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ramblinganthropologist · 6 months

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Writober 2023 22 - Scratchy

Summary: After endless years of waiting, Alistair Shepard wakes up to the scratchy feeling he's been waiting for. Fucking finally.

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Beep beep beep��

Ugh…

Alistair’s hand shot out from under his blanket to where his omni-tool was resting on his bedside table. Once it smacked down, the sounds stopped. However, he was now awake, and that was a tragedy as he rolled onto his side to try and block out the sun.

Could he skip class?

…

No, he couldn’t.

With a yawn, Alistair sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. It was sometime after 7 AM, and his classes started at 9. That gave him time to shuffle around his apartment and warm up his prosthetics for a long day of sitting on his ass and taking notes, which he needed. Nobody wanted stiff prosthetics in the middle of a long lecture.

Weird how he used to run around in armor and shoot things… but no, sitting in class was a whole other level of difficulty.

It took him a few minutes to wake up enough to stand. Still yawning, he made his way to the bathroom to shower and start his day. The nice thing about no longer being on a military ship was that the water was hot. That alone made him glad he retired, apart from the whole not having to shoot people thing. That was a nice bonus too.

“Ugh… what classes do I have today?” The hot water massaged his sore muscles as he stood there under the hot water, trying to wake up his brain. “I think I have anatomy lab… great…”

His body was already sore at the thought, but it didn’t matter. If he had wanted an easy retirement, then he shouldn’t have signed up for med school when he could stand. This was his burden to bear, so all he cold do was grin and grind through it.

At least he wasn’t being shot at anymore. He could not emphasize enough how much he enjoyed not getting shot at anymore. It was like the top five things that came from retirement if he was going to be completely honest.

Eventually, he got out of the shower and started to dry off. The hot water had done wonders to loosen up his stiff, battle-abused muscles, to the point he could survive his day of classes and labs. Maybe he wouldn’t even need to stretch during his lunch break…

…

One could hope, but no doubt he would probably have to jog around campus to loosen up after a morning of sitting.

“Oh well…” He sighed as he passed the towel over his face to dry it off. However, Alistair paused mid-dry, blinking in surprise. Something felt… off… when he tried to dry off his skin. It almost felt like it was catching on something.

Confused, Alistair dropped the tower and reached up to feel at his face. This brought another blink of surprise – there was something scratchy and rough covering his chin. His heart skipped a beat as he sprinted to the mirror, wiping it off with his human hand to clear it up.

A man with shower-reddened skin and mussed hair stared back at him, eyes wide. At first, he didn’t notice it, but then he began to pick out the details. There was red on his face, and it wasn’t because he had turned the shower up too high for his skin.

That… he was pretty sure that was stubble.

“Holy shit.” Alistair’s voice caught and cracked as the realization fell into place. Theoretically, he should’ve known this day would come. The doctor had told him that things like voice deepening and body hair growth would begin after some time on testosterone.

His body had been growing more hair – thanks, Dad, for those lovely genes – but his face hadn’t been part of that. Yet, there was the proof he needed as he rubbed his hand across his cheek. It was scratchy and coated in ginger stubble that could one day turn into a beard if he left it alone long enough.

It was finally happening.

In that moment, Alistair could only grin as he stared into the mirror. No doubt he looked ridiculous – his stubble was kind of patchy if he was going to be honest – but he didn’t care. It was proof the testosterone was finally working.

He had to show Bo.

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Nights on Rannoch were cold, but it made sense – it was a desert planet.

Bo yawned as she stretched out after a long day of knocking heads together. She was glad to be home, curled up on the couch under a blanket as she waited for Tali to get home. She’d probably be home late again – being an admiral was busy work, even though the fleet had a home base now. With any luck, she’d come in by midnight.

She was such a hard worker… it was kind of sexy.

“Wonder if anything’s on TV…” Bo wasn’t a huge fan of quarian TV, which is why she had asked her brother to hack her omni-tool to get her stuff from the Citadel. Her screen might have been cracked, but it functioned. “Hell, I’ll take Forensic Files VII at this point.”

Lucky for her, FFVII was always available nearly anywhere in the galaxy. She was about to click on, but a message appeared on her screen that came from Earth. There was only one person she knew who lived there – and who often forgot the time difference.

“Is this another picture of Saren? Hope he bit something cool.” Bo clicked into the message. The photo took some time to download, but soon she had it projected on the screen of her omni-tool. “What the…”

It wasn’t a picture of a hamster. Instead, her brother was in front of the mirror taking a selfie like an early 21st century teenager. Hell, he was even holding up a peace sign as he beamed into the camera. Conveniently, he had forgotten to put his shirt on…

God, he was such a hipster.

“Doesn’t he have class to get…” Bo’s eyebrow cocked as she really looked at the photo. “Wait a second…”

She zoomed in, blinking in surprise. At first she hadn’t noticed it, but… her brother was looking kind of hairy. His chest had taken the brunt of it, but his face wasn’t far behind. There was a patch of stubble there, bright red and making him look like he had gotten sunburnt.

Also, he was finally developing an Adam’s apple.

“Somebody got hit by the puberty train.” Bo shook her head, a faint grin on her face as she typed out a brief message – nice peach fuzz, put a damn shirt on or save those kinds of pics for Mandibles - before sending. Then she settled back in on the couch to continue watching FF7. Maybe this time it wouldn’t be the husband…

Nah. It was always the husband.

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Alistair was in a great mood to say the least as he finished getting ready for class. Since he didn’t own a razor, the stubble was staying on his face for the time being until he could deal with it. Maybe he would try growing a beard if it evened out… the possibilities were endless.

Who knew a bit of facial hair could lift his spirits about anatomy lab?

Before he left, a buzzing on his wrist told him Bo had gotten the picture. She had even sent him a message back, one that made him chuckle as he read it over. Maybe he should have put a shirt on first, but could you blame him? He had been excited.

“I’ll be more careful next time.” His voice cracked a little as he spoke – but even he could hear the shift was beginning. Before long it would settle into his new range and he wouldn’t sound like a teenager anymore. That too put a spring into his step as he locked the door to his apartment and set out for class.

It was a beautiful day, and he was starting to finally grow facial hair. Not even anatomy lab could get him down.

…

Ok, maybe it could a little… but he was still pretty happy. Maybe after class he could send Garrus a picture. His fiancé should see the progress, right?

#writober 2023 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard

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authormarialberg · 7 months

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How the Bones Connected

Pile of Bones by Maria L. Berg 2023 It’s hard to believe we’re starting the second week of October already (and I went swimming in the lake yesterday). I felt like it took me some time to get warmed up this year. How about you? Hopefully this second week will find us in the flow. If you missed this morning’s prompts post, I’m responding to Connecting the Bones. For today’s images I cut a…

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#OctPoWriMo #RIPXVIII #Writober #abstract photography #art #bones #found poetry #light-forming photography #new poem #OctPoWriMo 2023 #Writober 2023

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leshistoiresdenuit · 7 months

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Writober 2023 - French edition

Hello tout le monde,

je met la liste du writober à dispo, la liste officielle traduite proposée par le Inktober 2023. A vos plumes :)

#writober 2023 #textes #France #Writober #inktober #fantasy #art challenge #inktober2023 #ecrire #création #taylor swift #books & libraries

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kitchenlittle · 7 months

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My Writober Story

I thought I'd share a story of something that happened to me a few years ago, that gave birth to my mask kink. I debated posting this but whats a better time than now?

Warnings: Mentions of (hot) scare actors, underage teens (don't worry nothing bad), flirting, general depictions of haunted house attractions and hay rides, mentions of weapons/fake blood/alcohol/bullying/cursing, revealing costumes, sexual fantasy, sex in general, and mentions of arousal.

Every year I go to a Halloween attraction, so far over the last few I've only gone to 2 haunted houses. (I have a habit of visiting the history museum or pumpkin patches instead since I'm a big scaredy cat) 'Safe to say I don’t think I’ll ever forget the second time ..3 years ago…an event that opened up Pandora's box for my poor mind…a day that changed my brain's chemistry forever. Many thoughts about that evening dig their heels into my nerves every time I see the pumpkin decor take over at my favorite stores. One specifically has plagued me for ages since..…I should’ve asked that employee to fuck my brains out.

I remember it being chilly outside, likely because I decided to go on Hallows' Eve. The leaves were crunchy, hued with reddish-browns and mustard-yellows. I could hear the shrills of nearby people being driven hellishly down a sketchy dirt road. The lines were long but luckily the faint smells of fair food and an excited group of chatty teenagers complimenting my costume kept me sane. Slowly I watched as each large group of people were packed into the school bus and taken to some unknown destination. Soon the familiar wafts of gasoline washed over me and not much later I shuffled my way down the isles of the vehicle, sitting in the back where I thought I was safe from any scares. That was my first rookie mistake, my second was trying to take in the scenery of the bus rather than keeping tabs on the Micheal Myers clad employee that was about to scare me shitless in a few minutes. When the bus started rev up I expected a mediocre experience, maybe some light scares here and there, rock music, maybe some funny lights. I was wrong... I realized that after the announcer asked that we all screamed as loud as we could. I don’t remember if he was dressed up like the rest of us guests but I remember his monotone voice as the lights flickered.

“Alright everyone give us a nice scream before we make our journey!”

You would have thought he hated he hated living with the way he spoke, his energy energy even carried into our screams as they were low and uncaring, mine were muffled due to my rubber mask's unforgiving room for me to breathe. I saw him visibly roll his eyes and got a bit depressed at the thought of at least not getting a good jump that night. Well... I got one while I looked into the window to my right to distract myself. Suddenly my body jerked as the loudest blood curdling volume of Rob Zombie's “Living dead girl” blasted my ear drums, the door slammed shut, the once jittering lights above turned red, and the bus took off at a breakneck speed down the unfortunately UNEVEN, CURVE FILLED, DIRT ROAD. Memories of my favorite Child's Play movie flooded every crevice of my mind and a forgotten childish terror bubbled up in my chest. We all really screamed then, which only added to my fright..As the lights turned turn on and off, blood started to pound in my eardrums. I remembered a crucial detail that would make my night just that much worse. It rained the day before, meaning the ground we were driving on was still soft and probably muddy. I panicked though, no one gave a fuck about my little panic attack since they were abou to have one of their own, a famous slasher decided he was going to be the first thing I saw as my eyes tried to escape the visual of the fleeing dirt paths infront of the bus. I ducked my head down like the scaredy cat I am, looking out to the side when I realized that there were more actors tugging at the windows, reaching in at guests, even walking and riding the top on the roof, banging at the metal and yelling every insult imaginable. My shock and feelings of wanted to piss myself finally subsided when I closed my teary eyes...and then the bus stopped. Surprisingly, the slashers were gone, everyone stopped screaming, and the scene was replaced with the sight of an impressively decorated haunted house. One that of course had another long line. In my boot heels, WW1 era nurse’s uniform, and a plague doctors mask I waddled out onto the sweet stationary grass under my trembling body. I swore that the bus driver's attitude was a ruse to get our guard down,especially after I saw his lazy smirk behind the glass. I'd never judge a book by it's cover again. Crazily enough after all that that wasn’t the life changing event....

I stomped through broken small twigs and branches to get close to the entrance of the haunted house.. With the groups of people waiting in front of me it was safe to assume I atleast had about an hour before I could enjoy its horrors. Another group of teenagers started to chat me up. Unfortunately they were drunk. They taunted me, while putting their beer stained hands on my mask, trying to get me to scare them…I was assumed to be a scare actor. Unfortunately knowing the climate of the people in this area of the South they'd likely to have a reason to be violent with me if I obliged. My nurse's uniform was figure hugging so at least if they did there was no way they couldn’t claim they didn’t know I was a girl. Luckily I wasn't dumb enough to provoke them or have sudden moves. A masked employee patrolling around came to my aid, hiding his effort to make sure they didn’t escalate as a way to have a close up stare down with me. Like two slashers betting each other to make the first move I held eyes contact with him. Hw was fairly tall, clad in all black except for a halloween mask and machete thrown over his shoulder. Despite his stare down I had to be silly and tilt my head to the side at him.

“What's going on?”

I giggled out to him through my words. I saw him roll his eyes playfully before giving me another look and walking away. The drunk teens had turned their attention to something else. Silently I thanked him l Despite him having a nice voice and towering over me that wasn’t the mind bending event either. I went through the line with no issues, walked up creaky wooden steps already showing wear and tear after being trampled on for weeks. It was a typical haunted house in the way that it did its job well enough. You know, doing it's job well enough scare the living hell out of me! Especially since their main gimmick was actors acting as decorations instead of being hidden behind walls and behind doors like I expected. The scares I got that night had me clutching my nonexistent pearls as I stumbled about. I unfortunately had to get into another line afterwards. The line was situated under a wooden pavilion, a lot of people were packed in like sardines but there were televisions tucked into corners playing, ‘Friday the 13th’. That pacified me enough to endure the snail paced walking for the next hour. Though I couldn’t help but listen in on the conversation of those behind me. Once again another group of teenagers but nicer and way more excited than I was expecting for a simple hayride. Bored and heels digging into my ankles I decided to ask them about the hayride and what was so good about it. Eagerly they word vomited out a story of an infamous employee that worked on the ride.

“NO, NO, YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HE’s SO...FUCKiNG ...HOT!”

“Listen girl you will get it when you get on, I’m asking for his number. He’s so fine that we had to get on twice!”

I stared at them. I thought, ‘how hot could he really be for them to think it’s worth waiting almost 2 -4 hours in the cold to see him again?’ No shade but as a southerner I've noticed that what some people consider hot is a lot of time mediocre as there aren’t a lot of choices in the small town I’m from. I’ll admit I was skeptical. At most I was expecting some muscly guy dressed as Michael Myers or something , maybe even some Ghostface dude with a cool voice. The group behind me practically squealed as we were seated on the wooden carriage to the woods. I sat on the hay and stared out onto the scenic path ahead. It was honestly inevitable for the first 3 minutes to not look around and just enjoy the gorgeous view. It was so pretty. One thing I can say about living in the country is that you can’t beat a full moon and a lush forest. Coupled with nice folks and delicious smells of the distant food court the weight seemed worth it. The blasts of cool air on my hot face was short lived as he came up to the first attraction, or theme? Zombie Hillbillies with what looked like oddly realistic guns? Yeah that scared all us when a zombie ran at a full sleep and a actor let off an actual shot near our heads as our carriage hightailed it out the premises. The track of the walking dead playing was unmistakable. Next? A Succubus den. A bunch of pretty girls wearing leather skin tight suits, beckoning my fellow riders and I to stay long enough to have our souls taken. Screaming, sighs, and even the cracking of a few whips overwhelmed us. We moved away, the red and purple lights we were basking in started to fade away and their siren song with it. They killed their roll, too bad I wasn't feeling it as much as some of the other guys and some girls on the wagon. I was feeling good, today had been fun but not too scary, something I preferred to just plain unfiltered fear on my favorite holiday.

We trudged through some more scenic forest until I heard the unmistakable melody of a circus music. I quickly reversed the direction of my gaze only to see what looked like a box with red light bleeding through its cracks. Two men with clown costumes opened its doors. I braced myself as I was sure this would be the last attraction of the night. I really couldn't miss the squealing of the teenagers I was seated next to. They were practically falling over themselves, grabbing at each others clothes and hyperventilating while giggling manically, though incoherent ramblings I heard words like ‘hot’, ‘fine’, and ‘he’s almost here!’. I had to tilt my head at them out of slight second-hand embarrassment and pure confusion. No one was inside, which was a uncharacteristic for this ride so far. It was until I heard the rattling of a chainsaw that I realized how close they really were. Most of the actors had been chilling behind the ride staring at us, it gave me the jumpscare of my life let's say. We were then bum rushed by a bunch of clowns, laughing and pulling at the ride to rock it back and forth. A contortionist showing off her skills on a nearby side stage. Some got uncomfortably close but then walked away quickly as I could tell they were trying to decipher if I was a fellow actor or not. For whatever reason they kept flirting with the woman sitting adjacent to me, despite her being enclosed in the arms of her husband. I quickly realized I was being a complete hater because she loved it and her husband was being a good sport about it. Regardless I still didn’t see anything extraordinary like they had promised. I simply shrugged my shoulders. Maybe the clowns were the main attraction of the night? Yeah some of them were fairly hot, as hot as a few guys in Halloween masks while cursing us all out could be. It seemed like the hay ride's shenanigans were wrapping up since the clowns were leaving. That was until the wagon we all were sitting on threw itself into overdrive. Gunning it, moving faster than it ever cared to before. I saw trees ride past me the same way it did on the bus, but the manic laughter continued . 'WAS IT NOT OVER?! TRACTORS CAN’T MOVE THIS FAST!…or at least it shouldn’t be…?Right?' Suddenly we came to screeching halt, but not really a stop more like a moderate slow down. My panic wasn't given any time to settle in before I felt a particularly sudden shift of weight on our wooden vehicle. I could barley see through my now foggy plague mask's goggles but it was an unmistakable figure. The squeals of my counterparts turned into full blown shrieks as the statuesque shadow entered our ride with a particularly large rifle, a clown mask on its face, and a particular malice in its stance. He didn’t need bullets since all of us were already floored. A sight to behold, curly dirty blonde locks peeked from behind the face covering, miles of freckled, pale, skin peaked from underneath his ripped overalls, and his attempts to subtly catch his breath sent chills down my spine. He was mouth watering, but honestly if the modest muscle exposed at his biceps and underneath his dungarees were a climax then his voice was the final act. One of the perks of living in the South to me has always been southern accents that some men have…but lord the sweet honey dripping from this man lips made me want to set my black ass to my factory settings. For some brief seconds I thought being barefoot and pregnant were the only way to live happily the minute he spoke. There wasn’t an instrument in existence that competed with the octave his baritone vocals were set on. I was slack jawed and flabbergasted. If my fellow southern black women in my area were to describe a man like this we’d say he said he had that ‘cowboy walk’. Meaning he was the perfect representation of why America was so smitten with the farm-hands throughout the decades. I couldn't say a word if I tried. I watched a particularly bold and familiar girl muster up the courage to speak to him as he was getting ready to point his gun at one at one of the riders.

“H-hi, do you remember me?”

Completely breaks character and acknowledges her presence.

“Oh? Oh yeah, it’s you…*comes to a realization as he turns* *chuckles* don’t tell me you came back to see me?”

“I-I did, um…so um.. -you have a girlfriend?”

Now everyone got quiet, even if the wagon was still high, telling down the moist dirt road. Now I knew the girl was young but she shouldn't be too much younger than us considering we were the same height. A dumb assumption I know but I assumed that she and her friends wouldn’t get this far only to be a kid….right? He seemed to have the same idea.

“Depends…how old are you?”

Sheepishly I saw the surprise and disappointment spread like a virus from her face to theirs. Her porcelain fingers tremble around her phone as the prospect of getting his number become a a fleeting wish��surely she didn’t go this far and was-

“I’m…14…*nervous laugh*”

“Oh hell no”

He didn’t even give it a second thought before sighing and moving his rifle to his shoulder. He gave us all a reassuring nod and proceeded to backflip off the moving cart. She pouted while her friends comforted. I just stared back into the abyss only to make eye contact with the mysterious stranger. This is going to sound terrible, but I feel like that was a needed experience for her. (First all, she just ruined the chance of anyone legal to get a taste of this guy, like me! Jk Jk) Even when I was her age, mind you I’m 21 now, no matter how many crushes I ha on my older peers , I still knew better not to ask them out. You had to be 18 or older to even work at this place. Though, I still felt terrible for her and my maternal urges wanted to go over there and comfort her since I knew that kinda stuff took a huge blow to one’s ego, and I knew she didn’t know any better. I had the chance to ask her if she was older before the little caravan came to a halt. They didn’t drop us off exactly at the drop off spot though, we’d have to walk a quarter of a mile back to the lit up crowns in the distance. Never in my life have I needed to walk more, being hot and bothered with a bunch of people around isn’t ideal ( for me at least). That cold air was doing more than its share at cooling me down, too bad the nearby lights were only coaxing me further into a daze as it neared. I walked on the path and stumbled through the bush. A recognizable voice poured itself a molasses-like tone right into my ears.

“I’ll see you later right?”

I knew what he was referring to, he thought I was a fellow employee too, the workers would congregate after the attraction closed down, eat, intermangle, and then go home. I wish I could be there and see what he looked like and maybe a little more since he was single as long as whoever he was talking to was legal. I couldn't be happier that the rubber mask covered my lovestruck expression.

“Of course”

He did his famous nod and retreated back into the leaves, to unintentionally seduce another group. Of course I didn’t go, I didn’t work there it was already 1 am, I needed to get home unfortunately. I still wondered though ‘what if I did go?’ and ‘why did he care if I was there or not?’. It wasn’t until I turned around in the mirror later on that I realized the culprit for his curiosity. Lets just as historically bum pads were made to take some weight off the back side and rear end look more ample and rounded, maybe even stand out a bit under heavy garments. Let's just say I’ve never needed one.

Happy Halloween Everyone. Remember that despite this story, they do not harass scare actors, they are just doing their job and don;t deserve to be sexually harassed.

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futurefind · 7 months

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Writober / Day 05

Claustrophobia

Bustle is best for business. Bigger crowds mean bigger population with bigger wallets and bigger chance of wanting a merc. There's no point in her sitting still when she could be working or lining up her next jobs, after all. She slinks her way towards the town square, trying to ignore as the streets go from 'lively' to 'congested'. Sasume starts making note of everyone who passes by, not as individuals but as bodies. A cluster at three o'clock, a straggler that she barely careens away from to her left. Her stomach churns, opening up into a gaping maw, and it's hard to think past the blood roaring in her ears. She can feel the eyes staring at her (they're not), judging her (they're not—), hating her (they're not—) Someone shouts at her. (—right?) She whirls, ducks away and into herself, as if the stone had already cracked against her head, even as her hand jumps to her sword and— The man just stares at her (judging her—), taking in her wild gaze and defensive posture (hating her—) and— "—awthorne lady, right?" Her brain is still cracking around the inside of her skull at the blow that hadn't come, and her hands are too slick with sweat to properly grasp her thoughts. Still— "Yeah?" Going through the motions is her lifesaver. "Ah, great! The Boss is waiting for you in th—" Right. Right. She'd still already'd had a big gig (relatively) lined up. Not just a backlog to look to build up. "...You're early." she barely hears herself. Her tongue tastes like glue and chalk. She clenches her fists and unclenches them. Repeats. Pries herself upright into a proper, proud lie of a posture. "—d'ya think it'd do ya good or bad if the Boss hears you nearly stabbed me?" He laughs as they walk. Her stomach drops like a stone. She isn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Maybe she'll do both, when she heads to the inn (she knows she'll do neither, she can't; she doesn't have the time, and never will). Still, she forces herself to breathe regularly. "You tell me. He's your boss." He laughs again, and it rakes against her ears like a death knell.

Sasume does not have claustrophobia... per say. Small spaces, by themselves, are something she's fine with. If not a source of comfort, akin to hiding in a closet or a cat loving small spaces. That is, in most cases.

Crowds, particularly dense ones? Particularly when she's alone? Make her break and spiral, at all eyes she can't help but think are on her. Because if she doesn't, well. How else is she going to be able to do anything if they try to hurt her? She doesn't want to hurt any of them in return, after all—

However, in the more traditional sense of the word? Sasume is terrified of being 'trapped', and more specifically 'imprisoned'. Dungeons or the equivalent are extremely stressful for her to so much as visit, and being actually put in one is a genuine trigger that will leave her shutting down and inconsolable for some time.

In general, though? No claustrophobia... technically.

#writober 2023 //#about // sasume #meta // sasume #o h :')))#drabble // sasume #panic attack //#abuse mention //

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maybeylic · 7 months

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А, насчет вчера... Я выложила вк старый текст, который ранее был тамблерным эксклюзивом. Если вам вдруг интересно. Третья тема не такая жопная, но я хочу поиграть в амонг ас с сестрой, так что не рассчитывайте на шедевр :з

#русский текст #русский блог #русский пост #русский тамблер #русские посты #русский tumblr #литература #литературный блог #болтливые топи #янебейлиц #inktober #writober2023 #writober #inktober 2023 #инктобер #русский щитпост #щитпост

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ocs-and-chapters · 7 months

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I know writober is still a thing, but I haven't done it since 2018-2019 and I can't find the prompt list for general writober 2023

#putting this here since its my writblr #writblr #writing #writober #writober2023 #kinktober 2023

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animar64 · 7 months

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Chilly Bones

My inspiration for ” Chilly Bones ” came from Welcome To October Day 1: Prompts to Put Us In A Spooky Mood at the Experience Writing Blog I used a mind map provided in the post and I TRIED to stick to the suggested form The Pantoum- for my poem, but I’m going to have to practice that ( it looks like fun so I’m looking forward to it) I’m looking forward to catching up and continuing this months…

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#OctPoWriMo #Writober #Halloween Writing Prompts #Horrordailies 2023

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klausbens · 7 months

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writober 2023 | DAY TWO · stump

Buggy is many things. The Clown, the Flashy Fool, the Genius Jester. A trainwreck waiting to happen, a bomb about to go off, always a step away from something that could either ruin him or make him whole again—or both, in no particular order. He’s abrasive, determined, rough around the edges, but he knows how to show people a good time. When he wants to. If he feels like it.

Buggy is many things, yes, and considerate is not one of them. He acts first, thinks later. Touches first, asks never. So that’s what he does now, with Shanks—he reaches out to grab at his stump, a mad glint in his blue eyes.

Part of him is expecting the other half of his arm to fly back to its owner, like his does all the time. Part of him hopes it will. Yet, it doesn’t. Shanks’ stump is just a stump, and there is no making it into something else.

And Buggy needs to know who.

Not who did this to him, that is irrelevant—at least for now. What Buggy needs to know is who was important enough for Shanks to lose an arm over. And after he knows, though he’ll never, ever ask, he needs to take them out himself.

Shanks doesn’t shake him off. As unnerving as ever, he simply waits for Buggy to be done. Lets him do whatever he needs to. He doesn’t wince or grimace as Buggy runs his fingers along freshly-healed skin. Instead, he looks at him with that unbearable, fond smile of his, the one that makes Buggy want to crawl out of his body.

A while later Buggy falls asleep against his chest, hating himself and Shanks and the whole entire world. He misses the weight of Shanks’ arms around him, keeping all of his pieces together as if the Chop Chop Fruit had never taken them apart.

When he wakes up to an empty bed, as per usual, Buggy hates even more fiercely. He hates, detests, loathes. He swears he’ll never fall for it again, knows without the shadow of a doubt that he will, and supposes that stump will come in handy then as well.

One less limb to worry about disentangling.

One less limb to greedily keep to himself until their next meeting.

One less limb for Buggy to feel around the mattress for, eyes closed and unseeing, heart full, heavy and ever so slightly more broken.

#writober2023 #shuggy #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #shanks x buggy #opla #one piece #one piece live action #writober #frankie writes

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siliconforbrains · 7 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Relationships: Solar & Lunar, Implied Dreamtale Sans | Dream/Killer Sans (Undertale), Implied Cross Sans/Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Original Undertale Character(s) & Original Undertale Character(s), Gerson (Undertale) & Original Character(s) Characters: Original Undertale Character(s), Gerson (Undertale), Mentioned Cross Sans (Undertale) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Established Relationship, Lunar is Crossmare's kid, Solar is Driller's kid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, (not by the main cast dw), Found Family, Original Character-centric, Caring Gerson, he's been taking care of these kids since they were created, and he's got some Wisdom(tm) to share with them, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Unbetaed we die like my last braincell, Writober 2023, Prompt: Ace

Summary:

Solar and Lunar have been a matching set ever since the day they were born. (Or, two kids who thought they had no one but themselves find out they have a family, and Gerson gets to share some Old Man Wisdom through the power of playing cards. Somehow, it all works out.)

Writober 2023 - Day 1: Ace

#undertale #utmv #utmv fanfic #implied crossmare #implied driller #soulmates au #and we're back babey #gonna use writober to write a little more about this au #writober 2023 #maxiswriting

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allenbloom · 7 months

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Day 10: Libreria / Bookshelf

The creature chased and turned in every corner they did, following right behind them even when they took different paths, as if it could catch them at any time but chose not to, deciding to enjoy the chase instead.

The shape of the creature was near impossible, like it could reshape itself around the hallways, crooks and ends of the library without missing a beat. Noah and Ivy tried their best to hide, but it always found them.

Noah ran and ducked every time he needed, wondering how to defeat the creature, getting more and more tired by the second, more in need of a break the creature was unwilling to give.

Ivy was more agile, looking like she was a natural dodger in every chance the creature had to attack. Her mind was less on how to defeat the creature and more so how to stop it from moving any further; she knew with Noah she could come up with a plan, but for that they had to stop running around like headless chickens.

She met her opening: A bookshelf she had almost knocked over earlier that week, she knew its legs were weak and could give in with a swift, well aimed hit. As soon as she reached it she pushed, dropping it in top of her chaser.

She jumped on top of the shelf, trying to add her weight to the book’s, hoping it would immobilize the creature.

Now trapped, the creature looked like it was made of dark noodles, almost like eels, trying to escape from its confines as its tentacles wiggled. Noah looked over in short-lived relief as the creature moved in vain.

Until the wood creaked beneath Ivy and the shelf split in half, pages and books flying through the air as she landed as swiftly as she could, closer to her ally.

They would need a lot more than an old bookshelf if they wanted anything close to a victory.

If you liked what you read, feel free to check out the rest of the writober promps, and if you're feeling generous please consider supporting me on my ko-fi

#horror #writers on tumblr #original characters #writober #oc writing #original content #original story #original fiction #frecuencia desconocida #original works #oc #oc art #my ocs #original character #unkown frequency #writober 2023

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ramblinganthropologist · 7 months

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Writober 2023 16 and 17 - Angel and Demon

Summary: Al's got a little angel and demon on his shoulder. Angel usually wins. Why does the demon sound like his sister, and why does it sometimes have good ideas?

(Post ME3)

---

Why they ever decided to make the Citadel cold, Alistair didn’t know. Someone had to be a sadist.

His limp was bad that day as he left work, shivering as he zipped his jacket up tighter. The sun cycle had shifted to early evening, and people milled about as they left the hospital. All he wanted to do was get home and sleep under his nice warm blanket and maybe take some pain meds.

Instead, he got an eyeful of a turian standing against the wall, waiting for him.

“Having a rough day, Al?” Garrus pushed away from the wall, offering his arm for his husband to live on. Alistair took it gladly, sighing as the weight lessened on his bad leg. There was nothing like a turian to help balance his weight… and it helped he was handsome.

He chuckled softly as they walked home arm in arm. “On top of dealing with a few teenagers adjusting to their new amps, I had to vaccinate krogan triplets. I don’t know who was more upset by it, the kids, or their dad.”

His money was on the dad. Krogan adults did NOT like needles. The kids were smaller and easier to bribe with candy to look away. Dad, not so much – he had nearly fainted at the sight of the needle.

Luckily, there was room for him on the floor.

“Almost forgot flu season was coming up.” Garrus let out a thoughtful note as they stopped at a red light. “Any chance I could stop by and get one?”

Alistair snorted as he nudged against the turian’s side. “Last I checked, you were a grown up and my age limit for patients is 21.”

“Oh, no one will notice if I double up and squeak at people. The receptionist likes me anyway.” His husband chuckled as the light turned green. “Besides, I trust you with needles. Adult doctors don’t give band aids with hamsters on them.”

Not that Garrus really needed a band aid – he had a carapace that was nothing compared to a needle. With turians, you had to aim for the sensitive places between the plates. One of them, the easiest one, was near the neck. Naturally, they hated when he tried to get a needle there.

That space was looking pretty vulnerable…

“Don’t do it, Alistair, you love him and he’s walking you home.”

The little angel he liked to imagine hanging out on his shoulder was whispering in his ear, reminding him of his vows of commitment and love. It was a strong voice, one he knew very well and had gotten him out of trouble plenty of times.

The problem was, there was another one.

“It be funny.” The little demon he liked to imagine on his other shoulder sounded like Bo who didn’t try to hide her accent. “Come on, you love the noise he makes.”

He did…

“Do unto others, Alistair.”

Angel was making a point though…

Alistair shook his head, letting the little angel and demon representations of his judgement fade into the background. They were close to home now, and he was happy to fish his keys out of his pocket so they could get in and get warm.

This time, the angel won.

---

“I don’t know why you’re so damn insistent on my son not enlisting with the Alliance to get his amp when he’s old enough. They’ve helped generations of biotics!”

They also came up with torture camps, but… he was an L3, so his knowledge was somewhat secondhand.

Alistair felt a vein throb in his forehead as he used his best blank stare at the woman in front of him. She had come in with her teenage son to hear the results of his testing. Just like he had thought, the boy’s biotics were starting to get stronger due to puberty. He was going to need an amp sooner rather than later.

“Mom, I don’t want to enlist, I want to go to art school…” the boy’s voice was still cracking as he muttered his protest quietly. “I told you that…”

The woman gave him a dirty look. “You come from a line of service, Sean. Besides, you need boot camp to toughen you up.’

Ugh… she was one of those.

Alistair did his best to keep his face neutral as he cleared his throat. “While the Alliance does provide amps, they do require 4 years of service. He would also have to wait 2 years for the implant, and by then his symptoms could get worse. I would highly recommend going through a civilian clinic, especially given Sean doesn’t seem to want to serve.”

His heart went out to the kid – he knew what it was like to be stuck between having to choose something for your health and your passion. It had derailed a decade of his life and literally put him in his grave.

Sure, he had kind of saved the universe… but fuck, he hadn’t had much of a choice.

Sean’s mother rounded on him – Sean winced in the background. “Do you have a problem with military service, doctor? You don’t exactly sound supportive of it.”

“Tell her you lost your fucking leg saving the universe so her son doesn’t have to fucking enlist.”

His consciousness was in the red at the moment – it was on the tip of his tongue to say the least. Usually, he was glad when people didn’t put the pieces together, but here was where it actually might have been useful.

Who knew testosterone was enough to make you a 22nd century Tony Hawk…

“She’s scared for her son and proud of her family’s military service. Push the fact that civilian procedures have improved since 2186.”

The angel was back, pleading their case. It wasn’t as fun as telling her to fuck off… but she was the parent of his patient. Alistair felt his shoulders dip – the little angel and demon went for a ride within his mind’s eye – and he sighed.

“No, ma’am. I served in the Alliance before medical school.” He paused. “But I had to wait nearly a decade to go to medical school, and I wouldn’t want that for Sean.”

He looked towards the boy. “What type of art are you interested in?”

“Sculpture.” Sean winced – common reaction to his system’s biotics battering his system. He needed the procedure sooner rather than later. “It’s hard to work when my brain keeps trying to evict my eyeballs.”

Oof, he remembered that… it had plagued him until he was 20 and nearly dying from a brain melt.

“It would be in your best interest to get the procedure as soon as possible.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, your symptoms are only going to get worse the older you get.”

Normally, Alistair didn’t like scaring patients. He found it worked better when they came in with open eyes. But facts were facts – his patient was his priority and getting him an amp was the most important thing.

He held out his omni-tool, transferring the details. “I’m sending a referral to the clinic I refer my patients to for implants.”

At least the woman in front of him didn’t argue. Thank the Lord for that. It quieted the angel and the demon, at least for the moment. He was glad for it as he worked on filling out the referral so his patient could continue sculpting.

Sometimes, it was good to be a doctor and have personal history with those brain aches. And once again, the angel had won for the good of everyone in the room.

---

That night, it was freezing cold.

Thanks to that, Alistair’s limp was even more pronounced as he turned off the bathroom light and returned to his bedroom. The time on his omni-tool said it was sometime after 2, which meant he had 5 hours left to sleep. He very much wanted to do that as he padded in the darkness, hand on the wall.

Inside, Garrus hadn’t woken up, but he had rolled in such a way that he had taken the blankets by force. Just looking at him made the man cold as he limped to his side of the bed, hopping up in the hopes it would wake his husband up.

No dice – he was dead to the world.

A tug to the blanket didn’t exactly do much – turians were heavy, especially when they were asleep. Even using his prosthetic didn’t do anything to help. The blanket was firmly trapped under his carapace, far from where he needed it around his body.

“You can get a blanket from the closet.”

His consciousness sounded annoyingly perky as he sat there, staring at Garrus in the dark. He could picture the little angel, hovering over his shoulder and reminding him how to be a good husband. There was another blanket in the closet… but his leg hurt and walking didn’t sound fun.

“His neck is exposed. Go for it.”

Demon-Bo was whispering in his ear, pointing to the spot between the plates on Garrus’ neck where there was sensitive skin. It was just wide enough to brush a finger against and get the full effect.

He was so tired…

“Don’t do it!”

The angel was fighting, but for once Alistair tuned him out. Instead, he reached out his right hand. In the dark, he brushed the freezing cold finger of his prosthetic between the space of Garrus’ plates, prodding the sensitive skin with a feather light touch.

Naturally, the turian rocketed awake, releasing the blanket as he suppressed a full body shiver.

“What the…” He glanced around, eyes wide. “What…”

Alistair responded by tugging the blanket away, leaving enough for his husband once he settled back down. “Blanket thief.”

Sometimes, the demon won. But it was for a good cause, so it reduced the red points a little by his account.

Next to him, Garrus shook his head as he wrapped his arms around his husband and pulled him close. “You could’ve asked.”

“You’ve slept like you’re dead since 2186.” Alistair snorted as he cuddled closer to the turian, making sure his prosthetics were covered with blanket. “Someone’s going soft, babe.”

“And someone’s picking up red in his ledger.” Garrus yawned and nestled his mandibles against his husband’s shoulder. It wasn’t going to take him long to fall back asleep – probably a couple minutes. “So much for being a boy scout.”

The human chuckled as he closed his eyes and felt the turian’s heart against his back. “All’s fair in blankets and war.”

He was pretty sure that was how the saying went… but it was late and he didn’t really care. In the morning they could joke about his surprise attack and how he had disappointed the little angel on his shoulder, but that was for when the sun cycle was back to bright and shiny.

Until then… he was listening to demon-Bo and getting some sleep. He had one hell of a schedule in the morning.

But… score one for the demon for once.

#writober 2023 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #I think the angel is Love the spirit that lives in his body since ME2 #the demon is Bo lol

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