Writer Stuff - Blog Posts

#27

I smile, to let everyone know I'm alright, even as my heart shatters and cracks into a thousand pieces. I wait for someone, anyone, to come and save me, only to realize it is futile. I scream, and cry, and wail so terribly I wonder how it is possible for anyone to not have heard my screams of terror and agony as I shred myself apart, or how I drown in my own tears, the room I lock myself in stifling and trapping me rather than becoming my haven.

Then one day I realize that I am alone, and that no one will come. I do not have the luxury of a knight in shining armour, or the love of my life, appearing out of thin air to save me, and vanish me away to a land of peace and tranquility. My heart does not know those words, and they sound foreign, odd, even in my mind.

I am alone, and will die so.

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#26

How many times must I say goodbye in order to meet the person I was destined to?

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#25

For no one will see how my heart fractures, if only a little, every time I see him. My heart craves him, yet my head knows I cannot. My heart yearns for him, yet my head tells me to stay away. Which do I follow, if either at all?

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#24

"How can I be homesick for a home I never had?"

"The same way you can grieve for the person you never were."

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#23

Temporary does not mean insignificant.

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#22

Why do you refuse to believe a single truth and yet believe every lie?

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#21

Their hypocrisy disgusts, and saddens, and angers me, filling me with such profound and roaring rage along with a thousand other emotions I could not name if I tried that it takes something short of a miracle to make sure I do not fall over the edge again. This rage is all that keeps my alive, because I know that if that the world must rid itself of these monsters clothed in decadence and finery, and that if I do not stop them, no one else will.

I know if I do somehow explode, or boil over, or erupt, all I will face is mockery, and jeering, and laughter, and it will feel as though I am a child once more; powerless, with nothing and no one to call my own.

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#20

Why must living in peace require sacrifice? Why must I give up parts of myself that I never even knew existed just to have a chance at survival? Why must I fight a war that is not my own, seeing as I do not recieve the least bit of credit for it, but rather ridicule, most often from the people that started this raging war?

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#19

Oh but how strange it is, to grieve for a life, a person you have never had, nor ever will. To grieve for the child, or sister, or friend, or daughter you could have been but never were?

And then I wonder how it is possible not to, when all I was told as a child was to how to be better, do better, because nothing I did was ever good enough, and everything needed to be compared.

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#18

If I lit a candle for every person I could have been, do you think I'd fill a graveyard?

How much land would be sacrificed for my mourning alone?

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#17

How many of his mistakes will you forgive before you realize that they weren't mistakes at all?

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#16

How human and utterly mortal it is to crave, to want, to feel, I tell myself. And then I wonder, how must the immortals experience our human emotions? Do they feel at all, or simply exist, void of all otherworldly connections to the ones they surround themselves with? How foreign it must feel to experience and revel in all the luxuries of the world, and yet not be able to feel a single thing?

My last thought, and perhaps the most terrifying, is wondering if my apathy makes me immortal.

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#15

"How many days have you spent surviving and not living as you were supposed to? As you deserved to?"

"...No one's ever asked me that before."

"Well I think it's high time they did. How much of your life did you spend trying to please others, only to realize some were ungrateful bastards that took your kindness, and compassion, and empathy, and all these other wonderful things about you for granted? Living as they told and ordered and requested and pleased, and cajoled and begged and eventually praised you for becoming the mold they wanted you to be?

"Let me tell you something: every time you let them chip away at your self-confidence, at pieces of you they broke and shattered so thoroughly, every time you allowed them an inch of space, one more string was added to the puppet they wanted you to be, until all you could do was what they asked of you. All you permitted yourself to do. Until it shredded your soul, your very self to fragments so tiny you were scared it would be impossible to put back together, until you believed yourself to be the ruin they wanted you to be."

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#14

Now tell me my dear, which cuts deeper? His words or his hands?

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#13

The jewels embedded in her crown looked as though they had been drawn from the heavens themselves, drops of cobalt glistening in the moonlight. They, too, were as depthless as her enchanting eyes, and when his eyes roved over her body, he couldn't help but fall hopelessly in love with the witch who had entered the cavern.

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#12

The awnings, at least, offered some reprieve from the sweltering heat of the city and the ruthless, unrelenting sun that beat down on them day after day. 

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Masterpost of masterposts

All my writing in one place! It's posted here and on AO3, where you can find me by the same username. I'm updating as I write, so my masterposts won't ever be 'complete'.

Enjoy!

Original Writing Masterpost #1

Original Writing Masterpost #2

ACOTAR Masterpost

Out-of-Pocket Quotes

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#11

The sky lay awash in hues of deep crimson, as if it too mourned Raena's absence, and had bled alongside her in the war that had shattered and remade their world.

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#10

Breathing became difficult, the heat stifling. The room spun, and she swayed, every noise blurring together in a cacophony of shouts. Just as she tipped backwards, warm hands grasped her back and waist. "Breathe," murmured a comforting voice in her ear. "They can't hurt you now."

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#9

How many nameless and faceless people must bleed, and suffer, and die before you realise, Prince, that you too bleed scarlet? How many are you willing to butcher without a second thought?

The time has come, fool, for the nobility to step aside. For if it does not, it shall be crushed under the weight of this world. This new world. A world forged and born and remade by the dreamers, the inventors, the artists, and the peacemakers. A world where we might live in harmony, where we are not killed, maimed, or slaughtered simply for who we are. A world where the law is just and kind, and treats its citizens with fairness and justice.

And you, Prince, you and your filthy, rotting, corrupted court shall fester in the depths of hell, your corpses rotting for all eternity, while we thrive in a lovely, rich, and just world.

You will gaze up at us and beg, as we have begged you now for centuries, to be allowed in, to be allowed to experience an ounce of the luxury we will revel in day after day.

And yet we will refuse. We will laugh, and mock, and ridicule, as we have been subject to our entire lives, and neither you nor your people's souls will get a shred of peace or rest, for we will make sure to torture your souls so thoroughly that our stories will be spoken around fires at night, or told to your grandchildren and kin forevermore as myths, and legends.

They will fear our kin, as we have feared yours.

For it is time our stories were told and heard. Not only by the likes of you, but our own people too.

The time has come, Prince, to change the world.

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#8

Why? She raged and screamed and pleaded so desperately to the stars. Why must I always be the one to lose and sacrifice? Why can I not keep what I love and cherish, as the others do?

Losing someone is difficult, they told me. But you'll forget them eventually. But what about how difficult it is to lose a different person each time, praying and hoping and wishing and cursing at the heavens themselves to let me keep them?

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#7

She sighed, the wind ruffling her hair, and marvelled at the glittering sprawl of the city before her, buzzing and teeming with life. With light. With people. Her people. The people she had sworn to protect until her last breath. But what good was that oath now? Sand, dust, rubble, and shattered dreams, that was what it was. She had failed, after all. Failed to save what was most important. And they had paid. Her dear siblings, her friends, had died on the battlefield, not an ounce of fear or regret on their ethereal and unmistakably Fae faces. They had embraced death nobly, as warriors. Some weak, disgusting part of her had felt angry at them in the initial weeks after their deaths for abandoning her so. For abandoning her and her future. But not anymore. Today, on the anniversary of their deaths, she understood their sacrifices. Why they had done what they'd done. That it wasn't simply out of loyalty to their Empress, but rather a way of making sure that no more innocent blood spilled on their lands again. Enough blood had run, on either side, to turn the rivers scarlet and glowing, and she had no intention of letting it continue.

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Original Writing Masterpost #1

A collection of my original writing (not inspired by fandoms, fics, and such) is here. It includes poetry and my general ramblings (in progress) here and on AO3. I'm updating as I write, so this masterpost won't ever be 'complete'.

If you find something that is inappropriately tagged or if you find something missing, please DM me and I'll fix it.

Enjoy!

SHORT STORIES

Stifling Resistance | AO3 | A short story about a 16-year-old weaponsmith's life in Mughal India.

DRABBLES

One Last Goodbye | Requested by a friend and based on the Instagram prompt: how would a character respond to "I never loved you?"

POETRY

| AO3 |

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 |

Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 |

Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58 | Part 59 | Part 60 | Part 61 | Part 62 | Part 63 | Part 64 | Part 65 | Part 66 | Part 67 | Part 68 | Part 69 | Part 70 | Part 71 | Part 72 | Part 73 | Part 74 | Part 75 |

Original Writing Masterpost #2

Masterpost of masterposts

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#6

The great and noble warriors, the ones who fight and bleed and die like heroes, those are the ones who are glorified. Are made into legends, and martyrs, and sagas, even as they live. As they continue to brave the horrors that this world has likely never seen. But what about the common folk? What about us? Just because the great warriors struggle does not mean that we do not, either. If anything, we struggle more. We fight harder for each breath that was not given to us on a silver-lined platter, we fight harder for every drop of blood, to prove ourselves to the likes of you. We labour, and toil, and slave away, for we must. For we have no choice. For we have never been given one. For we have never realised, that the land we live in has not been our home. Not really. We have been exploited and manipulated, our children brainwashed, and we have lost all sense of self. Of who we are. We have been brought up to cater to your foolish princely politics, like pawns awaiting death.

What other value do we possess to your festering court otherwise, besides how useful we are to the nobility? How we might assist them and serve them and play along to their childish whims? And yet where does that get us? We are discarded, thrown aside like mortal trash, never to be heard of or seen again. Do you know how many of my brothers and sisters from my lands have died, simply because your so-called ruler, the bastard atop that golden throne, has said so? That golden throne, that power you so covet and lust after, has been built upon the toiling backs and eternal screams of my people. So I will not stand down. I will die fighting, like my blood-sworn siblings, and my nameless ancestors that too perished. After all, if I am to die, I might as well make sure it is heard. By my people, yes, but also yours. To warn them, that if they wish to face us, they may do so as men, not as cowards.

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#5

We are not so different after all, are we, dear Prince? We have both suffered, far more than what is necessary, for the ones we love. Both grew up in glimmering prisons, having no idea what life was like outside. For our people. Our true families. Having no idea that it was we who were trapped, and had no inkling of it. Doesn't that practically fill you with rage, and roaring, and the dreading feeling of how completely unfair everything is?

I can see the way your eyes glow when you come into sense power, Prince. The way you practically smell it on your enemies. The way you lust for it. I know you would crawl, and beg, and sacrifice, and butcher, simply to be allowed a kernel of that power. I know that you do not care for the cost, and that it is the least of your concerns. I know, because I too, once felt the same. I wasn't simply like you. I was you. And let me advise you now, Prince, that if you wish to tread the same path as me, do not make the same foolish mistakes that I made. I was practically a child back then, a lovesick, lonely, jealous, and insecure little brat. And you know where these impulsive and utterly stupid decisions got me? Nearly killed, and begging the Queen, begging for her to spare my beloved. My betrothed. You'd be surprised what decisions one makes when they're desperate. 

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#4

Sometimes, I think love mocks me. Toys with me, as if I were a plaything of the gods, only kept alive for their cruel  entertainment. A broken, cracked, hollow plaything. For every time I fall in love, every time I let my heart wild and free it somehow ends up caged.

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#3

My love is like an eternal burning hellfire, never satisfied, never fulfilled, never content, always longing, longing for more. For why must I be content with the scraps I have been offered? Am I not allowed to anger, to burn, to mourn, because I have never dreamt? Because I have never had a chance to? Because I thought I was not worthy, because I still do not believe so, and was taught that want, of any kind, was a sin of the highest order? To hope and wish, though childishly, that I too, might one day be loved, feel love? That love truly does exist, that it has not yet abandoned me, and that I can beg, and grovel and sacrifice something more than my fractured soul to get some shrivelled and used piece of someone's heart?

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#2

If only love could be as effortless and as easy as they say; as dreamlike and simple. If only loving didn't feel like being pierced in the heart with a thousand poisoned thorns, while I stare at the person who will never love me, never look at me, never even bother to acknowledge I exist. If only I didn't lay there at night, motionless, my eyes glazed with fear and despair, and the realisation that I will never find a love that lasts. That I have been lied to. That I have been betrayed.

Why must I love so fiercely?

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#1

Oh, how my heart yearns for a love it will never have.

My heart aches for a love so profound, so deep, so joyful, that I will forget everything and everyone in that love. As I give myself over to it completely and get lost in the deep ocean that is love. It either teaches you to swim, to survive, or it drowns you. Slowly. Painfully. Little does my heart know that the love it longs for does not exist. That this sort of love has been long dead and gone, carried away centuries ago on a phantom wind, to another realm. Perhaps the realms we dream of, the realms we read about and imagine have all the world's love. Perhaps it was stolen from us mere mortals, the long-forgotten gods deeming us unworthy of such a luxury. Perhaps the immortals feast on that love as faerie wine, drunk and wild, while we humans beg, and grieve, and weep, and bargain, to be given even a small scrap of that love. How many of us would sell our souls, bargain with our lives, bleed so thoroughly that it nearly kills us, to be allowed to taste even a droplet of that nectar? To be able to taste it just once? To be able to tell our families, our friends, ourselves, that we have experienced love, true love, at least once in our lives?

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OC Questionnaire Tag

Another fun tag game from @authorcoledipalo.

I'll use Izi, Hota, Taguchif, and Lozerief all together at the same time.

What would you do if your enemy asked for help?

Izi: Yeah okay so that happened once and I would've ground her to a pulp then and there if Hota hadn't stopped me.

Hota: Izi's too impulsive, and it can be a strength when in dire straits, but a costly mistake in other environments. I try to make up for that wherever I can.

Tagif: I'm not normally with Izi on these, but yeah. Definitely grinding Lozerief to a pulp if I ever get the chance.

Lozef: I'm not a fan of questions as broad as this, or being reminded of how I allowed myself to be used for the benefit of a literal tyrant. Obviously, I've been the enemy asking for help many times. Never have I expected any help, and yet somehow it all works out.

Would you ask your enemy for help?

Izi: Depends? Like, I asked Governor Luwbefê for help, but we didn't know how vicious he would go on to be.

Hota: No, but like Izi, I was duped into believing in the goodness of the Governor of Tolftorrijv. I was sorely mistaken.

Tagif: Yeah totally. The ends justify the means. They say that in English, right?

Lozef: Another very complicated, nuanced question. Like Hotautebz and Iziser, I didn't know President Sluwfa would be such an evil person, but I went along with her plans to remain unobtrusive. So, when she built the anti-magic bubble, I left and begged Iziser and Hotautebz to retake me.

Do you act on impulse, or do you think before you act?

Izi: Well, Hota already answered this question for me.

Hota: Yeah, I did. At least Izi's honest about it.

Tagif: Premeditated plans are the best, especially when building stuff. I'm probably more impulsive than Hota, and less impulsive than Izi.

Lozef: Hard to say. I would say I'm spontaneous but not impulsive, if that makes sense?

Paging: @oldfashionedidiot @theothersideofthewoods +open tag!