#trying to be a writeblr at least

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Poems: Day 6 (January 6th)

Godly Poison

I sowed and cultivated these plants myself

I brought them to life to bear fruit and flower

with my own bare hands and the loving patience of a proud parent

angel wings

autumn crocus

belladonna

calla lily

daphne

death camas

doll's eyes

foxglove

hemlock

larkspur

laurel

monkshood

moonflower

moonseed

mountain arnica

oleander

pokeweed

privet

ruti

snakeweed

and when the tide told me the time was right

I prepared and presented a feast full of my children

to Him

He who

says what He ought not say

touches what He ought not touch

takes what He ought not take

I admit

I took pleasure in His pain

as He once did with mine

blood pouring from His mouth

His body thrashing and convulsing in his chair

fear and sheer terror invading His wide eyes

I smiled through it all

and when his heart finally stopped

mine soared and I finally felt free

I know

one day

I'll be forgiven for what I had to do

and I know

He is not destined for any kindness

in the next life

- - - - -

Here's the link to the corresponding writing prompt post

[writeouswriter]

Writing is cool, I'm psychologically tearing that loser (my most favourite guy) apart :)

[inkskinned]

one of the things about having an unstable parent is that it can so easily ruin your future. you want to get out, but getting out takes having agency. it takes the resume and the grades and the stellar community service history.

but you have to choose your battles. you know if you sign up for an after-school activity, it'll be okay for a while, so long as the activity is parent-approved and god-fearing. over time, like all things, it will become an argument (i can't keep carting your ass to these things) or a weapon (talk to me like that again, see if you get to go to practice). sometimes, if you love the thing, it's worth it. but you also know better than to love something: that's how they get you. if you ever actually want something, it will always be the center of their attention. they will never stop threatening you with it. telling you of course i'm a good parent, i came to all of those stupid events.

you learn to balance yourself perfectly. you can either have a social life or you can have hobbies. both of these things will be under constant scrutiny. you spend too much time with her, you should be at home with family is equally paired with you're acting like this because you're addicted to what's on that goddamn screen. you cannot ever actually win, so everything falls within a barter system that you calculate before entering: do you want to learn how to drive? if so, you'll need to give up asking for a new laptop, even though yours died. maybe you can work on a computer at the library. of course, that would mean you'd be allowed to go to the library, which would mean something else has to bleed. nothing ever actually comes free.

and that bitter, horrible irony: you could be literally following their orders and it still isn't pretty. they tell you to get a job; they hate that your job keeps you late and gives you access to actual money. they tell you to do better in school; they say no child of mine needs a tutor. they want you to stop being so morose, don't you know there are people who are really suffering - but they revile the idea you might actually need therapy.

you didn't survive that fall the way other people would. you've seen other people scramble and get their way out, however they could. maybe you were made too-soft: the answer didn't come to you easily. it wasn't quick. it was brutal and nasty. some people even asked you why didn't you just work hard and escape during school? and you felt your head spinning. why didn't you? (they control your financial aid. they control your loan status. they love having that kind of thing). maybe in another life you got diagnosed sooner and got the meds you needed to actually focus and got attention from the right teachers who helped you clear hurdles to get up out of here - but for now? here?

the effort of trying. the effort of not-dying. that kind of effort was absolutely agonizing.

[zmwrites]

friends: what are your favourite ways to shorten a manuscript? crutch words to demolish, sentence structures to remove, scenes to cut…. all suggestions are welcome!

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 21- Portrait Gallery

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!  

Whumpee followed Whumper through their mansion, taking in the sight with awe.

“Your home is beautiful, Whumper,” Whumpee said.

“Thank you,” Whumper said warmly, “I had been wanting to invite you for some time, but I still had to finish my portrait gallery.”

As Whumper spoke, they opened a pair of ornate doors to a long hallway. On the walls were several paintings, each more detailed than the last. Whumpee’s heart slowly dropped to their stomach when they noticed what they all had in common.

“Whumper…” they started, “why are all these paintings of me?”

Whumper’s hand came to rest on their shoulder.

“Because you are perfect, my little muse,” Whumper purred in their ear, “and now that I have you, my work can only improve.”

Whumpee opened their mouth to argue, but a sharp pinch in their neck turned their would-be sentence into a pained yelp.

“Forgive me, Whumpee,” Whumper said softly, “but I’ve been preparing for this for too long for you to slip out of my grasp now.”

Whumpee’s breathing came in short and fast. They stumbled out of Whumper’s grip and whirled around to face them.

“You’re not…keeping me…here,” Whumpee said with great effort.

Whumpee tried to run back to the doors, but their knees buckled after two steps. Whumper caught them quite easily.

“Shh,” they soothed, “it’s going to be alright. I promise you, you’ll love it here.”

Whumpee couldn’t find the energy to argue, or even struggle. Their eyes fluttered shut and they drifted off just as Whumper began to carry them out of the gallery.

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

[scribe-of-stories]

Five's Second Day

Wordcount: 415 Genre: Urban Fantasy Setting: Amber Hill Summery: Punk Sheriff Complains about their job For: @flashfictionfridayofficial

Sometimes the sun doesn't set on Amber Hill. Always predictable when it would happen, but it was never the same times as last year. Second Days they're called, when a second sun rises as the now first sets, bathing our little town in Golden Light.

Even worse was that it was considered a local holiday. As a kid I loved it because it meant I could stay up as late as I want and continue to hide in my basement. Now, as the Lawman of Amber Hill, it's just another excuse for practioners to do something stupid.

First it was a group of college students who were convinced they were the 'Cult of the Second Dawn'. A drugged up punch bowl and intentions to break the one cardinal rule of Second Day: don't fall asleep under the Golden Light. It was easy enough to convince a salamander to counter the drugs, and far more annoying to catch the fae who set up this 'practical joke'. I let them go with a fine of three Serpents and community service.

The white coats of course spent the day poking and prodding at their 'noosphere' research. The telescope and thamuel thermometer were fine, but I drew the line at sending up a cherubim drone. It wasn't exactly a 'law' but several of my predecessors underlined ”Don't gain the attention of the Second Sun“ as a suggestion in their journals. I thought it best to not find out why, especially considering those were several of the Lawmen who's names were lost.

And then there was the Mylium family, a father daughter pair of local alchemists. They had been condensing the Golden Light down into threads of sugar and making cotton candy with it. As such, now a fair amount of the populace were speaking in a tongue that predates Babel's tower. The Chaplin assured me it would only last an hour, and Caspia was a friend of sorts; so I let them off with a fine of one Dove and confiscated their sugary light.

Caspia caught up to me when I went on a smoke break afterwards.

”Thanks for, you know, not arresting my father,” it took her at least five more seconds to say it all than was necessary.

I sighed out smoke and looked up to the sky “I don't arrest people,” and pointed up at the second sun, “Though I have half a mind to get a warrant for whoever keeps setting the moon on fire.”

[inscrutable-shadow]

@painful-pooch requested: "Thanatos for snoozeville" from this ask game! (incredibly late i am so sorry lol)

contains: toothaching fluff and m/m romance

Snoozeville - Thanatos falls asleep somewhere that isn't his bed.

The first thing Than saw when he awoke was white. His first groggy thought was that he'd died and gone to heaven, but that was rapidly debunked by two facts: one, he had never been Christian (if he were to go anywhere, it would almost certainly be Hades) and two, that vampires didn't go to heaven (that being the point of the curse, immortality and all). He also didn't feel particularly dead. At least, not more than usual.

He looked up a little further and saw red. Literally, not metaphorically. The red silk of the Archfey's robes peeled from his face as he turned his head and rubbed his eyes. "What... happened?" he asked, as was all too frequent between them.

The Archfey smiled down at him affectionately. "You fell asleep."

"Obviously. I mean how did I get here?" He was having trouble remembering anything at all. Had he been drinking? Ae laughed and carded aer fingers through his hair, making him shudder and cuddle closer to aer. "I brought winter to the domain, remember? So that we could play in the snow? I had such a good time." Oh, yes. He'd probably overdone it on the mulled wine. "We were making those... what did you call them? Snow angels? And I was talking to you, of course, and then you stopped talking back. I was quite worried, but when I brought you inside and put you in my lap to warm you up, well... you began purring, so I knew you must be all right." "No..." Surely he hadn't... Vampires were borderline cold-blooded and therefore tended to become sleepy in the cold. Before the Archfey, like many others he would spend the winter months holed up somewhere sleeping in a dark box and barely coming out to eat. It probably contributed a good deal to particular vampire legends. The combination of the cold weather and being tipsy might have resulted in... embarrassing lapses. "Yes," the Archfey giggled, and kissed his forehead. "You do look quite sweet when you sleep like that. I had no desire to wake you."

Heat crept into his cheeks, which still tingled with cold. "How humiliating."

"Humiliating how? There is no one here but me, my love, and you need not hide yourself. I am not fooled by your suave vampire mask, Thanatos. I know you. You are kind and you write poetry when you are drunk and you like to watch the stars." If anyone else had said those things, he would have died on the spot, but as it was Thanatos was too embarrassed to respond, so he merely yawned and pressed himself more firmly into aer side. "Sleepy still? Good. Shut your eyes, dearest. I will wait for you. I always do."

The Archfey ran aer fingers through his hair again eliciting a low moan that tapered off into a purr, and for once, he let it. The rumble of safe contentment increased in volume with his exhales and spoke to a level of vulnerability he would almost never show, but here with his Archfey was the safest place in the world to him, both physically and emotionally. When he'd warmed up and woken up, they could both have another glass of wine, and perhaps he would read aer the latest detective story in the Strand, but until then, Thanatos would let the snow fall outside and be happy right where he was.

taglist: @athenswrites, @albatris, @crash-bump-bring-the-whump

[taletoldbyanidiot]

How to Speak Like a Writer stutter-mutter yourself into a hole world of nightmarish you’d never thought you’d thought and never think because once— Interruptions subjects in eternal rotations that never see the sun in black and white matters grey matters disappear into the dust to find— What was that word? wit is a paper-game don’t play with tongue-tired pens never rest “easy thoughtlessness of thought” natural in graphite— Never stop while erasers run bare pages full empty voice

[foragain]

1997. the year kate winslet became rose. tamagotchi hit shelves in the united states. princess diana had her light snuffed by greed. i was born.

i was born in november, a day before thanksgiving. being a baby in 1997 means i’d missed the console wars by a few years, and the rivalry between sega and nintendo was nothing but a story i’d go on to read via forums in the early 2000’s. despite that, i still led a crusade against my best friend in middle school — who was better? sonic or mario?

sonic, i’d say, because he was my favorite character at the time. i’d spent plenty of lazy summer afternoons playing sonic heroes at my cousin’s house to justify it, and mario never caught my interest. my friend said the same, just in the tune of red instead of blue. we’d argue our case against one another to a jury of unwilling participants at lunch, trying to persuade them to join our respective sides. none of the other members of our group of misfits played video games — passingly enjoyed them, sure, but never played — and so the importance of “sonic vs. mario” was lost to them. my best friend, lauren and i, kept on.

lauren loved mario the same way she loved all nintendo games. when the wii came out in 2006, she was the first in our friend group to get one, singing it’s praises throughout the hallways of our school after holiday break. the television in the living room of her house was broken, so the console earned a temporary spot in her mother’s room. we’d all collate in there, gathered on a bed with indentation on only one side, whiling away the hours with subspace emissary. while i loved video games, i wasn’t good at them yet; lauren would remind me to tie the strap around my wrist when holding the wiimote, lest it go flying (which it did. several times.)

mario’s favorite food is spaghetti, so lauren’s favorite food was spaghetti. one day in october, near her birthday, our whole friend group was invited to her house for dinner — a “spaghetti dinner”. i remember thinking it sounded fancy. what it was, really, was two pots on a stove (pasta and sauce) for self serve. a choice of apple juice or water. a collection of middle schoolers sitting at an old dining table, eating pasta together and talking about super smash bros. brawl, and higurashi, and youtube poops and sonic vs. mario. i told lauren that sonic was better because he was faster. she threw a meatball at my face.

when i graduated from grade six to seven, i became more interested in books instead of video games. i’d bring one with me to class every day, sometimes two, and read once i finished my course work. none of my other friends were as into reading and writing as i was, so i accepted my fate and found like-minded people on websites like gaiaonline instead. lauren and i had forgotten about our personal war. our friend group was satisfied to hear the conclusion to sonic vs. mario. it was the end of an era.

lauren came to lunch one day, after we’d graduated from grade six to seven, and handed me a piece of paper. her grin was as wide as a canyon — “it’s for you!” she said. printer paper, with a date on the bottom and a webpage url at the top. to the left, small, was a stock photo of sonic from super smash bros. brawl. to the right, lauren’s handwriting; to the bestest friend in the whole world! p.s, sonic rules!

2023. my husband and i made spaghetti the other night, and i thought about that spaghetti dinner in october. i thought about lauren. i thought about that piece of paper, tired and worn from the years, still tucked away safe in my office. lauren and i don’t talk anymore. i know she went to university. has her own apartment. a girlfriend, last i heard.

she may not think sonic rules anymore, and we may not talk, but that moment is still here in my home. it’s still in my heart, because there is no before and after what love is.

anyways. i love spaghetti. and i love mario games.

[whumpacabra]

On my hands and knees begging writeblr blogs to activate their blog’s custom theme to a) make permalinks easier to find and b) ensure their blog archive is accessible.

[project-wildcard]

@prideknights would you maybe like to sponsor me and send me a deck to become the official playing deck that I draw from for Wildcard? I've already preordeed a rainbow foil deck so it'll probably be the deck I use anyways.

I don't mean a paid sponsorship I mean like, you send me an extra deck of cards and I mention you in the special thanks of each part and maybe make a hero based on one of the card designs (I'm thinking either one of the cosmic knights, a rainbow knight, or one of the flower knights).

I fully understand if you don't wanna endorse anything given how little you actually have to base this off but I figured I should at least give it a try. Maybe you won't even see this.

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 166

Adjective: Ill

Noun: Wedding

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Ill: not in full health, or sick; poor in quality; harmful; hostile; (especially of fortune) not favorable; badly, wrongly, or imperfectly; unfavorably or unpropitiously; only with difficulty, or hardly

Wedding: a marriage ceremony, especially considered as including the associated celebrations

[writeouswriter]

If I ever have a character mention a modern app like Tiktok or something in one of my stories, please assume I’ve been bodysnatched or am being held hostage somewhere.

[devious-crow]

tale of a dream

across the room, a corner shines

im glued, no rules, and no foresights

its tiny, scorching with the essence

the hippocampus wakes - it senses

a little rat, of cruel fate

in lab it's born - to desecate

and not for it to spread such hate -

the little mind apart they take

im lost, they tower over me

just watching, never hear my plea

I want to go, and see the sun

the water, blue and black, divine

the flood then came, men ripped apart

turmoil, fear, black rot in heart

somehow I breathe, it feels as i

have breathed the first time in my life

im led to sea, it's deep and sharp

a maze unraveled by the gods

a trident sweeps right by my ear

the bubbles form a path linear

the seahorse glides across the plain

unworried waves on top my face

I start to choke, air leaving me

they stare, im caged, I'd never leave

I wake, in song between my eyes

im in my room, unchained, alive

ive never been to sea, or maze

no evil scientists have grazed

im human, flesh, and blood and bones

and yet I long for something more

ive always longed, unsatisfied

as if I'm stuck, it feels as i

was meant to be among the gods

or little mice among the rats

or little leaf beside a tree

but human is the thing I'll be

one day I may make peace with it

patch broken heart, and feel compelete

no rotten thoughts, my eyes will gleam

with happiness, and so sincere

and maybe I don't need to fix

be fixed, like im a broken disk

a broken plate to throw away

that is not me, my tale still may

be changed, and written in azure galore

in greens and blues, with joyful mourn

and boring quests, relaxed, and sore

I have so much i can learn more

the little things, they hide away

in such plain sight, and everyday

you learn to find, untie, and feel

the joy of little things - it's real

no need to sleep entire days

to hide away yourself, your face

in pillows soft, the blanket warm

please stay and bask in sun some more

[wardenred]

Angstober 18: "But I love you"

More MTWNK, not so fluffy this time. Oh, Bariq. You really were supposed to be Vel's love interest initially, you know. I had a whole early draft based on it and all. Not my fault that you turned out to be so... you.

Sufjen’s cottage by the sea is a strange place, because it is so normal. When Bariq looks at it from the shadows of the sprawling sycamores, he can almost picture himself living in a place like that—one day in the future, when he’s too old and scarred to keep adventuring. He can imagine sharing a home like this with Vel.

It’s a small, two-story building with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof. Flowers bloom behind a low wooden fence, a lot of them as blue as the waves crashing against the cliffs behind Bariq’s back. The windows are adorned with soft creamy curtains. Perhaps it’s his imagination adding to the sight, but he thinks he can smell freshly baked bread and spicy stew. 

Yes. This definitely looks like the kind of place he and Vel used to dream about.

Except it’s not theirs. It’s Sufjen’s, damn him.

Bariq is but an unwanted guest here.

Veliesh is, quite possibly, a prisoner.

* * *

“Bariq? Hi! What on earth are you doing here?”

For a prisoner, Bariq notes with a mixture of mistrust and relief, Vel is rather perky. He delves out from behind a particularly thick profusion of flowers pretty much as soon as Bariq stops by the gate. His hands are dirty, his clothes are rumpled, and his smile is wider than Bariq ever remembers seeing it.

Maybe when they were children together. Maybe that was the last time Vel smiled like that.

Before Bariq left him alone. Before Vel started dabbling in all that bloody magic. Before everything went downhill.

He clears his throat. “I’m here for you.”

“Well, come in then.” Vel flicks a wrist, and the latch on the gate slides open, untouched. Bariq stiffens. “Let me take you inside. Have you been walking for a long time? Are you hungry? It’ll take me a minute to wash up, then I can fix us something.”

Bariq casts a dark glance at the cottage. Up close, it is just as homey and quaint, and it makes Bariq think of staring down a basilisk—if the monster was wearing a floral crown and smiling sweetly.

When he looks at Vel again, his old friend is not so subtly rolling his eyes.

“Sufjen isn’t here, if that’s what’s bothering you. He’s got business in Thornfield. I don’t expect him back until tomorrow night.”

Bariq exhales through his nostrils. Finally. Something understandable and unequivocally good.

“That’s great to hear. So if we leave today, we can make good progress before he even knows, right?”

A frown creases Vel’s brow. “Leave? Today? We? Hang on—I thought you were just paying a visit. Do you need my help with something, are you in trouble?”

“I’m not,” Bariq says. “You are.” He wonders if Vel’s been brainwashed. “But it’s fine, I mean—whatever he’s got on you, we can deal with it together. I’ll protect you.”

Veliesh takes a step back. His right hand goes to his left wrist, and Bariq’s eyes widen when he spots the thin silver bracelet Vel is twisting. The marital kind.

“I most certainly don’t need protection from Sufjen.”

“But...” Bariq starts. There’s a lump in his throat, choking him. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. But he’s evil? But this isn’t how it’s supposed to be?

But I love you?

Veliesh sighs, resigned. “Clearly, I wasn’t able to explain it well enough the last time we talked. Please.” He holds the gate open wider—by magic again. “Come inside and let me try again.”

[writerfae]

Happy World Building Wednesday!

How does healthcare work in your world?

Happy WBW to you too and thanks for your ask!

The healthcare in the faerie realm is quite good, it’s mostly free and fully in the hands of healer.

Healer can be found at the palace or the temple, smaller villages that have neither of those have their own village healer.

Healer can be specialized in certain fields of medicine and have different treatment methods.

They check up on you for free because the place they work at (either palace, temple or sometimes a private person) pay for that so that the people don’t have to.

Medicine can either be made yourself or bought, but it’s not too expensive. If a family that doesn’t have much money is in need of expensive treatment, normally there’s always someone to be found who will pay for it for them.

I think healthcare is one of the things fae do really well! Sickness is something that can destroy a whole village, the fae try to avoid that by making sure everyone is healthy enough to give any spreading sickness a hard time.

Thanks for your ask! :)