#wip extract

[fayes-fics]

WIP Extract: Sonnet #29 Sequel

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Next week is the 3rd birthday of this blog and, thus, also the 3rd anniversary of my very first piece of fanfiction, Sonnet #29.

I have been writing a sequel to that fic for a while now, which I hope to publish on May 13th.

Under the cut is an extract.

More soon 😁🧡🧡

“Are you hoping for a revisit, darling?” 

His husky voice confirms your suspicions as you climb onto his lap. The wool of his trousers tickles your inner thighs as you settle, straddling him in just your gauzy cotton nightgown.

“Maybe…” you coquette, glancing briefly over to the billiards table.

As he raises the cigar to his quirked lips, you snatch it and take a drag for yourself. His brow arches at your insolence, but the flex of his quad muscles under you as the fragrant smoke fills your lungs tells you how much he approves. You exhale in a swirl, curling your tongue, staring him down with a glint of challenge. Eager for him to take you again, right here in this room, something about an encore so very alluring.

“Do you know Anthony made me pay to have that table rebaised,” he murmurs, more than a hint of hubris laced through his words, a hand on your thigh dragging upwards, rucking your nightgown with it. 

“Perhaps you should not have ruined me quite so thoroughly upon it, husband,” you cluck, raising a brow of your own. 

There’s a flash of admiration in his eyes, even though his answering inflexion is casual: “Well, that is the crux of the dilemma, is it not, dear wife…..” 

He plucks the cigar back from you, balancing it on an ornate pewter ashtray adjacent to his drink, the air heavy with its pungent earthiness as it continues burning. His other hand burrows under your hem, and without preamble, he slides two fingers into your slit, making you gasp loudly. 

“... For I doubt any man could resist such a lush bounty as yours,” Benedict posits with a crooked, victorious smile, feeling just how aroused you are. “Least of all me.”

It doesn't have a title yet, but I hope it will once I am done writing. I hope you all consider this a worthy follow-up to the original 🤞

[narilwrites]

So I keep referring to him as Victor's son on here and I get Adam is the closest to canon a name can be but like for this adaptation I DISLIKE it so much because this Victor being elevated to being godlike due to the name?

Nah, fam. So even though I'm supposed to focus on my Original Writing to finally finish this damn book, I did a quick sketch for a fic I might never post as a whole:

He remembered that first story of the man made by a god. Adam? Surely Victor would love that. To be elevated that way? 

No then. 

There had been poems too. That one about the statue in the sand. Ozymandias. He remembered struggling with that name at first. 

Meeting Elizabeth’s expectant eyes again, he thought that would not do either. What other names did he know? The little girl had been Anna-Maria he remembered. His friend had been called DeLacy he had told him. 

Still he hesitated. Then he thought of the poet’s name. The one who had written about that statue wracked by time. 

“Percy?” It came out like a question. It also sounded alien. 

Elizabeth seemed to consider it too, eyes narrowing in thought. She did not seem convinced. 

He could not help the little smile that tugged on his mouth at that. “Maybe not?” 

Then he thought of how his friend and teacher had once remarked of his strength when he had easily helped him make repairs so he would not have to wait for the return of his family. 

‘Strong as Samson.’ He had said he was. 

The strong man with the long hair who ended up saving his people even after being blinded. 

“What about Samson?” He suggested. 

Her eyes widened and she smiled, perhaps only mirroring his own expression but maybe part of her approved of the name he was thinking about taking. 

“Alright.” He found he was still smiling. “Samson, then.” 

In this AU Elizabeth is brought back from death and her neural pathways are affected so Samson has to take care of her.

Why Samson? It is derived from the Hebrew word for sun and means "Man of the Sun". On a surface level you also have the similarities with the super human strength and long hair but crucially it is a biblical name and he explicitly tells us he read the bible.

Anyways...

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Seven Sentence Sunday/WIP Extract/Writing Share/Dialogue Tag

Thanks to @oliolioxenfreewrites here, @space-writes here, @talesofsorrowandofruin here, @rickie-the-storyteller here, @mysticstarlightduck here,

@winterandwords here, and @somethingclevermahogony here!

SSS Rules: post seven sentences on a Sunday!

Extract Rules: post an excerpt from your WIP!

Share Rules: share some writing!

Dialogue: share a bit of dialogue you like!

Yeah I'm combining a bunch of posts. Who cares?

This scene is 90% dialogue, so it fits. It's also iconic in my mind.

From The Secret Portal Part One (Robbie POV)

“However, some people have cereal dry, which means that the cereal is a fatless skeleton, but we add fat if we feel the need.” “Does that make the bowl the flesh?” “Of course it does.” “So we’re eating the insides right out of the skin?” Akash paused. “Yes.” “Terrifyingly morbid,” I said, taking a huge bite of my soggy bowl-innards.

Question proposed, for context: is cereal the skeleton of milk?

I'll tag @captain-kraken @winglesswriter @wolfsbaneandotherfunactivities @theelfauthor @vesanal

+ ANYONE ELSE

Y'all can just do one of the tags I provided above :)

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet

[quotidian-oblivion]

Want to share an excerpt from one of my wips for no reason Pt 3:

"I thought of you as a friend. Trusted you more than I have anyone else in my life!"  His vision blurred with tears and Arthur hurried to rub his eyes to get rid of them.  "It is only those years that are holding me back from killing you right this instant. I'm risking everything, everything my father built, everything my kingdom stands on, all the laws, all the people, just for you."  He swiped at his eyes again.  "So take it. Take the chance and go. Leave. Stay in Ealdor, I won't send anyone after you. Don't come back."  Merlin was shaking now, his eyes shining before they released more tears.  "I can't," he said again. His voice was quiet, but fearful determination was infused in every word. "I can't leave you."

[oh-no-another-idea]

WIP Extract tag

The wonderful @eccaiia tagged me way back when, and fresh off the presses, here is a little breakfast party from Invisible Girl, written today! I have a quiet day, and it is so cozy -- I'm lying on the carpet writing, ah...

For any inquiring minds, this scene actually happens before any mentions of sandwiches. Antonio's warmup act, we'll call it ;)

She was saved by the arrival of their breakfast which indeed looked appetizing, vibrant fresh fruit sliced into chunks, fried eggs with their yolk a golden disc and peppered lightly with green herbs, bread toasted warmly and served with several dips and spreads. The soup was in two tureens, and Velia lifted the lid of one to find cloudy broth with cubed vegetables and some sort of sausage. “Heavens,” Antonio said, speaking her thoughts for her. “What a spread. Thank you, my good man.” The waiter bowed his head. “I’ll leave you to it. We’ll be stopping in Boulder in three quarters of an hour, sir.” “Thank you,” Paris echoed. Antonio passed them each a small bowl and plate. “Dig in. Except for that piece of bacon there, that one I will duel you for.” “Since you’re the one packing a pistol,” Paris said, with a small smile, “I won’t challenge you this time.” “You’re too kind,” Antonio said, picking up his claimed piece of bacon. He tapped Paris’s coffee cup with it. “Cheers.” Paris rolled his eyes. Antonio held out his bacon in Velia’s direction. Thrown off guard, Velia picked up a piece of toast and tapped with him. Then she had to peruse the different spreads. There appeared to be marmalade, two other berry jams, butter molded in the shape of a carrot, and the soup for dipping. She would simply have to dip in a bit of everything to try it out.

Gentle tags for @vsnotresponding @space-writes @sleepyowlwrites @writernopal @talesofsorrowandofruin and anyone else who'd like to share!

Putting my taglist below the cut :)

@a-sunflower-at-night @blind-the-winds @drippingmoon @elgringo300 @thats-my-type-writer

@sleepy-night-child @writing-is-a-martial-art @viskafrer @croctears @talesfromaurea

@necros-writings @ashen-crest @conundruminprogress @teaflint @princeofthecactus

@imaginationxlost @fiercely-raging-writer @memento-morri-writes @josephinegerardywriter @jellybeanswriting

@stuffaboutwriting @outpost51 @reneesbooks @charlesjosephwrites @yejidoesthings

@sparrow-orion-writes @somealienquill @ember-writer @theunboundwriter @lady-grace-pens

@thescatteredscribbles (ask to be added or removed!)

[space-writes]

wip extract

tagged by @chauceryfairytales, thank you! here’s a recent bit from Valloroth things, ft the grumpiest man in Mohaade, my beloved Vren 🔪🖤

[ID - a green and black decorative divider]

“No job Zhira’s given you. Another private client?” The disdain in the words was audible. “Been taking a lot of those lately, Wraith. What is it, family business not exciting enough for you any more? I’m sure grandfather would send you back into the Empire if you asked.” Vren ground his teeth. Pure needling, the kind only born Zarahmin could get away with. This child would always have a place, never need to earn his keep, pay down a tally of life debt; he was of Zhira’s line, his position assured, so long as he didn’t do anything stupid. His rank would always be higher than Vren’s despite the fact he’d done nothing of worth, and never would. He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in Voi’xindiiri. “Can I use the Waystation or not?” If he was refused, he’d simply go the long way down the Kalah River, take a boat over to Iaseri. Weeks of wasted time, but rather that than grovel. The divining power he could find in Voah’kasis would make up for it. “You can. Here.” From a pouch at his belt, the man pulled a small metal token, and tossed it to him. The spoked wheel of the Zarahmin was stamped on either side. “Take your trip. But Zhira will want to know why you’re taking it.” “He can want all he likes. My business is mine.” Khazen Zhira’s grandchild pushed off from the wall with a laugh. “You’re family, bhahan. All your business is ours.”

[ID - a green and black decorative divider]

no-pressure tagging @rhikasa @jmhwritesstuff and @eccaiia

Valloroth taglist: @cherrybombfangirlwrites @reininginthefirewriting @memento-morri-writes @foxboyclit @lawful-evil-novelist

@at-thezenith @morganwriteblr @fayeiswriting @serenanymph

@sam-glade @viscerawrites @thegreatobsesso @flower-reads (ask to be +/-)

[jhalya]

💦 When the plot isn't plotting but the smut is smutting 🔥

🍋 NSFW

[autumnalwalker]

WIP Extract

Thank you for the tag, @druidx.

Passing the tag to @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @sarahlizziewrites, @raevenlywrites, @dogmomwrites, @vacantgodling.

So, I wrote the following lines yesterday for the next chapter (17) of Empty Names and in doing so realized that I'd just semi-accidentally hit on the core of Lacuna's internal character struggle and issues in a way I'd never quite defined before:

Doesn’t she deserve to be happy?

No.  Of course not.