#writing wednesday

[alexanderlightweight]

Arranged Marriage - Alec and Magnus are going to be married as part of a treaty (Shadowhunters subservient position in the treaty), and the Clave tells Alec to be their spy so they can break the treaty without penalty but finding the Downworld in violation of it.

Instead, Alec sees all the benefits that come with being Magnus' spouse and goes "nah I'm Married now."

babe fuck you!!!

stop sending me prompts that turn into chaptered fics!!!!!! (this is a joke, it's just every prompt they've given me explodes and saeth teases me about it)

<3 u and hope u like it cause you're sleeping and i'm about to wake you up for dinner

<3 lumine

-

Alec stares at the man he’s supposed to marry.

The man he’s set to betray and he realizes that this isn’t going to be as easy as the clave and his family expected this to be.

It’s certainly going to be both harder and easier than Alec had expected this to be.

Alec walked into this with the understanding that he was being married off as his parents own form of penance.

— personally Alec thinks that the downworld wants to punish those specifically involved in the Circle and honestly, he’d do the same and worse in their place, he just wishes he wasn’t paying the price for his parents actions —

But originally, Alec thought that this would be simple.

He’d be married to a woman — he’d always known he’d be forced into eventually, that she ended up being a downworlder didn’t matter, he’d hate it either way — and do his duty as efficiently as he could while also spying on his wife as much as possible.

Alec hadn’t known he’d be marrying a man.

Especially not a gorgeous man, dripping with power and embodying a lifetime of shattered hopes and pushed away dreams.

It changes everything.

He changes everything.

—

Magnus is standing on the dais of the most heavily warded floor of Pandemonium.

The shadowhunters that pass through his wards are all unarmed and with none of their runes active.

They’re not allowed to have either of them, not in this space and not during this ceremony.

Magnus’ future spouse is walked in and draped in gold and blue fabric instead of the pale gold and white suit the nephilim had tried to put him in — did they think they were being clever, adding the color of mourning when they presented the suit? — unarmed and with no runes bared but for the one that peeks up past his suit.

He’s deceptively tall and while exquisite, he has the weary and drawn look of an active duty shadowhunter. The kind who get too little rest and not enough nourishment, through no fault other than that their skills are in constant demand.

Magnus had demanded someone of sufficient training, rank and bloodline to be his partner and the demand was met.

If he’s going to bring an enemy into his life, then he’s going to make sure that he’s depriving the clave of one of their finest weapons. Even when they were still in talks and Magnus thought he would be marrying the younger Lightwood, Isabelle, she was a blade taken from the clave. She’s already known for her successes and failures seducing the enemy and hardly someone who could go toe-to-toe with Magnus in seduction.

However, despite the fact that she was well known for her dalliances across enemy lines, she had been withdrawn and the eldest son presented. It had been a surprise but one Magnus was all to willing to accept.

After all, why steal the spare when you can take the heir?

Alexander Lightwood is both everything and nothing like how Magnus’ thoughts had formed him.

He walks like a man to the gallows but with the grace and dignity of royalty.

It might be considered insulting that he’s obviously upset, but Magnus knows that those being married to downworlders are being sacrificed on the alter of their parents sins. Magnus and the other Elders hadn’t seen a different choice. While none of them enjoy punishing children for their parents sins, they need the power of holding sway over the families who once joined the Circle. They also need to ensure that the heirs don’t make the same mistake their parents do.

The Elder Lightwoods both freeze upon seeing Magnus.

Fear, fury and disgust flashes in their gaze and Magnus smirks, realizing that they thought the groom would be changed upon offering their son.

A pity for them, but it changes nothing.

Magnus will not let the shadowhunters in charge of the largest Institute on his territory go unchecked. Which means taking on this roll for himself, despite the fact that he could have delegated it.

Hazel eyes meet his and his future husband nearly trips up the steps.

He doesn’t, but it’s close.

Instead he manages to turn his stumble into a glide and suddenly he’s close. Nearly too close because Magnus can see the shadow of his long eyelashes on his cheeks. It meant that Magnus is watching with intrigue as hazel eyes meet his unglamoured ones and they go dark and wide with delight.

The ceremony is a stifled, oppressive mumble of words and vows and magic that Magnus can barely concentrate on.

How can he, when his groom is holding onto Magnus’ hand like if he lets go, he thinks Magnus will disappear.

How can he think of any of his plans when Alexander is looking at Magnus like he’s an oasis he’d been convinced was a mirage.

— The ceremony is a monotonous blur until the magical binding of it, after which there are no celebrations.

That would be a step too far — according to the nephilim — and well, Magnus doesn’t want to spend more time than he has to with them anyways. Instead, he summons a portal the moment everything is locked into place and the vows made and witnessed and then they’re both in Magnus’ lair.

His shadowhunter snorts, something like relieved amusement in his tone. Magnus is about to demand what is so funny when his husband turns and pulls a small vial out of his pocket.

Magnus blinks, recognizing what it is immediately and his newly wedded spouse just smirks and sets it on the counter.

“Guess I won’t be needing this now.” With a shrug — as if he hasn’t just blown Magnus’ mind — he turns and looks around Magnus’ lair with careful consideration and muted pleasure. It’s clear he’s cataluging the layout and seeing where he can fit himself into the spaces. It’s so far from what Magnus expected — from the horror stories that he’s been told — that he’s speechless for a good two minutes.

Enough time for Alexander to strip off his suit jacket and unbutton his cufflinks and cuffs, putting the former in his pocket.

Meanwhile, Magnus confiscates the potent aphrodisiac that Alexander apparently no longer needs.

“Why do you have this?” Magnus asks finally, because he thinks he knows but he wants facts before he endangers whats been months and years of planning.

Alexander looks at him and the moment his gaze slides to the small vial, all the weariness and defeat that had been on his face until he’d first seen Magnus returned.

“My family assumed that I’d be marrying a woman and led me to believe the same.” Alexander says and then the weariness fades, something much softer taking over. “Since I’m not, I’m not going to need that.” He waves his hand to the small bottle and he shoots it a glare with a startling amount of venom.

Magnus curls his fingers around the small vial and vanishes it to his potions vault for future study. While he knows what it is, it never hurts to experiment.

“Oh, you won’t be doing your duty for house Lightwood tonight?” Magnus teases, daring to tread no further than the question until he has more information. Alexander seems startled and then he seems pleased but not embarrassed — even if his cheeks do turn a fetching pink.

“More like, I just won’t be needing help to fulfill my duty anymore.” Alexander murmurs, no hint of shame on him as he walks forward.

Magnus stays where he is, letting Alexander approach, knowing there is no danger here in his own lair.

Alexander hesitates, but then his gaze steadies and his hands — large, cool and so very gentle on Magnus’ skin — frame Magnus’ cheeks and for a moment hazel stares in unafraid awe into gold and then Magnus is being kissed.

It’s like being given a gift.

Alexander is delicate, careful at first and then nearly wild with his eagerness the moment Magnus reciprocates.

His kisses are generous and clumsy and so very earnest that Magnus has to get a hand in Alexander’s hair and pull him away, just so that his boy can catch his own breath.

Alexander tugs at Magnus’ grip and when his fingers only tighten, Alexander whines and then does it again, seeming to enjoy the sensation.

“Alexander—” Magnus murmurs quietly, contemplation and a thousand thoughts in his words as he looks into the defiant, hungry gaze staring him down. “What am I going to do with you, hmm darling?”

The answer is kiss him.

This time taking control, devouring his shadowhunter until they’re both breathless and Magnus croons to a shaking, shuddering Alexander who is panting against him with a wild, delighted look.

Clearly, Magnus is going to need to figure this out. He’d expected and prepared for both the worst and the best, but this is beyond anything he’d considered from the realm of possibilities open to him.

-

alec: ... wow i've never been happier in my life

magnus: i am so confused by this and i want him so bad... WHERE IS THE TRAP!!! I DONT CARE THAT ITS A TRAP I JUST WANT TO KNOW SO I CAN SPRING IT, DEAL WITH THE CONSEQUENCES AND KEEP HIM

alec writing his reports to the clave in full view of magnus as magnus reads incredulously over his shoulder

magnus: alexander, why does the clave need to know that i think mismatched socks are a crime?

alec: they want new information on you. this is new information. i memorized your file. this wasn't in it

magnus: ... how? you didn't even know who you were marrying until you got there?

alec: oh. i can access clave records and files from my tablet, here. let me show you yours

magnus getting distracted by the frankly ridiculous things in his file

alec finishing his note to the clave: if we don't want this treaty broken against us, i need socks. send asap.

magnus two days later: ... why is the clave contacting my assistant about a delivery of socks?

alec: ... huh, how strange. after you make sure there isn't anything bad in them we should donate them to that werewolf hostel you were telling me about. didn't you say something about werewolves remembering to take off their shoes but never their socks?

alec internally - did i just trick the clave into helping my husband's community? yes. yes i did. i am best spouse and i'm going to prove it if i have to break the clave one firemessage at a time

magnus: ... i am going to figure out this trap one way or another!

(alec using every ounce of his political training to troll the clave while trying to learn to be the best house-husband in all the realms.

magnus just wanting to figure out how to make sure he gets to keep alec without being stabbed in the back or the heart.

alec being already his and not sure how that isn't already clear? but thats okay. he can work in some subtle treason to show magnus he's serious.

also alec is pretty much done. he was okay with going to the gallows and pretty much sacrificing himself because at least a political hostage in a marriage to a woman is still better to him than pretending to have a decent marriage and having to have sex for heirs etc. consummation is necessary for the rituals (they're pretty strict) but wouldn't have been a required part of the relationship and alec sterilized himself because he wasn't going t risk having a kid with a female fae or werewolf because he knows both sides would use any kids against him via manipulation since he'd never grow feelings for a woman.

alec after he's been given everything he's never let himself have and realizing that the clave and his family have made a big mistake, because alec doesn't care enough about the clave's political and personal agenda to give up on getting what he wants)

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #the bitter trap of truth #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #malec

[writing-wednesday]

FanFic Writers, hear our call!

What’s your favorite writing trope? If your fics could be magical spells, what effect would you like for their magic to have? Where is the oddest place you have ever written? What is the funniest tag you’ve tagged a fic with?

The world we live in is rather busy, isn't it? It isn't particularly hard to get lost in the information rush. But what if we could sit down for a moment and just talk?

Writing Wednesday

Writing Wednesday is a community event we've prepared to encourage all fandom writers to share their opinions and perspectives.

But... How?

Each Wednesday, at 4AM (GMT+2), a writing-related question or mini-challenge will appear - and everybody is invited to provide their own answer.

Think of it as of... a wicked game in which you're tagged by proxy ;)

We'd love to hear your thoughts, so please, don't forget to @ us and to use '#weekly writing wondering' tag.

So... What do you say? Will you join us for the fun?

✎✎ Boosting would be appreciated 🙏 ✎✎ Find more information and additional banners below the cut.✎✎

Who can join the event?

Any FanFic writer who wants to! Everything past the desire to join is irrelevant :)

Do I have to answer all the questions to participate?

No. It is perfectly fine to answer only the questions you wish to answer.

Can I answer questions that appeared a couple weeks ago?

Of course! You can always go back to questions from the previous weeks. There's no need to worry about answering immediately.

Banners

Feel free to use any of the above banners - or to make your own. :)

Tags

#writing wednesday question of the week - questions tag

#weekly writing wondering - answers tag

#writing wednesday - event tag

Hosts

@lorei-writes

@lyrical-cynical

@the12thnightproject

@venulus

#fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writing #fic writing #fanfic writer #fanfiction writing #writing wednesday

[hislittleraincloud]

Fandom fic thoughts no one asked for:

I am highly, highly against Wednesday having any dialogue in which she speaks like her parents to her loved ones, i.e. all of that "Mon cher!" garbage towards Enid. It's cringey:

1. It's traditionally romantic and excessively cheesy, and [Ortega's] Wednesday is not. She just isn't, and y'all should know better. ETA: In regards to love, her parents are like Pepe Le Pew and a willing/enamored skunk (I forget if Pepe ever found his equal, but I do remember the girl cat got 🧠 'ed into behaving like Pepe usually does, which gave him a taste of his own psycho stalker medicine...ah, we had some fkd up cartoons back in the day). Wednesday would be like Michigan J. Frog...animated with only one person, in private...and that's still not a guarantee that she would ever want to emulate her mother, with whom we know that there are severe issues between them. Ridiculous, exaggerated displays of affection define Gomez and Morticia. To have Wednesday behave like that would be sacrificing the one thing that keeps her from turning into a total clone of them.

She can end up wanting to have love and a partner, and even a family, but that does not change the public mask [of a narcissist], and the notion that she would be perceived exactly like her mother upsets her. Direct reasons aren't given by the show, but by how they interact, we can see that Wednesday believes that 'everything is a competition'...but it's not [Morticia's] accomplishments that she rattles off that are the problem; it's somewhere, Wednesday picked up some terrible, terrible "I'm not good enough, I will never be as good as she is" blows to her psyche. From Wednesday's POV, she believes her mother is a narcissist (her self-awareness of her own narcissism is for its own post); only a narcissist would purposefully break someone else's chances of either being equal to or surpassing their greatness, and they get envious (and ego hurt) when it happens.

(...God, now I wanna program Ortega's voice to sing the fkn frog's song 🤣💀)

2. She doesn't want to be like her parents, and that would just...make her be more like her parents. This is the most major personal growth theme in the whole of the show, and it can't be ignored, otherwise it just turns Ortega's Wednesday into a generic iteration of a 'Wednesday character'. If it were one drabble or fic, alright, that's AU, but I see it in nine out of ten Wenclair 'drabbles' (if you can call straight-on dialogue shorts drabbles...we did not, back in the day) that clog up my fyp.

3. Her parents are extremely cultured and speak those love languages/romance languages as a whole together, to each other. Enid is not that kind of cultured at all (she can't spell, has bad grammar, and is just not interested in the same things Wednesday is). Enid would think it was cute, too, and Wednesday doesn't do cute, either (ever! EVER.**).

4. Again, Wednesday doesn't want to be like her parents, and it would be unfunnily mortifying to her to speak like that in public and in front of other people, even if she were fucking Enid. In private? See #1 and 2.

5. In Afterburn: It pained me to have her let slip the Spanish to Donovan on her birthday, but I did it because it was an unintentional slip, it was in private, and it wasn't a pet name, it was a command. She is very much like her mother in bed, but she also knows that Donovan isn't as cultured as her parents, and thus, she will refrain from that "mon cher/mon amour/whatever non-English pet names" crap.

6. There are so many other things Wednesday could call Enid (or Tyler, or Xavier, or whoever the Hell's she's paired with) without becoming a clone of her mother. Resorting to Gomez and Morticia's horribly cloying phrases is not charming, it's laziness. *channeling my inner Bianca here*

7. Now this goes back to #2 and #4, but on that note: There are obvious issues between Wednesday and her mother, and sounding like her disturbs the Hell out of her (or behaving like her, which is why Wednesday's eyes just about shit themselves in different directions when Fester said that her "death stare of disapproval reminded him of her mother").

It's almost like she has a glass eye.👀 It's there bc the AI picked it up hard I guess & it affected my outputs.

There is no way in Hell, no matter how juicy-tasty Enid's furry twat is, that Wednesday would suddenly decide that she should mimic Morticia.

I know all of this is gonna piss off a whole lot of people, but I don't care. It's not Wednesdaying right to have her call anyone by the same pet names her parents use, no matter how fluffy the relationship is. She just doesn't do relationships the same way her parents do. It's far more OOC to do that than even my pairing her up with Donovan is (which needs its own reasoning, probably in a different rant).

Rant over, and y'all can keep goin', but that's not gonna make the dialogue sound any less terrible and embarrassing.

**Afterburn Wednesday does do 'cute' with Donovan in private, but it's because of the fundamental differences from N/Canon attached to her core personality, i.e. she's hypersexual and has some regression issues here and there. Even still, she has a very hard time calling him any pet names because once again for those in the back: She does not want to be like her parents or associate her love with her parents' love, even as she recognizes that she is a lot like her mother. 🤷🏽‍♂️

(Also, I just read an incorrect assumption. Morgues have blood samples. They don't keep whole ass blood bags like blood banks/hospitals do. Get that right before you write me some Yoko & Wednesday.)

#wednesday #wednesday addams #wenclair #wyler #wenovan #black bubblegum #wenjax #wenclay #wensko #wensina #wenskent #weemsday #whoever the hell you pair her up with #lazy creativity #lazy writing #mon cher #good gods #writing wednesday #writing fiction #writing problems #writing #good vs. bad writing #cringe writing

[pumpkzsafeplace]

writer wednesday ✍🏻☁️

it’s crazy when you think about dreams.

most dream for money,

expensive cars, big houses, plots of land.

i used to dream about making homemade christmas decorations with my family.

baking with my mother and laughing with my father.

placing flour on my brothers nose while we all laughed and waited for the muffins to rise.

it’s crazy that those were dreams not reality.

i used to be sad about it,

i used to mourn the childhood that was ripped from me.

i used to mourn how most children played in the mud whilst i stood tall and became a nurse, a caregiver and a therapist all by ten years old.

but today i made a call.

a call that broke the cycle.

this year will be the first christmas i spend with my own little family,

and i swear for a split second as i looked in the mirror,

i saw my ten year old excited self looking back at me.

her eyes full of fondness & proud,

that we made it through those tough times and can now finally put the spark back into that haunting holiday.

remember things don’t have to be the same forever,

you make life how you want it to be.

you deserve it after all 💛.

#agere blog #age regression #agere community #sfw age regression #sfw agere #safe agere #sfw little community #sfw little blog #agere little #sfw little post #creative writing #bpd writing #writing wednesday #childhood trauma #poemsbyme #poems and poetry

[sainamoonshine]

It’s writing wednesday! Here’s a bunch of first lines of various WIPs I’ve got floating around

Tristan Jones stared out of the café windows at the cruise ship moored at the docks with the same unnerved trepidation he imagined straight people must feel, just before they married someone they would proceed to jokingly call ’the ball and chain’ in their wedding vows.

The ventilation was making that noise again.

All things considered, Autumn didn’t mind living in a land bordering the kingdom of a Dark Wizard King.

I had been languishing in this cell for four long years when Compassion came for me.

The fortified gates of Witterfield loomed large over the road.

The rain was like a cold slap to the face.

#writing wednesday #try to guess which line is from which story! #writing is hard

[lolexjpg]

Writing Wednesday Week 3:

WIP: lesbian!gax

Starting word count: 1142

Current word count: 1238

#i am NOT impressing with these man #i did all my writing yesterday 🥺 #and then i went to a coffeeshop this morning and did some proofreading/editing of what i did #i was GOING to work on het!loscar this evening but i have a headache :( #writing wednesday #she writes #i will MAYBe skip next week bc i'll be moving! but i'm so excited abt getting a start on girl!gax! now i rly need to just marinate on it

[lorei-writes]

The previous week, on @writing-wednesday (because it is never too late to play :) )...

You can transport yourself into one of your stories right this instant. Which story would it be and why? Which character’s place would you like to take?

Not a story, but a headcanon. None other than Slavic Grandma at the Mansion. What could possibly better than watching an older woman with ungodly stamina reserves (lovingly) wreck havoc in a household of (revived; vampiric) historical figures?

I wouldn't want to be any of the residents, though. Oh no, that could end up being dreadful. And certainly, I don't yet have all that it takes to be a fearless grandma... So I'd like to be Lumiere.

The cat :) I'd like to be the cat. I'd be in a purrfect position to watch the chaos unravel, while also receiving all the affection and food. And I'd be adorable!

#writing wednesday #weekly writing wondering

[gwaeddblaidd]

First time answering a @writing-wednesday question:

Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

It's a longer excerpt, hence the cut, but due to the way I write it's hard to share a short dialogue excerpt. This fic, especially, is very prose-heavy; written in the first-person present tense, a lot of sensory description is used. As a result, dialogue scenes tend to be a lot longer than usual.

I chose this scene because it was the first scene in which I wrote extended dialogue for Wednesday herself. I find that one of the biggest challenges I face when writing fanfiction is getting characters' speech styles right, especially when it comes to characters who have especially distinctive ways of talking.

Wednesday is well-spoken but blunt, and it can be easy to overexaggerate these features. I'm happy with how everything sounds when it comes to the dialogue in this scene; I can imagine the characters actually saying the words, without it sounding like a fanfic, if that makes sense.

With all that said, I'm looking forward to answering more questions in the future! I might have to go through the backlog, actually...

Excerpt follows:

---

I awaken with a start, jolting upright with such speed that it feels like I give myself whiplash. My head pounds and my sides ache, but more than anything I’m left with the uncomfortable feeling that I’m forgetting something. I grumble and groan and raise my hand to rub my sore neck, but find myself pausing. My claws are at least half extended and threads of colourful fabric hang from my fingers. I bury my face in my hands; I don’t want to see the damage I’ve done to the bed.

“You whimper in your sleep,” a voice from across the room says, “like a kicked puppy.”

The voice makes me jump and my body tenses up. I slowly turn to my left, my hands sheepishly falling from my face and revealing my shame. My eyes open tentatively and settle on those of Wednesday Addams, standing next to her desk with arms crossed in front of her. Her cold gaze forces me to break eye contact after but a moment, my groggy mind lacking the conviction to challenge her. I realise I have yet to respond. “Wednesday… Hi.”

I avoid looking her directly in the eyes, but her gaze is unflinching. She says nothing, verbally or otherwise. I pick threads of cotton and fleece from my claws, assessing the damage to the lightly shredded blankets around me. My shoulders drop, signalling my embarrassment.

“Oh please, I’ve seen worse,” Wednesday says, breaking her silence but not her stare. “Your claws must be rather dull compared to Enid’s.”

I read no humour in her voice, but the comment brings a smirk to my face. “Got lucky with at least something, I guess.”

She cocks an eyebrow at that - she doesn’t seem to agree. “Lucky? Your natural weapons are fundamentally flawed and you consider yourself lucky?”

“Yeah, well anything that makes it that little bit harder for me to kill someone…” I trail off; that was perhaps a bit much. If Wednesday notices my oversharing, she doesn’t make it known. “Sorry, what time is it?” I ask, swinging my legs over the side of the bed to sit up properly.

“It’s a little past three. You slept for some fifteen hours by my count, but I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” The slightest hint of a smirk emerges on her face. “You appeared to be having such awful dreams. I would’ve hated to interrupt.”

“Oh, you could tell?” I ask jokingly as I tend to my still-aching neck. I’ve been told enough times by my roommate that I’m quite the emotive sleeper. “So, where’s Enid?”

“At one of her many clubs, I’m sure.” A disdainful look flashes on her face. “Forgive me if I don’t know which.”

I crane forwards and with some light pressure on my neck I hear a crack, followed by some of the tension being relieved. When I look up again I notice that something about Wednesday’s stare has changed. Her eyes are a little narrower, her lips are slightly pursed and she’s standing more rigidly than before, if that’s even possible. She has something she wants to say but is holding back. My perceptive prowess can’t compare to hers, however, and in the time it takes me to read her body language she notices the change in my own. Her face relaxes.

“This question may seem… invasive,” she says, taking a small step towards me, “but know that it comes from a place of genuine interest.”

It’s my turn to cock an eyebrow. “Shoot.”

“Your nightmares. What are they about?” She pauses, her eyes not quite focused on me, as if she’s visualising something. “Enid’s been getting nightmares ever since she wolfed out; is it just a werewolf thing? Are all of you destined to be such tortured souls?”

I consider the question for a moment. “I’m no expert, but we do tend to be pretty vivid dreamers. Add a serving of trauma to that and I guess it’s no wonder you’d end up with nightmares.”

“The trauma of wolfing out for the first time, for example?”

“For some, sure. It can be hard for some wolves, especially if they end up hurting someone. The guilt, the loss of control…” Am I getting too personal? “It’s a bit of a rude awakening, learning what it truly means to be a wolf.”

“Speaking from experience?” she asks, her head tilting a little to the side.

“Nah, I was a bit of an early bloomer. I barely remember my first time,” I admit, a half-truth at best and a lie by omission at worst. My first time was easy. My parents were well prepared; they made sure I was safe and couldn’t get anyone hurt. The revelation of what wolfhood entails though? That came later. I was sheltered for so many years. Hell, I didn’t even really know what I was until I met wolves from other packs and realised just how different I was. The end of my childhood wasn’t marked by something as simple as wolfing out for the first time. No, the day I learned exactly how much violence I was capable of, what sort of cruelty I could enact on others… that was my wakeup call.

“You didn’t answer my first question,” Wednesday says, forcing me out of my reminiscence. “Your nightmares. If they don’t stem from your wolfing out, where do they come from?”

I guess it’s time to make my boundaries known. I notice myself shuffling uncomfortably as I speak. “Sorry, that’s a bit personal, even for me.”

She doesn’t try to hide her disappointment. “A pity,” she says, turning away. She sits down and moves her typewriter to the middle of her desk, apparently finished with the conversation. I do feel a little bad. I’m under no obligation to share my insecurities, but at the same time I do feel as if I owe her something . Considering her reputation, she’s been surprisingly welcoming to my intruding on her personal space. What harm could it do to let down my walls a little?

“They’re about my parents,” I relent. She doesn’t turn around but her hands stop moving; that got her attention. “They were good people. Or, my mom was, at least. They… they didn’t deserve what happened to them.”

She spins around in her chair. “What did happen to them?”

“They’re gone.”

“I gathered. There’s more to the story than that though, surely?”

I chuckle. “Well, yes, of course. But the details aren’t exactly pleasant.”

Her arms cross once again. “I didn’t ask for ‘pleasant’.”

“My benefit, not yours. I relive it enough in my sleep; if I started spending my time awake thinking about it I’d never get anything done.” In truth, it’s less the memories themselves that bother me so, but rather the implications. If I shared the whole story with her… it wouldn’t take her long to figure it out. Being unable to share too much lest other people piece together the truth… It’s tiring, and serves only to isolate me from my peers. An unfortunate measure, but a necessary one. “Why so interested in my nightmares, anyway?”

Wednesday glares for a few seconds, but then her demeanour softens. As I suspected, she can appreciate a transactional interaction. I offered her some information, with the potential prospect of more, and so it’s in her best interest to respond in kind. She speaks slowly now, clearly choosing her words carefully and betraying her vulnerability. 

“Like I said, Enid’s been having nightmares most nights since wolfing out. It’s starting to impact her day-to-day life. Nightmares have never really been an issue for me, so I thought that perhaps consulting another werewolf might give me some insight on how I might help her.”

I was expecting a far more morbid reason for her curiosity. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“Yes, well…” She stiffens again. “Breathe a word of that sentiment to anyone and you’ll have bigger problems than mere nightmares.”

“My lips are sealed.”

#weekly writing wondering #writing wednesday #fandom #writing #fanfic writing

[musicprincess1990]

Writing Wednesday

I Know No Other Way: Chapter 11 || Read from the beginning

FYI, this chapter has another time jump, though not a huge one, and it should be the last. But then, these two dorks have a tendency to write their story without consulting me, the cheeky buggers. 🤣 Thanks for reading!

~*~

The month of June saw a marked improvement in Molly’s spirits. In the nearly two months since she became Mrs Holmes, she had settled into a happy, busy routine. Her mornings, weather permitting, were spent with Mr Martin, tending to the hives and harvesting their honey, or with Nellie and Ruth in the vegetable garden. Of course, there were days the weather did not permit, and she was forced to stay indoors, but she found ample enough means to pass the time, as she and Mrs Martin set about planning renovations to the more outdated rooms within the house. When not making such plans, she wrote to her parents, who were now settled in Surrey for the summer, taking care to give them the impression that Mr Holmes was in Kent with her, without saying so outright, and that she was perfectly content. The latter was almost the truth.

Each day at about noon, she took a respite with Mrs Martin, eating a light meal and learning all there was to know about the estate, the town, and the people living within her home. Anne, of course, had been her lady’s maid for a few years at least, but she was eager to know each of her servants, and the lives they had lived.

#writing wednesday #my writing #i know no other way #sherlolly #regency!lock #buckle up buttercup #there's some hefty character building in this one #hope it's not too boring for you

[ghostoffuturespast]

Easy Listening

A short story based off a prompt...

Everyday Stephen and Cody passed the abandoned farmhouse squatting off the side of the highway on their way back from school.  They’d cut through the field on a shortcut to Cody’s place, following the narrow trails that the deer left behind.  The sun peeked through rows of fluffed clouds and the wind gently ruffled the feathered tops of the tall grass.  A perfect afternoon for skipping homework.    

The two of them dawdled by the old dilapidated barn, plucking off crabapples from a tree; eating them and seeing who could chuck them the farthest.  Bets were placed on who could hit the fence pole, then the house, then the nearest tree on the far side of the field.  Stephen put too much oomph in his wind-up and stumbled backwards.  Falling over, his ankles tripped him up and exposed an old box hidden underneath the accumulated pile of leaves.

“Shit!  Ow.”

Laughing at his friend on the ground, the detritus rustled as Cody prodded the box before opening the lid and revealing a stash of old vinyls.  They looked like they’d been camping out in the underbrush for several decades judging by the faded sleeves.

Cody picked through them.  "Weird.  Do you think any of them still play?"

"They're vinyls.  Unless they're scratched or something, it's not like they go bad just sittin’ there."  Dusting himself off, Stephen pulled one of the vinyls from the box.  Teasing one of the discs out, the surface of the record shone oddly pristine.

"I guess…”  Cody’s phone rang.  “Aw, shit.  It’s my mom.”

Forty-five minutes past the hour, they were late in getting home.

“Stephen, you still have that record player you got from the antique store?  You should see if any of these still play.  Add ‘em to your collection.”

“Pfft.  Random box of perfectly good vinyls dumped.  Watch it be Mozart or jazz for babies or some shit.”

Cody hefted his backpack onto his shoulders.  “Who knows, maybe it’ll finally make you smarter.”

“Shove off.”  Stephen grabbed a couple of the vinyls anyway.

Leaving the farmhouse behind, the sky had descended into hues of hazy gold by the time they crossed the intersection of the highway and the frontage road.  They dodged the cars as they skirted past the roadside memorial, faded fake flowers and a sodden teddy bear left at its feet.  It’d been a year since Charlotte died, one of the younger kids from the neighborhood.  A hit and run.  It had been a big deal in their sleepy little town.  They never caught the driver.  She would’ve been ten this past summer.

Stephen and Cody said their farewells and both went home for the evening.  The two friends would do their whole routine again tomorrow.  It wasn’t until after dinner and after annoying his younger brother that Stephen got around to sequestering himself in his room.  He slumped against the door, dreading his algebra homework for the night.  His eyes wandered to the vinyls sitting on his bed.

Plunking a disc down on the record player, an old big band tune drifted out the speakers; soft crooning and trumpets lilting around the room.  Wasn’t the worst thing he’d heard.  Definitely made him kind of sleepy though.  Rifling through his backpack for his textbook, the record skipped and static filled the room.  Followed by a small voice. 

“Stephen?"

He whirled around, finding himself the only one there.  The vinyl continued to turn.  The arm and the needle on the record hitched on each rotation, sound skipping over, and over, and over again.

"Are you listening?”  The voice whispered.

#writing #short prompt #have this instead of a wip #writing wednesday #art #horror #just a little spooky #short stories are the perfect medium for horror #bite me #gothic americana #horror writing #original writing

[alexanderlightweight]

Could you write something with Alec interacting with nephilim children

I like how you write him being careful with his words towards downworlder children so I'd like to know how'd you write him with nephilim kids as well

so i've known how i wanted to fill this for a while but i couldn't figure out hw to like, contextualize it and write it until now but here it is!

i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

-

Magnus doesn’t realize there is a difference with how Alexander treats children until nearly a year after first seeing Alexander with Madzie and then — slowly — other downworlder children.

It never occurs to him to consider how Alexander might treats nephilim children, until now.

There are a dozen adorable little figures who perk up the moment Alec steps after Magnus through the portal and they instantly swarm him.

“Commander!” They call and Magnus hides a smile with a hand, expecting Alexander to break into the normally warm smile he shares with Madzie.

“Debrief!”

It takes Magnus aback, to hear Alexander’s normally low and soothing voice — the voice he uses with children — take a gruffer edge. It’s still much softer than what he uses with adults, but it lacks a delicacy that Magnus has learned to recognize with Madzie and other particularly vulnerable children.

Despite his — what Magnus considers — abrasiveness, the children seem only more delighted. They form a double line and wait for him silently and with minimal shifting as Alexander walks through their ranks and… oh.

Magnus’ heart breaks as he realizes that he is not watching Alexander with nephilim children.

He is watching Alexander with shadowhunter trainees.

Bright eyed and newly runed children who are expected to soon be capable of running messages to Institutes, learning to take portals without getting sick, and who have long left their childhood behind.

If they ever had one at all.

Alexander treats them as the tiny soldiers they are until he’s through inspecting them — stopping to listen to quick and quiet sentence from each of them — and then his face softens.

“You did well, all of you.” He tells them and his hand falls on the tousled hair of the closest trainee and he looks down, mouth curling into a gentle smile. “I’m proud of you.”

They all light up at his sincerity, at the depth of his words.

They look as happy as Madzie when Alec lifts her onto his shoulders at the aquarium or when he stumbles over youtube tutorials to carefully twist and oil Madzie’s hair into appropriate braids.

“Any injuries after sparring?” Alexander asks and there is a chorus of proud denials and then two hesitant affirmations. “Status report,” Alexander says, dropping to rock onto his heels before the two with a calm face and voice.

“I broke my wrist!” One of them finally exclaims and she seems almost pleased about it, something eager in the way she presents her ‘report’. “And I told the trainer immediately! I didn’t try to ignore it this time!”

Magnus internally winces at the ‘this time’.

“Well done Elise,” Alexander murmurs and he pats her head as well. “You did excellent. After all if you hide an injury, then it will only get worse.” He says but it’s in a fond, pleased tone as if he’s repeated it quite a bit and is happy that it’s sunk in.

The boy next to her nods his head eagerly, “I lost a tooth! But the medics said it was still a baby tooth.” He gives a little gap-toothed scowl at that and Magnus now sees the lines creasing around Alexander’s eyes that mean he’s holding back a chuckle as he pats the child’s head.

“Well done, all of you. Remember to keep an eye on yourselves and each other. Elise and Loyiso both need to check with a medic before sparring tomorrow, can I count on their teams to make sure it happens? I’ll expect a report about what the medic says after training.” There is a chorus of determined agreements and then the children depart, all of them sending a last glance to Alexander before disappearing down through a hallway.

“I didn’t realize you had trainees.” Magnus says as they walk to Alexander’s office.

“Shockingly enough, I have one of the lowest death rates per Institute’s.” Alexander tells him quietly, though Magnus hardly considers that shocking. Alexander holds himself to a higher standard than almost any shadowhunter Magnus has ever met and he holds his Institute to similar quality. “Especially for an Institute in such a populated area as this. I train my hunters hard but beyond that and the fact that I won’t allow nepotism—” Alexander grimace here makes Magnus wince, he knows why Alec is so strict with it. “I’m known to be fair. People have been petitioning me to take trainees for months. I insisted on waiting until we were no longer an active warzone.”

Alexander rolls his eyes here and Magnus bites back his own scathing response to hearing that.

They manage to make it to Alexander’s office without any further delays and instead of his desk, Alexander slumps into the sofa he normally joins Magnus on.

“Alexander?”

“They’re practically babies, Magnus.” Alexander murmurs, “it wasn’t so bad when I wasn’t around other kids. Now I see Madzie and the rest and I just— what am I supposed to do?”

“Oh.” Magnus breathes out, his heart breaking because of course Alexander can’t risk softening around shadowhunter children. He’s going to be their commanding officer or at the very least, he’s going to be the standard of every commanding officer and trainer that they meet from now on.

These aren’t children who can grow up as slowly as they want or need.

These are nephilim babes.

Shadowhunters bred for battle.

Alexander can’t treat these children as actual children.

Not only would it be viewed as disrespectful or cast a bad light on the children themselves, it would only coddle them to the point where another Institute might throw them out or they might get themselves killed.

Spares, Alexander called them.

Fodder is what the clave considers them.

Not the heirs who will learn politics first, but the backups, the ones the clave might use as sacrifices and suddenly Magnus understands why they’ve been sent to Alexander.

Alec Lightwood does not sacrifice his people without cause.

Shadowhunters cannot understand duty without sacrifice but even then, it’s a relief to know that it’s just, especially for their children.

Alec is known to protect his people viciously. Oh, if they betray him and his code, he’ll bleed them himself, but those under his authority are also blessed by his protection.

Magnus understands better now, why parents would risk sending their children to Alec, even in the middle of a warzone.

Alexander won’t use them simply as bait.

It would cross his mind — the clave and Maryse trained him too well for it not to — but as soon as he became aware it was an option, he wouldn’t truly consider it and instead use it as fuel and strive to find and create other options until it was the last.

Unlike more clave-minded Institutes, who would rather save time than lives.

“I’ve put a note on their files, none of their teams will be allowed solo missions until all of them have met and matched their estimated growth spurts and then be evaluated. That will give them some more time at least, out of the field without supervision.” Alexander is rambling now, but Magnus merely sits next to him and rests his hand on Alec’s thigh, massaging the tense muscles gently. “I can get away with it because I used my siblings and I’s records and then scoured the database of submitted reports. Half of the injuries during a trainees missions are due to themselves or a member of the team being unprepared for a sudden growth spurt. On their part or on a teammates and so they all move out of sync. I’m also going to be rotating teams to ensure they can fit into other teams in case of emergencies with minimal friction.”

They’re good points and more so, it leaves Magnus aching with the knowledge that the reason Alec found this loophole is because of precedent.

What age was Alexander when he decided that he would change things?

That he had to change things so that it would be different for those under his protection.

Magnus knows Alexander isn’t perfect.

His darling is far from it and Magnus loves him viciously for it.

Alexander is raw with wounds from his childhood — or rather the lack of it — and ingrained prejudice still poisons the very base of his formative thoughts and yet he tries so very hard.

And yet all Magnus can think about is an Alexander, young and unable or perhaps even forbidden to speak up about his injuries as he forced himself to train.

Looking for praise or at the very least, reassurance and only being met with vitriol and bitterness.

Alexander may not be able to take these children to a park and push them on a swing until they think they’re about to fly, but he does right by them.

These children don’t need a bright plastic playground and pressing their noses against the glass of a captured ocean.

They need stability and protection and they need a Commander and leader willing to praise and acknowledge their efforts. They need someone who will remember their names and their accomplishments and — as Magnus listens to Alexander’s murmurs — who will know what they need.

Already Alexander is furthering a training plan, his mind nurturing strategies that will train these children to their very limit but not beyond — never beyond.

Alec will be a shield between them and the clave and perhaps even the expectations of their families until they are strong enough to do it on their own.

Magnus can already see the specializations that Alexander is considering for each child and how seriously he’s taking the fact that he’s responsible for not only their wellbeing, but their futures.

Competence is a beautiful look on Alexander and one he wears well.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #shadowhunters #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood

[writing-wednesday]

Writing Wednesday Week #29

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Event Details

#writing wednesday question of the week #writing wednesday #fandom #writing #fanfiction writing #fanfic writing #fanfic writer #fanfiction #fanfic

[hislittleraincloud]

"Well, there are no rules -- "

SHUT UP. SHUT UP, ENID, YOU LIAR.

THERE ARE RULES IN THE POE CUP, OTHERWISE THESE TWO BITCHES RIGHT HERE? WOULD HAVE JUST USED THEIR SIREN SONGS TO MAKE THE OTHER TEAMS ROW TO MONTREAL. OR TIP OVER THEIR CANOES. OR JUST MERELY MADE THEM SNAP THEIR OWN OARS AND RUN AROUND WITHOUT ANY PANTS ON.

At least that's what I would've done, had I those easily abusable siren powers.

Rules are there, but because the world building for us was so poor, we have to sit here in frustration screaming at the screen, "JUST SIREN SONG THEM!" (or in the case of Ajax happening upon the Three Stooges and their paint truck, "JUST STONE THEM!").

ugh

#speaking of poe #poe cup #the poe cup #there's also the fact of the costume rule since wednesday would have never otherwise been caught dead in the Catwoman leotard #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #netflix wednesday #enid sinclair #divina #bianca barclay #siren songs #siren song #woe is the loneliest number #writing wednesday

[pumpkzsafeplace]

𝔼𝕝𝕚𝕫𝕒 │ 01.

(includes swearing and other strong language!)

x

The skies were as dull as the polluted sea water of England,

As the run-down taxi span around the sharp left corner of the narrow street. The sound of the breaks could be heard from outside giving the bypass’s glares and snarls, but the driver didn’t seem phased as he simply flipped them off with a lazy middle finger. The car looked like it was struggling to stay in between the lines as much as his eyes were struggling to keep open.

In all honesty, he looked like he hadn’t looked after himself properly in days.

He had a grease filled completion, that really highlighted just how scruffy and unkept his grey beard was. Luckily for him that was the only hair he had to worry about on his head. His face looked irritated, filled with spots and rashes that had been left to just pollute and take over his appearance. His green eyes had sunken into his skull from the lack of sleep he was probably getting, and it looked like the shirt and shorts combo he was sporting was close to hitting its two-week milestone tomorrow.

But that’s not the main character of this story.

No, our main character sits behind the plastic proof covering.

She was looked no older than twenty five and was dressed in what looked to be paint clothes, which was a unique choice to travel in. Both items of clothing looked too big for her frame, but she didn’t look like she minded. The top was stained with pink hair dye that clashed against her natural red curly hair and the pants were covered in gloss from what looked to be a previous renovation. Her shoes that she wore to finish the look were a pair of old converses that looked to have seen better days.

She wasn’t wearing any makeup, preferring her skin to be unsticky to help with the claustrophobia, and her hair was tied back to keep the annoying baby strands from getting in her face. Her headphones were helping with that issue too though, the big bulky frame acting like a headband as it replayed the same song for the 13th time in a low rhythm.

Around her neck she wore two things.

The first one was an old necklace that you could tug and yank, the elasticated string making it a good source for boredom or frustration. Sitting at the bottom of the string was an oddly looking ovel. It was beautifully patterned and had that old genuine rustic vibe going for it which is rare to see nowadays.

The second one stood out a bit more against her black clothing, it had caught the taxi drivers’ eye numerous times although he didn’t dare bring it up.

It was a green lanyard.

It had been decorated prettily with badges of cute bubble bees and angel wings, but the décor couldn’t take away the daunting sign that hung at the bottom. The same sign that caused so many unnecessary conversations of debates on an illness they didn’t have and had just saw on tv, so many whispers and finger points, so many rumours and belittling.

And all it had on it was one word.

One simple word.

Autistic.

The driver suddenly let out a loud curse as he took a sudden left turn, nearly knocking the poor woman out of her seat and onto her three neatly packed duffel bags. The taxi swerved again to a line itself back straight before the breaks were slammed on like the two of them were minutes away from being involved in an accident.

They weren’t.

The main just couldn’t drive.

“Hey pipsqueak, we’re here.” He grumbled, unlocking the doors and finally giving the woman the escape, she had been craving since he nearly ran over a bird ten minutes into their journey.

She nodded with a polite smile, hoping it would counter her for not wanting to talk to the bad driver. She was worried that if she opened her mouth, she wouldn’t really know what to say if she had to engage in a full conversation and the last thing she wanted to do was piss somebody off seconds into her ‘fresh start’.

He didn’t seem to mind as he sat there on his phone, gambling whatever little money he had left away. Meanwhile the young woman struggled pulling and balancing all three heavy duffels against the winter winds.

Yippie for the English weather.

As soon as the bags touched the floor, the door was slammed shut behind her and the driver sped off into the distance like she had entered a horror movie- which judging by the conditions in front of her, she wouldn’t doubt a possibility.

Just for double clarification, she unlocked her phone and got up the pictures of the flat she had purchased to move into. Photoshop must have really done wonders to these promotional pictures because as soon as she held it up against her current surroundings, it wasn’t difficult to play spot the difference.

The block building itself was an off-white colour.

A handful of windows were still in place. However, a good amount was either filthy, graffiti-stained or just broken and smashed all together. A good amount looked to be either covered with wooden panels or pieces of furniture to block out the draft that would be battling against their warm home environment. To the left of her were three large overflowing bins, their continents staining the pavement with it’s moulding liquid. It was enough to turn her stomach, and she wasn’t exactly the squeamish kind when it came to stuff like that.

Although if she were to see a mouse or a rat, that would be a different story.

With all the unprepared changes, she began to feel the panic tingle at the tips of her fingers. It had become almost like a warning sign for her over time to get her breathing under control before the situation went south. Plus, this was going to be a fresh start for her- she didn’t want to ruin it having a meltdown 5 minutes after arriving at the new place.

Just calm down, it’s going to be okay.

Yes, it was different- but different doesn’t always mean bad.

Maybe she was being a bit too judgmental too quickly?

It’s not fair to judge something just for how it looks.

She didn’t like it when it happened to her in school.

So, let’s just start again with more of a positive mindset.

She thought as she made her way over to the block door. With frowned eyebrows, her eyes focused in on the small burnt hole beside the mental door. She thought nothing of it at first, until she noticed the security ‘push me’ button sat inches away on the other side of the metal.  Basically, giving anybody access to the building whether they had a security card or not.

Wonderful.

Her nerves were now twitching as her anxiety began to inch underneath her skin, putting her on edge at this whole last-minute decision.

C’mon, she could do this!

Be brave, you’ve got this!

With shaky hands, she paused her music and pressed the number of the flat she had picked to rent out. The automatic voice that answered was loud and obnoxious as it patched through the signal to the room itself. For a couple of minutes, it was complete radio silence, until a rough voice echoed out through the speakers.

“Yes?”  He responded, already sounding annoyed with the interaction.

Was he not expecting her? Had she gotten the address wrong or something? Was this not the place she was renting and now she was just stranded here until further notice.

Her fingers began to twitch and stim without her permission as she tried to find her voice in the sea of monsters that had haunted and claimed her mind a long time ago. She bit her inner cheek as she attempted to re-ground herself, digging her nails into the palms of her hands as she cleared her throat.

“Hi-um yeah, I think I’m supposed to be moving in today. I spoke to a Mike yesterday. Mike Rodgers? He said the place would be available today to move in, I’m Eliza.” She babbled, hoping that the point of her conversation was mixed up in that splurge somewhere.

"Eliza Winters?" The voice asked with a grunt, giving her some control back over the situation.

“Hi, Yes! That’s me! Hi.” She stated, sounding a little too excited for a first meeting.

A loud buzz sound filled her ears, overwhelming her for a moment- but thankfully not too bad due to her ear protection.

With a struggle she dragged the three bags into the entrance way, giving the place a further critical inspection.

Yeah, it didn’t look any better than the front in all.

Inside gave off an eerie vibe almost due to the mouldy colours and graffiti coated walls.

If she didn’t hear the occasional shuffle from the doors, you would think the place looked abandoned. Even half of the post boxes had been torn apart, only a few still fully secure and promoting their door number. The rest were just open for anyone to take, the identification number scribbled down in permanent marker.

With cautious steps she dragged her things into the lift- and from first inspections she really debated leaving it and attempting to survive the three flights of stairs. The entire walls were coated in graffiti, even the ceiling had become a victim to the tagging.

Bless, it looked like somebody attempted to cover it and try and redeem some sort of professionalism back but at lass their attempts were hopeless.

Eliza pressed the floor button and immediately regretted her decision as the lift jumped robotically before it began its increase. She attempted to shake off the nerves as her journey was shortly coming to an end, and with a deep breath she waited for the lift doors to open in anticipation.

“Who the HELL do you think you are, to have the AUDACITY to sleep with MY sister!” A shrieking voice welcomed her as the lift doors opened to a scene best described as chaotic.

Continued in : 02.

Back to description.

#pumpkinposts #creative writing #writer #writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing wednesday #writerslife #writers and poets #story #short stories #short story #eliza

[wickedjr89]

I started a story last month. I'm finally taking my writing seriously and I hope to self publish it when i'm done! I'm not far in yet, about 5.7k and it's going to be at least novella length, if not a whole ass novel.

I'm a discovery writer so there's not a whole lot I can say yet and some of what I could, could change. I can say: It's some type of fantasy and has a trans boy MC. I'm a trans man. So that's own voices. It takes place in Autumn.

I hope to continue updating my progress every so often. I am currently reading Shut Up and Write the Book by Jenna Moreci and loving it! It's really helpful so far and it mentioned Milanote which i'd never heard of before and I started using it and love it so far. So i'm currently now fleshing out my characters, the plot, the world... I'm having fun! I'm also terrified when I think of the future but I try and shove those thoughts aside. I'm excited by this story and i'm going to reach my goals. I will, I can do it. I know I can. I just gotta keep reminding myself of that.

#writer #writing progress #writeblr #text post #writing wednesday #writer wednesday

[lolexjpg]

Writing Wednesday Week 2:

WIP: het!loscar

Starting word count: 598

Current word count: 682

#gonna start doing this as a fun lil holding myself accountable to this new habit thing #also i deleted a LOT so approx 400-500~ words were written 2day u just cant tell~ #week 1 was acosi editing btw so that seemed silly to word count check btw #she writes #writing wednesday #i AM gonna rewatch the bahrain press confrence last year for important research now