A Quest Of Cards And Calamity Wip - Tumblr Posts
i feel obligated to explain why i keep disappearing, but it’s really quite simple. adhd
suffice to say, i have been attempting nanowrimo this november and not doing great but i do have a new wip i will be working on an intro for. my other blorbos will show up again but they are being pushed to the backburner in favor of the new characters. i can’t wait for you all to meet them!
im working on a comic sans intro and couldn’t wait to share
This was an absolute blast to make and i’m so glad it’s finally out in the world. I will gladly talk about this all day and can’t wait to share more.
Picrew i used
(general) Taglist: (i think i had one at some point but its been so long so i think i lost some people) @enchanted-lightning-aes @pagesofcursive
let me know if you want to be added to this taglist
that looks so cool!!!! thank you!!
for the two minute title art my wip title is: a quest of cards and calamity
22 minutes?
🍲 for your newest wip?
Gladly! I have the perfect thing
🍲 Soup: share a snippet where a character does something kind.
"Cuckoo," Maggie said, fixing them with a glare as Cuckoo sprawled out on her carpet. "What are you doing here?"
Cuckoo blew their hair out of their face. "Oh, y'know. The usual."
Maggie raised an eyebrow.
"I found-"
"Stole?"
"Found a new trinket I thought you'd like," Cuckoo corrected.
Maggie was unimpressed. "And you're delivering this so late because?"
"I saw your lights on. And I didn't see you outside watching your girlfriend painting the sunset," Cuckoo stated, as if it was obvious.
"That's not creepy at all."
Cuckoo sighed. "Oh, come on," they wheeled. "You know I'm in the area all the time. I figured..." they rolled over and sat up, pushing their fingers against Maggie's hip which was not taking any of her weight. Maggie winced. "I was right, obviously. They were coddling you and you need cheering up."
They yanked her hand down, pulling themself to their knees, and dropped a silver locket unceremoniously into her palm.
ask game found here!
☕️ and ⛸️ from this ask game, pls? also good to see you around, eve! sending good ~~ vibes ~~ and good luck to ya. :3 - 💫 (@enchanted-lightning-aes)
enchant you're an angel <33 sending good vibes back because you gave me no names, I will take the liberty of picking two characters for each question from a quest of cards and calamity ☕️ Hot Cocoa: what do your OCs do if they need reassurance or comfort? Do they talk to someone/fall back on a certain activity? Alex (prior to the narrative) often needed reassurance and comfort, since their curse messed up interactions with people and basic tasks, yet they believed the faults were their own. So there are many afternoons where they are found sitting on the large windowsill in their room with the windows flung open, vibing with the animals - a capybara on their lap, a tapir by their side, and various birds on their shoulders and in their hair. Animals don't judge and no one goes to that part of the forest. Bennie destressed in his garden. After a long day dealing with customers who could somehow never interpret his painstakingly simple instructions correctly and minor injuries they could have tended to at home, they find no better place to be than among dirt and leaves. Covered all the way up to his elbows in earth, weeds curling and dying in the folds of his skirt, and a trowel waiting to be used by their side.
⛸️ Ice Skating: tell us about a skill your OC has. Is it unusual? Something they worked hard on? Does it ever come in handy? Cuckoo (when magic was around) was really great at manipulating the taste of things with their illusions. She would mess with people at the circus, often making some panic by making them think they were eating something they were allergic to when they were actually okay. They used it often when bouncing from village to village - she'd make chefs or patrons think food had spoiled so they would throw it out for her to eat. Though, sometimes she still made a scene in a restaurant. Just for fun. Maggie translated her wealth of knowledge for intricate braids - which came from days of practice being shut up in the house for her own protection - to learning to tie a myriad of sea-worthy knots. She hasn't used that skill yet, but she's sure it'll come in handy someday. Maybe. Hopefully.
ask game is linked in the ask (thanks for that)
12 days of self appreciation day one: hug
From @writeblrfantasy event. It’s a little late but that’s okay. Admittedly I don’t write nearly enough hug scenes so I’m going to rectify that.
Bennie crushed Cuckoo to their chest. Her eyes widened in surprise but she said nothing. Ben’s arms wrapped around her like a viper, one sliding up and dislodging the gold detailed bandana across her hair. Weakly, she pushed against his chest, where her arms were pinned, but she didn’t move. Resigning herself to the situation, she inhaled deeply. Ben smelled like metallic earth and growing things, even though he hadn’t been gardening for a month. Old sweat faintly broke through the green of his scent and Cuckoo wrinkled her nose. Though she was originally resisting this, the hug was kind of nice, not awkward like she worried it would be. The weight of it seemed to be blocking out her worries, the pressure pulling her attention to be solely on the little world in Ben’s arms. She didn’t have to worry about the consequences of her actions, what the others would think of the stunt she pulled, how she would rectify, and wanted to rectify, any damage she had caused. That could be dealt with later. For now, her focus could be on herself and the care she needed, wanted, had from Ben. It would be enough, and things might be okay.
12 days of writer self love day 2: crown
I saw the time and wrote this in a rush and I’m obsessed. This scene takes place after the narrative and is just so soft and sweet and domestic.
“This is so frustrating!” Alex fumed as they snapped another dandelion stem.
Cuckoo watched them upside down from the tree they were hanging from, two completed flower crowns layered over their bandana across their forehead. “I’m sure you’ll get it. You’ve always shown such prowess for fiddly tasks. Your skill with detail is unparalleled.”
Ben, sitting behind Cuckoo, shuffled forward and tugged on their dangling arms. They fell down with a thump into his lap and glared up at him good-naturedly. He ruffled their hair and turned back to his own garland. They had a dwindling pile next to them as what had been taught to be a flower crown was now turning into a rope taller than they were. Cuckoo picked up part of the chain and twisted it between their fingertips, squishing the petals out of shape.
“Don’t be cruel, Cuckoo,” Stella admonished. “It’s okay if you don’t finish. We have plenty to go around.” She tossed a finished daisy crown at Alex where it landed lopsided on their head. They grimaced cheerfully in thanks, brow furrowing again as Alex turned their attention back to their four linked dandelions.
“You mean you have plenty to go around,” corrected Maggie. A stack of flower crowns adorned her heads, all unique. Her braids were hidden and her eyes were partially blocked from the sheer volume of them.
Stella, offended, said, “I do not! I don’t have a single flower crown to my name. So, I’d better make one.”
“And declare me ruler again?” Maggie suggested with a knowing look.
“You do rule my heart,” Stella said, tilting Maggie’s chin up to give her a kiss.
“Get a room!” Cuckoo yelled from where they were still laying on Ben’s legs.
“You dare order her majesty around?” Stella flew to her feet, the half finished crown falling to the floor. She tackled Cuckoo onto the ground, and the crafting fell into giggles as the sun sank in the sky.
For a prompt: celebrating a holiday that Isn’t Christmas?
Thank you for the prompt! Here is a quick piece that takes place not long after the banishment of the goddesses.
The village was halfway through preparations before anyone thought twice about what they were doing. The summer solstice was days away, and the biennial festival celebrating the goddess of light was tradition, but without the goddess, the festival seemed to lose its meaning.
What if she came back and saw she wasn’t honored? What if holding the festival wasted resources? What if her followers saw not holding the festival as blasphemous, or the great quester saw that holding the festival made their actions pointless? What if? What if? What if?
In the end, the villagers, after holding a meeting, decided to go ahead with the festival but disregarded the original intentions. The festival was for them, after all, and they entertained any excuse to come together.
In the head of the village’s house, Maggie braided and knotted reflective crystals into her family’s hair. Their clothing matched, as the four of them dressed in pastel thin cotton with gold embroidery along the hems and hiding the seams. Crystals on leather cords matched the crystals embedded in their hairstyles.
Ben hung up strings of crystals in his windows, setting mirrors on the sill and back wall to reflect sunlight to refract through the crystals. His hair was secured in a topknot tied with a crystal-studded strip of fabric.
Similarly, Alex littered the clearing outside their window with loose crystals, hiding them in the grass and trees to reflect light against the guard tower and into their room. Despite encouragement from their mother, they stayed home to watch the parade from the top of the tower.
For once, no one seemed to mind when Cuckoo took casually strewn about crystals from around the village. In fact, when seeing her unadorned, the milliner even gifted her a leather pouch full of them. Guilt and uncharacteristic kindness ate at her until she used the present to decorate the hard-to-reach spots over town – roof awnings, the tops of light posts, and the tops of people’s heads when they weren’t looking.
The village was bright and cheery as the people marched about the streets. Gazes fixated upon the rainbows and bright patches on buildings and clothing and ground and animals as sunlight bounced off the crystals. They laughed and sang, brighter than the goddess of light ever was.
12 days of writer self love day 3: repulsed
I know, I know it’s late and out of order, but I’m kind of okay with that. At least it’s here. I really like this piece. I think I almost imagined myself in this situation if I hadn’t found out about my orientation when I did, or if my attraction turned out slightly different
It was an alien and unexpected feeling when it happened the first time. Bendis thought it was attraction, but when the other boy went to kiss him, his initial reaction was to pull away. The other boy, the baker’s son, Francesco, mirrored his action, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.
“Are you okay?” Francesco asked, rubbing the back of Ben’s hand with his thumb.
Ben’s hand went tense under the contact, then relaxed somewhat stiffly. He nodded, swallowed once, then leaned in. “Fine. I’m fine,” they reassured, voice shaking. Francesco pretended not to notice. “Now what were we doing?”
As they kissed, Ben tried not to squirm at the contact and the sheer amount of fluids being exchanged. That night, he lay in a resting patch of his garden and shoveled dirt onto himself as he fell asleep watching the stars.
The next time it happened, they again tried to stifle their reaction. The bard was charismatic and patient, and frankly very good-looking. They’d laughed and joked together for hours, Ben lamenting his lost potential at a similar career path. Ben had even taken a day away from the apothecary to spend time with them.
“It was a pleasure getting to know you, Du Kahoari,” they said, as they raised Ben’s hand to their mouth and pressed a kiss on it.
Ben retracted his hand as calmly as possible, resisting the urge to wipe it on his skirt. Similarly, they hid the tremor in their voice. “Likewise. I wish you happy travels.”
The bard bowed, and as soon as Ben was out of their line of sight, he ran back to the apothecary to wash his hand.
The time after that it wasn’t even happening. It had been a months-long relationship with Sonya the blacksmith’s daughter, so it was bound to come up in conversation. She sat them down on the haybales behind her mother’s shop, taking their hands in her own.
“So, we’ve been together for a while,” she said, pausing to wait for Ben to nod. “So I think it’s time to talk about…”
Ben’s eyes glazed over. His hands went clammy and he pulled back. They tucked their knees against their chest. His breaths came in small bursts. “Say… say that again?”
“...? That’s what I feel like we should talk about,” Sonya said, cautiously now. She shuffled around to face him, careful not to brush their skin.
Swallowing hard, Ben opened his mouth, shut it. His adams apple bobbed again. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about that,” he managed.
“Okay, that’s okay,” Sonya said, words rushed. “We can take as long as we need.”
Under his breath, Ben asked, “Is this what you want from a relationship?”
Sonya was caught off-guard and stopped moving towards Ben. “I- I think so?”
“Then I don’t think I can be with you,” choked Ben.
“Oh, um,” she stalled. “Are you sure?”
Ben hid his face in his knees. “No,” he said. “I’m not. And if you ask me again, I’ll do it. I’ll say yes. Because it’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”
“Can I touch you?” Ben’s head snapped up at Sonya’s words. He nodded. She placed her hand on their back and rubbed circles into it. “There’s no ‘supposed to’ in any relationship. Relationships are whatever you make of them And if two people want different things, they can compromise. Sometimes that means they keep going as they are. Sometimes that means doing things differently. No one knows what they’re doing all the time. But if you think we don’t work, then we don’t work. That’s okay. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Okay?”
Ben nodded into his knees.
“Do you need space?”
They nodded again.
“Alright,” Sonya said, groaning as she stretched out of the haystack, pulling a few pieces of straw from where they stuck into her skirt. “I’ll be in my mother’s shop if you need me. And for what it’s worth, these last few months were amazing. I hope they were for you too.”
Shoulders curling inwards, Ben couldn’t bring themself to reply. All his partners, fleeting or long-lasting, affectionate and timid, had been so wonderful. There was no reason for him to feel like this. But he did, and it ate him up inside. They rolled over and screamed into the straw, trying to free himself of the fundamentally wrong feeling inside him.
12 days of writer self care day 5: flower
This is just so cute!! Maggie and Stella’s families are very involved in flowers, so i felt it would be perfect to write about them. this was such a joy to write and explore more character backstory
Stella’s papa knelt down and held a closed fist in front of her. “Open it,” he said.
Her tiny eyebrows knit together as she pulled at his fingers. They didn’t budge. She grunted and pulled harder, tongue poking out from between her teeth. His pinky budged, then his hand opened all-of-a-sudden. Cheering, Stella seized the small, thin, wooden box.
“‘Tis it?” she asked, struggling with the clasp on the lid.
Taking the box from her, opening it, the handing it back, Stella’s papa asked, “You know how I grow pretty things in the garden?”
Stella bounced on her toes, the contents of the box rattling. “Yeah!” she said. “With Maggie’s mummy and daddy.”
“That’s right. So I took some of the flowers and I mixed them with water,” he explained.
“Like I make potions!”
He grimaced, but continued, “Exactly. And I let them dry. So now if you take this magic wand-” he placed a paintbrush into her hand “- and you add water to the paints, you can make pretty pictures.”
Stella’s eyes widened. She dashed to the kitchen and dunked the box in the bucket of water. Stella’s papa raced behind her and fished the paints out.
“How about I show you how to do it,” he said, shaking the water off.
“Okay!”
That’s how they spent their afternoon. He started Stella on paper, and when she seemed trustworthy enough to leave, he went back to the gardens to work. This was a mistake. When he and his husband came home, the walls were covered in paint up to their knees. As was Stella. The paint palette was empty, and she was in love.
A few years later, Stella was knee-deep in flowers. Dirt was caked under her fingernails, and laughter bubbled within her. Maggie sat beside her, gathering flowers too. Finally satisfied with her haul, she brought the bouquet back inside.
“Just these please,” Stella piped up, setting the flowers on the counter.
Maggie’s mama smiled and said, “Of course.”
She wrapped the flowers up with paper and handed them to Stella, who struggled to make eye contact, hindered by the bundle. “Thank you!” she said.
“Do you want me,” Maggie asked, blushing, “to walk you home.”
Stella’s cheeks went hot too. “Only if you want to.”
“I do.”
Their hands swung together as they walked back to Stella’s home where she would make her first batch of paints; Stella dropped some flowers without an extra hand to secure the bundle, but with Maggie picking them up she didn’t mind.
More years passed. Stella planned an outing with her lifelong best friend and longtime crush. She invited Maggie to go material gathering — she collected all her own art supplies and regularly ran out of paint. Ensuring she had express permission from her parents given Maggie’s delicate state, Stella was delighted when Maggie agreed to the invitation.
She took her to her favorite meadow an hour before sunset. Softly rolling hills were covered in a sea of green and orange and gold, swaying in the breeze. It was almost hypnotic. Bouncing on her toes to get a better look at the field, Stella finally tugged Maggie down to sit. She ran her hands through her hair, disrupting the carefully manicured state she’d put it in before the outing. Her hands twitched on her leg.
Reaching out to run her thumb along the back of Stella’s hand, Maggie’s brow creased. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Stella melted. “I’m fine,” she said, lingering in Maggie’s grip. Jerking her chin towards the flowers, she said, “Well? Let’s get picking.”
Careful to guide their direction, Stella began filling the basket Maggie had woven for her last birthday. Maggie helped, though slower as she checked each flower met Stella’s approval. This was why she was doing this.
Finally, the pair stepped into a flattened part of the meadow. The flowers were bent in the shape of a heart. At the top of the heart, between the bows, a large piece of paper rested. It was decorated with intricately painted flowers surrounding words in a curling script. It read “Will you be my beau?”
“I- you- for me?” Maggie stammered.
Stella stared pointedly at the raked earth beneath her feet. She nodded.
“Of course! I’d love to be!”
Maggie launched herself at Stella. They tumbled down the hillside, laughing until their sides ached. The flowers danced around them, bouncing in the warming light of a setting sun.
12 days of loving my writing day 7: god
I ADORE this piece. It was incredible doing such a detailed exploration of the lore in A Quest of Cards and Calamity. World building normally isn’t my favourite thing to do, but this brought me so much joy. I love the whimsical, impersonal narration style. I can see this being told around a campfire to the children by a village elder some decades after the goddesses are banished
There are realms beyond the plane we know. They are filled with awesome creations beyond our comprehension that would break our very way of existence. Places such as these began differently than our home, with flashes instead of bangs, beginning existence with a whisper instead of a roar. They grew differently; some lasted a breath, others into forever, evolving into crabs or bears or unfathomable creatures, becoming as fragile as a bird’s bone or as powerful as a tsunami.
It is from one of these realms that our gods came from. Though they impart few secrets to our people, some priests have been given wisdom that they shared across the land. Four sisters were united under shared distaste for mundanity. They combined their great and awful power of battle, family, growth, and light, and traveled to our realm, a new playground to explore their abilities in an isolated setting.
In the beginning of their domination, the quartet was benevolent and generous. They lent their seemingly boundless magics to the people, growing crops, lighting nights, securing victories, and strengthening communities. A golden age began. Dedication and reverence was widespread, leading to an abundance of people that obtained the goddesses’ blessings, wielding powers lesser than theirs, but power nonetheless. Great acts were performed in their names for people across our plane, creating prosperity that has never been seen before or since. Impossible vines grew into their kingdom in the sky, where patrons visited and paid homage to the goddess’ greatness and were returned to the world below bearing gifts of gold and light bringing music. Enlightened thinkers battled against the pull of nothing that the overabundance of knowledge creates, and their victories brought back revolutionary theories improving the world before them.
As time wore on, the interest of the goddesses waned. They were not so generous with their boons, instead letting people fester in their ineptitude. When praised, sometimes they paid attention, granting year after year of bountiful harvests. But they were careless in their gifts, sometimes flooding the banks of rivers and drowning crops that the river otherwise provided for. Sometimes they forgot to send in the sun, letting part of the world fall into darkness for months on end until the people learned to live without it and stopped asking for help. While they never intended to hurt the people wholly sway to their every whim, their disinterest cost many lives and caused swaths of people to lose faith. Gifts were inherited among the people, and those carrying old blessings were heralded as heroes as they saved the ordinary from the wrathful apathy of the four goddesses.
As the people lost their faith, the goddesses grew bitter. They were empowered by belief and devotion. Heroes and all the other people grew in strength, numbers, and will. They boasted of their gifts, claiming independence from the goddesses. They paid for the arrogance dearly. A simple ungifted weaver who battled simple nature to create complex tapestries bragged about her skill and thus was transformed into a horrifying beast as payment. Light was woven into delightful displays, bringing awe to so many in ways beyond the goddess' previously shown skill that she was forgotten about. Cruelly, she stole the light she gifted back, leaving the people to fester in the darkness until a mighty hero stole it back. Heroes committed untellable feats and were whispered about in reverence across the land until their names became synonymous with legend.
They demanded more and more from those under their jurisdiction, demanding unmeetable standards that tore apart the continent. Tribute was wrenched from followers' hands and sacrificed to serve no purpose; communities were torn apart to feed an entrapped beast cursed to an existence torn between two forms. The world split between anger, indifference, and reverence. The goddesses expected absolutes in success and potential, and perpetual acknowledgement and inclusion. All were tortured with the inconstant moods of the goddesses, buffeted about by their rage.
Mighty champions arose to beat back their abuse. It took years of near endless travel, great leaps in strength and skill, and profound luck to reach their end goal. Finally, miraculously, they defeated the goddesses in an earth scarring battle. They banished the goddesses to another realm and never hurt the heroes’ home again.
But still there is a battle: are the hardships worth the destruction wrought by the goddesses, or should they stay away and out of our homes affairs forevermore?
Earl Grey and Hibiscus from this ask game, pls? and sending good ~~ vibes ~~ your way.^^ - ✨
hey enchant! hope you're doing good <3 i appreciate the good vibes. midterms have been really getting to me this year
earl grey: favourite quote from your WIP?
hh admittedly I havent written a lot for the official wip yet, but i like this bit
The blacksmith's fire winked out, the healer's plants wilted, and the mayor lost the impossibility of his charm. Magic was used as a tool. and though it would be missed, the people would live without it. They would learn to cope, and learn together, learn to thrive without their lifelong gifts.
Hibiscus: what inspired your WIP?
I loved coming up with the elements of my wip. it began with a deck of cards theme because i think the aesthetic is cool. coming up with out-of-the-box powers is one of my favourite things to do, so i used the suits to inspire powers (i'll reblog later with what it is to see if anyone can guess) i didn't want to let the powers go to waste, so i came up with a fun setting with vague backstory and lore (admittedly partially inspired by a dnd podcast i listen to) and came up with characters i found fun that i then assigned the powers to as intuitively as i could
Rosehip and chai for the ask meme!
Oops! This was a bit late. I hope you don’t mind
Rosehip: First person, third person limited, or third person omniscient?
Typically I write third person limited but switch perspectives. I like writing about what a person is thinking since i find that the easiest way to add intention to the scene. However, for A Quest of Cards and Calamity I am trying to write third person omniscient to branch out in style and try to get different experience. It’s been fun so far, but I have had to catch myself from slipping into narrating thoughts
Chai: Favorite character from your WIP?
Ohhh this is a VERY hard question. I hate you /j I can’t pick from the main cast so I think I’ll have to pick someone I haven’t even introduced. This character is named kingfisher and is a constantly tipsy, fun loving trapeze artist from cuckoo’s time working in the circus. Kingfisher just has such a fun design and way about interacting with the world. I can’t wait to write more