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fortitudina · 1 year

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BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Dorothea Aurora Morningstar NICKNAME: Dot, Dottie, Little Dot AGE: 18 BIRTH DATE: 15th June GENDER: Female SPECIES: Angel ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Demiromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual RELIGION: N/A SPOKEN LANGUAGE: Multilingual CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Home with her mother OCCUPATION: Creator of creatures, full time sweetheart

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: • Jophiel ( mother ) SIBLINGS: • Nil SIGNIFICANT OTHER: • Verse Dependent CHILDREN: • N/A FRIENDS: • Lonan Morningstar ( cousin ) • Valentin Demiurgos ( uncle ) OTHER CONNECTIONS: • Lucifer Morningstar ( Uncle ) • Akrasiel ( Uncle ) • Lucien Morningstar ( cousin ) • Sima Morningstar ( cousin ) • Phenex Morningstar ( cousin ) • Ramiel Celeste ( aunt ) • Eliza Campbell ( godmother )

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOUR: Blue Eyes HAIR COLOUR: Blonde Hair HEIGHT: 5’6” BODY BUILD: ectomorph TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: pierced ears NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: she has pastel pink wings when they are unfurled, along with a pastel pink tint to her grace.

POWERS & ABILITIES

POWERS: • Creation of fauna & flora • Angel Physiology • Flight via wings • Immortality • Angelic Beauty • Healing • Purification ABILITIES: • Skilled Ballet Dancer • Animal whisperer • One with Nature WEAKNESSES: • Lots of people • Too much noise • Overwhelming situations • Celestial Weapons

PHOBIAS & DISORDERS

PHOBIAS: Anthropophobia MENTAL DISORDERS: Autistic, Major Social Anxiety, OCD WHEN WAS THIS DIAGNOSED?: A few years after she was born.

PERSONALITY

PERSONALITY TYPE: ISFJ-T ( Turbulent Defender ) MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good INTELLIGENCE: Highly Intelligent LIKES: Her creatures, Dancing, Flowers, Cupcakes DISLIKES: Lots of noise, Too many people, bullies, feeling confined DISPOSITION: She is an extremely shy soul but one that is incredibly caring and will do all that she can to show those that she loves, how much she cares about them. She is hard to get to know at first, due to her nature. Social situations are very much a struggle for her and she often finds herself feeling incredibly nervous and anxious. EXTRAS: She is often a lot more confident when Pip, her first creation and best friend is close by. He likes to vet others to ensure that they will not cause Dot distress and this helps a great deal.

BIOGRAPHY

Dorothea was a blessing gifted to Jophiel by her father after she was freed from her capture. Yahweh believed that in having someone to care for, it would help Jophiel in her recovery from all that she had endured so, he allowed her the gift of bearing a child and becoming a mother. Jophiel carried Dorothea as a mother would, nurturing her within her own body and allowing her to grow, despite the fact that she would become an angel like her mother.

When Dot was born, Jophiel struggled. She had never experienced the intimacy that would usually lead to the procreation of children so things were somewhat difficult. Jophiel’s labour was long and tiring and both Jophiel and Dorothea grew distressed and tired as a result. Ramiel ended up being called to help her sister, as did the human doctor, Eliza. Together, they were able to help Jophiel give birth to Dot but there was no sudden cry. Jophiel began to panic when she did not hear her child but Eliza took the newborn aside and worked on her and with some aid from Ramiel, Dorothea finally gave out her first cries.

Jophiel was protective of her daughter from that moment on. She made sure that Dot always had everything that she needed and tended to her whenever she scraped herself. As Dot developed and aged, Jophiel began to notice that her daughter did certain things. Patterns became an evident thing for Dot ~ she would count certain numbers, clap in certain rhythms and step in certain ways. At first, Jophiel simply believed it to be Dot’s imagination but it slowly became evident that it was not imagination at all. When she asked Dot what she was doing one afternoon, Dot yelled at her, stating that she needed to do the pattern correctly, otherwise another girl would not like her at school. Jophiel wondered if Dorothea was being bullied. She was trying to give her as much of a normal life experience as possible but she wondered if it was too much for Dot to handle. The more she chose to watch her daughter, the more Jophiel began to see more into how Dot’s mind worked. Social things seemed to make her anxious for one; if Jophiel mentioned that they needed to go out, the likelihood of Dot having a meltdown as a result were high. Her meltdowns often consisted of her panicking and repeating “no” over and over again whilst her fingers frantically picked at the skin of her other fingers and she would frantically scratch herself on her hands and arms.

Worried for her daughter and unsure of how to help, Jophiel asked her brother for help. Akrasiel suggested that she take Dot to be seen by a doctor that was not any of their siblings or Eliza; one that specialised in the mind. Jophiel knew the strain it would be to get Dot to go but she prepared herself for the meltdown and took Dot to be seen. As a result of the visit with the doctor, Dot was diagnosed with a level of Autism. In doing the tests, however, it was found that Dot particularly found dancing and being around animals calming in comparison to the anxiety of being around people. This news was like a small relief to Jophiel, being a lover of dancing and animals herself.

She decided to remove Dot from the “normal” life, electing to teach her at home with the help of animals and dancing to keep her as happy as possible. She often took Dot up to heaven too, letting her be free up there to be herself. Heaven time also meant that Dot could grow quicker and not feel cared about doing so. When it came to her hitting puberty, Jophiel knew she would have another task on her hands. With puberty came wings and realising her powers and she worried if all those sudden changes would be too much for Dorothea to handle.

They had been home on Earth for a few days when it began to happen, but it did not happen in the way that Jophiel was expecting. Usually, the wings happened first but with Dot, that was not the case. Jophiel found out when Dot had come running inside from the front of the house, her face a picture of fear. Upon her looking out of the window, Jophiel saw the reasoning for why, seeing that Dot had wrapped a kid up to a tree with a series of vines. She was not surprised that Dot had inherited her power where vines protected her when threatened but she now had to explain to Dot what was happening to her.

Jophiel moved to find her daughter and found her curled up in a corner. The wings were now there, wrapped around Dot’s form as she tried to hide herself away as much as she could. It took several hours of explaining from Jophiel before Dot understood what was happening to her body. She did not want to hurt people and hoped that nothing would come of what she had done to the kid. Jophiel reassured her that she would be okay.

They began to work at harnessing Dot’s powers more and more. Jophiel taught her to fly and taught her how to create but for the most part, she allowed Dot to get used to her powers in her own way. Her first creation was Pip, a spritely little guy that looked like a mix of a pixie, a mermaid, and who knows what. Dot was extremely proud of herself for her creation and Pip very much became the best friend that she’d never had.

As Dot created more and more creatures, Jophiel began to realise that many of them could not be seen by the human eye. As such, she helped Dot take them all up to Heaven. Asherah agreed that Dot would benefit from having her own hideaway space up there, so created a garden for Dot and her creatures, housing all of the ones she’d already created and leaving plenty of room for any others that she made. Pip was the one that did not go in there, however. Pip had become Dot’s support and Jophiel could see how Pip was helping Dot.

Now at eighteen, Dot has a better grasp of her powers and she is quite happy hiding away at home with Pip and the animals. She has her good points and bad, but she has support to help her get through the tougher times.

#* DOROTHEA { BIOGRAPHY }#LONG POST TW

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juliandev0rak · 4 years

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hi here’s a masterlist of all of the works i’ve posted on here!

thank you so much for reading and for sending in requests 💗

Main 6 university au headcanons

Main 6 and cuddling with MC

Main 6 and MC “no talk me im angy”

Main 6 and half goat/half human MC headcanons

Main 6 react to MC crashing their own funeral

Main 6 react to a scary movie

MC is kidnapped, the Main 6 are too late to save them

Main 6 react to being pranked with whoopie cushions

Main 6 with a cynophobic MC

Main 6 taking their familiars to the vet

Main 6 with an MC who has messy/frizzy hair

Miscellaneous Portia headcanons

Miscellaneous Lucio and Asra headcanons

Miscellaneous Julian, Nadia, and Muriel headcanons

Main 5 ( - Lucio) with an MC who has aphantasia

Main 6 with a sensitive MC

Main 6 with an MC dealing with painful memories

Clingy LI headcanons w/ Lucio, Julian, Muriel, and Asra

The Courtiers with a sensitive MC

Main 6 with an MC who loves animals

Main 3 angst with MC who likes someone else

Main 6 modern au occupations and houses

Muriel with an MC taller than him

Main 6 with an MC who can travel to the spirit world

Main 6 + Valerius with a kind and soft MC

Main 6 modern au, how they meet MC

Muriel, Portia, Lucio angst with MC who likes someone else

Main 6 shopping with MC

Main 6 grocery shopping at Walmart

Asra, Muriel, and Lucio with a highly sensitive MC (HSP)

Main 6 and poet MC

Starry Eyes

Asra x MC with eyes who change color next to water

With You By My Side

Asra x MC fluff

First Day of My Life

Asra x MC, pre-canon nursing MC back to health, fluff

Grieving Ghosts

The main 6 are ghosts and MC grieves

Halo (MC x Nadia, MC x Portia)

MC is an angel and uses their halo to propose

Red Beetle

The Main 6 react to MC remembering their real cause of death: MC finds out that Count Lucio is tied to the plague and is murdered by the courtiers for knowing too much

my ao3

(warning there is nsfw on my ao3 lol)

writing about my ocs under the cut because this masterlist is getting ridiculously long lol

any n/sfw writing below the cut, minors do not interact

Echoes of the Past Event

The Vianan Series

Principium

my apprentice Beatrice x Lysander Lonan from @leila-of-ravens

Earl Grey

my apprentice Beatrice x Lysander Lonan from @leila-of-ravens

Apron Strings

my apprentice Beatrice x Lysander Lonan from @leila-of-ravens

OC Writing

“just let me take care of you”

Julian x my apprentice Beatrice

Don’t Panic

Julian x my apprentice Beatrice

It Will Come Back

Asra x my apprentice Aster

The Past And Pending

the night after the masquerade and backstory for my apprentice Beatrice

Brand New City

Freya leaves Vesuvia and sets out on her own, determined not to return until she’s made something of herself- no matter the cost

lemon / n/sfw , 🔞minors do not interact 🔞

Main 6 + sucking tiddies hcs 🍋

Julian being gentle vs aggressive hc 🍋

#bea's masterlist

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 1 year

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OC Questions Tag

Thanks for the tag @annlillyjose!!!

Will do this for Changing States because JEREMIAH BOYS RISEEE!!

5 words to physically describe your OC (do you have a drawing? even better!)

hot, hot, hot, hot, hot (LMAO SORRY).

am I WRONG (HE'S AN ANGELLLL - okay so angelic, sleek, fashionable, warm, beautiful <3)

Who inspired your OC?

Jeremiah appeared out of nowhere & isn't inspired by anyone! I was in Maryland when I created him during a writing sprint. He wasn't supposed to be a major character but the chemistry between him and Harrison took me by surprise that I had to keep going. I'll paste the first note I have of JJ under the cut (and the scene it turned into for those wondering about my drafting process).

Give me a song to define your OC

Changing States playlist HERE but one of the most important driving songs rn is Faith by George Michael because "oh but I need some time off from that emotion time to pick my heart up off the floor oh when that love comes down without devotion well it takes a strong man baby but I'm showing you the door cuz I gotta have faith" (waiting & the concept of faith are soooo important to CS!).

If I met your OC on the street how would they greet me?

Jeremiah is the WARMEST greeter in the world. He would def go for a hug after asking (UNLESS he knew you don't like hugs--like me!).

Can your OC be your best friend? Why?

YES PLEASEEEEEE my heart feels warm every time I think of him! <3 really generous, attentive but not clingy, deeply empathetic.

1 adjective and 1 noun to describe your OC

Gracious, gold. <3

Tagging @dallonwrites, @subtlefires & @encrucijada if u want (and an open tag!!!)

OKAY RACHEL FUN DRAFTING INSIGHTS BELOW!!

So a big part of the Moth Work drafting process occurred on my PHONE!!! As a teenager I didn't always have my computer on me lol (me in my 20s with my emotional support laptop lmao), so I wrote a lot of "scene skeletons" in the notes app. I actually envyyyy this process looking back because I RARELY think when I write now <3

But here's the very first Jeremiah note, though I did actually create him DURING the writing sprint (lol I love my brain):

At the motel Harrison becomes interested in Jeremiah. On their first night him and Lonan fall asleep only for Lonan to be missing along with the car the next morning. Harrison, distressed, is noticed by Jeremiah who is finished with his night shift. He realizes he’s distressed and asks if he’s okay. Do you need a ride somewhere? He asks Harrison. Harrison nods. They go to the Chinese restaurant and get the egg rolls. Harrison learns Jeremiah is a part time student at the university. He’s charming and wears a bracelet and has scribbly tattoos on his forearm. Harrison goes back to his apartment after breakfast and he fixes him a drink. Jeremiah puts on disco music and dances and Harrison is entranced by the way he moves. Harrison takes off his jacket and slings it on the back of the bar chair. You live here alone? My roommate is backpacking in Vietnam. He passes him his drink. How long have you worked at the hotel? Since I moved here. It pays the bills. Dance with me? Jeremiah asks. Harrison gets up and they move together, limber limbs. The music moves through his throat and the drink is good. He’s successfully enchanted by this boy.

The above note became three separate scenes, most of which is the penultimate scene in chapter 5 (Dead Disco).

"On their first night him and Lonan fall asleep only for Lonan to be missing along with the car the next morning.

The next morning when the light filters through the cheap lace curtains and the hum of the freeway harmonizes with the birds, Harrison wakes up to find Lonan gone. At first, he doesn’t panic—it’s easy to list solutions for his absence. It’s easy to check the bathroom and excuse the miniature bottle of shampoos sitting in place like pieces on a game board, the towels still folded, as Lonan being extra methodical. It’s easy to head outside to check if he’s on the porch with a box of cigarettes, and easy to excuse the empty space as a walk gone on too long. It’s easy to head to the lobby to check for a dining area only to realize there isn’t one. What isn’t easy is finding an answer for the missing car when he checks the lot ten minutes later.

early chapters MW lonan irritates me sm we should all kill him <3

2. "He realizes he’s distressed and asks if he’s okay. Do you need a ride somewhere? He asks Harrison. Harrison nods. They go to the Chinese restaurant and get the egg rolls."

Harrison continues fiddling with his zipper. He retraces the night previous, from check-in, to losing the car, to finding Lonan with the cigarettes, every word a curse, how of course he took the keys, how of course Harrison was too angry last night to notice. The sunlight scabs the ceiling of Greta, the parking space the car once idled in now empty. So many directions to turn—out of the front lot, the back, left on the main road, or right. Harrison looks back at Jeremiah who’s still fluffing his hair with the pick. “Is there a place close by where I can grab something to eat? Or at least a coffee?” he asks. Jeremiah leans back to grab another stack of those familiar coupons. He sets them down on the desk and says, “I think you know my stance on these egg rolls. I’ll take you.”

And the rest of the note (in JJ's apartment):

Disco isn’t dead. It’s all an illusion. This is what Jeremiah says when Harrison asks why he has a disco ball hanging from his popcorn ceiling. His apartment is small and decorated like it’s Paris in the 70s, broad windows, a dozen mason jars of propagated ivy. Harrison sits on a barstool at the counter. His head has stopped pounding because Jeremiah gave him Ibuprofen and a vat of hard candies to suck on. He currently mixes him a cocktail behind his kitchen island and it’s blue like Lonan’s eyes so Harrison drinks it without looking. Harrison knows he shouldn’t drink around a stranger, but Jeremiah’s got a handmade bracelet and scribbly tattoos on his forearm so it’s hard not to trust him. Photo prints of hostels in Japan, statues in Europe, cathedrals in Paraguay decorate the walls in perfectly cut rectangles. Each is plumed with a dried flower and it reminds Harrison so much of Emily, he looks away, back to the Lonan-coloured drink. He studies the shot glass like it isn’t transparent, the grooves around the perimeter, the engraving that reads Cancun 1987. He loses Jeremiah’s absent swish around him and gets lost in the blue. The trifecta amazes him, how a colour as unnatural as this has manifested in Lonan’s eyes, his earring, this drink. He tips the glass back and finishes it in one go, and even though it’s strong of artificial blueberries, his mouth is tasteless. “You live here alone?” Harrison asks. The apartment overlooks the strip across the street and Harrison gets lost in it, the artificial signs like bad advertising, the neons ill, an influenza. When he looks toward Jeremiah again, his glass is refilled, and he can’t remember if he emptied it in the first place. “My roommate’s backpacking in Vietnam.” Jeremiah’s earring pings off the disco ball, and it creates a constellation on the ceiling. It could be Orion; it could be the Ursa Major. “You like the drink?” Harrison doesn’t want to say he tastes nothing, that he sees nothing but Lonan at the bottom of the glass at full retina, that he hardly understands the concept of blue. He is so numb when he stands that his feet meeting the hardwood feels like floating. Harrison slings his jacket off his shoulders and throws it over the barstool. Words enter and exit his mouth like gunfire, and he hears his heartbeat like the organ has moved to his eardrums. Jeremiah doesn’t comment when he twitches the nob on the radio, pooling through the channels. He doesn’t comment when Harrison lands on a throwback station brimming with the 80s, takes him by the palm and leads him under the disco ball. Jeremiah is intuitive and easy on the eyes, and this isn’t as difficult as Harrison thought it would be—he blinks Lonan away and keeps blinking.

#changing states

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 2 years

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Reflections | Lonan x Harrison <3

Compilation of some extremely cute Lonan and Harrison quotes. Some are from Moth Work (2019) and some are from Seventh Virtue (2022).

Text transcript under the cut!

At two in the morning stretched across his mattress in a rare blip of sleep, Lonan was an exhale, or the muted rustle of a duvet. In the car, Lonan was the satin circle of his own breath, a second body to heat a wintery sedan. In Harrison’s own reflection, Lonan was a shimmer in his eye, something alive and indisputably a part of him.

How much time had they spent looking at each other? At dusk walking through an open field, their elbows catching switchgrass, or over a pool of persimmons at the supermarket, or in a silent, lightless room, nothing as arresting as the other’s reflection.

They swayed on the tile, music-less, for what felt like hours, movements unplanned but synchronized. Spinning in slow circles as the sun flit through the window above the shower, clutching the other’s face until their reflections merged.

The sun flits through the window above the shower and catches Harrison’s face, and this is his angel, Lonan should tell him he’s his angel.

As Harrison looked up at him, he studied this man who seemed so much like a masterpiece carved of Carrara marble. How did he deserve him? This man who looked at him like heaven unfurled somewhere behind his eyes and if he looked hard enough, he could reach it.

With Lonan, he felt more alive than he’d ever been, more delicate, more loved.

“He is good to me,” Lonan says, tracing the constellation of Harrison’s freckles with his ring finger. The waves frothy just ahead of them, a silver light haloing them both now. “He’s good.”

#bruh screaming crying throwing up sometimes they're actually really cute #when I make these posts I'm like 'should we get awww romance or should we get them stabbing each other'#awww romance won today LMAO #EASTER EGG: the excerpts that both use “flit” as a verb with the shower image are the same scene #the original in MW #and then the rewritten one in SV! cute!!!!#also: HEAVEN UNFURLED WHERE???#bruh harrison needs to start writing fuckin valentine's day cards #lonanasona #fancy excerpts

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 1 year

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Ok first of all, love your videos and writing you're like the epitome of cool to me and got me into thinking maybe... I could...write lit fic... And tangentially related, but your post about how u used to hear lonan and Harrison and it comforted you was SO real. I literally watched you talk in a video about Lonan and was like his sadboy autistic dark floppy haired persona compels me and is exactly like the 'character' I used to imagine as a kid (with added bonus that he had a complicated relationship with Christianity and may or not have been an angel due to my hyperfixation on the television show cw supernatural). Anyway not to be weird in your inbox, you can delete if this makes you uncomfortable but I just wanted you to know that seeing you breathe life into these characters and explore them through novellas and short stories even without intention to publish made me love, and have confidence in my writing! Currently writing my (first ever) lit fic novella ( with pretentious chapter titles) exploring the relationship of above blorbo to his mother and religion and duty and it's coming out really nicely, so thank you for being inspiring and cool and talented otherwise it would've never happened. I hope you have a wonderful day, and GL with your writing! 💙

HAHA I loved all of this so much, thank you for writing to me!! I’m honestly so humbled whenever people tell me I’ve made an impact on them. I never thought this many people would love what I do and it just feels really amazing, and I’m so grateful for y’all! Also “sadboy autistic dark floppy haired persona” is perfect to describe Lonan LOL. Lonan also (softcannon) watches SPN in Hallowed Bodies haha so him 🤝 your character. Also good luck with your novella!! Litfic with chapter titles is so fun! :)

sorry I only published this now, for some reason it was stuck in my drafts!

#asks

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 2 years

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Guardian angels & other things to swoon at

I have no self-control so I started my Moth Work re-read and omg??? my 2023 romance-averse ass is losing my mind at how cute some of these moments are.

Lonan and Harrison back then: cute, a lil rocky, but cute

Lonan and Harrison now: let’s flirt by being mean to each other

Moth Work logline for those who weren’t around then: Lonan and Harrison’s complicated relationship is tested when they find a photo of a woman who might hold answers about Lonan’s past.

Circa 2019 (literally how did I write this at age 17, I have no idea).

#WHY DID LONAN NOT TELL HARRISON HE’S HIS ANGEL???#FIRST ‘SUN BABY’ AND NOW THIS???? PARDON #that tic-tac-toe Polaroid setup is the reason this romance exists LMAO #I TOLD YALL LONAN TAKES HIS HAIR SERIOUSLY #TO THE POINT WHERE HARRISON HAS HIM FIXING IT ON FILM??? LMAO #Lonan is the ANSWER KEY okay y’all BYE why am I still writing #Lonan is a piece of shit romantic I cannot believe it #I always thought Harrison was the romance type BUT #I WAS WRONG #Lonan didn’t have a redemption arc so much as he hitched a ride on the villain to babygirl pipeline #I’m 100% gonna use this against him

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 1 year

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6. 19. & 46. for the ship ask game please!

(i NEED to know about the potential Lonan/Harrison/Jeremiah jewelry sharing situation)

omg hiii ty!! <3 from this ask game!

6. How do they make up/apologize after an argument?

so I'm going to answer these in the era of Moth Work where everyone Sucks At Being Couples (but this would be different in Seventh Virtue). Lonan and Harrison will do absolutely anything but make up/apologize after an argument, in fact, this is the entire plot of Moth Work!!!! Mostly on Lonan's end. Which is why we should kill him!

19. Do they wear each other’s clothes/jewelry?

YES!!! The whole 24k Harrison fit is JEREMIAH'S (like he would NEVERRRR make that combo but all the individual items belong to him). Harrison also steals Jeremiah's silver circular signet ring and wears that through BODY BACK. Jeremiah doesn't share any of his stuff though (bc Harrison is crusty /j <3).

Harrison and Lonan have a long history of sharing things. Lonan wears Harrison's jacket for almost all of Moth Work which is why in MW era art you'll see him in Harrison's typical outfit. He also wears Harrison's angel necklace until his ass gets both the jacket and angel stolen. Harrison wears an earring that belonged to Lonan's mother (the blue earring!).

In Feeding Habits, they briefly swap shirts after... a momentito... LOL, bc Harrison ALSO steals Lonan's iconic blue button-up (what is with harrison and theft):

How easy it was to abandon him in the dark. To swap their shirts because he knew he’d have money. What Harrison’s plan was to live off a hundred dollars, he doesn’t know. He could’ve paid for a taxi from the barn to Canada if that’s even possible. He could’ve eaten a-la-carte at a bistro. He nearly considers what Lonan must’ve felt like, alone with his hands in the sand, understanding with certainty that their reunion was not passion or anger or desire, but piggish robbery.

46. Do they consider their relationship casual or serious? Is the answer different depending on who you ask? Why?

Harrison about Jeremiah: casual relationship he KNOWS could be serious. Jeremiah about Harrison: serious relationship I'M CRYINGG. (The whole Haremiah disparity is truly because Harrison knows he's not ready to move on from Lonan, but Jeremiah genuinely sees a future with Harrison).

Harrison and Lonan feel the same way about their relationship: it's extremely serious but there have been points where they both try to convince themselves it's casual. But they're fairly equal in how they view the relationship. Lonan would be the outlier in thinking the relationship is casual, but even then, he doesn't actually believe that--he takes every aspect of his relationship with Harrison very seriously.

#asks

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

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Land Mammal | Feeding Habits Update #7

Hello! We are back for another Feeding Habits update, but this time we’re chatting chapter 8, aka Land Mammal.

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline & excerpts under the cut because this one is a long one! If you missed previous updates or are new to the project, check out the novel intro page (which links all the updates) HERE!

Taglist (please ask to be added or removed): @if-one-of-us-falls @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @ev--writes , @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories , @august-iswriting, @berinswriting

Scene A:

After Harrison enters his apartment to find his ex Lonan hanging out in his kitchen in chapter six, he nopes to his room and tends to his German Shepherd puppy, June.

His mother, Suzanna interrupts him and attempts to explain that he can’t run away from his problems, and after the two argue, Harrison exits his room to find Lonan mopping up Harrison’s tracks of seawater from chapter six.

Scene B:

Harrison brings Lonan to a kiosk for canoe rentals and rents a canoe. Harrison sets up their journey whereas Lonan refuses to enter the water after subtly announcing a new fear of it. Instead, he collects beach stones from the sand. They have their first conversation in months where Harrison eggs Lonan on until he finally gets in the canoe. They set out on the water where Harrison questions Lonan regarding his relationship with Eliza (who he presumes he’s still in a relationship with) who is not there with him. Harrison accuses Lonan of murder and subsequently capsizes the canoe so they reunite underwater.

Scene C:

Harrison wakes up alone the next day on a hay bale, having stolen Lonan’s money (and shirt tea tea tea). We can assume he’s abandoned him and has travelled to the barn mentioned in chapter six. Here, he decides he needs an excuse for why he’s there early to the homeowners. He decides, since they hired him to fix up their barn, he’ll just say he was trying to be a good worker and get a head start.

However, as he approaches the farmhouse, the door is opened for him by Sharleen Harvey, his boss’ wife. He bullshits his excuse for being there so early just as Sharleen leads him to the breakfast table where Lonan sits (lol). Everyone there knows Harrison is clearly lying.

Scene D:

Harrison eats pancakes on the porch with the Harveys’ dog when Lonan joins him.

Scene Ea:

We dive into what happened after Harrison capsized their canoe. Harrison gets a lil unhinged and things get a lil murdery oops. This leads to shenanigans!! That is all I will say!!!

Scene Eb:

A very short, poetic paragraph that collects details from sentences in scene Ea that follow a Blue [NOUN] structure.

Scene Ec:

A two-sentence nudge at the ~the shenanigans

Scene F:

Harrison notices Lonan wears the ring he and Harrison tracked Eliza down to retrieve, and questions him as to why he didn’t propose to her with it. He goes on a desperate rant on why they should’ve gotten married before Lonan insists it’s now time for him to bring him home. The end of this scene signals a very slight glimpse of Harrison finally humanizing Lonan after a chapter of demonizing him (and also Harrison’s failing mental state).

Scene Ga:

Harrison falls asleep on the car ride back to his apartment in the city and doesn’t wake up until a day later. In this time, Lonan has stayed with him. He eventually wakes up and immediately notices Lonan fiddling with the guardian angel pendant he gifted him. Harrison seems to finally realize the weight of Lonan’s humanity in this scene and allows himself to trust him once again to some extent.

Scene Gb:

A second poem paragraph that references the water shenanigans that occur in scene Ea

Can you tell I’ve been really into poetry lately the poet in me said hello!

Excerpts:

This is a ~tender excerpt that explains Harrison’s mindset!

Suzanna is prettier in bad light. The tungsten of his bedroom’s cheap lightbulb cratering her waterline so the smudge of kohl shifts, the zip of her crow’s feet, the shimmer on her cheeks, all the soft things about her. She holds a beach towel, cactus print. This new life a second try neither asked for but committed to, this move back to the east their thing. Window-shopping for kitchenware on Sundays, snatching samples of bratwurst and sauerkraut for each other at the market, sharing each other’s toothpicks, burning caramel popcorn and renting the wrong DVDs, inventing new takes on boeuf bourguinon, sending postcards to each other even though they share an address. Undeniably theirs. A life unappreciated, and yet what he says next is “Where’s Eliza?” instead of I don’t want this life to end. Harrison pets the dog.

The following is the entire scene of the boys’ first interaction in months. TW: homicide, religious content, suicide, nods to self-harm

A canoe-rental kiosk ruching the Hudson River. Harrison pays for a two-hour timeslot with the last of his savings and lugs it to the shoreline by himself. It is nearly midnight, the sky clogged with fog and moonlight.

Lonan will not enter the water. Back near the kiosk, he fiddles with a beachstone, bathing in tungsten from the streetlamp above him. He gave no reason for his rejection, just picked stones as they walked along the boardwalk, through the parking lot, to the kiosk. As if he’d polish them, feed them through a rock tumbler as if he has the patience for that, tend to them like infants, shape, polish, burnish, sell them for thirty dollars a piece and donate the money to an animal sanctuary, as if has the mind to.

Harrison shifts the canoe perpendicular to the water and steps in. The boat cranks under his weight, its coldness seeping through his jeans.

Lonan stoops for more stones. His knees luminescing in white sand. His hair oilslick, cropped to his scalp like blunt grass. His fingers arrowing through sand, a raven filching seed. He unearths the stones with urgency, a paleontologist, a gravedigger.

“You’ll never make a sale on those,” Harrison shouts from the canoe. His voice splinters the night and puffs with the sand.

Lonan nearly drops his handful of stones. It takes him a moment to look up, and when he does, he searches the treeline first, the windows of a parked SUV, the gaps between a thicket of lifejackets before reaching Harrison, and he’s so deerlike, Harrison thinks, he’s so limp, so feeble, so susceptible. His hair jutting briefly from his scalp like an accordion, badly cut probably because Eliza likes it that way. His skin nearly lilac in places, a gauntness in his face, a hunger.

“My mother tells me you like her cooking,” he continues. “That you’re here for your sister. That you’re here alone.”

Lonan reaches for another stone.

“Eliza wants you to look like a deacon.” Harrison frills a hand toward his hair, snaps his fingers like scissors. “So holy. I could ordain you right now. Make you born-again. There’s so much water.”

“I don’t swim,” Lonan says. He reaches for another stone, then another so his palms turn into one.

“You don’t? You’re a land mammal. Rhinoceros. Hippopotamus. Is it the stones? You’re afraid they’ll sink you?”

“I’m not keeping the stones.”

“Then why search for them?”

Lonan sets the pile down. They clatter into the sand and toil into new holes, a sand cloud disguising them in the minute he rises, dusts himself off, limb by limb, and walks toward the canoe.

“Is it supposed to be avant garde?” Harrison asks as he gets closer. “The hair. So avant garde. So high fashion. Everyone wants you.” And then, “You’re scared of water now. The last time I knew you that’s where you wanted to be buried. It’s a good opportunity. Take the stones with you. Company that serves a purpose.”

Lonan hikes into the canoe. He takes a seat opposite Harrison and grips the paddle as if it’s a murder weapon ready to save him.

“She might be dead,” Lonan says. They push from the shore, and Lonan scores the water with the paddle until the kiosk shrinks. His hands jitter, unsteady, but takes them through the water. “She’s not with me.”

“Are those things related?” Harrison shifts closer to him, that haunted, lilac, hungry face, the edges of him he knows, he’s touched, the nose he’s nudged, the eyelids he’s dabbed, the ears he’s breathed into and out of, the mouth he’s spoken into and spoken out of. That hunted lilac hungry face, searching for a place where he can be sustenance, a place he knows, a place of comfort. The holes all closed. Those pores no longer constellations he’s memorized. That haunted lilac hungry face no longer his. “How did you do it?” Harrison asks. He stares at Lonan’s hands, the hands he should know, nailbeds he’s scored with his own, fingers he’s matched with his own, palms he’s stamped with his own. “Asphyxiation? Death by drowning. Death by land mammal.” He tries his wrist next, tendons flexing with the paddle, that expanse of skin a flute of ivory, those veins he should know, where they conjoin, where they branch like an oakwood. Those scars he knows the stories of—accidents, non-accidents, safety pins, lighters, cigarettes, ballpoint pens. Harrison could recite those stories a year ago and now they’ve dissolved, unmemories.

“It was an accident.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“I’m sorry.”

They’ve paddled so far from the kiosk, it’s like they’re on their own planet. A planet of only water. A planet uninhabitable, where land mammals sink and never come back up. Lonan’s eyes glisten with moonlight, and his waterline should be recognizable, dampening now, cattled with wet eyelashes, should be memorable, what it felt like to touch their ledge. All foreign. He’s foreign. So foreign. His anti-hair, anti-face, anti-hands, anti-wrists. He’s crying and immemorable. He’s crying and sorry.

Harrison shuffles forward until their knees touch. He reaches. He makes contact. He touches his skin. He touches his ear. He touches cheek. He touches eyes, fingerprints his irises, wrings the tears from his waterline, pulls his face by the jaw, cradling his land mammal. He is crying. They should both cry. They are both crying. Their own lake puddling in Harrison’s palm. Theirs as Harrison dips his free hand into the water. Theirs as he hushes Lonan’s writhing. Theirs as he christens him, the water gorging his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Theirs as he promises it will be okay. Theirs as he says he will get to know this stranger. Theirs as they promise to both regrow. Theirs as Harrison jerks the canoe. Theirs as they capsize. Theirs as they reunite in fizzing tide, caught in the river, both animals trapped in amber.

Tea:

The next time he is dry, he is lying on a bale of hay, wearing the wrong shirt, a hundred dollars richer. All of these things are related. The hay only because he paid for a cab with money he only has because of the shirt, five twenties easily slipped into the breast pocket when Lonan wasn’t looking. Twenty on the cab ride to Brooklyn, and now he’s face-first in a spool of hay that is better than sleeping in his own bed.

Harrison being chaotic and embarrassing lol:

A seagull on a ceiling beam gorges on a French fry. It eats with conviction, the fry lost in its throat before he even blinks. It flies through the hole in the roof as Harrison rises off the hay bale.

He did not announce his arrival to Theodore Harvey. In fact, he entered the property like it was his own, picked the barn’s lock with the edge of one of Lonan’s beachstones—he did keep one, in the pocket with his shirt, right behind the money—and slept without worrying what his mother would think. His third life is no longer necessary—it has already been disturbed. It is more efficient to deescalate than renew.

He decides he will not tell Harvey of his stay but lie and say he arrived at the farm early, 6AM, a good man trying to start his work early. Trying to impress. He’ll lie, say he tried picking up a tray of raspberry danishes from the bakery but it was too early for anyone to have opened. He’ll lie, apologize to Harvey’s wife Sharleen for showing up empty-handed. It’s rude to bring no offering.

Harrison fixes himself in the reflection of an overturned wheelbarrow, its silver belly clouded with rust. He exits the barn dry, well-rested, a richer, more fashionable man.

Before he even finishes ascending the veranda of the Harvey house, Sharleen opens the door. Her white hair is pearled into a bun. She wears a paisley patterned apron, chartreuse.

“Raspberry Danishes,” Harrison says. “All I wanted was to bring you some fresh raspberry Danishes, but all the bakeries were closed.”

Sharleen rolls up her sleeves. Her hands are caked with flour and fat.

“I considered tulips, but realized I’ve never asked for your favourite flower. Is it tulips? Hydrangeas? Chrysanthemums?”

Sharleen juts open the screen door and holds it open for him. He enters the foyer, and it smells like cinnamon, like sugar.

“I’ve heard marigolds are helpful for warding off squirrels,” he says, taking the hand she offers for his jacket. Sharleen doesn’t jump when he runs his finger across her wedding band and pecks her knuckles with his mouth. She doesn’t even speak. “Is that true?” as they usher toward the kitchen. “Pretty and purposeful. Sounds fake.”

Sharleen dusts her hands on her apron and jars open the kitchen door.

“Could be a double whammy. Or a scam. Or an old wife’s tale,” Harrison is saying as they walk into the kitchen, so occupied with the marigolds he does not notice when Sharleen returns to the stove to flip a pancake, so occupied, when he turns to the kitchen table, expecting only Harvey but seeing Lonan, all he says is, “Sounds too good to be true.”

Lonan joining Harrison on the porch after the above:

Harrison eats his pancakes on the porch. The Harveys’ dog joins him, a golden retriever named Leila. He cuts her a rift of cake and slots it into her mouth when she whines. One bite for him, another for Leila. Him, Leila, him, Leila. The good news is since he fixed their coffee machine, he now drinks drip.

It does not take long for Lonan to follow him outside. Harrison’s known this was inevitable and has dreaded the last five minutes because of it. He slits another triangle of pancake and feeds it to the dog.

It’s too cold to be out without a jacket. Wind nips Harrison’s ears and icicles his fingertips. Lonan’s shirt, the pale blue button-up he nabbed knowing he’d have cash, brays under the breeze, barely denser than a tissue.

TW: This gets a bit murder-y!

Suspended in water, Lonan was aquatic. Blue eyes turning into blue skin into blue lips into blue throat, chest, wrist. Shards of his sheared hair slung in sheathes of bubbles, his face blissfully marred by their movement. Blue collarbones, blue earlobe, blue shoulder blade, blue pinkie finger.

Harrison pulled him by the shirtsleeve before he could swim back to the surface, contorting them under the hex of the overturned boat. Him and the water a double team as they took Lonan by the shoulders and held him underwater, an insect stilled and ready to be inspected. Saltwater burned Harrison’s eyes as he stared, but that wasn’t a deterrent. If he only had a moment to look, he wanted it to be in stillness, in a place time unravels. Blue knuckles, blue abdomen, blue forearm, blue tibia.

When Harrison dragged them toward the six-inch gap between the water’s surface and the canoe’s dome, he held them both there, sheep and shepherd, slain and slaughterer. His hands cupped around his throat like butterfly wings, holding him there for safekeeping. Blue nose-bridge, blue sclera, blue cheekbone, blue teeth. He coughed water.

Iconic dialogue (TW: this is also a bit murder-y!):

“Pull me under,” Lonan said, spitting water, his voice grating under pressure. He trembled, his limbs his betrayal, tremoloing in the waves.

And Harrison did. Dousing him by the shoulders and holding him under so only he floated in the miniscule gap of air, Lonan a sunken, thrashing speck. It was thrilling, holding a body in his hands, determining its fate. And equally as thrilling to hold it as he lulled Lonan back up and over his shoulder where he deflated, gasping. At first Lonan coughed, once twice, heaving saltwater and saliva. But then a birdlike sound, compact but jittering, the wisp of a laugh, and Harrison couldn’t help but wonder if he was thrilled, too

“Do you feel accomplished, Harrison?” Lonan asked, his teeth prattling like an accordion. His hand trailed up the tail of his jacket, scrawling along the soaked leather. Lonan shifted, his body dead weight nearly drowned. And there was the sound again, chirping, “You’re not the first person who’s tried to kill me this year. Congratulations.”

Harrison angst in its prime:

Harrison adjusted his grip around Lonan so one arm supported his torso and the other scored his jaw. His fingers pressed against the skin there so it paled, exploring along that blue skin, blue mouth. The facts were: Lonan was not there for him, or so he told Suzanna, and so he was a changed man, uncoupled, unromanced, a clean restart. They would get out of the water. Harrison would climb into the backseat of the car Lonan drove instead of the passenger’s side because he wouldn’t want to look at him, and they would return to the apartment and not speak again. Suzanna would intervene in the next morning, maybe get up early to make breakfast, French toast, or crepes, or single-serve omelettes, and they would look at each other and it would be easier to forgive Lonan for a decision Harrison made. Suzanna would say he shouldn’t feel rejected when he was the one doing the rejecting and apologize a few hours later, blame it on the side effects of her cough drops. So it would be fine. They would be friends, or whatever they were before Eliza, and Harrison would live his cyclical life with a new-old person who didn’t come searching for him. Glamorous.

This is scene Ec if you were wondering what that looked like:

After, in a wash of cattails, saltwater in their mouths. Their bodies keeling over the other’s like the matrix of a ribcage. Snowmelt turning them both blue.

I find this description v cute ok I need a Harrison flannel:

Lonan is on his fifth button. His skin crests from underneath the squares of orange and red. The fabric smelling dangerously of Harrison: cigarette smoke, cinnamon.

Harrison badgers Lonan about not marrying Eliza and then it gets PURE:

“Why won’t you marry her?” Harrison asks. “You could have children. A honeymoon.”

Lonan stuffs his free hand into his pocket. His breath fogs with every exhale, his nose pinkish with cold. Harrison doesn’t feel any of it, the breath, the cold, his hands. He doesn’t move to button up his flannel. He doesn’t want to move.

“You’re going back to her. You’re here to check on Reeve, and then you’re going back. To get married. To have children. To honeymoon forever.”

Lonan’s hair is awful. Spoking from his scalp like a raven’s wings, some sections ragged, uneven. Not a haircut, but punishment.

“You’re perfect,” Harrison says. He should being shivering, be freezing, but he feels nothing. “Why can’t you say you’re perfect?”

Lonan moves first. They could reabsorb. Go back to blue. But Lonan only reaches for the flannel with his free hand and drapes it around Harrison’s shoulders. Arm by arm, slotting them through the sleeves. Button by button, securing it up his abdomen, his chest, right up to his throat. If Harrison looks closely, one of his eyes is rimmed with scarlet, like a vessel there popped, and a pool of lilac simmers, almost undetectable, across his temple.

“You could’ve married her,” Harrison says. His voice has dropped to a whisper. Lonan swings his jacket around his shoulders, securing his arms through each loop of leather, one, two. Zipping so his exposed skin may rewarm.

“I need to take you home,” Lonan says. Lonan with the broken eye. Lonan with the blackberry skin. Lonan with the teeth-shorn shirt. Lonan with the mowed hair. Lonan with the burned palms. Lonan with the wedding ring that was never really a wedding ring. Lonan who looks as if he’s always prepared to blink, just in case something comes out to get him.

The following is from scene Ga:

Harrison sleeps in the car on his way back and doesn’t wake until the next day. In that time, Suzanna slots takeout boxes through the unrolled window, three full meals: sweet corn and tomato fusilli, beef stifado, meatless cassoulet. What she doesn’t know is they sit, untouched, under the passenger’s seat, not because Lonan is averted by her cooking, but because he’s saving them to share, just in case. She brings a vacuum sealed bag of extra comforters the first evening when flurries dot the windshield, Harrison is swathed in them all by the time the snow reaches half an inch. One lined with Sherpa closest to his skin when he stirs, the bulbs of fabric like cottage cheese. In the time he’s in the car he dreams. Of driving into the ocean. Of haircuts. Marriage.

When he opens his eyes, Lonan is nuzzled against the windowpane, his arms folded over his chest. He wears only the corduroy jacket, the layers of blankets piled over Harrison’s arms in dense tufts, like the Pasteis de Nata he and Suzanna watch the bakers laminate at the local bakery.

The only valid thing about snow is that I can get these descriptions out of it:

The snow has levelled to a healthy four inches. In sunbeams, it griddles with light, fractals picking the windshield, Lonan’s eyes. And for a few minutes, this is it: the blanket life-ring, the sun coiled in the space between them. Suzanna makes apple cider in weather like this. Cinnamon to pair with the subtle remnants of winter, cloves to warm, turmeric and ginger to surprise. Inside the apartment, Harrison imagines her stirring a saucepot bobbing with fruit and rind, skinning oranges, lemons, turning the kitchen lights on, off, on, off, until her son comes home.

And to end this update, here is the final “poem-y” paragraph:

Land mammals in the water. Spitting bubbles and rims of wave. Their mouths caverns, limbs rattlesnaking, lungs inflating. Land mammals in the water. Coasts apart now re-seamed, kicking up sand, knocking teeth, touching spines. Land mammals in the water. Eyelashes drowning, mouth to mouth. Land mammals in the water, gaping at each other’s throats.

Thank you for reading! Hope y’all enjoyed this very chaotic chapter!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #feedinghabits #mothwork

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

Text

Holy Obedience | Feeding Habits Update #4

Hey People of Earth! Today we’ll be chatting chapter five of Feeding Habits, aka Holy Obedience. TW: animal cruelty, blood, suicide, toxic relationships.

This chapter is the last in Lonan’s POV and a direct continuation of chapter four. I was getting a little burned out as this was toward the end of my 10k word week a few weeks ago, but overall, it definitely achieves what I was hoping for!

Scene A:

Eliza and Lonan chat about secrets which gets intense when Eliza prompts Lonan to burn Harrison’s guardian angel necklace & a few polaroids that were taken as a small easter egg from one of the mini stories!

Lonan grabs everything out in time with minimal damage

Scene B:

Lonan finally burns down his father’s darkroom.

Scene C:

Lonan emerges from the woods and approaches the cabin. Eliza sits on the veranda tending to a dead rabbit she claims she “found”. What happened in the previous memory in ch. 4 of Lonan and his father utilizing the ikijime technique to kill the fish mirrors with the rabbit, despite it actually being dead.

Lonan and Eliza take a drive and talk about the very different lessons they each learned from Lonan’s father

Eliza hits the accelerator and drives the car into the lake. Her fate is left unspecified, whereas he gets out relatively unscathed.

Excerpts:

Here’s this very tender romantical description because I indulge myself obvi:

The last time he saw Harrison, he knew they would not see each other for a very long time after. Sun haloed him. Pinged of his eyes so they shone like gemstones. The earring he’d gifted him from his mother’s collection twirled, mindless, like the surface of a mirror ball. He didn’t forget that image—his lover a painting of the sun, an offering he was lucky to have, if only temporary. As he gurgles at the face of the fire, he doesn’t forget that feeling—the warmth not against his face, but in the pith of his throat, jittering like the wings of a hummingbird. As he shifts forward, closer to the fire, a hand secures around his shirt collar. At first, he’s convinced what he’s seeing will be the last he ever sees—the magnificence of heat. But it’s when he feels its heaviness with a clank against the stone as the clasp comes undone that he understands.

When he turns around, Eliza holds Harrison’s guardian angel in her palm. The chain noosed carelessly around the angel’s throat.

This kind of epic sequence of Lonan yeeting away the darkroom ft a subtle Houses With Teeth reference??:

Lonan will burn down the darkroom one-handed. He hustles through the rain and forest brush with the gas can, the flashlight pricked between his teeth. The woodland seems so irrelevant at night; moonlight pares through clumps of deciduous trees; rain blisters from the opaque clouds; a ground animal, perhaps a raccoon, or squirrel, scampers up a redwood and into its hollow. It’s lost its energy, replaced with irrelevant, forgettable details. But still he moves with conviction, weaving between tree trunks like he’s the one who put them there.

His second reunion with the darkroom is not something of the fantastic. He’s done his time staring at it like it’s got teeth, strong incisors that will nick him if he looks at it the wrong way. When he arrives at its pathway, rain prowling down his cheeks, his left hand wrapped hastily in the eucalyptus towel, he has not come for reconciliation.

Gasoline could substitute the Pacific, he thinks as he unscrews the bottle’s cap and lugs liquid onto nearing brush, smothering the wildflowers needling through the shed’s concrete platform. It moves the same, sounds the same, does the same thing—spreads. He leaves no square foot untouched with fuel. He douses the doorway, its shattered windows, even the individual holes in its hardwood floor. He dresses the darkroom in gasoline and doesn’t blink when he pulls his lighter from his pocket and sets it on fire.

Here’s when Lonan approaches the cabin and first sees the dead rabbit:

Lonan arrives back at the cabin a half hour later, smelling like soot and wet earth. He expects to see Eliza inside, turning over the last bits of scorched wood with the fire iron. Drinking a bottle of red wine turned to vinegar by herself, the cork neatly pushed in the centre of the hearth. But when he approaches the cabin, tracking up rain and dirt, Eliza is not inside.

She sits on the veranda, stooped over the glass worktable, her hands fumbling against the head of a rabbit. There is no question the animal is dead. It’s small, just bigger than the length of her palm, its grey fur gone cobalt with rain. Its head lolls against the frost of the glass. There is no bringing it back to life.

“Where did you find that?” Lonan asks. He wrings his hair of rainwater knowing it will get soaked again before another minute passes.

“It washed up.” She strokes its ear, examines its fur with her thumb and middle finger, as if tending to cashmere.

Lonan impales the rabbit in the same way he impaled the previous chapter’s fish and this is what happens after that. We also get a hint at why the chapter is called Holy Obedience:

“Do you do everything in the name of your father?”

“Obedience is an act of love.”

“Burning down his darkroom is not what he would’ve wanted.” Eliza pulls her arms close to her chest, gnaws on a bloody hangnail.

“That’s what I wanted.”

“Then you have two conflicting agendas.”

“Isn’t killing the rabbit what you wanted? Aren’t you vegetarian, Eliza? Aren’t those two conflicting agendas?”

Eliza taps the hilt of the knife, fully upright in the rabbit’s skull. Her lips purse. Her posture straightens. She wipes her mouth with the clean plane of her forearm. When she deescalates the veranda’s steps and walks past him, he doesn’t follow her at first. He watches her back, the way her hair flutters before sinking with the rain. How blood drips off her fingertips and onto the dirt driveway, pinkish, like the colour a child might want their wall.

And the fateful drive begins, ft. a scene I repurposed from the old ch.2:

Loam gives under the car’s wheels, sputters up onto the windows as she backs the car onto a dirt path. He does not ask where she’s going. Even as they drive deeper into the thicket of trees, branches combing the windshield, paths he’s never been, he does not ask.

“What other things did your father teach you?” she asks after some time dozing through the woods.

Eliza’s hung a lucky rabbit’s foot from the rear-view mirror, tannish fur that whitens when Lonan reaches and turns it over.

“This isn’t vegetarian,” he says, scales the foot with his fingernail, bloodying it just as the rabbit on the veranda. Its ball chain clatters with every brush of his finger, the sharp jut of its cap, neatly carved into the head of a rabbit, prickling against his finger. Rain clatters against the window, each drop’s shadow inking his jeans, arms. “Genesis. How to kill a fish. The easiest places to be caught when you run.”

Me leaving the city haha:

They parse through trees, bushes, and Lonan knows each species even without looking, and the longer she doesn’t answer, the more insistent he becomes at stating them aloud. “Red alder. Pacific dogwood. Cascara. Ponderosa pine,” he says.

Here are the final two paragraphs. Fun fact, I stole “holy vengeance” from myself which appears in one of the later chapters in Rewired.

The next time Eliza presses the accelerator, it’s with a holy vengeance. As if something guides her, her heel gorging into the pedal. They move so quickly, Lonan doesn’t know when the forest ends and where the beach starts—it all melds, a mosaic of vague landscapes. He doesn’t know when he reaches for the rabbit’s foot hanging from the mirror and holds it to his chest, like he knows what she’ll do. Even before she says, “I always wanted to be buried by cattails,” even before the car’s wheels whir over sand, driftwood, strings of kelp, even before they dive head-first into the lake, he knows.

Crashing into water sounds like rising to heaven. He doesn’t know why this is the first connection he makes, or why all he visualizes as the car sinks is the wisp of white clouds, the balmy lift of air that hikes him through the sky. Even though the water is dark, all he sees is light, crisp and glittering from above. As he ascends, he turns to look for Eliza, and there she is, slumped over the wheel, a stroke of blood dripping into her mouth. He is weightless when he stabs the cap of the rabbit’s foot into the corner of the window so it splinters. Weightless when he inhales and pushes through the broken glass like it’s Peter’s gate and he’s a step away from salvation. Weightless when he paddles through the water like a sunfish, his body ready for this, good at this, as he holds his breath. Weightless when the car sinks, and his head breaches the water like an orca, weightless when he opens his mouth to the storm and exclaims his hallelujah, his new beginning, his ultimate baptism.

That’s it for this update! I will be back sooner rather than later as I recently completed chapter six, but that’s a wrap on Lonan’s POV y’all!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #mothwork #feedinghabits

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juliandev0rak · 4 years

Note

hello, i have come to request “Like I expected, you’re much comfier than my pillow.” for vianan, if i may —beatrice's mother-in-law

Why hello Beatrice’s mother-in-law, I am happy to provide this Vianan content, have some brand new relationship Vianan awkwardly learning how to cuddle and make out

Sincerely, Lysander’s mother-in law 💗💗

It’s late, nearly two in the morning according to the clock on the wall, and Beatrice can’t sleep. She’s been tossing and turning for hours, the Lonan Manor still a bit too unfamiliar for her to feel at ease. She can’t seem to get comfortable, her pillow is too flat, the sheets are too cold. All she can think about is how she wishes Lysander was beside her.

They haven’t discussed sharing a bed before. Their relationship is still so new, and while a slower pace is good for both of them, Beatrice must admit that she misses him at night. She wishes she could go to sleep beside him and wake up next to him. It seems silly that he sleeps down the hall, so close and yet doors and walls away. She decides to get up from bed, determined to at least see if he’s awake. She creeps out of her room and down the hall carefully, wincing as the floorboards creak under her feet.

When she arrives at Lysander’s door she wonders if she should knock, not wanting to wake him up if he’s sleeping. She deliberates for another second before gently knocking on the door twice. Nothing happens for a minute and she debates just returning to bed when she finally hears footsteps approaching. The door opens a crack and Lysander peers out into the dim hall, his face pulling into a smile at the sight of her.

“Hello Beatrice, what are you doing up so late?” He asks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” She says, crossing her arms a bit self consciously, what if he turns her down? “I was wondering if I could sleep here, with you.”

“Oh, well I haven’t gone to sleep yet, I’ve been reading a book I think you might enjoy actually,” Lysander starts eagerly, but he stops when he notices how tired she looks. “Well, never mind about the book, I’ll show you tomorrow. You’re welcome to sleep here.” He opens the door wider to let her in. Beatrice gives him a slightly nervous smile as she enters the room. She’s been in his room before but seeing it this late at night, alone with him, is very different.

She sits on the edge of his bed, still tidily made from the morning. He regards her from his spot by the door, seeming unsure of what to do next. She takes in the sight of Lysander in pajamas, noticing that he has his pants tucked into his socks. The sight makes her smile, but she suddenly feels very exposed in her own sleeping ensemble, a simple shift that definitely shows more of her than he’s seen before. Beatrice hurriedly reaches to pull back the covers, getting under the blankets and feeling a bit overwhelmed by how much the sheets smell like him.

“Um, what side of the bed do you usually sleep on?” She asks, not wanting to mess up his routine too much.

“Either side is fine, whichever you prefer,” Lysander replies, still not moving from the door.

“Are you planning to join me?” Beatrice asks after a moment when it seems like he might turn to stone stuck there if she doesn’t encourage him.

“Oh, yes, of course.” He takes a step towards the bed and snuffs out the candle on his desk. She moves over to the other side of the bed to make room for him. He lays down next to her, much too far away, and Beatrice sighs a little. Then Lysander shifts and turns onto his side to look at her, giving her a little half smile.

“Hi,” She says, a blush warming her face as she looks at him. He looks positively angelic in the moonlight, eyes bright and the planes of his face highlighted and shadowed in all the right places.

“Hi,” He echoes, causing Beatrice to laugh lightly under her breath. She doesn’t know what they’re doing and neither does he, but they can figure it out together.

“Come here,” Beatrice smiles, reaching a hand towards him, “You’re too far away.”

He moves a bit closer and Beatrice closes the distance, tucking herself closely against his side. They’ve cuddled on a couch before but being in a bed together is different, and they’re both a little awkward in their movements. After a moment his arm goes around her and she shifts so her head is resting lightly against his chest, the position is much more comfortable and they both relax against each other.

“Will you be able to sleep like this?” Lysander asks, reaching to hold her hand.

“Hmm.. well like I expected, you’re much comfier than my pillow was,” Beatrice laughs, wiggling closer against him. He laughs with her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m not sure that’s true, I’m quite certain I’m not filled with feathers,” He jokes.

“You should’ve felt that pillow, it was like a rock beneath my head,” She replies, a bit distracted by Lysander’s thumb gently moving in a circle over hers.

“I shall endeavor to be more comfortable than a rock then,” Lysander says, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

Beatrice can’t help herself, she leans up to kiss his cheek. He surprises her by turning his face to kiss her, his warm lips pressing against her own. Each kiss is still so new and exciting, and she smiles against him as he kisses her, gentle as always.

But then he opens his mouth a bit and she ever so slightly runs her tongue over his bottom lip. This is new territory for them as well, their kisses so far have been quite chaste. He responds after a few seconds, tentatively touching her tongue with his own. They continue like that, lips and tongues meeting again and again. The kiss gets a bit clumsy, but it’s Lysander, she’s kissing Lysander, so it’s good. It’s something they can learn together, as they learn each other.

When they pull apart she buries her face in the crook of his neck and his arms go around her, holding her close as they both catch their breath. Beatrice finally falls asleep with her face pressed to his chest, and she doesn’t sleep alone anymore from that night on.

#oh god this is soft #🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺#i just love the idea of them both being shy and having to figure things out together #anyways i’m emotional i was listening to ‘so this is love’ on repeat when i wrote this #vianan #lysander lonan x beatrice viano #i don’t even wanna know if there are mistakes in this i was so lost in the vianan feelings fhdhd

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

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Blood Sister | Feeding Habits Update #5

Hey People of Earth!

Are we back for another Feeding Habits update? Today let’s chat chapter six!

Blood Sister is the first chapter in Harrison’s POV and also the longest chapter in the book (a little over 8k words). It took me about a month to write!

Scene A:

Harrison gets back to the NYC apartment he shares with his mother after running errands to ward off either the spirit that haunts their walls or to rescue whatever is stuck in them. His mother preps for a dinner as Harrison has invited his old pal Reeve over.

Scene B:

Harrison removes a litter of kittens from behind the drywall. One of the kittens is dead. Strangely, a German Shepherd puppy is also in the litter.

Scene C:

Reeve appears in a glamorous blur and makes an interesting first impression on Suz who seems slightly stunned and endeared by her.

Scene D:

At dinner Reeve confronts Harrison about his “straight-edge” lifestyle since moving to NYC and he realizes her judgements about his life being monotonous are very true--he lacks purpose.

Scene E:

Harrison and his mother clear the dishes and Suzanna confronts him on the fact that he hasn’t told her that Reeve is in fact Lonan’s sister. Suz knows the boys’ relationship is complicated, and plays Devil’s advocate by outright asking Reeve how her brother is. Reeve, who hasn’t seen Lonan longer than Harrison, has assumed Lonan lives with them or is close by, and feels semi-betrayed that Harrison has kept his whereabouts a secret.

Scene F:

Reeve and Harrison drive to a garden and he’s reminded of the event that lead to him and his mother’s return to the east coast.

Harrison meets Winona outside a convenience store, the same woman Lonan meets in ch.6 of Moth Work. She takes him to her mansion where she’s hosting a party and introduces him to her husband. Harrison makes multiple bad decisions which you can probably figure out for yourself!

Scene G:

Harrison wakes up in Winona’s house and is confused to see her and her husband standing over his leather jacket. If we remember what happened in ch. 6 of Moth Work, Lonan gets beat up by Winona’s husband and has Harrison’s jacket & angel chain stolen. We can assume from this scene that Winona has a) recognized the jacket and b) chosen him to come back to her house for the purpose of also beating him up (which happens).

Scene H:

Reeve and Harrison jump a fence into a garden to give the dead kitten an unorthodox “water burial” in the garden’s fountain. Reeve confronts him on why no one has seemed to care about her whereabouts for the last year, and also suggests the only reason he wanted to see her now is because he misses Lonan. Harrison miserably drinks too much wine.

Scene I:

Harrison wakes up in the cold, very drunk, and Reeve is gone. A security guard looms over him. Harrison asks the confused man if he thinks he was separated at birth. Harrison isn’t referring to feeling like he’s been removed from a sibling bond, like the kittens, but a deeper, “indissoluble bond” formed between two people (like the kittens and the puppy). This connects to the title “Blood Sister” as Reeve suggests she and Suzanna may be connected in this way, to the kittens, and to Lonan and Harrison.

This idea of “indissoluble bonds” was reinforced when I listened to Stephanie Harlowe’s coverage on the Parker-Hulme case, and this was the title of her video! This idea of an immutable connection between two people who are forever separated, like the dead kitten despite its death, still being connected to its siblings, was very relevant to how Harrison feels about Lonan.

Excerpts:

Here’s the entire first scene <3

Something has died in the drywall. Suz insists there must also be a ghost—she hears cries when she sleeps—so when Harrison returns to their apartment with both a handsaw and a bottle of holy water, she’s more than pleased.

Today, it snows in New York City, and no amount of brushing off his hair and jacket rids him of the snowflakes he tracks in. His face stings with the bitter early March air, and he’s resettled easily into the east coast grit; he likes the taste of instant coffee and the smell of gasoline.

Harrison shoulders off his jacket, the leather rigid with frost, and undoes the loop of his scarf one-handed. The apartment smells overwhelmingly of cloves and apple peel, and he is unsurprised when his mother rushes over to him, flushed from the kitchen heat, her #1 Dad apron bunching at her hips, and pushes a highball glass into his palm in exchange for his findings.

“It’s a secret recipe,” she says, twiddling through his errands. Suzanna lifts the bottle of holy water to eye level, unscrews its cap, and daps two soaked fingers to her lips just as he dips his fingers into the glass, around its rim, and then into his mouth. The hot mull of liquid bursts against his taste buds, citrusy. “Wish I believed in this shit as much as I believe nutmeg is my new holy saviour.”

Harrison downs the rest of the glass’s contents, the cider’s spice grafting down his throat. Its heat clings to the roof of his mouth, a subtle burn that numbs his tongue, but he likes it, its sweetened acid like a rucking back to life.

“Is that the secret?” He runs his pinky along the base of the glass so the last drops of liquid climb up his fingernail.

“The Lord?”

Harrison laughs and accepts the holy water she hands him, rescrews its cap in place. “Nutmeg.”

Suzanna takes his empty glass and whisks toward the kitchen. On the stove burbles two saucepans and one Dutch oven, the fan whirring like the pleats of an accordion.

“Maybe it’s both,” she says.

You asked for the entire second scene? Here Harrison finds the litter of kittens:

The first thing Harrison removes when he saws through the drywall lining the two-prong outlet is a dead kitten. Its body shifts onto his hand with damp weight, like an overripe pear, its silver hair glass-like under the beam of his flashlight. Though it sits comfortably in the pit of his palm, though he knows he cannot kill or revive it, his first instinct is to lay it on the beach towel Suzanna laid out because he fears he’ll crush it with just one pulse of his thumb.

Its eyes are the size of his pinkie nail, gently shuttered like it’s drifted to a lawless sleep. The animal will remain in this state—only death, but as he looks at it, braying its hairs back with his forefinger, he considers alternative options. Harrison knows little of necromancy, but considers anointing it with the holy water, lighting a red-cased candle in front of it, chanting a verse from Revelations.

With the flashlight secured between his molars, Harrison pulls out four more kittens, all that mew as they cling to his fingers, their noses twitching against his skin like it’s feed. They burrow into the beach towel, trampling over one another with blind fervency, all shimmery silver. In comparison to their deceased sibling, they wriggle, pink-nosed, and don’t settle against the grain of the towel, always wagging, like earthworms.

Harrison believes he’s done—removed the dead animal and rescued four more. Good work which he’ll take to a farm just outside the city—Suzanna has a friend. He’s nearly clicked off the flashlight when he sees it, just a subtle glint of something else—an animal that isn’t silver, but a dry brown.

At first, he thinks it’s a rat that’s raked through the walls to where it is now, but the longer he shines the flashlight, the more he sees it is not a rat, or even a kitten. What sits, jittering behind the outlet, is a pup.

Like the kittens, its nose twitches back and forth, its eyes small enough to be the ovular black beads on Suzanna’s rosary which hangs, decorative, above the front entrance. “It’s a cleanse for the spirit,” Suz said when he questioned her reasoning for bringing religious memorabilia into a house of two atheists. “Dianne from church told me.” Dianne is a beer-bellied schoolteacher, proud pothead and mother of four who frequently volunteers at the church’s weekend functions with his mother. “She’s into that kind of thing. Seances. Jesus Christ. I think she mentioned they had something spicy going on in college.”

“Something spicy?”

“Spicy. Like hot wings. Habaneros. One-night stands. I don’t know Harry, it sounded illicit.”

They both grinned.

Harrison does not know when him and Suz began getting along. There was no one date or time, no anniversary to look forward to for their official reunion. One moment he struggled not comparing her face to the one he knew in his early teens, and the next, they crouched over a salad bowl of burnt popcorn, taking turns painting each other’s fingernails with the same shade of red nail polish—Crazy for Carmine

The dog can’t yet focus its eyes on anything, but Harrison swears it stares at him. It fidgets from its position crouched on the outlet, so when he extends his hand, an offering, he’s surprised when it crouches onto the tip of his finger, shimmying into his palm. It’s even smaller when he holds it, plum-sized, and velveteen. Its eyelids flicker like the apartment’s bad TV signal, and when it opens its mouth to cry, its teeth, no larger than the tip of a toothpick, prick up.

“You’re not a tabby,” he says, drags his fingers through the suede-like gloss of its fur. The pup curls against his knuckles, murmurs languidly until Harrison pets its head again.

“Did you say something, Harry?”

Harrison stands from his crouch when his mother materializes from her bedroom, the animal still pared delicately in his palm. When he glances at her, he’s surprised to see she’s changed out of her usual loungewear, a tank top and bell-bottoms, and into a patterned shirtdress that sways to her knees. The Matisse-like design, organic shapes, all the colour of a celery stalk, drapes to her knees, flounces when she twirls for him.

“I thought we agreed on business casual,” he says, but smiles wider the longer he looks at her. Tulle gathers in a funnel down her waist, pluming her so she looks less like his mother and more like a fairy.

“I’m taking the business side, and you’ll take the casual.”

“She’s just a friend, Mom. She’s not expecting anything.”

“She’s got an English last name,” Suz says. Her eyelids glitter with gold pigment, her lips tacky with rouge. “Of course she’s classy.”

Harrison thumbs the back of the pup’s head and shifts closer to Suzanna when she cocks her head toward it.

“I think Reeve is more than classy,” he says. “Maybe stylish. Exclusive. Superior. Glamorous.”

Suzanna shifts the pup from Harrison’s hands to her own, neatly patting its head with her pinkie until its murmurs soften. When she holds the animal, it’s like he no longer stands behind her. It’s just her in her Matisse dress and the dog, comfortably blinking in her hand. “You found a puppy in a litter of kittens?” she says, less of a question, and more of a declaration of wonderment. She lifts the animal to eye level. Its nose wrinkles, like the skin of a fig. “Looks like mama picked up a stray. A beautiful stray. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Reeve making only iconic appearances:

Reeve appears in their doorway wearing cat-eye sunglasses, a bottle of pinot noir slatted between her arm and chest. Though it’s been storming since early morning and there has been no sun in the city since the week previous, her appearance is so believable—cheekbones subtly tanned like she’s mastered the timing for a perfect sunlike glow, the sunglasses teetering neatly on the tip of her nose and staying there, like they’re a dog she’s taught to sit and stay—that Harrison’s almost convinced she commissions the sun to come out twice daily for a private show, just for her.

“We booked an appointment,” she says, letting herself into the apartment in a faux-fur blur.

Harrison swivels as she unzips, tooth by tooth, the red skin-slick vinyl of her gogo boots. Her hair falls in an untamed fringe around her forehead, the front sections pinned back by an array of rainbow-coloured butterfly clips. It mimics the fray of her jacket, fluffed around the hood’s perimeter.

Reeve dusts snow off her corduroy culottes, readjusts the collar of her black turtleneck. “When I moved to the city, I forgot how gruelling the winters can become.” She taps the heels of her boots onto the welcome mat so slush flakes onto the rubber before slipping her feet out elegantly, like Cinderella. “I almost believed New York City existed in a fictional bubble where everything remained dry and hot, like in Egypt, or the Mojave. When I asked for a hellish climate, I was hoping for sun and the occasional forest fire. Not ice and more ice.”

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” Suz speaks where Harrison’s words shrivel. She steps from the kitchen to the entrance, her dress flouncing when she extends a hand toward Reeve. “William Shakespeare.”

Reeve looks up. The cold has pinched her cheeks pink, drooled water to her eyes so when she blinks, tears sprout to her jawline. “Suzanna,” Reeve says, and embraces his mother with willful ease, like they’ve been girlfriends for a decade, like they purchase pavlova from the same patisserie at the same time on Thursdays, like they help each other whip perfectly fatty meringues at the same baking class so they can master the same pavlova and never buy it again. “I’ve heard nothing about you and yet I feel we’ve known each other for years. What do they call that? Blood sisters.”

So here’s the whole third scene lol:

At dinner, Reeve pops the cork of a bottle of pinot noir with her teeth before Suz tells her she and Harrison don’t drink. She’s in the middle of saying she’s a prophet, the bringer of wine, her lips parted around the cork, traces of her lip gloss gumming around its circumference.

“No alcohol?” Reeve says, spitting the cork into her palm so a glob of red transfers onto her skin.

Suz stirs a serving dish of clams with an olive wood spoon, their shells phosphorescent in the artificial light. “Harry and I have taken a break from spirits. Except for the holiest one of course.” She points to the roof as if signaling to the man upstairs and dishes a spoonful of clams onto Reeve’s plates, the shells chiming against the ceramic.

“That’s so reverent.” Reeve pricks the edge of a clam with a toothpick and swallows its frill into her mouth. “So virginal.”

Harrison accepts a spoonful of clams from his mother and adjusts a sprig of rosemary so it lies perpendicular to the plate’s edge. Olive oil gums under his fingernails and soaks into the fibres of a slice of bread he rips at the crust.

“I always assumed you’d be a partier if you ever moved back to the city,” Reeve says, and it takes Harrison a moment to realize she’s speaking to him. “Disco. Karaoke. Cocktails. Men who buy you cocktails.”

“Has that been your life in New York, Reeve?” Harrison sucks a lobe of clam between his lips. Its brine coats his tongue in a burst of salt and cilantro.

Reeve tips the bottle of wine to her mouth, its red gift bow shifting, silverish with light. “You could say that. I just expected more. Not that your life now is boring. But I assumed there would be more glamour.”

Harrison sops up a dribble of oil onto a shear of bread, and says something like, “I thought so too,” before swallowing.

“We have glamour,” Suz says as Harrison absently eats more clams. She points to the chandelier the two found at the bottom of a New Jersey dumpster, yet to be installed, sitting in its crystal glory on the floor. She explains the story of how it came to be as Harrison eats and listens for the mewing of the kittens, thinks about their one dead sibling that now lies curled inside a shoebox, separated in eternal rest.

Reeve is not wrong. Life in New York City has been far from glamorous. He shares this apartment with his mother who pays for all of the rent—it’s been months since Harrison could hold down a steady job. He tries with odds and ends—repairing a neighbour’s bathroom sink, tacking sconces up outside the apartment for a hundred bucks. His room is a décor-less box that smells like wallpaper even though it’s sanded smooth and painted with two coats of an eggshell-finished oatmeal white. There is no dancing, no music, no colour, no partying, no alcohol or men with alcohol. Not anymore, at least. Her statement should not sting—this is the utter truth. The apartment is repetitive shades of indistinctive creams, furniture he and his mother pick up off the curbs of wealthy homeowners, incomplete, yet his home, nonetheless. No matter the story Suz tries to spin—look at the exposed brick, look at the counter space, look at the custom-moulded baseboards the previous renters installed—he knows what Reeve has said is true. Life in the city is comfortable but monotonous—an unrelenting kind of normal.

“We found kittens,” Harrison says, promptly interrupting the women’s conversation that has quickly moved away from the apartment to their favourite places to eat gelato. Suz’s clam drifts off her toothpick; Reeve almost chokes on a gulp of wine. Harrison swipes a chunk of bread through olive oil and chews. “That’s glamorous.”

Reeve sets the wine bottle back onto the dinner table and folds her hands over the other. Her manicure is chipped, just the remnants of a tortoiseshell marble. “What kind? Calico?”

“They’re just kittens. And a dog.”

“You found a dog in a litter of kittens?”

Harrison eats one last clam and finishes his portion of bread. “Glamorous,” he says, his mouth half-full.

The beginning of scene 4:

While Suz and Reeve discuss room décor and clear the plates, Harrison checks on the kittens. Dishes clank rhythmically as they’re soaped, rinsed, dried, the ceramic whimpering in time with the kittens. He hasn’t named any but understands their differences. Though the quadruplets share the same silver coat, one has a slightly larger nose than the rest, one has a fleck of gold in its blue eye, one has pinstripes scrolled across its forehead like a branch of lightning—small details like this differentiate them.

In his palm, the one with the golden eye crawls, its underbelly sateen. Tomorrow, he’ll make the drive just outside Brooklyn where he’ll drop the kittens off at an old farmhouse. Suz’s friend from rehab is selling it, some Theodore Harvey, but his wife fosters animals, and was delighted to have the new additions. Though he hasn’t spoken to his mother about this arrangement, he also knows tomorrow he will keep the dog. Juniper, he’s named her—June with the eyes like a solstice.

When his mother pokes him, he jumps, and the kitten shimmies off his palm.

The sounds of dishes clinking morphs into the filmy mutter of a talkshow Reeve watches, sipping absently at her gifted bottle of red wine.

She nudges a pastry into his hand, where the kitten once sat, the skin of the pasteis de nata oiling his hand. He crunches into it as she watches patiently, as if waiting for a review, and its caramel flavour ruminates on his tongue.

“This is good,” he says around a mouthful of pastry.

“$4.99.” Suz smiles and takes a nibble herself. “For six.”

Together they stand over the kittens, passing the tart back and forth until Harrison gives the final piece to his mother. The apartment whirs with the calculated singe of automated laughter and the purr of the kittens. He knows one sits dead in a shoebox on his bedroom dresser. The ground too hard to dig, a burial still necessary.

Suz licks a crumb from her thumb and wipes her palms along the skirt of her dress. Their focus shifts to Reeve who lies sprawled against the two-seater, yelling something at a contestant on the show who’s gotten an answer wrong—tulip, not two lips. That’s fabulous. You are fabulously a failure.

“You didn’t tell me she was Lonan’s sister.”

Harrison pokes at a flake of pastry and wipes his hands on the front of his jeans. Reeve’s bangles clatter in a cyan jangle as she applauds at the same contestant she previously ridiculed. There are so many things he could say to his mother—he knew Reeve first, Reeve isn’t just Lonan’s sister to him, more like his own, but when he adjusts himself, swallowing and tidying the hem of his shirt, all that comes out is, “I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“I would’ve like to,” Suz says. “Does she know? That you don’t know where he is?”

Harrison’s fingernail catches on a loose thread, and he yanks it out so even Reeve glances back at its upholstered plink. “I know where he is, Suzanna.”

Reeve and Suz being icons (direct continuation from the above):

Harrison turns back to the kittens who plow over one another like ants. Heat flushes his throat, prickles his cheeks and ears and suctions like a vacuum. Though Suzanna eventually leaves, joining Reeve on the couch, propping her feet on the same coffee table so their polished feet touch, toes pink like raw cherry tomatoes, though he knows they’re both right in knowing and not knowing where Lonan is, though he knows it should no longer matter to him, he finds himself leaning against the table where the kittens encase each other in a plastic shoe bin, ticking his fingers at his side.

He does not know what the reality television show is about. From the blots he hears from the TV’s can-like speaker, he concludes it’s something about botany, love, vengeance, fertilizer. No one theme—it does not even know what it is itself. Suz has materialized with another tart, and she and Reeve nibble at it with fervency, so close, their tongues almost touch as they dart across the custard. The sight is almost viper-like, their teeth notched forward, and it should be venomous, or at its worst—friendly, but all Harrison sees is girlish, maternal intimacy.

Suz and Reeve laugh at a contestant who wears a tartan printed jumpsuit and mismatching earrings—one the shape of a pineapple, the other an urn-like bead she claims holds the ashes of her great aunt. They outline her figure with their pinkies. They clutch each other’s hands. They flush like beets and wipe crumbs from each other’s mouths.

Reeve’s momentary lapse into delicacy:

Harrison turns his back and pretends to tend to the kittens. They all know he does nothing but thumb the backs of their heads, let them suckle against his fingertips—they all know, and yet, he continues doing it. Silence cuts through the apartment like hot glass.

If Reeve and Suzanna still touch toes, it’s because neither want to loosen the other’s pride. The only sound in the room belongs to the television which has moved away from dishwashing to a watering hose—four for four, as if this is a discount, as if anyone will truly need that many watering hoses.

“I haven’t seen your brother since late August,” Harrison says once the commercials simmer back to the gaudy laughter of the reality television show. At first, he doesn’t look at Reeve. He knows what he’ll see—some form of betrayal. She didn’t come here looking for Lonan. She hasn’t even asked for him, but he knows what he’ll see when he looks at her. Best friends do not keep secrets.

When he concedes, he is right. Reeve looks at him from under a thick smear of kohl, her eyes focused, like slate beads. Her lips are pink from wine and she unhinges a fleck of opal nail polish from her thumb. Her mouth does not move, a straight line that cranks with her jaw.

“Where is he?” she asks, fluttering her lashes when Suz pats her arm. If Harrison is right, Reeve hasn’t see her brother since she peered in on him when the two shared the tent, pearled a few smoke rings from Harrison’s cigar, and left for the east coast. Before he left, Foster filled him in on the details of her eventual cross-country desertion, though there weren’t many. How he’d last seen her at the motel, a margarita wobbling in her palm, what she’d said to him, to stay special, that there weren’t many people like him left, and how she had vanished like vapour by the time they realized to check. While Reeve hiked across the country by herself, he and Lonan swam through nighttide and badly waltzed in a four-by-four bathroom. She made an anonymous life in New York City, hailing cabs with just her eyes, and learning the easiest ways to shoplift. Alone. Her last memory of Lonan one where he pretended to sleep so he didn’t have to say goodbye to her.

“Las Vegas the last time I saw him,” Harrison says. He feels the urge to apologize for something, to hug her, or cry. Though her expression unbends from severe back to her perfected mould of glitzy conviction, her momentary lapse into delicacy startles him. He looks back to the kittens who seem more interested in themselves than him.

Reeve tightens her grip around the neck of the wine bottle and tactfully sips, her pinkie erect, her lips pursed just the right amount. “What happened?” she asks and sets the bottle onto the coffee table. She lets a dribble of wine fall from her mouth so she can dab at it like a wounded animal.

Harrison and Reeve in the car:

Harrison brings the box with the dead kitten and Reeve brings the bottle of pinot noir. Together, they settle in her red Beetle convertible, a car she insists she pawned for a quarter its listing price, though he figures from the way she settles in it, carefully placing the wine bottle in the cup holder, wiping her hands on her thighs as if checking for grease, that it must belong to a roommate or boyfriend, if she has either. The car smells faintly of pineapple and vanilla, a scent not unfamiliar to him, the waft strengthening as the tree-shaped air-freshener swings closer to him with every turn.

Reeve asks vaguely of his time in the city, how life has been for him and his mother since they moved from Vegas in mid October. Her mouth flutters with speech, each word like the hull of a hard candy she specially tastes before sharing. Has it been marvellous, just as you thought? Don’t you ever wonder how a city could become so brilliant? Isn’t the weather maddening? Don’t you adore it? She asks about Foster, what living with him was like, what saying goodbye to him the week previous was like—was it tragic—and he could tell her his move in with him and his mother wasn’t much of a plan—not a last resort either, but a salvaging. A necessary resuscitation. Reeve’s lips as dubious as shadow puppets.

Here’s some of the flashback with Winona at the convenience store:

The woman stood under the hex of the convenience store’s light, spooling her in a feverish blue. The sun had been down for hours, but its residual heat clung to Harrison’s arms in tacky gusts that wound up his fingers. Like the woman, he reached for his cigarettes. Vehicles spun across the highway just beyond the gas station, and when he raised his head after lighting the cigarette, the woman was staring at him.

“Aren’t you too young to be out without a parent or guardian?” she asked. Her hair was the colour of his mother’s candlesticks, a waxy boxed red. Her rings waggled in the false light.

“Maybe,” he said, a curl of smoke looping out of his mouth. “Can’t remember which life I’m on. There are so many. I could be ninety-seven. Tomorrow might be my birthday.”

It was September in Las Vegas. White licks of car exhaust laced the black sky, and though it wasn’t cold, Harrison pulled his jacket tighter around his chest.

Winona tries to figure out whether or not Harrison is a local by getting to know his eyes/face lol:

Harrison dropped the butt of his cigarette and stomped out its embers. When it was fully out, he fit his hands into his jacket pocket and approached the woman. Up close, her trench coat was pebbled with lint, a bead from her charm bracelet missing. She crushed her cigarette too, and when her hands were free, she stepped toward him with both palms out, and pressed them to his cheeks so he felt both the heat of her skin and the watery bite of her jewelry. She examined each plane of his face as if they were sides of a prism. Her perfume, a vinegary sort of citrus, stung his eyes the closer she got, the fur of her jacket’s trim brushing his chin when she pressed to her toes for a better look.

“You could be so many things,” she said, tilting his jaw at the same moment her pinkie slid from the jab of his nose bridge to his top lip. She pushed her face closer to his and inhaled, her plastic nail marking his skin with a pixel of glitter. “You’ve got the face of an angel. Which means you’re good. You’re sacred. You’re discreet.” When her finger poked into his mouth, her knuckle snagged on his canines. “Could also mean you’re a fraud. A criminal. You know, Lucifer wasn’t always the fallen angel.”

A bit of the party:

Winona’s front lawn was manicured, cropped neat at its soil scalp. Clusters of people huddled in different places—four gargling in the stone fountain just before the iron gate, two drinking from three martini glasses at once, a group of on their backs, arms wound like a wicker basket, shot glasses teetering between their teeth like human serving tables.

Winona parked opposite the house that pulsed with light. Harrison got out when she did, and with ease, she punched into the gate, leading him past her perfect lawn, her party guests, as if they were simply garden statues.

Inside, more people concentrated, all stopping Winona for a moment to say hello as she passed. She moved in a way only the owner of a house would, her strides easy, like she knew exactly where to take him and when.

“I know it’s busy,” Winona said, adjusting her volume for the holler of party guests. “I promise it’s always like that. Who is it that says we need partners for life? God or my therapist? This is that but every week. You meet so many people.”

Harrison listened to her haphazardly. Though he’d been in Las Vegas for a month, he hadn’t been out except for a few errands at the grocery store or for cigarettes, despite his mother’s insistence he quit. The party was overwhelming. Bass from the stereo caught him by the throat and held him there as he and Winona threaded through her house that seemed closer to a mansion. The interior smelled like cleaning bleach and fruit cocktails, and he could hardly walk without someone rearing into him. He should’ve left, known better, done better, but it thrilled him, every moment of the party’s chokehold.

When Winona pushed through her French doors and out to the back pool, Harrison tailed her closely, unsure he’d be able to keep pace if he lost sight of her, even for a moment. The backyard smelled artificially floral, like orchids, tuberose, the grassy melt of citronella candles.

Some of my fave Harrison dialogue:

“You should’ve told me you were into vintage. Cheap but chic. I like it, angel.” Her ring finger smushed into his jaw, and then against his hairline.

“What’s vintage about me?”

Winona laughed, though her eyes remained glass-like. “Your jacket, of course. You’re thrifty. Into second-hand.”

~~theme makes an appearance:

It was only later, when he stumbled, bloody knuckled, through their front door, stepping over partygoers and martini glasses, that he understood. He hadn’t come to the party thinking about Lonan but managed to attract the same people. He hadn’t drunk the magenta liquid thinking about him but managed to exit the house stumbling, as he did, his knees knotted like a newborn lamb. There was something inconceivably indissoluble about them—their bond mirror-like, one making one decision, and the other mimicking it with vigour, unknowingly inseparable.

God tier denial:

“What do you miss about him?”

Harrison blinks. He hasn’t expected her to speak to him again, in fact he’s pictured the night whittling into gauzy silence, them setting the box afloat in the fountain, and then leaving once more, wordless. Reeve drinks another sip of wine. Its scent stings, like earthy cranberries.

“I don’t,” he says, which is a lie, and they both know it. Harrison has never been a good liar, but especially a bad liar around Reeve who’s always managed to snuff out the truth. She looks at him in absolutes, like she sees his every answer scraped into his cheek and doesn’t need to check his work. Her eyes are feline and rimmed with kohl and aquamarine mica—she doesn’t need anyone to tell her the truth because she holds it in her fist. “He has a girlfriend. He’s happy.” Harrison rations more wine down his tongue, three times as much as he’s intended to drink.

“But what do you miss about him?”

Harrison misses nothing. He sleeps little and smokes too much because he misses nothing. He walks by himself, eats by himself, talks to himself because he misses nothing. He jumps from job to job, person to person, place to place because he misses nothing. He wakes up in dazes the colour of blackberries because he misses nothing. He blinks dreams from his eyelashes like they’re bad spells because he misses nothing. He holds himself, he drinks himself, he leaves no company for anyone because he misses nothing about Lonan. He misses absolutely nothing.

Harrison sits up and lifts the dead kitten’s box. He feels Reeve’s gaze when he lowers it into the fountain, the box giving into the slosh of water, and feels her gaze once more when he sits back and drinks more wine. The moon makes him miserable, its silver gloat like a reminder, of how easy it would be to look at it and see Lonan’s face appear in its dime. He doesn’t register how much he drinks, just that it feels better than not drinking. He doesn’t register that Reeve never takes the bottle, that it’s just him and its open gape of wine. As the kitten swirls around the fountain, he tries not to think of its siblings back at the apartment, all mottled over each other like burrs. An unbreakable bond, and what that means, even as one of them sits alone, gurgling along the current of a fountain.

If you didn’t ask for angst before, you sure did now:

He does not remember falling asleep, and so waking up feels illusory, shimmery, like a mirage. He focuses on dart of yellow light and a man wearing a security uniform telling him he can’t be here, here being the garden, past the fence, under the fountain. Snowflakes have clumped against his eyelashes and he blinks twice to dislodge them. The man must ask him if he’s intoxicated, never noticing the shoebox floating in the fountain, because Harrison says, “Who’s to say? I miss so many things,” and isn’t talking about the bottle of wine or Reeve that both seem to have vanished, as if they were never there. Harrison blinks again, searching for Reeve’s outline somewhere in the crisp bushel of dead foliage, but she never reappears—has he imagined the entire thing, or is she magical, effervescent, invisible? What was the last thing she said? Drink it all. It’s good for you. It’s like your own personal healing tonic.

“Do you think it’s possible I was separated at birth?” Harrison asks the security guard, who leads him by the elbow out past the iron gate and into the parking lot where he stumbles over a patch of glazy slush and onto his knees.

“Are you a twin?”

Harrison draws his index finger through the slush, doodling nonsense—letters of his name, an eyeball, a singular, faceless nose. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Your twin?”

Harrison shakes his head.

Snow and slush dredge his jeans and the hem of his jacket; a streetlamp filters him and the security guard in foamy yellow. His skin has numbed from sitting out in the cold too long, and in some places, prickles with heat, like the fritz of pine needles. Reeve has dissolved in the fresh spatter of snow that settles on the pavement, his fingers. The fur fringe of her hood gone, the slick of her boots. She will not be here tomorrow. He may never see her again, and yet this is not what makes him ache in the way he does.

His hands move for him. Dividing the snow in slopes, curves, lines—letters. When he’s finished, he rests his chin on his own shoulder and dries the slop of slush from his nail. The security guard leans over, bends down to get a better look, but Harrison doesn’t have to look to know what he’s written. Chiselled so the flurries fill its gaps, like cement. His name will be erased by dawn. Lonan.

So that’s it for this very, very long update! See you for chapter seven!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #mothwork #feedinghabits

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

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Summon Away | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

The day has come! I am finally writing an update on the fifteenth and final chapter of Moth Work, which I wrote about a month ago!

Summon Away is probably the shortest in the book at just over 1800 words, and also one of my faves because it’s so?? tender?? I wrote it in one sitting and couldn’t have asked for a better end to this book. Here’s a scene breakdown:

Scene A:

Harrison sees Lonan for a soft moment early in the morning, free of the stress of Eliza lmaooo. They have a super tender moment, however there’s this strange tension to the point where we know something isn’t exactly right.

Harrison moves the scene along by saying he’s going to grab a pack of cigarettes from a gas station down the road. From the context, we can probably tell this is true, except he ain’t coming back. Probably the most sweepingly dramatic moment I’ve ever written and I’m here for it loool. This is my soap opera moment where Harrison essentially leaves Lonan to have his new relationship with Eliza, despite his concern, because he’s gotta make a decision that’s healthiest for him and that’s called character development folks!!

Did I break my own heart breaking up my OTP :) yes!!!

Scene B:

This is a really short half scene where Harrison locates his mother who doesn't live far from Eliza’s apartment.

Scene C:

Harrison and his mother sit outside on her balcony and he reflects on his decision to split (literally a trend that all my Fostered characters are yeeting away from each other oops) while watching people below engage in some form of a relationship with one another. So much drama!!

The chapter gets its title from a Nothing But Thieves song (why would it not at this point), Tempt You (Evocatio). I was struggling to title this chapter because I needed something that fit the vibe, and had actually tried to use the concept of an evocation to title a chapter for this book previously to no avail. However, after revisiting the Wikipedia article for an evocation, I came across the definition of “summon away”:

The Latin word evocatio was the "caIIing forth" or "summoning away" of a city's tutelary deity. The rituaI was conducted in a miIitary setting either as a threat during a siege or as a result of surrender, and aimed at diverting the god's favor from the opposing city to the Roman side, customariIy with a promise of a better-endowed cuIt or a more Iavish Tempie.

I thought this concept of “summoning away” sounded slightly contradictory (the word summon brings images of a coming forth of some sorts, while the word away sounds like the opposite at least to me am I making this more *metaphorical* than it is perhaps) and I really thought the chapter strangely fit the above definition, hence my choosing!

Excerpts:

This is kind of torture because I dearly miss writing the boys interacting as they’re not with each other in Feeding Habits the angstttt:

“What is that?” Harrison asks, pulling back a barstool with one hand, while pointing at the mug with another.

Lonan glances up, and the two mutually analyze each other. Lonan’s puckered skin, how morning makes his eyelashes papery, like wings. He wonders what Lonan sees in him—for a moment, it’s all he wants to know.

Lonan knuckles the mug over and Harrison picks it up like he’s holding an eyeball. The tea is hot, though Lonan hasn’t seemed to mind, and its flowery perfume burns Harrison’s throat. Lonan pulls the mug back to him when Harrison’s done, and takes another sip. ��

“I still have no idea,” Harrison says, and to his shame, studies Lonan’s face for a bite wound.

“Earl grey.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“It expired four years ago.”

Harrison gasps, and Lonan almost smiles. And for a moment, Harrison almost forgets where he is. What happened at this counter just a few hours prior. With Lonan, it almost disappears. They could be back at the cabin, needling through the woods on that first day they tried to get rid of the dark room. They could be in the water, shielding, yet simultaneously pushing each other under. They could be dancing to no music in a tiny bathroom or driving for carless miles in the tarnish of rain.

This is my very overt metaphor that I bullshitted to title this novel that ended up working being very overtly injected into this book !! :))) but imagine this part with a sepia filter and it’s actually a silent film with captions oh:

“I found this article,” Lonan says, and turns the paper over. It’s not very long, just a small corner of the entire page, but Harrison sees the title, all bolded, Summer’s Dreaded Pesk: 10 Facts About Moths. He leans in closer to read it.

The facts are almost all useless to him—that moths like sweet things, that there are thousands of species, that many don’t eat, but what sticks out to him is the last: how they’re attracted to light. Harrison skims the text with his fingernail, reads something about light traps, and tries not to think of how unfortunate it all is—to move toward light and then stop moving altogether.

He knows whatever he will say will keep him here, in this sun, on this barstool, reading the newspaper about moths, sitting next to Lonan, drinking his tea, never knowing what flavour it is. Harrison inhales, and on his exhale, unclasps the chain and drapes it around Lonan’s throat.

When the angel hits Lonan’s chest, a sound comes out of his mouth that Harrison thinks is almost animal. Harrison’s hand lingers on the back of Lonan’s neck when he clasps it, feeling the pulse of Lonan’s heartbeat, even from all the way up here.

Lonan clutches the angel when Harrison pulls back, and he doesn’t let go, even when Harrison rises.

“I’m going to grab a pack of cigarettes,” Harrison says. “Is there a gas station around here?”

“Just up the road.” Lonan’s brows furrow.

“Do you want anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

Harrison nods. Then he steps back, away from the kitchen, and slips his shoes on, one by one, more carefully than he’s ever done before. He knows Lonan looks at him. He knows what’ll be in his eyes if he looks up—and so he doesn’t. Harrison checks his jacket pocket for his car keys, and when they jangle, he turns toward the door.

“How long?”

Lonan’s voice makes him jump.

“Pardon?”

“How long will you be gone?”

Harrison frowns. “I’m just grabbing a pack of cigarettes.”

So Harrison’s reaction to everything being white and gold is my reaction to modern decoration loool this is just CNF at this point:

Harrison buys the pack of cigarettes. And then the gum. And then he finds his mother.

She isn’t hard to locate. A quick question at the checkout counter, and he finds out the apartment complex near the public garden is only a fifteen-minute drive away.

It’s just as he pictures it. A white building, with a white lobby, the bricks white, the carpets white, the tables white. In little places, there are bits of gold, in place he doesn’t think gold should be—lining the keyboard the security guard types at, on the edges of every window so it’s only visible when the sun flashes.

And at last, here’s the final paragraph of the book!!! angst!!

His mother reads. Harrison watches. A father and son down below, who take turns walking their golden retriever. A food stand vendor that hands a stack of checked tissues to a mother wrangling four small children. A couple who take photos in front of a fountain, how he can almost hear the mechanical click of their camera from fifty feet up. Something stirs inside of him, at the thought of Lonan back in that golden apartment, and he only realizes what it is much later, when his mother is heating up something spiced and leftover in the microwave. The feeling like being buried alive and wanting to do it again just so someone can pull you out. A loneliness he sucks on until his mouth sores.

And there it is!! This book has been so much fun to share with y’all! Thanks for reading these updates and for all the love for this novel. I haven’t written anything for book two in a while, and am now feeling nostalgic to do so, so keep an eye out for more Moth Work related endeavors! For now this is the end!

--Rachel

#writing #writingupdates #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #mothwork #fostered

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

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Teeth Marks, Empty Nest, Picking Ritual | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

It’s been a hot minute since I last wrote a Moth Work writing update, and so here we are again for the final countdown! Today’s post will be covering everything related to chapter 12, 13, and 14. Let’s start with Teeth Marks, which I wrote probably sometime in February.

Teeth Marks marks the third part of Moth Work, called Wings, and the first chapter back in Harrison’s POV. I honestly can’t remember much of the writing process as it’s been a while, so let’s dive straight into the scene breakdown!

Scene A:

We start in the doorway of Eliza’s apartment where Harrison stands shook because a) his boi Lonan has answered it (scandal) and his mother, who he has been estranged from for the last four years, is also in this apartment (EXTRA scandal). Eliza ushers Harrison inside (and this is probably the only *nice* interaction they ever have, spoiler alert!)

Harrison is very shook, and also a little angry, and also a little confused! He doesn’t know why his mother is here, and doesn't understand why Lonan wouldn’t contact him to tell him she is here.

Him and Eliza get into a bit of a scuffle where Eliza is protective of Lonan and is like “who are you mate” and Harrison’s like hahahHA pardON. This leads to Lonan kicking them both out even tho this ain’t even his house!

Scene B:

We now move to the stairwell right outside Eliza’s apartment where she and Harrison have been sitting in awkward silence! Harrison notices she’s wearing his guardian angel necklace (which Lonan mistakenly took back in chapter 6).

This scene is instrumental in setting up how these two interact, which in short, is not! fun! for! either! They try to be civil but can’t help but be protective over Lonan for different reasons. Eliza because they are now sort of in a relationship, and Harrison because hahaha he’s been there, and also because Eliza is Lonan’s father’s ex! Why!

Lonan interrupts this conversation and him and Harrison have a lil private moment even tho Eliza is standing right there aahaha. Eliza leaves which prompts Lonan to go after her, and we end with Harrison all alone in the stairwell like a proper sad boi.

Excerpts:

I previously wrote some mean things about this chapter and am editing it out cuz we tryna be positive! Here’s some tender romance because why not! For context, Harrison has asked Eliza how much she knows about the nature of the boys’ relationship (she knows nothing!!)

He could tell her the truth. About the polaroids left back in Boston. What it felt like to kiss him underwater. What it felt like to dance with him, his clumsy instep. What it felt like to trace each notch of his ribs in the off moments he’d sleep and how wonderful it was, to touch the places his hunger would go.

Some more romance because yesss:

He pretends they’re alone at the cabin, somewhere on the water, sharing a sleeve of crackers, looking at the moon like it’s the other’s iris, somewhere where constellations read less like hieroglyphics and more like sonnets.

Let us move onto chapter 13, Empty Nest!

Scene A:

Harrison sits alone at the dinner table watching a TV show in a language he doesn’t speak. His mother interrupts this *chillin* and they get into a heated conversation.

This ends badly for Harrison, to which Lonan (who is presumably arguing with Eliza in her bedroom) comforts him and yeets the two of them outta that apartment! Knight in shining armour babyyyy

Scene B:

Lonan takes Harrison to chapter nine’s beautiful place (the cove).

They chat about their (fallen) relationship and Lonan + Eliza’s relationship that is apparently now flourishing (hahah it actually isn’t)

This turns romantical very fast!!! I am guilty of self-indulgence!!

Excerpts:

EDIT: I originally had an edit in here saying I didn’t have the mental spoons to edit this chapter which is why I wouldn’t share a lot of excerpts! This was very true haha, as I was amidst the worst mental health week I’ve had in years, but guess! who! tried! to! edit! anyway! This obviously was not the best idea and I pushed myself too hard. This led to me doing some crying and beyond that, a decision to take a few days off of writing (despite the fact that I didn’t want to). I’m feeling great now which I’m so grateful for, but just a note! Anyhow!!

This excerpt makes me laugh because it gives me “lonely man sitting on his porch in the prairies” vibe:

No one eats together. Lonan and Suzanna have already taken their pick, and Eliza eats in her room. Harrison hasn’t seen Lonan since he followed Eliza’s empty trail back into the apartment, and he hears him now, between the drone of infomercials and advertisements on the Spanish TV station he doesn’t even understand. Coming from her room, he can picture him, the way Lonan argues, competitive like he’s trying to win something. Suzanna sits on the balcony, maybe hiding a smoke, or something more ridiculous, new age, like an essential oil pen. Ribbons of grey luminescing in the neon lights. Maybe it’s more accurate to say Harrison eats alone.

This is the excerpt that I had a breakdown editing lmaooo I think it’s cute tho!!

Somewhere better is a beach. Hidden in a cove, the stones arched over seafoam. In the moonlight, sand glitters, water trills, a night owl in the distance wails. Lonan leads him to the cove’s heart, a bullet of clearing that reveals constellations neither recognize. Lonan’s brought a basket with him, unfolds the checked blanket across the shore. Harrison sits first, and observes as Lonan travels the cove’s perimeter, collecting driftwood as he goes. He stacks them into a pyramid at the shore’s lip, pulls out a lighter.

He starts the fire easily, cups the flame like it’s a jittering organism, coaxes it until it expands. The flame tints his jaw gold, glares in his eyes so they look like blue fire. The night halos around Lonan, burnishes the cove walls, turns the sand into a mirage. As Lonan nurses the fire, Harrison traces his face, the violet impasto around his eye. Lonan has always looked like a masterpiece to him, damp black hair that almost looks navy blue, a smile so subtle, it’s almost acquired. He holds the fire so it toasts his chin, his focus a delicate, paternal thing.

Picking Ritual is chapter 14 of the book! I wrote this during reading break, and it’s one of my faves a) because of the title and b) because Harrison and Eliza FIGHT (I’m here for the tea).

Scene A:

Lonan and Harrison get back from their self-care-gone-romantical escapade to drunk Eliza creepily sitting in the dark!! Harrison’s mother has left, which Eliza uses as cruel ammo (don’t we love her)!

This is where we really get to see Eliza’s other side as she gets gaslighty as a response to Harrison’s very true callouts

Scene B:

Later, Eliza may or may not purposefully leave her bedroom door open while mildly unholy matters occur that’s all I’m gonna say about that!!!

Scene C:

Eliza leaves her room to “get some orange juice” (she’s trying to get a rise out of Harrison, which works). They roast each other endlessly until Harrison asks her to play a game with him.

Scene D:

This game is a game of cards, which is actually Harrison choosing four cards (king of spades = Lonan’s father, queen of hearts = Eliza, the joker = Lonan, and a jack = Harrison) so he can learn more about each one he chooses for her.

This is where the chapter title comes from!

Excerpts:

The following is a self-roast because my house does all the following (besides magnets on ALL four corners of dishcloths, there’s currently just one. ;) Lonan in this scene is Fiona in that scene in Shrek 2 where Shrek and King Harold are arguing over dinner (CW: there’s a description here that could be potentially triggering for self-harm!).

Suzanna is gone when they get back to Eliza’s apartment. No jacket on the coat hook. No shoes on Eliza’s straw-woven welcome mat. The kitchen has been picked over, each plate, fork, back in its strangely correct place. Eliza keeps her cutlery in jars, and her pans in the oven, her dish cloths magnetted to the fridge by all four corners, a pristineness that feels chemical.

Just as he’s about to comment on it, a light from the living area flicks on, and underneath sits Eliza, paging through a book in the dark. Spots like wine stains on her cheeks shine glassy under the harsh lightbulb.

“She has a place twenty minutes from here. By the public gardens,” she says, running her fingernail against the ribbed spine of the hardcover. Harrison can’t make out the title. When he stares blankly at her, examining the patches on her skin until he’s memorized of their surface area, she clears her throat and shuts the book. “Your mother?”

“I know,” he says.

“That your mother has a place twenty minutes from here?”

“That you were referring to my mother.”

“So you didn’t know?”

ugh I love Harrison and Eliza arguing it’s my fave dynamic:

Eliza stands, and smooths the silk of her night dress, though one crease continues to bunch. She folds her hand into a fist, and brings it to her mouth, biting on her knuckles as she paces. Harrison and Lonan watch her, and Lonan’s about to step toward her when she nods and directs her gaze straight at Harrison. “Did that upset you?” she asks, peeling a sliver of skin up between her teeth, letting it snap back. “The way I spoke of your mother.”

“I don’t care about anything you have to say.”

Oof oof tensions be RISING:

Lonan knocks on Eliza’s door a half hour later and doesn’t come back out. Harrison watches the shut door like he can break through it from the couch, how heavy it sits in its frame like they’ve taken turns smearing caulking in its seams.

The nightglow decolours his chin, his eyes, and he stares at the stars as he did an hour ago with Lonan. He touches his lips, hoping something divine will reappear on his fingers, something divine enough to anoint himself with. Nothing does, of course, but he tries, dappling each groove of his mouth.

Here’s some Eliza being Eliza :)

He should tell her to buy some curtains. The sliding door’s glass opens to her balcony where his mother stood, pouring onto the busy street below her apartment complex. He can almost perfectly replicate the image of his mother with just his fingertip, a familiarity of her unknown, but unconsciously memorized by him. Suzanna has traded her only pair of shoes—a dingy set of floral flip-flops—for boots with silver zippers, steel toes, heels perfected by a designer she has a connection to. He thinks of his mother with sour precision, a sugary glumness that makes his mouth heavy.

He still wears the angel Lonan re-fastened around his neck and examines it against the belly of the two-seater Lonan once slept on.

She’s lost a stone from where he threw it, almost unnoticeably in the corner where her wings meet her back. He runs his finger over the empty spot, a nearly undetectable groove, and wonders how difficult it would be to find it in the tooth of Eliza’s hardwood.

Just as he’s prepared to get up and find out, the heavy door jars open. Wider than he’s expecting, so he can see Lonan from the couch. Arranged against a pillow, his hair disappearing into the dark wood of Eliza’s bedhead. His eyes closed, a tremor that rocks through his forehead every few seconds. And then quickly, Eliza shuffling through the opening. She wears a kimono patterned with koi fish, the fabric rustling against her bare thighs as she enters the kitchen.

Harrison watches her through his eyelashes, her half-up hairdo falling toward her face, the flash of skin pale, like the peel of the moon.

She grabs a glass he washed and fills it from the sink. Once a bulb forms across the surface, she tips it to her lips, and swallows deliberately.

Harrison watches as she checks the sink for unwashed dishes she knows aren’t there. As she adjusts a placement on her table that doesn’t need adjusting. As she spins herself on her toes around the kitchen island, her kimono splaying so he sees flashes of her thighs again. She dances like this back to her bedroom, where she sets her water glass on the dresser, and keeps the door wide open.

I can’t not share this part I apologize there is some spice but also Harrison’s iconic Gay (TM) takedown at the end brings me so much joy:

Eliza exits the room a half hour later, except this time, doesn’t dance. Still, she steps carefully, her toes taut as she patters against the floorboards. Harrison watches her with his arms crossed, and stays like that, even when they make eye contact.

She startles and re-adjusts her kimono, so the clip of her skin disappears. She’s combed her hair since she and Lonan finished, and it sits gauzy over her forehead.

“Have you ever thought of buying a deadbolt?” he says, watching carefully as she turns and grabs a glass from a cabinet.

The refrigerator thrills when she opens it, a wash of gaudy tungsten yellowing her face. She sucks on her lip as she pulls out a bottle of orange juice, glugging a cupful into her mouth first, and then into a glass.

“A deadbolt,” she says, a lightness in her voice—false innocence. “Why?”

“I’ve heard good things. Security. Privacy. You live alone, don’t you?”

She juts the orange juice to her lip fast, her chin bucking like she’s taking a shot. “I do.”

“You’re planning on keeping it that way?”

Eliza drains the last of the orange juice and rests the glass in the sink. She flicks on the tap so a stream splashes into its mouth like somersaults, diluting the juice until the glass cleans.

“There must be someone,” Harrison elaborates. He shifts, so his legs hang off the couch’s edge. The hardwood is cold, and for a moment, he feels like he’s stepping on water. “You’re seeing people, aren’t you? You live in Las Vegas. Good job. Decent apartment.”

Eliza shakes off the wet glass and sets it on the drying rack. “Are you interested?”

“I’m gay, but thanks. How does that work, anyway? Dating you. Would I send in an application? Self-addressed stamped envelope and all? Email?”

ugh more iconic Harrison I love him:

Harrison’s eyes focus on the lip balm and he imagines Lonan putting it there, his finger moving across her mouth and then down, like an anointment. “Isn’t that such a coincidence, then? You’re so selective, yet you manage to date two members of the same family.”

Her smile fades. Eliza clucks her tongue and wipes her mouth quickly with the back of her hand. Thoughtlessly, she refills the clean glass with more orange juice, and only realizes her mistake after the liquid sits precisely at the rim of the cup.

“Shit,” she says, wringing her hand out. “Shit.”

“I’ll drink it,” he says, and is already up and at the kitchen island before she puts another hand on the glass. Eliza almost scowls, but chews on her gums when she catches herself. She slides the glass across the granite, and a blip of orange juice jitters onto the surface. Harrison dabs his pinky in it and sucks it into his mouth. “I want to ask you a favour.”

“I’m not doing anything for you.”

He puts a hand against the fridge before she can move past him, and Eliza sighs, weaves her arms haughtily over her chest. “Cards.” The fridge rumbles to life under his fingertips, and Eliza jumps. “Play a game with me,” he says.

Sharing because of Harrison’s roast at the end, it’s really just one of those days:

Eliza’s a good shuffler. Easily, she dices the cards, the hard split of their edges when he usually shuffles almost non-existent. He’s only ever met one other person who can shuffle like her—his mother.

Harrison sips the orange juice as she shuffles the deck. In all truth, he doesn’t need the cards to be shuffled—he knows exactly which ones he needs. But her ease intrigues him, and he can’t help but feel mesmerized with each flitter of the deck.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” he asks after another long pull of juice.

She cuts the deck and continues. “My father.”

“I didn’t know you had parents.”

“I didn’t know your mother had children.”

“I don’t think she knows either.”

Eliza rests the shuffled deck onto the countertop and nudges it toward him. He hasn’t told her what game they’re going to play, and as Harrison searches for his necessary cards, the prickle of her gaze deadens. He keeps at task, combing each card and pulling out the needed.

“I would’ve liked to know.” Eliza says this nimbly. “You look like her.”

Another pick. “Every son wants to look like their mother. What a dream.”

“I meant that as a good thing.”

“And I meant what I said as a bad thing.”

What a way to end this update lol!

I’ll be back soon with an update for the final chapter in this book! I hope y’all have been okay in these times, I know it’s not easy. Let me know what you’re working on!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #mothwork #fostered

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