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alixiscrazy.bsky.social
Alix_is_Writing
@alixiscrazy.bsky.social
36 followers 43 following 32 posts
Working on LONG DIE THE QUEEN, a dual-timeline murder-mystery romp through Faerieland.
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alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
A little late to the party, but here it is!
I knew then that one day he would love me. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me, with that strange, languid curiosity. He had said he had met ones like me before but that wasn’t entirely true. I was new to him. I let him have me, but did not want him. I swore myself to him, but only because I hated another. How enticing must that be to a creature who has seen ages? These are the gods: fickle as a leaf on the wind, floating by on a whim, a dream. Chasers of light when they are in shadow, and of shadow when they are in light. Hunters of wind and lovers of smoke; they seek to grasp the sunlight and cry when they fail. They are children, who beg for a shiny toy, and then throw it away once it is theirs. He would not want me if I wanted him. Just as Aratha loved Atar because she was hidden, and would hate her if he knew the depths of her heart. To free her, I must be rid of him. To free myself, I must keep the god close. But not too close; not so close that he had enough of me. Inquired the god in his gruff way, “Tell me what you are thinking.” “I think of nothing,” I said, and my mind was full of blood.
October 5, 2025 at 12:01 AM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
from my historical grimdark fantasy, the word I used is sleeping
He slanted his head. “Why do you thank me? I have done nothing.” “Yes,” I said. “I know. And I am grateful.” “You were not born a slave, were you?” He sounded thoughtful, encased in a shell of mockery. “You were born free. Like me.” “No one stays what they were born as,” I replied, with what I hoped sounded like finality. “Except perhaps the still-born, or the feeble-minded. Good day, sir. May your gods smile upon you. May they bless you in all your endeavors.” “And may they bid me to leave you alone?” He called it after my back, laughing. Yes, I thought, and picked up my pace. Yes. Yes. Exactly. Leave me alone. Do not mix me up in your affairs; sharpen your arrows if you will, and do not have me carry them. Brew yourself up a poison as green as your eyes, and do not make me drip it into sleeping children’s open mouths. I have enough on my plate without that. I have enough on my plate to choke me. And it was poison he was brewing; for what else could one such as him seek with one such as I?
October 3, 2025 at 5:08 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
From my historical grimdark fantasy
The woman laughed when she saw me shiver. “The little hare is frightened?” “The little hare is cold,” I snapped. Because if I didn’t I would cry, I knew I would, and I had told myself I would not cry. “The little hare would like her clothes back.” “Too bad,” said the woman, “that the little hare's wishes mean nothing to the hunting fox.” And she rolled up her sleeve, proudly, and I saw the spiraling, fluid image of a fox inked into her skin. The fox seemed to be moving to my bleary eyes, back and forth, pacing the cage of her flesh. “Not a year ago this fox walked Api’s face. Now it exists only on Tomyris’s arm. The little hare does what the fox tells her to. The little hare listens well, or dies. Understand?” “The hare,” I said, “she understands.”
September 28, 2025 at 4:17 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
Canner was glaring a hole in his plate, looking at her from the corner of his eye as he chewed and swallowed violently. The old woman dimpled. “You should really eat, Anya.” Something about the way she spoke changed. The bones beneath the facade were beginning to break the surface, showing Canner beneath them. “You don’t want to make him angry. He’s not very nice when he’s angry.” So she ate. The food was good: steak and roasted potatoes, a side of green beans and pecan pie for dessert. It could have been dust for how it felt on her tongue. “Who are these people, Canner?”
September 6, 2025 at 7:42 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
He staggered; bad leg giving out on him. I stopped long enough to think derisively, weakling, and then my fists were wailing; mouth open in a scream and the blood on my tongue dripped down to mingle with the spreading crimson wetness on his face. I don’t remember taking out my knife, but I do remember stabbing him. It is one of my favorite memories. “I wanted to do this for a long time,” I told his crumpled skull. “It was foolish of you to give me the excuse.” I tucked the knife in my belt calmly and wiped my hands on his shirt. In my belly the baby started to kick.
September 1, 2025 at 6:18 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
They were leaving the station now, heading for Cemetery Hill. Her feet felt half-lead, half-jelly, the weight of everything pulling on her like gravity. “And the murder. You think it’s connected to the faeries too?” “I think they think it’s connected to the faeries, yes.” “And you?” “I think someone came up with a coverup so perfect an entire town would do anything to not have noses poking around in it. How’s that for good police work, Detective?”
August 31, 2025 at 12:09 AM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
Anya remembered the way Canner’s ribs had shown through the ragged tears in his shirt as he rolled in the dirt. The vacancy in his eyes. He had always been lean despite his muscular frame, scoured of fat. Now he had looked positively skeletal, scrubbed down to nothing but bone. Canner had done this with his own two hands, she reminded herself. He had betrayed them, betrayed her. So why do you feel so bad for him?
August 29, 2025 at 1:49 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
Another snippet from the beginning of LONG DIE THE QUEEN! I'm on a roll. In this one, erstwhile detective Anya is being her marvelously petty self.
Pointy had stepped aside, chest puffed against his livery buttons as he waited; she decided that his side profile didn’t quite live up the promise his broad back and narrow waist had made. He was kind of—skinnier, than she preferred. Also, he had far too few eyes. Once again, she thought of Lycenne. It has to be him coming, she thought. Who else has the authority to visit the prison, and the desire to do so? He must’ve made some treaty to come see her—perhaps even to free her. Oh, it would be a fine thing to see Canner’s face as she waltzed out past him, free while he stayed here to rot. He could play chess with the memories of all the people he—well, not he, but still, he—had royally screwed over. Anya thought she might like to get royally screwed. In a four poster bed, maybe, Lycenne by her side, smelling of cedar wood and cinders and kissing on her neck. She let out a little moan.
August 28, 2025 at 2:45 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
a lil snippet from the very beginning of the story I'm working on now, a fun fantasy murder mystery set in faerieland
She hazarded a look at the floor-to-ceiling bars behind her. At the reedy, pointy-eared guard standing impassively beyond them, his back to her, facing the blank stone wall. No door. Even the windows in the cells had been a concession—a compromise made between Selovian, Queen of Seelie, who’d wanted them buried alive, and Lycenne. Her heart squeezing at the memory of Lycenne, she turned back to the window. Fourteen heartbeats now. Not long. “Oi! Pointy!” Canner called. “You cunning folk enjoy a game of chess? Or are you too busy flaying babies for that?” Pointy did not reply.
August 27, 2025 at 5:27 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
“Cithara has friends, does he not?” she asked Tomyris. “More enemies than those,” I muttered. Otra shot me a warning look, our roles suddenly reversed. Be gentle. I could be gentle. I kept my hands in my lap, feeling the wood grain wall scrape against my back, rough like a callous. My fingers rested a hair length from my sheathed akinakes. I could take Tomyris now that she only had one hand. I was reasonably sure of it, anyways. “He is known to have a few, yes,” Tomyris said. “Young men, they are, yes? Hot-headed, quick at the draw. Was one of their number named god-in-the-flesh this past year even?” Tomyris looked like a fly in a well-honeyed trap, caught halfway between deeply disturbed and highly entertained. “I don’t know.” “He was,” I spoke up, surprising them both. “Cithara spoke of him to me. Garanos, was it? Cithara called him a ‘milk-toothed sop with a boulder for a head.’” “Your memory is disturbing,” Tomyris said. I smiled and said nothing, because I would rather be raked naked over fire than admit I remembered everything Cithara had ever said because he terrified me, and whenever he spoke it felt like his next word might be my death sentence.
August 19, 2025 at 5:02 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
“Here,” she said at last, holding up the stump of her hand, like it was a dead creature she did not want to touch. “Here it is. Like what you see?” He didn’t touch it as he stared. Didn't move, didn’t blink. “It is—this is—” he seemed at a loss for words. “This—Tomyris. You will never fight again. You will never draw a bow; you will never braid your hair; you will never weave.” She was watching him very carefully. Like she was waiting for something. “I know.”
August 18, 2025 at 2:29 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
omg our manuscripts have so much in common! Down to a war god sleeping with a sacred virgin and being a feminist retelling of a founding myth!
Mine is about the Amazons though. Yours sounds so cool!
August 17, 2025 at 4:09 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
#wipsnips
August 17, 2025 at 3:54 PM
alixiscrazy.bsky.social
holy smokes I love this concept!
August 15, 2025 at 8:43 PM