#Brina Writes

[entwifeexperience]

You're A Hero WIP

Been working on some 12 Word RPG Jam stuff today.

Content Warning: It's very bright (especially on tumblr for some reason) and not at all all subtle, oh and there's a swear

I have only ever laid out one thing before, which is my prompts and prose solo journaling game Positronic Potentials: The Nanny (Still 100% in my birthday sale)

12 Word RPG Jam

You're a Hero (You're a Lot Edition)

Self ID is incredibly important to me, as noone can prescribe another's identity or experience and there is

*Image Descriptions: Cover Image and the five spreads spreads of a work in progress 12 Word RPG 'You're a Hero' work the words:

"Self ID

That's it

That's the whole fucking game

You're a hero"

Spread across the pages in large, funfair style font on alternating horizontal and vertical stripes of the transgender flag colours, blue, pink and white."

I know this is an eye sore and as subtle as a brick packer, but I kinda love it and I have plans for a demure edition with some wonderful artwork from the Patreon of the phenomenal @evlynmoreau-blog, involving a slug lady and a trans witch!

[me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink]

and when I tell you that I’ve never managed to learn another language, that i am unable to separate them in my minds eye. that i can not translate a phrase, I simply know what it means because she cradled my head as she spoke it. that i have tried german and french but can’t form the words of my mother(‘s) language. that I’m scared of saying i love you with the enemy’s accent. i love you do you love me i love you do you love me i love you

ocean vuong, on earth we are briefly gorgeous // elizabeth miki brina, speak okinawa // hieu minh nguyen, buffet poetry // mitski, class of 2013

[alannah-corvaine]

ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴍʙʜʏᴜʀ ▶ ᴅᴀʏ 13 ↳   ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ

"You can't bring her here, Jacke!" "What are ye squawkin' about, Stray? It's just some dove what needs a room and a bite o'food. Y'won't even know she's here." "M'not daft, you dunce! I know damn well who that is!" "No. Ye don't." "Half o' LaNoscea knows ye've been cavortin' with the Cross girl since you was babs. An' now the whole family's dead an' here's you bringin' in her that look n'awful lot like—" "V'kebbe." "..." "Ye don't know her. Ye've never seen her before. 'er name's Brina, not nothin' else. Un'erstand me?" "...yer gonna get us all stabbed, you ass. Who knows wot ruffmans is after her." "V'kebbe,please." "Do ye know how much trust yer askin' for?" "...aye, I do." A sigh. "...fine."

Context: the night Brina's family was murdered and Jacke smuggles her into the rogues' den in the Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss. Brina is asleep for this conversation, exhausted from her ordeal.

[claudeleine]

every vampire lestat meets: first rule about being a vampire, don’t tell humans about vampires

lestat: *writes a 600 page book about vampires and name drops every vampire he’s ever heard of*

[bittwitchy]

it should be illegal for companies to have such a widespread issue and not fix it

[shatteredfears-arch]

EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP WE’RE GETTING THE SPRINGLOCKED SCENE IN THE F/NAF MOVIE I GET TO SEE THAT BITCH GEt sMASHED TO PIECES IM SO HAPPY

[ofsweetness]

lacey edits

only mutuals can reblog pls

[dialdrunk]

might start journaling down oc thoughts idk

[entwifeexperience]

Storytelling Collective Flash Fiction February

Giving the Storytelling Collective Flash Fiction February course a go, which feels so very odd, both for not having written fiction outside of TTRPGs in years & because I've wanted to do something with them for the longest time, having been a huge fan of its inception as the RPG Writers Workshop and doing reviews for the phenemonal adventures that came from the courses.

The first prompt is "Return of Spirit", which I accidentally wrote down and worked off of 'Return of the Spirit'.

The writing is likely rough and the metaphor is probably not subtle in the least, but hey I'm writing something that's not TTRPG related for the first time in many years.

CW: Metaphor/ Personification of Dysphoria

Link to document

He was there, again.

Just sitting on the couch like he owned the place.

She didn’t know where he came from or what he wanted from her. He would always be gone once she emerged from hiding.

He slowly turned towards where she stood frozen in the doorway, cocking his head and raising those bristle brush eyebrows.

She couldn’t meet his dark eyes, reflecting the light from the TV screen. She’d seen them before, disturbing in their familiarity. Like he knew her intimately, could see inside her. There was accusation and ridicule in the way he stared, but behind the eyes a contemptible pity that made her feel physically sick.

The insidious feeling he elicited was a full-body sensation. Her arms pricked with gooseflesh, hairs on end. Her stomach felt hollow and gnawing. She felt oversized and heavy, a giant lashed to the earth by a thousand unspoken denigrations. She was a rotten tooth in the mouth of the giant, swollen with an all consuming pain that numbs the brain and pollutes the body. She was a cavity and he was filling her with sickening sweetness.

She wanted to hurt him. She wanted scream.

He just watched.

A slight smile split his hideous face.

She wanted to peel the flesh from their bones.

She retreated, him slowly following. He remained at the bottom of the steps as she scrambled up the stairs, glaring up at her.

She scrabbled across the landing in hands and knees, slamming the bedroom door shut with her body.

With trembling fingers, she put the headphones on. The sudden, deafening music blasted everything away.

She slid to the floor and, suspended in sound, waited for him to hide.

[me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink]

when ocean vuong wrote,

“our mother tongue, then, is no mother at all- but an orphan. our vietnamese a time capsule, a mark of where your education ended, ashed. Ma, to speak in our mother tongue is to speak only partially in vietnamese, but entirely in war”

and when elizabeth miki brina wrote,

“my mother and i speak different languages... this might seem like a mundane fact about us. it’s not. it dictates everything. because even though my mother understands and speaks english at a highly functional level, there are places inside me she can’t reach, nuances of thought and emotion i can’t express in words that make sense to her.”

and,

“i had not learned this history, my mother’s history, my history, until i was thirty-four years old. which is to say that i grew up not knowing my mother or myself.”

and when hieu minh nguyen said,

“i am forgetting how to say simple things to my mother. the words that linger in my periphery. the words, a rear view mirror dangling from the wires. i am only fluent in apologies.”

and when mitski sang,

“mom, i'll be quiet / it would be just to sleep at night / and i'll leave once I figure out / how to pay for my own life too.“ 

and when I tell you that I’ve never managed to learn another language, that i am unable to separate them in my minds eye. that i can not translate a phrase, I simply know what it means because she cradled my head as she spoke it. that i have tried german and french but can’t form the words of my mother(‘s) language. that I’m scared of saying i love you with the enemy’s accent. i love you do you love me i love you do you love me i love you

[brinaspellsbye]

* @subconcern ; “i’m just gonna let it get infected and die” !

" you're not gonna die. " extending an arm, grabbing his forearm to pull him up. eyes peered over the wound, knowing it would leave a scar : [ it didn't take a rocket scientist to acknowledge that fact. ] " we have more important things to deal with than your whining unfortunately. "

turning towards the red skies that began overshadowing the blueness. this is what hell was, except : [ they weren't there. ] " vecna, i'm guessing. "

[brinaspells-old]

“   i   saw   it.   i   saw   the   prophecy.   sally   [   @sallyow3ns​​   ],   i’m   supposed   to   destroy   the   world.   ”   tear   swollen   eyes   made   it   difficult   to   hide   emotions.   all   this   information   just   left   her   in   an   abyss   of   sorrow   and   confusion;   what   was   she   supposed   to   do   with   this?   “   can   we   stop   it?   ”

[eternitae]

I’m on! I’m on! I’m on! ( also at Haze )

[ikuhisa-yi09]

Georges Bataille, Visions of Excess / Salman Rushdie, East, West / Sleeping at Last - Heirloom // Lidia Yuknavitch, Letter to My Rage: An Evolution / Elizabeth Miki Brina, Speak, Okinawa: A Memoir / Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous // Louise Bourgeois, He Disappeared into Complete Silence / Yiyun Li, “What Gardening Offered After a Son’s Death” / Heidi Priebe, “As Long As There Is Love, There Will Be Grief” / Eden Robinson, “Writing Prompts for the Broken-hearted”

[shatteredfears-arch]

i wish tumblr live would just stAY TURNED OFF