#Prosaic Wonders AU

[verdantglow]

I’m fine.

Jimmy Solidarity personally solved a gaping plothole in my smalletho fic today.

It’s fine.

I’m fine.

It’s fine.

[verdantvoid]

Thinking about pw!Joel’s eyes & how much pw!Etho loves them. In most lighting, they are so deep, so rich, they are nearly black, like freshly tilled soiled, soft. Etho could legit get lost in them if he let himself. But then, the first time he sees Joel in bright sunlight, he catches a glimpse of his eyes & almost stops breathing. Fully illuminated, they glow like polished mahogany, bright & warm, with threads of rich gold. & god are they pretty, so devastatingly beautiful, & Etho is just so deeply glad that he gets to see both sides of them.

[minhosimthings]

Lucifer|| Prolouge

Synopsis: After you found your husband cheating on you, you found a different kind of comfort in his devilishly handsome colleagues.

Pairings: detective 02z × fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, minors please do not interact, catcalling, mention of alcohol, reader is cheated on by Heeseung, cheating (which I do not condone in real life)

A/N: Prologue for my 02z short series everyone! I abandoned everything else after Enha dropped Memorabilia just to write this BECAUSE I CAN. I will try to put out the oneshots as early as possible and I hope all of you will enjoy it! Au revoir!

Taglist: Open

Series Masterlist

Crystalline tears filled your eyes as you walked under the dark azure sky. Your feet ached, your heart thumped hard against its prison and your mind spun and yet you kept walking. Walking somewhere, you didn't even bother to understand.

Adjusting your skirt, and moving your scarf down to reveal your bloodied lips from having bitten them too much, you tried to recall what had happened today that made you so miserable. Was it the broken coffee machine, or was it the recent murders in the newspaper? Or was it a person? Perhaps it was the latter.

Heeseung.

You loved Lee Heeseung. With all of your soul and all of your heart you loved him all the way through the bright Mays and the chilly Decembers. You loved him in a way only the setting sun could love the ocean, the way its rays danced with the water so gracefully.

And yet you caught him in your own bedroom, strong sinews of muscles handling another girl's lusty bones, as she merged her body with someone you thought belonged to you.

His apologies went deaf to your ears, you spent an hour or so packing up all your things and driving out the house without a second thought. You didn't even realise how much time you spent screaming your head off at him, trying hard to stop your tears from escaping their barrier as you shoved each and every gift he ever gave you into his arms and asked him to burn them to the ground. And yet you didn't know how to cope without them either.

Your mother never taught you how to handle grief without alcohol and your father's blood always seeped through your mouth in words of fire and fury everytime something went wrong. It was no wonder you had found comfort in Heeseung, a man who could handle all of your pain and all of your anger.

You had trusted him with your life, marrying him happily to escape your childhood home and entrusting in him your most beloved secrets, your love and dedication and your virginity as well. You thought that had been enough, staying home whilst Heeseung worked his ass off at the police station to provide you with everything you could ask for and more.

And when he came home, you were his toy, a plaything for him to release his stress on and yet you didn't budge. Why should you? When you were recieving all the pleasure you could ever want and giving all the pleasure back to your husband. Nevertheless, you stared at your empty ring finger now, hands shivering in the cold as you scolded yourself on not wearing mittens. Heeseung used to scold you too.

Lee Heeseung. What would you have done to absolutely irradicate Lee Heeseung?

You had parked your car at the nearby park where you knew it'd be safe, and had gone for a walk. Thoughts rushed to your mind. You had known about Heeseung's affair for some time now, but you wanted to catch him in the act, to prove to the world, to yourself, that your melancholic delusion could be justified. Here you were now, dragging your feet across the cemented pavement, knowing there's only one other place you could go to. The darkness was a bad place for a woman to be, at 10 pm but you didn't give a single fuck about anything as your prosaic body tried to get itself up. You swore you could have heard voices behind you.

"Hey, hey you!" You heard a voice shout behind you, "What's a pretty lady doin' in a place like this?"

You gulped in fear as your feet sped up. Stupid stupid girl, you thought to yourself, should have stayed in the goddamned car!

"Hey you ignorin' me?" The voice shouted again, and you could hear the gruff footsteps which followed you, getting closer by the moment, "Stop fucking runnin' away from me!"

Your heart pumped blood faster as you picked up your skirt and ran, at the fastest speed you could. This wouldn't have happened if Heeseung was here!, you thought, and though a part of your brain tried to scold you about still thinking about him, at the moment all you were focused on was getting somewhere safe.

The man's drunken voice could still be hear by your ears, and his harsh footsteps told you he was running behind you, chasing you as if you were a wild mongrel to be caught and leashed.

Only one place. Only one place you could go now.

Turning swift on your feet, you ran down the wide lane filled with shops on one side and the empty road on the other, being careful not to crash into the glowing streetlights, as your destination came into your visage.

The police station. Where you knew, your last hope would be standing.

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"Got the Samson case solved yet?" Sunghoon yawned and stretched his limbs above his head, like a prosaic cat, "Man I could do with a drink right now."

"It's 10 pm." Jake checked his pocketwatch, running his hand through his hair as he always did, "What bar is going to be open at this time?"

"Hey, should we steal Jay's stash?" Sunghoon glanced, with mischievous eyes at Jake, who mirrored an equally mischief filled smile back.

"Don't even think about touching my bourbon." A dark haired man, with eyes as black as kohl, walked in, equally black gloves decorating his hands, "Unless you want to be stuck on traffic duty all week."

"Who pissed in your cereal today?" Sunghoon snickered, leaning back in his chair, a crack of his bone could be heard as he lazily stretched, "Let me guess, Heeseung?"

"Is it about his wife again?" Jake groaned, hair tangled in his hand again, "Jay, just leave it man, they'll sort it out."

"Sort it out?" Jay looked at the long haired man with a quizzical look, "What kind of a man cheats on a beautiful woman and brags about it?"

"Most of them." Sunghoon broke out into his drawer, hands reaching for a eloquent wooden pipe, which he lit and transferred to his mouth, sighing out the smoke as he relaxed into his chair, "You're too righteous to understand that, Jongsoeng."

Jay wrinkled his nose, as Sunghoon blew a puff of cigarette smoke into the air. Settling into his own chair, Jay's eyes flickered towards Heeseung's desk, where files lay messily scattered. A solitary photo frame brightened up the lonely atmosphere of the desk. Lee Y/N, Jay thought, his wife, not yours.

"Jay, come on, stop sulking over your little crush," Jake scoffed, his hands busy with a sleek, brownish-yellow bottle in his hand, "Just have a drink and get your mind off it."

"First of all, how did you get into my bourbon cabinet." Jay snatched the glass from Jake's hand, and toyed with it protectively, "Second of all, I can't just get my mind of it. I mean, come on," He extended his glass out to Jake who poured the elysian liquid into Jay's glass, "Who the fuck would have the gall to cheat on such a pretty woman who loves him to bits?"

"Look, you like her right? And don't say no, we all know it Jongsoeng." Sunghoon leaned forward in his chair, "So when she finds out about everything, just offer to take her home and, you know, let her sob into your arms and then take her into your bedroom and-"

"Since when did you start reading romance?" Jake chuckled, pressing a glass of bourbon to his lips.

"Since lover boy here started crushing on..what's her name? Y/N wasn't it?" Sunghoon laughed, taking another piquant drag of his pipe, "I get it, she is really pretty."

'Really pretty' was one way to describe you, Jay thought, smiling into his glass of bourbon. Every inch of you called out to him, beckoned him closer and closer to your poisonous radius. It wasn't that he didn't try to fight it, lusting after another's wife, but it was that he found that hidden sadness in your eyes heartbreaking everytime he looked into them.

"Want to head home, fellas?" Jake briskly sat up straight in his chair, "Or are either of you going to stop at a brothel?"

"Don't have time for that." Sunghoon chuckled darkly, putting out his pipe, "Plus I've got a-"

Bang!

The door of the quite airy police station burst open with a loud bang, and it seemed as if a hurricane in the guise of a panicked woman had swept in, alarming the three detectives. The sudden action caused them to act on their reflexes, pulling out their revolvers faster than their eyes could comprehend the sight in fron them. Jake's eyes seemed to work the quickest.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?" Jake called out, signalling the other two to lower their weapons. He stepped forward and turned a switch on, which caused the entire room to light up in bright light, contrasting to the soft yellow light that earlier shone from the desk lamps.

Jay's senses had seemed to ding up after the initial shock of the entire thing, as he walked forward with careful steps towards you, as Jake and Sunghoon whispered to each other, making out why you were here. Your eyes took a moment to register the man in front of you.

Jay Park, you thought, a man who was perfection incarnated.

"Y/N," Jay spoke softly, careful not to frighten you, "What are you doing here? Are you alright?" He looked you up and down to check for any disfigurements.

"I-" you spoke, your throat tightening by the moment, "Heeseung—he" you couldn't speak any more as his name uttered out your mouth. Bursting into tears, you buried your face in your hands as you felt your cheeks burn up with embarrassment. You really weren't crying in front of your (ex) husband's colleagues, men who you barely knew, apart from the usual condolences.

You felt warm, strong muscles pull you into their hold. It felt like a cozy cocoon, scented with the fragrance of pine and paper.

"Calm down, doll," Jay whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning your neck, "take a breath for me."

Jay coached you through breathing in and out, which restored some of your consciousness. You had nearly been on the verge of fainting, with how much you had ran.

"Can I—May I sit down for a moment?" You asked, weary of the other two men's eyes watching you, "Please."

"Of course." Jay said, supporting your figure with his sinews as he led you over to his cubicle. You could see the other two hastily clearing out messy piles of papers. The shorter one, you assumed was Jake, from his drooped posture and lion-like hair. The taller one then, had to be Sunghoon, with porcelain skin and an ice cold gaze.

"Did-did you walk all the way from your house?" Jake questioned, offering you a seat, which you gratefully collapsed into.

"No, just the park nearby." You shot him a small smile through your croaky voice, which he returned, "My car's still parked there though. I drove from" you stopped in your words uncertain to say his name, "-from Heeseung's house."

You felt the tension in the room as you said those words. Heeseung's house, you thought, it had been home once. You felt Jay shift his position in the chair next to you, and Sunghoon transfer his weight to one foot, whilst leaning on the desk.

"If you want us to go beat him up, we'll gladly do it." Sunghoon offered, making you chuckle and shake your head.

"No it's fine, I mean she wasn't that pretty anyway, he's bound to lose interest in her some day or the other." You smiled, to no one but yourself. Humour had never been your strong suit.

"Aww man I really wanted to beat him up." Sunghoon feigned defeat, "Asshole deserves it for how much paperwork he gave me."

"That's the only reason you want to beat him up?" You raised a brow at the light skinned man, who raised one back.

"And for betraying a pretty lady of course." He winked at you, making you internally roll your eyes.

"Would-would you like some bourbon?" Jake awkwardly offered you a glass. You could see the embarrassment in his eyes the moment he asked the question, "Or water if you want-"

"I'll take the bourbon." You grabbed the glass from Jake, who, with his shocked eyes poured you a glass, which you downed immediately without flinching in front of the three startled detectives, "Can I have another?"

"Can we have some too?" Sunghoon smirked at you, grabbing his own glass and beckoning Jake to pour him a shot. Jay, admitting defeat, had grabbed a glass too, filled with the bubbly alcohol.

"Well," Sunghoon raised his glass in a toast, "to Heeseung hopefully getting bored of the other woman."

"Peculiar toast, Detective Park." You laughed, "I like it."

The moments that followed still felt like a fever dream to you. You had sat in a building, alone with three handsome men, talking down right shit about your husband, whilst drinking more bourbon than you ever had and although you had already defeated Jake in drinking (almost) half a pint, you still wanted more. This definetly was not on your itinerary for the evening, but did you care at this point? Absolutely not.

"Ugh fuck." You swore under your breath. You probably shouldn't have drank that much, but in all honestly, it would have helped to relieve some of the painful memories of the night.

"Woah steady there." Jay looked at you cautiously as you stirred in your chair. Jake was on the verge of passing out, having even taking his glasses off, while Sunghoon and Jay, who hadn't drank as much, looked as calm as the winds.

"You know what?" You started, not knowing the words coming out of your drunken mouth anymore, "Fuck Lee Heeseung, fuck that man." A sudden maniacal giggle from your mouth seemed to have amused Sunghoon.

"Fuck in what terms, Mrs Lee?" He asked, trying to hide his cunning smirk, whilst ignoring Jay's warning glares.

"Mrs Lee?" You questioned, feeling your senses come back, though you were still tipsy, "Who's Mrs Lee? Not me, no sir-ee." You laughed, "If I had the chance to chop off that asshole's dick right now, I would."

"But you wouldn't allow us to beat him up? Strange." Sunghoon whistled out in his usual cocky tone.

"It's getting late." Jay checked the grand clock in the corner of the room, his eyes wavered over the dried tears on your face, it was alarming to him how much a mere glass of bourbon had managed to get you giggling like a cuckoo, "Y/N I can drop you-"

"I'd rather fuck all of you in one night rather than see that idiot's face again." You chuckled again, this time, saying the sentence with full seriousness. Did you really mean it?, perhaps not, as you would have thought later on. But were you up for having sex with three extremely attractive men who happened to be the best friends of your ex-husband? That, was a definite yes.

"Oh really?" Sunghoon placed his forearms on the desk in front of him, leaning in closer to your face. Jay's hand clutched harder against the edge of the desk. "And what if I say yes to that proposal?"

"What are you implying, Detective Park?" You looked into his dark, devilish eyes, "That you'd have sex with someone pathetic enough to get cheated on?"

"Don't say that, you're not pathetic." Jay's eyes softened as he looked at you, but you merely scoffed, turning your face instead to look at Sunghoon, who was evidently smirking. You caught Jake's widened eyes from the corner of your eye, listening intently.

"How about this-" Sunghoon started, folding his arms, "You get a night of good sex, I get a night of good sex, you and I both get to rub that in Heeseung's face, and then we have breakfast in France."

"Are you married Detective Park?" You quizzed him with an amused face, his offer seemed at the very least, interesting to you.

"Not yet, no. I'm still young aren't I?", Sunghoon's mouth stretched like a cat's into a lazy smile, "Why do you ask? Are you....perhaps intrigued by my offer?"

There was something ironic about that sentence "I'm still young" that struck a chord within you, you were the same age as him and yet you were sitting there talking about your husband.

"Intrigued is one way to put it." You smiled back, hoping you looked anything like a vixen, matching the bastardous fox like energy of Sunghoon's, "But don't you think it's greedy of you, Detective Park? To want me all to yourself?"

"And what do you mean by that, Miss Y/N?" Jake smiled in his boyish manner, "Is Sunghoon here not enough for you?"

"I'm just saying." You held up your hands in mock defence, "wouldn't you both like to get a taste too?"

You glanced at Jay in the corner, who you had expected to be shaking his head in disapproval. But to your utter surprise, he had one of his gloves hands stroking his chin as if in deep thought. His eyes were dark even in the fluorescent light of the room, deep pools of cataclysmic waters floating around in his pupils. He looked vaguely interested.

"So just to recap," Jake started, clearing his throat, such that his Adam's apple was clearly visible, "You want us to bed you, so as to make your ex husband, our colleague and friend, someone's whose wife we definetly should not be sleeping with, jealous?"

"That's the blueprint." You said in a sweet honeyed voice, "How exactly you make him know that I'm not his anymore, you figure that out. If I even so as look at that man's face again, I will jump off a cliff."

"But the question is-" you put on a proud smile, eyes darting from one man to the next, "Who's going first?"

"Shouldn't you decide that sweetheart?" Jay's deep voice came like a rumble through the ground during an earthquake, slightly startling you. He hadn't said anything in the past few minutes, his sudden break of silence alarmed you.

"Alright then." You chuckled, not daring to meet Jay's eyes, you knew you'd melt as soon as you saw them, "How about the person who suggested this?" You turned your face towards a smirking Sunghoon, with his head held high like a peacock's, "Detective Park?"

"Shall I go with the lady's word boys?" Sunghoon asked Jake, who nodded his head, taking his glasses off the desk and outting them on again. The effect it had in him was quite handsome, according to you.

"Should we make a pact then?" Jake asked cheekily, glancing around for a piece of paper, finally picking one up from underneath the mountain of files lying on the wisened wood. Putting it down on the paper, he scribbled something down quickly, showing it off proudly to the others. You let out a laugh when you saw what he wrote.

"'The make Heeseung jealous organisation'?" You laughed, "I can't tell if you're serious or not."

"I'm dead serious." Jake looked at you with glossy eyes, he always was a funny one, you recalled, "Come on everyone, I need signatures."

He's serious about this, you thought, amused at Jake's comedic demeanor. You swiftly pressed the black ink to the paper, leaving off a flashy signature to decorate it. Jay signed off last, with an impeccable font.

Words couldn't have described that very evening. No sentence that could come out of your mouth could have ever even begun to explain to a complete stranger about how you had ended up in Sunghoon's car, driving to his house in silence. Shrugging off the moral doubts in the corner of your brain, you stared out the window into a dewy night.

Relax, you thought to yourself, there wasn't anything wrong with what you were doing.

Was there?

Taglist: Open! Send an ask or comment to be added.

[good--merits-accumulated]

its your turn. u were interested in my keating thoughts for a reason. tell me whats in ur brain :3 <3

Ahh!! Hello hello!

Unfortunately the answer as to why is more prosaic than expected - I'm writing an AU in which Keating features heavily and not having done that before, I need him to be characterised far more fully in my mind than he currently is. Hence trying to work out how other people feel about him!

But on a larger scale - I've always thought of him very distantly! I don't know why. I guess it's pretty easy to think of him as a stepping-stone; kids tend to think of adults that way. But now I keep thinking that he exists in an odd liminal space. He's a distinguished alumni, but in a subject which Welton assumedly disregards/teaches in an awful way (which is the same thing). Now how does THAT work? They're proud of him now but they probably weren't then. I wonder how it must feel to return willingly to a place which endorses your achievements and yet disparages you who achieved them? ("who, for the past several years, has been teaching at the highly regarded Chester School in London.") What's it like to try and teach your students the same attitudes that led to your achievements, the ones for which the school hired you? What's it like, consequently, to be blocked from that teaching? How frustrating it must be! Ah. Anyway I would never have had these thoughts were it not for the way your post recontextualised him in my mind! So thank you for that.

(And also, the whole thing sparked a kind of Neil-Keating mirror Thought in my head. But I have no evidence to back that one up - just a strong and persisting feeling.)

[philtstone]

Writer asks! 3, 6, 10, 16!

im soooo late to replying to this but. thank you beloved and here we go

#3 What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

this is such a hard and mean question but here are some top contenders:

"easy, easy (my man and me)" - claire and jamie build a treehouse in the backyard. it came to me so effortlessly and i am still proud of the prose. also i sent it to my beloved high school english teacher and he loved it which makes it special! i don't think he realized it was fanfic lol

"hopeful." - sam and bucky accidentally adopt a bunch of super kids in the sort-of apocalypse. not prosaically perfect necessarily but my first ever completed chapter fic! i put a lot of myself into this one and it got me through a pretty tough year emotionally, and on top of that im actually proud of it!

"my daddy was a prominent frogman" - frodo baggins and his friends try to save their hippie summer camp from the evil industrialists. listen. this au is evergreen. 5 years later i have been inspired to write for it again, because it was just that good.

#6 Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

Yes! of course!!! a staple of the genre! i say this and immediately forget every fic i've ever read!

I think the true brain changing fics are ones that i reread once a year or every few years. alternatively, i'll read one fic 10 times in a month. i read "let our joys so multiply" by @fallofrainblog 5 times in a week once so that gets a shoutout. every so often i have to go back and read irnan's star wars fics for personal reasons. also, the legendary anne fic catching moonlight which i go back to about once every 2 years. hilarious how 2 of these are ancient ffnet gems but there u go

its weird bc a lot of fics i'll forget about for years and then suddenly be like "oh yeah that one changed my brain irreversibly. i wonder if it holds up" and then i go find it again and am generally confirmed that it does, indeed, hold up.

#10 Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Hmmm! many of them, frankly. there are some fics i write as throw aways with no expectation they will get traction, like "shut your mouth, hold your breath" or the very silly ponniyin selvan road trip au. there are others which I know are niche but still wish they had more traction so i had more external drive to finish them, because in theory i love the concept but just don't have the internal juice to see it through to the end. the force sensitive claire au is one of those i think. there are still others which are for huge fandoms and i am left wondering why they feel totally lost to the void. but that's all part of the deal, i guess, and quite often more related to my own ignorance of what is currently trendy

#16 At what point in the process do you come up with titles?

it really depends on the fic but very very rarely is the title conceived before the story. maybe for original fiction -- actually exclusively for original fiction do i do that. for fanfics i write the fic and then in the seconds before i post on ao3 i hail mary a title out of whatever divine inspiration is in that moment directly beamed into my brain from the heavens. usually in the form of song lyrics.

[adrenaline-whump]

I wonder if I could do something kinda spooky for Whumptober this year. I'm in the mood for spooky. It would be hard to do it for the Cadeverse, though not impossible.

First, it's not easy to pull 31 daily prompts into one coherent narrative. I've done it once before, but it's a challenge.

Second, the Cadeverse is pretty well grounded in reality, and I don't want to inject too much weirdness into that setting, because it's easy to go too far and end up in silly territory.

I could do some kind of spooky!AU. Or I could try to tread that fine line where technically there could be a prosaic explanation for everything. The latter is always fun, though it's a harder lift.

[kitewithfish]

Wednesday Reading Meme for Jan 18 2023

What I've Read Westerns: Making the Man in Fiction and Film - by Lee Clark Mitchell - This book was read for the Great Queer Supernatural Re-Watch section on Westerns and while I think it provided useful background on the pre-cinematic roots of the genre in novels and painting, I found that the analysis of filmed works was just fine.

There are times where Mitchell misinterprets a work to suit a contrasting reading of masculinity in two films - Hondo and Shane, for example. Hondo absolutely has a plot about a strange interloping male lead coming to a homestead and getting emotionally involved with an abandoned but still married woman and her son, before getting serious with her after her no-good husband dies - because the male lead kills him! Shane has an strange male interloper, but the move bends over backwards to make sure that the ranch wife and the interloper are never in the same shot alone, and the husband is a clearly heroic figure in his own right - plus the ending where Shane bids his farewell to their son rather than to the wife. Modern viewers would be justified in seeing a triad relationship than seeing infidelity. Mitchell also really ignores the racial dynamics of the genre and the fact that he's analyzing White American masculinity, not something more broad, plus he also doesn't really do audience reception of films at all. For all that I found Monsters in the Closet a bit prosaic in the analysis, it's miles better than this for providing context. But Westerns is from 1996, maybe the author has had a chance to get deeper into these topics since.

I read a BUNCH of fanfic that is just too short of the novel line to count as a novel for my reading purposes: A Man of Honor by astolat https://archiveofourown.org/works/44251276 36k - Regency AU, queer accepting AU of Jaime/Robb. It's actually massively fealty fic with some fun politicking, I adored this Tyrion. Cersei is Sir Not Appearing In This Fic, the monarchy and the battles are displaced to English Parliament, it's quite fun.

trust is a mobius strip by sinspiration https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394041 35k - Voltron: Legendary Defender, Shiro/Keith -this is just deeply charming example of non-sexual submission and kink in space. When aliens think you are dating, you might be dating. I don't even go here! I have not engaged in this fandom at all! All I know is that they have goofy space lions.

The Desert Storm by Blue_Sunshine 30K https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206480 - this is a truly massive series that is only technically finished because the author moved the second and ongoing portion of the series into a different series altogether. It's absolutely not shippy, it's very focused on Ben Nasaade, aka, Obi-Wan Kenobi from Luke's toddler years, getting magicked back to work with the Jedi in the years leading up to the Clone Wars. It's wonderful in terms of taking Jedi philosophy seriously and involves a lot of the Tatooine slave culture worldbuilding that fanon has put together from other sources (which I need to read). I inhaled the first five pieces of this and was so glad I had it downloaded to read when AO3 had it's maintenance shutdown last week. ruin 1/12/23 - holy fucking shit 16k fallout 1/12/23 oh my god 12k true colors 11223 10K in crisis 1/13/23 10k

What I'm Reading Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir - SFF Book Club - Chugging right along! I feel like I am getting the fun vibe of this book in a way that I really wasn't the first time because, since I first tried to read this, I have actually read some recent YA fiction, so I am slightly more in tune with the tropes that they are pointedly subverting.

When A Scot Ties the Knot by Tessa Dare - Audiobook, absurd and fun

The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System (Ren Zha Fanpai Zijiu Xitong) Vol. 4 by Mò Xiāng Tóng Xiù with Faelicy (Translator) - moved out of hold so that I can read one section that is the basis for shipping two background characters. I might abandon this one after this section.

On Hold but not abandoned The World We Make by NK Jemisin (Great Cities 2) 2312 by Kim Stanley Robinson - Slowly

What I'll Read Next The Uncle's Story, Witi Ihimaera The Good Lord Bird

Library books  Frankenstein in Baghdad by Ahmed Saadawi A Half-Built Garden by Ruthanna Emrys 

Owned and need to read: Frey Marske's A Restless Truth, and Susanna Clarke's Pirenesi California Bones, Raven Song by IA Ashcroft, Kraken's Sacrifice by Katee Robert, Even Though I Know the End by CL Polk, True Colors by Karen Traviss, At The Feet of the Sun by Victoria Goddard, Tamryn Eradani's Enchanting Encounters Books 2 and 3, Like Real People Do by EL Massey, Tom Stoppard, invention of love. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes by Caitlin Doughty, "You Just Need to Lose Weight" and Other Myths about Fatness by Aubrey Gordon, Alisha Rai Partners in Crime, the Right Swipe, Aphorisms of Kerishdar

[theartistknownaslymond]

Whumptober 2022 day 24

Blood Covered Hands | Catatonic | “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

In the band AU Prequel the equivalent of the galleys is a stint being owned by the mob in New York (look up Moishe Levy and Roulette Records).

CW: drugs references, police presence and implied violence, coming down while realising you’ve been injured and arrested, broken glass, fear of mob violence. Being mistakenly identified as English (sorry Francis, that soft Edinburgh accent isn’t immediately recognisable to New Yorkers).

---

When Francis came round, he was on his back in the middle of the floor. So far, so normal; at least for nights out with Seamus Finlay and the Three Cheers crowd. He groaned and wondered what time of day it was, where last night's party had ended up, and how come the music had been switched off.

Wherever there was a party worth going to there was a DJ worth listening to, and someone would always find the energy to keep a turntable going through the night and into the following day. How else could such parties be maintained over twenty-four, forty-eight or more hours?

In fact, Francis hadn't really thought he was able to sleep without music anymore.

He blinked his eyes in surprise at the bright lights on the ceiling and tried to move a hand to rub at his face.

A startled yell fell from his mouth instead when he noticed that his hands were cuffed together in front of his chest and he finally realised the state they were in.

Francis cried out again, the aftermath of the previous night's drugs pouring white hot fuel on his horror. His hands were a bloodied mess, and now that he could see them, all the feeling of it came flooding into his senses, too.

There were delicate, curving shards of glass embedded in his palms and fingers - any movement of the muscles, any spasm or twitch of his digits could be felt deep inside the flesh. He imagined some were even deep enough to scrape bone or tendon, filleting him, silicone grinding on carbon, working deeper the longer he stared at them.

Francis' screams drew attention, and a heavy boot kicked him in his bare arm.

The boy stared up in horror at a uniformed cop, swallowed down the remnants of what was turning into a very bad trip indeed, and asked, hoarsely, what was happening.

The cop just snorted, lay the toe of his boot warningly on Francis' arm, and drawled: "Shut up..."

Francis' hands were trembling. The chain on the handcuffs chattered to itself as he shook, sinking beneath a wave of cold shock. There was dried blood on his palms and wrists and chest already,  so this must have happened a little time ago. But now fresh gore oozed, hot and bright, from the deeper wounds, and Francis choked back a sob.

He needed those hands. He needed them to work, to live - he needed the dexterity of the tendons and the sensitivity of the fingers. If he couldn't play - guitar, piano, anything - then what was he?

Dead, his soul answered instantly, grimly.

Then a more prosaic part of him reasoned that, first of all, he would be useless if he couldn't play. And if he was useless, then he'd be dead, because a useless man was a dead man where the people who owned him were concerned.

His heart was in a state of panic now, a wild horse running itself into the dust. He turned his head and craned his body to look around the room, and as he did so he felt the sting of pain beneath him, too.

He was shirtless - it was often the way at parties organised by Seamus. They were always sweaty, raucous affairs held in over-crowded spaces. Heated up by music and substances, bodies and the beat, Francis didn't adhere to a dress code unless he was being paraded out with the bosses - and now he surmised that the rest of the drinking vessel(s?) that were lancing into his hands lay scattered on the floor beneath the bare skin of his back.

He caught his lower lip in his teeth, trying to steady the all-consuming need to get away from the glass that was prickling, itching, clawing its way deeper into him. He glanced around again, doing his best not to move his body so much this time.

What he saw was simply the level of gleeful, wilful destruction that could only have followed from a raid. They were in a bare room with a high ceiling and the floorboards twinkled with broken glass, puddles of spilled drinks and bodily fluids. The DJ deck had even been overturned - plastic knobs and shattered pieces of vinyl told of the NYPD's disregard for culture.

Nothing serious had been happening there though, not by Francis' recently expanded standards: merely consenting adults taking recreational substances and dancing together. Christ, there were some who'd view the bootleg records more seriously than the coke in his system.

But it was a venue the Irish had only recently acquired - and it lay provocatively close to territory associated with an Italian family they hadn't made any previous deals with. Therefore, Francis wondered whether someone had taken objection and grassed on them, in the process exaggerating the crimes that had been occurring there.

It wouldn't be ethical, as some in the mob would see it, but Francis didn't suppose there had been much in the way of ethics from either side since Spillane's death a few years ago.

Around the room, there were a few other bodies lying cuffed on the floor, some on their bellies, some on their backs, some sprawled limply where they'd fallen. Francis' stomach dropped to street level faster than a broken elevator before he convinced himself that no one here had been shot. Not this time.

Only one other person seemed to be conscious, and Francis noticed Jonathan Crouch pulling furious, frantic expressions at him from over by the ruined mix deck.

A set-up! He was mouthing, as Francis had expected.

Francis forgot himself and twitched a shoulder in a half shrug and then had to close his eyes and grimace until the pain in his back was manageable again.

When he looked to Crouch again, it was something more like they stashed the goods that he was mouthing now, but Francis had no idea what this was supposed to mean. Only that, perhaps, there had been more going on at this venue than he'd realised, and the raid had been more urgent than a bunch of smashed kids would have warranted.

"Wanna share with the rest of the class?" one of the cops had noticed Crouch's performance and sauntered over to him.

Crouch's lips zipped tight and he glared up at the officer.

"No? Maybe your buddy wants to tell us what you said?"

Francis also stilled and watched the policeman's heavy boots advance over the ruined floor, crunching glass and ice and vinyl beneath their soles. He looked up at the cop with an expression more honest than he'd have liked - his face was tight with pain and his eyes were dry and over-responsive to light, following on from all he'd taken beforehand.

"I can't lip read," he told the man, knowing that he should have been more afraid of the pain this person could cause him than he already was of the damage done to his hands.

The cop shook his head. "They never can, huh?" he addressed a colleague.

"What's a Limey doing in the Irish mob, anyway?" Another came to peer at him and Francis cringed against the sharp bed he lay on.

"Not...a Limey..." he grunted. "Francis Crawford. You might know me as Lymond. Check your missing persons register."

"Want me to shake your hand, Francis Limey Crawford?" the second cop asked him.

"You ain't been missing for a while. Can't be missing and publicly working with the mob, not if you're still breathing."

"You don't understand. My agent...call Lennox Records..." he knew he shouldn't be talking. It would only be held against him, wasn't that right? But, cops or not, he saw a way out of the slavery he'd endured in the name of making money for the Ryan brothers. If he could just still play - if his hands came through this. If Margaret would take him back. At the thought of her, his hands shook again, his wrists held together and his palms and fingers furled open like a budding red peony, an involuntary gesture of supplication above his heart.

"Please..." he added, feeling weakness and shock grasp at him, chilling and numbing his face, making it hard to talk.

"You'll get your phonecall," one of the cops said in a bored tone. "Not till after ER though."

ER? So they were going to take him to the hospital after all. Francis let his eyes fall closed and a sigh escape his lips. He never thought he'd be relieved by the prospect of returning to a life with Margaret Douglas, but many things had conspired to change his perspective on the world over the last, turbulent year.

[sherlocks-freebitch]

Some snippets from the Magnus phone sex line AU that the fabulously attractive and witty @tumbleweedforyou and I came up with:

- Jon would be extremely analytical about it all, like he has a database of common fantasies and clients and what best to say to who. 

- Jon would also be the guy who's saying the filthiest stuff while actually being completely deadpan and in the middle of doing his paperwork. The filthiest remarks always seem to happen just when Martin is bringing him a cup of tea. 

- Martin takes care of most of the dom stuff, got to play to your strengths after all. Jon tries very hard not to think about this in anyway whatsoever.

- Tim just wings it most of the time. This drives Jon and his extremely detailed spreadsheets completely mad. Ditto Tim’s habit of gargling between clients.

- Elias can only be reached on the exclusive line, for which clients need to pass a comprehensive credit and background check. He occasionally gets Jon to fill in for him, on the grounds that no one can tell their voices apart anyway.

- Jon is incredibly offended by this obvious falsehood.

- Jon is even more offended when Tim agrees with Elias.

- Martin makes a speedy exit before his opinion on Voicegate can be sought. Jon is unexpectedly hurt by this.

- Elias insists on them working from the office rather than from home because it “enhances team bonding”

- Anytime they go out, Tim insists on narrating the most prosaic events in his Voice. This gives Martin the giggles while Jon stares into space and wonders how his life has gone so catastrophically wrong.

[periminkle]

Orphic | 01

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 7.3k (includes slightly edited version of preview!)

rating: PG-15

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, scuffle, not nice people >:(

author’s note: the first chap! thanks so much for all the love for the preview and pls let me know if you enjoyed it bc i have even more of a praise kink than our king jimin :) i don’t wanna know if u hated it lmao get outta herE

→ previous | next

“Almost there... And... Done!”

I heaved the last of the sturdy boxes into the narrow doorway, pride bubbling at my unexpected strength. Droplets of salty perspiration were beginning to form at my temples and became increasingly uncomfortable the longer I stood there. 

But, with a litter of obnoxiously brown boxes blocking the route into my recently purchased home, I had no way of setting foot past the minimal space by the doorway. “Shit.”

Spontaneously deciding that enough energy had been exerted for the day, evident by the shroud of darkness out the expansive windows, a few steps took me back out the front door. I followed the chipped white timber of the sides of my house, heading towards the back entrance.

Even though the plot was relatively large in size, the cottage built upon the land was minuscule; a single floor encompassing a kitchen, living room, hallway, bedroom and bathroom. 

With that being said, the rest of the expanse was mine to revel in and admire. Hence the lack of fence encompassing my area, seeing as the forest bled its way into my recently mowed lawn anyhow.

The bulk of the towering woodland was hidden in a blanket of obscurity, brought about by the later hours that subtly induced unease. Those late night horror movie marathons only worsened the unrest in my mind. 

I tried to dispel the disquietude with thoughts of the methodic chirping, courtesy of the tiny orchestra of crickets that seemed to be scattered in every which direction. The smell of the damp earth invaded my senses and relaxed my shoulders a fraction.

Albeit, the crunch of dead leaves being trampled under a heavy weight belonging to an unknown being unsettled me enough to break into a scurry along my wooden porch. 

With a slight shiver slipping down my spine, I shook any solicitude off and slid open the unlocked door. I was greeted by the cool air conditioning of the indoors, as well as a telltale grumble from my own drained form.

I preheated a batch of leftovers that I’d thankfully packed from my family’s house, foreseeing how debilitating the move would be. Without regard to the lamentable furniture surrounding me, I plonked down on a creaky seat and felt my depleted energy stored slowly being refilled with each bite.

Even though my furnishings and house were humble, regret had no place in my mind for the difficult decision I’d made to pack up and leave my childhood home. Over there, the lights never flickered and scuffled furniture simply didn’t exist, with even the moldings on the walls lacking even a speck of dust.

But I witnessed, lived, through the monstrosities that lay beyond all those superficial aspects. The suffocating nature, not in the air that circulated around the place, but in the individuals with no respect for one another. My tolerance thinned over the years and I’d left the second I could.

Living in a secluded area of my tiny town had its own perks for my antisocial self — one of which being an absurd amount of land for a relatively cheap price — but the appeal of living in a bustling city wasn’t lost on me. 

For reasons excluding my relatives, I was simply tired of having lived in a city my whole life and desired some form of change, meeting new mindsets and developing my own.

Before I’d even properly settled in, I’d been convinced that moving out here had been a brilliant decision. Saving up for a couple years to be able to rent out a cozy cottage with a stunning forest as my backyard was turning out to be my haven.

Albeit, the pesky bugs were certainly not a part of that bliss.

I detached myself from the distant thoughts about my life hundreds of miles away and focused on the scenery across from me, better able to observe the breathtaking quality of the tenebrous forest from the safety of my new home. The sylvan scent penetrated my home, having closed only the window screen behind me when I entered.

Hearing the weak mewl of some kind of feline peaked my curiosity, wondering if a neighbour’s cat had taken a long journey and gotten themselves lost. I picked up the slow movement slinking among the bramble that connected my backyard to the thick timberland. 

The light from my lamps only extended so far and unluckily, I was unable to properly identify the animal staggering towards my back porch. My heart ached, thinking that this poor animal must be starving and in need of help. 

An apparent limp in its movements tugged at the last of my heartstrings. My fridge was stocked full, being one of my top priorities when I moved in; so food wasn’t a problem right now. Deciding it would be nice to make a new friend, I gathered my own bowl and headed outside.

The sliding of the window screen startled the pitiful creature, making a hasty retreat in the form of a hobble to find refuge in the foliage, hiding and waiting for my next move. I let out a small smile, hoping to appear as friendly as possible as I slowly stepped out into the chilly night air once again. 

“Hey buddy, what’re you doing out here?” I crouched down and laid the bowl on the floor. “It’s kinda cold out, hm?”

Not even the twitch of a leaf.

“Are you hungry?” 

I was met once again with no reaction. Deflated yet understanding in the lack of trust, I pushed myself back up, grabbing the bowl. As I stepped towards the door though, I heard it again.

Mew.

With a quiet giggle, I turned back, winked at the still-hidden creature and stepped inside, sliding the door closed. The night was silent, save for the trill of the crickets reaching their own encore for the night when the door abruptly opened once again.

“You like tuna, bud?” A smaller plate with canned tuna, out of the can but still in its cylindrical shape was placed on the last step of the porch. “Thought you might like that more than leftovers, huh?”

Although the same lack of response took place, I wasn’t deterred this time, smiling one last time into the darkness. “Enjoy it, but not too much okay? Go back to your owner’s house after this.” I let a shiver run through my body from the cold nipping my bare skin before ambling back inside to finish off my own dinner.

Despite my words, I did hope the kitty would come visit again.

I felt yet another ache pulse through my stiff back. The absence of a proper bed to sleep in at night was duly noted and the task of assembling my bed frame was bumped up higher on my to-do list for the day. Another night of cuddling up on the freezing, rigid floor with only a flimsy sheet to cushion my restless body might strip a decade out of my life expectancy.

A feeble attempt to flatten out my wrinkled button up — that I painstakingly ironed the day before — proved as fruitless as the dozen other times I tried smoothing it out just this morning. I brushed the imaginary dust off my modest pencil skirt while I was at it, resigning to my rumpled fate.

Groaning, I swiftly nabbed a granola bar and a pre-made sandwich I’d filled with tuna, inspired by the incident with the hidden feline last night. Despite the gruelling urge within me to check for possible remainders on the porch step, the blinking light from the oven clock pushed me down the slender hall and back to my barricaded doorway,

I squawked in recollection, pushing at the hefty boxes in a flurry. Eventually, I created a tunnel which I crawled through, slipping some sneakers on before stumbling out to the bus stop. When I recalled that the closest stop was a five minute walk, time being a luxury I couldn’t afford right now, I broke into a sprint.

With heaving lungs, I reached the little blue shelter just as the bulky vehicle rounded the corner. A few steps, the tap of a card, the beep of the completed transaction, and a huff brought me on to an austere seat. 

The same shade of prosaic blue within the bus itself led my eyes to the view beyond the dirty windows, marvelling at the vibrant greens and bright earthy tones that blocked any view of the sky. 

Fifteen minutes condensed into seconds, my mind racing with the new possibilities and experiences this town would bring me. Even the prospect of the shy kitty returning again tonight prompted a brief smile.

Dismounting from the stifling vehicle, I took a moment to adjust to the blinding white shade of the laboratory; I pursed my lips in determination. Hoping to appear graceful with long strides, I made my way to the entrance, pulling open the heavy door with a click. A receptionist came into view. 

She could barely be seen over the lengthy, curved desk, only the top of her coiffed strands on the crown of her head peaking through. As I approached, I took in her excessively teased hair and big brown eyes, accented with thick, black liner. 

Clasping both hands together in a bundle of chilly nerves, I patiently waited for the tapping of the keyboard to cease before she turned one heavily shadowed lid towards me. “Hello, welcome to the Test Centre of Enriched Mutagens, how can I help you today?”

Only slightly intimidated, I fumbled with my fingers out of sight. “Uh, hi there. I recently got hired as a lab attendant here.” Cursing my distinctly timid tone I continued, “I was instructed to ask for a Kim Seokjin?”

A stiff nod and more typing was my only reply. Orbs remaining trained on the monitor in front of her as the lady picked up the receiver, punched some numbers in a rapid succession, then situated the phone between her right shoulder and ear. The fervent tapping continued.

I wondered what she was typing up that was so important.

“Yes, she’s here director,” she quipped. My gaze lodged itself onto her name tag, framed by her strawberry blonde locks. Bae Eunmi. “Of course, I’ll send her up.”

The receiver clicked in place as she nodded her head towards the left. After a couple seconds passed with no further acknowledgement, I became increasingly aware that the short interaction was all I was going to get out of the curt woman, trekking over to the elevator she had indicated earlier.

With only two floors to the laboratory, the trip wasn’t long enough to grant me time to compose myself from the abrupt conversation I experienced before I was met with a long hallway, ending with a sturdy door that had a slit above the bulky handle for a keycard.

Seeing as I had not received any sort of card, I peered around at the nameplates drilled beside the other wooden doors. This floor ominously had no windows, a dingy, low lamp the only source of light that allowed me to decipher the engravings.

I passed a few flashy titles before I reached Assistant Director Kim Seokjin.

With a deceivingly confident knock and a shaky inhale I picked up a faint, “come in.”

A rather spacious office was revealed as I pulled open the heavy wood — shelves filled with packed binders, loose papers scattered across the desk with a thin monitor practically concealed under neon coloured sticky notes. Even the two chairs tucked away in the corner had a teetering stack of paperwork on each seat.

I took a step inside the chaotic space and bowed to the man whose sunken eyes flickered to my own. “Hi, sorry to disturb you. My name is Y/N and we talked on the phone last week. I’m the new research attendant.”

He flashed me a kind smile through his exhaustion, his evidently dull features proof of a long night. Considering the sheer amount of paper work in his office, I wasn’t sure a good night’s rest was ever on this man’s schedule.

“Ah, yes, you came down from the city, correct?” I nodded in confirmation, glad he remembered our previous conversation. “My apologies that the director couldn’t meet you himself, but you’ll get to see my handsome face instead,” he chuckled, sounding faintly similar to a windshield wiper. “I’m Kim Seokjin, the assistant director, but you can just call me Jin, everyone here does.”

I felt my tense body slacken at his warmth and bright disposition despite his arduous workload. Unconsciously, I suspected the whole staff may be terse and unwelcoming, though I was thankful that I was pleasantly mistaken. In my comfort, a chortle escaped my lips. “Alright then, Jin, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Of course it is,” he exclaimed with a jesting harrumph. “So, how are you liking this lonely town so far?”

Taking a few steps closer I responded honestly. “Even though the loneliness hasn’t hit me yet, I feel like I can finally breathe here. The city was a bit much sometimes.”

Humming in an understanding tone, I watched him rise from his plush chair, plucking one of the many binders out of the shelf and placing it on top of the mountain of papers on his desk. “That’s a good mentality, you know? I hope you can always find the silver lining in any situation you’re thrown into.”

Jin grips one of the many contracts laid within and slides it over to me with a pen. “Sign each highlight please.”

As I read over all the nitty gritty details, the man across from me continued, “I really hope you can be as resilient as we need you to be, Y/N. I know it’s tough work, but I just have a good feeling about you.”

Not paying much mind to Jin’s ramblings I easily agreed and handed the completed contract back.

“Well, come on then, I’ll introduce you to the people you’ll be working with.”

I accompanied Jin back out his office and down the hall, past yet another sturdy wooden door. The strong, pungent scent of coffee assaulted my nose, confirming the new space I’d entered was the break room; two male employees lounging around and sipping on their steaming mugs. 

“You finally came out of that office Jin?” A tall man leaning against one of the tables called out first, grinning with his dimples on full display. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well, it seems like I’m the only one doing work around here anymore.” He jested, a playful smirk attached to his handsome visage.

“You can’t blame us, you know Hyunho and Minzi would never let us breathe the same air as their ‘confidential project.’ Wouldn’t want our ‘inexperienced hands’ ruining the whole thing.” The other man in the room rolled his eyes, taking another sip of the bitter liquid in his cup. 

“We’re not getting into this again, you two.” Seokjin gave a stern look, any lighthearted air in the room dissipating along with his remark. He glanced back at me, nudging me forward with a tap to my shoulder. “This is the new lab attendant, Y/N.”

Although the sharp-eyed man spared a sympathetic glance my way he backfired with, “yeah, the third one this month.” 

“Yoongi, I said that’s enough.” Although Seokjin’s words were strict and clipped, the palm rubbing over his face displayed his fatigue.

“I just don’t understand why we can’t even have access to the files, I mean we are researchers too, this is complete bullshi—”

“Y/N, I’ll be heading back to my office to finish up some paperwork, alright? These two can show you ropes.” The assistant director turned in my direction, the corners of his lips twitching upwards ever so slightly before trudging back to his office.

The shorter man slammed his mug down on the shabby table with a low, “goddamnit.”

“Honestly, I think this little guy is the best part of the whole place.” The dimpled man who had introduced himself as Kim Namjoon flashed his dimples, attempting to overcompensate for his gloomy partner, Min Yoongi. 

The two had been working as lab assistants here for a few years now and despite the seniority, Namjoon insisted on maintaining a first name basis with both him and Yoongi. He also offered a tour, which I graciously accepted.

“A jaguar?”

“A baby jaguar.” The sprawled sleeping form of a pitch black feline met my eyes. “He was brought in about three months ago. His name is Taemin.” I carefully approached the cage, maintaining a safe distance as a general precaution despite his lack of consciousness. 

Rather than providing comfort, I found that the muzzle locked around his jaws unsettled me further, which I found oddly paradoxical. I guess my designated tour guide picked up on my discomfort when he voiced, “he’s docile enough to us, but if Hyunho or any of his lackeys come by, he can get real aggressive.”

This was the second time that name popped up into the conversation and I quelled my blazing curiosity, dispelling any urges to question Namjoon about the mysterious figure. With the negative context his name was brought up with and the dark, brooding look Yoongi wore, I decided it was best not to prod, for my own sake as well.

I was brought back to reality when the animal in front of me shifted slightly. Despite my reluctancy to become attached, I couldn’t help but coo when a stretch wracked his small form, turning over in his sleep. 

Although I had done my share of research into this laboratory before applying to the position and was cognizant that they didn’t harm any of their subjects — I knew Taemin’s life wasn’t in any danger, but he would be gone once all his testing was complete. I refused to get too emotionally attached in order to avoid future heartache.

 I noticed his head cuddling deeper into his plush bed and knew my plan was futile. “You think he would like me?”

Namjoon let out a hum in thought, “I’m not too sure. You can try petting him if you want, just make sure to let him sniff you first.”

Slowly unlocking the cage, I extended my hand towards the muzzle, waiting with bated breath. The still sleeping animal brought up its head and placed his cheek in my cupped hand, letting loose a faint purr that I felt traveling up my palm. I stroked the edge of his jaw that wasn’t covered by the muzzle.

Oh no.

It was too late, Taemin owned every inch of my heart.

Gently placing his head back down onto his fluffy bed, my hand made a swift retreat as I flicked the lock back in place. I hoped I would be able to see more of the baby in the future.

Standing back up to face Namjoon I reluctantly tore my gaze away from the angel behind bars. Pondering when we would head to the second floor after having examined every speck of dust in the first floor, I voiced my thoughts to the lanky man. “So, are we heading back up now?” 

A sigh met my ears and I turned to look at the brooding culprit who hadn’t opened his mouth since the tense interaction with Seokjin, simply tagging along the tour that Namjoon narrated. “We can’t introduce you to anything you haven’t already seen upstairs.” When he met my confused orbs he continued, “we can only enter the break room and Jin’s office up there, everything else is off limits.”

“Oh, um... I don’t mean to sound rude, especially since this is my first day and everything, but the equipment down here seem pretty... Insufficient for quality resear-” I stuttered out my concerns.

“Don’t you think we know that? Why do you think we go through lab attendants so quickly? Nobody wants to stay in a place that doesn’t have the proper equipment to perform any kind of substantial research. Not to mention neither of the head researchers trust us enough to even look at the stupid files.”

Namjoon piped in, probably sensing how heated the other man was getting. “We mainly just note the patterns in the bases of a variety of animals’ DNA that involve certain genes.”

“Not to say that’s not effective research, but scientists with your qualifications usually investigate more ground-breaking subjects.” I became a bit dejected at my own future here; I applied for a job here to further my ambitions, knowing this lab was well-known for its high quality studies.

Would I be forced to move back to the city? I couldn’t tuck tail and scutter home after all the effort and money I expended on this move, not to mention the disastrous situation I would be faced with if I returned now. No, I was desperate to find a reason to stick it out. “Why do you two stay here then? Why not just find another lab?”

“It wasn’t always like this, Y/N. It’s been over half a year now since the new management came in and basically brought in a whole new set of personnel with them. They took all the most expensive equipment upstairs and sealed it behind a locked door.”

“They even replaced the damned cleaning staff.” Yoongi scoffed out, painstakingly fed up with the circumstances.

Namjoon crossed his arms, giving a warning look over to man with bleached locks, probably in order to keep his anger from bleeding through for the second time today. “They were adamant about keeping Jin and he let us stick around, couldn’t leave this lab in the hands of complete strangers.”

“But why—”

My wrist was suddenly enclosed in Yoongi’s long, thin fingers, dragging me into the assistant researcher’s office they had familiarized me with half an hour ago. I saw Namjoon glance around before entering in after us and closing the door behind him.

Yoongi released his grip on me, leaning in close and hissing out, “it’s all some cryptic confidentiality bullshit. They’re doing something up there, something revolutionary, something dangerous, and they only trust their own people to keep quiet.” 

With a hum, slightly intimidated, I questioned, “okay, but why did they evacuate the whole place, why not just build another lab and—”

Namjoon leant against the door, lowering his voice as well. “This is a remote town, there won’t be many people to question and investigate what they’re studying all the way out here.” 

With many overwhelming thoughts raging, the locked door upstairs abruptly came to mind. “You don’t have the keycard either, I’m guessing.”

“You pick things up pretty quick, huh?”

After the draining events at work, I felt no motivation to peel off my thoroughly wrinkled items of clothing, having switched out of the lab clothes in the changing room back at work. 

Rather than a physical enervation, the realization that my expectations to further my own studies was not a reality here sapped me of any incentive to unpack or do anything of value.

The temptation of warm pyjamas encasing my shivering body as I slept another night on the hard surface of the floor was almost reason enough to conjure up some hidden energy from the deepest recesses of my body. 

I crawled my way though the makeshift hole I made earlier in the day through two of the boxes. Thankfully, no roommates meant that the house was absent of another being to pester me regarding the hassle I made at the entrance, though I thought it was quite clever considering my circumstances.

The sun had set many hours back, which I failed to detect as all my concentration was set on marking down the base sequence that brought about Taemin’s black fur colour. Jin was double-checking the state of each room before locking up for the night when he discovered my form, hunched over a microscope. 

Continuing to the kitchen on hands and knees out of my present shortage in strength, I nearly decided to call it a night right there in the middle of the hallway. Though, I settled with briskly whipping up an egg or two in hopes that it would replenish enough energy to tidy up a bit before retiring to bed. 

I left the eggs to cook as I departed, off to locate a plate, which I only had two of at the moment, courtesy of the unloading that needed to be completed at the doorway. A glimpse into the sink revealed the location of one suspect, dirty from yesterday’s dinner.

I tugged open the nearest cabinet to search for the other one because I sure as hell was not washing any dishes right now. But, instead of the ceramic I was expecting, the bare walls of the storage area stumped me.

The memory of the creature I’d met yesterday flashed through my mind, bringing about a sudden burst of excitement that had me shuffling my way to the backyard door, flicking the porch light on and staring at the wood that seemed to glare back at me. 

No sight of the tuna or the plate. 

Initially, I took extreme offence to the absurd situation. I graciously extended a helping hand to a vulnerable cat to enjoy some savoury tuna and the bugger decided to steal—

Wait.

How in the hell did the thumbless feline pick up the hefty plate in the first place?

After snooping around the surrounding area a bit, no sight of the pristine plate, I gave up. Maybe it held the ceramic in its mouth?

The mental image I’d conjured up brought a slight chuckle out of me, cutting short when catching sight of several crimson paw prints on the porch, accompanied by specks of the same hue. I pondered the unusually large size of the print, slightly larger than my palm. 

An alarmingly large quantity of blood appeared with each step, the pace of my heart quickening with worry both for myself and the creature. Who could harm a massive animal like this and for what purpose?

I also thought about if the splotches would wash out with the rain or if I had to slot in a time to come out and clean off the marks. Although, the cleaning supplies were also in those unpacked boxes, so any stain removal had to be put on hold.

The bloody prints extended into my lawn as well, blades of grass covered in a layer of red. From what I could make out, the trail was U-shaped, beginning from the forest, coming to where I stood at the porch, then heading back.

A spike of fear travelled through me when a thicket shook violently. Were these stains left by the kitty I encountered the day before? From my limited knowledge in zoology, I doubted that large cats could even produce such pathetic mewls with their vocal chords, which were better suited to growl or roar. 

But what was a creature of this size doing on the outskirts of civilization? I wasn’t too sure about how far the woodlands extended past my yard, but I was relatively certain that the bulkier predators had more than enough space to themselves without needing to expand their territory.

I was in the midst of this back-and-forth conflict with myself when I heard a familiar cry reaching my ears. Pushing back my raucous thoughts for a moment, I settled on responding to little thief.

“You’re back! Do you happen to have my plate by any chance?”

The lack of response confirmed my suspicions. I was now down to one, currently grubby plate in the house.

“Alright, fine, keep the damn thing.” The initial fear and suspicion I felt had simmered down quite bit, heavily due to the lack of aggression on the animal’s part and a distinct fondness I held for my first friend here that I wasn’t aware of yet. Though, I remained on guard, as there could always be another beast lurking.

In order to discover any of answers I was seeking, I knew that I had to take matters into my own hands and decipher whether my pitiful kitty was actually a large, ferocious feline— badly hurt, nonetheless. I took the portable first-aid kit out of my bag as well as the forgotten, squished tuna sandwich.

Removing the saran wrap and crumpling it into a ball, I placed the much-smaller-than-I-remember sandwich down on the wood as bait. “Guess we can’t be civil, huh bub? If you’re gonna steal my plate, have the courage to show yourself, you criminal," I teased and hoped to lure the cautious creature out. 

Nothing.

“Hey, you wanna come and let me get a look at you? I can see if I can patch you up, how about that?”

Nope.

“Come on, look! You’re favourite tuna, in a delicious sandwich now!”

Nada.

I pouted at the bundle of leaves I knew the feline was hiding under, hoping to elicit some kind of reaction. Albeit, any sliver of hope was crushed with the lack of movement. Worry grew at the back of my mind, desperately hoping that the creature could live through their seemingly dire injuries. I flashed a regretful smile and lowered the sandwich on the last step. 

At the very least, I wished that the snack would provide energy for its body to repair itself. With one last glance at the silent underbrush, I turned my back and lumbered into the confines of my cottage. Hopefully, I would get another chance to beckon the mammal out of its hiding place tomorrow.

The contrast of the dark droplets of blood against the light wood of my porch disturbed me more than I’d like to admit.

The daily routine of travelling to work, interacting with the few friends I made there and coming back home to attend late night meetings with my concealed kitty was growing on me. I was elated that I finally found a group of my own people, and not-quite-people, to converse and share thoughts with. 

However, this town also seemed to have its own fair share of rotten apples.

I finally met the rumoured Lee Hyunho, a bulky man who introduced himself as one of the two head researchers. He seemed polite enough at first, but I detected the same brusque characteristic I noticed in the receptionist from my first day. 

It appeared that all the staff brought in by the “new” management had this particular quality. 

My own frustrations began to grow alongside Namjoon and Yoongi, constantly repeating the same tasks over and over again, day after day. When I tried to confront the other head researcher, Joo Minzi, about granting us more access to the studies they were conducting, she made it very clear that my “inexperienced hands” were not permitted to touch any of their files, test subjects or even approach the lab upstairs.

Charming, really.

The interaction left me fuming, much to Namjoon’s amusement, claiming that he now had two fiery beasts to quell. My interactions with the arrogant staff members were limited though, and bouncing between Namjoon, Yoongi, Jin, and the surprisingly amicable janitor made the work days bearable. 

I also took immense pleasure in going against Minzi’s words by playing with Taemin every once in a while.

I was proud to announce my accomplishment in finally unloading all of the supplies within my many boxes to anyone that would listen, now able to revel in the tidiness of my living space. The guys were able to visit now too, previously refusing to crawl through my rather unique entryway.

Progress concerning my kitty was little to none, but I did discover that it was immensely therapeutic to relay my worries to the mammal, finding comfort in its presence.

I took the rustling of the leaves as acknowledgement for my exasperated tone. “I mean, I don’t even feel like a researcher there! It’s all ‘hey newbie, go get me a coffee,’ ‘this is classified, no touching,’ ‘you can’t participate, this isn’t a charity,’ blah, blah, blah...” I raised my tone and ended my rant with a pout, embodying the childish behaviour that encompassed how I felt I was being treated as of late.

“Remember the really cute janitor I was telling you about? Jung Hoseok? Well, he was telling me about some stuff he heard when he was cleaning the lab upstairs.” I heard a short swish of foliage being disrupted, which I assumed was a result of the creature tilting its head.

“Apparently, they’d made big advancements on whatever stupid ‘highly confidential’ project they’re working on. It definitely has something to do with the patterns in different animals’ DNA, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what they’re trying to accomplish...

“And guess what? Hoseok said he’d overheard that they’d lost a test subject a little over a week ago! There’s probably a mouse scurrying around somewhere, living his best, liberated life right now.” I shifted in place, adjusting my position to make myself more comfortable in the chilly night. “I just wish I knew what was going on, you know...”

“I wanted to prove them all wrong.” I sneaked a glimpse at the forest for any indication of a vocal response I knew the creature gave occasionally. In a small voice I added, “but maybe they were right.”

Another shuffle broke through my lengthy monologue and I facetiously grinned towards the camouflaged animal. “Y’know, I’m starting to really question whether you’re here for my company or for this,” I pointed to the tuna, disturbingly still in that short cylindrical shape. 

I stared past the obscure stalks of the trees, having found consolation and tranquility in the space a few days prior, even from beyond my glass door. My initial apprehension of unknown monsters subsided and it was reassuring to know that my kitty was somewhere in there as well.

Another shuffle revealed a pair of bright, beady eyes meeting my own enlarged ones. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest by the sudden appearance, although I tried not to alarm the creature back into hiding by revealing my own trepidation. 

Knowing the keen senses felines had, there was little doubt in my mind that the one across from me wouldn’t be able to pick up my instantaneous change in demeanour.

“You gonna come and get it or what?” With a slight nod towards the meal, I cursed the slight quiver in my voice and prayed that the creature felt comfortable enough to reveal more of itself to me. My curiosity was bubbling as I allowed my gaze to travel to the crown of its head. 

I concluded that the creature’s fur was either pure black or another dark tone, hard to decipher when I didn’t have the enhanced night vision of the mammal perched a few metres away. Said feline made no further movements, keeping his gaze trained on me. 

I analyzed the elongated slits that served as pupils, engraving the rich green shade of its irises into my mind, fearful that this sudden intimacy may scare the mammal off, never to be seen again. But, I found myself unable to divert my gaze, feeling as though I was staring at a physical manifestation of the pure soul of the forest.

It was utterly mesmerizing.

An impatient gruff left the creature’s mouth, snapping me out of my reverie and I resigned. “Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m leaving alright?”

Maybe one day the mammal would feel comfortable enough to eat in front of me and I could migrate my dinners to the porch outside. Refusing to get too greedy, I reminded myself that the baby steps taken today were infinitely better than none at all.

With one foot in my house, I turned back to the tantalizing eyes, still focused on my pyjama-clad form as I beamed back gratefully. “’Night bud.”

The snapping of the lock clicking back into place alleviated some of the soreness of my overworked muscles as I took another step inside. My head fell back to sneak a glance at the ceiling, hoping to peek past the old plaster and stare into the eyes of any higher being out there.

I quickly considered whether to thank them for this opportunity of a lifetime or to curse them out for my seemingly limitless workload.

As my eyelids slid close in defeat, an exhausted sigh involuntarily slipped out into the silence. Kicking off my shoes into the pitiful pile by the doorway to join the rest of its brethren, I wandered deeper into my rather small abode in the darkness; only my padded footsteps and the zipper of my jacket being undone 

Hearing my stomach rumble with its complaints, I made the couple steps toward the kitchen’s light switch. But, an abrupt halt came with the memory of yesterday’s optimistic plan of embarking on a trip to the grocery store after a short work shift.

Evidently, I hadn’t predicted the gruelling day I would have nor the extra hours that would be requested of me. I found that I’d been frequenting the store quite often as of late, the demand of food increasing once another mouth to feed came into question.

In a reluctant fashion, I pulled my jacket back up to my shoulders, knowing that the fridge was just as empty as my stomach currently was. I pushed my aching limbs back towards the entrance, pondering over whether the grocery store was even open this late in the night.

However, I was forced to a grinding halt once again as I heard a booming thump from my backyard and my blood ran cold.

I waited with bated breath as my heart rate elevated, pounding in my ears. A minute of stillness passed before yet another sigh escaped my jittery body. Another disadvantage of a remote plot included being frightened by every snap of a twig.

As a scoff passed through my chapped lips at my own cowardly antics, I began to resume my trek to the front door when another thud reached my ears. The recognition of the sound coming from the backyard alerted me that this time may be different, with the presence of an actual threat.

Following a series of gut-wrenching cracking noises, hurried footsteps approaching the wooden porch in my backyard startled me to action.

Hastily, I dashed back to the kitchen to grab an unnecessarily large kitchen knife out of the drawer and flew to cover behind my minuscule island. A quick glimpse down towards my chest revealed my shaking hands. Well, this is certainly one way to spice up my night.

Listening to the intruder fumble with the lock for a little while before it was being smashed into, I knew I couldn’t just stay cowering behind my kitchen island, waiting for this murderer to come and end my night (and all my subsequent nights thereafter). The rage behind having to buy and reinstall a new lock also propelled my need for revenge.

I took in a deep breath and steeled myself as the footsteps wandered in, coming straight towards the kitchen. A loud growl reverberated throughout my house and befuddled me further. Was the intruder simply a feral animal? The lack of a problem with my lock dismissed that thought but I couldn’t shake the feeling of a predator having sneaked into my house.

The feeling of being stalked.

I rapidly shook off that irrational thought, doubtful the stranger even knew of another presence in the house. As the intruder turned the corner — coming straight towards my hiding spot — I reared back a little before launching myself with my dull knife leading the way.

A screech made its way out of my throat as the intruder’s reflexes were evidently a lot better than mine, catching my wrist before I could inflict any damage. But, I refused to give in just yet as I attempted to smash the hard edge of my palm straight into the stranger’s nose in order to buy myself some time to flee.

Unfortunately, for me, that attack never reached its target as the intruder caught my throat in his other hand much faster and used his larger frame to smash my body against the fridge.

The wind escaped me, though I kept squirming to try whip my knee straight to his crotch as a final ditch attempt. I lightly cursed as a glimpse informed me the intruder was a brawny man.

He noticed my struggle and easily flipped me around, one hand finding purchase in my hair, banging my head against the cool metal of the fridge and the other held both of my hands pinned to my back. The knife clattered to the ground in a dangerous arc.

In the middle of wondering how the hell he gathered my wrists and disabled me in a split second, I felt a heavy growl in the shell of my ear. A cold shiver slipped down my spine, adrenaline slowing leaving my body as we both puffed out breaths of exertion.

What the actual fu—

“No hurt, need bandage and go.”

His broken English came out with a slight accent and I found myself nodding instantaneously as I tried to work out what he needed. “Okay, okay,” I muttered as best as I could with half my face smushed, “I have bandages in the big drawer by the sink. You can take those.”

I only received a grunt in acknowledgement. He nudged me with his foot to shuffle backwards with his hand still wrapped around my wrists and led me to the sink. Half curious about his motives and half accepting that I could never overpower the stranger, I followed obediently. Though that didn’t stop me from deliberating over how to outsmart the man.

Deciding on waiting for an opening or a slack in the grip around my wrists, I nodded my head towards the drawer I was referring to earlier and finally peered up at my intruder’s shadowed face. He wore a black ball cap on, aiding in hiding his features which were mostly guarded by the lack of light anyway.

A glance at the lower half of his visage allowed me to witness his pale lips and the small mole directly underneath them, as well as a sharp jawline leading to his exposed neck. Inconspicuously bringing my gaze even lower, I took in his matching tattered black outfit, confirming his bulky build and scuffed sneakers.

Maybe I could run to the nearest police station — which admittedly, was rather far, and provide a detailed description of the criminal. Considering if I made it out alive, of course.

With his vacant hand he swiftly pulled the drawer open, taking handfuls of bandages, gloves, bandaids and other miscellaneous items I crammed in there. The stranger stuffed as much equipment as he could fit into the large pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

I would have found his full little pouch endearing if I wasn’t preoccupied with worrying over my own well-being.

Another awkward wobble later, we were back at the fridge. At this point, I was gathering all the courage I had left to aim for a pressure point on the criminal’s thigh that I vaguely knew the location of. I should have paid more attention in those self-defence classes, damnit.

Just as I turned to act, he bent down to pick up the discarded knife off the floor, effectively deterring my attack and forcing me into submission. He then turned to me to flash a slight smirk.

“Cute.”

Releasing his death grip on my bound wrists, he sprinted back out my now broken back door, heading off.

After a couple minutes of stewing in my thoughts, back against the cool fridge, I  struggled to comprehend the brief interaction and the dark drops of crimson littered all over my white tiles.

I still have to go grocery shopping.

tags: @aurorakingsley​

[errata98]

Fanfiction I Read in 2020 

I didn’t realize how long this post was going to be until I was about halfway through. And it still is not even close to exhaustive. 

Soo, while 2020 has been such a tumultuous year one great thing about this time in my life is that I’ve had more time than ever to read. I am always so blown away by how much talent there is in fanfiction, so big, big thank you to all the writers that share their work and for whisking me away from real life into something far more pleasurable. It definitely makes my whole day when a fic I love has been updated, and I enjoy catching glimpses of rough drafts and the writing process via tumblr (I’m still trying to understand how their galaxy brains even work lolol). 

It’s long, but I am not putting it under a cut! They’re too good!

Long Fics (>= 50k words)

Roses From Where Thorns Grow by @bdafic​ [incomplete]- I started this a while ago, must have lost track of it, and then found it again this summer. Feels weird to type because this is not really me irl lol but accidental pregnancy fics are one of my favorites kinds of fics. Papa Solas is amazing. Somewhere, I once tagged something with ‘solas dad best dad’ and I think that probably sums up my feelings on the matter. The last chapter I read has left me anxious for more, so I’m eagerly awaiting what will likely be the first chapter posted in 2021. 

Ruins by @luzial [incomplete] - A real story of a couple who broke up, fought each other for twenty years, got sent back in time, and are now trying to make things work again ;) Lavellan here is older and wiser in all the ways that matter, and Solas is... well Solas in many ways is everything we wish he would (and could) be now. Had the most wonderful realization that I somehow missed the last chapter that apparently came out on my birthday, so I know what I’ll be doing later.

Fen’Harel’s Teeth by @5lazarus​  [incomplete] - the conversations in this fic are one of my favorite parts. They’re in character, but they’re also just interesting to read. The words just fly across the page -- it’s smooth, seamless, pithy. I love politics and I love a main character who has her wits about her -- both are in this fic. Also features fatherly!Solas, which I just adore.

By the Still Waters by [orphan account]. This is older, but I knew it was popular so I gave it a shot and... yes, I understand now. I loved reading something from Fenris’ perspective. I loved how he’s a foil for Solas. I love seeing Lavellan as this near mythical person because we see everything through Fenris’ eyes. I love Hawke and Fenris together. Merrill also featured more heavily than I anticipated and she had some of the best lines I’ve ever read.

Pressure Point by 17734 [incomplete] - this fic leaves me constantly unsettled (in the best, most addictive, under-your-skin kind of way). I’ve read the first 18 or so chapters twice, and it’s one of those stories that’s slightly different the second time you read it. I really like the author’s take on immortal beings, some of it is very reminiscent of some of the Greek mythology I read in school - characters are at turns both magnificent and terrifying. The language is also very beautiful, and I’m a sucker for anything close to prosaic. 

Out of Time by destinies - so, I don’t know how I found this beyond just “Twitter.” This isn’t Dragon Age related -- it’s from The Greisha Trilogy, which I had never heard of before -- something just told me I would really like this story. Forced/political marriages’, memory loss, enemies to lovers, the dichotomy between light and dark embodied by a single couple... yes, thank you. I had to kind of piece the world together as I read, which was admittedly a lot of fun, and um... wow, I really loved this! Another one of my ‘binged in a single night’ fics.  

Message Sent by @aicosu [incomplete]- this is coincidentally how I got my former partner into Dragon Age lol. I had originally read it the first time as it was coming out. The second time I read it aloud to them over the course of a few days, feeling very much like Cassandra trying to do certain character’s voices. It reminded me of how much I loved it, and so I feel like it deserves a mention here. Definitely an unorthodox but memorable way of cursing someone with being emotionally invested in the Solavellan romance 

Short Fics (< 50k words)

nothing on my tongue by @ellstersmash - the chapters here are short, and I loved seeing the fic updated put of order. This was my first time experiencing that, and I loved guessing where we were in the in-game timeline, and also, as more chapters were posted, which chapter numbers were still missing and therefore what the missing chapters might be about. I associate this fic with feeling kind of melancholy a lot. I think the word constraints really lent itself well to the Solavallen romance -- beautiful and poignant, but always leaving me wanting more.

In and Out of Time Again by @luzial - hoo boy did I have a fun time reading this one. I actually rarely go for AU’s this “AU”, but I trusted this author, and it paid off. In fact, I think I subconsciously had more doubts than I thought because what started a curious perusal ended in one of those “up until 3 am reading” kind of nights. It was such a fast-paced, interesting read, I couldn’t wait to see what happened next. Ink is one of my favorite Lavellans; she’s just too cool.

The Fourth Day by sass_bot (@knightava) [incomplete] - this was just such a perfect example of how to build tension and dread for the reader, that I still think about it frequently. Also, who wouldn’t love a Skyhold murder mystery?

Beyond the Veil by Pyreite [incomplete] - A 200 years post-Veil fic. Abelas is in it, which is how I knew it was gonna be good hehe. I really like the world-building, and I like explorations of the romance with a more hardened Lavellan. 

I Come to You With Nothing by CommonEvilMasterMind. I’ll preface this by writing that this made me cry with a mixture of sorrow and happiness. The premise is an undercover mission in an alienage which involves Solas and Ellana masquerading as a married couple. It’s beautifully written, and just honestly kind of bittersweet. The writing is itself very touching but I also think it’s almost difficult to read because the Solavellan romance has an arc that looks like it’s just exponentially deviating from anything remotely happy lolol 

That Girl Is Like A Sunburn by @yourstrulycommandershepard - I just discovered this person’s writing this year and I’m kind of obsessed? I went on a whole binge this past summer and *fans self*. I picked this one for my list because I haven’t read that many Solas/Trevelyan fics, and hers are by far some of my favorites. I also love that the titles of some of her fics are Taylor Swift lyrics. I get Solavellan vibes from so many of Taylor’s songs - glad it’s not just me!

Aravel by @playwithdinos - More Papa Solas. I can’t say anything more than it hit me right in the vhenan. 

Wake Up by queenofkadara (@pikapeppa) - One of those fics I thought about for days afterward. The characterization was incredible, and it hurt me to read about Varric brining up Lavellan and seeing Solas’ reaction, and it hurt even more to be left wanting for more, just like Solas. 

[verdantglow]

Thinking about Smallidarity.

Thinking about this song.

Thinking about Smallidarity & also this song.

Thinking about them at the same time.

Yeah.

[artificialqueens]

A New Kind Of Freedom (Branjie) - Enescudoh

A/N - first ever fic so all crits and comments gratefully received! Thank you to Mia Ugly for a wonderful email telling a complete novice how to do this part. I’ve left this open ended - haven’t decided if I’ll come back to it or not yet.

Fic summary: A little ways down the road, some things have changed, others have stayed exactly as they are. Brooke and Vanjie can only avoid each other for so long before tequila combined with what should have been a great idea from a French drag queen make them question how much they’ve really left things behind them.

Non-AU, but canon-divergent in that Brooke never moved out of Nashville to LA.

‘Another round of tequila for my best bitches!’

The dancers that have taken over this West Hollywood bar cheer as Brooke seems only to want to get them drunker, perhaps to disguise how drunk she’s getting.

‘Think you want to take it easy for the night? Maybe have some water?’ Nicky asks, as she tries to clamber onto a table. Six foot three before her heels were on – that’s going to be a long way down if she falls. Nicky goes up to steady her and instead Brooke raises her hand like she’s a boxing champion.

‘Everyone give it up for Nicky! She’s the fucking best. Nicky, you’re the fucking best, you know that?’ Brooke takes her French co-star’s face in her hands and pecks her on the lips. She laughs it off, enjoying the moment, before helping them both off the table.

‘Nicky’, Brooke says, when their feet are back firmly on the floor, ‘we have just done a motherfucking global tour.’ She slams her arms on the table with every word. ‘We have just finished a motherfucking week long run in fucking Los Angeles. When, tell me, is a better time to get so drunk you forget your own name, than right motherfucking now?’

‘And that’s the only reason?’

There’s something about the way Nicky asks her that makes Brooke temporarily lose a single layer of the alcohol shield she was using to protect her emotions.

‘I hoped he might have come to a show. Or just, like, said hi. While I was here. Cos, I mean, he knew I’d be here. But he didn’t, and the show’s done now, and as far as he knows that’s me out of town and… it sucks that he didn’t even want to say hi. It’s like, a tiny bit that. But mostly just the celebrating our motherfucking show part.’ Brooke sees Nicky look at her with pity and immediately starts up again acting the type of drunk she wants to be tonight, as if that will speed up it arriving in real life.

‘I’m fine! Honestly – I’m so happy right now. Come on – tonight’s for dancing, not for talking, let’s get back out there, mademoiselle!’

Truly, that’s all Brooke wants. To get so euphorically drunk she forgets her own name, and to kill these night time hours in Los Angeles before this place that was so thick with memories makes her do something stupid. To deny that part of her that wishes she’d seen him while she was here, until she can get back to real life, where she could get him out of her head by telling herself there was, at least, no good excuse to be prompted to think about him. Most of the time.

—

‘C’mon Nicky, let me stay for one more round, I’ll buy everyone another round!’

‘Brooke, you can barely stand up. I’m getting you an uber, you’re going home where there’s a bed. You know, a place for sleeping that’s not a leather couch in a bar?’ Nicky was hardly stone cold sober, which made it challenging to scroll back through their conversation, trying to find the address of Brooke’s AirBnB. She’d taken her stuff there this morning after they’d checked out of the hotel the tour was putting them up in, using the next week for meetings she could usefully do while in town. It had made so much sense in the daylight. Now Nicky curses that she doesn’t know where to actually book her Uber to.

She finally loses patience trying as Brooke appears to have passed out on her shoulder. Nicky takes her phone from her pocket and holds it to her face to open it. Luckily it’s used to recognising her in drag. She opens the app – and right there is a saved address of an apartment nearby. Nicky makes a mental note to rip Brooke a new one for how stupidly organised she is, before booking a car, just about managing to manhandle Brooke into it, and going back into the bar for another round of shots. Just because Brooke was out of it, doesn’t mean her night has to end.

—

The buzzer drags Jose out of bed, rubbing his eyes and his spiked up bed-hair. He checks his phone. 3:15am. Serves him right for thinking he might actually get some sleep one night this week. The buzzer carries on sounding as if someone was leaning on it.

‘Jeez, I’m coming already Mary’, he grumbles. ‘What is it?’ He asks into the intercom.

‘This is Ali, uber driver – ‘

‘Child, ain’t no one here ordering no uber at three o’clock in the god damn morning.’

‘There is woman in my car, this is her address to take her to, but I cannot wake her up, she asleep in my car.’

‘Silky I swear to god if this is your idea of a prank – ‘

‘Please take sleeping woman from my car, thank you sir.’

Jose is rapidly starting to think this is the strangest dream he’s ever had but he plays along, puts his door on the latch and goes downstairs to investigate.

And sure enough, passed out on the back seat of a Prius, snoring like the moose he knows, is Brooke Lynn Hytes.

Jose sighs. There isn’t enough good karma in the world to pay him back for not even entertaining the idea of getting a video of this. He hands Ali a tip and begins to gently coax his ex-boyfriend out of the car.

—

After Jose has helped a barely sentient Brock into his building’s elevator, out of drag and make-up, and onto his sofa, under a pile of blankets of varying thicknesses and softnesses (because he knows that when Brock’s drunk he’ll switch randomly between freezing cold and boiling hot in the middle of the night), sleep doesn’t exactly come back easily. For one thing Brock’s snoring can traverse walls. But he’s also trying to piece together what’s happened. He knew Brock was in LA. He’s been running different routes every day for the last fortnight just to avoid the posters. Did Brock want to come and see him, try and build up some Dutch courage and take it too far?

‘Get out of your head, child’, he whispers to himself. ‘He don’t think about you like that no more, you know that.’

He tosses and turns and before he knows it, it’s light outside.

—

Brock wakes early, turning and stretching. He needed more sleep but knows he only wakes up feeling this uncomfortable when he’s tried to cram his tall frame onto a sofa for the night. He curses – was he really so out of it he didn’t even make it to the bedroom of his own AirBnb last night? As he prises his eyes open, and casts the two blankets off his body to join the several already on the floor, he realises this isn’t the same place he came to bring his suitcases yesterday. Is it? It feels strangely familiar.

Before he can work out where he knows the apartment from, or why he’s there, the smell of strong coffee hits his sinuses, and the whirring of a Nespresso machine sounds up. He groans.

‘Mornin’, sleeping beauty’, calls a familiar voice from the kitchen. And suddenly how he knows this apartment falls into place.

Brock stands up and steadies himself on the sofa before walking through to where the voice came from.

‘Hey stranger.’

Jose turns around and smiles at him. Usually something that bright would shatter him into pieces on a hangover like this. But when it’s Jose’s smile, whatever he’s feeling, it only makes it better.

‘Coffee?’

‘Like you even have to ask.’ Brock sits – carefully – on a high stool and sinks his head into his hands, taking it out only when the steaming mug is put down in front of him. He examines it as he drinks.

‘You still have this tacky tourist mug from Chicago?’

Jose freezes at the counter. He won’t let Brock see the warmth that washes over him with memories of that trip.

‘Uh, yeah, I guess I do. I can get you another one if –‘

‘No, it’s nice. It’s nice that you have it.’

Brock meets Jose’s eyes as he says it, much as he’d rather look away.

‘Your tour finished last night then?’

‘Yeah, uh-huh.’ Brock desperately tries to think of something to say to stop what he knows is about to come out of his mouth. ‘I hoped you might come see me while I was here.’

‘I hoped you mighta asked me to.’

Brock swallows as he’s caught off guard by Jose’s honesty.

‘So I don’t remember running into you last night, where –‘

‘You wanna tell me how you ended up here?’

They start talking at the same time and trail off, when Brock’s phone starts vibrating.

‘This ought to give us some idea,’ he says as he answers it. ‘Hey Nicky.’

‘Ah! She lives!’ Jose busies himself in the kitchen, trying not to overhear anything. He doesn’t want to know, really. It doesn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything that Brock showed up here last night, just as he was beginning to… no, not beginning to anything. No beginnings. Everything ended a long time ago. He couldn’t afford to think otherwise.

Anyway, there’s nothing to overhear, as Nicky is regaling Brock with everything that happened after she’d gone home.

‘Honestly, it’s a miracle I managed to get you into that uber when I did –‘

‘Wait, you put me in an uber?’

‘Yes honey – a stroke of genius, I might add.’

‘How did you find… um, where to send it?’

‘It was your nearest saved address – thank me over brunch, bitch, you still good to meet in that café in an hour?’

Brock’s been pacing around the living room. He leans through to check Jose is out of earshot before replying, ‘I think today’s more of a duvet day hangover than a brunch hangover. Sorry my love, I’m gonna have to raincheck this one.’

‘Ugh, fine. I guess I’ll just go flirt with the cute waiters by myself. Bye, bitch.’

‘Well, that’s that mystery solved’, Brock says as he re-enters the kitchen. It seems almost too simple. Too… prosaic. Like it should have been fate, or destiny, or some grand force beyond his control that brought him to Jose’s door, and instead it was a French drag queen with a bad memory after a few drinks.

Jose laughs to himself, and to the floor, as Brock explains. ‘You ain’t changed this address out in three years? How many times you been to LA since then?’

‘Honestly, not that many. And I’m just going to meetings, back and forth, and I don’t stay in the same places…’

‘Alright, Miss Thing, we get it, you in demand.’ He starts to relax. He was worried that Brock showing up meant something, something too big for him to be able to protect himself from. He just has to get through the morning, maybe only another hour, and then Brock can waltz back out of his apartment just as quickly as he showed up in it. Not waltz. Crash, or tiptoe. Brock doesn’t really have any mode between those two extremes.

‘So, uh, I guess you remember where the shower is, and then, as long as you actually know which apartment it is you’re going to this time, we all good here…’

Jose can hardly bring himself to look at Brock as he potters around looking for a towel, but he knows Brock’s eyes are following him all around the room. Can’t he at least pretend it’s as difficult for him to see Jose as it is for Jose to see him?

‘I don’t know, since I’m here…’

‘Since you here what?’

‘I’m just saying, it’s been ages. I hardly talk to you any more. It’d be nice to reconnect with my friend. You got plans today?’

Jose feels his feet become rooted to the spot. It’s so tempting – to spend the day with Brock, patching up the hole he’s felt over the last couple of years without the Canadian in his life. Maybe he’s wrong – maybe it is better to have him as a friend, to have some of him, than to have to completely cut himself off from this force of nature, this beautiful, magnetic person. To think of himself as lucky that someone like that wants to spend time with him, wants to be his friend, rather than dwell on all the things Brock doesn’t want with him. He sighs.

‘Sure. I mean, nah, no plans. Sure, we can hang out.’

‘Yeah? That’s awesome!’ Brock is starting to feel human again – he can tell by the way his speaking voice is slowly crawling out of the bass register.

—

As Brock turns the shower off, he hears a voice on the other side of the wall. He allows himself a smile to think that even when Jose was trying to be quiet (as he could tell he was now), his voice still carried across rooms.

‘I’m real sorry, I know it’s shitty, it’s just this once, I promise – I just… I got an old friend show up in town. I’ll try see you some time this week, ‘kay? OK. OK… OK. Bye.’

Brock doesn’t realise he’s been holding his breath until he lets it out. He counts to five in his head before he unlocks the door, one towel around his waist, another tousling his blonde curls.

‘Hey – give me 15 minutes then I’ll be ready to head out. OK?’

Jose looks up at him. He tries so hard not to flinch as he does. It’s just muscle memory, he tells himself, brain pathways and stuff, that once they’re there, don’t go away. That’s the only reason looking at Brock’s body makes him feel like this, because he did in past, not because he does now. Anyway - he’s made a decision, the least he could do is see it through. ‘Sure.’

—

It’s remarkable how quickly they slip back into each others’ company. They hardly notice that they’re going to their old haunts, stop to get in their heads about if that means anything – they just know the places they enjoy, how they spent so many days happy and relaxed in this neighbourhood. How they don’t even think about how much hard work it is, trying to keep each other out, versus how natural they feel.

‘So how’s Nashville been treating you?’, Jose asks over an iced coffee.

‘It’s been good actually!’ Jose suppresses a snicker, but doesn’t do so well to keep himself from raising an eyebrow halfway up his forehead. Brock seeing Nashville as a means to an end that he wished he could leave had been a common theme of conversation between them.

‘I’m serious! I mean, my lease came up and I actually got really close to moving out here, but then… some stuff changed. I realised there was a side to Nashville I hadn’t got to see much of yet, so I figured I’d sign on for one more year.’

‘Sides like… what, everybody be discovering their local parks for the first time in quarantine, shit like that?’

Brock looks up from the table. ‘I met someone. It didn’t work out, we’re not still…’ He’s careful not to trip over his tongue as he gets that out. ‘But it was nice. Having a relationship while we both literally couldn’t go anywhere, you know, it helped to turn the everyday into a bit of an adventure. For a little while.’

‘So lemme get this straight. You actually willingly had a relationship with another person, in the same city as you, no breaks, no passes, no long distance shit, for…’

‘Uh, five months.’

‘For five months, without losing your god damn mind over it?’

Jose is chuckling, he’s taking it better than Brock had ever imagined he would, whenever he’d pictured Jose finding out about it. Part of the reason it had ended with Max after five months was precisely because he found himself wondering how Jose would react to everything he was doing, and somehow picturing doing all of the coupley things he’d previously never entertained with Jose tended to make him happier than actually doing them with Max. He wasn’t an expert in relationships, but he didn’t think that was how it was supposed to go.

“What about all that shit about “freedom”, about that being the most important thing to you in the world?”

Brock pauses. He’s been having enough trouble articulating it to himself.

“Say what you want about a pandemic. But it’s pretty good for making you… re-evaluate… what it actually is freedom means to you. When a lot of it gets taken away, I mean. Freedoms you never thought you’d have to live without. Suddenly, you can’t travel, you can’t perform to crowds, you can’t go to bars, you can’t hug your family… maybe, it starts to make you think that those are the freedoms that matter to you… and that in the scheme of things… freedom to flirt or to have sex, I mean, to involve other people in your freedom, and wish for it not to be personal… I don’t know, maybe that’s not the kind of freedom I found myself craving all that much on the other side of this. And maybe having one person who cares about you enough to look out for you, whose emotions move in sync with yours… maybe that’s a kind of freedom too.”

There’s a pause. Most people would misinterpret the face that Jose’s making as him trying to understand what Brock’s just said. But he knows better. He’s seen that face before. That’s the face of Jose’s heart breaking.

Brock wishes he could take back the words. He knew they’d sting, that’s why he hadn’t talked to Jose the minute he’d had that realisation. How could he have just shown up, years later, as if now he was finally ready for everything Jose wanted, as if nothing would have changed for Jose in the meantime? So when Jose finally opens his mouth to ask him that, says softly ‘how many months were you gonna sit on that before you said anything to me?’, Brock answers honestly.

‘I figured you’d given me too many chances already.’

[everyonewasabird]

I would love to see your Thoughts on the Hugolian Internal Magic System sometime:D It's something I like talking about but def. some Deep Nerding that is not an overcommon discussion!

Ah!! Thank you!! I’ve been wanting to talk about this!

But also, it’s so Big? So instead of overwhelming myself trying to cover it coherently, I’m going to get the ball rolling by scattering undeveloped ideas everywhere.

To start, my feeling is that the brick operates on something that isn’t real-world logic but a coherent system of magic logic, heavily symbolic, and with power over the events in the story. It’s not fantasy-world magic--it’s closer to magical realism, though it never quite reaches what I’d consider that.

There are a lot of magical elements in the brick. Some I want to acknowledge but have little to say about:

The animal thing. The dog-man versus lion-man, mice and cats and all that. The visual use of it in Arai’s manga was how the penny first dropped for me about the brick having magic. Many other people have more coherent thoughts about this than I do.

The fatefulness of spiders and the doom that hangs over anything connected to the numbers four or eight.

Enjolras and Grantaire in OFPD as the apotheosis of the ideal and the grotesque uniting in the sublime--I’ve read meta from you and others about this! It’s fascinating, and I feel like I only half understand it! I have nothing to add to it but it’s wonderful.

A whole lot of characters symbolize different things, and the way that functions has a magic logic to it, and Oh God This Topic Is So Big, I Can’t.

Related to the symbolism, there’s the, um--economy of casting? There’s a coherent logic behind a lot of the coincidences: If someone goes for a police officer, they’re probably going to find one--where brick logic differs from real world logic is, that policeman will always be Javert. All the misfortunes of poor and friendless young women befall Fantine. All people at the cusp between abject poverty and marginal respectability live in the Gorbeau house. I’m not sure I’d quite call this magic, but it’s related.

The place where I first really noticed the magic system myself was with the four-and-a-half characters who have power of will over when they die.

The first is the Conventionist, G——, and it’s with him we get a description of the trait I’m talking about:

Though so near to his end, he preserved all the gestures of health. In his clear glance, in his firm tone, in the robust movement of his shoulders, there was something calculated to disconcert death. Azrael, the Mohammedan angel of the sepulchre, would have turned back, and thought that he had mistaken the door. G—— seemed to be dying because he willed it so.

This isn’t a magic that can be used for arbitrary purposes--you can’t game the system with will-powered immortality. I think it’s more that the characters who have this are so in tune with the magic they become immune to petty injury until they reach the moment of their death--which will be an appropriately symbolic one.

The second of the four is the Bishop, though his death is a little different: instead of culminating in a moment of transcendent will, he’s granted Hugo’s ideal of the perfect death. (Now--I have Massive issues with what Hugo thinks the perfect death is: blind, and beloved woman is taking care of you. It’s gross, sexist, ableist bullshit with wild disregard for boundaries, and Hugo is being The Worst. But anyway.)

In the text it’s the ideal death, and Myriel is granted it. This feels to me like not an exception to the system but its culmination--the other four are granted sublime and transcendent suffering, and Myriel was granted something past that: transcendence without the suffering.

Following the Bishop and the Conventionist are their direct successors, slightly more tarnished, but only slightly: Jean Valjean and Enjolras.

Like the Conventionist, neither can be killed until they choose to die. Until that time, bullets don’t touch them. Both deaths are sublime and transcendent, but Enjolras seems to come closer to perfection--there’s something strangely self-defeating in Valjean that doesn’t exist for the other three. Nevertheless, both of them clearly have near-superhuman power of will over their deaths.

Discussions of what Enjolras would have done if he’d survived after condemning himself for Le Cabuc feel slightly misaimed to me because of this--my feeling is that once he condemned himself, there was no other ending. He belonged to the magic, and he had willed it so--he Knew.

(And... okay, side note, I personally am writing an AU where he lived. But I had to fracture some of the magic system to do it. It felt right to me that in a story about Combeferre the magic would be fractured--I don’t know, I feel like that’s a thing.)

Aside from those four, many characters have different magic at different times.  Eponine gains a preternatural ability to get things done, Gavroche is made of magic and Paris, there’s a lot of magic in Cosette, and so on. The Amis are also magic, and a few of  them seem remarkably able to perceive it--Combeferre understood Valjean at a glance and described Fantine exactly. (Side note: my  favorite headcanon about Combeferre is that he has a nearly unparalleled  ability to perceive the magic system but is too at odds with himself to use it.)

But I feel like there’s a character with a half-realized version of the transcendent will like the other four above, and it’s Javert.

There’s something really interesting going on with Javert and magic.

Like Valjean and Enjolras, he’s immune to bullets, (”You’ll misfire”/The pistol misfired.) And Valjean almost gave to Javert the transformation Myriel had granted him, but something went wrong. Instead of becoming the fifth of these supernormal characters, Javert reaches half a revelation and backs away. He wills his own death, but prosaically and with despair, in a bastardized version of what the others achieve.

I can’t prove this, but I put real significance in that moment when Javert’s tied-up body makes a cross with Mabeuf’s body laid out, and instead of bearing his suffering he asks Enjolras to re-tie him lying down. Javert does a LOT of things wrong morally, but magically and symbolically that might be where he got off the path of the Absolute. (Does it matter symbolically that there end up being four of them (a fateful number) rather than five? Does the feeling of transcendence in Enjolras’s death and incompleteness in Valjean’s have anything to do with the fact that Enjolras convinced Grantaire, but Valjean did not convince Javert? ...I’m not convinced of any of that, but it occurs to me.)

--

And the barricade.

The barricade is made of magic and fate and the Absolute. It magically draws everyone to it and intensifies the magic potential in anyone near it. Enjolras and Jean Valjean become godlike, and everyone else becomes more transcendent as they get nearer.

I swear I can hear the first sparks of the magic of the barricade forming in Grantaire’s dialogue in the Corinth. He’s in the middle of a misogynistic and racist harangue and then he bursts out with:

“And it appears that they are going to fight, all these idiots, to get their  heads broken, to massacre one another, in midsummer, in the month of  June, when they might go off with some creature under their arm, to scent in the fields the huge cup of tea of the new mown hay!”

(Wilbour. Hapgood massacres this line.)

...then he goes back to rambling, until he wanders into an entirely perceptive (if wryly mocking) description of Marius’s love for Cosette and his own for Enjolras: “They must make a queer pair of lovers. I know just what it is like. Ecstasies in which they forget to kiss. Pure on earth, but joined in heaven. They are souls possessed of senses. They lie among the stars.”

Which, for once, is exactly correct.

And I think these sparks happen because the barricade is beginning, and the barricade is magic, and it’s what finally pulls from Grantaire what he was capable of.

There is SO MUCH MORE I’m sure, but this post is becoming novel-length, so I’ll stop for now. Anyone who wants, please argue or expand!

[mardi-nah]

Tricks

Circus worker narrator, trickster, fae, circus setting, unrequited love, pining, enemies to lovers, a pinch of angst, vulgar language, otherwise sfw

“I am in love with you.”

My reflection glowered back at me. I grimaced at it. “I love you.”

The reflection looked pained. This wouldn’t do at all. “I have fallen in love with you.” No. “I have loved you for—no. I love you. I love you. I am in love with you. Quinn, I am in love with you. I love ya, babe.”

The glass was cool against my skin as I slumped forward, forehead to forehead with my mirror twin. I had watched so many movies, so many shows with dramatic and simpering love confessions, but it wouldn’t do. I looked like I was constipated. Or ready to murder. Mama should have bore someone cuter, curse her in her grave.

“Quinn, I—“

Someone threw the sliding door open so hard it bounced against the wall with a foreboding boom! A voice that could try a priest called out, “Oh Gwen! Gwenny, honey! Gwenster! Gwen-dah-lee!”

I didn’t fucking twitch. “What.”

“It is the strangest thing, Gwenny-poo!” A sigh, and then the unmistakable screech of bed springs as someone fell on top of my cot. “All of the stage lights have gone out! Just like—“ a snap of fingers, “—that! Can you believe it?”

Oh, hell no. “What did you do?”

Mareth gasped. “Me? I haven’t done anything! Or I’ve done a lot of things, depending on how you look at it. None of them have involved lights.”

I spun myself away from the glass to glare at him.

Mareth was grinning, green eyes glittering and black hair wildly eschew. His little black tail was curling in the air behind him, tangling with my blankets just to piss me off. “Gwendy, you’re so scary looking today!”

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“Weeeeeell …”

“Mareth!”

“It isn’t my fault it started raining indoors! How could I have known?”

“You little shit!” I screamed, charging at him to fucking throttle his horrible little neck, but he only laughed gaily and disappeared the moment I fell on the bed.

“So violent! I said I didn’t do anything!” His voice chirped from behind me.

I twisted around, hands knotting in my sheets. “You are so full of shit! Come here so I can strangle you!”

Mareth tsked at me, strolling forward but staying just out of reach of my legs and fists. “Ah-ah. If you keep that up, I won’t tell you where the control panel went.”

“What?”

“Oops.” He giggled. “Didn’t mean to tell you that part. Guess it just slipped!”

“Why you—!” I staggered to my feet, ready to tackle him and wail on him until he cried, but he was already fading out.

“Well, would you look at the time! It’s time to dash! Au revoir!” His voice echoed around my room, his laughter chasing the last remaining shreds of my sanity.

I sank back onto my bed and put my head in my hands. Guess there’d be no time to talk to Quinn about my feelings or anything else tonight.

~

Mareth had been a pain in the ass my entire career working with the circus. Had been a pain in everyone’s ass, just about, but he seemed to get a special pleasure seeing me screech. Lately, I’d swear he was worse than ever, and it wasn’t just me, either. Poor Quinn came into the back one night dripping molasses, his expression icier than usual. Mareth had been found in storage, tied and bound with a growing black eye. Somehow, that hadn’t stopped him from emptying Quinn’s underwear into the river later that evening.

“Is he off in the head? What the hell,” I growled as I scrambled to reassemble the control room with Joan.

“It seems our dear boy is having a tantrum,” an amused voice came from the doorway.

I looked up to see Mr. Bailey leaning against the entryway, watching us with dark eyes that had an uncalled for amount of sparkle.

“He should be whipped,” I hissed, “He’s going to destroy the show.”

“Yes, probably. At ease, girls. I’ll talk to him.”

At that point, there was nothing to do but focus on the show. If anyone could straighten Mareth out, it was Bailey.

~

Quinn was beautiful tonight.

He dripped a milky fog as he shouldered his way through the back, glittering wings fluttering softly behind him. His act was particularly flawless tonight—it was as if he and Odessa were of one mind, one move sinking into the next, their limbs synched beatifically.

It was such a shame he would never consider someone like me.

~

Of all the people to find me on that night, Mareth should not have been the one.

The cart was dark in the night, the moonlight dying it dark. Its roof was cold against my ass, but I only pressed my bare toes firmer to it. I heard the ladder scream as someone climbed it, but I didn’t turn to look.

“Well, this isn’t the most depressing place you could have chosen,” a teeth-grittingly familiar voice chirped. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, she still has teeth!” The cart groaned as he moved towards me, and next thing I knew, a pair of dark pants had their legs slung over the side of the cart beside me.

“I’m not in the mood, Mareth,” I snarled, burying my face in my arms.

“Come here to cry like a little girl in private, hmm?” He hummed, kicking his feet out. “Now I’m very disappointed. I thought you had more to you than that.”

“Are you just here to mock me? I will knock you off the fucking cart. Go. Away.”

“What is it about Quinn, I wonder? It’s definitely not his personality, given that he’s q giant asshole. It’s not his money, since he’s as broke as the rest of us. What does that leave? Hmm …”

I snapped upright, eyes burning with the old tears, with anger, with frustration and hatred and this fucking guy. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Just because he doesn’t like you doesn’t mean he’s like that with the rest of us.”

“Really? What’s he like with you, then?” Mareth was smiling that damn shit-eating smile he had, though there was something a little off about it. Must have been my more than usual desire to punch it.

“He might be moody and quiet, but he’s just as intelligent and focused.” I turned away from him, scowling into the vast dark. “He’s prosaic and graceful. His manners are impeccable. And he practices like a damn mad man.”

“So? Many of our performers are like that.”

“Like hell they are. I don’t think anyone hates their job, but Quinn is—“ my voice broke, which would have been humiliating in any situation, but more so in front of Mareth of all people. I swallowed with difficulty. “He’s admirable.”

There was a brief silence, and I thought that maybe Mareth had mercifully run out of things to say, but then he quietly continued. “Doesn’t seem that great to me.”

“What do you know of greatness? You sabotage the show every chance you get.” I rubbed my wet nose against the back of my arm and grimaced at the feeling.

“Not the show! Just you. And Quinn. Mostly.”

“Can’t you just go?” I asked miserably, sinking myself into the ball of my limbs. Fresh tears were hard at work behind my eyes, and I could feel the worrying beginnings of a sob climbing my throat. “Leave me alone for once.”

At that point, Mareth looked at me, green eyes glittering—with anger, I realized. “I would never leave you alone, Gwen.”

I stared at him, but he only stared angrily back.

When I managed to speak, it was a croak. “Why?”

“Quinn isn’t worth breaking down like a child. Stop acting so weak.”

I huffed. “What right do you have to say that? You’ve never had your heart broken.”

“Oh, please. You break my heart all the time.”

My body stiffened involuntarily; blood was drumming in my ears. His words didn’t make sense. Another prank, probably. “Cut the bullshit. I’m not in the mood for pranks.”

I started when hands grabbed my head and forced me to turn to look at him again. If anything, he looked more furious than before. I almost shrank back from the rage in his gaze, but I swallowed it down. Mareth didn’t scare me.

“You never look at me unless I make you.” His voice was unsteady, steaming in the cold night air. “The only person you can see is Quinn, but he doesn’t see anyone but himself. Don’t you get that?”

“Trust me, I get it,” I peeled his hands away, avoided his stare.

“Then why? Why him?” His real meaning went unsaid.

“I told you why. Dammit, Mareth, I thought you hated the show. Hell, I had half a mind that you hated me even more than I hated you. Why are you doing this now?” I scrubbed angrily at my eyes, mad that I was crying and even more mad that he was there to see it.

Quiet again, but only for a few beats. Mareth took a deep, shaky breath. “I hate that you love him. I can’t get you to notice me at all, and he doesn’t even care that he has it. It could have been anyone else. I don’t know why you picked him.”

“Jealous?” I sniped.

“Horribly.” He agreed.

I hadn’t expected him to say that; the surprise made me wordless for a few minutes, but I recovered. “Should I fuck you out of it? I have the strangest suspicion that your feelings will magically disappear come morning.”

“I would whole-heartedly love for you to try.”

I grabbed the sides of his head and mashed my face against his before he could react. He was surprisingly soft—his hair and his mouth and even his cheeks, lips warm and pliant under mine. I didn’t want to admit how hot I went when he moaned against me, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell him how good he felt. He was eager and compliant, letting me move and dominate him, allowing me to conquer his lap and his trousers and later, his dick.

~

The next morning found Mareth still in my room, for whatever reason.

He was naked, sprawled lazily over my cot, watching me put on my makeup with those smug-ass cat eyes of his. His tail was swishing slowly in the air behind him. He looked entirely too satisfied.

“Do you have what you want now, dumbass?” I asked, penciling in my eyebrows.

“Dunno. Are you going to come over tonight?”

I scoffed. “Why would I?”

In the mirror, I saw him frown, his tail stilling. “Then no, I don’t.”

We watched each other for a minute, and then I went back to putting my face on for the day, intent to avoid any further conversation.

Mareth was having none of it. “Won’t you consider it?”

“Consider what?”

“Being with me? You seemed—it was good last night, wasn’t it?” He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, the tip of his tail twitching.

I eyed him in the mirror, and then smirked internally. “Give me your true name, and we can try to have a relation.”

His tail twitched again. “Oh?”

“I’m still not convinced you aren’t tricking me. Give me your name so I’ll know.” There. The matter was over.

Mareth sat up. “Is that all?”

“All”?

I blinked, and he was standing in the center of my tent, his clothes suddenly on again. “Consider it done! You may know me as—“ a gust of wind, and he was at my ear now, his mouth brushing my lobe. “Merit.”

“Your name is—?” He slapped a hand over my mouth before I could finish, wiggling his eyebrows at me in the mirror.

“Ah, ah. No spilling my secret now. I’ve just given you my soul, sweetie.”

I choked. “Your—?”

He actually did it. He gave me his—no, it must be fake. I could call his bluff.

I smiled sweetly up at him, murmuring, “Merit, why don’t you be a dear and get on your knees?”

Mareth gasped, and it wasn’t so much a sink to his knees as it was an inglorious fall. His knees hit the floor with a sharp crack and I couldn’t help but wince guiltily.

Holy fuck. He actually gave me his name.

I stood from my vanity, towering above him, staring. His eyes were gleaming madly, smile twisted into something familiar and devious. “Oh my, what ever will you do with me, Gwenny-poo?”

“You and I might be together for a long time, dear.” I brushed my hands through his hair; he tilted his head into my touch, and I fisted my fingers in his hair, making his breath hitch. “I guess I’ll have to train you.”

“Oh, please do,” he purred.

We had made a deal to try, at least. And if nothing else, I was a woman of my word.

~

Mareth was a very bothersome lover. I hadn’t decided if he was more or less so than before.

He whined if we didn’t have at least one meal a day together; he whined if he had to sleep alone; he whined if he couldn’t see me in the morning; he whined if I left him without a kiss goodbye; he whined if I wore something pretty and he wouldn’t be around to see it. He hated Quinn, and hated if I spent time with him, but I was a loyal partner, and he seemed to know this.

Besides, I wasn’t one to give my heart to someone who already broke it once. Mareth seemed to know this, too.

Lately Mareth had been pressing me to wear his favorite sweater—a dark green turtleneck that brought out the color of his eyes neatly. Not only was the idea of sharing clothes already ridiculous enough, but the fact that Mareth was a hell of a lot more petite than me didn’t seem to factor into his head.

“Mareth,” I said through my teeth, “This would stick to me like a second skin. I doubt it would even cover my stomach.”

“I know,” he purred.

I knocked him upside the head for that one, but he kept insisting that I “borrow” some of his clothes. I eventually caved and stuffed myself into one of his bigger jackets, and I pretended not to notice him watching me in it, or how he kept subtly trying to sniff at it after I returned it.

He also kept little useless items I gave him, which was so bizarre I couldn’t even bring it up to him. The number seemed to grow a little every time I was in his tent—a packet of toothpaste I lent him so he’d stop trying to use mine when he slept over; a pencil; a crumbled napkin I threw at him with a crude drawing of my foot on his ass; a glittery hair clip I had used to help Alice do his makeup before a show.

He was ridiculous. Absolutely bonkers.

If I obliged him in these things, it was no fault of mine. I was his girlfriend, after all, it was only natural to let your boyfriend have his needs and help meet them.

And if anyone claimed I enjoyed the little happy smile Mareth gave me when I used a pet name, or made him lunch, or wore his stupid sweater, or invited him to join me in the showers, I’d kick their ass too. And if they had the balls to claim I liked Mareth and his clingy affection and dumb tricks and loud laugh and short stature and ridiculousness, well, they might be right, but I’d still fucking end them.

[wintbuffalo]

The witcher

#The witcher series#

#The witcher tv#

It has to take every opportunity to have fun among quite a lot of scenes of kings, queens, generals and magicians debating the nuances of their possible next moves. A horror-tinged twist on Beauty and the Beast develops, which could happily be watched in isolation.Īfter that, though, season two bases itself largely on Sapkowski’s 1994 novel Blood of Elves and is more concerned with slow scene-setting. He’s a raconteur who can make a roast dinner or a hot bath fall magically from the ceiling, but who struggles to find love due to his hairy, tusked face.

#The witcher tv#

In turn, The Witcher in its TV guise began as a monster-of-the-week show and it sticks with that for the first of the new episodes, sending Geralt and Ciri to stay in the mansion of eccentric beast-man Nivellen (Kristofer Hivju). Season one was based on Andrzej Sapkowski’s short stories, since that was initially the Witcher author’s favoured format. If all this is a distraction from The Witcher never really amounting to much, that’s not necessarily a problem. From thingummy.” Here’s Kevin Doyle (Downton Abbey) as a cowardly elf! There’s Graham McTavish (Outlander) as an intimidating intelligence officer! Look out, it’s Simon Callow and Liz Carr (Silent Witness) as a pair of private investigators, poring over parchments in a book-lined hovel! The Witcher also loves to treat us to a top British character actor, the sort who makes you say: “Oh good, it’s … whatshisname. Geralt himself has a prosaic answer to Ciri’s naive suggestion that they seek refuge in a place called Skellige: “You’d be married off to the nearest Lord of Bad Breath.” “Fuck!” says Yennefer when she finds herself regaining consciousness in captivity. If you've after pure escapism, this will definitely be your bag.Even the three main characters, much as they gravely go on about prophecies and dynasties and whatnot, can display an admirable economy of speech – which offsets the grandeur of the landscapes, the palaces and the protagonists’ voluminous capes. To stop their return, Wil, Amberle and Eretria, guided by Allanon, the last druid, must go on a quest to protect the Ellcrys from dying and releasing all the banished demons back into the world.Īustin Butler, who some of you might have seen leading the way in Baz Luhrmann’s lavish new biopic of Elvis Presley this summer, plays Wil, with British actress Poppy Drayon and Ivana Baquero, who you may remember from her performance as a child in Guillermo Del Toro’s breathtaking fantasy Pan’s Labyrinth, playing Amberle and Eretria. These demons have begun to force their way back after being banished from this world to a place known as the Forbidding as a result of a spell performed on an ancient tree called the Ellcrys.

#The witcher series#

HBO Max (US), BBC iPlayer (UK), BiNGE (AU) The Shannara ChroniclesĪ little lighter in tone than The Witcher, but this is pure escapist fantasy, with all the spells and sorcery that comes with it.Īn adaptation of Terry Brooks' bestselling book series The Sword of Shannara Trilogy, The Shannara Chronicls is set in a post apocalyptic world where an Elvin princess, human-elf hybrid and Eretria, a human who raised by a band of thieves, are forced together to defend Earth from demonic forces. A third and final series is due later this year. With James McAvoy, Ruth Wilson, and Lin-Manuel Miranda among the cast, this series captures the wonder and splendor of Pullman’s trilogy of books superbly. After her friend mysteriously disappears, she finds herself entangled in a sinister plot involving stolen children and a quest to understand a mysterious phenomenon called Dust, something the Magisterium is desperate to suppress. The world she lives in is governed by the Magisterium, a strict religious and political body. The story follows Lyra, an orphan who has grown up around the scholars at Jordan College in Oxford. This is more family-friendly than The Witcher, but it's just as wondrous and captivating.īased on Philip Pullman’s groundbreaking young adult series, those books were mangled when they first appeared on the big screen back in 2007, despite a star-studded cast that included Daniel Craig, Nicole Kidman and Ian McKellen, but a team-up between HBO and the BBC has set that right.