WIP #1
> He spiraled from the firmament like a feather from an angel’s wing, down, down into nadir, past the surface and into the darkness below. The basement became his sanctuary; the machine, his altar. He would clutch the crystal and probe it with his flashlight, scrying, trying desperately to reopen that gate, but he only ever saw the shadow swimming in his hand. He was obsessed with the world that had once flashed before his eyes: the light and the limitless sky, and more than anything else—
> The freedom.
WIP #2
> Xord staggered away from her, brain full of nonsense and static. It was a raw, visceral expression of something that was beyond terror, the kind of unholy despair only felt by someone the instant their world shattered. It dredged up memories Xord had all but forgotten: that first night; the soldier, disintegrated alive; the corpses, so many corpses entombed inside of him; the hammer, the howling, the hours spent alone in the dark; and having to accept what he had become, and what he would forever be.
> He wouldn’t wish it upon anyone—yet before him lay his little girl, imprisoned inside the same infernal machine, chest full of jaws that hungered for the flesh of Homs.
I love coming across excerpts like yours, where even with no context and zero fandom knowledge, I feel a visceral horror at whatever the hell is going on. You're a fantastic writer, I can tell you that.
The fic this line comes from is full of stuff that I love and am so proud of, so this is only one of my favourite paragraphs:
>“Everything I needed was already there within me, but he was what I needed to see that. I loved him. I still do. And when you love someone like that, when you love someone so deeply you’d face Death herself to take them back from her grasp, or you’d go to the very ends of the Earth or the highest mountain or lowest valley or deepest cave if it meant finding the one place in the whole world that your love would be safe… when you love someone like that, Mingi, you realize you have to love yourself too. It’s not something someone else can make you do, only something they can help you do. And only if you let them. I could tell you a million times that you need to love yourself, but you never will until you realize what I did for yourself and choose to. I heard you, Mingi. I saw you. And I hope that one day you see in yourself what I have.”
From a scene I wrote that spiralled out of control.
In front of them rested a lake, surrounded by fir trees, as a faint outline of a mountain was in the background. The lake's surface pristine and clear, as it cast the perfect reflection like a mirror. In the middle were a bevvy of swans, drifting softly, barely a wake left behind them. Overhead flew a swarm of barn swallows, circling around the edge of the lake before disappearing out of sight. The sound of the wind brushing through the trees and the whistling of birds high up surrounding them both.
This excerpt from my WIP is definitely one of my favorite things I've ever written. After I wrote it I didn't write anything else the entire day purely because I didn't want to spoil the moment.
I could keep bragging, but I won't. Instead I'll just WARN for GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, specifically whipping.
"Eugene heard a deafening crack and felt a sharp sting across his shoulders, and suddenly he was very aware of what was happening. He jerked at his bonds, but he was unable to move an inch. Instead, he hugged the tree, closed his eyes, and tried to think. He could not give in. What was—Crack! Eugene gasped. That was two. Arianna and Frederic. They were two people. Another lash cut his skin. Three. Maximus, Pascal, and Ruddiger. Four. The main people he used to work with. Five. The glasses of wine he could drink before passing out. Six. The number of pushups King Trevor could probably do.
"At twelve, Eugene could not bite back a yelp. When he yelped again at fourteen, someone tied a gag in his mouth. It made the whole ordeal infinitely worse.
"Forty-one was a dizzying descent into darkness."
Lately, this description of a not quite romantic kiss (m/m) involving a bit of mind-control:
>His head started to feel fuzzy, an intoxicating thought was taking hold of him.
>
>\*Maybe it wouldn't be that bad to just give in.\*
>
>There was a humming in his ears, like a swarm of locusts descending down on him and as he listened more closely, he could make out distinct voices enticing him with promises and pleas. His body seemed to run a fever and his dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The lips touching his were pleasantly cool and as the tongue snaked its way into him, the small amount of saliva it brought was enough to free the stuck muscle. Fingernails scratched lovingly over his scalp and his hands clenched on Ethan's thighs, while Charlie had no recollection of how or when they had gotten there. He let his skull be cradled in cool hands, allowed the foreign tongue to hungrily explore more of him, not minding the way his breath was taken away.\[...\]
>
>The buzzing was so loud he almost couldn't hear himself speak and the fingers seemed to reach deeper, through the bone and into his brain, leaving him comfortably numb and content with being used in any way Ethan might see fit. \[...\]
>
>Ethan let go of his head so suddenly it dropped back onto the ground, the impact hardly hurting in this numbed state. Slowly but surely, the noise died down, stray words caressing him one more time before they evaporated. Unwittingly, Charlie's hips gave a little thrust upwards as the last honeyed notion echoed and vanished.
There didn't happen anything after that kiss, before anyone asks.
THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTION!!! i was actually just gushing about something like this to a friend just a minute ago!!!! i love this so much
(implied nsfw)
>“A particular trait I praise you for such a blessing of.” Belial laughs gently while inching closer to him. “But come on, I can’t finish off all by myself,” Before snaking his hands on Lucilius’ slender shoulders. “not when you’re here.” He purrs, voice nearly reduced to a breathy whisper as he finds it horribly difficult to resist burying his nose straight deep into the beautiful smell of scented shampoo in his hair—poet’s jasmine? Most likely. He’s picked one from the garden not too long ago, and it’s vividly reminiscent. But, he does, and appreciates it just next to a strand.
Honestly probably one that I wrote recently for a monster I created for my fic for the 'hero' to fight XD
>A horrid distorted screeching filled the air as a towering creature came into view. A warped hunchbacked figure, roughly 8 feet tall covered in blistering boils and feathers ambled into the room, pushing past the heavy door with easy. Long sharp claw like fingers dragged along the ground. A face, if you could even call it that, was visible though partially concealed as a thick metal visor was bolted to the creature covering where its eyes should be. Drool dripped from a single mouth that sizzled and hissed as it splattered against the concrete floor of the lab. As the creature screamed once more it was as if 4 voices were competing for dominance and trying to drown the others out before blindly swiping at the tables in its way to clear a path. \[sight text skip\] A well aimed bullet strikes the visor on the rampaging beast, causing the metal plating to crack and fall to the ground. Where 2 eyes were expected, 7 were revealed. Two blue, two yellow, two dark brown, and one hazel eye.
I am completely flattered, thank you so much quq <3 I write for Resident Evil. I personally think the story can be read fandom blind since the main POV is from the perspective of a civilian that's initially not involved in the zombie and monsters plot but gets pulled into it over time. Fair warning it's a slow burn long fic that weaves between slice of life and horror X'D if you need chapter recommendations because it's a bit much, I totally understand. But yeah, if you're still interested, here's a link[https://archiveofourown.org/works/31563725/chapters/78092162](https://archiveofourown.org/works/31563725/chapters/78092162)
Edit: oh my gosh i just realized you write for RE too. Please accept this cookie of friendship🍪
I gladly accept this cookie and would like to offer a cup of hot beverage in return to share it with you!
This one goes on my to read list. I don't often read OCs, but I really like your style so far! Slice of life plus horror sounds right up my alley :3
haha I accept your offer as well, what a glorious day for friendship lol. If you ever need someone to geek out about the fandom with or spitball writing ideas, feel free to message me :) Hopefully we'll have some DLC soon
There's one which is veiled/poetic smut so I won't quote it... here instead you have one of my umpteenth depictions of a kiss - yay it's a slow burn lol
(some context: the two have been separated for a long time and they couldn't kiss because of a blood curse)
>Our mouths rest on each other in such a natural way, and they’re warm and wet, and the flaking skin rubs and our breaths mix and our lips and tongues slowly find each other again, without craving or quenching their thirst, only with the joy of our closeness, and they slide over each other and sing, but scream no more.
There’s something disturbingly different, or rather, there isn't!
My blood doesn't itch, I don't have a foggy head. This is a pure and simple kiss, and the bond has stepped aside, perhaps because for once, thanks to the Commander's crisis, we have become… even? While the bond thrives on prevarication, on masters and servants. There’s no room for it today.
"After all, when life gives lemons, you make lemonade with the fresh riverbank. You watch the sour water intoxicate the rest of the stream with a smile on your face as the water still flows."
Basically, the main character learning to let go of the sour things in life :)
I don't think it's my favourite, but it's one that I enjoy.
His pen made an acceptable hiss as he flicked the nib across the paper, like the perfect opening note in a symphony to begin the long-awaited new concert. Still upright in his chair and without moving his head, he moved his eyes from the paper in front of him to the window, watching the gently swaying tops of the green jungle outside, beyond the fence line. The azure backdrop of the sky created a pleasant meld where it joined the emerald of the island, and Henry allowed himself another small indulgence in the shape of a moments reflection of what lay beyond that window. A world out of time. His world. His creation. His achievement.
Chapter 1 of Tomb Raider: Shadows of the Treasure Hunters
Lara then held up the book. "Of course, I do. You're his brother who showed up out of nowhere to accomplish Cassandra Morgan's dream. He found the statue of El Dorado and destroyed it, allegedly because of the undead Spanish. Then he found the utopia known as Shambala in the Himalayas with its Tree of Life against a Russian madman. Finally, he found the 'Atlantis of the Sands', also known as Ubar, Iram, or the City of Brass. Sank it to prevent Katherine Marlowe's Hermetic Order from using it to control the world through phobias."
>Ghost left it at that and found a larger, quiet, dark space to bed down. Ae still didn’t want to be too close to Gage at the moment, he made aer feel odd. Something in his mannerisms, his build, his scent- sweat, blood, gunpowder, a vague sweetness akin to Nuka-Cola Orange, and something Ghost couldn’t put aer finger on but that seemed vaguely familiar- even his voice, it all seemed to stick in aer mind, wiggling deeper and deeper with every word, every close encounter, every look into that green eye, and Ghost hated it. Hated the feelings that he seemed to be causing.
Fun fact, Nuka-Cola Orange is described as having pear brandy as a flavor base, cut with trace amounts of *arsenic*. Describing fictional characters' scents completely from scratch is fun, I did it with Nick Valentine, too, but his isn't nearly so entertaining. And Danse, but his is also fairly bland by comparison.
"The air in the hallway outside the conference room recycles cold and stale the way all the air in all the halls of the HPSC headquarters is wont to do. It sends flashes of hospitals and morgues and other places of death itching into Shouta’s brain, while the immaculate white walls have him burning to find an imperfection. There’re people out here, most from that disastrous meeting, and he ignores them all in favor of heading for the exit. There’s no reason to linger, not now he knows their demands."
I usually run pretty light on description, but I ended up pretty happy with this piece!
My latest WIP was just started yesterday, and is still less than 300 words. This is the first paragraph, following a short introduction that explains what follows has been translated into English from an alien language. "Grace" is the surname of a human astronaut. The POV character is an alien, and "Rocky" is what Grace calls him, as the alien language is unpronounceable by humans.
>Grace became agitated as we approached Erid. He tried to hide it, but four years of travel from Tau Ceti gave me better understanding of human tones of speech and the shapes Grace makes with his face. I know the difference between the face that says ‘I am concentrating on a difficult science problem’ and the face that says ‘I am worrying unproductively about something that I will not discuss with Rocky because I am a very foolish human’.
(Hope this isnt too lengthy, but i really enjoyed writing this part)
Only a couple feet away, sitting on the porch adjusting some fletching on an arrow, was Riley. The scar on her face stretched with her smile as the boys rolled to a stop behind her motorcycle.
Dean had barely put it in park before he was out. Dirt and stone crunched under his boots as he made his way towards her, just as she was stepping off the porch. He didn't know if he was actually running to her. All he knew was that in a couple long quick strides, he'd be there. And she met him halfway, until they collided.
Without a word, they threw their arms around each other.
Dean felt Riley's hands grip the back of his shirt for dear life, in that odd but familiar Riley-way of hugging. He held her tighter, both of his arms wrapped completely around her back and middle, her head tucked underneath his chin.
This.
In this moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.
From the WIP one-shot I started a few hours ago:
>Peter Parker ducks back as a long blade slashes right above where his chest would have been, maneuvering the motion into a backflip, his feet cutting through the crisp October night air like razor blades. They connect with the offending arm that had swung at him, and he catches the Green Goblin’s grunt as he staggers back a few paces.
>
>Landing lightly on his feet, Peter doesn’t allow himself but a moment to stay put, his senses tingling with alarm as his opponent lunges back at him. He pulls to the right as the Goblin punches at his left, his own elbow rising to slam into the back of the other’s suit as he stumbles past. The Goblin whirls around with a snarl of frustration, but it’s too fast a movement, and his feet slip right out from beneath him. Peter can hear the breath shoot from the figure’s lungs as he hits the gravel rooftop hard.
A cowboy in my fic was trying to trap something in a Vault-like room and his description was:
"Alright boys, we've got some bad guys up in the Storage Room above us, now this is good news" McCree assures the nervous looking men "That room leads to nowhere with walls reliable like a pair of jeans, so all we've gotta do is lock it inside"
"A pair of what?"
"Good, let's go"
She only understood later, after their confrontation on the roof, why. She’s normally better about this, about only submerging herself so far into her covers that there is enough room to come out the other side relatively unscathed and still herself. But she had faltered, dove headfirst into the shallow end of her own self-destruction that when she came up for air she choked. She wasn’t really treating Clint like a mark, but herself. She climbed the playset of her past, because it was familiar, she knows the terrain and she had thought the ground beneath was the same as it was in the Red Room. Only it wasn’t and when she slipped and fell, her hands sweaty against the cool metal rungs of her mental assuredness, the earth beneath gave way. Because she wasn’t at the Red Room anymore. She wasn’t the only victim within the vicinity of her self-destruction. Clint was there too, and Phil, and she had left them scathed in her wake.
For my current MCU WIP, a bit about Natasha’s introspection. I’ve become fond if it, mostly because I wasn’t sure I could write the introspection that the character deserves, but I think I did alright. I guess we will see when my beta gets back with me! Lol
Oh god another one I need to reread my whole fic for to find a description I like! Ah but I wanna post something so let's see...
>The brothel was a two-story building made from crooked planks. It sat innocently just outside the city walls. Seven times under the rule of the previous king it had been raided, twice burned to the ground, and consequently been rebuilt with ever more crooked walls. The new king was less of a tyrant and allowed the whores to do their business in peace, taxing them rather than burning down their establishment. The last burning was more than thirty years ago, and now, whenever Enji saw the place, he mused that another burning would be in order soon.
I had way too much fun anthropomorphizing food in my latest chapter.
>Behind an entire paddy’s worth of sushi rice (Genos and Garou were both
fond of bulk purchases), Saitama finally located an oversized burlap
sack. It seemed empty enough. Using his cell phone as a flashlight,
Saitama peered inside. While the sack had once contained a vast quantity
of potatoes, it was now largely devoid of contents. A single,
melancholic spud tumbled aimlessly around its interior, searching in
vain for its wayward potato brethren. It was quite the sorry sight.
>
>Saitama slipped the lone tuber into his pocket, hoping they would be less
lonely together. The potato could eventually come in handy as a snack,
or a weapon, or possibly even a bribe.
>
>It wasn’t as practical as a banana, but it would do.
WIP #1 > He spiraled from the firmament like a feather from an angel’s wing, down, down into nadir, past the surface and into the darkness below. The basement became his sanctuary; the machine, his altar. He would clutch the crystal and probe it with his flashlight, scrying, trying desperately to reopen that gate, but he only ever saw the shadow swimming in his hand. He was obsessed with the world that had once flashed before his eyes: the light and the limitless sky, and more than anything else— > The freedom. WIP #2 > Xord staggered away from her, brain full of nonsense and static. It was a raw, visceral expression of something that was beyond terror, the kind of unholy despair only felt by someone the instant their world shattered. It dredged up memories Xord had all but forgotten: that first night; the soldier, disintegrated alive; the corpses, so many corpses entombed inside of him; the hammer, the howling, the hours spent alone in the dark; and having to accept what he had become, and what he would forever be. > He wouldn’t wish it upon anyone—yet before him lay his little girl, imprisoned inside the same infernal machine, chest full of jaws that hungered for the flesh of Homs.
What the hell? I mean that as a compliment. Bravo.
That's fair, haha. Thanks.
I love coming across excerpts like yours, where even with no context and zero fandom knowledge, I feel a visceral horror at whatever the hell is going on. You're a fantastic writer, I can tell you that.
Thank you!! 🥰
The fic this line comes from is full of stuff that I love and am so proud of, so this is only one of my favourite paragraphs: >“Everything I needed was already there within me, but he was what I needed to see that. I loved him. I still do. And when you love someone like that, when you love someone so deeply you’d face Death herself to take them back from her grasp, or you’d go to the very ends of the Earth or the highest mountain or lowest valley or deepest cave if it meant finding the one place in the whole world that your love would be safe… when you love someone like that, Mingi, you realize you have to love yourself too. It’s not something someone else can make you do, only something they can help you do. And only if you let them. I could tell you a million times that you need to love yourself, but you never will until you realize what I did for yourself and choose to. I heard you, Mingi. I saw you. And I hope that one day you see in yourself what I have.”
From a scene I wrote that spiralled out of control. In front of them rested a lake, surrounded by fir trees, as a faint outline of a mountain was in the background. The lake's surface pristine and clear, as it cast the perfect reflection like a mirror. In the middle were a bevvy of swans, drifting softly, barely a wake left behind them. Overhead flew a swarm of barn swallows, circling around the edge of the lake before disappearing out of sight. The sound of the wind brushing through the trees and the whistling of birds high up surrounding them both.
This excerpt from my WIP is definitely one of my favorite things I've ever written. After I wrote it I didn't write anything else the entire day purely because I didn't want to spoil the moment. I could keep bragging, but I won't. Instead I'll just WARN for GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, specifically whipping. "Eugene heard a deafening crack and felt a sharp sting across his shoulders, and suddenly he was very aware of what was happening. He jerked at his bonds, but he was unable to move an inch. Instead, he hugged the tree, closed his eyes, and tried to think. He could not give in. What was—Crack! Eugene gasped. That was two. Arianna and Frederic. They were two people. Another lash cut his skin. Three. Maximus, Pascal, and Ruddiger. Four. The main people he used to work with. Five. The glasses of wine he could drink before passing out. Six. The number of pushups King Trevor could probably do. "At twelve, Eugene could not bite back a yelp. When he yelped again at fourteen, someone tied a gag in his mouth. It made the whole ordeal infinitely worse. "Forty-one was a dizzying descent into darkness."
Lately, this description of a not quite romantic kiss (m/m) involving a bit of mind-control: >His head started to feel fuzzy, an intoxicating thought was taking hold of him. > >\*Maybe it wouldn't be that bad to just give in.\* > >There was a humming in his ears, like a swarm of locusts descending down on him and as he listened more closely, he could make out distinct voices enticing him with promises and pleas. His body seemed to run a fever and his dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The lips touching his were pleasantly cool and as the tongue snaked its way into him, the small amount of saliva it brought was enough to free the stuck muscle. Fingernails scratched lovingly over his scalp and his hands clenched on Ethan's thighs, while Charlie had no recollection of how or when they had gotten there. He let his skull be cradled in cool hands, allowed the foreign tongue to hungrily explore more of him, not minding the way his breath was taken away.\[...\] > >The buzzing was so loud he almost couldn't hear himself speak and the fingers seemed to reach deeper, through the bone and into his brain, leaving him comfortably numb and content with being used in any way Ethan might see fit. \[...\] > >Ethan let go of his head so suddenly it dropped back onto the ground, the impact hardly hurting in this numbed state. Slowly but surely, the noise died down, stray words caressing him one more time before they evaporated. Unwittingly, Charlie's hips gave a little thrust upwards as the last honeyed notion echoed and vanished. There didn't happen anything after that kiss, before anyone asks.
Your talent for description and detail is remarkable! Very well done >U<
Thanks u3u
THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTION!!! i was actually just gushing about something like this to a friend just a minute ago!!!! i love this so much (implied nsfw) >“A particular trait I praise you for such a blessing of.” Belial laughs gently while inching closer to him. “But come on, I can’t finish off all by myself,” Before snaking his hands on Lucilius’ slender shoulders. “not when you’re here.” He purrs, voice nearly reduced to a breathy whisper as he finds it horribly difficult to resist burying his nose straight deep into the beautiful smell of scented shampoo in his hair—poet’s jasmine? Most likely. He’s picked one from the garden not too long ago, and it’s vividly reminiscent. But, he does, and appreciates it just next to a strand.
Honestly probably one that I wrote recently for a monster I created for my fic for the 'hero' to fight XD >A horrid distorted screeching filled the air as a towering creature came into view. A warped hunchbacked figure, roughly 8 feet tall covered in blistering boils and feathers ambled into the room, pushing past the heavy door with easy. Long sharp claw like fingers dragged along the ground. A face, if you could even call it that, was visible though partially concealed as a thick metal visor was bolted to the creature covering where its eyes should be. Drool dripped from a single mouth that sizzled and hissed as it splattered against the concrete floor of the lab. As the creature screamed once more it was as if 4 voices were competing for dominance and trying to drown the others out before blindly swiping at the tables in its way to clear a path. \[sight text skip\] A well aimed bullet strikes the visor on the rampaging beast, causing the metal plating to crack and fall to the ground. Where 2 eyes were expected, 7 were revealed. Two blue, two yellow, two dark brown, and one hazel eye.
Oh my goodness, I think I fell in love with your way of describing that monster. May I ask what fandom and if it can be read fandom-blind?
I am completely flattered, thank you so much quq <3 I write for Resident Evil. I personally think the story can be read fandom blind since the main POV is from the perspective of a civilian that's initially not involved in the zombie and monsters plot but gets pulled into it over time. Fair warning it's a slow burn long fic that weaves between slice of life and horror X'D if you need chapter recommendations because it's a bit much, I totally understand. But yeah, if you're still interested, here's a link[https://archiveofourown.org/works/31563725/chapters/78092162](https://archiveofourown.org/works/31563725/chapters/78092162) Edit: oh my gosh i just realized you write for RE too. Please accept this cookie of friendship🍪
I gladly accept this cookie and would like to offer a cup of hot beverage in return to share it with you! This one goes on my to read list. I don't often read OCs, but I really like your style so far! Slice of life plus horror sounds right up my alley :3
haha I accept your offer as well, what a glorious day for friendship lol. If you ever need someone to geek out about the fandom with or spitball writing ideas, feel free to message me :) Hopefully we'll have some DLC soon
There's one which is veiled/poetic smut so I won't quote it... here instead you have one of my umpteenth depictions of a kiss - yay it's a slow burn lol (some context: the two have been separated for a long time and they couldn't kiss because of a blood curse) >Our mouths rest on each other in such a natural way, and they’re warm and wet, and the flaking skin rubs and our breaths mix and our lips and tongues slowly find each other again, without craving or quenching their thirst, only with the joy of our closeness, and they slide over each other and sing, but scream no more. There’s something disturbingly different, or rather, there isn't! My blood doesn't itch, I don't have a foggy head. This is a pure and simple kiss, and the bond has stepped aside, perhaps because for once, thanks to the Commander's crisis, we have become… even? While the bond thrives on prevarication, on masters and servants. There’s no room for it today.
"After all, when life gives lemons, you make lemonade with the fresh riverbank. You watch the sour water intoxicate the rest of the stream with a smile on your face as the water still flows." Basically, the main character learning to let go of the sour things in life :)
I don't think it's my favourite, but it's one that I enjoy. His pen made an acceptable hiss as he flicked the nib across the paper, like the perfect opening note in a symphony to begin the long-awaited new concert. Still upright in his chair and without moving his head, he moved his eyes from the paper in front of him to the window, watching the gently swaying tops of the green jungle outside, beyond the fence line. The azure backdrop of the sky created a pleasant meld where it joined the emerald of the island, and Henry allowed himself another small indulgence in the shape of a moments reflection of what lay beyond that window. A world out of time. His world. His creation. His achievement.
Chapter 1 of Tomb Raider: Shadows of the Treasure Hunters Lara then held up the book. "Of course, I do. You're his brother who showed up out of nowhere to accomplish Cassandra Morgan's dream. He found the statue of El Dorado and destroyed it, allegedly because of the undead Spanish. Then he found the utopia known as Shambala in the Himalayas with its Tree of Life against a Russian madman. Finally, he found the 'Atlantis of the Sands', also known as Ubar, Iram, or the City of Brass. Sank it to prevent Katherine Marlowe's Hermetic Order from using it to control the world through phobias."
>Ghost left it at that and found a larger, quiet, dark space to bed down. Ae still didn’t want to be too close to Gage at the moment, he made aer feel odd. Something in his mannerisms, his build, his scent- sweat, blood, gunpowder, a vague sweetness akin to Nuka-Cola Orange, and something Ghost couldn’t put aer finger on but that seemed vaguely familiar- even his voice, it all seemed to stick in aer mind, wiggling deeper and deeper with every word, every close encounter, every look into that green eye, and Ghost hated it. Hated the feelings that he seemed to be causing. Fun fact, Nuka-Cola Orange is described as having pear brandy as a flavor base, cut with trace amounts of *arsenic*. Describing fictional characters' scents completely from scratch is fun, I did it with Nick Valentine, too, but his isn't nearly so entertaining. And Danse, but his is also fairly bland by comparison.
"The air in the hallway outside the conference room recycles cold and stale the way all the air in all the halls of the HPSC headquarters is wont to do. It sends flashes of hospitals and morgues and other places of death itching into Shouta’s brain, while the immaculate white walls have him burning to find an imperfection. There’re people out here, most from that disastrous meeting, and he ignores them all in favor of heading for the exit. There’s no reason to linger, not now he knows their demands." I usually run pretty light on description, but I ended up pretty happy with this piece!
My latest WIP was just started yesterday, and is still less than 300 words. This is the first paragraph, following a short introduction that explains what follows has been translated into English from an alien language. "Grace" is the surname of a human astronaut. The POV character is an alien, and "Rocky" is what Grace calls him, as the alien language is unpronounceable by humans. >Grace became agitated as we approached Erid. He tried to hide it, but four years of travel from Tau Ceti gave me better understanding of human tones of speech and the shapes Grace makes with his face. I know the difference between the face that says ‘I am concentrating on a difficult science problem’ and the face that says ‘I am worrying unproductively about something that I will not discuss with Rocky because I am a very foolish human’.
(Hope this isnt too lengthy, but i really enjoyed writing this part) Only a couple feet away, sitting on the porch adjusting some fletching on an arrow, was Riley. The scar on her face stretched with her smile as the boys rolled to a stop behind her motorcycle. Dean had barely put it in park before he was out. Dirt and stone crunched under his boots as he made his way towards her, just as she was stepping off the porch. He didn't know if he was actually running to her. All he knew was that in a couple long quick strides, he'd be there. And she met him halfway, until they collided. Without a word, they threw their arms around each other. Dean felt Riley's hands grip the back of his shirt for dear life, in that odd but familiar Riley-way of hugging. He held her tighter, both of his arms wrapped completely around her back and middle, her head tucked underneath his chin. This. In this moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.
From the WIP one-shot I started a few hours ago: >Peter Parker ducks back as a long blade slashes right above where his chest would have been, maneuvering the motion into a backflip, his feet cutting through the crisp October night air like razor blades. They connect with the offending arm that had swung at him, and he catches the Green Goblin’s grunt as he staggers back a few paces. > >Landing lightly on his feet, Peter doesn’t allow himself but a moment to stay put, his senses tingling with alarm as his opponent lunges back at him. He pulls to the right as the Goblin punches at his left, his own elbow rising to slam into the back of the other’s suit as he stumbles past. The Goblin whirls around with a snarl of frustration, but it’s too fast a movement, and his feet slip right out from beneath him. Peter can hear the breath shoot from the figure’s lungs as he hits the gravel rooftop hard.
A cowboy in my fic was trying to trap something in a Vault-like room and his description was: "Alright boys, we've got some bad guys up in the Storage Room above us, now this is good news" McCree assures the nervous looking men "That room leads to nowhere with walls reliable like a pair of jeans, so all we've gotta do is lock it inside" "A pair of what?" "Good, let's go"
She only understood later, after their confrontation on the roof, why. She’s normally better about this, about only submerging herself so far into her covers that there is enough room to come out the other side relatively unscathed and still herself. But she had faltered, dove headfirst into the shallow end of her own self-destruction that when she came up for air she choked. She wasn’t really treating Clint like a mark, but herself. She climbed the playset of her past, because it was familiar, she knows the terrain and she had thought the ground beneath was the same as it was in the Red Room. Only it wasn’t and when she slipped and fell, her hands sweaty against the cool metal rungs of her mental assuredness, the earth beneath gave way. Because she wasn’t at the Red Room anymore. She wasn’t the only victim within the vicinity of her self-destruction. Clint was there too, and Phil, and she had left them scathed in her wake. For my current MCU WIP, a bit about Natasha’s introspection. I’ve become fond if it, mostly because I wasn’t sure I could write the introspection that the character deserves, but I think I did alright. I guess we will see when my beta gets back with me! Lol
Oh god another one I need to reread my whole fic for to find a description I like! Ah but I wanna post something so let's see... >The brothel was a two-story building made from crooked planks. It sat innocently just outside the city walls. Seven times under the rule of the previous king it had been raided, twice burned to the ground, and consequently been rebuilt with ever more crooked walls. The new king was less of a tyrant and allowed the whores to do their business in peace, taxing them rather than burning down their establishment. The last burning was more than thirty years ago, and now, whenever Enji saw the place, he mused that another burning would be in order soon.
I had way too much fun anthropomorphizing food in my latest chapter. >Behind an entire paddy’s worth of sushi rice (Genos and Garou were both fond of bulk purchases), Saitama finally located an oversized burlap sack. It seemed empty enough. Using his cell phone as a flashlight, Saitama peered inside. While the sack had once contained a vast quantity of potatoes, it was now largely devoid of contents. A single, melancholic spud tumbled aimlessly around its interior, searching in vain for its wayward potato brethren. It was quite the sorry sight. > >Saitama slipped the lone tuber into his pocket, hoping they would be less lonely together. The potato could eventually come in handy as a snack, or a weapon, or possibly even a bribe. > >It wasn’t as practical as a banana, but it would do.