Crossing Writing Novels & Stories

She smelled like mint and lavender, a combo I didn't know was my favourite until now. My left hand reached for the zipper of her red dress, pulling it down. I unclasped her bra with practiced ease, and everything fell down to her waist. I reached for one of her breasts, fondling it, while my mouth instinctively went for the other, earning me another moan, and I found out I suddenly wanted to hear that sound forever. She held onto me for support, while I ravaged them. My crotch area was painfully hard, it had started to hurt at this point.

I fell to the side. We lay tangled in the sheets for a long time, our bodies pressed close, her hand resting on my chest, feeling the steady thud of my heart beneath her fingers. I kissed her forehead, then the top of her hair. “I was thinking of doing something,” I said quietly. She stirred against me. “About what?” “To honor Jace.” Rae looked up at me, eyes searching mine. “That’s… that’s beautiful. What do you have in mind?” I exhaled slowly, the idea forming more solidly as I spoke. “There’s a bridge on the edge of the territory—the one that leads to the northern cliffs. It’s been unnamed for years. I want to call it the Jace Dax Crossing.”

He just wrote. By the time the library was nearly empty, they had moved through problem after problem, page after page, methodically, silently, and yet the air between them had shifted in a way that was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t hostility, it wasn’t friendship, it wasn’t anything labeled clearly, and that was what made it heavier than anything else. When the session finally ended, Ethan stretched again, shoulders stiff, fingers sore, chest tight. Marcus closed his notebook, sliding it carefully into his bag without a word, without looking up.

I'll be posting prompts for story openings based on our ongoing contests, successful outlines and designs, and if you are up for it, take it and write it out~ Come back to me with your own story and I have contracts to offer~ (well, if you already have a senior editor with GN, go to them :P Code for outline: User ID + Writing Sample ------- They aren't mates. She knew that even before she turned 18 because how could the moon goddess match two people who are the exact opposite? She's lively when he's gloomy; she's all about fun when all he talks about is responsibility.

He was thrilled to stand at the door, to have the wind slap through his hair and clothes while feasting on the sights outside. Soon, the train slowed down and came to a stop. Dev looked around. They were parked at some desolate place with nothing but tall grass around. He glanced at his watch. Three minutes had passed. “Are we at a station or something?” he asked the balding man. “Not really,” he answered. “There’s a crossing here. The express train is due any minute.” He paused to listen. “Talk about the devil. Here it comes.” A BLARE closed in fast and SLAPPED past.

They are walking step by step as they cross along the shallow rough waters. "Yeah...she's been here awhile ago. The scent is still fresh." Fabien exclaims. His gamma vision imprints the one pair of footprints from the tap roots in front. "Let's go. We need to hurry or your little sister won't even see the rising sun in the next circle of the red moon."

Emma also appeared at that moment, her eyes red as she accused me, "Claire, I could overlook it when you plagiarized my designs for your previous assignments… "But this graduation project, the 'Wild Roses' series, is something I created specifically for Victor's birthday. He even helped me with the revisions. How can you still claim you didn't plagiarize it?" All the cameras turned toward Victor in an instant as the reporters waited for his response. I looked at him too. Victor avoided my gaze and said to the reporters, "The 'Wild Roses' design is indeed Emma's creation. When we studied together late at night, I watched her draw the blueprints with my own eyes."

A tiny figure shot out from the shadows in the hallway, crashing into my arms. "Daddy!" Naomi cried, clutching my shirt as she buried her tiny face against it. "I missed you so much, Daddy… Please don't leave again…" I froze where I stood, my hand resting on her soft hair. My fingers brushed the curls—her natural waves, just like mine—and something in my stomach fluttered ever so slightly. When I looked up, Willow was standing near the stairwell, holding a bulging canvas bag. Stray hairs fell across her forehead, tousled by the wind.

Even if there was something to all this vision stuff, what made him think it would work on command, like some sort of trained bear in a circus? “Silly boy,” he muttered, returning to his writing. He had spit out another two hundred words when... *** He (she) looked over everything he (she) had created and smiled. Sure, it had been weeks of hard work, and yeah, it had only been enjoyed for a few hours, but still it was something to be proud of. It was a proper send off to her friends, and hell, it could even be seen as a tribute to the missing friend. Cain's Crossing was full to the brim with Memento Mori, and frankly, he (she) thought that Lacey would love what she had done.