Character Survey: SywynCharacter Survey: Sywyn2 years ago in Profiles More Like This
FULL NAME: Sywyn Nym'el [sai-ween neem-el], originally Sywynel Nym [sai-ween-el neem]. No surname known.
MEANING: Sywyn = The-one-who-walks/walker, El = under, Nym = Sun-and-Moons/sky.
NICKNAME: got many of them during his life, but the one which stuck on him the most is Vor'Ard'Ves, literally "the one who can ride the wind"... he got this nickname during the wars in the Westland, from the people of the desert; now almost everyone knows him with this nickname, the Windrider.
ACTUAL AGE: no one knows his real age as he never answered to this question, but just the fact that he took part to the wars in the Westlands makes him older than 400
Vampire!Greece X Reader: Dark Night Pt.1 You're in a deep sleep when the strong wind awake you, you wondered why the door at the balcony was opened, you thought you locked it.Vampire!Greece X Reader: Dark Night Pt.11 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
When the window curtains moved you saw a figure of human, It's eyes were glowing red. You get out of bed and approached to him,
You opened your mouth to say something but when you blinked he dissapeared in an instant and left a red rose.
Your freaking alarm clock rung and you gasped
'Is that a dream?' you wondered. When you looked at the bedside table, the red rose was there
'I guess it's not...'
You got out of bed to get ready for school, Once you finished preparing your things, you head to school
Stolen goodsHis cave is filled with stolen wonders.Stolen goods9 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
He was taught to be resourceful at a young age. It's part of not being sloppy. You clean up after your meal, his mother always said. There was more than washing his face and the cold cave floor. There was much more to do to survive.
Clothing is good. You can reuse it, or break it down and make something out of it. He knows another one like him who makes the most beautiful quilts. If you bring her the supplies and a nice meal, she'll make you a quilt too. You can use that every winter. It's going to be cold every winter. You'll need it. Aesthetics aren't important, but it's a nice change. Just because you're a monster in the woods eating people doesn't mean you can't have nice things.
Knick knacks can be useful. Tobacco is ever popular. Not many of his kind like it, but those that do suffer the same addiction as the humans. The
Into the darkThe memories I treasure mostInto the dark9 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Have rendered me a hollow ghost.
My heart hangs but by a thread,
The remnant of an empty web.
It used to catch all that I hold dear
The memories slipped, they are no longer near.
I fear that I have lost them all.
There is nothing left to do but fall
Into the dark
With my heavy heart.
Outside"How the mighty have fallen?" She repeated, incensed by the woman's mockery. "Who are you? How dare you speak to me like that?!"Outside9 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The woman in gray laughed, before looking at her companion, a man dressed in extravagant clothing, "The more she talks the more I think you where right. She doesn't want to get out."
"I told you this was a waste of time." He shook his head, long braid shaking with him. "Let's just leave her and go."
"No!" She interjected quickly. "I'll listen. I'll listen to whatever you have to say."
"Really?" The woman asked, switching to German. "So, you'll listen to me, and you'll do whatever I, or my companion here, tell you to?"
"I hate when you switch to German." The man muttered, "You just do it because I can't understand you."
"If it gets me out of this tower, I will." The Countess responded.
The woman's smile grew a bit. "Good. We'll help you, but you'll be in my d
TrembleThe Countess has lost track of time. She no longer knows the date, month, or even how long she has been in the tower. Despite this, she has made some new companions that took up a few hours of the unending days.Tremble10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
There was a hole in the wall so food could be passed to her. Her company rarely joined her inside her cell, and spoke to her through the opening. "They only charged you with thirty or so murders." The succubus filled her in on the latest details of her trial. Erzsebet could not see her through hole much, but she sounded so young, not like a being that had been alive hundreds of years.
"Only thirty?" She replied with a laugh. "I'm almost embarrassed."
The two spoke of the trial, and of many other things. The succubus, who gave the Countess the name Secunda to call her, was just as educated as her on several matters, such as politics, ancient literature, and philosophy.
"There are people who do e
One Thousand HeartsFar beyond the reach of your telescopes, there is a world. It is small, insignificant; chosen because of its diminutive size. Its atmosphere, once a haven for simple life forms, is inhospitable. Only one being resides on it. This world, now completely lifeless, was given a dark purpose so that all other worlds might be spared.One Thousand Hearts10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Stillness. That night was the very essence of stillness. There were five comets in number that alit on that terrible planet. Four were incarnations of the phases of the moons. They shone with a clear blue light, akin to that of the moons. The fifth was warm, her golden light brighter than the rest, bringing
WillowWillow in the wind,Willow11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
The softest call,
The palest skin,
Her dark hair flies behind her,
A sinister bird on the breeze,
She stands tall,
Though all tower over her,
Lifts her head up and speaks her mind.
StormThe air is thick with the promise of rain, but she hardly notices. Hers is a brisk rush through the darkening world, hands full, sneakers kicking up bits of grass in her wake. A breeze runs its ethereal fingers through her hair. It tickles under the collar of her jacketthat's the first thing she really feels.Storm1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Clouds lower overhead like great gray wings on a downstroke. She's never noticed the scent of cloud before, but she can smell it now, carried by the breeze. The dense layer of shifting black and gray above says hush, and the whole world listens. Birds become still and small. Dogs blink up at the sky, scenting the rain, and even th
Mercury"If I were an element on the periodic table," you say, "which would I be?"Mercury1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I meet your upside-down gaze. You're lying belly-up on my bed, your head hanging off the end and your hair pooling on the carpet.
Scrambling for a reason, I nudge my notebook away and turn, straddling my desk chair backwards. You continue to stare, owlish in your attention. "Must there be a why?"
Chin on wrist on chairback. "You are colorful."
"That's cheating." You blink slowly. "Elemental neon is not inherently colorful."
"Let me think then."
Owl eyes give silent assent.
Some things end up meaning so much to you. You didn't even
CartographyYou cast light into the uncharted lands,Cartography2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
The darkest spots among the shifting sands,
Of the deserts, to the deepest trenches,
In the oceans of my heart.
Nothing even dares to hide
From this magnificent light so deep inside;
It's drowned the very thirst it quenches
From the very start.
These cartographers dream of the discoveries you've made,
Their expeditions and journies but a silly masquerade
In comparison to the glory of roads that you've paved
Into the farthest reaches of my heart.
You sing to the muses that hold legends
Of the demons and gods my heart defends,
And weave glory into their every story
Of your majesty in me.
About a boyShining on wet leaves are equally wet cheeks. The edges are ripped, torn just like her hoarse voice, ragged nails and shredded hemline. Relentlessly she has been calling his name, her voice has been swallowed by the forest as has the sun by the murky river water.About a boy4 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Her hair clings to her face, sticky with sweat. It makes a dense veil, shielding her from what she knows she will see. While she runs desperately, she peels it away, nails scratching her face. The trees mock her, their crooked backs shaking with laughter; the swaying of their thick branches reminiscent of a death march, but her determination is louder. As long as her heart pounds in
Guardian"A day like today happens--maybe twice in a whole season."Guardian6 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's all hot sun and achingly blue sky, and you're sitting leonine on the hood of your battered pickup. I wish I could draw just to capture you like this--squinting into the horizon, one knee drawn up to rest your elbow on, hair windswept. I'd keep the white t-shirt and jeans, but I'd add wings: big, dusky gray things, relaxed and resting open on the windshield, pale underbellies to the sun. It'd fit, somehow, with you.
"Remember that big storm they had up north last week?"
"Yeah." I wouldn't have forgotten, not after the charts and scans you showed me. I only saw a mess of swirling colors like an end-of-the-day paint palette, but you saw sense in the chaos.
You ease off the truck and walk toward my white picket fence perch. "The wildflowers bloomed like all hell out by the lake." Resting your arms along the top beam, you gaze off into the distance for a minute longer before turning mischievous eyes my way. "Want to go see?"
Performance at Warlocks Folly SaloonIt was a busy night at the Warlock's Folly Saloon. It was exactly the sort of down and out bar frequented by the sorry segment of humanity that polite society trends to ignore. Drunks, prostitutes both on duty and off, hard luck hucksters and low life criminals were all frequent customers.Performance at Warlocks Folly Saloon9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The foundations of the decrepit building had been laid ages ago though the walls and ceiling had been burned down and rebuilt countless times since then. The current iteration of Warlock's Folly had been rebuilt only thirty years ago after burning to the foundation during a riot.
Nothing of the previous building had survived except a beat up old grand pi
DreamPush me upDream1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
against the wall.
Hold me tight.
Don't let me fall.
Kiss me gentle.
Kiss me sweet.
Please come sweep me
off my feet.
I'm in your arms.
It feels so right.
Stay here, my love,
All through the night.
I run my fingers
through your hair.
My love for you
is what I declare.
Then in that moment
when our lips meet,
I cry in the darkness.
It's only a dream.
How I was BornTake a muddy handful of dreamsHow I was Born2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and mold them into bones.
Tie them together with sinews of love
taken from roots underground.
For nerves take fine spider-silk
and lay it with the muscles
which were formed out of tireless hope.
Cover them all with heartwood
letting the inside of trees
be the outside of me.
Robin's eggs make fine eyes
full of hopeful happy light blue skies
And river reeds for tangled hair.
Color my lips with cranberries
And lastly: a breath of poetry
to awaken me and serve as my soul.
CarpinteriaWhere the mountains meet the skyCarpinteria3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The sky meets the ocean
Earth and water twine.
And the trees kiss the walls of our blue little house
See, this piece of dirt is mine.
We're alone in the boat inside my head
I float on the deep blue sea
I lay my cheek on the wood of the side
The wood is smooth, and we are free
As you sink into me.
Ars Moriendi“Have you lost yourself in the hush of your dilecta?”Ars Moriendi1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
The dying lark crumples at the thorn of nature,
She is not perfect. If only I could remove the shadows
Brandished by dishonest cosmopolitan eyes, which resolve
Like earth to her body self-immolating on perfection,
So resolved, for disharmonious drones, a dreary opiate of trepidation and antipathy
The languid intravenous of the “Ars moriendi”.
“And the skyline is a despot, thrashing with a pedantic light.”
Light dies atop her flesh, darkness will seek out new crevices
Moving from the inlets of scars shallow off of famine,
That speak in Homer’s
HomeFor the restless, 'home' is a difficult concept; the idea of a physical or hypothetical place we are tied to. That we will always return to. That we will always belong to. Milo has always said that airports are his home, or train stations or motor way service stops. Home is where the heart is, and Milo’s heart is in escape. He dreams of flitting from place to place and belonging to them all, absorbing everything and being absorbed as he runs free. But even those who run are running from somewhere and no one can outrun the primal ache that calls us back.Home3 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
‘You could have called. Or do hippies not have phones?’
Simple WisdomThe old man's words swirledSimple Wisdom1 week ago in Free Verse More Like This
around the room with the smoke
from his cigar.
"Well, since you asked,"
was coughed from his wizened
throat. "Save as much money
as you possibly can.
Don't buy cable. Read.
Write. A lot. Read some more.
Take pictures of extra ordinary things.
Print your pictures,
Handwrite all of your mail,
and lick the stamps yourself.
Travel the world, and
collect friends wherever you go.
Oh, and don't try to keep up
with the Jones. They will covet
your simplicity. Your resourcefulness.
Never listen to a bank
when they say you can afford
a certain sized house.
Divide that in half.