#i’m moving to another city in october and i’ve been trying to figure out everything

[alelelesimz]

😀!!!!

[thisisawonderfulusername]

almost normal - the apocalypse

five hargreeves x reader

summary: being pregnant in the apocalypse probably isn’t the greatest thing.

warnings: cursing, pregnancy, no baby yet, that will come in part two ;)

word count: 2.1k

a/n: yall asked for it, and i felt like i could do better, so here is your time in the apocalypse after finding out that you’re pregnant and following this we will have a commission chapter and when they get to twenty nineteen. reading the old a/n that i put here is making me realize how long this took me to actually write 🤡 anyways, this is basically what the original was but focused on the apocalypse and much, much more detailed. i’ll stop now, please enjoy!

being the daughter of two people spontaneously born on the first of october in nineteen eighty-nine, you had been gifted with special abilities, just like them. over the years of your life, they were able to teach you how to control these abilities.

by the time you were thirteen, you were able to create an invisible barrier around yourself. of course, it happened unintentionally at times.

one of those times, it protected you at the end of the world. how you wished it hadn’t for the first few years. but you surprisingly weren’t the last person on the face of the earth.

-

you stood on the doorstep of your home- or what used to be your home. it had crumbled to the ground when the explosion wiped out the entire city, leaving a pile of rubble. it was surrounded by the other houses in the neighborhood, some of which still stood as the flames continued to burn.

this isn’t real.

you pinch your arm so hard that it stings for a few moments afterward, and you start shaking your head. “this isn’t real.” you tell yourself, voice shaking with the fear that this might not be a nightmare.

stepping back from your home, you turned on your heel to run to the closest house that hadn’t collapsed yet. mr and mrs peoples. you didn’t knock, bursting through the front door and rushing through each room that fire was beginning to engulf, searching for any sign of the old couple.

when you got up the stairs and to their room, you stopped dead in your tracks. on the bed, their charred bodies lay next to each other, and you feel your eyes beginning to sting- from the smoke and from what was happening.

the city.

there must be people in the city.

you dash down the stairs as they threaten to collapse, sprinting out of the house and down the road as fast as you can. the route you’ve remembered from walking to school, the one that brought you through the crowded sidewalks.

by the time you get to the most populated part of the whole town you lived in, you’re out of breath, chest rising and falling quickly.

“help!” you shout as loud as you can, starting to walk through the streets, trying not to focus on the buildings that hadn’t made it, the burned bodies on the ground. “please! there has to be someone.” the tears that had threatened you begin to fall, running down your cheeks.

when you get farther down, you see what you think is a real, live person, searching the rubble surrounding him. but you can’t be sure. there’s smoke and your vision is blurry from your tears. “hey!” you shout, beginning to run towards the figure as fast as you can with your labored breathing.

he turns in your direction when he hears your voice, eyebrows raising in surprise. when you stop just before what used to be a building. “please-” you suck in a breath, “please tell me you’re real.”

-

he was the only reason you managed to survive. you knew now that you never would have made it this far without him.

ten years.

you’ve made it ten years so far, and the only reason the both of you keep going is each other- as well as his hope to find the right equation to get you back to your normal lives in twenty nineteen (and saving the world but that could be discussed later.)

until then, you could try your very best to make an almost normal life for yourselves.

after the first few years of moving across the city- and probably into other states as well, you couldn’t tell for sure- you had grown to have feelings for him. you didn’t know if it was because you two were the only ones left on earth, but you didn’t care. you wouldn’t want to choose anyone else to survive with.

eventually, after a few drinks to celebrate the finding of some wine, when your face was flushed with the alcohol in your system and your brain slightly fuzzy, you ended up kissing him.

the next morning, you woke up cuddled next to him, the empty bottle to your side. it brought butterflies to your stomach, and when he woke up after you, you had summoned the courage to tell him how you felt. you were lucky enough to know that he returned the affection.

you were nineteen then, only six years after the end of the world. and for another four years, you had been together.

on the third year of being together, pushing for survival, you found an old jewelry store.

-

“do you want to get married?” you call out, eyes squinted slightly from the sunlight and the strain to see him properly.

he turned at your voice, brushing his hands off on his pants. “what?”

grinning, you step over the wall. “i said,” you stop in front of him and reveal the bands, “do you want to get married?”

his eyes fall on the rings and he stays quiet for a moment, before he looks back to you, and your smile grows at the sight of his own.

“in the apocalypse?“ he chuckles softly.

you shrug your shoulders. "we can’t make it, like, official, but if we ever get back…” you press your lips together for a moment, “i think it’ll have more meaning, since we found them here.”

he seems to think about it for a moment, before he holds his hand out to you, and you clap your hands together from the joy you felt.

when you got stuck here at thirteen years old, you didn’t think you’d have anything close to a normal life. but after a few years, you realized that you could try to make it as normal as possible for yourself.

you slide one of the rings onto his finger, the sun’s light reflecting off of the gold. it’s a silent moment, and you could feel your heart beating faster than usual.

once it is snug on his finger, he takes the other from you, taking your hand. “i never thought i’d be getting married in a wasteland.”

chuckling, you watch as he gently puts the ring in it’s rightful place. “i don’t care where we get married. it would be perfect no matter what.”

five looks into your eyes, and you know that you wouldn’t have this any other way. as long as he was with you, you don’t care where you are or what the situation is.

“i love you.” you mumble quietly, bringing your hand to his cheek as you stare into his eyes.

“i guess i love you too.”

you roll your eyes, moving the hand behind his neck to pull him into a loving kiss.

-

now, it’s been about four months since you’ve ‘married’ five. it didn’t change much about your life, but you could feel that you had a newfound hope. even though you were stuck in an unforgiving world, foraging for food and clinging onto survival, you had five with you.

and now it felt like no matter what happened, he would stay with you. maybe, if you ever did get out of this hell, it could happen for real. that kept you going.

there have been changes, though. for the past three months or so, your ‘time of the month’ never came. at first, you brushed it off. this had happened before- stress could delay it, so you figured that was what it was.

but then it didn’t come the next month, either.

this month, you were beginning to notice a small bump in your belly. you told yourself it could just be you gaining weight from the food you ate, but you couldn’t fool yourself. you can’t eat enough in this world, especially not enough to gain significant weight.

and so the worrying began.

you didn’t tell five at first, keeping the anxiety to yourself as you continued on your treks through the barren land. you would chew on your lip as you walked, and it got to the point where you broke through the skin and it had bled for a bit.

he noticed, but you didn’t know that.

on your next stop for shelter that you would stay in for a few weeks to search for supplies, he brought it up.

-

“are you okay?” he questions, and it catches you off guard for a moment.

you look up from the book that you had found in the wreckage of an old library. “uh,” you hesitate for a moment, “yeah. yeah, i’m fine.”

trying to get away from his questions, you look back down to the pages of the book as if it would stop him from continuing. from the corner of your eye, you can see how his brows furrowed together.

he was quiet, but only for a moment. “i’ve noticed, you know.” the statement causes your heart to pick up it’s pace a bit, and you hope he can’t see the fear and nervousness that has overcome you.

“noticed what?” you gulp, not daring to look up from the page. you don’t know if it’s the cold air around you, but your eyes are stinging.

five stands from the makeshift seat he had taken on a fallen pillar, moving to your side and sitting in the dirt that was protected from the snow. “you know, you can tell me anything. whatever is wrong, you can say it.”

the book closes as you release it, falling to the ground at your side. “i-” you notice the shakiness in your voice, and you pause for a moment to take a deep breath, “i don’t know how to tell you.”

his arm falls around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. it’s something that has always comforted you, even in the worse days, and he knows that. he knows everything. “just say it.” he tells you softly.

you close your eyes for a few moments, pulling your knees to your chest as you gulp down your fear. “i- i think i’m pregnant.”

a tear that had escaped your stinging eyes rolled down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away on the sleeve of your sweater. it was in vain, as shortly after there were more drops falling down your face.

his momentary silence worries you, and you think if there was a way to screw up everything you've built here, it was this.

“how would you know?” he questions quietly, and of all the questions he could have asked, you think that might be one of the best ones.

sniffling and abandoning the attempt at getting rid of your tears, you take a quick breath. “it’s been a few months since my last... you know,” you begin to explain, avoiding looking at him, “and i’m pretty sure my belly is... getting bigger. and it can’t just be me gaining weight because we don’t eat much.”

you hear him let out a slow breath, and when you look at him in fear for his reaction, he seems to be staring off in thought. you bite on your lip as you try to keep yourself from crying anymore. “five?”

“we’ll figure it out.” he tells you after a moment, and you take in a shaky breath from the statement. “we’ll find a way to make it work.” he runs his fingers through your hair, “we always do.”

his sweet reassurances make your heart skip a beat. it’s unbelievable to you, even after all of the years you’ve been with him.

“god, i love you.” a small sob escapes with the words, but the tears don’t truly show how you feel. you’ve never been so happy.

you’ll get part of the normal life you always wanted as a child. a family.

you were only able to relish in the moment for a few seconds, because five suddenly jolted forward, scaring the life out of you as he grabbed onto the shotgun leaning against one of the walls.

your head turns to where he is pointing it, you saw a woman. but it wasn’t just any woman, no. she wasn’t dressed for the apocalypse like you. she had a clean, properly fitted dress and high heels, her makeup perfectly done.

who the hell is this?

taglists

main: @horrorklaus @megasimpleplan4ever  

tua: @rasberrymay @noodlextrash @atomicpillar @malfovs  @andreasworlsboring101​  

five taglist: @anapocalypseinmymind @five-hargreeves-official @insatiable-ivy @coffee-e-addict @xplrreylo @fandomfreakff @colie-babi @flowertoty @avovada @badwolf00593

[heliads]

One to Another

When Bucky Barnes arrives at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, he wasn’t expecting to meet an agent who had a similar past to him. However, their shared experience of being held by HYDRA will bring them together.

masterlist

Bucky surveys the room, his sharp gaze sweeping from corner to corner of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters at the Avengers Tower. Agents are scattered about, conversing in hushed tones or doing their best to pretend they’re working on critical tasks whilst secretly checking out the two Avengers by the door. A motley crew, but S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been helpful in tracking down HYDRA, so Bucky bites his tongue instead of lashing out at them.

Next to him stands Steve Rogers, Bucky’s childhood friend turned overly patriotic brother-in-arms. Steve can’t help a grin at Bucky’s surly expression. “Okay, I know most of them seem a little young or easily distracted, but they’re not as incompetent as they look.” Bucky grumbles under his breath. “They had better not, or they’ll have wasted all of their funding on new recruits for nothing.” Bucky’s eye catches on a solitary figure in the back, poised against a wall. She seems to be the only one here who actually might know what they’re doing.

Bucky jerks his chin at the silent woman in the back. “Who’s she?” Steve sighs. “That’s Agent Y/N L/N. Best in her year, and probably all the other years, by far. Trouble is, her high standing caught HYDRA’s attention, and she got captured and tortured by them for a long time about a month or so back. Hasn’t really rejoined the rest of these chatterboxes since.”

Steve lets his words sink in for a moment, then, not wanting to linger on the unpleasant topic, claps his hands together. “Right, well, we have an interrogation to get through. HYDRA Agent Donovan is waiting for us in the holding block a few doors down. Oh, and L/N’s going to be joining us for the interrogation. She wants to see if he knows anything about the thugs who captured her.” Bucky nods once and the two men walk to the holding cell, joined by a silent Y/N, who falls in step next to them when they pass by her.

The holding cell itself is desolately empty, save for a chair with a man chained to it. There are strong restraints holding him in place, and the man himself looks as greasy and unkempt as a classic movie villain. Beside Bucky, Y/N’s gaze becomes steely the second she sees the HYDRA agent, evidently recognizing him. 

Steve pulls out a manila file folder and starts addressing the man, occasionally checking the notes in the folder as necessary. “Robert Donovan, we know you worked for HYDRA for many years. Tell us everything about the October incident.” The man just laughs, showing his teeth. “You think I’m going to talk to you? I don’t waste my time with nationalist toy soldiers.” 

The man suddenly stares at Y/N, a grin sliding over his face when he sees her. “Well, look who it is! If it isn’t Miss Y/N L/N.” He leans forward as Y/N remains silent. “You know, we got to host you a while back. Wasn’t that funny, that we had you there for months and months and nobody ever-” 

The man is cut off as Y/N briskly pulls a gun from her hip and fires it once at his chest. The man slumps forward, and then does not move again. Y/N looks up at Steve and Bucky, taking in their incredulous stares. “It’s just a tranquilizer. He’ll wake up again, unfortunately.” With that, she strides impassively out of the holding cell.

Bucky moves to follow her, but Steve steps in front of him. “You don’t want to go there, Buck. She’ll want some space.” Bucky shakes his head. “I’ve been there before, a prisoner of HYDRA. I know how it feels, and I know that the last thing she wants is to be alone right after having to face the memories of what they did to her.” Steve gives Bucky one last questioning look, then steps aside and lets him pass.

Y/N is standing out on a balcony, staring out into the New York skyline. She doesn’t move when Bucky comes to stand next to her, just starts to speak quietly. “I’m surprised you came after me. Most of them want to avoid me. They’re too scared that if they start a conversation, they’ll have to face what they did to me.”

Bucky glances at her, then looks back at the view before them. “It was like that for me too, when I first became an Avenger. I don’t think I’ll ever truly be an Avenger, no one really trusts me enough for that. When I first started working with the others, it was like people wanted to make sure I was alright but maintain enough of a distance that they could leave without too much damage.”

Y/N sighs. “I thought I was fine. I thought I had a firm enough handle on things, but the second he started talking it was like I was back in the center of HYDRA control once more.” Bucky nods slowly. “One ex-HYDRA prisoner to another? It never goes away. You’ll always see signs of what happened, and you’ll always remember. The only thing you can do about it is try and move on, or take steps to make sure it never happens again.”

Y/N leans forward, folding her hands around the cold metal of the balcony railing. “I was afraid that was true.” She turns to look at Bucky for the first time. “You don’t really know the full story of what happened to me, do you?” At Bucky’s shaken head, she nods. “I’m not sure how many people really do.” She clears her throat once, and begins to speak.

“Everyone says that my capture was an accident, brought on by a squad of enemy agents storming my house or something. It’s not true-I was betrayed by my own fellow agents. I was working late at S.H.I.E.L.D. one night, and about a dozen of my coworkers were there. They were all people I’d known for a long time, and trusted with my life. The second there weren’t any witnesses, they swarmed me and knocked me out with some kind of chloroform. I took out a lot of them, but there were just too many and I wasn’t expecting an attack from my friends.”

“When I woke up, I was in a HYDRA facility. I was questioned and tortured for S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets for months. They placed a ransom for my safe return at the beginning of my stay, but no one ever responded to it. They knew I was there, and they knew they could get me back, but no one at S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it was worth their time. It’s a dangerous thing, to know their secrets, and I suppose S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it would be cleaner to just have HYDRA kill me rather than bring me out of there.”

“Eventually, S.H.I.E.L.D. broke into the building to rescue another of their agents, and happened to find me along the way. I hadn’t told a single one of their secrets, and had protected S.H.I.E.L.D. until the end. I wish I could say the same for them. Ever since I got out, I haven’t let myself get close to anyone here. I was captured by my friends, and I just keep thinking that it could happen again. Any one of these people in the room could be seconds away from bringing me back to HYDRA.”

She finishes talking, and Bucky stands there in silence for a moment. “Why did you go back to S.H.I.E.L.D.? You knew they didn’t protect you.” Y/N lets out a bitter laugh. “There is no retiring from S.H.I.E.L.D. Especially not after this. The only way you leave is with a bullet in your skull, either by your enemies or your higher-ups.”

Bucky lets out a low whistle. “You’re not alone, you know. We just met, but I want you to know you’ve got an ally if you want one. I don’t care how long it takes you to trust me, just know that I’m here.” Y/N lets a slight smile cross her face. “I think I already do trust you. Not even my closest friends know what happened, and here I am telling you, a man I met about ten minutes ago.” The two of them smile, and talk for a little longer before Steve calls them back into the interrogation room.

Later that night, Bucky is trapped in another nightmare. He keeps seeing the same scenes over and over again- the doctor, speaking to him when Bucky woke up for the first time with a metal arm. Being brainwashed. The last moments of consciousness before the ice froze his world into nothingness. Then, that feeling of losing all control and having to watch as he killed innocents, his own body slaughtering countless people all while he screamed silently from the darkest corners of his own mind.

When Bucky wakes up in a cold sweat, blankets thrown back around him, he still can’t tell if he’s in the nightmare or not. His heart is pounding, a pulsing drum that won’t stop echoing in his ears. Dazedly, he gets up, pulling on a light jacket and stumbling down the hallway.

He can’t go back to bed, too afraid of what he’ll see when he closes his eyes, and so Bucky slowly makes his way into the central living room of the Avengers Tower. He stares around him at the darkened room, which should be so familiar yet feels like he’s never seen it before.

“Come stand by the window.”

Bucky’s head flies up at the sound of the voice, but he forces himself to relax as he recognizes the shadowy figure standing at the far side of the room. It’s Y/N. Just Y/N. It’s fine.

Bucky walks slowly over to her, looking out at the city, which is busy even at these hours of the night. Y/N’s eyes flicker over him understandingly. “It’s better if you can see the city. It’s better if you can see where you are.” Bucky glances at her, confused. “What?” His voice sounds scratchy and exhausted, but Y/N just gestures back out the window before them.

“For the nightmares. When you wake up and you can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. When you look out the window, you can see the whole world before you. That’s how you know it’s not made up by HYDRA. No matter how detailed their simulations are, they can’t make up this specific view, or every car and person in this city. If you can see the world, and it looks right, you know you’re back in real life.”

Bucky lets her words wash over him in a comforting wave. She’s right. “Thank you.” He mumbles, and she leans her head against him. “Hey, one brainwashed soldier to another. We have to stick together, right?” Bucky lets out a hoarse laugh. “Who else do we have?”

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, his arm wrapped loosely around her and her head lolling against his side, but he does know that he clings to her like she’s the only thing in the world he can depend on.

[stealingpotatoes]

I am OBSESSED with your Desmond lives AU!! I want Shaun and Rebecca to be able to give Desmond all the hugs, I want Desmond to be able to choose to be an Assassin, to be able to help save the world again. Also, I am very curious about how you would resurrect Desmond, because I’ve had similar thoughts on such an AU, but I currently stick it near the end of Valhalla with the stuff that happens there. If you ever feel like expanding on it, I'd be super excited to see more!!!

first of all, AH THANK YOU!!! Yes those are ALL points that are very important to the Des Lives AU! Second of all, thank you so much for this ask in general!!! I was hoping someone would send an ask like this so I’d get an excuse to talk abt the AU more lmao XD!! I made this AU back in March last year, so there’s no Valhalla stuff in it, and it’s set right after/ during the Odyssey DLCs. 

The long story short for my Desmond Rez (rezmond, if you will) is “shroud of eden, abstergo, and some Isu bullshit”. The long story long, however, is uh- you know what? I’m going to use this opportunity to explain the vague story I worked out last year -- but dw, I WILL get to the full ressurection explanation I thought through. However... I’m gonna have to tell the story in smaller parts because I’m lazy and can’t be bothered to write the whole thing out right now. So rez comes later and not in this post. 

also uh-- before we start: I’m going to apologise for like… everything about the way I wrote this. It’s sort-of half fic, half that-way-your-friends-colloquially-tell-stories-that-you-can’t-keep-up-with. Mainly the latter. If you can make sense of this babbling, well done.

 Anyways, without further ado, welcome to:

POTES TRIES TO EXPLAIN HER DESMOND (SORTA) LIVES AU: PART ONE

On the 21st of December 2012, Desmond Miles dies. 

It’s not for nothing -- his sacrifice saves the entire world from a solar flare -- but he is dead. big ripz. The Assassins, his family, do not manage to recover his body. Abstergo gets it first. The Assassins hold a funeral as best they can. They mourn (all in their own ways), they keep fighting (for his memory), and they try to move on (they can’t). 

On the 21st of December 2012, Desmond Miles died -- so when he shows up in a city in October 2018, almost 6 years later, it’s a bit of a shock for everyone. What’s even more of a shock is the fact he’s glowing like an Isu and has some abilities he DEFINITELY didn’t have when he died.

So Desmond wakes up in the middle of some city in he doesn’t know where (yeah ok i just never really worked out where the secret lab would be), with 1. no idea of how he got there and 2. no idea why his arms are glowing like that. He doesn’t get much time to think about it because then there’re a load of Abstergo goons with guns surrounding him. Des may have no idea what’s happening, but he knows one thing: when u see an Abstergo, it’s on sight. So he’s fighting them -- which is admittedly not fun or easy when you’re in the middle of a road and only have your fists as weapons. It’s not going well and then someone definitely manages to shoot Desmond which is very bad -- but then Des feels some very weird (but not unfamiliar) feeling and when he looks up from the bullet wound, every one of the Abstergos are on the floor???? He doesn’t think to check if they’re dead, just legs it out of there lmao. 

//

Elsewhere, in an Assassin safehouse in an undisclosed location (can you tell I just didn’t think about the geography of anything), Mr Shaun Hastings is chilling on a balcony after a mission well done. Good for him. Then Rebecca Crane (queen ilu) yells “Shaun?” from inside. 

“Rebecca?” 

“Come inside. Now.”

Shaun immediately does so because he assumes it’s important or they’re under threat. “What happened? Have we been compromised?”

Rebecca doesn’t answer. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Shaun says, mostly joking and with a little smirk -- though Becs looks spooked. 

“Desmond’s alive.”

Shaun’s not smirking anymore. “What?”

“Desmond’s... he’s alive.”

“What are you talking about? Are you high?” he’s totally about to look at her eyes to see if they’re all dilated and druggy. 

“No Shaun, I mean it!” Becs harshly shoves her tablet into his hands. 

Shaun doesn’t really know what he’s expecting to see when he looks down at the screen. What he’s not really expecting to see is Desmond Miles, who’s been dead for six years, fighting a load of Abstergo people -- while lined in Isu markings (also he’s not wearing a shirt forgot got to mention). ??? But wtf??!?! Desmond’s dead. That’s...

“It’s security camera footage from [the city]... About two hours ago.” Rebecca then swipes through more footage with shaky hands and explains that Des very violently burst out of an Abstergo facility in the city with glowing eyes and light leaking out of him (almost like an Apple of Eden). Then the glowing eyes and shining lights shuts off abruptly and Des is standing in the middle of the road looking very confused at his precursor-ass arms and chest. But Shaun is barely listening to what she’s saying and barely even looking at the screen. 

“Where did you get this?” Shaun asks with a hollow voice, not looking up. 

“The Initiates.” (bc who else)

Shaun looks at it again, then at Rebecca, and he’s mildly aware of the fact he’s slightly tearing up; “That’s fake. That can’t be him. He’s dead, Becs. We both saw the…” They both saw the autopsy footage the ac4 researcher got from Abstergo -- or at least, tried to watch it; they shut it off as soon as Shaun ran to the bathroom to throw up and Rebecca quickly joined him. They spent the rest of that night crying and drinking way too much. 

“He died.” Shaun concludes firmly. 

And so Becs is all like “yeah but what if he didn’t?? We need to find him. We need to investigate this.” There’s a determination in her eyes and Shaun knows he’s not going to be able to convince her to drop this -- not that he would. Desmond might be alive, and there is no way they’re going to leave him again. 

They’re both standing there in pure shock and confusion, not saying anything. 

Rebecca’s comm device lights up and starts buzzing, snapping them out of their general ????-ness. Becs goes to her desk to grab it, glances at the caller id and then shows it to Shaun. It’s William Miles. 

The two of them share a Look. They know what he’s calling about -- what else would it be? There’s a stilted moment of neither of them doing anything before Rebecca finally accepts the call. “William?” 

“How quickly can you and Shaun get to [city]?” William sounds shaken -- probably the same way Rebecca and Shaun are -- which is a very weird way to hear the Mentor of the Brotherhood sound. He’s seen the footage, hasn’t he? 

“In a few hours,” Rebecca replies. 

“Good. You need to get there as soon as possible.” 

Everyone’s silent for a few moments. 

“Is this about Desmond?” Rebecca asks. Dumb question. 

There’s a pause. “You’ll be briefed on the ground.” And then he hangs up before Shaun or Rebecca can yell at him.

This is all moving very fast. Shaun and Rebecca share another look. Guess they’re going to [city].  ???

// 

Fast forward several hours and Rebecca and Shaun are in The City [might just have to make the city london bc it’s the one city i actually know well -- however for plot reasons we’ll see later, a swiss city might be better… moving on!]. They get to an assassin base and meet up with Galina Voronina and 2 local assassins. Idk if you’ve read the comics, but to sum things up quickly, Galina and her team were investigating and then ended Project Phoenix -- so Galina now really wants to find out if the whole Desmond thing has anything to do with that. 

Galina also wants to help Shaun and Rebecca get their friend back. They’re her friends, but equally she just lost one of her teammates to Abstergo (while ending Phoenix like 2 months ago, in the comics) and is uh- idk how to say it but she wants to help Shaun & Becs who have a chance to get their lost teammate back.

What follows is cool gang-gang trying to track down any trace of Desmond. You’d think it wouldn’t be hard to find a person who literally glows, but Desmond’s had centuries of Assassin training and knows how to hide lol.. which is making the Assassins’ job harder lol. 

What’s making it even harder is the Assassins know they have to be quick because they know Abstergo is gonna be looking for Desmond too -- and they have way more resources and stuff. That being said, they’re also currently dealing with the fact one of their building and a decent amount of their guards just got absolutely mullered by weird-glowing-desmond. 

The third issue with their entire thing is that they have no idea what they’re going to find when they find Desmond -- or if he even is Desmond. Is he going to be the man they knew but with weird powers? an Abstergo isu-clone? evil? they don’t know, and so they know they’ve got to be wary with him. 

The Assassin gang spend some time (a couple of days at the very most) trying to track Desmond down. Rebecca is using all the tech she can get her hacker mitts on to find a trace of him and equally throw Abstergo off Des’ trail. 

Soon enough, they get a solid lead -- don’t ask for the specifics, i don’t know them. But they get a lead, and it winds them up in an abandoned apartment building or also abandoned building site or something (a building in the city where there aren’t any people, basically). 

Galina scans the place with Eagle Vision and she’s like “There is something very strange about this place.” (someone?) But she doesn’t see a person-shape anywhere. The 5 of them are hopeful but somewhat on edge. 

They go about searching for any sign of Desmond. Galina’s pretty sure her Eagle Vision is just… Messing Up A Lot lol. Like something’s trying to heck with it. So she’s not quite sure it’s working correctly when a load of red figures appear somewhere below them. 

She becomes a lot more sure when the red figures come into sight and START SHOOTING AT THEM! IT’S ABSTERGO!! CRAP! they found them!!

The assassins get down and a really cool fight scene w them vs the Abstergos in the building/ building site starts playing out. Woo Shaun and Rebecca electro-hidden-blade moments!! The fight splits the squad up and Shaun and Rebecca are away from Galina & the others -- but they dispatch the Abstergo guards near them.

They’re about to radio in that they’re all okay/ check if Galina & co are also good when they hear a slightly-too-loud footstep. They whip around to see an Abstergo guard aiming right at them, too far for either of them to get him before he shoots them. crap crap crap.

They would have been shot -- if someone hadn’t come up behind the Abstergo guard and snapped his neck (ouch). 

The Abstergo drops to the ground, revealing the person who saved them and… Shaun and Rebecca stare in shock. 

They’re both looking at Desmond Miles. 

Desmond Miles, who is very much alive (and wearing a hoodie that is 100% stolen). And… with a load of glowing yellow lines on his face. But it’s Desmond -- it’s Desmond for sure. Holy shit.  

Desmond doesn’t seem so shocked, only relieved to see them. Then his expression turns into serious confusion; 

“What the fuck is happening?”

///

ok sorry leaving it there for now! hope you enjoyed what is here will continue soon

[star-killer-md]

Happy Hunting

A/N: Hello everyone, two updates in one week I know. Very out of character for me. Anyway, this is my first like actively dark fic so please be warned and mind the tags, it is dead dove. This has been sitting in my docs since October and I’m excited to get it out. There will be a part two to this with way more smut if y’all want it. And of course credit to @direnightshade for coming up with serial killer!Charlie, go check her out! Thanks to @sacklersdoll as well for being an absolute babe and reading over this for me. 

Warnings: Dead Dove, mentions of murder, mentions of fantasized violence against reader, Charlie is a murderer in this so ya know, drugs used on a non-reader character, mentions of blood, mentions of sex, implied noncon, stalking behavior, allusions to predator/prey dynamics reader is implied afab/fem presenting but no pronouns are used for them, once again, this is a dark fic so be mindful of the tags and let me know if I’ve missed one. 

Part 2

Ship: Serial Killer!Charlie x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Charlie is branching out, searching for some new hunting spots when he finds the perfect next victim. Soon he decides he wants more than to simply add you to his body count, but murder is tricky and not everything goes as he planned. 

He’d been frequenting different bars as of late, branching out into new territory. There were rules to these games, after all—rules to the hunt, rules to keep it sustainable. Charlie knew well by now that staying in the same place for too long would only deplete his selection of targets. And he couldn’t have anyone making connections, so he moved around but always stuck to what he knew. 

That was another rule: never hunt on unfamiliar land. It was just asking for trouble. With such a sensitive, calculated act, one could never afford any random variables. 

This was how he’d been so successful. 

He knew the rules, he played by them and he reaped the rewards. 

And he had just found his next victim. 

You were ordering a drink, lovely figure bent over the bar top while you waited. The curve of your back, exposed by the sheer lack of fabric, and the flicker of your tongue over the rim of the glass told him all he needed to know. 

Yes, you would be a perfect addition to his collection. 

But this was still too new, too fresh. So he settled for watching, memorizing the way your throat moved when you swallowed and the crease of your thighs as you crossed them. His hands itched to spread you apart, see how wet he knew you’d be. Soon, he reminded himself. 

Patience was the mark of a good hunter, and he’d have you in his hands if he simply waited for the most opportune moment. He’d get to watch your throat collapse under his weight and feel the fluttering of your cunt as he fucked you through the fear. 

It would be glorious. 

And well worth the wait. 

***

One week later saw him back in the same bar, ordering a drink and watching as you swayed to the soft music playing. He knew you’d be here, Charlie had a sense about these things. 

It helped as well that he’d trailed you to your apartment, curiously far away from this section of the city. But you seemed to spend quite a bit of time in this area. Took walks in the park nearby, and stopped in the odd cafe every so often. Maybe you worked around here, he hadn’t quite figured that out yet. Though, it had only been a week. And where you worked wasn’t all that important to him. 

No, what was important was now. 

Now that he was sipping his Old Fashioned and watching you make eyes at another man across the room. 

He was shorter than Charlie, but not by much. The way he stumbled a bit when crossing the dance floor to you told him your new admirer had more than a bit to drink as well. 

What an amateur. 

You didn’t seem to mind, though, as you guided his hands to your waist and moved your hips with such fluidity, Charlie couldn’t have torn his gaze away if he’d wanted to. This man with his dark hair and hands that engulfed you let you lead him in clumsy circles, trailing like a puppy. 

He was very nearly drooling and you knew it. 

Charlie sneered and nursed his drink, taking it all in. The way your feet avoided being trodden on, the way you pretended not to notice when the man’s hands wandered lower, the way you glanced up through your lashes and smirked when he followed your lips with his. 

All so practiced. 

But the lumbering idiot grabbing handfuls of your ass in front of the whole bar was so predictable, Charlie wasn’t surprised in the least. 

You wouldn’t look so self assured when you were with him. 

Charlie was too full of surprises. 

He was something you’d never encountered before. 

And wouldn’t again, he thought with a chuckle. He’d be your best and your last and that was how it should be. 

Charlie knocked back the last of his drink, setting his glass down on the counter as you led your new find in his obnoxious, neon green sneakers off towards the doors. Your eyes never left the man trailing behind you, locked in place even as you disappeared into the New York night. 

He wouldn’t go after you this time. 

But soon, he thought. Soon those pretty eyes would find him and wouldn’t he be a magnificent last sight?

***

Charlie was trying something new again. Dangerous maybe, but progress was never made without taking a few risks. 

So here he was, walking through a park in broad daylight. It was the same one he’d seen you only days before, walking through the canopy of leaves that were so hard to find in the city. There was a bench positioned right under a few limbs that were already shedding red and brown onto the asphalt path. He sat on the cold metal and waited. 

You’d show up momentarily. He had learned you came here around this time in the afternoon during the week. Always dragging your feet through the grass and staring at the sky while you walked the little looping path. Maybe you came for inspiration. It was a nice place to write, he thought. He’d have to bring his notebook next time. 

That could be his keepsake from you, this place. He could come to this bench and sit and remember how you looked scuffing your heels in the dirt, facing up to the heavens. 

Just like you were now. 

Right on time as well. You’d always stuck him as a creature of habit, something he supposed you both had in common. 

Your hands were buried deep in the pockets of your coat, collar turned up against the wind. He watched the subtle shake of your spine, working its way from your head down to your fingers as you shivered in the cold. 

His teeth caught his lip, sucking it between them as he thought of all the ways he could warm you, make your skin sticky with sweat and cum and blood, make you tremble all over again with the pleasure from his cock sinking into your warm, wet cunt. Charlie could quite nearly taste the hazy tang of you on his tongue, feel the way your thighs would tense and pull to pin his head, but he’d want you tied down. He’d need you splayed out and restrained, he could already tell—having only observed you this short time—you’d be a fighter. 

And didn’t that make you the best kind of prey?

He loved it when they fought, when they struggled, when they kicked and spit and bit at his hands. Or when they were so broken, bloody and hopeless and crawling on their knees, scrambling to get away. 

There was something in the way their eyes looked, something primal, like they knew what he was. Like they knew he was a hunter, a predator, and they were trapped under his claws. Wild and insatiable and delicious. 

He was hard in his pants just thinking about it—at the images his mind concocted. You with your sultry hips swaying in the dim bar light and that locked in look in your eyes. You, in that barely there clothing and the set of your jaw that says you’re just begging for him to catch you in his snare. 

He knew you wanted it, even if you didn’t quite yet. 

Charlie’s hand dropped down to palm at his throbbing length, his long coat covering most of the movement. It was cool enough that no one else but the two of you had wondered out this late in the day. So he brushed over the sensitive head of his cock and watched you making circles around the path until you stopped. 

That was new. That was a break in the pattern, and it made his hand pause. 

You froze and planted your feet on the earth, staring intently into a little copse of trees and shrubs. The barrier of leaves formed a small hidden space that you slip into easily, practiced and lithe like a cat weaving through iron bars. He could only catch glimpses of your face from between the branches, tilted up with eyes closed. 

You looked alive, that was really the only way he could put it. Charlie watched as the shadow of your body lowered itself onto the cold dirt and breathed in the scent of the dying foliage. Under the curve of the roots he could see it: your face scrunched up, lips parted, plump and bitten with your chin tilted back towards the sky. 

He couldn’t look away from the strange display. 

Couldn’t help but feel like he knew the look on your face. 

***

This time, running into you really was an accident. 

He was just stopping for coffee, on his way to work and rushing. Traffic was bad, but it was his turn to run for drinks and there would be an uproar if he showed up empty handed. And there you were, headphones in and seated right by one of the windows in the little cafe. 

Your face was half lit by the laptop screen you were leaning over. Writing, he supposed based on the way your fingers flew across the keys. So nimble, he thought, how skilled those hands must be. How lovely they’d look wrapped around his dick, lips spilling drool and split open— 

“What can I get started for you today?” the barista asked. 

Charlie’s head whipped back around to the overly cheery face behind the counter. He frowned, throwing glances back at you while he rattled off his list of orders. 

“Alrighty, can I get a name for the order?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw your fingers still on the keys, “Charlie is fine.” 

“Great, I’ll get that out for you as soon as I can.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, tucking his wallet away and moving to lean against the far wall. 

From here he could look at you head on while everyone else would simply assume he was staring out the window, watching the way today’s light drizzle had doused the city in sepia grayscale lighting. You had gone back to typing, foot tapping on the rough wood floors. He studied your legs, the way they bounced to whatever rhythm was playing in your ears. 

They’d look good shaking, he thought, crawling breathlessly away and scrambling against the cool tile of his kitchen. 

What a joy it was to see you so unexpectedly. Certainly one of the better parts of this morning, even if it was a bit strange as well. This part of the city was a considerable distance from your apartment building. Maybe you liked the shop too, stumbled across it the way his crew had and been drawn in by the aesthetics and quiet atmosphere. Charlie didn’t have many regular stomping grounds but this place was one of them. 

If he was a better man, he might have taken you to coffee here, participated in banal small talk and gotten to know your favorite authors, where you worked and what a creature like you did there. If you hated your boss, if you were quiet about it, if you sent emails with exclamation points to seem friendly and non-confrontational. 

But this was sort of like a date. He had learned something new about you every time, even if you weren’t aware of it. In time, he’d learn even more, see all of you. See what you looked like in your purest form��primal fear in your eyes and blood on your lips. 

And you would get to know about him as well, in time. He’d show you everything, all of it. 

With every new meeting, the feeling grew stronger. 

This wasn’t just about the kill anymore. 

You would be the one, Charlie knew it in his gut. Different from the others who fell so witlessly into his trap, took the bait and barely had the wherewithal to even struggle as he reeled them in. They were dead fish on his hook, limp and rotting before he could drag them to shore. 

But not you. 

You were alive and kicking and perfect. 

You would be so good for him. 

“Charlie!” the barista called, breaking him from his reverie. 

As he swooped in to grab the two drink trays and hurried back out into the rain, he stole one last glance in your direction. 

Silhouetted by an errant ray of sunlight, you struck an immaculate picture. So much so that he missed the way your eyes trailed him out the door, catching on the edge of his coat and following him out into the gloom of the New York streets. 

But he was too busy engraving the image of your slightly curved spine, the arch of your shoulders and neck, to notice your stare on him all the way down the block until he melted into the background of the city. 

***

It was late and Charlie felt worn thin. The subway platform was crowded as always, despite the hour encroaching closely on midnight. They really were true, all those awful cliches about how the city never sleeps. 

He sighed, moved farther to the tile wall so he could avoid being tossed into the tracks by the rustling of passersby. There were dozens of people shuffling around on their tired feet, bitching about any number of things or playing music too loud. The smell of stale piss and the bleach public transit staff used to mask it was even stronger after the rain. Charlie wrinkled his nose against the onslaught and watched the westbound train come and go, rattling like a bull down the tracks and sweeping away passengers as it went. A slip of paper from the wall fluttered off in the draft and settled in a puddle on the ground. 

And a familiar face stared up at him. 

Large black text framed the photo. “MISSING” it read in all caps that quickly dissolved in the New York rain water. Rain here had a tendency to wash away everything just when he needed it the most. He reminisced about the way her blood had slipped down the sewer grates so easily, leaving his shoes free of any evidence. 

She had been particularly sloppy—not something to be proud of—but Charlie was nothing if not adaptive.

He learned from his mistakes.

His eyes flicked over the subway wall and was met with a plethora of blank xerox faces staring back. Most were young, photos taken from cell phones with lips stretched wide and smiling. There were more than a few men as well. Those he did not recognize, with dark hair and dark eyes, and arrogance clear even in pictures. Some of the others he did know, with softer looks—he always had a weak spot for faces like that. 

But they were nothing like you. Besides, all that pretty had melted away so quickly under the knife. And you would be different. 

You would bear him well.  

You would look so pretty hanging from the subway walls, grinning out from the tile or the occasional telephone pole. Charlie didn’t think he’d mind it much if someone made a poster for you. That way he’d get a pleasant surprise while walking down the city streets when he was coming home late like this and had been away from you for too long. 

It had been so long since he’d seen you last. Opening night was quickly approaching and work had been taking up far too much time. It had gotten to the point that he saw your face in every crowd. Walking from the station to his apartment he’d see you in the figures smoking on a neighboring balcony or in the cereal aisle at the grocery store or mingling with the backstage crew out behind the theater. 

And now as well.

In the crowd, peeking out from behind one of the dusty, graffiti-covered columns, he swore that were standing—the curve of your back, the set of your shoulders, the lock of your jaw. Charlie’s feet moved without his noticing, carrying him towards you. 

In the distance, the northbound train was approaching, he could feel the rumble of it in his bones as he pushed and maneuvered a trail through the crowd, but you were still slipping away. Faster than him and smaller, weaving easily through bystanders without notice. 

The train rushed past him, blowing locks of hair into his face that whipped at his eyes and forced him to stop. He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair and trying to catch sight of you again. Though as he looked closer, the figure retreating was just another faceless traveler, their gate was similar but not quite the same, steps too short and heavy. 

Charlie felt scoffed at himself, at the shameless desperation, and allowed the tide of people to sweep him into the train compartment. 

His hand gripped the standing rail hard in a fist and his eyes stared out onto the platform, tiled wall of monochrome faces staring back. He looked out until it disappeared as the subway roared down the tracks once again and left them all behind. 

***

He was finally here. 

Finally after weeks of rehearsals running into the small hours of the morning and a mess of late night dinners, rounds of drinks with cast mates, he was finally here. 

In your bar, watching you dance again in the dim light. 

Charlie would never tire of the sight, the way you moved to the music was addicting in its own right. He’d only just wandered in less than an hour ago, ordered his usual and taken a seat at the bar. From here he had the perfect view, the door was behind him so escape was simple and you were visible just across the table top, swaying to the soft beat. 

He wanted so badly to devour you. 

It was a hunger the likes of which he had never known. It made him reckless, excited him as nothing had in so long. He’d always heard hunters talk about their most prized prey. Seen the massive antlers hung on walls in sets and in film, and he understood it now. You were a trophy, a wonder of nature and he would be the one to win you. 

Keep you in your own trophy room for him to see you dance like that whenever he wanted. 

There were not many people tonight, so you were still swaying alone, not having found a partner  yet for the night as you had done before. 

Charlie was stuck on the way your jugular was highlighted amongst the shadows of neon lights when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was nearly blinded by the bright white screen as he read the notification for an incoming call from his stage manager. 

Shit.

He left his drink at the bar and stepped away for a moment, to the corner farther from the speakers and swiped to answer. She sounded frantic, muttering and hard to hear over the music. His supporting actress had broken her wrist from what he was able to gather, an understudy was being arranged. He huffed and thanked her, asking to be kept updated and saying that no, he absolutely could not give his input at this very moment, he was, in fact, preoccupied. 

When she finally consented to calling back later, he turned and immediately stopped in his tracks. You were there, standing at the bar right next to his abandoned seat and staring right into his eyes. There was a subtle smile playing at your lips, and you rested an elbow on the counter, never breaking your gaze as he slowly walked back. 

Had he been caught? 

Charlie cleared his throat and cursed his racing heart. A sweaty palm combed through his hair as joined you at the bar. Your smile only grew. 

“Mind if I join you?”

He nearly choked on his spit. 

“No, of course not,” he grabbed his glass and you clinked yours against the rim. 

You both sipped, and he tried not to stare too long at how your arms looked resting on the wood. This was...not something he had anticipated. But leave it to you to surprise him. 

“Do you come here often?” you asked, swirling the liquor in your cup. 

Odd that you hadn’t asked his name, but then again, he hadn’t bothered to ask yours either. He knew the constants and vowels of it by heart. 

“I wouldn’t say often,” he shrugged and took a long drink, something to numb him a bit and calm the shaking in his hands. “Only when it’s convenient.” 

“It’s nice here,” you said. “I like the crowd.” 

“Yeah?” Charlie didn’t know how to reply. He hadn’t expected to actually speak with you so soon. 

“No one really comes in to talk, if you know what I mean.” You pulled your lip between your teeth and nibbled at it. 

He could feel his cock twitch in his jeans at the way you bit at the flesh. 

“Is that so,” he mused. 

The look you gave him was succulent, mouthwatering and exquisite, “Wanna dance?”

He shouldn’t. It wasn’t time. There was an order to these things, there were rules and this was breaking them but, oh fuck you just kept looking at him and he was going to drown in how good it was. Charlie downed the rest of his drink and let you take his hand, pulling him slowly into the crowd of other dancers. Just as he had watched you do a dozen times, like he fantasized you’d to do with him. 

Dancing was never really his thing but when you placed his big palms on your hips and let him feel you sway, his feet found their place. You turned in his grip—back to his chest and ass pressed to his front—and moved. 

His vision tunneled. Homing in until the room melted away and there was nothing but your body and his hands. 

***

The streets were dark and empty, but your hand was so scaldingly hot in his that Charlie barely noticed. 

“Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Your voice rang out in his head. The music and the lights were brighter and louder and everything grew hazy the longer he touched you. 

God, he shouldn’t. 

It wasn’t time and hunting had rules but…

But this could be good. Go back to your place, learn the way in, maybe where you keep your keys, the door code and placement of security cameras—make it much easier on himself further down the line when you were ready. When he could take you. 

There were leaves crunching under his feet and the night seemed to grow darker and darker as you led him forward. 

“We can cut through here,” you said, turning to flash him another smile, tugging at his arm and making him stumble. 

He was losing track of where his limbs existed in space, strange since he’d only had the one drink. His eyes were dry trying to adjust to the pitch blackness he was so unused to. It never got this dark in the city, too much light pollution but there were barely any shadows here, too far away from the bustling center of town.��

Something cold and metal brushed his thigh as he followed you deeper into the darkness and towards the twinkling street lamps in the distance. 

The bench, he realized, where he sat and observed you walking your circles. 

This was the park. 

The copse of trees was just ahead. 

Charlie knew where you lived, somewhere far into midtown and not near here. Something unfamiliar was taking over him. His mouth felt thick, his face beaded with sweat and his chest was growing tighter by the minute. This was wrong, he should go, but his legs were like lead and as much as he tried to wrench his hand from your grip...he couldn’t. 

The shrubs caught on his pants as you yanked hard on his arm and sent him tumbling forward into the dirt. He tried to catch himself, but his arms stayed limp at his sides. Face down, he landed with earth and dried leaves sticking to his cheeks. Your weight settled on top of him, thighs gripping his hips and hands planted on either side of his head. 

“You bitch,” he gasped into the ground. “What did you give me?” 

“It’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with,” your breath was so hot on his ear, tongue flicking out to lick up the shell of it and bite down hard on the lobe. 

“You fucking whore,” Charlie hissed, trying to throw you off. He wanted to pin you down, fuck the plans he’d choke you out right here, right now. Wrap his big hands around your throat and watch you claw and grasp at him— 

You were supposed to be perfect. 

Supposed to be his. 

Your nails skimmed up his scalp, grabbing a handful of his hair and jerking it back. His neck strained as you pressed your cheek to his, other hand coming to cup his jaw harshly. 

“Listen to me you arrogant piece of shit,” you snarled, no honey sweetness dripping from your lips now. He still wanted desperately to taste them. “I’m assuming you're new to this game so let me explain some things to you. Now be a good boy and listen, yeah?” 

Charlie tried to shake his head from your grip, work your fingers into his mouth and bite but your hand slipped to his throat and tightened just enough to restrict the blood pulsing through his carotid. He stilled, pursing his lips and nodded.

“Much better,” you whispered. He could only make out the blur of your face from his peripheral, feel the heat of your skin pressed to his. “There is one rule and only one to this dance of ours, do you know what it is?” 

He grit his teeth, silent until your nails ripped into his hair again and he groaned as the strands separated from his scalp

“Why don’t you tell me,” he bit the ‘t’ and waited. 

“You never shoot another hunter, dumbass,” you spat. “You make sure whatever the fuck you go after it isn’t wearing a bright orange fucking vest.” 

“What?” he was panting now, the ground fading in and out as his vision went dark. 

“Did you know prey animals never have forward facing eyes?” you stroked a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Cause they’re always looking out, always watching the horizon for predators and the sign of a good predator is that we never let them catch us.”

Charlie’s neck grew weaker, the only thing holding him up was your hands on his throat and buried in his silky hair. 

“So the next time you go scoping for your next pretty young thing to kill, make sure it can’t look you in both eyes.” 

“You, you’re—” his speech was slurred, the words tumbling out in a jumble. 

Is this what they felt like? All the others when he was tying them down and preparing for the slaughter. 

“Yeah. So next time you think about branching out, don’t,” you let his head drop to the dirt and pressed his nose into the soil. 

This is where you took yours. That man with the neon sneakers. When laid here, when he watched you breath in the earth. This is where you came to remember. 

“These are my grounds, so stay the fuck off of them,” you slid off his back, pressing a knee into his hip and pushing so he flopped over limply on the leaf litter. “I won’t be so nice next time.” 

He watched blearily as you leaned over him, settling back and straddling his lap. You rocked your hips once lazily against his cock, still half hard and tenting in his jeans. “Pity I’m letting you go, you’re exactly my type.” 

Charlie swallowed, tongue like chalk as the world faded out around him. You leaned in close, patting his cheek twice and chuckling. It was so dark in this part of New York, he could actually see the stars as you shifted away and sauntered off into the night. Your parting words echoed in his head as he stared, immobile, up at the night sky.

“Happy hunting, Charlie.” 

[from-home]

𑁍 MARK LEE┊ 𝒔𝒊𝒙𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 / one ˎˊ˗

𑁍 summary : the one where mark lee time travels back and forth throughout the past and future with his crush, (y/n) ˎˊ˗

𑁍 pairing : mark lee x older!reader (by like three years lmao) ˎˊ˗

𑁍 word count : 6.7k ˎˊ˗

𑁍 genre : fluff, comedy (i hope??), minimal angst, time travel!au ˎˊ˗

𑁍 warnings : swearing, unrequited love (i know that shit hurts omg), my humour is ass, mark gives me slight second hand embarrassment in this, bad writing??, i gave up like halfway through this lol, first time writing a fic like this pls have mercy, it’s almost 2:30 am i'm too tired to proof read fuck ˎˊ˗

𑁍 a/n : first chapter of my first ever fic on here hehe - idk when the next chapter might come tbh but hopefully i’ll continue this series for my own enjoyment! in the meantime, uni still kicks my ass >:(( but anyway, enjoy and i hope that at least someone will find joy with this!    ˎˊ˗

[ 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟬 : 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝟬 ]

when your pastor dad’s best friend was the biggest nerd in high school and became an eccentric scientist

O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,

  What a beautiful Pussy you are,

       You are,

       You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!

      If he could write like that, maybe Mark wouldn't need to be here in this boring literature class of his. Don't get him wrong, he liked writing, and he liked the way he could express his emotions through a pen and paper. But for the twenty-one-year-old boy who could barely sit still in one place without his mind wandering off into four different dimensions, it was hard to be interested in whatever the professor was rambling on about. Maybe Professor Jung was telling the story of how she met Dylan Thomas' widow's sister's friend's cousin, and how much of an artistic impact it had on her. She had told the story a good three times in the past two months - Mark kept count.

      Yeah, writing was fun and all, but literature class specifically was boring and dull to him. "Oh but Mark, why take this course then?" one might ask. But one should also know that it was a necessary course if Mark wanted to earn his oh-so-coveted diploma.

      Curse him for majoring in creative writing. His dad always did wonder why writers even bother writing when the bible exists.

      But maybe one day, an hour and a half of John Keats would produce him some ideas for a romantic poem that he could write and gift off to his love of seven years... and counting.

      (Y/N), the shiniest of all pearls and the most beautiful of all Mona Lisa's, the older woman and her beauty often left Mark stunned and helplessly in love. He first met her when he was fourteen, when she had been introduced as his seventeen-year-old tutor. She was so pretty back then, and still was now. In fact, it was as if she didn't age at all!

      Someone who resembled a goddess like (Y/N)  deserved only the most romantic of all romantic poems, and Mark Lee made it a mission to be the one to write it for her. He was so helplessly in love with her that he was able to channel his feelings for her into five different written forms: poems, song lyrics, an 'A for effort?' drawing of her, letters, and anonymous blog posts about how "unrequited love hurts".

      Sure, those blog posts were anonymous, but as good as Mark thought he was at hiding his feelings for her, everybody in town and their ancestors' spirits knew about the big crush Mark had on her. But no one bothered to tell (Y/N) about her not-so-secret admirer and nobody bothered to let Mark know that his mysterious crush wasn’t as well-kept to himself as he thought it was.

      But it was cute. Not the part where Mark slowly died on the inside as each day passed without his feelings being returned (that was pretty sad, everybody acknowledged), but the part where the adoration in his eyes were so clear for (Y/N). Legend went that he held stars in his eyes whenever his gaze rested on the older woman - like, actual stars from the galaxy. Or so the first-hand accounts go.

      Mark Lee was a talented and hardworking boy, that much was a shared sentiment by everybody in town. He excelled at all subjects, mowed the lawn twice just because he thought he missed a spot, gave it his all at church every Sunday by rapping and dancing in the name of Jesus Christ until he was reduced to sweat and threatening to rip his dress shirt off - he was a jack of all trades. There were even rumours that whenever it was time for a 'Make a Wish' patient to... make a wish in heaven, he would dress up as Spiderman and visit them in the hospital to make their final dreams come true. So maybe that's why it was so endearing, his one-sided love for his noona. If there was one person who could jump over that hurdle of "just friends" and out of the friend zone, it had to be Mark, the boy who's always gave it his all in everything ever since he moved here from Canada when he was twelve. It was one thing to have this crush that you desperately wanted to be returned, but it was another to have the whole town cheering for you - it said a lot about Mark's character.

      Which is why! There was no other perfect test subject for Scientist Kim, the local eccentric scientist who was obsessed with creating his "next big invention". He also happened to be the best friend of the town's pastor (weird combination, everybody knows), courtesy of their high school days and a misunderstanding over a carton of milk. The town's pastor also oh-so-coincidentally happened to be Mark's father, who had lived in Korea for all his life until he moved to Canada so his wife could give birth to baby Mark. He ended up moving back to his hometown, however, thus creating a new relationship between his best friend and son.

      Now Scientist Kim - who liked to go by "Cabbage" as a homage to his idol, Charles Babbage - didn’t really care about Mark's painful one-sided love, but he knew the boy could never say no to his father's best friend from high school, so there was no one better to try out his experiments and inventions than Mark. Like, there was literally no one else at all - the whole town swore Cabbage was out of his mind and were still waiting for the day the newspaper would come out with a headline that he's been charged with involuntary manslaughter. Everybody would be disappointed, but not surprised. But such an incident hadn’t happened yet, so for now, Cabbage was still freely working hard everyday to successfully complete and unveil the invention that would propel him to "the front page of every science magazine and a Nobel Prize in Physics".

      And it just so happened to be today, October 30th 2020, when Mark received a phone call from his dad's best friend in the middle of class. He was glad he kept his phone on vibrate, but god, was it distracting. To answer or not to? Why now of all times? Right, he forgot that some people don't have anything else to do with their lives other than... creating things that usually end up on fire by the end of it. You know, now that he thought back on it, the last time Mark willingly participated in Cabbage's experiment which involved some tinfoil, antennas, and laser beam machining, it left Mark's right shoe on fire - thank God he had brought a fire extinguisher over to Cabbage’s house with him.

      Just that memory alone convinced Mark to ignore the call, nearly forgetting about it once it had stopped ringing if not for the fact he received another call just seconds later. "What is this, an infatuation?" Mark grumbled to himself, before glancing up at the front to see if Professor Jung was distracted enough for him to take this call without her noticing. It didn't help that he sat three rows away from the front. But she still seemed to be rambling on about how much she loved Dylan Thomas' works, and that was a sign for him to accept the call. He kept his voice to a hushed whisper, however, "Hello-"

      "Mark! You have to come over!" There was no way Professor Jung did not hear that screech that came from his phone. He glanced up nervously, noticing his classmate's startled gazes on him. But his eyes wandered over to the front, and judging by how Professor Jung was now going on about Dylan Thomas' "attractive appearance", it seemed he was in the safe for now.

      "Cabbage, I'm in class, so could you keep it down?" Mark hissed quietly into the phone.

      "Right, right, sorry!" While he was still loud even after lowering his voice down, it was more than quiet enough for Professor Jung not to notice, thankfully. "Mark, I've just completed my latest invention. But this isn't just any invention, it's the invention of both my - and everybody's dreams!"

      Mark would be mildly curious if not for the fact that Cabbage said that about every invention of his, but he figured that his dad was going to urge him to go anyway, even if Mark didn’t want to. "But he's my best friend, Mark!" Jeez, because how could he possibly say no to the power of friendship?

      "Mark? Boy? You still there?" Cabbage’s voice pulled Mark out of his thoughts, and the boy could do nothing but sigh. This was just going to be like every other time - he’d be introduced to some machine that supposedly did one thing, said machine would catch on fire the next minute, and it would all result in Mark going home an hour later.

      "Fine, I'll be there. After class in like, half an hour." Mark reassured the scientist, and he swore, he could hear something catching on fire in the background.

      "Great!" He then heard rushed footsteps and... a fire extinguisher? "See you then!" And the call ended.

      He just couldn’t wait.

       When visitors would come to the humble town of Uicheon (의천), located just thirty minutes away by car from the bustling capital city, Seoul, the first thing they would notice was how much the town gave off Suburban American vibes, like walking through a town where the main characters of some random Disney high school movie lived. All single detached houses, varying in style from Country French to Cape Cod with recent contemporary and modern upgrades to those houses by residents who wanted to "spice it up".

        Uicheon was a town seen by others where most of the population was upper-middle class. There was nothing wrong with that at all, and actually, the residents of Uicheon were both happy and welcoming of anybody and anyone who stepped foot into town or even took an interest in moving, no matter of their social or economic status.

       If anything, the residents of Uicheon - the ones who've lived in the town for longer than ten years at least - were often worried that those who did show interest of moving in inevitably get... scared off. By one particular daunting house.

       It was a beautiful town. No seriously, Uicheon had been mentioned on multiple "Top 5 beautiful towns just outside of Seoul that you should visit!" lists published on the internet. And in the beautiful small town where all the houses provide comfort and beauty, surrounded by flowers on nearly every available patch of grass like something straight out of a magazine, there stood a modern house - the only completely modern house in the town - its exterior all... black. Even the big windows were tinted black, and it was obvious that the house stuck out like a sore thumb. Sometimes, the local kids told stories of how the house was abandoned, and was home to a ghost with a vengeful spirit inside who wanted to steal your teeth. The residents of Uicheon had gotten used to the house's presence already, but it didn’t stop the mutual sentiment of "...really?" amongst them.

       And currently, Mark stood in front of its black front doors, ringing the black doorbell and covering his ears as trumpets echoed from inside the house, playing to the tune of the guitar solo of Gun N' Roses' 'Sweet Child O' Mine.' Only seconds later, did the door swing open, revealing a robot, half of Mark's height. "SCANNING FACE... HELLO M-A-R-K, MARK." It greeted, well, robotically.

       "Hey, Edison," Mark greeted the robot nonchalantly, walking in and shutting the door behind him, "where's Cabbage?" He asked as he took off his shoes and placed it on the nearby shoe rack.

       "LOCATING THE DOCTOR..." Edison's eyes turned yellow, colour blinking repeatedly until it turned into a green light and stayed like that. "DOCTOR LOCATED - HE IS IN HIS LABORATORY DOWNSTAIRS."

       Because was it really surprising that the house belonged to a guy who invented things for a living and went by the name of a vegetable in a bizarre way to honour his idol?

       "Got it, I'll go meet up with him then." Mark informed, heading down the hall until he reached the black spiral staircase that led both to the third floor and bottom floor. It was really nice up there on the third floor though; Mark had been there before and it even came with a movie room! Too bad Cabbage rarely used it because he "doesn't have time for action sequences". So Mark, being the loyal lab assistant/test subject he was, headed down instead to the bottom floor, where he was greeted by a hallway that was lined up with pictures of old men on the walls. "My inspirations!" Cabbage would say. Among them were the likes of Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison (who he named his robot after, clearly), Nikola Tesla... you got the drift.

       Regardless, Mark never stayed in the hall longer than he needed to - he wasn’t sure if portraits of old men who were dead by now staring at him was exactly his kind of vibe.

       At the very end of the hall, all that awaited him was a grey metallic door that had some vapour seeping through the narrow space at the bottom of it. "Shit, I didn't bring a fire extinguisher today..." Mark cursed, grabbing onto the straps of his backpacks and readjusting it on his shoulders. "It's okay, Mark. He hasn't killed you before, so he can't kill you today...?" He wasn’t sure what the logic behind that thought was but you couldn’t blame him for trying to... reassure himself for whatever was about to come beyond those doors. It was funny to him; he had been the lab rat of many of Cabbage's crazy experiments and inventions, yet he kept coming back and every time he did, the jitters were always there.

       Maybe it wasn’t because he was scared of death. Because he wasn’t - his father always drilled the idea into his head that God would welcome him with open arms when the time came. At the very least, if Mark died - most likely because of one of these experiments and inventions - he'd be bringing Cabbage with him. But hey, that was beyond the point.

       If not the fear of death, then what? Maybe, just maybe... one of these days, one of Cabbage's revolutionary inventions would actually be successful. That for all of the craziness that's going on inside the mad scientist's head, it would finally pay off.

       If only he knew when.

       Mark reached for the handle and twisted it, pulling the door open and nearly coughing when a whole cloud of mist and vapour rushed at him. "Jeez, Cabbage, what are you doing this time?" Mark coughed into his arm as he took a step into the laboratory. He actually couldn't see the scientist at first, waving his hand around in hopes that he'd be able to swat away the mist and vapour. The space around him eventually did clear, though, revealing...

       Nothing?

       Instead of the usual grand machine that looked like it was taped together, Mark was greeted with... a clear space. The scientist was over at his desk just up a set of stairs that led to a second floor within the big room. "Cabbage!" Mark called after him, waving his hands to get his attention.

       Whatever the scientist was busy doing, it was important enough to leave Mark ignored for a good five seconds. It left him pouting, though the scientist eventually did glance over at the boy, his eyes widening behind his circular glasses. "Mark, boy, there you are!" Cabbage sprang out of his seat, quickly rushing down to the boy he had called over. He held some sort of watch in his hands, like it was the most precious thing in the world. Jeez, since when did Cabbage wear Rolex? "Took you long enough! I was bouncing in my seat waiting for you to come over! But in the meantime, I was able to complete another one after confirming my calculations for the twenty-seventh time..."

       One thing that nobody wanted to do was sit through Cabbage's rambling, prompting Mark to speak up. "Whoa, calm down, Cabbage. What's going on? Where's your invention?"

       "Oh Mark, you're looking at it." Cabbage held out the watch and Mark raised an eyebrow.

       "That small thing?" Mark narrowed his eyes at the watch in the scientist's hand. "Are you sure? Last time I came in for one of your creations, it was twice my size and almost killed me." But knowing the kind of person Cabbage was, Mark wouldn't be too surprised if this little watch managed to wreck havoc as well. How ironic it would be, for something so small to cause so much chaos.

       Cabbage shook his head, meeting Mark's gaze with oddly serious eyes. "Mark, the creation I hold in my hand can - and will - change the world. If left in the wrong hands, everything could collapse. Society will crumble, the universe will be left in a never-ending stream of terror, reality will no longer exist, the concept of time will-"

       "Okay, okay," Mark was left, once again, trying to calm down the frantic scientist, "Cabbage, deep breaths. Tell me, what did you create?" It couldn't be that bad that it left the older man going on some admittedly fear-inducing rant.

       "A time travel machine."

       One Mississippi, two Mississippi...

       "Alright, I'll see you next time then, Cabbage." And almost immediately, Mark turned on his heel, prepared to just dip out of there.

       "Wait, no, Mark!" The scientist called after the boy, grabbing a hold of his sleeve, "Please, hear me out!"

       "Time travel, Cabbage!" Mark whirled around, disbelief painted in his features. "Do you even hear yourself right now? That's impossible! This is impossible! Listen, I'm fine with being your test subject but even I have to put my foot down somewhere when things get a bit too crazy!"

       Despite Mark's reasonable concerns, Cabbage really didn't feel like letting his lab assistant slip away from the tip of his fingers, especially now of all times. "Come on, Mark! Twenty-seven times! I checked my calculations twenty-seven times! Don't let my hard work go down the drain!"

       "Then do it yourself! Time travel yourself!" Mark exclaimed.

       "I can't! I need you to go so I can stay behind and collect all the data while making sure you don't get stuck in the future or something!" Cabbage explained.

       Unfortunately, Mark's face still showed utter disbelief. "You know, this really doesn't help your case, Cabbage!"

       "Fine! We'll do this the fair way then!" Cabbage shouted, holding his fist out.

       "Are you serious? Rock, paper, scissors?!" Mark cried out, covering his eyes. If there was one thing he couldn't say no to, it was rock, paper, scissors. Why? Maybe because he boasts a seven-hundred-fifty-two win record, with a mere twenty-one losses in the game. As you could probably assume, Mark was the undisputed rock, paper, scissors king in Uicheon, and only two kinds of people would dare challenge him in the game when it came to bets. Those who were bold and those who were desperate.

       "I mean it, Mark! If you win, you can walk right out that door and never look back. I won't force this onto you. But if I win..." If Cabbage won, "you have to at least give this experiment a thought."

       "Wait, that's it?" Mark uncovered his eyes, surprise in his voice. But hey, it wasn't a bad deal at all - in fact, the opposite. If Mark won - which he was pretty much guaranteed to - he could leave. If he didn't, he could pretend he thought it over and just say no in the end. "Well shit, say no more, Cabbage." And out Mark's fist went. “On shoot?”

       "On shoot." The scientist confirmed, the two men placing their fists behind their backs.

       "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

       Rock for Mark, and... rock for Cabbage.

       "You got lucky." Mark rolled his shoulders back. "But this is it." And back their fists went behind them.

       "Rock, paper, scissors... shoot!!"

       Scissors for Mark, and... rock for Cabbage.

       "I won..." Cabbage glanced down at his fist, mouth left agape, "I-I won! Against you!"

       Yikes, better make that record seven-hundred-fifty-two wins to twenty-two losses now.

       "I-I..." Mark was still in disbelief, for a totally different reason now, however. "I... I lost?" Under such circumstances too... but seriously! Time travel was a bit too much! "H-Hey, that doesn't mean I'm going to be going through with this! Remember, you said if you won, you'd let me think about it!" Mark reminded.

       "Yeah, but only because I didn't think I'd actually win!" Cabbage snorted, shaking his head as he tucked the watch safely in the pocket of his white lab coat. "But I am a man of my word, so I'll give you some time to think about it. How about until the end of the day?" He suggested.

       "That's a bit too soon, don't you think?" Mark frowned, not really liking the idea of being forced into a decision so quickly.

       "Sorry, is that loser talk?" God, that damn Cabbage always knew how to get under Mark's skin.

       "Fine, by the end of the day. But don't be surprised if my answer doesn't change." Mark warned. "Now if that's it, I'll be going." Mark huffed, turning around and heading to the door once more. This time, the scientist let him go, but not without some parting words.

       "See you soon, Mark."

       (Y/N) doesn't know where her life went wrong.

       Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration and a dramatic one as well, but it didn't change the fact that instead of living out in the city and pursuing her dream as a world renown film director, she was stuck in her small hometown, working full-time at a film-rental store.

       What was even the point of this store anyway? Everything was online nowadays anyway - who did the owner think he was, trying to compete with Netflix?

       "One Mississippi, two Mississippi..." (Y/N) mumbled to herself from behind the counter, staring dully at the analog clock hung just above the front doors. An analog clock - what year was this again?

       "(Y/N)," the voice of the store's owner, Mr. Yoon, was a less than welcoming disruption to her daily "clock-watching" (as she termed it herself), but at least it was a good way to remind her that the day was almost over, "did the kids all go home already?"

       (Y/N) nodded, reaching below into the counter for a piece of paper with names and times. "Yup, Jungwoo and Sungchan just finished their shifts half an hour ago." She pointed to their names on the paper, "Signed out here."

       "Great. You're in charge of closing up for today then, I have business in the city." Mr. Yoon informed, proudly readjusting his grip on the handles of his briefcase.

       "Godspeed, Mr. Yoon." (Y/N) nodded, watching as the man left with a nod. And as the doors closed behind him, the female found herself alone in the store. All alone... which actually wasn't even that uncommon.

       (Y/N); twenty-four years old, graduated from a local college two years ago with a degree in Film Studies with hopes of eventually entering the field of film-making and directing. She had high hopes, especially when she graduated. "To the city and A-list I go!" She could remember cheering that day in her car, diploma in hand and graduation gown still on.

       But somebody must have forgotten to tell her that the university you went to mattered - and just how competitive the job market was for... pretty much every job.

       Now this wasn't to say the college she attended was bad or anything, it just wasn't... one of the SKY universities.  And before she knew it, when it came time for job hunting, the positions were constantly being filled out by "better candidates" and after a certain amount of "we regret to inform you"s, (Y/N) decided to go back home.

       Home, in the beautiful yet small town of Uicheon. All she wanted was to make it big, live in a nice condo in Seoul and shop at luxury brands. Yet now, she found herself wearing what was possibly a ten-year-old uniform from the back storage with a name tag that was always tilted at a forty-five degree angle no matter how many times she tried to fix it.

       But don't get her wrong! She hadn't given up yet - she absolutely would not! Her films might not be playing in theatres or at the Busan International Film Festival, but she still enjoyed writing up ideas and getting some of her co-workers to act out some scenes for her while she filmed eagerly with her trusty camcorder.

       The Sony HDR-CX675; this bad boy cost her a good two months of saving up but God, was it worth it. Jungwoo in a wig and Sungchan throwing pens like they were daggers had never looked so good in HD until (Y/N) had gotten her hands on that beloved camcorder of hers.

       "Should I film the clock or something?" She sighed, eyes wandering back over to the analog clock. At least she only had an hour left before the store closed, and she usually spent most of that time cleaning up anyway.

       And so that hour began, dreadfully long until with only ten minutes to spare, the front door had opened, prompting (Y/N) to rush back to the counter from the storage room, though not without grumbling to herself quietly about what asshole comes into a store ten minutes before they close.

       But it wasn't just anybody who came in - it was Mark, the boy who always complimented her hair no matter how lazy she had been to brush it that day. Still, flattery always earned some brownie points in (Y/N)’s books. So she wasn't hesitant at all when she had greeted Mark. "Hey, it's nice to see you here! Renting a movie?" She asked, resting her arms on the counter top.

       "Yeah, looking for some Christian-friendly Halloween movie. For the kids at church this Sunday, since Halloween is tomorrow." Mark chuckled shaking his head.

       "Let me see what I can find," (Y/N) grinned as she slipped away from the counter and to one of the shelves, "I'll be honest though, you're probably better off showing the kids some cartoon from Netflix or something."

       As if Mark was going to tell her that he insisted to his dad on renting a movie, for he wanted to see and talk to the girl of his dreams who currently had her back turned to him. "Well you know us, terrible with technology." Instead, that was all he could muster up.

       "I'll bet." She snickered jokingly, turning back to him with a movie now in her hand, "Toy Story of Terror sound good to you?"

       "Better than showing them Scream." Mark shrugged before heading back to the counter with her. "I'll pay with debit."

       "Mhm," (Y/N) nodded, taking his card and swiping it for him through the machine, "you know the usual, watch within thirty days and return it after those thirty days." She reminded him with a yawn. God forbid Mr. Yoon ever see that.

       "Busy day?" Mark offered a small sympathetic smile as he took his card back as well as the movie. "I kind of get it. Cabbage called me in for one of his inventions today."

       "Today?" She asked, watching as the boy across from her nodded. "What was it this time?" Everybody in town felt bad for Mark since he was the one always testing out Cabbage's inventions, but at the same time, at least it wasn't them?

       "Gosh, you wouldn't believe me if I said it." He shook his head with a heavy sigh. "A time travel machine - or like, a time travel watch, I guess."

       "Time travel?" The gasp from the female was expected; anybody would be surprised. "I always knew Cabbage was ambitious but definitely not to the extent of time travel!"

       "Yeah, needless to say, I said no. Or like, I told him I would think about it, you know?" Mark frowned. "I just can't believe... time travel of all things."

       "I'll be honest," there was a smile spreading on (Y/N)’s face, to the slight surprise of Mark, "the idea of time travel sounds so cool though. I'd love to try it out." When Mark had brought up what had happened at Cabbage's house, he didn't think (Y/N) would actually be... interested in the scientist's invention. Definitely not when it was so absurd. But she looked so cute, the way she stood up straighter and her attentive eyes as he talked about it. Gosh, he wished he could tell her that it wasn't worth the time. But her interest was clear, that much he couldn't ignore.

       "Then... why don't you try it in my place?" Mark suggested hesitantly. He didn't want (Y/N) and her pretty little self anywhere near those dangerous creations, for concern of her safety. But she really seemed to be interested in this, and this... it was the least he could do.

       "Alone? No thanks." She giggled softly, to the relief of the boy who had suggested it in the first place. "Maybe if someone else was with me though. Like a time travel duo!" Hold up - someone else?

       "This is your chance, Mark!" His inner voice practically screamed at him. Anything for (Y/N), right? "But it's so dangerous!" His other inner voice tried deterring him from going through with what he was about to suggest. But for (Y/N)! "Then," Mark felt his heartbeat quicken, excitement and hope visible in his eyes, "you wouldn't mind if we did it together, would you?"

       If his friends Johnny and Donghyuck were here, they'd definitely be cheering and slapping him on the back. It felt like he was asking her out, something he always dreamed of doing but never really having the guts to do so. Rejection was a scary thought, but as he watched the wide smile that spread onto (Y/N)’s face, he knew he had something to look forward to, even if through... this.

       "Of course! it'll be fun!" Score! "Too bad only one person can go though, I assume." She frowned.

       And for a second, Mark's hopes had shattered once again. But then he remembered something back at Cabbage's house, and maybe, just maybe, it wasn't over yet. "Actually, I think Cabbage mentioned making two watches." After confirming his calculations twenty-seven times. "Why don't we go together?"

       "Seriously? You wouldn't mind?" Oh, what Mark wouldn't given just to see that wide smile on (Y/N)’s face every single second of the day.

       And with a smile of his own, he nodded. "Of course not, noona."

       Love has always been a motivation for man, ever since the beginning of humans. And as time continued on and advanced, a variety of factors had been added to that list of motivation, such as money and power. But one constant above all was always going to be love - something that had always been interpersonal.

       So that was why Cabbage wasn't too particularly surprised to see Mark come back to his house later in the evening, this time, with a female companion. And judging by the look of awe on her face, it didn't take much for the scientist to connect the dots. "Mark, you came back!" Cabbage smiled down at the boy from the second floor of his basement lab. "With a friend this time?"

       "Right," Mark cleared his throat, gesturing to the scientist, "(Y/N), this is Cabbage as you already know, and Cabbage, this is (Y/N), my friend."

       "Hi! It's great to be here! Like, really great." (Y/N) was still enamoured by the many... things going on in the lab, though Mark couldn't blame her.

       "Anyway Mark, have you given my invention a thought?" Cabbage inquired, standing up from his seat by his computer and leaning against the railing. "I assume that's why you're here, after all."

       Mark nodded. "I have." He confirmed, biting down on his lip. "And I'll do it."

       "You will?" The scientist's eyes widened, grin spreading on his face. "That's great!"

       "But," Mark began, gaze falling over onto (Y/N) for a short second before back onto the scientist, "with conditions."

       "Conditions?" Cabbage raised an eyebrow, pleasantly intrigued.

       "Conditions!" (Y/N) suddenly spoke up with a grin, earning a look from the two. "Sorry, it just felt kind of intense so I wanted to ease tensions a bit." She coughed, glancing back and forth between the two. "Please, continue." She urged.

       "A-Anyway yes, conditions." Mark cleared his throat before turning to the scientist once more. "I want (Y/N) to come with me. You have two watches, don't you?"

       "I do." Cabbage nodded, fishing his hand into the pocket of his lab coat and bringing out two identical watches. "So far, they're the only two I have so I need to make sure that your friend will be extra careful with this."

       "She will." Mark reassured without any hesitation. "I know she will, because she's (Y/N)." A man who was claiming everybody's hearts left and right - except for (Y/N)’s though, unfortunately.

       Cabbage looked as if he was pondering on the thought for a bit before eventually nodding and making his way down the stairs. "Well, if Mark is vouching for you, I guess it should be okay." Cabbage nodded before gesturing for the two to follow him to the back of the lab, where large screen rested on the wall and multiple smaller monitors on both it's sides, resting on a glass desk. Below it were multiple keyboards, a few touch pads here and there with clearly different functions. It was like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. "This is where I'll be monitoring and communicating with you two while you're in whatever time period you land in." He explained, gesturing to his set up.​​​​​​​

       "What about the watches?" (Y/N) asked.

       "I'm just getting to that." Cabbage nodded, reaching for the two watches once again. "Gather around, you two." He motioned for them to come closer. "It looks like a regular analog watch at first, but if you tap the clock face," he did what he had just said, the other two watching in awe as a small digital hologram had appeared in the air, just above the clock face, "it has information such as your battery life on the right hand corner, the date and time you're in, the option to video call me, and the option to switch time periods." He pointed out each detail on the hologram. "Now the problem with the switching time periods is that once you arrive somewhere, you're stuck there for, at a minimum, twenty-four hours before the voltage and particle energies recharge and allow you to travel elsewhere."

       "Wait, so you're staying we might be stuck in a different time for a whole day?" Mark asked, a bit of alarm evident in his voice.

       "Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find out the proper calculations to make the recharging process quicker but for the meantime... yes." The scientist sighed. "But hey, at least it's not twenty-five hours...?"

       "Cabbage!" Mark groaned, running his hand down his face.

       "I mean, twenty-four hours doesn't sound that bad." (Y/N) hummed. "I'd love to explore a different time period, really get to know what it was like!"

       "See, at least someone's optimistic." Cabbage sent a not-so-subtle look over at Mark. "But anyway, I actually have a quest for you two."

       "Ooh, a quest! I feel like I'm in a video game." (Y/N) giggled, and if it weren't for the fact that she was totally digging this right now, Mark would have just straight up left out of fear for his own safety.

       "Exactly!" Cabbage nodded eagerly. "Since you two will be going to different time periods, I want you to bring back a memento of some sort from each time period."

       "Anything specific?" Mark asked, wanting to make sure he was going into this with full details.

       "Yes, for the purpose of analytic purposes due to their high amount of energy." Cabbage turned to the two, a suddenly serious look on his face. "A meaningful item to at least one person you encounter."

​​​​​​​        The two waited for him to say more, but nope, all he did was stare back at them. Mark ended up being the first to speak up. "Hm, I think you're missing the part where you, oh I don't know, tell us what you mean by ‘meaningful item’??"

       "That will vary from person to person, Mark boy." Cabbage sighed, giving an empathetic pat on the boy's shoulder. "One person's 'meaningful item' might be a necklace that their mother gifted them, or maybe a letter from a lover for a soldier - everything in life is a variable anyway."

       "Wait, then how do we know something is a meaningful item?" (Y/N) asked.

​​​​​​​        "That's where this last function of the watches come in," Cabbage turned his attention back to the watches, "this icon," he pointed to one of the icons on the hologram screen that resembled a heart, "will allow you to scan a person once you've talked to them. This only works one person at a time though, and it does drain a lot of energy from the watch battery. It'll allow you to see particles coming from objects, like sparkles. The more vivid, bigger and brighter the particles, chances are that's your person's meaningful item. So be careful with who you choose to use it on - once you scan that person, you'll have to find their meaningful item before you can use it again. Not to mention that the longer it takes for you to find the meaningful item, the more energy it drains." He warned.

​​​​​​​        "Talk about ominous, gosh." Mark sighed, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

       "It'll be exciting though, Mark." (Y/N) glanced over at the boy beside her, a grin spreading on her face. "We're in this together, after all!"

       "Noona..." A shade of red coated Mark's cheeks as he stared down at her, eyes sparkling with adoration.

       "Ahem, and me too." Cabbage interrupted, "Just, I'll be back here handling everything."        

       "Yes, of course, because where would we be without you, Cabbage?" Mark sighed, feeling a bit salty over the scientist's interruption during his and (Y/N)’s "moment".

       "Love you too, Mark." Cabbage blew a kiss his way before handing a watch to Mark and (Y/N) each. "Are you two ready?"

       "Wait, we're doing this so soon?" Mark's eyes widened, staring down at the watch in his hands with a bit of fear.

       "Better sooner than later." Cabbage shrugged, helping attach the watch onto Mark's wrist and then to (Y/N)’s. "You guys will be fine, don't worry. I'm here, after all!"

       "So reassuring, Cabbage." Mark grumbled, about to protest over the quick timing and suddenness of all of this if not for the sudden feeling of warmth in one of his hands. He glanced down at said hand, eyes lingering on the smaller hand that had clasped his own. And as his eyes wandered up to the hand's owner, he swore she was going to be the death of him.

       "It'll be okay, Mark." (Y/N) squeezed his hand softly with a reassuring smile. "We're in this together." She repeated.

       "Right..." Mark trailed off before taking a deep breath and nodding. "Together." He then glanced over at the scientist. "We're ready, Cabbage."

       With an excited smile, the older man nodded before turning to his set up and taking a seat down in the chair. The sounds of his quick tapping against the keyboard keys had Mark worrying with every passing second, but as (Y/N) held his hand, he figured this wouldn't be a terrible way to die. "Adios, you two!" Cabbage called out before hitting one last button. Click!

       And as a bright and large flash of light illuminated within the lab, Mark knew it had begun, especially with the way his limbs practically burned and his consciousness struggling to stay intact.

       The things he'd do for love, huh?

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety Two

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

September 1st, 2002

Theo was laughing with Emile, talking about his girlfriend, and his girlfriend’s boyfriend, and how they were trying to figure out living arrangements for that whole situation. “That’s crazy, Theo,” Emile said, shaking his head. “I never pinned you as bisexual, let alone polyamorous.”

“Hey, some people are full of surprises!” Theo said. “I’m just glad you’re cool with it.”

“I mean, listen. It’s not for me personally, but if other people enjoy it, who am I to stop them?” Emile asked.

Theo nodded. “It just kinda sucks that I can only marry one of my partners, and that’s if she’s a she,” he said. “Only get tax benefits from one person.”

“Also only get to visit one person in the hospital, one person’s bank account, one person’s credit score...” Emile continued.

“I know,” Theo groaned. “Being flippant is my way to cope, Emile, don’t be a dick and bring up the worst-case scenarios.”

“Sorry,” Emile said sheepishly.

“‘S all good,” Theo said, and conversation moved on.

  October 30th, 2003

“I know it’s not Wicked, but it was still a good show, wasn’t it?” Emile asked as the crowd got to its feet in the theatre.

“Huh?” Remy asked.

Emile rolled his eyes affectionately. “The Broadway musical? Its opening night was tonight. I know this isn’t Broadway, but they still put on a good show.”

“Yeah,” Remy agreed. “It was a good date night.”

Emile’s hand reached for Remy’s and Remy smiled at Emile as they walked out to the front of the theatre. “All the actors and actresses killed it up there,” Remy said.

“Agreed,” Emile laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone quite as good on stage as that...uh...Marco? Was that his name?”

Remy flipped open the leaflet with all the actors' names and made an affirmative noise. “Marco, yeah. He was the lead.”

“Yeah, he was good. Could probably do some professional stuff if he really wanted,” Emile said.

The two of them exited the theatre, still holding hands. They laughed at their favorite moments of the play, and continued to talk until they reached a rougher part of the city. They had to park a few blocks away from the theatre, and they weren’t in Fairview, but a town over. Emile got the distinct sense that they were being watched. Remy seemed to be getting the same feeling, looking around. “We should get out of here,” Remy muttered quietly under his breath.

No sooner had he said that then some drunk guys staggered out of an alleyway. “Hey!” the leader of them shouted. “Haven’t you boys heard? Fags aren’t welcome in this city!”

Emile squeezed Remy’s hand slightly as the two of them turned to face the three guys who were clearly drunk and looking for a fight. “Then why are you here?” Remy shot back to the guy.

“Remy? Might not be the best time,” Emile hissed.

The man growled. “Listen to your pal, Remy. My friends and I aren’t fags. We served.”

Emile prayed Remy would keep his mouth shut, but Remy retorted. “You know, gay guys enter the military, too. ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ that whole deal? Yeah. Gay men serve. Probably more honorably than you, if there’s a war going on and you’re using ‘serve’ in the past tense.”

The man turned red and his buddies advanced on Emile and Remy. Remy moved in front of Emile. “Come now, boys. You can do more than intimidation, can’t you?”

One of them swung at Remy, hard, and Emile watched in horror as the world slowed down. Remy’s head collided with a fire hydrant, and he crumpled to the ground. “Oh my God, Remy?!” Emile exclaimed.

Remy didn’t respond, not even a groan. The three men looked surprised. “‘E’s not dead, is ‘e?” one of them asked uneasily.

“Better not stay and find out,” the first of them said. “You get off lucky this time, ya filthy queer.”

And with that, the three men ran off as much as one could run with excessive amounts of alcohol in their system. Emile knelt over Remy, scared to touch him. He pulled out his cellphone with shaky hands, calling an ambulance.

As the operator tried to soothe Emile’s nerves while the ambulance drove over, and Emile could hear the piercing wail of sirens. He couldn’t stop staring at Remy, who was bleeding from his head wound. Did head wounds bleed this much? Emile knew they bled a lot, but how much was too much?

The paramedics arrived and Emile fretted over what they were doing. He made to follow them into the ambulance, but one of them stopped him. “Sorry, we only allow family to come in the ambulance.”

Emile was frantic. “I am family! I’m his fiancé!”

“Unfortunately, fiancés don’t qualify as family,” the man said sympathetically. “You’ll have to meet us at the hospital.”

Emile ran his hands through his hair in frustration, but didn’t try to stop the paramedic as he ran to the front to drive the ambulance. Emile dashed the rest of the way to the car, tearing out of the parking lot and following the sound of the siren to get to the hospital.

Thankfully, they let Emile into Remy’s hospital room. Remy was still unconscious, and the nurse informed him that they were just waiting for an open room to do an MRI to see if anything had been damaged. Emile swallowed thickly. Brain damage. Remy could have brain damage. He tried not to laugh hysterically as the nurse left, or when she returned with another nurse to take Remy for a scan.

Emile waited for about twenty minutes, before Remy was rolled back into the room, slurring something unintelligible. “Your fiancé is here, Mister Picani,” the nurse said patiently. “Now please, stay in bed. The doctor saw no sign of permanent brain damage, but you still have a nasty concussion.”

“Emile!” Remy exclaimed, looking over at him and giving him a dopey smile. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, Remy, I want to make sure you’re okay!” Emile laughed.

The nurse turned to Emile. “He woke up shortly before the MRI, and we had to sedate him to keep him calm. He may be a little loopy for the time being.”

“That’s okay,” Emile laughed, standing and walking over to hold Remy’s hand. “As long as he’s mostly okay and in one piece, I’m happy.”

The nurse gave him a curt nod and left them alone.

“Rem, don’t you ever instigate homophobes again,” Emile said sternly.

Remy groaned. “C’mon, Emile. Hardly the first time homophobes ‘ve taken a swing at me.”

“But it will be the last,” Emile said. “Understand? I cannot make you a frequent flyer at the hospital.”

Remy sighed. “Fine.” He did a slow blink, before giggling. “Mio amore, there was a nurse with a cute butt who cleaned the blood off my head. He also sedated me, though. That was kinda mean.”

“Apparently, you were freaking out before the MRI,” Emile said.

“Well...yeah. You weren’t there,” Remy said with a pout.

“They didn’t let me follow you,” Emile said. “The nurse didn’t even ask.”

Remy sighed. “I bet if we were married, they would’ve.”

Emile nodded. “I bet you’re right.”

They let silence envelope them for a minute. Emile felt his heart hurt. He wanted so badly for them to be married. But that still wasn’t a guarantee. The Massachusetts Supreme Court was taking its sweet time.

“Emile,” Remy said, capturing Emile’s attention. “Lie down with me.”

“Remy, I can’t—”

“Sure you can,” Remy said, scooching over on the bed. “Lie down with me.”

Emile sighed and laid down next to Remy.

“I’m okay. I have a concussion, but I’m okay. Understand?” Remy said. “Neither of us are super injured or super dying. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I hope so,” Emile said softly.

“I know so,” Remy said with all the definiteness of someone high as a kite on sedatives and painkillers. “You’re here. That means everything will be okay.”

Oh. That was...oddly sweet. “Thanks, Rem,” Emile said with a smile.

“Anytime, hot stuff,” Remy giggled. He wrapped an arm over Emile’s chest and hummed. “You’re warm,” he purred.

Emile laughed. “And you’re, apparently, a cat,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around Remy.

Remy yawned. “The doctors aren’t going to let me sleep, are they?”

“I mean, they already know you have a concussion, so they might let you rest,” Emile said. “Truth be told, Rem, I don’t know.”

Remy grumbled. “My head still kinda hurts even with painkillers. I just wanna sleep it off.”

Emile lightly ran his fingers through Remy’s hair, and Remy leaned into the touch. “Try and sleep before they tell you that you can’t, then.”

Remy hummed. “Usually you’re a stickler for the rules, mio amore.”

“Usually you’re not in the hospital with a concussion and bound to whine about it, my love,” Emile said with a little grin.

“You just want me to stop whining?” Remy asked with a pout. “That’s so not romantic.”

“Well, I do also want you to rest up and heal well...” Emile said. “It’s just not my topmost priority.”

Remy stuck his tongue out at Emile and Emile stuck his out right back. “You mind if I call Mom and Dad?” Emile asked.

“No, go ahead,” Remy said, waving a hand. “I know you’re gonna want me to stay out of Sleep Easy and the home office, and you’re gonna wanna ask them about being my orderlies while you go to school.”

Emile sighed. “You are way too good at reading me, my love.”

Remy smiled dopily, “I should hope so, knowing you this long.”

Gently, Emile pushed up in the bed and left the room to make the call. He dialed the number and simultaneously hoped his parents would and wouldn’t pick up. “Hello?” his dad asked.

“Hey, Dad,” Emile managed to choke out.

“Emile? What’s going on that has you calling this late?”

“Well...uh...Remy landed himself in the hospital,” Emile said with a strangled laugh. “Moderate to severe concussion.”

“Oh my God,” his father breathed. “Is he okay?!”

“He’s awake now, thank God,” Emile said. “But I won’t be able to look after him when they release him from the hospital.”

“Your mother and I can come over and make sure he’s all right, Emile, don’t you worry about that,” his dad assured. “You need to make sure you keep passing your classes and that your fiancé is happy. Your mother and I are more than willing to be the bad guys in this situation if that means keeping him out of his damned office for a few days.”

Emile laughed. “Yeah, I don’t wanna be the one facing his wrath when he figures out that he won’t be able to work in the shop for at least two weeks,” he said. He sobered. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from your lawyer friends in Massachusetts?”

“Not yet,” his dad sighed.

“They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance with Remy,” Emile admitted tearfully. “I was scared out of my wits, there was so much blood, he was unconscious and they just...wouldn’t let me ride with him. All because we weren’t married.” He spat the last word. “I swear, Dad, I wanted to strangle them then and there if they weren’t helping Remy.”

His dad blew out a breath. “I can’t imagine, Emile. I can’t imagine what that must have felt like. Nothing I can think of would do it justice.”

“I was terrified,” Emile said.

“You had every right to be,” his dad said. “That’s a terrifying thing. Now, without discounting that, I want to remind you that Remy is alive, and safe. Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emile nodded. “I understand.”

“Good,” his dad said. “Because your future husband needs your support too, I’ll bet.”

“Once the pain meds wear off and he’s no longer high as a kite, yeah,” Emile said wryly. “That’s when I’ll ream him for pissing off the wrong homophobes.”

“What?!” his dad asked, incredulous. “Emile, you need to report that to the police. That’s a hate crime!”

“Lots of good that’ll do, Dad. These guys were homophobes and vets. The cops won’t care,” Emile spat.

“Did they start it?” his dad asked.

“They’ll argue we started it, but we were just holding hands while we walked out of the theatre,” Emile said.

“Then report it, Emile! That is a hate crime! Don’t take that standing down!” his dad snapped.

Emile blinked. “Is this a you being protective thing or is this a I’m a lawyer and no one is above the law thing?”

“Emile, I can get a lawyer for you, pro bono. All I have to do is call in the right favors. They’re the ones responsible for the hospital bills, they’ll have to pay for them. Report this.”

Sometimes, Emile forgot how scary his dad got when he decided to go into lawyer mode. He swallowed. “Okay, Dad. I will.”

“Good,” his dad said. “Give that husband of yours a hug from both me and your mother. We’ll drive over tomorrow.”

[kaesaaurelia]

books and reading in 2021

Overall I’d like to read at least 65 books for 2021 and I’d like for most of those to be new-to-me and things I either already own or have listed as to-read on Goodreads.

So far I have read 11/65 books and 4 fanworks.

Themed reading challenge checklists and brief book reviews are under the cut.  I may or may not finish any of these challenges; again, my goal is to cut down my to-be-read list and unread books I own, and themes and deadlines help me pick a book rather than hemming and hawing.

Book reviews answer the questions “Did I like it? Was it good? Would I recommend it?” (please note these are very different questions) and how many stars I rated it.

I may put fanfiction, webfiction, and other things that are very much not traditional books down on here as well, depending on how booklike I’ve decided they are.

The FFA reading challenge, 2021 (2/12 books)

JANUARY - The Pandemic Year - a medical thriller, or a book about medicine The Poisoner's Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York by Deborah Blum Did I like it? Yeah! Was it good? I think so.  Sometimes the prose meandered in such a way that I felt the author was kind of saying dun dun dun! under her breath at me, and I was like “idk, is that significant?” but usually it was good. Would I recommend it? Do you have a strong stomach? Then sure. 4 stars

FEBRUARY - Macavity/Ratigan - a genre you wouldn't normally read Jane Doe by Victoria Helen Stone, book 1 in the Jane Doe series Did I like it?  Yes!  Very much!  The power fantasy of being able to take vengeance against people who hurts your loved ones, without feeling bad about it, was really appealing to me, a person who feels guilt over a frankly ridiculous number of things.  It was also genuinely funny. Was it good?  I thought so.  The narrator had a really strong voice that struck the right balance between creepy cold indifference and endearing little moments of self-discovery. Would I recommend it? Yes, but with the caveat that there’s some pretty serious emotional abuse of the protagonist’s false persona (which she encourages and privately gloats about), and she also gets close to committing serious violence, including fantasizing at length about it. 5 stars

MARCH – 100+ Comments of Terror - a book set in the arctic, or a book about an expedition In the Land of White Death: An Epic Story of Survival in the Siberian Arctic by Valerian Albanov (ordered)

APRIL - Sexy John Oliver Rat – a book about animals, or a book with a character called Oliver or Olivia A Libertarian Walks Into a Bear by Matthew Hongoltz-Hetling (hardcover)

MAY - A Feud in Wolf-Kink Erotica - a book involving wolves, the legal system, or ripped from the headlines Song of the Summer King by Jess Owen (ebook)

JUNE - Showerhead Wank - a comedy of manners, an etiquette manual, or a book where someone wanks or has sex

JULY – My Shithead Is What You Are! - a book with profanity in it, or a book about themes of censorship

AUGUST - Yep, Still Indoors - a book involving travel, or being stuck in one place

SEPTEMBER - Socktopus, Maybe? - a book where someone has a secret identity, or a book about aquatic animals

OCTOBER - Politics is Sequestered – a book involving politics or politicians Boss: Richard J. Daley of Chicago by Mike Royko (owned in DRM’d ebook)

NOVEMBER - It's Canon in Spanish - read a book originally written in Spanish, or set in Latin America

DECEMBER - Apple Is a One Syllable Word - a book about language/linguistics/etc., or a book with a two syllable title. 

Around the Year in 52 Books (8/52 books)

A book related to “In the Beginning...”: (Using the subprompt a book set in the ancient world) The Odyssey by Homer, translated by Emily Wilson Did I like it? Yes; it was definitely a less comfortable read than prior translations I have read, but a more interesting one, I think.  A lot of details leapt out at me that I had either forgotten or that had been overlooked in the 3ish literature classes I have read the Odyssey for. Was it good? Yes! Would I recommend it? Probably, with the caveat that if you are just in it for a cool mythology story you would probably prefer an adaptation rather than a translation. 5 stars

A book by an author whose name doesn't contain the letters A, T or Y The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis Did I like it?  I really read this for the worldbuilding of Hell, so I liked that; to some extent I did also like some of the musings on how a lot of human foibles that people like to think of as virtues can actually be kind of shitty.  On the other hand, Lewis and I disagree about a lot of things -- mostly that whole Christianity thing.  So I liked it with caveats. Was it good? It was okay!  Again, I was not really there for the Christianity stuff.  I am never there for the Christianity stuff.  I am either precisely the wrong audience for all of C.S. Lewis’ stuff, or, if you look at it a certain way, precisely the right audience, but even if you look at it that way, he is never going to convince me; I wrote furious postcanon fanfiction about the dwarfs when I reread the Narnia books as a teenager and realized they were meant to represent people like me. Would I recommend it?  Probably not?  Unless you frequently write demons or other evil creatures trying to figure out how humans work, which I guess I am. 4 stars but only because that reveal at the end is great

A book related to the lyrics for the song "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music (The cover depicts a rose with raindrops or dewdrops on it.) Ensnared by Rita Stradling Did I like it? In a sense.  In a sense, I enjoyed this book.  It was a Beauty and the Beast retelling, and I like Beauty and the Beast.  There were robots, and I like robots.  And it certainly gave me something fun to talk about.  However, it also inspired me to try and figure out when and why I acquired this book, and while I still don’t know why I bought it, I was relieved to find that I only paid 99 cents for it.  For a more thorough description of the plot, please see my Goodreads review.  It was a weird book to start with, and then it really, really didn’t age well. Was it good?  IT SURE WASN’T. Would I recommend it?  No.  However, if you decide to read it I’d love to hear what you think.  Please.  Please talk to me about this book. 2 stars

A book with a monochromatic cover The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair That Changed America by Erik Larson Did I like it?  Yes, very much!  Also it accidentally became fic research.  I genuinely was just thinking “where do I slip Leonard into this narrative so he can try and fail to sabotage the Ferris Wheel?” and then I began to think about how much Leonard would admire and envy H. H. Holmes’ ladykilling ways.  But in general it was a really good read and had a lot of... Chicagoness, which I of course am fond of. Was it good? I thought so!  Obviously a lot of the narratives of Holmes’ murders were mostly the author’s speculation, but there were a lot of great research tidbits in there, and the picture the author paints of the World’s Fair was vivid and wonderful. Would I recommend it?  Yes, with the warning that this is true crime and there is vivid narration of several murders, including the murders of several children. 5 stars

A book by an author on USA Today's list of 100 Black Novelists You Should Read Wild Seed by Octavia Butler, book 1 of the Patternmaster series Did I like it?  Yes, but it was intense.  It takes a lot of skill to keep me reading and invested through so many horrors; the protagonist’s children and loved ones die on-page multiple times, in horrible accidents or senselessly murdered, and it hurts every time, but I kept reading.  Admittedly I am (predictably) extremely here for immortal enemies-to-lovers-to-enemies angst, so that was probably part of it. Was it good?  Yes!  I am kind of sad that I’m not just moving on to the next in the series (there are 3 more books), but also, god, I’m not sure I could handle it. Would I recommend it?  Yes, definitely, with the caveat that it is very dark and very sad. 5 stars

A love story Deal with the Devil by Kit Rocha, book 1 of the Mercenary Librarians series Did I like it?  It was good!  I gather both of the authors who are Kit Rocha were (are still?) in fandom, and it shows in the right ways; it doesn’t shy away from depicting sex pretty explicitly but there’s a lot of emotion in it, and the main couple is a m/f couple without the book being unpleasantly heteronormative.  Like, yeah, it’s about a big butch macho dude who’s broken inside and a woman who’s very caring, but the big butch macho dude is genuinely kind and not like, violent for the hell of it or overprotectively jealous, and the woman doesn’t drop everything to Heal His Pain.  (Also I think most of the characters, including the romantic leads, are established to have had same-gender lovers at one point or another without that being considered unusual or wrong in the setting, so that’s nice.)  It’s also a cheerful and optimistic post-apocalyptic book about two found families coming together to make the world a better place, despite the very grim backstories of pretty much everyone in the story, which is really nice. Was it good?  It was okay.  It was good popcorny reading; it’s not winning any literature prizes, but it sets out to be fun and readable and exciting, and it is all of those things.  Also, as noted above, the prose has a lot of the strengths of fanfic (not being afraid to mix genres, not being afraid of writing sex earnestly and emotionally but also explicitly, strong emotional focus) without the much-derided stereotypical weaknesses of fanfic. Would I recommend it?  Probably?  This isn’t a must-read; it’s happy to be idfic so if it sounds like it’d scratch your id I would recommend it, but it might not be Your Thing and that’s okay too. 4 stars

A book that fits a prompt suggestion that didn't make the final list (Using the subprompt a book related to a local industry or small business) The Gangs of Chicago: An Informal History of the Chicago Underworld by Herbert Asbury Did I like it? NO.  NO I DID NOT.  It made me genuinely angry.  It was a useful read for fic research and unfortunately I’ve got it in my little fic-writing reference material corner in my office but I DID NOT LIKE THIS BOOK IT WAS VERY BAD.  Many questionable or outright incorrect assertions and implications, and extremely racist and sexist.  For details, see my review on Goodreads. Was it good? It was actively bad. Would I recommend it? Not unless you are interested in it historiographically, or on the off chance that you are trying to find some fiddly details about a particular bit of Chicago crime history, but also have no responsibility to make sure those fiddly details are correct when you use them in the project. 1 star

A book set in a state, province, or country you have never visited The Last Duel: A True Story of Crime, Scandal, and Trial by Combat in Medieval France by Eric Jager Did I like it?  It was okay.  It was definitely interesting but not amazingly life-changing. Was it good?  It was fine!  I did think the underlying rape case was handled surprisingly sensitively given that this was a male author writing about 20 years ago about a medieval rape accusation and trial, but there is a chapter that is basically just the victim’s account of her rape, and it’s very brutal. Would I recommend it?  Do you want to understand more about trial by combat in the Middle Ages, and/or learn about how medieval people treated rape victims?  You should definitely read this book.  But if that doesn’t particularly interest you, probably not. 3 stars

A book you associate with a specific season or time of year Summers at Castle Auburn (ebook borrowed from CPL)

A book with a female villain or criminal Sin in the Second City: Madams, Ministers, Playboys, and the Battle for America's Soul by Karen Abbott (owned in paperback)

A book to celebrate The Grand Egyptian Museum The Oasis by Pauline Gedge (ebook)

A book eligible for the Warwick Prize for Women in Translation The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa (on hold at CPL; est. 3 week wait)

A book written by an author of one of your best reads of 2020 The Once and Future Witches by Alix E. Harrow (on hold at CPL; est. 10 week wait???)

A book set in a made-up place Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carey (paperback)

A book that features siblings as the main characters Sisters One, Two, Three by Nancy Star (ebook)

A book with a building in the title

A book with a Muslim character or author

3 books related to "Past, Present, Future" - Book 1

3 books related to "Past, Present, Future" - Book 2

3 books related to "Past, Present, Future" - Book 3

A book whose title and author both contain the letter "u"

A book posted in one of the ATY Best Book of the Month threads

A cross genre novel

A book about racism or race relations

A book set on an island

A short book (<210 pages) by a new-to-you author

A book with a character who can be found in a deck of cards

A book connected to ice

A book that you consider comfort reading

A long book

A book by an author whose career spanned more than 21 years

A book whose cover shows more than 2 people

A collection of short stories, essays, or poetry

A book with a travel theme

A book set in a country on or below the Tropic of Cancer

A book with six or more words in the title

A book from the Are You Well Read in World Literature list

A book related to a word given by a random word generator

A book involving an immigrant

A book with flowers or greenery on the cover

A book by a new-to-you BIPOC author

A mystery or thriller

A book with elements of magic

A book whose title contains a negative

A book related to a codeword from the NATO Phonetic Alphabet

A winner or nominee from the 2020 Goodreads Choice Awards

A non-fiction book other than biography, autobiography or memoir

A book that might cause someone to react “You read what?!?” Missing 411: Eastern United States by David Paulides (terrible pdf copy I’m not paying $100 for a book about extradimensional bigfoot)

A book with an ensemble cast

A book published in 2021

A book whose title refers to person(s) without giving their name

A book related to "the end"

There’s No Business Like Snow Business February Reading Challenge (8/8)

Snow is precipitation in the form of small white ice crystals formed directly from the water vapor of the air at a temperature of less than 0°C (32°F).

Read a book that has snow on the cover or snow in the title. Killing Dragons: The Conquest of the Alps by Fergus Fleming Did I like it? It was okay.  There was more about the personalities involved in early mountaineering than I did about actual mountain-climbing, which was fine, but didn’t get really exciting until those personalities got really dysfunctional. Was it good?  Again, it was okay.  The prose wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t gripping, and there was some odd (lack of) translation on occasion.  The research seemed thorough and solid, though. Would I recommend it?  Not really, unless you are specifically looking to research the Alps or early European mountain-climbing enthusiasts for a writing project or something, in which case, of course. 3 stars

Precipitation: Read a book that has any weather related term in the title. Trail of Lightning, book 1 of The Sixth World, by Rebecca Roanhorse Did I like it?  Yes!  This took me back to my first forays into urban fantasy as a preteen/young teen.  I loved the Diana Tregarde books and also Harry Turtledove’s The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump, and whenever I want urban fantasy that’s kind of the pattern I’m looking for?  An unfriendly world full of myths that are real and living and breathing and otherworldly but also they are probably trying to bum a cigarette off you.  I haven’t reread my favorite childhood urban fantasy because I think it probably won’t hold up, and later urban fantasy has mostly been not quite what I wanted, but this book was like being that kid all over again.  I’m not super familiar with Dine folklore/mythology so it was neat to learn a little bit about that, too, although obviously to learn those stories maybe don’t go to an urban fantasy novel. Was it good?  It was pretty good!  The prose wasn’t like, stylistically exciting, but it conveyed the plot well, and I did like the narrative voice, and the characterization was good, I thought. Would I recommend it?  Absolutely.  Content warning for violence (as per urban fantasy) and a child dies violently early on in the book, but if you were the kind of kid I was but you’re not really into paranormal romance or Harry Dresden, give it a try. 4 stars

Small: Read a book that has less than 200 pages. A Butt in the Mist: Stirred to the Core of My Bodice by the Duchess Triceratops of Helena by Chuck Tingle Did I like it?  I mostly did, but it wasn’t super exciting.  I liked the free book afterwards better.  It was funny, but Chuck’s been funnier. Was it good? This 4,000 word book was written with all the quality and attention to detail that I have come to expect from beloved author Chuck Tingle. Would I recommend it? Not really?  It was funny, but I think I like his more metafictional stuff better, and I think he gets a lot weirder with his m/m stuff; if I’m reading Chuck Tingle, I want it to be weird. 3 stars

Snow is formed of crystals and is a slang term for diamonds. Read a book in which a gem or other mineral can be found in the plot, title, or cover art. Ombria in Shadow by Patricia A. McKillip Did I like it?  Mostly!  I love the lush visuals of McKillip’s prose; they more than live up to the also gorgeous covers.  Dreamy fairytale stuff but with solid emotions and a good sense of place. Was it good?  I think so, although the dreamlike quality of the prose does mean you’re liable to miss something if your attention drifts. Would I recommend it?  Yes, I think so. 5 stars

Snow is a dessert made of stiffly beaten whites of eggs, sugar, and fruit pulp. Read a book with a dessert on the cover, or read a book in which a dessert is made. Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder by Joanne Fluke, book 1 of the Hannah Swensen series Did I like it? I enjoyed parts of it, but I thought it really suffered at the beginning, when our introduction to the detective was “not like other girls, not interested in DATING and MEN” and our introduction to her older sister is “she was a DITZY CHEERLEADER and now she’s married with a kid but she’s a HORRIBLE CAREER HARPY who WORKS ALL DAY and puts her child in DAYCARE and CAN’T COOK” and that was all just very tiresome.  The sister does turn out to have redeeming qualities and useful interests, but the way these two and their mother interact is all like, if you were asking yourself whether there’s such a thing as toxic femininity and what that would look like, it’s these women.  Aside from that, it was fine; it was a cozy mystery novel about a bakery specializing in cookies.  I will say, I did appreciate the Midwesternness of the small town Midwest setting. Was it good?  Not really.  I did kind of have to handwave a lot to let the detective get away with all the HIPAA violations and crime scene disturbing that she does, but it is a cozy mystery. Would I recommend it? Probably not; I’ve heard this series gets better so if you’re interested in the series and/or like the idea of cookie-themed cozies, maybe start with a different book, unless you’re a completist like I am. 3 stars

Snow is slang for cocaine. Read a book about drugs or drug addiction. The Man With the Golden Arm by Nelson Algren Did I like it?  It was not a fun read, by any means, but Algren’s prose is fantastic and it was such a novelty to see such a familiar accent represented by eye dialect.  (Which I know has fallen out of fashion and is considered the mark of a bad writer, but I really don’t mind it if it’s done well.)  It’s one of those books where nobody has a fair shake and everybody is doomed, but it doesn’t feel gratuitous.   All the characters are horrible to each other, but in fairness they are also horrible to themselves; it’s all they’ve ever known. Was it good?  Yes.  It was extremely good and I’m considering buying a physical copy so I can write things in the margins.  This is actually really weird for me to do; in high school we occasionally had to turn our books in so our teacher could be sure we were writing in them Correctly, and I found it a little painful, but I did want to do it with this book. Would I recommend it?  Yes, if you’re up for a really depressing story about heroin addiction and poverty. 5 stars

White is the color of snow. Read a book that contains white in the cover. The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin Did I like it? I definitely did.  I haven’t read much Le Guin yet for some reason, and while this did initially start off feeling exactly like just another ‘70s SF story where in the future we’ve solved all of psychology and it’s super mechanistic, it was really fascinating and surprisingly, unpleasantly prescient. Was it good?  I thought so!  There were some parts of it that were pretty awkward about race, from a 2021 perspective, but it does actually deal with race in a way that made me think “yes, that’s exactly what would happen as a consequence of this plot, and it would be horrible, oh no, oh shit,” and it is horrible. Would I recommend it?  I am not sure I would!  I would recommend it in like five years, assuming those five years are not much like the last five years.  Hoping and praying that those five years are not much like the last five, really.  The premise of the book -- which I haven’t explained, I realize -- is that in this near-future environmental dystopia, the main character can change things in real life by dreaming about them, and he would like to not do that, only he is put under the care of a psychiatric researcher who tries to play God.  So this poor man literally wakes up every day to a brand new dystopia and it felt... familiar. 4 stars

To snow someone is to deceive, persuade, or charm glibly. Read a book about a con artist, or read a book about deception. Empire of Deception: The Incredible Story of a Master Swindler Who Seduced a City and Captivated the Nation by Dean Jobb Did I like it?  I did.  I have joked that my own personal reading challenge this year is to fill up the Chicago shelf/tag on my Goodreads account, and this book was recommended to me in that spirit, and I always like hearing about a. Chicago; b. the 1920s; and c. con men conning people. Was it good?  The prose was fine; it was fun but I think the thing I appreciated most was all the punny newspaper headlines. Would I recommend it?  If you are someone who perks up at the sound of at least 2 out of 3 of the themes of “Chicago,” “1920s,” and “con men,” yes. 4 stars

2021 Q1 challenge: Changes (3/20)

Read a book that features:

The word "change" (Changes, Changing, or other variations) in its title. Weeds: How Vagabond Plants Gatecrashed Civilisation and Changed the Way We Think About Nature by Richard Mabey Did I like it?  It was all right.  I like hearing about plant history, and the chapter on plants unexpectedly surviving/thriving on battlefields and bombing sites was particularly interesting to me. Was it good?  It was okay, but kind of poorly-organized; there were chapter themes but it felt awfully stream-of-consciousness sometimes. Would I recommend it?  Maybe not unless you’re really into botany and Western anthropology.  (As in, the study of Western cultures; this book does not do much with other cultures.) 3 stars

The theme of money or money on its cover (loose change). Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik Did I like it?  I really, really liked it to the point that I feel kind of silly about it, gotta say.  I’m really, really hit or miss on the author’s work (both fanfic and profic) but the themes of this were perfect for me; Russian fairytales, a cynical but earnest sort of Judaism, creepy fairy abductions, interesting worldbuilding, and women coming together to help each other.  (Also some interesting enemies-to-lovers stuff that wasn’t really developed on the “lovers” side, which I would have dug.  Like its precursor, this book has a lot of f/f friends-to-lovers subtext and hostile canon het.) Was it good?  I don’t know?  I liked it enough that I genuinely don’t know if it was well-written. Would I recommend it?  I would, but I’m not sure you should trust me on this???  Again, this book really, really hit me in the id. 5 stars

An adaptation of its original format (book-to-manga, translation, etc.) Murder on the Rockport Limited! by Clint McElroy et al Did I like it?  It was okay, but not nearly as good as the original podcast’s murder train arc.  The art was good and all, but, eh. Was it good?  It was fine.  I’m not sure how into the DM/character conversations I am, and I found myself having to pause and reimagine the dialogue in the various McElroys’ voices, which wasn’t good because it meant I wasn’t automatically reading them in those voices in my head, which is a major litmus test I use when I’m deciding whether I want to keep reading a fanfic. Would I recommend it?  Definitely not as a standalone thing. 3 stars

The author's initials found in the word "change" Helen of Sparta by Amalia Carosella (in progress)

Separate book sections or part of a series of three or more books (make change) The Seduction of the Crimson Rose by Lauren Willig (in progress)

An author or character writing under a pseudonym The Maker’s Mask by Ankaret Wells (in progress)

A topic or character about which you feel differently now than in the past. La Belle Sauvage by Phillip Pullman

Changing one's mind about a life decision. A Tapestry of Magics by Brian Daley

Switching careers/jobs. The Goblin Emperor by Katherine  Addison

Relocating to a different city, state/province, or country. Fire Season: Field Notes from a Wilderness Lookout by Philip Connors

Cultivating new daily habits. How to Be Fine by Jolenta Greenberg and Kristen Meinzer

A character who shifts shapes or identities. The Lie: A Memoir of Two Marriages, Catfishing & Coming Out by William Dameron

Life changes due to age Two Old Women: An Alaskan Legend of Betrayal, Courage, and Survival by Velma Wallis

A medical transformation Specials by Westerfield, Scott

A life-changing experience. Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, & the Prison of Belief by Lawrence Wright

A changing household The Girl from the Other Side: Siúil, A Rún, Volume 1 by Nagabe

An action or phenomenon that transforms society or the world. Hard Times: An Oral History of the Great Depression by Studs Terkel

Replacing one thing with another (change out) In Vino Duplicitas: The Rise and Fall of a Wine Forger Extraordinaire by Peter Hellman & Charles Constant

Technological innovation Tubes: A Journey to the Center of the Internet by Andrew Blum

A game-changer. The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914 by Christopher  Clark

Fanfic Reading Challenge recs (1)

I have a private checklist with the fanfic reading challenge data, but will not be sharing all of the fics; fanfiction is generally an amateur endeavor, and many people do not enjoy receiving (or stumbling across) criticism of their work.  Bad reviews are normal and accepted as part of commercial publishing, and professional authors (hopefully!) get paid for their work, so I’m comfortable criticizing published novels.  I would prefer not to publicly criticize someone’s writing when they are just writing for the joy of it, especially since some of the tasks require me to read first-time authors’ fics, fics with relatively low kudos counts, fics for ships I don’t like, etc.  So I’m only putting the recs here.

Romancing the Tome by Anti_kate Good Omens; Aziraphale/Crowley; ~40k words; rated Explicit Romance novelist Aziraphale Wilder is pulled from his carefully ordered life when his sister is kidnapped and held to ransom. With the help of antiquities forger Anthony J Crowley, he braves the wilds of Scotland to rescue her and keep a priceless book from falling into the hands of dangerous book thieves. Did I like it?  Yes!  It was cheesy and cute and basically what I want out of this kind of romcom AU fic.  I’m not normally into human AUs and this one wasn’t like, super deep or anything, but it was very fun. Was it good? I thought so!  The dialogue was great, I enjoyed the characterization, the sex was good.  I do think the Crowley in this fic is pretty self-loathing in a way that I don’t see canon Crowley being at all, but I have a weakness for that and I also think self-loathing works for a human version of Crowley.  One thing it doesn’t shy away from is Crowley doing genuinely awful stuff (instead of being a misunderstood woobie) and yet the resolution is sweet and lovely anyway. Would I rec it? Yes!  Go read this fic.  It’s fast-paced but long enough to be worth settling in to read, it’s funny, and it’s sweet. 5 stars

In Holy Matrimony by Myracuulous Good Omens; Aziraphale/Crowley; ~6.7k words; rated General From the private journal of Alisha Jones, wedding planner, concerning the nuptials of Anthony J Crowley and Aziraphale and the planning process thereof, containing an account of chosen decor, guest list construction, and the holy war against the Antichrist that nearly ruined six months of professional organization and a very nice dinner. Did I like it?  Yes!  It was extremely cute, and I always really like outsider POV.  I did appreciate the fact that poor Alisha definitely knew something was definitely weird, but kept telling herself not to question it because a gorgeous wedding with an unlimited budget and zero issues with scheduling, catering, guest limits, etc. is a great problem to have. Was it good?  It was pretty good!  The climax and wrap-up felt a bit rushed, mostly due to the limits of outsider POV, but I did enjoy Aziraphale unexpectedly embracing his inner groomzilla while also being unfailingly sweet about it. Would I rec it?  Yup, especially if you want wedding comedy/fluff and outsider POV

Wrong Turn by anticyclone Good Omens; Aziraphale/Crowley; ~38k words; rated Teen And Up Lots and lots of somethings are wrong. First, Crowley's nearly hit by a car. Then he almost brains himself tripping over new and excessive piles of books at the bookshop. To add insult to near-injury, Aziraphale starts throwing knives at him. Safe to say his day could be going better.

The thing that's the most wrong of all is the universe, of course. In this one there was never an Arrangement. Aziraphale and Anthony (they can't both be 'Crowley') aren't friends and they certainly never agreed to prep for Armageddon. Unfortunately, the end of the world is two days away.

So that's something Crowley really has to fix before they can figure out how to get him home. Did I like it?  Oh yes.  I had read bits of this on ffa previously, and also anticyclone is a good writer (and a friend) so like, I was expecting it to be good; I was not disappointed. Was it good?  Yes!  I was particularly impressed at how much alternate backstory is set up in little hints here and there, and then explained more thoroughly in ways that take the AU Aziraphale and Crowley by surprise when they do finally get to talking. Would I rec it?  Yes!  Especially if you like a nice dose of enemies-to-lovers along with your friends-to-lovers, and also the awkwardness of meeting your alternate universe self.

Finished in January, not for reading challenges (3 books):

The Way of Kings, book 1 of The Stormlight Archive, by Brandon Sanderson Did I like it? It was fine. Was it good? I think so.  I am maybe not the best audience for epic fantasy at this point, partly because I’ve read a lot of it and partly because I habitually read 3-7 books at once at any given time. Would I recommend it? Maybe, but I feel like most of the people who would enjoy it have probably heard of it already. 3 stars

Get a Wiggle On, a Good Omens fanzine Did I like it? Yup! Was it good? Mostly, although as usual with zines and anthologies, quality varies piece by piece.   Of the fics I particularly liked “A Head Above Water,” “The Grapes of Mild Irritation,” and “Concerning the Great Serpent Glykon and the Angel Clothed With the Sun,” all of which are now available on AO3. Would I recommend it? If you like snakey Crowley, yes. 4 stars

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne Did I like it? Yes, very much!  A very silly thing I particularly liked (which unfortunately you cannot really replicate) is that the edition I have is an illustrated hardcover book from 1926 which I picked up cheap at a used bookstore, knowing I would like it because Jules Verne.  I didn’t think much about that specific date when I bought it, but I am now writing a fic set in 1926, with a character who has a habit of reading adventure novels and who I have specifically mentioned enjoyed Jules Verne in his childhood, so when I discovered the date the coincidence made me very happy.  The book itself smells very nice, it’s nice to hold, and as I was reading it I kept thinking about what Danny would think of the book, and whether he would try reading it aloud to Crowley, and wondering if the book smelled as nice in 1926 as it does now.  Maybe I will have Aziraphale give this book to him as a very small thank-you for all he has done to keep Crowley alive and well. Was it good? For the most part.  Jules Verne is prone to wandering off on tangents where he shows you his research, but I’m sympathetic to that, and there’s some really cool and atmospheric scenes in this book.  My favorite character was definitely Captain Nemo, who we don’t really learn much about.  Could have done without Conseil, the bland servant character who could be a naturalist in his own right, if he had any opinions of his own, or the period racism/imperialism, which unfortunately is so built into this kind of adventure novel.  But the environmentalism was a nice surprise, and you can definitely read some critiques of certain aspects of (Western?) culture at the time into Captain Nemo’s behavior; I have not yet read The Mysterious Island where Captain Nemo also appears, but I do get the impression a lot of people read him as being disgusted with imperialism. Would I recommend it?  Probably!  With the caveats above.  It was a good adventure story with some awesome visuals, and I kept thinking about what a pretty movie it would make with modern SFX, and how sad I would be that they would inevitably not spend just 3 solid hours on cool fish and interiors of the Nautilus and scenes of the lost city of Atlantis and Captain Nemo being very mysterious and dreamy scary, because they’d probably shoehorn an awkward romance into it. 4 stars

Finished in February, not for reading challenges (2 books):

The Deception of the Emerald Ring by Lauren Willig, book 3 of the Pink Carnation series Did I like it? I did.  It was a silly Regency romance novel with espionage elements, it is the third of a series I have enjoyed, and it contained an accidental/forced marriage to preserve a lady’s honor despite neither party to the marriage particularly liking or wanting to have anything to do with each other, and some misunderstandings about that.  Also spies. Was it good?  Not really.  It was fun and I liked the characters, but I don’t think the writing was of particularly high quality.  The handling of certain elements of English imperialism was not great, and bothered me enough to note it in my review on Goodreads. Would I recommend it? I’d recommend the series if it sounds like something you’d like; I might not recommend this specific book. 3 stars

The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley Did I like it?  No.  It was very dark, and I did not enjoy most of the book.  A lot of it was because it was very gritty and grim, and because I frequently don’t enjoy military fiction; a lot of it was because many of the dystopian aspects of our present reality that came to a head in 2020 were magnified in the book.  Part of it was also that the protagonist’s entire reality and memory was being denied for much of the book, and I think it reminded me of being gaslit.  (This is not a criticism of the book, or some kind of weird accusation that the book or its author was somehow abusing me, I just have this personal history.  In fact, it turns out the main character is being gaslit to some extent, and the author writes it very well.)  It was a minor relief when she finally decided the stuff she was going through was real, and a huge relief when she was able to talk to someone who believed her. Was it good?  Yes, I think so. Would I recommend it?  Not right now, but I think this would be a good book to read at a time when the world feels more stable.  I don’t say this because I want you to wait until everything’s fine to read it; I say this because it feels like a good anti-complacency read. 4 stars (3 for not being an enjoyable read, 5 for the actual plot; it averages out.)

In progress, not for reading challenges (1 book):

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation by 墨香铜臭

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Eleven

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa.

Chapter Eleven: A Balancing Act

My darling Inej,  

Don’t think for a minute I don’t know what you’re aiming at with this letter full of questions. You may have my heart, but you can’t be privy to all of my schemes, especially when I’m now aware that your birthday is next month. Did you think I would forget? My dear, I forget nothing.  

So, no, to all of your questions. I’m not telling you what I’ve been plotting lately. I’m not telling you what has been on my mind. I’m not telling you if I’ve been visiting Jesper and Wylan’s more than usual. You must wait in suspense just as Jesper did. That’s part of the experience.

And don’t make that scoffing sound when you read this. I remind you that this whole birthday gift experience business was all your idea. You have no one to blame but yourself.

How do I sleep at night, you asked? Noisily, I’ve been told, but just fine, thank you.  

With all of my scheming heart,

Kaz  

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To my favorite Inej,

Has he said anything at all to you – regarding the incident in my last letter? We found him on the couch again this morning. It’s at least becoming less startling when it happens. I just wish I understood it. He has that uncanny ability to vanish without explanations, and Wylan and I aren’t sure how to bring it up since he’s so clearly bent on pretending it’s not happening.

I suppose if our sofa and our dog are what he needs right now for whatever is happening inside that ridiculous brain of his, then I’m glad we’re able to help in some small way. He’s not taking advantage of much. We only wish he’d trust us with more.

I mean, we’ve all have nearly died for his schemes on more than one occasion. Should I remind him of that? What could possibly be too much to ask of us at this point?

All my love,

Jesper  

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To our feared and beloved Captain

For her twenty-first birthday:

Cake and kvas and mysteries galore

Are awaiting your arrival

Return to Ketterdam if you wish to know more

Your presence is requested at the enclosed address, at 3 bells the 18th of October.  

No questions. All will be revealed in time.

Love,

Your favorite Crows

(addition in Kaz’s handwriting)

That gods-awful poem was Jesper and Wylan’s idea. Withhold judgment until after the evening. I’ll make it worth your while.  

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Dear Nina,  

I’m sailing away from Ketterdam today having nearly every single one of my birthday wishes fulfilled but one. But I won’t hold it against you. I know why you couldn’t have been there, or at least, I understand why I don’t know the specifics of why you couldn’t be there. Just know that, at the time of writing this and always, you are sorely missed.  

You would be so proud, though, with how our boys outdid themselves. I am impressed and moved and, frankly, still a little speechless. I’m honestly still replaying the memories and recalling the half-starved scrappy little things we all were seven years ago, and the two images side-by-side could not be any more different. I hope, wherever you are, the passage of time is bringing you similar new hopes. You deserve that and so much more, Nina.  

Where to begin? You know, years ago, just before we started the Ice Court, Kaz made me this lofty, insane promise. That, if we did it right, we’d be kings and queens. I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right.  

The day started at a dressmaker’s shop. I’d been given an address and a time to arrive, and that alone was a little jaw-dropping. It was in The Lid – an absolute premier spot I’d never even heard of when I lived in Ketterdam. I was grossly underdressed when I arrived. It’s not that I have anything against dresses – you know this. They’re just not at all practical for my line of work, and so I have none. I confess that sometimes I’ll admire them in a shop window when I’m out and about in a port town, but why in the world would I ever spend the coin on one? I wouldn’t even know what suits me anymore.  

This dressmaker, though, Nina. She knew all everything about the right fabrics, the right cut, the right make. They’d booked me the entire shop all to myself, just me and the dressmaker. She found me an absolute perfect gown – I’m staring at it right now. I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do with it now that my birthday’s over. Maybe I’ll prop it up in my desk chair and have tea with it every once and awhile. It’s this breathtaking light, pastel yellow, like sunshine, with all this detailed beadwork and exposed shoulders and what the dressmaker called an A-line waist. You might know what that means. I think it’s just dressmaker code for very pretty. She tailored me into it right there in the shop and fitted me with shoes and a cloak to match.

(My one regret was having no idea what to do with my hair. You’d cringe, but I left it in the braid. A minor detail the boys overlooked.)

It took a good few hours to get fixed up in the dress, and it was nearly evening by then. The dressmaker assured me it was all paid for, and right about that time, a black carriage pulled up in front of the shop. And Jesper and Wylan had their heads out the windows, shouting like madmen at me from the streets. I think the entirety of The Lid knew then about my birthday.

Kaz was in the carriage, too, hiding his enthusiasm as he does so well. I have to tell you, though, Nina, I won’t ever forget the look on his face when I got into the carriage. He was clearly trying his best to remain cool and unaffected, but I saw it, the way his jaw dropped slightly and his breath caught. This is obviously why I can never get rid of this dress. I’m just imagining what he’s going to end up writing in his letter after this, since, verbally, he actually managed to mumble that I looked beautiful, right there in front of Jesper and Wylan.

You know, it’s interesting. When he says it, it’s not at all like hearing a man in the Menagerie say it. When he says it, it’s like it’s not just the dress. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s the same words, and yet it’s so very different.  

And it only got better from there. The city was getting dusky, and the lamps were being lit. We were still in The Lid, amongst carriages and carriages of the filthy rich from the Financial District, the Government District, and tourists from all over. I kept leaning my head out the window to figure out what was coming next.  

Nina – they had bought us all ticket to the Cirque Euphoric.  

Maybe this means nothing to you. But it’s only the most ancient, most elite, most elaborate traveling circus in the world. It can only be afforded anymore by the wealthiest of tourists. And they were there doing an entire season in The Lid in Ketterdam, under a big top the size of two city blocks.

Nina, you don’t understand. My entire childhood, I kept posters and drawings and any relic that made its way to the markets from the Cirque Euphoric. Their high wire artists set the standard for all other performers in the business. The things they do in the sky, Nina, are things I haven’t even begun to imagine yet.

Sufficed to say, as soon as I figured out where we were going, I lost it. I did not know what to do with myself. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I burst into tears. It was a horrifying few moments for everyone involved. They were fairly certain they’d done something horribly wrong, instead of so wonderfully right. But that only last a couple minutes. I was able to get it together before Kaz could yell at the driver to take us back to East Stave. And then the merriment resumed, soaked handkerchief and all.

Oh, Saints, Nina, it was everything I’d ever imagined and more.

I don’t know how he knew this, but Kaz had reserved us the very best seats. You don’t want to sit too high at a circus or you’ll miss entertainment on the ground. Sitting too low presents a problem, too, because you want to be able to see the footwork the high wire artists can do. We were right in the middle, just where I’d have picked seats myself. Sankta Alina, I felt like a little girl again. I haven’t been that happy in years. I’d almost forgotten what it was to be that happy. And to watch it all with such beloved friends, who knew me well enough to know I would like this, to watch and hear their reactions to the performances. They might have loved it almost as much as I did. Almost.

We took another carriage ride after, hours later, when it was dark and the streets were bustling with very different crowds. I would have assumed that was the end of it, but Kaz had made us reservations in a private dining room at a fine dining club I’d never heard of.

My entire crew from The Wraith was waiting in the dining room. We ate a meal there fit for royalty, with drinks and a cake big enough that even you might have gotten sick of it after awhile. I don’t think I’ll need to eat again for weeks.

It must have been around midnight or past when we finally rolled ourselves out of the club. We took another carriage ride, stopping first at the Van Eck mansion so Wylan could haul a decently-sloshed Jesper off to bed and hopefully not to the toilet bowl. I actually never heard how he ended up faring that night.

And then it was finally just Kaz and me. If I hadn’t been so tired then, I think I’d have tried to snog his face off the whole way home. I’d been noticing his smug little smirk all evening. He’d planned the whole thing. Like I said, kings and queens. He’d made good on his word at last.  

But we were both exhausted on that final carriage ride – he’d booked me a room at the Geldrenner. And it’s not like I needed anything else at that point. The whole experience had already exceeded my expectations. He leaned back against the window, and I rested against him under his arm. We both dozed off there before the end of the ride.  

Which is another point I realize I haven’t mentioned to you yet. This has been happening lately. Kaz falling asleep in unusual places. Jesper’s been worrying about it for weeks now. I was having a hard time believing it until I witnessed it myself. Tell me this isn’t weird:

We got to the Geldrenner, and I asked him to come up. Oh, calm down. Are we really going to pretend like this is shocking at this point? Frankly, given the number of years, it’s shocking we weren’t sneaking into hotel rooms four years ago. And it’s not like we do much more than kiss. Although, I thought about it. It was my birthday after all, and he had just gifted me the experience of a lifetime and a luxury hotel room to boot. I was definitely thinking about it.  

But that’s not the weird part. Let’s agree that’s not the weird part, anyway. We came up, and we did very little talking. There’d been plenty of talking happening all night, and I was more interested in other things he can do with his mouth. Kissing, Nina, Saints. I can sense you doing that waggling thing with your eyebrows. I’m talking about just a lot of kissing, as soon as he let me get my hands on him. The kind of kissing every grown woman should have on her birthday, kisses that slide into more kisses, like there’s nothing else in the world happening but this.

But then the weird part happened. We’re lying on the bed (fully clothed, Nina, he even still had his gloves on), or at least, he’s lying back on the pillows and I’m kissing him, and then I notice he wasn’t really moving. And I sat back a moment, and I swear to you, he had fallen asleep. Believe me, I called him out on it right then, literally – “Are you sleeping?!” And he flinched right awake and apologized and blamed it on the kvas, and I might have even believed him.  

Except Jesper keeps talking about this strange new habit of his. And, as I replay the night’s memories in my head, it does feel like something was off. He seemed paler. He seemed quieter. He seemed – well, tired.  

Now I can’t kick this feeling like there’s something more happening behind the scenes. I wish you were here, Nina, and you could work your magic like you do and just squeeze the truth out of his brain somehow. I’ll have to settle for my own magic, I guess.  

When I look over my letters from him, he’s off-handedly mentioned feeling overwhelmed, particularly since this kid Artie joined the Dregs. And, don’t get me wrong, the kid is kind of handful. His moods swing wide between murderous rage and affectionate admiration. But he’s not Kaz’s sole responsibility. Pim and Anika do a lot to keep him on task and out of the bad kind of trouble. I wouldn’t think this would be enough to drive him to exhaustion.

But then again, Artie is the same age Jordie was. I wonder how much that gets to him. I wonder how much time he spends avoiding that. I wonder if he allows himself to think of it at all. Would that be enough to push him to the edge? Or is it something more?

It couldn’t be me, could it? Am I becoming exhausting?  

Ugh, Nina, come squeeze this out of my brain, too. And then come dress shopping with me, because it is much more enjoyable than I thought it would be.  

Missing you terribly,

Inej

[cadence-talle]

Rain Against A Window (Chapter Three)

Pairing: Eventual Fitz Vacker/Dex Dizznee, Eventual Biana Vacker/Sophie Foster

Wordcount: 1,547

Summary: In which Alvar (previously Vacker) has to grow up far too fast, and Ruy makes an unexpected decision. 

Other notes: And after far, far too long, here’s chapter three. Enjoy! 

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void

Read it on ao3 or under the cut!

St Petersburg, Russia. October 12, 1917. 

Alvar’s not entirely sure when he discovered he would never rule. 

It might have been when he was nine, and had snuck into one of his father’s strategy meetings only to be thrown out of the room and given a talking-to later. 

It might have been when he was eleven, and hadn’t been allowed to take part in the royal parade. He had stared out the window of his bedroom, watching the people below move back and forth. 

It might have been when he was fourteen, and Alden had commissioned a family portrait while he was away in the country. His father had claimed it was just a way to welcome Fitzroy and Bianca to the family, but Alvar knew better. 

That painting, the four of them smiling cheerfully out at the world with no sign anyone was missing, that painting was just another way to say he didn’t belong. One more rope tying him back from the rest of his family. 

Really, that painting was the catalyst for everything that happened afterwards. 

He meets Ruy when he’s sixteen. The boy has been posing as a kitchen server for the past few months, and it doesn’t take much for Alvar to figure out he’s up to something. So he corners him one day after dinner, pulling them into a room off the side of the main hall. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he says quietly. There’s a flash of something in Ruy’s eyes- whether it’s fear or recognition, Alvar doesn’t know. “And I want to help.”

Ruy tilts his head and smiles, a slow, sharp thing. “All right, then.”

From that day forward, he isn’t Alvar Vacker, son of the tzar and shunned heir to the throne. He’s just Alvar, angry and determined to change things. Alvar, who masterminds a plan to overthrow the royal family. Alvar, who sneaks ten people into the palace one night, who helps explode the west wing, who points a gun at his mother and tries not to show how much he’s shaking. 

At the end, the fire of his anger has burned out. The embers remain, glowing brightly, but there’s no smoke to cloud his mind. He’s just… tired of playing this part. 

He’s never going to rule. He’s never going to be as important as his siblings. He’s never going to be seen, by anyone. 

And he promises himself, as he pulls the trigger, that he’s never going to regret this. 

-/-

St Petersburg, Russia. February 26, 1927.

The city is quiet. 

Not in the literal sense, of course. Alvar is pretty sure the city has never been literally quiet. Even in the darkest hours of the night, there’s noise; laughter, singing, shouting. No, this quiet is subtler, almost unnoticeable if you don’t know what you’re looking for. The streams of gossip have slowed to a whisper. 

Alvar has ears in every district, but even his best aren’t hearing much. Something is changing, a new wind blowing into the city, and it brings with it the smell of hope. 

Hope, especially among the lower class, is never a good thing. 

There’s a knock at the office door and Ruy pokes his head in, face impassive but eyes twitching this way and that. 

“The new report came in,” he says, seating himself on a chair in front of Alvar’s desk. “I thought you would want to see it.” 

Nodding, Alvar takes the offered stack of paper and begins to flip through it. It’s normal stuff, mostly- records of Vacker-owned contraband being sold on the black market, a baker over by the Neva who’s been harboring nobles in his basement. Alvar makes a few notes and turns to the last page, which seems to be an itemized list of rumors all on the same subject. He growls and sets the report back on his desk. Ruy bites his lip. 

“Yeah. You- you don’t think there’s any truth to them, right? It’s impossible.”

“It is impossible,” Alvar says in a tone he hopes sends the message that this conversation is over. “Fitzroy and Bianca are dead.” He would know; he killed them himself. Still, Ruy seems apprehensive. 

“I know. But even rumors have some truth to them. And that night was so long ago-” Ruy hesitates, reaching across the desk to touch Alvar’s hand. “Do- are you sure you killed them?”

There are flashes of light behind Alvar’s eyes, screams echoing through hallways. The cold metal of a gun in his hand, his own face reflected back at him. He doesn’t relive that night, doesn’t think about it unless he has to. He doesn't regret it, not yet, but he’s afraid that he will if he thinks too hard. 

“Yes.” He pulls his hand away from Ruy’s, glaring at the other man. “I’m positive. They’re dead.”

“Okay.” Something crosses Ruy’s face, an emotion that’s gone as soon as it appears. He taps the paper again, on a list of names. “The Ruewens are offering a pretty big reward, though. Schemes are popping up all over the city.”

“So we bring them in.” Alvar marks a few names. “Not all of them, just enough to get our message across.”

“And our message is… what, exactly?”

Alvar meets Ruy’s eyes. “That anyone found consorting with the prince and princess will face the consequences.”

-/-

“Look,” Ruy says as calmly as he can, looking at the sobbing man across from him. “You’re not in trouble. I just need you to confirm you don’t know the Vackers.”

“I- I don’t know the Vackers!”

“And I’m sure you’re aware what the penalty for lying to an officer is.”

The man’s eyes go wide and he nods vigorously. “I promise, I’m not lying! I’ve never heard of any Vackers!”

That’s obviously a lie, but Ruy suspects it’s more out of panic than actual malice. Sighing, he waves towards the door. 

“Right. Well, goodbye.”

The door swings shut and Ruy sinks further into his chair, rubbing his temples. He hates this. It’s unnecessary and, to be honest, probably useless; he understands the need to find whoever’s trying to impersonate the prince and princess, but dragging in half the city isn’t going to help. If Fitzroy and Bianca really are alive, they’d have to be much too smart to just… be arrested. 

A knock on the door signifies the next person is about to be sent in. Ruy glances up, looks back down at his desk, and then does a double take. Because seventeen-year-old Alvar is standing in the doorway- or, not Alvar, not quite, but close enough. Same hair, same jawline, same slouching posture that still has hints of military upbringing. The only difference is the eyes- while Alvar’s are cold, dark blue, this boy has teal eyes. 

Teal eyes. Just like the Vackers. 

Ruy feels his blood run cold. 

“Sit down,” he croaks out, gesturing towards the hard wooden chair. The boy nods and lowers himself into it, looking around in slight confusion. 

“May I ask why I’m here?” he says. “Someone just grabbed me off the street-”

“What do you know about the Vackers?” Ruy asks. A look of recognition and fear passes over the boy’s face before it’s gone, schooled into something calmer. He shrugs. 

“They were the old royal family, taken down by the rebels. They’re almost all dead now.”

“Almost?”

The boy blinks. “Well, yeah. There’s Alvar, isn’t there?”

Oh. Right. It’s funny, really, how often Ruy manages to forget that Alvar is a Vacker; he’s just Alvar, to Ruy. Weird and annoyed and constantly angry, but not a prince. Not a member of the tsar’s close family. 

But a prince he was, and a government leader he is, and Ruy would do well to remember that before he does something stupid like fall in love with the man. 

… Fall even more in love, that is. 

“Of course,” he says hastily, realizing he’s been silent for far too long. “I thought you meant something else. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but there have been a surprising amount of rumors surrounding Prince Fitzroy lately.”

There it is- that flinch, that fearful look that flashes in his eyes. If Ruy wasn’t sure before, he is now; this boy knows something about the Vackers. Perhaps even is one. 

“All right,” he says. “I’m going to need you to go to the second floor, where-” Ruy trails off, meeting the boy’s eyes. They’re scared, sure, but there’s some semblance of hope in them. Some glint of happiness. 

Ruy was like that, once. When he was seventeen and eighteen, fresh off their victory against the tsar. When the city was cold and crumbling and days were long but none of that mattered because they had won. When Alvar was always by his side, and the two would run through the streets and laugh together. When the world was narrowed down to one place, one moment, and everything was aglow in the light of Alvar’s smile. 

Alvar doesn’t smile like that anymore. He’s sadder, angrier, even around Ruy. Happiness stolen away long ago. 

Ruy finds himself wanting to preserve this kid’s happiness for as long as possible.  

“Actually.” He says. “I’m going to need you to leave the building right now. Have a good day.”

[tiesandtea]

A Quietus Interview October 1st, 2018

Blue Sky Thinking: Suede Interviewed

John Doran spends the afternoon with Brett Anderson, Neil Codling and Richard Oakes in order to get to the bottom of The Blue Hour - one of their strongest, wildest and most experimental albums to date

To celebrate The Blue Hour’s second anniversary, here’s my favourite Suede-related piece of media of all-time. Full article by John Doran for the Quietus under the cut.

I have to walk some distance from Notting Hill Gate to get to Brett Anderson’s house. Past a record shop I haven’t visited for years, beyond the penumbra of Carnival, to a tidy arc of elegant townhouses lining a peaceful street I’ve never had reason to walk down before.

Inside, nothing is on view. Everything is immaculate. He clearly lives to a minimalist ideal, with life’s necessary bits and bobs tucked out of sight behind featureless doors that could well be mistaken for wall panels. Even dressed in his scruffs (faded jeans! moccasins!) Anderson is impossibly - irritatingly - handsome. His chiselling maintains its youthful spatial integrity; his skin does not bear witness to his many historical years of debauch. He is welcoming and a good host (“Do I have green tea? Of course. Let me get you some”); and this is despite the fact that simply by being in his gaff, plugging in an iPhone, throwing my jacket over a chair, setting up a recorder, getting crumpled sheets of notes out of an old tote, I am clearly cluttering the place up. He unfolds immaculately onto an unreasonably large sofa facing me on the other side of the room. There’s a big space between us but nothing fills that gap. There are no photographs in frames, no niknaks, no piles of shoes, no half read newspapers, no childrens toys, no takeaway fliers, no TV remote… no TV in fact. At first it feels like Brett Anderson himself is the centrepiece in the dream home.

But in reality if this excessive tidiness is evidence of anything it is of a larger shift in focus. The core of the Suede singer’s life has been relocated to the Somerset countryside, where he now lives with his wife, a stepson and Lucian, his six year old. And this of course has knocked on to everything else, creatively speaking at least. The unthinkable has happened and the clearly defined milieu of Suede - the modern city edgelands of housing estates, late night cab ranks, bedsits, sodium-lit mean streets - has transmuted. The urban has become the rural.

One of his first creative acts on moving out to the sticks in the Summer of 2016 was to write a book and co-write an album in parallel. His (genuinely excellent) memoir, Coal Black Mornings came out in March of this year and deals with his life pre-fame so his move to the countryside is reflected most clearly in Suede’s new studio album - their eighth in twenty five years - The Blue Hour.

Speaking about the intense period of creativity Anderson says: “They definitely bled into one another. I’d be writing the album during the day time when the kids were at school, so I could make a lot of noise, and then once I’d done the school run and got them back home, I’d sit at my computer and write Coal Black Mornings quietly.

“And the memories that writing the book dredged up fed back into the writing of the songs for the album. A track like ‘The Invisibles’ was a very specific example of that. The protagonist is like a callow 17 year old who is tortured by unrequited love. So I was projecting myself now back into that version of myself and it ended up becoming a dialogue between me and my father.”

The idea of fatherhood looms large over both projects. Coal Black Mornings may well be dedicated to his son Lucian but Anderson went a step further with The Blue Hour, which features the six year old in a speaking role. He says: “Early on I knew I wanted the album to be from a child’s point of view. For the last two albums my muse has been my son. It used to be friends or lovers but now it’s him. I see life through his eyes. Every picture I take is a picture with him in it somewhere.

“With the album I wanted to write about childhood but not in a sugary way. And so I imagined the fearful world that a child sees, and in a way that became a reflection of my own childhood.”

As well as his son, his (eccentric and occasionally overbearing) father is also present on the album. (“There are little references to him here and there.”) It is clear he has spent a lot of time recently considering his place between these two figures: “The father is a reflection of the son and so on and so on. He is a point on a continuum.”

The phrase ‘speaking as a father’ is often the last refuge of the scoundrel so, speaking as a member of the human race, I feel duty bound to point out to him that there is a darkness on the album that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. The subject matter is not something I could spend any amount of time meditating upon myself. There are no spoilers in music but I’m aware that talking excessively about the narrative of this album could detract from a perceived puzzlebox element to this record. Let us leave it at this: the blue hour of the title refers not just to twilight but it marks the point where concern for a missing child turns into anguished hysteria as night falls.

Anderson considers the question carefully: “I almost don’t want to let these things into the room but then I can’t help it. The way I deal with it, morally, is that there’s no suggestion in which I’m wishing any of this upon my son. The scenario is a fear that all parents have, and the album also involves me seeing myself as a child and displaced and lost in the woods. So the theme is more metaphorical than anything else.”

Lucian’s star turn behind the mic is undoubtedly one of the album’s odder moments. The proud dad explains: “‘Dead Bird’ is a recording of me and my son talking; it was just a lucky accident. I had tried to get him to read things out but because he’s only five, it just sounded really wooden. It didn’t work at all. So I just thought, ‘Ok, I’m going to go into the garden and try and to create a scene which will pique his interest.’ So I went into the garden and started digging and, intrigued, he came over and said, ‘Daddy, what are we digging for?’ So I said, ‘You know what we’re digging for.’ And luckily he said, ‘The dead bird.’ And it was just brilliant. A few months before I’d buried a dead bird for him, you see, because we were going to dig it up and look at its skeleton. I do this sort of thing with him quite a bit. How was it? It was horrible really - I think we’d dug it up too early. It needed a while longer.”

Referring to the other field recordings - of a group of adults frantically searching for the missing child played by his son - he says: “I’ve lived properly in the Somerset countryside for two years now, where it’s legal to do things like that and no one can hear you scream.”

He continues, gingerly: “If there’s one thing that no one tells you before you have a child, it’s how terrified it will make you. The utter fear that if something happens, how impossible it would be to recover and the fact that your life would effectively be over. In a way it’s stronger than the fear about your own mortality, it’s a different level of fear.

“I’ve always had this… my mother died of cancer. I’ve always had this obsession with cancer and avoiding it if I possibly can but that’s nothing compared to my fears for the wellbeing of my family. I suddenly feel much more vulnerable now I have a family. When it’s four in the morning and you’re thinking, ‘God, what if something happened?’ I absolutely reject the idea that if you have a so-called straight or comfortable life this stuff is somehow easier - it isn’t. When you have a family you have so much more to lose.”

He brightens and adds: “So initially all I had was this theme of childhood. And once I had that initial idea then I had to come up with more ideas, through brainstorming. I isolated myself in the countryside with Richard and Neil and started writing songs. It felt almost like we were in a creative crucible…”

And if you speak of handsome devils, then they will arrive. Lead guitarist Richard Oakes and keyboard player and rhythm guitarist Neil Codling, join the lyricist on his remarkably large sofa. Together they make up the songwriting core of the band. The two guitarists are dressed like the eternal students that I guess in some ways they are but each having his own sartorial spin on this look that probably mirrors his role in the wider songwriting dynamic. Codling, who has recently become the band’s de facto arranger and producer, is more of a fine-detail aesthetician to Oakes’ (self-proclaimed) engineer; someone unafraid to roll his sleeves up and take a peek under the bonnet.

If Anderson is a country gent now, this hasn’t been a move adopted by the whole band. Codling is keen to re-establish the urban credentials of the rest of them: “Yes, the rest of Suede are still city boys, apart from Simon who lives in rural Thailand next to a rice paddy. That’s about as countryside as you can get.”

The singer chimes in: “Moving to the countryside has made me miss London. When I come back to London I just breathe it in. The countryside is amazing when the weather is good and at this time of year it’s beautiful. I go out and sit in the garden with my boy and I say, ‘We are blessed.’ But then in November it’s like a fucking nightmare.”

Codling jokes good naturedly: “You know how Brian Wilson had to put the feet of his piano in sand while he was writing? Well Brett now has his piano standing in a gravel pit to remind him of the city.”

Anderson recalls the trio’s initial songwriting sessions in his rural kitchen with a perverse fondness: “We wanted to do that thing of us three disappearing off to the countryside. And in the process I thought we would go a bit mad, and end up almost murdering each other.”

Luckily it didn’t come to that and one of the first things to emerge from the session was the maximal, jaw-dropping and gothic ‘As One’. Oakes says, “As soon as we came up with it we said, ‘OK… it’s going to be that kind of record.’ So despite the blazing sunshine outside, we knew it was going to be a cold record.”

Anderson explains: “There are always what I call anchor songs on each album. And it’s often that song that sets the blueprint for the album. When you start making a new album you’re fumbling about with vague ideas but until you write that song, you don’t quite know where to go with it.”

‘As One’ is certainly the most dramatic album opener the band have written since ‘Introducing The Band’ and probably their most dramatic album opener full stop. Anderson says it had a Cecil B. DeMille size from the start and Codling agrees that even as a demo it had a menace to it: “However big you want to make it, you can do. It can still take a choir, it can still take a string section.”

Oakes drops a tantalising hint that ‘As One’ is perhaps Suede’s ‘Helter Skelter’, an epic, and heavy track possessed of so much gravity that needed heavy editing to make it album compatible. He suggests that really they could have gone much further with it: “For a while Neil and I were fiddling about with this 15-minute-long version which just smashes into a wall and goes straight into ‘Wastelands’. But nobody will ever hear that…”

Even as it is, ‘As One’ set the tone for what would become a bold record indeed. Taking something of a gamble in today’s unforgiving marketplace, the band opted for producing a cohesive whole designed to be listened to in one sitting, as opposed to a collection of stand alone Suede bangers ready to be strip-mined and isolated for Spotify playlist inclusion. If this approach has seen them shunned by the kind of radio stations who would normally support them, then more shame on the querulous, narrow shouldered types who construct radio playlists and have little faith in the intelligence or taste of their listeners. (And double shame on them for not fully realising the radio potential of ‘Cold Hands’, ‘Life Is Golden’ and ‘Flytipping’ - experimental album or not.)

As it is The Blue Hour stands alone in their back catalogue as a fully realised concept album which achieves cohesion via narrative, lyrics, spoken word passages, repeated musical themes, field recordings and narration. If I had to compare it to anything from their back catalogue I’d mention Dog Man Star - not something I do lightly - and that would be in terms of ambition, execution and impact. It slaps hard. Once you have acclimatised to it, The Blue Hour makes you grin and shake your head at their sheer chutzpah. It makes your heart rage behind your ribs. It reactivates long-snoozing sensuous psychedelic glam glands. It demands an immediate rewind.

Like with any classic album in a band’s catalogue, it can feel like everything has been leading up to this point. After their return in 2010 they had a lot to prove. First that they had to show that they had the damned verve necessary simply to be Suede as a live entity once more. This was quickly asserted with savage efficiency by a blistering fanclub gig at the 100 Club and then an all time best show at the Royal Albert Hall. The Bloodsports album in 2013 was, in part, an act of contrition for relaxing their standards somewhat with 1999’s Head Music and abandoning what it meant to be Suede entirely with 2002’s A New Morning. They were reconnecting with the core idea of the group in 2013 - it was a reboot, if you will. With Night Thoughts, in 2016, the cinematic sequencing of the tracks created its own forward momentum and bound the tracks together somewhat but it was The Blue Hour that sealed the deal.

Referring to the album as a unified piece of work Codling says: “We live in the world of Spotify and Deezer when you’re supposed to write songs and hope that they end up on playlists, because that’s how you play the music business these days. We thought we’d be bloody-minded and make something that people would have to listen to for three quarters of an hour. People do listen to long playlists and they do watch box sets, so they do have longer attention spans than they’re given credit for. We decided to introduce listeners to a sound world that they can move through. The narrative is there but you don’t necessarily need to know what it is; it’s more like the scaffolding.”

Anderson nods: “Yes it is. The narrative is the scaffolding that allows us to arrange the tracks and once they’re in place we can take the scaffolding away.”

“Otherwise”, notes Codling, “it becomes like Jonathan Livingston Seagull or some turgid, 70s concept album.”

The band have referred to the album as the closing chapter of a triptych. If the original intention was to have a unifying sonic identity binding the three albums together in a series however, this was upset when original producer Ed Buller left the project before it was complete - something that has actually proved serendipitous in the long run.

Buller - who had previously worked on Suede, Dog Man Star and Coming Up as producer and engineer as well as producing all of Bloodsports and some of Night Thoughts - was so trusted that he had essentially become a sixth member of the band, song veto and all. But he was courted by Hollywood and relocated to California, thus creating a very Suede-like problem. The tone in Oakes’ voice when he says, “Well, we weren’t going to record the album in Los Angeles...” suggests that actually a winter recording session in the frozen ice fields of the permanently night-bound Patagonia was a more likely scenario. Anderson nods calling the very idea of them recording in America at all “bizarre”.

The band, impressed with his work on various albums by Ride, Foals and The Killers, got in touch with lauded mixer Alan Moulder, who agreed to come out of retirement as producer to work on their record at Assault and Battery studios, London. “I think once we reassured him that we weren’t dysfunctional and were actually hard working he was quite happy with the idea. I think he’s worked with a lot of dysfunctional bands in the past. He did the second Elastica album didn’t he? You can imagine what that must have been like”, says Oakes, before adding: “Bless them…”

But really, all due respect to the great alt-rock mixer, the most significant thing about the departure of Buller wasn’t that it created room for Moulder but that it created even more room within the band for Codling. Self-effacing isn’t quite the term for it when the keyboardist says: “We had to pick up what [Buller] left us of Night Thoughts and cobble it together into what came out.” All the evidence shows that the six months he spent completing that album gave him the confidence to assume the role of de facto producer, or co-producer, on the current one.

Anderson agrees: “The fact that Neil did most of the last six months on Night Thoughts on his own gave us the confidence to look at The Blue Hour slightly differently. Ed previously had been a real tastemaker, saying, ‘This is good’ or ‘No, that’s not good enough’ which created a bit of a weird dynamic. You stop being able to really trust yourself. And with The Blue Hour we got confidence back in our own judgement.”

When Codling says, “There are songs that would never have made it onto the album if Ed had been involved, songs like ‘Roadkill’, ‘Chalk Circles’ or ‘Tides’ for example”, he hits on something quite important. Ed Buller’s departure freed up Suede to make their grandest and yet most experimental album to date.

In terms of grand ambition, the most noticeable thing on the album is the use of strings and a choir. The Prague Philharmonic appear on nine tracks - all but one of which were arranged by Codling. (‘The Invisibles’ was the work of Craig Armstrong who had worked with the band on Coming Up.) But this isn’t the case of an orchestra being used to hide a multitude of sins or to imply emotion or drama where there is none. As Oakes points out: “Strings framed things on the last album whereas on this album they are part of the picture.”

It is fascinating hearing a string section suddenly become a vibrant and essential part of the Suede sound, rather than simply an occasional colouring device. But any fans worrying that this heralds a slump into tepid, middle age should reassure themselves that if anything, the opposite is true. Just as Neil is happy to list classical pieces which informed his approach to writing orchestrally for the group (“Ravel’s ‘The Child And The Spells’ and ‘Mother Goose’… Debussy’s ‘The Snow Is Rising’… The strange sense of foreboding created by ‘The Threnody To The Victims Of Hiroshima’ by Penderecki…”) he is also happy to list the more leftfield influences that informed the album’s wild and psychedelic moments such as ‘Chalk Circles’ and ‘Dead Bird’ (“Velvet Underground’s ‘The Gift’... Electric Ladyland by Hendrix…”)

‘Roadkill’ is one particular dramatic, narcotic, poetic passage that ramps up the manic air of rural terror, standing somewhere between Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Raven’, Ted Hughes’ ‘February 17th’ and David Bowie’s ‘Future Legend’, being conjured amid the ebb and flow of scraped strings, controlled feedback, heavily phased vocals and dubbed out tendrils of noise disappearing recursively into the mix. The singer says: “I think it’s a risk. And if people want something to beat us with we’re handing them a stick with these songs but sometimes you just have to take that risk.

“It’s quite a brave track to come up with - you have to be quite confident. It teeters on the line doesn’t it? Some people would say it was quite pretentious with me reading this Edgar Allen Poe-like verse about a dead bird. I mean, it doesn’t sound like the Stereophonics.”

And the influences don’t just stem from the musical leftfield either. Codling adds: “A lot of folk horror is set in that kind of Claude Lorrain, chocolate box, pastoral vision of the rural before it ends up revealing itself to be something much darker. When we were writing the album we wanted to reference films like The Wicker Man (1973), And Soon The Darkness (1970) and Penda’s Fen (1974). At the same time I was reading a lot of [British folklore inspired fantasy novelist] Alan Garner and it kind of bled into the whole feeling.”

The carrion and the folk horror all conspired to create a very specific geographical place. Anderson says: “The Blue Hour in a very unpleasant version of the English countryside and not what you would find in a or John Constable painting. I wanted to portray the countryside as quite a bleak, unpleasant landscape. The roadkill, the b-roads, the fly-tipping. As a city dweller you can kind of romanticise the countryside as this kind of Arcadian idyll. And having lived there again for a couple of years, it just isn’t. There is a lot of ugliness and cruelty. Take the cows lowing. Someone told me the reason female cows low a lot - you hear them groaning - is because they’re separated from their calves. That puts a really different perspective on things. We live near a farm and I used to think, ‘Oh, that’s a nice sound isn’t it?’ And now when I hear it I just think of these mothers who have had their babies torn away from them. I like to think about the darkness in all things and I don’t really think Suede works unless we look at the darkness. It’s what I like to tease out in our music.”

The Blue Hour is out now

[hollenius]

Sorry, I just really love interviews where Peter Buck talks about books. And also about crying at a Pepsi commercial.

https://www.courant.com/news/connecticut/hc-xpm-2001-10-14-0110140554-story.html

Edit: apparently this is not accessible in all countries, so I am copying and pasting the text under the cut. Contains some discussion of Michael Stipe’s lyric-writing strategies as well as tales R.E.M. reading all of Flannery O’Connor’s short stories while in the van in 1982, whether Faulkner or Hemingway or Fitzgerald liked music, intuition vs. hard work in the act of creation (and how writing a song isn’t like writing a novel), the relative effectiveness of specificity vs. generality in bringing about an emotional response in the audience (and, again, how songs aren’t like novels) etc.

RECONSTRUCTION OF THE FABLES: MARK LINDQUIST and PETER BUCK

THE HARTFORD COURANT     October 14, 2001

Mark Lindquist: The only thing I did to prepare for this was to go through my CD collection, and the three bands that dominate my collection are the Beatles, R.E.M. and the Replacements. I listened to albums by each in progression, and one of the things I noticed -- maybe because I was looking for it -- is that each of these bands became increasingly interested in narrative, in story, as their career progressed. Do you think that happened with R.E.M.

Peter Buck: Absolutely. When we started out, Michael was trying to find a way of communicating that wasn't a literal language. He didn't want to string together sentences that told a story that everyone could agree on. I really respected that, the feeling that the narrative stuff has been done, love songs have been done, and this sort of Rorschach blot of words and emotions are a different way to approach telling a story.It also opens it up a lot, in that people can listen to these songs and, without knowing exactly what they're about, put themselves in the song. Michael told me recently: His theory is, name your 10 favorite rock songs of all time. Write them down. Then write next to them what they're about. Guarantee that you'll only be able to do that for two of them.

ML: Let's try that. Name your five favorite rock songs.

PB: "Like a Rolling Stone," "Fight the Power," "We Can Work It Out," "I Just Wasn't Made for These Times" and "Gloria" by Patti Smith.

ML: OK, "Like a Rolling Stone." What's that about?

PB: Obviously it's an aggressive song putting someone down, but I don't know who that person is. Assuming that I know a little about Dylan's life, it could be about the people who followed him around. It seems to be a portrait of someone who thinks they're a winner, who's high in society. Who that is, I don't know. I could be completely wrong. I don't know what Napoleon "who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat" means.

ML: But you remember the line about those Siamese cats.

PB: With Dylan, you always get that. "The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face." That's from "Visions of Johanna," which is one of my favorite songs, but I have no idea what that means.

ML: How about "Fight the Power"?

PB: I would assume, being a white guy from the suburbs, that it's about being black, but I don't know. If the Beastie Boys had written it with the same lyrics, I'd have no idea.

ML: "I Just Wasn't Made For These Times" is from "Pet Sounds," which is chock-full of stories, at least in my mind. I may be imposing a narrative, because I listened to this CD when I left for college, and to me that album was about leaving home, going on a new adventure: "I once had a dream, so I packed up and left for the city." But that may have nothing to do with what Brian Wilson intended. Still, let's talk about R.E.M.'s progression toward stories.

PB: When we first started out, I know that Michael felt everything in rock and roll had been done. We didn't want to write a love song, or anything that could be construed as a love song, for 10 years.

ML: What would you say your first love song was?

PB: Well, it wasn't a love song. "The One I Love" is an anti-love song, but since "the one I love" is in the title ... we used to play it, and I'd look into the audience, and there would be couples kissing. Yet the verse is, "This one goes out to the one I love/A simple prop to occupy my time." That's savagely anti-love. But that's OK. People perceive songs as they are. People told me that was "their song." That was your song? Why not "Paint it Black" or "Stupid Girl" or "Under My Thumb"?

ML: But that's pop music -- Noel Coward's line about the amazing "potency of cheap music."

PB: It doesn't even matter, the value of the music. I've teared up at commercials.

ML: What commercial made you tear up, for God sake?

PB: The Pepsi commercial where the woman is depressed and the monkeys bring her a Pepsi. It was because of my life at the time, and not the commercial, but that's what pop music is, too. It's not necessarily what's written or even implied. It's what you as the listener take out of it. Which is why I tend to think songs that are less specific are more powerful.I've never cried at, say, "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll" by Bob Dylan, which is a very specific song. I know that there's a woman named Hattie Carroll, and she was killed. But it was reportage. It never made me tear up, but other songs have. It's all about what you bring in at that moment, so narrative is not necessarily the most important thing.

ML: Do you think that works in literature? One of the things they tell you in Writing 101 is to make things more specific rather than more general. Is literature more powerful if it's less specific?

PB: Absolutely not. I think literature is a chance for someone like me, who's led a more or less middle-class life, to look into someone else's heart and mind and be shown a world that I don't know. When I was a teenager, I read a lot of African American literature -- "Soledad Brother" or "Invisible Man" or Richard Wright, and there were things that completely changed my life. The strength of literature is its specificity.

ML: Why do you think R.E.M.'s music has become more specific, more story-driven?

PB: I think Michael was trying to find a way on the early records to tell a story without telling a story. As he got a little older and became more comfortable doing the singing and being a public figure, the idea was still, "I'm not going to tell a story where someone says this is a song about ... " Now as a writer Michael likes to take a character he imagines and write from that perspective, tell a story in the first person. But it's not necessarily his perspective.

ML: When I saw R.E.M. in Seattle in 1999, I think Stipe introduced "The Apologist" by saying, "This is a story about ... " And "All the Way to Reno" is a pretty classic narrative. It reminds me of "That's Not Me" from "Pet Sounds," not musically or lyrically, but conceptually.

PB: "Reno," I'm sure that is sung from the perspective of a 17-or 18-year old girl. It has to be. I've never asked him.

ML: And "That's Not Me" is sung from the perspective of a like-minded 17- or 18-year-old boy. Bret Easton Ellis has said as you get older, you become more interested in narrative, in stories with a beginning, middle and an end.

PB: Part of it is definitely an age thing. When I was in my 20s, and my band was in its early years, we were capturing an experience, not necessarily thinking about the chain between the past and the future, which is what a novel is. As you get older, your life is less about capturing the moment and more about understanding what you're doing.

ML: Has Michael's progression or change as a lyricist been influenced by literature?

PB: I don't know. The only way I can say our band was directly influenced by literature was when we did our first big American tour in 1982, before our first EP came out. We were in a van, touring to nobody, playing songs no one has ever heard. I managed to find all three of the Flannery O'Connor short-story collections, and every member of the band read every one of the words in those three collections on that tour. We passed them around, pages falling out, putting pages back in, reading them with a light on at 2 a.m., going from San Antonio to L.A. I felt really strongly that it changed the way we thought about writing. I don't know why, because she writes about faith and the problems of faith in a world where there is no faith, and Michael wasn't writing linear dialogues, but when we made our first record, I think we all thought Flannery O'Connor was something we would emulate in some way.

ML: I can be listening to a particular CD or song that evokes a mood or a moment in a way I admire, and I will try to get the same effect into what I'm writing. Has the reverse ever happened to you? You're reading a novel or short story, and it works for you so well, you think you want to get whatever it is that works for you into your music? Do you take what you read the night before into what you write?

PB: All I can say is I certainly hope so, which is why I try to read good stuff.

ML: OK, other books that have affected you as a songwriter?

PB: Denis Johnson.

ML: Why?

PB: I don't know why. "Already Dead" changed me when I read it. I can't say why or how, but I felt like a different person at the end, in the same way that when I was a teenager, Pynchon's "Gravity's Rainbow" completely moved me.

ML: One of the things music can do for writers is that we can take a song, an idea in a song, or even a character in a song, and expand it into a story, or a screenplay, or a novel. Another thing music can do for writers is set a tone for whatever we're working on that day. Most writers I know listen to rock, but Kerouac talked about how he would do that with jazz.

PB: What do you think Faulkner did?

ML: I think he just drank.

PB: But do you think he put the 78s on? He probably wasn't a Glenn Miller guy. Was he a Duke Ellington guy? I bet Faulkner played records at his house. I'd be really shocked if he didn't play gospel stuff from the '30s and '40s, if he didn't listen to blues music.

ML: What about Hemingway?

PB: My feeling is he didn't get much pleasure in life. Having read his books, I doubt very much that he had an ear for music. I bet he loved music in the hills of Spain, dancing to it, no matter how good or bad it was. But did he go home and put on records? I doubt that very much. Now Fitzgerald, he found joy in life.

ML: And in drinking. It kept him from writing.

PB: He's another of those people who never really found what he needed to do in his life. I re-read "The Crackup" about a year ago, and there's a great quote, and I paraphrase, about how when I was young I wanted to be Byron, Don Juan, J.P. Morgan. All that is burned away. I'm a writer now, nothing else. Literature is something written out of deep understanding. Music is written more out of the intuitive. When I read great books, I refuse to think they just made it up as they went along. That's what happens in rock and roll.

ML: There are passages that come to you as a writer that feel like they wrote themselves. However, you unfortunately have to write the other 500 pages or so yourself.

PB: The good stuff occurs because you work really, really hard, spend your entire life immersed in one thing, and if you're able to let yourself go completely for that time it takes to do anything great. My superstition, though, is songs that are there that aren't written. I think every songwriter feels, "I'm really good at my craft," but the good songs pop up, and you always like to feel they come from somewhere other than inside of you.The night I wrote "Losing My Religion," I was drinking wine and watching the Nature Channel with the sound off and learning how to play the mandolin. I had only had it for a couple nights. I had a tape player going, and the tape has me playing some really bad scales, then a little riff, then the riff again, and you can hear my voice say "Stop." Then I played "Losing My Religion" all the way through, and then played really bad stuff for a while. I woke up in the morning not knowing what I'd written. I had to relearn it by playing the tape. That's where songs come from for me, someplace where you're not really thinking about it.That's what's different from literature. You can't sit down and let "The Great Gatsby" happen. The songs I write are four minutes long. You can disconnect from wherever you are for four minutes and find it. I really doubt you can do that for months with a novel.

ML: There's something that's always struck me as a little off about Peter Buck and Michael Stipe. Traditionally, the songwriter is thought of as the more intuitive, and the lyricist as the more lettered. The reality is you're the more lettered, and Stipe is the more intuitive.

PB: Michael has this amazing ability to absorb things. He doesn't sit around and read tons of books, but he does read. He probably reads more political literature than I ever have.

ML: It's funny, I know lots of novelists who wish they were rock stars, but I don't know any musicians who wish they were novelists.

PB: Hey, I'm raising my hand right here!

The poster has moved with me now for 15 years. It's part of a series for America's public libraries, featuring a very young-looking R.E.M., with Peter Buck, Mike Mills, Michael Stipe and Bill Berry each holding their favorite books. I'd love to know what Stipe is holding, but, like his early lyrics, the title is obscured. Peter Buck holds an Oscar Wilde collection, and that, along with a mention of Wilde in a Smiths song from the same era, "Cemetry Gates," conspired to send me to the library. Peter Buck's a tremendous reader. His Seattle home is filled with almost as many books as records. So we asked Buck to dine last week with his friend Mark Lindquist, whose music-infused novel "Never Mind Nirvana" gets like few others the profound way music can be not only a soundtrack to life but also a road map. We asked them to talk about how artists and musicians are influenced by each other. -- David Daley, Books Editor

[aka217]

OK, SO 2020

Welp.

I’m certain I won’t have to come back to this post to remember what happened this year. This year the world shared one similar experience; a year that seemed to have sat still while also continuously rampaging tragic events one after the other. A catalyst in many ways. It stands no reason that my year has not aligned with the rest of the world, yet we’ve managed to make it even more interesting. This year will be transcribed countless times, so let me focus on the parts in which are uniquely mine:

Despite the world falling to a pandemic, lock downs and quarantines for most of the year, it amazes yet how much I’ve squeezed out of this year. First and foremost: we did it. We moved to the west coast. A long time coming, some delays, some uncertainties. But we prepared, we agreed, we wanted something new. Clearly nothing stood in our way this year, we were going to go. As much as a curveball a pandemic can through at us, we were resilient and making the move. It’s not all positives, as settling here is a mix bag: unable to fully experience the city, me not quite sure how I like this position, Ashley not able to secure her next career opportunity, not able to even visit back home. But look, we made the move, we are here, let it not go to waste, as there are experiences still available and unique that we should not take for granted.

Let’s map out what happened this year:

January. The year started with a visit from the Cabacoys to Disney and SeaWorld. Shortly after, in the most gratifying way, I used up most of my vacation for the year in a single trip. We traveled to the California, a kind of sneak peek at what’s to come. Knowing our financial situation would be up in the air very soon, it was our best option as we’d see a variety of friends, family, places, all the while having lodging mostly covered. Although sick in the beginning (hmm? Nah just congestion) San Fran consisted of me watching the Witcher and eating Popeyes chicken sandwiches among other SF delights. The drive down Highway 1 was spectacular, this time not as foggy, giving us great views of the ocean all the way through. We were able to take the scenic Monterey coastal drive, passing through pebble beach and the like. Stopping at our favorite little hotel in San Luis Obispo, we find ourselves in LA the next day hanging out with the newlyweds. After the trip, January rounds out with a nice Disney breakfast with my family.

February started with a quick trip to Playa Linda, wearing ski jackets to the beach. Valentines/birthday weekend was the long-awaited Vigo cruise to the Bahamas. There’s something so satisfactory about a trip where I don’t anticipate anything, and everything comes at a delight and surprise. Next up we have G-Ading’s wedding, being the only wedding we end up going to this year! Very memorable time, and the food, oh my jeez it just kept coming. And last, on the final day of February (jk leap year), was my last day with JBT AeroTech. 8ish years would come to a close. The first place to give me a chance at becoming an Engineer and letting me not only prove to myself I could, but to give me opportunities to fulfill dreams bigger than my own.

March. Whoa now. This is a sensitive month for many people. And while many may mask as March entirely being pandemic, that part didn’t quite start until March 14. Let’s not forget what I managed to pull off before then. First off, Science Night Live in Orlando, something we’ve been wanting to do but finally was able to go. Second, Conexpo Las Vegas. I had an inkling that I would not be going with JBT this time, and so I booked it with my own money and still went. This expo is so cool for someone in the industry, there’s so many great vehicles to check out. Plus I figured it would be a good place to be to meet with connections and find Cali opportunities. Strapped for cash I secured shared accommodations and dinners provided my business acquaintances, but quickly evaporated as many attendees pulled out due to the growing pandemic (not locally yet, but this was an international expo). I managed to scrap together living spaces, and find alternative free meals. And while the people I was supposed to hang out with did not show up, I stuck with now old coworkers and even ended up finding new acquaintances there, which culminated to the most lux Vegas party I can imagine in penthouse suites (plural), a wild night I won’t forget.

And that’s double true, because the next day the lockdowns started to occur. I come back home to quarantine, lock down, uncertainty. One day I’m dancing shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of people (which how lucky I didn’t catch anything then) to now not coming within 6 feet of anyone, stocking up on groceries and toilet paper. It was all so strange. We were afraid to hug my nephew, him being confused when he saw us, a confusing time of unknown. Initially I thought being out of work was going to be weird, maybe nice in some ways. And in a way it was; an unease of not having something to do, but all the while glad I didn’t have to work through this coping phase of the pandemic.

April was a weird time for me. What was supposed to be 2-week quarantine led to what we now know to be months. It still felt like more March, as nothing has progressed in the last weeks. Ask me now what happened and all I can remember is watering the grass everything, or waiting to water the grass every day. Nothing really else. Well, ok, maybe securing a job in Oakland (it really is about who you know), and slowly purging and moving out of our house. Towards the end of the month we went to Ocala to see Ashley’s parents once more, as it marked the start of our goodbyes.

May was wild and nonstop. While the world waited, we had to find a way to say goodbye to friends (heart breakingly distant), family, and our possessions. We had plans to seek out our favorite food spots and share final meals with people, but that was not possible. We made visits with family, while trying to figure out where to stash away the items we were not ready to give up on. I also said goodbye to my Miata. This car meant a lot to me, symbolized a lot, characterizes me in many ways. I always enjoyed driving it. And it if wasn’t raining, the top was down, and even sometimes when it was raining. It is a piece of me I had to let go. I have no regrets, I did not take it for granted, and I can only hope that I find another car that brings me as much joy each time.

And so, mid-May, we make the move. You can wait for the perfect moment, but as we see here there is no perfect moment, so my advice is this: now is probably the next best chance. We couldn’t wait any longer, and maybe regrets to go sooner can be argued, regrets of not going can be as well. And so we embarked on our journey to Oakland. I start my job to following week. It was a strange time as everything, and this time basically everything, was a strange new place to be. New city, new job, new world. But we did what we could. We have support here of friends and family, and we turned to them immediately. This month will start to shape the remainder of the year: food take out, video games, facetimes, picnics, cousins. We explored the Bay Area (by means to buying and selling Facebook marketplace items) just to get a feel of the surrounding areas and try to get our bearings.

June and July were much of the same. While Ashley took a trip back home, I stayed back, exploring the hills in a rental (more on that later). My Dad made a pitstop here as he finally managed a flight out of the Philippines. I had not seen him since December, and so much has happened since, so it was nice to see him just for a brief moment; because if not it would have been more than a year, because as I write this I have not seen him since. The rest of the months we try to explore various areas, including the Berkeley observatory, Golden Gate Park, Emeryville Marina, Ocean Beach.

August is much the same as you can expect, though we do see Ashley’s Cousins more, as well as my cousins and their daughters. Ashley hosts her birthday on our landlord’s porch, where we go through a makeshift game of “we are not really strangers,” a moving game much harder to play without the ability to hug at the end.

September picks up and gets more interesting as we start to explore further away from the city, including a nice relaxing day down at whale cove beach, as well as a relaxing vacation (away from the heat waves, smoke, and fires) down in Saratoga/Santa Cruz area.

October was another trip, this time all the way down to Paso Robles for a birthday celebration, exploring the vineyards and a bonus trip up highway 1. Although much different, it was nice to get a trip with a big group of friends. October we also saw a couple movies, including a private screening of Tenet (wut) and my first drive-in movie ever, Coco, and once more another drive-in for Hocus Pocus.

November was much of the usual, as we are limited in options (and a bit limited in finances) to try anything new. We made the very difficult choice not to travel back to Florida for thanksgiving, and instead spent thanksgiving with just the two of us, although we cooked for 8.

December is here, and we squeezed in a few interesting pieces. I took a drive out to some of the mountains towards San Jose in a newer Miata. Another weekend we spent in San Rafael, where we didn’t leave the hotel the entire time. A very welcoming weekend with no pressure, no rush, just stay in and play video games, watch movies, and eat in (room service and delivery to our door!). That was a nice weekend with the only expectation was that we were doing nothing. As Christmas approaches, we venture out into the city to look at some of the lights. We also manage the watch Elf at the drive-in (although the foggy night didn’t make that easy), and once more drive-in to see Wonder Woman 1984 before the new year.

Alright, quick tidbits:

Cars I’ve rented – BMW 330i, Hyundai Santa Fe, Nissan Altima, Fiat Abarth 124, Jeep Wrangler, Mazda Miata. A nice plethora of cars this year, and with the availability of mountains in the west coast, and the convenience of Turo, I have the opportunity to take nice day long drives through the windy roads. This was one of my goals for moving and I’m glad I’m still able to put that into fruition. It’s convenient to have nice back roads so close, and the beautiful highway 1 coastal road for longer trips. It was nice to rent a couple convertibles, including a few similar to my Miata. I hope next year brings some more interesting cars, and hopefully some off-roading fun as well. It’s hard to pick a favorite, as each ride held a unique experience. But I am thinking about getting a Jeep so…

Best Thing I Ate – man there’s so much to consider. G-Ading’s wedding was crazy delicious, the best wedding food ever no question. Having a mini Hot Ones episode at Ashley’s parents and at Kevin’s was delicious and the conversation meaningful. I started my goodbye food tour but didn’t see it through, but that came with some favorites from Gators Dockside, Pho Vinh, Gold China, Vicky’s Bakery. As far as the West Coast: Farmhouse Thai’s Lao platter is tray full of little wonders. And here in the Bay Burmese is plentiful (something that should definitely make its way into Orlando). Let’s not forget a couple homemade treats, such as Mia’s delicious Ube cookies and smore bites, and Ashley’s brownie muffins she considers was a mess up (I think they were perfect).

Between the pandemic lockdown and my new Xbox, I’ve played quite a few notable games. My favorites this year include Nier Automata, Jedi Fallen Order, and The Outer Worlds. Breath of the Wild also has now become a comfort food/ re-watch staple this year in Cali.

A couple movies/TV to note watching: Before Sunrise, Columbus, Westworld season 3, Mandalorian Season 2, Dash & Lily.

There’s a lot that can be said about 2020. There were big expectations, and life comforts, which were all stripped from us. And so while we made a big leap into the unknown, the rest of the world follow suit. But it’s hard to say if it was a bad choice or good, because I really don’t know what would happen if we stayed in Florida. Maybe things were more familiar and grounded, maybe see family a bit more. But what jobs would we have? Would we have been at higher risk of getting Covid? Who knows. But what I do know is that right now we are fine. We are healthy, we are financially stable, our family is healthy. And we may be limited in the interactions we can have, but that does not mean we can’t enjoy some of what this west coast adventure had in store for us. I think it was important that we experience the change, chaotic as it was.

We purged ourselves of the past: got rid of old clothes, old furniture, old junk of our college and early adult years. We carry with us only the essentials, and have a new outlook on what we acquire along the way. May would see us move out of our home, be in limbo back in Miami, and even once we got to Oakland, we would move just 2 weeks later (and move out again 3 months later, and we’ll be moving again this January). This is a year of being unsettled, which was to be expected with the move, but add a global pandemic, marches for equality, an uncertain presidential election, nothing was the same, everything has changed.

But honestly, since many of life’s grievances are a shared collective, my year relatively was ok. Pre-Covid was fantastic and jam packed with family and trips, par for the course of what I deem important to me. And even during the pandemic, my comforts are driven by much of the same elements: friends, family, and trips, albeit a bit differently. I have hopes for next year, I really do. I don’t think things will go back to normal, and for us there is no normal here. But I think things will settle and be grounded, and we can look forward to more of things that make us whole and human. Things that may have been missing this year are the grander friends vacation trips, and the live concerts and museums. I also hope to see my family soon, and get back to a place of comfort and familiarity, even for a brief moment. I hope to see more of that next year. But all I can ask is that our health and wellbeing stay intact.

2020, you were a nightmare. But catalysts are never calm, and the outcome is sure to be filled with great energy.

[itsthehcgforme]

I want to give you a little background about my history and how its correlates with my weight gain and losses. I’ll keep it as short and digestible as possible, considering managing my weight, body dysmorphia and EDs have been a pretty prominent part of my life since the tender age of 6. I’ll stick to the last two years. Let’s talk about 2019 This year was a wild ride. I was working a job I hated in communications, I was studying for what seemed like no reason at all. I had a terrible relationship with my family. At that point I was very much still in wounded child, victim mode, and I want to say to some degree depressed (I take diagnoses pretty seriously -so I want to state that at no point was I clinically diagnosed, but I could tell something was off - but let’s tackle that topic in another post). It was incredibly hard to make drastic changes to turn my life around at that point. When things feel disastrous and out of my control, I self soothe by binge eating. When there are feelings that I just don’t want to feel anymore, I binge eat. When I’m uncomfortable, I binge eat. I’m sure you get it. In January I was definitely still in ‘New Year New Me’ mode and DID catch myself mid binge-out, and corrected that as soon as I could. By mid February, by the grace of ??? WHOMEVER - I was forced to make pretty life altering decisions. I dropped out of University, quit my job, became a flight attendant for a Canadian airline, moved out of my family home and to the city with a woman who I figured might’ve been the love of my life, maybe three months after meeting her. Just a recipe for a disaster. Ironically, by mid-summer of 2019 I was the happiest I had ever been. I was in love with my lady, I was living la vida loca travelling all of Europe and the South, enjoying city life with all of my queer friends, new and old. I seemed to have everything in control. But whew… the happy weight y’all! Ironically I wasn’t binging to mask unpleasantries, but between the many dinner dates with my lady at the time, dinners and drinks with my friends in the city, the uber eats, crew meals at work. I packed on the weight like nobodies business. By October, I came to the conclusion that my relationship with my body, with eating and with my lady all weren’t serving me. On some real prodigal son shit, I moved back in with my family which was terrible for my mental health, but I didn’t really have any other choice. Summer flying season had settled and most junior flight attendants work on an on call basis in the fall and winter months. Meaning, I would be “home” for the majority of the winter. I spent my days at the gym and working as an Uber Eats courier, just anything to avoid being at home. I missed freedom, I missed the city. By December I was dead set into working out and swimming regularly. I had stacked up some money, paid some debts and was coming up with a master plan on what my next steps would be. For my independence, my weight, my love life and so on. 

2020 started off incredible. Still living in the burbs with the rents, but I had found some other things to live for. I was fit and active, built up some confidence during my newfound and RARE single-hood. I was out there and dating. Discovering and rediscovering myself and the things I loved. I had picked up a sub-contract and was able to do a lot more winter flying around Canada. I was going on lots of fun dates with cuties in the city and out of province, I was making decent money. And then, like a brick, COVID-19 hit and the pandemic began. Late February, I found myself in Cuba on a 16hr layover with one of my favourite co-workers. She’s an instagram certified bad bitch, so you already know we were on the beach 10AM, full face, hair done, taking pictures. It was freezing. I became incredibly sick the next day. We were working out of a small airport in New Brunswick. I had to call in sick for the middle of the pairing. Little did I know because of that call I would be quarantined in my Moncton hotel room until the end of March. Let’s be clear, at no point did I ever test positive for COVID, but because this was the point where Canada started taking the virus seriously, it took a few weeks before I could even get medical attention. In that time, I had developed other health complications due to my initial sickness and lack of access to healthcare or proper medication. The hotel staff were really kind to me, they brought me unlimited room service, though the options were quite limited (and not the healthiest), I didn’t have the physical or mental strength to continue exercising. Between the lack of exercise, the increase in unhealthy food, the loss of control and the feelings of impending doom - I started putting on more weight. Let’s just fast forward through 2020 cause it turned out to be kind of a shit show and isn’t worth spending too much time on. I get released and get to go home, just to find out that I’d been laid off from my job as a flight attendant indefinitely due to covid. I leave home again because I can’t take it anymore. I have no excuse to leave home since we’re on lockdown. I have no gym, no space to breathe, no outlets. I move out of my family home for sanity sake into a house in the city with two girls who were at first glance really cool, but 6 months in realized I couldn’t stay there. Between trying to control my life, sabotaging my romantic relationships, emotional manipulation, drug issues and the list goes on, I had to leave for my own good. December comes, I’m living on my own in a small Toronto apartment. I’m safe, sane(ish) and satisfied. I have two wonderful partners, I have furniture, I have peace, I’m completely BROKE LOL. Here comes the happy weight. 

So here we are, 2021. The gyms still aren’t open. I’ve definitely eaten enough frozen pizzas and wine to scare me into thinking I’m pregnant (not pregnant, just fat LOL). I’ve exercised on and off, some low-intensity-HIIT and other things. But nothing strenuous enough to make any drastic changes. My partners seem to both be into my happy weight, considering they both have histories dating bigger women. Considering they both eat gluten-free diets and are pretty much healthy, they probably don’t suspect a problems. But young people are usually pretty naive and self centred (don’t @ me. You know to some degree I’m right. Its also why I don’t have a tendency to date young people). At this point I’m unhappy, despite everything. Weights up, hormones feel out of whack, my guts in a rut and my emotions feel out of my control. I’m giving HCG another try in efforts to regulate my weight, my hormones, my gut and regain control. Its not my first rodeo and its why I’m back on the HCG diet wave again. We’ll see where it takes me. Wish me luck.

[maverick-werewolf]

Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends - Preview, “Waking the Dragon”

Colored interior Illustration from Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends, drawn by Justin R Stebbins

It’s almost time! Well, relatively. Pretty soon, though! Are you excited? I’m nervous, personally. Maybe just a little excited.

This preview features not only Caiden Voros and Gwen Vergil, the protagonists of the book, but also Tom Drake, someone else you might be a little familiar with from my blog... and someone who, as you might also know, becomes a werewolf not too long after this story takes place!

So here’s another preview (a little late; sorry about that!) for my upcoming story collection, Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends. It’s a book, but it’s something in-between a novel and a short story collection.

Each story is individual and stands on its own, but they also go in order and build upon each other. So I’m not sure if one should really call it a novel, but it’s also different than just unrelated short stories.

Anyway, here’s another preview - enjoy!

For more info on the book itself, you can also check out this post. Also be sure to check out the Hunt Never Ends tag for a whole lot more book previews!

And remember - Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends is available for preorder (digital only; physical available on release date) on Amazon.com!

Pre-Order Link

Please note that, while the ebook is now available for preorder, Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends will also be available in paperback on October 30 from the same Amazon listing! Paperbacks cannot be preordered using Amazon’s system, however.

Be sure to check back October 30 for the physical (paperback) edition!

In the third section of the book, Caiden and Gwen hunt for a mysterious berserker whom the locals claim is causing trouble... and, for the first time, Caiden truly sees how hard it is to draw the line between man and monster.

If you’re interested in purchasing the book digitally, you can now pre-order it right here and have it immediately on October 30!

(Paperback edition will be available on Amazon on October 30)

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When they reached Eloh, they found chaos waiting for them.

Smoke. It reached him suddenly, strong and caustic. Not too long after, buildings arose on the horizon. Straw-roofed homes, fenced-in farmlands…

Many of them on fire.

Shapes moved about in the distance. Riders on horseback, likely local knights, were heading for the chaos much like them. People were stumbling into every other direction, trying to get away from the fires.

And not just the fires, but the creatures amongst them that moved so much faster than any human could. They were tall, many of them hunched like angry animals, trailing long, bestial tails as they ducked and ran. It was a grotesque sight, and for a moment Caiden couldn’t help but stop and stare – trying to figure out just what he was seeing—

Beasts turned man or man turned beasts, half concealed by smoke rolling thick and dark from the fires, as if they’d all burst straight from an Achaean’s storybook as it burnt.

The plains rang with screams. Frantic. Pitched. Helpless.

Under him, Caiden felt his horse tense. Its ears flicked back in alarm, and it huffed in protest when his heel snapped back to drive it forward. Right along with the knights and their sturdy destriers – warhorses that, unlike Caiden’s steed, didn’t flinch at cries of pain and the smell of blood. But even they hesitated at the sight of these beast-men. 

As they drew nearer, he thought he saw most of the beasts breaking off, their paths taking them through and away from the burning buildings. Away from the approaching knights. Were they fleeing?

No. Not fleeing, Caiden realized. They had simply gotten what they’d come for.

Carried under their arms, most of the monsters held struggling shapes – prisoners. Humans, the farmers who’d been living so peacefully before in these almost idyllic houses of simple straw and wood, their lives very literally going up in flames. 

“After them!” shouted the head knight, Earl Warren Drake. Blades were drawn, metal ringing and flashing in the smoke-filtered sun.

Caiden didn’t draw his blade. Instead, he pulled the crossbow from his back and loaded it, hands quick and deft. Then, he picked his target.

A monster cut through the smoke not too far ahead of him, hunkered low but carrying one human under each arm like sacks of grain. It ran at a full sprint, away from the charging knights on horseback.

These monsters were fast, even running on two legs. Two long, loping, animalistic legs, ending in great clawed feet that seemed to hit the ground without a single noise, their light gait looking almost effortless. They could outrun a human on foot, but they didn’t seem able to outstrip a galloping horse.

Caiden steadily gained on the one he chased: a monster covered in a hide of thick, dark scales, with a ridge of spikes running along its spine��

It plunged into the chaos, ducking into the remains of a collapsing building and coming out the other side even as Caiden had to stop his horse and wheel it around past the smoldering home.

The smoke grew thicker, stinging his eyes and filling his lungs. Coughing, he pulled a portion of his long cloak over one shoulder and slung it around his neck, pulling it up over his nose and mouth.

The monster, however, disappeared.

It faded into the thick haze billowing from a nearby barn, until even its silhouette was gone. Didn’t leave a trace.

“Shit.”

Picking a direction that wasn’t backward, Caiden set off again, reins in one hand and crossbow in the other, couching the stock against his shoulder. Ready to fire the instant he saw the monster again.

He burst through the thickest smoke, emerging on the far side of it. Just in time to see the monster, running for a line of dark trees not too far away now. Just in time to take aim—

And just in time for a streak of black and red to rush headlong past him, blocking his shot.

That streak was a knight, the same one trailing red-hot rage in his wake. Now he leaned low over the neck of his black horse, a long spear in one hand. All at once, he flipped his grip on the spear in one quick twirl, took aim, and threw.

His javelin cut through the light veil of smoke still hanging around them—

To fly straight into a tree. It lodged there, the head stuck firmly in the bark, as the monster disappeared into the darkness of the trees seconds before the spear struck.

The heat coming off the knight, clad in a sleeveless breastplate and horsehair helmet like a hoplite, intensified to a quick burn that made Caiden’s grip on his crossbow tighten.

And the knight snarled only one crude word: “Malakas.”

All around them, the other knights arrived, bringing with them their currents and eddies of emotion. Mostly frustration, but none pulsed as powerful as the hoplite knight with his tall, blood-red crest.

Another interior illustration preview

(More writing preview under the cut!)

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Their surroundings became darker the deeper they went. The ground turned grey, and a fine, black mist-like haze made of darkest shadow grew around their feet. Caiden removed his crossbow from his back, keeping it at the ready.

Each tree looked blacker than the last, and always with no leaves and barely a whisper of wind to rattle their dry, seemingly dead branches. Yet not one was rotten or fallen over, and thick, twisted, black roots still turned the ground treacherous. Made them have to watch their every step.

Caiden felt that the roots lowered his guard, as he had to make sure he didn’t trip, and he didn’t like it. He’d marched armies across plains, led smaller teams through cities and ruins, across mountains, and onto battlefields. He’d led men into forests a few times, sure, and he even liked to think he was pretty sure-footed. But he had never walked through anything like this.

More than once, one of his boots got stuck in a root and he had to pry it free. Others, he crunched underfoot and didn’t give it a second thought, but they weren’t half as brittle as anything dead should’ve been.

There was no smell here, either. No forest detritus, no pine needles or scent of fresh bark. Not even the smell of dirt, like the forest was a void in the world and wasn’t meant to exist. There was nothing but the silence, like what hung over a night of newfallen snow but not peaceful and not pleasant, which amplified everything he felt from the three others with him.

Like that same pull he had noticed before – not out, for once, but in. Inside him. An emptiness. Felt almost like hunger, a void waiting and wanting to be filled. But hunger, he was all too familiar with. This was something else.

And the silence in these trees only made it that much worse. There was no distraction, nothing else to turn to. Only the silence, the hunger, the curiosity, the fire, or the trepidation – the forest, himself, Sadja, Tom, or Gwen.

He didn’t like any of his options.

But as it was, he glanced back at Tom and slowed enough to walk alongside him. Tom threw him a look and glanced him up and down, like he still wasn’t sure what to make of him.

“You said you’re from Redfield, right?” Tom said. “What’d they feed you? I’ve seen Nordlings like half your size.”

Caiden huffed and didn’t answer. Meanwhile, Tom almost tripped on a root, only just catching himself before he went face-first into the faint mist floating above the ground – but not before Caiden’s hand shot out and landed on his shoulder for support.

Tom threw him a look: decidedly embarrassed, but not without a hint of surprised gratefulness. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be glad when we’re out of this malakes forest,” he added in a mutter, straightening up and trying to look like he had lost none of his pride, though Caiden felt a brief flare in the eternal burn coming off him.

After a moment, Caiden said, “What is that; Old Achaean?”

Tom gave him a look. “What?”

“That word. You’ve said it before.”

“Malaka? Yeah, that’s Old Achaean. I think you figured out the general idea of what it means, huh?”

Caiden snorted. “I’ve heard it before.” He paused. “I didn’t expect to hear Old Achaean this far north.”

“Yeah, well, we surprise you sometimes. Me especially. I’m loaded with surprises – you’ll find that out.” He furrowed his brow. “Or maybe you won’t, since they’re surprises.”

Caiden threw him a glance. “Right.”

“So if we’re trekking into creepy forests and swamps together, might as well know who has your back. Me, I grew up in Illikon my whole life, wouldn’t have had it any other way. And I’ll be a knight soon, and that will be awesome, going around and protecting people with nobody looming over your shoulder.”

Tom’s gaze drifted a little then, a small smile tugging at his lips. A lightness lifted the heavy heat in Tom’s soul, if only a little. Enough for Caiden to glimpse something underneath, though he wasn’t sure what. A warmth, gentle and kind – different from the dangerous flames that made up so much of him.

Didn’t make much sense when he thought about it, tried to put it into words, but when he felt it, that made all the difference.

Tom seemed to snap out of it just a little, his gaze focusing on Caiden again. “But I guess you do that anyway, huh? Go around protecting people, nobody giving you orders.”

Caiden huffed. “That depends.”

“So nobles try to give Venatori orders too, the way Marks was doing?”

“Sometimes. If they want us around at all.”

Tom frowned, but he scratched at his neck and, suddenly, asked instead, “Ever been to Illikon?”

“No,” Caiden said.

“You should go, maybe when we’ve saved all these people. It’s only the best city in the Empire – or, well, anywhere. There’s nothing like smelling the sea breeze, watching the ships come and go. I’ve always heard people talk bad about her – Illikon, I mean – back in the Empire, but everybody who does hasn’t ever been there. I can guarantee it.”

The warmth from before rose up in Tom again, like his heart swelled at the thought of something. Illikon, if Caiden had to guess, just from the way he said the name. More like a woman he loved than a city he called home.

All Caiden said was, “Maybe.”

Tom flashed him a quick grin. “Wow. ‘Maybe.’ Don’t get excited or anything. You’re a real stoic guy, huh, Caid?”

‘Caid.’ He was someone who used nicknames without permission, then, if he could figure one out or make one up. Wasn’t the first time he had been called that one, though. Caiden glanced at him and huffed.

Then, something else tickled his senses. Caiden stopped in his tracks, arms tensing, hands squeezing the grip of his crossbow and his finger itching to slide to the trigger.

[ofmargos]

chicago’s very own margo rosas has been spotted on madison avenue driving a mercedes-AMG G65 , welcome ! your resemblance to camila mendes is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty-third birthday bash  . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re distrusting , but being passionate might help you . i think being a scorpio explains that . 3 things that would paint  a  better picture of you would be lipstick stained kisses on mirrors , doing vocal warm-ups five minutes before top of show , popping bottles of bubbly to celebrate buying a new pair of shoes . ( my biological dad paid off my mom to keep my relation to him a secret ) & ( cis-female + she / her  ) +  (  lia , 20 , she / her , cst )

whAT is up my dudes ! i’m lia & i lowkey missed wealthy & writing for my bbygirl margo so i’m rlly excited to be here !!!! if you know her from before i’m sorry lmao i’ve tweaked her background a bit but everything else is p much the same ig ?? she’s fun , she’s a dumbitch , & she’s here to make things harder than they need to be probs . but if you wanna know more , i wrote a novel below so plz enjoy that . if you wanna plot then LIKE THIS & i’ll slide in your im’s.or if you prefer discord hmu @  𝐛𝐛𝐧𝐨$𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥#1904. i look forward to writing with y’all ! <3

S T A T S ↴

-- * FULL NAME : margaret lucia rosas -- NICKNAME(S) : margo ( preferred name , started introducing herself to people as “margo” back in like the 7th or 8th grade ??? who’s margaret ? we don’t know her ) , mar , mars -- * AGE : twenty-three -- * D.O.B : october 31 -- * ZODIAC : scorpio -- * GENDER : cis-female --* ORIENTATION : heterosexual heteroromantic -- * HEIGHT : 5′2″ -- * NATIONALITY : american -- * BIRTHPLACE : chicago , illinois -- * OCCUPATION : broadway performer -- * TRAITS : passionate , creative , dramatic , distrusting , outgoing , ambitious , fun-loving , loyal , daring , sarcastic , stubborn , overconfident , impulsive , hard-working , petty , secretive lowkey

B I O G R A P H Y ↴

( TW : BRIEF MENTIONS OF ABORTION, ALCOHOLISM, AND DRUG USE )

   first things first , i’m just going to say it-- margo was an accident . and her story begins with her mother , stassia , who was born and raised on the wrong side of the tracks in chicago , illinois . although she was born into poverty , she had big aspirations for herself and wanted a better lifestyle . her ambition and work ethic were unmatched , and that’s how she managed to get into columbia university ( thank you scholariship $$ ). stassia was in the middle of struggling through her college years when she met her future baby daddy . he was older , going through grad school , and the sole heir to a billion-dollar company . the sparks between them flew instantly despite their differences and they messed around for the better part of a year before the unexpected happened . stassia found herself taking a pregnancy test in the bathroom in between finals ( #justcollegethings , amirite ) and swore she was going to pass out when she noticed the double lines . and let’s just say that her baby daddy did NOT take the news well . a lot of horrible things were said that day . too many hurt feelings for the relationship ( that apparently was never that serious to homeboy ) to carry on . ( TRIGGER WARNING !!! ) so he cut all ties with stassia-- but not before giving her a crazy proposition : get an abortion and never talk to him again OR keep the baby but tell absolutely no one it’s his and never talk to him again . they both seemed like shitty options to stassia , who was actually tragically in love w him , but when he even offered to PAY HER a hefty sum ( i’m talking millions of dollars ) to keep the secret .. well-- it seemed like a blessing in disguise . she’d finally have the funds to live the life she always wanted . even if there was now a baby she didn’t plan for in the mix . so she took the hush money , had the baby in secret , and ran off to completely reinvented herself . ( TRIGGER WARNING END )

    although margo’s mother was born into poverty , margo certainly was not . by the time she was born , margo’s mom was ramping up to graduate college and join the high society in the heart of chicago . she got a good job , a lavish place to live , and never told margo about her past . margo grew up completely disconnected from her mother’s side of the family and had no idea of the lies she was being fed over the years . early on in margo’s childhood , her mother met a man through work who she would later go on to marry . that man is the only dad that margo has ever known . he and his daughter were a welcomed addition to their little family , making margo’s home life feel complete in some way . she was provided a good life with the dual income adding to the millions her mother kept . the life her mother always wished she had growing up . in a way , everything she did was for margo . she never wanted her babygirl to struggle like she had to .

   as she got older , margo went to all the best schools but only made average grades . she was never too concerned with academics and instead focused on her poppin’ social life and extracurriculars . during her middle school days , she developed an affinity for the performing arts . when everyone had to pick an elective , margo found herself in the theatre class and absolutely loving it . and she was good too . she had excellent stage presence and took every role she got in school productions in stride -- literally the best tree number 3 you’ve ever seen in your life . as she moved on to high school , she rose in the ranks of the theatre department until she was pretty much landing every single lead by the time she was an upperclassmen . acting was her passion , and she figured why not turn being dramatic and talking a lot ( her two most notable personality traits ) into a career . to really hone the craft , she trained herself to be a triple threat : actor , singer , and dancer ( sutton foster , eat your heart out ) . honestly truly had rachel berry in early seasons of glee vibes-- she knew she was the best around and wouldn’t stand to let anyone take the spotlight from her . her peers hated to love her talents because she acted like such a bitch to them offstage / out of character . not that margo really cared for what others thought of her anyway . self absorbed as ever , she told herself she didn’t need friends and generally pushed away any one that dared try to get close to her-- save for her sister . though somehow , someway she managed to get sucked into a small group of friends that would change her for the better ( s/o to ky and gio , sorry they had to put up w bitchy hs margo , rip )

   after graduating somewhere in the middle of her class , margo followed in her mother’s footsteps and went to columbia university . she was really only able to get in because she was a legacy and her parents made a considerable donation to the school , but we don’t talk about it . and to say that margo’s college years were transformative feels like an understatement . on one hand , they were some of the best years of her life : she got a true taste of independence , met some of her best friends ( s/o oliver and claudia ), and felt fulfilled to be in the city she had romanticized for so long-- new york baby ! but it was also a very low point for her . back in her high school years , she felt like a very big fish in a teeny tiny pond . she was hot shit , the top dog in her department , and all her hard work and effort to remain leading lady had paid off . however , at columbia she was just one in hundreds of talented people . some with more or less talent , or more or less connections , but they deserved a shot at fame just as much as she did . margo felt like she was fighting for her chance in the spotlight every single day and it was both parts exhausting and humbling for her . she had a amy march mentality “i want to be great, or nothing” and considered throwing in the towel . temporarily thrown off by the pressure to be successful , she took a small tumble from grace . ( TRIGGER WARNING !!! ) turning towards alcohol was her coping mechanism of choice . losing herself in the party scene and surrounding herself with other people that prioritized getting drunk or high over going to class and getting good grades had an obvious effect on her academic performance . ( END TRIGGER WARNING ) she almost lost her place in the BFA Theatre Program during her junior year due being on academic probation . it took a little bit of intervention on her close friends and family part to get margo clean and pull herself together . but by her senior year , she got back on track to graduate on time and participated in various shows at local theaters to build her resume . after almost losing everything she had ever worked for , a fire was lit under margo that had her determined to push herself hard than ever before and make a name for herself in the theatre world . 

   after she graduated from columbia she moved to new york permanently so that she could fully submerge herself in her work . not long after graduating , she was lucky enough to book several gigs including her big breakout role as lydia in beetlejuice the musical ! it really skyrocketed her into broadway stardom which is cool . a life long dream that once seemed unobtainable was suddenly a reality and she couldn’t have been more elated . with her sudden ( and well deserved ) success , she got a lot of media attention . soon she was getting verified on twitter , instagram , gaining a whole bunch of followers , and getting asked to be on talkshows and stuff to promote the show . honestly , truly a dream ! but her new-found fame gained the attention of another group of people .. her mom’s long lost family . one of her aunt’s ( that she previously didn’t know existed ) reached out to her through social media . and at first , margo honestly couldn’t believe that she had family that her mom never told her about . but after some thought it sort of made sense . in hindsight , her mom had always been evasive whenever margo asked about the other’s childhood or her side of the family .

   when margo told her mom about her aunt reaching out and how she wanted to meet her , her mom shut it down quick . stassia told her there were a lot of reasons that she didn’t talk to that side of the family and that was that-- PERIODT . but margo was #rebellious and went to meet with her aunt anyway . and that’s how she found out about her brazilian roots and her big ol’ loving and supportive extended family . that whole experience made margo reconsider what other things her mom was keeping from her . and boy oh boy was that a rabbit hole she shouldn’t have gone down . when margo started to demand her mother tell her the truth , it caused their relationship to grow tense . stassia eventually cracked and told her about her bio-dad and all the things she went through for margo . with the truth finally being exposed to her , margo started seeing things in a new light . like her whole life is kinda a lie and why didn’t her father want her ? where was he ? does he know who she is ? why did he never try to contact her ? has she ever walked past him in the streets and never knew ? it was all too much for her to think about so she just kinda ... shut it all out . she acted like nothing was different , even if her “ what if ” thoughts keep her up most nights . 

   if you just ignore the abandonment issues , insecurities , and her inability to handle emotions and focus solely on her success in material terms : margo’s doing really well ! she’s been living in new york full time for two (2) years now . she’s one of broadway’s most popular rising stars . having completed her run as the original lydia deetz on broadway , she’s moved on to take on the mantel of janis in mean girls on broadway . she’s learning , growing , and thriving . just trying to have a good time all the time with her friends and live the dream , baby !

P E R S O N A L I T Y  &  F U N  F A C T S ↴

margo is super fun-loving and down to clown 

will try anything once and it’s gotten her in trouble more times than she can count

also cannot stand to be bored , so she’s always looking for the next big adventure 

although she can be really ridiculous sometimes , she’s very serious when it comes to her work . she’s super hard-working and doesn’t let anything or anyone stand in the way of achieving her dreams : even herself

margo’s a very sociable girl and will talk to anyone and everyone . she’s the type that will hold a conversation for 2hrs with a stranger at a party and then when you ask her “who was that” she’s like “i don’t remember their name but i do know their entire life story so that’s cool”

has a way of making people feel like they know her really well when really she’s only letting them see 1/8th of her

keeps her personal life private normally unless you’re super good friends w her

i wouldn’t recommend pissing her off , bc she is petty as a mf and will lit rally never forget how one’s wronged her . this causes her to start fights sometimes . she’ll just bring up old shit out of no where and , since she’s nosy af , she makes everything her business and confronts people on their bs

she’s a whole liar bc she claims she’s a “retired party girl” but really party girl margo has never stopped , will never stop , can never be stopped

studied theatre in college but minored in mass communications just in case she needed a backup job

is v bad at being an adult !!!! like ... can’t cook , often forgets about her responsibilities until the last minute or needs to be reminded like 20 times , stills calls her parents to be like “how do u use a washing machine plz help” , y’know the drill . yet somehow she manages to act as a mom friend to the people that are closest to her ??? v much a “do as i say not as i do” type of hypocrite lol

she has a tiktok and posts dumb shit on there all the time w her friends and like vlogs her backstage experiences in the theater and does the stupid dances and all that stuff hehe

is learning portuguese after meeting the brazilian side of her family

self-proclaimed dancing queen and it’s not because she learned ballet , jazz , and tap whole dabbling in other styles but because when she’s drunk you will in fact catch her dancing on tables !!!!!

i cannot stress enough how bad she is at dealing with her own feelings . like ... instead of dealing with them head on she just ... shuts down . runs away . will ghost on someone she really likes just bc she’d rather leave first than get left and i hate her for it

have i mentioned how big her ego is ???? pHEW . she rides a v fine line between self confident and OVER confident . but tbh it’s just a cover up for how much she rlly hates herself , there i said it

loyalty is EVERYTHING to margo . if you got her back , she’s got your back . but if you screw her over or mess with anyone she loves then she’ll likely try to make your life a living hell IM SORRY

undiagnosed insomniac . nights she spends alone in her own bed are the hardest for her because it’s when all the bad scary thoughts creep up on her and no matter how much she wants to shut them out and just close her eyes and fall to sleep , she can’t . so she’ll often roam the city looking for a distraction or hit up her friends and bother them for some spare company

she’s doesn’t like to be alone ( not like in a romantic relationship sense -- she actually likes being single bc she’s afraid of letting ppl get close enough to hurt her ). hence why she’s always had a roommate even after she moved out of her parent’s house . if she’s not attached to her roommate / best friend kylie’s hip then she’s definitely hitting up her sister or her other friends to see if they want to hang out , even if hanging out is laying around doing nothing or running errands together . margo wants to tag along just for the company

notoriously known for coming up with terrible ideas or following through with other people’s terrible ideas without question bc #YOLO

she’s her pr agents worse nightmare simply bc she has no filter and will not change herself or what she posts just bc she has a big audience ( follow margo on social media and you’re gonna see the good , the bad , and the ugly she does not give a FUCK )

always has good intentions ! her execution / way of showing those intentions is just poor !

she is a rich girl that could not survive not being rich and doesn’t even realize how spoiled she is . spends money like it’s nothing

a mob boss ( this is a joke but also kinda not a joke )

WANTED CONNECTION PAGES HERE