#gtpatcreatober

[givethispromptatry]

Creatober 2020!

Rules: -Traditional: One prompt per day, either drawn or written! -Alternative: Pick 3 or more prompts and take the week to draw or write! -Note: The last three days are scenes rather than single word prompts.

October 1st- 7th: (note that the week starts on a Thursday) -Disinterest     -Presence     -Flight     -Dawn     -Drown     -Melancholy -Fracture

October 8th- 14th: -Awareness    -Pressure      -Fight      -Sunrise   -Burn       -Intrigue        -Bruise

October 15th- 21st: -Focus      -Overwhelm      -Freeze      -Sunset       -Trauma   -Surprise -Gash

October 22nd- 28th: -Obsession     -Become     -Repress     -Dusk     -Exsanguination      -Righteousness     -Break

October 29th: A cave with a grove hidden deep within it. Pinpricks of light cast the area in a low haze. There is the smell of loamy soil and copper. A step inside causes a low, almost unnoticeable at first, hum.

October 30th: A party at a stranger’s house. A night of barhopping led here and the world had started tilting on its own hours ago. There is a constant tickle on the back of their neck. Their heart beats speed up.

October 31st: Meeting up with friends in a cemetery, chatting among the tombstones. But someone is missing. Who is it? They count the heads but come up one number more than they had originally. They count again.

--

During the month of October I will be looking at the tag #gtpatcreatober so be sure to post your various works under that hashtag! 

Have fun and happy writing! <3

[kaeyas-beloved]

Creatober 2020 || Day 7: Fracture

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle x MC/Reader

Summary: It’s just a sprain, she told herself for the ninth time that morning. One look at it though and the writer is already carrying her off.

~~~

‘It’s just a sprain, walk it off...’ she reminded herself, wincing as she took another step, maneuvering a little clumsily around the kitchen. Sebastian was in the other room already, handing out various breakfast meals to the residents with her being tasked to bring the Rouge and Blanc out for them all. 

There was a pleasant surprise to be found that morning - that all of the mansion’s vampires would be at the table for breakfast, a rare thing indeed. The thought of so many people seeing her in this, injured and probably in need of medical care, was the added motivation needed to not show this weakness in front of them or make a fool out of herself. 

Especially in front of Arthur.

‘Deep breath... Now go’ Lifting the tray, the human pushed past the kitchen doors, a few pairs of eyes turning her way. One stuck out, the eyes of her lover. Blue orbs watched her every movement and if it wasn’t for focusing on not falling, (Y/N) would have seen that the writer had a worried look in his eye. 

Right off the bat he could tell something was off. The way she carried herself was wobbly compared to the day before and her smile was strained. These little things were well hidden, but the part of him that’s observed her so much, to commit ever detail of her to memory, picked up on the ques quickly.

Now, does he speak up right this instant or does he wait until after breakfast? Perhaps he could just pull her aside when she passes him and ask then?

In the midst of weighing the pros and cons of his options, the resident’s sunshine boy pipes up, voice just above a whisper, intending to keep the exchange solely between the two. Fortunately, Arthur was sat directly across from him, so the writer was able to eavesdrop without a problem. 

“Are you alright (Y/N)?” Vincent questioned, staring at her with concern clear in his eyes. 

“I’m fine, really. Please, just enjoy breakfast, alright?” she insisted, forcing another smile. The blond was hesitant but in the end nodded, returning to wolfing down his stack of pancakes. When she turned her back, Arthur took a peek around the table to see for himself, figuring the way she was acting had something to do with her legs or feet.

He was right. 

And she was, in fact, not fine.

Motioning Sebas over, Arthur whispered in his ear and waited. When he got a nod of approval from the butler, he called over his lover.

“Luv? Can you come here please?”

“Mm? What is it Arthur?” The second she was at his side the writer stood and picked her up bridal style, whisking off to his room.

~

She couldn’t look him in the eye, embarrassment welling up inside. Of course her boyfriend would be able to tell if she was hurt or not, and judging by the way he was acting it wasn’t too bad, but not good either.

“You’ve fractured one of your metatarsal bones. You’ll just have to rest up and avoid walking on it for two months, at least...” he spoke, tone professional, almost like he was a doctor once more. Arthur grabbed an old, tucked away medical kit and pulled out something to help with the healing of the bones. The entire time he worked, elevating it her foot and laying her down on his bed, a somber expression was painted all over his face, he too refusing to look at her. 

Why didn’t he notice earlier? The pained faced she was making back in the dining room flashed through his mind causing him to grit his teeth. Could he have prevented her from having to go through such agony if he had just payed more attention? What if-

“Arthur”  

The sound of his name being called brought him back to reality, old scars fading for the moment. A hand reached up, cupping his cheek, a warmth emitting as soon as her skin made contact. God the feeling alone was enough to make him feel better.

“I’m sorry for not telling you, but it’s not your fault, alright?” she soothed, stroking his cheek softly.

“Ah, you’re quiet preceptive my dear~” he teased with a cheeky smile. It’s not really surprising though, considering who she feel in love with.

“I learned from the best” she shot back, pulling him down by his tie into a quick kiss, something he gladly returned.

“Next time luv, tell me if you’re hurt, okay?”

“Okay Arthur, I promise”

Two months later, with minimal walking, she was back on her feet, good as new. All thanks to her loving writer/doctor boyfriend <3

[semperpluvial]

Creatober Day 2 - Presence

Day 2 of Creatober! Apologies; this is slightly late (where I am it is a bit past midnight of the 3rd) but exams took a bit of my time today. Enjoy!

-----

It seems to follow Alex everywhere she goes, from the High Courts to the outer walls of Saramas. No longer does she feel the pang when it comes up, but when alone, it takes all her strength to resist it.

As she walks up to the front door, time seems to slow. The door is open, just as it had been that fateful day twelve years ago. No longer is she the lady shaped by the Courts and her father. In her place is a young girl dressed in a simple frock, with a neat braid down her back. She is smiling, laughing; the picture of a child happy to be home after school. But as she skips up the front walk, she doesn’t see the abnormalities. The door is ajar, as usual, but inside the house it is dark. There is no scent of dinner wafting through the air, there are no songs floating on the breeze, there is nothing but a cold hearth and an empty house.

But as Alex runs into the house, her joy begins to fade. “Mum?” she calls from the kitchen. “Mum? Where are you?” When no sweet response echoes through the house, she thinks of how her mum would tease her. Surely this too is a game. She must be hiding somewhere.

Alex runs into the sitting room, leaping onto a pile of cushions. She giggles as they topple but stops when she doesn’t see her mother in the room. “Mum?” she calls out as she searches through the rooms, checking under tables and beds and behind doors and curtains. Further and further through the house she goes until it is no longer a game. No longer does she call out in hope and excitement; now, tears bite at her cheeks and worry lines her shouts.

“Mum!” Alex cries out as she reaches her room. “Mum! Where are you?” Her body shakes as sobs escape, each louder than before, until Alex finds herself on the floor, drenched in tears.

Her father stands before her, still dressed in his Courts attire, a single candle in his hand. Through blurry eyes, Alex can see the sadness on his face. “Papsi?” she croaks, hoping for something, any sign of her mother.

But her father brings no hope. He crouches down on the floor beside Alex, setting the candle on a trunk. He scoops her into his arms and squeezes tight. “She’s gone, Lex. She’s not coming back.” And together in the candlelight, they mourned for the one they had lost.

But today is not that day, and Alex is not who she was back then. And yet, she still yearns for her mother’s sweet songs every time she walks through the door. Just one more taste of her mother saying “Lex, sweetie, welcome home.”

- Copyright 2020, InksplotOntheDot

[panic-and-chaos]

“This is the dawn of a new age, Jais. Look at what you have created.”

I couldn’t think of anything to write for today’s creatober from @givethispromptatry (or the past couple ones, whoops), but I did think of something to draw:

Jericho, the fallen goddess, the avenger.

(Also, it’s not Jericho talking in that little quote :) )

(Also x2: this could fit the OC-tober day 1 by @oc-growth-and-development, but it’s super late so do with that what you will)

[writingvultures]

Day 1: Disinterest

They were once worshiped widely across the land. Thanked when parents held their long awaited newborn in their arms for the first time. Asked for blessings when they wanted the will to control and harness the energy around them. Prayed too when the shadows grew long as the sun kissed the ocean and when all that remained of a person was ashes.

Slowly over millennia the welcome visits to their Altar began to dwindle. Where thousands would make the journey to pray for a blessing at the main Altar, to tend to the Altar and keep it clean, only hundreds came, then a few handful, then only trickle every few years until they stopped coming all together. They ventured out to see what kind of dam the people had built and what they had stopped visiting, only to see what had become of their Altars.

They lie in shambles and disrepair. Every flourishing villages and towns that housed an Altar was nothing more than smoldered wood and crumbling stone, the streets and pathways lined with their charred remains.

They watched as their worshipers were burned alive, begging, crying out for their captors to set them free, for them to do something. They could do nothing but watch in abject horror.

They could rage against them, like many others have done when they saw their ilk being targeted. Could give them so much power they break and become twisted under its weight or make all of their women unable to give life to the heirs they so desperately crave.  

But they did nothing, could do nothing. And so they lay at their main Altar as the world forgot about them and grew around them, the only words repeatedly playing at their lips

“You are not a god.”

----------

Don’t know if i followed the prompt word as closely or clearly but hopefully it gets better.

[whatever-i-write]

Creatober day7: Fracture

They wheeled me into the operation room. They hadn’t sedated me, and they weren’t going to. They had only paralyzed me. I would be awake, for all of it.

People weren’t forced to join the military anymore; there was no draft. But they had to get disposable bodies somehow. They called it a “procedure”, they acted like it was going to help. In reality they broke you into little pieces, put your pieces in metal skins and sent you off to wherever they needed you. They told us, “You will only have to give an hour of your time to save the country!” They told us, “No real people will have to get hurt anymore!” They presented it like a miracle. It wasn’t.

I had to be awake for it, mentally at least. Some fancy jargon about brain synapses and conciousness. Not stuff I understand. It was only going to be an hour. Surely I could last an hour? But it didn’t feel like an hour, it felt like days, or weeks, I honestly couldn’t tell. They found pieces of me- in memories and dreams- and took them out, giving them their own life. A six year old me crying about a broken toy: the memory was suddenly gone but I could still hear the crying. Twelve years old, getting my first kiss: gone- but I could still feel the butterflies. One me came from a dream, this one was clad in purple armor, ready to fight sea monsters (it was a weird dream) and then I couldn’t remember it anymore but I could still feel the adrenaline. This went on for a timeless length. Each one getting closer to the me I am now, and the closer to me it got the more painful it became. Until I was in agony, unable to cry out, unable to clench my jaw, unable to shed tears of pain, unable to do anything but lie there.

Then it was over. I wish I could say that was the worst of it but that was just the beginning. After the procedure I thought it was all done with, I gave so much of myself- literally- to protect my country. But then I was deployed. Well, not me, but the other me’s, the-the pieces, or memories, with their metal skins; were deployed. Have you ever been to war? Have you ever known somebody who has? I used to be able to answer no to those questions. But now I don’t only live my life as me, I live as that six year old, that twelve year old, and every other version they took from me. In my dreams I see myself battling and cries from the real people I fight echo in my mind. They carnage and the empty pain that comes with a fallen comrade, all became seared in my real memory. Then it started happening while I was awake, I would suddenly not be at work or school or home anymore; I would be on the battlefield. Although I saw myself moving through my eyes as the other me, the real me would be paralyzed as I was during the procedure. Stuck between two realities, two timelines, two lives but unable to control either one. The longest “episode” , they called them, had lasted an hour. It was terrifying.

Then one of me died. Or was lost. Or stopped working. I don’t know what you want to call it but it wasn’t there anymore. And when it stopped, that version of myself I had been was taken with it. I forgot that part of who I am. And I changed- how can we know who we are or who we want to be unless we know and understand who we used to be? I began to feel lost. Then another one of me stopped and it only got worse. I can’t even remember most of my life now. I don’t know who I was and I don’t know who I am. It’s impossible to live life fractured.

I was the sum of my parts, I feel like we all are, so when you take away all the parts what are we left with?

[owithadash1point0]

Drawn into dawn involuntarily

Woken with morning dew on my skin

A fracture

a flight of time

unaffected by my presence

as if I wasn't there

never existed

I lie with my soul exposed

with disinterest tight around the throat

wrapped in dreams and melancholy

I drown in a haze of blue and bronze

[nikkyshows]

Day Nineteen: Trauma

A longer prompt to start off on our catch-up. While we do this, I’ll post the first one earlier in the day (11-1ish?) and the other at the normal time (3-5ish).

This is my first time writing a child and I don’t think I did horribly, which is nice. Warnings for mention of family death, funeral, demon, possession.

*****

Laura doesn’t cry at her family’s funeral.

Other people — strangers, her mother’s hairdresser, her little brother's friend’s parents, the neighbors from the blue house down the street on the opposite side — shed tears, but Laura stands stoic.

They are buried in the same coffin (there were no bodies) and the ease of it feels haggling. She knows what remains of her family. She was there to see them die.

She saw.

She should have died with them. She can feel the wet accusations of others pounding at her back. They think the same. Why did she come out unharmed? How did she?

Their home was rubble now. Except for the circle of space where she had been. A circle of hardwood that still glimmers. She had been protected. A man dripping shadows had pulled her into his arms as her family screamed. He’s here now. His hand is cold on her shoulder.

He’s told Laura that he doesn’t have a name. She calls him Hadow. Short for shadow.

“Hadow,” she says, syllables dropping cutely from her pouted lips, “why did you save me?”

Hadow grins with three layers of sharp teeth. “Because I like you. You’re special.”

Laura lowers her head. Stares at her shoes. Black dress shoes that are pinching her toes. She can’t wait to get out of them. She clicks her heels together. Momma had always told her that she was special. “The best of us all,” she’d say, with her hands around her face. She was always smiling.

She didn’t smile when Hadow hugged her.

She didn’t, now that Laura thinks back, ever get out of the hug. Maybe she was sad, but she was smiling before. She frowns.

Laura hums uncertainly. “Okay.” She looks at all the people crowded around the stone, the hole in the ground, the coffin within. “When am I gonna get to see Momma again?”

Hadow huddles close, pressing against her in the thick of the crowd. “Soon,” he warbles, twirling her hair around his claws. He’d dug them into Momma when they hugged, and she’d turned to smoke. It was a good party trick. “You’ll see her soon.”

“Good.” Laura grins toothily. People eye her with horror. “I can’t wait to tell her about you.”

She hears a rumble, like Uncle Jack’s laugh or a thunderstorm.

Miss Lia, a friend of Momma’s, places her hand on Laura’s shoulder as she crouches. “Hi, Laura,” she says, her tone hyper-sweet.

“Hi Miss Lia.” She waves.

“How are you feeling?”

Laura smiles. “Great!”

Miss Lia’s smile falls into a frown. “Oh? What about— don’t you miss your mum?”

“No.” She points to Hadow. “Hadow says that I’ll see her reallllly soon.”

Lia looks. “Hadow? Who’s that, sweetie?”

“My friend! He says that he’s the one who took Momma! She’s at his house in— in…” she frowns. What was the word he used?

Hell, Hadow whispers, I took your mother to hell.

“Hell!” Laura crows. “Hadow took Momma to Hell.” She grins with self-accomplishment, rocking on her feet and waiting for praise.

But Miss Lia doesn’t say ‘good job’. Instead, her eyes widen, and she falls back on her heels. “Hell? Are you sure about that?”

“Yep!” Laura nods, still smiling.

“And how did—” her eyes flick around, “—how did Hadow take your Momma?”

Laura hums, thinking back. “Momma was turning on the TV when he showed up. He was massive, like,” she flings her arms apart, “huge and he hugged Momma real tight.” Her arms collapse on herself and she squeezes. “And when he let go, Momma wasn’t there anymore!”

Lia’s frown deepens.

“And,” Laura whispers, stepping closer. “He said it was demon magic. That’s how he moved her.” Her eyes sparkle with the secret she’s sharing. She likes to be the one to tell others secrets. It makes her feel important, like a grown up.

“Is Hadow… does he look like a shadow, Laura?”

She nods. “Yeah. A real big one.”

Miss Lia’s face goes pale. “And what happened to the house?”

“Hadow took it too. He said he tried to play with it, but it fell apart. He played with Daddy, too. I heard him yell at Hadow.” She thinks for a moment. Her eyes widen a little, pieces slotting together. “I think he was mad because he doesn’t like to play when he’s working.”

Lia nods, slow. Her eyes are very white. She looks like she just woke up from a scary nightmare.

“Are you okay Miss Lia?” Laura tilts her head and goes in for a hug. “If you want to come to Hell with me, you can.” She squeezes tight. “I can ask Hadow to bring you with too.”

“That’s alright, dear,” Lia wraps the child in her arms warily. Her eyes scan the surroundings like she’d be able to spot the demon who’s gotten attached to this— this child. She sees a sharp-toothed smile out of the corner of her eye. She hugs Laura tighter. If it’s followed her out of the house, then it’s too late. And Laura’s gotten attached. There’s no separating them, not if Laura believes the demon’s words.

Not if she thinks that that demon — Hadow — is a friend.

She doesn’t know that it killed her parents, her brother. She doesn’t know that she’s never going to see them again.

She doesn’t know what really happened.

[stilldeadbeat-moreoriginal]

Creatober Day 1: Disinterest, of the self-regulated type

Disinterest is a state of mind

That can be reached easily

I just sit still for thrity seconds

And simulate a bit of coolness

Then I stop feeling, caring, tasting

like my mind left my body conscious

I could stare at the wall for hours

not moved even by muscle sourness

Or I could lay on a warm, soft bed

And not aroused by pretty men I like

Sometimes I think I could slit my wrist

And not flinch, but the image breaks this

Still I know I need no drug or drink

To journey to land of empty bliss.

[kaeyas-beloved]

Creatober 2020 || Day 3: Flight

Pairing: Mammon x GN!Reader

Summary: (Y/N) wants to cross something off their bucket list - Mammon is the key to doing that.

Note: Before anyone gets on my case, I remember reading something about how they can fly but don’t often, or something like that but I'm going to ignore it for the sake of this one-shot.

Also this is my first time writing for Mammon and I haven’t played Obey Me! in a little so I’m sorry if he’s a little OOC! And, um, this is my first time writing something like this so it might not be that good/detailed during the flight part... 

~~~

“You can fly right?” The second born brother jumped, both the human and question coming out of no where. It took a moment but Mammon was able to calm his racing heart enough to answer.

“O-Of course I can! What demon has wings and can’t fly?” In truth he hadn’t flown in over 500 years, even then sessions were few and far between. There never really was a reason for him, or any of his brothers that were capable, to use his wings. He wouldn’t say that though, not when his answer brought such a bright smile to his human’s face.

“Can you taking me flying one day! Please!?” They begged, latching onto his forearm, bouncing on the balls of their heels. Mammon’s cheeks bloomed a bright red but he nevertheless nodded, satisfying the human enough for them to thank him before leaving.

A few moments passed until the he stood, departing back to his room with a plan of action already forming in his head.

~

A knock aroused (Y/N) from their slumber, surroundings blurry with sleep. Was someone at the door? Another knock, softer, almost hesitant this time and they knew it wasn’t their imagination. 

“Mammon? What are you doing here?” they asked, eyes clearing up when they met yellow-blue ones. Instead of giving an answer Mammon looked over (Y/N) once, deemed their clothing fit for what he planned and then grabbed them by the hand, tugging them along. 

“Be quiet alright?” the human didn’t say anything more, offering a nod of understanding while allowing themselves to be dragged through the House of Lamentation.

~

“Mammon? Why are we on the roof?” They asked, staring down to the ground. It was high, like really high, with the chances of death severely plausible if they were to fall. 

“W-well...” ah, now was no time to choke up. Just spit it out he told himself. “ya asked me to take ya flying so... that’s what we’re gonna do!” A split second of silence before arms were suddenly wrapped around his neck, face crushed against the shoulder of his human.

“You’re not kidding right? Please tell me this isn’t a joke...”

“Of course it ain’t. Now, close your eyes, alright?” he whispered soothingly, watching as their eyes slowly slid shut, hiding the dazzling (e/c) orbs that he loves so much. Mammon took a breath, mentally and physically preparing himself.

This is the one thing he can’t afford to mess up...

Behind their eyelids a bright light shone for a moment, vanishing as fast as it came. (Y/N) opened their eyes, now met with the demon in his demon form instead of his usual, casual clothes.

“Are ya ready?” He asked, hand subconsciously cupping their cheek, his other hand resting on their waist.

“Ready” Mammon took that as his que, his signature carefree smile that (Y/N) has come to know and love appearing on his face. In one swift gust of air the two were in the sky, (Y/N) wrapped like a kola around the second born’s body, grip tight. A startled screech was produced, the feeling of being so freely in the air a lot scarier than they first imagined. 

In no way, though, was is unenjoyable. 

(Y/N) could feel Mammon’s chest rumbling with laughter and they gazed up at his face, finding that he was staring right back at them. 

“Ya doing okay (Y/N)?” They nodded after a moment of hesitation, the human slowly getting comfortable. Their vice like hold loosened bit by bit until it was but a relaxed yet firm hold. Still, the Avatar of Greed’s palms stayed stationed at their back, holding them close.  

For awhile the duo just glided through the air, pointing out landmarks that they could spot in the Devildom below. Something about seeing the city that they lived in from a different angle made it all the more enticing, the lights that glowed brightly mesmerizing. They flew close around tall buildings, scaling them up and down, and even going as far as flying down near the streets a few times.  

“Hey (Y/N), do ya trust me?” Mammon asked them suddenly. 

“Yeah, why?” The responded, a little confused that he was putting the question out there now of all moments. The grin that was already spread across the demon’s face grew in size as he subtly flew higher, unbeknownst to the human who was focused on him.

“Well, then enjoy the ride. I promise to catch ya so don’t worry too much!” 

“Catch me? Wha- AHHH!”  

Arms releasing them, (Y/N) started to fall through the air. Mammon zoomed down to match their pace, free falling beside them, but making sure to stay within reaching distance. A continuous scream ripped from their throat until their eyes locked with Mammon’s, his mischievous smile calming them just enough to understand what he meant. 

He would never let them fall to the ground. 

(Y/N) chuckled, choosing to enjoy this opportunity. Spins, twirls, they did it all, a gracious dance done mid-air air with the addition of harmonious laughter. It felt magical to them both, a moment in time they didn’t want to ever end.

“How close are we to the ground Mammon?” 

“Crap!” He mildly cursed, clasping their hand and spinning them around onto his back. They were actually really close to plummeting to their deaths. 

“Hold on!” he called, opening his wings up, the wind pushing him back up. Figuring this was a good note to leave off on, Mammon flew back to the starting point of this adventure, crouching so his human could get off his back easier.      

“Thank you so much Mammon...” (Y/N) whispered when they had their feet on the ground, enveloping him into a gentle hug.

“Don’t mention it... and you’re welcome...” he muttered the last part, returning the hug, an emotion spreading within him welcomed. Mammon likes the large grin they had on the entire time, the pleasant squeals they made, it told him that he did good. He helped the person that meant the most to him. Nothing could ruin the happiness he felt in that moment.     

“And where have you two been?” A deep voice penetrated the silence, making the second born flinch. 

“Crud, let’s go (Y/N)!” he shouted, grabbing onto them and flying off once more, Lucifer hot on their tails. While a lecture may be in store for them after this, in Mammon’s mind, it was still all worth it. Anything for them. 

[livs-random-blog]

Exsanguination

Drauven hated when he had to kill anything, let alone another sentient being. Vampires had evolved to be a living - well mostly living- species hundreds of years ago, they didn’t need blood anymore. Some still drank it on occasion yes, but it was no longer the source of nightly meals.

So when he had to completely drain another creature he felt horrible. The guilt and shame would nag at him all night and into the morning. He was of clan S’urit’quée he knew better than to commit such beastly atrocities.

Still, he did not feel as bad when having to kill those things. They did not taste like anything he had ever had before. They tasted mainly human, but something about them was off. He also felt nauseous after eating one, so that probably wasn’t good.

No one in the clan could explain anything about them, so they were definitely a new threat. They’ll just have to be more careful on their nightly flights from now on.

While the others had traveled far to make the most of their limited hours, Drauven found him sticking close to the castle for comfort.

Whatever these things are they’re not good, and more of them have started appearing lately. They seem to be particularly focused on hunting the witch that had entered into The Empire territory about a week prior.

He’ll stick by her, maybe his new friend will be able to give the clan some insight on these creatures and how to be rid of them.

[ravenwolfie97]

Creatober Day 1: Distinterest

Why become a mahou and save the world when you can stay home and play video games?

[writingvultures]

Day 22:

She’s sitting at the base of the tree when they appear again; mindful of the flowers, they seem to be the most responsive. They slink down until they are standing next to her. She doesn’t acknowledge them, eyes forward at her two Minors and the blindfolded man that sits between them.

“Do you want to know what happened to them?” Her voice is soft. They look down at her but she isn’t looking back.

They look back to the three in front of them “To those three?”

“No, to your… to Ninir’s worshipers.” They lean back into the tree, thin vines wrapping around their shoulders in comfort. For a long while neither of them speak and so she continues. “Ninir, the God of Birth, Dusk, and Magic.  Every child, sun down, and warlock were seen as gifts bestowed upon the people. She pauses for a moment, clawed fingers trailing the edge of a flower next to her.

“There was a cult. Called themselves The Children Of Ninir. And they twisted Ninir’s rule in vile ways. They believed through a sacrifice of one of the three they could gain more power in another. They wanted magic and so they killed babes when the shadows grew long.”

Behind them the bark of the tree splits allowing them to sink into, to get away from such cruel words, but curiously they stay there. “They wanted more power and so more and more innocent lives were lost to their hands. By the time they were found out the prescription of Ninir was so twisted, that was all the people could see and so anyone who worshiped Ninir was killed.”

She brings up her hand to touch the tuft of feather on her chest. “I was one of the many erased before I was granted this form.”

Beside her, they fully sink into the tree, their voice becoming omnipresent “Thank you for sharing. But I request to be alone for a time.”

[alittleseaofwords]

Day 4: Dawn

Every day, when the sun raised in the morning, she could feel her body start to change. Her beast spirit went to sleep, and her human soul woke up from its slumber to welcome a new day, producing the correspondent physical changes. It didn’t hurt at all, as it was a natural process for her kind. They had a wolf-like form by night and a human form by day.

Humans were afraid of them, and even told stories about some creatures named werewolves. According to them, werewolves were savage and tried to bite humans to make them one of their own, but she had always hated those stories, because she found it very unfair that they considered all of them savages just because a few had attacked people in the past. After all, news of humans killing each were common, and that wasn’t a reason to consider all of them criminals. Besides, the stories were all wrong: they were mostly pacific, and theirs was a unique species, so there was no way they could make a human be like them.

Her kind lived among humans, but they had to be very cautious, because if humans discovered their condition they could be killed, as the fear the stories had created was too big. To be safe, the pack lived close from each other, and they all met every night to be together for the transformation.

Despite the danger, she was fascinated by humans, as were a lot of the ones in her pack. They lived in the same body all of the time, and they didn’t seem to be bothered at all. She really liked her human body, but she couldn’t understand them. She craved the freedom the nighttime gave her, and knew she wouldn’t be able to survive without that.

Every night, she ran through the woods with her pack, being one with nature, and when the dawn came the next morning she knew she could face the day ahead, because in the end it would lead to that same place.

[cirvat]

Day 29- A Sealed Man

A cave with a grove hidden deep within it. Pinpricks of light cast the area in a low haze. There is the smell of loamy soil and copper. A step inside causes a low, almost unnoticeable at first, hum.

----

When Kian found the cave he wasn’t really in the best state of mind to notice the hum at first. Someone’s blood stained his white nightgown and he could feel his arm bend in a way it really wasn’t supposed to.

Help!

His father had told him to run.

Help!

His father had been stabbed.

Help!

His family was dying.

“H-help me!” Kian sobbed into the air, tripping over gnarled roots. “Please! Whoever can hear me!”

The hum got louder.

“Please-!” He finally fell, crashing to a stone floor. He instinctively tried to catch himself and screamed when his wrong arm buckled under him.

He couldn’t breathe. Pain spiked through every nerve, coating his throat in a bitterness that had him gagging.

As he gasped on the ground the hum finally registered. 

It was low, coarse, and crackly like the person it came from hadn’t had water in a very long time. The tune dipped from melody to melody, rhythm to rhythm, with no logic to it. 

It was comforting.

Kian pushed himself up. He pressed his arm to his chest and crept closer to the tune, still taking shuddering gasps. 

The clearing he found beyond the trees stretching up toward the ceiling was covered in moss and mushrooms. A chair was placed in the middle, its wood old and battered, and in the chair sat a man.

His arms were pinned down by wild thorny vines. Those same vines wrapped around his body and circled his throat three times.

His eyes, dark red and bright even in the lack of light, curved with the force of his smile when he noticed Kian.

“Well, well! Hello there!” His voice held that same cracked nature. “I don’t believe I’ve imagined you before. How fun! What do you call yourself?”

“Uh..” Kian stared at him, totally unsure how to respond.

“Perhaps you are my Joy? Or are you Betrayal under a different guise?” 

“Um, my name is Yushen Kianvar?” He twitched to bow and flinched when his arm reminded him why that wasn’t a good idea. “Hon-honored to make your acquaintance.”

“Hm?” The man tilted his head causing thorns to slice through his neck. Blood oozed stained paths down the vines. “But I’ve never met a Kianvar from the Yushen before. You must be mistaken.”

“No, I’m not.”

“No, no!” The man tried to lean forward. “I’ve tried for years to make up some new figments and I can’t! It’s one of the uncountable downsides of what I am now! You can’t be new! That means that you are real!”

“I am real.” Kian frowned. “I am Yushen Kianvar, third in line for the Head of Yushen. I know who I am!”

“...” His face went blank. “You’re real?”

“Yes!”

“What brings such an illustrious young lord to my humble prison?” The man composed himself in all of two seconds. His tone suddenly became short and noble.

“I- My…” Kian gasped. His heart jumped from its settled rhythm to a breakneck speed in seconds. They could still be after him. “I have to go!”

“NO!” The man’s shout made Kian jump. “No. No, no, no. Tell me. Tell me why you run! I might be able to help!”

“They- They’re killing them.” Kian felt himself pale. “The Hunlii. They’re killing my home.”

“Get me out of this chair and I can stop them from ever harming you again.” The man strained toward him, those red eyes darkening. “I swear to you on the soles of my feet and the wind in my words, I will aid you in anything you shall ever need again. You just need to get me out.”

Kian hesitated. Whomever this man was, he obviously wasn’t here to be rewarded, but the memory of his father’s agony stiffened his spine. 

“What do I need to do?”

The man smiled. “Name me.”

“What?” Kian blinked.

“Gift me a name. Anything will do. I don’t care what it is!”

“Um… S-Sen?” Kian thought to the carved dragon on his home mantle that his father referred to simply as Sen. “Sen. Your name is Sen.”

“Thank you, young master.” The newly named Sen bowed his head. “My name is Sen.”

“Is that it?”

“No, of course not.” Sen shook his head. “Now you must Chain me to you. Become my warden, young Kianvar.”

“How?”

“Place your hand atop my head and repeat after me.” Sen bowed his head as much as possible for the preteen so he could rest his palm on his hair. “Obey me.”

“‘Obey me.’”

“Follow my steps and guard my soul.”

“‘Follow my steps and guard my soul.’”

“Live for me and die for me.”

“‘Live for me and die for me.’”

“Good.” Sen smiled. “Now I say, ‘Yes, I will obey you. Yes, I will follow your steps and guard your soul. Yes, I will live for you and die only for you.’”

Kian felt the pulse of magic start to make its way through him as Sen said those words. Something bothered him. “You must also live for yourself, Sen.”

“What?” Sen blinked. 

“Make your own decisions. Walk by my side and guard those you hold dear. Live for yourself and die for yourself.” Kian’s words seemed to spread the magic faster. Already it was closing around his throat. 

“I-I… Yes.” Sen swallowed. “Yes, I will make my own decisions. I will walk by your side and guard those I hold dear. I will live for myself and die for myself.”

“Good.” Kian smiled.

A rush of emotion crested through his heart. Foreign emotion. 

Kian jerked his hand away and could swear he felt the loss not only through his hand but also his own head. 

“Thank you... Thank you.” Sen sighed. “Now you must light me on fire.”

“... What?!”

[nikkyshows]

Day Seven: Fracture

A full week of prompts!! I am proud of myself for getting this far!!

Warnings for a vague cheating mention and wishing to forget.

*****

There are words that are tied purely to the literal, some to the figurative, and some can be assigned to both.

But, usually, every heart is either broken or whole. Shattered, maybe, if the breaking is especially hard, but even that is just in the moment. It shatters into a broken mess.

Jason’s heart isn’t broken. That doesn’t feel like the right word, at least. Not the perfect one. If he’s going to be a poetic sap, he’s going to do it right. He searches synonyms in the thesaurus, looking up the exact definition of each for the one that fits perfectly.

Ha.

It’s funny how he’s searching for ‘the one’. Funny how it implies that there’s just one right answer, one word that describes this, one person that could spend forever at his side.

There he goes with the poetry again. The sap.

He’s not special. The state of his heart isn’t, broken or shattered or cracked or crippled. This has all happened before, but his mind begs to make beauty from his blood.

It’s what sorrow exists for. Poetry. Pretty words that cut and bandage all at once.

Jason likes how words can distract from pain by dragging one through the worst of it. A paradox of sorts, almost ironic.

He’s not really a poet — has no late night blog or list of notes on his phone that are sweet in the way that’s painful. He’s never written anything, but the ache in his heart makes the process easy.

He ends up going down a rabbit hole and finds a word he likes. Fracture.

It means the same thing, on a broad scale, but this one sounds better. Resonates harder. It tells more of the story with just one word. Fracture. His heart had fallen under pressure (a man who lied) and it cracked beneath it. It fits, too, in how it needs to heal.

It needs to be reset (how does one do that to a heart?) and kept still while it mends. Free of any other pressure that may attempt to crush it. Then comes the waiting.

Time heals all wounds, claims every self help blog and inspirational quote out there.

Time heals nothing. Not alone. It is care that heals and care needs time to work.

Jason wishes it would work faster. He wishes that healing was forgetting. In Greek Mythology, there is a river called the Lethe and a sip of it could wipe the wasted time from his mind — the whispered words, the lingering touches, the nearly four years spent at one man’s side just to learn he wasn’t the only one at his.

If there was a bar that spiked drinks with drops of Underworld rivers, he would go and order something with Lethe.

There were often lessons to be had when pain struck, but what is there to learn when his partner was unfaithful after promising he wouldn’t be? The only thing memorable about this is the betrayal and the sting.

It would be a blessing, to forget.

And he will, in time. What deity of cruelty was time, to hoard healing and blessings and freedom? One day, he will be free of the crack in his heart, enough that he will be able to use it again, and he will be able to fall for another without shattering at the drop and when that happens he will not remember the calluses in his old lover’s fingers or the way his throat would catch when he laughed too hard.

He would be fine, with time.

Time just had to come to pass.