#though apparently that comes from using too coarse of a drum

[divinefelinebast]

wow getting a smooth texture on sanded foam is a bitch and a half. i'm going to spend 95% of my overall time on each piece just priming.

granted i been knew but i'm on my 6th layer of gesso on a pair of horns and they still have a fuzzy texture

[annaliseharlowe]

the coming ;

          The silence is a welcome reprieve from the monotonous droning of desultory conversations and banal badinage. Annalise knows it will not last forever; even here, with her arms outstretched over the terrace's balustrade and her sights set upon a caliginous sky, something is amiss. Something that she does not want to find credence in, lest the lingering threat becomes that much more apparent.

          And just as expected, the quiet of the night is short-lived. Her sister, with hair that falls like opalescent silk from a spider's spool, joins her on the terrace and pulls at her blouse in worry.

          "My lady," Aoife expresses gently, tone tinged with the very concern the other harbors in her chest, "the rumors— ... are they true?"

          "I am afraid that they are, little sister," Annalise answers curtly. "Duskwood has always been rife with inconceivable horrors. It should come as no surprise that our lands again harbor these monstrosities, but you have no reason to live in fear. Those of the North are making headway and will soon be here to assist our men, and the Argent Crusade has arrived, too. The waves will be repelled in but a day," she lies effortlessly, lending Aoife the reassurance required to quell the drumming of her heart.

          Still, her sister frets. Her panic is palpable, visible — her fingers tremble as they knead together, picking at the skin around well-kept nails. Guilt hangs from her lips, turning a once-soft expression solemn as she considers all the 'what ifs?'.

          "If Father met them fi—" Aoife begins.

          "Aoife, do not," Annalise cuts her off, pulling away from the railing to curl her arm around slender shoulders. She draws the younger woman closer to herself and cradles her against her form, bending her head to press a chaste kiss to the crown of the other's head. "He will return," the lady promises.

          Either with his shield in hand or on it, they both think.

          Aoife goes to speak, though what words had begun to form veritably lower themselves into a grave on her tongue. There's a crack and a pop heard abroad like the splintering of wood, then silence once more. It is ubiquitous. Pressing. Muddy with a malevolency that creeps along the pair's spines and seeps into their bones, forging a home underneath their flesh.

          "What was that?" Aoife asks, voice trembling.

          "Just the dogs," Annalise lies again, turning with her sister in tow as a low rumble of sound draws nearer. "They are hunting, as they often do. Perhaps you should leave them to their hunt and return to your lessons," she suggests through grit teeth.

          The estate's door opens and their uncle strides across the threshold, flanked by two halberdiers in burnished crimson and gold armor. A maid manages her way to the front, collecting Aoife's wrist within her grasp to urge her back into Crow's Nest before the door shuts once more, allowing Annalise a moment with her uncle and those of his retinue.

          "It is getting worse out there," Solomon murmurs under his breath, holding his helm against his hip as he runs his fingers through coarse ebony curls. "We have lost two already, though I expect the number to rise by the time the sun greets the sky."

          Annalise snorts, glancing in the direction from which the noise had come. She feels them watching her in the dark, can almost taste the stench of putrefaction that descends from the rotten skin that hangs from off their arms. It sickens her, and scorn eclipses what warmth she had hoped to retain.

          "What will you have us do, my lady?" her uncle requests before a minute has the chance to pass.

          "If they are not with us or are not seeking refuge, then they are against us," Annalise decides without hesitation. "I will have the servants make ready the spare rooms for shelter from this storm. As for you three and the others, well. You know what to do."

          Solomon adopts a sardonic grin lost behind the helmet he pulls over his head. He fastens it into place and extends his hand, clutching the handle of the fauchard offered to him by the knight at his side. Setting its shaft against his shoulder in wait, he asks, "Kill them all?"

          "Kill them all," Annalise repeats, drawing away from the three to enter her home.

[biillyhargroves]

Sick!Steve PLEASE! As much as I love me some mom!Steve I'd love to see Billy take care of Steve. Like Steve dealing with some PTSD or something?

I know that this didn’t quite get into sick!fic terrority but the PTSD and hurt/comfort elements are still there and I can always expand it into something a little closer to sick!fic if you would want that!!! I hope you enjoy!!

when you think with your chest (there’s not a thing that you don't see)(fic requests open) 

A flash- like a lightning bolt, a clap of thunder; some great cosmic force flips a switch that throws the clock back and shoves Steve tumbling backwards in time. He can smell the smoke from the fireworks, can hear them pop against the ceiling, spark and fizzle on the floor. He can taste the copper tang of blood in his mouth. Sometimes, he sees a shadow moving along the wall and he swears it is a demogorgon crawling on the other side. He can never take his eyes away, sure that it would soon push its way through. Once, he even took a kitchen knife to the drywall, an incident that he is still trying to cover up because he is not quite sure how to explain the huge gash to his mother.

The squeal of bus tires becomes the snarl of a demodog. He jumps when car doors slam. He plays defense every waking hour of his days, always on edge, always alert. On his worst days, his back aches from the tension wound tight across his shoulders.

Today is one such day. Steve’s heart is pounding and he cannot calm it. His body feels like he has run two back-to-back marathons after a line of basketball scrimmages, when in reality he has not done more than walk from the house to the car to the table at the back of Mel’s Diner. Billy sits across from him, and he is staring at Steve. He won’t stop fucking staring.

“Would you fucking stop?” Steve says, and Billy’s eyes widen- not in anger, not even looking hurt. If anything, he looks concerned, and somehow this upsets Steve even more. 

“What the hell am I doing?” Billy asks, and Steve shakes his head.

“You know what you’re doing,” Steve says flatly.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Billy asks, and Steve groans.

“Where the fuck did you pull that phrase?” he says. “You sound like a fucking dad.”

"Untwist your fucking panties, man,” Billy says. “You’re making a scene.”

Steve cannot look at Billy too long. He glances over Billy’s shoulder to see the door every time it swings it open. He flinches at every little clank of silverware, every shout from the waitstaff, every call from the cooks. Billy notices, but where, on other days, his eyes followed Steve’s, trailed to whatever was demanding Steve’s attention, today his attention is zeroed in on Steve. Steve feels like he’s under a microscope. He tries to shrink himself down, to make his movements minute, to do anything that might draw Billy’s focus away from him. 

It doesn’t work. Billy is, after all, not an idiot. He knows what Steve is doing, even if he hasn't quite pinned down the why. Steve thinks that this is what he is truly trying to deduce, and he doesn’t know if he wants Billy to find the answer. 

“You’re still doing it,” he snaps, and Billy rises to his feet. 

“That’s it,” he says.

“What’s it?” Steve asks. Billy’s hand closes around his bicep and he pulls Steve to his feet and shoves him not so gently toward the door. “What the fuck?” Steve says. A couple- two underclassmen Steve vaguely recognizes from Hawkins High -at a table near them turns, and  when their eyes spot Billy and Steve, they turn quickly away. Billy nudges Steve forward and as they move away Steve can hear the two teens whispering to each other. He thinks he catches his name, but he isn’t quite sure, and before he knows it he is outside being guided toward his own waiting BMW. 

“Who’s making a scene now?” Steve grumbles.

“Keys,” Billy demands, opening his palm.

“We didn’t even eat yet,” Steve says.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you starve,” Billy says. Then he raises his waiting hand. “Keys.”

“I can drive my own fucking car,” Steve grumbles.

“You don’t know where we’re going,” Billy declares, and again he says, “Keys.” 

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Steve asks.

“I’m not playing,” Billy says sternly. “Keys. Now.”

Steve relents, but he is not happy about it. He fishes in his pocket and tosses his keys to Billy. When they get into the car, Billy rolls down all the windows. He tunes the radio to his favorite station and turns the volume up as high as it can go.

“You’re gonna blow my speakers,” Steve complains.

“Shut up,” Billy says. He peels out of the diner parking lot with the music blaring. Steve is sure that every single person they pass can hear the closing bars of The Four Horsemen as Billy powers down the street and makes a series of sharp, calculated turns. He drives through town and, when he hits the highway, Steve finds himself nervous.

“Are you going to fucking kill me?” Steve shouts over the music and the wind that gets louder through the open windows at Billy hastens the car’s pace. Steve glances at the odometer and watches as the little needle bounces higher and higher with every mile marker they pass. 

“Not yet,” Billy says. He is drumming one palm against the steering wheel in perfect beat with the music. Steve watches every strike, finds himself drawn to it, even counts each slap of Billy’s palm against the wheel. One, two, three, four- in quick succession, then two slower claps before the pattern repeats. When the songs change, so does Billy’s drumming, and Steve is fascinated by the easy way he picks up the nuances of each new song. Eventually, he turns toward the windshield, still listening to that steady drumming through the rush of wind and the throb of the bass. 

“Where are we going?” Steve eventually asks, but Billy either does not hear him or chooses not to. When Steve looks at him, Billy has one arm out the window and mouthing the words to Looks That Kill. “Hey,” Steve shouts, and Billy glances briefly at him. “Where are we going?”

Without answering- or perhaps this is his answer -Billy takes the next exit. Steve did not get a chance to read the sign before it blew past them in a blur of brown and white. Billy finally eases up on the gas. Steve doesn’t quite recognize where they are, but Billy seems to know his way. He glides across lanes of thinning traffic, turns down dirt roads that don’t really look like roads, and eventually parks on a strip of worn down grass. When he kills the ignition, the sudden silence almost hurts. It rings in Steve’s ears and, when Steve speaks, he still finds himself yelling as if competing with the music that is now gone. 

“You are going to kill me,” he says, “aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not,” Billy says. He swings open the door and slams it behind him. He starts walking without looking to see if Steve is following. Steve thinks that this means he’s supposed to follow, so he lets himself out and does just that. 

“Where the hell are we?” he asks. Billy does not answer. He leads Steve down a short dirt trail lined with trees. They walk for barely a minute before the trail empties out onto what Steve thinks must be the smallest beach in existence. Its shore is thin, the sand coarse and rocky, and the water fills up a lake so small that Steve thinks he could wade to the other side. Billy walks onto that small beach, moving down the shore like he’s done this a thousand times before (and, for all Steve knows, he has). He is looking at the ground as he walks, and Steve looks down, too, though he isn’t quite sure what they’re looking for. Eventually, Billy seems to find it. He plucks something off the ground and tosses it in his hand, then winds up his arm with the practiced technique of a major league pitcher and chucks the small rock at the water. It hops over the surface one, two, three times before sinking. 

“That was shit,” Billy says, already kicking up some sand in search of a new rock.

“Why’d we come out here?” Steve asks. “There are lakes in Hawkins.”

“They’re all always crowded,” Billy says. “This is better.”

“Better for what?” Steve asks. 

“To get away,” Billy shrugs. Steve looks at him. Billy meets his eyes and Steve finds something like compassion there, something like understanding, something like a question. “I don’t know what’s going on up there,” Billy says, pointing at Steve’s head, “but I can see the wheels turning. I know when you’ve got shit on your mind,”

“I don’t really want to-” Steve starts, and Billy shakes his head.

“You don’t have to talk,” Billy says. “But you weren’t thinking about it since the diner, were you?” he asks, and know there is something knowing in his eyes, and it almost makes Steve smile.

“Uh,” he says. “No,” he admits. “Now that you mention it.” 

“You can pick the music next time,” Billy says. “I just went default, I guess.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks. 

“Nightmares?” Billy says. When Steve creases his brow, Billy points just below his eyes, where dark circles that rival Steve’s own sit like fading bruises. “Flashbacks,” he says. At Steve’s confusion, he shrugs his shoulders. “Like I said, I don’t know what’s going on for you, but living in your head isn’t gonna do shit.”

“You sound like a Star Wars character,” Steve says.

“I’m going to have to ask you never to say that again,” Billy says, feigning anger. He then takes another rock from the ground and hands it to Steve. “Skip it,” he tells him. “Focus on the water like you focused on the music.” 

Steve takes the rock. He turns it over between his fingers, then glances up the water. After a few seconds, he looks at Billy.

“I still don’t get what this is all about,” he says. 

“You’re not focusing,” Billy tells. Steve exhales. He looks back to the water. He raises his arm, flicks his wrist, sends the rock skipping once, twice, three times before it drops to the bottom with a soft plunk. 

“Where’d you learn this?” Steve asks. “This, like, focusing bullshit?”

“Honestly?” Billy asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Honestly.”

“Max,” Billy says. “Some shit her dad used to do with her, apparently. She and I started coming down here a few months ago. With all the shit after...well, you know. I guess I was stir crazy. I guess she saw. We’d go on drives. Found this place.”

Steve is only half listening. Billy had been cooped up since Starcourt, this he knows. He had visited him at Hawkins Lab and he had snuck in through Billy’s bedroom window at home. He had been with him, but he hadn’t noticed how cabin fever had made Billy so restless. He was too busy looking for monsters in the shadows, too distracted by the burnt smell of gunpowder he swears he can’t wash off his hands. He feels guilty.

Billy’s hand lands on his shoulder. 

“You don’t have to talk,” Billy says. “But if shit gets too heavy to carry, just tell me you want to go to the beach. Okay?”

The sincerity in Billy’s voice, on his face, settled in the very depths of his eyes, is unlike anything Steve has ever seen in him before. Billy squeezes Steve’s shoulder and Steve thinks he might melt at the touch. Again, he sighs. “Okay.” They are quiet for a time. As promised, they do not talk. They skip rocks. They make it a competition; Billy wins, though Steve chalks this up to experience. The sun begins to sit and they quit their game, instead sitting together the sand. Steve leans against Billy. Billy secures on arm around Steve’s back. Steve rests his head on Billy’s shoulder. 

Eventually, Steve asks, “What if I want to talk?”

“What?” Billy asks.

“About...everything,” Steve says. “What if I want to?” 

“You can,” Billy says.

“Not now,” Steve clarifies.

“That’s fine,” Billy says.

“But maybe later,” Steve says. 

“No pressure,” Billy assures.

“I will want to,” says Steve.

“I’ll be here,” Billy says. 

“Promise?” Steve asks. Instead of speaking right away, Billy squeezes Steve’s shoulder. He tugs Steve a little bit closer and Steve lets him. He feels Billy press a kiss to the top of his head and, if possible, Steve curls up even closer to him. 

As the sun takes its bow and the sky grows deeply dark, Billy says, “I promise” 

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune Book 2 Chapter 6-Door (Part 2)

It’s the Inter-High finals! Who will win, who will lose? Read on to find out! Also some really weird shit happens and by that point I was just like “...yeah okay”

This part took forever, but I hope it isn’t so tedious to read

Glossary here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Heki-ryu Insai-ha is one of the styles still active today

2. Sakae Urakami was a 10-dan hanshi rank archer who was very well known in the kyudo world. He shot in the Heki-ryu Insai-ha style

3. Mato-tsuki means pointing the arrow at the target and teki-wari literally means dividing the target, which means turning the bow with the arm outstretched apparently. I could only find one English source for this the rest was in German hahahahahaha

4. Meigen is the ceremonial plucking of the bowstring. It is primarily done for the Imperial family. It’s believed that the tsurune helps drive away evil spirits

5. Fudou Myouou or Acala is a Buddhist deity who is a Wisdom King. He usually looks angry, carries a sword in the right hand, and has flames at his back

6. This isn’t the first time I came across wabi-sabi, and you’ve probably heard of the term before, but it’s a “world view centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection

7. The “Bow Saint” is a title given to Awa-hanshi

Previous | Afterword

At the moment one step foot in that place, one was invited into another world.

A tsurune, a matooto that pierced through the chest.

The shouts of "Alright!"

Bows and arrows came into this world as tools to sever the lives of others, but archers used them to sever their own lives.

And then, be born again.

Minato slept like a log after he returned from the hospital, and the next morning, his fever had completely receded. Even though there was still some pain left, his body felt lighter than he expected.

The fourth day of Inter-High, the last day.

The venue was wrapped in a tingling atmosphere. The number of spectators was also the most on this day out of all the days. There were many famous schools that had won, and their bow covers and bags with their schools’ name on them let their tradition and self-confidence peek through.

Next to Seiya, who was stretching, Ryouhei and Nanao were having the mysterious conversation of "Did you gooshura last night?” “Of course I did.” It was somewhat comforting. Here was the same scenery as when they were at Kazemai High School.

Kaito, with a sullen look, suddenly struck Minato’s back.

“Ow!”

“Yesterday you seemed to be gasping for breath, but since you’re able to cry out that loudly, you’re fine.”

“Your way of making seems a bit rough, Onogi.”

“Whatever. Right, we going soon?”

Prompted by Kaito, the five bumped their yugake-covered right fists.

Their opponent in the quarterfinals was the winning school the year before last. Kazemai won with seventeen hits against fifteen.

After the deciding matches for fifth to eighth place were finished, the semi-finals began. They won and advanced, but it was hard to listen to the sobbing from the people crouching behind the venue or from the washroom stalls. This was the path that they had taken, and for this tournament as well, there was the bitterness everyone except for the winning school tasted equally. The insides of their mouths felt coarse and rough.

Kazemai’s opponent in the semi-finals was Tsujimine High School.

In the hallway before the waiting rooms, Nikaidou had an amiable smile on his face. His large eyes were so full of vigor and spirit that one wondered if his panicked self from yesterday was an illusion.

He approached Minato, who was swinging his white headband.

"Why, if it isn’t Minato-chan. We were both miserable yesterday, weren’t we?”

"No, it was a good experience for me.”

"Heh…what a mature way to handle it.”

Behind Nikaidou, Fuwa was standing at a distance. He did not like to get friendly with others, so this sense of distance felt comfortable to him.

In the extreme cases of Ootaguro, Higuchi and Aragaki, they did not belong to any group from the start, because they had the air of people marching to the beats of their own drums. They were neither ashamed nor proud to be minorities—they had a natural attitude towards it. They wouldn’t feel insecure or worried even if they weren’t connected to large number of people.    

Minato fixed his gaze on Nikaidou.

“Nikaidou-senpai. I’ve been recalling a lot of Saionji-sensei’s words since then. Because of that, I am convinced of this. Even if Saionji-sensei opened his door wider, your uncle would never be his disciple.”

"I’m shocked. Minato-chan, the always good boy, is provoking me? Do you feel like doing whatever it takes for the sake of winning? You sure have grown, Senpai is so proud of you.”

“Your uncle shoots in the shamen uchiokoshi style of the Heki-ryuu Insai-ha, correct? (1) Also, taking the ‘sanbun no ni’ is from the Urakami school, isn’t it? (2) Saionji-sensei talked about it. He said that since nowadays most people did shoumen uchiokoshi, he didn’t want the number of shamen archers to decrease. He also said that since he could only teach shoumen uchiokoshi, if we ever wanted to try shooting in shamen style in the future, that we shouldn’t hesitate to seek other teachers.”

“What?”

"I think Saionji-sensei knew the difference between who each archer wanted to be, and where they are aiming for. He wasn’t amazing because he hit a hundred targets. Hitting a hundred targets doesn’t have that much meaning, but the figure of someone shooting a bow is cool.”

"Heh…Thank you so very much for your valuable opinion. You must have an awful lot of free time to think about things like that the day before the competition.”

“I loved seeing you shoot, Nikaidou-senpai. The Heki-ryuu taihai you showed us several times: mato-tsuki, teki-wari and the yudaoshi towards the front of target—it was all truly cool. Yeah, you really love kyudo, Senpai.” (3)

“…I’m doing kyudo out of a force of habit. It’s just that since I’m doing it, I don’t wanna lose, and when I need to, I can use it for university referrals. It’s only insurance for broadening my future course.”

"Even so, I looked up to you when you were holding a bow. Those kinds of sharp movements could only be done by someone who trained a lot, and even now, you don’t seem like you’re doing kyudo out of a force of habit at all.”

"Hah…you two really are alike. Just as I thought."

"Huh? What do you mean ‘alike’?”

“You and your master.”

A corner of Nikaidou’s mouth lifted, and he left while fluttering his hand at him.

At the convocation call, they went on towards the third waiting room and passed through the door.

In the space enclosed by white cloth, there were also five to six staff members in addition to the competitors and managers from the two schools. Minato’s team placed their bows and arrows in the designated place and sat down in their seats with Tommy-sensei, their manager, at the end. To verify the identities of the competitors and manager, they underwent inspection of their equipment and numbers, as well as their attire, hands, and other body inspections. The staff told them that even if they lost, the deciding matches for third and fourth places would begin immediately, so they would need to come back there again.

Tommy-sensei collected the ID cards hanging from their necks, and took with him a small basket containing things like reserve arrows stuck in palm-sized, three sun (9.1cm) targets and spare bowstring reels, then they moved to the second waiting room. The competitors put down their bows and arrows again and sat down.

They would be entering the shajo once they left there. Tsujimine’s Ootaguro was cramming his left hand into a flat can filled with fudeko powder, and next to him, Seiya was doing things like rotating his shoulders.

At the signal, the ten competitors took their bows and arrows in hand and lined up in one single line.

When they entered the kyudojo, Tsujimine and Kazemai entered the first and second shajo respectively and sat down—it was finally time.

“Rise, begin!”

They did their yuu bows simultaneously, advanced to the shooting line and nocked their arrows.

First to shoot was Tsujimine’s oomae, Nikaidou.

A yugamae done in the shamen style involved making the tenouchi small to make it look like red leaves piling up, and pushing open the bow diagonally to the left at a third of one’s yazuka. Keeping that form, one raised their bow, and then at hikiwake, the right hand passed over the ear, and the arrow stops at a height that is almost level with it, which is the “sanbun no ni” position. After doing kakehodoki—making a grinding noise with the yugake at kai—he flicked his thumb, and the sharp flight of his arrow invited a matooto.

Next was the second archer, Fuwa.

His hoozuke was slightly higher than those for shoumen uchiokoshi, and his arrow was placed in between his cheekbone and the corner of his mouth (kuchiwari). He continued to stretch his arms as though they were holding the ends of a piece of string and he was extending it evenly to the left and right. He waited for the "yagoro"—the moment that led to the perfect opportunity for hanare. He also hit the target.

The third archer, Ootaguro, was very conspicuous due to his bamboo bow that was unusual for a student, the huge size of that bow, and not to mention his massive and bulky body. His amber bow bended so much that it seemed to engulf other people, and his arrow pierced the target with such a force that it made the azuchi cave in.

Conversely, the fourth archer, Higuchi, slowly lifted his bow. He drew his bow so gently that it verged on being too careful, and even if one thought that he finally reached kai, he took a considerable amount of time to release his arrow. After the spectators, wondering what was going to happen, were kept in suspense, finally at last, his arrow drew a parabola and fell to the target.

The ochi was Aragaki the maskman. Of course, he took off his mask in the shajo. Since he was narcissistic about his profile, he was extremely particular about the angle of his face. He fixed his gaze on the target to ascertain it, as though his name was being called from the target. He did not blink even once since he started uchiokoshi. He performed nobiai at kai as though to thoroughly worship his own profile.

The five got a kaichuu, and there was applause from the stands.

Kazemai did not succumb to them.

Elderly people, even if they were great archers, could never imitate the lively and youthful shooting they performed one after the other. They captured their targets in succession, and heated shouts of “Alright!” flew from the stands. The frog fans were shaking faintly.

In the second round of shooting as well, neither school missed.

Aggressive Kaito, cheerful Ryouhei, intelligent Seiya, sparkling Nanao, and cool and clear Minato――.

They increased the freshness of the colours each of them possessed, and painted a picture rich with those five colours.

Suppose that the settings book for the story called life had been written in one’s genes before one was born. Inevitable large events were prepared at each important point. However, it was up to the person themselves to write a heavy and dark story or a fun and bright story. Even if the plot was the same, it would become something else depending on the episodes one chose, and even for the same episode, just changing its arrangement would change the implications and meaning of it. There were endless ways to write, and each person had their own impressions and feelings.

Just as everyone’s faces and voices were different, no one had the exact same shooting form. No one could always shoot with the exact same form. Humans were creatures who kept on changing moment by moment. What one ate became flesh and blood, the information that entered from the eyes and ears was processed and stored by the brain, and skin cells were reborn in two weeks. One’s faces yesterday and today were similar but different. Even if one came to a stop, hung one’s head, bent over, crouched down, or shed tears of blood, a wind would still blow somewhere.

A new wind blew.

Supple limbs danced.

The color of evergreen.

Let’s etch these moments that would never fade into our memories.

The third shooting round. Seiya missed.

In the fourth shooting round, Nanao also missed, and Kazemai had the result of four, four, three, three, and four for a total of eighteen hits.

For Tsujimine as well, Fuwa and Aragaki both missed one shot each, and the results of four, three, four, four, and three—a tie.

For the tiebreaking match, each archer would shoot one arrow, and the school with the most hits won. Each person received a spare arrow from their manager, who acted as the kaizoe and sat in a reserved chair, and steadied their breathing. Even though it was just one arrow, it felt heavier than the four arrows they always had, and it was slippery in their hands from all the sweat.

“Begin!”

After finishing yugamae, both schools’ oomae raised their bows grandly. Both were marked with circles.

The second archers hit. The third archers hit.

And then, the fourth archer. The ochimae.

Tsujimine’s Higuchi missed, and Kazemai’s Nanao hit.

In the stands, the spectating Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo shouted while holding each other’s hands.

The last was the ochi.

As Aragaki’s matooto sounded, Minato was inserting himself into the centre of his bow. He performed nobiai in all directions, and waited for the moment of release. After he let go of his arrow, a circle was displayed on the scoreboard.

In the midst of the applause, they exited the shajo, and Minato’s team clapped each other on their shoulders. Ryouhei carried Nanao on his shoulder and they were shouting joyfully as though the championships were already decided for them.

Kaito, overcame with emotion, covered his mouth with his hand.

“…Did we just break through the semifinals?”

Seiya answered him.

“Yeah. We defeated Tsujimine.”

“Crap, my stomach kinda hurts.”

“Again?”

While Kazemai was shouting for joy, the competitors from Tsujimine were silent. They walked as though they were heading towards the practice venue.

Nikaidou and Fuwa looked at their two senpai.

“Higuchi-senpai, Aragaki-senpai. We should hurry on back to the waiting room.”

“I’m sorry for missing…”

“It’s fine, Higuchi-senpai. That’s just how kyudo is.”

Aragaki also nodded deeply.

Nikaidou turned his back on Minato’s team and started walking. His eyes were tinged with a quiet heat.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

So frustrated, so frustrated, so frustrated, so frustrated…

I will not be finished. This isn’t over――.

Fuwa laughed scornfully.

“It still ain’t over yet. Let’s go take third place. Then, after the closing ceremony, we’ll have a strategy meeting. When we win third, I’ll turn the information I learned into a souvenir, we’ll snatch permission to use the gym, and then we’ll reassemble a practice regimen for next year’s Inter-High.”

“…You serious?”

“If you don’t wanna, then I don’t really care.”

“…You’re still a crafty bastard, as ever.”

“Aren’t you the same?”

Nikaidou gave Fuwa a good punch in the stomach.

Tsujimine High School won third place.

The finals match.

The school that lasted to the end was, as expected, Kirisaki High School. It was a match between schools in the same prefecture.

The five Kirisaki team members were face-to-face, and Motomura gave them his final words.

“Let’s make this our greatest stage. There is nothing that can frighten us. Let’s show everyone the shooting of the powerhouse, Kirisaki!”

Shuu and the others got goosebumps at strong and confident Motomura’s words. No, they were trembling with the excitement of warriors. It felt like a burning in the pits of their stomachs. An impulse only understood by archers were in love with the bow, who were at the mercy of the bow.

Bargaining with the target.

One must not let it know that you wanted to shoot through its heart.

The five light bumped their yugake-right fists together.

Meanwhile, Kazemai was also gathered around Tommy-sensei. Masa-san spoke.

“Forget everything I’ve said up to now. You should shoot as you want, as though this is the first time that you are holding a bow.”

Tommy-sensei spoke after him.

“I feel the same way as Takigawa-san. All of you are plenty cool as you are. The best archers. This is today’s final mission. Now, let’s go.”

“Yes!”

Tommy-sensei put out his hand, and Kaito, Ryouhei, Seiya, Nanao, Minato, and Masa-san placed their hands over it.

After they entered the second waiting room, the two schools sat next to each other.

Kirisaki High School—Motomura, Senichi, Manji, Sase, Shuu.

Kazemai High School—Kaito, Ryouhei, Seiya, Nanao, Minato.

There had never been a scene that was so tense. The prefectural finals felt like it had happened a long, long time ago.

Shuu was on Minato’s left side. Even at this tournament, he got a continuous kaichuu and accomplished a monster-like act, but didn’t that put more pressure on him instead? You couldn’t keep on hitting forever. No matter how masterful an archer was, the moment when they missed would inevitably come.

However, Shuu was indifferent to Minato’s worries; he seemed happy. When he met Minato’s eyes, he smiled gently. It was like the time when they played with Souta at Saionji-sensei’s house, like even now he was planning a trick. Seeing him like that, Minato unintentionally guarded his left flank. He was far from his persona of being the “Young Prince Shuu” who many archers knew him as. He was just like a child.

Where did that calmness come from? He said that he would embody “one shot and expire,” but Minato didn’t even know what that meant.

What he did know was that his heart was pounding, and that he was excited.

The joy from being able to shoot on the same stage as Shuu.

At the signal, they stood up, and Kazemai and Kirisaki faced each other and bowed, saying, “We look forward to competing against you.”

It was the start of nyuujou. The five sat down simultaneously in the chairs of the first waiting room in front of honza. Tommy-sensei also sat down behind the competitors. The arena was different from the kyudojo they had always shot in, and even the smallest sound was picked up. It felt like everyone could even hear the sound that persisted in Minato’s chest.

His exposed heart.

The immovable target.

At the order to “begin,” the two schools went towards the shooting line, their yellow-green and purple headbands swaying above their shoulders. Masa-san, holding his breath as he watched over the group with the same-color headbands, was also at the very end of the shajo.

The oomaes began to raise their bows.

Motomura had the face of a young family head, and his true form was that of an extraordinary exorcist. When admonished by his gentle face, one would forget suspicious things and uncanniness. There were “sounds” and “words” that made people uncomfortable and those that soothed them, and seeing miracles on the bow since ancient times was because of the beauty of its form and shape. Before true beauty, people lost their wickedness, and a beautiful tsurune possessed the wavelength to heal people.

Meigen—the sound of joy. (4)

A sound that reset everything, returning them back to zero.

Kaito did not hide the heat that slept within him, and suppressed the demon with his look of anger. Like Fudou Myouou (5), he held a sword in his hands and carried flames on his back, waiting for sprouts of new life in a burnt field.

The second archers after them were Senichi and Ryouhei.

For both of them, their ideal archer was Shuu. His shooting that surpassed those of the same generation as him always captivated those who saw it. They groped for how close they could get to him, how it could superimposed over them, and how to recreate it. It was fascinating how even if they copied him, it wouldn’t be exactly the same as the original, but another way of shooting was born, mixed with their own colors.  Senichi was delicate, and Ryouhei was bold and heroic. They both hit their targets.

The third archers were Senichi’s younger brother Manji and Seiya. They painted layers of muddy paint and hid their own inborn colors.

Manji had sealed up his fast shooting and kept on practicing to shoot carefully and without rushing in order to not have hayake. Just like how Senichi chased after Shuu, Manji chased after Senichi. The two of them absolutely couldn’t stand was being left behind or surpassed. A circle was shown on the scoreboard.

Rather than imitating someone, Seiya pictured his ideal image of what he wanted to do in his head and simulated it. He repeated that until he tricked his brain into believing that was truer, so even he himself completely forgot who he was originally, but from Kaito’s point of view, he didn’t seem to be able to change completely. His intricately calculated hanare induced a matooto.

Sase was an idol lover, and he himself had the talent of an idol. Like a refreshing and easygoing sportsman, he was not bashful at all, and was always in the center of a circle of strangers. He started talking to Motomura, who was brimming with wabi-sabi (6) even when he was young, not because he worried that he felt out of place in class, but because he wanted to talk to him and so he did. He also started doing kyudo because he wanted to try doing it. That was all it was.

Nanao was actually quite straightforward. He knew very well that his popularity with girls would make him the enemy of some boys, and that was exactly why he spread love. He couldn’t keep his overflowing feelings in his chest. I smile because you smile. I’m happy when you’re happy. Your angry faces, your troubled faces, I want to see lots of you.

After he snatched a magnificent hit, the yellow-green frogs in the stands swayed.

The ochi were Shuu and Minato.

When Shuu raised his bow, the world changed completely. One got lost in a shining golden land. Before that divine and beautiful archer, everything that had life stopped breathing. The fire he released from the depths of his body created an updraft, which started up and quickened. He slowly raised his two wings and spread his white feathers.

Sound was what fell.

A sound that stole away people’s memories.

When the watchers recovered their senses, the area was engulfed in the echoes from shouts of "Alright!" It gently rained with the sound that made their skin tremble and scorched their chests.

At the same moment, Minato raised his bow up high. He held his bow at kyuuha, with a strength like he was playing with it—not too strongly, not too weakly. The beautiful tsurune he heard when he was young. When that sound rang, Minato’s world changed. On the other side of the rain that fell beside him, a rainbow from thick clouds spread.

Even if he tried to not recall what was taught to him, his body remembered it all perfectly. The disciple inherited the master’s colors. Kazemai had Kazemai’s colors, and Kirisaki had Kirisaki’s colors. Even from among the many archers, when told, "You are from Kazemai High School Kyudo Club, aren’t you," he could continue hitting.

In the silence that made one even hesitate to move, the shouts of "Alright" bounced off the surrounding walls, continually going back and forth.

From right to left.

From left to right.

Thud, thud.

The sound, similar to fireworks, echoed.

The instrumental trio of tsurune, matooto, and shouts.

In the second shooting round also, tsurune were played in succession. It was all hits. Two five-person kaichuu were carried out, and there was applause.

When they entered the third shooting round, A bead of sweat ran down Minato’s cheek. His hearing wasn’t working normally, as the way he heard things was somewhat strange. A sensation of having dozed off, like he was being talked to in his head, like he was talking to someone in his dreams. Where was he right now? What was he doing? Even the act of drawing his bow felt like he was doing it in a dream-like state and lacked a sense of reality.

In the stands, Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo whispered to each other.

"They are so good it’s kinda scary…"

"I agree. I feel chills, even though it is the middle of summer."

"――This is divine possession."

Seo’s words made their surroundings more and more frozen.

In the fourth—final—shooting round, the oomae Kaito missed. At someone’s sigh, the tension in the shajo was broken for a moment. Perhaps overwhelmed by the change in the flow of that wind, the arrow the second archer Senichi released also pierced the azuchi. Since it was an indoor azuchi that didn’t use soil, a tap sound, similar to a matooto, resounded.

With that, both schools had one miss――. Once more, it became a one-on-one battle between the two ochi.

The spectator’s gazes were fixed on Shuu and Minato.

When Minato raised his bow, Shuu also raised his to follow him. They parted their bows grandly and inserted their bodies into the middle of them. They slowly released their breaths from their filled and content dantian. Upon doing that, the target itself approached the archer and assimilated into him.

The target is me, and I am the target. The great I, whose boundaries as an individual had blurred, will draw my bow.

They extended in all directions and formed crosses.

Nikaidou had asked Minato, "For what reason do you shoot a bow?", but that question didn’t make sense to him. He didn’t draw the bow to win or to train his body; he faced the target to breathe. Breathing was the proof of living. Therefore, on the days when he wasn’t holding a bow, he felt like he was dead.

It wasn’t "correct shooting makes for true hitting," but "correct questions make for correct answers." A good answer was born from a good question. If one were to ask Minato a question, it should not be "for what reason," but "How do you shoot a bow?" He embodied the answer to that question every single day.

Minato and Shuu were no longer thinking anything.

They didn’t hear anything.

They returned to the time when they met, losing themselves in drawing their bows.

For honing one’s body and entering a state of absolute concentration, it was annoying and hindering to have words inside one’s head. Thinking interfered with physical activity. Therefore, deep breathing was what helped empty one’s head. Along with breath, one would make "thought" get out of one’s body.

The one who shaded the event of an arrow hitting a target with good or bad, or emotions, was the "self," and the opposite of hayake and Yips was the state of "selflessness", or the zone. Being unconscious, in a sense, was like being someone who had expired. Dead people had no consciousness, and babies played innocently and without thought. Words did not intervene there.

――One shot and expire.

The archer dying at kai and being born again at hanare was the greatest shooting technique in the ultimate secret techniques left behind by the one who was called the Bow Saint. (7) The two were making use of that technique—Shuu intentionally, Minato unintentionally.

They cried their yagoe in their hearts.

Fly, yagoe.

Clear your path.

Run, yagoe.

Today’s a day of beginnings.

The two arrows were sucked into the bull’s-eye.

Amidst thunderous applause, the bell signalling seven-and-a-half minutes sounded. Minato and Shuu turned to face their targets and moved backed towards honza, and then sat down in their chairs.

Nineteen hits to nineteen hits. It was a tie.

The two schools’ managers handed their archers one backup arrow each. Each team shot a total of five shots, and if it couldn’t be decided in one set, then they would repeat the process. It was like an izume match for group competitions.

"Rise, begin!"

The Kazemai and Kirisaki archers nocked their arrows. With a single arrow, victory or defeat was decided. An arrow that was too heavy.

My chest hurts. My chest hurts. My center of my head feels hazy, and my fingertips are getting really numb. The insides of my ears sting. To get away from this choking feeling, I’ll breathe slowly, slowly.

The first shooting round. Both schools got hits.

Next was the second round.

Ryouhei’s arrow landed to the right of the target. Sighs overlapped with shouts of "Alright" from the stands.

Third round, hits.

Fourth round, hits.

And finally, the fifth round.

Minato and Shuu made beautiful tsurune ――.

After they exited the shajo, Kazemai and Kirisaki bowed to each other. Kaito and Motomura, feeling just like Ryouhei and Senichi, mutually smashed their yugake together. Minato and Shuu also bumped the backs of their yugake.

When they passed through the exit, the press gathered to interview the winning school. Minato and the others passed by them. On the return path, there was the staff room partitioned off with white cloth, and large windows on the left side. It was dazzlingly bright outside the windows, the trees swaying in the breeze.

Ryouhei came to a stop in front of the wall between the windows, and collapsed on the spot. He pressed his head against the wall hard, and his shoulders were shaking. He got on his knees temporarily, then he couldn’t stand up anymore.

"If I…If I hadn’t missed… I wanted to shoot more, and more… It’s my fault we lost…”

Minato put his arm around Ryouhei’s shoulders from behind.

He couldn’t say anything. That regret he himself had also tasted. That intense anger and sadness towards himself.

If one was experiencing such painful emotions, then they shouldn’t be doing things like kyudo.

I’m so frustrated, I’m so frustrated, I can’t forgive myself――.

Seiya also bent down in that spot and placed his hands on the two boys’ shoulders.

"Me, Kaito, Nanao and Minato—we’ve all missed before. We’re all the same. Someone who never missed before doesn’t exist."

"Uugh…ah…"

Kaito was watching over shoulder at Nanao folding Ryouhei, Minato, and Seiya together into a big hug. Kirisaki, having finished their interviews, passed by them there, and Shuu remained behind as the other members continued on.

When Nanao and the others noticed him, they removed themselves from Ryouhei, and Shuu knelt down before him.

"Ryouhei, Sae wants to meet you. Summer vacation is still long, so would you come and play with us, if you like? It seems Toujou would also like another bout with you."

"…Alright. I won’t lose, after all."

Ryouhei had his hands taken by Seiya and Minato and stood up. He then smiled.

Shuu left them.

In the hall, competitors could be seen chatting with their families. The accompanying children, perhaps bored, ran around in their slippers while making pitter-patter sounds.

Suddenly, Shuu remembered that it was the day of Sae’s violin lesson today. He turned his face towards where the sun was shining and narrowed his eyes. He could see an illusion.

"…Sae? Why are you here?"

“Shuu-niisama, congratulations. We came here to support you, of course. We thought we would make you nervous if you saw our faces, so we made sure to not be seen. It was hard.”

Next to her, Shuu’s mother was also smiling.

“Congratulations, Shuu. You were wonderful.”

Unexpected words, from an unexpected person.

As Shuu was at a loss for words, a man appeared from behind. Without needing to cross swords with anyone, he gave off the air of someone who made others lose their will to fight—someone who had the nickname of “Samurai.”

“Father…”

“Congratulations. Your shooting closely resembled that of Saionji-sensei’s in the past. I can see that you trained a lot, Shuu.”

“…Thank you very much. I am truly sorry that you had to come all the way here while you were the one who was busy, Father.”

“To tell you the truth, I received many phone calls at my company. From Sugawara Senichi-kun and Manji-kun, Motomura-kun and Sase-kun, as well as Narumiya-kun and Yamanouchi-kun. All asking me to please come and see Shuu shoot. It seems that my son has some good friends. I am looking forward to seeing the growth of all of you from now on.”

Shuu wanted to respond, but couldn’t make words come out of his mouth no matter how hard he tried.

The unseen words written on that Tanabata paper strip were, “From your son, Shuu.”

To be able to heard the word “son” come from you--.

When the wind came dancing in from the doors, the light that reflected off the windows hid Shuu’s face.

Meanwhile, Minato and the others exited the hall to find Masa-san waiting for them.

He smiled, and while saying things like “Alright!” “Okay!” and “Let’s go and eat something tasty”, he roughly tousled the five boys’ hair. Tommy-sensei also patted their backs.

Even though Minato had been holding it back for a long time, it was at that moment that his tear glands loosened. Seiya, Ryouhei, Nanao, and Kaito were the same.

Masa-san, Tommy-sensei, you’re both awful.

Even though the closing ceremony is going to take place after this, isn’t it super uncool to mess up our hair like this…

The five boys formed a circle.

And then, they shouted that they would stand on this stage again.

At dusk, the train carrying five boys departed.

On the screen of Ryouhei’s phone, there was a picture sent by his sister.

It was a picture of overpowering mountains and a tall sky.

The first star of the evening, which couldn’t be seen from the windows of their rooms, shone.

Fragrant ears of rice and the sound of cicadas.

Before he knew it, Minato dozed off, and leaned on his teacher beside him.

Previous | Afterword

[aimee-maroux]

Hermes and Dionysos (M/M)

Dear beautiful reader,

since Hermes is the herald and diplomat of the Greek pantheon, I began to wonder how he would fare in other pantheons and it was fun imagining him at the court of Asgard, with Dionysos by his side.

This story features: drunk flirting, kissing, seduction, butt massage, anal play, incest but it's Greek gods, so... it's alright I guess?

Hermes sat at the place of honour on the dais in the great feasting hall of Asgard. It was a diplomatic visit and he usually enjoyed these, as there was booze and food and it was easy to make conversation. The Aesir were a simple people and Hermes had formed good relationships here. This time, though, things were a little different. Zeus had deemed it a good idea to send along his favourite son and Hermes' younger half-brother Dionysos. It did make sense, in a way, because they were supposed to bring a few barrels of Greek wine as a gift, and it was much easier to get some empty barrels in Asgard and have Dionysos fill them with wine before they had their audience instead of hauling them there all the way from Mount Olympos. Dionysos was usually friendly and easy to get along with, as opposed to most of their brothers. But he was also very inexperienced in diplomacy and easily the most effeminate god of the Olympioi1. Not that Hermes minded that - his own son Hermaphroditos was androgynous2 - but the Aesir were very unforgiving of any behaviour they deemed unmanly. Sorcery, cowardice and taking the passive role during sexual intercourse were all deemed unmanly, as he had learned3. And Dionysos particularly enjoyed the latter. Dressed in a fine purple chiton4 and a splendidly colourful himation5, he stood in front of a table further down the hall, apparently chatting with some of the Norse gods seated there. A crown of vine and ivy sat on his dark, ribboned hair. Their eyes met across the room and Dionysos waved at him overenthusiastically. He staggerd back towards the dais, a horn of mead or wine in his hand that he downed before he was even midway through the hall. He approached their table of honour, unsteady on his feet, and fell down onto his brother's lap. Hermes could smell the wine despite the flowery perfume the younger god liked to use. He sighed.

"You know, we are not supposed to drink all the wine ourselves."

"Pfff. I'm not even halfway through."

Dionysos hugged his brother and kissed him until Hermes broke away because Dionysos started sucking on his lower lip, trying to slip in his tongue.

"You won't believe how horny I am right now!" Dionysos declared with the soft slur in his voice that Hermes knew so well. The shape of his erection showed through the fabric of his purple chiton where his himation had slid down too far. "I'm coming to think the Norsemen are all prudes. None of them are responding to my advances."

Hermes draped some of the luxurious cloth back over his loins.

"This is not acceptable behaviour here," he hissed into his brother's ear. "The Aesir don't approve of eros6 between men."

Dionysos made a face.

"We need to make a good impression. I've worked hard to forge this alliance and they still think we're a bunch of sissies."

"So?" Dionysos grinned. "Maybe they're right. I don't care if they think me a sissy. I need some cock right about now!"

Hermes groaned.

"Right now is not the time. Whatever we do reflects on everyone else on Mount Olympos. Don't ruin everything I've worked for. Pull yourself together for once in your life, please!"

"Fine." Dionysos leaned heavily on Hermes' shoulder and played with his curly hair. "I'll be running around all hard and throbbing until you release me." He giggled.

"This is not a joke."

"No. If you were joking, I'd have you inside me in no time." Dionysos leaned forward, a seductive smile on his face. Their lips met again. Hermes had to admit, Dionysos was a skilful kisser. He even tasted good, of sweet nectar, wild herbs and heavy wine. It was an utterly addictive savour. Dionysos was very gentle, but it was clear as day how much he wanted this, lips on lips, tongue against tongue, tasting the saliva and soft lining of the other's wet, warm mouth. It was harder to break away from him this time.

"You know how much I love you," Hermes said in a low voice, "And I will make it up to you, alright? I promise." He placed both hands on the slender wine god's back, just above his arse. "Do you think you can live without my affection for a couple of hours?"

"I can. But I really don't want to."

Dionysos shifted his weight, pushing his shapely buttocks against his brother's hands as if by accident. His hard cock was rubbing against Hermes' stomach as he moved, a perfectly innocent smile on his face.

"Can we at least cuddle? Express some brotherly love?" he drawled.

"Shall I be offended that you think you can make a fool of me?" Hermes growled into his brother's ear. "I've been faking innocence before you were even born7. Stop trying to seduce me."

Dionysos pouted.

"But I'm really horny!" he whined.

Hermes stole a glance at the table beside them. Thor was giving them a weird look.

"Have another drink," said Hermes aloud, for all to hear. "It will make you feel better in no time."

Dionysos looked disappointed, but he nodded. Hermes signalled to one of the valkyries who were pouring drinks8 and she refilled their horns with a smile. He toasted to their hosts and drank up. It would be a long night.

~~~

It was long past midnight when the two Greek gods made their way from the feasting hall back to their quarters. Their breath condensed in the cold night air as they passed the wooden longhouses of Asgard under the star-lit sky. Hermes had to admit, after the little incident his brother had actually made a good impression on the Aesir, who were also hard drinkers. They had laughed and sung and, after the wine was gone, drained several barrels of mead and ale. Hermes was feeling a little drunk himself. He usually stopped before feeling tipsy, but this time it just hadn't been possible. Dionysos was singing loudly, repeating one of the new Norse songs he had learned. Hermes had one arm amiably slung around his shoulders, gently guiding him in the right direction.

When the door swung shut behind them, Hermes yelped when Dionysos jumped him.

"You prom'sed me somethin'..." he slurred.

"You remember that?" Hermes asked, amused.

"'f course."

"I don't know if I should take advantage of your current state. You are so drunk, I could do anything to you..."

"Then do me 'lright!"

"Alright."

Hermes slowly took off his crimson chlamys9 and the bright white chiton he had been wearing all night. When he unfastened his winged sandals, Dionysos was already lying naked on the bed they shared, impatiently drumming his fingers on the wooden frame.

"You're such a tease!" he complained.

"And you have no self-control."

"Dinn' I do what you asked 'f me?"

"Yes. Yes you did. And I am very grateful for that." Hermes sat down on the bed next to his brother.

"You better show your gratitude, then."

Hermes caressed his brother's beautiful buttocks.

"I intend to."

He picked up the flask of olive oil he had brought with him from Olympos. Originally for skin care purposes, but it came in handy now.10 He poured some of the green liquid into his hand and returned his gaze to the wine god. He let the oil warm up in his palm before applying it to the soft flesh of Dionysos' bum cheeks, who made a sound of appreciation at the sensation of the warm, slick touch.

Hermes spread the oil with both hands, not only over his arse but on his thighs and lower back as well, massaging it into the smooth, untanned skin. He had expected Dionysos to ruin the whole mission. He was wrong and his brother deserved a treat for his good behaviour. He watched his face while he pressed and kneaded and caressed the flesh, delighting in the unrestrained pleasure and bliss chasing over his delicate features. There is nobody who can savour a moment quite like Dionysos can. Hermes smiled. He enjoyed their intimacy. Usually, he would be alone right now, maybe masturbating before going to sleep. Not only did he have a warm body next to him in the cold bed this time, he also had someone to talk to, someone to cuddle up to in the night, someone he loved so very much.

He poured some more oil into his hand. Dionysos was warm, despite the low temperature in the room, his skin flushed. Slowly, very slowly, Hermes pushed his index finger against the anus. He knew how much Dionysos appreciated a certain gentleness in love-making. He didn't want him to be disappointed. His finger slid in easily. His brother gave a happy sigh. Hermes rubbed the rectal walls, slickening the entrance and widening it with nimble fingers, facilitating any penetration later on. In case that was still what his brother wanted.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked. Lying on his stomach, with his slender frame, the snowy white skin, the beautiful long hair and his round buttocks, one could easily mistake Dionysos for a girl. But he was not, and Hermes imagined his erection pressing against the coarse straw mattress, as it had pressed against his stomach back in the feasting hall.

"Hm." made Dionysos and turned his head to look at him with half-lidded eyes, the crown of ivy almost slipping off his head, cheeks red with wine.

He's so fucking drunk, thought Hermes. But then again, the God of Wine was rarely sober.

"I doubt you'll remember any of this in the morning. But a promise is a promise."

THE END OF PART 1

You can get a copy of "Taken by Greek Gods: Hermes loves Dionysos" on Amazon or Smashwords or directly from my little book shop.

Glossary

The Olympioi are the 12 major Greek gods who live on Mount Olympos.

Androgynos in ancient Greek means doing both active, male things and passive, female ones, specifically during sexual intercourse. Hermes' son Hermaphroditos is also androgynous because he is, well, a hermaphrodite.

To accuse another man of being unmanly (argr) was a legal reason to challenge the accuser in holmgang, a kind of trial by combat.

A chiton is a piece of clothing akin to a tunic. Men wore it usually at knee-length or shorter.

A himation is a kind of cloak worn by both, women and men. It's essentially a rectangular piece of heavy fabric, either woolen or linen, that is draped diagonally over one shoulder or symmetrically over both shoulders like a stole.

Eros is not only the god of love and sexual lust, it's also a Greek word for passionate love or romantic love.

Hermes famously stole some of his half-brother Apollon's sacred cattle and when he was caught lied to his face, faking innocence until it became clear he couldn't get away with it. He then changed his tactic and charmed his brother instead by gifting him his invention, the lyre.

The valkyries poured the drinks in Valhalla, so I made them serve the drinks during this banquet of the gods as well.

A chlamys is another kind of coat, one travellers used to wear in ancient Greece and Hermes typically wears one unless he's naked.

Olive oil was applied after bathing and used by athletes in ancient Greece to scrape off sweat and dirt with a stlengís but it was also used as a lubricant during anal sex.

[boycottphil]

Hello there, how are you? I saw your post where you offer to write hetalia fanfics and hmmm...I wonder if you could write some cute, fluff + smutty usuk fanfic? You can choose the theme, I'm not that picky, I just don't like omegaverse and mpreg that much lmao. If you're too busy or somehow can't, it's totally ok, I just thought of asking. Thanks for contributing to the community

For context, I am taking fanfic requests! 

Pairing: UsUk  Rating: M  Warnings: Mention of drug usage!!  Word count: 2760

The night was long, perhaps a bit too long for a single loner like Arthur. It was a rather boring Saturday of reading a new bestseller when Francis came barging into Arthur’s flat, absolutely insisting on taking him out to town for a bit of drinking and dancing. Apparently there was a new club with a 70s and 80s theme, playing all the best songs of the two decades. Francis was already dressed appropriately in fun colourful clothes, that seemed too over-the-top yet just right for the occasion.

[[MORE]]

Arthur struggled finding anything in his closet that would be good enough, and he had initially hoped to use the lack of an appropriate wardrobe to his advantage; that is, not going out of his flat. The book was just getting good and he desperately needed to-

But no. Francis came prepared with a funky coat and bright neon green pants that would “do Arthur’s ass justice,” to use Francis’s own words.

Arthur’s plan of staying in fell through, and an hour after Francis had shattered Arthur’s dreams of a quiet night, they were already in the club. It was packed full of people, all dancing, drinking and some doing suspiciously illegal-looking substances. Arthur averted his eyes from a group of young women chanting ‘molly’ repeatedly until one of their friends took the pill.

This was not Arthur’s scene. He was a man in his early 30s. He was already past his drug-crazed days. He didn’t exactly find joy in being numbed and dumbed down anymore. When he was in college, years ago, he would have perhaps walked up to the women or men and used his charm to get a couple pills before wooing one of them to go home with him.

Those times are over. He had a nine to five, he’s been through multiple year-long relationships and he’s more mature, and responsible and…

...awfully lonely and single.

Francis dragged him to the middle of the dance floor. The mass of sweaty and tightly-packed bodies grinding against each other coaxed Arthur to loosen up a bit. The music was fun, up-beat and had Arthur’s body moving in no time at all. Perhaps he had been a bit too judgemental of the party scene in the last few years. There was a lot more going on than he thought, not to mention, he spotted more than a few people looking at him with what seemed to be genuine interest.

One set of eyes in particular caught his attention from across the dance floor. Curious, bright blue, and wide from either adrenaline, some sort of drug, or maybe just plain alcohol. Frankly, Arthur struggled seeing much between the flashing lights straining his eyes and the music blastin loudly through the club’s many speakers and distracting him. The bit of eye contact did manage to make him feel just a little bit more confident. He had been a hermit in his own life for so long that he didn’t think he could attract the attention of anyone at all in his “old” age.

The stranger stepped closer, revealing a smile on slightly crooked lips and a brow quirked up in intrigue. Arthur turned away from Francis, who had been too busy flirting with a couple of young girls to notice his friend’s rather sudden departure.

The song changed, the previous one fading away softly as the second one melted seamlessly with upbeat drums into the room. The crowd slowed for mere seconds before the movement picked up yet again and Arthur was once more pulled into dance, as if involuntarily, by his feet. This time, though, he was accompanied by a tall and muscular man who couldn’t possibly be older than 25.

“Nice pants,” the stranger said, clearly an America. He had to lean in close to speak directly into Arthur’s ear in order to be heard at all

The Brit gave a laugh and shook his head before going on his tip toes and speaking into the other’s ear, “thanks, they were not my choice. But apparently they make my ass look good.”

He pulled back just enough to see the American’s eyes travel from his face down his neck, over his torso, to land and linger on his hips. Arthur smirked to himself and then, copying what many people had started doing, stepped closer and putting his arms boldly around the American’s neck, coaxing them both to start dancing in the rhythm of the catchy and rather fast-paced song.

They didn’t speak. Their interactions consisted of wandering hands and suggestive looks. Arthur did not know this stranger’s name, and neither did he want to tell his own just yet. He was happy with the way their legs moved in synch and their fingers lingered too long on each other’s hips and backs during the slower songs.

But before the Brit got too used to it, they had moved out of the centre of the dance floor and toward the wall in the back.

The music was just as loud as it had been on the dance floor, though merely a dull thump in Arthur’s mind, as his back soon touched the cool brick lined wall. His hands cupped two strong shoulders and his lips were covered by those of this gorgeous stranger. He did not mind the lack of air or the tightness of another body just a bit larger than his own pressing flush against him in a demanding manner.

“I want to take you home,” Arthur found himself saying, his hands sliding down the other’s arms until their kiss turned into their lips brushing against each other while they spoke.

“Good. I live too far from here to take you home,” the stranger said in a light tone, his eyes glinting with the red and purple flashing lights surrounding them.

Arthur nudged him off and then took his hand, his grip slick from sweat, and began leading him out of the club. He sent Francis a quick text saying he would be gone, and that he took someone home so he shouldn’t be disturbed. He got no answer, as he expected but a least that meant that Francis wasn’t out looking for him.

Arthur lived close to the club, so a short cab ride was quick and filled with “accidental” touches of thighs and knees. Arthur paid for their ride and then took the stranger’s hand, leading him up to his fourth floor flat. Were this man anyone but a hookup, he would say he wouldn’t need to take his shoes off… but…

Well he wanted everything off.

Without hesitation, he had the other pinned to a wall, lips kissing down his neck, hands working his coat off before he began unbuttoning his metallic blue shirt. His hands were working from memory of the other countless times he had had someone in a similar position. One button, another, then again, until his fingers brushed over smooth skin and coarse hairs that he could finally touch. He slid the shirt off the stranger’s body, and soon felt the cool touch of rough hands sliding up from his abdomen to his chest.

He gave a little gasp, parting his lips from the heated skin of the stranger’s neck. “Fuck,” he whispered, as two fingers pinched at one of his nipples.

“Someone likes this,” came the purr, making Arthur’s eyesopen.

The Brit snorted and slid his hands down to the hem of the American’s jeans. He easily popped the bottom open. He saw the American inhale sharply. “Someone likes this,” he smirked and slid his thumb down the zipper, pinching it and pulling it to expose the tented briefs underneath.

“Your accent’s so fucking hot,” the blond answered. Arthur rolled his eyes.

He pulled the other’s pants down past his hips, the American standing a bit too still for his liking. “Well? Are you going to keep undressing me or was that little nipple stunt all you could pull?” He asked as he nudged the other to make him step out of his jeans.

“I- oh.” The American snapped out of his trance. “So uh before… we go there.” Arthur laughed a bit at his stumbling and stammering. “What’s your name?”

Arthur didn’t answer right away and instead took his own shirt off and threw it aside. “Arthur,” he supplied, just as he saw the other open his mouth, most likely to fill in the silence.

“Oh, cool.” Another pause. “I’m Alfred.” Arthur gave a nod and then stepped back, took Alfred’s hand and began leading him toward the bedroom. The room itself was dark, lit only by the faint moonlight and the orange hue of a streetlight.

Alfred was stood at the foot of the bed, watching as Arthur took off the neon pants. Arthur saw as his gaze followed the fabric, lingering on his thighs and calves before looking back up into his eyes. The Brit winked at him before shamelessly taking off the briefs clinging to his skin.

He was immensely satisfied when Alfred’s tongue poked from between his lips and brushed quickly over his upper lip. The Brit crawled up onto his bed, on all fours, making sure the American had plenty to see as he did so.

The look of lust he was given once he laid down did wonders for his ego. “Alfred?” He asked, his eyes lingering on the briefs keeping him from what he wanted so badly.

“Yes?” The American asked, one hand reaching down to palm at his own crotch.

“How about you come here and fuck me?”

Alfred regained his composure enough to ditch his own briefs and join Arthur on the bed. He placed his hands on the Brit’s naked sides and slid them up and down before he leaned down to kiss at his lips feverishly.

Arthur was a whining mess even before the end of their short-lived makeout session, filled with swirling tongues and hot breaths. He tugged gently on Alfred’s hair and then reached down with his other hand to grasp at the American’s aching cock. He gave it a few pumps. “Well?”

“Lube? I don’t-” Alfred started, though Arthur interrupted,

“I have everything,” he mumbled and then reached into one of the bedside drawers to pull out a condom and a half empty bottle of lube. He handed both to Alfred, mumbling that he was fine. He didn’t need any stretching.

The American’s hands were a bit shaky as he tore open the packaging and rolled the rubber over his cock. Arthur could tell he was a bit not-in-his element, so he made it easier for him and rolled over onto his front, pulling himself up onto all fours. He pressed his chest to the mattress and spread his legs apart in the most slutty way he possibly could.

If the caught breath and sharp exhale were anything to go by, then he assumed Alfred liked the sight. And not too long after, Arthur felt cold lube drip over his exposed hole, seconds after which he felt the blunt tip of Alfred’s hot and hard cock teasing at the sensitive muscles. He moaned encouragingly as the other sank deeper and deeper inside him. He was in heaven, the moment he felt Alfred bottom out.

“Fuck, you’re big,” he mumbled, back arching, fingers tangling in the sheets below. He couldn’t wait for Alfred, so he began rocking back against Alfred’s cock, driving it deeper inside. He cursed under his breath, over and over again. Once Alfred began fucking into him, his voice pitched and his eyes rolled back briefly.

He perhaps assumed Alfred would be softer, slower, taking his time with Arthur and making sure the Brit was not hurt in the first few thrusts.

But no… Alfred did not hold back at all. He started bucking into him, grabbing his hips and angling himself properly so that every time he pushed in or pulled out, Arthur was arching his back and letting out gasps and grunts. His eyes were closed shut, his hips trembling and his every nerve ending feeling as if it were on fire.

Alfred was passionate, and despite fucking Arthur in a way that had his eyes rolling back, he still placed kisses on his neck and back, teeth grazing over his pulsepoint and making Arthur shiver.

The American pressed the Brit’s hips down, holding them there as he rammed into him, truly getting Arthur to scream out as his sweet spot was brushed against over, and over, and over again. He was forced to hump the mattress to get some relief for his own neglected and desperate cock. He was pent up, whining and moaning, eyes tearing up, his body shaking with his need to cum.

Alfred seemed to be no better off. His rhythm wavered and his hands squeezed down hard enough to leave bruises on Arthur’s hips. Not that the Brit would mind, he loved the thought of having bruises and bites and marks to remind him of the night he spent with the gorgeous blue-eyed-blond stranger.

The room was dim and full of noises; the bed shaking and rattling, both their grunts and moans bouncing off the walls. The Americana had mumbled a warning already, holding back just because Arthur wanted to enjoy the sensations some more with begs of ‘no, not yet’ and ‘more, more’ and ‘Alfred, fuck me harder.’

Though that was short-lived too, as at the height of the intensity, Alfred pushed himself in as deep as he could, and was thrown over the edge, the rubber catching all of his cum. Arthur was allowed to sit up, and was grateful to get to start stroking his own cock. Alfred, noticing he could be useful, leaned down and began eating the other out, his tongue proving to be talented enough to push Arthur over the edge.

The Brit gasped and panted through his orgasm, his thighs shaking with the intensity of it. He collapsed onto the bed and in his own puddle of cum.  Alfred joined him, laying down beside him. The Brit sighed, satisfied. He turned his head to look at the other.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he said, tone playful.

Alfred laughed, a bright laugh that made Arthur’s lips curl up into a smile. “Yeah, that wasn’t bad at all.” He turned to look at Arthur and took in the sight of him; the way the orange light fell on his face, the shadow his roman nose cast on his lips, the way his strawberry blond hair fell over his forehead…

“You’re pretty, huh.” It wasn’t a question, Arthur noticed. Alfred was merely complimenting him. “I prefer handsome… You’re cute, though,” the Brit answered.

“I prefer sexy,” Alfred said playfully.

Arthur chuckled and then, deciding to throw his pride out the window, scooted closer to cuddle up to the other. He looked into his eyes, as if asking if that was all right. He got a smile as an answer, and an arm wrapped around him. They spent the next few minutes like that, the room now truly falling silent. They touched, like they had been doing all night, but instead of wandering hands and lusty grabs, it was sweet caresses and lasting glances.

Arthur had been lonely for so long, touch starved too. Alfred made those emotions wash away, becoming more akin to an almost forgotten memory. He wanted the feeling to last forever. He wanted to never have to be alone again. The warmth, the calmness of their breathing synching… It was all perfect. All amazing in ways he almost forgot were possible.

He fell asleep, rather fast for his own liking, but he couldn’t help it. He was comfortable, with a soft man holding him, and basking in post-orgasmic bliss. He wished he had stayed awake longer, maybe to talk with Alfred, see if they were a good match. See if there could be something… Maybe that thought wasn’t mutual, was his last thought before sleep took over.

The following morning, he woke up rather late, and was met with an empty bed. Just as disappointment began to settle in, he saw a cute baby blue note on the other pillow. The handwriting was hard to read and messy, but readable.

‘I had a lot of fun last night,

Call me ;)

-Alfred F. Jones’

Arthur was so happy; his late late night thoughts turned out to be false. He saved the number in his phone, and sent a quick text.

‘Hey, it’s Arthur. I had fun too. Want to meet for lunch?’

[girlwithrainboweyes]

Cursed - Chapter 1: Beacon - Part 1

Listen to the music in the video for the full experience (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLxJG5tGMv4) Enjoy!  More chapters here (https://www.wattpad.com/story/189943749-cursed)

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I’ve stared death in the face before, but this time death came from a familiar form.  

           Right in this moment, there is only a glimpse of light from my own reflection staring back at me, all wrapped up in the eyes of a predator.  As if one of us is a parasite, the electricity of the danger feeds off of us – but which one of us is the parasite?  Being inches away from danger of any kind wipes away any divides between of good or evil, host or parasite, hero or villain.  It’s survival, and it comes down to who can take the most from the world in a single moment.

            I can see my reflection, my own personal curse wrapped in flames that ignites the eyes of the animal hunting me. Part of me welcomes the face off with the ominous, growling, black form.  Almost like I need to stretch today, or I need to crack my back.  The feeling is mutual apparently, as the wolf growls lowly, baring jagged teeth, covered in dripping saliva.  

           It knows me.

           This thought echoes as it passes through my brain, and the wolf supernaturally hears my greatest concern…I don’t even know myself fully, yet this creature knows me…and there’s a spot on my soul that I need to itch.  

           Yet logically, for better or for worse, my body takes control, forcing out a high-pitched scream for help that is so loud that my lungs burn from the icy air used to fuel the scream.  My arms fly up to protect my face as the wolf launches its first attack towards my face, crunching on my arm instead.  Pain erupts from there like a poison has just been ingested into my body, causing my body to flail around and consequently, stretch the wound as if my flesh is made of putty.  I scream again, feeling fire in my lungs this time around.  It surges, and for a second my heart stops.  In this second, I take a haunting look into the eyes of my hunter because no longer am I face to face with death, but instead…with relief.  

           “Fire in my soul, be one with my being, grant me flames, to keep me living!” I holler as I distinctly observe my parents and brother rush out of the house in slow motion.  They want me to stop.  I can see them mouth it from the corner of my gaze, but the fire tingling up my arms feels as if blood has just been freed into my numb arms.  It’s too powerful to stop now, and it hurts to keep it locked up in one place.

           It’s too late.  The spell has been cast and a rush escapes from my head to my toes, into my lips, into my eyes, and into every inch of my breath.  With my free arm, I take a fistful of the coarse fur and yank the wolf off of my other arm so both of my hands can be pressed onto the sides of its face.  Nearly yanking out the fur of the animal, I roughly hold it in place for only a second as the flames are given birth from my hands right from my veins.  

           The last time I did this, it just happened.  It terrified me.  My blood pushed forth a power from me that I was to command, but it came with no instructions.  The power enticed me into a whirlwind that made me take a backseat to what I could unleash.  It only heightened the divide in my brain as the line between control and freedom blurred.

           This time I’m here.  Not an outside observer.  No part of me is locked in a cage and screaming to do something else.  I’m present.

           “Carwen stop!!!!  You’re killing yourself!” my mom screams, snapping me back into my protection system.

           It’s amazing how protection can be nearly synonymous with prison.

           Yet it was over, and the wolf fell to the ground with a thud.  The noise flooding my own ears managed to be so strong that the bullet which wizzes by me into the wolf, gets drowned out.  Even though the bullet ended the attack on me, the burnt flesh around its body tortured it for its last moments, before beginning to reduce the wolf completely to ash.  Nothing can be heard, and the whole world goes silent for a minute as this gradually happens like a tidal wave of erosion over its body.  

           “Mom?” I whisper as hold up my bloody hand weakly in her direction. “I…I had to do it.”

           She wraps me in her arms and tears her shirt to create tourniquets on my arms so the blood stops flowing freely, “I-I understand, sweetie.  We all understand.”

           My brother pokes the animal’s ash pile with his foot, “You really did a number on this one…” he whispers under his breath.  

           I nod, “I know.  It-it was dangerous.  We don’t even…fully…you know--.”

           “We know you can do magic like the rest of us.  That’s all we need to know now,” my dad says while clearing his throat every three seconds during his sentence.

           But I want to know what the wolf knew.

           I reach out to grasp the ash in idle thinking, only to have it disappear between my fingertips and fly into the air.  The dust whips around in the air like a fighter-pilot and shoots straight into my mouth.  It flies right into my core, stopping all living processes in my body as I claw at my throat to try and get it out.  My family shouts my name loudly, but it feels as if they’re all behind a glass barrier.  They can’t reach me.  

           It all becomes muted as the dust delves deeper into me, and eventually the world fades to black.  Nothing is moving in my body, and it all crumbles until a single seed plants itself into my heart, jolting it back into a war drum.

           “Carwen, come back to us!” my mom cries. “Please!”

           I nod, but my eyes are too tired to open and my body slips into a hibernation, germinating the seed that just brought life back into my soul.  

By Melissa Seeger

2019

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A new burden, a new name,

The latest title to sew on my skin,

An accident towards my shame,

Grown from the greatest sin.

By Melissa Seeger

---

Like what you read?  More here (https://www.wattpad.com/story/189943749-cursed)

06-12-19 a new chapter short will be released around 9 pm Pacific Time, and on 06-19-29 chapter 2 will be released around 9 pm Pacific Time!

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 Warm Regards,

Melissa Seeger

[aggresivelyfriendly]

~Meet Me In The Hallway~

Chapter 3-Waystation

The next morning, my big day of laundry did not happen. As happens when touring with a massive amount of people and months of travel ahead of you, I had completely forgotten what day it was. There were stretches where I wasn’t even sure what country we were in when the sun rose, and we were confined to the British Isles so far. 

My head spun when I thought of the future. I always found out our location though. While all the boys were at sound check, I often wandered down to the front desk of wherever we had slept and asked for recommendations. I had told myself the night before when Harry had revealed that he was saddened he never saw their surroundings a little secret. I’m not sure I had consciously admitted my intentions to myself. I wanted to see wherever we were for him. I would be his eyes and ears. I already made it a point to see something of the place I was along for the ride to, but now I was going to see it and document it. So that I could share it with Harry. I hoped it would be a balm instead of salt in the wound.

I woke up that morning in much the same position I had fallen asleep in. Harry was long and lean and warm, pressed against me from knee to shoulder and his face was in my hair. As I expected this situation, hoped for it really, I did not wake with a start this morning, instead I snuggled down into the white linens and his embrace. My bed sharing habits were nonexistent and this was only the second time I had woken up in his orbit. The first had been ruined by my shock. That morning I cataloged my awe. The white duvet was pulled up and over our shoulders, creating a cocoon with just our heads emerging. The air around us was softly scented with human smells. Warm skin and soured breath. Instead of being off putting, I was mildly disappointed that I was not facing Harry, that I did not have access to his breath or a view of his face. His exhalation rumbled our and stirred my hair faintly, like a light breeze coming off the ocean. I was still in my y shirt and shorts and harry was in his pants, so only the skin of our legs were pressed together. I, by some small favor of heaven, was not someone who had to shave everyday. I had heard many of my friends bemoan their prickliest, and I did get them, but they grew slowly and the two days since I’d slicked the bands of metal over my limbs were recent enough to keep them at bay. Harry did not shave his legs. For that I was thankful.  I could feel his wiry, coarse hair, sparse though it was, brushing against my legs as I stirred. It reminded my of slipping my legs into sweats after the sun went down at the beach, when a chill has started and salt stuck skin needs warming. The little nubs smooth over your legs and provide a barrier from the crisp air.

The current situation was without chill. Harry was a good ten degrees warmer than the air outside our blanket tent and I relished it. My toes pressed into his and I tried to think about the way each individual part of my body felt so close to his. I had just gotten to the way my hips fit into his pelvis when my loud thoughts must have stirred him.

His arms tightened around me and I could feel his inhale. The next thrill came when he stretched along my back. Those were all new feelings. The leg between my own ran along me like a pumice stone and the muscle of his thighs bulged in the space between my own. I was trying to not notice what my sit bones were pressed tighter against when his back popped loudly.

“That sounded uncomfortable,” my hand reached behind myself unconsciously and rubbed his lower back and he made that sound again, my new favorite noise, the purr when he was petted, so I rubbed at the spot until he spoke.

“That’s dead nice, Mel. Could you?” He rolled towards me and I moved from under him as he stretched out on his stomach. I sat up while trying to keep my hand on him, laughing at the awkward positioning.

“What exactly are you wanting me to do?” His position was indicative, but I wasn’t sure what exactly he expected. Was I to broaden my rubbing or give a full on back massage?

“Could you just,” he motioned to his lower back then pointed further afield.

“Harry, I’m not on your payroll, nor am I in any way qualified to massage anybody. Does Mark do this?”

“Cmon Mel, feels lovely when you scratch and rub me. My back aches,” He ended the sentence with a little whine, a sound I heard from all the boys in my keep. Little girls may be more high pitched, but they have nothing on man children for whining.

“You do know that you are a whopping eighteen years old, right? Your back has no business hurting. Should see somebody. What’s that?” I could hear him murmuring into the pillow he was pressed against while I sat next to him and pressed experimentally into his back.

“I’m nineteen,” he moved his head to the left so his sound was less muffled. “That’s so nice, babe.” He moaned.

I blinked. The moan was also distracting, I shook my head to clear it and asked, “since when?”

“Right before London, I think. Remember when everybody went out after that show?” He up talked the end and I tried to remember. Ohhhh, everybody had gone out that night, but I’d stayed in the hotel. Hoping for a night where I had gotten to sleep before my brother made it back with anyone he had picked up for the night. I ran out of luck at 3am when I’d woken up to loud histrionics from some girl who clearly watched too much porn. I just shut my eyes and stayed in my room. If they were to drunk to care, I’d just put in ear plugs

“Oh!! Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” I was getting frustrated with the angle I was working at and wanted to move astride him.

“Why, did you want to give me a prezzie?”

He looked over his shoulder and his tongue pressed to right corner of his mouth and the gesture was so obscenely appealing I nearly couldn’t keep mine from lolling out of my mouth. I decided to ignore that innuendo entirely as a result. “Consider this your present,” I commented and moved to straddle him.

“Oh, I will,” he giggled and the sound was so boyish I wanted to kiss the back of his neck. I focused my attention elsewhere instead. I rubbed his back in the way the salon chairs did and he made lots of happy noises.

When I got to his middle lower back, the symphony of his sounds took on a baser quality and I decided to focus on the spots that made him particularly percussive rather than the tightness his melody was causing to my own snare drum. At one particularly sensitive section, he wiggled his hips and l nearly hit the high hat on my own.

A moment later, it seemed I had run out of skin to manipulate and so I patted him and rolled to the side. Harry didn’t respond in words, but instead picked up to hand to kiss.

“Thank you, that was lovely.” He kissed the other too and stretched out languidly. My impulse was to remount him and stretch out on his back, but I restrained myself and smiled back instead.

“How long has your back been hurting?” I stretched myself out next to him and turned on my side to face him. I kept my straying eyes above his collarbones, though there were distractions there to, and prayed my hands together to mirror his pose, tucking them beneath my head.

He shrugged, “um, it’s always a bit stiff in the morning,” he stopped for a moment and looked amused but continued to talk about his back, “think it started to give me more trouble at the end of last tour?”

“Did you tell mark?”

“Nah, he’ll just call me a whiner and add sets.”

I rolled my eyes, boys. “I don’t think so Harry, you are awfully young to have any pain, let alone back stuff. Tell Mar—,” his groan interrupted me, “tell Mark,” I continued, “ so you don’t get hurt.”

“Ugh, you’re as bad as my sister,” he blustered into his pillow.

That chaffed, I had no desire to be sisterly. “Because I don’t want you laid up by 25? Listen, just mention it, alright?” I decided to drop it, I had no desire to be a nag. My brother accused me of it often enough.

He jumped on the subject change and pulled the blankets up and over our heads. “Blanket fort!” He said gleefully and tucked the duvet between the mattress and head board. All the white surrounding us made his skin look even tanner. He started pulling in pillows then, placing them around us to create a raised square.

“I don’t think we have enough, I’m a lot bigger than the last time I did this.”

“Nah, you’re tiny,” he put his huge hand on my head and pushed down.

“That won’t make me fit, wanker!” I pushed his hand off.

The mischievous look in his eye gave me an inkling I was in for it. I would have made a run for it had I not been so distracted.

“Harry,” I said not sure what was coming, but I had an idea. He quickly moved his hand from my head to my tummy and wiggled them. “No!”

He laughed and sent his fingers dancing up my sides. I sucked in a big breath and tried to wriggle away. “The fort!”

“This is a tickle fort Mel, you are going to have to escape to get away. His finger crooked at me while I scrambled, he successfully got a hold of my foot and slid me back to him. I writhed as he found all of my spots.

"No!” Breathless, “st—stahp…stop Harry!” My foot caught his ribs and he yelped. I took the opportunity to wriggle away. I was successful, but at the cost of my dignity. The unceremonious drop of my ass to the ground didn’t bruise anything but my ego. “Ooof,” exploded from my mouth and his giggles did the same.

He had undone our blanket fort in just enough time to watch me hit the ground. Apparently he found it hilarious. “Your face!” He bent at the waist and wheezed.

“Fuck off!” I grit. “I hope you choke!”

“Harsh,” he laughed. “You embarrassed, Mel?”

“I’m pissed off!” I blistered, “I fucken hate being tickled!”

“Oh Mel! Loosen the reins. It’s fun.” His giggles were dying out. He looked at me. “Hey, I’m sorry, it was just a bit of fun. Everybody is ok here. If you don’t like it, I won’t do it again.” He slid off the bed and ran a finger over my chin. I liked that. His touch moved to my hand and he pulled me up. “Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t know it was a thing.”

“I just, I feel like I might hurt you, or pee on myself. I’m sure I look ridiculous,” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“You look free, your cheeks flush,” he gestured, “and you laugh big. You look lovely, Mel! But if you don’t like i—.”

“It’s alright, it’s not such a big deal,” I shook it off.

“K,” he chucked my chin. “Come talk to me while I shave?”

“Shave what?” I giggled.

“My many facial hairs, you fool,” and he leaned in to show me.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, “now I see all three of them!”

“Fuck off!” He pulled me after him into the bathroom.

Later I sat on the closed toilet seat and watched him shave. “ What are you doing today?” I felt embarrassed I had to clear my throat to ask.

“Um,” he pulled the razor away. “I think they have some songs for us to listen to, and a brief radio thing.” He shrugged and went back to wicking away his santa beard.

“Ah. Doesn’t sound to bad.”

“Nah, not to bad. Pretty clear for us really.” He was such a bright sider I sometimes thought he needed smaller cups.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Um, Glasgow?”

 "What would you do if you were able to see it?“

Harry filled me in on a few of his bucket list items and a mentally filed them away.

"I had better shower,” was his comment after finished his final stroke. “It’s gotten late. You are a distraction, with your tickles and forts, and insistence on rubbing on my sexy body.”

“As if!” I exaggerated.

“Listen, Cher, I’m gonna have to kick you out!”

“Whatever,” I put up the W to emphasize my quotes. “I should probably get back before he’s noticed.”

“Has he noticed, or does he care where you go at night?”

“No,” I laughed, “honestly, you’ve seen. He shoved me out in his glorious pursuit of dirty sex and assumes someone with take me in—.”

“Someone has taken you in.” Harry reminded, turning on the shower to warm it up.

I watched the water bead on his forearm when he checked the temperature and continued, “he said something about Lou one morning. I think he thinks I’m sleeping in with her.” I looked down at my phone, avoiding the deep well of his eyes.

“If my sister was here now, I’d want to know where she was sleeping.”

“I imagine when your sister comes around  you don’t kick her out to have indiscriminate sex.”  He shrugged and I decided go pay better attention when Gemma came around again.

“I’m sure he’d have something to say if he knew you were bunking with me so often.”

“Why? You lend your bed. Nothing is going on.” He looked at me then, and I almost asked, but instead I stared down at our hands and we both kept quiet.

“Regardless, I think he wouldn’t like it,” Harry said finally.

“Then I guess I won’t tell him, will I? If he even bothers to ask. I’m a big girl, I’ll sleep where I want.”

Harry laughed when I made a muscle, “You are tiny. And should get your tiny arse in the shower.” He waved his hand over his face.

“You can go, I don’t have a diary full of things to do. besides, should shower in my room, I don’t have any clean clothes here.”

“You can wear mine.” Harry pulled himself up and shook and stretched on the way into the bathroom.

“Pretty sure that would blow our cover, and my brother is too aware of your shenanigans, apparently," I emphasized, "to trust that I could sleep in here innocently.” Harry’s face answered a few questions for me and I got up to leave, unsettled in an unpleasant way. “See you later, Harry,” I quitted his room.

“Later, babe,” drifted after me and took my level of discomfort down, but I knew now that we were hiding us, whatever we were, and I didn’t like it.

It didn’t stop me.

Reblogs are love!!

[justgalactic]

Fear

A Halloween themed sanders sides fic I wrote!

Fear. A human survival instinct. When confronted with something scary, a human will do one of four things. Fight. Flight. Friend. Freeze.

A dark woods is never a good place to be alone, everybody knows that. But on Halloween night especially, your mind can play tricks on you. It will bend and warp the reality around you.

So, when Roman was walking through the forest just for the thrill of adventuring, and the flashlight on his phone flickered for a moment before dying completely, he knew he was in trouble. No way to call anybody, and no map to rely on to get home, chills started to run up his spine.

Under those same menacing trees was a man, huddled under a thick, dark hoodie. Virgil, as perpetually nervous and scared as he was, had always enjoyed late night walks outside, just to clear his head. It was his first time venturing into these woods in particular, however, and he had promptly gotten himself lost. His fingers drummed nervously on his legs as he tried to find the way out.

As the dim sliver of a moon shone down on the woods, a third man skipped through the trees, humming to himself, trying to remain calm. On his way to a party, Patton had assumed that a shortcut through the woods would make his journey quick and easy. But, over an hour later, he knew that he was lost. Patton fiddled with parts of his costume, mainly the long black cat tail, and tried to force himself to smile as he ventured deeper into the woods.

In another part of the dark forest, a man named Logan cursed his flashlight and the batteries he’d used for it, which apparently hadn’t been as new as he’d thought. It was too dark to continue writing in his notepad, so he tucked that into the satchel that was slung around his shoulder, along with the dead flashlight. A cold breeze made goosebumps crawl up his arms and Logan shivered, wishing he’d worn a jacket.

In the darkness, the howling of wolves rang out. All four of them snapped to attention, trying to find where the source of the howl was coming from. Logan tried to listen, tried to focus on where the wolves were, but the howling seemed to be coming from everywhere. It terrified him so much, and he froze.

His feet were glued to the ground, even as his heart raced in his chest, even as every fiber of his being begged him to move, to do something- he remained still. His blood ran cold. Soon, he felt his hands quaking, and his jaw quivering. He could hear panting, and saw two eyes appear out of the darkness. Logan tried his hardest to get his body to move, but it just wouldn’t. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he stood there, paralyzed in fear, the wolf inching ever closer.

Virgil heard a low growl through the trees around him, and it sounded so impossibly close- he ran.

Running through the woods, stumbling over sticks and leaves, Virgil’s breaths were coming quick and short. Cold, autumn air felt coarse against his throat, and harshly scraped against his lungs, but he kept running. Running and running and running and running and…he saw two figures up ahead. His legs wouldn’t stop running, even as he realized that one of them was the very creature he was running from. The other was a man, standing, positively petrified, a statue of pure terror. As Virgil raced by, without thinking, he grabbed the man’s hand, pulling him along.

Something grabbed Logan’s hand, and he almost screamed until he realized that it was another person, pulling him, urging him to run. The tug was all he needed, and his legs started to work again. Not perfectly at first, of course. He stumbled and tripped over himself, almost pulling the stranger down with him. Still, he finally got his footing, and never let go of the man’s hand.

They saw another man, but only actually noticed him when it was too late. They barreled into him, and all three fell to the ground. That gave the wolves all the advantage they needed, and they stalked closer.

Looking around, Virgil realized he’d run him and the stranger into a dead end, surrounded on three sides by short cliffs, too small to be impressive, but too big and steep to climb. He felt the man holding his hand tense up, and glanced over. He was frozen in panic once again. Every muscle in Virgil’s body was aching to run, but he knew that there was nowhere to go.

And then there was the third. Roman’s terrified face had immediately morphed into one of a powerful, confident anger. He stood up and stuck out his chest, trying to become intimidating. Logan and Virgil, still on the ground, winced, knowing that it would be impossible for one man to take on an entire pack of wolves. Roman himself seemed to realize this too, and backed away as the wolves walked ever closer. Then, a shaky voice floated through the woods.

“H-hey…it’s alright…we’re all friends…” They turned to the sound, and saw an extremely scared man holding his hand out like you would for a dog to sniff. The wolves moved to him, and the largest one slowly leaned its head towards the man’s hand. Virgil, Logan, and Roman all flinched, expecting for the wolf to lunge- but instead it sniffed the man’s hand, and turned up its nose, leaning the pack away. Logan let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“That was…weird,” Virgil said, breaking the tense silence. The others nodded in agreement. “Hey, none of you happen to have working flashlights or phones, do you?” He asked, talking as if he already knew the answer. They all showed his their dead phones and flashlights. “Of course not,” he sighed.

“We have to get moving though,” Roman said, helping Virgil and Logan to their feet. “I think there’s something going on in these woods, and I’d like to get out as soon as possible.”

They kept walking, but were entirely trapped. It seemed like there was no hope in sight-

“Patton! Why don’t you and your friends go grab your bags and we can head out trick or treating?”

“Okay!” Patton called back, slightly annoyed that his mom had interrupted their game of pretend, but excited by the prospect of candy. He led his friends through his backyard to his house.

“You know, that probably wouldn’t work in real life,” Logan pointed out.

“But wolves are like big fluffy puppies!” Patton replied happily.

“Big, fluffy puppies with giant teeth and that are like four times as big as you. They’d eat you alive.”

“Cool…” Virgil mumbled, imagining the ferociousness of such a creature. Roman took a proud stance.

“Fear not! I could fight them off for you!” He announced.

“Nope,” Logan responded immediately. “They’d eat you too.”

“I’d fight them off!” Roman protested.

“You would die,” Logan insisted. Virgil snickered at the defeated look on Roman’s face.

“You’d die quicker,” Roman replied.

“Why do you think that? If anything, you’d die first because-” he was interrupted as Virgil grabbed his shoulders and hissed,

“Boo!” in his ear. Logan froze, and shrieked in terror. Once he realized what had happened, he clamped his jaw shut, and turned to glare at Virgil and Roman, both doubled over in laughter. Even Patton giggled, watching Logan’s face turn bright red.

“That’s why,” Roman chuckled.

“W-whatever…” he mumbled. “At least I wouldn’t try to pet random wolves.” He looked pointedly at Patton.

“Still better than doing nothing,” Virgil smirked, nudging Logan in the side.

“Come o-on!” Patton groaned. “I want candy!” They all raced inside, following him.

Later in the night, still upset about what he’d done earlier, Logan screamed in Virgil’s ear, frightening him. Virgil ran almost a block away before he realized that it was just Logan. When the others finally caught up to him, it took Logan almost fifteen minutes to stop laughing.

Even later, Logan tried to do the same thing to Roman, who responded by whirling around and punching him firmly in the gut. Roman apologized, and claimed that it was an immediate reaction.

But he could barely manage to say the words ‘I’m sorry’ through his fits of giggles.

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 5

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

After dropping Hughes, Maria, Denny, and Armstrong off at a building that looked suspiciously like Command, it was just Havoc and I driving around town for a short while. I did my best to avoid in depth conversation as I sat in the back seat of the car - I needed to remember where Ed and Al were when they were attacked by Scar. From what I recalled, they were having turns talking about how limited alchemy really was by a statue of sorts, then they were chased down a staircase that Scar destroyed.

"You have a short attention span, don't you Mac?" It was wrong hearing someone besides Hughes call me Mac.

"Don't call me Mac, it's Irish." It took a moment for me to reflect on the first part of the sentence. "I have a good attention span when I'm focused - right now I'm focusing on the next person here in East City that might be in danger."

"Didn't you say Scar would skip town?"

"I think he only left Central because I saw him kill Grand, before that he had killed a few other alchemists in Central." I couldn't remember how many exactly - though for some odd reason I could remember that his nationwide body count as of this point in this series was only about ten. Only ten? Gosh, I meant, I guessed in the whole scheme of things ten wasn't that many, but my own simplification of murder surprised me.

"Well, I guess you were right about that - so, where we headed?" He asked, bringing the car to a stop at the side of the road as he lit another cigarette. I rolled the window down - yes, the car window had to be rolled down like you had to do in your grandmother's ancient car. It was starting to smell like my grandmother's car too, thanks to Jean's smoking habit.

"The only other alchemist of note in this area is...Johann Adlersflügel?" I said nonchalantly, though I really needed to find Ed and Al - if I messed something up with any of the information I gave Hughes, those boys could be in big trouble. If Hughes didn't talk to Mustang at least in a similar dialogue to how it was in the show, no one would be coming to keep Ed from surrendering to Scar. "Ever heard of him?" Havoc shrugged, blowing a puff of smoke.

"Can't say that I have, what's his address?" I reached for the folder, even though I had Johann's file right next to me. I just needed to make it look like a mistake…I jolted Lucha awake with a small nudge, the startled animal running smack into the paperwork and knocking it to the floor of the car.

"Crap," I mumbled, doing my best to keep most of the files sorted but still leaf through them for Edward's paperwork. Jean turned around in his seat, an easy feat with the lack of seatbelts.

"Need a hand?" I wasn't quite sure how he planned to help me from his position unless he was keen to go out in the rain and walk around to the other door. I shook my head as I finally saw the brief flicker of fiery golden eyes and blonde hair.

"Huh," I said hesitantly, picking the file up. "Um, Havoc?" Jean looked at me lazily, no longer showing interest in helping me clean up the mess of papers. "Is Fullmetal in town? 'Cause if so he fits the target demographic…" The man's eyes widened a fraction as he spun around in his seat and got the vehicle started. Gathering up the last of the papers, and Lucha's jittering form, I braced myself in my seat as the car suddenly flew forwards down the street.

If speed limits existed, Havoc was breaking them. Every pothole felt like a chasm, and the tires sent waterfalls of muddy water behind us when we passed a puddle. As we headed back in the direction of Eastern Command, I noted the bell tower we passed, the bell chiming for five o'clock.

I wondered when I would be able to have supper. Hughes said we were meeting back at that diner, but I was actually hoping we could eat in the military mess hall - oh. Five o'clock. A rumble shook the block, Jean slamming on the brakes to avoid the smoke and building that crumbled on our side of the road.

You see, they drove here as they would in Britain - where the hell did Amestris correlate with? They spoke English, but apparently had connections with Germany, but their European roads weren't American in the least - what the hell was I doing, analyzing Amestrian culture in a crisis. This occurred to me after the car met an unfortunate light post, sending me tumbling back to the car floor - they really needed seatbelts in these things…

"Havoc, you still kicking?" I asked, ignoring the blood dripping from my nose. I hoped it wasn't broken, but it hurt like heck to meet the floor with such force. "Hey, pretty boy-" He was slumped forward in his seat, unconscious but very alive. He had a small cut on his forehead, but otherwise seemed uninjured.

Taking a few second to regain my sense of direction, I located the door and stumbled out onto the street. The collapsed building was blocking an alleyway, that echoed with familiar voices. The crackle of alchemy was in the air, and the smells of chemistry class' pure elements emerged with vengeance in the wet, rainy atmosphere.

This was bad, this was really bad. There was no way I could get around the pile of rubble - it would take too long even with the smaller side streets. So over it was. I quickly scaled the first few feet when I heard Ed's voice reach over the rain's constant drumming.

"You bastard!" He yelled, confirming my suspicion that the fight was already underway. And from the sounds of it Alphonse had already been partially deconstructed by Scar's alchemy.

"You're too slow," Scar growled as I tried to block out the noise. I needed to focus, the rubble wasn't exactly a mountain hike.

My climb was once again distracted by the smell of smoke. Considering all the time I had spent with Havoc that day, it was nothing new. But coupled with the strong smell of gasoline, I was forced to scurry down the mountain of debris and race back to the car. Jean's lit cigarette was going to torch the car, with him inside.

Wrenching the door open, I somehow managed to haul him out. Jean was starting to gain consciousness, but he was still very disoriented judging by his mumbles about it being 'too early for this shit'. Bright yellow flames began to lick over the front seats when I realized I had left Lucha and all of my notes with my bag in the car.

Making sure Havoc was situated somewhere he wouldn't accidentally put himself in danger, I made my way back to the slowly growing inferno that was once a car. Lucha had jumped out of the vehicle when I opened the door to go after the main action, but my bag and my precious notes were still on the floor of the car.

The heat coming from the flames that leaped from the shattered front windows would normally be enough for me to just give up and get to safety - but my notes were in there, all of my work for the next few episodes plotted out clearly. If it was burned, I would have to rewrite all of my hours of planning. If it survived, it could end up in anyone's hands, which would put the entire plot in jeopardy.

As soon as my fingers felt the coarse fabric of the bag's handle, I made a break for it across the street. There was a plume of thick black smoke curling upwards to the grey sky as the car crackled with bright flames. I sighed, trying to get the nosebleed to stop. My own blood strangely did not unnerve me. It's warmth and salty taste didn't bring any memories of my first night in this world to mind, which was a welcome surprise. With a sigh, I sat next to the most likely concussed Jean Havoc, who was speechless for once.

"That was...something." He breathed after a moment of silence, staring at the flame engulfed vehicle. I looked down the main street, noting the lack of people and cars rushing to our aid. Was the rain deterring them, or was something else keeping them indoors? Jean went to stand up, but dizzily sat down, clutching his head in his hands. "Ow…"

"This is why the cars here need seatbelts…" I grumbled, the nosebleed subsiding but my mind focusing on the sounds behind the pile of building. From the crackling sounds and occasional echoing voice, Edward was still fighting Scar and hadn't given up completely, at least not yet. I looked to Havoc, hoping to convince him to let me go 'get help'.

"They need what?" The man asked, looking at me as if I was speaking in another language. I guess I kind of was, considering seatbelts didn't seem to even be invented yet. I rolled my eyes at him, patting his shoulder.

"We need help. I'll try and find someone, don't go anywhere." I said, getting up and cracking my back as I did so. My neck was beginning to ache, and I hoped I didn't have whiplash. He tried to follow me, but was forced back to the ground by his pounding headache. At least it wasn't me who couldn't see straight this time.

As soon as I could, I half sprinted half ran down the street, immediately taking the first alley I could to get to the other side. There, a few passerbies stood in the rain, either with nowhere to go or too entrapped by some scene I could not see.

Wiping most of the blood I could from my face, I quickly approached a couple as they huddled beneath their umbrella. They spoke in hushed tones of some serious matter, and from their confused expressions I guessed it was something they didn't know what to do about.

"Excuse me," I said, panting as I caught my breath. "My car has crashed, does either of you have - can you please help me? My driver is injured."

I had to catch myself from asking for a phone to call 911. Curse these 1900-ers and their lack of mobile devices. The woman's concerned and confused faced morphed into one of surprise and urgency.

"Oh, yes. Where is he?" I pointed to the side street I had run down.

"On the other street, a building fell down and we veered into a street lamp." She nodded and looked to her husband for approval of sorts. "Thank you," I said with a smile when he nodded, taking the umbrella from his wife and headed down the alleyway quickly summoning other men from the streets.

The woman and I headed into a small cafe, much like 'The Cafe' but not at all the same. Instead of the formal atmosphere and diner like service, it was much more local feeling, the few staff chatting with people who had come inside to avoid the rain.

"By the way, have you seen a blonde kid? And a guy wearing armor?" She looked up at me, as if timid to say anything.

"Yes, actually. They were being chased by a man wearing a jacket a little while ago, by where that building collapsed. Do you know them?" I quickly got up and rushed for the door.

"Yeah, thank you Miss…?"

"Mrs. Sofia Hahn, you're welcome. I think." She said with a wave as I rushed out the door. I looked back and forth down the street, seeing only a few people compared to the many that were there just a moment ago. Perhaps they had gone to help Jean...This assumption was incorrect, however, as I noticed a certain short blonde boy tumble out of an alley farther down the road, throwing his red coat to the side as Scar approached him.

The blue static of alchemy set the road alight for a moment as he transmuted his automail to a weapon. I bumped past the people in my way. Though I could see clearly in the dark dreariness of the rain compared to the sun, the people didn't know how to walk. It was as if I was back in the high school hallway, and a group of seniors headed to their study hall were sauntering in a pack on the wrong side of the hallway. Annoying, but not much you could do but scramble past them as fast as you could before the bell rang.

Edward charged Scar, my heart nearly beating out of my chest as I picked up my pace. I needed to get there faster. A boy leaned his bike against the wall of a flower shop and went inside, a few coins in hand. I grabbed the bike and swerved between the groups of umbrellas. This time I was determined to return the bike, as it seemed I had gotten into the habit of permanently borrowing stranger's belongings.

"Brother!" A panicked voice echoed up the street as another alchemic reaction sent its blue fire sparkling. There was a crash as Ed fell, his arm in a million pieces. The people were now backing away from the scene, making my path more difficult. Scar's voice was so low and deep I couldn't hear him over my own labored breathing and the rain, but I tell Ed was giving up now. Alphonse's terror-stricken voice called out loudly again. "Brother, run away! Brother!"

You know, I thought it was always weird that Al called Ed 'brother' instead of Ed, but hearing him now it seemed to fit the situation perfectly. The trio finally came into view, causing a small smile to blossom on my lips.

Of course, it was also around this time that the wheels of the bike hydroplaned over a large puddle. I then gracefully tumbled off the bike, skidding across the hard cobble stone road until I face planted for the second time that day.

Why couldn't I just have a normal ride? Was the technology of 1914 just against me, or was the whole universe? I should have probably asked Truth the next time he possessed my ferret.

"Ouch…" I mumbled, sitting up in pain. My nose had started to bleed again. I hoped the blood wouldn't stain my new clothes - alas it was too late as the waterfall of red had soaked into my once white blouse. Sighing in frustration I looked up, I needed to get to Ed before Scar did. It was at this time that I realized I had come to a balletic stop at the feet of serial killer and Ishvalan Scar. I had wonderful Irish luck, didn't I? "Oh, um, ciao?" I said, looking from Ed's collapsed and defeated form to Scar's midair attack.

As he turned to me, a gunshot rang through the air, catching all of our attention.

"That's enough," Mustang announced, a barricade of cars blocking the street. I tilted my head to the side, confused as to how and when the multitude of soldiers and vehicles arrived so stealthily. "You won't be killing anybody else today, Scar. I'm taking you into custody, where you will answer for the murders of at least ten State Alchemists." Mustang continued, holding a pistol to the sky.

Why hadn't he just shot Scar? Giving up on the logic of the situation, I looked at Edward. Poor kid, he was about as old as my little brother Matt back home, except much, much shorter.

"Alchemists alter things from their natural form, perverting them into something else, something grotesque. They profane God, the true creator of all things. As an agent of God I am here to hand down his judgement." See? I wasn't lying about the whole preachy attitude I didn't actually overhear but hey, tomayto, tomahto. "If you interfere I will eliminate you as well." Everything was quiet for the moment, with the exception of the rain.

"Oh is that right?" Roy said haughtily, handing his gun to a confused and concerned Riza."You guys stay out of it."

'No. Just no.' I thought, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Roy needed to get back in the car and reevaluate his decisions.

"Colonel Mustang, sir!" Riza exclaimed. Roy needed to stop being cocky and let Riza just shoot the Ishvalan ass already.

"Colonel Mustang…" Aforementioned Ishvalan ass said, noting the name. "So this is the flame alchemist?" His right hand twitched as he stepped over Edward toward Mustang. "Volunteering yourself to receive judgement...this is truly an auspicious day!"

I was a little confused for a moment as he sped off in the direction of the barricade, the definition of 'auspicious' escaping me. I thought it meant something along the lines of promising or lucky, something to that effect. In either case, my timing was not auspicious.

"So you know who I am and you still want to challenge me?" Roy's self-confident voice brought me back from that moment of pondering to realize what was going on. I was surrounded by idiots. Even worse, I was surrounded by dangerous, armed, and murderous idiots. "Bad decision!" He announced, snapping his fingers as his Lieutenant rushed behind him.

A small puff of gray smoke hung in the air, but it was otherwise an unsuccessful transmutation. Knowing Riza was there to save the Colonel, I decided to do something constructive instead of sitting there and retelling the events to you readers. I managed to pick up Ed (he was so heavy for someone so small) and get the both of us out of the reach of friendly fire after Hawkeye got the useless Flame Alchemist out of Scar's reach. The bullets continued to hail until the Ishvalan ducked behind the corner of a building.

"Hey, Hawkeye! What the hell'd you do that for?" Roy asked indignantly. The poor fellow. He didn't even know the limits of his own alchemy, and here I thought he was smarter than that.

"You know as well as I do, you're useless on rainy days." Riza replied sternly, stopping her shooting. I half chuckled, the familiarity of the scene coming back to me. "Please stay back."

Roy's head dropped comically as he realized his own folly. My half chuckle began a whole hearted snort of laughter when I realized Havoc was here now. He seemed to be doing better than when I left him. He was standing on his own, though he didn't seem to be feeling that hot.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. It's kind of hard to get a spark going when it's raining, huh?" He said, holding out a hand. At least that explained why he wasn't smoking. Ed just looked on blankly, as if totally unaware of what was going on around him. I flicked his head, but he showed no response.

"Hey, Eddie. Rise and shine." I said quietly, observing his features for any sign that he heard me. He blinked slowly, but showed no other sign that he had in fact heard me.

"-For I will destroy all that interfere with my mission right here and now!" Scar announced, bring me back from my task of waking sleeping beauty. When the hell did Armstrong get here?

"I'd like to see you try it!" The man shouted, slamming his fist into the ground where Scar once stood. Damn, he really was fast.

"A new comer," Scar mumbled. Thinking about his name, I decided to make it my goal to crack the infamous joke about his brother being Mufasa when the time was right. It would either go over really well and we'd have a good laugh, or he'd probably kill me.

"You have to be quick to avoid my fist," The Major said, standing straight to face his opponent. "Not bad, not bad at all." Jean and another soldier used Armstrong's distraction to come over to me, helping me sit Edward up. "You said you were going to destroy us all, in that case, why don't you start by defeating me. We'll see how you bare against the Strongarm Alchemist, Alex Louis Armstrong."

The other soldier, a man with dark curly hair hidden under a military cap, gave me a look as I laughed, the image of the Major playing a trumpet coming back. Another objective before I died or left this world - teach him to play jazz.

"You two okay?" Jean asked, looking to me for assurance and help. I looked down at the blonde.

"Strawberry shortcake, you in there?" In his daze, Edward only glared at me and said nothing. "Yep, I think so." I looked at the fight that began to ensue, not wanting to miss a moment of the action.

"Not backing down?" Armstrong asked, picking up a stone from the street. "In that case your courage will earn you a demonstration." He threw the stone up in the air, "I'll show you the art of alchemy that has been passed down the Armstrong family for generations!"

Ed was seeming to regain some consciousness as Jean helped me get him sitting up, his long hair a mess after the fighting. At least it wasn't frizzy - my mane of fluff was now starting to look as if I had put zero effort into taming it when I had really spent at least half an hour in the women's room of The Cafe trying to flatten the mess of white locks.

On another note, Armstrong was putting on quite a show by transmuting the stone into a spear head and sending it straight for Scar's face. Luckily for everyone, he was fast enough to avoid having his face split open, and the projectile exploded against the wall behind him.

"Who is he?" Ed asked, his stoic state wearing off. I looked at Jean, pursing my lips nervously. I had forgotten how Ed reacted to the news.

"That's the same man who murdered Mr. Tucker and his daughter." Ed turned to the man sharply, surprised. Armstrong sent a wave of stalagmite like columns toward Scar, but the man quickly used his own alchemy to destroy them. I forgot to mention how freaking cool alchemy was to watch, it was as if the world became some complex minecraft game.

"It's him," Edward said, shocked by the revelation as other soldiers surrounded us. Some of the debris from Scar's deconstruction of the attack scattered in our direction.

"Major watch what you're doing! We don't want to destroy the city, do we?" Jean shouted, apparently abhorred by the destruction of the street.

"What do you mean?" The Major responded, taking off his shirt and jacket. I was both blushing and laughing at this point. I had forgotten how good the Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood series was at mixing comedy into its serious plot. "Destruction and creation are two sides of the same coin, you must destroy to create. That is the law of the universe!" Well, he wasn't wrong.

"Did he have to strip?" Riza asked under her breathe, unaware that Jean had heard her.

"Are you surprised? He's clearly insane." Though my laughter died down slightly watching this exchange, I felt embarrassed to laugh - this was a serious matter! Then, the image of the shirtless Major playing jazz returned, and I was in stitches once more.

"That's it," Ed said beside me, reigning me back to the reality of the rainy street. "The stages of the transmutation process are construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction. This guy just must stop at the deconstruction phase."

"Bingo," I said, taking a few deep breathes. I was lightheaded from all that giggling.

"But if Scar is an alchemist as well, doesn't that mean he's straying from whatever his ways of God are too?" Jean asked, not taking his eyes off the Ishvalan as Armstrong sent another attack towards him.

"Some people feel that they're too far gone to be saved," I said, also turning to the fight. "Maybe killing other alchemists is his twisted way of repentance. A suicide murder move, perhaps."

"Then what would be his reason for only targeting alchemists with state certification?" Mustang asked, perplexed. Armstrong's attack was unsuccessful, so the man charged into hand to hand combat with Scar. Anxiety tightened my chest, even though I already knew the outcome of the fight. This was really intense.

"I have you cornered Scar!" The Major huffed, the man driven against the side of a building. My breath hitched, fearful for - ironically - Scar's safety. Without that guy none of the story would flow all too smoothly, not to mention he was a big help during the Promised Day.

The Major jumped back, avoiding a devastating blow from Scar's right hand. The barricade took Scar by surprise as he was now left open to Riza's bullets. Only a few rang out, and some blood spattered on the rainy sidewalk. I heard the shatter of lenses from Scar's glasses, but took no note of it at the time.

Jean looked down at me as I unintentionally flinched. What? Guns are loud you know.

"Did you get him?" Mustang asked as Riza lowered her rifle. It was an absolutely gorgeous model in my opinion. The barrels were dark and shiny, the wooden stock polished - beautiful and deadly, kind of like its owner.

"He's too fast," Riza said in disappointment, "I only grazed him with one shot."

I looked up slowly, trying not to look at the blood dripping down the side of Scar's head and instead focus on the bloody red irises. They were not much like my own, much darker and more of a maroon than a red, but they still burned with hatred as he looked at the surprised barricade of soldiers.

"Red eyes and brown skin that means he's-" The Major said, completely bewildered by the sight.

"Of course, he's an Ishvalan!" Mustang finished in astonishment. All of the soldiers present turned their guns to him, Scar seeming cornered with no escape.

"There's too many…" He mumbled, observing his predicament. Mustang held his hand up, signalling to the gunmen to hold their fire until his signal.

"You might as well give up Scar, You're not getting away-"

As my brother Matt said, if there's no way out, make one. Of course, Matt did have to pay to fix the bedroom window and had his left leg in a cast for a few weeks after that little adventure. Scar smirked as he destroy the street beneath him with a wave of blue light, smoke filling the air and the street collapsing and shaking.

I yelped a bit in surprise - I had forgotten that was how he escaped. When the dust cleared, a deep chasm spanned nearly the whole road.

"That bastard is in the sewers…" Jean breathed, Mustang angrily assessing the fissure.

"Stay put," He ordered, Jean shrugging with a chuckle.

"Sure, you don't have to tell me twice." Armstrong put his military jacket back on, approaching the Flame Colonel.

"Sorry Armstrong," The hotheaded alchemist apologized, "But thank you for buying us enough time to surround him." The large man nodded his head.

"I was hardly buying time, it was all I could do to keep myself from being killed." The Major said as my mind wandered to other problems. What kept Alphonse so quiet this whole time?

"Oh, is it over now?" A familiar voice said, a smile curling my lips upward as I turned around. Everyone seemed a little surprised, albeit a little annoyed.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes where have you been this whole time?" Armstrong asked, Hughes' poker face unwavering.

"I thought it best to lay low," He responded, as if only to irk Mustang.

"You didn't think about maybe backing us up?" The Colonel yelled at his friend, though I could tell it wasn't entirely serious.

"Of course not! A person like me shouldn't get dragged into a freakshow with you pack of pseudo-humans, it's bad for my health!" He turned to the other soldiers, addressing them with almost the same exact tone. "Don't just stand there, we've got things to do! Deploy troops, circulate his description…"

I tuned out the orders, since none of them pertained to me. I nudged Ed, who was staring at the gorge as if it was the only thing that anchored him to reality. Putting a hand on his metal shoulder, I shook him gently. The metal was so pretty, I needed to ask Winry what percentage of each metal it was made of when I got the chance.

"How you holding up Eddie?" He respond with an intelligent,

"Hm?" The boy suddenly flinched just as all of the soldiers accepted their orders, "Oh no, Alphonse." He pulled away from me and rushed to the alleyway where his brother's broken body lay. "Alphonse!"

I sighed, the impending and infamous 'look how cool it is to be alive' speech was finally here. And I wanted as little part as possible in it. If I interrupted, it might impact the speech's effect on Ed's mentality. Believe me, the last thing this world needed was a depressed hero. So, instead of waiting for the teenage and brotherly angst to ensue, I decided to find Havoc. He was standing by Armstrong and the other relevant military members.

"That suit of armor is Edward Elric's younger brother, isn't it?" The tall Major asked, looking on sadly. Ugh, right in the feels.

"There's got to be a really long story behind this one." Jean said in reply, sighing as Ed asked his brother is he was okay.

I gave a snort of laughter as Alphonse hit his brother, knocking him against the opposite alley wall. After an exchange of yelling and calling each other idiots, Al hit Edward, again.

"Brothers," I said quietly, recalling the times when my little brothers and I would fight like that. "How's your head by the way?"

Jean wasn't paying attention at all, everyone was too focused on the scene between the two Elrics brothers. I reached up and touched the swelling bruise on his forehead that his bangs partially hid.

"Hey, ow…" Jean mumbled, swatting my hand away. I smiled up at him, pretty sure he wouldn't have to see a doctor, probably.

"You guys are a bunch of space cadets, you know that?" I said, shading my eyes from the sun as it peered out from behind the clouds. It seemed brighter here than it was in Central.

"We're what?" I rolled my eyes. How could I forget these guys didn't have the technology to even put a shuttle in space, let alone a person.

"Nothing, you just don't have very long attention spans." Jean elbowed me gently.

"Says the girl that ran off to get help for a car crash and ended up running straight into a serial killer, for the second time that week." I shrugged, whacking his hand away when he tried to ruffle my hair. Only the Hughes family was allowed that privilege.

"As I've said before, I happen to find trouble and it happens to find me. It's like seeing a hot chick at the store and walking straight into her scary boyfriend because you're so busy looking at her."

"Good grief I've stumbled into a very special kind of freak show, huh?" Hughes said with a sigh, Mustang cracking a smile.

"Yeah, sorry." Hughes shrugged and gave a short chuckle.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anybody upstairs. If this got out, things would get complicated." The bespectacled man said as Armstrong, Jean, and Riza walked over to Ed, the sharpshooter giving him her military jacket.

"Yeah," Mustang breathed, observing the two boys. "The older brother aside, I wouldn't even know how to explain the younger brother's body." Hughes smiled, the sun shining down and starting to dry up the puddles of rainwater.

"I don't envy you." He said, the word 'envy' catching my attention. "This is one tough costumer you're dealing with."

Envy? Had Hughes' death been hinted at from this scene? Hiromu Arakawa, answer me!

"And now we know he's Ishvalan." Mustang said, bringing me back from my mental prayer to the author of the series for a reply. Did Hughes know I hinted at that possibility to Armstrong yesterday?

"Hey, Mac." I looked back at Hughes, who approached tentatively, as if I was going to have some sort of mental breakdown at any given second. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," He took a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Are you sure about that?" I had forgotten I looked like I'd gotten into a bar fight with the car's floorboards.

"Oh, " I said, bringing a hand to my still dripping nose. "Thanks." He laughed as I took the pristine white tissue, doing my best not to make my sore face hurt any more than it already did.

"So, how'd you know where to find these two?" There was a thin layer of suspicion in his tone. One I wouldn't recognize if I hadn't practically lived with the guy for the past week or two. I pointed at the pile of rubble behind the Elrics.

"Well, I was trying to find that other alchemist's address, but then Lucha decided to be an asshole and all of the paperwork got messed up. I saw Eddie's file and asked Jean where he was, I wanted to ask him how the trip to Liore went, and Jean just said we needed to talk to Mustang ASAP. On our way, the building collapsed courtesy of Scar, and our car crashed." I said, motioning to Jean. "He had a pretty bad headache, so I went to go find help since the street was practically deserted. I came to this street, got some help, and then followed the sound of complete and utter destruction."

"You have funny way of staying out of trouble, don't you Irish?" Mustang asked, clapping me over the shoulder. I half smiled at the man.

"Yes, I wanted to run straight into a murderous guy who could have killed me a day or two ago." I sniffed, my words dripping with sarcasm. Mustang's dark eyes widened, shock overcoming is once casual features.

"What?" Mustang asked, looking from me to Hughes. I sighed, looking on as the Elrics were escorted to a car by Riza and Jean.

"Another really long story."

Back at Easter Command, who seemed a lot nicer than Central Command, we all gathered in Mustang's office for some R&R. Truth knew the Elrics needed it. I did my best to ignore his arm, and Alphonse, and basically the entirety of the office, but I was bored. Lucha had found a nice dry hiding spot on Al's shoulder, after many failed attempts of climbing the mountain of metal.

I couldn't take out my notes and write anything down or check what happened next, as that could create a whole slew of problems. Mustang sat at his desk, while Falman, Fuery, Ed and Armstrong stood. Riza, Hughes, and I sat on a couch opposite of Breda and Jean, while the Alphonse sat on the floor next to Edward.

"Hm," I sighed, looking at the ceiling. "Hey, Mustang?" He looked up from the papers briefly. "Why does being Ishvalan give Scar a vendetta against you freaks?"

"Hey," Ed grumbled, glaring at me. Even though I knew about the war, and the entire basis for its beginning, I needed something to break the silence. Besides, as my sister Mary always said, it is best to keep your mouth closed on matters you shouldn't know about.

Everyone tensed at the question, turning to me. Story time, I guessed.

"The Ishvalans were a race of people who lived to the east of us. They believed that their god, Ishvala, was the one and absolute creator. Even after they were annexed into the country, there were still conflicts between us and them. Then, thirteen years ago, a military officer accidentally shot and killed and Ishvalan child, and that led to a full blown civil war. One uprising led to another, and before long, the rebellion had spread to the whole Eastern sector.

"After seven years of this, an order came down from the military high command, to exterminate Ishval. Many State Alchemists were brought in to act as human weapons. Needless to say, the State Alchemists produced striking results." He looked down at his papers, resting his chin below his clasped hands. "That man is an Ishvalan survivor. In a sense, his revenge is justified-"

"No way," Ed objected, "There's no justification for taking revenge on people who had nothing to do with it. He's just dressing his ugly lust for vengeance in the mantle of his god and calling himself agent of justice."

"Maybe, but the genocide of one's people can be a little damaging to a person's thought process." I said, looking at my feet, "Humans have a tendency to justify anything to themselves, no matter how crazy or societally unacceptable it may be, just because it's in our nature. We want to think we're right, and we'll do anything to prove it. Even if proving it is against what we believe to be true."

"Still," Mustang said, drawing attention away from me, "The fact is he's coming at us with full force. We can't let ourselves be killed for his cause." He peered up at all of us, his black eyes cutting and sharp. "Next time, there will be no more talk. Got it?"

"Yessir," Everyone but the Elrics and I said in unison. Hughes turned to Edward, his hazel eyes green in the light of the office.

"So, Ed, Alphonse, what are you two going to do now? What's the plan?" The room was filled with a tense silence for a moment, making the sound of my pounding heart more evident to myself.

"We're going to keep moving, we can't just sit around. Not as long as we're still alive." He said, Alphonse turning his hollow head to face the boy.

"Brother," He said quietly, his voice echoing softly in the empty suit. Ed smiled, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Before we can make any headway on getting your body back, we have to get my arm back to normal. After all, I'm the only one who knows how to bond your soul to the armor." Alphonse gave a nod of encouragement. "We've got no choice, it's been a long time, but we need to pay a visit to our mechanic."

"And what about you Mac? Headed back to Central with me?" I nodded, a plan forming for the next series of events. After the Fifth Laboratory incident, I would have to decide what I was going to do about Hughes' death. I didn't have time to wait for Truth to answer my questions, I needed to keep up with the story or be crushed by it.

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