Wlw Writing - Blog Posts

More Than Royalty (wip intro)

I havent been called lia in 10 years. only she did that.  "You said i'd never go through that again so what the fuck happened," she snapped, stopping to catch her breath, "And are you okay."

General:

Genres; romance, YA

setting; a currently unnamed kingdom

themes of; royalty, lgbt relationships, forbidden love, classism, religeous trauma

POV; 1st person

status; character development

target length; novel duology

tag; #wip: more than royalty

CW's; religious trauma, homophobia, kidnapping,

Masterlist

Not great with summaries, be nice.

Summary:

a princess in line to a monarchy that feels outlandish escapes her palace the week before her crowning, going to look for her childhood best friend, whom she was forbidden to see for many years. In leaving, has to leave her little brother behind to be the next king, hoping she can find her girl and be free. She knows that if she doesnt go back, her people will be ruled by cruel leaders; but if she does, she'll never get the life or people she wants.

Characters:

Alia Vallence

Willow Marwah

Marian Vallence

Desmond Vallence

Wade Vallence

Navya Marwah

just a little wlw fluff..lmk what u think (guys chill on me, only writing experience I have is ap english classes from my highschool days)

Pinch me, I need to be reassured that this isn’t a dream. You know when someone says, "If it’s too good to be true, then it is"? God, please don’t let it be true this time. Not this time. It feels too good, it feels too right. If this is a dream, don’t wake me up. Or at least give me 30 more minutes.

But the thing is, it’s not a dream, because I just woke up. The sun’s shining directly in my eyes no matter which way I turn my head. Great, I feel like a vampire.

I blink a few times, trying to adjust, and as I begin to come back to reality, I feel pressure on my body, warmth wrapped all around me. That’s when I immediately realize I’m in her arms.

Usually, she’s not this touchy, not this clingy. For example, when we fall asleep, we’re usually just spooning. She’s not the most affectionate, but she tries. And here she is, unbeknownst to both of us.

Her face is buried in my neck, and I hear her soft inhale and exhale. Her hair sprawls all over the place, tickling my cheek and eye.

Her arms are loosely wrapped around me, but her fingers are purposely interlocked, as if she doesn’t want to let go. Or maybe, as if she doesn’t want me to go.

Half of her body is pressed against mine. This has to be where all the warmth is coming from. Her body heat. And, of course, our legs are tangled under the sheets.

I can’t help but turn my head slightly to face her, but her hair is covering most of her face. She looks so calm, so peaceful, with not a care in the world. She’s comfortable, and so am I. Well, despite my stiff joints begging to be cracked from a good night's sleep.

Her lips are slightly parted, pink and soft—kissable. Her lashes, surprisingly long, make her look as graceful as ever, though they also make me a little jealous. Her brows are furrowed just a bit. Could she be dreaming? I hope it’s not a bad one.

I gently sweep her hair out of her face, unable to help the smile that spreads across my face as I watch her. The sunlight bathes her face perfectly, creating a glow against the white sheets. It’s almost unbelievable how much satisfaction I get from seeing this view. After all this time, it still makes my heart race and fills me with warmth.

I know she’ll probably say she looks a mess right now, always embarrassed when she wakes up and realizes she’s the clingy one. Sure, she might look a little silly if you really stretch it, but I can’t see her as anything less than perfect. Sorry, not sorry, babe.

I dare not move, not to disturb 1) this view, 2) her peace, and 3) this moment. Sometimes, I can’t believe this is real. She is mine. She likes me. Loves me? Don’t get an ego. I don’t know, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. My own dream come true.

So, I guess there’s no need for someone to pinch me. This isn’t a dream, it’s real. I wake up to her every day and sleep beside her every night. And I’m thankful. So blessed to have her.

I can’t help but kiss her cheek softly, a huge, probably dorky smile on my face. I don’t care. Sue me.

Oh shit...she’s waking up now.

(pls hmu or talk to me, or ask me questions, let's through some ideas around, mdni with my blog thnx 🤍)

broken rosary, cinnabar dreams

+18, mdni; bc @vifilms inspired me so hard with her insane drabble i had to restart my laptop and bang this out before the words left me for good; so this one's for u raybaebae !

tw: heavy religious imagery, body worship, blasphemy (lol), extremely mixed metaphors, just stream of consciousness at this point

you think that perhaps god made women because he'd looked at men and said i think can do better. but you're convinced that when god made vi, he'd turned to the nearest angel and said goddamn, i'm good.

and you would worship her like she was made to be worshiped, kiss every inch of her skin till her breaths start to sound like monastic prayers, mark her skin with your piety, offer up bloodied palms and bruising knees, press your forehead to the muscle of her thigh and anoint yourself in her essence. you would worship her, yes. and her fingers in your hair would be as the commandments were, an irrefutable intimacy, from your lips to god's ears (or simply the apex of her thighs -- it's been a long time since you've been able to tell the difference).

because you know she's your saving grace, every bead on your broken rosary, cracked ivory and cinnabar dreams, her lips like sin and her body like so much wretched salvation. you would damn yourself for her. for her.

you'd shake her open, swallow down every drop of her violent grace, hollow her out till she's full of nothing but light, fashion her pleasure into angel wings so beautiful the seraphs might start to call her annabel lee. you'd kiss her into a wild messiah, mortal flesh and divine fecundity, curl your apostle fingers until neither of you can wonder if heaven is indeed just a place on earth.

it's here, in the negative space between your body and hers.

and it has always been here, hasn't it? because there's always love and your bodies have been the making. because poetry is only ever the answer to the question of do you love me?

and truth will always rhyme with your voice saying -- please, please, please.

so she answers your prayers with her mouth wide open, her athena-eyes dark as a moon-rocked sea. from here, pressed against her chest, you swear you can almost hear the angel-wing thrum in her thundering heartbeat.

"o-oh -- oh god -- kiss me --"

you anchor yourself to her with a groan, heed her words with hungering lips and a reverent tongue. you kiss her like it's the only thing you'd been put on this earth to do right, as if you'd been given these lips solely for the sake of this. of kissing her.

of kissing her bloody, and kissing her sweet.

of tracing her into more solid lines even as she shakes close to shattering.

"baby, baby -- i'm close -- fuck -- please --"

you nod, tugging back just a fraction to watch the pleasure break across her face, savoring in the splendor, in the gut-deep reckoning.

"yeah? c'mon violet -- show me -- wanna see you cum for me --"

"a-ah -- hah -- fuck -- oh fuck --"

for this, you think, you'd break the world into war. for this, you remedy, you'd paint the world into peace.

you pluck the desire from her like an unraveling thread, unspooling it in gossamer strands, picking it apart till she's undone beneath you -- in all her gold-limned glory, her bright eyes darkened by love or lust, the ridges of her body a study in perseverance -- you remind yourself to take it slow.

because sure, belief is a steady thing, but faith -- faith is running a marathon with no knowledge of the finish line, only the promise of the wind as she whispers in your ear -- just a bit more, just a bit more...

you slow your pace as vi shudders around you; reality shakes loose around your shoulders and truth becomes nothing more than a bedtime story the hungry tell their children on the nights when there's not enough food to go around the table. you gorge yourself on the sight of her, on the leavening skin of her abdomen, rising and falling with her staccato breaths, on the warmth threading from between her legs, slick and sticky as you pull your fingers away.

"holy... shit --" vi breathes, looking down at you with a half-drawn breath. the room around you shimmers in refracted bits of lucidity and memory. you smile, slipping into the space next to her, curling your body into hers, leaning into her as a supplicant to her majesty.

she smiles, reaching out to caress your cheek. you press into her touch, sating yourself on the gentility.

"god... what did i do to deserve you," she asks, her voice corded and breathy.

you blink open your eyes, uncertain of her meaning.

her, deserving of you?

you shuffle forward till your nose is pressed into the junction of her neck, till she is every breath your lungs have the dignity to breathe.

"you're everything, vi," you say, and you hope she understands. you hope she can hear the utter reverence in your voice, the debasement to which you would allow yourself to sink just to convince her of this one, singular truth.

everything.

vi laughs, reaching out to pull you close.

she grazes a kiss by your temple and you try not to whimper.

"and you're everything to me, pretty girl," she says, murmuring the words into the crease between your brows. you tug back to catch the flash of something that looks almost like that self-same adoration in the flutter of her lashes, the darkness of her eyes.

you do not think she understands; you pray she does anyways.

"c'mon doll -- time for bed," she says, chuckling as she hauls you into her chest, littering your skin with a flurry of kisses. your bodies settle against each other as the ocean might a stretch of familiar shore. as raindrops might recognize the specific mirror of the sea -- your souls tied, your breaths sighing in tandem -- ah yes, this is where i'm meant to be.

you let sleep caress you with her silken fingers, let her paint your dreams in shades of violet and blue, let moonlit-silver and midnight-sin sink into your skin. you fall asleep in violet's arms.

you do not hear her say i love you, in a voice singed with holy flames. but you do feel her kiss you. and you think, even in your dreams, that her lips have always tasted like smoke.