Broken Stones That Stay In The Same General Shape Are Wonderful. There's An Opportunity For Something

Author's Note

I am reading "Fictober" as you have to write fiction everyday, not fan fiction.

Great. I was on my way from the capital and one of those clockwork soldiers stopped me.

"Where are you going?" it asked as it stopped me from going any further.

I've been warned that there's still one functional at all times. I didn't know what time it was, so it might not be that one.

"What hour are you?" Every clockwork soldier works only during the hour it was named after. There are some that I think are either decoys or meant to scare people, since they never work.

"I am hour thirteen," it answered me, its empty eyes boring into mine.

This one, number thirteen, people have named the liar. No matter what it says, it is never true. I've met it once before and it said that it was going to snow in the middle of summer.

"I'm going home," I replied to the soldier. It's the law for citizens to answer human and clockwork soldiers.

There was a sound of clicking gears before it cocked its head off to the side and said, "Long live the King."

"Yeah," I muttered, walking by once he let me pass, "long live the King of the Day."

Its cold metal hand grabbed my wrist.

"Yes, long live the King of the Day. But I originally meant his brother."

The King's brother is a myth, a legend, something that never has and never will happen.

The clockwork soldier numbered thirteen let me go.

The ocean hissed and fizzed as it was slowly approaching high tide. It was freezing out but I just needed time to think.

Out further by the ocean, I could see some aquatic fae sunbathing. Their clothes very closely resembled how the beach and ocean looked at all times. The girls were in dresses while the boys were in suits.

This is one of the times I wish that I could be as carefree as they seem.

I'm not shirking on my duties, I just get tired of what inevitably comes during the night.

Speaking of the night, it was approaching and I had to go leave.

The picture with me wearing blue gloves was taken on March 21st (when I planted some cacti seeds) and the other one was taken today (when I noticed my first sprout)! There's a little blip of green and that's my first sprout! :D

I’ve not seen any starved touched hero stories so may I request a starved touched hero and the villain finds out and helps them. It’s fine if not:)

"Tell me," the villain murmured, as the hero's breath came out quivering. "When was the last time that someone touched you?"

It wasn't what the hero had expected.

"People touch me all the time."

"Kindly."

"You're not kind."

But the villain's touch was such a gentle thing; the hero's brain refused to register it as cruelty, even as the villain's fingers were curled around their throat. They didn't squeeze though.

The hero should have pulled back already. They should have shoved the villain away. They did none of those things. They leaned limp against the wall, almost hypnotised by the back and forth sweep of the villain's thumb brushing sweetly against their pulse point.

It was pitiful for a nice threat to feel like affection. They were pitiful.

The villain's gaze was intent.

"What are you doing to me?" the hero whispered.

"I'm not doing anything." The villain's powers worked with touch, but they had never touched the hero before. The hero had always been too quick. The villain had managed that time though, advancing, shoving the hero to the wall and then - then this. The villain had touched their skin and then they'd gone perfectly still for a few seconds. The villain could expose all secrets with a press of their fingers, do all manner of things, but...

The hero swallowed, eyeing them. They genuinely didn't think the villain was doing anything.

Each second that ticked by seemed a confession, a betrayal, a plea for something.

The villain's hand slid slowly to to cup the nape of the hero's neck. "You didn't answer my question." The villain pulled the hero a step closer, dragged them flush. The villain's other hand wrapped around the hero's back.

They were being hugged.

A confused, entirely too soft sound left the hero's throat. Questioning. A little choked. It felt like a trap and it felt entirely too desperately lovely.

The villain tightened their grip, tucking the hero's head against their shoulder.

"Skin hunger," the villain said, softly. "Touch starvation. You are a famine, love, I can feel it."

"I-" The hero didn't know how to finish the sentence. The villain was so warm against them, a solid and reassuring presence. That couldn't be right. "What?"

"It has been entirely too long, hasn't it?"

"You're not doing anything?"

"I'm hugging you."

"Your powers-"

"-Mean I know exactly how you are feeling. How much you need this. So are you going to be good and shut up and let yourself have it?"

The hero choked out another gasp of air.

Was that was why the villain had stopped? Why they'd seemed to switch gears so abruptly when they could have finally won? The hero swallowed and shut up, even if it was a bad idea. Inch by inch, when the villain did nothing more but hold them, the hero relaxed. They melted.

"Why are you doing this?" the hero managed, pressing their face against the promise of the villain's shoulder.

"Kindness?"

"You're not kind."

The villain huffed, breath rustling the hero's hair. They pressed a kiss atop the hero's head. "Mm. Temporarily benevolent. No strings attached, pinky promise."

It was definitely suspicious, but it really did feel so unbelievably good. The hero felt like they'd settled into their bones for the first time in years. Maybe longer.

They really couldn't remember the last time someone touched them kindly, for an extended period of time. A brush of accidental touch in a crowd. A hairdresser's clinical contact. None of it was anything like what the villain gave them.

"That's better," the villain said, with a sigh. "Your nerve endings have stopped screaming at me."

"S-sorry. I-"

"It was merely an observation. You don't need to be sorry."

The hero expected the villain to get back to it, or step back. They didn't. It was probably the longest hug in the world.

Finally, the hero let themselves reach out, wrapping their arms around the villain in turn.

"Good," the villain said.

"Are we still...I shouldn't let you touch me. I'm not stupid."

"No."

"Are you going to let go of me?"

"When you actually want me to, sure."

"And you can...feel that?"

"Yes."

The hero squirmed with embarrassment. The villain tightened their grip again. The hero went still.

"Years," the hero whispered, finally. "It's been years. I can't remember the last time."

"Mm." The villain nuzzled into them. "That's not going to happen again. I don't believe in torture."

Neither of them much felt like fighting when they finally broke apart.

"Toby!" I called out to the celestial minister.

He visibly sighed. "Yes, my king?" I knew he was just tired.

I beamed at him. "I would like for you to follow me."

"Why?"

I slung my arm around his neck. "I have something for you."

He looked at me as he reminded me, "The last time you wanted to do that, you had a constellation there in the flesh and not where it belonged in the sky!"

I rolled my eyes at the memory. "You know that my brother and I see you as family, right?"

"Yeah..." he trailed off.

"I know that you worry about us, too. So," I pulled a small, plain box out of my cloak and handed it to him, "I want to give you peace of mind."

He gingerly opened the box. He pulled out the pin I'd asked an apprentice metal worker to make. It was divided in half, one side a warm yellow and the other a gentle white, and some silver going down between the two.

"What-?"

"If either of us are in trouble, the respective sides will light up. Yellow for my brother and white for me," I explained.

"But... Why?" He looked up at me. "I-I mean, I appreciate the gift but why did you give me a gift?"

"Tommorow is your birthday."

"You aren't planning to do anything stupid, are you?"

I smiled, "I don't want my brothers to worry. So, no, I will stay here."

Every 21st century piece of writing advice: Make us CARE about the character from page 1! Make us empathize with them! Make them interesting and different but still relatable and likable!

Every piece of classic literature: Hi. It's me. The bland everyman whose only purpose is to tell you this story. I have no actual personality. Here's the story of the time I encountered the worst people I ever met in my life. But first, ten pages of description about the place in which I met them.

“Lost things have a way of showing up when you need them most,” the king replied to the minister’s concern of a beloved object that belonged to the king’s disappearance. “What was lost will show up before you know it.” He lightly patted the minister’s shoulder before going off to face the festering crowd.

The unicorn pawed the ground, aggrivated. I didn't know much about animals but I was taking this as a warning.

"It's okay," my stranger soothed, walking forward slow enough to not spook the oakwood unicorn.

It grunted and looked like it was about to charge and skewer him to a tree.

"Hey!" he snapped at the sentinel. He had guts to even think about doing that to a sentinel.

The unicorn reared its head in a way as if to ask, "What are you going to do?"

The highwayman walked forward with the same commanding presence that he just used. My best guess is that he needed the unicorn to know that he was in no mood for funny business.

"Hey, there," he murmured when he could pet the unicorn's mossy head. "Do you want a snack? Snack?" He pulled an apple out and presented it to the sentinel.

The oakwood unicorn, much calmer now, ate the apple.

"Come on, let's sit down," the highwayman suggested while he guided the unicorn down.

It nickered as it lied down beside him. Just as he put his hand in its hair, it laid it head down on his lap.

"And here I thought that only pure maidens could do that to a unicorn," I commented.

The highwayman just smiled up at me, "I have a horse like this one back at home." He looked down at the unicorn. "Mine has beautiful black fur and a sweet temperament."

The unicorn grumbled.

"Hey, I'm a little biased since she is my horse. You are a very handsome boy for a unicorn but you can't let my horse know that I said that, okay?" he told the resting unicorn.

The unicorn rolled so its head rested on the highwayman's abdomen. As the unicorn was moving, my highwayman made it so he was on his back.

"I'm very uncomfortable," he told me. I think he was on a decent sized, dull rock.

The unicorn nickered.

"Oh? Are you comfortable?" the highwayman asked the unicorn in possible sarcasm.

It had the audacity to nicker again.

His head hit the ground as he mumbled, "Of course you are." His troubled gaze found me again. "You better get comfortable, too. We might be here for awhile."

I couldn't help but giggle a little.