#but young him is a different beast entirely and so painfully human because of it

[thebrainrotsreal]

Thinking about de-aged Bruce via magical shenanigans being a bit of a menace. He will bite you if given the chance, and will draw blood. Slippery as an eel to catch. Don't even think you can corner him in his own home, he knows every single secret room and deep tunnel in the manor. Your eyes are scratch-able to him. Try telling he's the future and he's demanding you tell him who killed his parents. Can't tell him? Alright then, you're lying. He would've found out by now if this really the future.

[sepublic]

Who sold the Curse to Lilith?

           A while back, @loosescrewslefty pointed out to me that Tibbles’ shop, which he specifically cited as having been passed down through generations, is named Mud and Sundry. Mud and Sundry was located in the Night Market… Lilith bought her curse from the Night Market… Tibbles sells an elixir that cures said curse at exorbitant prices, and he is a remorseless, opportunistic capitalist. We’ve all wondered why it was called a Curse of Feathers and MUD… And the stand is called MUD and Sundry. You do the math.

           Though, if this theory is correct, then it’s worth noting that it was probably Tibbles II who sold a young Lilith that curse- We know Tibbles III is a Witch, and according to Dana, witches have about the same lifespans as humans. I’m not entirely sure Tibbles III’s age, but he doesn’t seem to be that old- At least, he was probably a child when Lilith was. So it’s more than likely that his father was in charge of Mud and Sundry, and thus sold the curse to Lilith in this theory.

           So, we’ve got the scummy family of capitalist pigs, who literally create the conditions that others need a cure for- But said cure isn’t permanent and has to be constantly bought across one’s entire life, because the curse itself is permanent. I’m not saying Tibbles could potentially become the most reviled character in this entire show, even moreso than Adegast or Odalia and Alador for me… At least, I’m not saying this UNLESS the show confirms that it was his bloodline that caused this mess. And if so, then I hope that Tibbles straight-up died and was painfully devoured alive by his own animals, back when Eda dumped those crab apples on him.

           Like, let’s be real here- Lilith is definitely terrible for what she did back as a kid, BUT! The important thing to remember is that Lilith legitimately thought the curse would last for a day, and only hinder Eda’s magic; She couldn’t have ever imagined the curse lasting for the rest of Eda’s life, which it would also shorten… Nor could Lilith have anticipated the curse turning Eda into a beast as well. Lilith was willing to curse her sister for a day- NOT for the rest of her life, nor was Lilith willing to shorten that life either. The side-effects of that curse were out of her hand, but keep in mind that Lilith had a VERY different intent…

           What I’m saying is- Screw the dude who sold a child a curse. Screw the dude who willingly, knowingly sold this kid a curse, knowing exactly the kind of damage it’d cause- And screw them for not even having the decency to be upfront and honest about the severity of this curse, especially when you know this kid is going to be using it on someone. ESPECIALLY if the kid thinks it’ll last for a day, VS someone’s entire existence… If you’re going to sell a kid something that can and WILL permanently ruin a person’s life, at least be honest about it! I’m gonna be honest, I’m way angrier at whoever sold Lilith the curse, because this is something they did for a living, and something they chose to do; And I have no sympathy for them even if they were dirt-poor, because…

           Curses explicitly hurt and ruin people’s lives. That’s literally their only, primary function. Lilith can at least reassure herself because it’s supposed to be temporary, and she’s only doing it once, and by herself. Whoever sold her the curse was a bastard who enabled this for other people, who no doubt caused a lot of people pain for money- And they enabled others to do the same, horrible things. And, if they couldn’t even be accurate about the severity of their curses, then this seller likely got a lot of people to cross lines they never would’ve otherwise- You know, like Lilith herself. They sold permanent curses, stuff that can’t be taken back for people who justifiably underestimated their severity, stuff that forces you to basically sell your soul to afford elixirs and treatment. This seller legit ruined Lilith and Eda’s lives, and shortened Eda’s especially, and I just…

           LOOK. I really hope that after that incident… I really hope that Lilith tracked down that seller. And confronted them over their dishonesty, and how it ruined Eda’s life. Considering she tried so hard to cure Eda, you know she would’ve at least tried. And as a member of the Emperor’s Coven… Really, who’s to say Lilith didn’t take her revenge? The Night Market is a hive for illegal activity- She’s fully in her authority to arrest someone, not that an enforcer of a dictatorship needs much justification anyway. And, I’d like to imagine that Lilith got her revenge, for her AND Eda’s sake… Maybe she pulled strings to get the seller petrified. Maybe she offered them to Emperor Belos himself, as a sacrifice and a source of magic bile to drain, if the seller had any…

           Because screw that person. Seriously. I’m already incensed at them as-is for the nature of their profession and their willingness to sell to children, but now it’s personal because we see firsthand, intimately, how much a curse can screw people over- Not just the victim, but even the caster, who can get tricked into the guilt of crossing a line they never would’ve! And if it was Tibbles II who sold Lilith the curse, and if Lilith DID get revenge by having him killed or imprisoned for the rest of his life, sentenced to a fate worse than death ideally… I have to wonder how this would shape Tibbles III’s feelings about the Emperor’s Coven, and about the Clawthornes.

          Does he recognize Eda as the sister of his father’s killer, low-key the cause of his father’s death? Does he resent Eda for this, is there another level to his conflict with Eda? He never brings it up, that’s worth mentioning… Though it’s possible Lilith came in and took out his father, before a younger Tibbles even realized who the culprit was. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lilith would’ve done this early into her career in the Emperor’s Coven, which likely meant that she’d be wearing the standard uniform and thus be unrecognizable.

           Would Tibbles know that it was the Emperor’s Coven who had a hand in this? Does he have feelings about giving them what they want- Or does he just not care, because profit is all that matters in the end? I wouldn’t be surprised if he was so utterly remorseless that he didn’t even bat an eye at his father’s death because it just meant getting inheritance. That in the end it’s all just business, and it’s his father’s fault for being so traceable and thus opening himself to a customer’s revenge. Then again, Tibbles DOES emphasize how Mud and Sundry was passed down through the generations, which implies some value of his familial connections and pride towards them. Who can say, besides Dana herself of course…

           All I’m saying is- I’m in the mood for bacon, all of a sudden. And if the seller IS still out and about, I really want a bonding episode between Eda and Lilith as they utterly eviscerate them. Maybe give them a taste of their own medicine… Or shall I say, curse? Really BOTH, if Tibbles II sold curses with the intent to make people reliant on the elixirs he brewed.

[capri-ramblings]

Yikes,I know there's bound to be questions but trust me, chapter 3 will answer most of them. Aha,I'm sorry if this chapter is kinda confusing at first,I'm not good at planning out thoughts or stories systemically,it kinda makes it harder for me to write whenever I try to. But here,the second chapter of Raptured! Thank you for reading! ( ꈍᴗꈍ) ♥️

[ R a p t u r e d ]

Chapter 2: Banter

In the moment Riddle had finished telling his brothers what conspired with their human captive, the first to speak up was Azul.

"They offered what?" His words were a mix of shock and amusement, gaze fixated on Riddle who seemed almost flustered from how red his cheeks were.

The red haired sighed, sending him a narrow eyed glare before crossing his arms.

"The head of their own brother"

"By their own hands?" Kalim asked aloud, his features scrunched up worryingly. "Isn't that bad? Why would anyone want to kill their own brother so suddenly?"

From the chaise across the room,Leona let out a scoff, lips upturned into a smirk.

"What are you? A five year old? If you give a herbivore the chance of freedom,they'd leave their entire fleet open to make sure they survive. Humans aren't so different."

"Indeed" Vil joined in with a smile of his own. "Humans are very fickle things, they live out their life struggling and as a result they stink of repulsion."

"They can barely even stand on their own.." Idia added thoughtfully and as the gazes of his brothers turned to him, the flames on his hair flickered and he looked away.

"Maybe the isolation's got to their head?"

Riddle let out a scoff, his lips upturned in a sneer almost too vicious to be formed on such a delicate looking face.

"The cottage they were in was secluded from the rest of the village,they were already a reclusive. Why should it bother them now?"

"Maybe Idia has a point" Kalim interjected then "Before they were on their own by choice...and they weren't exactly trapped in a tower either"

"It's all the same" Leona snapped " Damn herbivores will always be too fragile."

"Though, our soft-shelled brothers have a sound reason" Vil's lips curled in an effortless smile,his ever sharp gaze glinting like jewels.

"At this rate our small hare is going to die before the homage from her brother, and that makes all of this pointless."

The room went silent then. Each males having their own thoughts wrapped around the situation.

When they came to a decision to face the hunter who killed their family beast, he was nowhere to be seen and left tending to his cottage was none other than their captive human, a young sibling unaware of what their fool brother had committed. They opted it was easier to simply kidnap them and have their brother come looking since neither one of them wanted to wait around. There was also the fact that the death of the beast had affected their Mother's health greatly, and all seven brothers fumed with rage.

"Our methods doesn't matter anymore" Riddle spoke up, "What's done is done. We can't exactly just put them back where we found them."

"I agree" Azul said "Though if the human dies in our care now, when we're fully able to change their situation, I fear the price of that loss would be great."

"What? Are the humans going to chase us around with pitchforks?" Leona sneered,his sharp fangs visible as he leaned back into the chaste. "You saw how further in their cottage was, chances are the herbivore doesn't even go down to the village often enough for people to notice them missing."

"They can't die." Idia drawled the words out this time,his gaze sharp and harsh as he stared down Leona who all but grinned at his brother.

"Why? Because you like them?" The laugh that barked out from Leona was cruel and Idia flinched.

"Go ahead and save the poor herbivore then,Prince Idia of the lands of burrowed moles. You think they'd ever look at you fondly?"

"Enough." Riddle came between the fight with his own ire and before he sent a glare towards Leona, he let Idia catch the solace in his.

The situation was getting worst. They needed a decision quick.

"You're not a five year old as well,Leona, so keep that tongue of yours tamed"

"What are you? Suddenly playing the role of the Eldest when you can't even reach his height?" Leona scrutinized Riddle with an aggression that seemed ready to claw him in the face, but Riddle kept his own spite and promptly choose to ignore his brother.

Instead,he turned to Azul.

"The hunter should've came back and see his sibling gone, you even sent those eels of yours to make sure he got the hints. Why hasn't he made a single move? It's been two months."

"Maybe he's forgetful?" Kalim chipped in, eyes glowing. Riddle wanted to tap the side of his face and gently tell him to shut up but Vil patted his head instead.

"A forgetful hunter managing to kill a wild beast is unlikely, mein bruder"

Azul crossed his arms,gaze narrowing.

"They've sent word that they have information regarding our human and the whereabouts of their brother"

"And?" Vil prompted.

"I told them to come meet us as soon as they can, which shouldn't be long."

The moment those words were uttered, a dull thud came from the would-be-entrance of the tower, and a familiar voice calling out.

"My Princes! Open the door please!" The urgency of the voice had all the present Princes turning their head, though the one who seemed genuinely surprised and concerned was Kalim.

"That voice..." He said, turning to Azul "Is that who I think it is?"

Azul's lips curled into a knowing smile and with a flick of his fingers, the sound of a door being swung opened then slammed shut could be heard within the tower itself,followed by light rapid footsteps approaching them.

Out of breath and desperately panting, a young girl made a hasty bow as she came before the Princes, though the way her legs slightly trembled suggested that she was near collapsing.

"It is her!" Kalim's eyes grew wide with familiarity, the worry in his voice replaced with joy as he came up to place his hand on the girl's shoulder.

"The last time I saw you, you were still learning how to walk!" Kalim's loud voice seemed to make her flinch but the girl met his gaze with warmth before she bowed her head again.

"Pleasure to meet you again,Prince Kalim." She's heard stories of him, the Prince Fae known to give out bits of his treasures to those who come wishing at his well. It seemed odd to act as if she's known him, but she knew better than to put logic before courtesy. He was one of the seven Princes after all. Acting too smart with them was a fool's mistake.

Before Kalim could say anything else, Azul stepped forward and the girl promptly met his side with a suddenly serious demeanor.

"I'd ask you for the information I had you fetch but I wonder why you were running in the first place?"

The girl laughed dryly if not nervously.

"Floyd wanted to see who could win in a race in getting here,your Highness."

Azul frowned, internally sighing.

"Why on Earth did you agree to that?"

Again, the girl laughed. "He terrifies me,my Prince."

Riddle couldn't place where he's met her, but hearing her words had him internally sympathising her. Azul's leeches were a pair he'd gladly avoid for eternity as well.

"So,you got a changeling to be at your beck and call as well,Azul?" Vil sounded amused as he turned to Azul, but the degrading glance he gave the girl bellied the smile coyly sitting on his lips then.

"She's indebted to us anyway" Azul stated simply "Why not put her to work?"

His gaze returned to the girl.

"What do you have about our human then?"

It took a full ten minutes for the young changeling to inform them of what she's managed to compile on their human and hunter. Turns out they aren't related by blood but by marriage. Apparently most of the villagers knew of the hunter but rarely saw the younger sibling as they took more liking in staying indoors. There was also talk that their relationship with one another was never close and answered Riddle's question as to why he hadn't showed up yet.

"So, he's just going to leave his sibling at our mercy?" Kalim asked,he had his expression scrunched up with worry and pity again but Leona shared none of it and only growled with distaste.

"There won't be mercy if they're left with us a second longer"

Riddle caught the flicker of Idia's flames and instantly reacted.

"Threaten to murder our captive one more time and I'll have your head,Leona."

"Hah, you're trying to scare me,Riddle?" Leona sneered,fangs glistening with malice. He's been irritated by the whole situation since the beginning. Taking in a human in hopes that another would appear to save them, it was all a damn fairytale. Leona knew humans were selfish, his brothers should've had that piece of common sense drilled into their heads as well. No one was going to play hero for their captive.

Riddle gritted his teeth and again instead of lashing out senselessly, he swirled around to face the changeling. Every bit of his anger flaring in his grey gaze.

"Where's the hunter now?" He asked,though it sounded painfully like a death threat.

The changeling bowed her head.

"He's at the human King's palace,Prince Riddle. King Aothor ...of Nostorne"

The words sent the entire room tilting, and Riddle would've gripped her by her neck if Azul hadn't stepped forward.

"King? Since when did the humans have a King?" The last time they came to the world,their mother's shrine was built almost everywhere to acknowledge her ruling. Had times changed so drastically since their absence?

"Yes. It's been this way for years now. A dukedom raised after Her Most Divine's departure from the human realm and ever since then a lineage of human nobles have taken the throne as the Human ruler."

"My, how futuristic, and here we were in the guise that we still sat on the top of their world" Vil was laughing but his words cut into the tension of the room like a blade coated in venom and the changeling girl shifted uncomfortably.

"It seems like the order of the slaughtering was made by him and ultimately fulfilled by the hunter. His name is Cyril and he's being celebrated by the King for his bravery."

Leona heaved a heavy sigh,leaning once more into his chaise. He looked ready to fall into a deep slumber already but his irritation kept him awake.

"So,we have information. Now what's the plan?"

***

Jade and Floyd,two of Azul's trusted companions came into the situation while the Princes were sorting out their thoughts and opinions (Which all greatly contradict one another) and brought word that their hunter had refused to save their sibling in a conversation Jade overheard him had with another hunter right before he was called on by the King.

"He said he knew of the Fae's trick and that by taking something of theirs as his own, he'd gladly give anything they took from him as compensation." Jade explained in his usual matter-of-fact tone,his mismatched gaze still and knowing.

Riddle clicked his tongue, brows furrowing. Idia's was the most sympathetic along with Kalim while Leona and Vil seemed ready to send a fleet of their army to storm into the human villages.

"I'm not really surprised though" Floyd spoke up lazily "He seems like a guy who'd do that kind of thing anyways"

"But now the Princes are stuck with keeping a human captive in their care", Boe,the young changeling from earlier, pointed out grimly.

"What if we sent you to negotiate with him in our stead?" Idia suggested which earned a rather hasty look from the girl.

"Human royals don't take too kindly to my kind,Prince Idia. I doubt he'd even let me enter"

Leona let out a menacing growl. One that reverberated through the tower walls.

"This is going nowhere. Riddle, go up to that damn herbivore and have them beg their brother come and pay his homage so we can give them back."

Riddle frowned.

"You heard the changeling,Leona. If their relationship with their brother is as bad as we've heard, do you really think they'd beg for him to come save them?"

"Couldn't you talk some sense in them?" Azul had eyes turning once more to the young changeling who all but reluctantly slumped her shoulders.

"I don't see how me being the one talking will get them to cooperate..."

"Clamshell,you should at least try,right?" Floyd's smile was sickly sweet and when he attempted to sling his arm over her shoulders, she avoided the outcome by shifting close to Jade.

"What would you want me to say to them?"

"The offer they gave" Riddle said "Have them elaborate more on that. I'm not going into a deal without knowing why it was proposed in the first place."

There was hesitation in her eyes but it was swiftly changed to a silent resolve as she nodded her head.

"I'll see what I can do."

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 37

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1915

i can only tell you how it, how it looks from here

i think you've made up your mind

i think you've made up your mind

Everything about this room set Riza’s nerves on edge. The glaring white walls were bright enough to give her a headache. The decaying body across from them, surrounded by pieces of smashed armour, was creating a stench strong enough to make her gag. Riza pressed a hand against her mouth and nose, stifling it as best she could. It didn’t help much. The smell still made her stomach lurch.

Aside from the foreboding atmosphere of the room, the smirking homunculus at the other end was making her skittish. That was the same one who’d tried to kidnap her earlier, probably to use her against Roy. When they’d first set eyes on Riza, Envy flashed her a smile with teeth fully on show. It was unsettling.

“Nice to see you again, Riza,” they’d sneered at her.

In response Riza lifted her gun higher, aiming down sights to settle it upon their face.

It had been a while since she’d fired a gun. Riza wasn’t sure if she had it in her to shoot to kill someone, but she would do her utmost to protect those she loved. The wounds didn’t need to kill, just hinder, and slow them down. The thought settled uncomfortably in her gut but Riza was not naïve. The homunculi wouldn’t go easy on her just because she was a civilian. When it came down to it, she had her children and her husband to fight for. She’d fight to survive for them. Growing up she’d learned how to survive from a young age and had been forced into doing what needed to be done far too soon. Now would be no different. If they threatened to kill her, kill her family, then she’d fight back. There was no question about it. The weight and consequences of any actions would be dealt with later.

After Envy’s welcome party Roy stepped up close behind her. He placed his hand gently upon her hip to garner her attention.

“Stay close,” he murmured in her ear, before moving around her, placing himself between her and Envy.

He didn’t know just how much comfort that action provided.

Even half shielded from view, Riza never relaxed. Her gun lowered so it wouldn’t be pointed at the back of Roy’s head, but her muscles were still coiled tightly and ready to react at a moment's notice. She didn’t let her guard down.

“Got your back,” Riza replied quietly.

Still facing away, Roy’s head bobbed once. Taking that as a sign he acknowledged her, Riza turned her gaze to the rest of the room. Her eyes skipped between everyone in front of her, making sure Edward was all right.

The strap of the rifle Breda had presented to her threatened to slip off her shoulder, so Riza shrugged it back into a comfortable place. She didn’t see the need for her to have two weapons however she had to admit, she did feel more comfortable with the rifle. That was what she’d grown up with and it was a comfort to know her preferred weapon wasn’t far away. Not that she wanted a weapon at all, but Riza knew these people could very easily kill her. She didn’t want to be left defenceless. Not when she had two children waiting for her to come home.

Finally, returning to the conversation, Riza turned her attention to Envy. They smirked maddeningly and Riza’s stomach twisted.

“Congratulations, Colonel Mustang. You’ve finally hunted down your culprit.”

Her stomach dropped.

Envy’s body glowed bright red, changing and morphing into -

Gracia.

They’d… They’d killed Maes… Using Gracia’s face...

The gun in Riza’s hands dipped to point at the floor with her shock. Riza didn’t even realise. She was too stuck on the revelation that this was the person who’d killed one of her dearest friends. They’d taken a loving father away from a child, left a woman widowed… Made him think his own wife had killed him - 

“That’s enough.”

Bile crawled its way up Riza’s throat, but it stalled when she saw Roy move. Her head snapped to face him, seeing his whole body shaking with…

Rage.

Gloves were tightened over his hands and all Riza wanted to do was reach out, place a hand on his shoulder, and jerk him back, out of reach of Envy. Anything to break his concentration. Envy was taunting Roy, playing with him, and it caused Riza’s fear to skyrocket. Roy had already been volatile enough about this topic of conversation at home. He didn’t need to be teased further about Maes’ murderer. But Riza was frozen in place. Her brain was still trying to process that this was who’d murdered Maes Hughes.

Roy walked toward Envy so Riza lifted her gun, training it on Envy’s form now that Roy had stepped out of her line of fire. She swallowed thickly, past the lump in her throat.

“This one is mine, and mine alone.”

Her breath caught, eyes nervously shifting over to look at Roy again.

Please… Please don’t do anything reckless, she pleaded inside her head.

“Mrs. Mustang, do you really think the two of you -?”

“Edward, go.” She shifted her grip on the gun. The day was not won, and they still had a job to do. Edward still had his own goals to achieve. “You’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Are you sure?”

“She said go, Elric,” Roy snapped.

Riza frowned at the back of his head, affronted by his tone. Still, she wanted Edward out of here. Riza felt the same way about the young girl standing by Scar too. She was sure they were more than capable, but her maternal instinct was clawing its way to the surface. She could handle Roy, and they had somewhere better to be.

They walked by without incident. Envy glared as they passed but made no move to stop the group. Their tongue was still smoking after Roy had snapped earlier, burning it to stop them from talking.

“You go too -”

“She’s not getting to leave,” Envy sneered. “No,” they smirked, “I think she can stay here with you and watch how you work, Colonel.” Envy snickered to themselves and Riza’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Before Roy could open his mouth to reply there was a deafening crack of energy.

The pistol fell limp by her side. Riza’s mouth parted in complete shock, brain struggling to comprehend what was in front of her.

Envy had changed shape completely. The massive form of a green… She didn’t even know what to class it as. It was no beast she knew of, more a culmination of numerous beings all mashed together into one. The human bodies and faces that pressed out from the green skin almost made her vomit. It would be naïve to think they weren’t real people stuck inside there but… Riza couldn’t help but hope beyond hope. A foolish hope, but enough to keep her sane for the moment. It was enough to keep her breakfast in her stomach and stop the horror from keeping her completely frozen in place.

Her fear about running from the imposter at her front door was validated in that moment. Initially she’d been compliant so she could avoid any kind of conflict as the homunculus’ powers were unknown. Seeing this new form in front of her Riza was really damn glad she hadn’t fought it. Those massive paws could end her life in one playful swipe.

“I’ll give you the fight you’re looking for Colonel, seeing as you’ve been so relentless in your search for Hughes’ killer. However, I can’t exactly tread lightly in this body so you better -”

Envy’s eyes erupted into flames. Riza balked at the show, their howl of agony slicing through her entire body and making her shudder. 

“What’s it like having the fluid inside of your eyes boil? I’d imagine it might sting a little,” Roy stated coldly.

Riza turned to look at her husband. Dread prickled over her skin, lifting the hairs on her arms, and turning her blood to ice. Horror roiled inside her chest, squeezing her heart painfully and making her break out in a cold sweat.

Enraged, Roy didn’t relent on his assault and Riza could only watch on, terrified.

This was the power she’d unleashed upon the world. These flames had ravished the desert, razing it, and destroying everything in its path. Riza was well aware of this, had discussed it with Roy years ago, but had never seen it at work.

“I think she can stay here with you and watch how you work, Colonel.”

Envy had already known of Roy’s destructive power.

Shortly after they were married, he’d playfully lit the fireplace with it, used it to light the gas on the cooker – sometimes with almost disastrous results – but after Ishval the gloves were neatly tucked away inside a drawer and were never brought out except for when he went to work. He never wore them again inside their home, taking his time to coax a fire from the coals on their hearth, or almost burn his fingers with a match.

This was the power that had torn him apart once before, it was threatening to do it again.

Riza couldn’t let that happen.

Envy’s massive form shifted, their tail swinging to hit the wall beside them. The force of it blasted rock towards Roy and Riza’s heart lifted into her throat.

“Roy!”

His hands lifted to in front of his face to try and shield it, but she lost sight of him as more stone flew by and dust filled the room. Riza crouched low, feeling grains of stone scrape gently across her hands as she covered her head. Luckily, she was out of range of Envy’s attack.

“You coward!” Roy barked.

She heard footsteps against the stone floor, running. As the dust cleared she saw her husband running towards the door Edward had walked through, and Envy was nowhere to be seen.

“Roy, wait!”

She was desperate. Riza took a step towards him. She’d heard the fury in his voice, saw the inferno of hate inside his eyes before he’d attacked Envy. In her mind she was silently begging Roy not to run headfirst into something he’d regret. But she never got a chance to voice it aloud.

“You stay here where it’s safe,” he called over his shoulder, running towards the door. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m going to take care of Envy myself,” he spat.

She hated hearing the fury in his voice. That wasn’t the Roy she knew. This wasn’t the doting father who laughed and cherished his children. Riza knew his time in the military hadn’t been sunshine and roses. It had been difficult and cruel, but this was something else entirely. He was changing, teetering on the edge of morphing into… into a monster. If pushed enough he just might. The realisation of it cut deep into her chest, making it ache as she exhaled.

Her shoulders slumped as she stared after his retreating form. She felt momentarily helpless –

Riza frowned. As if she would stay and let him run off to fight Envy alone. The irritation and anger she’d felt festering during their last argument about him seeking revenge and justice came hurtling back. He was losing it, but he’d already said he didn’t want to become a monster again. Riza wouldn’t let him.

The pistol was gripped tightly in her palm. Riza started moving and picked up her pace to a run. Her gun was cocked and ready.

As she walked through the tunnels she’d heard the explosions, heard Envy’s distant screams. Riza was on high alert. The blasts and the screaming eventually stopped but she wouldn’t let her guard down until she knew for certain Envy had been defeated. The sudden lack of them made her wonder if Roy had already defeated and delivered his justice to Envy, but she held onto the slim hope that maybe they’d just escaped. She clung to it desperately.

Footsteps were approaching her current position. They were in the hallway ahead, heavy but steady as they walked. Ducking, she hurried as quietly as she could to the opening where the tunnel she was in opened up into another. Gun poised and ready, she waited for whoever was approaching to come into view.

At the last second, Riza spun out and swung her gun, lifting it so it came face to face with - 

Roy.

She blinked at him, surprised to have seen him so soon. Her shoulders fell with relief and realisation but paused when she saw the dark look in his eyes. His stare was hard as he looked down on her.

A seed of doubt planted itself into her mind when he remained, poised to snap at her, for a moment longer. He should have recognised her right away...

Was this…

Unless he thought she was Envy.

“I told you to stay behind, Riza.” Roy straightened his posture and lowered his hand to his side. His hand relaxed and went limp.

“I wasn’t going to let you face this alone. I already told you that.”

Riza thought he might argue with her, stating it wasn’t safe down here, but he just scoffed quietly and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Where’s Envy?” She rose to her feet and lowered her pistol but didn't loosen her grip.

“They outran me.” He turned away from her, speaking into the empty tunnel. “This place is like a labyrinth. You might as well help me kill them now that you’re here. Stay right by my side, Riza,” he ordered over his shoulder. “Don’t leave it.”

Without another word, Roy walked off, leaving her to stare after him.

That seed of doubt was putting down roots and sprouting slowly within her mind.

Riza started to walk behind him. He didn’t even acknowledge her.

“You might as well help me kill them”. That didn’t sit well with Riza at all.

I don’t want to get you involved. He’d told her that, adamant about that fact, when she’d offered to help Winry after she’d had a run in with Scar. He’d begged her to stop pushing for her own safety, as well as their unborn child’s.

I didn’t intend for this to happen. He’d been miserable as he reassured her of that on their couch after his meeting with Bradley. And it was me that put you in harm’s way.

This isn’t over, he’d vowed after seeing that Pride had hurt her. I swear my life on it.

Roy had never wanted her to get her involved in anything relating to his work. He’d even fought to share his plans for the day with her, stating the less she knew the better. However, she’d managed to wear him down and it had helped him to talk it through with someone, rather than shoulder it all by himself.

Before running off after Envy he’d even told her to stay where it was safe. That he didn’t want her to get hurt. Why would he invite her to help him kill Envy, when he knew that was the opposite of what Riza wanted him to do?

This was not her husband.

Riza lifted her pistol towards Roy’s head. She let out a quiet breath, ignoring the horrible imagery of pointing a gun at her husband, poised to kill.

He stopped, turning to half face her. His fringe was almost hiding his eyes, but his expression never changed. It was the same steely one he’d worn earlier when he didn’t lower his hand, despite realising it was her around the corner.

It was possible he was just being cautious but his command to help him kill Envy was what settled it for Riza.

Slowly, Roy turned back around and lifted his hands in surrender. “Do you know who your gun is pointed at?” 

Riza scoffed. “Who? Don’t make me laugh. When we’re alone, my husband calls me by my maiden name. A throwback, to old times.”

She heard Roy gasp, then jump away in a flash. As he did so, red sparks erupted from his body as it morphed into Envy. “Maiden name?” Envy scoffed. “What kind of weird marriage do you two have -?”

“I lied.”

Riza fired, hitting Envy in the face with her bullet. They cried out in pain, hurtling backwards to crash into the ground. Her stomach lurched with the impact of that first shot, very aware that she’d fired at another ‘human being’. She knew they couldn’t be killed so easily but… It was still jarring.

Just like it had been after her first successful hunt as a child.

Fight to survive, Riza.

Red sparks erupted around Envy’s face, healing the wound she’d just made, repairing skin and muscle insanely fast. It angered Riza that they could heal and repair themself so easily while a friend couldn’t and had been left for dead in a phone booth in the middle of Central.

“It was nice of you to fall for it though, Envy. And now you can do us all the favour of dying.”

Riza fired again and again, almost emptying a clip into the homunculus. 

“Ow! That hurts!” Envy yelled at her.

Something very green and sharp shot towards Riza, cutting into the skin of her shoulder faster than she could react. The arm that held her gun jerked out as she ground her teeth together against the pain. The way her body spun from the impact made the rifle strapped to her back lose its grip on her clothing and it slipped down her other arm. Riza caught it quickly, so fast that even she couldn’t believe it, but she was being fuelled by indignation and this being’s carelessness for human life, as well as adrenaline. With that combination, the rifle was caught easily.

Riza’s knees buckled with surprise and the sudden pain in her shoulder. One hit the ground painfully as she steadied herself, getting ready to fire. Despite the rough treatment and the recovery from Envy’s strike, she still managed to hit her target.

Envy’s body jerked with the hit, pushing them back a step with every single one until they dropped to their knees.

“You’re really annoying with that thing!”

Furious, another bolt of green disrupted the stones beneath her feet before shooting up and racing towards Riza. She stood sharply but it was too fast to dodge. It wrapped around her entire body, sealing her arms against her body tightly. It squeezed impossibly tight, restricting her ability to breathe. Gasping for a breath, Riza’s eyes bugged open wide as she was lifted off the ground. Knowing what was coming before it happened should have helped her prepare, but she was too caught off guard. She was still recovering from the sudden lack of oxygen and the pain lancing through her shoulder. She was slammed down into the concrete, the back of her head bouncing sickeningly off the stone. There was a crack as her hair clip broke and let her hair loose. The blonde strands tumbled down her back and over her shoulder, springing free from their restraint.

“I’ll dump you at his feet like a rag!” Envy cackled.

Gasping, Riza lay there as she tried to blink away the spots from her vision. They danced in front of her, but one thing did make its way into her pain addled mind, there was a quiet snap in the distance. It sounded so out of place that it caught her attention. Riza knew what that snap meant.

Envy screamed as Riza felt a sudden heat. Looking down her body Riza saw flames lick at the green appendage holding her still. They stopped far enough down that they wouldn’t harm her, but the sudden rush of flames made the skin of her face heat up.

“Roy,” she cried out, partly with relief and partly to get him to stop.

There was another snap and Envy was consumed by fire. Their screams drowned out Roy’s approach so Riza had no idea where he was.

“What in the hell are you doing to my wife?”

Riza’s head snapped up, blood running cold at the fury she heard in his voice. His face was like thunder as Roy stared Envy down. Glancing over at their enemy, Riza finally saw fear in Envy’s face. They were petrified. They’d made a mistake going after her and now there would be hell to pay.

“Don’t interfere, Riza.” His tone was softer as he spoke to her but that look in his eyes… His rage knew no bounds. “I told you I would deal with this, and I don’t want you to get involved.”

Before she had a chance to reply hell rained down on Envy, like fire and brimstone. Roy snapped and grunting, letting out all of his fury as he sent attack after attack at the homunculus to drain their power. It blew her hair away from her face and the intensity of the heat almost made her turn away.

All Riza could do was stare. She felt numb.

He’s going to kill them. He’s giving into that hatred.

She had to do something. She had to move.

Struggling to her feet was a great effort. Riza felt herself stagger. She was almost knocked backwards by the force of Roy’s alchemy and her head was still spinning from the hit she’d sustained after being slammed into the ground.

After one last ferocious blast Envy’s body started to disintegrate. It crumbled into a charred mess, leaving a tiny green creature in its place. Their voice turned almost child-like as they cursed Roy, crawling away from their own remains with tears in their eyes.

Roy approached and lowered his foot harshly atop Envy’s body. They were squashed underneath his boot, almost crushed completely. Any slight increase in pressure and they’d be dead.

Like hell Riza would let Roy do that to them.

“So this is your true form then?” The growl in his voice almost made Riza sick.

Stop… This isn’t you, Roy… Stop it, please.

“You’re ugly.”

Envy whined, begging for Roy not to do it, just like Riza was in her mind.

“I don’t want to die!” Envy cried desperately, tiny limbs flailing frantically.

It was too much for her to take anymore. Catching herself on the wall, Riza shoved herself so she was standing.

“I’m not giving you a choice. Now burn in hell!”

His fingers snapped together. Riza lifted her weapon, cocking and pointing it at Roy’s head, as her heart broke clean in two.

“Roy!”

Her yell echoed around the tunnel, bouncing off the walls with such clarity even she didn’t expect it. In the lull of the explosions the world sounded eerily quiet. Roy’s quiet gasp filled it once he realised what she was doing. His body stilled, his foot easing slightly on Envy’s body underneath his boot.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His tone was harsh but genuine surprise had seeped into it as well.

“Stop this,” Riza commanded, putting as much authority into her voice as she possibly could. Her gun shook in her hand, the grip slacking. No. She couldn’t let herself slip now. Not after all they’d already been through with this discussion. She wouldn’t let him talk to her like that either. The grip on the gun tightened. “I’ll deal with Envy from here on out.”

“Riza. Lower your weapon,” he ordered with the same authority she’d heard him use with his team at work.

Riza was no soldier and had to follow no such order. She was his wife, she loved him, and she’d made a promise that she’d watch his back and watch out for him always. He’d asked her to do that and she wasn’t about to let him down.

If I lost myself to all of this… That’s not the husband or father I want to be. I don’t want to be a monster again.

I choose you. I choose all three of you. There’s no contest and never has been.

He’d picked his side, that night in the darkened bedroom, and she wasn’t going to let him back out now.

“No. Put your hand down, Roy.”

He scoffed. “I won’t ask you again!” He shouted, almost startling her. He’d never used that tone with her before, never been so angry towards her like this. It didn’t even sound like her husband. The barrel of the gun quivered.

There was the sound of a transmutation and the ground beneath his foot was alchemised, disrupting their conversation. It rose up sharply to throw Roy off balance and send Envy sailing through the air. They were both startled out of their argument by the sudden appearance of Edward Elric and Scar.

Edward plucked Envy out of the air effortlessly, gripping onto them tightly with a scowl on his face.

“Fullmetal.”

Riza’s head turned sharply back to face Roy, noting how much calmer he sounded. But it was all a ruse. He hadn’t changed one bit. The fists at Roy’s side began to shake with his fury. One of his arms extended outwards towards Edward.

“I’ll be taking that.”

Edward was surprised by the request, seemingly unsure for a second. He glanced over at Riza and she shook her head the tiniest fraction.

“That is an order. Give them to me, right now!”

“No, I won’t,” Edward refused and Riza felt herself relax the tiniest amount.

With a controlled movement, Roy’s arm lowered. Alchemic energy still sparked around his gloves, a sign that he hadn’t given up the transmutation yet. He still needed to decide where to direct it.

Not at Edward and Envy, Riza pleaded. She couldn’t take it if he did.

“Elric,” Roy growled. “That thing belongs to me.”

“No they don’t!”

“Give them to me! Or I’ll burn up your hand along with it!” Roy’s hand twisted, pointed towards Edward.

“Roy!” she scolded, outraged that he’d threaten such a thing, and to Edward of all people too.

He’s almost gone, Riza. Do something!

Edward wasn’t one to give in so easily either, though. He interrupted before Riza could recover from her burst of anger. “Try it then!” he goaded, daring him.

Roy fell silent as he and Edward glared at one another in a standoff.

“Think of our children, Roy,” she commanded, trying another way to get through to him. It had worked before so she hoped it would again. Although Riza tried to keep her voice strong, one mention of them almost broke her. Her voice cracked and she was almost pleading with him as she spoke his name. “Remember what you said to me when we discussed this before. Don’t give into this,” she begged. “Remember that you’re letting go for them, as well as yourself.”

“What would Mia ask you to do?” Edward’s voice rang out in the tunnel, adding onto her point.

Roy’s shoulders stiffened and she heard him inhale sharply. “Stay out of this, Fullmetal,” he warned harshly.

“What would Maes ask, huh?” Edward continued on as if he hadn’t heard Roy speak. “What would those kids say to finding out their father gave into anger and hate and killed this homunculus!” Edward was spitting angry, furious that Roy was even considering such an act, but was desperate to get through to him as well. Riza could see it in his eyes. There was fear in them too. “If it were me I certainly wouldn’t want to look at you again!” Edward yelled. “You look like a monster!”

“I know I have no right to tell you what to do, Mustang, but they are correct.” Scar’s deep and calm timbre rolled through the air, settling over Riza, and making her loose another breath from her lungs. Hope swelled within her that maybe the three of them would be able to get through to him together. “You’re a father and you need to set an example. Do not cause any more death than you already have. End this cycle of hatred,” Scar snarled, “do it now. Break the chain. Otherwise you’re no better than a beast and those that have come before you. And I shudder to think what kind of world you will create after you become its ruler with all of that hatred burning inside of you. I dread to think what kind of father you will be.”

Roy’s body stiffened.

“Roy.” She brought his attention back to her. “This is not who you are.” Her voice was controlled as she steadied her weapon. She knew the Roy she loved was still within him but was buried underneath the tumultuous storm of emotions raging within. He had to be. Riza wouldn’t accept anything otherwise. 

His shoulders tensed. “Riza… I did it,” he growled. “I finally ran them down and they’re right there. They attacked you –”

“I understand that,” she barked harshly. “I know you did, and I know what happened, but you’re about to do something you’ll regret here and I won’t let you. You’re better than this. I know you’re better. I know the man I love, and he’s not here right now.”

His shoulders jerked up towards his ears.

“This course of action benefits no one. All it will do is hurt the ones you love.” Riza took a deep breath. “This is pure hatred. And I will not let it take you. I already told you that. I already promised I wouldn’t let you do it!” Her cry rang out in the silent hallway.

He was struggling, teetering on the edge, but he was listening to her.

“Would you really shoot me with that gun, Riza?”

Her breath caught tightly in her throat, choking her. What… What was he asking her?

His tone changed completely, along with his body language. His shoulders relaxed and he let out a long breath. He sounded calmer, that edge to his voice gone. He almost sounded defeated.

He still didn't let go of the transmutation though.

“If you’re going to shoot me, shoot me.” 

It was just a threat, really. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to kill her husband if he actually went through with this. She was no soldier, had taken no human life, and Riza wasn’t sure if she was emotionally stable enough to hit her target regardless of that.

But would she be able to live on with him, knowing that he’d become the monster he didn’t want to be, but had sought out that path anyway?

“Maybe not,” she admitted quietly.

She’d only been able to target Envy because she knew they wouldn’t die. That first pull of the trigger though… It was jarring, horrifying. When she’d fired a gun before it had been for food, for survival. This fight was a way to try and keep her alive, but she gained nothing from each hit. Just the sickening realisation that she was harming another living thing and gaining nothing from it.

“Maybe I can’t pull that trigger on you.” Despite the turmoil rattling her bones her voice held steady. Sorrow bled into her tone, shoulders dipping as her resolve to point the weapon at him wavered. “I couldn’t do that to you. Couldn’t do that to our children either,” she added, bile rising at the thought of taking their father away from them, regardless of their current conversation.

Memories flashed inside her mind. Roy lifted Mia high in the air, spinning her round as she giggled with glee. Maes’ happy squeals filled the room as Roy blew raspberries on their little boy’s arms, tickling him. Hayate barked happily in their garden as she, Roy, and Mia chased each other in a game of tag on the grass. Little Maes clapped his hands happily as he watched, sitting on Chris’ lap.

Riza clenched her jaw to stave off the sudden tears and keep a hold on her emotions. She wanted that Roy back. She just wanted her husband back.

“But I’m doing what you asked me to do,” Riza replied with more confidence this time. “I’m watching your back. You told me you didn’t want to be a monster again. Don’t give into it. Mia wouldn’t want you too.” Her voice wavered. She cleared her throat to try and shift the lump in it, but it was futile. “Little Maes wouldn’t want you to either. Neither would Big Maes.”

Roy’s head jerked suddenly, no doubt remembering their conversation in the dark in their bed. He’d held her close that night. She remembered pressing a kiss against his throat, feeling his pulse thrum beneath her lips.

“I…” The words stuck in her throat, halting her. They needed to be said because they were true, no matter how much it hurt to think about. She needed to get through to him and the hope that she could was dwindling second by second. “I don’t think I will be able to live on with you if you do go down this path.”

Roy flinched violently.

“I can’t follow you down it. Our family can’t. And I refuse to leave our children behind.”

He let out a choked breath. Suddenly, Roy’s hand jerked out and with a yell, the fire torpedoed down an empty hallway, filling it with heat and his anguish.

He didn’t do it.

Riza had never felt such strong relief in her life. A choked breath left her lungs, stuttering as it passed by her lips. Her knees shook and her pistol trembled in her hand. She almost lost her grip on it.

“I… I can’t afford to lose you. Or them. This madness… Scolded by a child and a man who was once my enemy.”

Roy turned to face her and Riza felt hope blossom tentatively at the look in his eyes. All his hatred was gone. A deep exhaustion had settled over his bones and it showed clearly in his expression. The features of his face drooped, eyes filled with so much regret and agony that Riza almost lost her breath. He was broken, defeated by himself, but he was Roy.

“And you.”

Tears flooded his eyes. Roy’s touch was gentle when it rested upon her gun. His hands were bare, gloves gone. Riza was unsure when that had happened, but it didn’t matter. The fact remained that he’d unequipped his weapon and taken that step away from where he was threatening to fall over the edge.

Riza watched completely mute as they both lowered the gun to her side slowly.

“It almost cost me you. I forced you to go through all of this. I pushed you away. My love,” he breathed, so quietly only she would hear. “My children. I would have lost it all.” Roy cleared his throat, dropping his gaze in shame. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispered. “I did it again. I’m such a fool,” he cursed in disgust, dropping his gaze. He turned to the side as his knees shook. He fell to the ground, finally spent, with his face hidden by his hands.

Relief made her body shudder and tremble. The pistol grew slack in Riza’s hand and dropped to the floor without her realising it. She joined him, kneeling by his side. Pain shot into her kneecaps after she fell, hitting the ground hard enough to make her wince. Her old injury with her fight with Envy flared up but Riza paid it no mind. All of her attention was focussed on the side of her husband’s head. She stared, knowing she wouldn’t be able to discern anything from it, but still looked upon those dark strands as if they would give her all the answers she sought.

Tentatively, Riza reached out. Her hand hovered before the space in between his shoulder blades. It was an action she’d done numerous times when helping him through his low points. She wasn’t sure what his mental state was. She had no way of knowing until she took the first step and made contact. Her fingertips pressed down first, lightly, before the heel of her hand kissed against his back. She watched, saddened, as his shoulders bunched up further at his ears, head dipping down. He was hiding from her.

“Roy?” Her call was apprehensive. She just wanted him to turn and look at her, give her something to go on. But he didn’t.

Shifting on her knees, Riza angled herself around him so she was kneeling by his side. Her hand naturally moved to come to rest on his shoulder. She gave it a squeeze of comfort and encouragement.

“Roy, look at me,” she prompted gently.

Unable to bring himself to, his gaze remained on his feet which were crumpled underneath his body at odd angles.

“Roy.”

It was just enough coaxing. The hand that covered his eyes moved a fraction. His eyes were desolate once they made contact and barely visible as he peeked up at her through a gap, filled with shame and sorrow. 

“You didn’t do it,” she reminded him.

“I was close.” His voice was a whisper, only loud enough to reach her ears. “I - I saw you being hurt… And thought about what had happened to Hughes and –” His sigh made his whole body shudder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Riza gathered him close, placing her cheek against the top of his head. Her arms wrapped around his shaking frame, bringing his face against her chest to hide him from the rest of them. Just for a moment, she wanted it to be just them, to have a tiny moment to themselves so she could get him back on his feet.

“You’re all right for now. You came back to me,” she whispered into his hair, focussing on that fact at the moment. The day was not over so everything else could be left until later when they were alone.

Slowly, hands lifted to her hips and held on. His fingers dug into her sides almost painfully. Then, the arms wrapped around, squeezing her against him. Her fingers ran through his hair as relief made them shake, thankful that for now, the worst of the confrontation was over.

[pretty-thoughts-and-a-pen]

The One They Feared

CW: Captivity, manhandling, beating, degradation, electrocution, torture, blood

There was a point of time when Jacques le Fevre was just an ordinary young man, studying under the Legion of Sorcerers that protected the town with their variety of specialized disciplines of magic. Perhaps not entirely ordinary, as the Legion was terribly demanding when it came to qualifying candidates to study the art. Only the quickest thinkers, the most disciplined workers, and the fittest physically were allowed to train under the Heads of the Legion, and the rest were kept firmly in the dark about any and all knowledge of magic.

It was certainly unfair, and as the number of Sorcerers who enjoyed immense power became a smaller and smaller elite group, the large population of common folk became suspicious, resentful, but unfortunately, entirely dependent on the sorcerers, who also acted as warriors, to protect them from greater threats. It wasn’t entirely clear what terrifying monsters lived in the hills and the forests that ringed their humble town, but the stories that were breathlessly relayed by survivors, did not make anyone much eager to find out.

It was the first thing Jacques's mother had told him, the day he would leave to live in the institute at the heart of town, from where the Sorcerers operated. The day before he was to become part of a new family. Don’t go searching for those evil creatures, she had told him urgently while gripping his shoulders like a vice, and pray they do not find you.

It wasn’t his intention. From the moment he turned eighteen, Jacques had one goal – not to hunt and slay dangerous beasts or gain more power for himself, but to defend the people of his neighbourhood. His mother, his little sister, all his childhood friends and neighbours, they were essentially helpless and only protected from threats – human or supernatural – by the mercy of a corrupt legion. For corrupt it was, that much Jacques was sure of. It left a sour taste in his mouth that he would have to work under them, learn from them if he was to acquire the power he needed.

Still, it had worked out fairly well. He had been fine. He had studied his textbooks cover to cover, he had followed every workout regimen and listened to everything his superiors said. He’d cut his curly brown hair short, just because one of the Heads also his teacher, a man who went only by the name of Azure, had asked him to. It had still been fine. It was just a waiting game, of studying, studying, studying, and trying, trying, trying, until the special day would come when he would conjure his first spell. Everyone specialized in a different form of magic – element manipulation, matter transformation, mental abilities – and there was no way of knowing which power would be yours unless you kept trying them all. And still it had been fine. Oh, it had all been just fine, while Jacques had been waiting for his ability to emerge. Watching his fellow students awaken their fire, and ice, and telepathic powers, and waiting for his own special day.

Everything went wrong when that very day came.

***

Jacques screamed as another blast of electricity arced through his body. It was his special day, and he was spending it wrapped in chains being dragged down a long corridor, further and further away from the institute he had only begrudgingly accepted.

He would do anything to go back now.

The chains looked like they were made of simple bronze, just circled around him to keep his arms pinned to his sides and his legs pressed together too. An onlooker wouldn’t have known that they were infused with a charm that made them as cold as ice, though nowhere near as brittle. The links dug into his skin, so cold they burned, and the chill settled right in his bones and rendered his body limp. The sorceress behind it, Noelle, had been part of his batch of students. He had even known her a little. Quiet, sensitive and friendly, she had never crossed him in the corridors without smiling at him. Today, she had scrambled away from him in fear and horror, and had happily aided his former teachers by enchanting the chains they had then bound him with, telekinetically and as tightly as they possibly could.

The corridor he was being dragged down only got darker and darker, the air he struggled to breathe became musty and damp, suffocating him further. On top of that, the man that dragged him along offered no chance to stand upright. He had one hand gripping the collar of Jacques's shirt, the other holding the free end of his chain. This man, Frederick Gallahan, was one of the few sorcerers Jacques had admired. Cool and confident, with a low, playful tone of voice, not to mention tall and handsome, it had always been easy to be around him.

But there was a reason no one messed with Frederick, ever. He had incredible mastery over his power, and that power, much to Jacques’s dismay, was electricity manipulation.

Frederick didn’t need anyone’s help in detaining the prisoner. A few jolts of electricity conjured directly onto Jacques’s skin had effectively subdued him. Now, he pulled his entire weight behind him alone while taking him to a room that, apparently, had been set up with magical defences especially for him.

All Jacques could do was focus on getting enough air in his lungs and dig in his heels from time to time for some sort of delay. Ironically the one thing that could’ve saved him in this scenario, his own magic ability, was what had landed him here in the first place.

Not that he could use it now, anyway.

Frederick stopped in front of the door at the end, and opening it, he tossed Jacques inside, where he landed on his front. His hands, bundled up against his stomach, were wrapped in leather gloves, which still did nothing to reduce the pain when he crushed them under him. That wasn’t even the worst part. The gloves were a measure to keep his power in check, as most Sorcerers, especially new ones, channelled their magic through their fingers. The material pressed onto his hands, so tight it felt like a second skin, was a restraint that rendered him more helpless than the chains ever could have.

The room itself was nothing to write home about. Home. The place Jacques was willing to risk everything for, was one he didn’t even know if he would ever see it again. Now, he was sitting in a square room that looked like it belonged in an abandoned warehouse and not in an inhabited building. The walls were exposed brick, there was no furniture, unless the cuffs attached to the back wall could be counted, and a layer of dust coated the floor Jacques was sprawled on.

Leaving the door wide open, Frederick stalked closer to him. His face was set in stone, cold and betraying nothing except the complete lack of pity. Jacques couldn’t believe he had once looked up to the man, in a figurative sense at least. Literally looking up at him from his position at the man’s feet, all he could do was frantically slither backwards with his every step forward, trying to keep distance between them. Cuts formed in his skin where the jagged edge of the chain pierced it. Consumed by pain, fear and hatred, he put all he felt into one glare at the Sorcerer.

Frederick only sneered.

“Don’t pretend like this isn’t your own fault.” He quickened his pace a little and kicked into Jacques’s stomach. A small shock rippled through the point where his foot connected, and Jacques curled in on himself. “Good thing we got you as early as we did. This town doesn’t need a monster...”

“I’m not a monster!” Anguish coated every word as it ripped out of Jacques’s throat. He closed his eyes and desperately urged himself to believe his own words. He would never agree with what they all said. Never, never. He was a good person. All he wanted was to protect his family and friends, to stand up to any Sorcerer who would misuse their power on the weak, to be the exception in a corrupt legion of magic users. Just because his power...

A particularly powerful jolt of electricity burned through his aching muscles. His body thrashed and struggled to be free, more screams bounced off uncaring walls, only to fall on deaf ears. He shook his head, turned his eyes away from his captor and onto a point on the ceiling. He had to collect his thoughts. He had to remember not to give in, not to agree...

“Soul manipulation.” As soon as Frederick said this, Jacques winced. There it was. The phrase that he wished to never hear again, the one that had branded him a monster. “That power’s extinct, and you want to know why?” Frederick’s voice had become venomous with anger, he seemed to be spitting out the words like they burned his tongue. “Every Sorcerer who was found to possess it was executed.”

Chills, worse than the ones caused by the chain, ran up Jacques’s spine. Frederick knelt in front of him and grabbed his chin, pulling him up in an uncomfortable stretch so he could look him dead in the eye. Jacques tried hard not to panic at the feeling of his fingers directly on his skin. Even when he was not summoning electricity, his hand seemed to crackle with the power anyway, as if thousands of volts flowed always just beneath the surface.

“The soul,” Frederick continued. Jacques hung onto every word, he didn’t need to give the sorcerer any more reason to be angry and shock him, “is the most sacred part of our being. It’s tied to everything, to our body, to our mind. What you can do? It’s a power like no other. One snap of your fingers,” he dropped Jacques’s head, let it bounce painfully off the floor, to snap his fingers, “and you could make someone’s body fill with pain. You could delete their perception of reality. You could crumple up their physical form and wipe them out of existence, and it would not be pretty. What does that make you? Nothing but a torture machine. A monster.”

“I’m not,” Jacques’s voice was fading now, but he repeated the only thread of hope he refused to let go of, “a monster.”

“You need to be subdued. It’s my duty to protect my fellow people from your kind. Those ordinary folk, why do you think they’ve become fearful of us? The Sorcerers that protect them? Because of the likes of you, with dangerous, unholy powers that nothing can stop them from using.”

Pure, unfiltered rage filled Jacques’s body and, for a moment, every sensation of pain got erased from his mind. “Maybe they’re scared because you and your Legion, can make decisions for them and force them to accept everything you do. Because you hoard your power and everyone is dependent on you, your mercy, to stay safe from what exists outside the borders.” He was gasping now, all his breath was being used up in getting the words out. He didn’t stop. “You’re going to chain me in here when I’ve done nothing wrong, and you’ll get away with it, because no one can stop you. Maybe that’s what’s scary – that the people whose mercy we rely on have none left at all.”

As soon as the last words left his mouth Jacques regretted them. He waited for punishment, a shock stronger than any of the others. He waited for fury and yelling and to get beaten within an inch of his life. What he got was utter silence, and then, a new pair of feet entered his line of sight.

Frederick had stood up on the arrival of the second person. He was quiet, he didn’t even seem as if he was going to react to Jacques’s outburst. Summoning all his strength, Jacques managed to roll over onto his back so he could see the new guy’s face. Immediately, what little breath he had been managing got lodged in his throat. His eyes blew wide open.

The man standing above him was as tall as Frederick, more muscular, and with nowhere near as much charm. His steely blue eyes couldn’t even fake warmth, the sharp lines of his face and pin straight posture of his body, clad in a black coat, gave the impression of him being carved from rock. If Frederick was respected for his power and skill, then this man was revered. Mysterious, feared and also a man of few words, his was possibly the most unique case in the Legion. People marvelled over him, called him talented, dangerous, one of a kind, and yet hardly any of them seemed to know what his power was.

No one Jacques had ever talked to even seemed to know his name. Azure. They only ever called him that.

Azure didn’t condescend to kneeling before his captive. He didn’t show the mercy of staying where was, either. Instead, he stepped with one foot onto Jacques’s head and pressed down. The sharp edge of the boot's heel dug into an already aching temple. A yelp and pained moans spilled out of him, and trying to move his head out from underneath only caused a break in his skin and a light trickle of blood down his cheek. He strained to look up through his eyelashes, and saw that Azure had an arm on his bent knee, and was resting half his weight on the boy’s head.

“Interesting.” Jacques was shocked to hear his voice, he hadn’t expected to be graced with being talked to. “Such pretty thoughts from a monster.”

Jacques gritted his teeth. One more time, he would say his truth, before his own despair about his power consumed him and made him believe their words. “I’m no-"

“Of course!” Azure cut him off. “Forgive me.” His tone was anything but apologetic, rather, it was mocking. Then he did something Jacques was pretty sure he had never seen the enigmatic Head do.

Azure smiled.

“Would you prefer the word abomination?”

[ithilwen-lionheart]

Love, lead me on - Legolas x Priestess!Reader/OC - Chapter 1 pt. 2/2

Alternatively :

On the road leading to you, I'll send a million I love you's

[ Work Text: ]

They had defeated their fair share of enemies- tiger and master, side by side, guarding each others backs and sharing an affectionate moment with their foreheads pressed together afterwards before going back in to the battlefield once more and racing to Dale after finding out that the orcs were planning to fight them on two fronts and one of which was targeting the unsuspecting settlement.

It was already a given that the dark haired priestess would abruptly turn her head towards that direction, chorusing with Gandalf as they made the dreadful announcement, although hers contained a proposition that she'll head straight toward the town along with Bard and his army of angry fishermen to hopefully warn the villagers in time and protect them before it's too late.

Thranduil had given her a look as if she had just lost any sense it was that he saw on her in the beginning.

"You came to the Woodland Realm with the intention of learning the culture in order to be a fine priestess. This is no longer the palace halls of Mirkwood but a battlefield, and you are still but a novice and not a warrior. You should be aware of the confines of what you could and could not do, Celine. Before you even get yourself killed." The elvenking, despite of his cold, condescending demeanor was adamant on keeping her out of trouble, if she was to judge it on how tight his grip on her shoulders were.

But it never made her resolution dwindle. For though she is of young age -even for a priestess, a human and most especially an elf- her fortitude and gallantry surpasses that of a great warrior, be it living or dead.

With a slight shake of her head and a confident little smile, she had confirmed that her will is yet to bend under the king's stone-cold gaze.

"My sincerest apologies, dear King but as much as I appreciate your concern, I ought to take my leave now. I believe you would be more than capable to arm yourself and your men but I doubt those men and women in Dale could survive the attack unaided." She offers instead, her face hardening a considerable amount before she decides to hide it behind yet another smile.

The Elvenking barely even held back the sharp comment threatening to resurface and slip past his lips.

'I hardly think the aid of an apprentice priestess is what they would need...'

But he still did manage to keep it to himself because he knows this stubbornly selfless and naive little novice is merely a front to something even more glorious than a simple priestess. She is a competent warrior both in heart and soul- her mentor was his son after all- although he'll never admit it. And with this, Thranduil elegantly held his head high with pride as he always does,

"Very well then. Do as you wish." He tilts his head in the manner that had already began customary for him, the one that throws parts of his silky white locks on one side in gracious flows. He then nods his head, face void of any emotions and goes in the same direction she's taking. His regal form perched on top of his great elk as the young priestess rode her tiger.

"Pardon my imprudence, my king, but is it a mere coincidence that we're both taking the same route?" Celine asked -because why else would the king leave his men in the battlefield- head cocked to the side, gusts of wind tossing the strands of her hair -that wasn't braided into her intricate bun- around.

"I am merely seeing you off. I cannot have an apprentice priestess dying in the watch of a king as I. It would simply not do my reputation any good." Thranduil replied, monotonously, as if not even giving any effort on stating his reasons. He's not even supposed to be offering explanations regarding his actions to a mere apprentice in the first place.

The bluenette gives a hum, letting it be known that she takes his excuse and resumes to ride with the king in silence, despite of all the bloodshed happening around them until finally, their paths had split up and she waved the king a silent goodbye.

"May the Valars look down and smile upon you." The elvenking says as he tips his head at the priestess with a minute upwards turn of the lips that the girl hadn't missed.

It would never escape her how those relentlessly frosty blue eyes that lingered looked so unearthly familiar that it took her breath away and she was still piecing bits of her consciousness as the snow-haired elf returned her wave with a curt nod before turning back to his post among his men.

She was finally reunited with her favorite duo back in Dale. Although not under the most favorable circumstances, but at least she had gotten to see him once again.

"Where have you two been?"

And that was when they told her the tale of an impending ambush from the north. Legolas had already tried to coax his father to help the dwarves, but seeing to it that a huge number of his kin had already been lost during the preliminary fight, she couldn't really blame Thranduil for turning his request down.

Of course, it didn't really help when Tauriel started to point her arrow at the king. Stating that she pities him since he do not know of love.

Which is quite ironic for her to say after falling in love with a dwarf she had just met and tossing all the time and memories she spent with the Prince of Mirkwood -his feelings, imcluded- and acting as if none of which had existed even though it is painfully obvious for everyone else. Including Tauriel herself because Celine knows that the captain is completely aware of it by now. Even a blind man would be able to read through it all by the use of his tone and choice of words whenever he's talking to her.

And so, the bluenette offered to help once more. Shocking every elf involved.

"This is precisely what I was telling you to avoid doing, Celine." Thranduil scolded as he was the first to react, his tone taking quite an exasperated turn once all the rashness in his features had simmered down.

Legolas then shortly followed after that,

"Even though I am openly against Ada as of current, I must agree with what he had just said. This battle is no longer yours to fight, and was never yours to begin with." His brows were furrowed and seriously wanted her out of it.

She pretended not to get hurt by this and still pushed through helping them throughout the war.

Her utter loyalty for the prince and his well-being had reached it's peak during the battle, she could barely even recall a single moment back then when she had thought about her life and not the prince's.

From the very moment he and Tauriel had arrived to announce the grave news of an ambush from Gundabad, Celine had quickly left her post to come to their aid without a single question asked, even after all three elves had contradicted her proposal and not even when both father and son had already called her bravery a perilous understatement for stubborness in different contexts.

All throughout the fight, Legolas instinctively looked after Tauriel and being aware of the fact that the captain's grief would hit the prince ten fold, Celine did her very best to watch over both elves' backs, especially Legolas'.

And in the process, she had lost the only being she loved and unconditionally reciprocated her affections in equal values.

It was when she was perched on top of one of the neighboring mountains, riding Luna and shooting arrows at all the orcs who threatened her comrades when she saw Borg, Azog's right hand, preparing to stab Kili with a large wooden stake.

Lavender eyes widened and the whole world seemed to stop for a moment as Celine gazed down below to see sorrow in Tauriel's entire being- a look Legolas would not want to see on her. It's not just that, but the undefended dwarf on the verge of being killed had already became one of her trusted confidantes. He's just about the only one who knew of her adoration for the prince and even though he found that out of accident, he never pried or forced her to tell the blond elf about it. All Kili ever did was listen, toss in useful words every now and then along with a couple of jokes that were meant and had always succeeded in cheering her up.

The thing about Celine is that she never let's anything happen to the few people she had grown extremely fond of, she'd protect them regardless of the costs.

And that she did. Hopping off Luna, she stared off into the distance, praying a silent plea to the great goddesses to guide her, to give her strength to protect all those who are dear to her.

"Luna, love. We're going to have to split up, okay?" She whispered sweetly as she caressed the furry creature and pressed her cheek just on that spot beside ice-blue irises and slitted pupils. The feeling of immense dread threatening to split her into two as the tiger purred and returned her embrace.

"Good girl~" she cooed and kissed it's forehead before nuzzling her nose against the tiger's, "I love you."

Even though she could never speak, Luna returned the words with the use of her eyes and a loving stroke of her head and her huge paws against her human. Celine knew exactly what it meant, word per word.

'I love you too. It's not your fault, you never had the choice. It doesn't mean that it made me think you love me less.'

That was the last time she saw her companion with it's lively eyes and taunting stature. Pristinely fine snow white fur always combed to perfection, slight charcoal black lines that decorated the expanse of her body in such an exquisite manner, a huge build that could support 4 riders all at once, depths of aquamarine irises and an adorably pink nose and tongue. Luna had always smelled of snow and cookie dough, which is quite unheard of for a tiger, but that didn't matter. It was almost more or less always Celine's fault whenever the beast resembles a treat by scent.

It was on the much more isolated part of the mountain far from the festivities of Erebor when she finally found her only kin. After hours and hours of scouring through different mountains after defeating Azog the defiler, she finally found her.

Although in a state that she frightfully never would've ever dreamed to see her in.

Regret welled up in salty heaps that flowed like waterfalls from her tired eyes as she stared down at her fallen friend. Oh how much did she wish she could just turn her head away from the stains of angry red and burnt ashes that tainted snow white fur, to tear her eyes from that despicable sword impaled on the once great tiger's noble chest. But she couldn't, could never do so when she was the cause of it all.

"It was all my fault... " the young priestess murmured, her voice cracking after repeating the same words for the nth time, helplessly hoping it would at least make the loss a bit more bearable even though she knew it wouldn't.

At the sight of no one, she dropped to her knees and weeped her heart out once more this time. Albeit now, one thing is clear: she no longer has anyone to share her woes with.

The midnight skies had never been so dark before, it was almost as if the stars themselves are sharing her heartbreak as they hid behind turbulent clouds allowing the incoming storm to come.

The notion of getting doused in the cold downpour didn't bother her the least, hoping that she could successfully drown in it as she laid there sprawled helplessly over her tiger, not once minding that she'll get blood and ashes on her clothes.

Celine stayed there. For as long as her heart needed, for once not minding the people that might go looking for her because why would she even need to be there anymore? They're safe, she's very much unneeded in the festivities taking place inside Erebor. Hardly doubts she'll even be able to lift her body from where she lay with the heavy feeling now successfully gnawing at her beaten heart.

Moments passed and the rain started pouring heavily, drenching the world below and pulling the young priestess further down the ground as she curled up into the fetal position that grew usual for both master and tiger and the apprentice could feel the coldness and loathsome presence of Death as it triumphantly stole that animal's welcoming warmth away from her.

She'd seen Death for more than a hundred times that day, but it never hit her as hard as it did that instant.

Dulling lilac hues fluttered shut, spent from all the crying she did that made up for all the times she'd kept her emotions to herself. Alone as she had always been yet never was, when Luna was still there.

Unlike now. A few pitiful hiccups escaped her rosy pink lips, gloved hands reaching up in an attempt to keep the noises to herself.

She never saw the clouds part to make way for the vivid light of the moon as it glowed upon her as if seeking to console her with its gentle pale rays of silver.

"My dear girl..." Lady Galadriel gently made her way towards the broken figure lying on the cold damp ground, reaching out to touch her novice's head before sitting down beside her, the mud not once staining her elegant robes.

Celine flinched at the sudden appearance of her mentor and quickly sat up to clear her eyes of tears and her face of the gore that had soiled her otherwise virginal skin,

"M-my lady, " she despises how her voice came out in a battered croak, "h-how surprising to find you here of all places..." She trailed off before looking around in search for some type of aversion before noticing the lady's garbs making contact with pools of murky waters that littered the dampened soil, "m-my lady! Your robes!" Celine quickly shuffled to her knees and rubbed off the dirt from her hands using her cloak before reaching out to grab the ends of the lady's dress.

Lady Galadriel lifted a mild hand up to halt her student from her abrupt panicking and held the hands that reached out to touch her clothes instead.

Lavender orbs involuntarily looked down at this, in fear that her mentor had already seen enough of her to tell that she could no longer take whatever hits the world was throwing her way. Afraid that she'd already see how much defeated and disheartened she was in such a state as this that the lady would just recall her back to Lothlorien and would finally appoint her as nothing more but a temple-maiden instead.

The lady of light of course saw through all of the young girl's uncertainties, and even though she chose not to speak of it, she knows that this brave and young little heart needed all the words of encouragement it could have this very moment,

"My darling Celine, do you know what it was that I saw in you back when you were young that I easily allowed you to go on this journey without so much as a second thought?" The lady asked, covering both of the younger one's hands in both of hers, lowering them so that it settled on the space in between them. Celine only remained silent, shaking her head a 'no', because she couldn't see anything special in herself.

This triggered the lady's melodic chuckle as her eyes shone brighter than the sun and she held her cold hands tighter before she answered, fondly -as if the young girl is her own and she was a proud mother staring into her daughter's eyes-

"It was because the moon and the stars had blessed you with such a pure and brave heart capable of selfless love to such an extent that it had already become a fault. Such a blessedly unsought fault that the world greatly needs yet overlooks both at the same time." She squeezes her child's hands before letting go to reach up and touch one reddened tear-stained cheek, her thumb lightly brushing the salty trails off.

Celine couldn't even find the force to act surprised at this, of course her mentor knew, she always does. But that doesn't mean she wouldn't ask,

"You knew?" And she finds herself completely against the idea of saying the exact thing that bothers her and so she decided to be vague, even though she knew that the lady of light would easily see through her.

A mischievous little smile crept it's way across the lady's thin lips as she spoke in quite a knowing tone,

"About your attachment to the Prince of Mirkwood? Of course I do. Your soul is that of a wanderer and you never stayed at a single location for more than a week yet you took a month in Thranduil's kingdom. If it would not be because of the prince then I would be forced to think your heart was helplessly ensnared by the king himself, although I heavily doubt that since as much as he is a fine and fair ellon he could be quite... Unconventionally detached." Galadriel finished, having difficulties describing the latter without meaning to be rude, especially in front of her student.

Seeing her student's mood brighten a little bit as a discreet little blush threatened to color her pale cheeks once more, she decided to press her luck, "although, you must know that I am not entirely erasing the possibility. The king is, after all, a pleasant sight for tired eyes." She winks.

A tiny smile made it's way across the younger girl's chapped lips as she shook her head, "if I had not known of your marriage with Lord Celeborn I'd think you've taken a rather indiscreet liking to the Elvenking, my lady."

The revered elf queen nodded her head of pristine and silken tumbles of blond waves, "indeed, but we both know you are wiser than that, my child. It is more likely you than me. Long blond hair, piercing blue eyes, mercurial personality -that seems to be your type." She chuckled and brought her apprentice's broken form within the confines of her healing embrace.

She didn't even know how it happened but Lady Galadriel had, by some miracle, managed to coax her into participating in the celebration back in Erebor.

Finally coming to the conclusion that no amount of grief would bring her fallen comrade back, she decided that she could at least prevent further concern that her absence might arouse from the people, dwarves or perhaps a few elvish warriors whom she'd grown acquainted with during battle.

She wouldn't dare hope too much for Legolas to care about her missing if Tauriel was there.

The elleth could easily take her place.

What was she thinking, she doesn't even have a place in his heart to begin with. Not even in his mind.

And so, Celine found herself slowly walking towards the huge front gates of Erebor with the same heavy feeling forever stuck in the pit of her stomach.

[ To be continued in Chapter 2 ]

[superbeitmenotyou]

administrator Mike Flanagan is no stranger to adapting Stephen king’s extra complex works. in spite of everything, his adaptation of “Gerald’s online game,” a narrative lengthy considered to be unfilmable, became positively received in.

however adapting baron’s account “doctor beddy-bye” in a means that did justice to each the writer’s novel “The shiny” and Stanley Kubrick’s basic movie adjustment — which significantly modified some key narrative facets — turned into a completely different beast. “It became painfully clear to me that I am not Stanley Kubrick and certainly not should be,” spoke of Flanagan ahead of the film’s Nov. eight huge unencumber. “What fabricated me able to beddy-bye at night turned into, as an alternative of considering it as a sequel, what if this was a descendant of the film? What if it had the DNA of its parents but nonetheless has to stand on its own two ft and locate away on the earth? That fabricated it sort of feasible.”

“doctor sleep” follows a grownup Dan Torrance Ewan McGregor, who has approved to coffin his disturbing boyhood event on the fail to spot in in a haze of booze and intercourse. but the previous catches as much as him back he stumbles upon a band dubbed the genuine bond, led via the ambitious Rose the Hat Rebecca Ferguson, who augment off the aspect of individuals with special capabilities, like Dan’s “colourful.” getting the approval and discussing affairs for the movie with the king become “completely surreal,” Flanagan talked about. “the first time I talked to him I couldn’t talk. I believe I simply fabricated noises or I’d repeat words he noted lower back with ascendancy.”

despite the fact king become amenable to the theory, Flanagan becomes involved about how the author would acquire the film as soon as it becomes accomplished.

“once he speaks of yes, he intentionally backs off,” Flanagan spoke of. “His whole element is, ‘The booklet is the ebook, I want this film to be yours. I don’t want to interfere with it.’ Which is such a good looking abandon? except for it ability, he’s going to monitor it. And as Kubrick found out, if he doesn’t like what you probably did, he is usually not shy. So even though he’s no longer there, you can form of at all times hear his voice for your ear.”

In an account with the Paris overview, king referred to as Kubrick’s movie “too bloodless” and referred to it had “no experience of affecting funding within the family unit in any way.” He also called Shelley Duvall’s performance as Wendy Torrance “in fact a scream computer” and noted he both hated and was dissatisfied by way of the movie normal. fortunately for Flanagan, the king spoke back enthusiastically to an aboriginal cut of his movie.

“I loved the thought of Mike authoritative the e-book into a film as a result of he’s a good cheat,” king advised The times by the use of email. “The epic clarity of his work is what impresses me. and of course, he receives what’s horrifying. The fabric that serves as a sequel to Kubrick’s movie suits my fable cuff-tight and Mike’s love for the characters shines via, pun meant. That offers this movie a warmness that’s missing in Kubrick’s film.”

Mike Flanagan directed “doctor sleep,” an adjustment of Stephen baron’s complies with-up to “The incandescent.”

Al Seib l. a. instances while baron’s accession to the film weighed closely on his intellect, the administrator’s decision to use Kubrick’s edition of “The intellectual” because the foundation for “medical professional sleep” became established presently upon reading the radical.

“I affective the e-book as soon because it becomes posted and cherished actuality with Dan Torrance once more, but all the pictures in my mind were Kubrick,” Flanagan observed. “I wanted to be certain that Kubrick’s film becomes assize. I didn’t believe we could trade anything, however, I wished to protect as much as viable of the arc of Danny Torrance as baron had described it, certainly within the aboriginal bisected of the publication.”

“The force to stand within the caliginosity of Kubrick and baron become really on Mike’s and my mind day by day,” talked about Trevor Macy, Flanagan’s longtime bearing associate. “We had been consistently involved and agonizing about doing the best thing by way of each of them.

“We approved to make use of some element of Kubrick’s accurate language to inform king’s tale,” he delivered. “many of the movies take place backyard the fail to see the resort, however you nonetheless must make it a visually adamant account. And so we attempt it in .eighty five-element ratio, which turned into Kubrick’s option that we may no longer accept fabricated otherwise. We weren’t attempting to do an actual knockoff, but we desired it to feel find it irresistible’s generic.” despite his contempt for Kubrick’s film, the king changed into receptive to the way “doctor beddy-bye” attenuated his atypical and Kubrick’s film whereas still blockage true to Dan’s epic.

“Mike serves both of us in an exquisite, artistic means,” he wrote. “Dick Hallorann remains animate in my ebook however dead in Kubrick’s version. Kubrick’s movie ends with the fail to see arctic while my e-book concluded with its activity up in flames. as soon as I saw he meant to provide the actual bond with their full due, I was on board. I just on no account expected Rebecca Ferguson to be so astounding.”

notwithstanding it doesn’t develop into a prime region unless the film’s third act, re-developing the fail to see resort turned into appropriately probably the most alarming and appetizing project of the total production.

“I wanted to get everything as close as humanly feasible in the fail to notice,” Flanagan stated. “To are trying to be certain that each allotment of visible accuracy become finished as shut as possible while retaining the humanism and optimism it is at the coronary heart of the king’s story.”

“It became a video game of inches and it turned into each day,” Macy talked about. “You go on set with an iPad like, ‘is this the appropriate colour? is this photograph in the appropriate vicinity? Is that chandelier the correct bore? What colour is the typewriter?’ These questions are really difficult to reply and so we spent loads of time wrestling with the trivia of that.”

“What I am hoping lovers of ‘The incandescent’ film lift out of it is that here s clearly made via a fan and supposed to be a abounding-absolute celebration of the adulation that so many people accept for that film,” Flanagan mentioned. “however at the same time certainly not making an attempt to be that film.”

Ewan McGregor as Danny Torrance in “medical professional beddy-bye.” Jessica Miglio Warner Bros. Flanagan turned into added to baron’s work at the soft age of back he stumbled across a replica of “It.”

“I used to be approach too young,” he said. “I didn’t recognize what I had gotten myself into.”

still, he powered via it, decided to discover the fate of the Losers membership.

“It turned into this huge ability in my young lifestyles, making it to the conclusion of that e-book,” he observed. “I had a hard time sound asleep for a very long time after, but I believed, ‘well, this e-book kind of taught me how to be brave in these tiny little bursts. Let me keep hunting for that feeling.’”

The director, whose movie credit include ’s “Oculus” and ’s “Ouija: the beginning of injurious,” in addition to each episode of Netflix’s “The haunting of acropolis apartment,” cites king as his biggest effect on.

“What I like about what he does is that even his best absurd ideas are built-in out of issues which are very relatable,” Flanagan talked about. “‘The sparkling’ works as an excellent scary sage a few apparitions within the bathtub, but it surely works alike better as an exploration of the anxiety that Jack felt about how his alcoholism destroyed his family.”

“horror is fun,” he introduced. “It’s a superb manner for us to soundly discover dark ideas; it’s a stupendous manner for us to observe actuality brave however more than anything else, it best in reality capability whatever if it’s dealing with some affecting truth. anything that we will all relate to about the darker or brighter side of our attributes.”

“I suppose style is most excellent acclimated back it’s a lens for human drama,” Macy noted. “The classic conception a couple of horror movie is you are taking someone in an existence transition and exhaust an abnormal force as a proxy for something that might be disturbing or transformative in a person’s lifestyles. ‘The knowing’ is the head of that for instance.”

whereas he has a d division of “The addictive” anthology on tap for Netflix this time known as “The addictive of Bly manor” and inspired by using Henry James’ “The Turn of the spiral”, Flanagan can tackle a different baron adaptation. “I’ve been talking with him for the reason that this was entirely about deciding on what’s next,” he referred to. “We’re still identifying what might be the next one, but I am hoping there could be the next one as a result of I will be able to stop. I am hoping it’s less difficult, notwithstanding.”

[littlemisssquiggles]

RWBY Squiggle Script #21: The Fox and the Farm Boy

Picture it.

The Anima Farmlands near the Kingdom of Mistral. The Past.

 A seven-year-old Oscar Pine, with his head held low and his face a perfect canvas of anxiety, walks across the front lawn of his home as he slowly made his way to the single barn shed housed on his mother’s property.

It is the aftermath of a squabble. Given that he was frankly the only boy around his age  in a small cul-de-sac populated by farm folk with mostly daughters, Oscar was rather popular with the girls his age who constantly made it a habit to eagerly encourage him to come play with them. Whether he liked to or not.

On this particular day, one of the neighbourhood little girls had tried to force Oscar to come play. Her name was Amber Potts---named for her striking golden eyes and equally golden blonde curls. However, around the block, Amber was known by another name by most of the neighbourhood kids: Big Am. 

At age eight, Big Am was a juggernaut; feared by most of the other kids. All with the exception of Rosaline Fox, who Big Am specifically disliked the most due to her burning jealously of her close friendship with Oscar.

Big Am was also notorious for having the biggest crush on Oscar with her pursuit of him being relentless. Today was no different. While playing out in the fields near Oscar’s home, Big Am interrupted Rose and Oscar’s playtime. She showed up with a matching pair of bigger boys claiming to be her older twin cousins from out of town; demanding that Oscar come play tag with Amber instead of Rose.

When Oscar refused, Big Am got surprisingly rough with the young farm boy. She suddenly grabbed Oscar by the arm and started painfully tugging him away with her twin cousins even chiming in to help her pull Oscar along when she barked at them to give her a hand. Let’s say that even her older cousins were intimidated by Big Am and her bratty demeanour.

This led to Rose immediately intervening, pushing Big Am off a distressed-looking Oscar; practically in tears from the pain in his arm. The next thing anyone knew, Big Am tackles Rose and both girls wound up on the grass tussling about. There was lots of screaming, hair pulling and slapping. All the while, Oscar is doing his best to stop the fighting along with Amber’s cousins who tried pulling her off of Rose as she began cuffing her shoulder violently.

At some point, Big Am even pushed Rose against a sharp piece of stone that left a harsh graze along Rose’s arm. This made Rose furious and in her feral rage; the Faunus girl bites Big Am in the midst of her aiming another slap to her while she was down.

This move took Big Am completely off guard. The bigger girl shrieked loudly as she recoiled, clutching her hand that was now bleeding profusely from the deep bite marks embedded in her skin.

Oscar stared horrified as drops of Amber’s blood stained the grass at her feet; the sound of her pained crying echoing throughout the lonely fields as her cousins made a fuss over her. One of them even turned on Rose aggressively while she was still seething from her savage outburst.

If it weren’t for Dorothy Pine intervening after hearing all the commotion, the situation could’ve gotten far grimmer. 

As Oscar entered the shed, he is greeted to the sight of an eight-year-old Rosaline Fox seated on a bed of hay where she had been patiently waiting for him to return from speaking with his mom. 

Though Dorothy had done a fine job patching Rose up, the Faunus girl appeared peeved as she nipped at the bandages wrapped securely around her arm. Normally Oscar would have laughed at his best friend’s flair for mischief and silliness like this. That day was begrudgingly NOT one of those days; unfortunately.

Young Rose: *chewing on her bandages* I think your mom tied this way too tight. I hate bandages! They’re the worse! So…itchy…and…annoying!

Rose smiled big and toothy as she finally succeeded in untying the knot on her bandages. Now the dressing slowly unravelled along her arm.

Young Oscar: *cautiously* Rose, you really shouldn’t take that off. You were hurt!

Young Rose: *nonchalantly* What? It’s fine. It’s just a scratch. See?

To prove her point, Rose removed her bandages entirely to show Oscar the scrap on her arm. Despite a couple blots of dried blood, the wound more or less seemed harmless.

Young Rose: *confidently* Nothing to worry about.

Rose flashed Oscar another toothy smile. However, to her surprise, her best friend didn’t return her cheery optimism. Instead Oscar stood hugging his arm quietly with his back hunched and his gaze far; appearing smaller than usual. This was a classic Oscar Pine stance that Rose knew all too well meant he was distraught about something he wasn’t telling her. Taking the farm boy’s hand, Rose gently guided him over to sit next to her on the haystack.

Young Rose: *concernedly* Hey, what’s wrong with you? Why so blue?

Oscar’s lip quivered.

Young Oscar: *uneasily* I…my mom…got a call from Amber’s dad. Said he was pretty mad about what happened. About what you did to Amber ---

Young Rose: *incredulously* What I did! She’s the one who was bullying you! I was just trying to help! Did you tell your mom that part?

Young Oscar: *nervously* I did but…Amber’s dad is still really, really mad. You know how his family feels about…you and…your kind of people.

Young Rose: *scoffs indignantly* Oh yeah? Which part still bugs him about me the most? The part where I’m a Faunus or the part where my human mom married a Faunus and had his lil beast baby?

Young Oscar: You’re not a beast, Rose.

Young Rose: Not according to Mr. Potts. Y’know he tries to hide his disgust but one of the great things about being a Faunus is my great hearing. Comes in handy when picking up all the nasty things people say about you and your family behind your back when they’re supposed to be your friendly neighbours.

Oscar’s expression drops apologetically.

Young Oscar: *disappointedly* Rose I…I’m so sorry. Mom did her best but…she still says Mr. Potts is going to talk to your mom about...you.

Rose frowns before shrugging indifferently.  

Young Rose: *nonchalantly* Well of course he’d talk to Mama instead of Papa. Story of my life, right? Now it was Oscar’s turn to frown.

Young Oscar: Rose, can you please take this seriously! You hurt Amber.

Young Rose: *huffily* Why? I didn’t do it on purpose! You know how I get when I get really mad like that. It’s not exactly something I can really control. It just…happens. My dad calls it ‘feral instincts’. It’s a fox Faunus thing, you wouldn’t understand. Besides, I did it for you, Oscar!

Young Oscar: *snappily; voice rising* Which is why you should NEVER EVER do that again! NOT EVEN FOR ME!

Rose’s eyes widened at Oscar’s sudden outburst; staring at him taken aback by his words.

Young Rose: …Oscar…

Rose started by Oscar shook his head interrupting her.

Young Oscar: *insistently* Promise me you’d NEVER hurt anyone like that again, Rose! Promise? PROMISE!

Young Rose: *caving* Okay, okay, I promise.

Oscar a shaky breath. Rose eyed him with a confused expression.

Young Rose: *cautiously*…Oscar…are you alright? How’s your arm? Is it hurting? Are you in pain?

Young Oscar: *irritably* How could you be thinking about my arm! That’s not important right now!

Young Rose: *crossly* Hey no need to bite my head off!  I just want to know if everything’s okay.

Young Oscar: *distressed* No it’s NOT! EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY!

Oscar buried his face in his hands and it was then when Rose noticed his shoulders shaking. Rose’s shuddered a breath of guilt. As before, she also knew what this classic Oscar posture meant. As the Fox girl gently lifted the farm boy’s hunched form; her instincts were proven correct as she removed Oscar’s hands from his face to reveal the fresh tears of frustration pooling from his eyes in streams that stained his flushed puffy cheeks.

Young Oscar: *sobbing*This…this is all my fault! None of this would’ve happened to you if it wasn’t for me. I should’ve done something. I should’ve helped you stop Amber. I should’ve defended you! I should’ve fought for you but… I did nothing! I always do nothing! I’m so useless! I---I’m nothing but a big cry-baby that can’t do anything!

Rose shook her head; cupping Oscar’s teary cheeks as she looked him dead in the face.

Young Rose: *firmly* NOT TRUE! Oscar, listen to me. Those kids---Big Am and her stupid dunderhead cousins---they’re the real jerks and you know it. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re wonderful and you know that. I know it too.

Young Oscar: *sniffling* I---I…am?

Young Rose: *smiles reassuringly* Yes. Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to fight.

Young Oscar: …I... don’t?

Young Rose: *confidently* Nope. Because I’ll protect you! Always.

Young Oscar: *doubtfully* But…don’t you wish I was…tougher?

Rose tilted her head, looking confused.

Young Rose: Why would I? We’re the dynamic duo, remember? I’m the scrappy one and you’re the sweet one. Besides I like you just the way you are, Oscar.

Oscar’s eyes widen.

Young Oscar: R--Really?

Young Rose: *grins toothily* Uh huh!

Young Oscar: Well…

A soft grin played at Oscar’s lips as he beamed at Rose.

Young Oscar: *smiles softly* I like Rose just the way she is too.

Rose returns the gesture; smiling big and toothy as she clapped Oscar on the back. Though he wore a smile, Oscar’s positivity didn’t last long as his expression fell again with him looking away tensely.

Young Oscar: *worriedly* Hey Rose? What if…what if we end up fighting someday? What if…I end up doing something or saying something really stupid and you get mad at me and then we stop being friends and…and---

Young Rose: *resolutely* NEVER gonna happen.

For a second time, Rose touched Oscar’s face prompting him to look at her.

Young Rose: You’d never do anything to hurt me Oscar. I trust you. Besides you know I don’t like seeing you cry so I’ll never make you cry. I’ll never hurt you Oscar. Ever.

Young Oscar: Promise?

Young Rose: Promise.

Rose reaches over and wipes a tear off Oscar’s flushed cheeks. A big smile of appreciation cracks across the freckled farm boy’s face. The two friends even share a small hug before Rose ruined the moment by rocking backward onto the hay. Rose laughed out loudly as she took Oscar plummeting into the hay with her; strands scattering all around them.

Oscar only blew a couple strands of hay in Rose’s face, joining her with raucous laughter of his own. There was a momentary period of mischief as the two childhood friends played together in the hay. After a while, their playfulness dissolved into quiet contentment as both kids settled down, now lying side by side close to each other. Rose turned her head to the side to smile at Oscar.

Young Rose: Hey Oscar?

Oscar tilted his head to meet Rose’s beaming face.

Young Oscar: Yeah?

Rose’s smile widened.

Young Rose: You're my very best friend.

Now Oscar smiled.

Young Oscar: And you're mine too Rose.

Rose then scooted close enough to Oscar so that their foreheads were touching. Despite his cheeks turning pink from the sudden close contact, Oscar couldn’t help but close his eyes with a comfortable sigh. Rose mimicked her gesture.

Young Rose: *whispering softly* We'll always be friends, won't we?

Young Oscar: *whispers back* Yeah, we're going to be best friends forever.

When a curious Dorothy Pine entered into the barn shed moments later with an anxious Marian Fox in tow, both mothers were graced with the sight of their children nuzzled next to each other; foreheads still touching closely as the best friends slept soundly with their hands intertwined.

Neither mother had the heart to wake them. So instead Dorothy and Marian exchanged warm smiles with Dorothy beckoning Marian outside. Quietly the mothers left Rose and Oscar in peace.

A few more minutes alone wouldn’t hurt, right? After all, what kind of mothers would Dorothy and Marian be to disturb such an adorable tender moment in their children’s friendship.

If only this moment could be savoured for a life time. If only Oscar and Rose could’ve kept their promise to one another. Best friends forever? Sure at the time, it seemed like the perfect possible wish befitting of any small simple soul that age with an air of hopeful optimism. If only things could’ve remained the same between the two childhood friends as it always did. As it always was and how it always should’ve been.

However; as a wise old soul once remarked: Time has a way of testing our bonds.

And scene.

Squiggly Scriptwriter’s Commentary:

Another Rose Fox themed script in the bag with another one to come. This was originally meant to part of a much bigger script. However I decided to split the script into two parts with the first installment sharing a memory from Oscar’s past with Rose; to provide you readers with an insight into the nature of their friendship as children. Plus I wanted a fine excuse to make a reference to The Fox and the Hound with Rose and Oscar.

In a way, they are like Copper and Todd. Two kids from two species known for their disputes who formed an unbreakable close friendship that, unbeknownst to them, would transcend years to come. Yep that sounds like Rose and Oscar for sure. Besides, pay close attention to Fox and the Hound inspiration. It’ll definitely come more into play in the next half of this script. Coming soon. 

In the meanwhile, hope you liked the new script.

Other Rose Fox Squiggle Scripts:

- His Two Favourite Roses

~ More Squiggles’ RWBY Content

 ~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[ask-mystical-bangtan]

beware of dog.

((hello! admin nyx here, with our first story and first taste of backstory with a couple of the boys! i hope you all like it :3))

warnings: violence, blood, gore, dead bodies, etc.

length: 2, 678 words

Hobi had known this day would eventually come, and he had been dreading it the entire time. Of course Jungkook would eventually go through the typical stages of puberty – he was, after all, a good portion human. More than Hobi himself, at least.

The little wolf boy sat attentively in front of Hobi, his fluffy ears perked forward.

Hobi was momentarily lost for words. He knew how human puberty worked, as he had done extensive research on it when he had first realized this would someday happen, he just wasn’t sure where to start. Or what areas to avoid. He had already had a tamer variation of The Talk with Jungkook a few years back, but this was a bit different. Part of him hoped Jungkook could figure most of that part out by himself so Hobi didn’t have to get involved.

“Alright, well, Jungkook…you’ve probably noticed some…changes with your body, right?” he started hesitantly.

Jungkook nodded. One of his ears still flopped a bit when he moved too quickly.

“That’s normal, and it happens to everyone like you, so it’s nothing to worry about, okay?” Another nod. “Some things you could expect are…well, you’re going to get taller, probably very quickly. Your voice is going to change, and you’re probably going to start developing some hair on your face and…other areas…”

Jungkook cut him off.

“What about my teeth?”

“Your…what?” Hobi paused, confused. Jungkook had already lost all of his baby teeth, and as far as Hobi was aware, there was nothing wrong with his adult teeth.

“My teeth. They hurt. Why?”

“They hurt? Wait, open your mouth.”

Jungkook obeyed, tipping his head back and letting his bottom jaw go slack. Hobi leaned closer, peering at his teeth, and noticed something a bit unusual. His canines seemed…bigger than the last time Hobi had seen them, and most of teeth were starting to slant into pointed edges. Then, Hobi realized something.

Jungkook was a werewolf, not a human. There were some similarities, obviously, but things would be slightly different for Jungkook as his wolf side developed alongside his human side.

“Right. Okay, so I guess I didn’t think of this earlier, but since you’re a werewolf, other things are going to change as well.”

“Like what?” Jungkook really didn’t seemed fazed by this at all. All the research Hobi had done had indicated that most young teens hated having these talks. Jungkook was mostly just curious, and maybe a bit excited.

“Like, well, like your teeth. And probably your senses, and some other, more wolfish instincts might start to become more prominent.” Hobi hesitated. “But if anything unusual happens, I want you to come tell me, okay? In-in regards to the wolf thing, that is,” he quickly clarified. He really didn’t want to have that misunderstood and have Jungkook come running to him every single time he deemed something a bit weird.

Jungkook nodded vigorously.

As the werewolf ran off, Hobi felt a sort of pre-emptive tiredness drag at his body. This was going to be a long, complicated few years.

----

It had been nearly three years since Jungkook had noticed the first changes in his body, and it had only gone downhill from there.

The inside of his mouth was covered in scars and sores from his now much bigger teeth, and it had taken him a long time to adjust to his claws – or, more specifically, to picking things up with his claws and touching Hobi without cutting him. He was now also taller than Hobi by at least several inches, his shoulders were nearly twice the size of the pixie’s, and he was able to lift Hobi over his head. Hobi hadn’t been very happy about his adoptive baby brother being both bigger and stronger than him, but he had come to terms with it eventually.

Within the past couple months, Jungkook had started to notice some more unusual changes.

Sometimes when he woke in the morning, his back and legs ached, the feeling very similar to how he remembered the worst of his growing pains; his mood had gotten increasingly worse and with very violent mood swings; and Hobi had yelled at him a couple times for literally growling at the pixie, something Jungkook had never done before.

Today had been one of those times.

The first time it happened, Hobi had been much more forgiving, telling Jungkook that everyone had bad days and that was probably why he had snapped at Hobi. But the couple times it had happened after that, Hobi had been less than impressed. Jungkook wasn’t sure why he had done it – he couldn’t even remember making the conscious decision to do so. As a sort of punishment, Hobi had sent him out to the woods to gather firewood by himself. Snow had just started to fall, and they would need to stock up on a few things in the next couple weeks.

Jungkook paused in his gathering to rub at his knee. His bones were aching again.

He could hear voices coming from somewhere down the path that snaked through the woods. He looked up, his ears perking forward, and caught some tidbits of their conversation. From what he could hear, it was a couple young girls, out for an autumn jog.

Slowly, keeping his steps as quiet as possible, Jungkook slipped over to a fallen tree and ducked behind it.

It was rare that anyone came this way, but Hobi had told Jungkook since the first day he had lived in the cabin that no one should see them. So Jungkook stayed still and silent as the women grew nearer and their smell grew stronger.

That was weird.

Jungkook’s senses were heightened, naturally, but he had never been this bothered by someone’s scent before. Something about it was…irritating, almost. He could feel something rumbling in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was a growl or something much worse.

It wasn’t until the wood of the fallen tree splintered under his nails that Jungkook realized he was gripping it. He suddenly felt irrationally angry.

Something else welled up in his chest.

Something…primal.

He shook his head, trying to chase it off. It was just something about one of the girls’ perfume, he told himself. Once they were gone, it would go away too.

But it was just getting worse the closer they came.

He considered calling out for Hobi, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was some kind of low growl, and he could feel his upper lip curling, baring his huge teeth. He lowered his head, nails gouging into the wood of the tree, the fur on his tail bristling as he tried desperately to fight off whatever the hell was happening. Every muscle in his body was tightened, saliva gathering in the back of his mouth. He squirmed uncomfortably, feeling the dull ache spread from his back and legs to the rest of him. His whole body felt like it was throbbing.

When he heard the girls’ footsteps very near his hiding place, he had to fight off the sudden urge to leap at them.

Slowly, he lifted his head and peered at them over the log, sealing his mouth shut to stop his noises. As soon as he laid eyes on them, the world started trembling, and everything hazed red.

----

The instant Hobi heard the screams, he dropped the carrots he had been peeling for dinner – he had been trying, desperately, to get Jungkook to eat more vegetables – and ran out of the cabin, not bothering to grab a jacket.

He hadn’t been able to tell exactly where they had been coming from, but it sounded generally like the area near the trail. He made his way there as quickly as possible, worried for Jungkook but also wondering who the hell had screamed. Jungkook’s voice hadn’t gotten to that pitch in at least two months.

What he found when he got there made him want to cry, scream, vomit and run away all at once.

He knew it was Jungkook because of the tail. There was no mistaking the fluffy fur, the white tip. Everything else, though. Everything else was not Jungkook.

It was…some kind of monster.

It was huge, at least half the size of the trees around them, its claws nearly the length of Hobi’s forearm.

There was blood everywhere. What snow there was on the ground was red, drops of the dark liquid spattered on the trees and ground, little rivers of it making their way downhill, winding through the grass. One of the young women was still alive.

The other…well, Hobi could see her hand on the ground near his foot, and the slimy, fat worms of her intestines spilling out from a huge gash in her stomach a few yards away. Her head was half caved-in, one of her eyeballs popped right out and crushed on the ground, her mouth open in a perpetual scream of terror.

Hobi turned, and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground.

There was a noise – a roar, a growl, some kind of wild, vicious noise – and Hobi covered his mouth as he turned back, determined not to vomit again.

The other women screamed, but it was cut short.

She was dead.

Hobi said something then, but he wasn’t too sure what it was. It might have been Jungkook’s name, or maybe it was just a wordless sob. Either way, it got the beast’s attention. His huge head swung around, and Hobi felt his breath catch in his throat when he caught sight of his feral eyes, saw the way his pupil contracted when he saw Hobi. The woman’s body was in his mouth, one of her legs gone and half of her torso ripped up beyond recognition as a human being.

He started to advance toward Hobi, painfully slowly, and as he did he tightened his jaw, and Hobi sobbed when he heard the sickening crack of the woman’s bones under his teeth. Her body convulsed, blood bubbling up around her lips. He dropped her, and the last of her ribs snapped under his foot as he stepped over her.

Hobi backed up until he felt a tree at his back.

He was terrified, he couldn’t feel his hands. This wasn’t Jungkook, he kept telling himself. Jungkook wouldn’t do this. Jungkook wouldn’t kill someone.

But all of a sudden, with the beast’s face a few inches in front of his own, he wasn’t so sure. There was blood and saliva dripping from his mouth, strings of human flesh and clothes caught between his massive, jagged teeth. He was snarling, his ferocious eyes pinning Hobi to his spot. Hobi could feel himself shaking.

Jungkook’s mouth opened, and Hobi could smell the blood on his breath, could see it staining his teeth and pooling in the corners of his mouth. One of Jungkook’s massive hands slammed on the ground next to Hobi and he shrieked, flinching back. His hands were grasping at the tree behind him, and he swore he felt his bones tremble when Jungkook growled, the sound rumbling from the very back of his throat.

Hobi stared up at his baby brother, unable to look away, unable to stop the tears leaking from his eyes or the sobs wracking his body. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t ready to die.

“Jung-k…Jungkook….” His voice trembled, and it was barely loud enough for him to hear.

The monster snarled, and Hobi screamed when he felt white-hot pain shoot up his arm, Jungkook’s claws gouging into his flesh. He felt warm blood drip from his fingertips onto the ground, and he started bawling for real, unable to form words anymore.

He was so, so scared.

He slammed his eyes shut, cringing back into himself in preparation for what he knew was coming, but to his surprise, it never did.

“H…Hobi?”

Hobi’s eyes shot open.

Jungkook was staring at him with wide eyes. Jungkook. Not that thing, that monster. Jungkook.

Hobi sobbed and threw his arms around the boy’s shoulders, letting his weak knees give out. Jungkook’s hands hesitated, and Hobi could feel the werewolf’s body shaking, could hear his laboured breathing.

“What happened?” Jungkook’s voice broke. His big, warm hands settled on Hobi’s back. “Did I…did I do this?”

Hobi didn’t answer, choosing instead to bury his face against the cleft of Jungkook’s neck and tighten his hold on him. He didn’t want to say, didn’t want to blame Jungkook for this. It wasn’t his fault, really. He clearly hadn’t been in control.

“Hobi. Did I do this?” Jungkook’s voice and hands were both shaking as he grasped Hobi’s shoulders gently and drew him far enough away to see his face. The werewolf’s big blue eyes were scared, tears budding in their corners. His mouth trembled, blood still staining his cheeks and teeth and hands. “Please tell me,” he whispered. His eyes searched Hobi’s face. “Please.”

Slowly, Hobi nodded.

One of Jungkook’s hands left him to cover his mouth.

“Jungkook, no, this wasn’t your fault…”

Hobi saw the boy’s eyes flicker to the huge, raw wound on Hobi’s forearm.

“You weren’t in control, you didn’t do this!”

Jungkook drew away entirely, and turned to look behind him. He stared at the remnants of the two young women, and Hobi forced himself not to look, focusing instead on the way Jungkook’s ears fell and his tail drew between his knees. He said Jungkook’s name again, and set a hand on his shoulder, but Jungkook didn’t acknowledge him. After a second, the boy sunk into a crouch, his hands covering his face. His broad shoulders trembled, and Hobi felt awful.

“Jungkook…”

“Go back to the cabin.”

Jungkook’s voice cracked. Hobi went to touch him again, but the werewolf moved away.

“Please. Please just go.”

Hobi reluctantly did as he said, walking back to the cabin with his arm cradled against his chest. He only glanced back once, and felt his heart break when he saw Jungkook sitting there covered in blood and self-hatred.

----

Four hours later, Jungkook returned to the cabin. He had washed all the blood off himself, but it was clear everything else still stuck with him. Hobi was sitting on the floor near the fire, his arm cleaned and bandaged. It would heal quickly, given his magic blood, but had been a bad enough injury that it would need a few days.

Jungkook stood next to him for a moment, his head down, eyes covered in shadow from his brow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Hobi smiled softly, reaching out to touch his knee gently.

“It’s okay, Kookie. It wasn’t your fault.”

Jungkook sat down next to him on his knees, hands clenched in fists around the fabric of his ripped pants. His bottom lip trembled as he glanced up at Hobi, eyes teary. His ears were low, hidden among his wild hair. Hobi lifted his hand and pet one of the boy’s fluffy ears, grinning.

“It’s okay.”

Jungkook leaned closer, pressing his head to Hobi’s chest. He was whining softly, though his shoulders seemed to relax a bit when he felt Hobi loop a hand around his head and stroke his ears. Hobi pressed a kiss to his head and murmured little reassurances against his hair, his eyes lidded.

After a moment, Jungkook pulled back and moved to lay on the floor, curling his body around Hobi and laying his head near the pixie’s hand. Hobi smiled widely and gently pet his head.

Jungkook whined again, and Hobi realized he was looking at the bandages on his arm, and shook his head a little.

“I’ll be fine. It’ll heal in a couple days, you’ll see,” he said as happily as he could, flicking Jungkook’s nose. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, but eventually seemed satisfied with this and laid his head down again. His fluffy tail rested over Hobi’s legs, and Hobi felt completely surrounded by the werewolf, and, surprisingly, the safest he’d ever felt.

[nedcanquen]

Le Loupgarou - Chapter 1 (NedCanWeek 2017 - Sun/Moon)

It’s NedCan week! That means it’s time to crank out some fic that still features our favorite couple but is a little different from Mr 7th Floor (I try anyway). 

This fic is short multi-chaptered thing to fulfill several of the prompts for NedCan week. This first chapter fulfills day 2: Sun/Moon.

Way back when I tried to write a fic about 17th-century trade wars, I wrote about a Matthew/Matthieu who was French/Wendat (Huron) and escaped the genocide of his people as a result of the Beaver Wars by living for a time with Jesuits. I took that basic premise to write another Matthew/Matthieu.

Tags: Werewolf AU, supernatural, Historical AU.

Pairings: NedCan

Image from Pexels.

Eastern Canada - early 1700s

It came from Europe. It certainly was not a monster that was native to his home, Matthieu could tell by how clumsily it moved through the forest. ‘Moved’, more like stumbling and crashing, as bad as those new traders fresh off the boat who got themselves killed within the first day - those who had no business being here. Sometimes Matthieu wondered about his unknown father, who had given him his too-pale skin, hair and eyes, physical attributes that made these newcomers seek him out for business more readily than they did his kin. Still, their goods were of good quality, and hunting a creature this clumsy would be easy.

So Matthieu hunted - not just for the tools, tobacco, fur, and other products worth a fortune in trade, but also because he didn’t want some foreign menace tearing his home apart - foreign diseases, an animal that could easily feast on too many native ones to throw everything off balance. He’d already seen what such things could do, he’d kill any new thing before it could do that.

He was lucky it was summer, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to track it for this long. But now he’s willing to speed up. It’s time to end this. He had tracked it for most the night under the light of the full moon, and whatever it was, it wasn’t trying to hide, or couldn’t. Broken branches, scattered leaves, blood and the smell of something foreign in the wind assaulted Matthieu’s senses. He works alone, even though he grew up doing this in a group of young boys, then men, just like him. But now his people are gone, and Matthieu has no one to work with. The Beaver Wars have all but decimated the only people he had ever known. The only reason he’s alive, is because he favors his father’s looks. His mother’s brother had brought him to a French settlement when they heard the enemy was coming, and the Jesuit brothers adopted him without question.

He exists between two worlds and belongs to none, like the land he was born in, in conflict - fought over between nations that have no business being here but they are transforming it nonetheless. His ability to hide and blend in between all these peoples, to speak their languages - to disappear into the forest, or town or port when he needs to - keep him alive. It’s a lonely life, but it’s the only one that he now knows. In his early and more naive years, Matthieu refused to work for any of the Europeans unless they were French, he also would not look at any Haudenosaunee (the Iroquois) if he could help it - those who killed his mother and took his cousins from him. As he grew older, his attitude and practicality had to change. The way he saw things, the English were going to win and if he were to survive, he would have to learn to at least live with them. He was making progress with that but it was still difficult to accept the Dutch - the ones who sold his people’s enemies their weapons without reserve, who had sealed the fate of his family. Until yesterday at least.

They had sought him out - Matthieu had built a reputation for himself as a guide, tracker and hunter. He accepted few jobs but it appeared that despite their parsimonious reputation, these Dutchmen were willing to pay him a lot of money.

Maybe he should have hired more to join, but there was something about this deal that made him suspicious - too good to turn down, which would mean a knife in the back as soon as the job was done. But also odd. There was something those Dutch sailors were refusing to tell him, it was in their stiff manner when they presented to him the silver bullets to kill the thing with.

The tracks seemed to confirm part their story at least, or what Matthieu could understand from their clumsy command of his language - large beast, brought for labor, escaped, kill on sight. The few things that didn’t make sense were the last two descriptors of the ‘beast’ - dangerous, intelligent. For the first few hours, Matthieu had been cautious, convinced that the beast was leading him into a trap, with how obvious the trail was. The other curious thing was, there seemed to be three tracks - a man’s, a wolf’s and the beast the sailors spoke of. It’s possible another hunter and his dog was also trailing this beast, which was the other reason Matthieu was cautious - some would kill before sharing possible spoils - but now he is not so sure.

It is only now that the third possibility occurs to him and he freezes in fear, could it be? No, but…? Their hesitance to talk, the special bullets. Matthieu is young, confident, stupid and has lived apart from his people for too long if he was only putting this together now. But if it’s European how can it be a Wendigo?! And it’s summer! Matthieu banishes his banal thoughts and is able to move again. There was no wisdom that said Wendigos were native only to his land, that was like saying that those baser instincts such as greed, hunger and desperation were unique to his people - why would such a creature be restricted to his own home? But Matthieu had stopped believing in Wendigo during his time with the Jesuits, not because they had convinced him entirely about the truth of God, but because if Wendigo were real, this whole land would be covered with them. The wars had proven that all the nations were selfish and greedy enough to be filled with nothing but Wendigo. But now Matthieu’s mind returns to his childhood and considers. Yes, Wendigo were said to hibernate in summer but they could be awoken.

Had those fools attempted to trap and use one for profit? For labour? Knowing how greedy these traders could be, how dismissive of things they could not see in front of their own eyes and calculate the worth of, it wouldn’t surprise him. And wouldn’t a European Wendigo be just as hopeless navigating his forests as a fresh European man would be?

Whatever it is, it is too late to leave and come back with a full party to lay traps, though it is likely smarter to do so. Matthieu’s curiosity is getting the best of him, as it always does. He carefully, quietly, takes his musket and moves on. The tracks show that the creature has hunted, and is slowing. The trail of blood tells Matthieu it is eating but there’s no evidence of an animal’s neat eating habits here, it is more akin to a human that has starved for days. The scent is getting stronger now, and it’s growing lighter around him, soon the sun will rise. The beast is slowing almost to a stop, so he guesses it has found a place to hide during the day, after the mess it has made overnight. Matthieu quietly climbs a tall rock to get a better shot. He will lose all advantage of surprise if he misses.

What he sees doesn’t really resemble any Wendigo he’s heard about, but the stories range. This beast is covered in heavy grey fur with a hint of a reddish hue. It looks more like a giant wolf than a man, save for its very long hind legs and the clear sign of five fingers and toes rather than paws, albeit with claws. It feeds on a wild boar, which says something about the strength this creature must have despite how clumsy it is in the forest.

Matthieu takes aim, and he’s about to shoot when the first ray of sunlight hits the creature and it freezes, turning abruptly, which makes Matthieu lose his shot. The rest, well, it makes him freeze.

Though the face has a long snout, it’s eyes are nothing like any wolf’s eyes that Matthieu has ever seen. They’re confused and afraid, and they’re green - green like a grassy field. And human.

What Matthieu sees next freezes him in his spot. The creature seems to fight itself, reaching towards the sunlight and snapping back, snarling at it, before inevitably crawling into it, submissive and defeated. Then the change happens and the thing howls in agony - fur falls off in matted clumps to reveal pale flesh, the claws turn brittle and fall off, bones painfully crack into a different shape and the snout shortens back to a man’s face. The howl turns into a human scream and doesn’t end. The man screams himself hoarse as he curls up in pain, his body outside of his control. The sound and sight makes Matthieu’s heart clench in his chest, tears of sympathy sting his eyes. It’s difficult to witness anything endure this kind of pain but he knows he can’t do anything to help, at least not yet.

Matthieu has no idea how much time has passed from the beginning of the transformation to when it seems to have ended, but the man now lies on his back, staring into the sky at nothing. He breathes heavily and tears run down his blood-streaked face. His eyes are the same.

Those eyes flicker to him and widen slightly, before closing. When he opens his eyes, they’re dull. Matthieu only now realizes that he’s breathing just as hard, he can barely process everything that he has just seen. But if nothing else, he knows this isn’t a Wendigo - Wendigo do not change back.

The man speaks, but Mattieu narrows his eyes, he can’t understand Dutch. He jumps down from his rock and walks closer. It’s probably stupid, there’s no guarantee that this man is harmless just because he’s now naked and appears weak but…Matthieu also knows he’s not going to kill him right at this moment, unless he obviously threatens him.

The man freezes for a time but doesn’t close his eyes. He looks at Matthieu in confusion then and tries again. “French?”

Matthieu nods. “Yes, if I must.”

He nods. “I just said, if you’re going to help me, help me. If not, then to get on with it and kill me. I’m too damn tired to fight.”

Matthieu narrows his eyes, still pointing his musket at the man. He knows that the likelihood of him killing the man are rapidly dropping but he still wants answers. “What are you?”

The eyes close with pain. “Loupgarou.” The man sighs as if that’s the answer. Matthieu doesn’t know that word, though he thinks he knows half of it. Loup means ‘wolf’, but garou…? The man speaks. “They said if I laboured for them I could earn a cure. The others...when I met the others I knew it was a lie.”

Others? “There are more like you? How are you-”

“A wolf bites us, or a dog, I don’t fucking know anymore. Sometimes you just get sick and die, sometimes nothing happens, sometimes you turn into a loupgarou - every full moon, you have to change. You have to leave everyone you know, or you may hurt them, so if you’re going to help me, point me to water and let me go, or shoot me and be done with it!”

Matthieu makes a split decision that he hopes he won’t regret. He has no idea why he’s doing it, except that the alternatives feel wrong. While the man is still too exhausted to move, after this latest outburst, Matthieu sets down his travel bag and pulls out spare clothes and dampens a cloth with some water.

“What are you doing?!”

“Dressing you. After this, I will give you water, and you will help me cut up that boar you managed to kill. If it isn’t sick, we’ll cook and eat some and then, you are going to help me bring it back to my home, we’ll dry and preserve it, and I won’t have to hunt for weeks. On the way you can help me think of something to tell the sailors who hired me to kill you, so that they will leave you alone.”  

The man looks incredulous. “Wh...No! You can’t keep me around! Didn’t you hear me? I’m a threat, I’m dangerous!”

“Once every full moon.” Matthieu scoffs. “Which has just passed. Which means we have a month to figure out what to do with you. Now stop whining and make yourself useful. Do you have a name Mr Loupgarou? Or is that what I’m expected to call you?”

The man makes a face. Impossibly terrifying but Matthieu knows he’s just trying to cover his own terror, and perhaps surprise. Matthieu holds his ground and stares right back at the man. Finally the other relents. “This is supposed to be a new world. Why don’t you give me a name?”

Matthieu chuckles without much humor. He wonders if the man can understand what a new name truly means. Matthieu is lucky to still have his, a French name for the French father he never knew, though he had often wished he had a more common name among his nation when he was younger. But his cousins who had those Wendat names had been taken by the Haudenosaunee. If they survived, according to the customs of war, they had by now been given the names of those who had died before them. Matthieu, one of the few survivors of his nation, got to keep his name, only because it had never belonged to that nation to begin with. The world he was born in was dying so fast, so maybe the man had a point about new names and new beginnings. “You may regret leaving that choice up to me. Come on.”

Matthieu stops and looks back after he hears no footsteps behind him. He freezes at the expression the man has on his face. Matthieu doesn’t know what to call it - amazement? Amazement and disbelief with something else he’s never seen before. He feels a rush of heat to his face. It’s not fear, though the rush of adrenaline is familiar. Matthieu figures it’s just exhaustion from the night and it’s time to return home. Thankfully the man realizes that Matthieu is not leaving without him and moves. They return in relative silence.

Notes:

Matthieu was born into the Wendat nation, more commonly known as the Huron, who lived north of present-day Lake Ontario (in what is now the province of Ontario). From what I could discover online, ‘Huron’ was a name given to this nation by the French (it meant something like ‘ruffian’) so they didn’t call themselves that. It’s sadly difficult to discover accurate information about Canada’s First Nation’s online, but when I tried to find out what this nation would have called itself, Wendat was what I could find. I may be wrong, and if I am, please let me know and I will change it. 

The Haudenosaunee Confederacy are more commonly known to us as the Iroquiois, again, ‘Iroquois’ is not the name that this nation called itself, it was coined by the Algonquin, who were allied with the Wendat/Huron. The word means ‘enemy’. The Iroquois lived kinda south and east of Lake Ontario (present-day New York...yeah in my other fic, Matthieu is Wendat/Huron, and Alfred was born to the People of the Flint/Mohawk, who were part of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy...it was all kinds of interesting for their relationship as brothers). 

The Beaver Wars were fought for monopoly over the beaver fur trade (and other reasons) and while the French were allied to the Algonquin and Wendat/Huron, the Iroquois were allied with the English and the Dutch, the latter of which made a lot of money off selling weapons to fuel the war. The war ended with an Iroquois victory and the near genocide of the Wendat/Huron, not entirely by blood (though there was a lot of killing), but also through forced assimilation. Captives were taken in by the victorious side, given different names and from then on became Haudenosaunee. Another reason for the wars is believed to be that the Haudenosaunee were trying to replace the people they lost due to European diseases. There was a custom that prisoners of war were adopted into the victorious nation and given the names of those who had died before them, so some of Matthieu’s cousins are actually alive, they’re just not legally his cousins anymore.  

Loupgarou is French for ‘werewolf’. 

Again, any mistakes in facts are all mine. 

[mairzymarzipan]

I’m just in the mood to talk about writing tonight I guess...

So, over the week I watched the terrible movie The Flight of Dragons.  It’s such a love hate thing for me bc I love the dragons in it and the explanations and the involuntary dragon possession ofc Jame Earl Jones.  But.  Oh god, the story and the characters.  I’ll just say this: There are two women in the entire movie.  There is also a confessed pedophile in the cast who sits there and tells the hero how much of a pedophile he is and the hero doesn’t even flinch.

Yeah it’s...that kind of sexism

Anyway in my spite I wrote 8k in a day about an AU where the same thing happens but it happens to my friend’s OC Cass instead.  And also like, most of the characters are women.  And also tried to fix the worldbuilding bc I can’t wrap my head around a world where wizards who study a lot are also proud of their ignorance.  

Then I showed it to said friend, who built on the lore a bit, which got me into worldbuilding mode, and anyway, now it’s turning into like, A Thing

This is the only part I want to share though...sort of a creation myth about the god wizards.

At first there were the gods.  They made the crops grow, the sun shine, the sick heal.  More importantly, they decided which crops should grow and which should die- which days would be sunny and which would be dim- who should recover and who should falter.  But they grew bored with the small strifes of the below creatures, and left this world.  Before they did, though, they chose an agent.

She was of the roden- the most diminutive race of the land.  Despite her stature and weakness, and she was true fighter, who championed the will of the gods.  And so the gods imbued her with all the power to take care of the world.

There were no colors back then.  No names, even.  The name she was born with was forgotten in the sands of time.  She was simply The Great Wizard.  And for a century, she alone kept the world on track.

It killed her.  Several times.  She came back, a little more mad than she had been before.  She came to realize that if she died much more, she would become a different person entirely- a harmful person.  

So she raised up a new agent- this time, a peafowl-like dragon named Turquoise.  Now, they had colors.  There was the Pink and the Turquoise.  And the people chose a new name for The Pink: Sugarplum.

In no time at all though, Turquoise was deteriorating faster than Sugarplum, because of Sugarplum’s sin.  Because Sugarplum had kept all the pleasant, bubbly magic to herself, and left Turquoise with all negative, cannibalistic magic.  Sugarplum realized her mistake, and convinced Turquoise that they should bring on a new agent.  This time, they chose a harpy who was young and strong of will.  

Sugarplum and Turquoise both imbued him with their magic, to give him a mix of positive and negative.  There reigned a thousand years of peace.  Turquoise the Turquoise improved.  Sugarplum the Pink guided the creatures below, and Winston the Golden inspired them to reach new and incredible heights.  

He inspired the humans too, of course, because humans were creatures of the land just like roden, dragons and harpies.  Alongside their beastly allies, they created a written language- not just for spells, but for poetry and history record as well, and books to hold those words in.  They created roads, and infrastructure, clean water and healing for all.  The era was called the Golden Age- a nod to the wizards’ newest member.

But the humans grew suspicious of the beasts.  Why should the roden, dragons, and harpies have their own Great Wizards, but not them?  Sugarplum, Turquoise and Winston were hesitant to move because Three, over the centuries, had proved to be a holy number.  Four was unlucky and unbalanced, and Five was just a mess.  If they added a Great Wizard, how could they hold up the balance?

But the jealousy and suspicion from the humans had its effects on Turquoise, so Sugarplum and Winston agreed.  After a long time they chose Peter Finch, a soft spoken but self-thinking man- a man of the learning and scholarship that the Golden Age had produced.  The color he took on was Green.  He and Winston became close friends- on top of all the Great Wizards calling each other siblings.

Turquoise went back to normal- for a little while.  It seemed like lifetimes for the creatures below, even the dragons, but for the Great Wizards it was painfully short.  All four races feared the Great Wizards for being Great Wizards.  They said that they weren’t even real anymore, the way they could come back from death.  They started seeing ghosts and monsters.  Turquoise relapsed again into hatred begot madness, and made those terrors real.

But a funny thing happened.  Sugarplum, Winston and Finch’s powers waned as the creatures turned to negativity.  But Turquoise’s power just grew and grew and grew.  They could not longer redistribute and set things right.  They needed to take away Turquoise’s power.

[readbookywooks]

It was some time, however, before I consented to recognise that truth. Waking up in the morning after some hours of heavy, leaden sleep, and immediately realising all that had happened on the previous day, I was positively amazed at my last night's SENTIMENTALITY with Liza, at all those "outcries of horror and pity." "To think of having such an attack of womanish hysteria, pah!" I concluded. And what did I thrust my address upon her for? What if she comes? Let her come, though; it doesn't matter .... But OBVIOUSLY, that was not now the chief and the most important matter: I had to make haste and at all costs save my reputation in the eyes of Zverkov and Simonov as quickly as possible; that was the chief business. And I was so taken up that morning that I actually forgot all about Liza. First of all I had at once to repay what I had borrowed the day before from Simonov. I resolved on a desperate measure: to borrow fifteen roubles straight off from Anton Antonitch. As luck would have it he was in the best of humours that morning, and gave it to me at once, on the first asking. I was so delighted at this that, as I signed the IOU with a swaggering air, I told him casually that the night before "I had been keeping it up with some friends at the Hotel de Paris; we were giving a farewell party to a comrade, in fact, I might say a friend of my childhood, and you know - a desperate rake, fearfully spoilt - of course, he belongs to a good family, and has considerable means, a brilliant career; he is witty, charming, a regular Lovelace, you understand; we drank an extra 'half-dozen' and ..." And it went off all right; all this was uttered very easily, unconstrainedly and complacently. On reaching home I promptly wrote to Simonov. To this hour I am lost in admiration when I recall the truly gentlemanly, good-humoured, candid tone of my letter. With tact and goodbreeding, and, above all, entirely without superfluous words, I blamed myself for all that had happened. I defended myself, "if I really may be allowed to defend myself," by alleging that being utterly unaccustomed to wine, I had been intoxicated with the first glass, which I said, I had drunk before they arrived, while I was waiting for them at the Hotel de Paris between five and six o'clock. I begged Simonov's pardon especially; I asked him to convey my explanations to all the others, especially to Zverkov, whom "I seemed to remember as though in a dream" I had insulted. I added that I would have called upon all of them myself, but my head ached, and besides I had not the face to. I was particularly pleased with a certain lightness, almost carelessness (strictly within the bounds of politeness, however), which was apparent in my style, and better than any possible arguments, gave them at once to understand that I took rather an independent view of "all that unpleasantness last night"; that I was by no means so utterly crushed as you, my friends, probably imagine; but on the contrary, looked upon it as a gentleman serenely respecting himself should look upon it. "On a young hero's past no censure is cast!" "There is actually an aristocratic playfulness about it!" I thought admiringly, as I read over the letter. "And it's all because I am an intellectual and cultivated man! Another man in my place would not have known how to extricate himself, but here I have got out of it and am as jolly as ever again, and all because I am 'a cultivated and educated man of our day.' And, indeed, perhaps, everything was due to the wine yesterday. H'm!" ... No, it was not the wine. I did not drink anything at all between five and six when I was waiting for them. I had lied to Simonov; I had lied shamelessly; and indeed I wasn't ashamed now .... Hang it all though, the great thing was that I was rid of it. I put six roubles in the letter, sealed it up, and asked Apollon to take it to Simonov. When he learned that there was money in the letter, Apollon became more respectful and agreed to take it. Towards evening I went out for a walk. My head was still aching and giddy after yesterday. But as evening came on and the twilight grew denser, my impressions and, following them, my thoughts, grew more and more different and confused. Something was not dead within me, in the depths of my heart and conscience it would not die, and it showed itself in acute depression. For the most part I jostled my way through the most crowded business streets, along Myeshtchansky Street, along Sadovy Street and in Yusupov Garden. I always liked particularly sauntering along these streets in the dusk, just when there were crowds of working people of all sorts going home from their daily work, with faces looking cross with anxiety. What I liked was just that cheap bustle, that bare prose. On this occasion the jostling of the streets irritated me more than ever, I could not make out what was wrong with me, I could not find the clue, something seemed rising up continually in my soul, painfully, and refusing to be appeased. I returned home completely upset, it was just as though some crime were lying on my conscience. The thought that Liza was coming worried me continually. It seemed queer to me that of all my recollections of yesterday this tormented me, as it were, especially, as it were, quite separately. Everything else I had quite succeeded in forgetting by the evening; I dismissed it all and was still perfectly satisfied with my letter to Simonov. But on this point I was not satisfied at all. It was as though I were worried only by Liza. "What if she comes," I thought incessantly, "well, it doesn't matter, let her come! H'm! it's horrid that she should see, for instance, how I live. Yesterday I seemed such a hero to her, while now, h'm! It's horrid, though, that I have let myself go so, the room looks like a beggar's. And I brought myself to go out to dinner in such a suit! And my American leather sofa with the stuffing sticking out. And my dressing-gown, which will not cover me, such tatters, and she will see all this and she will see Apollon. That beast is certain to insult her. He will fasten upon her in order to be rude to me. And I, of course, shall be panic-stricken as usual, I shall begin bowing and scraping before her and pulling my dressing-gown round me, I shall begin smiling, telling lies. Oh, the beastliness! And it isn't the beastliness of it that matters most! There is something more important, more loathsome, viler! Yes, viler! And to put on that dishonest lying mask again! ..." When I reached that thought I fired up all at once. "Why dishonest? How dishonest? I was speaking sincerely last night. I remember there was real feeling in me, too. What I wanted was to excite an honourable feeling in her .... Her crying was a good thing, it will have a good effect." Yet I could not feel at ease. All that evening, even when I had come back home, even after nine o'clock, when I calculated that Liza could not possibly come, still she haunted me, and what was worse, she came back to my mind always in the same position. One moment out of all that had happened last night stood vividly before my imagination; the moment when I struck a match and saw her pale, distorted face, with its look of torture. And what a pitiful, what an unnatural, what a distorted smile she had at that moment! But I did not know then, that fifteen years later I should still in my imagination see Liza, always with the pitiful, distorted, inappropriate smile which was on her face at that minute. Next day I was ready again to look upon it all as nonsense, due to overexcited nerves, and, above all, as EXAGGERATED. I was always conscious of that weak point of mine, and sometimes very much afraid of it. "I exaggerate everything, that is where I go wrong," I repeated to myself every hour. But, however, "Liza will very likely come all the same," was the refrain with which all my reflections ended. I was so uneasy that I sometimes flew into a fury: "She'll come, she is certain to come!" I cried, running about the room, "if not today, she will come tomorrow; she'll find me out! The damnable romanticism of these pure hearts! Oh, the vileness - oh, the silliness - oh, the stupidity of these 'wretched sentimental souls!' Why, how fail to understand? How could one fail to understand? ..." But at this point I stopped short, and in great confusion, indeed. And how few, how few words, I thought, in passing, were needed; how little of the idyllic (and affectedly, bookishly, artificially idyllic too) had sufficed to turn a whole human life at once according to my will. That's virginity, to be sure! Freshness of soil! At times a thought occurred to me, to go to her, "to tell her all," and beg her not to come to me. But this thought stirred such wrath in me that I believed I should have crushed that "damned" Liza if she had chanced to be near me at the time. I should have insulted her, have spat at her, have turned her out, have struck her! One day passed, however, another and another; she did not come and I began to grow calmer. I felt particularly bold and cheerful after nine o'clock, I even sometimes began dreaming, and rather sweetly: I, for instance, became the salvation of Liza, simply through her coming to me and my talking to her .... I develop her, educate her. Finally, I notice that she loves me, loves me passionately. I pretend not to understand (I don't know, however, why I pretend, just for effect, perhaps). At last all confusion, transfigured, trembling and sobbing, she flings herself at my feet and says that I am her saviour, and that she loves me better than anything in the world. I am amazed, but .... "Liza," I say, "can you imagine that I have not noticed your love? I saw it all, I divined it, but I did not dare to approach you first, because I had an influence over you and was afraid that you would force yourself, from gratitude, to respond to my love, would try to rouse in your heart a feeling which was perhaps absent, and I did not wish that ... because it would be tyranny ... it would be indelicate (in short, I launch off at that point into European, inexplicably lofty subtleties a la George Sand), but now, now you are mine, you are my creation, you are pure, you are good, you are my noble wife. 'Into my house come bold and free, Its rightful mistress there to be'." Then we begin living together, go abroad and so on, and so on. In fact, in the end it seemed vulgar to me myself, and I began putting out my tongue at myself. Besides, they won't let her out, "the hussy!" I thought. They don't let them go out very readily, especially in the evening (for some reason I fancied she would come in the evening, and at seven o'clock precisely). Though she did say she was not altogether a slave there yet, and had certain rights; so, h'm! Damn it all, she will come, she is sure to come! It was a good thing, in fact, that Apollon distracted my attention at that time by his rudeness. He drove me beyond all patience! He was the bane of my life, the curse laid upon me by Providence. We had been squabbling continually for years, and I hated him. My God, how I hated him! I believe I had never hated anyone in my life as I hated him, especially at some moments. He was an elderly, dignified man, who worked part of his time as a tailor. But for some unknown reason he despised me beyond all measure, and looked down upon me insufferably. Though, indeed, he looked down upon everyone. Simply to glance at that flaxen, smoothly brushed head, at the tuft of hair he combed up on his forehead and oiled with sunflower oil, at that dignified mouth, compressed into the shape of the letter V, made one feel one was confronting a man who never doubted of himself. He was a pedant, to the most extreme point, the greatest pedant I had met on earth, and with that had a vanity only befitting Alexander of Macedon. He was in love with every button on his coat, every nail on his fingers - absolutely in love with them, and he looked it! In his behaviour to me he was a perfect tyrant, he spoke very little to me, and if he chanced to glance at me he gave me a firm, majestically selfconfident and invariably ironical look that drove me sometimes to fury. He did his work with the air of doing me the greatest favour, though he did scarcely anything for me, and did not, indeed, consider himself bound to do anything. There could be no doubt that he looked upon me as the greatest fool on earth, and that "he did not get rid of me" was simply that he could get wages from me every month. He consented to do nothing for me for seven roubles a month. Many sins should be forgiven me for what I suffered from him. My hatred reached such a point that sometimes his very step almost threw me into convulsions. What I loathed particularly was his lisp. His tongue must have been a little too long or something of that sort, for he continually lisped, and seemed to be very proud of it, imagining that it greatly added to his dignity. He spoke in a slow, measured tone, with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the ground. He maddened me particularly when he read aloud the psalms to himself behind his partition. Many a battle I waged over that reading! But he was awfully fond of reading aloud in the evenings, in a slow, even, sing-song voice, as though over the dead. It is interesting that that is how he has ended: he hires himself out to read the psalms over the dead, and at the same time he kills rats and makes blacking. But at that time I could not get rid of him, it was as though he were chemically combined with my existence. Besides, nothing would have induced him to consent to leave me. I could not live in furnished lodgings: my lodging was my private solitude, my shell, my cave, in which I concealed myself from all mankind, and Apollon seemed to me, for some reason, an integral part of that flat, and for seven years I could not turn him away. To be two or three days behind with his wages, for instance, was impossible. He would have made such a fuss, I should not have known where to hide my head. But I was so exasperated with everyone during those days, that I made up my mind for some reason and with some object to PUNISH Apollon and not to pay him for a fortnight the wages that were owing him. I had for a long time - for the last two years - been intending to do this, simply in order to teach him not to give himself airs with me, and to show him that if I liked I could withhold his wages. I purposed to say nothing to him about it, and was purposely silent indeed, in order to score off his pride and force him to be the first to speak of his wages. Then I would take the seven roubles out of a drawer, show him I have the money put aside on purpose, but that I won't, I won't, I simply won't pay him his wages, I won't just because that is "what I wish," because "I am master, and it is for me to decide," because he has been disrespectful, because he has been rude; but if he were to ask respectfully I might be softened and give it to him, otherwise he might wait another fortnight, another three weeks, a whole month .... But angry as I was, yet he got the better of me. I could not hold out for four days. He began as he always did begin in such cases, for there had been such cases already, there had been attempts (and it may be observed I knew all this beforehand, I knew his nasty tactics by heart). He would begin by fixing upon me an exceedingly severe stare, keeping it up for several minutes at a time, particularly on meeting me or seeing me out of the house. If I held out and pretended not to notice these stares, he would, still in silence, proceed to further tortures. All at once, A PROPOS of nothing, he would walk softly and smoothly into my room, when I was pacing up and down or reading, stand at the door, one hand behind his back and one foot behind the other, and fix upon me a stare more than severe, utterly contemptuous. If I suddenly asked him what he wanted, he would make me no answer, but continue staring at me persistently for some seconds, then, with a peculiar compression of his lips and a most significant air, deliberately turn round and deliberately go back to his room. Two hours later he would come out again and again present himself before me in the same way. It had happened that in my fury I did not even ask him what he wanted, but simply raised my head sharply and imperiously and began staring back at him. So we stared at one another for two minutes; at last he turned with deliberation and dignity and went back again for two hours. If I were still not brought to reason by all this, but persisted in my revolt, he would suddenly begin sighing while he looked at me, long, deep sighs as though measuring by them the depths of my moral degradation, and, of course, it ended at last by his triumphing completely: I raged and shouted, but still was forced to do what he wanted. This time the usual staring manoeuvres had scarcely begun when I lost my temper and flew at him in a fury. I was irritated beyond endurance apart from him. "Stay," I cried, in a frenzy, as he was slowly and silently turning, with one hand behind his back, to go to his room. "Stay! Come back, come back, I tell you!" and I must have bawled so unnaturally, that he turned round and even looked at me with some wonder. However, he persisted in saying nothing, and that infuriated me. "How dare you come and look at me like that without being sent for? Answer!" After looking at me calmly for half a minute, he began turning round again. "Stay!" I roared, running up to him, "don't stir! There. Answer, now: what did you come in to look at?" "If you have any order to give me it's my duty to carry it out," he answered, after another silent pause, with a slow, measured lisp, raising his eyebrows and calmly twisting his head from one side to another, all this with exasperating composure. "That's not what I am asking you about, you torturer!" I shouted, turning crimson with anger. "I'll tell you why you came here myself: you see, I don't give you your wages, you are so proud you don't want to bow down and ask for it, and so you come to punish me with your stupid stares, to worry me and you have no sus-pic-ion how stupid it is-stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! ..." He would have turned round again without a word, but I seized him. "Listen," I shouted to him. "Here's the money, do you see, here it is," (I took it out of the table drawer); "here's the seven roubles complete, but you are not going to have it, you ... are ... not ... going ... to ... have it until you come respectfully with bowed head to beg my pardon. Do you hear?" "That cannot be," he answered, with the most unnatural self-confidence. "It shall be so," I said, "I give you my word of honour, it shall be!" "And there's nothing for me to beg your pardon for," he went on, as though he had not noticed my exclamations at all. "Why, besides, you called me a 'torturer,' for which I can summon you at the police-station at any time for insulting behaviour." "Go, summon me," I roared, "go at once, this very minute, this very second! You are a torturer all the same! a torturer!" But he merely looked at me, then turned, and regardless of my loud calls to him, he walked to his room with an even step and without looking round. "If it had not been for Liza nothing of this would have happened," I decided inwardly. Then, after waiting a minute, I went myself behind his screen with a dignified and solemn air, though my heart was beating slowly and violently. "Apollon," I said quietly and emphatically, though I was breathless, "go at once without a minute's delay and fetch the police-officer." He had meanwhile settled himself at his table, put on his spectacles and taken up some sewing. But, hearing my order, he burst into a guffaw. "At once, go this minute! Go on, or else you can't imagine what will happen." "You are certainly out of your mind," he observed, without even raising his head, lisping as deliberately as ever and threading his needle. "Whoever heard of a man sending for the police against himself? And as for being frightened - you are upsetting yourself about nothing, for nothing will come of it." "Go!" I shrieked, clutching him by the shoulder. I felt I should strike him in a minute. But I did not notice the door from the passage softly and slowly open at that instant and a figure come in, stop short, and begin staring at us in perplexity I glanced, nearly swooned with shame, and rushed back to my room. There, clutching at my hair with both hands, I leaned my head against the wall and stood motionless in that position. Two minutes later I heard Apollon's deliberate footsteps. "There is some woman asking for you," he said, looking at me with peculiar severity. Then he stood aside and let in Liza. He would not go away, but stared at us sarcastically. "Go away, go away," I commanded in desperation. At that moment my clock began whirring and wheezing and struck seven.