30 day writing challenge

30 day writing challenge! Feel free to join or pick and choose prompts if you guys want <3
Day 1: Write about a first kiss
Day 2: Write a scene without any dialogue
Day 3: Use the words: kitchen, date, music
Day 4: Write about your characters personal style
Day 5: Write 100 words today
Day 6: Write about a blackout
Day 7: Use the words: small town, bar, jukebox
Day 8: Write about finding a new hobby
Day 9: Write about a heated debate
Day 10: Use the title: Promises made, promises kept
Day 11: Write about two characters dancing together
Day 12: Explain your characters motivation
Day 13: Write 10 sentences about the last item you bought
Day 14: Write about regret
Day 15: Write about a girl's night
Day 16: Write about a "thank you"
Day 17: Write about a car rid
Day 18: Use the title of the last song you've listened to
Day 19: Write a summary for a book you would love to read
Day 20: Write a new piece of lore for your WIP
Day 21: Write something angsty
Day 22: Write for 15 minutes without deleting anything
Day 23: Write about dreaming
Day 24: Use the words: crown, dance, smile
Day 25: Write a scene that describes your character well
Day 26: Use the title: Like waves in the ocean
Day 27: Write an ending without a beginning
Day 28: Write only the dialogue for a scene
Day 29: Write about your characters nicknames
Day 30: Write about a concert

School Dance - Day 1: first kiss
“You two look so cute together!” His mom said, turning around to look at them from the passenger seat with a smile, and a camera. To his left Marlene too was smiling brightly, and so he thought he ought to too, for the camera and all. She was wearing a blue dress that seemed to take up an awful lot of space, most of the backseat even. But she looked very pretty, blonde curls and dangly silver earrings. It was not weird seeing Marlene like this. This last year she had seemed very grown up at every party with family friends, no longer interested in running off to the woods. He supposed that was fair, with those expensive looking dresses and neat hairdos. But he did miss their adventures. Him, her, Charlie and some of the others too. They had grown up together. Now he too sat all dressed up in a suit and tie. With very sweaty hands too. It did not help that she had clutched onto one of them. She held on to his hand so tightly he could not let go to wipe it in his pants. Which would also have been rather rude, and with his mother looking so expectantly at him, from time to time snatching a photo, he did not want to let her down. She was probably thinking that he too was all grown up and whatnot, now with Marlene and everything. Not that they were a couple. Their mothers had seemingly forgotten that. In fact, no one seemed to care that he and Marlene were just friends, not even her. He thought she looked a bit too happy. Perhaps it was just the excitement at going to a party. And he had, after all, asked her to go. Girls were not usually allowed in school, but they had been allowed to bring a date, so here they were. He ran a hand through his hair, that one was sweaty too, and his mother sighed “Don’t do that, sweetheart.” and reached back a hand to fix it. This turned his cheek red and Marlene looked about ready to burst with laughter. In a way that was nice, her being her good old self. Although she was all dressed up and pretty looking, she was still his friend.

His parents dropped them off in front of the school, where a red carpet had been rolled out. They were the youngest grade there, but since he had started rowing that spring, he knew a lot of the older boys too, and some of them even greeted him. It felt good. Being liked and all. It helped a lot that Marlene too was a very likable person. Always knowing what to say, although she barely knew anyone there. She did know Caroline and Charlie and the four of them had a great time dancing and chatting. It was warm, and stuffy, so at one point he and Marlene went outside. It had gotten dark, and the stars were out. They sat down in the grass, looking at the night sky, both hot from the crowded gymnasium.
“I think you should kiss me.”  
He stared at her, remembering something Charlie had said earlier about Caroline, girl talk and expectations. He ought to have seen this coming. But this was Marlene.
“What?” She asked with a shrug, ripping out grass, “Isn’t that what dates usually do?”
She was right, he thought, and so he leaned in and very quickly pecked her on the lips. “Like that?”
She laughed and shook her head, which hurt a lot, but her laughter was so lovely it almost didn’t matter. Then she let go of the grass, took his hand and kissed him again.

Day 1: A first kiss - Irene - around 15 year old

As a child, Irene would always imagine her first kiss as they were in the movies. IIn the movies, kisses always seemed like a dream. Kisses in the movies swept you off your feet and made you feel as if you were walking on air. It was passion and chemistry. But for Corey and Irene, their first kiss was not like the movies. It was too stiff and at an awkward angle. Too self-aware and gawky to be passionate and too uncoordinated to be something one could simply ease into.
Irene couldn’t help but feel relieved when the two finally parted.

“I’ve never kissed someone before,” Corey whispered as his dark eyes gazed into hers.

“I couldn’t tell,” she lied. Although she had little experience to put it up against, she knew that this was not what she had been expecting. She could tell that he was as nervous, despite all the gossip in the hallways of his escapades. Someone had definitely been spreading rumors and more than likely, he just hadn’t corrected them. She didn’t wish to embarrass him, though. She did actually like Corey. He smiled gratefully.

Corey was probably the closest thing you would get to a teen-heartthrob in the small town of Cirsidebury,  a small fishing town on the Southern tip of Kosnapol. He came from a prominent family, he was the school football captain, and he had a smile that could break hearts if he willed it. Which was why every single girl sighed in the hallways whenever he passed through. Even Irene was not immune to this. Which was why she, in a stroke of genius, had arranged an interview for the school-paper with the football-captain, which had eventually led to a friendship between the two. A friendship that seemed to be evolving into more, much to the envy of Irene’s friends. Irene didn’t mind being envied.

Corey pulled away, licking his lips as if he wanted to say something and simply didn’t know how.

“You know, Irene, I was thinking,” he started, taking her hands in his, smiling shyly. Since when had he ever been shy? “Do you, perhaps, maybe, want to go to the dance with me on friday?”

Irene diverted her gaze for a moment. She did like Corey. He was a sweet, good-hearted guy. But did she actually like like him? Or did she just like to be envied? She had definitely liked the idea of him, but now when they had gotten to know each other? Everyone was expecting it to happen, but Irene wasn’t actually sure.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he then added when quickly, letting go of her hands to cross his arms. Her lack of immediate answer had seemed to throw him off.  “We can also just go as friends.”

Her stomach dropped at the way he tried to hide the hurt of potential rejection. She definitely knew what she was supposed to feel. And supposed to say. She didn’t wish to hurt him. “No, no,” she said, taking his hands again as she gave him a reassuring smile. “I’d love to go with you.”

He smiled, relieved, leaning in for another kiss. Irene obliged and a week later, the school had a new power couple.

Day 2 - 2015
This was not how it was supposed to go, she thought, holding on to the steering wheel of the parked car so tightly, she was sure her new ring would leaving a mark. She was supposed to be happy, happy! Last week it had seemed, they had all been getting along just fine, and now this? It was silly of her, since she was alone, but she did not want to cry. That the two of them should quarrel, because of a man?

Outside the sun had long since disappeared behind the trees, but now it seemed to be getting fully dark. Twilight giving way to dusk, obscuring the view, but not the sound of the ocean. It was not for the scenery, although lovely, but for the sound that she came here; for the crashing of wave after wave against the rocky beach, somewhere beneath her, the sweet rush as the water was pulled back over pebbles, and the irregularity of the clashes. It was for the sound of solitude, to which she now listened, as she leaned her head upon her hands with a sigh. Why could Irene not just accept the choice she had made? Had they not spent hours talking about women's rights and autonomy once? Then why did it seem hers suddenly mattered so little?

It was not like anyone was forcing her to marry. She loved Matthew, she really did. Of course it was nice that he came from a good family, and that her parents approved, but money was not the reason why she wanted to do this. She would still be independent, making her own.

All alone in the dark beach carpark, she wished she could have rolled down the window, to breathe in the salt, even the rotting seaweed. To better listen to the seagulls squealing die out, as they settled for the night. Or even to get out, and feel it all. Leaning back in the seat and looking out, she could see the only sign of civilization apart from her: the bright lights of Ilomar city to the north.

But of course, there was safety to consider. Even here, alone in her own car she was a prisoner, subject to the power of some imaginary ill intended stranger. She wanted to scream, to protest. To show them, whoever they were, that she knew what she was doing, that she was strong and capable as Irene, that she mattered, that she was in control of her own life. But of course she wasn’t. She couldn’t even help the tears now wettening her face, painting small dark spots on her thin sweater.

So she did not scream, did not get out and throw rocks into the ocean. She just sat in silence until her eyes felt sore, her cheeks puffy, then turned the car on and drove back to the city.

Day 2: Write a scene without any dialogue - Idés - Early september 2015

The day Idés came home to find Godia Warriors in his childhood home, to inform them of the nature of his moms death, he hadn’t cried. He had stared unseeingly into the air, barely even reacted. There was an invisible wall between him and everything else, protecting him from the brutality of it all.  It couldn’t hurt him if he wasn’t really there. Couldn’t reach him, if he didn’t listen. He had barely shed a tear at the funeral. And with his older sister busy with his hoard of siblings and his dad spending his days weeping on the kitchen floor – it was easier to retract and leave, to focus his attention onto something tangible. He had spent most of his days in the nearest public library during that time, which was where he would eventually come to meet Samuel, one fateful February day. It had also been February when Idés had found out Samuel, too, had died.

The news of his death had made Idés' absent from reality in much the same way as the first death he had ever experienced. The months between February and the start of university in August was a depressing haze that he would later struggle to remember.
University had posed a refreshing new start and distraction. There were interesting subjects to study, there were new roommates to get to know, parties to go to. Things almost felt normal. Of course, the grief still followed him, in the quiet moments. The nagging guilt. Why should he be out here enjoying the uni experience, if Sammie hadn’t even been allowed to see his twenties? Idés still didn’t cry, tried to distract and busy himself.

That was until it all came crashing down. Walking home from a party late one night. He was drunk, and not in a fun way. In that way that sent your mind reeling with thoughts you couldn’t even begin to unwind. The guilt and the despair. Like a heavy stone weighing down his chest, making it feel as if he was going to drown. Like he couldn’t breathe. So he didn’t head home. He simply walked across the empty campus grounds, as he remembered long nights in the Erast parking lots with his, drinking and joking with his friends. What happiness had felt like. What it truly meant to have Sammie by his side. Sammie, who he would never be walking home with late at night ever again. And Idés was alone. So completely, utterly alone. So alone that it felt as if it was his destiny to be.

Then, Idés cried. He wept.

And Idés missed him. He missed him so much, he felt as if he wouldn’t ever breathe easy ever again. How unfair it was, that he would now have to miss him for longer than he had ever had the chance to know him.

Day 3 - Use the words: kitchen, date, music - Idés - August 2016

“ – And the very next day, they found him sleeping in the kitchen,” Megan said, swigging her straw around in her iced coffee before looking up at her distracted companion. “Isn’t that just the craziest thing you’ve ever heard, Idés?”

“Mhm?” Idés reacted upon his name but realized that he had entirely zoned out during her entire story. “Ah, uh. Yes. Crazy.”

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said, did you?” If the hurt wasn’t clear in her voice, it showed in the way her lips pulled together into a tight line. She averted her gaze, taking a sip of her coffee through the straw.

Idés winced. “Sorry. Tell it again, I’ll listen this time.”

“Just forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

The two had been seeing each other for around two weeks. Or, well, from Idés perspective, just a week as that was the amount of time that had passed since he had been made aware that they were a couple. She had been under the impression that they were a thing after their supposed ‘date’ two weeks prior to a local music festival. And Idés hadn’t had the heart to inform her that he’d only asked her to come along as a friend. Of course, a friend he had also slept with after the festival. He supposed he understood where she had gotten the idea from. And she was a very sweet and kind girl. And Idés knew that despite the fact that he had never officially agreed to be her boyfriend, the right thing to do was to break up with her. But he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet – such a conversation was bound to be awkward and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Sorry,” he said once again, fishing a cigarette out of a carton in his pocket, noticing the disapproving glance from Megan. “I’m quitting soon. Don’t worry. Once exams are over,” he excused, while lighting it. She rolled her eyes.

“That’s what you said all freshmen year as well,” she retorted, sipping her iced coffee. For a few moments the two walked in tense silence, before she spoke again. “Look, Idés, I’m sorry.”

Idés blinked, surprised. Why was she apologizing? He exhaled the smoke. “For what?”

“I-I know I can be pushy,” she said, looking up at him with wet eyes. He frowned. Oh dear. “I just get insecure. You’ve been so distant since we started dating and-” She came to a stop and so did Idés. She averted her gaze. “And I… I get the feeling that you don’t actually like me.”

Idés stared at her in a mild panic as he processed what she just said. He supposed this was as good a time as any to tell her. But with the way she looked at him with her big, wet blue eyes, he found he suddenly didn’t have any guts. He supposed he had to grow up and tell her anyway. “I do,” he started. “Like you, that is–” but only as a friend. The last part got stuck in his throat and he didn’t say it out loud.

“You do?” She asked, sniffling. She looked relieved. How could he tell her when she looked as if a boulder had fallen off her shoulder.

“I–“ No I don’t. “Yes, I do.” Fuck. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she quickly reassured, drying her eyes before taking a hold of his hand. “Please. It’s me who’s insecure.”

She smiled at him and he returned it. He was in too deep.

Day 3: A date I got tired of writing
The sound of soft piano music filled the small kitchen, but did not manage to drown out the sizzling of the things being fried on the stove. It was a cozy, but rather unused kitchen, Charlotte thought, chopping up parsley. This lack of wear didn’t surprise her much. Matthew had managed only to find his wine glasses when he searched the third cupboard. Even when she had had to share her kitchen, she had at least known where to find her things. But although it was new and bright and very unlike something she would have liked for herself, they had managed to cozy up the place. Dimming the lights and adding candles had worked magic, and now with the music, and the food… She was sure this was going to be a fantastic night.

“It looks good.” Her date said, leaning over her shoulder to look at the pans. “I really think we did a great job.” Then poking the chicken tryingly with the spatula, “Do you think it is done?”

“Almost,” After nearly a month it still felt surreal to have him this close. To know he was more than just a figment of her imagination, a dream come to life. He really was. And he was standing there, dark hair falling into his eyes, making her heart pound, her hands stop chopping, and her eyes fix on him. “I think the bread might be.”

She did not have to ask him; He kissed her, then ducked down to the right to check the oven, filling the room with yet another smell: The promise of a warm baguette, of ripping off pieces and watching the butter melt as soon you spread it, as it did when they were finally seated, and he raised his glass to her with a: “To us.”

Day 4: a quick view of a wardrobe
Had he spent too much on clothes? Of course not! It was his money, and so what if it was impractical finding a dry cleaner or ironing shirts. Someone, his father perhaps, had once helped him understand the fine side of life that was, well, good quality clothes. One had to own at least one suit. It ought to be a rule of thumb, Cad thought, whenever he looked through his wardrobe, and saw the two he had: a black, and a charcoal grey, both with single breasted, two button jackets. And whilst the jackets sometimes came in handy, the suits were rarely worn as intended. Although he never gave up hope.

Then there were the blazers; a navy and a sand, both linen. Oh well, he supposed he had that tweed sports jacket too. And of course, there was the dark wool coat and the trench coat too. Still, he thought he showed great restraint.

He thought he might be more reasonable when it came to bottoms. Two pairs of jeans; a classic dark wash blue denim pair, and some in a tan. Then he had the sand cotton chinos, and a darker brown pair. And a pair of medium grey wool slacks. Not enough for every occasion, but good enough.  

In the shirts department he owned a couple classic white cotton button ups, a blue one too, and an array of linen shirts in different blues, because, well, it was linen. He had a few other shirts one might consider “fun”, but mostly they were all very basic. Owning only plain t-shirts did not help. The most daring colour there was a single navy one. The rest were black or white. Not that he had very many. Five or six in total.

To layer he did have a couple of jumpers; a navy v-neck in a cashmere-wool mix, a handful of others in brown, grey or white, mostly wool, and mostly pretty plain. He depended on fit and quality over anything else, to look well put together.

When it came to accessories one also had to own at least two belts and at least two pairs of dress shoes, of course, they had to match; brown and black leather. Along with some white sneakers and a pair of black boots he thought he was doing okay in the shoes department too.

He was sure to have missed something. Apart from underwear and a couple of ties, there were some sunglasses somewhere in there too. While some might argue that even this small array of clothing was too much for a supposed refugee, Cad had stayed in the same place for years now. And whilst it was worrying to think about the money he had spent on this wardrobe… Well, who cared, as long as he could pay rent.

Day 4: Write about your characters personal style

Acheron:

He wore what he wore to protect him against the elements and not as a testament to his style
For Acheron, clothing serves mostly a utilitarian purpose. As he has no steady income and he has experienced homelessness many times, style hasn't exactly been on the forefront of his priorities ever in his life. However, clothes can serve as a shield and as a way to camouflage, thus Acheron is big on layering and tends to get dressed in whatever way will make him the least vulnerable. Most of his clothing is bought second hand and his wardrobe consists of thick flannels, worn leather jackets, denim jeans and hoodies.

Davon:

Davon strives for excellence in every area of his life
Davon is a man who values neatness and the appearance of competence. This reflects in a wardrobe that tends to be on the formal side, tailored to fit and made from expensive fabrics. Although most of his life is spend in a uniform as part of his duties, he still strives to be stylish in his time off. This why even when he is relaxing, his outfit most likely consists of a turtleneck and dressing-pants.

His devotion to discipline and perfection is also visible in his interior decorating: everything serves a purpose and everything neatly in its place.

Idés:

His clothes tend to be on the practical side with nothing flashy
Growing up in Erast in a gang of unruly kids, Idés never grew a taste for finer fashion. He spend the most of his teen years in hoodies and baggy pants, and deep down that is probably what he is most comfortable in. However, as a professor he has to keep a certain sense of professionalism to be taken seriously. Thus a compromise is made somewhere along the lines of sweaters and graphic tees. He is not a flashy man and he values comfort over "style" any day.

His living space tends to be cluttered and he may have the slightest hoarding tendencies. He owns a lot of stuff, at least.

Irene:

If you were to describe Irene Ford with just one word it would be fabulous
Irene grew up in a small town, far away from the big city, and would idolize the people in her teen magazines. Thus, her interest in fashion started young. Already as a teen was she keeping an online blog about the fashion world, which was originally her dream to work within. Needless to say, her sense of style is a big part of her identity. To Irene, clothing sends a signal to the world about the sort of person you are and because of that, style makes a person. So her wardrobe is catered to show the world exactly what she wants it to see. A capable, beautiful, sophisticated and luxurious person. She also has a big network of people working within the fashion world.

Day 5: Write 100 words today
TIL that 100 words is not a lot

Davon found a sense of purpose in archiving. He liked the simplicity of putting things where they belonged and the feeling of accomplishment that came with sorting out a mess. There  was a meditative value in getting to switch off your brain, boring as it may be. As a godia, the world could get overwhelming and overstimulating if one wasn’t careful. Everywhere the energy pricked at your fingertips, elements taunting your powers, promising chaos and elevating your senses to a boiling point. But not in the archives. The archives were a sanctuary from the stress that came from being a Godia.

Day 6: Blackout (drunk), the beginning of something less than great
He had given up hope of finding a place to stay for the night and was wandering Main Street looking and listening to the sights and sounds of nightclubs, bars and casinos, promising a warm alternative to the biting April winds that blew down the street and threatened to sweep partygoers off their feet. In the two weeks since he arrived in Ilomar City it seemed to have only gotten colder. A couple of days ago it had even snowed. Which had sucked. Being homeless sucked. Especially when it snowed. Now it stormed.

The teenager in the oversized jacket had never really gotten used to life like this. He could still remember a time where ‘homelessness’ was as foreign a concept as hunger or death. It was something you walked or drove past, pitied or perhaps just averted your eyes from. It was something to donate money to as you returned home to the warmth of a home, and a hot meal. Now it had come on him once again, only this time there was no pity. He was no longer a child.

What was it like? He wondered, pausing by a neon sign of a cocktail, looking at the small queue of freezing people his age. Going out with friends. Drinking. Actually enjoying it. Alone the thought of alcohol was enough to make his skin crawl. But of course, this would be different. He was a grown up now. Even almost looked the part.
He pretended to look at something on a non existing phone, then back at the club. People could not know he was alone. That would be weird. It was not normal to go out alone. Which was why he pretended to text someone a response, before he got in line.

Of course, he had neither money nor ID, and the bouncer thought he looked a bit shabby, but put this down to ‘kids these days’. Yet he knew it should be possible to create a false memory. And it turned out to be surprisingly simple. If he used his powers he could obscure the moment between the last person showing their ID, and himself putting something in his pocket. Everything beside the age on the ID was blurry, and while he had no idea how old that supposedly made him, it was old enough to be waved through. Apparently he did not have to pay anything to get in, but he managed to play a similar trick on the girl in the wardrobe, getting her to take his coat and sweater and hand him a ticket for when he wanted it back. He could steal clothes or food by this fashion, creating enough confusion for a cashier to think he had already paid, or to forget that he had walked in wearing something different. Which had kept him decently fed and dressed these last weeks, but had done nothing to help with his sleeping situation. Looking at himself in a bathroom mirror he did not look too out of place in jeans and a t-shirt, and if he looked tired, so did the people coming out of the stalls to wash their hands. Heck, he thought he looked better than most of them.

*

“I really think I love you bro. No no no, don’t cut me off, I mean it.” Someone said, clapping him on his back. “What was your name again?”
He could not remember how he had gotten there, but he was sitting in a booth with five or six other people and a glass of clear liquor on ice in his hand that kept being refilled. He was not sure how that happened, and also not what he had asked his new friends to call him. “Julian?”
“Yeaah bro, sorry.” More shoulder clapping. “Julian, my man, bro, love of my life, Carlos over here,” he pointed at the guy sitting in front of him, “lives only a couple of streets away, and we were talking about–” He made a gesture he did not recognise. ”And my girl Livia,” The guy talking reached behind the guy calling himself Julian to pat someone else, a girl on the shoulder. “Well, she thinks you're kinda cute and wanted me to ask you to come– Oh come on Liv, it’s not like I am wrong. So yeah. You wanna join us?”

*

He must have agreed to going to Carlos’, although he could not remember it. Or how they had gotten there. Or anything else really, except someone had handed him something and told him to take a hit and he had, and almost died coughing, because it felt scratchy and his head was already spinning, and there was this light that was too bright, or perhaps it was a noise. He knew he was kissing someone at some point, but only when they stopped. And he thought he had thrown up, but that could also have been someone else, though at that point he did feel like what had previously been his body, was just some strange entity which he controlled like an external operator hovering above thinking commands, which it then obeyed. Maybe. But he wasn’t sure he was not dreaming, he might have, but the music was loud and the world was blurry, and at some point he was dreaming, because Aurelius was there, and that lady, and him of course, of course. But that was not a dream, that was a nightmare, and no those were eyes, but not his, and they were very much alive and it was another face, saying something perhaps? Were they saying they knew? No, no, no, that was not it. Had he not been wearing a shirt at some point? Sleep? Yes sure, yeah. He was tired. Sleep? What was he lying on? Who were these people? He could change the past. Yes. Yes! Surely he could dream that it had never happened and everything would be fine. Someone was touching his arm and he did not like that. Maybe they were waking him because they were here to kill him? Yes, that might be it. Oh well, it was possibly for the best. But they did not need him for that, so he turned away and this time he slept for good.

Day 6: Blackout - I PLAN TO REWRITE THISE ONE
Might not be my best work, but it's done. Blame it on the hangover

Acheron was desperate for air. His lunges would not coorperate, having been hijacked by the foreign energy of an air kirscha. And there he was, on his knees, clawing at his own neck as he looked pleadingly up at Jonathan. He was met with a cold, unsympathetic stare that he had come to loathe.

The first time Acheron had met Jonathan had been in the start of April a few years back. At the end of one of the coldest winters Ilomar had had in years. Even then at the start of spring, the ground was still covered in a thin glistening layer of frost. Acheron had been homeless then. And Jonathan had seemed kind, at first. Acheron hadn’t had much of a choice when Jonathan had approached him with an offer that would provide him both relative safety and a roof over his head – though the cost had been steep and had left Acheron feeling as if he was rotten to the core. This hadn’t been the first assault of this nature either, the sheer abuse would shock even the Iostan church, he was sure. But this time, the assault was different. As stars started to flash before Acheron’s sight and his grip on consciousness veined, he knew that the man was trying to kill him.

For what it was worth, Acheron wasn’t afraid of death. He had narrowly escaped it many times by now and he had often wondered if the effort had been worth it. But his will to survive was strong as ever and panic sat in when the world started to go dark around him. He did the one thing he could to defend himself. He entered Jonathan’s rotten spirit. Where the lack of oxygen ended and the nauseating sensation of a lifetime's worth of memories began was hard to tell. This kind of invasion was dizzying as images flashed before him. Horrifying displays of the crimes the man had committed. Children crying. His wife and kids. Of Acheron himself freezing in the street. It all went by too fast to process and before even thinking twice, Acheron started ripping it apart. The nausea turned to euphoria as the power rushed through his veins, sucking all energy out of the spirit of his opponent as if it was nothing more than a ripe fruit. Somewhere, far away and distant, he heard the cry of pain as he fed on the energy of his abuser.

Everyone had heard the tales of how Nachon’s were violent, evil and thirsty for spirits. Demons and doers of Tarron’s evil. And as ecstasy flooded Acheron’s system, he almost believed it. It rushed through him, a feeling of goodhood, a brief moment of non-existence. But then, the void shattered around him as the last threads of Jonathan’s mind were destroyed. Acheron came to the same moment that Jonathan’s body hit the floor beside him.

Acheron gasped for breath as he scuttered away, watching in horror as the last thread of  life disappeared in the eyes of Jonathan’s sickly looking face. Blood pumped loudly in Acheron’s ears as reality finally started catching up with him. The empty, spiritless corpse in front of him. The newfound energy pumping through Acheron’s veins. The sickly, nauseating realization: he had killed Jonathan and his spirit was now within him. Acheron spend the rest of the night throwing up.

Day 7: Use the words: small town, bar, jukebox - POV: Idés - 2011
I have no time to proof-read this one, take it as it is

The library was a refuge of sorts. Contrary to home, it was quiet and there was room to focus. Here there was no crisis, or siblings fighting, or a drunk dad passed out on the couch after spending most of the night at some shady bar. It was no wonder that Idés spent most of his time here, amongst piles of books. Here, he could get lost in research of whatever random topic he desired to know more about. Today it was a bit of everything, as several books laid open and an open tab on the wikipedia page about jukeboxes showed on his library computer. Idés took a sip off the cup of coffee he had helped himself to and tried not to wince at the bitter taste. He still had yet to grow used to the taste. But he knew that the cup in his hand made him seem more mature and put together, thus it was simply something he had to learn.

Completely entranced by the words on the screen, he almost didn’t notice the boy who suddenly came running and ducked beneath his table. Idés blinked in surprise. While Ilomar City was by far not a small town, the Erast library was always fairly empty, which made him almost think he had imagined it. Then he checked  underneath the table and was surprised to find a curly haired boy around his age shushing him. Then two angry looking Godia warriors entered. Oh. Idés sat upright and returned his attention to the computer, as the two men approached his desk.

“Hey kid,” a gruff voice spoke and Idés turned his attention to the warriors in front of him. “We’re looking for a delinquent, around your age,” he said, going on to describe what was definitely the boy underneath his desk. “Have you seen him?”

Idés looked around him, seemingly searching for said delinquent. Then he blinked innocently up at the two adults “Sir… this is a library.”

The two men looked at each other. One looked gruff and mean, the other much kinder. The kinder looking man spoke, questioning the boy as if he was speaking to someone who truly had trouble comprehending a simple question. “Are you sure you haven’t seen anything?” He asked. “Even if you think really hard?”

Idés simply stared at the man for a moment, truly having to pull himself together in order to not laugh at his ridiculous tone. “Why would a delinquent be in an empty library?”

“Listen here, punk–” one of the warriors started, but was quickly shushed by the librarian. The kinder looking man gave his partner a chastising look. “Get ahold of yourself, Murphy,” he said, before turning to Idés again. “You’re absolutely sure?”

Idés nodded. The two men looked at each other, seemingly debating whether or not to trust the boy. Then the kinder looking man sighed. “Well. Stay out of trouble kid.” The two men moved on to search the library and question the librarians. When no-one gave them any useful information, they eventually left and Idés turned his attention to the delinquent beneath his table and told him that the coast was clear. The boy crawled out and sat down besides Idés with a big toothy grin on his face.

“Thanks, kid,”  he said, leaning back casually in the chair and crossing his arms. Idés raised a brow at the kid calling him kid. They were definitely the same age. The teens eyes scanned the table infront of him, before looking back at Idés. “Are you some sort of evil genius?”

“Uh-” Idés didn't get to form a response before the other spoke again. “I’m Samuel– Call me Sammie. And you are?”

For a moment, Idés simply stared at him. He had a lot of energy it seemed, this Sammie. “Hi. I’m Idés,” he then said, before clarifying. “I’m not evil.”

“Just a genius then?” Sammie said, another wide smile on his lips. There was a gap between his front teeth, Idés noticed. “Come Idés, let me buy you a drink.”

Before Idés fully had a time to register what was happening, he was at a small kiosk with the boy called Sammie, who stood with a six-pack up by the  register. The cashier, an older teenage boy, laughed. “No can do, kid. Come back in a few years.”

“Come on, Martin! You always sell to Kevin!”

“Well, do your parents own the laundromat?”

Sammie started coming with a string of half-hearted excuses for why Martin should just sell them the beer. Idés stood in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. No one was paying any attention to him, which gave him an idea. While Sammie was busy fighting the cashier, Idés snuck a six pack from the row down into his backpack. Sammie turned away from the cashier with an offended huff. “Well, fuck you then, Martin,” he retorted and Martin simply shook his head with a laugh.

“See you around, Sammie,” he chuckled.

The two boys exited the kiosk and back out onto the street, while Sammie cussed out Martin. “He’s such a stick-in–the-mud,” he complained. “Sorry, Idés, looks like we’re drinkless.”

Idés shrugged off his backpack and revealed the contents to Sammie, who gasped before smiling ear to ear. “Idés!” He exclaimed, wrapping an arm around the boy. “I knew it! You are an evil genius!”

The two boys sat on the rooftop of the parking garage as they drank their beers, talking about anything and everything. Or, well, Sammie mostly did the talking for both of them, telling tall tales of his escapades and why the Godia had been after him in the first place.  Idés still struggled to keep up with what the boy was saying exactly. Still, it was nice and for the first time in a very long time, Idés wasn’t alone.

Day 8: Write about finding a new hobby - Davon
This is almost about what the prompt asked for. Almost.

Davon was a habitual loner. It wasn’t exactly an active choice that he had made, it was more just how it happened to be. When asked about it, he’d usually say something along the lines of his standards being high or having a low tolerance for incompetence. But on certain levels, he struggled with relating to his peers and the things that they occupied themselves with. The parties, the drama, the gossiping, the reality shows and the social media. It seemed benign and Davon couldn’t even begin to understand the allure of it all. That world wasn’t for him. Although, sometimes he’d find himself envying it. Take Jordan, for instance. At a very basic level, the man was dumb. He was ignorant about even the most important parts about their work as warriors and he knew nothing about the world around him. Yet he was clearly well-liked. He had hoards of people around him at all times, as if there was a sort of magnetism to him. And people hung on to every word he uttered like it was gospel – as if the man wasn’t fundamentally bad at his job. Sometimes Davon would wish he had just a smidge of that kind of charisma.

He supposed he could just fake it and mirror whatever laid back charm a man like Jordan possessed. But pretending to care and do as someone else, that was incredibly tiring. And it wasn’t like Davon actually wished to be someone else.  He knew he was intense, sure. He had a meticulous approach to most things and could be quite stubborn about the ways he liked to do his tasks. But that was also his strength. He got results that way and nobody could deny that. He had good reason to be proud of his work. It may be that he was excessively orderly and rigid, but at the very least he was good at the things he did.

And with all the time he saved on not partying or staying out late with friends, he used on learning new skills. For example, he had recently taken up learning Yidsian. A skill that would undoubtedly come in handy at some point, as a part of being a Godia Warrior was being a public servant – and the Yidsian people made up a substantial part of the population in Ilomar City. So while he had originally taken up the hobby in order to read some of his favorite books in their original language, it would certainly not be time that he had wasted. He had come to learn many useful things that way. From origami, to chess, to baking. Davon was rightfully proud to be fairly skilled in many fields, because of his intensity.

And of course, it wasn’t like he was completely alone in the world. He had found friendship in Melody, his complete contradiction. So, while one could say that Davon was a bit of a loner, no one could say that he was lonely.

Day 7 and Day 8

Eleanor, despite everything, thought her current life nearly perfect. She was beautiful, brilliant and wealthy. Truly the kind of person who was bound to make it in life, and well on her way to do so. Really, the only downside was her name. Being from a somewhat small town where everyone knew everyone, or at least, knew her, she was tired of being the girl with [...]. Leaving no explanation. No way for justice to be served. Her opinion on the matter had always been met with scepticism, and even she could now admit that she was far from objective, but she had never fully bought into the idea that [...]. Especially not of [...]. Still, it was always either: “[...], like [...], the philosopher?” Or “[...]? Like that Nachon boy?” Yes [...] like both of those. Her brother and grandfather; namesakes who had forever laid claim to the family name, one for the better and one for the worse. No matter what she did; however many awards she’d win for outstanding academic achievements, concerts she’d give or articles she'd publish, she would always be Eleanor [...], like them. And she was sick of it.

At twenty, she had already begun her PhD, which was in itself quite the achievement. Her name might have set the bar high, but she would always be aiming higher. “Quantum mechanics?” Her mother had asked, somewhat surprised, when Eleanor had declared she would not be following them into the humanities. “We just always assumed…” Then, her father had cut her off with a sharp look: “You have always been extraordinary, love, I am sure you will excel at whatever you chose to do.” And she had excelled. To the extent where she’d been offered to take her research with her to Ilomar University, where she would work alongside some of the world's leading scientists. Which was why she was sitting by the jukebox at some watering hole in Ilomar city, wondering why she had decided to leave everyone she knew back at home.

*

“Anyone sitting here?”
Lost in thoughts it took a second for Eleanor to register that the voice was addressing her. She looked up. Two young women around her age were standing awkwardly by the empty chairs at her table, one of them, the shorter one, had either blonde or ginger hair –the lighting made it hard to tell– the other very dark, perhaps black. Eleanor shook her head, then cast a glance at her watch; “I was just leaving.”
She got up, picked up her almost empty mojito and finished it through the straw, putting it down to get her coat instead, which she put on as she navigated her way out through the chairs and billiard games, stopping only to wait for a dart to be thrown. Then she could open the door and escape out into the refreshing evening air, which she inhaled, only to notice how polluted it felt, compared to home.

It had been horrible. Back then. Officials wanting to screen her, make sure the family wasn’t raising another secret Nachon. The other kids, or more likely their parents, shunning her despite the results. It had been easier to retreat into herself, into hobbies. Anything she could do alone, she had done. Drawing, painting, arts and crafts, writing, although none of it had really captured her. She’d grown up playing music of course, cello, piano, the violin, and she’d composed a bit, before tiring of that. She would continue to play, but no longer with the intention of making a name for herself in the world of classical music. Because by then she had discovered maths.

Most people would shake their heads at someone claiming mathematics as a hobby. Especially if that someone was a pre-teen girl. But at twelve Eleanor had found compensation for her lack of close friends in complicated equations and their use; physics. And even when it seemed she was no longer tainted by the past in the eyes of her peers, and she had made friends and rekindled old ones, her true love had always been maths.
Her only love, she thought, as she unlocked the door to her campus apartment, kicking off her shoes, before throwing herself on the couch, only to land on something hard. She dug out “Calculations on the Effect of Warlocks” by Tomas Harroway from beneath her, and flipped through it, without paying it much attention, before throwing it aside. She’d barely moved in, and already her living room was a mess. Stacks of books, a stolen chalkboard, manuscript pages lying around held down by even more books. Perhaps the next hobby of hers should be tidying.

Day 9: Write about a heated debate (define the wort "debate") - POV Idés - fall, 2011
Some wholesome family fun. I don't wanna do the dialogue fancy colors right now  

The early mornings were the most calm part of the day in the Chapmann household. As the first rays of daylight touched the sky  and everyone was asleep, it would be hard to imagine the chaos that would undoubtedly unfold. This morning was no different. As rain pattered against the window and his dad snored on the couch, Idés sat in the kitchen with some blessed peace to finally finish his homework. Between this and the early night hours, Idés had become something of a late sleeper and an early riser – something that persisted well into his adulthood. He had already as a child come to enjoy the peace that reigned in the mornings. Something he only a few months prior had shared with his mom. Now she was dead and Idés sat alone, crunching on his cereal.

It wasn’t until the sun had fully risen that Idés was joined by his older sister Claudia, with baby Makis in her arms. “You’re up early,” she remarked, groggy from sleep as she placed Makis in the high chair, before going to brew herself some coffee.

“Morning,” Idés responded, attention still on the textbook in front of him. Claudia came to join him, a cup of coffee in her hand and a bowl of yogurt for Makis.

“Doing homework on a saturday?”

“Might as well get it over with.”

“No wonder you’re such a nerd,” Claudia chuckled, fondness in her voice as she fed the toddler. Idés responded with a smile and for a moment, the two sat in comfortable silence while Makis babbled incoherently. At the age of two, the toddler should probably be speaking by now, but they had other things to worry about. Such as how they were going to pay next month's rent. As if on queue, their dad snored loudly from the couch.

“When did he get home?” Idés asked.

“Dunno. He wasn’t here when I got home from work.” Claudia sighed. After their dad had been fired and it had become clear he had no intention of pulling his act together anytime soon, Claudia had dropped out of school in order to take a job at a 24-hour Cescos shop as a cashier. Though they needed the money, the night shifts obviously took their toll. She looked exhausted. Idés had wanted to follow her example and take up work, but she wouldn’t allow it. She had a lot of responsibilities for a 16-year-old. Money was tight, though. In addition to rent, they were a big family to feed. There was their dad, Ralph, of course. And Claudia and Idés, the eldest. Then the twins, Nikos and Alex. Their little sister, Irida. And Makis, the toddler that their mom would often refer to as the “happy accident.” Six kids in totalt. And one salary and an unemployment check could only take them that far.

Irida had come down from upstairs so quietly that neither Claudia nor Idés had actually heard her, until she sat down. Rubbing sleep out of eye and yawning, her long hair a mess in every direction.

“Morning, sunshine,” Claudia greeted. “Slept well?” Irida nodded, resting her head on the table and closing her eyes. Seemed she wasn’t entirely done sleeping.

Then, there was a loud bang from a door slamming upstairs, followed by the shouting of two boys. Claudia closed her eyes and sighed. One chased the others down the stairs.

“Give that back, Nikos!” Alex demanded, grabbing for what appeared to be a magazine.

“Nu-uh! Not until you admit it!” There was a mischievous glee in Nikos eyes as he  held the magazine just out of his brother's reach. He had hit a growth-spurt recently, much to the dismay of Alex who still fell a couple of inches short.

“Fuck you!”

“Stop it, you two!” Claudia commanded, but it fell on deaf ears as the pre-teens continued, their arguing only growing louder.

“You’re such a baby,” Nikos taunted, laughing. Anger flared in Alex’s eyes and he punched his brother in the stomach. When the arguing turned to full on fighting and Makis started crying, Claudia stepped in.

“I swear to Iosta, you two, I’ll send you to a fucking orphanage!” She yelled in exasperation as the two boys expertly dashed away from her. “Stay the fuck out of this, Claudia!” Alex retorted and the three yelled at each other some more. The noise was enough to wake the sleeping pile on the couch.

“What the hell is that ruckus for?!” Ralph shouted, angrily. “Shut the fuck up, savages!”

“Damn, thanks a lot for the help, dad!” Claudia glared angrily at her father as she struggled to keep the fighting twins apart.

As the four yelled obscenities at each other, the toddler cried loudly and Irida stared forward with a thousand-yard stare, Idés quietly packed his backpack and left through the back door, heading for the library.

Day 10: Use the title: Promises made, promises kept - POV Acheron
Slight TW for fucked up power dynamics, human trafficking rings and just Acheron’s backstory in general
It fits the prompt if you squint
Still don't wanna do the colors  


“What did you just say?”

“I want out.”

For a moment, Jonathan stared blankly at Acheron, then he  laughed in disbelief. “You want out?”

Acheron swallowed the lump in his throat as Jonathan's eyes narrowed. Once, he had had no issue standing his ground and standing up for himself, even to the point of bringing him trouble. But that had been before this arrangement. He hated to admit it, but Jonathan scared him. It didn’t matter if Acheron went around poking his brain, the air around him was always thick with bad intentions regardless.  He wondered how he hadn’t noticed that the first time they had met.

“You want out, huh? Well, you’ve got some nerve, kid.” Jonathan looked amused as he propped his chin up in his hand. “And what’re you gonna do instead, exactly?” he smiled as Acheron avoided looking at him. “Go on, tell me. What’s your plan here? You quit and go back to the street? Think I’d just let you walk?”

“I just. Can’t do it anymore.”

“Can’t do it anymore, huh?” Jonathan nodded in faux pity. “You poor thing. Life must be so tough for you. The free housing, free food, free clothes. I see. Things were so much better before, weren’t they?”

“That’s not– look, I am grateful for your help and all, but…”

“But?”

“It’s just– I… the memories. I can’t-“ His job – if one could even refer to it as that – was removing the memory of the ‘merchandise,’ as Jonathan and his business partners would call them. Though he had only handled one shipment, he already couldn’t let go of what he had seen. The images kept him up at night. “I can't do it.”

“Can’t do it.” Jonathan repeated again. “What you’ve seen has been that bad, then?”

For just a moment, Acheron thought that the man in front of him actually did understand. He nodded. Jonathan clicked his tongue.

“But then, if what you’ve seen has been that bad. Then you should know, kid,” he finally said. “That you should be grateful. If anybody else told me what you just told me, I’d snap their neck in an instant.”

Jonathan watched Acheron, weighting him up. Acheron could hear the sound of blood pumping in his ears. He didn’t dare pry to see what was going through the man's head. “So what to do about you. I could teach you some manners myself. Or I could sell you to some real bad people. They would do worse to you than I ever could.” Acheron’s blood ran cold. He knew what that sort of person was capable of – he’d seen the memories. “Or you could get back to work, keep your end of the promise and the two of us could simply forget this conversation ever took place. I’m feeling nice. I’ll let you choose. Still think you can’t do it anymore?”

The anger that flared inside him was kept at bay by the fear of the man in front of him. Acheron wanted to retort how this wasn’t fair, but held his tongue.

“Come then, Acheron. What will it be? Still think you can’t do it?”

Acheron’s lips pushed into a thin line. He was stupid to even begin to think he may have a choice in this matter. It wasn’t fair, but then again, nothing in his life had been up to this point. Why should that change now? He nodded. “ I’ll do it.”

“Great! Just what I wanted to hear.” Acheron jumped when Jonathan suddenly clapped and rose from his place on the lushious couch. Acheron trailed his movement across the living room over to the small bar, to pour himself a drink. Then the clinking of glass and the pouring of liquids and a satisfied ‘ah’ as the man took a sip, before turning to look at the teenager. Another moment of tense silence before he spoke again. “But just so we’re clear: you deserve it. To feel bad.” Acheron averted his gaze from Johnathan. “After all, you still choose to do that to those poor people.”

“Go on. Tell me you deserve it,” Jonathan continued when Acheron didn’t respond. “I want to hear you say it.”

Acheron clenched his teeth and reminded himself not to lash out at the man, whatever weird powertrip he was on now.“I-I deserve it.”

“Now, look at me.” There was something nauseatingly satisfied in the man's eyes. “And say it again."

Acheron swallowed and looked up. “I deserve it.”

“Of course you do, you fucking demon. Now, get out of here.”

Promises made, promises kept
Once upon a time, in some far away place, there lived a small boy who believed in promises.

“You are safe now, sweetheart.” His mother would whisper, when he crawled into her arms, awoken by a nightmare, “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.” Then she would stroke his hair and hold him until he fell asleep. And she was right. He was safe.

But as it happens with all small boys, this one grew, and so too did the world. It got bigger, and wilder. It became a dangerous and unpredictable place. To compensate, more promises were made. And while dangers of the world grew beyond the safety of a mother’s embrace, it remained as a promise of sanctuary. A place to return to when the promise to ‘take care’ had been broken and with it the skin of a knee. There, as the boy came to learn that some promises might be broken, he also learned that this was not one of those.

Once upon a time, there lived a boy who believed in promises. And that they could be broken when it suited him.

“As long as you are home by eight.” His dad would say, looking up from a book, at his son who was spending summer days by the river in the woods with a friend.
“Alright.”
“Promise it.”
“I promise.” He would shout, in good humour, already halfway through the garden to the forest edge, with a backpack slung across a shoulder, and no intention to back any time before ten.

But as it happens, you sometimes run into promises you do not want to break. There were those promises of friendship. Some of them were said aloud. Most didn’t have to, but floated in the cool water alongside them, or shimmered in the green glow above as they lay sprawled out beneath the soft shade of trees so old the boys used to make up stories about the old gods that had once been prayed to here. Those promises of places sacred to them only, as they would lead their friends through different paths, past different creeks to some clearing, where they would lunch –The girls had a habit of turning every trip into a picnic– and none of the boys objected. Jamie, because he would have done anything Marlene wanted that summer, and if she wanted a picnic, well, sure he could carry a basket or two. And as Jamie insisted that the girls had already done enough by preparing the food, Charlie would step in, although initially hesitant; both girls were at least as strong as they were, he later said, rolling his eyes at Jamie's play at gallantry.
He never complained. Those summer days in the forest were the happiest days of his life.

Once upon a time, there lived a boy who learned that when it came down to it, neither the promise from a mother, a friend or a lover could really keep you safe.

“I think I love you.”
“Think?”
“Hmm.”
“Why aren’t you sure?”
(a pause) “Promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t break my heart”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise you, I won’t ever hurt you.”
“Okay, now promise me you will remember me when you do. Break my heart I mean.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean it.”
“[...] I promise you that I will never hur–don’t interupt– that I will never hurt you and that I will never forget your pretty face or terrible manners.”

Once upon a time, there lived a boy, who grew up and decided not to make any more promises.

“Promise me that you will keep her safe.”
“I promise.”

… Or at least to try to keep them.

Day 11: dancing
Charlotte as a pre-teen

“You count to three and hope to not step on anybody's toes, like this.” Her dance partner showed off, what Charlotte suspected to be the steps shown earlier by their instructor. “One, two, three, one, two, three.”
“I’m not sure you are doing it right.” She said, crossing her arms.
Learning how to waltz had not been her idea. But her mother’s. Who thought it, despite not being able to further elaborate, a very useful skill. Now, ten minutes into her first dance lesson, Charlotte was already questioning the logic of that. Yet she was sure it was not supposed to look like that.
“Well, I can’t count and think at the same time.”
“I’ll do it for you then.” And she did. She counted, and he showed her the steps, this time a little better, and then they danced together.
It turned out that the second part of waltzing; the not stepping on anybody’s toes, was at least as difficult as the counting to three had been.
“Ouch.” This time it was her partner's time to complain.
“Sorry, counting and thinking, you know.”

Day 11: Write about two characters dancing together - Late summer 2023 (non-canon(?))
This is with Edi and Idés, not sure if Edi is OOC. Sorry if she is - it's still cute though <3

“Can you pass me the salt?”

“Here you go.”

The late summer-sun basked in through the open window to the kitchen, where music played from a small speaker. The smell of spices was noticeable even from the street. The kitchen in the apartment above the café was definitely too tiny for two people cooking at once, but somehow they made it work. In a rare spark of sudden domestic productivity, the couple had decided to make a homemade meal for once – at the small price of the kitchen looking a mess and most of the bottle of red wine.

“I think I need to see the recipe, I have no clue if this is done,” Idés chuckled, while stirring whatever concoction it was they were making. It was Yidsian recipe from Edita’s childhood.

“Let me see.” Edita only needed to turn to look at the pan. “Give it a few more minutes, then you add the vekoves.”

“Add the what now?”

“Vekoves,” Edita repeated, holding up a flask of some sort of foreign liquid.

“Bless you.”

“Shut up,” Edita chuckled at the self-satisfied look on Idés face. “Need me to take over?”

“What I need is a recipe.” Idés reached over to grab the cookbook from the counter and scanned over the foreign words. “Ah.” He laughed. “It’s in Yidsian.”

“Duh.” Edita laughed too, gently shoving Idés out of the way with her hip. “I’m taking over the pan.”

“Fair, I’ll pour you some more wine.” For a moment, their bodies were pressed flush together as he squeezed past her to get back into the kitchen. Then he grabbed her nearly empty glass and topped it up, before handing it to her.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Professor Sexy-mann?” She teased, chuckling into her glass before taking a sip.

Idés laughed as he poured wine for himself. Was his cheeks heating up at that ridiculous nickname or because of the slight buzz that came with a few glasses of wine? “Why not? We’re young for a little while yet, aren’t we?”

“It’s a tuesday.”

“It’s summer.”

“You got a point.” Then, his hand was on her hip and there was a lingering look, before their lips met. Idés wasn’t entirely sure if she kissed him, or if he kissed her. She certainly looked very kissable. Then, they parted, a satisfied smile on her lips. “Chop the vegetables for the salad, will you?”

“Of course.” One last peck on her lips and Idés turned to the vegetables, starting to chop as he had been instructed to do. Meanwhile, Edita grabbed the bottle of vekoves and added it to the pan. There was a searing sound and the smell of alcohol being burned away. They continuously made eye-contact and chuckled over nothing in particular – perhaps just the happiness of the others' presence. Then, the song changed and familiar lyrics washed through the room. Idés put down the knife and looked at Edita expectadedly, a huge goofy grin on his face. She laughed as he took her hand and pulled her closer.

“We’ll burn the food,” she chuckled, yet still melted into his touch.

Their bodies pressed flushed together, hands on the small of her back and on his shoulders as they swayed to the music. They smiled, looking into each other's eyes, then both laughed as Idés gave her a small twirl. Then he pulled her in for a kiss. For just a moment, all was right in the world as the music, the smell of food, the buzz of slight intoxication and the warmth of each other's bodies flooded their senses.

Day 12: Explain your character motivation ASK GAME!

Irene: What makes them cry? Do they cry easily?
Tears don't come easy to Irene. However, she is not completely cold or insensitive. In the event that she does screw up or hurt someone’s feelings, it nags at her. She might shed a tear if this situation is completely unfixable. This is because it screws with her self-image as someone who has their shit together. She thinks very highly of herself and since making mistakes is only human, it comes with the disappointment of letting herself down sometimes. In general, she’ll be back on her feet fairly quickly, though.

What may hurt her even more if she feels a friend she is loyal to has betrayed her. Irene has a lot of people in her life but only very few close, loyal friends. She puts her trust in these people to have her back, as well as she has theirs. She’ll feel put to shame if this trust is broken.

In general, she won’t cry in public as that would mean losing face. She’s a private crier and she would feel ashamed after. Generally speaking, Irene is quicker to anger than she is to tears and sadness. Chances are, if you hurt her feelings, she’ll react with coldness and disapproval. She may lash out and it’s very unlikely that anyone sees her actually hurt.


Idés: what is your oc's greatest wish? How far are they willing to go for it?
Now, what Idés thinks he wants and what he actually needs is two completely different things. He is an idealistic man who would like to live in a better society. He wishes to see a world that is less financially unequal, where the justice system isn’t broken, where discrimination isn’t rampant and where people don’t grow up like he did. Though he is aware that this dream likely won't be realized within his lifetime, he still makes sacrifices for his cause – which is the reason he sticks around in the EFA despite the inherent risks associated with it. If he wanted to, he could probably easily leave and live his life as an acclaimed scientist. But that would weigh too heavily on his conscience.

Speaking of science, Idés too wishes to make great contributions to the field he has chosen. He sees the value in understanding energy in all its forms and he especially sees the liberation that could exist within the right kinds of zeals. For this, he sacrifices, well, his whole life. Idés works from early morning to late every evening, often with very little rest or food inbetween. He doesn’t mind neglecting himself for the greater good.

Which is what leads to what Idés should honestly want. He has never before prioritized his own happiness and well-being. He is good at ignoring his own needs – a result stemming from what was, at the end of the day, a neglectful household. He grew up in an environment where making those kinds of priorities would be selfish. This is something he needs to learn about himself. An Idés at the end of his arc should be content with leaving things as they are and instead focus on tuning in on his own needs. He should allow himself to be selfish, sometimes.


Acheron: if they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make?
Oh boy. This is a similar situation but in a whole different direction. Acheron would wish for revenge. The world did him dirty and for him, the option would either be to turn time back to when he was still a child or to make the world hurt as he had hurt. He lost his innocence long ago and it would not realistically be possible for him to make peace and accept what has happened. Could anybody really blame him for that? Especially when he already sees himself as nothing but a destructive force, something that’ll only ever be able to bring pain upon others.

Alternatively, he’d wish for non-existence. Not exactly wishing for death; there’s religious trauma there, and he isn’t 100% certain that he wouldn’t be sent to whatever this world's version of hell is. That doubt mixed with a strong survival instinct has kept him alive. It’s more, he feels it’d be better if he was never brought into existence to start with.

A more healthy, self-aware Ache should probably wish for community instead. For understanding or acceptance. To be shown that there are people in this world who won’t abandon him or be unnecessarily cruel. We’re far from that point, though.


Davon: what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving?
Coming from a materialistic family, Davon understands the kind of communication gift-giving really is. As much as it can be a heartfelt gesture and a way to show that you really know a person, it can also be a way to one-up a person. This can be done by giving something more expensive, more thoughtful, more time consuming than whatever else you got to begin with. In that way, the ideal type of presence to give Davon would be something that is slightly worse than the thing he’d be giving you, but still not so bad as to be insulting. That way, you’d be giving him both something material and something for his ego.

Davon maybe isn’t “good” at giving gifts in terms of being a knower of people, but more in terms of being willing to spend a lot of money on it. This is because he is sort of a loner who doesn’t really bother getting to know what most people’s aesthetics, interests or hobbies are. Instead you’d probably get something very high quality, very expensive and very generic. A crowd-pleaser that won’t offend, like a timeless designer lamp in a cool-gray color. Think: corporate christmas present.

It’s a bit easier for him to give something for his family or for Melody, though. But most people aren’t his family or Melody. If you aren’t, be grateful for the lamp.

Day 12: Ask game

Charlotte: What do they think about when they look at the night sky? is there someone they want to stargaze with?
​​
There were summer nights on the backyard patio at her grandma’s where the kids would gather blankets and duvets and the lights of the big house would be turned off or the blinds closed until the only thing that shone was the moon and stars. Those nights she would always remember fondly. How her cousins would point out constellations to Elliot, and he in turn would name the stars. She still remembered, whenever she looked at the night sky, how her grandma had come down with hot drinks, and told her that this; the freshness of the night air, the vastness of the sky, the freedom, this was hers. Hers? She had asked, perplexed. Well, she was a kirsha, wasn’t she? Which she was, that had been the summer she had found out. Her grandma had been so proud; how alike they were!
Perhaps Matthew could be persuaded to go on a trip to the country?


Cadmus: What traits do they look for in a relationship? Do they believe in love at first sight?

Cadmus - Julian - Augustus - What is it?
This man can’t commit to an identity, let alone a relationship. If one, however, should somehow find themself in one with him anyways, you might have to just deal with not knowing anything about him. No. Not even his zodiac sign. Sorry. To quote a recent pop song: “If it’s love, do you really need to know the name of your terrorist boyfriend?”
When asked if he believed in love at first sight, the interviewee looked at the reporter with suspicion and said: “You mean lust?” Which we at
EFA.ExitingFucksAwait.the-official-unofficial-fan-site.Ilomar.com have taken to mean: no.
We also asked him to describe his ideal partner in three words: “Hard to kill?” By which he is possibly referring to the unfortunate statistic showing an increase in hate crimes directed at nachons and their friends and families.

This was it from the weekly portrait of the eligible bachelors of the EFA!
(Remember: We do not take legal responsibility for any harm to you, if you decide to seek out one of our bachelors.)

Day 15: This isn’t even a prompt on the list
I have not written anything of value these last two days. BUT here’s some words I refuse to proofread right now <3

Being homeless was easier when you had a phone. A phone offered entertainment and a small escape from reality, which was important as to not go absolutely insane. There were games, there were movies, budding online communities. And sometimes the occasional posting for an odd-job could mean at least some income. Of course, that all required access to wifi. But that hadn’t been at all hard for someone like Acheron. There was a gas-station behind the abandoned warehouse, which he had dropped by anyways in order to get his first decent meal of the day. It hadn’t taken much prodding into the mind of the clerk to figure out the password. At least now with the money from Cadmus, he was able to pay for it without scraping change together. Although, he would have to figure out how and where to exchange the bigger paper currency for something a little safer to carry around.

So there he sat, in his make-due camp inside the abandoned warehouse, making a prioritized list of how to use his newfound wealth. He had to put a fair bit aside, on the off-chance that his plans ended up coming through. He would hate to be indebted to some very dangerous people. But he had asked for way more than what was strictly necessary on purpose. He needed a better sleeping-bag than the one he had found in the charity shop, as the one he had barely kept out the cold. Maybe a bigger backpack too?  Then, a fitness subscription. A fitness subscription meant access to a shower and utilities. If he remembered correctly, the chain Epic Fitness still didn’t require an address for sign up – otherwise he’d have to lie and give Lucy’s, who was already pissed at him over the stunt with the diary. Next on the list was food. For relatively cheap, he could get a small zeal-powered burner that didn’t need access to an electrical outlet. That could come in handy. But then he’d need a pot too. He also didn’t have a reliable way of doing the dishes afterwards. Though, it definitely beat the fastfood and quick-fix meals he’d have to make due with for the last couple of weeks. His stomach growled in protest as he looked over at the abandoned greasy bag that had once contained his food. Then his eye got caught by the garment bag that hung on one of the pipes.

His eyebrows furrowed as he pointedly looked away. He hadn’t tried it on yet. But the fabric seemed much more expensive than he had anticipated. He wanted to be clean when he did put it on – maybe a one-time payment would lend him access to a gym-shower?

He sighed and put his phone away, wanting to conserve what little battery there was left in case he lost his shit during the night. It was late, anyway. This part of town was secluded enough in order for him to at least get a little sleep. Tomorrow, he would find a cafe so he could charge his new phone and set a game-plan in motion. He was in a better position this time around than he was the last time around, he reminded himself. Last time he had relied on pick-pocketing, intruding on people’s thoughts in order to access their pincodes. That had been risky. All things considered, he was sure Cadmus at least wouldn’t turn him in to the authorities. If he did, he’d be fucking himself over.

Acheron also wasn’t as naive as he had been the last time. Meeting and taking the deal from Jonathan had to be one of the biggest mistakes of his entire life. A mistake he was still paying for to this day. He shuddered at the thought. Somehow, he survived it. And somehow, he would survive to see another day. That thought didn’t give him the comfort it probably should have. He knew it would catch up with him one day. But for now, he could make damn certain that he at least would take all the bastards he could down with him.

Day 1: Write about a first kiss - School Dance - Edita at around 13 years old

Charles Dawinton Jr. had showed up in a very fine and very expensive suit at her family’s doorstep. She had been waiting for him for a while, butterflies in her stomach, and sweaty palms that she had been rubbing on her purple prom dress. Since her mother had had one of her good days, she had insisted on doing Edita’s hair, setting it in an elegant manner with some bits curling by the crook of her neck. She did think she looked nice. Perhaps even pretty.

“You look beautiful, Edita.” Charles had said the moment he saw her, his ears turning red, and his hand shaking slightly when he put on the corsage on her gloveclad wrist. Her eyes looked at the shaking of his hand, then her own glove, remembering the tiny inked sun on her skin that it hid.

“You look nice.” She had said. His hair was slicked back, you couldn’t even tell that it was normally unruly and curly. He had truly made an effort tonight.


When they finally arrived at the prom at St. Fallon Academy, the prominent private school of Cirrane, their classmates had giggled and said their hellos, endless hugs and plenty of smiles, a girl’s voice called out Charles’ name to get his attention. A brownhaired and very pretty girl, dressed in periwinkle blue, walked up to the two of them with a boy on her arm. A bright smile on her lips.

“Alexandria, hi!” Charles said, hugging the girl briefly before returning his attention to Edita. The girl, Alexandria, looked interested at Edita.

“Oh hi, Edita! We havn’t really spoken in class, it’s so nice to meet you!” The girl snuck her arm around Edita’s, which was a nice surprise for Edita. It felt like they were gonna be best friends: although realistically only for the night. The girl added with a giggle: “Charles never stops talking about you.”


Charles had been very nice all night. He had danced with her, keeping appropriate space for Iosta between the two of them at all times. He had brought her punch whenever she asked for it, had introduced her to his friends: people she knew from class, but never spent any time with outside of school. She didn’t know these people like she knew the other kids at Baker Street. And she didn’t know the other kids at Baker Street like she knew these people.

Charles had given her his suit jacket to shield her from the night chill. They were standing outside, catching some fresh air, or maybe just trying to find privacy. Her hand was in his. It was warm and nice. Very comforting. And sweaty.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked. Ofcourse he asked. He was too nice to not ask permission. Butterflies grew in her stomach at the question. Then she nodded.

He leaned forward, being the same height as her, it was easy for him to find her lips. It was odd and stiff. Their lips parted, their faces inches from eachother, eyes met, then they giggled. She leaned forward meeting his lips again, much to her own surprise as it was to his. But he was nice, so why wouldnt she?

It had been just nice.