Tumgik
#og writing
nerdpoe · 2 months
Text
i am having a bad mental brain week my lads and lassies
fuck me but OG works are just like. brain completely empty when i look at the page. i really am trying to force this chapter out, cuz it's gotta get released soon, but holy shit i just
38 notes · View notes
h-d-bolteress · 5 months
Text
Just because the war is over, does not mean the battles are…
Tiktok about my WIP sapphic fantasy story! Follow on tiktok @/H.D.Bolteress for more.
25 notes · View notes
waywardwizzard · 29 days
Text
☆Writing Masterlist☆
Hi everyone! My blog's tag search thingy hates me and someone asked me if I'd put my writing in one place so I decided to create a Masterlist
Most of these are Firefly fics (as y'all know) but I'll add my original stuff under OG if y'all are ever interested in reading them
(Also, I finally learned how to make hyperlinks, yay!)
Now, onward with the links ->
Febuwhump 2024
Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 | Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Day 26 | Day 27 | Day 28 | Day 29
Yeehawgust 2023 (I'll add these slowly but surely because I have to manually scroll back to last year August-)
Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 | Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Day 26 | Day 27 | Day 28 | Day 29 | Day 30 | Day 31
Misc fics
Luck (Halloween 2023) (with added Discworld sprinkles!)
What we lost (Christmas 2023)
OG
Chaotic pirates series
Part 1
9 notes · View notes
daisy-is-a-writer · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
Hey guys, so since there is not nearly enough Scoops Ahoy Steve fics out there, I am going to be taking it upon myself to write one!
I'm also going to try to ease back on the smut... I actually might read and write a lot of it, but I really prefer the other stuff! The sweet fluffiness and the angst and the emotional story stuff. Anyone else?
Also, I am going to try and write and post an original story on here, this is my writing blog afterall :) And I want to actually publish a novel one day!
So yeah! I am ready for the challenge.
Stay happy and safe, and keep on writing! And if you can't today, there's always tomorrow. :)
Jess x
6 notes · View notes
tellme-o-muse · 4 months
Text
I love trains. The woman who sat down next to me on the train was an older woman, I’d say fourty years old or so based on the faint creases on her face. She had rectangle reading glasses that fell off of the bridge of her nose a bit and straight brown hair cut into a bob cut. It’s dark out, so as I was gazing into the window of the train I could watch her reflection. She wore a black coat with a white jumper beneath it, a good few centimetres of white peeking out at the end of her sleeves. She was typing to someone, and I was drawn to the way she typed. Her pointer finger was curled and she typed with her middle finger, thumb turned out at roughly a fourty five degree angle. She wasn’t too quick about typing and a few times she slowed to a stop, staring at the phone screen or turning it away in thought before resuming. The windows on trains are all scratched up so I couldn’t see what she was typing, and I think I prefer it that way. It must have been personal. She sent the message after a moment of hesitation over the button, them she opened what must have been facebook. On every photo, (they were landscapes, I checked with a quick glance over to her), she zoomed in to admire the flowers, or architecture or any other photo that had been reduced to dark squiggles in the train’s window. The woman left shortly after that. I wonder if anyone’s ever romanticised her quirks? I failed to notice a wedding ring. If not, then this is for her. It was a pleasure to sit by you for twenty or so minutes as we rumbled through london.
8 notes · View notes
lucidmagic · 7 months
Note
OH MY FUCKING GOD YOUR MAKING A BOOK!!!? I will buy that shit straight away my guy, if it’s anything like your fic I know I’ll enjoy immensely. Like you’re an incredibly good writer and is soooo nice to see creators like you making books, I know it’ll be an banger. Is it some fantasy game (maybe with a bit of romance)? Or maybe a horror book or just a…IRL book? Either way I’m excited!
Thank you!!! I’m glad I have a fan right out the gate lol.
I have a few WIPs I’m plotting and working on. There’s a contemporary one with the trope of royal x body guard, another is an paranormal contemporary with a vampire, and the final one I’m most excited about and the one I’m largely working on is a high fantasy duology.
The high fantasy one is the one I’ve been most advertising on my alt account @h-d-bolteress. I seldomly use it at the moment since I’m mostly working on the first draft but when I have the first draft done I’ll be talking about it more! I’ve also commissioned some art work for the two main characters that I’ll be releasing once the first draft has solidified.
All of the books are romance/books with a large romantic subplot. And of course all of them are queer/wlw!
Thanks anon for the ask! It certainly made my day!
10 notes · View notes
planningconquest · 7 months
Text
Plan, Atlas
"I want you to join me for dinner." The scrape-scrape of a knife and butter on the bagel paused. Across the breakfast table, Atlas gestured with the buttery knife; first at the table and then the both of them.
"We're eating breakfast," Atlas explained.
"The society is hosting a dinner. We are invited."
"Which society? Wait, is it the Ring of White?"
"No."
"The High Table?" Now Atlas was speaking through a mouthful of crumbs, his grating lack of concern for his own comportment sticking a fork into every one of Gold's nerves and tangling them up.
"No."
"The Watchers?'
"No."
"Then?" Atlas paused, swallowed, and gulped down orange juice. "Who the hell could it be?"
"It is a society dinner," he managed. "We are invited because I am."
"A member of high society?' Atlas asked, picking up the other half of the bagel.
"Yes, your dinner skills are...acceptable when you try, and you are an excellent conversationalist. Doubtlessly from your occupation, so it will do." Atlas rolled his eyes. Gold ignored him. "A dossier of the guests will be in your room by this afternoon. Look over it."
Atlas paused, tilting his head to the side in an over-exaggerated motion that forewarned a headache-inducing conversation. "I want you to start saying 'please'."
Not for the first time, Gold was struck by just how bizarre the young man was. "Come again?"
"Please and thank you, and I want you to use them." Atlas scraped the knife over his plate, the edge digging into the delicate porcelain.
"Atlas." He started. "This is a business transaction."
"This is a business transaction where you have all of the civilian and legal authority over someone who can't fight back. I'm an orphaned teenager, no one is going to stand up for me if you decide to become a shit-tastic parent."
Gold felt his jaw clench. "I would not abuse my authority."
"You already have," he pointed out. "You can't even say please or thank you, how can I expect you to do better on other things?" It made sense, far too much sense; and Gold waited. Atlas wasn't exactly making a production in layering the lox, but it still meant something. "I'll stop you before you insult me by pointing out that I am young and you don't need to be polite because I'm young and I should expect it. I'll even stop you before you point out that you're...technically," he looked pained. "My father and that fathers get to do whatever they want because of society or some bullshit...but you don't."
Gold couldn't imagine his father tolerating any measure of back-talk, and he would have been up and across the room to box the younger man's ears if he'd ever made demands like this. It showed an impressive amount of courage...and that Atlas had a backup plan. The criminal hedged his bets, covered his tracks, and schemed with meticulous attention to detail.
"Please and thank you?"
"It's simple, it's easy, and goes a long way. Your para-military group might be used to orders and officers, but I'm not. I never will be."
Gold wondered what his father would think of that statement. How his mother might have reacted to the confrontation. It made sense for Atlas to make his home life more comfortable, but it was a strange place to start. Since the teenager had already knocked down his two points of defense against the idea, he didn't have many choices left. Not that he agreed with the teenager, he was more than a little confused, and extremely annoyed.
Still, he hadn't made general simply as a joke."Very well. I agreed to your terms." Atlas blinked in surprise, further insulting him. "Please read the dossier, and give me any information you have."
"I will read those files since you asked so nicely." Pushing from the table, Atlas stood carefully. His ankle was nearly healed now and he was gamely testing its strength. "When is the dinner?"
"Tonight."
"What the fuck!"
"Language," he corrected. "Atlas."
"Gold, I don't exist for your schedule!" Outrage, he reached for something to throw. "I have a conference call with people in a dozen different time zones. Do you have any fucking clue how hard that is to arrange! I can't cancel last minute! We've already postponed it three times. Last time it was because of a baby. A society dinner is not good enough."
"I've already accepted!" Gold told him firmly.
"And since neither of us is having a baby, I'm not going to cancel. Tell them that I fell again or something. Don't spring things on me last minute! Damn!"
"Language," Gold blustered for some measure of control in the conversation.
"I have a life too," Atlas explained tersely. "If you want this to work, you need to communicate with me...properly."
Gold swallowed down his anger, treading unfamiliar territory. Atlas was a criminal, but he was also his son. There were responsibilities and expectations, and if he caved now... "I will tell the organizers that you are not well enough to attend a dinner., and that I need advance notice if one is to take place."
Atlas' shoulders loosened. "Thank you." He retreated from the dining room, limping carefully. Only when he was gone, did Gold turn to his butler.
"Thoughts?" The man didn't like either of them, so his judgment was probably safe.
Looking well like a stuffed frog, the butler blinked. "He is a young, impetuous man."
"I am his father." The words tasted like molten lava in his mouth. "I am a general."
"Yes, sir." Gold turned, waiting to hear the rest. "He will not always be a young man. He may not always be...your son."
"May not." A clever choice of words, a caution against the furious pride thundering in his chest. Atlas was below the legal age and could do whatever he wished when he reached it. Gold's influence and authority wouldn't hold out forever, and it was already flimsy enough. The polite fiction of their familiar relationship would crumble.
Perhaps there was a man, far more soft-hearted and kinder than Gold, who would see this request as odd. A father with gentle hands and words, to whom such things were natural and he didn't wrestle the ghosts of a hundred generals in his ear while carrying the legacy they'd created.
He had taken Atlas to effect change on the world, so he could at least start with himself.
#$#$
for further context - https://www.tumblr.com/planningconquest/721668684089802752/writing-prompt-s-you-the-worlds-greatest-villain?source=share
and here-https://www.tumblr.com/planningconquest/722340798524522496/writing-prompt-s-the-local-superhero-is-also?source=share
10 notes · View notes
barbara-herself · 16 days
Text
Lemons
God, I love lemons. They are a wonderful fruit, albeit to love a lemon you have to play by its rules. You cannot bite into it, like an apple, or peel it and eat it's juicy slices like its cousin orange.
Nonetheless, lemons are a fantastic manifestation of humans having their own interpretation of Nature's gifts. Lemons make wonderful drinks, always refreshing and sunny. Their tart flavor and gentle aroma invites you to enjoy a lemonade or a limoncello and tonic on a hot summer's day. They give you warm, soothing tea on a harsh winter's night. Lemons make exceptional desserts - lemon cake, lemon sorbet, lemon tart... Lemons in pasta sauces or in oven-baked dishes elevate them, without taking the spotlight of the main course, but without them the dish itself would be bland and flat, like a song without a beat.
To love a lemon is work - you have to mix it in sugar, boil it, add honey, dilute it with water. But once you're done, there is no denying - lemons make everything you add them to taste infinitely better.
No wonder we call our troubles 'life giving us lemons'.
2 notes · View notes
heartistsoft · 1 month
Text
I miss my sincere friends.
I miss my soul connections.
The one where we just click at first meet.
The one where either of us don't have to try hard for conversations,
nor feel discomfort with mere silence.
I miss freeing more of my soul with them.
I miss…my eyes on them and their eyes on me, or their voices to mine, and mine to theirs, and our frequencies match enough to collide into this cosmic energy of love, truth, and even the mess of it all.
for what is love without a little mess?
mess comes out from the spilling of mistakes, confessions from authenticity, the ones we tuck in deep inside us, and those who genuinely care enough to hold a blanket for you will hold you close enough into believing that love is a mess, and what locks it as it is, as sincere love - is that amidst it all, it should still feel good; for love - gentle love - lets you in their warmth amidst your mess.
4 notes · View notes
ejistryingtowrite · 8 months
Text
meet Maeve
an excerpt from chapter one of my current wip, introducing one of the main characters
“I’m looking for someone. A boy, a man really. Half a foot taller than me, brown hair, probably stubble, real charmer. He might work in the area or live somewhere here, I don’t know.” She took a sip of the cider and swallowed. It was too vinegary and left a sour aftertaste, but what else could she have expected from this sort of establishment. “Work at the steelworks you mean?,” the barmaid enquired. “There could be about a thousand lads fitting that description.” “He’s eighteen, pretty thin, frizzy hair, green eyes, come on, nobody comes to mind?” The girl behind the bar shook her head. “Sorry, love. Maybe if he’d asked about you... But no, no such lad’s been round here looking for you. What’s he, a boyfriend of yours?” Maeve resisted rolling her eyes. “Brother. He’s the only family I have left.” The barmaid nodded sympathetically. “I see. I’ll keep my eyes peeled, in case he shows up.” “Thanks, I’ll be back or...” She hesitated. “You can find me at the Riordan, if he does.” The girl patted Maeve’s hand, a gesture of compassion or friendliness, or maybe something else, it was impossible to tell. “What’s your name? Have to know if I need to forward a message.” Before she could give her any answer, a booming voice behind her provided it instead. “MAEVE O’SHEA, YOU FUCKING CUNT!” She whipped around, spilling her cider and letting the barmaid’s hand fall from her own. There was a towering figure with a shaggy beard standing near the door, a figure she immediately recognised as the man she’d shaved ten pounds off last month, claiming to have a way to invest it in the steel business with a fourfold profit. “Hiya, Jack, right?,” she said, shaping her mouth into an innocent smile. “Was gonna get back to you soon.” At that, Jack charged towards her, just as she threw the half-full bottle at him and ducked to the edge of the bar, from where the barmaid pulled her to the back of the pub. It took Maeve a second to realise what was happening, as the girl was pushing her across a dank basement and out of a back door, into a dark alley.
3 notes · View notes
Text
What's so terrorizing about beauty? 
Tumblr media
The bare trees of winter are beautiful. Bicycles thrown messily down in the snow are beautiful. The coffee table I write this on, scratched and bruised are is stunning beautiful. The vase of pink tulips next to me giggle and wink in their beauty.
People are beautiful.
My friend and his girlfriend smiling at each other, not once breaking eye-contact, during the chaos of Truth or Dare. Beautiful.
Tapping my friend's shoulder, and him immediately turning around, bending down to help me with my Geometry homework. Every other sentence, he lifts his head up from the paper and says, "Does that make sense? Does that make sense?" His eyes are wide with the quiet zealousness signature to him. Beautiful.
Arms wide as my best friend trembles and shakes, murmuring, "I'm sorry. I can't believe it.". Beautiful.
The boy, who always sits in the back of the classroom, dark hair, clouding his vision, headphones blasting so that I could hear the ABBA songs from my seat in front of him. His hands quiver as he opens the email on his phone, whilst 13 wide-eyed students observe.
"Eli, we would like to guarantee you an offer in 2 years to our school.."
The phone hits the ground, and a gangle of limbs curl into a fetal position.
"Thank the lord, thank the lord, thank the lord," He cries. Cheers flood the room, and even the teacher is grinning.
A girl cries, as a group of boys, sweating, and cackling, and mocking her.
"I'm a girl." She shouts. "I AM A GIRL."
----------------------------------------------------
beauty is terror. terror is beautiful.
If Death is the mother of beauty, does that mandate it as the mother of terror?
Surely two extremities cannot be related, by any fathom.
However, beauty and terror share. they share the common trait of invoking visceral reactions, which equate to weakness.
Pure vulnerability, and raw, true, unfiltered emotions can be found both in gazing into one's soulmates eyes, but also facing the most petrifying of things.
both are real.
both are true.
yet we associate each with dissimilar situations, which may be incorrect.
If beauty is not terrors sister, maybe they are half-siblings or cousins
Or maybe, just maybe, they might be twins.
10 notes · View notes
royalberryriku · 7 months
Text
Uh, New Story™ Rambling Post?
Just a random post of original story ideas I want to blurt out somewhere and get some feedback for if anyone wants to chat with me about OCs, ideas and yell about stories lmao
Will have picrews (with links), any art or notes, etc and will be updated as I go.
So we have these two main characters so far:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Their names?? I have no idea. But I do know the the first one goes by they/them and is the narrator and the latter is their love interest, a lady who partners up with them.
I'm thinking maybe the buddy-cop trope in a mystery, sort like the Sherlock Watson dynamic with these two.
As far as setting and atmosphere goes, I'm thinking maybe dark academia?? Definitely relating to magic, astronomy, gods, etc. I love playing around with the idea of eldritch powers beyond comprehension; that desire for knowledge and the unknown, I love settings that are filled with human curiosity and the result of both that innocent longing and that darker hubris that leads to grave mistakes.
I want the protagonist to be a sort of shy, stand offish person, but also hints that they're hiding something deep down. Maybe their perspective is that of an unreliable narrator and the story is told via their bias and lies?
As for the second main character, I could see her being a bit more open and honest. Maybe as she also helps the protagonist as a sort of moral weight that pulls them back from their lies. Or maybe even better of an idea could be the pros and cons of both, and how both characters wish they could be more like the other? An honest and kind woman who doesn't want to be so kind and open; who wants to be able to lie, meanwhile there is a character who feels compelled to lie and wishes they could just be open and reveal all that is burdening them.
Theme-wise, I'm thinking maybe a story that centres the idea of how progress can only be achieved through warmth and kindness, not judgement and coldness. Though that may change. I think, as usual with what I write, I'll end up sneaking in some themes about self love, mental health and healing from trauma. I especially love stories about becoming independent after feeling controlled, so I suspect I'll end up adding that as at least a minor theme throughout this story, if not all of the stories I write. It's a go to for me and something I love to explore and express through writing.
As far as the main conflict and potential twists, I already have in mind that the protagonist would have a connection to the mystery to some degree, particularly the idea that the protagonist's inner troubles are caused by the same thing/ person that caused the overall conflict. Meanwhile, I could see the second main character being their support and reassurance that they are more than their circumstances. I would also like to flip this down the line where the protagonist ends up doing the same for the second main character, their partner, when she goes through similar turmoil once her own inner conflicts are brought to the surface.
[To be continued later]
Credits:
Picrew (1)
2 notes · View notes
h-d-bolteress · 11 months
Text
Elves in OG World
Here are some Elven facts from my og story (tagged as sq story) that I want to share!
There are two elven ancestries: High Elf and Dark Elf.
Phenotypically, High Elves are most similar to South Asian humans, with medium to dark brown skin, high cheekbones, and wide and/or strong/sharp noses. Dark Elves have the same bone structure as High Elves, but their skin is in shades of blue, greys, and purples due to their adaptation to subterranean environments.
The Elven language is thus largely derived from the Sanskrit language with some names coming from Hebrew.
Though Elves are the longest-lived ancestry in the world, they only live about 900-1000 years, compared to a human's 90-100 years. The oldest Elf to live was recorded as 1197 years old when they died.
They are the oldest known ancestry to exist in the world and have the longest continuous history because of this. Archaeologically, the oldest evidence is 130,000 years old, and their written histories start around 68,000 years old.
Elves detest mage-derived magic, seeing it as antithetical to the creator beings of the world. Even to the point of not teleporting through mage portals, instead, they'd opt to sail for a month around a continent to get to the same place. Elves have an affinity for the natural and blessed druidic arts and promote it heavily, so much so, that noble-born Elves are often sent to druidic schools to develop a rudimentary grasp of the arts.
Their hair color resembles metals and their eyes are colored like gems.
With the former, hair is considered precious and sacred, due to its slower growth compared to other ancestries. And so, cutting it is reserved for special occasions, and outsiders or non-trusted individuals are barred from touching it.
It is considered the height of trust for an Elf to allow someone to touch/comb their hair, especially a non-Elf.
Both High and Dark Elves are considered relatively isolated people with little to no admixing of culture or blood, as such half-Elves are relatively rare. However, there is a notable increase in them due to the Maleficium Age, where Elves and other ancestries had to be in close contact throughout the war effort.
25 notes · View notes
waywardwizzard · 28 days
Text
The season of Madox market was in full swing, people from all over the Dharian Archipelago sailing to sell their wares.
Captain Alexandros Dunoran jammed his hat onto his head and stared out at the sea of colourful canopies already spilling into the dock yard, scowling. Behind him, Casya, the first mate, stepped off the gangplank with a thud, her boots scuffing on the sun-bleached wood.
A merchant dressed in bright yellow robes brushed past them, half a dozen people carrying boxes following in his wake. Alexandros made a face and Casya shoved him forward, grinning at the merchant when he glanced back at them.
“You need to learn to control your face,” she murmured, pulling the captain between two nearby stalls. He huffed, dodging an aggressive looking spice seller, and ignoring a weather-beaten fish monger who looked close to gutting things that were more human shaped.
“I’ll learn to control it when the bastards learn to behave.”
They tumbled onto one of the main roads, the street barely wide enough for three people to stand next to each other. Shouting weaved together with the sounds of clinking coins and laughing market goers, the faint sound of an argument holding it all together.
“Where are we meeting him again?” Alexandros asked. He felt a faint tug at his side and pulled his satchel closer, glaring at the thin hand reaching into his bag. The urchin glared back, reluctantly removing her hand, handing the captain back his small coin purse.
“Thank ye, now bugger off.”
He gave her a copper piece. Before she could disappear, he knelt, catching her wrist in a gentle hold. “Careful who you steal from next time, aye?”
He gave her thin wrist a squeeze and shooed her off. Casya watched as the little slip of a girl slipped into the crowd, grinning proudly at the small treasure in her hand.
The sound of the argument got louder, breaking the daily melody, and as it reached a crescendo, a group of men suddenly spilled onto the street, all of them bloody.
The whole street went quiet, watching as half of the men pulled out knives and the other half raised their fists. Slowly, everyone went back to what they were doing, walking around the fighting group like they were only a mild inconvenience. An ambitious food seller immediately started a betting ring on who would win.
Alexandros started walking again, keeping a hand on his cutlass just in case. You did not survive South Point without a warning sign. Preferably a big and pointy warning sign.
“Anyway, where did he-” he stopped, a dizzying sense of worry setting in when he did not feel Casya next to him. Turning around, his blue eyes desperately searched the crowded street for a familiar mop of curly hair.
She was standing a few steps behind him, swaying slightly, staring intensely at a point somewhere behind the fighting group. Someone shouldered past her but she ignored him, barely acknowledging the small dagger he was fingering.
Alexandros quickly stood in front of her, glaring at the man.
“Either you leave or I cut off your feet and throw you into the sea. You don’t need them for swimming, do you?”
He swept his heavy jacket away, the sunlight glinting off his cutlass.
“It’s your choice, friend.”
The man spat, smirking at the captain before walking away. Alexandros wrinkled his nose in disgust at the spit puddle, before turning to Casya. When he saw her still hazy eyes, he looked around, quickly herding her into a nearby covered stall.
The tent flap slipped closed, throwing the tent into darkness. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the gloom, rusting gas lamps hanging from haphazardly strung ropes. Hundreds of trinkets covered every available surface, a few of the larger ones standing in the narrow aisles. It was quiet in the tent, the sounds from outside muted through the thick canvas.
Casya drew in a sharp breath and blinked, frowning slightly. He pulled her closer, twining their fingers together.
“You with me, sister?” he whispered.
She nodded, playing with the ring on his index finger.
They were quiet for a few seconds just breathing together. After a while she pulled away and he let her. Focusing on a far corner of the tent, he let his eyes wonder over the wares.
“He got a new handle,” she said.
“Didn’t He get a new one a month or so ago?”
Casya grinned. “Oh, aye, He did. He broke it again.”
Alexandros’ laugh boomed through the small tent, startling something hidden under one of the tables. There was a hiss and he went quiet, staring wide-eyed at the swirling shadows.
“Already? How’d He break it?” he asked, slowly moving closer to the tent opening.
She shrugged, bending down to try and see what was hissing.
“It probably had something to do with that battle at Darquinite cove.”
“Why are you- You know what, I should know better by now.” He sighed. “Please don’t get bitten. We still need to get a doc’ and I don’t have enough money to pay a freelancer.”
“I won’t, don’t worry, brother.”
She ignored his mumbled ‘I always worry’ and held out a hand. A pinkish snout poked out, sniffling cautiously before pulling back, disappearing into the shadows again. Casya stood up and stretched, throwing Alexandros a sly look.
“Careful, captain, maybe it’ll sniff you to death.”
He glared at her, but she only brushed past him.
“C’mon, we’re late.”
“It’s not my fault.”
“Oh, and it’s mine?”
Casya threw the faded canvas flap open, the sunlight blindingly bright. Sound from outside filtered in, filling the tiny space.
Something on a nearby table glinted in a way that gold never could, and it caught the captain’s eye. Moving closer, he picked it up, throwing sun glares onto the canvas and turning it a vivid purple. It was round and looked like a spyglass lens.
“We need a new one,” Casya said, searching the table for the price ticket. Cursing quietly, she hooked her foot around a nearby stool foot and pulled it closer. Climbing onto it with another curse she started sifting through the cluttered table.
Turning the lens around, Alexandros frowned. He brought it closer to his eye and squinted. Swivelling around to look at her, his frown deepened.
“It’s not a lens,” he said. Handing her the not-lens, he blinked and smiled, tilting his head back to look up at her. “When did you get so tall?”
“Around the time you shut up.”
Instead of being entirely flat the not-lens (disc?) bulged out around the middle, tapering down until it was flat near the edge. Casya rubbed at it, the pad of her thumb catching on the rough surface. Spotting the price ticket, she handed the disc back and grabbed the grubby paper with a smile.
“Do you think the owner will be willing to exchange copper for bronze?” she asked, showing Alexandros the price.
His face lit up with a grin brighter than the sunlight still streaming in through the open flap.
“It’s either that or lose money. And we both know they don’t like that.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's note-
Hi! If this is your first time reading my writing, good luck.
If you're already familiar with my writing, I'm happy you survived it.
Looks like I finally started writing something that isn't fanfic😂
Note, this is being cross-posted on the Deadlines for Writers website, so I'll post the next piece here when it's live there (it's about a month between each prompt)
This is an OG story I've been wanting to write for almost 2 years now and it's all mostly @theetravy 's fault. More on this in a stand alone author's note I'll add the link to here. Also, if you want to know more on the worldbuilding/characters, just follow the tag chaotic pirates and you'll find them
Warning! English isn't my first language so please be nice to all the formatting and grammer issues you will encounter.
3 notes · View notes
p0plotte · 8 months
Text
Wanderer Of The Stars
Gonna start uploading a small little story I have going.. yeah
Parts are below :3
—•—
Suspicion
Sarah
Stalker’s Tango
Bad Habit
Inarticulation
Wires
22194
Sweet Tooth
My Time
Gommene Gommene
Ma Cherie
Family Line
Real Men
The Blonde
Nintendo 64
Asleep Among Endives
—•—
Character Profiles
Mingxia Fei
Maeve O’Belle
Ciel Apocalypse
2 notes · View notes
writesailingdreams · 2 years
Text
Amphibia Finale Thoughts (22 May)
I think of the recent Disney animated shows I’ve seen the endings of (Gravity Falls, DT 2017, SvtFoE, Tangled), Amphibia pulls out a satisfying ending (being the first since Gravity Falls), and this is because I think it sticks to its throughline: to change means to grow and people can change for the better.
I don’t want to get into all the details of this, but I will say Anne exemplifies this lesson best, as does Sasha to a lesser extent (though maybe at a more high contrast level); I’d say it's a little weaker with Marcy, but is stronger with her newt counterparts (Andrias, Olivia, Yunan; but especially in Andrias).
My biggest emotional takeaway, as I wrote on 15 May, was:
I feel I should be more upset, but I place narrative weight to the value of memories, remembering, and retaining the memory of something or someone. This may be my writing influence. It’s a very my writing thing; it’s a pretty central sentiment (as its developed). Or maybe OP influence — as long as something is remembered, it won’t die. That...moves me. Resonates. [In other words] the narrative emotional value of memories is thematically important in my writing, but also an OP influence.
EDIT REVISION: realized it felt weird to tag someone in my personal post; see here for the original line & intention. Also, it was me writing about an emotionally resonating theme that matters a lot to me and in my writing, which I saw reflected in One Piece. There’s more I could say and be clearer about but I don’t want to. It’s just a piece of this whole post and I don’t want to pick it apart. I know what it means to me and that’s all I really wanted to convey.
Also that, as I wrote on 18 May:
I feel emotional, deeply moved [by the separation/ending]. But I don’t feel broken-hearted. Perhaps these helped:
(1) The subtle setup of change in All In
(2) My conclusion that the hardest thing Anne would have to do would be to say goodbye to Sprig forever
(3) My past bafflement about how upbeat everyone was in True Colors when the girls were (allegedly) going home — I thought Anne going home meant leaving Amphibia, but since the characters were so sure that wouldn’t separate them (Anne even talks about introducing Sprig to stuff on Earth as if the idea of travel between worlds is just a matter of course*) + how the show often had more positive conclusions for Anne and the Plantars, I came to accept that Anne and Sprig wouldn’t be separated, that going home wouldn’t mean leaving Amphibia forever. The seed had been planted but the show convinced me otherwise until All In
*(how would anyone know whether the music box would be usable back on Earth? What if the gems needed to be recharged (I mean, they wouldn’t but the characters wouldn’t know that at the time) without the Temples to do it?)
But the best thing Amphibia did was get me back into writing in my writing-world. Thanks to friendship, cool powers, and saving the world.
•••
Gosh there’s so many other thoughts, but these feel like the most important:
Anne grew into the best version of herself in her opinion
Her love for Amphibia & it’s inhabitants allowed her to defeat the Core; a request for help from its worst version answered by someone who came to love it for the friendship and family it offered
More other thoughts:
“[frogs] love humidity” 🥺 Flood, Sweat, and Tears
Why couldn’t the Guardian give Anne new stones? Probably because it’s a Watcher; it doesn’t interfere with events, I’d guess. If Anne made the decision that destroyed the stones, I don’t see why the Guardian would contradict that
When Anne dies, think if the story ended there: not only how sad it is (knowing someone is dead vs letting someone go when one is alive & well & wishing for one’s best — I’m suddenly reminded of Gayle Greeno’s last ghatti book...), but Sasha and Marcy are stuck there w/o anyway to tell Anne’s parents what happened (suddenly reminded that one of my oldest stories ends with friends being separated...by death, which feels so much tragic than what Amphibia actually gave me)
Appreciated the freak out humor while talking with the Guardian “I’ve seen some pretty strange things”
Argue why Sasha and Marcy wanted to go back — but Sasha’s main goal initially was going back, then overpowering the king; once she decided to change, I’m not sure what her motivation to stay would be once Andrias was defeated. As for Marcy, her main growth centers around realizing she can’t run from her problems; of the girls, Marcy may have made the fewest connections in Amphibia but was the most passionate about understanding— I think if circumstances had been different, you know she would have loved to explore and study Amphibia.
5/16: I think somewhere inside my brain I expected Sprig to refuse to leave Anne after she’d absorbed all the stones’ energy. Like, you’re my friend, I’m not leaving, and the power of found friendship (“I’m not gotta let my first real friend get eaten”) would save the day.
5/16: I headcanon that Sprig and Ivy find something on the undiscovered continent. Leaning toward a different energy powered device that works on a different, maybe less cosmically powerful, source to travel between dimensions. Linked to desire/wishes? More personal??
5/16: Maybe if Anne had shown more conflict about leaving [would that have helped the separation]?? But see, from the very beginning Anne wanted to get home and I’d always been baffled by how casually upbeat everyone was in True Colors. Anne and the girls are going home! And somehow we’re gonna stay in contact. By using this music box, that every time we use it we’ll need to recharge it at the Temples. (That’s not how it works, but unless you know how to use it, the travel is pretty hit or miss...)
16 notes · View notes