#writing excerpts

[impyssadobsessions]

DPXDC Enemy of my Enemy is the Worse "Excerpts" (Part 1?) I have more Ideas

Okay I kepy thinking about the prompt Enemy of my Enemy is the Worse I made LOL- (gonna post excerpts.) Probably wont fully write this.. as much as I like to right now LOL. If this inspires anyone to write, go for it.

"So now what? Going to vivisect me? Experiment? Rip my molecules apart like how my-Mr. Fenton keeps telling me." "Unfortunately, no." Agent K grumbles. "And its dissection, not-" Agent O tries to correct. "I maybe dead-but I'm not THAT dead." Danny rolled his eyes, flashing them at the two men in white. He can't believe any of this is happening. Oh he wished he listened to Jazz.. or Sam or Tuck more. He pulled at his ghost proof bindings, them having him ridiculously buried in the restraints. "Actually, Mr. Phantom, is it? I wanted to talk." Another bald man walks in, his suit notably black. Danny raised his eyebrow unimpressed, "What? Is it the Guys in Black and White now? Not that I'm against it, I'm all for equality, but it does seem a little off brand. I'm guessing the bleach bill is getting too high." Agent O was about to speak out- when the guy in black raised his hand to silence him. This guy only looked slightly amused, which gave Danny the creeps. "Of course not. That'd be ridiculous, though I'm not against inclusivity either. I'm Lex Luthor, and it is my recent interest in ghosts that had allowed the GIW to reach its full potential. " "So another annoying billionaire. Great."

"So you know of me? Perfect, then we can keep this simple. In truth, I am only interested in one ghost in particular." "We can capture him without involving ourselves with this scum-" "This GHOST has not only evaded my notice for YEARS, but has been stealing very valuable technology that would go beyond NASA's comprehension. Though I don't doubt your expertise, it has not come without notice that this particular ghost is seen the most-" Lex flicked his eyes down at Phantom. "With you." Agent K and O unrolled paper from their suits to reveal a picture of Plasmius. "The Wisconsin Ghost." - "Plasmius?!" Danny spoke same time the Agents did. Lex smirked at the Agents then down at Phantom. Danny took a moment to register what was going on before busting out laughing. "Really? What makes you think I'm buddy buddy with Plasmius? He's a total fruitloop and honestly- not surprise. He steals blueprints from my p---Dr. Fentons all the time." "You steal their items as well, if we recall." Agent K raised a brow. "Well-I- Just because- YOU USE THEIR BLUEPRINTS TOO!" "Enough. " Lex starting to sound annoyed, Danny felt like it was a win. Serves bastard right. Man did he hate billionaires. "I've observed your work in Amity Park. If I dare say you are quite similar to many of the masked vigilantes that plague this Earth. Even more heroic in my opinion." Danny was not biting at whatever trick Lex was pulling. Though he didn't miss the skip of his core at being recognized something other than a menace. 'He's lying to you.' he repeated in his head. Pulling on his bindings again to remember the real situation before him.

"That being said, I like you to do as heroes do and capture this criminal, then bring him to me." "Look, thanks for the compliment- but we both know I'm not seen as a hero. So why don't you quit the buttering 'cause I'm not interested in culinary and tell me what's in it for me. Even though I'm barely c-average on the best of days, I'm not dumb. I'm not doing this for free or just some lame you will be spared nonsense. Been there done that." Lex smirked again, "I'll grant you immunity from GIW and you can have your haunt back." "Wait? What?!" "But it took so long to capture him-" "IF you manage to capture Plasmius and bring him to me before GIW can." Danny glanced at the two agents as they puffed out their chests. Cocky. They really think they could capture Vlad? Then painfully reminded himself that they did catch him. "And if I don't agree?" "We DISSECT you and use you for very unethical and highly painful experiments that are legal on subjects like yourself." Agent K happily boast. "Riiiight." Danny clicked his tongue, "Add in that these guys are not allowed to be in a 50 miles radius from Amity and I'll do it." "No-" "Deal."

------------------------------------

Danny looped on back to the entryway as he finished swooping through every room of the manor. "Alright! Come on out Fruitloop! I know you're still here-" Just as Phantom floated down to land, he felt a hard punch in his face that sent him skidding across the room into the wall. "OOF" "Guess I should have seen that com...ming..." Danny rubbed his jaw, turning back to see who punched him. His eyes widening as he recognized the heroes he was facing. "Phantom. We're taking you into custody." "YOU CALLED THE JUSTICE LEAGUE ON ME?!" -----(Fight happens)--- Flash manages to hold Phantom, using his speeding molecules to keep Phantom from phasing through his grip. Danny gritting his teeth as the other heroes ready to capture him. Fine. If he can't phase through, he'll just phase in. Phantom uses his icy breath to freeze everything around them. Superman quickly uses his laser vision to melt the ice covering the room in mist, trying to keep themselves from being frozen. "Flash!" When the mist cleared the was no sign of him. Superman using his hearing to try and locate him- despite guarding his right side, he was kicked into the wall by Flash. Flash's eyes glowing bright green. "Well this is weird." -Proceeds to fight in Flash's body for a moment, until he gets knocked out of it. Danny's on his last legs, thinking he barely done a number on them (Not realizing he had been giving them quite a fight). Danny tries to reason again only to hear Amity Park doing great since GIW involvement. Still he isn't backing down. Even mentions Lex is backing them. He knows its only temporary peace if its really peace at all. Which he suspects is a big farce. Besides the portal still resides in Amity. GIW can't get a hold of that- portal. If he can't make them hear him out, then he'll show them why Vlad isn't just some victim. (Not realizing what Justice League may have already discovered) "Want to know why the number 2 worse billionaire is after Fruitloop?" standing up as the net placed on him burned and electrified him. It hurt so much, but he wasn't ready to quit now. Superman flew out in front of the others to block Phantom as Phantom tackled him. Phantom just uses rest of his strength to crash Superman through layers of floors til they reached the secret lab. Superman flinging Phantom into the other side of the room just as they landed, making him slam into a green tube, shattering it. The netting having dropped to the ground away from him. He coughed, shaking as a white ring dangerously popped around his waist shakily dancing, until Phantom sucked it back in. Not yet. The green ectoplasm from the tube soaking into his skin. His eyes widening as he saw what the green ectoplasm was from, jumping back with a disgust yell. He watched the clone fizzle out. "ALREADY? Really Vlad?" He shook off the creeps. "What is this?" "A Lab, du-UAHHHHHHH-" He found himself being spun around by Flash, and flung into the air where he was lassoed. Wonder Woman yanked on the rope tight, swinging him down into the opposite wall. He really was tired of being walled by them. Batman was quick to cuff him as Superman froze him in place. Danny raised a tired brow, unamused. "Are we chill now?" "No." "Thought so." ---bit more talking. Danny navigating his way through the truth of the lasso before using his wail as his last ditch effort to escape. Manages to escape through the portal as the lab collapses.

[tlatpostcards]

The Life and Times Chapter 5: The Shape of Things to Come / Chapter 28: Phoenix / Chapter 29: Old, New, Ballroom, and Blue

— JULES.

[alistonjdrake]

A Woman of No Importance: The Two Deaths of Mathilde van Bibbr

Princess Mathilde van Bibbr was born in 894 W.C and was executed in the spring of 946 W.C on the orders of King Oswald of Vilsland after launching a rebellion to install her husband on the throne instead.

Her death did not cease when the executioner cut through her neck. Her second death had just begun and lasted much longer. In the words of historian Sabina Spahr, "a great woman had to suffer two deaths. The first of her mortal body, and the second of her reputation. Queens of the Early Ages have been disgraced in ways not seen by their male counterparts. We debate the truth behind rumors of their infidelities, even when no proof exists and the claims are ludicrous bawdy tales dreamt up by men who were emasculated by their power. We consume stories of heartless mothers who sent princes to death to hold onto a chair for a moment longer, the all-consuming selfish leading lady who dines on luxuries while the country starves, the black widow. What lies underneath? Yes, the hatred and valid criticisms of monarchs and the power they held by a matter of birth, the inherent unfairness of such wealth being drenched in the quiet suffering of those who could not write their side of history. But also the seductive hatred of women."

Mathilde dying is a big part of the story and is symbolic of how the historians writing them treat all the "historical" characters and how ultimately none of them are around to speak for themselves. They're already dead. Who she was and why she did what she did fades behind biases and imagined motives.

The Early Ages was a fraught time for a budding country, and no one knows that better than historian Sabina Sphar, whose deep dive into one long-gone country leads to an obsession with two women held responsible for its downfall. The year is 946 W.C. and King Oswald of Vilsland has just ordered the execution of his once beloved aunt, Princess Mathilde. Now wanted for treason, Princess Mathilde seeks refuge in her childhood home, currently occupied by a woman who holds a powerful grudge. Twenty years ago, Cierra Dimmock and Princess Mathilde were rivals in the midst of a bloody game of intrigue and court manners. One was a standing regent struggling to keep her grasp on the court and the other the new, foreign wife of a prominent duke. Their feud resulted in one being jailed and the other humiliated. Now, the tables have turned and Cierra is a wealthy widow and Dowager Duchess while Princess Mathilde is an exile looking for political asylum. In a moment of pity, Cierra allows her old enemy to spend the night in her home. Their fates will be sealed by morning and this decision could cost both women their lives. But what is certain is that their country and history will never be the same.

Told through interviews, land deeds, court diaries, letters, Cierra’s own narration, and the musings of several historians. A Woman of No Importance tells the story of a rotten feud between two middle-aged women but also the ill-fated history of Vilsland and how the interactions of these characters wiped it off the map.

Please ask to be added to the taglist!

Taglist: @thelittlestspider  @thelaughingstag

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

9 lines, 9 people (tag game)

tagged by: @oh-no-another-idea

tagging: Open Tag and soft tagging @kaylinalexanderbooks @memento-morri-writes @surroundedbypearls @illarian-rambling

@rose-bookblood @enchanted-lightning-aes @ink-fireplace-coffee @italiangothicwriteblr @tragicbackstoryenjoyer

religious trauma goes brrrr, Aaron and Evie have to pretend that Aaron caught her and bring her right into the heart of the witch hunter's operations 🤪

Many of the members of The Society gave Aaron proud or satisfactory nods as they made their way deeper into the caverns. All of them bore the same mark on their necks.

Evie whispered under her breath to Aaron as they turned a corner, “Are those marks-”

“Branded?” Aaron whispered back, “Yes.”

“Do all of them- all of you… get them?”

“Once we come of age or join The Society, yes, we all get them.”

Evie hesitated as they went down several more hallways and around more corners through the maze into the heart of the caverns.

Finally, she asked him under her breath, “How… how did you get your’s?”

“When I came of age. I was still young when me and Miriam joined. She was old enough so she got her’s right when she was initiated in.”

General Taglist: @enchanted-lightning-aes @thatprolificauthor @wip-nook @writeblrsupport 

@outpost51 @dustylovelyrun @thelaughingstag @jacqueswriteblrlibrary (send me a message to be +/- from the taglist <3)

[godofgrapes]

Obi-Wan leans back in his seat, stroking his beard in frustrated contemplation of his options. He recalls that Ahsoka had mentioned meeting an Assassin once, during one of her misadventures; a wookie named Chewbacca, whom she had spoken highly of. Though where he would find the man, Obi-Wan can’t begin to imagine. Hondo, at least, makes noise wherever he goes.

This crossover is the gift that keeps on giving.

[davycoquette]

Four Lines Writing Share

Baby Shy finds a body. A line about water:

You can see the veins like frozen lightning bolts on the back of his hand, which drifts lazily under the water, swollen and puffy.

Teenager Shy has a dream. A line about laughter:

It’s too cold for sleeping, anyhow, but your fever spikes just high enough you can dream all the same. And when you dream, you dream about runnels of blood through cracks in concrete, like it’s joined the veins of the earth. But you dream beyond pavement, too, back to home, back to the laurel slicks, draping yourself across cold stone to lean over singing creeks or to hear the shush-roar of the river. Supper on the stove, a hard, flat, biscuit in your hand. A wild west duel you lost to Ryan, when you fell clutching the blueberry stain on the front of your shirt and kicked and thrashed in your death throes on the bedroom floor. Your mother’s hands clapping clumsily, her soundless laughter.

The deserter Rideout Wren talks about himself. (If you remember Alice, this is her brother!) A line about books:

It is my belief a man needs little else to sustain him other than for entertainment. Not that I lack the mental resources to sit in stoic silence; I can, and will, and have for long stretches. But more than my thoughts I enjoy a book, particularly an account of the American or European adventurer as he investigates wild lands overseas I will not visit outside reading on them.

Cowboy!Shy converses with old Gideon Kelly of the Hiram Kelly Gang. A line about wood:

Gideon offered no help. “No choice,” he said. “He knows you botched that job on Brown. Ain’t too happy, I wager.”

“Yeah, well,” Shiloh said, spotting the knives on a counter by the wood burning stove, “I planted the watch he gave me.”

“Not where nobody could find it,” Gideon muttered, rocking vehemently while Shiloh began tucking knives away. “You’re lucky it’s jus’ you they’s after.”

“Of course it’s just me. What’re they gonna do with Jackson?”

“Torture ‘im into confessin’ to save your hide, I wager.”

Thank you for the tag, @sableglass! I love these.

I definitely played "find the word" rather than digging lines ABOUT these words, but I did my best!

The assignment to my taglist: Find a line about hurt, a line about disgust, a line about apathy, and a line about euphoria.

@albatris

@capnmachete

@harmonic-melodii

@illarian-rambling

@michellekarnold

@nathaniel-zellos

@sableglass (you tagged me but if you wanna go another round by all means 😈)

@saturnine-saturneight (if you're back from your hiatus! if not, pls disregard!)

@cowboybrunch

[gracehosborn]

Today I decided to test out writing to ambient noise instead of my usual TAI writing playlist, and to my surprise, it helped in putting me more firmly into the headspace for the chapter I've been working on. May play with this some more in the future.

Since it's been a hot minute since I've shared any of my actual writing, have a few lines that I'm particularly proud of that came out of today's session. Subject for revision, of course.

Silence attended the scene as the last of Badlam’s men took his place—the movement of other militia men or supplies near the fort besides. Adjusting my posture, my eyes shut upon a will of their own. My breathing, and the warm movement of blood to my ears gaining the greatest of my attention. Worry, not of a lack of understanding or in my personal ability to direct the men before me—for my study of such maneuvers, I fancied, was above expectation—but rather in receiving the captain’s disapproval, struck my concentration alike hammer upon flint. Slowly, I inhaled the thick air of the mid-forenoon, heavy with a lingering of gunpowder, upturned soil, sweat, and much distinct, exposed iron, in the manner of keeping memories at bay from taking siege of the excitement which I had managed to muster. If you want this, act the part. ‘Tis all that is valuable of you to do. Releasing a breath, I opened my eyes, attended to by the sight of the large cannon, and men who were awaiting my instruction, with a depth of patience I misjudged to be lesser than it then appeared.

[kippakip]

An Empty Palm

The bustling sound of the market never failed to make Ava uncomfortable. The noises were too shrill or too close, and the constant brush of people’s shoulders only justified her aversion. Just beside her, a small child grabbed the loose material of her pants. The child looked around warily, not bothering to glance at the person he was holding onto. Her mouth opened to throw a quick, venomous word at the child to make him let go—it was too close and hot to feel any affection for a spoiled knee-scratcher right now.

Just as the start of a word began to form in her throat, the child called for his father. Despite herself, her heart softened. This child knew he was holding onto a stranger. Out of everyone in the market, he had picked her. With a heavy sigh, she shrugged off the rucksack on her shoulder and let it fall to the filth-ridden ground of the square. The child’s gaze instantly flew up, tears in his eyes as he flinched away from her.

As soon as their eyes met, her aggravation dissipated. The world around her fell away. Her eyes scanned his features—his hair, his eyes, his cute nose. Without her permission, a flash of someone she once knew filled her mind. A similar face, eyes filled with tears, sitting in the mud before her.

“Get off your rear and help me with this carriage or we’ll never make it to Bothmir’s in time!” The voice echoed distantly in her memory.

“You’re the reason I’m in this mess in the first place…” the boy grumbled in return.

A new figure entered her thoughts: soft features, a graceful aura, and a genuine smile. “You really should be more careful, Elowyn. Dorian really does love those pants.”

Her mind cut off the memory, pain shooting sharply through her heart. She visibly flinched, her face taking on a stern look as she mentally built a wall around the soft memory. She extended her palm to the boy before her. The same chestnut eyes peered up at her warily.

“It’s alright. I won’t hurt you. Where did you last see your Papa?”

The boy sniffled once more, rubbing his arm across his nose. “Fish,” he mumbled shyly, pointing a shaky finger toward the dock.

Ava sighed heavily. She hated the smell of fish. With a restrained groan, she threw her rucksack back over her shoulder before extending her hand. She quickly opened and closed it, signaling for him to grab hold. The boy obliged, a shy smile forming as he took a few confident steps forward, leaning slightly into her as they walked.

They approached the dock slower than she would have liked, but she had forgotten how tedious it was to guide a toddler through a bustling market. Her mental mortar workers paused for a moment, letting a memory slip through the wall. She found her heart warming, faintly remembering the times she had hauled Dorian around the market when they were young.

She missed him dearly, but he had refused to speak with her after the attack. She didn’t blame him, but a part of her constantly grieved the memories they would never make.

“Papa!” the boy cried, instantly releasing her hand. The suddenness of it jarred her, ripping her from her train of thought as she stared down at her now-empty palm. Was that what it felt like? Once, she had his trust, his hand to guide, his happiness to protect. Now, she had an empty palm that would never again be filled with the warmth of those she loved.

The mental mortar workers resumed their task in her mind.

Ava looked up from her palm, now refocused on the boy and the man he had run to. She dearly hoped this was actually his father, as she couldn’t bear to hold the boy’s hand any longer. The man chuckled heartily, bending down to pick his son up.

“I see you didn’t find any balsam after all, Rhys.” He shook his head, with only a small amount of disappointment, as though his expectations had been low to begin with. “We’ll try again next week, alright?”

The boy buried his face in his father’s neck, clinging to him for dear life. They turned away from her, their line of sight obscured by the bustling dock workers. Ava took this as her chance to leave. Pivoting, she took a step—only to walk face-first into the stone wall lining the dock.

With a resounding “oomph,” she stepped back, rubbing the newly formed welt on her cheekbone. She heard the father approach, but kept her gaze averted, feigning ignorance.

“…Elara?” the man inquired, his voice gruff with emotion as he extended a hand toward her.

Her heart sank instantly, recognition hitting her like a painful wave. She fought hard not to look up, to keep walking. But the same force that halted her mental wall now prevented her from moving away. Their eyes met, and she saw the face of her little brother. His cheeks had the same roundness, though he was no longer pudgy. He was tall, built like an ox, with broad shoulders and a healthy belly. Probably from many trips to the local pub. Her eyes twinged with the pain of realizing she had missed so much—never there for a pint, never there for his binding ceremony, never there for the birth of his child.

“I…I’m…” The words left her lips in a hushed, broken whisper, trailing off as her lip trembled more than she wished. The tears broke through the walls she had built, rolling down her cheeks, leaving a scorching trail in their wake. Her eyes throbbed with the pain of emotions she could no longer contain.

She turned to leave.

[dumplingsjinson]

Found this excerpt for a fic I was gonna write for Ida and Aoki from My Love Mix Up back in 2022 (it's been two years lmao) and Jesus Christ, I think I ate??? I never used it, though, because it seemed a bit too out of character for Souta and was planning on using it for another fic for other characters, but I guess I never did, so here it is.

Kousuke sighs, wrapping gentle fingers around Souta’s wrist, silencing him. “You’re so fucking cute, I genuinely can’t. So cute, but such an idiot. But I guess I am one, too.” He tugs the other over to him in one swift motion and presses their lips together, because Souta looks like he had a question ready on the tip of his tongue, but right now, he wants to do this. He feels the way Souta almost immediately melts into him, a hand coming up to wrap around the nape of his neck to pull him in even closer while one hand presses against his chest, palm splayed directly over his heart, question lost in the midst of a sweet, sweet kiss. 

Then, he’s bunching up the fabric of Kousuke’s sweater in his hand, draws him even closer — impossibly closer — and eventually pulls him down onto the bed with him. 

They’re kissing and kissing and kissing in an almost urgent way, like this is all they’ve ever known; Kousuke’s straddling Souta’s hips, and Souta’s mouth falls open for him, and everything about this feels so different. His mouth moves further south, pressing kisses along his jawline, down his neck, on his exposed collarbones. Soft noises are spilling out of Souta’s mouth and it’s fucking perfect, to the point where Kousuke doesn’t want this to stop — to the point where he wants more than Souta’s probably willing to give. 

He pulls away as that thought hits him with the weight and speed of a freight train, and his heart dives into his stomach when he sees the literal love of his life staring up at him with hooded eyes, lips a swollen red and cheeks a flush. 

His chest is rising and falling with each breath coming in soft gusts, brushing against Kousuke’s cheeks with each exhale. The sun is still spilling into the room, coating his skin golden; it’s almost like he’s glowing and, well, okay. 

O-fucking-kay. 

That’s fine. 

Really, no, it’s fine. 

Kousuke’s not going to go insane over just how pretty Souta is, underneath him, all red cheeks and glowing, warm skin. He’s certainly not feeling all hot and bothered over it. 

He will simply not allow himself—

“Oh wow,” Kousuke breathes out, against his better judgement, eyes roaming Souta’s face. He wants to look away before he does something he regrets but his mouth is moving before his brain can even properly catch up. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something — someone — this badly before.” 

Souta’s staring up at him, eyes wider than before, and Kousuke wonders what’s going through his mind right now. Because there’s a lot going through his, and all of them involve the need for privacy. Which is what they have right now, so… He’ll take of advantage of that, if Souta’s also willing. 

“That’s because you’ve never had anyone else to want before me,” Souta half jokes, voice soft, squeezing a hand around Kousuke’s biceps. This gesture relaxes Kousuke entirely; he didn’t even realise his muscles had tensed until this moment. But then his grip on Kousuke’s neck tightens ever so slightly. “But same,” he adds, this time in a much quieter voice, bringing his thumb up and dragging the pad of it across Kousuke’s bottom lip and, oh— whatever that fucking sound Kousuke makes at the back of his throat, a sound in which he had made so audible to both their ears right about now is definitely going to make it into Souta’s book of ‘things to tease Kousuke about’.

Not the point right now, though. 

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” His eyes are boring into Kousuke’s, and Kousuke finds himself unable to look away. His hand makes its way back to Kousuke’s chest, just above his heart. “And I’m quite positive you’ll be the only I want, for as long as I live.” 

Kousuke breathes in. “That’s… In what way?” he asks, heart thundering against his chest. He’s almost sure Souta can feel it beating, hard and fast, under his warm palm.

“I want you in every single way possible; in every way that you’ll let me have you.” 

Kousuke sighs audibly. “God, you’re fucking killing me right now. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Souta says, grinning softly. “I know, which is why I’m doing this. So what do you say?” 

And, well, who was Kousuke to say no to him?

[rladpeps]

December 27, 2024

prompt: the last lemon 

It was a writhing mass. It was a flock of sheep, plummeting to their deaths. Not seeing what was ahead or behind. Bleeding gums left behind a graveyard of teething decay - or was it decaying teeth? All for a singular wrinkled, sallow lemon.

[oh-no-another-idea]

Sip of Snips: longing

Velia made it through five more second class cars with the red seats before the train left the station. She felt it tense beneath her boots—all that shifting muscle, straining. And then it moved, one small huff followed by another. Grabbing ahold of the nearest wall, Velia found a window and looked out. Already the fog of New York was moving, falling back. The noise picked up, as did their speed, and the station platform ended. Buildings swished past, their lights a blur through the murky glass. The clacking unnerved her. Velia was no stranger to noise, to the constant clamor of the city, but where those familiar sounds soothed her or simply faded to the background, the train’s tread felt desperate. As though it already was thinking longingly of the destination and the journey’s end. Or perhaps she was merely assigning her own quiet thoughts to the machine.

From The Invisible Girl 🚂

[tlatpostcards]

The Life and Times Chapter 27: Land of Dreams

— JULES.

[alistonjdrake]

Cierra & Edelgard

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

Writing Share 📝

Tagged by: @kaylinalexanderbooks

Tagging: Open tag and soft tagging @chayscribbles | @space-writes | @ahordeofwasps | @renasdoodles |

@flower-prose | @writingrosesonneptune

I know I know backburner wip I'm not supposed to be working on, just take this and don't look at me... anyways, religious trauma goes brrr and yes I'm going to project all of it onto Aaron and Evie XD.

Evie asked, “Were you ever angry that they manipulated you? Used you to hurt me?”

“Oh of course. There’s days where I wake up and I’m… I’m so angry at them for tricking me, and I’m angry at myself for hurting you… And I’m angry that years of my life were wasted to that, and that my sister chose to waste more of her life to that instead of coming with us…”

[godofgrapes]

He bathes himself in silk, a cool comfort to old skin, cracking like the poorly kept binding of a book.

We bringing back Lines of the Day bois!!

[thegreatobsesso]

Popping in to demand, gently and with enthusiasm, that you share some banter from a wip of your choosing, please and thank you

Banter? Oh I don't write banter. I'm not into it. How boring. JUST KIDDING BANTER IS LIFE YES I'LL POST SOME 😍😍😍😍😍

In fact I love it so much I'll post some from both my WIPs (although, holy shit, is it correct to call The Insuppressible Callie Ray a WIP when it's done? 😱).

The Insuppressible Callie Ray, Simon POV:

“Why don’t you just get back with her?” she demanded. “It turns my stomach, you know. You’re so broken-up over her, it’s literally sickening.”  “Can we not do this right now?”  “Whatever, listen, you don’t even see how good this is,” she pressed, drawing her feet underneath her and leaning toward him in her excitement. “This is what you do: you just start dating Ash. Like, super casual. That’ll make the other one jealous, and then she’ll want you back. See? You can have your cake and eat it too.”  She made jazz hands, and he stared at her. “Ta da!”  “Wow.”  “I know, right?”  “No, that wasn’t complimentary.”  Her expression deflated. “I’m just trying to help. You’re kinda clueless with women.”  “Yeah, and you’ve got them all figured out. Your last one-night stand worked out great.”  Her eyes went wide and she huffed and turned away from him, hugging her mug to her chest. “That was low, Bennett,” she complained. “Really low.”  He sniffed. “What in god’s name are you drinking?”  “Coffee,” she pouted. “Just like you.”  “It smells like a buttercream avalanche, how many flavor shots did you use?”  “Enough to make it taste good.” 

And here's a snippet of Octavius enjoying himself with reporters in what is currently the first scene of gay crime BDSM story:

:) :) :) Thanks for the ask @revenantlore!!!

--

✨ WIP intro

🔖 tag list: @winterandwords // @revenantlore // @space-writes // @indecentpause // @words-after-midnight // comment to be added or removed!

📝 all posts from WIP: gay crime bdsm story