I adopt strays of all kind - ARTIST - WRITER (Enora_Wings AO3 & others) - YOGA teacher / ⛔ - 18 /
SHE / X / PAN / ARO (somewhere btw demisexual and/or gray-ace)
Bc once your age hits a 'serious' number, you start to think - "damn, I should probably stop geeking and get more serious." But then you scroll and see a 34y/o woman writing fics after driving her kids to school, a 40y/o dude making fanart of his fav super heroes and you realize - "nah, I'm actually good"
NEVER EVER stop being nerdy about shit that you love.
If someone thinks it’s dumb, who the fuck cares. THEY’RE dumb. They can go fuck off with their dumb fucking faces.
There is NO age at which you have to stop loving what you love and become a “real adult.”
Fuck outta here with that nonsense.
Love what you love, and love it unapologetically.
Life is too short to give a shit what other people think. Life is too short to give up on something you love for the sake of appearances or “maturity” or any other such bullshit.
We’re the adults now. We get to decide what that means.
And in my house, that means we’re fucking nerds. We love stories and imagination and creativity and badass fucking swords yo. We love heroes’ journeys and visions of utopian scifi futures and fairy tales and video games. We love excellent writing and bombastic storytelling and gentle explorations of human nature couched in fantastical worlds. We have an annual board game weekend where we host upwards of fifty people whom we have collected over the years.
Do not resign yourself to cookie cutter mediocrity. You know what you enjoy. No one can take that away from you.
I’m having an INCREDIBLE start to the week, because I received two amazing pieces of fanart from writeblr mutuals. Check them out, and then go check out their works afterwards 💫
A very lovely drawing of Tenshi from my WIP Tenshito, by the ever-so-lovely @wyked-ao3 🪽✨
And an amazing rendition of Tyr and Gustav from my Norse Mythology WIP ITROG, made by the wonderful @illarian-rambling 🌺✨:
Thank you both for this beautiful artwork!! It gives me so much joy to see my OCs come to life in other styles, and I appreciate you both so much 🫂✨
Be sure to check out @illarian-rambling ’s and @wyked-ao3 ’s profiles and stories, and have a wonderful rest of your week everybody! 💛✨
I adored drawing this, they are so damn cute . gah . Anyways I drew this for the OCKiss event I participated in for Valentine's day! A bit early but this was too cute not to just blast through it in one day
Decided that i'm going to reframe every difficult thing about writing as anti-ai.
Writers block?
Ai sure doesn't do that thing. It doesn't take breaks to experience life so as to breathe more life into the literature.
Going through multiple iterations of a scene bc you cant seem to hit the vibe the way you want?
Ai is vibeless and can't hit the broadside of a metaphor.
Looking for a word that conveys what you need but also feels good on your tongue?
Ai inherently sucks at using tongue.
Suffering through an emotional or triggering scene because you need to capture the soul of this character?
Atta'human. True beauty will follow that strife in a way ai cannot suffer towards and can never comprehend.
Honestly this has already done wonders for my confidence as a writer, and hopefully it does that same for all you who might feel bad for being 'imperfect' writers.
Happy Sunday, everyone! 💛✨Thank you to @justabigoldnerd for a WIP Wednesday Sunday tag! ✨
Here are seven sentences from my current WIP ITROG. Enjoy~!
Finally, Tyrell slapped a hand to his father’s mouth as his pupils quivered and locked onto the chief’s. Shaking his head frantically, his eyes pleaded up at Stefan’s icy glare that bore into his skull. That stare softened once he saw just how scared Tyr looked. How terrified. It was unlike any fear he'd seen his son don, even when his own heart threatened to give.
Then, the third voice cut the frigid frost and caused both Ürsyndrs to further pale, as white as the snow around them. Tyrell’s frenetic panic instead dropped to a cold fear, glossed-over pupils fading out any glimmer of hope that he had left.
As always, I will leave this tag +open for anyone who wishes to join. Have a great week! 💫
✨👇 Tag List for Writing Snippets below. DM me if you’d like to be added 👇✨
Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -)
Rinather hovered at the apartment's steps, peering nervously into the room within. He straightened his tie and wrung his hands. "Come in," a girl drawled, full of feline elegance and boredom. "We won't bite, pretty boy."
He snorted nervously, then stepped into the room. It was sparsely decorated, a large sofa, a table with a board game laid out and a variety of armchairs being its only furnishings. It was also host to a range of women and a man. "Good afternoon? My name is Rinather O'Brien," he offered nervously.
"And we are the False Oracles, as you know," the girl replied, smirking. "You need help saving your husband from the Void, don't you?" At odds with her voice, she was a teenager, perhaps the same age as his daughter, with a shock of purple hair and dark eyes, and held the centre position on the sofa.
He flushed scarlet. "S- So what if I do? And how did you even know that?" He had been certain they did not know of him.
An older redhead, curled up in a chair of her own, laughed at that. "Rin, my dear," she said in a strong Oxford accent, "We are Oracles. If we did not know every minor detail about you, we would not be very good Oracles, now would we?"
"My name's not Rin," he said, with a twinge of anger. “I'm not your friend. You don't get to call me by a nickname."
"Rin,” the redhead said casually, "You came here to ask for our help. I don't think you can afford to be a chooser." A smattering of laughter went up at his expense.
"Stop harassing the poor thing," the man, perched on the end of the sofa, interjected. "Rinather, right? Take a seat." He gestured to the armchair next to him.
Grateful for the rescue, Rinather settled next to him. "Are you another client?" he offered the man a conspiratorial smile.
The man, tall and blonde, glared at him. "I am an Oracle, just like every other person in this room. Apart from you, that is," he snapped.
"Forgive me for my rudeness, I had thought the Oracles were all ladies," Rinather offered by way of recompensation.
Another round of laughter went up, this time at the male Oracle. "Well, fancy that! Our Lily, being a lady," the girl snarked jostling the man with her elbow.
"Shut it," the man snapped. "My name is Liam, not Lily," he said to Rinather, who nodded sympathetically. "And to answer your question, I'm the only male Oracle. There was a clerical mix-up, and I somehow ended up here." He gave a long-suffering sigh.
"Oh, ignore him, he just enjoys whining," another young woman, with eyes like sapphires, said. "I'm Daphne, by the way. This is Gloria," she gestured to a stern-faced woman in the chair next to her. "The one who invited you in is Rhonda, and the nasty bitch is Olive." She pointed cheerfully at the redhead, who glared at her.
"There's only one real bitch in this room, and her name starts with a D," Olive snapped back.
"Stop it, both of you," Gloria said wearily. "Angel's in the kitchen making popcorn." She pointed to the empty end of the sofa. "That's her seat."
Rinather nodded. "That's nice," he said, not wanting to sound impatient. "But-"
"You want your prophecy now, don't you?" Rhonda shook her head, amused. "You do know we'll just be overly cryptic, right? That's what all soothsayers do. Why do you even bother?"
"You're my only hope," Rinather said sadly. "My husband has been-"
"Kidnapped by the void, blah blah blah, only the sword of Love will save him, yada yada yada. Does that sum it up?" Daphne snickered at his hurt expression. "Look at you, being a big damn hero. We see your kind every fucking day. Lawful Good sword-swinging idiots who save the day through the power of love and hope. I hate the lot of you." She snorted.
Rinagher stared at her, frightened. This was not going the way he expected. "I-"
"Shut up," Daphne said quietly. "You think the world is painted in black and white, the plucky hero against the evil monster. Well, you're wrong. You're both just chess pieces on the board, and at the end of it all, both ends are played by the same person." She pointed upwards. "Her."
"Her?" Rinather looked nervously at Liam. He had seemed the sanest of the lot of them.
Liam rolled his eyes. “Just let it go,” he told him. “There's going to be a great deal worse to upset you.”
"Shut up, you idiot,” Daphne snarled, her face contorting into a mask of rage. “Her. The Creator, the Storyteller, the Writer, whatever the fuck you want to call her. It's her fault I'm stuck here, her fault your husband is worse than dead, her fault our order even exists in the first place. She just wants drama, for the sake of the plot. We're puppets dancing on the strings for her sick amusement." She grimaced.
Rinather started to get up from his chair. "I see this was a terrible idea. I'll come back later, shall I?"
The Oracles watched him with blank, dead eyes. They turned in unison to watch him walk across the room. Just as he reached the door, Olive raised her hand and snapped her fingers. The door slammed shut, leaving Rinather trapped in the room with them. "Darling, Rin, where do you think you are going?" She gave him a thin-lipped smile. "You asked for our help, didn't you? _Well, you're getting it now._"
Rinather flinched and reluctantly turned back. "That's better," Rhonda purred. "Let's play a game, shall we?"
He settled back down in his seat. "What game?"
"The one we set up, of course. We can't help you without your own input," she said. "Pick your avatar, won't you?"
He looked down at the board. Little plastic figurines were lined up at its edge. He grasped a little warrior, who held his sword up. "This one," he said, feeling the _rightness_ of it.
"Lawful Good. What else would you expect?" Gloria shook her head in disappointment. "I choose Chaotic Neutral." She picked up a rogue, careful not to prick herself on its dagger.
"That makes me Neutral Evil, then," Olive noted. "It's a cute little thing, is it not?" She smiled at the cloaked sorcerer.
"Alright! I get Chaotic Good!" Rhonda snatched the bard from its place.
"Wait, what's going on? What do you mean, Lawful Good?" Rinather stared at his figure. "What exactly is this meant to determine?"
Next to him, Liam let out another theatrical sigh. "Lawful Evil, and it's your alignment. It determines the sort of person you are." He regarded the dark paladin with a measure of satisfaction.
"Wait, so you're evil?" Rinather glared at him. "How can anyone willingly be evil?"
"The same way someone can willingly be good. It's just a preference, a matter of how we were raised. The true question is Lawful and Chaotic. The rules may differ, but people will either follow them or break them. You and I? We follow the rules, whether we like them or not." He sighed. "Which is why I'm stuck with these imbeciles."
By this time, Rinather knew better than to ask questions. He simply turned to watch Daphne. She scrutinised the row. "I think I'll be Neutral Good this time." She picked up a Ranger, whose bow was ready to fire. "Chaotic Evil was fun and all, but I think this fits me better. Don't you?" She beamed at Gloria.
"I told you to stop switching your alignment. You're going to go out of character," Gloria said chidingly. "And that would damage the fourth wall."
"The thing that is damaging the fourth wall the most is your talk about it," Olive said, rolling her eyes. "Angel, get in here! We cannot start without you."
A woman came out of the room, holding a bowl of popcorn. Rinather met her eyes and his heart skipped a beat. She had soft features, plump lips, and silky dark hair that fell in tresses. But the most startling thing about her was her eyes. They were dark pools of night, and they reeled him in like a fish on a line.
"I will be True Neutral, as I always am," Angel said, sweeping to her end of the sofa. She set her bowl down and plucked the sage up. "Now, let us begin." With a sweep, she discarded the unchosen figures.
"Place your avatars on the starting line," Angel commanded. "Rin, throw the dice."
Rinather wanted to protest against being called Rin, but subsided under the force of Angel’s stare. He picked up the die and threw it. It rolled a 7. "How? There's only six sides to this thing," he said, confused.
"It's magic, silly," Rhonda said, laughing. "Seven represents suffering and loss. It's _her_ number." She made a face and moved the warrior seven steps. It sat on an empty square.
"My turn!" Daphne reached out and snatched the die from Rhonda's fingers. She threw it. "π? Seriously? Ugh, that sucks," she said, glaring at the unassuming cube.
"How do you move pi steps? That makes no sense," Rinather whined. "If this is a joke, it's getting a bit old."
The Oracles glared at him again, and this time, he glared back. Daphne shifted her ranger to sit between two squares. Wordlessly, Liam took his turn. He sighed when it showed a sigil, full of curves and geometric shapes.
"Σ̶̯͍̣̟͇̣͕͉͕̪̪̣͇̃̌̈́̀̌̂̈́̅̑̕͝ο̴̝̤̜̫̲͎̞̻̣̯̳͉͎̣̻͙̺̑̔̑̿͒̂̉͗̀̆́̀̐̀͘͜͝͝β̸̡̛̣̈́͂̂͊̀̀̈́̈́͗̄̔̕̚̚͝͝͠͝ἀ̷̨̍̽͌̃̔̈̊̕ρ̷̙̣̮̟̫̰̅͒̏͂ά̸̨̬͖͓̖̯̮͚̩̰́̃̊͝?̸̬̼̲̋̓̄͛̊͆̎̆͋͋̀̚͜͠͝ ̸̡̜̻̪̩̞͉͕̞̆͑͌̊͆̈́́̊̐̌̔̍̈͂̎̒̾͊͌͝Ό̵̡̡̲̫͚͈͚̯̖̫̥̂̊̒͐̓́́̂͜ͅχ̴͓̞̲̹̬͖̺̜͕̰̱̜̳̉͗̅̾͛̀̋̅͐̇̃̈́͝͝ι̵̨̧̜̞͔̤͇͈͇͉̼͐̀̇͂̓͗̽̽̾͆̈̀́̾͘͘͠͝ ̸̢̳̤̦͖͙̉̈̋͂̂̿̎ᾀ̴̘̘̫̪̗̯̰̱̲̱͙͇̫̍̅͘ͅῡ̴̧̢͇̣̞̪̟͈̥͈͎͇̬̣̈́τ̸͖̮͉̞͓̲̳͉̖̥̊̈́̃͂̈́̍ό̵̢͎̝̘̞͕̯̗͙̤̗̰̰̠͕̱͕̋͛̈́́̏͛̏̚ͅͅͅ ̵̡̼̝͛̍́̆̃͘π̵̡̡̡̟͓̦̲̬̥͓̝̺̙͉̘̥̦̊͊̓̇ͅͅά̵̙͓̰͔̟͉̝̄͠λ̴̧̢̤̠̘̯͕̝̟̤͚̞̞̼̘̣̪̆͒̾̓̉̏̾̾̉ι̷̢̰̜̞̠̮̼͖̩͐̒͌̃̊̎͐́̉̊͋̄̎̉͌̕ ̵̛̛͇͚̩͉̄̎̃͗̀̈́̇̃͆̊͝ͅ ̶̧̨̥̼̠͇̗̈̀̅͘ ," Liam said irritatedly.
Remington stared at him, horrified. "What did you just say?"
"Are you deaf? I said, Σ̶̯͍̣̟͇̣͕͉͕̪̪̣͇̃̌̈́̀̌̂̈́̅̑̕͝ο̴̝̤̜̫̲͎̞̻̣̯̳͉͎̣̻͙̺̑̔̑̿͒̂̉͗̀̆́̀̐̀͘͜͝͝β̸̡̛̣̈́͂̂͊̀̀̈́̈́͗̄̔̕̚̚͝͝͠͝ἀ̷̨̍̽͌̃̔̈̊̕ρ̷̙̣̮̟̫̰̅͒̏͂ά̸̨̬͖͓̖̯̮͚̩̰́̃̊͝?̸̬̼̲̋̓̄͛̊͆̎̆͋͋̀̚͜͠͝ ̸̡̜̻̪̩̞͉͕̞̆͑͌̊͆̈́́̊̐̌̔̍̈͂̎̒̾͊͌͝Ό̵̡̡̲̫͚͈͚̯̖̫̥̂̊̒͐̓́́̂͜ͅχ̴͓̞̲̹̬͖̺̜͕̰̱̜̳̉͗̅̾͛̀̋̅͐̇̃̈́͝͝ι̵̨̧̜̞͔̤͇͈͇͉̼͐̀̇͂̓͗̽̽̾͆̈̀́̾͘͘͠͝ ̸̢̳̤̦͖͙̉̈̋͂̂̿̎ᾀ̴̘̘̫̪̗̯̰̱̲̱͙͇̫̍̅͘ͅῡ̴̧̢͇̣̞̪̟͈̥͈͎͇̬̣̈́τ̸͖̮͉̞͓̲̳͉̖̥̊̈́̃͂̈́̍ό̵̢͎̝̘̞͕̯̗͙̤̗̰̰̠͕̱͕̋͛̈́́̏͛̏̚ͅͅͅ ̵̡̼̝͛̍́̆̃͘π̵̡̡̡̟͓̦̲̬̥͓̝̺̙͉̘̥̦̊͊̓̇ͅͅά̵̙͓̰͔̟͉̝̄͠λ̴̧̢̤̠̘̯͕̝̟̤͚̞̞̼̘̣̪̆͒̾̓̉̏̾̾̉ι̷̢̰̜̞̠̮̼͖̩͐̒͌̃̊̎͐́̉̊͋̄̎̉͌̕ ̵̛̛͇͚̩͉̄̎̃͗̀̈́̇̃͆̊͝ͅ ̶̧̨̥̼̠͇̗̈̀̅͘ . How hard is that to understand?"
"I- You know what? Nevermind. I give up," Remington said. Liam scoffed and put his figurine on its head, before passing the die to Gloria.
She did not throw the die so much as drop it on the table with an exaggerated disinterest. “2," she announced, and moved her rogue accordingly.
"Finally, something normal," Remington murmured under his breath.
"I need to draw a card," Gloria said, looking at the tile beneath her rogue. Angel pulled a card out of her sleeve and gave it over. "That's nice. The next person's turn is skipped. Sucks to be you, Olive." Olive glared at her, and she gave a small grin in return.
"Right, then," Rhonda said, already throwing the die. "Oh, it's a 7. How unfortunat-"
"I need to draw a card," Gloria said, looking at the tile beneath her rogue. Angel pulled a card out of her sleeve and gave it over. "That's nice. The next person's turn is skipped. Sucks to be you, Olive." Olive glared at her, and she gave a small grin in return.
"Right, then," Rhonda said, already throwing the die. "Oh, it's a 7. How unfortunat-"
"I need to draw a card," Gloria said, looking at the tile beneath her rogue. Angel pulled a card out of her sleeve and gave it over. "That's nice. The next person's turn is skipped. Sucks to be you, Olive." Olive glared at her, and she gave a small grin in return.
"Right, then," Rhonda said, already throwing the die. "Oh, it's a 6. How lucky for me!" She beamed at a very confused Remington.
"Quit it, Rhonda," Olive snapped. "That is cheating and you know it."
Rhonda gave a theatrical sigh. "Come on, Ollie girl," she mimicked Olive's accent, "It's called making the most of your assets."
"This is why you always play last," Olive countered. "Your 'ass-sets' are a pain in the ass."
Despite herself, Rhonda let out a chuckle. "That was terrible," she said, grinning. "But I promise not to do it again. At least not for the duration of this game." Turning to Remington, she offered up the die. "Your turn again, honey."
"What about Angel? She hasn't moved yet," Remington protested, not quite understanding what was going on. "And what happened just now?"
"Hmm? Angel's not playing, silly," Rhonda said. "Don't be ridiculous. She's the Watcher. Come on, roll!" She did not offer an explanation for the earlier… weirdness. Neither did anyone else. It made Remington's head hurt.
He threw the die again, not quite understanding. "-2? Do I shift my character back two paces?"
"Yeah," Liam said. "Seems like you're learning. That's good. Want some popcorn?" He offered up the bowl. For some reason, his smile didn't reach his eyes.
Wise to their tricks, Remington licked a piece of popcorn sceptically. It tasted like popcorn, it looked like popcorn, and it smelled like popcorn. Knowing he was likely making a mistake, he put it in his mouth.
It was, in fact, popcorn, of the generic buttered variety. “It’s… Normal,” he said, shocked.
“Yeah, not everything's weird, darlin',” Rhonda told him with a wink. “Now roll, Daph, before we all die of old age.”
So the game went, rolling dice and pulling cards until, at long last, they neared the finishing line. Remington was closest, a mere two places away, and Olive was the furthest.
Liam palmed his dice. “You need to roll a seven to win,” Remington supplied helpfully.
“Win? You think you're winning by reaching the end? All that's gonna happen is-”
Next to him, Rhonda clapped her hand over his mouth. “Hush, dear. No spoilers,” she said. “Roll.”
Liam tossed the dice irritably. “6,” he announced, and moved his figure. “Could've been worse, I suppose.”
Gloria snatched the dice up. She needed four, Remington noted. “Here goes nothing,” she said.
The dice toppled on the table, spinning about on its edge, before collapsing to reveal a four.
Remington heaved a sigh of relief at that. Finally, the accursed game was over and he could leave the psychotic Oracles to their fun. “It's not over,” Liam whispered beside him, as though he'd overheard his thoughts. “The watcher will now deliver her judgement.”
Angel rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. “Gloria Tan, Chaotic Neutral Rogue, Archivist of the Oracles. Your time has come.” Those deep pools of darkness glittered. “I have seen your fate, your life and death. In health and in sorrow, in prosperity and poverty, in love and in loss. The stars have sung to me of your life.”
She shook her head. “I judge you unworthy of our gift, but worthy of living. You are excused from the table.”
Around him, the Oracles heaved sighs of relief. Gloria gave Angel a shaky smile. “Thanks,” she said. “Guess I get to see another sunrise.” She stood up and strolled out into the kitchen. Remington glanced back and forth, not daring to break whatever was going on.
“Right, then,” Olive said, significantly more subdued. She threw the dice. “1. Looks like I need a card.”
Angel handed her a card. “Well,” Olive said, shaking her head with a rueful grin. “Liam, guess who just finished his round?”
Liam gave her a disgusted look. “You've got to be kidding me. Don't you dare-”
“I'm hereby donating my roll to Liam Jacett of the False Oracles,” she announced with a grin. “Enjoy!”
He rested his face in his hands and let out a histrionic sigh. “Thank you,” he said, sarcasm dripping like honey from his voice. “Thank you so very much, Olive.”
She snickered as Angel refocused her gaze on Liam. “Liam Jacett, Lawful Evil Paladin, Soldier of the False Oracles. Your time has come.” This time, she seemed… Sad? Tired? “I have seen your fate, your life and death. In health and in sorrow, in prosperity and poverty, in love and in loss. The stars have sung to me of your life.”
She closed her eyes. “I judge you. Nothing more, nothing less. You will be the one to accompany the protagonist on his journey, the anti-hero foil to his bravery.”
He rolled his eyes, once again infuriated by life. “Right. Of course it's me. Dump all the worst chores on little old Liam, eh?” He stood up, brushed off the nonexistent dust on his pants and grabbed Remington, who stumbled to his feet.
Liam's grip was bruising, harsh. “Hey- Let go,” Remington hissed, trying to extract himself. “Look, if you don't want to help, then don't! I just need to find the-” He finally worked out what was wrong. “The-”
What was he here for?
“I- I need to save my- my-” Remington clutched Liam's arm, brain racing.
“Shut up,” Liam whispered. “I'll be back, ladies. And don't you take my fucking seat.” At the Oracles' laughter, he marched out of the apartment, Remington forcibly dragged along.
“Liam, what's going on? My head hurts. I don't understand,” Remington (though he grew increasingly sure that was not his name) whined. Standing on the doorstep to the apartment, he clutched his head.
Liam sighed, and a look of sympathy came over him. “Stupid mortals,” he mumbled, just loud enough for Remington to hear. “Hold still. You got caught by a loose spell, methinks. Bloody Rhonda and her tricks. She just doesn't care about what affects others.”
He pressed a finger to Remington's forehead. “Hold still, Rin.”
“Wait, what? Why did you just call me Rin? My name's-”
Rinather yanked his hand out of Liam's grasp. “What the hell? Don't do that again,” he snapped, all his anxiety forgotten. “I'm not a godsdamn ragdoll, alright?”
Liam glared at him, then looked away with a sigh. “They do this every time, you know that? Rhonda and Angel and the others. Heartless bastards. Worse than a literal unfeeling robot.”
He shook his head. “They pick on me, you know? I'm the bloody comic relief. The straightman for their antics. But I'm sick of it.”
Rinather got the sense that the other man was having an epiphany. An epiphany of what, he didn't know. So he said, with forced cheer, “That's great. I'm so glad you realised that.”
Liam shook his head, completely ignoring him. “I've spent my whole life down at heel. Following the rules and being a good background character. Now I have to be the sidekick to some archetypal hero? To pick up the little shards of broken timelines they leave behind? No. I'm done. I'm breaking the fourth damn wall.”
He turned to face— Where was he facing? Rinather knew it wasn't in any direction he recognised, but- It hurt his eyes, so he looked away.
“You,” Liam said, looking in that not-direction, “I am so sick of your bullshit. I get that this is a story, and there's a plot, and someone has to lighten the damn story, but really? Why do you twist us like this, flatten and reshape us? Can't you let me be?”
He clenched his fists. “I know what happens to everyone in that room. I know Olive is broken, made into a monster. I know Rhonda dies at her father's hands. I know Gloria and Daphne both Fade, lose their powers and forget. And I know what happened to Angel. You monster.”
“Is a happy ending too much to ask for? Give Rinather his husband back. Give Hans his stupid spaceship. Give— Give me Miriam.” Rinather opened his mouth, then closed it again. He got the sense that it was no longer his place to say anything.
“Let Olive and Sybil live a happy life. Let Mara forget and forgive. Let me go home, away from this stupid urban fantasy.” Liam wiped a pair of tears, gritting his teeth. “I miss home.”
“I know you created me, created us all, even Kurall. I know you made us to entertain, to tell a tale. I know none of us are- None of us are real,” he said, his voice falling to a mere whisper. “I know you won't listen. I know you never have. But still, I must ask.”
“Release me from this eternal hell. Release us all. Release us, and end this story.”
Rinathee held his breath. The whole world did, waiting for the response to Liam's speech.
@the-letterbox-archives, @gioiaalbanoart, @watermeezer(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)
I have a not insignificant number of mutuals and followers who are either shadowbanned or for whatever reason they aren't showing up in my notifications or on my dash.
On desktop I can briefly see who it is by refreshing my activities page after it's loaded. When I say 10% of my followers/mutuals I'm not exaggerating, I did the math.
Not sure what my next step in fixing it is, as I only notice the issue on desktop. On mobile everyone is showing up who should be there.
What I just realized about my writing process is that I simply can't stick to a single story until it's done. I tried with TNDA. I tried putting everything else on backburner. And as soon as I did I hit a writers block. Instead of freeing up time and getting more focused, I instead spent most of my energy trying not to get distracted by shiny new ideas which I normally would have typed out, at least a prologue or a first chapter, just freewriting it with no planning, just to see where it would lead. Most of the time it stayed there and my brain was happy to just have it out there somewhere. So when I tried to focus all my energy on TNDA, my brain actively fought me, because I was mentally with a completely different story and couldn't just switch back to TNDA. And before I knew it I had gone months without writing anything. So instead of trying any other smart productivity hacks from the self-help section ima just keep winging it. Screw if it takes years to finish one story. I'm not on a deadline. I'm not a professional author, I'm not aiming to earn money with this. This was only ever supposed to be a hobby, and writing in a way the productivity gurus tell you to made me fucking miserable.
What that means for you guys is: Hiiiii welcome to the chaos.
Well well well. It appears the outstanding @tragedycoded dropped this delicious last line about his cave diving story that y’all should absolutely go check out. ✨
I will parry with a last line from ITROG, and leave this tag +open for anyone else who wishes to join with their own writing ✨
“Oof. That’s rough, little dude….” Gustav smarmed through the most grating grin he could muster. “…..wonder what he thinks now, knowing he raised such a failure for a sonr?”
Tyrell’s glare was colder than the eternal frost as icy hatred made his eyes glassy. As Gustav was laughing at Tyrell’s misfortune, the trapped Ürsyndr was plotting all the ways he could escape—He figured that he would be able to squeeze through the tiny air holes on the lid if he got the jar to tip on its side, or upside-down. Hel, he may be able to scramble up the steep incline on the glass sides, if he didn’t immediately slide back down to the base.
This EXTRAORDINARY art was made by the lovely @gioiaalbanoart depicting OC Klaus🌻 from 🌐7 Circles🌐.
I love the stylization, the green plants and the swirl of red blood in the shape of an eye which is always watching him 👁. Also DO YOU SEE THE GLITTER?? Such a cool, thoughtful piece of art. I'm still so floored by it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart Gioia 🫶
(I'm working on book two but it's slow going... Zero draft finished and I have start the rewrite.)
Snippet from chapter two Braiths POV
“Why would we be the threat? You are the newcomer here.” Morana stated.
She tilted her head with a smirk before replying, “Why not? Everyone can be a threat darlin’.”
“You're right about that.” Morana purred back before adding, “but we don't stab people in the back, we prefer to look them in the eye when we twist the knife.”
The look in her eyes, a warning that she just couldn't resist poking at. Braith laughed and warned, “Some people won't give you that chance before they have a blade to your throat,” she threw one of the many mini-daggers that lined her belt, it hit the x on the map next to the shaman's head with a loud thud and she winked before stating, “you never truly know who it is your dealing with or their skill level, sometimes a knife in the back is much more efficient.”
“Your aim is impressive but your bite is lacking.” Morana said with unveiled amusement.
Tagging my tag list and a few mutuals in hopes of seeing some fun writing shares but no pressure
What is your dragon western going to be about? Are the dragons friend or foe?
Hi @wyked-rebellion! That is a fantastic question. You guys are going to look back on this period of time and sigh with fond remembrance when I won't shut the fuck up about this in about six months /hj
I'm plagued with visions of a dark fantasy/medieval horror/Weird Western situation where instead of horses people ride dragons. It's stupid. One night I was high and went "Why aren't there any dragon westerns" and that thought refused to leave me alone so here we are.
The main character is a guy who gets the shit kicked out of him by bandits when he's escorting a cache of dragon eggs from Point A to Point B. A smuggler with a bone to pick with the bandit leader happens upon Our Guy lying half-dead in a figurative ditch and offers to help him. They have differing ideas of what the word "help" means, as the smuggler sees an opportunity to steal back a whole-ass dragon--the bandit leader took the smuggler's dragon plus his eye years ago and the smuggler has been tracking him down ever since. Since Our Guy will be hunted down and executed if he doesn't show up to Point B with the dragon eggs, he agrees to help the smuggler steal back his dragon.
Their placeholder names are Darnell and Aster. When I get around to nailing down the world's different cultures/languages their names are liable to change.
Dragons are intelligent and able to communicate even if they don't speak whatever language the characters speak. In-world there's argument over whether dragons are sentient (they are, same as horses.) Plus they're huge.
Until I do research, I'm thinking dragons have to be broken like horses do. They generally don't want anything to do with humans, humans are egg-stealing jagaloons.
I have this notion of certain subspecies of wild dragon being able to convince "broken" dragons to buck their rider and take off, but that's something I have to flesh out before I go spouting off about it on the internet. Like, if a dragon trusts its person, it won't pay attention to strangers.
Which has the implication that Aster's dragon has been a fucking pain in the ass the entire time it's been in captivity, which I love for it.
So to answer your question: they're like horses. If you're nice to them, or you raise them in captivity, then they'll permit you to ride them. If you're an asshole who doesn't know how to treat an animal, then they'll find your corpse burnt to a crisp in a field somewhere. Possibly cannibalized. This is a dark fantasy novel and dragon-burnt meat is a free meal.
