#Silent Saturday

[ominous-faechild]

✦ silent saturday ✦

ty for the tag, @corinneglass!

rules: keep your scene “silent” without adding any dialogue (inner dialogue is okay)

i'm sharing a snippet from sun and shadow for this!

warning!!! touches on topics of: grief, parental loss, survivor's guilt, and loneliness

EXCERPT FROM:

SUN AND SHADOW

The moment the door closed behind Maritza, Frey sucked in a sharp breath and let her legs buckle under her.

Gods, what would I have done if she stayed? she wondered. The room still felt like it was spinning around her, trying to press into her and swallow her whole. Frey's whole body shook, but she curled into a ball as she tried to ignore how weak she felt.

Probably snap again, she thought, laughing brokenly. Then her heart twisted as she remembered when Maritza’s hands tightened around her necklace.

Like the one Frey used to have to cure her sickness, Maritza’s necklace was a conduit. She’d never mentioned it, but she didn’t have to—Frey could sense magic radiating from it whenever Maritza was around. Whatever it contained, it was powerful.

And that was the problem: Frey couldn’t tell what kind of magic it had. That wasn’t her forte—but, then again, it was unusual enough for her to be able to notice it contained magic, anyways. Most people couldn’t recognize conduits as what they were to begin with.

So, it easily could’ve been anything from Soren's water magic—stored in the conduit for Maritza just like he’d done for Frey—to something only meant to protect her.

Gods, why did I think she was going to attack me? Of course she wasn’t going to attack me, it’s Maritza. She's kind, and sweet, and—and timid, Frey thought brokenly. I scared her when she's done nothing but try her best to help me.

Anger swelled in her chest, accompanied by a more intense wave of heat and dizziness.

Frey buried her face in her legs and wrapped her arms over her head, struggling to think through the weakness wracking her body.

All because of Dad. Because he was there for her instead? Because he—

Dad, she thought, biting her lip. She couldn’t help remembering the last few moments before the shipwreck. The argument she’d had with him; how she’d told him she didn’t care. How obviously worried he’d been for her, while all she did was shout at him.

A mess of thoughts and feelings swirled through her—anger, grief, frustration, and guilt.

It was her fault they were there that day. Her fault the ship was wrecked, her fault Soren's crew died at sea, and her fault that their families were now mourning them.

And she kept speaking ill of him. A dead man. For the things he didn’t do for her.

When all she really wished for was for him to be alive.

Why didn’t I just tell him I didn’t want to get engaged? she wondered, chewing her bottom lip. He asked so many times. And I just—stubbornly insisted on it just because, what, I thought he didn’t care? ‘I’ll show him?’ It wouldn’t have shown him anything but how immature you are, Freya! 

And, oh, ‘wait, they’re faeries’? she thought mockingly, quoting herself. He probably did tell you that, and you just weren’t listening! Because why would you, huh? It’s only your entire life from now on that you’re insisting on for no good reason! Levebolg, what is wrong with you?

By now, the sickness had passed. The room had stilled, no longer spinning around her or trying to swallow her. It was just her.

Freya Ula.

Alone with her thoughts.

Again.

Her hand went to her pocket, where she used to keep Soren's totem. A magical item he’d made to communicate with her from afar. It’d contained his essence—his magical energy and very being—and was able to materialize a magical puppet to protect her. He’d sometimes possess it to actually be there for her, even when he was thousands of miles away.

But, now, it was gone. Lost in the shipwreck.

Like the rest of her.

‘I’m so sorry, Dad,’ she wanted to say. ‘I miss you.’

But she couldn’t. And she just had to accept that.

Taglist (no pressure!): @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

and @seastarblue (+open tags!)

Divider by @saradika

[memento-morri-writes]

Silent Saturday Tag

Rules: Share a snippet that does not include any dialogue.

So I was tagged a whole three weeks ago by @space-writes but I never got around to sharing anything. A lot of my best or favorite writing involves dialogue, and given that what I've been writing lately is mostly dnd campaign interactions, there's lots of dialogue involved. But today I went back and revisited a snippet that I'd initially written a few months ago, after our first session of the Drakkenheim campaign, and I realize it would be a perfect candidate for this! (Especially since I already told Space about the events of this scene in the campaign...) So here, have a bit of what ended up becoming Session 1 PVP. (I'm sorry in advance if this sucks. I'm not very good at fight scenes. I make my sentences too long, and I never know how to describe motion.)

tw for body horror, death, and violence

Carrion stared out into the forest. The long-dead trees loomed menacingly overhead, but nothing moved between their trunks or in their branches. Satisfied that the woods were silent for the time being, he cast his gaze out over the sleeping travelers who lay spread out around the dying fire. None of them stirred or even snored. Ricard’s unsettling rasping breaths had stopped a few hours ago, and Carrion wasn’t even sure the corrupted man was still alive.  He peered closer, trying to see if he could see his chest rising and falling. Before he could really take in any details, Ricard threw off his bedroll. Moving fast, faster than he had any right to be, he got to his feet and moved over to where his companion, Ludwig, lay sleeping. Carrion leapt to his feet as Ricard grabbed Ludwig’s rapier.  Carrion opened his mouth to call out to him, but before he could get a word out, there was a blur of movement. Something lashed out from under Ricard's cloak, wrapping around Ludwig’s head and neck. There was a sickening squelch and snapping of bone as his skull and spine were crushed by what looked like a massive tentacle.  Ricard dropped Ludwig’s body and moved towards where Endra lay, still asleep. As he approached the remains of the fire, Carrion was able to get a better look at him. His mouth, nose, and ears had been replaced with gaping inky purple holes. The tentacle that had killed Ludwig, crushed him with so little effort, emerged from under his cloak, writhing in the air like an enraged snake. He raised higher, preparing to strike at Endra.  Carrion threw himself forwards, leaping over the embers of the fire as he barreled toward the monster. As he lept, his body began to grow. His bones lengthened and his flesh swelled. Strange bony ridges bulged under his skin, and short, thick spines erupted from his arms. Long, clawed nails extended from his fingers until each was at least the size of his pocket knife. His horns grew and split, fanning into a spiked crown-like growth. The world blurred and took on a dusky haze as his eyes were engulfed in purple. By the time he landed beside Ricard, he towered over the man by several feet. Ricard spun to face him, tentacle raised in defense. Carrion batted it aside and tore a clawed hand into Ricard’s side. Hot, sticky blood coated his skin, caking under his nails, and he remembered Valeska’s warning. Don’t touch him. It might be contagious.  It was too late for that, though. He attempted to dodge, throwing his body to the side as Ricard lashed out at him. He wasn't fast enough. The tentacle was surprisingly strong, lifting him off the ground as it wrapped itself around his ribcage. He thrashed against it, roaring in protest as the rest of the camp began to wake around them.

I'm going to tag @transmasc-wizard @zmwrites and @akindofmagictoo and anyone else who's reading this and wants to share!!

[renee-writer]

Jesus is silent on Saturday.

The women have anointed his body and placed it in Joseph’s tomb. The cadaver of Christ is as mute as the stone which guards it. He spoke much on Friday. He will liberate the slaves of death on Sunday. But on Saturday, Jesus is silent.

So is God. He made himself heard on Friday. He tore the curtains of the temple, opened the graves of the dead, rocked the earth, blocked the sun of the sky, and sacrificed the Son of Heaven. Earth heard much of God on Friday.

Nothing on Saturday. Jesus is silent. God is silent. Saturday is silent.

Easter weekend discussions tend to skip Saturday. Friday and Sunday get the press. The crucifixion and resurrection command our thoughts. But don’t ignore Saturday. You have them, too.

Silent Saturdays. The day between the struggle and the solution; the question and the answer; the offered prayer and the answer thereof.

Saturday’s silence torments us. Is God angry? Did I disappoint him? God knows Jesus is in the tomb, why doesn’t He do something? Or, in your case God knows your career is in the tank, your finances are in the pit, your marriage is in a mess. Why doesn’t He act? What are you supposed to do until He does?

You do what Jesus did. Lie still. Stay silent. Trust God. Jesus died with this conviction: “You will not abandon me to the grave, nor will you let your Holy One see decay” (Acts 2:27 NIV).

Jesus knew God would not leave him alone in the grave. You need to know, God will not leave you alone with your struggles. His silence is not his absence, inactivity is never apathy. Saturdays have their purpose. They let us feel the full force of God’s strength. Had God raised Jesus fifteen minutes after the death of His son, would we have appreciated the act? Were He to solve your problems the second they appear, would you appreciate His strength?

For His reasons, God inserts a Saturday between our Fridays and Sundays. If today is one for you, be patient. As one who endured the silent Saturday wrote: “Be patient, brethren, until the coming of the Lord” (James 5:7 NKJV).

By: Max Lucado

[ginuwinesqueen]

[the-inkwell-variable]

Silent Saturday Tag

Thank you, @the-golden-comet , for the tag!

Here is a silent snippet from From Matcha to Murder!

Amara moved from tree to tree, searching every crevice and low-hanging branch. She found plenty - engraved initials within wonky hearts, little poems that .ade her smile despite their awkwardness, notes from names she didn't recognize to people she didn't know. It seemed more than half the town was running their romantic entanglements through this clearing, even couples that had been together half their lives. It would be kind of sweet, if she wasn't solely fixated on finding one particular note from one particular person.

TAGGING @theink-stainedfolk - @willtheweaver - @leahpardo-pa-potato - open tag!

[tiffanydaleo]

Charcuterie

Maybe my last painting of 2023?

11/14” Acrylic on paper Instagram Facebook Pinterest Tumblr YouTube Link

[punksrhea]

RHEA RIPLEY WWE Saturday Night's Main Event, January 25th, 2025

[blondebrainpowered]

Clara Bow making some alterations to the collar of her dress in "It", 1927

[busterkeatonsociety]

#SaturdayCaption this revealing scene with Buster, Ed Brophy and Joseph Girard in Doughboys. Please keep it clean ;)

[millionmovieproject]

Hey Buster Keaton Fans!!

Another New World, the follow-up book to Oh Buster, Where Art Thou? (free HERE on YouTube) is available in paperback, hardback, ebook, and free to Kindle Unlimited subscribers!!

Find it HERE!!

Remember to leave a review to help other Buster fans find it!

[ginuwinesqueen]

In God's silence, He is active! Happy Silent Saturday #SilentSaturday.

[the-inkwell-variable]

Silent Saturday Tuesday Tag!

Thank you, @sableglass, for the tag!

Here is a snippet from the scene I'm struggling with in From Matcha to Murder, so please forgive its stiffness, it's still very much a work in progress!

Arrtaruk and his half-brother, Pippin Graymane (whose silver-dust-stained beard was surprisingly brown for a change) sported friend as sharp as the axes in their hands. Rinarv cheered from her stool at the bar, her hammer draper across her lap; the larger flat end bore many small spikes, reminding [Amara] of the meat tenderizer somewhere in her kitchen drawers. Sheriff Kain had one hand crossbow on the counter, one attached to his hip, as he scribbled in his notebook. In fact, she realized as she looked around, the only two people not brandishing a weapon of some type were Hendryk, who paced behind the counter, and SILENNA, casually draped across an armchair, stirring her tea with a bored expression on her face.

TAGGING @theink-stainedfolk for the FMTM snippet!

TAGGING @captain-kraken - @drchenquill - @i-can-even-burn-salad - @willtheweaver - open tag!

[tiffanydaleo]

Chromatic

Meet my newest painting "Chromatic"

5/7” Mixed media on paper Instagram Facebook Pinterest Tumblr YouTube Link

[jackbergeron]

It’s a gloomy overcast day so I’m sitting in the dark playing Silent Hill 2 Enhanced Edition

[lamuradex]

Silent Saturday Tag

Thanks for the tag, @agirlandherquill. Sounds like a fun new game.

Rules: Write something without any dialogue, inner dialogue aka thoughts is allowed but that's it, thoughts and actions, to keep the scene/snippet/whatever you wish 'silent'

Now, this is playing into my wheelhouse, honestly. I do a lot of internal rambling for characters. While I know it says to write something, I'd be a fool not to use a bit from one of my books.

And since I've said October is the month for Stitches of the Mind, that's what I'm going with. The opening to Chapter One.

Tammy stood with a bouquet of white lilies, unwrapped and clenched in her hand. They were quite beautiful, she thought, but they likely wouldn’t last. It was supposed to rain heavily later and the downpour would utterly ruin them.

Not that it mattered. This was mostly just routine by this point. She knelt down and put the flowers on the grave, keeping her gaze centred on the bouquet. Out of habit though, her eyes drifted upwards. She read the inscribed name.

Rebecca Tanson.

The familiar sensation began behind her eyes. The gentle burning as tears began to form, the grief and pain aching in her chest. The tears spilling down her cheek. Finally, she stood for a moment, one hand on the tombstone, stroking it softly. Then she turned and left.

Tammy was alone in the graveyard as the early sun made its way into the sky. Its rays were blocked by gentle cloud, and the churchyard was cast in the shadow of the steeple, green grass filling the ground between the stones.

And she’d seen it all before. Even as her tears bubbled unbidden, she kept moving, knowing they wouldn’t last long. She found no shame in crying in a graveyard, on the contrary, she knew it was one of the few places where no one would even notice. But she’d been there so many times…

She dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her coat, walked briskly between the tombstones, and headed out into the surrounding town.

Her route was the same as always. Out from the graveyard and down the hill. Her tears had already settled by the time she reached the bottom, where she crossed the road into town. The streets were quiet. The roads were empty. Even the high-street was unsettlingly silent, despite it being mid-morning.

Not that she was surprised.

Shops were open, but barely staffed. There was no point. People were too scared of the grey, misty mornings to venture out. The mists and what could hide in them. They wouldn’t start appearing until around noon, when business would properly start. And one day, they might stop all together. Then it would just be a silent old town. Quiet streets and quiet stores. And her, if she was still there to see it.

And that's the opening to Chapter One. I need to do more editing, but I'm still happy with this.

Anyway, tags:

@wintherlywords @stephtuckerauthor @fayeiswriting @mikathewriter @sableglass @the-golden-comet

By the way, if anyone doesn't want to be tagged, or alternatively would love to be tagged, feel free to let me know. Currently I'm just tagging Writeblr mutuals, as best as I can work out.