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jenniferdarjeeling · 2 months

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Honest Writer Thoughts

I need someone to create a successful live adaptation of one of my books so that I can be invited to and attend a red carpet event, where I can finally wear a glamorous and expensive gown.

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shares-a-vest · 8 months

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Steve looks up from his magazine, one of Keith’s many car subscriptions that he is gifted as leftovers, to find Dustin not not looking straight at him and fiddling with the same copy of Hello! Dolly he had picked up a solid ten minutes ago.

He is fairly certain he knows Dustin’s movie preferences. And they don’t include Barbara Streisand’s matchmaking through song and big hats.

Dustin turns away, revealing a backpack that now sports a gigantic Hellfire patch sewn onto the front pocket, courtesy of Robin and Eddie’s joint sewing endeavours.

“Henderson!” Steve calls, frowning.

Nothing. The kid might as well be twiddling his goddamn thumbs as he chances a glance over he shoulder, very obviously hearing him.

Steve snaps the magazine shut and rounds the counter to the musical section. But Dustin scampers away, setting a steady pace as he comically power walks down the split horror-comedy aisle in order to double back to the front of the store.

“Hey! What the hell, man?” Steve says, taking a few strides to get ahead of the kid so Dustin is blocked right between him and the front candy display, “What the hell is up with you?”

He probably sounds more accusatory than curious, judging by Dustin’s wide and panicked eyes. The boy shrugs and looks away.

Yeah, Dustin not talking and not blabbering away about anything, let alone whatever it is that’s up? Fucking weird.

Steve looks him over, examining his young friend’s movements as he shuffles on the spot and periodically scuffs his sneakers on the sun-faded green carpet.

“Um, uhhh...” Dustin hums after a long pause.

Still strangely incomprehensible for him – but it’s something, at least.

“What is it?” he asks, voice low as he searches for a shred of eye contact.

“Do you, I dunno... maybe...” Dustin trails off, gesturing in the air as a pair of nervous eyebrows disappear up under the Cubs cap Steve gifted him for Christmas 1984.

Not that Dustin cares about the Cubs – then or now.

Dustin slips his hands under his backpack straps and rocks on the spot as he continues prattling on.

“Do you wanna hang out on Sunday? I mean, if you don’t have a date or anything.”

The kid sticks out his bottom lip and rolls his eyes, not at all appearing as casual as he seems to want to be.

“Sure,” Steve shrugs, confused.

Jesus Christ, since when is this kid all nervous about hanging out?

“Steve,” Dustin sighs deeply, pinching his nose (good, back to his bratty, if a little exasperated, self), “Sunday is Father's Day.”

“Oh.”

He must have passed by the greeting card display at Melvad’s, over and over during every lunch break as he headed in for a can of soda and whatever non Family Video-sponsored candy Keith was craving.

It’s not like he had any reason to remember. His folks haven’t been home since the ‘earthquake’ and they almost never call. Hell, he has enough of a time conversing at any length when his mother does call, let alone asking her to put his father on the phone.

Not that he wants to talk to his non-college attending, barely-high school graduate son who works minimum wage retail and has no girlfriend, anyway.

Not that all of that matters much when Dustin is looking back at him with a rare sadness in his eyes.

“I mean, your dad isn’t home – obviously,” Dustin starts, though not quite as harsh as his usual barbs, “And Will spends the day with Hop now. Eddie and Wayne go fishing. And I would be going to visit my grandpa but he and Nanna went on a cruise. I think they went – ”

“Sure, buddy,” he blurts out, offering a pat on the shoulder to make up for inadvertently cutting the kid off. He pauses and frowns, “But what about your mom?”

Dustin shrugs, “She wants to have a girl’s day with Valerie.”

Ah, yes. Valerie Richardson, Claudia Henderson’s best friend and Hawkins’ biggest town gossip courtesy of her job as the receptionist at the doctor’s office. Steve can’t help but laugh – Valerie really knows her stuff.

“I’m assuming their girl’s day will involve a charcuterie board and wine?”

“Charcuterie,” Dustin mutters, beyond displeased at the thought of dips, fruit and water crackers – a far cry from his mother’s prized lasagne.

“Alright,” Steve announces, rubbing his hands together, “We’d better pick out some movies. I’m thinking we hit the arcade, then have a movie marathon over the cheesiest of pizzas...”

Dustin grins.

#i hope this came across more as a brotherly relationship and not steve as a parent figure #i'm tentatively writing some father-related stuff this week (it's father's day in aus this sunday)#my goal is to write a little something each day but my week is shaping up to be all over the place so i'll see how i go #steve harrington #dustin henderson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steve harrington headcanon #claudia henderson #lilys ficlets #st: father's day edition

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theearlgreymage · 5 months

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Despite having written close to 25k words this month, I have been SLACKING on making any type of "Six Sentence Sunday" or "WIP Wednesday" Posts. Partially because my NaNoWriMo Project is a secret gift. Partially because I have been cursed by an eldritch deity and never know peace.

Anyway. To each and every one of you who continues to tag me - you're gems. Sweethearts. Sparkles of Light on my bad days. I love and appreciate each of you, even if I do it silently from my little corner of the world.

Setting the emotions aside now.

Here are as many sentences as I feel like sharing from my project. Because I've been quiet lately and ya'll deserve more than just six measly sentences for not abandoning me. (And if you're from the CO Fandom, know that I'm coming back to all my SnowBaz WIPs as soon as I finish this beast)

An Excerpt from Chapter XI

As I finish Erwin’s request, I level my gaze back on him. Finding his eyes with my own, there’s a look, an intensity, in them that leaves my mouth dry. There’s a question flying in the blue of his irises, a curiosity that I want to sate. What does he want from me? Swallowing, I lean forwards in my seat. Propping my elbows on the table, even though Erwin told me that proper nobles keep their elbows off the tops of tables and desks. “How much of this is true?” Erwin’s eyes flash at my question, and he leans in himself. Bringing our heads close enough together that I can smell the tea and cream from breakfast on his breath. “What do you think?” “I think I’m not being told everything,” anything, “and that’s on purpose.” Apparently, that was the right thing to say as Erwin grins at me. And again, I’m struck with how much he reminds me of that boy who’s name I can’t recall. Brilliant white teeth and pink lips that soften his angular face. The sight stirs something reminiscent in my gut. I’m half tempted to ask Erwin if he feels it too, if I remind him of someone from his own childhood. But before I can gather the courage to potentially make a fool of myself if I’m wrong, Erwin is asking more questions of me. “And why would they do that? Why not tell you, tell everyone the truth?” “The same reason anyone avoids the truth, because they have something to hide.” It’s an easy answer. One of the first lessons that Kenny taught me. Everyone has something to hide, and if you can find that truth in an individual you can best them every time. “Exactly,” Erwin agrees with me as he pushes the books we’ve been studying away from us. “So what could the royals and nobles be hiding from us?” At that, I’m stumped and shrug my shoulders. Erwin deflates with me, almost like he was expecting me to actually have the answer to that question. He does think I’m a noble, maybe the idiot thinks I have some secrets. It wouldn’t shock me to discover that he wants to use me for something. He’s clearly working against the nobility in some regard, and I’m sure having a noble on his side could be beneficial. But if he thinks I’m going to be some grand advantage, he’s surely mistaken. I’m nothing more than a good fighter and decent thief. “I think we’ve covered enough for today,” Erwin redirects the conversation suddenly. Moving to restack the books and parchment we’ve been using all afternoon.

Consider the Tags below as both a Hello, but also How are you all doing?

@aristocratic-otter @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @artsyunderstudy @bazzybelle @bookish-bogwitch @buffy @captain-aralias @confused-bi-queer @cutestkilla @ebbpettier @erzbethluna @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @foolofabookwyrm-activated @gekkoinapeartree @hushed-chorus @ic3-que3n @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ileadacharmedlife @ionlydrinkhotwater @j-nipper-95 @johnwgrey @krisrix @larkral @martsonmars @letraspal @moodandmist @mostlymaudlin @onepintobean @palimpsessed @prettylightsbigcity @raenestee @shrekgogurt @skeedelvee @stardustasincocaine @stitchyqueer @tea-brigade @theimpossibledemon @thewholelemon @wellbelesbian @whogaveyoupermission @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

#six sentence sunday #as many sentences as I want sunday #hey #I'm alive #not necessarily thriving #but breathing #Writing away #working on some NaNoWriMo Secret Project #Gift Fic #Currently at 24345 words #100k goal #Other goals #NaNoWriMo #AOT #Eruri #LevixErwin #WIP

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writethestory365 · 22 days

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If only I had enough words to describe how good God is to me —

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nordic-language-love · 5 months

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Hmm can I make it to 50K by the end of Sunday?

#nanowrimo #i'd need to write an average of 3K+ a day soooo it may be challenging #i'm currently averaging 2.474 words/day #but it's an easy work week and i'll have the sunday write-in #hmm we'll see what happens #the book won't be done by then of course and i plan to continue writing daily #75K by the end of the month might be a nice goal

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ronsharry · 9 days

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hey guys pls choose what one you’d like me to focus on!! i want to write alot so i want to focus on just one fic rn and then I’ll be able to move on to my other wip:)

#i’ll leave this up for a day #and then hopefully have the chosen fic or chapter uploaded by Sunday #that’s my goal.#i have to write it here or else i won’t do it #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #my fics #pls help me choose #harry potter #harry james potter #ronarry

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mellaithwen · 2 years

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~ Seven Sentence Sunday ~

Thank you for the tag @hopeintheashes and @renecdote <33 (edit: and @hmslusitania just before I posted haha thank you!!)

ren asked for tsunami horror fic so apologies if anyone was hoping for the 5x06 AU. On the plus side this is a fair bit longer than seven sentences ;)

Buck’s sitting upright in his hospital bed, but any relief Eddie might have felt at seeing him finally conscious is quickly swallowed by everything else.

Buck’s back is ramrod straight—unnaturally so—and his chest is heaving in a panic. Eddie can see his breath floating listlessly in the suddenly frigid air, and both Buck and Eddie’s arms are goosepimpled, with every hair standing on end. The gown Buck’s wearing is slipping off of one shoulder to expose the livid bruising along his collarbone and neck, and in the low-light Eddie thinks they look like hand prints.

“Buck?” Eddie calls out amidst his own shivering.

He gets no response, and even though Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck to make of the flickering lights, and overwhelming chill, what he does know is that Buck’s finally awake, and he’s looking more terrified than Eddie’s ever seen, which is more than enough to stir up every single protective instinct he has within him.

“Buck!” He calls again, louder this time, while the machines at Buck’s bedside whirr and scream as his heart-rate rockets way past dangerous and into numbers too high to even register.

Eddie dives forward only to find that he can’t move. His feet feel like lead and he can’t get close. There’s… there’s something stopping him, blocking him, and it’s strong and Eddie’s fighting against it, pushing with all of his might, but all he can do is slide on the linoleum as he tries to wrestle against the impossible invisible resistance.

Buck’s eyes are wide and facing forward—his mouth open in a silent scream as he stares straight ahead at nothing. Eddie has the awful sickening realization that there just might be something there that he can’t see, and this time his shivering has nothing to do with the cold front seemingly sweeping through the hospital.

He pushes harder, and harder. Shouting and grunting as he goes. He throws himself into the simple act of just taking a damn step but nothing gives and his own panic is building with every second that he’s kept from Buck’s side.

His chest heaving, Eddie looks around the room for something to help but there’s nothing he can throw or use for leverage without risking hitting Buck.

Keep going, he thinks desperately as his hand drifts up the medallion around his own neck, subconsciously searching for comfort from St. Christopher.

Another push, another cry, and this time, finally, something cracks; there’s a gap, little more than a sliver, and he makes it through. His hand reaches Buck’s sleeve, and the second he makes contact there’s a jolt, almost like an electric shock that thrums through Eddie’s fingertips. He sees something; something dark and awful with eyes unblinking as they bore into him. He hears a scream, feels a tingling sensation in the base of his skull, and a warmth on his neck and chest where the pendant lay, and then and then and then—

It’s over.

The resistance in the air gives way like a taut elastic string snapping and Eddie stumbles forward in its absence. A weight seems to drop from the atmosphere as the lights settle and dim, and Buck gives him a pained and confused look.

“Eds?” He whispers brokenly, his voice small, looking utterly spent, before his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses sideways into Eddie’s waiting embrace.

>:)

Tagging: @littlespoonevan @homerforsure @evanbucxley @tripleaxeldiaz @princessfbi @zainclaw @hattalove @probieeddie and @thekristen999 <33

#the tsunami horror fic #me — the biggest scaredy cat — writing a ghost story — is frankly ridiculous but here we are #the goal is to freak myself out #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #911 fic #seven sentence sunday #buddie fic #writing #mellaithwen fanfic

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onebizarrekai · 1 year

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How are you doing today Kai?

I sure do be existin man 👋

#my siblings and I are playing sonic frontiers on sundays #it's actually the highest quality sonic game that's come out in a LONG time #it gives me fond feelings #asks #that aside dude honestly I'm an up and down mess #music is one of the few things that brings me real peace recently #you ever go like #'I am not inspired to create anything because I'm almost all on my own with it and I think I actually have been for a long time now'#because that is a thing. that is happening #don't really have any project buddies anymore #no one fighting for similar goals as me #people to throw ideas with #it's rough #like man how do I be inspired to write when I don't know anyone who's working on their own thing?#in art + writing I mean #y'know maybe that's why I'm having such a hard time

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ugh-yoongi · 10 months

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will prob be able to get this hobi fic finished by monday if i'm not a complete piece of shit all weekend

#getting tattooed tomorrow but mayhaps i can get some writing done on sunday #this is probably too ambitious of a goal but we'll seeeeeee

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sociallyawkwardfoxwriter · 11 months

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Finished writing my last Dorym Week fic today. 64,520 words. I still have to edit and draft on AO3. This is fine. It's only 64,520 words. 🫠

#critical role #dorym #i want to have them all done before sunday #my goal is done by friday #because i still have 12 sections to write for my may otp fic #i didn't expect may to be so much writing

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bylightofdawn · 5 months

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WIP Sunday

Alright, zoomed through the first part of my Cahir timeloop fic. OF COURSE the title for this was stupidly easy and came to me with no problems whatsoever yet I cannot for the life of me pick a fic name of that Alpha-17 & Co fic to save my damned soul. I'm making up shit so much in this fic and going off of context clues from the show and from the wiki. So I'm prolly getting shit wrong, but ask me if i care. I'm also aware 1,200 words is a perfectly respectable length of fanfic for actual sane individuals but anyone who has been around my blog for more than five minutes knows I bloviate and expound upon things until the average chapter length is like 5k easily. I am hoping I can keep the other scenes a little shorter now that I've set the basis.

We shall see. Yadda yadda things are super rough and unedited and prone to be heavily in the final draft etc. And I guess blanket spoiler warning for Season 3 of the Witcher beyond the cut.

He’d done it.

Gods help him but he’d done it and in doing so, Cahir suspected he’d damned his soul to eternity.

The look of hurt, betrayal, and fear in Gallatin’s eyes as he’d started up at him, all accusatory and heartbroken, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

But it was his only hope for redemption, the only way he could reclaim his place at the White Flame’s side and that made it worth it.

Right?

Cahir was used to the bloody and gruesome work of killing. His hands had been stained over in blood countless times. Those of his enemies, those he might have called a friend, and even the occasional lover, but this time it was different.

He’d never betrayed a friend in such a fashion before.

The metallic-laden smell of blood clung to his hands and to the knife he’d buried in the elf’s throat as he dragged his fingers down Gallatin’s face in an attempt to close those accusatory eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it had to be this way.” He mumbled apologies to the dead man as bile churned in his stomach. The wine that he’d drunk so quickly in an attempt to steel his nerves threatened to sour on him now.

Cahir hadn’t felt this nauseous after a kill since the first man he’d killed when he’d been little more than a half-grown whelp. He’d taken his revenge on the traitorous castellan who’d taken over control of his family’s homestead when his father and brothers had been imprisoned.

The man had been supposed to see to their wellbeing but instead had left his mother and sisters to starve and scrabble out an existence while the Usurper’s tyrannical reign continued on.

Killing that traitorous worm had evoked a sense of grim accomplishment in the young man but it had also left him so sick to his stomach that he’d very nearly been sick all over his boots. Only sheer will and a desperate need to not look weak in front of the White Flame and his allies had kept him from throwing up everything he’d eaten that day when the awful stench of human offal and bowels laid open reached his nose.

He’d become used to that stench and far worse things in the last decade.

But for some reason, the sight of that crimson blood on his hands was upsetting in a way he had no words to convey. When Cahir looked at the heart-stricken reflection of the man in the mirror, he could barely recognize his own face. The man in the mirror heaved and sobbed for breath and looked on the cusp of crying.

The guilt and agony twisted up his face in an unrecognizable rictus that bordered on madness and he punched that face because he could not bear to look at it any longer.

And maybe…just maybe a part of him wanted someone to punch that expression off of his face. Maybe the pain of a broken nose could distract him from the emotional flux he was going through.

Unfortunately, the only person in the room was a rapidly cooling corpse.

Gallatin would have undoubtedly done the honors if he’d been alive, but the man would never throw another punch again. Would never see another sunrise or get drunk or kiss another person again. He’d never held a loved one as they were dying or would have experienced the pain and exhilaration of battle either.

All because Cahir had taken that future away from him with his blood-soaked hands.

The realization that he needed to get out of this room occurred to him as he looked at the now shattered face in the mirror. But first…he needed to address the body in the room.

First, he washed the blood from his hands and cleaned up the blood after wrapping Gallatin’s body in one of the rough-spun blankets from the bed, which he bound up with the rope from the curtains.

Emhyr had not given him explicit instructions on what he wanted done with Gallatin’s body. Whether he wanted to use the man in some pawn or machination like perhaps as a way to sew further dissent among the elves by pinning the blame on one of their Northern enemies.

Cahir had no doubt that if Emhyr had been there, he would have a brilliant plan to use Gallatin’s death and to pin it on just the right person to make the most impact but Cahir wasn’t as clever or brilliant as the White Flame.

He was a simple soldier and one who lacked the patience or foresight to plan out such intricate machinations. And if he were being honest with himself, he didn’t want to see Gallatin’s death twisted into some kind of machination or his memory used as a pawn in some inscrutable chess game only Emhyr could see with full clarity.

Instead, he picked up Gallatin and made use of the shadows at midnight to make his way down into the dungeons where the recently deceased prisoners and other unremarkable corpses were stored to be handed over to the undertakers to be cremated or buried in a mass grave.

It was an insulting and undignified ending for a man like Gallatin, but it wasn’t as though he was in a position to give him a proper funeral. And the more quiet his death, the better, especially if he didn’t want his death to be turned into a spectacle.

After that unsavory duty was performed and Gallatin’s corpse was tossed heartlessly into the pile, Cahir turned away with eyes that were stinging with unshed tears behind the shade of the cloak he wore.

Somehow he made it back to his room though his memory of it was dim at best. He remembered stopping by the kitchens and ordering two skeins of wine in hopes of drowning his memories out under a haze of alcohol.

The scullery girl knew better than to question even a dishonored knight such as himself and handed them over without a word of protest.

He immediately poured himself a glass of wine once he made it to his room and proceeded to gulp it down without even bothering to taste it. It helped to settle his stomach somewhat and he poured himself another. The next hour was spent getting steadily drunker and drunker until he was able to close his eyes without seeing Gallatin’s hurt expression of confused betrayal playing in front of his mind’s eye.

Eventually, he fell face-first into his narrow bed and felt the world spin around him dizzyingly before he surrendered himself to the oily darkness of uneasy sleep and even more uneasy dreams.

#el writes #wip sunday #witcher fanfiction #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #gallatin #eventual end-goal of cahir/gallatin #fanfiction snippet

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shredsandpatches · 6 months

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sunday snippet (mais là-bas, tu seras au mien edition)

Here's a thing I wrote the other day for a still-pretty-inchoate WIP with the working title of "Two Sickos, One Body" (aka the sexy [consensual] demonic possession fic). Involves some discussion of master/servant dynamics and the complications involved when the servant also has phenomenal cosmic power; also involves some very mild bloodplay. Marlowe-based, as usual (despite the Gounod ref in the header).

--

"It hurts you, too, doesn't it?" Faustus asks, one night.

Mephistopheles shakes his head, but in a noncommittal way. "No more than anything else," he says, which isn't precisely true, but might put Faustus off this line of questioning. What does he think eternal torment means?

Faustus' expression is earnest, uncharacteristically so. "Why do you do this, then?"

Mephistopheles makes a sound that might pass for amusement. He draws a fingernail across Faustus' collarbone and watches a few tiny drops of blood well up, smiling at the sound of Faustus' efforts to conceal a sharp intake of breath. "You of all people need to ask that?"

"Yes, but—" Faustus takes another, steadier breath, regaining his self-possession. "I don't think you like it."

"And yet I'm bound to your service for twenty-four years," Mephistopheles says, and takes a small, sharp delight in the sudden furrowing of his master's brow, the hurt that fills his eyes. Like all but the most powerful of humans, Faustus has never been truly, completely comfortable with absolute mastery, even the illusory form he holds over Mephistopheles. In the great courts of Europe, he freely gives unspoken commands to his familiar spirit; in his bed, he prefers to pretend they are both simply men.

"Oh," Faustus says, crestfallen. He raises himself a little, as if he's going to turn away from Mephistopheles, but reconsiders and only rolls onto his back. "I don't remember ordering you," he says.

"No," Mephistopheles says, touching a fingertip to the hollow between Faustus' collarbones, where the scattered drops of blood have begun to congeal; now he traces a path downward, drawing out a hair-thin stream of red blood that bubbles up from soft white flesh.

#sunday snippet #fic #doctor faustus #hot faust summer #faustopheles #otp: as many souls as there be stars #this fic is basically going to be a combination of slapstick comedy and intense romance and existential horror #at least that's the goal idk if my writing skills are actually up to it

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guqin-and-flute · 1 year

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Just moved 23 pages of 11 point font character notes and planning from my 3zun doc into a planning doc...hopefully it will run faster now??

#it's still 246 pages long T-T #My stuff #But I've had a bit of a breakthru with a few things so writing will be done in the next few days!#I shall set a goal of updating something by Sunday #Perhaps I'll try to get back into the habit of trying to post on Sundays

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pettyprocrastination · 1 year

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In less than two hours I was able to write five pages (more like four whole pages and a quarter) that came to almost a thousand words meanwhile every other time in my life im fighting and sobbing trying to break 500-

I think this might be a sign that I should write by hand more than typing up

#tj talks #hoping I dont jinx myself by this lmao #my goal was to get five pages by sunday on midnight and then i just put on my playlist and zoned out #i forgot how satisfying it is to write by hand- except for the constant hand cramping-#but i think this may be a sign that im more productive when i write with simple pen and paper then on the computer??? idk #im still trying to figure out how to be a productive writer ill let you guys know more as time goes on lol #also fun fact about me is that i have HORRID handwriting just chicken scratch #but i havent written anything over break so finally getting through is something small that im proud of myself for

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geek-fashionista · 1 year

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Thanks to my recent bout of illness, I’ve got some catching up to do. But March Madness continues!

#i started at the beginning of March #I subtracted all the Sundays from the remaining days in the year and came up with this goal #6000 words a week #still about a week behind #writeblr #writing #am I going to write during my honeymoon? probably

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squeegee2 · 1 year

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Going to start the new year off strong with a caffenaited writing day. 5000 word goal? Let's do this.

Playlist for today's writing:

#the Disappearance of thomas jenkins #writing #writer #2023 #writer goals #horror #thriller #murder mystery #gothic horror #book #wip #wip stuff #wip sunday #wip sneak peek #wip spoilers #Spotify

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