aalinaaaaaa

[aalinaaaaaa]

Ask Game: Boarding Pass

Send me the name of one of my characters and the words 'boarding pass' and I'll tell you their dream destination and their nightmare destination.

[aalinaaaaaa]

Hi, everyone! I'm Alina, a high-fantasy writer who currently has one large project and a litany of flash fiction and side stories to go with it.

My main project is A Healing for the Birds, which concerns the theft of a divine chalice capable of producing healing water and all the consequences of that.

The story involves a larger cast, including faerie politicians, magical priests, budding mages, (suspiciously self-aware) crows and many more, lead by two protagonists:

Eshani, a fluent, graceful lady who seems to have it all: looks, charm, the 'right' magic, and the political standing to use it. Of course, such power can only go so far when she's trapped in a court whose admittance and exit is murder. If she gets her hands on the Chalice, she just might have a shot of returning to those she left behind.

Alycja just wanted to do her ceremony and get her rune. But when a towering skeleton gatecrashes it, her decision to take the Chalice to stop it invites all the wrong suitors on her tail. Among them, is a blonde lady who promises her innocence in exchange for the Chalice. Should Alycja entertain it, she'll find herself drowned in a choice between her morals, her freedom and her innocence, all while the political scene is turning dire by the day...

I also write flash fiction every week! (As part of Flash Fiction Friday). Some of my writing pertains to A Healing for the Birds, but others deal with character backstories and plots that delve into parts of the lore that's outside the scope of my main thing.

Introductions!

Take the time to tell us about who you are and what your wip is. Say hello to the community! Reblogs and comments are HIGHLY ENCOURAGED!

[aalinaaaaaa]

The Spark of the Soulsinger

for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt!

word count: 647

—

A man fell ill in the alchemist’s office.

He ticked, and twitched, his breathing turned to a close.

The alchemist put a hand to the man’s neck. Life pulsated under his skin, each pulse more distant than the last.

He scattered his hands on a cluttered desk, scrawling on a parchment he shot out the door.

The man, a trusted aide, laid to rest upon the tiles, a purple splatter marring his tunic. The contents spiralled from a shattered glass, a splinter spilling crimson from his fingers.

The alchemist held a cloth there. His other hand remained on the man’s neck, his own heart rate peaking with every gap between beats.

He breathed. The man’s chest rose little, his hopes even less. Ticking towards a conclusion he’d rather not confront.

The alchemist rose his head at the door opening. A girl in purple silks wandered in, her brown eyes glistening at the scene.

“Father, what’s going on?”

“Najsha, I’m currently busy, dear. Would you do me a favour and get Isuk for me?”

Another man dashed in, gently pulling the girl aside and placing his hands at the centre of the man’s ribcage. “How long has he been like this?”

“Just now.” The alchemist gestured his daughter beside him, getting her to sit. “Do you think you’ll be able to?-“

He put a hand and an ear to his neck, and reverted to an upright kneel, one hand over his heart, the other on the wrist. “I can just about feel it. But no guarantees.”

“What’s he doing?” Najsha watched as the man breathed, his eyes and skin markings glowing silver, stark against his dark skin and midnight robes.

“Isuk’s trying to get my aide to breathe again.” The man’s chest arched, pressing against the hand that coursed a spark through his being.

“His soul’s stuck.” She sat up, her hands wrung as if poised to reach further.

“Exactly, that’s why he’s trying to get him breathing again.” He put his hands over hers, guiding them onto her lap. “Relax. He’s going to be okay.”

Isuk tipped the man’s chin up, laying a hand over his lungs. They rose, and fell, the breaths shallow, stagnant, and infrequent.

“Come on.” Another rush of sparks, another arc of the ribs.

The alchemist watched with widened eyes, holding the man’s other hand. “Please, you have this. Come on.”

Magic tingled under his palm. Cycle after cycle, breath after breath. He held his own and waited.

Isuk muttered under his breath. “I don’t understand…”

“Well I don’t either, surely you can fix this.”

“I don’t know, okay?”

He flinched. Beneath his fingers his aide pulsated less, if any. His eyes glowed with Isuk’s attempts.

“Najsha, what are you-“

She went over and put her hands near the man’s heart, looking up at Isuk. “May I try something, sir? I can save him.”

Isuk looked between her and her father, eliciting a nod from him. “I don’t see why not.”

Najsha moved her hands out, pulling her hands at air the way a conductor moved an orchestra. Her hands moved inward, tugging, slipping and weaving. Words spilled from her, not in her tone nor accent, foreign to his ears and to this world.

Fluid as the river, fluid as her hands. Singing. Her song a gentle, soothing rhythm, calling, calling out.

Pulling from somewhere else.

Chills beset the two men. Gaping. All they could do as her song flowed on and her hands waved wider.

The aide’s eyes glowed not with magic.

He coughed. “What happened?”

Isuk and the alchemist looked between each other, and both at Najsha, who sat beside him with a regal poise as if she hadn’t pulled him from the afterlife.

“My daughter saved your life.” He said the words without a breath, his eyes wide and brimming with chills. “Najsha, I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

—

Tagging the General taglist for this: (ask/comment/reblog, etc if you'd like to be added or subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @seastarblue @gioia-writes-and-others @rae-butter @corinneglass @oros-ash3s @rainbowsnowflake @fourwingedwriter @oddcryptidwrites @ark-inkweaving @bardic-tales @agirlandherquill @wyked-rebellion @oc-writing-corner

[aalinaaaaaa]

do you use slurs against AI

eg. clanker, tinskin, cogsucker, bytebiter (made that one myself), toaster, etc.

[aalinaaaaaa]

This August, Writeblr Summerfest is opening the gates again and, this time, you’re already past security. Whether you're here to kill time on a layover, chase down a gate change, or run into a long-lost character at baggage claim, you’re in the right terminal.

The theme this year is airport terminal, and we’re leaning into everything that implies: delays and destinations, overhead announcements, awkward reunions, strange encounters, and love (or terror) in transit.

Join us for a month of games, flash prompts, contests, art, and community support. Bring your carry-on chaos. We’re ready for boarding!

Starting August 1st!

[aalinaaaaaa]

You need to move off of Google Docs!

I know some people have seen the news recently and may be doubtful of it. To the uninformed, Google Docs has started using AI to find "inappropriate" and "problematic" content, scraping your documents and deleting it. I know some people are unsure if this is real or think this is not going to affect them.

I regret to inform you that this is real.

As I was on a call with some writers and we were moving our documents as a precautionary measure, one person discovered entire pages missing that they did not delete themselves. This is happening to us, it's not a hoax or a rumor, it's happening right now. You need to move everything if you want to preserve it.

If you're a writer with writer mutuals, please reblog this so they know. I rarely write on Google Docs anymore, but I started my fanfics on there, and I would be devastated if I lost works more than ten years old because people decided marketing appeal is more important than creative freedom.

[aalinaaaaaa]

Dancing Around the Dealings

for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt!

word count: 833

—

“Eshani, my dear, if I win your hand I would like you to give me a kiss.”

She laughed, amusement sparkling in her gaze. “Well, Monsieur Darüven, if I win I dare you to dance. For everyone in this room.”

Seven of Crows. A Pawn of Snakes. How high a card to drive Namon’s dare away?

Eshani grazed her slender fingers over her deck, a septet amongst septets. Her focus on the cards, and on him, the pair the focus of her fellows who watched and whispered in wait.

“I believe I have my pick.” The two of them whipped out their cards, hers a decadent painting of a snake dangling a crow, his a dashing portrait of the Bloodcarver and two ravens.

“Eyy, one more to go⁓” Namon winked, sliding her card back along with his own. One loss down and now another… Blush flooded her cheeks at the thought of a third.

“Someone’s getting excited…” She leaned back, keeping her cards close. “I hope you like the taste of failure.”

Namon looked to her wide-eyed, choking on his drink and banging twice on his chest. “I can’t say I’ll be complaining.”

The chatter around the table made her heart race, and glance at her cards again. Six left, the spread not the worst. Of course, a spread could go so far in a den of snakes.

Eshani curled her fingers around her deck, glancing at Najsha, whose whispers tickled her ears. “Are you sure your losses are failures? I would not say no to that face, if I was in yours.”

“Rumour says he’s still an open book.” She snapped her gaze to her, hoping Claudia would win against her. “I choose you.”

Seven of Sigils, to a Five of Foxes.

“Much appreciated.” Eshani gave her a beaming smile and cheerful tone akin to Morilesian sunshine, pale and fake.

Najsha turned to Claudia and played her hand, the smile fading from Eshani’s face when she claimed Claudia’s card.

“Eshani, don’t quite give me your worst.”

She laughed. “Now you’re just asking for it.”

The two of them glanced around the table, interwoven by webs of dares and dealings. Eshani knew where she stood on hers, precarious, heart-racing, her nerves spiking upon meeting Namon’s watchful, smirking gaze.

She’d make him dance if it was the last thing she did at this table.

Her Seven of Crows met Seven of Swans.

“Well now,” Eshani chuckled, the two of them swapping cards and taking one each from the central pile.

The newest addition to her hand? A gleaming cup with water flowing around it.

“Claudia,” she smiled, warmer this round. “Go on ahead.”

The prolific crow lady turned to the only one the rule of three permitted for her final go — Namon.

“My, isn’t this a surprise.” Namon, now a card lighter, met Eshani’s emerald eyes again. Her nerves burst and simmered in his gaze. A shimmering thrill rush, the final stretch.

“You could call it that.” She eyed the card for a slip of a moment, and left it be from her roving fingers. Anticipation had a sweeter taste than victory.

He flicked through his own deck, a smooth shuffle through his shifty fingers — ones she knew the electric touch of all too well. The movements put her sight at ease.

“I call dare card.”

Eshani’s smile turned ravenous. “I was hoping you would say that.”

A Crown Chalice to the Priestess of Crows.

“Oh, you demon,” His voice dipped a note lower, deeper with the table’s jeers and cheers. “An absolute fiend, a truly wicked woman… I hope this is to your liking.”

She watched in near slow motion as Namon creaked his chair away and rose from his seat, pressing a foot onto the chair and planting them both on the table.

Everyone, including the presiding servant keeping the score, scattered everything off the table, allowing him free reign of its surface. He sauntered, and swivelled, shimmying into a rhythm. A step here, a step there, gaining flow and fluency.

“My, it’s getting stuffy in here.” His fluffy scarf got cast to the ground, exposing the full splendor of the sweeping cut in his tunic and all the bare skin beneath.

Eshani watched him go around, trying not to laugh too hard. Him winking at her coughed a laugh from her. A fluffy flower thing was between his teeth, his moves quite the spectacle.

Najsha’s head brushed off her shoulder, descending towards the afterlife with laughter.

“Where did he get the hat?” Ordune asked.

“What hat?” She heard from Affril.

“That hat.”

Namon made his final move, standing before her with a shallow top hat to his head and his hand gestured towards her.

“Is this enough of a taste for you?”

Eshani gazed up the entirety of him under the chandelier’s gleaming light, and slid her hands under the one he had outstretched.

“Well aren’t you a gentleman?” She kissed his hand, out of politeness. “You make a great dancer.”

—

Tagging the General taglist for this: (ask/comment/reblog, etc if you'd like to be added or subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @seastarblue @gioia-writes-and-others @rae-butter @corinneglass @oros-ash3s @rainbowsnowflake @fourwingedwriter @oddcryptidwrites @ark-inkweaving @bardic-tales @agirlandherquill @wyked-rebellion @oc-writing-corner @kingragnarok-writes

[aalinaaaaaa]

I wish I woke up tomorrow in a world where I don't have to see a single AI generated image ever again

[aalinaaaaaa]

Out of Context Tag

Thanks to @kingragnarok-writes for the tag! :D

There's no guarantee these lines will make it to something, but personally I find them amusing 😅

—

"You know, if you brought me it would be a lot easier to go," Eshani whispered in her ear. "The Bloodcarver can do the crow-sitting."

"That is not a bad idea."

"Najsha, I can assure you that no-one will have to be crow-sitting," Claudia gave her an intent stare, her voice steady and assured. "You're on."

—

Here's an open tag, plus tags for @houndsofcorduff @thepeculiarbird @ark-inkweaving @winterandwords @spideronthesun @oh-no-another-idea @eccaiia and @darkluminosity

[aalinaaaaaa]

For the WIP folder tag! I'd love to know more about In Plain Sight - the aftermath please 💜

Thanks for the ask! <333

As per the title, this snippet happens straight after the end of In Plain Sight. I wrote it to determine how Claudia would react, but honestly I think I want to change this in the future. Consider it a rough draft :D

—

—

“Charimone?”

She couldn’t move. The lady stood and strode towards her, each step a bolt in her heart.

The nightstand left her exposed. Nowhere to run, but her legs refused to move. If last night had her in for it, what of now?

This was all her fault, she shouldn’t have done this, any of it.

High Councillor Emar loomed over her, staring down, a harbinger of divine wrath.

Charimone braced herself.

The lady vanished, emerging as a rook and landing on the nightstand, reforming into her human visage.

“Are you alright?” She got onto one knee, half-sitting on the ground. “About last night, I-“

“You’ve said enough, I don’t want to hear it.” She shook her head, pivoting towards the side of the nightstand. If she turned into a wisp now, would the lady stop her? She took a step, then another, now able to see over the edge.

“I never meant to swat you.”

Charimone shot her gaze to her. The lady moved not from her position, kneeling still, her head pointed down. Light glimmered in those steel gray eyes.

“Then why did you?” Her voice cracked, a minor breach of a silence laden in thorns.

“It was a slip of the hand, a mistake. Say what you will, but I will never do that again. I promise you.”

Charimone stared at her agape, the air’s chill cutting into her. “I don’t get you.”

“Hmm?” She raised her head, the girl bristling in her gaze.

“You get angry with me when you’re the one keeping me here, yet you’re pleading over something else, and called your Second soft for how he treats me. I don’t get it!” She made a sound in irritation, curling inward at the stern look on the lady’s face. “You’re probably mad at me for eavesdropping again, aren’t you?”

“Well if you’re going to bring up that little stunt you pulled with my Bloodcarver,” She stood up, somewhere between a smirk and amusement alighting her face.

Charimone glanced between her and the edge, and flinched.

“I’m not mad.”

“What?” Her jaw dropped. She saw the lady glance up, tutting, her amusement not fully dissipated.

“My one piece of advice would be not to pull that stunt on me.” She moved her hand, summoning the raven onto her shoulder. “But well played all the same.”

The lady strode off the nightstand, shifting into her usual splendor.

Charimone watched her leave, a whirlwind cut through her.

Tagging the taglists for General, Ask Games and Charimone's plotline for this: (ask/comment/reblog, etc if you'd like to be added or subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @rae-butter @corinneglass @oros-ash3s @rainbowsnowflake @fourwingedwriter @oddcryptidwrites @ark-inkweaving @bardic-tales @agirlandherquill @wyked-rebellion @oc-writing-corner @darkluminosity

[aalinaaaaaa]

WIP Folder Tag

Thanks to @exe-writes-sometimes for the tag!

Premise: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

—

I have also received this tag in previous months, feel free to click the links for more titles to choose from:

June '25 — Flash Fiction Friday notes, plus more titles from my main notebooks

March '25 — Titles from the Fancy Notebook and the Notes and Ideas notebook

Feb 25' — Some Scrivener files for A Healing for the Birds

Now for this round...

—

The Prose and Pieces notebook

In Plain Sight — the aftermath

A potential opener for A Healing for the Birds

To Stare Ruin in the Face

The Notes and Ideas Notebook

Writecamp notes:

Day Nine

Day Seven

Day Sixteen

Day Twenty-Nine

Day Twenty-Six

Day Twenty-Five

Day Twenty-Six — There is a tale, not of what was, but what will someday be

Day Twenty-Nine — A little lake

Day Thirty

Day Thirty-One

Day Thirty-Nine

Day Forty-Two

Day Forty-One

Day Forty-Four

Day Forty-Three

The rest of the notes:

General ideas for the backburner

310. Could've Been Worse

Random idea

More ideas

Eshani's arc, continued

The Chalice situation (from the High Councillors' perspective)

A major dilemma

312. Secret Garden

313. Afterthought

Side note, I had to filter a lot of titles out of this one due to blatant spoilers for A Healing for the Birds 💀

—

Anyway, here is an open tag for everyone, plus @ruvastuon @houndsofcorduff @darkluminosity @askyaphelion @ark-inkweaving @kingragnarok-writes @flock-from-the-void @tryingtimi @oh-no-another-idea @space-writes and @winterandwords :D

[aalinaaaaaa]

I wish I woke up tomorrow in a world where I don't have to see a single AI generated image ever again

[aalinaaaaaa]

Found You Crying in the Middle of the Night... Dialogue Prompts

✧ "I—are you... crying? No, hey, it's okay. I'm not leaving."

✧ "Why didn’t you wake me up? I would've listened. I always listen."

✧ "You don’t have to do this alone, you know that, right?"

✧ "Did something happen, or is it just... everything?"

✧ "Is this the part where you tell me you’re 'fine'? 'Cause you're literally shaking."

✧ "You scared me. Just—sitting here. In the dark. Alone."

✧ "Talk to me. Yell at me. Cry into a pillow. I don’t care what it is—just do something."

✧ "You didn’t even turn the lights on. How long have you been like this?"

✧ "Hey. No. Don’t apologize. You’re allowed to break down. You’re supposed to break down sometimes."

✧ "Was it a nightmare? Or one of those waking ones your brain likes to loop at 2AM?"

✧ "You're not weak for crying. You're human. And frankly, overdue for a cry, if you ask me."

✧ "I’ll sit here. As long as you need. You don’t have to say anything."

✧ "...You want a hug or should I pretend I didn’t ask and awkwardly hover until you give in?"

✧ "You always take care of everyone else. Let someone take care of you for once."

✧ "Don’t do that. Don’t wipe your face and pretend I didn’t just see all of that. That wasn’t nothing."

[aalinaaaaaa]

Hey folks, I have a question for you all!

A friend and I are trying to start up an OC role-playing server, basically a server where we can all roleplay as our characters from our writing or whatever project. It's a great way to develop your characters voice and personality, and is just generally a ton of fun! It's also perhaps a way to get people interested in your story if that interests you.

If you're thinking about joining feel free to dm me or send an ask for details, and reblogs for visibility are appreciated!

@unforgettable-sensations @littleladymab @megamijadeheart @my-bright-legacy @ominous-faechild

@thecomfywriter @wyked-ao3 @anamelessfacelessnerd @differentnighttale @mysticstarlightduck

@thearchivistsletterbox @leahnardo-da-veggie @paeliae-occasionally @tr4sh-p4nd4-404 @oliolioxenfreewrites

@aalinaaaaaa @sm-writes-chaos @seastarblue @corinneglass @the-ellia-west

[aalinaaaaaa]

Send me a △ and ask a really invasive question aimed at my character

They’ll have to:

Rate on a scale of 1-10 how much they don’t want to answer that question.

Answer that question.

[aalinaaaaaa]

A Father's Love

written for Flash Fiction Friday 314, event hosted by @flashfictionfridayofficial

WIP ✵ Revolve

Trigger Warnings ✵ Mentions of Injury and Mutilation

Rating ✵ Gen

Wordcount ✵ 561

Ilia's son looks too small in the makeshift clinic's cot. Too pale. Too frail. Too quiet. Even with the soft buzzing of diagnostic spells. Especially with the bandages that cover his skin. His hair, shorn on the side to let the burn breathe, is so short he can't even run his fingers through it. Can't even offer his boy — his boy, his precious son, alive but hurt — the one comfort he'd loved.

A hand lands heavy on his back, strong and calloused and gentle. ‹He'll be fine. Hynes says he's already well on his way to recovery,› Ilibe says, his booming voice little more than a whisper in the small room. ‹He's a strong one.›

‹He shouldn't have to be,› Ilia says, his voice tight in his throat to choke out the anger in it.

Even so, the young child curled up on the other bed, the one who'd thrown a storm at the mere mention of being in a different room from Nievleiv, shifts in place. Ilia watches him a second, but the boy doesn't stir.

Ilibe's hand squeezes his shoulder. Ilia sighs, whole body slumping as he runs a hand over Nievleiv's bandaged arm, his gaze on the scars on his son's skin and the shock of white hair. Laid on his back because his wings are gone.

He clutches Nievleiv's hand, and it's only because he's looking so intently that he notices it. The smallest flicker of eyelids. A barely there gasp. Ilia taps at Ilibe's arm. ‹Be.›

‹I see it,› Ilibe confirms, already standing up. ‹It's too early. He was supposed to be out for a week.›

Ilia meets his friend's eyes, no more than a glance as his heart squeezes in his chest. ‹Get Hynes?›

Ilibe doesn't answer, but the hand on his shoulder says all he needs. The door closes quietly behind Ilibe, leaving Ilia with only the small gasping sounds of his son's breaths. He takes Nievleiv's hand in his, holding it tight, and brushes a stray lock from his forehead.

His son flinches, eyes opening a crack with a low whine.

Something in Ilia's chest breaks like dropped crystal. '"Shh. It's okay, snowheart,"' he says, Yeisen flowing like whispered wind. His son's breaths settle. He rubs a thumb over the back of Nievleiv's hand. '"You're safe."'

Nievleiv's unbandaged eye finds his, heavy and half lidded. '"Pa?"' The words are barely there, lips barely moving, but Ilia's heart skips a beat at his son's low, cracked voice. '"Th's a dream, is't?"'

Ilia squeezes his son's hand, chocking back a sob as he presses it to his lips. '"It's not a dream. I promise."'

Nievliev's eye is unfocused, cast on every corner of the room before it lands on Ilia again. This time, there's a muted sharpness to it. '"Pa? Åppa?"'

'"Yes,"' Ilia gasps. '"Yes it's me, snowheart."' Tears start to form at the edge of Nievleiv's eye, and Ilia rushes to dry them. '"It's okay. It's okay, baby, I'm here. I've got you."'

He stands from the chair, whispering reassurances into Nievleiv's forehead as his son calls for him, words half-slurred as he weakly grabs at his sleeve. Ilia is already sitting on the cot when Hynes comes in, with Nievleiv half in his arms. And if Hynes thinks he's going to let go of his son anytime soon, he's got another thing coming.

❊

✵ Revolve Taglist ✵ @corinneglass @aalinaaaaaa @write-with-will @mymomsaysbobcipher @writeintrees @firesidefantasy @inspirationallybored @askyaphelion

[aalinaaaaaa]

And in addition to OP's point the models are made from work stolen from loads of people without their credit, consent, nor compensation. In short,

Usage of generative AI = Theft

(and environmental damage, condoning and benefitting from slave labour [as OP perfectly put it], plus contributing to further social, ethical and legal quandaries associated with the technology.)

Personally I hate AI because it uses slave labor, is killing the planet and is making people stupid, but that's just me. The soulless art aspect is just one little piece of my grander disdain.