#wip introduction chapter

[unmellowyellowfellow]

Chalk Mountain | 0 - Dixie Alvarez Holds a Grudge

draft status: (complete rewrite)

(tw: drug use (marijuana), language, (daddy issues)

A/N: hi, so, this is the introduction chapter to my wip; and this is my first time sharing it. i hope you enjoy, i would love feedback (especially on dialogue. that shits hard). but never more, here it is! in all her rusty glory. everyone, meet Dixie.

The red sand of the west Texas desert gets into every nook and cranny of life around these parts. The texture is rough, yet soft; and leaves a stain on your Sunday best that sticks to ya like a honeybee to a marigold. It sneaks underneath your fingernails and hides in the corners, just out of reach.

I suppose that may not be a problem for some folks. Some like the orange tint to their white button shirts, or the wind blowing in an excuse to call into work on a Wednesday to go get evening coffee and pie with your aunt down the street, or the way it sounds against the windows may resemble the gentle patter of rain against the sill.

Dixie quite liked the color of the red sand, although she called it the red dirt. Her fluffy hair greatly resembled the red dirt below her porch steps that she left her stained boots on when she came home from trekking downtown. She sat down next to her boots and flicked a lighter, watching the flame dance.

She thought of her mother with a furrowed brow and a professional skill to ignore her father when he shouted inside the house about this and that. She missed her brother who ran away from home when they were children, who always had her back when their father would lash out back then. Dixie always wondered, and secretly hoped, that they were out there together somewhere.

Right as Dixie lit up an old roach that she had found in the dirty pockets of her overalls, her lungs burned from the deep inhale as her father came out the door. “Dixie,”

“Yes, Walter,” The smoke trailed through her words.

“What the hell‘re you doing?” He stepped over to her and looked at the spot next to her on the step. She responded in a single nod and scooted away from him to let him sit.

“Drugs,” Dixie offered the cherry towards him and he scoffed.

Dixie and Walter butted heads for as long as she could remember. Her mother always told her it was because Dixie had a spirit filled with fire and gold and passion and Walter’s spirit got used up and dried out years ago when he was just a boy. She never understood how they met and fell in love and always partly blamed him for her disappearance, thinking maybe she did it to get away from him.

However, Declan disappeared before their mother; 6 weeks to be exact. He ran away from home on a warm, rainy night after a family explosion about grades over dinner. Dixie used to sit by the living room bay window and wait for mother to return with her baby brother.

They existed quietly with each other for a moment while a tumbleweed rattled in the wind, tangled against their street sign. ‘Lower Passage’ was what it read before the wind storms sand blasted most of the paint away. Lower Passage was a long dirt road in the middle of nowhere around 8 miles long, out where the banjos play, as Dixie would say. Other people lived down Lower Passage, too, but they all had farmland and nobody paid anyone any mind.

The front yard was filled with the seasonal white flowers that take over like a plague. They danced in the wind with the trees whose leaves were floating in the air to the ground and chillbumps littered Dixie’s arms and legs. In the distance, she heard children laughing and running through the leaves in the side yard.

She closed her eyes and imagined Declan running past the front porch, his burgundy hair tangled in grass and sticks. A little curly fire haired Dixie played with young Declan and danced about in the flowers with a dainty and fragile crown of flowers and weeds upon her head.

Their mother watched from the wooden bench swing they had on the big live oak tree in the yard with a careful eye and a toothy grin. Her mother laughed as little Declan got scared by a bee; the laugh echoed further away once Dixie opened her eyes.

“Where do you think they are, daddy?” She coughed and flicked the ash to the dirt, then smushed it with her sock.

“Who, your mom and Declan?” Walter sighed and lit a cigarette. She nodded and hugged her knees to her chest. “I don’t know, Dixie Anne. If I did, they’d be right here at home.”

“But this ain't home anymore, is it?”

He paused to take a long drag, then blew it out with a shake of his head. “No, I guess not.”

“I’m gonna find them one day. I swear it, I will.”

“Now, I thought I told you it’s time to drop that shit. You can get yourself hurt goin’ out there playin’ detective,”

“I’m not playing anything, I’m taking care of my family,” A crow flew in front of Dixie and cawed loudly and began to peck at the grass.

“I’m your family,”

“No, you sure ain’t.” Dixie ran her tongue along her teeth, then spit some of her lunch carnage onto her fathers shoe. He looked up towards her with a frown that showcased the matching dimple that Dixie inherited from him. She mimicked him and stomped her socked feet across the porch; the screen door exaggerated her dramatic exit by a loud slam against the wooden frame.

[ominous-faechild]

MODERN EXISTENCE

CHAPTER 1: MORE OF THE SAME

CHARACTERS: ✦ Beck Molleur ✦ Dahlia Molleur

story intro moodboard table of contents < last chapter next chapter >

(if it's possible for you to read and listen to lyrical music at the same time, please listen to the music provided ❤️)

NOTE: this story is centered on two characters in a codependent, toxic marriage. Exact content warnings about the relationship will not be given for plot reasons, so if you have ANY possible worries about that subject matter, I beg of you to be cautious before reading this story. Thank you.

Most topics are implied—haunting the narrative rather than being displayed openly—and this story depicts how one can be trapped in that sort of relationship. It has portrayals of depression, self-hatred, and implied abuse... although I would still like and encourage you to read it.

Countless images flashed through Beck's mind.

Flooded streets, loose wreckage of destroyed buildings, and rows and rows of suffering people.

It was always like this. Beck was constantly tormented by these kinds of visions. Visions of pain, destruction, and death. Anything and everything going wrong around the world was stuck in his mind, constantly playing again and again and again.

Whether he closed his eyes or had them open, tried going about his day normally or not, he was tormented by visions of misery.

Still, Beck now had his eyes closed, cheek pressed up against the back of a couch, and noise-cancelling headphones over his ears playing soft, calming music.

With his senses stifled, it was easier to focus on the visions. It was easier to see what he shouldn’t be able to see, hear what he shouldn’t be able to hear, and move what he shouldn’t be able to reach.

The soft music coming from his headphones calmed Beck. He’d seen so much suffering in his life that he’d long-since grown almost numb to it, but… that didn’t mean he was okay with it.

He still wanted to help.

So, when he could, when things were “a little too bad”, Beck made an effort to use his powers for good. He’d make small changes where he could—fill in a pothole that’d been untouched for years, trip up someone on the attack, make a stray noise to draw someone’s attention near danger, or manipulate information that could otherwise destroy people’s lives—and try to help people.

… for once in his life.

“Sometimes I for-get… the world doesn’t want me…”

A whole roof had been torn off its building by the vicious winds of a hurricane. It tore through the air, flying toward another home—and suddenly steered away, crashing into the street instead.

“And I won-der where… all of my friends are…”

Hundreds of miles away, cars were bottlenecked at an aging bridge… one that had long-since been shut down for repairs. Not that it’d ever been repaired—but still. It was supposed to be closed.

People were desperate to escape the hurricane, though.

They risked the bridge, and if it hadn’t been for Beck watching over it? It would’ve cracked under the weight of their cars, plunging them all into the hungry waters below.

“But then I remember… I’d pushed them all a-way…”

So much destruction, so much panic, so much chaos—and Beck did his best to help everyone he could in small ways.

To avoid detection.

For plausible deniability.

Few people believed in magic, so what else were they going to believe? That a god walking among them—one they’d otherwise blame for their misfortune—was looking out for them? Or that the wind moved just in time? That the bridge was just a little sturdier than the architects and scientists believed? That Their God, whichever one or ones they believed in, was looking out for them?

Yes. Far better for people to assume those than the truth.

They’d all agreed on that thousands of years ago.

“So where am I? Who am I?” the song continued, melancholic.

“And what will I do… when I don’t ev-en have me?”

The couch shifted under Beck, tilting him to the side, as something landed on his shoulder.

Beck flinched, mind abruptly returning to his body.

Snapping his eyes open, Beck quickly turned to look at what had disturbed him—

A pair of bright green eyes—on the most beautiful face he’d ever seen—met his.

Despite her soft smile, Dahlia's eyebrows were furrowed slightly in concern as she stared at him expectantly.

“Who will I be?” the song continued.

Dahlia was a woman Beck knew well, though her face had changed countless times over the years. Now, she wore one of a brown woman with angular features and a mane of long, curly brown hair. She sat against the couch with one knee, her hand still on his shoulder, and the scent of her lilac perfume washing over him.

Beck swallowed, then cleared his throat awkwardly as he looked away to stare down at the cushion creased under Dahlia's knee. Every fabric of his being screamed against it, but Beck hesitantly grabbed the earpads of his headphones to slowly take them off.

“Where will I g—?” the song lamented, before getting cut off for overpowering silence.

“Beck?” Dahlia's voice interrupted, warm and gentle. “Everything okay?”

A wave of relief flooded over him.

Relaxing and smiling weakly, Beck hesitantly looked back up to meet her eyes.

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly, “just… was working on some stuff.”

Dahlia's soft smile grew faintly teasing. Then, she shifted to sit in his lap, her knees propped up against the cushions outside of his legs. Her hand moved from Beck's shoulder to his cheek as the other went to the backrest over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” Dahlia asked, her tease leaking into her voice. “Like what?”

Beck felt his face flush as he pressed his cheek into her hand.

Letting out a slow, shaky breath, he turned his face away as he placed his headphones to the side and awkwardly wrapped his arm around her. It pulled her close as he stared hard at the headphones, still faintly emitting sound.

“Just… helping out around the hurricane,” Beck said, his voice subtly thick. “You know… without making it too obvious.”

He let out a small, pained laugh, then closed his eyes as he sank his cheek completely into her hand.

Beck's exhaustion leaked into his voice as he added: “not that anyone would question it, anyways. They just thank whatever god they believe in… or consider it ‘miraculous’ and move on…”

The entire couch shifted as Dahlia moved.

Beck tensed slightly, his breath catching in his throat. He quickly opened his eyes and turned his head to once again look at Dahlia.

His wife shifted to fully sit in his lap, leaning her forearms into his chest, cupping her hands around his cheeks, and meeting his eyes with a warm, loving smile.

“Awe, that’s sweet of you, Beck,” she said, voice slightly teasing still.

Then her eyes closed, and she leaned forward.

Beck took a deep breath before following her example.

Dahlia's hands dropped from his cheeks to rub against his chest as she kissed him gently, then slowly deepened it.

Beck struggled to breathe, but carefully kissed her back. Wrapping his arms around her lower back, he lifted her just enough to cross his legs under her and pull her close.

Dahlia paused the kiss—and Beck opened his eyes, though hers remained shut—to speak lightly against his lips.

“Did you know that?” she asked.

He swallowed awkwardly, looking down, not knowing how to answer.

She didn’t give him the time to figure it out. Instead, she quickly went back to kissing him, moving her hands up his chest and to his cheeks, where she rubbed his jaw with her thumbs.

Taking a slow, unsteady breath through his nose, Beck pulled her even closer and tried to just enjoy the kiss.

I love you, Ver, he wanted to say.

But he bit it back, giving her the moment to do whatever she wanted.

Instead, Dahlia pulled away after kissing him for a few more seconds. Her hands moved from his cheeks to his chest again as he met his eyes with another warm smile.

Beck was too caught up in watching every subtle shift in her expression to recognize his own relief.

“I reserved a restaurant for us to eat at tonight,” Dahlia said, a slight, sly smile on her lips. “Bistro Minuit is your favorite, right?”

Face flushing again—hotter this time—Beck hesitantly tore his eyes from hers to stare at the floor, past her hip. At the same time, he moved a hand from her lower back to place it over one of hers on his chest.

“Yeah,” Beck said awkwardly, his voice thick.

Then he gave a weak, dry chuckle, closing his eyes.

“It’s still open?” he asked, his voice weakly amused. “With how fast time goes by—”

“Uxi,” Dahlia interrupted gently. One of her hands—the one not trapped under his—moved to cup itself around his cheek again.

Beck froze, his breath catching in his throat as he quickly returned his eyes to hers.

But Dahlia still had her warm, slightly-teasing smile on her lips.

Her tease leaked into her voice as she answered: “of course it’s still open. I just told you I made reservations, didn’t I?”

Beck's heart twisted, but Dahlia's face was still soft, easygoing.

“—And, besides, I make sure of these things, you know that,” she finished warmly.

She seems fine. Nothing to worry about.

Beck forced a weak smile in return, but then sighed heavily as he closed his eyes and sank his cheek into her hand again. At the same time, he moved his hand from the one on his chest to cup it over hers on his cheek, lovingly sandwiching it between his cheek and hand.

“Yeah,” he answered, voice thick, but level. “You’re right. Sorry, I’d… I’d like that.”

Feel free to share your thoughts below, regardless of what they are.

Unless, yknow, they're "wtf are you writing; stfu". Or "men can't be abused." Keep that kinda shit out.

This is a very heavy story, and will touch on heavy topics... even if only through implication.

(Also to those of you who recognize their names... 🙂)

story intro moodboard table of contents < last chapter next chapter >

taglist

@honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@seastarblue @rae-butter @mythicalmagical-monkeyman @corinneglass @friedmiu

@caffeinated-starsailor @overwhelmedfernfrond @write-with-will @theink-stainedfolk @industrialideafactory

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@homeforinsomniacs

(interact with this post to join the taglist)

divider by @cafekitsune

[viking-writing]

The very first part of my Rammstein fic series is finally uploaded at Ao3!

(After almost 7 whole years of questioning and doubting myself as the annoying perfectionist that I am! I've now finally decided to publish this thing. Bit by bit, into the new year 2025!)

But please be gentle with me as I know the summary text and the "notes" might be a little "too long" for everyone to bother to read! (I was unmedicated when I wrote it and these long notes and summaries won't be added to every single chapter. I swear!)

<3

Mitternacht - A prologue to "Winterherz" (Formally known as "Liebeslied" but we'll see whatever this fic series will be called)) - Chapter 1 - gothicXviking - Rammstein [Archive of Our Own]

[tricks-n-illusions]

Calamity@Lady Ombre: The florges approached the trio as she looked voer the small giratina "Greetings all mighty," she greeted her politley "I havent seen any gods or goddesses from my universe so im not sure how its suppose to be..." she thought out slightly before looking towards Silas "This prison...." she said lightly in thought patting her chin with hand "Why was he imprisoned? It has something to do with the young zorua...?" her gaze wondered to the collapsed zorua who still haven't moved "Right...?"

Silas's shouting had quickly melted into silence, I suppose this was a job for Calamity then! She happily approached Lady, ready to answer her question.

Her reply was interrupted as Calamity seemed to zone off in confusion, that couldn't be right. She didn't say he could use that. There were no spirits of Giratina around beside her. A look of horror began to bleed into her expression. There was only one person who could do that. Someone much more important than a lowly spirit, someone divine.

Reality quickly hit the spirit as she began to squirm in a panic, everything was going wrong and so quickly. "W-wait!! No! I-"

The fox raised his arm, bringing the spirit much higher. Though his face was covered it was clear he was upset, the tone of his voice was harsh and unforgiving. "I am not your Nym." "I gave you no permission to address me as such." He growled, "Call me that again, Next time I'm going to do more than just kill you. I don't want your stupid nicknames. We are not friends and we will never be friends. I don't want to be anyone's stupid fuckin' friend, Okay? So just, fuck off. Alright!" Instead of fighting Silas, Calamity quickly began to accept her fate, she was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. As much as she wanted to live she didn't have the heart to fight back. Tears quickly began to fill her eyes and as she shook in terror.

The impact was rough, dust-filled but the results were clear. Silas gave a huff, he felt nothing towards that thing's death. No sadness, no guilt, he had no connection with it. Why would he care about the death of a thing that couldn't even feel true emotions or pain? Everything she did was just an act to earn trust, a facade to seem like she was real. Something to make him care about her. He wasn't going to fall for it.

The silence was eerie, all that could be heard was the occasional small sniffle from Silas as he stared off. It seemed the fox's thoughts were wandering again.

"I hope you didn't want to talk to that thing, I think you should have asked a little quicker. It's much too late now." His tone was mocking, and demeaning as he leaned towards the Florges.

"I've taken down much worse than a poor little lost ghost. Just ask anyone~ I'm sure they'll tell you how much I love killing small, little helpless ghosts like you. They always like to squirm and scream." "So, This is what's going to happen. You're going to turn around, you're going to walk away and then you're going to leave this place, alright? How does that sound, hm?" Though he phrased it as a question, it's clear it wasn't. This was a threat, but something in his tone wasn't quite right. Something was off… there was almost a slight tremble to his voice? It was quickly covered as the fox gave a soft hum, "Well, Unless you want to find out why I was stuck in that stupid little prison, and I both think we know you don't." "If not, I'm sure we can arrange otherwise." He grinned, even with his face covered it echoed in his voice. "We can see how quickly you can die if you'd like~" "Maybe you can beat the bug's record? But, I doubt that, you seem like a stubborn one having stuck around this long."

[ Ask from - @ask-noonescity ]

[uefb]

New Scamander brothers fic soon

I’ve been peeved with fic, recently, because I’d written the majority of “Hope is the thing with feathers” and had begun to post it, before Queenie Goldstein threw the largest wrench of ‘my universe’ into things as I was finishing the climax, which thus forced an actual ENTIRE rewrite. That fic is now—therefore—unfortunately on hiatus. That being said, this one is nearly ready to go next week! About 20,000 words from Theseus’ POV, following his relationship with Newt (and their parents) from the time he’s 8 to about 28—it’s very much a fic as much about Newt and early 20th century beliefs about autism as it is Theseus and brotherhood, but it’s the first time I’ve ever done a story *entirely* from outside Newt’s POV. I’m decently pleased with it, and just have to write a few missing scenes to tie the pacing and beats together. (But I’m not posting it until it’s done, to avoid a Queenie fiasco 😅.) So here is the opening of the first chapter and the last chapter of my next fic ^_^

First chapter—

Last chapter —

[megarywrites]

this chapter I'm working on is really full of description (she's traveling to a new location through different countrysides) and I know it's necessary to like establish the setting(s) here but my brain is like that one audio that's like: "I'm tired of this, grandpa!" "That's too damn bad!"

[jasperygrace]

Record Recovery - Journal Entry 08

An Immortal Laid to Rest - Draft 2, Chpt 8

“Well, well, well, look what I found here.” He looked up at the unknown voice. Perched atop one of the Deity statues was a young man with pearly white hair and a pair of broken horns. Across his face was a long line of stitches, making his otherwise boyish face fierce and broken. He wore a dark suit ill-suited for the desert environment, but it didn’t look like it remotely bothered him. “Funny to run into you here,” the man said with a grin on his face. “It’s been awhile, Orias.” “Who are you?” Orias asked. He didn’t recognize him, but something felt familiar. “I’m hurt, Orias! You wouldn’t forget your brother-in-arms, would you?” The man hopped down from his seat and landed gracefully on the ground below. “It’s me, Niv! I’ll admit I had some work done over the years, but I wouldn’t greet you in a form you didn’t recognize.” He was shorter and younger that what Orias remembered, closer to Vincent’s physical age. But his mannerisms were the same—that of a cocky man carrying too many secrets.

[elitheaceofalltrades]

Aria was a hardened warrior. She'd fought countless battles, faced numerous enemies and always came out victorious.

She was Taratheras' greatest weapon.

She was tired.

When Aria had agreed to the experiments as a desperate child, she'd been greiving and in pain. Twelve years later, there were new scars, new losses and new abilities, but she still felt the same. It ached. Twenty-eight was by no means old, but she was old enough now to realise that despite everything she'd been through leading up to it, sixteen was still a child. Realising one day that she was a child soldier had crushed a piece of her. Realising that, despite all the violence and bloodshed, nothing had changed had almost killed her.

She moved on. She had no choice. She was stuck in a cycle of pain, grief and vengence. For every soul avenged, she lost three more. It weighed down on her, but the war was never ending. There was no time for a young adult to question the choices made in youth and the path they put her on.

Then it ended. She emerged victorious from the final battle.

The dead were avenged.

The bloodshed was over.

Taratheras was free.

She was still the last of her village.

For all that there were celebrations and feasts and meetings, no one actually paid her any mind. They had their hero and they'd all assumed she'd continue to fight when called on. There was no reason to interact with her when so much was left to be settled.

That was their mistake.

For the first time in twelve years, in sixteen years actually, she looked to the future and realised she could choose. The ones who destroyed her home were dead, her family and comrades avenged. For the first time, Aria was able to look at the future, and make a decision that wasn't based on fixing the past. She didn't know what she was going to do, but she knew this.

She was tired of fighting.

Today saw her slinking down the main road of the city. The streets were full of jubilated people, none paying attention to the woman sticking to the shadows. She didn't have a goal in mind, per se, but it'd been so long since she'd done this. She realised one night that she'd spent almost half her life fighting for a place she never saw, so she was trying to change that. She was about to cut down a side alley, having reached her limit of dealing with crowds, when a shop caught her eye. The display was nothing close to what was expected of Taratheras' War Horse. Yet, a memory of Affie surfaced.

"If you're trying to figure out who you want to be, start with some new clothes"

With nothing to lose and the voice of a ghost pushing her forward, she headed into the shop.

She’s a battle-scarred, jaded super-soldier loaded with biomechanical upgrades and chemical augments. All she wants to do is wear cute clothes and paint.

[everythingwasnormalhere]

rorschach c5 my beloved cuz its at almost 2k words and im only by like half of it !!

[cookieclover]

I thought I'd finally do a proper introduction/masterpost for my blog!

______________________________________________________________

Hi! You can call me Cookie, I’m a self-taught artist from Poland, obsessed with transformers for QUITE some time now ^^ Currently working part time as a teacher, trying to make art my full time job.

Right now my biggest project is the comic series called "Mute B-127 AU" - a story I created based on the Transformers One movie, where B-127 annoys Sentinel a little too much during his capture.

Series ongoing, updates every 10 days (or so)

Chapter 1 - What if?

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

Chapter 2 - The Aftermath

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

(next update around 18/04/25, 6PM CET)

______________________________________________________________

If you like my work, you can SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI! (I have a shop with some transformers merch - stickers, button pins and prints! Shipping worldwide for 5 Euro!)

Rules and FAQ of my blog:

I always read and appreciate the asks, but I may not always reply!

Feel free to DM me, I’m always happy to make friends! :>

Please don’t repost my art on other platforms!

COMMISSIONS OPEN

Small tags guide under the cut:

For art:

#mute B-127 AU - everything about the comic series, including asks, wips and fanarts

#claykittyformers - tiny cube catformers figures I make out of clay

#cc.art - my art (and #cc.(name of the oc) - art of that specific character)

For organising:

#cc.ask - answering from inbox

#cc.notart - for all the not-art posts

#cookieclovershop - some information, updates and sales in my Ko-fi shop

#reblog - the name speaks for itself

#mytreasures - all the gifts and fanarts made for me <3

Please note, some posts may not be properly tagged yet. I'll try to fix that soon ^^

[the-kingshound]

Small Kal update

I am very fond of lists and bullet points so I'm going to make this post, and hopefully more if I manage to stay consistent, to update everyone following my WIPs about their progress.

The King's Hound

You might know that the update, which consists of the second part of chapter 2, is 95% done in terms of writing. Unfortunately, it has been for quite a while, and though I had hoped to release it by September, at the latest October, it's clear that I need a bit more time.

The main reason, just so you all are aware and know what to expect from me and my games, is that I started a three year university course, Dietetics, and the lessons alone go from 9 am to either 4 pm or 6 pm (plus, I have almost four hours a day total of commute). It's not difficult per se, but it is physically draining and takes a lot of time and energy out of me.

Personal update aside, last weekend I managed to:

Edit Arthur and Gwyar's first pov scenes in game. I think I am finally satisfied, and hopefully you will be too

Polish the code a bit.

Not much, but still. What's left to do for the update is:

Edit Morien's first meeting with MC in chapter 2

Finish writing the ROs scenes in chapter 2 (part 2)

Code chapter 2 part 2 (😭)

I'll keep you updated if I manage to get some progress done in the weekend!

Golden Ashes (blog)

Last week I finally changed the title and the blog aesthetic, so there's that. I am very happy with the new look. As for the rewrite:

I have been slowly working on it since summer. The total wordcount is around 3k words, and it includes Cherena's first meeting + dragon MC's introduction into society. It's about 30% of the updated Prologue.

I have done a bit of work on the Twine UI for Golden Ashes, but with the Sugarcube update I will need some help to have it all working as it should. Still, it's mostly done so it shouldn't require much additional time

Aand that's all. See you soon❤

[xxnashiraxx]

WIP Whenever 🖤

Going off the last line challenge and the wips I've been tagged in, namely by the wonderfully talented @lanafofana, @andromedaancunin, & @vividiana to name a few!! I love you guys! 💖

Here's a little snippet from Chapter 20 coming out tomorrow!!

His lips a delicate introduction, he presses them over her quivering pulse point, ever so gently. His touch barely skims across, like she’s made of glass, seeking the perfect entry in contrast to the savagery he’s about to enact. Slotting his fangs above his old mark, tentative press to the divots, she sucks in a breath in anticipation. Not for weeks have they done this- not since her feelings were barely past their inception, not since she’d spiraled into whatever presence occupies space alongside the tadpole… The line dividing them from the past and uncertain future is gone the instant his teeth sink in, a prick of delicious agony, the time between them struck from the record. Elegant points perforate the conduit carrying what he seeks most until it flows from her into his mouth. She suppresses the whimper that hangs taut in the air, her own canines blunt as they bite down hard on her lip. His moan of relief is vulgar, fingernails digging through the fabric of her pants as he grips her leg, the other sliding up her waist to rest over the healing injury, still sensitive. For a moment she’s afraid he’ll claw at her there, too, but he doesn’t… Instead, he caresses the soft flesh until she can no longer hold back the sounds trapped in her throat. Such a contrast to the sharp digging of his fangs, tearing with an almost amateur fervor that spurs tears in her eyes. It hurts, gods, it hurts so much… “Don’t-” She gasps, feeling him loosen his jaw. A muffled huff of disapproval melts against her shredded derma, and in resignation, he clamps down again. Her body spasms beneath his touch, every inch of her fighting the impulse to shove him away, to ask him to stop. It’s neither cruel nor merciful- frostbite that claims each digit as it snakes its way up her arms and down her spine. Indiscriminately it claws and rips as it extracts tears from her and she shudders in his arms, trying to latch onto the gentle soothing of his fingers at her side. She sobs, the threads of his connection leashing her thoughts to his. It’s a sweet and excruciating concession, spreading like a blight through every limb. As he intertwines them further, pushing past the tadpole to connect them in a different way entirely, she admits defeat with a sorrowful whine. Because making it hurt still isn’t enough… There’s no escaping how good it feels- not even when he’s trying to rip my throat out. “O-okay,” She rasps, voice gravelly and raw. He can feel her submission before she speaks, tongue running over the torn skin like the sear of an iron. His approval heady and thick in her skull, he moves to the other side and kisses her there, fingers wrapping her long hair around his wrist to tug her head back. Anchoring her in his grip, leash loosening around her laughable self-control, he sinks in, her eyes drifting shut at the soft bite of pressure- surrendering to the warmth that pulses through her body. It’s torture, fighting the instinct to touch him, weightless in his lovely embrace both in body and mind. If this is what all those books and movies hoped to portray, a dominion all-consuming and passionate, then the meager self-control she’s maintaining isn’t long for this world...

Anyway!!! This is ready to go!! I am equal parts terrified and excited to finally move past the total freeze out we've had and god I hope the dialogue is good. I've been mentally torturing myself over it for like three weeks.

No pressure tags! Share with me your words!!! @pinkberrytea @khywren @caffeinatedmunchkin @bby-bel-art @bloodinwine @bum-dragon @inkymoonbunny @verbenaa @preciouslittlebhaalbae @elinorbard @nerdallwritey @lanafofana @obsessedwhyyes @larvasmoonlight @deadly-diminuendo @heylittleriotact @aldisobey @emmg @bhaal-battle-beer-bard @coyote-mint @hellethil @bardic-inspo @marlowethebard @badbloodwitch @justabiteofspite @roguishcat @alwaysmauria

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

ABOUT ME AND MASTERLIST

hello everyone! My name is Anne and I'm just a girl who writes for Formula 1!

reqs currently open inbox currently open

I am so glad you have somehow found this little blog! a few things about me: I have the unhealthiest obsession with uhm... OLDER MEN, I struggle to wake up on race days but do it anyways and still complain about it, I love good romance books and movies, and I like to cook rather than bake because I can't bake 🥲

we're all friends here, so please feel free to reach out! I hope you all enjoy your time here! :)

below is my masterlist related to all things f1! as I continue to write, I will continue to add to the list.

the list will be divided individually by drivers or team principals (mostly toto wolff). Any mature content will be noted by the symbol ❤️ if it's full of fluffy content then I will mark it with the symbol 🩵, I don't know if there're any chances that I will write some angsty stuff or not, and if yes then it will go by this heart symbol 💛.

happy reading! <3

Toto Wolff

Homecoming Daydream Series ❤️, 🩵 1 2 3

Mr Long Legs and Ms Pocket Size 🩵 One-shot

Movie night 🩵 One-shot

Hearts in Sync, Tires on Track 🩵 One-shot

Scout Wolff 🩵 One-shot

Then, now, and forever ❤️,🩵

Prinzessin ❤️,🩵

Sebastian Vettel

Little Vettel (WIP) 🩵

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Charles Leclerc

Play you? Play me? ❤️,🩵

Max Verstappen

His bookworm ❤️,🩵

Smile, we’re on the camera ❤️,🩵

Instacrush ❤️,🩵

Oscar Piastri

Summer Serendipity - Chapter 1

Summer Serendipity - Chapter 2

Kinktober 2024

Kinktober masterlist

[thistooshall-if]

This Too Shall Pass is an Interactive Fiction that delves into a reality in which you were once the Chosen One- Destined to save the world. But you had failed.

When once held up on a pedestal, then thrown you away as soon as your failure became apparent. You now navigate that same world 22 years later as it slowly succumbs to that fate you were supposed to save it from.

The Demo is currently only showcasing the Prologue- and the first 1k words of Chapter One. Totaling roughly 2.1k words

I’m primarily publishing this now- as opposed to with a full chapter- for motivation on my part, as well as an interest-check/introduction for what’s to come for those that are- well, interested. A sneak-peek, I would say.

The road-map for the future of this WIP:

Play as the legendary failed Chosen One Customize your character’s appearance and personality; gender, pronouns, style, control your anger or let it guide you. Do people recognise you? Trans and non-binary inclusive Romance? Yes Try and save the world again- and again- and again- and again-

Chapter One will be released in full later this December.

As always- critique is appreciated. And I hope to update you guys very soon.

Links demo: x forum: x

[caffeineandink]

Writeblr Introduction

I've been lurking for a year so I thought I'd introduce myself.

Hi, my name is Mack, and I've been writing since I was 8 years old (I'm 19 now). I am in college for Secondary Education with a concentration in English, and I'm beginning my second semester this Fall.

I mainly write fantasy at the moment, but I have dabbled in mystery and paranormal/horror as well. My favorite WIP at the moment is a fantasy/mythology book called The Thriving Village of Nyr, which I have lots of worldbuilding done on, but only one chapter written. My other WIP is unnamed, but it's more dystopian fantasy.

I am one of those writers who has like 10 WIPs going at once, so my goal is to have at least one finished and published before I graduate from college.

Hobbies outside of writing include crochet, cooking, reading, character sketching, and video games (my favorite is Animal Crossing).

It's a pleasure having met a bunch of writers so far, and am looking forward to meeting many more

[angelpuns]

L330-N AU MASTERPOST

Finally working on an information post for the L330-N au! It's brand new, so there isn't much yet, but I still wanted to do a brief introduction to it!

Casey Jones Jr. has never left the bunker by himself before, but when his mom doesn't come back from a food run, he knows what he must do. His mom always told him that if she disappeared, he needed to find the Hamato clan, and so he is searching across an apocalyptic New York to find them. L33 is a robot that just wants to learn about humanity and what life was like before the apocalypse. He too is searching for something...or someone, but he isn't sure what.

Character Refs and Info

Sketches/Doodles: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter 1: First Meeting

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 , Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16

L330-N: Flesh & Blood: Turn-Based RPG Spinoff (currently a wip)

Everything will be under the L330-N Au tag as well &lt;;3