orangesnapplefarm

[orangesnapplefarm]

do you ever just

[orangesnapplefarm]

Donating to a sorcerer’s ritual:

“I’m stuck,” the woman cries. The skin of her hand is puddy and bones and char. The exposed muscles begin to fry. She pulls forward despite the pain, but her left hand remains planted, fusing with the ardent wood.

Telah whips around to Giano. “What did you do?”

Her sharpness jolts his spine ramrod straight.

“No, I’m…” Melany pants.

“…stuck on the barrier,” Giano finishes. He squints his eyes like he’s forgotten something. “We will have to break the outermost circle to free her.”

Telah pulls out a pocket knife. She braces Melany’s arm and presses her knife against the skin. Blood trickles from her wrist. Melany cries out for her to stop.

“No,” Giano shouts. “She cannot move her hand, and we cannot move her either.”

“We can hold the door again while you finish the circle.”

“It is finished,” he stresses. “She is part of it. Look, her hand is fusing with the circle. Moving her voids the protection. And I do not know if that door will hold long enough for me to make a new one.”

Excerpt from chapter six

[orangesnapplefarm]

Excerpt of Giano being dense and Lisa getting secondhand embarrassment

“Looks like witchcraft stuff. Probably someone being edgy.” Lisa’s mouth twitches. A timid, long-haired man, pipes up from behind Melany. The one who received the gift outside. “Let me take a look.” He darts past Lisa and up the steps, two at a time. He crosses his arms over his chest and adjusts his glasses. “I, uh, I have a PhD in biology and medicine, but I took a few religious studies courses as well. Also,” he stutters through his explanation, “I can read Latin, which that is. Not witchcraft.” Lisa’s gut twists. The secondhand embarrassment is one thing. The guy’s lie is another. At least, she believes it to be a jumble of bullshit. He’s young, perhaps the same age as her, and yet he claims to already have a PhD, in biology and medicine nonetheless, when she’s hardly started her graduate. “Oh, really? Me too!” The woman who Lisa cannot recall the name of waves her hand over her head. When the room turns its attention to her, she folds into herself. “For like college electives, you know…” “You have a PhD?” Bankston scoffs, satisfying Lisa’s skepticism. The man gives a hard blink and a shaky sigh. “Yes. It says, ‘Do not break me. Fool.’ ” The pause is long enough to feel intentional.

A piece from full web novel here

[orangesnapplefarm]

[orangesnapplefarm]

Lisa

fighting the intrusive thoughts when trying to make friends:

Lisa frowns for a moment. The grin popping back up as Telah meets her gaze. “Aren’t you glad he managed that for you.” It is a joke, but something about it makes her worry she’s being malicious. She wants to take it back, but taking it back would only solidify that she is a mean girl.

[orangesnapplefarm]

Chapter TWO of The Station 12 Incident

Thirty-two years after The Saint Vincent Chapel Massacre, a TV network organizes a million-dollar-contest for anyone capable of staying the night within the old monastery. However, the evening takes a turn when the group faces the consequences of inciting a dormant ritual, locking everyone inside.

Excerpt below:

“I’m totally self-aware that I’m a bit of a control freak. I feel in awe of you, yet completely intimidated. A lot of that comes from what runs in my family. It was much worse growing up so I started getting more into my faith and all that. Trying to mix modern therapy and centuries of Western practice into my day-to-day. Anything to push away those impulses.”

Giano’s eyebrows shoot up. She finds some comfort in his reservation. The cameras in here aren’t as visible as the ones in the high ceiling foyer. She won’t say anything to make her sound crazy, or jeopardize her family. He sips his water merely adding non-verbal affirmations as she decidedly continues.

She leans forward, scooting closer, elbows propped on the counter. Her voice is low when she speaks again, “I don’t think the production wants anyone to know this, she shakes her head, “but you said you only joined for the history of it, right? I’m saying I assume you’re going to try and sneak books out of here.”

Giano looks up as if thinking on it for a moment, but Lisa knows he’s scanning the room for a red dot and a lens.

“I was asked to come here. They offered me the million dollars regardless if I win or lose. And at first, I said no, because I was drowning in schoolwork, duh! Then my grandmother told me that story. She told me a bit more than that.”

Giano doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Then in one quick inhale, he shutters. “Your grandmother must have saved quite a few women.”

Read the full story on my WordPress

[orangesnapplefarm]

Check My Supernatural-Horror Story

Thirty-two years after The Saint Vincent Chapel Massacre, a TV network organizes a million-dollar-contest for anyone capable of staying the night within the old monastery. However, the evening takes a turn when the group faces the consequences of inciting a dormant ritual, locking everyone inside.

Hey y'all,

Revamped my whole shit. If you like horror/supernatural/character-driven plot, this is right up your alley. This is a story about sorcerers and gods and devils trying to eat your soul, yum yum!

Content warnings:

This is a horror story so there is violence, gore, and grossness at times. There is mentions of cultism, religious debauchery, fictionalized depictions of Christianity alongside fictitious ones.

And, of course, I'm open to feedback :)

[orangesnapplefarm]

I miss samoa joe

[orangesnapplefarm]

He’s so chaotic

[orangesnapplefarm]

fun fictional fruit that can heal or hurt you

[orangesnapplefarm]

Baht t'Vlaakith 💀

[orangesnapplefarm]

the most depressing, but also potentially the most important, thing in my writing journey was that I didn’t have anyone to share writing with for a long time

when I first started, I was 13 and was just writing for fun in Word. I never planned to share it with anyone, but I still had hundreds of pages of writing

I dropped it -- for a reason I won't get into here -- and then picked it up next in a high school creative writing elective class. I could share with people there!! and I did!!! it felt good to have my (very limited) skills recognized by others, even if it was in the form of criticism

but then -- for a reason I also won't get into here, but one directly related to sharing my work -- I dropped writing again

when I picked up writing again in college as a way to cope with the changes and a way to pass free time, I was terrified to share my work. and so I didn't! I was holed up in my college dorm, and then apartment, with all of my WIP Google Docs and that was it

it was depressing, looking back

but also looking back, it showed me that I do genuinely love writing

I can't say that about every hobby I have. with my ADHD, I get hyperfixation windows. I sink into a hobby super deep, and then I just decide one day that I'm bored and I drop it.

I go into and out of phases with streaming, with YouTube, with video editing, with guitar. I even do it with art, which I have been doing much, much longer than anything else creative

but I don't with writing, because I learned to love it. and I think that is so important for people to do, if they can

we don't have much monetary return on creative things in our world right now. we can get there! but when we start out, absolutely not. so then we look for social affirmation, posting stuff online and loving to watch the likes roll in (or not! and then beating yourself up over it! or entirely dropping your hobby over it because "you'll never be good enough" !!)

but that's not what we should be creating for. it's meant to be for the joy of creating, and it's more important than ever to foster that

I've emphasized to friends before that if you do not genuinely love creating, whatever your mode of creating is, then you will not be happy creating. you will not be happy to have it as a job, or a side hustle, or whatever else, because you will never be happy enough to withstand when things don't do as well as you hoped

and even though it is kinda depressing that I spent the first three years of college writing stuff nobody was never meant to see, it gave me a love of writing that I don't have for anything else creative. what started as a coping mechanism and a way to create more easily in a college dorm turned into something that I love and am driven to do basically every day

it just took me a really long time to realize what made it happen and why it's so important

[orangesnapplefarm]

Choose your fighter

[orangesnapplefarm]

The prophecy says after a thousand years, the great evil will return.

Luckily, that prophecy was made only about 100 years ago, so you just get to roleplay D&D pool parties!

[orangesnapplefarm]

One thing I love about wrestling is how, since every wrestler is experiencing their own arc, you get such a dichotomy of experiences happening simultaneously. Half the roster will be running around doing normal sports rivalries and funny haha comedy bits, then it'll pan over to somebody going thru it like

[orangesnapplefarm]

[orangesnapplefarm]

That post about 30 year old coming of age stories?

I’ve been thinking about it all morning. What would the plot points be for that? What makes a 30 year old coming of age story?

Old folks sound off in the comments