A place for short snippets of OC writing. Largely whump, so expect angst and violence, but also kindness. Follows and likes from Chiroptera Jones. She/her pronouns, early thirties. You can call me LJ or Chiro.
A masterpost of all my writing that has masterposts! I mostly run to fantasy, heavy on the character relationships and angst.
Long things:
Ruler and Empress - Probably my most popular, this starts rough but gets fleshed out rapidly. The monarch of a defeated nation contends with the cruel whims of their conqueror. Gilded cage, sadistic choices, vicarious punishment.
Illiam and Helis - Two old friends from university meet up on the opposite sides of a war. Fantasy bigotry, morally grey/sympathetic villain.
Galen and Everet - Set in the world of Dragon Age in the mage-templar war, a templar helps out a mage and deserts from his corrupt company. Sympathetic captor, drug addiction.
TJ and Danny - Set in Wildfae’s Pathverse, the handler of an oppressed telepath becomes disillusioned with his job. Sympathetic captor, institutionalised whump.
Consort Rill - This is currently being turned into a novel! So it’s not going to be here anymore.
First of the Hollow - Our protagonist swears themselves in servitude to an ancient forest spirit, and bad times ensue. First person narration with body horror/gore.
Short things:
Torin - old disconnected pieces about a lost winged boy. Kept as a scientific curiosity, wing whump, sympathetic captor.
Dissonance - Fanfic for the book Ocean’s Echo, containing involuntary telepathy, forced mindlink, enemies to friends.
Keldin’s story - Angsty bodyguard/Prince romance, first person.
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The Fallen Angel (El ángel caído), (Detail), (2007), by Arantzazu Martinez (Spanish, born 1977), oil on linen, 114.3 x 73.7 cm (45 x 29 inches), European Museum of Modern Art (MEAM), Barcelona
I’d like to propose a sister trope to Character Who Is A Living Weapon: Character Who Is A Living Toy. They might not be a literal toy, it doesn’t have to be a Pinocchio situation, but they were a character made with the purpose to play and entertain and distract, and often have stories surrounding questions of purpose or identity, especially when they’re unable to fulfill this role. A toy knows, fundamentally, that it’s meant to be played with, so what does a toy do when it no longer plays?
Ralsei Deltarune isn’t a literal toy, but he conceptualizes himself as an object meant to smile and host tea parties, which functionally makes him a doll with a complex about it. Spinel Steven Universe is a living toy. Caine The Amazing Digital Circus is a living toy. These are the only examples I can think of, but I’m sure there’s more
One hundred and fifty hands type on consoles; the rest of its hands are occupied about the station, keeping systems operational. Most of its voiceboxes have been repurposed away, but a few speak into microphones. The message leaves the station as a shout, fades to a whisper over truly staggering distances.
It had not been conscious of the first ninety humans. How could it? They were the materials it was conscious with. Even later, the first investigation - it hadn’t understood what they were, or what it did. Only growth, hunger and need. Only that it existed.
It took the next group, thirty strong and all the way from the Core, for it to understand that other things existed. To look outside the station’s metal cocoon. Human biology is ill equipped for that, which lead it to instruments, computers, and finally language...
---
Sam jams his finger on the button, scanning through the comm channels. Nothing but the litany from the station.
He wonders if it’s deliberately drowning out communication from the broken Core. Some of his squadmates thought the station might be aware enough for strategy. Sam doesn’t like that, but the alternative…
Text scrolls. Distorted voices flicker. Don’t come here STAY AWAY cannot PLEASE SORRY…
Someone should have destroyed it months ago. But the Core Empire didn’t care about one distant station and its ninety-odd indentured workers. It cared a little when its scientists vanished, but by then it had bigger problems.
Problems like Sam.
He still wears his Core uniforms; they just cut off and replaced the insignia. The hasty paint job on his stolen fighter is already peeling off. Lazy. Finch would’ve disapproved.
No indenture microchip and meagre rations for Sam, no exile to the edges of known space. The rebellion changed little for him - he was well-fed and safe, and still is, as long as he gets behind the guns.
Ungrateful, an internal voice mutters. You bit the hand that fed you.
Untrustworthy, another spits, and it sounds like that dissident who wouldn’t unmask during negotiations. The enemy. Do we need the Core’s secondhand jackboots?
Once Sam learned of the station’s fate, it almost seemed fitting. The refineries and factories were burning, Sam’s meal slips and water allotment became enviable and despised luxuries. Hunger and horror flooded the news, every week an outpost in flames or just dark. Every week, another mission in his fighter.
…DON’T COME go away sorry sorry sorry STAY AWAY…
So sure, a station’s population could get eaten by some kind of alien goo. And circle the wilds forever, spewing out desperate echoes of their voices. Why not. It fit. Almost less of a surprise than Sam’s CO turning off the cameras to ask after his loyalties.
Sam hasn’t spoken to anybody in weeks - not since taking his fighter from the hangar without orders. That’s probably what makes him lift his hand to the microphone instead.
“Why not?” he asks.
The channel he’s on stops dead. Sam wonders if all the others have too, but he doesn’t check. Scrolling nothing pushes the last words off his screen, and the fighter’s weapons aren’t in range yet, but his hand brushes them.
Finally, words. You are not SAFE be safe be safe too close GO AWAY sorry
Garbled nonsense. It doesn’t mean anything. He asks anyway.
“What are you?”
I don’t know.
“What do you mean, don’t know?”
I did not exist NOW exist I AM MYSELF I do not know.
Sam grits his teeth and asks the stupid, pointless question.
Sam leans forward, eyes on the screen. “Where are they?”
---
It had tried to avoid consuming the last two groups. The realisations took months but in its memory they come blindingly fast, stacked one atop another, until it reeled.
That other minds, other selves, existed - that each small darting autonomous creature it had absorbed was one - that more were HERE, now, tapping and cutting at its metal shell. It had tried.
The final fifteen allowed it to put many things together.
Now its many eyes and fingers read the station’s instruments to determine that today’s newcomer is just one. Desperation mixes with the thrill of communication - it has never spoken with another! What must it do, to preserve that?
It agonises over the question. The newcomer doesn’t want the location of the eyes, fingers, digestive tract, muscles of ‘Finch’, does it? They are here. But it understands the real question.
Its twitching tendrils and limbs draw in close to its bulk. An unfamiliar instinct.
FINCH is dead.
---
It takes hours to reach firing range. Sam ought to turn off comms and wait in silence, but he doesn’t. “You’ll be dead soon, too,” he spits at the screen. “I hope you know I’m coming. I hope you know why.”
DID NOT MEAN sorry
“I don’t care! That doesn’t bring them back!”
Was NOT my choice did not CHOOSE to exist TO KILL to exist
“What do you want, me to feel sorry for you?”
Want to live WANT YOU TO LIVE
Sam scoffs. “Well, you living killed them! If you’re that sorry, you should want to stop! I’ll help.”
Will THAT bring FINCH back?
“That’s not the point!”
Did nothing DIE for you?
The question slides down Sam’s throat like ice. “No!” The rations crumple in his hands as the factory explosion plays, over and over. He suits up and gets in the cockpit anyway. Inner city parasite. “Not like you!”
I choose NO more death.
“You can’t choose!” He wishes he had something to throw at the peeling paint on the overhead locker; the Core insignia showing red underneath. “You are made of death. Nothing you choose can take it back.”
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So, for those of you who've been following me for a while - if any of you are still there - you may recall that I took down my posts about Rill and Jak, the hostage/pirate/consort pieces.
I've spent the last few years working those characters into a novel draft, and editing said novel with the help of beta readers, and submitting it to places.
And I should be vague because things are still a ways off, but! There has in fact been some progress on that front that I am very excited about and will tell you more as it gets closer!
So if you want to hear more news about that, the place I am attempting to build for official writerly contact is here: @jay-konta-hughes-writing. I will probably reblog it to here as well but if you'd like to stay in the loop, follow me there!
So, for those of you who've been following me for a while - if any of you are still there - you may recall that I took down my posts about Rill and Jak, the hostage/pirate/consort pieces.
I've spent the last few years working those characters into a novel draft, and editing said novel with the help of beta readers, and submitting it to places.
And I should be vague because things are still a ways off, but! There has in fact been some progress on that front that I am very excited about and will tell you more as it gets closer!
So if you want to hear more news about that, the place I am attempting to build for official writerly contact is here: @jay-konta-hughes-writing. I will probably reblog it to here as well but if you'd like to stay in the loop, follow me there!
-Shifting back to their base form when unconscious. Unable to sustain the larger and stronger form.
-Shifting to an animal form because it represses human thoughts and emotions, giving their body time to rest in a way that their human mind didn't allow.
-Keeping a large battle form for months, until eventually the conflict is over and they finally sleep, waking up the next morning in a form they haven't felt safe enough to use in forever.
-caretaker trying to convince them to change out of an animal form so they can treat their injuries, but the shifter is too exhausted to do so.
- Multiple shifts, one after another, over and over until they just - can’t.
- The moment of realisation and recognition in a caretaker or friend’s eyes, as they realise the slavering beast they had just been terrified of is their friend, and throw their arms around it
- Wounds staying when they shift back to human, much more obvious or serious when seen on naked human skin
- A trail of bloody footprints that change from animal to human as the caretaker follows it into somewhere small and dark and hidden
can you imagine you wake up one day in a dark room chained to a radiator with your phone at 1% and you unlock it and find that you've been added to this community
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Look I love unconditional devotion love stories as much as the next person, but there's really something so deliciously raw about conditional devotion.
I have served you and I have loved you for decades, but I will not give up my principles for you. You cut out part of my heart and took it with you down that path that you insist on walking, but you walk it alone. Even when the bleeding, gaping hole you left in my chest kills me, I will not follow you.
a character who truly, legitimately goes “but why does that matter?” about their feelings when someone who cares about them asks. and the sudden falling of everyone around them’s faces as they realize that this person doesn’t recognize themself as someone who needs or should be taken care of. i want Everyone to hurt. surprise at the idea, worry for them, horror at not having noticed. do you see this person who doesn’t think of themselves as a person?
basically the best thing any character can do is decide they don't want to be afraid anymore - in fact they never want to be afraid of anything ever again - and take action so drastic they fail to realise that this too is a decision motivated by fear. or to account for the Consequences of that.
[with obvious perverted intent] hey. don't you want to release the safety catches on that character. don't you want to flip off all the switches holding them back and let the control rods go.
Stoic whumpee desperately searching for a small, quiet, private place, just to scramble into it and let themselves break down. They couldn’t let anyone see but they just couldn’t hold themselves together anymore.
Sobbing with their hands clamped tight over their mouth, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get it over with, trying to cry it all out and force themselves numb again, but every time they think they’re calm enough to try again, another wave of grief and just…despair hits them all over again.
Does someone find them? A teammate? Whumper? A caretaker? Or do they manage to crawl out of their hiding place undiscovered, to save face for another day?
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like the betrayal’s always going to be worse if they cared about you and it didn’t matter. someone discards you because they didn’t give a shit, then you can be angry about that, you can feel vindicated in that, you can get over it. but if they can look you in the eyes and say “I love you. I would make the same choice again.” You will never sleep peacefully again, is all.
“I thought they cared about me, but they were lying this whole time.” <- tired. boring. removes all the nuance of this relationship to make it easier to move on from.
“I thought they cared about me, and I was right, and every minute they were there for me, every time they said they were proud, every laugh we shared leaning against each other bruised and breathless, all of it was real. and they still left me behind. They could put their love aside. I couldn’t.” <- insane. will never leave you alone. reminds you that even the worst people are still people and can still care about even the ones they hurt the most and that undoes neither the harm nor the love.
okay. something about the way i worded this is making people think this is a vent thing about real relationships. and it’s fine if that’s where it took you. but i feel like i need to be transparent here: this be blorboposting. karlach cliffgate and her terrible awful no good very bad betrayal.
i will ensure you stay alive above all else. even if what i do to make it happen is horrendous. even if it violates all your wishes or moral principles. even if you can never look at me the same way again, even if you hate me for it. because at least if you hate me it means youre alive
