forthesanityofstorytellers

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

writeblr how do we make art fight but for writeblrs to just smash each other's ocs around for an entire month asking for a friend

#I'm feelin the vibes lol #writeblr #writeblr community #anyone else vibing with this idea?

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

WIP Intro - Abracadabra

Genre: Contemporary Fantasy (I think) Current Status: Editing/Rewriting Current Wordcount (bound to change as more rewriting happens): 48,447

Have you heard of the three card monte? It’s a easy game really. It’s all about attention to detail and timing. Anyone can play, all you’ve got to do is keep your eyes on the card I show you at the beginning and guess where it landed at the end. And this version has a special twist; in this case my cards are a character named Rod.

The rules? Oh, they’re quite simple.

I have three different versions of Rod. I’ll show you the one you’re looking for at the beginning. Keep a close eye on him, though, because soon enough I’m putting him facedown on the table and putting two more of almost the exact same on the table with him. That’s right: in this story, one character can easily turn into three. Watch as I spin a story using the three cards: One Rod is determined to get and stay out of danger. The second Rod is out to discover the secrets of a powerful weapon. The third Rod is off to learn more about an alien world. The three are linked and yet separate, like cards from the same deck but of different suits.

Make sure you pay attention through the story, dear reader. For the more the story spins, the harder it’ll be to keep track of which Rod you’re looking at.

Is the one looking into the weapon the same Rod as the one at the beginning? Will his discovery of the weapon being one in a set of seven change his plans? Or will the secrets of the weapons prove even more difficult than he anticipated?

Or is the one seeking shelter and safety? Will a pirate ship full of secrets and scares provide what they promised? Or will the bounty put on the heads of Rod and those he’s seeking to protect bring down the ship…and everyone inside it?

Perhaps the one you’re looking for is the Rod seeking information on the alien planet where one of his charges came from. The research leads down a dangerous path, even for one like him. Answers and dangers come hand in hand, and one of the secrets in Rod’s own past may be uncovered before he’s ready to know it.

Only the end of the game will reveal the truth. Only at the end of the adventure will I reveal which Rod is the original one. Come, approach my table. Listen to the stories and play the game with me.

Let’s see if you can guess in which plot the original lies.

If you would like to be tagged when I post stuff about Abracadabra let me know! And thanks for reading!

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Graveyard

This might have been inspired by a random 'what if' post on Tumblr.

At any rate. Have a short story about vampire mermaids.

WC: 1319

Summary: A little mermaid seeks adventure in a ship's graveyard. She probably should have been a bit more careful.

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Looking over her shoulder, she motioned to the two behind her to keep swimming. Many tales were told around the jellyfish pits about how the deeper, darker regions of the sea were dangerous, home only to witches and monsters. All the stories ended with a warning for all merkind to stay away from the shadowed rocky depths, where the graveyard of old ships lay.

But she was curious and daring, and wanted to see for herself. With friends by her side, three little mermaids swam to the border.

The edge of sanctified seas were marked by poles stuck into the ground, pulsing gently with bioluminescent light. Beyond the pale throbbing glow, the seabed flattened and fell, cracks spiraling out beyond vision while deep gashes hid the secrets of the sea.

But while the seabed beyond may have been barren, the bones of past lives rose against the light; wooden ribs of ships, some broken and some intact, masts and poles and broken bits lay scattered as if this land were a battlefield, a mark of how many humans had battled the sea...and lost. Yet sea-life persisted. Moss and lichen clung to the artificial bones, waving at the three like gaunt, spindly fingers curling as if inviting them further.

Her friends hesitated at the border, glancing at each other. Her own heart pounded against her ribs, screaming to turn and run.

But she was brave. She was adventurous. She was going to go further than her cousin, who swam out two nights before to the very edge of sight and came back with a piece of a ship to prove his bravery, and who wouldn’t stop bragging about it.

Puffing out her chest, gills flaring in front of her friends, she swam out into the graveyard of wood and steel and sea-growth. She fanned her fins bravely at the edge, spinning to make sure her friends could still see her. They gave an answering flash of fins, letting her know they could. She hadn’t gone as far as her cousin. Making an effort to swallow her fluttering heart, she turned and swam deeper into the graveyard.

The glow faded from behind her, and for a moment she felt trapped in utter darkness. Then...soft lights from above began to appear. She glanced up, watching silver threads of moonlight making its way from the surface all the way down to her. Patches of silver interspersed between whole pieces of ships and hollow shells, exposing treasures and things she had never seen before. She looked around, hoping to see what kind of fish lived out in these wastes, but saw none.

Swimming down to a random ship, she began searching for something small she could tear from the bones; it couldn’t be seaweed or moss, as that could have been taken from anywhere. It had to be something clearly marked as a human thing.

Something caught her attention further down...a song, trapped in the water. Someone was singing. Someone like her.

Her heart froze as she strained to listen, her mind buzzing with the possibilities of sea witches and horrible graveyard monsters. Everything she refused to believe. Yet...monsters couldn’t sing such a beautiful song, could they?

Her tail pumped the water, body moving swiftly through the ships as she listened. A distant part of her screamed to get away, wailed at the sudden scattering of skeletal figures under her fins. But her body wouldn’t stop. The song spurred her onwards, seeking out the singer. The music dismissed all worries as she got closer, the lilting melodies slowly beating away any fear from her mind.

And then she found it; the singer. Hidden away in the shadows of a broken deck sat another mermaid. Another mermaid!!

The singing faltered as the mermaid looked around, catching sight of her. She had a flash of instinct to hide, but found it quickly dismissed. Why would one of her kind want to hurt her? After all, she could sing so lovely.

Staring at her, the mermaid resumed the lovely melody, the music growing stronger and more intriguing. She couldn't help but drift closer and closer, yearning to look upon the face of the singer. The song promised joy and love, dismissed things like fear and hesitation and instinct. Told her not to look at the shadows looming around her, asked her to forget the sight of dried-up husks of other merfolk under her fins.

The beautiful voice.

A hand reached out, stopping just at the border of light and dark. The song changed, the mermaid weaving a story through the notes about how an old sea witch cursed her to remain here in isolation. How all she needed was the gentle touch of a stranger, and she would be set free.

She stared at the hand as the cursed mermaid’s song wrapped around her. Something drew her in, some force from the hand alone. She hadn't made up her mind. Something still snagged her attention, nagged at the back of her mind. Something was wrong...but her body moved forward, this time without permission or guidance.

Her skin crawled as she left the light. The water was so cold...no. It wasn't the water. The hand was now on her arm, a lifeless chill crawling up her scales and skin into her heart as the cursed mermaid pulled her closer.

The singing was loud, now. So loud, it washed away the last vestiges of her hesitation and will. Her body relaxed, sunk into the lilting chorus of the music. She didn’t feel any pain as sharp, pointed teeth pierced her body, didn’t flinch as the cursed mermaid began to feed. She was aware of nothing but the sweet music, carrying her away into oblivion. Then she was aware of nothing at all.

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Coming upon her traps, the sea witch paused. The mast she had previously used to trap a mermaid was now empty, the magic cuff used to keep her here broken and drifting. A body floated nearby, hidden among the wreckage of human ships and sea vegetation. Moss was wrapped around the dead mermaid, holding her down in an act of burial amongst the graveyard.

The witch sighed. The mermaid previously trapped here was one of the ancient ones, back in the days when they had the ability to sing others to their deaths via sucking the bodies dry. The humans managed to confuse the legends, as humans do, resulting in names like ‘vampire’ and ‘siren’. If only they knew what horrors lurked in the deeps.

And now that horror was free.

Holding her seaweed belt down against her body, she swam over to the dead mermaid and looked her over. Two prick-marks could be found against the small body, a sure sign she had been fed on.

The witch wasn’t powerful enough to kill the ancient one, but had managed to use her arts to trap her here, and so long as the ancient one was left to starve, she wouldn’t have been able to break free. Clearly, one little mermaid had slipped through and given the keys of escape to a monster as old as the waters.

Back in the old days, the witch would have a clan to call upon. But most of her family was dead, slain by whalers or sea monsters or merfolk scared by false stories. She was the last of her kind, and it was her duty to finish what her family started.

Yanking free a small sharktooth knife, the witch began to enchant it as her mind raced. She must find the ancient one before it had time to spread itself, before it had time to give others its dark gift. The nearby territory was in danger. She had to act fast.

First, she had to make sure the newest kill wouldn't turn into that which killed her. And then...the hunt was on.

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Hah, I forgot I wrote this. Trying to clean out my hard drive and found this tucked away. Enjoy. 😁

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WC: 1603

Summary: Jules is 'suffering' the consequences of her misdeeds. And apparently being bored out of her mind while being forced to wait in café for her ride is one of the consequences. Good thing she's got someone she can easily annoy in the meantime.

“Why did you come to me, Hansel?” I asked, tipping my head slightly as I stared at him. He glanced up at me for a second then back down at his coffee, continuing to scribble.

“I was on assignment,” he answered. “I told you that.”

I shook my head, letting my fingers hover over the steam wafting into the air. “That’s not it, darling, and we both know it by now. Let’s not play games.”

With a sigh, he set his pen down, folded his hands, and looked back up at me over the rims of his glasses. “Alright. Let’s talk true. Why were you down in the Keeper archives?”

I blinked, only mildly taken off-guard. “I tore off the doors and descended to the file room. Only an idiot could think I wasn’t after information.”

“Call me an idiot then,” he said with a short smile. “You could have gotten that information someplace else, from someone else. You didn’t need to raid the Sanctuary for it...and you certainly didn’t need to announce your presence by starting a riot.”

A smile creased the side of my mouth. I wrapped a hand around the edge of the mug and leaned ever so slightly forward. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re very smart or very dumb.”

“Cheeky,” he answered. “Some people would call me cheeky.” He gave a short shrug. “Not now, of course, and not you. But others have called me that and worse.”

“I notice you still didn’t answer.” I gave him time to consider through a sip of the black bean-water humans love, his eyes rolling over words for a moment.

“Well,” he finally sighed, adjusting his glasses, “tit for tat. You don’t answer my questions and I won’t answer yours.” With that he flashed me a little smile and picked up his pen. The little scritch-scritch-scritch of the tip scarring ink into the paper filled the space in the same energy as a loudly-clicking clock, despite the hum of human activity buzzing around us.

I shifted slightly enough to get an eye on the iron shackle subtly wrapped around my ankle, a thin silver chain leading from the cuff to a copper loop around his belt. Hanging underneath the loop was a small signet depicting two golden scales inset into a copper circle; a sign of his station in life, apparently. As if the white robe-like jacket wasn’t enough of a tip-off, the signet was supposed to mark his ill-gotten authority over non-human lives, those who dubbed themselves “Keepers” as in ‘Keepers-of-the-law-we-made-up-to-separate-humans-and- non-humans-forever-and-ever-more’.

Of course, in this case ‘non-human’ basically was anything magical and/or non-terran...like me.

I let my finger carelessly and annoying tap on the edge of the warm mug as I looked around; the ‘cafe’ wasn’t much to look at, honestly, which may be why he picked this spot for us to take our little vacation. We had been holed up in a shack somewhere in Spain, just until the heat died down on a few of my little...misadventures. Turns out we didn’t need to hide for very long. Someone killed a very big name in a very short amount of time, and I had nothing to do with it. My Keeper-friend had decided to be all noble then, caught me with the iron cuff and told me he was turning me in.

To be honest, he had a terrible poker face. This was a farce, and so I leaned back to take in the scenery and wait for the other shoe to drop.

Humans milled around and barely noticed us. The air was dry but pleasant. The sun shone out the windows and the birds sung somewhere off in the distance. It was all very...muted. Domestic.

Boring.

This is taking too long, a voice whispered in my mind. Something is wrong.

Relax, mother, I tried to sooth her agitation despite my own wonderings. He wouldn’t turn on us after working hard to save us.

This isn’t right Jules, and you know it.

She wouldn’t stop fidgeting, the agitation echoing down my arm and into an increased tempo drumming out my fingertips. He glanced back up at my mug for a second, the pen-scratching hesitating as he cleared his throat.

“Oh dear,” I said as innocently as I could. “Is my agitation bothering you?”

“Mildly,” he said with a shrug, looking back up at me. “Is there anything in particular you’re allergic to?”

“Iron shackles, peanuts, and bad liars.”

He thought for a moment before returning to his paper, muttering about peanuts. “Alright, then. Do you have anything to say for yourself regarding your attack on the Keeper Sanctuary?”

“Plenty, darling, but I’m not going to say it to you.” I tapped the edge of his paper to indicate why.

“So...silence on the matter,” he muttered, glancing down and checking off a box. “Any relatives you care to mention?”

I flashed him a thin smile. “All dead,” I lied. “Some missing, several killed by over-enthusiastic rule-followers.”

This isn’t a game anymore, Jules, the voice whispered again. He’s taking notes to turn us in.

He wouldn’t do that, I insisted. Humans aren’t that complicated in nature.

Humans aren’t phae, she insisted back. And this one isn’t as stupid as you think.

My fingertips beat out a faster rhythm.

He glanced up, then around. Something shifted in the environment, very subtly and softly. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but someone or something magical had just noticed us and was trying to make its way here.

The edge of the pen joined my irritated tapping as he turned back to me. “Final talks, then. Are you sick in any way that you know of?” I shook my head. He didn’t write it down. “No disease or illness you’re aware of?” Again, a shake of my head. The pen continued to tap. “What planet do you come from?”

I tipped my head. “Why?”

“Do you know?”

“I do,” I answered, cocking an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Another pulse of some magic, transportational I think. It rippled through reality like a snake through water, heading right for us. His pen tapped faster.

“Jules,” he said, eyebrows and mouth pressed downward into a serious expression, “why are you here on Earth?”

“I was trapped here,” I said, forcing myself into nonchalance. His agitation was matching my own, his pen replacing the rhythm of my fingertips on the tabletop. “Through decisions and forces that were not my own. I don’t want to be here anymore than anyone wants me to be here.”

He leaned forward, pen pressed flat between his hand and the table. “What if I told you that’s not the whole truth?” he said, lowering his voice. “What if I told you there’s a way in and out of this world?”

I laughed. He stayed serious, leaning in. I stopped.

Is he serious?

I can’t tell.

We sat there for a moment, staring at each other. Something magical landed nearby with a whomp, causing the table and all the glasses around to shake. The humans glanced around and towards the front windows, looking for the cause out in the street. The Keeper and I looked to the back of the cafe, where we knew the origin to be.

He glanced back at me, crumpling the paper in his hand and shoving it in his pocket as he stood. His other hand was held out to me. I gave him a look, shrugged, and allowed him to help me up. I preferred to not be dragged towards our destination by my boot.

We stayed in step with each other, arm in arm to disguise the chain linking us, my skirt brushing up against his jacket as we made our way down the short hall leading to the bathrooms. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at each before selecting the one with the biggest magical aura. He pushed the door open and started through, with me on his heels.

The mood changed in a flash. I stepped out of a small cafe somewhere between Spain and France with open windows and soft music to a blue-lit bar, glittering bottles of alien drinks, and a jazz band set up on a stage at the back of the wide lobby. I glanced back at the door we had come through only to watch it swing closed and disappear, a wood-paneled wall taking over the space.

I glanced at Hansel who kept his eyes forwards, shoulders relaxing a hair as he sort of slumped into the person I had come to know instead of the straight-laced Keeper. He waited a few beats of the jazzy music before turning back to me with a short crooked smile, reaffirming his elbow-on-elbow grip and leading me forwards.

This is Sting’s bar, mother whispered. Why are we in Sting’s bar?

Dear sweet mother-Raven, I thought back, life would be less fun if we knew absolutely everything.

You can say that freely, she thought back bitterly, as you are not mere consciousness trapped in someone else’s shell.

As you say. I turned my attention back to Hansel as he wove us around a collection of eclectic round tables, past the throng of enthusiastic dancers, down the side of the bar and into a small curtained-off area. Only once the music began to fade through the curtains and the padded walls did we stop, facing a dark-wood door embellished with gold and bronze trimmings. Hansel knocked once and the door opened.

I flashed a smile at our host and said simply, “hello again, friend of a friend.”

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Okay, I will post this tiny bit of the story - the sensitive subject one - ONLY because I want to know how many people get the fries reference. Because that video lives rent free in my mind forever.

Extra points and bragging rights if you do. :)

-----------------------------------

Cetz kicks Louis out of Main Tech an hour later.

Good.

I’m tired of being stuck in the office chained to a desk. 

Well, not me specifically, but since I can’t leave the body of the workaholic who is, Misery gets his company. 

Yes, I ratted him out to the boss. 

No, I regret nothing.

Yes, I ate the fries. 

And I’ll do it again. 

Misery’s company is miserably bored.

#others writing #snerk acchieved #dont get the ref right this moment #but im supposed to je sleeping so maybe tomottow when my brain workds? #regardlrss #snerk has been achieved

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Okay, super weird qn but do y'all ever dream of being your OCs?? Like having dreams where you actually are them and are living through their plot and stuff?

I'm asking this because according to my friends that's not normal

Reblogs are appreciated because the more people who respond to this, the more likely my friends are to believe me when I say I'm totally normal

#I've had a dream maybe once or twice #normally they're in the dream and interacting with me tho #Did have a dream recently where one of my moots OCs was trying to kill one of my OCs tho

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Ok, so this one will be fun because I'm gonna be a dumbass and propose something. When you vote, please reblog and specify what kind of fic you would like to read of the couple you chose: angst, fluff, or spice (18+). And I'm gonna actually write the piece of the couple that everyone votes for, and I will actually post it. I'm terrified, but I might as well try this. I'd like to try, lol. It just might take me a while to write it. Coness (Conor and Chess) and ChIves (Chess and Ives) are both tied in my head, so I'd like to see what others think about them. Also, not guaranteeing a spice of ChIves, I'd have to talk to @drabbleitout first!

Tagging: @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses, @drabbleitout, and @grailfish!

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Last day to vote! Pretty sure there's a clear winner lol but still! Get it in if you haven't already!

Out of Context!

Really I read it wrong at first but I had a funny idea so here we go 😋

I was tagged by @maddstermind here to give an Out of Context Line (thanks!) and by @mysticstarlightduck here to put up an Out of Context WIP poll (also thanks!)!

With the rules for the second one being to post out of context/bad summaries of your WIPs and make a poll for people to choose from.

So since I mixed them up, how about an Out of Context Mix-up!?

Also, since I'm being a weirdo, this is an OPEN TAG, any and all feel free to play!!

Pick an Out of Context line and the winning WIP will get the context for the line posted AND I'll whip out another chapter of it!

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Thanks for the tag @kaylinalexanderbooks!

OC Interaction Tag

Kaylin's OC: Maddie is an 11-year-old girl who is quiet, curious, and a bit of a risk-taker. She's generally well-liked but isn't sure why people like her. She fidgets and squirms and likes to remain active, especially with her hands. She's a STEM kid through and through, loving each letter in the acronym. Maddie takes things apart, such as pens, to see how they work and eventually joins her school's robotics club. She believes in direct fairness - will match your tone with her - and gets a little upset if she is misunderstood, which is often, since she thinks she's straightforward. Her honesty leads to her being nosy, as she believes everyone should be open. Maddie is an animal shapeshifter, and enjoys the physical sensation of morphing as well as pushing her limits a little too much. She's a gamer who prefers consuls with buttons and enjoys old sci-fi shows and modern cartoons. Despite not quite understanding emotions, she does try to be there for the people she cares about, and usually tries to defuse a serious situation with a little joke.

My OC: Astra DuClaire is a 25 year old witch. She was too poor to get a proper education, so she snuck into lecture halls and bribed her way into labs to learn her trade, eventually taking on the specialty of runic mechanics. After learning all she could, she slapped some steel baba yaga legs on a vardo wagon and began her business as a traveling mage in the sketchy land of her birth. As a person, the first thing one would notice about Astra is her arrogance. She's prideful to a fault when it comes to her magic, though this is mostly a front to cover up some deep insecurities regarding her lackluster education. She loves helping people, is hungry to learn new things, and has a deep, angry sense of social justice. She believes all people have inalienable dignity. In her dialog, she's coarse and has a raunchy saying for every occasion. It doesn't matter that she's five nothing, her argumentative streak stretches into next week and she will be a bitch about it. But as angry as she can be, she has just as big a capacity for wonder and love. Her hobbies include tinkering, embroidery, and pirating music.

How they'd interact: Astra would adore Maddie, full stop. They'd make robots together, Maddie could teach her some modern science, and Astra could show off some runes in exchange. They're just two little engineers with maybe some touches of adhd. Astra would appreciate Maddie's fairness policy, even if she might get a little snappy when that policy applies to her too. The nosiness she'd take as a sign of curiosity and do her best to indulge. She'd love learning to play video games and would try to code her own. She'd also be incredibly curious about the whole shape-shifting thing and would want to run some tests. I'm not sure what Maddie would think of this prideful, dirty-mouthed, temperamental witch, but Astra would probably start wondering if she wants kids if she spent enough time around Maddie.

I'll tag @mk-writes-stuff @persnickety-peahen @bloodmoonloveletter @willtheweaver and anyone else who wants to play :)

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Popping in to demand, gently and with enthusiasm, that you share some banter from a wip of your choosing, please and thank you

Banter? Oh I don't write banter. I'm not into it. How boring. JUST KIDDING BANTER IS LIFE YES I'LL POST SOME 😍😍😍😍😍

In fact I love it so much I'll post some from both my WIPs (although, holy shit, is it correct to call The Insuppressible Callie Ray a WIP when it's done? 😱).

The Insuppressible Callie Ray, Simon POV:

“Why don’t you just get back with her?” she demanded. “It turns my stomach, you know. You’re so broken-up over her, it’s literally sickening.”  “Can we not do this right now?”  “Whatever, listen, you don’t even see how good this is,” she pressed, drawing her feet underneath her and leaning toward him in her excitement. “This is what you do: you just start dating Ash. Like, super casual. That’ll make the other one jealous, and then she’ll want you back. See? You can have your cake and eat it too.”  She made jazz hands, and he stared at her. “Ta da!”  “Wow.”  “I know, right?”  “No, that wasn’t complimentary.”  Her expression deflated. “I’m just trying to help. You’re kinda clueless with women.”  “Yeah, and you’ve got them all figured out. Your last one-night stand worked out great.”  Her eyes went wide and she huffed and turned away from him, hugging her mug to her chest. “That was low, Bennett,” she complained. “Really low.”  He sniffed. “What in god’s name are you drinking?”  “Coffee,” she pouted. “Just like you.”  “It smells like a buttercream avalanche, how many flavor shots did you use?”  “Enough to make it taste good.” 

And here's a snippet of Octavius enjoying himself with reporters in what is currently the first scene of gay crime BDSM story:

:) :) :) Thanks for the ask @revenantlore!!!

--

✨ WIP intro

🔖 tag list: @winterandwords // @revenantlore // @space-writes // @indecentpause // @words-after-midnight // comment to be added or removed!

📝 all posts from WIP: gay crime bdsm story

#others writings #ooooooh he's fun

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Masterlist of Writing

Oh my goodness this took so long to finish haha! Anyways this is a compilation of everything I've written so far, it will be updated as I go along.

Worldbuilding:

Geography

OCs

Linguistic Post

High Fantasy:

The Holy Crusader (1k)

Honey-cake (1k)

Deer-shade (2k)

A Thousand Lives (1k)

My Worst Nightmare (1k)

Lich-Queen:

Part 1

Part 2

The Oracle and the King

The Godhuntress & the Void:

The End of the World (1k)

The Beginning of the World (2k)

Old Friends (1k)

For Want of a Flower (2k, sequel to Old Friends)

Spirits:

The Spirit Emperor (3k)

No (1k)

Merida (3k)

Snippets:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 8 (Part 7 doesn't exist)

Part 9

Urban Fantasy:

Tituba and the Darkness (1k)

It watched me without eyes (1k)

Impossibility (1k)

Convenience Store Vampire (1k)

Now, now Dearie (1k)

The Wanderer:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Non-fiction:

On Reading

Bird In a Cage

Dawn

Crumpling Butterflies

Expressions

Misc:

Mahogany (IDK what genre, <1K)

God (Sci-fi, 1k)

Spirit of the Hole in the Wall (Horror, 1k)

An Explorer's Log (Sci-fi, <1k)

Heroes (Superhero, 4k)

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Out of Context!

Really I read it wrong at first but I had a funny idea so here we go 😋

I was tagged by @maddstermind here to give an Out of Context Line (thanks!) and by @mysticstarlightduck here to put up an Out of Context WIP poll (also thanks!)!

With the rules for the second one being to post out of context/bad summaries of your WIPs and make a poll for people to choose from.

So since I mixed them up, how about an Out of Context Mix-up!?

Also, since I'm being a weirdo, this is an OPEN TAG, any and all feel free to play!!

Pick an Out of Context line and the winning WIP will get the context for the line posted AND I'll whip out another chapter of it!

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Can You Hear Me?

Lyra is an elf whose home is being invaded. She goes to the fabled tree of life for help and finds silence and rot. But maybe, just maybe, there's life in the silence.

Written thanks to the prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial! ❤

WC: 769

The smoke billowed behind her. Lyra looked up at the tree, massive and twisting before her. It was as wide as several family houses, as tall as the sky itself.

And it was dying.

“Tree of life,” she muttered to herself. She glanced behind her at the smoke pluming, dotting the sky with blurred smudges in ways never seen before in her home. In her town. Probably not on the planet. They had let the others in…invaders that now seemed intent on destroying what they could not own.

She turned back to it. Stared up, tears in her eyes now. Her wings fluttered angrily as her shoulders began to heave. “Why didn’t you save them?” she asked it. Looked up at the twisting, withering bark, noted the patches of dark rot. “Why didn’t you save any of them!?”

She screamed at the silence, her wings flitting and flapping until she took off into the air, rising and spinning around it’s great girth. It didn’t answer. Of course it didn’t answer. It never answered. Rumors were that if you came here, to the tree that her people swore was the origin of all life on her planet, with a pure heart and a pure mind, it would speak to you. Tell you what you needed to know. Many scholars on their planet had written of it. Many children spoke the tales. A few believers swore they had done it, coming back with stories or song of what the tree told them and how it had been true or right or just.

Many of them now dead.

She swung around it, taking a knife from her belt and yelled, swinging close to the tree and landing on it, her wings keeping her aloft as she swung her blade. Bit into the tree with it. Stabbed it and screamed.

“Why didn’t you keep them alive?!” she screamed. “Why were they allowed to die?! Tree of all life, tree of revival, tree of the ancients, tree of wisdom!” A new mark was added for every false name she’d ever heard of it. Everything that had been brought down by the invaders. There was no mercy for her people from it, no life. No help.

Her blade caught mid-sentence, and she pulled and yanked, but it did nothing. Wings buzzing with fury, she pushed off it into a loop, bringing her feet around with a scream and she pounded the knife with her heels, putting all her weight behind it. The blade sunk up to the hilt, disappearing. Lyra pushed off again and hovered in the air.

Watched as a single drop of something began to leak from the wound.

Felt a horrible fear wash over her.

It was the tree of life. The tree of the ancients…and she had just wounded it.

Wounded it.

“No no no,” she said, zipping up to it. “No, I didn’t mean–” She pressed her hands to the tree and flinched back with a hiss, looking down. At some point in her tirade, she’d cut her hand. Hadn’t even noticed. A smear of the orange goo from the tree’s wound was over her cut, and she watched as the goo sank into the wound. Watched as her skin began to grow over it.

Watched as the cut healed within seconds.

She started. Looked back up at the tree, branches and leaves reaching to the heavens. Watched as they danced, almost as if the great tree was…laughing.

Her knife was dislodged. Shook. Fell out of the tree to reveal a small hollow. Her knife had gotten stuck here because the tree had a…a hole that the bark had grown around. And nestled inside of the small hollow was a bow.

She reached out, the bow almost seeming to call out to her. It came into her hand easily, the wood heavy enough for a good solid arrow but light enough for her to carry. The grip seemed to already be molded to her hand. She held it up as if it were strung, pulling the imaginary string back and lined up an imagined shot, the bow almost seeming to groan and shiver in response to her movements.

It was like this was…made for her.

She stared at the bow.

Stared at the orange goo, still leaking from the tree.

“Deep roots of the mother-tree,” she whispered. Reached out and put her hands into the goo. Peeled back another thin layer of rotted bark, found more of the orange stuff. “You…” she looked up at the tall, ancient tree once more. “...you heard me. Oh mother-tree. You really heard me.”

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Character Voice tag!

thank you @possiblylisle for the tag :)

My line: What are you doing here?

Luna: "Are you lost or something? Pretty sure you're not supposed to be here."

Hans-el: "Do I need to have you defenestrated, or are you capable of leaving on your own?"

Hash: "Hey, just a quick question: Whatcha doing here?" (extremely threatening)

Chris: "Door is that way. Get out before someone sees you."

Tagging @njnetails, @sidhewrites, @bookish-karina, @ashing-blogging, @pluppsauthor, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @italiangothicwriteblr and anyone else who wants to play!

Your line: "Have I met you before?"

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff!

Character Interaction Tag

Rules: post the OCs of the people who tagged you and one of your OCs and say how yours would interact with theirs

MK's OC: Belladonna is a noblewoman in her early 20s of a space station floating in the void. She has recently been betrothed to a man she hates and informed that she is going to be replaced as the heir by a new younger sibling she will have soon. Belladonna is a highly anxious, neurotic young woman who holds herself and others whose appearances reflect on her own to an impossibly high standard and punishes herself (primarily via not eating, as she has severe anorexia) whenever these standards aren’t met. She has a kind heart and a clever, incisive mind behind all of her struggles, but years of abuse from her parents have driven her to disbelieve her own value and skills.

My OC: Ivander Montane is a 30 year old corrupt detective from the trade city of Unity. He has blue blood and double-pointed ears, wears fancy suits, and walks with a cane. His estranged family runs the banks of Unity, however he left them years ago, and in doing so, broke a divine contract, which left him cursed to slowly and painfully be transmuted into mist over the course of many years. Personality-wise, he's kind of a privileged shithead. He's got the catty attitude and love of gossip of a middle school girl, and can insult your outfit just as acutely. He doesn't have a sincere bone in his body and is afraid of any form of intimacy. However, deep down, he really just wants a friend and to not be in pain anymore. Show him the slightest hint of compassion and he will crumble. His hobbies include being a hater, fashion, and marksmanship (he's a crack shot with a rune rifle). All in all, he's got the snark of a drag queen, the heart of a lonely noir detective, and a body that's been through a cheese grater.

How they'd interact: Honestly, I think Belladonna and Ivander have a lot to bond over. They're both from abusive, aristocratic familys. They both tend to be effete and neurotic. They both have a complications relationship with power. However, they've also got about a snowball's chance in hell of actually talking these things out. I think Belladonna would be immediately untrusting of Ivander, which isn't a bad move. For his part, Ivander would probably underestimate Belladonna's cunning, seeing only her anxiety. If they ended up as rivals, I think they'd play some absolute mindgames with each other. Death Note level shenanigans. If they ended up as allies, I think Ivander would see a lot of himself in Belladonna. He'd encourage her to reach her potential, to not care what her family thinks, and to curb her self-destructive tendencies, as he knows what roads that can lead down. He'd also 100% try to set her and Cassie up, likely recruiting Nellie to help. Probably though, Ivander would just end up as some weird information broker Belladonna knows and trades witty banter with. Cassie would probably end up throwing him into a wall like undercooked pasta for being a shit.

Thanks again, hope you like this one! I'll tag @kaylinalexanderbooks @somethingclevermahogony @tinywater @pluppsauthor and anyone else who wants to play :)

#ehehehehe #others ocs