Omega's Lost Wine

📚 Writting and drawing 🎨 |🌙Love space and scifi👽 | I'm actually a 3D artist that enjoys this stuff | ESP & ENG #omegaslostwine https://linktr.ee/OmegasLostWine

[imastoryteller]

Write Like a Director: Crafting a Cinematic Novel (With Examples)

Writing a novel like a movie means propelling your reader through scenes with relentless momentum, slashing through fluff, and ensuring each word drives the plot forward. Trust your readers to connect the dots through dialogue and action, immersing them in vivid, immediate experiences without drowning them in verbose descriptions. Every chapter should feel like a high-octane scene, keeping readers on the edge of their seats, hungry for the next twist, the next revelation. Keep it tight, keep it thrilling. Here are some examples to illustrate each aspect of this dynamic storytelling approach:

Fast Pacing

Chase Through the Alley: Jake sprinted down the narrow alley, the thud of heavy boots echoing behind him. A sharp left, then a right—no time to think, just run. This example thrusts the reader directly into a high-speed chase, emphasizing immediate action and urgency.

Heist in Progress: The vault door creaked open. "Thirty seconds," Maria whispered, stuffing bonds into her bag. The alarm blared. "Move!" The scene conveys a sense of time running out and rapid movement, maintaining a brisk pace with no room for delays.

Dynamic, Fast-Going Plot

Kidnapping Twist: Laura opened her front door to find an empty stroller on her porch. A note inside read: "If you want to see her again, come alone." The unexpected discovery of a kidnapping sets up an immediate and compelling conflict, driving the plot forward swiftly.

Escape Plan: The prison lights flickered. "Now!" whispered Tom. They climbed through the hole, hearing guards’ shouts in the distance. The urgent breakout from prison keeps the plot dynamic and intense, with characters constantly on the move.

Show, Don't Tell

Fight in the Ring: Blood trickled down Max’s face. He clenched his fists, dodged a punch, and delivered a powerful uppercut that sent his opponent to the mat. The physicality and immediate consequences of the fight are shown through actions rather than explained through exposition.

Silent Farewell: Tears streamed down Lily’s cheeks as she handed Jack the letter. Without a word, he turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped. The emotional impact of the farewell is conveyed through the characters' actions and expressions, not through internal monologue or narrative explanation.

No Tedious Descriptions

Quick Change: Sam grabbed the nearest shirt and jeans, pulling them on as he ran out the door, glancing at the clock—he had five minutes to reach the station. The scene moves quickly from one action to the next, providing only essential details to maintain momentum.

Sudden Revelation: In the dim light, Sophie saw the glint of a ring on the thief’s finger. Her father's ring. She gasped, stepping back. The revelation is made through a brief visual detail, keeping the description succinct and impactful.

No Infodump

Mid-Battle Realization: Amidst the chaos, Sarah recognized the tattoo on the enemy soldier’s arm. Her brother. She hesitated, the war raging around her. The revelation about the brother is integrated into the action, avoiding lengthy explanations and keeping the focus on the immediate situation.

Urgent Discovery: Ethan flipped through the ancient book, stopping at a page with a familiar symbol. "It's the same as the pendant," he muttered, pocketing the book and running out. The discovery is brief and directly tied to the plot's urgency, with no extensive background information provided.

Avoid Fluff

Straight to Action: Ben didn’t bother with pleasantries. “We’re out of time,” he said, throwing the bag into the car. “Get in.” The scene cuts straight to the critical moment, avoiding unnecessary dialogue or description.

No Idle Chatter: Emma answered the phone, cutting off the caller's introduction. “What’s the plan?” she demanded, glancing at the clock. The character immediately seeks vital information, eliminating small talk and focusing on the plot's progression.

Tight, Immersive Narrative

Immediate Danger: As the elevator doors slid open, Mark saw the bomb timer: 00:10. He dived for the wires, heart pounding. The imminent threat and the character's swift reaction immerse the reader in the tension of the moment.

Critical Decision: The bridge was collapsing. Anna had seconds to decide—jump or try to save her friends. She took a deep breath and ran back. The character's quick decision-making in a life-or-death situation keeps the narrative focused and engaging.

By applying these principles, you can craft a novel that feels as dynamic and engaging as a blockbuster movie, keeping your readers hooked from the first page to the last.

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

How to Write Strong Dialogue

(from a writer of ten years)

So you’re back in the writing trenches. You’re staring at your computer, or your phone, or your tablet, or your journal, and trying not to lose your mind. Because what comes after the first quotation mark? Nothing feels good.

Don’t worry, friend. I’m your friendly tumblr writing guide and I’m here to help you climb out of the pit of writing despair.

I’ve created a character specifically for this exercise. His name is Amos Alejandro III, but for now we’ll just call him Amos. He’s a thirty-something construction worker with a cat who hates him, and he’s just found out he has to go on a quest across the world to save his mother’s diner.

1.) Consider the Attitude and Characteristics of Your Character

One of the biggest struggles writers face when writing dialogue is keeping characters’ dialogue “in-character”.

You’re probably thinking, “but Sparrow, I’m the creator! None of the dialogue I write can be out of character because they’re my original characters!”

WRONG. (I’m hitting the very loud ‘incorrect’ buzzer in your head right now).

Yes, you created your characters. But you created them with specific characteristics and attitudes. For example, Amos lives alone, doesn’t enjoy talking too much, and isn’t a very scholarly person. So he’s probably not going to say something like “I suggest that we pursue the path of least resistance for this upcoming quest.” He’d most likely say, “I mean, I think the easiest route is pretty self-explanatory.”

Another example is a six-year-old girl saying, “Hi, Mr. Ice Cream Man, do you have chocolate sundaes?” instead of “Hewwo, Ice Cweam Man— Chocowate Sundaes?”

Please don’t put ‘w’s in the middle of your dialogue unless you have a very good and very specific reason. I will cry.

Yes, the girl is young, but she’s not going to talk like that. Most children know how to ask questions correctly, and the ‘w’ sound, while sometimes found in a young child’s speech, does not need to be written out. Children are human.

So, consider the attitude, characteristics, and age of your character when writing dialogue!

2.) Break Up Dialogue Length

If I’m reading a novel and I see an entire page of dialogue without any breaks, I’m sobbing. You’re not a 17th century author with endless punctuation. You’re in the 21st century and people don’t read in the same way they used to.

Break up your dialogue. Use long sentences. Use one word. Use commas, use paragraph breaks. Show a character throwing a chair out a window in between sentences.

For example:

“So, you’re telling me the only way to save my Ma’s diner is to travel across five different continents, find the only remaining secret receipt card, and bring it back before she goes out of business? She didn’t have any other copies? Do I have to leave my cat behind?”

vs.

Amos ran a hand over his face. “So, you’re telling me the only way to save my Ma’s diner is to travel across five different continents, find the only remaining secret recipe card, and bring it back before she goes out of business?”

He couldn’t believe his luck. That was sarcastic, of course. This was ironically horrible.

“She didn’t have any other copies?” He leaned forward over the table and frowned. “Do I have to leave my cat behind?”

The second version is easier to digest, and I got to add some fun description of thought and action into the scene! Readers get a taste of Amos’ character in the second scene, whereas in the first scene they only got what felt like a million words of dialogue.

3.) Don’t Overuse Dialogue Tags.

DON’T OVERUSE DIALOGUE TAGS. DON’T. DON’T DON’T DON’T.

If you don’t know what a dialogue tag is, it’s a word after a sentence of dialogue that attributes that dialogue to a specific character.

For example:

“Orange juice and chicken ramen are good,” he said.

‘Said’ functions as the dialogue tag in this sentence.

Dialogue tags are good. You don’t want to completely avoid them. (I used to pride myself on how I could write stories without any dialogue tags. Don’t do that.) Readers need to know who’s speaking. But overusing them, or overusing weird or unique tags, should be avoided.

Examples:

“I’m gonna have to close my diner,” Amos’ mother said.

“Why?” Amos growled. “It’s been in the family forever.”

“I’ve lost the secret recipe card, and I can’t keep the diner open without it!” she cried.

“The Bacon Burger Extreme recipe card?” Amos questioned.

“Yes!” Amos’ mother screamed.

“Well, that’s not good,” Amos complained.

vs.

“I’m gonna have to close my diner,” Amos’ mother said, taking her son’s hand and leading him over to one of the old, grease-stained tabletops with the ripped-fabric booths.

Amos simply stared at her as they moved. “Why? It’s been in the family forever.”

“I’ve—” she looked away for a moment, then took in a breath. “I’ve lost the secret recipe card. And I can’t keep the diner open without it.”

“The Bacon Burger Extreme recipe card?”

“Yes!” She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her shoulders were shaking. “Yes.”

Amos sat down heavily in the booth. “Well, that’s not good.”

The first scene only gives character names and dialogue tags. There are no actions and no descriptions. The second scene, however, gives these things. It gives the reader descriptions of the diner, the characters’ actions, and attitudes. Overusing dialogue tags gets boring fast, so add interest into your writing!

So! When you’re writing, consider the attitude of your character, vary dialogue length, and don’t overuse dialogue tags.

Now climb out of the pit of writing despair. Pick up your pen or computer. And write some good dialogue!

Best,

Sparrow

[petermorwood]

Breaking up sentence length is good, not just for dialogue but for writing in general. Quite apart from ease of reading, there's more visual appeal as well. Few things are more off-putting to a modern reader* than a solid paragraph of unbroken text.

(* "Modern" includes me at Uni in the late 1970s, confronted by the blocks of text in Classic Novels like "Tristram Shandy" and "Tom Jones" - and my eyes were a lot better then than now...)

Regarding dialogue tags: "said" is NOT dead, and never was.

What it is, is almost invisible, and my usual metaphor is this:

Dialogue is a picture on the wall, the dialogue tag is its hook. Which one should attract most attention?

The more extravagant and obvious the hook, the more it distracts from the picture. Using an extravagant hook should happen only rarely and enhance the dialogue in the process.

@sparrow-and-seed-scrawls shows how well-thought-out dialogue can proceed effectively and coherently for quite a distance without even needing "said".

As long as the readers are aware of who's speaking there's no need for "said-Jack-said-Rose-said-Jack-said-Rose" to remind them, and as those examples demonstrate, character actions and emotions can intensify the exchange even more.

Don't ignore dialogue tags entirely, though. Just don't get carried away because, if you can stand another metaphor:

Dialogue tags are seasoning, completely unseasoned food is bland, but over-seasoned food is overwhelming and hard to swallow, yet can also be monotonous.

That's because over-use of over-elaborate dialogue tags can be like writing in CAPS LOCK. When everything's already loud and emphatic, what's left to show emphasis? CAPS ITALIC? CAPS BOLD? CAPS ITALIC BOLD?

Don't assume something is a good tag just because it's in a "said is dead" list like this one.

Think about your alternative tag. Can you hear its effect on the dialogue? If not, or if you have to work at it, then maybe that's not such a good choice after all.

What does, for instance, "rejoiced" as a way of speaking actually SOUND like?

Wouldn't the character rejoice a bit more obviously by leaving off any dialogue tag and describing their expression, body language and reason for rejoicing instead? If the result's too long,it can always be cut, but description shows, while an awkward dialogue tag can only tell - and sometimes it can't do even that.

"She is rather wonderful," Sinclair owned. "I have heard her described as one of the most efficient women in the whole of London." "The Moorcroft Manor Mystery", © 1935, Ralph Trevor

Owned?

"Agreed", "admitted" or "conceded" at least suggest something about what the character thinks of his subject, but "owned" almost certainly came off an "alternatives-to-said" list, or maybe even a wheel like one of these.

Nowadays they're teaching aids. Back then they were "writers' helpers", sold from small newspaper ads, all yours for a stamped self-addressed envelope and a one-shilling postal order.

Side-note: there were / are also plot wheels, with Exciting Events or Complications. Here's a modern one.

Erle Stanley Gardner (supposedly) used at least four during the course of writing 119 "Perry Mason" novels. Those known are:

Wheel Of Hostile Minor Characters Whose Function Is Making Complications For The Hero.

Wheel Of Complicating Circumstances.

Wheel of Blind Trails By Which The Hero Is Misled or Confused.

Wheel of Solution.

I could only find a photo of (3), and his handwriting is not of the best...

...but the site where I found it also had the transcribed entries from each one.

That, however, is for another post.

The British version was (again, supposedly) created by famous thriller writer Edgar Wallace, who churned out books at such a rate that it's claimed he once dictated an entire novel over a weekend. Another apocryphal story says that an acquaintance phoned him, was told "Edgar's writing a novel" and replied, "All right, I'll hold till he's done."

Like most of his contemporaries Wallace is almost forgotten now, but in his day he was famous (and prolific) enough to prompt this cartoon.

*****

"Something not mentioned," he added humorously, "is the dialogue adverb."

That's an -ly word tacked onto the end of a dialogue tag in hopes it will do the work not actually done by the dialogue itself. There was nothing funny about that sentence, and the adverb didn't make it so. The same applies to far too many adverbs in dialogue - either they're not needed because the dialogue is clear enough, or they're a waste of space because they're having no effect.

No amount of "said humorously" will make an unfunny piece of dialogue funny, but it will definitely point out where the lazy writer who should have written funny dialogue decided that sticking on a misleading label would suffice.

Where such adverbs work rather better is as contrast.

If an action already has a built-in meaning - "laughed" suggests happiness - then adding "happily" is unnecessary. However "sadly" or "grimly" or some other opposite immediately prompts the question "why?", which in turn prompts further reading to learn the answer.

And further reading is just what writers want readers to do. :->

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

These are valuable tools and this is incredibly good advice. Said isn’t dead. In fact, many teachers/writers are now encouraging students to use ‘said’ more often than any other dialogue tag. It allows more opportunity for ‘show, don’t tell’. It’s easier to read.

Also, look into these plot/character wheels! They have many different uses, including (but not limited to, of course): outline ideas, character ideas, stereotypes in different genres, and settings.

Thank you, @petermorwood!

[fridka-deactivated20251012]

revenge for @omegaslostwine

It looks a bit crunchy so pls tap on it to see it in full

[omegaslostwine]

This is SO GOOD!

Literally... MY GODS!

[omegaslostwine]

🔮Artfight second attack🔮

Geno belongs to @fridka

Art Fight

An art trading game

[licorice-and-rum]

To Decadent Poets - Summary

Hey, guys! That's my book here, I decided to post a few chapters (or maybe more) after translating it from Brazilian Portuguese to English. I really wanted to share this work and hope you enjoy it.

Here's a quick summary of the book:

Title: Taigh Hill Dedications

Series: To Decadent Poets

Tags: Dark Academia, Poetry, World War II, Scotland, Art;

If you liked... you're gonna like this: Chronicles of Narnia, Harry Potter (especially Marauders era), Anne with an E, Enola Holmes, Pride and Prejudice, etc.

Trigger Warning: child abuse/neglect, abusive relationships, racism, antisemitism, xenophobia, biphobia, homophobia, anxiety crisis, mentions of abortion, PTSD, post-partum depression.

Add: The book didn't have a Sensitive Editor, so any problems with how people of color, disabilities, or queer people are portrayed can be discussed directly with the author.

Synopsis: When the war begins Christian is sent to the North of Scotland to live with his estranged godfather in his isolated property. He couldn't imagine he would've found his kindred spirits at that forgotten place, his family in every way but blood.

Noah is a jew, Oliver is German, and Annie has a strong head that can rival his own. All of them were very different but their love for art and an old mystery of the old property can be enough to join them forever or never again allow their friendship to flourish.

Author's note: Historical accuracy is not something this author tried to pass on in this story, dear readers. There are a lot of historical changes happening in the books and in no way should this book be considered a good account of real events of the time they represent.

Summary (with links):

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Coming Soon

[licorice-and-rum]

To Decadent Poets - Chapter 3

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

“Inside the night that covers me Black as the pit, from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.” — William E. Henley, Invictus

Christian didn’t want to talk but it seemed no one in this house knew how to understand the concepts of privacy and personal space. Maybe that was the reason why his father was almost knocking the door of his room down, demanding he open it, his voice grave and powerful.

And he would. Sometime after getting out of the shower and dressing up.

But he knew his mom would end up having to endure it if he didn’t open it soon, so Chris hurried up to change and opened up the damn door, facing Maxwell with stony eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked, hissing in anger while his father stared at him with a furious expression, the deep brown eyes they shared shining bright with his bad humor. Chris couldn’t care less about all of his drama.

“Why are you not having dinner?” asked Maxwell, clenching his teeth and Chris looked at him, incredulous.

“Oh... because I’m not hungry?” he asked in a sarcastic tone that made his father frown deeply, wrinkles appearing all across his forehead. It made him look old.

“You’re leaving tomorrow and you won’t even have dinner with your family?”

The question was loaded with accusations and it made Christian feel rage downing in his veins like lava flowing from a volcano. He passed through the door’s threshold, closing the door behind him to stand on the dark corridor of his house as Maxwell watched him.

“I already spent the day with my family,” Christian said, using the same tone Maxwell had, wishing more than ever that he could hurt him, wishing his father cared as much as Christ tried not to. “Mom and Nana had me the whole day, I don’t need to worry about me being an insensitive prat like you are.”

“Be careful of how you speak to me,” Maxwell stuck his finger in Chris’ face with a severe expression that would never intimidate him. “I’m your father”

Those words made everything inside Christian freeze. He looked Maxwell in the eyes, feeling nothing more than cold and ice cascading down his veins like a snowstorm. He had no will to get angry at that because as Much as it was true, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all.

“A father is one of the things you never were to me,” was all Chris said before leaving, going downstairs silently, not wanting to be noticed by anyone.

Miraculously, Maxwell didn’t follow him to continue their argument, and at least that made Chris relax as he walked slowly to the living room, where he knew he’d find what he needed to push away the knot in his throat and the tightness in his chest from what would happen tomorrow and in the nearest future.

Chris couldn't help but ask his mother during breakfast that day who was his godfather whose property he’d be staying indefinitely and Jeane was helpful in giving him all the information she could remember about his godfather, Elijah, the owner of Taigh Hill, and Elliot Wood, his younger brother. As it was, they both seemed happy to accept him just like two other boys his age, children of his staff who had solicited the favor.

Chris couldn’t deny he was curious to know more about the other boys but he also couldn’t push away the feeling he was abandoning his mom, which made him reluctant to think about such matters and get even a bit excited with the prospect.

Chris sighed as he looked at the shelves beside the fireplace, the countless books bound by leather whispering their stories, dropping their honey to those who were thirsty for them. Filled with life and too attractive for Chris not to let his fingers dance over their spines, reading the familiar titles, books his hand had passed through thousands of times, that made him feel like he wasn’t so alone. He knew it was cliche to say that but books had saved him from so Much unnecessary suffering.

They had saved him.

Finally, his fingers stopped at the book he was looking for and he pulled it from the shelf, leafing through the pages until he found the one he’d already read thousands of other times, running his finger over the ink and the letters, murmuring the words he knew by heart:

         Out of the Night that covers me          Black as the pit, from pole to pole,          I thank whatever gods may be          For my unconquerable soul.          [...]          It matters not how strait the gate          How charged with punishments the scroll          I am the master of my fate          I am the captain of my soul.

Chris looked at those words of blurred ink, internalizing them with an involuntary shiver. They were so powerful he could almost feel them physically, caressing his cheeks, warming his heart, loosening the knot in his throat as he knew they would do.

“Chris, is everything okay?” the sweet voice of his mom entered his ears, taking him from the world of the words with a sudden push, making him raise his eyes to her, blinking away his surprise at seeing her there with Nana, both of them knitting.

Jeane seemed better with the afternoon while Nana still had that serious, sour expression on her face, no doubt remembering the Great War time when she lost her husband. He forced himself to smile at his mom, walking towards them calmly, not allowing himself to hesitate.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he answered while sitting on the armchair beside hers and watching the two most important women in his life. Chris waited for a while until he took a deep breath to gather the courage to ask Jeane: “You’re really not going?”

He didn’t know what he looked like then but Chris could hear the tremble in his voice, the vulnerability in it. And maybe Jeane had seen something in her child’s eyes because he put aside her knitting needles and turned completely to him, her baby blue eyes shining with all the worry she was fighting to hide from him.

When her fingers touched Chris’ face, he felt the same as when he’d read the poem. It was like the words were penetrating his soul as if his mother’s touch was something sacred and revered. He let his head roll down, closing his eyes to enjoy the caress. When Jeane spoke, her voice was melodious, a murmur full of emotion:

“Believe me, cariad, I wish I could go with you or that I had a way to keep you close to me but I can’t...” Her voice was taken by emotion, making Chris open his eyes to look at his mom’s baby blues. “I can’t abandon your dad because this will be Hell for him and it’s my duty as his wife and life partner to stay by his side. I couldn’t bear, though, if you were in danger.”

“While you’re free to choose the risk,” Chris shot back resignedly, leaving the armchair to sit on the wooden floor, by his mother’s leg as he embraced them like he did when he was a child and felt sad his dad wasn’t present to some special date or event.

He let his head rest on her lap and Jeane didn’t hesitate to run her fingers through his hair soothingly.

“We’re all free to do so, mi hijo,” said Nana with her Spanish accent getting thicker because of the emotion she was trying so hard to hide. “But you know your parents would never know peace if you stayed. Or even me, to be honest. War is hard and it takes a lot of people, but more importantly, it takes a lot from people. The young ones especially.

“I’m realizing that,” was all Chris said in a murmur, his eyes closed as his mom kept running her fingers through his hair.

He didn’t leave when Maxwell entered, although it wasn’t the same relaxed feeling he felt as he talked to both women before, but Chris tried to pretend he didn’t exist as his father did the same. Chris found out pretty quickly it wasn’t so relieving as he thought it would be.

——— ◘ ———

On the following morning, Chris and his family arrived early at the train station, which was already filled with people coming and going from their jobs, all of them carrying tired expressions but with arrogant, optimistic feelings on their straightened backs. He could hear his father’s assistant commenting that they already had won the war and that the Germans wouldn’t have a chance. Chris almost laughed at the poor fool.

As a diligent reader, Chris had begun to understand the world they lived in too early and he had always cared about the news, especially When it was about external affairs. He knew well that England was broke, as were many countries because of the Wall Street Crash of 1929 and the Great War at the beginning of the century; he knew it’d be a difficult war that would drag on for years before it was over.

Chris also knew about what Hitler had been doing to the Jews in Germany and to think of that kind of cruelty gave him shivers even if he tried not to think about it, as his mother had requested some time ago. It was hard to have hope when one knew everything there was to know around the world and something they quite needed was hope.

Chris took a deep breath, trying to ignore the push and shove of people around him as he tried to also protect Jeane from it. They were in front of the train, impatient because they knew they had no time left. Maxwell seemed as cold and distant as always, and he didn’t even look at his son or Jeane as they said their goodbyes, preferring to speak to his assistant instead.

When the final moment arrived, mother and son looked at each other with pain filling their eyes. Chris didn’t even try to resist the impulse of pulling his mom in to hug her with all the strength he had, holding on to her as if she was all that he had. For a long time, it had been true.

Jeane hugged him back, always armed with her infinite softness and didn’t let go of him until the train whistled, warning the passengers to get in soon. As they let go, Chris touched their foreheads together for a couple of seconds, his eyes still closed. Then he let go of her, looking at Jeane, then at Maxwell.

They exchanged an uncomfortable look, neither of them knowing what to do. At last, Chris turned with his back straightened. As he walked away from his parents, he had this latent sensation that he was losing a part of himself and the shadow of his dad’s goodbyes was tormenting him. It was like the phantoms of Maxwell’s arms were around him as he walked, pushing him back to them so that their place was finally occupied. The words he could’ve said also brushed his brain, circling his thoughts he couldn’t get in order.

Chris knew if he’d stayed even one second more in Maxwell’s company, he’d end up saying something he would regret and they’d end up fighting just like they had done yesterday and the day before. And the weeks prior. And the months.

And all those years since Chris had grown tired of waiting for him at his birthday parties. He was thirteen when he cried for the last time because of his father’s absence and he remembered that night very well. It was the night of the accident. The night he’d lost part of the movement on his hand and what made it impossible for him to join the Army.

A sigh escaped his lungs before he could suppress it and Chris ignored the bad look of the old lady in front of him because of it. It wasn’t like he cared what she thought of him — the woman meant nothing to him anyway.

While passing through the cabins, Chris saw some interesting people and others that seemed as boring as attending a trigonometry class. He kept himself far away from the latter until he found an almost empty cabin: the only passenger was alone in it. The blond boy seemed unhappy and uncomfortable as he stared at the window, lost in his thoughts.

“Excuse me,” Chris said, catching the boy’s attention. “Is there someone seated here?”

“No,” said the boy in response, clearly apprehensive and the reason was obvious: Christian could easily identify the German accent.

This is the reason, he thought as he stared at the boy for a couple of seconds, why the cabin was empty. The boy was German. In the minds of ridiculous people, he might have been an enemy, although Christian could hardly conceive that logic.

“Right, I’m gonna sit with you then,” he said as he got over his moment of shameful hesitation. Christian pulled his suitcase along, putting it on the luggage rack above with some hardship, and sat in front of the boy, looking at him in open curiosity. “I’m Christian. You?

“Oliver,” the boy said, looking back at him with equal curiosity. “You know you can sit anywhere on the train, don’t you?

“Here seems like as good of a place as any,” Christian responded as he felt his stubbornness grow. He smiled, raising his hand to the boy in front of him. “It’s nice to meet you, Oliver.”

There was only a second of hesitation before Oliver smiled back and shook his hand.

“I can say the same, Christian.”

“Call me Chris.”

[omegaslostwine]

🔮 First Attack for the artfight

This character belongs to @lazy-ghost-zzz

I'm doing 3d attacks this years ~

I have a goal of at least 5 but I'll try to revenge all~

Art Fight

An art trading game

[spaceshmuck]

Take my free assests and use them for the year! Some of them them look a lil crusty, that is because they are like... 64x64 pixels. Feel free to contact me if you need the dividers longer!

[omegaslostwine]

https://artfight.net/~OmegasLostWine

[omegaslostwine]

Omega's inspiration characters:

— Eren Jaeger

– Daenerys Targaryen

– Dolores Abernathy

[omegaslostwine]

Alpha's inspiration characters:

William (The man in Black)

Agent Smith

Willem Dafoe

This guy is a character by himself. Totally my inspiration for Alpha.

[omegaslostwine]

Velaun's inspiration characters:

Ymir Fritz

Missandei of Naath 

Weyoung

Various Things

this is a WIP snippet of a Weyoun edit I’m working on (the dialogue is currently fairly unintelligible and too low but eventually like, clar

[omegaslostwine]

Original story Wip

Old 'Alpha's log.

Date: Third of the 5th blast, radial year 2604.

Location: Apex, 3rd Center Level.

Science department 6, MT's log entry for whoever might find this...

So...

Maybe you don't know me, although I doubt it. I'm hard to forget. But in case you don't recognize my existence, let me tell you that what you have in your hands now is a piece of the truth, the one that no one wants you to know. It may not be easy to understand. If this ever changes, if anyone ever finally listens to me, I don't think they will understand a single word of this log. But that's no reason for me to stop, no. If your minds have changed and our reality is different now, I only need to do one thing for you to get it. Start from the beginning.

Today I found a card: a piece of smooth cardboard, for those who don't know.

Yes, a piece of paper.

I can't remember the last time I saw real paper, much less printed paper. The card brought such an unusual drawing .

I had to look it up, since it was an archaic artifact. It was a spyglass, a kind of portable glass that it was looking upwards.

A Spyglass... Shit, keeping this image now could easily land me in jail.

Here and now, in Proxima B, this is almost a sacrilege.

THIS drawing of a staring eye looking at the sky, endowed with wings, taking off far from the city. It is a call to study the universe. A gem for any decent scientist, but a dangerous catalyst for law enforcement officers.

So it is not surprising that it is strictly prohibited.

Few know why, but those more sagacious do.

The truth is that our story does not begin in this ruined world. No, everything begins in a brighter place, where the sun sets below the horizon and in the darkness of the so-called night, you can see the thousands of stars that surround us even today.

Maybe you already know it now, but at this moment, all this information is prohibited by the Power Cabinet. They don't want you to know. They don't want you to look up.

This place of eternal twilight is the only thing we know and are allowed to know.

The blackened sky can only be seen from where the frozen air would kill you in seconds, and the blazing light from the other side of the planet would burn you alive as soon as you leave what we know as the “habitable zone.”

So we are forced to live here, piled up within this stripe in the middle of the day and night, where a reddish gloom never lets us see the starry sky.

Nobody cares though. They do not have the imagination to see beyond the visible. They don't know anything else that doesn't come from the screens around us, and their little brains don't conceive of anything else.

Rats always go for the cheese. And those at the top know how to provide for these pests.

That's Proxima B, a well-planned prison for a bunch of weak-minded rodents.

So this card is almost a gift for me, being a human thirsty for answers in a world that rejects wit.

It is reliable proof that I am right, that there were others before us. Beings who looked up at the sky and managed to conquer it.

That is what I need. This is how I will be able to create what they ask of me.

I can't stop now. I know that the answers I seek are in our past and now I just need to follow this invisible thread that connects the card to our history.

Only then I will find the origin of Proxima and the truth about humanity.

That will be my contribution to science. To this day...

The Hylum will the next...

Log signature: Mayzon Thorne

This was made with a prompt from a literature workshop I'm in. But it has a lot of information about the context of my original story 'Echoes'.

The prompt was to use the cards image of a spyglass.

You can take this as an additional content. A flash back of Mayzon's first steps before becoming 'Alpha'.

Ps: sorry if it bother someone. But the image was made with one of my sketches and Leonardo ai because I didn't want to draw. 🙏

You can find the sketches of alpha in my Tumblr.

[darktraumabomba2]

The light in the dark.

[etrrrnal]

[yuumei-art]

Hollow

[yuumei-art]

Terrarium wings Brittle things My imaginary Sanctuary Part of my Glass Wings Series