#titaniasfics

"There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain… Or so says the legend."

This fandom is blessed.

This just made me tear up! 

I’m so glad to hear that Synchronicity was one of the stories that got you into reading Everlark. It was my gateway into writing it! I will never forget the response to that story. I really thought maybe 4 people would read it and I’d get it out of my system and be done. But that ship is still my most prolific from a writing standpoint. Those years of writing Everlark were a blast. 

🍄 answered!

🎁 have a quote from a WIP? *noticeable panic as she realizes she’s not sure she does* wait, yes I do! back to good old Burning Brightly we go!

She reaches up and unclips the armor from one shoulder. The bullet proof material is designed to look feathered. She holds it out to the camera.

“The forests of Twelve are full of beautiful songbirds called mockingjays,” she says. “A jabberjay is a mockingjay’s father, and a wild mockingbird is its mother. They are both Capitol and district … and neither of those things. People of Panem ...”

She puts the armor back on, and then stops, suddenly at a loss for words. Finally, she manages a soft, “please” and hopes that will suffice. Cressida stops recording and exhales heavily. 

Well, well, this doesn’t turn too bad, considering the authors had NO CLUE of what happened in the previous chapter, right ? (yes, feel free to ask them! )

Want to see what’s happening after @nancymay‘s lines ? it was up to @titaniasfics ?

maybe at one point we’ll have zombies or a an alien invasion - who knows  ? a few writers are stil up :)

As usual, it’s under the cut !

You bring out the twisted in me, woman. I blame you entirely. Not really. I love you. Don’t hate me. WARNINGS: RATED E, for sexual content, brief violence, character death, arranged marriages and associated dubious consent, …and general fuckery. Keep an open mind here, I was trying for a variety of cultures. Also bisexual!Peeta…so anyway, there’s a scene here with him with someone who is not Katniss. You’ve been warned. And I’ll probably continue this because who am I kidding? I cannot resist starting random WIPs at the worst time possible. This is wholly unbeta’d, so you can blame me for this pile of trash. Also go easy on me. It’s my first foray into sci-fi.

Agelast - A person who never laughs.

Dark Matter

Mud sprays up around them in deceiving tufts of gentle soil and flashes of blue light. His feet carry him in a vaguely serpentine pattern. A delicate balance of speed and survival. He raises his weapon and fires towards the enemy, watching at least one mud splattered white uniform drops before the others behind him open fire as well. He grips the shoulder of his Sergeant to haul him back to his feet.

“Thought you’d never get here,” Darius says and catches the blast rifle Peeta tosses to him as they continue the charge.

“You doubted me?” Peeta asks with a grin as they dodge more blasts.

“There!” Darius shouts and points towards an outcropping of rock that should provide shelter and Peeta nods in agreement. They need a place to regroup and plan a flanking maneuver around Snow’s troops. The small group of soldiers forms a ring around Peeta and Darius, firing outward as they race for the rock. A few yell as they go down and a loud humming fills the air. Peeta turns to drag them to safety when Darius screams and shoves Peeta towards the rock.

Brilliant blue light blinds him for a moment, throws him back against the rock as it consumes his Sergeant and friend. His body slides to the ground, the armor having taken most of the force, but he’s left winded and in shock as he stares at the space where Darius should be and instead finds a pile of bloodied, desiccated flesh. Another blast of the blue light follows a brief hum and them a choking noise as though the weapon malfunctioned. The force of it hits the rock and splits it in two. Before Peeta can react, half of it crashes down towards him.

His eyes fly open and he glances around the room, fingers clenched painfully in the silken sheets, damp with his sweat. Curtains flutter in the breeze and sunlight along with bird song stream through the open window. One by one, he relaxes his fingers and each muscle in his body until he’s able to sit upright, to swing his leg over the side of the bed and rest his foot on the cool tile of his floor.

His bedroom. In his father’s palace.

Peeta rubs a hand down his left leg, as far as he can, until he reaches the jagged scarring that marks where the field medics had to amputate his leg after the rock crushed it. The last blast from Snow’s heavy artillery had indeed malfunctioned somehow, taken out half of Snow’s own forces, allowing Peeta’s troops to take the day, but it also nearly crushed Peeta beneath the destroyed and crumbling boulders. And there was no saving Darius.

He lifts his hand and grips his hair, resting his elbow on his knee as he tries to control the tremors. The red and charcoal gray dress attire hanging in plain view across the room provide a reminder that he needs to get it under control, fast. Before Effie intrudes and reports back that General Mellark clearly needs to waste more time being coddled at home rather than where he really needs to be – out in the field with his soldiers.

Tossing aside the sheets, he straps on the metal limb and grips his cane before slowly standing, shoving aside the reminder in the back of his mind that clearly he does need more time. He can’t possibly be expected to lead an army when he can barely stand. He’s still getting used to the new leg. Instead, he forces flesh foot in front of metal, metal in front of flesh, until he reaches the bathing chamber and can sink onto the stone bench as the water soaks him, automatically set to his preferences. When he’s done, he steps onto the drying mat.

“Good morning, General,” the voice greets him as the metallic column rises to hover in the air beside him. “Would you care for the daily schedule and reports?”

“As always, Kayla,” he tells her. He scowls at the reports from the neighboring systems, detailing a constant back and forth for control of the surface of several critical moons. If they fall, Snow is one step closer to focusing on Meridia, Peeta’s home system.

“Enough,” he cuts her off as he dresses himself. “Just move on to the schedule.”

“Yes, General,” she complies after a beat or two of silence. While the engineers promise that their encoded personal assistants have no feelings or awareness, sometimes Peeta swears that Kayla does. “The ceremony begins at half light, followed immediately by the dinner banquet, and First Seed at three quarters light. ”

Peeta squints out the window at the red sun burning just above the horizon. He has several hours before he’s expected anywhere. As though sensing his dilemma, a drawer on the wall opens under the influence of pneumatic controls, revealing his more casual clothes.

“Cassius has asked about you several times in the past week, General. Perhaps you should grant him an audience.”

Grant him an audience. Peeta’s lips twitch at Kayla’s suggestion, but he nods.

“Alright, Kayla. Send him a message to meet me at the Citadel in an hour.”

Peeta arrives first, wondering how he’s going to tell Darius’ twin brother about his death. He releases his horse’s reins and walks the overgrown path next to the crumbling citadel. This was once a place of military ceremony, but like so many things on Meridia, has fallen into disrepair as a result of the lack of funds. All spare money diverted to the war effort. He’s made a full circuit of the Citadel when the soft whickering of a second horse catches his attention. With black mourning robes flaring, Cassius leaps from his mount. Peeta opens his mouth, an inadequate apology on his lips when Cassius grips his hair and brings their mouths crashing together.

He only hesitates a second before dropping his cane and bringing his hands up to Cassius’ back, to hold him in place against his chest as they kiss frantically. For a moment, as the sunlight and their passion warms them, Peeta forgets the circumstances that brought them to this meeting. But he can’t forget them forever.

“Cassius, wait,” he murmurs, but Cassius undoes Peeta’s tunic enough to shove it over his head, his lips and teeth graze over Peeta’s chest as he shakes his head.

“You’ve been avoiding me. I’ve been so worried, my love. Don’t shut me out,” he begs as his hands unfasten belt and pants. Cassius drops to his knees and hums in approval as he pulls Peeta’s half-mast erection free of the clothing. “Still so responsive. Let me remind you of how alive you are.”

Peeta closes his eyes and tilts his head back to enjoy the warming rays of the sun and the heat of Cassius’ mouth on his cock. Cassius moans, making Peeta throb and swell more inside his mouth. His fist works Peeta’s length in tandem with his tongue, the wet noises join those of the babbling brook just through the trees. Pleasure spreads through his limbs, melting the numbness that had taken hold of him since Darius died.

“Cass,” Peeta warns as the memories intrude. He grips the bright red locks of his lover and caresses, trying to hold back the aching pain of loss. Cassius backs away, breaking Peeta’s weak hold on him as he slowly stands and strips off all of his clothes. He spreads his robes on the forest floor and lays down on his back, holding a hand up to Peeta in supplication.

“Please, Peeta. I lost my brother. Don’t tell me I’m going to lose you, too.”

Unable to refuse the plea in Cassius’ green eyes, Peeta kneels between Cassius’ legs and takes himself in hand. Cassius pulls a jar of oils from his robe pocket, pushing aside Peeta’s hands to slick his length.

“Fuck, Cass,” Peeta gasps as Cassius squeezes and strokes him.

“That’s the plan, my gorgeous,” Cassius says as he releases Peeta and grips his own knees, spreading himself wide and lifting his hips. One hand on his cock, the other splayed on Cass’ thigh, Peeta works himself into Cass. Inch by exquisite inch. He’s not sure how his leg will take this, but he’s aching for a release. Cass wiggles his hips and whispers words of encouragement, punctuated with gasping moans until Peeta’s buried to the hilt. Cass’s body squeezes and welcomes him, a vice on his cock as he begins to thrust, using both hands to hold Cass open.

“Harder, love,” Cass pleads. Peeta’s arms shake as he takes his pleasure, Cass’ ecstatic whimpers driving him higher towards the clouds. He falls forward, bracing his hands on the ground as he shifts to lifting his hips, up and down thrusts as he picks up speed and force.

Their lips brush and Cass grips Peeta’s hair once more, holding his head in place to bite his lips and then plunge his tongue into the waiting warmth. Peeta pants around the kisses, shoving one hand between them to grip Cass’s hard cock.

“I want your cum, Peeta. I need your cum,” Cassius whispers, hands trailing down Peeta’s back.

“I’ve missed your touch,” Peeta whispers, his own hand clenching on Cass’ cock as he begins to pump, enjoying the feel of Cass’ balls caught between his hand and his hips as he thrusts. A twinge of pain in his leg warns him that he won’t be able to take much more, but he grits his teeth and pounds his hips into Cass. His skull begins to buzz through the pain, dancing like scatter shot down his spine.

Cass shouts, his hands gripping Peeta’s ass as his face twists into an expression of acute pleasure and his body clamps on Peeta’s dick. Two more frantic thrusts and the pleasure spikes. He slams into Cass as it tears through him, his throbbing cock filling Cass with his release as Peeta’s hand clenches painfully on Cass’ cock. He yelps a little, but the sticky warmth flowing over Peeta’s fist tells him that Cass liked it.

As he did in bed this morning, Peeta slowly releases the grip of tension on his body. He slides from Cass and collapses on the ground next to him, both of them panting hard. The stream babbles soothing notes while Peeta catches his breath. He flinches when Cass’ finger runs over his side.

“This one’s new,” he says as he traces the scar from Nemoc.

“So’s the leg,” Peeta reminds him as he rolls away from Cass’ touch and stares down at his pants around his thighs. Cass still hasn’t seen it and for some reason, the thought bothers him.

“Well I don’t care,” Cassius insists as he forces Peeta onto his back again and climbs on top to join their lips in a kiss. Their hips slide together as they both soften, but the sensations still nearly blind Peeta with the pleasure. “I’m just glad you came home to me. When do you have to go back?”

“As soon as the king decides I’ve had enough rest,” Peeta grumbles and Cassius trails a hand over Peeta’s chest, twisting his fingers in the sparse hair.

“Let me help with that, Peeta,” Cassius whispers and kisses him again. Somewhere, in the back of his head, Peeta tastes the shift in the kisses. No longer the soft loving touches from before, when they were students together and spent hours right here, drawing and making love. While Peeta’s station demanded control, rigidity, and strength from him, Cass was always the soft spot in his life. The sunshine in a world of death and destruction. Now, they’re rougher with each other. More demanding, as though it is their grief driving them together in an attempt to fuck away the pain, an idea that intensifies for a moment before he brushes it away along with the tears sliding over his shoulder as Cassius rides him from behind, his arms around Peeta’s neck holding them plastered together, and Peeta spills his seed over the warm soil.

“You’re late,” Effie hisses at him as he slides into the back of the Sanctuary, still adjusting the cuffs of the red and gray dress attire that marks him as part of the royal family.

“Ceremony hasn’t started yet,” he whispers as he notes the crowds still standing and mingling.

“Yes, but it’s your brother’s wedding. As one of the three crown princes of Meridia–” she chastises as she flutters around him, busy adjusting collars and hair and whatever else about his appearance earns her ill opinion.

“I’ve seen him get married before,” Peeta drawls and her brow scrunches up right before she pinches his arm. “Ow.”

“You’re a mess. You’d be lost without me,” she mutters.

“Odd. I managed to run half the army without you,” he teases and her lips twitch for a second before she manages to suppress her smile.

“And I’m sure you were all a bunch of dirty, smelly, ill-mannered, uncivilized–”

“Soldiers?” he finishes for her and she clicks her tongue in disapproval. Before she can continue to berate him, the bells announce the beginning of the wedding and Peeta offers Effie his arm before guiding her to the fifth row. She slips delicately into her seat, rearranging her pink robes while Peeta slides into the front row, next to his middle brother. On Ryen’s other side, Peeta’s father sits majestically, eyes trained forward as Leaven enters the Sanctuary, his royal accoutrements shimmering in the sun filtered through the massive glass windows, his face solemn. Arianna, his first wife, follows behind to stand beside him.

Once more the bells sound and the congregation rises as the bride makes her way down the aisle. Her heavy gown trails behind her as her father and mother flank her. Effie once told Peeta the tradition began to show the solidarity of family, but as the bride trembles, eyes fixed on the ground in front of her, he wonders if the tradition began to keep the brides from running.

As she makes her way down the long aisle, he takes a moment to examine the rest of his family. His mother stands in a position of honor, directly behind her husband. Beside her stand King Foccaine Mellark’s four other wives. The children of those four wives fill the third row and spill into the fourth.

Several of his half siblings meet Peeta’s gaze, questioning. He’s avoided all of them since he returned home. He notices empty eyes in the faces of a few of them, still too young to have taken up the mantle of their intended positions, but forced to do so anyways – the cost of a war that has lasted three decades already with no end in sight.

“Please be seated,” the Bishop announces, drawing Peeta’s attention back to the wedding.

“She came from Valeria,” Foccaine tells Peeta as he moves to stand beside his father in the bridal chambers.

“Fascinating,” Peeta says and his father eyes him skeptically.

“War has not treated you well,” the king whispers while attendants dressed in sunny yellow robes move about the room, preparing for the final ceremony.

“What gave that away? Couldn’t possibly be the missing leg or the scars.”

“Several courtiers think those are what make you interesting now,” Foccaine nods towards a knot of people in the shadows. A few of them eye Peeta with curiosity. At least two of them show blatant lust on their faces. He turns away and controls his ire. He has no interest in multiple affairs with courtiers, despite his father and brothers’ preferences for that. His relationship with Cassius has been more than enough to keep Peeta satisfied.

“I’m fine,” Peeta insist, but his father shakes his head.

“No, you are not. Three years ago, you would have wanted to hear all the minute details of the treaty that brought Violetta to us.”

“Three years ago, I was twenty years old with no idea just how much these would weigh,” he brushes his fingers absently over the markings on his sleeve. The ones announcing his position as General of the Outer Regions. His father follows the motions and nods, but remains silent. Peeta always hated this tactic of his father’s. Awkward silence to draw out his sons’ true thoughts. He hates that it usually works.

“Perhaps I’ve changed my mind on forced servitude then,” Peeta says as he spots Cassius across the room. He throws his head back and laughs at something whispered to him, his green eyes flirtatious, but he continues to set up his camera equipment to capture the special occasion.

“We all have our places, Peeta,” the king reminds him. “I would have given you Ryen’s position and made him general instead if you hadn’t beaten General Heavensbee at every last chess game since you were nine.”

“And here I thought it was my prowess in the combat simulations,” Peeta mumbles.

“Any idiot can learn to fight. I needed a general with a strategic mind. You and Ryen both excelled at the politics. But thinking ten steps ahead of your opponent…that has always been your arena.”

“I suppose you want an update on our plan, then,” Peeta says as Arianna and Violetta enter the chamber and the small crowd hushes. The women pause beside the bed as Arianna removes the gossamer robe from Violetta’s shoulders, carefully placing it on the foot of the bed as Violetta trembles once more. Arianna assists her onto the massive bed then settles behind her, cradling the younger woman’s body with her own as they lean back into the mountain of pillows. Peeta can see Arianna whispering to Violetta and wonders if his own mother ever provided such comfort for his father’s secondary wives. He doubts it.

“Not here,” Foccaine whispers, eyes fixed on the spectacle. “I have another task for you right now. One of a more delicate nature.”

Leaven enters, moving swiftly to the bed and dropping the thick velvet robes carelessly to the floor. Violetta jumps in surprise and Arianna’s hands glide over her body. Her lips caress up and down Violetta’s neck with soft words and kisses. Leaven pauses and the air thickens. Eyes trained on her husband, Arianna’s hands work over Violetta’s body. The girl’s eyes slide shut and her form relaxes. Arianna’s gentle hands spread Violetta’s thighs on the bed. Still, Leaven waits and watches. It’s only when Leaven shifts to kneel at the foot of the bed that Peeta can see Arianna’s hands as they stroke and pump into Violetta’s folds. Moisture begins to glisten there as Leaven grips himself and jerks off for a few moments before Arianna nods and he positions himself at Violetta’s entrance.

As many times as he’s had to witness this, Peeta’s never gotten over the sound they all make. The gasp of shock as their bodies jerk against the intrusion. Arianna continues touching Violetta and whispering to her as Leaven moves above them. At one point, Violetta’s hands shift up to grasp Arianna’s hair and hold her lips in place. Peeta tilts his head as Violetta’s body arches and flushes. One small moan escapes her lips as they part and then the measured movements turn flurried. Leaven leans back, giving Arianna’s hands better access. Before long, Violetta’s body seizes and shudders. Leaven’s thrusts turn punishing for a moment until he sinks himself deep, one of Arianna’s hands grips his buttocks, holding him tight to Violetta as he groans loudly.

When his body relaxes, he reaches behind him to cover himself and his two wives. The small group of dignitaries privileged enough to witness applaud the event as the bishop steps forward to sprinkle oil over the bedsheets.

“First Seed has been spilled and accepted. May this union flourish.”

“Another marriage?” Peeta asks his father and absently rubs his thigh.

“Don’t scoff. They’re surprisingly effective methods of forming alliances,” Foccaine reminds him. “We need more influence in the Outer Regions. You know this better than anyone.”

“You won’t convince this one,” Peeta says, thinking of the system his father has mentioned.

“I already have,” his father boasts.

“You and Ryen brokered a marriage treaty with Everdeen behind my back?”

“Like the rest of us, they’re tired of this war. Only they’ve been fighting on their front alone; their own stubbornness preventing any decent or lasting alliances, but they can’t hold out much longer,” his father explains instead of answering Peeta’s question. “They get a division of our army and we get their princess. A more than fair trade, if you ask me.”

“Which one?” Peeta asks as a memory of gray eyes and a scowling face flashes before him.

“The oldest, of course. Saren wouldn’t hear of his youngest being bartered in matrimony yet. Do you know her?”

“Vaguely,” Peeta admits and his father nods.

“Good. It will help for her to travel with at least one familiar face.”

“I need to get back to the front.”

“You’re still using a cane,” his father points out and Peeta bristles at the implication.

“Then I’ll stay on horseback.”

“And make yourself a target? Absolutely not. The only reason I’ve allowed one of my crown princes to charge off into battle is because Plutarch insisted your presence would mean something to the soldiers.”

“We just had a wedding,” Peeta argues as he feels the ground slipping out from under him.

“Indeed. Leaven needs time for his family to adjust. Ryen’s still working to get his first marriage in order. Not easy to do with a new baby already here. Which leaves…me.”

For a second, Peeta is sure his father must be joking. “A sixth wife?” he asks, not even bothering to mention that this wife will be younger than Foccaine’s two oldest sons. The same age as Peeta himself. Foccaine stares at the glowing star chart projected above his desk and sips his drink. With a wave of a hand, the chart shifts, displaying the Everdeen system along with information on the ruling family.

“Once, a long time ago, I was meant to marry Bellemina Everdeen. Then she ran off with a more dashing alternative.”

“More dashing than a king?” Peeta asks in frustration and his father nods.

“She said that when he sings, even the birds stop to listen.” Peeta stares at the wistful look on his father’s face as disgust settles somewhere in his gut.

“So now you’re going to marry her daughter instead?”

“My father had eight wives, Peeta. By the time he finished siring children, the oldest took the youngest as his fourth wife. It’s not unheard of.”

Peeta throws back his drink as his head spins and he thinks longingly of his bed and maybe drawing or painting, something he hasn’t done in ages. He needs to relax somehow.

“Bellemina was beautiful beyond description,” Foccaine whispers with a wistful twinge to his words that makes Peeta snort. Although he’s never had the privilege of seeing the mother, there’s no denying that her daughter must have inherited her beauty. He wonders where the fire and spirit came from or if that is something she can claim as all her own.

“It’s settled then. You will take a division to Everdeen, see them established there under the command of a colonel of your choosing, finalize the treaty details in my stead, and then bring the princess back here for our wedding. Will three sun cycles be enough to see that accomplished? By then you should be healed enough to return to your men.”

“Maybe,” Peeta mutters into his glass, hoping the liquor will block out his thoughts and make him oblivious. His nightmares are sure to be strange and horrifying tonight.

Peeta waits as the hovercraft lands. Eyes examining the planet through the dust smeared windows. He’d insisted on arriving with only a small contingent of guards, leaving the rest of the division orbiting the planet. No need to scare the population into thinking an invasion was imminent.

“Temperature level, 18. Humidity level, 5. Cloud altitude, 100,” Kayla informs him.

“Thank you, Kayla.”

With loud clicks and a whoosh of released pressurized air, the rear door of the hovercraft lowers. Warm air greets Peeta along with the fresh smell of the thick vegetation on this planet.

“General Mellark,” a voice greets as he squints against the scattered light. He walks down the ramp, the boots of his guards stomping behind him. A tall, sinewy man smiles and bows slightly. Peeta returns the gesture, leaning on the cane as he eyes the ring of guards around Lord Everdeen, blasters and bows resting casually on their shoulders. “Welcome to Everdeen.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I must admit, I was surprised when Foccaine first sent the message to expect one of his precious crown princes, but now I see why,” his head nods towards the cane in Peeta’s hand and Peeta’s spine stiffens. “Primrose! Your finest healers for the prince while he’s here. Perhaps we can help speed his recovery.”

Uncertain what to think of this, Peeta watches as a young girl with blond hair and blue eyes approaches Lord Saren Everdeen. She curtsies and he presses a kiss to her brow. Perhaps Everdeen meant no insult. They are known on this planet for their healing methods, after all.

“Prince Peeta of Meridia, my youngest daughter. Primrose,” he announces. Peeta bows to her, an opportunity to hide his surprise. Where, he wonders, did she get her looks from then. “But you’re here for Katniss.”

“No rush,” Peeta insists. “I’m under orders to see the division settled under your charge before we return to Meridia.”

“Good to know,” Everdeen states with a strange bite to his words. “Although I’d almost rather you take her now before she has a chance to sabotage anything.”

“Sabotage?” Peeta asks but Everdeen has already moved on.

“You must be tired from your journey. Sae will see you and your men settled in tents. I must apologize for our lack of palaces but we must be able to shift across the planet at a moment’s notice.”

“Of course,” Peeta says as he files the information away. That explains the lack of permanent structures on the planet’s surface. He wonders how else they’ve been affected by the long war.

“Follow me, please,” Everdeen states.

“General, shall I inform your father of your safe arrival?” Kayla asks as he moves to follow Everdeen. Something streaks past his ear and he spins away as it strikes a panel on his hovercraft. His guards drop to the ground as it sparks. With a last sputter of power, the hovercraft falls silent and dark. Peeta walks towards the disturbance as Everdeen sighs loudly.

“Katniss!” Everdeen yells in the direction of a distant copse of trees, but Peeta is transfixed, staring at the arrow protruding from the panel, small bolts of electricity still slithering around the shaft. He marvels at the brilliance of the weapon and worries about the implications of its use against him. For the first time in months, he laughs.

“Maybe not just yet, Kayla,” he says.

Okay, so now that you’ve read…should I decide to continue this, future chapters will most likely be RATED VERY MUCH E for sexual content, language, character death, violence, psuedo-incest kinda sorta??? I really don’t know why my brain came up with this idea don’t judge me!!! And probably also some polyamory.

Life is rough and I’m hiding in a proverbial cave, but I happened to catch that @titaniasfics tagged me for this meme, and as I never ever get tagged and am feeling really down tonight, I figured, “Why not?”

The challenge is to post the last sentence of a WIP you are working on. I’ve been fighting a depressing dry spell for many months now which unexpectedly nudged me about a week ago into a subsequent chapter for (of all things) Six Months to Strawberry Time, i.e., parallel Gadge oneshot fic to When the Moon.

“Her eyes flash back to me, their blue now silver, now wildcat-green, and I realize she was looking at the bakery or maybe at her own home, just next door. “Don't you dare lie to me too,” she says, fierce and vulnerable all at once. “Please, Madge.”

This would, of course, be Prim, and what Madge just said to her is rather crucial.

Thanks for asking! I’m so bummed that I don’t have lavish in anything I’m working on right now… so I decided to be sneaky and use a synonym for one of the meanings of lavish: generous. This is from an as-yet untitled Everlark fic.