dearest-infinity

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stop holding ya pee for so damn long

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By "made it" I mean any possible way of making: drew it, took a photo, made a collage, made it in Picrew, photoshopped it, etc.

If your pfp is just slightly modified by you (e.g. a screenshot of a character with added pride flag) feel free to choose between options 1 and 4 as you will

Reblog for more votes

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it’s been AGES since i’ve done one of these so: writeblr! what are we working on?

reblog this with your elevator pitch (and aesthetics/moodboards if you feel like it), link your WIP intros or relevant excerpts you’d like boosted, and i’ll do my damnedest to reblog everybody who responds in the next few days.

(P.S. bonus points if you tell me your favourite thing about it)

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guess who's FINALLY back

so ik i was dead for a long time. sorry about that, can't promise it won't happen again, but hey! i got some better outlines for my wips and new directions things are going in :> so while i might've been in a bit of a creative coma, i'm slowly clawing my way back to the surface lmao

anyway! since it's been a hell of a long time: what's up, name's moony (or lune, if you're feeling formal), pronouns he/him or ze/hir, and i'm a fantasy writer!

the wips i'm focusing on are, at the moment:

wrong side of legendary: an urban fantasy work about a keith, traumatized former prince, cross, the rat bastard keith summons when he tries to do something for his roommate, and saying fuck you to the world and the people they were supposed to be. mlm, just a teeny bit spooky

red rise: soft sci-fi fantasy that the outline is worrying me with the projected word count of, oh god that's centered around kyra, a girl with a sun living in her chest, trying to save the universe from an empire that can never really outrun the destruction it leaves in its wake, and silena, her best-friend-turned-desperate-enemy who's the golden girl of the empire and owes her life and more to it. there are so so so many sad lesbians in this. i am not immune to sad lesbians and neither are you.

dark eyes (name under construction): tragic fantasy. levi is the town witch, and it's her job to keep everyone safe from the magical forest that surrounds them and, should it come down to it, the fae that live in it. this... does not go very well. one day, levi wakes up to the entire town having been overrun by the forest, and the townspeople either turned to wood or vanished. as she sets out to right this, she encounters branwen, a forest fae who will help her in exchange for one thing: her heart. i love them dearly, your honor.

and of course, the backburner wips:

elle is waiting (by the bodies of your gods): retired apocalypse-ender yis'sika and her wife rhoze are called upon, once again, save the world from— huh. it seems no one can really tell them. no one except a girl who claims to be from another world, and a young woman made of flowers who claims to be yis'sika and rhoze's daughter. no one trusts each other, but the clock is ticking. the statues have eyes. and elle is always, always, waiting.

black lightning: nova and zenith are vigilante partners who know and trust each other with everything in their fight against the corrupt system—everything, except their identities. this becomes a problem when nova, civilian name estelle, is scouted to become an intelligent, a once-human, now-machine enforcer of the law, and is brought into the glass palace—which, despite its name, is impossible to get anything in or out of. zenith, civilian name zhen, realizes that something must've happened, and tries to save nova from whatever fate has befallen her; a course that takes her to the glass palace. it may be the lion's den, but with the two of them working together, they might be able to strike at the heart of the power that's hurt so many. also they're gay. they're really gay. fluffy wlw superhero action (with just a teeny touch of the body horror. TINY)

unnamed wip (time travel sapphics flavored): fellas, is it gay to time travel to save the world? no? fine. is it gay to time travel to save your really really hot dyke best friend? THERE WE GO. wlw and happy for once!!!

unnamed wip (wild west flavored): an immortal necromancer wants to fulfill the natural order and die. a sunwraith cowboy, risen from the grave to have its justice—or is it revenge?—, wants to live the life stolen from it. i won't lie, i don't know much about this one, but it's gay and bittersweet.

postcard from the end times: this one's actually going to be a comic! fantasy story about a bunch of kids who go to trauma school and try really, really hard to win in a system that's trying to farm them for all the misery they can produce. spoiler alert: it doesn't work. so, new plan: kill the school and everyone behind it. salt and burn until the cancer's dead, and keep going until it can't claw itself out of its own grave. what's god to a shit ton of angry teenagers? killable.

woagh. that was a lot. anyway, love you all! good luck this year, hopefully it's better than the last ;;-;;

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This hit home, and I think it will resonate hard with all my creative friends, here. You are amazing and brilliant and I BEG YOU to keep creating!! ❤️❤️❤️

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How do I describe a tired person? I got 'dark circles under the eyes' but it kind of stops there.

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I haven't written a poem in ages. I hate it. There are always good thoughts I could blister peel out of me, but I'm not at liberty. My gates are closed while my back aches. My tongue is slow. I can't create. When tomorrow shows up I'll be the same. I'm yearning for a new growth, for another fade. I want to wake up and speak. But I'm still asleep.

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I haven't written a poem in ages. I hate it. There are always good thoughts I could blister peel out of me, but I'm not at liberty. My gates are closed while my back aches. My tongue is slow. I can't create. When tomorrow shows up I'll be the same. I'm yearning for a new growth, for another fade. I want to wake up and speak. But I'm still asleep.

[dearest-infinity]

I haven't written a poem in ages. I hate it. There are always good thoughts I could blister peel out of me, but I'm not at liberty. My gates are closed while my back aches. My tongue is slow. I can't create. When tomorrow shows up I'll be the same. I'm yearning for a new growth, for another fade. I want to wake up and speak. But I'm still asleep.

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casting a spell of finish your wip rb to pass it on

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on one hand I want canonically trans/non-binary characters in my sci-fi/fantasy/historical fiction

on the other hand nothing is more awkward and immersion-breaking than reading a story set on a different world or in a different time period in which the characters talk about being trans in an incredibly specific, modern, politically correct way

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I love when I’m writing a scene heavily focused on a characters drives and fears and suddenly something clicks and it’s like

☆YOU’VE UNLOCKED A NEW BACKSTORY☆

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in the tags, say how long the plot of your WIP takes in-universe

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@stolen-bone-fragments

finally time to draw batman again

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Hi! Could you do one where a male med student is sent in to patch up a male supervillain that is being tortured? And although the supervillain is restrained and his power locked down, the student is still terrified to be in the same room alone with him. (Doesn't help that the supervillain is wild and terrifying) An maybe there's that ominous threat looming over the student from whoever his superiors are. Only if you find time for it or want to!

Dylan was painfully aware of the desperate thumping of his heart. He was painfully aware of the fact that the villain could hear it; the villain's worst powers might have been dampened, but the super-senses had been left alone, hadn't they?

He was painfully aware, too, that those had only gone untouched because it was so much easier to hurt someone when they had a superior sense of touch and sight and sound and smell. Everything was magnified.

The room smelled like chemicals and blood.

Dylan swallowed. He tried to will his legs to move closer to the villain, who was thrashing against his restraints in perfect vicious promise of just what he would do to everyone the second he was free. There was a low feral growl rumbling in the older man's throat as his wild eyes locked on Dylan.

Dylan did not, could not, get himself to move. He had to get himself to move.

"I'm - sorry -" He struggled to find his sense of calm, his professionalism, his everything he was supposed to have trained for and oh god medical school didn't cover this bullshit. "I can patch you up if you hold still. Er-" He managed to start crossing the room.

"You come anywhere near me," the villain bared his teeth, "I'll bite that little rabbit-thumping carotid right out."

Dylan stopped. "I am allowed to call someone in to restrain you or sedate you further. I-"

"-Are you threatening me, doc?"

"No! No. I -" oh god, oh god, oh god, "it is easier to treat you if you're conscious. But they told me I could. If you didn't cooperate. I'd rather not." He wet his dry lips. "I don't want to hurt you."

The villain eyed him at that, sneered, but then, after another (useless) yank at his restraints, settled still. It couldn't be called a slump, or anything so deflated or close to surrender. There was a beat of silence.

"Oh," Dylan said, and scurried forwards. "Thanks. Thank you."

The villain was wound tight and Dylan had to resist the urge to clamp a hand over his throat, just in case.

The villain probably couldn't reach to bite his carotid artery out. He probably couldn't actually do that anyway.

Probably.

Dylan set his supplies down on the small side table, no doubt cleared of the devices that had left the villain's wounds in the first place. Even with the table bare, the observations still floated clinically through Dylan's brain without his permission.

Scalpel. Hard, blunt object. Cigarette.

He shoved it aside and got to work. Start with the worst and most urgent wounds, and work backwards. The familiar motions, the job, soothed him.

"You're a student," the villain said, breaking the silence after a long while.

Dylan jumped.

"I know what I'm doing." Dylan tried (failed) for a reassuring smile. "You're in good hands."

"Why have they sent me a student? Are you being punished?"

Dylan swallowed again, and wished he could find something flippant and quippy to say. He felt like he'd tried to eat a mouthful of sand. Sand with bits of broken glass in it.

"I heal," he said instead. His superiors hadn't said he had to keep it to himself, so...maybe it would help if the villain thought they were the same. Maybe. Maybe then he'd stop looking at the top of Dylan's head like he was considering performing a brain autopsy with his bare hands.

The villain stared at him. Dylan did not feel less like the villain might snap and try an impromptu brain autopsy.

"You probably can't kill me," Dylan said, "even if you - er - that thing you said you'd do." Eloquent, so eloquent, really. He kept his eyes trained on anything that wasn't the villain's face. "I heal. It's my superpower."

"How fast do you heal?"

Dylan shivered, because he was pretty sure the answer to that was not fast enough.

The villain laughed. It was a proper, maniacal laugh. Dylan wanted to curl up in a ball, but he didn't let his hands shake.

"Expendable little baby doctor," the villain cooed. "I see. No doubt you volunteered. Did it make you feel all noble, protecting your peers from the big bad monster in the basement?"

Dylan had most certainly not volunteered.

"I'm going to get the blood off your face now. Please don't bite me, I'm trying to help."

"Do you have your rabies shots?"

"I don't believe for a second you're actually rabid. You have none of the symptoms."

The villain grinned sharp and wide, making new blood crack along his swollen lip again and dribble down. But, when Dylan reached up with a warm-water damp cloth, he didn't bite. Dylan dabbed gently at the blood.

Up close, the villain's wild dark eyes looked more exhausted than his general demeanour let on. Dylan wished he could offer painkillers. Something. He quickly looked away again.

Dylan was painfully aware of the red bleeping light of the cameras watching them from every angle. He was painfully aware of how careful the villain's breathing had got, with his closeness, like the villain was counting each sore breath.

Dylan was just...in pain, and aware, how easily their places could have been swapped. The villain was no doubt painfully aware of everything too.

Dylan's still thumping heart. The cold sweat prickling along the back of his neck. Everything about him must surely have been too loud and too raw to the villain's already overloaded senses.

"I've told them," the villain said, "that when I escape I will come after everyone who held me here. Everyone who works in this damned place. Everyone who knew."

When. Not if. Dylan didn't know if that was fake confidence, arrogance, or something else. His heart skipped either way.

"I'm good with faces," the villain continued, much quieter, and Dylan almost wished he would go back to snarling and raging like an animal in a cage. Something just a tad less focused. "I'll remember yours too, doc."

Their eyes met.

"When I escape," Dylan said, so soft that only a villain with super senses could possibly hear the words in the breath. "I'm going to run so hard and so fast that no one ever finds me again. I suggest you do the same."

He stepped back, just as the villain jolted forwards again, missing him by inches. Dylan heard the snap of teeth clacking in the air where he had been.

Healing blood. It burned through all power dampeners. Through all painkillers and sedatives and chemicals that might wound. Through everything. It took most people a lot longer to figure that out. Dylan's superiors hadn't even figured that bit out.

The villain was smarter, more calculating, then he acted, wasn't he?

They eyed each other again.

He let the cloth fall back into the bloody-pink tinged bowl, job done.

"See you later," Dylan said. "Unless you escape before then."

"Until next time, little doctor."

He felt the villain's eyes on his back all the way out.