writing challenges I | dnp

[geto]

Some writing prompts for when i'm suffering from writer's block:)

Frequent characters;
The Arcana - Main three
Nolan & Asriel

Just a fair warning that there's going to be lots of angst.

[geto]

1. “Little by little, day by day, okay?”
2. “Get. Off. Right now.”
3. “... That’s it.”
4. “So, uh, we should… probably run now.”
5. “You’re insane! I love it.”
6. “Hey, I offered to help you.”
7. “Who’s laughing now?”
8. “Would you please just be quiet?”
9. “Whoa, buttercup, whoa.”
10. "I can’t believe you talked me into this."
11. “Marry me?”
12. “Hey! I was gonna drink that!”
13. “You did all of this for me?”
14. “This isn’t over.” | xx
15. “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”
16. “Well, this is awkward.”
17. “It was you who was standing there.”
18. “That is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”
19. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”
20. “Uh, she’s gunna punch you, man.”
21. “BAHAHAHA- ahem.”
22. “I think I am concussed.”
23. “You have got to be kidding me.”
24. “This ain’t that kind of movie.”
25. “Is it… dead?”
26. “I’ll just sit here and wait for you to be finished.” | xx
27. “You wound me.”
28. “Trust you? PAH.”
29. “I don’t know who you are.”
30. “It’s okay. I promise. I’m here.”
31. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
32. “Well, I finally got your attention.”
33. “Like a hole in the head.”
34. “I'm... okay.”
35. “Well, are you coming?”
36. “Where are your pants!?”
37. “Help me push it.”
38. “It’s almost midnight, no way!”
39. “Positively smashing.”
40. “Don’t let go, okay?”
41. “You can’t leave me like this.”
42. “Say that to my mother.”
43. “Sing me a lullaby, please?” | xx
44. “This hurts worse than I thought it would.” | xx
45. “Hah! - oh, wait, you’re serious?”
46. “As much as I’d enjoy that…”
47. -gasp- “The plague!” “No!” “YES.”
48. “I won’t let you do this.”
49. “I’ve still got it.”
50. "I can’t do it. I just can’t.”
51. "Don’t you ever do that again!"
52. “I thought I lost you.”
53. "Teach me?"
54. "Don’t you dare throw that snowball-"
55. "It could be worse."
56. "We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?"
57. "I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice." | xx
58. "What are you so afraid of?”
59. “How did you get that scar?” | xx
60. “You said WHAT?”
61. “Can you stop bringing that up?”
62. “Wait for me!”
63. “We’ll be dead by morning.”
64. “STOP TALKING.”
65. “I do.”
66. “I don’t want to.”
67. “What did I ever do to you?!”
68. “Follow me.” | xx
69. -SIGH- “I can’t reach it.”
70. “What are you waiting for?”
80. “WAIT NO THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT-”
81. “I don’t need you.”
82. “You deserve better.”
83. “If you love something, let it go.”
84. “Why do I have to wear this?”
85. “Here goes nothing.”
86. “Where the heck were you?!”
87. “I don’t need help.”
88. “We’re gonna be parents…”
89. “I didn’t think you knew.”
90. “I thought those were poisonous.”
91. “Don’t make me go alone.”
92. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know.”
93. “I’d be lost without you.”
94. “Just leave me!” | xx
95. “I dare you to…”
96. “Run!”
97. “How did you manage that?”
98. “Liar!” | xx
99. “I don’t even want to be here.”
100. “Oh crap, we fell asleep!”
101. “Is this the life you wanted?”
102. “GIVE ME THAT.”
103. “Get back here!”
104. “Let go of me!”
105. “I’ll just follow you.”
106. “YOU DON’T SAY.”
107. “And yet, you love me anyway.”
108. “I just thought I’d have a swim.”
109. “Don’t cry.” | xx
110. "oh, trust me. this is only the beginning."
111. "you're leaving again, aren't you?"
112. "ooh! i wanna come, too!"
113. "you've got to be kidding me..."
114. "good news! all of my bones are still intact!"
115. "we're going to get through this."
116. "crap! the boss is coming!"
117. "say another word and i'll snap your neck."
118. "promise you'll stay by my side."
119. "um... you sure that thing's dead?"
120. "don't you dare take another step."
121. "everybody get down!"
122. "you're an idiot. i'm an idiot. we're all idiots."
123. "i've been framed, i swear!"
124. "you don't look half bad in that dress."
125. "i'm coming with you, and you can't stop me."
126. "you really thought i loved you?"
127. "hey, buddy! look at me when i'm talking to you!"
128. "who stole my cookie?"
129. "fine. then we'll duel for it."
130. "my task is complete- i have no reason to stay."
131. "it's not worth losing sleep over."
132. "that doesn't look very safe."

133. "you sure we're not being watched?"
134. "something's wrong."
135. "you moron! look what you've done!"
136. "i promise i'll make it up to you."
137. "could... could you teach me how?"
138. "i have no weaknesses."
139. "this is your last warning."
140. "oh my god, just shut up already."
141. "please tell me what i'm doing wrong..."
142. "will you marry me?"
143. "the past is what keeps me going forward." | xx
144. "it's just business."
145. "you're the most stubborn woman i've ever met."
146. "it's too late. your friend is dead."
147. "i'd rather be trampled by elephants."
148. "hey, you distracted me on purpose! that's not fair!"
149. "if you think you've got what it takes, show me."
150. "just one more minute, please!"
151. "i have to say, i'm thoroughly impressed."
152. "nobody panic!" ... "never mind, everybody panic!"
153. "put that thing back where it came from or so help me."
154. "don't take it to heart. he's old and cranky."
155. "hey, don't be scared. i'm right here."
156. "what do you say, guys- one last group hug?"
157. "i could not possibly be more disgusted."
158. "you did this all for me?"
159. "it's going to be a long day."
160. "i didn't give you permission to do that."
161. "donuts are the only things keeping me sane."
162. "talk to me after my coffee and we'll see."
163. "oh, you're bleeding!"
164. "i think you just broke my arm."
165. "um, nope. i am not doing that."
166. "is... is she talking to the plant? like a person?"
167. "that man could stare down a lion if he felt like it."
168. "hey, buddy? you need some therapy."
169. "i feel sick... really sick..." | xx
170. "don't open your eyes until i say so."
171. "why did you kill him?"
172. "this is our final stand, everyone."
173. "i'm the queen of caffeine!"
174. "are you afraid? because you should be."
175. "the next one to call me adorable is headed to the hospital."
176. "i must go. my people need me."
177. "that bloodstain on the wall wasn't there before, was it?"
178. "you'd better not be thinking of another man when i'm here."
179. "i'm not a girl! i'm just a very feminine-looking guy, okay!?"
180. "don't worry, i'm used to it."
181. "what'd you do this time, klutz?"
182. "hey, i'm curious. how did you get that scar right there?"
183. "i just need to be alone for a bit, alright?"
184. "stay away from me! i'm dangerous!"
185. "i don't know, sometimes i just wish you'd open up more."
186. "you just saved my life."
187. "oh my god, you just got roasted!"
188. "it's so fluffy!"
189. "that sounded expensive."
190. "i'm actually really surprised that you haven't died yet."
191. "of all the questions you could ask me, that's your first?"
192. "you're going to be a dad!"
193. "you're messing with the wrong kinds of people, dear."
194. "alright! i admit it! i did kill him!"
195. "i still visit his grave every year..."
196. "there are things down there to fuel satan's nightmares."
197. "woah, you're telling me boss actually was a child once?"
198. "happy birthday, dork!"
199. "i'm sorry, but there's nothing i can do anymore."
200. "one day, you're all going to regret making enemies of me."
201. "when i grow up, i'm going to be just like you, brave warrior!" | xx
202. "everybody told me i couldn't do it... but here i am."
203. "no, don't take them away! those are my friends!"
204. "it was all i had left of her, and now it's gone."
205. "you know what? how about we sing a song?"
206. "i can't believe you'd be so selfish."
207. "you don't want to be called a child? then stop acting like one."
208. "we're close. i can feel it."
209. "we finally did it, guys."
210. “time waits for no man.”

and the good ol angst prompts,,

211. “you promised me that you wouldn’t go back there.”
212. “don’t look at me like that.”
213. “please, don’t walk away from me, not like this.”
214. “we need to talk about what just happened.”
215. “don’t start crying again.”
216. “stay with me...just a little longer.”
217. “you...why?”
218. “no! i want an answer. i don’t care that you’re crying.”
219. “i don’t want your excuses, i just want to know why you did it.”

[geto]

[“This isn’t over”]
Curtis and Mark
^characters from my own book, The Right Way Home

word count: 904
tw: violence

The whole hall fell silent the moment Alponso trodded through the short corridor, and by his side, his niece, Kelsa, who wore a similar solemn and not too pleased expression. She throws a hateful glare towards Mark, scowling before she passes him to take her place at the wooden table.

Meladine shoots a brief, worried smile towards Kelsa, as if telling her that she understood the solemnity of the situation, and Kelsa returns the gesture by taking her hands in her cold ones, and Meladine thought that she had detected a tremor in her.

Alphonso raises his old, bearded head to face the rest of the group, burly arms crossed across his chest as he briefly lets his gaze wander over the scene, as if quietly trying to see for himself that everyone was accounted for - all except for Tristan, the one man who had sparked the argument between the arrogant Mark and the merchants in the first place.

He sighs, and begins to speak, his heavy voice booming across the echoey hall, “I believe you all understand the reason of me calling for a gathering here.”

Nobody speaks, all eyes and focus turned on him.

“Tristan was contaminated today. And I understand that he would soon join as one of the infected, in a matter of due time.” Alphonso averts his gaze to catch Mark’s, “and I also do understand that as leader of Cavalier, I ought to carry out my duties as promised to keep my people safe.”

“You can’t do this, please! We’ve came so far as one, we can’t lose another one of us again.”

He turns to meet the pleading gaze of a girl - Qarsyn, who stood amongst a group of people who were huddled together - the merchants - whose eyes met his with equal desperation and sadness, eyes sunken with exhaustion and bodies slouched over. “Please don’t cast us out again. Let us stay, and we will be out of your hair when the next dawn breaks. We’ll take Tristan with us, and you’ll never see us again.”

Mark visibly rolls his eyes, “Stop rambling, thieves.”. An insufferable smirk spreads across his lips as he leans forward in his chair, all in an effort to mock the newcomers, “you don’t belong here, I know what you’re planning, since the first day you all arrived I could already sense something amiss with you bunch, bringing around an infected to take out the living, eh? Selfish.”. Qarsyn only meets his eyes with a mixture of hatred and pain. And nothing else in that moment had made her feel such an overwhelming urge to land a fist in his smug face.

“When will you learn how to shut your mouth?” A voice sounded, deep and accented, “what made you this way? Mark Delkra? Is it not enough that you’re a waste of oxygen or do you just have to force the betters to stoop down to your lowly manners?”

“You-“

“That’s enough!”

Everyone froze rigid, turning their attention back to Alphonso as his skin reddens under his white beard, eyes shining with anger before he grimaces, as if regretting raising his voice, and shifts slightly to regain his composure.

“This isn’t the way we deal with issues. Mark, hold your tongue. This people had lost many as do we, this is a time for desperation, and we ought to make the best of our situation and help what is left of humanity.”

“Weak. This will all be the start of our downfall-“

“Silence! Delkra, or should I add being deaf to your everlasting list of faculties?” Curtis growls, face devoid of expression as he looks straight on to Alphonso, “please go on, baba, do not let this waste of flesh distract you from doing right.”

And that was it, a fist connects to Curtis’s jaw, bringing him to the ground in shock as his reflexes quickly brings his arms up to block Mark’s next incoming punch, anger explodes in his chest and blinds him with fury, lips curled back in a snarl as the hall breaks out into chaos, many coming to snatch Mark off of Curtis - who was aiming his punches one after the other towards his face and pinning his body with his knees. “I will not let you insult me again!” he screams, his aldrenaline-fed strength easily overpowers the others who were trying to pry him off, Kelsa quickly pushes through the people as she tries to yank Mark off from her brother - to no avail, until a hand grasps around his arm and pulls him away with ease only then he relents, eyes red with withheld tears and burning bright with fury, body shaking. The frenzied hair gave him the appearance of a madman.

“That’s it, if you two can not afford to behave despite being two grown adults, maybe I will have a talk with you both - individually, and treat you like the child you are.”

Mark yanks his arm out of Alphonso’s hand with rage, pointing an accusing finger in Curtis’s rage-filled face. “This isn’t over, Curtis Chelvron,” he turns to face Alphonso, spitting with newfound venom, releasing all the anger that he had bottled against his leader, “and I hope you realise the amount of destruction you’ve placed Cavalier in, and I want you to remember that whatever happens, it is all at the cost of your actions.”

[geto]

[“This hurts worse than I thought it would.”]
Nolan and Feanor
^characters from my own book, Two King’s Treason

word count: 954
tw: slight gore, angst

The sounds of war was a whole new sensation to Nolan, a newfound fear and confusing blasts of unfamiliar machines cranking overhead, hydraulics squealing deafeningly as wheels strained against the heavy load of artillery.

This time, the assassin knew clearly that he could no longer afford any mistakes, minute or large as it is, the war paint smudged with blood stung uncomfortably at his skin, muscles aching deeply with exhaustion. Even through his own deafening thoughts that screamed constantly in his mind, fighting in it’s own battle to dominate his thoughts, one thing still laid clear to him - he wanted, needed Feanor to be safe.

Nolan dodges from fallen bodies to incoming warcraft; engines of mass destruction. He tries to maintain his gaze forward, afraid of what he might find if he looked down, and in the first time since being reborn as King Emry’s personal tool, a surge of fear and loneliness creeps up through his limbs.

Feanor. He had been missing for days, slipped between the grasps of Nolan when he hadn’t noticed and kept his attention away for a mere moment. Nolan knew he could never forgive himself if something happened to that stubborn elf.

However, his anger and fear kept him going, the constant aldrenaline pumping through his veins left his heart thumping wildly in his ears. The resolve to find his lover doubled twice intensely as his eyes searched the bloodied battlefield, arms lowered with a loaded bow resting cooly in his hands in case an enemy shows - Nolan had always made it a point to find an outage and run in another direction, it made it as though he was defying Emry’s constant thrist for killing. It felt good to rebel, he didn’t want to kill nor hurt anyone, but dire situations always brought out the worse in men.

By now the land had quietened just slightly, painted red and charred black, soot and ashes covered green earth, and the atmosphere was heavy with the stench of death. Parties from both sides had calmed, tending to fallen warriors, though machines continued throwing gunfire towards lifeless metal - better than flesh, Nolan thought.

He threads carefully along a small path, pushing through foliage desperately as he searches. At this moment, he wasn’t even sure what he was really looking for, he could still feel the slight tingle of warmth of his lifeline that was connected to Feanor tied from his wrist, but the glowing had simmered by a sudden drop, which only made his worries double as much. He fears the possibility of the worse.

Just as he passes through a steep undergrowth, a rustle to his left catches Nolan by surprise, turning sharply, he raises his bow - and it was then that he notices a noticeable tremor in his hands, the mere action that he had always been so sure-footed in sent a shocking painful ache up his arm, causing him to wince slightly.

He swallows against a growing lump in his throat, daring to not hope.

“Who’s there? Show yourself.” Nolan calls out, voice shaking slightly as he treaded slowly, crossing over bodies and trying not to slip in mud, circling the noise precariously as he went.

A hoarse groan comes from within the pile of debris, piled high with broken parts of the war machines, and a familiar chuckle emits from underneath. Nolan freezes, a pang of pain shooting through his chest, even with the broken and reedy voice, Nolan knew that he recognised it - he would have recognised it anywhere. He lowers his bow slightly, trying to even his breath to match his oxygen-craved lungs, and his throat tightens.

“F-Feanor?”

A chuckle sounds before being cut off with a sharp whimper, and Nolan quickly drops his bow, all sense of rationality blown from his consciousness, he digs, throwing all his strength into his arms as he begins pulling machine parts off, tears springing into his eyes as he bites them back, already drawing blood from his own lips.

“Late to the party...shame.”

Nolan ignores him, absently cutting his hands along sharp corners as he lifts heavy pieces and throws them to the side. Anger rises in his chest in a turmoil of guilt, and he silently berates himself for losing him. Nothing else in that moment then could distract him from the internal pain right then.

He continues digging, hands sliding against spilled blood before finally reaching the last piece of metal that laid crushed across Feanor’s chest, rendering him helpless. It was then that he finally takes in the full view of his still figure that Nolan’s breath hitches - his hair, wintry now mussed and dishevelled with mud, his face bruised and cut-laiden, his eyes - those pearly orbs that once glanced back at him with affection, gave him his sense of safety; as if nothing else could ever hurt him again, now filled with agony and suffering, breath shallow.

Then his gaze travels downwards, resting at a bloodied patch spreading across his torn robes, a broken arrow lodged deep into skin, and Nolan froze, an unknown force taking over his senses and paralyzing his movements.

Feanor lets out a weak chuckle, head lolling as he turns to look at him, “That bad...hm?”

“No, please, s-stop talking.” Nolan scrambles, wielding the arrow as he tries to focus, a shaky hand waivering above his wounds. But even so his magic refuses to respond, the tingle in his hands that had only begun to feel familiar to him since accepting his gift, failed to surface. He curses under his breath.

Feanor notices his efforts, and smiles, grimacing and shifting his gaze away, “Ah. This hurts worse than I thought it would.”

[geto]

[“Don’t cry”] | Six Feet Under - Billie Eilish
Nolan and his mother
^characters from my own book, Two King’s Treason

word count: 1380
tw: none, just softness

The feeling of serenity was the last thing he felt before being dragged off into darkness, his senses slowly shutting down as voices slowly became distant, distorted as though they were far away. And he closes his eyes, succumbing to the abyss.

Realms, and realms, and realms.

The calming smell of jasmine was the first thing that Nolan sensed when he opened his eyes, next the feeling of softness beneath his body. He slowly pushes himself up from the golden sand, the dull ache in his muscles catching him with a groan, and he looks about - nothing, a bright light surrounds the island in a wall, the sea lapping gently onto the shores. And not far off, he immediately notices a small wooden hut surrounded by trees, and the sight brought a sudden wave of nostalgia crashing into his senses.

Something about the hut seemed familiar to Nolan, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, a tingle travels down his spine and as he reaches for his bow, he quickly realises that he had been stripped of all his weapons, his clothes were no longer tattered from the aftermath of war - he was fresh, clean, his body was rid of mortal wounds.

He wasn’t dying.

Taking in a deep breath, he approaches the house cautiously, and as he does so, a familiar voice echoing in his subconsciousness freezes him in his tracks.

Is that you? My baby? Are you home?

That voice, he recognised that voice.

And just as Nolan was about to walk on again, a figure approaches from behind the house; turning a corner, her auburn hair that matches his wrapped around her shoulders in a flower-plaited scarf, her brown eyes warm and wise, matching his gaze with a gentle look on her face. At first, she looks stunned just as he is, then tears began welling up in her eyes, a sorrowful smile forming on her lips as Nolan’s eyes widened in shock.

He looks her up and down, disbelief knocking the air out of his chest, a mixture of elation and sadness blooming in the pits of his stomach.

“...Ma?”

“Are you really here? Son?”

She hitches her gown and quickly makes her way over to him, careful not to slip, but slow enough with hesitation as if she wasn’t sure if she was in a dream. Nolan was confused, his thoughts flashing by in frenzy - he wasn’t sure what to say, nor how to act. It had been several eons since he had last seen his mother, and their past had never been a pleasant one.

“I...” he begins, not able to find the right words as his mother stops in front of him, an expression of pain spreading across her star-lit features as she studies him carefully, hands reaching up to touch his face, trembling uncontrollably. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she tries to hold back her tears, hazel eyes travelling across his figure before wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“You’re here...you’re really here...” she sobs. And a lurch in his chest forced him to hug his mother back, something pained him deeply, and he clung on as if only his mother could help put the torment to rest. At that moment it felt as if he had forgotten all the abuse, all the suffering, and he wanted to tell her how badly he had regretted everything, how guilt had caught up to him in years and never put him to rest.

He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, sorry for never forgiving her for something she could not have a choice over, for cursing him. He bites back his tears.

“You’re home.” she whispers, finally releasing him from her embrace, “I missed you so, so much.”

She presses a palm to his cheek again, eyes softened in motherly affection.

“Ma...I-I thought you were dead.”

“Oh, yes I am.” she steps back, clasping his hands in hers, “for millennials I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can never see my children again - takes a whole lot of getting used to, but here you are!”. But her smile quickly fades, expression turning serious, “but...why are you here? How did you?”

Nolan frowns, a mental blockage had formed in his mind when he had arrived in a different realm, but he forces through, a weight forming on his head that left him dizzy and nauseous, until his memories came crashing back like water breaking through a dam.

Feanor - it was all for him, Nolan had carried his limp body all the way through the empty, soot covered streets and back to his abode, watched as life slowly seeped out of his eyes, the deafening sorrowful cries from his youngest sister, Quesnel Elaryth. And at that moment he made the rash decision to give his own life in exchange for the elf’s.

He knew that he didn’t have much to live for - not anymore, walking as a living parasite amongst mortals, learning earth’s deepest secrets and gaining infinite knowledge in exchange of a blessing he saw as a curse. Immortality had taken away his humanity. And he’d always hated his own mother for birthing him into a world he didn’t belong.

“I...I’m dying,” he faces her, “Feanor still needs me, and again I’ve let the costs of my actions take its toll on someone else.” Nolan chides himself, he wasn’t even sure if there was any going back again to fix his mistakes, to be given a second chance - as much as he yearns to be laid finally to rest, he knew that his carelessness would burn a hole in Feanor’s life.

Everyone that Nolan had once loved had left him walking the earth alone, he’d pulled the weight of death behind him before finally caving in and shutting himself out from the living - he wasn’t going to let Feanor experience the same pain that he had once went through.

“We’ll get through everything together, eh? Promise me.”

Nolan smiles wistfully, “We will.”

He raises his right wrist, and sure enough - the lifeline was still there, though barely glowing now and laid stagnant, the warmth had almost dissipated completely. And Nolan knew instantly that his time was ticking.

“You want to go back hack to the living?” she asks hesitantly, slowly taking his hand in hers and studying it, “You placed a lifeline to him?”

Nolan nods, looking back at her with pain, “I don’t want to leave you, I want to repent for my mistakes.”

His mother lets out a soft sigh, tracing his cheeks and resting her hands atop his chest, “Mon cherie, I will always love you with all my heart, even in death, my only regret is not loving you like a mother should.” a tear escapes her eye, sliding down her freckled cheek as she gazes sorrowfully at her son, though forcing a smile across her grimace, “this is a gift, even if you are only here for a short while. The gods have been kind to me, I will always support you in whatever you do, and when your time comes I will always be waiting here.”

“But I might never see you again.” Nolan whispers, trying to mask the shiver in his voice as a lump grows in his throat. He swallows, only causing his throat to tighten further, “I love you, ma, but I have unfinished business with the living. But what if I never return?”

She hugs him tight, tears now flowing freely, “And even so I will still love you.”

He caves in, his memories now flooding and taking ahold of his senses, his mind foggy with overwhelming emotions, body now shaking violently with withheld sadness, tears spilling as he holds his mother tight as if he would never see her again, then feels her pull away.

“Don’t cry,” she whispers, “time is ticking, it’s time to go.”

She slides her thumbs over his eyes carefully, “whatever fate we are entitled to, just remember, I will always, always love you.”

Something stirs, and he feels a sudden lurch in his chest.

When Nolan reopens his eyes again, he was met with the worried, tearful gaze of Feanor.

“I’m back.”

[geto]

[“How did you get that scar?”]
Nolan and Yvette
^characters from my own book, Two King’s Treason

word count: 709
tw: none, though, if any mods finds this inappropriate,
xxxiplease do send me a pm and I’ll edit it asap!

Nolan lets the atmosphere whisk him away to his own world, nostalgia overcoming his senses and closes his eyes as he draws in a deep breath, relaxing to the sound of the waterfall pounding against rocks, and feels a pair of delicate hands snakes up his back.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Yvette sighs, resting her forehead against his shoulder as she quietly undoes his quiver, “No one knows this place except me, it’s where I go to seek counsel from the Great Gods.”

The humidity in the cave was warm, inviting, it calmed all of Nolan’s senses and something about the waterfall seemed to take away all his worries and frustrations. Yvette unclasps the quiver and lets it fall, laying his bow down beside the leather as she takes her time to work away at his sash.

“Do you come here often?” Nolan asks quietly, taking in the full view of the place - the translucent rock wall shone a light blue, water as clear as ever, still and unmoving; reflecting the blue light like pearls, and there were patches of green earth covering the shores, with exotic flowers outlining it that Nolan has never seen before, rocks dripping with curtains of pale fungus and complete with moss dangling from the overhanging crystals above.

Yvette chuckles, weaving through velvet as she folds the sash neatly beside the bow.

“Yes, the energy here radiates strongly, Athena uses this place as a vessel.”

“Athena? The Goddess of knowledge?”

“You’ve done your homework, hm?”

She slowly peels off his top, a hand trailing over a certain brand on his back as she went, and a shiver tingles down Nolan’s spine.

It was a small mark, a circle with a single scratch passing through it, the design seemed vaguely familiar as she studied it intently, tracing the linework lightly. It looked as if the wound was inflicted deeply, but she knew clear and well that no animal would have been able to leave that mark. It was the work of another human.

She says nothing at first, letting the silence hang in the air as she silently drinks in the view of his lean build, muscular lines carved at perfect spots on bronze skin - though littered with scars of previous untold battles. He feels her eyes on him, and stifles a shiver.

“How did you get that scar?”

Nolan tensed, his gaze now fixed on the rocks beneath him as his breath quickens. Hesitating as though the mere mention of it brought up bad memories.

It was a brand - no doubt a mark left by King Emry. A brand that scarred him.

“I...It was given to me when I became his assassin.” he feels her nail tracing the thin line now, “it serves as a constant reminder that I’m no longer free. I’m bound to my vows.”

“But are you still bounded by your words?” Yvette questions deeply, moving away to undo her own robes.

“I only wish not to be,” he sighs ruefully, “it’s not easy, the mark is a curse made by his sorcerer. If I ever defy him...” he trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“But you are defying him right now, and nothing has happened to you.” A light splash of her entering the water catches his attention, and she reaches out a hand to beckon him closer, to which he accepts, “something is changing you.”

Nolan looks away, thoughtful, and the realisation finally hits him.

“Not something,” he starts, “someone.”

Yvette lets a small smile form across her lips, eyes shining with affection as she approaches the man, hands laying cooly against his chest. “Who is it?” she whispers.

Nolan returns the smile, holding her gaze boldly as it lingers, and she challenges his space, her face close enough that he could feel her warmth radiating. He chuckles lightly.

“It isn’t you, Yvette.”

Disappointment flashes briefly through her eyes, and she lets out a small, “oh.” before retreating, still smiling as she scoops a palmful of water in her hands, “I admit, romancing an assassin would of have been interesting.”

“Romancing a barmaid would of have been too. Unfortunate.” He teases back, before being splashed with water as her laughter rings through the cave.

[geto]

[“I’ll just sit here and wait for you to be finished.”]
Asra Alnazar and Esmerelda [mc]
^characters from The Arcana

word count: 759
tw: lemon, soft[tm]

Orange light emits warmly from behind the veil of curtains, casting a familiar shadow from the backroom where Asra would conduct his readings and brew potions. Esmerelda watches fondly from the ford of pillows that she had built, laying comfortably from their shared room above.

The air was chilly that night, but the stove provided just enough warmth that wrapped the apprentice in a cosy blanket, she looks over to the balcony, and sure enough - Faust lays unmoving, her head resting cooly above her blue coils as she watches her surrounding lazily with beady red eyes.

Asra?

Esmerelda smiles, rolling on her back as she basked in the darkness, mind fuzzy as a certain warmth blooms in her chest. The air smelled of familiarity - cedarwood and just a tinge of roses, home, the same smell that lingered on Asra whenever she was near him.

“He’s downstairs, Faust.”

Doing?

“I don’t know, do you want to see him?”

And as if on cue, the python uncurls itself, slithering and dropping down onto the pile of pillows as she coils herself up Esmerelda’s arm, careful to not squeeze too tightly and laying gently; a gesture that she would always do when she was ready to go somewhere.

“Then I guess that makes the two of us, eh?”

She gets up, treading silently down the stairs, careful not to make a single sound as she stops behind the wall of the curtain and lifts Faust up, eyeing her cheekily as the python flicks her tongue back in jest.

A soft chuckle comes from within the room, full of warmth and gentleness.

“I already heard you, come on out Emma.”

Emma - it was the one of the several nicknames that Asra gave her.

She steps into the light, letting Faust slither onto a wooden rack before going over to him, the candles licked light onto his features, and for some reason, Asra looked nothing short of ethereal, his velvet scarf laid opposite the table, wintry hair dishevelled with exhaustion. He was leaned over a stack of papers that he seemed to be studying intently, and Esmerelda wraps her arms around his lean figure, bringing him close and tiptoeing to catch a glimpse of what he had been so engrossed in.

“It’s late Asra...” she coos softly and rests her head on his shoulder languidly, taking in the scent of fresh roses, “...sleep, please?”

He turns his head and pecks her temple lightly, and she could feel the slightest hint of a smile.

“Not right now, mon amour, I’m just about to figure out an exotic potion.”

“And I’m not sleeping without you.”

Asra straightens, turning around to meet her gaze fully as he wraps his arms firmly around her waist, letting her toy with his hair as she pouts sheepishly. He returns a tired grin and rests his forehead against hers.

“You will be the reason I never complete my things, you know that?”

She chuckles slightly, basking in the comfort of being in his arms, and nestles her face against the crook of his neck.

Everytime she had shared a moment like this with Asra, the both had felt serenity and safety in levels they could have never reached without the other, he found that she fitted perfectly as his other half, and she found a sense of safety and homeliness in him. She teases him endlessly just like he does - they were like two peas in a pod.

“Emma...” he begins as she lets go, plopping herself into a nearby bean chair as she gazes at him intently, “If you really need to do this, I’ll just sit here and wait for you to be finished.”

She catches his gaze wandering, for she had on a mere maroon silk robe with a dangerous plunging neckline - it had been a gift from Asra that he had found on one of his ventures, and he wasn’t even sure why he had gotten it in the first place, the thought of Esmerelda wearing such a scandalous outfit was enough to send him blushing furiously.

Asra sighs defeatedly, leaning down as he slips his arm under her body, lifting her up as if she was as light as a feather, and begins making his way out of the room. This close, Esmerelda could feel his heart beating strong beneath his thin clothes, and she laughs as Asra swung her around effortlessly.

“You leave me no choice, Emma, someone would have to pin you down or you’ll always get your way.”

[geto]

[“Liar!”] | Ending - Isak Danielson
Asra Alnazar
^character from Nix Hydra, The Arcana

word count: 743
tw: angst, mild violence

Asra quickly takes the scroll off of the messenger hands, worry beginning to course through his veins as he retreats back to the shop, clutching the parchment paper tightly.

He wanted good news, and had dared hoped for the entirety of Esmerelda’s absence that she had been doing fine in the castle - she’d sent letters of forced comfort, even Asra could sense it. Something was amiss, but he had always told himself time after time that his apprentice - his lover - was capable of handling herself.

Only now that he realises that it was a foolish mistake, a mistake that would cost him everything he ever loved.

The parchment felt of foreboding, a fearful apprehension radiating off the paper, rough as it is against his delicate skin, Asra could sense something coming through it - neither good but neither bad, but negative enough to paralyse him as he began unfolding the words.

[Asra Alanazar,]

[It is of unfortunate news to inform you of something so distressing, but I, Julian Devorak, hope to seek your understanding through this tough period of time for both Vesuvia and it’s people.]

[As you are the only person Esmerelda Casern had ever talked of, and with my knowledge that she had no other immediate family members, it is of great regrets that I inform you of her passing-]

Asra had only got to the middle of the letter before something in him snaps, a stabbing pain pierces his chest as his knees buckled, falling to the floor in a heap as he struggles to breathe, ragged gasps coming through his cracked lips as tears clouds his vision. And he attempts to withhold the cries that threatens to follow.

Confusion and guilt rips at his chest in a blinding pain, he knew that it would happen, he could sense it since the day Emma had left his side - but he wouldn’t consult the tarots even as it screamed and begged for his attention, he was much too afraid of what he would find. And Asra knew that she was a hard-headed maiden who wanted everything to do with helping to develop a cure for Vesuvia’s citizens, and he would have no way of getting through her head.

He blames his selfishness, for how he wanted desperately for Esmerelda and him to run, to escape from the terrible disease plaguing and terrorising its victims. Asra wanted her and knew they could never be safe unless they got out of the city. And he thought himself selfish for wanting to escape suffering.

Confusion turns to guilt.
Guilt turns to regret.
And regret turns into anger.

And anger grows into rage.

It started deep down in his chest, a seed of rage. Of resentment. Of self-loathing. Something dark and terrible, and then it exploded, bursting through his lungs, through his neck, through his arms and legs. Through his mind.

Asra refused to believe, a burning sensation taken ahold of his entire figure as he releases his frustrations, then he snaps, completely and utterly snapped, an inhumane roar tearing at his throat as he thrashes the first things he got ahold of, from potions to books to glass bottles - he didn’t care if the shards cut deep into his palms, he was much too in agony to care.

“Liar!”

He’d wonder if this was a sick joke, the gods have not been kind as of late - but Asra knew that this was times where humour was clearly unneeded, and no one would of have been sick enough to play such an inhumane joke on him. But only that increases his agony as he tears at wood, tears and blood now falling freely unto the oak floors in a mess.

“Liar, liar, liar.” he mutters quietly now, shakily, almost like attempting to convince himself that it was not real - that maybe this was a dream, a result from the stress of caring too much. Or maybe it was that he had finally contracted the plague, and this was merely the beginning to his tortures.

Asra falls to the floor, body shaking violently as he cried, wept like he’d never before. His great, racking sobs echoed through the tavern like the sounds of tortured pain.

And he stays there, letting blood flow over his shirt, seep into the ground, he feels something scaly and cold slither up his arm, wrapping herself around his shoulder in an embrace.

Don’t cry.

[geto]

["I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice."]
Asra Alnazar being out of character and Muriel
^characters from Nix Hydra, The Arcana

word count: 918
tw: none

Dusk was falling, and not before long, the city was covered in a blanket of darkness, lanterns lining the side of the roads and casting it’s dim, orange light as the two paced down the empty streets quietly.

A wistful sigh escapes from Asra’s lips, his cheeks flushed from the cold of the night as he watches his breath dissipate into steam, and he turns to look up at the taller man.

“When was the last time we actually did something like this? Walk around town in the middle of the night, alone, smell the freshest air,” Asra throws his arms out for dramatic effect as a mischievous smile forms across his face, “god, it’s been so long it’s almost nostalgic. I missed it - why did we stop doing this?”

Muriel remains silent, his gaze perpetually fixed on the back of Asra’s fluffy head as he follows a step or two behind, studying the magician intently before he whipped around, catching Muriel by complete surprise.

Asra’s grin stretches wider, eyes narrowed as he cocks his head curiously, voice dancing. “Were you looking at me? I could swear I felt eyes on my back.”

Muriel was suddenly glad for the mask of darkness that helped cover his face, his hair serving as a curtain as heat flushes his face. He turns away pointedly to rest his gaze on the still water in the canal, and Asra’s laughter only causes his blush to deepen a shade.

“I wasn’t.”

“Relax, I was merely teasing.”

Asra slows his pace to walk alongside him, “Say, do you remember the pier? Our little hideout?”

The smell of salt in the air was gradually increasing as they neared the ocean, and turning a corner, they stopped, the sight of the familiar boats floating to the gentle caress of the sea warming a part of Asra’s chest, and absently, he twines his fingers with Muriel’s and tugs him along, an excited look evident in his eyes as he bounces on the balls of his feet like an overjoyed child.

Muriel feels a smile tug on the corners of his lips - his focus was laid on Asra once again, a soft expression washing over his hardened features as he tightens his grip.

It felt like the past, the familiar, yet nostalgic smell, the way the air always seemed to stung at his eyes and how salt would always stick to his hair, clumping the strands in a mess. The way little Asra would gaze up at him with glinting, wide, violet eyes - even as children Muriel was always taller, and Asra would convince him to come out of his little comfort zone and try out new things. Only to head back to their little abode beneath the port late into the night and awake to the wondrous smell of magic-cooked breakfast.

“I missed all this.” Asra mutters, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath, “look at it, the first place where we first met. I remembered that you were trying to follow me.”

“I was trapped by Ethan’s crooks. Didn’t have much of a choice.” Muriel replies softly.

Asra moves forward, forcing Muriel to move along with him as he approaches the port.

“Do you think our home is still there?” Asra lets go of his hand, peering over the water and under the wooden bridge before continuing.

“Doesn’t hurt to check.”

He looks over his shoulder, grinning at a tentative Muriel as he holds out a hand, “oh come on, I won’t let you touch the water, I promise.”

Promises - if there was one thing that makes Muriel so fond of the magician, it was that he never goes back on his promises, they were never blank, but rather, always fulfilled.

And Muriel takes a step towards him.

♛

“Ah, isn’t it nice being back to old times.”

Asra sinks back against an orange beanbag, a cup of hot chocolate wrapped in his fingers as he settles Faust onto a nearby shawl, feeling the old magic of the place tingle alive in his veins as the atmosphere blooms, almost welcoming, and he lifts his gaze to watch the golden - now dusty - chime dangling from the gold leaf adorned ceilings.

Muriel tucks his legs towards his chest, burly arms resting awkwardly as he folds them across his legs. He lets his shawl rest on the carpeted floor beside him.

“It’s...nice.”

Asra smiles languidly, “Do you remember how we would, well, always cuddle when the temperature drops?”

He watches a blush form over Muriel’s cheeks as he teases, barely withholding his chuckle as he brings the chocolate to his lips.

“Or how we would hold hands least the other got lost in the market? Well, you always got lost, I was quick, but you weren’t so hard to find amongst the crowd.”

“That’s not true, you got lost.”

“And you blush so easily.”

Muriel silences, pointedly avoiding Asra’s gaze as he freezes, feeling his heart beat wildly and all while maintaining a neutral face.

He could feel Asra’s gaze on him, patient, watching, he knew how much the silence nerved Muriel, and he lets it linger long, watching for a reaction to which Muriel does not give in to.

Asra gets up, placing his mug aside as he crosses his legs beneath him, donning on an innocent expression, “Don’t think that I don’t ever notice,” he grins, "I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice."

[geto]

[“Just leave me!] | The Other Side - Ruelle
Newt, Minho and Thomas
^characters from James Dashner, The Death Cure

word count: 1381
tw: angst

Thomas treaded the compound precariously, unease stitching up his back as he stifles a shiver, his gaze darts back and forth the musk-stained walls as he searches for him.

Minho strayed just a few feet further from the rest of the group, head hung low as though he was deep in thought, following the two armed guards in dead silence.

Thomas looks away, diverting his gaze to the ground beneath him - to which was littered with debris and nothing but stained, unfinished and uneven concrete, a sick feeling was beginning to rise in his stomach, and averting his focus to the musty floors was better than taking in the appearances of rotting, breathing flesh surrounding the group.

Everyone looked dejected - and Thomas wouldn’t blame them one bit, after what they had gone through continuously for the past few days - months even, being constantly placed in harms way with not a single minute to rest, not even to properly sleep. Bruises and wounds decorated bodies, their skin pale and cracked with dried blood, a deep ache coursing through their muscles with each minute movement. Even Thomas himself felt on the brink of collapsing. But everyone had kept going; Thomas, Minho, Brenda and Jorge, they had fought all the way to the Crank Palace in hopes to find a friend there.

Thomas had high hopes, and he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if he didn’t find Newt here.

The guards led them through a series of alleys, of high walls and corners where the ones who still had their sanity slightly intact cowered and crouched into a fetal position, shaking violently whilst chanting strings of incoherent words. Others who had completely lost themselves to the grasp of reality; the ones from above the palace and locked into their own individual rooms, they screamed and cried in agony, unable to make sense of their consciousness and surroundings.

A pang of pain sears through Thomas’s chest, he wonders if Newt had gone past the stage of losing himself completely.

“How long more?” Jorge calls out to the guards, and only one responded with a curt, “Soon.”

Thomas lifts his gaze, noticing Minho’s now impatient stride as he attempts to straighten himself, looking about his surroundings - and it was then that he notices Minho’s puffy, blood-shot eyes and his clenched fists resting tensely by his sides. Thomas winces.

The group rounds a corner before the guards stopped in front of an abandoned bowling alley, and anxiety palpates through Thomas’s nerves.

“Newt, right? Dirty blonde, almost your height, lean and slender. Lad’s probably in there, pray his brain hasn’t turned to mush yet.” the guards chuckled as they stepped aside, guns in hand.

Thomas casts a look over the others, and Jorge nods.

“Go in there, I’ve no business with your friend, Brenda and I’ll just wait out.”

Thomas returns an appreciative nod, then casting another look over to Minho - who was pointedly looking away, he steps into the alley.

The first smell that hit them both was the musk, along with the heavy stench of sweat and rotting flesh. The room was packed with people; some sitting, some standing and staring aimlessly at the wallpaper-torn walls, the atmosphere felt heavy and humid, almost suffocating, and the floors were littered with rubbish and sleeping bags.

Thomas tries to keep his attention away from the pining cranks, who had their arms outstretched and awing at him in wonder, beady red eyes wide open in wonder as if the two were aliens. He cranes his neck and sweeps his gaze over the room, and in just a split moment, he notices a mess of dirty blonde hair, sitting in the corner with his body leaning languidly against the wall, shaking, skin plastered to bones as if he had not eaten in days.

“...Newt?”

Minho was the first to pave a path over to their friend, carelessly shoving mindless cranks aside as Thomas followed suit, and deep down, he was afraid of what the outcomes could be. He wasn’t prepared to accept that Newt was a crank - and he certainly hoped that the ex leader was nowhere near deteriorating.

He watches as Newt catches on to the sound of footsteps approaching, turning his head around sharply in a way that stops Thomas in his tracks. His mannerisms, the sharpness of his movements, something had changed, his demeanor was different. Thomas fears the worse.

“Minho, be careful. He might have-”

“Is that how you see our friend? Huh? He’s fine.”

A pang of pain shoots through his guts.

Minho turns back to Newt; who had turned to face them fully, his expression neutral, but clearly forced. His face was gaunt and sickly, pale and pasty white, his eyes a veiny red and his body trembled with unfounded cold.

“Newt?”

“Leave.”

Newt’s voice was thin and reedy, hoarse, much different from the usual deep and calming one that had shared countless stories to the Gladers. He attempts a scowl - much to no avail. Minho shoots Thomas a worried glance, and turns back.

“Newt, it’s us-”

“I said, leave.”

Thomas steps forward, only to be hissed at by Newt, and desperation clung at his consciousness, “Newt-”

“Damn it, I said leave!”

The boy had stood up, a mixture of strained movements as he willed himself to keep still on his feet, though wavering, anger forms across his face as he clutches his wrist, wincing.

“Can’t you let a dying man go in peace? Look at me. I’m all this, and you just can’t forget, you just can’t let me be. You just had to find me. After all I’ve done for you all, how much more selfish can you be?”

The alley had fallen significantly quieter, most of the attention now turned on the three. Newt narrows his eyes, and it was clear that even speaking was a draining task for him.

“I’m dying. Thomas, Minho, I’m dying. Is it too much to ask of you to not witness me in my dreariest days? Bloody hell.”

Thomas watches as his resolve weakens, clearly not able to keep up with his own facade as he sinks back to the floor in a heap, and tears threaten to spring into his eyes. His throat tightens painfully, and Minho only looked as though he was on the verge of releasing all his bottled up anger.

“Listen to me, Newt,” Minho begins, “we came all the way here to find you, risked our lives to get here and now, now you want us to leave? No. I don’t think that’s happening.”

“Like I said, selfish.” he responded, spitting each syllable venomously.

“Selfish? We came all the way here, Newt! Lost so many others on the way! Half the Gladers are either dead or missing, Teresa betrayed us, half of us didn’t survive that forsaken sandstorm, the scorch was enough to kill us. And you call us selfish?”

Minho trembled with anger and Thomas places himself beween the two, a hand planted firmly on his chest to stop him from taking another step further.

“So you came after me, just because you lost others? What am I? A comfort toy?” Newt snarls angrily, “I’m becoming one of them soon, my suffering would end. You don’t need me, so for the last time. Leave.”

“Newt.”

“Leave before I hurt you!” Newt releases a gut-wrenching scream, his voice breaking.

And it was at that moment when Thomas felt his heart shatter into a million pieces, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pleads silently with his eyes - Newt was adamant, and he was boiling.

“Just leave me!” the reedy boy shouted once more, “I don’t want you here, just leave, leave me please. Walk away and don’t turn back, leave, leave, leave.”

Something had torn the boy from inside out, innocence lost. Thomas knew that he was no longer the same Newt as before, but he could clearly tell that the man was in pure agony, fighting an internal and external war for control over his senses and body. A sense of guilt rises from within, he felt selfish for being an immune.

But this time Thomas complies, with a heavy feeling in his chest as he pulls Minho out of the alley with him.