[akoumi]

[ NEITHER OF US WILL BE MISSED ] 

camp nano 2020 wip introduction by @holotones

genre: western, romance, ya, lgbt 

pov: first person present 

status: planning

themes: love, tiny towns, self-love, survival, self-worth, found family, forgiveness, religion 

word count goal: a tentative 10k 

[ synopsis ] 

in the small, texan town of lauderville, there are exactly six hundred and fifty-two kids between the ages of zero and twenty. davie colbarn happens to fall somewhat in the middle at seventeen years old. 

the average person has ten friends, but davie has ONE. 

living in a trailer park with his bastard of a father, davie lives day to day by himself. his future prospects don’t look too promising. not to mention, davie knows he’s a sinner. he knows, he knows, he knows. 

the truth never hits him more than when he sees boys swimming at the pool, or boys kissing their girlfriends, or boys smiling, or boys boys boys. 

every thought costs him. every thought costs him. 

but everything changes when an old acquaintance becomes something more, his home becomes a living nightmare, and davie must find out the true difference between living and living - or die.

[ characters ]

davie colbarn - seventeen years old, always anxious. lives with his shitty father in a trailer park in lauderville. 

heath mclellan - seventeen years old, tired. lives with thirteen other people in a small house made for four people, six people maximum. 

dolly pardue - davie’s best friend, just trying her best. lives with her aunt and cousin. 

[ excerpt ] 

God, his hair is so beautiful. 

I sneak a peek at it out of the corner of my eye as I take a bite out of my sandwich. He has it neatly braided up like always, into a long blond rope down his back. He throws the basketball to his teammate, who throws it into the hoop. And with that, the boys stop their game for now, at least. 

One of his friends claps him on the back. He must have said something funny, because Heath laughs. He pulls his shirt up to wipe at his forehead - and I have to look away immediately. 

“Davie!” Dollar exclaims. I look up at her quickly. “You weren’t listening! Who were you looking at? Who, who?” She grins slyly at me. “I bet it was Florah, huh. It was Florah. I know it.” 

I give her a weak smile. “Yeah. Yeah, uh, Florah.” 

“Oh my god - I knew it!” 

taglist:  @corav1a @woodhouse-jay @whateverwarrior @sunlight-and-starskies @manghhos @writers-lovers ( if you’d like to be added to the taglist, please just ask! )

[akoumi]

[ MONSTROUS, WRETCHED, AND DIVINE ]

taglist: @whorizcn @artepotter @staring-at-the-wilderness @shaonharryandpannisim @tiyanaks @neothespian @eowynisthequeen @anomaly00 @cutiks @onhou @sword-of-stars  @semblanche @confunduis @nerocael @emdrabbles @writers-lovers @adrestaie @rcvolutions @halfbloodlycan @linneaeliam @sunlight-and-starskies @ashesconstellation @wildares @themillionthdraft @herondalelucies @heyabella @summersromance @ladywithalamp @madsaialik @rcvolutions @maskedlady @elizahgodswood @of-a-hamartia @sapphoopages @elchantra @morgaines @words-in-the-sky @ratwithouthope @the-ichor-of-ruination @calmertimes @musicofglassandwords @dahilassi @you-are-my-neverland @montevena @dustylovelyrun @ncwrites 

[eatingjupiterarchive]

the singer had a mellifluous voice. and  as though kissed by angels she traversed ethereal pitches understanding how to bloom but also haunt the listener.  she catches the thief and has her bare , blanked when without her voice and wet when thinking of it. for hands traced her body with feeling of the singer’s voice and eyes twisting every part of her.  

taglist:  @vandorens @rowofthorns @callmeweeeh @sancta-silje @nepeinthe @montevena @popovs @semblanche @endymions @the-ichor-of-ruination @ashesconstellation @carumens  @ ASK TO BE TAGGED OR REMOVED. 

[eatingjupiterarchive]

THE HOUSE SEPERATED.

Taglist : @vandorens @callmeweeeh @rcvolutions @the-ichor-of-ruination @semblanche @carumens @ashesconstellation @rowofthorns @montevena @popovs @endymions @nepeinthe @sancta-silje @ ask to be added or removed.

[eatingjupiterarchive]

                                            THE REBIRTH. 

                                                             VO: THE HOUSE : REST WELL AND THEN COME BACK TO ME SO THAT WE CAN FILL OURSELVES OF REAL LOVE. THE KIND THAT DOES NOT THROW AWAY THE  HAND WHEN IT FALTERS IN ITS EMOTIONS.  BUT THE KIND OF LOVE THAT DROWNS AND EATS THE OTHER . FOR WE ARE TWO MADE FOR EACH OTHER IN EVERY REASON

taglist: @vandorens @rowofthorns @callmeweeeh @sancta-silje @nepeinthe @the-ichor-of-ruination @rcvolutions @carumens @montevena @popovs @semblanche  asked to be added or removed. 

[eatingjupiterarchive]

                           IN WHICH THE HOUSE INQUIRES .

TAGLIST: @rcvolutions @vandorens @rowofthorns @semblanche @sancta-silje @nepeinthe @popovs @montevena @callmeweeeh @the-ichor-of-ruination  ASK TO BE TAGGED OR REMOVED

[llesbianwrites]

✹ character intro — crowe blackthorne

⇻ the cloak sits heavy on his shoulders. it feels wrong, somehow. like an itch he can’t scratch.

BASIC INFO // seventeen years old, nonbinary (he/him), black.

PHYS. DESCRIPTION // long black locs, dark eyes, dark brown skin. dozens of scars cross his hands.

BACKGROUND // he knows two things. one: his father is very powerful. two: he is not.

crowe’s never known what to say. never known how to act. his life has been a series of missteps, and his father has never missed a chance to remind him of it. he wants to say, i never asked for this. i never asked to be born. you did this.

but his father is powerful. and those with power never like to be told the truth.

the truth is this: his mother was a human and he killed her. ripped her insides into ribbons and left her bleeding, alone, a squalling babe writhing next to her body. he’s not sure how his father found him — how, when he saw the mess of gore and gristle, he thought to take him. by all accounts crowe is a bastard. his father had already created his heirs, plucked the best parts of himself and molded them into something twisted. he should have let crowe die. 

but he didn’t. he lived. and now he survives on the scrapes of affection his father throws. he might not be a skilled fighter, might not be especially frightening, might be a mistake — but he is determined. he can’t afford to fail.

if his father wants him to hunt down a dealmaker, so be it. he hopes they’re ready.

TROPES // half human || heel-face turn || the power of friendship

STATS // intelligence: 9/10 || charisma: 7/10 || strength: 4/10 || cooperation: 6/10 || loyalty: 6/10 || agility: 5/10 || kindness: 7/10 || bravery: 4/10 || endurance: 3/10

AESTHETHICS // moonlit water, a warm rush of wind, fire, daggers, unblinking eyes, emotions with no where to go, never saying exactly what you mean, unnaturally sharp nails, fear turning your stomach to knots, the heavy ache of wings on a body not made for them. your life being decided for you before your first breath.

SONGS // bathtub — the front bottoms || uneven odds — sleeping at last || a better son/daughter — rilo kiley || everything costs — radical face || cold is the night — the oh hellos

taglist beneath the cut

Keep reading

[llesbianwrites]

✹ character intro — peter o’neil

⇻ he hasn’t felt sunlight in years. he wonders when he stopped missing it.

BASIC INFO // seventeen years old, cis bi boy (he/him), white.

PHYS. DESCRIPTION // blonde hair, blue eyes, dark brows, pale skin. a jagged scar across his chest.

BACKGROUND // his memories come fragmented and fuzzy. a wooden cabin. a blonde girl. the smell of pine. blood. blood. blood. 

he holds on to everything he can. repeats it to himself every night (is there night, here? in this infinite hollow? he’s not sure. he doesn’t want to know.)

my name is peter, he tells himself. i have a sister. i have a mother. i can’t remember their faces. i don’t know where i am. i don’t know how long i’ve been here. i don’t know what to do. 

sometimes he swears he can see something. sometimes he swears he can feel something. but it’s always gone before he can do anything, and it’s so tiring trying to chase shadows. even staring at nothing is getting difficult. he’s starting to forget what roses smell like. what oranges smell like. what home smelled like.

time crawls on. peter doesn’t eat. he doesn’t sleep. eventually, he stops trying to remember.

it’s then a clawed hand curls around his shoulder.

TROPES // gilded cage || faustian rebellion || rousseau was right

STATS // intelligence: 8/10 || charisma: 7/10 || strength: 4/10 || cooperation: 6/10 || loyalty: 5/10 || agility: 2/10 || kindness: 6/10 || bravery: 3/10 || endurance: 5/10

AESTHETICS // hot coals, the strum of a guitar, tavern songs, creaking floorboards, red sunsets, fruit pulp, golden afternoons, feeling like eyes are constantly on you, bloody handprints, dirt, losing yourself in a crowd, the cloying smell of burning hair, obsidian spears, the dry heat of a flame. choosing complacency over action.

SONGS // the valley — the oh hellos || plastic flowers — the front bottoms || sister — the black keys || billions of eyes — lady lamb || ghosting — mother mother

taglist beneath the cut

Keep reading

[dovelymaiden-deactivated2021103]

amaris azaiah ✦ the thing about heroes ✦ 8 / ?

"I love you," Adulwulf said, sad and aching and hollow--his words almost lost in the monstrous rain, "but you're ruined."

✦ this taglist is currently still open: @livvywrites | @half-explored | @kaatiba | @starrywritingg | @jmhwriterblog | @silverartistcat | @laurwriteblr | @lady-redshield-writes | @eluarii | @thegrievingyoung | @zmlorenz | @qelizhus | @agnodiceandstars | @notakingsworld | @hadesburns | @moonwalklings | @roreadsbooks | @rainydaydarling | @ladyymacbcth | @theforgottencoolkid

[rcvolutions-moved]

“Look.” Jaxara murmured, breaking Adrian out of his reverie. “The suns.” And there they were, the twin sunsrise, slowly rising from the ocean and gliding towards the sky. The air suddenly got warmer, and the cold that had pierced through them moments ago was washed over by a hot breeze, forcing Adrian to remove his overcoat. The suns were supposed to be sacred, some sort of symbol of hope and peace and all other good things in life. For obvious reasons, Adrian never bought any of that. But in these moments, Adrian still hoped.

He looked at the suns, and hoped that maybe it would spark some kind of motivation in him, or whisper to him that the future was going to be okay, that they would all make it out alive, and they would accomplish what they’d been fighting for four years. But the suns remained silent, and Adrian remained faithless.

THE LIGHT RUNNER TAG: @coralblast / @tieflingish / @tiyanaks / @jessiwritesbad / @fartistically / @stuffaboutwriting / @celestialbunnistories / @timeslaststand / @books-of-lunacy / @somuchtowrite / @aepreall / @peachyln / @vviciously / @nepeinthe /  @heldinhishands / @writer-whim / @notakingsworld / @aurumni-writes / @montevena 

[rcvolutions-moved]

You are not a monster Sanvi. A voice shattered her melancholy. Sanvi shivered a bit. She’d been so lost in her misery even Zosia could hear it all the way from the Helion Palace.

But I am. I kill without mercy. I feel no sympathy. If I’m not a monster, what am I?  Sanvi’s arms were outstretched, as Zosia replied: A hero. Sanvi bit back at a sob as best as she could.

You are a Celeste-damned hero Sanvi. You are doing this for a greater cause. You are doing this so the future must not suffer from the Light Runner’s brutality. 

Heroes never did anything for a greater good. In all the books Sanvi had read, it was always the villain that gave those reasons for their actions. Sanvi sucked in a breath, and widened the smile on her face.

If history was going to write her down as the villain of this revolution, so be it. She knew that one day she was going to have to pay for her sins. But that day wasn’t today.

THE LIGHT RUNNER TAG: @coralblast / @tieflingish / @tiyanaks / @jessiwritesbad / @fartistically / @stuffaboutwriting / @celestialbunnistories / @timeslaststand / @books-of-lunacy / @somuchtowrite / @aepreall / @peachyln / @vviciously / @nepeinthe /  @heldinhishands / @writer-whim / @notakingsworld / @aurumni-writes 

[madsaialik-archive]

kisses between Vjeko and Luci + a bonus:

starcut taglist: @mvcreates @dove-actually @kittensartswriting @kimvanhorn @royalbounties @purpleshadows1989 @sapphicsyn​ @shattered-starrs​ @babbling-bibs​ @magicalmisstemi​ @cawolters​ @kainablue​ @lifeboldlyblows​ @adorable-bookworm​ @noloumna​ @fair-folk-nonsense​ @dam-those-words​ @ladywithalamp​ @ceejwritees​ @lady-redshield-writes​ @annecoplaine​ @nana-writes​ @bebewrites​ @nmcwriting​ @contes-de-rheio​ @elizahgodswood​ @notakingsworld​ @ekbirch​ (ask to be added or removed!)

[dovelymaiden-deactivated2021103]

FREYJA ✦ THE THING ABOUT HEROES ✦ 6 / ?

"They call her Cinnamon," Freyja said finally and the entire group paused.

Then the laughter came.

She scowled, crossing her arms, "Laugh all you want but she taught me everything I know."

"I'm—I'm sorry," Hansel said through tears and laughter, "It's just—all the names you could choose from and you choose 'Cinnamon'?"

Lorelei shrugged, "Sugar, spice and everything nice, I guess."

Freyja sighed.

✦ want more ttah edits?

edits ✦ wip intro ✦ excerpts

TAGLIST ✦ @livvywrites | @half-explored | @kaatiba | @starrywritingg | @jmhwriterblog | @silverartistcat | @laurwriteblr | @lady-redshield-writes | @eluarii | @thegrievingyoung | @zmlorenz | @qelizhus | @agnodiceandstars | @notakingsworld | @hadesburns | @moonwalklings | @roreadsbooks | @rainydaydarling | @ladyymacbcth | @theforgottencoolkid

[moariin]

THESE HUNGRY DOGS  — reintroduction

‹ “Very well,” she pressed on, seizing a long exhale. “What is it, then?”

“After I, and if, I manage to return the forest to you, what can we both accomplish with it?” said Leon, then a sigh came, slipping through the cracks of his lips. › 

GENRES: fantasy, mystery, horror

THEMES: false warfare, political espionage and intrigue, faith vs alchemy, emergence of new era

DEMOGRAPHIC: adult 

NARRATION: third person, past tense, five pov

SUMMARY: In the midst of the undying war between the Three Kings, a pact was made to divide the world in two-folds: death and hunger. 

Carved from the bottom of Zeimrada with no form of nobility or wealth, Leon struggles for survival in the midst of warfare. But when he was framed for murdering the lord’s son, he was sent to the no-man’s land under the king’s jurisdiction to cut down the devil’s kingdom and the war. As he claims his role as the wraith speaker, one who shaped the dead to his calling, he searches for his lost memories and it lead him to Dollmaker.

Only then did Leon remembered the pious and devout are bound to be consumed when the trench devils wakes from their slumber. And dreadful things will always come onto souls when one tempers with hunger. 

TAG LIST (asked to be added/removed)  —  @vandorens @nepeinthe @quilloftheclouds @zielenheil @montevena @vviciously @wiipciity @noloumna @the-ichor-of-ruination @ashesconstellation @astorsa @apollchiles @endymions @ikilledmyocs @ladywithalamp @wildares @popovs @notakingsworld

[tsainami]

WORLD OF GRAVE MERCY: MONTEVENA

From the rising arch of the Wanderer’s Palace, the stone-white landscape of Montevena can be perfectly seen. Built across the flat lands that lie beneath the shadow of the Inezian mountain range, it presents itself with the eminence of a boneyard—unveiled upon the earth in spiked roofs and gaping circles, protected by a wall that surrounds the city like a set of teeth.

PLAYLIST // WORLD BLOGTAG 

Reblog this post with a message in the tags or shoot me an ask to be added to the WIP taglist!

Keep reading

[madsaialik-archive]

Starcut, scene: The Proposal

“Would it be easier if I were a monster?” I ask, so close that her breath teases my face. Regret itches the back of my tongue before the question passes my teeth. My desire sways on a precipice, waiting for Luci’s response on timid wings. Words leave her mouth so quickly that no thought goes into the—only hardened conviction. “You are a monster.” I rip my hands from her as if the lightning of her heart seared my skin. My chest heaves once in a harsh, dry laugh. Foolish of me to think she would see me any different now after this forced journey and botched proposal, my victory taste sour. I bite my cheek. Iron fills my mouth, wet and metallic as my will. She slips her amulet over her golden head as I turn from her. I welcome the severed connection as she cuts herself off from me, present only like the prick of a phantom limb. One hand rests firmly on Ktiki to ground herself, to hide her trembling. My shoulders roll under silk, agitation turning the fabric to wool scraping against my skin and scar tissue. Her blue eyes, bright and peculiar, are wide as I lean down if only to remind her of the differences in our builds. “Pray to your saints that you have not seen the beast you’ve made of me,” I keep my voice deadly even, free of the snarling and growling of my broken heart. This close and I watch her pupils dilate as I brush her hair away to whisper in her ear—

taglist: @mvcreates @dove-actually @kittensartswriting @kimvanhorn @royalbounties @sapphicsyn @shattered-starrs @babbling-bibs @magicalmisstemi @cawolters @kainablue @lifeboldlyblows @adorable-bookworm @noloumna @fair-folk-nonsense @dam-those-words @ladywithalamp @ceejwritees @lady-redshield-writes @annecoplaine @nana-writes @bebewrites @nmcwriting @contes-de-rheio @elizahgodswood @notakingsworld @ekbirch (ask to be added or removed!)

[llesbianwrites]

✹ character intro — peter o’neil

⇻ he hasn’t felt sunlight in years. he wonders when he stopped missing it.

BASIC INFO // seventeen years old, cis bi boy (he/him), white.

PHYS. DESCRIPTION // blonde hair, blue eyes, dark brows, pale skin. a jagged scar across his chest.

BACKGROUND // his memories come fragmented and fuzzy. a wooden cabin. a blonde girl. the smell of pine. blood. blood. blood. 

he holds on to everything he can. repeats it to himself every night (is there night, here? in this infinite hollow? he’s not sure. he doesn’t want to know.)

my name is peter, he tells himself. i have a sister. i have a mother. i can’t remember their faces. i don’t know where i am. i don’t know how long i’ve been here. i don’t know what to do. 

sometimes he swears he can see something. sometimes he swears he can feel something. but it’s always gone before he can do anything, and it’s so tiring trying to chase shadows. even staring at nothing is getting difficult. he’s starting to forget what roses smell like. what oranges smell like. what home smelled like.

time crawls on. peter doesn’t eat. he doesn’t sleep. eventually, he stops trying to remember.

it’s then a clawed hand curls around his shoulder.

TROPES // gilded cage || faustian rebellion || rousseau was right

STATS // intelligence: 8/10 || charisma: 7/10 || strength: 4/10 || cooperation: 6/10 || loyalty: 5/10 || agility: 2/10 || kindness: 6/10 || bravery: 3/10 || endurance: 5/10

AESTHETICS // hot coals, the strum of a guitar, tavern songs, creaking floorboards, red sunsets, fruit pulp, golden afternoons, feeling like eyes are constantly on you, bloody handprints, dirt, losing yourself in a crowd, the cloying smell of burning hair, obsidian spears, the dry heat of a flame. choosing complacency over action.

SONGS // the valley — the oh hellos || plastic flowers — the front bottoms || sister — the black keys || billions of eyes — lady lamb || ghosting — mother mother

taglist beneath the cut

Keep reading