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Wow, all of you are such great authors!

I'm sure you are too. We all have our doubts about our stories.

(whoa…. all of you are such great writers! Here's a little snippet of mine:)
Jay pulled the gray hood of her sweater low over her face as she walked at a brisk pace with her hands in her pockets and her shoulders hunched. The chilling late-autumn air bit through her warm layers of clothing and seemed to cackle and shree evilly as it whirled around her and filled her head with its cacophonous scream. London, she thought to herself, is a miserable place to be in November. It was as if winter was freshly out of its stone-cold egg and was tumbling around in all the iciness it could muster this early and wreaking havoc, not fully having grasped the notion of its power. Autumn was still technically in reign, but winter still clutched everything in its premature claws and was maliciously doing everything in its power to ruin the lives of anything not safely tucked away in its home.

Ok here's the most recent bit of my story.. (background- all of the Turnstike family are vampires and they're not actually related, they just say they are for Tax Evasion Purposes, and the day before this Montague Turnstike lost control of the horses and almost ran over Ada's nephew Clarence before jumping off the carriage into a bush and trying to walk three blocks in the sun)

Meanwhile, at the back of the shop, Milton was leaning on a carriage wheel and looking at Rosie with nearly the exact same expression Rosie had had looking at Ada just moments before. It wasn’t a particularly attractive look on either of them. To be honest it was incredibly dopey, and it’s almost definitely a good thing nobody saw it in its full force. Tucker, who had come into the shop from the back door, just barely caught the tail end of Milton’s and burst out laughing. The shift in his expression from idiotically dreamy to slightly embarrassed but businesslike was unsettlingly abrupt. Tucker laughed harder. They laughed as a response to almost everything. Depending on the situation, it could generally come off as overly friendly, mocking, or occasionally downright terrifying. In this particular instance, it came off as VERY mocking, and Milton, who was already upset that this stranger had caught him staring, got a little frosty with them.

“Yes?” he asked, “Is there a reason you’re here? Besides just– you wanted– I mean– to– laughing at me?”

Even at the best of times, Milton wasn’t very good with words, and this was far from the best of times.

“Sorry,” Tucker said, not looking the least bit sorry, “but you know she doesn’t see you that way. Right?”

Milton’s ears turned a brighter shade of magenta than the pinstripes on Tucker’s pants and jacket and he sputtered and stammered and cast about desperately for anything resembling an answer. In the days following the exchange, he thought of about fifty sharp retorts (the best of them started off “What do you know? You’ve never been here before; you don’t know Rosie OR me and besides, aren’t you Tucker Turnstike? What could you possibly know about love, with all your parties and gadding about with a some new person every night?” and continued on like that for several paragraphs. It’s probably just as well he didn’t have that ready on the spot. He never would have been able to say the whole monologue out loud without faltering, and if he had, it would have rolled right off Tucker’s back, like water off a duck, and they would have teased him mercilessly every time they saw him) all of which were better than what he eventually landed on in the moment: a drawn out, unconvincing “ye…e..e..es…?”

Tucker raised their eyebrows, but (thankfully) dropped the subject and told him the real reason they were there.

“You know my cousin Montague’s little escapade yesterday? In the carriage? Ada said you fainted in the middle of it. Anyway, the wheels on the carriage look really beat up and I hear you’re the best one to go to for fixing and stuff or whatever.”

Milton blushed at the compliment, but groaned a little (a lot more than a little) on the inside. He didn’t want to spend any more time than he had to with this (rude, confusing, irritatingly attractive) stranger. And he definitely didn’t want to go to their house, especially since they would most likely invite him to stay for lunch and politeness forbade him from refusing. However, he couldn’t think of any reason not to go with them, and from their description the carriage was probably not in movable condition, so he sighed, picked up his toolbox, and followed them out the back of the shop.

They paused in the doorway to put the hood of their cape up. Milton stared.

“…What?”

“Nothing.” He figured it wouldn’t be polite to ask why they were wearing a hooded cape in the middle of a sunny day in June. Tucker rolled their eyes and started out again, Milton close behind.

They walked the first half block in an awkward silence before Tucker started up with (the bane of human existence, the worst thing ever to become a societal norm) small talk.

“So… how did you get into… carriages?” they asked, and Milton enjoyed a rare moment of having a witty response ready when he needed one.

“Usually there’s a little step thing on the side, but if there isn’t I can usually just pull myself up and in.”

“So you must be pretty strong then..”

Milton looked at them askance and returned to walking in silence. (He had been returned to his usual wordless state by the unexpectedness of the comment.)

“I don’t think we introduced ourselves.” said Tucker, after a few more moments of uncomfortable silence. “I’m Tucker. Turnstike.” Milton had heard of the notorious Tucker Turnstike, who held parties every other week and a new guest just about every night. He had never seen them in person. It just stood to reason that they were the one sent to get him to fix the carriage.

“Milton Weatherby.”

“Milton Weatherby. That’s a nice name. Mine used to be Secundus Allegretti, but I changed it when I moved here.”

Milton just grunted, so they kept trying with the horrors of small talk.

“So, Milton Weatherby, how did you meet that mechanic you like so much?”

His cheeks reddened, but he didn’t otherwise acknowledge that they had said anything.

“Nice weather we’ve been having, isn’t it? Makes things a little more difficult, and Monty passed out, but…” They gestured to their hood. Milton gave them a funny look.

“Did he get heatstroke?” he asked, finally reciprocating the dreaded small talk.

“I guess you could say that! I mean it was more like sunstroke, but it’s the same idea.”

“He’s okay now?”

“Yeah, he was just out for nine hours. Ate a whole chicken when he came around. It’s because he never leaves the *** house, I’m telling you.” Milton gaped like a fish on a dock, and Tucker started laughing again, but it was friendly this time, rather than mocking. “You can see him if you want. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“We don’t.”

“Oh..” They were quiet for a blessed moment, but, never one to be easily daunted, launched right back in to a new topic.

“Have you seen Ada– Miss Williams’ nephew since the incident yesterday?”

“No.” 

“Well, my cousin Skippy, you know the one? Tall, dark and mysterious? Who’s got all the rumors flying around?” Milton suspected they were trying to bait him into asking if the rumors were true, and didn’t react. “He was down there last night to pick Monty up. Said the kid seemed fine. Nasty scrape on the head, though.”

His eyebrows drew together in a concerned look, (which ‘made him look like a kicked puppy’, Tucker thought) but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to encourage them to keep talking.

“I heard you saved his life a couple years ago, is that true?”

“S’pose so,” he conceded, looking at the ground.

“Well I guess that makes you a hero, Milton Weatherby!”

Milton gave them a look that wasn’t quite a glare, but it was much closer to a glare than he usually gave to anyone. Then again, he rarely had (rude, prying, irritatingly attractive, utterly confusing) strangers poking their noses into his life. In fact, he usually only really talked to Rosie and Ada. Clarence too, when he was there, but still. None of them were particularly rude or confusing, although Rosie was (often distractingly) pretty, and Clarence did tend to pry.

@calellory that is really good omg, I want to read more of it!! x
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Yelling.
So much of it.
All aimed at me.

“Fuck this.” I snarled, swiping my keys and cigarettes off the table as I stormed to the front door, shoving past my mother when she made to stand in front of me.

“Come back here you ungrateful creature!” She screamed, following me as far as the door until I slammed it in her face, shoving on my boots despite my lack of socks. I didn’t even bother lacing them up, just stomped to my car and got in, slamming the door and then just inhaling the familiar smell of dust, lavender and cigarette smoke; the itchy seat-fabric biting into my bare thighs.

After taking a few deep breaths I leaned over and grabbed the box of CD’s from the back seat and started angrily flicking through my collection, pausing when I came across The Runaways 1976.

Huffing, I took the case out of the box and stuck the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life with a mechanic grumble when I twisted the oddly shaped metal, perhaps a little too hard. Biting my tongue, I slid the disc into the CD player and waited, half-screaming in frustration when the disc was rejected. “Fuck!” I yelled, pulling the cd out and tugging on my Looney Tunes shirt, rubbing the disc vigorously on the soft material.

Taking a deep breath and being careful not to break the fragile plastic, I shoved the disc back into the little slot thing and waited impatiently, fingers tapping on the rough leather of the steering wheel. After a near-unbearable few seconds the start of "Cherry Bomb" started pumping through the speakers and I let out a triumphant huff.

Pushing the clutch into the ground, I took off the hand break and slid into reverse, muttering along to the lyrics. Applying the lightest amount of pressure to the accelerator I began to take my foot off the clutch, making sure my wheel was turned the right way. Slowly, I reversed out of the drive, pressing the break when I was on the road and sliding into first gear, turning up the volume of the music when I was sure that my car wasn’t going to stall. As I started driving down the street I absentmindedly indicated and turned, heading in a random direction as I clumsily slid a cigarette out of the box and placed it between my lips, using my faulty lighter to light the end of it and breathing in a lungful of dangerously addictive smoke.

I drove mindlessly, occasionally bursting into shouts of frustration of my mother and I’s stupid argument about my school attendance. Finally I pulled over in front of a random house and stared at my bruised fingers clutching the steering wheel, wondering briefly which fight had left the skin in such a state before realising that it didn’t matter. Running a hand through my greasy white hair I started chewing on my tongue, having thrown my cigarette butt out the window a few moments earlier.

After a few quiet moments of consideration I reached over the gear-stick and opened the glove box, taking out my phone and turning it on, blinking against the brightness and then unlocking the device when I saw texts from Harper.

Harper
Hey, are you okay?? You’ve driven past my house liek three times?
11:54pm

Harper
like**
11:55pm

Shaking my head and looking at the houses around me I tapped out a response, inspecting my hair while I waited for a reply. "This shit really needs a wash," I muttered, despairingly.

You
Had a fight with mum, she said some choice words and I left.
Driving calms me down y’know?
12:01am

Harper
Shit girl, want to talk about it?
12:01am

You
Not over text, no
12:04am

Harper
Then come pick me up, you loser x
12:05am

You
Geez, fine! I’ll be there in a few x
12:05am

Feeling a lot calmer after my brief conversation with the idiot I called my boyfriend, I restarted the car and used someone's driveway to turn around and go back the way I came, tapping along to a random tune in my head. I’d been driving for that long that the CD had ended quite a few minutes ago, i just hadn’t been bothered to change it.

I kept my lights low as I pulled up in front of Harper’s house down the familiar streets and pulled up outside of Harpers house, waiting for the punk boy to make an appearance. He didn’t disappoint, sliding into the passenger seat just as I was lighting another cigarette. I wordlessly passed the box to him and he took one, leaning over so that I could light it for him.

We sat in the quiet for a moment, the only sounds being those of the engine softly rumbling and the sound of CD’s being moved as Harper flicked through them all, searching for something in particular. He continued looking for a few moments, taking a drag from his cigarette every now and then, before ‘aha-ing’ and pulled out the copy of Love Songs For The Retarded by The Queers that he left in my car because “i have a better sound system.”

Or, in other words, I actually have a working car.

I watched as he placed the stick between his lips and ejected my disc, commenting on my good choice and placing it delicately back in its case, before sliding in his own and waiting for the music to start. When it did he grinned at me and removed the ‘cancer stick’ from his mouth, leaning over to give me a kiss when I did the same.

It tasted of smoke and cheap beer and it was so Harper that I almost found myself laughing.

God, I love him I thought fondly, pulling away from the kiss.

This was just what I opened my computer to…I hope y'all like it. (For reference Camie is 4'11 and Lukas is 6'2)

Camie was curled up under a warm blanket on the couch at the house reading a book in the early morning hours. She heard a creaking coming from the stair hallway, Lukas poked his head through the door. “Morning Camie!! You’re up early… as normal. Can I join you?”
Camie grinned and patted the spot next to her while she closed her book. “Of course!” Lukas happily walked over to the couch and sat down next to Camie.
He tugged at the blanket. “Share?”
“Always.” Camie surrendered half the blanket, but Lukas pulled the rest off of her revealing Camie’s pajamas, an over sized t-shirt and huge sweatpants.
Lukas raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Um Camie, are you wearing my clothes?”
Camie tugged at the blanket, trying to cover the clothes that were so glaringly Lukas’. “Uh, no?”
“Cam that is not a question you should answer with another question.”
“No, these are definitely mine.” Camie blushed.
“Oh really?” Lukas got up and pulled Camie up with him. He picked her up, raising her above his head, revealing the extra twelve inches at the bottom of her pants. “How come your shirt is down to your knees and how come you have an extra foot of length on the bottom of your pants?” Lukas’ eyes were alight with laughter.
“Put me down.” demanded Camie.
“If I do, will you tell me whose clothes you have on?”
“Fine.” Camie relented. Lukas put her down and waited expectantly. Camie clasped her hands behind her back and looked at the ground, playing the part of a guilty child. “These may or may not be clothes that I stole out of your room.”
“Oh really? They only may or may not be?”
Camie sighed. “Yes they are yours. But they are so much cozier then mine, I just couldn’t help it.”
Lukas laughed. “You can borrow my pajamas anytime you want.”
Camie hugged him excitedly. “Thanks! Now do you want to read with me..?”
“Of course.” The couple sat down together and read the book enjoyably for the next couple of hours until Everleigh and Markus woke up.

@imjustshy pls read more of it the whole thing so far is on wattpad https://www.wattpad.com/story/130315864-of-turnstikes-boots-and-williamses

I see this is an old thread but it seems fun. So here is the start of one of my stories. I did take a few things out.

The sun was setting on the monastery as Hendrik stared out of the window, leaning on his desk with an unfinished assignment. The first autumn breeze blew the first autumn leaves of the old oak trees outside and made them move through the air in a rhythmic dance. He could see a few of the farmers still working to haul in their crops in the distance. It was a busy time for everyone around the monastery as the harvest had to be brought in before the first frost would come from the north. Hendrik sighed. When he was just a kid he would help his father to bring in the potatoes and beets. It was the time of year that his father and mother would spend as much time with him as possible because once the harvest was done and the morning frost started to appear, it was time for the long journey south.
……..
Hendrik yawned and stretched his arms and back. It would only be half an hour until it became too dark for him to see what he was doing and it was almost time for dinner anyway. He gathered the loose papers and placed them in the drawer for safe keeping. He’d get back to it in the morning. For now, he’d have to get some food in his stomach and rest for his eyes.
He made his way through the hallways to the dining hall. Brother James had already lit the several lanterns to light the way and the aroma of cooked bird beckoned him from the other side of the monastery.

Many of his fellow brothers were already present in the dining hall. By this time of the year, not even one-third of the hall was filled and it would remain that way until harvest season was over and the farmers brought their sons to study during the winter. It was why the monastery seemed to be abundantly large for a total of only twelve monks, excluding father Bartholomeus and himself of course.

Upon entering he immediately noticed the two unfamiliar faces sitting at the end of one of the tables in use and as far away from the monks as possible. Hendrik sat down at the other table at his usual spot which offered a reasonable view of the two men. They had tanned skin which was of a much softer and more yellowish hue than that of the farmers working outside all day. Both of them were dressed in an armour which seemed to be mostly made out of thick leather and the axe laying on the bench beside the broader one of the two indicated that their occupation probably involved dangerous and daring battles. Besides their clothes and coloured skin, the two men appeared very different.
The broadest of the two had a bald head and was quite clearly build for feats of great strength and close combat. If he would have worn the right armour he could have been one of the king’s men. Other than that Hendrik couldn’t make out much since the man was sitting with his back towards him.
The other man was a lot easier to observe and would probably be less threatening when standing in front of you compared to his large companion. Like his bald friend, he was well trained, although it seemed to be of a more acrobatic nature. He had long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and a well kept pointy beard that defined his long elegant face crowned by two deep brown eyes. He looked around with interest and an air of dignity to him, catching Hendrik staring at him. The man gave him a warm smile and a wink. Hendrik quickly averted his eyes and stared at his still empty plate to hide his red face.