Morcai



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    Kel sat and thought about it all through the long summer-- thought about joining the Riders when she turned sixteen, or going back to the Yamani Isles with her parents, or running away to become an unlawful bandit hunter. She drank tea with her mother and accepted her quiet sympathy. She wondered what was going to happen to Peachblossom. She did her morning glaive practice dances in the heady air of the tiny courtyard garden of her parents' townhouse, where the cook grew herbs and spices in big overflowing boxes.

    Summer rolled on. She sat, and she thought, and she did not tell her thoughts to anyone. On the first day of what would have been her second year of page training, she woke before the sun and had a quiet breakfast with her father, and then she jogged up the big dusty hill to the palace.

    When the pages trailed out to the practice yards with dubious enthusiasm, she was waiting just outside their ground. Her chin was high, her shoulders loose while her hands gripped her weighted staff.

    "Probationer," Wyldon barked out her, when one of the boys went to fetch him. "Was I unclear in the spring?"

    Kel stared him down, fingers white on her staff, and said, "I'm not a probationer anymore."

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  2. Public Bookmark 52

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    1217. I used to say I missed you after just one weekend, like a child learning to talk, who calls every cat a tiger. (And now what words do I have?)

     

    Distance sometimes becomes the third person in Jack and Bitty's relationship, but they make it work.

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  3. Public Bookmark *

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    It starts with an apple pie, and ends with a real friendship. Somehow.

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    28 Mar 2018

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    One Fighter. One Sacrifice. One unit, one team, bound by a name written on their bodies. It’s a mark that distinguishes them from others, and to each other, for the purpose of engaging in magical combat.

    The idea is a noose tied with red thread, but a name cannot be denied. It simply is, and simply will be. Against all alliances and all reason, there is no fighting a name—

    —unless you don’t have one.

    A Loveless Fusion/AU.

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    23 Feb 2018

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