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demonicheadcanons · 3 years ago

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The Obey Me! Brothers when a Demon Insults MC

A/N: This idea came about when some stranger swore at me and two people just immediately started cursing back at them, much worse than anything they said. It was hilarious. (And happened a year ago. I've had this in my drafts for a long time ;u;)

I was going to do one where they aren't close and one where they are, but I just settled for the idea that you're already close in this / the demon already cares about you.

Spoilers for lessons 15-16 in Beel's part.

Lucifer

(Possessive CW)

You feel the aura behind you before his hand comes to rest on your shoulder. When you tilt your head back to look up, Lucifer is smiling something dangerous, and you feel yourself shiver before his eyes dart down to you and his entire gaze softens.

Lucifer likes the looks it draws as his grip tightens on your shoulder reassuringly, not one for being openly affectionate, but this? This was him staking a claim and glaring down at whoever had dared to insult you, pulling you towards his chest as he watches the demon who dared to shout such insults at his human shake.

He lets them leave for now, sure he'll find them again later to have a word - how dare they try to defy Lord Diavolo. In the mean time, Lucifer leans down over you from behind to check if you're okay, showing off a rare grin. Just as suddenly, he straightens up and clears his throat and expression. A hand is offered, and if you accept it, Lucifer leads you on to your next class.

Mammon

He does not like the feeling that's settled in his stomach, and some part of him can tell its from the pact. Without actively knowing it, Mammon seeks you out and comes across you being berated by some low-tier demons. Your expression spurs him to action.

With the energy of someone chasing off a group of violent stray cats, he rushes forward and immediately starts barking insults and threats at the demons, putting himself between you and them and chasing after them a few steps, watching in anger until they're completely gone.

He turns back, then, expression fallen to that of a hurt puppy. He's all over you if you allow it and aren't so shaken up as to push him away, checking for injuries and making sure you're okay. Eventually he just holds your face in his hands and then pulls you in for a hug, shaky arms circling around you protectively.

Mammon can never forgive those demons, and rest assured if they ever set foot within 20 metres of you again he's there, ready to show off his demon form at any minute. No one messes with you. Not if your first demon can help it.

Leviathan

Levi reacts the least in the moment. As soon as he finds out what's happening, he feels a rage building in his chest - one that would usually spur him to summon Lotan. But he feels a familiar anxiety as well, and it runs up his fingers to his palms to his wrists. He's shaking before he knows it.

With his head down, Levi walks straight up to you and things go quiet. He's still a powerful demon after all, and the battle of emotions he's experiencing has him shooting out some horrible kind of aura that has everyone nearby go as still as a statue. He grabs you and picks you up, pretending to show you something on a screen as he pushes his headphones onto your head and walks you away.

Levi isn't quite talking, not quite saying words that make any sense, but he's trying. He tries hard to distract you with a hand gently circling your wrist, applying pressure and releasing it in some odd pattern you can't read. He's shaking as much as you are.

Rest assured, Levi is going to get someone to deal with it. He either goes straight to Mammon and accuses him of not being good enough to protect you, or to Lucifer to tell him of some demon against Diavolo's plans, and is he going to let that stand? Levi knows how to get his older brothers to do his bidding, and in this moment he applies his knowledge heavily. Those demons won't go near you again.

Satan

Haha. Yeah, good luck to those demons.

Like Lucifer, you feel his aura before you even see him. You pulls your arms away from your face and he's there, standing between two of the demons who'd decided to gang up on you and threaten you.

Satan's mode of action is to immediately start teaching these demons some real threats, because right now they're pretty pathetic if he's honest, and maybe they should try and read more if they want to speak in a more creative fashion. His aura grows and grows, and you're sure he's never emitted this much power in his more human form before, hands firmly clamped down on the assaulting demons' shoulders.

Needless to say, they don't last long. There are muttered, fearful apologies before the demons rush off, and Satan calls after them, promising another lesson shortly. He then turns to you and the aura fades, his softer smile back as he offers out a hand, now ready to comfort you. "Are you alright?"

Asmodeus

Well, well, well! What's going on here? Whilst he finds even this expression adorable on you, he doesn't like that its not his, not something he's made and not something you appear to want. Asmo appears by your side, already standing proudly in his demon form as he picks you up and pulls you against him.

His hands are over your ears as he speaks, and you can't really make it out, can only hear your own heartbeat. Still, whatever Asmo says must be effective, because within moments his hands are pulled away and he cups your face instead, studying you carefully. There's a sad sort of sympathy behind the glow in his eyes, the reality behind the mask. It peeks out softly, but you can spot it, and the calming effect it has is stupendous.

If you allow him, Asmo tries to heal you with kisses and hugs, with soft hands running along your back until you stop shaking, and with caring whispers in your ear reminding you of your value. He would do it for no one else, not unless he had something to get from them, a prize for his efforts. But for you its free, not a heart to be won because he's already given you his.

Beelzebub

Beel is threatening without meaning to be, and whilst he vaguely understands what's happening, he just wants the feeling in the pit of his stomach to go away. Its so much worse than hunger and he knows Belphie feels it too in that moment, his gut twisting in all sorts of ways. He recognises it a bit, the kind of feeling he would get a lot at the beginning of the war when angels would insult or even try to attack Lilith for being the catalyst.

Without having to do much, Beel focuses on getting you away, scooping you up into his arms and directing a fierce glare at the demons who'd only moments ago been gathered around you. They're intimidated by the sheer fact that they have to look so far up to even read his expression, and rush off instantly. He only holds onto you tight and gets you out of there, not even worried about getting any sort of revenge.

Beel carries you as far away as possible. If you had any classes to get to they could wait, Lucifer would understand when he explained it, but for now you needed something and that was Beel's only priority.

You're probably taken somewhere to get food, a little place out of the way that Beel found a while ago. He'll feed you himself if you want? Just say the word, MC, and he'll do whatever it takes to make you feel better. To make you feel safe again.

Belphegor

Oh, good luck to those demons. Much like Satan, Belphie actually appears behind the disgusting things himself, a shudder running down their backs when he yawns to cover up some twisted sort of laugh. Really, this is the best they can manage?

He pushes past them to crouch down in front of you, offering out a hand. His tired lopsided smile is a familiar sight - you've seen it after so many naps, in moments where he stops trying to protect himself so much, to hide away behind a wall. He offers it so freely now, the master of all this as the youngest brother. He knows how to pull people to his side, how to be the comforting one, and whilst he doesn't often try he does now.

Belphie is the most likely to immediately retaliate, but its not in the way you'd necessarily expect. The other demons just collapse on the spot, and Belphie walks hand in hand with you, using his others to tell Lucifer of some stupid demons who were doing this and that. Its exaggerated, he throws in whatever he wants about insulting Diavolo (and does so himself, although subtly, because why waste the opportunity?) and continues until Lucifer seems to get the point.

And, much like Beel, Belphie's attention only turns to comforting you. Classes will be skipped for the rest of the day, he decides, leading you back to the attic instead. His power seems to flow lightly through you, from your hand to your head, making you drowsy. Rest would heal it all, in time.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #my writings #my headcanons

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nevertheless-moving · 4 years ago

Note

Could you talk more about your gumbo jar jar au or the frog one? 🐸

hm on close review the frog promise draft is a now redundant drabble from this au. Here it is in its entirety:

“I will never join you,” Luke said with a sneer of disgust.

Palpatine, as well as the nearby politicians, Jedi masters, and reporters were taken aback.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, Master Jedi,” the Senator said incredulously. “Do you mean to tell me that you consider yourself separate from the Republic? I know the Jedi Council had disavowed recognizing you but I never could have imagined...” he trailed off, leaving the crowd to murmur in alarm.

“I mean I will never join the Sith,” the rogue master replied calmly. “I imagine you’re responsible for the traces of the dark side I felt amongst the trade federation leaders.”

“The Sith...I see.” Palpatine took a step back, deliberately reassuring tone and alarmed expression clearly indicated that he suspected the man before him of insanity. “It’s been a very long day and you clearly intended to do good by my humble home world. Perhaps your fellow Jedi can take you to the healers so you can-”

“Why are you working alongside a Sith Lord?” Luke cut off the Senator and addressed Grandmaster Yoda directly.

“A Sith Lord, you say?” Master Yoda replied. “A most serious allegation, this is.”

Basically, Luke derails the Naboo Crisis by absolutely annihilating the trade federation army, only realizing after the fact when and where he is. This means that Padme turns right around from Tatooine and never voices her vote of no-confidence. Now, Palpatine probably had contingency plans in place, but the public accusation by a Jedi of being responsible for the crisis in the first place, despite absolutely no evidence, hurts his image enough that he’s not going to win a vote, because people will think it’s a power grab.

And it’s funny cause it’s true but Luke only barely knows that! He’s just accusing Palpatine of being behind the first evil thing he sees and he fuckin happens to be right!!!

Anyway Luke doesn’t focus on Palpatine; there are like 10,000 other Jedi around. He commits himself first and foremost to completing his training with Master Yoda because sometime Yoda just dies and fades into thin air so, you know! He’s not going to procrastinate on that again!

He goes before the council and humbly asks to be taken on Yoda’s student (this is right before Qui-Gon can ask about Anakin- literally, Anakin and Qui-Gon are in the waiting room). He gives several extremely vague banthashit explanations of who he is ‘I’m a follower of the Force,’ where he comes from ‘the Force sent me,’ and why they should train him when he’s way too old ‘the Force willed it.’ Yoda is somewhat impressed because those are some real unhelpfully wise answers and- here’s the kicker- Luke actually believes them!

He is really committed to being a Jedi! Is 110% all about being a luminous being! This is several years after return of the Jedi and Luke has pretty much just been hanging out in force temples meditating with ghosts so he has quintessential Jedi vibes, he just knows jackshit about anything!

What really clinches it for Yoda is the fact that his robe pocket starts squirming and he pulls out a live Nabooian Salt Frog. And hands it to Yoda like, “These are one of your favorites right? :) I saw it and I thought of you :)”

Now Yoda- let’s step back a second. Yoda is old. Yoda, in his youth, was a bit more feral. He’s a top level predator and the order has always celebrated diversity and being true to your origins! He’s hunted with Tortugans on Shili! He’s unhinged his jaw with Besalisks on Ojom!

But as the Republic’s boundaries caved in on themselves, he was more and more put into contact with Core senators who tend to be unnerved by more, ah, carnivorous tendencies. And the more he was put into high level positions by virtue of being really frickin old, the more restrained he became in his public behavior.

Decades passed and younglings who only ever knew his more ‘harmless-prank’ feral tendencies were increasingly shocked and scared to see him occasionally unhinge his jaw to eat a scrocodile whole. Some of the prey-origin younglings from that field trip actually avoided him for the rest of the their lives.

So. Yoda is still a carnivore- but- in private. With his padawans and his closest peers. But his closest peers age and die and his padawans get younger and smaller as the decades pass. He took on two herbivorous padawans in a row and as a result restrained himself from openly hunting with another soul for around for 50 years.

And then there’s Dooku. ‘Ah a human,’ he thinks. ‘They hunt sometimes. Well. They’re omnivores at least.’

And Dooku is- and I’m not saying this to shame Dooku- but he’s prissy. He likes...neatness. He’s not afraid of violence but force forbid it’s untidy. So when Yoda, excited to get his ambush predation on, takes 14 year old Dooku who’s barely ever left the sterile confines of Coruscant on a trip to a swamp world- yeaaahh it doesn’t go well. Dooku- he doesn’t mean to, honestly. How would he even know that Yoda might be sensitive about things? He’s Yoda.

But Dooku sobbing openly and puking a little in a bush and running away from Yoda because his Master is terrifying and gross. It... kind of puts the nail in the coffin for Yoda being open about that side of himself. He doesn’t really have it in him to try again. People’s view of him is too fixed, they can’t handle him also being a flesh creature so he focuses on the luminous side of him which is and always was, genuinely, more important than him.

And that’s been the last 100 years or so. The thrill of a live kill is just a little piece of himself that he meditates away and that’s ok. He has the force. He has the order. He’s old anyway, a real hunt would probably hurt his joints.

And then in comes Luke, radiating Light and earnestness and Jedi serenity while also holding out a very tasty looking live frog. And Yoda realizes Dooku’s not around, he’s surrounded by a council he trusts and respects and likes, none of whom are 14 year olds, all of whom have seen the galaxy and seen worse. He is almost seizing the moment but there’s a little part of him that shriveled up when Dooku cried that’s having a hard time accepting this.

“Want it for yourself, you do not?” Yoda cackles, playing off the offer.

Luke smiles sheepishly and pulls out another live frog. “I was saving it for later. Forgive me Master, your senses are keen as ever I see.”

And Yoda...it’s not about the bribe, really, so much as the symbolism, and it’s not about the flattery either, but darn is the kid really pulling out the stops to make himself likable. And he is a kid, to Yoda anyway. Everyone is these days. What does he care about numbers when there’s a boy smiling like his third padawan, an adorable Rodian who took great delight in their more amphibious and wild missions?

Yoda snatches one of the frogs and slowly raises it in a parody of a toast. Luke does the same. The rest of the council quietly watches in various shades of bewilderment and bemusement.

They’re not actually going to eat that right? Mace thinks. Ugh I hate frogs the skin is so slimy. Shaak Ti thinks. I cannot believe they’re not even offering me one. Yaddle thinks.

And Yoda bites the head off the frog in a quick snap of his jaws, the rest following rapidly. Luke does the same- a slight assist from the force helping his less specialized mandible tear through skin and bone in a well practiced move. He chews slower, but finishes the frog soon enough, the rest of the council looking on with deep uncertainty and a tiny bit of hunger, but no actual fear. They’re Jedi Masters; they’ve eaten everywhere, it’s just a little weird for a human to be eating a live animal and Yoda as far as anyone knew only ate stew and also they were in the middle of a council meeting.

Yoda belches and Luke smiles genially.

“Take you on as my padawan learner, I will. Much to learn you have, much to teach you, I do.”

Luke beams. The council looks on in shock.

“Master Yoda,” Mace Windu says hesitantly, “He’s clearly in his late 20s, at the earliest. If this is about the... frog thing-”

“Was a pleasant surprise, the frog. The reason for my decision, it is not. Had some training already, he has. Know each other before this day, we do. Taking over for a Master passed into the force, I am merely. Our custom, this is.”

Luke bows lowly and an initiate is summoned to escort him to the quartermasters and then the long-empty padawan suite next to Yoda’s chambers.

Qui-Gon and Anakin are brought in and. Well. It’s a little hard for them to simply reject the boy after Yoda just pulled that stunt. He’s sent to the initiates dorm, eventually. Mace Windu has a headache from the shatterpoints blinking in and out of existence. Shaak Ti is delighted to discuss a hunting trip with Master Yoda and his new padawan learner Luke Svader.

The force dances.

#Anonymous #ask #300 celebration #star wars #my au #star wars au #frog promise au #yoda #star wars au no 29 #nevertheless meta #luke skywalker eats frogs

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neet0 · 2 years ago

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1, 7, 15 and 16 for the writer asks please?

1. give short descriptions of all your current WIPs.

Revelations (Hellsing) -- Christ it's impossible to summarize this epic well, so I'll just be glib: Alucard and Seras get their own happily ever afters, but they gotta earn that shit first. Leads in with a romance and bait-n-switches to epic fantasy. Lots of worldbuilding (mostly of the vampire world), reckoning with past trauma, and larger-than-life supernatural political strife. Remember, you can refuse The Call of Destiny, but The Call knows where you live!

Carolinas (Hellsing) -- After a spate murders, Seras goes to the South Carolina swamps to investigate and finds a vampire man living there. He's not the one killing everyone, but he knows who is. Romance ensues.

Nightcap (Hellsing) -- Short PWP one- to two-shot, Female Reader dares Alucard to come seek her out after he's all worked up from a successful mission, and finds out that a bloodlusting Alucard doesn't bluff.

Subtext of You (Stardew Valley) -- The angst of Revelations got to be too much so I made a sugar-sweet side project where Elliott and a shy Female Reader fall in love. There’s not really a plot here but I try to shoehorn one in.

Highway (Original Work) -- Narrator finds a gas station in the middle of the desert that appears to be open with people inside, but there are no cars anywhere in the lot. Squid Games/Lord of the Flies eldritch horror ensues.

7. what books have shaped the way you think about writing the most? why?

God, that’s a tough one. Overall I’m often inspired by the things I don’t see often in modern fantasy/sci-fi/horror, but there are certainly books I hold up as aspirational examples, such as the impressionist, avant-garde storytelling in Mark Z Danielewski’s House of Leaves and the simple but tense storytelling in tales such as Penpal by 1000Vultures. Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles was also a formative work for me, and I aspire to write simple but beautiful prose as well as he does. I’m probably a very long ways off but hey, it’s good to have goals, right?

I also have a number of really great writing references I own that have been invaluable.

15. what do drafting and revision look like for you?

Every story starts with an outline of the major plot points and maybe some scenes in between, if I have a really strong idea of what they look like. This part involves a lot of lengthy discussions with my beta to make sure everything makes sense.

Then on to the first draft. This part is the hardest for me. I basically try to shit out as many words as possible without stopping, starting with laying down the dialogue. Real utilitarian “just describe what’s happening” stuff, with no regard for the art of writing.

The magic is in the editing, of which there are many rounds. First round is go back and tweak physical action descriptions. Then another round to add narrative introspection. Then another round to add any narrative exposition, though I try to limit this. Then another round for setting description. Then another round to correct grammar, word choice, spelling. Then another round to correct for rhythm and flow (NaturalReader app is invaluable for this). Then I send it to my beta reader for corrections and suggestions, then incorporate those. Then a few more rounds because I’m paranoid. Then I get tired of fucking looking at it and kick it to publishing.

16. to what extent do you research for your writing?

Way too much. I’m one of those people who likes to try to put as much realism in my fantasy as I can, even for shit that probably no one will ever notice. Like really, just look at my recent posts. Calculated a whole ass lunisolar calendar for a fictional horoscope that may or may not be valid in-universe, because it’ll bother me if the timeline is off. My most recent Google search was how fast an elevator and a bullet train can travel, respectively, because I needed to calculate a realistic depth for the underground vampire city.

I can’t help it, though. It’s a labor of love.

#hellsing fanfiction #writer asks #writing #asks #ask game

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everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago

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Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death.

“Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago.

The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod.

That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face.

“Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother.

Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain.

It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister.

I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life.

I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning, watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children.

I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate.

We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying.

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

“We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag.

Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully.

I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles.

We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor.

My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up.

“No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man.

He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me.

“My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names.

“Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

“Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

Marvel nods, grimly.

“We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes.

“Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps.

“Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly.

Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?

Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

“Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk.

“Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow.

I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile.

“I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly.

My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head.

Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,”

My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers.

“Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?”

My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

“Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?”

I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

“Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”

I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12.

I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be.

I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things.

Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night.

————————-

Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings.

We talk about baseball:

“You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?”

I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

“Wow, beautiful and smart!”

We talk about cars:

“I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

“The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?”

No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child.

Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly.

I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up.

“Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight, alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden!

I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting!

Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches.

“Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

“Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

“You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!”

It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed.

A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here.

“I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants.

I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us.

“You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

“You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

“My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise.

“That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!”

We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house.

He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound.

But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried.

————————-

Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down.

Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something!

I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth.

I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure.

I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes.

My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare.

At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

“Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs.

I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

“I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.”

————————-

Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face.

I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

“I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,”

“Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

“The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

“I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…”

I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence.

My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news.

I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way.

The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters.

“It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says.

At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad.

Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

“Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack.

I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary.

My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!”

“Katniss, what’s going on?”

I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

“At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care.

“That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically.

I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t.

I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now.

“I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

“Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath.

I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

———————-

My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough.

I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold.

In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day.

There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption.

“Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper.

“Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father.

I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly.

She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation.

“Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly.

I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?”

“It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

“This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?”

My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

—————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

“Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth.

“Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

“Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command.

I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,”

I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade!

Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason!

I shudder at the thought.

But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name.

Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible.

“Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment.

I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here.

“Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.”

Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

#alliswell21 #prompt 71 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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powderandclay · 4 years ago

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How to write a prayer to whatever entity your heart desires

I see a lot of people on here flailing when it comes to prayers- whether it be struggling to write them, using shitty prayers you found on the internet, or not comprehending what you're saying when reading old prayers.

So! Let's break it down, using the most notable example of good prayer writing I can think of, The Lord's Prayer.

First step:

Invoke the name of the entity you're praying to. Call attention to the fact that you're trying to talk to whoever you're contacting.

In the Lord's Prayer, this part is:

Our Father, who Art in Heaven...

Short and succinct. You can add on whatever titles you like- a more elaborate Lord's Prayer might read, "O our Holy Father, King of Heaven and Earth, Lord of All...".

Second Step:

Butter up whoever you're praying to. Song their praises a bit, pray for things that the entities themselves want.

... Hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdon come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.

This is your chance to show your devotion, to make the entity agreeable to you, or remind yourself of the power of whomever you plan to work with. It's ok to go ham on this bit.

Step three:

Petition the entity. Ask them for the things you want.

"Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

There isn't much to say here, just ask for the things you want. Doesn't have to be anything fancy.

Step four:

Affirm the power of the entity you're praying to. Acknowledge that they absolutely are capable of fulfilling your request.

"For thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory forever, Amen."

Remember why you're praying- because what you're praying for absolutely can be manifested. If the power of what you're praying to comes through something else (for instance, if you're praying to a saint), now is the time to affirm the power of that entity.

Put it all together

Let's say I want to write a prayer to Saint Cecilia, patron of musicians, so that she can help me use singing in my magical practices.

Use the above guideline to write a simple prayer.

Saint Cecilia, patron of musicians, I pray to you: Bless the Church through the Grace of God, and pray for me that my voice would conduct the Power of God in my magical workings. To God be the Glory, Amen.

Simple, right? Now dress it up. A prayer can be like poetry if you write it correctly. Don't be afraid to lay it on thick at first draft and them shape the prayer how you want.

Saint Cecilia, Patroness of musicians and Martyr of the Lord Jesus Christ, blessed be your name among women. I pray the Grace of the Lord be with you; May His Mercies flow through you ever unto His Church. Pray for me, exalted Saint of the Lord Most High, that my voice might be like those of the Heavenly Choir, and that my voice might conduct the Power of the Lord Christ Almighty in my works. Protect me, I pray, o protectress of all who invoke you, that I may make joyful noise pleasing unto the Lord. To God be the Glory, Honor, and Praise, ever unto the end of the Age. Amen.

Boom, done. One fully functioning prayer to an entity of my choice, and I wrote it in 20 minutes.

Pro tip, don't use Ye Olde language if you don't actually know how to use it. I like the flow of it, but you probably shouldn't use it if you don't know how to use "thou" in a sentence properly.

#religion #witchraft #folk magic #prayer

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beinmybonnet · 4 years ago

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29th June 1613 - London, England

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?

“He went to the trouble to have a draft carried all the way to Brandenburg for me, the least I can do is attend the opening night.”

Andromache rolls her shoulders into her partlet. “The least you can do maybe. Why am I doing this?”

“Because you missed me. And because you cried when we saw Othello.” Yusuf replies, looking sideways at her. Curbing the inevitable objection, Quynh squeezes Nicolò’s arm and strides forwards to overtake them. He lets himself be dragged after her, taking care not to tread on her skirts.

“I love the theatre. Plus, we’ve spent the last week sleeping in a shack in the Dales. This,” Quynh waves her free arm over the bridge rail, “is a nice change of scenery.”

London Bridge is teeming with people, the warmth of the bustle settling like cinders into his skin. The city writhes in its haste. Against the far bank of the Thames tall buildings strike against the horizon, the old Southwark Priory still reaching high in spent pride. Buildings are painted pale with dark beams striking bold across them. It is beautiful in its own way, Nicolò thinks. Inelegant, but unique.

“It wasn’t that bad. I still think we should have stayed a little longer, at least until-

“Andromache we’ve slept in nicer caves.”

Quynh glances back over her shoulder meaningfully, brow rising. Andromache shrugs. A smile, although few would recognise it. They step down onto the riverbank as one, turning east.

Nicolò nudges his shoulder into Yusuf as they pass the gardens. “You fail to mention you sent that script back with corrections.”

“Revisions. Small ones.” Yusuf’s voice is low, his expression impish. “Barely noticeable.”

“Ah, here we are.” Yusuf waves Andromache forward into their usual first-floor booth and steps back to allow Quynh to pass. Nicolò pauses, peering up the stairwell.

“Full house.”

“First performance. Trust me, this will be one to remember.” Yusuf is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and it makes Nicolò want to tuck his chin over a bobbing shoulder.

“You’d think the city would be a bit more subdued,” Andromache settles herself on the bench tucking thick plum skirts around her calves. She happily accepts a bag of roasted hazelnuts from Yusuf as he passes her to stand at the balcony. “They’ve only just recovered from their last bout of plague.”

“Exactly! This is the power of art.” Yusuf beams, arm sweeping wide. “Look at these people.” All around them the crowd is seething with anticipation, the noise growing as the wait goes on. Children scramble in the lower level of the yard for better vantage points, clawing their way up the beams supporting the lower galleries. People are shouting and laughing and drinking, the sound cocooned tight within the impressive structure. A man swings a laughing boy up over the mass, and a small group of women pressed against the stage begin shouting a suspicious sounding rhyme, pointing across the pit. Before they can finish a man in the gallery beneath them roars his response across the yard.

Nicolò’s brow furrows. “Clot-pole? I don’t…”

“She’s calling him an idiot,” Andromache supplies, “and insulting his hat.”

“It is a bit much.” Quynh’s leaning over the balcony to get a better look. “I think she’s accusing him of, err – short-changing her. Last night.”

Still grinning, Yusuf peers over beside her. “Oh, she’s quite angry. Here we go.” He sounds delighted. What looks like a parsnip sails over the head of the crowd. “A pity, she’ll want those for the third act.”

Quynh’s now bent almost double over the bannister and Andromache reaches to steady her without looking. “Isn’t this sort of thing that made the man move half of the troupe over to Blackfriars?”

Yusuf shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Ah, William has become far too prudish in his success. The engagement of the audience is the nature of theatre.”

“Engagement?” Nicolò smirks as something below meets its mark with a splat and a shout.

“Well, you cannot deny their enthusiasm-”

Quynh reappears with a whoop of triumph clutching her prize; a browning cabbage intercepted in the air. She rotates the rotten vegetable in careful examination. “Excellent.”

Yusuf raises his hand in hopeless protest as Nicolò leans back in his seat, eyeing Quynh. “10 crowns says you can’t hit the stage from here.”

She snorts derisively.

“20 if you can take King Henry off his feet.” Andromache counters, rising slightly to gauge the distance. Done, Quynh agrees happily, settling beside her and tucking her cabbage under the bench. Yusuf mutters an exasperated appeal for help to the heavens and Nicolò quickly tugs him down into the remaining space with a hand over his knee.

The parting of the stage curtain prompts the dropping of remaining projectiles and an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. The herald clears his throat, steps to the edge of the stage and spreads his arms.

The first and happiest hearers of the town,

I come no more to make you laugh; things now,

That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here

May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

Be sad, as we would make ye

“Oh, so a comedy?” Quynh says brightly and Yusuf shushes her.

The first actors emerge from the wings in their velvets and the tale takes flight.

In all this noble bevy, has brought with her

One care abroad; he would have all as merry

As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,

Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy:

Yusuf is mouthing the words soundlessly, engrossed.

There are many things Nicolò has enjoyed about visiting theatres over the years. He will readily admit this performance is an enjoyable one - the young man playing Buckingham is particularly charismatic, the audience viscerally immersed in his indignation. The actors proudly deliver their lines and their story to an increasingly hypnotised audience.

But the play itself has never been what really draws Nicolò to this place. He glances sideways again and immediately, expectedly, loses the thread of the plot. In this moment the talent on the stage could never hope to hold his interest as he sits beside this man. Yusuf has lost himself entirely to the unfolding tale, gaze flitting from figure to figure calling below. Passion alight in his eyes. The arts do this to him in a way Nicolò has seen nothing else in all their time together. They have walked familiar paths in gallery halls for hours on end, Yusuf’s eyes roving walls of painted expression. They’ve sat in houses of the dying and listened to children bringing comfort with songs of naivety. Literature, dance, poetry, music; in all their changing forms they have always arrested Yusuf in his entirety.

These things give people freedom Nicolò, true freedom, he had once said. Free of limitation and expectation, in art people reveal their true selves. It is beautiful.

For Nicolò, that beauty is reflected blindingly in Yusuf’s own experience. To watch him like this for the rest of his given days would see him depart this earth achingly grateful to his God.

But Yusuf feels his distraction and leans toward him. “You’re missing it,” he murmurs, smile pulling impossibly wider. Unbridled delight is etched at the edges of his eyes, and Nicolò wants to trace his fingertips over the creases. He only realises he has reached out and done so when Yusuf captures and kisses his palm. “Watch the play.”

“It is a story still within living memory, I know how it ends,” Nicolò whispers.

Yusuf will not have it, nodding towards the actors. “Watch them tell it.”

Anne Boleyn is drifting across the stage, hand at her chest and Nicolò turns dutifully back to the performance.

Was he mad, sir?

O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:

But he would bite none; just as I do now,

He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

This time it’s Yusuf’s eyes that flicker back towards him and Nicolò hears silent words in the curl of his lip. Twenty kisses in a single breath. A risky venture, no?

Nicolò hums, his thoughts mirrored beside him. We shall see.

Good lord chamberlain,

Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;

And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em

Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty

Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all: and once more

I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all!

King Henry VIII emerges from the curtains with a flourish, the actor clearly taking great pains not to stumble in breeches that billow around his knees. The theatre bursts into applause as a round of trumpets sound, and they shout their approval at the blast of a canon from the rafters. The actors move to their marks to begin the scene in earnest, and Andromache leans forward with interest for the first time.

“See, I told you! With the funding now available, they’ve really spared no expense,” Yusuf is still clapping. Andromache hums noncommittally sitting back, but her eyes are suddenly bright with curiosity.

“Quynh, if you’re going to win your money, I suggest you do it now.”

“Why? I was going to wait until the trial scene,” she replies, confused.

From his place beside her Nicolò can see clearly that Andromache is struggling to suppress a smirk. “Well, there won’t be much left by then.”

“What?” Quynh looks down the bench at him. He shrugs. Andromache sighs around her growing amusement.

Seconds pass before she speaks again.

“They’ve set the roof on fire.”

He doesn’t need long to piece together what’s happened. There’s a thin plume of smoke rising from the inner curve of the roof and within, a flicker of light no bigger than that from a candle waving gently in the rafters. The canon. They wadded the canon, he realises. The little flame wafts higher in the breeze. The crowd is oblivious, too focused on the stage to be looking upwards. He taps Yusuf’s thigh.

It does take a moment. “Oh dear.” Yusuf looks back and forth between the roof and the stage, face falling. “Well maybe-

There’s a loud pop as the flame meets eager fuel. It dances up into the thatch lining the hooped roof and flares wide and greedy. Whip fast, it licks across the reeds consuming them in crunches and cracks that have people now looking skywards and shouting. Those in the highest galleries rear back as the fire completes its rapid circuit of the roof. By the time the actors have abandoned their attempts at continuing and stand dumbstruck on the stage, the theatre is ringed in an ominous halo of flame.

“Yusuf, unless your intention is a repeat of ’54…” Quynh trails off sadly, holding her cabbage.

Clumps of lit thatch are beginning to drift into the standing audience and the pushing and shoving follows in earnest. One man charges through the crowd braying, his breeches alight. Andromache stands looking decidedly more cheerful. “Come on, we’ll help them clear the pit.”

Nicolò follows suit, a hand falling to Yusuf’s shoulder. He has to work to quell an absurd urge to laugh; Yusuf is glaring at the roof with all the stubbornness of a chastised child. He squeezes gently, sympathy winning out. “I’m sorry.”

“Canons, who on earth thought canons in a wooden building was…” Yusuf trails off, glancing up. “Nothing to be done I suppose.” He holds out his other hand. “Shall we?”

Drawing Yusuf up behind him, Nicolò moves out into the stairwell twisting up into the higher galleries where people are starting to pile down in haste. An older man stumbles in the rush and he reaches out to steady him. “Careful, sir. Head out towards the river.”

The man nods and quickly hurries on pressing his handkerchief to his mouth. The next woman through the door snatches her arm up to her chest before he can move to offer any assistance. Dirty papist she spits as she veers away. Yusuf tenses, a hard line pressed at his back. Nicolò just dips his head.

“Please hurry.”

By the time the flow of people has ebbed the flames are beginning to consume the ornate stage pillars. The curtains masking backstage catch like parchment and blaze furiously. “We should make sure the galleries are clear,” he says, “you take the east, I the west?”

Yusuf eyes the roof timbers warily. “Five minutes. No more.”

In the end it only takes Nicolò four minutes to usher the last stubborn gamblers from the gentleman’s room. The fact that the smoke has now crept down to waist level speeds this along nicely, and they hurry to the stairwell hunched and coughing. Nicolò stays low, following them down the last steep flight when his foot catches on something in the darkness, almost putting his hand through the adjacent wall in an attempt to steady himself. There’s a man slouched in the corner, limbs sprawled wide and snoring. An empty bladder clutched to his chest. The strength of the brandy fumes punch through the dense smoke to further sting at his eyes and his irritation almost threatens to outweigh his conscience. Almost.

By the time he staggers out into clear air dragging his oblivious charge Nicolò know he’s been much longer than five minutes. Behind him there’s a crash which sounds very much like the galleries have finally given in and collapsed. Sounds like, because his eyes are clenched shut, burning and watering. Pressing his hands to his knees, he tries not to gag on the tar in his throat.

A hand settles on the back of his neck whilst another cups a palmful of water to his face. Nicolò winces.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “He’s heavier than he looks.”

He can hear Yusuf grinding his teeth but his response is surprisingly placid. “Rinse your eyes.”

Yusuf presses a water skin into his hands and moves away. When Nicolò’s vision has cleared he spots him back near the eastern entrance, patiently shepherding two enraptured boys further from the fire as they gape at the sky. Even for one who has seen much, Nicolò must admit, it is quite a sight.

The playhouse’s cylindrical shape has moulded the fire into a twirling steeple of flame inside the structure, now reaching twenty feet clear of the building itself. The Globe resembles an enormous cauldron struggling to hold its roiling contents. It belches clouds of thick black smoke as its rim splinters and cracks under the pressure and heat. What’s left of the thatch continues to feed the furnace, keeping the flames bright and fierce.

Quynh appears, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow to steer him away. She leads him to a grassy curve of the riverbank where people are congregating in groups and beginning to resettle on the ground. From one muse to another, the audience remain eager spectators, gasping and whooping as the bones of the building begin to break, sending up showers of sparks. Yusuf and Andromache join them just as the walls start to keel inwards.

“You were right, definitely one of his more memorable works,” Andromache announces as they sit. “Perhaps my favourite.”

“Yes, I’m so very glad you enjoyed yourself.” Yusuf’s tone is flat, but his eyes roll indulgently.

Quynh settles herself back against Andromache’s bent knees, facing the playhouse. “We can still make a night of it. We get a bottle of wine, some pastries. Watch the sunset.” Her voices softens slightly and she levels her gaze at them. “You really must go so soon?”

He looks to Yusuf, who nods. “We have passage on a ship to Antwerp. She leaves on the tide tomorrow morning.”

Quynh’s sigh is dejected. “You won’t consider staying just a little longer? We’re moving on to…” she trails off, peering up at Andromache – Devon, she supplies, “We could use your help relocating these women. The trials are becoming barbaric.”

Yusuf shakes his head, surveying the crowd. “I’d prefer not to tempt fate. London is not at its most welcoming for us presently.

Nicolò quirks his lip. “You mean for me.” Ah, he sees now. The woman from earlier is stood just a little further up the bank, clutching at well-dressed man and pointing at them. Yusuf stares back unflinchingly. Nicolò feels him shift to further block her line of sight to him.

Then he turns back to meet Nicolò’s eye and speaks firmly. “For us. If a place does not welcome you, it does not welcome me.”

Quynh has watched the exchange carefully and suddenly sits up. She clears her throat and calls out loudly enough for those nearest to turn. “Thou art a boil, madam, a plague sore!”

Andromache snorts and the woman raises her fan to her face appalled, tugging on her husband’s arm. It has the intended effect on Yusuf though and his grin returns to its proper place. Nicolò feels a familiar rush of affection for Quynh and her unfailing ability to put people at ease.

“King Lear,” Yusuf says proudly. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“Of course she was,” Andromache interjects, “It’s a magnum opus of insults.”

Quynh grins up at her. “Oh, you worsted-stockinged knave.”

The retort is instant. “Brazen-faced varlet.”

“Ancient ruffian.”

Andromache shrugs. “Accurate.”

Their laughter comes in easy unison and Yusuf’s expression is unbearably soft as he watches them. “It won’t be for long,” he promises.

Quynh pulls her eyes from Andromache and nods. “Probably a sensible choice at the moment. You do look violently Venetian Nicolò.

He wrinkles his nose, affronted. “I do not-”

Yusuf is reaching for his face, so he pauses his protest for the gentle pass of a thumb over the bridge of his nose. “It’s your profile my love.” Yusuf’s tongue darts out over the pad of his thumb before it returns to rub more firmly at his nose. “Which currently is very sooty.”

With his hands still upon Nicolò’s face he murmurs. “Oh but what a piece of work is this man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel,” Yusuf blinks, his sincerity blinding, “in apprehension how like a god.”

It’s all Nicolò can do not to rub his flushed cheeks into Yusuf’s palms like an alley cat.

Andromache arches a refined brow at Quynh. “Nicolò gets a Hamletian ode to his soul, and I get ‘ruffian’?”

Quynh rocks onto her elbow in the grass without missing a beat. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Mayhap a smouldering playhouse, ablaze in righteous flame?

“Likened to a smoking wreckage, how romantic.”

Nicolò would laugh but Yusuf is still holding his gaze and his face, everything else muting around him. He does this; bestows his love in soft declarations that leave Nicolò stunned, and then holds him steady until the words perfuse. Nicolò loves him so much he feels he might combust, with all the ferocity of the fire at his back.

Centuries before, he had allowed his disbelief to ask a question once, and only once. The intensity frightening him. Could a gift such as this truly be his eternal?

Nicolò smiles at his world and whispers.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and gives life to thee.

held in the embers on ao3 at theexistentialteapot

part one of this series can be found here

#god this one took years off me #but it's done!#thank you bones for the final shove over the finish line #i am so soft for this found family #and they deserve happy memories #yusuf would 1000% have been a theatre kid #the headcanon is lodged #userbones #usermarwan #tusermj #tuserceleste #the old guard fic #the old guard #mine

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sexy-monster-fucker · 5 years ago

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My FULL Masterlist

(I write for many different fandoms and I have a masterlist for *some of* my Venom fics. I know some people have asked me for one before, so I’ll make one now. :) )

Venom|Eddie Brock

~SFW Fics~

The Monster [Part 1]

Friendzone Bullshit

Remember Me [Part 1] / Remember Me [Part 2] / Remember Me [Part 3] / Remember Me [Part 4] / Remember Me [Part 6]

Bunking Buddies [Part 1] / Bunking Buddies [Part 2] / Bunking Buddies [Part 3] / Bunking Buddies [Part 4]

Lucid Dreams

Stolen Dance

Open

Alluring

Arachnophobia

Selfish

Discontented

Ringing

~NSFW Fics~

Home for the Night

Exploration

Knight in Black Armor

Remember Me [Part 5]

Fuck Me Up

The V Card

NSFW Alphabet

~Headcannons/One-Shots~

There’s Another

Venom Sees a Rainbow for the First Time

Venom|Eddie Save the Reader from an Attempted Suicide

Venom|Eddie React to Reader Being Catcalled

Venom|Eddie with a Reader who Always Steals the Covers

Grocery Shopping with Venom|Eddie

Venom Eating the Reader Out

Arthur Fleck|Joker

~SFW Fics~

Affection

Bothered

~NSFW Fics~

Date Night

Self Care

Captivated

Dreams

~Headcannons~

Jealousy

Joker!Sex

Partner!Joker|Arthur

Quentin Beck|Mysterio

~SFW Fics~

Deception [Part 1] ORIGINAL

~NSFW Fics~

Deception [NEW Part 1] / Deception [Part 2] /

Same Thing

Roman Sionis

~SFW Fics~

Infatuation [Part 1] // [Part 2] //

Commitment

Champion

Muse

~NSFW Fics~

Just Business

Obi-Wan Kenobi

~SFW Fics~

Dark Thoughts

Heaven Help the Fool Who Falls in Love

~NSFW Fics~

Docile

Maxwell Lord

~SFW Fics~

The One That Got Away

~NSFW Fics~

Sleepless

Cooper Howard|The Ghoul

~SFW Fics~

Consorts [Part 1] // [Part 2] // [Part 3] // [Part 4] // [Part 5] //

Baby Billy Freeman

~NSFW Fics~

Confidant

Casual

Leisure [Part 1] // [Part 2] // [Part 3] // [Part 4] // [Part 5/Final]

Lee Russell

~NSFW Fics~

Lover's Quarrel

Soothing

Lee Receiving Head During a Meeting

Sneaking Off w/ Lee During Prom

Still Drinking Coffee Knowing Lee Spit In It

Pajama Pants

Logan Howlett/The Wolverine

~SFW Fics~

Ghost of You

~NSFW Fics~

Tattered

Teamwork

Burgeon

Mark Hoffman

~NSFW Fics~

Darkness

Brat Sub!Mark Hoffman x Dom!Reader

Adam Warlock

~NSFW Fics~

Alone Time

Only Yours

Miguel O’Hara|Spider-Man 2099

~NSFW Fics~

Irresistible

Loki Laufeyson

~NSFW Fics~

Party Fowl

Moonknight|Steven Grant|Marc Spector

~NSFW Fics~

Taxi

Shōto Aizawa|Eraserhead

~SFW Fics~

Vigilante!Reader

The Grabber

~SFW Fics~

Holding Your Hand

~NSFW Fics~

Silent Treatment

//I know I have wrote many other things, but I am not including them because I hate them. i.e. Pennywise and Bill Skarsgard fics. They just make me angry to look back on so if you wanna read them bad enough you can look through my account//

I would like to thank my almost 4k followers for inspiring me everyday to continue writing. It has been a passion of mine for years and I am so thankful for all the love and support. All of you mean the world to me. Thank you all so so much for everything. I always have my inbox open no matter what so feel free to stop by any time. (I have over 100 things in there right now so if I don’t respond right away that is why. I also have 20 things in my drafts that I am currently writing.) Thank you all so much for everything. ~ <3

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superpixie42 · 3 years ago

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20 Questions: Writing Edition!

Copied from @neutronstarchild 's open tag 💙

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

31 and 1 draft

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

132,796

3. How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

Published? Just Inuyasha. BUT I am working on my first ever HP (Dramione) piece for Sins Week in September

4. What are your Top Five Fics by Kudos?

Puppy Kisses

Key to My Heart

An Education

Everything

Trust Fall

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! If people take the time to comment I want to take the time to read them and reply, even if it's just a thank you and a heart.

6. What fic have you written with the angstiest ending?

Technically it isn't published yet, but How It All Started is sticking to canon "everyone dies" ending which...sucks... but even that one the reason I haven't published it yet is because I refuse to leave it at that and walk away AND I FINALLY FIGURED OUT HOW TO MAKE IT A HAPPY-ISH ENDING. Suck it, canon.

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I think maybe Night Watch? Inuyasha finding safety and community makes my soul happy.

8. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I don't write true crossovers, but I do write a fair amount of AU's inspired by other IPs like my plot-of-the-Aristocat's fic Everyone Wants To Be An Inuyoukai.

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Thankfully no. I am a tiny nobody writing small one-and-done pieces so I don't attract the crazies.

10. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Why yes, yes I do. And mostly comedic smut, apparently XD

Sex is weird and I think keeping it weird and silly and honest both makes it magical and helps it feel grounded. I also really enjoying writing married/long term relationship smut because there's just something lovely about having a partner who you know and who knows you and you have enough experience together under the sheets to just make it work, ya know?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but if anyone wants to please please please feel free to DM me about it.

13. Have you ever co written a fic before?

Yes! I've done a few collaborations with artists which I LOVE doing, but @kirrtash and I did my first ever true co-writing/co-plotting project together with Princess of Pies and it was SO MUCH FUN.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

At this point it feels sacrilegious to say anything other than InuKag. They’ve been my OTP for so many years and have brought me a lot of good times over the years.

15. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Ajisai. At this point, I’m more and more happy with it just as a one shot

I do really feel attached to the concept I had for Pt2, I’m just not sure it’s what I want to focus on and I’m not sure it jives with the published first half anymore and so IF I do go back to that plot, it may be as a separate stand alone fic.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I’m funny and produce organic sounding dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Lord have mercy transitional scenes are the worst. Getting from point A to point B takes forever and keeping the momentum going is haaaaaaaaaard.

18. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I apologize in my tags for my horrible culture mashing in my fics. I don’t think I even use the right words for clothes sometimes and I am so sorry. If other people can do it and do it well, more power to them.

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Inuyasha

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Ahhhhh, fuck. I write things for myself first and foremost so I like all of my fics but for different reasons. Either because I like the trope or because it’s jam-packed with my own head canons or because it makes me laugh or fixes a canon issue I have… not to mention ones I’m proud of from a technical/writing standpoint…

I’m gonna say Mistakes Made At Midnight. I am really proud of that fic but it doesn’t hit a lot of the big categories so it gets overlooked a lot but I really like it. An InuParent’s fix-it where I really pushed myself out of my writing comfort zone and challenged myself and I am very pleased with the result.

Tags: Anyone who wants to play!

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rossa-motte · 4 years ago

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writeblr intro, blog.

So I finally decided to create a writeblr blog, and believe me: I've been stalking a lot of you for a while... so hi. I'm Rossa, 21 yo, argentinian (not from Buenos Aires, thank u), writer and obssesed with stories... all my life.

ABOUT ME

I write in Spanish, but I know quite a lot of English, and I plan to study English in college next year. I'm planning on being a translator. And maybe doing it freelance right now.

In my teenage years I wrote like 20 short stories, and started a lot of novels —only ended one, at 12/13 yo. Yikes.

Between 2016 and midst of this year I focused in learning theory on writing and storytelling, because I'm a perfectionist and a couldn't write out of fear (yay!), but right now I'm writing again (not sarcastic yay!)

Before my stories were like a YA Black Mirror, but right now I'm doing more adult dark fantasy, magical realism, contemporary fantasy, surrealism, and just messing around. Genre or litfic? Idk, maybe I'm wrong but I think most of the world doesn't have those categories, we just read and write lol

I'm in this crisis of not knowing what to read —I want to read local stories (hispanic or latinas) but the market isn't as diverse as in English countries, and people (at least in my circles) only read the classics. I also recently left YA behind, but fantasy is still my thing. I'm really looking for the adult book version of Studio Ghibli movies.

Most important, I'm trying to create a platform and community to help hispanic people to write. Knowledge on storytelling isn't much in Spanish, so I'm trying to share in my language what I've learnt these years in English. But I really like the community here, so this is kind of a bonus.

WHAT I'M WRITING

nyctophilia, collection of short stories.

the short stories I've been writing so far.

“love of darkness or night. finding relaxation or comfort in it” — basically I always knew I love night, but recently I found that 11 of my 13 ideas (at the time, now I have more) take time during night. So it makes sense to publish a short story collection based on that.

I'm just at the beginning of it, and just two of the drafts are readable. "Cielo Rojo/Red Sky" and "Nada ni Nadie/Nothing and Nobody".

I really want to share my experience writing short stories after five years of not feeling able to!!

juana, a very character driven novel or a series of short stories.

magical realism or very very soft magic system in a low fantasy scenario.

chaotic found family of a small town in somewhere we can assume is Argentina travel to some big city to become artist and influencers. The problem is that our main girl doesn't want to but can't say no... and she sees the ghost of her dead aunt who never met buut has the same name as her.

I'll start writing it after I feel more comfy with short stories.

it also happens like 80% at night.

white fire, a novel.

one of the novels I wrote as a teen but never ended.

really they aren't the same stories, just the same cast because I love them so much.

dark fantasy, adult, witches, kind of cozy kind of dark academia, religion and cults, based on my knowledge of neopaganism and chaos magick, latino-hispanic-italian lore.

YOU’RE STILL HERE, wanna know more?

I have OCD. Hate to say it's relevant but fear and other topics related to that are strong themes in my stories.

I'm a planster. Mostly pantser I think, but I like to know certain details (main but vague plot points, basic scenery, and characters).

better rewriter than writer.

aesthetic bitch. Pinterest lord and savior.

talking about White Fire is a lil arbitrary, I have like 8 or 9 novels ideas besides Juana... and other ones. I think I might write White Fire after Juana but I can't promise that... I have some interesting shit. I think White Fire is more a confort story.

I'll probably use instagram, megustaescribir, wattpad, sweek, inkspired and maybe booknet and medium for my essays and blogs and all that hispanic stuff. I'm not sure.

but I don't know if publish my stories for free in those sites or try lit magazines.

I would like to be traditionally published one day.

I'll try to translate at some point what I write to English.

if my English is off, please tell me. It's better for me. Thanks!

I also draw.

if you write and resonate with something here, please let me know! I want to know other writers :)

I also don't know shit of how Tumblr works, so I'll probably be messy.

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zechleton · 3 years ago

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Ranting and Raving About Magic in 2022

I haven’t written about Magic in ages, so what better way could there be to get back into the habit that a stream of consciousness spiel about the 2022 announcement?

Strap in, folks, because this is going to be long and poorly edited.

Actually, it’s not that long, about 1500 words. It might feel longer, though.

Neo-Tokyo or something idk

As one of the five people on r/magictcg that didn’t want to return to Kamigawa in standard set, I have to admit this one looks surprisingly awesome. The couple of pieces of art Wizard shared looked fantastic, as usual, and I’m a sucker for that blue/pink colour scheme. I’m not a huge fan of time travel as a story telling device but since the Magic story has always served the card game, using tropes I don’t enjoy is far from a deal-breaker. Yeah – I’m cautiously optimistic about this one.

Someone Made Elspeth an Offer she Couldn’t Refuse

Obviously, we know much less about this set. Still, it sounds right up my alley. I’m curious how Wizards is going to make Magic meets The Godfather work, but the good kind of curious. On top of that, I’d really like to have some more shard-based commanders on Arena for Brawl, and I assume we’re the “three-colour demon crime families” isn’t referring to clans (triome?) again after leaving Ikoria behind. Also, come on, how can you not love the sound of demon crime families?

Glory, Glory, Dom United!

There is a part of me that gets nervous about nebulous concepts like design space whenever we go back to an old plane again. All these crossovers (more on those later) take on a different appearance when viewed through an “are they running out of ideas” lens. Still, Dominaria was fantastic, by far the best “return to” set – though I’m hoping Innistrad claims that throne in a few weeks. With that in mind, I’m expecting Wizards to knock it out of the park with DU, just like they did with Dominaria.

The Nostalgia Wars

I might scoff somewhat at Magic’s storyline sometimes, but I’ve read the stuff that people think is good. I own both collections of the Artifacts Cycle. They all pale in comparison to good fantasy, but they’re not bad, and they hold a special place in my heart from when I was more invested in stuff like lore and story. The point of that ramble? 2022, more than ever, is Wizards’ mining the seemingly neverending mineral that is nerd nostalgia. It further adds to my “are they running out of ideas” worry, but I can’t say the nostalgia hit/psychological manipulation isn’t working on me. Hell, Return to Return to Innistrad has me more excited than any set for a couple of years now so I guess I’m part of the problem.

Uncaring

The phrase “not for you” is thrown around distrubingly often in Magic circles nowadays. Unfinity, however, is decidedly not for me. And that’s fine.

Dungeons And Dragons Battle for Baldur’s Gate Commander Legends I Think That’s The Whole Title But Maybe I Missed a bit I’m not Sure

Yikes, what a mouthful. I hate the title, both its length and unwieldiness. I don’t really have much interest in the set either. Commander Legends was a neat idea with a lot of flaws. Adding crossover flavour from another IP I have little-to-no interest in isn’t helping matters, though I appreciate that Adventures in the Forgotten Realms was super popular. For me, AFR was pretty much just a core set without any of the usual references to sets I do know and care about. Another “not for me” release.

Double Trouble

Hmm. I’m torn here. As a primarily limited-focused player, Masters sets have been some of my favourites ever. Original Modern Masters is still one of my in my top five sets of all time, and I have fond memories of almost all of the others, too.

Original Double Masters, though, was a victim of apathy brought on by the never-ending deluge of Magic product being released nowadays. I have never even seen a booster of this product, much less opened one. Without looking it up, I can’t even tell you if it was hurt by the pandemic or not, because there’s just way too much fucking stuff nowadays. I don’t know what else to say.

Oh, hang on. Was this the set with a $100 VIP Booster? Hahaha, fuck off.

Jump Around

The original Jumpstart was surprisingly enjoyable on Arena. I never wanted to play it more than a few times, and sometimes you got packs that relied entirely on your opponent getting mana screwed, but those few times I played it were pretty fun. I think putting stuff like obvious eternal format staples like Alosaurus Shepherd in a set like this is some extremely anti-consumer bullshit, but as a play experience it was an interesting mesh of draft and sealed. Not as much fun as either of those, but close enough that the novelty carried it into the “pretty fun, actually” camp. I expect more of the same – I’ll probably do a few runs if I have gems or gold spare.

Universes Beyond: Warhammer 40K Commander et al

Really, this is the bit about all the crossover stuff.

Another vomit inducing title and one that has left me with some introspection to do. Like many people, I find a lot of this crossover stuff distasteful, but I can’t really say why. The fact that the Street Fighter one – an IP I have some amount of investment in – seems less egregious than Warhammer of D&D makes me think that I don’t necessarily object to crossovers on principal. Does my dislike come from the fact that, so far, all of the other crossovers don’t involve properties I care about? Maybe. Even the mechanically unique line of text that pissed off so many people when the Walking Dead set came out doesn’t bother me that much, because Commander is a format I can take or leave.

The Fortnite one rubs me a different wrong way, though. Partly, it’s the sheer fucking inevitability of it all. Of course a popular part of the nerd sphere will have a crossover with Fortnite because that’s just the world in which we live. Partly it makes me feel old, uncool, and excluded, like all the other crossovers I don’t care about, sure. But there’s something more visceral about Fortnite. It’s fucking everywhere and I resent feeling like I have to have an opinion about it. Still, I don’t really have strong opinions about most of the other crossovers, so why this one? I really don’t know. Maybe this is one “this isn’t for you” too many from a game that has been part of my life for over 20 years.

I haven’t bought a single Secret Lair, but I’m generally willing to accept that they’re a bonus product that isn’t needed by anyone but is wanted by some. Hell, if they put out Secret Lair: Snapcaster Mage with good art (at last), I could probably te tempted into picking one up. It would be against my better judgement, though. Something about all these “not necessary but also don’t miss out, aren’t they cool, spend more money please” products rubs me the wrong way. Playing Magic and hating capitalism are difficult interests to reconcile. That’s it. That’s the tagline for this article.

Oh, right, it’s just a blog. Never mind.

Oh, God. The Fornite Secret Lair is going to be the Snapcaster Mage one, isn’t it?

Then there’s Lord of The Rings. My pal Kristen will be thrilled about this, was my first thought. I’m less enthusiastic (shocker, right?), but at least LOTR makes sense as a thing to crossover with. I mean, apart from the obvious business sense. It doesn’t have any guns and it isn’t an obnoxiously ubiquitous battle royale FPS, so that already puts it ahead of two of the other three crossovers. Indeed, without LOTR, you can make a reasonable case that MTG would never exist in the first place. Personally, I view LOTR in the same way I view The Beatles – they were important, and worthy of respect, but have been surpassed in every way since.

And the movies are better than the books. There I said it.

Regardless, this one is fine, actually. I still don’t particularly care for crossovers in general, especially as the setting for a standard set, but at least it makes sense this time.

Shut up Already

Alright, I hear you. I know a lot of that was negative towards the end, but I want to reiterate that a lot of the stuff happening in standard sets next year is really exciting, if a little unoriginal. The crossover/sellout stuff and the interminable deluge of FOMO-driven products is worrying and disappointing, but I guess we just have to try and ignore the ever-increasing number of “not for you” products and focus on the stuff we do like. Seriously, Neon Destiny looks amazing, and I don’t even like anime.

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blouisparadise · 5 years ago

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Upon request, here is part two of our mpreg Louis fic rec list. The first part of this rec list was done a while ago and can be found here. Happy reading!

1) Always Coming Back To You | Explicit | 4749 words

Harry's been missing Louis for eight days, and eight days without his Omega feels like decades in his pre-rut state.

Louis happens to come back to him earlier than planned.

2) Through The Storm | Mature | 6497 words

Note: This fic has no smut, but it is MPreg Louis so we included it.

Harry and Louis' marriage has hit a rough patch. A much needed week vacation in Jamaica just may be the second chance their relationship needs. What could possibly go wrong?

The answer?

Everything.

3) You Can Show Me Your Heart | Explicit | 6935 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Everyone knows about the unsinkable Titanic, which tragically did just that in April of 1912. However, not many people know the story of the Carpathia - the ship that raced to rescue and aid the survivors of the Titanic when the distress call came through. This is the story of the events leading up to the luxury liner crashing into an iceberg on that fateful spring night. More than that, this is the story of how two of Carpathia’s passengers - Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson - met, fell in love and helped over 700 people in the cold Atlantic water.

4) Cooking with Styles | Explicit | 9119 words

Anyone can cook— or so they say.

5) Something To Prove | Explicit | 9425 words

Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

6) We Will Get Through This | Explicit | 11219 words

Because of quarantine, Louis has to stay home with his roommate, Harry, who he's never really hung out with before. He's a sweet alpha who seems to really care and that annoys the hell out of Louis. But as he gets to know the alpha, he realizes it might not be dislike that he's feeling.

7) Easily | Explicit | 13588 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Years later, Harry and Louis are as strong as ever and more than ready to take the next step in the story of their lives. It gets a little weird, a little confusing, but at the end of the day, it is as easy as can be.

8) Baby Honey | Explicit | 14744 words

Note: The pairing in this fic is Alex/Louis.

When the next great war strikes, all alphas have to ship out. Alex leaves a little more behind than some of the others.

9) The Post-War BP | Explicit | 17732 words

The eight year war has left the country's birthrate severely stunted with a lack of virile alphas left to bring it back up. To ensure the survival of the country, the government opens The Breeding Program where young omegas can apply to carry an alpha's child in exchange for benefits. Louis' family is struggling and the BP is one of the only ways to secure a roof over their heads. Harry was drafted at the age of eighteen and spent six years of his life defending a country he doesn't recognize when he returns home. The government made the bed but it's Harry that has to lie in it.

10) Souls; Plural, Parallel | Teen & Up | 19679 words

Note: This fic has no smut, but it is MPreg Louis so we included it.

Soulmates are rare, the sort of rare that means everyone has a story about a friend's sister's coworker or a brother's roommate's cousin. But the fact of the matter is that most people never meet theirs. It's unfortunate then, that Louis finds out the hard way that he met his soulmate in a club, and the guy never texted him back.

11) Be Mine, Dear | Not Rated | 20104 words

It really wasn’t fair. He was the oldest of all of them. He’s the one who dreamed about being bonded his whole life, while Liam laughed at the idea, until he met Sophia. Niall had always been indifferent, but when he met Heather six months ago, everything changed for him. He quickly went from being the only omega around two alpha’s, to the odd omega out. And it really wasn’t fair, because Liam and Niall both still protected him just as much as the did before, just as much they do their new mates now, but he was still bitter about it, so he’d pity himself as much as he wanted.

12) Oops, Baby, I Love You (In That Order) | Explicit | 25344 words

The minute Louis Tomlinson decides he don’t need no man to start a family, Harry Styles literally falls into his arms.

13) I’m Having Your Baby (It's None of Your Business) | Mature | 26383 words

A bet can cost you a lot. Harry learns this in the weirdest of ways.

Louis just wanted a baby, and he got so much more.

14) The Things I'd Do To Wake Up Next To You | Mature | 36109 words

AU. Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

15) If I Stay | Mature | 37226 words

Harry and Louis agree to a temporary arrangement that Harry can't seem to walk away from no matter how many times he tries.

16) You Put the Sun in Sunday | Mature | 42319 words

Louis is a love-brainwashed-teenager of hope drenched in dreams, clad in oversized clothes damaged with holes, and standing waist-high in novels. Harry is a selfish closeted football captain with a head too big for his heart, and a bad habit of not thinking before he opens his mouth. No one ever said love was easy, Louis learned the hard way.

17) Flash Forward (We’re Taking On The World Together) | Explicit | 44273 words

In which Omega Louis and Alpha Harry are absolutely perfect for each other and say I love you too much.

18) Every Story Has Its Scars, Ours Is A Brand New Start | Mature | 62859 words

Life as a devoted husband and an amazing father turned out to be a little different than Louis had expected. Everyone tells him it doesn't have to be that way; that he's worth more and that he's so much stronger than any one person trying to keep him down. It's all just words though until he meets the one person who makes him truly believe it.

19) Such Good Luck | Explicit | 66205 words

An Edwardian AU where Harry is a young aristocratic lord and Louis is a working class dairy farmer. Secrets are a necessary part of their relationship, but Louis has one that could topple their whole world.

20) Things I Can't | Not Rated | 67495 words

Louis has a plan for his life. He’s going to be the first in his family to finish college. He’s going to be a doctor - the best damn doctor in the country. And he’s going to work his ass off to make sure his younger siblings never have to wonder whether they have the means to pursue their dreams.

He doesn’t have space in his plan for a relationship with an effortlessly alluring musician, and certainly not for the child that unexpectedly results from that union. Louis is at a crossroads he never thought to plan for, and now he must make a decision: between what he wants now, and what he wants most.

21) I’m Still Learning To Love | General Audiences | 74695 words

Note: This fic has no smut, but it is MPreg Louis so we included it.

An AU where Harry has almost everything in the world except for the will to move on.

22) I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words

AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.

That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.

23) Fucking Animals | Explicit | 116688 words

Louis is the frontman of an equal rights-movement, author of a book about beta-omega marriage and the struggles of being born and boxed into a personality you don’t necessarily feel you fit. The notion that an omega must want to be with an alpha or else he or she’s just settling for less, is bullshit.

But, fucking hell.

24) Be My Omega | Mature | 138372 words

It all started when the alpha laid eyes on the short curvy omega and he knew at that moment that his life would never be the same, in a good way of course.

25) Cold Little Heart | Teen & Up | 194600 words

Louis is a soft omega with an abusive past and an alpha child. A few months after getting a divorce, Louis meets Harry, an ex-military alpha wolf that offers him something -odd.

In exchange for teaching him how to cook, Harry will babysit his son, Abraham. Louis really could use the help.

26) Love Me Until The End | Mature | 207130 words

AU where Louis, an Omega, is the head nurse of the hospital in charge of running the nursing staff. Harry, an Alpha, is a highly respected surgeon working at the same hospital. They also happen to fall in love.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#fic recs #mpreg #bottom louis #top harry #mpreg louis #blp fic recs #blp #larry

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