Thank you so much @tananaphone for the tag! ; 0 ; ofc I’m five hundred years late, but I love getting tagged in fun new things. Here we go!
🌷 In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.
🌷 Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!
🌷 After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.
My file names are honestly pretty boring coz they are usually just the wip names ; w ; but here’s some snippets PLEASE MAKE ME WRITE!!!
🐲: MIDNIGHT IN THE SHADOW OF BEASTS 🐾 2023
“Is that so?” Magnus purred. His gaze drifted past her shoulder to the edge of the highway. Carmine stiffened when it seemed to flit up the bole of the pine tree itself, but Magnus looked back at the Dolmir princess without spying Carmine hidden among the shadows. “And where is that jaguar who nearly tore my throat out? Perhaps we have different opinions on what it means for a person to come for your head. Does it count if you use only your teeth?”
🥀: IN THE SHADOW OF SPRING 🌺 2023
How would you have me describe it, Leda, that night we first met?
You might hate me for saying it this way, but Cantha was beautiful back then. Our winters are harsh and brutal, we both know this well. But then comes spring, at first a whisper and then a storm, and our hills shed their snow pelts for endless fields of flowers, all of them in bloom, an endless cascade of color that glows brightest beneath a sky full of stars. In my youth, I would roll down them laughing, hollering, all the joy in me spilling like an overfilled cup. I loved Cantha then, her warm floral scent, her towering mountain teeth. The way she held and watched over me as I grew from a foolish boy into an even greater fool of a man. I love her even now, ruin that she is, graveyard that she has become and become again, at long last.
After all, every winter, the snow bathes her hills under blankets of pure white. Every spring, her flowers still bloom.
🚪The Magician's Daughter & The Doorways of June
On the third stop in Coral City, Jewel of the Atlantic and third-largest of the respectable magicking cities of the globe, the Crescent Compendium Express picked up a most peculiar passenger.
“Oh, Ozymandias,” his companion said irritably, tabby tail twitching as he adjusted the wide brim of his hat, “it is even more garish in person. Are you sure we cannot travel some other way?”
“We’re not just traveling, my dear Parmesan,” Ozymandias, Lord-Wizard of Barro-Salvatore, thirteenth of his namesake and most honorable Third Chair of the Council of Nine Moons, said, and laughed a great and hearty laugh at the way the cat beside him bristled in indignation at the use of his archaic pet name. “We’re about to start the fascinating adventure of parenting. Such a quest should not be undertaken so lightly, or at the wrong starting line.”
Summer licked its way down his spine as he stepped down off the wide wood landing of the front porch, swinging the screen door shut behind him. Sweat beaded at the nape of his neck, matting the lambent moon-silver of his hair to the soft flesh just below the titanium piercings studded through his ear from lobe to helix. Fireflies puffed up in clouds across the field, glowing just as green as the inhuman emerald of Nemesis’s eyes. When he was young, he thought they were natural—some endemic affliction of this particular place. They could grow dense as mist, those fireflies. Sometimes when they swarmed, even the clouds above the house glowed sickly, bathing itself in all that immutable light.
Now he was older, and he knew better. His mother had loved to slip on the skins of other professions on her trips across the globe—model, actress, monster, mistress, and always more, more, more—though she never wore one false life for long. They were all chameleon flesh to her, the rippling surface of a pool of water, hiding sharper teeth somewhere in the depths below. She liked the sensation of it—of shedding her masks from one airport to the next, one decade to another. She wore them the same way she wore names, discarding their pretty syllables the moment her interests flared in another direction, turned another way. Nemesis had only ever shed one—a dead name for the truth.
🥘LAW MADE OF DEVILS D1 2023
Vashon drew to a sudden halt.
The headless body didn’t have any mouth to speak with. But Vashon wasn’t hallucinating—he’d made sure to carve the runic spellwork against auditory distortions into the shell of his ears years and years ago after a job gone horribly wrong on the Second Continent. The voice had been odd and androgynous, a gravel tenor as though it were rattling through the throat of a long-dead thing.
Interesting, Vashon thought. Very interesting.
He dropped the spell in the back of his throat. The runes carved there went dull and lifeless, the searing heat and corrosive tang layering thick over his tongue until he swallowed it all away and said, “I don’t have what you’re looking for.”
The headless body lumbered another step.
“I can’t.” Vashon frowned before lifting his arms slowly to either side, palms spread in a show of harmless surrender. “I don’t have what you’re looking for. If you tell me what it is, I may be able to help you find it.”
I have goldfish brain so consider the tag list on this one OPEN!! If you want to do this and get some words in, consider yourself tagged! 💝💝💝
