#writing samples

OG Possible Opening for Unforeseen

Maria: Apri Gli Occhi, Mia Figlia (Open Your Eyes, My Daughter).

Mirabel slowly opened her eyes as asked. Lain out on the bed was an emerald green tablet. It glew with viridescent light, though Mirabel could just make out something on the surface.

Mirabel: It's beautiful, Mama.

Maria: This tablet shows the future of our family.

Mirabel: How did you get it?

Maria: Long ago, your Uncle Alonzo and I found a man out in the fields surrounding our home. Winter had started setting in early, a blizzard sweeping across the territory. The man was sick and delirious with fever. I could not leave him there. Could never live with myself if I did. Yet, when I reached out to help him, he held onto me and showed me his Gift. He showed me our family would grow...

Maria lifted the tablet up, revealing an image of herself and a newborn infant in her arms.

Maria: He showed me I would be a mother. But the father remained unforeseen. We took him in, nursed him as best we could, and he returned our kindness by staying on the farm to help us through our struggles. Overtime, I fell in love with him, despite his troubles. And he felt the same, despite his self-reservations. He asked me to marry him. And after we were wed, the prophecy he had foreseen came true. I became a mother. And he became your father.

Mirabel was in awe. Her Papa had foreseen her birth. He had magic: Something she had only heard about in bedtime stories and fairytales. That must mean...

Mirabel: Is Papa a witch?

Maria: Not exactly.

Mirabel: But how can he do magic? He has to be a witch. Only witches can do magic.

Maria sighed. This girl truly was her daughter: Curious, insightful, and persistent. No wonder Alonzo found her troublesome at times. Still, not like he was any easier.

Maria: Perhaps your Papa can explain.

She turned to face the door.

Maria: Come in, Amore Mio.

The door creaked open. Standing in the entrance was a figure, seven-feet tall and cast in shadow.

Maria: Your daughter wishes to know more about your Gift, my love. It is best she hears it from you.

With a sigh, the figure moved towards them. As he drew closer, the light from the bedroom candle dispelled his dark form. What was once a seven-foot tall shadow shrunk down to reveal a 5'4 stick of a man. Close as he was, Mirabel's father kept his distance from them, his face weary and concerned. He decided to sit on a small stool rather than on the bed.

Mirabel: Papa... How did you get your Gift?

Bruno: Long ago. Before you were born. Before I met your mother. Mi Madre, your Abuela, has this magic candle. It's flame would never go out. The magic of the candle had saved her in her darkest moment. A Miracle, she called it. When I turned five, Mi Hermanas and I were given our Gifts. And we used them to help others to honor the Miracle that blessed us. And years later, I met your Mama.

Mirabel: I'm turning five in a few days. Does that mean I'll get a Gift like yours?

Bruno visibly tensed when he heard those words. Both of his hands clenched. Eyes focused down on the hard wooden floor. Mirabel was confused. Why did her Papa look so upset? Maria took this as her cue to interject.

Maria: We do not know, Mira-boo. The magic candle is hidden far away. But if you do, it won't change anything. You are still a wonderful child.

Mirabel: But if I had a Gift like Papa's, I could do so much! Wouldn't that be a good thing?

Bruno:...I think it is time for you to rest, Mirabel. Tonight has been more eventful than I am comfortable with.

Maria: Ay, Bruno. Your father is right, Mirabel. We shall see what happens.

With that, Maria tucked her daughter to bed and kissed her goodnight. She removed the emerald tablet and walked out the door. Bruno followed after her, ready to close the door behind him when...

Mirabel: Papa?

Bruno: ...Si, Mirabel?

Mirabel: Are you worried my Gift will be... bad?

Bruno: ...We cannot be certain you will even get a Gift, Hija. You are far too young to be dwelling on such things. Lord knows I have too much these past few days. A Gift ain't something worth fussing over.

With that, Bruno closed the door. Mirabel laid her head on the blanket facing the candle on her nightstand. She sighed.

Mirabel: But if I had a Gift, maybe you could finally see me and not always be so far away.

She set her glasses down on the nightstand before blowing out the candle. With her back turned to the window, she didn't notice a small golden butterfly resting against the glass.

Possible Opening To Unforeseen (My version)

“Apri Gli Occhi, Farfalla Mia. Open your eyes, my butterfly.”

In a dimly lit room, two figures sat on a makeshift bed. A mother and daughter sat together, the little girl in her lap on the bed.

When she did as her mother asked, both of their eyes were trained on an iridescent glowing tablet of green glass. In her glasses’ reflection shone the bright light, and in her eyes shared the same brightness as she gazed in awe at it. The image was hidden from view with the angle in which the tablet sat. Mere curiosity had caught her eye when the vague image had found it.

“What is it, Mama? Where’d it come from?”

Maria moved some curls from her face and carded her hands in them, looking down at the tablet, reminiscing the memories.

“It shows our family—From the past looking into the future,” Mirabel shifted in her lap, looking up from below her mother’s jaw, interested in listening, “Long ago, your Uncle Alonzo and I found a man out in the pastures surrounding our home. Winter had started setting in early, a blizzard had swept across the territory. The man was sick and delirious with fever—and wounded. I could not leave him there… I would never live with myself if I did. Yet, when I reached out to help him, he reached back and showed me his Gift when we touched. He showed me our family would grow...”

Maria gently leaned forward over Mirabel and held the tablet up with both hands, then brought it into Mirabel’s own lap, looking over her shoulder down at it with her. Mirabel’s little hand grazed over the cool glass, over the three dimensional image that seemed just within reach.

It showed her Mama with a newborn infant in her arms. Maria traced the image along with Mirabel.

“See there? He showed me I would be a mother. But the father remained unforeseen. We took him in, nursed him as best we could, and he returned our kindness by staying on the farm to help us through our struggles. Overtime, I fell in love with him, despite his troubles. And he felt the same, despite his self-reservations. He asked me to marry him after awhile, then we were wed. Some months later the prophecy he had foreseen came true. I became a mother. And he became your father.”

Mirabel seemed to be at a loss for words, bug-eyed with a slight grin. Her soon to be father in the past had seen his future daughter unknowingly. She realized he had magic: Something she had only heard about in bedtime stories and fairytales. That must mean...

“Mama is Papa a witch then?”

“No, silly, not exactly.”

Mirabel looked back and forth from the tablet to her mother in confusion.

“But only witches could do magic, right? That means that Papa would be one!”

Ah yes, Maria couldn’t help but remind herself that Mirabel was indeed her own daughter by her persistence, her intense curiosity, and deep insight. She recalled Alonzo’s grumpy mood after a short session just talking with her, but nonetheless he was still somehow patient.

“I’ll just let your papa explain it…”

Maria looked toward the door where she’d told him to wait outside.

“Come in, Amore Mio.”

The door gently creaked open and in he came, long casted shadow following to presume his seven-foot frame as foretold in the fables. The lighting was very ominous it seemed.

“Your daughter wishes to know more about your Gift, my love. It is best she hears it from you.”

Maria gently takes the vision tablet and sets it aside so Mirabel can hop off her lap and dangle her feet over the side of the bed while Maria sits next to her.

With a sigh the figure moves towards them. As he drew closer, the light from the bedroom candle dispelled his dark form. What was once a seven-foot tall shadow shrunk down to reveal a 5'4 stick of a man. Close as he was, Mirabel's father kept his distance from them, his face weary and concerned. He decided to sit on a small stool near the corner rather than on the bed.

“How, Papa?”

Bruno leans his arms on his knees and leans forward with his head to the ground.

“Long ago, before you were born—Before I met your mother, Mi Madre, your Abuela, had a magic candle. Its flame would never go out. The magic of the candle had saved her in her darkest moment—A Miracle, she called it. When I turned five, Mi Hermanas and I were given our Gifts. And we used them to help others to honor the Miracle that blessed us. And years later, I met your Mama.”

There was a short pause, so Mirabel decided to speak up.

“…I'm turning five soon. Does that mean I'll get a Gift like yours?”

Bruno froze, muscles tensing and flexing under his shirt when he heard those words. Both of his hands clenched into fists, eyes focused down on the hard wooden floor like a deer in the headlights. Mirabel was confused. Why did her Papa look so upset? Maria took this as her cue to interject and cleared her throat.

“We do not know, Mira-boo. The magic candle is hidden far away. But if you do, it won't change anything. You are still a wonderful child. To both of us.”

Mirabel nearly jumped up on her feet on the bed.

“But if I had a Gift like Papa's, I could do so much! Wouldn't that be a good thing?” She blurted excitedly.

Bruno furrowed his brows when he looked up at the two of them and cleared his throat, standing up.

“…I think… that’s enough for tonight, Mirabel. You’ve had a long day and this is going on longer than I’m comfortable with. It’s time for bed.”

“Aye, Bruno—Your father is right, Mirabel. We shall see what happens.”

With that, Maria tucked her daughter to bed and kissed her goodnight. She took the emerald tablet away and walked out the door. Bruno followed after her, ready to close the door behind him when...

“Papa?” Her little voice stopped him in his tracks and he froze again.

“What is it, Mira?” He looked her way with big eyes of dread.

“Are you worried my Gift will be... bad?”

He looked past her out her window where the clear view of their oak tree was illuminated by the moonlight.

“...We cannot be certain you will even get a Gift, Hija. You are far too young to be dwelling on such things. Lord knows I have been doing that too much these past few days. A Gift ain't something worth fussing over.”

Bruno resumed his steps and closed the door. Mirabel laid her head on the blanket facing the candle on her nightstand. She sighed deeply.

“But if I had a Gift, maybe you could finally see me and not always be so far away…” she whispered.

It's been hours.

Dick has never been one to take quickly to frustration but that wasn't the only thing to change recently. It's been hours and his knuckles still ache, practically stripped raw after rasping against the insides of his gloves because the urge to show no restraint as of late is only just barely superseded by his sense of morality. Then again, he's no thief either but the smooth opal like stone tucked beneath his pillow would suggest otherwise. He'll have a hard time reporting to the League that he just so happened to find the artifact without receiving a double take, but it feels worth it to try something.

Anything…

Dick's chest tightens, twists like freshly woven rope and he'd cry if he hadn't already bypassed that milestone nearly a month ago. Bruce had proven himself - surprisingly enough - to be just as good at comforting his emotional outbursts as Black Canary. In… Out… In… Out… There's no sudden calm that washes over him as he processes past his own self imposed anguish, but it still helps.

Thinking of Wally helps too… His smile. The dusky skim of freckles and the way they speckled his skin well below the crook of his neck. His lips and the way they'd stick together a little whenever he needed a bit of lip chap. He's not sure when it happens exactly, but somewhere along the way, Wally had established himself as someone more than worthy of receiving a second glance. Or maybe Dick just realized he could look at him too. It's a hard realization to swallow, even worse when he dips his fingertips beneath the elastic band of his briefs to stroke over the indentations they leave in his skin. ​ His breath shakes its way out of him, a shiver spilling down his spine and no one really set a standard on how he should grieve his best friend. It's not like tutorials on this kind of thing were commonplace. He feels a little guilty, but that's better than sad. Always better than sad. And every time he imagines Wally, his stupidly chapped lips pressed soft against his own and the heat of his thigh settling heavy between his legs, everything he feels like he'd missed about him before seems infinitely more vivid. From his smell to the messy skew of his hair.

Tonight is no different. He gets invested, enough so that Wally feels real. Real enough that when he flutters his lashes open, he swears he sees his face. Dick smiles, more so to himself than anything else. That is, until he does a double take, and it's not the first time that Wally leaves him slack jawed and nauseous. The world spins and he doesn't hear himself breathing out his name.

if you’re interested in commissioning my work (or you just like reading excerpts), i’ve taken some time to prepare writing samples! 

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💖 dramatic

this is an excerpt from a rangi/kyoshi one-shot i did recently: 

Rangi’s exhalation is loud in Kyoshi’s head, but perhaps almost silent in the world. “I used to see you guys around the mansion,” she confesses. “I would… watch you two. It was my duty, of course, to watch him. But not you.”

This isn’t exactly news to Kyoshi. Rangi has spent lifetimes saving her from herself and the world. Her bodyguard before she knew she needed one.

“I know.”

“You wanna know what I thought?” Rangi shakes her head, a strangled bit of laughter escaping her lips. “When I saw the way he’d admire you? I thought… The Avatar and his servant… what a pathetically tragic way to love. So caught up in the power imbalance of it all.” 

“Rangi -”

“And then,” Rangi stares up at the sky now, squinting into the brightness of it all. “I fell right into it myself. Only you’re not the servant, Kyoshi. You’ve never been the servant. It’s me. In love with the great and powerful Avatar. Hopelessly and endlessly lost in the difference between duty and pleasure.” 

That is absolutely wrong. If nothing else, Kyoshi knows that. “You’re not.”

“In love with you?”

No. That’s probably true, even if Kyoshi still doesn’t know why.

“You’re not my servant. You’ve never been, and you never will be.” 

Rangi finally meets her gaze, and Kyoshi is surprised to see a glassiness there, reflecting in the bronze of her irises. She reaches out and runs a hand along the girl’s jawline, gently tracing every scar, every ghost of pain.

“Whoever made me the Avatar was really, really stupid,” she whispers. “You would’ve made a better one.”

“I’m not Earth Kingdom.”

“I don’t care.” Kyoshi knows how the cycle works. And she still thinks the Era of Rangi would outshine any past or future Avatar.

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💖 comedic/light-hearted

 this is an excerpt from a jay/carlos de vil one-shot: 

“You have a crush?”

Carlos whipped around, staring at Jay who had just come up the stairs. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“Uh -” Jay blinked, pointing down the stairs. “Downstairs? Look, someone said you go ... oh, you found a friend.” His gaze fell on the cat.

“He’s my new best friend.” Carlos was only half joking. “You’ve been demoted.”

Jay feigned hurt for a moment. On the whole, he didn’t look as drunk as Carlos would’ve expected. “So, this crush of yours,” he said at last. “Is he the reason you agreed to come?”

The irony wasn’t lost on Carlos, and if he weren’t too busy wishing the earth would swallow him whole, he might’ve laughed. “Uh - I don’t -”

“Come on,” Jay laughed. “I won’t tell anyone. Not even Mal. What’s he like?”

Carlos made a face. “The one time you’re not hammered at a party, huh? Just my luck.”

Jay shook his head. “Come on, man! Just give me a hint!” 

Carlos mimed zipping his lips. 

Jay is here. With you, his brain whispered unhelpfully. Not downstairs. Maybe you have a chance. 

Jay smiled, oddly genuine. “I get that parties aren’t your thing, ‘Los. Must be one hell of a guy if he’s worth all this.”

“Yeah, well,” Carlos mumbled, picking at a spot on the carpet. “He looks cute when he says please.”

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💖 alternate universe/timeline adjustment 

this is a sneak peak of an unpublished equalist!asami/korra fic that i’m currently working on :) so stay tuned for more of this: 

“Miss Sato,” a voice called from beyond the reinforced door. “You have a visitor.”

Her father, surely! Or one of his associates. But when door slid open and someone stepped inside, it wasn’t Hiroshi.

Asami turned towards the wall. “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“Asami, wait.” Korra didn’t try to get any closer. “I just -” 

“Just what?” Asami muttered. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Wanted to see me put away? Make sure they’d gotten the right girl? A non-bender standing on the sidewalk at night is so dangerous, see. Glad you’ve got the police force cracking down on the issue.” 

She could feel Korra’s frustration and revelled in it. She liked being able to get to Korra. 

“No! That’s not! Ugh!” Korra paced, her footsteps heavy. “I don’t have much time! I just wanted to ask you to meet me! Away from anyone listening! Under the Silk Road Bridge.” 

“I’d love to, but you see,” Asami gestured around her cell. She still hadn’t dropped the cynical act. “I’m kinda busy at the moment.” 

“Your father is already trying to buy your way out,” Korra told her. “You’ll be released before most of Republic City wakes up. I know you, Asami. You wouldn’t… you’re not -” 

“Not what, Korra?” Asami finally looked at her. Hard. “Like the rest of the non-benders? One of the good ones?” 

“You betrayed us!” 

“And you couldn’t save those people from being rounded up like animals!” 

Korra opened her mouth, but no words came out. She threw back her head in frustration. “Fine! I’ll leave you alone! But tonight, at midnight, I’ll be under that bridge. I hope you will be, too. I just want to talk.”  

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💖 angst/pining

this is an excerpt from a casey/izzie fic: 

Casey couldn’t breathe. 

She was used to the breathlessness that came with running, the burning and tightening of her lungs as she demanded more from them. But when her feet skimmed across the pavement, racing, racing, like her heartbeat, it didn’t scare her. Rather, she relished it, craved it. The way her whole body felt alive, how she could feel every tingle in her arms and legs, how everything seems to still and grow quiet around her - she loved it. 

This was different. 

Her vision tunneled, entirely swallowed by Izzie and the boy in the corner who had his tongue in her mouth. The people around her suddenly felt too close and the music too loud. She wished she had Sam’s noise canceling headphones. 

Casey wasn’t even trying to inhale anymore as she stared, watching the girl whose lips she’d taken a chance on kiss a boy - a stranger. She could feel her chest burning, could feel the rest of her body screaming at her to take a breath, to do something. But she couldn’t. She could only stare until the need for air became too much.

She gasped, her feet moving against her will. The room smelled like too much weed, stinging her eyes and nose. Casey began to back towards the door.

It wasn’t that she was heartbroken; no, she knew what heartbreak felt like, and right now, that space was occupied by Evan. 

This was on her. She’d decided to break off something good and consistent and wonderful to chase after someone who played hot and cold like Evan played video games. She had no one to blame but the person in the mirror. 

Somehow, after being jostled around by several other bodies, she made it to the hallway. It was quiet, thankfully, the noise of the party muffled to the pulsing of the base inside the hotel room where she knew Izzie was still liplocked with that tall stranger. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How could she have thrown away something so good for this? 

She wanted to go back to being normal; to the time when she looked at Evan’s eyes and didn’t see Izzie’s reflecting back at her.

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💖 hurt/comfort 

this is an excerpt from a nico minoru/karolina dean fic: 

“You’re still glowing.” The words came out low. Nico’s eyes flicked up and down her girlfriend’s illuminated body, taking it all in. She knew Karolina could control her light now, which could only mean one thing.

“I wanted you to see it,” Karolina admitted, ducking her head. Now that Nico’s eyes were open, she could see just how much fear flickered behind Karolina’s warm glow. She had removed her arms from Nico now and twisted her hands together in front of herself anxiously. “I needed you to see it.”

Nico swallowed hard, unable to pull her eyes away. The light brought so many emotions flooding back. The first time she’d seen Karo glow. Early nights at the Hostel when the power would short out and Karolina walked around like a glowing flashlight. All the times Nico ran her hands down her hips and kissed her neck and watched her glow brighter than all the stars in the sky. 

“I see it,” Nico promised. 

“You’re not scary,” was Karolina’s response.

They were words Nico had said many times to Karolina, but never had anyone said them to her. 

“Then why am I… like this?”

“Nico.” Karolina shook her head. “Your darkness isn’t evil. It just… is. And I know you can master your magic without the Staff. You’re more than its power.” 

“Am I?” Nico didn’t know what she was. She’d been trying to figure it out for a lot longer than she cared to admit. 

She was the Dead Girl’s Sister. She was That Goth Bitch. She was a loner, an outcast, a freak.

“You’re Nico Minoru,” Karolina said quietly. “And that’s… that’s enough.”

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💖 fluff

this mal/evie moment is an excerpt from longer fic titled In Loco Parentis:  

Evie had really outdone herself. She’d managed to put together a figure cutting, sapphire satin dress that fell off the shoulders in the most tasteful way possible. With her dark makeup and striking updo, Evie could’ve passed as at least twenty-five. And Mal had never wanted to kiss her more.

“I’m proud of you,” Mal said during a quiet moment, rubbing the other girl’s shoulders gently. “You look great. You did good.”

“Well,” Evie laughed, tipping her head back. “I did well.” 

“Whatever, princess.” Mal’s voice had gone soft, her chin resting on Evie’s shoulder. Unable to help herself, she pressed a gentle kiss there, glancing up to see if she’d overstepped. But Evie didn’t look upset; on the contrary, her eyes were wide and her cheeks pink.

“So that’s what it’s like when a girl kisses you,” she breathed, tucking Mal’s hair behind her ear.

“Believe me,” Mal purred. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” She waited for Evie to correct her grammar again, but instead, the girl pulled Mal gently out from behind her, capturing Mal’s lips with her own. 

And just like that, Evie was kissing her.

“You’ve got lipstick on your face,” Evie whispered as she pulled away, doing her best to wipe it off.

“I don’t care.”

“I can’t fail you today.” Evie tugged at the hem of her dress, sighing. “I can’t. Mal, this means so much to you.”

But for the first time in a very, very long time, revenge on her mother was the last thing on Mal’s mind. Evie’s eyes and lips and voice took up all the space, blooming in her chest. “You can’t fail me,” she promised.

And that was the sheer and utter truth.

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💖 single character-centric

this is an excerpt from a catra-centric exploration:  

She’s lost count of the nail marks. 

When Hordak first threw her in this cell, Catra resolved to count every single tally Shadow Weaver left on the walls. But now that she’s fifty-two marks in - or maybe fifty-three? - her determination is beginning to waver. 

She also doesn’t remember Shadow Weaver being locked up for fifty days. Maybe the nail marks don’t represent days at all - or maybe the old lady is as crazy as she is evil. 

Lowering her gaze to the green glowing shackles around her hands, Catra tries - not for the first time - to wriggle out of them. Their buzzing is growing increasingly irritating.

How dare Shadow Weaver leave? Did she stop to think what would happen to Catra? Did it even cross her mind that she might be thrown in this cell as her replacement? Or maybe she did and just didn’t care? 

Catra’s face twists in a grim smile. Of course her own fate hasn’t given Shadow Weaver any pause. She got what she wanted.

She tries to think back, to find the place where she went wrong - a single moment she can pinpoint where her plans went to shit. But the pieces just don’t fit. Nothing adds up. 

Because Catra has done everything right. She’s climbed the ranks. She’s done her job well. She’s accomplished everything Adora could have and more. She’s surpassed even Shadow Weaver’s authority! 

And yet, here she is. In chains. Awaiting punishment. 

Adora always comes out on top. Hasn’t that been beaten into her since day one? Adora gets to walk away unharmed, with her new best friends and glowing hair. Adora gets Shadow Weaver, despite being a defector, a traitor, a failure! 

I would’ve stayed for you.  

Catra kicks out with her back foot and pushes away the tray someone delivered to her earlier. She’s not that hungry anyway - and certainly not for brown ration bars. 

The tray makes a satisfying clatter as it skids across the floor, and Catra bares her teeth in a halfway smile. If she’s going down, she’s going to go down fighting. She’ll make it as difficult and as painful for Hordak as she can - right until the very end.

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💖 second person

this is an excerpt from a summer/tessa fic i wrote by request: 

She’s happy now, you know. 

She’s brighter and happier and just really fucking in love. 

You can see it. You can hear it in the way she talks and the way her eyes light up when she walks into the room. You notice how she perks up when her name is dropped during casual conversation and how she makes a point of talking about her at every possible offhanded moment.

And honestly, you’re happy, too. You’re happy for her. You’re happy for them. Because they’re just so cute, and everyone says so. 

And if you notice that Tessa is wearing her sweater - the one you used to wear because it made her mad and got those sparkling eyes to fix on you for just a few more seconds -  you don’t say anything. 

Because it wasn’t like the sweater belonged to you or was anything other than a polyester cardigan with a small hole in the elbow. 

It’s not like when you draped it over your shoulders, she would roll her eyes and grumble and demand you give it back. Your heart wouldn’t jump, and your mind wouldn’t rush with the adrenaline that came with shooting a snarky response. 

It’s not like you memorized the way she used to scoff - that sound in the back of her throat - or how she’d wave her hand dismissively while you wondered what it would be like to hold it and never let go.

 It’s not like you’ve ever wanted anything from her - attention or otherwise. 

It’s not like that sweater gave you an excuse to touch her shoulders, to catch a whiff of her perfume, to pretend the old sleeves were a good substitute for her arms. 

When words finally do form in your mouth, they’re not the ones you want to say. They’re snarky or sarcastic or snide. They’re perfectly in-character for you, the airhead, the fair-weather friend, or just The Bitch. 

Plain and simple. Easy to categorize and even easier to overlook. 

You won’t think about what it feels like to hug her or how comforting it is to rest your head on her shoulder for those brief, world-stopping seconds - so close you can smell her shampoo and whatever else she uses to make those curls behave themselves. Those moments are meant to be locked away, to be kept safe, where they can’t become anything they shouldn’t. Because the two of you have come so far, but nowhere near far enough. 

Yeah, you’re not my type. 

It’s confirmation of a dead end.

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if any of these pieces catch your eye and you want one of your own, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me! i’m in the process of working on some really cool commissions right now, and i’m more than happy to add yours to the mix!

Everyone is posting end-of-the-year art faves. I don’t draw but I DO CREATE AND WANT TO SHARE so here are some of my fave writing snippets I wrote this year. Three of them are from Indefensible and one is from an as yet unpublished WIP 

Links to all my work available on my website 

Just a little something i was batting around for an RPG-based story.

Ati~

             I hurried to the boat, my vision compromised by the sheets of winter rain.  My sandals stuck in the thick seasonal Lydian mud; nearly twisting my ankles.  I was forced to stop and unfasten them. The rain pounded on its now stationary prey, soaking sharply into my brunette coiffeur, unhinging its very tight curls and freeing select strands to nearly feet length. My vision blurred even more, I desperately at once tried to fold them back with one hand while toiling to free my sandals from the hungry muck.

           It was at that moment that Tinia’s voice spoke in the succession of claps and lightning flashes followed by the sound of approaching Ionians’ steady marching.  Gripped by sudden terror, I jumped to my feet and began sprinting along the River, trying to ease my panicking heartbeats by repeating the refrain:

           “Rassena Cel, Rassena Cel, Rassena Cel.”

           Tinia—not about to be appeased by this last minute attempt at devotion, continued to send his blight upon his faithless children who—after eighty-four moons had not seen fit to send these children rain—saw fit to unleash his ire at our lack of discipline and trust.  Through my tears, I seethed at what seemed like his capriciousness. At the same time, I remained in awe of him and his infinite powers. These mixed emotions pounded like a drum in my Pindaric mind and kept time with my feet as I continued to run.  Sighting the boat up ahead, ana motioning feverishly to her as it was about to embark in order to thwart the pursuing Ionians, I doubled my gait, fighting the ravenous mud frantically every step of the way; the Ionian footsteps keeping pace with me.  Screaming and praying to Tinia to spare me, I managed to make my way to the plank, which bit my bared feet with splinters.  Nearly overcome with pain, only the outstretched hand of ana kept me from falling down in defeat and despair.  Desperately I grabbed for it, fearing that our rain-soaked skins would fail to keep them grasped.  And they very nearly did, until ana yelled with a combination of worry and anger at my lagging behind to gather what he deemed unnecessary trinkets,

“Thana I swear upon the Gods that if you don’t hold on I will myself ensure that the life drains from your body at my hand!  For I rather that than the Ionians to defile you and put you to death!”

           Remembering my honor and my place in society as the daughter of a king, I fought to hold tight as he strained to pull me up onto the bow.

I climbed aboard the ship and watched in sorrow as the waves of Nethuns lurched the boat, tossing it like a twig here and there.  The sea mist mixed with the salt of my tears as I stared helplessly, watching the Ionians ravage the beautiful beach where I had spent many happy hours in my childhood with you.

Knowing that this was the last glimpse I would ever catch of my home, I felt her childhood drain away. Terrified and exhausted, I bade you good-bye and crumpled into a ball on the deck.

 Ati~

When I awoke, the sea was calm.  Ana was at the helm of the ship, and his manservant had prepared the morning meal for me.

             The women gathered at sunrise, bare breasts glowing as if encased by halos in the rays of the sun.  Their arms outstretched, they sang praises to their goddess Europa.  I tried to keep up with the alien ritual, fighting a slight discomfort at my exposed flesh and struggling with the far-away grief of the previous days and nights.  As I attempted to follow the words and movements, my thoughts were with the River, Her embankment, the tomb of you…the thundering of Ionian marching, the desperate fleeing to the ship, the mud reaching up to steal the sandals off my feet in the torrential rain…the escape toward Troy where we encountered more enmity from the Trojans…and finally the sweet oasis of Crete.

There’s something crawling in his ear.

On his ear?

No. In it.

It skitters down the half-eaten lobe, down spiraled folds, through a nibbled hole in his eardrum. Two tiny antennae knock at his cochlea. Once. Twice. Again. “Hello?” It says. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

No one answers. No one has answered in months. The uninvited guest waits for a moment, before venturing onwards.

There’s something in his head.