#ya excerpt

[writeouswriter]

Girl, help, the book authors are trying too hard to be "hip" with the fleeting "teen lingo" and trends again, immediately dating their works before they're even released

[bookish-karina]

WIP excerpt time!

thank you for the tag @drchenquill

I straddle Jace’s lap as he gently grabs my chin, pulling me down until our lips touch. My fingers thread their way through the hair at the nape of his neck and his hands grip my waist, bringing me closer to him until our torsos are pressed together. His fingers slip underneath my thin shirt, inching a path up my spine as he gently bites down on my bottom lip and pulls away, causing a small whimper to escape my lips. Fire flashes in his eyes and he starts to kiss a trail down the column of my neck until he finds the sweet spot he found last night. A breath shudders through me and I arch into his touch, silently begging for more. More of him. More of the electric that courses through my veins at his touch.

I launch into an upright position, panting as sweat drips down my forehead, my arms, my fingers as I grip the bedsheets. I look around the room, the moon providing the only light to reacquaint myself with my surroundings. Hotel. I’m in a hotel room. Alone.

A quick scan of the room told me that Jace was not in here. That I wasn’t just kissing him moments ago as if he was my only source of oxygen.

My hand shakes as I reach over to grab my phone off the nightstand and dial Taylor’s number.

“Hello?” She groans, sleep still coating her voice.

“Hey, I’m sorry for calling so late. Can we talk?”

My voice sounds breathless to my own ears, so I can only guess at what she thinks is going on when she says, “yeah, of course.”

“I think I messed up,” my voice cracks. “Bad.”

“Tell me everything,” she says without missing a beat and I listen to the rustling of her blankets on the other end.

So I did. I told her about the relaxing day with the boys. I told her about the dare. I told her about how I told him it was meaningless, and how he confirmed it without hesitation. I told her how I flung myself off of him at the sound of the timer, how his friends laughed, how I couldn’t look at any of them when I all but ran back to the tour bus. By the time I was done, I wasn’t sure she was still there, having not made a single noise since I started.

I was about to check if the call was still connected when she said, “wow. That was… a lot.”

tagging @wyked-ao3 @taranorma @frostedlemonwriter @writercoracain + an open tag :)

[gracehosborn]

Writing Share Tag

Taking up the open tag from @kaylinalexanderbooks just because I've been in a writing mood lately, and have been loving the revisions I've been slowly making to my fantasy novel, Ink of Destruction.

Here's a little new moment from IOD that I love:

“Alexandra, where have you been?” Lenna’s voice was filled with worry. “It’s a long story,” I said, “but I’m okay. Standing by the doors to the Historical Society Museum.” Lenna let out a sigh of relief, and a few moments later I could hear the opening of an umbrella. “Stay there,” she said with sternness. “I’m coming with an umbrella.” As the phone hung up in my ear, I looked towards [Redacted], watching as he looked towards the figure I had noticed. Turning back towards the street, I could now see in the light of headlights Lenna making her way across the wide crosswalk to our left, walking as quickly as possible. Making it to the sidewalk, she turned left, and broke out into a run towards the stairs. Stopping right below me and [Redacted], she began to close her lavender umbrella as she walked up the staircase. Before any of us could speak, she embraced me in a firm hug. Stepping back slightly, but keeping her hands on my arms, Lenna looked up at me with a bright, relieved smile. “Just glad you are okay. Why were you in there for—“ Lenna stopped herself, clearly having noticed my shortened hair by the gasp she let out. “What happened to your hair?” “It was cut by a sword.” “A sword?” “Yes,” I said, slowly removing my arm from her as a strand of hair fell in my face. “A sword.” As my hand rose up to brush the hair aside, the sleeve of my leather jacket slid down due to the force of friction and gravity, revealing the red imprints left on my wrist from the rope. Seeing the marks, Lenna lightly grabbed my hand, pulling it towards her to get a closer look. “Are these rope burns? You were tied up with rope? Alex, what happened?” Meeting her worried gaze, I attempted to give her a reassuring smile. “There’s quite a lot to explain,” I simply said, glancing over my shoulder at [Redacted] as I finished.

Just love these two, and this crazy novel. I should definitely talk about Ink of Destruction more--please feel free to invade my inbox!

Tagging: @sunset-a-story @queerfox-tales @binch-i-might-be @meerawrites and anyone else who wants to play along.

[loguetowns]

what is even the point of reposting fanart without credit and consent

[automatisma]

My brother and I have been watching His Dark Materials and four episodes in I'm saddened to report that the people writing it did not understand the appeal of the novels. Lyra is less arrogant and proud but also less intuitive and brilliant, there's tons of scenes spoling major future reveals that add absolutely nothing to the table in terms of character development or anything else, Pan and Lyra's relationship is a pale shadow of what it was in the novels and in general many scenes play out in a far more conventionally-YA way when compared to their written counterparts. And Kaysa isn't even a goose.

[theashemarie]

holy hell am i back on my bullshit. it’s unreal

[doyouknowthisbook-poll]

Do you know which book this is from?

Please reblog the polls, but KEEP IT SPOILER-FREE to make people read the excerpt with an open mind 💖📚 Title and author will be revealed after the poll's conclusion.

Edit: The results are up here!

[ariadnethedragon]

— The Winner’s Curse, Marie Rutkoski

[angelsdean]

i'm so very predictable ajsfksdfdk i was just rereading a passage from a WIP and doing some light editing and i got to this part where dean is talking abt cas's eyes and i was like. he should be swiping his thumb under one of cas's eyes. that's what's happening here, that's what i see, how did i forget to write that? ok lemme just add a quick line here (highlighted in yellow). then i read on to the next sentence and yup i'd already written it, of course i had (highlighted in blue).

writers be like, "is anyone gonna add that line that should definitely be here?" only to find out they already did ajskdfk

[pen-of-roses]

Darkness

I have good news! I managed to write for the @ockissweek prompt today! I have even better news @concealeddarkness13! It's Coness! Not terribly long or detailed, but still!

Sometimes it was all still too much, too light, too full of care, too perfect, too good. Lying in a bed with evidence of there being something beating behind his ribs despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise, overwhelmed him sometimes. Rather than easing all his worries and fears, it heightened them to extremes he hadn’t thought possible. Dragged up all those questions of what if.

What if something went wrong, what if he did something, what if it was all a trap and a trick, what if he couldn’t quell that dark beast inside him, what if shadows from the past poured out of the woodwork to consume everything they had built, what if what what if.

Because now he had people to lose. And he always would lose.

He carefully detangled himself from the mess of limbs and slipped from the edge of the bed. 

Had any of them ever realized why he still favored that spot? 

The body nearest him made a questioning noise, a thin whisper of confusion started to grow, and he brushed long hair out of the way to soothe it with a kiss on the forehead. A soft sound and that confusion quieted.

Keeping his steps light, he closed the door behind him with a soft click before moving down the hall to his study. He didn’t bother with the lights as he entered, just sank into the chair by the window. His fingers itched for a glass, but that would require more energy than he had. 

It was ridiculous, of course, to be so on edge over having a good thing in his life. That damnable thing in his chest just needed to calm itself, instead of threatening to tear itself to pieces whenever the smallest thing went wrong. And even if everything did? Well, it's not like he shouldn't be used to it.

He took a deep breath, letting his head fall back against the leather to look out at the city.

Naturally, it was still lit up below even at the late hour. Really, what was the difference between night and day between that persistent glow and the usual curtain of clouds? 

And here he sat, shrouded in darkness of his own making, staring at once resentfully and yet wistfully towards the light, just like always. Not knowing how to touch it, if he would even be allowed, if it would somehow burn him if he did, if—

“Conor?”

His body tensed on instinct still, even as he huffed a silent laugh. He would do well to remember that the people he surrounded himself with were just as hyper aware as himself at times, and more observant than he oft gave credit for.

“You should go back to bed, it’s still late, you know. Or early, depending on how you look at it.”

“So should you. Besides, you’re not there to keep me warm.” 

“Ah, but I was just settling into my role as a monster in the dark you see. Even in an apartment overlooking the city for all the villainous flair one could need.” He waved his hand to the window for effect, ignoring the din of frustration at his statement. “And I’m sure darling Gemstone can be a heater. In fact I’m surprised you managed to wiggle out from being their own stuffed bear,” he paused. “Or perhaps a dragon or badger would be more applicable.”

Miraculously, he managed to not startle this time as Chess climbed into his lap, his hands settled automatically at her waist. The dark still kept him from properly seeing her, but his smile softened all the same.

“They’re great, but I want to cuddle with you too.” She pouted and batted her eyes.

He kissed her lightly. “I’ll rejoin you shortly, little badger, but you really should go back to bed.”

“I’m fine. Not even a little tired.” He bit his tongue against calling out the faint thrum of a lie. “In fact, I think you should help wear me out so we both sleep.”

He laughed and held her a little closer. “Ah so that was your devious plan, hmm? Seduce me out of my dark thoughts?”

Leaning in, she grinned, “Is it working?”

He hummed, pulling her down for a proper kiss. “I’ll let you know.”

Despite their words though, they stayed as they were for a while longer, sharing kisses and content to just be with each other for a bit. It was….nice, all things considered.

“Conor?”

“Yes, Badger?”

“You’re not a monster.”

He swallowed, looking back out over the city. A city that had borne silent witness throughout the years to many of his acts, both those born of that dark curling grip on the thing in his chest, and...those of the softer edges of it, especially more recently. “I will try to remember that.”

“I’ll fight anyone who says you are.”

Looking up at her again, he smiled. “Hmm, yes that, I do believe, my heart.” Her smile softened at the endearment. “Now, let’s return to bed shall we? I can’t imagine how the others are fairing in their nights without our wonderful company.”

[1indigoisles]

Chapter 1 - Excerpt 4

I’d hoped for a few minutes, at the very least, of peace.

Instead, I was immediately ambushed at the entrance of the main hall of my new school by a girl just a few inches shorter than me, with a bright expression that I would soon come to know was her being cheerful.

At first I’d thought her hair was on fire, and she had galloped to me expecting a waterfall to sprout out of my backpack. A fraction of a second later, though, I realised that that was just the colour of the girl’s hair, burning orange, not red, orange, like fire.

Her hair was bright orange. She had hazel eyes with flecks of green and gold in them, sweet pink lips that looked naturally dyed, and freckles that covered the appex of her nose and cheekbones like dust. She wore a white tank top that should be illegal to wear, a brown leather jacket to cover it up, fashionably tattered and faded jeans, and a bright smile that could give the sun and the stars a run for their money.

“Hi,” she said, in a naturally crisp and friendly voice, “I’m Jolene Frost, head of Knightville High’s welcoming comittee. Welcome to Knightville High!”

I jumped. “Hello,” I managed to stammer, “I’m Kenneth Teigen.”

Jolene’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly at ‘Teigen.’

“What?” I asked.

“What ‘what’?” Jolene looked a little bemused.

“Never mind,” I muttered.

She regarded me for a long moment, not like I was acting strangely, but more as though she’d just discovered something about me that told her there was more to discover.

Then she peered over my shoulder as though she’d just spotted someone, and called, “Rowan, Rowan!” I turned around, but I couldn’t be sure who she was calling. A beat passed. No one came, and no one looked at her weirdly for shouting that name, possibly because she was popular and wouldn’t have cared about it anyway. With an exasperated sigh, she flipped out her phone and dialled a number. She held up a finger that told me I should wait a minute and heard the phone ring twice before the person on the other end picked up.

Jolene did not pause to say ‘hello’ to make sure the person on the other end was there, instead immediately speaking into her phone, “Rowan Frost, if you do not emerge from whatever hidey-hole you’ve found for yourself, I will whisper your middle name to the new kid.” She said the last two words as though it would be a treacherous fate for Rowan, who I now realised was Jolene’s brother.

A reply came from the other end. Jolene retorted, “oh, I will, and I will do it seductively for good measure.” She seemed to have either not noticed my slight discomfort at that, or she was ignoring it entirely.

“Relax, I’m here,” came a child-like voice. A boy an inch or so shorter than me approached us, dettaching his phone from his ear as he did.

Jolene smiled a winning smile, and leaned in to loudly whisper, “It’s Duncan, by the way.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell,” reproached Rowan while looking affronted, before abruptly grinning slyly, “Mildred.”

Jolene shrugged, clearly not the reaction Rowan had been hoping for. “I have no insecurities about my middle names. No one will ever call me Mildred, unless, of course, they have a death wish.”

“You just said you had no insecurities.”

“Mildred is a disgusting enough name to hate without being insecure about having it.”

“So is Duncan.”

“No, it’s only you who hates it because it’s old-fashioned.”

“I don’t understand why that isn’t a good enough reason on its own.”

While they went on with their incessant banter, I studied Rowan a little more closely. He had ash-blond hair that was more ash than anything really, and big grey eyes that at first seemed to be comparable to the grey of Knightville’s sky, but soon, it would look more like silver, gleaming and refracting in the light.

He had a long, thin face that had a fine sort of bone structure to it, all angles in some places, all softness in others. His body looked wiry and his shoulders were slim, similar to a girl’s. It was then I drew to the conclusion that ‘handsome’ was not a word that could be used to describe him – he looked more... pretty, yes, that’s the word. He was rather pretty.

“Shouldn’t we be showing the new kid around instead of wasting time arguing?” said Rowan a little grumpily, after Jolene had thrown a cutting remark at him.

“Perhaps,” Jolene allowed, “but maybe we could just skip the tour.” She turned to me, “don’t worry, the school layout is really simple. You’ll get it as we go along.”

The Frost siblings then took me along the halls, to my locker, through various classrooms and labs, the library, the canteen, the infirmary, other staffrooms, all while encompanying it with more banter, assurances that I could ask questions if I had any, and other interesting details, like a long crack that spread across the floor in front of the chemistry lab that had always been there. It was thin, but not so much that it wasn’t noticeable – in fact, I’d noticed it before Jolene had told me about it – and pitch black, as though it had been drawn on the ground with a marker of the darkest black, and shaped like real-life lightning, starting and ending abruptly. It was strangely unsettling to look at.

“Following so far?” Jolene asked, when I spent too long looking at the scar on the floor. “Any questions?”

I looked up, and spotted someone. “Actually,” I said, pointing, “yes. Who is she?”

Tagged: @mayaheronthorn, @jeahreading

[gentil-minou]

Excerpt of chapter 3 my fic for WIP Wednesday!

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian starts, the fry he swallows feeling like lead. “Uh, just um, me, Jiang Cheng, and then A-Yuan and Lan Zhan—” Mianmian and Mo Xuanyu let out synchronized, surprised gasps, gawking at Wei Wuxian. He fidgets with a plastic straw under their unwanted attention, already regretting bringing this up. “Lan Zhan? Do you mean Lan Wangji? You met Lan Wangji?” Mianmian asks incredulously. “And he let you call him Lan Zhan???” Mo Xuanyu pipes up, practically vibrating out of his chair as he leans toward Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian coughs, clearing his throat and leaning away as if he could lean far enough to escape this. “Yeah,” he says, wishing they were talking about literally anything else. He’s not even sure if he can bring up the whole “his-child-ran-away-to-find-me-and-thinks-I'm-his-dad-but-I'm-not-so-I-had-to-bring-him-back” thing. Are there rules for this? “I, uh, was visiting. We had breakfast this morning and chatted. It just came up, I guess.” It takes every ounce of energy left in him to not think about anything else involving their little “chat” this morning and he hurriedly stuffs another fry in his mouth. Unfortunately, his companions are even more interested now. “You chatted? Over breakfast??” Mianmian prods, looking at Wei Wuxian as if he’s primetime entertainment. Mo Xuanyu has forgotten completely about personal space as he kneels up on his stool to get a better view of Wei Wuxian trying to burrow into himself. “What was it like? What did you eat? What was he wearing? The soft blue sweater? Or that shirt with the ribbon? Did you spend the night? Did he invite you over? Can you bring me next time? How sexy was his morning voice?” Wei Wuxian chokes on his fry and coughs violently, reaching for a glass of water and time to think of something to say that doesn’t involve thinking about any of…all of that.

Read the fic here!

[bookish-karina]

Last Line Tag / Writing Share Tag / WIP Wednesday!

thank you for the tags @romances-not-tragedies , @aintgonnatakethis , @gioiaalbanoart (X5) , @theaistired , @willtheweaver ,

@the-golden-comet & @nczaversnick

I don't really have something super long to share (at least that I haven't shared already in previous tags) so I'm going to find a cute prompt on Pinterest and write a little something for Your Average Fangirl to share <3

the prompt: "It's nearly two in the morning, what are you doing up?"

find it under the break :)

CW: light use of swear words

The volume of the TV show is turned low as I wait for some semblance of exhaustion to take over my body. The anxious energy following each concert night doesn't seem to lessen the longer I'm on tour, making it nearly impossible to fall asleep by what would be considered an appropriate bedtime. Checking my phone for the hundredth time, I come to the conclusion that Taylor fell asleep on me - which is completely understandable, given the time.

A soft knock on the hotel room door startles me, and I nearly drop my phone as I set it down on the nightstand. Quietly sliding off of the bed, I make my way towards the door and peek through the peep hole.

"What the hell are you doing up?" I whisper yell when I open the door. "It's nearly two in the morning!"

Jace shrugs, giving me a sheepish smile, "couldn't sleep. By the looks of it, you couldn't either."

I roll my eyes at his observation, "no shit, captain obvious."

Ignoring my comment, he strolls in before plopping down on the edge of my bed. "Oh, I love this show!"

I glance from him to the TV, where Friends is playing, before closing the door. "You watch Friends?"

He settles back, leaning against the headboard. "Of course, who doesn't?"

"Uh... a lot of people? I'm guessing." I return to my spot before he arrived, leaning against the headboard with only a few inches between us thanks to the queen size mattress.

He shakes his head, "I grew up watching this. It's become a comfort show."

A small smile tilts my lips, "same here."

We settle into a comfortable silence as we watch, laughing at the misunderstanding between characters when one of them protects a meatball sandwich from a car backfire.

At some point, I laid my head against Jace's shoulder, and the space that was between us magically disappeared. I fall asleep to the comfort of Jace running his fingers through my hair as he presses a tender kiss to my forehead.

this feels a little lackluster... sorry :/

I'll leave this an open tag!

[gracehosborn]

Find The Word Tag

Thank you to @athenswrites for the tag! Even if its a month or so late!

Rules: find excerpts from your work(s)-in-progress with the given words, then tag some friends to play along.

My words: Seed, Glass, Contain(er), and Hands. Your words: Run(ing), blood, clear, and realization.

Softly tagging, with no pressure: @kaylinalexanderbooks @meerawrites @queerfox-tales @thestarsfightagainstusmyfriend @sunset-a-story

Excerpts are under the cut! They feature:

Hamilton being angsty over some seeds in TAI.

Two excerpts from IOD! Alex gets her hair cut with a sword, and punches a guy in the nose.

From TAI, Hamilton receiving some exciting news during a morning drill with his militia.

Seed

From The American Icarus: Volume I:

I chuckled and shrugged my shoulders, “Uncle, I am no gardener.” “A little dirt will not hurt you.” Taking hold of my hand, my uncle pulled me to sit next to him, pressing with his other hand a single seed into my free one. For being a merchant, he does know how to garden well. Looking down at the lone seed then in my hand, I noted its small size; how it was destined to by those most logical rules of nature grow into a large, towering, and beautiful tree. Yet if only planted into the dirt before me, upon that island. There would be nowhere else for the little seed to grow and find its place—that island was its place, and that such fact would be known in my implanting it into the dirt just below it. You are only confused because you have more than one path unlike this seed. Why are you analogizing a seed? Just… figure something out—but what? Why? What purpose would my choices have? Legacy, what does that really matter? Mama is… dead… nothing is to change that—but trying would at least—ugh! I let the seed fall at a speed possibly too fast into the dirt as a murmur escaped me, “I hate being indecisive.” Not hearing my murmur, but seeing my treatment of his seed, my uncle turned towards me, attending me with a expression of surprise. “What did the poor seedling do to you, dear child?” Reopen doors which I have not an idea of what to do with and of which cause me great confusion simply due to my being in a position which gives little opportunity to walk through them. “Nothing… sorry.” “’Tis alright, she’s just a seed—a beautiful tree will come no matter how hard you threw it into its dirt.” “Indeed, but it had to be this dirt?” Without much thought, I gestured towards the said dirt with the hand which had released the seed; it then unseen underneath the brown specks. Uncle James’ blue eyes shewed much confusion, “What is the matter with the dirt? You just said to me you’re no gardener, yet why is it you’re complaining about dirt? You get your hands dirty working for Mr. Cruger, do you not?” Glancing away from my uncle, I sighed, the entertainment of those most interesting of passerby not as such in that moment. I was grateful for my job, and the life thereat I had lived, but particulars of the whole left me in a state of boundless confusion. My mother had only come to that island on account of my father’s business then as a sailor whom had in reasons I alongside many are still left to speculate, this having left my mother to raise her two children alone with aid of her family at which point she had died, leaving those said children otherwise orphaned and a family history tainted in scandal, fear and cover from the law, and known to all—even those whose knowledge of it was a national curse. All these particulars considered on the whole left me to question my very reasonings to having thought of them. I was at a fork in the road—continue to trek onward and stay where I was in security albeit really very little, or be one Orpheus and turn; changing everything with a most simple action in theory.

Glass

From Ink of Destruction:

Then my composure shattered like falling glass. My bones flared with anger as my eyes grew dark, becoming ablaze with wrath that seemed to burst out like a clown jumping out of a sewer. I could feel my feet guiding my body forward and my arm moving back as though it were a slingshot. Without a word, I punched Aiden Edwards square in the nose. Hearing a loud crack as I pulled away, I couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit of pride in my anger. Backing away with a cry of agony, Aiden reached for his nose, clutching his face in his hands as he felt for the blood that was now trickling down his cheeks. “What the hell was that for? You fucking broke my nose!?” he cried as he attempted to tend to the injury. "Oh, you should know what it was for, Aiden,” I said, feeling the sternness in my voice return. Before he could respond, I turned towards Jess, who immediately took a step back, feeling the full force of the wrath in my gaze. A part of my mind felt as though the action were justified, for Jess had betrayed me, or rather, she had been against me this whole time. A spy.

Contain

From The American Icarus: Volume I:

“You may all be relieved of your duties for today,” began he. “Good work today—thank you for not causing a racket. Pick up your target boards—bring them to Lieutenant Jay here.” As many a “Yes, sir!” filled the air, I returned to my right, walking towards the wooden board I had been left to use moments before. At last closing the distance of some yards, my hand wrapped around the top of the thick oak, it pressing firmly against my skin. Able to clearly see the damage done upon it by me, I noted the large clean-cut gashes, placed fairly close together, the three each having carved a hole. Upon the grass behind, in shadow of the secondary wooden piece propping the main board up, wood shavings covered the space; the balls of lead somewhere in the grass far beyond. Keeping the board steady within my grasp, as to not harm myself by way of the loose pieces, I turned in the direction of the chapel. A soreness began to rise upon my upper back as the board and my musket knocked on occasion my sides in my hurried walking, pushing me to grunt in frustration. If not for the barrel of the musket still hot and in need of cleaning, I would have slung her upon my back in quickening my pace. The wood of her barrel grazed my shoulder with the brush of a close fire, intense such that as I at last met Lieutenant Jay’s gaze I flinched. “Careful—here, I’ll take it.” Before I could register the action, Fredrick took hold of my board, pulling it out of my grasp. With a clatter, he dropped it into the growing pile just to his left near the chapel wall before turning back towards me. “Thank you—“ “Impressive work there, with that demonstration. Sorry they needed it, but you have proven yourself very equipped. That reminds me….” Turning his attention to the pocket of his coat, Fredrick retrieved with a swift movement the envelope I had seen in his care some time prior. “This arrived by Colonel McDougall from my brother whilst you were with your group. I know not what the pages inside contain.” He replied to my—well of course he would have considering that is what I wanted to make him do. I actually managed to get an intended reply…. Taking the envelope outstretched towards me, my fingers gripped the folded parchment with firmness, driven not to tear the wax seal only by the publicity of the circumstances surrounding me. My chest rose with a slowness as in gathering myself I took a long breath. Carefully, I slipped the envelope into the left pocket of my coat, glancing up at my superior officer once more at the quiet thud of the parchment against the wool fabric. “Thank you, sir.” Giving a smile polite, I began to take my leave, but not before Fredrick attempted to grab my shoulder. A short gasp escaping me, I turned my head so as to face him once more. “Sir?” “You did not hear this from me,” he began, his voice lowering close to a whisper, “but I did hear that McDougall and Jay have been talking of you—there has been rumor spreading that the Provincial Congress might raise a new company to be led by an appointment.” Shock gripped to my expression and countenance, pushing my eyes to widen and mouth to open slightly. “Are you suggesting—“ “Yes.” “What?” In keeping pace with Fredrick’s quiet, my voice was pushed out forcibly, unable to be withheld by the shock consuming me. A smirk took up my friend’s expression as he lifted a finger to his lips in silent request. Releasing his hand from my shoulder, he gave a quick nod before turning towards the man newly arrived with another of the wooden boards used during the drill. Sensing another man suddenly behind myself, I stepped to my far left and away from Lieutenant Jay in an attempt to be out of the way as my heart began to race.

Hands

From Ink of Destruction:

“Now that the rope is cut, you should be able to get your hands out quite easily. But yes, I will make that attempt.” At his words, the loosened pressure around my wrists became more noticable. Lifting my fingers inward, I managed to find a hole in the center of the knot. Inhaling, I pulled my right hand away and up, carefully squeezing my fingers between the ropes and the cement pole. A sigh of relief escaped me as my free hand tugged at the rope, and the sound of the knot meeting the wooden floor filled my ears. Lowering my hands to my sides, I gently rubbed my wrists against the inner lining of my jacket’s sleeves, feelling a soreness race down my arms. Blinking, I stared towards Mr. Waiter, feeling words come out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Are you certain that you haven’t done any formal historical research? Or did you lie to me? It’s clear you are not an amateur with that sword.” My voice held an even tone, for I was more curious than angry. A look of realization filled Mr. Waiter’s face, and I could see sprinkles of what appeared to be mischeif in his eyes. “You would know if I were lying to you. I am notoriously a bad lair. And if I were to mess with you, that would be even more obvious. As historians, or those who claim themselves historians, could tell you. I am not a historian myself. Rather, a subject of interest for many in the profession.” Shock and disbelief filled my veins as I took in his words. If historians had written about him, then surely I should have recognized him. His omission of what had caused him to drop out of college must have been something that would have drawn too much attention to him for him to have wanted to mention it inside the resturant. Further, the fact that he had not said his name indicated to me that I may not believe him. As I opened my mouth, the man rose his hand up to stop me. “Turn around so that I might try to fix your hair. Then you can continue.” Nodding, I turned to face the white pole as questions swirled with a fury in my mind. Coming to stand behind me, Mr Waiter gently grabbed towards the center of my hair, slowly lifting the now-uneven strands above my head. Gravity forced the last few inches of the longer portions to fall in front of my eyes, and I was certain against Mr. Waiter’s fist. Hearing the clang of the sword against the wood, I took a deep breath, steadying my posture. “This may be shorter than you wish,” Mr. Waiter said, “but if I held it otherwise, there would be a greater risk of ripping your roots out. And I am sure you don’t want to wear a wig.” Without another word, the man raised his hand, and the sharp swoosh of his blade filled the room. Clumps of hair flew to the floor with soft taps as the metal was struck for a second, and third time. The sounds brought me back to my freshman world history class, where we had watched a number of films exploring different cultures. As a treat towards the end of the unit, Disney’s Mulan had been shown. It was clear to me now how the strengths of animation had made the character’s famed haircut with her own sword seem so easy. Lenna would have surely reasoned that Mulan simply had thin hair, with the benefit of straight strands. At the thought, worry caught in my throat at how much time had passed. She had most likely gotten a cab, I told myself, but knowing Lenna, she would not have strayed far. “There.” With a sigh of relief, Mr. Waiter at last lowered the centuries’ old weapon after a final swing, stepping back towards his former post. As my hair fell back down, I could hear him mutter under his breath: “I never imagined I would use my training in such a manner.”

[dollyllama108]

"It's like my father always used to say," Wyll said, pulling his lute around. "I spent all my time and money on lessons for this blasted thing, may as well use it." "Is he dead?" the child with the hat asked. "No." Wyll strummed the opening chord one note at a time before launching into verse.

Cruciferous is careening at top speed toward Wyll's entrance and I am ready to unleash this interpretation of Wyll on the world. Drawing some inspiration from Tobey Maguire Spider-Man as discussed, but also this one kid in front of me at BroadwayCon whose backpack was covered in swag and told me I should watch the Spongebob musical because it's actually pretty good—no, sorry kid, I appreciate your enthusiasm but that is not my bag and you do you.

Obviously he gets his sexy superhero intro where Astarion and Shart see him bounce off a rock and slice through a goblin, then follow it up with these dorkass one-liners he refuses to stop doing, and they both pull one of these.

(Kristen Ritter is my casting pick for Shart in the live action adaptation, with Dreama Walker as Lae'zel of course)

Then he gets a whole plot-free Karlach-free PoV chapter to himself where the earnest and playful bits of his character are established quickly through his interactions, as is his internal strife, and trust me when I say I am writing him as if he's the party member with the highest charisma. Because he is.

I am a bardlock/theater-kid Wyll truther (DAD everyone in Avernus knows all the words to Hadestown, it's like a job requirement). You know he saw the disaster Team Tadpole in Cruciferous and thought, "ooh, Act 1 conflict of the hero's journey! i know just how this resolves in the narrative!"

[indecentpause]

Since Feeling Is First: Chapter Four

The next few months are much the same as your first day back at school. Micah and Vincent still argue about whether Micah should say anything to the boy he likes. It turns out his name is Jacy and he's in your math class, and Micah, bless his soul, is constantly asking whether he's mentioned him at all (he hasn't). Kelly doesn't have a crush and doesn't want one because she's more focused on theatre and the potential for scholarships to art schools, and Vincent turns down what few invitations he gets. He quits band and switches to a creative writing class because he doesn't want to focus on the drums anymore and wants to get back to basic voice and guitar. Skylar is the only one of you that has anything interesting going on. Zir prosthetic comes in and fits without a hitch, and with only a few minor setbacks, ze picks up its use pretty quickly and is probably ready to come back in November rather than next term, but by now, that would just be ridiculous. When you're at zir house, you often catch zir switching pens and pencils and paintbrushes between hands, because ze still hasn't gotten the minute movements needed for tiny details down with the artificial fingers. Skylar can write and do math and other basic things, but it's become easier for zir to use the left hand for drawing and painting, and although you'd never, never dream of saying it aloud, ze's not nearly as good as ze used to be. You know it and ze knows it, but the fact that ze's taught zirself to draw with zir left hand in a matter of months is so impressive, you try to convince zir that the less attractive results are still worthwhile. "I guess," ze always sighs.

a short one this week. next week we get a new POV!

Read here on Wattpad

or here on Ao3!

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