#pumpkinpitch

[writeblrgarden]

the writeblr garden's pumpkin pitch 🎃

welcome to the pumpkin pitch! the garden's first event is all about your current wip. if you're familiar with pitch events on twitter, think of this as a slightly expanded version of that! 🍂

this event is simple: explain your wip in a short paragraph in the best way you think will hook readers. optionally, you can include comparisons + inspirations, a list of tropes, or words that describe the vibes of your wip. any trigger warnings would be appreciated! also, include at least one excerpt that you're particularly proud of that represents your wip at it's best!

when creating your post, include the writeblr garden's pumpkin pitch event in your title (or somewhere in your post.) tag your posts with #writeblrgarden and #pumpkinpitch. graphics are not required, however, if your post is pretty long, put a bit of it under a read more to not clog people's dashboards.

the pumpkin pitch will be running from september 24th to september 30th. you can post as many pitches as you would like! 🍬 join our discord server to make sure your posts can get seen and talk with other writers about each other's wips! we're looking forward to growing with you 🌱

[ofpeachybites]

The Writeblr Garden's Pumpkin Pitch!

thank you @writeblrgarden for hosting the event!

a Gathering of Buzzards

In the heart of rural Arkansas, Ana Finch's world shatters when her father falls victim to a malevolent creature lurking in the woods behind their home. To survive the growing menace that now fixates on her, she must unravel not only her own grief but also the long-buried family secrets.

Genre: Southern Supernatural, Horror CW: blood & gore, death, animal death, violence, horror & suspense, grief & loss Excerpt under the cut, includes horror, animal death, and gore.

The buzzard above us croaked. Something heavy and unwelcomed settled in my gut. Daddy coughed, a hacking, wet noise deep in his lungs. The sound cracked across the small clearing like lightening. It made me jump out of my skin. Still the buck did not run. But the noise stirred it, finally. It’s head tilted, ears twitching when Daddy’s cough turned into a fit. His big weathered hand fumbled against my shoulder, looking for support. The leaves rustled as the deer took a step forward, its face coming center. The antler I hadn’t been able to see swung into sight. A coyote’s half-rotten head dangled from one of the long tines, pierced through the roof of the mouth and eye socket. Cold dread squirmed under my skull and fear roared in my ears.

“Go on get!” I shouted, clapping my hands together. It stopped mid-step, head veering again to fix its gaze on me. It looked at me like Wafer did. Like it saw me and knew me. Bile rose up in my throat. I repeated my actions, my pitch rising in panic. Daddy wheezed beside me like he couldn’t catch his breath. At last, the buck let out a rumble of a noise, nasally and low, before it’s tail shot up and it darted with unexpected speed to the left. Deeper into the woods. Daddy fell to his knees, a strangled cry of my name on his lips.

[mayarab]

Vampires in Rio - WIP Intro

Synopsis:

Bia was excited to start college. After years living with her dad, under the shadow of her distant mom, she felt like this was her chance to carve out a place for herself. She wasn’t expected to meet Erick, a mysterious boy with strange habits and golden eyes, that turns her world upside down when she’s dragged into a world with fae, vampires and werewolves that seem to know more about her mom than she does.

Also part of Writeblr Garden's Pumpkin Pitch Event! Thanks to @writeblrgarden for the event!

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Romantasy Content Warnings: Violence, Fantasy Violence, Blood Status: Outlining

This will be a ko-fi/patreon exclusive story until I'm finished drafting. Supporters will get the unedited first-draft chapters as they are done. Right now, I'm outlining the story, so expect this to start sometime next year.

Title is subject to change Character intros under the cut

Characters:

Beatriz da Cunha Soares aka Bia

→ 21 y.o. → lives with her father, divorced parents → just got into college to study literature → adhd

Erick Coelho

→ 21 y.o → studies literature in the same college as Bia (her senior) → autistic

Jonathan Barroso

→19 y.o. → Bia’s childhood friend → same college as Bia and Erick → studies engineering → autistic

Aurora Coelho

→ 22 y.o.

→ Erick's adoptive sister

→ studies Fashion

Rosana Coelho

→ 24 y.o

→ studies Art in college

→ dating Aurora and Edu

Eduardo Coelho aka Edu

→ 25 y.o → studies engineering (is Jonathan’s senior) → dating Rosana

[serpentarii]

THEWRITEBLRGARDEN'S PUMPKIN PITCH ; VAINGLORY

❝I will return with all the blood of Roskarva on my hands.❞

comps ; house of the dragon meets the snow queen tropes ; elemental magic, pyrrhic victories, siblings to enemies

One thousand years ago, the House of Arkkoska was cursed by the gods as punishment for their devastating pride. Three heirs scavenge for power in the wake of their father's murder. A usurper, a wraith, and the most vainglorious one of all.

T A G L I S T

{ send an ask to be +/- } · { psd by @saachi }

@seasteading | @veneritia | @sourrcandy | @arkicts | @redrcbin | @behel1ts | @darkgazer | @inky-duchess | @kaatiba | @writeblrfantasy | @wildswrites | @morganwriteblr | @frvnwrites 

[lasbrumas]

WRITEBLRGARDEN'S PUMPKIN PITCH ; burning of the apiary

❝ to love is to eat your lover whole ❞

comps ; portrait of a lady on fire meets mexican gothic

tropes ; cannibalism as love, secret societies, beauty is evil

On the same day that the Valley's eligible debutantes arrive for their first term at convent school, a young woman arrives begging to be taken as a novitiate prospect. Isolated and far from home, the young woman has no choice but to befriend the seemingly vapid group. But as she develops feelings for the top debutante, something dark lurks in the corners of the abbey. The Valley's daughters have brought their world of secret societies with them, and soon, the novitiate may be forced to choose between destroying them or succumbing to the terrifying, yet seductive, realm of the elite.

{ psd credit: cavalierfou }

[innocentlymacabre]

NOW THEY CALL ME THE PLAGUE ⤳ writeblr garden's pumpkin pitch event

As the fright death sweeps the land, leaving a trail of lifeless sacrifices, a Dream desperately claws their way back to the Dreaming, having spent eternity trapped in the conscious realm. Rattled by the victims being left permanently contorted in fear, Trance is on the hunt for an escape more feverously than ever. They stumble across a ship otherwise concealed from prying eyes that sails across the tumultuous currents of Nightmares, and along with Eda, sets sail on adventures of multiple lifetimes, unwittingly getting themselves irreversibly entwined with fates and forces far beyond their comprehension. Now They Call me the Plague is gothic historical fiction set against the backdrop of the golden age of piracy. All that remains to be seen is how many more will fall at the altar of an unforgiving death.

COMPARISONS: Pirates of the Caribbean meets The Sandman wrapped up in Our Flag Means Death

TROPES/THEMES: Lots of tasty found family: literal ride or dies multiple times over, animal best friends, choosing them over the world over and over again, unwavering and unquestioning faith.

We also take a turn for the more serious and explore the intricate relationships we tend to develop with trauma and its pervasive, lasting effects.

Now They Call Me the Plague sits comfortably in a queernormative world, as with most of my stories. All characters are bi/pan/polysexual by default, with the only exception being Dee, who's aroace. Trance uses he/they and Dee uses she/they too.

Trance is also very clearly neurodivergent-coded.

WARNINGS: substance (ab)use, alcohol, sexual activity (implied), swearing (moderate to heavy), mental health issues, death None of these warnings are applicable to the excerpt below.

LINKS: WIP tag (x) | Ko-fi 💜☕ (x) | Writer newsletter (x)

EXCERPT: They say time slows down when you’re in the eye of the storm. When you’re seconds away from making a decision that could change your entire life in one fell swoop, the world starts to move more slowly around you, and you begin to see every tiny detail with previously unimagined clarity. Or maybe you start to move faster, whizzing around at speeds high enough to give you the time to stop and overturn each stone – either way, the world presents itself to you in the most convenient way it can; a quiet act of compassion, allowing you the luxury of altering the course of your life with conviction.

Shrouded in the darkness of the near-blackened room, I realise that might have been true at some point. It would stand to reason that it would have. Neither are presently true. When you’ve wade through the currents of time for as long as I have, time always drags around you, and you always drag through time. You’re always moving slower than everyone else, as if reality itself recognises that you’ve been around for far longer than you ought to have.

general taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @caspersgraveyard @zephsthings @mrunmione @vishuv @cloudofbutterflies @ozziesdisco @jacquesfindswritingandadvice @whimsy-of-the-stars @at-thezenith @desi-yearning @orgasming-caterpillar @rodentwrites @imnotcalledbutsummoned @athenswrites

[akiwitch]

The Writblr Garden Pumpkin Pitch

Ghost Punch

She can touch ghosts…so she can punch them.

Best friends Shay and Max are amateur (very amateur) ghost hunters out on a typical Friday night, when everything goes sideways. Shay goes from being a non-believer to finding out not only are ghosts real, but she had the ability to make them solid with a touch. When he brother is kidnapped and the town is plunged into a supernatural plot to rip open the veil, she’ll have to rely on Max, a witch named Jo, and an amnesiac morally gray ghost in order to survive.

But she’s going to find out that ghosts aren’t the worst things haunting the small town of Teton Falls.

Ghost Punch is a comedy action supernatural horror series featuring a queer found family friend group.

You can buy the first book here!

And book 2 here!

[meerawrites]

Writerblr Pumpkin Pitch event: Liaisons x Vampires

Set against the backdrop of Audrey, a vampire turned in 1780s memory, (told in flashback) and Isabella's "Elise" chaotic bisexual life as a call girl and journalist, with historical anecdotes from Audrey's half-sister, Camille, a regular Mary Wollstonecraft, they navigate the treacheries of upper late 18th century society, their own monsters and trauma and learn, perhaps, humanity is more akin to beasts than they think. They also learn along the way, that they're bound by more than their bisexuality and difficult pasts and presents. Les Liaisons Dangereuses (Dangerous Connections or Dangerous Liaisons) with vampires.

Genre: speculative historical fiction/queer historical fiction/gothic horror/gothic romance.

Playlist.

More information.

[stridingwriter]

Writeblr Garden's Pumpkin Pitch Event: Sacrificial Lamb

Thank you @writeblrgarden for running this event!

Leonardo Tucker is a man from Springdale and every two weeks, on Friday, he makes his way to a faculty slightly out of town. This time, he meets H3375, his new patient and something brews underneath the surface of the faculty as the two grow closer. One thing's certain, people are not who they seem.

Taglist | Pinterest Board

Content Warnings:

Body horror

Rape/Non-con

Death

Mindbreak

Excerpt under the cut!

3375 waits for him by the scale, standing on the tips of their toes almost as a test to see if they can reach the ceiling before turning to him. Their face is unreadable, a thousand miles away.  They’re average as usual, the weight they should be if they’re around a decade younger. At least they look younger, practically bouncing on the balls of their feet as they step off of the scale. A bit of childlike wonder, drawn tight like a bowstring.  And Leo has to look up at them, finds them staring back down at him all sorts of curious.  “We’ll do your blood pressure and I’ll send the results to Dr.Blight and we’ll be done here,” he explains, leading them back to the table but not until bending down to get the pressure monitor. It’s a small black thing, weighs as much as a bottle of beer.  “How kind of you, doctor,” 3357 remarks as he wraps the monitor around their forearm. “Do you do everything for your patients?”  “Only if they’re fine with it.”

[n1ghtcrwler]

The Writeblr Garden's Pumpkin Pitch Event: Tall Tales

A man immune to magic trying to avoid a goddess' plans for him, a witch seeking to understand the nature of the supernatural, a priest hunting a deadly cult, a biologist with a secret connection to the world of magic, a narrator collecting stories across time and space, and a fate that binds them all. Tall Tales is a collection of interconnected urban fantasy and paranormal horror short stories that follow four main characters as they explore the supernatural and find themselves wrapped up in the final moves of a game that has been playing out for thousands of years.

Story includes mild drug use, mentions of sexual assault, mind control, and intergenerational trauma.

Snippet from "Babylon," as found in Tall Tales: Volume Two

Subscribe | Amazon | Goodreads | Patreon | Discord | Ko-fi | Start from Beginning | Tall Tales Tag

[delphicoraclecatss]

WIP INTRO - Time and Time Again

genre: ya, soft scifi/historical romance

format: novel

major themes/tropes: master/govnesses romance, betrayal, found family

Synopsis:

Ophelia Ranne, curious traveller of time and space, has found herself stuck in Victorian England dealing with technical difficulties, blackmail, an alien on the loose and her growing crush on the Master of the House who so graciously took her in.

Inspired by my reading of Jane Eyre shortly after rewatching the season 7 Christmas special of Doctor Who; The Snowman.

If all goes well this will be my NaNoWriMo project come November. I have never written romance before so who knows how this is going to go.

written for the writeblr garden's pumpkin pitch event.

[stormdrivensea]

JINGZHE - wip intro

jingzhe (n.) — marking the beginning of spring, when thunderstorms awaken hibernating insects.

first created for the writeblr garden’s pumpkin pitch event !

setting: 1920-30s republican era southern china, low fantasy (probably) status: outlining inspiration & vibes: cantonese operas, deities and ghosts, standing on a wooden stage, gramophones, the sound of an erhu from the room next door, desperately looking for someone who doesn't want to be found content warnings (to be updated): death, murder probably

synopsis —

To the residents of the city of Yunshui, Chuyan is the eccentric owner of an antiques shop, preferring to lead an uneventful, if not lazy lifestyle. But to those who remember from ten years ago, Chuyan was the rising opera star that no one had ever seen, until his debut performance that ended horribly wrong, leaving its entire (living) audience dead by the end of the night. When a mysterious customer shows up at his doorstep, Chuyan knows that his time is up, but maybe this time he'll be able to find out the truth about his abilities, once and for all.

excerpt —

Yunshui was beautiful in the morning. There was a stunning view of it from the highest floor, golden light creeping across the wood and brick rooftops until all of the skyline was bathed in it. It made for a wonderful sight for sore eyes when one was bothered to take the rickety flight of stairs upwards, especially accompanied by a cup of hot tea, and some steaming hot buns from an alleyway stall for breakfast. Such was not one of these mornings, however, as Xiaokui unceremoniously threw the curtains open, letting the blinding sun hit me directly in the face. “I’ll pay you to stop doing that,” I grumbled, turning over in bed to face the other side of the room. It was still cool enough that I could stay under the covers without being overly warm, but spring days had the tendency to be damp, which was equally uncomfortable in a different way. “I’ll give you a bonus for every day you let me sleep in late.” “You already pay my salary.” The clang of a washbasin hitting a wooden tabletop sounded through the room. “If I didn’t wake you up, you wouldn’t be awake to do business, and then I really wouldn’t get paid. So get up, laoban.” Begrudgingly, I made a show of peeling the blanket away from myself. “Fine, fine fine. But maybe in the meantime… you could get me one of those—” A warm, fist-sized package wrapped in brown paper collided with my shoulder. “Bought it already.” “You shouldn’t have. So efficient today!” “You have an appointment with Mister Luo from the Silversmith’s Guild,” Xiaokui called back, his voice farther away than it was earlier. “You’re not allowed to be late again this time, or else all your business with them will go to the Huo’s.” His footsteps had almost faded away at that point, but then they suddenly turned back. “Oh, and there was a customer just now, but I told them to come back later when you were awake. So, get dressed!”

content tag: wip: jingzhe

[fungalmuse]

pumpkin pitch: triptych

genre: vaguely psychological horror-comedy + surreal fantasy

ownvoices queer, mentally ill, and neurodivergent rep

cws: abuse, ableism (internalized and externalized) towards people with mental illnesses, particularly cluster b personality disorders, sui/sh, violence, body horror

The teen ward of Eastwood Geysers Mental Health Facility is not the worst place to ride out a dubiously-biblical apocalypse you may or may not have caused. For 3 ward residents with rocky family relationships and serious anger issues, harnessing their new magic and taking on the role of hero seems to come naturally--but though Eastwood's beige walls can keep out the rampaging nature spirits, it won't let them escape the demons in their heads. Figurative and literal.

Amara's finally away from her abusers. Turtle's finally not alone, with their friends around 24/7. Astrid's finally in the perfect position to get the attention she's always craved, almost unconditionally. But as the three of them become more entangled, both with their nature spirit roommates and each other, it becomes clear their problems aren't as escapable as they'd hoped.

excerpt: (warning for sui attempt)

When she’d fantasized about this moment countless times before, she’d usually imagined pouring all her worldly misery onto the wrinkled notecard to be a bit more…eloquent. But the actual note ended up being more along the lines of “Dear Mom and Dad, you suck and are horrible parents and I’d rather not exist than continue living in your house, which is why I’m gorging myself on your medication. This is your fault, and you should feel bad. 

Fuck You, 

Amara 

P.S. I’m a filthy girlkisser xoxo” 

It wasn’t the brilliant piece of literature she’d hoped for, but it got the job done. Besides, it was very Amara to forget everything crucial when she actually needed it. She’d probably remember the perfect words like, 5 minutes later in hell or something. 

Then, she’d retrieved her mother’s sleeping pills from the back, glancing around her parents’ bedroom as she hopped onto the edge of the bed. She’d need to measure these carefully, or everything would be ruined. She’d probably only get one shot at this, and even though in the worst-case scenario she could just jump in front of a car later, that’d hurt a hell of a lot more than sleeping pills. 

The walls were dull and beige, smelling vaguely of cleaning supplies. The room was bare of any meaningful adornment except for the tiny drawings of cats she’d doodled when she was six. The bedsheet, although prettily patterned, was flimsy and could not give warmth. She drew it in around herself anyway, trying to shake the cold that had settled deep in her. Figured the last room she’d ever be in would have painfully boring decor.

It was supposed to be a quick, painless death. Minus the choking on your own vomit bit, but you weren’t supposed to be conscious for that.

But staring down at the innocuous looking tablets, she was faced with the sharp pungent reek of her own mortality. 

What if it didn’t work? What if it did?  

[mauvelilywilliams]

Writeblr Garden's Pumpkin Pitch Event

Thanks to @writeblrgarden for the event! :D

Skyline Spirits: Spiro

When the local 'Death' himself, Spiro - Guardian of Souls, dies - the last known area that can carry life is surrounded by the souls of the dead that can't move on. When the dead start mutating and the living start disappearing, "Die" the reincarnation of Spiro must try again to complete the task he failed years ago before all life is wiped off the face of the earth.

Master Post for my Story

Genre: Supernatural-Fantasy Horror-Thriller

Content Warnings: Death, Violence, Fantasy Violence, Blood, Language

Excerpt under the cut

A person is creeping around, trying to keep out of Sluagh sight. But one is hanging out overhead, in humanoid form. It leans forward, beak glistening in the moonlight. It opens its mouth to reveal its jagged beak and the skin hanging from its chin, as it slinks further into the light.

The person is keeping their eye on the murmur overhead. Not realizing the sluagh right above it. The person feels a cough coming on, and tries their best to stifle it. The last thing that they want is for the sluagh to realize someone sick is out at night, unprotected.

The sluagh leans in, listening. It lets its tongue hang out to the side, imagining the flavor this person’s soul could have. The rush of energy it could provide. The euphoria of feeling alive again, if only for a moment. It was intoxicating. Not like this life of running around in a hungry daze, depression seeping into every last pore of their being. To feel alive. That great feeling. If only for a fleeting moment…

The person let out the smallest of coughs. They looked up in alarm at the murmur. But they should’ve looked behind them.

The sluagh jumped from its perch, landing on the person’s shoulders. It screeched in the person’s ears, trying to startle them so much that they would be disoriented.

Then it dug in with its claws. Slashing, grabbing, pulling. And biting. With its beak, biting at the person’s skin, tearing at their clothes, pulling out bits of hair. The person had fallen to the ground and covered their hands over their head in alarm at the ambush. And it was perfect prey now, unable to get to its feet to run. The sluagh dug its back talons into the person’s legs, anchoring them to the ground. They cried out and started slapping around, trying to turn over, but they couldn’t. They were in the sluagh’s hold.

The cry had alerted the other sluagh that there was a life out. And the murmur started to careen over. The humanoid sluagh kept pecking and pulling, trying to overcome their prey. They grabbed at the person’s arms, held them down, and used its beak to grab the person’s head. It twisted so easily. The snap so quick. And the person stopped fighting.

Other sluagh landed or started dive-bombing the sluagh with its kill. It angrily screeched back, wanting to keep its prize.

It stood up straight, flaring its arms and skin out, and opened its beak and clacked it angrily. A threatening stance to the other sluagh. 

The clacking and display was enough to make most of the sluagh back away, but one stepped forward. Ready to challenge the predator for its kill. It held its arms out, displaying its folds of skin, and clacked angrily back. The killer started to step forward, to accept the challenge, but made sure to keep one foot on the person’s head. It wasn’t going to let one of the sluagh pull it away.

The challenger rushed forward, screeching. The predator screeched in response. They both butt heads and the flurry of claws and beaks began. The two challengers picked, slashed, gnawed, and danced - trying to get the upper hand. The predator had gotten into the fight, jumping up, to seem bigger than its opponent, and had left its kill.

The challenger also jumped up, slashing and screeching, trying to get the upper hand. They both kept jumping and slashing, trying to get on top of the other. Because if they could - they would win.

The energy of the fight was contagious. Many of the other sluagh started fighting amongst themselves. With no prize to be had but superiority over the other.

A very few weren’t interested in the fight, and kept their eyes on the prize. The dead body near the warring challengers’ dancing, sharp feet.

One dared to approach, trying to reach for the person’s foot. If they could pull it away while everyone else was busy…

But the sluagh had taken too long. The person’s soul, a blue orb of fiery light, rose from the person’s back. Every sluagh stopped. The fighters even stopped. The killer had the challenger’s claw in its eye.

The chorus of screeching. The flurry of feathered skin, claws, and snapping beaks. The entire murmur of sluagh were clamoring over themselves to reach the soul.

The killer managed to step on top of the pile and snap the soul into its mouth. The challenger’s beak snapped around the killer’s beak, and tried to wrench the soul away.

The killer slashed out with one final slash, knocking the challenger back. And, unhindered by opponents, tossed its head back and let the soul orb slide into its throat.

The rush of energy hit it like a truck. A happy energy that made you want to scream until your lungs were empty and your head swimming from lack of oxygen. Like you were standing on top of the world, in the warm sunshine, looking out at all the possibilities before you and each one was yours for the taking. That everything in your world had been completely wrong, but suddenly everything made sense and it was right.

The light started to dim, the energy wane. What once was great, now became sour. Like you had inhaled a breath of fresh air, but when you went for a second breath - you got an entire dump’s worth of dog shit and wet, rotten garbage scent.

The victorious sluagh began to cough. The rest of the murmur, including the losing challenger, had all backed away and was taking flight again. As if nothing had happened.

The coughing one hunched over, coughing and gagging, until the spent spirit orb was thrown up. No longer blue and vibrant, it was a sickly gray. Instead of floating, it sunk to the ground.

The sluagh coughed up the last remnants and shook off the fleeting feelings of sickness and garbage. It looked to its murmur in the air, and took flight. Losing its humanoid form and joining the mass of darkness, sharp beaks and claws, and feathers.

The soul slid next to its body. As if comprehending what had happened. Before its sickly gray began to darken. It’s fiery flame turned pitch black and wrapped around it like a blanket.

Then began to grow.

The dark form grew until it was its own mass of darkness. Slowly gaining feathers, a beak, and claws. And it flew up to its new murmur. Ready to hunt with the rest of them for what it had lost.

[ink-bunny-blue]

PumpkinPitch Event from WriteblrGarden:

A Pocket Of Moons

(Progress: Draft 3 complete)

Blurb:

When a painfully shy painter, Madeline, escapes an arranged marriage she takes refuge in a forest believed to be endless. And in the overgrown ruins of a cathedral with a dark past, she meets Enoch, a creature who lives the life of both human and animal. Their friendship blossoms, and together they tell stories and explore the wilds, unravelling secrets about themselves and the world they live in. But a dark and wild force emerges from the forest: a cult of others like Enoch led by a mysterious human who wishes to claim Enoch’s sanity as its own. It is up to Madeline to save her beloved friend before he falls too far into madness to be saved.

Extract:

Madeline didn’t tremble this time. Her heartbeat leapt from excitement, not terror. There were no words to be spoken in this moment, so she inhaled deeply, walking towards it as though hypnotised, steps slow and deliberate. The beast rose and did the same, mirroring each step, almost becoming her in its movements as it descended the steps from the altar. Their eyes locked, staring deep into each other’s as they shared a silent understanding, an unspoken bond between human and animal. They moved together, step by step, as if rehearsing some kind of strange dance. As the two met in the centre of the apse, Madeline crouched, becoming level to the creature. Its fur smelt of rich woodsmoke, olive eyes deeply lucid. She reached out a hand, fingers unfurling as slowly, gently, she brushed the side of the creature’s face. It lent into it, blinking slow, then drawing its gaze up to hers. Its fur was incredibly soft, and the warmth from its dense muscles radiated beneath her hand. She wasn’t afraid of the flashes of white teeth inside its mouth, nor the unfamiliar hiss of its breath. What Madeline felt then was a true sense of understanding, and by the look in the hound’s oddly human eyes, she knew it felt something similar- some mutual knowledge or silent intimacy- a compassion without love. She remembered the note with the looped handwriting, and the book on her doorstep, then shivered with the possibility: “Are you… Enoch?”

Other info

Content warnings: Animal death, Cannibalism, Cults, Child death, Sexual harassment

Comparisons: Wolfwalkers, Midsommar, Frankenstein, Grimm's Fairy Tales, The Wolf Children

(Image Source: Frederic Sackrider Remington, Moonlight Wolf. Edited by me)

[jessicagailwrites]

Writeblr Garden's Pumpkin Pitch Event: Six Strings & Stardust

Read for free on Substack

World-renowned pop sensation, Naomi Bell, becomes entangled with Benjamin Ferreira, the charismatic front man of a rapidly rising rock band, sparking an electric connection during one charged weekend. Their blissful time together shatters under the weight of expectations, propelling them into an intense, highly publicized feud. A media frenzy ensues as Naomi and Ben exchange sharp words and veiled accusations, even as their fame soars. Despite the growing chasm between them, their hearts persistently pull them closer. Determined to reunite, they embark on journeys of self-discovery, confronting personal demons, navigating the treacherous landscape of fame, and rekindling their initial passion. As their paths converge once more, they find solace in shared experiences and an unbreakable bond, rising above the fabricated feud that tore them apart. This is a tale of forgiveness, redemption, and the indomitable spirit of two artists who defy the barriers erected around them.

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Trigger Warnings:

anxiety

alcohol abuse

panic attacks

parental manipulation

language

Tropes:

found family

lovers - enemies - friends - lovers

opposites attract

Excerpt under the cut:

“Naomi Bell to set 19. Naomi Bell to set 19.” The static overhead announcement sounded for the fifth time for the photo shoot that was supposed to start an hour ago. I can quote it word for word now, something I’ll probably be reciting in my sleep tonight. The style team for the world’s most renowned pop star shifts uncomfortably on the fringes of the set. A short woman with a sharp bob haircut checks her watch for the twentieth time and groans in frustration at the wasted minutes. This photoshoot was supposed to be wrapping up now; instead one self-centered diva is throwing off everyone else’s schedule.

The set is adorned with several guitars ranging from vintage electrics to the most modern, streamlined acoustics on the market. In a stroke of, what they are calling, genius, top guitar designer Banshee Guitars is launching a new campaign with two of its musical ambassadors to demonstrate not only the breadth of its own range of style but also the unifying power of music across different people. Apparently, Naomi Bell and I are the perfect combo from their roaster to illustrate these polar opposites.

I was here thirty minutes early and the urge to say “fuck it” and leave is eating away at me. The style team assigned to me has applied the most elaborate version of my stage makeup on my face and neck. It’s beginning to irritate my skin, adding to every other thing about this that irritates me. My head falls back as I lean over the arm of the decorative chair I’ve been trying to get comfortable in for an hour to attempt eye contact with my manager. He’s equally unimpressed.

“I’m leaving in five minutes.” It is the sixth time I have made the same threat.

Martin simply holds up a perfectly manicured finger to silence me. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. He rarely does.

“No, you aren’t,” he replies with his usual dry and apathetic tone, still never looking my way.

I bite back the comments that are begging to spill from my lips. I’ve been trying to play nice, but I still can’t stifle the growl of frustration. The amount of work I have to do that isn’t actually making music is astonishing to me and something I can’t get used to.

The announcement rings out again, calling Naomi to the set. This time, a frantic bustling of voices follows from one of the long hallways that lead to the various dressing rooms and other studios.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” a chorus of melodic apologies ring out, getting closer and closer until a burst of pink and glitter emerges from the hallway.

“I’m so sorry! I hope you all haven’t been waiting for me too long.” Her singsong voice carries around the space as she hurries towards the set, stepping carefully and gracefully over power cords and props in her sky-high platform shoes. It’s all pink, the glittery crop top she’s wearing, the vinyl skirt hugging her hips, and those enormous shoes.

In the same room, it’s easy to see why they chose the two of us. Naomi is so bright. Everything about her is migraine-inducing, from her platinum hair to her bleached teeth. And she is so short; I could tell from across the room. It’s the most surprising thing about her. She always seems so larger than life in performances I’ve seen online — that’s not even mentioning the powerhouse that is her voice.

“Only an hour and a half.” I scoff as I stand and stretch out my legs, feeling every second that I spent waiting in that chair. This is the only evening I have to myself for a while and I had hoped this shoot wouldn’t cut into it too much — that dream is shattered. Our tour really kicks off after tomorrow night’s show, and we’re going to be busier than ever.

A small pout pushes at Naomi’s lips. “I’m really sorry. I got held up in wardrobe.”

I’m spoon-fed the opportunity to evaluate the aforementioned wardrobe. How it took so long to dress someone in so little clothing is beyond me.