#free on wattpad

[youronlinedadsblog]

TW:- Stalking,rape

On an ordinary day, as you geared up for the usual work routine, the doorbell's ring jolted you from the everyday humdrum. Intrigued, you opened a package to find a set of unsettling pictures of you. They weren't just any photos - they were snapshots of your own home, from your bedroom to the living room and even the bathroom. It was like someone had been snooping around your life without you knowing. Someone had been stalking you.

Mixed in with these creepy photos was a letter that gave off some seriously creepy vibes. It spoke of someone watching you closely, almost like a silent companion in your personal space. The words painted a picture of a mysterious figure who seemed to know a bit too much about your private moments. He's seen you rubbing your cunt to disgusting rape porn. He knows how much of a pathetic slut you are

A shiver ran down your spine as you read the letter, a mixture of fear and an unexpected thrill coursing through you. A puzzling sensation of arousal washes over you, leaving you perplexed by its unexpected presence.

Your entire workday was a series of fantasies, each moment consumed by vivid thoughts of what he might do to you. After leaving the workplace, you headed homeward, yet a constant fear lingered, worrying that unseen eyes might be keeping watch on your every move.Entering a state of submission, a mix of fear and a hint of arousal washes over you. These scenarios have been the stuff of fantasies, but reality hits unexpectedly. You grasp the situation, realizing there's no recourse but to embrace the unfolding events. You put on the sluttiest outfit you own.Fear gripped you as you stood there, anxiously anticipating the arrival of your stalker.

Your mind is abuzz with conflicting thoughts: fear and panic on the one hand, and excitement and anticipation on the other.

After waiting a long time, the sound of footsteps coming from your back startled you. As the footsteps get louder, your body begins to quiver with anticipation. The door swung open, and before you can react, a man clad in black entered. As you turned around to run, he caught your arms and dragged you onto the floor. You try to scream, but he covers your mouth with his hand, rendering you helpless.

As he unzips his pants and takes out his dick, the only thing on your mind is, "I'm going to be fucked by a stranger. I'm going to be raped."

You were terrified of what might happen. However, at the same time, the idea of being taken advantage of in this manner was exciting. The thought of giving up control and submitting to his will, becoming a helpless slut for him to use as he pleases, made you wet. You were conflicted, yet you didn't care. You didn't have a choice anymore.

His cock slid into your dripping cunt. As he pounded you hard, your body writhed uncontrollably, the pleasure building up as his cock rubbed against your sweet spot. His grunts and moans were a sign of his approaching orgasm. As his cum flooded your womb, you came, too, squirting all over his cock.

Your first time having sex was with a man you don't know. He had violated you and impregnated you without your permission. Yet, it was the most enjoyable fuck of your life.

"You're a great fuck, and you're going to make a wonderful mother. I've always wanted a child."

Those were his parting words, leaving you dumbfounded. You couldn't believe what had just happened, but it was the truth. You'd just had your first fuck and had been impregnated by a man you didn't know.

It had been a strange experience. You'd felt violated, but also, in a strange way, fulfilled. It was like something you'd been missing your whole life had suddenly been filled.

[rynrising44]

Maybe this is an unpopular opinion, but those people on Tic Tok making videos about "things they despise in fanfiction" under the sound of "Hard times" kind of rub me the wrong way. Like, sure. Paragraphs are nice. Longer chapters are nice. Using quotation marks is nice. But do you know how hard it is to write? Do you write? Do you edit? Do you constantly stress over your works because you are so freaking fearful that it sucks and that people will bash it?

Legitimately I'm wondering.

Because one person on a tiktok said they don't read chapters unless they're at least 2k words. Another said they want more people to write for Whumptober but they want more than a one-shot because they need more than just a 3k work. Another said they only read finished fics and they have to be 100k. Like??? I hate to break it to you, but you are the problem.

I write cause I love writing. I write cause I want to read the stories in my head as concrete ideas. It takes me about 10 hours to write a single chapter that's about 2k words. 10 hours! Not including editing. I worked on a 6k one shot for an entire month. My WIPs are long. 50k words or so, and I have bookmarks from people saying "Chapter 0."

It has taken me so much time and tears and thought to write the words I have written. If no-one read my WIP because it wasn't finished and they refuse to read unfinished works, that's such a shame.

You miss out that way.

This is how AI weasles it's way into artistic spaces. Because people lack patience and want instant gratification.

It just bugs me so much that this culture is becoming more hard-core pressed on consumption instead of community. Opinions are opinions. You can share your frustrations but remember, we are all people. A lot of children are learning to write on these websites. People that speak English as a second language are putting out their best works, and here you are; overly criticizing works based on chapter length and paragraph length and POVs and tenses.

Like, guys. Writing is fluid. It's growth. I'm not the same writer I used to be, and it's because people read my fics and spurred me along that I continued to grow.

This is all humanity. This is all fun.

Free.

It's a gift born from the creativity of an individual's heart, so how could I ever refer to someone's soul as "not good enough."

It's one thing to silently not read a fanfiction. It's another to publicly shame it. That kid whose vivid imagination led them to write about characters they love can see your comments and maybe because of it, they'll never write again.

[moonluv2r]

[beauttifullife]

“And when he was gone—the world… it just got a little darker. It is still dark. He isn’t here.”

[2soulscollide]

Shuffling Ideas - a free game for writers

Hello hello, it's me, Rach! And today I’m bringing another... FREEBIE!

Are you looking for fun ways to brainstorm ideas? I have the solution right here (and it's free!)

Shuffling Ideas is a creative card game designed to be versatile and can be enjoyed both solo and in a group setting. When playing solo, you can use the cards to challenge your creativity, overcome writer’s block, or simply have fun concocting new and exciting plots. It’s a fun way to practice your writing skills and let your imagination run wild with over 1 million different plot combinations at your disposal. So, whether you’re in the mood for some quiet writing time or looking to brainstorm story ideas, Shuffling Ideas is the perfect go-to.

You’ll receive a PDF file ready for download, ensuring instant access to the game. No waiting, no shipping fees!

With 22 pages of content, you have the flexibility to print only the 10 pages required for the card fronts, saving you ink and paper

Over 1 million different plot combinations are possible, ensuring that no two writing sessions are ever the same.

So, if you're ready to have fun while unlocking your creative side, grab your freebie now and get started! 

Oh, and don’t forget to tag your creative buddies who would love this and spread the word!

Get it here!!

[bagelfyre]

Deep in the heart of the human lands, past the walls no Fae have crossed in centuries, tucked away in the royal gardens of one kingdom, lies a statue.

A relic from many generations ago, it has survived remarkably well. They— the studious groundskeepers and few nobles who come upon it— say that little is known about the curious monument with no known names or titles. Most suspect it to be a statement to the near-immortal race the humans had fought and won their freedom from in the War. Some even boasting that they knew it to be stolen from the Fae before the Wall went up. A trophy with a message carved into the stone should those cursed creatures ever set sight upon it again.

But it was none of those things.

A secret commission by Queen Andromache shortly after returning home from victory, the task went largely unnoticed during the extensive reconstruction period in the kingdom. Only she knew what her intent behind the memorial had been and only one other could ever understand— was the only one who ever had.

When choosing what words, if any, should be engraved, many titles came to mind: warrior, ally, queen in her own right, ambassador, friend, love. They all fit, but none encompassed her unresolved feelings or the person at the root of them.

So these words spilled forth as a silent-yet-defiant declaration to the world (to her) and a reassurance to herself as the years passed.

Maybe she wasn’t blessed or cursed with immortality, but this… this memory will remain.

@morweekofficial

[oceanflowerbird]

Pien Pouwels, from ’Blood Orange Periphery’

[bluegarners]

update on donations for fics!

Amani has reached her goal (hooray!) but Renad is still a ways away from her own goal. in addition to Renad, i will now be spotlighting Waffaa's campaign. here are some updates on their campaigns:

Renad is a 24 year old midwife in Gaza and is trying to help her family of 7 escape the genocide, and for Renad to continue her education in Egypt. as of June 24th, 2024, Renad has raised £15,077 of £25,000

Waffaa is a 42 year old mother trying to evacuate her trapped family in Gaza. her niece has just died due to the terrible conditions they are living in. Waffaa needs enough money to evacuate her children and grandchildren. as of June 24th, 2024, Wafaa has raised €14,429 of €50,000

as per my last donations for fics post, if you send me proof of donation, i will happily write a ficlet or full length fic for you. donations ranging from 5-10 dollars (or whatever currency you donate in) will get you a ficlet like this. donations of 25-50 dollars will get you a full length fic, ranging from 2k-4k words, such as this. donation amount and fic length can be discussed once proof of donation has been sent. i have no restrictions on what i will write, but please ask me for clarification, as i reserve the right to say no

[inkandpaperqwerty]

Dean keeps threatening to kill Castiel if he makes the wrong move, but Castiel isn't perturbed. He's going to gather all the intel he can on his excursion outside the bunker, and while he's not sure what a 'Dollar General' and a potential hunt surrounding a suspicious suicide will give him, he's going to make it work. He has to get inside these humans' heads if he's going to overpower them and escape.

AO3 // fanfiction.net // wattpad

[Not-So-Subtle Reminder My Brother Made Fanart For Chapter 6!]

[emberdragon34]

Soup Group!

Art of Pearl, Impulse and Gem from my newest AU and upcoming fic “Operation: Vengeance” — modern day world with spies and magic and people hunting hybrids with and a kinda superhero-origin energy.

Pearl’s gonna be one of our perspective characters, Gem knows several other major characters, and Impulse is just Impulse.

[deathtothesoul]

Death to the Soul: Chapter 1

Ryane drove down the snowy highway in her tiny green sedan, angrily muttering to herself. She rubbed her back against the seat to try to get some relief from the itchy tag on her newly bought black dress. She turned onto the exit ramp and drove to the intersection. When the light turned green, she drove forward. Suddenly, she heard the squeal of out-of-control wheels. All she could see were two bright lights. There was a loud bang as her car was hit, crumpling her passenger side. The airbags deployed, hitting her in the face. Her arms and legs turned to jelly. She tried to catch her breath as she looked around, terrified.

"Ma'am? Are you okay?" someone asked, frantically knocking on the window.

She swept her hair from her eyes. A young man with a green trucker hat peered in at her. She took her seatbelt off and pushed her door open. "I think so," she stammered.

"Here, let me help you out," he said, offering his hand. His breath reeked of alcohol. He pulled her to her feet and backed her up against the car.

"Uh... listen, I'll pay for everything and even a little extra if we can work this out between us. I just can't let you call the cops. This isn't the first time…"

"Are you insane? You nearly killed me!" she sputtered angrily, reaching for her phone but he grabbed her wrist.

"Hey!" another voice called with a crisp English accent. "Is everything okay?"

Ryane tried to speak but the man hastily covered her mouth with his dirt-caked hand. “Everything’s fine!” he called.

"You need to step away from her," the other man said firmly. Ryane could hear his footsteps getting closer, and the man in the hat was swiftly yanked back. 

Relief flooded her. She could now get a good look at her rescuer; a tall man who looked to be 23 with thick raven black hair to his shoulders, dark brows, wearing a long black coat. Ryane smiled shyly, seeing how attractive he was.

"Are you okay?" he asked, putting himself between her and the man in the hat.

"I-I think so," she stammered, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"My name's Quinn," he said with a smile, extending a hand. She shook it.

"Ryane." 

Quinn turned around to see the man in the hat strolling down the street in the other direction. "Call the police," he said, and walked after the man, quickly and quietly. He soon reached him, grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Get back there," he snarled.

"Look, I'm sorry but I can't go to prison again," he said, drawing a knife. He lunged for Quinn, but he missed. Quinn appeared behind him and easily knocked him unconscious. 

"Okay. Thank you," Ryane said, hanging up the phone. She arched an eyebrow when she saw Quinn pulling the man along the ground like a corpse. "What did you do to him?" she asked, glancing at the motionless man. A feeling of uneasiness rushed through her, seeing the man unconscious.

"I just knocked him out. He's fine. Are they on their way?"

She nodded. "Yeah." She leaned against the side of the car. "Thank you," she said.

"Of course. Where were you headed?"

She paused, choosing her words carefully. "A family event of sorts."

"Sounds fun."

She laughed bitterly. "No, it won’t be. They're terrible people."

"Oh…" he said, confused.

A police car pulled up behind them, followed by an ambulance. A thin, lanky officer got out and walked over to them. 

"Hi. My name is Officer Klein. Is anyone hurt?" he asked.

“Just him,” Ryane said, gesturing to the unconscious man.

Officer Klein motioned for a paramedic to come tend to him. “What happened?” 

"That dick was drunk and crashed into me. Then he tried to prevent me from calling you!" Ryane snarled. “He said this wasn’t his first time.”

“Alright, I’m going to need more info. Were you also involved with the crash?” he asked, turning to Quinn.

"No. I was just a passerby. I saw it wasn't a good situation so I... helped out,” Quinn said.

Officer Klein arched an eyebrow. “And you decided to knock him out?”

“He pulled a knife on me."

Officer Klein turned to Ryane and raised an eyebrow. "He's telling the truth," she said.

He made a few scribbles on his notepad. 

Ryane quietly stepped to the side and tried to call her friend Karen. No answer. She tried Clair and Becky, but there was no answer there either. She shook her head in disappointment. "Always there for me, my ass," she muttered under her breath. She glanced at the time. It was getting late.

"Is there any way we can make this go faster? I am on my way to my mother's funeral," Ryane said.

"Oh! Um... yeah. I’ll just need your driver’s licenses. And you’ll need to call a tow truck,” officer Klein said.

Ryane groaned and opened her mouth to speak but Quinn cut her off. “I can call the tow truck.”

She sighed and opened her car door. She reached for her purse. “Thanks. Do you need my card or something?” she asked, searching for her wallet.

“I’ll pay for it," he said, handing his license to Officer Klein.

“What? No! I can’t let you do that," she said flustered, still fumbling through her purse. A pile of old receipts and snack wrappers fell out.

“I’m not asking,” he said, stepping away to make the call. 

Ryane muttered angrily to herself as she grabbed her wallet. She handed over her license.

"I'll get these back to you," Officer Klein said, waving the licenses. “In the meantime, you should get checked out.”

When Quinn was done, he walked over to Ryane by the ambulance. “How are you going to get to the service?" he asked, leaning on the ledge.

She shrugged. "I'll probably call an Uber or something."

“An Uber? It's not safe to just wait here on the street. Why don't I take you? My car's just over there." He flashed her an encouraging smile.

                   “What? Oh... you don’t have to do that,” she stammered.

They noticed that Officer Klein was already standing next to them with their documents. 

“You’re good to go,” Officer Klein said. He returned their licenses and took their numbers down.

Quinn offered his hand to Ryane. She noticed an X burned into his palm. “What’s that from?” she asked.

“Just a small accident,” he said, quickly, locking eyes with her. Her mind suddenly began to fog over, and a blanket of calm descended upon her. She let him lead her to his black Cadillac and open the door for her. She paused and stared at the empty seat. She knew it usually wasn’t smart to get in a car with a stranger, but it was getting late, and he was her best option.

"Where to?" he asked, getting in on his side.

"Patterson Funeral Home," she said, settling into the seat and crossing her arms. She leaned against the window, watching the streetlights pass by. He noticed how the lights glinted off her deep brown eyes. The silence sliced through the air, keeping her body tense.

She was angry. She didn’t want to have to rely on this stranger to drive her to her mother’s funeral. She didn’t want to deal with insurance and getting her car fixed. She didn't want to deal with her family. She just wanted to go home and hide in a blanket while she watched TV.

"I’m sorry for your loss,” Quinn said, pulling her from her thoughts.

“I’m not,” she fired back. He looked at her, surprised and confused. She sighed, realizing what an inappropriate response that was. “I’m sorry. It’s been a lot these past few days.”

An awkward silence stretched out. Ryane wrapped her arms around her midsection, mortified by how she snapped at him. He’s just trying to help. "I really like your accent," she said, changing the topic.

"All American girls seem to," he quipped.

                   Ryane groaned and rested her head on the back of the seat. Her phone sprang to life, as a robotic voice said, “Warning! Asshole calling! Warning! Asshole calling!” 

       “Shit,” she muttered.

       Quinn chuckled. Ryane blushed and quickly picked up. “Hey, Miles!” she said.

“Where are you?" he demanded. "The funeral starts in less than 10 minutes!”

“Calm down,” she chided, exasperated. “I’m almost there!” She hung up. “I cannot wait for this to be over,” she said.

“Who was that?” Quinn asked.

“My brother, Miles.” She scrunched her nose in disgust.

“You two seem to get along well,” he said, sarcastically.

“He’s a real jerk,” she said.

“Hmm.” Quinn eyed her. Curiosity about what was going on with her family creeped into his mind. I suppose it won’t hurt to see what’s going on, he thought to himself.

As he pulled into a spot in the parking lot, Ryane seemed to wilt. She looked down, trying to get the courage to open the door and face her family. “T-thank you,” she stuttered. 

“Are you okay?” Quinn asked.

She clenched her jaw, her lower lip trembling. “Mmhmm,” she forced out. 

He noticed how scared she was. “You know what? I’ll come in with you. And I’ll take you home after," he insisted, getting out. 

"Wait, really?" she said, stumbling out of the car, and catching up with him. 

"Yeah," he said, casually.

“You don’t have to do that. You’ve already done more than enough. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He looked at his watch. “I have time,” he said, with a smile. “Besides, it wouldn’t feel right just abandoning you now. These people sound awful.”

“They are,” she admitted.

“Then I’m coming with,” he stated. “Simple.” He held the door open for her.

"Thank you," she said, as she tried to wrap her head around the fact that a complete stranger offered to go to her mother's funeral with her. She turned her gaze to his face, getting a better look now that they were in the light. He had a narrow face with a strong jaw and a pointed chin. His pale skin had a grey tinge to. His irises were bright red. She grabbed his arm. "Are you okay? Your eyes... they're red! Like really red!" 

He sighed. "Yeah. I have a circulatory condition. It's fine," he explained. "But I appreciate the concern."

They walked into the small chapel, which was littered with pink roses. There was an open white casket with gold trim at the front. The service had already started, so they quietly took a seat in the back.

“And now some words from her daughter, Ryane,” the pastor said just as they sat down.

Ryane clenched her fist and dug her nails into her palm. She slowly got up and went to the front. She adjusted the microphone and inhaled deeply, hand shaking. "My mom... was uh, a person... who was a mom... her name was Betty Collins, and she was my mom," she stuttered, forcing the words out.

An awkward silence hung in the air. As Quinn watched her, he noticed how rigid her body was, as if holding back a tidal wave of emotion. She reminded him of a hostage saying how well her captors were treating her.

She paused, searching for what to say next. "She was a good mom, and I will always miss her." Her tone was bitter. She stepped down and returned to her seat next to Quinn. She put her head down, shielding her face with a curtain of hair. 

"She was an abuser, wasn't she?" he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Ryane flinched at his cold touch, feeling exposed without her hair to hide behind. She nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor.

“Well, thank you, Ryane,” the pastor said. "Kathrine has also requested to say a few words about her sister."

A pudgy lady with gray curly hair and gold wire-rimmed glasses on a chain stepped up. “My sister was always selfless. She put others before herself…”

Ryane took her phone out and opened a notepad. 

This is bullshit.

Quinn chuckled under his breath. He took out a small pad of paper and pencil from his coat pocket.

I know.

Ryane's smile widened. He was safe. He understood.

       The service soon ended, and the murmur of people’s conversation buzzed in the background. Ryane approached the casket and stared at her mother's waxy face. She had short bleached blond hair, a round face and pale skin. There were rose petals scattered in the casket along with a string of pearls draped on the lid. Ryane’s hands clenched into fists as she stared down at the corpse. Quinn came and put a hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to reality.

“Are you okay?” he asked, unclenching her fist and massaging her hand.

“I can still see her sour lemon face,” Ryane mused. "It’s very faint but there.”

“Her what?” Quinn asked, grinning.

She puckered her lips in a tight scowl and widened her eye. Quinn snorted but quickly covered his mouth. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed his inappropriate outburst. He peered inside the casket. “Oh, I see it,” he said.

“So, I’m not crazy,” she said, relieved. She looked around the room nervously. She saw a middle-aged man with neatly combed grey hair, a wide build and bright green eyes.  “Let’s go,” she said, quickly.

                   Before they made it to the exit, the man approached them. “Ryane,” he called.

       She clenched her jaw and slowly turned around. “Hi Mr. Anderson,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes to the ground.

       Quinn eyed the man suspiciously. There was something off about him.

       Mr. Anderson pulled Ryane in for a hug. She went limp for a moment, trying to bring herself to hug him back. She managed to slowly bring her arms around him. She could feel tears sting her eyes as they rolled down her face. She was thankful it was her mother’s funeral so her crying wouldn’t look too out of place.

       Quinn shifted uncomfortably, feeling the tension between them.

       He finally let go. “How have you been holding up?” Mr. Anderson asked, sounding sympathetic.

       “Fine,” Ryane muttered.

       Mr. Anderson turned his attention to Quinn. “Hi. I don’t believe we’ve met before,” he said, with a warm smile.

       Ryane tried to think of how she was going to explain having a guy she just met at her mother’s funeral. “This is Quinn. He's....”

“I’m her boyfriend,” Quinn interjected, extending his hand. 

She looked up at him in shock. He gave her a sly smile as he pulled her to his side, keeping a tight arm around her.

She let out a small, nervous laugh. She let herself relax in his arms, leaning against him.

“Oh, nice to meet you!” Mr. Anderson said politely.

“Are you a friend of the family?” Quinn asked.

“Yes. Betty and I were very close. I was also Ryane’s high school teacher.”

His voice felt like nails on a chalkboard to Ryane. “We should go,” Ryane said, quickly.

“Alright. It was good to see you Ryane,” Mr. Anderson said, going for another hug but Quinn stepped between them.

“Goodbye,” Quinn said, firmly, leading Ryane away.

“Thank you,” she said.

“What was all that about?” he asked. “You did not seem comfortable.”

“It was nothing,” she said, dismissively. “He’s just kinda weird…”

“Weird how?”

Before she could answer a man with bleached blond hair stepped in front of them. He was wearing a grey button-down shirt, tucked into neatly pressed slacks.

“Ryane, we need to talk,” he said, taking no notice of Quinn. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to a secluded hall.

Quinn curiously followed, keeping a distance.

“Ryane we have told you time and time again you need to be on time for these things,” he said, voice shaking with anger.

“I’m sorry I—”

“And what was that speech? This is your mother’s funeral and you barely pulled it together!” Miles berated. Ryane looked away as tears began to fall. I should have been more careful.

“And what's with your hair? And your dress is wrinkled already? Didn't you just buy that? I just thought that since it was your mom's funeral, you would want to look nice.” he said, voice rising.

Ryane shrank back against the wall, bracing herself for what was to come. “You are so selfish!” he snapped, banging his fist into the wall less than an inch from her head.

She flinched. “You are so selfish!” Miles said as he backhanded Ryane.

Quinn stood there shocked at what he just witnessed. He’s her brother! He shouldn’t treat her like that.

“What’s going on?” Quinn demanded, putting himself between Ryane and Miles like he had done with the drunk driver.

Ryane pressed her back into the wall, ashamed for him to see her family like this. 

 Miles immediately plastered a polite smile on his face. “Nothing. I was just talking with my sister.”

Quinn bit back a harsh response and kept his calm.

“Have we met?” Miles asked, sizing him up.

“I’m Quinn, Ryane’s boyfriend,” he replied.       

"Hey, man, nice to meet you. I'm Miles, Ryane's brother," he said, tone laced with polite insincerity. Miles's face scrunched when he looked back to Ryane.

 “I love you, dude, but you need to grow up,” Miles said, casually. He turned and started to walk away.

"What an ass!" Quinn said under his breath. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she said, in a strained voice. “We should go.”

Before they made it to the door, a girl with tight brown curls piled on her head in a bun approached them. “Ryane!” she said with a polite smile. She had green eyes and was wearing a black sweater and dress pants. 

“Hey!” Ryane said, reluctantly giving her a hug. “Quinn, this is Amy, my cousin.”

“Who’s this?” Amy asked, looking him up and down.

“Hi. I'm Quinn, her boyfriend," he said.

Amy looked at Ryane, shocked. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. I haven’t seen you in forever! Why don’t you come hang out with the family anymore?”

Ryane laughed nervously as she felt a wave of shame crash over her. “Eh... I've been busy.” She gripped Quinn’s hand and turned to leave. “We were on our way home…”

“You were so lucky to have had her for a mom,” Amy remarked, tone darkening. Ryane paused to look at her. “She was a sweet, frail old woman whose heart was broken," Amy continued. "She just wanted her daughter back. She needed you.”

Ryane stood there rigid and shaking with anger. "I did my best," she choked. “I really did.”

                   Quinn swallowed a lump in his throat. He placed a hand on her lower back and started to lead her out. 

"We saw the note!" Amy called after her. "That note was the last thing she read before she died!"

"Good!" Ryane blurted out, causing heads to turn. "You don't know what she was like when no one was watching!" she snapped and turned to leave.

Ryane’s tears spilled over as soon as she slammed the car door shut. Quinn took a deep breath as he leaned back into his seat. He closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to clear his head.

"I am so sorry you had to see that," she said.

"No. Don't apologize. It’s not right how they treat you," he said, trying to keep his emotions in check. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "You know you don't have to see them anymore, right? You don't live with any of them... do you?"

"No, but it's just hard to pull away," she stammered.

"But sometimes we have to do it for our own sake, you know. Let’s take you home now. Where to?" he asked.

"It’s 27 West Knoll Street," she replied.

Quinn started the car and headed out. He shivered as a wave of chills creeped down his spine. I need to eat soon. 

                   "This one?" he asked, pulling up to a small apartment building.

"Yeah." She glanced at him hesitantly and said, "Hey... can I see you again?" 

He turned to her confused. "Why?"

"I like you. You're cool."

His heart clenched. "I am?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He paused, thinking. "Yes, we can see each other again. But make no mistake: I'm not what you think I am."

"What do you mean?" she asked, hesitantly.

"If you get in too deep with me, I may not let you out." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She felt the same invisible fog wrapping her as before, sweeping away any fears she had.

“We’ll see,” she said. 

“Okay, so I’ll need your number then,” he said. He took out an ancient blue Razor phone. 

"What is that?" she asked, giggling.

"My phone. Believe it or not, it used to be very popular."

"Can you even receive text messages on that?"

He rolled his eyes and nodded. He rattled off his phone number, and she quickly typed it in. Excitement swelled in her as she saved it. Maybe he would be different. Maybe he would come to like her.

"Send me a text," he said.

Hey, this is Ryane.

She hit SEND, and his phone dinged. “Cool,” she said and turned to get out, but Quinn put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. 

She glanced at him cautiously. He looked into her large brown eyes and said, “If you need anything, give me a call. I mean it.” He stayed and made sure she got inside safe before driving off. He looked at the clock. 9:30. He dialed Lucas. 

“Hey! Where are you? We agreed to dine out tonight!” Lucas said upon picking up. "I'm freezing!"

Quinn took note of the chills creeping across his skin too. “I’m sorry! Something came up.”

“This better be good,” he grumbled.

“Well, I was going to stop for an appetizer. It would have been a quick, easy kill but she was cute... and on her way to a funeral! It didn’t feel right. I’ll probably drain her later.”

"You mean you let her go?" Lucas said, surprised.

"Yes," Quinn replied slowly. “I just need to clear my head. I’ll do it later.”

"Well, be careful. Whatever you do, don't get too attached. It's just food."

***

                   When Quinn arrived at the park, Lucas was lazily spinning on the tire swing, toying with a camera around his neck, clearly bored.

                   “What took you so long?” Lucas asked, snapping a picture of Quinn.

                   Quinn shielded his face. “She lives on the other side of town,” he replied.

                   Lucas hopped off the swing and adjusted the fingerless gloves on his hands. “What? You took her home? Then you drove away? This isn’t like you,” Lucas sighed as they walked under the rusty monkey bars. The moonlight that washed over their cadaverous skin made them look like ghosts in the streetlight. Lucas lifted himself up and hung upside down, snapping a few pictures. “Quinn! Smile!” Quinn glared into the lens. “Good enough,” Lucas said, climbing down.

“I know humans are food, but it becomes incredibly hard to kill them once you know their name... and I met her family, her incredibly abusive family,” Quinn said.

“A family like yours?” Lucas asked. “What a surprise!”

Quinn glared at him. “Alright, you wanna play this game? What about your obsession with blonds?”

“Fuck you!” Lucas snapped.

“You started it,” Quinn replied.

Lucas jammed his hands in his pockets and looked away.

"So where are we going tonight?" Lucas asked, changing the topic.

"Why don't we check the old warehouse?"

"We haven't been there in ages!" Lucas said, twirling his axe.

***

Lucas made it to the faded grey building in less than ten minutes. Quinn arrived shortly after. He leaned against the wall as he tried to catch his breath.

“That wolf bite really slows you down,” Lucas sneered.

Quinn rolled his eyes. “At least I can go out in the sunlight…sort of.”

“Whatever,” Lucas scoffed.

They slipped in through the same broken window they used many times before. They stood, listening carefully. They could hear very distant voices on the upper floors.

Quinn silently pointed up. Lucas nodded.

They appeared upstairs to see a group of four guys covered in tattoos dressed in torn clothing. A thick fog of cigarette smoke hung in the air with a strong stench. 

"Bleh!" Lucas said, nearly gagging on the smell.

The four men went quiet as they turned their attention to Quinn and Lucas. They laughed, dismissively as they sized them up.

"You boys lost?" the fat one sneered while blowing more smoke in their direction.

Quinn and Lucas grinned, amused. "They always ask that," Quinn snickered.

"Every time," Lucas commented.

"Something funny?" the skinny one asked.

"Not really. Just looking for a place to eat." Quinn said.

"You're in the wrong place," the large muscled one snarled.

"No. No, I think we're exactly where we want to be." Quinn said and took a step forward.

The man took a step back and lifted his shirt slightly, exposing the handgun stored in his waistband.

"Don't do anything stupid boys. Two against four isn't exactly a fair fight," the short one said.

Lucas let out a noticeable laugh and all eyes turned to him. The skinny man reached for his gun but before he could take it out, Quinn appeared behind him. He grabbed him by the throat and sunk his teeth into the man’s neck. He moaned and his eyes widened as the warmth from the blood rushed into his body.

The largest man drew his gun on Quinn. The other two fumbled trying to get at their weapons.

"Hey!" Lucas said as he started towards him. The man raised his gun and shot.

The bullet hit Lucas directly in the chest. He clutched at the wound, making exaggerated choking noises. "Ah! You got me!" Lucas exclaimed as he fell to his knees dramatically.

The man looked confused as Lucas got up. He raised his gun again, this time emptying the chamber.

Lucas laughed. “You have good aim,” he said casually.

 He strolled through the storm of bullets, putting his camera behind his back to keep it safe. He got to the man who dropped the gun. Visibly frightened the man turned to run, but Lucas jumped on his back and quickly bit into his jugular.

The two others bolted for the stairs. Quinn quickly finished off the skinny one, dropping the pale corpse. He grabbed the fat one by the shirt. The man clumsily drew his knife and flailed around trying to stab anything. He managed to tear Quinn’s shirt, exposing the blue scars on his shoulders. Quinn snickered at the man’s pathetic attempt to free himself. He slammed him against the wall and sucked him dry.

The shortest one sprinted down the stairs. Lucas finished the guy he was on and watched. He snapped a few pictures of the bodies and of Quinn draining the fat one. Quinn flashed a peace sign as Lucas snapped a picture. He leaned over to check where the guy was. He was on floor three. “This is taking forever!” Lucas lamented.

He leaned on the railing as waited until the short one reached the last flight of steps.

“Finally!” he muttered, launching himself over the railing, falling ten floors. The man didn't see what happened and ran right into Lucas.

He was an inch or two shorter than Lucas, making him feel tall. He grabbed his wrists and laughed. "Aw! You really thought you had a chance," he mocked as the man struggled against his steely grip.

Quinn landed next to him. “Nicely done,” he said.

Lucas smiled and bit into the man's neck, drinking him down like a soda. He took out his camera and got a quick selfie, his teeth still in the man's flesh.

Quinn leaned into the picture, flashing a cheesy smile as Lucas took another picture.

“So, how were they?” Quinn asked, inspecting the tear in his shirt.

Lucas detached from the man's neck, dropping him on the ground. "That one had a lot of cheap beer in his system!" he said pointing to the pale corpse at their feet. "I didn't like the bigger one. He was more acidic. How about you?"

"The skinny one had a surprising sweet tooth but the fat one was very alcoholic as well."

"Hm…odd."

"Let's go back to the park, see if we can find something for dessert and then call it a night so you can get home before sunrise?”

"Sure," Lucas said, picking bullets out of his body as they walked out of the warehouse. 

They took their time, enjoying the night air. "Did you notice they had matching friend tattoos?" Lucas asked.

Quinn rolled his eyes. "Those were gang tattoos."

"I prefer to think of them as bestie tattoos," Lucas sneered, with an edge of sarcasm.

"I suppose," Quinn chuckled.

"We should get matching tattoos!" Lucas said, excitedly.

"No," Quinn said, bluntly, voice dropping.

"What if I just got your name tattooed on my arm?" Lucas joked.

"I would cut your arm off," Quinn replied.

Lucas gasped, pretending to be offended. "But we're best friends forever!"

"And we don't need ink pounded into our skin to remind us of that," Quinn said, ruffling Lucas's hair.

"I guess you're right," Lucas said with a slight smile.

        “Let’s check the slides and tubes,” Quinn said, when they arrived at the park. 

        “Fine. I’ll get the stuff ready under that platform thing.”

        Quinn silently moved through the shadows, looking in the slides. There was a man bundled in blankets, fast asleep. “Found one!” he called, dragging the man out by his feet. 

        “Wha-” The man was looking around wildly. 

        Quinn pulled him to the platform, where Lucas had laid out a tarp, draining tubes and blood bags.

        “Get him on the tarp,” Lucas said as the man tried to free himself.

        “What do you think I’m doing?” Quinn snapped, rolling him onto the tarp. 

        “Smile for the camera,” Lucas mocked, snapping a picture of the man’s terrified face.

        “What do you guys want?” the man sobbed. 

        “So, how have you been?” Quinn asked, paying no attention to the man.

        “I’ve been okay,” Lucas said, as he snapped his legs. The man let out a shrill scream. “Do you mind?” Lucas said to the man, annoyed. He pulled out his steel axe.

        “Lucas! You can’t use that! You’ll make a mess,” he said over the man’s broken sobs.

        “I like cutting off the heads... and I forgot the duct tape,” he admitted sheepishly.

                   Quinn rolled his eyes. “Gag him for now and we can cut it off once he’s almost drained.”

                   Lucas dropped the axe and removed the red cloth tied around his head. He forced it into the man’s mouth, making his screams become nothing but muffled whimpers. He leaned over the man and took a picture of himself making a peace sign with the man gagged and sobbing in the background. 

***

Later that night Ryane sat at the kitchen table with a small circle of wood, a pencil and a laser cutter. She wrote “Thank you” in large calligraphic letters on the piece of wood.

Her phone rang. It was Clair. Ryane sighed and answered. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey! You called?”

“Yeah… I had car trouble,” Ryane replied, flatly.

“Oh, no! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it worked out,” Ryane said, smiling to herself.

“Well, that’s good! I’m kind of busy at the moment. I just wanted to see what you called about,” Clair said quickly. Her tone was very dismissive, making Ryane cringe.

“O-okay. Is everything good at least?”

“Oh,” she said, voice dropping. “My roommate passed away, so I’ve been busy with that.”

“What?” she sputtered, as a pang of guilt stabbed at her. I shouldn’t have bothered her. “Why didn’t you tell me about it? What happened?”

“She was hit by a drunk driver. It was a hit and run.”

“Oh my god! How are you holding up?”

“Thank you for your concern. I will be fine. I have some really good people taking care of me,” Chair replied.

Ryane pursed her lips, slightly annoyed. She wanted to support Clair too. She was her friend, wasn’t she? “Uh… okay… well, I’m sorry for your loss. I’m here if you need me.”

After they hung up, Ryane sat there trying to process her anger. “One moment they’re talking about how close we all are, but when something happens, they keep it a secret from me,” she grumbled. “Would it be too much to ask for them to admit we’re not that close?” 

She angrily stabbed her carving knife into the table. She paused, realizing what she had done. She took a calming breath and yanked it out. She ran her fingers over the cluster of small holes from the other times she stabbed it.

Her hands began to shake. She got up and went to her bedside, picked up a black spiral notebook and began to write.

I wish I had true friends. It’s a strange feeling when two or more people that you know hang out with each other and there was no mention of you. What about me? Why didn’t you think of me? I know it’s a narcissistic way of thinking, and I hate myself for even having these thoughts.

Is there something wrong with me? What is it? If I knew, I would change. Is it possible I am just so unlikable that people actively avoid me? Maybe just no one wants to hang around a narcissistic puddle of a person. 

I talk to people a lot. I tell people my interests and stories, but no one seems to care. The most interaction I have with people is by quickly asking follow-up questions. “How’s your dad? Is he doing better?” Only then would I get any sort of interest and acknowledgement. But I need people to acknowledge me as a person. I do stuff. Look at me. Please. 

 After she calmed down, she picked up the laser cutter, and traced the pencil outlines. She flipped it over and inscribed:

To: Quinn

From: Ryane

She inspected her work and smiled. She attached the circlet to a keychain. Soon, her phone dinged. It was a message from Quinn.

Do you want me to drive you to work tomorrow?

She replied:

Sure. Be here at 7.

It didn’t take long for her phone to ding again.

See you then! Can’t wait! Good night!

                   She smiled to herself. She tried to make sense of the recent events, but her mind and body failed her. She fell back on the pillow and drifted off.

Links to Death to the Soul: For free: Wattpad

For purchase: Amazon

[fancastingforfunsies]

I EDIT YOUR FANFIC FOR FREE

Ok, now that I hopefully got your attention:

Yes, for free, no payment whatsoever, no fine print, nothing. But I do need one thing in return. First, however, a little about me:

I am fully bilingual in English and Spanish and worked as a scientific editor for 2 years (I was formally trained to do this job, so my knowledge of English is pretty solid). I am currently trying to move to the publishing industry, but I have no experience editing fiction.

That is where you come in: the only thing I need is your consent to use an edited excerpt of your fanfic in my sample portfolio. This can be anonymous, and I can change any character names if you are more comfortable with it.

Please keep reading if you are interested!

Because I do have a full-time, unrelated job, please expect me to take a little time to deliver. As for the fanfic length, I'd say anything under 10K goes. You can send me a single chapter as well if you want to.

I would ideally like to experiment with different levels of editing (developmental, line editing, copy editing), so please request whichever you prefer.

In terms of content... I am willing to edit anything, honestly. I have been reading fanfiction since before we had warning tags, and I frankly don't care. That being said, I might not be able to take you on if it is 100% just PWP (again, I want to use excerpts for my sample portfolio).

I am open to editing works from fandoms I am unfamiliar with, but you can give me a crash course on character dynamics if you think it's necessary.

Ok, I think that is all! Please private message me here if you want to connect. You can call me Ro.

[2soulscollide]

📚 FREE: Character Building Guide (30+ pages) 📚

Hello hello, it's me! Today I'm here again to announce another freebie! Please make sure to reblog this so that your writing buddies get to download this, too :D

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Throughout the 32 pages of this e-book, we will cover eight important topics on character building, such as:

Understanding characters in fiction by defining their role

How to brainstorm ideas and create characters from scratch

Make your characters real and relatable by their flaws and virtues

How to differentiate characters using their voice and personality

How relationships affect the plot

Master character arcs and subplots

Show (don't tell) how the relationships between characters develop

Avoid pitfalls and clichés

I've also included an extra chapter with three important tips to master the skill of character building!

Download it now for free: Character Building Guide

Happy writing,

Rach

[i-belswan09]

alice x bella chapter coming soon!!!

[oceanflowerbird]

Pien Pouwels, from ’Blood Orange Periphery’

[the-altered-sequence]

If only the warfare that nearly wiped out humanity had actually finished the job. Then Dev and the other remaining genetically Altered supersoldiers wouldn't be facing what could be their final days scraping by. They went from science experiments to vermin and today is the last straw. Their plan to finally end the fighting backfires, and now they face an even more frightening reality. The new human leader, Alessandra, doesn't want them dead. She needs their help. Dev isn't sure if his decision to help her will save them... or get them all killed.

Bound to Ashes (originally released in 2014) is a fast-paced, character-driven post-apocalyptic sci-fi novel (~90k words) about learning to trust and doing what's right even though no right has ever been done to you.

Status: OPEN for Beta Reading and FREE. (Link goes to the Google Doc folder.) Check out the additional document for feedback guidelines.

Reviews and more under the cut.

Content warning for language and violence.

I love post-apocalyptic settings. The idea of humanity as it is now getting a "reset" is compelling. But I was disappointed by the vast majority of post-apoc media rife with misogyny, alpha male kitsch, and grimdark nihilism. I wanted characters that felt the hopelessness of the world but still chose to be better. I wrote BtA to be the change.

BtA was my first serious writing project when I was 21, back in '12. Since then it has gone through 10 drafts, a few serious beta readers, a self-publishing, an un-self-publishing, and a last polish this year (2024) to finalize series-wide changes.

Here's what readers have said about Bound to Ashes:

"Bound to Ashes is everything I wish Maze Runner was."

"It took me three sentences to fall in love with this book, and it kept me hooked until the very end. Amazing read that I will be passing along to my friends."

"The mental images projected were vibrant and intense, and had me in tears in a bath."