Hello, I am Nanda. This is my blog to share my writing - both fanfic and original - and to talk about my OCs. If you wanna chat or have a story request, send an ask!
Hello! My name is Nanda and I’m writer and translator of fanfiction and original fiction. My preferred genres are Fantasy and Urban Fantasy/Magical Realism. I mainly write short stories, but plan on publishing my own books someday.
I've created this blog to have a space dedicated only to writing, so I can centralise my fanfics, start sharing my original writing and OCs on Tumblr, gather writing tips and also interact with Writeblr better. However, this is a sideblog, so any follows will come through my main @nandalikesstuff.
You can find my general writing tag here. If you are only interested in my fanfiction, they are here. If you'd like to check out my original writing, it's here. I'll gather writing tips here and share cool stories from others here.
And my AO3 account is here.
I'm open to writing and translation (ENG<>PTBR) commissions! If you are interested, just send me an ask!
IMPORTANT
I do NOT give permission for any of my writing to be used to feed any kid of AI model, ever. My AO3 account is currently LOCKED to users only to prevent scrapping from third party AIs or bots.
Always feel free to: make podfics, translations or fanart of my fics or writing, just please use the inspired by feature on AO3 or tag me on Tumblr so I can see it! Also always feel free to come chat with me about any of the fandoms you see me posting about or about my OCs/stories at any time or to send prompts for fics or aesthetics!
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“It's not fair.” The little ghost kicks impotently at the chalk lines around her feet. “I ain't done nothing.”
I nod, setting down my chalk and spellbook. “It does sound like there might have been a bit of a misunderstanding.”
“She took against me, that's what happened,” the dead girl says with a scowl. She looks about fourteen, round faced and spotty, with whisps of brown hair peaking out from under her mob-cap. Her face and her crossed arms have a tell-tale bluish tinge to them. A cholera death.
“I been here for don't know how long and never gave any trouble. Nobody ever complained about me 'till her.”
…well, that's not strictly true.
Number 12, Barclay Street has been attracting rumours of haunting since the mid nineteenth century.
Sounds of faint singing and crying in the corridors at night. Cold spots. Doors that open and close by themselves. Animals acting strangely. Harmless, mid to low-level stuff, typical for a bored teenage poltergeist.
Still, pointing that out isn't likely to achieve much, and certainly the most recent complaints of blood running down the walls, screams in the dark and paralysing night terrors seem distinctly out of character.
The ghost toes the chalk again, more tentatively this time. It stays resolutely unbroken.
She could get out if she wanted to. I'm not one of those assholes who brings out their full arsenal of wards and sigils for a first meeting with a level 2 spectre. The summoning circle will keep her in one place for as long as I need her to talk, but it wouldn't hold for a moment if she really fought against it.
I take it as a good sign that she's still here. Pouting or not, she's clearly willing to work with me.
“None of the others could do this,” she says. “None of 'em even saw me.” She looks up. “Are you here to exise me?”
“Exorcise,” I say instinctively, and curse myself when she flinches. “Sorry, no, no! I don't exorcise people from their homes without good reason, not if they're happy where they are.”
“I was happy. Till she started calling in all them ghost hunters.”
Mrs Delaney had been quite persistent in her attempts to 'fix' her haunted house. Most of the people she found were charlatans, of course, but I'd still arranged an appointment as fast as I could once word reached me. It wouldn't have been long before she happened upon somebody with Talent, and unfortunately not everybody in this field knows how to behave like a professional.
“I think we might be able to help each other,” I say, careful to keep my voice calm and level.
“Don't see how. Not unless you can exorcise Her.”
“Not quite what I had in mind.” I pull out my phone and scroll through my photos. “You say that you're not the cause of the most recent incidents of paranormal activity?”
A pause. The ghost gnaws on her lip. I wait, patiently, keeping my body language open and nonthreatening. “I… I knocked her coffee cup over,” she admits at last. “She was being mean and talking on her telephone, saying I done all these things when I never did! So I decided to show her what I could do if I wanted.”
“Hmm.” The ghost eyes me nervously, as if expecting me to pull out a book, bell and candle and banish her on the spot.
“I only tipped it,” she adds. “I didn't break it or nothing!”
“You shouldn't have touched it at all,” I say sternly. “But… I can appreciate that you were frustrated, so let's say no more about it.”
The ghost looks relieved.
“My point is,” I continue, “if you weren't the one making blood rain from the ceiling or tormenting people in their sleep, then what was? There's no other ghosts on the property.” I find the picture I was looking for. “You can get anywhere around the house, right? Including behind the furniture and in the backs of cupboards?”
“Yes'm.”
I hold the phone up so that she can see the picture on the screen. “I'm going to let you go free in a moment, and I need you to see if you can find anything that looks like this.”
The ghost wrinkles her forehead. “What's that when it's at home?”
“Black mould,” I say, reaching out a foot to break the binding circle. “And I'm pretty sure it's the cause of this haunting.”
I didn't have time to write a whole new thing, so this is a new and improved version of this fic to include Sylvain in my ever-expanding "Matthew deserves all the love in the world" universe and also as an entry for @fourormore's Pride month event.
Wish you lovelies all the love, happiness and acceptance this Pride month and forever <3
~~**~~
“Is it done yet?” Matthew asked her, barely able to keep himself still in his seat.
“Almost. Now don’t talk or I’m going to mess it up.” Cordelia chastised him, but kept focused on her task. “Just one more line, aaaand… done! You can look at my masterpiece now.”
Matthew almost fell from the vanity seat from turning around so fast, but he caught himself on the table and turned his face from side to side in front of the mirror. Two colourful hearts were painted on his cheeks, one with the colours of the bisexual flag and the other with the colours of the polyam flag.
“It’s perfect! Cordelia, you’ve outdone yourself. You are a true Van Gogh. No, Picasso. No, Frida Kahlo!” He exclaimed his praise with his finger high in the air when he found the right metaphor, then turned back around and pulled her for a kiss.
“You’re welcome, Math. Now move, I need to do mine next. You can go help Jamie put on his shirt without smudging the paint.”
“No need. It dried a while ago, so I already put it on. I can help you, though, if you want,” he added towards Matthew.
Matthew joined James sitting on the bed and beamed at him. Matching hearts to his own were painted on his cheeks and Jamez already had on the shirt that read “I’m with them” with an arrow pointing to the right, a mirror to Matthew’s one. They had argued over who would get to stay in the middle, but in the end Cordelia had won the rock, paper, scissors.
“Can’t believe I have the honour to take you both to baby’s first pride,” Matthew said after his shirt was over his head, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Let me introduce you to a world of love, acceptance, hope, and, not less important, debauchery, beyond your wildest dreams.”
“Hey, I’ve been to pride with you before!” James said.
“You have been as an ally, now you are part of the club, Jamie. You get to sit with the popular kids now.”
“Pride sounds an awful lot like high-school, I’m not sure I want to go anymore,” he teased.
“Too bad,” Cordelia interrupted, “our shirts don’t work unless we are all together so you have to go now.”
“Hmmm, fair.”
“Plus, if you don’t go, I’ll cry. You don’t want your beloved Math to cry, do you?”
“Eehhh…”
Cordelia saw Matthew hit him across the head with a pillow through the mirror and James laughed.
“I don’t! I don’t! Careful with the paint!”
“That’s better. I’ll go get Oscar ready.”
He left at the same time Cordelia finished her own make up and got up. One of her hearts had the polyam flag that matched theirs and the other the queer pride flag.
James helped her put on her shirt with “I’m with them <–->” on it and then she did a twirl.
“How do I look?”
“Gorgeous. And happier than I have ever seen you, my Daisy.”
“We all are, I believe. And that’s also what today is about. Let’s celebrate our happiness and the light we found in each other after so long beating ourselves up over something so simple.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
James kissed her until the sound of the doorbell ringing and Oscar barking startled them out of it.
"I'll get it!" Matthew screamed from the other room and then his quick steps drummed down the stairs, followed closely by Oscar's.
"Must be Sylvain," Cordelia smiled and fixed her hair in the mirror. And sure enough, Matthew's excited voice could be heard all through the house until he burst through the door a few moments later, pulling the French boy along by their interlocked hands.
"Look who I found!" he announced and Sylvain tilted his head to the side.
"But I am the one that came over, so wasn't I the one that found you?"
"Tomato, tomahto." Matthew waved away the comment, then clinged to Sylvain's arm in a sudden burst of theatrics. "Can you believe Jamie said he would not care if I cried? On Pride day? That's why you are my favourite, mon chou."
James rolled his eyes.
"Sylvain, can you please tell your boyfriend he is being an over-dramatic drama queen and that's not what I said?"
"Cordelia, can you please tell your husband that he is mean and the angels will punish him for slighting me so?"
"Sylvain, can you please tell my husband and my boyfriend that if they continue to be ridiculous and ruin my first pride, I'll feed them both to the ducks at Hyde Park?"
Sylvain nodded solemnly.
"You heard her, gents. But, fatally, I'm French, I can not live without a bit of drama." That was not a very helpful comment, but he tilted Matthew's chin up and distracted him with a kiss before he could claim his victory against James and start any more ridiculous fake fighting, which Cordelia approved.
Sylvain was a more recent addition to their dynamic, fruit of Matthew's latest cruise trip and a well-timed exchange program in England, and she was pleased to see how well it all had worked out in the end and how they all got along in their own way. Specially, she liked seeing how pleased it had made Matthew, who had been so worried at first, and how their happiness just seemed to be multiplied instead of diminished the more love there was to go around.
Sylvain's "I'm with them, but specially with him" shirt had to be custom made, but it was a perfect way to complement their little joke. Though she knew their perfect line was bound to devolve into chaos sooner rather than later as they moved through the crowd.
James' phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket.
“It’s Anna, they are all already waiting outside. We should go.”
“Let’s. Last one to the door is a slowpoke.”
Matthew bolted out the door, James rushing right behind him and complaining of him cheating. Cordelia and Sylvain looked at each other in shared amusement, before he motioned to the door and stepped aside.
"Ladies first."
Matthew already had his hand on the doorknob and was bouncing in place when they got downstairs. Now that Cordelia actually had time to look, she could see Oscar would have made his namesake proud, with a bandana and leash covered in rainbow colours.
Her eyes went from Oscar to each of the boys, and it made Cordelia so happy, her eyes filled with tears.
“Come over here for a second, you two.”
She hugged James and Matthew tight, then pressed their foreheads together.
“I love both of you so, so much, and I am so happy we are together.”
“Me too,” they murmured back at her. She looked over her shoulder and motioned for Sylvain to come closer. "And I am so thankful for you, too. For accepting us, and joining us."
Sylvain came over, passing his arms over Matthew to join their hug and smiling. "It's my pleasure to be here."
They stayed there for a moment, basking in themselves and their warmth, until Oscar whined.
They all stopped to give him pets.
“We love you, too, of course, Oscar.”
Matthew opened the door and past their small yard all their friends and family were already waiting, many of them decked in their own pride colours themselves, the others carrying rainbow flags and happy to display the pride and love they all had for each other.
Cordelia started crying again, overcome with such joy and love she could not contain it. This was what being part of a community meant, this was what being surrounded by people that loved and accepted them meant.
Hate may try to rear its ugly head up from time to time, but love and joy would always win in the end, because they were the strongest forces the human race had ever known.
She took her place in between James and Matthew with a smile full of delight, winked at Sylvain on the other side of Matthew, and all together they walked and all together they marched, towards an always brighter future.
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Second piece I wrote for the @unwholesomeocweek event! This completely got away from me and ended up mixing prompts "proxy sex", "body horror", "necrophilia", "possessive behaviour" and "wound fucking".
Basically, Heinrich got almost completely decapitated in a battle once. But no worries, he got better (proof) due to the King/God feeding him his blood. Though, since the Moon Goddess was involved, it's probably best he doesn't know the details of how it all went down.
There's more of Heinrich being the Goddess's favourite toy here.
~~**~~
It was so rude of those barbarians to break her favourite toy like this.
The Goddess sighed and rubbed at her chin, the rough hair of the king's beard scratching her hand. Maybe it was fairer to say they were rude to break their favourite toy like this.
The giant gash on his throat was an ugly mass of red against the white linen sheets, his head almost completely torn apart from its torso.
Almost, but not quite.
"My poor little darling", she cooed, thumb brushing across his cheek, over his bottom lip. "So pathetic lying there. A loser at the end of it all. But it was not your fault, I know. They were cheaters, dishonourable men. Attacking from behind like the worthless worms they are."
She held his face between her hands, making sure it didn't move from the careful position she had placed him in. "It is okay. I will fix it. Me and Lucien will. Because you are our favourite toy, yes?"
She gingerly kissed his lips, then sighed.
"But it is so sad to see you like this, so placid and quiet. Won't you wake up and yell at me, my darling? Call me a phony goddess and order me to leave this body alone? Tell me you hate me so? This sharp tongue of yours is quite useless like this."
She pushed her fingers into his mouth, felt around his tongue, his teeth, pushed them further down his throat, being met with no resistance. When she wiggled her fingers, she thought she could almost see them poking out through the edge of his wound.
Her smile widened. Sharpened. "Or maybe not so useless, after all."
Her other hand slid down the body she inhabited, pressed against the tent forming under its pants, relishing the feeling.
"You want him, Lucien, darling? Hmm, I suppose this is the only way we could get him to be fully ours. Without running, without hurting us, without pretenses, just completely and utterly ours, forever. Ah, you like that idea, right? Me too, me too."
She pulled her other hand back, unfastened her pants and stepped out of them, then climbed onto the bed. It was the King's bed, big enough for the king's body to fit on all fours between the headboard and where Heinrich's head was lying on the pillow. Her little angel.
She leaned closer and pressed another gentle kiss on his forehead, between his wide unseeing blue eyes, staring up into the ceiling.
"Be good for us now, will you, Heinrich darling?"
She tilted his head back and slipped the king's hard cock into it. His cock was definitely longer than his fingers, it slid right out of the wound on the other side and she watched in rapt fascination the motion of it continuously slipping into his mouth, through his throat and out the other side.
"Just like this. So good for us," she panted, bracing her hands on his chest to have a better leverage to move. The feeling was neither warm nor wet nor comfortable, but it was, somehow, even better.
Because he was theirs, just theirs, for once, in a way no one else could ever have him.
She kept her eyes fixed on it until the moment they came, droplets of white dripping down his neck towards his chest. It made her so giddy she giggled, then bent down to lap at them as she pulled out.
She licked at his chest, his neck, at the edges of his wound, then kissed his slack mouth.
"Good boy, you were wonderful."
She sat down on the bed, and then carefully lifted him until he was propped up against her chest.
"Now then, time to fix you up."
She sliced her wrist with her teeth, causing blood to pour out. Lucien's blood, like his eyes when possessed by the Goddess, was completely golden.
She poured the blood into his mouth and wound, making sure it got down his throat, then laid him back down.
"There. Now you just rest. I'll see you again soon, my darling."
She kissed his lips one last time, and let Lucien sit back down on the chair next to him to keep watch.
I sadly couldn't join @unwholesomeocweek on time because I had to spend all of the last couple of months studying for a test I took on Sunday SO to not miss out on the fun and also as a celebration of me being free of that test I did a few of the prompts late with Heinrich who is the most unwholesome of unwholesome ocs <3
So to start, Heinrich's POV of the night he killed his parents right after he got turned into a vampire for the prompt "violence". Warning for childhood abuse culminating into a night of rage fueled revenge and uhh Heinrich liking killing and blood a little too much as always.
This is kind of a companion piece to this other fic that shows his brother's pov of the same night. They were having two vastly different experiences with the same event.
~~**~~
Crimson
Her screams were the best part.
Oh, his father was a pig, an idiot buffoon with a heavy hand and a booming voice, but she? She was the one he had truly inherited his penchant for cruelty from.
Her piercing voice, the nails that cut through his skin as she slapped him and held his wrist so tight as she pulled him across the yard she actually broke it, once. The times she locked him in the barn, in a closet, threw him down a well, without food, without water, without light.
Without air. He could still feel the splash of freezing water.
When he was still capable of it, when that was still all he knew to do to defend himself, she would lash at him until he cried, and then lash at him for that, too.
Bastard, she called him. Monster. Devil. Satan.
He was her own self-fulfilling prophecy.
He broke her limbs one by one then left her as a broken down against the wall as he killed his father first. He wanted her to watch.
Her screams filling the air as he ripped his father apart and feasted on his blood made it all that much sweeter.
Her screams a symphony, her tears a balsam, her blood an elixir.
Their pain was more than cathartic, more than triumphal. It was intoxicating, orgasmic.
He was hard as he lifted her by the throat and pressed her against the wall. Her broken cries and gasps for breath sending fire through his veins, shivers down his spine. Now he got why they called it bloodlust.
Luminous red eyes locked into pale blue ones, no longer their disgusting mirror. He licked his lips, his fangs, tasting him, anticipating the taste of her as expectation and excitement built up to a climax.
"Who's the monster now, huh, mother?"
He ripped her throat with his teeth, bathed and splurged on her blood as she spasmed and withered. His body shook, too, and there was more than blood staining his clothes once he was done.
Power and strength cursed through his veins. All the spoils he was entitled to, that he had always been owed. A champion instead of victim, a god instead of a maggot.
And he wanted more. He wanted so much more.
He would paint the whole world crimson like the fire that burned in his soul.
I do really love it when women write graphic and fucked up things. I feel like so often people react to fucked up fiction with “of course a disgusting man would write this 🙄” and it often carries an unspoken (honestly sometimes spoken) message of “a woman’s PURE and DELICATE and FEMININE mind could NEVER think of something this VILE”. Thank you women in fucked up fiction 🫡
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Had to hide at work to write this, but this week's prompt for @flashfictionfridayofficial fit these OCs so well I couldn't not write something for it.
Featuring @cultoficarus's naga!oc, Junya, discussing his roommate and personal idiot, Seth, my werewolf!oc, with one of the cheerleaders of the baseball team while they wait the end of the game by the bleachers (the cheerleader he is talking to is just an npc for now).
These are also the same OCs from this OC Kiss Week ficlet if anyone wants more idiot shenanigans!
~~**~~
"So, let me get this straight..."
Junya nonchalantly threw another popcorn into his mouth.
"Hmm."
"You come to all his games wearing his jersey jacket even though you hate baseball."
"Uhumm."
"And he kicks up a fuss and whines any time you are not paying attention to him."
"Uhumm."
"And you guys do it, like, all the time."
"Yes."
"And you also cuddle and he clings to you all the time."
"Pretty much."
"And he got angry and almost threw hands with that harpy that was being an ass to you the other day."
"Unnecessarily, but yes."
"And you guys are... not together?"
"Nope."
"No offense, but... how?"
"He's straight."
"What?"
"He says he is straight."
"...You are kidding, right?"
"It's what he says."
"And how does he explain all... that?"
"It's just what bros do."
"No."
"Yep."
"Is that why he keeps trying to ask the girls from the cheer squad out?"
"Uhum."
"...Is he aware we all think you guys are together and that he is either joking or being an ass to you when he does that?"
"No, not really. He whines every time a girl turns him down."
"You have got to be kidding me."
"Nope."
"So you are really, really not together?"
"No."
"But it's so obvious."
"You'd think so."
"Dude, how do you put up with that?"
"I'm an idiot, I guess."
"I'd say-"
Their talk got interrupted when Seth came running to the stands, fresh from the win, and threw his arm around Junya.
"Dude, did you see that? I was on fire. You really are my good luck charm, thank you so much."
He gave Junya a kiss on the cheek and then ran off again to celebrate with his team.
"Are you sure you guys are not together? He is an idiot, maybe he forgot to ask."
"Pretty sure."
"Maybe he will realise soon. He can't be that much of an idiot."
"I wouldn't hold my breath."
"But it's so obvious."
"Yeah."
She sighed and pat him on the shoulder.
"My condolences."
"It's fine."
"Want me to throw an ice cube down his shirt in the dressing room later?"
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In which tensions soar, James' healing regresses further and Magnus is still his magnificent self.
Snippet:
Turned out having a rogue warlock to help you in your quest was indeed an amazing help, and James wondered why more Shadowhunters did not do that. As soon as they arrived, Magnus glamoured the whole warehouse so they wouldn’t be on a crunch looking for clues before the mundanes showed up as dawn crept closer.
Unfortunately, between their retreat to their club room and going to fetch Magnus, the wolves had come back to the warehouse to retrieve the crates of weapons and other belongings they had left behind, and had tried to clean up behind them. Only the giant and half-destroyed container that had held the Beast was left. James kicked at the side of it, frustrated, but luckily Magnus said there was still plenty he could learn from the leftover residues of magic, even if they had tried to erase the spell circle.
He took his (sweet, sweet, on James’ opinion, he was starting to go stir-crazy) time to analyse the remains of the defense spell, the inside of the busted container, the tracks the beast had left on the concrete, and the signatures of magic left in the air.
Magnus’ professional assessment and motivational words were:
