C Murry

@lennwrites.bsky.social

234 Followers 243 Following

writer | desert rat, actual cat | nerd, sci-fi and mythology 💫🪐 ✩ they/she ✩ queer ✩ neurodivergent ✩ 31 🚫A/I 🚫cen/sorship #querying Wanderlust and the Sea #writing Fault Lines bg—my Deuceridge boys—by 4xl_j0y (X) pfp by bora.panda (Insta)

a person with short russet hair, dressed in a black button down and a red paisley vest, tips a fedora; horns poke through the fedora, and the ace of spades is tucked into a red ribbon band around the hat; they wear a Phoenix Fan Fusion lanyard

a black cat leaping down from a screen door

a black cat clinging to a security screen door in order to look outside

two girls, one hugging the other from behind; Mara, left, is taller and dressed in black, with shoulder-length wavy brown hair, and smiles fondly; Nym, behind her, is dressed in a green shirt and gray slacks, her bobbed hair silver and cut asymmetrically; Nym rests her head against Mara’s shoulder, affectionate, eyes closed as she wraps her arms around Mara’s waist

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Israa stared at the heater, glowing faintly with its output of warmth. She thought of the apex—Wheston, she corrected, making herself use his name—and how he’d curled up beside it during the few nights he’d spent with them. It was the closest he’d ever gotten to the group on his own initiative. Agraive’s apex, capable of maintaining its optimal body temperature through seventeen-hour nights that could dip below freezing. Yet he’d slunk into their midst and curled up like a stray stxcat beside a humming ship’s engine. She’d been able to count his vertebrae.
<i>“I’m not stupid.”</i> That had caught her by surprise—he’d said so little in his short time with them, highly articulate but only within the needs of the assignment. She turned the words and tone over in her mind—dry and sardonic, just a hint of gallows humor. <i>Or am I reading too deeply into it?</i>
“I think he knows,” she said, slowly, “how poor his chances are.”
“Suicide with extra steps, do you think?” Viray asked, halfway into her sleeping bag.
Israa shook her head, gaze still on the gently glowing heater. “I don’t know. I hope not.”
“For our sake? Or for his?”
Israa let out a breath heavy with apprehension. “Both, dearest. Both, I fear.”

a spotlight passes over a giant X, also illuminating “The X Files” in smaller lettering; zoom in on a classic, blurry UFO photo; there’s a glowy hand and a strange orb apparently lit from within; a face distorts as it screams

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“You invited me to dance,” he said, when she gave him a put-upon look. He pulled her close, coaxing her into a little twist of their hips. “Let’s dance.”
Miriam laughed softly, kissed him, and obliged. In an open hold, they pranced through brisk triple steps and indulgent twirls. The lead slipped occasionally from Kade to his doll; when he and Asher had learned the coaster step and the Charleston and the anchor step together, they had often switched off. Miriam had long ago learned, and didn’t mind, this peculiarity of her favorite dance partner.
They traveled across the dance floor, never still, a bouncing glide that suited the jaunty music. For Kade, the dance was confession; for Miriam, it was communion. Though lost in the
crush of people, they stood out, radiant, among the milieu. They spun briefly apart at times, but found one another again as if joined by a tether, their hands entwining. Neither ran short of
breath, but nor did they hold energy in reserve—they danced as though it were the last hand of a card game, all-in. They danced as though life were only the Lindy Hop

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Wheston hunched in the shifting sand, mired in inarticulate thought, hollowed by hunger. Chill had robbed his skin of color, the scars on the backs of his bony hands standing out in lurid mauve against gray.

He quivered, spine straightening, still crouched but arching up on the balls of his feet. He heard the shuffling steps of his pursuit, angling his ears towards it. He breathed with intention, stoking warmth in his chest and letting it seep back into his muscles, needing them to be loose enough to move. He quivered, his breath appearing in the still air, and he resented that escaped warmth.

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expected. Hope flared up in him. “It’s not our responsibility,” Conrad said, needing to try. “Heroes are fun to read about, but that’s fiction, sure as shine.”
“You’re appallingly self-involved,” Kade said.
“You, of all people, can’t sneer at me for that,” Conrad retorted.
“Even the most wretched have things they’ll fight for.”
Conrad shifted. “The gambler shows his hand.”
“Only what you need to see,” Kade said. “Don’t think you can guess at the cards up my sleeve.”
“You’re still talking about [redacted],” Conrad said. “Is one of your hidden aces that sort of resolve? I know I’m no hero, but do you really think you’re such a villain?”
“You know what they call me.”
“I’ve heard,” Conrad said, and felt a flutter of anxiety. <i>Kade the Spade</i>. Still, he said, “I think it’s as much a con as your card tricks.”

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Caleb softened. It had taken him so long to decide, beyond doubt, that Sachial’s eyes were gray. Even in that moment they looked dark enough to be mistaken for true black, inky little pools of self-pity. But whenever he grew impassioned—
“Whether you’re on about the Council’s grand, self-serving schemes, or how gullible our classmates are, or how delicious sweet potato pie is…” <i>Then I can see they’re gray. And they’re the prettiest gray, Sachial.</i> “You’re so alive when you’re talking about something like that. I love to see you that way. That’s why I listen, even if I don’t agree with a word of it.”
Sachial regarded him, a hint of disbelief in his furrowed brows. “You don’t agree with me about sweet potato pie? Now that’s something you’ve never told me.”

two small to-go cups of coffee in front of a bag that reads “Lokum, Turkish Delight & Baklava”

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“Then answer this, at least: what are you?”
“What are you?” Thēall replied, trying for an imperious tone.
“Human,” Wheston answered, without hesitation or wryness.
Thēall looked quizzical. “No, you aren’t.”
Wheston bore blunt, standard-issue teeth in a grin. “Pure-blooded homo sapien.”
Thēall’s expression flattened—a child absolutely certain they were the target of a joke. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. Born naturally, too—no careful selection from a gene bank for me. Plenty of selection later on, though. Deliberate selection and crafting.”

a moodboard for Fault Lines

upper left: the upper portion of a sword leaning against a stone wall
middle left: flickering flame against a black background
lower left: a slab of stone underwater; the water appears disturbed, bubbly
upper middle: a spacious stone cavern with water at the bottom
true middle: "The Fault in the Lines"
lower middle: a pipe against a background of stone
upper right: a cloud-shrouded mountaintop
middle right: a closeup of blue scales
lower right: a closeup of a person walking across the surface of water

moodboard for Wanderlust and the Sea
the title reads “Wanderlust and the Sea”, with the subtitle “a queer urban science fiction novel”

far left: a grayscale, distorted city-scape
upper middle: falling playing cards, the Ace of Spades poised on its corner
true middle: the feet of a dancing couple, dressed formally
lower middle: a silhouette holding a lit cigarette, gazing out at a starry night sky
far right: a sunset-lit sea-scape, with a crescent moon visible above

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Kade looked again to the window as the cab slowed for a traffic light. His gaze found a figure trudging along the side of the road, sandy hair stiff with dirt and feet dragging, tattered lavender shirt slung over one shoulder. Like a hazy beam of sunlight lost amid city smog and storm clouds, the young man seemed misplaced. Kade shouted for the driver to wait, stumbled from the car before it had come to a full stop.
“Asher!”
Asher looked up, life coming to his weary gray-blue eyes. “Kade.” He clasped both of Kade’s hands when they reached out to him. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine, fine,” Kade said, squeezing his hands. “What are you doing here? In Deuce? Why are you—? What’s—?”

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Caleb led them through the Lines; to Sachial, this felt like their first true assignment. The apprehension and dread, the scorn that had shadowed their earlier decent belonged to a prior chapter, a prologue to their real lives. Now he felt only driving purpose. This must be what compelled Caleb to commit himself so wholly to a cause. Caleb’s cause was, of course, idiotic, but to seize upon such a certainty of will—Sachial understood the appeal.

Two mummified dogs stand in a luminous desert night, the stars and mood visible above, the pyramids in the distance. The dog on the left (Feru) is taller, with once-silken ears and tail, and wears a collar. The dog on the right (Amal) is small, a puppy, and has a lame hind leg.

art by godbirdart.bsky

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“It’s similar to tarot,” Asher said, bringing out his deck. “The suits tend to line up, roughly. But playing cards have their own unique lore, too. Like the ace of spades, for instance.” He flipped over the topmost card—the named ace. “If we’re going by tarot meanings, it would line up with the ace of swords, referring to new ideas. But in a playing card reading, it comes up to signify death.”
“Are you calling me the grim reaper?” Kade asked, smirking. A dagger sprang into his hand, a stiletto blade with an onyx spade embedded in the hilt. He flipped and spun it, a razor-edged version of his tricksy shuffles. His eyes never leaving the flashing blade, he said, “I’ll take folks’ money all day long, but I don’t want their lives or their souls.”
“Just an example,” Asher said; with a shrug, he folded the card back into the deck and shuffled. “It’s interesting, though. You might actually like it.”
“I’ll pass.” The dagger vanished harmlessly back up Kade’s sleeve.

Amazing art by Sollandr Box!

A mock playing card, the Ace of Spades, depicting Kade (“the Spade”) Merisi. He wears a long sleeve collared black shirt and a red paisley vest; he has brown skin and russet hair, and has a shifty little showman’s smile. He’s shuffling playing cards, the deck mid “spring” between his hands.

anime gif of pale hands inside billowy sleeves playing piano

a black canine with redish highlights in his fur and bright red eyes; he’s thin and his fur is scraggly, but his ears are up in a friendly manner and his tail is relaxed, as is his stance; he appears to be smiling, mild-mannered

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… Civilization functions.” He beamed. “I wrote a masterpiece.”
“A masterpiece?” Though curious to see how he would carry on, left unchecked, Caleb couldn’t keep from asking, “Change the way Civilization functions? Why would you want to?”
The first-year’s gaze refocused, sharp with irritation. “Because Civilization is flawed! It’s dismally stagnant. Humanity survives, yes, but that’s a disgracefully low marker. Do we conquer our environment, or do we barter with it for our meager existence? We trade the lives of Soldiers for our fragile stability, when we have the potential to do so much more. Do you know what I wrote my thesis on?”
“That was what you were telling me,” Caleb said—dryly, but with a creeping amusement despite himself.

a little brown fluffball creature looking up in teary-eyed awe at something radiant

a screenshot reading:

humanity into touch with the larger universe. The stxcats, so omnipresent now on space stations, had begun with Earth stock—cats brought along on ships, as pets and mousers and fortune charms, gradually going spindly and graceful to suit the lower gravity and sparse hunting. General feeling about humanity was mixed, but most everyone could agree that stxcats were a worthwhile addition to the galactic landscape.

Your 2026 Word:

“potato”

Shazam screenshot of Rasputin (Live) by Boney M.

two and a quarter batches of peppermint brownies cooling on a stovetop; one of those little straw animal decorations—a fox with antlers?? wearing glasses and a scarf and a Santa hat—is in the background

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… unmoored himself. "How much do people usually pay for this tripe? A dollar?" As though dealing, he laid a ten on the table. "Two?" Another. "Three?" A third.
Asher reluctantly met his gaze, frowning. "I won't take your money, Kade."
"It's not mine," Kade replied. "It's Clarence Ward's, actually. Trust me, you'll make better use of it than he would have."
Asher arched an eyebrow, seeming to
shake off some of his disconcertment. Kade breathed easier. "Ward? Oh right, Milton's boy."
"He's a lot less shrewd than his dear old
dad," Kade said. "I forget how long you've
actually been gone from Deuce."

text reading:

"Feh. I said I SHOULD thank you properly," the smaller of the two boys quipped. "Take that as you will."
The other laughed good-naturedly, reaching over and ruffling his comrade's dark hair.
"Somebody has to make sure you don't get yourself gobbled up by tanninim on your first mission, Sachiel."
"And someone has to make sure you don't blunder into the traps set up by your own beloved government, CAPTAIN Caleb," the other snorted.
"Ani..!" Caleb objected good-naturedly, but grinned and chuckled when the other shot him a baleful look.
"Laugh if you want, you simpleton. You'll see that I'm not so paranoid, one of these days."
There was a long pause- the two boys were comfortable with silence, each buried in their own largely incompatible thoughts. But eventually Sachiel broke the silence again, without turning.
"I assume Mara will be our third?"
"You assume correctly!" came the cheerful voice from behind them, and both boys turned. Caleb's smile widened impossibly.
Caleb waved enthusiastically as Mara turned and trotted back down the pathway.
Sachiel glanced at him in exasperation, but ended up smiling rather than snarking.
"You know that we'll die young, don't you?" he asked softly, and Caleb shrugged
"If we die, we die for the cause. That's what we sighed up for, wasn't it?"
"I didn't," the dark-eyed boy murmured. "I sure as hell didn't sign up to be offed by my own twisted government."
His comrade gave him an indulgent look. "The government isn't out to get you, Sachiel.
You survived the Surgery, right? And even if they botched that murder attempt, wouldn't they have had plenty of opportunity to kill you during training?"
"It would have been too obvious, then," Sachiel muttered crossly. "Too suspicious... they're smarter than that... but I know they're just watching... waiting.." Caleb laughed. "You're paranoid. There are pills for that, you know?"
"Fuck off," Sacheil growled, but also cracked a smile, "you ignorant little simpleton."

a burning candle in a white crystal holder in front of a tree

meme of a girl drinking wine straight from the bottle while two boys makeout in the background; the girl is labeled “Kade”, while the boys are labeled “Conrad” and “Asher”

A black cat, Fenris, in a cat tree—his legs are hanging out at a comical angle

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"You're going to forget everything I've said," he murmured, voice muffled. Then, sooner than Caleb had expected, he looked back up. "You're the only one who's ever really listened, you know?" Sachial smiled— a brilliant, fragile thing born only to die on his stricken face. "Even if you forget, I should thank you for that."
Feeling dragged into ever-deeper water, Caleb said, "I could never forget you."
Grief stayed its hand; Sachial's smile endured. He straightened, sniffed. "Thank you. Then..." with a deep breath, he backed towards the doorway, "I'll see you soon.”

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A hush fell outside his study, and Ward knew he should rouse himself and go—go and be with his people, his gang, the good folks who were family to him. But his eyes stayed closed, his body heavy and comfortable. Moments later a cheer rose up, the indistinct pop of fireworks from somewhere nearby heralding 1931.

Ward said nothing aloud—had no one nearby to hear it if he did-but wished fervently for Deuceridge to have a prosperous year. He pressed thumb and forefinger across his brow, rubbing at one eye. <i>If not that,</i> he swore silently, <i>at least let us survive to see next year.</i>

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Asher let the comment pass. “I’ve learned how to read fortunes with them—with cards.” He broke off to thank the server as she brought the other appetizer; with a glance at Kade, he ordered entrees for them both. “Everything is great here, but I think these stuffed shrimp are the best thing they make,” he said, nudging the plate across the table.
Kade sighed, then took one and mumbled something obligatorily agreeable around the melted cheese and herbs and tender crustacean. To his surprise, he found himself momentarily taken by the flavor and exclaimed, “No, shit, these are good!”
Asher chuckled. He sipped almost carefully on his champagne. “You knew about that, right? That cards could tell fortunes?”
“Tarot, maybe,” Kade said, curiously scooping up a bit of the cream sauce that the shrimp had come with. “Never thought to do it with the type I work with.”
“Because there’s no real way to cheat at fortune-telling?”

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"What are they?" Sachial asked, reaching up as if to touch the object of his musing.
"Water vapor," Mara answered, and Sachial spun to her in delight.
"Gathering in the sky? That's incredible!"
"It would be better if we could figure out a way to reclaim it," Mara said—a Farmer's trouble. Caleb recalled concerned conversations over the family dinner table.
Nathaniel signed something—what little Caleb caught seemed absurd.
Sachial lit up. "Falling from the sky? Really?"
"Interesting stories, but just that," Mara said.
"How else do stories begin, though?" Sachial asked. “And it makes sense—water is heavier than air, so if enough of it gathered together up there, wouldn't it fall?"
"If there were enough water in the whole of Aboveground for that to happen," Mara said, "we wouldn't need the Lines."

selfie outside the convention center, featuring a light dusting of snow; short russet wig and black blazer is Kade cosplay!

a black cat, Fenris, in a classic loaf pose, looking up from inside an open suitcase; the Millennium Ring is visible in the lower corner of the shot

a black cat, Fenris, peering out of a cat carrier out a car window

Caleb and Sachial—Sachial is in Caleb’s arms, and they both hold a banner that says, in rainbow lettering, “Unbury your gays”. They’re both smiling, Sachial a bit more maniacally than Caleb. Both have small rainbows painted on their cheeks. Sachial wears a cropped black hoodie with the anarchist symbol (the circled A) in red. His skin is coppery and his hair is black, tied halfway back with some left to hang in his face. Caleb is fair skinned with short, wavy brown hair; he wears a nondescript gray hoodie and jeans.

The artist is PluckyShroom!

"You know him /that/ poorly? He lies, sure. He postures. He /acts/. He's a performer, but he's not all that convincing around people he actually trusts. You can't tell a paper mask when you see one?"

meme of a car talking a SHARP turn; the car is labeled “Conrad”, the straight-ahead road is labeled “capture the alien and do dastardly things”, and the side-road is labeled “elope with the alien”

a close up of Fenris, a black cat, upside-down with a paw over one eye, little vampire teeth on full display

Graphic for “Fault Lines”; the blurb reads:
“Civilization is built upon fault lines—some well-mapped and others-undefined. Within those rifts can be found weaknesses, accountability, and volatile, unrealized potential.
Sachial thinks the whole world is out to get him; he may well be right. Caleb Lark doesn't believe a word Sachial says, but he still listens.”

Some additional notes read:
“science fiction
(not your average) dystopia
first in a series - three books and counting”

On the left, Sachial—a young boy, dark hair tied halfway back, dressed in a simple black uniform, illustrated here in black and white—holds a pamphlet labeled “Fault Lines, by Ani”. He looks /delighted/. Beside him a caption reads: “snarky lil anarchist with a martyr complex gets precicely what he asks for”.
The artist tag is “Arcana Bean”, and they can be found by that name on DeviantArt.

In the lower right, a heart-shaped illustration shows Sachial pulling Caleb down to him for a kiss; Caleb’s eyes are open slightly, looking down with affection. Both have simple rainbow paint on their cheeks. Sachial has coppery skin, and his black hair is tied only halfway back in a knot, while Caleb is pale with short, brown, wavy hair. Beside them reads “QUEER AF” in rainbow letters, as well as “happy ending! (but boy howdy they've gotta work for it)”.
The artist tag is bisexuwhale; the piece was commissioned on Flight Rising’s forums, and I haven’t (yet) been unable to track down any of their other socials, so if anyone recognizes the art style or username please let me know!!

a Wanderlust and the Sea playlist, set against the background of a nighttime seascape

the tracklist is:
Human Right - The Strike (♤)
Funky Galileo - Sure Sure (♧)
Fred Astaire - Jukebox the Ghost (♧x♡)

Connected - The Electric Swing Circus (♢)
Devils in the Canyon - The Strike (gen)

Delight - Jamie Berry (♤)
Lost in the Rhythem - Jamie Berry, Octavia
Rose (♤x♢)

Colour Morning - Night Riots (♤+♡)
Stay a While - Cemetery Sun (♡)
Good Squad - Ripe (♧+co.)
Ghost of a King - The Gray Havens (♡)

Where You Let Go - I The Mighty (♧
Degenerates - I The Mighty (♤+♧)

Amazing art by Sollandr Box!

A mock playing card, the Ace of Spades, depicting Kade (“the Spade”) Merisi. He wears a long sleeve collared black shirt and a red paisley vest; he has brown skin and russet hair, and has a shifty little showman’s smile. He’s shuffling playing cards, the deck mid “spring” between his hands.

A screencap of the Scrivener app; it reads

“Belowground, a collection of shadows shot through with gleaming silver. Pipelines wove among natural rock, dipping into immense reservoirs, drawing water from the crystalline cache for human use.
Known as the subtersea, the water of Below appeared to stretch out into distant eternity. It extended far beyond the borders of Civilization, presumed to spill off the Edge of the World in all directions. As the far side of Mount Issmir was the sworn domain of the dead, the subtersea was inhabited by the inhuman. Yet without its use, the arid land could not support life, and for that it was given a wary reverence. It was understood that life had begun in a time when the subtersea had submerged all. A force, the Principal of Humanity, had bade it recede, and Civilization had been revealed. The”

screencap of a “20,090 words” count, with a cutoff line of text above reading “At the start of their second year of training, Caleb encountered a stran— odd ideas and dark, febrile eyes.”

Figurine of a sitting Persian cat, off-white with pale flame point markings; three of her four paws are broken off, although they have now been replaced by molded over-bake clay paws

Figurine of a sitting Persian cat, off-white with pale flame point markings; three of her four paws are broken off. A single sassy foreleg of Fenris—a real black cat—is in the background

meme of the Japanese wrestler Mizuki (labeled “my idiot characters, in love”) leaping from a truly impressive height to stomp on her opponent (labeled “the plot”)

Fenris, a black cat with orange eyes, lying with one forepaw twisted so the pads are facing up, that CANNOT be comfortable good sir—

light text against a dark gray background (“dark mode” setting) reading:

He wore his hair down to better stave off the chill; the barber in El'sian Bay had only now gotten the hang of applying his preferred silver color evenly, and Conrad lamented the loss of that competent hairdresser he had patronized in Deuceridge. At first, the El'sian barber had even gone so far as to suggest that Conrad learn the process for himself; only the amount Conrad was willing to pay had enticed him to reconsider. Conrad had enough self-awareness to recognize the entitlement that fueled his profound annoyance, but lacked any motivation to temper it. He had been—still was, by all but proximity—an adopted son of the Ward family, one of the oldest names in crime on the East coast. The fact that he didn't flaunt that—in deference to El'sian's pastoral sensibilities—hardly excused the incompetent barber for not behaving accordingly.

A black cat with orange eyes lays fixed across two notebooks, blocking access to both as he gazes upwards, apparently offering his earnest opinion on the manuscript.

Fenris attempting to attack said notebook while still sitting atop it

Fenris, a black cat, sits squarely atop a blue notebook, preventing any further work for the evening

screenshot of a document, a word count of 71,441 displayed at the top; the document’s text reads:

Conrad couldn't see the ocean from street-level, but he knew it was there—he always knew it was there, just a few miles to the east. He felt it, felt pulled towards it, and now gazed off at the distant sky with its mottling of leftover, impotent storm clouds.
<i>If I could just leave...</i> he thought, feeling Clarence Ward shifting impatiently at his side, a contrast to his trance-like stillness. <i>I could start walking... and just...</i>
He gave himself a brisk shake, making Ward startle and curse. Conrad fixed his gaze on the filthy concrete beneath his feet.
"You good, kiddo?"
"Don't call me that." Conrad forced his eyes up,
disaffected. "And I'm fine."

Conrad Sirius, pale-skinned with long silver hair (the dye is faded to black near its roots) tied back in a pony tail, dressed in a gray coat and gray collared shirt. He looks slightly down towards the viewer, a self-assured look on his face. He cradles a fragmented metal artifact that glows blue between his hands. The background is a classic Jack of Clubs playing cards.

Fenris, a black cat with yellow eyes and faint tufts of white in his ears, lies on his cardboard scratcher with both forelegs fully outstretched in front of him