#prompt challenge day 7

[woellow]

[sanity0]

Team Chaotix Week! Day 7: Free Prompt

This was very fun to participate in and I loved seeing everyone’s works! I decided I wanted to do a final tribute (sorry if I missed any of the members) as a finale to this! Definitely won’t stop drawing my favorite detective trio though lol.

Also special thanks to @team-chaotix-week for organizing this! It was very well done and I had a lot of fun!!

[shiorimakibawrites]

Day 7 - Distant

Prompt: 7: Honest Apology + Alt: “I’m in love with you, and that scares me.” Character: Frank Castle Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader Word Count: 2318 Warnings: Break-up fears, referenced near-fatal injury, referenced canon character death, fear of death, fear of loss. Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist

Companion piece to Day 27 - You Are To Me, Day 1 - Why?, and Day 11 - Proof of Life

Distant

You put down your phone. You took a deep breath, shallowing the lump in your throat. You weren’t going to cry. Not here at the coffee shop. You hated crying in public.

Frank hadn’t answered your call. He hadn’t been answering any of your calls. Or your texts. And he hadn’t tried to call back. Not a single word out of him. And you hadn’t seen him either.

You knew he wasn’t dead. Someone would have told you. They wouldn’t let you just sit and worry.

And you didn’t think he had his phone. Or otherwise couldn’t communicate. None of your mutual friends had called or come to see you, asking if you had heard from Frank. Which they would have if he hadn’t contacted any of them for a week.

You didn’t understand. Frank had never done this. While he did have a tendency to slink off to nurse his wounds or illnesses in private, he had always responded to you. Always called or texted back. Likewise he had done some missions where it was too dangerous to contact you until it was over. But he had always warned you about that before he left. This time he hadn’t. He had just left.

Just walked out of the door of the place you shared like it was ordinary morning. With the exception that he hadn’t kissed you good-bye like he usually did . . . and then nothing. You hadn’t see him. You hadn’t hear from him. He had just walked out. Without a single backwards glance. Like you meant nothing.

Tears burned your eyes. You tried to fight them. You weren’t going to cry  . . . you weren’t . . . you weren’t . . .

Something thumped onto the table, startling you. It was a coffee. And sliding into the booth across from you was Karen. She looked concerned.

“Hi Karen,” you said, trying to conjure a smile.

Her worried frown deepened. Apparently your efforts failed to pass muster. Seemed to be pattern.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’re trying not to cry.”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Everything is fine.”

“Lie,” Karen said.

“Is Matt contagious?” You asked. “Should I watch out for signs of ninja syndrome? Are you experiencing the sudden urge to jump out of random windows?”

Your attempt at humor fell as flat as your smile. Karen just looked at you, skeptism mixed with concern. “I don’t need Matt’s ninja skills to know you were lying. But while we were on the topic of Matt, he said you smelled like stress and like you had been crying yesterday.”

Thinking back on it, Matt had seemed more concerned than usual when he asked how you were doing . . . kept asking if you were sure that you were fine. If his recess hadn’t been ending, he probably would have pushed . . . 

You startled again when you were touched. Just Karen again, her hand resting ontop of yours. Her blue eyes full of sympathy and concern. “You know you can tell me. What’s wrong?”

Maybe it was the sympathy in her voice. Maybe it was the geniune worry. Maybe you just really needed someone to talk to. But soon, the whole story came spilling out. About how, about a week after you had gotten out of the hospital, Frank had been . . . different. Quieter, more distant. Obviously stressed about something. He had nightmares. Something had been bothering him but he refused to tell you. Not entirely unusual. Getting Frank to open up sometimes was like pulling teeth. From the mouth of a particularly angry tiger. So you hadn’t thought it worrying, thought that he would talk to you when he was ready. Just like he had before.

Only this time he didn’t. And then he left.

By the time you reached the end of your explanation, you had lost the battle with the tears. Karen had moved to sit next to you, so she could give you a hug. It was one-armed hug because of the booth but you’d take it.

“I’m so sorry,” Karen said, her voice a mixture of sympathy and anger. “I thought something was up with Frank. But I didn’t realize he was pulling this shit.”

“I just don’t understand,” you said. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “My best guess is that it has something with you getting shot. That really scared him.”

“I know,” you said. You remembered the look on his face just before you lost consciousness. The look when you woke up in the hospital. And when the doctor came in to explain just how lucky you were to you and your ‘husband.’ But he had been so attentive when you first got home . . . then it was like a switch had flipped. And all that warmth had disappeared.

“Did anything out of ordinary happen?”

“No,” you said. “The nightmares were bad just before he left but that’s happened before. And he didn’t take off. Might have slept on the couch until they settled down but he stayed.”

You shallowed. “Until now. Only other difference between then and now was that I told him I loved him.”

Karen smiled. It was a sad, little smile. “Finally told him? When?”

“The hospital,” you said. “He wanted to know what the hell I was thinking, pushing him out of the way like that. And I wasn’t . . . There was a gun pointing at the back of the man I love and I just . . . reacted.”

Karen made a thoughtful humming sound. “I’m guessing he didn’t say it back.”

“No,” you said. “Maybe because he doesn’t feel the same way.”

There it was. The truth that you had been trying to avoid. That Frank didn’t feel the same. Oh, he obviously cared about you. He liked you. Found you attractive. But none of that meant he loved you.

“Maybe,” Karen said but she didn’t sound convinced.

You felt a surge of rage. “The fucking coward could at least tell me to my face. Instead of just . . . ghosting me.”

“I agree,” Karen said. “It’s a shitty thing to do . . .”

Then she got that ‘eureka’ look on her face, like all of the puzzle pieces had just clicked together. “I think I know what’s going on. And how to get it fixed.”

“I don’t know if this can be fixed,” you said morosely, feeling very tired. That surge of anger had used up what was left of your energy.

“You’d rather he stay gone?”

“No,” you said. “I love him. I want to be with him forever. Guess he just doesn’t feel that way. I just wish . . . if he doesn’t want to be part of my life anymore, that he’d just say so. It will break my heart even more than it already is but at least I’d know. I deserve that much.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Karen said. “Now let’s get you back home. I’m going to fix this.”

You didn’t mean to doubt Karen. Normally you had every confidence in her brilliant mind and determination to achieve whatever she set out to accomplish. But you weren’t feeling particularly optimistic today.

She must have seen the skepticial look on your face. “Trust me. I’m an expert of getting stupidly stubborn men to remove their heads from their asses.”

***

You should have never doubted Karen. Because two days later, there he was. Standing by your front door with a bakery box in his hand. He at least had the grace to look sheepish and awkward.

“Frank,” you greeted, managing to keep your voice cool and even.

“Sweetheart,” he returned

“Am I?” you asked, a hint of your anger entering your voice. “Because you could have fucking fooled me.”

“You are,” he said, grimacing. “Through I can see why you’d think otherwise.”

He took a deep breath. “May I come in?”

At least he didn’t think he had the right to just waltz right in like nothing had happened. And while the angry, hurt parts of your heart want to shout no, go away before you hurt me again . . . the larger part of your heart, the part that loved Frank enough to take a bullet for him, won. “You may.”

You moved to unlock the door, drawing his attention to the grocery sacks in your hands. He scowled and said, “The docs said no lifting anything above a couple pounds.”

For some reason, this made your blood boil. You glared at him. “That I’m not supposed to pick up the milk jug right now didn’t seem to concern you when you fucking walked out without a goddamn word!”

He grimaced. “You can be pissed at me. You should be. But please, sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself. Let me carry the damn groceries.”

You wanted to argue. The angry, hurt part wanted to insist that you could carry them yourself. That you were fine on your own. That you didn’t help. Especially not from him. But good sense won out. Your injured shoulder was screaming at you, the dull ache growing into something sharp and throbbing over the course of the grocery run.

“Fine,” you said, allowing him to take the bags. You were given the bakery box in exchange. Holding it in your good hand, you let him into your apartment. He refused to let you put anything away, pointing out that even as individual pieces, some of it was still too heavy. You decided not to argue. The idea of raising your arm above your head right now made you want to cry.

Watching him move through your kitchen - the kitchen that you had hoped that he would one day think of as ‘ours’ instead of just ‘yours’ - made the tears prick at your eyes. But you refused to let them fall. Frank had gotten enough tears from you this week.

To distract yourself, you looked into the bakery box he had brought. Inside were two small cakes. One was a blackout cake and the other was chantilly cake with fresh raspberries. You felt your heart skip a beat. You had mentioned that you weren’t sure which cake you wanted for your birthday. You loved both so much. Made a joke about that as soon as you picked one, you’d get a craving for the other one.

An off-hand mention in a conversation from months ago. And he remembered. 

More tears pricked at your eyes, torn on what to feel. He remembered. But he had also abandoned you without a word . . .

“I’m sorry.”

You looked up from the cake, startled. “What?”

He was standing by your counter, his shoulders slumped. Regardless, when he realized that you were looking at him, he meet your eyes. You knew him well enough to see the regret, the remorse on his face. In those big brown eyes. “I’ve been an asshole. Leaving you without sayin’ anything - you’re right. That was the coward’s way and it was a rotten thing to do. You didn’t deserve that. I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” you asked. “Why did you do that? I thought we had a good thing going here.”

He took a deep breath. “Because I’m in love with you, and that scares me.”

You could have been knocked over by a feather. He loved you? Truly? “You love me?”

“Yeah,” he said, fidgeting with a can of peas. “Realized it when you were in the hospital.”

“And this scared you?” You said. “Why?”

“Because I almost lost you!” He shouted, his hand squeezing the can of peas. He took a deep breath, visibly regained control of himself. Put down the now-dented can. “You almost died, sweetheart. I felt your pulse getting weaker and weaker . . . You almost died.”

He swallowed thickly, then added, “You noticed the nightmares?”

“Yeah.”

“In my dreams, the ambulance didn’t make it in time. Or you died in surgery. I could see your body, cold and lifeless, along side . . . . Maria. Over and over again.”

He ducked his head. “You almost died. Because of me. Just sheer dumb luck that you didn’t . . .  like . . . my family. Baby, I can’t do that again. I can’t. I’m not that strong.”

He might be hiding his face but you could hear the tears in his voice. “I can’t lose you too. I can’t. There’s not enough left of my heart to survive that.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how angry you were, you couldn’t ignore his pain. You walked over and wrapped your good arm around his waist. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your hair. This close, you could feel him shaking. The rapid pulse in his neck. He really was terrified. Truly terrified. “I’m not dead, Frank. I’m alive.”

“This time,” he muttered in your hair. “Next time-”

“There’s no next time. You wouldn’t lose me.”

“You can’t promise me that,” he said. “I wish to God that you could. But you can’t.”

He was right. You hated that he was right. “Then I’ll be more careful. We’ll both be more careful.”

This time, you shallowed hard. Fighting the lump that wanted to lodge in your throat, “Unless you’d rather not risk it. If you want to leave . . .”

It would break your heart in itty, bitty pieces but you’d let him go if you had to. You couldn’t make someone stay who did not want to stay. Not without destroying everything good between you.

His arms tightened.

“No,” he said, his voice thick. “I don’t want to leave you. I love you. I’m terrified. But I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you said. “I accept your apology.”

You more felt than heard the sigh of relief. “I’m still hurt. We’re going to have a very long talk about it. But I love you and I forgive you.”

“Got some groveling to do, don’t I?” You could hear the smile.

“Yes, you do. But that cake is a good start.”

He laughed. It was watery but genuine.

Things were by no means perfect. But as you said, it was a good start.

Author’s Notes

A blackout cake or Brooklyn Blackout cake is a layer chocolate cake filled with chocolate pudding, frosted in chocolate frost, and topped with chocolate cake crumbs.

A Chantilly cake is a layer cake filled with berries and chantilly cream (a type of sweetened whipped cream), frosted win the same cream and topped with fresh berries in a pretty pattern.  In this particular case raspberries but it can be any berries so feel free to imagine different berries.

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Febuwhump 2025 ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Day 7 || “Alternate Timeline Self”

TW: Character death, descriptions of violence

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“What did you…” The boy’s voice echoed hauntingly, a thousand voices overlapping within it, screeching with static noise. It was a chorus of the damned, every soul the man had taken, every plea for mercy, every broken cry to please, please don’t kill me, spare us, I’m begging you, all coming back to haunt him. It was his very worst fear, and it was kneeling right in front of him. “What did you do?” 

Jeremiah stepped back nervously, stumbling over his feet. His hands shook, the blood dripping from them suddenly a searing fire upon his flesh, poisonous and deadly.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all. 

This mission was all Jeremiah had waited for. 

With rumours spreading like wildfire throughout the Congregation, Jeremiah had heard a lot of things in the past decade about their cause, how close they really were to succeeding. A centuries-long battle; a nation that had been building and growing and biding their time, of course there was excitement when it seemed like things were finally going to come to an end, where they’d reign victorious above the rest. There were whispers about how the Alliance was growing weaker and weaker with every passing day, spreading themselves thin for every fight that broke loose, losing more fighters than they were gaining. With the government dismantled, there were no regulations, no more rules or order, the police force reduced to nothing when compared to the combined brute force of the church’s power. The country was in shambles, the general public sent into a panic, hoarding supplies and attempting to flee, all concepts of organization or balance long forgotten. 

Eden was falling apart itself, with every one of their little obedient mutts running off or falling dead. With no soldiers to hide behind, the company was crumbling, giving the Congregation every opportunity to rise above. 

It was the perfect time to strike. 

Jeremiah had been going on mission after mission, exhaustion wearing him thin, his control slipping through his fingers as he was wrung dry by the constant fighting.

He almost hadn’t gone on this mission, if not for the damned tip.

Rumours spread fast. And the rumour that the infamous Atlas Zieliński would be making an appearance on this very mission had come to him almost instantly. 

An anonymous tip.

He wouldn’t have gone, if it weren’t for Zieliński. 

Atlas Zieliński had taken everything from him. His life, his future, his pride. His brother. Alastair was the one thing he had promised to him, the one thing that brought light into his normally grim world. Alastair was the one person he was so desperate for, the person he was supposed to have at his side, fighting next to him. 

But Zieliński had stolen him. 

And for that, Jeremiah would never forgive him. 

The plan was simple. Get rid of Zieliński, make sure the body was never discovered — a casualty to an uncontrolled, raging battle, one that could be easily written off as the work of Eden, one that his naive little brother wouldn’t think to question. Then, he’d leave. He’d take his daughter and his brother and the three of them would be their own little family, no more war, no more fighting, no more of anything.

Once Atlas Zieliński was out of his way, he’d have nothing to worry about. He could have his family. He could have his life back.

Everything would be perfect.

He had found the man on the battlefield, warding off soldiers from both sides, his movements fierce and intentional, blood staining the ground where he stood. 

Killing him had been easy. The man was a coward; weak, pathetic. Backing away from Jeremiah, as if he could escape. Like Jeremiah would ever let him get away. He hadn’t tried to fight back, hadn’t attempted to raise his weapon up towards Jeremiah. He had simply narrowed his eyes, barely dodging the blows, almost as if he accepted it. 

Jeremiah was in too much of a bloodthirsty frenzy to care. 

Atlas Zieliński was his sworn enemy, the man that had torn apart his life, that had stolen his baby brother from him, that had held him hostage and whispered lies into his ear, filling his head with nonsense, alienating him from his own big brother. 

He had turned Alastair against his family, his real family, and had tried to turn the brothers into enemies, forced to stand on the opposite sides of the battlefield.

Zieliński had to pay. 

Jeremiah felt no regret as he killed him. Not as he crouched over the man, one hand squeezing around his throat, the other tightened into a fist. Not as he delivered blow after blow, a pure fury crackling inside of him, as he pounded Atlas’ Zieliński upon every inch of his life. Not as blood splattered his face and Zieliński’s face became disfigured and misshapen. Not as the man underneath him went still, the light fading from his eyes.

It was only as he stepped back from his work, standing with a certain satisfaction that nothing else would ever give him, did he feel fear course through his veins, shaking him to his very core.

Because as he stepped away from the desecrated remains that were once known as Atlas Zieliński, a guttural roar cut through the battlefield. A roar that could only belong to one person. The very person that Jeremiah had been counting on not coming. 

“Atlas!”

There were tears streaming down Alastair’s face before he even found his way to the man’s side, inky black smearing down his cheeks. He knelt at his side, hesitating for a brief moment before softly cupping the caved-in head of Atlas Zieliński, holding it oh so tenderly, as if he believed there may be a possibility in which his friend may still be alive. As if there was any life left in that battered, bloody figure.

Jeremiah had watched, frozen in time, as his baby brother hugged the corpse he had just left haphazardly on the reddened ground. He watched as he whispered little sweet nothings, as he sobbed and as he promised: It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you home and everything will be okay. 

He watched as Alastair wailed and clung to his sworn enemy as if he were the most important thing in the entire world, as if nothing else had ever mattered. He watched in a sort of silent awe, his voice suddenly caught in the back of his throat. 

No.

Alastair wasn’t supposed to see. They hadn’t told him Alastair was going to be here. Why was he here? Why, after everything, was it always Zieliński that he chose?

Why was it always him?

Alastair’s pleas suddenly died down. His hands tightened their grip around Zieliński, thick black tears splashing onto his front, but no such whisper of broken hopefulness came from Alastair’s lips.

It was then that his brother turned to him, the man still curled up helplessly in his shaking arms, his eyes shining with an unknown emotion, something Jeremiah had never seen directed towards him before, not from Alastair, something Jeremiah wasn’t sure his brother was capable of holding. 

He was staring at him with complete and pure hate. 

No, no, no—

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen at all. He was supposed to kill Zieliński and bring Alastair back home with him. Zieliński was going to die alone and there would be no one to bring him and his brother apart anymore. 

He had planned it carefully, he had done it just like he was supposed to. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Alastair wasn’t… he wasn’t…

He wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“You.” Alastair spit, his words made of pure venom. There was no timid hesitance present in his face, no soft gentleness that Jeremiah had grown so completely used to. His expression was twisted up in fury, pain and grief morphing his features into something foreign. Pain Jeremiah had caused. 

For the first time in his life, it was as if he was seeing his brother clearly. 

As the man in front of him began to change, an inky black spreading across his skin, warping and morphing his features, smoke and shadows clinging to his figure, Jeremiah was hit with a sudden realization:

He had deeply underestimated Alastair.

masterlist || next

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I wasn't exactly sure what to do for this prompt, so I decided to do an au that Sam and I thought up a while back!! So no, for clarification, this is NOT CANON. I just thought it would be fun to post a little what-if ^^

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Credits go to @ohagiwrites as she helped come up with this storyline. Jeremiah and Alastair also belong to her ੈ✩‧₊˚

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taglist || @febuwhump @ohagi505 @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @fangedcinnamonroll @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @seastarblue @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @iamheretohurt @corinneglass @melodxi @thebookishkiwi @lancedoncrimsonwings @sugaredparchment @cepheusgalaxy @fizzydreamz @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @nosebleedgirlpunch @sunflowerrosy @charlachan @cacophonyofwords

[dark-r0se]

"Passport" First off, go play Papers, Please- it's really good. Second, I know I skipped a day, it's hard being motivated. So, I decided after the 10th drawing, I'll switch my list up to keep me going :D

[xx-completely-in-ur-car-xx-blog]

Week 7: New Prompt (Favourite Seer Moment)

This.

Baffled. Offended. Confused. Somehow experiencing every stage of grief at once. He thinks he's about to find out something cool about himself and then Bam— gets insulted then almost gets 'the talk' in front of his crush.

[st-loveconfessions]

I have completely fallen in love with evil woman don't you play your games with me by Black Sabath and only because I've started reading the Evil Woman X Eddie Munson fics by @wheels-of-despair . Now I completely understand why EW was searching for that song like crazy 😁💖

Evil Woman x Eddie

@wheels-of-despair

[paradoxical-scribbler]

7 DAY / WEEKLY WRITING CHALLENGE

WORDS STARTING WITH: I

IDOLOMANIA: obsession or devotion to idols

IKHLAAS: sincerity; great affection

IKIGAI: a reason for being; a reason for getting up in the morning

ILLECEBROUS: alluring; enticing

INAAYAT: kindness; courtesy; favour

INDURATIZE: to resist or harden one's own heart to the idea of love

IRUSU: the act of pretending to not be home when someone knocks at the door

WORDS STARTING WITH: A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I

[greay-rosewood]

Alright! Here's todays drawing for prompt "Carnivorous"

I'm really, really proud of how I did the shading in this one! I based this more so off of a Selkie then a mermaid but still, Leopard seals are carnivores so it fits the prompt. It was either this or a Manta ray.

like always the prompt list I'm using belongs to @mdoodlerfandomart

[minaslittlewooorld]

DAY 7: TWILIGHT Maverick, being the smooth charmer and caring coltfriend he is, loves throwing soft comments her way, pulling the exact reaction he wanted his marefriend, Velvet, to get. Velvet can't help but swoon and giggle at his gestures. Even after dating for so long, the look and grin he gives her always made her melt. Sweet, romantic dates like this as they walk under the twilight sky always made her so happy. =============== Velvet Kisses belongs to Me Maverick Chamber belongs to @spectrumsmenagerie

[tobi-the-minnow]

7.) Answer - say or write something to deal with or as a reaction to someone or something.

questioning, pondering, wondering, we're lost. sending out signals endlessly. Day after day we're stuck sending out the S.O.S. with no awnser.

Where did it go wrong? No answer.

What do we do? No answer.

Will we find earth again? N o a n s w e r...

We're stuck out here floating in this advanced nothingness with nothing so imagine my surprise when we finaly get a signal back

D o y o u f e a r t h e s t a r s ?

Now... how do we answer that??

[mellowwhumps]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 7: Hypothermia

(but also not really)

OCs: Verrill, Haley — magic!AU

didn’t feel like writing anything angsty or serious today

@whumperless-whump-event

The cold reaches nearly to his knee now, snowflakes trembling in the foggy air. When the young prince had escaped the kingdom to explore, he certainly hadn’t thought there’d be a sudden surge of snowfall. He shivers, clutching his thin cloak to his chest. He wouldn’t survive out here, not with how he can barely move forward, his lack of energy finally catching up to him. 

He doesn’t even see the way back, not with whiteness covering the path meant for travellers of this foreign wood. How long had it been? Where was he?

There’s a house ahead. Verrill rubs his eyes and looks up again. Nothing changes. A lone thought occurs to him that such a thing might be dangerous, like the mirages he’d been told existed on the desert sands. Nevertheless, it was the house or dying. 

He trudges on until he reaches the wooden steps, nearly slipping on them as he walks towards the door. His hands shake and he fumbles around with the doorknob with frozen hands until it finally turns, not even bothering to knock. It’s unlocked. 

Immediately, he’s greeted by warmth, stumbling his way to the fireplace and shedding his drenched clothes by the side. There’s no one home except the mountains and mountains of books and shelves and too many glass vials. It’s not his right to pry, but one look is more than enough to tell him the house’s owner is an exile. A channeler, no less. He’d never seen one, sheltered as he was and rare as they were. 

Perhaps the trip was worth it, he thinks. Verrill promptly shivers again, lying down on the wooden floor and curling up in hopes of further warmth, legs no longer capable of supporting him any longer.. No. Definitely not. Even the fire wouldn’t help him stay toasty enough. Would ever be found, so far from the kingdom where just two days ago he was sleeping comfortably in?

The door opens. Someone, about his age and in foreign attire, strolls in with such a carefree attitude it was as if the snowstorm outside never existed at all. His clothes are completely dry. Verrill sits up simply out of curiosity, rubbing his hands in a futile effort to curb the tremors racking his body.

The stranger stares at him, freezing in place. He’d forgotten he was the intruder here. Tension permeates the air, bitter and chilling for a moment then disappearing in the next.

“Welcome?” The stranger speaks, more of a question than an answer, shuffling in place. Verrill mutters some sort of acknowledgement with a voice so weak and soft that he wonders if it was even himself speaking. He knows the other is examining him, his silken garments and uncommon hair. Most would see it as a fortune to be made. Instead, the stranger only states in his monotone voice, “I’ll get you some clothes. You should have stolen the blanket long ago, if you had any common sense.”

Verrill watches in silence as the home’s owner enters one of the rooms. If confusion was a symptom of being too cold, this must have certainly been it. He hugs his legs close to his chest and prays for some cohesion to come back.

[owlart18]

Cattember day 7: Magic (featuring my oc Nyx Everdawn)

2024 prompts

(Commission info here | MapleStickerShop)

[v-thinks-on]

Holmes bent down over the corpse to make his own examination, not of the poor dead man’s body, but of his effects, riffling through the man’s jacket, and muttering to himself in a low voice.

“It appears my first conjecture was correct,” Holmes spoke to me once more.

“Oh, have you found a locket or some indication of who may be in need of assistance?” I asked, bending over his shoulder to see for myself.

“No, no, not that. It appears we are not the first unofficial investigators summoned to this charming abode.”

“How ever did you deduce that?” I said in astonishment.

Holmes slipped a business card into my palm, before using my hand to hoist himself up, onto his feet. I nearly laughed as I read the card, which of course told all.

However, I was sobered by the grim circumstances, and surmised, “There must be someone who does not want any investigation.”

“No, it appears not,” Holmes said, his own keen features turned serious, his abstract gaze lost in the gruesome message smeared upon the wall. “A wiser, nobler man might have more than sufficient cause to sound a retreat.” He glanced over at me, a delicate question in his eyes.

I stepped forward to place my hand upon his shoulder. “Where you go, I will follow behind.”

To be continued...

[skeletonplushie20]

Inktober Day 7 - Passport (this was hard to figure out)

[magdalena-cinis]

Inktober day #7, passport

All pictures (my arts:)) of Inktober 2024 you can find on my pinterest! >