The Map Of Fae Story Is Living Rent Free In My Mind And Its All Your Fault.

The map of fae story is living rent free in my mind and it’s all your fault.

The MC has a name now. Look what you did. I have five WIP’s I do NOT need another one 😭

I promise I’ll post writing I just had one of my bad luck days (it’s ok that’s normal) and I got lithium poisoning and was very sick and then I got rear ended and then I sat in a hot car in a Lowe’s parking lot for three hours but at least I got published in a local lit mag but like I also have whiplash and my body hurts and I want to stop vomiting

Heads Up, Seven Up

Soo... I was originally responding to @the-broken-pen for tagging me with this. Then I didn't know who to tag, so left this in my drafts. And then! @gummybugg tagged me with the same game. So now, here are two different snippets of stuff!

Rules: share the last seven lines of whatever project you've been working on

The Court Magician

Micah puts the letter in a pocket in his robe and opens the package. Inside is a gold pendant with three wide, curved spokes. In the middle is a circular-cut emerald. On each of the spokes are engraved paw prints of a cat, deer, and owl. The pendant is hung on a thin gold chain. Micah’s eyes and smile widened. “Oh wow.. This is lovely.”

In Love and War

Frederick stood frozen. “I-I.. I’m sorry, your highness,” he stammered meekly. “I- I was just.. f-following orders.” “What orders?!” Eliza’s voice grew louder. “I am your commanding officer, you listen to me!” Her wings extended fully in a powerful flap, the wind almost thundering in response.

Let's see, what random writeblrs can I attack tag to make sure they're writing? How about @amewinterswriting @olivescales3 @clairelsonao3 @moonandris and @chainsaw-raven

it took a word document two days to load and open on my computer and during that time it told me to go fuck myself and also murdered my entire family

I want pasta

Heads up, Seven Up,

The remix

Since I’m unable to leave things unanswered (thank you for the tag @clairelsonao3), here’s a random seven lines from my post apocalypse WIP, because I made my friend play roulette with all my options.

Here’s a line for some vibes “There was a note of finality in his voice, and this time she did smile, that wretched smile she had learned when growing up in a government lab, that smile that almost looked agreeable but promised violence if the lights went out.”

“On your knees, hands interlaced behind your head.”

“Damn,” Rain cocked her head. “Where you born boring or did the Acadamy make you that way.”

She slid to her knees, cool metal seeping through her pants, and interlaced her fingers behind her head.

“Given up on pretending to be the innocent girl?” Carter questioned flatly. He slid behind her and pulled out a pair of cuffs to shackle her, ones she couldn’t see, but hear.

“I am innocent,” she let her voice quiver. “I just don’t want to be hurt and have you claim I was resisting arrest. I was just trying to contact someone about my situation—I have a right to a lawyer!”

The shackles slid onto her wrists, and they felt cold, tingling against her skin.

“Now I get the pleasure of finding a cell you can’t escape from.”

Good luck with that. She would be pressed to find a cell she couldn’t escape from herself.

“I didn’t do anything wrong—” she meant to let it slide out as a pitiful wail, but her tongue was sluggish in her mouth, sending out garbled letters instead. “What—”

“Biologically designed so slow the body process of the wearer down,” Carter said smoothly, giving the cuffs on her wrists a light tug. He pulled her to her feet, maneuvering her down the hallway, and it was a struggle to get her knees to comply.

Catch up, she thought bitterly at her body. You’ve dealt with worse than a little slowing agent, surely you can manage it now.

Why is tagging people so hard? @imaginativemind29new @jay-avian @clairelsonao3 @averyconfusedhuman @silver-ink-iron-words @poems-and-word

Map of Fae Pt. 2

A piece of gravel had sliced its way into her heel, and with every step, it embedded itself a little further.

If she cared to look, she might have been able to make out the edges of her bloodied footprint before the rain washed it away.

She didn’t look.

Building lights came into view, soft and warm, in a dull kind of way

Not soft in the haze of sunshine, not warm in the scent of butterscotch.

Just yellow, in the way of humanity.

And somehow, that hurt.

She left blood on the glass pane as she pulled the door open—when had her hand started bleeding?

Her feet squelched slightly on the floor, and she looked down, staring dumbly at the floor. Her footprints were red. She was leaving puddles of water behind her.

It was raining. Had it always been raining?

Her hair stuck uncomfortably to her neck, and her dress was sticking too, and it was such a bright green and she hated it and it took her a moment to remember why and it hurt and she was scared and she was molasses and sugar sweet slow—

Thunder cracked, and the person at the front desk looked up.

One blink, two, and then—

“Miss, are you alright?”

She blinked rainwater and maybe blood and maybe tears out of her eyes.

The person rounded the desk—she looked nice, but not ethereal nice, just Girl Scout cookie and preservative nice, and her soul eased a bit—and she stopped a foot away from her and her bloody footprints.

The person—she was a cop? She was a cop, this was a police station, in the drum of heartbeats and guns.

The cop’s tone gentled.

“Did someone hurt you?”

Was hurt even enough to encompass it? Was the robbery of choice existence breath love freedom air life taste memory thought considered hurting?

She settled on “yes.”

The cop’s face softened further and she began to hate soft things.

“Hey, Roberts, grab Smith and tell him to radio an ambulance.”

There was a shuffling, and a man popped out.

He stopped when he noticed her.

“Is she—“

“I don’t know.” The female cop turned to her. “What’s your name?”

Her tongue turned to lead in her mouth and she purged herself of every syllable.

She wasn’t stupid enough to give that freely. Not after—no.

The cop simply nodded, as if she had expected this.

“How old are you?”

When she finally spoke, it sounded like it hurt, and it did. “What’s the date?”

The cop blinked.

“February 19th.”

When she didn’t answer, the cop added, “2023”.

Seven days. It had felt like forever and it had been a week? So much suffering, so much kaleidoscopic bending and it was a week?

Time, it seemed, was obsolete in the fae realm.

“17.”

Roberts disappeared, a radio crackled through the wall, and he returned with someone.

Maybe Smith. He looked like a Smith.

The cop took a step forward, and she took one back, and her heel bled more and the gravel sunk further and—

“Is there someone we can call?”

She couldn’t remember.

She felt like maybe she had once been the kind of someone who had someone else to call, who had someone’s at home who ran dishwashers and wrote to do lists. The cops looked like they had someone’s.

Was she still a someone who had someone’s or had they stolen that from her too?

“I can’t remember,” she murmured, and the female cop—her name was Ryan, or at least her last name was, her name tag said so—shifted closer.

“Have you been in an accident?”

“I think it was planned very carefully,” she answered absently, and Ryan shot a look towards Roberts and Smith.

“What was?”

“All of it.”

She was cold. She had forgotten what cold felt like. She liked it. Her fingers shook.

She tugged on the ends of them, but they didn’t stop.

Ryan shifted.

“Is there anything you can tell us?”

The clock ticked and the lights flickered and her spine tingled and she was pretty sure they were all related.

Had things ever not been?

“I don’t want to go back,” she breathed, and it was a promise and a secret and an oath.

The cops didn’t know what to do with those, so they blew away like dandelion seeds.

It was nice being around people who didn’t understand true currency.

“Did someone take you?”

“Yes.”

Ryan reached a hand out. “Let’s get you some dry clothes, and check on those cuts of yours, yeah?”

She didn’t move. Her hair dripped onto the floor.

Ryan wavered slightly.

The clock stopped. Her spine cramped. The lights flickered.

Connections. So many connections.

She wanted their help but nothing came without a cost—what would bandages be worth? What would a blanket be?

The lights shut off, and she knew it didn’t matter anymore.

When they turned on again, the fae was there. Her teeth hurt with the sugar sweetness of it.

The air smelled like jasmine.

“Hello, officers,” the fae smiled. They wrapped an arm around her, so gentle. They had never bruised or bloodied her, though.

Just broken her. So broken. Like a doll.

Ryan startled.

“Sir—“

“I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you. Our car broke down just up the road, and she got in a bad accident when she was young. I thought she was fine, but the next moment—“ they waved their hand, as if encompassing the whole of her shaking wet body and bleeding skin.

Ryan relaxed slightly.

“We have an ambulance on the way, we can get you some blankets while you wait—“

“That won’t be necessary,” the fae said, and she could hear the sharks teeth and bite. “It was just a flat. All fixed now. I can take care of her myself.”

Something flickered in Ryan’s eyes, something flickered in all three cops eyes.

The fae guided her towards the door, bearing most of her weight as she stumbled, and Ryan grabbed her other arm.

“Sir, I really don’t think you should leave,” Ryan began.

Her eyes said please and her mouth said wait.

She felt the exact moment when the fae decided to kill them.

One moment, nothing, the stagnant kind of nothing in which nothing of importance is happening.

The next, the bloody kind of nothing.

Robert and Smith’s bodies hit the ground with a wet sort of thud.

When Ryan fell, she slid down the side of her body. She stared at her absently.

There was more blood on her dress now.

She couldn’t remember if the fae would be pleased by this.

The fae moved to the computer, a single touch causing it to fritz. They turned to her with a smile.

“Now, love, that wasn’t very nice of you.”

She didn’t know if they were referring to her running away or her seeking help or her stabbing them.

She laughed, and her throat burned.

“Which part.”

The fae’s eyes flickered, but they didn’t move closer.

The world fritzed like the computer for a moment. Her lungs hurt. Her hand clenched on plastic and regret.

“You belong to me,” they reminded her.

She jerked her head, just once.

“No.”

The fae stepped forward.

“I have your name—“

“Don‘t.”

The fae stopped, then, and appraised her.

The smiled returned, and it was a ravenous thing.

“Oh, love, I should have known.”

She took a step back.

“Known what?”

Her hands were slippery.

The fae tipped their head.

“That much compulsion, so fast, for that long?” They paused, amused. “It changes you. Tell me, can you even remember why your hair is wet?”

She looked down, surprised. When had she gotten wet?

The fae laughed, just too far on this side of delighted.

“It’s raining,” the fae supplied. When they took a step forward, she didn’t move. “Your mind is like a shattered mirror. You’re halfway between realms. Not quite a thing of humans, not quite a thing of fae. Don’t worry, I can fix it.”

“I don’t want you to.”

The fae paused.

“I don’t want to go back.”

They tutted. “I’ll admit, I never meant for it to get this bad, but I can make it stop hurting,” they soothed. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“I’m fine—“

“You’re slipping. You have to be able to see that. Let me fix it. That smart mouth, that wicked mind of yours is breaking.”

“Then I’ll keep breaking until there’s nothing left,” she spat, and for a moment, she remembered.

Cartology. She really hated it.

Fucking Janice.

The fae took a step closer.

“You took me.”

The fae simply nodded. “How could I not.”

“You had to know I would never stay.”

The fae turned grim.

“You will. I’ll make sure of it.”

She laughed.

“I got away, didn’t I?”

“An oversight.”

“You just killed three people.”

“They would have kept you.”

“You would keep me, too,” she said over the drip of her blood onto the floor.

The fae shifted on the balls of their feet.

The sound of an ambulance drew closer.

“Humans, they don’t deserve something like you. You aren’t like them. You’re halfway between the realms. I didn’t mean to break you, but you came out so much stronger, can’t you see? Not quite human but not quite fae,” they looked at her with reverence. “You’re exquisite.”

“I am neither human nor fae. But I am still not yours.”

The fae twitched like they wanted to erase her words from memory.

“They cannot love you like I can.”

She laughed again, and it was sharp. It felt like her. This newer, shiny edged metal of her. It felt like the thrill of perfection and the adrenaline of free fall. Like power and love and mortality and the immortal in one. The clock began to tick. The lights steadied.

Neither human or fae, but both.

“No,” she ceded. “They can love me better.”

And then she raised Ryan’s gun, slippery with water and blood, and fired a single shot.

I don’t know how I feel about this but I refuse to proof read. Maybe I will at two am. Spontaneity, am I right?

A thank you to @hojo76 for saying he had no idea how I should continue this, which was super helpful considering I gave him two options and he chose neither, which was NOT an option. Don’t worry, you guys got the good option, it just had to stew for a couple weeks.

And because you asked to be tagged, my lovely reader, @d-cs