#other writers!

[serendipminie-writes]

Asking as a writer: How many dead relatives is too many dead relatives?

[circa-specturgia]

Fratricidium

A discussion of sacrifice, brotherhood and, love. This one’s a late scene in the plot, towards the end of the story, calm before the storm. I haven’t introduced Alix before, but, I plan to write another scene in which Cas and Alix meet for the first time, which would be fun to write after seeing their relationship in this light as well.

TW // Discussion of death, fratricide, the act of killing a sibling, or individual of a equivalent relationship. Note, no actual death occurs in this scene

“Please never do that again.”

His voice had spoken in their head a few moments ago, echoing ever so slightly when it had, now silent.

Cas stood silently at the far end of the hall, barefoot on the solid obsidian floor, which reflected the room in a perfect mirror, glassy, polished to perfection. His long black robes suited him a bit too well, simultaneously fitting him, and making him seem like someone else entirely to Alix’s eyes, unfamiliar. As he turned, they caught the wind from the sea, where the walls of the low-ceilinged hall opened into a veranda overlooking the water.

“Sorry, I won’t. I just…” Cas began before sighing, looking out to the dark waves that stretched into the horizon, unruly hair whipping in the breeze. “I needed to talk to you.”

They walked closer, the volcanic stone beneath their feet uncomfortably silent. The cold wind whistled in their ears as they came to stand next to him. They could recognize the golden shape he was fidgeting with. The tip of the godkiller spear. Nadir Keihäs, V had called it. His fingers would blacken and smoke as he ran his thumb across the etched design, turning it over in his fingers which healing momentarily, the wind carrying off all ash.

They raised an eyebrow to their friend, trying not to show their discomfort in noticing his eyes a molten pool, irises shifting between a deep brown and glowing divine gold.

“He’s… not listening, is he?”

The young man paused for a moment at this, turning to look at them with a look of mild confusion, before letting out a sigh of realization, waving tiredly to his eyes.

“No, no, that’s just me. It’s just us.” He reassured, before gesturing to the room, robes furling in the breeze. “I’ve managed to meditate him out. This place helps. Like on Coros.”

V had led them here when they’d first arrived, mentioning it’s property of being ‘hidden’ as he put it, the gold pillars on the walls etched with shifting symbols and sigils, the obsidian being a void of power.

Cas opened his mouth to speak again, before closing it again, eyes fixated on the ink black sea crashing against the cliffs, not meeting his friends gaze. They listened to the silence together for a moment. It reminded Alix of the quiet of the library, broken only by their friend’s questions and the turning of pages, replaced now by a gentle hum of antiapotheosis and crashing waves.

“You’ve been thinking on how to say it.”

“Yeah.” He finally managed to bark out an anxious laugh, before a grim smile shut his lips, even that fading within a second, carried off with the ash of his fingertips.

“If things don’t go— If he manages to...”

“Cas. I know.”

“Thanks.” He looked at them, and in spite of their eyes being so unnatural, the look in them was so human, so Cas. That comforted them.

“I don’t get it, though. Why not Ciro?” They asked, after another brief pause.

Cas didn’t meet their eyes, but they could tell he knew the question had been coming. He knew what they really meant. ‘Why me?’ They knew the answer.

Turning on his heel, Cas stepped back into the chamber, kneeling at a piece of black fabric that had melted into the floor so perfectly Alix had failed to notice it lying there. With a careful movement, the man unfolded its sides, revealing the hilt and shaft of the Nadir Keihäs. With a simple motion, he affixed the spearhead, running a hand over its length and muttering a command. As he stood, the spear hovered just below his extended palm, turning slowly in the air as he faced them again.

It was an odd thing, not quite so physical as it looked, a property to it that couldn’t be seen. The gold etched design was all gold, yet not uniform, with different shades and patterns across its length, its tip once simple, then again a complex figure, a crescent, blade, a— it hurt to look at… No, rather, it hurt to think about too thoroughly. V had called it a conceptual weapon, something more abstract than physical, tethered to reality, and while it had fascinated them initially, the way that looking at it echoed the word ‘spear’ in their head over and over, it unsettled them.

Running a smoking finger up the shaft, Cas’ eyes glowed, brown overpowered by gold momentarily before returning to an equal mix, and then tipping to his natural shade.

“Ciro’s too kind. I think he’d…” He began, before stopping, staring at the floor, and starting again. “I know he’d hesitate. I can’t give him that opportunity.”

He said it like even the word him was a bitter taste on his lips, squaring his jaw for just a moment. Alix had noticed he’d started to avoid using his name altogether.

“Tamara would never agree to it and try and find another way. Mask- I don’t even want to consider.” He continued shakily, choking up a bit. “Cyril and Adira, I think they’d both do it. If it came down to it. But—”

“But they wouldn’t be able to live with themselves after.” They finished for him, much to Cas’ gratitude, as he gave them a look.

“This is why I knew that I could talk to you about it.” He smiled weakly.

“Because I’m heartless…?”

“Because you have the biggest heart.”

Alix paused for a moment, stunned. The breeze picked up, cool mist spraying their face.

“I...”

“You, you love so, so much.” Cas paused, unable to meet their eye. He waved a hand around, apparently still struggling with the words, as though trying to grasp them from thin air, make them materialize. “To let me go so no one else has to, to—”

His voice broke, an anguished, strangled noise.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, just barely above the wind. “I know what I’m asking of you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

In a rush, they grabbed his robes, pulling him in, as he broke down, repeating it quietly. They still had to stand on their toes to hug him. He still had that scent of Lavenda and woodsmoke, just like always.

It took a minute before he stopped shaking, standing up straight again as Alix held them at arms length. They reached a hand to his cheek, brushing tears from his eyes with a thumb, as he gave a sigh, finally meeting their gaze. Pure dark brown on vibrant purple. They didn’t need to say anything more.

“I’ll do it. For you, brother, I’ll do it.”

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed ✨

[serendipminie-writes]

@bassguitarinablackt-shirt I know you like to reblog these so here

WHAT AM I TO YOU?

u know the drill

[monsoon-of-art]

[ren-is-real]

You know when

[writeouswriter]

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.

You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?

Click on their name. And look at their profile.

I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.

"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.

"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.

Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.

Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.

Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.

I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.

Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.

[abiteofhoney]

this is a safe space for people who think they’re “bad” writers btw you’re not a bad writer, you’re learning and i love you

[hometoursandotherstuff]

[serendipminie-writes]

heyy!!! we havent talked in forever, how goeth the writing ?

Hi Evvy!!!

Yeah, it's been a while! I've been on semi-hiatus for a bit lol but I think I should be done soon

The writing is not going honestly... I've been trying to find more time to write, but usually I worldbuild or do character designs instead of actually writing alshldlagsldagal

All's well that ends well, however.

How are your wips?!?!!? (Hopefully better than mine lol)

[counting-stars-gayly]

I’m actually LOVING how Rick Riordan, and the other writers of the show, took his initial concept of a Percabeth rivalry fueled by that of their parents and kind of turned it on its head?

Now, instead of Annabeth being wary of Percy because he’s a son of Poseidon, he’s wary of her because she made a callous impression on him. They get off to a rocky start even before finding out who Percy’s father is, and when they finally do, Annabeth doesn’t care. Instead of them fighting because of who their parents are, they’re fighting over their own opposed worldviews.

Then, instead of them arguing over which of the gods is cooler and who was right in the story of Medusa, they realize that, just like Medusa, Annabeth is a victim of her mother and that, unlike Medusa, she is a far kinder and stronger person, unwilling to repeat the cycle of hurt. They realize that, like his father, Percy often acts without considering potential consequences and that, unlike his father, he is a far kinder and stronger person, willing to step up for someone he wronged and whom he cares about.

Instead of Percy and Annabeth’s rivalry being focused on that of their parents, it’s focused on who they are, themselves. But the path to friendship is still the same: a realization that they have each other’s backs, no matter what, because they’re not their parents after all.

[circa-specturgia]

"I'll carry you..."

A bit of fluff! The first half to two short scenes I wrote recently, the second of which I’ll post tomorrow! Simply put, I had the idea for a simple, soft scene, a character carrying another to bed, after they’ve fallen asleep, which I wrote in a sprint with @bloodlessheirbyjacques and @the-void-writes!

“Hey.”

Adira nudged the jihn with an elbow to the arm, pointing across the courtyard with her chin. Their student was sitting on the steps leading from courtyard to walkway, leaning against one of the columns ringing it, fast asleep.

A glance at the clocktower gave the time to be somewhere around 3 in the morning. He’d been training since at least 20. The moonlight shone from above bathing them in silver, glinting off of the ornate mosaic tiles as they crossed the space silently.

“Advanced Jynkaturgic Matrixes; 5th Edition” The vælan read in a whisper to herself, picking up the book lying on the steps next to a half-drunk pot of lavena tea, pouring herself a cup and downing it as she shut the tome, watching Cyril hook his arms around Cas’ shoulders and under his knees, lifting him up as the brunettes head fell against his chest, fast asleep.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow about taking it easy. The boy needs rest.” He said, though he realized he’d gotten heavier since the last time he’d thrown him around. He’d grown up.

“Reminds me of someone I know.” Adira noted, sliding the tea to the side and following Cyril as he headed to the stairs.

“It was three times.” He sighed, though a tad amused, times from the academy coming back.

“Four, actually.”

“Three.” He repeated firmly.

“How could you know if you were asleep?”

“Not like you were any better.”

“Never said I was.” She shrugged, dancing up the steps simultaneously showing which boards didn’t creak, similarly lost in nostalgia.

The two made it to the room, Cyril nudging it open with a shoulder, Adira making sure he didn’t nearly bump Cas’ head on the doorframe.

He handed her Cas for a moment after she set the book down on the nightstand with a few others, holding him while he focused slightly, a mirage of heat glowing around his arm as the tattoos ignited with a dull, warm light, like the embers of a fire, heat filling the bed.

Within a minute they managed to get him under the covers, his shoes somewhere still downstairs. He’d picked up training barefoot from her.

He turned over, making small noise, before settling back in, the two of them closing the door after themselves quietly, heading to their own room. Settling into bed, Cyril realized how tired they’d both been, stripping down and lying down under the blanket, Adira slipping under it too, turning on her side.

“Some thing’s stay the same, don’t they…?” He said, after a moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, some things do.”

Hope you enjoyed! ✨

Taglist? Taglist! ✨ Thanks to all these wonderful people for supporting me and giving me the inspiration and motivation to write!

@bloodlessheirbyjacques @athenswrites @magefaery @muddshadow @awritingcaitlin @agrimedena-drax @pinespittinink @tryingtimi @jessica-writes22 @the-void-writes @peachy-ciel @queensummer ✨

[wordyshit]

Just doing this bc I'm curious/research reasons

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish

[inkedwingss]

not me writing this giant synopsis of my own wip to myself so i can understand what i am actually trying to create