SF's "Write Your Butt Off" II - Return of Writer's Block

[Rafiel's Aria]

So I've started working on my piece, and it took a different direction than I expected it to take. I've kind of wanted to use this scenario for a few prompts, but oddly enough I think this one fits it the best for reasons I'll probably put in my author's notes once I submit it. 

I'm a little worried that it's going to veer on the edge of the PG-13 rating though. Just to be clear, there's no cursing or smut. But there is some blood (a few detailed descriptions) and the implied scenario itself is a little mature, but I don't go into vivid detail about it since the challenge is to nix the exposition. I'd say it's got about as much implied graphic material as a cop drama. Would that still be considered PG-13 friendly? 

[Anacybele]

I don't see why that wouldn't be fine. There's a bit of blood in mine, so yeah.

Cause I'm kinda bored, and Judo, the protagonist of my piece, is one of my longest running OCs with quite a history behind how I write him now, here's a few fun facts about him!

- He is indeed named after a martial arts. He is a real fighter, so I thought why not. And judo is the one that I thought seemed most like a name.

- Judo is loosely based on Ike from Fire Emblem. This wasn't always the case, as I created him before I ever even played FE, but when I started working more on his days as a knight, I decided to go the route of him having leadership suddenly thrust on his shoulders like Ike had. And both are very strong swordsmen. That's pretty much where the similarities end though. I actually think if they met, they'd hate each other lol. They have very different personalities.

- Judo was created to give Kelli, his childhood friend, a love interest. I like shipping, and this particular Link (the OoT and MM one) has several females going after him too, so why not? And besides Link, the Zelda series doesn't get many notable male characters anyway.

- Making Judo such a jokester came about because he needed a good way to deal with his inner demons. Despite that he seems happy all the time, he's only truly been happy for less than half that time. He's very prone to depression and anxiety, he's easily triggered by things that remind him of those inner demons, and he's been rather traumatized by the disappearance of his father and the fact that his mentor and predecessor died in his arms. Think about it like Robin Williams, but maybe not quite to the same extent. Making so many people around him laugh and smile, but really being broken on the inside a lot. Judo has had a moment or two where he wanted to die as well.

- A more recent addition to his personality: Judo's afraid of cats and hates them. He claims one attacked him in Mayia with little provocation. He wouldn't lie, right? XD Though he is probably exaggerating a bit. lol

Edited January 28, 2019 by Anacybele

[Shoblongoo]

On 1/28/2019 at 4:53 AM, Rafiel's Aria said:

So I've started working on my piece, and it took a different direction than I expected it to take. I've kind of wanted to use this scenario for a few prompts, but oddly enough I think this one fits it the best for reasons I'll probably put in my author's notes once I submit it. 

I'm a little worried that it's going to veer on the edge of the PG-13 rating though. Just to be clear, there's no cursing or smut. But there is some blood (a few detailed descriptions) and the implied scenario itself is a little mature, but I don't go into vivid detail about it since the challenge is to nix the exposition. I'd say it's got about as much implied graphic material as a cop drama. Would that still be considered PG-13 friendly? 

Ohhhhhhh I don't think you have to worry about having the prompt that comes closest to flirting with an adult rating this round.  (What did you call this @AnonymousSpeed?  "Multi-prompting"?)  

Title:  True Romance

Fandom:  FE:Fates

Word Count: 1,279
 

 

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit—Xander is going to kill me.” No exaggeration on Odin’s part.

“Bruh you gotta get her out of here.” No disagreement on Laslow’s.

“I don’t think she’s good to move right now.” Odin was not 100% on board with this plan.

“Nahhhh we got this. You lift from the shoulders. I got her ankles.” Laslow at the moment couldn’t think of any reason why this was a really bad idea. “Niles—go bother Effie. Big distraction. Somewhere far, far away from Elise’s tent.”

Niles without, protest, commentary, or introspection moved to perform his appointed task.

“Alright. We lift on three.” Laslow secured his grip. “One. Two.”

“You’re doing it wrong.” Selena stated matter-of-factly.
 
“W-well you can’t expect me to grab her around the waist!” Laslow stammered.

“What??? NO--I mean there’s a perfectly good bed right in this tent. Put her down for the night and let her sober up ya drunk idiots!” Selena had the right of it.  

“Good call. Good call.” That was, Odin had to admit to himself, probably the correct thing to do. “Except that her staying the night doesn’t solve the whole Xander is going to murder me problem.”

“So what—you’re just going to carry her back to her tent like this?” Selena challenged.

“That’s the idea. Yes.” Laslow stood by his plan.

“And if anyone sees you doing this you sayyyyyyyyyy…” Selena challenged harder.

“She, ummmmmmmm, has that thing she had back in Macarath?” Laslow offered.   

“She smells like a whiskey barrel and her eyes are redder than a dragon’s dick—not a chance.”

“I got breath mints, perfume, and sunglasses. We can totally pull this off.”

“NOBODY WEARS SUNGLESSES AFTER MIDNIGHT LASLOW!”

“Then we use eyedrops! Gods—am I the only one coming up with ideas here!”

“I’m gonna stop you right there because Camilla is on patrol, and I really don’t feel like getting murdered tonight. Xander will be moderately annoyed. Camilla will actually…”

Elise fluttered awake with a stir, groaned, and began making low, rhythmic, gurgling noises.

“Ahhhhhh shit.” Selena cursed.

“Thatttttttts not good.” Laslow conceded.

“Alright. This was not a thing that ever should have been attempted.” Odin moved Elise to his cot, propped her upright, and rolled her onto her side with her head drooped over the edge and a bucket at the ready. “Laslow; I need fresh water, clean linens and a nightgown. Selena; imma need your help getting her out of this--”

It came without so much as a wretch or a warning heave; the first sudden font of liquid-hot foulness. Built-up enough to start coming out but not quite forceful enough to form a projectile stream; instead spilling across her dress and linens and leaving her pigtails covered in sickly chunks and strands.

“Yeppppppppp. Okay. This is happening.” Odin at least managed to hold Elise’s hair back and reposition her over the bucket before the proper torrent started.

Now fully exploding in loud and violent heaves: everything came back up.

“Its okay. Its okay.” Odin rubbed her back and spoke calm, soothing words. “Get it all out.”

“How much did she—” Selena gawked.

“A lot.” Odin didn’t dare put hard numbers on it.

“IDIOT! You were supposed to be watching her!”

“SHE SAID SHE’D DONE THIS BEFORE! I THOUGHT SHE KNEW WHAT SHE WAS DOING!”

“I’m sorry!” Elise cried, acutely aware of the mess she was making. “I-its my fault. I told him I was 20 and that I do it all the time and—BLRGGGGGGGGGGHHHH!!!!”

“Its okay. No one’s mad at you.” Odin soothed.

“20?” Selena glared harshly at Odin. “Really?”  

“Okay. I knew that part was made-up,” Odin admitted.

“And?” Selena crosser her arms.

“And Lissa could hold seven shots of Kraken at 15!” Odin protested. “How was I suppose to know this was her first time!?!?”  

“I-I’m sorry I ruined Izana’s party,” Elise sobbed a messy drunken sob; runny tears and nose gunk caking over crusted vomit. “It was so cool hanging out with you and that kiss was amazing and everyone looked like they were having a good time and I didn’t want you to think I was boring…” Elise spoke a few more coherent words, and then she was out cold.

“Wait—what did she just say!?” Selena cocked an eyebrow.

“When, where, and how long has this been going on?” Laslow had so many questions!

“Can we not get into this right now you guys?” For a whole host of reasons Odin really didn’t want this becoming public knowledge at the moment. Chief among them of course being…

“…I take it back,” Selena recanted. “Xander is going to kill you.”

“Problems for later. Come on; we gotta get her cleaned up.” Odin laid out the fresh nightgown. “Sorry Laslow—Imma need you to fuck-off for this part buddy.”

“Yeahhhhhhhhhh. I don’t need to see this.” Laslow excused himself. He knew where this was going. “Gods. I need a drink.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Selena discouraged this.

“Oyyy! Just ‘cause Odin’s secret girlfriend can’t hold her liquor, doesn’t mean I’m some spring chicken!” Straight from the bottle, Laslow drank deep.

“Can you PLEASE not run around telling everyone?” Odin begged.  

“Bruhhh. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! I thought we bros!” Laslow was genuinely insulted.

“I’m very sorry and we’ll talk about this tomorrow. Please, please, please tonight just keep this on the downlow.”

“Ayyyyyyy. Downlow. Keep it on the downlow.” Laslow half exited, half just sorta—wandered off. “Xander’s gonna fuck you up!” he called back.

“Should—we be worried about that?” Selena was concerned Laslow might go blabbing.

“He’s fine. Being a jealous douche, but he isn’t gonna rat on us.” Odin turned his attention back to Elise. “Alright—how you wanna do this?”

“I think it’ll be less creepy if you get the linens and I get the nightgown.” Selena offered.

“Go for it.” Odin began the work of changing his caked-up bed sheets.

They worked mostly in awkward silence.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Sooooooooooo,” Selena said in her most passive-aggressive, judgmental tone. “You and The Princess?”

“I swear. Its not what it…”

“…I didn’t say anything.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Was it only a kiss?”

“SELENA!”

“Alright. Alright. Geez. Touchy.”

“…”

“..”

“…”

“You didn’t do it when she was black-out drunk, did you?”

“NO! Errrrrr. Well. Kinda. Not the first time. I mean—ITS NOT LIKE THAT!”

“Ohhhhhh. So it WAS more than just one kiss?”  

“Stoppppppp.”

“Scandalous,” Selena teased.  

“You hooked up with the dog—I don’t wanna here it.”

“His name is Keaton, and I’ll have you know he was a perfect gentleman!”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Done.” Odin approved of their handywork. The Princess was cleaned up, in a fresh nightgown, and sleeping peacefully in clean linens. “You—really helped me out tonight. Thanks.”

“We are gonna have to talk about this. You know that right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Just—remember why we’re here.” Selena cautioned.

“I know.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“I feel like we forgot something important,” something was nagging at the back of Odin’s mind. “What didn’t we do that we were supposed to do?”

“Nooooo—that’s everything. We tied up all the loose ends.” Selena went down the mental checklist.

“We definitely forgot something important,” Odin couldn’t put his finger on it.

“We changed the sheets,” Selena checked off the important items out loud. “We got her out of her dirty clothes. We got the nightgown on. We cleaned her face. We cleaned her hair. We emptied the bucket.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Oh goddamit—NILES!!!” 

_______

 

“WHY IS THERE A DONG-PRINT IN MY MASHED POTATOES!!!” Effie bellowed.     

  

 

Edited January 29, 2019 by Shoblongoo

[Shoblongoo]

Drink Responsibly, kids. 

Edited January 28, 2019 by Shoblongoo

[LdotRage]

I had... about as much trouble sticking to the prompt as I'd feared, haha. I ended up feeling like it wasn't "in media res" enough, so I cut the first part of the scene to make it In Media Res+, and the number of lines I cut because I thought they were too info-dumpy... is honestly unreal. I had fun writing it, though! And I'm mostly satisfied with the result, even if it is... extremely melodramatic, haha. Though, honestly, most of my writing is. Anyway, here we go.

Title: Track of Time

Fandom: FE7/Blazing Sword

Word Count: ~4.5K

Spoiler

“Milord?”

Only half aware of himself, he shifted minutely in the silken bedsheets, then fell still again, far too lethargic to rise. He’d never really fallen asleep―only drifted; hardly even dozed―and he had no energy at all. The most he could do was pry open his crusty eyes and stare silently across the room.

Sprawled out on his side like this, all he could see was a small section of the wall, the corner of his wardrobe, and the very edge of the curtains, still tightly drawn. A sliver of light slanted across the carpet. He realized that he didn’t know what time it was, nor what day it was; he hadn’t even a wild guess. All he knew was that it couldn't have been long since he'd last told Marcus to leave him alone.

“Milord,” the familiar voice repeated, soft and muffled through the door, but infuriatingly insistent.

His eyes slid shut of their own accord. He made no move to wipe away the gunk dried between his lashes. After a moment, he swallowed with some effort. “No visitors,” he croaked, his tongue heavy and his throat thick, though he shouldn't have to repeat himself.

He caught the tail-end of Marcus’ beleaguered sigh, and irritation bubbled sluggishly in his chest. “Milord―”

“No visitors, I said,” he interrupted as sharply as he could. Even when he tried to speak up, his voice remained hoarse and reedy, wavering on each syllable.

Only a brief pause. Then: “Milord, Marquess Ostia requests―”

His ears were closed. “No,” he cut in immediately, not bothering to actually absorb the familiar name. “Leave, Marcus.”

Another weary murmur of “Milord,” but it was cut off by heavy footsteps and a brief, hushed exchange. The door rattled loudly in its frame, knob jiggling, and then fell still.

“Unlock it,” said a familiar deep voice, as sharp and steely as Armads itself.

Eliwood’s fingers twitched.

More hasty footsteps. “I can’t disobey a direct order,” Marcus hissed, voice muffled through the wall; “You of all people should know―”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Metal gauntlets banged against the door with a distinct sort of clang-thud. “Eliwood, open the door or I’ll break it down. You know I will.”

“Marquess―”

Whether it was the threat or the familiarity, something about that sentence made the blood boil in his frozen veins. “I said ‘no visitors’,” he growled, fists curling in the sheets and body tensing under the duvet. “I would think you’d at least have the decency to honor that―”

“Decency my ass.” The doorknob jerked again to no effect. “This is your last chance to open up before I come in anyway.”

“Lord Hector―!”

“As barbaric as ever, I see,” Eliwood snarled, his clenched fists trembling as he turned to press his forehead into the mattress. Still, he couldn’t muster the strength to sit up, even as the rage pooled within his chest like a growing fire. “You’re still the same uncivilized, entitled child―”

“Let me in, damn you,” the child in question snapped with one last bang on the door. “It’s not a ‘visit’; it’s important.”

Eliwood seethed. “I highly doubt―”

“It’s about Roy.”

In a single instant, all the anger that had built up underneath his skin turned to fear. Eliwood’s head snapped towards the door, his eyes snapped open, and every muscle in his body snapped taut. He shoved himself off of the pillows, wedging one arm between his chest and the bed. “What?” he said, the hairs raising on the back of his neck. “What’s―what are you talking about? What’s wrong with Roy?”

“Lord Hector!” Marcus cried.

Eliwood barely registered it. He clawed at the sheets, pushing himself further up onto his arms. “No, no, gods,” he gasped out, nausea curling in the pit of his stomach. Roy had been out of the woods―the first year of infancy was always fraught with peril, but the healers―they’d said―they’d said that he had made it; that most of the danger had passed and he was going to be fine―

But he was going to die. He was going to die now, now that his chances were good, just because the universe had a cruel sense of humor―now, while Eliwood was already in mourning―right after Ninian―

Stumbling across the room on weak, trembling knees, Eliwood threw the lock and shoved the door open, nearly falling directly into Hector’s arms. “What―what’s wrong with him?” he gasped, struggling to remain upright as he looked up into his old friend’s impassive face. “Please―”

“Nothing,” Hector said.

Eliwood’s rapid heartbeat didn’t slow. His eyes were wide and uncomprehending. “What―?”

Before he could formulate a proper question, Hector pushed his way through the door, forcing him to numbly stumble back. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he lost his precarious balance, landing on the mattress. His shaking arms barely kept him propped half-upright.

“Roy’s fine,” Hector continued once Eliwood’s eyes were on him again. “At least, he isn’t sick or injured. Calm down.”

Still, the gears in Eliwood’s head were turning too sluggishly. “But―you said...”

Hector took one step back, leaning against the doorframe. “I said that it’s about Roy and it’s important,” he corrected. “I worded it vaguely so you’d let me in.” Then, under his breath: “If I’d known you would take it this badly, I would’ve just broken the damn door down. Would’ve been easier.”

For a moment more, Eliwood just stared, incredulous. Then the terror began to subside―and a searing, all-consuming fury took its place.

“Hector,” he growled, his voice trembling with rage. His entire body felt red-hot, and his vision was blurry. All of that fear―all of that panic―and it was just a ruse. A lie. For lack of any other outlet, he lifted a fist and angrily drove it into his pillow. The motion was too restrained, though―it didn’t make his knuckles sting; the downy fabric offered no resistance―and it only made him angrier.

Faintly, he heard Hector say something like, “You should go. I’ve got this,” and the door swung shut. Then he pushed himself back onto his feet and, with all the finesse of a blind elephant, punched Hector hard in the face.

His body was unsteady from however-many hours of uninterrupted bedrest, and Hector was far larger than him and had clearly seen the blow coming in time to brace himself. Still, all of Eliwood’s weight went into the punch, and it sent them both tumbling into the door with a loud thud, Eliwood’s face ricocheting off of Hector’s chest plate.

The blow to the head, the sudden movement, the excitement of the situation, and his body’s weakness all caught up to him at once. Swooning like a sick child, Eliwood collapsed onto the ground, hastily trying to scoot away before Hector could retaliate. Too late. Armored fingers gripped him by the back of his collar, cold against his skin flushed with anger, and he saw himself be hoisted off the ground more than he felt it.

“Let go of me,” he snarled, clawing at Hector’s hand, even as he struggled to stand without help. The indignity of being lifted by the scruff of his neck like a disobedient kitten just made his ire burn brighter. “Let go, you bastard! You wretched―craven―cur!”

“Eliwood, stop,” Hector said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Shockingly, this blatant condescension did very little to appease Eliwood, who immediately threw another wild jab at Hector’s gut. Of course, given that he was in his nightclothes while his opponent was in full armor, it was completely ineffectual, and he only ended up with a stinging hand for his troubles. Stubbornly biting down a pained yelp, he grit his teeth and managed to yank himself out of Hector’s grip, landing in an undignified pile on the ground. “Don’t touch me,” he bit out, trying not to let on how winded he was just from their brief struggle. “Leave. Get out―”

“Absolutely not,” Hector interrupted, stepping closer. “Get a hold of yourself. We need to talk.”

Some small part of Eliwood’s brain was still functional enough to be wary of Hector, whose superior size was even more evident now. Still, he bared his teeth recklessly, even as he pushed himself back. “Get a hold of myself?” His voice wavered with emotion and overuse. “You burst in here, lie about my son―”

“Look,” Hector said shortly, interrupting him again, “I’m sorry that I scared you. But―”

“But nothing! You―” Trying to push himself onto his feet, Eliwood swayed, nearly fainted, and staggered back to sit heavily on the edge of the mattress. Hector stepped forward as if to steady him, and Eliwood weakly shoved him away. “You―you let me think―you just stood there and let me think―”

There were tears pricking at the corners of his eyes now, and they were all the more mortifying because they weren’t borne of frustration. If he was being honest with himself, it was mostly just that same crushing despair that seemed to plague him far too often as of late.

And then Hector stepped forward and hugged him―as if they weren’t in the middle of a fight―and Eliwood suddenly felt very foolish.

“L-let go of me,” he croaked―damn it, he was twenty-two; he shouldn’t be brought to tears this easily―but Hector just pulled him closer, squishing him uncomfortably between solid metal gauntlets and a cold, hard chest plate. “Do you―do you even―”

He was crying in earnest, now, because the anger had finally faded, and it left a cold, bitter emptiness in its wake. “Do you have any idea how scared I was?” he demanded into Hector’s armor, still not returning the hug but not trying to pull away, either.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been?” Hector shot back.

Eliwood reeled. “Wh-what?”

“Do you have any idea. How long it’s been.” Hector didn’t break the embrace, but the forceful tone of his voice belied his true feelings.

Swallowing thickly, Eliwood tried once again to pull out of Hector’s arms to no avail. “No.”

“Not even a guess?”

He clenched his teeth. “No, Hector, not even a guess. Are you happy now? Have you humiliated me enou―?”

“Two weeks.”

Eliwood stopped talking for only the briefest moment. Then he stupidly blurted out, “You’re lying.”

Hector didn’t even dignify that with a response. “They put the funeral off for as long as they could,” he said instead, and dread welled up in Eliwood’s stomach. “But her body was decaying. They had to bury her quickly before her soul could fade.”

Clutching desperately at the grooves of Hector’s armor to keep himself from collapsing, Eliwood blinked the remaining tears out of his eyes. “Th-they―why didn’t they tell―?”

“They tried.”

Eliwood had suspected as much―now that he stopped to think of it, he recalled plenty of fuzzy, vague memories: Marcus banging on the door more forcefully than usual; someone shaking him and trying to pull the blankets off of him―but he’d turned them all away. He’d turned them away, and he’d―

“I missed it,” he said aloud, numbly. “I missed her―”

“Hey. Stop that,” Hector interrupted before he could even really begin, tightening his grip to the point where he was practically crushing Eliwood between pieces of plate and pinching chainmail. It was just on the verge of painful, but it managed to stop Eliwood’s whirling thoughts for a few more seconds. A few more blessed moments of almost-peace. “Look, I can’t stop you from grieving, or feeling sorry for yourself, or whatever the hell you’ve been doing in here for the past two weeks. But there’s a difference between wallowing and wasting away, and this? This is the latter.”

Eliwood lowered his head and took a shaky breath. The scent of armor polish and musty leather that usually clung to Hector was completely swallowed by the dead air lingering in the room―the stench of dust and sweat and bedsheets that hadn’t been changed in two weeks.

“I know,” he said weakly.

After a brief, strained silence, Hector slowly drew back, relaxing his grip; without the support, Eliwood slumped limply against the headboard, unable to hold himself upright. His muscles felt like wet string, his bones as brittle as icicles. Everything was sore and aching, though his pulsing knuckles stood out, starkly discolored against his otherwise sallow skin.

Another moment of tense silence. Then, unable to meet Hector’s eyes, Eliwood cleared his throat and murmured, “Roy?”

“Like I said, he’s not sick,” Hector was quick to reassure him, “but he isn’t exactly doing great. He hasn’t seen either of his parents in weeks. And he isn’t taking to Rebecca very well.”

A wave of guilt crashed over Eliwood, but he brushed it aside to be wallowed in later. “Rebecca?” She and Lowen had recently given birth to a son of their own, but what did she have to do with Roy?

An armored hand landed on his shoulder with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Marcus took the liberty of finding him a nursemaid,” Hector said, his voice soft.

Eliwood swallowed thickly. “Ah.”

He felt the considering look that Hector shot him, even though he had yet to look up from his lap. “He’s only an infant, Eliwood,” Hector continued after a moment. “You need to realize―he doesn’t know the difference between death and temporary disappearance.”

Of course he didn’t. It was so obvious that, in different circumstances, it might have prickled at Eliwood’s pride. He didn’t need to be told that his son wasn’t ready for cognizant thought, thank you very much.

Except that, apparently, he did.

“I’ll go see him,” he said once he had the strength, trying to push himself towards the edge of the bed.

Before he could make much headway, Hector grabbed both of his legs and pushed him back onto the mattress. “You will do no such thing,” he snapped, “seeing as how you can barely stand.”

At this point, Eliwood was too weary to be angry, but he did manage to flush in embarrassment. “I’m not an invalid, Hector.”

“You didn’t draw blood.”

“...What?”

Hector jabbed a thumb towards his nose, which was noticeably bruised but otherwise unharmed. “You punched me as hard as you could, and you didn’t draw blood. Then you fainted.”

Shame bubbled up in Eliwood’s chest at the memory, and not just because of his physical frailty. What he should have said was ‘I’m sorry’, but what ended up coming out of his mouth was just a half-hearted “I didn’t faint.”

“You nearly did.” Hector grabbed the blankets and tossed them inelegantly over Eliwood’s lap. Circling around the bed, he crouched down to retrieve one of the pillows, which had fallen off the edge of the bed during their brief struggle, but he paused halfway down.

When a moment passed without any movement, Eliwood turned towards him, fighting down a brief spike of irrational fear. “Hector?”

Hector slowly stood back up, but his eyes remained firmly on the ground. After a minute, he glanced towards Eliwood. His face was unreadable.

“Is this really all you’ve eaten?” he asked, soft and sad―like he already knew the answer but desperately hoped that he was wrong.

It was such a strange, almost tender tone of voice that Eliwood almost missed the words themselves. He glanced over the side of the bed.

Scattered at Hector’s feet were several abandoned meal trays, each one heavy-laden with dishes, and each dish full of stone-cold food: stale bread; wrinkled fruit without a bite missing; bowls of soup that were now nothing more than murky broth; oatmeal sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon, now congealed into something inedible and disgusting to even look at. None of it looked like it had been touched.

Eliwood averted his eyes. “I think... Marcus may have taken some of them away,” he said quietly. He didn’t bother mentioning that none of those dishes had been any emptier than these.

A long, heavy silence fell upon them. Then―mercifully, without remark―Hector returned the pillow to its usual place on Ninian’s side of the bed and began to gather as many of the trays as he could carry. “I’ll tell Marcus to bring something,” he said without attempting eye contact.

Just as well―Eliwood couldn’t bear to look up from the duvet, either. “I... don’t know that I can keep anything down,” he said honestly.

“Then I’ll tell him to bring something light.” Hector’s voice was firm―the same commanding tone he usually brought into battle. “Once you’ve had a few bites, I’ll bring Roy up here. You just―try to look presentable enough that he doesn’t start crying again.”

That... stung more than anything else Hector had said so far. But it was honest advice, so Eliwood just nodded feebly.

Once he’d piled his arms high with mostly-full plates of wasted food, Hector awkwardly nudged the curtains open with his foot, letting a sliver of light in. “Don’t think I got everything, but this should help the smell,” he muttered, sweeping a critical look across the room. Whether it met his approval or not, he didn’t have even a finger free to tidy up, so he just made for the door. “I’ll be back once you’ve eaten,” he promised, wedging the trays between himself and the wall so he could turn the knob with one hand.

Halfway across the threshold, he paused, dishes clanging in his hands. Then, without turning around, he mused, “I guess I should... keep Roy company until then. S’been a while since he’s seen me, but... I dunno. Maybe I can calm him down a little.”

Despite his feigned nonchalance, the words were exactly as comforting as he’d probably intended―save for the fact that they left Eliwood with the striking feeling that, at some point, Hector had become far more mature than he was. “...Thank you,” he said, for lack of anything better to say, and he didn't look up from his lap until he heard the door swing shut.

Slowly, he looked around the room that had once been so familiar to him. It seemed so different, now―and not just because of Ninian’s absence, he realized. There were new marks on the wallpaper―rips; stains; even a shallow, fist-sized dent in the wall surrounded by a spiderweb of cracks. There were things missing from the shelves and tables, too―old jewelry (had she been buried in it?), ornaments and knick-knacks (some of them seemed to match the tiny glass shards he could spy hiding in the rug), books and papers (those that were still present were, as a whole, more tattered than before). Most of his remaining belongings had been subtly shifted out of his reach―placed on high shelves, or underneath heavy stacks of books.

He didn’t remember how any of these changes had come to be, he suddenly realized―he didn’t even remember who had been in here for long enough to make those changes; he didn’t remember what he had done to warrant them―and the utter lack of knowledge made nausea curl tightly in his stomach. Anything could have happened in the past two weeks, and he would be none the wiser. The Lycian League could have crumbled. Pherae could’ve burned to the ground. He could’ve assaulted one of the servants.

Roy could have fallen ill.

Desperate for a foothold, he glanced rapidly around the room, trying to assess what was still there. His rapier―relocated to the top of his wardrobe, where he had no hopes of reaching it in his current state. Had this been a precaution or a reaction? Had they merely feared that he might do something rash, or had they been trying to prevent a repeat incident? It was sheathed. He couldn’t check for new nicks or stains on the blade.

The wardrobe was shut; presumably, all of their clothes were still tucked away inside, but―what had they taken for Ninian? What had they buried her in? She’d made a request on her deathbed―she’d said that she wanted to be buried in the old ceremonial garb that she danced in; she’d said it was a reminder of the family she’d left behind the Gate, but also a reminder of how she’d fallen in love with him so deeply that she wanted to stay. Had they known? Who could have told the monks not to bury her in the customary shroud, if not him? Had he failed her in this, too?

The papers on his desk in the corner were sandwiched between heavy books to straighten them out; they’d been crushed and crumpled and torn―were they important? Which papers had been within his reach when he threw that particular tantrum? Official documents? Missives? Correspondence? The old letters―the personal letters―the letter from Hector about the birth of his daughter; the envelope stuffed full of little notes he’d been passed in numbers class; the yellowed old parchment they’d found hidden in Father’s study, intended as a final goodbye to his family if he never returned―his marriage documents, carefully folded and tucked away beneath it all―were they intact? Had Marcus saved them? Had they been spared?

How many different colors of broken glass could he count on the floor, glimmering faintly in the light? How many had Marcus already cleared away, missing only those tiny pieces hidden in the carpet or between the floorboards? How many other things had Marcus cleared away while he was trapped within his own head? There were new stains on the rugs that could have been from food, ink, vomit, or blood. There were cracks in the bedposts that could explain the tiny slivers of wood caught underneath his fingernails. His throat was like sandpaper, and he didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t spoken, or because he’d screamed himself hoarse, or because he’d retched until only dry heaves could surface anymore.

He didn’t know a gods damned thing.

Eliwood’s eyes moved to the hearth, burning low; the embers glowing faintly. He looked up above the mantle.

He found it bare.

“No,” he said aloud, but that was all he said. Collapsing back onto the mattress, he pressed both hands firmly over his eyes. Was that the source of the splinters? The faint red spots on his knees where the skin was peeling away? The specks of color on the carpet?

In his helpless anger, had he destroyed the last piece of her that was left?

He hadn’t the slightest idea how long it took for Marcus to knock on the door. When the first soft rap came, though, he immediately sat up, ramrod straight, and shouted “Come in!” before the second knock.

There was a pause―no doubt Marcus was caught off-guard by his sudden change in attitude―but then the door slowly creaked open and the old knight unobtrusively slipped in. He moved as if he expected to be attacked―no: as if he was trying to remain undetected, because he knew he would be banished if his presence was known. There was a wooden tray in his hands.

“Milord,” he said once he seemed convinced that nothing was amiss, hastily crossing the room and placing the tray across Eliwood’s lap, “Marquess Ostia indicated that you might appreciate something easy to digest―”

In all reality, Eliwood should’ve been on his knees, apologizing profusely and begging for forgiveness, but all he managed to do was frantically interrupt, “Marcus, wait―” Marcus immediately stopped talking, which allowed Eliwood to find the words he needed, but there would be time for gratitude later― “the painting―where’s the painting?”

Immediately, Marcus’ face fell, and Eliwood’s heart plummeted down into his twisting gut. “Milord,” Marcus said, almost plaintively, which was all the answer Eliwood needed. So he had destroyed it, then. In the height of his folly―the height of his stupidity―he’d apparently decided that the minuscule satisfaction of letting out his anger physically was worth losing his last tie to her.

Worth destroying Roy’s only hope of remembering his own mother’s face.

“Milord,” Marcus said again, and Eliwood looked at him without really thinking about it.

The old knight―getting older, now, yet considerably less feeble than him at the moment―crossed the room in a few quick strides and threw the wardrobe open. Eliwood had time to notice that most of Ninian’s clothes were gone―the ceremonial garb she’d asked to be buried in was gone―and then Marcus pushed the remaining garments aside, brushing past woolen cloaks and fur coats and silk shirts, to pull a large wooden frame out from the back.

“Milord,” Marcus said, one more time, as he turned the frame to face Eliwood, “we... salvaged it as best we could.”

Eliwood stared at the painting for a very long time, his throat too dry to produce words, even if he had been in any state to try. The portrait was almost exactly as he remembered it. He and Ninian were standing side-by-side, painted from the waist up with a startling level of detail; one of his arms was folded behind his back, the other extended for her to lean on as if he was formally offering to escort her. They’d insisted on that pose because the painter had flatly forbidden them to outright embrace―that sort of intimacy was improper for public display, and the painting would be relocated to the main hall of the palace once the next Marquess took the throne―but, like his father and mother before him, Eliwood hadn’t wanted their portrait together to look as stilted as the rest.

For as finicky and strict as he’d been at the time, constantly snapping at them to hold still and declaring that now the whole thing was ruined, the painter was as skilled as they came. He’d captured Ninian’s essence perfectly. Eliwood hadn’t been able to properly appreciate it until now, but the elegant drape of her hair was just right; her lithe form fit for non-stop dancing hadn’t been lost to the fabric of her clothes or stylized into something more smooth and traditionally feminine; her gentle smile was not lifeless or wooden, but a living, breathing display of her endless patience and light touch.

She was perfect, even despite the new cracks that ran across the surface of the painting, tracing jagged lines where the canvas had been ripped, torn, and painstakingly pieced back together. The paint had chipped away around the ends of her hair; her torso was bisected by a rift large enough to show the back of the frame; one of the cracks was even so audacious as to trace the side of her cheek like an ugly black scar―but she was perfect.

It was Eliwood who’d been ravaged beyond repair or even recognition, large segments of the canvas missing from his inaugural garb; cracks marring his face so thoroughly that the color used for his eyes was no longer visible at all; flakes of bright red scratched off of his hair and embedded conspicuously in the white of his clothes.

But Ninian had barely been touched.

“I’m sorry, milord,” Marcus said after a good minute had passed in silence, lowering his eyes to the ground. “After what you... After what happened, we were... This was all that was left.”

It took another thirty seconds or so for Eliwood to regain his voice. Once it had returned to him, though, he looked up from the painting and said, completely insufficiently, but with all of the feeling he could muster: “Thank you, Marcus. This is... more than enough.”

That was enough to drag Marcus’ attention away from his feet, and, for a moment, he just stared at Eliwood, his eyes wide. Then he relaxed―only now did Eliwood realize how tense he’d been before―and humbly replied, “Of course, milord. It was the least I could do.”

When Hector returned ten minutes later, Roy cradled awkwardly but carefully in his arms, the bowl of thin broth in Eliwood’s lap was nearly empty and the painting, patched together as well as it could be, had been returned to its rightful place above the mantle.

9

 

[AnonymousSpeed]

7 hours ago, Shoblongoo said:

What did you call this @AnonymousSpeed?  "Multi-prompting"?

Correct, that is the word I made up to describe the thing you are now doing.

[Jotari]

Looks like we're getting a hearty number of entries this time round. I have mine finished, just need to do some grammar checking before posting. I'm a lazy sod though, so if anyone wants to do if for me it would be most appreciated.

[TheSilentChloey]

@Jotari I'd be happy to over PM if you like :)

[Jotari]

I got pretty into writing this one, but 'm not sure they feelings I wanted to convey will be as powerful for the reader as they were to me. We'll see I suppose.

Title: You're Here Because of Me.

Word Count ~5,000

Spoiler

The massive iron door closed with dull groan. “No!” he cried. He pounded at the door. “Open up!”
    “It won’t open,” she told him. “We’re trapped in here. Forever.”
    He spun around and glared at her. “You! You did this!” He didn’t run, but his stride was brisk and powerful. She barely had time to react before he’d grabbed her. He roughly lifted her off the ground by the cuff of her dress. “You told them to lock the door, didn’t you!?”
    The back of his hand was pressing forward into her throat, making it difficult to breath. “Yes,” she gasped. “And I’d do it again.”
    “Stupid child.” He flung her to the ground. It was a short distance, but the impact was blunt and painful. “You’re trapped in here too, don’t you realize that?” He reached into his holster and removed the gun. All her muster vanished, replaced by terror as she suddenly found herself staring down the barrel. “Open up!” he yelled, his voice bouncing off the large door and echoing down the cave. “You have five seconds. Open this door or I will blow her brains out!” He waited a few seconds, as if hoping the door would open, but nothing stirred. “Fine then,” he muttered. “Five!”
    The terror that paralyzed her suddenly urged her to run. She scrambled to her feet and tried to make her escape, but he was still close to her. He reached out and grabbed her hem, causing her to trip. “Four!” he yelled. He dragged her close to him and pulled her into a choke hold. “Three!” He placed the barrel against her temple. “Two!”
    “No,” she cried quietly. “Oh please no.”
    “One!” He shouted louder than before, louder than she had ever heard anyone shout before, but nothing happened. The door remained closed. “Well fuck.” He pulled the trigger.
    The noise of the gunshot was far louder than his shouts. It summoned a high drone that drowned out all else. It took her a few seconds to realize she was hearing this noise, and that she hadn’t been shot. He had raised the gun at shot the wall in front of them.
    He pushed her away and took a seat by the edge of the wall. She looked at him, apprehensive, uncertain as to what would happen yet. Meanwhile, his face was a scowl, fuming and furious. However his attention was no longer on her. He looked off to the side, his angry brow furrowed in thought. She realized he had no idea what would happen next either.
    Slowly, she tried to get to her feet and escape. She hoped he was too distracted, but the moment she made significant movement he sprang to attention and pointed the gun at her again. “Where do you think you’re going?”
    She remained silent.
    He tilted his head back and his expression became more neutral. “Alright then, we better go explore.” He gestured deeper into the cave with his gun. “You first.”
    She hesitated for a second, but then he flashed his teeth in a malicious smile and she realized she had no choice. He didn’t shoot her before, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to.
    They made their way through the tunnel and came to a fork in the path. “That way leads to the altar where I found the Stone,” he said, pointing to the right. “Nothing to see down there. We’ll go left. Move.”
    This tunnel was longer. They seemed to be travelling downwards, below the mountain and deeper into the earth. “How is it we’re able to see,” he wondered out loud after they’d been travelling for over thirty minutes.
    “It’s the lux moss,” she told him.
    “Huh. What’s that? I don’t see any moss.”
    “It’s a microscopic fungi that gives off its own illumination. We’re not sure why but it’s speculated to do so in order to attract certain bacteria, like an angler fish.”
    “You know a lot about this place, don’t you?”
    “I’ve been waiting all my life to come here.”
    “No wonder you were happy to trap us both in here.”
    “I’d actually rather not be trapped in here. Especially with you.”
    He poked her in the back with his gun. “Watch it girlie. You’re living on my good graces right now.”
    The tunnel eventually opened up into a large cavern. A series of steps led downwards to the foot of a large statue of a human figure with an elephant’s head sitting on a throne. The statue was huge, over fifty meters high. At its base was a small moat.
    “Incredibly,” he whispered. “That they could build something like this so long ago.”
    “I agree. If only my grandfather could see this.” She looked on him with accusing eyes.
    “The old man got exactly what he deserved. Come on, down you go. I want to see if there’s anything at the base.”
    It took them to reach the statue, such was the extent of its size. At the base was a mural, depicting a variety of animals. She ran her hand over the cold stone that had been coloured over four thousand years before. Cows, alligators, horses, lions and birds made up the piece of art. There were no humans however, the closest being the same humanoid figure with an elephant’s head.
    The man was also running his hand over the painting. “Some of these animals are extinct,” he noted. He looked around the room. The stairs leading towards the statue were tiered in a semi-circle, giving the room the appearance of an underground amphitheatre. “We might as well set up camp here. Where are your supplies?”
    “In my bag, with the Stone.”
    “Which you threw beyond the door to screw me over. Hmm. Alright then.” He removed his own, rather large rucksack and unzipped it. “I’ll take the tent, you can have the blankets. Here.” He threw a bundle of rags to her and began setting up the tent. He put the gun down to do so. She eyed the weapon, gauging whether she could reach it without him noticing. She didn’t think much beyond what she’d actually do if she got hold of it, though.
    When he’d finished setting up the tent, he removed a collapsible gas stove from the bag and began heating some water in a wok. He dimly noticed the gun was just lying on the ground and put it back its holster. When the water was boiling, he threw some noodles into the pan and waited for them to cook. When they were soft, he poured the water back into a canteen using a funnel and fried the noodles with some spice sachets.
    She grew wary of seeing him prepare food and began to wander off. She discovered another set of tunnels on either side of the statue’s base. For some reason it was darker inside these tunnels, but the light was dim enough to see. One of the tunnels lead upwards and she soon discovered it emerged on the shoulder of the statue. She looked down on the room from the same height as the elephant man’s eyes. She spied the man eating his meal directly from the wok. She briefly looked around to see if there was a rock she could drop on him. From this height she could do some serious dmage. This time she did consider if she’d actually go through with it if a rock was on hand. The point was rendered moot however, as much like the tunnels, the statue was in perfect conditions, completely free of any debris.
    When she made her way back down, the man had disappeared into his tent. Some of the noodles remained in the wok. She finished them off before wrapping herself in the rags and drifting off to sleep.

    The cavern was cool and damp. There was very little sense of airflow, but the main chamber was large enough to avoid a suffocating feeling. There was no sense of time underground, but days passed. The two of them didn’t say much to each other. In fact, despite the small space, they barely even saw each other. The man spent most of his time in his comically small tent, while the girl explored every nook and cranny of the cave system they had found themselves trapped in. Sometimes she would return to the large iron door, hoping in vein it had opened. There was no such luck however. It had remained closed for four thousand years, and would probably remain closed for four thousand more.
    She would have avoided the statue room if she could. However it was her only source of food. There always some meagre scraps of a meal left waiting for her in the wok. It was never quite enough to fill her, but it was enough to keep her going. The man never said anything about this small kindness on his part, at first she wasn’t even sure he was aware she was finishing off the food.
    One day, instead of noodles or rice she found the wok filled with grubs, slightly crisped from cooking. “What the hell is this?” she asked.
    “Its dinner,” the man said from inside the tent. She could detect a slight hint of amusement in his voice.
    “I’m not eating it.”
    “Then you’ll starve, all the food’s gone.” She heard the slight rustling of paper and realised he was reading a book.
    She looked back down at the wok in revulsion and shook her head.
    She grew weaker with each passing day after that. She tiredly desperately to find some alternate food source, but she wasn’t even sure how the man had managed to find the grubs in the first place. One day she fainted on the stone steps. This is it, she thought. I might as well waste away now. There’s no point really. Better than spending years in here with him.
    “Wake up you foolish girl.” She opened her eyes to see the man standing over her. His face was as stern and angry as always. He held in his hand one of the grubs. He was practically forcing it into her mouth. “Eat. Eat or you’ll die, you idiot.”
    She wanted to resist him, but she didn’t have the energy. She tried to swallow the grub whole, but it was too big. He grabbed her jaws and physically made her chew. The gas had run out long ago, so it was uncooked, she didn’t want to think of the possibility that it was still alive.
       She chewed. It tasted sour, but altogether not as bad as she feared. After that she lost consciousness. The next time she woke, she found herself covered in blankets and inside the tent. She was too weak to move, or to even care about moving. Periodically the man came and fed her more grubs. It was difficult to believe, but she eventually started regaining her strength.
    The day she left the tent, the man occupied it again. He threw the bedding out and zipped up the entrance, leaving them just as separate and distant as always.
    One day returned to find him bathing in moat at the feet of the statue. His clothes had been placed in a bundle beside the pond, resting on top of them was the gun holster. When he noticed her approaching, he turned and kept his eyes fixed on her. He was aware of his vulnerable position. His face told her he was ready to grab the nearby gun if she tried anything. It was silly really. Although his nakedness made him feel vulnerable, she posed no more threat than normal. She was half his size and less than that when it came to weight. Even with a bladed weapon she’d have a hard time overpowering him. If she had the gun on the other hand…
    Her eyes fell down to the weapon. “How many people have you killed?” Her voice sounded strange and unfamiliar to her. She wasn’t sure how many days had passed without speaking.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “Depends on how you count. Do you include the deaths our government sanctioned?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “When I was twenty I was drafted into the army. To fight the Final War. One day they thought me killing was wrong. Then suddenly it wasn’t. I was trained to kill, encouraged to kill. They gave me praise and medals when I killed, and then, when the war ended, they expected me to just stop. To go back the way things were before.”
    “You talk as if you’re the only one who ever fought the Final War. My grandfather was a soldier too.”
    “Then he’s a killer,” the man said, sharply. “And you think otherwise then you have no right to stand there and judge me.”
    “But he stopped when he came back from the war. You didn’t.”
    “And what difference does it make? War or no war, do you think the rules change. You think murder is okay because some fat man somewhere declares it necessary?”
    “So you think it’s just okay?”
    “Yes.” He stood up and got out of the water. She turned away, more because she no longer wanted to look at him than anything else. “There are people out there that wish to do you harm. You should know that by now.” He started getting dressed, his movements rough and sudden. All the while he kept his eyes train on her. “Killing is the base state of things. It is the law of the natural world. Eat, or be eaten. There is no middle ground. There is no safety. Anyone who tells you otherwise is seeking to trick you, to put you in their power.”
    “That’s not true!”
    He gestured to the paintings on the base of the statue. “It is the only truth. You think we’ve evolved. We’re no better than the animals on that wall. The only choice you have to make, is whether you want to be predator or prey.”
    “Maybe that’s true for animals, but we live in civilised society.”
    He laughed. “Do you believe in your courts and politicians? All that postulating? Give it a single seconds thought and you’ll realise the entire system is based on violence. All of the laws, every single one of them, are enforced with the threat of violence. Fail to follow them, and you will be arrested, detained and killed. We haven’t changed since we crawled out of the mud. All we’ve done is taught the prey to stay captive in a cell, waiting for the day they can be conveniently sacrificed for the good of the predator.”
    “If that’s what you believe, then why didn’t you shoot me when the door closed? Your food would have lasted longer that way.”
    He was suddenly moving towards her. She hadn’t even noticed him finish dressing. She tried to take a step back, but stumbled and fell in her panic. Then he was on her. He grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look at him. He was smiling, but there was no joy in those black beady eyes. “You are my prey,” he told her, “trapped in my cage.”
    “This is your cage too,” she reminded him. “I was the one who trapped you in here.”
    “Yes. I too am caged, but don’t for a second think I am in your power.” He removed the gun from its holster, she flinched, but instead of pointing it, he handed it to her.
    “What are you?”
    “Go on,” he urged. “Shoot me. It’s what you’ve wanted to do ever since I killed your grandfather. I see the revulsion in your eyes. You can’t hide it for me. You can’t hide anything from me.”
    The gun was shaking in her hands, but he kept the barrel steady in his own hand, keeping the muzzle pointed directly at his heart. “I’m not going to…” her voice trailed off.
    “Not going to what?”
    “I’m not going to stoop to your level.”
    “You mean you submit to being my prey. You are content being nothing. On the same level as the bugs we eat to stay alive.”
    There was a sharp loud click. It took her a second to realise she’d pulled the trigger, and another to realise the gun hadn’t fired. He laughed and pulled the gun away from her. “So you’re not such a little lamb after all.”
    She looked down at her hands. She was still shaking.
    “What’s wrong? Are you ashamed? Can you give me even a single reason as to why killing me would have been wrong? Our lives are already over. We have accomplished everything we will ever do. This cave is our reality for the rest of our lives. Be that another five seconds or another fifty years, it makes no difference.”
    “You don’t have any bullets, do you?”
    Without saying anything, he raised the gun and pulled a switch. The gun casing fell out from beneath it and landed on the floor. Slowly, he reached into his holster and removed a second clip. With deliberate motion, he slid it into the gun, pointed it upwards and fired. The noise wasn’t as deafening as the last time she had heard it, but it was still intolerably loud.
    “Then why didn’t you load the gun?” she said after the bang had faded. “If that’s the way you feel why don’t you just blow our brains out now?”
    “Because I don’t want to die. I want to live, even if there’s nothing worth living for. That’s why I keep you in this cage. I can’t live alone.” He returned the gun to his holster. “But you actually fired. I’m surprised. You were willing to kill me, while I’m not willing to kill you. Perhaps I’m really your prey.”
    “I don’t subscribe to your philosophy.”
    “Yes you do. You’re just too naïve to acknowledge it.” He returned to his tent. She didn’t see him after that for maybe a week. But she felt his presence every now and then. Some noises from the tent or some slight sign he had been through one of the passages not long before. Even if they weren’t talking to each other, even if they didn’t see each other, they both knew they weren’t alone.

    One day she was standing on the knees of the elephant man. She looked down at the moat below and a sudden fancy took her to jump. It wasn’t a suicidal thought; it was too absent minded for that. An act born more from boredom than depression. Still, she wasn’t prepared for the suddenness of the impact when she hit the water. Her breath was knocked out from her and she started swallowing water. The next thing she knew she was on the ground, he was standing over her, still in the process of resuscitating her.
    “You idiot,” he scowled. “If you want to kill yourself, aim for the floor, not the water.” He tapped the centre of his forehead. “Head first.” The look on his eyes was deadly serious.
       She had to laugh. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” It was a dull, mirthless choke of a laugh. “I’m fucking bored. There’s nothing to do here.”
       The man didn’t say a word, he just returned to his tent. A moment after he vanished, something was tossed out from inside. She approached, cautiously, and noticed it was a book. On the cover was a picture of a warrior glad in golden armour, holding up a large golden shield. She opened it up, but the words made no sense. “I can’t understand this,” she shouted at the tent.
       There was a stirring in the tent and the man emerged again. “You don’t speak Greek?” the man said, incredulously.
       “No. Of course not.”
       She was surprised by the look of utter dissatisfaction on his face. “Your grandfather truly taught you nothing then.”
       “Excuse me. I can translate Akkadian.”
       He stood up and exited the tent. “Then you shouldn’t find this difficult.”
       “Find what difficult?”
       He sighed. “Learning to speak Greek.”
       And so they finally found something to do. It was difficult at first, but both of them took on the mission with a fervent madness. The man wasn’t a particularly good teacher, but the girl was an excellent student. In lieu of a notebook, she found a sharp stone and scratched all her notes into a large section of the room. Once she was conversational they made it their policy to only talk to each other in Greek. To the man’s amusement, she incorporated the older style found in the novels he had packed which combined with his heavy regional accent served to make her sound utterly ridiculous. He had breaks in teaching when she read his books, but for her, every waking second of every day was spent on honing this newfound skill. It was as if she had made it her life goal to master a language quicker than a baby would.
       “You have to teach me something in return,” he said one day after he had returned from foraging.
       She raised and flourished a hand. “Would you like to learn how to dance?”
       “Can you provide music?”
       “Alas, I cannot.”
       “In that case, you said you could speak Akkadian. I want to learn.”
       “I said I could translate Akkadian. Nobody can speak Akkadian. Maybe if we had some materials I could teach you something simple, but I lost all of my supplies when the door closed.”
       “There’s Akkadian in this cave though. I’ve seen it, over there, under the picture.”
       She nodded. “Yes, but it’s mostly just a list of names, probably the kings or architects that oversaw the construction.”
       He looked crestfallen. “So there’s nothing useful here?”
       “There is one line that seems different, but it contains a word I can’t understand.”
       “Show me. Maybe I know. I can’t translate Akkadian, but I’ve also been searching for this place a long time. There are some symbols I might recognise.”
       “Alright then.” She led him across the room to the moat. “We’re going to have to get into the water to get close enough to see. There’s a slight bank we can stand on when we get there.” They stripped, malnutrition as tagged both of them to much to care for body consciousness. She noticed his gun holster was no longer strapped to him. It probably lay in the tent. They waded over to the part of the wall that had the text. “This is the line,” she said, pointing to a serious of dashes. “All I can read is that something will lead to deliverance. Then it says that this same thing will complete the something.”
       He stared at the ancient carvings and ran his hand over them. “You really don’t recognise this word?” he said in amazement.
       “No. Do you?”
       He nodded slowly. “Of course. This is the Stone. The whole reason we came to this cave in the first place.”
       She gasped. “That makes sense. It’s not a known symbol, so it wasn’t in any of my text books. What about this one? The stone will lead to deliverance and complete what?”
       “What do you mean by deliverance?” he asked. “Spiritual deliverance?”
       “No. It’s more generally like release.”
       “The stone is an ancient semiconductor. I think this word must be circuit. It’s not deliverance, its escape. The stone will lead to escape by completing the circuit that controls the door. If we can find something that works like the stone, then we can open the door!”
       He quickly swam across the moat and started pulling things out of his tent. He hadn’t even bothered to redress. She used the time it took to put her dress back on to deliberate over what to do next.
       He smashed a torch against the ground and opened it up. “This is the only thing electrical I have. There must be something in here we can use.”
       “Maybe you won’t have to,” she said, with a quiver in her voice.
       He looked up, almost surprised to see that she was still there, so engrossed was he in his task. “What do you mean?”
       She opened her hand; in it laid a perfectly smooth, teardrop shaped stone. There was little light in the cavern, but it still seemed to sparkle. “There wasn’t enough time to store it in my bag. I only threw my supplies beyond the door to make you think it was out of reach.”
       His eyes widened in shock. His gaze kept swapping from her face to her hand. “Do you understand what this means? We might actually be able to escape. I..I need to start packing. Gather the books. I’ll dismantle the tent.”
       “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?” she asked. “We have no evidence it’ll even work.”
       He laughed. “I don’t care. The hope is sweet enough in itself. So what if we waste a bit of time packing and unpacking everything. Time the only thing we have here.”
       The various supplies had gradually scattered all across the cave. It was a searching job to find and retrieve them all. Within a few minutes everything had been gathered and returned to the rucksack. The large cavern seemed very different without the tent, much emptier.
       “If we escape this place, we’re certainly going to leave a puzzle for the next explorers that find this place,” he said. “An ancient Akkadian wonder with a floor etched full of modern Greek.”
       “It shan’t be another four millenniums before others descend upon this cave. They’ll know why there’s Greek here.” She smiled. “I can’t wait to go out into the world and display what you thought me.”
       The rising excitement levels became palpable as they took the long walk back up to the iron door. Eventually they reached it. The man examined the door, something he had done a few times before, but now he had a purpose, something in particular to find. “I think this might be it.” He ran his thumb over a small hole near the base. “Give me the stone.”
       She felt slightly guilty handing the relic over to him, after everything they’d done to keep it out of his hands, but she wanted to escape just as much as he did. “Even if it was designed to open the door in the beginning, it’s very ancient now. It still might not work.”
       “I know.” He slotted the stone into place. Nothing happened.
       Her shoulders fell. “How disappointing.”
       He grew angry and struck the door with the palm of his hand. Suddenly there was a whirring as the mechanism inside activated. There was a click, and the large door cracked open. A blast of hot air erupted from the crack, washing over them the smell of a world they thought lost. “It worked,” he said, the surprise evident on his face.
       He pulled the door open further. On the other side was more cave, but it felt different. Every sense told them this cave was a separate reality to the one they had spent so long living in. Neither of them could find the will to step through at first. Eventually she laughed. “If only we’d thought to do this eons ago.”
       “Hunger is the greatest thirst.” He bent down and removed the stone from the open door. “Let’s get moving.”
       A few meters away from the door, they stumbled upon a corpse, the corpse of her grandfather. She let out a little yelp and clasped at the man. When she had a second to understand who it was, she calmed down and approached the body. He was bloated and rotten. If she knew anything about decomposition she could probably use it to gauge how long they had been trapped, but all that she could tell was that he wasn’t a skeleton. “I’m surprised the others didn’t bring his body back.” A tear ran down the side of her face. “Why did you do it?” she whispered.
       “It was me or him,” the man said solemnly. “Come on. Let’s keep moving. I’m dying to get a proper meal.” He pulled her away. Together they made their way upwards. The cave system they moved through here was more labyrinthine then the one they had become accustomed to.  They kept heading upwards, towards the warm air, towards freedom.
       Eventually they came to it. An opening to the sky. Above them it was night, a thousand million stars shone down of them below, the milky way and the heavens beyond were perfectly visible. Below them, stretching for miles, touching the horizon in every direction, was a vast jungle.
       “We did,” she whispered. “We’re out. We’re free.” She laughed. “We’re al-”
       There was a great bang. She didn’t feel anything. She just suddenly found herself collapsed on the ground, unable to move anything but her shoulders and head. She quivered and breathed heavily, panicking and uncertain what was happening. The man came into her view, in his right hand was the pistol. Who shot me? She thought. Who’s attacking us? But the man didn’t return fire in any direction. He bent down and pointed the gun at her head.
       “It’s nothing personal, kid,” he said. “You have my appreciation for keeping me sane in there, but I can’t let you go out and tell the world about the things I’ve done.”
       “No,” she cried weakly. “Please don’t.” She wasn’t sure if her words were in any way audible.
       “You were always my prey,” he said. “Anytime you thought otherwise was a gambit.”
       She never heard the final shot.
       

 

Edited February 6, 2019 by Jotari

[Dragoncat]

Title: After Twilight

Fandom: Legend of Zelda(Twilight Princess)

Words: 1252

Spoiler

A man dressed in typical hylian combat gear sneered at the two twili in front of him. "Go back to the shadows! Hyrule has no place for Dark Interlopers!"

The older male twili moved a hand to his sword hilted at his waist and kept it there. "My niece and I have been given full sanction. Please allow us to pass through the gate."

"Full sanction by who? That hick from Ordon, Alban? What a joke!"

The teenaged twili blinked. "I thought he was named Link."

The hylian's face was still locked in a sneer. "Goddesses no. I refuse to call anyone such an important title, who associates with Dark Interlopers."

"Call us twili."

"I will call you whatever I damn well please!" The hylian removed his sword from its scabbard and charged at the male twili. His attack connected near the shoulder blade and drew blood, and the twili grabbed his own sword in retaliation.

"Hey!" The teenager's flame colored eyes seemed to flash. "You seriously want a fight? I'll give you one!" She grabbed her sword, and dark magic flickered around the blade. Meanwhile her uncle seemed to be holding back, not aiming for any vital areas, but still guarding his own.

The fight escalated, two against one, but the hylian was fierce and driven by hate. Hate for the race that had just been welcomed back into the land of Hyrule after eons of separation. Welcomed back by the goddesses themselves. Border skirmishes were common and bigotry ran rampant in Hyrule. Scenes like this happened nearly every day lately.

"Trondo! Stop this at once!" A woman's voice boomed. The woman was dressed from head to toe in armor, with long black hair and hazel eyes. She was on the back of a white stallion. "I come to greet the ambassadors from the Twilight Realm and you are attacking them. Trondo, this is the last straw. You are no longer a knight of Hyrule."

Trondo's face turned pale. "Lady Ashei, I..."

"No excuses. I have given you multiple chances. Each time you have acted in complete disregard to what her majesty the queen, and her most trusted confidant, Lord Alban 'Link', have stated. As general I have the authority to do this." The horse whinnied, seemingly in agreement. "Leave now, or I will allow the twili to kill you if they wish."

Trondo hung his head and slouched. Without a word, he slunk off across the field. Ashei turned to the two twili. "Please forgive me for what you just experienced. I am General Ashei. Is your wound deep, Sir Umbren? Your surprise is understandable. I did get both your names already from Queen Zelda, who got them from your Queen Midna."

Umbren's eyes widened slightly, a couple of pupiless red orbs, typical of the twili race. "Not overly deep. But enough that it hurts and I will need medical treatment."

Ashei dismounted and reached into her saddle bag. "Drink this. It's a premium red healing potion. Should do the trick."

Umbren's niece gazed across the vast Hyrule Field. "That knight, or, former knight. Will he be a threat? He'll probably gather some allies and try to attack...maybe we shouldn't have let him go."

Ashei shrugged. "Chivalry is not dead, young Clipse. If he does he will be met with his consequence. Follow me."

Castle Town was filled with hylians going about their daily lives. Ashei was leading her horse, so it was easy for the two twili to keep up, and the people cleared a path for her, some bowing. A rocky skinned, round child approached with wide eyes. "Excuse me! Is it true you can use magic? I wanna see!"

Umbren blinked and smiled. "You must be a goron. Live in the mountains and eat rocks right? I'm afraid my magic is not for show, young man."

The child pouted. "I'm a girl!"

"Oh, my apologies! I was sure the old tales said all gorons are male..."

A deep guttural laugh sounded. "Well, it is hard to tell the difference if you're not one of us." The goron girl's father grabbed Umbren's hand and shook it. "The name's Torkus. I own a shop on the east side of town. Stop by sometime. Come on, Gegla. These people have important business to attend to."

Hyrule Castle loomed over the city. Ashei tied her horse to the hitching pole and led the twili ambassadors to the meeting room. Queens Zelda and Midna, along with Lord Link, were already present. Umbren knelt in front of Midna and bowed. "My queen, it is an honor to be here."

Midna smiled. "Thank you for being here, Sir Umbren. You have suffered greatly at the hands of Zant...your strength is admirable. And you, young Clipse. A fine future you have in store as well."

The group all sat down in their assigned seats. Zelda nodded. "Milord Link, you may begin."

The hylian hero looked like he was nervous, but his blue eyes glimmered with a sense of kindness and strength. "I was very happy when the magic barriers were dissolved and the Twilight Realm became an area in Hyrule. Queen Midna had said the mirror of twilight was the only way in and out, and after she shattered it...I was sure I would never see her again."

"Unfortunately many of the people of Hyrule are unwelcoming." Midna said. "I was accosted by a few on my way here...children threw rocks at me. I just had to keep moving because I will not raise a finger to harm a child."

"I got that as well." Umbren sighed and displayed his wound. It was a stab wound below his shoulder blade. The red potion had stopped the bleeding, but it was still a visible wound.

Zelda shook her head sadly. "We must find a way to educate the masses. Make it clear that the twili are our friends. Only Zant was the enemy."

"I'm decent at archery, I can teach archery lessons to hylians." Clipse suggested.

"It will take some time and effort." Ashei piped up. "For now, I suggest keeping the twili ambassador program, and let Umbren patrol the border with his unit. If they run into hylian resistance..."

"...They only have permission to fight back in drastic measures." Zelda finished.

"I will lead border guards myself. They have to respect me at least."

Clipse thought about telling Link not all hylians respected him, but decided not to. The meeting was adjourned. 

The goron child Gegla was sitting in an eastern street looking sad. Umbren blinked at her. "Young lady? We wanted to see what your father had in stock."

"Oh, a bad man attacked him, but he killed him, and now he's at the doctor's..."

"What did this bad man look like?" Clipse asked.

"He looked like a knight, but he didn't act like one...he kept saying he'd just been kicked out of the knights and now he was angry."

Clipse and Umbren exchanged a glance. "Well then." Umbren said. "Best wishes to your father, and we will definitely stop by when he's better."

"Thank you!" Gegla grinned. "I'm gonna go play with my friends now." She ran off to join a small group of goron children throwing a ball around. 

"Trondo got what was coming for him, uncle." Clipse said when Gegla was out of earshot.

"He sure did. I just hope not all of the enemies we make will have to learn their lessons the hard way..."

Info Dump(labeled with the character names but also fits their race in general at points)

Clipse:

Spoiler

Abilities

Twilis are a very magically inclined race, but they are weak against light based attacks. They also don't do well in bright sunlight, they are prone to sunstroke. They can see in the dark, however, and can function better at night than other races. Their magic is mainly of the dark element, but they can work with other elements with practice.

Clipse has good agility and magical resistance. She's not the strongest at hand to hand/melee combat, but she's a skilled archer. She often uses bronze tipped arrows and channels her magic through them. Bronze is an effective magic conductor, so many twilis use it in their weapons. She also has a bronze short sword but she's not as good with it as she is with her bow. When surrounded by enemies she'll most likely use the offensive Din's Fire spell, which can hit multiple targets at once, but she's not a master with it and she'll need to build up her magic reserves again afterward. It normally takes a few minutes.

Appearance

All twilis have beady, glow in the dark eyes, and pale white skin with dark markings that vary by individual. Their ears are pointed. Clipse's eyes are orange. Her markings are on her face, ears, hands, and feet. Her face marking resembles a raccoon's mask, her ears are completely covered with the dark color, and her hand/foot markings resemble mitts or socks. Her hair is yellow, medium short, and frequently messy. She normally wears a headband and a simple cloth and leather tunic.

Personality

Intelligent, friendly, studious. She's always been interested in the light world and read so much about it, that when she was thrown there she already knew the names and characteristics of some of its flora and fauna. This includes sentient races. She was most interested in the gorons, the large mountain dwelling rock people that could apparently survive lava.

Comes off as a bookworm or a nerd, but also enjoys other hobbies. Enjoys archery and is good at it. Likes to attempt to teach twili kids magic and archery techniques, even if it doesn't always work well. Her little cousin follows her around like a baby duck at times and she can lose her patience with him, but finds him adorable anyway and looks forward to his magic growing in in an estimated two years so she can train him. Looks up to her aunt and respects her, but is closer to her uncle.

History

Eons ago, the magic wielding twili race and the hylian people were at war over the triforce: the mystical artifact blessed by the gods. The hylians won the war, and the triforce fell into their hands. But a twili tried to take it anyway, and as a result, the entire race was punished by the gods. They were forced to live in a land of perpetual twilight, separated from the rest of the world by a barrier that even their magic couldn't break. This land became known as the Twilight Realm.

The twilis prospered in the Twilight Realm. It became the only home they knew, but they never forgot that there was more of the world that they couldn't reach. One day, a rather ambitious twili nobleman made a pact with what he thought was a god. This "god" was actually a former evil dictator from the world beyond who had been executed and his spirit sent to the Twilight Realm in shackles. The twili, Zant, had his magic strengthened to the level that he could open portals to the "world of light" and curse his countrymen. The current ruler of the Twilight Realm, Princess Midna, was turned into a pathetic imp creature as Zant usurped the throne and cursed all who opposed him, turning them into mindless, ugly monsters to wreak havoc on both sides of the world.

One of the portals opened right in front of Clipse as she was being harassed by Zant's monsters. Without thinking, she dove into it and ended up in the light world...with no visible way to get back. She explored by night and slept by day until she came across a hermit who let her stay with him. He answered the questions she had about the light world, and told her that he had seen an imp that looked like it came from the same place she had, traveling with a hylian swordsman. Clipse didn't know why she believed the old man, but she did, and she had a feeling this imp was the key to stopping the evil that plagued both worlds.

She was right. A few months passed, and Princess Midna got her throne and true form back. She had worked with the swordsman, Princess Zelda of the light world, and others. The hermit turned out to be a benevolent spirit in human form. He returned to the spirit world. The gods were impressed with Midna, she had proven that her people weren't as selfish as their ancestors. The magic barrier was dissolved and the Twilight Realm became part of the rest of the world that anyone could go in and out of.

Sadly, Clipse had lost most of her friends and family to Zant's rampage. Her only surviving family member was her uncle Umbren, a guard captain who Zant had forced to work for him. The two are inseparable now, and she is showing him around the light world as the queens aim for peace between their people. Clipse's cousin was born after the whole ordeal and the kid is still too young to be told about it, but will be when he's mature enough, because "those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it", according to Umbren.

Umbren:

Spoiler

Abilities

Twilis are a very magically inclined race, but they are weak against light based attacks. They also don't do well in bright sunlight, they are prone to sunstroke. They can see in the dark, however, and can function better at night than other races. Their magic is mainly of the dark element, but they can work with other elements with practice.

Umbren has a lot of raw power behind his attacks, but he's not super agile. He wields a bronze broad sword which he can combine with his magic, bronze being an effective magic conductor. For ranged attack, he can launch blasts of magic. He's good with the Din's Fire spell that can hit multiple targets at once, but has to recharge for a minute afterward before he can use magic again.

Appearance

All twilis have beady, glow in the dark eyes, and pale white skin with dark markings that vary by individual. Their ears are pointed. Umbren has dark red eyes and short yellow hair. His markings are on the tips of his ears, on his lower jaw resembling fangs, and down his chest and part of his back. His typical outfit consists of light armor and a formal looking tunic.

Personality

Stern and serious, but can joke around when he finds it okay to do so. Carries himself with authority and prefers that his underlings call him "Sir". Has a tactical mindset, he will often approach problems with logic and a clear head.

Has a soft spot for his niece, Clipse, and isn't as strict with her as he is with others. He acts protective of her at times, but not overly. He's also clearly in love with his wife Nocta if you know what to look for, public displays of affection are "below his honor", so he won't kiss or nuzzle in public or in front of his troops, but the look in his eyes when he addresses her hints at the romantic bond. Rumor has it he's a fiery lover in private though, which he refuses to comment on. His son appears to be the only person who can get him to goof off. Nobody says anything when they see the normally serious guard captain turn into a goofball father, chasing the boy around playing tag or wrestling with him, but it has raised a few eyebrows before.

History

Eons ago, the magic wielding twili race and the hylian people were at war over the triforce: the mystical artifact blessed by the gods. The hylians won the war, and the triforce fell into their hands. But a twili tried to take it anyway, and as a result, the entire race was punished by the gods. They were forced to live in a land of perpetual twilight, separated from the rest of the world by a barrier that even their magic couldn't break. This land became known as the Twilight Realm.

The twilis prospered in the Twilight Realm. It became the only home they knew, but they never forgot that there was more of the world that they couldn't reach. One day, a rather ambitious twili nobleman made a pact with what he thought was a god. This "god" was actually a former evil dictator from the world beyond who had been executed and his spirit sent to the Twilight Realm in shackles. The twili, Zant, had his magic strengthened to the level that he could open portals to the "world of light" and curse his countrymen. The current ruler of the Twilight Realm, Princess Midna, was turned into a pathetic imp creature as Zant usurped the throne and cursed all who opposed him, turning them into mindless, ugly monsters to wreak havoc on both sides of the world.

Umbren was a guard captain at the Twilight Palace. He and some others tried to stop Zant, but failed. Zant had become too powerful, they hardly even left a scratch on him. Umbren refused to give in though, and he kept attacking him even after his companions were all dead. This impressed Zant. Instead of killing Umbren, he chained him up and threw him in the castle dungeon. He then gave him a deal: work for him, and he would spare him.

The outlook was bleak, but Umbren had the will to survive. So he did whatever the tyrant wanted, waited on him hand and foot, acted as both a butler and a guard. He clung to the belief that things would sort themselves out even though it appeared he had nothing left to live for.

And they did. By some miraculous turn of events, an outsider from the world of light came. Normally it should be impossible for light dwellers to enter the Twilight Realm...there must be something special about this one. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the man turn into a wolf. There were many different races in the light world, but no shapeshifters that Umbren knew of. Zant told him to kill the outsider. He refused, he had finally had enough of being a servant, and he wasn't going to just kill someone who wasn't a threat to him. Zant then said that he would kill him himself, and he would kill Umbren afterward. But the outsider killed Zant instead. A few days later, Princess Midna returned and got her throne back.

Along with the princess came Umbren's niece, who had been surviving in the light world. He was so happy to see that he had a surviving family member. They're inseparable now. A few years after their reunion, Umbren met a traveling twili warrior woman in a tavern. He was in full uniform and just got off duty, somehow Nocta was drawn to him, which he figures had to be the uniform. There was plenty of gossip when this woman ended up in Umbren's unit by his own choice, AND managed to get herself a decent rank to boot. Nobody was surprised when he proposed to her a year after their first meeting. They were blessed with a son, Nyren, less than a year after the wedding. Nyren is a typical scampy little four year old, bubbly, hyper, and naturally close to his cousin as much as he is to his parents.

Other

Spoiler

Nyren and Nocta are not in the picture yet at the time of this entry.

 

Edited February 5, 2019 by Dragoncat

[Rafiel's Aria]

Since I'm not posting during the last day, this doesn't count as yet another last minute entry, right? XD

Title: Under Your Scars
Fandom: Original
Word Count: 4603

Spoiler

Ashley awakened to a figure streaked with greens and golds dancing across his field of vision like a shooting star. He blinked, attempting to focus on the slender form as it flitted from one corner of the room to the next, stopping only to admire itself in the fading rays of sunlight poking through the closed curtains. After several mesmerizing moments, he could make out gentle ginger curls decorated with amber gems spilling down a young man’s shoulders. Delicate golden bangles around his arms and ankles jingled with each sway of his lithe body. He was in the process of arranging an emerald scarf around his shoulders when he finally noticed Ashley’s movement from the bed.

The man danced into his direction and knelt down on the floor beside the bed so Ashley could admire him before playfully tracing a fingernail painted black across the length of his jaw, leaving a trail of goosebumps. Despite the warmth of the man’s glow, Ashley shivered. “Sk-Skye...what happened-”

The man’s lips brushed his cheek and then his forehead, pausing to hover over his lips. The familiar scent of citrus wafted from the untamed locks of Skye’s hair. Instinct told Ashley that he wanted to bury his face in that scent, to etch its memory into his lips, but as Skye started to close the gap between them, bile rose up into the back of his throat. Startled, Skye lunged for a trash can laying on its side a few feet away and thrust it under Ashley right as he began to violently vomit.

From the floor, Skye sighed, arranging the crown of curls back around his forehead haphazardly. “Of course. You’re still not feeling well. Figures.” He picked himself up from the carpet and returned to the bed so he could sit by Ashley’s side and run his fingers through his hair. “I really wanted you to meet Zain this time. You always find an excuse not to. Are you sure you’re not well enough?” A reprise of heaving answered his question, and he nudged the trash can closer to the side of the bed.

Gasping for air, Ashley struggled to roll onto his back, every muscle aching as if he had just been awakened from a petrified state. The cool evening air licked against his clammy skin, sending another shiver down his spine that only awakened pain in more places. More cautious this time, Skye brushed away a few strands of sweat-dampened hair from Ashley’s forehead and planted a gentle kiss there. “I guess I just have to remember that neither of us is as young as we used to be...but you’ve aged a lot more than I have.”

Before Skye could pull away, Ashley reached up a trembling hand to trace a swollen, darkened patch of skin hidden beneath a thin veil of powder on Skye’s cheek. “...where did this come from?” he asked dryly.

Skye laughed as he demurely turned his head away and arranged a few misplaced curls behind his ear. “You were...rough last night. If you don’t want people asking questions, maybe you should try to leave marks more...discreetly.”

“I’d never...hit you, babe...” He tried to sit up, only to get hit by another wave of nausea followed by a blinding pain hammering away at his skull. Skye pressed a finger into the center of his forehead and eased him back down onto his damp pillow.

“Sure. That’s what they all say.” He started to stand, but Ashley suddenly found enough strength to reach for his hand and tug him back down. He laced their fingers together and tried to find some warmth in them, but despite the radiance beaming from the man’s gentle eyes, all he felt was ice.

“Ash…” Skye squeezed his hand before letting it slip out of his grasp. “I love you, but I need you to stop fighting me...on everything. It may not seem like it now, but last night fixed us. ...or it will fix us with a little time. Dinner was a nice gesture, but it’s little things like this…” He traced the partially hidden bruise along his cheekbone. “...that make me think you don’t care about me anymore.”

“That’s not…” Ashley tried to suck down another breath when his voice came out pinched and dry. But when he tried to speak again, he couldn’t even force out a whisper of sound. His fingers started to tremble, inching towards Skye’s once more, but he was already on his feet again. He stared down at him, eyes almost pleading for him to say something, anything.

“I’m going out,” he said after prolonged silence. “My friends are expecting me with or without you. I’d rather go with you, but not when you look like someone just dragged you out of the dumpster behind a bar. I cleaned up what I could. The rest is on you.”

“...p-please don’t...Don’t go.”

He blew him a kiss from the tips of his fingers and started to back away towards the door. “Do you want to keep me locked up here so you can continue to neglect me?” He seemed to regret the words almost as soon as they had left his mouth. “We can talk about that more when you’re feeling better. Can I at least celebrate my birthday in peace, General?”  

Every syllable of the title hammered a new nail into his skull until stars not half as pleasant as Skye were dancing across his vision. “...go...have fun,” he rasped.

“I thought so.” Skye’s figure disappeared from Ashley’s field of vision, but he heard the familiar thud of his sandals clomp down the hallway and through the living room. “I love you!” he called from the front door right before the locking mechanism tumbled back into place.

“...I love you too,” he muttered, struggling to roll over onto his side once more.

He paused between each movement to allow his throbbing skull and body to adjust to each position he had to make in order to sit back up. By time he had managed to find himself hunched hover, cradling the trash can in-between his bare thighs with a sheet wrapped around his shoulders, the sun had almost completely disappeared. Only a glimmer of twilight peeked out through the curtains.

It was in his attempt to light the oil lamp by the bedside that he noticed for the first time the blood and flesh under his nails, at least those that weren’t torn. Without Skye’s musk distracting him, he was almost completely overwhelmed with the stench of iron and rot. He threw his head into the trash can once more and heaved, but he couldn’t find the strength to even purge the emptiness from his stomach. He pushed himself from the side of the bed, clamoring to his hands and knees like a wild animal until he found  a discarded nightshirt. While he could pull it around over his shoulders, his fingers couldn’t stop shaking long enough to fasten them. He let the silk fabric billow around his body, cold like everything else in the room.

As he crawled towards the door, his hands brushed over something still damp and sticky. Impulsively, he shivered and tugged his hand back to find it dripping with red. The lamp provided very little light, but even in the shadows, he could see  dark streaks painted across the bedroom floor. Fine lines had been gouged into the wood. He placed a hand over them, fitting a fingertip into each jagged groove perfectly.

Determined now, he pulled himself to his feet, swaying for a moment in the doorway before keeping close to the wall and working his way into the rest of the house. Though free of gore, he followed a trail of destruction down the hallway. Framed pictures had been torn from the walls, and more than once he found a shard of glass cutting into the calloused underside of his foot. Knick-knacks lay strewn about on the floor. In the kitchen, the roast he’d left on the table sat untouched, flies buzzing around it. With each step, he realized it became harder and harder to breathe as though the air had become thick and heavy. Wheezing, he paused by the fireplace, gripping the mantle hunched over and panting like a dog. He lifted his gaze enough and caught another glimpse of crimson in the reflection of a golden clock ticking away beside an overturned picture frame and decorative dragon figurine. Mouth still agape, he hobbled towards the partially cracked mirror hanging by the kitchen entrance.

Someone he barely recognized starred back him with the same empty green eyes set back against almost sun-kissed skin almost completely drained of color. He reached out to touch the reflection to be sure it was him and not an intruder, but the reflection’s arm rose with his own, and he pulled it back to trace the swollen purplish  scars of several punctures along his throat.

“No…” he whispered, stepping back. He clawed at the marks as if he could remove them like he might remove collar. Suddenly he was drowning on the air around him. Any attempts to draw in breath were futile and each second without oxygen sent his heart racing faster and faster until he thought it might explode.

He clawed at his chest, at his heart threatening to jump out. He thought for a moment he could see it thumping, screaming to escape his miserable, pathetic body. Breathe, stupid. You just have to breathe.  He lowered himself to the ground careful to avoid the shards of mirror lying about and pulled his knees up to his chest as darkness started to consume his vision once more.

He wouldn’t do that to you.

Just breathe, stupid.

You have to clean up.

You’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gentle rhythmic tapping against the front door lulled him from his sleep this time. Sunlight poured through the front windows, blinding him enough to give him the momentary thought that he had been a decent enough person to make it to heaven. But when he tried to uncurl from his position on the ground, the pain was still there,  more numb than before but still there.. He slid a hand up around his neck and felt every puncture torn into his skin. Still there. His lungs wanted to collapse.

The knocking grew louder, more frantic, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure dart away from the window. “Lark! I see you in there!” a woman called from the other side of the door. “I’m coming in!”

He cursed. “Go away, Makino,” he whispered once to himself, practicing the appropriate timbre. He could hear her already fiddling with the lock by time he mustered up the strength to repeat himself, pushing every ounce of air he could into a roar, “Go away, Makino!!”

The front door swung open, and a young woman with with long, dark hair stepped in, eyeing the state of the living room with a critical eye. “Lark, what the hell happened-”

He pried himself from the floor, his sweaty, blood-crusted skin coming up from the wood with a sickening squelch that made his growling stomach toss and turn. “I said...go away,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

The woman didn’t bother to look him in the eye. She slipped out of a pair of heavy boots, leaving them by the door to pick through the debris left on the carpet. “You didn’t come into work for two days. Your lieutenant was worried. Have you been like this the entire time?”

She paused to look into the kitchen, nose wrinkled at the odor of spoiled meat. Ashley managed to sit up, numbly fastening the buttons of his nightshirt to cover up at least some of his nakedness even if the woman didn’t seem too concerned. “Then tell Lieutenant Oston I’m ill. I’ll be into work tomorrow. Now leave.”

“Can you stand?” she asked, finally glancing into his direction to regard him, but her gaze wandered down the hall, following the trail of destruction towards the bedroom. “...is someone else here?”

His limbs protested as he reached for the back of a chair and hoisted himself onto his feet. He must’ve resembled a newborn fawn because even the woman managed to crack a bit of a grin. “If you don’t get out of my house right now, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your miserable life in prison, you filthy immigrant whore. Now LEAVE!”

The woman’s expression iced over, but rather than retreat, she marched towards him and jabbed a pointed nail into his chest. “I’ve known you for ten years, so I’m willing to let a lot of things slide, Lark.” While she normally had to stand on her toes to even meet his gaze, hunched over, she found it relatively easy to grab a handful of his hair and force him down into a seat “But after that little fit, you’re going to sit and watch while I do a thorough investigation of this entire place whether you like it or not.”

Teeth bared, he started to rise, but she placed a knee into his groin. “I mean it. Act like a dick, and you lose yours. Got it? Good.” She tossed a knit blanket hanging on the back of the sofa into his direction before disappearing into the back.

An eternity must have passed while he waited for the woman to return. He couldn’t hear her, but then again, he never could, and the quiet nagging voice inside his head told him she had already left. More authorities were on their way. Everyone was going to know. He was struggling to breathe again even with the comfort of the extra weight of the blanket in his lap.

“...that’s a lot of blood, Lark,” the woman said as she reemerged from the back.

He jumped, and at first, she seemed genuinely surprised. She walked around to the sofa and settled down into it, holding a picture in her hands. She gestured to a young man in the photo, still boyishly petite and beaming with youth from green eyes poking out from behind a mop of dark hair. Behind him a much taller young man rested his chin atop the smaller’s head, shining like a sunbeam. “That one’s you. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile. And the other is...your brother?”

“My husband.” He couldn’t avoid it at this point, and he wanted to rip it off like a bandage, but it didn’t hurt any less. The genuine shock that reflected back in the woman’s eyes left his heart aching. He reached for the picture and tugged it out of her grasp, trying to fix a bent corner.

“You never said you were married… You’ve never worn a ring.”

“Because it’s never been any of your business. And I don’t need my private life under the scrutiny of every single citizen. People spread enough nasty rumors about me as it is. I don’t even know how you managed to find my home because that’s definitely not any of your business.”

“When a general disappears for two days, it’s very much so my business. You haven’t missed a day of work since you spent that stint in a coma after that training accident… Your  husband is he-?”

Ashley leaned over and rubbed at his eyes. “He’s alive. Probably nursing a hangover.”

“You have to look at me when you speak. Otherwise I’ll be inclined to think you’re lying to me.” She poked at his foot with her own until he peeked up to glare at her.

“The blood is mine. Now there’s nothing I need or want from you, General. You can take your leave and expect to see me in my office tomorrow morning.”  

“...how long have you been married?”

“Yukiko, you’re trying my patience. Do I need to remind you who has seniority?”

She leaned across and placed a hand over his knee only for him to shudder and shy away from her. Rather than try to force the contact, she retreated as well, resting her hand in her lap. “At this point, your bark is worse than your bite. If you go to the castle acting like this, people are going to start talking. You know that discretion is a specialty of mine, and I’m more than willing to keep secrets since you’ve always kept mine, but you need to talk to me. If something’s happened to frighten you-”

“I’m not a victim, Makino, and don’t you dare treat me like one!” he roared.  The sudden intensity in his voice placed a strain on his aching ribs he wasn’t sure his body was ready for. But he sucked down the pain, nostrils flaring with a revitalized anger just hot enough to burn away a fraction of the numbness. “My husband’s sick. I’m dealing with it! And I don’t want your sympathy, and I certainly don’t want you snooping around my house like it’s any of your business whether I have fine china or a significant other!”

Suddenly, he could no longer see, and a wave of panic threatened to drag him under once more. He tried to breathe, but it came out in a heavy sob he thought might shatter his ribcage entirely. He clawed at his eyes to brush away the tears, but they fell from his eyes quicker than he could clear them away. He cursed in-between breaths, each oath louder than the last, until his throat burned from screaming. The outburst gradually settled, and he waited for Yukiko to chide him but instead, she rose from her seat and disappeared.

He should have felt relief that she was gone, but she’d left him in a void of loneliness once more. The painful silence filled with nothing more than his ragged breathing and pathetic sobs didn’t comfort him at all. He held the blanket to his cheek, pretending the softness was a gentle caress. It wasn’t until the kettle in the kitchen started to scream that he realized he wasn’t alone.

Yukiko reemerged from the kitchen with a delicate floral teacup in her hand and offered it to him. When he didn’t reach for it quickly enough, she grabbed his hand and wrapped it around the cup. “Here.”

“You need to-”

“If I can’t tell you what to do, you certainly can’t tell me what to do. Seniority or not, we’re equals. And you’re certainly entitled to your secrets, but not now. I’m willing to leave here and pretend I never saw anything, but you need to speak with me honestly so I can leave the premises without feeling as if I’ll regret having made that promise to you.”

Ashley took a long grateful sip of the hot, bitter liquid. It washed down some of the acidity in his throat but left the stinging as a memory. “Fine.”

“What can you tell me about your husband?”

His fingers tightened around the teacup. He only released his grip when he realized his trembling had caused some of the hot liquid to spill out over his fingers. “...Skye smells like summer...almost all year round. We’ve been together for almost 25 years now...and that’s never changed.”

Yukiko felt a bit of color rise to her cheeks but she managed to keep her expression stony. “Has he changed?”

“A bit…” He reached a hand up to his throat, thankful that the collar of his nightshirt covered the worst of the scarring, but he could feel it almost throbbing. “No...a lot. He’s just...he’s sick. But it’s fine. These things...they...they happen… I just think…” The scars felt like they were constricting around his throat tighter and tighter. Yukiko leaned over and grabbed his hands once more to steady them around the teacup. “I think he got me sick as well…”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She eased the cup out of his grasp and set it down so she could hold his trembling hands in hers. “Don’t mistake my apology. I’m not offering you my pity or condolences. The apology is because empathy isn’t my forte. What else can I do to help?”

Ashley bit his lip, grounding himself with her presence. For the first time, he could breathe a bit more clearly. His head didn’t feel as heavy, and he could think through the situation. “...I need to see your healer.”

“Percival? He’s a good kid, but I’m not sure-”

“No. The freak...I mean...the retired one. Connors.”

Yukiko raised an eyebrow. “You think he can cure you?”

“No. But I can trust that no one will believe a word out of his mouth if he starts to talk about this.” He removed his hands from hers to pick at the last bits of dried blood under his nails. “I need a doctor,” he admitted. “But I...I need discretion more. If the king finds out about this-...”

“He won’t.” She looked him up and down with cold eyes softened slightly by the sight of tear streaks and snot etched into his face. “I’ll arrange a meeting for you. Discreetly. But…” She tapped a finger against her knee anxiously. “Tell me the truth. How concerned should I be?”

“For who? Yourself? National security?”

“You.”

“...I don’t know yet. I’m scared...but only that someone else will find out.”

“Then they won’t.” She rose from her seat and rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment before retreating towards the door. “I’ll tell your lieutenant that you’re looking into something for me. And I think you should stay with Connors for a few days. Pack. Before your husband returns.”

“Yukiko, I’m not a vic-”

“Of course not. But you’re also still mortal which means you’re breakable.” She slipped back into her boots and offered him one last firm nod. “I’ll be back to pick you up.”

“...thank you.” She turned to leave, and he stopped her by clearing his throat. “Yukiko, I’m...sorry, I said… I should have called you those things.”

“No. You shouldn’t have. But I’ll forgive you this time.”

He watched her leave, letting her words soak in for a moment. Running away was always an option, but...then again, it wasn’t. He caressed the picture of the two boys, barely old enough to know how cruel the world was, how difficult it would be to stay in love when reality started to set in. He had promised to stay, to always come home no matter what. The nagging voice inside his head told him to pack. But as he lay down and curled up with the blanket against his chest and the photograph under his cheek, he couldn’t imagine where to even begin.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cold wind snaking in from the opening front door awakened him for a third time. And Skye stumbled in, kicking off his muddied boots into the corner. Ashley barely had time to register the intruder in his drowsy state before he felt the man’s weight crushing his chest. He gasped, protesting in strained animalistic groans before Skye laughed and quickly slipped off of him onto the floor, allowing his cheek to rest on the cushion beside his husband’s head. “Sorry...forgot about how sore you probably are, you old man.”

“You...were gone for so long,” Ashley said. He could smell alcohol on the man’s clothes and breath. Even the overpowering citrus smell had been replaced with cheap booze and smoke and a cologne he didn’t recognize.

“Got pretty trashed. Stayed with Zain. Unlike someone, I don’t go home after a couple of drinks. I ride it out!” He reached over and stroked his husband’s hair, tugging at a few stray strands of silver creeping in among the black. “You’ll feel better in a few days. Then maybe you can come out with us. It’s nice…”

“Drinking?”

“Feeling powerful. Young even. Immortal.” His hand stroked his husband’s temple and traced down to the ring of scars at his throat. “See? Yesterday you were bleeding all over the bedroom floor, and now you can barely see them. You’re practically a god already...” He leaned in to kiss him, but Ashley tugged back, leaving Skye to frown. “I’m sorry I had to scare you like that. I was scared too...after Zain changed me, but it’s worth it. I think I’ve finally fixed the problem. ”

Ashley tried to sit up, but Skye placed a firm hand on his chest and lowered him back down to the sofa. “What problem?”

“Us, babe.” Skye leaned back to laugh at nothing in particular and to wipe away a bit of sweat on his brow before unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt. Ashley rolled over his side to watch him, reaching out to take his hand and hold it against his chest. “Ya’ know...I can’t really remember not ever being with you. You’ve always been kind of pathetic, and I’ve always been…”

“Unhinged?”

Skye flicked Ashley’s nose before diving in to kiss the wound with a wet peck. “Feral. But I bring out your starving adventurous soul, and you tame me...a little bit. We need us. But we were dying because of you.”

“That’s not-”

He was silenced with a finger to his lips and a frightening intensity in Skye’s eyes. “You pledged yourself to me before you pledged yourself to the country. I just had to remind you of that.” He gripped his husband’s jaw with his hand and pulled him into his face so he could see the glittering amber fire in his eyes. “You’re mine.”

Skye released him and joined him on the sofa, softly kissing the side of his neck. Each tug of his lips felt like tiny needles just barely puncturing his skin. “...I’m seeing a doctor, Skye,” Ashley whispered. The kisses stopped. “I think you should come with me.”

“...this conversation again.”

“You… Something’s wrong with...all of this. You could have killed me. And this...this isn’t much better. You...You promised you wouldn’t do this to me.”

“Oh, Ash…” Skye took his husband’s head in his hands and kissed it until Ashley had all but melted into the gentle rhythmic strokes of his hands through his hair. “You know I can’t help myself. But I’m not sick. And you’re not sick either. We’re just...liberated. And it’s going to be beautiful. The next full moon, you’ll understand. I promise.”

“But you really-”

“If you’re still frightened, I can go spend some more time with Zain. He’s not scared of me.”

Ashley felt the man’s weight shift as if he was getting ready to move and desperately reached for his hand, clinging to it. “No… I want you to stay. I’m sorry. I’m just...tired.”

He felt the sting of the man’s palm across his face. “You’re going to rot on the sofa tonight and think of ways you can beg me to stay.” He pressed his lips against the patch of redness throbbing on his cheek. “ But I’m going to be very unhappy if you run away with a healer. I can’t promise that I’ll be here when you get back.”

“But-”

Skye rose from the sofa and stretched. “Think about it. But just keep in mind that I’m not the one throwing away twenty-five years of marriage if you do run off.” A radiant smile crept back onto his face for a moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ashley whimpered through tears.

But I hate myself for meaning it.

Author's Notes: 

Spoiler

While I'm pretty proud of this piece and would like to spend more time editing it and fixing the language to make it a bit more elegant (since I noticed I tend to fall back on some literary cliches far too often), I'm also a bit worried it's another flop plot-wise. I really, really enjoyed this prompt and spent quite a bit of time trying to craft my idea into something a little unexpected. I also tried my hardest to develop the characters enough that you could get a sense of who they are without knowing the greater part of the story. But I also left a great deal of interpretation up to the reader. Not sure if that's a mistake or not. I may have needed to be a bit more specific. And despite my best efforts, I probably won't know if this functions as a oneshot until I hear from everyone that they're super confused and have no idea what's going on. lol If this is the case, please let me know what you find confusing and/or lacking. 

As for some notes on this specific oneshot. Skye is a werewolf. I never used that word, but I kind of felt like I dropped enough hints to make that seemingly clear. Or at the very least that Skye was secretly some sort of monster. He was turned into one quite some time ago by a man he's having an affair with. And in this specific scene, he's infected Ashley as well. My intention with this story was to make it seem like Ashley was the problem, maybe even an abuser, and then unveil bit by bit that maybe he's not the problem after all until Skye reveals his true colors. I thought this prompt was a good way to explore this specific story since it allows me to set the scene for this nasty thing that happened without having to go into detail about it. This couple is important to my overall story because I'm pretty passionate about showing a wide array of pairings from different walks of life with varying sexualities, ages, love languages, etc. And this one just so happens to be an incredibly toxic relationship that explores things like domestic abuse and consent.

I suppose as a disclaimer I should put that this isn't my only homosexual couple, and it's not my only portrayal of an unhealthy relationship in my main story just in case anyone's worried about that. Sorry about the lengthy notes. XD Too much on my brain.

As a final note, I stole the title of this story from a song by Godsmack. Originally, it was called "Penumbra" to stick with a moon theme, but I've been listening to the song on repeat, and it really inspired me to finish this piece. 

 

[Ottservia]

Title: Fractured Understanding

Fandom: Original

words: 1,031

Spoiler

“Damnit damnit damnit!!” Tatsuya continuously slammed his fist against the drenched bark of an oak tree. His teeth nearly shattered under the mounting pressure of grinding them together. A puff of steam erupted from his bloodstained and shivering hand. With one last cry of frustration and a swing of his fist, splinters of ashen wood flung into the air as the mighty oak fell to the ground.

 

“Tatsuya calm down!”

 

“Calm?!?!” He shot a glance back at Silver, “How can I be calm at a time like this?!?!” He spun around and stabbed his comrade with an icy glare. His heartbeat raced even faster as lava coursed through his veins. “For all, we know every one of our friends are dead!!” He then pointed down at the princess paralyzed in shock, “And it’s all HER damn fault!!!!” Rapid ragged breaths squeezed through his teeth and puffed into the air.

 

“Eos tried her best alright!” Silver snapped back, “and it’s not like you’re completely blameless either!”

 

To this, Tatsuya remained quiet as his eyes glided to the floor. He was right. His plan failed. There were so many variables he failed to recognize. Liquid metal leaked from his tightening grip. It was just...just so frustrating.

 

“We’re all equally at fault here! But what’s important is that we’re alive to try again!”

 

Tatsuya glared back at his green-armored friend, “And what makes you think we have a second chance huh?!” He took a step forward, “We barely escaped with our lives back there!!! Our friends have all likely been killed, captured, or worse!!! And look at us!!” He gestured to the uncountable number of bloody scars scattered across their bodies, “are you so stupid to believe, we have any chance at a counterattack in the state we’re in!!!”

 

Silver reflected his own glare back at Tatsuya, “Well at least I haven’t given up yet!! So what if our friends have been captured! What do you want us to do?! Just sit here and die while they rot away in the king’s torture dungeons!!!”

 

Tatsuya scoffed, “We might as well at this point!!! Who needs to save people who are likely already dead!!!!” He pointed to the blonde princess once more, “the only advantage we have right now is that necklace rung around Eos’s neck!! And it’s only a matter of time before we’re hunted down for it!”

 

Tatsuya sighed, “we just can’t win”

 

For a moment, everything went black as Tatsuya felt a heavy shot of pain slam into his jaw. Droplets of rain from the grass splashed on his clothes as his body slammed into the dirt.

 

“Silver!” He heard Eos cry out.

 

Tatsuya slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the almost unholy glare looming over him.

 

“So do any of our friends’ sacrifices mean NOTHING to you?!?! Is that it?!?!” Silver shouted down at him. Spots of blood speckled his fist. “Not to the Tatsuya I know! The Tatsuya I know would never give up on his friends no matter the odds!” He then pulled out his twin cutlasses. “Now get up you cowardly imposter!”

 

Tatsuya peeled himself from the ground as he wiped the blood drooling from his lip. “Fine if that’s how you want to settle things” Swirling flames burst to life around the strategist’s gloves.

 

He lunged at the ultiverian warrior with his flaming paw. Sparks flew into the air as Silver blocked the attack.

 

“Hey, guys I…” Eos said as she moved to try and stop them.

 

Asmodeus grabbed her shoulder, “Let them fight it out”

 

“B-but they could…”

 

Asmodeus merely shook his head, “they need to this” He then smiled, “It won’t come to that, I promise”

 

“I hope you’re right” Eos sighed.

 

The two boys glared at each other. Tatsuya gripped the swords’ intersection and tried to yank them down. With his other hand, he swiped at his friend. If he knew Silver, then a wind barrier is going to erect in three, two, on-

 

Tatsuya’s eyes widened as the flames that coated his hand fizzled into a puff of steam. Silver ducked under the now harmless attack and pushed forward into a cross slash. Tatsuya grunted as he was sent skidding across the wet grassy floor.

 

Don’t tell me this rain…, The black-haired quadrian barely had a minute to react as he rolled away from another strike. His heartbeat began to slow down. His teeth, like the rest of his body, chattered with his lowering body temperature. Everything was in a haze. A blur of silver met his gaze as he quickly reached into his cloak.

 

The sound of metal clashing pinged into the air. A long metal poll nearly bent under the weight of Silver’s swords. Tatsuya grit his teeth and with what little of it he had, applied heat to the spear and coiled it around the twin blades.

 

Silver grunted as Tatsuya yanked the swords from his grip and kicked him into the dirt. The quadrian tossed the useless weapons to the side and charged his old friend. Silver rolled to his feet. Both boys let a war cry as they each swung a punch at each other. Drops of blood scattered into the air. Punch for punch and kick for kick, the two young men continued to pound each other.

 

Blood stained breaths heaved from Tatsuya’s lungs as everything pulsed in a blurred haze. He threw another punch only for Silver to sway out of the way. Why were they fighting again? All he could recall was muffled shouting and a haze of actions. Whatever it didn’t matter anymore.

 

Tatsuya grunted in pain as a punch to the gut sent the world swirling into darkness. With a loud thud, he once again slammed into the ground. He opened his eyes to see his exhausted friend panting heavily as he loomed over him. Any attempt to move was only met with a searing dull ache that echoed through his body.

 

“F-fine….I….I yield”

 

Upon hearing those words Silver, too, collapsed and splashed into the wet grass. The two boys stared into the sky as the gray clouds began to part and revealed the bright blue sky beneath.

some notes/self-criticism:

Spoiler

honestly not my best work. I just sort of slapped this together in a day and it shows. It feels rushed especially near the end and I feel I could've done a better job keeping POV consistent and adding a little more in the way of narrative description and the like. I've been in a bit of a writer's block the last couple days so that explains why it feels so rushed. I feel if I had given myself more time then this could've been so much better but no crying over spilled milk I suppose. Also Silver and Tatsuya feel lacking in terms of character here. I dunno maybe I could've done a better job characterizing them and their powers.

 

Edited February 4, 2019 by Ottservia

[Shoblongoo]

...Holy shit...thats alot of stories...

@Anacybele Writing a story about a battle and beginning the story in mid-battle with no prior explanation for why or how the battle started was a really smart way to approach this prompt.  In any other round that of course is something thats gonna get you into trouble; but here it was exactly what was asked for and may well have been the best idea anyone came up with for capturing the sipirt of the challenge

@TheSilentChloey Well you certainly went in a more--whimsical--direction with this one. Whats kinda funny is that you nailed this particular format without even trying all the way back in Round #1, with the Dragons-Hunting-Vampires story that had no opening exposition or context for the action and just threw the reader straight into the hunt. 

@LdotRage  Right away before you even mentioned her name or explained the context of what was going on, I got a Ninian just died. He's in mourning vibe.  Very good. Hector is perfectly Hectorish. With Eliwood I keep going back to the emotional fortitude he showed in Fe7 when his father died and how he made it a point of personal honor not to let his mourning interfere with his duty--thats a far cry from THIS Eliwood--but emotional reaction to losing a parent is definitely not the same as emotional reaction to losing a lover, so I can get behind what you did here. I like it.   

@Dragoncat  ...I almost got a Crimea/Gallia vibe off of the way you portrayed the peace time relations between the Hylians and the Twili here.  So I guess I can infer from the midpoint we're being dropped it that in the unspoken first half of this story: there's been some effort undertaken by the royals to normalize relations between their two kingdoms. But the common folk are still super skeeved about it and not necessarily on the same page as their leaders? 


(still have to read the rest) 
 

[Anacybele]

37 minutes ago, Shoblongoo said:

...Holy shit...thats alot of stories...

Wow, I know, right? This was definitely a popular prompt. :O

37 minutes ago, Shoblongoo said:

Writing a story about a battle and beginning the story in mid-battle with no prior explanation for why or how the battle started was a really smart way to approach this prompt.  In any other round that of course is something thats gonna get you into trouble; but here it was exactly what was asked for and may well have been the best idea anyone came up with for capturing the sipirt of the challenge

Omigosh, really? I'm so glad I nailed things here. ^^ Means a lot! I hope I wrote the characters well enough too though? And that I didn't do too much dialogue compared to description? Description has been a bit of a weak point of mine. I've improved upon it somewhat lately, but I'm not sure I've gotten much better there yet.

Also, I said the same thing to Dcat about hers! I got the same vibe. XD

I'll start my reviews/critique as soon as I have a bit more time. And as soon as my internet stops crapping out constantly.

[Ottservia]

14 minutes ago, Anacybele said:

I hope I wrote the characters well enough too though? And that I didn't do too much dialogue compared to description? Description has been a bit of a weak point of mine. I've improved upon it somewhat lately, but I'm not sure I've gotten much better there yet.

I have a similar problem and from my experience it's really just a matter of how you want the reader to feel during a particular scene. For example if two characters are arguing, I tend to keep description to a minimum while focusing almost entirely on dialogue to emphasize the back and forth nature of an argument. I keep the dialogue short and quick with some body language in between to help punctuate things a little. 

Anyway, My critiques will likely come after I've cleared a little bit of my schedule. I look forward to reading these stories. I skimmed a couple and they all look pretty interesting.

[DarthR0xas]

Wow that's a lot of stories, I'm going to need to set aside an evening to read all of them. I personally hit some pretty bad writers block here, since I couldn't really think of a true "media res" story. All my ideas were just beginnings disguised as middles. Then again, still have one more day, so I might think of something.

[Anacybele]

56 minutes ago, Ottservia said:

I have a similar problem and from my experience it's really just a matter of how you want the reader to feel during a particular scene. For example if two characters are arguing, I tend to keep description to a minimum while focusing almost entirely on dialogue to emphasize the back and forth nature of an argument. I keep the dialogue short and quick with some body language in between to help punctuate things a little. 

Yeah, I keep it to a minimum when characters are arguing as well, as shown with Judo's men arguing over him. But when it isn't an argument, sometimes I can't seem to add enough description. xP

[Shoblongoo]

4 minutes ago, Anacybele said:

Yeah, I keep it to a minimum when characters are arguing as well, as shown with Judo's men arguing over him. But when it isn't an argument, sometimes I can't seem to add enough description. xP

Probably the biggest difference between my writing now and my writing from years ago is that I've gravitated towards a philosophy of the more you can say with fewer words, the better.

 

[Ottservia]

15 minutes ago, Shoblongoo said:

Probably the biggest difference between my writing now and my writing from years ago is that I've gravitated towards a philosophy of the more you can say with fewer words, the better.

 

I’ve actually learned to do kind of the opposite. It’s weird cause one thing I’ve noticed in my current writing is that I tend to elaborate more on the emotions and feelings of my characters(probably more than I should). Also I’ve learned repitition and parallel structure are great ways of getting a strong emotional beat across

Edited February 4, 2019 by Ottservia

[Anacybele]

28 minutes ago, Shoblongoo said:

Probably the biggest difference between my writing now and my writing from years ago is that I've gravitated towards a philosophy of the more you can say with fewer words, the better.

I can rather agree with that, yeah.

[Dragoncat]

4 hours ago, Shoblongoo said:

I almost got a Crimea/Gallia vibe off of the way you portrayed the peace time relations between the Hylians and the Twili here.  So I guess I can infer from the midpoint we're being dropped it that in the unspoken first half of this story: there's been some effort undertaken by the royals to normalize relations between their two kingdoms. But the common folk are still super skeeved about it and not necessarily on the same page as their leaders? 

Pretty much this. Have you played Twilight Princess, btw? I think most people have?

Later, if you want, I can do an info dump like Ana did. Not just on the two twili OCs, but the race in general given that the game didn't give them much so I had to make stuff up.

[Shoblongoo]

1 hour ago, Dragoncat said:

Pretty much this. Have you played Twilight Princess, btw? I think most people have?

Later, if you want, I can do an info dump like Ana did. Not just on the two twili OCs, but the race in general given that the game didn't give them much so I had to make stuff up.

Yeah I played twilight princess

[Dragoncat]

49 minutes ago, Shoblongoo said:

Yeah I played twilight princess

Info dump added! Feel free to PM me your thoughts.

[Shoblongoo]

@Rapier need an updated OP for voting boss 

[Rafiel's Aria]

Voting's not up yet, and that's probably a good thing. I'm not entirely sure who I'm going to vote for since we had a lot of strong pieces this round. After reading everything, I feel super inadequate. XD But I liked everything I read. As usual, I wrote up all my comments/critiques. If you want to discuss stuff privately, my PM box is always open. Hopefully I didn't miss anyone. 

@Anacybele

Spoiler

 

The writing is a lot easier to read without all of the exposition I remember from the last piece of yours I read. Then again, I’m a person who enjoys dialogue more than narration because it gives you a better sense of the characters instead of just what the author wants you to know. I think some of the dialogue at the beginning came across as a little stiff, but as the story goes on, it’s a lot more authentic and natural. I think the exchange between Judo and Conan was very nice even though the bit about the charm seemed a little random. Up until that point, the conversation had established the proper development between the two, and I thought it had resolved nicely after Judo started to think about Kelli. The bit about the charm just seemed unneeded since you’d already established that Judo had things to be guilty about.

I enjoyed this piece. It fit the prompt nicely, transitioned from scene to scene pretty well, and gave me a good sense of the characters. If I had to have one gripe, I’d say that at times the banter came across as kind of childish, and I got more of a “Sokka trapped in the secret tunnel with a bunch of hippie troubadours vibe” rather than trained knights in a perilous situation. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with some humor; in fact, I feel like it’s good to balance out angst with it, but this particular style of humor didn’t tickle my fancy. No fault of yours for sure since we’re allowed to find different things funny.

 

 

@TheSilentChloey

Spoiler

Oddly enough, I enjoyed this. I think it’s funny how you kind of hated the prompt and oddly enough created a casual piece that is just nice overall. (And you’ll probably hate me for saying so, but I think the writing in this one is pretty top notch. I haven’t read a lot of your stuff, but this one may be my favorite.)  It felt almost like a stream of consciousness type thing which the way you just flowed from one subject to the next. It was casual and free and enjoyable. I think the fact that you did something outside of your comfort zone helped you get out of your head a little bit.

 

@Shoblongoo

Spoiler

This is kind of crackish, and I like it for that reason. XD Honestly, it’s ridiculous: the situation, the characters, the reactions, the final one-liner... I can practically feel the fumes of alcohol. The ridiculousness is consistent, so it gets a grin out of me. Actually I was reading it at work, and “I thought we bros” got a snort out of me. I went back and read Odin and Laslow with the voices of frat boys. Congrats on multi-prompting!

 

@LdotRage

Spoiler

Wow. I really, really liked this one. I wish there was more to say but the writing was very beautiful, and I was engaged from the very beginning. I really liked the way you chose to show grief because it kind of reminded me of how my grandfather chose to handle his after my grandmother passed. Maybe a bit more extreme, but it still felt very real. Seeing Hector as the responsible one was nice, and the interactions between him and Eliwood felt incredibly pure and genuine. I was kind of sad when it ended because I wanted to keep reading more. Bravo.

 

@Jotari

Spoiler

This was a really compelling study of the two characters involved. I thought the way their dynamic fluctuated was really interesting. The piece was long, but it never got stagnant, and their interactions kept me guessing what would happen next. I do think you did a good job of capturing the emotion you wanted to. Made the ending pretty surprising. For the purpose of this prompt, I think the vague setting was fine, but I did have some trouble immersing myself in the world. I got this Indiana Jones vibe the entire time, but I couldn’t quite grasp whether it was a modern fantasy or post-apocalyptic or alternate earth setting. Since that’s not the main purpose of the piece, I suppose it isn’t important even if it’s intriguing. The pacing was nice, and what you revealed about the characters bit by bit was cool. I thought the man’s motivations were easier to follow than the girl’s. She was a bit harder to understand since I started the piece thinking she was something of a self-sacrificing archaeologist doing something for the good of humanity and ended up seeing her as more childish and naive. Overall, this was really interesting and well-written.  Probably would have enjoyed reading more. XD

 

@Dragoncat

Spoiler

I haven’t played the Twilight Princess in a LONG time, but I enjoyed your lore with the Twili. It was really natural and flowed well. Because I haven’t played the game in a while, I couldn’t pick out the pieces that were yours and what were canon. So that’s neat. The piece was simple and easy to read, and I thought you connected the beginning and the end really well, so it had good resolution. I liked the bit about the goron gender mishap. It reminded me a lot some mishaps my DnD characters have had with dwarves in the past. Overall, this piece functions well as a oneshot and definitely intrigues me about the big picture. Nice work!

 

@Ottservia

Spoiler

I know you mentioned in your self-criticism that this was a little rushed, but congrats on getting something out. I mean it’s better to write something (and push through the writer’s block) than it is to write nothing at all. I think because the piece was so short and a large chunk of it was dedicated to a fight scene, character development did suffer a little bit. I got a taste of the characters but not very much to understand what’s at stake for them. But that being said, I think the situation you created was intriguing enough to pique my interest. I think if you’d want to improve/expand on this, I’d put more energy into the characters over their powers, maybe expand on the end to give the piece more resolution. But overall, I’d say it’s a good start to something.