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mbovettwrites-blog · 7 years ago

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Blackbird - 500 Follow Excerpt

It’s been long enough. Let’s just get into it.

In the background, she heard the faint whistle of a late night train pulling into the station. At least something was still working at this unholy hour.

Only a few people emerged from the archway leading to the platforms, the thickness of the night outside dispersed by twinkling lights strung along the wall. The first was a businessman, which Maria learned first from his irate posture and prim expression and secondly from noting the expensive suit and briefcase. Next was a pair of women huddled under a scarlet umbrella, an elderly man with his pace defiantly brisk and his lips pursed in disdain as he glanced across Maria’s slouched shoulders, and a gang of students whose raucous laughter felt poisonous in the previously peaceful station.

The first thing she noticed about the students was that there were four of them, and the second was that they were all boys. Each of them was impossibly energised and bright-faced for such an hour of the morning, and it momentarily occurred to Maria that they were all drunk – then she grew sensible again and reminded herself that drinking was illegal on cross-country trains.

They were foreigners, obviously. More foreign than her. Northerners, from one of the many wealthy pockets of Verlinden or Adovya where they were expected to just casually take a train from one end of the continent to another on a spontaneous summer holiday.

Well, then, she thought, the voice in her head sounding far more stiff and repulsed than she had expected of herself, Let them be miscreants. Anyways, they’ve chosen a terrible place for a weekend away if they’re looking for that kind of meaningless fun.

Only one of them – the quietest, his arms swinging laxly at his sides rather than gesturing wildly in all directions – looked as though he could pass as a native to a Gulf Belt country. Ygar, most likely. But his company betrayed him. They looked like the kind of people whose company her mother would have enjoyed, if she were both young and present with her. He seemed fixated on the presence of an alarmingly skinny boy at his side, whose shock of coal-black hair did little to distract Maria from the fact that she could see the outline of his bones in his face and his hands. This boy was by far the loudest, letting of bouts of high-pitched laughter every other second that sounded not entirely unlike the train whistle.

His arm was slung around the shoulders of the shortest, who looked more out of place in Cuorren than Maria had thought possible. For one thing, he appeared to still be wearing his school uniform. Schools in Navarios didn’t have uniforms. Feeling a little pleased as the fact presented itself, she then also recalled that she’d read a study in a newspaper that said Navarios students were fifteen per cent happier and thirteen per cent less prone to stress and anxiety than those in Verlinden’s supposedly world-class academies.

Honestly? Maria was quite sure that the only people who thought Verlinden’s education was the best were the people who had been raised and brainwashed in it. Everyone she knew thought the school system was a mockery, designed to manufacture posh, well-to-do young intellectuals with no individuality or purpose beyond making money for their already dangerously wealthy country.

She could yet be wrong. They could be from Adovya which, though not by much, was a noteworthy improvement.

Goddesses forsake her if they were students at Hylin.

She didn’t quite have time to analyse the fourth before he had invited himself to sit next to her.

Her lips puckered in distaste as he offered up a lazy smile and a hand to shake. Quarter past one in the morning was not a good hour for her to be interacting with stuck-up people at, lest she bite their heads off like a five-headed hound. Tersely, she accepted the handshake. It was just like the ones she received from the white-shirted men Arabella introduced her to, sometimes because they were one-week lovers and sometimes because they were work colleagues from her lawyer world. She prayed that this boy would become neither.

“Evan Charlize,” he said, and then continued in extremely broken Agion, “A pleasure to meet you.”

In flawless Verlinden, she replied, “Maria None-Of-Your-Business. Try again when I’m not tired enough to sleep through the end of the world.”

The boy’s eyebrows quirked up, eyes widening slightly. The loud one half-cackled, half-wheezed, slipping easily past his companions and slapping his friend hard on the shoulder. Still in Verlinden, he howled, “Evan, my man, she just gave you a smack down! That was awesome! Matt, my boy, did you get that on camera? I’m replaying that at his eighteenth – ‘The One Where Evan Gets Showed Up by a Strange Girl’, anyone?”

Evan – Maria presumed that was the name of boy sat beside her – frowned. It was only when this happened that she noticed just how bushy and unruly his eyebrows were. They looked like tiny, sun-yellowed squirrel tails.

“No to all of that, Sal. That was not a ‘smack down’, that was just rude. Daj, teach your boyfriend some respect.”

The quiet one folded his arms across his chest. “Not my boyfriend, not my responsibility.”

Sal giggled hysterically again, collapsing against Evan in the process. Evan, Sal, and Daj – that left the uniformed kid as Matt. She decided to focus on him instead, since he was the only one who hadn’t spoken yet and therefore was also the only one who had yet to irritate her.

Daj spoke up again. “Here’s an idea that, shockingly, neither of you have thought of – maybe she doesn’t want you here because you’re making moves on her and she’s very uncomfortable with that. Matt, come on, you had to have picked up on that.”

Maria growled. “I know you’re trying to be nice, but I do have the basic ability to stand up for myself. I am exceptionally tired. Leave. Me. Alone.”

Sal’s eyes went wider than Evan’s. Pushing himself away from his disgruntled friend with a bounce in his step (which, given the ridiculous time of night, defied all logic and reason that Maria possessed), he swung an arm around Daj’s neck instead and let out a long whistle. It was at this moment that Maria’s observational skills fully caught up with the rest of her brain and she noted that Sal was, in fact, flaunting a crop top. Not that it was unusual – she had seen every fashion statement possible in her corner of Navarios – but she somehow wanted such a charismatic person to have the added bonus of knowing when it was chilly enough to wear a jacket over it.

She knew from experience back home that the nights in the Gulf Belt were as damp and humid as a fox’s armpit, but the air conditioning in the station was on overkill. At that moment, she would trade the lives of all of these boys for one minute in the heat of the midday sun.

“Whatever,” Evan huffed, standing up with a slight grunt. “We’re stuck here until the morning trams start running anyways. How long is that, anyways?”

“Ten to seven. They start at sunrise,” Maria interjected curtly.

“I was under the impression that Your Majesty wasn’t going to talk to us.” Evan’s eyes looked almost as chaotic and grey as the storm raging outside as he snapped back at her, all previous interests in being gentlemanly lost the moment she bared her teeth at him. She couldn’t care less. He’d apologise when the sun came up and the tropical warmth melted his temper tantrum away.

“Evan, even the Goddesses know you’re too grouchy to be socially interacting with other people right now. Find somewhere to sleep it off, you’re even starting to exhaust me.”

Matt had taken it upon himself to speak now. One hand was thumbing the corner of his shirt collar as he scolded Evan and followed it up with an apologetic smile tossed at Maria – the other was tucked tightly into his trouser pocket. At last, Evan decided that this was somebody he could agree with, and marched across the room to stretch all six feet of himself across the opposing bench. Back turned to the rest of them. Obviously.

“In another time, this would’ve been hilarious,” Sal said with a sigh. The corners of Maria’s mouth tugged up in an inkling of smile.

“You don’t say.”

He performed a walk that was somewhere between a skip and a strut as he went to join Evan, and Daj followed in respectful silence. Matt was the last one to speak and to go, talking and smiling over his shoulder as he trailed after his friends.

“He’ll be more polite come sunrise, I promise you. I’m sorry we had to meet like this.”

“Keep him and his temper! Didn’t plan on meeting you all in the first place!”

Leaving that as the closing statement of the tumultuous conversation, she unzipped one of her suitcases and dug around until she pulled out three identical crimson hoodies, draped them around her goosebump-ridden arms, and nestled in to wait out the storm still thundering above them.

So, this is about half of the second chapter showcasing the introduction of some other major characters (because as much as I love Ingrid, I love these guys too and they deserve some more spotlight). I would have put this out yesterday when I actually hit 500, like I promised, but I became swamped with work and sort of burned out and fell asleep a full two hours earlier than I’d normally even consider going to bed. So, yeah, that was a tad time-consuming.

I’m going to tag @kbcypher for being so supportive of this WIP and often seeming a little upset when updates are missed, @jade-island-lives for also being generally supportive and also being someone who keeps popping up time and time again in my notes, and @bitteredplum because they’re a cute art kid who is probably the only person I know IRL who I can actually stand.

They also drew a little doodle of Maria and Ingrid the last time they came over to my house, which I need to post soon

Thank you all again for 500! xx

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bitteredplum · 7 years ago

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Follow my instagram™

Go ahead and follow my instagram too-

At - Bitteredplum

💕💕

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mbovettwrites-blog · 7 years ago

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@katefarron Thanks for tagging me, sweetheart! I’ve been meaning to get around to doing this tag for an age, and now seems like a decent enough time to catch up and join in.

1. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

Yes! I have a playlist on Spotify called ‘on broken wings’ which I use as a sort of soundtrack to Blackbird to keep my spirits up when I’m writing. If I’m doing poetry for Write the World, I use ‘suspended in the universe’ instead, if only for the aesthetic.

2. Does your family/friends know that you write stories/poems/etc.?

Everyone’s aware that I write a lot; not everyone knows about my WIP. My mum, however, is highly invested in it. She is hell-bent on me creating a character who could be played by Tom Hardy in her fantasy movie adaptation, despite being reminded countless times that that’s never going to happen.

3. What was your favourite book as a child?

Everything and anything by Enid Blyton. The Famous Five, The Magic Faraway Tree, The Secret Seven, The Adventure Series… I have them all still in their box sets, tucked away on my bookshelf, waiting to be opened up and read for the thousandth time.

4. Tea or coffee?

Both. You will never find a way to make me choose between them.

5. Notebooks and pens or laptop/computer?

It depends. I keep a notebook to jot down ideas and thoughts in, but major projects like Blackbird are kept on my laptop.

6. How old were you when you started writing?

Honestly? As long as I can remember. However, about four years ago when my mental health plummeted into hell, I stopped for about two to three years. I’m quite newly back into the practice, but like with riding a bicycle, once you’ve trained yourself to be a wordsmith, you’re one for the rest of time. You never forget something you love.

7. What is the first line of a WIP you’re working on?

“Being an ex-heiress of the White Eagle crime family meant that Ingrid Neropiuma had been forced into many undesirable situations in her eighteen years of miserable existence, but even she would have to admit that this was a candidate for the top ten.” - B L A C K B I R D

8. Do you base your characters on real people subconsciously?

I think I might do so without realising it. The relationship between Ingrid and Rouge, and the characters themselves, have startling connections to @bitteredplum and I which I only noticed after I got a couple thousand words into the WIP and started having them interact for the first time. It was like an out-of-body, incredibly surreal moment in which I realised what I’d managed to do by entire accident.

9. What does writing mean to you?

Everything and anything. It’s an art - it can be whatever you need it to be in the moment. If you need advice and guidance, spill your mind onto paper and mentor yourself. If you need to vent your emotions, channel your anger into your poetry. If you need to forget yourself for a while, delve into a world entirely of your own creation. Writing is the most beautiful thing to grace the earth, because it can be whatever you want. It’s like a highly abstract Room of Requirement.

10. What is your least favourite trope to write?

You will never, ever catch me writing any form of the damsel in distress trope. Subvert it all you want, I will never enjoy writing or reading it, period.

11. Do you have any favourite authors?

· Leigh Bardugo, author of the Grisha trilogy, the Six of Crows duology, The Language of Thorns, and Wonder Woman: Warbringer

· Sarah J. Maas. Hear me out, because this is a problematic one. I used to love the worlds she created in Throne of Glass, but when I read the ACOTAR trilogy, I noticed some… questionable themes. Exhibit A: The love interest for the second two books is introduced in book one as the biggest, most moronic, sexist, violating pig imaginable, and his skin-crawling behaviour is excused because it’s for the MC’s own safety. Exhibit B: Erotic scenes with aforementioned dickhead love interest every other damn chapter. In a YA novel. I have now picked up on these themes throughout all of her books and she’s on the list of favourite authors not because I adore her books, but because her convoluted prose and questionable research skills are hilarious.

· Dante Alighieri. The Divine Comedy = religious self-insert fanfiction of Dante being escorted around the afterlife by his senpai in a quest to find his dead girlfriend. Also, the Hell City of Dis is entertaining. And Satan is frozen up to his tits in an ice field.

· Neil Gaiman. I’m in the middle of reading American Gods and I love every bit of it.

· Rick Riordan. This requires no explanation whatsoever.

Ok darlings, here are my questions for you:

1. How long have you been working on your WIP(s) for?

2. What song would you assign as your protagonist’s theme tune?

3. Do you have any favourite spots (gardens, parks, cafes, etc.) where you like to write?

4. Poetry or Prose?

5. Where do you draw inspiration for your writing from?

6. Is there any popular book that you wish you had written and why?

7. What’s your planning process when you start working on a new WIP?

8. Do you work best in mornings, afternoons, or at night?

9. Would you prefer to self-publish or work with an agent and publishing company and why?

10. How do your emotions/moods affect your writing?

11. What’s your favourite line of your WIP/one of your poems?

Tagging: @gingerly-writing, @brynprocrastinates, @ramblingrubyred, @gameranilah, @scribble-dee-vee

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mbovettwrites-blog · 7 years ago

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200 Followers Extract!

As a thank you for 200 followers, here’s another piece of the Blackbird world - this time, pertaining to Ingrid’s backstory.

Tagging: @kbcypher, @katefarron, @bitteredplum

TW for mentions of abuse.

The cactus on the windowsill had been rotting for a week. It had changed from having obscene, mouldy warts sprouting where its blossoms should have been to being shrivelled and peppered with a chalky dust. Nicia would be disappointed when she finally came home. This time, when Ingrid collapsed on the cotton sheets and turned glazed eyes up to the window, it wasn’t her stomach or chest that was bruised and throbbing. It was her hand. Her left hand. A black mass was carved into the back of it, where her fingers were still twitching and her palm was still clammy with sweat. It curved like a crescent moon, curling around the centre of her fist like a crown of glass shards. A broken crow’s feather. The crest of her family – and the mark that branded every bloodied corpse they left in their wake. She hated it. And she loved it. She hated it for what it made her. Someone like Aziz or Lucinda – one of the brutes her family hired to do dirty jobs and train their younger members – could be tattooed anywhere. Aziz wore his long and thin on his collarbone, mapping a scar left there from his childhood. Lucinda’s was hidden on the small of her back, the rips in the plumage cast up to her neck by a motionless wind. Ingrid was not allowed that privilege. Her parents, Luna and Niloz, had them on the back of the left hand. So did her sister Sirena, five years her senior. Nicia would have hers there as well in two years’ time, when she too turned fifteen. It was only the Neropiumas themselves who were marked in that spot. Ingrid wasn’t a Neropiuma. Not by flesh and blood. Luna had made it clear from an early age that Ingrid was not her daughter. Aziz had brought her back to the house on Paradisostrada after a mission one night when she was a baby, and Luna had pounced at the chance to raise another fearsome Neropiuma killing machine. They had kept her birth name, one of Verlinden or Sovaki origin, rather than giving her one from L’Agio. To show that she would never be their true kin. Her middle name, Merlo, was the name of the tame garden blackbird – to show that she could never be as skilled or ferocious as the others, who were named after vultures and owls and all things with pointed talons and hooked beaks. To mark her on the left hand was no honour. It was humiliation. And yet she loved it. No matter the intent behind it, it held power. She could use the ugly symbol to wield command over the other murderers in the White Eagle syndicate. If they sneered, Luna would still punish them for it. Her true kin or not, the White Eagle matron had raised Ingrid since she was an infant, and she would not stand for one of her possessions to be insulted. Mana below, that mark stung. A glaring red rim had risen around it as her body tried to rid itself of the graffiti. If Nicia was here, she would have tended to it, and tried to cool it with ice wrapped in cloth and soft bandages. But Nicia was gone. She had run away almost two weeks ago, after she’d watched Niloz crack his fist into Sirena’s skull. The two eldest Neropiuma sisters were accustomed to that treatment from their father: Niloz had left Ingrid with glorious purple marks on plenty of occasions, and Sirena was no different. And Nicia? Luna had always shielded her from it. Nicia adored both of her sisters, and she had run to the bathroom to vomit after she’d seen the blood stream from Sirena’s nose. In the night, she had escaped. When she was found and dragged back home, Luna wouldn’t be able to shield her any more. Ingrid wondered if Luna would even beat Nicia herself. Suddenly cold, she curled in on herself, pulling her knees to her chest. Where was Sirena? She hadn’t seen her after Aziz had taken her into the tunnels to be marked. That had been two hours ago, and as far as she knew, Sirena wasn’t meant to be leaving the house to work that night. Sirena would only leave when the most tense and high-risk meetings were scheduled. Border brushes with the Ironsteps and the Goldbacks. Visits to the house of Don Marco, the Black Brimstone leader, and weapon exchanges with Don Ferdiad’s henchmen. None of those were happening tonight. Not when she’d just been formally inducted into the White Eagles. Maybe, if Aziz had never stolen her away from her crib, she would be spending her fifteenth birthday happily. Maybe her parents would bake her a cake – coffee cake, her favourite – and her siblings, if she had any, would be sat with her, rather than vanished into the frosty night. If she was from Verlinden, she would be dancing with her friends in the garden or at the riverside, and if she was from Sovaki, she would be gorging on a banquet of her favourite foods. Instead, she closed her eyes, tucked her head down, and tried to take up as little space on the plain bed as possible.

Welcome to the Mavericks’ Club, where the bad kids look good.

#blackbird #world of blackbird #ingrid neropiuma #writeblr #young writeblr #my writing #amwriting #own writing #original writing #200 followers #ya novelist #aspiring ya novelist #original character #oc #oc writing

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mbovettwrites-blog · 7 years ago

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Requested Moodboard: Demon Kishen

This moodboard was requested by a close friend @bitteredplum for their character Kishen! They’re an artblr, please go show them some of our trademark writeblr love!

#writeblr #new writeblr #oc moodboard #oc #demon oc #blue aesthetic #artblr #original character

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mbovettwrites-blog · 7 years ago

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Let’s all appreciate the time that @bitteredplum called upon everything she knows from eight years of knowing me and made a moodboard about me.

And also that I then made one about her:

Because few go more hand-in-hand than the wordsmith and the painter.

#moodboard #aesthetic #artist aesthetic #writer aesthetic

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mbovettwrites-blog · 7 years ago

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82 Truths

Thanks to the gorgeous @scribble-dee-vee for tagging me! The rules are to answer 82 truths about yourself, and then tag 25 others!

Most Recent... Drink: Coffee Phone Call: Skyped a friend earlier in the day, if that counts. I don’t really phone people Text: hello @bitteredplum my old friend Song You Listened To: Harlem by New Politics Time You Cried: Probably when I was on my period at some point, not sure exactly when. I don’t cry too often, I just scream and/or brood instead

Bold If You’ve Ever... Dated Someone Twice Been Cheated On Kissed Someone and Regretted It Lost Someone Special Been Depressed Been Drunk and Thrown Up

Bold If In The Last Year, You’ve... Fallen Out Of Love Made A New Friend Laughed Until You Cried Met Someone Who Changed You Found Out Someone Mattered To You More Than You Thought Found Out Someone Was Talking About You Kissed Anyone On Your FB List

Extras:

Three Favourite Colours: Red, Purple, Blue How Many People On Your FB List Do You Know IRL? I’ve met each in person at least twice, I don’t add people if I don’t know them Pets? Fat cat called Arlo & a humongous snail called Lin Do You Want To Change Your Name?: Nope What Did You Do For Your Birthday?: Had a sleepover and watched Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them in the cinema Time You Woke Up Today?: 11:06. Technically I woke up earlier but I kept falling asleep and waking up again until 11-ish What Were You Doing Last Night At Midnight?: Reading Magnus Chase and the Hammer of Thor Something You Can’t Wait For?: College & uni, literally anything written by Leigh Bardugo, winter, road trip around Europe next summer, (possible) weekend trip to Copenhagen next autumn, basically everything that’s better than right now Last Time You saw Your Mom/Mum?: About half an hour ago One Thing To Change About Your Life?: Uh.. Probably be less tempestuous and more chill. Gonna work on that this school year Ever Talked To Someone Named Tom?: ... Yes What’s Getting On Your Nerves Right Now?: Someone cancelling on me last-minute Blood Type: I... Have no idea Nickname: No idea. Any ideas, @bitteredplum? Relationship Status: Single Pronouns: She/her Favourite TV Show: Brooklyn Nine-Nine Long or Short Hair?: Long Height: 5″11 Do You Have A Crush On Someone?: Nope What Do You Like About Yourself?: My underlying, constant need to be doing something even remotely productive, because it’s hella helpful in school and makes sure that I get stuff done Right/Left Handed?: Right First Surgery: About five or six years ago I had thirteen teeth removed for various reasons. All baby teeth, thankfully First Best Friend: Girl from start of primary school called Mya First Sport You Joined: I did a dance thing for about three weeks in primary school, left, and never looked back. Also did horse riding for about a year

Right Now: Eating: Nothing Drinking: Milk I’m About To: Nap Listening To: YouTube videos (Overly Sarcastic Productions) Kids: .. I’m nowhere near old enough to think about having kids, and I have no idea if/how many I want Get Married: ^^^^^^ Career: I’dd like to be a novelist, and/or a translator

Which is Better? Lips or Eyes Hugs or Kisses Taller or Shorter Older or Younger Romantic or Spontaneous Sensitive or Loud Hookup or Relationship Troublemaker or Hesitant

Have You Ever... Kissed A Stranger: Nooooo. Glasses/Contacts: Nope Had Sex On A First Date: No. Broke Someone’s Heart: Maybe..? The entire situation was highly confusing Turned Someone Down: Yes Cried When Someone Died: Yup Fallen For A Friend: Yes

Do You Believe In... Yourself: Well, I try Miracles: Supposing we’re defining them as unexplained fantastical events, no Love At First Sight: No Heaven: Eh. Kissing On The First Date: ^^^

I’m not gonna tag anyone other than @bitteredplum, @kbcypher, and @gingerly-writing because I’m fairly sure that most other people i know have been tagged already.. Sorry if I’m wrong & don’t feel pressured to do this tag because it took me a hecking long time.

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