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flightlessangelwings · 3 years ago

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Burning Desires

The Darkling x afab!reader (smut with no pronoun use, to use of y/n)

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY!), unprotected sex, rough sex, choking, pining, slight possessiveness

Notes: I have had this in my drafts for literal months but I just couldn’t get more than vibes for the longest time lol! But I’ve missed writing for the Darkling so much! And I would let him do anything to me lol! Enjoy! And feel free to also follow my update blog and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post @flightlessangelwings-updates

“General?” you cleared your throat as you knocked at his door.

It was late into the evening, but you knew he would still be up. He always waited up for your debrief at the end of the day, no matter how late it came at times. You had worked hard and moved up the ranks in the First Army, and you had the trust and confidence of your leader, General Kirigan. But, no one knew that you had something more as well.

You swallowed hard as your mind drifted back to a night very similar to this one not too long ago that ended in burning, passionate sex in his bed. But you pushed that thought down and hardened your expression as you swallowed hard and knocked again. As you strained for a response, you faintly heard his voice and with his permission, you opened the door and let yourself into his private quarters.

The general’s room was lavish and beautiful, and it momentarily took your breath away every time you entered. But, there was another sight in the room that made you gasp in surprise.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Kirigan smirked as he emerged from the bathroom in nothing but a fluffy black towel that hung low on his waist. The darkness of the towel contrasted with his skin as your eyes landed on the deep V that was clearly visible on his hips.

“S-sorry general,” you stuttered as you almost tripped over your own feet, “I’ll come back.”

In a flash, he crossed the room and grabbed onto your wrist, “Stay,” his voice had that tone of authority that made your heart pound in your chest, “What news do you have for me?”

Your mouth dropped open as you stayed in his tight grip. You almost forgot why you came to his room in the first place as your eyes took in his nearly naked figure. The pitch black towel was the only piece of fabric he had on, and he clearly just got out of the bath as you saw the way water droplets clung to his skin. They highlighted his toned muscles well and you swallowed hard as your gaze settled on his pecs.

When the general repeated your name, you immediately brought yourself back and forced yourself to focus again. With all the mental strength you could gather, you gave your weekly report, like you had done many times before. Although it was different this time when your general wore nothing but a towel and stood just inches from you.

General Kirigan watched you with his intense gaze as you spoke. But, as hard as he stared at you with those deep black eyes, you wondered if he even fully listened to your report or if he just wanted to watch you squirm. When he interrupted you with a question, you had your answer to your unasked one.

“How often do you think about our night together?” Kirigan’s voice was low as he stepped even closer to you and traced up your arms with his fingers.

The question caught you completely off guard as you choked on your words as you struggled to answer him, “I…” you looked up and met his gaze and you let out a deep exhale.

“I think about it every damn night,” he confessed as his fingers traced the outline of your face.

Again, his words caught you off guard but you finally formed an answer, “Me too.” You stayed still as Kirigan leaned in and ghosted his lips over yours, “General…”

“I want you to say my name,” he whispered.

You trembled under his touch and you whispered his name in a prayer, “Aleksander…”

With that, he closed the small gap between your faces and took your lips with his in a heated kiss. You tilted your head back and instantly gave him access and surrendered to him. He swallowed the soft moan you left out as his hands roamed all over your body. Aleksander groaned your name in between kisses as he tugged at your kefta.

The general broke away and looked at you with a burning passion as he slid your kefta off your shoulders. He placed one feather-light kiss on your forehead before he turned around and hung your kefta with such care. Your mouth dropped open as he ran his hand down the soft fabric before he faced you again.

Before you had the chance to say anything, you felt Aleksander’s large hands on either side of your face and his lips took yours once more. You felt the way he gripped you tightly, almost as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you reached out and rested your hands on his chest.

Aleksander broke the kiss and looked at you once he felt the pressure of your touch, “Do you need me to stop?” he asked with a sincere look in his eyes.

You hadn’t even realized your eyes fluttered shut when he kissed you until you were forced to open them and look him deep in the eyes, “Don’t you dare.”

A shadow came across his face and he launched forward at you again and kissed you with more fervor. You both moaned against each other and you clawed at the other in a sudden rush of desperation. With your permission, the general tugged at your clothing piece by piece as his hands roamed all over your body and stripped you of your top. You, in turn, ran your hands from his shoulder across his chest and down his torso.

You smirked against him when you felt a shiver from his body. As your hand traced lower on his body and you reached the top of the towel, you felt more bold. With a smirk against Aleksander’s lips, you gave the towel a gentle tug.

Suddenly, a strong grip on your wrist stopped you and you broke away from the general and looked into his eyes. In his gaze you found a burning desire, but also a look of warning.

“Are you sure?” Aleksander’s voice was low and dripping with lust, but you knew if you said the word everything stopped then and there.

Yet you didn’t want it to, “Yes,” you whispered confidently as you yanked the towel from his body and left him completely bare for you.

It was your turn to look with a burning gaze as your eyes trailed down his toned body. Without the towel, you saw that he was already half hard for you and it lit a newfound fire within you. A whine escaped your lips before you could stop it and a gentle hand under your chin slowly forced you to look back up and into Aleksander’s eyes once more.

“I need you,” he growled before he swiftly guided you across the room to his bed.

In a whirlwind, you suddenly found yourself on your back on his larsh, luxurious bed. You didn’t even notice he stripped you completely in the movement until his eyes landed between your parted legs. For a moment, you felt embarrassed that your general saw you in such a vulnerable state, even if this wasn’t the first time. Heat rose in your body as your breath quickened, and you knew he caught the way your breasts swayed gently with your breathing.

“Beautiful,” he groaned as he climbed on top of you.

All you could do was moan and surrender yourself to him and his touches. Aleksander started at your hips as he tickled you with just his fingertips. He smirked as he watched the goosebumps rise on your skin and you shivered with anticipation. His touch became firmer as he moved up your sides and cupped your breasts.

“Aleksander…” you moaned as he ran his thumbs across your nipples. The sensations of his touches sent shockwaves throughout your whole body and sparked a fire deep within you, “Need you…”

He rocked his cock along your folds as you spread your legs for him, “I’ve got you,” he murmured as he leaned forward and attached his lips to your neck and sucked at the sensitive spot there.

You wrapped your arms around him and held onto him as if your life depended on it as he continued to tease your pussy with his cock. A needy whimper escaped your lips as you pleaded with your eyes for more.

Just as you were about to beg for more, Aleksander pushed the tip of his cock into your pussy. Instead of words, all that you let out was a loud moan as you suddenly felt the stretch of him inch by slow inch as he pushed himself into you.

“Fuck,” Aleksander growled as he felt your warmth engulf him.

He propped himself up and grabbed onto your wrists. With one final thrust to sheathe himself completely sindie you, Aleksander lifted your arms up over your head and pinned them down onto the bed. With his weight on your arms, he slowly but harshly thrust into you over and over again.

You arched your back as you took everything the general gave you. Moans and cries escaped your lips with every thrust of his hips and you felt wonderfully helpless against him. He hit every spot inside you that drove you wild and you had never felt so filled as when he fucked you.

He kept his steady but strong pace as he watched the way your face twisted in pleasure. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth hung open as all your beautiful sounds spilled from it. Aleksander’s eyes drifted down slightly so that he watched the way your breasts swung with every thrust of his hips. He tightened his grip on your wrists as his head swam from lust.

“So… Beautiful,” he groaned as he picked up his pace slightly.

Aleksander was calculating, even when his mind was lost to his ache for you. Aleksander made sure to satisfy you with every movement of his hips, but never enough to get you close to your climax yet. He wasn’t finished playing with you just yet, and he selfishly wanted more and more of you.

He let go of your wrists as he pushed his length completely inside you once more. The low growl he let out was drowned out by your moan as you felt him deeper inside you than ever before. Even when he let go of your wrists, your arms stayed above your head as he dragged his fingers down the length of your limbs. The feather-light touches were a stark contrast to the harsh rhythm of his hips, but you knew the softness wouldn’t last.

“I think,” Aleksander spoke in a low tone, “You would look even more beautiful,” he let out a heavy breath as your eyes opened and met his gaze, “With my hand around that pretty neck.”

Gently, he covered your throat with his large hand and put just a slight amount of pressure at the base of your jaw. Your eyes went wide as you gasped and your hands immediately grabbed onto his arm. Aleksander stayed still for several moments as your breathing and pulse quickened.

At first, you weren’t sure what to make of his bold move. But, you trusted your general with everything you were, and with a short nod you gave him silent permission to continue. You knew that was what he wanted, and the moment you agreed to his silent proposal, he tightened his grip on your neck.

A loud gasp escaped your throat before he started to pound into you again. This time, his pace was faster and harder as he increased the pressure on your throat. You let out a silent scream as you felt like you would float away from the pleasure he gave you. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the sensations of his hand on your throat and his cock inside you was almost overwhelming, but in the best way possible.

It was a sensation unlike anything you had experienced before, and the pressure from Aleksander’s hand on your throat added to the feeling of his cock inside you. Still, you felt his burning gaze on you, even if your vision clouded. You weren’t sure if it was from the lack of air or if the Darkling had let go of his inhibitions and filled the room in darkness.

Aleksander watched you with an intense gaze as he pounded into you with everything he had. The way your eyes glazed over and drool dribbled from the corners of your mouth as he pressed on your neck turned him on more than anything had before. The way you gave yourself to him fully and trusted him to keep you safe even when things teetered on the dangerous sparked something within the Darkling that had been dormant for so many years.

He growled your name through gritted teeth as he leaned forward and hovered over your face. His hips never faltered even when he shifted, and when you let out a croaked squeal, he knew he hit the perfect spot within you. Fueled by lust and his own emotions, Aleksander thrust into you over and over with wanton abandon, determined to make you cum harder than ever before.

“Show me how beautiful you are when you cum for me,” he groaned, “Give me what is mine.”

With that, he released his grip on your neck and the moment all the air rushed back into your lungs you completely lost control. You came hard as you trembled and tightened your grip on him. Tears fell from your eyes as you let out a hoarse scream.

Aleksander watched the show through his pitch black eyes, not wanting to miss a moment. He kept up his pace as long as he could until his own orgasm took over him. He leaned forward and covered your body with his as he spilled himself inside you. Aleksander bit your shoulder as he pumped himself into you over and over until he had nothing more to give.

Spent, his legs gave out and Aleksander flopped limp on top of you, his cock still buried deep inside you. Neither of you cared to move, and neither of you had the energy to even if you wanted to. You wrapped your arms and legs around him and held him close as you placed a feather light kiss on the side of his head.

Aleksander in turn squeezed you tighter. It was unspoken between the two of you, but you couldn’t deny the tension that always hung in the air when you were close. And tonight, everything bubbled over to the surface for the second time. The embers of passions erupted into a burning flame of passion, stoked by both of you.

Just as he let out a soft groan and tried to push himself up, you wrapped yourself around him and held him securely. “Stay,” you whispered in his ear.

He let out a low chuckle, “Gladly,” Aleksander purred back as he settled himself on top of you once more, “Never want to let you go.”

You gasped at his bold words, but you clung to him even tighter, “Me either,” you admitted as you dug your nails into his back. You weren’t sure where this rush of emotions came from, but you were also done fighting them.

“You’re mine,” he squeezed you tightly as he bit into your skin.

“Yours,” you whispered back in a promise.

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bravemikhailo · 3 years ago

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what are your favorite gallavich fics?

wow this took me literal months but finally here I am with a looong list. this fandom is just too talented 🥹

ok let’s start with wips, shall we?

miles between us - by @xgoldendays // In the summer of 1975, Mickey Milkovich is released from Beckman Correctional in California after a seven year prison sentence. Along with his cousin, Sandy – he's set to make the long road trip from Los Angeles back to his hometown of Chicago. On the way though, the pair pick up a hitchhiker who teaches Mickey that life on the outside has changed and the road home is never easy.

balancing on the ledge - @mmmichyyy // Moments on ledges in Ian and Mickey’s lives as their connection ebbs and flows throughout the years.

care for a cut? - @gallawitchxx // a barbershop au written 100 words at a time based on galladrabbles prompts!

a dustland fairytale - @gardenerian // It’s different, this heat.It wraps around him, covers him as he walks into the night. Their usual summers might be heavy and stifling, but this - it feels alive. It feels purposeful, like it clings tighter to him every time he thinks about it.

the silence is all we have - @mmmichyyy // Ian remembers a time when Mickey loved him. Now, all they have is silence. A story not about changing the past, but about rebuilding what they once had into something whole again.

things beyond mistake - @gallavichy // In the 90s and early 00s, they were distant neighbors on a long, dirt road out in the middle of vaguely Georgia farmland. Ian and Mickey: two poor, closeted Southern kids with similar financial situations but very different families, harboring secret crushes that felt illegal and that manifested themselves as sharp words, punches, and self-loathing. In 2021, Ian, a high school teacher in need of a fresh start, returns to his childhood home after nearly 20 years to find himself once more sharing a lonely dirt road with Mickey, the boy he once knew and the man he's desperate to get to know.

your question has been received - @celestialmickey // a tumblr AU with a bit of a twist

since we’re alone - @lethargicmick and @buffymilkovich // When Mickey Milkovich first got to the University of Michigan he had two goals; play hockey and get drafted into the NHL. But by his junior year, he’s at risk of losing his full ride scholarship because of his slipping grades.Enter Ian Gallagher, an ambitious and fiery redhead who takes his job as Mickey’s tutor way too seriously and seems determined on making his life a living hell.Or a College AU where Mickey is a hockey player and Ian is studious as fuck. They are everything the other one hates. Or so they think.

intro to quantum dating - @spoonfulstar // another college au

ok I’m going to put the rest under the cut because this got extremely long!

completed multi-chapters

I had a dream (I got everything I wanted) - @matteoamiras // mickey milkovich hasn’t seen ian gallagher in over 9 years, not since the day he broke his heart and they shipped him off to prison for a crime he didn’t technically commit.the last place he expects to bump into him is new york fucking city.mickey suddenly finds himself being thrown head first back into a world of people and places he's spent so many years trying to leave behind.or, the one where two broken puzzle pieces find a way to fit themselves back together.au from 5x12/6x01 onwards.

Ian the friendly ghost - @sunoficarus // "ghosts au where Mickey thinks the house he moved in is haunted because the doors seem to close on their own and his shit somehow gets neat and tidy and Ian's just a very polite ghost who's got a bit of a crush on the adorable grumpy guy who's just moved in"

you outshined the best there was - @metalheadmickey // Scenes from early parenthood in the Gallagher-Milkovich household.

cooperative gameplay - @gallavichy // At nineteen years old, Ian Gallagher’s stuck. Stuck in a minimum-wage job he hates. Stuck in the same boring routine--sleep, wake, work, take your meds, Ian!, try not to lose it day after day after day. But after his little brother introduces him to MICK MILK, a frustratingly hot horror gamer he watches on YouTube, Ian's life will never be the same.

like real people do - @gallavichy // At the age of 26, Mickey Milkovich gets his first apartment, his first wifi connection, and his first kiss. How he gets from wifi to kissing is a complicated story. Mickey is socially anxious. Ian is a frustratingly lovable escort working through an app. Mickey downloads said app. The rest is history.

where I end and you begin - @gallawitchxx // Mickey is dead. And he’ll stay dead unless his soulmate can see him. He knows that’s Ian. Because….come on. But he’s only got two weeks to prove that--if he can get Ian to see him, then he gets to live again. If he can’t? Well, then it’s a one way trip to the Great Unknown. The thing is, the last time Mickey saw Ian it was behind some glass and Ian was not-so-convincingly promising to wait…

blood in, bleed out - brewrosemilk and whatsastory on ao3 // The year is 1954. Tony Bennett is on the radio, Marilyn Monroe is on the silver screen, and as Ian Gallagher is about to find out - the Ukrainian mafia is in full swing.

where I found you - @gardenerian // "They were finally thriving, as opposed to just surviving. Things were finally going their way. And now Ian’s in a hospital bed, thinking he’s fifteen fucking years old. He doesn’t remember their story. He doesn’t remember what they went through together. He doesn’t know Mickey like the back of his hand anymore. He doesn’t even know that Mickey’s gay. And Mickey’s the neighborhood thug again. Ian’s afraid of him. Ian hates him."

you’ll never see us again - @spoonfulstar // Ian navigates life inside the confines of Marceline, a beautiful boarding school in rural America where he had been fed, clothed, and raised since as long as he could remember. Things begin to fall apart when he grows older and starts to question the truths he'd been told -- about himself, his friends, and what their purpose truly is.

your name like a song I sing to myself - misandrywitch on ao3 // Mickey and Mandy Milkovich are the two halves of indie band 'Mandy and the Misdemeanors' and, against all odds, they're pretty good. That's about all Mickey has going for him though. He's expecting to slog through another long monotonous summer, make a little money playing some gigs and pass unnecessarily hot afternoons how he always has: drinking too much and wondering halfheartedly what feels like it's missing from his life.Until, that is, he meets a red-headed green-eyed bartender named Ian who charges into Mickey's life with a laugh, and who ensures that nothing will ever be the same.

the sound - chloemaay on ao3 // Five years. Five years for Ian and Mickey to twist their lives together so inextricably that neither can imagine life without the other. Five years of getting to know every inch of skin, every bad habit. Five years of fights. Five years of memories. Five years of being inseparable. One moment to take it all away.

one-shots

hope we’ll be better than the past - biblionerd07 on ao3 // Ian wants to leave Chicago when Mickey gets out of prison, intent on a fresh start together. Unfortunately, leaving a place doesn't always mean leaving the problems you faced there.

ghosts that we knew - @matteoamiras // for the first time in mickey's life, shit is moving forward - he's married, he's got a steady job and his dad just kicked the bucket. then, someone impossible turns up and everything he thought he knew is turned upside down. she doesn’t look like anything mickey has been led to believe about ghosts. because the woman in front of mickey is alive.

twenty strangers - @crossmydna // Ian may be a realist in most things, but at heart, he’s a hopeless romantic. That’s probably why he agrees to kiss a stranger on camera.

morning light - @mmmichyyy // Ian swears he feels Mickey's heart slow for a millisecond, but his voice remains steady. "You doing okay?" Maybe when he was younger, Ian would've probably stiffened and gotten defensive if anyone asked him that. I'm fucking fine. Leave me alone. Stop coddling me. But Mickey's not just anybody. He's his husband. His person. His rock. His everything.He's Mickey.

something to hold on to - @xgoldendays // Ian Gallagher thought he wasn’t prepared for prison but who he really wasn’t ready for was his brand new cell mate, Mickey Milkovich. or alternatively, Ian and Mickey meet in prison and cuteness and flirting ensues.

blood cells pixelate and eyes dilate - kissteethstainred on ao3 // The worst part about loving Mickey wasn't the fact that Mickey (might have) slept with other guys or the fact that Mickey doesn't love him back or that Mickey and Ian will only ever be fuckbuddies. No, the worst thing is the moments where Ian thinks it will be more.

stages - ColdReign on ao3 // It’s nice for married couples to share interests and experiences. But they didn’t really need their dads to die one after the other like this.

how to love - proval on ao3 // Mickey's body's been a bit quieter for a while now, no longer wracked through with those heaving sobs. But Ian gets the feeling if he leaves they'll start up again. Ian POV gap filler for 11x09. Starts after the end of 11x08.

three wishes - @xgoldendays // It's a time honored tradition to blow out your candles on your birthday and make a wish. Most people wish for happiness, others for gifts but for Mickey Milkovich, birthdays meant wishes never coming true. At least until he finds exactly what he's been missing to make those dreams into reality. Otherwise known as the three times Mickey celebrates his birthday and the three wishes he makes.

golden hour - @iansfreckles // He’s going to count those freckles one day, he decides, right then and there with Ian’s mouth on his. He’s going to find his favorite shapes in them, his favorite stories. Draw stupid little pictures in black ballpoint pen on his shoulders and kiss them, kiss them, kiss them, until Ian’s laughing with that one crooked tooth on display. (OR: 5 times Mickey admires Ian's freckles, +1 time Ian admires his)

bright - @gallavichy // "There's gotta be a neglected Milkovich baby crawling around your family tree somewhere."Post-series fic in which Ian and Mickey become parents. Alternating POV, but this is Mickey's story.

my love, you’re the one - @matteoamiras // all the years they’ve lost, all the goodbyes, all the reunions – they've all led up this. or, five times ian gallagher misses mickey milkovich + one time he doesn't have to (he never has to again).

you - budget on ao3 // "You can’t pinpoint exactly when it was that you stopped being you." - 7x11 analysis

the weight of water - Callielee227 on ao3 // mickey thinks about water, once in mexico and once in ian's arms

blueberry pancakes - noeller on ao3 // Ian and Mickey make dinner with Ian’s gay tomatoes from his gay garden

the seeds that you plant - @good-then-dont // inspired by ian's apparent love for tomatoes in the new episode.

makes a cathedral, him pressing against me - misandrywitch on ao3 // Ian kisses the top of Mickey’s head again, his temple, the hollow of his throat below his Adam’s apple, his collarbone, the torn skin on his knuckles. He kisses him and feels, for the first time, that neither of them is really going anywhere.

over and over again - mariss__ugh on ao3 // Mickey told him once that he’s fucked for life; he hopes more than anything that Mickey knows now that’s not true. He knows Mickey had a vision of how his future would be, but he also knows this isn’t the first time that vision is changing.

every story has its chapter in the desert - misandrywitch on ao3 // That was then, and this is now, and maybe those two things are connected, there’s a direct line from Monica to Ian, something you can’t wash out no matter how hard you try.

this is the essence of love and failure - misandrywitch on ao3 // “You’re sick,” Mickey says. “Hospital,” Mickey says. And your body is numb and your heart is breaking and you run.

try to forget how it feels inside - endofadream on ao3 // But this Ian is so different from that Ian.

a storm to weather - @xgoldendays // Pain is meant to be felt. As visceral as it can get, as deep as it burrows, you must feel it or it will consume you from the inside out. One shot detailing Mickey’s thoughts and emotions during the events of seasons 6, 7, and 9.

softer, softer - sunshineians on ao3 // “Softer,” he says quietly, guiding Mickey’s hands to his own bruised waist. He leans their foreheads together. “Softer,” he whispers, one more time. Just so Mickey knows. Or, Ian teaches Mickey's hands how to be gentle.

collections of ficlets and series

broad shouldered beasts - biblionerd07 on ao3 // Six years after Mickey goes to jail, he's released on parole. He does his best to build a "normal" life and a relationship with his son while juggling the scars of his past.

shots in the dark - @iansfreckles

garden song - @gardenerian // He stands at the plot for a while before he begins working. This is it. After weeks of internet searches and sketches in his notepad, it’s time to put it all into action. Ian closes his eyes against the afternoon sun, breathes in the smell of dirt and greenery. Thinks about that giver of dreams. Opens them, squeezes the trowel in his hand.He works. He works well. And then: there it is. A goal accomplished. A beginning.

#i just went through all my bookmarks and recent history on ao3 😳 I’m sure I missed some gems anyway so please forgive me #I love all of these so much everyone is so talented #fic rec list #fic rec #gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #hope all the links work 🤡#asks

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duckprintspress · 4 years ago

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Giving Quality, Motivating Feedback

A guest post by @shealynn88!

The new writer in your writing group just sent out their latest story and it’s...not exciting. You know it needs work, but you’re not sure why, or where they should focus.

This is the blog post for you!

Before we get started, it’s important to note that this post isn’t aimed at people doing paid editing work. In the professional world, there are developmental editors, line editors, and copy editors, who all have a different focus. That is not what we’re covering here. Today, we want to help you informally give quality, detailed, encouraging feedback to your fellow writers.

The Unwritten Rules

Everyone seems to have a different understanding of what it means to beta, edit, or give feedback on a piece, so it’s best to be on the same page with your writer before you get started.

Think about what type of work you’re willing and able to do, how much time you have, and how much emotional labor you’re willing to take on. Then talk to your writer about their expectations.

Responsibilities as an editor/beta may include:

Know what the author’s expectation is and don’t overstep. Different people in different stages of writing are looking for, and will need, different types of support. It’s important to know what pieces of the story they want feedback on. If they tell you they don’t want feedback on dialogue, don’t give them feedback on dialogue. Since many terms are ambiguous or misunderstood, it may help you to use the list of story components in the next section to come to an agreement with your writer on what you’ll review.

Don’t offer expertise you don’t have. If your friend needs advice on their horse book and you know nothing about horses, be clear that your read through will not include any horse fact checking. Don’t offer grammar advice if you’re not good at grammar. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give feedback on things you do notice, but don’t misrepresent yourself, and understand your own limits.

Give positive and constructive feedback. It is important for a writer to know when something is working well. Don’t skimp on specific positive feedback — this is how you keep writers motivated. On the other hand, giving constructive feedback indicates where there are issues. Be specific on what you’re seeing and why it’s an issue. It can be hard for someone to improve if they don’t understand what’s wrong.

Be clear about your timing and availability, and provide updates if either changes. Typically, you’ll be doing this for free, as you’re able to fit it in your schedule. But it can be nerve wracking to hand your writing over for feedback and then hear nothing. For everyone’s sanity, keep the writer up to date on your expected timeline and let them know if you’re delayed for some reason. If you cannot complete the project for them, let them know. This could be for any reason — needing to withdraw, whatever the cause, is valid! It could be because working with the writer is tough, you don’t enjoy the story, life got tough, you got tired, etc. All of that is fine; just let them know that you won’t be able to continue working on the project.

Be honest if there are story aspects you can’t be objective about. Nearly all of your feedback is going to be personal opinion. There are some story elements that will evoke strong personal feelings. They can be tropes, styles, specific characterizations, or squicks. In these cases, ask the writer to get another opinion on that particular aspect, or, if you really want to continue, find similar published content to review and see if you can get a better sense of how other writers have handled it.

Don’t get personal. Your feedback should talk about the characters, the narrator, the plotline, the sentence structure, or other aspects of the story. Avoid making ‘you’ statements or judgements, suggested or explicit, in your feedback. Unless you’re looking at grammar or spelling, most of the feedback you’ll have will be your opinion. Don’t present it as fact.

Your expectations of the writer/friend/group member you are working with may include:

Being gracious in accepting feedback. A writer may provide explanations for an issue you noticed or seek to discuss your suggestions. However, if they constantly argue with you, that may be an indicator to step back.

Being responsible for emotional reactions to getting feedback. While getting feedback can be hard on the ego and self esteem, that is something the writer needs to work on themselves. While you can provide reassurance and do emotional labor if you’re comfortable, it is also very reasonable to step back if the writer isn’t ready to do that work.

Making the final choice regarding changes to the work. The writer should have a degree of confidence in accepting or rejecting your feedback based on their own sense of the story. While they may consult you on this, the onus is on them to make changes that preserve the core of the story they want to tell.

Some people aren’t ready for feedback, even though they’re seeking it. You’re not signing up to be a psychologist, a best friend, or an emotional support editor. You can let people know in advance that these are your expectations, or you can just keep them in mind for your own mental health. As stated above, you can always step back from a project, and if writers aren’t able to follow these few guidelines, it might be a good time to do that. (It’s also worth making sure that, as a writer, you’re able to give these things to your beta/editor.)

Specificity is Key

One of the hardest things in editing is pinning down the ‘whys’ of unexciting work, so let’s split the writing into several components and talk about evaluations you can make for each one.

You can also give this list to your writer ahead of time as a checklist, to see which things they want your feedback on.

Generally, your goal is going to be to help people improve incrementally. Each story they write should be better than the previous one, so you don’t need to go through every component for every story you edit. Generally, I wouldn’t suggest more than 3 editing rounds on any single story that isn’t intended for publication. Think of the ‘many pots’ theory — people who are honing their craft will improve more quickly by writing a lot of stories instead of incessantly polishing one.

With this in mind, try addressing issues in the order below, from general to precise. It doesn’t make sense to critique grammar and sentence structure if the plot isn’t solid, and it can be very hard on a writer to get feedback on all these components at once. If a piece is an early or rough draft, try evaluating no more than four components at a time, and give specific feedback on what does and doesn’t work, and why.

High Level Components

Character arc/motivation:

Does each character have a unique voice, or do they all sound the same?

In dialogue, are character voices preserved? Do they make vocabulary and sentence-structure choices that fit with how they’re being portrayed?

Does each character have specific motivations and focuses that are theirs alone?

Does each character move through the plot naturally, or do they seem to be shoehorned/railroaded into situations or decisions for the sake of the plot? Be specific about which character actions work and which don’t. Tell the writer what you see as their motivation/arc and why—and point out specific lines that indicate that motivation to you.

Does each character's motivation seem to come naturally from your knowledge of them?

Are you invested (either positively or negatively) in the characters? If not, why not? Is it that they have nothing in common with you? Do you not understand where they’re coming from? Are they too perfect or too unsympathetic?

Theme:

It’s a good idea to summarize the story and its moral from your point of view and provide that insight to the writer. This can help them understand if the points they were trying to make come through. The theme should tie in closely with the character arcs. If not, provide detailed feedback on where it does and doesn’t tie in.

Plot Structure:

For most issues with plot structure, you can narrow them down to pacing, characterization, logical progression, or unsatisfying resolution. Be specific about the issues you see and, when things are working well, point that out, too.

Is there conflict that interests you? Does it feel real?

Is there a climax? Do you feel drawn into it?

Do the plot points feel like logical steps within the story?

Is the resolution tied to the characters and their growth? Typically this will feel more real and relevant and satisfying than something you could never have seen coming.

Is the end satisfying? If not, is it because you felt the end sooner and the story kept going? Is it because too many threads were left unresolved? Is it just a matter of that last sentence or two being lackluster?

Point Of View:

Is the point of view clear and consistent?

Is the writing style and structure consistent with that point of view? For example, if a writer is working in first person or close third person, the style of the writing should reflect the way the character thinks. This extends to grammar, sentence structure, general vocabulary and profanity outside of the dialogue.

If there is head hopping (where the point of view changes from chapter to chapter or section to section), is it clear in the first few sentences whose point of view you’re now in? Chapter headers can be helpful, but it should be clear using structural, emotional, and stylistic changes that you’re with a new character now.

Are all five senses engaged? Does the character in question interact with their environment in realistic, consistent ways that reflect how people actually interact with the world?

Sometimes the point of view can feel odd if it’s too consistent. Humans don’t typically think logically and linearly all the time, so being in someone’s head may sometimes be contradictory or illogical. If it’s too straightforward, it might not ‘feel’ real.

Be specific about the areas that don’t work and break them down based on the questions above.

Pacing:

Does the story jump around, leaving you confused about what took place when?

Do some scenes move quickly where others drag, and does that make sense within the story?

If pacing isn’t working, often it’s about the level of detail or the sentence structure. Provide detailed feedback about what you care about in a given scene to help a writer focus in.

Setting:

Is the setting clear and specific? Writing with specific place details is typically more rooted, interesting, and unique. If you find the setting vague and/or uninteresting and/or irrelevant, you might suggest replacing vague references — ‘favorite band’, ‘coffee shop on the corner’, ‘the office building’ — with specific names to ground the setting and make it feel more real.

It might also be a lack of specific detail in a scene that provides context beyond the characters themselves. Provide specific suggestions of what you feel like you’re missing. Is it in a specific scene, or throughout the story? Are there scenes that work well within the story, where others feel less grounded? Why?

Low Level Components

Flow/Sentence Structure:

Sentence length and paragraph length should vary. The flow should feel natural.

When finding yourself ‘sticking’ on certain sentences, provide specific feedback on why they aren’t working. Examples are rhythm, vocabulary, subject matter (maybe something is off topic), ‘action’ vs ‘explanation’, passive vs. active voice.

Style/Vocabulary:

Writing style should be consistent with the story — flowery prose works well for mythic or historical pieces and stories that use that type of language are typically slower moving. Quick action and short sentences are a better fit for murder mysteries, suspense, or modern, lighter fiction.

Style should be consistent within the story — it may vary slightly to show how quickly action is happening, but you shouldn’t feel like you’re reading two different stories.

SPAG (Spelling and Grammar):

Consider spelling and grammar in the context of the point of view, style and location of the story (eg, England vs. America vs. Australia).

If a point of view typically uses incorrect grammar, a SPAG check will include making sure that it doesn’t suddenly fall into perfect grammar for a while. In this case, consistency is going to be important to the story feeling authentic.

Word Count Requirements:

If the story has been written for a project, bang, anthology, zine, or other format that involves a required word count minimum or maximum, and the story is significantly over or under the aimed-for word count (30% or more/less), it may not make sense to go through larger edits until the sizing is closer to requirements. But, as a general rule, I’d say word count is one of the last things to worry about.

The best thing we can do for another writer is to keep them writing. Every single person will improve if they keep going. Encouragement is the most important feedback of all.

I hope this has helped you think about how you provide feedback. Let us know if you have other tips or tricks! This works best as a collaborative process where we all can support one another!

#duck prints press #original content #writing advice #guest blogger #guest blogger shea

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kingdaddydaichi · 4 years ago

Note

One of my favorite stories I’ve ever read is “Lessons Learned”. So I would like to request something similar with a mixture of Hard dom/ Brat tamer Bakugou ❤️‍🔥 Take it in whatever direction you want, I know I’ll enjoy it however it ends up 😏

@ssplague, bestieeee! Tysm! 🥺💕 I'm sooooo fucking sorry it took me so long to answer your ask! It made me weak the first time I read it! I've got so many other wips I should probably be working on rn, but I finally said FUCKIT! I nEED this in my life rn!

I LOVED writing Lessons Learned - god! It was hard to get through tho. Nearly every time I sat down and started working on it, it always ended the same way and that's all I'ma say rn! 😈

Yes. I see your HardDom!BratTamer!Bakugou and raise you Jealous!Exhibitionist!Bakugou. 💅🏼💋

I hope it's worth the wait...

MINORS 👏🏼 DO 👏🏼 NOT 👏🏼 INTERACT 👏🏼

The Performance 💥 HardDom!BratTamer!Jealous!Exhibitionist! Katsuki Bakugou x f!reader 💥 NSFW

Warnings: slight dubcon, Dom/sub dynamic, possessive dynamic, exhibitionism, marking, circle jerk, creampie, absolute filth

Word Count: 2.9k

It was half past 9 when he walked through the door at the well-to-do club where you'd been enjoying down time with some of your friends. He kissed your cheek and sat down in the half-circle booth next to you, putting his warm, athletic arm over your bare shoulders.

"How long you been waitin'?"

"Maybe an hour?"

He looked down, grumbling. "Got here as soon as I could". He glanced at you with his bottom lip poking out.

You propped your cheek on your hand and smiled at him, rubbing his arm. "I know, babe. It's perfectly fine, I understand".

"Ay, Bakubro! You finally made it!", Kiri yelled from across the table.

Katsuki snarled at him. "Yeah! Some of us have to actually work for a living!"

At that very moment, the cocktail waitress stopped by the table to take Katsuki's order and Mina yelled, "Yes please, for the love of god, get that man a drink!"

He growled at her before turning back to the waitress. "Four fingers of whiskey straight, no chaser".

She scampered off and everyone fell into the chatter and laughs they'd been sharing when Katsuki arrived.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

You were on your way back to the table from the restroom when you felt fingers against your elbow and a voice behind you say, "Hey, (y/n)!"

"Oh hey!" It was a young man a few years younger than yourself who worked in the same office building as you. "Fancy seeing you here". He appeared to be with a couple of friends judging by the prying eyes peering from behind him, smirking.

"I know, right? I've been here a few times, but I don't think I've seen you here before".

"Really? I come here quite regularly and I've seen you here before".

"Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I just haven't been paying attention".

"Don't worry about it! I just thought I'd say hi this time".

"I'm glad you did! Maybe I'll see you again the next time I'm here". You waved your fingers at him and started back towards your table again only to see Katsuki's eyes about to burst into flames as he watched you approach.

When you sat down, he leaned in. "Who's he?"

You waved him off. "Just a guy who works in the same building as I do".

"What did he want?"

"Nothing, just wanted to say h-"

"Bullshit". He placed his hand over your thigh under the table. "When a guy looks at a woman the way he was looking at you, trust me baby, he wants something". His large, rough hand squeezed the meat of your thigh beneath it. It hurt and you gripped his wrist in an effort to keep the whine in the back of your throat from escaping. The rest of your party was too close in proximity...at least one or two of them would've heard you. "I don't like it when other guys look at you like that". He dragged his fingers upward, taking the hem of your skirt along with them.

"Katsuki, get ahold of yourself. They're just looking...it's not like they're touching me".

He put his mouth to your ear. "Fuck it. Let 'em look". His hand moved further up your skirt, parting your legs enough that you could feel the cold draft of air against your dampening panties. "It'll just give me every reason I need to show them who you belong to".

His eyes shifted away from yours and you followed them to see what he was looking at. The guy who had just been flirting with you was watching as your husband's hand worked between your legs. His eyes flicked to Katsuki’s whose dark, lopsided, toothy grin spread across his handsome face, pleased that he was making himself clear to the other man that he had already laid his claim on you.

His pinky grazed your clothed, wet slit and you squirmed in your seat, trapping his hand between your thighs hoping it would make him relent. "Stop it, Katsuki", you growled at him.

But he twisted his wrist until he was able to push your panties aside with two of his fingers. He sank said fingers between your inner folds, coating them with your clear slick before curling them upwards to flick them over your hardening clit. You shuddered under his touch as he locked eyes with the other man, making sure he was watching when Katsu raised his fingers to his mouth, sucking them both off at once.

You glanced down to see Katsuki's cock pushing against the fabric of his slacks, tight against him in his sitting position. Showing other men that you belonged to him had always put him in a rut. You used the situation to your advantage and knowing he wouldn't follow you with a half, but nevertheless large, erection for everyone to see, you stood up in one fluid movement, turning away from him and strutting to the bar.

As you waited for the busy bartender to take your order, you noticed the rather strapping gentleman who stood beside you, looking down at his glowing phone screen.

"What can I get for you ma'am?"

You looked back at the bartender, who'd finally spoken to you. "Oh, um- (favorite drink)-"

"On me", the man beside you said.

"Yes sir", the bartender said before turning to his task.

You looked again at the handsome man beside you - taller than Katsuki, but he didn't exude quite the same confidence he did. Then again, not many people did.

"Thank you, you didn't have to do that".

"I know". He gave you a smug, sidelong look. "I wanted to".

You tried to hide your smile, but fuck. His sexiness could easily go head to head with Katsuki's. You watched his eyes travel from your face down to your toes and back up again. You could almost feel your possessive husband's fiery eyes burning a hole in your back.

You turned to face the gentleman beside you, glancing over at the blond in the process. When you focused your gaze back to the man beside you, Katsuki stood up and started stalking towards you. His dick still wasn't completely soft yet, but he didn't care. He probably wanted the man next to you to see the bulge in his pants, using it to his advantage during the impending exchange at the bar. Not many men had a bigger cock than Katsuki and he knew it.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, squaring his hips off at the other man, most likely willing him to notice his size. "Let's go".

You pushed back against him. "Stop Katsu, I'm not ready to go yet".

He locked eyes with the man beside you and put his mouth right up next to your ear. "Would you prefer I fuck you right here on this bar to show everyone who your slutty pussy belongs to? Because I will! You're already wet and aching for my cock, aren't you, pretty girl?"

He was NOT bluffing. You knew your Dom. It had only taken him once before to show you that he was not above covertly pulling his dick out and pushing it inside your hot cunt while standing behind you at a crowded bar, much like the one you were standing at now.

The bartender sat your drink down on a small napkin, but Katsuki pushed it back to him and said, "Oi! Throw this one out and make her another one". He glared at the taller man beside you. "ALL of her drinks are on me, got that?"

He slid two thick fingers inside the plunging neckline of that little black number you wore, carding your hard nipple between them as he rutted his hips against your bottom. "Well?"

A part of you wanted him to fuck you then and there with the other man watching. But you'd never let it actually go that far. "Katsu, please go sit down and I'll be over after I get my drink since I have to wait longer for it now". You rolled your eyes.

He leaned back, his vermillion eyes searching yours until they locked onto the feminine form brushing past your shoulder. He reached out and stopped the cocktail waitress in her tracks, leaning down to her ear, whispering something. Without another word, he calmly walked away and sat back down at the table.

Stubborn as you were, you held your position at the bar. A couple of minutes later, out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement near the table where Katsuki was seated. The same waitress was now leaning down and whispering in his ear, her lips less than an inch from his face. He caught your gaze and smirked before turning his face towards hers. For a second it looked like he might actually kiss her. You were relieved for about half a second when she stood up and started walking away from him, only to watch him stand up as well and follow her up the stairs into the private VIP area.

Now it was your head that was about to explode. I know he did NOT just invite a fucking cocktail waitress to the VIP so he can fuck her! He turned the tables faster than a cheap hooker turns tricks on the streets of Vegas. You knew how other females looked at him. Hell, males too! That girl was probably 10 years your junior too, barely old enough to be serving alcohol. And now you watched as she led your husband up the stairs.

Drink forgotten, you marched your pretty, indignant ass right up to the 2nd level, ready to snatch a bitch up by her hair only to find Katsuki sitting on the couch, alone.

"Seems you're a petty, jealous asshole too".

Relieved, you plopped down on the couch next to your faithful husband, putting your arm over his waist as he pulled you in and kissed your forehead.

You lowered your head to his chest only to notice once again that his cock was pressing against the confines of his pants. You stroked him through the rough material as he raised up, pushing his erection closer to you, physically begging for more of your touch. You palmed him a couple more times before unzipping his slacks and pulling his cock out. He wasn't fully hard yet, but if you had anything to do with it, he was going to be standing at full attention in less than a minute.

You lowered your head further and pushed some spit through your ruby lips onto the angry head of his dick. He watched as you lowered your mouth and swirled your tongue around the smooth texture of his tip before sinking your lips down around him, taking as much of him into your mouth as possible. Not easy, but you're a blow job champ determined to take all of it for the team.

Only a couple of minutes passed by when Katsuki pulled you off his cock. You raised your lusty gaze to see the two men who'd flirted with you standing side-by-side, eyes as big as half dollars at the sight of your tits hanging out of your dress with a fat string of saliva hanging from your bottom lip. Your face snapped to Katsuki who had a shit-eating grin on his face. "What the fuck, Katsuki? Why are they here?"

"Because I had them brought here to watch and see under no uncertain terms who the fuck you belong to!"

Your protest was cut short when Katsuki flipped your body around so that you were facing the back of the couch. He pushed your skirt up around your waist and hooked your soaking panties with his thumb, pushing them aside and holding them against your ass cheek. "I suggest you hold onto something, you bratty cockslut!"

"Baby, no, I don't want them to see-". You averted your eyes from theirs.

Katsuki gave his thick cock a couple of strokes before pushing the head against your weeping entrance.

"Katsuki, you can't-". Your words failed you as he sank his meaty cock inside you.

He looked over at the audience of two, who were enraptured as they watched your husband pull himself nearly all the way out before gliding himself in balls deep again. He set a rhythm, making sure that the two guys who'd had the audacity to flirt with you could see the striations of your slick along his length as he fucked you. The younger of the two, the office boy, had been palming himself through his pants.

"Oh my god, Katsu! They're watching us!"

"I know, that's the fucking point!" Maintaining his pace, he looked at them. "You understand now that she's mine?"

Their mouths moved, but no sound came out. Katsuki pounded his thighs against you harder, a sharp clap ringing through all 8 ears. "Answer me!" The taller man's erection was now evident through the fabric of his pants.

"Y-yes, I un-understand", one of them mustered while the other one could only nod.

Katsuki's wet balls were slapping your clit now, and you whimpered "Katsu? Baby?"

He wrapped your hair around his fist, ignoring your mewl. He never broke eye contact with the men who'd made passes at you. "Tell her who the fuck she belongs to".

The younger one had pulled his cock through his open zipper, jerking off his smaller dick with his eyes locked on the point where your body met your husband's.

"Look at her!", Katsuki commanded. Both pairs of eyes met yours, their dry mouths hanging open. "SAY IT!"

They both jumped. "Y-you...belong to h-him", said the younger man who had been jacking off.

"The name's fucking Bakugou! Fucking say it!"

The same guy said, "You b-belong to B-Bakugou!"

By this time the taller man had pulled his dick out too, much larger than that of the other guy, but he still didn't hold a candle to Katsuki.

Katsuki's eyes darted to his. "Say my fucking name!" Your pussy was sucking him hard and his voice nearly cracked.

"B-Bakugou..."

"That's right...Bakugou. It's her last name too, you fucking beta. Don't you ever forget!"

The man's eyes drifted over to your pussy just in time to see the pink ring of flesh around your husband's cock begin an undulating cycle of flexing and relaxing. "Nnn-Katsu! G-gonna cum!"

Your thighs tightened and your hips stopped rocking back against Katsuki's, but the clamping down of your vaginal walls only got stronger as you unraveled around your husband's weighty cock.

He pulled back on the fistful of your hair, still plunging himself deep within your quivering cunt. Smarmy as ever, he looked at the taller man again. "Who does this fucking pussy belong to?"

"Y-you! I-I mean, Bakugou!"

"You're goddamn right it fucking does". Katsuki's groan escaped on the tail end of his words.

You could feel his cock tensing up inside you, such was his size. "Katsu?" Your body had turned to putty as you tried to hold onto what little shred of dignity you had left. "Cum for me, Katsu!", you whimpered.

"Why the fuck should I?"

"C-uz I want y-ou to mark m-e!" Your eyeliner smeared across the leather material of the couch cushion.

"That's a good a reason as any", he said before shifting his eyes away from the small circle jerk and back down to you. "Ah fuck, baby, yeah. I'll fucking mark you alright!" His eyes darted back up to that of his audience. "Gonna make sure my musk saturates you so they can fucking smell me on you!"

Drool seeped from your open mouth against the cream-colored leather. Your tits swayed and your ass cheeks rippled from the sheer force of Katsuki's relentless thrusts.

"Ah fuck, baby, gonna fill you up with my seed! So fucking full of it you're not going to be able to hold it all in!" Katsuki's hips snapped against your ass one last time before locking up, his ass flexing, relaxing, flexing, relaxing, flexing.

The younger man who'd been jacking off whined quietly as he blew his load onto the carpet beneath him.

"Nn fuck", the taller one groaned.

Finished with his orgasm, Katsuki pulled his cock out, bouncing under its own weight. He pulled your hips around to put on display the creampie he'd left behind inside you. The taller man, still tugging on his cock, watched as your pussy clenched, causing some of Katsuki's seed to ooze out of you and drip onto your ankle. That's all he could take and he came rather loudly, his cum nearly hitting you on the first release, such was the power behind it.

Katsuki frowned at both of them. "She's fucking mine. Don't you ever fucking forget it. Now...get the fuck OUT!"

They barely got their sticky, softening cocks back in their pants before retreating downstairs to no doubt go straight to their respective homes and have existential crises because they just orgasmed while watching another man fuck and cum inside an attractive woman. Porn was one thing, but Katsuki's show of dominance had hit different. And they had to wonder if they were wrong for it somehow.

Meanwhile, your husband helped you pull yourself together at least enough to make it to the car to take you home.

And with the privacy window partially cracked open, the driver was able to watch as Katsuki lapped up both your fresh slick for him, as well as his own seed as it continued to leak out.

#ask and you shall receive #hard dom bakugou #brat tamer bakugou #jealous bakugou #exhibitionist bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki #bakugo #katsuki x f!reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #dynamight #katsuki thirst

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cleanlenins · 4 years ago

Text

Going Angst Week 2021

Day 3: Family/Friends

TW: Referenced Suicide, Major Character Death, Brainwashing

Read on AO3

She had been trying to fix this blaster all morning, but it seemed to resist her at every turn. When she fiddled with the trigger mechanism, the circuit board would shift and cause a misfire. When she realigned the circuit board, the blaster seemed unable to draw power from the battery. When she fixed that she realized that the trigger mechanism had stuck again. Round and round it went, unable to fix that which she was an expert in. The very thing she had designed and created. Maddie tore off her hood in frustration, running her hands through her hair. The blaster thumped against the kitchen table.

Things used to be so much easier.

She had thought that when she and Jack finally finished the Ghost Portal, everything would fall into place. They would have access to the Ghost Zone. Their research could be proven beyond question. Their inventions and patents would be given the recognition that they had dreamed of all those nights of meticulous drafting. And though much of that did happen, it had come at a cost.

Her family.

She didn't know when it had happened, but her children had started to drift away. Sure, she had not expected them to always cling to her apron strings (though every mother hopes), but this was not the sort of distance brought on by children growing up. The distance was maintained by whispered conversations and discreet glances. A distance held on a foundation of lies and subterfuge. Of secrets and conspiracy.

Maddie wasn't stupid. She saw it. Maybe a little later than she should have. But that wasn't her fault. It was the ghosts' fault. Constantly spreading their malignant taint onto the world of the living. They had turned her life's work, her portal, against her. Using it for their own perverse ends instead of the benign purpose of scientific discovery. Of course, the ectoplasmic scum couldn't help but turn everything they touch into a plague among the living. It was their nature.

Phantom was no exception.

No matter what Amity Park believed, Maddie knew better. The ghost was cunning in its malevolence, but she saw through the hero act. The ghost always seemed secretive, never shouting its plans like the other spectors. Making cheeky remarks with no hint of it's ulterior motives. But in the few moments that Maddie was able to get close enough to see its face, she could see the fear of detection plain as day. Her own son had made similar expressions when caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was a facsimile of emotion, but an understandable one. The Fenton's would never be fooled by its trickery, they knew too much for that. It had good reason to be afraid of them.

Even more so now that she knew the truth. Her face burned as she thought about how she had been tricked, her breath catching with the fury the memory brought.

She had been hunting. Not any ghost in particular, but she searched the streets for any that had been unwise enough to cross the veil. And she clung to the shadows, she saw a bright light emit from an alley. Cautiously, she slunk to the mouth of the alley and peaked inside. She nearly dropped her ecto-blaster in shock.

There stood her Danny. Her Danny! Laughing with his friends, and one unnatural interloper. The female Phantom hovered feet from the ground, holding its stomach in laughter. Maddie was about leap around the corner to tell it to leave her son alone when-

"As fun as it was, I think my bruises have bruises. How about next time you find a different target for practice?" Danny smirked. Smirked! As if it was nothing more than a game of tag.

"Aw, but you make such a great target! You look so goofy when you try to dodge," The ghost said. It then pantomimed a series of poses, obviously desperate attempts to avoid the painful burn of the ghost's ectoblasts. Danny's friends laughed at the show. Maddie grit her teeth.

"So! Same time tomorrow, then? I'm only going to be in town for another few days," The Phantom said. Her Danny snorted.

"Do I have a choice? You'd hunt me down and drag me out if I tried to avoid you," Her Danny laughed, as if that wasn't the most horrifying sentence he ever spoke.

"As long as you understand that," the ghost said, snapping its fingers into a gesture her son liked to call 'finger guns'. The female Phantom shot into the sky and disappeared. Danny and his friends chatted about their newest video game, but Maddie wasn't listening. She silently ran away from the scene, mind reeling.

No wonder the other Phantom always seemed afraid of them finding out his plans. It had a right to be afraid. If the Phantoms were using her children as target practice...

Maddie stilled at the front door. She remembered all the times Danny had come home with paltry excuses for the bruises and scrapes that covered him. The blood stains on his slowly dwindling wardrobe. The times he came home, obviously favoring and arm or a leg-

Phantom was as evil as any ghost, and now she had her proof.

But first, she had to help her poor Danny. The ghosts had somehow manipulated him into thinking that their cruel abuses were a joke! A game! How he must have suffered for the amusement of the ectoplasmic-scum.

Maddie was pulled out of her thoughts at the sound of a loud click. She looked down in her hands and saw that she had finally been able to align all the pieces correctly in the blaster. The cool metal was lit by the eerie green glow the power source gave.

This was the gun that would end Phantom. For good.

Maddie glanced at the clock, realizing it had taken more time than she had anticipated to finish the gun. She should check on Danny. She left the blaster where it sat on the kitchen table, and walked toward the lab. Descending the stairs quietly so as to not startle Danny.

Danny still sat in place where she had left him, arms and chest bound to the chair with ghost-proof tethers (overkill, but ghost-proof was the only kind they owned). Maddie had known that whatever brainwashing her son had been subjected to by the Phantoms would not be overcome with only words. So she had asked the school to let her borrow one of the Cramtastic Mark V's they had purchased. When she mentioned she wanted to catch Danny up on his grades, they let her take him out of school for a week.

Maddie's heart ached at the memory of Danny begging her to untie him. His tears as he thrashed, pleading for her to let him out. That it was a mistake. That Phantom wasn't tricking him. That Phantom was a hero. When she pointed out his bruises, he didn't have an explanation. She wanted to weep at her son's pain and to wrap her baby boy in her arms, but she had to stay strong. Jazz would never approve of her methods, but her daughter was away at college. Jack was away at a conference. What they never knew wouldn't hurt them.

It didn't take long for Maddie to write a program for the machine. A program of how ghosts were evil, how they only wished to cause harm, how there was nothing good about them except for their value to the field of science, how they should all be eradicated on sight. However, Phantom's mind control was powerful. Even when left to the machine's power of subliminal persuasion for hours, she would come back to find Danny had come up with a counterargument to the information. Maddie would rewrite the program to refute that, but the next time she came he would have another excuse. Over and over. It had been days now. But Maddie would never give up on her family. Would never give up on her son. He could be brought back to the world or reason. Phantom would not have a hold on his mind forever.

She cautiously walked up to him. He looked rough. She felt a pang of guilt, even knowing that this wasn't her fault. He had dark circles under his eyes streaked with tears. His wrists were rubbed raw against the restraints. He looked so tired. Breaking through this mind control was so draining, but who knows how long her son had been at Phantom's mercy?

"Danny, sweetie. Have you come to your senses?" Maddie asked softly. Danny blinked blearily at her, fresh tears escaping from the corner of his eyes. She gently wiped them away, cupping Danny's cheek in her hand. He leaned into the touch, before slowly nodding.

"Okay, sweetie. I just need you to tell me. Tell me about ghosts," Maddie almost whispered, wiping more tears away. Danny closed his eyes and swallowed.

"All ghosts...are evil," he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. Maddie wanted to cry as well. Her poor baby had been through so much. But maybe it was finally over. Next she only had to get rid of the evil that had done this to him.

"That's right, sweetheart. All ghosts should be destroyed, right?" She rubbed his cheek with her thumb. He opened his eyes, pleading

"All ghosts?" He asked, voice breaking.

"All ghosts, sweetie," Maddie said, still stroking his cheek. A sharp sob wracked his body. He nodded, more tears began to pour. Maddie felt a wet prickle in her own eyes.

"Even Phantom," Danny said. It wasn't a question, but Maddie nodded. She noticed her son's lip quiver. It hurt her so much to see him in such pain, but she knew it was for the best. She would finally have her Danny back. Phantom had lost its hold on her family.

"Especially Phantom."

Maddie turned off the program, and detached Danny from the chair and computer. He immediately latched onto her, with more strength then she thought he had. A vice-like hug that had them both collapsing into a sobbing puddle. Maddie combed through her son's hair, whispering assurances and love to him. That no evil ghost could harm him. She held him until the sobs subsided, completely exhausted he looked up at her. She guided him up the stairs and into the kitchen, having him sit in one of the chairs. She quickly made some toast, sure he would be hungry enough not to care that it was his least favorite thing to eat.

"I'm not hungry," he whispered, glancing at the fixed ecto-blaster on the table.

"You should eat, Danny. You haven't been eating much the last few days," Maddie pressed gently. Slowly, he nodded, mechanically chewing the toast. Maddie breathed a sigh of relief.

"What is that for?" he asked, nodding to the blaster.

"To get rid of Phantom, so he can't hurt anyone ever again," Maddie said. Danny nodded, still chewing the toast and staring at the blaster. He looked ready to tip over from exhaustion any second. Maddie could not wait to get her revenge for what her baby had been through. She itched to start hunting the Ghost Boy. She stood.

"When you're finished, why don't you go up to your room and rest? You've been through a lot these past few days," Maddie said, walking over and stroking his hair. He nodded, before leaning into her and hugging her once more.

"I love you, Mom," he said. She held him close.

"I love you too, sweetie," Maddie said, kissing his hair. She walked away and then down into the lab. She began gathering the equipment she needed to find Phantom. The Fenton Finder, the Fenton Nets, anything she could use to take that filth down. She stacked it all in her arms and headed upstairs. Danny had already left the kitchen, so she sat her tools on the table to better organize them. Putting each in place on her belt, and wrapping them into newly made holsters around her chest.

She frowned when she set the last object in place. The blaster she had left on the table, repaired only half an hour ago, was missing.

Bang! She flinched at the noise, coming from upstairs. She was all to familiar with that sound.

"Danny?" She cried before rushing toward her son's room.

#danny phantom #cartoons #going angst week 2021 #going angst week #my writing #ouch #whump #angst

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years ago

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A chatty writing update | novels, short fiction, etc!

Hi folks!

It’s been a while since I last wrote an update on this blog! I thought it’d be fun to go back to basics, and just talk about writing. This post chats about: new plans for Feeding Habits, my newest novel, my short story goals & growing collection, along with process reflections.

(image description: a photo of green leaves with the text “writing update” in a white font written on top. /end image description)

Post starts under the cut!

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed)

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites, @avakrahn, @maisulli

What have I been up to?

For starters, I finished my second year of my Writing undergrad last week and got two of my final grades back today (A+ baby)! For anyone who has taken online university, y’all already KNOW, but this year was so difficult. Would not recommend! Really proud of myself to have gotten through this absolute rollercoaster of a school term and am excited to get into some writing. That leads us to:

What have I been up to (writing edition)?

2021 started off so fast. By the time January hit, I was so consumed in my new semester that I did not have time to write Feeding Habits (my novel). In the first few days of the term, I managed to write between class, until I could no longer keep up! Essentially, I did not write any of that novel until exam season (last week), where I did manage to get in about 3k words in ~4 days.

Feeding Habits

I’m currently drafting what I believe will be the last chapter of this book (chapter 10: Swan Song). This chapter is so bizarre for a few reasons. It begins the book’s third part and also marks the shift back into Lonan’s head from Harrison’s. I originally thought this part would be much, much longer, with at least another five chapters to go, but quickly realized the book’s content was nearly completed. In my 4 day 3k palooza, I hit 50k in the book (the word count goal), and couldn’t see myself extending past 60k. Since then, I’ve made the loose decision to write this final chapter as a ~novella. Here are a few reasons why:

1. This chapter is structurally very strange.

I unashamedly shift from present to past to present to past past, and so much more every 12 words. I mapped out the timeline on a sheet of paper, and there were over 20 shifts in scenes (the chapter is only about 4400 words at the moment). The fictive past is incredibly important to this chapter, more important than the present, and I thought it would make more sense to not break randomly for a chapter so I could upkeep the consistent inconsistency of the chapter.

2. The chapter is very abstract

This stems from the structural changes, but there are paragraphs in this chapter of the fictive present that are loosely based in reality. They’re more poems than they are factual paragraphs, and keeping them all contained in one place (so a mega chapter/ novella) would reduce the most confusion!

3. There’s not much left to cover

Like I said above, Feeding Habits is on its last leg, lol! I know exactly where the book needs to end up, which is very, very soon from where I’m currently at on the timeline. Swan Song should cover what 2-4 chapters would cover in terms of arcs.

Feeding Habits and I have a really weird relationship, tbh! When I realized a few weeks ago that it’d been over a year since I started the book, I realized I just needed to finish it. Not that I want to rush (because I’ve taken longer than a year to write a book in the past), but that in order to move onto another project, I’d like to put this one behind first. This book has been the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and has reminded me there’s always a time to let go. This sort of scrounges up a conversation about letting this entire series go, which is certainly something I’ve been contemplating doing soon(ish). If this spinoff series gets a third book, that may or may not be the last Fostered book for a very long time (or ever)! There are many complex reasons to move on, but the main one is that I have other projects I’d like to focus on. This is not a definitive decision, but something I’ve certainly been thinking about!

Here are a few excerpts I wrote recently:

(TW: death, gore)

Dying feels like being a trout dangled out of water. Clinging to a hook. Mouth open. Scales iridescent in a final death cry. It’s like blood spurting up the knuckles, drowning out the flesh. It’s that moment on the long fall down when the clouds cup the body. Easy drifting. The sound a skull makes when it cracks is really just the afterthought.

(TW: death, gore)

Kill shot. Death blow. Coup de grace. Right in the heart. He feels it. The blood swelling, slicking his palms. He can do it. Reach into the cavity. Feel for the ribs. Part each bone. Then cup the humming heart. Stay there. Right. It’s never been easier.

Look at this PURE moment of Lonan holding a baby I CANNOT:

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds. The evening air nipped his cheeks, so he made sure Olivia was securely fastened between him and his jacket. With wide eyes, she absorbed the drowsy suburbia, all its family cars pulling into driveways, all its couples heading back home after a sunset walk. When Lonan passed a young boy walking two golden retrievers, Olivia giggled, and didn’t stop, even after he’d spent fifty dollars on groceries and nearly the rest on a red Corolla marked with a MUST GO NOW sign outside a convenience store.

Let’s move on!

Mandy and Cora

I said I wouldn’t talk too much about this project, but I just love it so much?? I wanted to share my SUPER early thoughts on drafting a novel, especially one that is SO different from what I’ve been writing recently. I talked about this before in THIS post, but the summary about this project is that it’s a YA contemporary novel! Can’t believe I’m writing YA again, it’s been so long, but I also think it’s going so well. Everything I’ve learned as a literary fiction writer has been a fantastic primer for transferring back to the genre. Admittedly, I have not written much, but I’m having a lot of fun diving back into a lighter project. This is the summary:

Cora and Mandy are identical twins who’ve always done everything together. But when Mandy decides to go to university out of province after graduation and Cora doesn’t, Cora takes this as an opportunity to “test run” life apart from her sister for the first time by spending the summer at her aunt’s house across the country.

I have come up with a few ~things since I last talked about this project, mostly how I’d like to structure it. As of now, I’d like the book to be structured super loosely. I’m really pulling on a lot of inspo from “We Are Okay” by Nina LaCour (which is SO good), particularly how “nothing happens-y” that book is. This project (which I still need a title for!!) will be structured in short chapters that cover something Cora does on her own for the first time (without Mandy). For example, a few ideas are “Flight”, “Lunch”, and “Groceries”. “Flight” is the first “chapter” (they’re really kind of vignettes) where Cora flies to her aunt’s house. I still can’t determine if this book will take place in Canada. On one hand, I feel like there will be a wider audience if it takes place in the US (is that just an assumption??? maybe?? someone let me know!), but also: don’t really care too much about an audience at the moment! It could also take place in Canada (So Ontario and British Columbia). But if it does take place in the US, I think it may take place in NYC and San Francisco. The problem is: I really don’t like researching lol, and while I’ve been to NYC many times, I will definitely write it wrong! Does this really matter on a first draft?? absolutely not lol, but of course I am already overthinking!

But back to structure: I am looking forward to seeing what this looser structure will do. This is a story that is solely around one half of a set of twins learning to be her own person (and ultimately that she doesn’t have to completely forget her sister in order to do that), and as a twin who KNOWS this feeling, I think this structure of her doing things for the first time is SUPER relatable.

I was worried it might sound silly/worrying to others who are not twins that Cora hadn’t done things like “lunch” or “groceries” on her own, but I feel this so much as an identical twin myself! Not that she hasn’t done anything at all by herself, but as a twin, when you do something without your twin for the first few times, at least in my experience, you notice. If any twins are reading this--weigh in!

This story is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. It definitely is an OwnVoices book! Usually, I avoid details that are remotely similar to me because they make me uncomfortable haha, but with this book, it’s all me, lol! The characters are all Guyanese, which is SO fun because I’ve been planning what they eat (my fellow Caribbean peeps know: the FOOD!), which is so fun (yes they have pumpkin and shrimp, yes they have roti, yes they have pera, yes they have mithai). Every time I’ve gone to dabble at this book, or even think about it, I get incredibly emotional for this reason? I don’t exactly know why. I think this is a story I just so want to tell, with the culture I love SO much that I definitely struggled to love as a child. This is reclamation bitchessss!

Not going to lie tho: the prospect of writing ~a book~ is kind of freaky! I’m going to make the minimum word count for this book pretty short (50k) and see where it goes from there. I think I will focus on this project this summer! Originally I was going to write a literary novel this summer, but I think this one’s calling my name!

Here’s a pretty rough excerpt:

Try. I remind myself that’s what I’m doing after the flight attendant fills me a disposable cup of Coca Cola and all I can think of is Mandy and I shoving Mentos into a bottle of the stuff when we were twelve. Just me, wedged in the middle seat between an exchange student heading out for summer break and a middle-aged woman sipping a cocktail, thinking of Mandy and I bursting whole oranges in a blender when we were bored one Winter break as the plane dips through a wave of turbulence. Mandy and I dying our hair neon green with highlighters (didn’t work—our hair is too dark) as the plane lands on the tarmac. Mandy and I arguing so loud last month, we both lost our voices as I lug my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and shuffle off the plane and through the airport, searching for Aunt Vel.

Short Fiction

I’ve written so much short fiction this year! I have a goal to write a short story a month (they can range in length, as long as 1 is “complete”), so my short story brain has seriously been soaking it all up lately. Let’s chat my month to month breakdown so far:

January:

I wrote four stories in January! The first is a flash fiction piece called “Shark Swimming” that follows a young woman who attends a shark swimming class after breaking up with her girlfriend. I wrote this story for a “test” workshop for my fiction class, and it was based off the prompt “think about something you’re afraid to do and make the character do that thing”. I’m not particularly afraid of sharks, but had been wanting to use the title “Shark Swimming” for AGES (literally since 2018).

This story is one of my favourites. It’s only about 900 words, but I think there’s something profound in how mundanely specific it is. The entire story doesn’t even see the narrator swim with sharks once; it actually takes place fully in the sanctuary’s lobby. But I really love this narrator. This is the first story I’ve written in second person in a while, though I felt really connected to the unnamed narrator. She struggles with accepting that she truly is a “boring” person, and there’s something about the final image that really gets me!

I’ve been submitting this around, though it’s been rejected a handful of times. Hoping I can secure it at a magazine one day because I really love it!

The second story is “Joanne, I’ll Pray for You” which is actually a rewrite of one of my very first short stories (the first story I did not write for a class haha), “NYC in Your Apartment”. I LOVE this rewrite a lot, and also learned the original is not a very good short story! Revising this story taught me just how much I’ve learned in the 2 years I’ve been writing short fiction. Seeing the 2019 version versus the 2021 version side by side is fascinating because I essentially “gutted’ the 2019 version of its beginning and end until all that was left was the middle of the story (aka the actual story). AKA: this is the only story I’ve ever written with a hopeful ending and I cut out all the happy bits lol I am SO sorry (that arc is more for a novel or novella). That’s how this went from a 5k word story to an 1800 word story (my Submittable thanks me for this lol). A lot of details and scenes I included were more pertinent to a 3 act structure/novel, which of course short stories don’t often have because of their brevity. I love rambling about writing theory, and seeing that actually pay off is so fascinating!

(TW: trauma)

Like the original, this story follows Joanne, a woman in her early twenties, who spontaneously breaks up with her boyfriend. She claims the poltergeist haunting her drove her to this decision. The original draft focused a lot more on the traumatic events Joanne survives, but this draft really loosens them up. It focuses less so on the events themselves, and more on how Joanne’s life is affected. I found the details of these events were less important, and even sort of contradicted Joanne’s insistence she is being haunted. Instead, the poltergeist really takes more precedence in the new draft as a force Joanne doesn’t understand. That ambiguity, I think, is what the story truly needed.

I also centralized Joanne’s relationship with her boyfriend, Julian, here. Now don’t get me wrong, I really didn’t add anything to this draft. It was a matter of trimming the fat around it to leave the lean “meat” in the centre. But by removing that fat, I was able to emphasize what was most important here, and that was her relationship. Julian always played a really big role in the original draft, but I feel like his role as both a friend and partner to Joanne is much more emphasized since this draft literally is only two scenes now. Because there is less, there is more room for Joanne to reflect, which I’m happy about!

A final change I made was the setting and therefore the title. The original, which was “NYC in Your Apartment,” I couldn’t keep because I shifted the setting to Toronto (this is how I originally saw it, but in 2019 I just?? couldn’t?? write?? canlit??), and “Toronto in Your Apartment” sounded sort of gross LOL. The new title comes from a line in the story which I think is more relevant to the themes!

The next short story I wrote in January was “How to Spell Alpaca.” This one is super fun because I wrote it SO fast (in about 15 minutes or so). THIS is the writing update if you’re interested in learning more. I talked extensively about this one in that update, but some developments are that I dove into an edit a few weeks ago to really understand the core of the story. I’m still not quite there (this is just an intuitive feeling; I know not everything has “clicked), but I am really intrigued by the two mothers in the story, the narrator, and her newfound acquaintance, Violet. Both really struggle to understand their place as mothers (the narrator even declares she isn’t a mother anymore). The narrator, who is in her 50s, sees herself in Violet, who is much younger (~20s), and so she views Violet’s relationship with her daughter in a cautionary, yet mournful way, like she can see it will end up like her own relationship with her daughter, despite wanting the opposite. This is a really subtle story. I feel like if you blink, you’ll miss the message. But I think it’s compelling for that reason. It’s really a portrait of parenting and how to grapple with mistakes you may make that inevitably affect your children. Wow just unlocked the theme writing this lol.

The final story I wrote in January is “The Party,” which may be in my top 3 faves I’ve ever written. This story follows Aida, a recent divorcee in her ~40s. The day her divorce turns official, she moves into a new house and receives a party invitation addressed to the previous homeowner, yet RSVP’s anyway. At this party, she’s hoping to find some sense of noticeability, having struggled with being nondescript her whole life. Things seem quite normal at the party, until it gets bizarre.

I LOVE this story, y’all. Like “How to Spell Alpaca” it really delves into motherhood. Aida, our narrator, is incredibly hurt after her divorce. She now lives farther from her children she struggled to feel connected to in the first place, and doesn’t really know how to reignite her life. This party is a means to do that. This is the first story I’ve written that contains a “twist” which is strange because I really prefer stories that give us as much info as possible upfront, but yes, this one sort of twists.

February

I wrote one story in February, and that was “Protect the Young.” This title is SO changing when I think of a new one because it’s thematically incorrect, haha, but this story follows a woman in her late 40s whose daughter, Lindy, announces she is married the same day all their backyard chickens turn up dead. The discovery of dead chickens prompts our narrator to recall her ex-husband’s murder and the role her daughter may have played in his death.

I love this story so much! I think this would make a great closing for my short story collection. It just has that vibe! I wrote this for my second fiction workshop. I thought I had to hand in the story a week earlier than I had to, so I panicked and wrote this in one sitting! Little did I know, I did not need to do that lol but I’m very happy because this story is so fun. We get to learn more about Arnold (her ex), his relationship with Lindy, and how that translates to Lindy’s relationship with her new husband, Malcolm. I LOVE true crime (I listen to about 3-4 hours of case coverage daily), and this is my first “true crime” story. Because of that, I’m very sus of a few details that probably wouldn’t slide in actual investigatory work, so I’ll also be working on that in a revision. My professor also gave me a great suggestion that may alter the story’s structure a bit, though I look forward to toggling with it in the future.

March

In March, I was really on a Criminal Minds kick lol. I’ve been watching this show since I was seven (oops), and dove into a rewatch since it hit Disney+! This story, “Where to Run When the Lamb Roars,” is very clearly Rachel watching 5 episodes of CM a day. Oops! We follow 14-year-old Astrid as she and her older half brother kidnap a young girl to sacrifice for their yearly ritual.

I knew a few things going into this story, but the main thing was that I did NOT want to show any details of a potential murder (if one even occurs). I really wanted to keep all of those elements off the page because this story is not about those events, but about Astrid’s relationship with her brother. They are a murderous duo, with Astrid actually being the dominant partner. I wanted to explore that. I knew her brother, Fox, was more of a submissive partner in their team, even when he used to do this same thing with his father when he was much younger (chilling!), and so it was a task to explore how this young girl’s desire for violence works. The end actually comes right before the story starts, one could say, but I like it for this reason. It really made me contemplate the story by the time I finished it, and helped me examine what it really was about versus what it appeared to be about.

April

(TW: sexual content, non explicit)

I was so busy this month! Who knows if I’ll write a story last minute, but I did write one story this month called “Five Times Fast.” I wrote this during a “writing sprint” that was being hosted at a flash fiction workshop I recently took with one of my favourite writers ever, K-Ming Chang. I learned so much from this class, and am so happy I came out of it with a draft! This story is just over 300 words, so the shortest flash I’ve ever written, but I’m really happy with it. It was based off the prompt “describe the last time you or your character was naked.” In this case, the narrator has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Ricky who works at a laundromat. This story highlights a moment in this relationship (and also Ricky’s goofy personality lol). I really like it! Hopefully I’ll submit it to some magazines soon.

My short story collection

Very briefly I wanted to touch on my short story collection which I’ve titled “She is Also Dead.” I’ve been meaning to make a blog post on this, so look out for that in the coming months, but this collection is already at around 35k words (about 14 stories so far). The collection also surprisingly has a solid amount of flash fiction which is kind of fun! There’s definitely a range here, which is what I personally love in short story collections.

I feel very professional now that I have a ~collection chart. This is her:

(image description: A chart with the title “She is Also Dead.” It is broken into four columns: Story, Status, Word Count, and Published. Entry 1 - Story: Slaughter the Animal. Status: Revisions, Word Count, 3982, Published: N/A. Entry 2 - Story: Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, Status: Polished, Word Count: 1809, Published: N/A. Entry 3 - Story: Primary Organs, Status: Published, Word Count: 2342, Published: The Malahat Review. Entry 4 - Story: Faberge, Status, Polished, Word Count: 619, Published: N/A. Entry 5 - Story: The Wolf-Antelope Will Not Come for Us, Status, Polished, Word Count: 1556, Published: filling Station (forthcoming). Entry 6 - Story: How to Spell Alpaca, Status: revisions, Word Count: 1327, Published: N/A. Entry 7 - Story: Blink Twice for Final Judgement, Status: Polished, Word Count: 6572, Published: N/A. Entry 8 - Story: The Species is Dead, Status: Published, Word Count: 1208, Published: Minola Review. Entry 9 - Story: Shark Swimming, Status: Polished, Word Count: 907, Published: N/A. Entry 10 - Story: The Party, Status, Polished, Word Count 2339, Published: N/A. Entry 11 - Story: Fig, Status: Polished, Word Counter: 947, Published: N/A. Entry 12 - Story: Protect the Young, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4128, Published: N/A. Entry 13 - Story: Where to Run When the Lamb Roars, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 2174, Published: N/A. Entry 14 - Story: Phantom Limbs, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4844, Published: N/A.) /end image description.

This order is DEFINITELY not permanent (at this point whenever I write a story, I just fit it randomly into this chart lol), and some of the info is outdated (for example, Slaughter the Animal is now polished!!! thank god!!!). But just an idea of what I’m thinking of including.

This is the summary so far:

In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, characters are pushed to act on their gravest impulses. A small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A college dropout who insists she’s being haunted by a poltergeist unexpectedly breaks up with her boyfriend. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s murderous tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die. A young girl caters the funeral of a girl rumored to be killed by a wolf-antelope. A newly-divorced mother RSVP’s to a bizarre party she was not invited to, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent desires, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

This is also so subject to change as I may pull and add stories to the collection!

I think I’m going to leave this update here for now! I’ve written TONS of poetry too, but I honestly ~hate my poetry right now lol, so! Hope you enjoyed this chill rambly update. Hope writing has going well for you all! All the best!

--Rachel

#writing #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #writingupdates

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mycatshuman · 4 years ago

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Wrapped Up In A Rom Com

Chapter 3: Mom?!?!?!?

🏳️‍🌈 First off, happy pride month. Second, yeah I know it's been months. And I've had this in my draft for months. I'm sorry. Honestly, I've been watching a lot of the Dreamsmp and playing games on my phone and preparing for graduation. So yeah. I'll try to get back to writing but I cant promise anything.

Warnings: some swearing, mentions of leeches used as a medical practice, let me know if I missed any

Last | Next | More

🏜

"There it is." Roman's eyes lit up as he saw the temporary house that had been set up for the group of archeologists to live in as they excavated the site. Virgil smiled slightly. Roman looked really pretty in that moment that he wasn't even going to try and deny that he was looking. He dragged his eyes away from the mummy and sighed. "Now we just have to get inside."

The pair moved up the stairs and Virgil pulled out his key and unlocked the door. "Now, try to stay quiet. Everyone's asleep and I don't know if I'm ready to try to explain this." Virgil paused. "Hell, I don't think I'll ever be ready to explain this to anyone." Virgil and Roman quietly stepped into the house and closed the door behind them. "Sorry, it's a little dark so bear with me."

Suddenly, with a click, a lamp flared on across from them. The two froze. Virgil looked over and pulled in a hiss through his teeth. His boss sat there in an old armchair, his arms crossed and his mouth pulled down in a frown. "Where have you been?"

Virgil's eyes shoot down to the floor. "Uhhhhh." Roman looked back and forth between the two, confusion evident on his face. Virgil attempted to inch his way to his room only to crumble to the floor as he put pressure on his injured ankle.

"Virgil!" Roman dropped to his knees to help catch the other as the other man surged to his feet and rushed to their aid. Roman held Virgil up as the other man kneeled before them.

"What did you do?" The man asked.

Virgil winced. "I fell."

The man paused and raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

Virgil bit his lip. "Uh, no. I don't think I do care to elaborate, Logan."

Logan rolled his eyes. "You are ridiculous."

Virgil forced a grin that was really more of a grimace. "What happened is even more ridiculous and you wouldn't believe me so…"

Logan leaned forward and pulled off Virgil's shoe and began to unwrap his ankle to take a look at the injury. "Maybe you shouldn't assume whether or not I would believe you."

"Alright, I went for a walk and fell through the hole of a tomb that is practically completely untouched and I found the burial chamber and then the mummy came to life and now he's here."

Logan paused in his attendance to Virgil's ankle. "You're right, I don't believe you."

Virgil groaned. "Come on, Logan! Look at him, he's real. He was a mummy not even five hours ago!"

Logan huffed. "Honestly, Virgil. That is the most outrageous thing I have ever heard."

"But it's true!"

"He's right, I am a mummy, er, I was a mummy."

"I'm offended. Seriously, if you were going to try and fool me you could at least get a convincing actor."

Roman gasped, outraged. "Excuse you! But I am an absolutely amazing actor!"

"It's not a prank!"

Roman quickly pulled out a statue of himself he had grabbed from his tomb. "Look!" He shoved the statue into Logan's face, nearly knocking the others glasses off.

Logan rolled his eyes but took the statue to look at it better. As he adjusted his glasses, he studied the statue before looking up at Roman. "You do look a little similar but that doesn't prove anything. All it proves is you look similar to him." He inspected the statue some more. He frowned. "This is in incredibly good condition." He glanced at Roman suspiciously. "Did you fake this?"

Virgil groaned and let his head fall back into Roman's chest and whatever Roman was about to respond with just vaporized as his brain short circuited. Guy on chest. Guy on chest. Guy on chest!

"Logan, why can't you just believe me? Why would I make this up? Why would I sit here and make a fool of myself in front of you?" Virgil sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Whatever." He attempted to drag himself up only for Logan to stop him.

"Hey, no. I still have to check your ankle."

The room went silent as Logan checked Virgil's ankle. Roman watched on with curiosity.

"It's still swollen. Maybe you need to get some leeches."

Virgil went rigid and Logan froze. "I'm sorry, What?"

"Wait, do you not use leeches anymore?"

Virgil's nose scrunched in disgust. "No! We've long since moved past that." He shook his head. "I don't even want to begin to think of what else you might possibly suggest for medical problems."

Logan went quiet as he quickly finished inspecting Virgil's ankle and stood up to go grab an ice pack. The archeologist student frowned. His boss was being uncharacteristically silent. Something was up. When the other came back, he kneeled once again and gently pressed the ice to the ankle. Virgil bent forward and held the pack in place as Logan sat back.

"I-" The other began before closing their mouth again. Virgil watched Logan hesitantly as Roman poked at the ice pack.

"It's cold!" The mummy exclaimed.

Logan shook his head."I-" he sighed. "Virgil, I hope you understand how hard it is for me to grasp this or even entertain the possibility of this. But maybe this is real. But, we're going to have to do tests."

"Tests?" Roman asked as his attention shot up to look at the other.

Logan nodded. "Yes, to see if I can find any bit of evidence to support your claims."

"Great, now can I please go to bed, I'm fucking exhausted."

"Of course, I'll see you in the morning."

Logan left and Roman and Virgil were alone once again. The latter huffed before pulling himself up and began limping up the stairs. "Come on, I have a second bed in my room. You can sleep there." Together, they went up to the second floor and down the hall until they reached another flight of stairs. "I'm suddenly regretting choosing the attic as my room," Virgil complained.

Roman followed, eyes wide as he took in the walls around him. It was so different from what he was used to. And that was exciting. But the hallways were nothing compared to Virgil's room. Inside, he found a desk against one wall and two beds. On the desk there was this strange rectangular silver thing that sat flat against the desk and a small container with small tube-like objects sticking out of it. Next to it, a pad of sorts sat. Roman was so absolutely excited to find out what all of these new objects were. It would be his greatest adventure yet. He just knew it!

----------

Virgil dropped his bag by the door as he limped over to his bed and fell face first into the blankets. Roman yelped. "Don't do that! You'll hurt yourself!"

Virgil lifted his head up, confusion spread across his face. "What?" He asked before he remembered what the ancient Egyptians used to sleep on. He let out a laugh. "Oh no! These are soft. There's a bedframe, which would be similar to what you used to sleep on but we added a mattress that's soft and it's better for our bones." The archeologist pushed himself up and patted the bed. "Come on, see for yourself."

Roman set his basket done on the floor and walked over to the other bed curiously. Virgil watched on with amusement. Quickly, the mummy quickly poked the mattress as if it would bite him if he let his finger linger on the object for any longer.

Virgil laughed lightly. "Don't worry, it won't bite."

Roman stuck his tongue out at the other before turning back to the bed once more. He reached forward slowly and pushed his hand into the mattress. Sparkles sprung up in his eyes as he felt the soft blankets. Carefully, he climbed up into the bed noting the lack of pain on his skin that used to come with the bed he once slept in before he died. Tentatively, he bounced. Laughter bubbled up out of his mouth and he looked over at Virgil.

The emo's breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of the Pharaoh's eyes. His dark eyes were overflowing with joy and wonder. He had never seen anything so beautiful. He watched in awe as Roman began bouncing gleefully on his bed, giggles bubbling out into the room. Virgil smiled softly and laid down, perfectly content with watching the greatest treasure from Roman's tomb as he experienced pure joy for the first time in thousands of years.

-------------

If last night was anxiety inducing, it was nothing compared to this morning. While being caught by Logan was unpredictable as his reactions could range from Disappointed Mom™️ to Unhinged Scientist™️, it was nothing compared to how the resident Dad would react. The resident Dad was none other than Patton Crofters, the polar opposite to his husband Logan. He had met both of them in college. Dr. Logan Crofters had been his Archeological professor. He had often stressed his disdain for puns so when Virgil first met Patton, he nearly choked to death when the other introduced himself with a pun. That was when Virgil learned that his professor hated puns except for when his husband made them.

The three had grown close, Patton having proclaimed he was his godfather now. It was an interesting friendship. When the two asked if he wanted to join them on their archeological dig that summer, he had jumped at the chance. He quickly learned that Home Dad Patton was different from Archeological Dig Dad Patton.

Archeological Dig Dad Patton was stricter than at home. He popped up next to Virgil nearly every hour with sunscreen to coat him in and a bottle of water and a snack. He also made sure that Virgil was being very careful when handling anything that could result in him getting hurt if he wasn't careful. Of course Patton was always like that but when at the dig site, Patton was scarily so. And Patton didn't hold back with swear words. Virgil remembered the first time Logan had denied Patton with sunscreen saying that he was busy. Patton had huffed and responded with "Logan Crofters. Stand up right now and put on the fucking sunscreen!" He wasn't sure he had ever seen Logan move so fast.

Virgil had seen what Patton does when upset with someone and it was harsh. He remembered Logan coming into class one day extremely sad because he had upset Patton and his husband had denied any kisses. Needless to say, Virgil was terrified to see what Patton would say after learning about last night.

After waking up that morning, he had just laid in bed and stared at the ceiling silently contemplating whether or not hiding under the bed was a good idea as Roman continued to sleep in the bed beside him. And when Roman woke up around an hour later, he was still laying there.

-------

Roman yawned and stretched his arms as he woke up. Sunlight streamed in through a gap in the curtain. He sat there for a few moments after waking up. The bed was absolutely unbelievable! He had never slept so good! It was so soft and supported his body in a way his old bed never could. If he had had any doubts about living in the future, they were long gone now. Then again, how could anyone have any doubts about the future if there was such a gorgeous man as Virgil to help him adjust to the new century. Speaking of Virgil….

Roman turned to look at the bed beside him to find Virgil already awake. "Virgil!" Roman exclaimed, voice bright as he smiled at the other. "Good morning!"

Virgil did not move. Instead he continued to stare at the ceiling. "How can it be a good morning? Patton is going to kill me when he finds out about last night."

Roman's smile twisted into a confused frown. "Patton? Who's Patton?"

Virgil sighed. "Patton is Logan's husband and resident Dad. Once he finds out I went off on my own AND got hurt, he's probably going to look at me disappointedly and I can not deal with that right now." He pushed himself up only to hiss as pain shot up his ankle.

Roman's eyebrows shot up into his styled bangs and he quickly hopped out of his bed, rushing to Virgil's side.

"Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help?"

You could carry me to the kitchen, Virgil's mind unhelpfully supplied. He shook his head. No, that is not happening. Pull yourself together, Virgil. "No, I got it." He grimaced as he pushed himself up onto his hands to slide his legs over the side of the bed. Roman watched on anxiously, his hands hovering in the air between them as if awaiting the chance to help the emo. Virgil looked down at his ankle and sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That doesn't look good."

Roman followed the others gaze down to his ankle and winced in sympathy. Virgil's ankle had swollen up again through the night turning it a nice shade of red as a purple bruise stretched across the skin covering the ankle bone. "Are you sure you don't need any help," Roman asked once again. "That looks pretty bad."

"No, I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks." Virgil bit his lip and stood up to prove his point...only to yelp loudly as the pressure caused a strong jolt of pain to shoot up his leg.

"Yeah, I think you should let me help you." Virgil opened his mouth to argue only to freeze. Roman frowned as he heard thumping. "What was that?" The sound quickly became increasingly louder.

"Oh shi-"

"Virgil!!!!! Are you okay?!?!?" The door burst open and a man stood there in dark brown pants with an abundance of pockets, a light blue, loose, cotton shirt and round glasses framing warm hazel eyes. The man's face was scrunched up in worry as their eyes bounced around the room for any immediate signs of danger. Then they landed on Virgil and Roman. The two men remained frozen as the man panted from his run up two flights of stairs. He glanced between the two before his eyes narrowed in on Roman. "Virgil, who is this?" Asked Patton.

🏜

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#wrapped up in a rom com #sanders sides au #eventual prinxiety #ts prinxiety #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts logicality #thomas sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #mummy roman #mycatshuman fics #sanders sides fic #no read more

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tar-oh · 4 years ago

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Pick a Pile: Who has a crush on you?

So, confession time. I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for about a month or so. The reason for not posting it until now is that a lot of the piles felt very similar to other piles? But, now that I think about it, it could just be that some people are called to more than one pile and they’re continuations or something along that line? Either way, they all blend a little, which was so weird to me. So, I am finally posting it. I thought it would be a cute fun little read, but it just became a little confusing towards the last few piles. Also, I’m not sure how comfortable I feel tapping into that kind of energy. I think it’s one thing to ask what’s coming towards you in love vs. who has a crush on you because then there’s like that whole consent thing. But, I already did the piles, and my reservations about it didn’t really pop up until the last two piles. It felt wrong to have spent so much time on 6 piles and not post it? Plus, with Valentines day coming up and my own love life being as dry as possible, I thought it would be fun to get nosy about your love lives! So I do plan on doing some more love-themed readings within the next week or so (HOPEFULLY! My second semester of school started this week, but I’m working on balancing school and my life outside of it!). SO. Choose a pile 1-6 below. Each is represented by some good looking gentleman (or lady) from some period piece. There’s no connection to the characters to the piles outside of just being shows/movies I enjoy. If you’d like a private reading, DM me! Tips are also appreciated (but obviously not necessary). cashapp $sararms paypal: paypal.me/sararms Another thing to note is that I really ask you to only take what resonates. There’s no way I can get every story possible within 6 readings, so there may only be bits here and there for you, for others there may not be anything that resonates. So, please be discerning. As I said, if you’d like a private reading, please DM me. Also, I gotta apologize, since I had started this nearly a month ago, there’s an obvious difference in the pictures of the cards because I’ve since gotten a new phone that takes way better pictures. But the layout, on the other hand, has no excuse... ANYWAY HERE ARE THE PILES:

1) Jem Merlyn (Jamaica Inn) 2) Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables) 3) Emma Woodhouse (Emma 2020) 4) Jo March (Little Women 2019) 5) Ross Poldark (Poldark) 6) Simon Basset (Bridgerton)

Pile 1: (Jem Merlyn)

cards: Peacock, 8 of swords, 3 of cups rx, 4 of wands, juno, hygeia, psyche First, I have to say that I have a feeling that this person feels you left them. I'm not sure what the context of that is, but from the song lyrics in Downfall by Matchbox Twenty ("If I could go back, would you have ever been with me?"), and then as I started thinking about that, the song Promises by Aly and Aj came on and there's a line in this song about how there is nothing left there anymore. "Guess I'll go back, guess I'll go home now. Gotta turn around, there's nothing here for me now", which, MOOD to be honest lol. So, it's like, maybe you left something behind, whether it be a home (like a city or a residence?), maybe a job? Something about you left and this person just feels that it's...Not over, but like, that there's something that's changed that will either make things harder or impossible? Also, on the bottom of my lyric deck there was the song Riptide by Vance Joy, at the part where he sings "I just wanna, I just wanna know if you're gonna, if you're gonna stay." So, maybe you're thinking about leaving something? A job? A relationship? I don't know, but that's what I'm getting. There’s something about leaving here, either way. Another thing I'm getting is that I feel that this is a little more than a crush. Or at least, I think they just feel a lot for you. Like, maybe you've taken up their brain space or something, especially since the song Eat, Sleep, Wake (Nothing But You) came on. It's basically about getting someone stuck in your head, so like no matter what you do, they show up in your thoughts. So, I definitely think you've done a number on them. Oh! "I may not say it outwardly, so all I have are memories. Those looks from at the start." I feel like this is definitely someone who is really into you but they haven't told you so - but I think you may get this feeling (like maybe you catch them staring from across the room or something, and with peacock, I feel like they don't even act embarrassed if you catch them). I'm getting a bit of regret with this, especially with 3 of cups reversed and 8 of swords. 8 of swords is almost always about someone who is stuck in their head about something. They're overthinking things and cannot see a way forward, so maybe this person feels like it's almost futile having a crush or feelings for you? I do wonder if for some, the 3 of cups reversed suggests that maybe they think you two are too different? But, then there's the 4 of wands, and these people on this card look really in love and its about balance and harmony...so, maybe they see you as someone they wouldn't mind ending up with, despite differences? But this is about WHO has a crush on you, so I want to describe them a bit for you. So, I pulled the peacock card for you. It's funny because the deck kept spitting out too many cards and when I finally said "only one please" it spit this one out. This is funny to me, because one of the ones I actually noticed that had fallen out before was one with a peacock. I personally have been kind of...haunted by them as of late, so I'm going to notice when they're present. I made note of it, shuffled and then pulled the actual peacock card. When I think of peacocks, I think of the way they strut around. Obviously, when we think of them, we think of how the male peacocks have those beautiful colors on their feathers. So, I think this is someone who stands out. I do also think they may have a certain walk to them, but I don't think they're exaggerating. I think they just...Are that way? Like, they don't have to try hard to get people to notice them, they're just naturally in the spotlight. For some, it could be someone that is kind of show-offy. But, I really don’t get that feeling. Moving on to the tarot, the 8 of swords tells me this person is in their head a lot. I already established you're one of those things in their head, but I also think there's a lot of other things they may overthink. They definitely could be someone who's just an anxious being - I almost feel that Hygeia supports that idea since it can be about your body and your health. The deck's booklet suggests that depending on the placement one has, it can lead to being a hypochondriac, so maybe they're just a giant worry-wart? With the 3 of cups reversed, I get a few things. There's one where it could be either 1 of 2 ways: the first being that maybe they're someone that parties a lot? Like, an excessive amount - and I'm only saying that because it's reversed. The other thought is that this person's kind of a kill-joy, like maybe they don't really have fun at all. Maybe they work too much or something? But I don't think that's it, because to me 4 of wands suggests that overall they're pretty balanced, so I'm thinking that this could be another possibility. One might be they just like to stay at home, like they're a lone wolf? Another one, I'm just letting this idea flow to me, is that maybe they're just super argumentative, and maybe that's what it's in reverse. Maybe you two argue a lot or they just like to start debates or something along those lines? I usually wouldn’t get that for 3 of cups, but that just came to my mind so I’m sure it’s for someone. Since I'm reading for a lot of people, I feel like there are just a lot of possibilities for these. And with the astrology cards, I only was able to pull asteroids, no signs or houses or planets. So, this makes me think a lot of people are choosing this pile, so pointing out possible astrological placements may not help you guys. But, if you want to know, I see air, water and fire with the tarot alone, and the bottom of the astrological deck was pisces, so that might be for someone. I do feel like this person has more of a balanced set of placements, so for example their sun moon and rising may not be in the same element, and maybe things balance them out. But with the overthinking element, I do wonder if there's a lot of air in their chart. I did mention that Hygeia was about the body and it can also be about hygiene, so I get that this person is just super clean? And, by that I mean, it's super noticeable. Maybe you notice that they smell like a specific soap or if they're someone that might grow facial hair, they keep it well-trimmed, or shaven completely. Their hair is probably kept nicely (like all pieces are in place), their clothes probably neat and never rumpled. Like, that kind of a person? Hygeia also focuses on how we treat our bodies, so...This almost makes me think back to how I mentioned excessive partying with the 3 of cups being reversed? I think they try to take care of themselves, but there might be a bad habit they have, like smoking or drinking more than they know they should. I don't get any huge red-flags about it, so take what resonates. Juno can talk about partnerships and what one's ideal partner is like, so I think this just says that one of you views the other as the ideal partner. I say one of you, because I was going to say they view you this way, but it's about WHO has a crush on you, so I do wonder if this is a two-way street here? Like, I think you may have a crush on them too, in which case, you're probably going to notice what they smell like lol. This could also suggest that they have boundaries that are clear to you and everyone else. So, maybe they're in the spotlight, but they only let people in so close? Like, they’re pretty selective about it? I think this person also comes off as being super empathetic and sensitive to people and their energies. The Psyche card can talk about this, so I think maybe they're someone who can just tell in an instant if you're just not feeling right? This could be why they hold boundaries - maybe sometimes they just get overwhelmed from how other peoples emotions make them feel? One of the lyrics I pulled for this pile was from Tiger's Jaw's song, Divide. The line goes: "You are drowning, it's in your eyes." - That line makes me think about someone who's extra sensitive to other people, and maybe also someone who has a lot of thoughts and emotions themselves. The bottom deck energy being Pisces makes me think of that too, especially because Pisces is a water sign (so, emotions), and the sign is 2 fish, so again, water - drowning. It's possible this person has a lot of emotions but no way to express them (8 of swords) so in return it feels a bit like their head is a prison? I'm not really getting much else about this person. I almost feel like this is just a sign that I should take to tell you that I think this is all you need to know? Like, I think, like I said earlier, you kind of had a feeling this person had a crush on you anyway. So, maybe this is more just a confirmation for you? Either way, I think this should be enough for you to know who I'm talking about. Oh! One thing, though, is that I think both of you, even though you both get the feeling that the other likes you, don't think it's possible? I just got that at the beginning because Movement's cover of Loosing my Religion came on first, and that song is basically about unrequited love. So, I think the 3 of cups reversed could also just be about miscommunication, or at least, misinterpreting actions and words on both sides? I don't know, something to think about. Music: losing my religion - cover by Movements promises - aly & aj downfall - matchbox twenty divide - tigers jaw riptide - vance joy eat, sleep, wake (nothing but you) - bombay bicycle club Pile 2: (Anne Shirley)

cards: queen of wands, ace of cups, queen of swords, elixir, anne carson (intellect), venus, 1st quarter moon, solar eclipse So, you got Queen of Wands AND Queen of Swords, AND Queen of Pentacles was on the bottom of the deck. So, there is a possibility that this is more than one person. For the sake of not confusing myself, I'm going to read this like one person, so, there's a possibility that you could possibly pick out multiple people being described. Or, if you felt called to another pile, maybe check it out to see if that can give you any more clarity. Remember! Take what resonates! Whoever this is THEY ARE SMART. And I don't just mean book-smart, I just mean INTELLIGENT. I got both the Anne Carson card AND Brainy by The National. The Anne Carson card's keyword is The intellect, and it talks about growing intellectually, but also the "delights of the mind", so I think this person also likes to pick other people's brains as a way to learn more about others and the world they're living in. I also think they're a student, and I mean, they could be any age, really. Like, maybe they're in graduate school or just still in High School. It could also just be that they’re not in school, but are just constantly seeking knowledge? So, maybe they read a lot of non-fiction? All I know is that this person being smart is probably something you've thought about, even if it's only a passing thought. Oh. But they're also maybe a little full of it, lol. (Full of It by DBMK came on, so!!!) Another thing is that the bottom deck energy for the astrology cards was Pallas Athena and that can talk about intelligence, so phew. Very smart. The venus card, to me, suggests that this is a really good looking person. Like, I don't want to say classically good-looking, but I think a lot of people notice this person. Also, Venus rules Taurus and Libra, and since you got Queen of Swords and Queen of Pentacles was on the bottom, I could definitely see this person having earth and air in their placements. But, kind of similar to what I saw in the first pile, I got a feeling of balance of placements (within the tarot I pulled, fire, water and air are present, plus bottom deck which was earth). So, like I also told the first pile, I think I'm reading for a lot of different situations, also if this is more than one person, the placements are going to be everywhere. I just want to say that you shouldn't get stuck on that, just take this as more of a confirmation if you already know their placements or something. First Quarter moon talks about transformation, so, maybe this is a very transformative person. Meaning, maybe they change their style a lot, or maybe they just seem to be changing a lot themselves? Solar Eclipse suggests something is being illuminated. So maybe they're someone that is really blunt? I think queen of swords definitely lends to this, because anyone in that energy can be seen as a very blunt person. I think they might be someone that says something that gets others thinking. Or, they have a way about explaining things that allows someone to see another side to things? The song Be Sensible by Jimmy Eat World came on, so I think this person is pretty logical and sensible, which is another Air-quality, so blunt, but logical. Like, they may not sugar-coat what they say, but they're also logical and see both sides of situations, in return, allowing you to see both sides to. To be honest, I feel like they're pretty sarcastic for some of you. And, I mean. The dryest of humor. The kind where you have to look up when they say something to see if they’re being serious or not, and sometimes it goes over some peoples heads. But, something tells me you’re able to translate it well. To be honest, I don’t think this person would have a crush on you if you couldn’t differentiate between their sarcasm and when they’re serious. So I said they were probably really blunt and logical, also possibly sarcastic. That's what I got from the Queen of Swords. From Queen of Wands, I also get that their really passionate. Like, I think this could be about anything? Maybe just life! But, I think there's a certain amount of creativity this person holds, and I think them being super smart gives them an interesting perspective on whatever they create? Maybe they write poetry or lyrics. Maybe they paint? For some reason, I always get a painter from queen of wands. I don't know, maybe I'm just imagine someone with a huge paint brush lol Like, really, in my mind I'm seeing someone with a giant paint brush, so maybe this person really does paint. The ace of cups is interesting to me. I think this might just say that their in the beginning of something that's emotionally fulfilling? Like, maybe a new course or a new job? For some of them, they just found the path they want to take. I know that sounds random, but the song (jogging) by Jetty Bones came on and a lyric really stood out to me, "All along, I thought I knew, but I had no, no idea where I was going at all, so I was going and going and going and gone." So, maybe they felt like they were in this endless loop of life until recently something dawned on them and they took a new path, which ended up being something really fulfilling emotionally? This could also just be someone who is really open about their emotions. I'd say they sound really emotionally balanced. And, this ace of cups is a hand pouring liquid from one container to another, so maybe they also are someone with a lot of love to give? I was trying to figure out what Elixir meant in this context, but I forgot that the bottom deck energy for this pile in that deck was Ghost, which can mean unfinished business. So, possibly this is someone from your past? Or someone who just thinks your time together isn't over. So if for some reason this is someone and you know who it is and you haven't seen them in a while, they don't think it's over. They think you'll run into each other again, and maybe elixir is like you two getting drinks (could also be getting coffee lol) - the song Take Me by Aly and Aj came on, so!!! Maybe they want to take you on a date to get drinks!? (Ace of cups!?). For the lyrics, they definitely are wondering how you feel about them since I pulled Downfall by Matchbox Twenty (First pile got the same song, different lyrics), "I wonder what you think of me." So, they definitely aren't sure how you feel. However, I think they can have a big ego (I think I mentioned this earlier), because I also pulled the line "You might need me more than you think you do." from Brainy by The National, so I think they're someone who can sometimes feel a bit entitled to other people? If that's the case, I'd make sure you set good boundaries. I don't get a bad vibe but I get a cocky vibe and sometimes cocky people can be total assholes. Strong boundaries are good for this person, but if this is someone who you actually want to accept the cup from, than I wouldn't build the boundaries too high, ya know? Like, still be open, but also be careful. I just don't want someone to feel entitled to you guys, okay? That being said, I think they loose sleep over you lol, because bottom deck energy for the lyric cards is a song by Now, Now called Prehistoric (so, also, thinking about someone from your past? But also, maybe they're into history?), " I will trade this sleep for you in a heart beat." Maybe they dream a lot about you? Either way, I think they loose sleep over you, so I mean, if they are really cocky, that's kind of something to be proud of lol You managed to take up more space in their mind than they themselves took up (Yeah, I'm seriously getting a cocky, full of themselves energy from this person). Oh! I just noticed that there's like a shape coming out of the cup on the Elixir card, and it looks a bit like a ghost, so definitely unfinished business with someone. I don’t know! I get good vibes from them despite how cocky they feel. I think that may just have come across so strongly so that someone can possibly confirm who it is? Just, remember boundaries! Music: Downfall - Matchbox Twenty Brainy - The National (jogging) - Jetty Bones Take Me - Aly & Aj Pile 3: (Emma Woodhouse)

cards: 6 of swords, king of pentacles, 3 of swords, capricorn, scorpio, psyche, wolf, Flannery O'Connor (Humanity) I get this sense that this is someone who doesn't say much. Like, I think they speak only when they have something of value to say. I don't know, I just get that feeling because I pulled lyrics from the song The Silence by Manchester Orchestra. These lyrics don't suggest this, but I was thinking about the song title and the fact that I pulled the Wolf card too. I got the saying "lone-wolf" in my head with that. Also, with Scorpio and Capricorn, I get a strong energy from them but like both signs can be observational. I think Capricorns get pinned into this stereotype of being workaholics and super-materialistic, but at the root of it all, their earth signs, so they're still grounded and logical. Not in the sense of an air-signs logic, but like, I'd say understanding. Like, I think they feel more and think more than they let on, but they don't see much point in expressing those things, which is the exact energy I get from this person. I wonder if maybe they just have a hard time opening up? Also, the bottom deck energy for the tarot deck was The Emperor, and even though that's technically the Aries card, I definitely get like a Capricorn vibe from it too. Like, I do think they're good at controlling themselves. Like, their sense of self-control is GOOD. Maybe they're a little lost and having trouble with that right now, but I think normally this person is good at that. And for water signs, I view Scorpios as being a little more closed off. They're known for being extremely observational, but their observations are also fairly insightful. So, I bet this person has a lot they could say, but maybe they just don't deem it as worthy - or at least, not for everyone to hear. As though they don't open up to just anyone. I get a similar vibe in this pile to pile 1, so if you felt called to it, I’d check it out. With the tarot, I see that for some of you this is someone who is moving away from a job or something financial. I only say this because 6 of swords suggests moving away from something and 3 of swords suggests heartbreak, but with the king of pentacles (and even an earth sign like Capricorn falling out) I do wonder if this was job-related. Though, this could be someone who is getting over someone who is in the king of pentacles energy? I think they definitely could be moving away from heartbreak of some sort, whether it's finances or romance. But, along with that, I can also see 6 of swords being paired with Scorpio as being super transformational. Like, I think they know when they need to transform and go through those death/rebirths. Like when a change is needed. The 3 of swords could just say they've broken a few (or a lot) of hearts, and I'd say with both scorpio and capricorn present, they must be a pretty intense person, so heartbreak might be a common thing they cause. Or, they themselves have had many heart breaks. I think, mostly, though, what I get is that right now they're going through one. This could also be that they felt rejected by you at some point? Like maybe you rejected them, or it was vice versa and maybe they regret that? Either way, they're into you now. Even if you turned them down or they turned you down, they're into you. I think they could be at a distance from you - whether physical or maybe they just can't get you alone? Or, just time with you in general? Because I pulled lyrics from Mat Beringer's song Distant Axis: "I feel like I'm as far as I can get from you." And if we pair that with the 6 of swords, I could see a distance. I'm not sure what category you fall under (the actual physical one, or the one where you two can't get time together), but they're feeling this. Oh, the song Seneca by Movements came on, and this song is about someone finding out that an Ex that they never quite got over is engaged, so I definitely wonder if for some this is an ex that never got over you. The song before it was Garden Eyes by the same band, and that one talks about staying in a situation you feel because you think it's the best there is for you. So, I do wonder if one of you is with someone else and there's pining? Also, while this person is intense, I do wonder if they have some intense self-worth issues. I also think that they have trouble with the world in general. Like, I think they see what's going on and aren't happy. I get that from the Humanity card, Flannery O'Connor's. This card has a peacock on it (again, check out pile one if you felt called to) Peacocks to me seem to demand attention, whether or not it's really what they want? Like, either way, you're going to see their colors, so I think this person could be someone that stands out to you - but maybe you also notice that they're kind of a loner too. Like, not quite, but definitely someone who isn't quite open to everyone. The Humanity card can talk about reckoning with failure. She's holding a broken egg (though it looks like it's bleeding), so I have to wonder if maybe they put their eggs all in one basket (so to speak...) and it failed them, and now they're having to deal with the fall out or regret. It can also talk about knowing oneself, so maybe it's also them being in a process of relearning who they are? So if we go off of my theory of them having to get through heartbreak and move on from something either financial or romance related, we could maybe assume that maybe they had started to build their identity off of this relationship or job? Maybe it consumed them to a point where they lost themselves in it but now they don't have it so they're just sitting there with that broken egg? OH! The wolf card can mean the self without others, so yeah. They definitely lost themselves within something for a bit. Maybe even within you? I'm not sure, I think there are a lot of different situations here. I do think they see you in a hopeful way though, like maybe them thinking about you gets them in a better mood? I think, like my comment about them having trouble with self-worth, I think they're just having a difficult time, and maybe they're trying hard to be grateful? I pulled the song, the Silence by Manchester Orchestra for you and the line I pulled was "Let me open my eyes and be glad that I got here." So, perhaps they're just going through a tough time and having trouble finding the good in the world. I also think with the Psyche card, they're pretty intuitive and empathetic, especially if they're a Scorpio or have that in any major placements, so It's definitely this thought in my mind of them kind of drowning in pain? I'm not sure, but I get sadness from them. An intense energy, but also an intense sad one. So, I guess if you know who they are, and you have feelings for them too, I'd give them some space to heal. The bottom deck energy for the Literary Witch Oracle was Saphho's card, which has the keyword of Love, so I think it's a pretty big crush that they have. Another key saying for it is taking flight, so I think this person is moving on from whatever happened in the past, but I see it as a thick energy. Like, slow moving. Like, when you're trying to walk through water or snow? Just. Slow. The King of Pentacles in this deck has a turtle, so I'd definitely say slow...The last song that came on for you was Wake Me by Bleachers, and it's a pretty romantic song, so yeah. They like like you lol. Music: The Silence - Manchester Orchestra Distant Axis - Matt Beringer Seneca - Movements Garden Eyes - Movements Wake Me - Bleachers

Pile 4: (Jo March)

Cards: wall, saphho, the fool, king of cups, page of cups rx, virgo, 1st house, hygea I think they're indecisive, I'll say that lol Lot's of cards that would flip and then flip back before I could grab them. So maybe in general they just have trouble making decisions or they're undecided about you. Like, they have a crush, but they're not sure how big it is or if they want to make a move? For some, how to make a move? Yeah, I did pull some lyrics from a song by Road Trip called Tokyo Hotel, "If I leave my love in your hands, tell me you'll keep it safe?" So, I do wonder if this person is just scared of being vulnerable, and so maybe they're going through a healing period and aren't able to make a move/don't feel capable so they're just kind of crushing on you from far away. I also pulled the song Shameless by All Time Low, which basically is just about how the narrator thinks this person is shameless: "You talk like you're famous. You're shameless," but I almost don't see this as a bad thing. Like I think they view you as someone who see's your self worth, so I'm reading this that way. So, wow, that first paragraph was so funny because I wrote that before I pulled the other cards? I pulled the lyric cards first, mostly because I felt called to, but I also was like "maybe this can give me the tone of this pile's reading?" And it sure did! Yes, this is someone who is currently healing. They have some high boundaries right now, I especially see that with the card "wall", so yes. They're very protective of themselves. I'd say they're guarding their heart pretty closely, and I think that Sappho (Love), and King of Cups is a dragon in front of that cup, looking a little fierce. Not really welcoming at all. Also, page of cups is reversed. That card came out sideways, and when I looked at it I really just felt that it was more reversed than anything? Like, I think they want to offer you a cup, like even that King looks a bit like he does, but there's just this sense of needing to protect themselves, so it's not offered. But I think a word that applies to this is yet, like they have the intention to - I definitely feel this, but they don't think now is a good time. You did get Sappho, which the main keyword is love. So? I definitely think they have feelings for you and they definitely desire something with you, but not now? (Hey, on a side note, if you know who this is and also have feelings, please don't put your life on hold for them? I just felt the need to say that.) And maybe that's like on both sides, maybe they have some shit they're dealing with and maybe you do too. I accidentally wrote page of pentacles instead of cups when I was writing out the cards, and I do get that feeling here. I think they're starting something new like a new job/career or class while also healing themselves? So, it's just not a good time for them to start something else too. Especially because I feel like with the King of Cups they want to put effort into it, like the king is someone who is able to balance their emotions and think with their heart and their mind. Like, not rule quite as logically as the King of Swords, but there still is logic involved. Which brings me to the astrology cards. I pulled Virgo, which is so interesting to me. Lately I've been noticing how many similarities to Virgo that the sign Scorpio has? And I definitely get scorpio vibes with this pile despite not pulling anything that was like SUPER scorpio? Like, yes, cups are dominant here, so there's definitely water, But, outside of that, the only actual one that I'd say is Virgo for sure. However, we have the fool card here - I'm not going to get to this one quite yet, because I'm still kind of feeling that one out, but I can say that it's ruled by Uranus, which in return rules Aquarius. But, this person I think can be detached. I know that sounds weird, considering that I said I got watery Scorpio vibes (though, another thing to add is that this deck has chosen to use a siren for the fool card, so definitely WATER ), but I mean, I think with Virgo, Aquarius and Scorpio vibes, there's a HUGE analytical trait to this person. I think they observe and take in all of the little details. This could also be another reason why they're not making a move on you yet? I think there are a few more details they want to "smooth" over so to speak, but also a few more things they want to know about you. Also, bottom of the deck energy was Page of Swords, so more page activity. This, I think, is them watching you. Like, not in a creepy way. Just in a way to gather knowledge on how best to approach this? Going back to the fool, I think usually this is someone who does take chances. With the Virgo and Airy/Aquarius element, I think they think about these chances, like maybe even too much, but I think with that King of Cups and Page of Cups (even in the reverse), they still allow their heart to mingle in this logic? Maybe when they were younger they were impulsive, and over time they've learned to like, tame the impulsivity? It's funny because even though there's a page here, I don't think they're that young. Yes, some of them might be, but I think the majority of you that picked this pile are older? LIke 20s+? I said they have have started something new recently, and I think there are a few set backs within it, like maybe it's taken a while to get there. So, while they're a King of Cups, they're also a Page of Cups. Something about this crush on you also makes them feel inexperienced. Maybe, with past connections they liked to jump in right away (that fool card), but now they're...Not feeling so confident? Maybe, going back to the lyrics by All Time Low, they fear rejection from you? Bottom of the deck energy for the lyric deck was the song Flowerchild by Citizen with the line: "I don't know where I went wrong", so perhaps you've rejected them already? Or, there's a sense that if they offer something they won't be good enough for you? But...They're a king...I don't know! This person has some insecurities. Also, I think the wall card could indicate this as well? Like, this insecurities are obstacles. There also could be physical obstacles, like maybe it's just not possible for either of you to work it out right now, so maybe they're bidding their time? I have a lot of questions about this and I think this is mostly because I'm reading a lot of different situations, so if you feel like you recognize this energy, take what resonates. I have a song stuck in my head called Intuition by The Backseat Lovers, and I didn't want to mention it because I thought it was mostly just me, but it didn't really get stuck in my head until I started this pile. Also, I couldn't hear the lyrics or remember which song it was until right when I wrote "resonates". The lyrics I hear are "Call it intuition..." so, I think for some of you this is resonating. Like you're just confirming something. I looked at the booklet for the Virgo card to see if there was anything I wasn't remembering about the sign, and it did remind me of a few things. First off, it's an earth sign (Capricorn is on the bottom of the deck, so I think this person has strong earth/water placements), and can be nurturing. So, maybe it's that their embodying a more nurturing energy right now for themselves? Like, I get this organized nurture. That's so funny to say because I think when people think of people who are organized and super analytical they definitely get like this idea of someone who is really serious and no-nonsense, right? But, I don't get that? In fact, even though I think they're healing and they have their walls up, I get this cheery sense to this person. I think they do like order and I think they are trying to take care of their health/body/mind/emotions (hygeia and virgo definitely suggest this), but I think they also are a nice person. Like a genuinely nice? (not that someone who cares for themselves aren’t, I’m just saying they like to help people as well as themselves, like a: “I give what I can when I can” kind of energy) Even though that dragon looks a bit suspicious on the King of cups and he's snarling, I think maybe they could give off a cold/harsh exterior? But, this could also be linked to those boundaries and those insecurities. Maybe this is how they seem, but if you get to know them, they're warmer than this. Oh, you know that's so funny, I forgot that we have the 1st house here. This is the house that is basically how we are on the outside? So maybe they're a Virgo or Aquarius rising? Or even a Scorpio rising? So then that would make those their first house. So I think maybe this cold version is their mask, but maybe their sun or moon is something like a fire sign or even water? I'm not sure, because this is such a general reading that I'm probably reading for several people, so these are just small possibilities. It could just be that at this point in their life, this is how their energy is. Also, going back to hygeia, I think this person enjoys working out? Or just staying active. I think health is really important to them, or at least right now it is because bottom of the deck for the literary oracles is elixir, which can talk about health. You know what I just realized? That's not a dragon, its some sea creature, which I've gotten two new things from: the first is that that if they do like to stay active, I think they swim a lot or do a lot of water-related sports/activities. It could also be that water just really calms them down because water is a huge aspect of all the pictures on these cards. The second is that, remember how I said it looked like this "dragon" is guarding the cup in front of him? Like, that his heart is a bit closed off right now? Well, I also think that because this is some sea serpent that appears to be underwater (pretty deep too, judging by how dark the blue is in the background), so I think this person is keeping these feelings for you down deep. Like, deep down in their own ocean. So, like, they plan to tell you one day or at least they want to, but haven't been able to surface yet, if that makes sense? A few more things: The moon seems prominent some how. I didn't pull any cards that REALLY indicate the moon, but the hygeia card looks like the moon to me, but then the page of cups seems to have 6 moons too. So, 6 could be something important too. Maybe age difference? Month you met? Day you met? I'm not sure, something about this is important. Also, the moons can just kind of point out how there's still an unknown aspect to this, like they still are trying to figure you out but there's also stuff about them you don't know? So, if you do know who this is and you feel the same, you're asked to kind of wait for them to come around (NOT WAIT AROUND, I MEAN DON'T PUSH ANYTHING) but also that there's still some stuff you're unaware of. The color red is important too. When I first was shuffling I like saw it in my head but I didn't write about it because it just was like, "Oh, random" ya know? But now that I'm looking at the cards, I see it on the 1st house card and the King of Cups has some red that almost looks fiery. Also the page of cups has a red thread wrapped around their ankle, which, could be that maybe you're supposed to learn lessons from each other? Like, that red thread of fate? I'm not sure I can tell you if this person ever will make a move, but they want to some day. Another thing is that outside of red, I also think the colors green and blue are significant, like, maybe someone’s favorite color or something? So, basically this is someone who's healing after something. I don't think I got into what that could be, and honestly I don't really see what it could be with these cards. I think that's a message and it's that whatever it is, it's separate from you. Which is also why this person needs time to heal so that they don't bring it forward with them wherever they go, especially if that's to you. You know what's interesting? A few months ago I did a similar reading on who was crushing on people, and I definitely had a pile like this. So maybe you picked that pile and this is the same person and they're still healing? I'm not sure, I'll link that PAP here so that if you're curious to see if you get that pile you can read it. (here's that reading, it was pile 5) Music: Shameless - All Time Low Tokyo Hotel - Roadtrip Flowerchild - Citizen Intuition - The Backseat Lovers Pile 5: (Ross Poldark)

Cards: Sun, Venus, Juno, Waning Gibbous Moon, Shirley Jackson (family) Alejandra Pizarnik (solitude), wolf, The Lovers, Nine of Pentacles, The Fool, and Page of Wands Pile 5, Your (I meant to put this, but it feels important to leave Your) person is trying to get over you. That's my first thought on this situation. Maybe, not really get over you, but maybe they think its best? I'm not sure if maybe they're thinking that it's kind of a futile thing or that maybe they don't think that they have a chance with you. So far in the shuffling process you guys have 2 extra cards, so I think this person talks a lot. Also, there are a lot of yellows and pinks I'm seeing with these cards. Tulips or roses may be of significance. This person might have a lot of earth or air in their chart. Like, I pulled the venus card, so they could be Libra or Taurus, but I also puled The Lovers and The Fool, so also maybe Gemini or Aquarius. I also think that their sun and venus placements might be important, like maybe they have them in signs that work well with your signs? With the Wolf card and the Alejandra Pizarnik (Solitude) card I definitely think this is someone who keeps to themselves. I don't really think they're an introvert (they could be) but with the sun and the venus cards I feel a definite sense that they're flirty lol. Like, I think they might not spend a lot of time with people, but they definitely can be charismatic? Also, I think its interesting that there are both the venus and the juno cards because venus is about love language and juno is also about relationships? I had a really weird 10 minutes where I spent a while trying to figure this out. First I thought maybe this was someone married or in a relationship who was into you or someone you once dated yourself? But, (and while that could be true, re: either versions), I don't think so. Even though I have cards like Juno, that means the partner, or Shirley Jackson which is a card about family/domestic life, I also have Wolf and Solitude and 9 of pentacles. Plus, with the lovers, I do think there's some genuine feelings here. I mean, it could also mean like, a choice this person has to make, but why not give me two of swords or another 2 card? Like, it could also mean that this person has a duality to them (so maybe they are really introverted but can be an extrovert when they need to be?). A weird thing is that I almost feel like telling you to look at the last pile (4) if you were drawn to it, because on the solitude card she's holding a heart that's broken and bleeding. So, maybe this person just went through a really bad break up (and maybe I'm getting weird mixed messages because maybe this is someone you thought was in a relationship, but has since left it? The spilled cup of tea/coffee on Shirley Jackson's card also suggests this to me - also the stain on the wall under the house.) I feel like, if you know who they are, you’re not sure what they’re up to. Maybe you’re in communication or something, but it’s surface level stuff right now? So, who they are as a person is that like I said, they could be both introverted and extroverted. Honestly, I think they're a complex person really. I think they may be romantic, but also maybe a flirt. I think they could be a really sunny person too, like this sun card is just really standing out to me. This could just mean that they're confident (I almost think that's like a definite with the fool card here), but it could also suggest that they have a big ego. The Waning Gibbous moon is about perfecting, so maybe they're perfecting something , like an aspect of them (taming their ego?), or a hobby or a job or just anything? Maybe they're a student and they're learning so that's what they're perfecting? I do think with the Lovers here, this could be them trying to perfect the balance within them, so maybe it's them balancing their emotions, or their confidence where they have a lot of it, but not to a detrimental point? And while I definitely associate this 9 of pentacles with their relationship status, just in the context of these cards, I also think this is like someone who's got their shit together, or at least working on that. I think they're stable financially, or their working on it/just about there. I think they're also independent and they don't rely on anyone. Maybe family is important to them and they are close to their family - and maybe because of that, they dream to have one, but right now they’re alone? I think with Juno there, maybe they see that you're someone that could fit into this idea though? Though, I do think they're still actively trying to get over you, so I still get that sense that they think this might never happen. I think the fool card suggests that they're willing to take risks. In the last pile, even though I said maybe you should read that one too if you're called to it, I said that possibly they're usually impulsive with connections with people, but that in that specific one, they weren't being impulsive. In this one, I do think it's not that they're impulsive per-say, but that they take risks. I almost see it more as calculated (which is funny because last pile got virgo and I'd definitely read that as calculated risk with the fool, but wasn't getting the vibe - this one I do). I definitely am seeing this with how this siren is kind of just waiting on this rock, studying something? Bottom of the deck for the astrological deck was Scorpio, so I think they like to observe people. So, maybe this siren on the fool card is observing before they make a move? I'm not sure why I still get the sense that they think this is futile...? Because I'd say the fool would eventually take the leap into the water, but I'm not seeing them do this. Then again, I did say they were perfecting something, so maybe its a waiting game until whatever this is gets perfected? Oh, I did just have a thought. I thought they were trying to move on from you but maybe they just went through a break up and its whoever they just broke up with? The lyrics I pulled for you are from Prehistoric by Now, Now: " I'll say that I've been trying to move on, we both know I'm not" - with, that one could literally be about you, maybe before they broke up, they felt guilty about having feelings for you (Because I almost wonder if this crush has overlapped within a relationship)? Or it's about the ex? It's going to differ for situations I think. The other was Divide by Tiger's Jaw "But it's too cold to walk home and I know I shouldn't call you". The song is about two people are into each other, and they can see it but they don't express it? It's almost as if they think its a bad idea to be together. I'm trying to figure out why they're trying to move on from you. Or if it is you... Something about this feels like I'm missing something? And I guess maybe that's a sign that you're not supposed to know everything about this person. That's another similarity to pile 4, they weren't really supposed to know either. So, I wonder if maybe this is also a reflection of you at this point in your life too? Maybe you're both learning on how to be yourselves and in order for anything to work between you two (if that's supposed to, but honestly with the lovers here I feel like maybe it is), you're supposed to learn how to be independent and what you want in life and a partner? One of the keywords for venus in the booklet is the Divine Feminine and as I started thinking about that, my ear started ringing. So, I think that one of you or both of you is supposed to get more in touch with the softer side of yourself. Like, the emotions? The bottom deck energy for the tarot is the Empress, so I do think there is something in that. Maybe both of you need to work on nurturing yourselves but also how to nurture others? Gonna be honest, this pile is really confusing me. It's so weird, I was getting stuff and getting stuff and now I feel like I'm hitting a wall. I'm going to try and pull a clarifier for the lyrics, because I think they're throwing me off the most. So, even the clarifier seems contradictory. It was page of wands, which normally I'd see that card as someone who's naïve and impulsive, kind of like the fool I guess. But, I think I'm seeing this now more as this person should be focusing on what makes them passionate, which very well could be you, but instead they're trying to let go. I think maybe they themselves are fighting this inside a lot. I'm going to stop reading this here, I think. I think this person has a lot to figure out, but I think you do too? I think this is a confusing situation where you both have feelings but someone wasn't available and now they're still not despite being single? I think whatever this is, it's going to take time. Sorry if this one seemed all over the place. I do think if you felt called to another pile you should try and check it out too because maybe it will give you more answers. But also, I need to remind you to take only what resonates. Do not try and make anything that doesn't fit, fit. I'm thinking it's so scattered because I think everyone is scattered? Like, I'm obviously reading for more than 2 people here, so I think its a bunch of confused individuals and I feel the need to really highlight the word Individual. So, my advice is to focus on yourself for now. I didn't give the other piles advice, but I feel the need to give it to you. Music: Divide - Tigers Jaw Prehistoric - Now, Now The 1 - Taylor Swift Pile 6: (Simon Basset)

Cards: Book, Wings, Bees, King of Swords, Queen of Pentacles, The Hanged Man, Chiron, Waxing Crescent Moon, First Quarter Moon, Scorpio Wow. I'm pretty sure all 6 piles had some sort of scorpio mention, if not a scorpio-esque vibe. Either we're all attracting scorpios or its just some message for me that I'm ignoring. I'm going to read it like its not that!!! The tarot with this pile is really powerful to me. You got King of Swords, so someone who is really logical but knows how to use this logic to rule. This might be someone who maybe be higher up in their job? I wouldn't say its the CEO, but the fact that you also got King of Pentacles as the bottom deck energy, it very well may be? Or at least a manager of some sort. I also think because the bottom deck energy for the literary oracles is the eye, this is someone who holds a position over you? I think its like a watchful eye, they pay attention to you. But I think within this pile you may find answers to some questions you have? Another thing about that eye card is that for some reason when I saw it, I saw green eyes? So for some of you this person has green eyes. But I think that's for a limited few. You also have the Queen of Pentacles. The Queen of Pentacles is a nurturer, but she's also practical and grounded. So this person is both logical and grounded and to be honest that sounds like a double threat to me. I think with the hanged man, its kind of like the hermit in this sense. This person goes within a lot to think through things, but I think there's also that observational element from this and Scorpio, like they hang back and watch. That watchful eye again. This person loves to watch you. Like, I just keep thinking about that eye card and I don't know why. But, the hanged man can also talk about a pause. Perhaps this person is in a stagnant period within their life? Or they're on pause. I think whatever this pause is, it's not keeping them from from watching you. WHY DO I KEEP CIRCLING BACK TO THAT? I definitely think this person has some obsessive tendencies and I know that’s kind of a stereotype with scorpios, but because I keep thinking the words "watchful eye" i definitely think they're keeping tabs on you. Whether it be in person or on the internet. I don't get any particularly bad vibes from them, but I do think if they wanted to, they could be manipulative, so keep that in mind. The wings suggest that they're a very ambitious individual. So, if they haven't gotten to the top of their company yet and that's where they want to go, they will. Kind of like how I feel that once they set their eyes on someone, its only a matter of time before they make a move. I get that movement feeling with the wings and the bees too. Also, the wings could suggest someone that travels or likes to travel. Maybe they're also in constant movement. The king of swords is a griffon in this deck, so I definitely see a lot of movement with this person. The book for this deck says it can signify hope, so like the star card almost. I think they are hopeful about you, but I also read this as history. Maybe they like history (I'm thinking like renaissance period stuff if so, just based on the dress on the lady in the hanged man card?) or you both have a history with each other? Take what resonates, guys. And the bees can talk about teamwork, so maybe they just make a good partner, whether its within business or in love. But, I also could read this as work, so maybe this is a manager or boss of yours? Kind of scandalous to be honest lmao, I definitely get this forbidden feeling with this pile, I mean one of the songs is called Separate Rooms, so there's a sense of like...propriety here? The lyrics that I pulled from that song are "If you don't mind, I don't mind", so maybe its like, they don't quite mind that they think this might never happen or can't happen? I think maybe they'd say that for sure, but is that how they really feel? Or, possibly, they don’t mind the forbidden aspect of it (maybe its a turn on?). I do think they're into you for sure. I mean, obviously its' a reading on who has a crush on you, but the line from the other song I pulled, Honeypie by Love Fame Tragedy is "Some feelings go but most find their way back in", so I do think they try to not think about how they feel about you, and yet they always find that their thoughts come back to you? Especially if you work together, but it's like a fight they loose all the time. It just keeps happening. With the King of Swords I definitely see this person as more cerebral and even if they think less with their heart and more with their head, it doesn't mean that heart doesn't leak through. I bet its a battle within themselves daily, to be honest. With chiron, I think this person has a healing energy to them. There is also a bit of self-doubt, but I think we all experience that from time to time. They could also be healing themselves too? But I get that they're more of a healing energy. Bottom of the deck is New Moon, so I mean, they could be starting something new, which could maybe involve healing. I also pulled Waxing Crescent Moon, which can be about taking initiative. I think they're fairly action oriented, and I think both the King of Swords and the Queen of Pentacles (less so than the King of Swords, and slow movement with this card, but movement within this specific version) can say that too. I see those two as movers more than the Hanged Man, but again. I think they're in a period of stagnation, so I don't think they're doing a lot of action-oriented things right now. First Quarter Moon can talk about growth, so maybe this stagnant period is really them just growing? Like, maybe they're looking inward at their own faults and stuff like that. I feel like Chiron hints at that too. Like, they're gaining more knowledge about themselves and the world around them by going inward. Which, really, is the message of the hermit card, but it didn't come out. I think the Scorpio card also might factor into that healing energy as well as the one of growth. Scorpios are known for being all about transformation, which is what growth is. They also are a water sign, so I think there's a lot of emotions here, but I think they know how to transmute them healthily. It's interesting, because even though I get that this is kind of a forbidden connection (like I get that vibe), I think they sound like a good person to be around. Like, they almost give off a mentor vibe, and I like that. Even though they may be a little creepy and have their eye on you, I think they're also not a bad person to have around? I think they give good advice and I also think you can learn a lot from them, especially with the way I think they heal themselves. AHH. The bottom deck energy for the lyric deck was Good Together by Shallou and the first line in the song is “We couldn’t love from a distance” So! I think whatever this is, they can’t stand not being with you? Like, I think they want so badly to tell you how they feel but circumstances don’t allow for it. I didn’t even notice this until I was linking the song down below!! Though, the rest of the song is about how this person’s ex is falling for someone else now. So? I don’t know. That first line does really stick out to me, but maybe the rest of the song has something for you. Music: Honeypie - Love Fame Tragedy Separate Rooms - Now, Now Prehistoric - Now, Now Good Together - Shallou

#pick a pile #pick a card #tarot #tarot reading

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luvlyrv · 4 years ago

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Naughty | pt. 3 | Irene x F!Reader | Mafia!AU

Summary: Two crime bosses entangled in a deadly and tension filled rivalry start to find themselves entangled in a different kind of relationship.

Not without going through a lot of death, pain, fighting and teasing first of course.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I don’t know if I have the time to write a lot right now so I’m posting the things I already finished and are sitting in my draft. Enjoy reading! Irene and Y/N’s relationship kinda uhhh gets complicated from here on out lol

Completely unrelated but, how many times can I rewatch every single ‘Red Velvet: A Mess’ video? The answer is way too many.

Date: 1/12/21 (written)

Series Masterlist

Part 3: A Dance to Remember

Irene is looking over a hung up map of the city in her office when she heard a knock.

"Come in."

Seulgi, her second in command, entered the room. She held a plastic bag in her hand and had a pissed-off looking face. She walked towards Irene's desk and threw it there.

"A gift, from Y/N to you presumably." She announced.

Irene stepped away from examining the map and turned around to look at the bag on her desk. The bag had a horrible smell, and as Irene got close enough to see its contents she understood why. All 10 fingers of the recent informant Irene got in contact with. She gave out a low and short chuckle.

"Why are you laughing?" Seulgi was furious, because this was not how things were supposed to go.

"She's interesting, isn't she?" Irene asked playfully.

"Yeah, interestingly good at fucking up our plans, Irene." Seulgi still wasn't having it.

"Don't worry, you know me." Irene said as she strutted down to sit on her chair. She sits and looks up at Seulgi who now had a confused face. "I always get what I want, and what I want is to win this game."

Seulgi bites her lips, knowing that Irene had plans stirring up in her brain. She sighed and sat down across from her boss.

"You know I'll always be one step ahead, right?" Irene asks Seulgi.

"Of course. So, what do you want me to do now?" Seulgi responds.

If Joseph was being honest, tonight there would be a gala hosted by some rich businessman you frankly didn't care for. What you did care for however, was the fact that Joseph said Irene was supposed to be there.

You stood in front of your vast closet. You had to choose the right outfit for tonight. Something fashionable, prim and proper, yet not too glamorous as to make you stick out like a sore thumb. After several moments of contemplation, you decided on a maroon dress that hugged your body. It fell just right above your ankles. It was a simplistic dress, one without jewels adorning it nor any extra patterns, but the simplicity was what made it so beautiful to you.

You quickly change into the dress and brush through your hair, trying to make sure you wouldn't look like a mess when you would inevitably be surrounded by snotty rich people. For safety, instead of settling on heels you decided that perhaps nice-looking flats would be enough. You also grab a fitting purse and inside the purse was only your pistol and a tracker.

When you leave your house, you find Taehyung patiently waiting outside. He's looking fashionable himself in his tuxedo. When he catches sight of you he smiles and looks at you up and down.

"You certainly will blend in."

He opens the passenger seat for you and then makes his way to the driver's seat. He begins to take the both of you to where the gala was, and to pass the time you reviewed the plan over with him.

"Taehyung, you're purely there for recon. Don't get a trigger finger, and no matter how bad things seem don't butt-in. We really can't risk blowing our cover."

Taehyung just nods in response.

"I'll either plant a tracker on her or we'll have to follow her on foot and car. Just... don't worry about me too much. I really can't afford you getting anxious and well..."

"Yeah, I get it."

You didn't want to remind Taehyung about the fact he blew the last mission you guys had that was similar to this.

You know you're finally at the gala when you see a building with expensive cars surrounding it, lights lighting it up like a heavenly palace. You grab an intricate mask that covered your eyes from the dashboard of the car. Luckily, it looked more like a fashion statement that went with your dress rather than an attempt to hide your identity. Taehyung also wears a matching mask, with the plan being that the two of you would sneak into the event and then play it off as girlfriend and boyfriend if anyone asked.

After walking the perimeter, you finally found a spot in the back of the building with a clear route to sneak in with. The two of you enter the building with ease and began to bustle about. Taehyung would always be a couple feet in your vicinity, looking out for your back. Meanwhile you would be scanning the area for a woman that matched Joseph's description.

Beautiful, he said, you can't help but to chortle at the thought, but that did pique your curiosity about her. Joseph said she was short in stature but likely going to wear heels. Black hair and pale skin. Nearly a guarantee that she would be accompanied by her underboss, Seulgi. Brown hair and cat-like features on her face.

Honestly, Joseph's description was vague and shitty, but you'd make it work. After all, all you had to do was look out for a person who's face screamed "I've murdered and seen murder".

Of course, one can always try to pass off as innocent and pure, and most probably wouldn't notice. But you knew that among people like yourself, someone like Irene would be noticeable. Her body language should say it all.

After an hour of searching though, you begin to feel your hope falter. You couldn't find anyone that seemed to fit the description of Irene or Seulgi. You sigh, until you feel a tap on your shoulder. You flinch and quickly turn around, only to calm down when you realize it's just Taehyung.

"Jeez, you scared me."

He chuckles a bit before his face turned a bit more serious.

"Sorry about that, I just wanted to say, maybe that's her?"

He points to a far off corner, and you feel like he's hit a mark. You open up your purse just slightly. You gently grab the tracker and hide it within the clutches of your left hand. You begin to walk over to the corner Taehyung pointed to, and smiled to meet a woman that seemed like Irene. As you begin approaching her she notices your presence and turns over to you with a blank face.

You bow down in front of her and extend your right hand with your left behind your back.

"May I have a dance with you?"

The woman quirks up an eyebrow, a strange look on her face. Nonetheless, she hesitantly gives you her hand. They're small, and despite the cold look she was giving you they felt incredibly soft and warm. You begin to dance with her.

"May I know your name, pretty lady?" You ask her.

"Hmm," she hums to herself, "you can call me Irene, and I'll let you know that I'm thoroughly unimpressed right now".

Even though she says she's unimpressed, she continues dancing with you, her hips swaying with yours. After only a couple seconds of silence she asks you the same question.

"And who might you be?"

"Your lover for tonight, perhaps?" You try to play sly with her. As bad as a line that was, you smiled anyways. Irene lets a sharp exhale out of her nose.

"Now I'm really unimpressed." She says with a small smirk on her face.

As the orchestral music crescendos, you dip Irene low to the ground. Your left hand is on the dip on her small back as she allows her weight to rest on you. You hold her steady for a couple seconds as you secretly press the tracker into her dress. You're excited to know that the first step of your plan was complete, and you feel your heart rush with excitement.

Or was your heart rushing for a different reason?

You pull Irene back up and close to you, the both of you pressed up together chest to chest.

"Did you enjoy the dance, Irene?"

"What is it to you?"

You laugh a little at her response and pull away.

"Well, if you're not going to answer I suppose you won't. Farewell for now, Irene." You slip out of sight from Irene and into the crowd of other dancers. For a second though, you finally notice a girl that you would assume to be Seulgi, staring down at you with a confused glare.

You quickly make your way back to Taehyung and force him to follow you to the car.

Your ears are red. Your face is flushed. Your heart is beating so fast.

Taehyung turns on the car light and takes off your mask, shocked to see you sweating so much. He puts his hand on your forehead.

"Shit, Y/N are you sick?"

You shake your head no.

"Just nervous. I mean. Shit I think Seulgi might've known." You explain to Taehyung. He just nods. Another part of you, deep down inside though, is repeating the feeling of Irene's hand in yours, the feeling of you holding her, the subtle waft of peaches of cream coming from her body. Why were those thoughts in your head?

"Taehyung, pull out the laptop. Let's just wait for the party to end in a bit and then follow."

"Alright then."

Taehyung grabs the laptop from the back seats of the car and turns it on, pulling up the software that blinked where the tracker was. You sighed with relief, as it looked like it was still on Irene.

Now all you had to do was confront Irene when she entered a place where she thought she'd be safe. It was as simple as that.

The problem though, was that it was as simple as that. A feeling of uncertainty and anxiousness began to squeeze your chest. Things... shouldn't be this easy. Things rarely ever came this easy. No way could it be that easy to fool your rival, right? You try to calm yourself down though. After all they never removed the tracker from Irene. Even though Seulgi glared at you, that could just be because of your close vicinity with her, not because she thought you were out to kill Irene.

Yeah, things would turn out fine.

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gottawriteanegoortwo · 4 years ago

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Yancy x Illinois - First Impressions Aren’t Always the Best

I decided to try properly writing Yanois, just to see how I’d manage it. After rewatching Illinois’ scenes, I think he would get on the nerves of the Yancy I write at first.

Word Count 2,122

(Read more because Illinois talks so much...)

Happy Trails Penitentiary was renowned for its rehabilitation initiatives. They had a wide variety of classes and visitors to help prisoners. Educational courses, chances to learn new skills, pen pal projects. Many prisoners would never have the opportunity for such experiences, and it was an integral part of helping them prepare for a better life outside of prison when their sentence was finished.

There was one visitor that most prisoners in Yancy’s ‘Gang’ adored. His name was Illinois, a renowned adventurer and archaeologist. Between his job in the university and research trips, he only had time to visit once every few months. It worked in his favour, as those that wanted to visit were able to to hear the various stories that Illinois was more than happy to tell. Not only that, it would encourage the small ‘fan club’ among the younger prisoners.

It was one of the few events that Yancy avoided. Something about Illinois rubbed him the wrong way. He was so arrogant and cocky, acting like the world revolved around him. It wasn’t an act, either. Yancy had spotted Illinois speaking to the Warden on his first visit two years earlier, and he acted the exact same way as he did in the talk that happened that day. After that, Yancy decided he didn’t want anything to do with the adventurer. But if Illinois were to ever become an inmate? Yancy would make sure Illinois had the snot beaten out of him within the first week.

Unfortunately, a lot of the Gang were of the opposite view, especially those around Yancy’s age. To them, Illinois walked straight out of an adventure movie and lived the ideal life. What prisoner didn’t dream of going exploring in uncharted territories? It meant that they would frequently share Illinois’ tales in rec yard when he came to visit. Yancy would roll his eyes, but keep quiet. Let them have their fun.

Today was the day that Illinois visited the prison. It had been over three months since the last visit, so there was an excited buzz among individuals in the Gang. Yancy spent the morning bracing himself. There was a talk after lunch that the others would go to, which would mean the rest of the afternoon and evening would be nothing but historical chatter and “Illinois is so cool!”. He would grumble, but he would keep that to himself. It wasn’t fair to deflate their excitement. He went to the library, found some random book and focused on that for the day. Then, once they had their excitement, it would die down and Yancy could enjoy more casual conversation.

Which was the plan… Until Bam-Bam pleaded for him to go to the last talk of the day. It turned out that his shift clashed with the talk everyone else they knew went to, and he didn’t want to go alone. Begrudgingly, Yancy closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and followed Bam-Bam. A flaw of being a loyal friend was knowing when to swallow your pride and do something you would rather not do.

When you go to something with low expectations, it can be incredibly difficult to feel the time was used in a worthwhile manner. Some might have memories of a teacher they hated, or a family gathering they had been dreading. This was a similar position to what Yancy found himself in. One of the ‘classrooms’ had been adjusted slightly to allow various displays to take center stage, with the chairs in neat rows in front of it. Bam-Bam and Yancy claimed two seats at the back, allowing the greaser to slouch in the chair with his arms crossed. Then, once more prisoners had arrived, the talk began.

On and on Illinois went, droning endlessly in that slow drawl. Yancy wished he had a TV remote to speed up the talking a fraction. Was Illinois focused on making sure everyone could understand him, or did he want to prolong the joy of hearing himself talk? It might have been more tolerable if Bam-Bam wasn’t genuinely engrossed in the lecture. They could have made amusing comments throughout. Instead, Yancy was stuck. Sure, history was interesting, but Illinois really drove home the stereotype of boring history teachers. The ‘adventures’ even sounded cliché and fake. Maybe he should have taken the book with him after all...

A painfully slow half hour passed. Once the talk was over, Illinois would literally open the floor to the other prisoners. The chairs would be pushed aside and those that wanted to look at the items Illinois brought were welcome to do so. Yancy was dragged along to view the pieces. Most of the articles were dated to be approximately eight thousand years old. What caught Bam-Bam’s attention was a stone carving that vaguely resembled a cat.

“Ahhh, I see the ‘White Jaguar’ has caught your attention.” Yancy had to repress a shudder at the smooth voice interrupting their own questions back and forth. Illinois stepped over, resting an arm against the perspex container. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A miracle we even found her in the first place. She was why I wasn’t able to visit like I said I would last month.” Bam-Bam’s eager question had Illinois chuckle and shake his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure you two gentlemen have much better things to do than hear about how I nearly lost my right hand in my most recent adventure.” When Bam-Bam insisted otherwise, Illinois smirked (and Yancy nearly gagged).

“If you insist. While on our recent dig, I noticed one of the ruins had a floor panel that looked a little different from the rest. It took a little persuasion, but I got that pesky stone up. There, sprawled out before me, was a staircase leading down into the earth. I picked up one of the torches and made my way down. Slowly, I delved deeper into the darkness. One step gave way under me to set off a series of poison-dipped darts, but I was able to dodge them all without breaking a sweat.” Illinois continued, dramatically regaling every single trap that he encountered until he found the White Jaguar. When taking everything around it, he surmised that the owner of the house had been a thief. The jaguar motif was familiar, as he had noticed something similar in a nearby cave that had been repurposed at the time as a sacred spot.

“- Now, this heart of this cave was still guarded by ancient jaguar spirits. They rattled the large statues as I approached, obviously sensing the treasure I carried. In the middle, there was a jaguar’s head carved out of stone. Its jaw was open wide and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was just the right spot for this precious lady. But then, skeletons of what I assume were magic users from an era long gone by pounced and tried to wrestle the statue off me, but I was too fast for them. At last, I reached the carved head, put the White Jaguar in the mouth… and the stone head moved, trapping my arm in a ferocious bite!” He gestured to the cloth wrapped around his right wrist. It was unwrapped just enough to show the healing bite marks. “It had the strength to bite it clean off, but relented when it realised what I had done by offering my arm as blood payment to return -”

“Wait wait wait.” Yancy’s interruption had Bam-Bam elbow him, but it didn’t stop the objection. “That can’t be right. If youse managed to bring this back to where it’s meant to be, why the fuck is it here?”

“An excellent question. This is my recreation of it. I am no thief. I return artefacts to where they belong. Archaeology has a rotten connection with thievery, and I try to rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”

“So then this entire thing could be bullshit!” Yancy scoffed. “Bam-Bam, this guy just got bitten by someone’s dog and has made this pile of baloney to hide that.”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you a ‘truther’, that’s for sure!”

Yancy was ready for a proper argument. In fact, he was hoping for one. Instead… Illinois laughed, and it wasn’t that typical ‘cocky chuckle’. It was a bright, genuine laugh. He could almost see Bam-Bam go starry-eyed at such a rare moment. Typical Yancy. Getting more attention from Illinois when he wanted to rile him up.

“I suppose it all does sound rather suspicious when you put it that way. Let me show you something.” Illinois gestured for the pair to follow him toward a display of photographs. Instead of pointing to these, he instead reached for his briefcase. A small photo album was pulled out. Yancy noticed that it was dated three months prior. While Illinois flipped through it, both prisoners could see what looked like an area that had been dug up. It matched the pictures in front of them of an excavation site. At last, Illinois found what he was looking for.

“One Guardian Jaguar, complete with the White Jaguar in its mouth. As you can see, the teeth have fresh blood on them. It was an… Oddly tranquil sight, despite the unfortunate situation.”

“So then why act like these are the real deal? People just take youse’s word for it?”

“Normally those that attend my talks know that what I show are my artistic recreations for purely educational purposes. I suppose I do take for granted that those who attend here are invested regulars.” Illinois gave a small shrug. “It’s an easy mistake to forget to remind people who might be new to my talks. I’m sorry if you thought I was a fraud, but I am the real deal. Too good to be true, yet here I am.”

“Yeah yeah, ‘sucks that I’m perfect as shit’, I get it. Least you knows not to make that mistake again.” Yancy rocked back on his heel with the intention of turning and walking away.

“Now now. I can’t let you walk off like that. Take this.” Another item was pulled out of his briefcase. “I made this smaller model of the White Jaguar as a ‘first draft’. I was intending on using it as motivation to my first-year students but… I think it should stay here with you.” Illinois took the opportunity to reach for Yancy’s hand. The small clay model was gently placed in it before Illinois curled Yancy’s fingers over it to keep it in place. His hands stayed where they were as he continued, “We think the White Jaguar was a symbol of good fortune. Perhaps it might bring you some good luck.” He smiled at Yancy, only to have the moment broken by the guard announcing that there were five minutes before the prisoners had to return to their cells for the afternoon count. Yancy took the chance to quickly leave the room without as much as a ‘goodbye’. At least his friend, who introduced himself as Bam-Bam, quickly thanked Illinois before darting out.

A few more questions were asked of him by other prisoners and curious staff; and then it was time to tidy up to bring everything back to the university. It was only when he reached the White Jaguar model did Illinois hesitate. There was something about that abrasive prisoner he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it because he seemed uninterested in the adventurer? Or was there something else? It was a rare moment that Illinois wished he’d had an excuse to chat to the prisoner longer. Maybe not here, but somewhere quieter. Just the two of them.

Huh… Was this what an attraction felt like? He joked about others falling in love with him so often, he wasn’t sure if this was payback for never returning interest in others. He was drawn toward a prisoner that seemed keen to dismiss his hard work and reputation. And worse! Illinois didn’t even know his name!

Then again… A good adventurer always loves the thrill of a mystery. Maybe he could try and find that prisoner next time he visited. Now that the university was open again, he’d be able to drop by more frequently…

For what it was worth, Yancy also had a mystery on his hands.

Namely, how to get away from Bam-Bam - who would not SHUT UP about their prolonged conversation with Illinois - and half the gang - who were incredibly jealous Yancy got a gift from the Illinois!

He dropped his head against the chow hall table with a low ‘thunk’. This was the opposite of getting the others to stop talking about Illinois around him!

#writersofmark #yancy #illinois ahwm #yanois #markiplier egos #(read-more is for tidiness! :D )#dramatic prisoner (Yancy)#cocky adventurer (Illinois)

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katnissmellarkkk · 5 years ago

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Summary: At the Seventy-Fourth Reaping for The Hunger Games, volunteering is outlawed, thanks to a tribute four years prior. Because of this, when Katniss’ sister Prim’s name is chosen from the bowl, there’s nothing she can do but hope that Peeta Mellark, past victor and now Prim’s mentor, can somehow bring her sister home alive. (Obviously heavy on Everlark.)

AN: Hi! I don’t really have a big author’s note or anything--at least, I don’t think I do? We’ll see how long this trails on--but this is one of the fics I’ve been working on for a while. It’s multi-chaptered so there’s gonna be a lot more coming in the future, but this first chapter is honestly a little similar to the original book, with some (significant) deviations here and there, but after this first chapter, this story becomes extremely different from canon. I gotta thank, obviously, @rosegardeninwinter for a). making me my pretty lil banner and for b). reading the million, unpolished, unedited screenshots of my drafts that I’m sure ya’ll got tired of really quick. And also for encouraging me to write this in the first place. And also, I gotta thank everyone who liked and reblogged the lil story edit I posted months ago for this concept. It really encouraged me to write this concept out. (I’m talking about this edit right here if you forgot or never saw x). Okay, anyways, I’m talking too much but thank you! Also link to this story on AO3 [x].

Chapter One :

I stare out into the sky, introspective, as I wait for familiar footsteps to approach. The footfalls of my hunting partner, my friend even, Gale, still remain absent, despite our longstanding agreement to hunt on Reaping Day, no matter how hot it is, or how scarce the game, or how worried we may be deep inside.

Of course, how could a couple kids from the Seam not worry about Reaping Day? At least a slight bit, deep down?

Reaping Day. The day that decides the almost absolute fate of a lucky—as our assigned escort, straight from the Capitol itself, so proudly proclaims—boy and girl.

We're District Twelve. The smallest and one of the poorest districts in the country of Panem. There's an almost guarantee that whoever gets their name picked from the reaping bowl, even the strongest eighteen-year-old boy in the district, will have an almost sure fate of death. Likely before the number of tributes drops below twenty.

Tributes from our district almost never fare well inside the arena.

Almost never.

We have had a few winners in history, two of which are still around, but a few out of seventy-three games isn't inspiring much hope in anyone today.

The wind breezes against my arms, prickling the hair at the back of my neck, and I'm struck by the memory of being out here, in the forbidden territory of the woods, outside our district limits, when I was just a kid. When my dad was the one hunting and I was just along for the ride. Just along because I wanted to be with him. When I used to blindly trust him and my mother, when I thought he'd live forever, when I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the Hunger Games. When I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the world in which we live.

When I was eleven my every illusion was shattered violently. Almost as violently as the death in which my father must have endured, underground in those mines, as they exploded.

I remember hearing the alarm at school, blaring so cacophonously over the speakers that it shook the schoolrooms themselves. I remember blindly grappling through the scurrying bodies of my classmates, until I found my way to my little sister, Primrose. Her room was completely empty, but she still remained, sitting behind her desk with small folded hands, waiting for my arrival with excessive patience.

I'd always coached her on what we'd do, if there ever should be a mine accident. I made sure she knew the drill, just as I knew it. Like the back of my hand. Like a prayer or a lullaby. I could recite it in my sleep. Because my father had just as sternly instilled it into me.

I wove my way through the chaos of bodies and white-hot panic, towing Prim only inches behind me by the hand, as the kids from town lingered in the hallways, their classic, bright blue eyes large and their voices all quivering, and as the kids from the Seam dutifully made their way to the nearest exits, hoping and praying and begging silently that it wasn't their parent who had been hurt. Hoping the accident hadn't taken what was typically the sole provider in most households, here in the poorest section, in the most impoverished district.

Prim and I must have not hoped hard enough, because we learned almost immediately upon finding our mother, who was now immobilized with grief, her characteristic gentle smile eviscerated and in it's place, a blank stare, void of any life at all, that our every fear from hearing that alarm were coming true.

My mom was supposed to get a job. She was supposed to find a way to provide for us, to take care of her two daughters, who were grieving her husband just as much as she was.

But instead she lay in bed day after day. On the good mornings, maybe if Prim begged and pleaded, she'd move to a chair, in front of the fireplace and stare at the flames with the same vacant expression that had replaced the loving, kind woman who'd raised us.

The money from the government, the minuscule amount of money given to keep us afloat until our mother found work, ran out. The meat our father had hunted, the plants he'd saved, ran out. The food we had the small luxury of sometimes buying—or more times than not, trading for—quickly ran out.

And our mother still did absolutely nothing.

I take a deep breath now and try to force myself to forgive her. Forgive her for not being strong enough to keep going, forgive her for not caring enough about her own children to keep them alive in the face of her grief, forgive her for being so in love that losing my father had almost killed her too.

I know it's what my father would want. And I know it's something I can't let myself do. Because if I let her off the hook, it's like saying it's okay that she almost let Prim wither away to nothing. Forget me. I will never forgive her for almost taking my little sister away from me.

Our mother did absolutely nothing until Prim's ribs were prominent, until my stomach was nearly hallow, until our cheekbones were so blatantly obvious you could count them from down the road.

And all my fears, all my resolve, to keep the three of us together as a family, went out the window. There was nothing left to do, but wait for me and Prim to be taken to the Community Home, with the other orphans or kids from unsafe families. Kids who still remained too thin, who's eyes told stories no ear wanted to hear, who still wore bruises upon their skin like freckles from the sun, who looked nearly worse than the corpses I encountered every winter, while walking from the Seam to town. Those corpses were the unlucky ones who'd actually starved to death, who had sat down to merely rest, because they had no substance to carry them any further, and somehow never got back up.

On that day, at eleven years old, living in the Community Home sounded no worse than living with the immobilized shell that had once been my mother. My resolve to hold out until my birthday, until I could get the tesserae that would feed my family for an entire year, was shattered by the harsh raindrops pelting me from the grey, unforgiving sky.

I vaguely heard the baker's wife, the mean-spirited woman, with her deeply embittered, hostile blue eyes that somehow seemed black, scream at me, calling me names, shooing me from her property.

I'd simply wanted to rummage her trashcan, so desperate for any small morsel to take back to Prim, any motivation to take even another step forward, when I felt her rough and calloused hands shove me away.

I toppled over, my legs already weak and shaky from lack of nutrition and substance. My depleted form laid on the ground, my eyes bleary from exhaustion and the shivering wind and rain.

The witch went back inside the bakery as I scarcely conjured up the will to sit upright. I was beyond done. The fighting to even gain a fraction of my mother's awareness, to get something, anything, to feed myself and my starving sister, to even stand up, became overwhelming and I felt the last bit of my resolve crumble from deep inside.

Let them come and take me and Prim to the Community Home. I don't care any longer. Let them come.

Out of the corner of my eye, a boy exited out the same backdoor the witch had gone through. He was carrying a bag of trash in his hands and my famished mind focused on that first, focused on what could be inside the contents of that bag, on what a baker could potentially be throwing away, before I realized the boy was in my year at school. I knew him, or at least, I knew his face. But he stuck with the other blonde-haired, fair-skinned town kids and I didn't even remember his name in that moment.

In hindsight, that's absolutely hysterical now.

But he evaporated as soon as he'd appeared and I closed my eyes and let the rain drown me, hoping perhaps I could be swallowed up within the downpour itself. Hoping that perhaps I'd never have to face the reality that I was out of options and I had nothing of subsidence to take home.

But then I heard a clatter and a clang and the sound of a scream. It was her, the witch. She was screaming and calling someone names my own mother had never even uttered in my lifetime.

I mentally prepared myself for her to come back outside, to drive me away with a stick or a knife. Or possibly even a hot, scorching prong.

But it wasn't the witch. It was the boy, the one from my year. The one I thought went back inside after taking out the trash, that I believed didn't even notice me before.

He was carrying bread. Two loaves, in fact. The crusts were black and burned and the welt across his face told me, without a doubt, that he was the target of the witch's insults. That he was the victim of whatever clanging noise I heard.

And though I was the one starving to death, I didn't envy him having her for a mother.

I remember vividly, the most crystal clear image I have of this day, the boy checking and making sure the witch's attention had been claimed elsewhere. And then, without even glancing in my direction, he tossed one loaf of bread to my feet. Seconds later, the other followed.

He didn't hesitate to head back inside after that, and I've spent more time in these last four years than I'd more than likely care to admit, wondering what possessed him to commit such an act of kindness. No one was kind for free, I'd learned by that point.

And yet, as I shook myself forcefully out of my stupor, and carried the loaves back to my house at the edge of the Seam, I had no explanation for his simple act. I had no basis to explain why he would help me, when no one else ever had.

The next day, I saw him at school. I passed by him in the hallway, and saw his eye had now blackened, his cheek welted, but somehow he still managed a joyous smile. He didn't notice me then. He was surrounded by his friends. Like always, he was surrounded by a constant crowd.

He is, after all, one of the most charming and sweet people Panem's ever known.

Later that day, when I was about to walk home with Prim, who was excitedly chattering about the leftover bread awaiting us on the kitchen table, the bread I'd brought home the night prior that had filled our stomachs for the first time in months, I caught the boy looking in our direction. My grey Seam eyes met his baby blues for a microsecond, before he looked away. I snapped my gaze downwards too, embarrassed, when I caught sight of a dandelion.

It was that moment that a bell went off in my head. That I saw how I could survive, how Prim could survive. How, through the things my dad had taught me, I could keep me and my sister alive.

After that day, I could never stop associating the boy with the bread, the one who gave me hope, with the dandelion that reminded me I wasn't doomed.

I never stopped associating him with his simple act of kindness, even when he became famous for some much less appreciable acts.

And I never stopped kicking myself for failing to thank him, for saving my life and my family's life, before he was whisked away, to a land far from Twelve, called the Capitol. When he later returned, now a part of a much more elite social class, thanking him for his kindness became even less of a possibility.

A girl from the Seam had no business seeking out a boy from Victor's Village. Even if I did have the guts.

Though he isn't exactly in good company here in Twelve, seeing as the only other person who holds the same title is a drunken, middle-aged man who can barely form a coherent sentence most days and lives like a hermit by his own volition.

My thoughts are interrupted by the quiet—almost as quiet as mine, but not quite—steps of Gale.

"You're late," I state without turning around, pulling the cheese from my pocket. "You're lucky Prim's cheese held up under the sun."

But Gale pulls something even more impressive from behind his back. "This will probably go nice with it," he says and I almost gasp.

Fresh bread is so rare in our district, generally reserved for the Peacekeepers and perhaps a merchant who is having a good day. Here in the Seam, fresh bread from the bakery is as common as new school shoes.

Gale updates me on his day as we split the bread and cheese and have our own version of a small feast. He'd gotten to the woods early, while I had been still at home, and shot a squirrel to which he traded for the bread.

"The baker really went for that?" I ask in disbelief. The baker was a subdued, large man, who resembled all three of his sons quietly strongly, and was one of my dad's best customers. Sometimes I think he still trades with me and Gale out of respect to my dad's memory, but a simple squirrel for a loaf of fresh bread isn't common.

"I think he was feeling generous this morning," Gale suggests a little snidely, his bitterness leaking through. "Besides. It's not like the Mellark's need the money they ask for bread. They could easily skim off their precious son and he'd probably never notice."

Gale has a special affinity for hating anyone and anything associated even minimally with the Capitol. He was lost his father in the same mine explosion I lost mine in. But whereas I don't let myself get too worked up over the inequities between the town and the Seam, and especially between us all and the victors, Gale takes a special pride in fuming over the things he cannot change.

I don't mind listening usually, since neither of us can speak our minds in public or even within our own homes, out of fear small ears will pick up on our words and repeat them elsewhere. But today, I just don't have the energy to be a sounding board.

Instead I take a segue towards a slightly different topic, but one, without a doubt, weighing on both our minds. "Prim has been having nightmares of the reaping," I murmur solemnly. "She's convinced they're going to call her name."

Gale shook his head, his demeanor becoming more subdued now. "Least Prim's name is only in there once, Catnip. Rory had to take tesserae this year."

I nod silently at that admission, knowing what it must have cost him to even allow his little brother to take additional risks of being called. Knowing it meant his family of five must be even more hungry than he leads on.

We don't say much more after that, only lingering in the woods long enough to catch some additional game from what I've already collected, and hurry back to town to trade.

As we walk back to the Seam, having divided up our goods evenly, Gale murmurs suddenly, "I might be able to stomach the idea of Rory's name being in that bowl six times if we were still allowed to volunteer."

I bypass his words the best I can. I don't want to think about what Gale must be going through, making himself sick with worry, not for himself but for a sibling in which he considers himself responsible for. And, as it happens once in a lucky moon, I feel grateful that my tesserae is still sufficient for a family of three, and I don't have to worry about Prim the same way. Her one entry pales in comparison to the thousands that are piled in that bowl.

Still, the silence between us as we walk is deafening and I can't take it any longer as we come closer to my house. "At least then, you'd get to see the Capitol," I say lightly, as a means to brighten his mood, even just a little.

At that, Gale rewards me with a humorless smirk. "Generous of the president, isn't it? To allow us district people to experience the great Capitol firsthand while they slaughter our family."

And it's true. Just a few years ago, it was allowed to volunteer as tribute in the place of whoever's name got chosen, as long as you were the same gender and between twelve and eighteen on Reaping Day.

But four years ago, when a twelve-year-old boy volunteered for his seventeen-year-old brother, an outrage sparked across the entire country. People are never happy, in any district, to see a twelve-year-old be chosen for the games. They're the youngest, the smallest, the most innocent, and never in history had a single one made it past the Final Fifteen in the games.

So when one volunteered, the country wasn't pleased in the slightest. However, like always, the anger was contained by Peacekeepers in a matter of weeks, and promises came pouring out from the Capitol that a change would be made after the games that year to ensure never again would this situation occur.

And it never again could. Because three days after the Seventieth Hunger Games, President Snow announced that all volunteering, from that point forward, was officially banned.

This new law is even more ironic when you realize that the twelve-year-old volunteer from that year became the youngest victor in the entire history of the games.

Still, I suppose the president was feeling generous that day, and he threw in a bonus treat for us in the districts. Now when someone is chosen from the reaping bowl, though their fate is sealed definitively when their name is uttered, they get to choose one family member to take on the train ride to the Capitol with them, to get a special viewing of the games with the mentors and the sponsors and the past victors, to get to experience the wonder that is the mysterious Candy Capitol firsthand.

However, when all is said and done, twenty-three family members must ride the train home alone to their districts, with their loved one in a casket beside them. The thought chills me to the bone and I shiver as me and Gale wish each other good luck. We probably won't see each other again until it's time for the customary dinner we all try to put on with our neighbors to celebrate, even minimally, that we've survived another year unchosen.

Prim is already wearing my first reaping outfit when I enter the house, though it is a bit large on her. She's slimmer than even I was at Twelve, despite her having months on me when I attended my first reaping.

I get ready quickly, if only because I want to spend time with her before we have to go. I protect Prim in every way I can but I'm powerless against the reaping.

Still, she's only entered once and that's as safe as anyone can get from being chosen. It's almost unheard in the Seam to be that safe from the games.

But my sister never did appear like she fit in here anyway. Her golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes resemble the merchants, not the Seam, and her and our mother stick out like sore thumbs next to our neighbors.

Our mom is restless now, busying herself with preparing the food for our small feast tonight and braiding Prim's hair and then mine.

I still haven't fully forgiven her for leaving us when we needed her most, but I also can't imagine how difficult it must be to have to send both your children off to be potentially chosen for an absolute death. And I let her hug me as I guide Prim out the door.

Attendance is mandatory for all in the district, but the ones viable for being chosen and those just watching don't typically enter together.

I guide Prim by hand into town, the walk feeling longer than it did with Gale. Perhaps it's the trembling twelve-year-old I'm towing, or perhaps I'm more afraid than I'm even admitting to myself.

After all, unlike my sister, I have twenty slips with my name splayed across this year. It's not as a bad as someone like Gale, who has forty-four chances of being called. But it's not as safe as the kids from town, who likely only have to worry about a handful of slips with their names.

Its not that they're rich by any standard, but they get by better than those in the Seam. Even if they're hungry, they're not at risk of starving, and no one is going to sign up for tesserae unless there is no alternative.

A year ago, my mother let it slip once over dinner, just out of the blue really, that my father had always sworn no child of his would be in need of tesserae.

I shake my head, as if to physically rid myself of the reminder. I don't want to dwell on what my father would feel if he were here. I don't want to be reminded how different things would be if he hadn't died.

I help Prim sign in and then drop her off, as gently as I can, with the other girls her age. At the last minute, she pulls on my hand, yanking me back to her with surprising force.

"Prim, I have to go stand with the sixteens," I say as she leans up and kisses my cheek.

"I just wanted to say I love you," she whispers softly, her big blue eyes so terrified, and then she steps back into the crowd of twelves surrounding her.

I sigh softly and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She truly is the best of our parents. Kind, smart, level-headed. She's funny and resourceful too, even if she can't take hunting animals herself.

She is the only person I'm certain that I love. And just about the only thing that keeps me going most days.

As I make my way to the sixteens, straightening my mother's dress on my hips, I check the clock. Only five minutes before we start. Before our lovely Capitol escort, Effie Trinket, reads off two names in her distinctive, afflicted accent. Before two kids know they're never coming home again.

This place isn't much. But it is all we've ever known, and no one wishes to leave it.

As more people crowd in, I begin to pick up an excited buzz in the girls surrounding me. Already knowing what I'll see, I crane my neck just the same, to peer up at the stage ahead.

Sure enough, I see exactly what I knew I would.

There's four chairs set up on the stage. One for Effie Trinket, because no one from the Capitol could ever bear to stand for more than three minutes at a time and she must have a seat to relax in before she calls out the names and sends two of us—a lucky boy and girl, as she says it—to the slaughter.

One of the other chairs is occupied by Mayor Undersee. A man who looks like he's been beaten down by life too many times as it is and would rather be anywhere but here. His daughter is my age. She sits with me at lunch, since Gale is two grades ahead of me and we rarely see each other at school. We make polite small talk but other than that, I barely know anything about her, and by association, her father.

However, it's neither of them that's stirring up the buzz within the crowd—admittedly, more so with the female portion of the crowd—and it's definitely not Haymitch Abernathy, who's stumbling on stage right at this moment. He managed to win the Fiftieth Hunger Games and I still can't imagine how. He's a paunchy man my mother's age and he's never sober, on the rare time he's even seen in public. Today is no exception, as he flops onto a chair gruffly, and murmurs something unintelligible with his eyes closed.

No, the murmuring, the now batting eyes and coy smiles, the soft vibrato still traveling within the crowd, are all because of the last guest of honor, walking upon the stage right behind his old mentor.

Peeta Mellark.

Winner of the Seventieth Hunger Games. Youngest ever. District Twelve's first and last volunteer. The twelve-year-old that changed the rules for the entire country.

The youngest mass murderer in history of Panem.

And now one of it's most beloved celebrities.

Peeta is smart—brilliantly smart—and he's always been charismatic. Even at twelve, he had the Capitol audience, as well as every single soul watching on television at home, eating out of the palm of his hand.

It doesn't hurt that at sixteen, he's become quite a looker. His blonde curls, his blue eyes, those long lashes and bubblegum pink lips. His fair, perfect skin that has not a blemish in sight. His toned, muscular body and devastatingly genuine smile that no one can help but fall in love with.

He's also the boy who saved my life. The one who committed the simple act of kindness, knowing it would cost him, to help me.

I never thanked him. And now I never can, as I'm sure he has zero memory of me. After everything else that's happened to him since, after the last four years of living as a Capitol darling, as one of the country's most cherished victors, he'd never remember the starving eleven-year-old he threw some burned bread to in a rainstorm.

But I remember him. I don't know if it's what he did for me that day or what he did for his brother only a matter of weeks later, but something about Peeta Mellark crawled under my skin four years ago and ever since, I've never been able to completely shake the feeling I get inside upon seeing him.

I break my gaze away, refusing to stare at the boy, who I will always accredit as the one who saved my life. I venomously refuse to gawk at him, like every other girl in the district.

He rarely comes out of his house when he's home here in Twelve, and I know the overzealous amount of attention he receives just by going to his parents' bakery has to be at least a part of the reason. Unlike Haymitch, who has lost his clout and his appeal with age and with deterioration, Peeta has only gained more and more notoriety as the years pass by.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in Twelve, outside of a few outliers like Gale perhaps, who'd say a negative word about Peeta Mellark.

Of course, rumors about his random and long stretches spent in the Capitol itself are always floating around, no matter what time of year it is, but they don't affect his public persona or anyone's opinion of him. He is, after all, the most valuable figure Twelve has and perhaps the only thing we can take any pride in.

Effie Trinket steps up to the microphone just as I turn my head away from the stage. "Welcome!" She greets, so vivaciously, so brightly, I can't imagine it even resonates in her head that she's just moments away from announcing two of our impending funerals. "Welcome, everyone! To the reaping for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

I can't even bear to listen as she prattles on, with too much confidence and dignity for someone dressed in every neon color known to man, speaking in such a peculiar accent, with a thickly painted face that is so blatantly visible to the every eye here today, even in the back row. Doesn't she realize how ridiculous she is to us? Doesn't she realize how wrong it is to preach about the morals and disciplines of the Capitol, in such a prideful voice, when they're the ones about to murder us for entertainment, and in repentance for a long over war that only a few elders can still remember?

As I advert my eyes, my gaze travels once again to the back of the stage, and I'm more than a little surprised to see Peeta Mellark with a similar expression as mine. He, too, is shifting his eyes elsewhere, away from his own escort, looking sick to his stomach.

Of course, it still can't be easy for him, even with his own games four years in the past. He was a literal child when he volunteered and it's fact that he didn't understand what he was getting himself into when he took his brother's place that fateful day. His innocence was stolen as soon as the countdown ended and talk still circulates, even in the Hob, that he wakes up screaming most nights, calling out the names of fallen tributes. Though those words are not given much weight in the Seam, as we all know, people get bored in this tiny district and bored people begin to spew lies whenever encouraged.

Effie continues, in a long overdone mantra, one I could recite in my sleep, the same one she spews every year, that two kids from every district must be chosen to battle to the death in a new and invigorating—one of her favorite words—arena, in order to pay for the blood shed during the rebellion and war, in order to ensure we'll never again even think to rebel.

It would almost be easier to swallow, this whole charade, if the people sent from the strange land of the Capitol would just be honest and blunt with us. If they'd just admit that they see us as lesser than, as animals or beasts of some sort, as less than human beings. It'd be easier if the Capitol spokespeople would just outright say, "we'll take your children, we'll starve your district, we'll ruin your homes, we'll broadcast the deaths of those you love most, all to keep you too powerless to fight. In order to make sure you never are able to stand strong, we have to kick your legs out from under you first."

Instead of being honest though, Effie Trinket is reiterating the Treaty Of Treason, in a tone so serious that it takes all the self-control possible to stop several boys standing in the fourteens from bursting out laughing. Her accent and a serious tone do not mesh well together.

Once she's done though, my heart automatically skips a beat. Because, after four years of standing in this square, I know exactly what's coming. "Ladies first!" Effie announces and I feel a bead of sweat glide down my forehead, both from anxiety and from the overload of heat. Reapings always take place in the start of the hottest month of the year.

Standing in my mother's well-crafted dress, one of the most luxurious pieces of clothing we own, only makes my perspiration worsen, as the dress was clearly made to keep the wearer as warm as possible.

Our district escort makes her way over the bowl containing the names of every girl eligible to be picked in the entire district and I feel myself take in a breath involuntarily.

There's twenty chances she's going to call out my name. Twenty chances I'll be sent to an almost imminent death. Twenty chances Prim will grow into her teen years, and later adulthood, without a sister.

The gut-churning fear I'd repressed all morning, in that moment, overtakes my entire being, curling up like a ball in the pit of my stomach, as I do my best to listen on baited breath, somehow expecting to hear my own name spoken through the raucous microphone for all to hear.

Don't be me, I whisper inside my head, more fearful than I'd ever admit out loud. Don't be me. Please, don't be me.

And, as it turns out, it's not me.

Instead it's the name I never in a million years thought I'd hear. The name I believed to be so safe I didn't even allow myself to worry about her.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

#everlark #everlark fic #thg #the hunger games #thg fic #everlark fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #everlark fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #writing #fic #fics #au #aus

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cinaja · 4 years ago

Text

Before the Wall part 42

Masterlist

----

Two months after Miryam and Drakon decided to attempt a relationship, they are sitting are sitting in Miryam’s drawing room together with Andromache and Zeku. Miryam and Drakon share a seat on the couch while Zeku and Andromache each took one of the armchairs. Between them, papers lie strewn out over a table. They are preparing for the meeting tomorrow, coordinating their opinions and making sure that they all agree on what to do any say.

The four of them are the usual group for meetings like this. Miryam is obviously there, although not in her function as de-facto leader of the Alliance, but as leader of their fraction. (Officially, there are no fractions in the Alliance, but in reality, they very much exist. Miryam’s is the biggest, consisting of all the humans – at least since she put her quarrel with Nakia aside – as well as those Fae who actually care about equality.) Andromache is there for the humans (not technically their leader, but while Scythia under Nakia is in charge of the military, Andromache spearheads politics) and Zeku for the Fae (not their leader at all, but closest to Miryam). Drakon isn’t there to represent anyone, but he wrote the proposal they are discussing, which means he has been invited to these meetings lately.

What they are discussing today is the sixth draft of Drakon’s original proposal, and somehow, he doubts that it will be the last one. They keep quarrelling over territory lines and new power positions, discussing the same points over and over again. By now, they have at least agreed that each of the Loyalist territories will be forced to yield part of their territory proportionally to the human population, allowing the humans to form independent territories. Other points remain less secure.

“Why are there no reparations specified in that contract?” Zeku asks.

“There are,” Drakon says, “Section three. Each freed slave is allowed to take as much they can carry from their owner’s household. And there will be trials for atrocities the enemies committed.”

Miryam shifts through her copy of the proposal. She is leaning against Drakon, he has an arm around her shoulders. In the beginning, they were hesitant about how much affection they could show in public, with only Andromache, Mor, Sinna and Nephelle knowing the truth, but by now, they are nearly certain that no one notices anything strange about their behaviour. (“What did you expect?” Nephelle asked, laughing, when he mentioned it to her. “You two were close enough already that the difference is near-impossible to notice.”)

“Yes, sure.” Zeku picks up a grape from the plate. “But what about reparations paid to the winner? It is common for the defeated party to somehow compensate the other side for the costs of war.”

Drakon sighs. He knew this would come, knew the Fae especially would likely disagree. “There hasn’t been a war of a comparable scale in millennia,” he says. “The entire Continent is in ruin. If we force the Loyalist countries to pay for this, we’ll bankrupt them for centuries.”

Neither Miryam nor Andromache look particularly disturbed at the thought. Andromache shrugs. “So what? Much as I appreciate your generosity, I don’t particularly care if the Loyalists have economic problems after this.”

“You will if you consider the long-term consequences,” Drakon says. He sincerely hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s defending the Loyalists. “I’m not saying this out of sympathy for the ither side, but because I don’t want us to get dragged into another war in a few decades or centuries.”

Zeku frowns at him. “Aren’t you exaggerating a little there? This has been common practice for millennia.”

“And every time the victor when too far, another war was the consequence . Take Akele and Merin,” he says, referring to two territories on the western Continent that have been locked in war for just over a thousand years. It all started when Akele defeated Merin in war and bled the country dry for compensation.

He looks around at the others. “The Loyalists’ economy is built around slavery – without it, it will struggle. If we add huge debts to that, it will collapse entirely.” He looks to Andromache and Miryam, who don’t seem upset at all. “I realize that this may not feel like a bad thing – even I would like to see them pay, and I have far less cause than you do. But any satisfaction this might bring won’t last, because if we do this, we’ll never have true peace. We will need constant military presence in the former Loyalist countries, we will have to keep them down for eternity. Because the moment we relax our guard, they will strike back.”

Miryam and Andromache exchange another look. Now, they do seem concerned. Zeku presses his lips together and looks down at his fingers.

“That won’t be easily sold to the Fae,” he warns.

“Or the humans,” Andromache adds.

Miryam frowns. “Are you sure about this?” She asks.

Drakon considers for a moment, then nods. “We can’t push the Loyalists completely to the ground,” he says. “If we abolish slavery and then let them all fall into poverty, they will always wish to go back to the times before this war. There will be no moving on.”

“It isn’t just the economy, though,” Andromache says. “It’s not like they enslave us out of necessity – “ Drakon flinches and she shakes her head. “Don’t look at me like that, I know that wasn’t what you were saying. But still. The problem is that they think us lesser. And that won’t change if we allow them to keep their economy.”

Yes, Drakon knows this. But finding a way to end bigotry that has been festering in Fae society for millennia seems nearly impossible. He’s just over thirty years old, and he’s expected to solve a millennia-old problem? All he can do is identify the biggest possible pitfalls and try to find solutions, but he has no way of knowing if those will actually work. It’s not ideal, but he doesn’t know another way to approach this than to work step by step.

“Humans will have their own countries,” he says. “If we manage to establish that as the status quo, it will be a solid first step. Then we work on establishing trade between the human and Fae countries. Trading partners rarely attack each other – it isn’t good for the economy. And trade always brings countries and people closer together.”

Many of the Loyalists, of course, wouldn’t be pleased by the idea of trading with the humans. But that’s another thing they agreed upon – the Loyalist countries would be put under Alliance administration for the time being. Rulers would need to be replaced with ones more open to the new course, and the Alliance would maintain a presence until things had stabilized.

Miryam flips through the pages of Drakon’s proposal. “There’s also the section about adding a clause to Continental law that allows full legal protection to all humans,” she says. “We’d just need to find a way to get that law put into action, but otherwise, it should help.”

Zeku nods. He has opened his copy and is studying the lines, frowning. Drakon pours himself a glass of water and takes a sip. These discussions are nerve-wracking. It’s entirely different from having to work out a text for university and then discussing it with the other students. Then, it was only about a grade, maybe his father’s approval. Now, it’s the entire continent at stake. Miryam takes his hand and squeezes, smiling at her.

“I know this isn’t entirely the subject,” Zeku says without looking up from the paper, “But would it be possible to include lesser faeries in that law?”

Drakon bites back a curse. Of course, how could he forget about that? When he was still in university, most of the essays he wrote were about the situation faeries face, especially in countries like Montesere. But now, his focus was entirely on the humans – enough that he forgot about the second group of people who aren’t treated as equal on the Continent.

“Don’t they have legal protection already?” Andromache asks.

Zeku shakes his head. “Not in general Continental law. It’s up to their countries to decide which rights they have, but outside of that, the situation is unclear.”

Andromache frowns. “But aren’t you and Drakon…” She pauses. “Can I say ‘lesser faeries’? It sounds disrespectful.”

“I believe that’s the point,” Zeku says drily. His blue skin darkens considerably. “But if you’d like to avoid that, you can simply say ‘faeries’.”

Andromache nods. “Okay. So, you’re both faeries, not High Fae. You’re still royalty.”

“We’re similar enough in power and looks that they don’t mind us as much,” Zeku says. Drakon nods in confirmation.

Privilege on the Continent has always been largely tied to power. Humans don’t have any, High Fae have the most. Most faeries lie somewhere in between, powerful in their own rights, but with abilities that are largely tied to the land and far more specific than those of the High Fae. Both Drakon’s and Zeku’s people have strong elemental powers, though – more High Fae-like – and most people simply pretend they are High Fae.

“I’ll include something,” Drakon says.

He can’t believe he didn’t think of it himself. He knows about the issues faeries face all over the Continent as well as Zeku does. Both Sangravah and Erithia have laws that grant faeries equal rights and, consequently, far larger faerie populations than most other countries.

“We can include that?” He asks, turning to Miryam and Andromache. “Right?”

“Sure,” Andromache says. “Wouldn’t do for us to win this war and abolish slavery only for these asshole High Fae to turn around and enslave a different species.”

Miryam looks down at the proposal and smiles. “If we get this to work,” she says, “we’re truly going to change the world.”

----

Mor runs a hand through her hair. She spent most of the day sitting in her tent in Andromache’s camp, looking through a book her uncle’s servants dug up from somewhere inside the Hewn City. Ever since the High Lord mentioned the possible uses of her gift to her, she tried to find out as much as possible about it.

Unfortunately, most of the texts regarding the Morrigan powers belong to the private collection of Mor’s family, meaning her father, and ancient contracts forbid even the High Lord from accessing those and the last Morrigan died over a century before Mor was born, and as far as mor knows, he didn’t have any special abilities either.

Truth is deadly, Mor reads, Truth is freedom. Truth can break and mend and bind. The author, Mor has decided, has an unfortunate flair for being dramatic and overly poetic instead of helpful. Pages upon pages and not a single solid explanation of what Mor’s powers do, much less how they are used.

“Stupid book,” Mor mutters and closes it.

“I don’t understand why you’re so fascinated by this,” Andromache says. She’s lying on her stomach on Mor’s bed, papers strewn out over the pillow before her.

“Wouldn’t you be fascinated if you found out you might be in possession of powers like these?”

Andromache purses her lips and shrugs. “No.”

“No?” Mor echoes. “Not even a little bit?”

“No.” Andromache picks up a letter and starts methodically ripping it apart. “Humans don’t have powers, and I, for my part, am perfectly content with it.”

Mor frowns. She heard this philosophy from quite a few humans already, but she never quite believed it. It always seemed more like the kind of thing people would say to console themselves over the fact that they don’t have any magic.

“Besides,” Andromache continues, “I have yet to meet a person who was overly powerful and happy with it. Discounting complete assholes like Artax, obviously.”

“Rhys isn’t unhappy,” Mor says, “And Miryam isn’t either.”

Andromache makes a noise that might be interpreted as agreement, but she remains silent. She turns her attention to the next letter and starts ripping it apart as well.

“And now you want to be like Miryam?” She asks. She still sounds sceptical, not at al like she’s pleased with Mor’s plans.

Mor shrugs. She obviously doesn’t want to be exactly like Miryam. But she genuinely cannot see what is so wrong with wanting to be similar, especially when it comes to power. Who wouldn’t want that? Miryam is untouchable. Everyone likes and respects her. She can walk into the Night Court and simply get a girl like Mor out of there without any consequences. That is what power gets you. If Mor had power, she would not only be safe, but also able to help others.

But maybe Andromache truly doesn’t see it. She’s a queen, after all. She never was as powerless as Mor.

“I simply don’t understand this,” Andromache pushes when Mor remains silent. At least she doesn’t say ´I don’t understand you`. “I’ve never known you to care about power.”

Mor crosses her arms. Somehow, Andromache makes her feel like she’s done something wrong when she really hasn’t. “Maybe I just want to know what I’m capable of.”

Andromache swings her legs over the edge of the bed and gets up. “Then do that,” she says. “Just make sure you don’t end up finding more than you wanted to. Or playing directly into what your uncle wants.” She walks over to Mor and kisses her briefly before making for the exit. “I need to deal with a few problems,” she says. “Good luck with your researches.”

“Thanks,” Mor mutters, looking after her as she walks out of the tent.

She presses her lips together. They didn’t argue, not exactly, but she still feels like Andromache is somehow upset with her. Mor doesn’t want her to be upset, but at the same time, she doesn’t see what she was doing wrong. When Miryam was looking into her powers, no one told her not to. Why is it different for Mor?

Scowling, she looks down at the book. This certainly isn’t going to help her. She had considered asking Miryam for advice, but after Andromache’s reaction, she doesn’t feel confident in that strategy anymore. This leaves her to figure out how to handle her powers on her own.

No books and no help to be had. That means all that’s left is trial-and-error.

----

“What are you so annoyed about?” Yanis asks as they walk together through the camp.

“I’m not annoyed,” Andromache mutters, even though she technically is.

“Sure you are,” Yanis says. “I’m your best friend – you think I don’t notice?”

Andromache smiles and swats at his arm. Unfortunately, Yanis really does know her well enough that he’s impossible to lie to. They’ve been friends since their childhood, both children of advisors to the last queen, who later picked Andromache to be her successor. Yanis joined the royal guard, which means that now, a few years down the line, he is one of her guards.

“I had an…” Not an argument, not quite. “A disagreement with Mor.”

She doesn’t even know why she is this angry with Mor. Maybe it’s because she keeps thinking of how much Miryam struggles with her powers and can’t fathom the sheer stupidity of anyone wanting that for themselves.

Or maybe it’s because Mor’s entire approach to the situation is so distinctly Fae, wanting power for power’s sake, only to further their own standing. If she at least said that she was trying to get more powerful so that she could help them win this war, Andromache might have accepted it, but Mor just seemed to want power, and maybe Andromache is simply too human to understand that.

“Oh.” Yanis makes a face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Andromache quietly shakes her head. She usually tells Yanis everything that’s going on in her life. He even knows about her relationship with Mor, by virtue of being the one who is currently pretending to be her lover to cover for them. But this is not her secret alone, and she doesn’t even know if Mor is comfortable with other people hearing about it.

“So, do you want to do anything to take your mind off the matter?” Yanis asks. “We could go sparring.”

“I’d love to, but I need to visit Jurian.”

Ever since Jurian stopped talking to Miryam, Andromache made a point to visit him at least once a week. Miryam makes sure his camp keeps running smoothly, and Andromache does her best to keep Jurian company. These days, she seems to be the only one whose company he can stomach. It isn’t always easy with him, but there’s no way Andromache is going to abandon him entirely. (And really, who of them can claim to be easy to be around these days?)

“I’ll winnow us,” Yanis says.

Yanis is exactly one eighth Fae. Physically, there’s no hint of his ancestors except for ears that are perhaps a bit more pointed than normal, and except for the ability to winnow, he has inherited none of their magical powers. The ability to winnow comes in very handy, though. Now, he winnows both of them to the outskirts of Jurian’s camp.

“I’ll go talk to Xeni,” he says when they arrive, naming one of Jurian’s higher-ranking captains.

“Meet you back here in an hour?” Andromache asks and waves at one of soldiers whom she knows briefly from another visit.

Yanis nods and they both set off. Jurian isn’t in his tent, which Andromache takes as a good sign. The days when Jurian is sitting alone in his tent, staring at his maps or drinking, are usually the worst. When he’s out in his camp and doing things, it generally means that he’s having a good day. (Occasionally, it also means that he’s having a terrible day and everyone else is about to as well.)

She finds Jurian sitting at a table with his soldiers, which is definitely a good sign. He looks tired, bloodshot eyes sunken deep into his face, but he’s talking. When he sees Andromache, he smiles, which is a rare sight these days, and waves her over. One of his soldiers quickly moves aside to make place for her on the bench.

“How’s it going?” Jurian asks. He even sounds somewhat cheerful.

Andromache smiles back. “Can’t complain.”

One of the soldiers passes her a mug of ale and Andromache takes it, thanking him. She isn’t overly fond of ale, but she still takes a sip, wincing at the bitter taste.

“And you?” Andromache asks. “Things look pleasantly calm here.”

“Oh, but they aren’t,” Jurian says. He sounds satisfied with himself. “We only got back here a few hours ago. We spent the past two days chasing after Amarantha’s army. We finally caught on to them earlier today and managed quite the ambush. Four hundred of her soldiers dead, can you imagine?”

“That’s great,” Andromache says, but her smile soon fades.

She does her best to remember the assignments for the individual armies, but she can’t quite drag up the memory. Miryam always knows the exact orders for each commander by heart, but Andromache has been less involved in the matter lately. Still, she is sure that Jurian’s army had gotten orders that don’t align with running after Amarantha. (As a matter of fact, Jurian’s orders rarely ever give him free reign to do as he pleases when it comes to Amarantha anymore. Andromache never asked, but she strongly suspects that Miryam is behind it.)

“Hold on,” she says slowly. Now, she does remember what orders Jurian had. “Weren’t you meant to keep watch on Vallahan’s army? To make sure they don’t move east.”

Jurian’s slight frown confirms her suspicions. “We’ve been keeping an eye out for them for days,” he says, shrugging. “They haven’t moved.”

Andromache stares at him for a moment. She is about to yell at him, to tell him what he was thinking, going against orders like that, but then, she remembers the soldiers sitting around them. Jurian is their commander and a councilmember, they hold the same rank – she can’t lecture him in front of his soldiers like he’s a wilful child.

“Of course,” Andromache says with a forced smile. “Congratulations on your victory, that’s great news.” She takes another sip of her ale. “And you’re right about Vallahan’s army, too. I’m sure you sent scouts out to check on them, we’d know by now if they had moved.”

Jurian nods hastily, but from the frantic look in his eyes, he hasn’t heard back from his scouts yet. Andromache tries hard to conceal her ire. She knows Jurian is struggling and that his revenge against Amarantha is all that keeps him going these days. Being angry with him for that always seemed unfair, but it is very hard not to when he keeps putting his private revenge before the war effort.

They sit together for another couple of minutes, chatting idly with the soldiers. Their conversation gets interrupted by a panting man who stops next to Jurian and whispers something into his ear. His eyes widen.

“What is it?” Andromache asks. Now, she can’t quite keep the edge out of her voice.

“Vallahan’s army has been spotted,” Jurian says. “They…” He clears his throat. “They slipped past our defences and are now moving east. Towards your camp.”

Andromache stares at him for a moment, then jumps to her feet. She doesn’t even bother to yell at Jurian who is still staring at her wide-eyed before she rushes out of the camp.

----

Mor stares out at the army stretching out before her, panting. There is blood splattered all over her golden armour, blood in her hair, on her hands. A sword cut through a slit in the armour on her arm, but she barely feels the sting of the wound. She takes a swig out of a waterskin. Only a moment of pause, then she will need to head back into the fray where Andromache is still fighting.

They are losing. Reinforcements won’t be here for another few hours, and by then, Mor isn’t sure how many of them will be left. They need a miracle. Or a very, very powerful magic-wielder, but none of the ones they have on their side turned up yet.

It was said that she could see the truth about anything in this world, that she could make the proudest Fae beg for mercy in the blink of an eye, and destroy entire armies. The power to destroy an army would come in handy now. If only Mor knew how.

Truth. How does one wield truth in battle?

One attempt, that’s all Mor will spare before she returns to the battle. She closes her eyes and tries to feel the power inside her. She already used it, at least fractions of it, but there must be more and now, Mor goes looking for the core.

She is just about to give up when she finally finds it. The power feels strangely cold and a shiver runs through Mor’s body. The power slips her grasp, though. It keeps slipping away from her, remaining just outside of her reach.

“Come on,” Mor hisses through clenched teeth.

This power is hers. Hers. It doesn’t get to refuse her, certainly not in a moment like this. There are people relying on her. She reaches out, stretches her mind to the point where it strains. A cold spreads from her fingers and all over her body. It feels like she is drenched in cold water. Her power feels like ice, cold and unforgiving. Is scares Mor as it shoots through her, but there is still an army for her to contend with.

Mor grips her power tightly. It is there, filling her entirely, but she doesn’t know what to do with it. She never learned to use it against anyone, has no idea how to weaponize a power that seems entirely harmless.

Out, she orders, attack them. Her power trembles inside her body for a moment longer. Then, miraculously, it goes shooting towards the enemy soldiers. Mor can feel it, rushing out of her and towards the enemy army. Then, her vision turns grey. A crack echoes through her mind. She feels herself falling, falling and falling. She should have hit the ground by now, but still, she falls. Then, the voice starts speaking.

Morrigan, it whispers. No, it isn’t one voice but several, speaking all at once. Morrigan, you call for truth and you will receive it.

Mor tries to struggle, to fight her way out of the darkness she is caught in, but her power keeps a tight grip on her. This is all wrong. It was meant to attack the enemy, not her.

But you so love to lie to yourself, the voices continue. You lie when you tell yourself that your cousin is different from your uncle. You lie when you tell yourself that this little family you made for yourself is so close that nothing could tear it apart.

“No,” Mor whispers. Her head is throbbing and her heart beats far too quickly. “No, stop.”

Before her eyes, images rise. She sees Rhys, standing in his army’s camp, whip in hand. A soldier is bound to the flock below him and Rhys’s face is frozen in clod rage as he swings the whip. He’ll be no better than his father, the voice whispers.

And Azriel… His face appears before her eyes, always impassive. Deep down, you know he won’t be willing to move on. And if he ever finds out the truth… You know how he’ll react. He wants you, will always want you. You’re the symbol for the acceptance he always wanted, and he’ll never accept that he can’t have you.

Azriel’s face vanishes from before her and she is standing in a room with Andromache. They are kissing, embracing each other, but they aren’t alone. Shadows lurk in the corner, shadows like the ones that report to Azriel. Her skin crawls like there are thousands of ants running over her body. She’s being watched, always watched.

When he finds out, the voices continue, your secret will come out. He’ll tell Azriel and Rhysand, and eventually, everyone will know.

She’s standing opposite Azriel in a room. He is yelling and even though she doesn’t hear the words, she knows what he is saying. There are people standing around them, watching. Keir is there. Eris. Her uncle.

“Stop,” Mor sobs, “Please!”

But it doesn’t stop. And you lie to yourself when you tell yourself that you and Andromache will be together forever. She won’t want to be with you forever, not when your opinions differ so much. Eventually, she will realize that you are no less privileged than the other Fae. That you may care for humans and all the things she values, but not nearly as deeply as she does. She will realize that deep down, you don’t understand, and she will leave.

“This isn’t what it’s like, I’m not like that!”

But you are, the voice says. You joined the war as a way to get out of the Night Court. You genuinely think that many of the humans have it easier than you do. You like to split your world into good and bad, and everyone who isn’t actively horrible is bad, everyone else is good.

“No!” Mor screams. She tears at her hair, struggles against her power’s invisible hold on her.

I am truth, the power whispers, You cannot escape me.

Mor screams without words. She wants this to stop, wants the voice to go away. She claws at her head, but something stops her hands.

And just like this, it is all gone. Mor’s power snaps back into her. It quivers in her for a moment, then dissolves into nothing. Pain flares through her head.

“Mor!” Someone is shaking her. “Morrigan, look at me.”

Mor blinks. Slowly, the world comes into focus around her. Andromache’s face appears before her, blurry at first, then more clearly.

“Hey,” Mor mutters. She tries to push herself upright, but Andromache gently presses her back into the grass.

“Stay still,” Miryam says. She is kneeling next to Mor, still dressed in her council clothes, a long silk dress with silver embroidery that seems far too thin for the brisk night air. She must have raced here straight from a meeting if she didn’t even bother to change clothes. The air around her seems to shimmer, alight with power. “Are you in pain?”

Mor wants to say yes, but then, she realizes that she actually isn’t. She has a headache, but beyond that, she can detect no physical pain. Her mind is reeling and her chest feels painfully tight, but that hardly counts.

“No,” she says. “I’m…” She chokes on the word fine.

Words keep echoing through her mind, far too loudly, drowning out any thoughts. Her chest feels far too tight, she can barely breathe. Over her, Miryam and Andromache exchange a worried look. The air around Miryam glows with power. Mor doesn’t understand why her power is out, what is going on around them. Are they still fighting?

“The battle…” She stammers.

“We won,” Andromache says. She gently pushes a strand of hair out of Mor’s face, but her face is tense.

“Did you lose control over your powers?” Miryam asks. She glances over her shoulder, then returns her attention to Mor.

She shakes her head. “No, I…” She breaks off. Her tongue feels strangely heavy. “I meant to do this.” She doesn’t even know what this is. But now, she finally understands why her power feels so strange. “It’s fine,” she says to Miryam. “You can give it back.”

“Are you sure?” Miryam asks. “Control can be difficult, especially when you are already exhausted.”

“It’s fine,” Mor repeats. She doesn’t know how to explain to Miryam that she has no trouble at all with controlling her power. She never had. Truth seems to be pleasant in that regard, if in no other.

Still, Miryam only releases her grip on Mor’s power slowly. Bit by bit, it slithers back into Mor’s body. Controlling it is easy enough, though.

“See?” She says once all of her power is back in her body. “All fine.” If that isn’t the biggest lie she ever told.

Neither Miryam nor Andromache seem convinced and when Mor tries to sit up again, Miryam grabs her arm.

“Rest,” she says in a tone Mor likes to call her healer voice. It’s somehow both gentle and firm. “No matter how much control you might have over your power, using that much of it is still a strain and you should give your body time.”

Hearing that from Miryam, who only considers resting when she passes out from pain, is somewhat ridiculous. But getting her to change her mind would require a discussion and now that her head is beginning to clear again, Mor realizes that even though the battle might be over, both Andromache and Miryam likely have duties to deal with.

“Okay,” Mor says. “I’ll just lie down. You two can go, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Andromache asks, but she’s already looking over her shoulder at the battlefield. She must have lost many soldiers today. Mor can already see the shadows on her face.

“Yes, just go.”

“I’ll bring her back to the camp and return to help you,” Miryam says.

Andromache nods and is off before Mor truly has time to process what is happening. Miryam looks over her shoulder.

“Don’t you dare get a stretcher,” Mor warns softly. “I can walk.”

Miryam sighs. “Alright.”

She holds out a hand to pull her to her feet. Mor sways a little and has to grip Miryam’s arm to stay upright, but otherwise, she manages just fine. Miryam pulls her arm around her shoulders and helps her walk back to the camp. In Mor’s tent, Miryam deposits her on the bed. Mor half-expected her to rush off back towards the battlefield immediately, but she sits down next to her.

“What happened out there?” Mor asks softly.

Miryam arches an eyebrow at her. “That’s what I was about to ask you.” When Mor remains silent, she says, “I only arrived at the very end. But Andromache says that the enemy soldiers suddenly fell to the ground, all at once. She thought they were dead at first, but then, some of them started screaming and clawing at their heads. Some allegedly died on the spot, although that may be a rumour. Andromache’s army had an easy game after that. Your power was all over the place, and you were on the ground as well. As soon as the enemy soldiers were taken care off, I turned your power off since you didn’t seem to be able to do it yourself.”

Mor nods. She doesn’t know if she could have pulled her own power back, how much control she had actually left. She doubts she would have been able to fight her way out of her own mind for long enough to call the power back, though.

“Do you know what you did?” Miryam asks softly.

“I showed them truth,” Mor says. Only now that she says it does she realize that’s exactly what she did. “The truths they hide from, the ones that scare them. The ones they hate.”

“And in return, you had to see your own truths,” Miryam says. Mor nods and Miryam walks over to put a hand on her arm. “That was a very brave thing to do,” she says. “Everyone has truths they’d rather not face; doing so anyways takes a lot of strength.”

Mor doesn’t feel brave or strong, though. She feels terrible. Like a pretender. I didn’t know this would happen, she thinks. If I had known, I’m not sure if I would have done what I did. And that isn’t bravery. It’s quite the opposite. She didn’t face anything. She just ran from it, and she can’t get herself to stop running.

“I need to go help Andromache,” Miryam says, rising. “But if you have any trouble with your powers, if you need help with anything, pleas tell me. We’ll figure something out.”

Mor nods and watches Miryam walk out of the tent. After that, she lies on her hard bed, staring up at the ceiling. She doesn’t know how much time passes. Her mind is empty, save for the voices that keep ringing in her ears. The pain she feels has nothing to do with physical wounds, but she feels it nonetheless. It’s nearly driving her insane.

Outside of the tent, the sun has already vanished behind the horizon when Mor gets up. She doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be running around, but she can’t take the confines of her tent anymore. She needs some fresh air. Carefully, she pushes the entrance to her tent open and slips out.

“Aren’t you on bedrest?” Yanis asks. Apparently, he’s been waiting outside of her tent.

“Consider me well-rested,” Mor says. “I’m going for a walk.”

Yanis doesn’t stop her as she walks past him and into the camp. All around her, soldiers stop their work to stare at her, whisper with each other. The Morrigan, they call her, voices hushed in awe. It seems the entire camp already knows about what she did.

Mor doesn’t want any of it. Her head is still pounding, the words she heard while she used her power echo through her mind. She can’t shake that voice. Is it now permanently etched into her mind? Will she be forced to hear those words over and over again for eternity?

She can’t stand the whispers. The noise of the camp hurts her ears, the lights of the pyres burn in her eyes. The only person whose company she cares for right now is Andromache, but she is a queen whose first duty will always be to her people, and she cannot abandon them in the aftermath of battle. Besides, she might not be all that interested in Mor either way. Just like the other Fae, a voice whispers in her mind. And so Mor is alone when she sneaks out of the camp, away from the eyes and the whispers, and sits down on a small stone.

“Hey,” Andromache says softly and sits down next to Mor.

She never knew truth could be so cruel. It’s the cruellest gift of all.

Mor gives her a tired smile. “Let me guess,” she says, “Yanis told you where I went.” When Andromache simply gives her an apologetic smile, she shakes her head. “You don’t need to worry about me,” she says, “I know you have duties to fulfil with your army.”

“Miryam is filling in for me, so I’ve got time,” Andromache says. “How are you feeling?”

“It didn’t hurt me,” Mor says. Which is not entirely true, but physically, she is fine.

Andromache puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. “When I saw you lying on the ground there, I thought you might die,” she whispers. “I was so scared.”

Mor buries her face in Andromache’s shoulder. For all the horror she experienced today, it’s good that there was at least one person who genuinely cared about what happened to her. It is prove that she isn’t entirely alone. Maybe she can talk to Andromache about what she saw.

“It’s truth,” she says, “My power. And it’s…” She shakes her head. “It showed me things, told me things…” Her fingers tremble. The words repeat over and over in her head, but she can’t bring herself to say them out loud. “It was terrible.

How stupid was she to ever want this? If she thinks about how she spent her day pouring over a book, desperately trying to unlock her powers. What she would have given to be able to turn back time now. She should have listened to Andromache.

“You don’t have to use it,” Andromache says softly. “If you have been able to keep it locked away until now, you won’t ever need to use it again. No one would blame you.”

In a way, this is absolution. They are still at war and Mor’s gift might prove to be invaluable. But what Andromache offers is a free pass for not using it. She won’t be a coward. No one will be able to blame her. It will be fine.

“I won’t ever use it again,” she whispers. “Not in a million years.”

----

Miryam draws a few odd looks as she walks through Drakon’s camp. Her clothes are splattered in blood and mud, she only barely managed to get the dirt off her face and hands. She spent the past few hours alternating between organizing the post-battle work and helping the healers out.

Well over three hundred soldiers dead. The enemy lost their entire army, but their own losses are still high, the highest out of any battle this month. Miryam gives it an hour at most until the council starts demanding answers. Two hours until they find out what happened. Then, they’ll surely summon Miryam, demand an explanation for what Jurian did. As if she knows.

She stops one of Drakon’s soldiers, a woman she knows briefly from past visits. “Where’s Drakon?” She asks.

“I believe his Highness is in his tent, my Lady,” the soldier replies and hurries on.

Miryam sets off towards Drakon’s tent. She expects him to be stuck in some kind of meeting, but he is alone when Miryam enters, sitting at his desk. He’s drumming a quick rhythm on his leg and flinches when Miryam enters. She immediately knows that something is wrong and wants to ask, but Drakon beats her to it.

“What happened?” He asks, looking at her ruined clothes.

Miryam gives the briefest possible explanation. “Jurian went against orders to chase after Amarantha, which means that a few thousand Vallahan soldiers slipped past our defences. Andromache’s army lost a several hundred soldiers and the only reason it wasn’t more is that Mor used some very strange truth magic I’d never seen before to disable most of their soldiers.”

Drakon seems startled. “Is she okay?” He asks.

Miryam shrugs. “Physically, yes,” she says. Mentally, Miryam isn’t so sure. Mor wasn’t in pain, didn’t seem hurt, but Miryam has never seen her this distraught.

Miryam is far from an expert on Higher Arts – she only barely managed not to let hers kill her – but she knows that they are generally weird. Difficult to master and near-impossible to understand. In her private interpretation, they also tend to come with a price to match the gift, although she is sure most Fae would disagree.

“And you?” Miryam asks. Drakon still seems far too tense. “Is everything alright?”

Drakon shakes his head, shrugging lightly at the same time. He’s still drumming around on his leg, tapping his foot on top of it. Miryam walks over to him and puts an arm around his shoulders.

“What is it?” She asks softly.

Drakon picks up a letter from the table and passes it to Miryam, fingers shaking slightly. Thick paper, a seal pressed into red wax. A sun with a crown hovering over it. Ravenia’s seal.

----

Thanks @croissantcitysucks for helping with this chapter! And in general for being the best person to talk to about writing ❤

#miryam #jurian #drakon #andromache #before the wall

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