#and mb combine it with that guts+serp boat conversation actually - streamline things...

[marley-manson]

I have been inhaling all of your wip excerpts, they're all SO GOOD. I've already said this but you are such an excellent writer, everything that you put down is a joy to read.

Annnyway, I honestly can't keep track of the ones that haven't been asked for yet, so sorry if you've already done these, but Heat, and/or Rust.

Thank youuuuu that's so kind 😭 I'm glad you've been enjoying them! And right back at you, your writing is always so good that it's a joy to read even when I don't know the fandoms.

I posted about Rust here actually, but I'll throw out another excerpt:

The brand stung. It always fucking stung, but it got worse as the sun set and the spirits made themselves known.

For the first month or so since she’d left Godo and Erika she’d tended to rub and scratch that spot just above her breast, like it was an insect bite. Eventually she’d managed to will herself to stop, since it just made it hurt that little bit more.

The sun was red on the horizon and the shadows tangled in tree roots were growing deeper and more malevolent. She drew her sword as she walked, knowing that the early risers would be up soon.

The Skull Knight had told them that they didn’t live in the real world anymore. She and Guts had a foot outside of it, thanks to their brands, and if the world was a river and ordinary people pebbles below the surface, they were fish which could taste the air.

She supposed that made the spirits and monsters the hungry bears and fishermen.

Guts would be a shark, at least, or a whale. She was more like a pike. Nothing had got her yet, but she didn’t go looking for trouble either. She just swam, teeth bared.

Most nights the spirits could be dealt with as she walked, only occasionally cutting down the few that came for her. She didn’t dare risk sleeping with the sun down, but she could usually make good time and keep her pace brisk. But then there were nights when the moon was new, or when the area had been the sight of a battle, or another form of torment, and those were the busy nights.

Corpses would rise from grassy graves and animals would glare at her with wild, human eyes, attracted like moths to a flame.

She’d hoped that this forest wouldn’t be too bad - the trees weren’t overly dense and tended towards leafy and bright rather than needly and crowded - but she could already tell by the pain over her heart that it would be harder to traverse than the fields.

Bright glowing eyes blinked into her periphery near her feet and she instantly plunged her sword down into the bed of rotting leaves between them. With a faint hiss, like a drop of water on a candle flame, the twin points of light went out.

Another hint of a face in the darkness appeared just above eye level, on a branch. She caught it with the sharpened hilt of her sword as she drew it back up.

It was going to be a long night.

***

Heat, which I'd change the name of if I ever finished it so as not to be confused with that one popular longfic lol, is Guts/Serpico hooking up in Elfhelm after Casca gets her mind back but is too traumatized to be anywhere near him. It's non canonical now I guess unless I change some stuff and set it during the moonbaby montage lol. I actually posted a little excerpt from it a while ago, Guts remembering an afternoon of Griffith teaching him to dance. So that's the context for the final lines lol.

Serpico glanced at the sword he’d been swinging a few minutes earlier. “Getting bored here?”

Was he? Was the sensation of being trapped here, on this peaceful island, when there were things he could be doing out there, out in the world where Griffith was, was it just boredom? 

He shrugged again. “Maybe.”

And Serpico smiled. Despite the calm air, his grey cloak billowed around him as though blown by a stiff breeze, revealing the feathered weapon at his side. Guts couldn't think of it as a sword, even though it was similar in shape.

Serpico drew it from its sheath, and flicked it. His cloak settled down.

A little showy, Guts thought, and raised an eyebrow. “Here?” he asked, though he had no intention of refusing the clear invitation.

“Why not? I've been looking forward to a rematch for a while now.” 

There was a look in his eyes that got Guts’ blood pumping eagerly at the prospect of action. A grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Thought you preferred to scout the terrain first. Make sure I can’t swing my sword or do anything else useful.”

“I have range on my side now.” Serpico's eyes rolled upwards. “And the trees. Game, or not?”

He could just imagine Serpico striding along the branches, watching for an opportunity to strike. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension in them like a coiled snake waiting to spring. 

“Yeah, all right,” he said, and drew his sword.

It was fun. Fighting Serpico got his blood pumping and his heart pounding - a welcome feeling after the weeks here, sedate on one piece of peaceful land.

Serpico did utilize the trees. He leapt up to them like a grasshopper and dove down again like a - a kite. Guts was more constrained, limited by gravity and the slow swing of his huge sword. He was on the defensive, but hell, he was used to being on the defensive. 

He dodged, swung when Serpico lit onto the mossy ground and when he sent those cutting blasts of wind at him, easily neutralized by the force of iron displacing the air around him. Serpico remained out of reach, eyes as sharp and as focused as his weapon.

After a minute or two of bloodless dueling he swung straight out in front of him to counter a breeze from Serpico’s weapon, and the cunning bastard leaped down from a branch to take advantage of his lowered sword. For a moment that sent him years back in time, Guts was certain he'd land on its dull edge. In his distraction, Serpico landed on the ground and flicked his feather duster precisely. Like an icy gust of wind he felt the air slice his cheek - exactly where Serpico had caught him once before.

Knowing how easily he could've had his throat cut instead, Guts smirked and licked the tickling drop of blood heading towards the corner of his mouth, mimicking their first real encounter. “Lucky hit,” he said.

They exchanged a few more swings but now Guts’ head was solidly in the past again. How was it he could so clearly remember the exact look on Griffith’s face when he’d opened his mouth and bit his sword? He’d relished the shock in his eyes like he’d relished the taste of blood on his tongue. Even back then, when he’d thought he hated him, he’d drunk him in. 

He dodged another strike, like lightning from above, and nearly caught him in the instant between landing on the grass and leaping away again. His sword moved a hair too slow. It was just as well; Serpico’s real advantage was that he could land non-lethal blows relatively easily, while even if Guts aimed to disarm he’d probably still end up taking Serpico’s whole hand off along with his feather duster.

But then, it had always been that way. He’d traded finesse for power ever since he’d first learned to fight with a sword bigger than he was. Even during that first duel with Griffith he couldn’t get out of his mind - Griffith had been trying to disable, and Guts had been trying to kill. Griffith had been risking his life for him from the very start. Fuck.

He got a little satisfaction when he swung his sword overhead as Serpico fluttered across the lowest boughs of the trees and managed to snap the branch he was leaping to before he landed. Both man and branch came crashing down in an undignified heap, and Guts would’ve secured his victory right then, but just as he smugly lowered the point of his sword down to rest on Serpico’s chest and keep him pinned he rolled out of the way and rose back to his feet in one fluid motion. A quick slice of air caught Guts on his shoulder, deep enough to sting. He might actually lose, the way this was going.

And that just brought back the memory of his last loss, as Griffith had ground his shoulder out of place to relieved, victorious cheers. When Griffith had grabbed Guts afterwards, kneeling down and taking his face in his hands, he’d thought for a second that Griffith was going to kiss him. God, he would’ve let him. He knew he would’ve, even then, knowing nothing about him, even when his skin crawled whenever anyone else touched him. 

He had to end this fight before he really did lose.

Guts swung his sword so fast that Serpico's blond hair fluttered from the force of it as he narrowly ducked, dipping his head to avoid the blade with an inch to spare. Then, before he could leap away, Guts followed through with his swing, stepping into the turn and catching Serpico's sword arm with his metal fist.

He hit hard enough to shock Serpico into gasping with pain but he managed to maintain his grip on his weapon. So Guts dropped his own sword before Serpico had a chance to dance away and grabbed him with his real hand, squeezing his wrist in just the right way to force his fist to open. 

He moved his metal arm to press between Serpico's shoulder blades, an extra force keeping him from pulling away, as Serpico lost his grip on the hilt of his weapon and let it fall to the ground. They were both breathing heavily.

Serpico looked up at him, cheeks pink from exertion and eyes lidded, reddening sun making his hair nearly glow, and for a moment it was just like that time, that afternoon with Griffith in his arms. He could still hear the music drifting faintly up from the grassy clearing below them. He didn't pull Serpico into a waltz. Worse - he bent down and kissed him.