#2024: excerpt

[kinetic-elaboration]

June 2: Sunday Excerpt

Obligatory Sunday excerpt because I actually did some writing today. I always wish I did more... feel like it would be good for me and like the habit would make it seem less like a Whole Thing. Well, maybe. There's just so much I need to do this week.

Anyway.

*

“Finished the sets.” Still leaning hard against the door, she drops her bag and kicks off her shoes, sends them hurtling across the floor so that one lands under her bed, the other by her desk. “Barely. Was that the famous Jane?”

Daria would like to pretend it could have been any number of people on the phone, but she doesn't ever talk to anyone else off-campus except, sometimes, her mother. “Are you sure you don't mean infamous?”

“Even better.” Marissa climbs up onto her bed, across from Daria's, head first and on her hands and knees—she has a way of moving like a large animal, or a small child, when she's particularly exhausted. “Do you think she'll ever come to Raft?”

Daria shrugs. It's the biggest lie of a gesture she can think of, implying as it does that she doesn't really care. She can't imagine Jane coming to visit her: she's too big, too bright, too much for their little campus. But she pictures herself in Boston all the time, doing anything, it doesn't matter, just seeing her again. “Maybe.”

“You should invite her to something. I think my limit is a hundred Jane stories before I need to put a face to a name.” She drags herself up to a halfway-sitting position, slumped against the wall. Her suspenders today have tiny female soccer players on them.

“I haven't told a hundred Jane stories.”

Marissa makes a finger-gun gesture in her direction. “Getting close. Hey, bring her to the play. Open dress rehearsal is tomorrow night. Are you coming?”

[fairydrowning]

– Ariel Dimitri, Instagram account "dimoetry"

[TEXT ID: "I hope October brings you peace — I hope it brings you a chance to feel more alive, to see something from the skies and birds, and pay attention to how the butterflies fly away beautifully from one flower to the other one. I hope October brings you another reason to be thankful. I hope October shows us some people who love us to have lunch together, share your meals together, and to love, to dance, to laugh and move on. I know you are trying your best right now. I hope October brings you luck to notice something, feel something, and carry on." END ID]

[redsamuraiii]

Looking up into the sky, he thought...

Ah, Mariko, what a wondrous lady you are. Yes, are, because you will certainly live forever. Are you with your Christian God in your Christian heaven? I hope not. That would be a terrible waste. I hope your spirit's just awaiting Buddha's forty days for rebirth somewhere here. I pray your spirit comes into my family. Please. But again as a lady - not as a man. We could not afford to have you as a man. You're much too special waste as a man.

James Clavell's Shogun (1975), Chapter 60, Page 1063

[wordedarchive]

the truth is: i care. i care too much and perhaps my life would be easier if i cared too little.

khush bakht via wordedarchive

[leechteethwrites]

part of a recent poem i wrote—April April

[bloodandmoors]

“New Year’s Eve always terrifies me. Life knows nothing of years. Now the horns have stopped and the firecrackers and the thunder… it’s all over in five minutes… all I hear is the rain on the palm leaves, and I think, I will never understand men, but I have lived it through.”

― Charles Bukowski

[lonely-writer17]

“You are my biggest regret. But if I could turn back time, you’re a mistake I would make all over again.”

[goldenblu]

ok i know i said the sanji week day 6 fic was gonna be short but i’m 4k words in and only about halfway through so uhhhhhh i lied

on one hand: this means more future!sanji feels! on the other hand: the probability i finish this before march 2nd ends in my timezone is…unlikely. which i hate bc i really wanted to post it on his birthday hrrrrrrgh why do i do this to myself

(edit: fic has now been posted on AO3)

random excerpt from the fic:

Sanji was thirty when Ichiji appeared on his balcony one day without warning.

“The hell are you doing here?” Sanji asked suspiciously, tensing his leg.

Ichiji held up his hands placatingly. It was not a gesture that Sanji had ever seen from him before, and that was the only thing stopping him from kicking Ichiji out without waiting for an answer.

“I’m not trying to cause any trouble,” Ichiji said. He seemed to be doing his best to appear as non-threatening as possible. “I’m just here to speak with you.”

“Now?” Sanji asked. “After all this time? Why?”

Ichiji hesitated. “Can I come inside first?”

It was a request and not a demand, and that left Sanji wrong-footed enough that he agreed after only a moment’s hesitation. So he let Ichiji inside and then promptly had no idea what to do next. Ichiji looked so out of place in Sanji’s apartment, his raid suit clashing terribly with soft blue colors that Sanji favored. It was not a sight he had ever expected to see.

“I guess you can sit down,” Sanji allowed. “I’ll get you something to drink. Tea? Water?”

Never let it be said that he was rude to guests, even asshole not-brothers.

“Water is fine.” Ichiji sat down on the couch, almost looking awkward.

So Sanji brought over a cup of water and sat across from him, crossing his arms. Ichiji took the cup in his hands and looked down at it, brows knitting together, but didn’t move to drink it. When he continued to say nothing, Sanji snapped, impatient, “So?”

Ichiji startled slightly, like he’d somehow forgotten Sanji was there. “Things are different,” he said, finally taking a sip of his water. “In Germa, I mean.”

“I’m aware.” Sanji frowned at him. “Reiju told me that she’s been in charge and making changes.”

Ichiji nodded. “Things are different,” he said again. There was an edge to his tone now. Sanji couldn’t tell what it meant. “We’re different.”

Sanji paused. Ichiji didn’t specify who we referred to, but Sanji could make a guess. Because he couldn’t deny that Ichiji has been acting oddly this whole time. More uncertain, more vulnerable. More human.

Compared with the last time he saw Ichiji, back during the mess at Whole Cake Island, the difference was obvious, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Okay,” Sanji decided, flipping his cigarette between his fingers. He focused on keeping his voice even, his expression neutral. “You’re different. And now you’re here.”

He did not ask how. He did not ask why.

Ichiji looked a little startled at his easy acceptance of that statement. “I…” He hesitated before lifting his gaze to look Sanji directly in the eyes. “I wanted to apologize to you. I’m sorry for everything that we…that I did to hurt you. It wasn’t right. I didn’t know that then, but I know that now.”

That was something that Sanji had dreamed of hearing for the first eight years of his life. He’d so desperately wanted it, convincing himself that it could happen, that maybe someday his brothers would realize that they were hurting him, that they would care that they were hurting him. And then everything would be magically fixed, because that was how it worked in the fantasies of an eight-year-old, didn’t it?

He was not eight years old anymore. Nothing was magically fixed.

And maybe, despite everything, he and Ichiji were more alike than he thought, because the next thing that Ichiji said was, “I’m not expecting…forgiveness, or anything. I know that it’s thirty years too late. I know that it doesn’t change anything that happened.”

“It doesn’t,” Sanji agreed quietly.

“I really am sorry,” Ichiji said, just as quietly. “You don’t have to believe me. I just wanted to tell you I’m trying to be better.”

Sanji surveyed him, running his eyes up and down his form, and considered it. Ichiji sat hunched over, hands gripping his glass of water tightly. He wasn’t quite meeting Sanji’s eyes anymore, bracing himself for an answer.

Sanji realized what that edge in Ichiji’s voice was. It was guilt.

He sighed and put out his cigarette in the ashtray. Ichiji tensed, and then immediately wiped his expression blank.

“I know,” Sanji finally said. “I know you are.”

Ichiji jolted a bit, jaw dropping open with surprise. Sanji pretended he didn’t see it. Instead, he got up from his seat, gestured at the kitchen, and said, “Are you hungry? I’ll make dinner for us.”

“What?” Ichiji said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You’re not going to…?”

He did not seem to know how to finish that sentence.

“No,” Sanji said anyway. “You’re trying. That’s all I ask for.”

I didn’t deserve what you did to me, but none of you deserved what was done to you, either, he thought. So he asked, again, “Well? Are you hungry?”

Ichiji continued to look at him, stunned, before nodding, slow and a bit dazed.

“Good. I’ll make you the best meal you’ve ever had,” Sanji promised. Then, curious but not accusing, he asked, “How come you’re the only one here?”

“I’m just the first,” Ichiji corrected. Then a half-smile tentatively ghosted over his lips, like it wasn’t an expression he was used to. “Duty of the eldest, isn’t it?”

“If it wasn’t before,” Sanji said, “it is now.”

He smiled at his brother and went to start cooking.

[thejourneyblog]

Life is so Beautiful and so Tragic. I love it and hate it so much..

[lttledog]

9 March — from the Diaries of Franz Kafka.

[rustbeltjessie]

Inside one girl there was a pill bottle & a sailor stripe & a twilight. & inside another the night-blooming jasmine & the green-feathered eyes & the tap-dancing rain. In one there was belly dance & Baba Yaga; in another, rum & Rumplestiltskin.

—Jessie Lynn McMains, from “What's Inside a Girl?” (Tupelo Press 30/30, Day 29)

Each day’s poems can be found here. My fundraising page for the month is here.

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 12: Sunday Writing Excerpt

I was invited out to eat ice cream right before I settled down to write, but I did end up doing some writing later. Not a ton, but the amount I had intended to write, the next scene. Who knows what's happening with this fic; I'm too close to it to say. And I feel like what I did today didn't throw me back into it as much as I need to be thrown. But progress is progress.

Here is an excerpt:

*

She thinks she recognizes Jane's voice, though it's hard to tell over the phone.

"Hey. It's Daria." If it's the roommate and she has to explain herself—

"Oh! Hi!" The voice this time is brighter, higher with honest excitement and she recognizes it now clearly as Jane's. "I was wondering if I'd hear from you again. So you made it back to Raft after a treacherous journey, huh?"

"Barely. I got on the train. I got off the train. You know those signs that tell you to mind the gap?"

"Yeah."

"Long story short, I have fewer limbs now."

She imagines Jane smiling on the other end of the line. Maybe she's standing at her easel, painting, or at her desk with her stack of art books. "Bummer. But I bet you have some gnarly scars."

"An even trade." She glances out the window, following a shout that's echoed up from below. A trio of guys are playing Frisbee on the swath of lawn outside her dorm. "I stopped by that diner you mentioned on my way to the station."

"Tried the scones?"

"Tried the scones. But the line was really long so I missed the train I was going to take back."

"Mmm, should have warned you. That’s my influence. The Lanes are not known for our punctuality." Jane can make her voice so slithering and low when she wants to, so even normal sentences sound like secrets whispered in Daria's ear. "Did you miss your class?"

[yesmaddyposts]

Sneak peek of my Colt-centric pain medication addiction fic. I am a little over 1500 words in with lots more to go, but wanted to post a little something because I crave validation YAY!

Content Warning: Drug addiction, obvi

Colt isn’t an idiot. He knows all the signs of dependency on pain medication, does all his research about who is more predisposed to developing addiction, reads up on how using opioids for longer than a few days already puts people more at risk. Hell, he grew up in the eighties during the height of Nancy Reagan’s Just Say No campaign. He took that pledge with all the other middle schoolers, even though as a child he couldn’t help but wonder why it was such a big deal. How hard could it be to just…not do drugs? 

Maybe it is this preconception, or maybe it’s his wounded pride, or maybe it’s any number of things that compile into one huge ball of shame that allows him to ignore it for so long. Either way the truth is he doesn’t really know how it started. Only that when he finally is ready to admit he has a problem, he’s already dug his grave so deep he can no longer see the sun above him.

[redsamuraiii]

Buntaro : I hear you stuck pistols in Omi-san's face. Fuji : I was only doing my duty. Buntaro : Where did you learn to use guns? Fuji : I had never handled a gun until then. But I would have pulled the trigger. Buntaro : Omi-san thought that too. Fuji : I never understood why Omi-sand didn't try to take them away from me. Buntaro : I would have. Fuji : I know, uncle. But I would still pull the trigger. I want to be of use to the Master (Blackthorne), so I will surely blow any man's head off to protect him, and the honor of our house.

James Clavell's Shogun (1975), Chapter 34, Page 543

[wordedarchive]

there should be a manual on how to exist. something to make one feel they're not continuously being slipped. instructions about all the emotions and their repercussions. the methods of processing grief and knowledge about celebrating peace. denial should not be skipped and oh god someone please talk about the thin line between love and hatred. the uncertainties of teenage and overwhelming responsibilities thrown on young shoulders after entering your twenties. it gets better in your thirties. what about the woman who's juggling motherhood with a degree or her husband who finds no delight in working for a corporate team? so much left still unknown about the entirety of human beings.

[desi-girll]

Page 98 of 366 Dear diary 🧸,

"Loneliness is a strange sort of thing.

It creeps up on you, quiet and still, sits by your side in the dark, strokes your hair as you sleep. It wraps itself around your bones, squeezing so tight you almost can’t breathe. It leaves lies in your heart, lies next to you at night, leaches the light out from every corner. It’s a constant companion, clasping your hand only to yank you down when you’re struggling to stand up.

You wake up in the morning and wonder who you are. You fail to fall asleep at night and tremble in your skin. You doubt you doubt you doubt

do I

don’t I

should I

why won’t I

And even when you’re ready to let go. When you’re ready to break free. When you’re ready to be brand-new. Loneliness is an old friend standing beside you in the mirror, looking you in the eye, challenging you to live your life without it. You can’t find the words to fight yourself, to fight the words screaming that you’re not enough never enough never ever enough.

Loneliness is a bitter, wretched companion.

Sometimes it just won’t let go."

love,

me