#nepenthe!excerpts

[yohanseyebrowmole]

Nepenthes

Link to Wattpad

(n.) Nepenthes is defined as a medicine for great sorrow. It is a place, person, or thing that can aid in forgetting one's pain and suffering. Aelora Targaryen was doomed. She was doomed from the moment she was born, for the mere fact that she was born a woman.

✧ Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!aunt!Targaryen

✧ Warnings: Abuse, Canon typical incest, Pregnancy, Childbirth, Misogyny, Mental Illness, Blood, Gore, Descriptions of miscarriages, Religious fanatics (the faith militant), Slightly OOC aegon (he isn't a complete ass), Death, Bodily and Eating disorders, Psychological Abuse, Imprisonment, Sexual assault, non-con/dub-con (not between main pairing), marital r@pe (she is literally 13 when she gets married), familial violence, Suicidal thoughts, Sexual content, etc.

Sexual content will be marked! Chaps with any potential triggers will be marked!

✧ Status: Incomplete

Character aesthetics

Aelora 'Ella' Targaryen

'I find myself lost in the precipice of my own mind.'

22. A motherless child. The Realm's joy. The people's princess. The broken. The young mother. The docile. The child bride. The pawn. The mad. The dreamer. The beloved sister of golden.

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧

Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon

'Then allow me to guide you to safety.'

18. The eldest child. The heir. The black prince. The worthy. The dutiful. The faithful. The loyal. The devoted. The beloved son of delight.

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧

Excerpts from History:

History recounts how the marriage between the young yet ever dutiful black prince and the late wife of the Lord of the iron lands was arranged by the princess's elder brother, Prince Aegon Targaryen. It is that that the prince had learnt of his mother's plans to have his sister wed off to another lord, and was firmly against the notion. He approached his elder sister and the heir to the throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Lady regent of the Iron Lands was originally against the thought of remarriage at first, however, Prince Aegon was quick to persuade her to agree to the match stating that the black prince would be a better match than any other lord that their mother, Alicent Hightower, would place in front of her.

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧

[toraawa]

Excerpt from Nepenthes.

[theemdash]

snippets #0006;

          The ball in Times Square flashes and glints on the TV screen, and Liv wonders what it would look like in person. They should have been there if it weren’t for Monty’s girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—but instead they’re lounging in the living room of their apartment, Elliott and Sanna and Molly and Lyle and Monty.

          And Liv.

          She rubs her arms and hoists herself up from the chair to pour another glass of champagne. Sipping at the beverage, she leans against the counter and watches the ball descend, second by second.  The couples flash smiles at each other, holding hands, and Liv downs the rest of her flute in a gulp.

          Monty enters the kitchen and refills his brandy glass. He raises his glass to Liv in a brief acknowledgement, his eyes rimmed red, then throws back his head. The glass is empty in a couple swallows.

          Twenty.

          Nineteen.

          Liv reaches for the champagne bottle, but Monty asks, “Want some of the brandy?”

          Shrugging, she holds out her glass and Monty pours it to half.

          Eleven.

          After Monty refills his own glass, they clink and sip. In the other room, Lyle kisses Molly below the ear. Sanna runs a hand though Elliott’s hair. Liv stares at the TV.

          Three.

          Two.

          The other room erupts in cries of “Happy New Year!” Elliott cups Sanna’s face in his hands while they kiss. Molly giggles against Lyle’s lips.

          Liv watches the confetti on the screen, and there’s a nudge on her shoulder.

          “Cheers?” Monty offers his half-finished glass in another toast. He sniffs, his lips pursed.

          “Happy New Year, Monty.” They meet each other’s gaze when their glasses touch. Monty’s eyes are jade green, flecked with denim and sepia, despite the bloodshot rim from alcohol and bitterness. His gaze follows down her face and his lips part briefly in an inhale.

          Liv bites her lip. The distance is gone between them. Her heart vibrates under her ribs.

          Monty reaches a finger under her chin and tips her face to him. His lips brush hers, soft and tentative, asking, and he pulls back a moment. He searches her expression. She doesn’t know if she’s breathing. She leans toward him, pressing their lips together again, and she feels him half-smile. His finger slides along her jaw, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The brandy on their breath is heavy and sweet, Monty’s hand warm against the skin behind her ear, his fingers tangled in the tendrils of her hair, and then there’s a cough.

          They pull away roughly.

          Elliott grins from the kitchen entryway. “Happy New Year. Any champagne left?” He sidles next to them and opens the fridge. His smile does not disappear as he gets a handful of flutes from the cupboard and pours the six of them more champagne.

          Clearing his throat, Monty runs a hand through his hair and sets his brandy glass in the sink.

          Elliott hands Liv her glass and Monty his, then carries the other four into the living room. “Are you going to join us, or make out some more?”

          “Ass,” Liv replies and her cheeks burn. Monty’s single, she reminds herself, but only barely and only because of his ex’s decision—not any choice of his own. She can’t look in his direction, she can’t.

          Elliott winks when he turns away.

          “Sorry,” Monty whispers. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

          “It’s okay. It was nice.” Liv glances at him out of the corner of her eye and catches him raising his eyebrows.

          “How nice?” There’s a familiar smirk and a glint in his eye.

          “You’re an ass, too.” She shoves his shoulder.

          He laughs, full and easy and enchanting, and Liv wants a year full of it.

[firesidefantasy]

layla & fox → laylox

She stepped closer, our foreheads falling together without either of us really trying.

“Maybe you’re right sometimes,” Layla mumbled, still breathing heavily out of her nose, “sometimes.”

“I’ll take it,” I mumbled back.

And then she kissed me.

Her lips were soft against mine, always so soft. She tasted like cherry, which was new. Also new? She was good at this. Like, mindblowingly good. I melted into the kiss and curled my fingers into her (my) sweater and kissed her until she pulled away.

“You’re so not ready for this,” I told her.

“I know.”

“That was a rebound kiss.”

“I know.”

I smiled. “One more?”

“Okay.”

And then she was kissing me again.

( nepenthe wip intro ) (layla’s character intro) (fox’s character intro)

tag list: @livvywrites @fictional-semantics @persephonescomplex @vioaeon  @novel-novelist  @atbwrites @wildswrites @albatris @alicewestwater @lrose-writes (ask to be +/- )

[natequarter]

Rassilon was in earnest. 'We have time travel. Harmony. The Looms and the Houses. We have a future again. None of this was achievable without you. In the face of extinction, we have stability.'

'Too stable. Too much Harmony for ever and ever, slower and slower. Gallifrey without end. Gallifreya perpetua. Gallifrey ad nauseam.'

thinking about this excerpt from lungbarrow about gallifrey in rassilon's time vs gallifrey in leela's time:

NEPENTHE: But their state is rotten and decayed. Their decreptitude is the foundation of their tyranny! [...] But a race that cannot progress is a dead one, and we will not curl up and die by the dictat of these ancients. Time is not the preserver of an aristocracy!

and nothing has changed. they're still on the same topic - no change, for all eternity. which, i suppose, is entirely the point

[tuyetanliu]

i posted this on my network blog a year ago but i’m revamping it here! the guide on how to create a good, clean writeblr for your future/current followers to easily go through your content on your blog.

you need a good blog theme. a clean, navigable theme is key to your writeblr. it helps others find your excerpts, posts on your blog, & information about you & your wip. it’s easier, aesthetically pleasing, & more professional than tumblr provided themes. another tip! keep it to a color scheme not too offensive to the eye (general rule; don’t use anything too bright, dark, or contrasting. think christmas colors & avoid that. also avoid having everything in color as its offensive to the eye). i prefer a simple monochrome with an accent color. so here are some recommendations for easy themes.

@1204px: kali ma, watchtower, hopeless, green light, diamond

@felinum: bakovia, el psy ko, chamomile

@odeysseus: dawn, clear, primrose, winter, nebula, lyra, poetry, silhouette, bloom, dusk

@lauraholliis: first love (part iii), lonely, lifeboat

@leopardraws: sino, melodia, vista

@angelicxi: monomania, 150 degrees, greenhouse

@sorrism: thyme, adeline, honey, attention, breezeblocks 2.0, taro, sleepless

@ciralism: aerial, thunderstorm, magazine, toujours deux

@acuite: hygea, styx, thalia, hebe, pheme, hera

@magnusthemes: aeronautic

@nemurou: skyfall, soft, miyamura, nameless

@shythemes: gardenia, summer

@yoongity: begin

@karmaplus: dermot, gaetano

@pelidcs: godspeed/dorian, indigo, rebirth/flourish, suburbia/too good, fools/ease/bite, glory/cataclysm/sehnsucht, naked as we came, you

@kurtcobangs: fever, monodrama, grey, devil, paradise

@peachthms: atlas, rosewater, lightning

@southcodes: witness, airplane, hello venus

now, some people might think the themes above don’t encompass all that they need. that’s fine. so here are some harder ones that take a little more time to set up and code (fansite themes usually have everything you’d want for links, updates bars, etc.)

@1204px: nancy mulligan, wild, tokyo drive, try me, 4ever, crybaby, jesus, lucky

@odeysseus​: winter, melody

@ladmilk: oceanus

@sorrism: helium

@magnusthemes: midnight sun

pages why do you need a page? these pages convey information better than a content clogging post. i recommend three pages as a starter pack; an about, navigation, & a wip. an about page to show your personality. a navigation page to organise your posts; keep your posts well tagged & organised for it to matter. a wip page for people to get to know your projects & characters. (recommendations below but more options float around tumblr)

about me

@odeysseus: raspberry, dream, shadow

@ciralism: satin, here’s my card, coups et blessures, introducing me

@enchantedthemes: nepenthe, about iii, about ii

@nemurou: daylight

@karmaplus: alicio

navigation

@odeysseus​: mist, divide,

@ciralism​: compass rose

@enchantedthemes​: tags ii, tags iii

@southcodes​: somewhere

wips pages

@odeysseus​: peppermint

@ciralism​: the circus

@enchantedthemes​: media i

@southcodes​: alice, rain drops, garage kids

[thekultofo]

Adamantis - 20220531

An hour of #darkAmbient music!

Original artwork: Own pic shot at Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, Paris

I'd like to thank my Patreons who supported this show: Dafreeze, Strayd0g & ivan.

If you also want to support The Kult of O, and get more content, then consider becoming a Patreon: http://www.patreon.com/oneirich

Moloch Conspiracy - Kur Nordvargr - Dreamstates Treha Sektori - Kareh Neh Akereh Vanah Eidulon - Averni Flammas Transivi (feat. Kammarheit) Tablets Of A Sleep - Abandoned Like Drone Razors Through Flesh Sphere - Sacred Quietus Excerpt Carst - Echolocation of Another Form of Life Atrium Carceri And Herbst9 - Drakhuvud Inner Vision Laboratory vs. Nepenthe - VII HERBST9 - Causa Mortis Darja Kazimira & Dagmar Gertot - The song of Black waves

[growingnovelsnet]

by growingnovelsnet (credit to admin aimi)

there are several steps to creating a good writing blog for yourself & your readers. some steps may be obvious but we’re hoping to help out anyone that wants to maximize their potential as a writer on this site. (more under the cut)

have a clean & easily navigable theme. many tumblr writers choose minimalistic and clean themes with sidebars/header bars to display their writing since it’s the words doing the talking. some of these themes have header displays if you want a little more color to your blog. (there are many more good themes but these are the ones i’ve tested personally and found that they’re aesthetically very pleasing.) some recommendations:

@felinum: bakovia, el psy ko, chamomile

@odeysseus: dawn, clear, primrose, winter, nebula, lyra, poetry, silhouette

@lauraholliis: first love (part iii), lonely, lifeboat

@1204px: chateau, vaporean, hopeless, watchtower, kali ma, green light, wild boys, diamond

@leopardraws: sino, melodia, vista

@sorrism: thyme, adeline, honey, attention, breezeblocks 2.0, taro, sleepless

@ciralism: aerial, thunderstorm, magazine, toujours deux

@acuite: hygea, styx, thalia, hebe, pheme, hera

@pohroro: vainglory, intelligentsia, chelsea smile, alekhine’s gun, absolution

@magnusthemes: aeronautic

@nemurou: skyfall, soft, miyamura, nameless

@shythemes: gardenia, 

@yoongity: begin

@karmaplus: dermot, gaetano

@pelidcs: godspeed/dorian, indigo, rebirth/flourish, suburbia/too good, fools/ease/bite, glory/cataclysm/sehnsucht, naked as we came, you

@kurtcobangs: fever, monodrama, grey, devil, paradise

@peachthms: atlas, rosewater, lightning

@southcodes: witness, airplane, hello venus

@neonbikethemes: theme thirty, blue, brackets, theme 26, theme 19, theme 10

if you have a little more experience with coding, you might want a little more to your theme. i personally prefer to display updates, extra links, quotes, projects i’m working on for my followers. most of these are fansites as they offer the most variety. some recommendations: 

@odeysseus​: winter, melody

@ladmilk: oceanus

@sorrism: helium

@pohroro: square one, edelweiss

@magnusthemes: midnight sun

@1204px: can’t kick up the roots, nancy mulligan, wild, tokyo drive, try me, 4ever, crybaby

have an about page so people can get to know you. this is pretty important because two of the most important things is that your readers like your writing and that they like you. so make sure to be personable, let your readers discover who you are. (as stated before, these are the ones i’ve tested. there are many more out on tumblr.) some recommendations:

odeysseus: raspberry, dream, shadow

ciralism: satin, here’s my card, coups et blessures, introducing me

enchantedthemes: nepenthe, about iii, about ii

nemurou: daylight

karmaplus: alicio

navigation page for your readers. this is recommended especially if you write both poetry & prose. you can link poetry series, your general poetry tag, your novels, and all your pages. (as stated before, these are the ones i’ve tested. there are many more out on tumblr.) some recommendations:

odeysseus: mist, divide, 

ciralism: compass rose

enchantedthemes: tags ii, tags iii

southcodes: somewhere

have pages for your characters and novels. this is especially important if you want a chance for your readers to engage with you and have fun on your blog. a lot of people love going through novel pages and character pages just to get a feel for the story. (as stated before, these are the ones i’ve tested. there are many more out on tumblr.) character pages:

aeducans: archetype

odeysseus: cynical, blueberry, ease,

ciralism: beaux rêves, the crew

nemurou: 4AM

peachthms: soul

macfustythemes: unnamed

ofmanyworlds: network page two

southcodes: tess 

novel pages:

odeysseus: peppermint

ciralism: the circus, 

enchantedthemes: media i

southcodes: alice, rain drops, garage kids

link all your non-tumblr sites. preferably right on your theme! it’s one of the main reasons why many tumblr writers choose themes with a lot of extra links. if you have a fictionpress, wattpad, archiveofourown, anything, you need to link it for exposure! join networks to get your name out there. our network is currently no longer considering members but there are others! if you search around writers who are very social within the writers on tumblr community, you’ll find they are all at least on one network. make sure to search some of your favourite tumblr writers & check to see if they’ve joined any networks or have any starting up. there is always at least one writing network open or beginning. keep an eye out on your dashboard for those network posts. tag bigger writers in writing that you’re sharing. there are many bigger writers that reblog poems & prose from smaller time writers. make sure to send in an ask to see if they’re tracking any tags and if they’re okay with you tagging them to your heart’s content! keep your writing well tagged and organized. make sure your poetry is marked as #poetry or #words, anything that will keep it under a certain tag when you link it on the navigations page. maybe you have a series or several excerpts of your novel, make sure you tag it consecutively without missing one. talk to other writers! even if you don’t plan on joining a network, try talking to other writers or following writing advice blogs. reblog other writer’s works to your other blogs, give little comments within the tags, this will guarantee that people will check out your blog. (make sure to link your writing blog in your description or somewhere on your main blog’s theme if you’re not reblogging other people’s content onto there.)

[patsywalkera]

i googled “most dangerous flowers” after admitting i don’t know anything about them (but would probably fall for the ones that could kill me) so here is a post with my findings. enjoy!

the castor oil plant (great nickname: “palm of christ”)

apparently, a single milligram of this beauty can kill an adult. i love it. it’s the most poisonous plant in the world? i guess? which is basically how i feel about mainstream christianity so i think this plant was aptly named. yikes! 9/10, a point deducted for reminding me of my #religioustrauma but otherwise objectively and subjectively flawless. 

aconitum (aka wolfsbane, also aka women’s bane)

these queens hang out in the mountain meadows of the northern hemisphere just waiting for someone to notice how pretty they are and try to take them home. it is not advised, because you’ll probably not live long enough to show them off. which is sad, but you should just take a picture. they’re picky about their company. 10/10

nerium oleander (nickname: “the sweetly scented killer”)

not immediately lethal, as far as i can tell, but she seems to lure you in with her beauty and cheerful demeanor (and, allegedly, her sweet scent) and then kills you slowly, probably while you’re taking pictures like the one i stole from google. gone girl flower. i love her. 10/10

dracula orchid

he smells like rotting meat when in bloom and cannot stand direct sunlight, hence the name, but hey: vampire flower. also he can kill you, with some effort. also hence the name, probably. i like him. i don’t want to meet him, but i support who he is as a flower. 7/10

round-leaved sundew 

this lil guy is a carnivorous plant who is basically a living mousetrap? except it eats insects? they get stuck to his leaves and he ENVELOPS THEM WITH HIS WEIRD RED HAIR! I LOVE THIS SONG! 10/10

Rafflesia arnoldii (“the giant panda of the plant world”)

this is the world’s largest individual flower. it’s found in the rainforests of sumatra and it’s perfect, even if it has a Strong Odor of Decaying Flesh. it’s also called a corpse flower, which i recognized as another thing, and upon clicking the wikipedia link i discovered there is not just one Corpse Flower but rather a whole club of them. go team! how can i not give something associated with a panda a 10? i can’t

Nepenthes Truncata (“the Naughty Pitcher Plant”)

listen, i know... i know. but. i’m also in awe. here is just. the livescience excerpt, because i can’t do it better justice. this one is beyond words. certainly beyond ratings.

Yet another carnivorous plant, the Nepenthes Truncata not only eats bugs, but actually devours rodents whole. When a curious mouse walks atop its slippery leaves, it loses its balance and falls inside the deep pitcher plant's body, which is extremely hard to climb out of due to its slick interior walls.

The animal then drowns inside the pitcher plant and is dissolved in its digestive enzymes. The pitcher plant can grow to be more than 16 inches (40 centimeters) in height. The plants vary in colors, ranging from burgundy to a ghostly white shade, with the curved, heart-shaped petals surrounding its "mouth" often growing in a striped pattern resembling a candy cane.

The Nepenthes Truncata grows solely on the island of Mindanao in the Philippines and is extremely rare.

[jayonthestreet]

[...] For those who are bereft of that sweet mauve drink, that nepenthe with which all the tempests of life are consigned to oblivion and they too may be the emperors, the nobles, the warriors and heroes, harbingers of a new age, the free spirits, the dreamers– liberation in a fugitive world;

My world is dark.

- “To Walk a Mile”, an excerpt

[dankfabio]

Nepenthe Excerpt

Tears were streaming down the girl's face and a glass-shattering screech had escaped her lips. She felt ill; everything she had predicted had come true. They were all dead, all of the members of the MI6 were dead. All of the members of the Secret Circle were dead. Every member that was supposed to be a secret and kept alive were . . . dead. She had predicted it months in advance but nobody believed her. Now she was lying in the middle of a concrete roundabout, her tattered brown hair tangled in messy layers in front of her face, hiding her features. She was too busy sobbing to realize what was happening around her, but when she heard a gun cocking sound from behind her, she sucked in a deep breath and mustered up all of the composure she could.

Her hair hid everything but the cupid's bow of her upper lip and the blue-green of her irises, but even a blind man could see the fear plastered on her beautiful and tainted face.

"Miss, I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave", the gun was still right in her face and she subconsciously gulped at the thought of her being 'accidentally' shot. "This scene is under wraps and you're not allowed to be here. Only police and private investigators only."

She nodded slowly, her hair bouncing as she stood up and revealing her features. The man with the gun's face turned a pale white and all of the warmth seemingly drained from his body along with his composure.

The girl glanced down at her scraped knees, which were poking out through her ripped black tights, showing off her long, lean legs. She was bundled up in a top that showed off her collarbones but her collarbones were later covered by the mid-tone gray scarf she was wearing for warmth. She had blood on her hand, blood that was dripping onto the pavement. She closed her eyes for a second, gathering all of her previously stored confidence. But when she opened her eyes she found the gun pressed against where her heart should have been, the man with the gun had his eyebrows furrowed together and his jaw clenched. The color had finally returned to the guard's face, along with a wave of visible hate.

"You, madam, are definitely not allowed to be here", he snarled, grabbing her by her wrist and dragging her down the pavement.

She let out a hurt groan as she dragged her feet behind her, her beaten up black combat boots being scraped by the concrete.

After a few minutes of blindly being dragged around the guard took his tight hand off her wrist, opening a door and shoving her inside. A loud clicking was heard as she let out a pleading sound, gripping the rusting metal bars.

She suddenly realized where she was.

She was in jail.

In jail because she was able to predict a terroristic event but nobody believed her before the event, but they certainly believed her now.

No, she thought, They don't believe me now, they think I'm insane. A psychic. A witch. God, I'm going to be burned like the witches in Salem.

The guard was speaking into a phone, a slurred expression of words that sounded like a deformed German, and the guard furrowed his eyebrows together as he glanced over at her face, then her hands.

"Im Blut bedeckt. Schönes Mädchen, hässliches Verbrechen zu begehen."

("Covered in blood. Beautiful girl, ugly crime committed.")

Didn't she sign up to be in England, not Germany?

"Ja, sie passt zu dem Mädchen auf dem Bild."

("Yes, she matches the girl in the picture.")

She met his gaze as he continued to talk in the indecipherable German language, his face crinkled together in frustration. She will admit, he didn't look bad. Maybe early to mid twenties with mid-to-dark brown hair, striking blue eyes and a pale - certainly British - complexion.

"Braunes Haar, blau-grüne Augen, blasse Haut, groß und mager", he froze, looking her up and down but stopping at her hands once again before speaking, "Definitiv sie."

("Brown hair, blue-green eyes, pale skin, tall and lean. Definitely her.")

He spoke one more time into the phone before ending the call, looking her up and down.

"You're due somewhere in an hour and a half", he told her, leaning against the cell and sticking face in between two of the metal bars, "I'm sympathetic but I can't afford to lose my job. No, I've worked to hard for it. And I'm not going to let some girl that claims to be psychic change that."

She glanced down at the floor, biting her bruised lip as she heard him say the words 'claims to be psychic'. She didn't claim to be psychic, she was psychic!

As he was about to walk away she called after him.

"Do you have any idea where I'll be going?", her voice was soft and seemed to show her innocence, but he didn't want to fall into another venomous snake's trap.

"A mental asylum", he replied coldly, about to turn around and walk away, "Don't worry, you'll be with other insane kids like yourself there. Kids that claim to be psychic."

She chewed at her lower lip until she tasted blood, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the decaying steel wall. She was sitting on a metal bench and she wanted nothing more to be home.

Home - where her parents and siblings and old friends and everybody she loved was.

She loved them. All of them.

And they loved her.

But she wasn't one of them. She would never be, not with everything that had happened to her - not with these powers. She was going insane, all the thoughts of future events that had yet to happen filling her fragile brain. Her brain was already damaged, worse than her body was.

She was broken, bruise, her knees scraped to the point where blood was about to escape whereas with her hands, they were literally covered in blood. She had lost her innocence at age fifteen along with her virginity, and she could hardly find comfort in anything anymore.

Pulling her knees to her chest she burrowed her face into her laps, and closed her eyes.

___

"Aufwachen, Prinzessin."

She opened her eyes, her legs and hands numb and the grogginess visible on her bruised face. Her hair was all over the place and there were tears lining her alluring blue-green-colored eyes. He didn't want to ask why she was crying, but he could tell from the way she was huddled in a ball and shaking that it was something that still traumatized her to this day. Maybe it was something that had to do with her family, he didn't know, he didn't feel like asking.

"Wake up", he said, making a loud noise as he shook the metal bars, "It's time for you to go."

She nodded slowly, standing up and brushing her tights off. She wiped her eyes, stepping out of the cell and briefly meeting his gaze before turning her attention back to the cobblestone ground.

He walked out of the room and she followed him through a maze of narrow stone and steel corridors. He stopped at a steel door, opening it and motioning for her to step outside. She hesitantly did, scratching her hand as a way to relieve her anxiety.

"You'll be escorted to a private airport", he told her, as she walked towards the street and he opened a taxi door for her. She hesitantly stepped inside the cab and he stepped in next to her, closing the door behind him and putting on the seatbelt. "From there you'll be taken to a private, man-made island off the coast of North Carolina. It's far enough away that it cannot be spotted for hundreds of miles but in case of emergency, you could be transported to a hospital on a moment's notice."

She put on her seatbelt, blinking twice before finally meeting his gaze. He furrowed his eyebrows.

"O-kay . . .", her voice trailed off as he looked at the driver of the taxi, sighing then glancing back at the greek god beauty next to her. "Will you be going?"

He shook his head, "Fuck no. I'm part of the German intelligence, I don't have time to go to your American colonies."

"We're a free country", she reminded him with a side glance. "Besides, if you're German, aren't you supposed to have like, blonde hair?"

He shook his head again, grinning. "Mom's side of the family", he ruffled his hand through his hair, "I'm not full German, only half. But I like to act like it."

This time she shook her head and grinned.

"I'm Jaecar", he held out his hand, "Jaecar Bayer." She hesitantly shook his hand. "German intelligence."

"So you've said", she murmured, continued to shake her hand until she felt a bubble of awkward tension pass over the two of them.

A few minutes passed before either of them spoke again, it was him - and he tried to make small talk. She responded to everything he asked her, with little enthusiasm, of course.

About an hour later she felt a rough shaking of her shoulder and she opened her eyes slowly, seeing Jaecar half-leaning in the car, a somewhat eager expression on his face. She furrowed her eyebrows together as she unbuckled her seatbelt, stepping out of the car and following his lead.

They walked around for a few minutes before he stopped her, holding his hand out to stop her from walking any further. He gave her a sideways glance that said everything.

Don't move, don't talk, don't do anything, his expression read.

She followed the instructions his expression laid out for her and she stayed behind him, multiple men in black suits with white undershirts and black ties in front of them. A thin, tall, middle-aged and tan woman wearing extremely tinted sunglasses stepped out in front of them, taking her sunglasses off to reveal her chocolate brown eyes. She glanced over at the girl before scoffing, handing the pair of sunglasses to the suited man next to her.

"This is her?", the woman scoffed, her perfectly white teeth shining in the dim light of the fleeting day. She looked the teenage girl up and down, "God I was expecting someone a little bit more . . . built."

The teenage girl gulped as the older woman gave her a stern look. "What's your name, girl?"

She closed her eyes, inhaling a deep breath, "Trinity. Trinity King."

The older woman narrowed her eyes, holding out her hand, "Amanda. But you should start calling me Ms. Washington."

Trinity bit her lower lip as the older woman turned to Jaecar, "Wo hast du sie gefunden?"

("Where'd you find her?")

"Londoner Kreis. Sie kniete vor einem der Opfer. Dort musste es Grund geben", he replied.

("London Circle. She was kneeling in front of one the victims. Figured there had to be reason.")

She glanced over the girl one final time before turning back to the suited men next to her, "Get her on the plane! We're going up in five!" She stepped back up the stairs to the jet as Trinity gulped glancing over at Jaecar.

"Go", Jaecar pushed Trinity forward, "Get in. Now."

She bit her lower lip as she followed the older woman into the jet, the bodybuilding and suited men following behind her.

Trinity took in a deep breath, muttering, "So this is what my life has turned into."

And that moment was the last moment in a long time she was outside of the insane asylum and school for the "gifted", and the last moment she could tell herself she was sane, because every moment after that confirmed that she was losing it.

Nepenthe

[theemdash]

RHODRI is the first Descendant in centuries, and no one, not even himself, knows what to do with him. Whispers say that he’ll bring about the end of the Fae, of the Werenight, that the stars will come crashing down upon them if he Ascends. But what proof would the Werenight accept to raise him to Ascendant? What could he give the forest that no one else has? What does the forest want?

His mother, the current Ascendant, keeps her lips sealed and her eyes skyward. Rhodri hunts the trees for answers, for purpose, for a way to avoid the raised eyebrow of his mother. The air brittles between them as the days go by and Midwinter approaches. The nights grow longer. The Werenight wants to play in the dark, and its princeling wants to oblige.

[theemdash]

OLIVIA KENSINGTON has grown up with all the luxuries that come as a daughter of a Governor and all the freedoms that come as secondborn. She spends mornings riding her mare Muscatine and afternoons reading in the library or sneaking food from the kitchen. During the evening, she studies and practices, drawing melodies with the brush of her bow. Her brother Elliott joins her on occasion, a duet of guitar and violin. On the rarest nights, they play in secret, learning the songs of the Werenight by ear and by heart.

For as long as she’s grown to love listening to the Werenight, she doesn’t know the Werenight listens, too.  She doesn’t know the Werenight at all, but as long as it’s there—as long as it always will be—does she even want to?

[theemdash]

FIRST and POV? :D

AHHHH! you’re so wonderful! :D

FIRST — the first two sentences of my current project

          From the road, all the trees of the Werenight look the same.  Tree after tree after tree, until the crosshatching of branches and bark smears to a bruise of rust and sage. 

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

(considering that this latest draft has barely a paragraph and four lines of dialogue…there’s not much to “retell”, BUT I’ll steal something from some of my old dabblings because it’s a POV I rarely write in for Nepenthe)

          Sanna kept her feet light on the edges of the clearing—even human dead were the Were’s dead here—and her wings kissed only the top of the dying grass. By the full moon’s light, she regarded the cemetery with a creased brow. Where were the fresh graves? The Were had shook with the countless human feet tramping around the cemetery, but the humans don’t visit the long gone in those numbers. Not this time of year, anyway.

          Sanna removed the bone mask to open her field of vision. If there were no dead, then there would be none that the Were chose to keep. But there had to be dead. The humans did not bring their living to the Were if not for the dead. She padded between the tombstones, placing a hand on a block of stone here and there, clearing leaves from the crevices of a tombstone sunk deep into the ground, and wiping tears from the statues that safeguarded the lost loved.

          She had turned to leave when the petals finally caught her eye. Curling, dying pearls dusted the path and the steps of the stone building. Lilies. That was why there were so many here with nothing to show out under the moon. Those buried in the mausoleum always brought a gathering. The likelihood was slim that the Were would choose to keep any from deep within the crypts—she knew other Keepers had collected some for the Were, but she had not—yet Sanna slipped the mask back on and took a deep breath. She adjusted her necklaces. At the edge of the mausoleum’s shadow, she knelt, slowly, meticulously, one knee down and then the other, and she hummed. She closed her eyes, humming a tune that made the hair on her neck stand on end, and leaned forward until her forehead felt dirt and lily petals and dead grass.

          The Were hummed back.

          The ache, the longing, the heartbreak that was the Were stealthed through her veins. This was a quiet hum, a hum shaded by stone and human touch, and Sanna knew the mausoleum kept something the Were wanted.

[theemdash]

snippets #0004;

“Come to the castle with me,” Olivia says, and her breath fogs her mouth.

Rhodri blinks. He crosses his arms, furrows his brow. “With you,” he repeats. His chest constricts and stomach rises. What would it say of him, now, after all the years under the shadow of the Werenight, that the idea didn’t...didn’t immediately repulse him.

“I need to get my violin.”

He finds himself nodding, staring at a berry bush, and glances up in time to catch the turn of her lips, the rise of her eyebrows.

Olivia does not expect him to agree. Breathing over her hands, she whispers, “Oh, okay.” Her cheeks do not need the heat.

When he steps closer, wrapping his hands around hers, her breath hitches. “Do you really want me to?”  His eyes darken to navy, wine, hickory. A corner of his mouth pulls up.

She just nods.

Without another word, he heads south and west, winding through the trees and underbrush, and Olivia, by now, keeps pace with him.  He wonders then, too, what that would say of him.

[theemdash]

snippets #0005;

          He doesn’t recognize the number on the caller ID, but he answers it anyway. It is a short call. He almost drops it by the time they’ve introduced themselves, and then he’s driving. He voice commands a text message apology to his assistant. Cancels his appointments. Siri reads the response back: Monty, go. I understand.

          Drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel, Monty glares at the red light. He loosens his tie. On his right, he passes the park where they played with adoptable puppies for an entire afternoon. He bites his lip.

          When they let him past the triage doors, she’s…there. In the hallway. A bandage circles her head, but there’s no blood, thank God, and her fingers fidget with the paper bracelet. Leaning against the pillow propped against the wall, she watches the bustle of triage.

          A nurse pushes past him because he stops in the middle of the hall.

          “Liv?” he asks.

          She turns at her name and frowns. “I’m not sure why they called you.”

          Shrugging, Monty approaches, crosses his arms, puts his hands in his pockets. There’s no blood—visible, at least. “I’m still your emergency contact, they said.”

          Liv doesn’t reply and simply adjusts the bracelet. “You came anyway?”

          “Obviously, yes.”

          Liv rolls her eyes. “I’m fine. You didn’t have to.”

          Shaking his head, Monty replies, “Liv, they said you were in an accident. They didn’t tell me anything else. You could have been—“ He doesn’t finish.

          She tucks a strand of hair behind an ear. “I wasn’t.”

          He nods. When another nurse nudges him to one side of the hallway, he scuffs his feet. Liv stares into empty space. He counts the breaths between heartbeats until his heart stops racing.

          A bustle on one end of the department pulls their attention.  Beeping, a cry. A brief moment of silence. Monty looks at Liv, but she’s still turned toward the weeping family at the other end. Her lashes brim with tears, memories, and Monty trails a hand down her arm.

          “It was stupid,” she says. “I was stupid. An orange light.” There’s a tear on her cheek when she faces him.

          He squeezes her hand.

          “I didn’t realize you were back stateside.”

          “You’ve always had great timing,” he replies.

          Glaring, she wipes her cheeks. Her expression slackens as he texts his assistant, Report is in the Q3 folder, desktop, password still the same.

          “Girlfriend?”

          “Maybe.” He checks his watch. “No, she’d be sleeping.”

          “Second girlfriend?”

          Monty waggles his eyebrows.

          “Ass.”