Word Prompts (P18): Pink

Midwinter is cruel.

The air is dry–has always been dry–but the cold makes it sharp, makes it leech warmth and life from all it touches. Crops do not grow, the sun does not shine so much as glimmer faintly with fatigue. There is no snow, just harsh winds and dust in the air.

Midwinter is cruel, especially in the smaller towns.

Without high walls or tall buildings to block the winds, to provide minimal relief, stepping outside is a trial and a half. While indoors, the townspeople remain hopeful in fending off the winter with fires and blankets and body heat. Stepping outdoors is akin to a death sentence.

Midwinter is cruel, especially in the smaller towns, particularly towards the lonesome.

It’s just another fact of life. While nature can be cruel, at least it is cruel indiscriminately. The same cannot be said of people. But he’s lived through worse and will do so again in the future. There is not much he will avoid suffering through during his existence. For it is a long existence, indeed.

Perhaps, it would be more apt to say: existence is cruel.

~

A/N: I swear I don’t know why I even bother with word prompts if I’m just going to not use said word anyway.

This one was actually kind of hard, though. Which explains why my drabble was just completely off the mark. Like, I had multiple ideas flicking through my head so fast and this was the only one that stayed long enough for me to write so. I don’t even like this. 😦

Word Prompts (O20): Ozone

Windy’s first mission outside of Midgar heralds hir first time in a helicopter. It is not a fun experience.

“Oh Hel, why,” Windy groans, fingers pale with how desperately he is grabbing at the fabric of his uniform trousers trying not to puke. His hair, as always, is an absolute loss, whipping about in bright blonde curls.

Reno, that ass, brays with laughter, smacks hir shoulder and shouts, “Better get used to it, rookie. This is how Turks travel in style!”

Rude, while not as obnoxious as his partner, still manages to give off a vibe of smug superiority.

This mission, unlike all of WIndy’s previous missions, actually matters. It’s why there are a pair of actual Turks accompanying her. Or, rather, why she is accompanying them. If Windy performs well enough on this mission, she’ll finally be officially accepted into the Turks. Instead of a trainee running errands all around Midgar.

“Beginning descent,” Knife warns before, suddenly, the helicopter ride gets worse by plummeting a hundreds of feet. Probably not really, but it might as well, going by the increase in Windy’s nausea. Her Turk mentor does not believe in coddling.

When they finally land on solid ground, Windy can proudly say that he did not embarrass himself by a) puking or b) dropping to the ground in gratitude and weak knees. Unfortunately, Windy’s hair is a mess and his incessant clutching has wrinkled the new Turk uniform he was given just this morning.

In comparison to Rude and Knife’s immaculate suits, and Reno’s roguish yet tasteful casualness, Windy’s dishevelment is noticeable and… a little shameful. Quickly zie runs her hands through hir hair, wincing but silently pulling it through tangles, and pats down the wrinkles in the midnight blue fabric as best as zie can.

The senior Turks are obligingly patient as she does this, though they are far more amused than he’d prefer.

“Today we’re checking in on some… suspicious activity in the Fort Condor generator. Someone is either willfully or ignorantly fucking up and we need to find out who, and we need to stop this.” Knife barely explains before leading their small but deadly group of four towards the ShinRa generator.

In the distance, Windy can see the townspeople staring at them. Ahead of them, the troopers stationed at the entrance visibly straighten their posture.

Looking at them makes her wonder how her brother is doing… but that just reminds Windy of the last time they saw each other and their less than amicable parting. The Strife brothers were as different as twins could have been; even their fellow cadets knew that Wind would have made an excellent SOLDIER. Cloud? Not so much. Too bad it was all a lie.

The trooper’s gazes are tinged with more fear than the admiration that would have been aimed at a SOLDIER, but Turks get respect too.

Windy hopes zie doesn’t fuck this up.

~

A/N: I’m more fond of Windy than I think I can justify… and yes, I purposefully mixed up pronouns because Windy really does think of hirself as different genders depending on what zie is doing or thinking.

And yet another drabble which doesn’t include the actual prompt word.

Word Prompts (M33): Mountain

It’s only been three hours, but he’s so fucking sick of this hike that he’s considering jumping over the sheer cliff face just to make it stop. But fucking Barry is still going strong and he’s not going to lose to fucking Barry.

“Fucking Barry,” Ness pants next to him, because the two of them are basically two bodies sharing one brain at this point. The only reason why she’s verbalizing it first is because her body is physically fitter and she has the breath to speak.

He grunts in agreement, then tugs her, via her backpack, to the right so she doesn’t step into a pothole.

Barry is not only chattering away like a demented squirrel, but also energetically flitting back and forth between them and the various apparently fascinating flora and fauna along the trail. If this weren’t exceedingly critical to tomorrow’s mission, Jack would have pushed fucking Barry off this mountain.

“Hydrate,” his partner reminds him, then bodily shoves a water bottle into his chest. Jack tries not to clutch at himself like a scandalized octogenarian, or a Harlequin romance heroine, but he fails. She has impeccable aim and, okay, he’s got sensitive nipples.  It’s not a sexual thing–she won’t let him live it down.

He’s still practically breathless, so all he can do is whine wordlessly until Ness huffs with exasperation, rolls her eye, and twists the cap off of the bottle for him.

“You two are so cute together, the absolute sweetest couple. I’m so honored to be your guide today,” Ugh, fucking Barry has come back to orbit around them. Barry thinks they are a newly married couple on their honeymoon. He does not know that his hiking tour company is a shell company for the Kelly crime family. Jack really wishes Barry knew so that he’d be justified in pushing him off the cliff.

“Thank you, Barry,” Ness says through gritted teeth which Barry probably interprets as a smile. And then she tugs on one of Jack’s backpack straps, quirks an eyebrow at him, and then makes grabby hands at the water bottle.

She wishes Barry knew, too.

~

A/N: I found and have been listening to slashreport.com … and didn’t realize it was past midnight until like now. ANOTHER ADVENTURE OF JACK AND NESS. What are they doing? I don’t know?

Word Prompts (T38): Trigger

It’s the strange echo of silence in your ears, not quite sensation but not all imaginary, which brings you back to reality. Without sound, almost any situation could be considered peaceful, and yet. You are surrounded by broken things:

The shattered, splintered pieces of tables and bookshelves, chairs upended here and there. Torn up books, their pages littering the floor like flower petals thrown by little girls during a wedding. Unsurprisingly, dust is heavy in the air, catching the light from the sunbeams angling through the windows.

There is blood. There are bodies around you, unmoving. Unconscious? But that odd not-ringing in your ears persists, and you cannot tell without drawing closer.

You ache, but it is a dull and consistent ache, the kind you’ve gotten after staying in an awkward position for hours. Or strenuous activity. It is not at the level you would categorize as pain, but it concerns you.

Your clothes are rumpled and stained, but you haven’t had the chance to do laundry for two weeks. It does not inform you of anything more than the fact that this is a particularly busy and stressful week for you. It does not tell you if that stain is from coffee or from the growing pools on the tile that you are intently trying to ignore.

The library is silent; but libraries should be silent. It takes a while for you to realize that you can hear again. There is no more rushing blood in your ears, no more cavernous, thunderous inhales. There is only the slight rustle of your filthy clothing as your arms move against your ribs.

You spot your backpack in the lee created by a tipped over table and a denuded bookshelf. Someone’s arm is stretching towards it; you are careful to step over it, but otherwise pay it no mind as you retrieve your bag and make your way to the exit.

You have a final to take in thirty minutes.

~
A/N: I DON’T KNOW. This doesn’t even have the freaking word in it! Agh. Anyway, I hope everyone’s finals/midterms are going well?


https://jacksgreysays.tumblr.com/post/117500858054/audio_player_iframe/jacksgreysays/tumblr_nngdvhzAZb1u7pteb?audio_file=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.tumblr.com%2Faudio_file%2Fjacksgreysays%2F117500858054%2Ftumblr_nngdvhzAZb1u7pteb

Word Prompts (H2): Happiness

Sometimes I find myself chasing this… this ideal that doesn’t exist. As if holding myself to some impossible standard will somehow make me better, make me happier. It doesn’t. So fuck that.

I like having hair on my body. I like how, when the air is chilly, each and every hair will stand on end as if they are knights defending me from the cold. I like how, after a shower, beads of water will catch and hold and glimmer in the light making every strand jewel encrusted, and myself a masterpiece.

I like my scars. I like the miniature valleys and mountains arrayed on my forehead leftover from the stitches of my overly eager childhood adventures. I like the lightning bolts of stretch marks on my thighs, on my belly, on my breasts. I like the keloids winding and flowing their way down my leg, a memento of jellyfish stings. I am a world thriving and full of life.

I have callouses on my hands and crooked pinkies besides. I have spots and moles and a tendency towards dry skin and dandruff. I have yellowing teeth and jiggling, fatty arms and hair and eyes that are plain, normal brown. And I like it. I like me. I like who I am. And that makes me happy.

Untitled (2015-04-25)

People stare at you. This is what happens when you are part of a dynasty; moreover, the only part not to contribute meaningfully in any way to said dynasty. And so you walk through the hallways, slouching along but head still held high, because sure you’re the useless one of the of the Michalis family but that still makes you a cut above the rest.

And so what? So what if two of your cousins were valedictorians, and you can hardly pass your basic chemistry classes? So what if one of your sisters is cheer captain, the other captain of whatever varsity sport the school is currently supporting, and you might be the only person to actually fail physical education? So what if your cousin, two years younger than you, not even properly a high school student yet, still has more clout in the school than you do? So what?

You’re not even the black sheep properly, because your younger sister has been in and out of detentions, suspended, threatened with expulsion (oh but never actually, because the school would never dare do that to a Michalis), and yet still manages to get looks of respect from the faculty instead of thinly veiled pity and disgust.

You’re a Michalis. It doesn’t matter if you’re the disgrace of the Michalis family. It doesn’t matter if that’s your only claim to fame. You’re a Michalis, and not even your failures can drag us down.

~

A/N: ahahaha… haha… ha… well… it started out as a sort of… be confident in yourself kind of thing? And then I was like… well… what if it weren’t? And that’s why the ending is so mean. Sort of based on real life in a very vague sense, so I guess it’s both fiction and nonfiction…

Word Prompts (P2): Pain

“Where did you hide him?” I snarled, fingers digging into the meat of my captive’s forearm. The action was unnecessary, tied to the chair as he was, but restraint wasn’t on my mind.

The man, the enemy, who had been stubbornly silent so far, gasped with pain. No surprise, considering I had filed my nails into points specifically for this reason. When I pulled away, they were tipped in red.

My partner had been missing for over four days–on a mission which shouldn’t have taken more than two.

The warehouse we were in was, by day, a medical supply company. The boxes of yet unsold bandages and linens stacked against the walls were perfect for absorbing sound. And there was a wide array of equipment which could be used in interesting ways.

“Ness,” Vi said warningly from behind me, predicting the directions my thoughts were going in; though she made no physical move to stop me.

I punched the man across the face, his head whipping to the side from the force of it. His breaths turned wet-sounding, from saliva or blood, I didn’t bother to check. Instead, I yanked his thumb, over extending it, turning what probably would have been a defiant, literal, spit in my face into an open-mouthed cry of pain. Then I pressed my sharpened nails into the soft skin below his eye, so close to blinding him that he stilled instinctively.

I wasn’t even bothering to ask questions anymore.

“Ness,” Vi repeated, still chastising, but almost soothing, too, “Lioness,” She said in full.

It’s true that, of the two of us, I had always had a better success rate in missions. But even if he failed, Jack had always been the best at escape. If he were alive, he would have made it back by now.

I drew close and screamed my rage, my grief. Jack should have been back by now.

Finally, I saw fear reflected in his eyes. But, when I pulled away, I scratched down into his noncritical cheek muscles not up into his eye.

“Ness,” How could the same utterance from the same person sound so different each time? The third time it was approval tainted with consolation.

“I want him found, Vi,” I muttered to her as I passed by her, “I want Jack’s body brought home,” My voice cracked and I inhaled in harshly to keep myself from tears.

Her hand briefly curled around my shoulder, before letting me slip out of her grasp, “We’ll find Jackal,” she promised.

I left before either of them could see me cry.

~

A/N: THIS IS WAY MORE MORBID THAN THE ADVENTURES OF JACK AND NESS USUALLY GET. OH MY GOD WHY. They’re supposed to be silly things full of friendship and WHY DID I DO THIS TO THEM? Luckily, the different segments of the Adventures of Jack and Ness are unrelated to each other.

So… I dunno what’s up with this because today was actually pretty good for me…

Untitled BH6 drabble (2015-04-23)

The bell above the door jingles merrily, signaling the entrance of a customer. With the way the sunlight is slanting through the windows, Cass would estimate that it’s around three maybe four in the afternoon. It’s after the lunch rush, so the cafe is empty for the most part, only Gordon and Eiji–the two elderly gentlemen who play shogi in the corner booth–remain. She had just topped off their tea and coffee, respectively, and wiped down the counter twice already so if she greets the new customer with a little more eagerness than warranted well. Smiles and positive energy are always a plus in the service industry.

Ah, but she doesn’t see anyone?

“Can I have a green tea and a raspberry scone, please?” A thin, reedy voice says from waist height.

Oh! A child. It is about time for school to let out, and the backpack carried by the little girl is telling. But Cass doesn’t remember there being an elementary school in the area. A little more worrying, there doesn’t seem to be anyone accompanying the little girl.

“Of course, sweetie,” She responds belatedly. The child’s small pale fingers are tapping nervously against the straps of her bright green backpack. So cute! “Will that be for here?”

“Yes please, ma’am.” So polite!

“Okay, that’ll be four dollars and fifty cents,” Cass almost bites her tongue to stop herself from just giving the little girl her order for free. Maelynn would tease her for having poor business sense.

The little girl brings out her wallet, an oddly sensible black leather thing, and pulls out a single crisp five dollar bill. When Cass hands over her change, the two shining coins go into an even more conservative coin pouch the size of her palm, “Thank you,” the little girl murmurs after putting both items back into her bag.

“You can take a seat anywhere and I’ll bring your order over to you, okay?” Cass waves idly at the various empty tables.

The little girl nods in acknowledgement before heading towards the other corner table, directly opposite from where Gordon and Eiji are beginning to grumble in good-natured annoyance at each other.

The order is not too difficult, though Cass makes sure to use her brightest teapot and prettiest plate for the scone, and soon enough she carries it over to the little girl’s table. She has papers and what looks like a textbook spread out in front of her, so Cass is careful in her placement.

“Homework?” She asks politely, to make the girl feel a little more welcome. Until Cass actually looks at what’s on the paper–either elementary school has gotten more advanced or–“Is that calculus?” This time, honestly curious.

“Yes. I’m a little ahead at school,” The little girl says demurely, “Thank you,” she adds, when she brings her teacup towards her.

“A little ahead,” Cass repeats, a little shocked… before shaking her head. Genius children shouldn’t be a surprise, considering her nephews. But perhaps it’s because while they are intelligent, they are still kids. This little girl is more like a miniature adult–a poised and mature adult at that.

~

A/N: Ugh, I didn’t know where I was going with so I just stopped. Possible SI!OC into BH6? I dunno. Hiro Takachiho’s mother’s name is Maemi so I tried to find a similar enough name. No romance for OC (though maaaaybe with Honey Lemon) I honestly don’t know what I was doing.

Untitled Kingsman drabble (2015-04-22)

The king is dead.

Long live the king.

When it’s over, the Kingsman are down a king and at least four knights: Kay and Bedivere, having followed Arthur by way of exploded heads; Tristan, poisoned when he refused to join them. Galahad’s fate need not be brought up again.

Percival, at least, is alive and decidedly not evil, though Bors and Lamorak have yet to check in–whether unable or unwilling. This week has been a fucking terrible experience for all involved. If Merlin were one for tears, he’d be crying out of rage and grief and betrayal and frustration, because of course this is what he has to work with. Of course.

The king is dead.

Long live the king.

It’s not traditional, no, but nothing good about the Kingsman has been traditional lately. The good old boys have turned out to be rotten, cowards to the core, nothing like what a true knight should be. It took two rookies–one not even a real agent–to save the world, because Merlin didn’t know who else he can trust.

But Merlin is not a knight. Merlin was never a knight. Nor was he ever a king.

But Merlin was a kingmaker. And that? That’s something he can work with.

The king is dead.

Long live the king.

The Kingsman knights had originally started as freelance agents. Tailors suddenly with the means to bring about a world of peace. Or at least the means to try. They started out as servants and raised themselves up to knighthood, gradually forgetting that nobility was a matter of character not blood.

But Galahad remembered–manners maketh man, indeed. And his proposal had embodied that ideal of nobility–a pure heart, not aristocracy.

So it twists the mythos around a bit, but who is Merlin to disagree with his old friend?

Merlin was a kingmaker. And he knows who to make the king.

The king is dead.

Long live the king.

Merlin always hated that damn dog test anyway.

~
A/N: Ugh, I had these ideas but they came out all twisted in prose and I don’t know how to fix it. Also, rather shorter than I was hoping, but I wanted to get it out now.

Not that I actually want it, but this is Arthur!Eggsy basically. And he, with Merlin and Lancelot!Roxy (and I wanted to somehow include a “Guinevere” in the sense that they are in charge of PR/Finance… like… they’re the ones that actually get clients? Maybe the heiress “target” right before the train tracks test) revolutionize/fix Kingsman. I dunno.

Obviously, I watched Kingsman. I retract what I said in my last post. After having fallen into the fandom my eyes are now open. While I’m still not at multiple theater-going level of love, I’m definitely in the eagerly waiting for the DVD level.

The Green Knight, Prologue (2015-04-21)

It’s obvious from the expressions on everyone’s faces that the meeting, while necessary, is only grudgingly tolerated by all involved. Even the figures standing indolently, yet alert, in the corners of the room aren’t bothering to hide their boredom. With all the similarities between the negotiating parties, one would think the meeting to be more congenial.

Seated on opposite sides of the table are the leaders of two different vigilante organizations, both steeped in tradition and wealth. Beside them are their respective advisor, their right hands as one might say, each of them doing the majority of the speaking. Behind them are two silent guardians each, and even there the similarities extend–a young man with a slight smile curling at his lips, and a young woman whose professional stoicism practically drips with irritation. And yet, the tension remains.

Perhaps it is because one of the organizations had recently suffered a much-needed change in leadership, due to the previous head having been complicit in the death of millions. Perhaps it is because the other organization had previously been a crime organization, only changing to vigilantism after their own recent change in leadership. Perhaps it is because, despite both parties having left all overt weapons outside of the room, they all remain quite lethal.

It does not help that the youngest member of one of the negotiating parties is older than the eldest member of the other party. Both of them being the only females in the room.

“We understand the need for cooperation during these times of strife, yet the information you are asking for is one that must remain within Vongola,” the young man who only introduced himself as Tempesta says in softly accented English. The accent itself is difficult to parse, which is odd considering Vongola is a solely Italian organization. He has a mildly apologetic smile, to soften what is an unyielding refusal.

His premature shock of silver hair contrasts severely against the bald head of the other negotiator, codename Merlin, though the falsely conciliatory expressions are the same on both, “And yet, you ask the same of us. Surely you see how we would appreciate reciprocity.”

“Ah, but it is not a full disclosure we ask for. We would simply prefer to know when one of your… knights are to be in Italy and their purpose. So that we can ensure our respective… agents do not end up in each other’s crosshairs. Vongola is Italian, our activities are not the concerns of foreigners.”

“And yet, we have information on a number of assassinations performed on British soil by Ms. Fulmine who herself is a Japanese citizen,” Merlin gestures respectfully to said woman who only nods in acknowledgement, not bothering to deny something obviously true and which their side hadn’t really bothered making a secret.

“All on Italian citizens, specifically, members of mafia families whose activities your Kingsman would agree to be reprehensible.” Tempesta responds calmly, though his fingers tap impatiently against the table in silent twitches.

“And we also have several accounts of your affiliated groups–Varia and The Foundation–operating within the United Kingdom,” Merlin reveals, much to the displeasure of his Vongola counterpart.

At that, the Vongola show their youth and relative inexperience. Or perhaps their impatience, worn down by the tediousness of the meeting. Regardless, the guards standing in the corners, Fulmine and Pioggia, both drop their silent routine to laugh; the former in exasperation, the latter sheepishly. While Tempesta hisses angrily at them in Japanese, something along the lines of keeping their seniors out of trouble, their leader, Decimo finally deigns to speak.

“Both of our organizations have a history–of violence and secrets. This meeting is one of a new alliance, and for that both of us must change. From now on, at the very least, we will afford you the same information on our operations in your country as you do your activities in ours,” His English, likewise, is interestingly accented–more so than Tempesta’s–though recognizably with more of a Japanese flair. Which is odd, considering the leader of the Vongola is a hereditary position. But his words state simply what the two groups had been dancing around.

“I quite agree,” The Kingsman leader, only called Arthur, nods. What little remained of the tension in room easily dissipates, despite Merlin’s disgruntled sigh. The young knights, Galahad and Lancelot, also allow their inexperience to break through in grins tinged with relief… and amusement at the expense of their Vongola counterparts still being scolded by Tempesta.

~

A/N: Um… I’m not sure what’s up with this to be honest… but basically. I watched Kingsman. It was… okay? Like, it was totally worth the cost of a ticket. But I don’t know if I’d go watch it again? I might buy get the DVD, but I wouldn’t watch it again in theaters.

I’m following the headcanon of Harry survived and became Arthur, so Eggsy became Galahad.

And it’s a crossover with my KHR SI!OC fanfic Trailblazers. So, Decimo is Tsuna, obviously, Tempesta being Gokudera, Pioggia being Yamamoto, and Fulmine being my OC Tetsuki.

I don’t know which canon (fanon) it is but I think Roxy (Lancelot) is 24 and Eggsy is 25? So Tetsuki who, for some reason, I never let live to see age 25 and who is a year older than the other three would be the same age as Roxy if not younger. Probably younger, though, so that it’s early in Tsuna’s reign as Decimo.

Also… not really the comeback I wanted buuuuut oh well. I hope ya’ll enjoyed the cross-posts. I’ll probably come back to them sooner or later.

Edit: Now continued (sort of) here!

Edit2: The series is now called The Green Knight… I guess this is the prologue.