In which gay teens fight monsters

I’d hoped to get some writing done today, and shockingly, I did! :O

…but not on the project I was actually hoping to work on. Ah, well. :P I’d been hoping to add to my forever-WIP and gay fantasy epic (TM), Chosen, but instead I unearthed a long-ago begun story and added a few chapters to it.

Said story is tentatively entitled Guardians, and it’s a fun little YA story about teens fighting monsters and trying to stop the end of the world, because that plot hasn’t been done before.

The story, though, is surprisingly engaging, and I can say that because I started writing it long enough ago that it no longer feels like something I wrote. :P The main character, Alisha, is a kickass seventeen-year-old with frizzy hair and a talent for fighting monsters and keeping her narcissistic younger brother out of trouble. Her mother fought monsters back when she was a teenager but now is Retired, and her dad is a researcher who likes punning, Doctor Who, and annoying his children in the most loving way possible.

I have, of course, felt obliged to put as much gay into the story as possible, so Alisha’s older sister has a girlfriend, her brother’s love interest is an awesome trans girl, and Alisha has definite chemistry with nemesis and fellow teen monster-hunter, Belladonna.

Anyway, here’s a quick excerpt from a draft of a scene when Alisha visits Belladonna’s excessively nice house in search of info about this whole ‘end of the world’ thing:

With great dignity, I pushed my little flowered bicycle up Belladonna’s white cemented driveway, trying as I went to ignore the picturesque fountains, the koi pond, the perfectly landscaped lawn, the pillared front of the three-story house, or the general air of the place that proudly proclaimed,  We are nauseatingly rich.

I made it to the front door unmolested by suspicious gardeners asking what a peasant like myself could be doing in such a place, and a press of the doorbell sent a pleasant melody chiming through the house. Other than that, there was no sound from inside, and as the moments ticked by with no answer to my ring, I started to wonder if this had all been some trick of Belladonna’s to get me to ride all the way up here for nothing.

But then, finally, I heard movement from within, and the front door swung open to reveal my nemesis herself, clad in a black sports bra and workout shorts and with a towel hanging around her neck. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and I was annoyed to see a display of perfectly tight and chiseled abs above the waistband of her shorts.

“Finally made it, huh?” Belladonna said. 

“I took the scenic route,” I said with a glare. 

“Just as well. It gave me time to get in another workout.”

“Great,” I said. We stood there for another few seconds, and I realized that she was really, genuinely going to make me ask. “So, can I come in, or should I just leap in through the nearest window?”

She smirked and took a step back. “Please, come in,” she said with a mocking bow. “I would say, ‘Make yourself at home,’ but I’m not sure you’d know how to do that in a place like this.”

I redoubled my glare but didn’t take the bait, and when she saw that I wasn’t going to reply, she shrugged and led the way through a carpeted, wood paneled entryway and into what appeared to be some kind of elegant sitting room. Plush chairs and couches were arranged in a way that looked more stylish than functional, and there was no TV in sight, something that would’ve caused a certain mutiny in my own household.

“Have a seat,” Belladonna said. “Maybe avoid the white furniture. Those pieces are so hard to clean.”

I lifted my chin with all the regality of my mother in full Ice Queen mode and lowered myself onto a pristine white sofa. 

Belladonna actually looked pleased, a hint of a grin touching her perfect features. “I was wondering how long you were going to just stand there and take it,” she said. “You’re a lot more fun when you fight back, you know.”

Before I could figure out how to respond, she turned on her heel, tossed a few words over her shoulder about getting changed, and left the room.

And with that, I was alone in Belladonna’s immaculate sitting room, seated stubbornly on a delicate white couch and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do with myself until she got back.

I sat. I looked around at the white walls and the muted colors of paintings whose subjects were far too artful and sophisticated to be recognizable as anything but random blobs of color. I sat some more. In the distance, a clock chimed the hour softly, as if not wanting to disturb anyone, and I wondered how many more chimes I would hear before Belladonna deigned to return.

Thankfully I didn’t have that much longer to wait, as at last my hostess swept back into the room in a flowing black halter dress that reached her ankles, her hair twisted up into a bun that beautiful people liked to describe as “messy” but which would’ve taken most lesser mortals three stylists and two hours to imitate with any success.

I’m hoping to get some more written on this story and to (gasp) eventually finish it, as I do think it has definite potential. Its lighter writing style definitely makes it easier to write, despite the innate complexity of writing about the end of the freaking world, but I never did like to make things easy for myself. :P

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