I'm @indigo-brainspark on main (@indigosabyss is my fanworks blog) and this is my writing sideblog!!
I have a post-apocalyptic LitRPG serial on RoyalRoad which is linked here, but on Tumblr, I have two main ideas going on. Here's a link to a list of ideas I had going a while back!
KeyMates, which is a story about two psychics whose only ability is an unconscious mindlink that allows them to automatically find keys the other person is looking for, and the queerplatonic relationship they foster as they get through this world filled with assumptions of romance and expectations. Snippets of this are all over my blog, but the main story hasn't started yet, so... no link for that.
There is also Surviving Nulls, which I'm currently doing using the 'For the Love of...' snippets. The overall story is about a loveless aplaroace girl trying to learn magic in a system that says that all magic must be fostered out of relational love, and her battle against strange void-like creatures called Nulls who serve to steal human's magic and love because they are incapable of creating any of their own. Or at least, that's what she's told.
My friends are really supportive of these projects, and every so often you'll see something on here that they've drawn or helped edit. I'll get them to introduce themselves if this blows up lol.
Maybe this sounds like wishful thinking, but I want to make a living off writing eventually. But that's a long way coming. For now, here's my ko-fi for donations and my Patreon for early access.
After some contemplation, I realized using Tumblr for my main writing platform was. a terrible idea.
Hence, I've started a free Substack, and the first chapter of KeyMates has been posted there. The full chapter. Not the bits and pieces I put on the blog. You can subscribe and follow along here:
I was going to do bits of my writing on twitter. I had plans about an in-character account of an archival crew for a multidimensional welfare organization, posting intermittently about both historical adventures of heroes old and how bad the staff has it here, to act as a throughline between the generations of conflicts and families and progressing knowledge, and what it means in the present for them.
But... you know how that went. And I don't think that's the best platform for me anymore. Any other mainstream places you could suggest for me? One with less fascists??? Or should I keep it on tumblr?
(An aroace magician tries to find a type of magic in a world that's convinced its not possible.)
They moved to looking at other tracks of magic for Priscilla to try her hand at. For this, Rayyan put her down in front of a girl scribbling in a notebook.
“Priscilla, meet your cousin, Fariha.” He explained in a rush, “She was ranked first in the entry batch. If anyone knows magic, it’s her.”
“And she has ears, too.” Fariha snipped, still working on her notebook, before smiling at her nervously, “Hi, Priscilla. How’re you enjoying Makhdal?”
“It’s… good.”
“And you’re studying in Psy-Field?”
“Planning to. Any tracks you want to recommend?” Priscilla asked hopefully, “Anything without love, if you can manage that.”
Fariha frowned, “That’s… specific. And also impossible. I mean, without love?” She laughed incredulously, “Not exactly what magic stands for.”
“Well, what’re you doing now?” Fariha looked over her shoulder to take in the scribbled diagrams on Fariha’s notebook. It was a series of interlinked circles and symbols, arrows arcing over the pages, and smudge-marks covering it from all the edits made to the diagrams. Priscilla recognized it instantly as…
“An alchemical array!” She cried, “That’s awesome, girl!”
“Yeah. And not what you’re looking for.” Fariha told her firmly.
Priscilla snorted. That was ridiculous. She was new to the world of magic, it was true, but she understood alchemy. Chalk diagrams that you placed materials in and then activated with a touch to pull out a completely new material.
Alchemy was cold. Mathematical. All the weights, angles, and lengths had to be just right, no room for emotional input was needed.
“Why isn’t it?” Priscilla asked, “Sounds perfect to me.”
“Which just means you know nothing about alchemy.” Fariha told her bluntly, standing up with tightly held excitement, “You know a lot of people really don’t consider it to be a very taxing type of magic, but it’s really all mixed up in the culture that alchemy is surrounded by that paints it as unemotional and legalistic. But anyone who’s ever even gotten into the art knows that that just isn’t true! Passion goes into every single chalk figure—And I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“A little bit.” Priscilla agreed.
“Well, I care a lot about it.” Fariha continued, her eyes glistening in excitement, “Come on, new girl, I’m going to show you the wonders of alchemy! Maybe you’ll click with it.”
Priscilla really, really doubted that. But she fought down the nausea in her stomach and agreed.
(The previous segment of this is is For The Love Of... Dueling.)
(Part 2 will be linked here once its out.)
He was late to class, and got saddled with a detention. Should have bunked entirely, but he never built up the nerve to blow off authority figures that completely before, so he wasn’t going to start now.
The only thing was, he couldn’t get a detention today.
“Yes, yes, you all live very busy lives.” The student affairs officer rolled his eyes, “I’ve heard it all before, kid.”
“No, you don’t get it!” Flynn replied, “I have an appointment. An important one. Can’t miss it.”
“If it’s a doctor’s appointment, then your parents are needed to sign off on your exit.” The officer droned, much too practiced with this spiel.
Flynn gritted his teeth. So reasoning didn’t get him anywhere. That was fine. He could wait them out. Or, more accurately, he could wait until his file handler had had enough and called him about his tardiness.
As if summoned by the gods of luck, an electronic beeping started from somewhere inside. Yes! His get-out-of-jail-free card!
The officer looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “I’ve got my eye on you, kid.” They warned, turning around to pick up the phone. They listened to the other side’s side for a few moments, face slowly draining of color as they spoke.
“I- I’m sorry, but who is this?” They finally asked.
Flynn couldn’t hear what was being said on the line like other psychics might be able to, but he knew all the same what the answer was.
A Representative from the Federal Organization for Psychic Manipulation Research.
Similarly, he couldn’t read what was happening in the officer’s mind, but he could tell the exact moment he thought: oh shit.
He put the phone down with a clank and turned to face Flynn shakily, “You can go for today. Cover for your detention tomorrow.”
Despite the ‘getting shoved into a locker’ incident, Flynn was actually somewhat popular in his school.
Most of this popularity he attributed to Anne. She was level-headed, serious in most situations, but also had a sense of humor. She was also straight up cool, with her dyed messy bun and fishnet armbands. She always had the latest video game consoles, and the fanciest sneakers. People liked her. As they should.
Not that Anne knew that. She didn’t even seem to realize that half the school was obsessed with her.
He still didn’t understand how a girl like that ended up as his… soulmate. Eurgh. Technically the term was ‘Uni-Sensing Psychics’ but it was a mouthful that no one recognized.
But the attention being in her bubble got Flynn was more trouble than it was worth. He hated the spotlight. Even the fringe of the light was too much.
“You know what this means, right?” She asked, tugging him along, “We gotta prank the guy who did this right back!”
“Absolutely not!” Flynn cried, “I have a class!”
“Fine, go to your class.” She waved off, “But spill the name and then I can fill their shoes with itching powder.”
“You’re going to get me in trouble again.” He hissed, “Please, you can’t just keep going off to exact vengeance on every joker.”
“So you didn’t see their face?” Anne guessed. Damn. She caught onto him immediately.
“Your psychic powers are progressing.” He told her, “You’ve begun worming your way into my mind. No way you figured that out yourself.”
“Listen, if I could do anything more than pick up matching keys, I would be yelling from the rooftops in excitement.” Anne told him bluntly.
“…Right.” Flynn laughed nervously, “Listen. Exact revenge on your own time. I gotta go. Class.”
Correction: he had been shoved into his locker and the latch had shut behind him. He didn’t want to be in a locker.
From his cramped position, he banged on the door as best as he could, trying to catch the attention of someone, anyone, who might be wandering outside.
“Hey!” He choked out, “Someone get me outta here!”
A girl’s voice responded, by some miracle, from the other side of the metal wall, “Flynn? What’re you doing in there?”
“Not enjoying myself, that’s what!” He replied, arms still pinned. It was getting hard to breathe now.
“Uh… do you have the key on you, or is it lying about somewhere?” She asked.
The weight of it burnt in his pocket, and he cursed, “Yeah, I have it. Think I might be able to sneak it through the gaps in the window-”
“Don’t bother. I think I might have a copy.” There was a clicking sound, and then the door to the locker creaked open, letting Flynn fall out, gasping in grateful breaths of… pungent teenage musk. Gross.
He turned to look at his savior with a displeased frown, “You think you have a copy?” He repeated.
Anne Livingston grinned back, “Yeah, how lucky was that?”
He shoved her, “You knew you were going to have a match. That’s, like, our whole thing.”
Anne laughed, “I mean, that’s the one thing this damn mindlink is good for. I bet our lives have been leading up to just this exact moment. So that I could free you from that locker and then ride off into the sunset together.”
It was exactly the kind of thing that Anne hated.
Lucky for them, that wasn’t where the story ended.
(This is the beginning of the canon series. I will be updating this as much as I can.)
“The story tells you what happens” acceptable, expected, standard fare.
“They story never tells you what happens but the implications are there” losing my mind, chewing the drywall, punching patrons on the bus, throwing myself in the river
When Mica was in sixth grade, her science class had a unit on magnetism.
As a way to introduce them to the topic in a fun and practical way, their teacher passed out petri dishes filled with metal filings to each of them.
“You see how all the specks are scattered about?” She asked. Everyone all cheerfully agreed. Which was why Mica was so awkward about raising her hand.
“Mine aren’t.” She said, watching the flecks twitch and rearrange themselves at her every movement. They gathered into a wave-like pattern, clumped together and stretching outward, almost like it was following… some sort of current.
Her teacher leaned over to look at it, a frown marring her features, “That’s- that’s not normal.” She muttered, taking a step back, “I should… are you feeling alright, Mica?”
Mica looked at her curiously, not quite understanding the alarm, “Yeah, why?”
----
There were electric currents flowing through her, it turned out. And suddenly all the electronics that went haywire around her made sense. It had gotten so bad that Mica was now the only kid her grade to not have her own phone, but they had never thought to look it up.
And now they were telling her that there was basically a very weak electric current constantly flowing through her.
“Well, technically, it’s a very strong one.” An expert said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “It’s just that over the distance and the resistivity of the air and the ground and everything, it doesn’t have much overall effect. It’s diluted, in a sense. But still very noticeable.”
“But why is this happening?” Her mother asked, and normally, she would be holding onto Mica in times of strife. But now… she wasn’t touching her. There was two feet of distance between them.
“Our best guess with just the tools we have now is that this is a manifestation of a Physical Psychic Ability.” The man explained, “Most likely as a result of a Uni-Sensor mindlink.”
“A what?” Her mother asked, baffled.
“The logic is sound, ma’am.” Another expert explained, “There’s a current going out, very pointedly. Which means it’s going somewhere. Where that somewhere is, we’re guessing is also where the other end of the mindlink is.” When she took a look at her mother’s face, the woman continued, “Oh, you meant what a mindlink was. That’s colloquially known as a Soulmate. Surely you’ve heard of it?”
This did little to reassure the woman, who wailed, “She’s not old enough to have a boyfriend yet!”
No one cared about Mica, still sitting in her chair, hyper aware of the tingling across her skin and wondering how it had been happening for so long without her knowing about it.
She sat in her chair, staring motionless at her mother’s hand, two feet out of reach, and barely hearing the words.
But barely didn’t mean that she didn’t hear them at all. And she felt tears well up despite herself.
She didn’t want a boyfriend, either. She’d… she’d been hoping for a girlfriend, actually.
Guess it was a stupid fantasy, after all.
------
(Part 1??? God I really laid in the angst on this one. I feel like I need to rectify this and bring in her future gf immediately even tho they're obviously gay and together in the present day.)
Other notes below the cut:
1- Her wish for physical comfort is a feeling I took from a seizure I had when I was in fourth grade, and the constant medical visits that followed.
2- I nearly had this scene take place in fourth grade bc I project so hard on her during this portion of her life.
3- (The author is just oversharing now) Fun fact about being a child with a condition. No one explains shit to the level where the nine year old will understand what is going on. And when they said 'she has irregular electric currents in her brain', the child thinks 'where tf did this electricity come from its not meant to be there'. You see how this relates to this, don't you?
(My cousins called me a Cyborg for months after this. And I legit couldn't walk. Kids are mean, y'all.)
4- Yes this is hetronormativity at the end of the chapter there. It will continue to have an effect on Mica and Olivia's relationship, and their goals throughout this story. Because yes, unlike some others, they have Objectives in mind. They are the real Plot Girlies.
Sure thing! For convenience I’ll refer to the guy with his arms in his pockets as SG (shorter guy) and the one on the computer as TG (taller guy).
In the first panel, SG sees TG playing on the computer and is disappointed. SG puts a lot of value in the idea of “making things,” specifically “art,” and thinks TG is just wasting their time
So he asks them if they wouldn’t rather be “making something” instead of just playing games and listening to music, implying that TG isn’t doing anything worthwhile or creative with their time
But TG replies that “interpreting is generative,” meaning that even if they spend their time just doing fun stuff, the mere act of enjoying something is creating an experience and an interpretation. Talking about something, dancing to music or sharing a piece of art with your friends IS “making something,” and each of those can be worthwhile and artistic.
SG leaves, complaining he “can’t be an auteur of [interpretation].” Auteur is a movie term that refers to a filmmaker with artistic control and vision enough to be considered essentially the singular creator of the resulting work of art. Turns out, SG doesn’t just want to “make things,” he wants to make things he and others see as “important.” He wants to make art not for the sake of art, but for the sake of being recognized and praised for his art.
This comic really speaks to elitism within the artistic community, the idea that art needs to meet certain standards to be considered art. SG’s viewpoint is really traditionalist, that art need to be “approved” and validated in order to be considered “really art;” while TG recognizes that art can be as little as just talking about what you love.
TLDR: Art is for everyone, not just some sort of social “artistic elite.”
Ok. Shit. I never thought they'd message me about this.
I'm assuming you've all seen the screenshots of AO3 comments, telling the writer what a great fic they've written and how they can totally put it on WebNovel for $$$ bc it's just SO impressive.
I got something like that. But a little different.
Okay. Weird. Whatever. Even if someone's too formal, I'll still join a server yk?
AJAJSJS
THIS WAS THEIR OFFICIAL DISCORD WTFFF
This feels almost like a bait and switch atop a bait and switch. They'll get you in the server, make some chill friends, offer you a contract, and then trap you for fifty years after your death to work on a story!!!
Or maybe I'm being conspiratorial here.
I've always written niche crossovers and small fandoms, and The Last Surviving Members was my first BIG fic, so of all fics I'm not surprised that this is what got them.
So, I stayed some. Looked around. There's a fanfiction-only channel. Suspicious.
Oh, and no surprise, you can easily be banned just for talking shit.
Which a lot of the newbies were doing so I'm not going to be surprised if they're all gone by today. I just stayed to get all the screenshots that I needed.
There's a LOT of emphasis on making money. Competitions, rankings, classes, guides. And it all comes from them. I wouldn't have a problem with that, but there's an interesting lack of outside opinion and legal support.
They call this style of media distribution "web novel/fiction", which gives them a layer of credibility because they are THE WEBNOVEL SITE.
(I had to change my original fiction tumblr's name bc of this and no im still not over it)
In case you don't know, WebNovel has very predatory tactics in sourcing writers and their contracts are BAD. Like, really bad.
I want to make a career in writing my own stuff, and I was able to get a heads-up before the early whistleblowers started on AO3. If you haven't heard of it, this is a warning to you. And maybe do some of your own research as well.
And... Real talk here. I get it. I get why people go for these contracts. I'm in desperate need for money as well.
My mental health has been very shaky recently. As has my physical health. And I'm not in a position where I can pay for figure out what has been going wrong with me. All of these things have been referenced in author notes on the fic they commented on. It was the fifth chapter, too, so it's not impossible that they read those notes.
I'm hoping that they're not so callous as to do that intentionally and just skipped to the last chapter to make it seem like they read it all, but... This really hurt. Sorry if that's too personal.
In the recent For the Love of Dueling part two (also the last part), Priscilla called her brother 'Rayyan Bhai'.
This is because, as you've guessed by the names, Priscilla is biracial desi (they're actually half-siblings its all v dramatic). Bhai is Urdu for brother and you put it at the end of the names of older brothers or brother figures. Additionally, Rayyan is a desi name, too, and isn't a misspelled version of Ryan. I've seen people say it like Ryan and genuinely grinds my gears. You're supposed to linger on the 'y' a little bit.
Just felt like mentioning that bc I'm a little self-conscious of this type of rep in my fiction, since its a part of me. This is who I am. And I want to express that in my writing, but it risks alienating people who otherwise would be interested in the concepts I'm putting out.
"Okay, see, it's very simple." Rayyan told Priscilla as he guided her hand up, fingers clenched around a spindly wand that seemed much too weak to wield the power he claimed, "You just gotta force the spark out, and at the mannequin over there."
"What spark?" She asked, turning her head around to follow him as he moved behind her.
"Eyes up front." He barked, and she snapped to attention, "And what do you mean 'what spark'? The spark of magic. You've got the biology for it. Now, you simply gotta bring it out."
"Rayyan bhai I don't know how to do that." Priscilla told him impatiently, forcing herself to look at the raggedy mannequin pinned onto the stake at the other end of the cement platform.
"Hmm... okay... think of someone you love. Think of what it's like spending time with them." He suggested.
Priscilla frowned, thinking it over, scrambling through her roster of people she knew and friends she had made in this new school, and nothing came to mind.
"Aww, you don't love me?" Rayyan asked, and Priscilla turned immediately to deny it, false platitudes rising up.
"No, no, it's chill." He insisted, but he had to be hurt. She was sure of it, "Not like we ever even really knew each other before you moved in, right?" He chuckled.
It was not a happy chuckle.
"Think of an experience, instead." He suggested, "Something that makes you happier than anything. That gets your blood rushing and your head dizzy and makes you love."
Her head was feeling plenty dizzy now, as she tried to wrack her head for any experience that she really, truly loved. The spark to the fuse that would explode out into spells.
And nothing came to mind.
"I... like... movies?" She asked, but she didn't seem too sure of it.
"Good!" Rayyan agreed excitedly, "Go for it."
A flick of her hand, the feeling of her camera weighing heavily on her mind, and- there was no pulse of wonderment. No excitement.
It was just flat.
"I don't think dueling is for me." She whispered, putting the wand down, "I'll... look for something else."
(Part 1)
[I'm considering the next segments of this to have Priscilla meet other specialists in certain fields of magic, and have each of them explain what they love about the magic they practice. Insert her own insecurities along the way. Give little hints about the overarching narrative of the actual Surviving Nulls. Ask me to elaborate on any tidbit you find interesting in the askbox pls]
(remember the rant I went on about the loveless aroace character in a fantasy setting looking at types of magic that are all reliant on 'love' and finding herself failing at all of them bc of an internalized lack of self-worth??? this has resulted in this.)
In the middle of the sports ground, there was a long, narrow rectangle of cement.
Priscilla had never been sure what it was for, until now, as two students stood back-to-back in the center point of that rectangle. Both had wands in their dominant hands, and people were clustered all around watching with interest as they walked away from each other.
Every footstep was counted along by the onlookers, a rumble of excitement.
One step. Two steps. Three, four, five…
Until they were on opposite ends of the patch of cement.
“Ten!” They all cried.
With a snap, both students turned around, whipping their wands out towards their opponent. Almost simultaneously, and without a lick of hesitation, twin jets of light rocketed out from the tip, meeting in the middle and creating a sharp explosion.
The spectators laughed and whooped as the shockwave rushed through the crowd. Priscilla had to put a hand up to stop sand from whipping into her eyes.
Already the players were in motion again. The one with the green sash conjured up an emerald pillar, giving him the high ground to shoot down a fireball at his opponent, who threw up a shield to protect herself from the fires.
One spell from her hand, and a lightning strike came down from the sky, arcing towards the boy perched on top of the pillar. He jumped backwards in a practiced motion, letting the lightning explode the pillar into shards. The broken pieces were used as footholds for him to jump back to the safety of the ground.
Here, the girl he was fighting hesitated, waiting for him to get back a solid footing. This would be her undoing as the moment he got both feet on the ground, he dropped a hand onto the cement. It darkened quickly, as if an oil spill was spreading through the cement, stretching towards the girl.
She didn’t even have time to react before the darkness was stretching underneath her feet, sucking her into the newly liquified cement.
She struggled, her hands pinned, and wand deactivated, the victorious boy standing above her.
“Nice try, Mandy.” He nodded, flicking his hand, and lifting her back onto the cement surface, unscathed, “Same time tomorrow?”
“Sure thing, Captain.” Mandy nodded, tucking her wand into her pocket, and walking away with grace. Rayyan, the Captain of the dueling club, turned around and headed towards Priscilla, who was still standing there, starstruck.
“So, little sis, this is what we call dueling.” He nodded towards her with a bright smile, “Think you can get a handle on this?”
Priscilla nodded, a fire in her eyes, “You gotta teach me that. Is it hard?”
"Not at all!" Rayyan replied, "You just need the right passion for it, is all. Dueling runs off the protective nature of love, after all."
thinking of being more casual on this blog. I care a lot about my creations, but I think the progress reports were putting non-existent pressure on me to be Normal about my stuff.
I have never been normal about anything I have dedicated more than an hour of thought into.
