I’ve created Queer_Ink_Collective, a space for LGBTQ+ creators to share writing, art, and original work in a supportive, low-pressure environment.
Especially welcoming to character-driven stories, romance, emotional narratives, and creative experimentation. I want to really focus on support spaces for self expression and community sharing.
If you’ve been looking for a place to connect, share, or discover new voices, you’re warmly invited.
Join us here → https://www.tumblr.com/join/DvL-3K0O
So I’m writing a dragon story. I think it’s going to end up being like a sapphic Beauty and the Beast-type story. But, I’m trying to incorporate some other fantasy elements into it as well to give it some flavor. It was supposed to be a fun, lighthearted project and it’s already ending up emotionally heavier than I anticipated, even for a sapphic dragon romance story 😅 I’m having fun with it regardless, though.
I felt the deepest shame. I had caused chaos in my home. Like some disparate, wretched storm, I’d swept through Reush the moment I’d returned and seeded annihilation into their future. I was a plague. No better than a dragon.
To some small miracle, no one had been killed.
There were many, though, that had been wounded by the dispersed arrows that had aimed toward the creature. The scene had turned even more chaotic with the frenzy that happened once the dragon had gone. Some had turned towards rushing to help the wounded. Some were still raving mad like lunatics, hollering at anyone that would listen, especially Amar, saying how could he let this happen? Some turned towards me, demanding to know why she had addressed me. What I had done.
Amar tried to refocus the growing mob by sending some to carry the wounded to our infirm, and more to clean the mess of the mill that was left.
To the rest, Amar shouted, “Go home! Go home and embrace your loved ones! Whatever decision hangs over us can wait until tomorrow!”
My father, Castin, and I had shuffled to the cottage home, tension refusing to ease as they both glowered at me with unspoken accusations.
Capacia and Ellia made it back some time after nightfall.
“You’re alright!” Ellia said to all of us, sidling across the front room to fling her arms around me.
Capacia rushed to Castin and did the same.
“We’re fine,” Castin said, his gaze met mine from across the room. “We’re fine.”
My father stood silent against the hearth, arms crossed over his chest.
“What happened?!” Ellia asked, sensing the tension between us.
“Why don’t you ask your sister,” My father said, gruffly. He gestured out with his arm, throwing his frustration down on the table, “What in the hells happened, Yasmin? What did you do?”
Capacia looked around the room confused.
“I-I-“ I started. Words becoming lost.
“How are you even alive?” Castin asked. “Leck and his mates were lucky to come back injured. You haven’t a scratch on ye’!”
“I had help.” I said, “I contacted Averly. A professor of mine sent a prototype. An invention.” I looked around the room. “It was supposed to be a means to subdue it. I never meant to kill it— just— incapacitate it. If I could.”
“Gods of Kash, Yas!”
“”Ave ye’ lost yer damn mind?!”
“Do you ever think about anybody but yourself, Yasmin?!” Castin yelled, angrily. Accusingly. There was silence before I managed to say, “Castin, I- I didn’t mean to-“
Castin yanked himself away, “I need to get out of here.”
“Castin, I’m sorry.”
Without another word, he left. Capacia gave us all one single, uneasy look before she followed her son.
In the silence that followed, Ellia looked awkwardly from me and back to my father.
“-I’m glad you two are alrigh-“
“You have got to stop this, Yasmin,” My father cut in. “This constant death wish-“ His tone was brutal. It was layered with exhaustion. Years of it.
“This need ye’ ave to always have to just—implode! To sabotage yer life. To never be happy with anythin’. When I sent ye’ to Averly, I thought that that would help. I thought you could go see the world, see everything that’s out there, so ye’ wouldn’t feel so stuck. You couldn’t even last a season here. You went and found something reckless to throw yerself at the second ye’ got back here! And a fookin’ dragon, at that!”
“I was doing this for you and Ellia! For everyone! I thought I had an advantage that you didn’t have. I thought I could help.”
“Yea and look where we are now! Thanks to ye’ and yer stubborn head, Yasmin! Someone’s going to die for your foolishness!”
I had no words. Ellia looked at me with a look of deep empathy. She was the only one who didn’t seem livid with me. But I couldn’t look back at her. The tension between my father and I stung as it settled. The implication. The truth.
There was nowhere safe. I couldn’t talk my way out of this and I couldn’t lie to my loved ones anymore than I already had.
And there, waiting for me, was another threat. As soon as my mind opened itself.
Fiendish eyes came out of the dark.
A cold wind swept over my bare skin.
The feeling of my breath being stuck. Lost.
Like a tight noose was fastened around it.
“-That’s enough.” I could hear my father’s voice.
“You need to go and apologize to that boy. He waited for you. Hopin’ to see you for years. I’ve never seen a man be so patient, so understanding towards someone he cares for. And you ran off as soon as ye’ got the second to.”
I felt the deepest shame. I had caused chaos in my home. Like some disparate, wretched storm, I’d swept through Reush the moment I’d returned and seeded annihilation into their future. I was a plague. No better than a dragon.
I left out of our house and walked dutifully towards Castin’s.
My hand rapped their door.
Capacia opened it and immediately gave me a sad-looking smile. Pity. Which only served to fester the knot now sitting on my chest.
“Is Castin here?”
Capacia’s eyes dropped down, “He’s not, Yasmin. He left as soon as we got here. I think he needs some time.”
I sighed and cursed.
“Alright-“ I said after idling.
I turned to leave.
“Yasmin-“ Capacia said.
I turned back.
“Would you like to come inside? I can make us some tea.”
Capacia swung the door wide open and stepped away from the frame.
The two of us sat at their small table off the side of the kitchen in quiet. Capacia had poured us both a mug of tea and sat opposite me, hovering over her cup while it warmed her hands. They lived in a small wooden farm house. Smaller than our cottage, but cozy nonetheless. The kitchen was quaint. It had little bits of Capacia’s touch all around it; flowers, bits of color, small animal figurines in the nooks and small ledges. Their hearth was much smaller, and steadied a smaller flame. Instead, there candles all around that lit up the rest of the space.
I took a tentative sip of the hot liquid in front of me.
Capacia’s eyes looked so much like Castin’s. Honest and welcome. Endlessly warm. A lightened blue sky under sandy strands. Though Capacia’s now had strands of gray in the sand.
“My old husband was someone who was endlessly restless,” Capacia said suddenly, out of the quiet.
“He hardly knew what to do with himself, most of the time. I brought him here, shortly after Castin was born. I knew this was where I wanted Castin and I to be. I had hoped that Lucien would eventually come around. I’d hoped he’d see that this was what was best for his son. Something quiet. Simple. A real home.” Capacia sighed and looked up from her cup. Her eyes glittered. “I was asking too much of him.”
It felt strange. I couldn’t find the words sufficient enough to answer Capacia. Not then. Though, it seemed that Capacia wasn’t expecting such. Her eyes drifted off into the empty space of the kitchen, sifting through her own memories.
“I think you’d find that you are two of kind.”
“Castin probably wouldn’t think so. But if I to go back and do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Lucien would give me Castin. Lucien would leave. Castin would grow up safe. Loved. And the rest of us would go on.”
I sipped from the steaming drink. It was floral and sweet like honey. It’s smell wafted up towards my face with an earthy aroma.
Castin had always hated his father. Hated. Year after year, Castin became more begrudging towards Lucien. The longer he stayed away, the longer that fray grew.
Until one year, he simply moved on.
He swore he’d never become him, though.
I couldn’t make that promise.
Not then and not now.
It seemed the only person in the world who wouldn’t hold that against me was the one across the table.
Cup of tea in hand.
Tired eyes.
A soft, knowing, content smile.
“I didn’t mean to-“ I stopped. “I don’t want to hurt Castin.”
Capacia reached across the table and took my hand.
I am looking to set up a community space for queer/LGBTQ+ authors geared towards offering a safe, supportive space to read and share work. It will be aimed specifically for, but not limited to, romance and NSFW writers. I have noticed that there has been a surprising absence in this kind of space, at least beyond blogs, kink-centered spaces, and unorganized erotica sites that don’t also tailor to safe and healthy sharing. If this is something you’d be interested in, please shoot me a comment and let me know. I’ll be posting a connect to the page in the near future.
I’ll be starting on Tumblr, and hopefully setting up a Discord space if there’s enough community support.
Edit: So I started a page called Queer_Ink_Collective.
Please check it out or message me if you have any questions or suggestions.
Little excerpt from a story I’m writing called Fogs and Fae, which I am also using to process heartbreak.
““ I had a dream about her. Last night. It wasn’t sexual or anything even remarkable. It was just me, finding her again, asking her let me in, and then just holding her.
It wasn’t anything more than that. No fighting. No bad feelings. It was just good. Just me finding her. My friend. My home. My favorite person.”
“I’d move mountains to have things be so simple. Just to feel that way again.”
I laughed half-heartedly, “Outside of my dreams, of course.”
Mad said nothing. She just listened. Brown eyes calm, and fixed.
“What a stupid wish.” My chuckle came from my stomach this time, more full. I had to hold myself to contain the aching hilarity of it all. “Knowing what I know now… what a stupid wish.”
I brushed dirt from my jeans and stood up. At the very least, I could give myself room to laugh at it all.
I felt something tug at me as I looked down. Mad had stopped my hand where it was. She looked up at me, dark eyes serious now. More serious than I’d ever seen them.
“What if you made a wish?”
At first, what she said didn’t register to me. Like, it was something so obvious and yet I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it at all. I hadn’t… had I?
My hand and body froze. Hand covering Madeline’s. My entire figure began to drift, taken away with the wind, then. Somewhere far, far away.
The night breeze was nothing but a cool, gentle blanket.
Addison-
Could I see Addison again?
Could I get to hold her again?
After an uncertain amount of time, I withdrew my hand.
“No. It’s not up to us to make decisions for other people. It’s not up to me-
If I was meant to be hers, I would be.”
And without another word, I went inside. Ready to leave the day behind. “
🪞 Abilene, Who Loved Like a Lullaby No One Finished Singing
She was always the soft one.
Not quiet like Rosalina.
Not fiery like Liliana.
Not sparkling like Petunia.
No—Abilene’s softness came from something holier.
Something sadder.
She folded her hands when she wanted to scream.
Apologized in advance for existing too fully.
Wrote prayers in her diary and underlined the ones she knew would never be answered.
She was the girl who carried other people’s heartbreaks like rosary beads.
Who said “I understand” too quickly.
Who forgave before the wound was named.
Her love was a candle left burning in a window long after the guests had gone.
A melody hummed into a scarf,
tucked away in a drawer where no one would hear it.
People mistook her for plain.
But they never saw her from the inside.
The golden faith in her silence.
The stubborn way she still believed in goodness—
even after Adam.
She loved him like scripture.
Read between his words like verses.
Believed, truly, that love meant sacrifice.
And when he left—
when he unlaced the ribbon she tied around her hope—
she didn’t scream.
She just folded the memory,
like a church bulletin after Sunday mass,
and placed it gently in her coat pocket.
Abilene was not fragile.
She was tender.
And there is a difference.
Because fragile things break.
But tender things bend,
weep,
mend.
She still sings.
Still walks barefoot in the sanctuary.
Still lights a candle for the girl she used to be.
The one who thought being good would be enough.
The one who gave her heart like communion bread,
and waited for someone to taste it kindly.
She is learning, now,
to save a piece for herself.
