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SF's "Write Your Butt Off!" Writing Competition XIV


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If someone adds one crappy sentence then the biggest problem its going to cause is an extra ten seconds to read and another ten seconds to add to the poll. If the contents bad then people aren't going to vote for it.

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I'd rather not waste time on such things. I mean, I COULD just warn whoever does something that idiotic, on accounts of their submission being spam. Still, I'd rather have something that says "try to half-ass this, at the very least".

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Can you get something done in a week? Waiting two weeks on one person when we already have enough to vote seems like it's pushing it a bit. Unless there's anyone else out there who needs some more time.

I'll see what I can do, but I don't have my laptop with me. I completely understand, though.

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Okay, I decided you don't need to extend it a second week on my account. That's far too much special treatment.

None of the other two people who asked for the extention have posted anything yet so you might still have some time.

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I kinda' had to rush this a little since the deadline was approaching. Also, I realised mid-way that Knoll actually wasn't there when the Sacred Stones split... but for this story, let's pretend that he was.

EDIT: If the deadline is extended again, I may try to improve this a bit more.

Title: Possessive Boy

Word Count: Slightly under 600 words (Just as well the word limit was brought down :P)

World: Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones

Characters: Lyon (Main) Demon King, Knoll.

The voice asked him, “What do you yearn for, human?”

And, like a fool, he answered him.

X-X-X

Maybe his actions would save his country; maybe they would seal its fate. But Lyon knew he had to at least try.

“The stones are powerful,” Knoll said, face drawn. He never looked happy but he was too committed to leave his Prince’s side now. Too devoted to voice anything other than warnings.

“Hmm,” Lyon replied. The stone burned brightly as if it were alight. It was hot yet cold; the colour something impossible to describe. He could feel the power beneath his fingertips, even by simply holding it. If he could harness it, then—

“Perhaps this is unwise, Prince.”

Lyon stared into the surface of the stone, strands of hair falling across his face. “It would also be unwise to leave Grado to die.”

“You don’t give yourself much credit, my lord. You can rule without your father.”

“I am weak. I cannot.”

“My lord—“

“Bring me my father’s body,” Lyon said to one of the council mages. They nodded quickly, sweeping out of the room with a billow of their capes.

“I’m sorry,” Lyon mumbled under his breath and Knoll closed his eyes. For once, Knoll did not reach out to stop him as he passed.


X-X-X

“I want to save Grado.”

“Oh? And how do you expect me to save it?”

“By returning my father to life.”

Lyon could not see a face or even a bodiless form but he could feel the smirk. Like the form hid inside his blood.

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

X-X-X

His father was nothing more than a mass of pale, sunken skin, dirtied hair and fraying robes. Even kept safe within the tombs, his body had already begun to decompose.

Lyon braced himself for the smell, for the dead look in his father’s eyes.

He would bring him back to life. He would.

“Lyon, I beg you to reconsider!” Knoll brought up a hand and it hovered between them, fingers too far to touch. “I am asking you as a friend, as someone who shares your vision of a thriving Grado. Please, this is madness!”

Lyon also lifted his arm but not towards his fellow mage. Instead, he extended outwards, the Fire Emblem balanced safely upon his hand. Lyon spoke an incantation, drawing a knife across his outstretched wrist.

Knoll’s shouts suddenly seemed to disappear and then the stone burst into flames.

X-X-X

“But, of course… I want something in return.”

“Yes? What do you wish for?”

Something almost like liquid began to run down his back. Lyon reached behind himself on reflex but his robes were dry. Suddenly, the feeling wasn’t simply on his back.

The invisible liquid dripped slowly down his neck.

“A helping hand.”

X-X-X

The two stones, one dark and one light, lay balanced in both palms. The flames disappeared as quickly as they had came.

“Prince Lyon?” Knoll hovered at his side, holding onto his arm. “Are you alright?”

Lyon glanced over to the throne where his father had been set and his lips curled into a grin. Glancing back at his fellow mage’s distress, his smile did not even slightly diminish.

“Ah yes. Knoll. You’re one of my researchers. I’ve good tidings for you. My father is back.”

Knoll blinked, expression changing from horror to wonder. He glanced over to Vigarde who remained slumped in his chair.

“Come, father, open your eyes,” Lyon encouraged.

And then, the emperor’s eyes opened.


X-X-X

“Let us restore myself.”

And, like a fool, Lyon nodded
.

Edited by NJ7009
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Much as I'd love to have five stories for people to vote for I think we're better off powering forward. The deadline can't keep getting extended indefinitely. I've pmed Eclipse to sort out the voting topics. Here's our stories now.

Eggcilpse: Your Own Good

http://serenesforest.net/forums/index.php?showtopic=52670&p=4580757

Crazy Foxie: Losing My Marbles

http://serenesforest.net/forums/index.php?showtopic=52670&p=4583652

NJ7009: Possesive Boy

http://serenesforest.net/forums/index.php?showtopic=52670&p=4594134

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For this time's prompt, write something that involves a dramatic fall-out between two best friends. It can be over something serious and entirely valid. It can be something nonsensical, absurd and absolutely petty. Just make it absolutely gasp-worthy! Low jabs, cutting remarks, chair throwing and the like go.

I'll set deadline for Monday 21 November 22:00 GMT, which I believe works out to 14:00 PST, but we'll see on uptake.

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*reads through first few and last few posts of thread*

So, whilst I'm not sure whether I'll jump into this just yet since I've got a fic I should really be spending some more time on, the story doesn't have to be FE-based, does it? It can just be about anything as long as it follows the rules in the OP and the current prompt?

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Yep~! The other rule is that it can't be published anywhere (whether it be here or another site).

EDIT: How not to take a prompt seriously

Title: A Midsummer's Daydream

World: Original

Notes: I don't do screaming matches very well, so I kept this short

Length: 576 (hooray for a shorter word count, because I don't think I could've pulled off 1,000)

Jean flopped on the couch, the worn cushions wrapping around his wiry frame. He flicked open the can of beer he'd grabbed from the nearby fridge, letting the cool fizzy liquid wash away the oppresive heat of the summer day. Though Robert had left every last window open, only a whisper of a breeze found its way into the living room. Heavy footsteps echoed across the hall, before Robert emerged from his room, clad in a thin shirt and boxers.

"Dude. How could you?" the larger man demanded, sweat running down his frizzy brown sideburns. Jean wasn't sure if Robert's red face was due to the temperature outside or the irritation his voice carried.

"You know how Clara is. Once she decides on a guy, she won't listen to reason," Jean replied evenly, taking another heavenly sip of beer.

"I KNOW THAT. But why?!" Jean sighed, as his friend's shoulders began to shake.

"Look, I know you guys broke up a week ago. But she locked herself in my room! What else was I supposed to do?" Jean shrank back as Robert's fist found the wall.

"So you come here, acting like nothing happened?!" Bits of saliva flew onto Robert's moustache.

"Would you have rather found out from someone else?" Jean shouted. "I'm sure Chris would've LOVED to tell you, seeing how he's still head over heels for her," he continued.

"Screw Chris," Robert growled. "He doesn't have the balls to do that. But YOU!" Robert pointed a meaty finger towards Jean. "What you've done is unforgivable!"

"Nothing short of an assault charge would've removed Clara from my room!" Jean insisted. He took another swig of beer. "Then I'd have EVEYRONE down my throat."

"Are you even listening to me?" Robert roared. Jean drained the rest of the beer, as Robert's eyes narrowed.

"You're upset that I screwed your ex," Jean replied icily. "It's written all over your face."

"Will you SHUT YOUR SMUG MOUTH and listen for once?" Robert yelled. "You're in MY HOUSE, on MY COUCH, drinking MY BEER, and you have the nerve to tell me what I'm thinking?!"

Jean sighed, neatly chucking the beer can across the room, and into the trash can. "It's not like you know what YOU want, half the time. But go ahead, I'll listen." He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the couch, a small smile on his lips.

"Evan the everloving gossip weasel already told me about Clara, because she went to HIS place and did the same thing. Without barricading herself in his room, because she knows he's dumb enough to take the first girl that shows interest in him." Jean's smile dropped.

"So she's living up to her reputation of a bicycle," Jean said sourly.

"Not just a bicycle. She also cleaned out my bank account," Robert continued, a frown on his face. "So I have no money, my friends are being used against me, and then YOU come over, and take the last beer out of my fridge. That beer was in the fridge so that I could get some relief from this godawful weather. And you drained it. I don't get paid until Tuesday. What are you going to do about that?"

Jean buried his head in his hands. "Oh for crying out loud. . ."

Edited by eggclipse
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Title: Just one Man

Fandom: History (holy shit for once not about WWII)

Notes: This is set during the Vendee War, a part of the French Revolution where Royalist peasants in the Vendee region rose up against the Republic. The Republic responded by ordering massacres of innocent civilians. Around 100,000 innocent civilians were murdered in the Vendee alone. The French government refuses to call this a genocide. This story is about two friends who are divided on the orders they received.

Length: 921 words

Edouard Genot set the order down, a look of dismay on his face. He had devoted his life to the service of the Revolution. He had stood side by side with his fellow citizen-soldiers, repelling the invaders at the Battle of Valmy. For that he had been promoted to Sergeant. Now, the stocky bearded baker’s son had risen to the rank of Major in the Republican Army, at the age of only 35. He had thought he knew where his loyalties lay. Now, he was not so certain.

It was 1793, and France was at war.

Major Genot strode out of his tent, marching through the brigade’s camp. Cries of “Vive la Republique!” followed him through the veritable city of tents. Genot had to admit, he had never expected to be fighting his own countrymen. And yet, he told himself, fighting the Vendee traitors was just as important as the war against the Prussians and Austrians. These reactionaries, peasants who had been deceived by their feudal oppressors, had risen up against the sovereignty of the people in response to the just execution of the tyrant King Louis. They had to be put down for the good of the Republic. At least, that was what Genot had been told by General Turreau. The idea of fighting his countrymen left a sour taste in his mouth. This order confirmed his misgivings.

Genot snapped to attention as he entered the tent of his superior officer. The Colonel looked up, and a smile graced his rough, seemingly harsh exterior. “At ease, Edouard,” Colonel Jacques Duvalier ordered.

Jacques Duvalier was a big man, approaching age 47. The Colonel had been Edouard’s mentor, his commanding officer at Valmy. After Edouard has saved his life from a Prussian Uhlan lancer, the Colonel had made his protégé his chief aide. Jacques was one of the few people Edouard trusted absolutely. That was why he was here.

Edouard didn’t waste any time. “Did you get the order?”

Jacques visibly stiffened. A small nod was Edouard’s only response.

“And?” Edouard questioned his friend furiously. “’The Republican army is to completely liquidate the village of Brienne. It is a stronghold of reactionary traitors, and must be purged for the good of the Republic.’ Jacques, they ask us to murder our countrymen.”

The Colonel at last spoke. “Orders are orders.” He replied simply.

“Is that all?” Edouard demanded. “Jacques, these our fellow Frenchmen. Men, women, children. Citizens. Some of the didn’t even do anything wrong! And we are now ordered to give them death without so much as a trial?!”

Jacques stood up, slamming his fist on the table. “Enough!” he roared. “We are soldiers. It is not our job to question our orders. We are a sword, executing the will of the people. A democracy means Majproty Rules, not Whatever the hell Edouard Genot feels like rules! You betray the Revolution!”

“Don’t talk to me about betraying the Revolution!” Edouard roared. “Last I checked, the Revolution was about rule of law, about the will of the people. Murdering those who disagree is counterrevolutionary. You’re worse than the Ancien Regime. At least they only targeted actual political opponents! Your ilk murders innocents regardless of their culpability. If this is what the Revolution has become, I want no part!”

“The people will that they die!” Duvalier retorted furiously.

“And what if they will that you deserve death? Or me? What will you do then? Where will your Republican virtue be then?!” the younger man demanded.

Colonel Jacques Duvalier stepped back, in stunned silence. He sat down in his chair, and stared at the other man. Edouard Genot stood in the command tent, unmoving, unblinking. Finally, Jacques broke the silence.

“Run.”

Genot was taken aback. “Pardon?”

“I said run, dammit!” the Colonel confirmed. “You are an enemy of the Republic. It is my duty to arrest you, or else put you down. Run.”

“You would save me? After all your talk of the will of the people?” Edouard was incredulous.

“Oh, fuck off, Ed,” the Colonel retorted, “I guess this makes me a hypocrite. But I’d rather be a hypocrite than betray a friend. Goodbye, Edouard.” He offered his hand.

Genot considered the hand. A snap could be heard, as the Major clicked his heels. “Goodbye, Colonel.” Without another word, he turned and vanished into the night. Duvalier was left in silence.

Colonel Edouard Duvalier observed his Brigade laid out before him. They were good soldiers, young, idealistic. He hated to make them do this.

“Soldiers!” His voice rang out across the makeshift plaza. “Our new orders in the War of Liberation against Monarchical aggression have come. It is the will of the people of France that we assault the counterrevolutionary stronghold of Brienne, and put every reactionary there, regardless of race, sex, or age, to the sword. Vive la Republique!”

For a few moments, time seemed to stand still. Colonel Duvalier studied his soldiers, standing at attention, young men, firm in their belief in the cause of righteousness. Maybe, with a mutiny here, innocents would not be murdered. Maybe a mutiny here would save the Revolution.

Then, the shouting started.

“Vive la Republique! Vive la Republique! VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE!” The shouts washed over Duvalier like a tsunami, eroding his resolve with each burst of patriotism, each submission to atrocities.

Jacques managed a single “We march at noon!” before retreating to his tent. Maybe Edouard was right. Maybe the Revolution had been betrayed.

And yet, against the will of the many, what was one man?

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Title: Her Words

World: Purposely vague enough that it could be anywhere. These are characters I've had in mind for a while but haven't found any distinct setting to place them in.

Word: 1,033

Notes: A bit more melodramatic than dramatic but I think it still counts.



Nolan woke from his nightmare with a start. All he could remember was fire, darkness and pain. He was breathing heavily, his body covered in sweat. He looked around. The room he was in white and clean.

"Nolan." A voice from his left. "Calm down."

He looked to see a woman with dark black hair and a fragile but kindly face. "Becca" he whispered. He collapsed back down in the bed. Already his heart was beginning to slow. "What happened?"

"We almost died." Her voice was so gentle, so sweet.

Nolan moved his hand along his torso. He winced as he discovered a wound just above his right hip. "I remember" he said slowly. He looked to Becca. "I thought I'd lost you."

She reached out and touched his face. "And I thought I'd lost you."

"How did you...How did you survive?"

She placed her other hand on her abdomen. "I was protected." Her voice held a strange emotion. She sounded uncertain about her own feelings. "When the doctor opened me up he found a baby inside."

"That's...not possible" Nolan muttered.

"I thought so too. But it had been there for years. A baby never born. It looked like it was made of stone."

Nolan was at a loss for words. "Becca...It's over now" he finally said.

She gave a bit of a start. "Oh. Yes." She had had a distant look on her face. As if lost in her own world.

"He can't hurt you anymore."

"I know...Nolan I..." she fell silent without finishing her sentence.

"What is it Becca?"

She shook her head. "No. It's nothing. Just. I love you Nolan."

He smiled. "I know. I love you too."

"You should get some rest. You weren't as lucky as I was." Becca was smiling but there were tears trickling down her face. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

"I am tired" he realised. "How long have I been like this?"

"Two days. It was a constant battle. The doctor gave you a 10% chance."

"I can't die yet" Nolan said. "Who'd look after you?"

"That's exactly what I was thinking..."


When Nolan next awoke it was dark. Becca was no longer by his side. Instead there was a note. The moon was bright that night. Brighter than Nolan had ever seen it before. It still wasn't easy to read the words however. He read it over three times, each time finding it more difficult to decipher.


Dear Nolan,


Unlike you I never slept. I was awake when you were stabbed and I was awake when the doctors treated me. All I could think about was you. I thought you had died. And it broke my heart. I couldn't handle that kind of agony. It was too much to bear. I thought I would die from the pain and knew I would surely kill myself the moment I could. But then they told me there was a chance, however small, and my world changed. Everything changed.


I love you Nolan. I love you too much. You saved me from that hell of my own making. You brought light and joy into my life. For that I will be forever grateful. But I must go. I just can't imagine a world without you Nolan. But I can imagine a world away from you. I never want to see you die. Be it today or a hundred years from now. I think I can live knowing you're alive somewhere in the world.


I've become attached to you Nolan. Too attached. You healed me when I thought I was scarred for life. You made me a stronger person. But I can grow with you no longer. I need to find my own life, away from you. This dependency, it's not good. For either of us. Love can make us strong but it can also make us weak. You make me so strong and oh so weak. I need to be strong on my own. Right now I even lack the strength to tell you this in person. My own weakness forces me to hide behind these words.


We have had ten longs years together. Ten beautiful and happy years. But all things must end. And I'd rather this story ends without death. I will always love you Nolan. From this breath until my last. I will try to love others. I don't know if I'll succeed but I will try. And I hope you do too. I hope you think of me often, but don't waste your life away searching for me. My mind is hardened, like that of the child I carried within me for over twelve years. The last remnant of that stage of my life is gone. It was a burden I didn't even know I'd been carrying. I am determined now, for better or for worse, to end this stage of my life too. I hope you can understand these words. These words I was too cowardly to say in person. Goodbye Nolan.


Yours truly,

Rebecca.


The letter had smudges on it where Becca's tears had clearly fallen. Nolan's own tears added to the mix until eventually most of the letter became unreadable. He clutched the letter hard in his hand and held it against his chest. He wanted to tear away at the thing. Destroy the paper that had brought him this news as if it was to blame. While at the same time he also wanted to cherish it. As something precious. As something of her.

"No" he whispered. "I will not accept this. No!" He stumbled out of the bed but a wave of pain encompassed his body. Spreading outwards from the wound in his side. He fell and grabbed the window sill. With great effort he hoisted himself onto the window and looked outside. He searched the world below, looking for any trace of her. He did not know how long ago she had written the letter. Maybe she was leaving right now.

He grabbed the window and flung it open. The cold night air rushed in and enveloped him but he did not care. His eyes moved quickly, frantic and desperate. However, despite the brightness of the moon, the word below was dark and unclear.


Edited by Jotari
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Yep, melodramatic equally works :)

I'll get in touch with eggclipse to get the poll going, but please see below the stories for voting (or equally, scrolling up works!) Prompt was a dramatic fall-out between two best friends.

A Midsummer's Daydream - eggclipse

Just One Man - blah the Prussian

Her Words - Jotari

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Options are good so I'll give some options ranging from pretty open to quite restrictive.

1.Write Something Set In A Fantasy World.

2.Write Something With Unarmed People In A Tense Situation

3.Write Something Set In A Bunker But Not During A War

I'll make the first dead line December 19th

Edited by Jotari
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