(One-time) Author's Note:I've fairly recently written two drabble fics. "Declines and Swells" and "What's in a Name?" are close to me because they involve moments and emotions that I feel are very important within the series and for our characters, summed up in so very few words...
I thought it would be very fun to also write another kind of drabble based upon the requests of readers, because I think people might have fun with the creative process, and maybe I'm just a sucker for prompts. So, now it's your turn! There are three conditions:
-they have to be mainline cannon compliant (so, as much as I love them, I'm not writing about HaraChi babies, etc.)
-must be two sentences or less, because keeping it vague allows me to be creative, I think, and
-I reserve the rights to pick and choose from prompts as well as to mold prompts as I see fit, even if they end up different that the prompt-er intended, because these things do seem to happen, you know...
Examples include such things as "Write about Okita's first time holding a sword," "How did Hijikata feel peddling medicine in the country?" or even something as simple as "Hajime is looking out the window at a rainy sky" that lets my imagination run wild! It's up to you!
If your prompt is selected, I will include your username (or psyudonym) at the top of the work along with your verbatim request! If the intent has morphed into something different in the course of the writing, your original idea will still be posted above.
This concept does not violate guidelines as it is a series of one-shots and not a choose-your-own adventure story. Prompted and/or dedicated writing is entirely permitted, as illustrated by a number of very talented fic writers. (*^^*)
I just think this would be really fun...hopefully for all of us?
If you'd like to submit a prompt, please review here, PM, or let me know on my blog. On an old account, I tried something similar, and it was quite neat!
As always, you can find me (and my poetic waxings) on "Shoujo Thoughts: Otaku Ramblings!"
Hoping to hear from you!
~Shoujo
This first drabble prompt is from PinkRedRose2. Rose, I hope that I did this justice. It was honestly pretty difficult, as Sannan hasn't been given enough time to shine in the anime, and I've yet to play Edo Blossoms (soon)! I hope that we can become closer to his characterization in the future and really connect with him emotionally!
The prompt? "The night Sanan's arm was injured." Hopefully I can knock future prompts out of the park and live up to your kind praise.
He pretends he doesn't notice. It's only fair that a man should weep for what's been lost, but none should draw attention to a warrior's moment of weakness.
At least, he thinks, that's what I'm telling myself. Sannan convalesces at the inn, the doctor only recently departed, and Hijikata's silent vigil is more a show of support than some prolific nonsense about broken things and Kintsukuro. Maybe it's simply that he doesn't know what to say. Maybe he can't find the words to convince a cracking man that hope—regardless of what some bastard physician spins—is only dead when a person believes it so.
But maybe now he's lying to himself.
Sannan's face contorts in memory, and Hijikata represses the urge to place a hand on Sannan's shoulder, because he knows, Goddamn it. He knows that Sannan isn't tearing up in pain, even though it burns along the broken lines of limply hanging limbs. But again, that's what he tells himself, because Sannan doesn't admit to pain, and Hijikata doesn't admit to knowing the truth.
Hijikata's been quite the self-orator lately.
It was almost in slow motion that Hijikata watched as Sannan fell, each moment stretched out until he hit the ground with a thud of muted agony.
For the first memorable time, Sannan's eyes are clouded. Not dimmed with anything like lust or fear, but with regret. And when Hijikata looks at him—trying not to lose his composure as he lies on the tatami mat, back propped against the wall-he can't help but get a little misty. He coughs.
He pretends he doesn't remember that Sannan used to sing—or at least hum—in the dojo hallways, and murmur quietly to himself as he overlooked the students' training. He pretends he doesn't realize that, though he's to all the world unchanged, something shifted dramatically in Sannan when they left Edo. He can't pin down when it happened, but Sannan stopped his quiet, practiced warbles long ago. And it makes him sadder still.
Finally, Hijikata places a hand on Sannan's shoulder, a lone gesture of comfort as the lanterns burn down and the night watch takes position somewhere back in Kyoto's streets.
It's shaking, but he doesn't let go.
Maybe words aren't necessary, but it still feels lacking to Hijikata, who prides himself on being a warrior, yes, but a poet as well.
They sit this way throughout the night, dozing some but wholly occupied by the matter that they face. Sannan doesn't speak, and Hijikata doesn't move.
When morning breaks, it casts slotted shadows on the rough-hewn wooden floor. The hostess passes quietly, and Hijikata stirs.
Sannan looks out the window. The birds are chirping. His wounds are burning. He begins humming quietly to himself.
Hijikata, intently watching, is silent.