#write-tober

[darylthekidd]

i was going to do 31 reasons to live-tober for October '24 but I can't really find any. maybe someone else wants the prompt?

[bookwyrm214]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pannacotta Fugo & Narancia Ghirga, Pannacotta Fugo & Giorno Giovanna Characters: Pannacotta Fugo, Narancia Ghirga, Giorno Giovanna Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Bruno Buccellati is Spelled Bruno Bucciarati, Time Skips, Pre-Canon, During Canon, Post-Canon, Post-Purple Haze Feedback, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Stabbing Series: Part 2 of Prism Summary:

Fugo may be loath to admit it, but Narancia has always been there for him. They’re best friends, through all the crazy shit being in the mafia brings. A look at their friendship over time following Narancia’s knives, from Fugo's perspective.

Excerpt:

“But I hope they do get along eventually; everyone needs a best friend. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Fugo.”

Fugo looked over to see Narancia’s earnest expression, and he sighed as Narancia pulled him into a one-armed hug.

“Yeah, ditto. We’ll stick together, no matter where this wack-ass mission takes us.”

[dumbass-birb]

Day Two: “How am I still alive?”

Peter whooped as he jumped over his school’s gate, running into the alley beside it where he kept his spider-man stuff. Sure, it wasn’t the best hiding place, but it got Tony to chuckle when Peter finally gave up the location. He excitedly slipped into the suit and let his spider-persona take over.

“Hey Karen!” He said excitedly, bouncing slightly. “Are you ready for patrol?”

“I am an AI, Peter, I don’t feel emotions,” His AI responded neutrally.

“Come on Karen, humor me,” He groaned and didn’t wait for a response as he swung out of the alleyway.

                                                  *************

After another fairly uneventful patrol, Peter flopped onto his bed in May’s apartment.

“Hey May!” He called out and frowned slightly when he didn’t get a response. “May?” Biting his lip, he pulled out his cracked Starkphone. Peter remembers when he showed Tony the cracked screen, and how he looked ready to pass out. Tony had insisted on making him a new phone that wouldn’t crack as easily, but Peter refused. Secretly, Peter thought that just Tony giving him the new Starkphone was excessive. Tony had tried to justify it by saying that his employees only got the best, but from the response Peter got when he had asked around, he was one of the few employees at Stark Industries who owned a Starkphone, mainly because of the price. Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he tried texting May.

“hey may, how late are you working tonight?”

Trying to get it off of his mind, he huffed as he pulled out his AP Chem textbook that was falling apart and the laptop he had built out of spare pieces. It was only two hours later when he had finished all of his homework that he really began to worry. He anxiously pulled out his phone, checking if May had even seen the message, and started bouncing his foot when he had seen that she hadn’t. He tried his best to push it out of his mind and decided to relieve his complaining stomach. His spidey sense was buzzing, but a few months ago, he had realized that it was pretty much just glorified anxiety. So he wasn’t too worried when he stepped into the living room in his apartment, until he was surrounded by noise.

“Happy birthday!” It was May, Tony, Pepper freaking Potts, Ned, MJ, and Happy. Wait, Happy? He smiled as he jumped off of the ceiling.

“You guys actually scared me! How am I still alive? My heart is going crazy right now!” He laughed as he joined his friends and family in his birthday celebrations.

[dumbass-birb]

Day Three: “You should be glad that I saved you from him.”

Morgan giggles to herself as she glances around the yard, trying to sneak into the garage. She glances around again, making sure that there’s no one to witness her crimes. When she confirms that no one is looking, she tries her first attempt to break in.

“Hey Mo, what are you doing?” Peter’s voice comes up behind her and she jumps in fright. Guiltily, she hides her hands behind her back.

“Nothing,” She says, glancing up at her older brother with big doe eyes. She figured out when she was 3 years old that if she wanted to get out of trouble, all she had to do was flash her biggest puppy eyes and speak softly, and that’s precisely what she did in this moment.

“Are you sure, cause it looks like your trying to break into your fathers’ garage,” Peter said slyly as he picked her up by her sides and started tickling her.

And of course, as luck would have it, her father comes out at that precise moment.

“Don’t worry Morguna, I’ll save you!” He proclaims bravely, as he pretends to charge at his son. He scoops up Morgan while she’s still giggling in Peter’s arms and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You should be glad that I saved you from him. He’s vicious,” He sets Morgan down while still chuckling and turns to Peter.

“Hey Pete, you didn’t tell us that you were getting home tonight,” He said conversationally, but Morgan understood what that tone meant. She often heard it when she got in trouble at school, or the one time that she had successfully snuck into her dad’s garage. Peter laughed nervously, fidgeting with his bag.

“Yeah, I was supposed to get home tomorrow, but apparently when you’re a Stark, you get whatever you want. Just so happens that what I wanted was to see my family,” He grins wide, catching Morgan when she jumps into his arms.

“Spider time?” She asks excitedly.

“Not so fast Morguna, I think that it’s dinner time,” Pepper says as she walks out into their front yard. “Welcome home Peter,” She presses a kiss to his forehead and leads them inside.

[perri-berry]

Write-tober 1, Growth

So for “Inktober” I have decided instead to write 1′000 word blurbs about the people within my book’s universe. Just regular, no name people to fill out the world within my book. If you’re not interested in reading anything you can block the posts with the tag: write-tober. If you do however read them, let me know if you like them or not! 

______________________________________________________________

More of the same really. The days go by; people mill about the market; guards brawl with local drunks; children run through the sunny park and worn down dirt, snow-covered paths, everything blurs together. Nothing exciting ever happens anymore. Even the fancy nobles who tread the same path every day carry the same expression, followed by their sullen servants. Any other time of the year I would keep the windows open and look up at the castle. Even though it is made of stone seemed to always shine in the sunlight; like water reflecting a brilliant sunset. Sometimes I dare to pretend it’s made of pure silver. Dreaming of the garden and the people roaming them. Oh to dream of the foods which my imagination could not even comprehend their flavors and aromas. The simple daydreams make me feel as if I’m being bathed in a golden sparkles but every now and again I have to come back to reality. With the snow falling nearly every day I’ve got to keep the house warm somehow; afterall the fireplace isn’t very big, barely holding more then two logs. 

The fire pops and hisses quietly behind me as I grumble. “No more thistle. Of course, there’s never any thistle in this house”. With my lips tensed and thin eyebrows drawn down I close the squeaky cabinet doors. Slapping my sides, I can see a small puff of dirt escape from my brown collared dress. I huff out a breath and grab the cloak hanging from the back of the chair. Its once bright red color now faded to a dull, almost faint greyish. Grabbing the woven basket next to the door, my mind wonders if Karlah and Doggins, downstairs will follow her and pick whatever thistle I miss. They’re a nice couple and they give me bread, family recipe with secret Gnome herbs, but it sends me absolutely wild when I intentionally leave patches of herbs and mushrooms for later and then they come through like a wildfire and leave nothing. At least fire brings life back to the forest eventually. 

Pulling the hood over my dark corkscrew hair, I brush a few strays out of my mouth. The snow was like the rain in the way that it makes my hair fly away into thirty-thousand different directions. I prefer the snow honestly. It makes everything seem brighter. Glancing at banks of snow outside the shops, I murmur “ah good, I can go get milk later”. Wrapped in warm furs, Wilheim shovels back the horde of snowflakes accumulating on his shop’s doorstep. I give him a warm wave. He flashes me a toothy grin as he returns my greeting. It’s hard to tell if it’s snow on Wilheim’s chin or if his beard is getting some silver in it. It was pleasing to look at either way. 

People trudge around me as I slowly make my way towards the forest line. The snow weighs heavy on the branches of the barren willow trees. Making the forest so dense that it looks like a dark cave, just waiting to be explored. In the Sar you can hear what seems like a lively band of creatures, each one singing their own happy little tune. Crossing the creek, I head deeper into the thicket; branches snapping under the weight of my now wet boots. A small clearing of thick ever-green bushes and a few large rocks blanketed in mound of white. “Perfect”.

I kneel down at the first bush and root around carefully at the base. Snow melted under my warm palms as I brushed it away to reveal the soft blue flower I sought after. It’s grey stem was thick and firm while the flower that sat atop it was almost like a puffball, delicate like. Plucking it, I threw it in the basket and continued foraging. One after the other. 

A crunch of snow from behind me made me stop. Figuring it was my neighbors, I looked over my shoulder. No Gnomes, no anyone. Just the gentle cascade of snowflakes against the dark grey backdrop of an elegant wolf. Its illustrious mane flowing in the cold Fres breeze. So close that I can see its short breath in the air. Its eyes watch me with great curiosity but also something you would see in the eyes of a child caught stealing a sweet, embarrassment. They were quite striking, its eyes; a blue so pale it could only compare to the glow that surrounds the moon. Without its head ever moving, its eyes snap back and forth between my basket and I. 

Swallowing with overwhelming fear, my throat feels like an arid Sunnas day. I can’t seem to stop my hands from trembling as they fumble towards my basket. Keeping my eyes locked with the beast, the touch of my basket makes me recoil my hand just in the slightest. I reach in the pile of flowers, trying to grasp only one. Very slowly, creeping my hand on the ground, pushing snow out of my way, I offer, what I can only imagine to be my last gift, to this stunning yet intimidating creature. I cannot even find the strength to move my hand back towards the safety of my body as I drop it at its paws.

Without waiting another moment, the wolf picks it up gingerly and turns away from me. Heading back into the forest, only leaving me with a tear rolling down my cheek and the sound of its footsteps getting softer and softer. My chest heaves for air as I smile, giving an uneasy, meek laugh. 

I suppose I should be grateful. After surviving the undead hordes and making it here, starting again, things always being the same would seem like a blessing to most. To me, it was stagnation in a corked bottle. With each startled breath, I breath in a bit more excitement. Good to know that things don’t stay more of the same forever.

[radioactivepeasant]

Okay, so here’s that idea I was talking about earlier. It’s kind of a writing challenge.

So the other day I posted a kind of joking post about the “Royal Prophecy Complaint Bureau”. But then I realized I’d gotten really attached to my dude, Clarek the Elf, and wanted to make up more stuff about him. And then a good handful of y’all also seemed to like the idea, and I’ve seen some fun continuations of it. 

So here’s my idea:

Basically, I’m calling it “Write-tober” for lack of better name right now. The idea is, y’all send me a character name and how they ended up in the Realm, and I write a short bit on how the Bureau (or “dark lord Keralc”) deals with their problem. Alternatively, an agent of one of the Bureau chapters can be sent in and Director Rockhewer can go over their reports. If anyone is interested, I’m setting up a few quick guidelines:

How to participate:

Send an ask with a character’s name, age, and how they got pulled into the Realm.

This may include what kind of wacky prophecy the soothsayers wanted them to fulfill if you’d like. The Realm is full of dangerous things.

If the character is an agent rather than a Protagonist, please state name, species, and what branch of the Bureau you’d like them to be. The Realm has a pretty diverse group. They’re still trying to figure out how to make accessible offices and office equipment of the under-bridge trolls though. It’s a work in progress.

Please no nsfw material 

I don’t know how many people will want to do this, but if you’re interested, I’d love to see what kind of nonsense the Bureau gets up to!