#fiction Tumblr posts

  • It was a usual day at work, deadlines and delivery and a team of project managers, that were more interested in the Christmas holidays than completing the Project plans or the CBAs. To make the teamwork, while having fun, we had organized a kind of run-up to the #Christmas #party with a week-long #engagement events. Today was the #dressup day and #all the #women in the #team were #dressed to kill; looking absolutely splendid in all #colors of #red, #blue and #green. I was so proud of my girls; the boys…well they wore formals with ties that matched and S who always was the trendsetter was wearing some kind of designer patent leather shoes, really increasing the #fashion quotient of the guys! The day was turning out to be quite a lot of #fun when I overheard this conversation. S, always the #ladiesman could turn on #charm and even the most crotchety irritable old lady would become blushing butter creatures when he turned it on. I have seen many women and men start from being absolutely dismissive of S only to become part of the fan club, And then there was B, my bumbling, good-natured extremely capable Design analyst and a friend of S. B was everything S was not, he tried but failed miserably at charming even his old grandmother and all the attempts led to disasters of magnificent proportion. That day, standing by the coffee machine, as S complimented another colleague in his smooth, suave, style, B finally sought for help! “You have to teach me; you need to help me. You know I like T but I cannot do a thing when I am around her!” S replied, “Well, you start by saying something nice instead of stammering and walking in the opposite direction!” “ What do I say? I cannot think of anything!” wailed poor B. “Well, you can start by saying she was looking very nice.” “Oh! I can’t do that” “Yes, you can!” assured S “ All you have to do is look into their eye, and smile and say “hey, you look lovely! Let’s practice and you will get the hang of it!”

    An hour later, L who is one the best PM’s I have in the team and who always dresses down, and was looking exceptionally splendid today. approaches me approaches me and requests if she can talk to me in private. L who is looking splendid and is always a very easy colleague, requesting time to speak is serious and I walk with her to the nearest meeting room. “What’s up?” I ask, anxious to ensure all was well with her. L smiled and said, “ Well, I don’t want you to think I am weird but what is up with B?” “What do you mean?” I ask, my anxiety levels now seriously on the rise! L looked at me and then said “Well, a while back, he turned to me and stared at me and then after a few minutes said, “You look good” and the way he looked was downright weird. I know him, but some of the women in accounts don’t and they are thinking of going to HR! Why is he going around staring at women and then speaking in that silly drawl, that almost sounds leering!” I assure her all was well, explain what transpired between S and B and then go to talk to B before hell breaks loose!

    Another day in the life of a Program Leader!

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  • I know the new year is still away, but starting for a new year for a new resolution is kind of a cliche! Instead, this December, I start with something new - Micro stories! I am not even sure if it means anything; but essentially fictional tales that don’t quite become a novel or even a novella or even a short story, but are tales neverthless! So here goes, Micro Stories from your’s truly!

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  • writing fiction for the first time in a long time. drop name recs if u’ve got em brothers 

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  • WIP Sneak Peek

    I’m on break now, so I have some fun snippets cooking. in the mean time, here’s a lil sneak peek at my yet-to-be titled WIP.


    a big thank you to @corvidprompts who provided the prompt that started this all

    “Honestly,” says the surviving spouse, jewels sparkling on xir fingers and around xir neck. “Can it really be considered homicide, if ze was asking for it?” 


     Perched elegantly on a luxurious velvet sofa, hair impeccably curled, was Ms. Lena Bennet. She was every femme-fatale stereotype personified. Red lips, red nails, sharp smile. Widow of Mr. James Bennet, heiress to his considerable fortune- and the prime suspect in his recent, rather brutal, murder.  

    “Hello, detective,” she crooned. “Won’t you sit down?” She waved a lovely, delicate hand dripping with diamonds. 

    The detective stifled a cough as she inhaled the sweet, perfumed stench of the room. “I’d rather stand, thank you. I’m here to ask you a few questions.” 

    Lena smiled calmly. “Ask away, detective.” 

    The detective took in her sweeping black velvet gown, the abundance of diamonds on her neck and fingers, and the decanter of expensive wine sitting on the table next to the couch. 

    She stepped closer to the couch and spoke softly. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband, Miss. This must be very hard for you.” 

    Lena laughed mildly. “Yes. I miss him very much. He was a great man.” Mr. Bennet was not a great man. He was a sleazy, dubiously successful businessman with a penchant for less than savory extracurriculars. The detective carefully omitted these details.

    The detective frowned, again taking in the dress and jewels. “You seem to be handling it well, Miss. But you do know your husband’s death was ruled a homicide, correct?” 

    Lena smiled like a shark. The detective half wondered if Lena’s lips were red from blood and not lipstick.

     “Can it really be considered homicide, detective, if he was asking for it?” 

    This was getting dangerous. The detective smiled back, charming as ever. 

    “Is there something I should know, Miss?”  


    She laughed again. “Miss is so formal, detective. Please call me Lena.” 


    The detective met her icy stare with an equally arctic one of her own.  “Are we on a first name basis now, Lena? I suppose you should call me Elsie, then.” 

    “Mmmm…that’s a lovely name… stay for dinner with and perhaps I can answer some of your questions, Elsie,” Lena purred. The detective ran her fingers through her hair. It was still wet, unfortunately. “It’s not professional for me to interact with suspects in that way, Miss.”

    The heiress’s eyes flashed. “So I’m a suspect now?” 

    “You were the moment I walked in this door, and even more so when you implied that your husband deserved to have his throat cut.” Elsie said smoothly. 

    Lena’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you are a delight, aren’t you! Are you sure you won’t stay for dinner?” 

    The detective met her gaze coolly. “No, Miss Lena, I won’t stay for dinner.”  

    Lena pouted. “A shame, even after I asked so nicely.” She smoothly reached in the slit of  her dress and slid out the gun strapped to her thigh. “But I’m afraid I have to insist.

    Lena ushered Elsie into the grand dining room with the barrel of her gun pressed into her back. “May I take this as an admission of your guilt, Lena?” she said.

     Lena chuckled lightly. “I suppose you can”. They stopped at the table. “Hands above your head.” she said coolly. Elsie tensed, but obliged. “Relax, darling,  I’m not going to shoot you, I’m just searching you for weapons.” She slid her hands down Elsie’s back. Slowly, slowly, brushing down her shirt and then slipping underneath to graze bare skin. Lena traced down Elsie’s spine with a crimson nail. “Dinners are so much less pleasant when there’s violence involved.” Elsie swallowed as Lena’s hands skimmed down the front of her thighs and brushed the backs of her knees. Lena was certainly taking her time. The heiress hummed as her hands grazed over Elsie’s hips- and the gun holstered there. She tsked disapprovingly. “And here I was hoping for a nice evening. It’s a shame, really.” 

    “Did you expect me to interview a dangerous murder suspect without a weapon?” Elsie said, amused.

    Lena brushed Elsie’s hair back and whispered in her ear “Do I seem dangerous to you, Elsie?”

    Elsie shivered at the close contact. “Hands off, miss.” Lena smiled that shark smile again. The red of her lipstick only enhanced the effect. She gestured to the table, set with goblets of wine and elegant plates of some sort of unidentifiable French dish. “Sit down, and eat, and we can talk, yes?” Elsie sat down, vainly trying to avoid scowling. “I believe the deal was that if I came to dinner, you would answer my questions, miss.” “That offer only stood if you came to dinner willingly. And you did not.” Elsie rapped her fingers on the dark wood of the table in a steady beat with the ticking of the clock.  Lena hummed again. “But I’m in a generous sort of mood, so how about this: a question for a question. Answer all of mine and I will answer all of yours, mm?” Elsie met the heiress’s calculating stare calmly, even as her pulse skittered, stupidly. “I can handle that.” 

    “Oh, Elsie; that was never a concern of mine.” 

    Elsie glared. “I’m first. Why did you kill Mr. Bennet?” 

    Lena looked rather amused. “I would have expected better questions from a detective.” Elsie glared harder. 

    “Fine, fine. I killed Mr. Bennet because he was a dullard and a fool, and he didn’t approve of certain…lifestyle choices I made.”

     “Like what?” 

    Lena sipped her wine smugly. “That’s two questions, you’ll have to answer mine first.” Elsie ripped her roll apart rather aggressively. “What do you want to know?” 

    Lena’s eyes darkened mischievously. “Are you afraid?” 

    Elsie startled. “What on earth would I have to be afraid of?”

    “Me, darling. Aren’t you just terrified that I might slip up behind you and cut your pretty throat like I did my husband’s?” 

    Elsie grinned. “Occupational hazard.”

    Lena had the nerve to look vaguely disappointed. “I suppose so.”

    “What lifestyle choices did you make that your husband didn’t approve of?” 

    Lena grinned back. “He didn’t care for my seducing of charming homicide detectives.”

    Elsie choked on her wine as Lena sat back in her chair. “I most certainly am not seduced. You threatened me with a gun and implied that you’d like to slit my throat.” Lena rose and planted herself behind Elsie’s chair. She traced her fingers over the detective’s shoulders and felt Elsie tense. “You clearly get off on it, darling. Prove it,”  she murmured. 

    “What?” 

    “Prove that you aren’t just dying for me to touch you. Prove that you aren’t seduced. Prove it, and you’re free to go.”

    “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

    Lena stroked her fingers down Elsie’s throat, barely touching. “Dance with me.” 

    “Absolutely not.” 

    “One dance. After that, if you don’t want to stay, you’re free to go and arrest me. I’ll come without a fuss.” 

    Elsie frowned.  One dance and then she could leave. She didn’t want to stay, and she couldn’t play the games of a murderer. 

    “How do you know if I can dance, miss?”

    “Don’t lie to me, darling. I know you can.”

    Touche. Worth a shot though.

    Lena glided across the room and put a record on the turntable. Soft, hypnotic, music drifted from the speakers. 

    “May I have this dance, Miss Elsie?” she murmured. 

    Elsie swallowed, hard, and accepted Lena’s outstretched hand. 

    The heiress pulled Elsie close, one hand on the small of her back, the other clasping her hand. They swayed gently to the music. 

    “I’m not seduced.” Elsie breathed. 

    “You’re ruining the mood,” Lena said sternly, but her eyes were laughing. 

    Elsie’s heart pounded when Lena guided her head to rest in the crook of her neck; she caught the scent of sweet floral perfume. Her knees felt embarrassingly weak, especially when Lena ran her manicured fingers through her hair. Not seduced..  Elsie lifted her head. Lena ran her thumb along the detectives bottom lip. Not seduced. “Are you planning to leave now?” Not seduced.

    “I…no.” Elsie confessed. Dammit.

    Lena leaned closer and brushed her lips over Elsie’s pulse. “May I kiss you, Elsie?” 

    Elsie shivered at the thought. And nodded.

    Lena pressed their lips together, sweetly. She was an unfairly good kisser, especially for a cold-blooded killer. Elsie whimpered, embarrassingly enough, clutching Lena’s face between her hands. She opened her mouth, made a soft gasping sound. Lena hummed, pleased, even as she pulled back. “Lovely,” she murmured, rubbing circles on Elsie’s back, lightly kissing her cheeks, temples, jaw. 

    “Unbelievable,” Elsie muttered, even as her cheeks flamed red. “You are a menace.” Lena chuckled, kissing slowly down her neck, tongue brushing over her pulse. “Isn’t it nice to interact with suspects?” Elsie grabbed Lena’s chin and kissed her, hard, before Lena could tease her again. Lena bit her lip, and Elsie actually moaned. They pulled apart again, if only to breathe. 

    “I can’t stay. I can’t. “ Elsie whispered, not entirely trusting her own voice. Lena kissed under her jaw, Elsie clutching her hair all the while. 

    “Is kissing a murderer too much for you, darling?” Elsie dug her nails into Lena’s arm. “No,” she breathed, barely speaking. Lena bit Elsie’s earlobe. 

    “I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that.” 

    Elsie shivered. “No, dammit, stop teasing me!” 

    Lena laughed, sliding her hand lightly up the detective’s thigh. “I do enjoy teasing, Elsie. I’ll be sure to do so more on our second date.” 

    Elsie spluttered. “Second date?” She was outraged, both at Lena for daring to insinuate such a thing and at herself for wanting to have one. 

    “Yes, Elsie. Tonight you go home, and rest, and tomorrow evening you put on something pretty, and I’ll take you out.” 

    Elsie frowned and looked away. Lena was gorgeous, cold, enchanting, kissed like a goddamn angel- and she was a murderer. And it was Elsie’s job to catch murderers. But one (two?) dates couldn’t change that. She was collecting evidence. Two dates, and then Lena would be in cuffs. (One way or another.) Elsie shook off the thought. 

    “Elsie, will that be okay?” 

    Elsie kept her eyes averted, needing a moment to collect her thoughts. Flustered was not exactly a feeling she experienced often.  Lena caught her chin, forcing her to look up. “Elsie?” 

    The detective exhaled. “Yes. I’d like that.” 

    Lena smirked, and pressed her lips to Elsie’s cheek. “I suspected as much. You can be here at seven. Good night, Elsie.” 

    “Good night, Lena.” 

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  • “Anyways, we’re about here.” Angelina placed her finger on the map directly east of the bay. “We’ve been travelling a while since there aren’t any major towns between here and Fort Throxin down south.” The road on the map followed the curve of the bay until it split. A dotted line continued along the bay but the main road shifted southeast.
    “You’re missing Hilde?” Jakare asked.
    Angelina shrugged. “We haven’t had a reason to. This thing doesn’t float.”
    “It doesn’t?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “You’ve tried?”
    Angelina turned her head and squinted at Jakare. He smiled back. “We haven’t. Things sell too well in [nexttown] to consider stopping there.”
    Jakare put his hands on his hips and forced a deep laugh. “Oh, but we have good bars!”
    She rubbed her eyes and turned her attention back to the map. “This vehicle doesn’t stop until we reach the destination. It’s too difficult to start back up.”
    “How does it work.”
    “Can we please focus on the map?”
    Jakare quickly put his hands behind his back and stood at attention.
    “Alright. We’re continuing up from where we are now until we reach Ghord. That’s where the other passengers will depart. Once there, the trip will change depending on what’s available to trade. We’re not sure what the weather has been like there. Some things will send us east,” she said as she tapped on a small empty circle at the center of the forest. “We can’t go north until the war is over, and others will send us straight back to Throxin.” She looked back up to Jakare. “Where are you heading again?”

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  • “Do you ever just want to yeet yourself out of existence?”
    “Wait, do you mean-?”
    “No, no, nothing like that. Just…yeet yourself out of this dimension and into another one, or another timeline. A place where no one knows who you are. A place where you can take all the time you need to just…be yourself.”

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  • Note: This is not a frotfic story, I’m just trying some other creative writing.  Also, this story was inspired after hearing this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifXjjHWmOC4


    December 24th.  It was the final performance of the night and of the series after a two week string of shows.  This was the kind of band that looked at jazz pops as a fun distraction.  Any new musician quickly got the feel for that and ended up leaving if they didn’t agree.

    Jimmy, the bandleader, especially liked the Christmas pops.  The music was hackneyed, sure, but hell, he could punch that up.  It was the atmosphere.  People were loose.  They drank and spent more than they normally would, which made everyone happy.  The staff felt the same way.  Blue Notes had had a banner year, so Mr. Schweitzer had rewarded his employees with a nice little bonus on their last cheque.  

    The trumpets sounded the last few notes of “Silent Night,” while Jimmy noodled a closing riff on the organ.  The audience did everything but clap, whistling, banging hands on tables, and whooping.

    He took a moment to look around the room.  Every table was cluttered with empty glasses of various sizes, decorated with rimming salt, or empty straws, or orange wedges.  This included the stage, which probably had as many empty glasses as the tables.  The air hung thick with cigarette smoke, obscuring the furthest corners of the room.

    It was hot.  Most of his musicians had sweat through their shirts. Red in the face, his horns section took a minute to breathe before the next song.

    The winter had been mild, but people dressed in their finery, coming from other parties or just taking the yearly opportunity to get their furs out of mothballs.  But everyone in the room has since stripped out of whatever coats or sweaters they were wearing.  Suit jackets rested on the backs of chairs and ties were increasingly loosened.  The side door had been propped open with a chair, making little difference.  

    Jimmy wiped the sweat from his forehead and ran his hand through his thick black hair.  “Thank you folks.  Alright, what time is it, anyway?” he asked.

    He looked up to the second floor window, where Mr. Schweitzer was watching.  He was smiling, but pointed to the clock and twirled his index finger.  “Wrap it up.”

    “Oh hell, it’s after 3.”  Jimmy said.  “Alright folks, we’ve got to get out of here, but we’ve got one more for you.”  The audience made regretful noises.              

    Jimmy looked around, wondering what to play next.  As they were well off their set list, the band awaited his instructions.  An idea came to him.  It would take minute to set up, but…

    He walked over to Marty, his drummer, and spoke in low tones.  Marty nodded enthusiastically and went behind the curtain to fetch his big standalone bass drum while Jimmy told the rest of the band the plan.  The audience had settled, waiting to see what was next.

    When everything was set up, Jimmy raised his hand and pointed at the drum, the snapped his fingers once.   Marty began a slow, simple pattern “boom boom, boom boom.”  The lead trombone joined in for a measure, then was joined by the rest of horns, stomping their way through the first verse of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” until a single trumpet broke away and Jimmy’s organ took over.   

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  • iv. we’re humans - today we’ll meet reality // WW

    iv. we’re humans

    Why do we have to fall in love with the person who don’t feel the same as we do?

    Why can’t we be happy with someone without thinking of all the boundaries?

    Why can’t we just love the right person in the right time in the right way?

    Why can’t we have the person we want to keep?

    Why can’t we be?

    Why can’t we make people stay when we badly need them?

    Why do we have to cry at night thinking of all the possible nightmares in reality?

    Why can’t we be fine and happy all the damn time?

    … because we’re humans.

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  • “I’m waiting,” you said, “for a sign.”

    “Mind if I wait with you?”

    You shrugged. I climbed out the window and sat beside you on the fire escape. You didn’t respond, just glanced at me with an amused smile then looked up at the sky.

    I followed your gaze, staring at the stars and saw a streak of light. “Holy shit,” I said. “I think you just got your sign!”

    But you were unfazed. “No, that wasn’t it.”

    An hour passed. We chatted some, but mostly stayed quiet while you waited. It was cold. Clouds rolled in. Suddenly a snowflake fluttered down right between us. “A sign?” I asked.

    You shook your head.

    “Maybe we should go back to the party.”

    “Not yet.”

    Our friends inside all left or passed out. The sky grew pale, then rose gold. One story below us, a man staggered out onto his own fire escape and started peeing down into the alley.

    “Alright,” you said standing. “That’s it. Wanna get some breakfast?”

    “What, that? That’s your sign?”

    You smiled at me so kindly and shook your head. “I got my sign hours ago,” you told me, “when you sat down with me and waited.”

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  • image

    Originally posted by giantmonster


                                                     Waiting room



    Salacia sat in a cold sitting contraption? It was made of the same material as the new objects being thrown into the sea, but there was metal on its legs and throughout its body to keep it straight and sturdy. She shifted her plump butt. Her body was just getting used to the warm sensation of the thing called a “car” but now the only thing that reminded her of heat was the “jacket” that laid loosely around her. The woman named Sophia was teaching her a whole bunch of new things! Maybe she was useful. 

    “Nervous?” Sophia asked. She seemed like a person to one, hold information, yet crave it. 

    Salacia shook her head. 

    “Cold. What called?” Salacia turned to Sophia, her pruned Hand pointing toward the thing she was sitting on. 

    Sophia giggled, covering her smile. Salacia pulled her hand down and started examining her thin dainty fingers. Sophia coughed. Salacia jumped pulling her hand away 

    “Sophia sick?” Salacia asked, she thought she might as well, who knows, maybe it’s not contagious. 

     “For one it’s called a chair and two no? What gave you the idea I was sick?”Sophia raised her thick black brow. Her deep brown eyes scrunching. 

    “Oh chair!” Salacia laughed bouncing in her chair like a young child. 

    “Thin, Sophia thin.. not healthy. Eat more” these were the most words Sophia had heard from salacia, it was as if she was gaining more information through her surroundings. She was both amazed and kinda insulted at the same time. Society wasn’t really the kindest to women, and even though she was technically healthy, she didn’t like to be called sick looking. 

    Salacia continued to examine the “chair” oblivious to the hurt Sophia. The male human walked out. Salacia ran up to him. Pointing to the chair.

     “Mikah! Chair!” Her emerald eyes brightened as she spoke of the new word. He smiled. Perfect straight white canines shone through from his crooked smile. He patted salacia’s shoulder.

     “Yeah! That’s a chair all right!” Salacia frowned. She didn’t like this new treatment. Sophia at least treated her like her age while mikah acted like she was a small and defenseless child. Sophia approached them. Crossing her arms and leaning back into the air. 

    “So what’d they say?” She frowned, already knowing the outcome but wanted to hear it from mikah. 

    “Well… the police officer said it might be human trafficking and from what I gathered from salacia, she was taken from home and kept in a metal box until she escaped. God knows what happened before we found he.” Mikah rolled his eyes. His Brown brows scrunching together rubbing his foot on the ground. Sophia knew this was a habit of his when he was pissed. She looked a salacia who was talking to the receptionist. Her body bare to the elements aside from Mikah’s cargo jack. But even through her disastrous situation she had a bright smile. Excitedly pointing to objects and learning they’re words. 

    She sighed. Turning back to Mikah “so what do we do? We can’t just leave her out on the street?” She whispered feeling the same sense of anger toward the disgusting fucks who did this to her. 

    “ yeah that’s exactly what I was thinking…. but” 

    Sophia turned to him, he had a goofy smile on his face. “What? Why do you have that smile?” She looked him up and down. Bracing herself for the worse. 

    “Well we do have an extra room upstairs?”

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  • There’s a lot that goes into making a wish come true. I would know—I have do my wishes for the day before I get to making anything of my own.

    Among the things you need are all the essentials, like the Scintillating Dust, the Amber Fluid, and the Essence of Vibrato. You need a calm place, but also one that has some activity, like maybe a brook with fish in it. You also need a clear mind, free from all the prejudices and angers and worries that try to batter down your mental fortress.

    When you pull on a wish, it stays stubbornly stuck to its web at first. You’d think of it as a dead insect in a spider’s domain, but it’s actually more like a pearl in a fisherman’s net. You have to gently, and delicately, pull it out of its trapping. Too much pressure, and you risk crushing it before you can even see what it is. It’s been known to happen, especially to newbies.

    Once you pull a wish out of its web, the web breaks. If you were careful, it won’t collapse entirely. Instead, you simply leave a hole there.

    In that moment, the wisher is stripped of hope. There’s no way their wish can come true. They’re consumed by thoughts of how stupid they were for even thinking of it.

    So, you have to be quick with it. You place the wish in the centre of your felt cloth, its edges held down by unevenly-shaped rocks. You clean the filth off of it, rubbing it off with your thumb and pouring a little bit of water onto it, trickling from your thumb.

    There’s no time to admire its shine. You set to work, and as you do, the web throbs and starts to snap in places, pulled too taut over its own imbalance.

    You trace the nerves of the wish, across the smiles and laughs and cries and thoughts and dreams. It leads you to the deaths of insects, to rollerblading, to barbeque meals, to flags draped over coffins, to wilted sunflowers, to money—oh, to so much money exchanging hands, travelling from those who deserved it, to those who don’t.

    Every wish is a transaction. There’s something to gain, and something to lose, for everyone involved. The art of doing a wish is to make it look like there’s no losers. Of course, to those who don’t know that a wish was enacted—they will never know what their loss was for.

    But that’s the wonder of economy. They’ll just come up with more wishes, more pearls in nets, more for me and more for them. And then, when their wish is done, that’s another wave of ripples across the world, displacing, toppling, snapping, falling, falling, falling into place.

    Once you’re good at it, it doesn’t take too long to do a wish. You set it back into the web, which has, of course, deteriorated since you last saw it. No matter. If you stopped to worry about every strand, no wish would ever be granted.

    The web is rejuvenated. It radiates and hums, and I start to pull on the next wish.

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    I’m so beyond happy to have reached over 100 followers on Instagram! If you wanna check it out my user is in the top. I frequent the page daily and try to be as interactive as possible. I also wanted to say Thankyou for everyone that follows me on here ❤️

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  • The man pirouetted across the asphalt and struck a pose like an elegant dancer. Like an elegant dancer, he slipped his leather jacket down his arms and then spun out of it, gingerly hanging it onto the side-view mirror of a parked car.

    Only steps away from him now, zombies shambled towards him. They groaned and growled in unison, forming a chorus of inhuman moans. He then returned to where he had discarded his backpack on the sidewalk. From the flap-covered main pouch of the pack, a metal baseball bat’s grip jutted out. He slung the makeshift weapon out and weighed it, making it look as light as a feather in his hands.

    The dancing man turned and flexed his biceps, posing theatrically with the bat, and gave the camera a toothy grin, waggling his eyebrows and picturing what his audience expected to see next.

    Keep reading

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  • For those of you not familiar with Red Velvet Cupcakes, I’d like to remind you that this is about a super douchey horny man learning manners and acquiring a taste for respecting woman juice based on a modern au that a mutual of mine ( @marimo-punk and I made with our Dragon Age OCs. So, if you’re not into that kind of stuff, this is why I put it under a cut. The snippets/excerpts following this won’t be under cuts, though. 

    Keep reading

    #my writing#writeblr#fiction #red velvet cakes wip
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  • Sometimes, I like to imagine myself as a widow. My husband is gone, he’s not coming back, but I keep the memories of us. My husband was many; all the fictional or real men I love were, in a sense, my husband. He fought wars, he fought in the past and he’ll fight in the future, but right now, in the present, we’re cursed to never meet again, never touch again. I carry his rings with me, the engagement rings, the wedding rings, and it’s too much; rings made of gold and silver and iron, iron to ward off the faeries, and rings made of precious stones, made of tangled straw, rings made of silk and velvet ribbons, and all of this weight bears over my hands, and I can’t lift them and write anymore. I wouldn’t recognize my husband by his face, for he had far too many, but I always knew his name, and I’m always waiting.

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    Recsmas - Day 7 - Made You Smile

    If 2018 was the year for Evelyn Hugo, 2019 brought Astrid, Bernadette, and Nina Hill. I loved all of these books and they are some of my favorite covers.

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  • So many prompts to choose from. What can we find in the archive today?

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    Originally posted by ladytp

    The Sounds of Silence: Tell a story without dialogue.  Perhaps the characters are cannot speak or choose not to.  Maybe the characters are incapable of speech.  Maybe communications are cut off.  Thoughts don’t count unless they’re audible in some way, and while journal entries or written correspondence fit the letter, they miss the spirit.  Challenge yourself! 

    #Short Fiction Weekly Challlenge #SFWC #sfwc sunday archive feature #fiction#writing#fiction writing#writing exercise#writing prompts#writing challenge#fanfiction#fanfic#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #Mass Effect #mass effect fanfiction #Skyrim#skyrim fanfiction#swtor#swtor fanfiction#wildstar#wildstar fanfiction#WoW #World of Warcraft #World of Warcraft fanfiction
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    Read the prologue here:

    she-and-the-serpent.squarespace.com/the-novel

    And support my writing and other projects here:

    paypal.me/sheandtheserpent

    patreon.com/she_and_the_serpent

    Send feedback and questions to:

    she.theserpent@gmail.com

    If you like the story so far, please like and share with others!

    💜Thank you for reading💜

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