wynnie

he/him . 8teen . tboy . mlm . fanfics + original works

-> i update irregularly, i am an amalgamation of various illnesses both mental and physical so my writing will be few and far between. patience is much appreciated

WRITING MASTERPOST

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

homestuck life series hermitcraft aphmau

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

just uploaded the first and main chapter of my silly bad boys high school oneshot (twoshot?)!

grian/scar as competitors during the school’s bake sale. grumbo if you squint and mumscarian if you squint harder. background joel/lizzie and jimmy/scott. kind of enemies to lovers but they’re not really either.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── all of my works compiled into one place! will be updated as i publish more.

HOMESTUCK:

david in drag (1/1, completed, gen) ─ john egbert/dave strider, dave dresses up in drag at a bar, gets blackout drunk.

HERMITCRAFT/LIFE SERIES:

fault lines (2/?, ongoing, mature) ─ grian/goodtimeswithscar, heartstopper AU, scar is captain of the swim team and taurtis is grian's ex. bad boys centric, background ranchers/jizzie.

bad boys bake sale mega death match 2kx (1/2, ongoing, teen) ─ grian/goodtimeswithscar, college (british) AU, the bad boys get roped into a bake sale and scar has a scam competitor booth

ORIGINAL WORKS:

1. i stand in the dock of your absence while the clerk reads charges folded from my own mouth, the transgressions i learned to quote as prayers; they call it wanting, they call it trespass, and the gallery leans in like a congregation waiting for the final nail to pierce my palms.

2. they arraign me with my vows lined up as evidence, cleaner lungs and steadier hours offered like plea bargains, and every question from your eyes is cross-examination that makes me confess things i never meant to say aloud.

3. the judge slams his gavel and my pulse counts down in time with the hammer, with my fingers against my throat the sentence unsigned becomes a sacrament, and i move through the motions of being led toward the scaffold, glowing white and azure. i notice the absence in the crowd, and i like to think that you didn't want to be a witness to my death twice. you already had to see your own, too.

4. they pull a hood that smells faintly of cedar over my face and i taste confession on my tongue, whispering psalms that mean nothing and everything, bargaining with saints for a hand to hold as the block waits. and waits. and waits. the blade hangs in its cradle like a promise, cold and inevitable, and terror lives in the small, more rational parts of me that still try to appeal, draft motions, find a loophole that will unmake this verdict. elsewhere that i cannot hear a gospel line repeats that god is mercy yet here mercy has an angular shape and the crowd keeps time with the creak of rope and pulley.