#tnlw writing

[pygmydragon-blog1]

The fae run free

A shiver ran along the ground, leaves shaking themselves free from the trees.  Something was awakening.  Villagers clutched their cloaks closer about them as a rumbling shook the forest.  

It was the one night that the fae could be free, peculiar beings they were.  An ancient spell from a mage long ago had imprisoned them, locked them far away from the world and one another.  But this one precious day a year they were set free to dwell, to feel real, once again.

Matirit shook her hair free as soon as she woke up, and started running, shrieking in the forest.  She needed to find him, her mate.  If she could only see him for a moment, all would be right once more.  The months imprisoned in a cage of darkness would be washed away as she clung to him.

Fae woke up, their forms gradually gaining light and life as they stretched their fingers to touch the moon.  Some were singing and dancing, others looked as if they were ghosts.  Which they were, of a sort.

Matirit whimpered as she darted from tree to tree, eyes a piercing violet as she tried to find her beloved.  There were thousands of Fae, but she had to find him.  For years before, she had always tried.  Sometimes she found him, others she didn’t.  But for the past two harvest moons before this one, she couldn’t.  She felt that if she didn’t again, her eternal soul would be crushed even more than it was already doomed to be.

Hot tears ran down her face, more than one fae was out searching for their mate, a shred of comfort.  Torches blazed in the darkness, the villagers were coming.  Coming to purge the fae once more.  Screams started shredding the night, and they were driven deeper into the forest.  

“Conlaed!”  She shrieked, running faster into the core of woods and mountains, a final hope that maybe, somewhere, he would hear her.  He had to.

A fae warrior answered her call, a tall creature with hair as dark as night with eyes as light as the morning dawn.  She stopped, panting, as he took her in a tight embrace, shaking around her.   “I found you.”  He whispered, hand on her head clutching her to his chest as if she might disappear.

She sobbed into his chest, “Don’t let me go, I c-can’t go back there.”

“Hey...”  He tilted her chin to look up at him. “We’ll be alright, we’ve got now, don’t we?”  A sad smile adorned his face.  

The torches crept closer, shouts growing louder.  They ran together in the cold, until all of the fae were packed, torches all around.  Matirit clung to her mate, who rubbed her back, wondering how he would protect her from this.

Grotilist, one of the elders of the fae, with features and hair as old as stone snarled.  “Oh, I’ve got a bit of magic in me yet...”  But nobody heard him.

A snap of the fingers, and the bondage was free, fae were to dwell among men once more and Grotilist’s soul drifted away to who knows where, vanquished by his own power.

But nobody realized what had just happened, until the sun poked over the horizon, and the villagers were not the only ones shaking.  The magic of the fae had returned, and they would have their revenge.

(Thanks to @thenightofthelivingwriters for this awesome prompt!! 4.2 I think? )

[anntar-radix]

“How?” Carolyn sighed. “How in the hell did you get this much candy?”

“Easy, you go to Price Chopper when they open at 4 in the morning.”

“You are going to get sick eating all of this.”

Evan shrugged. “I like my candy, Princess. Don’t judge what you can’t appreciate.”

Carolyn glared at Evan. “Stop with that nickname.”

“Not a chance, Princess.”

Carolyn huffed. “You ass.”

“An ass about to be filled with sugar.”

Carolyn shook her head and started to head out the door. She came face-to-face with a very groggy Alex. “Your friend is trying to put himself into a sugar coma.”

Alex sighed. “He raided the Price Chopper again, didn’t he?”

Carolyn nodded.

“Evan!”

“What?”

“Make sure you throw up into the toilet this time. I will force you to clean it up otherwise.” “Ugh. Fine.”

Carolyn looked at Alex in disbelief. “Really?”

“What? As long as none of us have to deal with the repercussions, I don’t see the issue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Anyways, where were you and your boyfriend last night?”

“First of all, not dating. Second of all, nearby the parks, laying on the street.”

“Strange place for a date—”

“Not a date.”

“But what were you two even doing?”

“Stargazing.”

“And you couldn’t shoot me a text saying you lovebirds weren’t going to make it?”

“I forgot. The stars were too beautiful.”

“Are you sure you were looking at the stars and not Deven’s eyes?” She waggled her eyebrows.

Alex sighed. “We are just friends.”

“Sure…”

“Carolyn!”

(And that’s day 1 of 31 (5 days late...) Thanks for reading and thanks to @thenightofthelivingwriters for the prompts! The prompt I chose for that was “Who gets the most candy from trick or treating?”. Apparently, not anyone in that group. Cause I can’t read apparently. Hopefully tomorrow I can get day 4,5, and 7 up... See y’all then!)

[thenightofthelivingwriters]

DAY ONE - THE NIGHT OF THE LIVING WRITERS

DAY ONE IS HERE! Have fun everyone and make sure to tag this blog in the posts!! They’ll be reblogged here but definitely read other submissions that are put into the “tnlw writing”.

TAGLIST: @anntarinsanitymaterialized​, @freshink, @spacebrick3​, @aj-the-satyr, @how-the-fuck-do-you-write, @oradall, @quaking–aspens, @ancientarchivist, @emdilou, @notquitenovelist, @purpleshadows1989, @writing-every-other-star, @arynneva, @jennalasby, @immawritethat, @travel-the-world13, @simplescenarios, @navajolovesdestiel, @ccwritesstuff, @weirdmrdoctor, @elywinters, @tsumushi, @starrulet​, @all-bridges-will-burn​, @pe-ersona​, @aurumni-writes​, @storytimetraveler​, @ writing-every-other-star

[elycwinters]

A Mystery

There is something off about you, there’s an air that I can’t quite place. Your eyes hide secrets I wish to unravel, your words are smooth as honey but so carefully chosen, I wonder if they are the truth.

There’s an air of mystery about you, you who are wise as the old Gods but hides it well. The mask you wear is not one that is easily cracked and I am intrigued.

I wonder if it’s all in my mind, if I’m seeing things that are not there and sometimes I believe that. Until… until you look into my eyes and your mouth quirks into a smile. there’s something very off about you an air of mystery that asks to be unraveled.

- Ely C. Winters.

[25.1 ‘Mystery’ from @thenightofthelivingwriters]

[pe-ersona]

Dark Finale

Taglist: @thenightofthelivingwriters @sunshineomeara @ventilaccion @awkwardplant

Dark Past / Dark Figure / Dark Forest / Dark Room

Eyes adjusting to the dark, she sees the slit of light under the far door. Her feet step one in front of another. Like the day before. Her steps, hesitant. Her feet hit his carpet, leading into his apartment. The same apartment that she came over to hear about his problems and lean her shoulder for his tears. Recently, she heard the same story over and over but it was different. He found someone new and she tried not to pry for her heart was too fragile. She held her feelings bottled and released them with someone else, a guy who would always help with her thoughts. Help her hide behind her mask in front of him. She encouraged him and she wish she didn’t. She called for his name once and he couldn’t breath out an answer. Too far gone. She felt an eerie silence then and now. When she came around the corner, she held back her scream and dropped to her knees. The image of his crusty hair in her hands scarred her vision now and her ears still rang with police sirens as the doorknob twists in her hand. 

The stairs creak under her weight and she flinches, waiting for something to stir. It doesn’t. She continues and walks into a hallway, leading in two directions. Left or right? One way is a dead end of more doors. She couldn’t test them if they lead to an exit or a bedroom. She takes the other option and it opens to a living room. There is still no sound of someone--something else over the loud heartbeat in her ears.

She can’t take it anymore and she runs to find the front door. Her footsteps heavy. She passes through the kitchen and stops. There is an array of papers and a map next to the sink. Too curious, she looks over and recognizes the handwriting. From the same hand that pushed her out the door. She picks up one piece and she spots the photos. Her blood runs cold. The paper slips out of her hand and she turns around to run out of this nightmare. 

Unaware of the approaching dark figure, he grasps her arms as she screams. He is dressed head to toe in black and she can’t see his face. He lifts her struggling body and forces her to sit on the couch in the living room. He places a tight grip on her arm like a burning brand and other close to her throat, squeezing hard to shut her up as he stands behind her. 

A door from down the hallway open. His face was not mistaken. The same one she saw however long ago. She grit her teeth as tears stream down her face at his presence, once a safe haven, now forever a prison. 

“Why?” She wheezes out. 

“You wanted my help, didn’t you?”

[how-the-fuck-do-you-write]

Night of the Living Writers- Day 1- Trees

I had HORRIBLE writers block, but here we go!!!!!

     Mallor felt as if the trees were watching him. It was the middle of spring, but he still felt as if the cold of winter was still snagging at his darkened skin and seeped into his bones. How long had it been? How long since he first came into these woods? The 'Ohi'a lehua seemed to already be blooming brightly, and he could just feel the long hopbush gently caressing his legs. Despite the life and color the wilderness had, Warren could not feel more mournful and angry. How dare the world seem to be celebrating today? How dare it seem to rejoice on the anniversary of something so terrible?! 

    He could still hear her laugh. After all these years, he could still make out the sound of her skipping and dancing by him in the grass. He could swear the sound of the branches moving in the wind was of her giddily climbing the massive trunks, in hopes of seeing the coast from her throne of leaves and bark. He could swear his tired and sullen blue eyes recently met those deep blue of life. The memories both hurt and made him nearly crack a smile. For as long as he could remember, she was by his side. Just them both against the cold and harsh world they were born in. 

    God, the thoughts even made his grip harden on the old sweater he was wearing, despite the warmth of spring. It was the last thing he had of her. Taking care of hands and fingers pinched by the needles of a seamstress, the bright colors of fabric as they were seamlessly woven together into elegant and unique clothes. That's what he missed the most. She loved life so much. She loved the feeling of the grass between her toes and the warm sun against her skin. It was almost impossible to remember...

    Mallor felt his throat tighten. He was there. The hibiscus blossoms were the brightest shade of yellow in the sunlight. Right in front of that bush of flowers was a marked grave. The foliage seemed to sit around the bush and small mound of dirt as if they mourned as well. And finally, the forest was still. The man knelt by the overgrowth, reaching into his pockets and pulling out a photo, crumpled and worn with time. Him and his twin sister, happily grinning to the old camera used for the shot.

    "I-I'm sorry that I'm late," Mallor mumbled, placing the photo softly to the grave, "I found it... hard, to get up." He stopped to let in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Jasper. If only-" A sniffle rose this time, "-if only I could've done something... If only you were still here..." He couldn't bear to talk anymore, quietly sobbing as his head lowered. Above him and his deceased sister, the trees bent in the wind. Along with Warren, the trees seemed to mourn and weep.

[aj-the-satyr]

Stains and Stories

(Time for more writing! This time @thenightofthelivingwriters​ single word prompt was Pumpkin. I was tempted to repost something I’d written already but that would be cheating, plus I actually wrote it for the very same prompt for last year’s event. So onward with the words!)

Maximus draped his coat over the back of the plain wooden chair looking over his shoulder as the door opened. “Ah. Sally.” He said to the young servant girl. “I’m afraid your task this evening is a most onerous one.”

“M’lord?” She asked curtsying

“We had a run in with..... a monster and I’m afraid some of the stains will be hard to remove. At least I did not get swallowed whole like Martin.”

Sally put her hands to her mouth as she gasped. “How horrible.”

“He’s been through worse I’m sure. That man will swing an axe at anything in his way. Although for once that did nothing to stop our foe, or at least the first one we encountered.”

Sally stood in rapt attention before shaking herself awake. “I’m sorry m’lord. I should get your water for your bath.”

“Beatrice is doing that. I thought you were here for my laundry?”

“Oh no m’lord I was just checking up on you. You have been gone for a few weeks with the others.”

Maximus smiled. “Well thank you for the concern. It’s nice to know that someone cares for this old rat.”

“Miss Violet came by a few times.”

“She did?” The surprise was clear in his voice.

“Mm hmm. She seemed worried.”

“About me?”

“Mm hmm. UGH!” Sally had reached the coat. “By the Maker what have you been doing?” she glanced at him. “Oh no. Your shorts too. Take them off!”

“W’what?”

“Your shorts m’lord. What were you doing?”

“Ah.” He looked down. “I should really have my tailor prepare more sets of clothes.”

“These stains have dried in m’lord. I will need to get them soaking right now if we are to save them.”

“Ok. I trust your wisdom Sally.” He started removing his shorts just as Beatrice came into the room with a bucket of steaming water. “Perfect timing I feel.”

“Look at this” Sally pointed to Maximus’ clothes

Beatrice paused. “Whatever has his lordship been doing?”

Maximus smiled at just how casual they were around him. Others of the court would have them beaten for such, but he enjoyed being regarded as just another person, albeit one with a title. “Leading an interesting life.”

“You said Martin was swallowed whole. I hate to think of the state of his armour and how that will be.” said Sally.

“Ah. He had removed it at that point.”

“He had?” Beatrice paused with half a smile on her face.

“Yes. It’s some intimidation tactic or similar. Show the enemy that you don’t need the armour to beat them. He seems quite adept at doffing it, down to the point where it seems like reflex.”

“So he was naked?” Beatrice had a twinkle in her eye.

“No, thank the Maker. Although I’m sure that sight might upset the enemy as well, well not in this case. We were fighting monstrous pumpkins.”

Maximus prattled on with the two servant girls hanging on his every word as he let the tension from the encounter seep away into the bath he was now sat in. They wanted all the details from Hem’s dancing in the Inn to the meeting with an old friend who ran the town to the details of the fight. Including a slight jibe at Yalti’s failure to free Maximus from the viney grasp of a pumpkin guard and Maximus’ subsequent eloquent escape, right down to the horrifying moment of Martin being consumed and then cutting his way out, with Maximus’ help of course.

All thoughts of the stained clothing were forgotten, at least until the tale was over when both of the girls hurriedly disappeared in a blur of curtsies and m’lords.

Maximus grinned. Life hadn’t turned out bad for him, plots to overthrown the crown or not.

(And of course if I’m not using old writing then of course I’m writing about Maximus again. This time including a few details of the session I played him in. Yes we fought a monstrous pumpkin. It was cool. Onto the tags. The short sufferring DM that is @the-bearded-hylian​ the Maximus fan that is @jaimistoryteller​ and the interested friend that is @anntarinsanitymaterialized​ )

[cityveinlights]

“They’ll all float down there.”

Sitting on their porcelain thrones, rodents control us.

When we take action against those in power,

They tell us they’re only draining the swamp.

Really, they have their grammar incorrect.

They’re not the ones in authority;

They aren’t draining the swamp.

We’re flooding the gutters.

Cause sewer rats come running when high water calls.

day 5: rats @hiddendreamer67

[treesnutsandleaveswrites]

Against the Grain

Pairing: Baron Zemo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is an old friend of Zemo’s and meets him (along with Bucky and Sam) at his garage. While getting ready to go to Madripoor, reader helps give Zemo a shave.

Word Count: 867 (I’m rusty lol)

Warnings: slight angst, implied nudity but barely

A/N: Slight SPOILERS ahead of you haven’t watched the series yet :)

pt ii, pt iii

XXXXXXX

You made your way to the garage and leaned against one of the sleek cars meticulously parked. You could barely hide the butterflies in your stomach as you heard footsteps approaching. The fluorescent lights were switched on, which heightened your excitement.

“So our first move is grand theft auto?”

Zemo’s voice followed, “These are mine. Collected by family over the generations.” He stopped at one cars and opened the trunk to reveal guns to the two men with him. You found it amusing how these highly skilled soldiers didn’t even sense you were around. You let out a small hum before stepping into their line of sight.

“The yellow one has always been my favorite though, Helmut.”

The two men with the baron got defensive, but Zemo raised his hand gently.

“It’s alright... I asked her to come.” He walked towards you and kissed your cheek, “Hello there, schatz.”

“Baron.” You whispered gently, caressing his stubbled chin. He turned his head back to the men with him.

“I’m sure you know these two.”

“Yes, the Falcon... and who used to be the Winter Soldier, yes?”

“Sam and James if you don’t mind.” The Falcon, Sam, insisted, “And you are?”

“An old friend, Y/n L/n. Sergeant Barnes wasn’t my only visitor.”

“My family owned some land in Sokovia before it was... uprooted.” You smiled slyly. They continued their talk about super soldiers and the Avengers as you waited. Zemo grabbed some clothes out of the yellow car and sighed.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to freshen up before we see Selby. Liebe?” He turned to you, “Some company?”

“Of course.” You whispered and followed him out of the garage.

You leaned against the doorway as he dried his hair.

“So... why are you helping the Americans?”

“We have a common goal...”

“As did most those who fought in World War 2...”

“Do not worry, schatz. It won’t be like last time.”

You sighed and took a place next to him as he looked in the mirror, “Last time... wouldn’t have happened if I had gotten back in time...”

“Y/n-”

You shushed him and placed a hand on his face, “When I saw it in the sky... from my jet... I couldn’t believe it...”

“It’s alright. It has passed.” He murmured, turning his attention back to the sink where the water had filled it. A sharp shaving razor laid nicely on a leather strip and a small tub of shaving cream resided next to it. A small smile reached your lips.

“May I?”

He glanced at you for a moment before nodding. As you grabbed the shaving cream and brush, he leaned against the counter. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you dabbed the brush in the cream. It then made contact with his skin and you applied the cream gently. You could feel his eyes bore into you while your focus was on his stubble, trying not to miss any spots while covering it with the shaving cream. Once you were satisfied with the layer of cream you brushed on, the container and brush were back on the counter. You reached for the blade, pressing your chest gently against Zemo as your arm made its way behind him. By instinct, his hands found their place on your waist and his breathing was shallow as your bodies made contact.

“Would you like me to stop, Helmut?” You murmured, looking into his eyes.

“Keep going.” He ordered lowly.

You nodded and glanced at the sharp blade, seeing the reflection of his dark eyes. You then placed your free hand on his shoulder and found a comfortable position. He noticed your hesitation as you looked at the covered part of his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s been a bit is all…”

“I trust you.” He murmured, caressing your cheek endearingly.

This small act encouraged you to keep going and the blade made contact with his skin. You were careful and light with your movements, but you knew you had to be quick. Who knew how much time they had to stop those super soldiers? As you shaved him, your breaths were in sync. Zemo’s hands never left your waist during the whole process. You didn’t realize how intimate this felt. There was no denying that you had feelings for Zemo ever since you first met him, but then he married his viscountess wife. You didn’t hate her at all though. The both of them fit each other so well, and their son was the perfect combination of the two. You were glad to have stayed in touch with him after all these years. Zemo was the closest thing you had to home and you hoped Zemo felt the same in some way. After finishing, you washed off the blade in the sink, then drained it. Zemo wiped the rest off with his towel before looking at you in the mirror

“You alright, Y/n?”

You look at his reflection before nodding.

“Of course, I’m going to check if Oeznik is waiting with the jet.”

You made your way out of the bathroom quickly, leaving Zemo in a state of confusion

XXXXXXX

A/N: I haven’t posted on this blog in a while. Also, please forgive any odd spacing, I wrote in Google docs so I can save it and then pasted it.

I AM taking requests pls look at my pinned post hehe

[mossy-covered-bones]

The Night Of the Living Writers 2.2

“An Empty Road on Halloween”

I hopped out of the old farm truck, my black dress swishing against my calves as I readjusted the cloth bundle under my arm.

The time and place where perfect for what I needed.

Fall has always been considered the best season for casting powerful spells, since a witch could draw magic from the dying leaves with ease. Plus, the veil between the land of the living and that if the dead was the thinnest on Halloween, which is why I had waited for the 31st to try and make contact with the spirit I sought.

The old road I was on was blissfully empty, as it would most likely stay. People tended to be repelled by active magic, especially the potent kind I was using tonight.

I took a few steps down the dirt road, my eyesight dipping into the arcane sight as I searched for the optimal spot to begin my ritual.

My eyes landed on a flat rock just off the side of the road, at the edge of the trees. Exactly what I was looking for.

I knelt on the gravel on front of the stone, my dress pooling on the dirt around me. The black dress I had worn to my mother’s funeral. My personal connection to the spirit I was contacting.

I rolled out the cloth bundle, revealing a small, premade witch’s circle that was used to summon the dead as well as a few other supplies for the ritual.

I pulled a wooden bowl and a knife from my tools, setting the bowl on the edge of the cloth as I set the blade against my thumb. Taking a deep breath, i press the tip into the pad of my finger, watching blood swell up around the knife and drip into the bowl. Once it does, I drop the blade and suck the remaining blood off of my thumb.

Shaking off the stinging pain, I start to chant the ritual, setting the bowl inside the magic circle before dropping in components at the proper intervals.

“Ishmanta delochvi.”

Add a lock of my mother’s hair and one of her finger bones.

“Desoto monesque opanti lones.”

Drop in a single white lily.

“Menose dela eopidan.”

A mix of ground herbs is the next item in the bowl.

“Petunis denotes,” I mutter, finishing the ritual by tossing a handful of ground foxglove across the whole array.

I close my eyes, thinking of my mother’s death as I waited for her spirit to arrive.

It had been a month and a half ago, but it had felt like an eternity. She had been hurrying to a visit with head of the coven, her presence needed so urgently that she had deemed it wise to head out it the middle of a storm. She had been driving along this very road—Contrary to popular belief, most witches didn’t ride broomsticks anymore. They took up too much magical energy—when her vehicle hydroplaned. She skidded off of the road, her tire catching on the flat rock I was kneeling close to and causing her vehicle to roll over. She died while nobody knew anything of the accident, before any of her fellow witches had thought to try and contact her again.

So I had taken it upon myself to make sure her spirit would be put to rest, to the best of my ability.

Because three people had already fell victim to the exact same fate on this very road, and the situation absolutely reeked of spiritual interference.

I smiled as the wind started to pick up, wrenching me from my thoughts.

She was here.

A thin, wispy figure started to pull itself together in front of me, it’s features starting to look more like my mother’s as it solidified.

“Amiya... my baby girl.”

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

What's Night of the Living Writer?

The Night of the Living Writers (@thenightofthelivingwriters) is an October writing event put together by two of my lovely friends! The tl;dr of it is that they post 3 spooky-themed prompts a day, and you may fill whichever you’d like! No need to participate in every prompt, every day, no strings attached!

If you’re interested in it, here’s today’s prompts!

[pygmydragon-blog1]

Alone.

(Hi guys!!  Since so many people liked The Fae run Free, I’m doing a prequel to it, set after the night of the Fae, the year before they were finally set free, from Conlaed’s point of view.  Based on prompt 6.1 by @thenightofthelivingwriters.  Thanks for letting me use your prompts!)

     He was there, wasn’t he?  Running wildly through the woods, darting between trees, searching for her.  But after a while, a being began to forget.  In the darkness, the lines between reality and imagination began to blur together.  Nothing mattered anymore, not really.  The every craving circle of repetitiveness kept on spiraling.  The one tantalizing taste of humanity ripped away, just as it began to soak into your bones again.

     But he was there.  He had to be.  After all, she had been real, even if he wasn’t.  If she hadn’t been real, why had he felt the most frightened he had ever felt, thinking of what he might feel if he didn’t feel her?  Her.  Matirit.  Next to him, with him.  It was an endless cycle coming back to his mate.  

     Conlaed growled, daring the darkness to do anything about it.  If there were walls, he would’ve slammed through them.  If there were doors, he would’ve clawed at them.  If there were windows, he would have crashed through them as many times as it took to make him believe, really believe, that things could ever be like they were.

    That was the real prison of this never-ending expanse of darkness.  There was nothing.  No walls, no doors, no windows.  Just dark, as far as the eye could see.  No floor either, of course, something stopped his feet from falling but there was absolutely nothing tangible.

     Matirit was the only thing that mattered.  He was supposed to protect her, make sure that she would never fear again.  He ran a hand, claws beginning to emerge, through his hair.  He tried to keep his breathing steady.

     A failure.  That was what he was.  He had found her, searched centuries for her.  They only had a few days together, before the mage had imprisoned them here.  “Where is here exactly?”  He asked himself aloud.  The words echoed on and on, nothing stopping their resonance but distance and the silence between.

     Something had to change.  Eventually, something had to tip the scales of monotony.  But what?  The thought of that at the time was simply incomprehensible.  Conlaed had much power, magic if you will.  But any power was powerless without something to use it on.  Alone in the darkness, his power was but a slowly dying ember.  Back, in the real, his power was used to keep him running for her.  But that was it.  If he overused it, he too would be torn away into nothingness.  

     His stomach growled angrily, he had eaten some during the running, but not enough to keep him satisfied for a year.  Immortality, complicated thing isn’t it?  Some think it a blessing, until they are granted their wish and find it a curse.  To not die, never have an ending, the period on the sentence, is the greatest curse one could possibly bestow.

     You could go on and on and on, walking in the darkness.  Never eating.  Always sleeping.  Always dreaming, never feeling.  Never living.

     Conlaed laid down on the nothing, tears streaming down icy cheeks.  Another year, another three hundred and sixty-five days would pass until he got one more chance at reality.  One more chance for Matirit.

[anntar-radix]

A Tarmac Talk

“Deven?”

“Yea?”

“Why are you laying here?”

“Cause I can.”

Alex sighed. “In the middle of a road.”

“Yup.”

“Are you trying to get run over?”

“Not really trying much of anything at the mo’.”

Alex groaned. “Are you going to make me move you out of the middle of the road?”

“Alex. It’s Halloween. Do you really think that any cars around here are going to be using this street?”

Alex stared in disbelief at the man on the asphalt.

“Care to join?”

Alex sighed again and started to lay down next to Deven. “You realize you are actually, certifiably nuts, right?”

“It makes life interesting.”

“Says the one who, after the first day of class, started plotting a coup d'état to overthrow the college consortium.” “Can you blame me? The classes around here are enough to make anyone go nuts!”

“They are not.”

“Yes, Alex, they are.”

“No they are not.”

“Assigning three essays due the next day is something that no-one should go through. Hell, Brian had four!”

“I told you not to take that course. You have heard the horror stories.” Alex paused. “And they were not due the next day, they were due in three weeks.

“Tomato, potato.”

“Wait, weren’t we going to go down to Carolyn’s for the gaming marathon?”

“But the stars are too good tonight to move.”

Alex didn’t disagree.

(Hallo frands. This is day 2 of 31... kinda... Anyways, the prompt I used this time was An Empty Road on Halloween Night.  I hope y’all are enjoying this thing. And who knows. Maybe I’ll get day 1′s thing up tonight too... Hopefully. Thank you to @thenightofthelivingwriters for doing the prompts. And see y’all later)

[thenightofthelivingwriters]

DAY FOUR - The Night of the Living Writers

TAGLIST: @fancydiplomateggneck @introspective-outreach @maydee21 @purpleshadows1989 @busychasingfaeries @anntarinsanitymaterialized, @freshink, @spacebrick3, @aj-the-satyr, @how-the-fuck-do-you-write, @oradall, @quaking–aspens, @ancientarchivist, @emdilou, @notquitenovelist, @purpleshadows1989, @writing-every-other-star, @arynneva, @jennalasby, @immawritethat, @travel-the-world13, @simplescenarios, @navajolovesdestiel, @ccwritesstuff, @weirdmrdoctor, @elywinters, @tsumushi, @starrulet, @all-bridges-will-burn, @pe-ersona, @aurumni-writes, @storytimetraveler, @ writing-every-other-star

[elycwinters]

Death is...

Death is… A sweet, eternal sleep, Freedom of any mortal bounds Wings for you to ride the wind, The night that takes you to the stars.

Death is… Peace and calm serenity, It’s release of pain and grief It’s endless love and reunions With those who have left before.

Death is… home.

- Ely C. Winters

[27.1 ‘Death’ from @thenightofthelivingwriters]

[pe-ersona]

Dark Past

Taglist: @thenightofthelivingwriters @sunshineomeara @ventilaccion @awkwardplant

Dark Figure / Dark Forest / Dark Room

“You’re missing the point. You can’t be here.”

“I didn’t know where to go. You’re the first person I thought-”

“They know that. They will be here any second now.”

“I don’t know what to do. I didn’t do anything.”

“I know that. I wasn’t there, but I know you didn’t do it. I know you too well. And I know you will come to me but I thought you would be smarter.”

“Why can’t you help me? I came here so you could help me--out of this.”

“I can’t help you this time. I can’t hide you in this house. They will find you.” and I can’t let that happen.

“What should I do then?”

“Run away.”

“What? I can’t just--where do I go--”

“Run away!”