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Khonri 🎃👻

@khonri.com

2.2K followers 710 following 11K posts

34 | she/they | 🖤🩶🤍💜 SQE 📡 writing a semi-modern lovey fantasy saga w/ monsties. ✨️supreme yapmaster 🎨living advertisement of artists 🎮i like video games 🔞infrequent 18+ content no AI muh stuff: https://linktr.ee/khonri pfp&banner: @birdko.art

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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 1h

Frankly, I wouldn't care about the whole "being chonky" thing if I could be productive but alas, that must be sacrificed for the greater good.

Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 1h

The most important thing about this endeavor is regaining the ability to navigate mental intersections.

I'm currently the kind of exhausted and burnt out that has you stop at a stop sign waiting for it to turn green.

It isn't going to turn green. It's a stop sign.

And this keeps happening to me.

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Reposted by Khonri 🎃👻

Zed Prospero @zprospero.bsky.social · 2d

#PretendPanel

Virgil and I are very similar and it's not a coincidence we're both in the middle of a mid-life crisis.

My pet passed away recently, and I already based a character on them.

Neither of us will be gone. We'll just be a story. A good afterlife, I think.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky

Hiria Dunning @hiriadunning.bsky.social · 2d

#pretendpanel, I'm at a retreat over the next few days so I am incorrigibly absent! However, tell me...

October 10th: Writing and reading are kinds of necromancy. How do you hope your writing will hold/reflect your ghost after you're gone?

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #WritingPrompts

#pretendpanel
a daily prompt tag hosted by @hiriadunning.bsky.social
October 10th: Writing and reading are kinds of necromancy. How do you hope your writing will hold/reflect your ghost after you're gone?
Please support your fellow #pretentpanel posters with replies, likes and reposts
New #pretendpanel questions every Friday and Saturday. Hop in any time!

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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 2h

Gearing to try to patch up all the swiss cheese holes in my brain with bacon in about a week, needed to replace my blood meter since I can't readily get the strips to my old unit. ;;

BUT I forgot how little I actually need to eat to get this going, so I'm excited.

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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 16h

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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Reposted by Khonri 🎃👻

Dr. Paula R. Curtis @paularcurtis.bsky.social · 7d

Coping with the fact that tomorrow is Monday by convincing local strangers to send me pictures of their pets throughout the week.

Chalk art on a sidewalk of a multcolored burst of angular lines, under which "GOOD DOG" is written in fluorescent yellow, pink, and black with an arrow pointing up to the line burst, encouraging people to put their dogs in the middle and take a photo because sharing pet pictures makes the world a better place. At the bottom of the sidewalk it says "SHOW US YOUR DOGS!" with the handle of the art instagram @rocks_on_the_block

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Eliwood S. Gheist @eliwoodsgheist.com · 13h

Happy #WIPSnips 12 - Hope!

From BLUDEYE BEACH, a shameless Easter egg for myself as a DM and a handful of players ❤️ IYKYK

Edie was still in a bad mood by the time she got back to Teddy’s house. The first few chapters of a library book helped, so that when Teddy got home from his rehearsal, she could simply relish in the excitement of the two pizza boxes he carried.

“You weren’t too bored on your own, I hope?” Teddy asked.

“I can walk to the ocean while I’m here. I don’t know how I could ever get bored. And I found a book at the library that has elves and crystals and chaos magic, so I’m definitely set for a while.”

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Reposted by Khonri 🎃👻

PapaDjinn is querying @papadjinn.bsky.social · 14h

Trust instead of hope today. Tok and Othelia find themselves in a familiar bit of tension~
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #bvm #bipoc #amwriting #Fantasy #SFF

Othelia stood there silently for a moment; her hand placed together in front of her. Her eyes searched him, but for what he could not say. Without warning she snatched up his chin and moved close to his face – dangerously close. Their eyes were locked now and Tokonus found
himself unable to resist her gaze.

“Do not ever lose control with me again Tokonus. We may dance back and forth, we may bear suspicions of one another, but if you find yourself losing my trust... you will never get it back. Do you understand?”

It was Tokonus’ turn to study Othelia, and he did so with great interest. It wasn’t fear, excitement or resentment that he felt to her. Could it have been – respect? Was that what he saw when he looked onto her? It didn’t matter, he knew what he wanted to say. Tokonus placed his hand over hers and he spoke.

“You can trust me. You can trust me with your everything.”

Othelia tensed and she bit her bottom lip ever so slightly. He did not waver, he did not back down, his eyebrows narrowed and he held her hand just a bit tighter. The lady averted her gaze first and for once Tokonus felt as if he had the upper hand against her. She did not give him the time to savor the victory. Without another word, she let him go, turned on her heels and walked away.

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Reposted by Khonri 🎃👻

MechaniChris @chrisakins.bsky.social · 13h

Sorry folks no spoilers. You’ll have to read the real thing to have the names revealed.

Which you can do here:
www.christianakins.com/grimportents

#writingcommunity #WIPsnips #Writesky #booksky #writing

"So instead, you would condemn every soul in
existence?"
"No-I would fight for every soul. I would
fight so that everyone, even SPOILER
could have a
chance for redemption."
"Have you heard nothing I said?" Ansiel shouted. He reached down and grabbed me by my collar, lifting me to his level. "We could lose!"
"We could win!" I argued, dangling in his grasp. "You've spent all your days in paradise and somehow, you lost hope for the future. So, how about you go to Hell, where hope is the only thing that gets you by."
My friends stared at me, bewildered. I felt
good. Terrified, but good.

Grim Portents banner featuring a skeleton hand holding a feather and emerging from an open book. The title is on a burning banner that envelops the feather and a large beast looms over it all. At the top, the tagline reads: Welcome to the first day of the end of your life…

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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 11h

🥰

Reposted by Khonri 🎃👻

Samantha Boo-reaux @woodenvelt.bsky.social · 12h

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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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 12h

👀 oh shit extra comp you're completely right.

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

October 12th – hope

Today we are in Anthropomorphic, my urban fantasy.

Ray is trying to arrest a suspect. It could be going better.

CW: violence

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

I noticed the smell first, a heavy, pungent, petroleum stench; then I saw the bottle at her feet. Lighter fluid. From how intense the smell was, she had dumped the entire bottle into the carpet while I was distracted. This fire bug had come prepared to do more than burn a little skin this time. She had been planning to immolate her next victim. She might still manage it.
I reached for my gun, but the lighter was already falling from her hand. I covered my face with my arm and turned away as flames erupted from the carpet. I looked back up to see her running for the door. The flames weren’t that bad, yet. I could go after her, but if I did, the unconscious bus boy would likely burn. Shit.
I grabbed the boy under the armpits and dragged him towards the kitchen. The room froze as I pushed through the door. I passed the unconscious employee to the man nearest me. “There is a fire in the hall. Take him outside and call 9-1-1. I’m going to go and get…”
I left the thought unfinished as I sprinted from the room. They were all too stunned to ask questions at the moment, but that would change if I stuck around. Besides, if I had any hope of catching up to Carla, I had no time to waste.

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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 13h

@birdko.art does such a wonderful job with my bbs. ;;

Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 13h

🙂‍↕️ It'll need more umph someday. This is a smidge too vulnerable for him.

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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 14h

If only 69 was a realistic number for me to hit on these. 😮‍💨

He deffo needs more moments like this because otherwise he seems too put together and He Is Not.

Reposted by Khonri 🎃👻

Dani Finn 🏳️‍⚧️ 📚 @danifinnwrites.bsky.social · 15h

One of the big reasons I wish people would use alt text is so my mute feature would work on their AI resist images

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Jared, goring (people with my horns) 🇨🇦 🇺🇦 @jaredgoring.com · 15h

#WIPSnips "Hope" from Fight or Flight

This philosophy of AL's comes up a fair bit - although not always as nihilistically as this XD

Ebook screenshot from Fight or Flight:
"Not that it mattered. As I climbed the crew ladder, it didn’t matter - that was the difference between hopes and dreams. Hopes, you could have and work toward. Dreams were just dreams - they might be nice to think about, but you couldn’t actually do anything to get it. Just sit there and want it, and dream.

I could want to be something as much as I wanted, could want to be a rich spoiled child in a mansion somewhere with ponies and chariots. Could want the Corps to let in girls and have a shower for them, so maybe I didn’t need to cough up coaldust for the rest of my life. Could want to be a mixblood, to have magic at my fingertips and power in my veins. Could want to be whatever great thing I thought I was maybe destined for.

Didn’t matter. I could want whatever I wanted.

I was still just a coalboy."

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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 15h

Not cleared up on purpose. 😈

All three are answered with "no," surprisingly. Mori picked it because it was something to hold onto and sought to share that [hope], as "a bit" after new year's was actually several months and ✨someone's✨ been MIA and for a short period presumed dead before this.

Reposted by Khonri 🎃👻

Finn McLellan @saranadosfiction.com · 20h

#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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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 15h

So, it's a bit after the new year and a lot of fuckery occurs that Mori's not around for. 👀

And, as far as the "secret," I'll summarize it as a wish or ward against the phrase, but he thinks it'd be a little odd to explain at the moment (and it's not registered like that anyways).

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Prof Emily but Spoopier Now @professoremily.bsky.social · 18h

#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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Kayleigh Diaz @kleighdiaz.bsky.social · 18h

#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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Reposted by Khonri 🎃👻

Athenya @athenawx.bsky.social · 17h

-Symphony of the Past-
Inspired by the Scions symphony painting, I have to do one for my beloved ancients 😭 #Hythlodaeus #EmetSelch #Themis #Venat #Hermes #AzemZoe #FFXIV

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Khonri 🎃👻 @khonri.com · 16h

Speedrunning figuring out how to convert old setup notes and not be a convoluted shithead so it fits in a 1:1 box cleanly: difficult, but doable.