L. Martinez

Quick show of hands: If you’re participating in NaNoWriMo this year and would be interested in sharing your project through us where you can see what others are writing, find writing buddies, and cheer each other on, can you like/reblog?

Good morning guys!! You are all such wonderful and bright people who bring such light into my life and I want to thank you all for existing today. ❤️❤️

I’ll start:

Girl and a genetically enhanced creature fight against pretty much everything

Apathy brings out the joy of two sulky gay teenagers

1:

After being kicked out of a rebel group, a girl seeks to finish her parent’s mission with an old enemy and a few misfits.

2:

Nameless Hoseok Fic: Famous singer finds himself back in his old hometown only to reconnect with an old schoolmate who is his family’s new gardener.

Guess who is going to be participating in Nanowrimo this year? This gal!!!

I know about a week ago I was adamant I wasn’t going to do it. Mostly because I wanted to focus on DW, but this morning at 5 am a plot bunny smacked me in the face and now I have no choice but to join you guys and write this story!

I’m honestly super freaking excited about it, and it’ll be so much fun to work along you guys that are also doing Nano!!! Later today I’ll post my profile so you can add me & I’ll hopefully get the blurb up!

Me, a dumbo who only tortures their characters: 

@elliot-orion here is one William for you!! I hope the design is okay :D idk what he’s pointing at……. maybe in the direction of some cryptids

also, here is one slightly smaller William also for you

I just really wanted to draw the mothman shirt pfft

“It’s right past that power box,” the boy with the freshly-cut hair told me, his torn sleeveless undershirt flapping as he ran. The ancient grey power box only came into view after we’d made a sharp turn, and I imagined it powered a whole section of this slum. Somewhere nearby, someone was frying fish, even this late into the night.

“Through here,” the boy stopped and got down on all fours to crawl through a hole in a chain-link fence.

“I’m not sure if I can get through there, little buddy,” I said, bending down.

“Can you climb?” the boy asked.

I guess. I gripped the fence and lifted myself up. I’d never been one for physical adventures, so this scoop was bound to be a little challenging.

“That’s not how you climb at all, is this your first time?” the boy asked.

I grabbed a higher handhold and then hoisted myself over the top edge, my poor heart too shocked by this sudden exertion. I looked down, and before I could devise a strategy to calm down, I found myself approaching the ground faster and faster.

“Even I can climb better than that and I’m half your height,” the boy shook his head and offered me a hand. I got up and dusted myself, wishing that I could also dust the pain and embarrassment of the fall away.

The final alley was carved into a tiny garden, and the boy entered it. Three other boys had gathered there, and were all looking at a glowing set of letters on the red brick wall.

“Is he the writer?” one of the boys asked my guide, to which my guide nodded. He cleared the boys out of the way and watched me as I approached the writing.

“When did this show up?” I asked.

“A week ago. I think it changes every night. Nobody writes it, it just appears once it’s dark,” my guide explained.

“It doesn’t always change,” one of the boys corrected him, “Sometimes it’s the same. Like, yesterday’s was the same as Friday’s.”

The boys got into a debate over how true that assertion was. Meanwhile, I touched the glowing fluorescent green writing. It was warm to the touch, and it was deep. I inserted a finger into a strokes that formed a letter in a script I couldn’t read.

“This looks like an ancient script,” I explained to the boys, “It shows some similarity to modern lettering, but…”

My finger went all the way into the writing. I traced the writing, finger inside.

“It’s a bad sign,” one of the boys said, “It means something bad is going to happen. You should write that, too.”

I drew my hand out of the writing, and examined my finger, which was also glowing green now. I tasted it. Cranberry. Orange. Iron. Brick.

“It’s an ancient curse,” the same boy told me.