This color just won't go away. Everything is so odd. Sarah keeps blinking and rubbing at her eyes, but it doesn't make any difference. The blue-grey stays, seeping into everything.
What does your world look like in this strange stormy shade?
Make a moodboard for your wip themed around this color!
PS. Don't forget to tag this blog so we can see it!
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Something strange is happening. All this blue light that's in the air...it's covering everything, making it look otherworldly. Is it a storm sweeping in? Magic? A portal? Wow. It could be anything!
How is your adventure going?
Reblog this post and tell us about the strangest thing your main character has ever encountered!
Hi, happy summer fest! Got some snacks in the van's cooler if you want! ^w^
How did Kit get into vampire hunting?
Happy Summerfest!
I'm always up for snacks! I've got pink lemonade to share in return, if you'd like. Just say the word.
Kit got into vampire-hunting by default. It's rather a family affair. His mother single-handedly manages a sprawling clan of Robins children, training and teaching them all until they're old and strong enough to go out on missions on her behalf. And the lady runs a tight bloody ship.
He wasn't technically born for the hunting part, though. Of course, he was expected to be just as physically capable as his siblings, but his mother values his psychic gifts far more. These were expected to be his primary contribution to the family. He decided differently.
He has his own vampire-hunting business now, with his sibling, Georgie. They both left the family home to set up shop elsewhere. They do the standard mix of eponymous vampire murder, with werewolf diplomacy and other magical affairs on the side. It works, even if they might have bitten off more than they can chew.
Stopping by and returning a Summerfest ask. Hope you are having a wonderful day / night.
What is the specific moment, or breaking point, where Kit realizes Alex is actually indispensable to him, no matter how much he originally resisted taking on an apprentice?
Happy Summerfest!
There are lots of reasons why it was practical for Kit to take on an apprentice, and why it should be Alex. Georgie walks him through those fairly early on and, though he protests, he gets it. But, while he trains Alex and does all of the things he's supposed to do, he's still not sold on the idea. He still thinks he can save the world on his own, and would rather protect Alex from what could happen to him in the field (despite taking the dangers and realities of the job extremely seriously during his training).
True to form, the moment at which Alex becomes indispensable to him is when Kit himself is injured and unable to carry out his duties. Unbeknownst to him, Georgie authorises Alex's first 'solo' hunt during this period (with Georgie not physically present but, of course, only a phone call away). When Kit finds out, he's angry, but also... relieved? It's a real watershed moment for him having to let go of the reins a little and treat Alex as a capable fighter in his own right, even if it'll take him a long time to reach Kit's exact skill level and understanding of the profession's intricacies.
The fact is, Kit and Georgie are terribly overstretched. Georgie could go out into the field if needed, but Kit would rather limp himself out there, injury and all, than permit them to place themselves at risk without at least having Kit as backup.
Of course, that's not the only reason he needs Alex. But he doesn't like to think about the others.
I saw you have a sibling duo, that's pretty cool. What kind of relationships does your story focus on?
Hey! Here from Summerfest, I take it?
I do indeed have a sibling duo- Kit and Georgie. They're hard at work establishing their own vampire-hunting business as an estranged offshoot of their family's. They are just two of the many Robins siblings, and their original bond comes mostly from being the only two both willing and able to leave.
They bond more over time, and are very close at the start of What Was Borrowed, might I add. Family expectations and the expected plans for each of their lives weigh heavy on them both.
The relationship between Kit and his family, specifically his mother, features greatly in What Was Borrowed despite his mother never appearing on-page outside of dreams and flashbacks. I mentioned that Kit is a trans man in another post- this is an important part of the picture, since he was essentially conceived in the hopes of becoming a much more skilled seer than his mother ever was. This was successful, leading to her essentially seeing Kit as an extension of herself. To an extent, she views all of her children this way, but their relationship was particularly intense.
She would never have accepted his transition, nor the way he now favours his physical fighting skills over trying to intentionally trigger his psychic abilities at all. His life now is an entire defiance of her expectations, whether he'd admit it or not.
The other key relationship in the book is between Kit and Alex, a complete outsider to the lifestyle who is slowly brought into the fold. Alex, despite being lovely and unique in his own special way, had an inordinately more normal upbringing than Kit could ever have hoped for. He sees no issue with being forthright with his feelings, entirely ignores the game of obscure, emotional 4D chess Kit thinks they're playing, and is also somehow more argumentative and defiant than any of Kit's siblings. The best way to describe it is that he's a lot to handle, but Kit likes it.
(He'd say he doesn't. I'd posit that he could very easily get rid of Alex if he wanted to)
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Fantasy Worlds Collide sounds like such an interesting project! What inspired you to tie multiple worlds and stories together like that? How do you keep them all straight in your mind?
Hi! Thank you so much for dropping by for Writeblr Summerfest! I'm always thrilled to talk about Fantasy Worlds Collide, especially since its journey has been such a massive part of my creative life for nearly three decades.
To answer your first question about inspiration. The decision to tie multiple worlds together wasn't actually part of the original grand master plan. It happened organically as a reflection of my own evolution as a writer, a researcher, and a person.
The project originally began as a single, quiet, focused story: a straightforward Final Fantasy VII fanfiction centered on an original human Shinra scientist named Bianca Moore. At the time, there were no cosmic dimensions, no complex pantheons, and no multiversal hierarchies. It was simply a ground-level human lens witnessing Sephirothβs descent into madness and tragic fall.
Over the years, my creative goals shifted. I entered a commercial phase where I set out to write original fiction for self-publishing. During that time, I branched off into high-stakes urban fantasy and paranormal romance. I spent years immersing myself in deep theological research, classical mythologies, Dante's Inferno, and intricate angelic and demonic lore. This period expanded my roster of charactersβlike Kaylaβand fundamentally reshaped how I viewed Bianca's thematic arc.
The real magic happened at a pivotal turning point I lovingly call "The Great Smoosh." Following a critical medical mandate to completely eliminate publishing stress (and all stress, really), I decided to step away from commercial writing entirely. But I was left with a massive treasury of original worldbuilding, character arcs, and theological research that I refused to just throw away. So, I took a bold leap I consolidated all those distinct original branches, research files, and canon fanfiction elements into one unified, stress-free creative project.
I named that project Fantasy Worlds Collide. Today, it has grown into an Apocalyptic Mythpunk saga that weaves together Biopunk Science Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Urban Horror, and Cosmic Epic Fantasy. Bianca herself has transformed from a mere background bystander into a villainous protagonist navigating divine rebellions, time-space manipulation, and apocalyptic tragedy on her own terms. Itβs a project where every story I've ever loved telling gets to exist in the same intricate universe.
As for your second question, the honest answer is: Scrivener, relentless organization, and absolute respect for physical archives.
Fantasy Worlds Collide currently sits at over 500,000 words in a single, heavily structured Scrivener project. I lean extremely hard on Scrivenerβs nesting folders, custom metadata, and color-coded character profiles. I have dedicated sections just for timeline tracking, world lore, biological and divine rules, and character development. If I didn't have a digital workspace that allowed me to collapse complex sub-plots into neat outlines, I genuinely think Iβd lose my mind.
Outside of the digital space, the project's history is anchored in physical reality. I have literal boxes of notebooks, binders, handwritten timeline charts, and character sketches stored in our family's storage locker from the early years of development. When working on a project for all those years, those physical notebooks, etc, act as an essential compass whenever I need to trace a concept back to its roots.
From a worldbuilding perspective, I keep the narrative coherent by establishing strict "rules of engagement" for how these different genres and realms interact. Because the saga is rooted in mythpunk, the underlying laws of metaphysics, divine hierarchy, and cosmic consequence bind all the disparate elements together. No matter how wild the science fantasy or cosmic horror gets, everything adheres to the core thematic spine of the world.
Thanks for asking and stopping by for Summerfest. Hope you have lots of fun with it this year and can't wait to catch more of your own entries for it.
It's so interesting when a project takes a different form than you originally intended through its own organic growth. Always feels like it's fledging and taking on a life of its own :)
Sorry to hear about whatever happened that made you have to eliminate stress from your life, but also happy to hear it brought you a project that you love. 'Through adversity and with great love' has always struck me as an excellent way to write, despite the... well, the adversity.
I wish I could be half as organised as this! I regularly have to consult my own written canon when asked questions about it (using the age-old ctrl-f in the draft document itself, not through any organised system of notes), because I am just such a scatterbrained writer. Your Scrivener lore vault sounds awesome, alongside, of course, the real-life lore vault/storage unit situation.
Oh, no, summary! The death of my over-rambly prose!
All right, I'll try to keep it short:
Kit, our psychic vampire hunter, finds the apprentice he needs but isn't so sure he wants in Alex. It takes two to fight the monsters in the dark, which seem to multiply endlessly, and also the future keeps calling to remind Kit that his path is never, ever allowed to be smooth. Hijinks and blood-based explosions abound.
Kit started out in a cutthroat vampire-hunter family as his mother's great future-telling prodigy. He's still a vampire hunter, and he still sees the future, but he's set out to forge his own path apart from the family, alongside his sibling, Georgie.
Alex grew up in a very normal middle-class family. Did fencing, kissed boys, all that normal coming-of-age stuff. But he's always felt a little out of step with the rest of the world, and that feeling is only confirmed when he stumbles upon Kit crossing swords with a vampire one night and his world turns... maybe not upside-down, but surely sideways. That's Chapter One. He's in it for the long haul- the troublemaker has found his favourite thing, and he's not letting go.
I've not done this event before, so I'll do my best to pick up the rules of the thing as we go.
I'm Optimist (Rose, if you want a humanoid name). I write a mixture of genres, really- but my primary project is an urban fantasy novel, What Was Borrowed, featuring a psychic vampire hunter (who is a trans man. I'm told I should advertise this more, so there you go).
I am told that my style is a bit literary fiction, vaguely haunting, and well-suited to shortform fiction.
I try to participate in events like these to increase my confidence, as well as my ability to summarise and accurately describe my own work. I like to think it's working.
Happy WBW! This might sound random, but what kind of pottery exists in your world? What kind of decorations does it have? Do any of your characters do pottery?
Happy WBW! Sorry that I am SO horrifically late on this one. I swear I meant to get around to it.
All of the usual sorts of pottery, I suppose. Incidentally, pottery is arguably one of the most reliable ways to track the history of the magical parts of the world of What Was Borrowed. Oral tradition is often inaccurate, warps as it is passed down, and riddled with the typical Swiss cheese of propaganda plus obfuscation from within and without the magical community. Written records were often burned or stolen in order to protect the communities and figures they detailed.
Anyone with the skill can make a pot, though. And anyone with a purseful of coins to spare can have one commissioned. Sure, they can be destroyed but, as we know, fragments often survive.
It's hard to know what's genuine history and what's artistic license, but recognisable werewolves and monster hunters in particular go back centuries. Vampires are trickier to spot, and this is where oral tradition is useful- many of the euphemistically eerie or shadowy human(oid) figures in folk tales may have actually been vampiric in nature. If a story talks about 'corruption [of the young]' or of a monster that 'feeds on fear,' it's almost certain that they're referencing a vampire or clan thereof (often, groups were conflated into one single being that seemed to be everywhere at once and return even after being killed). But that's not what we're here to talk about.
Many of the pottery fragments that have stood the test of time depicting werewolves and their relationship to the mortal population were originally fired as gifts to their subjects. Love-tokens, some of them (though more unusual), but also often made as a thank-you for services rendered. Werewolves don't take kindly to their stomping-grounds being intruded upon, so are likely to defend nearby human settlements from those with nefarious intentions. So those mortals may do well to have their artisans make the occasional gift out to the 'hounds of hell' that have been observed to fight alongside their own militia when the going gets particularly tough.
(Similarly, other pieces of pottery have seemingly been made as gifts of appeasement to the local werewolf tribes. Often depicting wolves in strong positions and standing guard over natural features such as rivers and rocky outcroppings, with signs of a human settlement in the background, these pieces were as functional as they were ornamental, alongside their higher purpose as protection money that the wolves probably never bloody asked for in the first instance)
Monster hunters can also be seen slaying various Lovecraftian horrors that likely never existed. Again, such pieces were often thank-yous to a hunter or group of hunters who had done the local community a good turn. In accordance with their role and anonymity, the hunters are often faceless. The monsters are always bigger than they really were. These are more accurate as a heat-map of which areas the hunters frequented during different periods. Sadly, it's almost impossible to pick out the paths of specific individuals or groups, since they rarely wear identifying iconography for reasons which may be obvious.
In the modern day, pottery is a much less popular artform. Kit wouldn't be caught dead trying to turn a lump of clay into a vase, mostly because he'd be awful at it. Alex has done the usual 'make a fun ashtray to take home' gubbins at school, but has little interest in it as a pastime. Georgie respects pottery as a matter of historical record, but lacks the manual dexterity to do much with it personally.
(Some vampires are weirdly into it, though. Something something art lasts forever. Probably wrapped up in their paranoia around forgetting things as they really were, and having little control over how time warps their memories. A pot can hold remembrance much better than vampirised grey matter)
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My arms, clad in berry-red chiffon, have almost become one with the balustrade in the time I've spent out here. Into pitted stone my sleeves weep rainwater, almost immediately replaced with what's flowing from the heavens, down the high, ruffled neck of my dress and adorning the gold pins in my dark curls with faux-gemstone droplets. I'll catch my death, surely, but the cold doesn't seem to permeate. I feel nothing.
The balcony doors have been creaking back and forth on their hinges since I threw them open and stalked outside, so their incessant groaning stifles the sound of her arrival. Still, I'd know her anywhere. Wearing river-blue to my crimson, heeled shoes clacking in stark contrast to my flats since, apparently, I'm tall enough to be offputting even in those. I don't need to turn my head to see the long, straight blond hair caught up and wrapped around her headpiece like silken candy, nor the startling green eyes that nobody quite anticipates glinting out of her pale face. The tattoo curling its inky black fingers around her jaw and climbing to meet the spot where ear sloughs into cheek is new this summer, but it suits her.
Perhaps I'm biased.
'You don't have to treat me like a fool, you know.' I've rehearsed the words without my own conscious permission, and now they sound as distant and remote as my desert-mountain home is to this lush basin palace, stretching to the sky in the middle of a rainforest.
'I wasn't trying to.' She's speaking my home-tongue, perhaps in an attempt to make this easier for me. She never manages the meter of the sentences, the way its phrases must move together like measures of a dance in order to be understood. It's not the only reason she elicits mostly polite confusion from my kinsmen. 'I have only the utmost respect for you, as you are no doubt aware.'
I counter in her own language, the fire in my belly turning my tongue scorching hot. 'It seems not. All those letters you wrote during winter-' the long winters, waiting every day for her missives, praying the carrier would brave our endless freezing sandstorms to bring them, '-and you somehow failed to recall-'
'I did not-' a rare flush rises to her cheeks, and she tilts that pointed chin at me. The ink there, beginning almost at the symphysis, seems to shine blue in the rain and the sunset gloom. 'I was going to tell you.'
'When? When the invitations were sent, no doubt.' I stare into the last rays of purple-gold sinking beneath the treeline. If I do not look at her, she may mistake my coming tears for raindrops.
'I knew you would be upset.' She clamps one hand down hard over her opposite wrist.
'I love you, and you are to be married.' I kick a slipper against the stone railing. 'How else could I feel?'
'I do not wish it. It is-' she snorts, and in the corner of my vision I see her flicking her wrists in illustrative irritation, '-politics, no more. The man is a dolt, but a useful one, and too timid to take much more from me than I am willing to give.'
'You'll be surprised what they are willing to take, once you're wed to them.'
I select the most disparaging word for wed that my home-tongue carries. A slang, really, and a dirty one not much befitting of its ruler. It's a portmanteau of the words for held and choked, a description which in no way confers how unbelievably rude it is to describe another's union thus.
For a moment, she is so silent that I wonder if she's taken my meaning. Surely, her many language lessons growing up could not have equipped her to understand. When I turn, though, she's watching me with her arms folded. I know that look.
I open my mouth, but she raises a hand to stop me, her face still speaking to the slow-travelling thunder of a queen squaring emotion with righteous judgement. Were I her subject, she'd have my head for such disrespect. Even with things being as they are, she could likely manage the sociopolitical equivalent.
But, then- before my eyes, the thunder dies.
'It is not my fault.'
This, she says in her own tongue, and so quietly that I almost miss the softer vowel sounds.
The anger in me falls low, too. It is easy to rage and shout when I know that she will match me: much harder to see her hurt, throat exposed, and lean in for the kill.
She drops her chin, then raises it to meet my gaze. 'You will always be my ally.'
'Yes.'
'Because you love me.'
'Yes.'
Hopeless, empty like a fresh-thrown pot, she spreads her hands. 'For others, this is not the case.'
I press my lips together. The arithmetic is not difficult. Her lands are beautiful, yes, and lush with resources- but this is, historically, why they have seen so much war and strife. Sloping ever inward on themselves as they do, they're not easy to defend, despite her forces' training in their own blend of unique and brutal tactics. My homeland can offer some protection, but does not border hers. The ocean is inhospitable to her people; the mangroves are half-dry for most of the year, and can only be sailed from for a short period. On all other sides, enemy territory.
And they all hunger.
I touch my fingertips to the crooks of her elbows. For all my rehearsing, no words come.
'It does not diminish-' she flickers her fingers between the two of us.
I unstick my throat. 'I know.'
'Politics.' She says again, with less heat but all the same venom.
At once, the tears come, and she bows forward into my arms. My thumb finds the skin-soft curve of that tattoo. I close my eyes.
Something I like about fic that I rarely get to see in other written media:
The way the edges are, sometimes, still just raw enough that you can observe the decisions the writer has made. A small error while backspacing leaves a thread, which in turn reveals the direction the sentence was going to go before they thought better of it.
You get to know them a little, too. Someone who types a little too fast, a little too manic, who sees the scenes in their head so clearly and burns so bright, but can't spell 'explanation' correctly, not once. Just the little things that show you they're human.
For clarity, I love the fic that inspired this post. The writer is, as I say, deft. I love these things about fanfiction and its role as a community craft, first and foremost.
Happy STS! Your cast has to go on a heist! Do they plan it out or wing it? Who does what in the heist? Who gets out and who gets caught? Do they get the thing?
Happy STS!
Kit picks the heist. Alex insists he needs to come along.
Kit thinks he does all the planning; nope, it's Georgie all the way down. They know what they're doing. They get all the building schematics and hacky hacky tech tech that makes the plan go off. They'll even recruit people to help with aspects beyond their skillset if they need to. Alex briefly skims the plan, then goes, 'Ehh, I'm sure I'll figure it out.'
Alex is 100% the fetching distraction/any part of the heist that requires talking your way through. He's got the charisma and ability to blag. He also looks excessively sharp in a suit, which must be taken advantage of.
Kit'll be returning to his childhood habits of slipping through the vents and doing all the cat-burglar bits. He's been there and done that. It also gets him dressed in black and leather. Alex appreciates this.
(Georgie has to peel them apart like Velcro before sending them on the heist)
Kit would rather die than get caught. Alex might get caught, but would beg, borrow and steal his way back out with an unfair level of ease. Georgie literally does not care whether they get the apparently essential shiny trinket Kit has his eye on, so is only likely to get caught in their attempts to keep their stupid idiot boys safe.
They probably get the thing. Then Georgie reveals that there's actually an identical one on Ebay for twenty quid, but they thought Kit needed the behavioural enrichment.
I know I mentioned it in a post earlier this week, but it's drifted back into my mind- would anyone be interested in reading that dimension-hopping serial?
Very queer, very Who, just about two little guys who'd really like to find their way home. It'd be kind of monster-of-the-week, with them basically just getting waylaid at every stop to solve people's problems or otherwise render assistance.
It'd be uploaded on no set schedule, and right here on Tumblr (my current life craziness permits no more weekly writing commitments than the four-ish I already have and I don't want to make it a grind).
A lack of interest doesn't necessarily mean I'd deprive myself of writing it- so don't feel you have to show support. But posting it would require a level of polish/editing/formatting/other gubbins that just rises above the level of 'fun idea I'm exploring in the shelter of my own Ellipsus doc'.
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Happy STS. ~~~ For any WIP: what can you share of any plot device? Or any event that you look forward to include in the story? Sending you grand vibes, loads of creative energy, and luck your way. ~~ πππ - β¨οΈ Enc (@enchanted-lightning-aes)
Happy STS!
Thanks for the good vibes and luck! I really do need it at the moment.
Looking forward to torturing the characters. Always looking forward to torturing the characters. Has tortured the characters, is currently torturing the characters, will torture the characters again; I am unrepentant.
No, but, seriously. I'm currently looking forward to writing some more What Was Borrowed scenes (canon or not, who can say? Permit me my plausible deniability to spoiler-wall my mootie who is currently reading the book) which torture my two mains by keeping them apart. You know. The classic. Giving them just enough of one another to make it sting, but not enough for them to communicate any of their shit.
(Really, though, I'm far too tired to be working on Book Two (haha, says the writer who's still editing Book One), so you can assume that anything What Was Borrowed-related I talk about writing in the near future is outside the Canon Zone for my own sanity)
I love leaving my earbuds in when I wander off from my laptop because sometimes I'll be wandering down the hallway and the High Halls gauntlet music from Silksong will start blasting
