#200 words a day

[writingwife-83]

Ok friends, I’m gonna do daily word count updates to keep me accountable for the 200 Word a Day for May challenge.

Google doc start point- 676 words

I’ll be back later to update!

If you’re not interested in updates like this idek why you’re following a blog like this lol but go ahead and filter “may writing challenge”

[thewritingsofevbrowne]

May Writing Challenge

So I saw this writing challenge on Tumblr for the month of May. I wanted to keep up my writing schedule. I wrote a total of 26,479 words. Which is a whole 47 words more than I wrote in Camp NaNoWriMo. I'm pretty proud of myself and deserve a little pat on the back for my accomplishment.

The whole reason I did this challenge is because I usually expect way too much of myself. I used to think 1k words a day was a good goal but it's way too high for me. Usually, when I didn't meet my goal I would become disappointed in myself for not making it. So smaller goals mean more achievable goals. I think I'll try to continue this writing challenge in my daily schedule. Some words are better than none.

[seravphs]

modern intimacy —

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo watches you get ready for your anniversary date. 

tags — married au, Gojo is the annoying type that doesn’t have to do any skincare or makeup to look good, so he’s doubly interested in your routine

“What’s that one?” 

“It’s mascara.”

“Huh. Okay, what’s that?” 

“It’s blush, honey.” 

“Can I try?” 

“Try it on?” You look up at him, surprised. Gojo, being Gojo, always looks perfect. You’re not sure what he would need makeup for. 

“Can I try putting it on you?” 

When you shrug, Gojo grins eagerly and pulls you onto his lap. You did not agree to that, but you let it slide. He takes the little compact in one hand and your fluffy brush in the other. His tongue peeks out in concentration as he taps rouge onto your cheeks. 

You catch a glimpse in the mirror against his protests. No wonder why-

“I look like a clown!” You protest. 

“But my adorable little clown,” he says. 

“Don’t try to wriggle your way out of this one! Give me that-“ you snatch your makeup back. 

You wince at you stare into the mirror once more. It’s useless. Your base is completely unsalvageable. You’ll have to start all over. 

“It’s fine,” Gojo drawls. “I’ll just get us another reservation.” 

You turn gleaming eyes on him and lift your blush brush. 

“Hey, wait!”

[stellewriites]

ghost and soap that move in together in between missions to save on money and eventually - inevitably - fall into bed together. but somethings missing

they’re both a little too sharp around the edges, need something sweet to ease their cravings and soften their bites, but no one fits right

until you, that is. so don’t be surprised when they make sure you’re sticking around by any means necessary

[disguisedcheezed]

Just take this. They could never leave my fucking mind.

[oifaaa]

People who can work on one project one piece of art one piece of writing for days on end amaze me if I do not finish my thing before I go to bed there is a 90% chance I will be disgusted by even the thought of it the next day and that only increases the more time passes

[lost-in-fandoms]

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys❤️

hello friend, I want you to know that this prompt stumped me for quite a while, I just didn't know how to spin it? I started thinking about keys -> doors -> many doors, and I had a zookeeper AU in my brain, but also a college student x security guard AU kind of thing, but in the end I went for this. I did take some liberties on the carabiner part.

Max is being guided towards the last row of cells when they bring him in.

He's being held up by two guards, one more behind them carrying an extra torch, head hanging low like he's not fully aware, curls drooping in front of his face in a disheveled mess.

"Ah, yes," the warden says with a smirk, stepping over to open one of the closed doors, "our little thief!"

The cell is dark and damp, with a hole in the middle of the floor and a wooden slab against the wall as a bed, and even from where he's standing in the corridor, Max can feel how oppressive the small space is, air heavy and stale.

The guards throw the man in without much care, ignoring the way he slumps on the floor, unmoving, but the warden chuckles, coming closer to poke him with the tip of his boot.

"Not so smug now, are you?" he taunts.

Max forces himself not to react as he pokes the thief again, trying to keep his face as impassible as the other guards, watching as the guy tries to twist away, moaning pathetically.

"Who is he?" he asks, voice flat and uninterested. His fingers are tightly closed around the ring of keys the warden had passed him earlier, a copy of the one hanging from his belt.

"Just a rat, sneaking around the castle's treasury for far too long." The warden crouches down, grabbing the man's hair and pulling it back, revealing his bruised face. "The guys had a bit of fun, it seems."

The thief opens one swollen eye to look up at him, and for a second Max thinks his face is twisting in pain, but then realises he's smiling, all blood-stained teeth.

"Touching is 5 gold pieces, sweetheart," he rasps out, before spitting at the warden.

Max can't help but flinch when the guy's head hits the floor, but he steels himself for the kick he sees coming, forcing himself to not look away, even as the poor man coughs and gasps on the floor.

"Vermin," the warden grunts, hitting him again for good measure, before finally stepping away. "Hope you've had your taste of fresh air, because this is the last you're going to get."

The thief doesn't answer, curling up more tightly on the floor, his gasps the last thing Max hears before the door closes with a heavy thud.

--

Max walks down the corridor, trying to remind himself that he has every right to be here, and it would be more suspicious if he sneaked around, The keys jingle at his waist, and the sound itself is enough to make him feel vaguely nauseous, especially as he hears the sounds from inside the cells die down as he walks by, replaced by terrified silence.

Despite his intentions, his steps grow quieter as he walks deeper into the prison, approaching the last rows, and by the time he's in front of the thief's cell his breathing is almost inaudible too, the clinking of his keys the only sound announcing his presence.

He takes a breath before opening the door, checking the end of the corridor just in case someone decided to take a stroll down this way before the actual guards change. It's not illegal what he's doing, not yet at least, but technically he's not supposed to open this door, the meager food they've been throwing being passed through the hatch at the bottom.

The first click of the lock sounds too loud in the quiet corridor, but Max ignores the nerves twisting his stomach and keeps turning the key, pulling the door open as quietly as possible.

The first thing that hits him is the smell. The stale, damp air, now smells even worse, after days of a human being living in it, and he almost has to take a step back, feeling it like a punch in his chest. After that, he sees the thief, a shadow tucked away in one corner.

The sight is enough to make him forget about the smell as he rushes forward, tucking his keys in his pocket to make them less noisy, crouching down in front of him, relieved by the movement of his shoulders.

"Daniel," he whispers, reaching out to touch but worried he'll accidentally scare him, or worse, hurt him. "Daniel, come on, look at me."

"You're late."

Max feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest hearing Daniel's voice, even if dry and raspy, and he almost laughs with it, finally leaning all the way in to touch his shoulders, helping him sit up.

"I'm sorry," he says, even if he had no real way of getting their work done more quickly. "I have water for you, and a piggyback ride out."

Max is glad he prepared himself before walking in, because it takes all his self-control to not gasp when Daniel finally looks up. The bruises he had seen a few days earlier are now purple and green, the dried blood still caking his cheekbone now a flaky brown, his cheeks sunken and pale.

"Don't look at me like that, I haven't had my beauty sleep," Daniel jokes, voice cracking into a cough by the end of the sentence.

"I hate you," Max says, because saying I love you so much it felt like I was dying when I was watching them throw you in here feels a bit too much at the moment. What he does instead is take out the small flask of water from his pocket, helping Daniel drink, fingers almost tingling where he's touching his skin.

"You got them right?" Daniel asks as soon as he's done, looking slightly better than before.

Max nods, patting the pocket on his chest, under his cloak, where he had hidden the documents he had retrieved from where Daniel had stashed them away. Daniel getting beat up hadn't been in the plans though, and Max is eager to get him out of there as soon as possible.

"Come on, it's not long until the watch changes."

He helps Daniel stand up, then climb on his back, leaving his hands free, just in case.

"I'm going to give you so much food," he tells him, feeling how much lighter Daniel has become in just a few days.

"You better."

Max closes the door of the cell behind them, taking a moment to wrap the keys up in an handkerchief before putting them back in his pocket. He knows that there's no way to make it seem like he's not smuggling Daniel out, so he's not taking any chances of the damned keys betraying them when he's trying to be quiet. Then he takes a deep breath, makes sure Daniel is secure on his back, and starts making his way to safety.

[attapullman]

Is anyone else having horrendous writer's block after last week?

[wrencatte]

mini-fic 3! Cere POV. linguist!Cal, Mantis Crew as Family, Merrin & Cal bonding 1.2k words

“This one?”

Cal squints at it for half a second, says “yes,” then looks back down.

“What about this one?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even look!”

“Greez, that’s the third time you’ve shown me that one.”

“No, it – oh, wait, haha, yeah it is. Okay. Let me see….”

Cere watches in fond amusement as Greez goes back to the shelves. Merrin comes over with a tome from deeper within the city library and angles it in a way Cal can look at it without straining his neck. His expression brightens and he takes it, running his fingers over the edges and corners.

There’s a slight twist in the Force that Cere’s beginning to learn means he found an echo. She has to focus pretty hard to feel it so she only pays it enough attention to be sure Cal’s not about to fall into anything nasty – not that she can do anything about it if he does, but she likes to be prepared – and tunes back into the softly murmured conversation between Merrin and Cal.

The Nightsister looks absolutely delighted at having found something in a language Cal doesn’t recognize, all quiet pride and subtle preening. Cere hides a smile behind her hand. Adorable. Cal flips the tome open and the two of them duck heads, Cal underlining a few words with his finger and saying something that Merrin repeats. He shakes his head and says it again. Her face twists in thought as she sounds it out before giving it voice and he nods rapidly, grinning. She smiles back, one of those small soft ones that pops up whenever it’s just her and Cal.

Cere is just about to go back to her own readings when Greez arrives, BD-1 whirling on his shoulder, a book held over his head in triumph.

“Ha! Try this on for size!”

Cal takes the book carefully. “I know this one,” he tells Greez, who groans in disappointment. “But, oh wow.” He flips through a few pages, lips moving as he reads the text silently to himself. “I can’t believe they have a book written in pre-Reformation Gwyrdd’tafodi. Do you know how rare that is? When they switched over, they deliberately destroyed all they could! An archivist hid this away for a hundred years in order to get it safely off the planet. It kept getting passed down the family line until one of them got passage on a ship.”

Greez crosses one set of arms, his free hands on his hips. He watches Cal fondly as the young Jedi’s excitement grows with every page flip. “You know, I would’ve never pegged you as such a gigantic nerd.”

“Jedi were scholars and peacekeepers before they were soldiers,” Cere says quietly. A hush falls on the group. Cal ducks down, shoulders hunching, eyes kept resolutely on the page though it’s obvious he’s not reading a single word. She smiles and adds lightly, “We’re all nerds.”

Cal laughs first, tinged with grief and legitimate delight. He tucks the book Greez brought under the one Merrin showed him, which makes Merrin throw Greez a smirk and for the latero to throw his crossed arms up in the air in a huff. Cere rolls her eyes fondly and catches Cal’s gaze. He grins, unrepentant, enjoying whatever contest is going on between their friends. It gets Cal more books without him getting up, so he’s not going to stop them.

Greez’s frustration is amusing to watch, especially when he snatches BD from scanning the book Cal has open so he can co-opt the droid’s database to help find a language Cal doesn’t know. It’s not helping. BD-1’s database might be filled with years and years of history and culture but knowing the intimate details of a language instead of just a simple dictionary is completely different.

Merrin listens to Cal read out loud for a few minutes, humming at all the right moments, but obviously thinking hard about something. Cere gives up on reading her book and focuses on the two of them, curious as to what’s going to happen next.

“How many languages do you know?”

Cal’s teeth click he stops talking so fast. “I don’t know,” he admits with a shrug. “Sometimes I don’t even realize I know a language until I see or hear it again. Sometimes not even then! It doesn’t always register it as a different language. It’s just…words I understand.”

She tilts her head, expression intense. “Could you learn Dathomiri?”

He grins and quips something in the smokey, gritty sounding language of Dathomir. Merrin’s eyes widen, and then, suddenly, they glimmer with a wetness both Cere and Cal pretend they don’t see.

Knuckles pressed to her lips, she breathes a very quiet, “oh,” before clearing her throat and adding roughly, “Your accent is terrible.”

“Is it though?” Cal asks smugly.

Merrin scowls. “I will teach you more…if you want to learn.”

Cal’s expression softens. “I would love to. Thank you for sharing it with me.” He adds something in Dathomiri at the end that has Merrin abruptly turning back to their shared book, expression pained and grieving.

Cere nudges the Nightsister with a tendril of the Force and gets a small smile in response. They don’t share the same bond as Jedi do, but theirs is enough for Cere to believe her. She settles back in her chair, musing on what her life has become, sharing a bond with a Nightsister, before she shrugs it off and fully intends on finally going back to her reading with Merrin and Cal’s back-and-forth as a background noise.

Except Greez comes back again, the book he carries is much thinner than any of the ones stacked around Cal like a barrier. BD-1 clicks excitedly and Greez is grinning smugly as he waves the book in the air.

“Did you know this place has an unknown language section? Guess who found it!” he all but brags. Merrin frowns, nose wrinkling while Cal laughs brightly and holds out a hand for the book.

Greez slaps it in his hand, earning a scandalized look from one of the librarians. Merrin and Cere laugh as he hunches down with quick apologies. Cal inspects the book carefully. If there are any echoes, they’re soft and quick. He grins.

“Congratulations, Greez, I don’t know this one.”

The latero cheers silently, all four arms thrown up in victory.

Merrin rolls her eyes. “You still lost. I found one first.”

Cal hums. “Best two out of three? This place is open for another five hours.”

The two of them exchange looks for a full second before Merrin jumps out of her chair and rushes into the depths of the library. Greez yelps and follows her as fast as he can without running. Cere hides her face, as though that will keep people from realizing they’re with her. Cal laughs, covering his mouth with his book. His eyes peek over, glittering in mirth. He pulls the book away, and holds it to his cheek, leaning in like he has a secret. Cere can’t help but lean in to hear it.

“I already know the language,” he admits.

Cere blinks at him then laughs loudly – nearly getting them kicked out of the library.

[writingwife-83]

Coming in under the wire once again! Day 6 of 200 words a day in May…

Starting word count- 339

Final word count- 558 😅

[flygonscales]

2 weeks at uni and I’ve already reached peak procrastination. I found masking tape and somehow decided that the best use of my time was to make a tiny Belphemon-sleep.

[abhainnwhump]

"If there are any gods out there, then they all collectively hate me."

[alexanderpearce]

im so fucking burnt out its like not funny

[floralegia]

#1: "You're blushing."

For day one of @bandomflufffest!

"You're blushing!"

Patrick squints. "Of course I'm blushing. This is mesh. How do you wear this?"

"You're doing a great job from where I'm standing," Pete informs him, with a lascivious wink and a slow, thorough up-and-down glance. "You should put on the roses too. It's, like, bondage chic."

"I am definitely not doing that."

"Aw, baby, c'mon." Pete leaps from the greenroom couch. His smirking grin softens into a smile as he moves, and Patrick finds himself tangled up in a hug before he can so much as blink. "You look good. You know I mean that, right? I mean, you look really, really good."

Patrick tries to let him sweat for a minute, but he doesn't make it longer than a few seconds before he's smiling, too, ducking his head for a kiss.

"Yeah, I know," he says, between the first kiss and a second, and a third, and a fourth. Then, before things can get too out of hand, he lightly shoves Pete away, gesturing towards the item still waiting on a hanger.

"C'mon, you're gonna have to help squeeze me into these damn pants."

[direwombat]

wip music monday

tagged recently by @inafieldofdaisies, @voidika, and @simplegenius042 to share some music inspiring my wips (ty all so much <3)

the fingers in the father's soil verse brainworms have been wriggling today, so here's a song that gives some good syb/billie vibes

Help me, Lord, from these fantasies in my head They ain't ever been safe ones I don't fellowship with these fake ones So let's travel to white chapels and sing hymns Hold rosaries, sing in stained-glass symphonies Cleanse me, Holy Trinity, from this marijuana smoke smell in my hair Say I'm nothin' like my father But I'm the furthest thing from choir boys and altars Double cross me, I'm just like my father I am colder than Titanic water

and here's a billie/solomon song (because it ain't true love if they ain't actively tryin' to kill each other <3)

Lay your head down Down, down My love's gonna pull you down Down, down One shot and you're six feet down Down, down Bang bang bang! I'd do you where you stand So take a look at me, yeah Bang bang bang

taglist:

@marivenah, @statichvm, @cassietrn, @trench-rot, @harmonyowl,

@fourlittleseedlings, @carlosoliveiraa, @purplehairsecretlair, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman,

@finding-comfort-in-rain, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @locustandwildhoney, @testyfestyenthusiast, @strangefable,

@alexxmason, @deputyash, @josephslittledeputy, and anyone else wanting to share music inspiring them! (taglist opt in/out)

[bang-bang-gang]

i dont want to write, but i do want to have written 😫