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Ooooh! I do love it. Everything OculusWriter said.
Prompt 38. Bliss
Original Fiction: "Aware"
Ice Queen made it out injured, but it wasn't injury keeping her awake.
On the other other side of the bedroom, Wolf breathed steadily, as though she slept, as though today weighed nothing.
Ice Queen rolled over and stared at the wall, into flames crackling beneath the cries of her mare, village burning because her raiders invaded and she couldn't break cover.
She shuddered, scrambled abruptly out of bed, and crawled in beside Wolf, who blinked groggily but didn't stop her.
It felt better to be held snugly, as though she were still innocent, unaware of what she could do.
So much accomplished! Congrats!
I've been skipping a lot of writing lately. Congrats on the writing hours! I'm so happy for you. And glad you had a lovely Easter. :D
Congrats!
She shoots out of the covers, breathing hard.
It drags Math out of groggy sleep. It's Skylight. She isn't looking at him, isn't touching him, isn't reaching for comfort. She could be starting push-ups as she stares straight down at the mattress.
"Hey," he whispers, also not reaching. She doesn't like to be touched. Not now. Not like this.
But she jerks away from even his voice, the tiniest of flinches, before he hears her forcibly calm her breathing to a steady, even pace.
Skylight shakes her head, in control once more. "It's nothing."
Not a nightmare, he knows. Flashback.
cover (original)
"Hush now." Her voice was soft as a whisper as Skylight settled her weight against him, hands gentle at the back of his neck, fingers twining through his hair.
They needed to be quiet. Skylight wasn't his lover in this story they were acting out; she didn't even know him at all.
"I bet refugees find reasons to keep each other warm all the time," he murmured softly.
She pressed her face to his neck, a silent smile saying more than laughter. The room was certainly warm enough, offered to the refugees they supposedly were.
"Hush now," she said again.
You have been busy. Congrats on being productive.
Evocative! Nice. :)
Well done.
Instinct (original)
She'd been doing this for years now. Small hands on the controls. Communications to the field command for Thorn's army.
Skylight stared at her report one more time. The Baganechi, horseback bandits of the desert, had nothing vested in this city. Whispers were quiet, networks turned over, and everything said they would not fight.
She hesitated, a niggle in her gut. Something was wrong.
Deploy.
Plans set in motion, an attack on the city she'd owned for weeks now, her leader's team assigned to handle intelligence.
Skylight waited, taut and tense and silent for endless minutes.
There. Breath caught.
Hoofbeats.
Adorable!
:bats eyelashes:
Lovely!
Lovely!
Glad you liked! I had fun with this one. :)
Nice!
Oh, ouch. Well done.
What If (original)
What if...
My mother never lost me.
The teams were never formed.
Children were never raised as living weapons.
She falls into sleep, tumbling into the dreams she was named for, question on her lips or mind, reality spinning and forming around her into a world only she can choose to reject or to make permanent.
She hates what she is, this Dreamer, hates that she can kill a man with bare hands (and has), conquer a nation if you give her the time and the orders (and she has).
But she dreams, and cannot deny that world is worse.
I love this!
original
“We are not going to slaughter the hordes,” Wolf says patiently, faint smile coloring her voice. She’s leaning back, waiting for Skylight to give her tactics that won’t end in a bloodbath.
In an alternate universe, Skylight thinks she would be a very different person. She huffs and goes back to the drawing board. Minimize casualties while forcing regime change.
She knows this work, knows blood and politics, but she allows herself to imagine not knowing, wonders what she’d be like had she been raised a little girl instead of a weapon.
“I suppose they’re not all bad,” she allows.
Ooh! Nice!
First Son, Fandom: The Librarians, AU
Eve didn’t care if the Flynn was the President’s firstborn: his addiction to adventure was going to get them both killed.
“Flynn, I am your father’s secret service agent,” she reminded him for the dozenth time in an hour.
“Assigned to protect me,” he countered.
“Not your babysitter, not your driver, and we are not going to ride into the sand dunes while your father finishes his conference with the sheik.”
Out came the puppy dog eyes that really would be the death of her. “Eve, come on. Relax. It’ll be fun.”
He was off again, her racing after.
“Flynn!”
lovely!



misbegottenThis Is Why We Can't Have Nice ThingsMay 24 at 2:11 PM