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graceverse · 3 years

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Yeah ok, you asked for it.

An Unexpected Invitation

Part 2

He had never really, truly known silence. Even when he was alone, there is always that buzzing sound inside his head. Sometimes if he listened closely enough it would sound like the sharpest blade slicing through silk and flesh. Or if not that, then the softest exhale of a last dying breath; or the whispering sound of snow falling on snow.

There’s a Japanese word for that, shinshin.

One of the few things that he actually liked about this god forsaken country: the beauty of his own language. Though he so very rarely used it in all the years that he had spent in China, he was pleased that it was not lost to him. Unlike everything else that tied him to his motherland.

Not that China as a country is any better than Japan, but at least it wasn’t filled with ghosts that haunted him. And they were many; all the ghosts inside his head. Tomoe was just one of them. He wasn’t bothered by it. She’d smile at him inside his head and everything else would just fade away. It was just her and her smile and he was content.

Yukishiro Enishi had not expected any kind of silence inside his cell, which unfortunately faced the alleyway that the police used to move captured criminals, either in and out of the prison. There was always someone unruly, heavily protesting the indignation of being bound and dragged inside the building. If it wasn’t that it was pitiful wailing, asking for forgiveness, begging for another chance. Worst were the angry screams of denial, the insistence of their innocence. It annoyed him endlessly.

Reading Oneesan’s diary diminished the vulgar noises hounding him. With her diary clutched in his hand, it was just him and her words. He would gently turn the pages, trace the ink on paper and as he read it, he hear his sister’s voice. It calmed him down. Most of the time, at least. There had been a night of pure rage and the agony; finding out how his sister had hidden her true heart from him. He’d slammed his fist against the walls, banged his head until he thought it would crack open and all of his craziness will just spill out from his split head.

Why, neesan? Why couldn’t you have trusted me enough to let me know what you were planning?

But it had only been the briefest of moments where he felt betrayed. In the end, even with Tomoe’s diary, nothing could waver his conviction of his sister’s faultlessness in everything that had happened to them. Neesan had taken care of him ever since he could remember, his first memories had been of her touch, her eyes, her voice singing lullabies well into the night. She had tried to make everything better and she had the courage to marry the man that had slain her own love. But she had ultimately been too soft, too trusting. She had a woman’s kind and gentle heart and had allowed Battousai’s despicable lies to change her resolve for vengeance.

Would it have made any difference if he had known what neesan had really felt?

He doubted it. The mere presence of Battousai in their life invited danger and death. And he remembered how it made him feel so deeply ashamed that the hitokiri was living with his sister, tainting her with the blood of his victims.

There was no reason for him to feel deceived by his beloved neesan. Battousai would have, one way or another, caused her death. It doesn’t matter how. Testament to this was the fact that even now, despite having distorted himself into the foolishness of a rurouni – a shameful farce of trying to atone for his sins – the woman he had chosen, the Kamiya girl that Enishi had taken and failed to kill, had been subjected to several abductions and all sorts of regrettable torture. From almost choking to death from Udō Jin-e’s curse to nearly drowning when she’d been thrown out of The Rengoku, Battousa had turned her into a target. One that he had not been able to properly protect.

How many times had Battousai failed that woman? More times that Enishi could care count.

Battosai was cursed. All the lives that he touches, he befouls. And eventually, he does not even have to wield his joke of a sword, in the end, they will all turn into nothing but torn silk and spilled blood against pristine white snow.

----------------

It didn’t take long for the Mibu Wolf to come and visit him. They had taken him to a room barely lighted by the lone overhead lantern, madly swinging and throwing dark shadows around him. He would have snorted at this childish game that Saitō Hajime, now known as Fujita Gorō, had chosen to play. Did he think that he was someone that could be so easily intimidated? Did he need any reminder of what he was capable of, weaponless except for a child’s toy, on the trin when he had allowed to arrest him? Or was this some sort of insult that he was supposed to angrily respond to?

Enishi felt no emotion to be honest, even when Saitō started laying down all the documents that he had been able to confiscate from wherever he’d gotten them. It wasn’t until a signed confession from the useless Heishin that Enishi felt just a twinge of irritation. He should have bashed that bastard’s skull.

Wordlessly, he picked the paper, idly glancing at it before tossing it back, silently fluttering to the floor.

The wolf bared his teeth.

Did the government ordered the ever-reliable Fujita-san to ask him the names of all the ten battleships that he had? Because Shishio’s Rengoku was the smallest of those ships. Shishio Makoto was all fight and salivating insanity but he hardly had any money to sustain his quest for war. Enishi had practically given that battleship for free and it was purely out of curiosity. He had gotten into so much trouble with the Chinese organization that helped him obtain those ships. He had to pay it out of his own pocket but it was all worth it.

He had wanted to see just how far Shishio could get in a fight with Battousai. Not so much as it turned out. He couldn’t even properly bomb Tokyo as he had wanted to. It was all so very disappointing but not in the least bit surprising. These Hitokiri’s were mere berserkers, nothing refined in the way they planned their attacks. To defeat their enemy was all, kill, kill, kill and it bored him.

He kept his silence as Saitō explained how he had taken him this long to piece together everything that he needed to ensure that Yukishiro Enishi will be tried as a spy, a traitor to the Meiji Government and for that, they both know that the punishment is death.

Blah blah blah blah

Did the ex-captain of the Shinsengumi (first squad – he made you remember that at least, like it was supposed to mean something to anyone) now a special agent for the Meiji Government's Department of Internal Affairs, really think that he would be bothered by his impending death? Or a lifetime of imprisonment? Anything that they throw at him would only be a shadow of what he had gone through in Shanghai. The years of suffering from hunger and humiliation, disease and violence, training on his own to perfect his own fighting style?

Enishi was prepared to die and meet his sister once again.

Unless, and here, the cunning wolf flicked his still lit cigarette – a foul thing – over Enishi’s shoulder, the heat and ashes leaving a trail against his cheeks. He would kill him for that, Enishi thought, unblinkingly.

And then, the wolf leaned forward to tempt the tiger.

-----------------

Freshly released from prison, all of his papers proving the pardon so generously afforded to him by a government desperate to stop another war shoved inside the pocket of his jacket, Enishi calmly shook any traces of gunpowder residue from his hands. His now emptied warehouse (damn, the government for confiscating everything) was lighted with flames that will spread quickly enough. It would be a massive fire and Fujita-san would probably disapprove, but he did not, quite frankly, give a fuck.

He kept his head low, unhurriedly weaving in and out the crowd, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. His height has some disadvantages, true but he was still weaponless and without his watō slung against his shoulder, he looked like the usual foreigner traipsing around Tokyo, not a care in the world.

The Mibu Wolf will only give him his sword back if he could get the Kamiya-girl to agree. And something tells Enishi that this was really more to piss off Battousai than anything else. What a tiring game these two old fools were playing, but he will play along. He had nothing else to do anyway. And besides, his watō was at stake. He could probably just steal it from, escape Japan and just live out his life somewhere far from this madness but then, where’s the fun in that?

He had allowed himself a leisurely walk towards the dojo, the constant sound of summer surrounding him: tiny voices of children playing inside their yard, underneath the shaded trees; parents calling out for a refreshing sip of cold water; that buzzing sound inside his head.

He always had sensitive hearing, a secret weapon that he had incorporated to his Watōjutsu. It was a source of pride, how this swordskill is known only to him and how it could have finally defeated Battousai had that stupid Heishin ruined his plan. Kami, if the wolf had not killed him yet, he would be looking for him soon enough.

------------------

Enishi stood by the familiar entryway of the dojo, tilted his head and confirmed the only presence inside. He pushed the wooden gate and wordlessly walked inside, heading straight to the engawa, where for the first time in his entire life, he hears nothing but silence as he stared down at the Kamiya girl sprawled on the floor, napping it seemed.

Her dark hair was fanned around her face, not in a flattering way, to be honest. But the contrast of her hair and her skin and the peach-colored kimono she was wearing, riding a little high on her legs, exposing her knees, made her look almost --- precious.

No, no. He shook his head. Not precious, but so exposed and vulnerable. He glanced around him. No bokken in sight. And defenseless. Again, Battousai had left her like this? This supposed ruruoni must be addle-brained and as inept as Heishin. They both deserve to die.

But yes, how odd. Enishi thought, not even the sound of their breathing. Because he was certain that they were both breathing. He could feel the steady beating of his heart and as he squinted at her prone form, the rise and fall of her chest was quite obvious in her partially opened kimono.

The sight offered him a brief distraction and he had been just the tiniest bit surprised when she suddenly woke up and threw a tea cup at him.

Maybe not so vulnerable and defenseless then.

-------------------

She was feisty. He hadn’t known that she had it in her to fight like that. Clumsily and rather slow, but it could be that she was wearing a kimono, restricting her movement. He could not find fault in her fighting stance and with the way she swung her bokken, with outmost conviction, Enishi was certain she could lay waste to Heishin's pathetic bodyguards. Her skills were better than theirs at least and this was probably the highest compliment he was forced to give to a girl.

Her battle cry was also impressive. It brought back his hearing at least.

Now he could hear every whistling sound the bokken made as it sliced through the air; her panting breath, the way she muttered curses at him.

She was so very, very angry and he had done absolutely nothing to her but ask her if was already married. A rather important detail that he needed confirmation on if was really going to follow through with the wolf's sadistic plan.

Enishi needed her to calm down otherwise, he’d be forced to defend himself and then he would end up straddling, arms pinned above her – because that was the only way to get her to stop trying to hit him. Being motherless and growing up with his sister, Enishi thought he knew how to handle women or at least girls. But this Kamiya-girl, with her angry breathing and needless cursing was quite a surprise. The women he had dealt with in China were really almost similar to the women in Japan: docile and soft spoken, but apparently not this woman.

Was this the ruruoni’s choice? Or the Battousai? Enishi wondered if her violent temper triggered something in his worthless brother-in-law, because he could not understand how exactly did anyone take her so easily when she was like this?!

Another swing from her bokken and that was just an inch away from his nose.

The triumphant gleam in her eyes told him that she was aware of this and to prevent any further violence, Enishi finally stepped forward, which she must have taken as gesture of surrender, because she met him head on, bokken raised high on her head.

He grabbed it easily, tossing it away and wondering if he would have to break every damn bokken inside this training hall just to make her stop. Curiously, he asked her, without his formulated explanation because, really, he had forgotten everything that he had been planning to tell her, if she had wanted to go to Shanghai with him – well, it effectively shut her up, her whole body suddenly immobilized by surprise.

He let two seconds pass before he provoked her yet again with, “Is that a yes, Kamiya-san?”

Her eyes blazed and then, completely out of nowhere and totally unprepared for it, her fist connected with his nose.

It knocked off his eyeglasses and now ---- now he is pissed.

------

So I guess, tbc?!

#you made me do it #now this story is stuck inside my head #rurouni kenshin fanfic #rurouni kenshin #post the final #movieverse fic #k/k #e/k/k #enishi x kaoru #kenshin x kaoru x enishi love triangle of death #yeah tell me i suck okay i do i know

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feliciamontagues · 4 years

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My Ranking of Every Hercule Flambeau Episode (S01-S08)

There are some spoilers for S7 and S8, but they are fairly vague and pretty much the sort of thing that you might see on the official press release. So not true spoilers as such. Also this is totally subjective and the result of my own personal biases. It’s also behind the cut because it’s looooonnng.

8. The Two Deaths of Hercule Flambeau (s06e10)--

So, this episode is *fine*. It’s hardly the worst episode of the show, but it’s easily the weakest of the Flamby eps, despite their being a few isolated moments I enjoy. (Hercule getting a long overdue bedroom scene for one :P)

My main gripe is with this episode is the uneven way Lisandra Flambeau is written. The script seems to flip-flop over whether we are supposed to find her sympathetic or not. On one hand, many scenes imply that she genuinely loves Hercule despite them having a shotgun marriage after only a few days of knowing each other. On the other hand, she does not hesitate for a minute before poisoning an innocent (Fr. B) for no other reason than to hurt Flamby, which makes her lose a lot of sympathy points.

And as a result, it seems to make Flambeau seem like more of arse than normal for betraying her, while somehow also absolving him of responsibility for doing so, because she turns around and does *THAT.*

And ngl, it does make me a little uncomfortable that while the character of Lisandra (as an Italian) is possibly not meant to be interpreted as a POC, the actress portraying her definitely is. (Sara Martins is of Afro-Portuguese descent). Which makes the uneven characterization (and underwritten-ness) seem even more glaring, especially when compared to that of the other (white) women in Flambeau’s life (his first love Rebecca and his daughter Marianne, arguably Lady Felicia as well). It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth even if in all likelihood, the part wasn’t written with Sara Martins in mind.

I think a much more interesting approach to Lisandra would be to have intending to betray Flambeau all along. Maybe she had her own agenda for seducing Flamby, meanwhile he thinks he’s the one using her for his plan. Maybe she does develop some feelings for him along the way, but it only makes her hesitate for a moment before going ahead with her original plan. That way, she keeps her agency and isn’t reduced to the “woman scorned” stereotype while also leaving the writers free to ship Flamby with others in the future without seemingly endorsing guilt-free adultery .

Other random note: I can’t take parts of this episode seriously because the “Crown of Lombardy” is very obviously Guinevere’s crown from BBC Merlin with no attempt to alter or disguise it.

7. The Daughter of Autolycus (s04e05)--

Not gonna lie, I am not really a fan of “character has long lost relative that we’ve never heard of until now” plots. And that goes double when said long-lost relative is a child or sibling. As such my low ranking of this episode is partly due to unconscious personal biases against that trope.

That being said, if we had to get a long-lost relative that we’ve never heard of until now plot, I’m so glad we got Marianne--even if it takes her another episode to really live up to her potential.

I have to knock off a few more points for Nero Hound as a villain. For one thing, he was played by Nancy Carroll’s real-life hubby, but they didn’t let let him interact with Lady F at all. Such a *waste.* Also Nero Hound is far too similar a name to Nero Wolfe, and I’ve definitely confused them on more than one occasion). He’s also rather generic in my opinion, even compared to some of Flambeau’s other “generic mobster” rivals/associates like the ones in S8.

However, there are some moments in this episode I genuinely like--particularly the theft “imagine spot” and Flambeau’s bishop disguise in general. Plus, the scenes where Flambeau and Marianne appear together are excellent, as are the hints that Marianne will become a redemptive trigger in Flambeau’s life.

6. The Judgement of Man (s03e10)--

Again, the low ranking of this one may be due to personal biases. In this case, I’m still low-key bitter--five years later-- at the BBC marketing department for baiting me with the idea of Flambeau actually interacting with the rest of the squad (esp romantic tiems with Lady F) and then giving me the absolute minimum of Felicia/Flambeau flirting and no Flambeau/Sid and Flambeau/Mrs. M interaction.

But there are other reasons why this is in my bottom 3 Flambeau episodes.

Honestly, I feel like an equally compelling episode about the Vatican’s complicity in Nazi art theft could’ve been made without having to insert Flambeau in it. I mean I suppose it does make sense to have the art thief character in the art episode, but still I feel like both Flambeau backstory and important historical lesson about Nazis, the Church, and Jewish art suffer from being crammed into the same episode.

That being said, Mrs. McCarthy’s duchess disguise in this episode cleared my skin, watered my crops, etc, which is why I’ve ranked it higher than the previous two.

5. The Folly of Jephthah (s08e05)

It loses a few points because I got very exited about the idea of Marianne becoming Bunty’s thief gf cool new friend, and yet in the episode itself, they only shared one scene and didn’t really interact much in it. That being said, I did like like that Bunty and Mrs. M had a bigger role in this episode than the squad usually gets in Flambeau episodes.

Overall, I feel this episode works a lot better than most of the other “backstory-heavy” Flambeau episodes, because we’ve already gotten the Marianne-related exposition out of the way and can focus more on allowing her character, Flambeau’s and their relationship with each other to develop.

I’m also a bit smug in that I predicted (or at least hoped for) this exact character arc for Marianne within a few weeks of “The Daughter of Autocylus” airing and that my hopes came to fruition so beautifully.

It doesn’t particularly impact the ranking too much, but I do feel like this episode deserves a special shout out, because it has established a (hopefully-continuing!) pattern of Father Brown calling Flamby almost exclusively by his first name, which is a major significant step in their bromance and deserves recognition as such.

4. The Blue Cross (s01e10)--

As someone who was first exposed to Father Brown through reading the stories for a college course, I always find it especially interesting to look at the episodes that were adapted from Chesterton.

This episode is neither the most faithful book-to-show adaptation (which is probably “The Three Tools of Death”) nor is it the best (imo “The Sign of the Broken Sword’) , but it is arguably the most significant. “The Blue Cross” was the first ever Fr. Brown story and is probably the most well-known. It’s also the first real look we get at the character of Flambeau, who (in the stories and arguably the show as well) is probably the closest thing we get to a clear character arc.

The show keeps some of the important elements of the short story: Flambeau’s clergyman disguise, the switching of the packages. But it also has the challenging task of upping the relatively low stakes of the story, as well as introducing a major recurring character that resembles his book counterpart but remains distinct enough to justify the fairly different direction show canon is taking him.

The show does this reasonably well--if not particularly imaginatively. I do enjoy some of the touches (I’ve written an entire meta before about Flamby’s reading material on the train and how it relates to his character)--particularly the show’s choice to have Flambeau fixated on religious art specifically (RIP for Flambeau’s Dairy Company though. It will always live in my heart).

Unfortunately in the adaptation, loses a few points for not really using the show-original characters particularly effectively. It loses still more for Flambeau’s characterization in this episode . He comes across as much more serious and menacing in this episode than in all the others. It works okay when we consider this as a standalone episode but provides some glaring Early Installment Weirdness when we compare it to other episodes.

3. The Penitent Man (s05e15)--

So as the rest of this list will testify, I have strong preference for the “fun” Flambeau episodes over the more series ones. This is the exception that proves the rule--the serious, cerebral, melancholy episode that simply “works” for me in the way that some of the others have not.

A lot of it is due to the more-intense-than-usual Flambeau character focus that goes into this. Sure, we’ve met his (presumably ex-by-now) wife, his daughter, and his first love by this point, but all of those episodes focused primarily on Flambeau as an extension of the relationships with others. (”The Judgement of Man” in particular is far more Rebecca’s story than Hercule’s.)

Whereas this episode is very definitively focused on Flambeau himself and allows more nuanced exploration of two of the most defining facets of Flambeau’s character: (1) his fascination with religion--and spiritual salvation in particular-- as something he seems to resist and crave in near equal measure (2) his almost masochistic streak of recklessness.

Even though Flambeau’s supposed “piety” is revealed to be all part of his heist plan, there are strong hints that his desire for redemption and atonement are at least somewhat genuine, even if he is not ready to pursue them just yet.

Off topic, but a few random things of note in this episode: this episode all-but-confirms bi!Flambeau, wet!Flambeau at the end is extremely relevant to my interests, Father Brown attempts to smuggle Flamby a lock pick from the beginning and has the audacity to say “ I only use it when I get locked out of the presbytery.”

Also, it has this iconic exchange:

Goodfellow: What is that awful smell?

Father Brown (covered in sewage): It’s me

2. The Honorable Thief (S07e10)-- So nearly all of the Flambeau-centered episodes from S3 on have been a little preoccupied with filling in some of the gaps in Flambeau’s backstory, which is *fine*, but honestly, I feel like in doing so, they’ve really lost sight of why we fell in love with the character in the first place.

He’s vibrant and clever and funny and over-the-top. But most importantly, Flambeau is a lot of fun. Therefore, it follows that episodes that feature him should be a lot of fun too.

And well... they are all fun in some way, but they aren’t as fun as they really could be. John Light is insanely charismatic, but charisma can only go so far when the episode in question is a downer.

Fortunately, this episode is the furthest thing from a downer imaginable. It’s absolutely delightful from start to finish. The plot is serious enough to keep things engaging, but also light enough to keep us from getting too distracted by angst.

I’m also incredibly biased in favor of this episode, because it finally gave me the Felicia/Flambeau ship tease I’d been passionately hoping for (if not really expecting to get after “The Judgement of Man” disappointed me). But it was so much and so good, and I wasn’t ready for it.

In a broader sense though, this episode really delivered with Flambeau/squad interaction in general--which was a key component that has been missing from most of the other episodes. And the Father Brown & Flambeau interactions were also has heartwarming and funny as they always are.

If I have one tiny little gripe with the episode, it’s that Daniel is not Sid. He has enough broad similarities with Sid that I can’t help but wonder if the episode was originally written with Sid and then hastily re-written when Alex Price couldn’t return. That being said, he was a likable enough guest character in his own right, and I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.

1. The Mysteries of the Rosary (S02e05)-- Perfection. Not only is this THE definitive Flambeau episode, but is also one of the best episodes of the show overall. It has everything: the birth of bearded Flamby, bromantic road trips, a treasure hunt, great guest turns from Anton Lesser and Sylvestra Le Touzel.

I think part of the reason this episode resonates so strongly with me is that it’s really the first proper sense that we get of Show!Flambeau as a character. Sure we officially met him in “The Blue Cross,” but considering he didn’t show up until halfway through the episode and was in disguise for most of it, we didn’t really get much of a sense of who he is.

This episode changes all that and sets Flambeau up as the character we will know and love for the rest of the series--charming, urbane, funny, passionate, a carefree carpe diem exterior masking (or overcompensating for?) a sense of uncertainty and conflictedness.

Somewhat off topic, but as great an episode as this is for Flambeau’s character, it is nearly as wonderful for both Sid and Father Brown’s characters. We get to see Sid’s ease with Father Brown, the casual camraderie that the two of them have--as well as Sid’s protectiveness (and jealousy) when Flambeau decides to gatecrash their bromantic road trip.

Honestly, there are so many things that are great about this episode that I don’t think I could possibly list them--but one little detail that really struck my the last time I watched was that the first proper glimpse we see of Flambeau in this episode (we see him in shadow in a flashback before) involves him saving Father Brown’s life. Whereas the last proper glimpse we see of Flambeau is after Father Brown has saved Flambeau’s life. Thematic reversals. Cinematic parallels. We love to see it.

#father brown #bbc father brown #hercule flambeau #the adhd hitting hard; this was in my drafts for well over a year #that's right another flamby episode aired and had to be added before i finally finished it #that being said i really enjoyed it #let me know if you want me to rank more things #like i don't think i could rank every episode; but perhaps every episode in a given season #or the seasons themselves #or the top 5 best or worst episodes--either in general or for a particular character #meta #misc #one of these days i'm gonna go full feral english major and write a giant character analysis on book flamby vs show flamby #and all the interesting adaptational implications and nuanced writing choice of #mon petit gallique merde

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shortythescreen · 4 years

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Run With The Wolf.

Warning(s): NSFT/18+ under the read more. Werewolf/anthromorphic AMAB Bloodhound. Brief blood mention but nothing talked about in depth. Vague jealousy/possessiveness but more from a wolfy, scented kind of way. Little bit of breeding kink tossed in at the very end.

Pairing(s): Bloodhound/OC (Valarie Morrigan Everly)

Author’s Note(s): Overjoyed to have done this for my boo @mika-aris! It was super fun to write and I’m so glad she enjoyed it. Hope y’all do too! If you’re interested in a commission, my info can be found here.

The disappearances aren’t a concern right away.

Even now that Val is paying them more attention, they’re not super concerning. Bloodhound always lets her know before they leave, whether from their own mouths, or a note, or the mouth of another Legend sent to tell her. She’s not worried about them, knows that they’re a killer just like the rest of the Legend, that they can handle their own. She’s just… Curious.

They’ve been together long enough for her to notice the cycle with which they take their long hunt. At first, she thought it might’ve been a religious thing – but when Bloodhound revealed to her that they are pagan like she is, she knows there’s no holiday that would require them to disappear as rhythmically, as periodically, as regularly as they have.

She’s intrigued but unwilling to invade their privacy. Bloodhound has shared pieces of themselves that no one else knows, has trusted her with information that the outside world will never know. They are fiercely protective of their business, so much so that not even some of the Legends know the things that Val does. She’s grateful for that, never wants to take it for granted.

But damn it, she really wants to know where the hell Hound goes.

She considers broaching the topic one day after a match, in the process of shedding her gear. It falls to the smooth tiled floor beneath her, bloodied and dirty. Her jacket lands in the pile and she lets out a long sigh, rolling her neck back, tired and in desperate need of a shower. “Elskan,” says Bloodhound, startling her. She turns, finding them standing in the doorway. She raises an eyebrow at them, at the fact that they have yet to shed their gear.

“Hi,” she says, waving a hand. Val likes to think even without being able to see their eyes, she can get a feel of the way they’re looking at her and right now they seem…

Riled.

“Who was it that was on your squad today?” They ask, which seems like an odd question. Val purses her lips, placing her hands on her waist.

“Uh, Revenant. And Octavio,” she tells them, and they hum. Silence passes between them and Val stares, unsure of how to proceed from there. Before she can think of much else, Hound strides across the room. Their feet are sure, swift, and when they finally close in on her, their face finds the curve of her throat. She tilts her head away, lips parting in a quiet gasp, only for her brow to furrow in confusion as Bloodhound… breathes?

There is no biting, or licking, or even kissing. Instead, they just take a deep breath that moves the muscles in their back, that Val can hear when they breathe out.

“Their scent,” they grumble, voice dropping to something low, dangerous. Promising. “It muddles yours. Did Octavio touch you?”

Bloodhound’s squad won the day and Val, Revenant, and Octavio came in a respectable but still frowned upon third. She thinks back, raking her mind for her interactions with her teammates, wondering why it is Bloodhound would ask such a thing. They’re not normally so jealous.

“Uh, yeah, once,” she says and Bloodhound outright growls, suddenly pinning her to the lockers that rattle at her back. She gasps, cool metal like heaven against the hot skin revealed by her small top. Bloodhound reaches up with one hand and pulls off their helmet, divesting themselves of their helmet, revealing their full lips, the slope of their nose, their filthy red hair. “Hound, what-”

“I wish to wash you of their scent, elskan.” They murmur out. Their scent? The only thing Val can smell on Octavio is sweat after a match. It’s such an oddity, something so strange, and Bloodhound grabs her by the hips, growling as they raise their eyes.

“I wish to rectify that, if it would please you, elskan.” They say and when their hands slide down to her ass, she gets their meaning.

“Well…” She trails off because she’s definitely not opposed, already feels scorched by wherever their hands touch her. “Yeah. Okay.”

So they do.

---

Following their rendezvous in the locker room, Bloodhound seems… Smug. Which is unusual for them. They normally walk around with a level of humility that seems befitting of someone who is such a reverent servant of the gods. Still, they are more prone to touching Val where the other Legends can see, insistently nestling themselves into her throat, breathing her in.

They sit on her sofa, watching some silly cartoon she can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Their arms are wound firmly around her shoulders, chin resting on top of her head, their red curls hanging around her face. Their fingers are frigid, curled around her shoulders, and one of her hands rests over the one on her right shoulder, trying to warm it with gentle squeezes.

“I will need to leave for a time,” they murmur. Val twists her head, trying to peer up at them, look at their face. They maneuver with her, lips curving upwards in a little smile. “I hope this does not bother you, beloved.”

“Of course not,” she murmurs, “just wish I could go with you.”

They pause at that, staring at her with their eyes, warm and brown and slightly red like those antique pennies that are no longer in circulation. She watches them lick the upper row of their teeth beneath their close lips and they squeeze her shoulders, turning their face into her hair.

“I do too, elskan.”

---

Val is… nothing if not assertive. It’s one of the things that makes her a good addition to any squad, one of the things that helped her survive after her parents were made victims of war. After their conversation, after seeing that look in Bloodhound’s eyes when they told her they wished she could come with them on their hunt, she took it upon herself to join them.

She treks through the forest leading to their cabin, grateful for the markings in the tree that indicate her way. The sun has just begun to set over the horizon, and the picnic basket she carries in her left hand has two wraps, and fruit that she cut back at her apartment and put into an airtight container to keep them fresh before she arrived at Bloodhound’s cabin.

It’s such a welcome sight as she finishes the trek, the little cottage nestled against the peaceful backdrop of the thick trees. In the orange hues of the setting sun, the shadows of the leaves make it look sweet, like something out of a painting, and Val’s lips quirk up at the sight of the well worn wood, the intricate carvings along the front door that become more noticeable as she approaches.

She steps over the wooden patio, reaching up to knock twice with two fingers. She sits back on one leg, looking to the side, hair flying over her shoulder as she enjoys the warmth of the sun rays, enjoys that for once, she might be the one surprising Bloodhound.

In no time at all, the sun disappears beneath the horizon and a chilly breeze whips through the trees. Val closes her eyes, breathing in the fresh air, how crisp it seems out here in Bloodhound’s little corner of the world. Speaking of, Bloodhound’s yet to answer the door. She opens her eyes once more, reaching up to knock once more.

Then, she hears growling.

Her knuckles freeze, mere inches away from the door, and she stares at the wood. Goosepimples rupture along the nape of her neck, her arms, and suddenly the breeze is not pleasant but frigid. She presses her lips together, swallowing thickly, slowly, carefully turning her head, trying not to make any sudden movements.

When she turns out to the world, she sees eyes glowing at her in the dark of the woods between two trees. Her throat bobs, the red glare practically casting light across the darkening forest floor and she suddenly very much hopes that Bloodhound opens the door. They grow closer and she takes an unconscious step back, gasping when her heel bumps into the door. The animal part of her brain trembles in the face of a predator and her fingers unconsciously tighten on the basket in her hands.

They breach the forest line, an anomaly in the middle of the quiet woods. The growl only grows louder as they get closer, as she sees just who it is that is looking at her like they might eat her alive. Bloodhound’s ears have grown long and sharp, pointed, furry at the edges, and their upper lip has peeled back to reveal a row of impossibly sharp canine teeth.

“Holy shit,” breathes Val, eyes round, wide. They stare at each other, suspended in time, Val scanning what she knows is supposed to be Bloodhound. Just… in a way she has never seen them. Their already broad shoulders are somehow even wider, covered with a thick layer of fur, claws sprouting from where their normally short fingers are. They are taller, larger than she ever anticipated being, and before she can ask, maybe try to reason with them, they are upon her.

Like that day in the locker room, their footsteps are sure, forceful, and Val drops her picnic basket. It falls to the side, food rolling out of it, and the beast grabs her trim sides, lifting her up and pinning her back against the door with their hips wedged between hers. They’re not normally so tall and she clings to them, half afraid to let go in fear she’ll hit the ground.

“Bloodhound,” she gasps, realizing with a start that the human parts of their visage are beginning to fade. More hair – fur? – grows across their chest, thighs thickening beneath their cargo pants that are beginning to tear at the seams. “What- What’s happen-”

“Before I fade,” they growl out and their voice is not their own, deep, rough, like they just rolled out of bed and smoked a cigarette or two before speaking. “I need you to tell me if you do not wish for me to touch you.”

Val trembles, staring into their face, and with a jolt she realizes they’re hard. Her cheeks flood with color and she curses something in the tongue of her mother, her hands finding Hound’s broad shoulders, burrowing them into the thick fur sprouting from their shoulders.

Now it makes sense. It wasn’t a holiday that took Hound away, or a ritual that demanded their presence in the forest. Instead, they were following the phases of the moon, its bright, full face staring down at her with a mocking smile.

“I want you to touch me,” she breathes, meeting their eyes, “please, Hound.”

They snarl and that question seemed to hold the last vestiges of their control, her answer the catalyst that decided whether or not they would flee or fight. They bury their nose in her throat and this time there are teeth – clamping into her shoulder, sinking just past the skin and making her yelp at the wave of pain that follows.

Their fingers – claws dig into her thighs and she gasps as they pull them apart. Their hips grind up against hers and she can feel their fat cock through the torn fabric of their pants, begging for entry, wanting to feel her. How often did they hold this back, this animalism? How often had she seen the beginnings of it in a form more human but could not see it for what it was?

Her thoughts evaporate, disappearing as quickly as the sun had behind the horizon as Bloodhound drops to the wooden deck, holding her down. She squirms, making a noise at the uncomfortable position her shoulder blades are in and their giant paw slips beneath the arch of her spine, sliding up to hold her between the shoulder blades and the scrape of their claws along her flesh through her shirt makes her shiver.

“Hound!” She gasps as they curl their claws into the back of her shirt’s neck and tears it right in two. The fabric falls away and her nipples pucker in the chill of the night, bright red, aching to be touched, but with the little noises leaving Hound and the steady hump of their cock between her open legs, she has a feeling they won’t be doing the touching.

Val takes it upon herself, hands shooting up, folding over her nipples. She pinches them between her thumbs and forefingers, rolling tightly and moaning, pussy clenching in interest. The snarl that Hound lets out makes her freeze, used to a warning following such a sound, or a punishment.

They do neither thing, instead sitting back on their haunches and when she cranes her neck to look, she gets a glimpse of their cock. Her eyes widen at how ruddy red it is, even more impressive than its normal size. She thinks she couldn’t fit both of her hands around it if she wanted to and she trembles at the thought of something so massive stretching her cunt.

“Hound, y-y-you’re big,” she breathes as Hound shreds her pants. She winces as their claws open thin, red lines along her pale legs, bloodied scratches that will heal later but might leave marks. She wonders how much of it was on purpose. “Bigger than normal. I think we need to- or we should… we need to get lube.”

Bloodhound pauses, cocking their head and she bites the edge of her lower lip, watching them from her place on the porch. She wonders how much of them is listening, how much of this beast before her is a different entity. Eyes the color of blood seem locked on her body and she wonders if she’ll be taking their cock dry. Instead, their huge hands find her hips and lift her hips right off the porch, up, until her hands are slamming onto the deck to try and balance herself.

She can’t even get their name out, any question dying on her lips the second their tongue – broader? Is it broader than normal? Fuck – slides from between their teeth to drool onto her exposed cunt. Her chin tucks against her chest, mouth dropping, and god her back is going to be killing her tomorrow but she doesn’t care. Not when their broad tongue is fucking into her hole, spit falling off of their sharp teeth to coat her swollen labia.

“Hound, Hound, Bloodhound!” She cries, entirely immobilized by their iron tight grip on her hips. Her legs flail, kicking out onto for her heels to land on their back, pressing as tightly against the blades of their shoulders as she can manage. Her thighs shake around their head, their thick tongue pushing up against her clit and not stopping, the tip flickering over it at a speed that makes her head spin, her gut tighten. With a gasp and a cry, her hips buck hard into their mouth, grinding against their lips as she cums hard.

She pants, chest heaving, trying to regain her breath. Before she can, Hound lowers her hips to their belly before flipping her onto her stomach. She lands on the deck with a grunt, hands flat underneath her, breasts pressed up against the porch. Her cunt is hot and cold all at once, still coming down from the aftershocks of such a quickly given, intense orgasm, but assaulted by the light air.

Bloodhound pulls her up by her hips, opening her wet, glistening cunt and she shudders. That huge, leaking red cock prods at the entrance of her cunt. Val’s fingers clench into fists and her breathing picks up even more, mouth open like a fish to gulp in air. Midway through another choked off noise, Bloodhound’s cock breaches her tight, wet cunt, and she groans midway through, eyes rolling back.

Their cock is huge, bigger than it’s ever been, and fuck, she almost swears it’s gotten bigger too. Her eyes squeeze shut, fighting off the burn that could be painful or pleasant. Her pussy has never been stretched so wide, has never had to accommodate such girth, and it makes her feel so dirty and hot that she swears her pussy clenches.

The groan that Bloodhound lets up is indication it very well might have. Their claws are digging into the pillowy flesh of her ass and there’s no preamble once they’re seated inside of her, hips flush against her ass. Instead, they start fucking her in earnest, and Val whines at the drag of her nipples against the deck.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” She yelps, pushing herself up on her hands, letting her tits swing instead of being dragged across the deck. It’s hard to keep herself upright, elbows weak, but she tries her damnedest, letting them fuck into her abused cunt until she can hear the sloppy, wet noises it makes every time they disappear back inside of her.

“Do you want to know why I wanted you to come with me on this journey, Valarie?” The monster asks in Bloodhound’s accent and her tongue lolls stupidly out of her mouth as they piston their hips downwards. Every thrust hits the spot inside of her that makes her thighs clench, makes her want to beg. She hadn’t even thought Hound could talk following their comment about fading but she’s proved wrong when their claws hand smooths up the length of their back, watching the muscle bunch and tremble under their touch.

“I wanted you to come here,” they say, pausing as her juicy pussy quivers, around them, around the harsh way they fuck her. “I wanted you to come here because I wanted to breed you, elskan. Wanted to knot you, fuck you full of pups.”

Val whines out and Bloodhound’s paw on her back sneaks around to her belly, pressing against the bulge of their fat dick inside of her, poking against the inside of her thin tummy. They press down and they both groan, Val useless as they drag her up, against their too large chest.

“Is that what you want, mate?” They snarl into her ear and she realizes with a little moan that they’ve started fucking her along their dick, using her as a glorified toy. She throws her head back, arching up when the hand on her tummy drifts, circling the hard nub of her clit. “Do you want me to fill you up with my cum?”

“Gods, yes!” Val cries out and they press down on her clit, hard. Her jaw drops, whole body seizing as she cums a second time. Normally, the second is always softer, gentler, a nice feeling watching over her. This one is almost painful, clit tightening and cunt tensing hard around their massive cock. Bloodhound snarls, continues to fuck her along it then with a final drop, she feels something stretch past the drenched lips of her cunt with a satisfying pop.

Val screams, cunt twitching, accommodating. Bloodhound’s snarl is all the confirmation she needs – knot, that’s their knot, they knotted me – along with the warm spread of their cum inside of her. Her nostrils flare and her body slumps back into their chest, amazed that somehow their cock is still going. Still twitching, and cumming, and filling her cunt.

“So,” she breathlessly whispers, “you’re a werewolf?”

“Yes,” they murmur, nuzzling their nose against her hair, one hand finding her throat. Val realizes they’re trying to clean her throat. “I come here to be one with nature, allow the beast its fill of slatra beneath the gaze of the moon.”

“You tap into the animal instinct?” She asks, smirking, lips still parted to heave in air. Bloodhound snorts, reaching around, placing a hand over her lower belly and filling the soft bulge of their cum. Val squirms and they purr, the noise reverberating through their whole body as their nose finds the spot they’d bitten.

“I suppose that is a way to address this, yes… I hope I did not frighten you.”

“Oh, Hound,” Val says with a little laugh, placing her hand over their bigger once, hands closing around the spaces between their fingers. “If that was you scaring me, I want you to scare me again. And again.”

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