Rules: Make a new post with a couple sentences from a WIP with zero context.
Tagged by: @wintherlywords (thank you so much!)
He gave me one glance before hurrying towards the door. But once upon a time I was the fastest boy in Fabros, and in a manner of seconds my fingers closed around the softest velvet I’d ever touched.
“Bloody pits!” Vince cursed, whirling to face me. “Unhand me this instant!”
Tagging: @revenantlore, @sentfromwolves, @meerawrites, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, and anyone else who wants to!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Thank you so much to @writernopal for tagging me!!
Rules: Share an excerpt from your WIP that describes one of your OCs.
Gonna share a description of my girl Belladonna, leader of the Night Terrors! Technically it describes two characters in one, though Ren himself got a bit of his own description earlier!
We could’ve easily been siblings. We shared the same pale skin, the same ever so slightly pointed ears. Her hair was black just like mine, though much messier than my own coiffure. Her features were much sharper than mine, all bones and angles. Besides the stark resemblance, what astonished me the most was her clothing—she wore nothing but old-fashioned, haphazardly dyed stays for a top, tight trousers ripped at the knee, and tall black boots with an absurdly high heel. Her bright scarlet eyes were encircled in kohl and her lips and sharpened nails were painted black. She stood with her hands on her hips, proud as any king, and I wondered whether I should be bowing.
“I’ll come back for you. I promise.” I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cold, lifeless forehead before forcing myself to turn and walk away. Erevan followed close behind.
TAGGING: @writernopal @ceph-the-ghost-writer @kaiusvnoir and an open tag if you wish!
There's some people doing this on twt and I really like the graphics I made so I thought I'd share them here too! Two of my main characters from my WIP and some of their character inspirations. There are more but these are probably the most prominent. Also most of these are after the fact.
Gonna list them under the cut:
RENWICK: Wylan from Six of Crows (most similar), Renfield from Dracula, Jinx from Arcane, Jester from Critical Role
EREVAN: Viktor from Arcane (I imagine Erevan sounding exactly like him), Imogen from Critical Role, Sailor Saturn from Sailor Moon, Jesse from Breaking Bad
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Rules: post the last line or snippet from your chosen WIP. it can be as long as you like.
You guys are gonna get a bit of a treat with this one 😈 [cw for: vampire-typical blood drinking]
As the elf’s blood ran down my throat, one of the many thousands of Luminous Faith hymns sprang to my mind. The gods were far too great to consume the food and drink of mortals, so instead, it was said they drank sacred nectar, born of the honey from fallen stars. In the hymn, Nethys, goddess of sinful pleasures, offered a mortal man a sip of this nectar, for she had found his curiosity amusing. That one sip was enough to drive the man to madness in search of just another drop, and because mortal food and drink had become subpar to his now enlightened tastes, he wasted himself away until he was but a skeleton.
I never understood how such a thing could happen until now. With a gasp I wrenched myself free of the elf’s wrist, of his nectar-filled artery, and stared into his flushed face. His pupils had blown wide, and I noticed that even in this walled chamber his silvery hair shimmered with starlight.
“I’m Renwick,” I breathed, licking the remainder of his blood off my lips. “You can call me Ren if you’d like.”
His eyes seemed to track the movement of my tongue, before landing back onto mine with a slight grin. “I’m Erevan.”
“Erevan,” I repeated, giving his name a taste. “That’s a lovely name.” Frustratingly, it didn’t sound nearly as melodic in my voice. I glanced towards his wrist, intending to offer to bandage it, but before my eyes, the pierced flesh bound itself back together, leaving only a trickle of leftover blood. I couldn’t help but marvel. It was reminiscent of a vampire’s regeneration, and I once again wondered just what he was capable of.
Tagged by @serenanymph, @writernopal, @sam-glade, and @worldofthraeia! Thank you so much for tagging me and sorry this took so long to get to!
Tagging: @kaiusvnoir, @mjjune, @liv-is, @writinglittlebeasts, and leaving an open tag for the words arm, happy, late, and switch!
My words: fault, reflect, snarl, rage, savor, energy, camp, fortune, soft, knock, promise, gold, wing, want, win, wait, cold, crystal, cut, cross, bear, burn, bread, burrow, fight, flight, fling, and flick. That's right folks, saddle up 'cause it's gonna be a long one! All of these are from my Everdark WIP.
REFLECT (ch. 9):
Understandably, the room contained no mirrors, so I unsheathed one of the daggers I looted from the hunters. A silver blade, it seemed—my reflection was already fading from its sharpened surface. Yet I could still see enough of myself to haphazardly comb through my black hair with my fingers. It hit me then, that it had been weeks since I’d seen my own face—I hadn’t tried looking in a mirror since before my transformation. Indeed, my eyes had turned from blue to violet, and for the first time, I saw how I looked with pointed ears.
There were still things I would change. I would wear a more tailored suit, and a sharper jawline. But I still vastly preferred this to the reflection I’d been forced to stare at in the attic of my family home. At least this reflection could smile.
SNARL (ch. 5):
Styx’s lip curled into a snarl, and I flinched at the harshness of their voice. “The Everdark is not my home. Perhaps it was, once. But that was long ago.”
“…What changed?” I whispered.
“It doesn’t matter now.” Styx clenched her fists as a pained look flickered across her face for but a second. “My curse forces me to hunt, and I choose to hunt monsters. Sometimes with the Guild. A cockatrice here, a manticore there. Other times…” Their voice trailed off, but I knew what laid in those unsaid words.
I knew all too well.
Putting the rest under the cut for length.
A couple of these contain cws for: Victorian era-type misogyny and ableism, misgendering, suggestive content (consensual), blood drinking (consensual), minor gore
FAULT (ch. 9):
“Apologies, Doctor,” came the voice of my mother. “She should have outgrown these emotional outbursts by now. What a disgrace.”
“Nothing to apologize for, my Lady,” replied the doctor. “If anything, the fault lies with me. I thought dispelling the unfeminine spirit would be enough to cure her hysteria, but clearly this girl is deeply disturbed.”
RAGE (ch. 10):
Her voice shook with rage, and I laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “All the while, rumors swept the village, tales of a plague that rendered women infertile and turned them into monsters. Of course I took the transformation when it came. And I killed my shitstain husband and found the people I cared about and turned them, too. Tansy. My two surviving brothers. I turned countless strangers as well. And we won.” She laughed mirthlessly.
SAVOR (ch. 11):
“I assure you, darling,” the black-haired woman draped her hand on top of mine and gave it a squeeze. My dead heartbeat quickened in response. “I give you my utmost consent.” And before I could take her wrist, she reached up to undo the clasps of her necklace. Oh. I flushed once more as, invitingly, she pat the bare skin on her neck.
Softly, hungrily, I granted her wish.
Warm and savory, her blood rushed to my mouth, and she made no secret how much she enjoyed it. With one hand, she threaded her fingers through my hair, and pulled my body closer to hers with the other. Having warmed a few beds in the past couple of years, I was no virgin, and yet this was easily the most intimate, sensual moment I’ve ever experienced.
ENERGY (ch. 1):
With little else to focus on, I concentrated on the throbbing ache continuing to pulse through my wrists. The leather padding on the shackles and the additional barrier provided by my jacket sleeves only prevented the burn that would result from pure silver touching vampiric skin. The shackles still hurt, and they still drained—my energy, my strength, even any powers I’d developed. They weren’t many, but I still felt the difference.
CAMP (ch. 3):
After what had to be many hours of riding, the trees thinned into a clearing, and Sir Wendell decided this would be the camp for the time being. He and a few of the hunters were in charge of warding it. Garlic for undead, salt and sigils for spirits, and a carefully placed iron horseshoe for the fair folk.
FORTUNE (ch. 1):
No one knew how it was created, only that the enchantment bloomed in the southeast of the Avardinian continent and rapidly spread outward until it was the size of a small kingdom. I’ve heard many a religious person claim fervently and with great fear that it was the work of Luthar, god of misfortune. Mages and diviners alike have tried to undo the enchantment, but none succeeded. Thus the Everdark remained, a border between human and elven lands and a home for those who fell between the cracks, monster or outsider or otherwise.
SOFT (ch. 10):
“You’re soft,” she said. I reflexively flinched, but her voice lacked the venom that so many others had woven into those exact words. “You remind me of my brothers. I miss them.”
I wished I could miss mine. I was soft for him once, too, but he had carved that away long ago.
KNOCK (ch. 11):
I did not respond, for at that point I had become transfixed on what laid ahead of me. A massive building loomed before us, nestled neatly between the trees as if it had actually been built there. Half-timber framed its walls of stucco and stone in a style reminiscent of the older buildings in Cedra, topped with a steep-pitched roof and lined with stained-glass windows depicting scenes of various creatures I assumed were fair folk in nature. Vines of ivy climbed the walls, interspersed with the sort of fungi I’d seen growing on tree trunks. The door was tall with a rusted brass knocker depicting a set of insect wings, and nailed to it was a wooden sign that plainly stated: FRIENDLY VISITORS WELCOME.
A clear invitation.
PROMISE (ch. 2):
“You mean you won’t be coming with us?” I asked forlornly.
Ainsley smiled, crossing the room to give me a pat on the shoulder. “Afraid not, lad. I’m needed here, not just to defend these folk from the vampires but also our regular nightly threats. Don’t give me those eyes, now, this is a fine lot here! You’ll be gettin’ along with them. But…” He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “If ya truly need me…I’ll be sure to find ya.”
“Promise?” I whispered.
Ainsley ruffled my hair. “Aye. I promise.”
GOLD (ch. 7):
He was the most opulent man I’d ever seen, dressed in a lush frock coat of blue and champagne velvet, with intricate golden filigree delicately embroidered throughout. His white boots, dragon leather based on the subtle texture, ended in a sole and heel of solid gold, and my jaw dropped as I realized the golden feathers on his impressive mantle were real phoenix feathers, an incredibly rare sight. His hair was a gold as his plumage, skin as pale as porcelain, eyes a dreamlike periwinkle.
“May I come in?” the newcomer asked with raised eyebrows, and yet he crossed through the threshold anyway, much to the ire of the Night Terrors.
“The fuck are you doing here?”
“Get lost!”
WING (ch. 5):
When I was eight years old, my uncle Emmerick returned from one of his Everdark expeditions with a strigoi in tow. He kept the creature, a winged undead bloodsucker, caged in his lab. Most people are scared of creatures like this, he had said, but in actuality they’re quite fascinating.
Is it a baby vampire? I had asked, to which my uncle responded no, that vampires were much more like people, except not quite. I’d pondered the strigoi then, thinking that despite its little batlike body flapping about, its face was vaguely reminiscent of that of a human. I gave the creature a name: Flappy.
WANT (ch. 10):
Styx carefully laid her scythe against a tree, then stepped into the clearing, arms held at her sides. The rising moon cast a pale halo onto their tall, dark silhouette. “Stab me.”
“What?” I breathed. “I think these are silver. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Any blade can harm a mortal, and yet they still train with them,” Styx retorted evenly. “Stab me.”
WIN (ch. 6):
“Has to be centuries at this point,” Eirik replied, whistling in amazement. Admittedly, he didn’t look at all like how I pictured a vampire. He was broad, tough-looking, clearly a warrior who didn’t need fangs to win a fight. “Man, time flies.”
WAIT (ch. 3):
“Wait! Please don’t go! Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry!” But he said nothing in response, the silence carving a hole in my chest.
COLD (ch. 3):
When I woke up all I could think about was the blood I’d lost, and the blood I’d gained. Whatever wound I’d received had healed, and yet my flesh was cold as death. All around me were the bodies of the men who’d tried to kidnap me, all cut open with fangs and claws except for one. Bleeding, yes, but alive, and smelling utterly decadent.
CUT (ch. 9):
“You know, as enjoyable as this rather compromising position is,” said the elf, bringing a blush to my face as I realized just how I was holding him—wrists pinned above his head, our faces mere hand’s breadths from each other. He was only a few inches taller than me, with moonlight in his hair and the tiniest of stardust freckles dotting his cheeks. He bled from a small cut to the face, and oh, how utterly sweet he smelled. “I’m afraid I must ruin the moment.”
CROSS (ch. 3):
For the first time since our traveling party crossed the twilit threshold, one of the hunters spoke up. “How d’you know it’s them?”
“Here in the southern Ferrywood all the way to Undertaker’s Bay is where they stalk,” replied Sir Wendell. “They’re a clever bunch. They’ve been known to work with sirens to take down entire battleships. Be very cautious.”
“Battleships? An’ we’re supposed to trust these two to talk ‘em down?” another hunter, a tall, broad-shouldered man with jagged teeth, demanded. He gestured wildly at Styx and me as he continued. “A posh little prince and a bloody heathen?”
BEAR (ch. 9):
“Sorry,” he whispered, looking tremendously small. Feeling guilty for startling him, I shook my head and apologized in return. Mirko gave me a tiny smile and held out his arms, and it was then I saw that in his hands he held a stuffed animal of some sort—bear? Wolf? Otter? I couldn’t tell, but it looked lovingly stitched together.
“Tansy made her for me,” Mirko explained. “She helps with the nightmares.”
BURN (ch. 8):
“All of us were transformed at some point during the uprising,” said Amaryllis, a faraway look on her face. “Dahlia and I were born in the same village. Edenlin, in the deepest wilds. We didn’t think the raiders would come that far, but they did, and we were forced to flee and watch as our home burned to the ground.”
Reading the saga was one thing, but hearing a firsthand account was something entirely different. “I’m sorry,” was all I could say.
“I took the transformation first,” said Dahlia. “Amaryllis turned to magic instead, but…”
“It wasn’t enough,” Amaryllis’ voice turned to a low growl. “I summoned fair folk, I animated skeletons, I cursed the blood of the raiders. Things anyone would consider witchcraft. But there was something incredibly satisfying about clawing the smug face of the man who torched my home.”
BREAD (ch. 2):
When he or any of the other hunters spoke, they cheered, some running up and handing them gifts—bundles of flowers, coin, loaves of bread.
FIGHT (ch. 10):
Fighting Styx was different from fighting Belladonna. Belladonna had been a brawler, a panther, a blade made flesh. Styx, on the other hand, was a barrier, an impenetrable wall of stone that only moved when she pleased. Finding an opening should have been easy, especially since Styx seemingly wore no armor, but I was blocked and parried at every chance.
FLIGHT (ch. 3):
Of course, we still crossed paths with various creatures wandering the woods. A sudden movement from the branches above us startled several of the hunters, but it only turned out to be an owl taking flight. Our next sight was less familiar, and sent chills down even my spine—a trio of odd creatures feasting on a dead elk right on the edge of the path. They looked humanlike but all wrong, a pale, twisted caricature of a corpse. I knew these creatures by name, though I had only seen drawings and anatomical diagrams in books and in my uncle’s laboratory. Ghouls, devourers of the dead, harmless to the living. They scattered into the darkness as we approached, but we kept a wide berth nonetheless.
FLICK (ch. 3):
“Explains the bandages,” Styx mused, spaded tail flicking side to side like a cat’s. “Remain watchful of your hunger. The less blood a vampire takes, the more they must feed. Have you killed yet?”
A massive catch-up post! I was tagged in four posts by @writinglittlebeasts, @liv-is, and @serenanymph to find the words agape, borrow, one, rummage, hum, don't, star, strong, summer, smear, smash, row, follow, mouth, drag, and great! Let's see if I can find all of them!!
AGAPE
And yet, as we approached the castle, I felt not like a hero in the making but like a prisoner marching to his own execution. As burly looking guards bearing the same seal as Ainsley and the rest moved to open the gates, I spotted two marble statues placed grandly at each side of the entrance. I recognized the visages instantly: on the left stood the stern, withered Visdar, god of order and law. On the right stood Dontos, god of retribution, clad in ancient Erydean armor and mouth agape in a silent shout.
“You can enter,” said Ainsley, and while a weight was lifted off my chest with the invitation, my body still prickled with unease as I passed between the statues, as if any moment they’d jump to life and kill me right then and there.
ONE
Ainsley too adjusted his seating position, criss-crossing his legs and resting his elbow on one of his knees as he leaned forward towards me. “So. Like I said, I’d like to get to know ya. I gave ya my name, didn’t I? I’d say it’s about time for you to give me yours.”
“I’m Renwick.” It occurred to me that perhaps I should’ve given him a false name. Would he know? Would he be able to figure it out? And yet I didn’t regret a single syllable, for telling him my name, my real name, felt like a triumph.
RUMMAGE
“Oh, you found my whale log! I’ve been keeping that for centuries!” Dahlia chirped from behind me. I yelped and dropped the journal in surprise. Over my shoulder, I saw her standing there sheepishly while Amaryllis rummaged through one of the drawers and Vlastimir—whose entrance had also been quite silent—leaned against the doorframe. “Sorry,” Dahlia stammered. “Should’ve announced myself first.” I gave her back her journal, mumbling an apology of my own.
“Aha!” Amaryllis held up a small, corked bottle and offered it to me. “Homemade pain potion. Made from ginger, turmeric, and from vampire venom produced by yours truly. Thought it might be of use; the regeneration process is much slower for newer vampires and that wound looked painful.”
DON'T
The woman in black spoke up next. “We don’t even know if she’s still alive.” Her voice shook with worry as she grasped her skirt in her hands. “I tried using divination to determine her location, but I couldn’t find her. It was like she was shrouded from my view. Which means either she’s blocked by significant amounts of silver, or she’s…”
“Of course she’s still alive!” Belladonna snapped. Her scarlet eyes blazed as she took to pacing the room, rage coloring her every step. “They lock her away behind their threshold spell, probably torture her for information about us, and then send our own fucking kind after us!”
STAR
He led us not along the main road, but instead veered off into the woods, following a narrow trail presumably left by deer and other animals. The further away from the Cedran border we trekked, the thinner the forest grew, the twisted old growths of the Ferrywood fading into conifer forests that reminded me of my home kingdom. They were still dense, yes, but looking up past their needling curtains I gazed upon the vast canvas of stars. They glittered like fireflies, comforting, and for a brief moment it felt like they were calling out to me.
SUMMER
Wait. I did remember the presence of a summer elf in the Saga. The Saga neglected to mention where he came from, why he was there.
ROW
Either way, I certainly wasn’t sleeping. After what felt like hours, I rose from the bed, giving up for now and deciding to explore instead. First, I examined the rows of books. Their edges were yellow with age, and many were written in languages I didn’t speak, but judging by the illustrations on the covers I gathered that most of these books were either about alchemy or magic. Witchcraft, likely, given what Amaryllis has told me. Though, truthfully, witchcraft was just a foreboding-sounding name for any magic forbidden by law, such as necromancy, summoning rituals, and curses.
I spied one work of fiction, a copy of The Saga of Lief the Uniter lying discarded on the ground and covered in dust and cobwebs.
FOLLOW
I closed my eyes. I had been unable to transform before, or fly, but perhaps now would be different. Perhaps now that I stood in my future home, surrounded by fellow vampires, I would finally be able to grasp that power.
Nothing.
When I failed to follow, Styx dropped her transformation, as did the two Night Terrors. “What’s wrong?” asked Vlastimir.
Shamefully, I stared at the ground, arms hugging my torso. “I can’t transform,” I admitted. “Not to a bat, not to mist. I can’t fly, either. Or charm people.” I looked back up at the others, chest tightening as I considered a terrible thought. “I’m…I’m not a failure of a vampire, am I?”
MOUTH
The corners of Styx’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t reply to my apology. Instead, she asked, “When did you feed last?”
“The other day,” I replied. Slight pangs of hunger resounded through my body, as if a beast stirring from its slumber. “Ainsley let me feed from him.”
“Explains the bandages,” Styx mused, spaded tail flicking side to side like a cat’s. “Remain watchful of your hunger. The less blood a vampire takes, the more they must feed. Have you killed yet?”
DRAG
I approached one creature from behind and drove the stake through its head, unsure if it would do the trick, but thankfully it fell. I did the same with another, saving the last remaining hunter from its snapping maws—Thomas, I remembered.
Thomas stared at me with wide, terrified eyes and sweat running down his brow. For a brief second I thought he would try to spear me too. But instead, he swallowed, nodded, and muttered a thanks.
I didn’t even have time to react before he too was dragged off.
GREAT
My hands shook and my breaths grew rapid. There had been so much blood. I had been drugged, beaten, chased into the forest and captured by swordsmen bearing my family’s banner. Men who had been hired to take me back home, a fate worse than death. Then, in the night, a great black shape flew from the woods and tore through one of the mercenaries. A fight broke out. In my addled state I tried to stumble away, only to fall to my knees. Then, blood. A river of it, flowing from my own body. Then, I was in someone’s arms, blood steadily dripping into my slackened jaw, before darkness claimed my vision.
BORROW, HUM, STRONG, SMEAR, SMASH: n/a
TAGGING (gently): @macabremoons @outpost51 @sam-glade @writernopal and anyone else who wants to for the words home, history, point, and local!
