Novels, Scribbles, & Tea

An aspiring author who gets easily distracted, and makes too many character playlists.

[tinywritingloft]

The Way of Things

[tinywritingloft]

“It was a long time ago…” And before I realized it, I had started telling him. I laid it all out there among the kitten and the boots and the fallen papers. An ugly scar laid to bare to a near stranger. It was a vulnerability I hadn’t afforded myself before. Even as the words spilled out I couldn’t figure out why they were doing it so willingly. As if happy to finally share the burden no matter who it was receiving it.

– Kit: The Heathens

[tinywritingloft]

Coming Soon

The Misadventures of Kheles is a collection of short stories and mistellings set in the world from When the Stars Fall and where the Heathens live as well. Here you'll met an airship captain that will act as your guide through through Edios where you'll meet a motley crew of ruffians, reporters, Vanguards, and princes. But please, refrain yourself from asking for autographs. They're very busy people.

On Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1167319656-misadventures-of-kheles-welcome-to-the-mad-house

[tinywritingloft]

Just Drive

When she couldn't find him in the library buried under a mountain of books and when she saw Bitch™ flaunting her curves to someone that wasn't him, she knew the only other spot he'd be. The harbor that gave him refuge when his studies couldn't.

A short train ride to the city and she was walking along the familiar Cornilla Street. Storming might have been a better choice of words, frankly. The cobblestones were taking the brunt of the dangerous cocktail of frustration, shame and anger that was sloshing over with every step. The city pressed in on every side. The rumble of steam engines and the honking of cars mixing in with the buzz of humans was assaulting ears. The buildings threatened to swallow her whole. She needed out. Luckily the garage door was open, letting her slip in without much effort.

the beautiful classic sat in the semidarkness and she felt like it was just as ready to go as her. Tattered pants, grease-stained and ripped, and those old dingy high top shoes that Lottie secretly adored were the only parts of Emerson she could make out from under the carriage. A radio was humming from somewhere in the garage, so she didn't bother speaking. Instead, lining up her foot to his, she tapped it. A long tap followed by two quick ones. Her own special signal that never failed to lighten her mood – at least a little bit. But the current storm would take more than just that. She needed out. She needed the road and to feel the wind in her hair and to not hear a damn thing.

Emerson scooted out from under the car, revealing an equally greasy short sleeve button down that had been thrown over the undershirt he'd probably worn to classes earlier. His sandy hair was handsomely dishevelled and not for the first time did she with the cause was her own fingers. One look from his hazel eyes, and he was off the ground. She perched on the hood of Baby, watching quietly as he snagged a rag and went at his hands. It took him a minute to get them clean enough for satisfaction, then he grabbed the keys off the bench and walked to the driver's side. A subtle dip of his chin gave her permission to slide into the passenger's seat.

The first twenty minutes were always just trying to get out of the clogged city. Slipping down back streets and through the maze of residential housing with so many turns that Lottie had given up trying to track everything. Instead, she let her head loll back against the headrest, the wind doing its very best to untie her braid through the open window. Emerson never pressed her to talk. Actually, when she was the one needing a ride, he didn't talk at all unless she did first. It was another matter if he showed up at her mom's townhouse, all restless energy bordering on frantic and the need to be with "someone else." But this afternoon was for her and he was more than happy to give her what he could. Even if it was just two hours of thing but the road and the wind.

City slipping away to countryside, they both breathed easier. Lottie could never get over the stark difference a few miles could make in her scenery. It always felt like she was on another island. Trees flashed by, all green and vibrant. Rich sun rays danced between them like strobe lights but warmed her arm dangling out of the window and the bare shoulder pressed to the door. Emerson tried not to notice that. Instead, he focused on the feel of the worn steering wheel under his fingertips, and the sound of the engine as he shifted gears, milking her for more speed than was probably wise. Eyes flashing to the girl in the passenger seat, he watched as she leaned her head out the window. Head cupped in the crook of her arm, torso bent uncomfortably, that was normal. Lottie always did that. The difference was it wasn't releasing the usual serotonin. Her face still all set lines and hard thoughts. A moment later, she was back in the cap, her hands clenching and unclenching around the loose material of her pants. Emerson downshifted until he stopped completely on the side of the road. Lottie watched in complete confusion as he got out, leaving the engine idling and walked around the hood to her side. Opening her door, he gestured at her to move. "Slide over." He'd broken his own rule but he figured she'd forgive him. Lottie knew better than to question his decision. She unclipped her seatbelt and slid across the bench into the driver's seat. Countless nights spent in his garage had given her a little bit of working knowledge of the basics, but she still stalled out twice. Emerson was gentle like he always was and only gave quiet instructions with the least amount of words possible. After the third stalling, he shifted on the bench. When his hand was deliberately placed on her thigh she had to bite down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. He used that hand to guide her clutch handling, showing her how to ease into it and how to slowly let it go as she needed. The hand retreated after she'd gotten them up into fifth gear and had them coasting down the road. There was a sadness in the action that startled both of them, but they didn't speak of it. "We hit another snag in the lab," She said finally, louder than she would have liked to be heard over the wind. "You'll figure it out." The answer was so final as if she couldn't do anything but. A smile came out to play at his confidence. The wind replaced talk again until "Julien's doing something stupid." "Isn't he always?" "Sure, but this time it's the kind of stupid he could end up dead from." Brown eyes flashed from the driver's seat, but her attention was caught with a curve and having to find the correct gear. Neither spoke again until she'd maneuvered the curve successfully and was back up to speed. "Does Beckett know?" Emerson simply shrugged, eyes caught by the passing fields, fingers tapping at the rim of the roof. Lottie had known pretty little about his buddies until they'd shown up one day on her doorstep dripping in blood. So she figured 'something stupid' was generally hazardous to them. Not that that made it easier to cope with, but she knew how important those guys were to Em, so she kept her opinions to herself.

Eventually, the sun dipped behind the treeline casting the world in shadow. Lottie pulled over, this time they both got out. Words were an unnecessary thing in Lottie's life. She knew how to get around them. If she had to think too much about it, she figured that was the reason Emerson kept coming around. He wasn't much for talking. Not because he didn't have anything to say, he just didn't trust his own voice. So when they sat on the back of the car, him chucking rocks and her playing with the tall grass with her shoes, it wasn't odd that they didn't speak. Everything they needed to say was in the brush of her shoulder or the way his fingers came down on top of her pinkie after throwing his last rock. There was an intimacy there that felt stolen. That left her feeling like she'd robbed Bitch™. But something Lottie had learned about herself was that she was selfish and she wasn't always sorry for it.

[tinywritingloft]

A Dress of Ruin

The gown was the last straw. I had been up before dawn to be scrubbed, painted, sinched and squeezed into this monstrosity. Worst of it was the maids hadn't allowed me a single bite to eat. Surely they knew I got murderous when I was hungry. Fortunately for them, my duty of the day – for once – didn't allow for bloodshed. However, that didn't save the dress.

Layer upon layer of white tulle had turned me into an iced cake complete with the largest, most hideous bow the seamstress could get her hands on. It was a blinding spotlight and I was allergic to attention. "Out." My voice was hoarser than I'd expected but it had a pleasant effect on the four young women. "My lady, there is only an hour before you need to be at the church." One of them spoke up timidly. "I'm aware. That is no reason to keep you from leaving, however." I watched the nervous glances between them through the polished mirror. "You don't want to make me any angrier than I already am," I warned. My fingers moved to play with a beautifully adorned dagger that laid on my vanity. Their faces paled as they tripped over themselves to exit my room. "Finally," I muttered, my shoulders rolling forward as much as my dress would allow. "Now to fix you."

I'd heard wedding bells ring before. They'd always felt eager and excited, but not this time. This time they called out a particular kind of doom. They counted down the moments before the door to this cage clanged shut and vows sealed it forever.

The church was a centerpiece of the city. It was huge and intimidating with all its flying buttresses and soaring spires that always looked like they'd sooner pierce heaven than welcome it. The streets were crowded as if this were any other royal wedding. The cheers rose like thunder. Not because of me or my groom, it was for what was to be signed immediately following the vows. Because what says peace like the union of the two deadliest people in the kingdoms?

The carriage rumbled to a stop, my door aligning with two lines of royal guards, though each line wore different colours. A footman opened the door and offered me his arm. No one dared meet my gaze. I was used to going unseen or unnoticed, but outright ignored was new. The doors swung open with a low moan. I grunted in agreement before tilting my chin up and moving towards the inevitable.

Shafts of colored light cut across the sanctuary through the towering glass panes. The air inside was a stagnate thing that reeked of too many bodies and quiet desperation. In each anex the royal families sat on temporary daises decked out in their country's colors. Both kings mirrored each other in the hard lines of their brows and their clenched jaws. But when Corvis caught a glimpse of what I'd done to the gown that vein in his forehead popped. I did my best to keep my smug grin to myself. Gasps murmured through the crowd as I took my first steps down the aisle. The voluptuous skirts had been slimmed down with my knife and the splatterings of red wine for the effect that I was bleeding. It was a rushed job, and not one of my best, but it got the point across. I was a deadly thing to be feared. Not a doll to sell off.

When my eyes found him I nearly cursed aloud. Of course, he'd been allowed black. I'd tried that, obviously, but Corivs had insisted I keep with tradition. Lot of good that did him. The more I took in my groom the more unfair it all was. He looked almost exactly as I last saw him. Minus my blade at his throat and his digging into my side. Now I'd been stripped of my steel and forced to play the part of the eager bride while he looked ever the rouge. Oh, how I could kill.

Boiling blood aside I noticed the subtly raised eyebrow as he caught his first look at me. My own eyes hardened into a challenge. But instead of being, at the very least, wary, he simply smirked. If it were any other day – but it wasn't. And before this day was over I would never bring another blade to his body, nor him to mine.

"Was the blood really necessary?" He whispered out of the side of his mouth. "It's only wine. I'm not that dramatic." He snorted in response which made his queen twitch. "Careful. Olga will have a conniption if you mess this up." "Not if Corvis gets to you first for that entrance." "He needed a reminder that I'm a dangerous individual. And isn't that what husbands are for? Keeping murderous kings at bay?" I gave him my sweetest smile. his bright green eyes flashed playfully. "More like keeping my murderous wife in line." Now it was my turn to snort. With a gesture from the priest we faced each other, our hands clasped together. "You can try, love. You can try." The threat was punctuated by the symbolic black and red cord knotted over our hands. In his shaking, high pitched voice of an old eunuch, the priest called out to the congregation. "I declare this man and this woman one. With their union may peace reign in Tethos between these two kingdoms represented by Soraya of Ki'hez and Aiden of Caustia."

[tinywritingloft]

An Honest Confession

I obviously have a problem with sticking to one story. Often times I find myself bored if I work on a single story for too long. I'm honestly impressed I've managed to get as far with And the Dark Rose as I have. Which makes it all the more important to me that I finish the duology.

That being said, I run on the assumption that if I'm bored with it my readers will be too. So I allow myself to dabble in other story ideas without feeling guilty. The one rule is, I'm not to actually write other stories. Otherwise, it's game over and the guilt will make its appearance in eating a tub of ice cream.

Oliver and Marigold (or Ari) are two characters that have been with me for a long time. Their story started off with a simple prompt on Pinterest and has now had a heavy make-over thanks to my Irish-ridden heart and my need to live in a lighthouse with a mysterious past and a Darkroom all my own.

I have always called this story my 'palette cleanser. It's in our own world in an era that is never quite determined but is a complete write-in for myself and some of the things I've dealt with in the past/am dealing with now. However, with the new make-over, I just had to share.

So, if you've made it this far, thank you. You are appreciated and loved and I hope you don't mind the ramblings of this aspiring author. (At least you get to see pretty aesthetic mood boards. That's always a plus.)

[tinywritingloft]

Intertwined

Ari is an outsider. She lives on the island alone and has thrown herself into the life her father left behind. Manning the lighthouse and surrounding herself with photographs.

Oliver is the prince of the island. His whole life is planned out. From the girl he's to marry, to the career he's to pursue. Yarbrough University was the last hurdle. He wasn't supposed to fall in love with the island. He wasn't supposed to care more for a boat that was more holes than ship than he cared for his studies.

Neither of them were ever supposed to cross paths. But be it the old legend of ever searching soulmates or Fate, an unexpected bond forged between the two amongst the crags and crushing sea they both love so dearly. This string will not be easily broken and will usher in unexpected consequences that will force them to readjust their entire lives. But it begs the question, how will they find themselves on the other side of graduation day? Shattered and unrecognizable? Or healed and whole?

[tinywritingloft]

Because when I don't want to write, I make maps.

Fun fact: This is the world in which Assassins' Vows will take place. Here's a few facts about it.

Sound like a fun bunch, huh? I should say that any similarities to real or past countries/cultures was completely unintentional.

And my personal favorite:

Think of them as the Tortuga. If it was run by the Assassin's Guild instead of drunken pirates.

Now you've gotten a glimpse of the world, as well as a sneak peek of the cast, I will leave you wondering who exactly is this motley crew that are thrown together by the Higher Powers That Be.

I've been working through a rough plot outline for these beautiful, chaotic people that promise to bring enemies to lovers, forced proximity, as well as them being a chaotic duo who are hell-bent on getting a damn nap and setting up their best friends. What did one really expect from forcing the top two assassins into a marriage?

[2soulscollide]

WEBSITES FOR WRITERS {masterpost}

E.A. Deverell - FREE worksheets (characters, world building, narrator, etc.) and paid courses;

Hiveword - Helps to research any topic to write about (has other resources, too);

BetaBooks - Share your draft with your beta reader (can be more than one), and see where they stopped reading, their comments, etc.;

Charlotte Dillon - Research links;

Writing realistic injuries - The title is pretty self-explanatory: while writing about an injury, take a look at this useful website;

One Stop for Writers - You guys... this website has literally everything we need: a) Description thesaurus collection, b) Character builder, c) Story maps, d) Scene maps & timelines, e) World building surveys, f) Worksheets, f) Tutorials, and much more! Although it has a paid plan ($90/year | $50/6 months | $9/month), you can still get a 2-week FREE trial;

One Stop for Writers Roadmap - It has many tips for you, divided into three different topics: a) How to plan a story, b) How to write a story, c) How to revise a story. The best thing about this? It's FREE!

Story Structure Database - The Story Structure Database is an archive of books and movies, recording all their major plot points;

National Centre for Writing - FREE worksheets and writing courses. Has also paid courses;

Penguin Random House - Has some writing contests and great opportunities;

Crime Reads - Get inspired before writing a crime scene;

The Creative Academy for Writers - "Writers helping writers along every step of the path to publication." It's FREE and has ZOOM writing rooms;

Reedsy - "A trusted place to learn how to successfully publish your book" It has many tips, and tools (generators), contests, prompts lists, etc. FREE;

QueryTracker - Find agents for your books (personally, I've never used this before, but I thought I should feature it here);

Pacemaker - Track your goals (example: Write 50K words - then, everytime you write, you track the number of the words, and it will make a graphic for you with your progress). It's FREE but has a paid plan;

Save the Cat! - The blog of the most known storytelling method. You can find posts, sheets, a software (student discount - 70%), and other things;

I hope this is helpful for you!

(Also, check my blog if you want to!)

[tinywritingloft]

Just reminders for myself. ^_^

[tinywritingloft]

We'd met before this.

It was similar to how we faced each other now.

Each on either side of a long stretch of space.

Eyes locked and calculating. Trying desperately to anticipate what the other would do. Run? Fight? Even now we gauged each other and my instincts warred between the two.

Before, I had felt myself. Steel lined my leather leggings, knives ready to be called upon and more than eager for blood. My dark cloak afforded me anonymity.

Now I was a stranger. The steel had been stripped from me and the monstrous white skirts were effectively a spotlight.

Him though? He looked bloody well the same. And he'd been allowed black. If it had been up to me, I would have matched him and been fine with it. At least then I'd be wearing pants.

But there brought out the biggest difference between now and before.

Before could have ended with spilt blood, or us parting ways. The choice had been there.

Now? Now my heels clapped out a death march down the isle of a too packed church that reeked of body oder and the desperate attempts to cover it up.

I had known it before and I knew it now.

We would be the death of each other.

Because what kind of marriage could come of the two most dangerous people on the continent?

[tinywritingloft]

May I interest you in my new WIP?

What happens when peace hangs on the balance of a union between two of the most deadliest people in the kingdoms? Everything goes to hell in hand basket, that's what. But it'll be one hell of a ride.

[tinywritingloft]

NEW BOOK COMING SOON

When the Stars Fell and the Dark Rose.

I promised when I updated the last chapter of When the Stars Fell on Wattpad, that I was going to be working on the sequel and this is proof that it's coming. I mentioned before that I was taking a small break between updating WSF and starting to post And the Dark Rose because I was moving from Ireland back to the States. Well, I've done that now, and I'll be finishing up the third act of the manuscript next month as my NaNoWriMo challenge. Following that I'll be posting it onto Wattpad as well, so keep an eye out!

[tinywritingloft]

– Anonymous  

[tinywritingloft]

Bathroom Tiles

Julien knew it was stupid to be here. His excuse was pathetically weak and wouldn't hold under any type of scrutiny, but he didn't care. There had been something off with Kit and then she'd rightly disappeared for three days and no one was telling him shit. So he had had to resort to drastic measures. Hence why he was now pounding on her shabby apartment door, trying to keep his judgement of the whole building off his face. He couldn't really talk. He lived in an abandoned pub turned bachelor pad.

No one answered the first knock. Or the third, or the fifth. Finally, he just tried the door. To his horror it swung open, welcoming just about anyone in. Panic flooded through him, making his fingers itch and the energy buzz in his ears as he cautiously took a step over the threshold. "Hello?" He called out. There wasn't much to the apartment. entry spilt into a wide room that went as the living room and the bedroom and the kitchen, with only one other door to the washroom directly in front of him. Another wave of panic short-circuited his brain when he caught sight of red hair on the bathroom floor. "Kit?" It was highly unlikely she was dead since there was no sign of a struggle except for an extremely rumpled bed. (If the mattress on the floor shoved in a corner constituted as a bed.) His feet hesitated though. He felt horribly invasive suddenly. Glued to the first foot of her creaking hardwood floor, he heard a shuffle. His eyes darted to the bathroom where he saw that redhead lift off the floor and peer at him in confusion. She looks like hell, he thought. "Julien?" Her voice was rough and echoed how tired she looked. "What are you...?" "You've been AWOL for three days," He pointed out, just in case she'd missed that bit. "We were starting to get worried." She crawled to the door of the bathroom, slumping against it for support. Julien's panic was refusing to let up, but now it was less about potential axe murders than it was wondering what she'd come down with. "The girls knew what was going on," She informed him. "They've been here nearly every day." Of course, they knew... He could just picture their scheming faces now. If they knew what was going on and were checking on her, then there was really no reason for him to stay. And he was about to leave when she suddenly scrambled for the toilet. Julien was still as a useless statute, but memories of his sister unfolded like a double-exposed negative across Kit's small frame over the toilet. Oh... Julien drew in a deep breath and made a decision.

The door pulled closed, shoes shucked, he padded into the small kitchenette. Heat. He thought. Heat always seemed to help. Surely she has a... His eyes darted around the small studio space but he couldn't see anything resembling what he was looking for. He did find the kettle though, and that was the first step anyway. "Do you have a hot water bottle?" Keeping his voice quiet, he lit the gas eye and set the kettle on. "And...mugs?" He was going to have to start rummaging. The tea was in glass jars on a shelf, he could see that. But the mugs... Ah, here. He snagged one out of a cupboard and moved to the tea, careful to take each jar down gently. Everything seemed so small, or he felt like a giant and his buzzing energy was hard to control. The last thing he wanted was her fuming at him for breaking and entering and actually busting something. Black, green, what the hell is that? He sneezed and quickly stuffed the lid back on one of the jars. Red raspberry, there we go. The vomiting had stopped, so he rapped his knuckles on the wall beside the door. "Hot water bottle," He asked the deep armchair across the way. "In the bed," Came the answer. His eyes darted to the heap and he swallowed hard. Pushing past his own stupidity he stalked to it. Yanking the duvet clear with one smooth motion, the bottle tumbled to the floor. Fixing the blanket, he bent over and grabbed the green rubber, as he did, his eyes snagged on a book that had evidently been hiding in the folds. He picked it up too, reading the title as he turned the eye off with the whistle of the kettle. Filling the bottle and fixing the mug of tea, he hesitantly approached the door.

She was a worn heap against the wall, knees pulled in, head braced atop of them. Her hair was sweat-slick and he wondered when she'd last taken a shower. "Would you mind?" He asked quietly, making an effort to just be smaller. Blue eyes darted open and there was a slight shake of her head, which was all he was going to get. Still making an effort to take up less space, he crouched in front of her. She snatched at the hot water bottle like it was a lifeline, tucking it between her torso and legs. Though apparently, the tea had been unexpected. "Is that...?" "Red raspberry. Helps with cramps." Placing the mug on the tile next to her, he slowly lowered himself to the floor. Mindful to keep several tiles worth between them. Her eyes narrowed, but she accepted the cup. "I know that, but how do you?" Fair question, he thought. "I had a sister, she had pretty bad periods, and I was the only other one around," He shrugged as if it was no big deal. He tried not to notice the look of surprise in her eyes. "If you were this bad, you really shouldn't leave your front door unlocked," The hard edge was in his voice, making her hang her head guiltily. "I forgot last night after Darji came by." "Unacceptable. This building is sketch as it is, so there's no need to be reckless too." Normally she would have risen to the insult, but she kept quiet. It must be really bad if she doesn't have the strength to sass, he realized. "I know," She mumbled, saving herself from having to talk farther by taking a swig of the tea. Then her eyes finally focused on him. The usual skepticism was there, though not out in full force. Something else was behind it this time, something he couldn't name. It made him fidget. "So, as you can see I'm fine," She scoffed at herself. "Or as fine as I'm going to get until my week of hell is up. So you can leave now." Julien cocked his head, dark hair falling in his eyes in a completely unfair way. "Do you want me to leave?" Stars no. She didn't say that though. She just took another swig of tea and pointedly looked anywhere but him. When she didn't kick him out, he took that as a sign he could keep talking. "Is there anything that makes it better?" Her cheeks flushed, and his brow furrowed in concern. "It's just cramps, right? You don't have a fever do you?" "No, no just the cramps. And I don't really know." She gestured to the hot bottle and the mug. "This is about all I know to do. I've been on my own since I was fourteen, so I've handled it on my own." Her tiny shoulders gave a tiny shrug. "I do what I can." Julien drew a deep breath, willing his fingers to still. "Do you throw up every time? For the whole week?" The look Kit gave the toilet could have shattered it. "Yeah, but usually only for the first few days. I'm hoping it'll ease off tonight. I've got a story due tomorrow. I haven't finished editing it yet," She sighed, her head knocking against the wall. "Life is so unfair," Julien chuckled at her moan. "You guys have it way easier." Her eyes locked on him when he snorted. "I don't know if I'd got that far. I mean, I'm not able to create people, that's all you girl." A deep groan left her lips as she buried her head in her knees. "Are you going to give me that whole 'be glad you can bear children! It's the ultimate reason for women to live' speech right now?" That struck him as so 'Kit' that he had to bite back a laugh. "No, I wasn't. I was just pointing out that the fact that you can do that, that you were made for creating tiny humans is mind-blowing to me. That fact isn't going to change whether you decide to use it or not. I also know it doesn't lessen the current pain. I just... was trying to get your mind off it..." The scepticism had been completely stripped from her gaze, and he wasn't sure what he'd said to make that happen, but he took it as a win regardless.

The conversation died abruptly when she bolted for the toilet. Pain lanced through him and he had pulled her hair back before he'd even realized he'd moved. Memories of his sister swam closer to his consciousness, reminding his hands of old tricks. There were no promises they'd be effective on the small girl in front of him, but it was better than nothing. He just didn't want to push it. The convulsions were sucking away at what little strength she had left, and it looked so damn painful that he wanted to help ease it. Fingers light and soft, he soothed circles into her back. His heart hammering wildly as he expected her to shove him away any second now. When she leaned into him, he couldn't breathe. It wasn't drastic, just the slightest shift of her weight, but it felt as if he'd been handed the keys to the city.

When she finally stopped, he let his hands fall back to his sides. "So you just camp in the bathroom?" "Pretty much." He eyed her skeptically. "When was the last time you ate?" "Don't know, maybe lunch yesterday?" She shrugged. "It's not like I can keep it down anyway." Julien sighed and rocked back onto his heels, leaving a very confused Kit in the bathroom.

She heard him shuffling around, rummaging through some of her cabinets. She had half a mind to shout at him for invading her privacy, but surprisingly, she didn't want to. It was a foreign feeling, being taken care of. Having someone rub her back, hold her hair out of her face. Make her cramp easing tea. The girls were great, and she was thankful they stopped by, but they couldn't stay. When Julien came back with blankets and pillows she got the startling realization that this idiot of a man wasn't planning on leaving soon. If ever.

Something softened as she watched him create a pallet on the tiles, his hands meticulous and always moving. There was something different... "Sit," He ordered, leaving her no option but to crawl onto the mound of pillows. "You can at least try not to get any sicker than you already are by not lying around on cold floors." The gentle reprimand went by unnoticed as she tried to work through her feelings. A blanket was thrown over her and he settled himself on the edge of the pallet, a book and –  "You said you had a story due tomorrow, right?" There was color in his cheeks as he messed with a stack of papers and a pen he'd snagged from her desk. "I figured I could try to help out if you wanted." She had no idea what emotion was on her face, but whatever it was it shocked him into stuttering out an excuse. "Or – or I found this, if you'd rather not focus on work." Her eyes found the book she'd been trying to read earlier. "So pick one and then try and eat these. They should be easier to keep down." He slid a sleeve of crackers at her. Eyes smarting, she dragged in a deep breath and sunk into the pillows. "Read my work," She said, shoving a pillow on his leg and laying down before he could say anything. "It'll help to hear someone else read it. I'm numb to it at this point." Kit was pretty sure his brain was short-circuting and she wondered if he'd push aherway. Mentally prepared for it, even. Instead the papers shuffled and his baritone voice rumbled above her. She didn't know it could be that soft. Biting into a saltine, she tried to keep from crying when his free hand rubbed circles into her aching muscles. A tear fell silently, but didn't go unnoticed by either of them. She's never going to have to do this alone again, Julien vowed silently before she made him focus on editing her work.

[tinywritingloft]

Mothers warn their daughters to stay clear of large men covered in tattoos. They especially warn against following them into pitch black rooms alone.  Such a shame I never had a mother.

Kit: The Heathens

[tinywritingloft]

Being made up of contradictions leads to a very sorry existence if you don’t do it right. This nosedives into plenty of mishaps, because how can you expect an eleven-year-old to figure out that sweaters can go with leather, and that tattoos aren’t taboo, or that being in a house known for its kindness doesn’t mean people don’t judge? You can’t. And when you add the fact that adults brush you off as a harmless, innocent thing because of the yellow crest on your chest, you begin to believe them. No one remembers that badgers have claws until they’re suddenly missing an eye and are left trying to figure out what the hell happened. 

But it’s okay, because that eleven-year-old figured it out. She wears her bumblebee sweater with her Doc Martins with an atrocious amount of pride. It may have taken her three years to pick out the hypocritical and slightly toxic people in her house, but she found them and avoids them like the plague. And she just walked out of a tattoo parlor with a bushel of forget-me-knots dancing along the vein in her forearm. So what if she doesn’t have friends who write to her over the summer break? Or that she’ll probably graduate from the most prestigious school in the wizarding community without fully experiencing it? Those were just minor details. 

[tinywritingloft]

Golden Rose & Silver Skates

Kahtya never vied for his attention. She never even wanted to speak to him. But being the daughter of the favored viser of the king, she was forced to mingle with the royal family and forced to be civil about it as well. She was a girl of strong will and an imagination as wild as her hair that refused to be tamed by customs and tradition. And yet she found herself on the cusp of what could be the end of everything she knew or enslave her to a life she never wanted. 

The tea tray rattled in trembling hands, loud in the otherwise quiet corridor of the house. Just before the door the servant did her best to regain what little composure she had left as she slipped into the room beyond. There she found the young mistress sitting on one of the high backed chairs. Her red curls were wild as usual, and threatened to burst from their confined pins at any moment. But her face was as pale as a sheet. Far from her usual sun kissed glow that was unfashionable for a lady of her station. This disturbed the servant more than anything until she noticed the other figure that knelt on the floor holding out a golden rose. The tea tray clattered to the table top and the servant cursed at herself. Servants were supposed to be invisible, and in this particular moment she wanted nothing more than to be just that. “No.” A tea cup dropped to the carpeted floor. The servant gasped, her eyes flying up to the scene she had been so careful to avoid watching. The mistress seemed to have found her wits as she rose to her feet, though she was still very pale. The handsome prince followed her, reaching for her arm as she passed. “No? You are refusing me then?” He asked, confusion written as plain as day on his face.  “Yes. That is what ‘no’ means. Though I’m not sure you’d be familiar with the term. Now if you’ll kindly excuse me, I must break it to Mama that her daughter just refused the crown prince.” She pulled her arm away and straightened the bodice of her dress. “She’s going to have a heart attack.”

Kahyta collapsed against the door to her rooms – most certainly not her mother’s chambers – but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Thoughts flew through her head as fast as her heart beat. She could just imagine her mother’s reaction. If the woman didn’t fain first, she’d fly into a horrible rage. Then there was her father. The visar would not take kindly to this development.  Kahtya drug a breath through clenched teeth, eyes darting around the luxury she’d known all her life yet hated with every fiber of her heart. They’ll make me retract my response. They’ll do anything to get the prince to ask me again. And they’ll do worse than anything to make sure I say yes. Her eyes fell on her wardrobe the size of a room and the secret it held. “Nothing else for it then,” She decided with a set of her shoulders and a defiant tilt of her chin. “I’ll just have to disappear.” Khatya flung herself at the wardrobe, yanking savagely at the hooks keeping her dress together until it was an expensive pool on the floor. She swapped the velvet and lace for a coarser fabric with no flounces to speak of. She was halfway through the buttons when she heard her door swing open.

Kahtya’s heart dropped in a moment of panic until she realized it was only her sister. Not that that made things better but at least it wasn’t Papa. “Leisa,” She breathed, half daring to hope. Her sister took one look at her and nearly throttled her on the spot. But where Kahtya expected a stern lecture, she got helping hands. “Leisa?” She tried again only a question now. “This is a right mess you’ve gotten yourself into, you know that, yes?” Leisa’s fingers were rough and hurried, but she couldn’t complain. “Guess who will have to clean up after you now? Who will have to soothe Mama and keep Papa from hunting you down? Not to mention I’ll have to take your place as tribute to the crown.”  “Must you use ‘tribute’?” Kahtya’s nose scrunched in the mirror. “You’re making me feel like I’m offering you up as a sacrifice to the frost king.” Leisa pinched her arm hard. There was going to be a bruise. “Don’t invoke Morozoko, idiot! Winter isn’t loosening her grip yet. And you should feel like that!” “But Leisa, that’s your dream!” Kahyta ignored her sister’s superstitions and turned to her. Ever the picture of refinement, even her hair was gentle despite sharing the same shade of fiery red as her own. “You’re the one who wants luxury at its finest, and who actually appreciates this life. I can’t even remember the correct fork to use! If either of us should become royalty it’s you and we both know it.” Leisa sighed heavily, her gaze pinning the younger like she was a pretty butterfly. another sigh, but this time a hand pulled on a runaway curl affectionately. “This life was killing you, little sister,” She murmured. Understanding was a heavy weight on an otherwise angelic face. “That’s why I’m helping you. You’re so much more than a pretty face and you deserve the chance to prove it.”She reached for the bag utcked into the darkest corner of the wardrobe. Placing it in Kahtya’s hands, she yanked the diamond earrings out of her own ears and tucked them into a handkerchief. “I know you’ve snuck out before, but this will be different. Don’t trust lightly. And for heaven’s sake, don’t get caught up in the ice fairs. You know how they can get.” Kahyta was only half listening as she slipped into an old coat she’d swapped with a maid years ago. Tucking her sister’s earrings away safely, she gave Leisa the best smile she could manage.  “I really do feel awful leaving like this,” She whispered, her words mournful. “As you should. You’re really the most horrible brat.” Kahyta hung her head if only to hide the tiny smile. “I know.” “And I love you for it. Now get going before I change my mind.” Bag tucked over her shoulder, Kahtya paused at the panel hiding the servant’s passage. Taking a last look at her oldest friend, the smile cracked like ice. “Be careful sister,” She warned. “Don’t let this life kill you either.” Leisa scoffed and straightened her shawl. “It wouldn’t dare.” The two sisters shared an almost smile before one slipped into shadow and the other turned to settle the tables.