There went the dream and the nightmare together. Losing his brother, while gaining a kid in the process. A strange, fretful kid with little clue about how the world worked, who still refused to set foot outside, yet also listened intently at him, and did her best to follow his instructions when he heaped a pile of modern world implements in her lap. A tablet. A smartphone. A laptop of her own. She had looked at these with equal fascination and wariness, not daring to touch them at first, casting questioning looks his way every time he told her it was her turn now. Her turn to place her first call, input her first contact. Her turn to open a browser and create her first email address—she didn’t even know she could have one or how to actually use it. Her turn to log in to the brand new tablet and configure her very first app.

I'll have to curb my use of "process" during the editing phase. I like it a little too much.
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Dan reflecting upon his first days (well, nights) with Magda.

Him. The Mountain King. The tall, dark figure with blue stars in place of eyes, cutting a striking pose in his uniform, his curly black hair floating in his back, his feet firmly planted atop that pile of corpses. All the details, too. Not just some basic uniform: one with enough details to show the artist had done their research. Not just random dead bodies, but the ones of his fellow soldiers, comrades and foes alike (double-checking pictures on Wikipedia and a few other pages written by various history buffs proved it). There was a terrifying, overwhelming presence to this character, to his dialogue always in blue text inside black bubbles—the same blue as his eyes—and to the meaning of his words. This kind of foe didn’t die in this one episode, oh, no. He would come back to haunt the heroes many times, if only because he did seem made of the stuff of dreams itself: an actual nightmare, feeding and thriving on all the mental sludge people vomited into the Oneiros when they slumbered.

Only 4 instances of "stuff" in here??
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

From when Sam reads the "Dream No More" comics within the story. The Mountain King is a main antagonist in there, and he's staying with her. (Not sure if posted a similar excerpt in the past.)

Calum bloody Fairchild, solicitor and favourite Thrall of Ellen bloody Cole. There was no way he could mistake that perfect poise, that impeccable suit, that underlying calm arrogance born not from his own power, but from the master he served. The database search wouldn’t even have been necessary at this point, but perhaps Dan just needed that one remaining piece to admit to himself how truly, fully and absolutely bonkers this whole story was becoming. ‘Fuck you, E. Coli.’ He flung the printed pictures on the floor, watched them scatter haphazardly.

I hate this word, "need." It's absolutely *everywhere* in this WIP 😭
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Dan got the cult investigated. This is the moment when he gets the results, and realises that trampling them = going to war with another vampire.

The hint of a playful smile tugging at Dan’s lips. Magda knew that expression, that stance: he was about to teach her something, and it was… thrilling. Thrilling to watch him negotiate, lay down terms she’d never have thought about herself. Not getting it done here. Abiding by the standard terms, through a call from the human world to the Obverse, and yes, this was more difficult now, yet there were ways to circumvent this—having the spirit’s name, for starters. And more: the need for a proper contract. No time limit on her decision making, regardless of the result. No retaliation. Clauses of secrecy, in acceptance and in refusal. The Riddler themself seemed taken aback; perhaps he had expected such savvy from a mage, not from a vampire.

I don't have shortcut, but I have circumvent. That should work?
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Dan negotiating with a Spirit on Magda's behalf.

For a second, the Hunter just stood there, her body still poised for defence, her brain scrambling to comprehend this new development. The grotesque, ghastly immune system stopped targetting her and the girl, turned as one primordial mind towards the silhouette rising from amidst the rampant chaos; and there was no telling whether that was help or a new enemy, whether she should grab Magda and flee for their lives, or seize the opportunity to run and stab the mechanical heart.

"Rampant". Spoilerish scene from the end chapters, but it's the only occurrence I've found.
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Sam and Magda have to fight alongside each other in the Obverse, but now someone else has invited themselves to the party.

Magda nodded slowly, then reached for the steaming mug—a Dream No More one, depicting Ayo and Ngozi, the twin little girls who wielded the power of lightning and rain, flying hand in hand over the coloured landscape of Oneiros, the land of dreams. Ezekiel’s favourite characters on the heroes’ side, because they, too, were identical.

So many tea mugs in this story. If you couldn't tell before this is set in the UK, now you know 😂
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

It was scary and lonely and so far removed from the safety of the group, yet the group didn’t feel like home anymore. Vacant stares, peaceful smiles, empty words. The writings she kept on studying, all the little things that didn’t make sense anymore, didn’t match her memories—since when had Telos sent emissaries through the Lost Hour, or told Their converts they must serve by letting Them reap their souls? Magda remembered the old chants and songs, the glory and the ecstasy, but the newer ones didn’t elicit that awe in her anymore, their lyrics twisted, dissonant, as she contemplated them in the secrecy of her mind. And Mother’s warnings: ‘Please, please keep pretending. No one must know. Your father especially mustn’t know, or he’ll kill us.’ Just one year ago, Magda would’ve welcomed her Initiation and a wedding to Achim as the ultimate proof of her god’s love, of Father’s love. Not anymore.

A cult has "converts", right?
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

A glimpse into Magda's past.
(Achim is her half-brother btw. 😭)

Bri turned away to the laptop on the counter, opened at present on the Waterstones webpage. Now that the young woman wasn’t paying closer attention to her, Sam stole a glance at the corkboard on the wall behind her, sporting leaflets, articles and other photos pinned haphazardly all across its surface in a friendly mess. A few ads: guitar classes, a student offering to type theses and other manuscripts in exchange for a small payment. A clipping of a magazine article, celebrating the store’s fiftieth birthday, next to a colour photo of people half hidden behind Bri’s shoulder. A postcard depicting a striking blue sea and a beach of glittering pale sand. Several leaflets for amateur plays performed in the area, some already past.

My one instance of "beach" (it's all set in London, what were you expecting 😂)
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Sam went into the Full Fathom Five bookstore, as part of her stalking Magda. I may or may not leave this description when I edit this chapter.

‘I’m not familiar with the young ones, if that’s what they are,’ Sister Annette said after pondering for a minute or two. ‘There’s a nest of Irish vampires down in Southwark, so the Aoife one might be linked to them, but nothing particular comes to mind. They’ve been relatively quiet, all things considered. Frankly, it’s that Brad fellow who strikes me as more of a troublemaker here, as a newcomer who probably… doesn’t know all the local rules.’ Doesn’t, not didn’t. The good sister was no fool; she just danced around the elephant sitting next to the flaming bush in the middle of the room right now.

"Fool".
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Sam telling the other Hunters about her adventure with Brad. (The current rules in London are "don't attack a supernatural unless they attack you first". Let's say she prodded Brad, and the other Hunters know it.)

‘Stay away, kid,’ Zandra warned in a low voice, because Magda had already taken a step in that monster’s direction. ‘He’s not—’ ‘Dan?’ the girl called again, louder. The thing froze for a second, its many hands of darkness reaching forward to block the current wave, then half turned to look at them, its hood now down, its face a mask of swirling darkness, the only remaining note of colour in it a pair of deep blue irises drowning within pitch-black sclera. It still had the shape of the man Sam had met at the gallery, the man who only took the pictures for the website, the man whose twin brother had posed in that innocent photo at Full Fathom Five; but that was all. Everything else was shadow. To her growing horror, the dense mass of obscurity in his back still doing his dirty work, he started coming for them instead.

"Step", another word I like a little too much. /sigh
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Sam, upon seeing Dan's true form as a Sceadu vampire. 😬

Fortunately for Sam, coming of age in an era of podcasts, streams and YouTube channels allowed her to meet a certain demand for urbex and other quirky exploration videos—she didn’t even need to show her face when filming. It sure beat bartending; or doing pizza deliveries; or trying to get her kickboxing classes going on again, after everything had gone downhill one year and half ago—not so easy when you didn’t want to bring your whole business, and with it your whole identity, online for the whole world to see. Her few personal clients had moved on since the beginning of the pandemic, and it’d be a while before things got back on track there. She thought of all this while driving her beaten old nondescript van down the M20 at seven in the evening, under yet another curtain of rain the likes of which only her home country could deliver.

"Film"
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: a sneak peek into how Sam actually makes a living. Tossing a coin to your Witcher doesn't help much anymore in 2021 pandemic 😉

Her voice died. It wasn’t Dan who had spoken—Dan himself had already stepped in front of her, an arm extended, new shadows pouring onto his other hand, coating once again the obsidian blade gripped between his fingers. Where the small spirit had fled earlier on, another mass was coalescing, transluscent at first, solidifying into razor-sharp crystalline limbs and shiny faceted eyes. A spider? A flower? The way its presence vibrated slightly against the stale air of the Shard, it could only be a Spirit as well, but a stronger, smarter one. At least, it hadn’t tried to ambush them, and her companion also hadn’t immediately ripped it to shreds. ‘Excuse me, do I know you?’ Dan asked, his tone neutral for now. ‘I doubt it. You smell a little of this world, though. You smell of… ahhh, how nostalgic! Host to a swarm of Vashtai. Impressive. How come they haven’t devoured you yet?’

Finally, something in my WIP that vibrates but isn't a phone 😑
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: first encounter with Kimmerrin the Spirit.

Most of Sam’s clothes were of the practical kind: dark enough to hide blood stains, tight enough to prevent enemies from grabbing them, sturdy shoes engineered for running and kicking. She owned only one garment that might have passed for elegant, a little black dress—one could never go wrong with a little black dress—paired with a royal blue silk scarf, which she presently wore under a grey woolen coat Sister Annette had kindly lent her. The coat ended up relegated to the cloakroom, although she didn’t part from her handbag and its treasure trove: lipstick and mascara for appearances’ sake, her phone with a new pay-as-you-go SIM, a little sewing kit—and a couple of Air Tags already connected to the phone, secreted inside the lining, just in case. Her weapons, she left home, vindicated in her choice upon seeing the bouncer’s diligence to search every single bag at the door. In an emergency, the scissors from the sewing kit would have to do.

Interesting: I only use the term "royal" to describe colours in this!
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore
Context: Sam is going to attend the opening for a new exhibition at the Photographers' Gallery--where she'll meet Dan and Magda in the flesh for the first time. 👀

The burner phone, she crushed with a piece of concrete, hitting the device again and again and again, her breath coming out in short bursts of faint white mist, until nothing was left but a sad ruin of plastic and electronic components. A quarter to midnight, in the plant’s yard. It left the cult’s mages two hours to try and organise themselves and drive to the place. If they already knew it as a Dead Zone, they’d need review their options without much more time to spend in preparations; if they didn’t, well, they’d be up for a surprise when their spells fizzled to nothing. That was the worst plan she had ever concocted; Old Willard would be ashamed of her. Between the twin prospects of a maarim on one side and an elder leech on the other, most plans would go to the dogs anyway. Yes. She had definitely not signed up for that.

"Option"
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Sam knows her plan sucks bollocks, but she's committed now.

There were too many people in this Shard. Way too many. It shouldn’t have been like that. It never was. ‘Dan! Let’s go! I can’t keep it busy much longer!’ An iridescent ribbon of light was flying straight from the tip of Zeke’s quill, showing the way to an exit they could slip through. More worrisome, Dan also clearly discerned Morgan’s normally invisible shield around them, long, deep cracks propagating one after the other onto its surface. That blasted tree wouldn’t let them go gentle into the night.

I don't really have good excerpts with "gentle" :/
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: the scene at the tree in the nightmarish Greenhouse. Zeke has been shielding everyone so far, but even this is starting to fray.

No. He could tell Zandra lots of things, but not this one, not about Magda. No more monsters. No more darkness in the kid’s life. It wasn’t fair to her. She deserved so much better. So much more light. Not him. Not his shadows, and certainly not the attention of his enemies. Even the attention of his allies may be her undoing. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He mustn’t. He— She placed her hand on his—a nudge, a hint of offering, the touch of her cold skin a sudden firebrand searing a warm path across the ice in which he scrambled to keep his resolution trapped. ‘There was someone else in that greenhouse,’ a voice said, the merest whisper, weaseling its way out of his throat, his lips, giving a sudden shape to the mess in his mind. ‘A mage. A young one, a kid. Zeke… Zeke wanted me to help her, so I let her stay here for a while. But it was wrong! She’s much better with the others, with mages. Not with me.’ ‘You let. A mortal child. Live with you.’ It sounded even more terrible when she said it.

Offer(ing)
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Dan finally spilled the beans about Magda to Zandra. It was high time.

Did every parent go through such moments? That awkwardness. That sudden necessity to explain what, to him, was the most obvious thing in the world. A faint tingling, somewhere deep inside old, old memories. Lily’s tiny hand grabbing his little finger, her wee body pressed against his leg. Douglas grinning with pride, showing his school report. Ezekiel crouching between them, arms around both their shoulders, a perfect picture of a perfect father and children, framed within the confines of the one eye of Dan’s, at the time, brand new Leica I. He still treasured that photograph in their private vault at the Bank of England—one of the very few remaining of the two siblings.

No lily flowers, but references to a character named Lily, so...
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Lily and Douglas were Dan's niece and nephew.
(They feature in my posts for a couple of other prompts. I hope this excerpt here isn't a repeat...)

‘Still saying we should all go. We could bring weapons,’ Seo-Yeon muttered, prompting Talia to retort: ‘I don’t keep weapons in my library!’ ‘Don’t worry. I’m bringing one already.’ ‘Your swords—’ ‘Zandra’s coming with me.’

I have mages, so of course I have a library!
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Seo-Yeon and Dan in Talia's library, right before the vampires go to Magda's rescue. (She's in an area extremely bad for magic; the mages, unfortunately, can't help there.)

Dan stood unmoving in the same spot, skin fading to white, fists balled at his sides, dilated pupils turning his eyes into deep pools. His gaze alighted on Connor first, then on each of the mages, one after the other—slow, unblinking, as if considering which juicy prey to pounce on first. Darkness threatened to drown his irises; black veins crept from the corners of his eyelids, spidering down his cheeks, his neck, his forearms. The Vashtai, he called them. The shadows that fed on blood and flesh, remnants of the Obverse using him as a host, while he used them as slaves. And the Vashtai wanted to come out and play. ‘I shall remove myself from the premises, before I do something I’ll regret,’ he said in a slow cadence, all colour gone from his voice. ‘But know the only reason you’re still alive, is because I respect Talia and all the efforts she put into this place. So, show her some gratitude, will you?’ He turned on his heels, without a single glance for the young mages still gaping at him, and left the reading room. The shadows retreated in his wake, the air gradually warmed again; the light, though, would need a lot longer to fully reassert its presence here.

"Wake".
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Connor the mage has just accused Dan of not giving a crap about Ezekiel. Way to press the Big Red Button, mate. Well done.

The mage took a long breath, shook her head, and presented the bowl to the small creature. It took a while before the cat finally opened an eye, then the other, and lifted her head just long enough to dart a pale tongue and lap a few sips. She felt a little heftier already, unless Dan was just imagining it? No, not just heftier: less disturbingly flat as well, drawing consistenc from his blood. As she lapped again and again, her weight and shape kept on changing, until she felt like an actual pet, if still a small and thin one. ‘Sceadu.’ The reedy, ethereal voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, so faint that all of them in the room, the living and the dead alike, threw bewildered glances at each other first. Dan looked back at the weak creature, at her large eyes, one golden, one blue. Magda’s eyes.

I like the word "dart" a little too much in this story
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Magda, trapped in a zone where magic is very difficult, tried to summon a spirit. It kind of worked, but now the spirit has a paper body that needs strengthening.

Dan’s mind scrambled for the right words, the right concepts, to understand what he was thus witnessing: a train lying on its side, paint brand new and shiny under the layers of grime, white coach ornated with a single band of lovely dark lavender (266 C, his brain supplemented again). ‘Is this…’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘She’s the first one of us to be born post-Shattering,’ C.T. offered, her tone strangely subdued, full of reverence. ‘It was tense enough with Lee fourty years ago—’ ‘Ohhh, do you remember, dear? How Polly and Lou both fought so hard about who’d get to be her godparent!’ ‘—but now, we’re really not sure what it’ll be like. All we can do is be careful, and follow the processes to the letter,’ she finished with a pointed glare at her boss. The wider picture was coming together, and wasn’t it fitting they were here, precisely here, at the centre of all things, at Liverpool Street? This would be their little sister, or perhaps he should call her their cousin—the latest Liner, not ready to run yet, but almost there, almost!…

I actually got rid of most of my "additional" words, so here's "supplement" instead
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: at Obverse!Liverpool Street station, witnessing what is currently being unearthed there. (Yes, Dan thinks in Pantone colours.)

At the same time, his mind was racing in other directions as well, which was good, keeping busy was good, so much better than sitting there in that bedroom and fluffing up the same cushion over and over again and worrying, worrying, worrying. It couldn’t end like this, it wouldn’t end like this, so many things to take care of, and that, that he could do. Lights. Camera. Action! His way, always.

No one's running a marathon in there, so I picked "racing" instead.
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Dan going into organising mode. Because goodness forbid he'd actually sit down and process his Feelings instead.

The quay was coming to an end, and that would’ve been the perfect point for it to open onto a flight of stairs. What had the stairs at this long-lost station looked like? The memory now failed him—was it even the right one to invoke? Think, Dan. Think of what caused this. Oxblood tiles. Leslie Green designs. Other tiles, cream and white and midnight blue. Something different. Something bigger, something newer, something modern, where the ghosts of those long-dead passengers couldn’t follow, where their presence wouldn’t nip at his heels, try to grab his daughter. Like Paddington, or Liverpool Street—yes, this one, amidst the sea of steel and glass City skyscrapers, station doors disengorging passengers onto Bishopsgate, stairs on one side, escalators on the other, the gleam of metal, faded signs giving way to colourful ones… And there it was, there at the top of the stairwell: another silhouette, vibrant, solid, a station attendant surely, although a tiny part of his mind couldn’t help wonder since when TfL employees had started to wear pink…

For a story in which one central location is literally called the Greenhouse, I don't even that many green colours... 😅
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Obverse Tube stations chapter. Dan has messed up, and is now running away from, uh, a dead station.

‘Are we clear?’ the unknown woman repeated. ‘Yes.’ ‘Perfect. You sound smarter than your usual lot, so I hope that means good things.’ Dan’s lip curled in a scornful smile as his treacherous fingers managed to type one message to Seo-Yeon: ‘Trece Madga nubmer, nwo.’ Then he placed it on the table, next to the first phone, whose screen displayed a new notification, a simple message with just a dot and an attachment: a short video of Magda, unconscious but obviously breathing, bundled into a pile made of blankets and a sleeping bag, wrists manacled to the pipe of an old column radiator. He could make out the corner of a window, and of the darkness of night behind it, but no useful details. That bitch was a walking ghost already, she just didn’t know it yet.

Not as many "repeats" as I thought!
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Dan getting confirmation his daughter has been kidnapped. The "unknown woman" being Sam, of course.
(Typos entirely on purpose.)

Magda struggled to open her gritty eyes, struggled to blink, several times, until her blurred vision stopped swimming, until she was at last able to focus on what lay in front of her. Not her room at Dan’s, not Talia’s flat either, but a cold, dreary office littered with the musty detritus of many years, a couple of old chairs and wooden desks with dusty drawer handles. Along the back wall, next to the open door in the corner, stood a row of tall, metal file drawers; between the desks, the grimy glass of a lone window, one broken corner covered by a patch of cardboard, barely let the bleak light of day stream in. She was bundled in something warm, though it was a sleeping bag and blankets rather than her duvet, and could barely move her fingers, not with her hands and forearms— A strangled cry rose in her throat, turned into a whimper, then a short cough, upon sharply inhaling this stale air with its strange undertones of—rot? She knew that feeling before even looking at herself, knew the touch of cold iron biting into her wrists, keeping her chained to the old radiator in the cellar they called the Atonement Room, but it didn’t make sense, it didn’t, because she wasn’t supposed to be there anymore, and there was no such furniture in that cellar anyway, so where was she?

I use "bleak" a lot, so that was an opportunity to see if I also use "dreary"!
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: that part of the story where Magda finds herself in a lot of trouble. (Office description based on actual photos of actual Thruxted Mill 😭)

Dan was about to turn away, dragging his brother away forcefully if needed, when yet another person came running, from the direction the women had come. A tall man in white shirt, trousers and shoes, blond as well, exsuding waves of sheer rage. Of rage, and of maara. He caught up to the women, grabbed the eldest one by her hair. With a pained cry, she reached for his wrists, not to get rid of him, but to keep him close to her—busy with her: ‘Leave her alone! Sören, I swear, leave her—’ ‘You shall call me Master!’ he roared back. The world around Dan turned to snapshots. Stills. Clips played within the span of a blink, one after the other. The story unfolding in front of his eyes, blossoming in his mind, triggering all sorts of reactions. The urge to grab his camera. The urge to move. Stronger than all: the urge to kill.

I didn't like my few uses of "recommend", so I picked "urge" instead.
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore
Context: The first impression Sören (Magda's father) leaves on Dan. It's not good. 😂
("Maara" is the word mages use for "corruption of the soul".)

It didn’t keep shimmering for long. No sooner had Dan’s fingers closed against its haft than it lost its lustre all at once, turning a deep crimson shade, darkening so quickly it might as well have turned black on the spot. And, by the Devil, the whole thing felt heavy. Not enough to prevent a creature like him from using it in a fight, but definitely too heavy for Magda to be able to even stand straight while carrying it. The itch to try the weapon for himself coursed through his fingers; the Vashtai in his blood still chanted their hunger for it, for its purity quickly fading away as he tested its balance with one swift swoop. It wasn’t rejecting him, not exactly, but it wasn’t very welcoming either—had it been capable of speech, Dan wouldn’t have been surprised to hear it say: ‘Make me.’ As for Magda, she now stood rooted like a statue, lips trembling as if about to cry, shock plain on her features. Dan handed the scythe back to her, watching her grab it with eager hands, watching it turn back to its previous appearance almost in a snap of fingers. ‘Now that’s interesting,’ he whispered. ‘Did it hurt when I touched it?’ ‘N-no, but it was…’ She swallowed hard, finding her countenance again: ‘It felt… unpleasant. Weird. As if icy fingers were—caressing my soul.’

So many instances of "fight", so of course I picked one where no one is actually fighting 😂
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Magda has let Dan hold her scythe (an Artefact that can only manifest in the Obverse). It gets weird for both of them.

The ground under their feet had a spongious quality; the smell of rotting humus wafted all around them. Vines, bushes and gnarled trees bordered a small path meandering deeper into the strange structure; not so much a forest than a giant greenhouse of sorts. For some reason, when he looked up at the ceiling and found it made of tall criss-crossing arches supporting large, thick glass panes, Dan thought of the Crystal Palace, as he had seen it in its original glory in Hyde Park. He couldn’t fault his twin; the whole place rubbed him the wrong way, too. The trees along the path swayed slowly, in regular moves, as if to a tune his ears couldn’t make out. He tasted the sticky air on the tip of his tongue, its lingering coppery tang not unlike blood—one most foul and repulsive: even though he hadn’t fed yet tonight, it turned his stomach like very few things still could.

I don't have "shimmy", but iirc "sway" should work?
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Dan, Zeke (and his dog) have walked into "the Greenhouse", a pocket of the Obverse where... shit is about to hit the fan.

She knew she should be patient. Such clues always unveiled gradually, like a puzzle whose pieces she first had to find, instead of just putting them together. Still, it remained as frustrating as ever. This was why she tolerated seers at best, but never enjoyed working with them, and trusted them even less. Of the Underworld’s denizens, sure, they tended to be the least annoying, in that they didn’t sprout fangs or claws or fur, didn’t try to drink people’s blood, didn’t go around peddling suspicious Fae wares or swapping children in their cribs, didn’t even wield much magic to begin with. Usually. Yet they were still straddling that border between the mundane and the supernatural, between unknowing mortals and that world born from the Veil of old, back to those times when the substance of the Obverse had still been leaking into the human world, a drop here, a drop there, until one day or one night, a shapeshifter or a vampire arose from the puddle.

I don't have "resident", but "denizen" should do the trick?
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Sam reflecting upon her encounter with Kgabu, the young seer she met at Amara's place.

Although Sam had never set foot in the London Chapter’s monastery, its very atmosphere reminded her at once of the dozen others she had known throughout her life. It wasn’t even the architecture, the old stones, the heavy wooden doors, the cloisters and chapels, the patina of countless hands and knees on prayer benches, like some of those she had lived at back on the Continent. This one, in fact, was of a more modern kind, set in a three-storey Georgian town house on Percy Street whose lack of heirs led, at some point, to its being sold, and to the Order getting its hands on it. White walls inside, red brick outside, sash windows and narrow entrance door, and even a pithy welcome mat in the corridor—all surrounded with the hustle and bustle of retail, office blocks, and, when no lockdown was in effect, clods of tourists from the nearby Tottenham Court Road, now reduced to a trickle of locals and, overall, people from England mostly. The house itself stood almost too inconspicuous compared to its neighbours whose ground floors, most often than not, had long ago been converted to retail use. Few locals really paid attention to it, and even less knew what it stood for.

I had even forgotten I called that a Chapter!
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Sam arriving to her temporary lodgings in London, a.k.a the house local Hunters use.