#writbler

[nepttunnee]

lolz…get characterified bitch

idk i felt like it

[gomiles4millie]

If you can’t be patient for a request then why are you requesting

[alastorssimpforever]

A Sequel What If to ADON little snippet

Words: 1K

Synopsis: Takes place directly after the last scene when Maya leaves the hotel

Crisp autumn air hits her sweltering face. She can breathe…finally, after what feels like a million years inside those walls. Goodbye mothballs and musty wallpaper, she is out, she is free. Her footsteps clumsily clatter down the stairs and brittle yellow leaves swirl at her feet. For a world that she has long missed, it is bleak. Grey thin clouds layer the spotless dark clouds. Her father has said once a long time ago they could see the stars before the light pollution.

She has never seen them.

“MAYA!” his voice shatters her serenity. Whipping her head, she sees him barreling through the back door. Goddamn it. The only word that summons. Her mind short circuits at the sight of the bat. He is coming and he isn’t going to stop. All of sudden, she feels dizzy, sick to her stomach. Her hand flies off the railing, taking the steps two at a time. Her nerves scream with every pounding step.

Why do I stop to take a breath? Why? Why? WHY? “Maya! Where are you going?” The delusion is astounding. Her mind fumbles with the bizarre words. Hitting the ground, she doesn’t stop. Skidding past the dumpster, the sting of moldy meat hits her nose. Her stomach lurches. She swallows it down.

“AWAY FROM YOU!” Maya spits out, between heavy gasps. She can’t breathe. How long can she run? His footsteps thunder behind her. Her heart is caught in her throat, panic clawing its way out of her mouth. She has never screamed in her life, not even when he batted her out of consciousness. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

The bastard thrives on it. Her fear. Her terror. She won’t let him have it.

Her feet crunch on the gravel. In the distance she can see the parking lot. No friends in sight. Did he get them? The thought makes her heart hammer even more. It hurts. It hurts so much. It is battering against her rib cage, threatening to split open the cartilage. No, no, no.

The parking lot forks in two directions. The beach and the forest. Blue and green. Maya leaps over a couple of tousled garbage bags. Vulnerability. Maya hates that word. It is a word that she is so acquainted with, one she knows too well. Where can she hide? Hide? She doesn’t dare look back.

“Mayaaaaa…” he taunts.

She hates that he knows her name.

It is such a violation.

He turns her name into a nightmare.

Something that is hers.

Twisting it into a curse and mutilating it until a single call of her name makes her shiver.

His maniac laughter echoes and the shadow of his bat catches on the brick wall.

Forest. She makes her decision. Maya reaches the parking lot, diving into the greenery. The pavement is hot on her feet. The grass soft on her swift boots. He is still hot on her trail. Don’t look back. Crashing through the forest, she can hear him. “Maya! Going into the big scary forest are you? Come on, we’re having fun!” He cackles.

Her lungs are screaming for air. Anything at all. Gulping down oxygen slows her down. She settles with desperate quick gasps as she tumbles through the brush. Her hands push through the thickets, making a path. There is no time to cover tracks. She has to go. GET AWAY.

Maya bites her tongue, iron on her tongue. She doesn’t dare answer him.

Get away, get away.

Her feet, her legs, are burning away, searing away skin. It is all too much for one person. Her lungs claw for air. She is out of shape. A useless lump of flesh held together by instinct. Slipping on wet leaves, she hops over a root and dives under a fallen log.

Moss and rot press in at all sides, dampness underneath her bloodied hands and she sits, perfectly still. Creepy crawlies linger, but nothing can compare to the thing outside. And suddenly, the forest becomes quieter. Deadlier. She wants to breathe, to gulp down air so desperately, a fish out of water. Maya dares to suck down a breath. Everything is far too loud.

Crunch.

He is here.

From the underbrush, she can see a silhouette. Nearby. Can he hear me? Her limbs are frozen in fear. She presses her mouth into her sleeve, hoping whatever breaths she has would be muffled. She is being too loud. Too loud. She is dead. Or worse.

The silhouette moves silently. Watching for movement. Her foot shifts. The silhouette’s pale face snaps up. Shit. Fuck. She wants to scream. Sometimes she wishes she was dead. Cold as a corpse. Perfect at hiding. It is an absurd thought.

“Mayaaaa…” the childish sing song in his voice makes her twinge. He pauses. Listening. For her. It carries that brutal weapon. The bat. Still. She knows its harsh blow and it longs to collide with her.

She holds her breath. Praying to things she never believed.

Then a chuckle. “Oh Maya, don’t you know I detest hide and seek?” The silhouette’s loafers inch closer, toeing the murky pond water. She breathes into her sleeve, biting into it, suppressing a scream. Too much. Too much. Go away. She squeezes her eyes tight.

A crunch. She peeks. He twists on his heel. And she has to muffle a sigh of relief. “I'll find you, Maya. And you’ll regret it.” A promise which makes her stomach twist. Tears tug at her eyes but she doesn't let them fall. She will cry later. When it is right. When it is safe.

———————————————————————

He is gone. She has no idea if it has been 5 minutes or five days but he vanishes. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Days? Her mind is a haze. After an eternity of listening, a thing she has grown used to, he is out of sight. Not here. She is alive.

Crawling out of her safety, she rests a thankful hand on the bark. A silent thanks to its safety and comfort. Her hands are still shaky and her knees unstable. Crack. One in her back. She hasn’t moved in hours. At least.

And now she can finally see the world around her. It is green, beautiful and serene. But she isn’t safe yet. He might still be prowling around the woods. Waiting. Her footfalls plop against the pond water, splashing over her dirty sneakers. She has grown used to grime. It has been the norm for the nightmare that is her life. Her hair is dry, shirt soaked with sweat and jeans torn. The bath will be heavenly if…no, when she gets home.

[peoplecallitpoetry]

Poor empty husk

Some people seem to think art will disappear now That we’re obsolete now Now that you can get a machine to do your feeling for you Poor empty husks

Feeling like mighty emperors Wearing the gowns of finest cloth So fine you can’t even feel it between your fingers So fine they can’t even be seen Poor empty husks

They think they can replace years of dedication With a few descriptions and a bit of empty patience Imitate fire with a picture of a flame Trade feelings with wire Replace the senseless with logic Psh Poor empty husks

Heh Hurt us, I dare you! Make us quit! Take everything you can! Edit it to your heart’s content Poor empty husks But you know. You know as well as I do You can try And try And try again Soullessly trying to be us But you know it’s impossible Poor empty husks

Isn’t that what drives you mad You’re faster, smarter, bolder and newer And yet You can’t get rid of us! Poor empty husks

[ceruleanblueshells]

There is something wrong in the way my heart holds my brother. In the way it doesn't hold him at all.

There is something wrong in the way the blood falls from the stone, like the blood that fell from the womb. In the way God asks, where is he? In the way I answer, I don't know. But really, I don't care.

There is something wrong in the way I let him go. In the way I'm not his keeper. I was never meant to keep him at all.

[the-stray-storyteller]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Not a Sunday and I am late but thankyou @keeping-writing-frosty

WIP: Sacrifice

Some lies were fine embroidery, delicate as phulkari on muslin—pretty, intricate, impossible to unravel without ruining the whole cloth. Others were patchwork, slapped together in desperate haste, meant to hold for a moment before fraying at the seams. But the best lies—the ones that lasted, the ones that trapped—were the ones stitched with blood. The ones that cut deep, deeper than skin, threaded through bone and sinew, until they became a part of the body itself. Until pulling at them meant tearing flesh, unspooling muscle, ripping a person apart from the inside out. Ranbir had spent years with a needle in his hand, fingers rough with calluses, weaving truth and falsehood into something seamless, something beautiful. You had to be delicate with both thread and lie to make sure they would never snap.

Tagging: @hellfyri @franwriteseverywhere @thetruearchmagos and its like almost 2 am and I cant think of anyone else so open tag lessgoo

[x-hellworld-x]

Ask box is open: What do you think would be the most fitting and horrifying punishment for greedy CEOs in Hell? Having trouble thinking of the Greed Ring beyond an infinite hoard of treasure that buries you alive, ruled by Mammon (a massive scary dragon)

Can you think of any monsters that would make interesting/fitting tormentors for evil CEOs?

[isaacryals]

Author Introduction

My short fiction and poetry have been featured in Erato, Z Publishing's Colorado's Emerging Writers and America's Emerging Poets, and Colorado School of Mines' High Grade (under previous name "Athena" now Isaac).

Author of the award-winning, dystopian fiction series, Honor Bound. Books 1-5 are available for purchase here in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle format.

BOOK 6 - 2025 Release! Stay tuned

Stay tuned for behind-the-scenes posts and introductions to some of my favorite characters in the series, including some new faces in Book 6.

Lux in Tenebris - January 7th 2025 Release here Angels, demons, whump, torture-and-rescue!

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