henrike-does-writing-sometimes

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

Imma give y'all some context because I feel like it.

The first book of the Garden of Corpses is partially about setting up the main gang, and partially about the slow unveiling of the conspiracy happening within the faculty of Liegården. Regarding keeping necromancy q dead art.

Now, the character I'm refering to is called Sabrina and she's the roommate of Heidi, Alejandra, and Janan. She shows up in the beginning, and is then referenced a few times, before it's revealed she's dead and buried on campus grounds.

Her death is when the whole conspiracy is revealed, which then leads to the investigation which results in the elementals having to stay with the celestials at St. Polaris. Things is, I've had issues figuring out exactly why and how she dies. But now I know !

In order to ensure necromancy stays dead, the organization thingy intervenes with the magic bonds of the elementals (long story), cutting the ones that grow too strong. And would you fucking look at that, severing ones bond with their magic's sacred source kills the person !

So yeah, Liegården's campus ground is full of corpses lol

Rejoice ! This one character now has reason to die !

#this might not make sense but yeet #the only reason our necromancer gang doesn’t die is because friendship #everybody's solo their a GANG #A SQUAD #A UNIT

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

@ktsmk HABLEBFALBRFALJENÖAJWNEJF

Rejoice ! This one character now has reason to die !

#I mean yeah you're right but did you have to be so loud ??

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

Rejoice ! This one character now has reason to die !

#this sounds way more morbid than it actually is lmao #writeblr #wip rambles #wip : the garden of corpses

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

my mom said we can go maul someone in the woods if that’s fine with your mom

#wip : the garden of corpses

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

The Transformations

Part 2 of my post regarding the magic system of this wip !

: Taglist - @vacantgodling : 

Let me know if you want to be added / removed !

One thing I think every fan of magical girl media wonders about is how the transformation sequences work in-universe. Is it diegetic, and if not how is it perceived by other characters ?

Worry not, for I have the answers ! At least regarding my own story.

As one might expect, the transformations with the choreographed movements and lights and sfx are non-diegetic. It's only for the eyes of the audience, because transformation sequences are cool as fuck. However, the transformation is visible in-universe. Here's a quick storyboard of how it looks;

To better explain what's happening, as the Wielder transforms and fully taps into their powers, a burst of aetherium is created which acts as a defense— with it pushing back and temporarily blinding any and all opponents. Note that other Wielders are unaffected by this defense.

When it comes to activating the transformation there are two ways; verbal and non-verbal.

Verbal is a spoken phrase. Either "By the power of *essence*, illuminate me !" if done alone, or "*essences of each Wielder transforming* ! Illuminate us !" when more.

Non-verbal is a drawn insignia, corresponding to the Wielder's essence.

Every Wielder can do both, however due to limitations (or preferences) one will become dominant and come much easier than the other.

#this is why we don't transform in Mike's car *Andie* #writeblr #world building #wip #wip : the divine #magical boy

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

I'm sick of internet negativity, so let's combat it: reblog this and saying something nice/pay a compliment to the prev in the tags.

#so fucking sweet and lovely I can't believe we're friends ajbflarblfkmd #love her writing it flows so nicely and the prose is alwasy top notch #I know very little about poetry but hnnnn I love them <3 #and the worldbuilding ??? #masterfully crafted so well thought out like I want a history book just on this I would eat it up ! #älsklings Kat som jag älskar väldigt mycket och skulle dö för <3<3<3

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

I'm sick of internet negativity, so let's combat it: reblog this and saying something nice/pay a compliment to the prev in the tags.

#literally the coolest guy ever #his prose is breathtaking and so well constructed I lose my mind every time I read it #all of his stories are so big brain I have no idea how he does it #and his art is so good I'm obsessed with the way he draws eyes and masculine features fr #my mutual blorbo whom I love dearly and would do anything for <3<3<3

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

Farewell my Eyjafjörður | Vertu Bara

i haven't forgotten about this wip, as sigga and sera haunt my mind every living moment. have been feeling so angsty lately that i decided to reread some of the old writing and found this snippet at the bottom of my wip folder. i thought you might like it. the excerpt continues below the cut

Sigga stands peering out of the window and finds the streets outside deserted.

“I hope Óli and Fjólar are okay,” she says, closing the curtain and turning around. She doesn’t know the old man who owned this apartment very well, but it was the one house they could break into without leaving a trace.

Sera sits on the bed, her knees pulled up, clutching them with all her might. Her eyes are closed, held that way forcefully.

“You can open your eyes, if you’d like.” says Sigga. She does her best to sound sure of herself, to fake an ounce of confidence for Sera to latch onto, but she can't get the image of Sera’s possession out of her head. The way she hung in the air, her eyes a burning red, played with like a crude puppet. As such her words are nothing more than hollow promises. In truth Sigga isn’t sure of anything anymore.

taglist for Farewell my Eyjafjörður (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

“Or maybe you can get some sleep,” she continues. “If our plan has worked they shouldn’t be able to reach us now. I’ll just sleep in this chair, and you can get some rest in the bed.”

Sera does not answer. She hasn’t moved ever since Sigga carefully led her to the bed.

Outside the wind has picked up, howling through the streets. In other circumstances this could have been cosy, a night where you huddle up next to hearth with a cup of tea. But then Sera speaks, her words barely more than a whisper, words so frail they break upon reaching Sigga’s ears.

“Come.”

Sigga turns her head to Sera.

“Please,” she whispers again. It takes a moment for Sigga to register the question. She doesn't want to invade Sera's personal space, a space she normally defends furiously. But when Sera does not change her mind Sigga pulls herself out of the chair as slowly as she can, crossing the room until she stands at the edge of the bed. Only now does she realise that Sera is shaking, almost as if her body is shifting in and out of this world, resonating to those horrific melodies the spirits sang.

“You sure?”

Sera nods, her gesture barely visible, but enough for Sigga to catch with a lifetime of experience. She crawls onto the bed and sits next to Sera to the sound of creaking wood, inching towards her until their shoulders touch. Sigga jerks back, afraid for a moment that touching Sera would call out the ghosts.

“Fuck, sorry,” she says, biting her lip. Sera lets her head rest on her knees as she clutches her knees even harder, almost as if she wants to rip through her clothes and into her own skin.

“Vertu bara,” says Sera. Just stay. Sera’s r’s resonate through her whispered plea, rolling almost like a cat’s purr. She has always pronounced them deeper in her throat, her one tell that Icelandic isn’t her native language, but one Sigga has always liked. With a deep breath Sigga pushes herself gently against the huddled-up Sera, raising her arm above Sera and letting her hand drape on Sera’s shoulder, careful as not to touch her scarred arms.

It is Sera that jerks away this time, but not in such a way that she breaks away from Sigga’s grip. After the shock has waned Sera leans slightly into Sigga. Sigga takes Sera’s hair in response and brushes it to the side, making space for Sera to rest her head on Sigga’s shoulder.

“Do you still hate the way your fingers look?” says Sera.

“What?”

“Your fingers.”

Sigga does her best to suppress her laughter, but fails to keep it all in.

“What are you on about?”

“I just wanted to say that your long bony piano fingers are pretty,” says Sera.

Sigga can feel Sera’s body lean against her more and more, allowing her to fall into Sigga fully. She has stopped shaking too, and Sigga manages to catch a glimpse of Sera’s eyes without moving her head. Her face isn’t strained anymore, soundly asleep. Sigga pulls a blanket over Sera’s knees and closes her own eyes. Even though her position is uncomfortable she’s afraid to move, especially when Sera’s only just fallen asleep. Without realising she pulls Sera closer to her, cradling her, hoping that it’s enough to guard Sera from the nightmares that haunt her every night.

@ink-fireplace-coffee | @henrike-does-writing-sometimes | @writing-is-a-martial-art | @magic-is-something-we-create | @florraisons | @hysteriwah | @chayscribbles | @mashuheartwrites | @ettawritesnstudies | @strangerays ​ | @authortango

#AAAAAAA #I'm both so giddy so concerned #possesion ??? #they've broken into a strangers house ??? #hello ??? #but they're so cute omg !!

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

Unnamed Steam x Dutch Mythology wip | Snippet

English below cut

The station’s clock shook the entire building. Amidst the chaos Anne was only barely able to keep her attention on the sound. It turned out to be a single strike, but whether that meant one o’clock or half past twelve she could not know. Half past twelve meant she had enough time to catch her train, while one o’clock meant she had only a few minutes left.

She was carrying a briefcase in each hand, each one stuffed with clothes at the last moment with more clothes than she’d need, strictly speaking. Two full hands meant she had no hands free to pull up her sea blue dress as she stumbled through the hall of St. Pancras.

The big notice board finally gave her a moment respite, though it was cut short when she found her destination: Dover Skyport. The number eighteen was placed next to it. With a fleeting glance she looked at the nearest track, and never before had she looked at the number one with such disgust.

But it couldn’t be helped. With a sigh she pulled up her briefcases and continued running. Not before long the locomotive and its seven cars came into view, and much too shortly after came the signal that the train was about to depart. With an almost inhuman synchronicity some ten station clerks shut the doors of the cars, and with the shrill noise of a flute the train came to life. The steam that had merely puffed out of the locomotive moments before became louder and bigger, and even the steam from the car’s heating units shrouded each car in a white mist. Many had feared that the coming of airships meant the end for the railways, but in reality the upkeep and stowing of airships turned out to be such a big undertaking that it was reserved only for out-of-country flights.

Anna screamed at the conductor, who merely replied with a condescending tick on his watch. She ran past him until the final car which had sped up to about as fast as Anna could run. She threw her bags onto the balcony, grateful that they were heavy enough that they did not slide off the other side.

The end of the station had crept into view. Some 20 metres were left, perhaps less. Without thinking about it she throws herself onto the balcony. She landed only with the tips of her boots on the ladder, but it gave her enough footing to heave herself up by the railing on the balcony.

She turned around to see St. Pancras vanish out of sight. One of the conductors pulled his thick brows into a frown, but when Anna only waved back he rolled his eyes and retreated into the station.

Anna threw a quick glance into the reflection on the window. Her blond hair that she had painstakingly forced into a neat braid was a mess once again, and the ribbon that had held it together hung like a weathered leaf. But the back balcony of a train that kept racing past the brown buildings of London at an increasing pace was not the best place to fix this, so she opened the door and sneaked inside, secretly looking forward to the surprised faces of London’s elite.

-x-

Tagging everyone who showed interest, let me know if you'd like to be tagged for stuff like the wip intro coming later!

@notwritinganyflufftoday @kckramer @henrike-does-writing-sometimes @sleepy-night-child @

#so sorry for the delay but yo ! #this was so good and fun ! #I wonder where she's going

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

I wanna write a death scene. But who to kill ??

#writeblr

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

X

ohohoho, I just found the perfect song for Tindra's funeral

#I'm making myself so sad y'all #it's epic

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

ohohoho, I just found the perfect song for Tindra's funeral

#she's such a radical face girlie #writeblr #wip rambles #wip : realm of mirrors

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

2021 NETFLIX PSD TEMPLATE BY SEUNGNM

i haven't seen a 2021 netflix template so i made one myself lol

please reblog if downloading

fonts used: helvetica neue regular, bold, and italic

everything highlighted in red is optional/deletable

please credit me if you use my templates!

feel free to ask me any questions

i might make additional add ons to this :)

download

#keeping an eye on this #if I ever draw fake screenshots for the Divine

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

@vacantgodling

so like visually it's cool as hell. Goes so well with Tim's dark academia sickly-victorian-child aesthetic dude rocks it !

But thematically ? What the fangs symbolize in a way ? Ough !

Like, fighting tooth and nail with every last bit of strength, both physical and mental, you got left to not turn into a monster again. And somehow you win, only to find out you didn't make it out fully unscathed. Part of you has permanently changed.

A scar from having lost control.

A reminder to bare your teeth.

Thinking about Timothy and his fangs again...

#chewing on furniture

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

Thinking about Timothy and his fangs again...

#writeblr #wip : the divine

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

Ok so, I don't know if I ever mentioned it here, but the way magic works in Garden of Corpses is that each affinity group has a source; a place where it resides at its most concentrated. While people can't readily visit these places, they are physical.

Anyhow, the source for Bestial magic is the Ark and I've had this visual for it in my head for a while now, so here's a rough sketch of it, might to the other five when I figure them out

(Because you can't tell what's going on, it's a shipwreck in some kind of cavern, from which Beastial magic flows. Yes, this is a reference to Noah's Ark)

#I don't think we even get to see any sources other than that of Elemental magic but still #writelbr #wip rambles #wip : the garden of corpses

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

ardennnnnnn <3 i’m gonna redesign hel too i think im not in love with his current design. but here’s the prettiest (and the most fucked up) prince at the ball <3

#yeah I want his gender