• genre: western, romance, ya, lgbt 
• pov: first person present 
• status: planning
• themes: love, tiny towns, self-love, survival, self-worth, found family, forgiveness, religion 
• word count goal: a tentative 10k 

• in the small, texan town of lauderville, there are exactly six hundred and fifty-two kids between the ages of zero and twenty. davie colbarn happens to fall somewhat in the middle at seventeen years old. 
• the average person has ten friends, but davie has ONE. 
• living in a trailer park with his bastard of a father, davie lives day to day by himself. his future prospects don’t look too promising. not to mention, davie knows he’s a sinner. he knows, he knows, he knows. 
• the truth never hits him more than when he sees boys swimming at the pool, or boys kissing their girlfriends, or boys smiling, or boys boys boys. 
• every thought costs him. every thought costs him. 
• but everything changes when an old acquaintance becomes something more, his home becomes a living nightmare, and davie must find out the true difference between living and living - or die.

• davie colbarn - seventeen years old, always anxious. lives with his shitty father in a trailer park in lauderville. 
• heath mclellan - seventeen years old, tired. lives with thirteen other people in a small house made for four people, six people maximum. 
• dolly pardue - davie’s best friend, just trying her best. lives with her aunt and cousin. 

God, his hair is so beautiful. 

I sneak a peek at it out of the corner of my eye as I take a bite out of my sandwich. He has it neatly braided up like always, into a long blond rope down his back. He throws the basketball to his teammate, who throws it into the hoop. And with that, the boys stop their game for now, at least. 

One of his friends claps him on the back. He must have said something funny, because Heath laughs. He pulls his shirt up to wipe at his forehead - and I have to look away immediately. 

“Davie!” Dollar exclaims. I look up at her quickly. “You weren’t listening! Who were you looking at? Who, who?” She grins slyly at me. “I bet it was Florah, huh. It was Florah. I know it.” 

I give her a weak smile. “Yeah. Yeah, uh, Florah.” 

“Oh my god - I knew it!” 

the singer had a mellifluous voice. and  as though kissed by angels she traversed ethereal pitches understanding how to bloom but also haunt the listener.  she catches the thief and has her bare , blanked when without her voice and wet when thinking of it. for hands traced her body with feeling of the singer’s voice and eyes twisting every part of her.  

                                                             VO: THE HOUSE : REST WELL AND THEN COME BACK TO ME SO THAT WE CAN FILL OURSELVES OF REAL LOVE. THE KIND THAT DOES NOT THROW AWAY THE  HAND WHEN IT FALTERS IN ITS EMOTIONS.  BUT THE KIND OF LOVE THAT DROWNS AND EATS THE OTHER . FOR WE ARE TWO MADE FOR EACH OTHER IN EVERY REASON

                           IN WHICH THE HOUSE INQUIRES .

"I love you," Adulwulf said, sad and aching and hollow--his words almost lost in the monstrous rain, "but you're ruined."

“Look.” Jaxara murmured, breaking Adrian out of his reverie. “The suns.” And there they were, the twin sunsrise, slowly rising from the ocean and gliding towards the sky. The air suddenly got warmer, and the cold that had pierced through them moments ago was washed over by a hot breeze, forcing Adrian to remove his overcoat. The suns were supposed to be sacred, some sort of symbol of hope and peace and all other good things in life. For obvious reasons, Adrian never bought any of that. But in these moments, Adrian still hoped.

He looked at the suns, and hoped that maybe it would spark some kind of motivation in him, or whisper to him that the future was going to be okay, that they would all make it out alive, and they would accomplish what they’d been fighting for four years. But the suns remained silent, and Adrian remained faithless.

You are not a monster Sanvi. A voice shattered her melancholy. Sanvi shivered a bit. She’d been so lost in her misery even Zosia could hear it all the way from the Helion Palace.

But I am. I kill without mercy. I feel no sympathy. If I’m not a monster, what am I?  Sanvi’s arms were outstretched, as Zosia replied: A hero. Sanvi bit back at a sob as best as she could.

You are a Celeste-damned hero Sanvi. You are doing this for a greater cause. You are doing this so the future must not suffer from the Light Runner’s brutality. 

Heroes never did anything for a greater good. In all the books Sanvi had read, it was always the villain that gave those reasons for their actions. Sanvi sucked in a breath, and widened the smile on her face.

If history was going to write her down as the villain of this revolution, so be it. She knew that one day she was going to have to pay for her sins. But that day wasn’t today.

"They call her Cinnamon," Freyja said finally and the entire group paused.

Then the laughter came.

She scowled, crossing her arms, "Laugh all you want but she taught me everything I know."

"I'm—I'm sorry," Hansel said through tears and laughter, "It's just—all the names you could choose from and you choose 'Cinnamon'?"

Lorelei shrugged, "Sugar, spice and everything nice, I guess."

Freyja sighed.

GENRES: fantasy, mystery, horror

THEMES: false warfare, political espionage and intrigue, faith vs alchemy, emergence of new era

DEMOGRAPHIC: adult 

NARRATION: third person, past tense, five pov

SUMMARY: In the midst of the undying war between the Three Kings, a pact was made to divide the world in two-folds: death and hunger. 

Carved from the bottom of Zeimrada with no form of nobility or wealth, Leon struggles for survival in the midst of warfare. But when he was framed for murdering the lord’s son, he was sent to the no-man’s land under the king’s jurisdiction to cut down the devil’s kingdom and the war. As he claims his role as the wraith speaker, one who shaped the dead to his calling, he searches for his lost memories and it lead him to Dollmaker.

Only then did Leon remembered the pious and devout are bound to be consumed when the trench devils wakes from their slumber. And dreadful things will always come onto souls when one tempers with hunger. 

From the rising arch of the Wanderer’s Palace, the stone-white landscape of Montevena can be perfectly seen. Built across the flat lands that lie beneath the shadow of the Inezian mountain range, it presents itself with the eminence of a boneyard—unveiled upon the earth in spiked roofs and gaping circles, protected by a wall that surrounds the city like a set of teeth.

“Would it be easier if I were a monster?” I ask, so close that her breath teases my face. Regret itches the back of my tongue before the question passes my teeth. My desire sways on a precipice, waiting for Luci’s response on timid wings. Words leave her mouth so quickly that no thought goes into the—only hardened conviction. “You are a monster.” I rip my hands from her as if the lightning of her heart seared my skin. My chest heaves once in a harsh, dry laugh. Foolish of me to think she would see me any different now after this forced journey and botched proposal, my victory taste sour. I bite my cheek. Iron fills my mouth, wet and metallic as my will. She slips her amulet over her golden head as I turn from her. I welcome the severed connection as she cuts herself off from me, present only like the prick of a phantom limb. One hand rests firmly on Ktiki to ground herself, to hide her trembling. My shoulders roll under silk, agitation turning the fabric to wool scraping against my skin and scar tissue. Her blue eyes, bright and peculiar, are wide as I lean down if only to remind her of the differences in our builds. “Pray to your saints that you have not seen the beast you’ve made of me,” I keep my voice deadly even, free of the snarling and growling of my broken heart. This close and I watch her pupils dilate as I brush her hair away to whisper in her ear—