temptation bears its wearers fair
(more so in seeming sight
than true they be)
blind lovers light
weaves illusions to delight
(more) (though see, when fades
magician's cloak of night)
does cold feet bite(less)
The first day I saw her, it was one of the last days of summer, near the end of August. There was a lone dragonfly buzzing over the pond, and she was sitting in the rocks, skipping stones. I'd never seen her but she looked so peaceful, her long(more) brown hair dancing with the wind and she looked so much like a girl of summer that I felt out of place in her wonderland.
The next time I saw it was late December. Everyone else in the town square was laughing and being merry, but not her. I don't know what she'd been up to in the last couple months but her face seemed hollowed and dark. Her hair was attacking the bitterly cold wind now, and I, in my over-sized winter coat wanted to introduce myself, perhaps ask her if she wanted to grab a cup of hot cocoa with me, but much like every other part of my body at that moment, I got cold feet.
The last time I saw her, it was New Year's Day and it was really only her picture in the obituary section of a newspaper. I thought it odd that they hadn't used a picture of her smiling. I wept without fully understanding why.(less)
She sips her wine carefully, unsure of what will happen next.
"You know," he muses, "You could be pretty if you wanted. Bit of makeup, some nicer clothes, a nose job. Don't get me wrong - I think you're beautiful. But this way the world would think you're beautiful too."
She says(more) nothing. He slowly walks towards her.
"You're so plain," He pauses and traces her jawline with one finger, "but you're beautiful to me."
The kiss seems to last forever. He leads her to the bedroom, going through motions he's done a hundred times with almost as many women.
"God, you're so dull, but it's so hot." She goes along with it. Following his every move, trying to make him think she's experienced. They finally reach the bed and he pauses and asks, "Sure you want to do this, beautiful?"
She nods, and he continues. I won't get cold feet this time, she thinks to herself - I'm going to do this.
He tries to take off her dress, and that's all it takes for her to grab the knife hidden under her pillow.
There are various ways to get cold feet. The obvious one will be the metaphorical way. My feet are cold, but it's not because I worry. There is no life changing event about to happen. I'm standing in the snow, toes scratching the surface of white. I hear the(more) wolves. They howl for me, howl my name. I could hear them all the way to my room through the closed window. They lure me into the woods with their wondrous song of winter.(less)
He got cold feet the instant he knew he would have to go through with it. It is no small task to consciously kill, to extinguish a life. All the time he had done it in the past, it had been either without prescience of the task or to a thing(more) that seemed so small that its life was easily extinguishable.
But this, this was an execution. The beast was tied to the pole in the corner. It stood with a resignation of what was to come, staring at the gun, knowing its death was imminent.
He got down on his knees and placed his gun before the beast:
"May this death serve the greater purpose of life. May we all die one day ourselves to continue the journey that is altogether one. May you make the journey beautiful for this beast and for myself. May death never be in vain."
Then his feet were no longer cold. He stood up and performed the execution. Life would go on.(less)
There was a time when he was something different- someone warm, who had a purpose. Someone who melted snow instead of making it.
He didn't mind being alone, most of the time, but three hundred years of frozen solitude was about as far as he was willing to be(more) pushed.
His skin felt almost-crystalline under his fingers, chilled to the bone in the way that only the dead could accomplish.
The wind gusted, ruffling his hair in a way he couldn't help but think of as reassuring, and he straightened.
Sitting alone moping would do nothing for him. If he wanted to warm up, he'd need to go somewhere that wasn't in the middle of winter. Sinking his toes into white sand was an action he hadn't taken in a long time- it was time for something new.
(Partially inspired by tindeck.com/listen/bavm , no credit taken there. Wow I just have a lot of feelings right now.)(less)
Just a hand over the shoulder, a small move to claim territory was all I had to do. One exaggerated stretch of the arms and she was mine. But there was this strange sense of despair washing over me, anticipation and fear mixed together to form an orchestra of(more) hesitation. Would she accept and embrace my touch? Would she shoot me down after I have overcame this self trial of courage? Maybe she would brush my attempt away with not so much as a glance at my devastation. Yet, I want to risk it. To risk the dread of rejection and chance the possibility of success, of a triumph of not only just her emotions but also mine. One subtle move was all it took. I glanced at her focused look and a thousand needles pricked me all at once. For even as her eyes watched the screen, a faint smile danced on her lips while another hand draped over her shoulder.(less)
Her feet flexed on the cold, wood floor. She stood over him as she had done a half dozen nights before over the past 20 years. His great chest and belly rose and fell each breath exuding a loud rattling snore scented with beer and cigarette smoke. The mattress(more) sagged where his great body compressed it so that her half of the bed tilted toward the ceiling. She clenched the pillow between scrawny fingers dried red and raw from work – the endless work to provide food and drink and an endless supply of the cheap cigarettes he smoked one after the other in front of the television.
There was a time when he had been the “bad boy” and she a mousy teenager flattered by the attention. At the judge’s chamber, she had a flash of what her sister called ‘cold feet’. A sudden panic attack in the ladies room at the courthouse where she begged her sister not to make her go through with it.
“I’ll give the baby up, I swear to God, Missy, just please, I don’t think I want to be married!” A shot of whiskey and a touch of makeup and soon her sister had propped her up in front of the Judge and in less than 10 minutes, the damage was done.
He lets out an undignified squawk and falls out of the bed with a thud. Standing abruptly, he glares at the unconcerned figure hidden under a number of blankets, duvets, and assorted covers. "You-! Get off!"
"Don't be rude." A careless hand emerges from the pile of quilts,(more) waving away his distress. "I was just trying to get comfortable."
"Your feet are freezing," he shoots back indignantly as he fruitlessly tugs at the unmovable blob. "Besides, what are you even doing here? You've got your own room, don't you?"
"But it's so much nicer sleeping next to someone you like, isn't it?"
"Wh-" blushing furiously, he points an accusatory finger. Which really was a useless gesture as it couldn't be seen from the thick nest of blankets. "You don't, I'm not, you can't just say things like that!"
"It's- it's not a thing you're supposed to say so casually!"
"Well, whatever." The hand flops in his general direction. "Come back to bed, it's too late to be jumping around energetically like that."
"Whose fault do you think that is," he grumbles as he slips back beneath the covers, careful to avoid direct contact. A futile endeavor, as the moment he settled in a pair of arms wound around his waist as his bedmate burrowed into his torso. He swallowed at the unfamiliar sensation of hair lightly grazing his neck, failing to quell his rapidly accelerating heartbeat.
Yeah, there's no way he's getting any sleep tonight.(less)
The knock came at the door in that twilight transition between day and night, when the last of the sun's rays painted the tops of buildings with burnished gold. Roy Mustang groaned, his arm thrown over his eyes as the blackout curtains in the bedroom had been shifted somewhat,(more) and even the thought of opening his eyes to daylight had started a pressure headache in his temples.
He rolled over instead, and kicked Edward Elric in the back of the leg. "Get up," Roy mumbled. "Someone's at the door."
Edward was usually a heavy sleeper, when he did choose to sleep. There was something about his physiology that meant he did not have to sleep nearly as often as Roy did - daylight was not anathema to werewolves as it was to vampires, after all. However, when he was out, he was OUT. "Ed!"
Edward pulled the comforter up over his head. "'s cold," he muttered into his pillow. "Your feet are like blocks of ice it's fucking April, Mustang-"
The knocking came again, harder this time. "Are you going to go see what that is about?" Roy hissed. "Or am I going to go have an early breakfast?"
Sleep-tousled blond hair made an appearance, as muzzy amber eyes emerged from under the blanket. "You wouldn't."
"You are not, you wouldn't go eat innocent people, I know you better than that." It had worked though, because now Edward was clearly awake, and sitting up slowly in bed. Roy could not keep the smile off his face as the blankets slid down Edward's half-naked form. He reached over, putting one hand on Edward's bare belly, intending to pull the werewolf closer to him. Instead, Edward recoiled as if he had been burned.