Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

avengemeeee:

writing-prompt-s:

Due to a typo, your local store/mall/etc. put out a request for an appearance by Satan instead of Santa. He follows through with the request.

He shows up and reads through the entire job contract, notes the spelling ‘Santa’ and just corrects each one with a red pen. He eyes the mall representative, who is sweating bullets, but says nothing about the fact that the contracts he’s making are with children, or that they don’t involve souls of any kind. He signs on the bottom line in a strange, bony quill. There’s a strange red flash, and the mall rep is super reluctant to ask. Or touch the contract.

Satan wears the red suit and the hat and the boots, if awkwardly (those cloven hooves, don'tchaknow). 

The elves stand well away, but he’s hardly bothered by that, casually waiting on a throne that’s far more cheerful and composed of significantly less bone than the one he’s used to.

The children are hesitant at first, until a little girl marches up, sans-parents, and plops herself on his knee, looking up at him with the set jaw of someone who isn’t interested in this farce.

“I want a pony,” she says with a roll of her eyes. She’s no more than nine. He arches an eyebrow

“Do you?” he asks. She scoffs.

“Tch, no, but you’re just a man in a suit, it’s not like you can’t get me what I want.”

He smiles at her assertiveness and steeples his fingers, careful not to jostle her from her perch.

“Try me.”

She narrows her eyes at him, studying his inscrutable face before folding her arms.

“There’s a bully at my school, and I want him to go away,” she said. His eyebrow arched a little higher and he tilted his head.

“And if I do this, I believe the standard contract is that you will be a ‘good girl’ and behave appropriately towards your most favored parent?’ he replied. The child rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” she says. He nods and holds out his hand, which curls around hers entirely when she puts hers out. 

“It will be done.”

After that, the children are a lot less hesitant, although several adults attempt to leave. Several hundred bargains are made. For toys. For new family. For present family to suffer. For puppies. And kittens. For understanding. For acceptance. 

He declines anything borne of pettiness - of momentary squabbles between jealous children - and redirects them towards more productive desires.

He turns away anyone over the age of eighteen, though several adults attempt to approach. Later they are plagued with horrible nightmares.

At the end of each day, he returns to the underworld and assembles teams of demons, handing out assignments to each of them, to be researched heavily and then executed the night of December 24th. The demons are confused, but do as they’re told, because the dark lord’s edicts are undeniable. His secretary gives him an odd look, but Satan is immune to searching looks, and says nothing, just retires to his room, gets up in the morning, has his coffee, and returns to the mall, donning the suit and heading for the chair.

At the end of the week, he has made more than a thousand deals. The demon hordes are scurrying back and forth between hell and the physical plane.

There are many confused parents, come Christmas morning. Some find themselves with various pets they don’t remember registering for. Others with children. Others still find that their children have undergone some sort of personality shift, to the delight of their siblings. 

The first girl is bitter in her heart as she opens gifts, until a letter is personally delivered by a strange mailman, detailing the removal of a teacher from the school she attends. She reads and rereads the letter after her parents finish with it, heart beating strangely lighter in her chest. Her parents are bemused and delighted about the hugs she gives them, and about the enthusiasm with which she ravages her other presents. 

They are far less bemused by the black, hellfire-maned pony that is left on their doorstep, a tag attached to the pommel of the saddle that reads, ‘To Katie, Regards, Satan’

(via academicfeminist)

vintar:

there’s a lot of people pushing back against “write what you know” as advice for aspiring authors and i would like to speak up in its defence for a moment because i just finished reading a mystery book where the murder weapon was a vicious fighting dog, and in the scene where it was finally revealed we found out that a) the person who had stolen it and was using it to kill people it had been keeping it secret from the police by locking it in his car boot, b) it was an irish wolfhound, c) once freed, it attacked the hardboiled detective across the yard instead of the gormless idiot who had been repeatedly stuffing it in a car boot, and d) its way of attacking the detective in this very dramatic finale was via mighty swipes of its sharp claws, which slashed through his skin like knives

i don’t think this author has seen a dog in his life. i think he might have confused them with lions? write what you know: if you’re writing an animal, be fairly confident that you could point to one in a small child’s pop-up book

(via primarybufferpanel)