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!
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
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.
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?
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.
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.
