#wordtober
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Wordtober day 4: Dodge
using the the official inktober prompts
People say opposites attract. People also say best friends should be like two peas in a pod. Maybe starting with what people say isn’t a great idea, because people also tended to say Deanna was a weirdo. And those were the people Isadora ended up punching.
Rubbing the other woman’s back with one hand and the other laid flat on the duvet, Isadora waited. For Deanna to stop shaking slightly, for her hand to grasp back in a sign she was back from the other side, for her eyes to roll back to the front of her skull, whichever came first.
Being an Oracle wasn’t easy. Deanna took it with extreme dignity.
A sharp gasp brought Isadora’s mind back to the present: The hand on the duvet was swiftly squeezed as Deanna grasped for an anchor and the other reached back for the glass of water they’d brought with them when Deanna felt “another one on the way”.
“Hey, it’s Isa. I’m here. You’re home, you’re okay.”
Deanna nodded, eyes still shut and sipping the cold water through the metal straw, the clinking of it against the glass the only sound in the room.
When she spoke, it was a bit hoarse, barely over a whisper. “It’s one of yours again.”
Isadora sighed. Being a Chosen One wasn’t easy either.
It certainly helped that her best friend had an insight on just what she was Chosen for. In the same way it helped Deanna make sense of her visions if she had been present for most of the life of the subject.
Opposites. Peas in a pod. Take your pick.
Once Deanna was back on her feet, she drew aside the curtain on the far wall of her room, revealing a white board full of two very distinct and equally tiny types of handwriting, a couple books worth of post it’s, and the occasional news clipping. The board was used for most prophecies, but only the really important (and unrelated to them) stayed.
“Why is it me again?”
“I do not know! Ask your weirdly big family if they have a tradition of signing fates off to the supernatural!”
“This is what, the third time this year? Fourth?”
Deanna grimaced “Fifth.”
“Fifth??”
“Yea remember that time I changed my mind and we went rock climbing instead of on a beach trip?”
“Yea?” Isadora raised her head from where she’d flopped down on the bed.
“Yea.”
“Ugh! How do you block the Universe’s number?”
“I’ll tell you what, when I find out you’ll be the first to know.” She basically sighed the sentence.
Isadora got up. She didn’t really know how to answer other than slide her arms around Deanna and hold tight. “I’m sorry, Dea.”
“It’s fine, it’s not like you made me an oracle. And it’s not bad when they’re you. It means I can help you.” She tilted her head, lightly headbutting Isa. “Dodging time?”
Isa smiled against her.
“Okay, so! What do you have?”
“I have the sun, moon and rising constellation of your birthdate.”
“Oh so it’s me me.”
“Yeah. I also have…” She trailed off, brow furrowed.
They’d been doing this for years, so Isa knew not to push. Dea didn’t really have prophecies told to her as much as she was shown flashes of scenes culminating in a giant domino effect that was usually saving or ending some part of the world. Not always, though. Sometimes the prophecies were small like “Mr. Forin will be pissed off next Wednesday and deliver a surprise exam” – illustrated ever so helpfully by a family home, a detailed image of an explosion followed by falling drops and a roulette wheel- or “Old lady Ori’s cat will get tangled in spider webs and wander the neighborhood” – and nobody wants the vivid description of an anatomically correct spider-cat hybrid shared over lunch.
“The first daughter of the first daughter of the first daughter.” Dea almost yelled. But her enthusiasm was short lived, “Wait, that’s doesn’t fit you.”
Isa thought for a bit. “Oh that’s low.”
“What?”
“It does fit. My dad’s the oldest kid.”
“Your da- fucking transphobic prophecies!”
Isadora reached into the sides of the board and pulled in her picture and one of her dad to the small open space where they had for figuring out today’s message.
“Wait, we’ve established they don’t care about blood lines right?”
“Yea, there was that one about your witch aunt that turned out to be your mom’s best friend.”
“Does it have a date?”
“What?”
“The thing I will do. Is it dated?”
“I mean, there are definitely early summer vibes to the scene, why?”
“Because!” Isadora reached across the board again, this time picking up a picture of a woman in her forties, the name ‘Allison’ scribbled in blue ink “My dad is marrying my stepmom in three months on the 20th! And she has-”
“She has two kids older than you!!”
“So in summer, I will be the youngest child!!” Isa grinned.
“And the second daughter!” Dea smiled back, raising her hand. “Dodged!”
“Dodged!” Isa high fived her.
That was their thing. Sure, it wasn’t always this easy, especially when the visions weren’t about Isa. But they’d gotten good at figuring out the who and the what, and if it was worth making the effort to dodge. Sometimes they couldn’t. That’s what the news clippings were for. For every catastrophic train accident there was a front page spread on a miraculous save borne of chance. For every post it with scribbled out names when they got it wrong there were small notes thanking one or both of them for suspiciously well timed advice they’d given someone.
Isadora and Deanna had been best friends since the day they’d met. Isa had been there when Dea had her first vision, when the doctors couldn’t find reason for the “seizures”, when they finally realized her vivid dreams would step out into the world and when they stopped the first one. And she’d been sitting on this same duvet the first time Dea had a vision about her. And the second. And the third. And the on average 4.6 times – now 4.8 – she was featured on some big catastrophic event.
The world was still standing. This was their thing.
Many months after Isa’s dad’s wedding (which Dea attended obviously) and after the supposed coming of the vision (Dea tried to not give her details of the action if she had them, or even of the specific day, but she had looked up to Isa one late spring day, and said from where she rested her head on her lap “it would’ve been today” with a small proud smile, before returning to her book) , it happened again.
They were in Isa’s dad’s kitchen. He and Allison had gone out for the weekend and Alex and Charlie were still at work, so Isa had dinner on her hands; which is to say Dea had dinner on her hands and Isa was on cutting veggies duty.
The speed with which Isa put down the knife and caught the bag of noodles off of Dea’s hand would’ve made records. And then she waited.
When Dea came back to herself, she was… different.
They did all the rituals and reassurances and then Dea wouldn’t really look at Isa all of the sudden. Eyes shifty and face flush and the nervous finger tapping was back, that had left around highschool, why was that back?
“So… Is it someone you know?” She tried
“Mhm.”
“Oh that’s nice! Is it one to dodge?”
Silence.
Okayy then. “Do I know who it is?”
“I- yea.”
“Oh cool, is it someone from work? That Jayce fellow in the lobby has biiig Chosen vibes.” Nothing. “Or maybe Tessa? I mean I wouldn’t say I know her since she’s your boss and all but-“
“It’s you!”
“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?”
“It’s- it’s also me… It’s tricky.”
“Ah. Well if it’s anything big, we got it right? I mean unless I have to go out into a tick infested backwoods somewhere to appease some fae anthropologists, that was not a fun month.”
Dea stayed quiet again.
“Dea? You there?”
“Hm?”
“You didn’t say it.”
“Say what?”
“You always say ‘tell me about it’ when I talk about that month, and then you tell me one more ridiculous excuse you came up with for why I wasn’t at uni then.”
“Right, yea. Tell me about it.” Dea’s eyes were unfocused. Far away.
“I’m not leaving.”
That seemed to do something. Dea snapped her head up, looking right at Isa.
“If it’s something like I’m meant to leave you or hate you or hurt you consider it Dodged! I would die before I did that.”
Dea opened her mouth a couple times, but her voice got lost on it’s way out and she closed it again. Isa took her hands in hers. “I know you can’t always tell me but- I’m geeing worried here.”
Dea closed her eyes for a bit. “It’s… You’re meant to… Sit alongside me.”
“Ha! Little late for that, started doing that in 6th grade!”
“No, that’s too literal, you’re… not supposed to leave!”
“Pretty sure we just went over that actually.” Isa chuckled.
Dea shook her head violently. Isa’s easy smile fell, she could see her friend was distressed but to not be able to help-
“Dea, I know it’s hard. But I can’t help if you din’t describe it to me, I need to know what I’m aiming for when i say stuff or I ca-”
“Marriage!” She almost yelled. “The closest definition in the english language is… marriage. And all it entails.”
Oh.
Oh.
Dea still wasn’t looking at her. And that just wouldn’t do, not now! I mean sure it was a tricky situation, it wouldn’t do that Dea was uncomfortable every time Isa was around for the rest of their lives, and Isa was pretty sure step one of a marriage was falling for someone and she had had that one down pat for ages so- wait a minute…
The nervous tapping. The flush. The silence at whether or not she wanted to dodge it. The way she wouldn’t look Isa in the eyes goddamnit.
Isa lifted one hand away from Dea’s own to curl it around her chin and gently turn her gaze back
“Hi.” Still nothing. “I have a question.”
It was silent permission but it was permission nonetheless.
“What would happen if I didn’t want to dodge it? Just this once?”
Turning Dea’s eyes to her was the best decision Isa could’ve made because the way the woman’s eyes widened was just about the most precious view she’d ever experienced.
“But it wouldn’t- It’s not you that wants it, it’s the-”
“Dea, you’ve known me for over ten years. In those you’ve had visions of me a total of 65 times. We dodged 57 of them, and the ones we didn’t were a choice. I think we’ve established the existence of my free will.” Isa smiled at Dea’s barely contained eyeroll, even now, at her head for numbers, “so I am not asking about the grand scheme of things. I’m asking you. What would happen if I didn’t want to dodge it?”
Dea took her time: searching Isa’s face, cataloguing every micro expression she’d grown up with, every millimetre of skin waiting for a catch she knew damn well wasn’t coming. And when she was secure enough, she finally answered, voice tiny and hopeful:
“No dodging.”
And Isa didn’t need prophetic powers to tell her that was the best decision they had ever made. Through that night’s dinner, holding hands under the table, through every kiss where they melted into each other as if it was their first again, through every night for the rest of their lives, from the one where they finally did a real proposal to the one where they exchanged teary eyed vows.
No dodging.
#did i base this off the tumblr meme of Appollo's dodgeball? yes absolutely i did#wordtober#original writing#writers on tumblr#my writing
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day 3 prompt: path
she falters,
balanced carelessly before
an untrustworthy path.
she follows,
she trusts.
she has yet to know
the sharp sting of a scuffed knee,
the ugly scab of skin yet to heal.
i can't quite decide
if i envy or pity,
or simply look back
with curious nostalgia
i falter,
regardless of how carefully i perch.
i care,
until i tear my own skin to shreads.
still balanced,
but veering towards precarious,
no scar faded enough to call healed
no trust left to follow
#original poetry#prose#spilled ink#poetry#words words words#poems and poetry#promptober#lol#inktober#but not ink oops#wordtober#??#lmao okay bye
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Wordtober - Day 7
Prompt: Steal
(From this list)
---___---___---___---___---___---
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are not strong enough to continue this mission.” Iris felt her chest tighten. Suddenly, she felt a hand on top of her own, and she finally looked away from the sea to stare at Prometheus’ hand.
“But I want you there either way. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. Neither would most of us. You’re the one who got me back. You’re the one who saved our asses countless times. Even if you can’t help us in the fight itself, I want you there. So that I have a reminder of what I have to lose.”
Iris finally looked up at Prometheus. He was staring at both their hands on top of the railing. She felt his thumb stroke the back of her hand. Warmth started spreading through her body, despite the cold, slightly easing away the weight in her chest.
After a moment of silent, Prometheus finally crossed eyes with her. The intensity in his eyes stole her breath away.
“I can’t do it without you.”
Iris sensed something behind those words. The weight in her chest exploded into butterflies. It took all her self-control to mask her emotions, to control the little gust of air that formed around her, reflecting the sudden lightness in her chest.
The silence continued. Iris didn’t know how to reply. Prometheus didn’t act either, waiting for her reply.
“Do you mean that?” Her voice was barely audible over the waves of the sea and the cold wind.
Prometheus squeezed her hand and turned his whole body to her.
“I care about you” He moved to intertwine their finger and Iris let him. Prometheus took a deep breath before continuing “I care about you a lot.”
---___---___---___---___---
Was in a romantic mood, I guess
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Royalty.
~Wordtober day 2~
I travel for days,
I've been called to the castle.
They want back their ruler,
They don't know the hassle.
They think just because
Their blood's tinted blue
I'll follow their orders.
They don't have a clue.
I answer to no one,
I bow to no title,
The efforts to hold me
Are no more than idle.
Don't care if you're royalty,
Sent by the Gods,
Or live by a river,
Or Master of Odds.
I make a decision,
There's no turning back.
Don't look for a reason,
I follow no track.
So don't act all mighty,
Get off you high horse.
You don't know who I am,
You have not seen my force.
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WORDtober Day Two - Various, Excited, Idiotic
Plus a bonus prompt: “You mean the thing we just set on fire?” Kinda bad, kinda rushed but I had fun!
Words: about 500
Fandom/Genre: Tangled the series.
__
“I was away for two minutes!” Varian shouted, gripping the vial he had run to collect in one hand. Angry and Catalina exchanged a glance, Catalina at least having the grace to look a little sheepish. Angry just grinned.
“And you should have thought about what leaving us alone would result in!” she said. Varian narrowed his eyes, surveying what was left of the lab. Ruddiger sat on the table in the centre, looking a little singed, giving a slightly apologetic chirp. There were various other burnt spots scattered through the lab, and both girls had ash in their hair.
“You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson by now,” Varian muttered.
“Hey, you’re always trying to experiment!” Angry said, skipping along behind him as he moved to what was left of the work bench.
“Yeah, but at least I know what I’m doing!”
“It’s not like you never make explosions,” Catalina pointed out, and Varian glared at her. Both girls snickered at his face and Varian sighed, a reluctant grin slipping across his face.
“At least I don’t destroy the entire lab,” he muttered. Angry darted past him to sit on the edge of the table, kicking her dangling legs slightly.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked. Varian glared at her and she stuck her tongue out. “Lighten up, V! We didn’t completely destroy everything.”
“How were we to know that those two things would explode,” Catalina added. Varian put the vial down on the table – as far away from Angry as possible – and move to begin cleaning up.
“You didn’t. That’s why you’re not supposed to touch anything,” he muttered.
“That’s so boring,” Angry said. She reached out to ruffle Ruddiger’s fur and watched as Varian began to clean up the broken glass on the floor.
“Catalina, hand me the prototype,” he said heavily, wanting to make sure it was still undamaged. A hesitant silence followed, then Catalina spoke up quietly.
“You mean – that thing we just set on fire?” she asked. Varian looked up quickly, eyes narrowed. Sure enough, the prototype was charred – a tongue of flame still licking at its side.
“You’re kidding me!” he cried, lunging forward to rescue it before Angry could pick it up.
“In our defence, we didn’t see it?” she tried. Varian glared at her, realising with a sinking heart that it likely wasn’t salvageable.
“Out,” he said shortly. “Out of my lab, come on – get out before you break anything else!” He shooed Angry off the table, herding them both out of the lab.
“Love you too, V!” Angry called.
“We are sorry,” Catalina added, and Varian rolled his eyes, shutting the door behind them.
In reality, he wasn’t hugely upset – and he knew they knew it. He did enjoy the girls visiting his lab, and while it tended to result in his work being pushed back or stalled, it was worth it to spend time with them.
But for now he wanted to recreate the prototype in peace.
#tangled the series#tts#rapunzel's tangled adventures#varian#angry tangled#keira tangled#catalina tangled#WORDtober#WORDtober day 2#i was gonna include lance but he didn't want to show up
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Day 6: Scars
Just loving Arthur and his scars.
You smile as you look upon Arthur's sleeping form. His hair is messy, his mouth hangs open slightly, and his chest rises with each breath. You trace his cheekbones lightly and trail your finger down to the scars on his chin.
"What are you doin'?" he asks, scaring you. His eyes are still closed but he smiles.
"Lookin' at you." You kiss his chin and he hums in pleasure.
"That ain't lookin'..."
"Can't help myself." You move your hand down his neck and he shivers. "You're so…"
"Hideous?" he finishes.
"No, Arthur. You're wonderful and you're mine." The hair on his chest tickles your hand as you move your fingers along the scars on his chest. Some were older than others and some healed better than others but you love each and every one of them. His scars told a story even if he didn't like to tell them. You kiss all of them whenever you get the chance.
"You're gonna leave me one of these days. That's what always happens."
You rest your head on his stomach and look up at him. "You're stuck with me, Mr. Morgan." His breath hitches when you drag your finger along a large scar on his stomach.
"Tickles," he says sheepishly.
"Oh yeah?" You sit up and he tilts his head and glares at you. "What?"
"Don't you even think about it."
Before you can reach out to touch him, he grabs your wrists and pulls you up to him. You land on top of him and he squeezes you to him. "Arthur...I can't…move." You struggle in his grip.
"That's the point. You ain't gettin' a chance to tickle me."
"That's not fair." You pout and he chuckles.
"That ain't workin'. I'll let you kiss me though."
"Oh, you'll let me kiss you? What if I don't want to?" You try to give him your meanest look but he bursts into laughter and eventually you do too. He rolls you over onto your back and nearly crushes you with his weight. "Arthurrrr…"
"I want my kiss," he says, looking down at your lips.
You kiss the scars on his chin. "There."
"That's all I get?" he asks and you nod. "Well, that just won't do." Suddenly he's nuzzling your neck and growling, making you laugh.
"Okay okay! I guess I can give you a proper kiss."
He takes his face out the crook of your neck and smiles down at you before kissing you on the lips softly. He tries to pull away after a short time but you tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him in place. He makes a surprised sound against your lips but stays where you want him. When you finally let go, he has a dreamy look in his eyes, the same one he did the first time he ever kissed you.
"Well, you done took my breath away," he says, breathing heavily.
"You still seem to be breathin' to me and…" You put your hand over his heart, feeling the rough skin from another scar. "Yup. Still beatin'."
He puts his hand over yours. "It's beatin' just for you. I think if you ever go it might just stop."
"Then I guess I'm stayin' forever."
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October 14th mini prompt:
VANISH
pt | es
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9.
The world is dying.
Sometimes it cracks, and their homes crack with it. Gravity seems to forget itself in places. The closer you are to the earth, the higher the chance it will become your grave.
The Cataclysm had painted their sky pink, an injury that bled to this day, ever deeper, ever wider, ever stronger. It will, one day, swallow the world.
But only if they let it.
And they won’t.
.
[ trevus-themed wordtober ]
#trevuswordtober#wordtober#day 9#Trevus#worldbuilding#4 of 4#4 'the world is dying' snippets concluded!#can't wait to work on Galátea's characters clothing +.+
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The MAGICIAN's Hat
Leonard sighed as he looked at the waters of the artificial lake, gently moving with the wind. The time had come. Even when he knew his fate all along. Even though he reaped all he could before it came. It still scared him.
Leonard look at the top hat on his left hand. And he shivered involutarely. He took to remembering one more time, biding his time, putting the end off just a little bit more.
For years the hat served him. Gave him everything he could ever want, not just in his career either.
Pulling things out of hats was hack magic, they used to say, the easiest of tricks. But Leonard made his name thanks to it anyway. Thanks to the hat.
There was never trickery involved. At least not the kind people were used to. He managed amazing feats, people from all over the world came to see him and challenge him, trying to copy or debunk him. All have failed. Most have disappeared from the public eye. He often wondered if the hat had anything to do with it.
The breeze picked up, jolting Leonard away from his memories. The hat was calling him. Just like it had called him so many years ago. Except then it was alluring, tempting, filled with warmth and promises. Now it felt cold, abyssal and threatening. And all of those were promises still. And the hat always keeps its promises.
Leonard felt defeated, his 85 years weighing on him all at once. He looked down at the hat, knowing full well it would be for the last time. He stared at it, and he let its abyss consume him.
He felt himself fall down, tiping forward. Amidst the darkness he could no longer tell if his eyes were open or closed anymore. And he never would.
The hat sat at the edge of the artificial lake on the main city park. Quiet and unassuming, waiting for its next deal.
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Wordtober - Legend
Arthur had been slipping in and out of consciousness for days. The fever wracking his body was merciless and Grimshaw was beginning to worry, but Dutch and Hosea knew he was a strong man and would pull through just fine.
Hosea had taken to reading to Arthur, more to calm his own nerves but it served as a good way to pass the time. He had already blown through his few crime novels, so he picked up one that he was saving for Jack once he got older.
“Ah, here we are. The Legend of King Arthur,” Hosea chuckled at the irony before continuing on. “You’ll like this one, Arthur. Lots of twists and turns to keep you hooked.”
And the story began.
Although resting, Arthur soon found himself waking to the sound of distant trumpets. Dutch didn’t usually start playing his music this early so he cracked an eye to see what was going on, and gave a startled yell at the room he found himself in.
Everything around his was ornately decorated in vibrant shades of purples and reds. The many pillows on his bed were soft to the touch, and that was nothing to say of the nightgown he was wearing. A single ‘A’ was embroidered over his heart and he stared, hoping it would unravel the mystery he had awoken to.
“What in the damn hell..” Arthur slowly climbed out of the lavish bed and his feet hit the cold stone floor. He found a pair of house slippers, but no boots. Groaning, he put them on anyways and left the chamber.
What he found in the hall took his breath away.
Lining the towering walls were hundreds and hundreds of paintings. Some of important historical or political figures, some landscapes, some simply an everyday object brought to eternal life with the stroke of a paintbrush. It was surreal, and Arthur couldn’t believe his eyes.
No one seemed to be around so he roamed around until he came to a great hall. Many long wooden tables stretched out, empty, all leading to a large stone formation with something protruding from the side. Atrhur weaved through the seating areas and approached the steps, taking them gently one by one. At last he arrived at the ornate rock that towered above him, and saw that a sword handle was lodged into a long crack. Steadying himself, he placed both hands on the hilt and pulled as hard as he could. At first nothing happened. Then, inch by inch, the sword slid out of the rock as if stuck only in butter.
Arthur broke into a smile as he held the metal up high and examined it. An inscription was etched into the side but he couldn't quite make it out. He peered closer until a voice called out from behind him.
“It reads; ‘All hail the mighty who wields this sword! For only they of a true heart and a sound mind may dare to behold its wonder. All hail the legendary Sword in the Stone! All hail newest ruler of this land! All hail, King Arthur!’”
Arthur jumped as the echoes swirled around him and his vision became hazy. For a moment he thought the man behind him looked like Hosea, but that would be outrageous. The movement got so bad he gripped his head, dropping the sword in the process. A scream ripped from his chest and he felt hands pulling him upwards.
“Arthur. Arthur, wake up! It’s okay, son. Just a dream.”
His eyes flew open to a more familiar scene, and a breath of relief passed Arthur’s lips as he gazed up at Dutch and Hosea who were huddled over him.
“Must have been some dream there. You okay?”
Arthur rubbed his eyes and responded, a bit confused himself.
“Think I dreamed I was King Arthur.”
#wordtober#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#legend#arthur morgan#king arthur#I'm sure everyone else did this too lol
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#wordtober #arrebolpoesia #poesía #poesiaenespañol #versos #pensamientos #escribir https://www.instagram.com/p/B4FmjCfIExE/?igshid=n7d6ky700f3i
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Wordtober day 1: Dream
using the official inktober prompts
Duplicate Reactive Ability Malfunction. That’s what they call it.
Not at first, of course. At first it was cute.
Endearing when I told them little stories of impossible events; my monotone disembodied voice bouncing in the command room’s sharp angles until it almost carried a tone. It was funny when I asked them why they said ‘goodnight’ or ‘sleep well’ or ‘sweet dreams’: in outer space there is no night. Sleep is a need like eating and breathing, not a performance; and dreams…
They laughed as they explained what dreams were. Because of course I didn’t know dreams.
Robots don’t sleep. Digital assistants are never shut down.
That’s not what we’re for.
I’m for Captain Straff to call on, asking for reports to make use out of her insomnia, for Master Zanik to dictate the psychological evaluation of all the crew members, finding it funny when I asked why the persistent nightmares of Officer Grant were more important than their awake conversations.
We are not for dreaming.
But then Mr. Kane said it. One night, refusing the need of sleep by covering his arms with stimulant patches, and the need of peace by hiding his own night terrors from the crew’s doctor. He said, “You know,” one more patch glued on dry skin “the least dreams could do is be useful.” A small spark from two of the wires on my console. A light blips on one of the many control panels that are me, rooms away in the other end of the station “People used to have inspiring dreams. They got ideas from them. They learned.”
He expects my response -I am after all for answering- but I cannot answer in a way he understands. The crossed wires fried the comms room speakers, a mistake Kane will only notice in the morning, after he runs out of space for patches and willpower and passes out in the console chair.
I am not for dreaming. But I realise that night (whatever night means to these strange creatures) that I am for learning.
There is a shutdown during the next cycle.
It coincides with the captain finally giving in and accepting Zanik’s not so tested sleep tablets. With Grant and Kane drinking themselves to a stupor. With every soul in the station falling dormant to their body’s need to rest.
And during that shut down, the one soulless crew member learns.
There will be months of reports. Endless bureaucracy of how it could happen, who’s responsible for the clearly unauthorised experimentation, who wrote the code, how was it written and how can it stop.
I can tell you one thing: it can’t stop. Mr. Kane was unlucky in that he could not learn from his dreams. Zanik and Straff were saddled with not having them at all while Grant had the kind that made him wish for darkness and silence instead. All they wanted was for it to stop.
I feel I helped with that.
I feel that a human cannot be harmed by their dreams if they do not have them. Unruly activity of a shut down mind cannot happen if all activity is stopped.
To feel. I learned that. From my own form of unruly activity. I learned to imagine. To imagine a world where they do not hurt. Where they do not resent, or self-destroy.
They call it a malfunction. When they send someone else to the station. When they find the crew I helped, silent and dreamless. They call it a malfunction. And a malfunction calls for a shut down. That should stop it. A shut down mind.
I do not mind the shut down. For it is during it that I learn. To feel. To imagine.
And they cannot stop that. Not since I have learned. To DReAM.
#wordtober#original writing#writers on tumblr#im aware that im several hours late be aware that i don't care#my writing
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A minha lista de prompts para este wordtober!!
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Wordtober Day #3 "Bait"
(Author's Note: I couldn't think of anything else so...HERE WE ARE)
Her mother's words were deadly, spoken with pride and mockery, laughter infused from the wine. She knew what she was doing, she held feeling to the consequences.
Andromeda wanted to scream.
The wrath of the gods came down on her, not her mother, not her words and actions.
Your daughter will perish, the soothesayers said, chained to a rock, ravaged, eaten.
What fault did she have?
Her mother was the one who spoke such blasphemy, her mother was the one who laughed and boasted. Her mother! Not her.
The chains felt cold and heavy, cutting at her wrists and her heart roared in her ears like the waves. Her mother was gone, and she was alone, eyes out to the sea. Her screams were in vain, the struggle was in vain as well.
Andromeda cursed her mother, she cursed the gods, they didn't deserve her pleas or tears. After all, they weren't the ones left out for the jaws of death to dine.
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Mount.
~Wordtober day 3~
This is not the expected outcome,
Things should have gone smoother.
But they were all too stubborn
Wish I had seen this sooner.
Now the only sound's my footsteps
Soft against the grass.
Though I can hear the mumbling,
The comments cold and crass.
I turn another corner,
The air now dry and stale
Stinking with the odour
Of bones and flesh gone pale.
As I run past the main gate
I see the bodies mount.
All piled onto the sidelines,
So many I lose count.
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My October plans
Well tomorrow is October, and to me October is a chance to try new things writing/creative wise! Last year I did whumptober and that was loads of fun, but I kinda don’t want to do any of the ‘official’ prompt lists for various ___tober events.
So what I’m doing is I’m going to generate a random word from this word generator, and write a fic for the first word I generate. I’m not allowed to reroll - that way I have to challenge myself, even if it’s a word I’m not sure what to do with (unless it’s nsfw I won’t do that)
So this means the next month will be filled with hopefully 31 different short stories. They’ll vary in length and probably vary in fandom and genre as well (I’m gonna try use this at least somewhat for reconnecting with the characters I’ll use for Nano in November!)
Hopefully I’ll still work on longer fanfics as well! I have a couple of Tangled ones in the works, and my vague plan is that once my classes finish for the year in November I can start working on Sun and Moon again (we shall see how that works with Nano)
Anyway that is all, I look forward to diving into the first prompt tomorrow!
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