#nanorimo

[noxthesleepymoodyoverthinker]

An advisor is extremely unhappy with their powerful monarch for letting two people who attacked them go. The advisor believes those people should be executed, made examples of to ward off future attacks and assassination attempts. The monarch disagrees.

______________________________________________________________

This dialogue prompt has been in my folders for a while now:

"They were not enemies. They were coerced and hired by my enemies."

"You are a Royal! Being soft does not befit you!"

"...Tell me, does elegance befit a Royal?"

"Of course!"

"And do I lack elegance?"

"Never! I only - "

"Then trust my judgement. Kindness is not inelegant."

______________________________________________________________

The Monarch would have liked to avoid this conversation. But their Advisor was practically frothing at the mouth.

"They were not enemies. They were coerced and hired by my enemies," they said softly, probably hoping that by remaining calm their Advisor would calm down too.

"You are a Royal, Your Majesty! Being soft does not befit you! The people and your enemies will see you as weak!" The Advisor was fit to be tied! How could their Monarch be so lenient? "Even killing them on the spot with Your Majesty's own power would have been better than letting them go!"

They had already heard whispers in the palace questioning whether the Monarch was so weak and naive. And while the Advisor might have loved to throw those ungrateful gossipers in the dungeon for a few days, knowing their Monarch would not approve of it meant that all they could do was verbally flay those ingrates.

Their Monarch sighed, as though the Advisor was the one being unreasonable. (The nerve!)

"And how will that benefit me?" The Monarch asked quietly.

"It would send a message! It would warn off would-be assassins. It would show you as strong in front of your people, to your enemies."

"...I see. And, doing this, it would ensure no future assassins would try again?"

"Well - At least for a time, yes!

"How much time?"

"That...I can't say for sure...but - "

"And if I do this," the Monarch interrupted, tone still quiet and level, "if I had executed them, with my own power perhaps, killing them for all to see...Or perhaps if I had had them imprisoned, to be publicly executed at a later date. Or maybe even sentenced to be maimed, two or more of their limbs cut off before throwing them out to probably die a slow death hours or days later...Or perhaps tying them up and feeding them to hungry hounds for all to watch...Or maybe just flogging them till they are completely scarred or gone insane with the pain."

The Advisor knew they were growing paler as their Monarch spoke. The first two options had had the Advisor nodding, but the Monarch had gone on, speaking of more and more possible punishments...And while all of them were within the powers of the Monarch of the land, well within the laws...they...

The Monarch was just watching the Advisor now, waiting for a response. And all right, the Advisor understood what they were getting at, but still.

"...It doesn't have to be...like that," they acquiesced. "If you had killed them in retaliation...or had sentenced them to execution, it would have been done in a...merciful way."

"...You're saying I should have killed them to be merciful."

The Advisor winced, but tried to rally. "It's just...It would have cemented your power, Your Majesty. Would have showcased you were not to be trifled with, not to be crossed."

"So you're saying it would be a show of strength?" they asked, blandly.

"Well...yes."

"And this show of strength, it would ensure I would never have to prove such a thing again? For as long as I rule?"

"I mean...nothing is forever!"

"...So, I should take their lives - a permanent decision for the ones I choose to kill - for the temporary benefit of showcasing my strength? For the unreliable possibility that it might keep future assassins quiet?"

The Advisor floundered. They knew what their Monarch was getting at but...how else were they going to quiet the gossip-mongers? How else would they maintain respect? How else would their Monarch seem as intimidating as a Royal of their country should?

Their Monarch sighed when the Advisor didn't speak. And a tenseness, an edge, that the Advisor hadn't noticed at all till now, left their Monarch's stance and features.

Oh...How could they have thought their Monarch was perfectly calm all this time?

The Advisor averted their gaze, running out of solid-sounding arguments. For now. "Still...Your Majesty, why must you care for those who would seek to harm you?"

Another sigh. The Advisor did not like these sighs at all.

"Advisor...I have already told you: They were coerced and hired."

"Even so! I assure you they would not have regretted anything if they had succeeded. You are the Monarch of their land, yet they care only for themselves!"

Yet another sigh, and the Advisor's hands curled into fists.

"That is hardly fair," countered the Monarch gently, "People will want to safeguard their own lives and those of their own. It is natural. Patriotism and loyalty to the Crown is all well and good, in theory. But it is not realistic. And it is not the first instinct..."

Well. The Advisor knew that they would definitely put the Monarch first.

But...the Monarch also understood where the Advisor was coming from, even if they did not agree with them.

"...Tell me, does elegance befit a Royal?"

The Advisor blinked, turning back to the Monarch. "Of course!" he replied, wondering at the tangent. "It is one of the cornerstones of being a Royal!"

"And honor?"

"Undoubtedly!"

"And do I lack a Royal's elegance?"

The Advisor reeled back, aghast. "Never! I only..."

"Then trust my judgment. Being kind is not inelegant. Having empathy is not dishonorable." The Monarch smiled. "And being soft is not a weakness."

[notthewriteryourelookingfor]

At the start of November, I wrote about 5,000 words in 2 days. (All our flag means death fan fiction by the way)

So I joked with myself that it would be funny if I could do the 50,000 words of Nanorimo (1,666 a day)

By the time I hit half way, I was do behind so I decided that I'd aim to write every day.

I failed that too, so i then aimed for 25,000 words, half the nanorimo goal, cuz its the first year I'm actually trying it.

Then the spirit of writing abandoned me.

Im at 23,000 words and I have 3 days to knock out the last 2,000 (can't write Monday im working 7 hours and I get way too tired to write on days that I work - that's how I failed writing every day)

Pray for me.

[wynkenblynken]

I was going through my Google Docs and I came across a story I had done for Nanorimo like two or three years ago. It’s a very rough draft but I think I will continue it on my own time. Maybe I might actually complete it for Nanorimo this year.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Through the Woods

Genre: Mystery

Summary: 

Abigail Gonzalez has just graduated high school and is super excited to begin her life... working at a diner? She has big dreams of becoming a famous author and newspaper reporter but her small town is not the most exciting place to practice. Or live. Stuck in a crappy summer job, Abigail is bored out of her mind. Until one day, she stumbles across a journal hidden in the shelves at the library that allude to a secret that happened 35 years ago. But some of the pages are missing. Desperate for more clues, she starts to dig deeper and only uncovers more questions. With her cousin, Rafael, and her best friend, Cassius, reluctantly in tow; this summer just got a lot more interesting.

                             ----------------------------------------------------------

Prologue

The forest is quiet at night.

Peaceful.

Maybe that’s why this lone figure wanders its moonlit paths.

Their footsteps are soft, small puffs of frosty night air float behind them. The starry sky peeking through branches of old trees, like eyes peeking through fingers. They wink at the figure and it sighs in content. Making their way through they comes across the remnants of an old wooden ladder, looking up into the branches the bottom of a tree house is seen. Slats and boards missing from its’ sides and roof. The figure touches the ladder tentatively, careful of splinters.

Sitting on the rock at the base of the tree the figure takes out a worn journal, beginning to pen a new entry when a great crashing sounded in front of them, the beams of their flashlights bobbing with every motion between the trees. Quickly pocketing the journal, they look up just as the first figure steps through the trees.

They shine their light in the figure’s face, forcing him to shield his eyes from the light.

“Look at what we have here, boys.”

The other figures shuffle their feet and some laugh nervously. The darkness of the woods makes them feel on edge and the figure- now revealed to be a boy of about twelve on the cusp of thirteen- can’t help but smirk at their skittishness.

The speaker steps forward menacingly and shines the flashlight in more into the boy’s eyes.

“Find something funny?”

The boy remains silent staring defiantly past the shoulder of the shadow figure. Enraged the other starts to walk closer before one of the other figures grabs his shoulder. This figure steps into the light and the boy draws back silently, instinctively. This boy- no, man- bends down slowly in front of the boy, his face a facsimile of friendly but it was wrong.

He was wrong.

He was gnashing smiles and sharp edges that bruise your papery skin, eyes that glittered like cold suns and his visage is horrible and beautiful all at the same time. All the while the boy’s mind screams Danger Danger Danger! He shifts away.

“Easy there,” the man holds out his hand in front of him, placating. “We just wanted to have a little talk with you.”

The boy’s gaze is drawn to the man’s cold pale eyes. He remains silent, he knows if he is to make it out he needs to stay silent. He doesn’t see part of the group had shifted closer. He doesn’t see that the journal never made it to his pocket but he does see the cold triumph when the journal is handed over.

“A journal?” The man says, his voice heavy with feigned wonder and he touches the cover gently with his long fingers. The boy straightens and eyes the journal.

“Give it back.”

His voice is quiet but firm. The man looks at him surprised before his expression morphs into one of ugly amusement.

“No...I don’t think I will. Well,” he shrugs, “I think I’ll give it back to you if you do something for me first…,” he grins and it stretches his face grotesquely, corners of his mouth cutting into his cheeks and the more he smiled, the more the boy wonder if this was even a man. The boy took a deep breath. The man watches him with his ever present smile and narrows his eyes slightly.

“Unless of course you can’t, then I completely understand.”

He wouldn’t

The boy eyes the journal in the man’s hand, he eyes the shadowy figures surrounding him and inclines his head slowly. The man grins again and hands him the journal.

And the boy hears his mother’s voice in his head.

You shouldn’t make agreements with a god

The man had a plan.

One that would make them all immortals but there was a price of course.

There was always a price.

“It’s just a small matter of your loyalty,” the man grinned, his eyes peering out of a skeletal face as it watched the boys crowded around him. He said it as if loyalty was something you could give freely. Something for him to borrow and return tattered and torn.

“In return you shall have glory.”

It was easy to give loyalty when you had no one else. It was easy to give when everyone around you failed you in some way and the only person there was a man- beast- that whispered in your ears in the dark of night.

It’s amazing how one man could spur such fervent admiration.

He was leading his disciples to the slaughter and they gleefully went to their destruction.

I only need your loyalty. Nothing more, nothing less

The boy, he wasn’t blinded by the spirited words spoken by the man. A beast is a beast and the boy knew that eventually all beasts are slayed.

The boy crashes through the woods, leaves stuck to their hair and clothes. He hunches over breathing hard, his back bowing mightily with every lungful of the cold night air. His breathing begins to slow gradually but his body begins to rock with great sobs that tear through him. The forest silently watches him as he stifles his sobs, body shuddering with each distressed breath.

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t-

Gods play different games with mortals

Behind them in the distance, great whoops and unearthly hollers echo. They are exuberant and he is dying.

You’ll lose your soul eventually

Leaning heavily against a tree he covers his face with his scratched and bleeding hands. Roughly wiping them down his face, he rub harshly at his nose with the dirty sleeve of his well worn coat. He laughs brokenly, his voice wet, it catches in his throat as he stumbles away from the tree. He feels disconnected from his body, like he’s floating endlessly and he wonders if maybe being with no soul is a good thing. Looking around, he recognizes that he has made it back to the tree house.

He sits heavily on the roots and reaches into his pocket pulling out his journal and writes the last entry. The voices are getting closer and he quickly tears the last 4 pages out tucking them into the inside pocket of his coat.

He stares up into the cold winter sky, the stars blink back at him as he slowly exhales. He always thought the sky the most beautiful during winter.

His eyes kiss the sky, his next breathe carries his regrets, wishes, his tears the what ifs and maybes. He had considered them before but he never thought it would be so soon.

He was sixteen and he was gone.

They find him slumped against the tree, clutching the bright bloom of crimson on his shirt through scratched and bloody fingers. The man regards him, his face blank, the others shifting around him nervously like a pack of dogs. Looking behind him, he gestures with his head at the body.

“Get rid of it.”

Two of the boys step forward and grasp the body by the arms and legs and shuffle off into the woods with him. The man watches their retreating forms as they disappear into the shadows.

The boys half carry and drag the figure to the edge of a lake, they strip off his jacket and grab the journal bundling  them together. Picking him back up they count to three and toss his body into the frigid lake.

They’ll figure out what they what to do with the jacket and journal later.

One month later

A donation is made to the church, a well worn jacket with torn sleeves and stains that looked like dried mud.

The priest knows the person that jacket belongs to. He debates on whether the return of it would cause more pain but the thought of never knowing… He resolves to return the coat in the morning, anonymously of course.

The headline in the newspaper the next day screamed that the new library in city hall was broken into last night.

Nothing was stolen, though why would someone break into a library? The townspeople were left with only their suspicions and rumors. They eyed the house of the boy as they passed, mouths hidden behind hands.

A mother stands in the police office clutching a well worn jacket in her hands and she pleads with them to reopen her son’s case. She knows he did not run away. But the police hadn’t found any trace of him, nor had they found anyone who had seen him. It has been weeks, they said, he could be anywhere by now. The mother leaves the office, her fists clenched tightly at her sides as she tries to steam the tears that threaten to spill. She looks up into the cold sky, her eyes closed and she finally lets the tears fall. People walk around her, their eyes fixed in front of them but still she feels their stares. Opening her eyes, she stares blearily at the sky and finds resolve.

Even if she has to search forever.

She’ll find her son.

But resolve eventually gives way to reality and years passed in a moment.

He’s out there I know it

A mantra she whispered into the night.

A prayer that passed through her lips and coated her tongue until her very being was that one thought.

He’s dead, the night hissed back, it’s voice cold, filled with inky darkness.

He’s dead and you know it to be true.

Still she hoped and prayed and scraped her palms on stone floors crawling through the mire of facts and opinions. And justice and oppression until finally she let out a shaky breath on her bed one morning. A breath that was filled with hopes and desires. Her eyes watered at the sight of the sun peeking through her window and she raised a withered hand towards it.

Her son’s name passed over her lips reverently and then she was gone.

[whump-tr0pes]

NaNoRiMo

Hey y'all, I've been debating whether I want to participate in NaNoRiMo this year. I've never done it before but I'm so inspired by whumptober that I kinda want to.

I haven't written this much...ever. And I haven't written seriously for over 5 years.

So I think I'm just gonna write without pressuring myself about that goal and if I make it, hurray. I've already got something like 8000 words written in continuation of both my David & Nia story, and the delirium/unconscious one-shots. Oh, do I have plans. I've got some favorite tropes lined up too. I'll be posting those after whumptober is over.

I guess all I'm trying to say is if you like my stuff, there's more where that came from 😋

[cwritesfiction]

Me: [pulling out clumps of hair, frantically typing words] Uhhhh...this doesn't really make sense...but whatever, here we go!

Me to Me: Damn son, this plot is thinner than your hair.

[writingrosalie]

“Her life changed when she learned the monsters were protecting her.”

I was five years old when Leona Moved in. She just showed up in my room one day all grayish green hair and beady little eyes. She stank like stale old socks I could smell from my older brothers room. My parents always blamed it on me, though.

Leona’s hair was big and fluffy, like a dog, and hung to her chin in matted locks. Her skin was greenish brown, like swamp water. Her eyes were tiny, but her mouth took up half of her face when she smiled, except her smile looked less like a smile and more like someone was pulling her jaw apart. There were only two holes in her face for a nose, like a skull.

I likes it better when she hid under the bed because I didn’t have to see her. Also, she liked to go into my closet and take my favorite clothes. She always put them back with holes in them. I would yell at her to get out but my parents always tole me it was okay- that she wasn’t real. They didn’t understand, though, and always blamed me for losing things and destroying my clothes.

Daniel, my older brother teased me a lot. He’s two years older than I am and six years younger than our sister. Her daddy took her away just before my fifth birthday because she got really hurt. Mommy cried a lot, but Angela never came home. That’s when Daniel started being especially mean to me- and when Leona showed up.

After a few months of her being there I was yelling at her one night for just staring at me and Leona finally yelled back. “If someone is bothering you you have to stop them!” It was the first time I’d ever heard her voice. It felt like slime in my ears. Mom woke up and slammed my door open and SHE yelled at me TOO. “Shut your damn mouth.” Then she slapped me. “I have enough to worry about without you waking me up at night for some pretend monster! Just grow up already!”

I flung myself onto my bed crying. It felt like hours passed, but it was probably only minutes until I calmed myself down. My mom had turned the lights out before she closed my door, but I could see Leona’s small dark eyes glowing slightly and feel the pressure of her perched at the end of my bed. Slowly, she crawled over me- a foot and a hand on each side of my body. He body hovered over mine menacingly and coolness radiated off of her like standing in front of an open refrigerator. A piece of her hair fell and tickled the tip of my nose. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I can assure you,” She purred, “I am not a PRETEND monster.” Her breath smelled like bad eggs and she kissed my forehead, sending a shiver down my spine. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t want to wake up my mom again...

*

“You’re a nasty little animal!” Daniel sang. “Nasty animals belong in cages.”

We hadn’t has a dog in nearly two years, but my parents kept promising we’d get another. We didn’t, but the empty cage sat in the back corner of the garage. Well, it wasn’t empty that day. My brother had taken my favorite T-shirt (one that wasn’t all ripped up yet) out of my closet and thrown it in the back of the cage. When I crawled in he locked the door behind me.

“Daniel, let me out!” I cried, “I’m going to tell mommy!”

He stuck out his tongue. “Mommy loves me more. She wont believe you.”

I was stuck in that cage until after dark. My dad found me when he came out, turned the car on and the headlights washed over me. I’d fallen asleep in the cage, cold and hungry.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” He unlocked me, carried me back to the house and put me down on the living room sofa. “Daniel locked me in there” I whined. I could see Leona watching from the shadows of the hallway.

After everything settled down our mom and dad sat both of us down in the living room together. “Minnie, you said Daniel did this?”

“Yeah, he called me an animal.”

My parents exchanged glances. They explained that they thought I was playing with the neighbor kids and apologized that it took so long to find me.

“You’re a liar.” Danial mumbled. 

“Shush, Daniel.” Our father said. “Why didn’t you call for us, Min?” Behind them I saw Leona. She made a “zip your lips” motion with her hands and smiled pink, sharp teeth.I shrugged and stared at my hands. They sent the two of us to bed.

“And Minnie,” Mom reminded me, “please try not to wake us up tonight.”

Leona followed me to my bedroom and closed the door behind us. I could hear my parents talking- fighting, more like- in their bedroom next to mine. “The same thing happened with Angela, Cheryl. How many times does he need to do something like this before we do something?”

“Angela cut HERSELF, John. She did it so she would have a reason to go live with her dad!”

“And what about the nightmares? Angela had them and Minnie started getting them as soon as she moved out.”

“An imaginary monster to cover up the loss of her sister. This isn’t an episode of Dr. Phil, John!” I stopped listening.

Daniel opened my door and smiles at me, but not in a friendly way. Leona slinked into my closet. “Hey sissy.” He came in and closed the door behind him. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You lied to mommy and daddy and called ME the liar.” I complained. “That’s not fair.”

“I know, I just didn’t want to get in trouble.” He took a steak knife out from under his shirt. “Which is why you’re going to tell them tomorrow that you made it up, right?” He almost laughed but it came out as a choke. “I don’t want you to have to go away like Angie did.”

That’s when it happened. Whispers echoes from every corner of the room, “Like Angie did... did... Angie...” I saw Leona step out of the closet, but Daniel didn’t, he just looked around the room.

“How are you doing that, Freak?”

Leona’s body grew  like a shadow against the wall until I could feel the cold of her behind me. Daniel’s eyes widened. When I turned around I could see her eyes. She opened her mouth like she was going to scream but she made a mouth-wash-gargle noise. Daniel’s hand held his throat and he made a similar noise. “You took my Angie from me!” Leona hissed, “You will not take my Minnie!”

She screamed, so did Daniel and I, then she pushed him into me. I could feel the knife graze my cheek when the lights flashed on. Mom grabbed Daniel off of me and dad picked me up. “This is the last straw!”

*

It has been 4 years since then. Daniel and Leona don’t live with us anymore, but mom and dad go to visit him at the hospital once a wee and  Angela babysits me when they go. Today we were playing monopoly when my mom came home smiling. It was the first time I’d seen her smile in a long time. Daniel followed her into the house.

Angela grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry, Leona will take care of you.”

[luntica]

In my nanorimo story I keep dropping my character on their face lol

[lucys-right-boob]

I played myself.

Checked an older fic I haven't touched in a while and got really into it after a few pages and then something big happens and it ends on a fucking CLIFF HANGER and I'm so mad because I can't remember what the fucking plot was and I'm the only one who can finish writing the fucking thing but I CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.

I hate myself.