chasing satisfaction

to celebrate finishing draft 1, people ask silicone-heart questions.

IDs under the cut.

SILICONE-HEART by @qelizhus // Tote Abuelo (2019) dir. María Sojob // The Girl From the Other Side by Nagabe // Howl’s Moving Castle (2004) dir. Miyazaki Hayao

a silicone-heart ch7 snippet... image reads as follows: 

“You called me,” it says; “I would not have awoken otherwise. You wanted this. You asked for a name, and I named you, and you accepted it. We signed a contract; the world stood witness.” 

“You are the world.” 

“Was,” says the bane of your existence; “I was,” it corrects. Its voice is softer now—no, not soft, but instead quieter, hoarser—like it is making clear a distinction you do not understand. “I was a strand of the world, and my speakers died; and then I slept; and then your call woke me. I would not be alive without you—and I’m not sure I’m alive now—but neither would you.”

“I would be,” you insist; and you must be, because otherwise how would you become someone new, make your own name? You wish to be different, desperately so; you wish to be alive, willful; how you could do so if the bane of your existence were not whispering in your ear, stealing your heart, eating your energy.

wasn’t gonna make a silicone-heart ch6 post, but then i figured why not. we’re sitting at about 10.6k total, now. aiming for 13 chapters, so will probably be under my goal wc? but i imagine editing may add a lot of words. 

image reads as follows: 

“Storm-speaker,” she says abruptly, and you turn your focus back onto the scholar. “She told me how she got her name, you know. She was very proud of it; a new addition, I understand, even though it had been around two years since she was named. Called upon the mighty winds, rallied the waters—ah, but you’ve heard the story, haven’t you? What if the winds turn on her? The waters close a cold eye? They can be very mercurial, you know, the fat from their fish slipping out.”

“…I guess we do have fish in the Great Lakes.” As it is, you have never heard the full story of how Storm-speaker was named.

i cant share all of ch5 so far but believe me when i say its a vibe. image reads as follows: 

Creep up the stairs and they do not creak. Hard wood and oak, sturdy as a whole. Did they not use to be carpet? But it has been eight years, of course, how fortunate; certainly it is not unthinkable to have performed renovation. Although it would not be your father who is the renovator, simply the renovatee. 

Storm-speaker is curled up on one side, facing away from the door and therefore you, when you enter. The line of her side rises and falls as she breathes; and your sister is, of course, alive. She is sick but alive. The blue-and-green patterned cover somehow fits the thick humidity in the room. The keen grey blinds are half-closed. 

Walk over and press the back of your hand to her forehead. She groans a half-made mumble, but otherwise her temperature feels normal. 

“Jus’ a cold,” she says, eyes screwed shut. “Headache.”

from a 1 am silicone-heart writing session. it’s no longer 1 am thankfully, but this is incentive to study for midterms now. tag list below the cut. image reads as follows: 

“I’m alive.” Isn’t that what she wants? The bane of your existence purrs into its clutch on the ceiling; it wouldn’t mind if you died, you think. 

“That’s not true,” the bane of your existence protests, and slides down the walls. This time—unlike all other times, except for those two days back in that isolated apartment building—it leaves a trail of slime on the walls, like a snail or a slug. “I’d care if you died. I don’t know about anyone else—I don’t think anyone else—but I’d care. I’d die without you, after all.” 

“How self-serving.”

trying to get back into writing silicone-heart. i can’t quite get the scholar’s voice down pat. image reads as follows: 

“Really,” she says, and you can’t quite tell if she’s taking you seriously or not. If it were you in her position—if she told you she was named by the bane of her existence—you wouldn’t believe her. “Pretty unlucky of you, to have met him already.” 

“It’s not a person,” you say, before you can think better of it. Isn’t this too heavy of a conversation? You don’t want to bore her. “How did you meet Storm-speaker?”

“I was on the same boat as she was when she was trying to find you,” the scholar says. The bane of your existence hisses in your ear. 

“Remember,” it tells you, “all that your sister has done to bring you back home. And still, you—” 

“—were pretty much the only thing she spoke of, so when she mentioned this to me, I was curious. Why was it that she loved you so much?” 

A single misstep and you have walked into a pit of barbs: where had you gone wrong in the conversation? You don’t want to talk about this. You don’t know. Wouldn’t it have been better if your sister had forgotten about you and left you across the ocean and living with the bane of your existence? It hasn’t left with her presence—or anyone else’s—anyhow. 

obligatory post again abt critique partners… would anyone like to be critique partners? or something? i just would like someone to ask for feedback on my short stories; i’m happy to do the same for either longer wips or short stories as well…! pls contact me if ur interested and we can try to work smth out :)

didn’t write for about 5 days, so here’s something from the start of chapter 3. i’ve come to the realization that having dinghy sailing be a very important element of my wip despite neither having any experience w sailing nor knowing anyone who sailed is... well, a little difficult! wikipedia’s (mostly) got my back tho <3

image reads as follows:

Her presence flickers, turning a shade grey, before she settles back into normalcy. “Well,” she says, “you said you’d try for me, anyway, didn't you?”

You don’t remember if you did or not, but she sounds honest and earnest, so it’s more likely that you did and just forgot than otherwise. It’s possible the years changed your sister, but Storm-speaker was not a liar. She was keen, bright-eyed, and occasionally cruel in her ignorance, but she was not a liar. 

“I did,” you say, and the steadiness of your voice makes it sound more like agreement than a question. With the words being spoken into existence, there is only one thing left to do: gather the vestiges of your energy to hoist yourself into your dinghy’s hull.

camp nano update~: fell behind over the last few days, caught up just today. i really should be working on other things, but... well, you know how it goes. 

image reads as follows: 

You try to take another bite of breakfast, but your fork comes up empty; your plate is empty, too. “Right.” You hadn’t considered what you will do here—there is nothing to do, nothing for you to want to do, nothing you can do, frankly—beyond what you had told your father in that first car ride. That being said, you also do not particularly want to go sailing with your sister. Looking at your father, he too wears a tightened expression, the slightest down turn of his lips. He remembers. “Sure, whenever you’re free.” 

It is, you suppose, always easier just to acquiesce. You’d learnt that, spending those eight years with the bane of your existence. 

“Boon,” said bane reminds, poking your cheek. Your father purses his lips and turns his back to place the frying pan in the sink, while your sister does not react; indeed, she cannot see your bane.

it has been literal AGES since i last posted any of my writing on this blog, but i AM writing, i promise. and it’s camp nano and i finally started writing the wip i introduced also ages ago, so i thought i’d share! (seriously. for context: i introduced decadence to tumblr on may 16 2020; i started writing draft 1 two days ago [on july 7 2021].) 

re camp nano: i’m currently at ~10k/30k -- originally aimed for 40k, but i got super behind for that, so i dropped my goal lower.

image reads as follows: 

“Did Storm-speaker tell you about how she got her name?” your father interjects from the front seat, where he’s driving. You don’t have a license, and while Storm-speaker has her G2, she doesn’t like driving in the dark. Pride is evident in your father’s voice, and you note that to this moment, he has yet to use your name. Your new name, or even a name at all. He knows it, though. Storm-speaker told him, right after pulling away from the hug. 

“No, she didn't,” you say, “but I can guess.” 

“Alright, bet,” Storm-speaker says. She’s smiling wide; when the roadside lights flash by, you can see each of her teeth. “Guess.”

“Sailing,” you say, because that’s the image on the tip of your tongue. Your father… he took the two of you sailing, when you were kids, you think. You’re not sure why or how—your town isn’t close to open water, it can’t be, but you don’t remember long car drives, either. “Did you… save someone? Or win something?” 

where do people find critique partners/circles? i’m hoping for like.. a group where i can share work and critique work privately — as in, not the subreddits where your work is published to be critiqued. i found one place but it’s mostly sff and while i’m gonna test it out i don’t think my short stories these days are v much sff so not really my audience. help anyone?

QUIET TERMS: WIP REINTRODUCTION

GENRE: fantasy POV: third limited STATUS: beginning third draft THEMES: duty vs desire, response to failure, love while having a difference of opinions, breaking down unspoken agreements or assumed understandings WARNINGS: mild violence, character death

MORE INFO & UPDATES FROM LAST DRAFT UNDER THE CUT!