#púlsar snippet

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heads up seven up

thanks for the tag @oh-no-another-idea :] here's more ira not having a good time

chapter ii - the imitator - ira

I yank the chains without thinking, to then shrink immediately, stifling a hiss. First at the pain, then at the strength with which the guard grabs me, now by the neck. I cough blood at the pressure, and his fingers tense, the rest of his body recoiling away. Meanwhile, the shahin only moves a finger from his white left cheekbone to his eyebrow, cleaning most of the scarlet trail the imitation he once wore on his ear left after I vanished it. I watch—not without effort, forcing my eyes as high as I can, the pressure in my neck raising with each fraction of an inch I manage to separate my temple from the floor—as he feels the texture of the liquid between pointing finger and thumb, fascinated.

tagging @space-writes @tragicheirs @writingamongther0ses @charlesjosephwrites @my-cursed-prince + open tag as usual

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wip acrostic tag

thanking @space-writes for the tag :] i'm pulling from púlsar as usual, and my word is STITCH:

S- “So why am I not dead?” The question hangs in between us. I look up, expecting avoidance, and he surprises me by holding my gaze. I don’t know what he finds in mine, but his… his is filled with guilt.

T- The process started almost a year ago, and I’m aware Sher led most of it. Plenty of candidates were considered, mostly énna nobility and daughters from powerful merchants, but he pushed for Derya. I didn’t care why then, but I should now.

I- “Iria is dying, fatir. And we’ve brought you here so you can heal it.”

T- There’s no dried blood on his boots, at least.

C- “Changed? Sure. But not gone, no.” When the words fall, soft as they are, they drown the rain. “Because I made sure to give it back.”

H- His wavy almost reddish hair stands uncombed and messy and in spikes from the static. He screams, and I scream back, unheard.

bit of a mix of karma and ira povs, as well as part 1 and 2. my beloveds i miss them

tagging @oh-no-another-idea @tragicheirs @bloodmoodtrash + anyone who wants to join. you word is GHOSTS

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writing share tag

thanks to @tragicheirs for the tag :] today i bring you: ira still not being able to catch a break (and lore!)

chapter ii - the imitator - ira

I was five when I first put on my creation. 

Hands and knees drenched in blood not mine, a body cooling just beyond my reach, I held her, felt her weight and power and promised pain, before thrusting the metal through my left earlobe just as I had been taught.

It was a shock to my trembling little body. I doubled over, muffling a scream, as I felt the island and I become one and the same for an instant. And then it was over, and the body laid cold, and my world was never the same.

The wound took weeks to heal, skin and cartilage breaking and reforming over and over, fusing with the stone, crusting around the needle and securing her in place.

More than Hamza and Níniam, she has been my one constant since then.

Until now.

Loss shakes me. Without her, I feel ripped out of my senses, disconnected. The world is fuzzy and unfocused where I look, and sound comes to me from far, far away, both loud and unintelligible. I wonder if the wound damaged my hearing, but that wouldn’t explain the blurriness of my eyesight.

The air tastes of blood and metal.

My ear—or whatever is left of it—stings, blood flowing freely down the curve of my neck to stain my tunic red. My wrists also hurt, the metal biting my damaged skin without mercy, palms sticky with still warm blood—Ila’s name a memory on my tongue.

At some point, my nose started bleeding too.

The walls cry blood, as do the clothes of the imitators and guards, of the nobles, at my right—of the mirza, his fingers still red after taking away my creation. It pleases me to see the shahin’s face, illuminated by one of the narrow windows. He frowns, brief, his fist closed over my creation, her call strong and agonizing. The jewels, imitator made, that once decorated his clothing, black still, faded in the air as if they had never existed. 

All except for one, just in the middle of his chest: the aldamu the asshole has ordered made with my blood. I hear it, pulsing, breathing too in agony.

tagging @space-writes @oh-no-another-idea @writingamongther0ses + open tag as usual

[vsnotresponding]

find the word tag

thanks for the tag @my-cursed-prince :] my words are magic, blood, light, and storm. perfect for púlsar

Chapter 12 - Genesis - Ira

Crystals collapse into each other and leave me standing on the foot of a ruin I recognize. A beat down arch, its rocks and stones that once held magic scattered and looted, the creations that belonged to it uprooted from their rightful place.

Chapter 11 - The Silence - Karma

The room heats up, then gets colder. Ira’s chest rises and falls with a deeper breath, the murmur loud in the silence of our vigil, and the pulsing of the imitations on the walls settles into a more stable rhythm. I force myself to meet her closed, sunken eyes, and her mouth frozen in a grimace of pain. Her expression remains unchanged. Áine combs back her bangs back so they don’t fall over her eyelids, curving the hair around her wounded ear. Under it, blood collects on the pillows. The creation on Ira’s hand has stopped beating. The room remains still. I look down. The floor is stone, and I scratch the soles of my right boot against it.

fun fact there are 140 mentions of the word blood only in part one. word wouldn't even show me a preview

Chapter 9 - The Calm - Karma

Curtains drawn, the penumbra has just enough residual light for me to nonstop read the reports I took with me. Leaning on the floor against the frame of the bed, I force myself to pay attention to the words I read even after night falls outside and the imitations on the walls automatically light up until my body stops responding and my eyes close without permission. I don’t dream.

lots of mentions of light only in part one also (like. a hundred)

Chapter 11 - The Silence - Karma

She had wanted to see my brother, not me. Sher, who always lurked at the vicinity of my life, showing himself as the perfect son and prince that he is. He was stoic and solemn at the funeral, imperturbable and collected under the rainfall, as I could only stand and hold the storm raging within me until I could be alone.

tagging @tragicheirs @trixierosewrites and @oh-no-another-idea + open tag. your words are speak, murder, feed and bite

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16 sentence tag

my thanks to @space-writes for the tag. here's more púlsar part 1. this was 16 in my text document i swear

chapter ii - the imitator - karma

“Don’t stand there doing nothing, remove it from her.” His hand gestures forwards. The guards in front of the king tense, hesitating in place. They generally avoid approaching khithi because of the unknown origins of their sickness, afraid of contagion even if it’s been studied that it only affects them. Some imitators unsheathe their swords and walk towards her, but a crack is heard, and they step back.

There's blood in their chests where their imitations used to be, gold cloth soaking in the bloody mud left behind.

No one else moves, an undercurrent of fear shaking the room. Anuna, busy keeping her still, forces her head higher so she’s looking at the ceiling, the chains rattling on the floor once again, her teeth clenched. The shahin glances at Sher, a beat passing in between them. At the older man's gesture, Sher removes the chains across his chest and moves with steady feet towards the center of the room, his posture perfect and unaffected but for the slight twitch in his hand.

“We do not fear what we control,” says the king in the deryans' direction as his son approaches the creator and kneels before her. She trashes against her ties as much as she can, spear piercing her back and eyes wild. Sher’s lips move, an unintelligible murmur, as the light of the imitations in the room rises in intensity, the imitators trying to control their own still keeping a safe distance away from the girl. Warmth blooms in my right ear, my mom’s creation reacting to whatever the creator is doing without even opening her mouth. She's still now, tense and frozen. Sher whispers, eyes locked with hers, and, without warning, yanks the creation from the girl’s ear. Droplets of blood splatter on his cheek at the separation of flesh and stone.

I cower in place.

The imitations turn off and the heat stops.

iconic scene. to me

tagging @oh-no-another-idea @bloodmoodtrash @flock-from-the-void + open tag

[vsnotresponding]

find the word

another find the word brought to you by the wonderful @oh-no-another-idea <3

my words are: invisible, instinct, idea, and ink

here's púlsar

chapter ten - the storm - ira (invisible)

Moments clash as I fall on my knees over wet dirt. The smell of it is metallic and familiar just like blood is, only sharper. And more intense. My gift revolts inside of me, confused and not whole. I fight to anchor it. This is not my end. The scent of blood blends in with the burnt in the air as invisible tendrils climb over my right hand, white scars that create chasms over kaleidoscopic orange light. They consume my fingertips. Then my palm. Next is my elbow, then my shoulder. The skin is red when I look down, contrasting sharply with my left. Both my palms are in contact with the substance in the floor, where my opened wound meets the dirt.

chapter eight - progress - ira (instinct)

“It’s just… something I know how to do. I told you already how the Iria is constantly calling. Well, the thing is, everything is. That includes myself. My body, my being, craves this connection on instinct. To be in tune with the island.” I close my eyes to think about how to explain myself. It’s still difficult for me to talk once I find how. “I just have to listen and answer back. Reaching out. And once I’m connected, then I’m free to do with them as I please.” “You are?” He sounds hopeful.

chapter eleven - the silence - karma (idea)

The khadae became enamored with the idea—and impatient, once we could not make the numbers work. She was too frail. Too sick. Too close to death. We call it an accident, but it was very deliberate.

ink not found, surprisingly

ah yes the púlsar essentials: ira suffering magic trauma, karma nerding over ira's powers, and karma being depressed and guilt-ridden over the accident

tagging @space-writes @bloodmoodtrash @myhusbandsasemni and open tag ! your words are: overcast, edge, course, heart and ahead :]

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five lines tag

ancient tag from @seastarblue ! thank you so much for the tag :]

rules: find in your wip a line (or lines) that match with your prompts

a line about food

I don’t try starting a conversation, and she doesn’t either. She limits herself to announce what she’ll tend to next and to coax me to eat, and then she leaves. I swallow the food unenthused even if I should be grateful for it. I’ve never had so many complete meals so close to each other and with such frequency, but the food feels like lead in my stomach.

a line about sorrow

The carvings on the ceiling remain unchanged as I follow them with my eyes. Their shapes blend and twist together as the waves that threaten the island do, until it all becomes a foggy blur of unshed tears and red eyes. It has been three days, since. Three days since the blood and the deafening snap and the cracks that appeared when the island killed my mother got larger and deeper and deadlier. Three days of pain. Three days of guilt.

a line about an animal

As a kid, I loved birds. I would play at getting as close to them as possible, slowly inching my way through the gardens my mother used to have at the Umars. For some reason, I loved the uncertainty of the game. Sometimes, I managed to approach one without spooking it, and I’d sit next to it for as long as it would allow me, looking at its feathers and the little jumps it made as it moved. Most of the time, though, they’d flee, and I’d chase after them.

a line about a friend

I don’t think about how being an imitator has been my life’s goal since I learned what they were. I don’t think how it’s my only way to fulfill the promise I made to my mom, how being separated from them will isolate me even more from the only friends I’ve ever had.

a line about the sea

She lets out a quiet grumbling and turns, I assume, to look back towards the sea. I turn too. It’s late, but the sky is still clear and blue as I struggle to see it from my position. Soon enough, night will fall, and poison will rise from the depths, lighting the wine dark sea in a bright greenish hue that won't let out until morning. 

tagging @oh-no-another-idea @tragicheirs @flock-from-the-void and open tag !

your lines are:

a line about light

a line about comfort

a line about hurt

a line about danger

a line about a mistake

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writing share tag

old tag from @seastarblue thank you very much !

karma being so normal about sher as he always is:

chapter one - the creator - karma

Sher, my brother, moves his eyes to me. He watches me in that particular way I don't really understand. Lazy yet vigilant, searching. Disinterested. I look back at him, but I can’t keep eye contact long enough. I never could, but it’s been more difficult recently. In spite of his coldness, he is our mother’s living image. His honey-colored eyes, darkened by the light of the room, swipe me up and down from where he sits. I feel my posture shake under his scrutiny, but I keep standing straight. This meeting has been going on for far too long.

tagging @my-cursed-prince @oh-no-another-idea and @tabswrites + open tag

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heads up seven up

ancient (from november) tags, this one brought to you from @trixierosewrites (thanks for the tag :])

chapter one - the creator - ira

They whisper, their voices far and dim. Through my eyelids, I can see the weak shine of their imitations. Very far away, deep in my consciousness, I realize that my creation is still in her place in my left ear, warm and comforting. They haven’t touched my soaked clothes, which stick uncomfortably to my skin, or any of the many wounds around my body. The mud is coarse and drying in between my toes, and my hand wound burns. In my mouth, my throat and tongue are dry and bitter with the metallic taste of blood.

accompanying illustration from sher's pov :]

i *should* be tagging 7 people but i'll just tag a couple and leave it as an open tag too (as usual): @kathaliabloodyrose @flock-from-the-void and @indoorghost

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nine lines tag

thank you for the tag @chauceryfairytales :] here's more púlsar as usual

i'll leave the rest of the sequence after the cut because i couldn't decide in between the first or the second part :]

chapter two - the imitator - karma

The hallways are deserted as I walk through the imitator wing, the dawn orange light mixing with the fainter one of the imitations on the walls. Distantly, I hear the ruckus of the students on the courtyard doing their morning drill and of classes being filled downstairs. I take care no one sees me as I creep into the main area of the palace past a couple meeting rooms and sleepy guards, and then I’m up on the royal floor. I change fast, efficiently. I wash my face and tie my hair into a too tight little ponytail at the nape of my neck, locks managing to escape to fall over my eyes due to the uneven haircut I never remember to fix. The fresh tunic strangles me, fit around my chest, the black stark against the white of my skin and the room—of the palace. It’s just another reminder of my failure. I straighten the collar, which immediately bends, but if I don’t leave immediately, I might miss the khadae, so I just let it be and gather my papers.

The trek back to the imitators' wing is not as solitary. More and more guards fill the few hallways I have to walk through, standing alert on each door and window and every turn of the corridors as the members of the Council and Chamber start to fill the meeting rooms for the day. I’ve lived here half my life, and their presence still unsettles me. Back home, the few guards my mother’s family employed were way more relaxed and unserious. Here, they look like statues, their eyes following my every step as I walk as quickly as I can, head down, past them. I breathe a sigh of relief when the temperature sharply shifts from the already sweltering warmness of the palace into the characteristic coldness of the imitator wing. Half-buried into the cliff the palace stands at, it has always been an unsettling place. It’s not only the different in temperature, or color, from the blinding whiteness of the main part of the palace to gray smooth stone, or the more austere architecture (not that the palace as a whole could be called ornamental), but in the air, that grows thicker and heavier with…something. Despite the sun that finally shines brightly outside, the corridors are darker today. Not even the imitations lighting them with their pale orange light manage to scare the gloom away.

i really like this sequence because 80% of púlsar is the nerds talking and doing experiments in different yet closed up rooms in the palace, but there's so much more happening in there and we rarely get to see or hear much about it

tagging @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince and @oh-no-another-idea + open tag !!!!

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proud of tag

ancient tag from @tabswrites thanks !

i really like how karma's first pov ends because he spends all of it being anxious and intimidated by the shahin and then on the last line he reveals that that's his father. there's also. so much about him in the thoughts going through his head in this moment. it's not peak use of language but story wise it does so much

chapter one - the creator - karma

“And Oghan,” he stops me again, “you are forbidden to go back into that place again, is that clear? I trust you will stop acting on your own for once, this warning is just a cautionary measure.” I swallow as he looks away towards the raging storm. “I trust in you. Do not disappoint me.” I allow myself one last thought of sitting on rug covered floors surrounded by tall shelves and the ever-present scent of the mountains and of home. Then, unclenching my teeth, I turn back to look at him, his back to me. “Yes, father.”

open tag + @oh-no-another-idea @trixierosewrites and @tragicheirs i wanna see stuff you are proud of !!!!

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find the word

tagged by @oh-no-another-idea (thank you !!!!) and answering for once in a timely manner :]

my words are paint, pout, prayer, and pine

chapter 22 - chance - ira (paint)

“I’m the short term solution.” “Fiah—” “Don’t you see?” I take the chalk in my hand, and draw another human figure, this one alone. Laying the chalk flat against the board, I paint a thick arrow, from the Core to it—to me. “There’s no fixing this,” I gesture to his drawings, “but there’s fixing me.”

pout not found :[

chapter 4 - kafir - ira (prayer)

Hamza always hated that such an old and still well-liked family like the Umars had allowed themselves to be bribed into compliance. “Look where it got them,” he'd complained to me after the queen's death. It had been raining for days, and our little hideout was permanently flooded to our knees. Níniam slept on top of some nets piled on the drier side of the basement, his creation's light ebbing with the rhythm of his frail breathing. Hamza paced as I created for us, his rant a background noise to my prayers. It comes to me clear, now, as bitter warmth blooms in my chest at the memory. “Second son dead in a mining accident years ago, and now the heiress. What was left of whom we once were, the heritage of our leaders, gone but for a man as cruel as his father, and an imitator.”

pine not found (tho i did have plenty of spine(s))

first snippet is completely new never seen before in this site yipee

tagging @chauceryfairytales @tragicheirs and @tabswrites + open tag

your words are: harm, parents, fleeting, mistake and gate :]

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find the word tag

brought to you by @oh-no-another-idea (and it didn't take me months to get to it this time!) my words are: cloud , clue, center and count

as usual, here's some púlsar :]

chapter 3 - out of place - karma

A poodle has formed on the floor in front of my window, the rain clouds thin enough now to let the sunset’s light sneak into the room, painting the walls with gold, then creation orange, and then gloom. It’s then that the imitations’ light makes itself noticeable, artificial compared to natural light.

chapter 11 - the silence - karma

I dust off forgotten books from the palace library in search of a clue we might have passed over with Garvan’s help, and Áine keeps taking care of Ira’s wounds. At night, we close ourselves up in my study and rack our heads for answers. Emhi visits after her shifts, sometimes. She brings news of a somewhat stable if tense situation. Like with Ira’s first contact, her clash with the Iria was felt beyond its chamber. But unlike the strength caused by the first, this last one… the protests are still going, sure, but they are weak. And with the multiple arrests that have been ordered… Not even the help from some citizens seems to alleviate the hurt of the illness.

chapter 8 - progress - ira

“You wanted a plan.” Áine finally turns to look at me. Her golden eyes are cold. “Here you have one.” I look away, and catch Garvan’s eyes. I’d rather have no plan at all, and for once, he seems to understand. “Áine, maybe…” “What?” she cuts him. “This is what she was asking for. Isn’t it?” I don’t bother facing her. Instead, I let the plainness of the opposite wall of the bench center me. I close my eyes and rub my scar. The texture feels rougher than before. If this is the only thing we can do, so be it. “So. I do that all over again?” The mirzaan, standing just behind Áine, loosely grabbing a pillow, nods. And so I do.

chapter 4 - kafir - ira

His blade reflects the flame's light towards my eyes, and I squint, to then narrow my eyes in accusation. That was on purpose. A taunt bubbles on my tongue, but I force it away, waiting for him to talk first.  Tragically, for my sanity, we remain silent.  Seconds trick by, the count I start in my head getting old far too quickly. The chains rattle when I stretch my shoulders as far as they'll go to free some tension, and he fidgets. It's unlikely to be sympathetic to my uncomfortable position, and more a reaction to his own.  He's been sitting on that hard stone floor for as long as he's been staring at me, his somehow familiar dark eyes never leaving me since I woke up. Trained, unnervingly, on my face for what feels like hours but can't have been more than a few minutes. I give him another failed count before I can't help it anymore. “What,” I say to him in ilan.

tagging anyone that feels like doing this! + @trixierosewrites @my-cursed-prince and @mxxnlightwriting your words are heat, show, sign and ice

[vsnotresponding]

9 lines 9 people tag

tagged by @bloodmoodtrash back in march thank you very much !

chapter two - the imitator - karma

My hand moves to the side of my head on its own, right where my mother’s creation pierces my ear, a painful reminder of her death. I feel the rough stone, once smooth, as the skin of my fingertips catching on the little ridges. Laying on my back in the darkness of my study, it weakly lights the book filled shelves from the floor, the mess at my desk, and the empty vials on the other side of the room. The floor is cold and hard, the rugs failing to warm the spotless white marble under them. I look at the ceiling, my arm now under my head, getting comfortable, and study the ancient carvings engraved on it. The shape of the island, the old temples and shrines scattered across her, and the sea attempting to swallow it all. Beyond it, on the stars, the myths my mom used to tell me are brought to life. The sight manages to calm me down and sadden me at the same time.

if you are karma it's always sad boy hours

here's nine people: @oh-no-another-idea @seastarblue @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince @tragicheirs @trixierosewrites @flock-from-the-void @on-noon @indoorghost + open tag if i didn't tag you and you also wanna share :]

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proud of tag

thanks to @seastarblue for the tag :]

there isn't a specific reason why i like this i just do

chapter one - the creator - ira ii

I miss the sun. Not the sun exactly, but the light and its warmth. It’s dark in here, and the light the woman brings with her is cold and unfamiliar. There’s no sky, no infinite horizon to lose my gaze in, no endless sea to trail with my eyes as poison comes off it. It’s still raining on the surface. I think. There’s a repetitive sound, drop after drop hitting the floor. The only thing that breaks the silence beyond the rattling of the chains and the rasping of my uneven breaths. A leak, perhaps? When light appears, I glance at where the sound is coming from. Not a leak, but blood. Craning my neck to find its origin sends painful jolts down my spine, but I don’t mind them. The manacles at my wrists have cut into my skin, and blood slowly falls from the metal into the floor. If I could reach those drops, if I could touch my scarred left hand to the new blood, I could create. But my hands are too far away, chained up over my head and back. And, I remind myself, I am too weak.

when i say she can catch a break when she's dead i mean it

tagging @my-cursed-prince @mxxnlightwriting and @albatris + open tag ! i wanna hear about what others are proud of in their stories :]

[vsnotresponding]

heads up seven up

more ancient @oh-no-another-idea tags and more púlsar snippets what can i say

chapter one - the creator - ira

My lungs empty with my next exhale, and I focus on what can't be seen around me. Stillness, a warm touch in my ear and in my hand, and shapeless movement beyond. The guards are at the alley’s entrance, their voices muffled. I can feel their imitations hanging from their tunics and capes, shining fainter than my own creations through the rain. I secure my grip on the dirt and the small creation within it, and I chant. A low murmur, just a one-word prayer. Their shapeless figures hesitate, the swing of the imitations on their bodies unmoving. The wind carries words in a language foreign to me, and then one shape braves the dark alley to take back the creation I stole.  And it’s then that I breathe in again.

i love writing ira using her gift so much

tagging @my-cursed-prince @seastarblue and @floralmusings + open tag