Goodbye LJ...
Feb. 20th, 2006 06:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
windandwaterThis is just to make it official for those who don't know, but I'm leaving LJ completely. For the rest of this week at least. Tomorrow is the Bar Exam and it runs for three days, so don't expect to see me about at all until Thursday night. Or even until the weekend since I plan on spending Thursday after the Bar drunk and crying. No online time for me at all. *whines* It will be hard, but I know I can do it.
So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;
Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!
♥
So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;
Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!
♥
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:11 pm (UTC)Rating: R
Spoilers: This is a sidestory to “Spoil of War” and may have spoilers for that.
Disclaimer: Don’t own Treize. Just as glad. *shudder*
Blood type: B -
Feedback: Go for it, Domon W!
Warnings: Evil bastard Treize and poor, abused Duo-kun.
One of the hounds whined, and nudged at the man’s hand. Without looking down, General Treize Khushrenada turned his hand over and stroked the dog’s finely formed skull. The bloodhound let out a short, sharp bark -- the yelping sound that signaled a successful hunt -- and Treize glanced down, sliding his fingers to caress under the dog’s jaw. He tilted the dog’s chin upwards, studying it; there was blood on its teeth.
So it was Treize Khushrenada knew, even before the grubby lieutenant came puffing to a halt to make his report, that he had won. “Gener’l, sir, we’ve got him,” the man wheezed.
“Alive?” Treize said calmly, and the soldier’s head bobbed in a nod. “Very good. Bring him here, then.”
“Yessir.” The lieutenant -- his name escaped Treize, just this moment -- snapped into a salute that made up for in vigor what it lacked in crispness, and then jogged off again. Treize settled back to wait, tilting his head back momentarily to check the direction of the wind. Yes, they were still safe for now, even if the smoke on the wind was making the hounds mill nervously about. They had done their duty, and would be rewarded accordingly. So, too, the soldiers.
Treize knew, in a calm, analytical way, that his order to take the little rebel chief alive had most likely cost some of his soldiers their lives. He had studied carefully -- all the rebels, and their leader more than any -- and he had no doubts that the so-called Shinigami would fight as long as there was breath in his body. But he had given the order, all the same. Whatever kind of ‘peacekeeping’ operations the fools at Romefellar chose to call it, this was war, and people died. And his men, his loyal little soldier men, had many times made clear their willingness to die to for him.
Re: To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:11 pm (UTC)Accordingly, Treize had stayed behind, clear of duty while the hunting party ran down the last of the rebels. He had chosen his location carefully, upwind of the fires they had set in the woods to burn the rebels out, and released his hounds and his soldiers to be his hands. His tools, individual extensions of himself. A faint, wintry smile touched his lips, and he gave the bloodhound’s head a last pat before releasing him.
He didn’t have long to wait; before five minutes had passed, the hunters he sent out returned, clustered in a tight knot around their captured prey. Almost unconsciously, Treize sat up, leaning forward and half-holding his breath.
The noise resolved into voices, shouting and cursing. Much of it was familiar to Treize after so many years, and he let the guttural vulgar sounds wash over him without effect. But one of the voices was new to him, lighter and clearer than the others. Treize felt a shiver work loose in his spine, just listening to the voice.
They came to a stop a few feet in front of him, and motion halted except for the form that still struggled and fought, suspended off the ground by the grips of two of the soldiers. Treize couldn’t help but marvel at the fluency of the prisoner’s threatening curses; the men who held him were each twice his size and near twice his age, but he doubted they could match his proficiency. At a slight nod from the General, the two burly soldiers flung the boy at the General’s feet.
He struggled to his knees, painfully without the use of his hands, but could manage no further. Treize took a moment to observe him, while he fought for his breath back. Most striking, and least expected, was the long braid of soft brown hair that hung down over his shoulder and trailed in the dirt. It was half-disordered already, strands coming out of the neat plait and plastering against his skin and clothes in a most appealing fashion. He could not pull the hair out of his face, for his arms were tied behind his back with coarse rope. His clothes were filthy, and torn in many places; Treize noted the places on his back, and on one leg, where blood soaked through the ripped cloth and crude bandages. Arrow wounds, he guessed; the hunters had been armed only with bows. His head hung down as he gasped for breath, chest shuddering in great heaves against his exhaustion.
Treize was not surprised; the boy had led him and his men on a merry chase over the past week. They had fought like demons, he and his fellow rebels -- only appropriate, since that was the name they had chosen for themselves. Maxwell’s Devils. They had been working in this area for almost seven years now, appearing to burn down a supply convoy or to attack a base camp in the dead of night before vanishing into nowhere again. They had fought with unbelievable tenacity, but now, it was over. This young man was the last one alive -- and, according to what Treize had learned about him, he had been the leader, too. Duo Maxwell. Fifteen years of age.
The boy raised his head at last, and the very arch of his neck bespoke his defiance. Treize nearly shuddered with pleasure as the boy’s eyes met his. They were a startling color of violet, eyes the like of which Treize had never seen before, and they blazed with such hatred and passionate intensity that Treize could nearly feel the scorching heat of it.
Re: To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:11 pm (UTC)Not that he intended to let that deter him. He leaned forward and cupped Maxwell’s chin in his hand, lifting the boy’s face towards him. The boy's face twisted into a snarl at the liberty. “Get your stinking whoreson hands off me,” he spat into the General’s face.
Treize ignored him, giving the boy’s chin the same caress that he had bestowed upon the dog a few minutes earlier. “So you are Duo Maxwell?” he mused quietly. “The reports did not do your beauty justice.”
Maxwell jerked his head backwards, trying to break the older man’s grip, but Treize merely tightened his hand, dragging the boy upwards. He saw the flash of pain in those lovely eyes as he was forced to put weight on his injured leg, but the boy’s expression did not budge at all. Treize felt his own lips curve in a smile. “But of course,” he continued on, “those reports were more concerned with the number of Oz men that you killed.”
The boy grinned, a fierce, exultant grin that lit up his eyes from within. “Obviously I didna kill enough,” he retorted. “There’s one Oz pig in front of me I gladly would’ve prayed to get my knife into --”
A frown tightened Treize’s eyebrows, and he brought his hand up so fast that Duo never saw the slap that sent his senses reeling. Treize watched that lovely skin redden, saw his lip split and the trickle of blood run down the side of his chin. Almost unconsciously, the General licked his own lips, imagining the sweet metal taste of the boy’s blood. “You and your men have been quite a nuisance to Oz,” he said, letting warning chill his tone. “Fortunately, it is a nuisance that has now been removed, for all of your men are dead.”
A flicker of anguish broke through Duo’s defiant facade as the General spoke of his men, but he quickly masked it. Treize did not miss the subtle change of expression, though, and nearly laughed aloud. My poor little captive, you are so young! You really have no idea. I wonder how long it will take you to come to realize that your companions were the lucky ones?
For an instant, he almost felt a moment of pity. Not for the boy, of course, for he was an enemy and deserved no compassion, but merely for the innocence that he was going to destroy. Because he was going to destroy this one, oh, yes -- he couldn’t help himself.
“ ‘S funny hearing an Ozzie talk about killing like it’s some kind of crime,” Duo said hoarsely, oblivious to Treize’s thoughts. “You didn’t seem to care when you marched through Maxwell slaughtering every living thing like livestock -- were you there, General? Did you put buildings to torch? Did you order those men to murder and rape?”
His voice rose with passion on the last words, his body shaking against his bonds with the rage of justice denied. Treize looked down at him, feigning a look of surprise, and smiled almost kindly as he spoke in a soothing voice. “Why, little
Re: To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:11 pm (UTC)Not that he intended to let that deter him. He leaned forward and cupped Maxwell’s chin in his hand, lifting the boy’s face towards him. The boy's face twisted into a snarl at the liberty. “Get your stinking whoreson hands off me,” he spat into the General’s face.
Treize ignored him, giving the boy’s chin the same caress that he had bestowed upon the dog a few minutes earlier. “So you are Duo Maxwell?” he mused quietly. “The reports did not do your beauty justice.”
Maxwell jerked his head backwards, trying to break the older man’s grip, but Treize merely tightened his hand, dragging the boy upwards. He saw the flash of pain in those lovely eyes as he was forced to put weight on his injured leg, but the boy’s expression did not budge at all. Treize felt his own lips curve in a smile. “But of course,” he continued on, “those reports were more concerned with the number of Oz men that you killed.”
The boy grinned, a fierce, exultant grin that lit up his eyes from within. “Obviously I didna kill enough,” he retorted. “There’s one Oz pig in front of me I gladly would’ve prayed to get my knife into --”
A frown tightened Treize’s eyebrows, and he brought his hand up so fast that Duo never saw the slap that sent his senses reeling. Treize watched that lovely skin redden, saw his lip split and the trickle of blood run down the side of his chin. Almost unconsciously, the General licked his own lips, imagining the sweet metal taste of the boy’s blood. “You and your men have been quite a nuisance to Oz,” he said, letting warning chill his tone. “Fortunately, it is a nuisance that has now been removed, for all of your men are dead.”
A flicker of anguish broke through Duo’s defiant facade as the General spoke of his men, but he quickly masked it. Treize did not miss the subtle change of expression, though, and nearly laughed aloud. My poor little captive, you are so young! You really have no idea. I wonder how long it will take you to come to realize that your companions were the lucky ones?
For an instant, he almost felt a moment of pity. Not for the boy, of course, for he was an enemy and deserved no compassion, but merely for the innocence that he was going to destroy. Because he was going to destroy this one, oh, yes -- he couldn’t help himself.
“ ‘S funny hearing an Ozzie talk about killing like it’s some kind of crime,” Duo said hoarsely, oblivious to Treize’s thoughts. “You didn’t seem to care when you marched through Maxwell slaughtering every living thing like livestock -- were you there, General? Did you put buildings to torch? Did you order those men to murder and rape?”
His voice rose with passion on the last words, his body shaking against his bonds with the rage of justice denied. Treize looked down at him, feigning a look of surprise, and smiled almost kindly as he spoke in a soothing voice. “Why, little
Re: To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:11 pm (UTC)Maxwell drew in a hissing breath, lips drawn back to bare his teeth in a snarl and his wide-eyes blazed with such murderous rage that for a second even Treize was taken aback. The boy was screaming his intentions so loudly that Treize was prepared for a snap of those pearly white teeth on his hand, or to spit in his face. What he was not expecting was for the boy to lunge forward, his arms swinging around from behind his back with the ropes slithering off his wrists, severed by the knife he had clenched in his fist.
The boy was quick, fast as a striking serpent, but Treize had years of experience on him, and on instinct his hand raised to grab Maxwell’s knife hand, stopping the blade bare inches from his throat. His other hand came up, a bare second later, catching the boy’s other wrist as it extended in a desperate lunge towards his face. For a moment they teetered there, but then the momentum reversed and Treize flung his arms apart, shoving the boy back to land in a heap a few feet away. Instantly, the small crowd of soldiers descended on him.
Treize ignored the renewed shouting, the sounds of flesh cracking against flesh, and instead studied the small knife with great care. It was crude and plain, but sturdy and extremely sharp. There was barely any hilt to it, just a long, thin blade, quite obviously meant to be concealed in a sleeve or a belt. Or a braid.
Thrusting the knife blade-down into the ground, Treize rose from his seat. “It was hidden in his clothing,” he said, coldly imperious. “Strip him. Make sure he doesn’t have any more.”
The soldiers eagerly complied, holding the struggling boy’s limbs as others ripped the ragged clothes from his body. Treize just watched, not even a flicker showing in his shadowed eyes as he felt the dark hunger with which the soldiers fell to their task. It was the same dark hunger that echoed within himself, of course. The soldiers were his hands, extensions of his will, but he was their stained and twisted soul, and his fingers twitched faintly as though the cloth was tearing in his own grasp. Maxwell still shouted and cursed, but Treize detected a faint undertone of panic in his voice now. Hiding a faint smile, Treize turned away, strolling casually the few steps to where his horse was tethered. It nickered at him, and he took a moment to pat its mane before rifling through the saddlebags to extract the riding crop he hadn’t put to use for some time.
Turning back, Treize paused for another moment to greedily drink in the scene before him. The soldiers had wrestled Maxwell to the ground, spreadeagled on his back with his arms and legs pinned by four burly soldiers. Still he struggled, curses nearly foaming from his mouth with incoherent fury, as the pressure on his limbs increased. The bones in his shoulder twisted under the skin, a prelude to the joint dislocating, and suddenly Duo went still with uncertainty. How far would they go, if he pushed them? They had the strength, and the leverage, to tear him
Re: To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:11 pm (UTC)Treize sauntered back towards them, eyes feasting on the lovely form spread out before him. The ragged clothing had hid it very well, but Maxwell was actually quite clean, under his clothing; his form was lithe and toned from years of hard living in the woods, and firm with the beauty of his youth. His smooth, pale, flawless skin made Treize’s eyes spark, already seeing the art which could be painted on that canvas. The riding crop shivered in his hands, and he forced himself back into control. There would be time for that, yes, there would be time. But he could not allow himself to rush, for this boy might yet become his masterpiece.
He stopped when he was standing right over the boy, and casually squatted between his wide-spread legs. “You hid that knife quite well,” he said in a deceptively smooth tone. “Are you hiding anything else from us, I wonder?” he asked. Casually, he prodded the boy’s exposed entrance with the handle of the riding crop, watching the exquisite emotions that played out on the boy’s face. The little cry that escaped his throat, and the desperate, useless clenching of the muscles in those creamy thighs as he struggled to close his legs only confirmed what Treize had suspected. The boy was a virgin, there could be no doubt; had he even lain with a woman before? With the last seven years of his short life spent hiding in the bush, Treize was willing to bet not. He pressed a little harder.
“Get your... get your dirty hands off me!” Maxwell panted, his tone still filled with fury and hatred. Treize considered for a moment, then rose back to his feet, not without regret. But he could think of better ways to spend that virginity than here.
Instead, he calmly placed one booted foot in the center of Maxwell’s chest, and leaned forward. “Perhaps there is something you do not understand,” he said condescendingly. “I own you, slave. From this day forth, you will address me as Master.”
Violet eyes shot open, and glared into his. “Nobody owns me,” he snarled. “I’m not a thing for you to own!”
“Is that so?” Treize leaned a little further, putting more of his weight into that leg, slowly driving the breath from Maxwell’s lungs. “Perhaps not before, boy, but that changed when you were defeated. To the victor, go the spoils, and ownership of you passes to me. And mine.”
“Bastard...” The word leaked from the boy’s mouth, but he was struggling for air now.
“Now say it.” Treize shifted his weight slightly, so that his boot was pressing to the ribs on one side of the breastbone.
“No!” Duo gasped, clinging stubbornly to the last of his resistance.
Re: To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:11 pm (UTC)Treize sauntered back towards them, eyes feasting on the lovely form spread out before him. The ragged clothing had hid it very well, but Maxwell was actually quite clean, under his clothing; his form was lithe and toned from years of hard living in the woods, and firm with the beauty of his youth. His smooth, pale, flawless skin made Treize’s eyes spark, already seeing the art which could be painted on that canvas. The riding crop shivered in his hands, and he forced himself back into control. There would be time for that, yes, there would be time. But he could not allow himself to rush, for this boy might yet become his masterpiece.
He stopped when he was standing right over the boy, and casually squatted between his wide-spread legs. “You hid that knife quite well,” he said in a deceptively smooth tone. “Are you hiding anything else from us, I wonder?” he asked. Casually, he prodded the boy’s exposed entrance with the handle of the riding crop, watching the exquisite emotions that played out on the boy’s face. The little cry that escaped his throat, and the desperate, useless clenching of the muscles in those creamy thighs as he struggled to close his legs only confirmed what Treize had suspected. The boy was a virgin, there could be no doubt; had he even lain with a woman before? With the last seven years of his short life spent hiding in the bush, Treize was willing to bet not. He pressed a little harder.
“Get your... get your dirty hands off me!” Maxwell panted, his tone still filled with fury and hatred. Treize considered for a moment, then rose back to his feet, not without regret. But he could think of better ways to spend that virginity than here.
Instead, he calmly placed one booted foot in the center of Maxwell’s chest, and leaned forward. “Perhaps there is something you do not understand,” he said condescendingly. “I own you, slave. From this day forth, you will address me as Master.”
Violet eyes shot open, and glared into his. “Nobody owns me,” he snarled. “I’m not a thing for you to own!”
“Is that so?” Treize leaned a little further, putting more of his weight into that leg, slowly driving the breath from Maxwell’s lungs. “Perhaps not before, boy, but that changed when you were defeated. To the victor, go the spoils, and ownership of you passes to me. And mine.”
“Bastard...” The word leaked from the boy’s mouth, but he was struggling for air now.
“Now say it.” Treize shifted his weight slightly, so that his boot was pressing to the ribs on one side of the breastbone.
“No!” Duo gasped, clinging stubbornly to the last of his resistance.
Re: To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:12 pm (UTC)“Say it,” Treize repeated calmly, pushing steadily down. He leaned forward, his jacket brushing against his knees, and pressed the handle of the riding crop into the soft flesh beneath Duo’s jaw.
“No...” All the breath was forced from his lungs, now, as Duo Maxwell fought a losing battle for air. “Stop...”
“Why should I?” Treize ground his heel into Duo’s chest. There was a liquid popping sound as one rib snapped, then another, under the inexorably growing pressure.
Duo’s eyes squeezed closed, as he jerked convulsively from the agony in his chest. “Stop... mas... ter...” he whimpered with the last escaping wisp of air.
A small smile appeared on Treize’s face, lips curling just slightly in his victory. “Good boy, Duo,” he murmured. He gave Duo’s matted hair a dismissive pat, pressing his full weight against the broken ribs, before he levered himself backwards. Duo’s lungs filled with a shuddering gasp, and he panted for air, feeling the liquid fire of his new broken ribs stabbing with every breath. His world spun with agony and shame, momentarily drowning everything -- even his all-consuming hatred for Treize Khushrenada. They’re dead, they’re all dead, and I failed them, a self-recriminating voice wailed. I was right in front of him, the knife was in my hand, and I failed, I failed!
His vision was hazy; he felt more than saw Khushrenada’s receding back. He was saying something, but the words addressed to the soldiers flew past Duo’s numbed ears. The agonizing pressure on his joints finally eased, and he felt rope jerk around his wrists and ankles. Then they weren’t going to kill him like the others, after all, Duo realized bleakly; they were going to keep him captive, at least for now. Duo forced his thoughts to a halt, fighting against the inexorable tide of despair. Wait. Wait. I’m not dead yet. And sooner or later they’ll get tired of watching me. And then I can escape, maybe, start over somewhere, I don’t know. I just have to survive this a little while, a few days, a week at most.
Sooner or later they’ll get careless. They will. And then I’ll be free.
~owari~
Re: To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:12 pm (UTC)“Say it,” Treize repeated calmly, pushing steadily down. He leaned forward, his jacket brushing against his knees, and pressed the handle of the riding crop into the soft flesh beneath Duo’s jaw.
“No...” All the breath was forced from his lungs, now, as Duo Maxwell fought a losing battle for air. “Stop...”
“Why should I?” Treize ground his heel into Duo’s chest. There was a liquid popping sound as one rib snapped, then another, under the inexorably growing pressure.
Duo’s eyes squeezed closed, as he jerked convulsively from the agony in his chest. “Stop... mas... ter...” he whimpered with the last escaping wisp of air.
A small smile appeared on Treize’s face, lips curling just slightly in his victory. “Good boy, Duo,” he murmured. He gave Duo’s matted hair a dismissive pat, pressing his full weight against the broken ribs, before he levered himself backwards. Duo’s lungs filled with a shuddering gasp, and he panted for air, feeling the liquid fire of his new broken ribs stabbing with every breath. His world spun with agony and shame, momentarily drowning everything -- even his all-consuming hatred for Treize Khushrenada. They’re dead, they’re all dead, and I failed them, a self-recriminating voice wailed. I was right in front of him, the knife was in my hand, and I failed, I failed!
His vision was hazy; he felt more than saw Khushrenada’s receding back. He was saying something, but the words addressed to the soldiers flew past Duo’s numbed ears. The agonizing pressure on his joints finally eased, and he felt rope jerk around his wrists and ankles. Then they weren’t going to kill him like the others, after all, Duo realized bleakly; they were going to keep him captive, at least for now. Duo forced his thoughts to a halt, fighting against the inexorable tide of despair. Wait. Wait. I’m not dead yet. And sooner or later they’ll get tired of watching me. And then I can escape, maybe, start over somewhere, I don’t know. I just have to survive this a little while, a few days, a week at most.
Sooner or later they’ll get careless. They will. And then I’ll be free.
~owari~