fairy tale 100;
Oct. 21st, 2012 07:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
diemwnt087. Imagined Penance for Imagined Sin
The news doesn’t particularly move him. The email is read only twice before he closes it. Saves, doesn’t trash. Doesn’t ask for any time off to make travel plans. Sends a message to his mother to this effect.
And goes, at the end of the untouched day, to church.
They know him, of course. They’re ready, eager, to take him into the confessional, but he simply shakes his head and takes a seat. He can see the beautifully carved door, the chance to enter and absolve himself of sin.
But he didn’t kill his father. He only wishes he had.
085. “Who gives his own goods shall receive it back tenfold.”
His fist connects. Weathered skin, prickly hair, hard skull. There’s a thick, satisfying sound as the cadet’s head snaps sideways.
The rest comes in a blur. He’s knocked nearly unconscious heartbeats later, entire body slammed hard against the cement wall and head battered with a downpour of fists. His focus is still slurring when they’re dragged to their ranking officer. Words only half filter into his brain.
An institution defends its own. He doesn’t forget the lesson, but doesn’t learn it fully until a firm hand tugs him back sharp from an incoming frag, weathered skin, prickly hair, hard skull.
011. The girl as helper in the hero’s fight {Evedogan}
Cadogan is imperfect. He doubts, sometimes, that he’s really one of God’s creatures, more the crude clay form Prometheus threw.
Sometimes, however, Eve takes his hands in hers. Moves her fingers gently over each of his, thumb catching slightly on tiny scars and familiar callouses. Presses a careful kiss to each knuckle. Whispers against the rough skin, lips curled up into a sweet smile, that she loves his hand. That she loves him.
Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe it’s sacrilege. Whatever it is, Cadogan knows that from her rib, from her love, he is made into a man, whole and unbroken.
096. Unusual hearing
He’s a child the first time he hears of Jeanne d’Arc; writes her off with a certain carelessness of youth, flips on to the coronation. It’s nearly a decade before he thinks of her again.
‘Get up.’
There’s blood clouding half his vision, more gurgling over his lips. There’s sharp, stinging pain growing in his side, lodged between his lower ribs. It would be easy to fall to the pain, rid the world of his imperfection.
‘Get up.’
While they struggle to keep breathing, wait for morphine to kick in, Glyndŵr tells him it was the archangel. Everyone hears him.
016. Sleeping beauty {Evedogan}
Midnight’s not such a late hour, really, particularly not for workaholics who sometimes forget to see their beds in the course of a night, particularly not when most people stay up every New Year’s Eve for it. It must have been the champagne. It must have been the warmth of being settled beside each other on the couch, his arm almost unconsciously settled around her shoulder.
He wakes around two in the morning to a silence broken only by the easy intake and exhale of her breath against his neck. Can think of no better way to start the year.
The news doesn’t particularly move him. The email is read only twice before he closes it. Saves, doesn’t trash. Doesn’t ask for any time off to make travel plans. Sends a message to his mother to this effect.
And goes, at the end of the untouched day, to church.
They know him, of course. They’re ready, eager, to take him into the confessional, but he simply shakes his head and takes a seat. He can see the beautifully carved door, the chance to enter and absolve himself of sin.
But he didn’t kill his father. He only wishes he had.
085. “Who gives his own goods shall receive it back tenfold.”
His fist connects. Weathered skin, prickly hair, hard skull. There’s a thick, satisfying sound as the cadet’s head snaps sideways.
The rest comes in a blur. He’s knocked nearly unconscious heartbeats later, entire body slammed hard against the cement wall and head battered with a downpour of fists. His focus is still slurring when they’re dragged to their ranking officer. Words only half filter into his brain.
An institution defends its own. He doesn’t forget the lesson, but doesn’t learn it fully until a firm hand tugs him back sharp from an incoming frag, weathered skin, prickly hair, hard skull.
011. The girl as helper in the hero’s fight {Evedogan}
Cadogan is imperfect. He doubts, sometimes, that he’s really one of God’s creatures, more the crude clay form Prometheus threw.
Sometimes, however, Eve takes his hands in hers. Moves her fingers gently over each of his, thumb catching slightly on tiny scars and familiar callouses. Presses a careful kiss to each knuckle. Whispers against the rough skin, lips curled up into a sweet smile, that she loves his hand. That she loves him.
Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe it’s sacrilege. Whatever it is, Cadogan knows that from her rib, from her love, he is made into a man, whole and unbroken.
096. Unusual hearing
He’s a child the first time he hears of Jeanne d’Arc; writes her off with a certain carelessness of youth, flips on to the coronation. It’s nearly a decade before he thinks of her again.
‘Get up.’
There’s blood clouding half his vision, more gurgling over his lips. There’s sharp, stinging pain growing in his side, lodged between his lower ribs. It would be easy to fall to the pain, rid the world of his imperfection.
‘Get up.’
While they struggle to keep breathing, wait for morphine to kick in, Glyndŵr tells him it was the archangel. Everyone hears him.
016. Sleeping beauty {Evedogan}
Midnight’s not such a late hour, really, particularly not for workaholics who sometimes forget to see their beds in the course of a night, particularly not when most people stay up every New Year’s Eve for it. It must have been the champagne. It must have been the warmth of being settled beside each other on the couch, his arm almost unconsciously settled around her shoulder.
He wakes around two in the morning to a silence broken only by the easy intake and exhale of her breath against his neck. Can think of no better way to start the year.
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no subject
Date: 2012-10-21 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-21 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-21 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-21 04:56 pm (UTC)And for thinking that homicidal tendencies are requiring penance.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-21 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-21 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-01 08:52 pm (UTC)Pardon me, but no one brought this magnificence to my attention! I'm kind of sour about it, too, dangit. Those are beautiful and equal parts heartwrenching. Don't make me want to go there...
no subject
Date: 2012-11-02 12:03 am (UTC)Mostly I'm glad you like them!