Prompt: “Back up!”
Original Fiction
Story: A Royal Encounter
Rating: G
Being on my best behavior wasn’t that difficult. I addressed who I was supposed to, and I had to make sure I spoke to everyone in the ballroom. I was still working on that last part.
As I chatted with the duke of Salona, my attention kept moving to near the corner of the room where a lady was having an intense conversation. Reina was her name, the woman I met at the dress shop. The man she was speaking with was… aggressive, and the look on her face I could describe as anger, but there was also a bit of annoyance. Their conversation wasn’t loud enough for me to hear, but it was enough to stray my attention from the duke.
At a certain point, their conversation caught the attention of some other guests. Reina noticed this, so she turned and started walking away, but the man quickly and aggressively grabbed her arm. It upset me so much that I interrupted the duke mid sentence. “Excuse me, kyrie” I said with no explanation as I curtsied.
I marched my way to Reina, ignoring Gregoire’s disapproving glances. Swiftly, I linked my arm into Reina’s pulling her away from that man. “Reina! I’m so glad you came.” I smiled widely.
Without letting go of me, she looked at me then back at the man before quickly composing herself. “Of course,” she smiled, “we appreciate the invitation.”
“Introduce me to your friend,” I said, glaring at the man.
“Jun is my cousin,” she replied, no longer smiling.
“I was just about to take Reina home,” Jun reached toward Reina and I quickly stepped between them.
“I don’t remember a Jun on the guest list,” I took a step toward him, only realizing now how much taller he is. It was intimidating, but I tried not to show it. “You are an uninvited guest and you need to leave now.” As much as I tried, I still felt my voice shaking.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I heard Reina say, calmly, behind me.
“This is my party,” I said, raising my voice, directing my anger at Jun, “I will not let you ruin the experience for me or my guests. Leave. I will not ask again.”
Jun took a threatening step towards me, but before I could react, two of the guards subdued him. “Back up!” the first one yelled.
“Take him away,” I said, as calm as my body would let me.
Finally conceding, Jun allowed the guards to walk him out, albeit a bit forcefully. Only then is when I noticed the entire ballroom silently reacting to our confrontation and the music had stopped completely. I balled my fists and looked up to Gregoire who, unsurprisingly, had a bitter look on his face.
I looked at the orchestra and said, “You can continue playing,” before sighing and marching to the ladies’ room, ignoring anyone who tried to grab my attention. I was angry, I was embarrassed, but most of all, I felt like a failure.
Prompt: “Do I have to do everything here?”
Original Fiction
Story: SFE
Rating: G
After a fun and relaxing day, Tommie, Jordan and Danny made their way to their cabin. The three of them gasped as Jordan opened the door and saw how immaculate the cabin was.
“Wow, you were serious when you said you’d clean this place up,” said Danny.
“Someone has to,” Joelle said, annoyed, “You all are slobs.”
As Joelle continued to lecture the boys, Tommie quietly moved to her bed where she had a stash of potato chips hidden. Before she could get even a bite in, Joelle slapped the chip from her hand. “No junk food, Tommie!” She snatched the bag away from her and threw it away.
Joelle sighed, noticing the deep scratch on Jordan’s leg. “What happened to you!”
Jordan scratched the back of his head. “I was, sort of, attacked. It was a large animal.”
“It was a squirrel,” said Tommie.
“It was as big as a bear,” Jordan exclaimed.
Joelle angrily dressed Jordan’s wound mumbling her discontent. “Do I have to do everything here?”
“Well…” Danny said, quietly and feebly. He rubbed the sleeve of his shirt. “I kinda need you to fix my shirt.”
Joelle glared at him. “This is the third time,” She hissed.
“It’s my favorite shirt,” he pouted as he handed her his shirt.
(SAPPY WARNING: I can’t believe I survived this. I’m so incredibly busy but writing every single day has given me so much joy over the past month. thank you so much to literally any person who has read any of my fictobers! I will be starting to work on carry on countdown prompts tomorrow so look out for those at the end of november!)
prompt(s): Halloween! from this list and “into the darkness peering” (Edgar Allen Poe) from this list!
Phantom Veil
I didn’t want to come back here. Baz knows that I didn’t want to come back here, which is why he didn’t push me to - Penelope did. (And Mitali, oddly enough.)
There are too many phantoms here at Watford. Too many corners I turn have images of Baz and I fighting and memories of magic. My magic. Of how everything ended.
I’m gripping onto Baz’s hand far too tightly, but he’s returning the attention by standing close to me and rubbing his thumb over the top of mine. We’re walking in step with each other just behind Penelope, who leads the way across the lawn.
Baz gently elbows my side when we pass by the football pitch. I smile at him. At least some of the memories I have here are pleasant to recall - forcing Penelope into going down to the football pitch to make sure Baz wasn’t plotting. (Or to, more realistically, appreciate Baz’s thighs in his football kit.)
Baz is going to take me to see his mother. Well, where he says he feels her the most. In the Catacombs. I’ve only been down there with Baz a few times. All the other time I spent down there was when I was convinced that he was hiding from me.
We’ve spent five lovely and long years together and now Baz has convinced me to visit his mother’s grave on Halloween. (I would have preferred to return in the warmer months and not in practically the middle of the night).
Penelope dragged us to an event that Mitali, the new headmistress, is throwing for the alumni of Watford, but Baz and I plan on sneaking away the second we can escape Penny’s gaze.
It takes over half an hour, but we finally manage it - slipping out of the Dining Hall once Penelope and her mother start to get into a heated argument about magickal properties of pickled vegetables.
“Alright?” Baz asks me softly when we’re finally outside.
The air is cool and Baz doesn’t necessarily provide me any warmth, but that’s not what makes me shiver. The shadows cast on the grounds from the tall buildings surrounding us are jagged and ominous. I’ve never been frightened of Watford, but I am so afraid of being bombarded with painful memories if I let my guard down for a moment.
Baz’s hand is still in mine. I nod at him and squeeze his hand, trying to reassure him that I’m doing alright.
He takes me down to the Catacombs and we’re standing in front of his mother’s grave before I’ve even had enough time to recognize that we’re close. Baz kisses my cheek in an unusually soft gesture before he lets go of me and kneels down in front of the grave. I’m sure he’s crying, but I’m frozen to the spot with fear.
Seeing Baz like this - seeing him sit here with his mother, crying silently - is making my chest ache. Baz spent a lot of time during our years at Watford here. Thinking about him here multiple nights a week while I was sitting up in our room trying to uncover his latest plot makes me feel guilty and itchy.
I love Baz.
I wish I’d realized it sooner (or allowed myself to realize it). Perhaps Baz would have spent less time alone in the Catacombs if I had.
I step back into myself and kneel down next to Baz. I wrap an arm around his shoulders.
“I can feel her,” Baz says quietly. He’s always been a subtle crier (a skill I have not perfected in the slightest), but I can hear the break in his voice.
I nod and lean my head onto his. There’s nothing I can say that will make him feel better nor will anything I mention change how Baz is feeling now. The most I can do is hold him and be here.
“I always felt her on Halloween,” he says. He laughs wetly. “It’s completely daft but something about the holiday made me think she was closer. Like the veil between worlds was thinner.”
Starting to rub circles into his shoulder, I allow myself to really analyze his face. There are tears wetting his cheeks and his hair is falling down into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother to flick it out of the way. He’s not trying to be strong right now. He’s allowing this.
“I miss her,” he whispers.
I tuck him closer to me, allowing him to turn his head against my neck and cry into me. Baz is soft and quiet when he’s sad.
When his sobs have become fewer and further between, I kiss the top of his head and stand up, my knees cracking after kneeling for so long. Baz joins me and wipes his eyes with his hands. I offer him the sleeve of my sweater.
“I gave you that sweater,” he mumbles. “I’m not going to wipe my nose on it.”
I shrug. He did give me this sweater and it’s a lovely addition to my Harry Potter costume. (Baz is dressed as Draco because of course he is. He insisted that the parallels between our chosen characters are undeniable.)
Baz sniffles a bit. “Can we stay here for a bit longer?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, reaching out to grab his hands and pull him into me. “We can stay here as long as you need,” I mumble. “Natasha and I have some catching up to do.”
