#fantasy writers

[hoshiumi78]

I have been writing a series in my head these last couple of years and have finally begun to successfully write the first rough draft of book 1. I just hit 10k words out of probably 400-500k combined together for the whole series. Wish me luck 🫡 (You guys will totally see me on the front shelves in Barnes & Noble in the next few years... trust ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ)

[rewritingrosie]

LOOKING FOR A WRITING COMMUNITY?

INVITE LOADING . . .

Rune & Ruin * social is dedicated to helping creatives like you! Our community is gentle, pro-liberation, and safe for LGBTQ+ members, always — and we’re temporarily open to new members again!

If you’re interested, come check us out at the LINK HERE.

ABOUT THE SERVER..

With an emphasis on establishing closely-knit, high quality support systems, our 17+, lovingly-crafted community is an easy home for all those who have an interest in creative writing, including screenwriters, artists, beta readers, and editors. All are welcome!

We has an invaluable amount of resource channels and forums accessible to members, updated near-daily. Exchange advice from aspiring, published, and debuting authors, join informal sprint contests, seek or sell commissions, and gossip about your favorite reads! You get what you put in.

At the end of the day, your safety, and comfort is our priority! We have an 18+ channel for mature literature and writing discussions, vent channels, and a variety of roles and aesthetic emotes for you to express yourself with. We host periodic events, including author collabs and ( yes!! ) book giveaways.

WHAT IF I’M IN AN CREATIVE BLOCK?

In * rune & ruin • social ଓ, there is no quota to produce. Take it slow. Just being involved is more than enough! We want to nurture you, not overwhelm you.

BIG SERVERS CAN BE INTIMIDATING. WHAT DO YOU DO TO REMEDY THAT?

Well, despite us being nearly 350+ members, most of us are split between several time zones. We prioritize healthy interactions, so it isn't like a sudden onslaught of self-promos between writers — no posting and dipping.

Most of our community members have known each other for several years now, and we really do care about building genuine friendships. If you interact with the prompts, chat revives, or even in casual conversation, it is very easy to bond with people here. That being said, staff is always here to help you with acclimating.

IS THE LINK EXPIRED? NOT WORKING?

If you have any difficulties, you can dm here, or on discord! My username is the same as it is on here, @rewritingrosie !

with love,

rosie !

[thecomfywriter]

hi hello. high political fantasy writers—please media-train your politicians/royals.

[roarintheheavens]

my writing motivation after an iced coffee: 📈📈📈

my stomach problems after an iced coffee: 📈📈📈

[vesanal]

✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦Aerlyra✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦

   A Character Introduction

“Can’t you get it? This is my one last chance to right everything wrong back to normal! I can finally be worth something for once in my life…”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦Information✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦

Name: Aerlyra Kcara Ghorne

Nicknames: Aer, Aery, and Lyra in some cases

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Orientation: Pansexual

Age: 29 years old

Birthdate: April 23rd

Birthplace: Haukrosen, Pytharios of Khri

Species: Human

Occupation: Fisherman & fish merchant

Education: Highly educated from the Queen’s Academy for Young Learners of Magic in Haukrosen, Pytharios of Khri

Current Residence: Korsk, Pytharios of Khri

✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦Personality✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦

Aerlyra Ghorne can be defined by her compassionate attitude yet nervous nature. She is very receptive to others viewpoints and ideas, speaking with them about various topics and learning new things. But, she is also well known as a push-over to those around her. Along with being quite the meek and unassuming type, she also tries to stay out of everyone’s way to focus on her own needs. This is shown as she keeps her head down and out of trouble in Korsk, her new home, for now. While she is quite the generous person to those who really need it, sometimes she can be too generous as an overcompensation which lends itself directly into her gullibility. As in, she trusts in people way too often, leading to her getting hurt and running away from her problems. Emotions, despite her not really wanting them to, basically control her actions.

Surely better things are ahead in her future. Being chosen by the Queen to accomplish a job only she can do has definitely resparked her desires to please and lead others. Yet still, she has those worry-wort thoughts in the back of her brain.

MBTI Type: INFP-T

Alignment: Neutral good

Likes: Learning new things, other people & their stories/lives, keeping away from conflicts, reading, journaling, puzzles, loud & bustling environments, being nice to others

Dislikes: Not being on time, not living up to her own high expectations, letting her nerves & emotions get to her, quiet & alone places, herself, taking charge of herself/things in her life & other’s, public speaking, fish 

Goals: Starting out, she just wants to survive to the next day. But, after she gets chosen by the Queen to kill the Bone-Binder, her entire mission, and worth, in life changes to solely just that as she wants to regain some semblance of a good reputation through that…

Hobbies: Trying out new braid techniques and hairstyles, reading, journaling, meditating, trying out new herbal teas from the market when she can fit it into her budget

✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦Appearance✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦

Height: 5’ 6” or 167 cm

Weight: 145 lbs or 66 kg

Build: Pear shaped build; Lean and muscular, yet somewhat starved in recent years

Hair: Black and very curly, messily held together in 3 thick braids with a few strands falling out to the side of her face

Eyes: Black, wide eyes that shine even in the darkest of days

Skin Complexion: Pale beige with rosy patches covering her joints and face

Scars: None

Piercings: None

Tattoos: Small stars across the bottoms of her eyes, 3 on each side 

✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦Extra✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦

Want to see more of Aerlyra?

More here!!

Check out the story here!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist:

@seastarblue @seafloor507 @stars-forever @viridis-icithus @estrellasxxminis @synthesistoagreatercreation @ink-stains-and-constellations @wyked-rebellion @satohqbanana @amatowriting @riverstixx @theodora47 @selfemployedmess @thebookishkiwi @17panicattacksinatrenchcoat @memento-morianon @the-ellia-west @write-with-will @jwritesalright @sunflowerrosy @myniceisniceblogbloglog @corinneglass

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Snapped” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Wren (they/them)

Atlas surveys the streets below, sure he must be dreaming.

Taking up the entire back wall of the hotel room is a long, shiny floor-to-ceiling window.

A window.

He can’t remember the last time he’d seen one. The warehouse, despite its many floors and levels, didn’t have any. Not ones that led outside, anyway. And definitely not ones as grand as this one. It was nothing but the same steel-gray walls along every hallway, stretching on endlessly, inescapable no matter what room you turned into. His bedroom had been like that too: four bare, gray walls, not a single window in sight.

But here — here he can see it all.

The darkened streets stretch out below him, bustling with cars and people. It isn’t as crowded here as it had been when he’d first drove with Wren this morning, less people around to watch. Still… It’s beautiful.

Outside. He can really see outside.

Wren’s van sits out in front of them in the parking lot, the pale white of the paint glistening from the streetlight overhead. Wren had slid into the parking lot only fifteen minutes prior, flashing a sleek credit card in his direction, proclaiming it was for “emergencies only”, before leading him inside the hotel. It’s a nicer place than the rest of the buildings he’s seen today — much cleaner than the McDonalds — with shiny elevators and smooth marble floors, a few people bustling around in the hallways; kids and adults alike, smiling and laughing with each other. 

Now settled in their hotel room, he can spot a few men gathered on the corner of the street, little wisps of smoke drifting up into the night air around them from their cigarettes. They’re laughing loudly, throwing their heads back, mouths spread out in a grin. Atlas wonders what it’s like, to laugh like that.

He stands there in silence, simply taking it all in, eyes flickering towards every person that passes by on the street, to every car in the distance. They are all but blurs of colour in the darkness of the night, the illumination of streetlights casting a dull glow over everything, the lights from nearby shops slowly starting to flicker off as the day falls to a close.

Atlas is pulled away from the serene view at Wren’s eyes on him.

They look up at him from their spot criss-crossed on the floor, face curious as he meets their gaze. They pat the spot beside them, expectantly waiting for him to sit.

He hesitates for a moment, scanning their expression for any hint of hostility. He still isn’t sure what to think of them. They’re brash and rude — not to mention stupid — but then again, they’d genuinely tried to help him, hadn’t they? Slowly, he obliges, taking the seat next to them.

Wren fixes their gaze back onto the street below, pressing their forehead into the glass. “How old are you?”

Atlas bristles at the question. “You first.”

All day they’d been asking things like this, trying to… get information out of him. He guesses it’s what anyone would do, he is a practical stranger, after all. But a part of him can’t help but feel on guard at it. He isn’t supposed to tell people about himself, isn’t supposed to give anything away. Especially to someone from outside of Eden. Though, he guesses, he isn’t a part of Eden anymore either, is he? Those rules don’t apply to him anymore.

Not after he left them.

Wren sighs, but for once doesn’t push, instead opting for answering his deflection. “Fine asshole. I’m fourteen.”

Atlas falls quiet at their answer, weighing his options. Eden’s rules don’t technically apply to him anymore, but that doesn’t mean he really cares about Wren, either. It isn’t like they’ve ever been nice to him before now. Still, it isn’t like he’s going to gain anything from being so prudent with them. And telling them his age can’t be that bad….

“I’m fifteen.” He relents.

Their head jerks towards him at his answer, eyes going wide in shock as they mumble, “You’re just a kid.”

Atlas’ gaze doesn’t leave the window, his face still a perfect mask of calm, the only movement coming from him being his eyes as they scan the different buildings outside. “I’m older than you.” He points out.

Wren clicks their tongue loudly and shrugs, tearing their face away from the window again to glance at him. “Yeah. I’m a kid too.”

Atlas focuses on a particular car — a deep maroon in colour, with a dent in the side, little chips along the paint. He places all his attention on it, taking nice, even breaths, holding back his urge to scream at them. He’s never felt so miserable, so helplessly alone, in his entire life. “My age doesn’t matter.” He responds, voice clipped. So just shut the fuck up already.

Wren rolls their eyes, huffing out a breath of frustration. “Yeah. Did they tell you that too? Did they tell you it doesn’t matter that you’re a literal kid?”

Atlas stiffens. “That’s none of your concern.”

Wren sighs and leans back on their hands, still staring out the window. “Fine, whatever.” They go silent for a long moment before a thought suddenly occurs to them. “What’s your name? Do you have a name?” They ask, glancing back towards him.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He says coldly, unable to hold the exasperation from leaking into his voice. Wren seems to have that sort of effect on him; he never feels quite so defensive or angry as he does when he’s around them.

Wren huffs, sagging forwards and resting their forehead upon the glass once again. They seem unable to sit still for more than a minute, constantly fidgeting and moving around. Atlas has never found something quite so irritating. “Look, I know you don’t like me. That’s fine. But we can’t do anything unless you trust me a little. At least enough to give me your name.”

“I don’t need to give you anything.” Atlas replies rigidly. He decides that he in fact isn’t going to tell them anything. He’s out of Eden now, so that means he can choose. There are no rules against that, not anymore. And Wren is definitely not his superior. He likes it better this way. That way they can’t use anything against him. That way he still has the slight upper hand.

Wren lets out a long, hard sigh, rocking for a minute before flopping all the way back, lying flat on the scratchy carpet. “Okay. Whatever.” They mumble, closing their eyes.

Atlas doesn’t move.

Wren thumps their feet on the floor rhythmically, disturbing Atlas’ peace. “Fine, I don’t need to know your name. Do you have a favourite colour?” They ask, glancing towards his hair, a shaggy mullet with burgundy streaks littering throughout it. “Is it red?”

“Is yours blue?” Atlas counters, still annoyingly refusing to answer any of their questions. He can’t stand it — can’t stand sitting here, with them, can’t stand their constant chattering. He wants to be at the warehouse, with Cato, with Ira; wants to be in his dorm room, curled up on his cozy bed. Wants to be training, the familiar feeling of his staff in his hands, strength surging through his core. He wants to be at home.

You left that, remember? He chides himself. That isn’t your home, not anymore.

“Very clever. Did you figure that all on your own?” Wren asks, pulling him from his thoughts.

“It doesn’t take a genius.” He grunts, not once glancing toward them to meet their gaze.

“Sarcasm.” They mutter. “You dye it yourself?” They gesture vaguely towards his hair.

Atlas answers with nothing but a curt nod, hand subconsciously raising to fiddle with his hair, a dark red strand twirling around his fingers. 

“Me too. I’ve spent too much money on box dye.”

Atlas hums. He still remembers with perfect clarity the first time Ira came over with box dye and helped him with his hair — almost as if it was just yesterday.

He had been twelve. She’d swung into his dorm room with a small grin, waving the box around like it was pure gold. It had been, to him. He remembers, up until then, he’d barely even had belongings to himself. No books beside his textbooks, no notebooks or paper besides the ones supplied to him for his lessons. No souvenirs, no nothing. His room had genuinely been bare. Just a bed and a small desk pushed into the corner. Wren had commented on the absolute emptiness of his room, but it was nothing compared to back then.

So when Ira had offered to dye his hair, he’d been over-the-moon. For as long as he could remember, her hair was always done up in some interesting way. A streak of colour, or ombré, or jaggedly cut in a way that Atlas wished he could pull off. He remembers how excitement coursed through his bones as she helped him chop off his ordinary, plain black locks for the shaggy mullet that he then kept for the past three years. That pure, child-like excitement… it was the best feeling in the entire world.

Wren doesn’t take his lack of a response as a sign he isn’t in the mood for a conversation, simply continuing to talk. They might as well be talking to themself, for all that it matters. “The first time I dyed my hair, I bleached it without instructions. It was so bad, it started falling out of my head.”

Atlas still doesn’t react, simply winding his hair around his finger, over and over and over again. Its soothing, almost. Something to focus on. 

Wren continues. “I had a big bald spot on the side of my head for the entire first part of 6th grade. My mom bought me this hair growth stuff for bald guys. Didn’t work at all.”

Atlas doesn’t give them a second of his attention. He stares out the window, watching out into the streets below, half-forgetting to blink. He wants to be out on those streets, walking. Free. It has never been a thought he admitted — not in full extent — but out of everything in the entire universe, that has always been his dream. To go out, by himself, no watchful eye of his commander or the judgemental gaze of a scrawny insufferable rebel. Just him and the quiet of the night, the chill of the breeze cooling the back of his neck. Calm, contented peace. 

Wren’s gaze doesn’t leave him as they sit up, scooting closer to his side. “Hey…?” They ask, leaning over slightly and waving their hand in front of his face. 

“Hm?” Atlas hums, his piercing gaze falling upon them. This is the closest they’ve dared get to him, only inches apart. “What is it?”

Wren furrows their brows at him. “You went all zombie on me.”

“I was listening.” Atlas says dismissively. What he really wants to say to them is “shut up, I do not want to talk to you right now, or ever, for that matter”, but he holds his tongue. He wants to do many things — shove Wren away from him, scream at them, beat their annoying face until it’s black and blue, run away from them and never come back — but that does not mean that he can actually do them. He’s stuck with Wren, as much as he hates it, so the best he can do is try to tolerate them. For now.

Wren frowns but shrugs, brushing past it. “Okay.” They say, leaning away to resume their position of resting their forehead against the window, letting out a heavy exhale as they do so. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

Atlas focuses his attention back upon the window, watching outside in silence for a second. If he was to be honest, he’d say that he really couldn’t care less if Wren told him anything about themself. But he knows that’s not what they want to hear. “Whatever you would like to tell me.” He says with the slightest of shrugs. We are not friends. He thinks. And we will never be friends. There’s nothing you can do or say that will ever change my mind on that.

Wren rolls their eyes with a loud and dramatic groan. “That’s not how this works. I’ve told you plenty and you won’t even respond.” They say, shooting him a scowl.

Atlas hums. “What would you like me to say?” There’s a reason I didn’t answer, you dunce.

“I dunno man. Usually you’re supposed to acknowledge what someone’s saying.” They say with another loud huff. “Whatever, you get a free pass because you got brainwashed.”

Don’t fucking speak to me like that.  

“I’m not brainwashed.” Atlas mutters, side-eying them.  

Wren clicks their tongue and scoffs. “I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything, but you kind of are man.”

Atlas scowls. You’re a naive, stupid child that thinks they know everything because they managed to steal a few fucking files. You’ll never amount to even a sliver of what I am right now, even if you spent your entire life trying. Pull your head out of your fucking ass.

“You don’t know anything about me. Stop acting like you do.” 

Atlas’ words only cause Wren to shrug. “I mean, I knew a lot more than you.” They point out matter-of-factly.

Atlas is so sick of Wren’s constant comments, their know-all attitude. Their audacity. All he’s had to deal with this entire day is their snarky quips, poking and prodding, rubbing salt into his sore wounds.

He should’ve known better. They’re a rebel, after all. Rebels are cruel, apathetic. Why would they care about what he’s lost, what he’s sacrificed, leaving with them? A homeless middle schooler with a clunky, dirty van that barely operates on its own. And he’s supposed to just be grateful, accept their treatment with the same grace he always holds. 

They don’t have a single clue about what his life was like, the hardship and struggles he’s had to endure. They don’t know how much he gave away, just to join their shitty little grandiose delusion of “revolution”. They make him sick.

Fuck, I’m so tired. 

He gives them a hard glare. “No, you didn’t.”

Wren narrows their eyes at him, giving him a skeptical glance before sighing. “What-ever.”

This finally snaps Atlas’ resolve.

It isn’t their dismissal that does it, more an accumulation of the last day. He should know better than this, should know better than to snap at them like he does, but suddenly the burning anger that has been boiling, slow and steady, in his chest all day is exploding out of him, hot as flames. Unrestrained.

“I hate you.” He spits, whipping around to glare down at them with pure hatred shining in his eyes. “At least Eden treated me kindly. At least I belonged.” His voice shakes, emotion slipping through in a way it hasn’t in — he doesn’t even know how long. Years? A decade? Forever? “At least I wasn’t stuck with an insolent child.”

His words come out quick and sharp, a part of him almost too scared to even say them. He can’t remember ever speaking out against someone in his entire life. He isn’t supposed to — it’s against the rules. He’s supposed to keep his feelings in check; a soldier who can’t keep control over themself is as good to Eden as a ticking time bomb. Soldiers are polite. Soldiers are obedient. Soldiers don’t voice their own opinions. Soldiers don’t have opinions — don’t have emotions. For all of his life, he has been this: The perfect soldier.

But what had that gotten him in the end?

“You don’t know anything about what it was like.” He says coldly. He has to admit to himself, actually voicing what he’s been thinking the entire day…. It feels kind of good.

Wren’s eyes widen slightly, a look of shock that gives Atlas the slightest hint of satisfaction evident on their features. They slowly tilt their head up to look at him again, the words hanging lowly in the air between them, turning the atmosphere thick with tension.

Finally, Wren breaks the dreadful silence. “Yeah, I get it.” They say, pausing for a moment, as if they were for once going to put in a sliver of thought before they spit out some crude insult at him. “I don’t expect you to like me. And I don’t really care if you do.”

Their face is calm, voice even as they speak. It feels as if they are addressing an explosive child, not a boy who has spent the last fifteen years of his life carefully pushing down his true feelings for what matters, who always does what he’s told without questions, who works and works and works. Who doesn’t know what it’s like to experience true relaxation — true peace.

“I may not know what it was like,” they say, the slightest bit of exasperation in their voice. “But I know what would’ve happened if you stayed.”

It’s like a slap to the face. Atlas pales, the thought of the files — the videos; the horrific images of torture, torture that he would’ve endured, torture that Eden had been doing on its own soldiers for years — causing his mouth to instantly snap shut.

The smug feeling dissipates just as fast as it comes. There is no rebuttal to their statement. Although he never would admit to it, both he and Wren know that they are right. What had been waiting for him after today….

He doesn’t even want to think about it.

In one swift movement, Atlas jumps to his feet. His hands are shaking as he roughly turns on his heel, stalking out of the room and making a beeline for the bathroom. For the first time in his life, he feels the careful control he has over his emotions slip through his fingers, anger burning in his chest fiery hot, flushing his cheeks red.

He fucking hates it here.

The door slams behind him with a sharp bang.

He is shaking as he enters the bathroom, his entire body trembling, the weight he’s been holding upon his shoulders for too long finally cracking away at his perfectly poised exterior, slipping him under the waves of unconstrained emotions he has tried so hard to dull. His control is dissipating faster than he can manage, the short rapid breaths through his nose doing nothing to cool the fury within him. 

The stress of the past 24 hours — no, the entire past month — have taken their hold on him, sending him spiraling down a well of no return. He is untethered, boundless, suffocating in the infinite unknown of space. And there is not that usual rough calloused hand to pull him back to safety, reassurances of warmth and belonging easing him back to reality. 

His reflection glares back at him, only inches away. The boy in the mirror is a shameful thing, cheeks all blotchy and red, flushed by his rage; eyes glassy and tinged with tears, squinting with a determined will to force them back; his chest is heaving, uncontrollable gasps slipping from his lips. 

He hates it. 

He hates all of it. He hates the perfectly tidy bathroom, too similar to Eden, with its sparse toiletries, carefully unordinary, and pale gray walls, no decorations adorning them. Too similar to what he left behind — what he’s missing so desperately. 

He hates not knowing what he’s supposed to do, how he’s supposed to act. Before today he had every single second in every single minute carefully and methodically planned out, his whole future set in stone, just waiting for him to arrive. And now he is lost, his plans of a picture-perfect future set aflame, all notions of normalcy or structure crumbling to ash with it. He is a nobody, with nothing to his name.

Useless. He’s fucking useless.

He hates these new emotions swirling up inside of him. He hates being so fucking angry, every breath of air igniting his insides, erasing this perfect persona he has crafted so delicately for himself. He hates this new life, hates this stupid smartass kid who thinks they know better than he does, thinks they’re somehow greater and better because they didn’t get roped up into a corporation like Eden, didn’t fall for the sweet-as-honey lies, the manipulated comforts. He hates living in a van, hates having no home. 

But most of all….

He hates himself. 

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ───────── · ·

“I was gonna shower, asshole.” 

Wren stares at the closed bathroom door with a scowl. The boy has shut himself in there and it looks like he’s not going to come out anytime soon. Great. Just what they needed. 

They sigh, standing up and flopping back onto the bed with a groan, their body limp. The mattress bounces underneath their weight, creaking in rhythm. The blankets are smooth, though not cozy and gentle like the ones they have back at home, impossibly soft to the touch. But they’ll do, much more comforting than their worn-down sleeping bag rolled up in the van, which is much overdue for a wash. 

They stare up at the ceiling, eyes bleary from exhaustion. It is in this quietness, a sort of rest washing over them for the first time all day without the boy’s tense presence to bother them, that the realization dawns on them that they haven’t really slept properly at all in weeks. At Eden they were on constant alert, left with the choice of camping out in their van half a mile off-grounds or cloaking themself somewhere ambiguous, body forced into a small, impossibly cramped crawl space no one would think to search. And this morning they woke up far too early for their own liking, the boy’s piercing violet gaze disrupting their dreams. 

They groan, turning their head towards the bathroom door. The water isn’t even running. “Hey,” they call out. “You gonna shower? Or can I?” 

They wait and the air is left brimming with tension as silence stretches out, no response coming from the other side of the door. “Hello?” 

The sound of slight shuffling is the only noise they can catch. 

They frown, sliding off the bed and going to stand in front of the door; their eyebrows furrowed, mouth pulled taut. “Dude, you good?” They ask, voice louder this time, fist brought down in a light knock. 

An explosion of fury booms from behind the door, ripping the next words from Wren’s tongue. 

“SHUT UP!” The boy screams, unbridled rage cracking his voice. It is deafening, hitting Wren with a truckload of emotion that has evidently been pushed down for far longer than he’s capable of withstanding. It's a violent kind of rage, one that’s dangerous to get caught up in. A stark contrast to the quiet and polite attitude from before — Wren is almost unsure if it came from him. “FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE.”

Wren flinches slightly at his outburst, the anger coming unexpected. Their eyes are wide and they are still for a moment, lips parted slightly. Shit. 

With a sigh, they turn away from the door. If he wanted to be left alone, then Wren would leave him alone. That bursting, uncontrollable anger is one they are all too familiar with. It’s no use in trying to comfort him, they’ve never been very good at that anyway. They’re sure their presence is only making his breakdown worse.

They turn and shuffle through their bag, pulling out a pair of large sweatpants and a t-shirt. They carry it to the door before dropping it in front of it wordlessly, and returning to sit on the bed. 

The bathroom is quiet for a second, so quiet that Wren thinks the boy has calmed down. They listen out for any further sound, and it’s at that moment that a large crash cuts through their hotel room. There’s a deafening bang, the sound of smashing glass shattering from behind the closed door. Wren gasps as a series of muffled thumps follow, clattering and clanging alerting them of the destruction reigned upon the bathroom. 

The sound of running water hisses from the tap and Wren grimaces, wiping at their face, their exhaustion settling in. They kick off their shoes, curling up under the covers. This should have been expected. 

They can shower tomorrow. 

Masterlist || Previous || Next

taglist \\ @ohagiwrites @oros-ash3s @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @write-with-will

★ Send an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist ★

A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[writerpolls]

*This can be as a general theme (like using crows to represent death, using sheep to represent sacrifice, etc) or as symbolism for a specific character (calling a character a wolf, an owl, etc multiple times). If the animal symbolism you use falls into multiple of these categories, feel free to pick the one that best represents how you use it as symbolism.

[thewingedbaron]

Is there anything more daunting than defining the rules of a magic system?

[apolline-lucy]

i am beyond thrilled to share the cover of my debut novel, THE SILVER BIRDS 🐦‍⬛🖤 it will be released September 26, 2023!

On a cursed island where birds steal hearts and blades of grass cut sharper than knives, two young women driven by revenge take on solving a series of mysterious deaths.

•flawless art and design by @ouijacine who did a phenomenal job bringing my characters to life✨

•the book is already on Goodreads and StoryGraph, if you’d like to add it to your tbr 🥺

[hannahyeaman]

Hello,

I'm an adult fiction author—fantasy and contemporary fantasy—and my debut fantasy releases May 28, 2024.

I initially got the idea for SOUL-BOUND in early April 2017, wanting to explore how a winged character would navigate their world without flight. But I didn't truly start writing it until January 2019 and now I'm finally pursuing publishing it!

Here's the gorgeous cover! Illustrated by the wonderful @oxiente, who has drawn Mika and Roshan a lot for me over the past few years. I'm really grateful that she took on this project. She delivered beyond my expectations! There are so many cute details! 🥺

PITCH

When a tsundere princess with healing magic loses her flight during her quest to heal corrupted crystal roots, she must depend on a charming vagabond's aid to help her before their avian world collapses to corruption.

SUMMARY

Avem, a continent inhabited by bird-like humans called Avians, consists of seven territories, each of which contains a crystal root: a treelike sanctuary preserving magic. Avians cannot wield the land’s magic themselves.

Except, Mika, the princess of Passíer. However, her father forbids her to use it out of concern for her safety.

Due to the expanding corruption from Cantio; a fallen territory under Passíer’s jurisdiction because of its damaged root, Zayn the militant king of Nyx, suggests Scorching Cantio. To avoid such a catastrophic outcome, Mika flees from home, determined to heal Cantio’s root herself.

In Cantio, she meets Roshan, a vagabond playing double agent to protect what’s left of his uncorrupted homelands. Upon noticing her pink feathers, unique for her specific species, he cautions her to leave before she’s captured and used as coin. She snubs his warning and is nearly taken captive.

During his efforts to help her, Roshan is wounded. Mika heals him with her magic, unintentionally and unknowingly bonding them together.

When the quest costs Mika’s wing and grounds her, she accepts Roshan’s offer to escort her across Avem to heal the damaged roots before corruption destroys their world.

If you like birb characters, the ship dynamic from Anastasia and Tangled, books like Dance of Thieves and The Girl at Midnight, and prose like Naomi Novik and Margaret Rogerson, then stick around 🩷

eBook pre-order link!

[snehithiye]

she/her searching for write/blrs

hello !! I'm Sami (21, she/her, tamil, pretty face, sexy mind) and I am new to writeblr and looking for active writers to follow hehe

I like to write original fiction, adult fantasy and lit fic! My crimes include being a serial spotifyer/pinterester and never finishing a draft. Looking for moots so please ppwease reblog and reply, esp interested in f(r)iends who

have pretty and poetic prose, you're so sexy ahahaha

write fantasy! or lit fic! or intense character studies! also mystery/thriller/horror/atmospheric work

write about queer/bipoc MCs

would bully me into finishing a draft this summer

[hoshiumi78]

I literally have a whole triology + novellas that I’ve been cooking up in my head for the past 3.5 years… Now it’s just actually writing it…

*distant cries*

[rewritingrosie]

LOOKING FOR A WRITING SERVER?

INVITE LOADING . . . 🦇

* rune & ruin • social ଓ

╭ ʚɞ︰( noun ) : a 17+, comfort-oriented writing group with chaos-loving members, resource channels, advice forums, and an unlimited amount of cat memes!

< 3 safe for writers with burn-out just wanting to be around other creatives!

cw: photosensitive gif used!

╭ ʚɞ : our upcoming events :

* rune & ruin • social ଓ will be hosting a vc event for character design & oc building tomorrow, july 20th, 2024 at 1pm cst.

—- next week’s vc event is to be announced!

Staff applications are still open!

LINK IS HERE.

If for some reason, the link is invalid upon seeing this ad, please dm!

[the-ellia-west]

HEY! YOU!

Please take a moment to Read This

Artist or Writer, Rich or Poor, Man or Woman, feeling loved or lonely,

You are a creation of God whom he loves and does not regret. You are an amazing person no matter where you are or what you've done, and I love you.

There is someone out there who wants to see your projects and see you. You've got this. You are Natural and you are wonderful.

Your product won't come easy to you, nothing beautiful ever really does. And you are not an Ai, you are real, you are human, you are a person, and being human is to struggle, and to work hard.

And remember. Your work will take time. It will take blood, sweat, and tears. But remember to take rests. No matter how beautiful and wonderful your work will be, you are the thing that matters more. You are the source of your story, and you are the Wonder, the triumph in your creation that matters so much more.

You are loved and you can do this, if not now then one day. I'm cheering for you!

GO GET 'EM YOU MASTERPIECE!

[roarintheheavens]

write right now. who cares if it’s bad? that’s what editing is for