#jotober2018

[pleaseacceptyourlife-blog]

Credits for.... I DON'T KNOW!!!!!!!!!!

[quillwritten]

For much of winter, the world is dark and cold and dreary. There's wind and rain and a lacklustre attempt at snow from the british weather, and the sky always seems to be grey and muted and generally dismal. For much of winter, Avery goes about bitter as the wind and complains that the sun seems to far away. For one short week in winter, the country lights up in a thousand colours, a hundred glowing wonders that dance for a week long winter festival, impatiently waiting for Shortsol to bring bonfires and roasted chestnuts and toasted marshmallows and flamework displays and family gatherings. 

The longest winter night stretches on forever, but there's always light to be found within it.

3/10/2018 - Roasted

[thesesummersonspoet]

❝ You come across spells every day of your life you just don’t know how to recognise them for what they are. The girl getting her make up perfect before that big first date is casting a glamour for beauty and bravery. The boy drawing a circle over and over again while he waits for his test results is carving a sigil for good luck. The kid dabbing flower remedy on their wrist knows the way of potions and poultices. Every whispered “fuck you” is a curse, every “bless you” a healing charm. There are spells all around us, woven into the very fabric of the everyday. And you can find them if you know where to look. ❞

- jotober prompts day 04 : spell

[merigreenleaf]

Jotober Day 1 - “Poisonous”

(My goal this month is to do under 1k words for each day’s challenge and I already kinda went over. This one is 1075. I’m pretty sure someone asked me before what “toadstools” meant when Etri calls Adair and Blythe that as a term of affection. This is the answer. I’ll put most of this under a read more.)

Etri was back. Adair still wasn't entirely sure how they'd managed that but having him back was even better than having his map back. He could technically have made another map. Another Etri would have been impossible, although Sol would have probably tried to build a mechanical version for Etri to haunt. That would have been weird. And way less fun to kiss. No, having Etri back to normal was much better and it meant that Adair could finally ask the question that had been bugging him for weeks.

He put his sketchbook down and scooted closer to Etri. When Etri wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Adair was glad Sol didn’t have to get creative. A metal Etri would have been way less snuggly.

"Etch? Why do you call us 'toadstools'?"

Across the room Blythe shut off the faucet and reached for a hand towel. Aha. So she wanted to hear the answer, too. It made Adair feel a little better if she was as clueless as he was. Etri couldn't possibly mean it as a short joke, the way Adair had assumed at first. Not when he called Blythe that, too, and Blythe was tall even for a Protectorate.

After a pause, Etri said, "You did not ask this of Sol."

"Yeah, I did. He just thought I was asking him what he wanted for dinner. I'm assuming that's not what you mean. Although if you want mushrooms, you only have to ask."

Etri chuckled and pulled Adair into a tighter hug. "Perhaps later. No, it is because you are poisonous."

"I... what?"

Adair might be many things. An artist, a good cook, full of pies and puns, but he was pretty sure he wasn't poisonous. Fortunately the person to ask came over and sat on Etri's other side. "Blade, I'm not poisonous, right?"

Besides, why would Etri touch him if he was? Although considering Etri's habit of self-sacrifice, maybe that was the wrong question to ask.

Blythe picked at the dried paint on her shirt. "I'd probably call you contagious... Come on, were you even using blue paint today?"

She was a big help.

"I do not mean that in the literal sense when I call you both as such. It is figurative. If I may ask, how is it that a toadstool appears?"

Oh! Adair knew this one! The perk of growing up in the home of a culinary master. "Something to do with underground fungus and growing where there's decomposing wood."

Etri was silent for a long moment. Adair turned his head to find Etri's eyebrows knitted. Did this mean there was finally a fact he didn't know or was Adair's information that wrong? It had been a long time since he went mushroom gathering and he was never very good at paying attention.

"It's a food fact. Of course he's right."

Adair stuck his tongue out at her. "And the girl with enough plants in her house to equal a small forest would know. I swear I saw one trying to push my bags out the door the other day."

Etri cleared his throat. "If I am incorrect, then the reason behind the term is incorrect and I will cease using it."

"Oh no you don't," Blythe said. "You're not off the hook that easily. What's the reason?"

Etri pushed himself back on the bed until his back was against the wall, making it so that he could see both of his pair. "I will tell. In the temple in which I grew, relationships are forbidden. I have said this, yes?"

Adair nodded and took one of Etri's hands while Blythe took the other, earning a once-rare smile from Etri. Those were becoming more common, even during a subject that Adair knew made him uncomfortable. When Blythe and Adair had been alone earlier in the day, she'd grumbled and threatened to go to Montglace to give everyone there a piece of her mind for making Etri's past so terrible. If Etri's birthplace hadn't been a gazillion miles away, she probably would have done it right then. Adair couldn't blame her.

Etri squeezed their hands tightly. "Yet still there are those who seek out companionship and friendship. This is done in secret."

While Adair tried to wrap his head around not being able to have even friendships, Blythe was getting impatient. "And this ties into mushrooms how? Do the people involved sneak out for dinner together?"

Etri shook his head. "If you knew Montglace as I, you would not jest. It is because these relationships are unexpected and dangerous. The same is thought of toadstools, which are believed to grow in unexpected places."

Blythe let out a little snort of a laugh. "Okay, unexpected I can believe. You can't possibly be saying that Adair is dangerous. He's about as dangerous as a kitten in a basket of yarn."

"Hey! I can be dangerous! There was the time I... no, that won't work, that just ended in me burning dinner. Or when... no, that was Sol getting me into trouble. Wait! ... No, that was Sol again." Adair tapped his head with the palm of his hand. There had to be a memory in there somewhere. After discarding a few more possibilities, he had to admit defeat. "Okay, yeah, fine, I'm a kitten."

"You're sweet, even if you aren't poisonous." Blythe leaned over to kiss his cheek, then turned back to Etri. "So you're saying that because your people think mushrooms are dangerous and pop up unexpectedly, and relationships do the same, that you call those people your toadstools. Makes sense, I guess. More sense than me thinking you were calling us short."

Adair threw his arms up. "So I'm not the only one who thought that!"

Etri caught his hand and squeezed it again. "I apologize for the confusion. If you would rather I cease to use the term because it is wrong or not to your liking-"

"No!" Adair said at the same time as Blythe. She grinned and gestured at him to talk, probably thinking he'd be better at talking relationship stuff than she would.

Which he was, but she was going to regret it. "It's cute, Etch. We want you to keep calling us that. But does that mean I can start calling you both 'pumpkin'?"

Blythe buried her face in her hands. "Why do I ever let you open your mouth?”

"I'm not hearing a no."

----------------------------------------------

(I’m only going to do minor editing with these so I have time to write one every day, so hopefully this all makes sense. My plan is to write short things about a bunch of my characters this month, including secondary ones and maybe characters I was writing prior to this series (like my Hidden Magic characters), but my trio demanded the first prompt. I would like to also draw things for Inktober to go along with the day’s story, but I ran out of time today. 

Anyway, I’m going to tag my story tag list for now, but I’d like to ask you all how you’d prefer me to tag for this challenge. I’m thinking I might make a masterpost once a week with links to those 7 posts/stories and only tag on those masterposts. I’d feel weird tagging people every day because that’s 31 days in a row of stories, so I think this might be the best solution so I’m not spamming your activity feeds. But please let me know how you’d prefer I do this or if you have ideas. I have a feeling each day is going to end up around this length because I’m incapable of writing short things lol, so these are all likely to be legit short stories rather than drabbles. @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @desperatlytryingtowriteabook @muffindragon227 @oceanwriter @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @ghostsmooches @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @dreameronthewind @forlornraven @pen-for-sword @shadow-maker @loopyhoopydrabbles @emptymanuscript @madmoonink @megan-cutler @perringwrites @thatwriternamedvolk @elliot-orion @writer-on-time @ravenpuffwriter @siarven @worldbuildingwren @hiddswritingrefs @missrobinswritings @writevevo @fannistwrites @cay--scribbles @focusdumbass @crartistic @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword @enasroterfaden @joshuaorrizonte @zofiehelen @kainablue @homesteadhorner )

[writeanapocalae]

Jotober Day 13: Mechanical Limbs Fall Heavy

WARNING: There’s some nudity but it’s just enough for a raised eyebrow. 

He’d been in the middle of a shower when Jensen had called him. It wasn’t even a real call, just the name of a building, the word basement, and he sounded out of breath and wounded and all sorts of things that made Pritchard tense up uncomfortably. When Pritchard had tried to get more information, he just heard an inhale, Jensen’s breath rattling so hard that the info-link buzzed. He heard another voice, gruff and angry, and then silence.

He didn’t even condition his hair. He was rushing out of the shower, into his dirty clothes from the day, grabbing his keys and the stun gun that Jensen had told him he had to have as he thrust it into his hands, and raced down the stairs. He didn’t trust the elevator on the best of days. He plugged in the coordinates on his phone and hooked it into his bike and then was making his way back into the heart of the city, going to a hotel that had been defunct for years. He parked a few blocks away and by the time he’d made it to the front steps, it had already been half an hour.

There were Harvesters at the door. He could tell just by looking at them. They were all packing and the stun gun he’d brought was a toy compared to that heat, even though they were pretending to conceal it. They all looked paranoid and were walking the street and there was no way Pritchard could sneak past there. He wasn’t Jensen, he couldn’t fight people, he wasn’t even good at sneaking. If he relied on his own skills, he’d be shot within five minutes.

He tried to act nonchalant, as the panic ate his stomach like moths at wool. He walked around the side of the building, trying to think of someway that he could get inside. There were more Harvesters here, some of which looked terribly pleased with themselves, but they all looked like they were on a smoke break and a few of them were even drunk, passing around a bottle of whiskey. They weren’t quiet.

They’d found a big hit, a lot of expensive pieces, hard to salvage but worth it. He shivered. They were talking about Jensen, he knew that, but they were talking about him like he was a car, abandoned at a garage and ripe for the picking. They all laughed when they reminisced over how they’d brought him down. Pritchard pulled out a cigarette of his own and stood with a couple of punks at a flaming barrel. They watched him, they knew he wasn’t one of them, but they could see the anxiety in his features, and they let him be. It had been a bad fight and a few of them had been knocked out while their prize ghosted around them. They’d caught on eventually and gone after him, all together, and he’d thrown an EMP grenade at them. Idiot hadn’t thrown it fast enough and he took himself down, even with how they’d shot him.

He grit his teeth, almost biting through the cigarette. A woman, wearing far too little clothing for the weather, sporting a bright red mohawk, put her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off, glaring, assuming that she was going to interrupt his thought and hearing with some suggestion that he didn’t want to hear.

Instead she just cocked her head in the special way that was supposed to lead him. He didn’t exactly want to follow her, but he did, taking another turn into another alley. She looked both ways before pointing down at a window, close to the ground. “It’s not the right room but it’s a room,” she whispered, “You’re here for their big hit right? I heard him screaming down there. I guess they couldn’t figure out how to get his arms off.”

He nodded, looking into the room as best he could, seeing an apartment that had been filled with computer systems and security equipment. He might not have been as good at this stuff as Jensen, but security was his specialty, especially with computers.

“Yeah, that bastard called me when I was in the shower. He’s got to pay for interrupting my day off.” He pulled his credit chip out of his pocket. “Can I ask you a favor?”

She looked at his money more than she looked at him. “Distraction?”

He nodded. “How much?” She thought on it a moment. “Four hundred? This isn’t a nice part of town as it is, but I wouldn’t mind it not getting worse.”

He gave her five. “Get yourself a jacket.” He stared down into the room as she rushed around the corner, towards the front of the building. He couldn’t trust her, but he didn’t have time for anything else. There were a couple of Harvesters in there, but none of them were looking towards the window. He could get in there, hide behind the bed that was still in there under some computer towers, and draw them away with some quick work of his fingers. He just needed to get through the window.

It was locked, of course. He kept his ears pricked. He could hear her, in the distance, shouting something, drawing a few of the guards away. But it wasn’t until he heard a loud crash that those inside were responding. It sounded like a car had crashed into the side of the building and the bricks all shook in response. He’d though five hundred was too much but no, he owed her far more than that.

There was shouting coming from inside and the Harvesters, holding machine guns lazily in their own turf, left the room. He held his breath, listening, hearing them rush around and explore. He waited until he couldn’t hear anything from within the apartment. And then he kicked the window in.

It was small. Too small for Jensen to squeeze through, with his muscles and broad shoulders. Pritchard was wiry and narrow, even if he was long, and was able to slide through with only scraping through his leather jacket sleeves and a bit of the skin on his legs, through his cargo pants, catching on the shards.

The distraction outside wouldn’t hold them all, not for too terribly long, so he went to the security section. Hacking it was a breeze and he deposited a great deal of their funds into his own, just as an aside, as he took control. He set the alarms to a timer, they’d go off, in different areas of the building, a few minutes apart. He had to hope that their paranoia was worse than his own, and that they wouldn’t realize that someone was messing with the system after the second one. He still had to find Jensen, after all, and get him out of there.

He changed all of the passwords on the computers in there and went out into the hall. There was no one out there but he could hear speaking from the other side of the opposite wall. He went for the nearest door, peaking in before flattening himself, becoming as invisible as he could. He didn’t know how to fight. He didn’t know how to do anything. Jensen wasn’t too hard to find though.

The apartments had been knocked down, just the supports and exterior walls remaining. The new room was a massive workshop, with electronics everywhere. There were multiple dental chairs that had been dragged in, and the bathtubs had been left in place as well. There were tables everywhere, covered in tools, and there was a large man working at one of the chairs, chatting away as if his patient was an old friend. There were two large shapes on one of the work tables next to him. Pritchard couldn’t tell what they were from this distance, but they were shiny and black and part of Jensen.

He bit his lip, drawing the stun gun. It was short range, almost melee. He’d have to be silent.

He took a few steps into the room, watching his feet and the man’s back. He shifted to the side, just enough to see Jensen in the chair. He was swallowing hard, licking his lips, and his lenses were up over his eyes. He was shaking and sweating. He looked like he was trying to hide how much pain he was in, but it wasn’t working at all. Francis toed over faster.

Jensen made a noise in his throat, this horrible whine that sounded like desperation and agony.

“I know,” the mechanic cooed and his hand went up, tracing over the lines in Jensen’s forehead and Pritchard was raising the gun. “I know, it hurts. I can’t give you another shot now though, can’t lose you this early. There’s still so much we can take from you.” the man almost sounded like he cared. Jensen just shook his head, being pitiful.

He was being a distraction.

Pritchard drew close and fired, seeing the man stiffen as the voltage ran through him. He fell limp in his own chair when Pritchard let go of the trigger and he was able to see everything.

“Jensen!” he shoved forward, cradling the man’s head in his hands.

The lenses slid back into the grooves in his face, hidden along his temples and he laughed a wet, painful sound. “Took you long enough.”

“Come now, listen to all that drama? I had to come up with the best way to make an entrance.”

Jensen made that sound again but didn’t move. It took too long for Pritchard to realize that it was because his arms were bolted down, literally, with large bolts between his fingers and around his wrists, to pin him. Pritchard had to pull them away with a wrench, and then Jensen’s hands were on his gut, his flesh gut, feeling the quick and not exactly proper medical work that had been done to him. There was gauze and what looked like stitches underneath, but he was bleeding through all of it.

“Home?” he almost whispered.

Pritchard nodded, before looking down, only now realizing that Jensen was missing a few things. Some of the bolts in his chest were missing, which meant his self healing wasn’t working. His clothes were all gone and that wasn’t something that Pritchard had been expecting at all but that wasn’t the worst of it.

“You can take a good look later Francis,” there was a hint of teasing among the pain and the push to go.

He looked over at the table, the large shapes that still sat there. “As much as I’m sure you need a boost for your ego, that’s not what I was staring at. Jensen, your legs are off.”

“Oh yeah,” he murmured, sounding like he was close to passing out. “Yeah, he took them off. Guess you’re on your own from here, huh?”

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to be completely useless, Jensen.” he groaned, stealing the mechanic’s jacket to wrap Jensen’s body in. They didn’t have time for him to try to fix this. He pulled Jensen up and he wrapped those cold arms around Pritchard’s chest.

“Shit, you’re heavy.”

“You say that,” Jensen muttered, sounding even closer to sleep as he rested his head on Pritchard’s shoulder, “but I feel like I’ve lost a lot of weight.”

@anhathaway @ill-write-when-im-dead@stargeek727@crazybunchwriter@detectivesebcas

[karkkidoeswriting]

Poisonous

Inktober & Jotober: Day 1

I'm not sure if I have the time to go through with Jotober, but I started it too now cause, why not :D I did this promt with Max from The Opposite of Connection. Warning for depression, suicidal thoughts and a lot of cursing.

The alarm went off. “11:00″, said the luminous digital numbers. Max’s hand hit the off-button, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

You lazy asshole. Get the fuck up.

He could steal just few more minutes of sleep. It wasn’t until midday he needed to be at the university. There was still an hour. Just few more minutes... He was just too tired.

Too tired? You’ve slept nine fucking hours, you don’t deserve the luxury to be tired. You’re a fucking adult! Get up and act like one!

Max peeked through his eyelids. 11:05. He should get up. Forcing his limbs to co-operate he raised himself to sit beside the bed. Blackout curtains made sure deep shadows loomed over the bedroom. Aka raised his head beside Max. He yawed and jumped out of bed while wagging his tail gently. Max, eyes barely open, scratched behind his ear. Gin and Iga stirred awake from the floor too and came to give their good morning licks. If Max just could stay at bed...

You stupid fucking idiot. Get on your feet and get going. You’re good for literally nothing. Fucking idiot.

Max sighed and clicked the table lamp on. For a while he had to blink his eyes to adjust them to light. He lotioned his stump and put the prosthetic on. After gathering his strength he went to bathroom. Light there was cold and blinding. While he applied the shaving cream, two dead eyes with dark shadows beneath them looked back at him from the mirror.

You look like shit. You are shit. Why do you ever try? Yeah, go back to your bed like you wanted to. You useless fuck. Who would even care? The university would probably just be happy to get a reason to fire you. Maybe you should do them a favor. Or maybe just die. You’d do the world a favor.

The razor blade swept gently across his skin. It cut the stumble right from the foot of hair. He stretched his neck to drag the blade cleanly across it.

Just die already.

He plashed water on his face. Drills of water ran on his skin. It didn’t make him feel more awake. Nor more alive. After taking his medication from the mirror cabinet and closing the mirror, he saw again his reflection. It didn’t feel like his face.

Oh, this is you. Fucking ugly and worthless. Just keep feeling sorry for yourself. Just go for it. Disgusting. Don’t you know you have everything anyone could ask for? And you don’t deserve any of it. But you know what? You deserve this feeling. You deserve to feel bad.

Because you are the poison that kills everything around you.

[deadlyessencewhispers]

Flowing - Jotober #10

@abalonetea @cometworks

“Do you see the beauty in blood?” How the crimson color is just so... warm and deep.”

There was silence.

“Well, indeed, it would be hard for you to appreciate at the moment. I mean look at you - you’re practically losing blood like a spigot flowing. I’d- Well, I’d seek a doctor.” 

[adie-dee]

Day 27 - Thunder

The sky flashed in the distance, the violent cracks of the lightning sounding soon after. Any normal person would be in bed at the moment, sound asleep and safe from the approaching storm.

Nyssa wasn’t one of them and because of that, neither was Tess.

She joined Nyssa at a picnic table near the edge of the cliff, staring out at the ocean. “Carter told me your plan,” she said, cupping her coffee tight. “I don’t like it.”

“You have a better one, that doesn’t involve mass deaths?” Nyssa asked. “Because I’ve gone over everything and this is it. This is all I have.”

“It seems a waste of your abilities.” Tess had a mouthful of her coffee, needing the caffeine hit. “There’s got to be something more you can do.”

Thunder rumbled across the sky.

“There is,” Nyssa admitted once it died down, her eyes fixed firmly on the ocean.

There was something in Nyssa’s voice that made Tess shiver, but she pressed the point regardless. “Then why not do it? You said you’d do anything to save Emma, only you’re holding back.”

Nyssa let out a short bark of laughter. “You want me to stop holding back? I can do that, only I doubt you’d like the result.”

“Try me.”

“People will die, and i’ll be the one who killed them. Not just bad people either, but good people. Innocent people.” She paused. “Your people.”

Tess’ chest tightened. “You wouldn’t, Nys. You’re a good person.”

“Yes,” Nyssa agreed. “But I’ve only been Nyssa for 25 years. That’s nothing to me.”

“I don’t understand.” Tess put her latte on the table, her desire for coffee having vanished. “You’d kill all those people?”

“If I don’t hold back? If I do everything I can to rescue Emma? Yes.”

“But-”

“What does it matter? Your lives are so brief, so irrelevant that in 100 years, 50 years, hell, even 20 years, no one’s even going to remember who any of you were. Me ending them a little earlier means nothing in the grand scheme of things, and for me and my family a hundred years will pass-“ she clicked “-like that.”

Thunder rolled overhead, heralding the arrival of the storm.

“That’s horrible.” The words barely came out.

“It is. But ask that Daceer in you if they’d do anything different, if they were the ones in control.”

Porcia’s silence was deafening.

Finally Nyssa turned to look at her, face devoid of emotion. “So there. That’s me doing everything in my power. Is that what you want?”

Despite herself Tess took a step back. She felt tiny under Nyssa’s gaze, reduced to nothing in her thousand year stare. Finally she understood. Nyssa wasn’t real; just a part played by this ancient being pretending to be human. A part she desperately wished would return.

“No.” Tess whispered. The sky opened up, the first drops of rain slamming around them. Within seconds they were both soaked through.

Nyssa turned back to the ocean. “That’s what I thought.”

————

Tag list:  @yetmorestories @endlesshourglass @writer-grandma @merigreenleaf @lady-redshield-writes