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@wordlesswriter

Prompt 66.

“You belong with me.”
I scoffed, and spun back around to face Ben’s ruffled hair and sweetly desperate face.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I growled, ignoring the soft feeling that grew in my stomach at the words. “I don’t belong with anyone. It’s always just me, and I like it that way. The only one I can trust is me. So give it up, ok? Because whatever you’re staying with me for just isn't something you’re going to get.”
Ben flinched at the sharp tone of my voice, hurt blooming in his eyes. And for a quick moment I thought I was finally safe again, with no one to hurt me. But then rare determination made an appearance in his expression and the moment ended.
“I’m staying,” he said simply.
I stared, “you’re what?”
“Staying. I’m not gonna give up, Thalia. Ok, you need someone. You can’t stay alone forever.”
“Yes. I. Can. And if you’re not packed and gone by tomorrow, I’ll kill you.” Danger flashed in my sharp brown eyes, and I stalked out of the room, leaving Ben standing dumbstruck behind me.

The next morning felt slightly lonelier than the past ones.
Maybe it was the absence of Ben's sunny mood in the air, or just the feeling of being alone once again.
I quickly dressed, wanting to get a move on and pack up my stuff from the rented room to leave before Ben regretted his decision and came back.
I headed downstairs to the plainly mold-filled lobby, where the usual stale and old food was set on a spare table in the middle of the spacious room. I adjusted the heavy backpack swung over a shoulder, and gladly checked out.
And that's when I saw him. Ben. Standing around the corner, his back to the doors of the awful hotel.
I stalked towards him, grabbing the collar of his red shirt and throwing him a broom closet, not that the hotel would ever use any sort of cleaning tool. Slamming and locking the door behind me, I threw my backpack aside and pushed him against a bare wall, growling in his surprised face.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” I whispered fiercely with an arm on his throat, threatening to add enough pressure to choke him.
“Well, we need to get going,don’t we?” His face was innocently oblivious.
“Didn’t I threaten to kill you or something?” I snarled, and, to my surprise, he grinned.
“But you didn’t mean it! I know you wouldn’t do anything like that to me! You’re too good for that.” I blinked at the sureness and earnestness in his words.
How could someone as kind as him think of me so admirably? I grew up in a household of criminals and abusers, and he grew up the right way, supported and loved. And for some reason, his sweet words made me angry.
“You wanna bet?” I growled, pressing my arm harder on his throat. He choked.
I threw him on the ground in the closet, ignoring the twisted feeling tangling in my stomach.
He fell like a corpse, limp and splayed on the ground. Then he scrambled back as I walked calmly and savagely towards him. Kneeling and pressing a knee on his throat, I flipped open a pocket knife and pointed it directly at his heart.
He squirmed helplessly, for the first time looking at me with fear. I adjusted the knife in hand, trying to ignore that betrayal in his expression. But… I hesitated. And stood. And then just… didn’t know what to do except grab my backpack and leave the closet, then the hotel.
I was so lost in my thoughts, in my guilt, that I couldn’t stop the bullet from entering my stomach.”

Sorry if it’s bad…

@Serpentess health_and_safety language

Greetings all. Figured I’d try this out. Had some inspiration with an older prompt. Fair warning, this one’s a bit dark and brutal. And Lucitius is one of my own characters, think 7’ tall reptilian humanoid with an elven head and horns. He has blue scales, wears a blue silk robe, and carries a staff (that’s the basics of him).
———
49: Any volunteers?
———

Lucitius wandered into a small village, following a particular caravan he had been intrigued by several days ago. The caravan was full of performers, calling themselves the ‘Theatrical Nomads’. Lucitius had never seen a caravan of actors before.

He rounded the bulk of the village, preferring to keep his noticeably inhuman appearance from causing issues. As he approached the middle of the village, he discovered the caravan, the several wagons settled in a circle behind a small stage.

A sly grin crept onto Lucitius’ face as he closed on the wagons. However, it quickly faded as he noticed movement in one of the wagons, followed by a short cry. Was that a child?

Lucitius slunk up to the back of the wagon, peeking through the cloth curtain. It was indeed a child, a boy who had dropped some clothes and had been whipped for it by the sneering woman behind him. Lucitius tried hard to stifle the low growl starting to rumble in his throat.

Turning away from the wagon, Lucitius gazed at the stage. A child appeared from the side and froze at the sight of Lucitius. She wore a long dress, the sleeves rolled up to avoid getting wet from the bucket of water in her hands. A small bruise on her wrist stood out from the rest of her tan skin.

“Stay quiet, young one. Who hurt you?”Lucitius whispered, inwardly praying the girl wouldn’t simply scream and run.

She blinked, then set the bucket down and pointed at the stage. Lucitius glared in that direction. The girl quickly left, though Lucitius saw a tiny, hopeful smile on her face as she passed.

Lucitius stepped up to the back of the stage, noting the curtain. He heard some instruments playing, then a voice call out ‘Any volunteers?’ An evil grin curved his lips.

Pulling aside the curtains, Lucitius stepped onto the stage to see three actors. Two women playing the instruments, and the lead man, the voice calling for volunteers.

“I shall,”Lucitius replied, a low growl in his voice.

Everyone in sight froze, a few villagers starting to scream in terror. The man slowly turned around to see the fanged snarl from the creature behind him. The creature screeched, both hands on his staff, swinging it for his head.

The man cried out and tried to dodged, but the staff collided with his back, throwing him to the side. The two actresses shrieked and bolted into the crowd.

Lucitius peeked through the stage curtain, several children watching with concern. He opened the curtain wide, whistling.

“Any volunteers?”he called.

Folks from the wagons flooded out, the children bolting past Lucitius to tackle and beat the stunned actor. Lucitius snarled at the other adults, threatening them with his staff and claws. None approached, though several fled to the wagons, using them to get as far away from Lucitius as possible.

A few minutes later, Lucitius scanned the area. The actor had been beaten to unconsciousness and many of the children were taking trinkets from him. Several ran off, while others remained, staring at Lucitius in awe.

“Leave this caravan. Find your homes here or elsewhere. No child should suffer as this,”Lucitius bade.

Some of the children understood and left, while a few, particularly the youngest, didn’t seem understand at all. Lucitius sighed.

“Thank you, sir,”an older boy suddenly said.

Lucitius whirled around, noting the dark haired youth. He seemed to be one of the oldest kids in the caravan, if not the oldest, though he was not yet a young man. The boy watched him a few moments, fiddling with his fingers, then ushered the youngest kids away.

“You were the one I heard,”Lucitius commented, finally recognizing the boy. The kid turned.

“The adults didn’t like mistakes, and I had almost tripped. With the older kids, the punishments were harsher. Were,”the boy explained, a smile appearing.

Lucitius nodded and waved him on.

“Thank you again, sir. He deserved all that came to him,”the boy added, spitting in the direction of the unconscious lead actor.

The boy left, the rest of the kids following him. Lucitius watched, then stepped down from the stage, walking away. He flicked a tiny bolt of white fire at the stage and flames burst to life, swiftly climbing up the sides and devouring it.

“‘Theatrical Nomads’. A worthy name, an unworthy caravan,”Lucitius muttered to himself, snorting.

Lucitius casually left the village, continuing his roaming as if nothing had happened. The smell of charred wood was a delightful reminder of the good deed he had done.

@saor_illust school

tw, mentions of suicide

@Bandito

tw, mentions of suicide

(…..tbh last sentence is a mood lmfao) (also its nice to see so much dialogue, good job)

@saor_illust school

tw, mentions of suicide

(…..tbh last sentence is a mood lmfao) (also its nice to see so much dialogue, good job)

lol ty

@saor_illust school

70: I'm never going home

"No 'Liz, you don't understand. I'm never going home. Not again."

Elizabeth stared at the silhouette in front of her that blocked out the golden sky, not speaking. She opened her mouth to form a response, but before she could, the same voice that had spoken earlier started again.

"Do you think I want to go back to a 'home' that terrorises me for being alive? A 'home' with parents that only give me conditional love? I don't even remember the last time they told me they loved me and were nice to me. Besides… I was miserable there. They didn't even want me to be born, but the doctor convinced them to keep me. I would be forced to go to college – I can't go through that hell again, not while I live with them."

Pausing briefly, the female voice took a deep breath, and began again: "I… I can't live there anymore, I can't stand it there, I can't stand watching my younger sister going through the same hell. I just can't. I love you, I really do, but if you try to force me to go back, I will fight you with tooth and nail, I'll even resort to murder or abandonment if I have to. Please… please understand where I'm coming from. I don't want to hurt you."

Elizabeth had nothing to say. "I… I'm sorry…" she managed to say, not really knowing what else to say.

"…don't apologise. Just – please go, for now. I want to be alone."

@eternallyconfused

One: You will never be a god.

“You will never be a god, Nyera. NEVER! So long as there is breath in these lungs, you will not see godhood grace your sun. THis I swear on my life!”
That, dear reader, was the beginning of his end. You see, as long as there was BREATH IN HIS LUNGS. So all I would have to do was kill him.
Oh. Right.
Killing the king of the gods. Yeah, that’ll be hard.
Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Nyera. I’m pretty much the doctor for the gods. I know where to find immortal berries, how to properly kill a bloodwolf and harvest the blood, and how to remove poppy seeds from the heart of a widow.
I was prepared to ascend to godhood today. Instead, my stupid half-brother got accepted. And only because he didn’t have the “skills” of a doctor! SO what? It’s not like I’m…. Like I’m dangerous or anything… right?
Pfft. I know how to bring the gods back from death - and how to ensure they never return.
I’ll just have to poison Waiken’s - the king god’s - food, so he’ll be sick and have to come to me for healing.
At which point he will never see the light of day AGAIN.
Stupid Waiken. Swearing on HIS LIFE that as long as he was ALIVE, I wouldn’t be a god. Well I’ll show him. I’ll show them all!
No. I can’t kill them all. Only Waiken. Then his soul will honour his oath and grant me godhood before he leaves to the AfterLife.
But I have to bide my time. Wait until he lets his gerd down a bit, and then-
“Nyera! I’m A GOD NOW! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT I THOUGHT HE WOULD PICK YOU, BUT THEN HE WAS LIKE ‘NEKO, YOU SHALL BE A GOD’ AND I WAS LIKE-”
“QUIET! I’m doing an internal monologue here! GO AWAY!” Never mind. I'll kill Neko too.

@saor_illust school

His arms were flinging out wildly across the air, as if trying to prove a point. "You think that's what immortality is like?" The golden eyes of the boy were almost amber in the fading sunlight, and he laughed sarcastically. The expression on his face dimmed to one of pain, and he continued: "You're wrong, so, so, wrong. Dead wrong. Immortality is nothing like the heaven you think it is.

"It's feeling like nothing could ever go wrong until your friends are fifty and one of them has cancer, the other is struggling with minor health issues but she hasn't had a break from then in fifteen years and none of the others are in contact with you anymore, and suddenly you're alone. Your friend with cancer has passed and it's only been ten years but it feels like it was yesterday, the only other friend you have moved to Europe, and….. there's no one left.

"You should be dead by now, but at thirty a drink showed up on your table one day and you drank it before seeing the label on the bottom that read 'Immortality Potion, property of Death: effects last for up to 100 centuries.' But now all your friends are dead and it's time to move to France because that was the language you studied for four years in highschool and you get to ditch your name for something pretty, and guess what? You get to be 19 again, pretend to be fresh out of highschool and get another job, find new friends, only to lose them all to death…. again.

"Immortality is a repeat of this over and over again, moving every six or seven decades to a new country so that people don't get suspicious of your not-aging, immortality is watching all your friends die until you finally give up trying to hide the loneliness under new friendships built over the not-quite-yet healed pain of the previous bonds, and immortality is pretending like everything's okay because it's not worth it to make it known that you need help. Everyone leaves you, one way or another, and in the end, it's just you.

"You're the only one who can keep yourself alive in the end, and the pain of loneliness is worth saving yourself the pain of losing everyone you care about. That's… the only thing I've learned in my many, many, centuries of living. After living for so long? All the pain starts to fade away, you numb yourself to the pain and ache of your heart, and the appeal of living starts to lose its value. Now try and tell me again, that immortality is fun. Try."

He took a deep breath and collapsed face first onto the grass. "Everything…. is temporary. Life is temporary. Make the most of your life while you have it, okay? I know it's hard but please, please, do it. I can't stand to see another mortal waste their life away like that."

Deleted user

Writing Prompt 78: No Chances.

There was a grim mood in the air.
Well, that was a lie, the air was always grim,and dark, and all sorts of other nasty words that could be used to describe the crew's newest rat nest. The people gathered around the table all had the same expressions on their faces, hardened, grizzled, and absolutely riddled with scars. They were staring at the maps on the table like it was the note that told them their dog had died or grandma was going to the nursing home. Finally, a man broke the silence.

"Look, so the situation isn't exactly great, buuut, it's still salvageable! So what if they upped the security by a dozen or so guards, we've probably dealt with worse.." Mikail was always the optimistic one, but no one seemed to share his mood now. He eventually wilted under the withering stares of the others, his thin shoulders slumping. Baxter sighed, rubbing his hand across his chin, his eyes thoughtful.

"It's not the guards I'm worried about Mik, its the fact that their adding them in the first place. They're on to us." Bax's soft spoken comment set a ripple of concern across the group. Eyes flashed to one another and a low murmer began to pick up. The added anxiety was infectious and like a herd of cattle the whole group was antsy now. Whispers began popping up and everyone went dead silent. Whispers were small creatures the size of rodents, amorphous and made of gas they gather around and record soft sounds with their odd shapes. They were used by military in covert operations to spy on their enemies and friends alike. The terror written on the criminal's faces was clear, they'd been found out, they had to-

A bubbling, vibrant laugh filled the warehouse, seeming to almost bounce off the walls and fill the room as surely as if it were a living creature. The door plainly showed three figures striding inside. The first a man dressed in bright colors, with a well tailored suit and cane that practically screamed 'I have money!' The second a shorter woman with a round face and glasses, auburn hair and a much more conservative outfit. The final character a tall man with a long jacket that just brushed the tops of his ankles, he stood behind the other two, watching behind them as they strode in. The crew relaxed immediately as the Whispers began to pop from existence, presumably back to their master, the brightly colored man, and the ringleader of the whole operation. He strolled forwards, trailed by his mousy assistant, looking at the gathered people with a massive grin and a haughty expression.

"What's all this I heard about the plan?" Pia Camacho was a notorious crime lord, with nearly every major government official on his payroll or under his thumb. He spoke with a smooth tone that oozed confidence and as he surveyed his scraggly bunch of misfits his grin couldn't help but widen. This new mission was important, very important, so he needed to make sure he got his point across.

"Ah- Boss, I think-" The new kid, Esa piped up, before being promptly silenced with a finger placed against her lips. She recoiled at the touch, looking too shocked for a moment to protest.

"Sh Sh Shh. I wasn't talking to you. It was a rhetorical question anyways. What kind of plan falls apart when a few new people come to play?" Pia glanced contemptuously at the map, a layout of a building with a few scribbles to mark guard location and shifts. He raised his hand to his chin, before looking up, a new devious glint in his eyes.
"A good plan is fool-proof. A good plan never falls apart." Pia paused for a moment, then nodded to his assistant, who gave out a few sheets of paper to each individual. He watched as they read the paper, their eyes slowly widening with astonishment. A few veterans nodded and one creature laughed aloud. He waited a few moments to let the new information to sink in and for the pause to be sufficiently dramatic.

"A good plan, leaves them with no chances."

@Norepinephrinxx

Don't mind me arising from the grave after not being active for years

  1. I've had just about enough

He looked apon the wreckage laid in front of him, it looked as though a bomb had gone off, or perhaps a hurricane? He could never be completely sure of the events which took place while he was away, he did however have a strong inquiry about what the truth may be.
"I've had just about enough of your shit, Max."
He stared down at the golden dog, guilt ridden, hiding in the corner.

(I also have not written in years why am I doing this)