#bookenders

[kainablue]

Pass the happy!🌻🌈When you receive this list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the last people in your notifications!

Honey, I believe you’ve sent this to me a year ago. I’m really sorry! And thank you!

5 things?

Nice weather, coffee, my sister’s laughter, my mother’s smile, my husband’s silly jokes ^^

[druzydabbles]

Happy Positivity, friend!!! 🍳🥚🌭? 🌵

[Send me an emoji for some writeblr positivity!]

I am having SO MUCH fun with this ask game ahhhhh! THANK

🍳 — Thank someone that’s made a huge impact on me and my writeblr experience!

kahfjdshkjfsdg @marlettwrites has been such a lovely friend to have on here. They’ve supported me virtually from the beginning---I’m fairly sure they were one of the first to follow me! They tag me in such wonderfully positive things, and that’s not even mentioning the wonderful writing skill they have in their own work! It’s made me feel so welcome in the community to have people like Marlett lending support but also as just someone to talk to! (I’m so sorry we haven’t talked at all recently, Quill’s real bad at chatting one on one for some reason. )

🥚 — Tag a writeblr that I love, but haven’t had the chance to talk to yet!

@holotones Hey yeah you’re actually like. One of the writers of several of my favourite wips on here even though I’ve only recently stumbled across your works, but I just... I REALLY ENJOY YOUR WRITING STYLE AND YOUR CHARACTERS, and your editing skills are!! ABSOLUTELY MARVELOUS. Seriously you’re an inspiration. Anyways, I’d love to have the chance to talk more!

🌭 — Tag a writeblr that I don’t know very well yet, but want to get to know better!

@thirteen-stories I’m only just stumbled across your blog but I’m just! Enamoured with the whole concept of your wip! You seem like a really darn neat person and I can’t wait to see more of you in the writeblr community!

Thank you for the ask my 🌵 friend~ ^u^

[kuno-chan]

⭐!

Ooh, yay!

“Clauds, those things are making me nervous.”

“Just don’t look at them. They’re not doing anything. They can’t even move right now.”

That didn’t make Soren feel much better. Those things probably didn’t faze Claudia, but this was  well beyond his comfort zone. At least they were in crates.

“Okay, but when they do… you can control them, right?”

“Of course I can,” Claudia chirped. “It’s a simple spell. All I need--”

He put up a hand. “Don’t need details.” He shuddered at the thought. “Just… make sure you can control them.”

“Trust me, Soren. It’ll be easy. Father says they were made by the Kalfs and the Kalfs are experts at this kind of thing, so it’s not like they’re going to break on us. We have nothing to worry about.”

Nobody has really caught on to the importance of this scene, to be honest. Nobody yet has really wondered about what Claudia and Soren are carrying and considering who made them. After the Meraxia arc, if you really read through it, this gives you a hint as to what’s to come. And that particular event will have an importance to Rayla and the greater future plot of this fic. This part is important.

[fallinlovewithwriting]

Day Two - Treat

for our first treat, the blog is hosting a Writeblr Spotlight!

today, we’re highlighting @bookenders, a lovely writeblr who is consistently putting out super cool stories! not only does Bookenders have some lovely large work, but there are so many short stories and smaller pieces on this blog! it’s an absolute delight!

[lettersandinkstains]

Hello hello! If you're still doing writing prompts: a blacksmith receives a curious request.

i am! thank you, @bookenders!i’m always taking prompts!

send me a prompt!

She had come around, with dirty hair and tattered clothes. He tries not to judge her on her appearance–not often do the very poor come seeking him out, only heroes, kings, and queens and gods come to him for his weaponry. All of them are blessed with the magic of dragons, the ones that once ruled the skies and lands.

“I do not have a lot,” she speaks to him, voice soft. “Not much, no. But I beg of you, this is important. I do not fight, so I don’t seek any weapons, but I hear so much very good things about you. Those who wield your metals, your silvers, they never get hurt. They all survive.”

“So what is it you want?” He doesn’t mean to sound impatient, but he has requests to work on yet. She is only taking up his time.

“A small medallion, in the shape of a heart.”

“And what for?”

The woman shakes her head. This is her secret to keep, he understands. The blacksmith was raised to not inquire about things people do not wish to share. Whatever lays locked inside of her, is her own to open one day.

“It will cost a lot,” He tells her, regretfully.

“I will pay what I can,” The woman promises.

He wants to tell her that they all need to eat, that he cannot just rely on whatever meager pay she has to offer. But yet, the small part of curiosity overcomes him, and he finally agrees to it.

Within seven suns and eight moons, the woman comes again. She’s just as dirty and haggard as before. He tells her he’s working on it, but he has a king’s sword to finish yet, for they come from a far land and offered him a hefty price.

Underneath her words of understanding, there is a quiet plea for him to hurry. He is curious, but a blacksmith never asks what urgency lays beyond his shop. That is not his business if they never wish to share–sometimes heroes and wanderers do, and they speak of horrors beyond the horizon, they talk about the adventures he would never have. And this woman offers no stories, offers very little payment, she is as silent as the night.

But she is gentle still, in her words, in her approach. There is hunger somewhere deep down inside of her, and he’s not quite sure it’s a food hunger. But there is something.

She visits every day now, bringing with her freshly baked bread or fresh milk. There are apologies for not being able to bring him gold much like heroes, kings, and gods. She has very little and an extra mouth to food–this is where he finds out about her daughter. This is where he learns her daughter is her entire world.

“But what of your husband? Surely he would have been able to make something!”

“No, no husband.” The woman shakes her head. “He is not here, he is not around.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,”

The woman does not answer.

One day, the woman does not come back. He works the metal, trying his best to forge it. Trying his best to make it look nice, as he is not an artist but a weapons maker. Perhaps today, she is busy and she will be back tomorrow.

Yet, she does not return the next day. Nor the following.

After two passing weeks, and a finished medallion, he goes home to tell his husband of this woman who had given him the request. He shows him the small, silver heart enscribed with such an old language he learned as a child.

“Perhaps she will be there tomorrow?” His husband suggests over a warm dinner, and fire softly crackling in the background.

The blacksmith wonders if that would truly be the case.

Many moons pass, and the leaves change colors on the trees–showing that truly, Winter is starting to wake from her sleep to bless them with snow. Summer makes her bid farewell with one last storm, with lights that brighten the sky and thunderous noises that shake his home.

It is when he is locking up shop, when the fire goes out for the night and stones put away, does she appear. Body drenched, and so much thinner than before. He thinks he sees a bruise underneath ratty clothes. There are questions running through his mind, many things he would like to say. Perhaps he wants to yell at her, perhaps he wants to give her some of his money, and he’s not quite sure what will happen between now and the moment she leaves.

“I have been ill,” she tells him. “I apologize. I have brought nothing of value. There is nothing I can give you. I have made a silly request and cannot pay for it.”

“There is one thing you can pay me with,” He says, and watches her expression become apprehensive. He sees the way her eyes dart around, looking for something that would possibly be useful. There is fear, real and true. So unlike the way she had been before. “Answers. What is this for?”

“She needs to be protected,” The woman answers, softly. “I have heard that anyone who holds the metals you make will always be safe.”

“The gods will always protect her,” The blacksmith says. “It does not matter if you have something I make or not. The gods bless those who continue their world.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps the gods will bless her longevity and love, perhaps strength,” The woman replies. “But I would still rather her have something special.”

The blacksmith nods. He understands. If he and his husband had decided to adopt, he would be willing to do whatever it takes to make sure their child will always have something–even when the earth takes them back.

“May you have the blessings of the gods,” the woman says, with her final departure.

Years later, when he is old and gray, when the world has slowed for him and it was harder to weld swords and the stories of adventures become something more he would rather read than hear, do rumors catch his ears.

The princess is getting married, but it is a peculiar type of marriage. And the king extends an invite to the blacksmith and his husband, as gesture that he remembers his youth himself. And of course, he agrees to go. The princess had grown up into a beautiful, kind, young woman. She is as wise as her father, she is as gracious as her mother. But she resembles her father more–a spirit for adventure, a desire to wander the large fields, scope out the mountains, and speak the language of the fae.

The ceremony is throughout the land, throughout his bustling city. They all chatter away, whispering rumors of this secret finacee. Nobody knew that someone had caught her heart and her eyes.

“Maybe she got engaged to a fae!” One jokes. “Told the fae her name, and now, she is marrying them!”

“Maybe one of the gods caught her eye?”

But all invitees go quiet as the crowned princess makes her way towards the alter, dressed lavishly but yet, not adorned in long dress. No, she wears the clothes of a well dressed warrior–of black lined with navy blue. The sword he had made her is at her side.

She stops by his side.

“After, I wish to speak with you privately.”

And the ceremony commences, her partner is also a lovely young woman. Her hair had been tamed into a bun adorned with braids and flowers. She is dressed in a long dress, yet, she looks uncomfortable in such finery.

They each tell stories, joyous ones, of their life together. It all ends in a kiss–but there is something more. The way the crowned princess clutches the other woman’s hands tightly, the way she whispers something, and how the now wife looks both so sad and happy.

Afterwards, the newly weds approach him and pull him off into a private room. It is then the blacksmith sees the medallion. It hangs around her neck, still so nicely polished to this day.

“Thank you,” the woman says.

“What happened with your mother?”

The woman draws in a deep breath, there are many sorrowful tales he has heard in his lifetime. Many stories of loss, the grief of heroes who witness their friends and loved ones die honorable deaths–the way they have watched villages be razed. And yet, nothing strikes deep as she quietly tells him of her childhood.

Her father had not been a kind man, a drunk whose idea of love was a form of fists. Often, her mother would tell her to hide and often, her mother would spend days in bed. And there would be times where her father was nowhere to be seen–these were the days her mother could leave without fear.

She tells him that the medallion had been more of a gift than a wish for protection, but underneath it all, her mother had truly prayed it would hold to the rumors of blessed metals. And this beautiful young woman believes it to be true–she had gotten so lucky throughout her life. But there was a point where she had thought that maybe the magic wore off.

One winter evening, when she had been a young teen, her mother sent her off to hunt for food. When she had returned, she had found their little home set ablaze. There had been no survivors–but out of it all, she was led to live a different path than her mother. All the prayers she had prayed after were all answered, when she asked for the weather to be kind, it was. And finally, she was led to the princess.

And this young woman, who looks so much like her mother, thanks him profusely for showing her mother such kindness. She offers him money now, a gracious payment for something so special.

The blacksmith declines, with a shake of his head.

Answers were payment enough.

[shireduchess]

∞∞! 😊

“When you fall down do you hear the sound / Of broken dreams hitting the ground? / Baby, please, we're casualties of war”

“You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar”

[siarven]

Pass the happy! When you receive this, list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the most recent people in your notifications!!

Thank you! :3 (somehow forgot answering this...??) 

my friends, their stories, and their art <3

cats (because they will always be on these lists) and just ... animals in general.

I’m currently re-watching Violet Evergarden with my flatmate and it’s just so good and only makes both of us cry a tiny bit :’))

my WIP Hope Beyond is developing so much through inktober and I love it so much

it’s autumn <3

[akoumi]

When you get this you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool!!)

ooh!! 

1. i love my writing!! and im not just saying this because i’m a writeblr. i really love how well i write dialogue, to be specific. 

2. i like how responsible i am!! i can usually do most of the tasks that i need to do in a set amount of time (bc otherwise i feel really shitty but eh)

3. i love my taste in music lol . my music always makes me feel so good, so props to me for finding the songs that boost me lmao

4. i think i’m pretty cute! most of the time, anyways

5. i like my edits! i think i’m pretty good at them.