Drawing the Line. 1a/?
anonymous
April 15 2010, 15:48:33 UTC
I know this is a bit more than what the OP was asking for, but the idea of World War II era England being the setting just wouldn't leave me alone. D:
Keep running. Keep your feet moving.
Just an intricate game of hide-and-go-seek - that’s all this is. Swerve about the lorry caught aflame, billowing great black clouds into a sky already deadened by the relentless smog; ignore the mangled body of a fallen comrade that has long since stilled. (The acrid stench is just a small detail in the vast fields of playing ground and there is no room for emotional displays for the players whom have been found.) Take a left at the sharp whistle of stray shrapnel whizzing just shy of your jaw; concentrate with every fibre of your being and jump - dive - behind the haven of what was once a proud and majestic building, now reduced to little more than a massive pile of misshapen wood and plaster. (The grounds will fight back if the seeker has anything to say about it, so be on guard and don’t let yourself be caught.) Get up, ignore the screaming
( ... )
Drawing the Line. 1b/?
anonymous
April 15 2010, 15:55:00 UTC
As the days wore on, a deep, boiling self-loathing began to bubble in chest. The realization had settled - he was taking young men’s lives (Stolen it in the boy’s prime!) for the sake of patriotism and pride. So he braced his resolve and enveloped himself in a delusion. He was simply taking part in a game. Child’s play, really. Two teams, both with the goal to seek out the other and, in turn, capture those that were found.
The fact that one was to stab the offending team member through the jugular artery with a bayonet and promptly follow with a bullet to the skull was irrelevant. Knowing that once you’re found you will be left a mutilated shell in a ditch with no thought for your past, present, or future was inconsequential. And though Arthur knew these thoughts were false, knew he was lying to himself in the worst ways, he was able to rest heavy lids that ached with fatigue under a little persuasion of a bottle of rum in a cold, sodden trench every few stormy nights.
“Kirkland, get the bloody hell out of there!Gnashing his teeth
( ... )
Drawing the Line. 1c/?
anonymous
April 15 2010, 15:59:03 UTC
One-Two. One-Two-Three-Four. One-Two-Three. One. One-Two-Three.Arthur gritted his teeth. If the timing and frequency the rounds of ammunition hinted to anything, there were at least four players behind the guns. Hardly a fair advantage, but this game certainly wasn’t known for its outstanding morals. Arthur bit his lip; he needed to focus. He didn’t have the time needed to sit and draw precise calculations - he needed to move, and quickly. He gave a last lingering look to the sky and set his jaw. It was dark enough to where he’d have a bit of stealth on his side; a far cry from running in broad daylight. Shrugging the butt of his rifle back to its place between the crook of his elbow and side and catching the barrel in a tight grip, he took off at a sprint
( ... )
I love it! Very interesting beginning, and I think the WW2 era setting is absolutely brilliant. Poor Arthur. Can't wait to read more when you have the time! ^___^
Re: Drawing the Line. 1c/?
anonymous
April 16 2010, 23:33:29 UTC
*snorts* OH so that's where you got the idea - the kink meme! *did you tell me that before and I just forgot?*
*winks* its your friendly neighborhood beta, if you didn't know. I was searching the kink meme for goodness, and then saw a fic that looked reaaaalllyyyy familiar... XD
Drawing the Line. 2a/?
anonymous
April 20 2010, 06:35:42 UTC
So I totally meant to have this out earlier, but my friend thought it was a good idea to go gambling this weekend for a couple of nights of random fun. So two extreme hangovers later (and still missing those fifty dollars) I bring you this.
There was an incessant amount of noise.
The soft clicks beating a steady rhythm out upon tile were the first to penetrate through the void of Arthur’s consciousness. Constant, unbearable clicks that steadily amplified until they were positively throbbing in his ears with a relentless monotony. Mumbles of gibberish floated on a hushed undercurrent, filtering through with just enough volume to drive a barb of annoyance into the already piercing pain. The whisper of cloth rustling, rough scrapes of metal against metal, an awful screech of a hinge that was long past due for oiling, crisp scritching of a pen against paper - Arthur clawed through the haze to find something, anything remotely coherent in the confines of black and heaviness and noise
( ... )
Drawing the Line. 2b/?
anonymous
April 20 2010, 06:42:15 UTC
“Easy, fellah.”
This voice was sharp and nasal - American, his weary brain supplied. Calloused fingers stroked at clammy flesh and lifted his head from the now sopping downy pillow. The echoing splash of stomach contents against metal ensued and Arthur just wanted to rest, just wanted to stop because he was tired and his body ached. He finished with a strangled sob and fell lax in the tender care of the other, breathing shallowly into heated skin and shaking violently with the tremors of taxed muscles.
“Penicillin does that.” The man was so calm, the essence of the tone so warm as it thrummed against his flesh. Arthur wanted to nestle into the warmth and sleep for decades. “I’d like to say that it’ll get better, but you can never tell when it comes to that stuff.”
Again the question itched at the tip of his tongue.
“What’s wrong with me?” His voice was hoarse and dry and disgusting.There was a pause that ticked by for what felt like hours. His head was lowered into fresh sheets and a cool cloth dabbed at his face that was soaked
( ... )
Drawing the Line. 2c/?
anonymous
April 20 2010, 06:44:07 UTC
And all at once his head cleared. He looked up into those eyes and was bombarded by the urge to rip them from their sockets. Nothing so beautiful should exist; it would only be sullied by the ugliness of the world. As aware as he was of the morbidity of the statement, he was no less convinced of its acuity.
“Get out.”
“Mr. Kirkland -”
“Get out!”
A heavy silence settled in the air. After several beats, the younger gave in with a sigh.
“My name is Alfred Jones. Let a nurse know if you need me.” He gave a particularly calculating look before he turned to the doorway. “I’ll be back to check your vitals later.”
Re: Drawing the Line. 2c/?
anonymous
April 20 2010, 13:56:44 UTC
This me not getting ready for school. Because this needed reading now.
You write sheer guttwrenching so well~ The way Arthur feels bad that people are taking care of him is heartrending. D: Jeez. You made my morbid streak rear up. Now I wanna go look at the various side effects. Derp.
Re: Drawing the Line. 2c/?
anonymous
April 20 2010, 14:58:29 UTC
This is PERFECT *^* Your characterisation and writing is really good and I look forward to seeing more <3 You're feeding my personal doctor!kink very well :D
Keep running. Keep your feet moving.
Just an intricate game of hide-and-go-seek - that’s all this is. Swerve about the lorry caught aflame, billowing great black clouds into a sky already deadened by the relentless smog; ignore the mangled body of a fallen comrade that has long since stilled. (The acrid stench is just a small detail in the vast fields of playing ground and there is no room for emotional displays for the players whom have been found.) Take a left at the sharp whistle of stray shrapnel whizzing just shy of your jaw; concentrate with every fibre of your being and jump - dive - behind the haven of what was once a proud and majestic building, now reduced to little more than a massive pile of misshapen wood and plaster. (The grounds will fight back if the seeker has anything to say about it, so be on guard and don’t let yourself be caught.) Get up, ignore the screaming ( ... )
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The fact that one was to stab the offending team member through the jugular artery with a bayonet and promptly follow with a bullet to the skull was irrelevant. Knowing that once you’re found you will be left a mutilated shell in a ditch with no thought for your past, present, or future was inconsequential. And though Arthur knew these thoughts were false, knew he was lying to himself in the worst ways, he was able to rest heavy lids that ached with fatigue under a little persuasion of a bottle of rum in a cold, sodden trench every few stormy nights.
“Kirkland, get the bloody hell out of there!Gnashing his teeth ( ... )
Reply
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*winks* its your friendly neighborhood beta, if you didn't know. I was searching the kink meme for goodness, and then saw a fic that looked reaaaalllyyyy familiar... XD
In any case, lovely work, you know.
Reply
By the way, get ready for another chapter soon, trusty beta of mine. <3
Reply
There was an incessant amount of noise.
The soft clicks beating a steady rhythm out upon tile were the first to penetrate through the void of Arthur’s consciousness. Constant, unbearable clicks that steadily amplified until they were positively throbbing in his ears with a relentless monotony. Mumbles of gibberish floated on a hushed undercurrent, filtering through with just enough volume to drive a barb of annoyance into the already piercing pain. The whisper of cloth rustling, rough scrapes of metal against metal, an awful screech of a hinge that was long past due for oiling, crisp scritching of a pen against paper - Arthur clawed through the haze to find something, anything remotely coherent in the confines of black and heaviness and noise ( ... )
Reply
This voice was sharp and nasal - American, his weary brain supplied. Calloused fingers stroked at clammy flesh and lifted his head from the now sopping downy pillow. The echoing splash of stomach contents against metal ensued and Arthur just wanted to rest, just wanted to stop because he was tired and his body ached. He finished with a strangled sob and fell lax in the tender care of the other, breathing shallowly into heated skin and shaking violently with the tremors of taxed muscles.
“Penicillin does that.” The man was so calm, the essence of the tone so warm as it thrummed against his flesh. Arthur wanted to nestle into the warmth and sleep for decades. “I’d like to say that it’ll get better, but you can never tell when it comes to that stuff.”
Again the question itched at the tip of his tongue.
“What’s wrong with me?” His voice was hoarse and dry and disgusting.There was a pause that ticked by for what felt like hours. His head was lowered into fresh sheets and a cool cloth dabbed at his face that was soaked ( ... )
Reply
“Get out.”
“Mr. Kirkland -”
“Get out!”
A heavy silence settled in the air. After several beats, the younger gave in with a sigh.
“My name is Alfred Jones. Let a nurse know if you need me.” He gave a particularly calculating look before he turned to the doorway. “I’ll be back to check your vitals later.”
The door creaked shut with a tiny click.
Muffled voices traveled between the barrier.
Cries rose from the floor.
Arthur sobbed alone.
Reply
You write sheer guttwrenching so well~ The way Arthur feels bad that people are taking care of him is heartrending. D: Jeez. You made my morbid streak rear up. Now I wanna go look at the various side effects. Derp.
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I usually Only lurk on here ( I'm lazy ) xD
but this was so sooo amazing i just had too.
I need more, like now ;A;
hdwkkejfhshd
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