#excerpt from my current wip

[dss1101]

"Jason is smart, okay? Though that may not exactly be the first word that comes to mind when most people think of the Red Hood. Words like brute, violent, and crazy, sure, those are words he expects. It’s not like they’re untrue, and he worked hard to cultivate that image of himself, thank you very much. But being Robin’s a tough gig, you don’t survive being Robin if you aren’t smart. 

Huh, maybe he’s not as smart as he thinks."

I love writing Jason because he's an overflowing container of a backstory worthy of dark humor. Ugh he's the best

[therealsophiependragon]

“Well, I’m not the strategist,” Zuko pointed out - a bit crabbily, by Azula's judgement.

“Nah, you’re just the sole ruler of the Fire Nation,” Toph returned dryly. “No overlap there.”

[distancingreality]

extra snippet from "of endings and beginnings"

(ensemble fic | 2 years post book 4 | Cinder, Cress, Iko, Kai, and Thorne, go sightseeing before the annual peace ball)

Kai and Cinder arrive at the booth Iko has dragged Thorne to. There indeed are the glistening mountains of sticky buns. The smell is heavenly.

The woman selling them recognizes Thorne because she offers him a steep discount for, “saving the Emperor”.

She’s very pretty and that’s probably the problem. Her big brown eyes and long dark lashes blink at Thorne. He grins back, leaning on her stall and drumming his finger tunelessly. The conversation is most likely without substance.

Cress watches the exchange with evident distaste. She looks about as pleased as Cinder feels.

That is to say, not pleased at all.

Iko slides up next to him and throws her arm around his neck. She nods along to his inane comments, fully engrossed. 

But she’s not nearly as engrossed as Thorne is.

The woman has a pretty smile—gratingly so.

That same tick is present in Cinder’s neck. She watches Cress watch Thorne watch the woman. Cress notices her watching.

Her small mouth thins into a line.

The two of them exchange a grim look. Understanding flashes between them. They each link one of his arms. They’re dragging him away before he can protest.

And protest he does.

Iko and Kai gather up the adequate number of sticky buns, leave the woman with more money than needed, and follow after the miffed trio.

The packed streets make moving a challenge. As they all push through the crowds, Kai hands out the pastry. Iko watches in envy.

Cinder drops Thorne’s arm. She crosses her own. The ticking irritation has faded now that they've left the woman behind. Cinder does not want to examine why. She has enough going on right now without digging that motive up for inspection.

Thorne eats his sticky bun in three bites and wipes his hands off on Iko's sleeve.

She shrieks slapping him away.

"Ow! Hey! You're too strong to be hitting people Iko." He complains.

"Keep your grubby hands to yourself."

[heartoflesh]

I feel the years fleeting and I envy youth. They go camping and skiing. They go swimming in lakes and out for ice cream on Tuesday afternoons, living tightly knit together until someday they realize their romantic feelings for each other, reminiscing on all the memories they've created in each other's lives,

and I... I have nothing but these binoculars, looking on from the shadows of all these trees. I am far from them. I am so far from you— excluded from a world I wanted so desperately to be a part of.

Excerpts from a book I'll never write, William

[allianettemie5]

Tay: Ever since they made up, they've become unbearable. I really hope they don't start fucking around from now on.

Skadj: Ew, Tay! Now I can't get the picture out of my head!

Cheesy: Oh my god, my dads are fucking each other, Kara, you've been replaced.

Kara: Shut up, Cheesy, your father and I are in a healthy relationship.

Jeremy: I'm wondering who's the top in their relationship...

*Chilled and Ze enter the room.*

[pathetic-life-form]

[Excerpt from tomorrow's update for my current Jedi Apprentice AU fic (the rest of it is here) because I'm editing, and this part is a particular favorite of mine]

The moonlight disappeared, obscured by another passing cloud, and Obi-Wan’s form faded into a different silhouette. Qui-Gon saw the boy that he had taught with such eagerness, the boy he had wrapped in his cloak on many a cold night, and loved and cared for as his own child. The boy Qui-Gon would never see again, except in memory.

Xanatos was gone, but his face remained, a flicker of blue eyes and dark hair and an unforgettable scar in the shape of a broken circle. Qui-Gon wondered what would have happened if he had never chosen Xanatos. If he might have been sent to one of the Service Corps, and perhaps to wiser teachers and a better fate.

Obi-Wan had once hoped that Qui-Gon would choose to be his teacher, and show him the ways of the Force—but that part of Qui-Gon had gone away along with Xanatos and never returned.

The Jedi in the AgriCorps would teach Obi-Wan instead. He would be in better hands, there. He would have a chance to find a place in hearts that did not bear so many scars. The boy was easy to love. Obi-Wan did not need Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon did not need Obi-Wan.

It made no difference that Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan’s relief through the Force as the boy pulled the warm cloak around himself, or feel him drift quietly off into sleep at last. Obi-Wan was young. His mental shields were weaker than the more experienced Knights and Masters Qui-Gon was accustomed to interacting with. It meant nothing.

Qui-Gon stretched out on his sleep-couch and attempted to quiet his mind, pushing away the unwelcome memory of Xanatos’ icy gaze, and the knowledge that he could feel it the moment Obi-Wan began to dream.

[cowboygideon]

Here's a little self-indulgent Sam and Vincent scene I wrote that may or may not be terrible I cannot tell anymore (featuring Reagan incredibly briefly at the end, another main character whom I love dearly)

(A little backstory if this makes no sense: some of the characters are in college, and this is set in Vincent’s dorm's bathroom. Prior to this Sam got the shit beat out of him at a bar because some guys were being assholes and he punched one of them. Also, the reason they keep saying Sam is dead is because he is dead (ish) he died in a fire about a year before the story begins.)

tags: @blondeandfivefeeteven @exycutive-dysfunction :)

[dingdangit]

another section of The Fic is done >:) <- (evil)

[gloriousmonsters]

i’m the same anon who had the knee-jerk capslock malfunction. i realize it’s probably kinda cheap of me to be like “literally talk about whatever original work u want!!!!”. so to do the meme/challenge properly and pick one……..I’ve actually been MOST curious about Heart Hands Bone. just given some of the stuff you’ve reblogged that really resonates.

but seriously, i wanna hear about whatever original work(s) you’re feeling unhinged about rn!!!!

I'm always happy for the excuse to bring up HHB :D honestly now that I think about it, it probably would be useful to write up little 'this is what that project is' posts I can link to when I talk about them. table that for now.

Heart Hands Bone takes place in a town built over the remains of an ill-understood network of fungal and flesh 'brain' that, once upon a time, took the form of a fairy-tale forest above ground. It's all that's left of a narrota bestia, a creature that fed off narrative and granted miracles, and the town above it is split uneasily between tourism that sells a sanitized museum of its past and the people still caught in the Forest's threads; the cursed, the blessed, the transformed.

Katinka is a new resident, but feels closer to 'fairytown' than she does the modern world. When the chance to save a life presents itself, she does what old-school virtue dictates, and trades her own life for another; but just as she's resigned herself to an inglorious role in a bloody fairy tale, she's pulled into a much stranger one.

The Child-Eater is the last of his kind; the scion of an ancient mother, he never saw the Forest in its glory, but he still believes in its power. Indignant at Katinka facing death for an act of kindness, he saves her life and entangles her in a story he's convinced isn't really about him; it's about the man he loves with a passion that's made him uneasy with his current role. Hal Anselm, the 'prince', the enigmatic and unstable heir of a royal family descended from Snow White. The setting has changed, but their power has not, nor the bloody and jealous hold they keep on the most treasured relics of the Forest--Snow White's bones.

But through the years, five have slipped through their fingers. The Child-Eater has discovered the location of four, embedded in the dying Forest's last strongholds of story. When he gives Hal the information, the cursed prince is happy to invite the two of them along on his quest--and Katinka, despite herself, follows her conflicted sense of honor and her own fascination with the prince into a fairy tale made of fairy tales.

...Man, I need to whittle that blurb down somehow, but there's a lot going on in this one, y'know? Anyway. Excerpt.

Solvania’s house crouched like a toad in the shadows of the river bridge. The west end of town, fairytown as some humans called it, for how it was thick with the remnants of fairy tales, boasted many houseless inhabitants, but none of them took advantage of the bridge’s shelter--Solvania’s house exuded decay, long-toothed bitterness. In the old days, if the fire was lit, it would have smelled like baking bread due to the flour in the bricks; these days, it smelled like mold and rot.

The only other people that came there, aside from the child-eater, were occasional bandits barging in to use the oven or other kitchen equipment. He loathed them--still thought longingly about the death of the one that had put a nick in his good cleaver--but in a way, he had to be glad of their crass manners. If the Bandit King hadn’t barged into his kitchen once, commenting cheerfully on the bones he was trying to clean and commandeering the use of his small knives--a favor from one cannibal to another, let’s call it--he would never have seen Her bone.

A tooth, rattling around in that cheap plastic locket the King wore like a prize. Just in its presence, the child-eater’s stomach ached and the gut-trees grown to two or three feet down near the river started singing, rubbing their branches together in the wind. He’d sat on the floor staring, barely aware of the bandits jeering at him in between their business of cutting a girl up on his table, until the Bandit King noticed, and laughed.

“In love with Snow?” he’d asked, dangling the locket from his fingers. “I can’t blame you.”

That wasn’t quite accurate. The child-eater did love Snow--as he loved the Gallows God, an encompassing, reverent love that seemed to fill the ugly, rotten hole Solvania had hollowed out inside of him over the years. Twin lanterns in the darkness. But he wasn’t in love with her; such things were beyond a creature like him, even if he aspired to them.

And what he felt, in that moment, wasn’t about love. There was reverence, yes, but mostly there was excitement. Fervent, wild hope. He’d already heard rumors of three bones, after diligent searching, but to have one so close to his grasp--this, he could take to the prince with an easy mind.

[lost-in-prose]

Everyone in Ocoria on a random Tuesday night sleeping soundly in their beds:

Crown Princess Andrea, her bodyguards Karissa and Tino, and racing driver Eden Cody on that same Tuesday night, drunk off their asses:

[gothic--vampyre]

Dumping this here because no one reads it on Wattpad lol.

Trigger Warning: Death

"I promise."

The words rang out for the millionth time that day.

When my little Star struggled to keep her beautiful Hazel eyes open, with the anesthesia setting in, those had been my last words to her.

When she'd wanted to know if we were going to be okay again, I had responded with a soft kiss to her forehead, and a promise I could never fulfill.

When she'd wanted nothing but the truth, I had given her hope, that this nightmare would end in three hours, that we'd be able to go living our dream lives again.

Three hours passed by. Another three followed. And then, a whole day.

The misery seemed never to end.

I barely registered the words of the people that seemingly cared for my Stella. My little star had been suffering for months, when all these people, selfish and shallow, offered only their condolences.

Halfway through the funeral, when my mother was offering her own perspective of my daughter's life, of her strength, I let my feet carry me away from the madhouse, and into the green woods, in search of a little peace. Away from the judgemental stares, away from the people who claimed to care.

She had no one in her hour of need. No one but me. And I failed her.

I am— I was her mother, her guardian, her role-model, her best friend, and I... of all the people in the world had failed her.

I wished hell to damn me for it.

Night had fallen when I discovered myself to be sitting on the rock she used to be found sitting on every time she sneaked out. The moon glinted off the dark water at my feet, more menacing for some reason than comforting.

I stared back at the woman looking at me from the water. Her eyes were hollow, lifeless.

Pain clenched its cold, stone hand around my heart as I remembered the last time I saw her. I saw my angel, lying on the white sheets of her bed, surrounded by bouquets of flowers that were incomparable to her beauty. My Stella looked so beautiful, just like she always had been, with her lively spirit and fiery quips. Yet, she had never been that quiet before.

I opened my eyes. My heart jumped to my throat. She was there. Wearing a white veil that concealed her face, she stared at me, her beautiful eyes screaming in agony.

"You had promised."

A promise that I couldn't keep.

When my little star gestured for me to follow her, with the promise of another chance, I didn't hesitate.

Criticism is welcome. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

If you want more:

[dss1101]

"Duke was taking to it about as well as any of them ever took to getting benched, which was to say, terribly."

This family is a mess of self-sacrificing idiots. Take a rest, you'll be okay I promise. There are about a billion other vigilantes to protect Gotham while you're gone

[therealsophiependragon]

It is colder in this cell, Yue decides. The chill is as alive as the dark. It crawls over the ceiling and floor, skitters out of sight and up the backs of necks, into corners and sockets of the body that are impossible to shake out. It sinks into the walls and builds and builds until the cold is an immovable part of the place itself. And no fire yet has succeeded in banishing it. But, she does not foresee that Azula will stop trying. 

[distancingreality]

snippet from "of endings and beginnings"

(Winlet | 2 years post book 4 | Scarlet and Winter speak after a long time apart)

The door swings open and Winter Blackburn flounces in. “Good afternoon Scarlet-Friend.” She says with a trill. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Scarlet rises from her bed. Her fists find her hips and she gives Winter a look up and down.

Winter floats through the room on graceful feet. She curtsies diligently.

“Still crazy?” Scarlet asks.

“So the physicians tell me. They use a much nicer word.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Mentally unstable. They seem to think I’ve improved though.”

“Have you.” Scarlet is unconvinced.

Winter closes her eyes and recites in a shrill voice, “The quirks and mannerisms Winter Blackburn has developed over the years to cope with her family dynamics and medical hallucinations are ingrained. Others may continue to find her odd but she is harmless and healthy.”

Scarlet widens her eyes in disgust. “They said all of that to you???”

“Indeed.” Winter saunters over to the wide window overlooking the grey city.

Her slender hands rest on the frame. She gazes out into nothing. Whatever she sees is invisible to Scarlet.

“They say many things about me.” Winter looks back at Scarlet and smiles sadly. “They tell me my beauty is diminished and my appeal has gone.” She gestures to the faint pock marks patterning her bare arms and throat. “I’m no longer a princess you know.”

Scarlet scowls. “They’re idiots! You should fire them all! Don’t listen to lies. If I ever hear that sort of thing come out of your mouth again, I’ll shake it out of you!”

“Don’t be absurd. I do not hold those views of myself.”

Scarlet narrows her eyes in suspicion.

“Jacin tells me I am beautiful. Why should I need any other assurance? He tells me I am clever. He says the madness has left me. I believe him.”

Scarlet watches her move to sit primly on the foot of the bed.

“And these things are enough to stave off the murmurings of others. Sit with me.” Winter says.

Scarlet is well and truly angry now. “You will always be the true Lunar Princess. Nothing can take away your people’s loyalty or their love. You belong to them.”

“And to you?”

“Yes.” She says fiercely.

Scarlet feels her throat begin to tighten and that makes her angrier still. She strides to the bed and drops down into a crouch beside her princess. “Anything you command I must obey.”

Winter sighs sweetly. She claps her hands around Scarlet’s. “My knight in a red hoodie, will you also protect me from the unkind rumors of the masses?”

“The best I can.” Scarlet answers.

“Good. Shall I bestow a kiss to show my thanks?”

Scarlet sighs in exasperation. Winter doesn’t pay her any attention. She presses a soft kiss to the other girl’s forehead. She traces Scarlet’s lips absently.

Scarlet shivers at the touch. Her heart hammers away with something she can’t identify. Something she won’t examine.

It’s too close to disappointment.

[topazadine]

Snippet from Funeral of Hopes (the third book)

I am going to drown myself

[artie5o5]

Lay Me Gently In The Cold Dark Earth | Short Story Update #1

Logline: A 24 year old guy is brough face to face with his childhood trauma of neglect abuse and violence that he would rather not confront when he goes to live in a small religious village town with his beloved.

Story's Vibes: Work Song by Hozier. My Own Private Idaho. Take Me to Church. I wanted it to have soft, rural vibes, domestic bliss.

POV: 1st person retrorespective.

Word Count: Around 5000

Inspiration: Work Song by HozerTM // Hold Me Under Till I See The Light by Shaelin Bishop.

Characters:

Protagonist

24

Soft boy vibes. River Pheonix Timothee Chalamet vibes

Loves his beloved. That is his entire personality, he eats, breahtes, lives his love. He lives for his love. He loves, loves, loves.

Racked with religious guilt, doesn't know what to do with his feelings.

Reckoning with the sins of his past as he "lives his sin" with his girlfrend in a deeply religious village

There is an interesting conflict in his internal beliegs that I don't really know how to explore.

His Beloved

23

Autamn day, fallen leaves, milky white hands colored with mud, soft sunlight bouncing off of brown frizzy hair

She's the gossip of the town, the shame on the family name. Yet so enchantingly charming no one can smite her to her face

Whispers follow her where she goes. Yet she chooses to go everywhere regardless of the whispers.

"A hush fell into the room when she entered, then whispers followed."

She loves, loves, loves, she loves everyone and everything.

What's it about?

CW: SA, Prostitution, Drug abuse, implied child abuse, implied self harm.

Our Unnamed protagonist goes on a three day binge by mixing a shit ton of alcohol with a shit ton of drugs and sedatives and starts dreamwalking. Dreamwalking? He basically keeps walking until he is out of the big city and ends up in a small town he's never been in before. He falls apart infront of a typists apartment, ready to embrace death...

... only to be woken up in a small succint apartment couch, he sees the soft sunlight coming through the curtain, he sees an empty crib in another room, he falls in an out of conciousness, and he's saved by the heavenly touch of someone he deems godsend.

They move in together in her small farming village after her father's death. Her father leaves her behind an apple orchard. He works as a farm boy in a neighbours land. They have quite the beautiful life. He works all day, comes home to her baking cookies in the kitchen. Falls asleep to the earthly scent of her hair.

Except for the fact that the deeply religious community deems their quaint life as "living in sin". The targetted preachings in sunday masses, the whispers, the name callings stirrs deep seeted memories in him, that he has spent a lifetime trying to drown in booze and pills. His own complicated belifes in divinity is in direct contrast with the life he has led, and is leading. He seeks for answers, he seeks for salvation, he seeks to be free

I started writing this story in either 2020, or 2022. It's been so long that I've forgotten. The first half of the story follows Hozier's Work Song beat by beat. The more I wrote, the more I edited what I wrote the story took on it's own form. It starts with our protagonist ploughig the field with his.. cowerkers? One of the boys Simon asks him about his beliefs in death and afterlife given the fact that they've heard everyone from towns and cities are athiests and heathens.

“But what do you believe?”  Simon asked. “You want to hear some blasphemy.” Old Joe barked at Simon. “That's what you want.” He turned to the boys. “We go in our graves, six feet under - and then we rot and feed the worms.” There was a collective unease. Simon ignored Old Joe completely. He asked me again, “Do you also believe that? Or do you believe there is no Heaven and Hell?” I thought of my beloved, working in her garden. The earth and the dirt smeared in her pale white hands, at the hems of her skirts. “What Joe said. We go back to the earth, I suppose.” I shrugged. “But no grave will hold my body down.”  I’ll crawl home to my beloved.

Copied straight out of the Work Song, I know. Bear with me for a second there. i was going through a terrible writing slump at the time, and the beats of the songs helped me find a general structure for the story. A lot of things did change the more I drafted. It's been so long and so many drafts that I've forgotten most of the drafting process.

In the Fall of 2020 Shaelin Bishop's "Hold Me Under Till I See the light" was published, so I think that probably tells us I at least started writing this in 2020. The line level work was heavily influenced by Hold me Under. Every time I felt stuck, I went back and re-read Shaelin's short story to get **inspiration**

In the final draft, not much of the story follows the beats in "Work Song". The structure a bit of a back and forth between the present day events in the village and the backstory of our protagonist. I've tried to keep the pacing as smooth as possible. There was a lot of pacing problems in the earlier drafts that I've since tried to polish out.

I've submitted to and got rejected by multiple magazines. I recently got a feedback on my story that was mostly positive apart from a few clarity issues, so I don't know what to do with it. I'm going to actively go threw it again. I'm also actively looking for anyone to provide critque or suggest possible literary magazines that publishes similar work. This story is really personal to me for some reason, I don't really know why. I'm neither catholic nor have been subject to any of the tortures our protagonist was subjected to, yet I somehow feel a certain kinship with him that I can't really explain.

Here are some excerpts from the finished draft

This is my original work, please treat it gently. Do not plagiarise

I had walked off for miles. Miles and miles and miles of highway and busy streets before I started wandering around in a place I had never stepped foot in before. It was well into the night, in an unknown town, in front of a stranger's door - when I passed out.

The line level work is probably where Shaelin Bishop's influence comes in the most. I've tried really hard to replicate her writing style as much as possible. I know I haven't succeeded. XD But trying to replicate her style has certainly improved the quality of my work compared to what it *used* to be.

image description: the outline of an ornate window reflected on a wall by the soft sunlight. Over it is the text "I woke up with her walls around me. The curtains were drawn – sunlight poured through the white fabric in a soft golden haze. I was lying face up on a sofa, cushion under my head, a blanket over me. My neck hurt as I tried to turn. I rested my head back on the cushion. The muscles ached all over my body. The headache was blinding. From the living room sofa, I saw a bedroom door slightly ajar, through the gap I saw an empty room with a high ceiling, nothing inside but an empty crib."

I tried to be very specific about the details, because our lord and saviour Shaelin keeps talking about **specificity**.

Here comes one of my favourite lines -------

I swear I thought I dreamed her. I could see in microscopic detail - Sunlight bounced off the frizz of her brown hair. She was sitting beside me on the sofa. She dipped a piece of cloth in a bowl on the glass table next to us and squeezed the water out. The wet cloth wiped out my sins as she rubbed it across my face, baptizing me for the first time in my life; when her fingers touched my skin, I knew I was reborn.

image description: a window from a dark room over looking a small a part of the sky and a streetlamp, the sun in the middle bright and glaring. Over it the text reads "“This is my home.” She said, “I grew up here.” There was the kind of ache in her voice that only comes with the yearning for a childhood you can no longer go back to. The house was engulfed in memories. She stood in the same spaces she had occupied in happier times, yet happiness felt like a feeling she could no longer replicate. Everything she touched had a story, and she recounted it all to me with a fondness tinted with guilt."

I tried to be as specific with my imegery as possible. There are some strong points, there are a lot of weak parts. I'm obviously only sharing parts that I thought was strong XD

The biggest part of the story is the relationship between the protagonist and his beloved, and I've tried to make it as heavenly and etheral as possible.

“Wait..” She walked up to me and opened the fridge, “I saved some for you.” She pulled out a plate with slices of pudding. “Desert before dinner.” She said.

“My hands are dirty.” I held them up.

She picked up a slice and fed me with her hands, clean and unbloodied.

The part that needs the most work is when his mysterious "sinful" part is fully revealed. The critique I got here is that a massive tone shift happens here. That this part of the story is more matter-of-fact than the rest of the story and as a whole takes the reader out of it a bit.

The backstory is very important and laying it out in a way that doesn't read like a "recitaion" is the main goal for my next round of edits. I haven't really had the time to delve into it just yet.

I will probably go read "Hold Me Under Till I see the light" again XD. For inspo. And rewrite the whole part scratch. I'll send the story out for another round of critiques.

If you're interested to swap short stories feel free to dm me.