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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻)

@charliedeltawrites.bsky.social

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🇨🇦 Here to talk about books and meet other authors! I write fantasy novels that often feature aroace characters. No AI. Support human creativity.

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · Jul 14

Rayna Clay hunts monsters. But it has never really been that simple, has it?

Anthropomorphic: a hardboiled detective/urban fantasy novel about ace people and the secret incubi/succubi crimes they investigate.

And the betrayal that could shatter a delicate peace forever.

#BluePit 📖 #LGBT #F #C

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 1h

Makes sense! You have to be pretty organized to be a squire, I bet! Is Drohim also tidy and organized or does Seff do all that?

Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 2h

Yeah, no death seems like it would be a real problem! Magnus sounds dangerous.

Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Aww, so they are pleased by this development for more than one reason 😁

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Ooh so much political intrigue! 👀

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Reposted by Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻)

M. Walsh - Author @m-walshwrites.com · 5h

#amwriting #WIPsnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky

“She’s been gone too long,” Celeste said, walking back and forth. “She should never have followed that man. What if she doesn’t come back?”
He eased down, still feeling sore, and wrapped himself with the blanket. He had no answer for her but checked his pistol regardless. Just to be safe, he reloaded, too.
“I can’t …” she said, still pacing. “I shouldn’t have let her go. I should’ve gone down there with her. She needs me.”
“Celeste, at this point, it’s pretty clear Lamont does not respond well when people … you in particular … tell her what to do or not do. I don’t know what our options are if she doesn’t return, but if nothing else, we can take heart in knowing she has no intention of dying easily.”
I hope.

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Wren 😂

Reposted by Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻)

Samantha Boo-reaux @woodenvelt.bsky.social · 4h

Wren is snooping and has to find a quick hiding spot.

From my romantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

The noises resolved into the cadence of conversation, higher in pitch, lighter in tone. Two women’s voices, then. Spencer’s aunts, maybe?

Wren’s mainstay of weapons, exits, and enemies was a poor fit for this particular problem. There were no enemies to speak of, and she had no intention of using the blade at her hip on Spencer’s aunties. The voices were coming from the stairs, severely limiting the choice of exits. Wren could go out the window and attract a great deal of attention from the street below while she worked her way onto the roof, or she could try to dart across the hall for the guestroom and hope the aunties didn’t see her. Risky either way.

Hiding’s the best bet.

Wren didn’t like it, mostly because she felt she’d been doing nothing but lately. Ducking in pubs, skulking in the rectory, she was practically living under Spencer’s metaphorical skirts these days. Frowning, she sat her lantern down on the desk and twisted the knob, choking the flame down as low as it would go.

Two large armoires, likely relics of a time when this had been Spencer’s grandparents’ room, took up the wall opposite the bed. A quick inspection found one stuffed to the gills with stacked quilts and crisply folded sheets. Wren couldn’t have fit inside even if she wanted to. The second one was clearly Spencer’s, filled with long robes, clean shirts, and pressed pants dangling from wooden hangers.

“Not the way I’d imagined getting into his trousers,” Wren whispered to herself, resigned to the inevitable. One puff of air doused the lantern, and then she wedged herself inside.

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Ooh interesting! Do they both have political power, or is Lady Shadow's a different type of power?

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Ooh Magnus sounds interesting! He wants to overthrow the Gray Lady to end death for everyone?

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Seems like they really needed one here! I was relieved!

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Thank you! Yeah, I am still trying to decide how big of a threat to make the PI. I think they will have witnessed something. Nothing definitive, but enough to be suspicious.

Josh has the benefit of looking exactly like his target (and sharing every other feature) which will confuse an investigation

Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

I suppose it is easy to organize when you don't have much...

Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Still, good progress! Go Tok! 😁

Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

That is such a cool dynamic!

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Chaotic efficiency sounds like it could be very dangerous! Hopefully more for her targets than for Maria!

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

That is so interesting! The notes seem to represent very complex and layered emotions!

Reposted by Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻)

Kira of the Wind (Erika McCorkle) @kiraofthewind.com · 13h

#WIPSnips

Cookie is a species of people who have strings along their arms which can be 'played' like a stringed instrument. However, the strings can also pluck themselves as a result of emotional stimuli. Here, Grilled asked what one of the sounds means.

Cookie clenched her fingers, almost making a fist. It was a small gesture, but it caused two of the strings along her arm to strum.
In three years, Grilled had never bothered to learn Homopteran emotional notes. If he really wanted Cookie to open up, perhaps he should learn what it means when certain strings were plucked. Just as a person could involuntarily chuckle or sob, so too could a Homopteran’s strings sing a note.
“What does that noise mean?” he asked. “With your arm strings, I mean.”
Cookie clicked her mandibles. “That was… hope, perhaps? A sad hope. A hope I dare not cling to because I know how easily it can be thrown away.”

An insectoid girl with compound eyes, segmented limbs, and wings. She's holding a potion and dressed in a semi-steampunk style

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Reposted by Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻)

Finn McLellan @saranadosfiction.com · 13h

#WIPSnips | hope

In which ritual preparations go a wee bit sideways thanks to Mortimer being somewhat preoccupied and forgetting that the other magician in the room is a werewolf

( saranadosfiction.com/2023/02/11/s... )

At least, until he turned to her with the satchel he was holding full to the brim with dried herbs and preparation bowls and said, as though it was the most reasonable request in the world, “Could you grab me the silver?”

Her first instinct was to punch him in the nose for the suggestion. Her second, which was thankfully the one she chose to listen to, was to close her eyes, take a deep breath, and say, as calmly as she could, “No.”

“What?”

“I said no. I don’t have gloves with me, and I can’t fight if my hands are covered in blisters.” *Not to mention the fact that if I have to somehow build up enough energy to heal from sodding silver burns then you can kiss goodbye to the rest of the contents of your pantry.*

There was a long, awkward silence. Then she heard the satchel hit the floor, shortly followed by a noise which could only be Mortimer’s palm making contact with his forehead.

“Gods, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“No harm done. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” *At least, I bloody hope you didn’t, else you and I are going to have to have a conversation you’re not going to enjoy very much.* “Do you want me to sort out the herbs while you deal with the silver?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.”

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Oh, this is beautiful!🥰

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Reposted by Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻)

Kayleigh Diaz @kleighdiaz.bsky.social · 11h

#WIPSnips | hope

Who says there's no hope in the apocalypse?

(Context: Shrimp doesn't speak.)

From my post-apocalyptic #WIP w/ a misfit trio of kids.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting

Writing snippet: “You can't just go!” she cried. “After everything, after [redacted], you're just gonna leave?”

He turned to walk away.

“Shrimp!”

He paused for a moment as the waves crashed against the shoreline. Then he turned back, laid a hand on her cheek, and a kaleidoscope of images shot through her mind—twisting, turning, combining—only to be reassorted, shuffled into something new.

A swath of land, ribboned with streams; a cloudless, cerulean sky; tree branches dipped in frost, a blanket of clean snow resting atop the forest floor. A single, white buck in a clearing, its head turning toward her through a silent drift.

And then people. Not solitary, hunted, bedraggled or starving. Faces aglow, flush with radiance, brimming with life—both old and young—but all of them, all of them surrounded by others. This is community, she thought as they whipped through her mind. So many, so many. This is family. These are friends. This is humanity. This is love.

And more. Sensation. The warmth of a blanket, the scent of roasting food, the sound of music and laughter, enough that she was dizzy, drunk with it, like she'd lived a thousand lives in little more than an instant.

Then the kaleidoscope narrowed and collapsed into a single, crystalline scene: a woman with freckles dusting her cheeks, laugh lines etched at the corners of her eyes. She looked down at an infant, cooing in her arms…

He lifted his hand, and she was brought back to the cold present, the crashing waves, bits of sand peppering her cheeks.

“What was that?” she whispered.

He took her hand, traced the letters on her palm.

Hope.

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

I love that they both have this moment where they look at each other as a god they are not worthy of, only to come back to seeing them as themselves, and someone they love as a person. It is very thematically cool, but also so touching for them as people ❤️

Reposted by Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻)

Prof Emily but Spoopier Now @professoremily.bsky.social · 11h

#WIPSnips #amwriting #writingcommunity #writers #writesky

I've shared snips of this part before, but I don't care. It's one of my favorite sections ❤️

Mireia contemplating the fact that she's fallen for Kena, despite her intentions.

From Book 2 of my #Atlantis trilogy.

In those moments she looked at him, and she truly believed he was the Sun Father—the personification of hope itself—and she hardly dared consider herself worthy to stand beside his light.
But then, usually in the same moments, he would go and do some small, silly human thing—make a stupid joke and laugh at it himself, nose crinkling—and then he was just Kena again, her dearest friend, making her heart explode into butterflies.
Any little thing he did was enough to pluck the strings of her soul. He’d bring her something warm to drink when she wasn’t feeling well, or for no reason at all. He’d quietly leave a flower from his garden lying around somewhere he knew she would find it. She’d catch him lounging in the sunlight, playing his pipe to himself, and her body would ache to touch him. The sickness became worse and worse every day. He didn’t even have to do anything, and he could set her off just by being there, existing. His hands, his hair, his smell—the way his honey-colored eyes changed in the light—the shape of his mouth when he thought he was clever—the sound of his low, soft voice when he read to her from Ba’oti’s scrolls.
She wanted him. There was no use in denying it anymore. She didn’t know when it had happened, but somehow over the years, friendship had become fondness had become fascination had become desire. The takeover had been so gradual that she hadn’t realized what was happening until it was too late.

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Reposted by Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻)

K.A. Hela ✨ Prepping for edits...again✨ @jundlife.bsky.social · 8h

Internet summoning song goes "EEE AHHHH WEEEE EBEBEBE WAAAAHHH SHUUUUUU HEEEEE Welcome"
From "HatWIP"
#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #WIPSnips

I find myself back in my room. I shouldn’t be here. I should be in my treestand enjoying its sanctuary before the inevitable frost robs me of the option. Instead I am once again staring at my Gateway. This electronic temptress, usually only good for revealing sexual acts I have no hope of commiting, now holds another forbidden pleasure; knowledge. The original sin.
The dial-up noise is too loud for the hour of the night. The DSL people need to hurry up and free my geographic location from the restraints of using the telephone lines for all forms of communication. I hate how other people can physically hear when I am surfing the Internet Super Highway. This is supposed to be a private affair.

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Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻) @charliedeltawrites.bsky.social · 4h

Aww this is such a wonderful sentiment about hope! I love it ❤️

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Reposted by Charlie Delta (has been a ghost this whole time! 👻)

Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 8h

Hope defies all the logic and reason that says despair will win in the end. It blooms, again and again, no matter how many times this cycle repeats.

Anyways, on the matter of naming kiddos, hopefully!

#WIPSnips
#WritingCommunity

Mana cracked an eye open. “It's safe enough. I don't see most of you—just your hand and forearm.” She tamped down the terror with a shudder that rose from the mangled meat and claws and eyes upon eyes that watched her and the pen in her hand from every angle. It's not real. It's not real. You remember.
Mori hummed and guided her hand to scribe two rows of three characters, the first more complex but sharing its middle character with the second.
“What would her name mean?”
“The name means hope.”
“I mean, what about this?” Mana tapped a finger on the first row on the page. She knew enough about seigo now that there was more nuance than that.
“T-that's a secret for now.”

A snip of an art piece commissioned from birdko.art focused on Nakine Matsuba, a young girl with light, neutral skin and short straw blond hair wearing a red yukata-styked dress. She is napping (and drooling ungracefully) on the floor with her head in her mother's lap. One of her father's kuraima, Hakumei, loafs next to her, seemingly staring at her head, but is probably also resting, as it generates a cool breeze in the home. Her brother and father can also be seen in the frame, struggling to stay awake and snoozing respectively.

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