blame me for the rocks and baby bones. (warwolves) wrote,
blame me for the rocks and baby bones.

NICKED FROM SOME JOURNAL. If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, post one sentence/paragraph/whatever from each of your current work(s) in progress. Mention the title if you like, but don't mention anything else.

Organized by how long said sentence/paragraph/whatever is. OH AND THERE'S AN AEKARAN+DAVAN FIC BUT ALL I HAVE WRITTEN ARE SPOILERS :(


I hate hate hatehatehate sharing my poetry with other people, because I Just Don't Get poetry and I embarrass myself. but. here we go!

... i reeeaaally hate sharing this >_>!

Unreliable narrators are transcribing the
story of my life in an ink made of the
crushed chrysali of butterflies and
ophidian eyes.


I can't breathe, I can't breathe,
and my feet are lead and my tongue is silver
and I am the Pied Piper, so please close your eyes
and hum the hymns so I can steal your children
from their rooms in the dead of night; please close
your eyes and try to contain your excitement as I,
the mosquito, the horse fly, I sink my teeth into your veins
and drink my fill. Your blood is sweet, madmoiselle,
and it's eagerly I ask for more in the form of words:
give me your words and I'll drink them dry.


Near his foot is a pamphlet, the glossy and colorful type used to advertise real-estate and vacations. He opens it and reads:

Beyond hotels have earned your trust around the world with quality service and beautiful locale, from Mexico to Switzerland and beyond. Now v

And then one day you wake up and find everything's different: your kids are older and their eyes are jaded and your wife turns her face away when you go to kiss her, leaving you to barely brush her cool cheek. The weather you first called 'seasonably warm' is intolerably stifling, choking, and when your dream vacation finally ends and you're home, you realize nothing's different, it never was. It makes you feel tired and old, and you lie in bed with the lights off and curtains drawn.

The colors and images slowly decrease as he reads: the first panel is a large landscape shot of a couple's silhouette against a blazing sunset, the last black text on white.

“Sir? Mr. Ashburn?” He looks up; the nurse standing in the office doorway is short, brown-eyed, and vaguely apologetic-looking. “Doctor Hackler is ready for you, sir.”


Roxas was ice, rock-solid and unmoving, but Sora was fire – more than just fire. Roxas was ice, far-off and distant Pluto, and Sora was the sky, was and had always been the sun and the stars and something against which he could only begin to melt. Roxas could push and push and take and take, but Sora could offer something more and Roxas could only tremble in the face of possibility.


haha well. I see these two living with their parents and servants and such in some castle in the middle of fucking nowhere (essentially a Kilia-type area), and Auralye (who is sickly and tiny and I can only see was Nil from DOGS dammit) has a crush/obsession/thing with her brother, Thorne (WHO I SEE AS KYOUYA HALF THE TIME AHA >_>). Thorne ADORES her, loves her more than words can say ... but in a completely brother/sister platonic way. He pretends not to notice the subtle hints of "HEY THORNE CAN I GET IN YOUR PANTS NOW," mainly because he knows that if she actually brings it up, he'll do whatever makes her happy because he's ridiculously passive and loves her that much. And he completely hates the whole situation :'). BUT THEN THEIR PARENTS LEAVE ON BUSINESS, AND, FOLLOWING IN THE TREND OF BAD FANFICTION EVERYWHERE, HIJINXES OCCUR.

MY FIRST TIME WRITING PORN, TOO, WHICH IS ... a lot more boring than I would have thought. And rather tedious.

There's little surprise when she comes, only ten minutes after he had doused the candle. In the pale moonlight filtered through the window, she looks almost ethereal, and infinitely fragile.

“Thorne? Brother? I ...” Her voice falters. “I had a bad dream.”

They both know it's a lie, and a bad one, at that. Auralye has long since stopped having the nightmares that plagued her as a child, and stopped coming to her brother in the night. But he says nothing; she obviously thinks it will be easier this way, and he doesn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

Thorne, heart heavy with a growing dread, draws back the blanket and smiles crookedly at her. “Well, come on, then.”

of gods

Zale and Copper {who's a girl, by the by} are thieves, Alienor's someone of high birth. They KIDNAP her for ransom ... and then end up being chased by The Bad Guys because they stole something else. Somewhere along, Alienor picks up a dog who enjoys not liking Zale. HIJINX.

“So what do we do now?” Copper asked, looking at Zale from next to Alienor (who is looking distinctly nervous) on the bed.

“Wait. Watch. We're good at those.” Their grins were identical, and Zale knew that no matter how close he might get to anyone else in the future, he would always love Copper the best. They might never be in love – he wasn't sure Copper could be in love –, and they might trade each other's lives for a piece of bread, but they were one hell of a team.

The floor still glowed, softer now that it had had time to set, and Asphodel whined as he paced anxiously. “He doesn't like magic,” said Alienor softly. Zale eyed her: he had almost forgotten the girl was there. Sitting on the bed and pressed as close as she could to the wall, she looked even smaller than when standing.

“Most animals don't. He'll get used to it.” Zale leaned back, heard Alienor sigh, and started to count the cracks in the ceiling.


I like this one. It's REALLY old, from when I had Chrissy's old laptop, but I'm slowly adding to it and I like it. It's set in a sort of scifi-ish world, which is probably why I haven't finished it. Cerien and his supar spy/burglar/resistance fighter (SHUT UP I HAVE NO IDEA YET) boyfriend have some sort of psychic mindlink!!!!!!, which is uncommon but still known in said world. I think Cerien is the precursor to Raen.

are you alone?

mm. i don't know. hard to say.

try, won't you, and the first detects a peevish tone to its Voice.

well, if you insist, it says, and pushes and


Cerien opened his eyes. The room was small, white-walled, bare of any furniture besides what looked to be a small bed in one corner. There weren't any windows. There didn't seem to be a door. He closed his eyes again and


there's someone else.


a kid, i think. girl, boy, something. short red hair, pale.

i don't know anyone like that. be careful.

when aren't i? it asks amusedly.

so careful you managed to get caught. now pay attention to what's going on.

fine, fine, and


Cerien opened his eyes again. The girl – he had decided that it was a girl – was stirring, and made a small noise of pain.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly. Her head snapped up, and she stared at him with wild green eyes. Pretty, in an androgynous sort of way, and really very pale. He wondered if it was natural, or if she was just sick. It was possible: her white t-shirt was ripped and tacky with drying blood. He wondered where it came from.

“Who are you?” the girl asked, voice shaking, but defiant. “What do you want?”

“I'm Cerien,” he replied. “You?”

The girl, who had been glaring at him, paused. “I --” She continued in a slightly unsure voice. “I'm Kate. Kate Hallows.”

“It's nice to meet you.” And because it would have been rude not to, Cerien extended his hand. Kate stared at it, frozen, before cautiously shaking it. Her hands were rough and calloused. He smiled at her, the same sort of polite smile that Varyan used when he was actually trying not to laugh in your face.

“I –- sure.” She seemed to be caught off-guard by Cerien's behavior. “Nice to ... yeah.”

“Is Kate short for anything?” he asks politely. She looked like a Kathleen, in his opinion, though he expected something like --

"Ikatican," she mumbled, flushing.

He blinked.

"It was my mother's idea!" she said defensively, folding her arms and glaring at him again. "And if you call me that I swear I'll hit you."
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