#other writing

[derangedrhythms]

E. M. Cioran, The Trouble With Being Born, tr. Richard Howard

[idrellegames]

To the Sea, to the Sky

This is a little gift I wrote for @sunshinemage, featuring Oya and Aeran. Happy holidays, Rory! 💙💛

Aeran sits on a rock, bare feet scraping idly against the sand.

It has been half an hour or so since they picked their way down the hills from the little cottage to the coast. Oya woke early and all but pushed him out of bed, eager to catch the sunrise. Though they have been here for a week, today is the first opportunity they’ve had to explore. Still sore from the incident with a harpies a month ago, he was happy to sit and take in the view. He insisted that Oya not wait for him—how could he not? The delight in their eyes when they slid down the grassy knolls to the sands below was too endearing to ignore.

The ocean calls to them.

He lets out a long breath. Forcing his aching body to move, he rises to his feet and picks his way across the beach. Oya went straight to the water and headed east, leaving a trail of footprints in the flattened wet sand.

It doesn’t take long to catch up. Oya wanders across the beach at a steady pace, sandals carried in one hand. Their trousers are rolled up to their knees, the hems damp with water. They’ve left their turquoise tunic untucked and now it flutters about them, tugged by the breeze, and their hair is faded against the blue-grey light of the early morning. To an outside observer, they are simply one of the hundreds of villagers who wander their hometown’s coast. There is no hint of the warrior, no trace of the Wayfarer—not buried or hidden, but released. Here, they can set aside their weapons and alassar. Here, they can relinquish the burden of their order’s history and simply be.

A deep ache pangs in his heart at the thought. It’s a good ache, bittersweet yet hopeful. Though there are a thousand things he would have done differently, he cannot change the past. He may have a multitude of regrets, but turning a blind eye to them is not the same as acceptance. But regardless, there is hope for the future. Oya is a reminder of that.

Aeran blinks, shielding his face with a hand as he stares up the beach. Oya has come to a stop and waded further out into the water. They dig their feet into the white sand with childlike joy, shaking with quiet laughter a wave crashes against the shore, spraying them with mist as foamy water surges across the beach. It pools around their legs and retreats back to where it came.

Oya tilts their head and closes their eyes, the wind ruffling their hair. They’ve turned instinctively towards the south—to the strait and the mountains beyond it, and Tol Covere beyond that. Compared to Covera, Vordue is a small pastoral island, its villages isolated and slow-paced and simple. It was the reason they suggested coming here after fleeing Velantis. Even so, he knows their home calls to them. So close, yet so far.

If they wish to return they have not said, and he does not know how to ask. But perhaps he does understand the calling, the magnetic pull towards the place of one’s birth. Though he has sworn never to set foot in Tyridia again, there is a part of him that yearns for it.

“Find anything interesting?” he calls.

Oya turns, a small smile tugging at their lips. A private smile. “No,” they call back, pushing hair off their forehead. Their crest glimmers in the first rays of the dawning sun. “I certainly hope not to.”

He chuckles, hearing the unspoken between them. There’s been too many ‘interesting’ things happening of late, huh. Could use a break from them. Uninteresting things only from now on.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Aeran makes his way over to them. The coast is lined with the white-barked driftwood that calls this beach their final home. Waves beat down, the rush pulsing in his ears, and he tries not to flinch as salty water rushes over his bare feet. He is not fond of the sea—the cold and the brine unearths memories better left untouched—but Oya is. Through them he can see the peace and comfort it offers. A promise of freedom. A promise of tomorrow.

Oya crouches as he approaches, investigating something at their feet. They place it in their palm, staring intently at it as another wave surges up and around them. A stone, one of many softened and shaped by the sea and deposited here by the tides. It is different from the others, flat and round, its surface an off-white swirled with emerald green.

“Have you seen the cats?” they ask, falling easily into Artanisian. They’ve been favouring it more and more since they left Velantis, something shared just between the two of them. Out here on the rural Coveran coast it might as well be a private language.  

Aeran shakes his head. Their little cottage has attracted a number of strays since their arrival. Though he’s seen a few different ones at this point, it’s always the same three gathered on the porch, content to bathe in the sun. On their first night here, the white one crawled into Oya’s lap and fell asleep, purring happily. The cats scampered off when they clattered out the door, darting into the tall grasses. He’s spotted their paw prints up and down the trail to the beach, but hasn’t seen any sign of them since.

“No,” he replies. “But I’m sure they’ll be at the house when we get back.”

Their brows draw together, forming a worried crease. They flip the stone over in their hand, inspecting the patterns. “Do you think so?”

“They might not like me much—”

Oya snorts, struggling to keep their laughter contained, and glances pointedly at the scratches on his arms.

“—but they’ve taken a shine to you. They’ll be back.”  

They nod. “Is it too much to give them names? Perhaps we should name them.”

“I’m game to start a list if you are.”

“Good. The longer the list, the better.”   

“Why’s that? Keeping options open?”

Oya rises to their feet and loops a lock of hair behind their ear. “The white one will have kittens soon.”

He blinks. He hadn’t noticed.

They laugh and nudge him gently with an elbow. “We should return soon. The day is ahead of us.”

Aeran places an arm around their shoulders and draws them into him. “I could stay a little longer,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of their head.

Though he cannot see their face, he can sense their smile. The way they radiate a quiet happiness makes his heart ache with a deep affection he cannot put into words. There’s a steadiness to them that he has always admired. They have kept him grounded throughout everything—even in those years spent apart, long before their reunion in Karth. It is difficult some days to know the difference between what is real and what is not, but they are a reminder.

Oya doesn’t answer. Instead, they fold the stone into their palm and lean into him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Steady eyes fixate to the far sea, watching as sunlight creeps over the horizon. The last stars twinkle in the depths of morning’s blush, Apokarys’ silver-violet trail glimmering faintly below. It’s unusually warm for storm season this year, no hint of the oncoming winter in the air.

“I’m glad we came,” Oya says finally, their voice no more than a gentle hum on the wind.

He nods. “Me, too.”

They exhale a breath. The waves crash against the shore, water rushing about them, higher this time. The tide is coming in. They hold out their hand and pause, waiting for the next surge. As the water pulls around them, they drop the stone back into the ocean, relinquishing it to the waves.

With one final look to the horizon, Oya wraps their arms around his neck, their smile as bright as the rising sun, and pulls him into a kiss. He falls into it, boundless joy thrumming in his heart, and holds them close. They remain there for some time, lost in each other, the ocean sparkling in dawn’s light.

Hand-in-hand, they head back up the coast to their cottage.

To home.

[northern-passage]

i wrote a short story about a woman taking a hike. you can read it here (please read the content warning on the page first):

[ramonag-if]

Can we get more snippets of Faye Oak please? 😍 like is MC a lawyer sort? is it more angsty than COE? uuuuu so exciting!

It's not even a real game, Anon 😜

Because I'm too lazy to go into depth with the plot, here are the first four chapters that I wrote and republished just for you to read 😅

[scrybe-scott]

So I’ve been reading a giant collection of pulp crime fiction to get into the vibe and headspace I need to write Concrete Midnights, and I can’t stop thinking about this passage from the foreword.

IMAGINE THIS BEING PRINTED ABOUT YOU

YOU INVENTED A GENRE AND A BOOK DISSECTING THE HISTORY OF THAT NOW FLOURISHED AND SUCCESSFUL GENRE HAS ONLY THIS TO SAY

It’d be over for me. I’d end it. Hang it up. Call it a day. Throw in the towel. It’s over.

[ladyazulina]

@cilly-the-writer

So... I just read all you have around about Shadows of Sorcery and I can say I was hooked from the first post more than enough to read everything in a moment. And anyone can say it wasn't much, but I don't feel only invested now. It's kind of 'I need to know everything, tell me EVERYTHING, AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH'.

E(F)lora's story feels so interesting, I even like her temporary name. And the magic is so, uuuuuuuh, fitting. I loved Imogen at first appearance and was able to imagine her just like she is, so sunny and with such vitality (Elora, she was upset about the aloe vera! AAAAAAHHHHHH) and she was about to die just like that! And who wouldn't want enhanced balance like Elora? The goddess knows I need that.

I want to see Imogen gathering the firelights, she's just THE friend

I kinda just got confused with Charlotte's kind of magic, I even went looking for the post where you talked about them and was like uuuuuuh, I only get the Caster and the Dreamer, what's the rest????

I wanted to dive into that kind of world, like... what would I be? What would my characters be? It feels so fricking exciting!!

Can we have a master post with all the links placed? Because I was almost crying while looking for the first part

I see in the near future a quiz to know what your type of magic is, it would be marvelous.

Hoping to continue reading! At the pace you set ♥

[maniatothemaxxie]

Hi there mutual!

I read the first chapter of your new fic and I really liked it!

I found the heavy presence of food on the worldbuilding quite interesting, and I wanted to ask what's the cultural relationship between food and Cyclone and Zeena? (I definitely wrote that name wrong. Sorry.

Also, where did the protagonists come from? Why are they fighting alone against never seen troops (for me at least) in California? You don't need to answer this if it's a spoiler!

Have a nice day :D good luck with your project

Oh uh- well it’s more of a mood setting, I’ll give ya a bit of an answer for the cultural aspect. The Salad Gardens are something that Cyclone really loves and wants to protect it because his mother was a farmer who helped create it with others farmers, and Zeena is just there to help him, willingly and unwillingly.

[charlesoberonn]

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

Some spins on the "mostly male team with a token woman" trope:

The woman is trans and stayed in her old circle of bros even after transition

The woman is the only one in her circle of "girls" who didn't turn out to be a trans man

[monsoon-of-art]

[derangedrhythms]

Do you believe in ghosts? The creak on the stair, the chill in the room, a strange scent, a wavering light in the window. The ancient house, the walled-up wing, drifting fog, broken battlements, deep darkness, silent desolation, the empty tomb and its rotting shroud, the damp bed too soft to the touch. The sudden presence of a presence.

Jeanette Winterson, from ‘Night Side of the River’

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[northern-passage]

i wrote a 500 word dynamic poem for neo-twiny jam :-)

i rewrote this in a few different ways with a handful of different drafts before settling on just doing a poem; this originally came from a full branching narrative i've had stewing for a while, and i might come back to it one day. but for now i enjoyed channeling that into this poem, which has also been very influenced by the fact that i've been writing hungry vampires for almost 2 months now.... it was also my first time messing with audio in twine, which ended up being way easier than i expected (i'm sure it helped that i only used one audio sample tho)

faith does contain sexual content, and while not super explicit, it is the main theme of the poem.

anyways hope you enjoy and check out the other entries here!

[excavatinglizard]

Shoutout to my dad for being the funniest person I know

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[soliusss]

Funniest thing I’ve seen on tiktok are those sigma male boys getting mad that American psycho was written by a gay man and going “well I like fight club better” buddy I’ve got some world ending devastating news for you