PROMPT Writing Explorations: Week 92, Returns

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The Mood is Write

Ink-Dripping Elfmom, Word Bondage Enthusiast
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
11PM to 2AM EST, plus or minus a few hours in either direction.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive

My strengths lie more in the direction of emotions and short-term ideas, where my ability to plan out long-term plots is weak. I do best with a partner who helps me cover that weakness.
Favorite Genres
I'm open to a wide range of genres. Obscenely wide. It's harder for me to list all I do like than all I don't like. My absolute favorite is mixed and multiverse, but I'm not limited to those.

• Mixed Genre
• Multiverse
• High Fantasy
• Hard Fantasy
• Low Fantasy
• OP Fantasy
• Science Fantasy
• Modern Fantasy
• Soft Scifi
• Science Fantasy
• Low Scifi
• OP Science Fantasy
• Modern Realistic (Strict)
• Modern Realistic (Loose)
• Urban Fantasy
• Alternate History (Fantasy Preference)
• Post-Apocalyptic Mixed
• Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy
• Post-Apocalyptic Scifi
• Post-Apocalyptic Modern
• Dystopia
• Displacement
• Military
• Dying Earth
• Supernatural
• Drama
• Mystery
• Horror
• Religious
• Crime/Detective
• Parody
• Comedy
• Tragedy
• Romance (Must Include Others)
• Erotic (Must Include Others)
Genre You DON'T Like
The list is short. because it's hard to find genres I don't enjoy.

• Yaoi/Yuri (Gay/Lesbian is fine!)
• Furry
• Fandom
• Historic Non-Fantasy
My Writing Explorations series of exercises are a chance for users to explore new concepts and practice the art of raising two fingers to Writer's Block while screaming obscenities to fickle muses: to rebel against the idea that a person requires a mythical force inside them to make new and amazing things.

No. Listen well, users: there is no being inside you waiting to be let out. You are the writer, and in this exercise, you are given a place to push not only against Writer's Block, but also against the forces of stagnation. Feel trapped in your genre? Explore a new one! Stuck with a singular archetype? Do something else! In this thread, you will not be critiqued unless you request it. Should you wish it, I will happily offer my thoughts on how it might be improved, but I will not comb looking for fixes: this isn't the place: this place is for safely trying new things and indulging a love of writing.

Shake the bars of your cell block and roar, writers!

[fieldbox=How do I take part?]You can write to one or more (or none) of the prompts, the theme in the thread title, the bonuses—hell, you can even cast aside all of what I offer if you get a different idea.

The whole point is "get writing!"[/fieldbox]

  1. Write a homecoming that's bittersweet and loving.
  2. There's a fae aspect of some sort in the person returning.
  3. Someone has unusual eyes.

Bonus Rounds:
  • Write in a random genre.
  • The one returning is injured badly or crippled in some way.
  • There's a sense of weariness and grime to the setting.


Consider this the hint of the century
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Primarily passive, can be aggressive if called for
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Sci-Fi
Genre You DON'T Like
Anime, Romance, Slice of Life
I never wanted to walk this road again, and by the look of things, the road didn’t want me on it, either. The weather had turned sour as if to painfully indicate it’s opinion of my presence here; a heavy rain poured down in relentless sheets, with the growl of thunder rumbling often in the distance in place of an unamused murmur. I feel the same, I assure you, I thought dourly.

With the forbearing persistence that is born only of necessity, I continued to force one foot in front of the other in weary progress down the lane, which had been transformed into oozing mud by the water mixing with the loosely packed dirt. Barren trees lined either side, casting deep shadows beneath their branches as the sun gradually began to sink out of view. Even the star that kept our days from darkness had no desire to welcome me, it would seem.

The gates of my old home came into view around a bend in the lane, and I released a long suffering sigh. The towering greystone wall that surrounded the family estate looked the same as it had when I was a young boy too unfamiliar with the world to understand it’s true nature, the same as on the night I slipped away three hundred and four years ago - most likely the same as it had for a millenium.

Fae magic was just as unchanging as the things it kept young, apparently.

I was still a stone’s throw from the wall when the gate began to swing inward of its own accord. The heavy iron made a dreadful screeching as it moved - accompanied by the pitter-patter of the rain, it might have been the vocal wail in a mourning song. The closer to home I came, the more directly my surroundings seemed to express their displeasure at my arrival.

I hesitated, wondering if these rudely apparent signs were the intentional work of my relatives. Could they see me coming? Should I take the warnings and run for my life? Even as I stood contemplating the idea, the ability to make that choice was ripped away from me. The gate had swung fully open, and I could now see across the lawn to the courtyard. A short figure was dashing pel-mel towards me. In a moment, a screeching mass of spindly limbs slammed into my chest and tangled around me in a crushing hug. I staggered back in an attempt to stay balanced, hesitant to return the warm gesture.

A soft child’s voice whispered in my ear. “Why did you leave me?”

Slowly, I hugged my little sister back. For the first time in years, my regrets had come to haunt me, and I almost choked on them as a single tear meandered down my cheek.

“I’m home now.”


Cactus Queen
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Favorite Genres
Slice of Life
Genre You DON'T Like
Gore and Horror (My hate-love genres, to be honest.)
I stood still as I stared through the glass pane of my window. Raindrops dribbled down the smooth surface on the opposite side, scattering the lights of the running cars that pass by.

What am I staring at? Simple.

A girl just across my yard. She stood still under the rain, her back faced at me as she held her crimson-colored umbrella, shielding her unusually white dress from getting wet.

She seems to be waiting for a car or something. The girl kept looking at the incoming cars and I could almost catch a glimpse of her pale neck...

The girl stopped looking at the cars and stood. Very. Still.

This doesn't feel right.

What's this dread I feel in the back of my neck? I brush my hand at my nape and I felt all of my hairs standing up sharply.

I gulped as I let out a shaky sigh that fogged a portion my window. Reaching out, I wiped the glass with the back of my forearm...

The girl is staring at me.

Her eyes. Dark and black as the dead of night. The reflected light on her eyes seems to emanate an innocent look a child would offer.

My skin drained off its color.

I'm... attracted to her eyes. It feels like... I could swim... within that black void she sees the world from.

I want to see more of her.


Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day
My Usual Online Time
After lunch (noon - 2:00), and evenings after 8:30
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I can do either. I do prefer that there be a goal, but I like letting the charaters dictate what happens.
Favorite Genres
Romance, Fantasy, Tudor, Historical, Magical
Genre You DON'T Like
Gore, Vampires, Horror
Mara clicked off the ignition and sat holding onto the wheel of her car. Suddenly doubt crippled her. Eyes closing as her forehead dropped to the steering where she tried to slow her breathing and ease the panic from her mind. "He's not here..." she whispered aloud reminding herself she was safe.

Drawing in a deep breath, she held the keys in her trembling fingers as she stood and looked at the house. She remembered the very first time she'd seen it and fallen in love with the beautiful old Victorian. The wrap around porch and turret called to her even now in her state of near terror. She'd been gone for almost ten years and her beloved home was showing signs of neglect. the lawn was mowed, thanks to a lawn service company that she paid to keep the local authorities from fining her. Somehow, standing there with the car between her and the house made her feel a little safer, but she knew that if this was ever going to be truly over, she'd need to go inside and face it all.

Her feet felt like lead, but she slowly made her way through the picket gate. It needed painted and repaired, she thought idly already making a mental list. The walkway was still in good shape she noted and edged perfectly. At least the company she was paying was doing a good job, even if it was a bit expensive. Her hand went to the handrail before she remembered that it had been one of the things that had been broken that night. Looking at it she could feel the wood behind her back as she'd been thrown into it and fallen though down to the evergreen shrub next to the stairs. The bush seemed to have recovered nicely, probably due to the efforts of the lawn care company.

She took the three steps across the porch to the door and stood there with the keys in her hand trying to remind herself to breathe. "He's not here..." she said again and slipped the key into the door and pressed it open. Light filled the foyer as dancing spirals of dust swirled about in a delicate ballet across the once gleaming hardwood floor. The smell of mustiness assaulted her but her eyes were drawn as always to the grand staircase that was the most gorgeous bit of woodwork in the house, at least in her opinion. Again she was drawn back to the first time she'd entered this door and the feeling of awe those stairs had instilled in her.

Looking around she realized that someone had cleaned the place. She didn't remember asking anyone to do that, but it was obvious someone had. The blood was gone and the damage to the wall between the living room and the foyer. There was an obvious decade of dust and cobwebs, but the evidence of the crime committed there was no longer visible. She made her way to the kitchen standing at the entrance looking at the sink and the counter. Smells and screams and pain ripped through her mind forcing her back to that night. "NO!" she shouted, "He's not here! He's not HERE!"

She went to the french doors that led out to the back porch and stood there staring at nothing and everything. She could still see him there, rain pouring over him rinsing some of the mud from his clothes. "We were camping in the friend is hurt...can I use your phone to call for help?" he'd said. Liar. Opening that door had been the worst decision of her life, and had very nearly cost it. That harmless looking young man had raped her, thrown her through a wall and when that didn't kill her he had pulled out a knife and stabbed her fifteen times as she fled from him and attempted to ward off the blows. She had managed to get the front door open and stumble onto the porch where he'd thrown her into the railing where the stairs and the porch rail met at a post. She'd felt the wood give under the power of the throw and rip into her flesh as it broke before she fell into the bush. Luckily for her the sound and her scream alerted the neighbors and scared off her attacker. The police found him not long after, as the soft ground gave them easy tracks to follow into the woods behind the house.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. Even ten years was not enough time to return and be free of it, she could never live here again. Fishing her phone from he jacket pocket she dialed an old friend, "Amy? This is Mara...list it."