inquisitor emerged from Hill’s home the next day, his face had turned pale. Town overseer Galway looked at Armstrong with sorrow in his eyes. The inquisitor shook his head.

He did not have it in his heart to describe all the grisly details.

The sight had also robbed Armstrong of the vocabulary to describe how Sherman Hill had been turned inside out, and his innards used to drape the room in almost artistic arrangements, like decorative flower wreaths.

The inquisitor shut the door behind himself and prepared to leave the town of Hallowglen.

—Submitted by Wratts

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