Fic - "Mirage"
Title: Mirage
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Maes Hughes, cameo from Kimblee. Fullmetal Alchemist [manga].
Word Count: 250
Rating: PG-13
Summary: There's a crude row of tents on the outskirts of camp.
Warnings: Sexual imagery, bodily fluids.
Notes: Another nasty scene set in the Ishbal flashbacks. For the fma_fic_contest prompt "comfort." As usual, I found a way to make a perfectly innocent prompt into something horrifying. XD
They’re called comfort women, and in these desperate times, Hughes can only hope they live up to their name. There’s a crude row of tents on the outskirts of camp, close enough for easy access but far enough away that it stays out of the record books. The officers in charge like to say that the women are all volunteers. Hughes likes to pretend he believes them.
When he lifts the tent flap and sees her, huddled down on the filthy straw mattress, he steels his nerves. He tells himself that he deserves this release, and he swallows the wave of self-loathing that surges from his gut up into his throat, filling his mouth with hot bile. She’s fourteen years old at the most. The remains of her torn dress do very little in the way of modesty--- one shoulder ripped open, the front falling forward, revealing one shriveled breast with the dark pucker of a nipple at the center. Her eyes are huge and empty, like a doll, a battered rag doll that mechanically lies back, spreads her legs, and gestures for him to approach.
He does not think of Gracia, as he had feared. Instead, he thinks of his mother. Acid yellow drool spurts from his mouth, propelled by his unexpected sob, as he turns on his heel and staggers away in retreat.
Hands on knees, head down, gasping for air. Kimblee slaps him on the ass and says, “What’s a’matter, faggot? Couldn’t get it up?”
_____end.
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Maes Hughes, cameo from Kimblee. Fullmetal Alchemist [manga].
Word Count: 250
Rating: PG-13
Summary: There's a crude row of tents on the outskirts of camp.
Warnings: Sexual imagery, bodily fluids.
Notes: Another nasty scene set in the Ishbal flashbacks. For the fma_fic_contest prompt "comfort." As usual, I found a way to make a perfectly innocent prompt into something horrifying. XD
They’re called comfort women, and in these desperate times, Hughes can only hope they live up to their name. There’s a crude row of tents on the outskirts of camp, close enough for easy access but far enough away that it stays out of the record books. The officers in charge like to say that the women are all volunteers. Hughes likes to pretend he believes them.
When he lifts the tent flap and sees her, huddled down on the filthy straw mattress, he steels his nerves. He tells himself that he deserves this release, and he swallows the wave of self-loathing that surges from his gut up into his throat, filling his mouth with hot bile. She’s fourteen years old at the most. The remains of her torn dress do very little in the way of modesty--- one shoulder ripped open, the front falling forward, revealing one shriveled breast with the dark pucker of a nipple at the center. Her eyes are huge and empty, like a doll, a battered rag doll that mechanically lies back, spreads her legs, and gestures for him to approach.
He does not think of Gracia, as he had feared. Instead, he thinks of his mother. Acid yellow drool spurts from his mouth, propelled by his unexpected sob, as he turns on his heel and staggers away in retreat.
Hands on knees, head down, gasping for air. Kimblee slaps him on the ass and says, “What’s a’matter, faggot? Couldn’t get it up?”
_____end.