hello writeblr! welcome back to the red bean press, a writeblr-first literary magazine! from now on, the red bean press will be releasing issues every two months, therefore, submissions are opening for our january-february issue.
the theme is LOVE, and the many forms it takes. whether platonic, romantic, or something else entirely, feel free to write whatever comes to mind!
send in your submissions by february 21st to [email protected] with your name (or anonymous), your preferred social medias, the title of piece, and any necessary content warnings!
we’re excited to see what you all have to share! if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out to us at the same email as above, [email protected], or drop a message into our askbox.
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WHERE RUN THE DEATHLESS WOLVES ↳ A WIP INTRO BY @SPRIGOFBASIL
graphics by the amazing @moariin !
"Why have you come here, Ivan Tsarevich?"
"That's not my name," he forced out, the words catching and dragging sharp in his throat.
She bared her teeth in a grin. "You're the son of a tsar, aren't you? In the end, that's all that matters."
GENRE: YA Fantasy, Slavic Fairytale Retelling
TYPE: Standalone (for now)
POV: Past, dual POV (third-person limited)
STATUS: Outlining
THEMES/TROPES: Fairytale logic; sword lesbians; curses and retribution; the loneliness of immortality; sibling rivalries; wars of succession; himbo and the beast; the hollow ringing of revenge
FAIRYTALES: Ivan Tsarevich and the Grey Wolf; The Death of Koschei the Deathless; Vasilisa the Beautiful
SUMMARY:
A self-avowed tsar lies on his deathbed, his crown threatening to shatter between three pairs of unfit hands. The throne will fall to the most deserving son, the one to catch the mythical firebird, and born under the shadow of his two brothers, Ivan Petrovich vows that it will be him.
Meanwhile in the far north, the motherless Vasilisa Evgenievna has always been fated for something more. She has the gift, they say, though she can’t help but wonder for what. Her city is dying, rotting from the inside out decades after its light has begun to flicker, and to save it, Vasilisa is soon saddled with a purpose greater than herself: bring back the heart of a firebird.
Taking the path of greater resistance, Ivan finds himself at the mercy of a great beast in a wolf’s skin, its secrets buried deep within its long-crumbling castle. Meanwhile, Vasilisa’s quest brings her to a hut on chicken legs, her life now in the balance of three impossible tasks. Between them, a thread of malachite through a needle.
But myths borne by flame do not make for easy prey, and the clever, foolish hunter is no better than the hunted.
CHARACTERS:
Ivan Petrovich Voronin | the third son, the soft-hearted prince who can’t help but want for more. Handsome and charismatic, but too honest to bear the crown he knows that he doesn’t truly want.
Vasilisa Evgenievna Lebedeva | the beautiful, with the name of heroines of old. Meant for greatness, the shadowed weight of her own purpose lies heavy on her shoulders despite her quest for light.
Galina Bogdanovna | the foundling, with no family nor hopes beyond her self-imposed debt. Her own hand grasps a glass hammer over her heart, ready to give it away to anyone who asks.
↳ Marya Morevna | of broken promises
↳ Koschei Bessmertny | in the eye of a needle
↳ Baba Yaga | of bone-legged sorcery
↳ Mistress of the Copper Mountain | from malachite
LINKS: wip page | main tag
tag list under cut (send an ask/dm to be +/-!):
One-time tag of some moots who might be interested! @tsainami @vitrichor @atelierwriting @scaevolawrites @incipientdream
General tag list: @bookism @problematicallybored @adaparkwrites @citrinus @harrowingwords @elaichichais @sondials @bijouxs @nikolae @endymions @cometworks
WRTDW tag list (except for reni bc i already tagged her for the god-tier edits): @serpentarii @bulletgirl @sidhewrites
The prince pulled a trio of hollow gemstones from the bowl in front of him, each one of them clear but reflecting red, and slid one over his needle. When he returned his attention to his sleeve, the stone fit into place as if it had always been there; Irina couldn’t make out the stitch he used to keep it flush to the dark fabric. It was as if his thread changed color to suit his needs, even as it ran plain and white to a spool on the tabletop.
Finally, she couldn’t hold her curiosity back. “Is it not nice enough already?”
“It’s only half done,” he answered. “I always finish the left side first.” He shrugged his arm back into the sleeve and lifted it from the table, turning it so that Irina could see the lines he had been working on before. They were so thin as to be visible only when they caught the light, each one running in a careful straight line between two stones and never intersecting. Nearer to the hem of the sleeve the design was more complete; he must have started working from the outside inward. A handful of complete shapes were already evident, a few slanted rectangles and one made up of six connected stones that was near-round.
Irina’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. She couldn’t place where she knew those shapes from. “Always?”
He nodded, his smile thin and bleak. “Every year. I’m afraid my mother, ah…dislikes my handiwork,” he said with a laugh sharp as his needle. He laid the sleeve flat across the table again and went back to work stitching his straight lines. “She casts the stars from the sky, and I am the one who must sew them back in place. Every year,” the prince muttered.
Irina paused, fish falling off her fork. “The stars?”
“Yes. The constellations. I don’t know what their new names are,” he sighed, “but I’ve done this for—six hundred years? Or is it seven, now?” The prince looked up from his coat. Deep bruises pooled under his eyes. “You do know the stars make constellations, don’t you?”
“Of course I know.” Irina bristled at the accusation that she wouldn’t. She was a hunter; she had been raised watching the sky. She shook her head. “I just thought…”
How had she not recognized the six bright stars of the Beacon? It was one of the first constellations her father had taught her, pointing it out where it sat on the horizon in the summer months. So long as she knew where it was, he said, she would always be able to find her way home.
“You didn’t think it would be so menial a task?”
She didn’t want to say that. She had made her mother angry enough in the past when she called carding and spinning useless. Irina set her fork down and glanced at Kseniya, still as statuary in the chair next to her. She begged any kind god to bring the other woman back to this conversation and give her the right thing to say.
When no such thing happened, Irina asked carefully, “Do you make it the same every year?”
“To the stitch.” The prince bowed his head in a nod. He sewed another stone in place, again too quick for Irina’s eyes to follow.
“You’ve never done it differently.”
He arched an eyebrow and asked, “Why should I?”
“Isn’t it…” Irina weighed her words and decided on one that he had used earlier. “Boring?”
The prince mumbled something she couldn’t catch from the far end of the table. His hands shook this time when he pulled his needle through the fabric, and he hissed curses under his breath.
He stuck the blunt end of his needle in his mouth and picked apart his last few stitches with sharp fingernails. “Of course it’s boring. Everything is,” he said through gritted teeth. “Why do you think there are so many stories about me?”
FENICE VI AETIER’S EXISTANCE IS AN ENIGMA. She had the entirety of her world at her fingertips before she was even born. A princess to one of the richest nations of the century and daughter to KING DANTALION and TITANIA OF TAUL, two of the most powerful mages of their generation and whose love story was once the stuff of legends. She was conceived with the promise of unimaginable power, an experiment from which a god-child should have been born. Through her, Dantalion’s still contested claims to the throne would be stabilized. Through her, Dantalion and Titania would create a dynasty unparalleled.
And then, the young princess was born dead.
Deadborne. A condition that leaves parents mourning their children as soon as they are born. ANIMUS MAGIC is a prerequisite to living, and for all those poor infants who came into the world without it, their death is an inevitability. Some last a few minutes, others a few days. It is why Fenice vi Aetier’s existance is the greatest mystery of them all, having survived eighteen years as a deadborne, earning her the scorn and morbid curiosity of many.
Fenice led a very isolated life in Isidore— her mother’s fiefdom and primary residence after their divorce—both due to her rank as princess and future duchess, and her condition manifesting in a weakened immune system that left her weakened and susceptible to most illnesses. This, too, was a deviation from the norm, as most royal children are raised within the palace until their coming-of-age. This period of her life would prove vexing to future historians as, with the exception of her correspondents with her uncle prince Andras, not much is known about Fenice’s early life. She is studious, had taken to learning all sorts of instruments, had a penchant for learning languages, and is very partial to sewing and embroidery— but then again, there are only so many things you can do when stuck within a house (however palatial it may be).
She idolizes her mother, Titania of Taul, of whom it’s been stated many times she remarkably resembles. Titania was mother, friend, and protector; those who sought to harm the young princess stood no chance with the Witch of Taul guarding the gates. When Titania suffered an “untimely” death, Fenice was left emotionally and physically vulnerable against all who wished to do her harm. And so, at the urging of her father and uncle, she was whisked away to the royal court for her protection.
But court life has given Fenice a taste for the life that could have been— should have been hers, and she finds that she has quite the palate for all the politicking. The crown is now within reach. For Fenice whose jealousy and ambition have been stewing for years, the only way to sate these new desires is to rectify the wrongs destiny has dealt her. Princesses trapped in their towers are hardly as docile and sweet as the stories would have you believe, and dead men have little else to lose.
WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY 7 — THE LOVER ARCHETYPE [ QUEEN SERIKSA OF GLORIATA, THE SUN OFFERS NO REDEMPTION ]
“Do you not understand? I do not care! I will doom the entire kingdom if I could! My husband can execute me. My kingdom can call me a whore, a traitor.” Seriksa turns to look at him.
“They can all burn. I did not want to be Queen. I accepted him in the belief that I would receive love. I have not received that here. I am only getting what I am owed.” wip intro
And that is it!! special thanks to the admins at thewriteboardwalk for creating this event, this was loads of fun & gave me an excuse to procrastinate by creating graphics & talking about my wips lmao 💖💖
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL. DAY 1: PROTAGONIST
↳adelina de la cruz
Adelina let her head tilt back to gaze at the massive stained glass windows that lined the cathedral, covered in scenes and portraits of the Saints, those holy people who had once built these cities and their history.
She did not believe, by any means, there was anything to these people. They had been humans, like she was, like her mother was, like Emilio. So she highly doubted praying to them would elicit anything. Still, swept up in the moment and the buzz of a shared experience between the people in the cathedral, she sent out a little prayer, a note she told herself, asking for just a little bit of help. If not for herself, then for Emilio and for her uncle.
CAPTURED LIGHTNING - CHARACTER INTRODUCTION
KISTHET | ??? years old - They/Them - Demon
Distant - Aloof - Distrusting - Blunt - Loyal
The shadow swarming at your feet | A moonless night, only lit by a few stars | That gust of wind that makes you sweat on a winter day | The darkness that comforts you | That warm feeling you feel in your fingertips when it's too cold outside | The black cold that endures the white heat | The tree that still defies gravity even in death
Being of the Void. Shaded Passenger.
Kisthet didn't remember how they came to be. There was nothing, there always had been. Then a single moment passed and they seemed to inhabit this Nothingness, this Void. The drifted through this blankness, it was the only thing they could do, until Kisthet met other like themselves. Beings that didn't seem to have a solid form, ever-shifting and changing.
Then they started to feel something, at the edge of their senses. It was barely registerable at first, after some time it grew stronger and stronger, it started to bother the demon. But it would never affect them in any meaningful way. It would just sit at that edge, mocking Kisthet. Like a thin fog it rolled into their lives, contaminating everything it saw, heard, felt.
Suddenly it pulled them into another world, one were the fog wasn't there. Where everything was crisp and sharp.
Something shouted at them, it's arm drenched in red. Kisthet knew it was blood. They knew that blood had pulled them into this world. Somehow they knew. It was delicious. The thing - a human - asked them for a favour. Citing his blood to be adequate payment. Kisthet granted it.
And then the fog rolled in again, muddling their senses. Making them yearn for the Red. So it went. Blood spilled, favours asked and granted, answers given. Only for the cycle to begin anew.
Until those old women spilled not their own blood, but that of someone else. And they had spilled more than Kisthet had ever seen.
It was her blood. And she asked for one thing.
Vigilance turned Loyalty | Paying what is Owed | Knowing Nothingness and Emptiness are not the same | Hiding in the Darkness | Waiting for that Single moment | Naked Truths over Clothed Lies
Ezra is in love with his boyfriend Teddy, but he’s so afraid to say these words that he constructs a game that will allow him to discover if the love is mutual. All they have to do is share their deepest secret with each other; Ezra figures that if Teddy knows the worst thing he’s ever done and sticks around, that’s enough.
What Teddy tells Ezra sends ripples of uncertainty through their relationship and Ezra finds himself drifting away, though he can’t quite put his finger on why until he sees a familiar poster on the wall in a professor’s office. The truth clicks into place, but Ezra’s always been good at denial.
characters;
Ezra is an obsessive person, focused on controlling every aspect of his life that he can. And though he can’t control Teddy, wouldn’t dream of it, he can control the idea of Teddy in his own mind. Ezra has a dark past that exists as an undercurrent over the frozen surface of a lake, and his fixation on the cold causes him to over-prepare for the weather and approach winter like a cautious but entranced child.
Teddy is perfect, he’s Ezra’s perfect thing, a beacon of goodness and purity in a world that so often feels sullied. But he’s hiding a strange desire, a compulsion that Ezra isn’t sure he can wrap his mind around. Ezra’s internal construction of Teddy hits a wall and hits it hard, and though the last thing he wants to do is abandon someone the way he’s been abandoned, Teddy’s secret has Ezra in over his head.
excerpts;
extended excerpt IDs and taglist under the read more (feel free to ask to be +/- from general taglist! <3)
excerpt 1;
“The dark fur is actually a result of an abnormality in their genetics,” Teddy explained. He was full of hyper-specific animal facts. “The extra pigmentation probably helps them keep warmer in the cold months.”
“So you’re saying I’m a mutant?”
Teddy laughed, a cloud of vapor puffing up in front of him. “No, I just mean they’re always ready for the cold, just like you.”
But Ezra always thought they were more like Teddy. Soft, resilient. Perfect. Part of him wishes he’d heeded his father’s words with more care. When he’s with his boyfriend, Ezra so often feels like he’s finally made the catch. But he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s just holding on for dear life, hoping Teddy doesn’t decide to squirm away. Hoping that Teddy doesn’t bite him.
excerpt 2;
Once, towards the end of that first summer they spent together, they were sitting on a dock at Ezra’s family’s summer home and after a playful shoving match, both ended up in the water. Though Teddy took it in stride, Ezra could tell later he was upset by the occurrence. When he asked his boyfriend what the problem was, Teddy said, “Wet clothes make me feel naked.”
Ezra thought about this a lot after the fact. He thought about the way some experiences were like being shoved into a lake and emerging sopping, the way wet clothes cling tight to the body, revealing everything even though one is still completely covered up.
excerpt 3;
Ezra crouched down slowly. He wondered what was the good of camouflage if it only protected you in the dark. If it only kept you warm at the cost of revealing you in the light.
The squirrel seemed frozen, its eyes wide and darting about madly, though the rest of its body didn’t move. Ezra pressed his forehead against the window, cold glass a shock and a relief against his skin. The squirrel stared at him. Its tail twitched.
Ezra closed his eyes. He could hear the snow coming down, little pitter patter of soft wet on soft wet. This was interrupted by a small thump, and when he cracked his lids open, the animal was gone.
Taglist (tagging gen and some others!): @my-liminal-spaces @ahowlinwolf @sugarcoatedglass @chloeswords @rainbowcoloreddays @alicewestwater @ryns-ramblings @vitrichor @lasbrumas @sprigofbasil @reverieternal @incipientdream
