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swordofsun · 1 year ago

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Wanted to do something for the new year, so I guess I'll do a 2023 book wrap up. In chronological order from the beginning of 2023 to the end.

Putting in a read more because this is 90 books and that's too much to not hide it.

Rereads marked with a *

The Iron Dirge by Sam Sykes - Grave of Empires #2.5

Three Axes to Fall by Sam Sykes - Grave of Empries #3

The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo

Six Wakes by Mur Lafferty

The World We Make by N.K. Jemisin - Great Cities #2

Unbreakable by Mira Grant

Apocalypse Scenario #683: The Box by Mira Grant

Juice Like Wounds by Seanan McGuire - Wayward Children #4.5

Lost in the Moment and Found by Seanan McGuire - Wayward Children #8

The Spirit Thief by Rachel Aaron - The Legend of Eli Monpress #1*

The Spirit Rebellion by Rachel Aaron - The Legend of Eli Monpress #2*

The Spirit Eater by Rachel Aaron - The Legend of Eli Monpress #3*

The Spirit War by Rachel Aaron - The Legend of Eli Monpress #4*

Spirit's End by Rachel Aaron - The Legend of Eli Monpress #5*

Shards of Honor by Lois McMaster Bujold - Vorkosigan Saga #1 (Publication Order)

The Coup of Tea by Casey Blair - The Tea Princess Chronicles #1

The Scourge Between Stars by Ness Brown

Lyconthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses by Kristen O'Neal

The Jewel and Her Lapidary by Fran Wilde - Gemworld #1

Sandry's Book by Tamara Pierce - Circle of Magic #1*

Comeuppance Served Cold by Marion Deeds

By A Silver Thread by Rachel Aaron - DFZ Changeling #1

The Mimicking of Known Successes by Malka Ann Older - Mossa and Pleiti #1

The Twice-Drowned Saint by C.S.E. Cooney

Tris's Book by Tamara Pierce - Circle of Magic #2*

The Bones Swans of Amandale by C.S.E. Cooney (Novella)

Even Though I Knew The End by C.L. Polk

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M Danforth

An Unkindness of Magicians by Kat Howard - Unseen World #1

Never Ever Getting Back Together by Sophie Gonzales

The Ghost Network by Catie Disabato

The Keeper's Six by Kate Elliot

Siren Queen by Nghi Vo

Servant Mage by Kate Elliot

The Warden by Daniel M Ford - The Warden #1

Daja's Book by Tamara Pierce - Circle of Magic #3*

Jackdraw by K.J. Charles - A Charm of Magpies World #1

The Thief Who Pulled On Trouble's Braids by Michael McClung - Amra Thetys #1

Bluebird by Ciel Pierlot

Lexicon by Max Barry

The Splinter in the Sky by Kemi Ashing-Giwa

The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi

The Thief Who Spat in Luck's Good Eye by Michael McClung - Amara Thetys #2

Briar's Book by Tamara Pierce - Circle of Magic #4*

The Thief Who Knocked on Sorrow's Gate by Michael McClung - Amara Thetys #3

Murder at Spindle Manor by Morgan Stang - The Lamplight Murder Mysteries #1

Ebony Gate - by Julie Vee and Ken Bebelle - The Phoenix Hoard #1

Artificial Condition by Martha Wells - The Murderbot Diaries #2*

Rogue Protocols by Martha Wells - The Murderbot Diaries #3*

Exit Strategy by Martha Wells - The Murderbot Diaries #4*

Zen Bow, Zen Arrow: The Life and Teachings of Awa Kenzo, the Archery Master from "Zen in the Art of Archery" by John Stevens

Thornhedge by T. Kingfisher

Fugitive Telemetry by Martha Wells - The Murderbot Diareis #6*

Apparently I've hit the character limit without a paragraph break. So, we'll be starting over from 1, but it will really be #54.

Home: Habitat, Range, Niche, Territory by Martha Wells - The Murderbot Diaries #4.5

Compulsory: A Murderbot Story by Martha Wells - The Murderbot Diaries #0.5*

Magic Steps by Tamara Pierce - The Circle Opens #1*

Murder on the Lamplight Express by Morgan Stang - The Lamplight Murder Mysteries #2

Bone Swans by C.S.E. Cooney (short story collection)

Sleeping Giants by Sylvain Neuvel - Themis Files #1

Mammoth at the Gates by Nghi Vo - The Singing Hills Cycle #4

The Refrigerator Monologues by Catherynne M Valente

Triggernometry by Stark Holborn - Triggernometry #1

Street Magic by Tamara Pierce - The Circle Opens #2*

Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennett - The Foundryside Trilogy #1

Advanced Triggernometry by Stark Holborn - Triggernometry #2

Inda by Sherwood Smith - Inda #1

Thief Liar Lady by D.L. Soria

A Haunting on the Hill by Elizabeth Hand

Red Rabbit by Alex Grecian

Can't Spell Treason Without Tea by Rebecca Thorne - Tomes and Tea #1

Red River Seven by A.J. Ryan

Dracula by Bram Stoker - via Re: Dracula

Beholder by Ryan La Sala

A Season of Monstrous Conceptions by Lina Rather

System Collapse by Martha Wells - The Murderbot Diaries #7

Cold Fire by Tamara Piece - The Circle Opens #3*

Dream of the Falling Axe by Sam Sykes - Grave of Empires #3.5

The Woman in Me by Britney Spears

The Salvation Gambit by Emily Skrutskie

I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

Hikaru No Go Vol 1 Decent of the Go Master by Yumi Hotta - Hikaru No Go #1

These Burning Stars by Bethany Jacobs - The Kingdom Trilogy #1

Shatterglass by Tamara Pierce - The Circle Opens #4*

Paladin's Faith by T Kingfisher - The Saint of Steel #4

The Crane Husband by Kelly Barnhill

Forest of Memory by Mary Robinette Kowal

The Archive Undying by Emma Mieko Candon - The Downworld Sequence #1

On The Fox Roads by Nghi Vo

Unlocked: An Oral History of Haden's Syndrom by John Scalzi - Lock In #0.5

Paris: The Memoir by Paris Hilton

Okay, and according to Storygraph:

My longest book was Three Axes to Fall at 806 pages

My most read authors were: Tamara Pierce, Martha Wells, and Rachel Aaron. Which is due to re-reads. I re-read 16 books this year.

My average rating was 4.14 out of 5.

I read the most in June.

I read 41 new-to-me authors.

52 of the books I read were part of series.

So, I guess, feel free to ask me any questions.

Happy New Year!

#books i've read #books i read in 2023 #booklr #year in review

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writer59january13 · 1 year ago

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While attempting going to sleep. after midnight..

December 27th, 2023, the missus pounded mine posterior (she played paddywhack on me blimey buttucks) not only causing contusion, but flaying percussive rumpus, where the wild things are found yours truly feeling like a cross between a bongo drum

and a Ubangi

(also spelled Ubangui, Ubanghi, or Oubangui).

Meanwhile good n plenty good vibrations (cue the Beach Boys) resonated

felt and heard round the world wide web (strongest quaking sensations

occurred upon double mattresses atop bed

within apartment unit b44 2 Highland Manor Drive),

but woody d'ya believe

drumming, flagellating and whipping gluteus maximus

spurred surging aftershock tremors

launched rocketed pecker (property yours truly).

Imagine slap happy spouse

ain't misbehavin

just being her playful (think cheeky) self

knick knack paddy whacking

give doggone husband reprieve

undeservedly thrashing, pummeling, beating fleshy derrière the living daylights buttucks long past their prime once formerly cute palm pilot size tushy,

now subjected courtesy cruel aging process wrought ugly human cellulite, nevertheless I made

feeble attempts to rear up in protest

against asinine wifely antics,

while she obviously disregarded

feebly wailing for nought me lamely uttering friggin bloody murder in vain.

Zee spouse ain't no sadomasochist,

she just thrills treating gluteus maximus (mine)

as a plaything

(think cat toying with mouse)

thwacking me fleshy behind

until derriere belonging to yours truly feels comfortably numb.

Thee aforementioned shenanigans

predominantly arise, when

wedded counterpart owns advantage,

whereby I eagerly welcome shut eye lo and behold only to experience mine hinny quickly getting smacked

after I barely shuttered these tired eyelids sneaking couple winks.

What recently began as

whimsical spur of kickstarting moment ushering tactile kibitizing

suddenly became nightly ritual, whereby this humble husband

meekly surrenders bare bottom

(actually partner with skewed enjoyment

at my expense) pulls off outer clothes plus underpants (elasticity

long since stretched out)

wallopping me bum

until flesh heavily spindled, lacerated, and bruised.

After swatting fanny until backside a deep angry red, she (the bride of twenty seven and a half years) turns me over and spanks the monkey.

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geethr75 · 1 year ago

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Murder at Spindle Manor

After a long time, I’m back with a review of Murder at Spindle Manor by Morgan Stang. This is a book that I went into with high expectations because after that cover and that blurb, how can you NOT? I am happy to say that this book lived up to every one of those expectations. The world building is something I found very unique and I absolutely loved it. The MC, Isabeau Agarwal, is a Huntress,…

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#Alternate dimensions #Alternate Universe #Dark Fantasy #Fantasy #Gaslamp #Historical fantasy #LGBTQ #Monsters and Hunters #Mystery #Review

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asoftervirge · 4 years ago

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Of “Love” & Murder - (2/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Love (Unrequited or Not) Is Sweeter Than All the Candies Patton Could Make

RATING: PG (will change)

PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: Baking, Food Mentions, Flirting, Snarky Comments/Banter, Puns, Kissing

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Patton delivers Virgil’s chocolates and gets a special treat in return.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Friendly remind that a chapter will be posted every day until Halloween, hence as to why there’s 13 of them. lol I’m busy with work and AO3 isn’t working properly on my laptop so I may be doubling down on chapters. Like with any other fic that I post, please heed the warnings at the top! With that said, please enjoy! Also, I apologize for the first couple chapters not being interesting, but I promise it gets better next chapter! xx Virge

AO3 || Buy me a Ko-Fi!

Patton felt gay panic overwhelming him to the point that he may faint.

He spent countless hours after he closed up shop, making batches after batches of chocolates, trying to create the perfect array of thirty-two that would satisfy Virgil.

Virgil Nyx. The name sounded so…unique in his mind’s eye. It was different, but Patton liked that it was different. Yet there was also something…dark and strange about it; something that should make the confectioner fearful, but he wasn’t. It seemed cliché and he knew it, but he had become drawn to him from the moment they met.

He looked over the batches that he already made, all cooling on various racks and baking sheets: squares and other various shapes of chocolate, barks and clusters, truffles and cordials; and all of them made with dark chocolate. He didn’t know if Virgil really liked things incredibly bitter (although the moan he let out suggested otherwise), so he put some bittersweet in there to counterbalance it. As a bonus, he even put in a bit of espresso powder because Virgil stated it was his favorite.

When he believed he had a perfect set, he began to decorate them. Glazes, icings and sugars all scattered about in the air, dusting his face, hair, and fingers.

Then, when everything was done up all nice and pretty— like a box of chocolates should be— Patton placed them in the gift box. Most of the ones he sent out were either golden or white, but he also had some of varying colors. For Virgil, he managed to find a black one that was perfect. He places the chocolates in their respective places in the tin before closing the lid. Finally, he pulled out a collection of ribbons that are used for the finishing touches. He looks through the assortment of rainbow spools before pulling out a dark violet one. He cut a large length of it before wrapping it around the box and tying it in a bow.

Patton leaned back and observed his craftsmanship with a grin.

Virgil was going to love this, he knows he will!

…

It was a cold, foggy Sunday night as Patton drove to Virgil’s house. The box of chocolates were nestled comfortably in a cooler sitting in the passenger seat of his car. A gentle downpour of rain pitter-pattered against the glass, becoming a soothing presence amidst the silence.

Neon signs for bars and hotspots light up the cloudy sky; the occasional persons walking about; homeless slouched on curbs with paper bags in hand; and stray cats appearing from alleyways all flew past him along the way, showing him a darker, grittier version of his city.

Slowly, the city transformed into a giant forest that surrounded his car. The air grew colder and the rain came down harder. The smooth asphalt roads turned to bumpy gravel, causing Patton to bounce as he drove. After a few miles, the forest disappeared and the confectioner was greeted with a sight that truly astounded him.

The manor looked to be inspired by either the Victorian or Queen Anne style of architecture. It was at least two or three stories high with incredibly gorgeous details to it: complex rooflines, a tower in the left corner with a steep roof, gables and bays, a richly textured surface of patterned shingles, and applied ornamentations. For Patton, the most notable features were the single-story wrap-around porch, the black balustrades, the lavishly decorated spindle work, and Eastlake ornamentations.

Patton looked up at the manor, then down at the piece of paper he pulled out of his pocket, staring at the address written on it.

613 Rue Morgue.

It— It was the right address, judging by the silver numbers beside the door, yet Patton couldn’t believe someone like Virgil would live here!

He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the cooler to grab the chocolates, the box feeling cold under his fingertips. Laying the box on his lap, he reaches over and retrieves his umbrella from the driver’s side pocket— a pastel blue one with white polka dots— before exiting the car. He walks up the wooden porch steps and rang the doorbell (knocking to the tune of ‘shave and a haircut’ for good measure) before standing back and waiting.

Exactly thirteen minutes later, Patton stood up straighter when the door finally opened. He nearly dropped the box when he saw Virgil’s appearance.

The stormy grey eyes and faded purple fringe looked the same, but it was his clothing that changed. Instead of a purple turtleneck, it was a button-up (with the top buttons and cuffs undone), and his leather pants were that of fancy dress ones. His boots were gone and he was padding around in thick, black wooly socks.

“Patton,” His deep, low voice snapped him out of his gay lovestruck moment. “As fond— and slightly disturbed— as I am by your flattering— and totally not creepy— fawning over me…I would like to eat personalized chocolates and get to know my deliveryman.”

Said deliveryman squeaked in surprise, shaking his head and blushing madly. His panicked and embarrassed eyes met ones that held confusion, awkwardness, and amusement.

“I-‘m— I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to stare like that!”

Virgil waved a passive, nonchalant hand. “Nah, don’t worry about it. You’re just lucky that you weren’t a stranger, because if you were, I would’ve glared at you until you fell dead.”

The confectioner’s eyes grew wide and he gulped. Was…Was he supposed to take that seriously?

“Aww, relax,” Virgil snorts, the corner of his lip twitching upward. “I was joking…or was I?”

“I don’t know…are you?”

“Yeah, I am. So chill out, Patton."

Patton nodded, slightly curling up in himself at how gullible he was for falling prey to a joke like that. (Though a part of himself felt…relieved? And he didn’t really know why he did so). He suddenly remembered the reason as to why he came here in the first place.

“This house is so incredible!” He exclaims, looking up at the giant manor. “I didn’t interrupt a fancy party or something, did I?”

“Nope. Just me.”

“Have you always lived here?”

Virgil shrugged casually. “Yeah…been living here for a good while now. Got this place from…a friend of mine, I guess you can say.”

Patton failed to recognize the guarded tone in his voice. “H-Here!” The confectioner shoved the box into Virgil’s arms. “I-I made these for you!”

Blinking, Virgil raised a brow at him. “Did you forget that I made an order, or did you have a different reason for coming to see me?” he asked in a semi-teasing way. He looked down at the box handed to him (or shoved really). Black box with a purple ribbon, just as he ordered. He opens it and sees all thirty-two beautifully decorated pieces of chocolate. “Wow. These looks good. What all are they?”

A proud smile appeared on the confectioner’s face. the wealthy man liked the box; so far so good! He started listing them all, “I put four pieces of eight in there. There are cherry cordials, chocolate squares, clusters with almonds, squares filled with a cinnamon-infused ganache, two kinds of truffles also filled with ganache, rounds made with coffee, and—” He blushed a little and mumbled, “Ch-Chocolate hearts.”

Virgil chuckled. “So it’s basically chocolate, coffee, and whatever ganache is.”

“It’s like thickened chocolate that’s used as a glaze, sauce, or filling,” Patton explains. “It’s great for cakes and treats like this, which is why it’s my favorite! All the chocolate is dark, and I even added some espresso to them!”

“My favorites,” The wealthy man gave him a faint smile, causing Patton to be a lovestruck gay once more. “Thanks.” Patton mumbles out something as he took out the one that had cinnamon-infused ganache inside and popped it into his mouth. He moaned, “Damn. Won’t lie, that’s some real good chocolate you’ve made.”

“Thank you very much!” Patton beamed happily, bouncing up and down on his heels. “That’s a compliment if I ever heard one, in fact, it makes me cocoa for more!”

A huffed groan. “Oh boy. Chocolate puns,” Virgil rolled his eyes. Though he couldn’t but participate in a little bit of joking himself. “Are you trying to be as smooth as your chocolates are? Because you’re not doing a very good job.”

Patton gasped. If his eyes could, they’d be sparkling like a cartoon character’s. “Now there’s no need to be bittersweet about making puns, Virgil!”

My whole aesthetic is about being sarcastic, edgy, and bittersweet, is what Virgil wanted to say, but he didn’t out of not wanting to scare the confectioner away so soon. “Someone’s gotta balance out how sugary you are.”

“Well, if you mousse-t insist!”

Another huffed groan, then Virgil popped a cherry cordial in his mouth. Dark chocolate and cherries were always considered a classic combination, like his depression and anxiety. What?

“I guess I should pay you for delivering me these?”

“Oh, that’s not necessary!” Patton insisted. “Consider it a gift! From me to you!”

Virgil frowned a bit. Then an idea came to mind, causing him to smirk coyly. “You sure? Cause I think I know of a good payment I could give you.”

Patton titled his head in confusion, but that quickly changed when he felt Virgil’s lips press against his own. They were crazy chapped and a little cold, but they slotted perfectly against his own. Following what his heart wanted— because that’s what he does— he happily kissed back, tasting bitter chocolate and espresso.

It only lasted a few seconds (six to be exact, but what was Patton counting), but it felt like an eternity for the confectioner. Suddenly, and very sadly, he felt Virgil pulling away. He opened his eyes (which he didn’t know he closed in the first place) and subconsciously licked his lips, a mad blush appearing on his face.

Virgil hummed and licked his own lips. He pulled out a third piece, this time, a dark chocolate heart. He held it to his bottom lip, not biting into it just yet.

The confectioner gulped. “C-Can I make a confection?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Can you?”

“I-I know it seems silly, but…” He squeezed the handle of his umbrella tightly. “I really, really like you!”

“…What a coincidence,” Virgil smirked wider as he finally bit into the chocolate heart. “I just so happen to like you too.”

Patton felt an excited smile spread itself across his face. Butterflies flew all about his stomach and his heart grew more than three sizes. He couldn’t help but jump a little in excitement.

Virgil moved to the side of the door, giving Patton the faintest glimpse of the inside of his mansion. He nods his head towards the foyer. “So you, uh, wanna come inside?” He asked, the rest of the heart hanging from his mouth. “I could make some coffee or tea, maybe even some hot chocolate if you’re into that instead?”

Despite him wanting to say yes— and he really wanted to— Patton politely shook his head. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he declined. “As much as I want to, I can’t. I have to clean up my store, and since I’ll be staying there a bit longer, I can get everything prepared for tomorrow’s opening.”

This statement caused Virgil to frown. So…it appears as though this little mousey wants to play chase. Well unfortunately for him, this black cat hasn’t lost a chase before, not now or ever; and he certainly won’t lose this one, especially to a cute and gullible person like Patton Hart.

Swallowing the rest of the chocolate, he plastered on a smile that didn’t hide his passive-aggressiveness. “Ah. Gotcha.” He pointed a finger-gun at him. (Though, again like a cat, he was mentally throwing a hissy). “It’s too bad you can’t stay longer,” he closed the box and turned away from Patton. “Really would’ve liked to have known you more…”

“Would you mind if I came back again soon?” Patton asked. He twirled the umbrella in his hands, little droplets of rain flying about. Virgil flinched as some got on his face. “Sorry. I could even bring you another gift box if you want!”

And thus, the cat has gotten the mouse.

“You’d visit again?” Virgil asked with a cheeky grin. “And you bring me more chocolates?” He raised a brow at him. “You do this with all your clients, Mr. Hart?”

“Of course I do!” Patton exclaimed. “And I do! I-I mean, I do treat my clients specially, but not as specially as you— especially since I kinda have a crush on you and—”

“Relax, Patton. Seriously.” Virgil huffed with a slight eye roll. “It’s fine if you wanna visit again, in fact, I want it too. Especially since, y’know, we got a thing for each other.” He winked at him.

Patton blushed and nodded. My goodness gracious Virgil was making him melt faster than chocolate on a double boiler. He twirled his umbrella again. “I-I suppose I should be making the long way home now.” Patton smiled sadly at him. “It was nice to see you again, Virgil! And thank you again for coming into my shop!”

“You’re welcome, Patton.” As the confectioner turned and was about to walk down the porch steps, Virgil had one more trick up his sleeves. “Hang on.” Just as Patton turned back again, he pulled him in for another kiss.

Their lips met having another reunion resulted in that same chocolate and coffee aftertaste from before. The confectioner’s breath hitched and a madder blush reddened his cheeks as Virgil licked his bottom lip, resulting in him opened his mouth slightly.

Suddenly, as quickly as it started, it was broken. Virgil chuckled as he heard Patton let out the quietest, puppy-like whine that he found absolutely precious. He opened his hazy grey eyes to look at darkened blue ones, the corner of his lip tugging upward. “Have a good night, Patton.”

“Y-You too…”

With one last wink, Virgil turned and walked back inside. The heavy, wooden door closing with a gentle click.

For the longest time, Patton stood there gazing at the door, almost like it would morph back into the dark and mysterious young man. What snapped him out of his trance was a loud crack of thunder.

Quickly, he rushed back to his car, but didn’t immediately drive off. He stayed parked for another long while, sitting in the front seat with the harsh rain pounding against the glass.

Finally, his face fell into his hands and he squealed. Louder and much more giddy-sounding than he did when he got his puppy (and he really loved his puppy).

He was definitely in love with Virgil Nyx.

#Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides AU #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Moxiety #Of Love & Murder

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ofxcxdemics · 5 years ago

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you hear a knock at your door late at night, at a time that only you were home ( your roommate suspiciously out for the evening. ) in your bedroom for an extended period of time, you eventually move to your kitchen when your eyes see something on the kitchen counter… a glass vase filled with blood, a bouquet of daises beam up at you. you notice a note attached to the flowers, typed via type-writer. the following message reads: “regretting it yet? if not yet… you soon will. xoxo, the killer.”

tw: blood, themes of murder & death.

there was once a boy. perhaps not a boy like you or me, but a boy nonetheless. a boy whose smile grew dormant with time. a boy who’s insatiable thirst to know of the beyond excluded him from the sanctuary known as the now. a boy that looked up to the stars in times of desperation. a boy that had a heart, pulsating in his chest any time that he felt the promise of brushing fingers dance across his skin. that’s all the boy had ever wanted - not the wealth ordained to him, the knowledge he squirreled away as though on the precipice of an academic hibernation. no, that’s all he wanted; a reminder that he wasn’t alone.

his heart faltered as that reminder came in form of a vase, its crimson sheen adorned with the most innocent of flowers - and a pooled essence of someone else’s life.

nathaniel did not know where oz had found himself that night. the serendipitous unknown had been the integral hearth to the relationship the pair had fostered over the many years of their acquaintance, easily slipping together into one another’s lives without hovering precipitations of what could be considered the ‘norm’ in a friendship. predisposed to listening always to what the other had to say, the stoic man couldn’t help but be awash in a flood of malignant anxiety as his fingers grasped the end of the kitchen bend, his knuckles whitening as his eyes absorbed the horrific sight before him.

he’d been home all evening.

all alone.

in solitude, in isolation.

not a peep, not a sound.

the killer of daisey rutherford had breathed the same oxygen as nathaniel.

�� and he didn’t know.

what was that day known as the gossip blog wasn’t always of the same domain, nor branded with as malignant an intent. the blog once belonged to the girl, to daisey rutherford. privy to its existence in html alone, nate had never bothered to see what the page had contained. in fact, the academic hadn’t even seen the first message the killer sent shortly after the party where daisey was last witnessed. he lived in ignorance, and for once, not a willing ignorance, as the very foundation of that which he held dear began to crumble all around him. his knowledge of the poll in which people were to vote was something he hadn’t even fathomed the existence of, and it wasn’t until inquiries from some people who knew him reacted to his name being referenced in the most recent post to the blog. oh, he spent the entire afternoon drowning himself in the dialogue presented in that blog. combing each syllable, messing with flimsy assets that even the genius that was nathaniel struggled to understand, in the hopes of finding the hamartia that would underpin the killer who taunted not only nathaniel, but twenty nine others. twenty eight, when you consider the killer had admitted to being one of the recipients of said communication.

it didn’t feel real to nate. not the promise of death, nor the reaper with his name already inscribed in his touch. the academic couldn’t believe the audacity of a person to undermine nate’s intelligence, the only thing the man had ever had confidence in, and it had him rattled. shaken. nate couldn’t even bring himself to hold the note tied to one of the flowers for fear of amalgam with a killer’s touch. as his vision was drifting into a haze and his palms grew ever more coated in perspiration, nate struggled to intake breath as his eyes poured over the sight before him. it wasn’t even the threat that had him on the brink of collapsing to the floor, his body in a malaise state. no, it was the connotation. the meaning. the reality that he did not want to face.

this wasn’t about fear. this was about daisey rutherford.

to many, nathaniel maintained minimal contact. and although it was true, daisey was engaged to be wed with nate’s own brother. and as much as he despised his family, he couldn’t avoid the girl who sauntered around the manor with premonition of her future stake on the estate. and the truth was, daisey wasn’t like anyone else nathaniel had ever met. although insidious in her application, she was… intelligent. fiercely intelligent. a fire resided behind her eyes as she burned through any bridge that she did not want to travel on. the recognition that sparked in the caramel of her iris evoked a feeling in the academic that had never been placed before. despite being a villain to many, she gave nate so many things he’d never thought he had been without. but most importantly ? she saw his worth. she knew the price of the spindle that turned inside his head. and… she saw him. the boy that just wanted to not be so alone - he’d been seen. her spotlight had fallen onto him and then… her light. it had flickered out. flickered out. extinguished. gone. she was gone.

“take me !!” the academic roared, his entire being vibrating with the white hot amalgam of fear and loathing aching in his every syllable. “you have started a game you can never win, so take me while you have the fucking chance.”

he stopped. and with all his might, nathaniel screamed as his arms latched onto that godamn vase, his shaking fingers twisting knots across the glass as he threw it to the other end of the room.

the glass shattered as it was embraced what was once a plain white wall, a chandelier of glass temporarily lighting up the room as the prismatic shards of what was in essence an urn fell in tune with the erratic thrum of nathaniel’s heart. the blood smeared the walls and floor, the most primitive of paints spilling into scarlet apparitions, forever soaked into the walls. the ghost that would remain with him forever.

the academic struggled to breathe. his archaic phone buried underneath a pile of books in his bedroom, his entire constitution shaking within him as his feeble limbs tried to get their bearings his mind ordered of them. his mind hadn’t even contemplated thorough forensic testing, nor the cloth he would soon cradle in his hands as he endeavoured to clean the mess before his roommate got home. but… nate was afraid. not of the killer, not of the promise of death. no, nathaniel ballantyne feared the unknown. never getting an answer to his questions in knowing whether the boy would ever find what he’d spent his entire life looking for in the stars.

or… if the very thing his soul screamed for was already gone.

#veritashq #tw: blood #tw: murder & death #( nate ; asks ! )#( nate ; development ! )#( nate ; self para ! )#TIHS GOT SO LONG AND SO EMO AND ITS PROBABLY GARBAGE BUT #YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT SONG I USED TO INSPIRE ME TO WRITE THIS #story of my life by one direction

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katsitting · 6 years ago

Text

Ice

Rating: T

Ship: Tomione

Warnings: Female Tom Riddle, Creepy Tom, Non-con elements, Creepy Tom, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Alternate Dimension

You can find it here on AO3:

She lives inside me.

A voice, a thought, a memory, a life long since past. I try to forget her, push her beyond the thin veneer of my own musings, but–

There she is.

Tamsin Riddle.

The girl of both my dreams and nightmares. A gaunt face with brilliant eyes, her lips shaped into the perfect echo of my name.

I lay in my bed, sweat pooling down the nape of my neck. I can sense her here, can taste her on the back of my mouth. I hadn’t seen her in months, let alone years. Not since I left everything behind, since I was forced to leave when she discovered just who I was–

And would be.

Hermione Granger.

It wasn’t a surname that belonged to any of the sacred bloodlines. It was the outlier, the odd one out in a room of curious gazes and twisted smiles.

And Riddle–

Well, I had slipped between the cracks of her attention. Always staying safely away, tucked inside a book even when in front of an entire room. A professor, in the 1940s, who would have thought?

Not me, no. That had not been in the cards, had not factored into my plans when I strayed too far, when the magic imbued in the time turner had nearly killed me on the way to the past.

Another scar, another life, another mark for me to glamour away. And how terrifying it was, to hide in plain sight, to watch the girl that should never be–the face of a monster whisper lies and revel in deceit while standing in front of the room, powerless to stop it.

Terrible things happened to those that messed with time.

The words had been my mantra, my creed. So, I stayed away, watched little Tamsin Riddle grow into the woman she would be and the monster she would later become.

Until I was forced to flee, made to go, when Tamsin Riddle’s finally saw me, all of me, not just the mask I donned when guiding young souls toward the path of enlightenment.

I see you. All of you.

“Professor Granger, are you afraid of me?”

I shut my eyes, tried to will the girl’s voice out of my mind, but it was fruitless. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, the curtains ill-suited to block out the vibrant rays from my eyes.

Once Riddle slipped into my thoughts, there was simply no getting her out. Somehow, one way or another, Riddle always managed to drag me back to that time, to that moment, when Riddle had stopped in front of my office door, a sly smile on her lips, and asked:

“What is it about me that makes you shrink into the cracks of the castle wall?”

I burrowed deep into my sheets, covering the top of my head with the charmed covers. There was no escaping these thoughts, however. Once I stared down into this abyss, there was no stopping the current from taking me through its twists and turns.

I was back in the same room, the light from the sconces casting long and spindling shadows in the chamber.

Riddle stood in front of the door, her hair cascading in waves down her shoulders, a curious note in her gaze that made my blood freeze in my veins.

“Do you have a moment?” Riddle said after a moment, her eyes scrutinizing me with such intensity that I nearly took a step back, brandished my wand, and took aim at her chest.

Breathe, Hermione. She can’t harm you here.

With a strained smile, I nodded in assent, hand gesturing to the empty seat in front of my desk with a flourish. It was best to get this out of the way. The quicker I humored her, the faster she’d be out of my office.

Riddle stepped into the room, the door closing behind her with a soft click. Her movements were like flowing water, smooth and elegant as she crossed the short distance between the door and the seat, stepping around to sit across from me.

My skin itched at the proximity, the familiar burn of Riddle’s magic enough to make my insides clench with dread.

“What can I do for you, Miss Riddle?”

It was odd to call her that. In her time, in her world, Riddle had been a man. A monster shaped and twisted by the ravages of his own fears and caprices. When I had come back, I had been fully prepared to deal with a boy–the same creature that had whispered into my mind, that had murmured awful promises in my head when I had been saddled with Tom Riddle’s locket all those years ago.

That had not been the case.

Tamsin Riddle was in many ways unlike her male counterpart. She was controlled, elegant and polite. She wore her mask well. If I hadn’t come from the future where Tom Riddle had already sucked the school dry, his presence like the plague blackening the hearts and minds of the Slytherins in his time, I myself would have been fooled.

At times, I wished I was ignorant as everyone else.

“Professor Granger, are you afraid of me?”

A shaky breath escaped my mouth against my will. That was not what I’d been expecting. Riddle’s gaze was dark, her head tilting to one side in a way that made me think immediately of the tight coils of a hungry serpent.

No.

“Of course not, Miss Riddle. I feel nothing but respect for you and your abilities in my classroom.”

Riddle’s lips cracked into a devious smile, her hands splaying over the hardwood of the desk. It took all the willpower I possessed not to frown, to level my wand at her face. My hands gripped onto the edge of the desk instead.

“Are you certain? You look about ready to draw your wand.”

I released a short breath, shaping the exhalation into a nervous laugh. This was bloody ridiculous. Frightened, me, of an adolescent dark lord? I’ve stared death in the face, suffered through Bellatrix’s unwanted attention for hours at a time when trapped in Malfoy Manor. This was nothing.

The adrenaline pumping through my veins, however, told a completely different story.

“Nonsense, Miss Riddle, you’ve simply surprised me.”

Riddle’s lips twitched, but she said nothing. She didn’t have to. The look in Riddle’s eyes was evidence enough that she didn’t believe me.

I jolted when Riddle rose from her seat, closing the bit of space between me and her in seconds. Her eyes were bright with curiosity, her hands smoothing over my desk until all that I could see was Riddle.

The exit in the back of the room never looked so distant.

“I’ve been watching you, you know,” Riddle started, her fingers tracing over the wood. It was an innocuous gesture, almost unconscious, but I knew better than to be deceived. Nothing about Riddle was ever harmless or without motive. “As I’m sure you noticed.”

Yes, I wanted to say, the thought like a wildfire burning in the back of my mind, I had.

I nodded instead, teeth catching on the inside of my cheek. What was the point in stating the obvious? That was not why Riddle had bothered with this whole farce of a conversation. She wanted something, but what that was, I couldn’t say.

“You don’t treat me like you treat the other students,” Riddle continued, her voice low and slow. Like she was sharing the most salacious secret with another girl her year. I didn’t so much as blink. “You’re…distant. Not so much that I felt neglected, but—”

My fingers dug into the desk when she leaned in closer, enough so that the twin scents of jasmine and vanilla bled through my nostrils. The source was unmistakable. It was Riddle’s hair, her skin, her clothes. I’d come across it before.

“Enough to give me pause, to make me look all the closer for the source of your…reservations.”

“Is there a point to all of this, Miss Riddle?” I snapped, unable to hold back my own annoyance when Riddle smiled, a teasing glint in her dark eyes.

Brat.

“My, my, such fire.”

I recoiled, pushing as far away from the desk as was physically possible without flying out of my seat. My hand was on my wand before I could nip the urge in the bud.

What the fuck was happening?

“I was starting to wonder if you were truly as bland as you made yourself out to be.”

I rose from my seat then, a deep scowl settling over my features. This was getting out of hand. I was a professor, and she a student. This sort of conduct was unbecoming, unacceptable.

“What an interesting turn of events. Though—”

“What?” I said, lips twisting into a hard line when Riddle only laughed, the sound like bells in the cavernous office.

“—that still doesn’t quite address my question.”

I rolled my eyes. Typical.

“I don’t know what you mean—”

“What is it about me that makes you shrink into the cracks of the castle wall? That makes you so frightened that you would reach for your wand during a simple meeting with a student?” Riddle interrupted, eyes narrowing into slits.

Oh for the love of all things holy.

“Get out.”

I didn’t hesitate, even when the air between us became thick and heavy with tension. It was the kind that not even a cutting hex could dare to slice in half.

“I will not.”

Neither of us moved. The words faded in the air, melting into the tension burrowing into my spine. This was neither the time nor place for this kind of conversation. It shouldn’t be happening at all, for that matter. Riddle was supposed to pass through Hogwarts without sparing me any mind.

“Dumbledore, I understand. But you—you don’t know me much at all.”

Fear wrenched through my insides, my mind practically screaming for me to shoot first and ask questions later. Years of this, of fighting and clawing through the ground for survival did that to a person. I was not an exception.

“What did he tell you, professor?” Riddle intoned, sliding away from the desk to stare me down. It was like a physical weight. The stare accusing and curious all at once, and enough to make my heart stop. “That I was a murderer? That I was incapable of love, of thinking of someone other than myself?”

No, I wanted to say. Dumbledore didn’t tell me a thing.

I kept my mouth shut, not trusting myself. I nearly chewed my tongue out trying to bite the urge to deny it.

“Or—”

Riddle stepped around my desk, breaking the thin veneer of propriety I had tried to maintain. My wand was on her in seconds, pressing against Riddle’s chest. It was a warning, a promise. I would curse her within an inch of her life if she tried to harm me.

There was no going back now.

“Is it something else?”

My breath caught when Riddle’s hand pressed against my shoulder, nails catching on the scratchy surface of my blouse. A shock like fire rushed up my spine at the contact, and it was in that moment that Riddle stepped in, pressing me into the wall behind me.

Riddle’s eyes flashed with something I couldn’t decipher. It looked almost like hunger, but no, that wasn’t right. No, it was something else, and almost like—

“Ah, I see.”

Riddle murmured, head tilting to one side with a knowing glint in her eye.

“Professor,professor, how inappropriate.”

My mouth fell open with confusion, unable to understand what Riddle meant.

Inappropriate? Me?

Then, Riddle’s lips were on mine, her breath hot and sweet in my own mouth. I gasped, my grip on my wand slipping with shock, unable to quite process what was happening, what Riddle was doing.

A knee slipped between my shaking knees and ground against my crotch.

I shoved her with all my strength, cheeks so hot I could barely stand it. This was—I couldn’t put my own response into words. My emotions were chaos, twisting, and heaving like the ocean caught in a hurricane.

“How sweet, Hermione,” Riddle purred, and my patience snapped.

“Out!”I shouted, my wand coming to life to force the girl out of the classroom. The door opened with a harsh smash, the back of it slamming into the stone wall with no mercy.

Riddle didn’t blink as she was flung back, her eyes dark and deep, promising something more than a simple kiss the next time we saw one another.

I scowled at her, lip curling with disdain. There wouldn’t be a next time. I would sooner mate with a centaur before I ever allowed Riddle to lay a hand on me again.

“100 points from Slytherin.”

My voice shook with anger and apprehension, unable to wrap my head around the sensation of Riddle’s mouth pressed against mine, of her knee wedged between my—

I smothered the thought before I could finish it.

“So cruel,” Riddle said from outside the door, her dark eyes like a physical touch against my flushed skin. “I was only trying to understand you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, clutching at the collar of my throat.

Never, in all the time I’d been trapped in the past, had anyone, let alone a student, dared to do such a thing. This was harassment. An ethical violation of the greatest proportions.

“If you don’t leave right this instant, I assure you that there will be more than point deductions in your future.”

Riddle cocked her head to one side, staring at her from beneath her lashes and the loose strands of hair that escaped the confines of her up-do. The look was somehow more invasive than her mouth on my skin had been.

“Have a good evening, Hermione.” Riddle said, eyes smoldering with fire and hunger—gods, so much hunger—I was rendered speechless. My stomach was in knots, the urge to scrub myself raw, to divest myself of all my clothing and burn the blasted fabric into a crisp, so strong that my teeth ached.

With one more prying glance, Riddle turned, the soft click of her shoes the last thing I heard before I slammed the door shut. The click of the lock barely registered in my mind, however, thoughts utterly consumed by Riddle’s bloody kiss and the dangerous promise in her gaze.

This, whatever this was, was far from over.

I pressed my fingers against my eye sockets, relishing in the ache that spread from my eyes to the side of my temples. It hurt but—it was better than the memories of that horrid evening.

It had been years since then, but still, I couldn’t quite forgive myself for leaving the school like a frightened dog with its tail tucked between my legs. But it couldn’t be helped.

Riddle had seen me. And it was only logical that I leave, make my escape before I tampered with time and mucked everything up.

Actions had consequences, after all. And mine, even when I was not an active participant to it, still counted.

Slam.

A shock rushed up my spine, head snapping in the direction of the doorway.

Odd.

It had been some time since I’d had any visitors. I had done everything possible to make myself as invisible as possible, taking a job in a small bookshop a great distance from Hogwarts to create as much distance as I could from Riddle and her nefarious plans.

It hadn’t been hard. After all, in the 1940s, there were hardly any records keeping track of wizards and witches alike.

I slipped out of bed, tucking my toes into my slippers and draping a robe over my bare shoulders. It was winter—hardly the season for anyone to be paying anyone a visit. But well, I did keep close company with a few hard-working women that worked at the apothecary. They always took care to bring me little things—small things like potion ingredients or meat.

They were kind people, if a little meddlesome, at times.

I made my way to the door, the trip a quick one given the short distance between her bedroom and the front entrance. A modest cottage in all senses of the word, but well. It had been the only one up for grabs. It wasn’t as though I needed much space anyway.

With a wave of my hand, I unlocked the door and grabbed onto the handle, forcing it open with a quick tilt of my wrist.

My brows knit with confusion. A lone figure stood near the door, wearing a black robe and hood that obscured the person’s face. It was almost like a shadow.

“Can I help you?” I asked, a nervous flutter twinging in my stomach when my fingers reached for my wand in my pocket, to only come away empty. Somehow, in my haste to get to the door, I had left it in the damn bedroom.

Bloody perfect.

“Oh yes.”

My heart nearly burst out of my chest when a voice I hadn’t heard in years rung out. It cut me to the bone.

No.

It was impossible. She couldn’t be here. Not now—

The hood fell back, and it was like being doused with ice water. It could have easily been the wind slapping against my cheeks, but I knew better.

Red eyes stared back at me through long, thick lashes. The eyes of a monster, of the very same creature I had spent decades trying to forget, to erase from my memories like the scars hidden beneath my glamour.

“You most certainly can, Professor.”

#Tomione #Genderbent #Female Tom Riddle #first person perspective #I did a thing

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