#there's still a few characters that i haven't revealed over here yet

[a-model-of-propriety]

New modern mayhem characters??? I need to know more 👀👀👀

:D

okie so I've already talked about Jekyll, Hyde, Lisa, Tristan, Dantes, and Victor here. let's see, who to reveal...

Dorian Gray! modmay Dorian follows the events of his story, except he survives the end of the book. He then just chills for the next over a century, so he's still around during the main events of modmay. Tristan noticed that Dorian was still around long after he should have died and befriended him. Now, whenever Tristan travels to a time that Dorian is in, he's there to fill Tristan in on what's going on.

I'll also quickly mention Frankenstein's Creature, who was created approximately two months before the start of modmay. He and Victor are staying with Jekyll for now, and Lisa's helping him learn how to speak, read, and write.

thanks for the ask!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Tell Her You Love Her 3/4 (Word count 4.5 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

A/N: Finally I can share the rest of this crazy story with you guys! Chapter 4/4 will be posted right after this one. Also if you haven't yet seen @shizukaay0 's amazing fanart for this fic, go take a look, it's steamy!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She wakes up next morning only to find König gone.

The restless night nearly makes her sleep in, and when she notices that the man has left while she was still sleeping, something twists like a blade inside her stomach. She throws the covers off, scours the room with her stare, and notices a note and a small sunflower on the bedside table.

He has left his knife – or one of them – here too. Another gift.

The steel is dark, nearly black; the handle olive green, with sturdy finger grooves and a heavy guard to protect the fingers. The saw-toothed portion on the back of the blade gives the knife a look that most people would probably deem ugly. The blade is wide and ends in a vicious, fat tip that looks sharp enough to puncture flesh without having to apply much pressure.

She doesn't know what a Glock knife looks like, but this is exactly how she sees König: petrifying, big, and brutal. In her eyes, beautiful… Stunning.

The knife juts from the table and holds a note in place although there is no risk of wind to take it off.

Flower for my Engel

I'll see you tonight

The clumsy, hurried message immediately makes her smile. The disturbing thoughts from last evening are only an odd memory – his offerings make her insides glow with warm milk and honey, she feels silly, like summer – and the promise to come to her every night doesn't feel like a threat anymore, it feels… magical, a secret romantic meeting, something wild, something she has always avoided from fear of trying new things.

The floral dress on the floor doesn't appear as evidence of her ruining anymore. It's fairytale-like: that he leaves flowers and knives wherever he goes. The destroyed bra makes her almost giggle. When has a man ever done something like that to her in the heat of passion?

The night feels like another odd dream: König had barely fit to sleep in her bed, and she had barely fit to curl around him. He had slept like a baby, motionless and peaceful, while she woke up every few hours to admire him: to watch the slow pulse between his collarbones barely revealed by the hood and listen to the faint snore that stopped for the smallest moment when she brushed her fingertips over his stomach.

Her muscles ache from lying half on top of him all night. Changing position was out of the question because he held an arm of steel around her all night. Luckily, it prevented her from falling from the bed. But now her muscles were coated with pains of not getting enough sleep while being held in place by a giant for almost 9 hours. Not to talk of the fresh aches born from their activities before getting those precious few winks of sleep…

She goes to work that day with such an everlasting beam that people notice her. She's not entirely sure what has happened, but she is suddenly wildly alive, and blooming.

No one knows about her secret man, her secret, sturdy weapon. No one knows she is the one he comes to every night: the shy, invisible cleaner who has seduced the man whom everyone fears.

And they can keep their boring normalcy and dull decency. She has found something infinitely better.

He's her most precious secret from now on.

He comes to visit her in the break room in the middle of the day, and she's slightly surprised. She thought they would see each other only at night from now on.

She greets him with a smile, and he answers her delight with an amused twinkle in his eyes. He looks far more normal now that the tension is gone. It's suddenly easy to be in his company because they share a secret nobody else knows about.

"Hi… What are you doing here?"

Her shy smiles and the soft whisper should tell him that she doesn't object at all to this sort of intrusion. She might be a little obsessed now too.

"I had to see you," he says as if she's his priority from now on, and her heart feels lighter and lighter. He's equally as lovestruck as she, then.

"You look so beautiful."

She's walking in a dream again: this man calls her beautiful even when she's hidden in her cleaner uniform, stripped from her dresses and flowers and makeup. The only thing she has is her smile, really, but he's not any less adoring. She's being worshiped during her sleepy coffee break, in broad daylight, when she's dressed in dull, grimy working clothes… Who would've thought?

“Thank you,” she gives him another smile, and he moves to her; so close that she has to crane her neck to look up at him.

The kiss that follows is stolen but thoroughly consensual. She disappears inside his hood and smiles on his lips, which are far gentler now. It's a chaste little kiss that happens in darkness and in secret, like everything else between them.

"Will you come to me tonight…?" She asks as if the note wasn't promise enough that he would. He's far too decent, not even groping her this time, and it drives her crazy.

"Nothing could keep me from you," he answers straight into her mouth. His musk and the soap he uses – something breezy and pungent, tea tree, perhaps – surround her much like the hood.

"You can be on top this time. I want to see how you take it–"

"Shh…" She smiles, almost laughs at his libertine whispers. He's smiling, too.

"Don't worry. I'll do the heavy lifting if you're tired."

He retreats, the hood is taken away and her sight is filled with light and decency, but then his hands go around her waist and lift her from the ground. It's like she's flying, floating through the air before he sets her gently on the coffee table.

"Except that you're not heavy at all," he says, voice dark and thick from arousal. He moves to her neck, the hood-coated face roams up and down her throat as he moves to whisper more suggestions in her ear.

"Or you can take it in your mouth… Have you ever had a man in your mouth?"

Something tells her that if she were to say yes, it would deeply upset him. The hair on the back of her neck starts to tingle, and when she doesn't answer him, he continues.

"I could eat you at the same time. Would you like that?"

His voice is darker still, and it makes her bite her lip and grab his arm for support. Even the idea of a 69 with him is dizzying. She can barely breathe from the joy and wanting.

How is she supposed to continue her day when he pops up out of nowhere and talks such sweet filth in her ear?

"König…"

"And after that… We'll fuck until your legs shake."

"Stop," she laughs a hushed giggle in the fabric of his hood. "This is inappropriate…"

"Oh ja. I'm hard again."

Mmh.

"All your fault, Engel."

"You are incurable," she laughs.

"That's what they say."

Perhaps it's a joke, but the word they makes her briefly wonder if he has had this kind of affairs with other women, too. Perhaps she's not so special after all. The image of him fucking other women with abandon breeds a stale, bitter putrefaction in her stomach.

Has he called them angels too…?

Her hands are about his neck, but she has no memory of throwing them there. She wishes she could just dangle from him the rest of the day until he carries her to bed and does all the things he just promised he would do. Let her do all those things to him while he gets to watch – watch how well she can take him, ride him, suck him.

She makes a silent promise to herself and to him that she will be the special girl, no matter the cost.

"Do you want coffee? I just made some," she asks in hopes that he would stay for a little while longer even if he isn't supposed to be here in the social spaces of the maintenance personnel.

"Sure. I would love that."

The man wants his coffee dark, and it only makes her smile as she pours him that minimalistic, unsweetened beverage. She likes his knives dark, his hood dark, his shirts dark… Perhaps she should start wearing black dresses.

"You left your knife in my room."

"For you," he tilts his head a little, wanting to know if she likes his gift. Has he given knives to other women, too, after he's fucked them…?

"Thank you. It's incredible."

"Good combat knife," he nods. "Doesn't reflect light."

If someone was here with them right now, they would probably roll their eyes at how deranged this conversation is. What rotten lunatics they both were.

She’s completely flushed, and smiling like an idiot from receiving a fat, vile knife as a present after having been fucked into oblivion twice last night.

"Well, it reminds me of you."

He looks at her, searching for deceit or ridicule, but there is none.

"That's how you see me..?"

"Mm-hm," she hums with sudden lightness. "Incredible."

His eyes betray the same look he had when he came inside her last night: brief, fragile, naked hope. Her next smile is sadder because obviously, this guy didn't receive compliments often. She's watering a dry desert plant with a single, simple word, and his eyes light up like he's just received years and years worth of good care.

He steps forward and looks like he is finally about to sit at the table. The obsessed look has melted into pure adoration: it's even more knee-buckling than the possessive stare that has followed her for weeks.

One of the maintenance officers arrives to get a cup of coffee in a hurry; a man whose name she doesn't even care to remember, whose world seems to consist mainly of stress. He’s a typical, middle-aged, burned-out man who doesn't appear to remember how to cherish the little things – such as a good cup of coffee – but rushes by everyone and everything and blames them for his stress. She always feels pity for both people and inanimate objects that get to suffer from this man’s exhaustion.

But she doesn't even see him now: all she sees is the fierce operator who is not supposed to be here. The giant who looks at her equally as mesmerized, like everyone else has ceased to exist in this world.

The air is teeming with naked lust and barely contained, sweet hunger, but the poor officer is blind to all of that. A sudden warmth gushes on her chest as the man bumps into her while rushing by with his overfilled coffee mug. She might as well be invisible again, and the hot liquid burns, but it has no power to make her angry or sad.

“Oh–excuse me,” she chirps with a dreamy smile on her face when it’s all his fault that she has coffee all over her shirt.

Before the man gets to the door, König grabs him by the collar and hurls him against the wall. She doesn’t even catch the knife before it plunges inside a round stomach like the worker is merely a balloon to be punctured.

The blade comes away all red, then disappears into the flesh again, and again and again… She loses count after six; the knife sails inside the same hole like he’s fucking the man with the blade. The slick sounds remind her of their intense love-making last night, they taint the passion in the most twisted way.

More hot coffee ends up splashing on her thighs before the sound of a mug smashing into tiny little pieces on the floor tells her that all innocence is lost.

Her gaze is glued to the black and red mush that used to be a polo shirt and a stomach: the man stays upright only because he is not allowed to collapse to the ground. But after a few seconds that seem to last hours, he is shoved to the floor in a sad heap.

She’s still staring at the now dead man when König takes a small step toward her. It occurs to her that both her palms are over her mouth only after she raises her eyes to his, and sees that he had expected some other reaction than this.

Her hands won’t descend; they try to keep all her horror inside, try to reassure her that this is only a dream, she hasn’t woken up yet, and the relief will be immense once she does.

But that never happens.

It’s real, and she would give anything to go only a few minutes back in time where the man was still alive and König was not everything she always feared he was.

He is looking at her with bewildered confusion, then the corner of his eye twitches, just once. He forces the blade back into its sheath without wiping the blood off: a telltale sign that he is more than thrown off balance.

Her horror and disgust escort him out the door in a tornado-like state, and she is left alone with two spilled coffees and a bleeding corpse, wondering who will clean the mess because she cannot for her life do it.

. . . . . .

The shock leaves her body cold and weak as she sits on a bench in the hallway, too distracted to carry on with her day, too afraid to go into her lonely room. It feels safer to remain in a public space, even if people who pass her by look at her with pity and confusion.

She cried her eyes and heart out after the shaking receded. She understands now why shock is such a dangerous state to be in. She always thought it a lie that people could die from shock, but not anymore.

Other people cleaned the mess, after the investigation. How she was able to stay so calm and collected during the questioning is a miracle on its own. What came after was an empty, bleak abyss.

She’s still staring at the floor after the buzzing around her quiets down. Minutes or hours pass by, the work day is over, steps fade away, doors close, people leave.

“Now now… What's the matter here lass?”

It’s the Scottish dude, unbearably benign, and looking like he’s actually caring about why she looks so devastated.

So, the other operators haven’t yet heard.

She doubts if König will receive much more than a scolding for what he did, high-ranked and fiercely dedicated to his work as he is. The man’s simply too valuable to be thrown away. They will just blow enough money to cover this shit right up.

This is not a regular army, and these are not regular people.

Soap sits down next to her, and she doesn’t even mind. At least he’s normal. At least something in this world is still intact, and smiling kindly.

"König did–König did something terrible."

She snobs and snivels, nose clogged and numb, eyes still burning from the tears. Soap looks at her with unadulterated concern, then pity. His brows knit together and he swallows before sighing profoundly.

"Right. What did he do now?"

When she only continues to stare at the floor, Soap raises a hand and starts to rub her back. Rather forcefully, to make it clear that he's not making a pass at her.

“Did he do something to you?”

She shakes her head slowly, because technically, it’s the truth. He didn’t knife her down.

Soap doesn’t ask any further questions. He must know without telling that König has done something bad, something fucking foul even if she hasn't been at the receiving end of it.

"Wanna hear my advice? Just stay away from that guy. Don't talk to him, don't pay attention to him."

The hand on her back stops as he thinks of more advice to give her while her heart grows cold and lonely.

"Just pretend that he doesn't exist."

It’s another punch in the gut to hear that she, the invisible girl, should simply return to her invisibleness and condemn König to nonexistence, too. To cast him out and send him even further into exile. To pretend that he had never been inside her, never brought her gifts.

The hand disappears, but then she feels padded gloves on her chin. She's too tired to flinch, and the hand gently coaxes her to turn her head and look back at the Scottish sunshine.

"Now… Give me a little smile, lass. It can't be that bad."

He’s not flirting with her.

She’s far too plain for Soap.

Or at least, that’s how she feels: unattractive, to men like him. To twinkling brown eyes, a perfect jawline, good jokes and outgoingness… She's had a few admirers but König is the only man who has looked at her like she’s nothing short of a goddess.

Soap, however, is the only one who came to clumsily cheer her up from the slump that witnessing a violent stabfest has sent her in. Everyone else just rushed by with feigned hurry. Every kindness she receives, she usually returns tenfold… But kindness is also a burden. Under the surface, she mainly wants to get rid of Soap; wants just to be left alone. Finally go back to her room and cry herself to sleep.

So she gives him a smile, shy enough to make him believe it’s genuine.

"There we go," he smiles back like an innocent sun, and behind him, in the darkening hallway, she catches the approaching giant: a black hood and under that, a bone-searing blue gaze.

"Wait–wait, wait!"

She darts from the bench, between Soap and him, like her lithe little body is enough to shield John MacTavish from a murderous titan.

If a man who spills coffee on her deserves to be stabbed more than a dozen times, what will happen to a man who has dared to touch her and make her smile?

"Don't,” her hand meets the steel of König's chest, and the blood drunk Goliath actually stops.

“Don’t, König, please."

The ice-cold gaze drops to her, and there’s such a range of emotion behind those blues that she has a hard time catching even half of the storm raging inside her maniac.

Soap rises from the bench behind her: the rustle of clothes and the squeak of gear tell her as much.

"Caught the girl crying,” he says with poorly disguised trepidation in his voice. “Now I don't know what you have done but maybe you should apologize."

Soap’s bravery is admirable. The flash of rage that is sent behind her could scald flesh from bones.

She presses herself against König, hugs his middle, tries to guide his attention elsewhere.

Just let the him go, please, no more…

Soap could perhaps defend himself for a while, but she doubts if the Austrian war machine would stop even when he’s shot full of holes.

Gargantuan arms go around her like a cage: she’s his, and forever will be. The true cost of being cast out from heaven is heavier than she had ever imagined; the tears that arise are born from a deeper trauma than that of witnessing a homicide in her quiet little break room.

. . . . .

König waits as she goes to have a shower. He follows her like a dark cloud as she goes to throw her work clothes, stained with coffee and the memory of blood, to the washing machine. He waits with statuelike composure as she finally sits on her bed, hair still dripping wet and leaving damp stains on her cute little white dress.

Wearing white seems like an abomination right now.

"I told you I don't want you to hurt people," she says quietly while watching how the water gathers at the tip of the strings of hair and tip-tip-tips on her dress and hands.

The man says nothing to defend himself. All the rage and fury is gone, his shoulders are tense, high up in the sky, almost in his ears. He’s shielding himself, and it makes her confused – clearly, he feels empathy, so why is he like… like this?

"I don't think you understand,” she swallows, heart beating more calmly now. He’s not going to plunge a knife in her, that much is certain. But still…

"I'm afraid of you."

She raises her stare: a powerful accusation, a woman's weapon. His head pulls back – he's surprised at this newfound nerve.

"I'm afraid of you, König," she emphasizes, much louder now. The declaration rings so true that it leaves her breathless and free, even powerful.

He, on the other hand, is a paralyzed beast. A golem stripped of the magical word that makes him a soulless robot. His eyes betray fear of loss for the first time, real, actual fear. He steps toward her, and when she doesn’t stop him, walks slowly to where she’s sitting.

He falls to one knee, slowly, so slowly – like she's a bird about to fly off. It pulls at her heart, it rattles the cage of her ribs. The frigid padding of his gloves touch her cheek, and she surrenders an inch or two. Maybe more than that.

She doesn’t know who lifts the mask, he or she, but her lips meet his desperate ones under all that black.

"I'm afraid of you…"

She whispers it on his lips, in his mouth, although she’s not afraid anymore. She’s pissed, and somewhat in love, and addled, shaken, ruffled to her core.

The kiss turns into a hungry one when he notices she’s not meaning what she says. Before long, she's on her knees too, and he's devouring her until she finds herself in his arms, being gently set on the floor. A trembling hand disappears under the hem of her dress, and the fabric comes up with it as he travels up her thigh.

But the only thing that’s wet right now is her hair, everything else is parched dry, locked up, sealed like the tomb of Tutankhamun, and there are curses in store for the one who will try to enter with force. Hell, even with a trembling, delicate hand.

And it’s not because she can’t get aroused – she could, in mere minutes with him – but because she’s not wet at the very instant he’s in her presence, that makes her grab the hand currently trying to get some solace from her.

"No."

He stops but doesn’t move that hand away. He’s panting in her mouth: needy, and in a whirlpool of despair. The only thing that can make him feel better is her wetness, which she cannot provide him.

The hand probes; it forces its way up just an inch.

"No."

She's relentless, and he finally draws his hand away, only to place it hesitantly and with an immense amount of grief, on her waist. She feels tiny under that giant palm.

"I'm not your plaything," she whispers, even finds the courage to shoot a tiny glare his way.

The hand does not apply pressure. If anything, it grows lighter and lighter with the fear of scaring her away.

"I made a mistake, Engel," he breathes. "You're not a toy."

Her eyes must betray both her hurt and longing because the man ups the stakes immediately.

"I'll give you anything you want," he tries: so desperately, so seriously that it sounds quite ridiculous.

"Can you just go," she whispers while a tear or two push out from the corner of her eyes. They’re hot as hell because they’re born of odd love.

"Engel–"

"Just leave."

The fingers on her waist curl, they grab her dainty little dress like it’s his only gateway to heaven. He releases the fabric soon enough, then grabs it again and lets out an agonizing sound.

Just go, go, please just leave me be…

She wants him to understand that there are consequences to his actions, and at the same time, she wants him to just hold her, to fix everything and fix her. It doesn't take the bitter taste of betrayal off her tongue to realize that she always knew what he was. She knew.

He rises to his feet, paces around a few times, more and more confused, distressed like a tortured animal. She sniffs and curls into a fetal position, hoping that he would just leave, and at the same time, hoping that he would brush off her demands and just hug her.

"I can't," he finally wails as if he can hear even her thoughts. "You're crying…”

It breaks her heart into million pieces – how can the same man stress and fuss about her tears when just hours ago, he had murdered some innocent man in cold blood?

He comes to the heap of her again, falls to his knees, then caresses her arm so softly that at first she thinks she’s just imagining the touch.

"Little angel," he tries.

Her following sob is like that of a child's. Why does he have to be so perfect and at the same time, such a–

"I know that I'm a monster."

Her eyes want to fly wide open, but she keeps them shut. He's self-aware, so much so that it hurts. He pets her more neurotically now; it's almost as if he's comforting himself and not her.

"Don't send me away," he begs, then curls behind her in an awkward spooning, holds and rocks her gently as she cries some more. After the catharsis that lasts for good long minutes, he gathers her like a doll in his arms and carries her to the bed so she doesn't have to lie on the cold, hard floor.

"I'll make it better," he says again and again as he caresses her and strokes her hair, "I promise I'll make it better…"

“Just go,” she cuts him off with a whisper.

He leaves eventually, after some more pacing and a few sighs, and she understands that he actually cared for her all this time: otherwise, he would've just taken what he wanted.

She slips into a dream, a soft oblivion where everything is well and summer is at its peak. They hold hands and stroll through the freshly cut grass, birds are singing, and he has no mask.

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

[meatballlady]

It's time for the fandom to start Looking Where the Furniture Isn't

For a bit of background, one of my irl professional responsibilities is to identify and avoid making undue assumptions. There are a LOT of things that we humans assume. We assume that terminology means the same to other people as it does to us. We assume everyone has the same context of a situation we do. We assume that we aren't missing any information.

We operate on the information we have.

There was an ask before season 2 aired asking whether many of the plot points had been revealed by the clips (which almost all took place during the first half of the first episode). Neil's response was something like "oh you sweet summer children you know nothing yet." And boy was he right.

Neil Gaiman is a master of controlling assumptions. Just look at his Tumblr askbox replies.

Here's a few s2 examples of assumptions we all made (as I'm starting a rewatch):

Why did Crowley do the (very fun and distracting) apology dance? You might say it was because he walked out on Jim, but he never specified, did he? And Aziraphale was surprised that he proposed they would hide him "together"

How did Shax get a rumor about something going down in the Up (presumably) before Gabriel even went downstairs?

Did Jim need to bring Aziraphale something other than the box? He never actually specifies; Aziraphale just assumes it's the box.

Why did Aziraphale assume Maggie could feel [Michael, Uriel, Saraquael] arriving?

Why does Aziraphale say Heaven would notice even a small miracle? Crowley is seen doing a miracle before their large miracle (traffic light), and later Aziraphale makes the guy leave the table at the pub

To go deeper:

Are we assuming that characters are telling the truth? Example: "Miracles don't work like that," "[Extreme sanctions] was just something we said to frighten the cherubs" etc.

Are we assuming that nothing of note happened between apocalypse v1 and s2? (ex. the claims that Crowley didn't tell Aziraphale about the trial in heaven despite him referencing it in s2s1) What if we the audience are just jumping in near the end of this story?

Are these assumptions correct? Or are we just working with the information that we have?

Now that I'm looking for it, there's also SO many corrections of assumptions (usually for the sake of a joke, but still) (these are just the ones that happen while I type them out while watching e2):

"Can I be a blue one?" "You haven't annoyed me yet" "But can I be?"

"You recognized [Michael, Uriel, Saraquael] those people who were in the shop just now?" "Of course, they were in the shop, just now!"

"oh my god!" "blasphemy, angel, that's not like you", "no, oh, my god"

Many of the themes were about hiding things in plain sight: the kids (and kids), Jim, "aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear." Clue (1985) was heavily referenced in the lead-up. The whole point of that film was looking at what was going on elsewhere. Looking where the furniture isn't, you might say.

The more I watch s2, the less certain I am that any of it makes sense on its own.

I'm currently combing through it to see if there are any discrepancies with where people are (easiest example is when Crowley just disappears from the bookshop while they're reviewing the Job story). It'll be a lot of data and might not lead anywhere, but I'll definitely share once I finish looking into it.

I will also honestly admit that these things are all circumstantial, and I could be going insane. But they just keep cropping up all over the place. I've got a lot of time before S3 comes up and I intend to investigate the furniture. And try to not make assumptions.

[yandere-sins]

i fucking love the miya twins x reader. Can we get something where another character, maybe kita ends up revealing his childhood sweetheart (unknowing that the first love he fell out of touch with is currently being locked up in the apartment of the twins he just told the story too) im sure there'll be quite the punishment for her when the twins get home 🤭

They would be so jealous.

And you'd have no idea why.

It's not really a betrayal because you haven't seen Kita for years at this point, but it still stings as if you had plunged a knife into their chests. (Yes, Atsumu is that dramatic as he tries to explain why your childhood antics hurt them.) To know that you held hands and promised to marry another person, yet still shy away from their touches and never try to deepen your relationship with either of the twins is a thorn in their sides that isn't easily removable.

You might have been... seven at the time of the promise with Kita, but you never even asked to go steady with the Miya twins!

Still, despite their broken and aching hearts, they know they can't reasonably punish you for having been a silly child. You didn't know better. You probably didn't even love Kita! Right? You couldn't possibly have known what love even meant back then... right?!

The two of them only met you in their teens as well, so it was bound to happen that you might have had friends before them. However, they notice that spark in your eyes when they say Kita's name. As if you remember him, fondly even. As if he was a bigger threat than they had anticipated. It does hurt their feelings that you'd regain some of your liveliness at the mention of another man. One that you've been apart from for so long, no less. One that gives you back a glimmer of... hope.

It's not like they like you better when you aren't happy. It's just that they really hate it when you are happy, but not because of them.

Mealtime will be boring and basic the next few days while Osamu doesn't feel like cooking for you. He keeps making snarky remarks about how you'd probably prefer Kita to cook you rice from his rice field. Or how you'd like Kita to stock up your bathroom supplies and snacks. Kita could bring you much better movies you'd actually enjoy watching for sure, yadda yadda yadda. You really start to notice the effort he puts into taking care of you when he stops doing it... but you get to enjoy some baths alone and in peace! They also don't steal bites from your plate anymore. And they might sneer, but you can rearrange the room, and they won't stop you for once—they just follow you around and watch your every step silently and with great displeasure.

Atsumu, on the other hand, is annoyingly moody as he shuns you. Oh, you were watching something? He's home now; hand over the remote. No, you cannot have some of his pudding that you didn't want. (Then again, at least you don't have to fear suffocating from him trying to feed you). He keeps whining about not getting enough love from you, but he steals your pillow and blanket at night, demonstratively facing away from you. (Osamu lends you his arm to sleep on and pretends not to enjoy it if you inch closer for warmth to him. Jokes on him because he's not stopping you from getting under his blanket either, but your neck hurts from how tense he is all throughout the night.)

It's almost adorable that they think taking their love from you will hurt you.

However, even the funnest and best of times in captivity have to end. You are due to run out of something that you realize you need desperately. Not least because the twins will start taking things away from you here and there. In this twisted codependency, there's no other way but to seek them out and ask for your toothbrush back or inquire if you'll be having canned carrot soup again tomorrow, too... like the other three days before.

That's where they get you. Now you'll have to play to their tune, apologize, assure them you want nothing from Kita and don't even like him after all this time. It takes some convincing on your part, but how could they not melt for their sweet little darling, clinging to them and begging to go back to how it was before?

Atsumu will coax some more (fake) confessions about your feelings for the twins and make you promise to always love them (and to share your dessert with him). He'll whisk you away before you have a chance to make it up to his brother, taking you back to the room to have you "show" him just how much you love him, baring you to show all your vulnerability and sincerity. He'll have you moan and scream his name so fast, considering he's been preserving his energy for the last few days. But after ravaging your body and befuddling your mind, he'll go back to how he was before, making up some dearly missed cuddle time with you where he can talk about his day and unwind, finally having you back in his arms and lap. With his hands reaching for every inch of your body, kneading and memorizing the feeling of you as if this was the first time he got to touch you, kisses littering your neck and teeth nipping at your lips until his desire is finally sated.

Eventually, with great effort, you'll have to free yourself from Atsumu, who can't get enough of having you back. Still, you'll need the rest of your strength to make up with Osamu without letting too much time pass. He's still cold and dismissive, working or cleaning up, but the kitchen already smells like freshly cooked miso soup, so that's a good sign. Osamu is satisfied with you coming to him, touching his arm, or taking his hand, swearing you never meant anything you said to Kita seriously and that the twins are the only ones you want to be with. He'll seem a bit pouty, so you should consider cuddling up to him or giving him a good ol' smooch, even if he doesn't reciprocate immediately. But who could be mad at you? With a big sigh, Osamu will welcome you back into his embrace, kiss you on the head, and tell you where your toothbrush is, handing you a bag with all the necessities they've been hiding from you. However, he still got them (he knew all along what you were running out from and when). Osamu will admit he was planning on restocking your things slowly anyway (it hurt him to see you were struggling). All's well that ends well, but Osamu will want to have a taste of what Atsumu already devoured, so get ready for that.

And with that, the argument will be over (for now).

Hopefully, there won't be any shows on TV featuring farmers, and the twins won't meet Kita again for a while, so they won't be reminded of what happened. You wouldn't want them to start doubting the lies you told them, right? 

[f1daydreamers]

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 [𝐋𝐒𝟏𝟖] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

photo credits: Pinterest

Pairing: Lance Stroll x Fem!Reader

Summary: Asking the driver of the team you work for to attend a wedding with you as your fake date is possibly one of the dumbest ideas you’ve had ever.. but also one of the best.

Warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, one bed trope oop

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter, you guys are incredible :') Here's Part 1 if you haven't read it yet or want a recap!

Word Count: 2.1k (8 minutes reading time avg)

…

"Your Dad, your sister, your brother, they're great." You didn't add anything on to Lance's sentence, heading out of the venue your brother had extravangantly booked for a rehearsal dinner.

Being a lawyer marrying a real estate agent must have its perks.

"Your mum is.. certainly a character." You scoffed, knowing he probably had no intention of clearing up what he meant, assuming you'd understand what he was trying to say.

The sun had barely begun setting, the weather was cooler, and your home wasn't that much of a walk so somewhere between the few minutes it took for you both to leave the venue and reach the corner of the street, you decided walking would be the best option.

Lance just inattentively followed you, knowing you were his only navigation system.

He took a few brisk steps to catch up with your pace, the only comfort offered to you that you'd accept after a long day would be under the covers of your bed.

"In a rush?" You exhaled through your mouth, watching the puff of air escape from your lips.

"No, just want this day to end." You felt bitter about how your mother was acting, ignoring Lance then shooting you looks as if you were in the wrong was so typical of her.

Yet you were still surprised she'd go that low on such a celebratory occasion.

"You're.. chipper." The corner of your mouth twitched upwards and you mumbled a barely coherent word of confusion.

Lance laughed at your expression, "I heard one of your uncles say it, I like it."

You breathily laughed, shaking your head. "Trust me, no one says that anymore. My uncle uses slang he thinks would make him fit in. It doesn't."

He shrugs, stretching his arms outwards and only satisfied when he hears an expected 'pop' sound. "I think he's pretty cool."

Your lips curve into a smile, turning your head towards Lance who has a similar grin on his lips. "You should tell him that, he'll blush bright red."

You undo the latch to the front gate, pulling it wide open so the F1 driver can slide through, then you shut it behind him.

"Do you have a key?" Lance asks you, hopping up the final step of the patio. He extended your purse out to you in case it was in there but before you could answer his question, you paused.

"Why do you have my purse?" Trying to recall if you handed it to him but nothing sprung to mind.

"You left it on the table, I recognised it from this." He fiddled with the Aston Martin keyring Sebastian left the entire team as a parting gift in Abu Dhabi last year.

He brought it to your line of sight, proudly smiling.

You smiled back at him, "sharp eye Stroll."

"Thank you darling." That same look of confusion arose on your face again.

You looked away, your face warming slightly as you kicked the corner of the doormat to reveal a familiar key beneath it.

"Another one of my Uncle's terms of endearment?" He chuckled from behind you, the keyring making a faint clank sound as it hit the chain of your crossbody bag.

"Afraid so." You shook your head for the second time in this conversation, bending over to grasp the key between the pads of your index finger and thumb.

Slotting it into the hole, you pushed the door open and similarly to before, Lance easily maneuvered inside and past you.

He toed off his sneakers and picked them up with his two fingers hooked into the back.

You pulled open the drawer to the shoe rack, and he pushed them inside one of the empty spaces. You followed in his movements.

"Hungry? Thirsty?" He accompanied you to the kitchen. You flicked on the light switch and he went over to the kitchen island, leaning his elbows on the cold marble counter.

"Nah, I ate my weight in almonds already." He grinned, watching you pull out a jug from the fridge.

"Sucks having a rehearsal dinner with no dinner." You commented.

You poured yourself a glass of some freshly-squeezed apple juice. Your mum was always hellbent on having fresh everything when you were growing up, guess that habit still hadn't faded over time.

After a brief moment of chatter, you slung your bag around your neck, both you and Lance ascending the stairs to your bedroom.

As you pushed the door open and your hand searched for the light switch on the wall, you came to a sudden halt when the room was eventually illuminated.

Your heart sank to your stomach as you stared at the double bed in the center of your room.

He shut the door, wondering why you'd stopped moving all of a sudden before the realisation dawned on him and his words faltered halfway in his throat.

You glanced at him as his shoulder ghosted yours to stand besides you, his gaze met yours and both of you had a very similar look on your faces: the one that said 'this wasn't part of the deal'.

"Do you want me to open a window? It's a bit stuffy in here." He nonchalantly questioned.

You refrained from telling him that it wasn't stuffy because of the humidity, it was stuffy because there was an obvious elephant in the room that needed to be addressed.

You don't answer him, your mind in somewhat of a haze as you're trying to comprehend when the fuck two twin beds that you remember moving out from suddenly turned into one double bed.

"I'll open a window." Lance states, passing the inanimate bane of your existence to crack open one of the windows.

The idea of sharing a bed brought on a sudden discomfort, and without obvious reason. You'd shared beds with so many people before; friends, cousins, on sleepovers, girls' nights.

You dismiss the memories of physical contact earlier: Lance's hand resting on your thigh, fingers intertwined, and his touch on your back.

Consequently, you also disregarded the subsequent surge of butterflies in your stomach.

Those butterflies could have been easily set aside as mere surprise, and you also had no intention of experiencing them again. It took a considerable effort to convince the F1 driver to accompany you as your pretend date for a four-day weekend, so the thought of him ever entertaining any connection with you seemed entirely implausible.

Plus, you don't even like him like that.

Lance noticed you deeply lost in thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

"I can take the floor." Your eyes snap up to him stood on the other side of the room, leaned against the window pane.

Your eyes then flicker to the wooden flooring beneath your feet, shuddering while imagining how wildly uncomfortable that would be for a whole night, nevermind three nights.

"It's cold, and hard."

He shrugged, not caring much for his own discomfort. He reached over to grab his gym bag besides your suitcase, your parents had brought them in from your car this morning.

He unzipped the front pocket, fishing out his toothbrush.

"I dragged you out here so the least I can do is give you a bed to sleep in. I'll take the floor."

Lance hummed in disagreement, giving you a firm look. "Nope, not happening."

He pulled off his hoodie and dropped it on top of his gym bag, heading straight for the bathroom, already knowing where it was having had it shown to him before by your sister.

You took the time to change into your pajamas, digging through your open suitcase for your toiletry bag and simultaneously waiting for him to finish up in the bathroom.

After he had, he entered your bedroom once more and you found yourself staring at his bare arms, flexing with every little movement as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

The image of his muscles burned into your mind as you swiftly exited the room and set foot into the bathroom, locking it. You exhaled a shaky breath, taking out your toothbrush from your bag of skincare.

As you brushed your teeth then veered off into your skincare routine that followed, you only prayed that this weekend would go by quickly and smoothly. Something you'd been praying for since your brother had announced the dates of the ceremony.

After you finished up, you turned the light switch off and with a hesitant movement in your feet, you pushed open the bedroom door that hadn't been closed the entire way. Yet.

You saw Lance preparing to lie on the floor and told him to wait, hoping that if your parents hadn't been clearing out the remnants of your wardrobe as they had been with your bed, you'd find..

"Yes!" You exclaimed, tugging out the air mattress, keeping a hand on the tower of clothes you never took with you. Lance helped before laughing, you met his eyes as you lay the deflated cloud on your floor.

"Why do you have an air mattress in your room?" You blushed, "because of my sleepovers. I bought it spontaneously and look, now there's a purpose for it."

"Pump?" You whisked around again, now on your tiptoes as you tried to feel around the top of your wardrobe for a familiar cardboard box but ultimately failing because of your height, or lack thereof.

"Let me," Lance interrupted, extending his arm easily to the top. You looked down to the floor so your gaze wouldn't fixate on his bare bicep twice this evening, and eventually he lowered the box so it was within your grasp.

After pumping up the mattress, pulling on a fitted sheet and throwing him two of your pillows, you also threw him your thicker duvet.

Before he could complain, you stopped him. "I took the bed, you take the duvet. I've got a blanket." He gave in, sorting it out on his bed for the night, laying on his back after what felt like days.

You slipped into your blanket, resting your head on your pillow.

"Y/N?" You hum in return to his call of your name, turning your head to see him staring at the ceiling.

"The light's still on." You chuckled but before you could swing your legs over to the side, Lance was already up and going over to the far wall.

"Thanks." You add. He cautiously steps in darkness back over, careful as to not hit anything or hurt himself.

...

You wake up to find sunlight peaking through your windows, the cause of your slumber coming to its eventual end. But the man who fell asleep beneath the window isn't there, the blanket half falling off of the air mattress, the pillows tilted slightly.

Your eyebrows furrow when your eyes adjust to your room, but you also manage to half-remember that the blanket you were seeing on Lance's mattress was the one you'd fell asleep with a mere 8 hours ago.

The duvet you'd thrown at him now covering everything below your hips. You realised he must've swapped them at some point during the night when you were sound asleep.

After a few minutes, you sat up on your bed and left to brush your teeth, retying your hair into a low bun and splashing cold water over your face.

You skipped down the stairs, walking into the kitchen where most of the voices you were hearing were coming from, Lance's distinguishable accent being one of them.

"Morning sleepy," you smiled at him as he turned away from you and to the coffee machine, looking around to see only your sister and one of your cousins who'd stayed the night meeting your tired gaze.

"Where's mum 'n dad?" Daisy shrugged, "out."

She turned her attention back to your cousin so you headed for Lance, who, with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in his hand, swung around to see you.

You groaned happily at the sight of it, excitedly taking it into your hands. Coffee cheered you up. Lance chuckled, noticing the genuine twinkle in your eyes when he extended the mug out to you.

"Thank you." He nodded, and after a short moment's of silence, you looked at him.

"Did you.. swap the duvet 'round?" You questioned quietly, making sure the others in the kitchen couldn't overhear.

He smiled, taking a swig of his coffee before answering.

"You were shivering." He didn't add on anything else and from the gesture alone, that damned flurry of butterlifes erupted out of their cages again in your stomach.

"Well, I appreciate it. I guess my body did too." You joked, Lance nudging your arm with his elbow, a grin on his lips.

...

Part 3

Masterlist

Comment if you want to be tagged in the next part!

Taglist: @tororossoseb-blog @hiphopdancer101universe @hc-dutch @love4lando @chonkybonky @angstyeighteen @natasharomanoffisbaebby @little-angel-07 @voidskywxlker @flowerchild-96 @vildetry06 @sharllec @aundercover @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @spicyclover @mloyer @alesainz @e-lisa-bettan @hockey-racing-fubol @cinnamonroll2003

[bookwyrminspiration]

Transcript of The Trade, the Marella KOTLC short story (Including the author introduction)

Note: OG pictures taken by Kenna!, provided by @fintan-pyren. Some words are obscured and the transcript may contain errors. Neverless, I hope this is useful to anyone who may need/want it :)

Hello, wonderful Keeper readers! Some of you might already know that I love to sneak a little something extra into the paperback versions of my books whenever I can (since I don't think hardcover readers should get to be the only ones who sometimes find fun bonuses). For those who didn't know that: surprise! :)

I knew I wanted to include a story from Marella's POV this time. Not only is she on the cover (looking fierce and fabulous!) and a fan-favorite character, but she also had some key scenes in Stellarlune that we only got to "hear" about. The Keeper books are limited to Sophie's POV, so I can only include moments where Sophie is present--and since Sophie didn't go with Marella to her meetings with Fintan, we only learn what Marella tells Sophie later. But what if there was something Marella didn't share?

Over the next few pages, you can watch one of Marella's conversations with Fintan play out in real time and hear all Marella's thoughts and reactions to what's happening. I've called this story "The Trade"--and I've worked in lots of fun little extra details (some of which might even turn out to be important later...*wink*).

For those wondering, this story is based a [sic] scene in chapter 31 of Stellarlune--and if you haven't read Stellarlune yet: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! Reading this first will probably be confusing and will also give away a few tidbits too early. You'll be much happier if you start by reading Stellarlune and then come back here for all the Marella fun once you're done!

Happy reading! [shannon's signature]

~

"Ugh, I hate this place," Marella muttered, shaking the freshly fallen snowflakes out of her gilded blond hair much harder than necessary and yanking her thick velvet cape tighter around her narrow shoulders.

She said the same thing every time she had to trudge through the knee-high snowdrifts and found herself staring at the icicle-crusted entrance to the now familiar cave.

Didn't matter how many times she'd gone there--or how important her visits were. She was never not going to dread making the long, slippery trek down to Fintan's frozen cell.

The cave looked like some sort of open-mouthed snow beast waiting to devour everything in its path--which was probably intentional, since the prison was designed to be as miserable as possible.

Especially for someone like her.

The goblin guards even gave her pitying stares as they moved aside to reveal the endless icy path that wound down and down--and down a whole lot more--to a place where the tiniest glimmer of heat had long since been swallowed up by the suffocating cold.

No amount of clothing could keep Marella warm in the heart of the prison She'd actually tried wearing so many layers that she'd looked like an overstuffed gulon--and she still couldn't stop shivering. And the whole "body temperature regulation" thing wasn't exactly possible when she had to use so much concentration to make sense of Fintan's ranting.

it wasn't fair.

Everyone else got to train their special abilities in fancy rooms at Foxfire, with Mentors who weren't creepy, unstable murderers.

But they weren't Pyrokinetics.

Marella was lucky the Council was letting her use her ability at all.

They could just as easily label her Talentless, kick her out of their snobby academy, and ban her from ever sparking another flame.

Or they could decide she was too dangerous and lock her away.

in fact, Marella wouldn't have been surprised at all if the Council was already building an icy cage just for her--but the thought still made her shiver and wish she could've manifested as...

Nope.

She stopped herself from finishing that sentence.

If life had taught her anything, it was that there's no point wanting things that were never going to happen.

Instead, she focused on the thin beams of sunlight streaking through a gap in the gloomy gray clouds. The light was far from warm, but if she really concentrated, she could feel a hint of lingering heat tangled among the brightness.

She called the warmth closer and soaked it in--let it pool under her skin, pounding with her pulse, swelling with every heartbeat. Growing hotter and hotter and hotter until...

Snap!

A flick of her fingers sent a small tangle of flames sparking to life above her left palm.

"Feel better?" Linh asked as Marella let out a long, slow sigh.

Marella nodded--though she definitely could've done without the whispered that were now hissing around her head.

The flames had a soft, crackly voice. And they always made the same plea.

Feed me.

Feed me.

Feed me.

Fire craved fuel--constantly wanting more, more, more--and it would've been so easy for Marella to let the fire swell bigger and bigger and bigger.

But that was the kind of thing that would lead to a lifetime of shivering in an underground ice cube, so she forced her gaze to shift to Linh, who stood in a small, snowless circle surrounded by a halo of hovering snowflakes---none daring to touch her long silver-tipped hair or shimmery purple cape.

Marella knew how hard Linh had fought to achieve that level of control, and how tentative Linh's hold over her ability still was. But the fact Linh could stand in a sea of frozen water and do nothing except keep the falling snow from settling on her flushed pink cheeks was very...

Annoying.

Then again, everyone annoyed Marella a little.

Her dad used to call her "fiery" long before he realized how accurate that description truly was.

But it wasn't Marella's fault!

People tended to be annoying.

Especially a Hydrokinetic who was currently looking all peaceful and pretty and perfect while making snowflakes flutter and spin in intricate patterns.

That didn't mean Marella wasn't also grateful that Linh was willing to tag along to her Pyrokinetic lessons. it was nice to see a friendly face after hours of Fintan's rambling. Plus, it seemed like a good idea to have someone with water powers around while she practiced setting things on fire.

They were even finding some pretty cool ways to work together. Fire and water might be opposites--but that didn't mean they couldn't be combined. Marella had actually figured out a way to ignite Linh's rain, and she couldn't wait to use that little trick on the Neverseen--assuming those black-cloaked losers ever showed up again.

For a fearsome, unstoppable rebellion, they sure spend a lot of time hiding.

"Are you going to start by asking him about the cache or do the lesson first?" Linh asked, reminding Marella why they were there.

Marella shrugged. "Depends on Fintan's mood."

Sometimes he was already babbling about some fancy new fire trick when she arrived, as if he'd started the lesson without bothering to wait for her. Other times she couldn't get anywhere with him until she'd let him go on and on and on about how foolish the Council was, or how badly he'd been wronged, or how much he missed the feel of a flickering flame--and she didn't necessarily blame him for the last one.

Part of her wanted to hold on to her fireball forever.

Make it her smoky little pet.

Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist and snuffed it out--but she didn't let all the heat dissipate. She called a single tingling glint deeper, letting it sear through her veins and settle into her heart.

She knew it was a risky move, even with all the defenses she wrapped around it. But she couldn't bear the cold emptiness of Fintan's prison without a least a tiny fleck of warmth tucked away.

A secret spark whispering, I'm here. You're not alone.

"Okay," she said, weaving a few strands of her hair together to clam her twitchy fingers. She'd picked up the nervous habit years ago--after her mom's accident--and the tiny braids were kind of her trademark now. "i guess I should stop stalling and head down to deal with Sir Creepysparks, huh?"

Linh smiled. "Probably. Unless you want to rehearse what you're going to say."

"Nah. I'm just going to offer him an ugly flower--that doesn't exactly need a big speech. Oh, but that reminds me..."

She reached into her cape pocket and pulled out the spiky dark blue Noxflare--which looked more like a dying weed than a super-rare flower--and held it up to the guards. "Mr. Forkle already checked this before I brought it here, to make sure it's safe for me to offer to Fintan. but I figured you'd want to check it too."

"We do," they agreed in unison as one of the biggest, deadliest-looking guards took the Noxflare from Marella and brought it over to the other goblins.

A lot of mumbling about potential kindling and fire hazards followed.

Eventually, the guards decided to quick-freeze the Noxflare into a block of ice in case there was any heat stored inside.

"Whoa," Marella said when the scary guard returned with the flower-filled ice cube--which had turned out as big as her head. "How heavy is that thing?"

The guard studied Marella's skinny arms. "I can carry it for you if you'd like."

"That's probably be smart." Marella was pretty sure she'd drop it, or her fingers would freeze off during the long walk--and using telekinesis would drain her mental energy. "But can you stay out of sight? I was planning to tell Fintan he can only see his weird flower thing if he gives me access to his memories, and that's kinda ruined if there's a giant goblin holding it right next to me.

Not that it made the plan any less pointless.

Fintan was obviously going to turn her down.

He's already made it super clear that the only trade he was interested in was for his freedom--which was never going to happen.

Marella doubted a dying flower frozen in ice was suddenly going to make him be like, You know what? Who needs out of this horrible prison when I can have that!

But she was out of other ideas.

And Sophie wanted her to try the Noxflare thing, so...

Whatever.

Marella didn't care about Sophie's current power trip the way Stina did.

As long as she didn't have to be the one coming up with all the plans--or almost dying all the time--Marella was fine following orders. Especially if she got to say I told you so when they turned out to be a huge waste of time.

"Sure you don't want me to come with you?" Linh asked as Marella pulled thick gloves onto her hands. "Fintan likes me."

Marella wasn't sure if "like" was the right word, since Fintan didn't seem to like anybody. But he'd definitely been impressed with Linh.

He'd demanded to speak with "the Hydrokinetic" after Marella mentioned she practiced her pyrokinesis with Linh, so Marella had convinced the goblin guards to let Linh down into the prison. And when Fintan asked for a demonstration of Linh's ability to ensure she wouldn't "hinder his training," Linh had stirred up all the ice shards on his floor and made them rain around him like he was trapped inside a snow globe--which actually made him applaud.

Apparently, most Hydrokinetics struggled to manipulate water in its solid form, and were limited to liquid water or water vapor.

But not Linh.

Of course.

Marella was pretty sure that Linh was more powerful than any of her other friends.

"Well, if you need me, you know where to find me," Linh said as Marella forced her feet to carry her into the cave. "I'll just be here, making another snow menagerie." She flicker her wrist and wove the hovering snowflakes into a soaring alenon.

"Ugh, at least make some ugly creatures this time," Marella called over her shoulder. "I want to see a row of snow ghouls when I get back here. Or a giant Princess Purryfins!"

Linh gasped. "Princess Purryfins is not ugly! I'm going to tell her you said that!"

Marella laughed. "I'm sure you will."

She would've teased Linh more about her ridiculous obsession with her pet murcat, but the frigid air from the prison hit Marella hard, and she had to lock her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

As least she didn't have to make the journey by herself this time.

Marella could hear the scary goblin guard keeping pace several steps behind her as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim blue light cast by a series of glowing spheres dangling from the ceiling. The downward slope grew steeper with each winding curve, and Marella was always tempted to try sliding down the icy floor instead of walking--but she'd probably end up crashing into one of the weird ice thrones outside Fintan's cell. And she knew better than anyone that injuries couldn't always be healed.

Plus, the trudge gave her a chance to add extra defenses to the heat she'd tucked away in her chest.

She often wondered if Fintan had hidden a few sparks of his own when he was arrested. After all, he had to know the Council would put him on ice for the rest of eternity. Wouldn't he try to preserve what little heat he could?

But Marella had stretched out her senses a zillion different ways and never felt the slightest tingle of warmth when she was around him. So either there was nothing to find or Fintan was that good.

She had a horrible feeling it was the latter, and he was waiting for just the right moment to reveal his grand plan--but that wasn't the kind of thing she should be thinking about before having to face him.

Still, she spent the next few turn trying to figure out what she'd do if she were right.

Her feet turned numb while she plotted, and her bones were officially aching by the time the path widened-- the only warning that they were getting close to Fintan's cell.

A few curves later, his cage came into view: a stark, icy bubble in the center of a circular cavern.

The round wall was reflective on the inside, so even though Marella could see Fintan pacing along the edge of his frozen barricade, he wouldn't be able to see her until she triggered the sensor by sitting in one of the freezing thrones positioned at the only point Fintan could peer through.

He looked extra tired that day--his sky blue eyes sunken by more shadows than usual, and he kept muttering under his breath about incompetence as he tucked his messy blond hair behind his pointy ears with a bit more force than necessary.

Marella glanced back at the scary guard, making sure he'd ducked into the shadows near the back of the cell before she made her big appearance. Then she took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her heart, reaching for her secret spark of warmth one last time before plopping into the closest ice throne.

"Awwwww, looks like you missed me," she said, tossing back her hair and flashing her brightest smile.

She liked to start her visits by showing Fintan she wasn't afraid of him--even if she totally was.

But Fintan didn't glance her way.

"I'm not in the mood for games," he warned as he continued his slow march around his cell.

"Neither am I" Marella assured him, deciding that was her cue to start with the cache. She sat up taller, trying to look extra confident as she added, "But I do have an awesome trade to offer you!"

Fintan sighed. "If this is about my cache, I already told you what I'm willing to accept. Unless you're here to grant me a day of freedom--"

"I'm definitely not. But! I found something you should like even better." She paused, hoping the extra bit of anticipation would somehow make her offer should more exiting when she told him. "Noxflares!"

Fintan scrunched his slender nose. "What are Noxflares, and why would I care about them?"

Marella tilted her head, trying to tell if he was faking.

She hadn't expected him to jump around or applaud or anything--but she had expected him to at least know what Noxflares were.

Then again, his mind had been shattered and pieced back together so many times, his memories had to be in shambles--and Ancient minds tended to be a total mess anyway, since they were crammed with thousands of years of information and the past and present blurred together.

"Would it help if I told you I stopped by your old estate on my way here?" she asked, "Your garden could use some gnomish help, by the way. All the plants have turned into a giant dying tangle. But I dug around and managed to find this scraggly vine with dark pointy flowers--and I hear that plant is special to you, so I picked a few and--"

"You picked my Noxflares?" Fintan snapped, rushing to the wall of his cell and pressing his palms against the ice. "You must let me see them!"

Marella's lips curled into a huge smirk. "I thought you didn't know what they were."

Fintan gritted his teeth so hard, it sounded like cracking ice.

"Hey, I'm not saying I won't share. Buuuuuuuuuuut it'll cost you--and I'm pretty sure you can already guess what I want." She paused for another beat before she added, "Just so we're clear: I'll show you one of your Noxflares if you open your cache and show me what's inside."

Fintan's jaw tightened even more and his hands curled into fists.

But he didn't say no.

He didn't say anything--which was definitely new.

Marella had already offered him a long list of trade suggestions that she, Linh, Maruca, and Stina had all come up with--some really cool ones! And Fintan had shot down each one down before she could even finish the offer.

She couldn't believe he looked so tempted by an ugly flower.

but as the silence dragged on, Marella started to wonder if she'd misread the situation.

maybe she'd pushed him too hard--taunted him too much--and now Fintan was letting her sit there in the cold, knowing the icy throne was turning her butt and legs numb.

She was trying to decide if she could make standing up look like a power move when Fintan told her, "Fine. You have a deal--but since you're only offering one Noxflare, I'll only show you one memory."

Marella barely stopped herself from blurting out, SERIOUSLY?

"Orrrrrrrrrrrrrr," she said instead, wanting to kick herself for not bringing more Noxflares with her. The whole thing had just seemed so silly--and the first few she'd picked had crumbled to dust. But the vine had lots more flowers, so she could fix the mistake super easily. "How about I go back, grab eight more Noxflares, and then you show me all nine memories?"

Fintan grinned. "Tempting. But one Noxflare is really all I need."

Need?

Marella wasn't a fan of that wording.

But before she could ask him what he needed it for, he added, "My offer expires in ten seconds," and started counting down.

By "six" she decided that one memory was better than nothing.

"Fine," she said, pulling the cache from her pocket and holding the marble-size orb up to the light. "But you go first. How do I open this thing?"

No way was she going to risk letting him back out--especially since he probably wasn't going to be happy when he saw his precious flower was stuck in the middle of a giant ice cube.

Fintan held out his hand. "Give me the cache, and I'll open it."

Marella laughed. "Hard pass."

"Ah, but you don't have a choice. I'm the only one who can access the memories. And I need to make physical contact with the cache in order to do so."

Marella squinted at the tiny gadget.

She didn't know much about caches--aside from the fact that only Councillors used them and that each colorful inner crystal held a single Forgotten Secret. But she did know that Dex had already tried everything he could think of to open the cache and failed--and he was one of the best Technopaths ever.

"Do I need to start counting down again?" Fintan asked. "I believe we'd gotten to five..."

Marella chewed her lip. "Uh, how do I know you're not going to destroy the cache or try to hold it for ransom or something?"

Fintan's smile was colder than his cell. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Yeah, I don't see that happening."

Fintan shrugged. "Then our deal is off."

Marella rolled her eyes. "Come on. Even if I wanted to, it's not like I can open your cell door and hand the cache to you."

She wasn't even sure if his cell had a door. The wall looked like one big solid piece of ice.

"You've proven to be very resourceful during our lessons," Fintan reminded her.

"Yeah, but--"

"It's your call," he interrupted. "If you want a memory, you'll have to trust me."

She snort-laughed--but before she could get another word out, he repeated, "You'll just have to trust me." And she could tell that was the only response he was going to give.

She turned to the scary guard, who had started pacing in the shadows. "Is there a way to pass Fintan a small item?"

"Ah, you have a hidden goblin escort--I knew you were resourceful!" Fintan clapped his hands. "And yes, there is a way to pass me my cache, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it. Any guard can open the disgraceful tube they pass my horrid, frozen bits of food through. The cache should fit nicely."

The guard gripped his sword. "I cannot allow any unauthorized item to enter his cell."

Fintan clicked his tongue. "Clearly you're not considering the fact that I've already had plenty of chances to make this trade--and turned them all down. Do you think I would do that if the cache was even remotely useful to me?"

The goblin couldn't argue with that logic.

Neither could Marella.

And when Fintan went back to counting down, she told the guard, "The Black Swan knows I've been trying to make this trade--and they're working with the Council now. No one would let me do this if they thought the cache was dangerous."

Then again, they'd never discussed the possibility of handing the cache over to Fintan--but surely someone must've considered that during all their endless talking and obsessive overplanning...right?

Besides, if anything went wrong, she could always remind them that this was Sophie's idea.

"I don't like this," the scary guard growled. But Marella gave him her I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing glare until he set the frozen Noxflare down with a particularly dramatic thud, snatched the cache, and spent an eternity squinting at the tiny crystal, spinning it all different ways. "If anything happens, my priority will be subduing the prisoner--not protecting you. Are you certain you want to take that risk?"

Marella absolutely wasn't.

But...this might be their only shot at seeing one of Fintan's Forgotten Secrets.

Plus, she had her tiny little spark buddy she could call on if she needed. Surely she could use that to...

To what?

Take down a superpowerful, much more experienced Pyrokinetic with a history of murdering poeple?

But...did she really want to wimp out?

Sophie wouldn't.

And yeah, Sophie had, like, a permanent bed in the Healing Center. But Marella was pretty sure their whole group would vote "DO IT!"

There were also a dozen other armed goblins who would rush down as backup.

And Linh could attack Fintan with her cutesy snow animals.

It'd almost be worth it to watch Fintan get swallowed up by an ice wave shaped like Princess Purryfins.

"I can handle myself," she decided, using a tone that hopefully sounded intimidating.

Fintan's gleeful laughter echoed of the ice.

The scary guard muttered something about the arrogance of elves as he reached toward the top of Fintan's frozen cell and felt around for a specific spot. A faint clicking sound followed, and a tiny round door slid open--far out of Fintan's reach.

"I can neutralize you within seconds," the guard reminded him as he held the cache up to the opening. "By numerous means. Some far more painful than others."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the absurd lengths the Council has taken to keep me contained," Fintan assured him. "But I don't plan on giving you a reason to use any of them. Not today, at least."

The guard bared his supersharp pointy teeth, and Marella wanted to shout NEVER MIND, JUST KIDDING! But she let the guard shove the cache through the tiny opening--and then it was too late to change her mind.

All she could do was watch the glass orb make its slow descent, rolling around and around and around--down some sort of invisible path etched into the wall of the cell.

Her stomach backflipped with each rotation, and she felt more than a little vomit-y when the cache dropped low enough for Fintan to catch it. But he simply held it up and studied it.

Then he coughed on it.

And sneezed on it.

"Ewwwwwww," Marella groaned when he followed that up by drooling on it. "You know, there are better ways to give it your DNA."

"Yes, I'm aware." Fintan cleared his throat and launched a slimy blob of spit at the cache. "I also know your little Technopath friend is going to ask you how I accessed the memories, so feel free to give him a detailed list." He wiped the cache dry with his fingers and then ran it through his greasy hair before sneezing and coughing on it again. "Some of these methods are vital. Some are distractions. None can be re-created without me--but it'll be fun if he tries, don't you think?"

He laughed so hard, it brought tears to his eyes, and he smeared them across the cache before sneezing and spitting on it again--making Marella very glad she had gloves to keep her hands clean once he returned the cache.

Assuming she actually got it back...

She tried to make out what he was saying when he started mumbling a bunch of stuff into the crystal, but the words were all mushed together. He also tapped the cache in so many different places that she doubted even Sophie and Keefe with their fancy photographic memories would be able to re-create the patterns. And he looked so smug as he did it all that Marella decided to look as bored as possible--which was why she was barely paying attention when the cache flared to life, projecting a small hologram of Fintan standing alone in a wide, empty field.

"Huh," Marella mumbled. "Gotta admit, I was expecting something a little more exciting than a tiny glowing Fintan in the middle of nowhere doing...nothing."

"Then you should learn to be more observant." Fintan pointed to the swaying grass around the hologram's feet, and after a few seconds, Marella realized there was a vine of blooming Noxflares. "I figured I'd show you what Noxflares can do, since you're so generously bringing one back into my life."

Marella squinted at the tiny flowers, waiting for something to happen.

And waiting.

And waiting.

"So...they...blow in the wind?" she asked.

Fintan sighed. "No, they do this."

The hologram of Fintan waved his arms, and all the Noxflares erupted with searing white flames.

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah, still not seeing why this needed to be a super-hush-hush Forgotten Secret," Marella grumbled as the Fintan hologram flicked his wrist and added purple fire to the white.

Sure, the flames were pretty--but all flames were beautiful.

"Try thinking like a Pyrokinetic!" Fintan snapped. "Tell me, are there any other flowers that could remain intact under such an inferno?"

Marella couldn't think of any.

And the Noxflares still didn't burn when the Fintan hologram added yellow flames to the fiery mix.

but other than clearly being fire-resistant, Marella didn't see the Noxflares actually doing anything--and the hologram of Fintan must've been equally unimpressed.

He frowned at the flaming petals and dragged a hand down his face, mumbling "something's missing."

"Still not seeing the point of this," Marella noted. "I mean..."

Her voice trailed off as the tiny Fintan waved his arms again and blasted the Noxflares with pink flames--which made the flowers spray sparks in every direction.

The effect was breathtaking.

Kind of like the sky during the Celestial Festival.

But that still didn't necessarily scream, THIS MEMORY IS IMPORTANT.

"How come the grass isn't catching fire?" she asked, grasping for anything that might be significant. "Do the Noxflares protect it or something?"

"No, I was protecting it. A pyrokinetic should always be in control of their flames."

He sounded so smug Marella was tempted to remind him that he let five Pyrokinetics die when he tried to teach them how to call down Everblaze and they all lost control--but that would probably make him throw one of his tantrums and send her away.

She needed the cache back first--and to hopefully find something useful in this boring memory. But sadly, all Fintan's hologram did was stare blankly at the stars and mumble "something's missing" again before the image flashed away.

"That's it?" the scary guard demanded, beating Marella to the complaint.

"Yeah, so...you put on a little fire show all by yourself with some spark-shooting flowers," she added, trying to sum up what she'd seen. "You were clearly disappointed by that little show. And then you must've remembered you needed to..."

She waved her hands, cuing Fintan to fill in the blank with whatever was "missing."

But he just stood there, staring at the cache with the same glazed look he always got whenever he started rambling about the beauty of fire--and Marella wished Linh had come with her after all.

Linh could pelt him with snowballs or something to snap him out of it.

But then she realized...

"You never figured out what was missing--did you?"

Fintan blinked and met her gaze. "Noxflares are full of possibility. But they need to burn."

"That doesn't answer my question," Marella noted.

Fintan shrugged. "Context was not part of our bargain."

"yeah, because I figured when I saw the memory, it would be obvious why it's this big Forgotten Secret. How does you setting some flowers on fire and then realizing you did it wrong matter to anyone?"

"I did nothing wrong," Fintan assured her, with a particularly haughty smile--butt Marella wasn't buying it.

There was a tightness around his eyes that was way too familiar.

Her dad had that same tightness every time her mom was having one of her "bad days," and she knew exactly what it meant.

Disappointment.

Frustration.

A hint of helplessness.

So she marched over to the guard and grabbed the frozen Noxflare from the floor--too irritated to even notice how heavy the ice must've been as she hauled it back.

She plopped it in front of Fintan's cell. "Ta-da! One ugly flower, as promised--and I'm sure you're not surprised that I had to freeze it before i brought it down here."

"I'm not." Fintan dropped to his knees and gazed at the Noxflare like he was seeing a long-lost friend.

He pressed his hand against his cell, trying to get as close as he could. "Such power. Such...promise."

"Uh-huh," Marella agreed, letting his stare and stare, hoping it would help him let his guard down.

When his eyes turned a little teary, she went in for the kill.

"But there is something still missing, isn't there? That's why you saved this memory--to remind yourself to keep looking."

A whole lot of painful silence passed before Fintan slowly nodded.

Marella wanted to feel triumphant.

But all she'd done was prove the entire trade had been pointless.

There was no game-changing clue.

No dirty little secret about the past.

Certainly nothing to help them stop their enemies.

And she had a pretty strong hunch the other eight memories in the cache would be just as ridiculous.

"The answer is out there," Fintan murmured. "I can feel it. I just can't grasp it. Perhaps..."

"Perhaps?" Marella prompted when his eyes locked with hers.

Fintan stepped closer to the ice, keeping his voice low, like he didn't want the guard to hear him. "Perhaps a different Pyrokinetic is meant to find the truth. One who's already convinced the Council to trust her."

Marella laughed. "The Council doesn't trust me."

"The fact that you're here for a pyrokinesis lesson says otherwise--particularly since the lesson is with me." He started circling his cell again, mumbling under his breath and nodding. The only words Marella caught were "possible," "improvising," and "best option."

After three more times around the cell, he stopped in front of Marella again, leaning even closer to the icy wall as he whispered, "I believe it's time for me to offer a trade of my own."

"A trade," Marella repeated, not missing the way the scary guard gripped his sword.

Fintan glared at him. "This conversation is between me and my prodigy. She stands here of her own free will, shielded by who knows how many different kinds of protections--and she can leave anytime she pleases. Your presence is no longer needed."

"You still have her gadget," the guard argued.

"I suppose I do. but that can be easily remedied." Fintan set the cache on whatever invisible ledge it had slid down in the first place and gave it a good shove, sending it spinning up the path toward the top of the cell.

The guard had to scramble to catch it when it launched out of the ice bubble.

"See?" Fintan said, shifting his gaze back to Marella. "I can be trusted."

"Pretty sure the only thing I can trust is that you'll do what's best for you," Marella countered.

"As long as you get what you want, why would you care? After all, no matter what, I'm still stuck in here, aren't I?" He waved his arms around his little ice bubble, which suddenly looked way less secure than it had during her other visits. "Oh, relax--all I'm asking for is a little information."

Marella crossed her arms. "Right--and information has never gotten anyone hurt or killed."

"It's not that kind of secret. It's..." He frowned. "Honestly, I don't know what it is--and for someone my age, with my connections, that says something, doesn't it? I doubt any of the Vackers even know the full truth."

"Then how am I supposed to find it?" Marella demanded.

"As I said, you've proven to be quite resourceful. Particularly when you team up with your little friends." He scowled at the guard again before motioning her to step closer--until her ear was practically pressed up against the ice.

A voice in the back of her head kept screaming, WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO HIM?

But...she was curious.

And there was nothing wrong with hearing his offer, was there?

Fintan's breath fogged the ice, obscuring his face as he whispered, "All I ask is that if you ever find out what's missing from the Noxflares, you share it with me."

"Why?" Marella glanced at the frozen flower, wishing she could see something more than just ugly shriveled petals.

"Because I want to know," Fintan said simply. "And because I can give you what you want in return."

"The rest of the memories in your cache," Marella clarified.

Fintan nodded. Then his lips curled into a smile. "And one other--something you've long wondered about, even though you probably don't admit it to yourself."

Marella raised one eyebrow, refusing to show any more interest than that.

Fintan cupped his hands around his mouth and pressed them to the ice before he whispered, "I know what happened to your mother."

Marella sucked in a breath.

"Yes," Fintan added. "I'm talking about her 'accident'--if we can really call it that. I know why she fell. And why her injuries were so incurable."

Marella stumbled back, collapsing into the nearest throne and hugging herself to stop her body from shaking with tremors that had nothing to do with the cold.

A tiny, terrified part of her had always thought the story she'd been told about her mom's fall hadn't totally made sense.

But everyone--everyone--was convinced it had been an accident.

Even her father.

And if it wasn't...

She leaned toward Fintan. "I don't need your games."

"Oh, this definitely isn't a game. But it's the only way you'll ever know the truth, and before you start overthinking everything, consider this: You have all the power here. Make the trade, don't make the trade--it's totally your call. You also don't have to make a decision right away. I'm trapped in this prison. I'll never find the answer on my own--and I'll never know if you find the answer unless you decide to tell me. So there's zero pressure. No one even knows we've had this conversation--and don't worry about the guard. See how frustrated he looks? That's because I made sure he only heard what I wanted him to hear. The rest is our little secret."

Our little secret.

Fintan was probably the last person she should have a secret with.

And yet...he had a point.

No one knew he'd made her this offer--and it wasn't like she'd come to any decision.

She didn't even have the information Fintan wanted anyway!

And with the way their investigations always seemed to go, she'd probably only find a whole lot more questions.

So there was really no point in telling anyone about this.

She could tell them whens he needed to.

If she needed to.

That wouldn't be wrong...would it?

It didn't feel wrong--or it wouldn't have if Fintan's smile wasn't so creepy.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," she said, wanting to make that very clear.

"You're not," Fintan assured her. "So how about we put this out of our minds and get started with our lesson? I'm sure your Hydrokinetic friend is wondering why you haven't come up to practice yet."

Linh was probably starting to worry.

She'd probably also built enough snow animals to make a frozen Sanctuary.

"Fine," Marella said, standing up and dusting ice off her cape. "What do you want me to work on today?"

"How about I teach you how to make those colored flames you saw in the memory," Fintan suggested. "You know, in case that ever comes in handy."

He winked, and the guard groaned and held out the cache to Marella. "Sound like I'm no longer needed."

"You aren't" Fintan agreed.

The guard growled--looking scarier than ever--and turned to march away. But he spun back after a few steps. "He's right that I don't know what he offered you. But I can tell you're tempted. And I hope you're smart enough to reject it. Never make a deal with someone who has nothing to lose."

"I'm not," Marella promised.

And she wasn't.

She hadn't made any decisions--except to keep this to herself. But that didn't mean anything.

She was just trying to avoid a ton of drama and arguing and having people give her advice she didn't need.

Plus, everyone has secrets.

Shoot--the great Sophie Foster had more secrets than anyone.

So it was fine.

Everything was fine.

Nothing had changed.

Time to focus on controlling her fire.

And yet, for the rest of the lesson, the tiny spark in her heart burned hotter and hotter and hotter. Whispering a new plea.

Trust me.

Trust me.

Trust me.

[nescaveckwriter]

Just One More🌟

Line: Please be quiet, I haven't had enough coffee yet, to deal with this 😱 will be in bold

A/N: YAY! Yet another one done for @jacklesversebingo 🐞 ... I heard the song from 'Little big town' and it was just too perfect, I had this idea, and well it ran away with me . 💕 I sure do hope y'all enjoy this ...💕

Warnings: 18+ Only! Some language🫣, angst,😱 heartbreak,🥺smut.🥵

Characters: Beau Arlen x Female Reader.

Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva.

Words:2464 😅

The smell of freshly brewed coffee, fills the air, the brownish - gold liquid getting poured into the white cup, stirring in a few drops of milk, as the mug touches your lips, the liquid warms the inside of your mouth, the bold, bitter taste awakening all your senses, almost swirling around the liquid before swallowing, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to hold out reality a little longer, rubbing your fingers over the printed logo, 'M...R...S' a smirk, on your lips, regretting that you took the mug of the set of two 'Mr. & Mrs.' mugs, gold  lettering, like the wedding bands, you were so excited the day you picked it up from the little décor shop, on your honeymoon, looking back now, it seems like a  lifetime ago. The footsteps, coming from the guest bedroom, let's your eyes flung open, revealing the half-open boxes stacked everywhere.

The deep Texan, in his voice, almost echoing through the half packed up house, "Morning" he clears his throat "Uhmm, how do we..." Before he could finish his sentence, you look at him, your eyes throwing darts at his green-hazel eyes. "Please be quiet, I haven't had enough coffee yet, to deal with this"

A little sarcastic giggle escapes his lips, "oh yeah! Well we'll have to deal with this sometime"

You get up out the chair, standing straight up, but your husband, well soon to be ex-husband still towering over you, revealing how much smaller you are than him. "I said, I don't want to deal with this right now, can't I just have one last quiet morning in our... Uhmm in this house"

Irritation evident in his voice "listen, I just want this to be over so that we can go on with our lives"

"Well so sorry, I'm taking so much time, to just pack everything up and throw away the life we built" you hissed

"Excuse me! We both made the decision to get a divorce"

 You voice barely audible "yeah I know" swallowing the emotion in your voice "I just got back from my shift at the hospital and I just need to freshen up first, then I will help sorting through the stuff okay"

His voice soft, "how was your shift?"

As you put the coffee mug in the kitchen sink you whisper "it was okay, we lost a patient today, bad car accident"

His eyes saddened as he knows how much it affects you "I'm so sorry darl..." He stops himself before finishing his sentence.

You just walk away, towards your once shared bedroom, knowing he most probably wanted to say darling, the little pet name he always used for you.

As you get into the shower, letting the hot water run over you, you let go of the hold on the floodgates behind your eyes, sobbing frantically now, holding your hand over your mouth, so that you can dampen the noises, your body shaking, as your mind drift, to the events of the past few weeks, you and Beau both agreed to get a divorce, the two of you got so busy with every day life, that the two of you started to drift further and further away, its so ironic the same jobs that brought the two off you together, is also tearing you apart.

The two of you met, while he came in, with a knife wound to his arm, and as you treated him, well it was love at first sight so too say. As you fall down, cradling your knees as the water runs over you, recalling the years you've been together, you always thought getting a divorce at your age won't happen, but well your here now. The thing that breaks you, is no-one cheated, the two of you just fought all the damn time, and him being Sheriff and you being a ER doctor, working mostly night shifts, you were living past each other, when you got home, he's leaving for work, and when he gets back home, your leaving for your shift.

You can't even recall the last time you two kissed, never less touched. You were so in love, so passionate and now all that has gone too hell. Getting up, and stepping out of the shower, opting out for a pair of your favorite worn out jeans, with a old t-shirt, not realizing it's one of his shirts, but hey, it's already on you, so what the heck. Throwing your hair into a messy bun, you don't real seem to care how homeless you look as your heart already feel homeless.

Glancing through your bedroom, everywhere boxes labeled his and hers, as you two are going to put your house up for rent and then split the profits between the two off you. As you take the bottle of perfume, spritzing it in the nape of your neck and some on your wrist, a small smile forms on your lips as you remember, Beau gave it to you for your birthday last year, he always did take such notice in the smallest of details. But that memory crumbles quickly as you see the stack of divorce documents, on your dresser, both of you agreed to sign it when you where done sorting everything in the house.

You rush down the stairs, furious and determined to get this over and done with, unsure of how much your heart can handle. Peeking through the living room, you don't see him anywhere, then you catch a glimpse of his brownish hair getting tossed in the wind as he sits on the porch with a cup of coffee, you always did like the way the moonlight danced in his eyes, the way the little garden lights revealed his freckles, oh damn you love his small freckles, that stained his cheeks and his nose, and not too even talk about his perfectly kissable lips. What the hell is wrong with you, your about to divorce that man. You just turn around and walk towards the living room, starting to sort through some stuff.

Getting up out of the wooden chair, holding the mug in his hand, his rough calloused fingers running over the lettering 'M...R' , his eyes squinting as he recalls the day you got that, on your honeymoon.. well that and books, both off you liked too read, but well there weren't much reading done those two weeks, he was too busy exploring every single part of your body. As he peeks into the house, seeing the way your kneeling, looking through what seems to be picture albums, he can't help but to admire the way your body fills out his shirt, the way you've got your hair up with loose strings off hair, framing your beautiful face and neck, a smile tugging at his lips, as he recalls how ticklish you were as he placed loving kisses, sending shivers down your spine. The sound of you giggling always made him feel alive, you made him feel alive, made him feel whole and now, well now his left with a hole in his heart.

Dammit what's the matter with him, his about to divorce that woman, how can he feel this way, is it just the memories, of your shared home, your shared love, why did all of these feelings have to rush back, how is he suppose to just simply act like he wants this, because he sure as hell does not want too loose you, but he loves you too damn much to not give you what you want, a chance too be happy again. So he'll go through with the divorce, knowing both of you said that's what needed to be done, so he just wants this over and done with, he can't stand being in your presence and not kiss you, not hold you, not tell you how much he loves you.

Spending the rest of the hours in an awkward silence, as the two of you sort through the memories that was build. But it's you who breaks the silence, kicking a empty box on the ground "it's 2 in the morning, I'm going to bed"

He's not really sure why he was so irritated by your comment but he started snapping at you "what? we should finish this, now"

Your jaw drops, you roll your eyes "excuse me! I'm tired" you bite your lower lip, but then decide to say it anyway "I'm tired of pretending that it's fine being in the same room as you"

A smirk on his plum lips "oh, its that bad being around me?" 

Crossing your arms in front of you "you said it, I didn't" 

Shaking his head "Woman you are driving me crazy"

"Oh yeah! Well you are driving me insane" you snap back

He strides closer towards you, his deep husky voice "is that the best you can come up with"

Throwing your arms up in the air "why do you want to make me angry" her voice brittle "is this what you want, me breaking down in front off you"

For a few seconds there was a softness in his eyes, but then his jaw hardens again "you have no idea what I want woman"

Enraged now "just leave it, all of this take what you want and give the rest away, I don't give a damn anymore, I'm done, with this, with you, with us, with everything"

He can't help but to examine the way your lips move, when you scream at him, he always did find you very sexy, as you were furious, going on about something, the way your whole body moves as your anger took over you, the way your hips swayed, when you'd explain what he did wrong, but by then you've lost him, he was too busy inspecting every little nose crinkle, every movement you made. Without any warning he cups your face, his lips crashes against yours. When he finally pulls away, both off you trying to catch your breath. For a few seconds you just stood there, your voice breathy "we... we can't do this" you turn around, but he grabs ahold of you, holding you in his arms, your back against his chest, his hot breath by your ear as he whispers "darling, tell me you don't want me, and I'll let you go" it send shivers down your spine. 

Merely a whisper that escapes your lips, "kiss me Beau, as if you never stopped loving me" as his fingers trail down your neck, raking the loose hair away, through the kisses he places down your neck, to your collarbone, his fingers sliding the t-shirt over your shoulder, his lips, trailing against your skin, a low roar escapes his lips "I never did stop loving you darling"

Those words coming from him, makes you turn around, looking up towards his eyes, searching those hazel-green orbs, for any indication, how he truly feels. Placing your hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble of his beard underneath your touch, you know you're probably going to regret this in the morning, but your fingers trace down to his lips, as if you want to take in this work of art. Standing on your tippy toes, leaning in so that you can taste his lips, just one more time. 

He claims your lips, as if he was starving, your tongues doing a passionate dance, his right hand holding the back of your neck, and his left hand holds on to your lower back, as he pulls you in even closer, not breaking the kiss once, your hands raking through his hair, as you want him closer, closer than ever before. He pushes you against the wall, tugging at the hem of your shirt, helping him to remove the clothing, through the kisses, and heartbeats racing, his hand roams your body, picking you up as you wrap your legs around his waist, but as he makes his way towards the couch, not breaking the kiss, he knocks over a stack of boxes, making him stumble and come to a fall, you lay on top off him, both of you laughing so hard it echoes through the house, its the first time in a long time that this house have heard so much laughter, he pulls you in for yet another kiss, and as you two lay there on the floor in front of the fire place, exploring each other as if its for the first time, not saying much, just sweet little moans, and whimpers escapes your lips, as your bodies does the talking for you. Not really sure, when but sometime during the early morning hours, both of you have fallen asleep, entangled, skin on skin, wrapped in each other's love. 

You've woken up, by his calloused fingers running up and down your back, your head on his chest, slightly lifting your eyes too study his face, his glancing up towards the ceiling, a smile on his lips, his eyes almost sparkling, as he realizes your awake, he looks down at you, placing a kiss on your forehead, "Morning Darling" you smile as you sweet voice greets him "Morning babe"

He starts laughing a little "so last night happened" you mockingly hit his chest, "Not funny, were supposed to get a divorce" 

He looks at you, eyes filled with love "about that! I don't want to divorce you, I want to be your husband, forever like we vowed" 

Stunned "what! I thought you wanted this"

"No, somewhere during yesterday I realized, I still love, you. No! that's a lie, I never did stop loving you"

A smile forming your lips "Neither did I, I was so frustrated, I wanted you, this , us our house, but I was too afraid to say it."

Sitting upright now, taking you hands in his "Darling, that's what I want, I want us too, we can work it out, we can get through this can't we?"

Pulling the throw, a little tighter over your body, as the crisp morning air, makes you shiver a bit. "Babe I think we can, we should just make time for each other."

Nodding his head, making his longer brownish hair fall in front of his eyes, a smile forming on his plum lips, revealing the age lines around his eyes, "Yes my sweet darling, I agree, but what do you say we tear up those divorce papers, and give the two of us just one more try"

A laugh escapes your lips "Yes, a million times yes. I love you"

Leaning down to place a kiss on your lips, this time, gentle little kisses as, he whispers through the kisses I.... Love... You... Too... Darling"

You can't help but too smile through the kisses knowing your heart aren't homeless no more, your home in your husbands arms. As the two of you come up for some air, you glance at the boxes stacked everywhere, half of the house is packed up, you smile at your husband, "babe, we just have to do one more thing!"

Confused he looks at your beautiful face, "Yes my darling, and will that be."

Laughing now, "we are going too spend over off weekend unpacking and moving back into our home"

A mischievous grin on his face "Please be quiet, I haven't had enough coffee yet, to deal with this" 

The two of you burst into laughter, taking in each other, knowing there's a lot of work to do, not just the unpacking but the rebuilding of your lives together. But with your husbands hand interlacing yours, you know that it's possible, anything is possible, with the person you love the most, by your side, ready to fight for your marriage and content in knowing you love each other, you sat there with your head resting on his chest, as you watch the fire place , the way the flames dances in a fiery passion after it's ignited, brings you nope, knowing, just one more try is all you need.  

[sokkastyles]

ATLA Live Action Ep 1 Thoughts:

When the writers meant they wanted it to be like game of thrones, clearly they meant "we want the battles to happen in complete darkness so nobody can see what is going on," and not, you know, the sex stuff.

Idk why this never occurred to me until now but ostrich horse is chocobo.

They are clearly going for a darker, more grittier feel here, but it clashes with the attempt to keep things true to the animated origin. Like, the earth kingdom OC looks straight out of some more realistic Adult fantasy show, whereas Sozin's character design makes him look like evil Santa.

So firebenders are able to do that to bodies, which I appreciate from a fanfic perspective and also confirms what people have been theorizing about the agni kai, that Ozai put his hand on his son's face. Not sure it was necessary to see it, though. The original does a good job of horrifying us with implied violence and the adults already get it, while showing it makes it less accessible to a younger audience. This is hardly a problem unique to this show, though.

Air nomads actually riding sky bison!

I like having more background with the air nomads and Aang's actor is great but front-loading the flashbacks doesn't work great for the pacing.

One thing I do really like is the emphasis on how the war damaged the harmony of the nations in more than just a spiritual way. No one has friends from other nations now. Zuko comes seeking "someone who does not belong" with the (false) promise that no one will get hurt if everyone keeps to themselves, keeps the status quo. The air nomads are a complete anomaly in a world of division. We are introduced to Aang, Sokka, Katara, and Zuko, and all are isolated in their own way by the war at the beginning of the story.

Overall there is something just weird about the pacing. Characters keep pausing at vital moments of action to deliver exposition or meaningful monologues. It just feels off.

Zuko so desperate for "glory" that he accepts Sokka's proposal to fight one on one (nice foil to the final agni kai by the way). Then his surprise when Aang shows himself reveals that Zuko himself did not know whether he would really find the Avatar in this village he's suddenly shown up to terrorize. God, it just emphasizes how low Zuko is at this point. This is probably his first real high stakes fight and he might have killed Sokka over absolutely nothing out of a false sense that he had something to prove. It's just...sad.

The scene at the Southern Air Temple looked great and had me in tears. I actually saw some criticism of this to the effect of them "ruining Aang's arc" because he comes out of the Avatar state himself, but first of all, let's be real and admit that if mastering the Avatar State was Aang's arc, he never completed it. Second, just because he could bring himself out does not mean he can control it, and he's still letting his emotions control him which is a learning curve for handling that power, it's just that he was able to control his anger in that moment by remembering the people he loved. Which is not that different from how the scene plays out in the original, only he isn't using Katara as a crutch. Which is a good thing, actually. It's much more fitting and poignant that he thinks about Gyatso here.

I don't think there was any mention of Katara wanting to go north. She has a few lines about wanting to help more and Aang teaches her about balance so she can bend now, apparently, but where is her drive? It feels like they're attributing her accomplishments to Aang and that bothers me. Maybe it'll be mentioned in the next episode, since they haven't talked about Aang learning waterbending yet, either. But I do miss the Katara who was ready to banish herself from the village the moment she met Aang not just because it was the right thing to do, but because of her own desire for independence and autonomy.

Liked the scene between Aang and Iroh. It gives us a glimpse of an Iroh who is stuck as to what to do and so he just gives Aang the Zuko treatment by offering him tea. I'd be excited if this means we get to see more development for Iroh.

[gaywatch]

So I started watching the first episode of The Sign, right? I'd had it on my computer for a couple/few days and couldn't immediately remember what it was actually about, but I knew it was a new Thai BL genre mashup thing I'd seen on my dash and that's good enough for me.

A team of special agents infiltrate a big warehouse/facility place at night. Okay. Cool. There are bombs and a hostage? Sure. One guy tells other guys what to do, so he must be the leader, and he tells a few guys to focus on the bombs and the others to find the hostage. They encounter bad guys when they get inside, and some of the fight choreo is cool and some of it is absurd, but I'm just happy to be seeing an action-oriented BL series and I've seen worse crimes committed by a low budget, no big deal.

But it's been a few minutes into the first episode now, and I'm starting to wonder a few things. We have stakes, technically: there are bombs and a hostage--it would be bad if the bombs went off while the team was inside because they would get hurt or killed, and by default we don't want to see a hostage harmed.

But we have no context. At all. I'm five minutes in and I know nothing. Who's the hostage? Who are the bad guys? What do the bad guys want? Why do I care? I'm assuming this is like some quick action-y beginning and we'll cut to a main character at some point to see the "real" first scene of the show, but now it's been like seven minutes and we're still here in this warehouse place. If the special ops team are supposed to be the cast, I haven't heard a single scrap of dialogue that wasn't about the task at hand. I haven't even seen anyone's face yet.

Tagging @bengiyo, @lurkingshan 'cause they were interested in a side comment I made about this in some tags.

Even when they finally start to pull up their masks and talk, it's all immediate business (which is somewhat understandable given they're in danger but we're still lacking important context). Who am I rooting for? Who are these dudes? Why is this one sequence taking over ten minutes without giving me anything or anyone to latch onto? Are they assuming I read a blurb on the premise of the show and then immediately hit play? Because that's a cardinal sin--you never assume that everyone who watches your show or reads your book will know the premise, even in this day and age. You always lay in the necessary exposition/context to immediately anchor the audience into the premise and main character (or cast). (The only time you can assume everyone already knows at least the broad strokes of a concept is in fanfiction, but even then there could still be changes you made that you need to clue people in on from the get go. )

Then Tharn got his first premonition about Phaya, and I was like 'ohhhh, this is a story about a guy with some form of precognition who's in some sort of special forces. I wish they could have brought this up ten minutes ago, but okay.'

And finally, the big reveal: it's all a test! They're trainees, not officers! Well, that certainly explains why we got zero context all this time, because they didn't want to give away The Trick. Except it didn't feel like a clever rug pull at all. Worrying that the audience will clue in to what's going on doesn't mean you get to just Not Tell Them. You mislead them instead. The team could have easily rattled off the necessary details and context about the mission--after the training reveal, we would have chalked it up to practice mission prep. And with no context or reason to care about anything, I sat there for fifteen minutes only to be told that I didn't have to care anyway because it was all staged.

I would have taken any context, even something super cliche and ham fisted. "Okay boys, remember: our old mission commander is being held hostage in there and they'll kill him unless we hand over their psychotic leader. It took us weeks to track them down to this warehouse, and if they escape again it's game over. Don't let me down!" or something, anything for me to latch onto besides Dudes Doing Things. It's okay to mislead the audience, in fact you pretty much have to in order to pull the well worn "it was all an exercise" trick in the first place.

And fifteen minutes to pull all that off was a rather astonishing waste of screen time. The opening scene in the 2009 reboot of Star Trek establishes a handful of characters, makes you care about them, takes them through an amazing high stakes action sequence, and has you in tears at the end as we watch a guy we've only known for a few minutes sacrifice himself to save what's left of the crew as the film's protagonist--his son--is literally born, and it does all of that in almost half the time.

Compare that to The Sign, where in fifteen minutes we know: dudes in black fight things, one guy has premonitions, and actually they're trainees. No complexity, emotional stakes, or context beyond that. I was floored.

But what really made my jaw drop came after that.

A first episode has a lot of heavy lifting to do. You're introducing a world, a cast, promising the type of fun that's to be had, kickstarting the central relationships, etc etc. One of the most fundamental aspects to all this set up is to let us know why the main character/cast is here, what they're trying to do, and why it matters if they fail. And the entire first episode of the sign doesn't have that. At all. Period.

Oh, we're introduced to characters, the harsh training, Tharn's gift, Tharn and Phaya's initial dynamic, but once again we're given no context or emotionally relevant exposition. Who are these dudes? Why are they training? Why do they care about becoming special ops? What's their motivation? Goals? Obstacles in the way of that goal? Motive/Goal/Obstacle is the engine of story, and we're not given a single one until--and this is what blew my mind--almost halfway through the second episode.

In episode two we finally get a line from Tharn's bff about how if Tharn doesn't get onto the special ops team he won't be able to investigate his dad's (parents? can't remember) mysterious death.

A goal! A reason to care about Tharn's training! Emotional investment! Except it's coming way, way, wayyyyyyyyyyy too late. We should have known about this in the first five minutes of episode one. They should've found another fake hostage, Tharn should've lifted his mask and said "shit, if we fail this I'll never have what I need to find out how dad died." THANK YOU, now I have a reason to care.

I was shocked at such a massive oversight, like I'm gonna remember it as a cautionary example for a long time 'cause that's just wild to me.

[minijenn]

Jen Tortures Herself With Every Dreamworks Animated Movie Ever: The Bad Guys

So this is yet another Dreamworks movie I've heard nothing but good things about but just never got around to watching for some reason or another. And now that I have watched it, all I can say is what the fuck how did I sleep on this absolute gem of a film for so long???? Its so good, ya'll, SO damn good! So let's get into all of the many reasons why!

The Bad Guys are a group of infamous criminals, made up of the cunning Snake, master of disguise Shark, loose-canon Piranha, hacker Tarantula, and the leader of the pack, Wolf. After getting caught attempting to pull of a daring heist, the Bad Guys pretend to work on going good to pull off an even greater heist... until Wolf begins to wonder if being good might not be so bad after all.

So let me just say, the plot here is brilliant. Like seriously, there were some twists and turns here (especially toward the end) that had me YELLING over how genuis they were. It's extremely tightly crafted, sharply written, and pulled together by an incredibly charming cast that you just love to watch. It's a thrilling ride from start to end and I was excited to see where it would go next with every new scene.

The characters, like I said, are really great! Wolf is a really well-developed lead who goes through a pretty compelling arc, same with Snake (seriously, the fakeout with him toward the end had me in awe, what a total pro) and a good deal of the drama in the film lies between those two. The other Bad Guys are a bit less in focus, but they're still really fun and all play off each other really well too. Also, Diane, the governor??? Holy shit ya'll? She's AMAZING. Not gonna spoil the twist involving her but let me just say she is so damn COOL like oh my god.

This movie does attempt a twist villain but like... idk Marmalade isn't really that much of a twist villain? From the moment he showed up I said to myself "oh, he's the villain isn't he?" and I was proven right, but like... the reveal of how he set the Bag Guys up from the very start was so clever that I couldn't even be upset about it. This tiny motherfucker played them up until the very end where he finally got his comeuppance. Good villain. Not the best, but still, pretty good.

The humor here is pretty fun, with some jokes that genuinely had me laughing out loud. Of course, it couldn't quite help itself with a few fart jokes here and there, which... ermmm aren't quite my up of tea. Still, it balances that humor out well with some pretty compelling drama and a lot of heart that really helps to engage you in the story they're telling here.

Also the animation??? Oh my GOD the way this movie looks is INSANE. Like, just the character designs alone are so fresh and interesting compared to what Dreamworks has done in the past. There's this overall stylization to this movie that's very sharp and unique, and it just makes it a feast for the eyes. The way the characters move too, very fast and snappy, as if they're 2-d characters instead of 3-d. Lots of exagerrated motions and facial expressions, it's all very silly, yes, but it works so well with the tone this movie is trying to pull off.

So yeah, I hella loved this one. I'm so mad at myself for not watching this when it first came out, because its such a joy ride from start to finish. So stylish, so witty, so engaging, and so fun! I had a great time with The Bad Guys, and if you haven't seen it yet, you should, because chances are, you will too.

Rating: 9/10

Verdict: IS THAT FUCKING KINGDOM HEARTS????

Previous Review (The Boss Baby: Family Business)

Next Review (Puss in Boots: The Last Wish)

[girlonthefireescape]

I finally got to see All of Us Strangers last night, and I went from HUH. OKAY?? to WT actual F over the course of a few hours and am now at a mixture of HUH. OKAY?? and WTF, I think.

I think what it comes down is: This wasn't the tragedy I expected and definitely not the one I wanted??

Like, I went into this knowing the few Harry/Adam scenes you get in gifs sets (I skipped the ones with Adam's parents because that seemed too spoilery! LOL) and the bits you get from official summaries -- like that the parents are dead/ghosts/what have you.

And then I got to the point in the movie at which I thought, well, is everyone a ghost/dead then? And then we got to the ending and that penultimate scene -- after we'd resolved the bit with the parents -- and it was like, surely not? They're surely not actually gonna go there? And then they did, and I didn't even know what to do with that, but it still wasn't unexpected -- not really? The unexpected bit was more the fact that it was actually the thing that happened. And then the gut punch I didn't even think about as an option was the reveal that not only had he been dead the whole time but no, the key moment and turning point was that first meeting, and I now have 6 pages of notes app notes that I wrote down on my journey home from the cinema, so I can discuss this with my friend once she's seen it and to make sense of my thoughts and feelings, and I still don't know what I'm supposed to do with this movie and this ending now! (Side note: Although writing this really helped?? lol)

Kudos to the entire cast, though! I love Andrew Scott's work, anyway, and I thought his performance felt beautifully stripped back and bare and honest. And I was really intrigued by Paul Mescal. I'd seen him (obv) in Normal People (which wasn't really my favourite show) and The Lost Daughter (I'd forgotten he was even in it until recently), but he didn't really stick with me in terms of his performance or the roles I'd seen him in. But this felt so different and like he threw himself so into that character that wasn't even in that many scenes, he really disappeared into the part for me. I also found that character so interesting, especially in retrospect, because while Harry represented a different generation (loved that bit, especially the discussion of queer vs. gay), his purpose in the narrative was also to be there for Adam. And then the bit at the end when we learn that Adam could've been there for him -- but also couldn't be. Or rather, Harry needed someone to be there for him, and he reached out (had the courage or maybe desperation to) and no one reached back.

That bit where Adam told him in the end that he hadn't been ready to or couldn't let him in like, obviously on the metaphorical level. But it also made me think about it at the level of well, this is a drunk stranger standing in front of your door saying weird things, and you're the only two people in the building. Like, is this a threat? Depends on which genre we're in. Which now reminds me of... Was it a tweet or a post on here or general writing advice? The bit where the characters don't know which genre they're in, so they're not necessarily acting in accordance with the genre guidelines. Like, is this a meetcute or is this person going to rob and/or murder you? Anyway...

I haven't really read any of the reviews yet or watched the actors talk about the movie, so I don't now how we all feel about the question of ghosts vs. hallucinations (vs. dreams vs. at some point I thought about whether this was all part the story/script Adam was writing). And I don't know if it actually matters what they were.

I knew there would be tragedy in this because of the few vague reactions I'd seen, but I expected it to be in the relationship with the parents and not the romance. That subversion! (Was it really one?) Although, the tragedy wasn't even necessarily in the romance but in the figure of Harry in the end? Or emotionally, that's where I was, anyway. The way Adam lost his parents but got to 'resolve' his conflict with them while Harry's parents were still alive but he might as well have been a ghost. Also, the bit where he was a ghost to his family but very visible and corporeal to Adam!

I just read a post that mentioned that different people would take different things from this movie, and that's always so interesting. It reminds me of how different people took different things from Poor Things, which I saw only a couple of weeks ago and ended up being really annoyed with.

I didn't cry at the ending. It happened so fast and was so expected but unexpected -- the ominous music in that scene and also in earlier scenes?? I didn't even have time to process this in order to have a reaction. I did tear up at the Christmas scene, though. The relationship between Adam and his parents, especially with his dad, felt really true and honest and recognisable, especially given the 80s context.

I even laughed a few times now that I think about it! And I think the entire theatre had a (maybe relieved) chuckle when Adam and his dad had muddled their way through the stereotype discussion and in the end agreed that no, Adam can indeed not throw for shit.

I think I'll probably need to see this again at some point. I read this article on how Disney (in line with the streamers in general) wants to stop selling physical media and how this might affect a DVD release, and oh, fuck that. Give us the DVD! I want to put this on my shelf!

[boltedfruit]

How I Outline/Plot: Including Author Resources for Developing Characters and Self Publishing

First and foremost, everything I’ve included in this doc that references resources (such as the plot outline below), is also available for free on the authors’ respective websites. I just wanted to recreate the template Scrivener file I use when starting a new project as I’ve collected everything in one master file.

MASTER TEMPLATE GOOGLE DOC: https://tinyurl.com/boltemp

I recently posted the chapter count for my upcoming Mafia MM romance I'm writing for NaNoWriMo this year and was asked how I plot by @duckyreads

Below, I've included screenshots of the first couple beats of my process and how much detail I usually include when outlining. The template I'm working from is an edited one of Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes, who offers her beat sheet for free on her site and in a Scrivener Template.

Using Romancing the Beat, I first went through and made a separate page for each story beat for my protagonist, Zac. I can't do just normal three act structure as it's too vague for me. I need Too Much to work with, then I can whittle it down later. I then did the same for the love interest and Mafia boss, Joe. (name might be changed idk yet.)

The colored dots represent which act of the story I'm in. Light pink= Act 1: Set Up, Dark Pink= Act 2: Falling, Blue= Act 3: Retreating, and Purple= Act 4: Shake it Off.

I also want to note that even though the epilogue is written in for both characters' POV, I'm only writing it once, from Zac's POV. So not every single beat necessarily translates directly into its own chapter. A few from Joe's POV are definitely combined more than once.

So Chapter 1, Scene 1: Zac's sister Riley has made him a dating profile and set him up on a date with who will soon be revealed as a crime lord.

I'm repetitive, because I've gone back in at different points and added little notes here and there. But my basic points I want to convey right off the bat: Zac is a hot mess who drinks to excess at times, has a sister who loves him but he is always putting her in a hard position, and has issues with money and violence from his childhood.

I also like to include some dialogue or rough snippets for scenes because it helps make the scene feel more concrete to me. I don't always do this though.

This is Chapter 1, Scene 2. Very short and to the point. (This was something I originally started writing as a fic btw.)

This is Chapter 2, Scene 1 and is the first from Joe's perspective.

It's plotty compared to the first chapter. I haven't done any nitty gritty location research yet so I put stuff I don't know yet in asterisks or brackets or in something like "XXX", because XXX is easy to find and change with ctrl+f > replace.

This is from Chapter 3, Scene 1. Just vibes.

This is from Chapter 4, Scene 2, from Joe's POV after the date.

This is what I ended up with. I'm sure as I work through it, the chapter count will go down. I don't really want my romance book to be so long, but I saw recently that 50 Shades is apparently over 500 pgs, which is wild to me. I'm also doing alternating POV, so it'll be switching between my protag and the love interest.

My outlining/plotting steps:

Decide on genre and type of story structure I want to use.

Decide on my protagonist and lay out a new page/note for every story beat of whatever structure I'm using.

Go in order or jump around and write a little per beat based on how I want a scene to go. For me, feeling is more important than knowing exactly what's going to happen. I'm not naturally a plotter, so I still like to not be constrained when I'm actually writing. (ie I'm not adhering to some rigid word count per chapter.) And if I changed something or added a thing while writing, I go back to the outline after and add it in so it all lines up and I don't forget something I did.

If a beat doesn't fit its own chapter, I make it a scene. It's also okay for multiple beats to happen in one chapter too.

Do the same for any other POVs involved in the story. Try to make each character have their own arc as well, no matter how small.

Really my main advice is go with your gut first because you can always add on or retract later. Write what you want (with some awareness of genre tropes/audience wants if you're trying to write to market to some extent). All book publishing is fickle and mean a lot of the time. And honestly unless you're one of the few who gets picked up by traditional publishers and offered an amazing deal, you'll be expected to pay for all the things you'd be paying for with self publishing, except with fewer rights to your own work. I'd rather pay and manage my own website, ads, and ARC readers and retain total rights to my own creations than give my rights to a publisher who might hold my book up for years, and still expect me to fund my own advertising, book tours etc.

And besides, if you self publish, there is no rule you can't have another book (and then even your backlog) traditionally published later on. You can have both.

[kotlc-deleted-scenes]

Stellarlune Paperback Edition Marella Short Story

Hello, wonderful Keeper readers! Some of you might already know that I love to sneak a little something extra into the paperback versions of my books whenever I can (since I don't think hardcover readers should get to be the only ones who sometimes find fun bonuses). For those who didn't know that: surprise! ☺

I knew I wanted to include a story from Marella's POV this time. Not only is she on the cover (looking fierce and fabulous!) and a fan-favorite character, but she also had some key scenes in Stellarlune that we only got to "hear" about. The Keeper books are limited to Sophie's POV, so I can only include moments where Sophie is present—and since Sophie didn't go with Marella to her meetings with Fintan, we only learn what Marella tells Sophie later. But what if there was something Marella didn't share?

Over the next few pages, you can watch one of Marella's conversations with Fintan play out in real time and hear all Marella's thoughts and reactions to what's happening. I've called this story "The Trade"—and I've worked in lots of fun little extra details (some of which might even turn out to be important later…*wink*). For those wondering, this story is based on a scene in chapter 31 of Stellarlune—and if you haven't read Stellarlune yet: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! Reading this first will probably be confusing and will also give away a few tidbits too early. You'll be much happier if you start by reading Stellarlune and then come back here for all the Marella fun once you're done.

Happy reading!

—Shannon Messenger

THE TRADE 

Marella

“Ugh, I hate this place,” Marella muttered, shaking the freshly fallen snowflakes out of her gilded blond hair much harder than necessary and yanking her thick velvet cape tighter around her narrow shoulders. 

She said the same thing every time she had to trudge through the knee-high snowdrifts and found herself staring at the icicle-crusted entrance to the now familiar cave. Didn't matter how many times she'd gone there—or how important her visits were. 

She was never not going to dread making the long, slippery trek down to Fintan's frozen cell. The cave looked like some sort of open-mouthed snow beast Mating to devour everything in its path—which was probably intentional, since the prison was designed to be as miserable as possible. 

Especially for someone like her. 

The goblin guards even gave her pitying stares as they moved aside to reveal the endless icy path that wound down and down and down a whole lot more to a place where the tiniest glimmer of heat had long since been swallowed up by the suffocating cold. 

No amount of clothing could keep Marella warm in the heart of the prison. She'd actually tried wearing so many layers that she'd looked like an overstuffed gulon and she still couldn't stop shivering. And the whole "body temperature regulation" thing wasn't exactly possible when she had to use so much concentration to make sense of Fintan's ranting. 

It wasn't fair. 

Everyone else got to train their special abilities in fancy rooms at Foxfire, with Mentors who weren't creepy, unstable murderers. 

But they weren't Pyrokinetics. 

Marella was lucky the Council was letting her use her ability at all. 

They could just as easily label her Talentless, kick her out of their snobby academy, and ban her from ever sparking another flame. 

Or they could decide she was too dangerous and lock her away. 

In fact, Marella wouldn't have been surprised at all if the Council was already building an icy cage just for her—but the thought still made her shiver and she wished she could have manifested as…

Nope.

She stopped herself from finishing that sentence. 

If life had taught her anything, it was that there's no point wanting things that were never going to happen. 

Instead, she focused on the thin beams of sunlight streaking through a gap in the gloomy gray clouds. The light was far from warm, but if she really concentrated, she could feel a hint of lingering heat tangled among the brightness. 

She called the warmth closer and soaked it in—let it pool under her skin, pounding with her pulse, swelling with every heartbeat. Growing hotter and hotter and hotter until…

Snap! 

A flick of her fingers sent a small tangle of flames sparking to life above her left palm. 

"Feel better?" Linh asked as Marella let out a long, slow sigh. 

Marella nodded—though she definitely could've done without the whispers that were now hissing around her head. 

The flames had a soft, crackly voice. And they always made the same plea. 

Feed me. 

Feed me. 

Feed me. 

Fire craved fuel—constantly wanting more, more, more—and it would've been so easy for Marella to let the fire swell bigger and bigger and bigger.

But that was the kind of thing that would lead to a lifetime of shivering in an underground ice cube, so she forced her gaze to shift to Linh, who stood in a small, snowless circle surrounded by a halo of hovering snowflakes—-none daring to touch her long silver-tipped hair or shimmery purple cape.

Marella knew how hard Linh had fought to achieve that level of control, and how tentative Linh's hold over her ability still was. But the fact Linh could stand in a sea of frozen water and do nothing except keep the falling snow from settling on her flushed pink cheeks was very…

Annoying.

Then again, everyone annoyed Marella a little.

Her dad used to call her "fiery" long before he realized how accurate that description truly was.

But it wasn't Marella's fault!

People tended to be annoying.

Especially a Hydrokinetic who was currently looking all peaceful and pretty and perfect while making snowflakes flutter and spin in intricate patterns.

That didn't mean Marella wasn't also grateful that Linh was willing to tag along to her Pyrokinetic lessons. it was nice to see a friendly face after hours of Fintan's rambling. Plus, it seemed like a good idea to have someone with water powers around while she practiced setting things on fire.

They were even finding some pretty cool ways to work together. Fire and water might be opposites—but that didn't mean they couldn't be combined. Marella had actually figured out a way to ignite Linh's rain, and she couldn't wait to use that little trick on the Neverseen—assuming those black-cloaked losers ever showed up again.

For a fearsome, unstoppable rebellion, they sure spend a lot of time hiding.

"Are you going to start by asking him about the cache or do the lesson first?" Linh asked, reminding Marella why they were there.

Marella shrugged. "Depends on Fintan's mood."

Sometimes he was already babbling about some fancy new fire trick when she arrived, as if he'd started the lesson without bothering to wait for her. Other times she couldn't get anywhere with him until she'd let him go on and on and on about how foolish the Council was, or how badly he'd been wronged, or how much he missed the feel of a flickering flame—and she didn't necessarily blame him for the last one.

Part of her wanted to hold on to her fireball forever.

Make it her smoky little pet.

Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist and snuffed it out—but she didn't let all the heat dissipate. She called a single tingling glint deeper, letting it sear through her veins and settle into her heart.

She knew it was a risky move, even with all the defenses she wrapped around it. But she couldn't bear the cold emptiness of Fintan's prison without a least a tiny fleck of warmth tucked away.

A secret spark whispering, I'm here. You're not alone.

"Okay," she said, weaving a few strands of her hair together to clam her twitchy fingers. She'd picked up the nervous habit years ago—after her mom's accident—and the tiny braids were kind of her trademark now. "i guess I should stop stalling and head down to deal with Sir Creepysparks, huh?"

Linh smiled. "Probably. Unless you want to rehearse what you're going to say."

"Nah. I'm just going to offer him an ugly flower—that doesn't exactly need a big speech. Oh, but that reminds me…"

She reached into her cape pocket and pulled out the spiky dark blue Noxflare—which looked more like a dying weed than a super-rare flower—and held it up to the guards. "Mr. Forkle already checked this before I brought it here, to make sure it's safe for me to offer to Fintan. but I figured you'd want to check it too."

"We do," they agreed in unison as one of the biggest, deadliest-looking guards took the Noxflare from Marella and brought it over to the other goblins.

A lot of mumbling about potential kindling and fire hazards followed.

Eventually, the guards decided to quick-freeze the Noxflare into a block of ice in case there was any heat stored inside.

"Whoa," Marella said when the scary guard returned with the flower-filled ice cube—which had turned out as big as her head. "How heavy is that thing?"

The guard studied Marella's skinny arms. "I can carry it for you if you'd like."

"That'd probably be smart." Marella was pretty sure she'd drop it, or her fingers would freeze off during the long walk—and using telekinesis would drain her mental energy. "But can you stay out of sight? I was planning to tell Fintan he can only see his weird flower thing if he gives me access to his memories, and that's kinda ruined if there's a giant goblin holding it right next to me.

Not that it made the plan any less pointless.

Fintan was obviously going to turn her down.

He's already made it super clear that the only trade he was interested in was for his freedom—which was never going to happen.

Marella doubted a dying flower frozen in ice was suddenly going to make him be like, You know what? Who needs out of this horrible prison when I can have that!

But she was out of other ideas.

And Sophie wanted her to try the Noxflare thing, so…

Whatever.

Marella didn't care about Sophie's current power trip the way Stina did.

As long as she didn't have to be the one coming up with all the plans—or almost dying all the time—Marella was fine following orders. Especially if she got to say I told you so when they turned out to be a huge waste of time.

"Sure you don't want me to come with you?" Linh asked as Marella pulled thick gloves onto her hands. "Fintan likes me."

Marella wasn't sure if "like" was the right word, since Fintan didn't seem to like anybody. But he'd definitely been impressed with Linh.

He'd demanded to speak with "the Hydrokinetic" after Marella mentioned she practiced her pyrokinesis with Linh, so Marella had convinced the goblin guards to let Linh down into the prison. And when Fintan asked for a demonstration of Linh's ability to ensure she wouldn't "hinder his training," Linh had stirred up all the ice shards on his floor and made them rain around him like he was trapped inside a snow globe—which actually made him applaud.

Apparently, most Hydrokinetics struggled to manipulate water in its solid form, and were limited to liquid water or water vapor.

But not Linh.

Of course.

Marella was pretty sure that Linh was more powerful than any of her other friends.

"Well, if you need me, you know where to find me," Linh said as Marella forced her feet to carry her into the cave. "I'll just be here, making another snow menagerie." She flicked her wrist and wove the hovering snowflakes into a soaring alenon.

"Ugh, at least make some ugly creatures this time," Marella called over her shoulder. "I want to see a row of snow ghouls when I get back here. Or a giant Princess Purryfins!"

Linh gasped. "Princess Purryfins is not ugly! I'm going to tell her you said that!"

Marella laughed. "I'm sure you will."

She would've teased Linh more about her ridiculous obsession with her pet murcat, but the frigid air from the prison hit Marella hard, and she had to lock her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

At least she didn't have to make the journey by herself this time.

Marella could hear the scary goblin guard keeping pace several steps behind her as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim blue light cast by a series of glowing spheres dangling from the ceiling. The downward slope grew steeper with each winding curve, and Marella was always tempted to try sliding down the icy floor instead of walking—but she'd probably end up crashing into one of the weird ice thrones outside Fintan's cell. And she knew better than anyone that injuries couldn't always be healed.

Plus, the trudge gave her a chance to add extra defenses to the heat she'd tucked away in her chest.

She often wondered if Fintan had hidden a few sparks of his own when he was arrested. After all, he had to know the Council would put him on ice for the rest of eternity. Wouldn't he try to preserve what little heat he could?

But Marella had stretched out her senses a zillion different ways and never felt the slightest tingle of warmth when she was around him. So either there was nothing to find or Fintan was that good.

She had a horrible feeling it was the latter, and he was waiting for just the right moment to reveal his grand plan—but that wasn't the kind of thing she should be thinking about before having to face him.

Still, she spent the next few turns trying to figure out what she'd do if she were right.

Her feet turned numb while she plotted, and her bones were officially aching by the time the path widened— the only warning that they were getting close to Fintan's cell.

A few curves later, his cage came into view: a stark, icy bubble in the center of a circular cavern.

The round wall was reflective on the inside, so even though Marella could see Fintan pacing along the edge of his frozen barricade, he wouldn't be able to see her until she triggered the sensor by sitting in one of the freezing thrones positioned at the only point Fintan could peer through.

He looked extra tired that day—his sky blue eyes sunken by more shadows than usual, and he kept muttering under his breath about incompetence as he tucked his messy blond hair behind his pointy ears with a bit more force than necessary.

Marella glanced back at the scary guard, making sure he'd ducked into the shadows near the back of the cell before she made her big appearance. Then she took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her heart, reaching for her secret spark of warmth one last time before plopping into the closest ice throne.

"Awwwww, looks like you missed me," she said, tossing back her hair and flashing her brightest smile.

She liked to start her visits by showing Fintan she wasn't afraid of him—even if she totally was.

But Fintan didn't glance her way.

"I'm not in the mood for games," he warned as he continued his slow march around his cell.

"Neither am I" Marella assured him, deciding that was her cue to start with the cache. She sat up taller, trying to look extra confident as she added, "But I do have an awesome trade to offer you!"

Fintan sighed. "If this is about my cache, I already told you what I'm willing to accept. Unless you're here to grant me a day of freedom—"

"I'm definitely not. But! I found something you should like even better." She paused, hoping the extra bit of anticipation would somehow make her offer sound more exciting when she told him. "Noxflares!"

Fintan scrunched his slender nose. "What are Noxflares, and why would I care about them?"

Marella tilted her head, trying to tell if he was faking.

She hadn't expected him to jump around or applaud or anything—but she had expected him to at least know what Noxflares were.

Then again, his mind had been shattered and pieced back together so many times, his memories had to be in shambles—and Ancient minds tended to be a total mess anyway, since they were crammed with thousands of years of information and the past and present blurred together.

"Would it help if I told you I stopped by your old estate on my way here?" she asked, "Your garden could use some gnomish help, by the way. All the plants have turned into a giant dying tangle. But I dug around and managed to find this scraggly vine with dark pointy flowers—and I hear that plant is special to you, so I picked a few and—"

"You picked my Noxflares?" Fintan snapped, rushing to the wall of his cell and pressing his palms against the ice. "You must let me see them!"

Marella's lips curled into a huge smirk. "I thought you didn't know what they were."

Fintan gritted his teeth so hard, it sounded like cracking ice.

"Hey, I'm not saying I won't share. Buuuuuuuuuuut it'll cost you—and I'm pretty sure you can already guess what I want." She paused for another beat before she added, "Just so we're clear: I'll show you one of your Noxflares if you open your cache and show me what's inside."

Fintan's jaw tightened even more and his hands curled into fists.

But he didn't say no.

He didn't say anything—which was definitely new.

Marella had already offered him a long list of trade suggestions that she, Linh, Maruca, and Stina had all come up with—some really cool ones! And Fintan had shot each one down before she could even finish the offer.

She couldn't believe he looked so tempted by an ugly flower.

but as the silence dragged on, Marella started to wonder if she'd misread the situation.

maybe she'd pushed him too hard—taunted him too much—and now Fintan was letting her sit there in the cold, knowing the icy throne was turning her butt and legs numb.

She was trying to decide if she could make standing up look like a power move when Fintan told her, "Fine. You have a deal—but since you're only offering one Noxflare, I'll only show you one memory."

Marella barely stopped herself from blurting out, SERIOUSLY?

"Orrrrrrrrrrrrrr," she said instead, wanting to kick herself for not bringing more Noxflares with her. The whole thing had just seemed so silly—and the first few she'd picked had crumbled to dust. But the vine had lots more flowers, so she could fix the mistake super easily. "How about I go back, grab eight more Noxflares, and then you show me all nine memories?"

Fintan grinned. "Tempting. But one Noxflare is really all I need."

Need?

Marella wasn't a fan of that wording.

But before she could ask him what he needed it for, he added, "My offer expires in ten seconds," and started counting down.

By "six" she decided that one memory was better than nothing.

"Fine," she said, pulling the cache from her pocket and holding the marble-size orb up to the light. "But you go first. How do I open this thing?"

No way was she going to risk letting him back out—especially since he probably wasn't going to be happy when he saw his precious flower was stuck in the middle of a giant ice cube.

Fintan held out his hand. "Give me the cache, and I'll open it."

Marella laughed. "Hard pass."

"Ah, but you don't have a choice. I'm the only one who can access the memories. And I need to make physical contact with the cache in order to do so."

Marella squinted at the tiny gadget.

She didn't know much about caches—aside from the fact that only Councillors used them and that each colorful inner crystal held a single Forgotten Secret. But she did know that Dex had already tried everything he could think of to open the cache and failed—and he was one of the best Technopaths ever.

"Do I need to start counting down again?" Fintan asked. "I believe we'd gotten to five…"

Marella chewed her lip. "Uh, how do I know you're not going to destroy the cache or try to hold it for ransom or something?"

Fintan's smile was colder than his cell. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Yeah, I don't see that happening."

Fintan shrugged. "Then our deal is off."

Marella rolled her eyes. "Come on. Even if I wanted to, it's not like I can open your cell door and hand the cache to you."

She wasn't even sure if his cell had a door. The wall looked like one big solid piece of ice.

"You've proven to be very resourceful during our lessons," Fintan reminded her.

"Yeah, but—"

"It's your call," he interrupted. "If you want a memory, you'll have to trust me."

She snort-laughed—but before she could get another word out, he repeated, "You'll just have to trust me." And she could tell that was the only response he was going to give.

She turned to the scary guard, who had started pacing in the shadows. "Is there a way to pass Fintan a small item?"

"Ah, you have a hidden goblin escort—I knew you were resourceful!" Fintan clapped his hands. "And yes, there is a way to pass me my cache, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it. Any guard can open the disgraceful tube they pass my horrid, frozen bits of food through. The cache should fit nicely."

The guard gripped his sword. "I cannot allow any unauthorized item to enter his cell."

Fintan clicked his tongue. "Clearly you're not considering the fact that I've already had plenty of chances to make this trade—and turned them all down. Do you think I would do that if the cache was even remotely useful to me?"

The goblin couldn't argue with that logic.

Neither could Marella.

And when Fintan went back to counting down, she told the guard, "The Black Swan knows I've been trying to make this trade—and they're working with the Council now. No one would let me do this if they thought the cache was dangerous."

Then again, they'd never discussed the possibility of handing the cache over to Fintan—but surely someone must've considered that during all their endless talking and obsessive overplanning…right?

Besides, if anything went wrong, she could always remind them that this was Sophie's idea.

"I don't like this," the scary guard growled. But Marella gave him her I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing glare until he set the frozen Noxflare down with a particularly dramatic thud, snatched the cache, and spent an eternity squinting at the tiny crystal, spinning it all different ways. "If anything happens, my priority will be subduing the prisoner—not protecting you. Are you certain you want to take that risk?"

Marella absolutely wasn't.

But…this might be their only shot at seeing one of Fintan's Forgotten Secrets.

Plus, she had her tiny little spark buddy she could call on if she needed. Surely she could use that to…

To what?

Take down a superpowerful, much more experienced Pyrokinetic with a history of murdering poeple?

But…did she really want to wimp out?

Sophie wouldn't.

And yeah, Sophie had, like, a permanent bed in the Healing Center. But Marella was pretty sure their whole group would vote "DO IT!"

There were also a dozen other armed goblins who would rush down as backup.

And Linh could attack Fintan with her cutesy snow animals.

It'd almost be worth it to watch Fintan get swallowed up by an ice wave shaped like Princess Purryfins.

"I can handle myself," she decided, using a tone that hopefully sounded intimidating.

Fintan's gleeful laughter echoed off the ice.

The scary guard muttered something about the arrogance of elves as he reached toward the top of Fintan's frozen cell and felt around for a specific spot. A faint clicking sound followed, and a tiny round door slid open—far out of Fintan's reach.

"I can neutralize you within seconds," the guard reminded him as he held the cache up to the opening. "By numerous means. Some far more painful than others."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the absurd lengths the Council has taken to keep me contained," Fintan assured him. "But I don't plan on giving you a reason to use any of them. Not today, at least."

The guard bared his supersharp pointy teeth, and Marella wanted to shout NEVER MIND, JUST KIDDING! But she let the guard shove the cache through the tiny opening—and then it was too late to change her mind.

All she could do was watch the glass orb make its slow descent, rolling around and around and around—down some sort of invisible path etched into the wall of the cell.

Her stomach backflipped with each rotation, and she felt more than a little vomit-y when the cache dropped low enough for Fintan to catch it. But he simply held it up and studied it.

Then he coughed on it.

And sneezed on it.

"Ewwwwwww," Marella groaned when he followed that up by drooling on it. "You know, there are better ways to give it your DNA."

"Yes, I'm aware." Fintan cleared his throat and launched a slimy blob of spit at the cache. "I also know your little Technopath friend is going to ask you how I accessed the memories, so feel free to give him a detailed list." He wiped the cache dry with his fingers and then ran it through his greasy hair before sneezing and coughing on it again. "Some of these methods are vital. Some are distractions. None can be re-created without me—but it'll be fun if he tries, don't you think?"

He laughed so hard, it brought tears to his eyes, and he smeared them across the cache before sneezing and spitting on it again—making Marella very glad she had gloves to keep her hands clean once he returned the cache.

Assuming she actually got it back…

She tried to make out what he was saying when he started mumbling a bunch of stuff into the crystal, but the words were all mushed together. He also tapped the cache in so many different places that she doubted even Sophie and Keefe with their fancy photographic memories would be able to re-create the patterns. And he looked so smug as he did it all that Marella decided to look as bored as possible—which was why she was barely paying attention when the cache flared to life, projecting a small hologram of Fintan standing alone in a wide, empty field.

"Huh," Marella mumbled. "Gotta admit, I was expecting something a little more exciting than a tiny glowing Fintan in the middle of nowhere doing…nothing."

"Then you should learn to be more observant." Fintan pointed to the swaying grass around the hologram's feet, and after a few seconds, Marella realized there was a vine of blooming Noxflares. "I figured I'd show you what Noxflares can do, since you're so generously bringing one back into my life."

Marella squinted at the tiny flowers, waiting for something to happen.

And waiting.

And waiting.

"So…they…blow in the wind?" she asked.

Fintan sighed. "No, they do this."

The hologram of Fintan waved his arms, and all the Noxflares erupted with searing white flames.

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah, still not seeing why this needed to be a super-hush-hush Forgotten Secret," Marella grumbled as the Fintan hologram flicked his wrist and added purple fire to the white.

Sure, the flames were pretty—but all flames were beautiful.

"Try thinking like a Pyrokinetic!" Fintan snapped. "Tell me, are there any other flowers that could remain intact under such an inferno?"

Marella couldn't think of any.

And the Noxflares still didn't burn when the Fintan hologram added yellow flames to the fiery mix.

but other than clearly being fire-resistant, Marella didn't see the Noxflares actually doing anything—and the hologram of Fintan must've been equally unimpressed.

He frowned at the flaming petals and dragged a hand down his face, mumbling "something's missing."

"Still not seeing the point of this," Marella noted. "I mean…"

Her voice trailed off as the tiny Fintan waved his arms again and blasted the Noxflares with pink flames—which made the flowers spray sparks in every direction.

The effect was breathtaking.

Kind of like the sky during the Celestial Festival.

But that still didn't necessarily scream, THIS MEMORY IS IMPORTANT.

"How come the grass isn't catching fire?" she asked, grasping for anything that might be significant. "Do the Noxflares protect it or something?"

"No, I was protecting it. A pyrokinetic should always be in control of their flames."

He sounded so smug Marella was tempted to remind him that he let five Pyrokinetics die when he tried to teach them how to call down Everblaze and they all lost control—but that would probably make him throw one of his tantrums and send her away.

She needed the cache back first—and to hopefully find something useful in this boring memory. But sadly, all Fintan's hologram did was stare blankly at the stars and mumble "something's missing" again before the image flashed away.

"That's it?" the scary guard demanded, beating Marella to the complaint.

"Yeah, so…you put on a little fire show all by yourself with some spark-shooting flowers," she added, trying to sum up what she'd seen. "You were clearly disappointed by that little show. And then you must've remembered you needed to…"

She waved her hands, cuing Fintan to fill in the blank with whatever was "missing."

But he just stood there, staring at the cache with the same glazed look he always got whenever he started rambling about the beauty of fire—and Marella wished Linh had come with her after all.

Linh could pelt him with snowballs or something to snap him out of it.

But then she realized…

"You never figured out what was missing—did you?"

Fintan blinked and met her gaze. "Noxflares are full of possibility. But they need to burn."

"That doesn't answer my question," Marella noted.

Fintan shrugged. "Context was not part of our bargain."

"yeah, because I figured when I saw the memory, it would be obvious why it's this big Forgotten Secret. How does you setting some flowers on fire and then realizing you did it wrong matter to anyone?"

"I did nothing wrong," Fintan assured her, with a particularly haughty smile—but Marella wasn't buying it.

There was a tightness around his eyes that was way too familiar.

Her dad had that same tightness every time her mom was having one of her "bad days," and she knew exactly what it meant.

Disappointment.

Frustration.

A hint of helplessness.

So she marched over to the guard and grabbed the frozen Noxflare from the floor—too irritated to even notice how heavy the ice must've been as she hauled it back.

She plopped it in front of Fintan's cell. "Ta-da! One ugly flower, as promised—and I'm sure you're not surprised that I had to freeze it before I brought it down here."

"I'm not." Fintan dropped to his knees and gazed at the Noxflare like he was seeing a long-lost friend.

He pressed his hand against his cell, trying to get as close as he could. "Such power. Such…promise."

"Uh-huh," Marella agreed, letting his stare and stare, hoping it would help him let his guard down.

When his eyes turned a little teary, she went in for the kill.

"But there is something still missing, isn't there? That's why you saved this memory—to remind yourself to keep looking."

A whole lot of painful silence passed before Fintan slowly nodded.

Marella wanted to feel triumphant.

But all she'd done was prove the entire trade had been pointless.

There was no game-changing clue.

No dirty little secret about the past.

Certainly nothing to help them stop their enemies.

And she had a pretty strong hunch the other eight memories in the cache would be just as ridiculous.

"The answer is out there," Fintan murmured. "I can feel it. I just can't grasp it. Perhaps…"

"Perhaps?" Marella prompted when his eyes locked with hers.

Fintan stepped closer to the ice, keeping his voice low, like he didn't want the guard to hear him. "Perhaps a different Pyrokinetic is meant to find the truth. One who's already convinced the Council to trust her."

Marella laughed. "The Council doesn't trust me."

"The fact that you're here for a pyrokinesis lesson says otherwise—particularly since the lesson is with me." He started circling his cell again, mumbling under his breath and nodding. The only words Marella caught were "possible," "improvising," and "best option."

After three more times around the cell, he stopped in front of Marella again, leaning even closer to the icy wall as he whispered, "I believe it's time for me to offer a trade of my own."

"A trade," Marella repeated, not missing the way the scary guard gripped his sword.

Fintan glared at him. "This conversation is between me and my prodigy. She stands here of her own free will, shielded by who knows how many different kinds of protections—and she can leave anytime she pleases. Your presence is no longer needed."

"You still have her gadget," the guard argued.

"I suppose I do. but that can be easily remedied." Fintan set the cache on whatever invisible ledge it had slid down in the first place and gave it a good shove, sending it spinning up the path toward the top of the cell.

The guard had to scramble to catch it when it launched out of the ice bubble.

"See?" Fintan said, shifting his gaze back to Marella. "I can be trusted."

"Pretty sure the only thing I can trust is that you'll do what's best for you," Marella countered.

"As long as you get what you want, why would you care? After all, no matter what, I'm still stuck in here, aren't I?" He waved his arms around his little ice bubble, which suddenly looked way less secure than it had during her other visits. "Oh, relax—all I'm asking for is a little information."

Marella crossed her arms. "Right—and information has never gotten anyone hurt or killed."

"It's not that kind of secret. It's…" He frowned. "Honestly, I don't know what it is—and for someone my age, with my connections, that says something, doesn't it? I doubt any of the Vackers even know the full truth."

"Then how am I supposed to find it?" Marella demanded.

"As I said, you've proven to be quite resourceful. Particularly when you team up with your little friends." He scowled at the guard again before motioning her to step closer—until her ear was practically pressed up against the ice.

A voice in the back of her head kept screaming, WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO HIM?

But…she was curious.

And there was nothing wrong with hearing his offer, was there?

Fintan's breath fogged the ice, obscuring his face as he whispered, "All I ask is that if you ever find out what's missing from the Noxflares, you share it with me."

"Why?" Marella glanced at the frozen flower, wishing she could see something more than just ugly shriveled petals.

"Because I want to know," Fintan said simply. "And because I can give you what you want in return."

"The rest of the memories in your cache," Marella clarified.

Fintan nodded. Then his lips curled into a smile. "And one other—something you've long wondered about, even though you probably don't admit it to yourself."

Marella raised one eyebrow, refusing to show any more interest than that.

Fintan cupped his hands around his mouth and pressed them to the ice before he whispered, "I know what happened to your mother."

Marella sucked in a breath.

"Yes," Fintan added. "I'm talking about her 'accident'—if we can really call it that. I know why she fell. And why her injuries were so incurable."

Marella stumbled back, collapsing into the nearest throne and hugging herself to stop her body from shaking with tremors that had nothing to do with the cold.

A tiny, terrified part of her had always thought the story she'd been told about her mom's fall hadn't totally made sense.

But everyone—everyone—was convinced it had been an accident.

Even her father.

And if it wasn't…

She leaned toward Fintan. "I don't need your games."

"Oh, this definitely isn't a game. But it's the only way you'll ever know the truth, and before you start overthinking everything, consider this: You have all the power here. Make the trade, don't make the trade—it's totally your call. You also don't have to make a decision right away. I'm trapped in this prison. I'll never find the answer on my own—and I'll never know if you find the answer unless you decide to tell me. So there's zero pressure. No one even knows we've had this conversation—and don't worry about the guard. See how frustrated he looks? That's because I made sure he only heard what I wanted him to hear. The rest is our little secret."

Our little secret.

Fintan was probably the last person she should have a secret with.

And yet…he had a point.

No one knew he'd made her this offer—and it wasn't like she'd come to any decision.

She didn't even have the information Fintan wanted anyway!

And with the way their investigations always seemed to go, she'd probably only find a whole lot more questions.

So there was really no point in telling anyone about this.

She could tell them whens he needed to.

If she needed to.

That wouldn't be wrong…would it?

It didn't feel wrong—or it wouldn't have if Fintan's smile wasn't so creepy.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," she said, wanting to make that very clear.

"You're not," Fintan assured her. "So how about we put this out of our minds and get started with our lesson? I'm sure your Hydrokinetic friend is wondering why you haven't come up to practice yet."

Linh was probably starting to worry.

She'd probably also built enough snow animals to make a frozen Sanctuary.

"Fine," Marella said, standing up and dusting ice off her cape. "What do you want me to work on today?"

"How about I teach you how to make those colored flames you saw in the memory," Fintan suggested. "You know, in case that ever comes in handy."

He winked, and the guard groaned and held out the cache to Marella. "Sounds like I'm no longer needed."

"You aren't," Fintan agreed.

The guard growled—looking scarier than ever—and turned to march away. But he spun back after a few steps. "He's right that I don't know what he offered you. But I can tell you're tempted. And I hope you're smart enough to reject it. Never make a deal with someone who has nothing to lose."

"I'm not," Marella promised.

And she wasn't.

She hadn't made any decisions—except to keep this to herself. But that didn't mean anything.

She was just trying to avoid a ton of drama and arguing and having people give her advice she didn't need.

Plus, everyone has secrets.

Shoot—the great Sophie Foster had more secrets than anyone.

So it was fine.

Everything was fine.

Nothing had changed.

Time to focus on controlling her fire.

And yet, for the rest of the lesson, the tiny spark in her heart burned hotter and hotter and hotter. Whispering a new plea.

Trust me.

Trust me.

Trust me.

Note: Thank you to @bookwyrminspiration for doing the bulk of this transcription!

[wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart]

For the fanfic writer ask game, I’m curious about E, U and ofc always N!

Thank you for asking dear @prahacat 💜

Okay here we go...

E: What character do you identify with most? Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

This is a really good and interesting question for several reasons. First, let me talk a bit about identifying with characters in general, as I see it, mind you, and I'm no expert.

To write believable characters, you need to be able to identify with them, or part of them, which begs the question, so when we write unpleasant, amoral and evil characters, what does that say about us? Or when we work with pure, moral and good characters that have few flaws (a character must have flaws or they are unreal) that can be just as hard to identify with. Well that's where our imagination and creativity comes in, or just our twisted brain that is capable of imagining both good and evil.

Okay, sorry back to me. Which character I identify myself with varies a lot, but many of the characters I write I can partially relate some of my own character traits to.

There are parts of Obi-Wan's character that I can identify with, his persistence, his willingness to keep going to the bitter end if it's the right thing to do.

Anakin I can identify with even more. His anger and fear of losing what he loves, fuck that can be a hard emotion to deal with, possessiveness, something else I identify with is his sense of justice.

I identify with both Mace and Anakin's characters in that I sometimes, like them, hide a kind and vulnerable heart behind hard unapproachable appearances. They clearly do it for different reasons and to make a long lecture about character and how we identify with them short, it's COMPLICATED! But wonderfully exciting to speculate and discuss because it's something that we never agree on, everyone reads and writes them in different variations.

U: Is there a pairing you would like to write, but haven't tried yet.

There are several. I will definitely work more with JinnObi (I've only hinted at them for now). An exciting one is Sheev and Mace, they would make a great couple, just saying, and then there's Maul and Obi, I already have an idea for that story. There are many, many more, but well time and the Muse will decide which ones I will write.

N: Any fic ideas brewing that you'd care to share?

Too many, way, way, way too many. 😅 Damn plot bunnies.

I can share two very briefly because I don't have much of them yet.

Five first. This one came up in conversation with a friend, so it's not all my idea and fault. Obi-Wan is everyone's first, Padmé, Anakin, Ahsoka, Leia and Luke's… I'm still working out how it happens, but somehow he ends up being their first.

Child's play, or the story of how Maul and Obi-Wan meet as younglings by accident and become friends unaware of what and who they are to each other, how they continue their friendship over the years without revealing what they are, until they eventually face each other on Naboo. Let's just say it has a different ending.

[ectogeo-rebubbles]

I have kind of a niche Garashir fic idea I want to write but I’ve never posted anything publicly before, so I am nervous. But I can’t seem to get over the idea? You’re one of my favorite fic writers, any advice? 💕🥺

Ooooh, you gotta try to write it!!! I always love to indulge my new ideas that are driving me insane as soon as I can hehe (because part of writing often has to be done after the initial idea no longer excites you quite the same way).

I like that you said it’s a niche idea, too! I do enjoy most of the common fanon tropes and worldbuilding, but it’s always so refreshing when people add something brand new to the Garashir body of literature. And the nicher and stranger the better, in my opinion!! One thing about writing something niche is that maybe it won’t get the same amount of attention as quickly as something that has broader appeal, HOWEVER... I can tell you from experience that when your niche stuff does find its audience (which may take patience and persistence) that audience will likely go absolutely WILD for it. And I always find that very rewarding <3

Is the reason you haven't started yet because you don't quite know how to start? If that's the case, I would recommend writing an outline first. I even sometimes will outline really short oneshots lol, not because I think I really need to, but because that way i at least have a good record of my idea and ALSO because sometimes I can trick myself into just starting to write by taking notes on in outline format until I get to the part I'm REALLY excited about, at which point I realize I'm just writing full sentences instead of notes and I just let it flow from there and go back to fix the beginning later. XD You could also just try to summarize the plot for a friend, that often reveals to me where any structural issues are tripping me up, and identifies what I need to think about more before I set words down on the page.

Idk if you haven't written before or if you just haven't posted any of it, but I want you to know that a few years ago, when I was easing myself back into writing, I worked on writing like 3 or 4 different garashir fic ideas privately before I actually figured out which idea I wanted to write all the way to the end and actually post. Most of those first wips never got posted (and my wip graveyard is still massive and always growing lol) and that's for the best bc I either got bored of the idea or could not yet achieve the story in the way I wanted to. Which is NOT to tell you that this is inevitable or that you should let your inner editor shut you down, but I just want you to know that it's perfectly okay and normal to, like, have to noodle around a bit before you've written something you're happy with.

Speaking of your inner editor, you gotta tune them out while writing a first draft. Don't even worry if the sentence makes sense, just get the words out, and then get the next words out, and then the next... If there is something stopping you from writing the next sentence (a name you need to make up, or something you need to research, or uncertainty about what a character would be doing, or even if you are just blanking on a word) and you are trying to maintain a flow of writing, then write a note for yourself (e.g, "[insert title of a Cardassian novel here]" or "[Julian makes some kind of expression. Surprise? Anger? idk]" or "[synonym for sinister, bc I've used sinister three times this fic already]") and then MOVE ON. You can go back in and fill in those blanks later.

Also, I really really really really like the writing advice of thinking of your first draft as your worst draft or stupidest draft. It's so true and it helps take the pressure off. One related amazing thing about writing star trek fanfic is that if ever you begin to doubt yourself, you can just fondly think about a beloved episode of Star Trek where something very silly or buckwild happens in a very contrived way, and then remind yourself that people LOVE that episode anyway. This is a genuine way that I have reminded myself not to be so harsh on my own writing lmao.

I really working with beta readers, but I know that's not something everyone enjoys and it's def not required. Still, a beta reader can give feedback on your writing to make it clearer, and they'll likely become invested in your fic and will cheer you on, and if it’s longer than a oneshot you can have someone to talk it through with during the writing process. But it might be hard to find someone you work well with and everyone’s beta reading style is a lil different, so I recommend always being very clear about what kind of feedback you want from them (grammar/typos, plot structure, clarity, brainstorming ideas for how to fix this plothole, does this one specific line of dialogue work, etc! whatever aspects you are uncertain about and want help with for that specific fic). And you should know that it’s okay to not take someone's recommendations too, it’s ultimately your fic, so anyone giving you feedback should just be trying to help you achieve your own vision. Still, even in those cases where you don't go along exactly with their idea for what to change, knowing what parts confused them can help you figure out how to get your vision across more clearly.

If you think concrit might actually be demotivational and intimidating (totally get that, back in high school I actually solicited concrit on my fics publicly, as was the custom back then, and received some critiques from some truly well-meaning friends, and the experience STILL rattled me so bad that it turned me off writing for awhile), or if the process of finding someone to beta read sounds overwhelming, I’d recommend that you instead just find a trusted friend who is willing to read over the completed draft, with the understanding that they must simply give you a sanity check and then tell you yep that’s good! Cannot stress enough the power of encouragement and support and having someone hype you up. ^_^

If you are too nervous to post it under your own name, you can post it to the Anonymous collection on ao3. This is a reversible process, so if you want to reattach your username to your fic later then you can!

Anyway, feel free to send follow up questions about any of this or let me know if there's an aspect of writing I didn't mention that is what you're actually stuck on. I hope this helps and good luck and HAVE FUN! Have fun is actually the most important writing advice haha.

(P.S., anon, if you want me to beta read a draft of a oneshot or at least look over a chapter or two if it's multichapter, I am down to do so, just DM me. If not that's fine too, I'm just so so flattered that you reached out to me and I want to encourage you in any way I can! <3)

[pokepalsarchive]

New Years, New plans +Thank you note to everyone

Hey guys, Admin Mega here, happy new years PokeAskblog community! Hope this year has been wonderful for all of you, even if it had troublesome moments! As 2024 is on the horizon I wanna talk about the resolutions me and OG have for the blog and what to expect in the near future. Regarding Activity: I'll openly say this, I haven't been that active in the community lately which is unfortunate, but starting 2024 I'm hoping to get right back in and finish all the asks that have been left unattended. This means I'll try and participate in, aside from asking other blogs, community events hosted by anyone like the sinsibgala and bad end AU event. The Characters: As of typing this resolutions post, Skarla is undergoing a redesign as I feel somewhat unsatisfied with her current appearance, alongside an art style change that doesn't heavily utilize the Pokemon art style and just stick to the art style I have, something that's unique to me without always going on model for others like I have in the past. For new characters, while they haven't been unlocked yet we have teased quite a few and we still have some behind closed doors that me and OG would love to reveal one day! A w.i.p preview of Skarla's new design:

About the Blog: Previously stated, activity for the blog has been very slow due to a multitude of reasons, such as dealing with problems in real life, lack of motivation and direction, bogged down by other activities, etc. Story and lorewise me and OG are at work fleshing out the entirety of the Pokepalsverse, that being important moments in it's history, relations between humans and Pokemon along with the main cast, the aforementioned background organizations, and deities that would be present or have an important role in the world. On a side note, given that this blog is essentially a miniblog it doesn't have many benefits compared to a main blog, so me and OG are in talks of possibly rebooting the askblog, meaning that we'll have to start over on a new blog format and delete this one. Possible sideblog?: During my long hiatus writing for the askblog, an idea popped into my head about starting a sideblog that revolved around the company that Skarla works with and the many shenanigans that go on in the organization. Maybe it might happen, maybe it wont, who knows! But in the meantime keep on the lookout. What to expect in the future:

When activity kicks back up, we'll try and focus on making more art of the characters, make some minicomics detailing their history and backstory, possibly many more. But before I can close this post off, I'm gonna give some thanks to some of the community members that I like, admire and influenced me.

Many thanks:

Nori (@harmonia-university): Thank you for being the main askblogger that aspired me to become an askblogger myself. I'll never stop saying this, your cast of characters and world setting is very unique and I love everything about it! You're also a very wonderful person to watch and talk to, and I wish I can spend more time with you and the others! I look forward to what you have in store for the Harmoniaverse. Mikey (@askdeoxys): You sir are a driving force of encouragement, you have brought an entire community together and you have hoped for the best for many askbloggers, including us! Your words are extremely aspiring and it helps us strive to bring our askblog to the potential it deserves, and I couldn't thank you enough for that Mikey. You are awesome! Aro (@ask-the-shiny-pokemons/@aro-pokeverse): You are the first big follower/fan of our askblog the moment we opened up. Thank you for sticking with us and this blog, you're a cool person and I appreciate your company! I look forward to seeing more from the Virbank Baddies and other cohorts your world has. Migmog (@ask-the-royal-absol/@singularity-and-co): A massive shoutout to you for your great worldbuilding and colorful cast of characters. It's fun having chats with you during your streams on discord and watch you draw out your panels! Thank you for making a very intriguing world that leaves people wanting to see what happens next! Edge (@casteliacityramen): Thank you for the advice on some aspects of the lore, I really appreciate it! Like everyone I've mentioned, I hope to interact with all of you more in 2024, get to know all of ya better! Jean (@ask-casteliabounce): Another blog worth checking out, thank you for the further drive and inspiration for upcoming works for the blog! I really like Max, he's a cool cat weasel. Oh and one more thing, a final word from OG: "Thank y'all so much for the great 2023! Without y'all, askpokepals would just be a mere concept, lol. You guys are swag, epic and amazing in that order! Here's to 2024!" And that's pretty much all I have to say. Thank you for reading this, and thank you to the wonderful PokeAskblog community for it's chill atmosphere and positivity. See you all in the new year! With love, MegamanNick, Co-Admin of the blog.