#fff34

[borealwrites]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Whew, right at the 1k mark~ I hope you all enjoy! Soon to be posted on my AO3 account as well ❤️

Buttercups and Buttresses

Jaskier was never very good at following instructions. It’d been true for as long as he could remember, much to the chagrin of his parents and tutors. Even his instructors at Oxenfurt had commented on his rebellious streak, lamenting how hard it made him to teach, though they also said it was an excellent trait for a bard.

It, combined with his insatiable curiosity, often got him into trouble. He supposed that by now he should have learned his lesson- when someone told him not to do something, there was usually a good reason for it. A good reason that he almost always ended up well acquainted with. It was never more true than with Witcher business.

Geralt had told him to stay with Roach. Told him that the monster he was hunting was too dangerous for Jaskier to follow into the abandoned and ruined castle. Jaskier hadn’t listened. In his defense, Geralt said that about every monster hunt. Drowners? Too dangerous. Manticore? Too dangerous. Warg pack? That’s right, too dangerous. How was Jaskier supposed to know that this time he actually meant it? Maybe if Geralt had sat down and explained what Huldra were and what they did, Jaskier wouldn’t have found himself in this situation.

Which was braiding wildflowers into the hair of something that looked like a beautiful woman. That didn’t sound bad, but Jaskier had no control over his actions, mindlessly staring at the dark, overgrown hole in the woman’s back as her tail curled possessively around his wrist, like a shackle. He could only guess this must be the monster Geralt had come to slay, in which case he wished the Witcher would hurry up and get on with it- mud was starting to seep into his breeches, making his kneeling position quite uncomfortable.

“...Dammit Jaskier!” He can hear Geralt growl from somewhere to his right, but his body’s attention remains firmly on the handful of buttercups and daisies he’s plaiting into the silken locks before him. The woman- or whatever she is- gives a hiss of displeasure, her tail uncurling from Jaskier’s wrist.

“That’s enough, bard.” Her voice is a silken purr, and his body immediately stills, the flowers falling out of his lax grip. “Be a good boy and stay.” The last word freezes his body, and Jaskier hates being told what to do, but he’s powerless. All he can do is watch helplessly as she stands, presumably facing Geralt.

“Release him.” Geralt says, his voice cold. What sort of expression is he wearing, Jaskier wondered. Was it blank, like usual? Or was his brow furrowed in anger, eyes narrowed as he glares at the woman?

“Why should I, Witcher? I doubt you’ll spare me if I do… maybe I should kill him.” The woman’s voice is equally cold, and Jaskier isn’t too fond of the way this conversation is suddenly going. He’d like to be able to say something, maybe try and convince her that really, killing him wouldn’t be worth it, but he still had no control over his damn body. She could at least let him look up, instead of keeping his gaze fixed on the discarded flowers. Oh who was he kidding, they were weeds, growing in the ruins of some ancient castle’s garden… it felt terribly poetic, and if he could have, he would have immediately started to write a song mourning the past glory of the buildings and how noble they must have looked, with their crenellations and buttresses, and all those other fancy architectural terms.

He was already composing the first verse, something about red gabled roofs reflected in a pond when the woman gave a shriek, turning towards Jaskier and oh dear, maybe he should have been paying attention. There was a flash of golden light- one of Geralt’s signs- and the woman was thrown back. Frustratingly, her hold didn’t loosen. So his gaze was still fixed on the ground as he heard the thud of boots running, the monster’s hiss. It sounded exciting and dramatic and he couldn’t see it.

How often did he get the chance to see Geralt actually fight a monster? Not often enough, and he was stuck staring at a pile of weeds. He wanted to howl in outrage, but, as before, nothing came of it. Then there was a screech, followed by a wet-sounding slice and then a sickening thud. Instantly, the tight feeling left, and he was able to move freely. Jaskier looked up just as Geralt walked over, sheathing his silver sword. He was scowling, which would have made a lesser man run, but not Jaskier. He greeted the Witcher with a smile.

“Thank you Geralt! It was dreadfully boring, being her slave. Was that the Huldra?” He chatted on, standing up with a groan- his poor breeches would be stained with grass and dirt forever- and these were brand new!

“I told you to stay with Roach.” Geralt snapped back, running a critical eye over Jaskier. “...She could have killed you.” Ah. So he had been worried.

“But she didn’t! All's well that ends well, I suppose. I have you to thank for that!”

“Hmm.”

“‘You’re welcome, Jaskier, I’m glad you aren’t hurt.’ And if you were just better at telling me about the monsters, maybe I wouldn’t get into so much trouble! Because you didn’t tell me she could hypnotize me to do her bidding, you didn’t tell me anything! I just saw a lovely young lady wandering about where a monster was. Yes, I realize she had a tail and pointed ears and a giant hole in her back but I didn’t notice that.” Jaskier rambled on as they walked out of the ruins, picking his lute up from where he had dropped it and starting on that song from earlier.

“All that remains are weeds and ruins,

Crimson stained curtains under red gabled roofs,

Ashy remains of those from long ago,

And monsters who hunt those who dare go.”

...He’d work on it.

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

Collapsed Forest

A/N: A poem written about the following prompt above, in a dystopian-ish setting.

Word Count: 112

***

In a quiet forest Overtaken by long vines And by thin roots  Life decays all around

The unwanted weeds sprout From the desolated soil Where limp flowers wilted With soft petals falling

A towering tree slumps  When it once stood Now sheathed in dust And submitted to ruins

Nature lost splendor here Demolished by careless abandon Tainted in slow destruction Left into complete seclusion

A cold breeze streaked Along the drab ruins Bringing those dry leaves Into a misty current

No creature ever dared To wander in there For they were ignorant Of it's former existence

Those weeds and ruins Rule the grim forest Waiting for a day To flourish once again

***

[stereonightss]

Anthems for a 17-year-old Girl

For @flashfictionfridayofficial​ 

AO3 Link

.

They hold Izuku’s memorial on a mossy outcropping in the national forest an hour outside of Musutafu city. 

Katsuki fights tooth and nail to get the group of them to reconsider. He knows what the others won’t believe: 

“He’s not gone, he’s—“

And they look at him with damp, crumpled faces, saying,

When are you going to accept it, Bakugou?

But Izuku will return some day, when he’s done with his last mission. He has to, or Katsuki will— 

Think of his mother, they say, the woman is grieving. 

The site is green and overgrown now. It’s been five long years since the fight that left a crater in the city ten blocks wide. The greenery does what it’s always done, swallows slowly all traces of things man-made. But still in ragged points, the remnants jut up like an ever-reaching hand, scooping acres of saplings and piles of rotting leaves in hollows of torn concrete. Whole buildings ripped up and transported here, at Izuku’s behest, now lay in ruins, crumbled or kicked open, leaving skeletal steel rebar woven through with weeds and vines.

Cementoss raises a three-story likeness from the rubble: Deku with his mask thrown back, one cleated boot propped heroically on a fallen I-beam. The eyes are harder than they ought to be, and the freckles are all misplaced, but it’s close enough to drop Inko to her knees with wet and ugly sobs. Katsuki has learned enough by now to take her in his arms and wait, to talk low and gentle if at all, to hold the grief with her as though it’s him who wielded All Might’s strength.

He breaks once Inko’s escort takes her well and away from the memorial, once almost everybody else has gone home. He breaks when Denki touches his shoulder and says,

“It’s time to go, Kacc—“

he breaks right as he’s breaking Denki’s nose, and he wants to say don’t you dare call me that, not now, not here, not ever again, but all that comes out is a garbled scream. He falls to the ground at Izuku’s feet and sobs harder than he has in years, harder than the night they sucked each other’s blood from their own ragged knuckles and brokered the shaky truce that Katsuki thought would last the rest of their lives.

Maybe it lasted the rest of his life.

The thought brings a wave of fresh, full-body sobs, and everyone but Eijirou leaves him to splinter under the weight of his own grief.

“H-he’ll be back.”

“I know,” Eijirou says, steady hands and steady voice and Katsuki collapses against him, saying

“He’s coming back, I know it.”

and

“He fuckin promised he would come back.”

and

“He’s a shithead but he’s not a liar, Eiji, he promised he would—“

and Eijirou is smiling, something half-mad in his eyes, and says,

“You really want him back.”

It’s more than want, it’s desperation; and Eijirou knows, because he says then:

“We should bring him back ourselves.”

[nenestansunsthings]

oh wow i haven't done flash fiction friday in a while. but! this prompt is really cool so i want to write for it! @flashfictionfridayofficial here's my entry thing!

.

.

It is said that there once was a green knight within this place.

That saying is the only thing that keeps Ferin moving, moving, moving. His son is still unconscious in his arms, the boy's heartbeat slow and unsteady despite everything. There is a black mark rippling through the skin of his neck, an expanding concentric circle that screams curse as much as it screams dying. There is a mirror of it on his own skin, but that is nothing against Alain's own danger.

He cannot let his son die.

It is said that there once was a green knight here. Caster, they called themself, like sugar, like magic. The magic they left behind is as clear as that sugar, seeping deep into Ferin's bones in a way that seems to drain all the taint of a curse from him. Will it be enough for Alain? He does not know. That magic seems to be making the cursed mark writhe under it, the black scattering further, thinner, quicker. Is it making him worse or better?

Ferin can't say. But the green knight was said to help. Perhaps their ruins can save his Alain.

Even if not him.

The magic seems to hear his plea, resonating deeper into his bones. Set him down, it seems to say. I will do what I can.

When he sets Alain on the ground, the plants beneath him twist from flowers into weeds. Ferin winces when he sees it, doubt and fear swirling discomfortingly in his thoughts. He does not know where the curse came from. But he prays, trusts, that the green knight can help. His grandmother always whispered about the Caster, they who were once the kingdom's benefactor. He prays that his grandmother was right.

"Please," Ferin whispers, his voice weak against the open garden. "Please save my son."

The weeds curl carefully around his ankles, around the joints of his fingers. He can feel the ring of clear magic within them. And you?

"Can you save me?" Ferin asks.

The garden is silent.

Ferin laughs, grief and desperation twisting into one echoing tone. The flowers under him are turning to weeds as well, far faster than they were with Alain. But that's alright. If Alain can be saved, that's all he could hope for.

"I don't mind," Ferin says. "I don't expect you to. Whatever this curse is, it is a strong one. Don't try to save those you cannot."

... I can save him.

"Then please." Ferin lets himself collapse, lets the weeds twist and constrict around his legs and hands. "I just want my son to live."

As you wish.

The flowers glow, a faint, white light, and for a second Ferin swears he can see the green knight's silhouette among them, a person kneeling to drain the curse from his son as roots drain water. The mark falls away, into the plants and into the flowers turning black, but all he can truly see is Alain.

Ferin smiles, the tears flowing down his cheeks nothing against his relief. Thank you, he wants to say. Thank you. Thank you.

"Your garden," he says instead, "is beautiful."

And that is the last he sees.

.

There is a boy playing in a garden, climbing a tree so high the leaves swirling an almost accursed black are almost untouchable. The weeds circle around his ankles as he climbs, thriving on magic long since immaterial.

Be careful, says the green knight, says the garden he plays in. Be safe.

"I will!" Alain promises, and past the memories that the curse has washed away and that the garden cannot bring back that promise brings someone relief.

[writingsfromspace]

FFF 34: Weeds and ruins

148 words, from the connected universe

@flashfictionfridayofficial​

This one is again rather fishy with regards to actual story-ness, but I hope it gives a nice glimpse of Eldun.

Eldun was littered with parks big and small, and the parks were, of course, littered with sculptures dedicated to nobles and warriors - mostly noble warriors - that had come before. It was seriously dubitable anyone knew them all.

But some had been deliberately hidden. When no descendants were left to care for them, or they had become undesirable to the current regime they were left to be forgotten, covered by weeds and eaten by corrosion.

Sorhon hadn’t lived in Eldun long enough to claim even average knowledge of the city’s statues, but he had been reasonably sure he knew all the ones in Rhunven’s park, until Rhevara took him for a walk.

She wasn’t a secret, exactly; anyone who went exploring in this overgrown corner of the park could have found her. Her overgrown, tarnished state certainly seemed a disgrace to her family, but Rhevara soon taught him better.

[procrastinatingwriter05]

Weeds and Ruins

The spark in her eyes had long gone dim.

She stared at the old statue, betrayal in her eyes and contempt in her heart.

It was nothing. Nothing but weeds and ruins.

She shouldn't be mad. Her mother would tell her not to. Her mother would call her by her own true name and she'd have no choice.

But she was.

She was mad.

She was upset.

She didn't know what to do.

That old statue, it was all that was left of Iridecense's light. Of her life. Of her legacy.

The only thing that remained in her memory was Iridescence's name. The name that she and her had nearly shared.

It was years ago. It was his fault, his fault this had happened.

But that didn't matter now.

She stared at the weeds and ruins and knew what she had to do.

She had to leave this place.

Not for her mother.

Not for him.

Not even for Iridecense.

For herself.

She stood, taking a glance at those weeds and ruins one last time.

She would leave this place and never turn back.

(@flashfictionfridayofficial)

[fields-of-ink]

FFF34: Weed and Ruins

I've always wanted to do this! Hopefully I do everything right.

Tagging @flashfictionfridayofficial!

Prompt: Weed and Ruins.

No warnings.

This is could be the start of the new WIP, but since I still have to decide all the details about worldbuilding, it may end up being pretty different. In the end, this is mostly a scenario that I really like writing :)

Small disclaimer: English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes!

Title: Nature's Gift (752 words).

She had never seen the Forest up close like that. She considered herself lucky that she had a wonderful view of the forest from her home. Oh, how she loved watching the leaves sway in the wind, reflections of gold and emerald shining under the sunshine!

But, now, she saw no gold nor emerald. The forest looked dark, the trunks shadowed by the very leaves she loved seeing from afar, the gentle wind letting rays of sunlight filter through the foliage. 

She looked around her: she couldn't see the end of the forest, plunged in darkness. 

She gathered her courage, clutching her dress, and took her first step. 

It was a necessary risk. The Call was getting too strong to ignore. She had read of similar things, and all the stories had a thing in common: the Called One never returned. 

She shivered in her clothes. Was she doing the right thing? Would she ever see her parents again? 

Why did the Called Ones never return? 

Her mind raced with thoughts and unanswered questions, forgetting the forest and its darkness, until a blinding light from above stopped her in her tracks. 

She looked around her: the roof of foliage had disappeared entirely, letting the sunlight pour on the ground. A glade welcomed her eyes, tranquil and serene, the silence that reigned above everything else. Even the wind's whispers seemed to disappear. 

She took a careful step on the golden grass: the glade seemed to arch its back like a cat, but soon the grass flattened once again, and she knew she could go on.

Pillars of decayed stone littered the place, made white by the blinding sunlight, old ivies that seemed to be the only things that allowed them to stay on foot. 

She reached the center of the glade, and stopped. 

Every blade of anxiety that cut through her soul until seconds ago dissipated under the sunlight, the deafening silence cleared her head of any unnecessary thought she may have had but for one: she had reached her destination. 

She chuckled: nobody in her village would have believed her about the existence of such a beautiful place in the dreaded forest! 

She sat down, letting the grass pet her hands. She felt eyes upon her, analyzing her and watching carefully, but not a whisper was carried by the wind, and she knew that, as a Called One, she had nothing to fear. 

She felt at peace. A tranquil sea was in her mind, deleting the memories of the stormy thoughts of before, and she was finding solace in that when the sound of steps broke the holy silence of the glade. 

She turned around, without standing up. 

At first, it looked like a moving tree. But upon closer inspection, she could see that it was indeed a creature covered in moss and foliage. Its four heavy paws pressed against the grass, emerald against the gold, its snout looking at her, its eyes covered by the leaves. 

She stood up, and bowed. 

The creature stood firmly, watching her. Under the leaves there were twitches of movements, but she didn't feel scared. It was too late to turn back now. 

The creature approached her, almost touching her. She stood without moving, watching it. 

In the end, it walked back, and lowered its head in a bow.

Her heart skipped a beat. The Call had finally be answered! She felt light, her mind finally free from any burden. She had found Her Place. Her Life. 

The creature looked at her, its eyes impossible to decipher.

In that moment, the world exploded. Blinding white covered her eyes and her soul, the whole place throbbed with life in front of her. Her mind grew out of her head, encompassing reality and spirit. 

She felt a connection with everything, from every single blade of golden grass to every inch of crack in the stone. The creature stood motionless in front of her, watching her, testing her. 

Everything came crashing down and she fell on her knees. 

The glade looked still, the creature had disappeared. 

Panting, she looked around her: everything felt alive and watching her. There were no malice in their eyes, only curiousity. 

She stood up. 

The forest beyond the glade was dark, but she wasn't scared anymore. 

The Call had been answered. 

Her mind screamed for knowledge and connections, wails of spirit hailing from different parts of the world. 

And in that moment she knew. She couldn't go back to her home again. 

[aziz-writes]

Alice's escape

Prompt: Weeds and ruins

WIP: Death of a monarch butterfly

Prompt by: @flashfictionfridayofficial

Most nights, Alice trembled in her cot. Nights were always full of remembering. She was a Delta now -- and while that held its own cacophony of horrors, her sleepless nights were spent remembering the Beta program.

Betas didn't get cots. They got cages. You always knew who was new by the sound of someone calling for a parent they would never see again. The worst part of the Beta program lay in those cages. [Redacted by the author, as this next part includes acts of abuse/torture]

But the best part, or at least the part that was the most bearable, were the sensory chambers. Alice always had to be careful not to look excited when it was time for sensory deprivation. Most of the betas who hadn't learned to dissociate yet hated the loneliness and darkness that had come with them. The others, who had mastered escaping their own mind, hated the time lost. They didn't always come back fully when the time in the chamber was over, and so lost as much as a day and several meals. No one was allowed to speak or touch, so there wouldn't ever be anyone to help anchor you or help you eat.

Alice had found a way to avoid both problems. She no longer panicked, and refused to give the program the last bit of her that was still hers. So she created the Forest.

She had learned from her Sessions with her handler that her mind was a map. She had a castle, a beach, and a swing set. Three commands to control her every action. Her refusal to give in to panic or escape let her alter her map.

At first, it didn't work. She didn't have access to smell in the chamber, and hypnotizing yourself was hard enough without a trigger. She kept trying, mouthing out her commands without trying to speak them. She wouldn't hear them anyway. In that respect, the chamber helped. There were no distractions. Then she saw it.

The forest, the only black area in her teal tinted world. It had broken off part of the castle, leaving large stone ruins scattered across the entrance. She climbed over them. Now she had a choice. She could see a benign looking patch of poppies, soft and light in this dark land. She turned away from it and picked through a patch of tall, barbed weeds. Poppies were never safe.

In a clearing, there were boxes and birds. She had a gun.

"Beta!" One cawed. "Time out!" Alice fought back a shiver, the gun in her hand trembling. She flinched, expecting a current of electricity to hit her right then and there. Nothing happened. "Bad girl!" The crow called out. She shot it.

It fell in a hole. She could bury it, but it had to be more than that. She had to keep this demon from resurrecting. Demon... That gave her an idea.

"Iron." Her command came out strong and angry, despite her worry it wouldn't work. An iron coffin covered the bird. "Deeper." The hole plunged another six feet, taking the box with it. "Salt." A layer of white fell over the iron coffin, which rumbled in response. Alice stepped back, her heart skipping. "Bury!" She cried out, anger replaced by fear. "Bury it in stone! Now, bury it now!" The grave finished itself, a picture of a cage engraving itself on the smooth finished surface.

Alice turned and ran. Chamber time would end soon, and she didn't have time to bury any of the other demons that cried out to her on the way out.

Her handler stared at her as she was pulled from the chamber. He had to know something had happened. She was sure her brain was lighting up in all sorts of new places, and comforted her self with the fact--the hope-- that he couldn't see what she had. She dropped her gaze, trying to look submissive and defeated. You're next. She thought. I'll bury you next, and then I'll kill you.