comment_fic | Monday: Overused/Underused Words

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Hey, y'all, I'm

cascadewaters, it's Monday, and thus begins my host week. Today's theme is 'overused/underused words.' Responses should in some way touch on this theme.

To review the rules:

No more than five prompts in a row.
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Use the character's full names and fandom's full name for ease adding to the Lonely Prompts spreadsheet.
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If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space, or use the above mentioned spoiler cut.

Prompts should be formatted as follows: [Use the character's full names and fandom's full name]
Fandom, Character +/ Character, Prompt

Examples:

Supernatural, Dean Winchester, "If I hear one more person say 'amazing...'"

Once Upon a Time, Hook (Killian Jones), dragoon

Any crossover, two youngest characters, 'well, this is super annoying...'

Any fandom *other than* The Princess Bride, any, 'I don't think that word means what you think it means'

Glee, Blaine Anderson, disagreement, disapproval, fear and hate are not the same thing

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Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Check out the just created Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet. For more recent prompts to write, you can also use LJ’s advanced search options to limit keyword results to only comments in this community.

While the Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet and LJ's advanced search options are available, bookmarking the links of prompts you like might work better for searching for in the future.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

tigriswolf

author's choice, author's choice, monster

From:

creepy_shetan

(Sorry in advance. 6>_>;;; It kinda goes all over the map in character exploration, lol. New fandoms, including new characters in a shared universe/timeline, can bring out the weirdest in me, and also the most words per minute...)

He knows monsters. He has known of their existence for most of his life. Monsters had made him an orphan. Monsters had haunted his sleeping and waking hours for years. Even as he'd grown from boy to man, even as he'd learned how to fight and kill, protect and defend, he'd always been aware of monsters.

The Belmont boy and the Renard woman know as well. Mizrak can see it in their eyes sometimes. The three of them are not so different.

"Nothing shall harm you here. This is a house of God."

The abbey had shielded Mizrak when he'd needed it most. The least he could do was return the favor when he was able.

He remembers his first day of performing his duties as a knight. He remembers seeing Tera turning towards him, Maria laughing as she circled her mother's skirts and ran off again, a nearby monk exasperatedly chastising her. Mizrak had watched her take in the Maltese cross emblazoned on his chest and the shift of emotions in her eyes as they met his. She had smiled and nodded, but before her gaze returned to Maria, Mizrak had caught a glimpse of something in her expression -- one he'd seen previously, one that seemed to express a feeling that he, too, had acutely experienced like a fist gripping his heart.

"Don't forget... Don't forget who you are, my Mizrak."

Mizrak remembers being in the dirt of the courtyard with a handful of seeds when he'd heard the Abbot raise his voice to Tera, who had only been in town for three months. It was brief, but it was enough to make him and Tera stare. No one else had seemed to notice. He'd never heard the Abbot sound so bitter. Tera had tried to ease the sudden tension, changing the topic slightly. The Abbot's shoulders had relaxed, but Tera's posture had not. She'd left the abbey not long after, passing Mizrak on her way out. She'd looked as though she might say something to him. He'd almost asked her a question of his own.

Why would tulips make Abbot Emmanuel angry? They were merely flowers -- nothing monstrous. From then on, Mizrak always noted what plants grew in the abbey courtyard and on church grounds. He never once saw a tulip, and he never once asked anyone why.

The next time Mizrak saw the Abbot become inexplicably upset about a plant of all things was a couple of years later. For a few days, Mizrak had enjoyed taking his independent studies outside, reading scripture and practicing swordsmanship under the shade of two lilac trees that had been in bloom. It was a quiet, peaceful spot on the outskirts of town that he'd been surprised no other knight, in training or otherwise, had claimed. Townspeople would walk by occasionally, and he'd stopped tracking them by the time the Abbot had discovered him. Mizrak had a book in his lap and fallen flowers scattered around him in the grass when a shadow fell across the page. There was the Abbot, looking down at Mizrak and the purplish lilac in his dark hair as if he'd become tragically diseased. He didn't yell or punish Mizrak -- how could he voice his ire? -- but he had forbidden Mizrak from "lingering at such trees."

"I've heard they're not native to France -- or Europe, for that matter. Hard to believe, right? They fit right in with the countryside."

Mizrak could have left the abbey. He knew the history of the Order. He knew about the things the Order had done in the name of God. He knew there were monsters in the minds of the Abbot, the monks, and the knights. He knew their monsters were not the same as his own monsters. He knew how some, in the abbey and in town, still looked at him with skepticism, still furrowed their brows at his name, still frowned at the disconnect in their minds between the cross he wore and the face of the man wearing it.

From:

creepy_shetan

Abbot Emmanuel, however, was not one of those people. Neither was Tera Renard, or her daughter Maria, or her young ward Richter. Two who knew better -- who knew Mizrak better -- and two who did not know there was any sort of conflict in the first place. So, Mizrak became a knight of the Order and remained a knight of the Order. He proved his worth time and time again. He became a valued member of their rural community. No one questioned his loyalty or his faith.

For a long time, Mizrak had never considered the possibility of himself being someone else's monster. Not until a drunkard had tried to start a brawl with him for telling him it was time to go home, spitting foul language at Mizrak in a clumsy attempt to get a rise out of him. Not until an elderly woman offhandedly mentioned that she was once afraid to talk to him but now was glad that he was "on their side." Not until an attractive youth had quietly laughed in his face to mask the shake in his voice, telling Mizrak he'd have better luck with someone else that night.

Not until he'd seen what the Abbot had brought into the depths of the abbey and witnessed negotiations he'd never dreamed would happen, even in his worst nightmares.

It should have been uncharacteristically self-destructive of Mizrak to join someone like Olrox in bed, like an extreme response to the fraying strands of his life. It had been oddly refreshing, however -- settling, if not to an extent enlightening, Mizrak may even dare think. A monster in the shape of a vampire seeing him at his most vulnerable, and Mizrak's life was not in danger for even an instant. Whatever threat Olrox posed to him vanished during their initial meeting in the courtyard. Church grounds were a safe haven for Mizrak, and apparently had no effect on Olrox, who wasn't interested in harming him anyway. A monster who didn't want to cause harm... or so he'd thought, like a fool.

"Do you expect me to celebrate with you in your vengeance? You made an orphan of the poor child. You've..."

Mizrak had seen the way Richter Belmont had fled from Olrox. Like prey from a predator, driven only by sheer fright.

When Richter first arrived in France and Tera introduced him to the abbey, Mizrak had felt a strange twist of relief to hear him speak French and to speak it well.

He later heard about the death of Richter's mother. The Abbot had told Mizrak in a hushed, mournful tone that Richter had seen her die violently. It took a little longer for news to reach his ears about the Belmont family of vampire hunters. Monster hunting was in the boy's blood, it seemed, and as more time passed, the more Mizrak believed it.

But even those who hunt monsters could be plagued with thoughts and memories of terror.

Once, during his night watch, Mizrak had caught Richter out wandering the streets alone two hours before dawn, when Richter was about fourteen. There had been a shake to his hand and a sickly pallor to his skin that had stirred suspicion in Mizrak -- at that point, he'd stopped more than a few adolescents up to no good, escorting younger ones home with their heads hanging low -- but then he'd noticed Richter's eyes darting around them and his quickened breaths. The boy had been on the verge of panic. At first, he'd only half-heard Mizrak as he spoke slowly and evenly, and then his gaze seemed to remember the present. Richter had seemed almost surprised to be sitting on a low stone wall and talking to Mizrak.

"Man... Tera's gonna be so pissed off..."

"I think she'll understand. I'll go with you."

And she did understand -- all too well. They'd managed to not wake Maria, although Mizrak never knew for certain. Perhaps she had been listening at the stairs. Perhaps Tera had been awake dealing with specters of monsters throughout that night.

From:

creepy_shetan

When Mizrak next saw Olrox, after listening to Olrox's version of his history with the Belmonts, he thought he would feel more conflict and confusion, like an internal war. He was still angry -- he doubted he'd ever stop being angry -- and yet he felt something like calmness settle over it, muffling it. The vampire in front of him watched him with a similar air of calm, waiting. Mizrak took a deep breath, unhurriedly took another, and then stepped forward and reached for Olrox.

Olrox, in his finery, his aristocratic elegance, his ability to simply exist in a small French commune, his questions and concerns that he almost seemed to voice for both of them -- excluding a plethora of others within Mizrak's mind that Olrox had no personal stake in -- his speech patterns that were not unlike Mizrak's own, that spoke of a language carefully studied but not natural to their tongues, not truly, if Mizrak were to be fully honest with himself--

"Tell me. Are there tulips in the Americas?"

"Mmm, yes. The 'little turban flowers' in the spring. They're rather charming. I've heard even more so in the sunlight."

"And what of lilac trees?"

"Ah. That one smells good, right? So I would think so."

And Mizrak froze, a memory abruptly sweeping him away and leaving him off balance for a few moments. He'd always remembered his mother's clothes and being wrapped in her arms, and vaguely recalled her jewelry and the sound of her voice, although most of her words had faded with her face. He'd forgotten, however, the scent she'd tended to wear -- how she'd pluck purplish white flowers from trees and rub them on the insides of her wrists and just below her ears.

And Mizrak gasped, realizing suddenly that Olrox also wore some type of perfume, an earthy scent on his skin from another land across an ocean, one that mingled well with the soft smell of the oil he put in his hair. Mizrak turned his face away, burying it in the flattened pillow beneath him. A warm hand trailed over his shoulder to the back of his head, lingering there before fingertips and knuckles drifted back and forth along the hairline on the back of Mizrak's neck. The caress was gentle and comforting and not at all like the searing touch and flesh-tearing attack of a monster.

"May God watch over you. May peace be with you. May you find light in the dark. May you find strength when all hope seems lost."

Maybe God was testing Mizrak. Maybe he had been in the midst of a test for years. Officially joining the Order at the abbey had been right. Becoming a knight had given purpose and direction to his life. Although his faith in people dropped at times, what mattered was that his faith in God had never wavered. God had led him to pieces of several puzzles -- several paths he could take -- and it was up to Mizrak to determine what was important. What could he discard, and where could he focus his attention?

Was temptation a distraction, or did it serve a purpose? Pain and strife often did the latter, after all, and Mizrak was well-acquainted with those. All dreams had meaning, even nightmares.

Nightmares of his own, and those of the people surrounding him, closest to him. Monsters in their various shapes and forms. Monsters summoned from Hell itself, and the poor souls trapped within them.

Monster hunters were monsters in their own right, in the eyes of the monsters they killed. It made a certain kind of sense, and yet, he--

"I don't want to fight you. But I will, if it comes to it, to protect others from you."

"If it comes to it... Then, please know that I never intend to kill you."

Mizrak said nothing, and Olrox smiled in understanding. Mizrak could not make such a promise in return.

(I went back and forth about finishing up and sharing this for ten days. Now I can think about something else! XD;;)

Edited Date: 2023-10-18 03:07 pm (UTC)