[Brainiac5]

"We gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselves."


username: plus ultra
name: Solamare, but just Sol is fine
gender: male
prompt: Sol could remember his first fight, if he tried. He had been small then, more fluff than anything. It was his first night in the dormitories that encircled the arena, and some of the older male kits had decided to, in their words "show him how things worked down here". Sol was the son of a noble family, casualty of a messy divorce that ended with his penniless mother selling him and his two sisters for her own survival. The others had expected him to be an easy beatdown. A "rich boy" should be, they thought. But when they pushed Sol down for the third time, something in the small kit snapped. He leapt up, all claws and teeth, going right for the lead bully's throat. None of them stood a chance against Sol's rage. This "beast mode" of his became known as his Solar Flare in the arena, years later. He became one of the most popular gladiators in the Infernal Arena. He was given dozens of chances to go free, but to this day he hasn't left. Solamare doesn't know if he could live outside the ring anymore. He fears himself, his wrath. Some things, he believes, aren't meant to be free.

[foxxbreath]

username: Pidge
name: Tybe (Tib)
gender: Male

prompt: Tybe hates confrontation. He actually just doesn't enjoy physical interaction with people, in general, so his fights are much less "fist to the face" and more "who can talk the other out." He is absolutely glued to his phone; with crippling anxiety keeping him from comfortably being a functional member of society, he does most of his communicating through digital platforms. Of course this includes social media, and as we all know....there is always something to argue on social media.

Tybe is insanely stubborn. He hates confrontation and conflict, but he is also highly opinionated and when he knows he's right he wants to go to every length possible to prove it to the other person. In his mind, it's not for the sake of saying he won, but getting it through someone else's thick skull that they're thought process has some holes in it...really, he does like the feeling of winning though.

So how does he win these arguments? Persistence, mostly, as he is very good at carrying on rambles and rants. He spends more time than he should looking for the perfect words to use - not so he sounds smarter, but so the definition is as accurate as possible. He can find a response to any retaliation, and in his experience many of his opponent tend to restate the same arguments over and over. This is an easy opportunity for him to restate his own comments, and point out to them they're being repetitive and they already address & moved past those points. He doesn't give up until they do, needs to have the last word, and if a new comment shows up months after the original discussion....he will jump right on it.

He isn't exactly grumpy. And part of him knows it really isn't worth the effort; they're probably just as stubborn as he is. But that doesn't stop him. He doesn't even consider it arguing really, to him it's just a (sometimes heated) debate. Why is it so easy for him to argue though? Over the internet, he's likely never going to encounter these people again, nor is he likely to see any of them in the real world, so to him there's no harm done.

Tybe means well, he just doesn't see how irrational and counterproductive his own insight can be at times.

(390/600)

[doryphoros]

username: little white lies.
name: auberon
gender: male
prompt: [441/600]

the clang and hiss of clashing blades rang out from the mountanside. coming closer, one could hear a gruff voice barking orders. "left, right, left, right, faster! faster, maggots! don't you wanna live?" peering at the training yard of villefort, the esteemed academy for aspiring demon hunters, you could see pairs of kalons furiously slashing and hacking at each other. one in particular caught your eye, one who seemed to move with a more fluid grace than the others. the instructor's voice snaps you from your thoughts. " stop! alright, auberon and morgan, come to the center. " the kalon that you saw before stiffens slightly, but still walks into the center with their head held high. "i want a clean fight. no dirty tactics, alright?" the two nod, before shifting into defensive positions. "start!" they fly at each other, determination gleaming in their eyes. it won't win them anything here, but on the battlefield, it will be the key to life or death. "auberon! switch hands!" the darker colored kalon quickly transfers their slim rapier to their other hand, and continues fighting. you look on in awe as the duel goes on, each kalon refusing to yield. finally, auberon, retreating backwards, stumbles on a rock and falls to the ground. morgan rushes forward and slams their sword down, only to be blocked by the rapier. the rapier creeps closer to auberon's throat every second that ticks by. real fear begins to be present in his eyes, and he presses upward with all of his might, but to no avail. with the rapier almost touching his throat, the instructor sighs and bellows out, "stop!" morgan's sword quickly disappears, and auberon stands up so fast that he almost falls over. they bow and quickly exit the arena, milling around with their friends. the instructor looks around, annoyance in his gaze. "well, what are you waiting for? to your barracks, maggots!" the kalons scatter, not wanting to incite the instructor's wrath. auberon follows. " auberon, come here." auberon freezes and walks back, fear in his eyes, but indifference in his stance. "yes, asim?" asim looks him over and sighs. "know when to yield. it isn't a breach of honor. it's just acknowledging that your opponents have bested you." auberon opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off by asim. "but - your determination will do you well on the battlefield." asim walked away, a stunned auberon unsure how to react. he knelt, looking to the sky, whispering a silent vow. as he got up and raced to the barracks, you sent him godspeed.

[Fuscontidox]

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username: Fuscontidox
name: Zenon
gender: Male
prompt: (600/600)

“Hahaha! And then he just scurried off like a scared little fish!” He watched from afar, more or less listening to the conversation unfolding on the lips of a boy who was only an inconvenience to those on cleaning duty, not even his posture gesturing to his true interest in them. “I wish you guys could have seen his face, but it’s whatever, I got what I wanted out of him.”

“Huh… Is it that funny in person?” A handful of heads snapped towards his direction, “Watching a kid suffer while you beat him to a pulp? Because you failed the test, I mean. Of course, after stealing his notes.”

The boys in the circle glanced at the storyteller, who proceeded to sneer, “What can I say, everyone’s got those little quirks to enjoy.”

He began putting away the equipment from his share of cleaning the classroom and headed out the door, “Get your own work done you dependant little leech sack.” He walked along steadily, hands in his front pockets and a somber expression over his face.

3….2….1….

“Hey!” He dragged himself to a stop, “Who do you think you are?”

With an exaggerated lul of his head over his shoulder, his eyes like candle light met the contorted expression of the storytelling boy who had tailed him down the hall.

“Who do I think I am?” He paused, and turned away again, “hm… I wonder.” His words said as if to notion it wasn’t his business. His feet carried on and he continued to move without caring to glance back.

Feet stomped behind him, and a twitch tickled the side of his mouth, they grew closer and closer, until a rough hand gripped his shoulder and spun him about, “Don’t be cocky, you can’t make such a comment and expect it to blow over for you.” The boy seethed, receiving nothing but a brow raise as contribution.

“I could,” He dragged, tilting his head and shifting his weight to the opposing leg, “but it isn’t my problem that you chose to hold on to what I said.” With that, he shrugged the boy off and began to walk away once again.

He suddenly flung forward, as a foot made contact with his back, his hands landed firmly on the ground before he flipped over and clasped his hand brutally tight around the ankle that had come dangerously close to his face. The flame of his eyes burst into truly vibrant colors, and his once passive face presented itself something new.

He twisted the boy’s leg as quickly as he had grabbed it, and used his free hand to support at the calf. With a mighty heave, he flew the boy over his head, whilst landing on his back himself, and easily pulled himself to stand. Watching the boy grunt and gurgle, on his elbows, gingerly reaching for the ankle that had been injured in the process.

He stood over him, and pressed lightly on the ankle with the toe of his shoe, a smile on his lips, “Well, there is one thing I agree with you on,” his voice was hair raising, fearless, terrifying, yet soft and intimate, “everyone’s got those little quirks to enjoy.” He released the little pressure he had placed on the boy’s foot, and watched him relax, bruising beginning to form along the side of his hand from beating the floor through the pain.

A rush of steps came, and Zenon knew the crew had witnessed the terrifying scene, but no one had even remotely realized...

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They had been played like chess.

[beeqlass]

username:
name:
gender:
prompt:

it was an accident.

he didn't mean to do it.

but here he was, at it again, another fight.

wip//

[sicknasty]

username: sicknasty
name: saul
gender: male
prompt: should you fight saul?

[Hounder]

username: bear?
name: kashton (kash)
gender: male
prompt: 600/600

kash's dreams are usually filled with flashes of bloodied fur and the sound of punches hitting jaws. paved stone bricks slicked with rainwater turned pink by blood; but tonight was different.

"just do it, it doesn't hurt, it's quick."

"but what if it does, jonah? i don't want it to hurt, and what about the blood?"

"don't be a wimp, kash!" jonah was screaming now, his eyes glinting unnaturally in the light, the glint matched that of the onyx blade that was clenched in his paw. kash knew it the second as jonah's face changed, his scowl turning to a more slack face, but he wasn't quick enough, especially with the rest of them there. kash was trembling and he shook his head softly. " no jonah, don't do it, please." jonah surged toward him, and from behind two more came.

"pin him down! get his arms!"

"no! jonah no!" kash was screaming, lashing out his limbs and thrashing his whole body. little kash couldn't do anything against three older kalons, especially his brother. jonah reached into his bag and pulled out a small maroon flower that closed up into a point, with three dainty leaves framing it. kash's eyes were wild and he was still trying to escape from the iron grip that he was being held in. jonah firmly placed his hand on kashs right shoulder, steadying it. he pulled out his blade and sliced the tip of the flower in half, and when he pulled the blade away a string of red liquid came with it. kash had stopped now, and was staring right into jonahs eyes. jonah took the flower and held it about an inch above his shoulder, and then he pinched it.

kash bolted up, his own scream echoing in his head. he softly brought his paw to his shoulder and traced along the small mark that was hidden beneath his fur. he shook his head as he rose up, he wasn't supposed to be here. holt would kill him if he fou-

"you're not supposed to be here, kash."

kash froze in place, but didn't turn around. his knife was clenched in his paw and he was careful to conceal it against his leg. he scoffed softly before replying. "you think i don't know that, holt?"

"i think you know just well what you're doin, you're gonna be as dead as benson was today after i-"

kash swung around, shoving holt to the ground. as he placed his knee on holt's chest, he held his knife against the other kalons throat, blood beginning to trickle out from a thin cut. "don't think for a second i won't slit your throat, holt." his voice was low and steady, his eyes meeting holts. "where's benny, and what'd you do to him?" kash face had hardened into a grimace.

"you'll never kill me, kash, i know you wouldn't. as for benson, i think you know where he is, but it doesn't matter anymore, he's gonna get killed within a day, tops; that is, if he isn't already dead."

"ha, you must not know me very well holt." with that kash slashed his knife across holt's throat, and watched as holt gave him a last look of shock while he gurgled, then lay still. kash dipped his paw in the blood, swiping it in a line under each of his eyes, then around his wrists. he kicked holt's side as he heaved himself up from the ground, and glanced around quickly. he pulled a notebook from his backpack, and made a small line next to many others. 49

(sorry it's edited after the date, i was asleep when i realized i hadn't actually posted the form, only saved it in a pm draft!)

[Morta]

username:
name: Blake J. Witticker
gender: male
prompt:

res with a former soldier who gets in fights for the rush of adrenaline

[witchcrafting]

username: Vagabond :: name: Connlaoth :: gender: Male
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prompt:

"Back in grade five, lots of kids from the Philippines would criticise me for having an american accent, and not being able to speak their language, as I was not born in the Philippines, I was born in Texas. I wouldn't mind it often, but there was this one time that one kid and his punk friend that caught me at a really bad time.

I was on my way home from a terrible day at school, when the aforementioned punks came up to me, giving me the usual accent-related crap. They were giving me the finger and yelling at me, but I just kept on walking, as one should. Suddenly, one of the punks shoved me - and that's when I lost my mind.

The first punk punched me in the gut, and I was barely affected, so I kicked his knee, shoved him over against the wall and spit in his face. He was already crying before I did anything else.

Punk number two, came up to me with his book bag, flailing it like it was full of bricks or something - I maneuvered my way up behind him and got him into a one armed sleeper hold, and started poking at him with my other hand. He was sobbing and squirming, and I was laughing until I realised that he wasn't moving anymore. When I realised that he was unconscious, I let go and he fell onto the cement floor.

Being the ignorant 11 year old I was, I got really worried, thinking I'd killed him. It took him a while to come to.

Punk two tried to get me into some serious stuff when he ran off and called the level coordinator. My self defence was justified and they almost got expelled. In the end, no one really messed with me anymore, and the punks tried their best to make it up to me."

[ 317 words || 1,606 characters ]

[suds]

username: suds, nice to meet you !
name: germanium
gender: ftm trans
prompt:

“i dont think i like the way youre lookin at me.”

"i dont think oi loik the waey youre lukin at may,"

the words were soft but hit germanium like a punch to the nose; he wondered where the boy's, beau, courage came from. beau whirled around with a snarl. he gripped the counter with the hand he was leaning on to stabilize him. as germanium brushed his chest off he pushed off the wall and stood, swaying his shoulders as he sauntered up to beau. he spat his toothpick out.

"can you catch what im throwin' atcha boy?"

---

germanium is a simple man. he goes to the local bars at dark to keep himself occupied, and sane. coming from the uk was a dramatic ride on the culture slide. in america they were rowdy and dumb like a flock of pigeons. but they were interesting to watch squabble in the store or at a concert.

what he isnt new to is wrestling on the floor of a brick-walled pub donned with neon lights of busty girls.

germie barely remembers what happened as the adrenaline ran from his toes to the tips of his ears, filling him full like his glass left on the counter. oh yes, its because this beau boy was snickering at his accent. stupid yorkie; bout as annoying as the dog as well, he thought dryly. beau squirmed under him, sweat pooling at his sides; he was flushed with alcohol.

"summat wrong? werent so quiet before i-" germanium was cut short as beau spat in his face, practically foaming at the mouth. there wasnt even a crowd around them, just the bartender shaking his head before returning to his glass. as he wiped the slobber from his lips he decided that he had enough. he licked his lips and punched beau square in the jaw, not enough to break it but enough to show who was the alpha.

"dumb european scum! go back to the slums," beau growled, scampering up as his opposer rose. his nose was bloody and bruised, he cupped it without care, tears running freely; betraying his image.

the fight was short, simple like the weather in norway, and just as dreadful.

germie wondered why america got such a bad rap.