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Long Excerpt

I'm sorry, but I love this WIP.

Of all the things I've written, I feel this one most deserves to be wrangled into something publishable. Trad or self or serialised-free-on-the-internet, I don't really care, but it always feels like there's something there with this. I keep coming back to it. It lives in the back of my head.

So here's the beginning, just for fun.

Lyssa

You would think, after saving the world, a person would get a modicum of peace.

Stacking shelves at a grocery store is not conducive to such indulgences.

I’ve just directed yet another customer to the product they were looking for that was literally two feet in front of their face when I see a young girl out of the corner of my eye. She’s clinging to her mother’s leg, alternately hiding her face in the woman’s thigh and then peeking out in my direction. There’s just a little too much noise and distance between us for me to hear what she’s saying, if anything, but I’ve seen the setup enough to know the outcome.

I open the next box with unnecessary aggression. The haphazardly stacked packets within seize the moment and burst forth to scatter all over the floor.

“Fuck,” I say, probably too loudly considering I’m wearing a uniform in a public place.

It’s not enough to discourage the little girl’s mother, or perhaps she just doesn’t hear me. She edges closer and I busily start collecting the bags that have slid improbably far across the slick lino.

“Um, excuse me.”

I glance up at the woman, still partly bent over, fishing beneath the shelves for the packet I know is under there.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re busy. It’s just – Carlie saw you from over there, and we were wondering – she was wondering—”

A pause. I know what she’s going to say, but the apology and the acknowledgement that I’m working have mollified me enough that I just straighten and wait for her to work up the courage.

“—are you Lyssa? Lyssa Moore?”

It’s not my actual last name. I assume. Actually for all I know it could be, but that doesn’t change the fact it was assigned to me after my parents sold me to an organisation they could not have possibly understood and my original identity was destroyed.

“Hi. Yeah. I’m her. Uh, that’s me.”

Classically articulate and full of wit and brevity. I don’t let my face change, refuse to show embarrassment or acknowledgement of my utter lack of eloquence, just continue to stare at the woman. Forget to modulate for my serious case of resting bitch face, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” She beams, strokes a hand over the girl’s head. “Carlie is such a fan. You wouldn’t – I know you’re at work, but do you think we could trouble you for a photo?”

I’m pretty sure my eye twitches at the word fan. Fan of what? Of sending teenagers to their death, into a battle that by all rights should have been fought by a proper military force, or at the very fucking least adults? Of experimenting on children on the off chance that something bizarre would work and give them an edge that in the end didn’t really matter for the vast majority of them? Of abandoning those very same children within months of them completing this stupid, lifechanging, world-saving mission? Of leaving them to fend for themselves without any real life skills or qualifications beyond saving the world so that at least one of them ends up working at a fucking grocery store?

Carlie peeks out from her mother’s leg again. It’s not her fault. The girl is maybe ten, so she probably wasn’t even alive when it all went down. She’s been raised on the same narrative as everybody else; learning our names, our faces, revisionist history taught in schools about how it was up to us to save the world from certain disaster and we stepped up to the plate. Heroes, saviours, look at these kids that did the impossible. If you study really hard and do all your homework and don’t do anything naughty maybe you could grow up to be super-special and admired and deified just like them!

I offer the mother a smile that I hope isn’t as brittle as it feels. “Of course. C’mon, let’s get something better than shelves in the background.”

I actually don’t care about the background, or the quality of the photo, but once the mother inevitably posts it on social media I want as few identifying features in it as possible. I grab my hoodie off the stock cage holding all the boxes and pull it over my head, hiding the recognisable uniform and the name tag that displays something that is decidedly not my actual name.

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Update: I no longer have to go Backwards! 🥳 Which now it's off the table I'm kinda disappointed because it would've been novel. Anyway, so it goes. Still will hopefully finish at about the same time. 🤞

It is 10 o'clock.

I have been at work for one (1) hour.

Best-case scenario I will be released at 4 o'clock PM.

I am dyinggggg. How do people do this every day??

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Okay, I've made it to lunch (ish) by scrolling on tumblr for about three hours. I have the Backwards Thing after lunch and then HOPEFULLY will be sent home soonish afterwards. God will this day never end.

It is 10 o'clock.

I have been at work for one (1) hour.

Best-case scenario I will be released at 4 o'clock PM.

I am dyinggggg. How do people do this every day??

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self discipline is so hard like. i know the sucker who's in charge...a pushover who hates authority and loves hedonism

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✍🏼 Heads Up Seven Up

Thanks to the lovely @space-writes for the tag!

📝 Share seven lines from your story

Am I going to use the Bridge From Ashes prequel even though I haven't got back into writing it yet, just because I'm excited to have Rafe back in my head? Yes. Am I going to casually drop the title here? ALSO YES.

These lines are from Miles From Morning...

I’m looking along the line, trying to figure out who’s a sentence deal and who’s a voluntary. Every cohort’s got a mix of the two, which kind of makes sense. If they put all the sentence deals together, they’d probably be dealing with attempted mutiny every other week. Or maybe not. Maybe everyone else who’s here instead of in rehab still thinks they got the better option. The rest of them look tidy though, properly put together. I don’t.

Tagging @pertinax--loculos, @revenantlore, @indecentpause and @thegreatobsesso if you'd like to do it, with an open tag for anyone else who wants to join in 💜

Reblogs, replies etc on my tag posts are always welcome, but if you're doing this tag yourself, please make your own post instead of using mine to start a reblog chain.

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It is 10 o'clock.

I have been at work for one (1) hour.

Best-case scenario I will be released at 4 o'clock PM.

I am dyinggggg. How do people do this every day??

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📢 My stories (and some other stuff) have moved to Patreon!

😈 The timing is dreadful, but fuck it, I live for chaos.

The TL;DR is that today I realised Patreon has become everything I'd been wishing for in a platform to share my writing, host my blog and tip jar, and create a cosy little community space, so I moved my website content there.

Because I've only just started posting Name From Nowhere, I figured it made more sense to move now when there weren't too many old links floating around, so that's what I did.

💜 Consider this your extremely enthusiastic open invitation to join my community on Patreon. Nothing is pay-walled. Everything is free and publicly viewable. You can join for free and I would seriously LOVE LOVE LOVE to have you all there with me.

I'm so excited about finally being able to have everything I wanted in a creative and social platform, and the only thing that would make it better would be if my friends were there too.

In case anyone's worrying, I'm not leaving Tumblr! Patreon is replacing my website and Ko-fi page and also providing me with a blogging space where my posts won't get lost in a gigantic feed.

I'm about to do something I never do and tag a bunch of mutuals who I've known for a while on here and/or who I know have read my stories. I promise I'm not going to make a habit of this, and the invitation to hang out with me on Patreon is extended to anyone who sees this, not just the people I've tagged.

@afoolandathief @ahordeofwasps @asher-writes @diphthongsfordays @drabbleitout

@drippingmoon @drippingmoon @dyrewrites @eyes-talks-ocs @gaslightwestern

@i-can-even-burn-salad @indecentpause @oh-no-another-idea @pertinax--loculos @revenantlore

@sergeantnarwhalwrites @space-writes @sunset-a-story @thegreatobsesso @touloser-lautrec

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Weird that my cigarettes are calling me out about my favourite ship dynamic

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Oh, look! Another side character has captured my attention to the point where I think they deserve a POV!

Shocking.

(In my defence, I actually think this will add to the WIP. Y'know, the WIP which was borne of mostly vibes and a weird crossover idea. I don't even know what I'm doing rn. HOWEVER. I am writing, so. Win?)

Weren’t like Rush didn’t know what he was doing.

Weren’t like he didn’t know it was wrong.

The smell of duhl permeating their room. Rico knew Rush’d never get a smoke for himself; knew also, then, exactly where it’d come from. Honestly he would’ve preferred a drug dealer. At least then there would’ve been some hope for intervention.

This thing with Senna had been going on too long. It was a lost cause at this point. Like standing in the path of a hurtling boulder; behaviour that were only gonna get you crushed if you kept it up too long.

Rico refused to step out of the way.

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So, like, I went on this hike, and I fell in love with one mountain in particular.

(Prokletije National Park, Montenegro)

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Once more have I seen the Count go out in his lizard fashion.

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🔫 Name From Nowhere starts posting soon! Want to be on the tag list?

The tag list is ONLY to let you know when the story will start posting on my website and when new chapters land twice weekly. It's NOT for snippets, tag games, or other Tumbly things. You can subscribe on winterandwords.com instead or as well if you like.

Please comment on this post or send me an ask or message to be added 🩷

Corruption and cruelty pulse through the veins of an opulent metropolis, where every side is the wrong side and progress is fuelled by exploitation. Imprisoned for a crime or five that she definitely committed, Aria makes it through her sentence remembering more than she’s supposed to but not enough to make sense. An illicit trade syndicate gives her a fresh start and the acceptance she won’t admit she craves, but her blood family’s betrayal is seared into her mind and revenge is only an opportunity away.

✅ GENRE Cyberpunk, neon-noir

📖 AUDIENCE Adult

👀 VIBE Found crime family. Memory is a curse, but it’s also a weapon. What doesn’t kill you makes you deadly. No identity, still a crisis. Because fuck you, that’s why.

⭐ MAIN CHARACTER Aria Day lives in survival mode. She's burdened by loss and regret, and fuelled by spite and adrenaline. But she’s fine. Seriously. FINE. Shut up. Trust is a liability and emptiness is a valuable skill. She didn’t start the fight, but she’ll finish it. OK, so she might have started it too. Keep your hands to yourself if you like having hands.

📝 MORE INFO The WIP summary is here. See tags #name from nowhere and #project aria. Project Aria was the working title. This story is the sequel to Bridge From Ashes. Yes, Rafe and Gillen are involved, as are some of the other characters.

📸 IMAGE CREDIT Original photo by Wilmer Martinez on Unsplash, edited under license.

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fucked up hurt/comfort. the person who stabbed you tends to your wound. the person who killed your loved one helps you grieve.

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Little over a week til my first international trip in about 15 years.

I'm out of my mind with terror. I'm excited. I can't wait. I'm convinced I'm gonna die on the plane.

I'm doing it.

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i loveeee writing "he should". he should reach out. he should take his hand. he should say something. he should reassure him. he should walk away. he should let it go.

never does btw. none of it, but he really should.

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Does anyone else remember playing music in Windows Media Player and just sitting there and watching this for like two hours