11 / 49
Feb 4

This point of this thread is to showcase excerpts.

If you can provide 200 words or less from a recent chapter, that would be ideal. :slight_smile:

Nice, I love excerpts! Amazing ones in here already :slight_smile:

Here's mine from a recent episode:

Unthreatened by the slender, half-metre long, two-headed tree snake that had made its way into the hover-truck, Mr Murderclawz curiously sniffed the air around it, darting back everytime it snapped at him. Marana inched closer to examine the little crawly, fascinated and mildly anxious by its oily, gold-green colour. Pulling the cat away by his hind legs, she picked him up and put him behind her.

‘Doncha dare come back here, Mister,’ she scolded, seeing the cat trying to creep back towards her from the corner of her eye. ‘This li’l dude seems to be lost.’

She dangled a piece of broken wire in front of the serpent, intent on distracting it from her other hand — her human hand, which she skillfully manoeuvred around its heads. In a swift motion she ensnared it between her fingers just below the heads making sure there was no way it could sting her. Picking up the dangling creature, keeping it a safe distance from her, she made her way to the open door and placed the ‘li’l dude’ carefully on the branch of a broken trunk that was floating by in the water below.

Just another day, removing another two-headed snake...

Thanks for sharing!

I love MCR too! They were planning to tour down to Australia and we had bought tickets and all. But the damn pandemic ruined it all. They cancelled and haven't come since :frowning:

Ugh! That blows. I hope you get to see them some day! That would be a killer show.

Title: AngHell dela Blackpill
Genres: Action, drama, fantasy, science fiction, philosophy.
Rating: M for dark themes and potential controversial political, social, religious themes.


Meanwhile Chad gets to be at least 6 foot 3...

... have positive canthal tilt... an amazing jawline with a long vertical ramus... Gonial angle of approximately 120 degrees...

... And he gets all the girls to approach him, regardless of his attitude or social skills!!! He doesn't even need to do anything!!! It's all because of his looks! Everything else is irrelevant!!! Because looks are all that matter in fucking 2024!

... I'll never have happiness and will forever be a loser...

No girl is ever gonna be intimate with me! It will never happen!

Its over... OH GOD ITS SO FUCKIN OVER!

Enter Akala Maya (meaning "presumption illusion")... right behind him smiling. She is a demon. Sarcastic smartass mocking personality. 5'5 long black hair red eyes

incel still sobbing and oblivious of Akala entering

I think because in some countries, you can be criminally responsible for triggering mental illness and Tapas can't be held legally responsible.

That's the problem with operating a business that is worldwide due to the internet. Every country has their own free speech laws and have the right to block your website if you violate their laws.

Heavy stuff. The MC has a pretty dark worldview if he thinks all girls are that shallow. I can see why your story would be controversial.

Thanks for posting!

Maybe he's a MC maybe he's a minor character...

Title: The Paperbox Detective Club
Genres: Mystery/Romance/Politics/Goth
Rating: M

Cop cars had surrounded that apartment building that was recently painted green; that was where Mark lived. Along with a dozen or so middle schoolers, Son stood aground, watching as the formulaically brutish men in blue uniforms interviewed one concierge and residential student at a time. Whispers from the crowd suggested that they had indeed broken into and searched through Mark’s room; whatever they found in there was undisclosed but presumably unremarkable.
This particular dining hall that Son frequented was medium-sized, equipped with small round tables instead of those long rectangular canteen tables with benches that could host way too many diners; and the place’s lighting was soft and homely with an orange hue, unlike the others that used white incandescent bulbs that showered everything in pale glows.
A strange veil of soundless disquiet loomed over the population. Everyone suddenly talked at a volume a dozen decibels lower than usual as though they were fearing the prospect of uninvited ears listening into their conversation. Their fear was not unfounded: Son eavesdropped on every table she came across. A skill she acquired when she was still a toddler roaming around the house for candy, her keen sense of hearing and her unassuming look made her the perfect sentry.

Defo paints a picture, these words of yours.

"Formulaically brutish" was a highlight pour moi.

“Oh.” His lips part - eyes getting a little rounder than usual. “Oh, y-yeah. I think so. I’m supposed to be released Wednesday, and Utkaresh is gonna drive me home. It’ll be so nice to be in my own clothes again.” He adds with a cross between a laugh and a sigh.

“You must have been dying stuck in that white dress for all this time,” I can’t help teasing, “It’s not even stylish.”

He smiles roguishly, and I realize too late that I’ve walked right into the rebuttal-

“Yeah, it looks kinda like something you would have bought.”

“Ha ha,” I roll my eyes, but I guess I earned that, considering the amount of tee-shirt dresses adorning my hangers. The only advantage they have over the hospital gowns is that they close all the way. I shutter thinking about reliving another “wrap-dress-fiasco.” Then I hesitate, biting my lip.

“You know, your mom told me the pink dress looks like something you would have bought me.”

There’s a flicker in his face his expression, as he grows a little flusher.

“I hadn’t realized she paid that much attention,” he says a little saltily.

Title: Dance of Blood and Faith
Genres: Romantasy/Fantasy, LGBTQ with M/M as the main love pairing
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Nothing particularly in this excerpt, but the story itself deals with darker themes


“I am dead,” the knight whispered.

What a miserable confession.

It wasn’t about the truth of that statement because in no way was the man behind him part of the dead, not like the horse beneath him or the wolves still running through the darkness. It was the heartache nestled within those three words that cut into Eli so deeply he might as well have closed his hand around a fistful of glass shards and squeezed.

So quiet. So broken.

“I can still hear your heart, knight,” Eli murmured. “You don’t sound dead to me.”

Fia huffed, less a laugh and more of a sigh that could only soothe itself with bitter amusement. Disentangling his fingers from the horse’s mane, Fia lifted his left hand and moved it to Eli’s hip. His touch light. His words lighter still. “Did I not tell you, thief? Not all deaths happen in a moment’s breath.”

“You did,” Eli acknowledged. “And you do have quite the reputation as a world-ender yourself if the stories have any truth to them, but I don’t seem to recall anything about you being a coward in any of them.”

Elios …"

That was a warning.

Dropping another Crimson (queer vampire dark fantasy) excerpt since the story updated yesterday and I'm in a convivial mood...
Excerpt rating: PG-13 for foul language and implied inebriation


“I love your music,” spoke a sudden voice in slightly accented yet otherwise flawless English.

Startled, Raiden almost dropped his cigarette, but his sharp reflexes kicked in before it could happen. He squinted up at the voice's source and saw a tall man impeccably dressed in Chinese silk and leather. Aviator-style sunglasses obscured the upper part of his face. Alcoholic fumes fairly radiated from his flesh.

Raiden could not keep his nose from wrinkling just the slightest bit. Damn these vampiric senses.

The man put his hands on the table. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I recognize you. You’re Raiden-san, the lead singer of Scent.”

Raiden nodded, sipping his drink as he desperately wracked his brain for a way to end the dialogue before it went any further. All I wanted was some peace and quiet, and now I have to deal with this weirdo groupie.

“I’m Gabriel Colin,” the actor said in his deep voice. “I don’t expect you to know my work—”

“Of course I know your work. It’s nice to meet you,” Raiden interjected, extending his hand and forcing a smile.

Oh, right. He’s that French-Canadian TV actor who made it big. God only knows why.

And a lil chunk from my completed boy-band farce Bare Possibilities...
Excerpt rating: PG-13 for a wicked hangover, unquenchable lewdness, and potty language


I barely made it through the next day, alternately shivering and sweating; cursing the hour I was born (and my parents for giving me life). My bros drifted in and out, checking on me in shifts. When Clive brought me breakfast from the hotel buffet—rubbery instant eggs, gloopy hashbrowns, and meat-of-unknown-origin sausages, I chucked the full plate into the garbage can beside the bed.

“Soylent Green is people!” I whisper screamed. “People!”

Of course he didn’t get my Charlie Heston B-grade sci-fi flick ref—I’d have had better luck landing the joke if Lash had brought me my meal instead. Lash was my fellow classic-film lover and faithful watch-party buddy. If we didn’t find a movie appealing, we’d end up peeling off each other’s clothes, but if we were into it, our garments usually stayed on until the credits. I felt a pang, recognized it for what it was, and disregarded it. Getting over my hangover was much more pressing business than getting over my years-long situationship with a friend I liked to fuck. There would be a time to grieve in a post-tour bottle.

“No,” I moaned. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Give it another six hours” was Clive’s parting shot.

Ooh, I love me some taut M/M tension. Tightly wound indeed.

@Leyelle I'm now expecting to espy a haute-couture hospital gown making the rounds during Fashion Week.

It is out there in the universe. It cannot be unsaid. waits for it to manifest