n today's "String" update, that is one sturdy floor taking the weight of so much clay all at once.
Kill The Beast (preview)
Title: Kill The Beast
Pairing: Henry Cavill black Female Reader
Genre: Werewolf AU, Thriller, Modernish Era
Summary: The entire time they’d been hunting him, he’d been hunting you.
A/N: Been sitting on this for a minute. Work has been frying my brain and I've spent more time reading than writing. I plan on having this done and posted Saturday night. Preview Below
Your new neighbors' warnings were received by your family as charming quirks. Until a woman about your age went missing.
What further made it so odd was how the town, including the police, accepted her being taken by the Faerie King.
The woman had been seen coming in from a walk in the woods the day before her disappearance. Those that had seen her commented on how she seemed spooked. Scared. Afraid of a man with a horned crown she happened upon riding a giant stag.
It unsettled your little family unit. After that, you'd seen to set the bowl out every night.
Less than a month later you'd gotten a scare that you hadn't recovered from.
You were setting the bowl of milk and honey out as had become your routine. The air felt charged. All-day, a deep sense of foreboding kept you in your house.
It was the sight of one of your father's sheep out on the edge of the proper that lined the now famed woods that made you pause on your back steps.
During the day the dense trees and lush greens beckoned you to take a walk and learn of the secrets of the woods. It begged you to get lost in branches and soft undergrowth. Knowing what you knew now, it was a dangerous temptation.
Night, the night was an entirely different beast. As the oranges and yellows of the light of the day faded, in one last tempting call offering you fun in the thick fauna. It was as if the woods became angry with you for resisting its song.
The darkness was impossibly black. There was no discernable way to mark the distinction between what should be dark browns and greens. The thick tree line held strong against the light of the moon. Refusing to let its soft rays break through her branches. The woods at night let you know she held secrets that she could, and would unleash at her leisure.
You would forever hate that sheep after this night.
You stood on those back steps for what felt like hours weighing your decision to venture so close to the oppressive darkness of the woods.
It was your father's love of his animals that made you take the steps forward.
Your feet made rustling sounds that felt too loud for the quiet of the night as you approached the sheep from the rear.
With each step, the skin along your neck and arms prickled with anticipation. You sucked in more air. There was a coldness spreading through you, but you could see no obvious danger.
Normally, you would have made a clicking noise to call the attention of the sheep. Some primal part of your being held your tongue.
You were only two steps away from the animal when that beast emerged from the darkness.
You'd seen wolves on television, and at wildlife preserves. You had no idea they could get this big.
Its fur was a black as the woods it stepped from with silver around its muzzle only made visible by the light of the moon.
On this night you learned that you fell into the freeze category on the flight, fright, or freeze spectrum. The wolf was no more than five feet from you, and emitting a growl so low and menacing it branded itself permanently into your psyche.
14 notes · View notes
excerpt from iwitby: jam and toast
i am forever impressed with how garbage tumblr makes images, so please click for better quality. i'm hesitant to make the font bigger or fewer words per screenshot because that would make these long excerpts even longer on your dash, but if you would like that, please let me know
transcript and taglist under the cut
When I come back to reality, I exclaim, “Wait. You’re sitting on the island?”
He freezes, bread halfway to his mouth. “Why not?”
“You seem too proper for it.”
He shrugs. ‘No one’s here to tell us no. Like you said, nothing matters in the House of Gerwyn.”
Nothing matters. That almost certainly means he doesn’t care about what we’ve been doing—it’s either to please the House, or he’s just bored. Everything matters to me, but who cares? It’s all the same. I’ll get my heart broken either way, even though I’ll never tell him everything. That will stay locked in me forever.
I smile, helpless in bliss for the moment.
“My sister loved exactly this kind of jam,” Cassius says through a full mouth. I freeze.
“You—you have a sister?”
“Yes. You didn’t know that?”
I suck in a breath. “No.” I’m scared of seeming too interested once again to ask questions, though my head is full of them. Her name? What was she like? How did you survive leaving her, because I didn’t survive leaving mine.
“I miss her,” he says idly, oblivious to the effect he’s having on me.
My eyes shut against a wave of grief. Victoria does not cross my mind often—I don’t allow her to—for exactly this reason. Her face, bright and optimistic, is there behind my eyelids, her dark eyes full of hope. The warmth of her grubby little hand in mine is a ghost I long for.
I open my eyes to dark reality again, pierced by a golden mask and red hair. “Yeah?”
“You looked…” He shakes his head, but I don’t let him get away with it this time.
“No. What were you going to say?”
I know he’s staring at me, I know he is, searching my eyes for answers. I try to close them off, make things harder for him.
“You looked sad.”
Such a simple phrase, like something a child would say.
“Why?” he asks.
“My sister—she and I got separated when we were kids.” My voice is tight, my words clipped. The room is dark, but I feel like the spotlight of heaven is shining on me, exposing me. I’ve never told anyone this story. I never thought Cassius Pyrrha would be the first to know.
“Vic—Victoria.” I stare at my fingers, unable to face him, even masked. I wish I had a mask.
“Sebastian and Victoria.” Another shudder goes through me as he says my name. Names do not have power like flame and darkness do, but there’s something indescribable about hearing mine pass his lips. “Where were your parents?”
“Dead. We’d just left their bodies behind. We were trying to get to the mainland when we, um. When we got separated.”
“Let me guess. You sought revenge on the person who took her from you and got a taste for blood?”
Blissful wonder is quickly replaced by red hot anger. After everything we’ve done, I’d hoped he might see me differently, but apparently not. His voice cuts like a ruthless knife, like the knife I didn’t use. “I don’t want to hurt people who don’t deserve it. I want to hurt the people who do. I get no joy out of harming innocents. Let’s clear that up right now.”
He’s quiet. I finally face him to demand an explanation, but the way he’s ducking his head, clearly deep in thought, makes me pause.
“Why do you harm anyone?” he asks, repeating his question from earlier. “What happened to you to make you this way? If your sister was taken from you, why don’t you want to help others who’ve lost their families?”
I take a deep breath. We are at the crux of the issue that divides us. “You can help as many people who are screwed by the system as you want, but as long as it still exists, people will never stop getting screwed. Nothing more, nothing less than that.”
I stand and cross my arms, waiting for his reaction. What am I hoping for, approval? I don’t need anyone’s approval, much less Cassius Pyrrha’s. We’ve been fighting for years over how much he disapproves of me.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “that you had to go through that.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I snap, my hands itching for something to grab onto, something to fiddle with. I hate this feeling. It makes me want to run and hide and never come out where another’s eyes can see me. Vulnerability.
IWITBY taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @ashen-crest @inherentlywritten @justthehopeleft @a-forgotten-dusk @tangled-brambles-in-a-wild-wood @aelenko @47crayons @cielhelm @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @brittany-diamond @indecentpause @myhusbandsasemni @bronwennjames
7 notes · View notes
I am,,,,, half tempted to write s1 but from Bonnie's pov.....
2 notes · View notes
college au! gwendolyn and maksim/anonai, a birthday gift for @headcanonsfromanelfblossom
3 notes · View notes
A History of Dragon Hunters
Dragon hunters were forced to adapt over the ages. Swords and shields were foregone for crossbows and radio trackers. Clanking armor and helmets gave way to fireproof vests and steel-toed boots built like fortresses. The world changed.
Dragons responded by becoming less ostentatious, stealthier, there is more than one way to move underground and what is a shapeshifter without their tricks? Dragons the size of large fireflies, but infinitely more clever, took residence in dense swamps. Enormous, ancient dragons hid themselves as sleeping mountains, and, of course, there were the dragon which did not appear as a dragon at all. Those that adapted to take human forms in order to extend their long lives and evade the very ones that hunted them.
It was the priests who first brought up ethics. They would preach upon the stones of scorched earth and ask in booming voices: Do dragons have souls? Can they be converted? Can they be known? The creatures were clever after all, no denying it, and when they stole princesses they made finely worded requests and eloquent speeches. Could they not be saved?
But the hunters were still born. The social structures shifted into messiness as the classes blurred, no longer were hunters only Kings and noblemen’s sons-- highly trained and bathed in the armor of wealth. Any farm boy with a sword soon rose to the challenge as lore spread and there grew an abundance of steel. But they died.
Dear Jack and Freddie and Henrique, burnt corpses smelling of charred flesh. Cursed from the start as they were sold shoddy weapons and 2-week training by pop-up salesmen with snake oil in their veins. It was a market after all: a few gold coins and you could win glory, class ascension, and a wife of renowned beauty from the clutches of the beast.
And they died. They did not return to their grieving mothers and a clamor rang out to change such madness.
Out of this was born regulation: the guild of dragon hunters. All could join, but few would pass the regiment and join the ranks of professionals. Peasants would bear sons and name them things like Prince and Slayer and Fire-Banisher if they were feeling especially bold. The hope was they would become hunters, dragging them all out of poverty through sword and grit alone.
Time marched on. The dry academics in smoky cafes began their musing on the ethics of dragon hunting: What did it mean to hoard? Was it really so bad? The truest trouble with dragons was their penchant for young women and hunger for anything that sparkled. However, being fat and happy, wasn’t that the goal of everyone? Could they not be bargained with? Understood?
Hunters were still trained. They adapted, the guild expanded, and dragons crept deeper into the earth and deeper into the nooks and crannies of society.
Hidden, strange, sometimes human. More people joined the conversation: politicians claiming to be humane, others claiming only warfare was the answer. Feminists who said that they should train ladies in the way of swords and water magic, knowledge all their own to solve the problem. Many legions of thinkers tried to decipher dragons coded words, and really talk to them.
On and on, but the dragons remained silent. What was a dragon? What was a hunter? It is hard to stop something once it’s been rolled into motion.
I was born under the name Drown. A name handed down to me from my grandfather, the Drowner of Dragons. The end of all light. I own a crossbow. I own a radio. I am the only known hunter to conquer five dragons before the age of thirty.
I have talked with them inside old mining shafts as acidic smoke billowed out of their nostrils, lying on piles of finely crafted furniture. A hoard from all the master craftsmen of the old world. I have discussed the politics of the four seasons with a dragon in an underground cave. Their long slick blue body protected piles of old and worn books from the library of Alexandria. I have been within the worst of places, the largest art museum in the country, and realized the director was blinking sideways.
I have done what I was born to do, and yet, no matter how many dragons I talked to I still could not answer: Why do they make hoards? Why do they keep these things to themselves? Brilliant lizards without any sense of love between neighbors. And why did they steal our people?
Did dragons have souls?
My boots crunch noisily as I enter the depths of an abandoned building in the silicon district. Neon street lights spill in through busted windows to the bathe the floor in flashing colors. Broken glass and debris litter the concrete. The place smells thickly of dust and crumbling plaster. I check my phone for the signal and follow it toward the basement door. The opening is dark and gaping, a silent mouth with no breathe.
Perhaps I should have stopped the second I realized it was open.
I was barely 27 though, and I was the reigning slayer. The steps creak as I descend into the bowels of the collapsing building. My pulse is steady. The whirr of machines becomes louder with each step and it seems to answer my question on why this city sector was using so much power. The journey is unnerving with nothing but the hum of computers and sound of the groaning building.
The blue light is shocking when I shoulder my way into the room at the bottom of the stairs. It’s a cavernous basement filled with enormous black panels and computers the size of grown men. The computers are aligned neatly in rows and appear almost endless, strings of wires and lights and fans churning between them. I stand in awe of the dragon’s hoard.
I clear my throat. “I am Drown from the Dragon Hunter Association. Release your hoarded goods for the good of the general public.” I said loudly. “That is the mandate for both human and magical creature’s law.” It was never that the dragons made the hoard. It was always that they made it out of things others needed.
“So here he is.” A ghostly voice echoes from through the wires, deep and masculine. “The youngest and brightest of the butchering crew.”
I give a half-smile. “I thought dragons didn’t care for those of their own kind.” I say wearily. “The last water dragon I encountered cursed your very name, my lord.”
“I’m sure.” It was wry. “But they were all young, were they not? Your conquests. All of them. And I have a fondness for youth.” The voice simpers. It draws closer through the gloom and I remove the serrated knife from my belt. It’s too close quarters for any projectile weapons.
“Don’t you have something you want to ask me?” The voice purrs. “I can hear it pounding from within.”
I knew he was an old dragon, ancient even, those were the only ones that developed the ability to sense other’s desire. I pause for a moment, knife in hand.
“You could give it up, you know.” I say slowly, evenly. “You could hand over your computers and whatever else. We aren’t so barbaric as before. Why don’t you simply give it back?”
Do dragons have souls?
“Aw,” a soft, almost intimate breath heats the cusp of my ear. “You humans, so obtuse, you do not understand the nature of beautiful things, of anything with value,” I can feel a body looming behind me and a single claw drags down my spine. “Of love.”
I turn to face a man. Just a man. And he smiles at me, charming. Perhaps he had never been a dragon at all, but I know better. “Say, little hunter,” His eyes darken. “You are quite beautiful as well.”
My breath hitches. I attempt to end the conversation. I jab. I dodge. I slash and pant.
The serrated knife never finds flesh. The taser never lands. The mini-explosive is expertly tossed aside. A world of tech and weapons and cunning falls short even after all these centuries of our training. I am pushed bodily up against the wall and told only simple things.
“It’s wasted.” A hiss. “It’s wasted on the rest of them.”
And it dawns on me, somewhere between the kiss and when I am begging to be stripped and mounted, that the dragons never only took the things we expected. It was never just maidens and gold and precious stones, those were only the things we cared to go looking for.
I never do get the answer to whether dragons of souls.
if you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or supporting me on patreon (even a dollar helps!), check out my book as well!
114 notes · View notes
I’ll be honest, I don’t have my thoughts together for a review for this book. It was so good, but I just kinda hit a slump halfway through 🤷♀️. So, here are some of my disjointed thoughts:
- Cliff is a jerk
- Quinten and Raj’s friendship is adorable (even if we didn’t get to see a lot of them in this book)
- Toby, drenched in blood: what? It’s fine...it’ll come out in the wash...probably?
- This little found family is seriously one of my favorites 🥰
- Toby’s bio family so shity to her all the time!!
- Tybalt admitting he needs help 😭
- Gillian comes off as such a spoiled brat in the short story
So, those are some of my thoughts from this book. I really enjoyed this and it’s getting four stars.
4 notes · View notes
Herding teenagers around Beltane? The horror!!! But what is a witch to do while her license is suspended? So Helena teaches a class (and some lessons), has another run-in with her shapeshifting associate, and in her free time meddles with family that is not her own. (If you find that same cover with the title "Taught by flames", that is my very own translation. Don't worry, I'm a professional. 😂)
1 note · View note
Do you ever look at your list of recently read books and think “these do not look like books a person with a normal brain would group together”
3 notes · View notes
The Lone Prospect: Chapter 13
The Lone Prospect: Chapter 13 There are four young women Gideon's age in the cockpit of a transport planning out his romantic life without his input into the matter. But hey, Blake brought cookies.
New rules. New girl. New home. Ex-military and werewolf, Gideon Vonrothe is looking for a place to belong. His first and last hope for a pack to call his own is the Heaven’s Heathen’s Motorcycle Club. Being the new prospect isn’t going to be easy… especially when there are four young women his age in the cockpit of a transport planning out his romantic life without his input into the matter. But…
View On WordPress
1 note · View note
i hate urban fantasy covers. i hate the "realistic people on book covers" that's everywhere.
17 notes · View notes
Thinking about mediums and concepts like ‘second sight’ or ‘sixth sense’...
If the emphasis is on being able to sense spirits, or use your senses to be aware of their presence, why wouldn’t there be more variety in exactly how this talent manifests? You could have mediums who:
Can see and hear ghosts, these are the most common and generally the most effective, as they can both locate and communicate haunting spirits
Can see ghosts, but are unable to hear them, making them at once easy to sneak up to but harder to harass. Probably very good at first diagnosis of hauntings, but completely ineffective for ghosts that do not manifest visually
Can only hear ghosts, with no support of any other senses. These mediums probably need considerable training to distinguish between ghostly communication, intrusive thoughts, and premonitions
And then I’d want a medium that can neither see nor hear ghosts but is fully capable of touching them. If all else fails their ghost-seeing colleagues just bring them along, point them towards the offending ghost and watch how they drag them away from their haunt like a scruffed cat
141 notes · View notes
Ji-hoon snorted with amusement as he got up to collect his phone from the bed. “When do I not look frustrated?”
“When you're sleeping,” Yueliang replied, without pause. “You look quite adorable then.”
He didn't want to think about her watching him while he slept. Flustered, Ji-hoon grabbed his wash stuff and tried to get past her. “You really like pushing my limits,” he muttered on his way out.
Yueliang tilted her head in a pretty way and gave him an innocent look. “As expected with someone who works with explosives; you have a long fuse.”
Whatever he said would sound lewd and he knew she knew that. Ji-hoon chewed on his words and left the room knowing his shower would be a cold one.
Sometimes I just have to stop and snicker at the things I write.
Taglist: @illthdar @guardians-of-las-vyxen @rae-writes-the-thing @hyba @wildswrites @catharticallysarcastic
2 notes · View notes
“Fuck. You like her, don’t you?”
Author’s note: Another excerpt from my original New Adult supernatural WIP. Novel out later this year (hopefully).
Image credit: Pinterest
“Zazy- Azazel came to see me,” Sathariel murmured, staring down at his scuffed boots. “She said I have to take Alex to Hell three days from now. Otherwise, she’s coming for both of us.”
For a second Hell’s Punisher of Unrepentant Non-violent Crimes was silent, quaking under a veil of smoke. Then she screamed.
His sister’s echoing curse ricocheted off the tombstones and marble monuments. The half-smoked cigarette tumbled from her fingers as she howled.
She raked a twitchy hand through her wild red mane and kicked the tombstone beneath her.
“You like her. Don’t you?” Hanael demanded.
Sathariel recoiled, scowling.
“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped. “Absolutely not.”
Her smoky aura blazed bright, and he coughed, stumbling back from her. Under her withering glare he folded the black paper and slipped it back into his pocket.
“Fuck,” Hanael groaned, kneading one eye with her cigarette-free hand. “You do.”
“I’m running out of time, Hany,” he said softly, avoiding her glare. “I need to help Alex. Not just to save her. I’ve got to save myself, too.”
1 note · View note
Snowflake Book Review’s
Title: Dragons of Bourbon Street(Jade Calhoun #9)
Author: Deanna Chase
Synopsis: White witch Jade Calhoun is seven months pregnant. All she wants to do is sink into domestic bliss while enjoying planning wedding and baby showers. But when a new acquaintance is arrested by the Witches Council and then mysteriously disappears, Jade is pulled into the thick of things. Forced by the Witches Council to track down the missing woman, Jade finds herself once again dealing with dragons.
It should be a piece of cake, right? All she needs to do is track down the woman who escaped the Council, stop the dragons from awakening and taking over the city, and still find time to celebrate life’s milestones… all while in her third trimester.
First And Last Sentence: Here
2 notes · View notes
“After the bombs fell, father’s pocket watch was welded into my palm.”
35 notes · View notes
what's a story you want to write? characters, setting, genre?
I want to write some kind of urban fantasy story with like. The old magic is coming back ooo type stuff like something’s happening that’s waking up all of these old gods and creatures and ppl gotta figure out how to make that transition work w the world they’re in
1 note · View note
The words tumble out of my mouth in a weird jumble. I immediately realize that I mixed up some of the words.
My face flushes.
The correction comes heavy.
“Try again. Slower this time.”
28 notes · View notes
Snowflake Book Review’s
Title: Bite Marks(Jaz Parks #6)
Author: Jennifer Rardin
Synopsis: Jaz Parks here. But I'm not alone. I'm hearing voices in my head -- and they're not mine.
The problem, or maybe the solution, is work. And the job's a stinker this time -- killing the gnomes that are threatening to topple NASA's Australian-based space complex. Yeah, I know. Vayl and I should still be able to kick this one in our sleep. Except that Hell has thrown up a demon named Kyphas to knock us off track. And damn is she indestructible!
First And Last Sentence: Here
2 notes · View notes
Betas! 📣📣📣 Today is the LAST DAY to fill out the beta reader survey for Fail-Safe, a.k.a. the second book in the Compound Series! 📣📣📣
I'll be closing the survey at 9 PM PST, so if you're interested in potentially beta reading, please go check it out now!
FS is the second book in an LGBTQ+ contemporary fantasy trilogy featuring a misanthropic empath, a long-suffering BAMF with a hidden power, and a shady military facility that performs unsanctioned experiments on magical people. There's also a lady who talks to plants.
Beta period starts Apr. 25 and runs until Jun. 5, and I'd love to have you along for the ride! (I always credit betas on the dedication page, in case seeing your name in print is an incentive. 😉)
Chosen betas will receive more info in the next few days, so stay tuned! And thank you so much for supporting my work. 💖
[Image description: A burning structure. A white rectangle in front has black text reading "the compound series: FAIL-SAFE." Diagonally cross the bottom, green text reads "Last day for the survey!"]
2 notes · View notes