Since I just dropped the new chapter tonight:
“Impetuous and impertinent. As always.” The guardian’s voice surrounded him. Eli thought he detected a bit of humor in it, though assuming anything about the Atageà would be pure folly. They were the dogs who would wag a tail for you even as they sunk their teeth into your thigh. Still, he enjoyed the idea of it. Him amusing them. A certain fondness to it even. Bowing her head, she continued, “We have expected nothing less from you at this point. You have been warned, and that warning still stands, child of shadow.”
“Yes, yes. I’m well aware of all my faults and all your grievances. Consider your warning heard, and I promise to take care, watch my step, plan accordingly, and so on and so forth,” Eli said. He couldn’t help grinning at her.
Title: Sun with a Paper Crown
Genres: Romance, Drama
Rating: PG-13?
With a sigh, I drop the brush, watching the paint spit from the bristles and fly through the air like lusterless fireworks before they rain back down onto the table in lavender splats.
I just want some tea.
Flicking the light on in the kitchen, despite the more than sufficient sunshine blazing in through the open windows, I put a kettle on and stand on tip-toe to grab the Thai tea from the top shelf, unsure why I ever put anything up there, considering that it’s practically impossible for me to reach.
I lean against the counter to wait as the tea boils, but keep my eyes on the tile, knowing good and well that it will nervously refuse to ever come to temperature if I’m staring it down.
The electric light hums with an eerie glow that reminds me of hospitals.
I could move three paces and turn it back off, but I stay where I am and tolerate the anxiety soaking slowly into my skin like a cold rain.
Title: Sun with a Paper Crown
Genres: Romance, Drama
Rating: PG-13?
Worst case scenario-
Don’t.
Despite what therapy says, that never helps if you’re an overthinker like me. I look at my hands and count up to three. Breathe. Three again.
I could think of a higher number.
I could think of something else.
So, shoes?
Melissa texted me a picture of a new dress she bought last week. The most adorable little red tartan thing I’ve ever seen, but she says her husband already threatened to burn it. She says she’ll gift it to me.
“That way my baby can live somewhere where she’ll be loved.”
But my b-
My not-boyfriend - not sweetheart - equally significant other - would hate it too.
Not that it matters considering the fact that we’re not dating. Considering the fact that he doesn’t even want anyone to know…that we’re going out.
Destiny, or Fate, bangs on that door again. I take another shot of burning ‘butterflies’ and they tear through my insides, setting everything aflame.
oh she wears whatever she likes, he never tries to force her to do otherwise, though he's more than willing to let her know how awful her tee-shirt dresses are
This is inspired by my own vertically challenged nature. i can't see the top shelf in my own kitchen,
I'm glad you like the excerpt, considering the nature of the story, painting vivid pictures is essential
this is gonna have to be much less than 200, as there are only minis out for this series rn. But i'll share two excerpts.
"I'm Jealous"
"Jiminie says 'Xs and Os" means hugs and kisses."
lol., no more clarity
and one from DITRD:
As the first rush of the painkillers bleeds through my system I lose touch with my surroundings, almost convinced I’m standing in a vast emptiness, watching the clouds blot out the sun, and submerge me in sticky black. Sweat glitters on every inch of unbroken skin, and pools in places I didn’t know I could sweat, saturating my hair and running down my face, into my eyes.
It’s washed out by a scorching bright- pure white, with spots of noxious neon.
The endless hum of over-bright. LED. electric lights. sings in my ears like a chorus of skittish cicadas, fanning their wings, as if they’re desperate to escape. I can’t blame them. Trembling like a miniature earthquake. My body tries to make sense of this cataclysm that’s left my world seeing stars.
My head spins again, turning bodies topsy turvy. Smearing faces into the paint. Baptized with blood in the white space. I’m not even sure when I woke up or how long I’ve spent lying here, staring at the walls or the ceiling. My senses are all scrambled. Am I facing the left or the right? Am I hearing or feeling the voices crashing around me, a barrage of nervous wrecks? I swim in the excruciating sensation, almost blacking out. I feel as though I'm hanging from the rafters by my hair, and the pressure in my neck only increases with every crash of my heartbeat. My mouth defies me as I try to call for a nurse - my jaw is locked tight as if it’s been screwed shut and it's stubbornly set on staying that way for the moment. The whole thing fills. With bitter bile. I can’t swallow. And I try desperately not to drown before somebody finds me.
this is me seeing this comment weeks later...
I've never actually listened to MCR though my brother has. Most of the artists Kattar listens to I've listened to as well, but MCR is the exception. I've only heard a cover of the song "Cancer."
That said, I share tastes with Kattar and Alicia so I'm razzing both my own interests in this scene lol.
Did your tickets get refunded?
From the last chapter of Crimson:
“Mr. Colin!” a tenor tone warbled on his left, practically rendering him deaf.
Grimacing, Gabriel turned toward the voice’s origination. He noticed a pair of adoring eyes directly above his own, staring at him in rapturous, awed amazement. As he appraised the exquisiteness of the creature standing beside his car, his expression softened.
The boy looked no older than seventeen: the epitome of youthful beauty and promise—the kind of boy mothers would gladly flaunt in public, and fathers would secretly admire from the corners of their eyes. A boy who would invite stares, rather than reject them. His eyes were a stunning shade of light brown, with tiny flecks of gold along the outskirts of the irises. Full, generous lips begged for kisses to corrupt them. There was a gleam of charmingly crooked teeth that glimmered like pearls in the dusky twilight. Shaggy, impeccably dyed auburn hair (a similar shade to Gabriel’s) framed the oval-shaped face just right. Long bangs brushed alluringly against the curves of sculpted cheekbones. His skin was fresh: untainted by blemishes, with a tawny richness that boasted its own natural sheen. Tiny beads of perspiration adorned his silken upper lip like miniature diamonds.
I glance around the room to try to distract myself from the embarrassment, too flustered to trust myself to look him in the eye.
I catch sight of his medical bag on the sofa.
“Did you want your…?” I trail off, nodding my head toward the black satchel.
There’s a fraction of a pause - no more than a breath, but I feel it, a milli-moment before he shrugs with affected lightness as if to say, “Whatever.”
I turn to grab the bag but am stopped short by a sudden movement out of the corner of my eye. Before I can comprehend exactly what I saw, I’m being pulled back to my starting point by the stupid pink sash.
I stumble backward, but it doesn’t come untied this time.
“For goodness sake!” I stammer, flushing red up to the roots of my hair.
“Oh look, 2nd time’s the charm.”
Somehow his easy-going manner is even more embarrassing than the antics themself.
“Do you need something? Like a chew toy maybe?” I ask as I adjust the twisted sash crossly.
“I was pulling for service.”
Love this! Here's an excerpt from my most recent posted chapter for Alabaster.
“We thank you for your willingness to participate in this study. In this ever-changing and dangerous world, our government strives to always stay ahead of the curve, to keep the edge on those who would do us and our country harm.”
Hunter attempted to absorb all the computer voice had announced as a girl yelped beside him, jumping back. The floor had cracks traveling across it, forming two large squares. Hunter started to back away towards where he knew the door had been, dread pooling in his stomach.
“This study, if proven successful,” the intercom said, giving pause.
The squares melted down, leaving pits of darkness as a vibrating noise started up.
“Will give us that edge.”
Hunter’s back had slapped into the wall as he tried to comprehend what was now emerging from the pits.
“What is happening,” he whimpered.
Two Obsidian nosen had been lifted into their room. They towered over the balking teenagers, the girl from before letting out a wail as her legs buckled underneath her.
The intercom clicked on once more to declare, “Let the Obsidian trail begin.”
Just a little bit over 200 but from the newest chapter!
Fia lifted his head as the darkness staining the edge of the forest rippled and sent a wave through the shadows pooled around his figure. Ithíofan emerged slowly and sat beside a large fir tree, his eyes flickering bright like amethysts turned flame. He didn’t move further. He offered no apologies of his own. All he promised was his presence. Loyal still to Fia, even if he had betrayed him.
Anger surged through him, hot as a molten iron.
"This is a fine mess you’ve gotten me into,” Fia said. He didn’t have to shout. A whisper would have sufficed. Ithíofan would hear him all the same. “So, you bought him time, and what do you think you’ve gotten me in its place?”
Clicking his tongue when the wolf refused to answer, Fia attempted once more to find Eli’s shadow.
Around him, the darkness lapped at his feet like the tide, rolling and receding though little of the moon’s light penetrated this far into the tunnel. Fia could have called upon more light for himself, but standing steeped in the darkness was the best way to find what he needed within it. He could feel the shadows’ movements, though. How the things within it still sought to answer Eli’s command. Even that, Fia wasn’t sure of.
What had Eli asked for?
“I met my new agent today,” I say slowly, in an attempt to break the silence. He looks up abstractedly, and I can almost feel his interest fragmenting like a thousand slivers of broken glass. I only get one, and the apathy stabs me like one of Cupid’s arrows.
Something about her smile becomes venomous.
This arrow, it would seem, is tipped with amorous liquid wrath, bubbling up subtly in the warmth of my skin. I feel it before I perceive it.
“Her name’s Emelia Howard,” I say pettishly, surprising myself with the exasperation I let ooze through my tone. “She seems really…”
I try to think of something nice to say, fumbling about in the distant seeming memory like I groped through the darkness of Kattar’s immaculate bedroom.
“She’s very pretty.”
Kattar nods, but he’s not looking at me, glancing sideways at two giggling teenagers as they pass by whispering to each other behind their hands.
His expression is a mixture of nerves and irritation, a cloudy cocktail casting a shadow over his white face. When he looks back at me, his eyes are two lines, like he’s squinting against the sun.
“She’s what now?”
“-It’s a little bit like the edgy emo cousin,” Shannon quips, lifting his hands like he’s weighing the options, “But on the bright side, those are rarely boring.”
“Everything’s about weird relatives with you,” I laugh lightly, “You must have a colorful family.”
“That’s a way of putting it…” he says, raising his eyebrows with a shake of his head, “Muslims and Catholics so…you know - a lot of color involved there.”
“Colorful language perhaps?” I probe.
“It would make your ears burn,” he says in a confidential tone, “and all my siblings and cousins grew up in that insanity so we’re a little bit…”
“Looney?”
“That’s a nice little understatement,” he smirks
Honestly, you’re even worse than I am.
The color is returning to his face…
I am not.
You so are. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you washed your hair, you little tease…
Bit by bit, the warmth under the black curtain of his hair peeks through the wilted rose-gold and candy brown…
I just didn’t want you razzing me if I showed up looking dowdy.
I gave up complaining about that ages ago - around the same time I stopped being able to make you take showers. It’s like your favorite pastime is being dirty-
-Don’t phrase it like that…
-In the literal sense. You’re the one taking it some kind of way.
I am having so much fun writing their flirting lol
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