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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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an excerpt from my WIP, Six Feet Under The Stars

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Why is your hair… like that?” Eli asked one day, the curiosity taking hold out of nowhere. He watched as Beck, in solid form and hanging upside down from the bed, hoisted himself back up and frowned.

“Like what?”

For a moment, Eli hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to describe what he was wondering. “I can tell that the base is blond, but it has this kind of… green tinge to it. I dunno, I’m just curious, that’s all. I’ve never noticed it on other spirits, but then again, none of them have ever gone solid in front of me before.”

Beck shrugged, twisting around and reaching down to the floor to retrieve his newsboy cap. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Eli hopped off the bed and moved to his closet door, swinging it open so that the mirror faced toward the bed. “Have you not looked in the mirror?”

For a moment, Beck simply stared at him, before finally sliding off the bed and walking over to stand beside Eli. In the mirror, the reflection of Eli looked back at them, but Beck was nowhere to be found, the side of the mirror where he should have been empty and unassuming.

“Looks like I’m not visible in mirrors even when I’m solid.” Beck stepped back and flopped down onto the bed again. “I must be more like a vampire or something; I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

With a sigh, Eli turned around, foot tapping the floor as he thought for a moment. As the idea came to him, he snapped his finger and walked over to the desk, beginning to rummage through the drawers. Beck watched passively, saying nothing as the other approached with a handful of sketchbooks, coloured pencils, and watercolour paints.

“What are you doing?” The words were tinged with good-natured laughter as Beck pushed himself further up the bed to give Eli space.

“Get comfy.” Eli grinned, flipping through the pages of his sketchbook until he came to an empty one. He picked up some pencils, glancing up to see that Beck hadn’t moved, and was simply watching him blankly. “Go on, get comfy!”

Beck slowly shifted, eventually settling on a crosslegged position in between the pillows at the head of the bed. “Why?”

“I’m gonna draw you. Stay still.”

“Wait--” Beck blinked, and he looked around as if there might be someone else hiding in the corners of the room that Eli was talking to. “You’re… drawing me?”

“Don’t be so scared!” Eli pointed his pencil at the ghost. “And stay still! I haven’t figured out how to draw portraits of moving models yet. C’mon, it’s not like you have anywhere else to be right now, you said it yourself earlier.”

Grumbling under his breath, Beck returned to his previous position, limbs twitching as though simply the act of staying still was something he could barely handle. Eli began to sketch, occasionally smiling and hiding the fact that he was doing so by looking down at his pad again. More than once he had to remind the other to stop fidgeting, and as to be expected, he was met with grumbling every time.

Finally finished with his sketch, Eli looked up, accidentally locking eyes with Beck, who had apparently been watching him. For a moment, the two were frozen, and then Eli cleared his throat, shaking his head as though trying to flip his hair out of his face. “Okay, you can do whatever now.”

Beck hesitated, then leaned forward. Eli’s heart picked up speed, thinking something else entirely was about to happen, until he noticed that Beck was trying to peek at the sketchbook. He clasped it to his chest. “I’m not done with it yet, I haven’t added colour! I just meant you can stop… staying still now.”

“Oh.” Beck looked away for a moment, then slid to the edge of the bed and rose to his feet. He wandered aimlessly around the room for a few moments before finally alighting at Eli’s desk, picking up one of the books there and opening it.

For almost another two hours, Eli kept working on his art piece. He would glance up every now and then, trying to make sure the colours were mixing properly. In the end, he decided it wasn’t half-bad… not perfect, and certainly not photorealistic, which was what he hoped to do someday, but it looked like Beck and that had been the intention.

He could have stood up to go to the desk, where Beck still sat reading, especially since he had to put his art supplies away. But, perhaps selfishly, he decided he would rather have Beck on the bed again. “Hey! C’mere. I finished it.”

The ghost looked up, newsboy cap so far down over his eyes they were barely visible. He set the book down on the desk and crossed the room to sit next to Eli, reaching up on habit to twist his cap backwards so that he could be seen properly. His body, while still solid, was beginning to look transparent again - it wasn’t a surprise to Eli, after all, Beck had been solid for hours now and it took energy that he needed to recharge in spirit form. A warm sensation blossomed in Eli’s chest at the thought that maybe Beck had stayed like this for so long so that that the colours of his face, his hair, and his clothes would remain vivid rather than washed out and greyed.

Eli handed the sketchbook over to Beck, who sat and studied it for several minutes; the portrait was a full body one, showing everything from his outfit - dark trench coat over dark pants, scarlet shirt, and leather suspenders - and his facial features; worn but expressive, hair long and shaggy and falling across his shoulders, a green-tinged blond, the newsboys cap perched atop his head and the ruddy scars that encircled his neck.

Eli had wanted to capture it all, and as he gazed not at the art but at the ghost he had taken inspiration from, pride swelled in his chest. He had done well.

Finally, Beck looked up from the portrait. “That’s… that’s what I look like?” The question was trepidant, his brow furrowed as he looked up at Eli, then back down at the paper, then back up again.

“Yeah… I mean, it’s not perfect, I’m not a professional, but it’s--yeah, it’s what you look like.” The strange expression on Beck’s face brought concern with it, and Eli’s hands began playing with the hem of his sheets. “You don’t have to like it, I just wanted--”

“No, no, no, no. “ The shadow that had fallen over Beck’s face vanished and he shook his head, reaching out to shove Eli’s shoulder in a playful manner. “Don’t start with that. I do like it, and you did fine work, it’s just…” He shrugged, glancing down at the paper again. “I haven’t looked in a mirror since… before I died probably. I’ve got no memories of what I looked like. This is kind of like seeing myself for the first time… just feels strange.”

The realisation settled in and Eli nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s alright.” Beck shuddered, disappearing for a few moments, and when he reappeared, it was in spirit form, faded and floating ever so slightly above the bed. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t… couldn’t hold the form anymore.”

“No, it’s okay! Thank you so much for keeping it until I was done with the picture.” Eli shifted slightly, missing the sensation of the body next to him but unwilling to say anything of it.

“So, uh…” Beck floated slightly further upward, no longer giving the illusion of sitting on the bed. “The… scars don’t… scare you.”

For a second, Eli didn’t understand what the other meant. When it hit him, he shook his head vehemently. “On your neck? Of course not. Like I said, all ghosts have them, usually. It’s sometimes the only way I can figure out how they passed away.”

Beck said nothing in response and for a few minutes, the two of them simply sat in silence. Eli, finally feeling awkward, rose to his feet and went to put his art supplies away. From behind him, he heard, “So what about the hair?”

“I’m not… scared of your hair,” Eli returned, frowning. When he turned around the ghost was giving him an expression that could only be described as teasing.

“No, the green stuff, you dolt.” Beck’s face brightened into a grin, betraying the lack of malice behind his words. “I don’t have an explanation for you, I’m afraid. Despite how long I’ve been dead, I’ve never looked into the specifics of ghost anatomy and shit like that.”

“Oh!” Cheeks burning more than they already were, Eli threw himself onto the bed facedown, lifting his head only enough to speak clearly. “I’m guessing it’s some sort of ectoplasm or something that sticks with you when you go solid. For some ghosts they leave behind this sort of green residue when they leave this world and go back to the next. I’m guessing for you, some of it just sort of comes with you when you go solid. I wasn’t sure, because I’ve never seen it on a ghost before, but then, I’ve never seen any of you go solid before either.”

“Ahh. Well, the more you know.” Beck ran his fingers through his transparent hair, making an interested hum.

Eli curled up on the foot of the bed, clutching one of the pillows to his chest. A glance at the digital clock said it was only 5pm, but the sun was setting, and his parents weren’t home to harass him about eating… and despite wanting to stay up, wanting to spend as much time as he could with Beck, Eli found himself with heavy eyelids and a desire to curl up closer to the pillows and blankets.

He could hear the ever so faint whispering sound that occurred when Beck used his powers, and the darkening room was lit up with a faint purple glow as the LED strip lights along the perimeter of Eli’s lights turned on seemingly out of nowhere. A few seconds later, the shimmering form of the culprit came floating over Eli’s head and coming to a stop at the head of the bed.

Eli didn’t try to move closer, content where he was at the foot of the bed, but rolled over so that he was faced toward Beck. He could just barely make out the details of the other’s face and body, an outline that seemed to glow a faint green-blue, harder to see in the dim violet light that bathed the room. And even though he couldn’t feel a solid body beside his own, he found the other’s presence still brought comfort and peace.

“Get some rest, kid. I’ll be around when you wake up.”

Eli mumbled something, trying to say… he wasn’t sure what. Something grateful, something appreciative. He found himself drifting off to sleep before he could manage, safe under Beck’s gaze.

#wip: six feet under the stars #my writing #writeblr #excerpts #new writeblr #writing community #writing

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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CHARACTER INTRODUCTION: Beck - Six Feet Under The Stars

I wasn’t going to put this up because it will inevitably have many spoilers from my novel, but on the one hand, I rarely finish any novel I start, and on the other hand, I highly doubt anyone is actually gonna want to read it, so I’m not really spoiling anyone here. And besides, Beck and specifically JUST Beck is basically the only character I have energy for right now I have energy for right now because apparently he’s a comfort character for me, so I figure it’d probably be a good idea to get an intro for him out there. I might try to work on the novel some more later, we’ll see.

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of severe bigotry, su*cide, scars, and betrayal.

EDIT: this got way too long lmao but it was nice to kind of map out Beck’s life before the novel starts, so feel free to ignore this post if you don’t wanna read a short biography lmao, this was almost entirely more character development for me than anything.

~ * ~

full name: Leslie Bryant Faulkner nicknames: Beck (his chosen name after he lost all memories and identity), Les. age: He was 30 when he died, so unless he puts energy into changing his appearance, that’s the age he presents as. gender: Cis male. sexual orientation: Pansexual with a leaning toward men. hair: Long, it falls against his shoulders. In life he was a very light blond, and still is, though there are now silvery strands interwoven, as well as the faintest green tinge; effects that happen the longer you’re in the afterlife - it’s sort of their form of aging. eyes: Grey. Though they go a cloudy white when he’s expending high amounts of energy. build: Average weight, slightly shorter than average height. birth place: London, England, though his family moved to a small eastern town in North America when he was young. ethnicity: English, scottish, welsh, irish, danish, and romanian; as far as he is aware. He’s quite the mutt. scars/body markings: The most noticeable are the scars that form a ring around his neck from how he died. He has various other scars on his arms, legs, and face, some from his own volition but most from the hard life he led before he died. He has a few small tattoos, one of a cat’s silhouette and one of a crescent moon to match the sun tattoo his brother had. zodiac sign: Sagittarius. alignment: Chaotic neutral. positive traits/strengths and skills: Passionate, fun-loving, clever; he once had a love for journaling, can throw a mean punch, and beat almost anyone at a drinking contest. He once played the violin, and enjoyed it immensely. negative traits/flaws: Growing cynicism, an addictive personality, mischievous; has a habit of pushing people away then clinging to them then repeating the process.

~ * ~

Beck was born in the year of 1882, in London, England, to a poor family; unable to continue making a living there, his family moved to a small town on the eastern coast of North America with the hope that many had of finding a better life across the sea. Beck was nine years old when they moved. Life was fairly uneventful for a while; his father worked as a coal miner while his mother worked at home trying to teach Beck, as well as his older sister - and his baby brother, born a little less than a year after they moved to America.

He was a difficult child, constantly curious and mischievous to a fault; any waking moment he had was spent exploring the town and the surrounding fields, trying to befriend any living thing he came across. He found it hard to make friends, if only because he was unable to go to the school with the other children, his family unable to afford it. More often than not, Beck found himself on the receiving end of mockery; the many reasons included his family’s financial status, his love for books, and the care he had for small animals - after getting into numerous scuffles with other boys in town to keep them from hurting the local wildlife, or the stray cats, he grew a ‘reputation’ for being a pansy, a girl, and other more vicous names. Physical fights were common, despite how much his mother fretted over him.

So while he still loved to explore and get into mischief, as Beck grew older, he spent most of his time at home helping to take care of his younger brother, and taking care of a small runt of a black cat that he had saved from a dog. He had become attached to the cat immediately and his parents had reluctantly agreed to let him keep it, as long as he took full responsibility.

After reaching adulthood, Beck had to leave home and find lodging in the city; his father had been injured in the mines, and couldn’t work anymore, leaving himself and his elder sister the primary breadwinners. His brother was still young by then; only just turned ten, and couldn’t work properly, though he tried to help by catching fish in the river near the town.

Beck managed to snag a job working for a newspaper office, helping with the printing press and selling papers. Every penny he managed to make he tried to send back home, oftentimes sleeping underneath awnings or roof outcrops on the street instead of paying for lodging elsewhere, just to make sure his family managed to get by.

He would visit home on the holidays, and had a close relationship with his brother; while Beck would send letters back home when he lived in the city, he would oftentimes write a separate letter, specially for his brother.

After an altercation with one of the higher ups in the business he worked for - a drunken dispute caused over a disagreement on wages - Beck moved back home for a time, at the age of 26, taking a temporary job at the mines his father had once worked for. He hated the work, hated the feeling of being smothered deep inside the earth, but he couldn’t afford to be picky.

A cave in happened at the mines, and while Beck made it out alive, he was injured, and several of the miners had died. After extensive pleading from his parents and siblings, Beck left the mining business and once again moved back to the city.

From there, he mostly worked odd jobs, including but not limited to bartending, being a stable hand, and a chimney sweep. His brother was old enough now to work, so Beck was able to save more money than before, eventually getting a place of his own - a tiny flat in downtown, but a place of his own.

And then it all began to go downhill. But for Beck, it seemed to be uphill - while working across the street from a theatre, he began to see one person in particular quite often: a man around his age, called Thomas, a middle class citizen with a love for theatre. The two of them hit it off, often going for drinks at a nearby pub as Beck got off work right around the time the final show of the night ended.

(MOST OF THE TRIGGERING CONTENT TAKES PLACE BELOW, SO READ ON WITH CAUTION.)

Keep reading

#self reblog #writeblr #new writeblr #writing community #writeblr community #writeaway

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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CHARACTER INTRODUCTION: Beck - Six Feet Under The Stars

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of severe bigotry, su*cide, scars, and betrayal.

~ * ~

(MOST OF THE TRIGGERING CONTENT TAKES PLACE BELOW, SO READ ON WITH CAUTION.)

They became close friends, but Beck soon realised a complication: he thought of Thomas as more than friends, he thought of him romantically. He had had these feelings before in his life, but kept them secret for the sake of his family’s pride, and for his own benefit - he had come to terms with the feelings long ago but still kept them to himself.

After spending months writing journal entries about Thomas as a way to vent his feelings, he finally made a fateful decision: on his own birthday, December 13th, he would make a move. It seemed to him that Thomas felt as close to him as he did, and after all, this was the city, was it not? Surely he wasn’t misreading the signs, that maybe Thomas was like him, maybe they could have some sort of future together, outside of drinking buddies.

So, the night of December 13th, after leaving the pub where he and Thomas had made a toast to his birthday, they went for a walk as they often did, lingering for a while on the bridge near the center of the city, over the river. Beck was a tangle of nerves and butterflies in his stomach, but noticed that Thomas was watching him… that was a sign, right?

Beck tried to say something, but couldn’t get much more than the other’s name and a bit of stammering out so he took a chance and leaned in to attempt pecking the other on the cheek.

And that was when all hell broke loose. Thomas reacted violently, with disgust, and attempted to throw a punch. Beck panicked and ran, not stopping until he had run a good distance, unable to make it all the way back to his flat. He collapsed near a stable in an attempt to catch his breath and stave off the only worsening panic attack.

Before long, he heard a commotion, and hoisted himself up and onto the roof of the stable for a better look, only to see that Thomas and a mob of other men were coming down the street in his direction.

What followed was a frenzied chase, ending with Beck throwing himself into his flat and barricading the door, feeling as though his heart would explode, from both pain and exertion. The men were soon outside, beating at his door, and he could hear Thomas’ voice amongst the din, shouting the same threats and fury that the others were, all the noise blending into a blur of God’s so-called rage and wishes for death.

It seemed that there would be no escaping this. There was only one other exit out of his home, besides the front door, and it was a window already nearly shattering as the mob tried to gain entry.

So in a haze of terror and sorrow and grief and wishing so hard that he was with his family, Beck made one last decision: he would not allow the men outside to have the satisfaction of killing him and patting themselves on the back for it, as if they had done anything close to God’s will.

At first, in his daze, Beck crouched in the corner, drinking all the liquor he could find in his cabinets at a breakneck pace, before finally realising that that would take too long. He had hoped that it would kick in faster, hoped that if he were to go, then he could go in a way that seemed less violent, but no.

He managed to drag a rope out from his storage closet, throwing it over one of the rafters above his table, and well, one can imagine what happened next. Thomas and the men finally broke down the door only to find that they would not get the blood they had been thirsting for, because it was too late.

Beck has spent his life in the afterlife ever since; time doesn’t exist there so he wasn’t sure how long it took before he realised that he could haunt earth, before he realised that he had special powers, before he found out that he was a category of ghost known as a poltergeist. The only trick was… he had no memories. He had no memory of who he was, of who his family was, of how he died or of any of the past life he had lived. Outside of the scars on his body giving hints as toward how he died, and the clothes he had died in, Beck had nothing except the nickname he eventually gave himself.

Then the rumours are spread of a boy who can see ghosts, can talk to them, where almost no other living person can. And, well, the curiosity got the better of him, and that’s where our story starts.

#oc: beck #wip: six feet under the stars #writeblr #writeblr community #new writeblr

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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sadly... nothing new in my WIPs.

i have however come up with a new WIP itself!

it’s called Six Feet Under The Stars, and I still haven’t written up a good tagline/elevator pitch for it yet, but the basic gist of it is a boy grows up dealing with psychic powers that no one believes he has, and the ability to see the dead. the older he gets, the more he sees and the more intense everything about it gets. a few years before he moves out and into his own apartment, a poltergeist called Beck shows up and refuses to leave him alone.

the book follows the story of Eli (the psychic boy) as he realises an apocalypse is happening, grows closer to Beck, and gradually falls in love with a ghost as he attempts to almost single handedly stop the walls between the world of the living and the world of the supernatural from crashing down!

i’m pretty excited about it but starting a book is so hard!

I’m gonna finish up the letter name asks I have in my inbox today, but I also feel like talking with some of you folks!

I’ve not been too active lately, so I want to catch up: tell me what new and interesting things you’ve developed in your wips! How have your characters changed? Any new worldbuilding?

If you want, reblog this with a link to your favourite recent post of original writing, either your own or someone else’s, and I’ll check it out!

#dash interactions #wip: six feet under the stars

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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Red: What type of writer’s block do you experience the most?

ask from a meme i’m too lazy to find

~*~*~*~

to be honest, my writer’s block usually comes on because of my own life. if i’m going through shit, what kind of shit it is kinda effects what i write, if i write at all. if we want something more technically to writing, i’d say pacing and beginnings give me the most trouble with writer’s block. they’re so fucking hard to get down.

#asked and answered #priestessprose #about the author

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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expect more vent drabbles. a lot of them. and shit like that

maybe a snippet from SIX FEET UNDER THE STARS if i’m feeling it idk.

#not writing #tfw the massive wound caused by one of your two more recent breakups has juuuuuuuuuuust scabbed over #just barely #and then they appear out of nowhere after ghosting you for two and a half months #and your hope skyrockets because they're apologising for how they treated you and mentioning that they broke up with #their newest boyfriend (who they only dated out of obligation; long story; to begn with)#and you message back before they finish typing a third message saying that it's okay and you forgive them and you're just happy they're bakc #and then the third message is 'yeah anyweay we got back together and we are gonna move to oregon together with some friends!'#and you immefdiately wonder why you fucking let yourself hope ANYTHING anymore when it comes to love #and part of it only hurts because you've been seeing a lot of manifestations and doing a lot of manifestations and seeing a lot of angel num #*numbers and so when your ex messages you you're freaking out cause! holy shit! the manifestations worked and the signs that my life was #gonna get better were true! the universe heard me and is finally going to give me a break! but nope! either the manifestations didn't work #and all my beliefs are bullshit or i just thought they would work and got the total opposite because i need to repent for some horrible shit #i've done in the past or something and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #i'm sorry i'm done now i'm gonna go pour myself a drink on the rocks and write some stupid venty bullshit

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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WIP INTRO: six feet under the stars

“Gift or curse, I don’t want this. I can barely keep my own life together! How the fuck am I supposed to help dead people figure out theirs?”

welcome to yet another WIP intro, because i have no concept of impulse control or ‘working on one WIP until it is finished’. i want you all to meet SIX FEET UNDER THE STARS; a book that came to me over the last few days and demanded to be given attention. you know the drill; #wip: six feet under the stars is the hashtag to go to for all things about this novel, and so far, we have two character specific tags! #oc: elijah murdock and #oc: beck ! these are subject to change, but we won’t worry about that right now. if anyone wants added to the taglist, let me know!

genre: paranormal/supernatural and romance! status: in progress || outlining pov: third person warnings (thus far): violence, possible torture, death (it is a book about dead peoplea fter all), existential crises, homophobia, and probably other things. features: queer characters (eli is gay, and beck - while not human anymore - is and was pan), hurt/comfort, frenemies to lovers, apocalypses, poltergeist tomfoolery, and more!

Growing up queer is hard enough, but add on growing up psychic and clairvoyant to that, and it makes things a million times worse. Just ask Elijah Murdock.

Eli’s life isn’t what he would call great. It’s pretty average. He’s struggling to find a job that pays enough to survive, his parents are ignoring the fact that he’s recently come out as gay, and he has been seeing dead people since the ripe old age of since before he could remember.

He learnt to shut up about that part of his life though, after becoming tired of his family insisting he was schizophrenic. He learnt to roll with the punches; some of them literal, at least while in high school. After graduation, he moved to a new town, eager to start a new life out of the closet, maybe find a boyfriend or at the very least friends who treated him like a normal guy.

He didn’t find any of that, but he did find a shitty job at a gas station, and the realisation that a poltergeist who had been following him around since sophomore year of high school was not going to leave him alone.

Enter Beck: a ghost with very few memories of who he was when he was alive, and a love for pranks, trouble, mischief, and generally making a nuisance of himself. He had shown up one day in Eli’s house, and while as a ghost he can go wherever he wishes (within limits), he chose to stick around.

Eli realises it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would - in a new town, a new home, wiith his first job and no roommates or family to go to, Beck is the one familiar face in the sea of newness.

And more importantly, he might be the only one who can figure out why Eli is suddenly seeing more and more dead people with more and more frequency - and with much more clarity.

Something is wrong. Ghosts are becoming more and more material. Spirits are showing themselves more and more frequently. And Eli’s psychic abilities are becoming stronger, in tandem with dreams and visions that leave him in pain and full of fear.

Something big is happening between the world of the living and the world of the dead - and Eli may be the only one who can stop it.

#evening reblog

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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WIP INTRO: six feet under the stars

“Gift or curse, I don’t want this. I can barely keep my own life together! How the fuck am I supposed to help dead people figure out theirs?”

Growing up queer is hard enough, but add on growing up psychic and clairvoyant to that, and it makes things a million times worse. Just ask Elijah Murdock.

And more importantly, he might be the only one who can figure out why Eli is suddenly seeing more and more dead people with more and more frequency - and with much more clarity.

Something big is happening between the world of the living and the world of the dead - and Eli may be the only one who can stop it.

#reblogging for the morning crowd

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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WIP INTRO: six feet under the stars

“Gift or curse, I don’t want this. I can barely keep my own life together! How the fuck am I supposed to help dead people figure out theirs?”

Growing up queer is hard enough, but add on growing up psychic and clairvoyant to that, and it makes things a million times worse. Just ask Elijah Murdock.

And more importantly, he might be the only one who can figure out why Eli is suddenly seeing more and more dead people with more and more frequency - and with much more clarity.

Something big is happening between the world of the living and the world of the dead - and Eli may be the only one who can stop it.

#wip: six feet under the stars #wip intros #writeblr #romance wip #gay romance #paranormal

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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MEET THE MAIN FIVE (playlists)

DAVID

↳ listen on spotify

KENZIE

↳ listen on spotify

MALIA

↳ listen on spotify

SIMON

↳ listen on spotify

ZEYNA

↳ listen on spotify

AND…

If you go to my profile on spotify, there’s playlists for the rest of the cast, the wip and the main romance, 18 playlists in total~

I just wanted to introduce these in particular!

Afficher davantage

#friends' writing #i lvoe playlists and i love this novel!!!!!

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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TAGLIST ; ;

@sxnrising, @isanyonetoknow

another excerpt from METANOIA; i’m not sure where in the book this takes place, but it will most likely be included, or a scene like it

~ * ~

“Flynn, wake up. Dude. Dude, wake up!”

Flynn grumbled and rolled over in his sleeping bag. “What?” He slowly dragged himself out of the warm confines, blinking blearily at his friend. She pressed a finger to her lips, motioning for him to be quiet.

Confused, he followed Teagan’s gaze to their current home away from home; a large van repurposed, essentially, into a tiny home on wheels. The doors were all wide open, and a light glowed from within. Someone was inside; and whoever it was, they were a stranger.

He hesitated, then crept forward, ignoring Teagan’s hissed warning to stay away from the van. Flynn paused just outside of the back door, then peeked around the corner to see…

Nothing. The van was empty; their belongings had been strewn this way and that, bins open and clearly rummaged through, but the van itself remained empty of any sign of an intruder. Frowning, he glanced back over his shoulder at Teagan and shrugged. “There’s nobody–”

Keep reading

#taglist reblog

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

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another excerpt from METANOIA; i’m not sure where in the book this takes place, but it will most likely be included, or a scene like it

~ * ~

“Flynn, wake up. Dude. Dude, wake up!”

He hesitated, then crept forward, ignoring Teagan’s hissed warning to stay away from the van. Flynn paused just outside of the back door, then peeked around the corner to see…

Before he finished his sentence, a firm shove to his back sent him sprawling forward. Flynn landed hard on his hands and knees in the fortunately grassy clearing, and immediately rolled over to face the attacker - and once again saw nothing.

“Stop it! Leave him alone!” Teagan shouted. She ran over to Flynn, looking every which way in an attempt to locate whoever had pushed him.

A lighthearted giggle reached their ears from seemingly every direction at once, the trees circling the grove all but echoing with the gleeful laughter. Flynn scrambled to his feet, looking back and forth, peering into the forest.

“Oh, how droll. Don’t be so dismayed; I barely touched you, you’re not hurt.” The voice came from behind them, and they turned once more to face the van. At first, no one seemed to be there. But then, the air shimmered ever so slightly and a young man came into view, perched atop the van and swinging his legs. “You’re different from other humans on this side of the Veil. I simply had to investigate and see why. Some of the artifacts in your strange hut might explain it.”

Flynn didn’t respond at first, studying the other. They seemed human, with honey-blond curls falling across their face and against their shoulders, and a stature that was neither too tall or too small. The traits that gave away the fact there was something more to them was the too-bright emerald eyes and the pointed ears - and of course, the magnificent wings protruding from their back, delicate and glimmering in shades of gold and lavender.

“What did you take from us?” Flynn asked, brows furrowed as he glanced back at the van. The winged man had mentioned artifacts - what artifacts?

“I took nothing.” The being huffed indignantly. “I would never lay my hands on things so full of dark magick.” His wings twitched, and while he remained atop the van, he peered closer at them. “What are your names, then?”

“F--” Flynn began to speak, only to have Teagan clap a hand over his mouth. “Hey!” The protest was muffled by her palm.

Teagan took her hand away and spoke before he could. “You can call me Red, and you can call him Lake.” She shot Flynn a look. “He looks like a faerie. You don’t just give your real name out like that, to anybody,” she hissed.

The faerie seemed annoyed but didn’t let it show in his chiming voice. “You’re a smart one - Red.” He paused, looking her up and down. “A nickname borne from your fiery tresses, no doubt.”

“Maybe.” Teagan ignored the flirtatious undertones to the faerie’s words. “And what about you? What do we call you?”

“Peregrine will suffice.” He jumped down to the ground, landing light on his feet. “So, what brings you here, with your dark little souvenirs?”

“We still have no idea what you’re even talking about,” Flynn retorted. “It would help if we knew what you were snooping around at in our van.”

Peregrine hummed a jaunty little tune, pacing a half circle around the battered vehicle. “Is that what you mortals call these things then? A van?” With only two beats of the dragonfly wings on his back, Peregrine soared lazily over it to the other side. “Looks rather drab.”

Teagan rolled her eyes. “Can you just answer our question?”

“Alright, alright, yes.” Peregrine came back around to the side they stood on. “You undoubtedly thought it a shiny little trinket with your eyes, so blind to the Otherside. The pendant? It was hanging on a hook in your… van. It radiates dark magick.” His boyish face contorted into a grimace. “I can sense it even from here.”

“Dark magick?” Flynn knew the pendant the faerie was talking about. They had taken it with them after leaving a church that claimed to be haunted. They had found no proof of such a thing, but had found an old golden coin hanging from a leather cord. Flynn had discovered it beneath a pew and pocketed it. “It came from a church though.”

The faerie scoffed, tossing his head. “Plenty of evils have been performed in the name of religious piety. I would suggest destroying it or abandoning it as soon as possible. Items that powerful are never left unattended for long. The owner will be hunting for it.”

Flynn felt a shiver go down his spine and exchanged a nervous glance with Teagan. “How would we destroy it? Just, like… smash it or something?”

Peregrine shrugged, wandering away to the centre of the clearing and crouching to gently touch the petals of a dandelion. “That is not my concern.”

Teagan stepped forward. “So… what kind of faerie are you, if you’re a faerie? I thought… well, I thought you were all a lot smaller.” She hesitated, eventually stopping a few feet from where the being still crouched.

“Some of us are.” Peregrine rose to his feet and turned to face her again. “Some of us are no larger than your thumb, and some of us are larger than your human houses. We are a vibrant and unique people, and cannot be confined by mortal stereotypes.”

“Understood,” Teagan replied.

Flynn came up beside her. “So are we in you territory or did you just… get called by the pendant or something? What brought you here?”

“Curiosity.” Peregrine stretched, rolling his shoulders and causing his wings to flutter. “You were unlike other humans and I wished to know why. It turns out the reason is that you are ferrying an item of dark magick along with you.” He beat his wings and rose off the ground, perching on an outstretched tree branch. “And since I’ve satisfied my curiosity, I think I’ll be on my way. It was charming to meet you both.”

“Wait!” Flynn ran forward and stopped beneath the tree Peregrine had alighted in. “You mentioned the Otherside, and a veil? What are those? What does the ‘Otherside’ have to do with the pendant?”

A longsuffering sigh left the faerie’s lips. He didn’t leave his spot in the branches of the tree, but remained still. “Where do you think I came from?”

Flynn paused, wracking his brain for an answer that felt true. “... an other side?”

“The Otherside.” Peregrine fixed him with an eerily intense gaze. “The world all creatures of magic and whimsy escaped to once you mortals chased them off with your disbelief and your need to hunt and kill beautiful things. It’s another dimension, parallel to this one, but safe from the meddling of humans. It is protected by the Veil. Think of it as a giant wall blocking our world off from yours.”

“And the pendant--”

“Belongs to a creature from the Otherside. The Veil has been thinning as of late; many darker creatures want their old world back.” Peregrine’s voice was grave, eyes somber. “If they succeed in taking it back, then your species won’t last in freedom for long. They’ll be destroyed or taken as slaves.”

“What can we do to stop it?” Teagan’s face had gone pale.

Peregrine shrugged. “I do not know. Those of us who live in the light are trying our best to maintain the Veil, and we are succeeding, but for how long? Only time or oracles can tell. I for one would rather leave the all-knowing to their knowledge and live my own days.” He rose again, hovering in the air with supernatural ease. “I wish you good fortune if the Veil falls.”

Before either Teagan or Flynn could speak, Peregrine had seemingly disappeared, shimmering in midair before vanishing completely.

#wip: metanoia #excerpts #my writing #writeblr #new writeblr

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