Story As the Story Crumbles | Updated: Aug 2nd

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Monthly Writings | May 2018
  • Index
    • May 2018Monthly Writing Prompts
    There is a 100 word minimum to complete the prompt and an alternative 1000 word minimum. I keep with the alternative word minimum.

    Be advised:
    Some are interlaced with fandoms.
    Some can be spooky,
    If you find one that needs to have any other sort of warning, please let me know. I have not reread these as I posted them as of the date on this post.


    • He sucked in air greedily as soon as the biting air slapped him in the face. He choked, coughing on the salt water he dragged with him beyond the choppy surface. His chin dipped back into the water as he felt himself lose his level but he didn't submerge fully again as he hacked out a lung. Or, well, the minute amount of salt water he had inadvertently inhaled.

      He squinted at his surroundings, eyes burning from whatever else was in the water he didn't want to know about. It was dark - far darker than he had hoped it would be - but the full moon was becoming clearer with every blink and he was starting to be able to see more completely.

      A gust of sea spray pelted his face and he flinched, curling away and clamping his eyes shut in an attempt to protect his clearing sight. It worked, thankfully, but it was a reminder he didn't need.

      The waves were reaching heights he was not particularly favorable for, especially when it meant he was getting farther from shore.

      There was a very familiar chiming beep in his ear and he nearly sobbed with relief. He shook what water he could from his hand before pressing at the device on his ear.

      "Whoever you are, I could kiss you right now."

      "Tony?" came the startled, static edged reply. His heart dropped. Oh. He knew that voice. Knew it rather intimately, not that the other would know that, and now he was desperately wishing he hadn't opened with that line. Thankfully, it didn't seem to have fully registered in the caller's brain what he had said and he was at a point in all this that he was tempted to actually kiss said caller when they were face to face next, secret crushing be damned. "Thank God. Tony, we're triangulating your signal now and will be there as soon as possible."

      "You in the quinjet?" he questioned idly. A massive wave sent him under and he missed the reply. He came back up gasping and coughing again.

      "Tony!"

      "I'm ok," he wheezed, "but you may want to hurry up whatever you got planned, Cap. Not sure how much longer I can hold out against the incoming storm."

      Someone cursed on the other end. It was too muffled from the mic for him to pick it out but he hoped it was Cap. He pleased him every time he heard the Brooklyn accent sneak in when the soldier cussed. It reminded him that the other was just as human as he was.

      He went under again, this time by his own doing. His head was above water shortly thereafter, thoroughly reminded that he needed to focus.

      "Tony."

      He sneered. Not that he could help it. He hated hearing his name spoken in such a way. "Can it, Rogers. I don't need your pity nor your 'woe-is-me' attitude, so stuff it where the sun don't shine and get me out of this frigged ocean so that I can find the nearest hot shower and down a bottle of whiskey while I'm at it. Maybe even eat something hot, I don't know."

      "Tony."

      His name cut through his thoughts, the word heavy with so much more than the strain the last one did. It made his chest feel tight to hear the exasperation, the worry, the fear with is own name.

      "I don't hear anyone else. You're not coming to get me on your own, are you? Because that would be rather stupid of you to not come without backup, Cap. I thought we'd been over this."

      Spray off the nearby wave crest pelted his face as his chin sank beneath the water. He was getting tired.

      "The others are in the main part of the quinjet. I'm alone in the cockpit."

      "Why?" A bemused laugh coloring the undertone of the word.

      "Do you remember that time at the circus?" He felt the breath leave his lungs. "The one where you were vehemently adamant it was a business thing and you were only dragging me along because no one else was available?"

      "Yeah, what about it?" he countered a bit sharper than he had intended. He was tempted to just sink beneath the water to not hear the other's response but morbid curiosity made him keep his head elevated.

      "There had been that photo booth next to some of the booths outside the main tent. I had made some off comment about it, something about not getting the point or not having enjoyed it or something equally dismissing."

      He remembered; Steve had caught sight of the old photo booth and had grabbed at Tony.

      It hadn't been the first time that afternoon but it still made him jump when Steve's large hand wrapped around his wrist, firm but ever so careful. "Tony, look. They've got a photo booth."

      Tony rolled his eyes and patted Steve's hand. "I can see that. Do you want to try out the fun fantastical futuristic technology, oh 'Man Out of Time'?"

      Tony's lips quirked towards a smirk as Steve shot him a flat look despite the enjoyment dancing in those blue eyes. "Don't patronize me, Stark. You forget that I had photo booths back in my day."

      That didn't change the fact that he was leading Tony directly to the thing. He grinned, the expression feeling just a tad too tight. "Ah, right. The age before the selfie stick."

      "I still don't understand that," Steve commented offhandedly as he pushed back the curtain that was in rather good condition, all things considered. Tony doubted Steve even noticed as excitement exploded across the other man's face. Those blue eyes turned on Tony so full of emotions that he found himself drowning in them. "Do you want to take a few photos before we move on?"

      The 'yes' was nearly passed his lips before Steve was even done. But then reality seeped into the fantasy and Tony found other words tumbling off his tongue instead. "You do remember we're here for business matters, right?"

      This was not a date and photo booths were meant for dating couples or large group of friends. Or a pair of teens, not a pair of fully grown adult men.

      "Come on, just one set."

      Steve could have been asking him to go fetch him the nearest star and Tony still would have agreed as readily as he did now, his sanity be damned. "Alright." He raised a finger. "Just one set."

      They did two. Would have done three if Tony hadn't ruined the mood by nearly kissing Steve.

      Sea spray smacked him in the face again.

      "We took two sets of photos despite you saying we were only doing one." Static filled what Steve's voice left behind as the other paused. Tony wondered if he was reliving the event as he had. "I keep the photos on me."

      "Why?" he asked, the word no more than a sigh,

      His chest ached.

      "Because they keep me going, remind me that there's gonna be someone waiting for me when I get home, someone I can lean on when I need help."

      Tony gave a sad little chuckle. "Cap, come on. What-"

      "Because they remind me that I'm being an idiot," Steve continued, stalling Tony's words. "They remind me that I'm not back in the 40s where this kind of thing wasn't ok, was a threat to living a long, happy, safe life should anyone find out."

      He felt the first raindrop smack into the top of his had as he tried to pull apart what Steve was saying, where he was going with this.

      "So, Tony?"

      "Yeah?" he reflexively responded.

      "Don't go dying on me. I want to tell you the last reason why I keep them on me when we're face to face, ok? So hang in there till we get there."

      His eyes stung as lightning streaked across the sky. He laughed as the thunder rumbled low in the air around him. "I'll try, Cap." Clouds started obscuring the moon. "But I can't hold out forever."

      "I know," Steve breathed, the words choked and Tony felt his chest constrict. "Just a little bit longer, Tony. We're almost there." A pause full of static as his head was forced under by a large wave. He came up hacking and coughing again but it was in time to hear the last of Steve's words.

      "I'm almost there. Just hang on."
     
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  • Index
    • Monthly Writings | June 2018
  • Index
    • June 2018Monthly Writing Prompts
    There is a 100 word minimum to complete the prompt and an alternative 1000 word minimum. I keep with the alternative word minimum.

    Be advised:
    Some are interlaced with fandoms.
    Some can be spooky,
    If you find one that needs to have any other sort of warning, please let me know. I have not reread these as I posted them as of the date on this post.


    • The air rushed passed as the ground came up to meet him. His back collided with the ground first, several things breaking upon impact as the air was ripped from his lungs. He had no time to reorient himself, to even get a breath back in his lungs, before he was rolling out of the way of the incoming attack. Pain rippled down his back, weakening the muscles in his arms and legs as he tried to get distance between him and his assailant. Another dodged attack and another till he misstepped and took a hit to the shoulder followed by a hit to the chest. His back collided with a wall, agitating breaks and breaking a few more things. The pained cry slipped out with the air in his lungs.

      Words were being spoken as he collapsed to his hands and knees. What had once been beautiful wings looked battered and unkept, draped from his back as useless limbs since far too much was broken now. He looked up through sweaty locks, finding his vision blurred and images duplicating.

      That wasn't a good sign.

      A hand suddenly came into clear focus and he flinched back, expecting a hit. Instead, the hand fisted the front of his outfit and hauled him upwards so that the other could scream in his face. What headache he had been managing intensified ten fold, blinding him with pain. He grabbed at his assailant's wrist, snarling but unaware of the words he was uttering, if any. His tongue felt too fat to even utter things properly and the ringing in his ears was helping none.

      He was dropped. While normally it wouldn't have been an issue - he could have stood up and been taller than the hold had been - there was no strength in his legs to even fathom attempting to support himself with. The impact with the unforgiving ground was crippling and he swore he broke something else. A wrist, probably, with how he had landed. There was too much pain and too much exhaustion to discern anything properly now.

      Something touched him and he flinched. His head throbbed from the motion and he spat something. Words, he hoped, but at that point, could have been jargon and saliva and he wouldn't even know. Nor did he care but it certainly hadn't stopped whatever had touched him from touching him again.

      He realized hands were pressing firm into his shoulder and hip, though there was no pain from the touch, like the person wasn't putting any weight behind the gesture.

      Blessed relief rushed through his body as the pain all but vanished.

      When he came to, it was to a sore body cushioned in a familiar room.

      He closed his eyes as he ground out, "Who let you into my home."

      There was a pause but the shifting of fabric told him he wasn't alone.

      "We...didn't take you home," came the hesitant reply.

      He opened his eyes again. No, that was indeed a very familiar roof and a very familiar set of walls at the edge of his viewing limits. He turned his head, taking in the guests to the left of his bed. The furniture and trinkets were his.

      "Lies," he spoke but it came out breathy. "This is my room. Those are my things."

      He watched the surprise and horror wash over the faces he could see. He wondered if there were others in the room mirroring their expressions. The girl sitting beside his bed had her hands over her mouth. She had figured it out faster than the others, it seemed. That or they were new. Wouldn't surprise him at this point.

      "Alexander," she whispered.

      One of the boys behind her started, his staring going from her to him in an instant. He would have smirked if he had the energy.

      He head pounded painfully.

      "It's been a while since we've been on a first name basis, Rebecca," he replied in kind. His gaze moved to the boy staring at him. "You look well, Marcus. I'm impressed you've lasted so long."

      "Sir, what's going on?" a voice asked from somewhere he couldn't see. He didn't care to move to look.

      The other boy behind her looked towards the owner of the question. "In a minute."

      He blinked and suddenly those kids weren't kids anymore. Heck, they had never been kids despite the ages they bore. Young adults too young and now they were all well into adulthood and looking it. He was certainly feeling it.

      Rebecca's marred hands closed around his, the scars of countless battles pale on every inch of exposed skin. Marcus behind her had a nasty one on his face. He was certain he had given the other man that particular scar, destroying one of the man's depth-less blue eyes.

      He still didn't recognize the kid with them.

      It was probably unfair to call the adult a child but, at this point after all he and the others had seen in the beginning, they were all kids to him.

      "Alexander," Rebecca spoke again, her voice stronger this time. "Why..."

      He wasn't surprised she couldn't finish that. He was certain she had so many 'why's to ask that they were all blending in that quick mind of hers. She had always been one to fight against the onslaught of words in her head.

      "I didn't ask for this roll, Bear," he confided, the old nickname bringing tears to her eyes faster than any speech would. "I didn't even want to take it up but I ended up in it and I had to keep to it or my past was going to take me out and destroy all we had done to hold what remained of the world together."

      Marcus shook his head. "You could have leaned on us. Spoken to us. We weren't about to abandon you."

      A tight, tired smile pulled at his lips. "You two might not have, but Tenner certainly would have. Pin too." Marcus shook his head again. "Same with Lolly and Hector, not to mention that you two would have at the time as well. We were too seeped into the black and white views on 'Good and Evil'. It's why I never said anything, why I hid it."

      "For so long?" Rebecca choked.

      He sighed, too tired to placate her. "I had no proof you guys had changed. Those you brought on seemed too bound to the old ways for me to try."

      "But Sasha-"

      "That she-wolf can go-!" he screamed, the force of his anger actually propelling him upwards till the action registered in his body and sent rolling pain through his body. His words jerked to a stop as Rebecca and Marcus leapt forward, hands outstretched. He curled away trying not to hack up a lung.

      It just made the sudden coughing fit worse.

      By the time he was able to breathe again, he was on his back once more, Those that had been on the other side of the bed were closer now and he was surprised to see a few more recognizable faces in among the crowd leaning over his bed.

      "What did Sasha do?" one of the unnamed familiars asked.

      He gave a dry chuckle. He lacked the air to support it fully or the words he spoke. "What didn't she do." The breath he took rattled, pain erupting through him at the same time. He winced. "Not that it matters. You guys did more damage than she ever did."

      "Alexander."

      He flinched. He was trying to ignore the fact that they were in the room, trying to deny himself the painful joy of even knowing their eyes were on him once more. He denied himself the knowledge that they held nothing more for him in those gorgeous eyes.

      Their hand burned his skin when they touched him but he had no strength to pull away.

      "What did Sasha do?"

      Even after all these years - after all the years of pain and torture he had been through by his own doing and the doing of others - he could not keep himself from giving them what they wanted.

      He wasn't sure if it was his heart hurting or if it was actual physical damage he was feeling.

      "Betrayed me as I betrayed you." He couldn't bring himself to specify which 'you' he was referring. "Twisted my mind, my thoughts, till I believed lies and damaging thoughts. Not that it matters. I've overcome it as I do anything else."

      Their hand tightened on him.

      He wished they'd let go.

      "Did she sway you to that side?"

      "No, I swayed her." He frowned. No, that wasn't quite right, was it? "I think," he added, confused. Odd how he couldn't remember so clearly anymore.

      "Do you think-" Rebecca started to ask the others but he cut in, annoyed and hopefully two steps ahead of her.

      "I am not coming back," he cut in. "There is too much at stake, too much that has to change before I come back."

      "But-"

      He didn't give them the change, didn't dare look at them as he yanked his arm out from under their touch. He felt unbelievably cold as he slipped out of the bed brushing away Rebecca and Marcus's hands. He was grateful the bed was between them.

      "Thank you, for your kindness," he offered solemnly, his wings still aching even as he knew they were well healed. Rebecca's healing magic was always so impressive, not to mention she probably had help once he had been brought into his old room if not before. "I will take my leave now."

      "You won't be able to come back."

      He stopped in the doorway leading to the balcony he still dreamt about. He turned back, forgetting for a moment how horrible of an idea it was to look at them, to make them real. Their gorgeous eyes held no contempt, no hate. In fact, the love they still held for him made it so much harder and far more painful to even breathe than he would have ever thought possible. He tried to smirk at them but it felt off on his face.

      He hoped they couldn't tell.

      "I was never planning to come back."

      He took off before the pain in their gaze could register in his brain because when it did, when that image seared itself into his mind well after he had looked away, the anguish he felt was devastating.
     
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  • Index
    • Event Writings | This is Halloween 2018
  • Index
    • This is Halloween 2018An Assortment of Writings

    This is Halloween was an event on a different site centered around Halloween through writing challenges and other sub-events. Each section in this thread contains the content for that given writing event. Click here for the drawing event.

    Before you dive in, I did write to the limit to all prompts with word count caps, partially because I'm a sadist and partially because I like to. A few were simply because the story got away from me as well.
    Single Piece Events
    Scottie's Spoopy Stories

    I request of you lovelies: give me my Halloween without the scariness! Give me your spoopiest story!! I want you to choose something scary (axe murderer, vampires, SPIDERS) BUT make it funny. Give me a story about a vampire who is scared of the dark! Give me a story about killer candyfloss! Give me a story about a spider who forces the reader to tap dance…Actually scratch that...it’ll just give me nightmares!! I request of thee, 100 to 1000 of your spoopiest words!! Title it whatever you wish.

    I've got the juice

    Well, I need a good juicy tale for a very scary night. The story needs to be at least 1000 words!! You are free to write your story as you wish, but it has to have a scary element to it.


    • “And….there.” She leaned back in the chair, studying her craftsmanship. She beamed at him. “I think that about does it. Do you want to see?”

      He nodded his head, grinning from ear to ear in his excitement. Her smile grew and she reached over for the hand mirror. “Ok, ok,” she soothed. “Give me a second to get the mirror.”

      She settled before him again, the reflective side of the mirror pointed to her chest. “Ready?”

      He nodded again with more vigor and she turned the mirror around. He gaped at his reflection.

      The costume he had wanted to wear wasn’t something common enough to be in the stores so his mom had helped him gather the necessary pieces. He looked so cool. He bounced up and down, gesturing widely in his excitement. She laughed. “Slow down. I can’t track your signing well when you gesture like that. I want to know what you were saying.”

      “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he sad instead, no longer remembering what he had said in his excitement. The repeated gesture was quick, sharp and belayed his enthusiasm. She laughed again and hugged him, mindful of his face paint.

      “You’re welcome,” she gushed. The doorbell rang as she pulled away. She glanced towards the direction of the front door, her expression softening. “That must be them. Ready to go trick-or-treating?”

      He nodded again, grabbing his candy basket in the shape of a pumpkin head before grabbing her hand.

      The front door opened to reveal Nathan and his dad, Mr. Jones.

      “Thank you again for taking Luther trick-or-treating, Marcus.”

      Mr. Jones gave her a soft smile. “Not a problem, Samantha. I hope things are not as dire as they can be if you’re being called in this late.”

      She chuckled. “Probably not but we can hope.” She knelt so that she was eye level with Nathan. “You look amazing in your Batman outfit, Nathan. Did you make it?”

      “All by myself,” the other boy announced fiercely, puffing up in pride.

      “Daisy helped with the gluing while I was stuck on cutting duty,” Mr. Jones offered to her in a soft voice. He and Nathan still heard him but it only made Nathan puff up more.

      “Sounds like you did a fantastic job,” she directed to Nathan. The boy flushed but pushed his chin higher.

      Mr. Jones looked to him in turn and Luther wrapped his fingers around the hem of his mom’s uniform shirt. “And who are you, Luther?”

      “He’s the Scarecrow, obviously,” Nathan announced loudly. Luther beamed at him.

      Mr. Jones smiled softly down at him. “Now I see it. Ready to trick-or-treat?”

      Luther nodded but didn’t move from his mom’s side even as she stood up. “Will you be ok with, ah..”

      “I can manage,” Mr. Jones assured her. “If anything comes up, I can Facetime you or see if Peter’s able to translate.”

      She nodded. “I’ll keep my phone on me, then. If you do catch a-hold of Peter tonight, tell him I say hi and I expect a call from him sometime this week. It’s been too long.”

      Mr. Jones dipped his head. “Of course. Come on, Luther.”

      Luther hesitantly grasped the offered hand, letting Mr. Jones lead him from his home and away from the door. He waved at his mom with the hand still grasping the bucket and she waved goodbye back before she disappeared back into their home.

      He had expected them to get into Mr. Jones’s car when they stopped at it but instead Mr. Luther simply opened the trunk and pulled out a child’s coat and a tote bag. He passed the bag to Nathan as he shut the trunk. “Here’s your bag, Nathan. We’ll try the homes around here first.”

      “Ok,” Nathan announced, taking the bag. The boy took the lead down the sidewalk and Luther followed behind at a slightly sedated pace.

      They turned a corner and suddenly the streets weren’t so empty. Left and right doors were being opened for trick-or-treaters and families standing on doorsteps chatting with neighbors. He looked around in amazement, eyes wide under the paint he wore instead of a proper mask. Nathan charged up to the first house and rung the doorbell himself. Luther hurried forward to stand by Nathan as the door opened.

      “Trick or treat!” Nathan all bout shouted when the owner appeared.

      “Sweet costumes, dudes,” the man appraised. “Here’s some candy.”

      Candy was dropped into Luther’s bucket and Nathan’s tote and Luther beamed as Nathan exclaimed, “Thank you!”

      The man blinked at them but Nathan was already marching back towards his dad. Luther gave his own thank you before chasing after Nathan.

      “Did you two get some candy?” Mr. Jones asked, looking down at their displayed stashes. Luther beamed upon Mr. Jones’s praise. “Well done. Shall we see about the next house?”

      The two of them nodded and it was easy for Luther to run with Nathan to the next door. That is till he realized which house they were going up to.

      The yard was dark, the front porch lit by an eerie light, and his feet skidded to a halt at the top of the walk. Nathan was already a third of the way, ignoring the first trap that jumped at him, but Luther jumped and he wasn’t even near it.

      Nathan stopped before the next spook. It was almost like someone had commanded him to stop but had left any other command unsaid. Abruptly, he turned and stomped back to Luther. He grabbed Luther’s free hand with a determined look on his face. “I won’t let the bad, scaring things get you. This way you get candy too.”

      Luther blinked at him and Nathan made a face. He tugged on Luther’s hand. “Follow behind me and watch my feet. I will get us to the door.”

      Luther fell into step behind Nathan, gripping tight to the other’s hand. He did as the other had said, watching Nathan’s feet and keeping pace. The spooky things moved and made noise but he ignored them. Nathan stopped and moved Luther to the side. With a sharp nod, Nathan rang the doorbell and shoved his tote forward when the door opened almost instantly. Luther mimicked him as the other shouted, “Trick or treat!”

      “Here you go, boys.” Luther’s eyes grew wide at the bag of Skittles. Those were his favorite and they were giving him the big bag!

      “Thank you!” Nathan shouted and Luther gestured, beaming.

      He raced with Nathan back down the walk, the scary things not seeming quite so scary with Nathan’s hand in his and a big bag of Skittles in his bucket.
    Writing Marathon
    31 Days of Horror! Writing Marathon
    This event forces writers out of their comfort zone and into the challenge presented. Every day a new prompt will be available for writers to look at and take up the challenge of. The writer is given 48 hours to complete the prompt. Each entry must have 100 words but can go over. There is a maximum of 1000 words.

    Prompts are bold in each entry.

    Day 1: All Hallows' Eve
    Day 2: Pumpkin head
    Day 3: From The Beyond
    Day 4: Scarecrows' Scream
    Day 5: Rotten to Grotesque
    Day 6: Casting Spells
    Day 7: A Witches' Brew
    Day 8: Heart Attack Zombies
    Day 9: Poisoned Apple
    Day 10: It’s Close to Midnight
    Day 11: Spooky time
    Day 12: Did I just see it?
    Day 13: House on the hill
    Day 14: Flying on a broom
    Day 15: Lucky candy
    Day 16: The beauty of the lie
    Day 17: I see clearly
    Day 18: Oh mummy!
    Day 19: This is hell
    Day 20: Birthday in the holiday
    Day 21: Toilet decoration
    Day 22: Light vs. Dark
    Day 23: It's almost time
    Day 24: Don't forget 3 Oct 1
    Day 25: Growing in the dark
    Day 26: Shivers
    Day 27: White cat, Black cat
    Day 28: No more mister nice guy
    Day 29: 13 is unlucky number
    Day 30: Ego Zombie
    Day 31: This is Halloween

    • The morning air was crisp as the sun cleared the horizon. Frost obscured most windows as the snow from a few days prior still had the grass buried beneath a blanket of white. Children were already bundled and playing in the snow, thrilled to be out of school for the weekend and finally able to enjoy what fall had brought them.

      It was only a glance of the scene but his brief gander outside filled him with content. He turned away, tapping at the tablet’s face as he focused back on her.

      It wasn’t overly cold in the room but it certainly wasn’t cozy warm either. They were both in sweaters, though he dared not take his off because he happened to be contently warm, but he wasn’t sure if she was still in hers for the same reason or something else.

      The sweater was clearly not hers. In fact, he was fairly certain it was from the unspoken depths of his closet. The sleeves fell a few inches beyond the tips of her fingers, a point she was currently utilizing to keep her hands warm rather than scalded by the hot mug of cocoa steaming in her grip. He could smell the shot of coffee that had been added to the hot chocolate. The bottom hem settled near her mid thigh, a fact most women would have exploited but she was dressed in jeans and a turtleneck underneath, said turtleneck covering what the collar of the sweater left exposed.

      It was almost like she had been taken from some festive magazine cover and turned into a cardboard cutout placed before the window. Even her hair - with nothing more done to it than what she normally did - was draped around her shoulders in soft waves, silky locks reflecting the morning sun as natural highlights.

      Absolutely breathtaking.

      He pulled out his phone and quickly took a few pictures. She didn’t notice, not that he expected her to. He was prone to taking pictures at random and with the highest end camera setup one could by on mobile devices at his disposal, he took a ridiculous amount of pictures.

      A goofy grin graced his face as he played with a few of the shots he had gotten, adding filters and adjusting lighting here and there and posting his favorites - a raw and two edits - to his Instagram.

      He waited.

      There was a chirrup from her person and she blinked, whatever thought or place she had been in disturbed by the notification. She shifted the mug into one hand before freeing the other from its sleeve and fishing out her phone. Giddiness filled him at the arch of her eyebrow and he waited excitedly.

      “Impressive,” she spoke, amusement pulling her lips into a smile. She looked up at him, the smile settling on her lips. “I like them. Can I use one?”

      “Of course,” he assured her, his tone playfully harsh. “And how many times will it take for you to stop asking?”

      Her smile grew. “Oh, a few more, at least,” she teased.

      “Few more what?”

      He looked over, finding his roommate stumbling out of his room looking disheveled and grouchy. Said roommate paused, eyes narrowing. “I smell coffee.”

      “Fresh pot in the kitchen,” she explained and his roommate made a beeline for the aforementioned pot. “Morning Aiden.”

      She gained a grunted response but didn’t appear put off by his rather lacking reply.

      “A few more reminders that Pandora has rights to use any photos I make of her, barring if it was taken for free and she makes money off of it, I at least get lunch,” he in turn answered Aiden’s first question.

      “I don’t remember the lunch part,” Pandora helpfully interjected, a sleeve covered finger tapping against her chin.

      He shrugged. “I just instated it.”

      “As in our starving artist is currently starving,” Aiden drawled from the kitchen.

      Pandora laughed behind him and he scoffed, though it was hard to not smile. He could see the smirk peaking out around Aiden’s coffee cup as the man took a drink. “Oh please. Don’t oversell me. I’m just your resident black hole. Always starving. None of this artist biz.”

      Aiden snorted, shooting him a look. “Don’t let Maria hear you say that. She will have your hide if you up and quit before the holidays are out.”

      His eyes got comically large as he sputtered in mock horror. “Abandon Maria before the busiest time of year? I would never dream of such a thing. She buys me lunch once a week because of it and it’s the only good meal I get.”

      Pandora was bend over wheezing with laughter as Aiden rolled his eyes. The smirk was still on the man’s scruffy face. “I did not ask for a drink with a show, Peter.”

      He just beamed at his roommate.

      As Pandora calmed down, there was a scattering of screams and laughter out on the grounds and, despite not actually seeing anything from where he stood, he glanced towards the window, catching Aiden pulling at the blinds in the kitchen window to peak outside.

      “You planning on hanging around and giving out candy tonight?” Aiden asked, gaze still out the window.

      He shook his head, offering, “I got invited to the "office party”-“ he rolled his eyes with the air quotes, "but I wasn’t planning on staying for very long.”

      Aiden frowned at him before his gaze moved to Pandora. “You going with?”

      Pandora shrugged. “Maria said she wasn’t sure how I ended up with an invite seeing as I’m not actually staff there but she wasn’t about to say no to me showing up for their ’All Hallows’ Eve’ shindig.”

      Aiden snorted. “‘All Hallows’ Eve’? Really?”

      Pandora shrugged. “Wasn’t my idea.”

      “I don’t even think it was Maria’s,” Peter offered, amused. “She had the same reaction when we first got the invites. Heard her muttering something about suffering through event planning meetings just to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

     
    Last edited:
  • Index
    • Event Writings | Caffeine Prompts #24-28
  • Index
    • Caffeine Prompts #24-28Caffeine Challenge
    There is a loose hour writing limit to simply write regardless if any of three prompts provided are used. I do n.

    Be advised:
    Read Part 5 with caution.


    • The suspension cable was burning cold against his palm but it was barely registering at the back of his mind. His entire attention was on the tall skyscraper before him, waiting as he listened to the wind.

      It spoke in ways that those that had never lived on their wings would understand. It whispered to him in ways that did not have words but his wings knew and his soul knew and so he trusted it when it said to let go.

      He kicked off the suspension bridge, letting gravity take hold of him at the crest of his leap and drag him down towards the river below.

      The wind sang around him and he watched the dark waters come rushing up to meet him.

      His wings snapped out to either side, slicing through the air and gaining lift even as he kept diving.

      The toes of his shoes skimmed the surface of the river when he pulled out of the dive. Momentum kept him going for so long but the wind was singing to him again and it was easy finding the rhythm needed to keep him going fast and low over the choppy surface.

      Land approached sooner than he would have liked and he started to ascend. The distance between him and the horizontal plain grew steadily. By the time the pier and its buildings were passing beneath him, he was already level with the skyscraper’s 20th floor.

      He felt the thmp-thmp-thmp of the helicopter blades before he heard them over the wind. The spotlight was on him in quick succession.

      With a growl, he rolled with a tuck of his wings and let gravity grab him again. He had dropped maybe two stories when he righted himself and shot towards the helicopter’s belly.

      The spotlight was tracking him rather well. He smirked. A breath of the brutal downdraft and he pulled his wings in around him, letting the burst of downward air shove him faster towards the city below than any drop would have managed.

      He uncurled one wing enough to catch the air and spin him out of the downdraft. The spotlight kept going, kept looking for him, but he was already landing a few blocks towards the pier as the helicopter - somehow he missed the buddies the helicopter had - and company moved deeper into the city.

      He gave his wings a solid beat, stirring up dust and debris as a few feathers were shaken loose. It worked to straighten out some of the kinked feathers, though, as he started for the skyscraper on foot.

      The mess of his hair from the mask was easily handled with a quick hand and commonly looking like he had just rolled out of bed. The mask was tucked into an inner pocket of his outer coat. He removed it before he came into view of the skyscraper’s first floor and tucked it under the jacket he had underneath. His wing hid the fabric bulge rather well and no one was going to pay enough attention to his person to notice, not when-

      “Mr. Fugama!” the receptionist called out, surprise quickly followed by a sort of fan like glee dancing across the young man’s face. “What are you doing here?”

      He gave the other a quick smile as he did his best to hide his nausea at the reaction. Honestly, why did everyone think it was necessary to treat him like some celebrity? “Is Salto still in?”

      “Mr. Archeros should still be in his office.” The young man’s expression fell. “But you best hurry. I do not think he is planning on staying for much longer, sir. Do you want me to call ahead?”

      He dipped his head, coaxing his smile into something a bit more fetching. The blush on the young man’s face told him it had worked. “No, but thank you.”

      The young man nodded and he left the space swiftly.

      The elevator opened upon his press of the button. Stepping in and closing the door, he waited till the elevator started moving to secure the bundled coat against the small of his back. Depending on how this went, he wasn’t overly worried about it falling out.

      The elevator chimed and the doors opened to reveal one Salto Archeros.

      “Lennix?” the man asked as the other’s companions were revealed. A happy smile curled onto the man’s face. “What are you doing here?”

      “I figured it was time to have that little chat you keep wanting to have,” he stated rather dully.

      Confusion flickered under the other’s pristine mask. It would only be a moment before the other figured it out. “I wish I could stay and chat, Len old chap, but I had a very important meeting at the other side of town that I must-”

      “It wasn’t a suggestion, Salto.” The man’s name was heavy on his tongue and he spat it out with a fluff of his feathers.

      That got the other man’s attention and understanding registered under the cracking mask.

      The man’s two companions had no problem seeing a threat, though. The one on the right charged him first. It was easy to duck and shove a fist into the man’s gut before shoving said man over his shoulder and down his back to the floor. The second one came at him before the first one had hit the floor properly. He threw his hands to the floor and kicked off the ground. His first kick from the cartwheel was blocked but it was enough of a decrease in momentum that he twisted and brought his other leg around, catching the man upside the head and throwing him into the wall.

      Salto was there before his feet touched the ground fully. Lennix threw out a wing in hopes of clipping the man in the face but the other slipped under and Lennix used the close proximity to aim a knee at Salto’s head.

      The man blocked it with his shoulder and forearm, catching Lennox in the shoulder with a sharp punch with his free hand.

      Lennix rolled with it, snapping out with his wings even as his shoulder throbbed. Salto ducked in again. This time Lennix managed to get a punch thrown but the man caught it, kept going, and yanked Lennix’s arm behind his back. Salto hooked his leg and shoved him sideways, pinning him to the wall with is wrist between his shoulders. Before he could even counter, Salto grabbed at his wings at the shoulder and pinned them to one side, effectively ripping a pained cry from him.

      “Why are you here, Swallow,” Salto hissed, teeth clashing in his ear.

      “The same reason why you showed up on my doorstep, Canis,” he retaliated, jerking against both painful holds and actually managing to swallow the pain that came with it.

      He couldn’t see. His head was pinned facing over his right shoulder but Salto was standing behind his left. He couldn’t see the man’s expression, couldn’t read the feel of the man’s grip, and the air was too still to speak to him.

      Both holds vanished and Lennix spun to find Salto already stepping away. “Fine. But we’re not having that conversation here.”

      Frowning, Lennix fell into step behind Salto.
     
  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Birthday Wish
  • Index
    • Birthday WishPrompt:
    For your eleventh birthday, you wish for your your biggest, deepest desire to come true. The next day, your house has burnt down.

    As a warning now: there is strong and hate language, child abuse, and traumatic events. Please read with caution.

    It was all ruined.

    Huddled in the closet trying to stifle his sobs, he pressed his hands harder against his ears praying he would get swallowed by the fabric within. But no matter how hard he pressed his hands to his ears, he could still hear them screaming at each other. He wasn’t sure if one or both of them were drunk this time and, honestly, he didn’t care. He didn’t care!

    He choked on another sob.

    The floor outside the closet creaked and he sucked in a breath. His hands went to his mouth as he stared at the door, waiting, waiting.

    “Z?”

    It was nothing more than a soft whisper barely heard above the fighting outside his room. He straightened. “Mark?” he called out, his voice cracking around the words, the pitch wrong to his ears - it had always been wrong in his ears.

    The closet door open enough for his older brother to slip in. The noise cut through and he curled away from it again, burying himself further into the pink and frills around him.

    Mark sat so close, theirs knees brushed each other. But instead of being dark like before, he found Mark had brought in a few candles.

    The two candles shaped like the number one were situated on top of a rather sad looking piece of cake. The third was one of the candles from the living room meant only for light.

    “Sorry your party was ruined,” Mark spoke, his voice still low but no longer hard to hear. “I saved what I could of the cake.”

    He shook his head, stubborn. “I don’t want it anymore.”

    Mark’s face twisted in a way he didn’t understand. “I know, sis. But it seemed wrong for you to go without being able to make your birthday wish.”

    He scrunched up his face. “That’s all pretend. They never come true.”

    A tight smile pulled at Mark’s face and he thought his brother looked sadder like that. “Make the wish for me, then? Wish for whatever you want. Could be your deepest desire, even.”

    He frowned but a part of him saw the joy that split the sad expression his brother wore. Clenching at his shirt, he gave a nod. Mark placed the plate between them, tucking the other candle out of the way, He watched his brother move things about in the back, patient as Mark made sure nothing would catch from the candle’s flame.

    “Can I sing to you?”

    He felt his ears burn but the light and excitement in his brother’s face made it impossible for him to deny him. “If you want,” he grumbled, hunkering in on himself.

    Mark reached out and with a careful hand cupped the back of his head and brought their forehead together over the cake and its two candles. Softly, as the heat of the candles brushed against his face, his brother sang.

    “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear sibling mine. Happy birthday to you.”

    The urge to cry again came back ten fold and it was all he could do to swallow around the lump in his throat as he pulled away. The flames were blurry, the candles dancing like the flames had been, and it was with a deep breath that he begged for his wish - his deepest desire as his loving brother had put it - to be granted. He didn’t care what it was. As long as it was better than where they were at now.

    The closet door flew open.

    “The fuck you doing in there with her!”

    He screamed as Mark moved between him and their dad. Sobs choked him and slowed him but it didn’t stop the man’s sharp words from cutting through the scramble.

    “What the fuck do you think you are doing, I'm uncultured? I thought I told you to leave and never come back!”

    “I wasn’t about to let you two ruin another birthday,” Mark spat back.

    The punch caught Mark in the jaw but it seemed to barely phase Mark as he found his brother’s eyes flickering to him even as his brother threw a punch that missed and sent a kick that was blocked. “Run, Susie! Jason’s outside waiting!”

    Another punch caught Mark’s other cheek, throwing the young man into the closet. He screamed as he scrambled away from the fray but a large hand wrapped around his upper arm, squeezing so hard that it was a wonder his bones didn’t just snap.

    “Where the fuck do you think you’re going!?”

    “Leave her alone!”

    His mom was his saving light but only for the instant it allowed him to break free. The woman caught him by his hair, keeping him from making it to the door.

    “No! You are grounded, young lady. You do not get to leave this room.”

    “No!” he screamed. His kicked and hit his mom but she was bigger than him and had a better hold. With swift movements, he found himself face first on his hated pink comforter, the smiling fruits and fairies mocking him as his mom pinned him in place.

    “Get off!”

    The grip on his hair tugged his head up before vanishing. Arms wrapped around him and for a moment, he panicked. But then his brother’s scent - fresh, clean, and free of any booze or smoke - washed over him and he clung with all his might to the young man carrying him.

    They didn’t get far.

    A shot rang out and he screamed. He didn’t mean to, hadn’t even wanted to, and some part of him wondered if the hand on the back of his head was to keep him from looking or reprimand for screaming.

    “You and her are not going anywhere, I'm uncultured. Basement. Now.”

    He whimpered, curling more into his brother. He didn’t want to go down in the basement. It was always dark and scary and now it was going to be worse because he and Mark were going to be trapped down there forever.

    “I’ve got you,” his brother softly whispered as the basement stairs creaked under foot. “I’ve got you.”

    “Faster!”

    The world pitched forward before rolling around him. There were sharp thuds and jarring movements till it all stopped abruptly. Mark groaned around him. His hands - why did his hands have to be so small - grabbed at Mark’s shirt as he begged, “Mark? Mark, are you ok? Please be ok. Please be ok, Mark.”

    “I’m fine,” Mark finally ground out, the words lulled together but Mark’s expression was quickly looking more determined than dazed. “Are you ok?”

    He nodded, pressing his face against Mark’s collarbone as the basement stairs creaked.

    “Damn. Couldn’t die on the way down. Got to make it difficult, don’t you, I'm uncultured? Like a cockroach.”

    Mark didn’t respond. Instead, he got to his feet. “So. What now, Dad?”

    “I’m not your father, boy. No son of mine would ever turn out to be a I'm uncultured like you.”

    Mark scoffed. “Pity. Would have done this family some good if you had been open to it.”

    “Shut up and hand her over before you corrupt her with your gay.”

    Mark laughed and he flinched. It was sharp, hard, and not like anything he had heard before. “You’re crazy if you think I’m handing anyone over to you, let alone my little sibling.”

    “Hand her over now or so help me I will make sure this bullet goes through the both of you.”

    Mark’s arms tightened around him the same time those words registered in his head. Terror flashed through him and it was all he knew. He kicked, he screamed, he cried till his world suddenly snapped into clarity, his right cheek burning.

    Just as suddenly, his dad was in his face, gun pointed like the man would point a finger. “Make another sound and I blow his brains out.”

    He clamped his hands over his mouth, choking on who knew what as the man stepped away.

    “Now, what are we going to do with you?”

    He focused on his brother and whimpered behind his hands. There was blood on his brother’s face, one arm, and chest. He looked horrible but Mark’s eyes were clear as they locked onto him.

    “Z, I need you to do me a favor.”

    “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

    His brother kept talking. “Z, I need you to close your eyes and cover your ears. You block it all out till help arrives, ok? Can you do that for me, Z?”

    “Shut up, already!”

    The man smacked Mark across the face with the gun but those sharp eyes snapped back to him. “Close your eyes and cover your ears. It’ll be ok.”

    “Stop talking!”

    Another punch to the face. Another unwavering gaze. “Do it, Z.”

    A kick to the gut. A flinch but the gaze came back steady. “For me.”

    He squeezed his eyes shut as he brought his knees up to hide his face, hands pressing into his ears so hard, it hurt. He could still hear, though, so he started humming.

    He wasn’t sure what it was but it was noise enough.

    It was starting to get warm.

    For a brief moment, he thought he heard Mark calling for him. He almost looked up but his brother had told him to block everything out, so he kept at it.

    Why was it getting hard to breathe?

    “Z!”

    He jerked back from the hands grabbing him. The room was dark and what he could make out wasn’t making sense. All he knew, though, was that the person grabbing him wasn’t Mark.

    But it wasn’t his dad, either.

    “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” the stranger urged, voice muffled by the strange thing on their face. “Just stay still and keep your face hidden.”

    He nodded, burying himself into the stranger’s hold and waiting for it to all be over.

    “Z!”

    His head came up despite the stranger’s orders as cold air made him shiver. He watched Mark break away from the strangers he had been with and come running over.

    “Mark!” he called out, throwing his arms to his brother to the point of nearly knocking himself out of the stranger’s hold.

    Mark was there, though, scooping him out of the stranger’s arms into a bear hug. He sobbed into his brother’s neck, clinging in the desperate hope of never being separated again.

    “Hey there, kiddo,” came a familiar, gruff voice. He peaked up to look at Jason. The young man offered him a tight smile, tears streaming down dusty cheeks. One of Jason’s large hands buried itself in his hair. “You hangin’ in there?”

    He nodded as the stranger that had brought him to safety came over. “We need to get you both to the hospital. Especially her. There was quite a bit of smoke down there.”

    “Is it ok if I drive them?” Jason cut in, his voice unusually small.

    Mark’s voice filled in the space right behind Jason’s. “I would feel better if he drove us.”

    “Let the paramedic check her over first. As long as they say she’s in no immediate danger, that’s fine, but it’s best to go straight to the ER as soon as they give the go ahead.”

    He felt Mark relax around him. “Thank you.”

    After that, everything else was a blur of noise and colors. By the time everything seemed to stop, they were alone in a white room. Jason had one of the chairs occupied while he sat in Mark’s lap on the medical bed. He must have fallen asleep because he woke to the sound of someone knocking.

    “Mark Tenner?”

    “That’s me,” his brother confirmed, the young man’s voice rumbling through him. “What can we help you with, Officer Briggins?”

    “Oh, good. You’re all here. That will make this easier. I need to ask your sister some questions, if she’s feeling up to it, and then I also have the information on the fire from the fire department.”

    Mark moved about underneath him and he brought his head up. He was so tired.

    “Z? This is Officer Briggins. Can he ask you a few things?”

    He nodded, leaning against his brother again.

    “Suzie?” Habitually, he looked to the officer upon the sound of his name. He hated that name. “I’m going to ask five questions. I want you to give me as much information as you can, ok?”

    He nodded.

    The officer left after what felt like an eternity. Half asleep against his brother’s chest, he listened to the other two talk.

    “All gone.”

    Mark hummed an affirmation. “Good riddance to it, too. What time is it? I can’t see the clock from here?”

    There was a pause before Jason replied, “3:04.”

    “Will you be ok driving us home?”

    “You won’t sleep for the ride so I’m not worried about it. Besides, I’ve got enough adrenaline running through me to keep me up for the next week.”

    Mark huffed a laugh. “I hear ya on that.”

    He shifted, gingerly pressing his face against the bandage wrapped around Mark’s shoulder. “You going to be ok?” he muttered.

    Mark’s hand carded through his hair. “Yeah.You’ll see. I’ll be chasing you around in no time.”

    “Even with the things he did?”

    Mark’s arms tightened around him. “Z, that man can’t harm either of us anymore, ok? You can’t go back and I wouldn’t let you even if you could. You’ll come live with Jason and me and we’ll get through this. I promise.”

    “As long as I don’t have a pink bed again,” he whined and the others laughed.

    “Don’t worry, Z. You can have whatever kind of bed you want. It might just take some time getting, ok?”

    “Ok.”

    “Come on, Zack! Smile!” He made another face and she smacked him. “Zack, come on. It’s for the school paper.”

    He rolled his eyes, grinning. “I don’t think anyone actually reads the paper.”

    There was a click. “Haha!” she cheered, holding the camera’s display screen up to her face, shielding it from the sun. “Doesn’t matter,” she responded, flicking through the pictures. “I want a good picture for my article and you’re the only one that showed up.”

    He chuckled at that. “That’s because everyone else is still in class. Give them a few more minutes and they’ll be here.”

    An arm wrapped around his shoulders before it was followed by a different one. He was suddenly pinned between two very similar bodies and he wrapped his arms around both of their waists.

    “Nikki giving you trouble again, Zack?” the one on his right asked.

    The one on his left barely let a breath pass before they added, “Nikki, we told you we were going to be late.”

    “And for that, you two don’t get your photos taken. End of story.”

    “Awe, but Nikki,” the one on his right whined, letting him go.

    “You can’t just do our beloved Zack,” the one on his left whined in turn, wrapping both arms snugly around his waist. He laughed, wrapping his arm around their shoulders instead, very amused.

    “It’s unfair,” the one that had been on his right finished, pulling on Nikki’s arm.

    “And what do you two think you are doing?”

    The identical twins gave identical squawks as they put distance between themselves and him and Nikki. The burly man that had walked over gave the pair a look down his nose before crossing to Nikki. “They bugging you, sweet?”

    She laughed, happily leaning into the man’s embrace, both mindful of the camera. “Oh please. The day those two get too much to handle is the day I drink an entire bottle of vodka.”

    The smell of cigarette smoke touched him as another body joined the party. “Ooo, we drinking? Who’s house we partying at?”

    “Hey Miles,” he happily greeted.

    Forever looking disheveled unless there was a very specific reason not to, Miles gave a nod, bouncing the rats nest they called hair. “Hey, Speedy. Anyone else here?”

    “My brother said he and Jason would drop by when they were off of work. Should be in a few minutes, actually.”

    “Good.” Miles shoved their cigarette between their lips again. “He owes me money.”

    Another joined the group, slipping in on Miles’s other side. “Oh? Which one this time?”

    “Hey Brice,” he greeted as Miles clarified, “The short one.”

    “Jason then?” the burly man still wrapped around Nikki asked.

    Brice chuckled. “I think she meant Mark, Derrek.”

    “I do indeed,” Miles confirmed. She pointed her cigarette at Derrek. “Everyone’s short compared to you.”

    That got a round of laughs from everyone.

    “Z!”

    He turned at the faint sound of his brother’s preferred pet name for him. Even transitioning hadn’t broken his brother of it, though his choice of names had only seemed to encourage Mark’s enjoyment.

    He doubted he could ever find a reason to tell Mark to stop calling him ‘Z’ even if he wanted to.

    “Sweet,” Jason spoke. “Everyone’s here.”

    “Bout time, too,” Nikki cut in before anything else could be said. “Alright, people. Let’s get moving before I lose all my natural light for this.”

    The group started moving and he found himself in the back of the group with Mark. Jason was a bit ahead of them chatting with Brice and Miles and it quickly became apparent that it had been on purpose.

    “So…” Mark started, letting the word hang between them briefly. “Did you ever get it?”

    “Get what?”

    “Your deepest desire.”

    He blinked, looking over at Mark. The other’s expression was tight but he could see the hope there.

    And the guilt.

    Endearment shot through him as he huffed a laugh. A soft smile pulled at his lips as he looked at those ahead of him, those that had accepted him for who he was and had become the family he never realized he had needed. He focused back on Mark, the whole reason behind why he had this family now and no matter how many scars he bore, he would always be grateful for his brother coming in and destroying the life he had thought he was ok with.

    “Yeah. Yeah I did.”
     
  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Fairy Tale Ending
  • Index
    • Fairy Tale EndingPrompt:
    You’re the daughter of an important lord, and on a visit to the royal palace, the prince falls in love with you, but you’re just annoyed, and your attempts to make him fall out of love just make him fall deeper in love.

    Also written for Flirty February 2019.

    "Were you created by magic because I can't help but be amazed by you."

    She shuddered in disgust, turning a sharp glare on the speaker not caring he was well ranked above her. Straightening herself to her full height, she bit back, "When were you born because I can't tell if I'm talking to a Prince or a newborn."

    She could feel Drake's horror-stricken gaze on the back of her head as Bjorn didn't even bothering to mask his booming laughter. The dwarven's blunt nature was often mistaken for rudeness. She was glad it was rubbing off.

    Instead of giving the anxiety radiating off of Drake any foundation, the Prince beamed at her, his chin coming up with the force of his apparent enjoyment. She forced her hands to remain relaxed. If she let them become fists, she might actually clock the blasted narcissist in the jaw. "That was quite witty. Did you come up with that on the spot or do you have a list on hand?"

    Her look turned flat as she crossed her arms. "And why would I answer something like that? Unless you're as thickheaded as your pickup line was cringe worthy, even you would not miss the fact that I do not want to be speaking with you."

    "Wren," Drake hissed behind her, his hand grasping at her arm painfully.

    She ignored him as the Prince's attention flickered to her friend. "So you're name's Wren, then?"

    "We are through here," she snapped, yanking her arm out of Drake's hold.

    "Awe, don't be that way." An unfamiliar hand wrapped around her wrist. "We were just start-"

    Bare flesh colliding with bare flesh rang in her ears before her brain even had time to process the statement. Instinct had driven her so quickly, she hadn't even realized she had been the one to create the sound, finding herself suddenly facing the Prince and already at the end of the follow through of the slap.

    It was probably luck that it had been an open handed slap as she watched the Prince vanish into the crowd. Drake was pulling her alone - even Bjorn was pushing her forward through the crowd - as she caught sight of the Prince's fingertips brushing over the red mark on his cheek, eyes wide with surprise before bodies got between them.

    "I'm so dead," she muttered.

    Her words filled the empty hallway enough for her friends to hear it. Drake was working himself into a full blown panic attack. Bjorn was much calmer but even he looked concerned.

    "Why did you have to go and slap him?" Drake choked out. "Are you asking to be killed for treason? Do you like flirting with danger?!"

    "Interesting way to flirt," Bjorn commented.

    Drake rounded on him, finger brandished like a deadly weapon towards the other. "Not helping!"

    Bjorn shrugged as hurried footfall filled what was left behind. All three of them turned finding familiar faces racing towards them.

    "We saw the aftermath!" the smallest of the trio called out to them.

    Drake stepped forward, arms going out. "Petra."

    She wondered if he knew how telling the gesture had been as Petra grabbed at his forearms. "Did she really do it?" Petra's gaze turned to her. "Did you really slap Prince Ne-"

    "What does it matter if I did?" she shot back defensively cutting through the name she did not want to hear. Petra barely batted an eye but it wasn't Petra who answered her.

    "Why did you?"

    She turned her gaze to the twins that had stopped several paces behind Petra and Drake's interesting embrace. Bjorn had made his way over and was standing next to the pair of twins, looking to her with the same inquisitive expression.

    "It does not seem like you to slap another," the other twin pointed out.

    "Let alone a dignitary like the Prince," the first added.

    She let out a sharp sigh. "I don't know. I just did."

    "It was because he had grabbed you, wasn't it."

    She had forgotten how observant Bjorn was as she met his gaze. His statement - because it hadn't been a question - was proof enough that the dwarf was still a hardened warrior and knew far too much about her than she liked.

    She shrugged, feigning apathy as she added verbally, "Probably. That this point, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

    "Oh, I don't know about that."

    This time when she reacted, she was very aware of every single move she did, as well as the others. She snapped around, the others facing the same direction, as they all stared down the duo standing partway down the hall. She brought her chin up, looking down her nose at the taller of the two. "Venith Scraus," she greeted coldly.

    The other smirked. "Wrenyor Thaun."

    "Hi Wren!" the smaller of the duo shouted, waving as he bounced up and down slicing through the animosity growing thick in the hallway.

    It broke some of the hostility in her and she offered the smaller a soft smile. "Hello Corinth. Enjoying the event?"

    The youth nodded, grinning from ear to ear. "V said that Mom and Dad didn't want to come so we're here in their stead. I've never seen so many people before! There were so many pretty dresses."

    She frowned, turning her gaze to Venith as the other placed a hand on Corinth's head. "They let you two leave without them?"

    "It wasn't as if it was hard to convince them to make sure there was Scraus present at the celebration of the Prince's return." Venith's gaze moved from somewhere over Corinth's head to her. "Though I'm not sure why you and yours were even invited."

    "She's lying."

    She didn't dare glance back at Petra. Even without looking back she knew what the smaller's expression was, of how Petra would be staring at Venith with large blue eyes that seemed to be unraveling every secret and truth in one's very soul. She could see the instinctual response in Venith even as the other tried to hide the shudder, the step back, the flash of fear.

    Corinth took a step forward to counter his sister's step back. Whether it was deliberate or out of the boy's desire to stand up for his sister was beyond her. "V told me that Mom and Dad said we could come in their stead. They even didn't care what I wore as long as I was presentable."

    The glee on the boy's face was a sharp contrast to the dark look that swirled over Venith's. Despite the hate and the way they bantered with each other like others would flirt with potential lovers, it was hard for her not to reach out blindly towards the hurting soul before her. While her home life wasn't overly grand, all she had to tolerate was her mother looking down on her. At least she had her stepfather's love and support. There was no love lost in that family. It was a miracle Corinth was as vibrant as he was and that was probably the loudest testament to Venith's character than anything else; that included their animosity towards each other.

    She turned her gaze from Corinth to Venith. Was it revolt she was seeing in the other's expression? Towards who?

    "Oh, good! I found you!"

    And just as before, the entire group's attention pivoted and focused on the newcomer. She scowled at the sight of the red cheeked Prince. He was grinning again. "Are all these friends of yours, Wren?"

    "I never gave you my name to speak," she spat.

    He gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head. "Awe, come on now. If I can't use your name, what can I call you?"

    She turned away, chin rising just that much higher. "Nothing. We are not becoming acquaintances."

    "Awe, why not?" he just about whined at the same time Drake hissed, "Wren, stop."

    "She doesn't trust you."

    Petra again, but this time she was on the other end of Petra's perception. Her chin dropped as she fought the urge to glare at the smaller. It didn't stop her from looking.

    Doing so brought him back into her line of sight and she couldn't help but turn fully.

    What she saw made her chest tightened.

    His brows were furrowed, expression set between concern and bewilderment. Before he could speak up or ask whatever was on his mind, Petra continued. "None of us do."

    That statement was heavy in the hall and she wasn't sure if she was surprised by Venith and Corinth's silence or had been expecting it.

    "It's because of my father, isn't it."

    Another question set as a statement, but this was from someone she did not know, someone she did not understand, and it made her hesitant even as she answered bluntly, "Yes."

    His expression hardened. "I'm not like him."

    She shrugged. "Whether you are or aren't, I don't trust your father to leave you unaffected."

    "And what if I proved it?"

    She arched an eyebrow at him. "And how exactly are you going to do that?"

    He grinned at her.

    Not even a full day later she punched him in the face for another pickup line. He laughed it off even as her friends fretted about him. She didn't apologize but it was the only time she punched him in the face. Before she knew it, the days were vanishing into weeks, weeks into months. She had long since lost track of the days, but it would seem that others had not as the Prince voiced, "I can't believe it's been a year already."

    "Since what?" she asked, trying to figure out what day it was and what had happened on the corresponding date as she studied the map on the desk between her splayed hands.

    "Since you first showered me in affection."

    She blocked the map out of her mind briefly as she threw her date hunting into panicked priority. It clicked but it was a little late as she shot him a glare. "I thought I broke your flirty nature."

    He grinned at her. "You can't break perfection."

    She groaned. "So help me, Nero, I will slug you in the throat if you keep it up. We've got things we have to be doing, remember?"

    "Ok, ok," he quickly ceded, though the grin hadn't completely vanished. At least the smile was far more tolerable.

    There was shifting at the edge of the map and she found herself stroking a hand over the head of the large snake coiled there. Omnic, Venith's familiar, had moved from the rug in front of the hearth to being half coiled on the desk acting like a paperweight on the curled edges of the map. Her gaze flickered to Venith, watching as the other seemed to relax just a little bit more, flipping a page before returning her arm around Corinth. The boy was passed out against her side, stitch work still draped across his lap.

    Movement behind the couch drew her attention to Bjorn and the twins. Sven was much more verbal in the soft conversation the trio were sharing about the different types of politics between the dwarves and the elves but that didn't mean his brother, Vern, was paying any less attention. Vern's attentiveness reminded her of a certain petite and her gaze wandered over to Drake and Petra. Drake was scrawling something on the parchment he had on the floor, an assortment of books scattered and piled around him. Petra was at his side, listening to Drake mutter while flipping wildly through the book in hand.

    "Wren."

    She brought her attention back to Prince Nero, back to the map between her hands, and she let out a soft sigh. "What are we doing here, Nero?"

    "Looking for the-"

    "No," she cut in, already knowing what that response was. "I mean, what are we doing here? There are literal children in our midst and a few of us are barely into adulthood ourselves. We have no right trying to figure this out on our own."

    "But who else can we trust?"

    She looked at him, searching his expression for something - anything - that would help give her the insight she was looking for. Instead, all she found was his curiosity and his concern. "I don't know," she finally spoke, looking back at the map. "I just don't know."

    "You were right."

    Fire licked at her calves, the wind howling around her as she stood with Nero on the battlement, the castle in flames around them. Her hand went to push her hair out of the way but the strands were far shorter than what she was used to and they slipped back into her face when her hand kept going. It had been a habitual move, one she wasn't even conscious of as she stared; terror, bewilderment, and the bitter taste of betrayal churned within her as she held Nero's gaze.

    He gave her a tight smile, continuing as he opened his arms to her. "I shouldn't have been trusted."

    "Nero," she choked, wanting to step towards him but unable to move. "Please."

    He shifted back, opening himself up to the view beyond the castle walls, beyond the surrounding city out to the lands beyond. "My father had turned me into a puppet and I had willingly followed his lead. I was happy following the plan he had set before me."

    "That's not true!" she shouted.

    He gave her another smile, just as tight but this time accompanied by a swirl of emotions in his eyes. His expression was still tightly masked. "Isn't it though? You wanted to defeat the Tyrant King. So," he turned, opening himself up to her completely, hands outstretched to either side as far as he could reach, "defeat the Tyrant King. Take out his last pawn, his last trump card, and make it so that he can never harm another again."

    The tears were hot on her cheeks as his words ripped through her. But even in such a dire situation, despite her being able to see the King preparing a final strike towards them, she found herself smiling.

    "Hey, Nero."

    His expression turned curious as his smile fell away.

    "Were you created by magic?"

    She watched the confusion overtake his curiosity, fueling it.

    "Because I can't help but be amazed by you."

    And just like that, the words clicked in his head. "Wha-" he started, but she didn't give him a chance. She crossed to him and pressed their lips together before she was pushing him back. His ankles hit the edge of the battlement and he tipped backwards.

    Her smile grew as she felt the heat of the King's final attack bearing down on her as he fell out of harm's way. "Don't ever change, ok?"

    "WREN!" he screamed as a flash of scaly wings rescued him. Trusting Petra to get Nero to safety, she turned her back to face the King's attack head on.
     
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  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Crossed Paths
  • Index
    • Crossed PathsPrompt:
    The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms.
    Also consider the reverse. The villain shows up on the hero’s doorstep in that state.

    A strange, disconnected sort of terror had seized him. Every part of him was screaming to stop moving, to quit making everything worse, but the wall behind him exploded and he pressed closer to the part still standing as he was peppered with bits of concrete too small to do any real harm. The roll of dust choked him.

    "Shit," he hissed between clenched teeth, blood splattering the pavement as his hand slipped against his wound. He didn't want to die. Not like this. Not because some hero was too busy throwing down with a villain to worry about bystanders.

    The thought made his blood boil under the drowning waves of fear and desperation.

    The world spun around him and he slammed into the wall he was using as support. He swallowed back a wave of nausea but the pain wasn't helping and he was certain he was going to be sick.

    It was like his head was filled with static. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, could barely think as his body threatened to give out on him. He shoved at the wall but he wasn't sure if he was even standing anymore. If he stayed there, if he didn't move, he was going to die. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die!

    "-ang in there."

    He found himself blinking against a blurry view, brain slowly catching up with what was going on. Someone was there. They were moving over him but he couldn't make a lot of it out. When had he become so numb?

    A pained cry ripped itself from his chest destroying the numbness he had been in. The only benefit was the sudden clarity it brought to his mind. When he opened his eyes again, he could clearly see the person tending to him and he tried to recoil with a hiss.

    The stranger pressed a gloved hand into his shoulder, their expression pleading even with most of it obscured by a hero's mask. "Wait. I'm not done yet. Just-just a few more minutes and I'll have you stable enough to not bleed out."

    He settled but the tension remained in his body. He wasn't about to trust them.

    True to their word, they were done after a while, but whether it had been a few minutes or a half an hour, he didn't know. The expression sent his way hinted at relief and gratitude, not that he understood the latter and blamed the mask for hiding the true emotions despite the mask failing to obscure the other's eye color completely; they were blue for some reason. "There. You should be fine now till the paramedics arrive. I'll bring them in but it'll take some time. The fight's made a lot of the area difficult to traverse." There was the sound of an explosion not far off and the hero's head rose, seeking out the source of the noise he was certain the other couldn't actually see. "Not to mention the fight is still happening." The hero's gaze returned to him, as did their gloved hand to his shoulder. "Don't go too far, ok? I'll be right back."

    And with that, the hero vanished from his side. The pain in his side was throbbing right along with his pulse and the thought of even twitching made his lips curl in pain. So, instead, he settled in as best he could, closed his eyes, and succumbed to sleep without meaning to.

    It would be days later before he discovered who had saved his life and it wasn't even in a way he had expected. It wasn't like he hadn't gone looking. He was curious to know what the hero had even done to stabilize him, what abilities they had and whatnot, but he half remembered their mask and didn't know their name so he was left either hoping to find it in the news articles from that particular day or the hero registry.

    He never expected to meet them on the street.

    It had been a clip of a shoulder on a populated sidewalk. He was going to just let it go, let the crowd swallow him and not even think about the incident, but the sound of stumbling and the inevitable crash to pavement made his feet still as he looked back. The crowd parted, giving the prone figure and their scattered property a wide berth. Already a few kind souls were stopping to help collect the items scattered about as the figure started to get up, pulling at the items closest to them.

    "You alright?" he asked, squatting near them to grab at a bag spilling its content on the ground. An involuntary 'tsk' left his throat as he started chasing marbles.

    "Yeah," was the stranger's breathy reply. "Sorry. You don't-you don't have to help. I've got it."

    There were soft mutters of thanks to the strangers that handed the collected property to the figure as he took a marble from a grinning child. He offered the child a weak smile before depositing the glass ball back into the bag with its companions. The last marble was between him and the figure but when he went to reach for it, the stranger's hand beat him to it, his fingers bumping up against the back of their hand.

    "Ah, sorry," the stranger repeated, jerking back. He brought his gaze up to find a pair of wide, rather familiar pair of blue eyes staring at him. The stranger reached out as the rest of their property was precariously clutched to their chest. "I can take that back now."

    A jolt of recognition shot through him as his eyes drifted down, watching the other speak and fret. If his hunch was right - he would bet good money it was - then this was his hero. Curiosity burned through him as hot as the hatred for heroes that hadn't gone away as the days had progressed and he found himself scoffing, taking the marble from the stranger's hand and slipping it into the bag. "Please. If we add anymore to that mess, you'll lose it all over the pavement again."

    The stranger's cheeks flushed and he was very glad the other wasn't wearing that stupid hero's mask. They were very expressive, easy to read, and it made getting anywhere in discovering if his hunch was right all that much easier. All he had to do now was get them to stay in contact.

    He reached out and took some of the mess out of the stranger's arm. Unfortunately for him, the stranger was jumpy and half of the content between him and the stranger scattered to the pavement again. The stranger's vocalization was more sound than words but he was already bending down and scooping up what had fallen free. It was easy to stack it all in his arms without the fear of losing any of it.

    The stranger looked torn as they rushed, "You don't have to do that. I can carry it."

    "And now you don't have to." He shifted the pile's weight higher up, settling it against his body. "Lead. I'll follow."

    It was interesting watching the relief bleed into the torn expression. "You really don't have to," the stranger urged even as they started walking.

    "You're right, I don't." The stranger glanced at him and he couldn't believe how he was able to play the other so easily. He offered a cocky smile. "I want to. Seemed only right after having knocked you over."

    The other blushed. It was endearing despite his intent of not letting this go beyond getting information from the other. "Ah, no. That was-someone had bumped me from the other side and I was losing my footing before I clipped your shoulder. And now you're helping me when you didn't have to." The stranger stopped abruptly and he let his surprise shift his expression. "Let me buy you coffee or something for your help."

    Well that certainly made things easy but it left a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. He hadn't wanted it to be an obligation. "You don't have to-"

    "I want to," the stranger cut through. Did the stranger say that out of a true desire to or to throw his own words back at him? "If you don't like coffee, I could buy you lunch. Please. I'll feel bad if you walk away after I've imposed on you."

    He waved his hand as if to brush the statement away, the bag of marbles still in his grip swinging back and forth. "I don't want payment."

    "But-"

    "But I was on my way to lunch," he continued, not giving the other a chance to get started again. "If you truly want to pay me back in some way, then join me. I've had a crappy last few days and pleasant company is rare to come by."

    Not that it mattered and he certainly didn't know the stranger well enough to know if they really were pleasant company but the grin that broke out on the other's face was worth it.

    He would deny later that it had swayed his hand when the other had beat him to the check when it was brought.

    "I was serious when I said you didn't have to pay for lunch, Liam," he urged halfheartedly, hand still hanging in the air between them.

    The other gave him a playful grin, the tip of the other's tongue caught between their front teeth. It was a ridiculous expression but after everything, he found it fit rather well on the other.

    "You say that but I don't see you reaching across the table for the check," the other - Liam, he reminded himself - teased. "Besides, after the week you've had, I think I have every right to treat you to lunch. So let me treat you to lunch."

    He sagged back into the diner's booth, giving up the last of his stubborn hold. "Fine. But I'm paying next time. It's only fair."

    He registered his own words at the same time Liam did. Liam's gaze came up from the milkshake he had been stirring with a gleam of excitement in those depthless blue eyes. "Next time?"

    He looked away and hoped the sensation of his cheeks burning was just his imagination. "No. Forget I said anything."

    He could practically feel the excitement rolling off of the other and he wasn't sure he wanted to verify if there was hope there as well. "What if I want a next time?"

    He inwardly flinched at that thought. He had no intention of letting this become a....a thing but it seemed like the world was against him just making this an information run.

    He would have to work against this soft part of himself if he wanted to change the world for the better.

    "And if I don't?"

    The other shrugged, going back to his milkshake. "Then don't show up and I'll leave you alone." Liam stuck his hand out, grinning. "Give me your phone."

    "Why?" he asked, hesitation and distrust heavy in that single word even as he fished it out of his pocket.

    "This way you can't use the excuse of losing my number," Liam told him, sounding proud of himself. He felt the other was entitled to that pride because he had been sourly tempted on feigning losing it as he tossed it into the nearest trash bin. "You'd have to manually delete it."

    He unlocked it and tapped the phone icon, not sure if he was content with going through with this or not. A sort of numbness had settled over him in lieu of his indecisive emotional decision even as his injury dully throbbed. He had waited too long to take his meds but as he watched Liam input his contact info, he figured it had been worth it.

    "Classic spelling of Roderick, right?" Liam asked, passing his phone back even as the other fished for his in turn. A muffled chiming emanated from the same pocket Liam was rooting through as he took his phone back, nodding.

    "C-r-e-e-d," he added as an afterthought, watching Liam punch in his first name and start on his last.

    "Awesome. I've got to get these supplies to the daycare so I'll text you later." Liam quickly pulled the now bagged supplies towards him from the far side of the bench as he pocketed his phone. "We can coordinate our next lunch then, yeah?"

    He nodded. "Sure."

    Liam beamed before rushing out the door. Roderick looked down at his phone, the screen still open to the new contact page. 'Liam Grace' glared up at him as if to mock him. He couldn't help but feel like he was getting in too deep for something so menial but the lunch had been rather pleasant and he was looking forward to seeing Liam again. He had not been wrong when he had said pleasant company wasn't a bad thing after the last few days.

    A part of him hoped his suspicion was wrong.

    It was a month later when he confirmed that Liam was his 'hero' and, looking back, he found that he had missed the subtle hints that had told him he had been right since their first meeting; the tail end of glances towards his side with an expression he could now decipher having all the information, the eagerness to keep in contact, the constant barrage of attention. All of it was to sooth some part of Liam's hero persona just checking in on him. He expected Liam to vanish from his life after he had fully healed but the other stuck around and wormed his way into Roderick's life so thoroughly, five years vanished before his very eyes and he came home to find Liam standing in the middle of his living room grinning from ear to ear, flowers and balloons artistically scattered everywhere and a bouquet in hand. The boyish grin on the other's face had a smile tugging at his own lips as he tugged his shoes off.

    "What's all this?" he asked, already having an inkling. Liam had been far too giddy the last few days and it hadn't been hard to figure it had something to do with the day.

    "Happy Five Years since we met," Liam happily chirped, offering him the bouquet.

    As much as he wasn't a flower person, at least Liam had gotten him ones he didn't overly mind having around every now and again. He took the proffered gift, tapping at the balloon on a stick that proclaimed 'Happy Anniversary' in bubbly letters. He chuckled. "I've told you we don't have to celebrate today."

    It always brings back the memories of why we're together.

    Liam's grin only got bigger. "I know, but I want to. Here." The other dug through the blankets on the couch before offering the gift to him. He rolled his eyes and set the bouquet on the coffee table before taking the gift. He frowned at the weight. It was heavier than he had expected. "What is it?" he asked even as he tore at the paper.

    "You'll see."

    The wrapping paper fell away and he turned the object over in his hands. The box was rather plain and told him nothing of what was trapped within the black confines. He tucked it into his elbow to pull the lid off.

    Ice raced through him at the possible implications of the object nestled in a cloud of white tissue paper.

    "I've been looking for it for a while now. It's the right one, right?"

    The object was a rather unbecoming book but he knew the contents inside were more than the cover let on. He reached in, a stray thought wondering where the lid had gone.

    The book was the majority of the weight, the box slipping from his arm as he stopped registering its soft weight. With shaking hands, he carefully opened the worn book and watched as it fell open to some page off center. The passages that glared up at him from the thin pages made it hard for him to breathe. "Where did you find this?" he asked, his voice coming out raspy and breathless.

    "Some little back shop. It had been in the window." Liam's words were nonchalant but there was an undercurrent of concern. He couldn't bring himself out of his shock and growing fear that Liam knew. "Is it the right one?"

    The repeated question finally registered in his brain and he flipped to the front of the book. It was easy finding the page he knew would only exist in the edition he had been looking for. Sure enough, the page stared up at him in words he never believed he would ever read again in his life. "Yeah," he choked out.

    He had been looking for this book long before the hero incident all those years ago and now that it was in his hands, he wasn't sure if it was real. Liam's arms snaked around him, though, and those were real. He closed the book as it got pinned between them and he grabbed at the back of Liam's shirt with his free hand, his other pinned with the book between their chests. His entire body was shaking and he wasn't sure if it was relief, glee, or dread causing it.

    That book turned out to be a curse rather than the gift it had been intended for. He had utilized the contents well, using them to strengthen his abilities and reach higher ranks in among the villains' organization as heroes started paying attention to him. He met every hero - and villain - that came at him head on despite avoiding physical confrontations with any of them. That is, all except for the hero named Echo.

    Liam's hero persona, Echo, became a formidable opponent against the other villains as the years passed and he gained experience. Roderick made sure that he never crossed Echo's path as a villain. He was certain the other would see right through him before the fight even began.

    But sometimes things don't go as planned and he found himself slumped against the wall of some alleyway staring at Liam's front door. The other was home. He could see movement behind the closed blinds despite the rain trying to drown him. He was tempted to find some hovel and lick his wounds but he needed immediate attention and he couldn't go home. He couldn't even get out of his villain attire without help and despite all the friends he had made over the years, it was Liam he wanted to go to, Liam he was drawn to, Liam who he trusted. But he didn't want to break this to Liam, not like this. Never like this.

    He didn't remember sliding down the brick wall to sink onto his knees in the growing puddle at his feet.

    He didn't know Liam had seen him till the other's hands were on him, shaking in a way he didn't know they could as his lover's voice quaked around him.

    Pain flared from the most fatal of the wounds and it broke whatever had kept Liam's words at bay.

    "-ay something!"

    "Liam," he croaked, choking on the word and coughing. The sound was wet and painful. He wondered if it was a punctured lung or simply accumulation from everything else.

    "Rodey," Liam all but sobbed.

    He hissed when the other tried to move him.

    "I have to get you inside," Liam spoke, his voice flat and taking on the cadences that were more common for Echo than Liam. "I can't-you'll bleed out if I don't get you inside."

    "Don't-" he tried but Liam was already slipping his arms around Roderick and hefting him up into his arms. He gave a strangled cry and Liam's arms convulsed around him.

    The next thing he knew, he was waking up in a foreign room too sterile to be any part of Liam's house and too fancy to be any normal hospital.

    The lack of equipment and pain told him enough.

    He shoved at his blankets, a sneer on his face as he moved. His body was sore, echoes of what he had gone through coursing through him in time with his pulse.

    Whatever they had put him in, he hated. It felt wrong, it felt too sterile, and he nearly sighed in relief when he saw a change of clothes sitting on a chair. He grabbed at it and immediately recognized the different fabrics. One outfit was some clothes he had left at Liam's; the other was his villain costume. Curiosity got the better of him and he unfolded the pieces, finding that it had been repaired - or replaced, there wasn't even any marks where he had been hit. It made his stomach churn at the thought of how many knew.

    He was pulling his shirt on when someone cleared their throat. As soon as his head was free from his shirt, he glared at the intruder, grateful he had put his pants on first. "You must be the Director," he stated coldly.

    The woman looked rather plain and harmless but he knew that was all a lie. She was the head of the hero organization and that meant she could outmaneuver him verbally without breaking a sweat. She was the world's greatest tactician and he was nothing more than a pawn to her.

    "And you're Silence, Echo's counterpart," she spoke, her words crisp but her voice soft. It was unusual to hear but, then, he was from a big city. "Or, at least when you're wearing that villain mask of yours."

    He didn't care to glance at the pile of fabric haphazardly draped about the chair, regardless if she gestured at it. Silence settled over them but he wasn't about to break it first. He had long since gotten good at waiting people out and he was always ready to have at a battle of wits on that front. She didn't let them stand in that silence long and it proved to be in his favor he hadn't spoken up.

    "Liam speaks highly of you, despite your alignment."

    He shrugged. "Liam likes everyone."

    "A bluff." She wasn't wrong, but neither was he. "He cares about the masses. He hates quite a number of people."

    "And I'm pretty sure I'm on that shit list now." He crossed his arms over his chest, trying and failing to calm the apprehension rising like bile in his throat. "What of it?"

    Silence stretched between them. He itched to snap at her, to tell her to just up and tell him already, but he was stubborn and had already proven he was willing to wait her out.

    She eventually ceded when it seemed she had settled on her thoughts. "He was in a panic when he brought you to us, begging us to keep this hidden and to heal you. He didn't care you were a villain. But we did."

    He raised an eyebrow at her, taunting, "What? Are you going to throw me in prison now? Last I checked, there's no body count for you to pin on me, no evidence to keep me there."

    "Why is there no body count, Roderick?" He flinched, hating his name on her tongue. "Out of all the villains we've ever dealt with, you are the only one that meets heroes head to head and go out of your way to keep that hero in check. You use your words to distract and disarm heroes when there are civilians around. When they come at you physically, you keep a step ahead of them, keeping them from any bystanders and doing your best to keep collateral damage down to a minimum. Even your own men swoop in, corralling people out of the way, going through and doing patches where they can during the fight, offering aid where they can to help your efforts. Why is that?"

    He scoffed. "I would be surprised if you hadn't already had a theory."

    "Then I am not wrong to assume it has to do with the unfortunate event that had you meeting Echo in the first place?"

    "That might have something to do with it."

    "Then why that book?"

    His expression split into a feral grin, the humor there dark and as sharp as the look he sent her. "I dare you to guess."

    "It enhances your abilities."

    He laughed at that, but it was more of a bark and just as sharp as his grin. "Try again."

    "It controls your abilities."

    "It controls others' abilities, too, you know," he offered nonchalant as he gathered his belongings. "It's easy to recruit people when you can guarantee that they never have to suffer the sting of causing others harm."

    He wasn't sure why she had let him walk out.

    He tried looking for Liam, tried to see if he was going to be the one to take him home, but no matter who he asked, they all said he had left already. He found the Director waiting at the front doors by the time he managed to admit defeat.

    Betrayal burned through him as he stalked by.

    The setting sun was sharp against the glass of the transport but he couldn't feel its heat against his skin. The window was too thick, too tinted against the rays for him to be able to. He looked away.

    Over and over his options rolled around his mind. Yes it hurt that Liam hadn't been there, that the other had left without him, but he shoved it away in the face of more pressing matters and every solution that came to mind was worse than the last.

    It wasn't till he was almost home in the back of some organization car that he brought up his texts with Liam. He was shaking but his fingers were steady against the screen. He wrote, rewrote, deleted all of it changing his mind, and started again when he changed it back to the point that when he found himself on his doorstep, he had yet to send Liam any correspondence. But he had one ready. All he had to do was press send.

    He read it once more. He knew this made him the largest coward but he didn't have any other choice that didn't result in them both dying. At least this way Liam would have a chance.

    He pressed send and turned the screen off.

    He slipped his key into the lock and turned it. It gave easily, the lock sliding back with a solid clicking thud. The door opened into the dark entryway. There was a light on in the living room, one of the lamps if he gauged the lighting right, and thought nothing of it till a painfully familiar, ungodly cheerful chirruping rang from the living room.

    "Seriously?" he asked, giving Liam a skeptical look.

    The other grinned at him. "What? I like it. Think it fits."

    His look flattened. "That fits me?"

    "Oh yeah," Liam assured him. He wasn't sure if there was sarcasm in Liam's words or not. "Fits your sunny disposition perfectly."

    "Change it."

    Liam grinned at him. "No."

    "I'm breaking your phone."

    "Only if you get your hands on it."

    He closed his eyes against the inevitable as he closed the door and stepped away. Echoes of the past haunted his every step.

    "'Liam,'" echoed about as he stepped into the living room. He found Liam sitting on the couch, phone in hand and reading out loud with an unreadable expression. "'I'm sorry. I have to leave, to put distance between us. Don't follow. There's nothing you can do to change this. I hope you find someone else soon.'"

    The silence that followed was oppressive.

    He wondered if his control was slipping, if they were both slipping, but the thing that had his tongue lead in his mouth was how that had sounded out loud. He shouldn't have sent it.

    "So that's it?" Liam challenged. His voice was uncharacteristically lacking. "You were just going to break up with me? Over text?"

    "Liam," he tried, but whatever else he was going to say caught in his throat.

    It didn't matter. Liam didn't even give him a chance to try as the other stood up to be face to face with him. "I go out of my way to get you the best help I could get to save your life, put both of us in jeopardy for the risks I took doing so while assuring your secret wouldn't get out, and before I even get told they let you go, let alone that you were heading home, I get this?" He gestured with his phone. "Is this how you see us? See me? Like I'm something to just ditch when times get tough? What about the last three years? The last five?!"

    Anger flared in him and for the first time since they met, the rage that had always been burning inside him towards every hero except for Liam's persona was suddenly turned on Liam. "I'm not ditching you because it's convenient," he snarled and Liam jerked back at that, retaliating, "I never said-" but he didn't let Liam finish that thought. "I'm trying to save us both!"

    "By leaving me behind?!"

    "What else do you want me to do?!" he bellowed. "If you come with me, it will put us in more jeopardy than the risk you took saving my life! We will never have a quiet life and you can't tell me that these last five years were! Not when you left me behind too many times to count every time you went up against some villain out of your league!"

    He sucked in air like he was suffocating but the words wouldn't stop. He couldn't make them stop. "I tracked every fight you had and intervened as best I could. It certainly grew easier the higher up I got but it still hurt every time I saw just how much damage you took doing some stupid stunt!"

    "So you've known? All this time and you never confronted me about Echo?!"

    "How was I supposed to approach you about that?!" He snarled, "You would veto any conversation dealing with heroes and I figured it was a guise; pretend to not like heroes as part of your cover story, makes it easier for people to not suspect you."

    "When did you figure it out."

    The demand was sharp, quiet, and ice cold. He sucked in a breath against it, the act curling his lip as he stared Liam down. "I suspected the day our shoulders hit. I was certain a month later."

    A breathy laugh left Liam. The other took a step back as his weight shifted, head falling back as his eyes went to the ceiling. "So you’ve known from day one and yet you never thought to let me in on yours?"

    Liam's blue eyes were on him again, ever fathomless but closed off to him. He couldn't help but feel like he deserved so much more hate from the other than just this; he was going to deserve so much more than this. "Yes," he confirmed, his voice soft but filling the room anyways.

    Liam jerked back at that, shaking his head. "Of course you did." He gave a bark of a laugh that sounded hollow to Roderick. "Of course you did! Why would you tell me anything?!"

    "Liam," he tried to counter but the other rounded on him.

    "Were you ever going to tell me? Were you waiting till after we got married or something or was I going to find out when you finally got killed or arrested?"

    The words were on his tongue in an instant and it was easy to spit out the lie despite knowing it was going to ruin everything. There was no coming back from this. It at least guaranteed Liam's safety at minimum.

    "I never intended to marry you."

    The rage vanished from Liam's face right along with the color and it was all he could do to keep going, to keep up the charade as it killed him in the process.

    "I simply humored the speculation to keep you unaware."

    Pain flared in his right temple as his vision went white from the well deserved punch. He could hear Liam's erratic breathing over the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

    "I hope they catch you," Liam spat, voice quaking with emotion. "I hope that you suffer when they do."

    There was no clarification on who that 'they' was and it didn't really matter because he agreed with him. The front door slammed shut with so much force, the windows rattled from it.

    He found himself sinking to the floor as he tried to swallow the sorrow choking him.

    He lasted long enough for Liam to be well out of earshot before the first sob broke free.

    It was followed by so many more.

    An hour later found him puffy eyed and hoarse but packed and locking his front door for the last time. He had things to do, places to be, people to hide and to hide from. He didn't have the luxury of curling up under the covers and never coming out again.

    The only personal affect he kept was a picture that Liam had taken. There were no people in it; only a close-up of an old tree's trunk where a new sprout was blooming. It reminded him of what he had given up and why he was doing any of this.

    His villain persona Silence vanished from the villain scene and he replaced it with Dead Air. Dead Air was ruthless in filling in the gap Silence had left in the elite. Only a few people speculated that Silence and Dead Air were the same villain. Dead Air wouldn't harm civilians either but many just figured Dead Air had worked for Silence. Dead Air was far too ruthless towards those that went up against him to be the same quiet, reserved villain Silence had been.

    Dead Air also went toe to toe with heroes, dishing out more damage than he took in any physical fight. People used that to shoot down any theories of Silence and Dead Air being one and the same.

    He didn't even flinch when Echo turned up during one of his fights with other heroes four years after their nasty breakup. He let himself be Dead Air and had at Echo like he would any other hero. Afterwards he would be pleased at discovering that Echo had learned over the years and had gotten better.

    He should have suspected that wouldn't be the last time he would see the hero.

    For whatever reason, Echo was suddenly up against Dead Air constantly and for the last year, Roderick had to put up with seeing the other. It was easy to find when and why Liam had moved to Roderick's new stomping grounds. It had been even easier to make sure he lived as far away from that particular area so that there was no chance that Liam would ever run into him in public.

    But that didn't mean he wasn't findable.

    "Dead Air!"

    His head snapped up seeking out the subordinate that had called out to him. Despite the smaller numbers compared to what Silence had as a following, he still found himself amazed at how many had followed him as he changed to Dead Air. That little book he had yet to touch since becoming Dead Air had given him one last tool he had used to make sure everyone that had followed him when he was Silence were unable to even remember they had. He made sure all of them were well off, though, but still many were adamant about staying at his side even when he changed to Dead Air and rid them of all memories of Silence.

    He still remembered every name.

    "What is it, Thirteen?" he gently ordered.

    "You've got to come see this."

    Frowning, he left the table full of building schematics, charts of varying types, and those he was consoling with for the next big project. He followed Thirteen through the halls to the entrance.

    He involuntarily sucked air in through clenched teeth as both parts surprise and concern slammed into him.

    Echo was huddled in the tiny entryway with Two and Twenty-six. The two subordinates weren't touching the hero but they had placed themselves between the hero and the exit in a way that spoke of keeping something out rather than keeping the hero in. He realized that Echo wasn't just huddled in on himself; the other was shivering, bleeding, and most importantly, scared. There was a dazed look in those too wide blue eyes barely obscured by the hero's mask. Roderick knew that look and anger flared through him at the thought of anyone drugging heroes, let alone Echo.

    Clearly already uneasy on his feet - and probably close to passing out if Roderick was reading everything right - he nearly toppled himself over when his head snapped up as Roderick approached.

    He watched as the clearly jumpy hero moved away from Two when the subordinate reached out to steady him. It only made his concern grow sharper.

    Something wasn't right.

    He closed the space between them and didn't give Echo a chance to avoid his touch as he grabbed the other's upper arms where he hoped there weren't hidden injuries. Echo whimpered, words rolling over themselves in a choked whisper as Roderick watched the other start to quickly lose the fight against passing out. "Didn't...didn't know where else to go."

    He saw the moment Echo lost the fight. It was all he could do to keep from worsening the other's injuries as Echo collapsed. He carefully shifted his hold getting Echo's limp form to slump against his chest so that he could get under the other enough to pick him up.

    He gritted his teeth against seeing signs of possible torture, his blood boiling.

    "Call Nine. If she can't come in, call Seven. I want them here as soon as possible. Arrange transport if you need to."

    "Yes, sir!" echoed around him as he turned and stormed towards the medical rooms. There weren't many in the base - only three, really, but one was set up for emergency surgeries, one for examinations and minor injuries, and the largest one reminiscent of an emergency room for those bedridden to wait till they could be transported to a proper hospital.

    He took Echo to the examination room. Someone had called ahead of him because Six was there pulling the paper across the examination table. They helped him lay Echo down as carefully as the pair of them could manage.

    Thirteen reappeared, breathless. "Seven is two minutes out, Nine twenty. They both directed that unless the patient is bleeding out, not to do anything till they get here."

    "Inform them I moved the patient from the entrance to the examination room," he ordered, his tone restrained.

    Thirteen brought their hand up to the earpiece only to pause before the motion could be completed. They met his gaze again. "As long as you don't do any more damage, that should be fine. Seven's words. Nine echoed his sentiments, though more politely."

    Thirteen flinched, hand actually clasping the earpiece. He chuckled, lips curling in amusement as he heard the echoes of Seven's voice in the hall. "Seven, don't make Thirteen deaf. I happen to like having subordinates that can hear," he chastised with very little heat as he stepped around Thirteen into the hall.

    "Will all due respects, sir," came a snarky comment from around a nearby corner, Thirteen echoing the words till he too noticed that Seven had arrived. Said subordinate stepped around the corner and gave him a hard look, "if you want me to not deafen any of the others, remind them to keep their snarky comments to themselves."

    He chuckled again. "I'll keep that in mind." His expression sobered. "Not a word to anyone what transpires from here on out. No identities, no events, nothing."

    Seven gave a brisk nod. "Of course, sir. Anyone that is privy to the information?"

    "Thirteen, Two, Six, and Twenty-six, Nine as well once she arrives. You have my permission to pull in what hands you need but make sure they understand the severity of the situation. Do not bring in people you cannot trust to keep their mouth shut."

    Seven gave a half bow, uttering, "Of course, sir," before slipping into the room and closing the door.

    He turned to Thirteen. "Gather Two, Twenty-six, Eleven, and Four and meet me in 206."

    "Eleven and Four, sir?"

    "I passed them in the hallway. I want them to be there for the same conversation. Hopefully it'll be before either of them had a chance to talk to others."

    Thirteen nodded and took off down the hallway.

    An hour passed in a blur. It took a whole fifteen minutes to make sure that word of Echo's arrival didn't spread beyond the initial subordinates. It had but only by one degree so he counted that as luck. After that, he sent the entire place from languid existence to a vibrating hive of activity. Subordinates were called in and there was a constant stream of new arrivals to the situation. Some weren't even brought in. Instead, they were immediately sent on missions - most of them recon. As much as he felt no right to seek revenge against whoever had harmed Liam, he couldn't help the burning rage towards anyone stupid enough to do that where he would find it.

    He had killed for far less.

    "Dead Air, sir." He brought his head up, looking at Six as she came to a stop at his side. "Seven wishes to speak with you."

    "I'll be there in a moment," he informed her.

    "He said it couldn't wait."

    He frowned, bringing his head up to look at Six. She looked stressed, hands clasped together so tightly, they were almost white from the force of it. "Ok. Give me one minute."

    It was easy passing command on to Thirteen and Thirty-six for his brief absence. The pair took it in stride as he turned and followed Six's quick pace towards the medical rooms.

    He frowned when he saw the stream of bodies coming in and out of the room prepped for surgeries. Seven was standing in the middle of the hallway waiting for them.

    "How bad is he?" left his lips as soon as he was close enough to Seven before he could even try and stall them.

    "He needs a proper hospital," Seven berated, though there was an edge to the words that he recognized, "but transferring him now would be dangerous."

    He gestured to the examination room they were standing in front of. Seven reached the door as he clarified, "So pretty bad, then."

    Six remained outside, her back towards the door as Seven closed it. He didn't have enough thought to expend on extrapolating why she was standing guard.

    "Sir," Seven inquired, still standing at the closed door, handle clenched in his hand. Seven's gaze finally looked at him. "How did he get here?"

    He shook his head. "Walked, I presume. Two and Twenty-six said that the area beyond the entrance was empty when he had frantically pounded at the door."

    Seven let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his graying hair. "That man should not have been able to move, let alone conscious. The amount of damage done to his body-"

    Seven cut himself off but Roderick found he couldn't let the man leave it at that.

    "How bad, Seven," he ordered, voice as controlled as he could manage.

    Seven squared himself off again and Roderick mentally applauded the man's ability to regroup mentally so quickly. "Numerous minor breaks, several severe breaks, two of which in the leg and pelvis. He should not have been able to walk even the shortest of distances. Not only that, but multiple punctures and gashes that will require extensive sterilization and stitches, torn ligaments that will need resting and at least one joint to realign." Seven's expression tightened. "Sir, I have to ask: how close were you to him?"

    He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

    Seven's expression didn't change. "Because what I'm about to say may not be handled with the utmost care."

    "I'll be fine. What is it?"

    A pause, one that made his chest ache with fear, and anger flare as his impatience grew.

    "There are numerous signs of rape, and not just by one person."

    There wasn't air to breath in when all of it left his lungs. His vision blurred as he tried to get his brain to form coherent sentences his lips could form and speak, but it didn't happen. It was a miracle he even found the chair.

    "Sir?"

    He didn't know how much time had passed but it seemed to be enough to warrant Seven's concerned expression to be far too close for his current liking. He sat up straighter even as he choked on his next words. "Please tell me they were stupid enough to leave DNA behind."

    The savage grin that stretched Seven's face was a balm to his emotional turmoil.

    "It has already been sent for processing," Seven informed him. "If their DNA is in any system, we'll find it."

    "Good."

    Seven's vicious energy died down. "Sir, I have one other question."

    He waved Seven's trepidation away, reminding the other, "You're welcome to as many as you need. If they help him, I don't care what they are."

    "Why didn't you take him to the hero organization?"

    He met Seven's gaze, studied the man's curious albeit confused expression. "If he came here," he spoke slowly, uttering a thought he had been dwelling on since Echo's arrival, "then that means that the hero organization was no longer safe for him to go to. I will not risk his life more than I already have by sending him somewhere he may get better care but put in far more danger."

    Seven nodded. "You believe the hero organization has corruption in it."

    "I know it does," he countered sharply. "Saw it with my own eyes years ago. Even heroes can be homophobic assholes."

    "So you two were that close, then."

    He glared at Seven who was conveniently not looking at him. "What does that mean?"

    Seven glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. "Nothing offensive, I assure you. My own partner would murder me in broad daylight if they heard I spoke ill of another in the community and they are no villain. Simply put, I can prepare for you to be a bit more agitated when it comes to his well being. I will do my best to make sure you receive updates as regularly as possible."

    He shook his head, surprised at the relief that had tempered some of his unease about all of this. He really shouldn't have been surprised at how nonchalant Seven was about all this. "Don't interrupt your work for me. I will be busy enough as it is that I don't need regular updates. Just inform me when you're done and give me a prognosis then."

    "Of course, sir. Anything else?"

    He stood, squaring himself. "Take good care of him, Seven. I'm counting on your team to keep him alive."

    "Always, sir."

    He hadn't been lying when he said he would be busy. At first he watched the minutes tick by but Thirteen and Thirty-six drew him back into the work and suddenly his attention was pulled away from the stacks of papers he had been reading, finding the room void of all but his visitor with only the few lights he needed to be able to read.

    "Six," he spoke, the word coming off a tad harsh. Exhaustion pulled at him now that he was no longer distracted. "I thought I had dismissed all day subordinates."

    "You did," she assured him. "I and a number of others stayed to continue helping Seven and Nine." She shifted her weight. "We're done. Seven and Nine wanted to give you an update before they went home. They've already given the night shift their directions, not that many of them needed them beyond the standard's basics."

    The files were abandoned.

    Hours passed in the blink of an eye. He had crashed some point after seeing Seven and Nine off, as well as a number of those that had aided them. When he had awoken, it was to sharp sunlight through the barely covered window and to the sounds of a bustling hallway.

    Thirteen and Thirty-six had made sure his absence wasn't even noticed so he let them keep at it, taking the opportunity to check in on Echo like he had wanted to the night before but had refrained from doing.

    The largest medical room was void of humans. The beds were all clean and prepped, ready to go at a moment's notice. All the dividing curtains were tied back till they were needed, leaving the room feeling open and far larger than it really was. At the back was the nurses' desk situated in the middle of the horseshoe shape of the more private rooms. The rooms on either side of the corral of a desk were nothing more than indents in the wall large enough to house a gurney, a small counter with a sink, and the minimal equipment needed. These were all dark and each curtain that would have made up the fourth wall and 'door' was pushed open. On the back wall were only a few actual doors that led into similar rooms. He went to the one on the farthest left and opened it, finding a room well lit by sunlight with a sleeping occupant.

    It was rather quiet beyond that door.

    The door clicked softly behind him as he stared at Echo's face. No, Liam's. The hero mask was nowhere to be seen and the costume had long since been traded for a hospital gown. It was all he could do to move away from the door.

    He didn't know how long he stood there watching the rise and fall of Liam's chest knowing that if things had gone differently, their surroundings would be completely different and that chest wouldn't be moving.

    Something broke his thoughts and he finally looked away. It was easy logging into the computer and pulling up Liam's medical files. He started skimming through the information, taking in the x-rays and ct scans and every other note he could find. The raw medical documents seemed so much more absolute than any report he received from a subordinate.

    He frowned as he stumbled over some of the language.

    "Didn't know you knew medicine."

    He looked over to find Liam's fathomless blue eyes barely open and a bit glazed from the powerful painkillers Seven had him on. But they were still as kind and mischievously joyful as they had been before he had gone and destroyed their relationship in the cruelest way he could imagine. It seemed wrong that he was being looked at that way again. "Enough to be of use till more skilled hands can step in."

    Liam hummed and Roderick focused back on the screen, assuming that was the end of that.

    Oh, how wrong he was.

    "I went looking for you, you know."

    He froze mid scroll, those few words halting every thought process he had. He forced a scoff, mentally shoving the shock away. "I'm not overly difficult to find. Case in point: you're currently in my base."

    "Rodey. I know it's you."

    He feigned ignorance even as he clenched his jaw and tried to swallow against the tightness in his throat. "I will have to speak with Seven. It would seem you hit your head far harder than we thought."

    "Roderick."

    He glanced over. He hadn't meant to and had no intentions of giving in, of admitting defeat, but Liam's voice was coaxing, tired, and still spoke his name as if it was the most precious thing to him.

    "You should have stayed away," he croaked, unable to fake it anymore.

    Liam shook his head as best he could while injured. "I couldn't have even if I wanted to." Those blue eyes met his again. "When I finally registered the words I had spoken out of spite and betrayal - when what you were doing finally clicked in my slow brain - you had already vanished off the face of the planet. You left no trace of where you had gone and I burned through every lead I could scrounge up. No matter where we were heading, after everything had settled, I hadn't wanted to say goodbye like that."

    "I didn't give you a choice," he consoled, but Liam had none of it.

    "It doesn't matter. I wasn't about to let what we had go down in a fiery wreck. Or, at least, I was going to try." Liam gave a soft smile. It looked tired. "When word got to me of this new villain cutting through the ranks, I had thought nothing of it till I heard the name." That soft smile broke out into as full of a grin as the other could manage. "Dead Air? Really?"

    He shrugged, defensive but too exhausted to do anything with it. "I hadn't intended to choose it. It was the only one that stuck."

    Liam chuckled. "I had heard the speculations of you being Silence just renamed but it wasn't sticking. Most of those that wanted it to stick couldn't find an angle where it did but I knew the moment I saw the first video feed. Your costume and tactics may have changed, but the way you hold yourself and the way your people follow you is still the same." Liam shifted as if settling more into the bed. Roderick found himself taking a step from the computer but he stomped on the impulse to close the distance and help. "But I knew if you were trying to start over, then there was no need for me to complicate things."

    "But you did anyways."

    Liam hummed in agreement. "I had managed to keep to our original stomping grounds, though the area where they kept sending me was expanding. I spent six months travelling through Europe because of some villain hunt going on over there that I had been sent to assist that didn't even need me." A soft laugh escaped him. "It was nice over there but I kept bugging the Director to come back and she was adamant about me staying to assist. The head of the European branch of the organization kept telling me they really didn't need my help and to either use it as a vacation or make it back on my own."

    A pang of...well, he wasn't sure if it was jealousy, regret, or exhausted sympathy he was feeling but whatever it was weighed down heavily on him as he coaxed, "Did you enjoy it?"

    Liam hummed again. "Not as much as I could have. I kept thinking about you everywhere I went. I have so many places I want to take you when we manage to get out of here for a real vacation."

    "Liam." As touched as he was at the thought to include him, he couldn't ignore reality. "We can't get back together."

    The other deflated but it was minute and the only reason he had seen it was because he had been expecting it. Liam still offered him a smile. "I know. Wishful thinking is all."

    He was surprised to find himself at Liam's side but didn't bother to figure out when he had gotten there as he pressed one hand into the mattress to keep himself upright as he brought them to eye level. "Then why are you here? Here in my base, in my stomping grounds?"

    Liam shrugged. "I don't know. I keep asking the Director if I'm ever going back home but it's been a year and she keeps giving me non answers followed by assignments. I've been running with rookies and vets so I'm not even sure why I'm here beyond to help." He made a face, continuing, "A few of the heroes and villains haven't taken to kindly to me being here, though."

    Roderick chuckled. "I've noticed," he stated, gesturing at Liam with his free hand and Liam chuckled, a strained smile pulling at that injured face. Without his bidding, he was cupping Liam's cheek as carefully as he could, the mattress sinking under his weight as he sat on the edge. "Oh, Liam. What did you get yourself into this time?"

    Liam pressed his face into Roderick's soft touch, every facade the hero was trying to keep in place shattering with those words. The sob that racked through the injured body made it convulse but the floodgates were open and Liam didn't stop. Roderick - unable to forget about the injuries the other had - wrapped his arms around the other and held him close. He felt Liam's arms wrap around him, holding on as tight as the other could manage as what fingers weren't splint or in a cast gripped at the back of his shirt.

    He stayed there for hours even after LIam had fallen asleep. His mind was reeling from not just the beginning of their conversation but everything they had talked about, everything Liam had hiccuped between sobs, everything he had said between his own tears and rage - none of which was directed at Liam. They had talked about everything, about that day, about what had happened since, and what would happen from that point on. And as much as Roderick would have loved to have sent Liam home, he had a feeling a certain head of the hero organization wouldn't allow it. So, he did the only thing he knew he could do.

    There was a soft knock on the door and Thirteen entered. He stayed seated in the chair at Liam's side as the subordinate hovered inside the closed door. "You called, sir?"

    Roderick stood slowly. "Gather all the subordinates." He locked eyes with the younger. "We have one last job to do."

    Determination settled over Thirteen's expression as the other nodded. With a quick turn, they left without another word.

    "Rodey?"

    He looked down at Liam, finding those sleep heavy eyes on him once more. "What's going on?"

    He reached out, carding his hand through Liam's hair, mindful of the stitches hidden beneath. "Nothing you need to worry about right now. Go back to sleep."

    Liam shifted his head, pressing a set of stitches against his palm with enough force that it probably hurt but Liam gave no sign that it did. "Please don't be doing something stupid."

    Despite every part of him telling him it was a horrible idea to do this all over again, he pressed his lips against LIam's, soothing only a minute part of the hero's worry. But Liam was kissing him back and Roderick found it hard to pull away enough to say the words he wanted to say. A whine escaped Liam at the lost contact but Roderick pressed their foreheads together, assuring him, "I will be careful but it is time I stopped hiding. I won't be their prey any more and neither will you."

    Liam blinked up at him, gaze searching. A sort of desperation coursed through him and he captured the other's lips again, though it was brief. "There's a theatre show coming to town in a few weeks. When all of this settles, would you go with me to see it?"

    Liam gave him a breathy laugh, tears streaking down the other's face. They both knew that it wasn't likely either of them were making it out of this alive but they sure as hell were going to try.

    "Only if you'll finally marry me."

    Roderick's heart twisted in his chest. "After everything I've done, you still want to be tied to this fool."

    Liam pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss, laughter still bubbling out of them. "I'm not saying you have to marry me tomorrow, but in a few years when we've worked through all the shit we've created I'm asking if you would marry me."

    Roderick gave a watery chuckle. "Is that a proposal, Mr. Grace? Because I don't see you down on one knee."

    Liam smacked him with the cast, surprising a laugh out of Roderick as he flinched from it, not that there was any pain from the act. "I would be if you didn't have me bedridden, you asshole."

    And despite reality edging in closer, Roderick leaned in close again just to be near Liam silently praying that they made it through this. He wanted to properly propose to Liam, to give him the proposal he deserved and a wedding that would steal his breath away.

    He prayed to whatever was listening to be kind to them both and let them have this joy forever.

    A cynical part of him wasn't holding its breath.
     
  • Index
    • Event Writings | RPApril Extravaganza 2019
  • Index
    • RPApril Extravaganza 2019An Assortment of Writings

    RPApril Extravaganza is an annual event on a different site centered around writing. Each section contains the content for that given event.

    Each event entry was written to a different word count cap excluding the poetry entry. The Weekly Short Story word count cap was an arbitrary number I had settled on, the rest were in the rules of the event.
    The Writing Marathon - 1000 words
    Five Words, One Story - 1500 words
    Weekly Short Story - 1775 words
    Bring Me a poem!
    Bring Me a Poem!Inside all of you I can see an incredible poet waiting to fly free. So let that poet out and free to run. You have 28 days to make your rhyme. It can be about love or the beach, dogs, mountains, hockey, or a ripe, juicy peach. Guidelines? Restrictions?- there are none. So go ahead, take a risk and try; spread your pretty poet wings and fly.

    Morning's Song

    Sunrise.

    Something wakes,
    be it the birds or the trees, or even a fox in a grove.
    Something wakes
    and in turn other wake as well.

    High speed rubber against concrete,
    asphalt
    engines that power that speed,
    a white noise like rushing water as the wind dances among the trees.

    Everything wakes
    except for those that night requires,
    Everything wakes;
    even the brooks and trees and grass.

    Morning is here,
    consistent,
    the sound of distant voices as others start to move about the day,
    all of it a part of a larger melody.

    It's shattered.

    That peace,
    that joy,
    the simpleness of morning,
    it's gone.

    Screaming,
    shouting,
    there are sirens in the distance,
    metal contraptions warped beyond recognition.

    It's nothing severe,
    just a bad morning.
    Someone following too close,
    someone distracted.

    But there are worse.
    Things that even distance worsens
    where the tears burn as hot as any fire
    and the wails of loss ring louder than the morning's song.

    Hollow.

    For there isn't a word to best describe the lack of sound that comes,
    that one where there is no hope,
    no desire,
    where words are forced to be silent.

    Careful feet,
    careful tongues,
    the soft footfall of unease,
    all of it buried beneath what the morning brings.

    Or can it be
    that those hollow moments,
    those instances where there is no sound,
    are moments of peace and not mourning?

    How far does life stretch?
    Is it good?
    Is it bad?
    Or are the silent sounds always so hollow?

    They're not.

    Sometimes a breath is needed,
    a moment to stop
    and reflect,
    to let life arrive on its own.

    There is a strength in that silence,
    a power that some desire,
    and some keep
    hidden away in the sounds of morning.

    A pot brewing in an empty house.
    One body moves about.
    But there is no pain nor sorrow
    as that one body tries to wake.

    There is strength in that silence.
    It is not the loudest.
    But despite how quiet it may be,
    it will always be a part

    of the Morning's Song.
    Weekly Short Story
    Weekly Short Story
    We want to read your short stories. Be they Zombies taking over the world, Mysteries, Romance, Action Thrillers or anything in-between, get your creative caps on and get something submitted during the week.

    Each piece is one part in a continuous story.


    • The metal of the railing pressed into his forearms, a comfort as he listened to its vibrations and resisted the urge to warp it to his will. As much as he wanted to, it wasn't allowed on property that wasn't his own even if he had every intention of putting it back; at least not here. With the roll of the crowd below, he was rather surprised at how easy it was to pick them out of the crowd. It didn't bode well for anything to come.

      "This is your platform," the personnel leading the group spoke, gesturing wide as they reached the top of the stairs. He stepped away from the metal railing and was not surprised that the twins had eyes on him before he had even moved. He didn't like them but that was prejudice talking. And his inability to read the female. Her expressions were always so hard to read. Even now he couldn't tell if she was looking at him with curiosity, boredom, or disdain. "And it looks like the rest of your party is here."

      The male twin offered the personnel a soft smile. "Thank you, Ments."

      "Of course," the personnel responded with a quick bow. They were down the stairs in hurried steps before the last of the group had made it onto the platform itself.

      The male twin turned their focus back onto him and he found himself straightening under that gaze. Even if he couldn't really read them, he knew that both would be able to outmaneuver him in any way, be if physical or mental. "You must be Michael Tron, our...Mecon guide, of sorts."

      He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I was brought to the organization to help you find someone?"

      He hated bureaucracy. They hadn't told him anything of use.

      "A Myst."

      His gaze snapped to the petite girl with hair that looked like it needed a good brushing with what looked to be a small dragon like lizard curled around the back of her neck. Before he could even ask what she had meant by that, the lizard turned into a cloud and he scrambled backwards as it reformed, taking on the shape of something he had never seen before.

      His back hit railing as the creature's form settled before him. It had gone from a dragon like lizard no bigger than a fricken snake to being larger than the girl it had been on. it was clearly still a reptile of some sort, scaly skin different shades of blue and green edged in brown with a tail that doubled the body length and a head that was larger than his full of sharp teeth. The front limps curled towards the creature's chest but the claws and flex of muscles spoke to them being as dangerous as the powerful hind legs it walked on as it tipped forward, looking up at him with its head level with his stomach. "Like me."

      His grip convulsed around the railing. "So we're looking for a shapeshifter?"

      "Of sorts," the male twin offered, running a hand over the creature's back as they approached. He tried to look at them but he found it difficult to look away from the predator before him. "We're fairly certain that this particular Myst won't be changing as fluidly as Lilitu does."

      "Lilitu?"

      The creature dipped its head. "Standing fast."

      He frowned at it. "How do you know that?"

      The creature straightened, standing at its proper height. He hated that he was shorter than it, even if it wasn't by much. "I am a Myst. I have been all over Izen, have seen and interacted with most of its cultures. Mecon greetings and introductions are old. Even if I don't know the modern Meco, I know her traditions have not changed."

      He took a cautious step away from the rail, finally turning his attention to the male twin. "So why ask for a Mecon guide? I don't see the point of me being here if you've got," he fished for words as he gestured at the creature before him, "whatever that is."

      "Because there's more to it than just a simple search and rescue," the male twin informed him plainly.

      His expression flattened. "You're expecting to get into trouble with the locals."

      The male twin's lips twitched into a smile. "Can you blame me? After all, you already don't trust me and my twin." He clenched his jaw at that. As much as he would have loved to have called the other an assuming racist, it would just make him more of a hypocrite and prove their point. "This way, we can move freely. After all, you would have lead in this."

      He narrowed his eyes. "You're not suggesting..."

      He couldn't finish it. As much as he was a Mecon and still held to the beliefs of its people, he didn't approve of the class system Meco adhered to.

      "If we are under your control, we would be left untouched. You know at minimum what my sister and I are, our worth. If we're not already claimed, it'll only complicate things."

      He clicked his tongue in distaste but it made sense. His gaze flickered over the others. "You do realize bringing human children with is dangerous, right?"

      The male twin chuckled. "They are not human and far from children."

      He frowned and looked to the boy and girl that were standing close to the human girl the creature had initially been with. The two children couldn't have been older than 15, but, then, the human girl looked like she could be the same age. "Fine. Age and race or I'm not going through with this."

      "256, Quillian," the girl spoke before gesturing at the boy. "My twin brother."

      He looked to the human girl. She smiled and he found himself suddenly on edge. There was something distinctly not human about her. "20, human. I'm from Zec, if that helps."

      His disbelief colored his expression. "The ice continent. You do realize you're going to a desert, right?"

      She laughed. His apprehension spiked. "I haven't been to Zec in years." She smiled at him. "I'll be fine."

      He gave a slow nod before focusing on the twins at her side. "If you want to be taken for Quillians, it would be best to showcase those characteristics. Currently you two look like human children."

      The pair shared a look before shrugging in unison. The boy produced a circlet as the girl pulled at her hair, braiding back the strands that hid the markings that marked the difference between humans and Quillians when it was immediately clear. The boy used the circlet to keep his curls off his own markings.

      "You're angen." The pair looked at him with identical wide, curious eyes. He clarified, "Your markings, they're agnen markings. You're winged Quillians."

      The pair grinned at him but it was the brother that spoke up. "That's impressive! Not many can tell the difference between the Quillian marks."

      The male twin - the one still standing before him with the creature - spoke up in curiosity. "You know the differences?"

      He shrugged. "I've worked with a number of Quillian before." He focused on the set of smaller twins. "But they were all obviously Quillians. Even the one angen I interacted with was still very much Quillian. Why are you two so human?"

      The pair shrugged, grinning again. The sister spoke up. "We're not that strange. A good number of angen are startling human."

      "It makes getting around rather easy when all we have to do is hide a few markings," the brother added. "Too many people still see angen as angels sent to save them."

      "So your wings?"

      The pair pulled at their necklaces, pulling what looked to be two pieces of the same stone. The brother explained, "Most angen can hide their wings with a specific trinket."

      "We use what's call a moon stone to either show or hide our wings," the sister continued.

      The brother tucked his back into his outerwear. "Most angens keep their wings but ours will disappear."

      "There's a cycle to it," the sister amended, tucking her own stone away. "We just use the stones to counter it when we need to."

      That only seemed to bred more questions so he simply dropped it for now and focused back on the male twin and creature before him. "I won't be held responsible for the Quillian. Mecon will leave them be anyways unless they do something stupid."

      The male twin nodded. "Fair enough." They focused on the other set of twins. "Behave yourself, you two."

      The twins saluted, grinning. He wasn't sure if it should be taken seriously.

      Rolling his eyes, he focused on the creature. "Return to that first shape of yours. We need you as inconspicuous as possible."

      "Is there something specific that would work best?" the male twin inquired.

      He shrugged as the creature turned to fog or smoke and drift towards the human girl. "A proper snake is far less conspicuous but anything reptilian would be enough as long as it's not too exotic."

      "I can do snake."

      He looked over, watching as the creature settled its form and solidified into a brown snake that he couldn't name. To him, at least, it looked like a typical desert snake as it hung in a loose curl around the human girl's neck. Her hand stroked the creature's head.

      He turned away before he mentally lost it. "Good enough. Let's go before I bail."

      The transportation platform held a circle in which was a complex design he was betting was nothing more than decoration. There were two personnel standing patiently at either edge and he assumed they were the group's transport. He stepped to the center of the circle and waited as the others joined him. He pulled at the metal on his person and started to weave it all into intricately designs cuffs and collars. As each person approached, a cuff and collar settled around their neck even as he kept working on them. By the time they had all settled, the three that needed to be 'claimed' were so properly. He looked to the personnel on his right. The one one his left was obscured by the male twin. "Whenever you're ready."

      The personnel nodded and settled into a stance. There was a brief moment where nothing seemed to happen and then the world around them seemed to melt into something completely different.

      He took a deep breath of the hot air that hit his face and found it strange that he was glad to be back in Meco's capital, Si'Otwo.
    Five Words, One Story
    Five Words, One Story
    I want to see what your clever brains can bring me. Every Friday of this glorious April, I will gift you five things to anyone who wishes to participates. It is up to you, my friends. Make them into a story. Let your mind bring these random words to life. Dream up a world of dancing bunnies, a talking ironing board or heck...even an angry teddy bear ready to bring chaos to this world. Entries may be anywhere from 500 to 1,500 words.

    This continues a story started in RPApril Extravaganza 2018 Five Words, One Story, Week 2 - Life Cycles. Each week's words are in bold.


    • He woke slowly. Thoughts muddled together incoherently leaving him to wallow in the ache of his body. Honestly, he wished he had stayed unconscious. Everything hurt - some parts more than others - and even the thought that pulled itself from the rest of possibly feeling more pain due to waking fully was not welcomed.

      But no matter how he tried to bury himself back under the dark recesses of blissful unconsciousness, it slipped farther and farther from reach till he was opening his eyes and greeting the world that awaited him.

      The view wasn't quite what he had expected.

      He wasn't sure what he had been expecting as he took in the unfamiliar roof overhead. Maybe a night sky or something equally wild but it was the reason behind those expectations that eluded him. Everything was still rather muddled in his head leaving memories to be swallowed up by dreams and fantasies with no differentiating between them and reality. But at least his current reality was dry and warm.

      And soft, he realized. Whatever he was lying on and covered by were equal parts soft. It felt almost wrong even as it soothed some of the ache in his body.

      A hand came into view and with it the birthmark on the wrist.

      He hissed, memories suddenly tearing themselves from the muddled mess in his mind and he made to move away, to put distance between him and the person he wanted nothing to do with for the rest of the cycle.

      His efforts bore him nothing more than searing pain.

      "Easy," an all too familiar voice urged, careful hands pinning him down. "Easy."

      "What do you want," he spat, glaring up at a sea of gold that's only flaws were two islands the same color as water. He blinked and the other's features separated out, though those blue eyes still bore into him despite his cleared sight.

      They frowned at him. Was that a pang of guilt or pity in their expression? "For you to rest," they chided as if his comment warranted such a respond. And maybe it did - maybe he was relying on ingrained habits too hard in this situation and finding anything and everything to fight the hero with, but he was too damn tired and in too much pain to care. Despite the hero being, well, a hero, he didn't trust them to not have ulterior motives with helping him. He wondered if they knew that somehow as they sighed, shaking their head. "Just...rest, ok? You suffered some serious injuries when you hit the water at both ends and it'll take time for the healer to arrive so it would probably be best if you didn't agitate any of it by moving."

      He gave them a flat look even with them not looking at him. "And how, exactly, do you expect me to go however long it'll be before the healer arrives without moving? I'll still have to eat, drink, and use the restroom." His eyes narrowed, a suspicion rolling through him. "How long will it take for the healer to arrive? Hours?"

      The hero closed their eyes and he felt his stomach drop out as they opened their mouth.

      "Days."

      His mouth went dry.

      "Possibly a week." The hero let out a sharp breath and he was surprised when frustration and remorse twisted the hero's expression. The strangest part was that neither were directed at him. "I hate the limits of this cycle. A quick phone call and you'd already be at some major hospital getting proper aid for your injuries."

      "And exactly how bad are they?"

      The hero flinched. He could almost feel their breath escaping them as if he had slammed his fist into their gut. It took a moment for them to gain that breath back. The longer it took, the more numb he became to his own emotions.

      "If we don't get you help soon, fatal," the hero finally confessed. "And not the fast kind of fatal, either."

      The bitter chuckle was breathy but it still sent waves of pain through his body. Their hands on him didn't help but he didn't care to use the energy to fight them off. He was too busy shoving down the anger at having been saved and the fear of what kind of death he was subjected to this time. "And you're caring now because why?"

      The hero shook their head causing their golden hair to halo around their head. "This is different. You weren't supposed to fall."

      "Oh? Says who?"

      "Says me."

      It would seem he was in for numerous surprises that particular day as he rolled his eyes. "Oh please. The number of times you've met an untimely end, you haven't seen me wasting my time trying to save you."

      "Neryk," they tried to plead but he was already cutting them off.

      "How many times do I have to tell you to not call me that, Kyren," he spat. He paid for it with a spasm of pain but it was worth it, even if all it did was make them chuckle. Not his intent but he much preferred it to the self deprecating tendencies that were starting to show. "Now get me up and out of this bed. I don't want to be trapped here if I can help it."

      "Please, Ne-"

      "Don't," he spat, moving to stop them out of instinct than thought through action and he paid for it. By the time the pain had diminished enough for him to think, he was far too exhausted to even breathe. Unfortunately for him, his brain wasn't about to let him suffocate and he doubted the hero would as well.

      "Where did you want to go?" they asked softly, their voice curling around him carefully, gently.

      He took in a deeper breath in hopes it would push back the exhaustion; it didn't and despite his desire for blissful unconsciousness earlier, he wanted to stay awake. "Just outside. If this is the last night I'm able to even sit up straight without keeling over dead in this cycle, I want to at least see the stars clearly one last time."

      "Do you want to sit in a chair or be laid out?"

      He went to shrug and regretted it. "Whichever is easiest that won't cause me tremendous pain."

      The hero got to their feet, pointing out, "The trip there will be horrendously painful."

      He gave a sharp, humorless grin in turn. "I'm counting on it."

      It was probably not the wisest thing to say and it wasn't like he cared. He knew it was going to be excruciating and having them point this out was helping no one.

      He groggily realized that he had been moved but he didn't remember the trip, nor the hero picking him up. It was probably for the best as the sea of gold and its two blue islands filled his view again till his sight cleared enough to discern the hero's features; it was hard to miss the streaks of blood on the hero's chest. "Seems I bled on you."

      Was he seeing things or was that really relief in the hero's expression. "You've been doing that quite a bit. I'll have to make sure to bill you for the dry cleaning in a few cycles."

      He gave them a flat look. Or at least attempted to. It felt strange on his face. "It's not going to be there in a few cycles, you nitwit."

      The hero laughed, settling more next to him.

      It was then that he became aware he was lying on his back underneath a never ending sky.

      The brightest star he saw wasn't a star at all, but Mars reflecting the sun from its position in the solar system. He wondered if it would be just as easy to find in the next cycle.

      "You let me know when you want to go back in," the hero informed him, settling back on their hands to watch the sky.

      "Ok," he replied as his eyes roamed the rest of the sky he could see.

      Slowly it all started to fade and as much as he wanted to fight the impending sleep, he went without a fight.

      When he woke next, it was to the sight of some unfamiliar room and the slow reintegration into a new cycle.

      His memories started sorting themselves out. It took some time so he remained on his chest in the strange yet familiar bed staring at the black and white image of a cowboy hat sitting on a table, the background blurred enough that the people in it were nothing more than rough shapes - the pair dancing alone in the negative space to the upper left of the hat almost becoming a single odd shape because of it. A satin cushion a third of the size of the hat sat on the table under the blurry dancing pair, two wedding bands on display against the small cushion's fabric.
    Writing Marathon
    The Writer's Marathon
    This event challenges writers' creativity and speed. Every day a new prompt will be available for writers to look at and take up the challenge of writing for. The writer is given 48 hours to complete the prompt. There is a minimum of 100 words per prompt.

    This was a continuation of RPApril Extravaganza 2018 Writing Marathon which was started in RPApril Extravaganza 2017 Writing Marathon. Prompts are bold in each entry.

    Day 01: Born to be wild
    Day 02: Good to be bad
    Day 03: Smoke on the water
    Day 04: Spill blood on fire
    Day 05: Kingdom Come
    Day 06: Beautiful World
    Day 07: Midnight Hallelujah
    Day 08: Running Wild
    Day 09: The sky is mine
    Day 10: Jeremy
    Day 11: West Covina
    Day 12: House of Sleep
    Day 13: Center of the universe
    Day 14: Holy diver
    Day 15: Becoming Insane
    Day 16: Big in Japan
    Day 17: Take on me
    Day 18: Wake up dreaming
    Day 19: True Survivor
    Day 20: Lost in space
    Day 21: Save me
    Day 22: Send love through
    Day 23: Dance, dance, dance
    Day 24: My Confession
    Day 25: Stay
    Day 26: Superheroes
    Day 27: Twisted mind
    Day 28: My curse
    Day 29: Boulevard of broken dreams
    Day 30: In the end

    • "Madam, I truly do not know who you are talking about."

      The man frowned at the pair. Neither were apparent customers to his shop, what with the hallway having many shop entrances lining its walls, but from the small snippet of words he had heard, it almost sounded like someone was lost.

      The woman crossed her arms even as her face seemed to only lose more color. "That is enough, Neryk. Where is he?"

      The androgynous one shook their head, expression set. "Madam, I am not lying. I do not know who this Diggory person is."

      "You missing someone, lady?" he asked, approaching even as a part of him recoiled at the action.

      Her sharp gaze snapped to him and his immediate reaction was to freeze.

      She pulled out her personal device and quickly brought up a picture. "Have you seen him? His name is Diggory."

      He frowned at the smiling man in the image. Even the androgynous person next to her frowned at it but there didn't seem to be a single flicker of recognition in their gaze. His frown only deepened. Despite the other not recognizing the photographed man - despite it sounding like they should if the woman was to be believed - he couldn't shake the feeling that he recognized that face.

      He shook his head, leaning back. "As much as the face looks strangely familiar, I can't place where or when I had seen it. Sorry, lady."

      The woman turned the picture back to herself but the device was one of those that was see-through on the right settings and he could still see that smiling face obscured by the opaque device.

      Where had he seen that young man before?

      The sneeze echoed through the trees. Several birds in the nearby branches sent leaves and a scattering of feathers raining down on him as he sniffled.

      "You alright, Diggory?"

      He looked over at the ghost trailing along beside him, smiling. "I'm fine, Richard."

      "Bullshit you are," came a snappy comment from behind him and he glanced back to find Ghost Diggory glaring at him. "Will you stop and rest already? You're going to kill all of us if you keep going like this."

      Diggory rolled his eyes, amusement pulling at his expression. "I'm not going to keel over dead. Besides," he focused back on the way he was heading, "I want to make it to the top of this before nightfall."

      He was fairly certain Ghost Diggory rolled his eyes, too. "That's what you said the last two times."

      Diggory shot him a grin over his shoulder but said nothing more.

      Hours passed and by the time he reached a place to settle for the night, the sky was already showing the first stars of the evening. Richard was still at his side, still stoic as ever, but Ghost Diggory was getting agitated behind him. He glanced back, inquiring, "We're safe here, you know."

      Ghost Diggory laughed. "We're safe? Here?! Are you out of your mind! We're in the middle of who knows where with no supplies, no provisions, and you're telling me we're safe?" The ghost gestured wildly. "We're a construct of magic and the only one with a proper, physical form is roughing it with a high possibility of dying on us."

      "Do you have so little faith in your creation?" Richard asked, his voice calm and the question unobtrusive.

      The other ghost scoffed. "I have no faith in the consciousness it houses."

      Diggory smiled at that. He probably should be offended but the whole ordeal was just touching. "Well, thankfully this consciousness is a bit more prepared than you think."

      "Oh? Do you actually happen to know where we are?" Ghost Diggory challenged.

      "No." The ghost threw his hands in the air, expression clearly spelling out that proved his point. "But I do know what I'm doing."

      "What are you doing?" Richard inquired.

      Diggory offered him a soft smile. "Seeking shelter." He gestured past both ghosts towards the rock face not too far off. "I caught sight of what looked to be an outcrop. I'm hoping it's more like a cave but even a simple overhang would work well enough for tonight."

      Ghost Diggory huffed at that. "Then summon me when you're through mountaineering. I'm done here."

      The ghost vanished, leaving Diggory with only Richard's ghost for company. Diggory sighed, feeling dejected.

      Richard's hand was surprisingly solid against his shoulder and he looked over to find an encouraging smile on the ghost's face. "Don't let his attitude get to you. He's just upset that you gave up a seemingly perfect life."

      Diggory chuckled softly. "That and probably put them in even more danger because of it." His smile grew. "I've kind of gotten a pretty good handle of how his thoughts work after everything."

      Richard arched an eyebrow at him. "Impressive, seeing as it has only been mere hours."

      "Has it?" Diggory asked, starting towards the rock face. "I hadn't noticed."

      The sun had set completely by the time he had a decent fire going. Richard had been kind enough to help, even if all the ghost had done was make sure the fire didn't go out as he went and got a better store of wood. The overhang was part of a deep alcove, leaving him enough room to stay dry and warm for the night.

      A howl went up far too close and his head snapped up as Ghost Diggory appeared suddenly at his side, a solid hand forming on his shoulder. "Easy," the ghost softly commanded.

      "There is nothing to be concerned about," Richard assured them both even as a wolf came into range of the firelight. "They were born to be wild and, as such, they know when to leave prey alone."

      Diggory watched the wolf as it studied them. For a moment, he thought it would try and approach, but it simply turned around and leapt back into the trees. He let out the breath he had been holding.

     
    Last edited:
  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Forced Silence
  • Index
    • Forced Silence
    Written for Music May 2019.

    The sun felt like it was burning the skin of his back buried beneath several protective layers of cloth as each step sank into hot sand. The horizon shimmered and quaked, the edge of it reflecting the sky as if there was a lake just beyond the next ridge.

    He knew better than to hope that there was water hidden by the mirage.

    The sand gave under each step but it was inconsistent and sometimes his footfall would hit solid earth for a step or four. The inconsistency wasn't the easiest thing to deal with but it was certainly better than what he was walking away from. A hot wind curled around him, coaxing him on through the scorching desert. The heat was a strange balm to the numbness that had frozen him far too long ago.

    Had it been years or mere hours when it had stopped?

    Unlike the stagnant state he seemed to be stuck in, time went on and the world around him continued to spin. The sun crossed to the horizon and dipped beneath it. The icy chill of night swallowed him as his own numbness had and he didn't come back to himself till the sun rose and bore into his back once more, burning what had been burnt the day before.

    Would there even be any sign of the sun's presence under the layers he wore or was it all just a press that would vanish the moment he sought shelter from its touch?

    Days passed. Weeks passed. Time moved on restrained by nothing and he lost track of it all. By the time he realized he was passing through a city, he couldn't even remember entering it, let alone seeing it in the distance.

    He realized the cool touch of shade had woken him from his daze.

    Sound assaulted him as the sun once had, reaching in and filling the numbness with something. The market was lively with merchants that had genuine joyous expressions - even if a few looked annoyed in a glance - and people chatting and laughing.

    After so long wandering the desert alone, it was overwhelming.

    It was too much.

    "Are you alright, friend?"

    Their voice was sharp in his head, their touch feeling far more like pain than the sun's touch had ever been. He jerked back, his head involuntarily twitching away as he instinctively tried to put distance between him and the sounds.

    They're touch didn't leave and the pain slowly faded. "Come, friend. I know a place you can rest."

    He was blinded when they dragged him indoors a while later and his sight didn't fully return till the cool wood of a table pressed against his palms, the booth soft around him.

    "Here."

    A glass clicked against the table in front of his hands and he stared, watching as the glass wept. The stranger tentatively pushed it towards him till it was pressed against the back of his fingers. "Drink, friend. It's water."

    He wrapped his hand around the glass and brought it to his lips.

    Utter bliss filled his mouth and slid down his throat, soothing an ache he hadn't even know existed. The bliss ebbed when the water ended and he found himself yearning for more. He carefully set the glass against the table, his eyes seeking out his new companion, the one that called him friend.

    Their face was kind, open, and they were watching him. A smile came to their lips when he met their gaze. "There you are, friend," his companion spoke softly, as if it was a relief. "For a moment, I thought the desert had taken your soul."

    "Korm did."

    He choked on those two words as they grated against each other in his throat and on his tongue. That choke turned into a coughing fit and it hurt. Everything hurt.

    Another glass was pressed to his lips. Cool water soothed some of the pain speaking had caused him but the bliss hadn't returned.

    He felt hollow without it.

    "No one escapes Korm's walls," the stranger spoke, their voice slow but wrapping around him like a blanket.

    He opened his eyes to find they had moved to sit beside him, blocking him from the rest of the space. It was strange how it soothed and frightened him in equal parts. "I did," he spoke carefully. The words grated against each other. It wasn't pain but it certainly wasn't comfortable. "Anyone can. It's the sands that will kill us before Korm's walls."

    The stranger shook their head. "But there's-what proof do you have beyond your word?" The stranger's expression twisted into distress. "They say all in Korm are changed so that there is no desire to leave."

    He blinked at the stranger. "That is for those that enter the city - their choice or otherwise. For those of us made within the city, there is no changing. Only our souls lead us on. When those end, we have no more drive. It's why Korm is legend. Those like me never find the strength to step beyond those walls when our soul stops."

    The stranger frowned. "Friend, I don't understand. What do you mean by 'made within the city'? Do you mean born? Birthed?" A hesitation. "Or something else."

    "Something else."

    "And what does it mean for your soul to stop?"

    He dropped his gaze as he turned his attention to the buttons and clasps of his garments. They were covered in sand and seemed to have been exposed to sand for far too long. Some things were brittle and fell apart in his hands. There was a part of him that wondered why the stranger said nothing as they stared at him.

    In the time since he had walked away from everything he had known, he had done nothing more than keep walking and it showed when he pulled the cloth from his skin. The edging of his soul compartment was tarnished, red and brown streaks from his sweat blending with the tarnish made it seem like the compartment had wept as he walked. He wondered if there was any chance of repair for his soul if the casing looking like this.

    He sucked in a breath when the stranger's hand came into view. Their fingers were cold against his chest, sending a shiver down his spine as they traced the compartment's edge. "What is this?"

    "My soul compartment," he spoke evenly. "It normally doesn't look quite so bad. I have neglected to take care of myself during my march."

    Their fingers retreated as he pressed against the compartment's facing. There was a click, and then a hiss that he took as a good sign. The facing was now less than a quarter of an inch above skin level but it was enough for him to gain purchase and remove it.

    The inside still looked pristine and it was a relief to know the seal had held through his neglect. The red and brown crusting around the rim wasn't a good sign though and he idly rubbed the flakes of rust and dried blood away as the stranger stared at the inner workings of a music box in his chest.

    "That is your soul?" the stranger asked, their voice coming out breathy and quaking.

    He touched it with careful fingers but the motion still caused the drum to roll and a few prongs on the comb twang oddly in the hollow in his chest. He jerked his hand back from it as his entire body seemed to be electrocuted by those few tones. They were hollow, forced, and nothing right about them and he quickly returned the facing. With a press, it clicked back into place. The only sign that there was even a compartment facing there was the red and brown edging he quickly hid.

    The stranger's palm pressed against his chest as he worked the buttons of his shirt. "If it spun, would I hear it sing?"

    He shook his head. "It is like a heartbeat. Only if you pressed your ear up to my chest."

    "Does the song ever change?"

    "It will ebb and flow with life as we follow its sound but its heart never changes. At least, not willingly."

    "Why?"

    He swallowed against the nausea. "It goes against who we are to change out the drum for another's. The song is our soul, our guiding force. What good would it do us to follow another's?"

    "That's why your soul stopped, then - why you left Korm." He frowned at them but they kept going. "They changed the drum in your chest."

    He flinched. "That would have been far easier to deal with than losing the heart of my song."

    The stranger frowned at him but he didn't need them to understand. He had lost everything in Korm and his soul stopping was far more a blessing than a death sentence. At least this way he wouldn't be reminded of what he no longer had and desperately desired for.
     
  • Index
    • Monthly Writings | July 2018
  • Index
    • July 2018Monthly Writing Prompts
    There is a 100 word minimum to complete the prompt and an alternative 1000 word minimum. I keep with the alternative word minimum.

    Catching up on past prompts.

    Be advised:
    Some are interlaced with fandoms.
    Some can be spooky or cover dark topics.
    If you find one that needs to have any other sort of warning, please let me know. I have not reread these as I posted them as of the date on this post.


    • The schoolyard was full of children laughing and screaming. A glance would see nothing more than happy children but a keen eye or someone that had once been part of the outskirts would be able to pick out the kids that were faking it, the ones that didn't have friends, the ones that were ostracized by their own age group.

      He hit the pavement hard. The unforgiving surface bit into his arms and hands, his body instinctively reacting by filling his vision with tears and quaking under the onslaught of pain. The small gaggle of kids that had slammed into him - or, more specifically, the gaggle of kids following the brute that had shoved him to the ground for no other reason than a laugh - seemed to swarm behind his aggressor, laughing and cooing words that stung. He blinked back what tears he could but there were too many in his eyes and they escaped without his permission as he glared up at all of them.

      "Crybaby! Crybaby!" the gaggle chanted, the aggressor's grin growing broader and broader.

      Said aggressor took a few steps forward and leaned forward. "Aw, what's wrong, Newman? Trip over your own shoelaces?" The gale of laughter ebbed with the gaggle. Not a single face held guilt or sympathy. There was no one coming to aid him. "Don't you know how to tie those?" His aggressor straightened, looking back at the gaggle. "Oh, that's right. You never had anyone to show you how."

      It felt like his insides were on fire with the desire to hurt but he knew that he couldn't do that again. Tears still streaming down his face, he shoved himself back up to his feet as the gaggle walked away.

      He planted his feet as Unna had taught him to and balled his fists. The pain from his hands got worse and he used it as the reminder he needed.

      "Hey Beckett!" The gaggle stopped but didn't still. His aggressor was the only one stagnant as their eyes met. He knew he shouldn't push but he was sick and tired of being thrown around like some rag doll.

      "At least someone back home loves me!"

      Something dark flickered across the other's face and the gaggle became a threatening shadow behind Beckett. It was all he could do to swallow down the bitter taste of regret.

      He blinked, sucking in a breath. It hurt as it stuttered in his chest as he watched the gaggle walk away. Fighting through the scratching in his chest, he tried again.

      "Hey Beckett!" The gaggle stopped but didn't still. His aggressor was the only one stagnant as their eyes met. He blinked, testing the words before letting them go.

      "Unna's making spaghetti," tumbled past his lips. "There's always leftovers so there's plenty for you to have some if you want to come over. Unna also just got me a new basketball hoop. I don't have a new ball like you but I have one we could use."

      The gaggle was still swarming behind his aggressor but it had become sedated, unsure.

      Beckett stared at him.

      He shrugged. His arms throbbed. "If you want to come, Unna picks me up at the back corner of the parking lot."

      "I know," Beckett spat but the trill of it sounded off.

      He turned and started for the nurse's office.

      Someone was standing in his designated pickup spot and he had to force his feet to keep a steady beat against the cement. There, standing in his spot, was Beckett and the other looked strange without the gaggle of kids following behind.

      Anxiety bit into his chest as hard as any repercussion.

      Beckett jumped when he settled at their side. "Unna's almost here. I can see the car from here."

      Beckett's gaze naturally followed his to the line of cars entering the school parking lot for kid pickup. A sedan in decent condition and in a desperate need of a bath broke away from the flow of traffic and started for them. It came to a stop at the curb and he walked over to the trunk as the hood popped. "You can toss your bag in here," he offered as he did just that.

      He left Beckett to decide as he opened the back door and clambered in, announcing, "Beckett's coming over, if that's still ok."

      His Unna looked to him before glancing to Beckett out the back window as the other kid closed the trunk. "Did they get permission from their parents?"

      He shrugged. Beckett started to climb in as he turned to ask. "Did you ask if you could come?"

      Beckett froze.

      He frowned and blinked. He fought the urge to gasp for breath as a sedan in decent condition and in a desperate need of a bath came to a stop at the curb. He walked over to the trunk as the hood popped, offering, "You can toss your bag in here with mine, if you want."

      He dropped his bag into the awaiting compartment and took a step to the side. Beckett only seemed to hesitate for a moment before their bag joined his and he closed the trunk with a resounding thud.

      "Unna's gonna want to know if you have permission to come over," he gently warned as he walked to the door. Beckett followed but didn't say anything.

      He opened the back door and slid in, scooting over so that Beckett could follow. "Hi, Unna. This is Beckett Parker."

      Unna shifted in the driver's seat enough to meet Beckett's gaze. "Hello, Beckett. I'm Angel, Jamie's Unna. How long will you be staying with us?"

      Beckett shook their head. "My parents work late so I just have to be home by dark."

      "Will you need a ride?"

      Beckett shook their head again.

      Unna's sharp gaze turned on him and if his chest hadn't already been hurting, it would have constricted in fear. "We will talk when we get home."

      He should have known better than to think his Unna wouldn't have noticed.

      The drive was quiet, barring the low music from the radio. The sun was warm through the back window but he barely noticed. It was all he could do to keep his breathing as normal as he could get away with as his heart seemed to be attempting an escape through his rib cage.

      "Hey, Newman," Beckett whispered. "You ok?"

      Apparently not normal enough. He caught Unna glancing his way through the rear view mirror. "Yeah, why?" he tried.

      "Your breathing kind of funny."

      The car stilled as the red light shone through the front window over the car ahead of them. A smile big and fake plastered itself on his face. "I'm fine. Was seeing how long I could hold my breath to pass the time."

      Beckett didn't believe him.

      He didn't get the chance to try and convince them.

      Someone's horn suddenly blared to life and he brought his head around in time to see a car speed into the intersection from the opposite direction.

      There was no time for the big rig driver to hit the breaks.

      He sucked in a breath as the car was sent into the one in front of them and the semi came careening towards them.

      His chest was on fire. He curled in on himself as deep, bone wrenching coughs tore at the air he couldn't get enough of.

      A sedan in decent condition and in a desperate need of a bath came to a stop at the curb.

      "James," curled around him as a soft touch passed through his hair. It probably wasn't the first time it had done that as it did it again. "Breathe."

      He sucked in a rattling breath. It came out as a cough, too.

      "Again."

      He sucked in another breath. This time his lungs filled with it without rejecting it and he let the air out in a rush only to suck more in greedily.

      "That's it." A sob choked him. "That's my good boy."

      "Unna," he wailed. "Unna, I couldn't-I didn’t- I didn't mean to. Unna, I'm sorry."

      Unna's arms tightened around him. "It's ok. You did the right thing. It'll be alright."

      "Miss…ah, Miss Angel?" It was Beckett's voice. "What just happened?"

      He felt his Unna shift around him but the arms holding him tight didn't let go. "Once we're in the car. He's done it too many times too close together for it to be safe. Don't worry, I won't take you home till you have what answers we can share."

      There was silence for long enough that he thought Beckett had followed Unna's soft spoken command but then Beckett's voice drifted to him again. "Will he be ok?"

      He felt the faint chuckle that rolled through Unna's chest. "As long as he doesn't do it again, yes. Now," Unna grunted as he was pulled off the ground; he tried to hide the spasm of pain shooting through his chest from the motion, "if you would be so kind as to grab his bag for me, I'll get him in the car and us on our way."

      Unna placed him carefully in his seat but he still hissed in pain as he was placed and buckled in.

      Unna's hand was steady in his hair. "Just a bit longer, James."

      He nodded against the touch.

      The car shifted into drive with ease. It was several minutes later when he realized they were going the same route. Panic flared in his chest even as his mind screamed at him that Unna knew.

      "Unna," he choked out as Beckett exclaimed to his utter surprise, "We can't go this way!"

      He looked over, eyes wide despite how his chest hurt to find Beckett gripping at both front seats with white knuckles.

      Unna looked to the other child as the car came to a stop at red light. A different one from the one they had been caught at prior, one far sooner than that one. "It'll be ok, Beckett. James has delayed us enough. We won't get caught in it again."

      Beckett stared at his Unna with terror edged into their face. Beckett swallowed thickly, glancing at him briefly before asking, "How….why do I…"

      Whatever Beckett had wanted to ask died on their tongue. He wondered if it was for a loss of words or too many questions to ask at once.

      The light turned green and Beckett sat back as the car started forward.

      "Beckett," Unna spoke, voice even but thick with warning, "what I am about to share with you must not leave this car. If you speak to anyone that I have not told you knows, there will be consequences that I cannot protect you from." Unna met Beckett's gaze through the rear view mirror. "Do you understand?"

      Beckett's gaze flickered to him but he had nothing to offer.

      It had been a long time since his chest had hurt like this.

      Why didn't he learn?

      "Yes," Beckett replied, voice quaking.

      "Good." The car slowed as the traffic thickened to a stop. "Do you know what happened to us?"

      Beckett shifted in the seat. "We went back in time?"

      Unna smiled encouragingly. "Similar, but not quite. James rewinds time, or resets it to a point. He's gotten better at controlling when to he resets but sometimes he doesn't have much choice." Unna's gaze flickered to him in the rear view mirror. "Often he keeps it to only a few seconds, maybe a minute. Any longer than that and it puts a strain on his body. Or, more specifically, his heart."

      "Why his heart?" Beckett cut in.

      "We're not sure," he explained, sinking back into his seat a bit more. The pain was slowly ebbing. That or he was getting used to it. He wasn't overly picky. "They think it has something to do with how the ability is stored in my body or that it could be some natural limiter that keeps me in check."

      Beckett's attention went to Unna. "Do you have the same ability?"

      The smile that pulled at Unna's lips was endearing and a bit sad. "No. I have a different ability but it isn't very useful when it comes to helping James."

      "What is it?"

      "Remembering."

      Beckett frowned. "I don't understand."

      Unna's expression turned thoughtful despite the expectant look in the gaze locked onto Beckett. "Do you remember the reset?"

      Beckett opened their mouth but no words were forthcoming. He leaned his head back, expecting that. There were echoes if the ending point of the last reset was severe enough, but the only one that had ever remembered was Unna.

      "Can you teach me how?"

      He opened his eyes, looking at Beckett's determined face.

      "Why?" Unna asked, curious; he parroted, confused.

      Beckett looked at him. "Because I want to help."

      "Can you see them?"

      He pressed a hand over the earpiece to hear better. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Only two and the target, though."

      "Anything you can do?"

      "Not till you go in, like normal," he drawled, amused.

      A huff from the other end but there was a touch of amusement in it. "Fine. Just don't let me get killed in there."

      "Yeah, yeah," he assured them, even as those words jabbed at old wounds.

      He watched his partner dash in, showboating like none other. One of the extras went down but the other and the target were very good at holding their own.

      "Resetting," he warned.

      He didn't wait for a confirmation as he blinked, taking in a breath as he reoriented.

      "Who do I take out first?"

      It eased the slight tension in his chest when their words were nothing like they had been. Every time he reset, he feared he would lose the one person that could remember. "The one on the far side. Move in, move quick. Don't showboat. It does you no good."

      "Understood."

      He watched and waited. Sure enough, later than before, his partner appeared dropping down on the one extra that had kept up with the initial attack. His partner's attack was solid, knocking the extra out cold.

      "Target," he barked. "We'll play Hopscotch with the other."

      "Don't kill me."

      Heavy words spoken out of true concern despite their full trust in him made his heart hurt. "Just remember and I won't," he retorted, offering with it silently how much he meant that.

      His partner went in for the target but again, the target held its own. The still conscious extra did its best to get in the way but he did mini resets, a second here, two there, each enough to give his partner enough time to adjust to what was coming and use it against the extra.

      He caught sight of the blade before it buried itself in his partner's side.

      He sucked in a sharp breath.

      "I'm ok," crackled into his earpiece and he let the breath go.

      "Are you sure?" he asked, heart racing.

      "You reset. I'm fine." A pause. "Target first?"

      He nodded despite them not being able to see. "Target first."

      This time when his partner dropped in, the target was out cold first.

      The other two were taken out just as quickly.

      He leapt from his hiding spot and felt their arms around him before gravity even had a hold on him. Solid ground met the bottom of his feet and they grabbed at his wrist, pressing his palm against their side where they had been stabbed. "See? No stab wound."

      The words were echoed in his earpiece but he was used to it. He nodded, smiling weakly. "I'm going to get you killed one of these days."

      They barked a laugh. "Only after I drag you down with me. Besides, it'll take a lot more than that to stop me. Can't stop, won't stop, not till you're no longer there to watch my back."

      "And you've got mine?"

      They huffed a laugh. "Always, Newman," they teased. "Now come on. We've got to bag these guys before reinforcements show up."

      He followed after them.

      "Wow."

      He looked up from the file he was reading, intrigued. "What?"

      His partner looked over at him from the wall calendar they were staring at. "Can you believe it's been 16 years now?"

      He frowned, putting the file down. "16 years since…" he prompted.

      "Since the truck incident all those years ago," they explained. "With your Unna."

      He blinked.

      "Oh. Yeah, I guess it has, hasn't it?" he commented. He was stunned in all honesty. He hadn't kept track of time very well. His ability always did make keeping track of time weird. "And that was, what, only a few years before your ability showed?"

      His partner hummed an affirmation. "I still don't know how Anna was so patient with me. I was worse than the rookies."

      "Unna's always had a strange sort of patience," he agreed. "Still, I'm glad you agreed to come to my house that day, Beckett." He looked at the other, a soft smile pulling at his lips. "I'm not sure I would have made it this far without you."

      Beckett grinned at him, all teeth despite the care in their gaze. "Oh please. You'd have lived till you were 100 even if I had walked away."

      He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. If you say so."

      He led the way back into the main area of the hero headquarters they were stationed with. Heroes of all sorts milled about or passed through to complete some task. He gave none of them much heed as he made his way to the front door.

      He couldn’t quite grasp why there was a ringing in his ears.

      Smoke choked him. That was the first thing he realized when he started to re-orientate himself with the world. When his brain started making sense of what he could see, terror flared through him just as much as his apprehension started to quickly spiral into anxiety.

      "Beckett!" he called out, choking on the name. "Beckett!"

      There was screaming, shouting, sirens. There was so much going on that he couldn't even piece together what had even happened. But he found Beckett.

      It felt like his heart stopped.

      "Beckett!" he screamed, rushing to their side. His ability was like needles under his skin but he knew that resetting without knowing wasn't going to help. So, instead, he started figuring out what he could do.

      It was easy finding what to move first so that Beckett didn't end up more crushed as he removed rubble from on top of them. It only got harder when the villain appeared.

      "It would seem I've found another little hero."

      The voice shot ice down his spine and he whipped around, coming face to face with someone he hadn't thought to still be alive.

      The villain's grin grew sharp. "And it seems I'm in luck. I've been looking for you, my little Save Point."

      "Eros," he spat. "What are you doing here, alive?"

      The villain spread his arms wide, the grin looking as if it would split the other's face. "You wound me, Jamie! I came to check on how my little boy was doing, to see how well my little Save Point has grown."

      "I'm not your save point," he snarled.

      Eros's fingers were digging into his cheeks before he could blink, hand pressed to the underside of his jaw and forcing his head back. "Oh, you have it all wrong, little Jamie-boy. You are my Save Point and you will do as I say if you want the world to survive."

      "You won't remember anything I do," he bluffed. He didn't know that. He didn't know this man.

      "Oh, but you're wrong," Eros assured him, and suddenly pain flared in his side. "I remember every." The pain intensified. "Little." Again. "Reset." And again. "And now you're going to reset us right back to the day you escaped my grasp the first time."

      He gasped, trying to hold onto what was going on as the pain tried to take over. "What do you mean?"

      "Had you not reset, I would have ended your precious Unna's life and taken you back into custody. But you just had to see the car speed through that blasted intersection," the pain suddenly tripled to emphasis the words, "and the damn truck heading your way. If I had just been a few minutes faster," another burst of pain, "then it would have worked."

      They had just been talking about it, hadn't they? He and Beckett. How was it that they had managed to be talking about that day, of all days, and here he was facing his father who had wanted to use his abilities since he was born. He felt his ability churn under his skin and he wondered just how far back he could throw them, how far back his reset could reach.

      Eros was still talking but he wasn't listening any more. Farther and farther he reached as he felt his life slowly drain from his side. Farther and farther he pushed, pushing back to that faithful day.

      He was glad he had met Beckett.

      He hoped Unna would forgive him in time.

      He opened his eyes.

      The unforgiving surface bit into his arms and hands, his body instinctively reacting by filling his vision with tears and quaking under the onslaught of pain. The small gaggle of kids that had slammed into him - or, more specifically, the gaggle of kids following the brute that had shoved him to the ground for no other reason than a laugh - seemed to swarm behind his aggressor, laughing and cooing words that had once stung. Numb to it all, he looked up, searching for a specific face from the crowd before him.

      "Crybaby! Crybaby!" the gaggle chanted.

      His aggressor wasn't grinning.

      "I…Jamie?" Beckett spoke out, confusion and disbelief heavy with those two words. The gaggle fell silent and still.

      He offered a weak smile. "I'm sorry Beckett. It was the only thing I could think of."

      "Jamie, I don't-" They shook their head, taking a step forward. "How? Why?!"

      "Eros."

      Beckett hissed.

      "Beckett." They met his gaze, their worry for him almost palpable. "Will you tell Unna that I'm sorry?"

      Whatever color had filled Beckett's face slipped away as that sank it. Tears filled those eyes he had grown so accustom to seeing joyous, mischievous, that it made his heart hurt. "James, don't."

      He offered a tight smile. "This way, he can't win."

      "Jamie, please!"

      "You'll tell Unna for me, won't you?"

      They were there, arms wrapped tight around him, and the world jerked in a way that he had long since grown used to. How Beckett had the finite control to get them safely to Unna's side was breathtaking. He was sad he was going to miss out on that.

      He looked up, not used to being in an eight-year-old's body after having grown out of it. He found his Unna there, alive and well, mouth covered by a shaking hand and tears streaming down a face he hadn't realized he had forgotten details of despite the photos he had kept.

      "Unna," he started.

      There was no pain. His threshold had grown to the point that pain only came in small amounts now. This, though, was like something snapped within him.

      The last thing he saw was Unna and Beckett crying over him as he was swallowed by darkness.
     
    Last edited:
  • Index
    • Monthly Writings | July 2019
  • Index
    • July 2019Monthly Writing Prompts
    There is a 100 word minimum to complete the prompt and an alternative 1000 word minimum. I keep with the alternative word minimum.

    Catching up on past prompts.

    Be advised:
    Some are interlaced with fandoms.
    Some can be spooky or cover dark topics.
    If you find one that needs to have any other sort of warning, please let me know. I have not reread these as I posted them as of the date on this post.


    • A low rumble filled the air and the ground beneath his feet trembled. Bewildered, he glanced at his brother but gained no gaze in return. His brother was already looking towards the source of the sound. Another low rumble rolled past them, the ground quaking beneath them with greater force as his other brother stepped up to his other side. Together, the three of them watched as something large miles away rose into the air only to come back down. The subsequent rumble and quake made him think whatever it was, was hitting the ground with tremendous force. Repeatedly.

      "Solaris, can you make it out?" he asked. He certainly couldn't.

      The younger of his brothers shook his head. "Luran?"

      The older brother pulled off his glasses, cleaning them. "Not enough to make out what's going on."

      Another rumble.

      The quake that followed shook the ground hard and plenty of things got dislodged. A number of the bystanders that had exited their homes in search of the noise were knocked off their feet. He surprisingly kept his foothold.

      A sharp wind slammed into him and an all too familiar chill ran down his spine. Immediately his hand went to the top of his head but he knew what would be there long before his fingers buried themselves in the thick mane he now sported. His gaze drifted right and found the older brother's appearance had changed from a lion to some sort of reptile. His brother was staring at his scaled hands with a look of concentration as if he was trying to will the kuro back into the depths of his soul. Turning his gaze from his now scaly brother, he focused on his other brother to see that feathers had replaced fur and those eyes were now honed in on the source of the chaos without any outward show of concern for the forced kuro shift.

      All around them were shouts and cries of confusion as the kuro that many had suppressed – be it to keep themselves safe or due to the strict laws in place – had been brought into existence.

      "Solaris?" he asked, voice quaking but with what, he couldn't tell. There were too many things and far too many emotions that he was choking on them. No longer a lioness but a lion, able to be in the kuro he had desperately wanted to live in but couldn't, it was like a bitter dream he didn't want to have disappear. "What do you see?"

      "Trouble." His brother's gaze flicked to the other brother. "How sure are you on your wings, Luran?"

      Those leather wings spread wide, stretching their full length. "As sure as you are on yours."

      The brothers grinned at each other as Solaris opened his own wings. Those eyes still ever his brother's focused on him. "You able to keep up, sis?"

      His grin was sharp. "I'll be right behind you."

      Solaris nodded.

      It was easy for him to coax his kuro to trade places with a different one and he felt the muscles in his body stretch and move in a way he hadn't been able to feel in far too long. With all four paws on the ground, he stretched a bit before shaking himself. Even in this kuro he could tell that the lioness one he had been born into was no longer in his reach, regardless of whether it was bipedal or not. He turned his gaze to the trouble who knew how far away and dug in.

      "Let's go," Luran called out and Polaris kicked off.

      He felt the brush of both winds kicked up by his brothers' wings and he knew that both had raced after him looking for lift.

      They found it at the same time, the wind from their down strokes buffeting him from either side till they were too high for their wind to reach him.

      His paws hit pavement and he dug in harder, giving himself to the sensation of running as hard and as fast as he could using every muscle in his body to keep himself moving forward. Luran and Solaris settled far enough ahead of him that he could keep an eye on them without looking away from where he was running. Another rumbled and he kept running through the quake, grateful and mildly impressed with himself that he hadn't been tripped up by the shifting earth. His brothers slowed as if worried but he kept going, kept pushing forward.

      The rumble's tone was still low but it was loud enough that he felt it just as much as he heard it and this time the ground rolled, the streets breaking as buildings toppled and he leapt from one wave crest to the next, his brothers coming in to aid him as they could. The closer they got to the source of the whole mess, the more clearly they could see what was going on and it was making the hair on his back stand upright in fury.

      Luran dived in first belching fire at what lay in Polaris's way. Solaris was right behind him, talons sharp and well-aimed as they dug into the creatures that were getting between them and their target.

      Polaris dived through the mess, eyes wildly searching for the figure he and his brothers had seen.

      The ground beneath his feet quaked savagely as the section of earth rose again. The piece was massive and it was all Polaris could do to keep his foothold as he found himself on the piece of earth rising into the sky.

      "Laris!"

      He turned, seamlessly shifting to his biped form and with sure feet, he wrapped his arms tightly around the body that slammed into his. His feet left shallow gouges in the earth from the force of the catch and as he came to a stop, he took a step back and spun, flinging the body in his arms skyward and farther into the center of the top of the mass. The little fluff ball of a body shot through the air with a squeal of laughter, before their kuro gave way to one incredibly larger. The earth that was smoothly rising into the air quaked beneath him as the massive kuro punched the ground, splitting the massive piece of earth into several pieces.

      Polaris kicked off racing towards the center of the mass as that massive kuro changed again. Two new bodies landed on either side of him and kept pace with him, both ready for a fight.

      "Who we up against, Laris?" the one on his right demanded, his code name rolling off their tongue with habitual ease.

      "Kyor."

      The two bodies jerked to a stop and he skidded to a halt, spinning in the motion enough to be facing them when his body stopped moving. They were both giving him looks they didn't have time to deal with. He straightened, stating plainly, "If you can't keep a clear head, you don't have to stick around. You are more than welcome to leave this fight to me and the others."

      "Do they know?" the one that had been on his left asked.

      "Solar and Lunar are aware," he appeased, wondering briefly if his brothers were aware of his and each other's code names. "I don't know who else knows."

      "Have they worked together before?" the first asked with a frown.

      He shrugged, shifting his stance so that his body left him more open to move towards the center again as it felt like the ground beneath his feet was coming to a stop. He felt almost weightless and it sent a thrill through his system. "They're family, Cryo. Even if they haven't on the field, they'll work well together now."

      The ground started to fall.

      The two before him reacted to the change in direction with a hint of panic but he just turned his head as two shadows overtook him. "Get Cryo and Hermes," he directed calmly. "Make sure they'll be in fighting order when this ride stops."

      "What of you?" Luran asked, feet barely brushing the ground.

      He gave a sharp grin. "I'll be fine. It's not like we haven't been in this situation before."

      Solaris laughed, joining them with the duo clinging to him for support. "Certainly not to this magnitude."

      Luran walked over and took Cryo from Solaris. Both of his brothers look at him, expressions professional, determined, and barely concealing their worry. "You gonna be alright, Laris?" Solaris asked, answering the question he hadn't had the chance to ask.

      He nodded. "Get them to safety. I'll go punch Kyor in the face."

      Solaris kicked off as Luran grinned. "Don't go taking all the fun for yourself."

      He laughed. "I'll try to leave you something but I make no promises."

      Luran nodded. "Stay safe, Laris."

      "You too, Lunar. Watch each other's back for me."

      "Always."

      He turned as Luran's wings spread wide and started for the center of the mass where the one he had thrown was still fighting against Kyor - the same person he and his brothers had caught sight of before the others had joined them. Thankfully the one he had thrown had assistance because Kyor was kicking all of their asses.

      He wasn't sure if it was just good timing or if someone had seen him but as he leapt to join the fray – arm back ready to punch Kyor in the face – the bodies between him and his target hid him from sight before abruptly moving, giving him the opening to follow through and actually land the hit.

      Kyor's head snapped to the side and the ground quaked as some of the villain's control fractured. He reached back to have another swing but Kyor retaliated faster than he anticipated and he turned his punch into a block against the chuck of earth that tried to collide with his face.

      He spun with the force of it and transferred it all into a kick. Kyor's shin met his and the pain was fleeting as Kyor countered with being the one with a better stance to do so.

      Quickly and ferociously, they threw attacks at each other with as much power as they had in a chaotic dance on that falling chunk of earth. He knew they were running out of time but as long as he kept Kyor from lifting everything into the air again, then it was enough.

      He heard the first of the chunk of earth hit the unrelenting ground and he ducked under Kyor's attack in order to throw them both into the air. He had to trust the others had gotten off safely, if not at least out of harm's way. The entire things fractured and broke apart, shattering as Kyor lost hold of the massive piece of earth. His desperate leap didn't stop their downward motion but it countered it enough that there wasn't recoil from the chunk of earth, no injuries sustained from the landing beyond what Kyor dealt him. He twisted, forcing Kyor to hit a piece of earth that had shifted so that the flat surface was more of a hall now than the ground they had just been fighting on.

      Kyor coughed from the force and he couldn't help but admit the landing hurt. The villain beneath him didn't seem to care, recovering quickly enough to try and kick him. He pinned the other down, one leg tangled around Kyor's to force the other's weight onto the knee he had pressed into the makeshift wall between the villain's legs. He managed to get both of Kyor's hands pinned with one hand and Polaris used his free arm to put pressure on the villain's throat.

      "Enough," he spat.

      Kyor scoffed. "Oh please. It's not like there's anything you can do to stop me, Laris."

      It felt like Kyor had reached into his chest and gave his heart a good squeeze as those blue eyes glared at him with the fury of a black hole sun - and if that wasn’t a thing, he was certain Kyor would invent it if need be. Kyor was egging him on and he didn't - couldn't - react to it now. He added a bit more pressure, wondering where the others were at. He was going to get backup to make sure Kyor went into custody this time, right? "Trust me. I can try."

      He felt Kyor's hand flex with the grip on the other's wrists. It was the only warning he got before a massive, very solid piece of earth slammed into his back. It shoved him into Kyor but did nothing to free the villain. Polaris tightened his grip on the other's wrists threateningly, growling as he put his full body weight on the other's throat. "Do that again and you'll probably break your own neck with my arm."

      Kyor's eyes flashed at the challenge and Polaris braced for another attack.

      This time the attack came from the right. If he had been standing any other way, Kyor would have knocked him free. Instead, all the villain did was scrape and bruise Polaris's right side, which inclued the arm pressed against Kyor's throat. It pushed him into the villain and he felt the other's hot breath against his neck. But he could still feel Kyor's arms flexing and before he could get back upright, another chuck of earth slammed into him from the left.

      Attack after attack slammed into him and a few slammed into his head so hard, he wasn't sure if it had made him black out for a few seconds or if it was just all happening too fast for him to keep up.

      "Yemnal."

      The attacks stopped.

      He wasn't sure when they had stopped but they had stopped. It took far too long for him to focus back in on where he was at, what he was doing, as it felt his entire body had been thrown down the side of a stupidly tall mountain. As he started to recenter himself, he became aware of the fact that he was pressed up against Kyor, head nestled on the other's shoulder where blood was making skin contact tacky. He wanted to push away, to put distance between them, but it seemed too much.

      There were arms wrapped around him anyways. It wasn't like Kyor was completely pinned anymore.

      "What did you call me?" the other demanded, breathless. He frowned even as just one blink seemed to take longer than normal. Fingers scrapped at his back as he felt Kyor shift under him but it wasn't in an attempt to dislodge him. Why wasn't Kyor taking this chance to flee? Kyor shook him, agitating a number of wounds. "What did you call me."

      His slip of the tongue came back in a hazy sort of way. "Yemnal."

      He found himself on the ground. It seemed that Kyor finally threw him off.

      "Why did you call me that?" the other demanded.

      He couldn't tell if it was due to the head injuries he had sustained or if it sounded like Kyor was actually scared of the answer. "A slip of the tongue," he offered in what he could coherently create as honest.

      The fur at his chest was fisted and he was yanked upward. He hissed in pain as Kyor brought their faces together and it was all he could do to get one eye cracked open. "That's not good enough!" Kyor barked. "Why did you call me that!"

      Confusion pulled at him as his vision swam. Where was he again? And why did the other look so....so worried? "Because that's your name," he ground out. Why was he in so much pain? Was Yemnal pissed at him and had taken it out on him during their spar? "Yemnal, what's going on? Why are you mad at me?"

      The ground was unforgiving when he hit it again and he couldn't help the grunt that escaped him. He couldn't find the strength to push himself up enough to look for Yemnal. "Damn," he hissed. He took a shaky breath in, floating through the pain enough to open his eyes. He couldn't focus on how his body was laying without getting swallowed by the pain but he was glad that his head was at least angled skyward. White, puffy clouds drifted by lazily beyond the haze of dust.

      "How do you know that name?"

      He frowned at the heavens, not understanding the quaking of the other's voice. He wanted to move, to look at Yemnal's face, but even the thought of moving caused pain to shoot up his spine. He tried to grin but he wasn't even sure if a smile made it onto his face. "What are you talking about? Of course I know your name. It would be rude to not know my partner's name."

      Silence.

      It lasted so long that he had let his eyes close and was contemplating sleep even as, at the edge of conscious thought, he wondered where Yemnal had gone.

      "Hey," that familiar, warm voice coaxed, a rough hand against his cheek. "Don't go to sleep."

      He let out a huff in a laugh but it caused him to start coughing.

      The pain was excruciating.

      When he finally came out of it, his breathing was shallow and every muscle spasm sent pain flashing through his body.

      "You can't sleep yet, Polaris," that familiar, warm voice cut through, shattering the darkness that had been overtaking him. "You've got to stay awake."

      "Yemnal?" he asked, the word coming out in a croak. It hurt his throat but his desire for answers pushed him through it. "What happened?"

      A breath of silence.

      "A mess of things," Yemnal answered, though there was an odd quake to the words. "But help's on the way. You'll be fine."

      He'll be fine? Wait, what had happened? What about Yemnal?

      He forced his eyes open but he wasn't able to make anything out. The world was nothing more than a kaleidoscope of colors. "What about you? Are you ok? Did you get hurt?"

      The desire to check Yemnal – to make sure the other was uninjured and safe – drove him to try and push himself up but his arm flared in pain and gave out under him. The cry was involuntary as he crumpled to the ground.

      Hands, shaking and careful, pressed against him as Yemnal urged, "I'm fine. Just a few bruises. You need immediate attention, though, so try and stop moving."

      He let out a shaky breath, grateful. "Ok," he ceded. "Ok," he sighed.

      Someone was shouting but he couldn't make out the words.

      He hoped the kid across the street who had a hidden kuro like him would say yes to going to the river tomorrow. He felt so isolated and the other kid – his name was Yemnal, right? – looked just as lonely as he felt. Polaris hoped they could be friends.

      That would be nice. Then he wouldn't feel so lonely when his brothers hung out together without him.
     
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  • Index
    • Monthly Writings | August 2019
  • Index
    • August 2019Monthly Writing Prompts
    There is a 100 word minimum to complete the prompt and an alternative 1000 word minimum. I keep with the alternative word minimum.

    New way of doing things this round.

    Be advised:
    It may be interlaced with fandoms.
    It can be spooky or cover dark topics.
    If you find that it needs to have any other sort of warning, please let me know.

    Prompt
    Have you ever woken up in the middle of a very vivid dream, confused as to what was your reality? The moments that tick by are filled with confusion until you can finally shake that feeling and start your day. Well, I think that is what is happening to me, but the only difference is I can't seem to wake up. My dream has become my reality and each day I struggle to understand what is happening to me and how to escape it. If only there was a way out...

    …because I don’t know how much longer I can keep going.

    At first this whole dream thing had started out like any other strange, unusual thing. Forced to travel in order to stay alive, I found myself in some enchanted castle in a kingdom that was like some far off fantasy within and of itself. The last, I don’t know, two years now have passed in a blur of challenges overcome and friendships created.

    I was hoping that one relationship would have blossomed into something more, into something I had never dreamed would have been possible for me when I was back home, but now as I stare with the rest of the crowd towards the group of people storming in, I can’t help but feel as if this wonderful dream has suddenly taken a turn I had thought was no longer a possibility.

    "Orion!" one of the ones near the front greets happily. "It has been quite some time, old friend. You've grown well."

    "Indeed it has, Abraxis," he responds easily, a look on his face that I can't understand from my angle. He looks pleased, at ease even, despite the tension still in his body. "Though, I must admit, I would have loved to have discovered you gave up that habit of yours of barging into any room you wish to enter."

    The group of people cross right up to the foot of the stairs he’s standing at the top of as the one he had called Abraxis laughs. I want to reach out, to ask him if he knows the others, but too many eyes are on us. The one in the lead bows low, offering with a breathy sort of tenor, “I apologize for the intrusion, Your Majesty.” I flinch at the term. I’m still not used to the idea that he’s a King and the thought of such a man being interested in me highly unlikely and the reminder deflates my mood instantly. I try and not let it show outwardly. I had promised him my support, hadn’t I? The leader straightens. "We attempted to reign in King Abraxis's...ah, habit, as you've kindly named it, but we're not overly successful."

    He chuckles at that. "I'm not surprised. He's quite like the symbol of his country."

    The leading figure dips their head. "If I may, I understand that this is an important event but there are things we must talk about before things become dire.”

    He shifts forward in his curiosity and concern, both plainly written on his face for even me to see. That urge to grab at him returns. “What do you mean?” His gaze goes to the only figure he's named. "Abraxis?"

    "I would hear them out, old friend," the other King offers cryptically.

    The leader bows again. “I am Prince Relaeh, first in line of the Kingdom of Holtem."

    “Holtem?” a voice cuts in, stilling this Prince Relaeh's words. I look to Adonis and find the surprise on his face. “But that mean you either sailed through the Brond Ocean to our borders or you traversed through Lyor.”

    “Neither,” one from the center interjects. “We came in from the north.”

    That gains a look of confusion from him. Tension pulled at his shoulders like he was readying for a fight. “What business did you have in Zryn?”

    The same person from the center shakes their head. “In private quarters, please. We’ll be on our way if this truly does not concern you and let your festivities continue.” A pause. “Asteria is a beautiful kingdom with wonderful people. Please. We don’t want to see this all be unprepared for what may come.”

    The air fills with the soft murmur of the crowd as he just stands there, looking down on the group. I can't tell what he's thinking, can't piece together the nuances that I know are probably there. He blinks and his expression settles into a determined resignation. That dreamlike feeling returns but not in the good way. I can't tell if it's making me want to cry or scream. He nods, looking to Adonis. “Lead them to one of the rooms. I will follow when I am done here.”

    Adonis gives a low bow. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

    I step up to his side as Adonis bids the group to follow. “Orion?” I ask. “Where do you want me?”

    His hand slips around mine, fingers warm and his grip firm. “Follow Adonis,” he offers in a whisper. “I just want to offer a few words to the people present before I join you.” His grip tightens briefly. "And stay near Adonis. I don't trust Abraxis to not have fallen in with a bad crowd."

    I give a shallow nod of my head as I breathe in reply, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

    There’s a flicker of something in his eyes but I don’t want to bring myself to put a name to it. I step away and start after the tail end of the group as his voice fills the air around me. It fades the farther into the hallway I walk and it hurts.

    Adonis is waiting for me at the door. There’s a look in his eyes I can’t decipher even if I wanted to. “It’ll be ok, Xavier,” the other tries. “He won’t stray from you.”

    I give a tight smile. He can’t promise that.

    I enter the room and stop far enough in that I don't prevent Adonis from closing the door. But as it clicks shut, doubt washes over me even as I keep my eyes on the group watching me. Had Adonis followed me in or was he staying out in the hall leaving me to fend for myself against this swarm of strangers. Relief shudders through me when he comes into sight on my right. He doesn't stray far from the door, though, which keeps him close to my side. I'm grateful that he's there. "Please give my King a moment to settle things and then he will be right with you."

    "It's quite alright," Prince Relaeh replies. "As long as he eventually arrives, that's all that matters. Hopefully our matter will not intrude too far into your King's matters and we can part shortly after his arrive."

    "What is an Endromean doing here?"

    I lock eyes with the speaker, finally gaining a face for the voice that had spoken up from the center of the crowd earlier. Appearing female to me is a young adult who, if I'm not mistaken, is barely beyond her teens. Her skin is pale - paler than mine, even - and her black hair seems darker because of it. Her eyes are sharp, though, and her lips have a healthy red coloring to them so it doesn't seem like she fights for any needs but the look she's giving me is distrustful.

    "Xavier is seen as an esteemed guest, if not part of this castle outright," Adonis informs her, his words sharp and clearly stating how offensive her prejudice against me was.

    I'm touched, really, but we don't need to be fighting with them. "Adonis," I try, but the door opens behind us and I turn to see Orion in the doorway, a dark look on his face. I'm pretty confident that the glare aimed over my shoulder is locked on her.

    "If I so much as get the impression that you will bring harm to him, I will have you thrown out of this kingdom directly into the hands of the Endromeans to the south," Orion threatens, a growl at the edge of his voice.

    "Please, Your Majesty," Prince Relaeh cuts in, moving to place himself between us and the pale young woman. "Forgive Indarra's for her tactless words. Despite our distance, Endrom has been a constant threat to Holtem and she has been through enough to warrant an answer despite her brash words."

    I jump when his hand wraps around the part of my shoulder and neck where my burn scars were hidden by my high collared jacket. A chaotic blend of far too many emotions rushes through me but his hand is there, solid and reassuring, soothing some of the storm. "Xavier is estranged from Endrom. He is no more an Endromean as I am now."

    Her eyes narrow but she says nothing. Prince Relaeh nods before looking to a few of the others. "Shall we get started then?"

    Orion guides me to the loveseat and sits down with his arm across the back of the loveseat. I don't trust any of the strangers as old fears that had been beaten into me at a young age came rearing their ugly faces in the wake of the strangers' presence. I sit down at the other side of the small couch, placing distance between us but not looking like I was avoiding him.

    Fortunately for me, Orion was having none of it. He grabs my far shoulder and pulls me into his side, his face finding my hair over my left ear as the group settles. "Don't," he whispers, though what specifically, I can only guess at till he elaborates. "They cannot harm you and any looks they send your way I'll gladly return ten fold."

    A breathy laugh escapes my chest and I swallow thickly. It does nothing to quell the old fears. "I'm not of proper standing," I try just as softly but his hold tightens. It's confirmation enough that I'm going to loose this verbal battle. I can't tell if I'm ok with losing or not.

    "Doesn't matter. You're still recovering and if you pass out in the middle of this, I want you against me." I suck in a shuddering breath, a strange sensation filling my stomach. "It's safer this way, anyways."

    He turns his head and focuses back on the crowd before us. The couch looks uncomfortably full - including an armrest - but none move to take up a different chair and the other loveseat is equally occupied with both armrests acting as seats. The three remaining have pulled over the table chairs and were situated between the loveseats and couch.

    "So who all is present?" Orion asks, his arm settling more naturally around me. I lean into his side, taking the reassurance from his soft, most likely unconscious rubbing of my arm.

    Prince Relaeh leans against the far arm of the couch, looking around at who sat where before starting at the chair farthest from us. "In the chair by Abraxis is Nox from Zryn." I could feel Orion tensing at that, though I couldn't tell why the other reacted so. Relaeh had to have seen it because he continues with, "I'll explain later but it was actually Abraxis who wanted to get Nox."

    Abraxis nods from where he is lounging on the armrest of the loveseat next to the chair. "There's a larger story, Orion. Lets finish introductions first."

    Orion lets out a breath. "Alright. And the others?"

    "Beside Abraxis is Pedro, a friend of Abraxis's." At these words, Abraxis wraps an arm around the what looked to be very young man and shakes him roughly, though the very young man grins at the gesture. The girl sitting next to him grins too. "Then er'Rath, a friend of my sister Indarra, and this is Temeran, also my sister."

    The young woman sitting on the armrest beside Indarra dips her head to the side. "There's a lot of siblings here, seeing as all eight of us somehow managed to join the trip." She sends a glare at the four sitting squished together on the couch, all of whom start giggling immediately. The second one from Relaeh seems almost hesitant with joining the collective giggling, though.

    Relaeh breaks the disturbance by placing a hand on the shoulder of the most sedated looking member of the group. Where Nox is sedated in a more refined matter, this one is more of a depressed or disheartened sedation and my heart goes out to this stranger as Relaeh introduces, "This is Prince Skylar. He's part of the reason we're here."

    There's no response from the young man and Relaeh sits back, looking down the couch. "The last five are my siblings as well. From me to the one in the chair is Furnix, Zaru, Verrin, Lithea, and Cytus. The ones on the couch are still children and should have stayed in Kreet."

    Another glare but this draws outrage - or at least the desire to defend - from those on the couch. It's a roar of noise that lasts for a brief moment but I make out enough to understand that each one of them had come of their own will this far.

    "Kreet?" I ask softly.

    "The islands in the Brond Ocean where Abraxis is from," Orion explains patiently. He turns his attention back to the group. "Though I doubt introductions are needed at this point, I am King Orion of Asteria. The man standing is Adonis Arcane and the man beside me is Xavier. Now, with that out of the way, why are all of you here?"

    That dreamlike feeling that had been twisting in my stomach eases into something a bit more pleasant and familiar. It's all still so strange but at least this way I have names to faces and soon we'll know why these strangers have come looking for Orion's help.
     
  • Index
    • Monthly Writings | September 2018
  • Index
    • September 2018Monthly Writing Prompts
    There is a 100 word minimum to complete the prompt and an alternative 1000 word minimum. I keep with the alternative word minimum.

    Catching up on past prompts.

    Be advised:
    Some are interlaced with fandoms.
    Some can be spooky or cover dark topics.
    If you find one that needs to have any other sort of warning, please let me know.


    • The wind brought the heat of the sand along with its cool touch. It curled around him like a friend and he smiled in the shadow of his hood as the wind played with the hem of his cloak. He waited till the wind moved on, pulling gently at him and encouraged him to follow.

      He lifted his foot from the sand where it had sank just a bit and started to follow.

      The sun flickered high above for a long time. He barely noticed as his shadow went from behind him to in front of him, trading places with the sun. As he crested the first roll of the land that was stone rather than sand, the wind's touch had turned colder, bringing with it the promise of night.

      He turned to look towards the setting sun, watching as it touched the horizon and started to sink below.

      The rolling sands were coming to life for the brief moment between burning day and freezing night. Creatures he could only fathom drifted among the dunes a stark darkness against the brilliant sunset. Some moved ever so slow that they seemed like the shadows of traveling dunes rather than a separate thing. Others moved with such speed that he marveled at their ability to move such in the dying light of the sun.

      The last of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon's edge and the wind brought him the cold air of night and the heat still rising from the sands. He took a breath when it brushed against his face. It smelled of heat and cold, of sand and rock. He opened his eyes, turned, and started walking again.

      The wind pulled at him gently, coaxing him on even as night rested heavily on his shoulders like the day never did. He tore his gaze from the path ahead of him to the horizon like, seeking a light he knew should be there soon.

      He stumbled. His gaze flickered down out of trained habit. When his eyes came back up when his feet were on surer ground, the light he had been seeking had risen into the sky. The horizon released its hold on the moon and he smiled at it from the depths of the darkness in his hood. Night's weighed eased some as the moon accompanied the wind in coaxing him on.

      The first ruins appeared when his shadow was coiled tightly under him at the moon's beckoning. He didn't stop but his footfall became more rapid, more sure. This way and that he weaved, eyes now searching for something that should be there, that had been promised to him.

      She was sitting on what had once been a stone wall several stories tall; the sand had buried most of that height on the side he approached. Beyond the edge, though, he could see the drop into the vast valley below. It was a sheer drop for far too many stories and the ruins at the base of that sheer drop spoke of the ground suddenly sinking long after the buildings had become ruins but not so soon that the sand hadn't come and buried most of the deep valley with a good amount of sand.

      He stepped up to her side and sat on the wall's edge only to swing his legs over and sit facing the same way she was.

      The wind danced around them and he smiled, catching sight of her auburn hair getting caught up in the wind's dance like a halo of moonlit fire behind her peaceful expression. The shadow of his hood was thick but he knew she would be aware of his eyes on her; the only thing that ever seemed to cut through that darkness was the light of his eyes.

      She didn't speak and he kept on watching her hair dance with the wind.

      The shadows from the moonlight were long, stretching towards the horizon they faced as the horizon slowly changed. He briefly wondered if she could perceive its change, too.

      She shifted on that edge, farther forward that he was comfortable and it was instinct that had his fingers ensnaring the back of her vest. An edge of her cloak slipped free from where she had it bundled beneath her and snapped behind her like a colorless flag. She smiled at him as her weight shifted back.

      "You don't have to catch me, you know."

      He found it difficult to let go now that he knew she was solid. Something deep in his chest burned and her words hurt in a way he would never be able to articulate properly.

      "I'm not sure I could let you go a third," he spoke poorly, his hand curling into his chest. Two others covered it as he placed his weight into the one gripping the wall between their hips. All four of his hands were as sharp as stars in the shadows of his body and the surrounding hills.

      She chuckled and the wind slowed till it was barely touching her hair and his face. She covered the hand between them, her sand darkened skin muted in the half light and nearly as dark as the stone they sat on compared to his starlight white. "Then don't."

      She slipped from the edge of the wall, cloak tightly grasped in her other hand and a grin lighting up her face. Despite not being physically attached to his body, her sudden weight still pulled him off the wall and he wrapped his three other hands around her one, hanging on desperately as the wind rushed passed them filled with her glee. It pulled at him and pulled at his hood, ridding him of its shadow.

      The stone shifted to sand and the sand created a drift that her feet touched first. His touched it farther down than hers but they were against that wall of sand long before it curved towards the valley. They slid down the drift of sand till it leveled out to the point that she was forced to take a few bounding steps to keep her balance at the change in momentum. His footfall wasn't quite as sure as hers and he stumbled. Her hold was sure, though, and he remained upright enough to come to a stop before her.

      "Must you?" he gasped out despite lacking the need to breathe. His entire being thrummed in a way that confused him and he wasn't sure if it was fright or exhilaration that pounded through him so.

      She laughed. The sound was melodious in its strange way, and oddly contagious. He found himself joining her even if it was just a few suppressed chuckles that were probably more out of his fried nerves than whatever she was feeling.

      "Always," she answered, her breathes rushing into her heaving lungs. Her auburn hair that had whipped like the cloak still clutched in her hand looked fuller now that the wind had ran its fingers through it and tousled it about quite vigorously.

      Two of his hands left the one he was still clinging to and buried themselves in those tangled locks in an attempt to bring order back to her hair. She made no move to still his touch, to pull away, and that burning deep in his chest seemed to spread out like a glass ball shattering from the inside out.

      His touch did nothing to change the halo of hair around her face and he withdrew all the hands he could.

      She was still holding onto the one she had initially grabbed.

      "Why are you here?" she asked gently, her smile still prevalent and loving. It was like ice water had been poured into his center and that burning quickly turned to a sharp pain. "Don't you have a country to run?"

      "It does not need me," he offered in return, one white hand reaching up to brush against her cheek.

      She leaned into that touch with eyes closing for that beat of a moment. When her eyes opened, her eyes were looking into his. "You shouldn't abandon it for me. You're doing so much good right now."

      He recoiled from that. "Am I, though? Am I not just making things worse by running it?"

      Her smile returned but it was soft and still so full of love. "This is what has come of places that do not have your touch or the touch of others so I would say that you are doing quite well."

      "But you are not here with me."

      Her gaze dropped at that and she reached up covering his hand with hers. "And we both know that it's for the better."

      The first streams of sunlight broke past the horizon line without him realizing how close the sun had come to rising. It shone right through her, illuminating the sand, rocks, and ruins behind her without touching her. Her gaze turned towards the west but he didn't need to look - didn't want to look - to know that only his shadow would be stretched high up the face of sand and stone they had slid down.

      "I've stayed too long," she spoke evenly, like all she was doing was returning home for the brief time they would be apart.

      He did not have the same faith that she seemed to have in it being a brief separation.

      She reached up and despite appearing not solid, her hands wrapped around the edge and underside of what constituted as his head.

      Just as his hands were not physically attached to his body, neither was his head. His form had shoulders and the start of a neck. Floating above the base of a neck roughly where a normal human's head rested upon its neck was a white mass. It was similarly shaped to that of a skull without all the details and indents. Smooth and round coming to a rounded point as a sort of chin, the only thing on that white shape that had any sort of motion to it were his eyes. They were in the same place as human eyes but were more like two solid shapes painted onto the white surface, absolute in their color and able to change shape in order to communicate emotions. There was no mouth yet his speaking was interpreted like normal speech despite it being telepathy; it was still 'heard' in the same manner, the sound of it changing depending on the space and distance because that was how it was interpreted.

      Even now as she guided his head down to be level with his shoulders, his body moved to accommodate the motion. Her lips pressed against his forehead and he let his eyes close, feeling like he was breaking all over again.

      "I'm so proud of you," she offered as she pressed their foreheads together. "I can't wait to see you again so keep doing good so that you can tell me all about it when we see each other again."

      A choked sob shook his body and all four hands hit the sand just as hard as his knees did. Despite no lungs to breathe, despite not being physically similar to humans in any way beyond vague shape, he cried with tears just like they did and felt the pain of grief probably more sharply than they did.

      Humanity had left its mark on him and it hurt. He let that hurt turn into wails as the sun rose higher into the brilliantly blue sky.
     
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  • Index
    • Monthly Writings | September 2019
  • Index
    • September 2019Monthly Writing Prompts
    There is a 100 word minimum to complete the prompt and an alternative 1000 word minimum. I keep with the alternative word minimum.

    New way of doing things this round.

    Be advised:
    It may be interlaced with fandoms.
    It can be spooky or cover dark topics.
    If you find that it needs to have any other sort of warning, please let me know.

    Prompt
    September 14, 2019

    This is a first for me...writing in a journal...but I have little to do now but this. My friends are gone...my family...and I don't even know where I am. I was forced to leave my house two days ago. They broke in...forced us out...and now...

    Well, now I am in someone else's house. It's empty, but the dead are outside at the moment and I know they will get in eventually and I will have to run again. My brother is most likely dead, as are my two friends...and it seems so much worse now that I am alone. I'm not sure if we got separated or if the dead got them. We all ran in a blind panic! Two days...seems so long ago now. The dead...they are not slow like in the movies. They run and never seem to tire. I'm not sure how I will survive, but at least I have a place to rest. Rainbows and unicorns...lol. That's what I'm looking at now...the room I am in is decorated for a toddler. Somehow it is calming and makes the sounds of the hands slapping against the house's side more tolerable.

    I will try to get some sleep and travel in the morning...my time is up here. At least I had a day without their noise. From what I have noticed so far, the dead don't seem as active during the day. Do they even sleep? I'm not sure...but I do need to...so I will try to write more tomorrow. Heaven knows it's better than doing nothing.

    September 21st, 2020
    I'm not the original writer and it took me a few days before I managed to find one of the calendars prior to Day Zero that included enough days into the following year for me to actually figure out what today's date was.




    I can't believe it's been over a year now.

    Life's been.....decent. Nothing compared to what had existed Prior but it's better than the poor soul who died in the child's bedroom. The whole place was so collapsed and returned to nature that I hadn't even realized there had been a house there to begin with till I fell through the rotting roof.

    Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. This book only has a few details in it but nothing on what happened after that date.

    Maybe it's a good idea if I record it. Not that I'm certain anyone's going to be able to read my scribbling. I've been out of practice and the pencil had been a lucky find.


    There had been many names for the things that swarmed the planet. There had been a major fight against calling them zombies - the original entry here calls them 'the dead' which was another common name - but in the end, zombie was the name that most will use now when recollecting those first few.....we'll call them months.

    I didn't keep track of time during those months. The zombies surged across the planet like nothing many of us had been prepared for. Some held their own but it was clear that the human race was going to fall if something didn't change.

    I was told that the zombie hoards had made it to every corner of the planet covering the land in shambling bodies that animals fled from. Attacks of any kind drew the hoards like piranha and the animals seemed to know this instinctively. Not that that kept some of them from attacking anyways.

    But just as quickly as the wave of zombies suddenly sprang into existence, it died. Literally. The zombies just up and started dropping. They didn't even twitch as they hit the ground. In all of two hours, every zombie in existence was properly dead once more. It was.....strange. But with our numbers so scattered and small, the billions of bodies decayed and became part of the ecosystem. Some areas saw mounds of zombies become rolling hills or the scattered bodies become home to new trees. Whatever had made them move so swiftly seemed to have encouraged some rapid growth in the plant life but nothing that's been disconcerting. Or dangerous.

    After that, there was no dead and the only task that came about was surviving. I had managed to make it on my own for those handful of months before I came across a town that had survived, more or less. If nothing else, there were other people there. I didn't stick around. Turned out it was a cult of sorts and I got out of there as quickly as I could with few new friends.

    At the time there had only been four of us. Now there's eighteen; nineteen when Anna gives birth in a few weeks. We're lucky to have her around despite her condition. Mark is probably our strongest - yet sweetest - and he dotes on her making it so that she isn't even a burden on anyone but him and he would probably never call her a burden even as a joke. It's her brother, though, that's been the largest asset and why her pregnancy - though perilous - hasn't negatively impacted the group (Mark notwithstanding). Zach's a doctor. A really good, very knowledgeable doctor even with the lack of 'modern technology'.

    Doesn't hurt that she can cook really well, either.

    Most of us have our uses like that, which makes it easy for everyone willing to pitch in. Peter's a fricken horse whisperer despite his argument that anyone that had grown up on a farm could do what he does with the 'wild' ones we come across. I don't think we've had to walk for months now because of him. We've even got a few goats and a couple of chickens because of him but he says it was Jewel. - who, mind you, grew up in the city Prior. Jewel just coos at all the animals so no one's convinced she's had any part of it.

    I'm still betting that the small pack of dogs and cats we have are because of her despite her nonchalant attitude about it. The way she commands them and the way they listens is like the livestock with Peter; they heed her command and answer her call as if she had raised them from birth. At this point, a few of them have been, but that's beside the point.

    Lyle grew up on a farm too but he's shit with the animals. He's good with helping cultivate the edible supplies, though. He's not great at it but an extra hand that knows how to preserve things is always a large help. The fact that he has the patience and stamina to make butter is impressive in and of itself.

    Tanner's good at making fabric from the wool. Bella mastered making thread for sewing despite her being just as good of a cook as Anna. She won't listen to anyone but I think Tanner enjoys the company.

    Sam's a fricken compass and has yet to get us horribly lost. Sam's twin Luca is our cartographer and is brilliant at it. We trade duplicated maps at settlements and towns we pass through.

    Cole's started figuring out how to work any metal we find. We still trade a lot of tools but he's good to have around for repairs. He's been able to fix just about everything we have. Well, anything that doesn't require sewing. I'm still not great at that but I'm the only one that knows enough of the 'how' to be able to actually keep up on repairs. Sam and Luca are learning and Tanner's not bad, but their patience never lasts long. I find it soothing.

    It would seem Mark's starting to stir so my watch shift is over. This whole journal thing is weird but I think it would be cool to catalog what's happened.

    Not that I did a good job with this entry. Kind of got talking about those around me.

    Maybe that's a good thing. In this world beyond the Prior and Day Zero, that's all we have. Though I may have to explain -why- we're traveling rather than settling in some town.

    Maybe tomorrow when I'm on watch again. If I can keep my brain from wandering.
     
    Last edited:
  • Index
    • Monthly Writings | February 2020
  • Index
    • February 2020Monthly Writing Prompts
    There is a 100 word minimum to complete the prompt and an alternative 1000 word minimum. I keep with the alternative word minimum.

    New way of doing things this round.

    Be advised:
    It may be interlaced with fandoms.
    It can be spooky or cover dark topics.
    If you find that it needs to have any other sort of warning, please let me know.

    Prompt
    Love is in the air

    The mattress was nothing more than a pad stuffed full of soft things - no springs, no foam, just straw or down or wool - but he still woke her when he got up. He was like clockwork. Even if the sun was obscured by clouds or it was the heart of winter, he was always up at the same time every day. Bright and early to go for a run around the lake.

    She used to join him. She used to be able to get up when he did and feel rested enough to go for the run. She used to be at his level of health, strong and fit, till she wasn't. It had been so gradual, she hadn't even noticed something was wrong till she nearly passed out trying to keep up with him.

    Now she can barely muster enough strength to watch him dress before passing out again.

    He wakes her with a cool hand at the base of her neck under all her hair. His hands are calloused and scarred from a life before all this and the life they've lived so far. She can smell breakfast - meat and bread and other savory things - but it churns her stomach and he knows. He helps her from her stomach on the bed to the chair he had built her when her body started failing her. He leaves her with the bowl of oatmeal. The smell of the brown sugar, milk, and oats doesn't churn her stomach like the smell of his breakfast had. There were fresh berries even and they added a pleasant tang.

    She managed to finish off the bowl but she wasn't sure if that was due to her appetite or him giving her less than normal.

    The days blending weren't helping anything.

    He enters as she finishes, his expression curious yet tinged with concern. To others, he looks annoyed, pissed, but his features are harsh and don't lend well to the pleasanter expressions. Doesn't mean he can't smile or laugh or cry. She's seen every emotion humanly possible out of him since day one. She knew how careful he could be, how stubborn, how pigheaded and rude and loving. He had grown and changed as a person and she knew she was lucky to have seen it.

    He takes the bowl from her as her thoughts wander. He takes it to the kitchen and returns. He doesn't say anything, doesn't look at her differently. He waits patiently as her thoughts come back to the present and she gets herself up.

    His hands come forward as she wavers on her feet. She doesn't push them away. She had done that in the beginning. Now she knew better. She knew that even if she thought she was steady, she could fall, and she didn't want that pain.

    He had seen her in worse states than this and he had stuck around. It had taken her even after a lot of those moments to shove her pride out the window and never look back.

    His hands fall away as she steps past him.

    He's right behind her, following her to the front door. She manages to open it - was she not able to yesterday? She couldn't remember - and steps out into the warm sun.

    It's late spring, meaning the sun's almost up at the same time as he is every morning and is nice and warm by the time she manages to make it to the sunny side of the porch. She settles into the rocker there - he must have moved it after last night; she could remember watching the sun set from the other side of the porch - and watches as he continues off the porch towards the mess a few paces away. He's working on something again. She's not sure what but she's happy he's been enjoying woodworking. The last six years would have been excruciating if he hadn't found an outlet like woodworking.

    She's not sure if the chill of the shade or him stepping up onto the porch wakes her but his gaze meets hers and he offers her a soft smile. He must have thought of something pleasant. Maybe he'll share.

    "Feel up to a walk through town? I need to stop by the general store. I owe Marcus an update."

    His voice is gravelly but not deep like some of the other men from the village - Torren, another woodworker, has a voice so deep, it can be felt in the ribs every time he talked - but it's low, soft spoken, and soothing. She offers a hum in return and starts to get up.

    His arms are strong under her arms as he takes her weight without her speaking up. She goes with it. The rocking chair is nice but getting out of it was impossible now. He stands her on her own two feet but doesn't let go. He can feel the tremors in her muscles as she sags against him. It's easy for her arms to go over his shoulders, head nestled in the nook of her right arm and his head, with him being the shorter one. He barely even shifts as he takes her weight, his hands still on either side of her ribs.

    Steadfast; was another good term for him.

    She shifts and he helps her pull back. The tremors have subsided but she's tired. He can see it. His hand is in her hair again, cupping the side of her head. "You can stay."

    She shakes her head. They've had this discussion before many times. "It'll be good for me."

    He doesn't argue but he also doesn't agree. Instead of saying anything, he helps her back into the house. He's already dressed for the day but she's still in her sleep wear. She manages everything but the pants, socks, and shoes. His hands run over her ankles out of habit rather than concern, always checking to make sure she wasn't injured. She appreciates it.

    He closes the cabin door and leads the way while staying at her side.

    She makes it to the edge of town before his arm his around her waist, holding up her weight again.

    The town is surprisingly festive. Not to say the town isn't normally bustling but there seems to be a different air to it. People seem to be more chatty, clustered in twos or threes more often than individuals. Full families wander through town, children playing, parents conversing, and it isn't till they pass the pastry shop on the way to the general store that she realizes why.

    The chalk sign outside the bakery is covered in swirls and bubbly text. The header? 'Love is in the air'. It was the town's equivalent of Valentine's Day.

    His arm tightened around her. She knows its because he had picked up on her sudden mood change. Not even a half a second after reading the sign does she hear, "It's such a shame she hasn't left him yet. He would do better with a wife that could actually give him a family than be a burden like her."

    "Ignore them," he growls and she can't help but wonder what else he had heard. He could always hear far greater than she could. "They don't know anything."

    She presses her face into his black hair. It was swept back in his favorite style, spiky all over the place and highlighting his deep widow's peak, but it was still soft and gave easily as she escapes the world by using his hair. It smells of him and wood and faintly of the oil he uses to get his hair to stay. "Maybe you should listen."

    It wasn't the first time she had said it but it was certainly the first time in public. His hair guaranteed no one else but him heard it.

    He moves so that they're facing each other and his hands move. Touch was something they both needed but their relationship was nothing like what others assumed. His hands were on her hips keeping her steady as he changed positions. Out of habit her arms went around his neck and he pulled her close. She buried her face in between her arm and his neck as his hold shifted into a massive hug. "I don't care what those idiots think. You have been with me since the beginning and understand far more than any of them can comprehend. I owe you my life and every day we share is precious to me."

    The words are just as passionate and honest as the last seventeen times he's said them. Her arms weakly tighten around the back of his shoulders and he reciprocates. They were each other's family, best friend, partner through it all and that was what mattered. She knew that was what mattered but she knows that the townsfolk are just echoing words she had heard in her previous life. He had given her what she never thought had been possible and he wasn't taking that away any time soon.

    The cooing from the onlookers makes her stomach churn and she feels more than hears his growl. He doesn't so much step back as gently aid her in moving back. The drive to make it to the general store is gone from her and he can see it. She knows he can by the way he takes her left hand into his left hand and how his other arm wraps around her lower back. He takes her weight without comment, without probably even a thought. When they enter the general store, Marcus is helping someone. In a few quick words, the shop owner is stepping away and guiding them to the back. He sits her where Marcus's directs but doesn't leave when Marcus steps back out. His hands are on hers, in her hair. His eyes are meeting her as he inquires, "How long do you want to wait before trying to get back home?"

    She shakes her head. "I don't have a preference."

    He kisses her forehead. "I'll carry you home when we're done then."

    He steps out after Marcus. She lets herself wonder if he'll take the long way home or the direct way home.

    Maybe she'll ask for the long way home. It was through the forest and not near gossipers. That and it was still probably full of spring flowers. It was probably still very pretty through there.

    Yeah, he might like that too.
     
  • Index
    • Monthly Writings | March 2020
  • Index
    • March 2020Monthly Writing Prompts
    There is a 100 word minimum to complete the prompt and an alternative 1000 word minimum. I keep with the alternative word minimum.

    New way of doing things this round.

    Be advised:
    It may be interlaced with fandoms.
    It can be spooky or cover dark topics.
    If you find that it needs to have any other sort of warning, please let me know.

    Prompt
    Conquer your fear!


    • "Verena, get back here!"

      A string of giggles escaped the small tiefling whose tail was nearly as long as they were tall. The tiefling dashed this way and that through the caravan, gigging every time the woman called out for them.

      "Verena!"

      The small body collided with another, causing the other to stumble as the tiefling fell backwards to land on their butt. A shout went up as the person the child had ran into yanked the tiefling back up and out of the way of the cart.

      "Watch where yer playin', ya damn brat!" the driver barked.

      The small body cowered in the protective embrace of a body not much bigger.

      "Soren? What'chya got there?"

      "Don' know, da'," the body holding the tiefling offered. "Ne just ran into me."

      "Verena! There you are!"

      The little tiefling flinched as rough hands pulled nem away from the other and a started cry escaped the little form. "Shush, Verena," came from the parent, chastising. "I'm so sorry Stoick. Is Soren alright?"

      "I'm fine." The little tiefling looked over, meeting the curious gaze of a human child that was barely older than the tiefling child. A small voice in the little tiefling's mind spoke of how the human's eye color was wrong somehow. The human child didn't seem to notice or didn't care as it offered a hand like all the grownups do to strangers. "I'm Soren."

      "Go on, Verena. Shake neir hand like a good boy."

      The tiefling's lavender tail came around, a splotch of pale coloring like a paint splatter discoloring the tip. Said tip pressed into the offered palm and despite the chastising from the adults, Verena thought it was worth it to see the laughter that broke out across Soren's too grown up face.

      "We'll be heading east at Alnrich."

      Verena's tail slowly fell from its perked posture even as he felt Soren's body go tense under him. They were trying to sneak through the caravan as young children do playing whatever game they had made but they had heard Soren's dad and Verena's parents' voices drifting towards them in the night and had gotten curious. Soren had crouched at the back wheel of one of the wagons while Verena clung to his back still smaller than the other.

      Verena buried his face into Soren's hair. It smelled of smoke and earth and held a comfort that made his heart ache at losing. His tail followed his emotions and wrapped securely around Soren's waist. The other rubbed comforting circles into the tail against neir stomach but didn't move.

      "So soon?" Verena's mother asked.

      There was a scoff from his father. "Let them leave if they want, Ilma. It is not our place to convince them to stay."

      A rumble of a chuckle came from Soren's dad. "Soren will most likely fight me. We've stayed too long and ne's grown attached to Verena and the others."

      "Is that such a bad thing?" Verena's mother asked.

      "Whether it is or isn't doesn't change the fact that we have stayed too long. We will part ways at Alnrich."

      "May the tides bring us back together."

      Verena's mother added at the end of his father's words, "And may the winds bring you peace."

      "Thank you, both of you."

      "Hang on tight, Ren."

      Verena jolted as Soren's sudden voice but did as coaxed. Soren dashed away from their parentals and deeper into the trees. They didn't go very far - they were still within the light of the main campfire - but it was far enough that if they didn't talk overly loud, they'd have privacy. Soren pulled at Verena's tail and hand, a silent sign to get down and in front of nem.

      "I don't want you to go," Verena choked out, doing his best to keep his voice down. He pressed his face into Soren's chest and felt himself relaxing at the warmth he always found there.

      Soren's arms, just as warm, wrapped around him. "I don't want to go either but Dad says its important to keep moving until home finds us."

      Verena pulled his face away enough to look up at Soren, making his yellow eyes as big and watery as possible. "But isn't this home?"

      Soren smiled. It was soft and left Verena thinking it was too grown up to be on Soren's face. "I think Dad wants a house that doesn't move, with fields and animals to tend. I don't think he ever wanted to be part of a traveling caravan."

      Verena's arms tightened around Soren; his tail had hooked around Soren's left ankle. "What about you? Where do you wanna be?"

      Soren shrugged. "With Dad. He's all I got left."

      Something bitter and hot shot through him. "But what about me? I'm your family too."

      That grown up face Soren had gotten so good at wearing fell away as hot tears - they hurt when they touched Verena's cooled skin but it was nothing the tiefling couldn't stand - streaked down the other's face. "But I can't leave my Dad. Verena-"

      Something broke inside the little tiefling as whatever was supposed to follow his name was cut off by a vicious sob. Verena pulled at Soren and wrapped himself as best he could around the bigger kid. Soren held on, heat rolling off the other in a way that terrified Verena without him understanding why.

      Stoick was the one that found them like that. The man's bushy face softened at Verena's pleading gaze and welcomed the gentle touch to his head as Stoick's other hand went to Soren's back. "Come on, kiddo. It's bedtime."

      "Don' wanna go," Soren spat out into the mingling of their bodies.

      "I know. But it won't be forever. Just a for now. Ok? You'll see Verena again."

      Something like ice shot through Verena. He knew that wording. He glared at Soren's dad with all his might even as Soren pulled away enough to look up at neir dad. "Promise?"

      Stoick smiled. Verena's hold on Soren tightened. "Promise. Come on, kiddo."

      Every fiber of Verena's being was calling Stoick a liar as he let Soren slip from his grasp.

      "Ren?"

      Yellow eyes snapped away from those he was sitting with to lock onto a pair of eyes on a human face that weren't quite right.

      "Do I know you?" he found himself asking even as the strings bit into his fingers; he was clenching the neck of his lute like it was a lifeline. His vision blurred only to clear when he blinked.

      Why was he crying?

      "Ah, sorry," the human with the off eyes offered. "You looked like an old friend of mine I haven't seen in years."

      "Someone named Ren?"

      The words were past his lips before he could stop them. There was something deep within him that was begging this human to say no, to say-

      "His full name is Verena, but last I had seen him we were nothing but tots."

      He choked on a sob, curling in on himself as his free hand snapped to his mouth. His tail with its pale tip came up and around, like it could add another layer of protection from whatever was pulling at him, drowning him in grief.

      He heard his companions shout his name, knew this stranger knew his name now, but he couldn't face nem, couldn't even look at nem.

      Someone tried to approach him.

      He stumbled out of his chair, the lute slamming into his gut painfully. It didn't stop him from turning and fleeing the inn.

      He didn't expect to find a temple. It looked lively despite the state the temple itself was in. It looked old, probably more ancient than anything else he had ever seen, but where he would normally be drawn in by the possibility of learning its history, he turned away at the thought of interacting with anyone. Instead, he slowly made his way over to the pond while staying within the trees.

      He shouldn't be surprised he had been followed but neither footfall sounded familiar.

      Turned out one of the footfall belonged to the human with the off eyes. Behind nem was one of the human's companions - the one with the interesting staff - but the companion didn't approach like the human did.

      "Can I join you?"

      He turned away, tail wrapping around him on the ground as he did so.

      For a moment, there was silence. He relished in it for as long as it lasted and nearly drifted off before he felt warmth at his back. There wasn't any pressure of a human hand on his back but he knew there was one there, a few inches above his thin shirt. Why had he taken his gear off again?

      "Your hair's longer than I remember." A breath. "But, then, that's to be expected. It has been almost twenty five years."

      He couldn't help the snort that escaped him. "Then how do you know I'm you're friend. I'm probably too young to even have been alive twenty five years ago."

      "Because I remember the pattern of your tail; the paint splatter of pale that colored the tip and stretched up the length of your tail." His tail tightened around him. "Because I remember your laugh even if its deepened from age, I remember how strikingly pale you looked standing next to your parents with lavender skin so soft it seemed almost incomplete with the pale patches." That hand that had been hovering high between his shoulder blades pressed into the back of his neck. "And I remember how small you had been when you first ran into me from among the wagons."

      The hand was unnaturally warm but it pulled at things he couldn't remember. He leaned into the touch as a different sob pulled at him, bitter and sad and tired. "But I can't even remember if I had parents, let alone my childhood." He offered this strange human - so warm and familiar and strange - a tight smile. "How am I supposed to remember who you even are if I don't know who I am?"

      The human smiled gently at him. "Then we'll start anew." The hand left the back of his neck and he swallowed down the urge to whimper. The human offered a hand to shake. "I'm Soren."

      "I'm Soren."

      He looked over, meeting the curious gaze of a human child that was barely older than he was. A small voice in his mind spoke of how the human's eye color was wrong somehow. The human child didn't seem to notice or didn't care with a hand offered like all the grownups do to strangers.

      "Go on, Verena," a voice he couldn't remember but ached from hearing coaxed. "Shake neir hand like a good boy."

      He didn't want to. He didn't trust any of the others of the caravan - the other kids skittered away any time he had wandered too close - so he went with the better option. He brought his tail around, a splotch of pale coloring like a paint splatter discoloring the tip. Said tip pressed into the offered palm and despite the chastising he knew was coming, Verena thought it was worth it to see the laughter that broke out across Soren's too grown up face.

      He sucked in a breath, fumbling away from the strange human even as he realized his tail had moved on its own accord. The pale tip of his tail was stark against the strange human's palm and despite the joy he saw flicker across the strange human's face, he yanked his tail free. He wondered if the glimpse of disappointment was his own reflected back at him as Soren pulled on a mask of patience, hand still extended.

      He swallowed thickly and reached out, giving a firm handshake even as he trembled. "Verena."

      "How long have you been playing?"

      Verena looked up as Soren settled beside him. Their two parties had been traveling together for over two weeks now and this was the first time Soren had sought Verena out when he was alone. Verena shrugged. "Long enough to have it ingrained into every fiber of my being," he offered easily enough. "Still don't remember much of my history despite..."

      The last two weeks - the reasons why the two parties were now tangled and how memories weren't always the most pleasant coming back - went unsaid.

      Soren hummed, as if ne understood.

      They sat at the edge of the camp together, backs to the fire, and Verena suddenly had an inkling of why Soren was there. "I thought Soala was joining me for first watch."

      Soren shrugged. "Apparently Aelfwyne needed her for something so I got volunteered."

      He found himself raising an eyebrow at the other. "Why didn't you say no?"

      Another shrug. "Soala was taking third watch for me in turn so I didn't think much of it till after the fact."

      "Ah."

      Silence stretched between them broken only by Verena's unconscious plucking of the lute strings.

      He nearly jumped out of his skin when an unnaturally warm hand wrapped around the top of the base of his tail. He brought the lute up between them like it was a weapon he could use to beat Soren back but all he was met with was a surprised expression on the other's face. Regret quickly overtook the surprise and Soren pulled back, hand leaving Verena's tail. "Sorry."

      Minutes passed before Verena finally relaxed enough to ask, "Why'd you do that?"

      He gained Soren's gaze. Those off colored pupils regarded him for the brief moment before, "You looked like you needed some warmth."

      "But my tail?"

      Soren looked back to the group. "None of my companions have one so I hadn't really thought it would be any different than touching your shoulder, or arm." There was another shrug. "It was also bare skin. The rest of you is covered in fabric." Verena had taken to wearing his long sleeves but it was more out of keeping Soren's eyes off his markings than anything else. He gained a sigh from his silence. "Look," Soren explained, "I just did. There was no thought to it, no purpose other than wanting to give you some warmth. Figured best way was direct contact and I apologize for my lapse in judgment."

      Soren stood up and started to move away.

      It was then that Verena realized he really had been cold because now the chill of the night was touching him where Soren's warmth had been instead.

      "What are you?"

      His eyes snapped wide at the blurted words, a shiver of something coursing down his spin when Soren stops and half turns to look at him. But instead of the hate or rejection he expected to see, curiosity and patience greeted him from Soren's expression. He was growing to hate the latter. "A fire genasi. Why?"

      "A what?"

      "Fire genasi." Soren approached again but didn't sit. "Half human, half genie. Fire just happens to be the element trait I took on from the world."

      "Would explain why you're always unnaturally warm."

      Soren chuckled. He frowned, not liking the sound. It seemed sad. "I try and keep it as normal as I can manage but sometimes emotions or situations make it difficult."

      His tail patted the spot Soren had been sitting at. "You were keeping the chill of the night away," he explained at Soren's raised eyebrow.

      The fire genasi chuckled and sat back down. Conversation was slow to return but it did, making their watch short.

      "Soren!"

      His voice cracked on the name as fear threatened to choke him. Something brushed against his mind, something that wasn't physical, something he couldn't see nor touch, and as it brushed by it left him feeling like it took something with it but he couldn't think of what.

      "Verena!"

      It was soft, faint, and echoed off the walls like a whisper.

      "Soren!" he screamed again, but he wasn't sure why he was screaming it. What even was it? Was it just a word or did it have meaning? Was it the customary response to 'verena'? What even was 'verena'?

      He gave out a cry that turned into a sob as part of the ledge broke and tumbled into the darkness below. "Someone! Please!" he shouted, fear choking off anything else he may have shouted as he pressed into the wall as best he could.

      "Verena!" His head snapped up and met a pair of eyes that looked off on a human face. Behind the stranger was a gaggle of people of varying races. "Shit," the human spat, the cuss echoed in different ways by those behind nem. "Verena, look at him." He found himself meeting the human's strange eyes. "Verena, I need you to trust me and step off the ledge."

      "What?!" It was strangled and sharp and ricocheted off the walls oddly.

      The human's face twisted into something painful. "Please, Ren," Ren, Ren, Ren, "you have to do this on your own. We can't come out to you."

      "Why not?!" Another chuck of the ledge fell away and his leg slipped over the edge. "I can't!" it was high, reedy, followed quickly by a sob.

      "We can't do this for you, Verena!" the human shouted back, voice strained as weapons were drawn. "Only you can conquer your fear! You're the only one that can get yourself out of its clutches."

      "Soren!"

      The strange human was thrown back by some force he didn't see. The human slammed into a few behind nem but those in the back were able to keep everyone more or less on their feet. One of the companions was already placing hands on the strange human's chest, magic dancing from those nimble fingers.

      Something curled at the edge of his vision like it was about to strike and he knew with absolute certainty that if he let it spring forward, they would all die.

      Whoever they were, they would all die.

      He leapt at it as some noise ripped itself from his throat, magic turning all of his pale, swirling markings green.

      It didn't matter who he was or who they were. He wasn't going to let them die.
     
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  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Two Sides of the Same Coin
  • Index
    • Two Sides of the Same CoinPrompt
    The first words spoken by one's soulmate appearing on the wrist at the age of sixteen.

    Usually a sixteenth birthday was a big deal but how families handled it varied. Some threw parties, some kept it private, but there was always an eagerness to read the first words a soulmate would share.

    But sometimes life makes it hard to keep that kind of thing consistent.

    "You can see him now."

    The doctor's voice pulled his eyes from his wrist. His parents moved with a stuttered urgency. He reached over for his little sister. "Come on," he coaxed the five-year-old. She didn't utter a word as she let him help her gather all her crayons and paper before following after their parents. He knew where they were going even with how overwhelming the hospital was.

    The recovery wing was stagnant compared to the waiting room. He hated it. Entering the room with his little sister's hand in his, he let out a silent sigh of relief as the stagnant of the recovery wing stopped at the door.

    "Grandpa!"

    Her hand slipped from his. She hurried over with that bright grin and calling out for their grandpa a second time. His parents chastised her even as the man on the bed roused. They were scared but his sister knew what he knew; their Grandpa was going to be just fine even with the long recovery.

    "Mark."

    He had settled underneath the window in the morning sunlight when friends and more family had arrived. He had contented himself to watch the different life lines shift and change around him. But his attention was drawn back to the man on the hospital bed in the empty room at the sound of one of his nicknames. An unconscious check told him his mom was taking his sister to the restroom and his dad was still seeing family and friends off. He got up and walked over, hopping up onto the edge of the hospital bed at his Grandpa's beckoning. The old man grinned at him. "Well, let's see it then."

    He blinked, confused. "See what?"

    His Grandpa chuckled. "Your wrist. Don't think for a moment this whole ordeal has made me forget what day it is. You still turned 16 today."

    He recoiled from that, snapping his gaze back towards the window where it was safe.

    A strong, weathered hand wrapped around his left wrist, fingers caressing the one thing he wanted to ignore. "That bad, huh?"

    He didn't fight when his Grandpa pulled his arm up to read.

    "Pathetic," his Grandpa read.

    He flinched.

    "Hey now, we don't know context," his Grandpa reminded him even as his heart ached. "Come now, Marcus. You have to remember that first impressions never go as we would like them to go."

    "I know," he let out, the words heavy with his disappointment and fear. "I just-I was hoping for something more-"

    "Romantic?" his Grandpa guessed. He nodded. "Well, when you find them, you'll have to tell me just how romantic it turned out to be."

    He laughed and was choked by a sob. "You really think it'll be romantic? 'Pathetic'?"

    His Grandpa shrugged, grinning. "I bet it will be something extraordinary for sure. Two sides of the same coin and all that. I'm sure whatever is on your soulmate's wrist will make it all alright. You have a good heart, Marcus, and I believe in it with all of mine."

    "Onyx!"

    "I see them!" he shouted back, already diving into the first floor of a crumpling building. He felt Jade's ability ripple through the structure as he followed the life lines he could see. Over a crumpled wall, through a half blocked doorway, and up a stairwell that had no stairs for two floors before he found the one worse off. "Third floor. Evac out."

    "On it." A different voice. "Show me where."

    He ran to the nearest wall and dragged the marker in a massive 'X' over the wall. He turned away as Jade got to work, returning to the life lines. He went to the one he had found and knelt beside them. The life line was fraying but a new strand was fading into existence. He touched the stranger's shoulder, urging gently, "Hold in there, ok? Help is coming to get you out but I have to go save another."

    The stranger jerked at that and the new strand's opacity stopped, wavering on the edge of fading in or out of existence. He tightened his grip on their shoulder. "You're not going to die," he stated flatly. "When I step away, you are going to be alone for a whole ten seconds. My teammate it making way for the evac team and they will be at your side stabilizing you before you can worry yourself to death." The new strand popped into existence but it wouldn't hold the person there if the original life line frayed completely. It was out of his hands, though. He had done what he could to make sure they had a chance.

    He moved way, catching sight of the evac unit landing at the start of a series of holes Jade had made for them. He moved away from the stranger, stating, "All yours, Garnet."

    "How many more?" echoed from the evac unit and his headset.

    He dipped back into the stairwell. "One more."

    They were hiding in a closet. It was strangely disconcerting but he knelt outside of it, watching the life line. "Hey," he offered gently, "my name's Onyx. I'm with UneTra. I'm here to get you to safety." Not a sound. The life line wavered. "Jade won't be able to support the building for much longer. It would be best if we left now."

    A long pause stretched between him and the closet as the only noise that broke it was from the fighting three blocks away. There was chatter on the channel but he was good at ignoring it.

    The door opened and he smiled, opening his arms to this stranger. "Let's get you to safety."

    The life line suddenly shattered.

    He moved without thinking, years of training shoving him forward and around the stranger. He pulled them up and he got lucky as they clung to him instead of fight him.

    The explosion threw them out the window but the life line had reformed, so that was good.

    Garnet caught him at the height of free fall, dragging them through the air to safety. A second evac appeared and he passed the stranger off.

    Garnet's life line caught his attention mid transfer.

    It didn't even register in his head what he had done till he was falling again, foot towards the sky and head towards the ground; he had kicked Garnet's wing.

    Garnet's life line was starting to fray but it was slow and already there was a new life line solidly there, nothing like the sudden unraveling it had been.

    The attack, however, had caused Garnet to let go.

    Something kept the impact from doing much harm but it still hurt.

    There was a ringing in his ears. It was all he could do to push himself onto his back and crack an eye open. His life line was fraying but the cut end was still very much there so he wasn't overly worried.

    He registered someone was standing over him when they shifted their weight. He couldn't tell who they were. Everything beyond his own life line was still blurry.

    A foot connected with the center of his chest, kicking the air out of his lungs. He was stunned he didn't hear a crack as he gasped for air. He blinked and the world was suddenly crisp around him.

    Above him stood Creed, a supervillain that every Support feared if they were smart. Creed was a top ranked villain and there was a reason.

    All he felt was a weariness and the familiar tug when he saw the cut life line.

    Creed sneered at him. "Pathetic."

    "At least," he gasped out, "I'm not as pathetic as you."

    Strange, those were not the words he had meant to say.

    There was a ruckus from the 15-year-old's bedroom. Seven boys were all laughing and shouting as four of them played some video game. The eighth boy - the 15-year-old now 16 who's room was full of friends playing - was in the bathroom staring at his wrist.

    Ice filled his veins as dread seeped through him. He scrambled to find something to hide the words written on his wrist, ideas of how to keep people from asking rushing through his mind.

    He knew it was all futile.

    One of his friends had found him mid panic. The news quickly drew the other boys and they were as vicious as he expected. His dad wasn't far behind as his mom sent the seven boys home. His dad's reaction was just as painful as every other word that flew out of the man's throat.

    'At least I'm not as pathetic as you.'

    He hated those words. He hated them worse than he hated his parents, than he hated society. At least he was able to hide his abilities as they manifested. Now, ten years after that scrawl had shown up on the inside of his wrist, he was anything but pathetic. Nothing like the weak human beneath his shoe. He sneered when he caught sight of a familiar flicker in the man beneath his boot that he had seen in far too many others he had once tried to help. "Pathetic."

    "At least," the man gasped, "I'm not as pathetic as you."

    Something shot through him so hard and so fast, that he didn't realize he had lifted his boot till it was slamming into the man's chest again as he screamed. He wasn't sure what he had screamed but the man underneath him coughed, wheezed, and met his gaze with one eye barely open against the pain; there were at least two ribs broken now. "Sorry." He blinked. "Not what I-" another cough- "wanted to say."

    "What?" escaped his throat drowning in his bewilderment.

    He was too distracted to notice the bodies that slammed into him.

    The glass was cool against his face as he watched Creed on the other side. The man was pacing back and forth like a caged animal but the life line was what held his attention. Never had he ever questioned what his ability had him do but to spew such awful words to someone whose line had been cut like that?

    But it had worked, and he didn't understand why, for the villain's life line was nice and long again.

    "Onyx?"

    He turned his head, still keeping the one point of contact with the glass he had, to look at the man who had spoken. The speaker had a male and a female companion. "You shouldn't be out of the medical ward."

    "Is everything alright?" the female companion inquired. Her tone carried the same concern that was on all three faces but he was sure the concern wasn't there for the same reasons. "Do we need to put him under a stricter watch?"

    He pulled away from the window. He knew what she was asking about. This wasn't the first time they had found him at the glass. He wondered if he wore the same hollow gaze now or if it was just that common of a reason for his presence. "No." His voice was raw in his throat and he swallowed against a cough. "He's fine now."

    That gained him confused expressions. The male companion clarified, "So his life line had been cut on the field?"

    "But what you said to him..." The man looked to the two companions.

    He wasn't surprised they had heard his strange words. "I want permission to go in and speak with him."

    This gained him suspicious looks. He just looked back at all of them, exhausted. The man glanced at the two companions before giving him a nod. "Five minutes. We'll be recording it."

    He nodded. That was to be expected.

    What he didn't expect was facing a strangely panicked Creed. He felt the other man's abilities wash over them and knew immediately that whatever happened in the room now was going to stay in that room.

    Creed's file was incomplete which meant that the rest of the organization was unprepared if Creed realized it.

    "What do you want," the villain snapped, the length of the table between them.

    He shrugged, eyes never leaving Creed even as his entire torso screamed at him for shrugging. His exhaustion pulled at him more seeing the other man so tightly wound. "A simple answer, really."

    Creed scoffed in his direction. "Oh? And what would that be? Who I really am? What abilities do I have?"

    "What are the words on your wrist?"

    The reaction was immediate and he blinked, surprised to see Creed gripping at a covered wrist with a grip so tight, he was surprised there hadn't been the audible sound of a bone cracking. "Why the f-"

    "Your life line changed." He watched Creed's expression change, how the other's thought process derailed and then kicked back into gear.

    "What do you mean my 'life line changed'? What life line?"

    He fought the urge to shrug again. His body was still screaming at him. "It's my ability. I can tell when and roughly how someone is going to die by their life line. When its frayed, it means I can coax a new life line into place but not guarantee life. Sometimes fraying will happen in the middle of a life line which means that whatever is killing them won't kill them with proper aid. When it shatters, it means the person is about to die suddenly and whether or not it stays shattered depends on what is going to kill the person; I was able to get a shattered life line to reform by pulling them out of the way of immediate danger." His words stalled briefly. "When it's cut, it means someone will take their own life."

    Disbelief was prominent on Creed's face. He was used to that as a first response. "And when exactly did mine change?"

    "After I had said something about not being as pathetic as you." He watched as something clashed on Creed's face that he didn't understand and he shook his head, stepping forward. The one arm not in a sling stretched out to his side. 'Pathetic' was faded on his wrist but still clear enough that he knew Creed could read it as the villain's gaze moved to it. "You said mine first, though."

    He was certain shock had settled in as the villain pulled at the long sleeve hiding the other's words without looking. Creed brought his wrist up slightly higher than his elbow before breaking his gaze from Marcus's word and looking at whatever had been written on the inside of his wrist.

    Marcus watched as the villain just stared.

    "Creed?" The villain's gaze snapped up. There was a heavy pause between them before Creed lowered his wrist and Marcus was able to read the fading text upside down. 'At least I'm not as pathetic as you' stared back at him and he found himself smiling. "I'm glad," he offered truthfully, and he looked up, meeting Creed's bewildered expression. Compared to Creed's life line, his looked pathetic with its cut end. He gestured with his word. "Now I don't have to fret over this anymore."

    "You're not seriously expecting me to suddenly change my ways and love you?" Creed spat as a knock sounded on the door.

    His soft smile grew a bit at that as he shook his head. "No." He started for the door. "Of course not. That would be stupid and impractical. After all..." He wrapped his hand around the door handle and looked back. "You're life line is still far longer than mine and that's on me."

    He opened the door and stepped out, cutting off Creed's shout for him to come back with a click of the door shutting.

    "Everything alright, Onyx?" The man from before. He was without his companions.

    He offered a tired smile. "I should be getting back to the medical ward. Excuse me, Director."

    It was a strange relief when the Director didn't stop him.
     
  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Outside the Window
  • Index
    • Outside the WindowWhat a potential sequel to This is Halloween 2018 Writing Marathon could entail.

    Peter's eldest sees a stranger at the end of the short walk but when he looks, he sees a creature that is very familiar to him. He sends his eldest to rescue his husband from the twins and send said husband his way. But what had happened before the creature's arrival after Peter had taken the hand of a Walker?

    “Hey, dad.” He looked over at his eldest finding their gaze out the dining room window. “Who’s that standing at the end of the walk?”

    His gaze turned to the window over the sink as he automatically reached up and turned the water off.

    Outside the window, the morning was still going strong. What counted as the front yard was illuminated by the streaks of sunlight that made it through the large trees. The street beyond the small yard’s fence was still bustling with morning traffic - both vehicle and foot traffic - but not an eye strayed to stare at the figure standing at the end of the walk at the closed gate.

    He turned, drying off his hands. “Go free your Pa of the twins and send him to me. I’ll go greet our guest.”

    He watched them leave, a tight expression still on their face of apprehension and confusion. He tucked the towel back into place hoping the hints of pain he had seen as well were from a mild headache rather than the pain he had gone through when he had first met one.

    He was pulling on his other shoe when his husband joined him.

    “Polaris said you were going to go see about a stranger at our gate?”

    “Not sure if you’ll be able to see them. Surprise Laris was, honestly.” He paused, gaze on the wall opposite him. “Surprised I hadn’t felt them.”

    “S-Ona?”

    He smiled up at his husband. “Always so quick.”

    The offered hand was warm beneath his and he let his husband pull him to his feet. “Polaris has met M-Ona before.”

    The door handle, in contrast, was cold to the touch. “I had forgotten about that.”

    The air was still crisp and cool despite the hour and the handle added to the note that the night had been cold. The stranger at the gate was watching the trees dance in the light breeze drifting through though their attention was on him when the door opened fully. In a form not even remotely human, he was impressed that not a single eye flickered towards his home. Humans eyes were drawn to what they could not see if conscious enough and he knew there were at least three that weren’t children that would be able to see the creature standing at his gate.

    “Time has passed graciously and kind, Star Ona,” he offered formally as he stepped off the landing that counted as their porch. “What draws one as you to me once more?”

    The large black eyes of the S-Ona narrowed in the equivalent of a human smile. “Can not an old friend say hi, Ilnruk?”

    He tapped the side of his nose with a smile. “No old friend of mine stands before me, Star Ona. Velgrath has long since left this Seer be for many kind years. But you know that as I know that. What brings you here, for I know it is not this Seer you are here to see.”

    The S-Ona’s eyes narrowed even more till they were nothing more than thick dark lines on their pale head. “There yet has been word of such tongues from you, Ilnruk.” The entire creature’s head moved with their gaze. “Will not the child of one be just as quick?”

    He looked beyond his husband to the door, spying his eldest standing in the doorway with the twins. The scowl on the eldest’s face was more annoyance than pain and his smile turned into a grin. The twins darted across the short stretch of sidewalk and plowed into his husband’s legs, tiny hands clinging to fabric as both started talking at once. “Laris,” he spoke out as his husband dealt with their youngests in hushed tones. “Come meet the Star Ona currently giving you a splitting headache.”

    “I wouldn’t call it so much splitting as annoying,” Polaris offered, approaching with a wariness he appreciated. “You’re the one that’s been talking to me, then?”

    “As it would seem,” the S-Ona spoke. He got the distinct impression the mouthless creature was grinning.

    “Then drop the tongues, Arak,” Polaris bit out, “and properly introduce yourself.”

    The S-Ona laughed. and those eyes, though wide, conveyed the grin he could feel. “You’ve certainly raised them right, Ilnruk. And you’ve had a good teacher, too. It’s not often we get Seers that can speak so eloquently that I couldn’t resist.” The S-Ona bowed deeply. “I am Elnarak. Velgrath was a dear companion of mine before the situations with you drew them away. I am glad their impression on you and yours has lasted.”

    Those dark eyes had briefly flickered up to his husband before settling specifically on the twins. They were still talking but their voices were muffled by magic of their own draw. He could see on his husband’s face that it was only one sided, though, and that they were hearing everything quite well. “Velgrath was extremely potent,” he offered, turning his attention back to Elnarak. “I would be surprised if their touch didn’t touch the children of my children in some way, Seers or otherwise.”

    He got the impression that Elnarak was grinning again. “And now it’s my turn,” those dark eyes turned to Polaris, “with them.” Those black eyes were on him again. “But this time the danger ahead is nothing like what you had to be prepared for, Seer.”

    Outside the window lightning lit up the night sky. The pouring rain was streaking the window and blurring the city lights he had missed seeing. The glass itself was cool against his forehead as the rumble of thunder made it tremble. A deep breath fogged up the glass beneath his line of sight.

    A presence he had missed far more pressed in at his back and he pulled his head away from the glass, straightening his posture as two very familiar arms wrapped around his chest. “Are you going to keep the windows up all night?” a voice asked nonchalant in his ear. “I’m sure they can support themselves.”

    A smile pulled at his lips as his gaze focused on where a reflection should be. The lighting was off, obscuring both of their faces. “I apologize, Ezekiel. I had not been paying the time any mind.”

    There was a kiss to his neck. “You’ve been lost in thought for hours, love. It’s now approaching three in the morning and we still have a 9am meeting.”

    He leaned his head back, weight shifting into the sure body behind him. “I had forgotten about that.”

    Another roll of thunder. He wasn’t sure if he was sad or not about missing the lightning that had preceded it.

    “What has your attention so tight, love?” that voice softly coaxed.

    He sighed. “The Walkers were preparing me for something but since I’ve returned to this….” he made a face, “I don’t know, world? I haven’t been able to figure out what. It feels like it should be obvious but even my Sight isn’t helping me. I can’t See anything. Haven’t since I came back.” The arms tightened around him. He wondered if they were in response to the tension in his own body. “And it scares me.”

    “Come to bed, then,” Ezekiel urged. “Please, love. You need sleep. We both do before tomorrow’s meeting. Afterwards I am whisking you away to some beach and we’ll sit and talk about the marriage you promised me three years ago.”

    He chuckled. “I did promise you that, didn’t I.” He turned around in that embrace, snaking his arms around someone he never wanted to let go of again. “To bed with us, then. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

    Outside the window, the rain had turned into a drizzle but the bright morning sun was already above the layer of clouds leaving the view outside gray and wet. It was certainly better than the chaos of the meeting before him. With a solid foot on the table, he rocked on the back two legs of his chair, glaring at the idiots before him. The few that were actually trying to accomplish something were saved from his wrathful gaze and the touch of magic he couldn’t quite wrangle in.

    Ezekiel sat back down with a quiet snarl, glaring at the atrocity of a man at the other end who took Ezekiel’s move as a surrender. Even the uncontrolled touch of his magic did nothing to get the atrocity to fall silent when his glare landed on the man.

    “Lord Talmas, unless you have something of use to say, shut the fuck up.”

    His voice was sharp, cutting through the atrocity’s words with ease. The magic that rolled with his words got everyone’s attention. He stood slower than he would normally, splayed his hands on the table and leaned into them slower than normal. He let the magic around him thicken and weigh heavy on all of them. His glare remained on Lord Talmas at the other end of the table. “We are here for a reason and I am sick and tired of listening to your pompous ass speak as if you’re important.” The man bristled at that and he stood his full - albeit a bit short - height. “Unless you have something of value to contribute to the actual reason this meeting is being held, sit down, shut up, and listen. The only reason you are here is because of your status, Lord Talmas, and I expect you to act your position and not the entitled little brat you’re behaving like.”

    Outrage erupted around him. The thickened magic buried all of them as he sneered at those that had jumped to defend the other man. “You are welcome to leave,” he informed each of them and many of those still seated. “I am not forcing you to stay. However, if you walk out that door, I will make sure that whatever aid we send you takes its sweet ass time getting to each of you specifically. Your people will be fine but you, personally, may perish if you don’t start acting like the leaders you are expected to be. I promise you that.”

    Everyone settled as the magic lifted and he fought the urge to sigh. He turned a softer gaze to Madam Van. “We will be proceeding under the impression that the intel you have received is accurate. I would much rather be prepared than caught not. We’ll have to be careful, though. If we do too much, they may move faster than we can keep up with.”

    He wasn’t sure why Sight warned him, why Sight showed him moments before it happened, but he went from calmed fury to terrified for Ezekiel’s life at the flip of a switch. Without thinking, he spun from the table, grabbed his fiance’s arm and pulled as magic surged at his command. The explosion slammed into what barrier he could swiftly construct and shattered it. He and Ezekiel were thrown to the floor and his head erupted in pain.

    It was like he had become Sight. Everything - past, present, and possible futures - were filling his mind and it was all he could do to keep himself separate from the flashing instances. He witnessed things he knew could happen and witnessed things he prayed never did. There was no point of reference as he watched people he didn’t even know - couldn’t even recognize as a type of being - in a world so unfamiliar deal with horrible or fantastic or breathtaking or heartbreaking things so rapidly over what felt like an eternity - or was it only a few seconds - that he started to forget he was even a person to begin with.

    The pain flared and he cried out but none that he saw heard him, his voice lost in the in betweens, lost to the passage of time, and he felt so isolated. The chaos around him seemed to only get more frantic and he wanted to close his eyes, to block it out, but he had no eyes to close.

    “Come on. Just a bit more, Ilnruk.”

    He was standing. Multiple scenes were happening around him barely an arm’s distance away from him, but he was standing and he had a body again.

    “Good. Good. This is good.”

    The voice echoed about him but it was hard to tell if it was in his head or in the space he was occupying. He looked around despite only seeing different scenes everywhere he looked. “What’s good?!” he shouted back. “Who are you?! What’s going on?!”

    “Introductions when you are more stable. Now, Ilnruk, focus. Work with the Sight. It does not have to control you.”

    “How?” He didn’t care the word carried his desperation. “I don’t even know what’s going on!”

    There was a heavy pause as several thousand, very violent, very horrible things showed around him in rapid succession. “Despite our lack of time, I’ll start you off from the beginning. Breathe deep and slow. Breathe, Ilnruk, and be still.”

    Outside the window, the sky held a spattering of clouds. The sky itself was dark, like the sun was at the edge of the horizon. He knew it was early morning. He knew it was early morning 17 days after he had yanked Ezekiel from harm. He knew what had filled those 17 days for the world but, more importantly, he knew what had transpired in his home and around it. A debilitating headache made it hard for him to even want to move but he moved anyways.

    Ezekiel’s gaze was where he looked for it, meeting that bewildered gaze steadily. He didn’t have to look to see the scarring around the man’s throat, the raw look to his hands, the clothing that was somebody else’s and dirtied with dust, grime, and blood that was and wasn’t his own. Most of it wasn’t his own. He didn’t have to ask to know what his fiance had lived through, what had happened in his absence, and he wasn’t sure if he cared enough to hate that fact at the moment.

    He would later.

    Ah, yeah, he hated it.

    “Peter,” fell off his fiance’s tongue rough and choked. The man was at his side but he was already getting out of bed, hands up and pulling the other man in for a tight embrace he knew the other needed.

    With the other man’s face buried into his neck and shoulder, he looked at the only other figure in the room. “Velgrath. Star Ona are not supposed to be getting involved. You know this.”

    The S-Ona smiled the only way they do. “And yet I am here anyways.” Those black eyes became their normal shape, focused a stare on him that was neutral, expectant. "Welcome back, Ilnruk.“

    "I’m glad to be back.” He meant it. “But now we have work to do.”

    “Velgrath has told me some of what had been happening to you,” Ezekiel offered as he pulled away. “What should I expect?”

    “For this to be chaotic and seemingly hopeless before it works,” he offered truthfully. “If we act now and act quickly, we can get the desired outcome with as little death as possible.” He started for the door. “We have to speak with Brekon first.”

    A hand wrapped around his wrist and he looked back at Ezekiel. “Peter, Warren-”

    “I know.” There wasn’t much time and they were wasting it. He rolled his arm over in the hold and gave Ezekiel’s arm a squeeze. “Do your best not to fight me in what I’m about to do. It will work.” He locked eyes with Velgrath. The S-Ona was waiting already knowing what was about to happen. “The execution of it all will probably be a bit messy.”

    Ezekiel’s expression didn’t lose the worry.

    Outside the window, the summer heat was coming off the patio in waves distorting the view beyond. Soft chatter behind him reminded him of where he was and what he was doing. He turned only to be startled to find Ezekiel barely a step away. The man’s hands were wrapped around his arms as he swayed a bit too far off balance from the mild fright. He offered an embarrassed grin. “Sorry. You startled me,” he offered lamely.

    Ezekiel’s expression was surprisingly controlled as the other man offered him a soft smile. “I noticed. I came over to see if you wanted anything to eat. You barely touched any of your breakfast.”

    He shook his head, hands splaying themselves on Ezekiel’s well dressed chest. “I’m ok for now. Thank you, though.” His gaze went to those in the room.

    Warren and Brekon were on the couch asleep both heavily covered by blankets that hid the serious injuries they had both sustained. Hidden even by bandages were the pale starburst markings of Velgrath’s gift to them both at the cost of the S-Ona’s existence. Pandora was sitting with Madam Van, the young boy he had briefly met an hour ago asleep on her lap. He knew Aiden was somewhere close in the freshly repaired mansion toting around the two little girls and smallest boy that made up the rest of his and Pandora’s little family. Probably the kitchen if Ezekiel’s mention of wanting anything to eat was anything to go by. The three M-Ona were still huddled around his journals for some reason, Pandora and Aiden’s eldest boy smack dab in the middle of the trio wide eyed.

    He didn’t recognize the seven other moving bodies in the room but that was probably fine.

    He looked back at Ezekiel and briefly wondered how long he had been lost in thought. Ezekiel’s touch was still on his arms, gentle and soothing and oh so patient. He smiled up at him. “Sorry. Being without Sight and magic seems to have robbed me of more than I thought.”

    Ezekiel pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I doubt you were robbed of anything but those, love. Come. The others will be joining us soon.”

    Outside the window the snow was drifting through the still night air. He felt Ezekiel shift on the bed behind him but the small body resting against his chest kept him awake at the dead of night. He had to concentrate to get magic to warm the blankets a bit more and he felt both bodies relax again. He returned his attention to the snow and waited.

    Nothing came. No vision of a moment, no impression of events to come, no understanding that he shouldn’t know. Nothing. No voice, no presence, no swell of magic.

    Instead he found the exhaustion that comes with raising a child barely in school and twin babes. He found the quiet hum of magic far softer than the magic he had grown accustom to. He found a peace he had never known had existed till he had everything that had made him who he was ripped away and then shoved back into his arms.

    All but Sight.

    He shifted in the bed, settling the little body against Ezekiel’s chest before curling around the small child and into Ezekiel’s chest himself.

    But that was to be expected. Sight had left all that had possessed it. It would be a long time before it returned to any again like that.

    The little body between him and Ezekiel burrowed deeper into the warmth in its sleep.

    Well, that depended on perspective. To the Ona, it would be a brief pause in Earth’s existence before Sight would be needed again.
     
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  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Playing with Fire
  • Index
    • Playing with FireIt had been years since he had last seen his old friend. In all honesty, he hadn't realized how long till said friend walked into the inn's common space and sat down beside him looking far more male than the gender neutral he remembered from their early years together. What history is there is glossed over as he's coaxed into telling his old friend just what they were about to get into. He hoped that he and his old friend would be enough, though. They couldn't underestimate this city's populous.

    The lute strings sang under his fingers and the words of some song fell from his lips without him being overly aware of what exactly it was he was performing. The common space was full, though, and there were people singing along or chatting happily with companions and strangers so he figured he was in the clear with paying more attention to the people than his music.

    Bodies were constantly moving throughout the space so the figure entering shouldn't have drawn his eye as they had. Many here wore hoods for whatever reason but this figure seemed off to him. None of the other patrons noticed. Heck, the figure cut right through a talking pair and the duo didn't so much as blink at the figure. This way and that the figure weaved and this way and that he tracked their progress till the figure was sitting at the table he had claimed for himself, a pretty metal bowl on the table for tips. It had a decent amount in it. He hoped it was enough to leave him a few gold richer when he paid the owners for putting up with him.

    He let the little gaunt end and the room erupted into cheers. He grinned and tucked the lute away as one of the staff came over bearing a tray of food. He hadn't ordered and he certainly hadn't seen his new companion order anything either.

    "Well played, minstrel," the young dwarf offered, placing the food on the table. Apparently someone was buying him a meal because he had already eaten what he had paid for a few hours ago. "Seems the room took a liking to ya." As if to solidify the point, a few patrons darted in and dropped a few coins into the bowl. He caught sight of the glint of gold and was humbled as much as he was grateful.

    He offered the dwarf a smile. "I have you and yours to thank for that. Let your ma know I'll get the coin separated out and to her before I'm done here."

    The dwarf nodded, offering a quick, "Will do," before heading to the kitchen.

    He turned to his new companion, arching an eyebrow at them. "Meal from you or a different admirer, Soren?"

    The figure smiled, tugging the hood back and away. He belatedly realized the cloak was wet. Must have started raining. "Good to see you too, Verena."

    He grinned. "Hey, I didn't order any of this." Soren chuckled, low and deep. Verena's gaze flickered over the other, taking in the changes the years had done. Vey still had a head of red hair, skin still darker than what he remembered of veir father's, but what softness that had been there making the other's lack of gender obvious wasn't there. "Presenting more male nowadays?"

    The amusement left Soren's expression and he gained a shrug as an answer. "Makes it easier to get by most of the time."

    He frowned, watching as Soren closed off to him. His pulse quickened and for a fleeting moment fear gripped his soul. "Soren." He didn't gain the other's gaze like he had hoped and he reached out, grabbing at their arm. "Soren," he repeated. Those amber brown eyes finally focused on him. "What's wrong? What happened?"

    "A lot. Most of it not good."

    His heart fell at that. "Ah, Soren." He shook his head, removing his touch. "You should have said no when I reached out."

    Soren shook his head in turn. "It's nice remembering what I can of the times before the bad. Besides, it sounded like you really needed the help."

    "I would have asked for help elsewhere but when I had heard of what you've been doing, I had hoped you'd come with company."

    Another shake no. "We were in the middle of serious business that, in the end, turned to being safer that I came alone. I've got ways to reach out to them if we need assistance or when I'm heading back." Soren fixed him with an accusing look. "It hadn't sounded like it would need much force. We're just going after some kid, yeah?"

    "An Aarakocra so age isn't really something we can go off."

    "An Aarakocra."

    His gaze flickered across the room before he nodded towards a patron not far off. "Winged. Looks more like a bird than a human. The winged human two tables to the left is an Aasimar."

    "Hmm." It took a moment for Soren's gaze to return to him. "So we're going after some Aarakocra. Why?"

    Verena leaned back in his chair, cup in hand. "I owe Zerros a favor and his wife's family owns this inn. They had sent this Aarakocra - Artemis, if I'm remembering correctly - off on some courier trip but haven't seen a single feather of him since. He's somehow a friend of the family despite him only having been here because of the caravan he was riding with. Caravan leader is a family friend, apparently."

    "Why send us in and not the city guard or something?"

    Verena arched an eyebrow over the rim of his cup. He let his chair fall back onto four legs as he put the emptier cup down. "You don't know much about the town we're in, do ya?"

    Soren arched an eyebrow. "Wouldn't be asking if I did."

    Verena grinned. "Town's built on the Black Market," he explained, voice low to the point where Soren was forced to lean closer; "quite literally in some areas. Place is an intense maze of buildings and back alleys despite it's small size. Most things are tall because the surrounding lands are extremely fertile for crops and no one wanted to encroach on the farmlands but the number of people coming and staying kept increasing. So, they built skyward."

    "Quite literally how?" Soren asked equally quiet.

    "There's some hidden history here but from what I've overheard, there'd been a city in the area. A massive city. Something had happened that came in and not only killed everyone who lived here but also sank the city beneath a good layer of earth. What remains of that city has created a cavern system that's almost like catacombs beneath our feet and it houses a lot of the Black Market for the surrounding areas."

    "So we're infiltrating this Black Market and freeing an Aarakocra that, what, looks like an eagle?"

    Verena shook his head. "A barn swallow. It's a small blue and copper colored bird with a forked tail. Unusual in these parts from what I've been told. Supposedly Artemis is from the southern continent."

    "Hmm." Soren leaned back, crossing his arms. "When do we leave then?"

    "Do you need to rest?"

    "No. I had camped not too far off so the walk was easy. I'm good to go whenever."

    "Cool. Let's finish eating then and I'll go get my things and drop off what I owe to June."

    Just over an hour later they found themselves beneath the city. Verena's tail was wrapped tightly around Soren's belt only because Soren had warned him about the high possibility of getting burned holding onto veir wrist. They were standing in the shadows of a tunnel that crossed the one they needed but there were people there talking. Verena crouched closer to the ground as the voices got louder, Soren pulling back to as far as Verena's tail could reach before following suit.

    The duo they had been waiting on walked by without even noticing too caught up in their conversation. Verena didn't recognize the language and he didn't ask if Soren did.

    Deeper into the maze they went, finding that it wasn't just one level when the floor caved in under Soren's feet. Verena was yanked in after vem. They came across stairs that led another level down.

    An unusually warm hand gripped at his tail and he froze, suddenly alert, but the only thing that happened was Soren getting close and whispering into his ear, "Next left. Should lead us somewhere." He frowned back at Soren, who shrugged. "I'm running off of a hunch of what I remember of the upper levels. Just go with it."

    Verena raised both eyebrows at that but followed Soren's words. He took the next left and followed it, keeping straight when Soren made no move to correct his direction.

    Somewhere was right. Verena found the tunnel ending at a door and the amount of noise coming from beyond it proved Soren's statement lacking. With a quick glance back at his companion, Verena opened the door enough to see.

    The room beyond was massive compared to what they had been traveling through. The room itself was two levels high and the noise beyond didn't echo horribly like it should have. Crates, cages, and containers filled the space of varying sizes. Bodies were moving everywhere, whether it was moving freight about or simply walking through. A few bodies were stagnant here and there but attentions were nowhere near the door he and Soren were at.

    "Damn," Soren hissed, as Verena closed the door. "Ideas?"

    "One. But I don't know how useful it'll be."

    "Try me."

    He started digging through his pack. "I know a spell, concentration based that I can hold for about ten minutes. Let's me see and hear what's going on around the target. Only," he pulled out a copper tinged down feather and tucked it into his braid for safe keeping before he went back to digging, "I haven't had the chance to get a focus for it yet."

    "What kind of focus?"

    He looked up at Soren, "A crystal ball or a silver mirror, the expensive kind. Like, at least 1,000 gold pieces expensive kind." He went digging again. "A holy water font would work too but I have neither a font nor that amount of holy water."

    A water skin bumped his arm and he stared at it, bewildered, before looking up at Soren again. The other shrugged. "Endless supply of holy water. A gift from a friend blessed by Silvanus and enchanted by the Fae Queen. There's only one other like it and I am to return this to said friend as soon as I'm heading back to my company."

    His hands wrapped around the water skin in shock. Standing abruptly, he uncapped the water skin and pressed the opening against the palm of his hand. He flipped the whole thing over and let magic do the rest.

    The change in perspective was jarring but he had sight of a small Aarakocra with a coppery toned off white chest, blue feathers rich around the copper red feathers of the face and throat. The stout wings and deep forked tail were black from the underside. He bristled at how the small being was strung out, stout wings flat and open wide against the bars of some cage, tail clamped open. Nothing appeared clipped yet, which was a blessing in its own right, but it was clear there had been some rough treatment already.

    He shuddered feeling Soren's hand on his tail and it took him a second to get both sensory inputs to agree. It turned into where his focus went, like one was a window with a scene and the other was the stage performance before him. The sounds stayed. Soren's expression was worried as he met veir gaze. "I'm ok. I can split it, be here and there but I have to focus to see one or the other. The sounds will blend but I can keep quiet. I can move. The spell will follow Artemis if he's moved."

    Soren nodded. "What do you see?"

    Verena turned his focus back to Artemis and looked around. "Cage with thick bars. I can see through them, see the room beyond. I'm trying to see if there's anything significant in the area I can use to get us there."

    The perspective was horrible and even when he moved the spell to the edge of the spell's tether, he still couldn't make anything significant out.

    The roar made him jump but it was faint when he came back to Soren, eyes wide as adrenaline shot through him. "Artemis is in a cage close to that sound. We'll have to just run in and head for it. I should recognize the area when we get close enough but I don't have anything else to lead us with."

    "Stay close then."

    Another roar tore through the space as Soren opened the door. What had been a room of organized and calm action was now utter chaos. There were bodies running all over the place, creatures throwing their voices to the noise of the space, and Verena stumbled after Soren when the other took off at a run. For a moment, his heart leapt into his throat. Someone was bound to stop them.

    But Soren was running straight towards the roars, body thrumming with determination so potent, Verena could make it out from behind him and he realized what Soren was doing. No one was going to bother them as long as he followed Soren's silent lead.

    He cut the spell when he gained sight of Soren from the cage's perspective. He overtook Soren, coming to the edge of the cage as another roar erupted into the space. They were at the back wall of the large space but there was an open doorway next to Artemis's cage. Beyond it was a short hallway or tunnel that opened into a different space. He could make out the flicker of firelight.

    "A dragon," Soren spoke for him. He met Soren's amber brown eyes and the other grinned at him. "No better distraction than their own merchandise. How good are you with locks?"

    Verena blinked. "Depends. Am I trying to be stealthy?" Soren gave him a bewildered look and he rushed, "I know a spell - Knock. It's well named as it gives off a very loud knock sound when it unlocks something. I've got enough magic to use it on all of Artemis's bindings and cage but it won't be stealthy."

    Another roar drew both their gazes and Verena caught the mischievous grin out of the corner of his eye. "Time it with the roars. We should be fine."

    Verena moved into place, asking, "And if the roars stop?"

    Soren's right hand ignited. "I can make sure they don't."

    Verena sent him a worried look. A roar ripped through the space and he almost missed the chance. The cage door unlocked as a loud knock blended with the roar. Verena's heart was in his throat. "Soren, I don't think that's a good idea. We're already in the pan. No need to go playing with the fire, too."

    Soren laughed. "Ren, playing with fire is in my blood. It's who and what I am." Another loud roar, another knock as the lock on Artemis's tail came undone. The Aarakocra didn't even twitch from any of the sounds around him. "Just get the kid to safety."

    Soren took off down the hallway at a quick pace. Verena's tail flicked anxiously behind him, waiting. Four- no, five more locks and they could leave. He just hoped Soren could get either long enough roars or the right number for him to get Artemis out of there.

    Screams suddenly echoed down the hallway but the bellowed roar was far louder and he managed two locks with the two loud knocks within it. His heart clenched. "Please be careful, Soren," he muttered to himself, hands running over the Aarakocra looking for injuries as he waited for the next roar. "I don't want to exchange your life for his."

    Another roar, only one lock.

    "It wouldn't be fair."
     
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  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Something begins, Something ends
  • Index
    • Something begins, Something endsThe last box was taped and taken by the movers. Now she was left to say goodbye to the one soul she really didn't want to leave behind.

    Movement. Bodies. Everything was organized chaos. Chatter filled the home, echoes of laughter chasing the minutes that ticked by. Heavy feet trudged paths into every room, to every corner of the home, back and forth, back and forth. The packaging tape unraveling, boxes being dragged, and the crinkling of paper filled the room as she kept working, matching the tempo of the rest of the bodies in the home as best she could.

    “Last one?” someone asked, a pair of feet stopped a respectful distance away as she taped the flaps shut.

    “Yeah. All yours,” she confirmed, standing and moving back.

    The person picked the box up and left, leaving her to register the question fully.

    The room was bare save for the old furniture being left behind; any signs that there had been anything more were few and hard to see. The noises in the home quieted, mimicking the silence of her own thoughts as she stood there staring into space..

    “You alright?”

    She looked towards the familiar voice and smiled. “Yeah. Just thinking. Kind of.” Her gaze drifted around the room again. “I keep expecting this to start feeling weird but,” she focused back on him, the smile returning, “I guess it really is time for me to move out.”

    “Is that supposed to feel weird?”

    She grinned at that. “Probably not but I keep expecting it to feel like it. Don’t get me wrong. It’s weird to think this is the last time I’ll be in this room but there’s not the…dreamlike sensation that I keep thinking should be associated with it. I lived here for so long and so much has happened and yet it seems oddly easy to finally leave it all behind.”

    He finally entered the room, chuckling as she sat on the bed. “You know,” he offered, perching on the bed next to her, “they say that when something begins, something ends; an equivalent exchange of sorts.” He met her curious gaze. “Maybe it doesn’t feel weird because this is what is supposed to happen. There’s nothing left for you here and so much more waiting for you there.”

    “You’re still here,” she pointed out, the words coming out edging on a whisper.

    He chuckled again. “Well, yes, but that can’t be helped.”

    “Come with me?” she tried one last time.

    She held his gaze when he looked at her again; his gaze was sorrowful but determined. “You know I can’t. It’ll be better if I stayed here. That way they can’t follow you there.”

    She accepted his words. After all, they had spent long enough arguing about it that she had been expecting the answer. Didn’t hurt to try, at least. “Will you be ok?”

    He nodded. “I’ll leave as soon as you’re clear of the state.” He looked out the window. “Speaking of: the movers are gone and you have a plane to go catch.” He stood up. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the door.”

    “Beckett.” He stilled at the door, looking back. She stood at the edge of the bed, a hand clasped around her necklace. “You’ll protect the next family, right? No more deaths?”

    He offered her an encouraging smile. “No more deaths,” he assured her. “Mine will be the last one caused by their hands.”

    She searched his face looking for anything that would tell her he was lying. A determined look crossed her face and she pulled the necklace off.

    He took a startled step towards her, reaching out. “Brittney-”

    She smiled at him. “I still hate that name, you know.” His hand lowered back to his side as she held the necklace tight. “I want to leave this behind just in case. So that you have something to help you protect the next family.”

    He shook his head. “You don’t-”

    “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” She stepped around him, through the hall, and down the stairs to the front door. There was a small trash pile by the door and the breath mints tin was still there. With quick hands, she wrapped the necklace in a strip of fabric from the pile of trash before tucking it into the tin. She then wrapped the tin in a chunk of torn cling wrap. Getting to her feet, she opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony. The air smelled of rain. She hurried down the steps and hooked around the right railing into the flowerbed. It looked far more welcoming than it had when her mom had first bought the place. She reached to the middle of the dirt patch under the stairs and made a hole as deep as her hand could reach. The tin made a faint plopping sound at the bottom of her crude hole and she put the dirt back, packing it back in as best she could at the odd angle. She brushed her hands off on her pants as she returned to the walk, looking at the door. He was standing there watching her with curious eyes. She grinned at him. “Now you can tell them where it is if they need it.”

    “And if I’m no longer here?”

    She shrugged. “Then it’ll help protect the house.” She stopped at the door. He hadn’t moved away and she had yet to treat him as anything other than another person. “Beckett, I need my bag.”

    He sighed heavily. “I know but you’re vulnerable now.”

    She reached out and despite the fact that her hand went through his, she knew the intent was perceived. “I’ll be just fine. You’re more than enough to keep them back now.”

    His expression spoke loudly of how much he didn’t like this but he did step back.

    She didn’t miss the fact that his hand briefly gained some semblance of solid as he took a hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Be quick.”

    She crossed the ten feet to her bag and jacket and was back out the door before she could take a second breath. His hand slipped from hers at the door and she turned to face him again. She could barely make out the stairs through him now. “That should be everything.”

    He smiled at her. “I hope life is kind to you, Bree.”

    “And may the afterlife be kind to you, Beckett.” She slung her bag onto her shoulder and walked down the steps. She didn’t look back till she was on the sidewalk outside of the home’s property. She was saddened to see the front door closed and the house looking empty. Beckett was nowhere to be seen.

    She turned and started for the bus station. She had faith that Beckett would be fine but she had hoped to see him one last time before leaving him behind for good. Hopefully he wouldn’t be tied to the house for much longer, too.
     
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  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Bittersweet
  • Index
    • BittersweetDeath can't be avoided but love can. When Garlock falls in battle, Soren finally says the words he should have said months ago.

    They shouldn’t have split up. They should have stayed with the rest of the group or been more prepared. They should have been-

    The last body thudded against the ground unmoving and for a moment Soren stood there in a fighting stance panting. Everything hurt, exhaustion made his body feel like it was made of lead, and the fact that he was still on his feet was a miracle he wasn’t going to question. But a wet cough from behind him shot movement back through his body and the borrowed sword clattered to the ground as he ran back to his companion.

    “Garlock,” came out choked and pained as he knelt on scraped knees. His hands shook as he pressed against the massive wound bleeding Garlock dry. He gained a low moan but very little else from the orc. Tears stung the back of his eyes and blurred his vision. The fight had been too long, had drained him of every drop of magic. Now he was left to watch the other die. “Come on. Don’t die on me. Hilde’ll be here soon.”

    Why hadn’t he saved enough magic for one last spell? He had taken on the spell just in case - he even had the materials for it - but without magic, the materials were nothing but dead weight in his bag.

    Another wet cough but this time one of those emerald eyes opened enough to look at him. The corner of Garlock’s mouth ticked up. Soren couldn’t tell if it was a grimace or an attempt to smile. “Don’t think…I have much choice, Soren,” Garlock whispered, voice raw and words weak lacking any real air to support them. A wet cough stole more of his strength. It took far too long for that emerald eye to open again. “You’ll tell…you’ll tell her I’m sorry…won’t you? That I…I waited…as best I could.”

    The sob tore itself from his chest. He choked on it, denying it as he shook his head. Tears streaked down his face but he didn’t notice. “You’ll tell her yourself, you idiot. She’ll be here in time. You’re going to be fine.”

    Lies. Every word. And they both knew it. They had strayed too far.

    A grimy hand pressed against the side of his head, his cheek, and he pinned it there with one covered in the other’s blood as another sob escaped him. “Hey,” Garlock croaked. Soren could hear the struggle when Garlock pulled a breath in. He hated it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t….couldn’t be strong enough…to wait for you, too.”

    “No,” escaped his chest, overtaking the sob that had wanted to escape instead.

    “That I…wasn’t strong enough to…to stay by your side…love.”

    The hand went lax in his grip and he shook his head violently. He pressed the hand into his shoulder, pinning it there. “Don’t apologize for that! I should’ve-” he choked on the words- “I should have told you, should have gotten off that damn fence and finally told you I love you.” He couldn’t see the other through the tears any more but Garlock’s fingers curled slightly, some of the strength returning. “I should have told you months ago and I-” Sobs stole his ability to speak and he curled forward, pressing his forehead against Garlock’s shoulder.

    The hand he had pinned to his shoulder moved into his hair, fingers quaking as they carded through the filthy strands. “Hey…it’s ok.”

    Soren jerked back but pain flared in his back from some wound he had forgotten about. It kept him close as he glared through the tears. “No it’s not! I led you on with the hope that someday I’d say it back and I never did! Not until I couldn’t say it a thousand times for the rest of eternity.” The words died on his tongue. The sobs took their place.

    “Oh, love,” Garlock sighed. There was slight pressure from Garlock’s hand and Soren rested his forehead against the other’s. “You could…still tell me now.”

    No matter how weak those words had been, he heard the joy, the teasing, and the chuckle tangled with the next sob. He blinked his vision clear enough to meet Garlock’s gaze as the amusement and amazement cut through the sorrow. It didn’t stop the tears but it brought a watery smile to his face. “I love you,” he offered, pouring his heart into every word. “I love you so much, Garlock.”

    Garlock smiled up at him but the hand at the back of Soren’s head lost its strength. “I’m so happy.” Soren lowered the hand to Garlock’s chest. His tears mingled with Garlock’s on the orc’s cheeks. “I love you too, Soren.” Soren pulled back as another cough tore at Garlock. When the orc settled, that emerald eye didn’t open. Every breath got weaker, rattling and wheezing in and out. “Loved you both.” More tears raced down Garlock’s cheeks. “Bittersweet…as it was.”

    It was like a blow to the chest he couldn’t breathe through. “I’m so sorry, Garlock,” he urged, touching the other’s face, wiping away the tears.

    “Love…you,” cut through before he could keep going.

    “I love you too,” he offered around a strangled sob, pressing a kiss to Garlock’s lips. “I love you.” A kiss to a cheek. “I love you.”

    The chest beneath him stilled.

    He was fairly certain he had screamed. His throat certainly ached and his chest was tight like he had wailed for a long time after but he couldn’t remember as the sound of hurried footfall pulled him out of the exhausted dozing he had fallen into.

    He had managed to get himself sitting before a body collided with him, though it probably only felt like it due to how tired he was and the amount of pain that flared from the contact. The smell of herbs, wood, and a hint of electricity filled his senses and he clung to Hilde, a fresh wave of sobs overtaking him. An oddly detached thought questioned why she was clinging to him and not trying to save Garlock. He knew it would have been wasted but she wouldn’t know that.

    Maybe she did because her hands were firm against him and warm with healing magic. Maybe she did because her voice wavered as she tried to get him to talk, to tell her what had happened as she tended to his wounds. Maybe she did because when she couldn’t do anything more, she clung to him just as desperately, sobbing just as hard for whatever few minutes they had left before they had to move on.
     
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  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | A Force to be Reckoned With
  • Index
    • A Force to be Reckoned WithSometimes the past comes back to haunt you in person. Caught unaware but among friends, Soren is pinned down by the neck by a man he could have sworn he would never see again. But as his friends move to his aid, Soren can't let his past harm his future.

    Alok stood abruptly first but it was only by half a second. Aelfwyne stood with him, both reaching for daggers with different degrees of confusion and some form of anger on their faces as they glared down something over Soren's head. There were words on their lips, warnings, but whatever they had seen moved too quickly, or they were just too slow to react.

    Soren sat up straight, Garlock's arm falling from around him but that was all the reaction he was permitted. A searing pain flared at the back of his neck as he was forcibly shoved into the table and pinned to the wood by a hand full of ice magic.

    If he cried out in pain or in fear, he was deaf to it.

    Memories - buried, horrible memories - resurfaced with a vengeance and for one horrifying moment he wondered if the last three years had all been some twisted farce because there was no way - none, not a chance; it couldn't-shouldn't be him, there was no way it was him - it was the man he knew had just pinned him to the table by the back of his neck.

    But just as suddenly as the hand had appeared, it vanished and he looked back in time to see Hilde follow through with a punch she had connected with the man's - no, why, please - face. Surprisingly, though, the man slammed into his people, a cry of pain escaping as the man recoiled from the hit. The man gingerly touched what was most likely a broken nose, blood steaming down his face. The rage that filled the man's eyes, though, got turned onto the wrong person.

    Hilde was standing between Soren and the man, feet planted and staff in hand. The other hand - the one she had connected with the man’s face - was shaken out, as if her hand stung from the blow. But even if he trusted her to hold her own - be it magic or melee - he didn’t dare let the man try.

    "Submit!" Soren Commanded, the spell slamming into the man still nursing a bleeding nose. Soren found himself braced against an arm and realized Garlock had put a protective arm across his chest. He couldn't remember grabbing at it, let alone pressing against it in his attempt to get to Hilde, to put himself between her and that man. Soren vaguely registered he was quaking against Garlock's arm.

    Said man snarled against the spell, turning that anger on Soren. Soren increased the spell's strength and repeated the Command, though this time the word lacked the frantic energy that had bolstered the last one. "Submit," rolled off his tongue as the magic wrapped around his target. The man briefly lost his rage and sank to his knees, as did two of his persons. He sucked in a breath before confirming what he guessed Garlock and Hilde were probably suspecting. "Cyrus."

    The spell was fleeting, relinquishing its hold as soon as the command was met. But where Cyrus's two people returned to their feet, Cyrus remained on his knees. The man grinned at him. "Soren." The man all but purred his name and he suppressed the shudder as best he could. "How has life been since you ran away?" The glint in the man's gaze was the only warning he got. "Has my genasi been happily spreading its legs for its new Master?"

    There was a surge of movement around him and a different panic filled him. "No!" escaped his throat just as severe as any Command but there was no magic behind it. Regardless, those that had surged forward to defend him stilled. Hilde was still firmly planted between him and Cyrus, unmoving and clearly ready for a fight but he did gain her gaze, though it was partial and over her shoulder.

    Cyrus laughed. Soren was unable to hide the shudder that raced through him. “Well, well,” Cyrus drawled, amused as he slowly got to his feet. The grin that stretched across the man’s face was not kind. “Looks like you’ve found yourself quite the company, genasi. Did you buy them or did they buy you? I doubt it was anything mutual.”

    It was Hilde’s voice that answered, unnaturally calm with the given situation. "No one needs to be bought in order to find better company." Hilde's eyes narrowed as she turned back to Cyrus. "And last time I checked, he isn't yours."

    "He belongs to no one," Garlock pitched in, voice low and threatening. Pinned to Garlock's front had the orc's voice vibrating through his back and it soothed the edges of the painful memories. Soren closed his eyes and worked to get himself back under control. "And you will never have him again."

    Cyrus gave a bark of a laugh and a cold rage started to replace the panic and fear. "You think you lot are enough to keep it out of my grasp?

    He opened his eyes finally in a mindset he wished he had ended up in when Cyrus had first grabbed him. Calmer and annoyed, Soren took a step forward. Garlock’s arm tightened around him but he gave the orc a soft smile and a softer, “I’m alright. I’m just going to talk with him.”

    “Please,” Cyrus drawled. “I've easily dealt with threats for things far more valuable. That genasi is nothing more than unfinished business and you will not keep it from me."

    Garlock frowned, the anger and concern warring on the other’s face. For half a second he expected Garlock to fight him, to tell him no and keep him pinned there, but Garlock’s arm fell away and Soren was left a pace ahead of Garlock.

    When he approached Hilde’s side, he was not surprised to hear Garlock stepping up behind the both of them.

    “Enough, Cyrus. What do you want?”

    Cyrus sneered at him. “Really? You have to ask.”

    He raised an eyebrow at that. “I highly doubt one measly genasi held your interested enough to chase after, unfinished business aside.” He caught Hilde shifting beside him and he wondered if it was due to his phrasing. Not that he was going to be overly kind for this conversation. “We’re a dime a dozen according to you.”

    “A dime a-you were going to go for more than any whore I sold!” Cyrus spat, taking a step forward and pointing a finger at Soren. Hilde and Garlock impressed Soren by staying in place but even he could tell that it had been a fight to do so. “A fire genasi like you, burned and far more human than the others was an oddity - an interest point for a number of sellers. Your ability to shift between male and female so easily made you especially tantalizing.”

    Soren scoffed at that, waving the comment off. “Any genasi can do that.”

    “Over a few months and with some difficulty,” Cyrus corrected, the words arrogant, like he had the upper hand again, “but you could do it in less than an hour with apparent ease. And that makes you as rare as they come.” There was a laugh in the following words. “You truly do not know how valuable you are, how rare you are, which makes you a prized possession on the auction block.”

    Soren glanced at his companions, curious. Most were glaring at Cyrus or the man’s goons, but when they caught his gaze, they acknowledged him. Alok and Soala gave a stoic nod, Aelfwyne gained a grin full of bloody promises, and Rava smiled from around her drawn bow, giving a sharp nod. Hilde and Garlock’s expressions were serious but both reached out; Hilde gave his hand a squeeze and Garlock placed a hand on his shoulder. None of them were letting Cyrus take him anywhere.

    Soren returned his attention to Cyrus. He shrugged. “Well, unfortunately for you, I’m not one of your slaves to sell.”

    “Do not test me, genasi. I trained you to submit to me and I know that training is still there.”

    Soren returned the man’s glare with a dark look. “Oh, the training’s still there, but that doesn’t mean you can control me with it.”

    Cyrus gave another bark of a laugh. “Want to bet?”

    A vicious grin stretched across his face. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Cyrus.” The man’s name came off softer yet heavily emphasized. If the man didn’t take this seriously, it wasn’t on Soren. “I am stronger and far more capable than I had been the last time you had seen me and my companions are a force to be reckoned with. You try and follow through with your desire, you will not leave here alive.”

    Not that the man would remain alive for long. Soren wanted him dead if for nothing more than the assurance that Cyrus couldn’t sell anymore people.

    Unfortunately - or fortunately - Cyrus hadn’t changed and pulled a nasty looking scimitar in response. Soren sighed. He chuckled, shaking his head. With a smirk at Cyrus, he offered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

    A well aimed arrow shot past Hilde’s head, embedding itself into Cyrus’s shoulder. A second arrow came from Soren’s left - Alok must have pulled his own bow - and as that arrow took out one of Cyrus’s goons, two very pissed displacer beasts materialized. A growl from behind spoke of a Grim coming out to play as well.

    Soren was certain this was the first time true fear showed itself on Cyrus’s face, even if it was just for a second.
     
    Last edited:
  • Index
    • Prompt and Assorted | Springtime Joy
  • Index
    • Springtime JoyHe could live for another thousand of her kind's generations and he would probably still be thinking of her. She had changed his perspective and while there may have been a time he resented that, he couldn't dream of ever relinquishing the gift she had given him. If only his kind wasn't as long lived as it was. Then maybe he could help them be better than her kind.

    He turned his face towards the still rising star, closing his eyes so that he could focus on the warmth he could feel on his face. Where the darker material of his body absorbed the heat greedily, the material of his head warmed slowly from the sun’s touch.

    “What are you doing.”

    Amusement filled him at the disapproving tone of the other. He had grown used to driving them all crazy with the habits he had picked up from her and found he enjoyed it more and more as time went on. His kind were certainly stubborn and deserved all the discomfort he could allot them.

    “Enjoying the sunlight,” he offered pleasantly, eyes still closed and face still towards the sun. The smile was very apparent in his voice, though. “Yourself?”

    A hand pushed at the base of his head, forcing it over. “Stop that. You are not human.”

    He let his head move with the force, unperturbed by it. He simply kept his head aloft, letting it roll completely over before pulling it back to center over his neck, the face pointed at the sun once more. He had yet to open his eyes. “Never said I was,” he returned cordially. He did open one eye at the other, letting his cheekiness be very apparent. “You and the others keep insisting as if I’ve fully revoked what I am and have become one of them.”

    “Your behaviors say you have.”

    He huffed, though it was a mimic of the sound and motion since he had no lungs to compress and no nose to make the noise with. He closed his eye and returned to feeling the sun on his face. “My behaviors are nothing more than idle things you all should try at some point. Humans have the most interesting behaviors.”

    “And you’ve partaken in every single one.”

    It was an accusation dripping with derision. He laughed. “Oh, not at all,” he offered, finally turning his face towards the other and opening his eyes. A part of him was disappointed he had no mouth for he was certain he would be grinning at the other. It certainly felt like how she described it would feel to want to grin, to show just how vindictive one can be by baring teeth. “I lack a number of the organs to try many of their behaviors.” He straightened himself out, properly facing the other. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried what I can.” His gaze drifted over what counted as the other’s shoulder. Unlike him, many had refused to take on anything that could be counted as humanoid. He was unsurprised to see the movement that had drawn his attention was someone of importance. “Are you here for a reason, Commander Durnranth?” he asked, focusing back on the other. “Or are you here to simply kill time by harassing me.”

    “Are you harassing Ambassador Rejak again, Commander Durnranth?” The voice was light, airy. She had said that it reminded her of a young girl which she had then explained made the owner of the voice all that more of a threat to humankind; no grown male adult ever wanted to be commanded by a child. Unfortunately for the human race, his kind did not do gender and age was a novelty very few held any value to, let alone to such standards as to consider it any form of ranking. Highest Jur was Highest for a reason, their vocal choice and apparent ‘age’ never questioned. Each of his kind held their place for a reason and while that place may change over time, he was lucky enough to be in Highest Jur’s favor even after everything he had done. “You know what happens when you pick on my favored, Commander Durnranth.”

    Commander Durnranth gave the equivalent of a bow. He noted offhandedly for not the first time and certainly not the last that since he started paying attention to human behaviors and mannerisms, comparing the two had become habitual. To watch Durnranth’s form bend in a fashion he was familiar with only to note how differently it was for humans for the same term was both amusing and tiring. He doubted that he would ever be able to stop doing such a thing.

    “Rejak.” Highest Jur’s voice had settled into an alto, almost tenor range and he realized that it was just him and Highest Jur. Commander Durnranth and Highest Jur’s escort had vacated the area. He was fairly certain this was not the first attempt at getting his attention. “Is everything alright.”

    “Of course, Highest Jur,” he assured them, amusement and gratitude coloring his tone. “Just lost in thought as of late.”

    “Missing the Little Miss.”

    He chuckled. He had forgotten that Highest Jur had latched onto that nickname after Obith had called her that once. She had put a stop to it immediately but it seemed she never broke Highest Jur of it. “Yes. Missing Bethany.”

    Highest Jur simply looked at him for a moment before they turned their body, gesturing with what equated as a hand for them. “Accompany me, Rejak.”

    He fell into step beside Highest Jur without a thought, his feet barely leaving an impression in the grass. Highest Jur - like most of their kind - simply floated over the grass. Unlike him, Highest Jur was holding the material that created their form in a shape that was most definitely not humanoid but was very recognizable for any of his kind. The shape had no “legs” but there was a very apparent “head”. After that, the only other distinguishable thing humans seemed to care about were the “hands” and even then the appendages couldn’t truly be called “hands”. Still, she had grown accustom to his kind’s ability to mold their forms and it seemed the rest of her kind was adapting to that notion as well, though a lot of them far slower than she had.

    They traveled the grounds in silence for some time but he didn’t mind. It allowed his gaze - and his thoughts - to wander the fields and structures. This particular area didn’t house very many humans but the fields were tended to by human hands and with the day still young and cool, the field was alive with movement.

    Content and joy filled him as he watched a spattering of children run around playing some game. There were a few older children working too but most of the workers were adults. He remembered the short time where the humans had worked far harder to tend to their tasks than they did now. To the humans, it had been a good two or three generations worth of time but it had been enough for the humans to accept the knowledge that he and his kind were not there to rule them to breaking point. He had worked very hard to make sure that hadn’t happened.

    And so had Beth.

    He caught broken pieces of their language as he and Highest Jur passed. The adults were working, sure, but they talked and laughed and took their time. His favorite time was when the whole field would erupt into some song. He could hear the faint start of one but it didn’t sound like any that had covered the fields before.

    “They are interesting beings.” He looked to Highest Jur, curious. Highest Jur, for their part, was looking at a trio of humans not far off. The trio were working in the ditch; from what he could tell, they were digging but for what task, he didn’t know. “Resilient. Forgiving. Patient.”

    “Very much as we are,” he offered, though he wasn’t sure if that had been Highest Jur’s intent.

    Highest Jur’s eyes fell upon him and he could make out the amusement and pride in the way their eyes were shaped. “Which is why I have been supporting you in your endeavor.” Highest Jur started along some path he couldn’t see and he realized that he had stopped at some point and Highest Jur had stopped with him. He fell back into step beside them. “I am glad it has not been wasted, even at the cries of outrage for the others.”

    The path Highest Jur walked had them passing the trio in the ditch. Despite the generations that have passed, there was still some unease in the humans around those that did not take a humanoid shape. He heard one of the humans mutter something, potentially a slur that still clung to the fear that persisted. But when the humans slipped sideways in the ditch when the bank gave out under their foot, the human did not flinch when his hands wrapped around them, supporting them, the human did not flinch from his touch and even sent him a gracious smile, as did the other two. It wasn’t till the human was standing on their own two feet again being checked over and he had brought his hands back to himself that he realized why. The humans were working to clear some debris from the ditch and had he not interfered, the human would have been impaled by a sharp piece of debris. It wouldn’t have been deadly but it would have been a long recovery.

    Maybe that lingering fear had less of a hold than he thought.

    “I am concerned that you are getting too attached, Rejak.” He focused back on Highest Jur. The encounter hadn’t slowed him down and Highest Jur hadn’t changed their pace. “Or, more accurately: there are many that think the human influence is too great on you, that you have been and will continue to be corrupted by them till it consumes all of our race.”

    He blinked at them, mildly surprised and put off by Highest Jur’s bluntness about the matter. “They sound as the humans had at the beginning of all this,” he pointed out, keeping his tone neutral as he pointed out his perspective. “Are you asking me to withdraw? The humans are not quite self sufficient yet to maintain this planet.”

    Highest Jur laughed, their head thrown back in a distinctly human manner. “Oh, I am very much aware, Rejak, and I care not that there are those that have picked up the more negative human traits and characteristics.” Had Highest Jur teeth to bare, he was certain they would have been giving him a toothy grin. “This makes it easier for us to weed out those that would corrupt.”

    “We are not as easily corrected as the humans,” he cautioned. “We live too long and our way of life does not hold value to time like the human lifespan and way of life does.”

    “True. But it is a place to start.”

    A gaggle of children raced by, all laughing and squealing and all just past the age of learning to run. They were being chased by a few older children and two young adults. All seemed to be having a good time.

    “They are certainly a lively bunch,” Highest Jur commented, their amusement very clear in their words.

    “Bethany would say it had something to do with the season shift, as if the warmer weather encouraged brighter moods.” For a moment, he couldn’t quite put together the tidbit she had given him. “She had called it something but I can’t seem to remember what it was.”

    “Springtime joy.” He looked to Highest Jur but they were not looking at him. Instead, Highest Jur’s gaze was on a bird circling high above their heads. “If I remember correctly, Little Miss would use that term with derision and yet they partook in the joy themself.”

    A bittersweet amusement filled his center. It felt like something was compressing the chest of his form from the inside. “She did not care for the behaviors of the other humans but her favorite season had been spring.”

    A breeze curled around them and he closed his eyes to relish in its touch.

    “It is a pity they live such short lives. Little Miss would have been so proud of how far the human race has come.”

    That compressing feeling in his chest tightened and a set of hands curled against his chest without prompting. “Agreed,” he offered meekly.

    Silence settled between them. After some time, he managed to open his eyes and bring his gaze to the world around him once more. Highest Jur didn’t speak but he knew that they had time to just be with him, to allow him the moment to miss her, to grieve her.

    He wondered if the pain would ever lessen.

    With how brightly humans burned, he doubted the mark she left would ever fade.
     
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