Multiple Fandoms: Flash-Fics Round 5
These things are really handy for writing exercises.
Prompts: Midnight, Leather, Windy, Windowsill, Laughter, Billiards.
Fandoms: Homestuck, Soul Eater, Shadow of the Colossus, ICO
Rating: T
Pairing: Soul/Maka, Wander/Mono.
Leather:
“Soul…really?”
“What?”
He scowls slightly as Maka struggles to keep herself from chortling. Whatever possessed Soul to actually buy that expensive, light brown biker jacket had the worst taste in fashion on earth. Her partner stops admiring himself in the bathroom mirror to turn his full attention to her.
He smirks, and strikes a pose.
Maka bursts with laughter and has to cling to the doorframe to keep herself from falling to the floor.
Midnight:
The black sky above allows him perfect camoflague as he flits from house to house in the quiet, sleeping village. On feet long since grown acustomed to stalking rabbits and birds, he has no trouble slipping into the most expensive, largest house he can find and into the cooking room.
From there, he gathers a small arm-load of whatever he can find and flees silently.
He finds Yorda crouched by a tree, leaning on the smooth trunk and eyes on the water that ripples with silver under the moonlight, luminescent herself in the dark of the night.
He wordlessly sits beside her and hands her the larger piece of bread, and when she takes it, he prays to the gods briefly for forgiveness for his theft and good fortune in their cloudy future, so that they would have no need to steal.
Ico and his silent friend eat, before curling up by the waterside to wait for the morning light.
Windy:
Fingers poised over the keys, he breathes in the scent of oil and the wind that is his own. John exhales blue ribbons of sheer power that he controls and listens to air that simply waits for his command.
The instrument before him looms, a symbol of destruction and battles and if he plays it wrong, he will perish. Davesprite warned him about what happened in another time, in another life.
John flexes his fingers, itching to play because he hasn’t felt ivory bars under his fingertips for nearly three years.
For a moment, he fears that he’s forgotten how to play.
But then a pleasant blows through one ear and out the other, and he decides to let go.
The symphony of wind and organ and sheer musical ecstacy echoes through the pipes throughout the oil slicked land, and for the first time since he had been whisked away to a single pillar of stone jutting into the black thick of void, he feels alive.
Windowsill:
She’s fallen asleep in the sunlight flitered through recently Windexed glass, leaning against the frame of the view to the desert oasis outside and a book slowly slipping from her grasp, and he shakes his head with a smile at his discovery.
Typical bookworm, he thinks, snatching a throw pillow from the couch. With a touch that would only disturb a snoozing cat (who is currently curled up in his Meister’s lap, stretched out like a fluid figure), he lifts her head from the hard, polished wood that makes up the frame of their window, and slips the pillow behind her.
Maka smiles in her sleep and Soul considers this an accomplishment.
Some days later, he’ll pass out at his desk from composing music and find a pillow slipped under his drooling jaw.
Laughter:
He’s always been a hardened warrior, with ever watchful eyes like the most spiritual and power of hawks and face set like pale stone.
That’s always how others have described him, though.
Mono finds him a bit like that, sometimes, during cold winters when his main focus is the hunt and the near invisible tracks of deer and rabbits in the snow, but in the spring, when she sits by the renewed river watching him catch fish, he misjudges the stability of a rock underneath the waters, slips and falls.
She cries out in fear and worry, but Wander reemerges with a hand full of fish and a head covered with the green flora that thrives in the river. Abruptly the weighing feeling in her chest is lifted like morning fog.
He looks at her funny as he wades to the shore, dripping wet with cold snowmelt, as peeling laughter echoes from her.
He catches a glimpse of his reflection and starts to snicker as well. Soon their air is filled with their mirth
She wants to hear him laugh like that every day.
Billiards:
He’s calm, waiting for the right moment to strike. The perfect angle and the perfect shot all lined up to send that round ball that he imagines to be Doc Scratches face rolling to another ball that reminds him so much of Quarters into the left-middle pocket.
Slick exhales, prepares to move his arm, and-
The door bursts open and the two Felt members that had been lurking at the front bar come wobbling in, drunk.
He twitches slightly and the ball goes rolling in the wrong direction.
Fortunately the cuestick he’s holding is long and solid in his hands, and he takes the opportunity to introduce those poor suckers to his newfound friend.
Prompts: Midnight, Leather, Windy, Windowsill, Laughter, Billiards.
Fandoms: Homestuck, Soul Eater, Shadow of the Colossus, ICO
Rating: T
Pairing: Soul/Maka, Wander/Mono.
Leather:
“Soul…really?”
“What?”
He scowls slightly as Maka struggles to keep herself from chortling. Whatever possessed Soul to actually buy that expensive, light brown biker jacket had the worst taste in fashion on earth. Her partner stops admiring himself in the bathroom mirror to turn his full attention to her.
He smirks, and strikes a pose.
Maka bursts with laughter and has to cling to the doorframe to keep herself from falling to the floor.
Midnight:
The black sky above allows him perfect camoflague as he flits from house to house in the quiet, sleeping village. On feet long since grown acustomed to stalking rabbits and birds, he has no trouble slipping into the most expensive, largest house he can find and into the cooking room.
From there, he gathers a small arm-load of whatever he can find and flees silently.
He finds Yorda crouched by a tree, leaning on the smooth trunk and eyes on the water that ripples with silver under the moonlight, luminescent herself in the dark of the night.
He wordlessly sits beside her and hands her the larger piece of bread, and when she takes it, he prays to the gods briefly for forgiveness for his theft and good fortune in their cloudy future, so that they would have no need to steal.
Ico and his silent friend eat, before curling up by the waterside to wait for the morning light.
Windy:
Fingers poised over the keys, he breathes in the scent of oil and the wind that is his own. John exhales blue ribbons of sheer power that he controls and listens to air that simply waits for his command.
The instrument before him looms, a symbol of destruction and battles and if he plays it wrong, he will perish. Davesprite warned him about what happened in another time, in another life.
John flexes his fingers, itching to play because he hasn’t felt ivory bars under his fingertips for nearly three years.
For a moment, he fears that he’s forgotten how to play.
But then a pleasant blows through one ear and out the other, and he decides to let go.
The symphony of wind and organ and sheer musical ecstacy echoes through the pipes throughout the oil slicked land, and for the first time since he had been whisked away to a single pillar of stone jutting into the black thick of void, he feels alive.
Windowsill:
She’s fallen asleep in the sunlight flitered through recently Windexed glass, leaning against the frame of the view to the desert oasis outside and a book slowly slipping from her grasp, and he shakes his head with a smile at his discovery.
Typical bookworm, he thinks, snatching a throw pillow from the couch. With a touch that would only disturb a snoozing cat (who is currently curled up in his Meister’s lap, stretched out like a fluid figure), he lifts her head from the hard, polished wood that makes up the frame of their window, and slips the pillow behind her.
Maka smiles in her sleep and Soul considers this an accomplishment.
Some days later, he’ll pass out at his desk from composing music and find a pillow slipped under his drooling jaw.
Laughter:
He’s always been a hardened warrior, with ever watchful eyes like the most spiritual and power of hawks and face set like pale stone.
That’s always how others have described him, though.
Mono finds him a bit like that, sometimes, during cold winters when his main focus is the hunt and the near invisible tracks of deer and rabbits in the snow, but in the spring, when she sits by the renewed river watching him catch fish, he misjudges the stability of a rock underneath the waters, slips and falls.
She cries out in fear and worry, but Wander reemerges with a hand full of fish and a head covered with the green flora that thrives in the river. Abruptly the weighing feeling in her chest is lifted like morning fog.
He looks at her funny as he wades to the shore, dripping wet with cold snowmelt, as peeling laughter echoes from her.
He catches a glimpse of his reflection and starts to snicker as well. Soon their air is filled with their mirth
She wants to hear him laugh like that every day.
Billiards:
He’s calm, waiting for the right moment to strike. The perfect angle and the perfect shot all lined up to send that round ball that he imagines to be Doc Scratches face rolling to another ball that reminds him so much of Quarters into the left-middle pocket.
Slick exhales, prepares to move his arm, and-
The door bursts open and the two Felt members that had been lurking at the front bar come wobbling in, drunk.
He twitches slightly and the ball goes rolling in the wrong direction.
Fortunately the cuestick he’s holding is long and solid in his hands, and he takes the opportunity to introduce those poor suckers to his newfound friend.