I’m trying to do Promptober this year to kickstart myself back into writing. The list I’m planning to tackle is PromptFoundry’s Ominous October set.
- Something watching (Needleplay with friend’s OCs Roger, Nickel and Angel, sfw kink)
- A stifled scream (Body horror with friend’s OC Wheels, gen)
- Shattered glass (Mindbreak with friend’s OC Warren, gen)
- Potent venom (Sex pollen & humiliation with Ira and a friend’s OC Chappell, kink but no sex)
- Shades of the past (rough childhoods with my OC Ira & friends’ OCs Aloysha and Rosie, references to past child abuse, gen)
- Dark premonitions (horror, gen)
- The full moon (my OC Tempes meets his sexy octosiren boyfriend, sfw romance)
- Dripping blood (my OC Ira indulges his flogging kink, nsfw)
- Gleaming teeth (my OC Agatha commits a crime, nsfw offscreen sex)
- Cries on the wind (my OC Griffin flees from the Wild Hunt, gen)
- Music from nowhere (magical sex change with my OC Ira, genderfuckery & explicit sex, nsfw)
- Change of plans, today we’re doing ‘slapping’ (sequel to day 4 with Ira and a friend’s OC Chappell, nsfw kink)
- Rotting flesh (bumped from Day 12) (Body horror with my OC Zion, gen)
- Grave dirt (my OC Agatha faces her past, gen)
- A broken lock (Malevolent fanfic, Arthur/King in Yellow, chastity belts, breeding, omegaverse, nsfw explicit sex)
- Ritual sacrifice (my OC Griffin runs an errand, spiders, bondage, kink but no sex)
- Demons (my OC Ira gets possessed by a kinky mask, noncon, nsfw)
- Waking nightmares
- Cold spots (18 & 19 combined) (my OC Griffin gets railed by a ghost, noncon, incorporeal, public sex, nsfw explicit sex)
- Claw marks (my OC David mindfucks a friend’s OC Slip, drowning, nsfw I don’t really know what to call this)
- Ill omens
- A moonless night (sequel to 11 with Ira, genderfuckery & explicit sex, nsfw)
- Inhuman proportions
- A boarded door (23 & 24 combined) (a friend’s OC Aloysha comes to a woman’s rescue, sfw)
- Footsteps in the dark (my OC Ira and a friend’s OC Warren have a sweet romantic night, fluff, sfw)
- An extra shadow (my OC Ira has an argument with the eldritch half of his brain, gen)
- Shivers up the spine
- Stairs to nowhere
- Glowing eyes
- Something missing
- Guttering candles (28 & 31 combined) (my OC Ira’s eldritch side gets accosted by a monster, waxplay, noncon, nsfw I’m not really sure what to call this)
- The veil wearing thin
I’m trying to do Promptober this year to kickstart myself back into writing. The list I’m planning to tackle is PromptFoundry’s Ominous October set. Something…
CWs for body modification, blood, bondage
Using thepromptfoundry’s Ominous October list and Chicago Spirit OCs borrowed from diristine, clefrot and friend skrim. <3
***
Angel sat, one high-heeled leg crossed over the other, watching the slow grace of Nickel at work…
As he does every day, Wheels waters his plants, administers painkillers, and then examines them, hands skimming carefully over stems and leaves, trailing over the skin of the pot to check for issues.
Ira’s shout of warning comes too late. something dark and heavy collides with Warren’s back. Envelops him, sloughing down down around his sides. Slipping inside him, shrugging him on like a perfectly fitted coat.
It’s more than just lust spreading through Ira’s bloodstream right now, Chappell knows. It’s something of an incestuous cousin to love, an obsession too poisonous and desperate to be mistaken for the real thing.
Belatedly, he remembers girls are supposed to be careful of their clothes. He should probably stop them. What a horrible thought.
There’s a strange static, running beneath the voices. Emil ignores it at first, but it keeps getting louder.
Sometimes it’s just an urge. An itch he needs to scratch. He just needs someone to hurt him and make him thank them for it.
Agatha laughs, smile red as blood and teeth gleaming, and leans in against the arm of the man she’s with.
Ira owes August Castaigne big for pulling his ass out of the fire on his last case and he knows it, so he can’t argue with how Castaigne wants to call in the marker.
Chappell slams Ira down by the throat and watches the fear in his eyes evolve rich new layers as he struggles to breathe.
“Is it gonna have to come off?” the workman asks, his bared, gangrenous leg stretched out before him.
The soil of Flanders Fields seems to seethe beneath Agatha’s feet as she walks through the poppies and graves of Ypres.
The King’s presence had been so powerful. Everyone who looks upon the King in Yellow is maddened by desire, they say, and for Arthur it was true.
Using thepromptfoundry’s Ominous October list.
Sylvertongue belongs to my friend skrim, who chose not to have his Tumblr linked here. Skrim is an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a tender flaky pastry dough. <3
We’re back to Griffin, my urban/modern fantasy mage! This time he is in sexy bondage predicaments.
CWs: Spider-monster, bondage, WIP (I have the rest of this, but it needs editing so you get an excerpt)
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“Lure it out,” Sylvertongue said. “Don’t fret, I’ll watch out for you,” Sylvertongue said. Well, Griffin doesn’t know what else he should have expected. It’s not as if he could say no anyway.
He tugs frantically at the thicky, sticky strands of web he’s run into, but all it does is get himself progressively more tangled up and stuck in them. The beast he’s been trying to lure lowers itself down the stairwell on a cable of its own webbing.
It’s not exactly a spider. It’s some kind of fae-adjacent…thing. A spider spirit that’s been living in this tower of the suspension bridge, growing fat and happy on passersby long enough that it’s grown big and glossy and somewhat human-shaped. It laughs through it mandibles, a hissing sound, watching the strands of its trap glue themselves down Griffin’s arm, cling to his legs, his sides, his hair, thrumming with his struggles like any other fly caught in a web.
He watches through wide eyes as it minces delicately closer, with all the liesurely glee of a creature savoring its prey’s terror.
Okay, no, to hell with what Sylver wants. He is not getting eaten by a giant spider-person for the sake of that old lizard’s collector’s habit. He draws on the well of his magic to shape a fireball—clean this whole place out—
The spider-spirit darts forward with sudden, unexpected speed and bites him.
He gasps and arches as the venom sinks into his body, a terrible heated, tingling glow that begins to light up his body. It catches up his magic along its way: heady, needy arousal advancing through him faster than he can adjust to, pouring his own magic back into himself so he can’t escape the feedback look he finds himself caught in. He jolts and moans. It’s erasing his thoughts, his concentration. He claws to summon the focus he needs for magic but all he can think of is how hungry his skin is. How empty his body feels.
The spider-spirit slaps more webbing over his mouth. When he tries to open it, the elastic stuff snaps his lips closed again.
He moans, muffled, struggling as it uses its delicate feet to slash his clothing to shreds, pluck at strands and wrap more around him.
“Calm down,” it tells him as it works. “Your fear smells delicious, magic child. The liquid of your insides would be delectable, I’m sure, but I’m not about to waste you.”
That’s one of the joys of a masquerade; anybody could be anything, really, if you just let them be.
Griffin knows he’s in trouble the minute he picks up the old wedding ring. Its curse locks around him like invisible bands.
Using thepromptfoundry’s Ominous October list. Slip is a Chicago Spirit OC who belongs to diristine and clefrot. David is mine, some kind of god/horror/thing who belongs to Ira’s crew. CWs for drowning, choking, mind/body/something-control, mindfuck, suicidal ideation, hubris *** Slip realizes he might be in over his head about the time the claws start sinking…
Ira can see his reflection watching Ira where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, just the garter belt around his waist and the hose he’s gotten on.
He can’t imagine how it would feel for someone to turn up out of nowhere and protect him. But he knows how it felt when they didn’t.
Ira can see his reflection watching Ira where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, just the garter belt around his waist and the hose he’s gotten on.
And so Warren follows him, helpless with love, across the street and into the moon-veiled walking paths, even though the shadows it casts are inky voids where anything could be hiding
In the mirror, Ira’s reflection paces. It has the quality of a caged tiger.
It seizes one after another of his limbs and pins him down by them till he’s stretched out on the stairsteps beneath its dripping bulk.