#no commas in our lists we write like men

[deanstits]

Saw a tweet that really hammered home to me that, more than anything, "The Winchesters" is a Fanfic By Jensen Ackles. Wild!! He just has way more time and money and resources than the rest of us put together! Unfortunately he's not even a respectable amount of horny about it, he's on cable tv posting teen rated 600k word canon divergent OC laden self insert 100% fresh and pure fantasy fan fiction and getting paid to do so.

[youngbloodslut]

celebrity crush | 2/??

a/n: the first interview is mostly based off of dove cameron and ava max’s interviews with popbuzz

summary: actress! reader somehow manages to bring up her crush on calum hood in every interview

pairing(s): calum hood x reader, platonic! reader x tom holland

warning(s): swearing? slight mentions of kinks

“She’s at it again mate,” Ashton smirked as he carried his laptop over to Calum who was sat on the sofa. He flipped open the computer and hit play on y/n y/l/n’s newest interview.

“C’mon, I don’t wanna-” Calum rubbed his hand over is face and shook his head.

Ashton ignored him and turned up the volume to drown out his protest. “Shhh.. watch.”

“Hey guys, I’m y/n y/l/n and this is the Pop Buzz Tower of Truth.” You spoke as the title popped up on screen.

“I think I’m gonna end up tipping it before I can even get one block out,” You said as you tried to carefully pull of a wooden block. 

“That will never work,” Calum heard a voice from off camera say and recognized it as Tom Holland. He tried not to frown as you laughed and mocked him.

“Y’know what, we’re leaving that one.” You laughed, leaving the original block alone and easily pulling out another block.

“There we go. Okay, what was the last movie or tv show that make you cry? Dead Poets Society. I love Dead Poets Society so much and Tom had never seen it so we watched it after finishing yesterdays interviews.” You placed the block on top of the tower. “And he cried.”

The camera crew laughed as Tom shouted a, “Hey!”

“Tell us one thing about you that we don’t know. Um, this is hard because I’m always saying stuff that I shouldn’t be. Um, I’m an Oxford comma worshiper.” You said, unsure whether or not that’s interesting enough.

“Oxford comma?” A crew member behind the camera questioned.

“Yeah, y’know, the comma that comes before ‘and’ when making a list. I hate that people don’t use it because then I get all confused. Like if I were to write ‘Lizzie, Tom, and Robert are going to the party’ and I don’t add a comma before ‘and’ then it seems like Tom and Robert would be arriving at the party together. But some people who don’t use the Oxford comma could mean that all three people were showing up separately so I never know. Y’know what I mean?”

The camera crew were all silent after her rant and Calum chuckled a bit to himself. He thought it was cute that you were so passionate about the smallest things. Ashton looked over to him as Calum admired you through the screen. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Calum secretly liked how much you talked about him.

“No,” Tom responded honestly

“Ugh,” You rolled your eyes dramatically and looked into the camera, “See, these are the type of guys you got to look out for: Un-grammarly men.” You joked.

“Un-grammarly isn’t a thing.” Tom laughed.

“Well if it were a thing, you’d be one.” You fired back at Tom.

“Anyway, who is your favorite artist right now? Um, probably Wallows, I love them and their music.”

“I was really expecting Calum Hood to be honest.” Tom shouted from across the room.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just forgot about him like that. I love you Calum Hood. I love 5sos.” You held up your hands into a heart shape and moved your hands from side to side. 

You then dropped them and grabbed another block. “Sorry, I keep forgetting that people are actually going to see these interviews. Like, he could literally see this. Dude, I hope he doesn’t.” You paused, “Oh god, do you think he knows about my crush on him?” You had been mentioning him for years and it had never once occurred to you that he could actually see these. 

Calum laughed at the irony of the situation. Here he was watching a video of you saying you hoped he’d never see said video.

“This is humiliating.” You mumbled though you didn’t seem to actually care, “Who was your first celebrity crush? Oh uh, definitely Andrew Garfield. I remember when I first watched the Social Network and I was like obsessed. My friend and I both watched it over 10 times within like two months. And then would continuously make Mark Zuckerberg jokes. But of course, Calum Hood now owns my heart.” You put the block on top of the tower. “I’m actually doing really good, I thought I’d knock it down by now.”

“Describe in detail the worst date you’ve ever been on. Okay so I was like fifteen right, and, well I’m not even sure if this counts as a date. I think he considered it a date so I guess it was but basically we were in the car, he was sixteen so he could drive. We were in the drive through, we had already ordered, and he started feeling around in is pockets and I was like oh god, cause I knew what was about to happen. He was like, ‘oh no i think i lost my wallet’, and I was like its fine I’ll pay. I really didn’t mind. I ended up paying, we got our drinks and without missing a beat, we hadn’t even pulled out of the drive through, he was like’oh here’s my wallet.’ I really didn’t mind paying for my coffee, I wouldn’t mind paying for both of our coffees. But him going out of his way to lie, and then not even lie well, was so irritating.” She placed the block on the top and picked up a new one.

“What is the most useless idem you’ve ever purchased? Um, I bought a seven foot giraffe while I saw drunk once.” The block was added to the top, the tower now taller than you. “He’s in my living room if you wanted to know.”

You grabbed the next block carelessly, immediately regretting it when the tower fell behind you, “Oh shit, well I guess we’re done then.” You said nonchalantly, looking at the blocks on the floor. “I don’t think I’ll be playing this again anytime soon. Love you guys,” You held up your hands, “Love you Calum Hood.” You winked before the outro began to play.

“She must really love you, Cal.” Ashton poked Calum’s cheek annoyingly, “She’s got no shame.”

Calum wouldn’t admit it, but as soon as he got home he looked you up again. He clicked on the same video Ashton showed him and scrolled through the comments. 

y/nscalumhoodkink: MOMOMOMOMOMOM

datemey/n: Queen of Jenga

ashtonfletchersbitch: Y/N LITERALLY IS ME

5esohes: no because y/n y/l/n and calum hood together is my kink

noemptywalletshere: not only does y/n own this fandom, but my ass too

He couldn’t help but laugh at the comments no matter how interesting they were. But something in the back of his head kept yelling at him. She doesn’t acting like you. Shes just likes your music, nothing more. He sighed and clicked out of the video and was about the close his laptop when his cursor handed on a video. 

Y/n Y/l/n foaming at the mouth while talking about Calum Hood for 5 minutes straight.

He clicked on it a little too quickly and waited for it too load. 

“Calum Hood choke me challenge.” You stuck out your tongue and threw up a peace sign with an innocent look plastered on here face. 

“Bro imagine if Calum Hood saw this?” “Oh he would definitely fall for you after this video”

The third thing to pop up was a tweet from 2015 just saying: #marrymecalumhood

“Calum Hood send me hand pics. This is a demand, not a request.”

Calum continued to watch the entire video. Normally, the thirsty comments would have made him uncomfortable, but them coming from you made his heart race and cheeks flush.

God, what was happening to him?

[somexofusxarexhuman-archive]

My side blog is @ourwrittenstories <--- Multi Muse! (probably why a random Stiles blog followed you)

Rules and Muse info for Mobile~~

Under the read more you will find rules as well as info on my particular Stiles, AU’s, and Tags to look up!

Rules

Rule one

Please be patient with me. I’m either stupid fast at replying or I take a few days. If it seems I’ve forgotten you, though, send me an IM

Rule Two

That being said I will reply when I feel like. I will always tell you if I need to drop a thread, if I take long it doesn’t mean I’ve dropped it. If you need to drop it because I’m taking too long, let me know. I promise not to be mad.

Rule Three

I will not RP with anyone under the age of 18, even if the thread has no smut. I’m sorry, but no. This is an adult oriented blog. Heavy themes, along with smut, will be regularly posted in rp formal and/or in images.

Rule Four

I will not RP with anime/cartoon/game FC’s (There are exceptions like RE8 chars). I will also not RP with any deceased FC’s

Rule Five

As awesome as it would be to be bilingual, I only speak and know English.  Anything you see me post that is not English was brought to you by Google Translate.

Rule Six

I do not have a verse page, but that doesn’t mean I’m not open to AU’s. I LOVE AU’s. I’m a multi-ship multi-post blog and am trash for any and all AU’s. Just ask!

Rule Seven

I can write a lot in my replies (And a lot of it can be unnecessary detail) but don't feel pressured to match my length! Just, please, try to give me something more than two sentences to work with. I don't typically enjoy writing short replies, but I understand muses can be fickle things.

Rule Eight

I don't enjoy pregnancy threads or writing children so I, typically, will steer clear of those types of threads. If our muses have been in a long relationship (and we have been writing partners for a while as well) I may make an exception, but don't come in expecting babies. My girls all have IUD's unless stated otherwise. That being said I am 100% down with the breeding kink.

Rule Nine

If a muse has (unknown) somewhere in their age it means they are old old. Like 100+, so age can be changed if you are uncomfortable with age gap.

Rule Ten

I have a handful of chronic issues that effect my sleep and my mood so I'm up all hours of the day. I live in EST time zone, but I'm often up at 4AM so.....it's a gamble lol!

Rule Eleven

I have SEVERE ANXIETY and struggle messaging new people. IF I FOLLOWED YOU I WANT TO RP WITH YOU! I'm probably just figuring out how to message you without puking lol. I would appreciate the help, if you want, or you can wait until I gather the enrve.

Rule Twelve

My grammar isn't the best in the galaxy, ok? I over use comma's and never really figured out the semi-colon. If something is horribly wrong or you can't understand what I've written, just ask please.

Rule Thirteen

I will tag major triggers (ie; Snakes, Spiders etc) but I won't tag smut or NSFW unless it really needs it.

Rule Fourteen

If I have ever posted a meme please feel free to send one in even if it was a year ago! With that in mind, I do prefer introduction threads with new muns/characters if I am not familiar with them.

Rule Fifteen

Don't like my starters

Rule Sixteen

Don't God-Mod blah blah and Follow TOS k I love you <3 <3

--------

Stiles

Age: 19

Height: 5'10"

Sexuality: Pansexual (? Testing)

Residence: Beacon Hills

Parents: Sherriff John Stilinski

Siblings: None

Abilities: Superior Sarcasm, awesome baseball bat skills

Occupation: Part Time Barrista when he’s not out kicking ass

Personality: Sarcastic, Hyper active, Loyal to a fault, Paranoid

Background: To keep it simple my Stiles is canon up until the last episode of the last season. He lives in beacon hills with his father, his best friends are all weird supernatural creatures, and he was once a murderous void. Now, while the pack is at play, Stiles has taken a job as a Barrista in some mom and pops cafe slash bookstore. The old woman who runs it can barely get down the stairs anymore so Stilinskerino is basically the one who runs the joint. Until the bills and taxes come rolling around, then the old lady practically runs down stairs to do whatever it is she does to keep the shop running. Stiles doesn’t come into work those days.

Kinks: Biting, D/s , Daddykink, spanking, just be rough with him okay? DIRTY TALK. TALK ALL THE DIRTY TO HIM. CALL HIM NAMES AND JUST UGH DIRTY TALK

Banned Kinks: Childplay, Scat, waterbording, Incest (Step is ok) MPreg

D/s Preference: Sub/Brat for men and Top/verse for Women

SafeWord: Red or Kanima.

------

AU’s

Canon Verse: This verse is the typical one. Stiles caught up completely to the end of the most recent Season Finale.

Void Verse: In this verse Stiles gave into the wills of Void and is now a dark entity that enjoys the pleasure of torture, murder, and all around chaos.

Emissary/Spark Verse: Same as the canon verse but he’s more in tuned with his magic.

Grunge Verse: Set back in the early 90’s Stiles is a drummer for the band The Pack along with band mates Scott, Erica, and Derek.

Spidey Verse: Okay this one I’m still working on/playing with in my mind But basically Stiles gets an Internship at Oz Corp and is bitten by a Radio Active Spider. When he comes back to Beacon Hills he tries to hide it from the pack but also uses it to help them in secret.

------

Tags

#somexfusarehuman;; - Tracked Tag

#Selfie;; - Photo’s

#Wishlist;; - Wanted plots 

#Wanted Opposite;; - Wanted FC or Characters to RP with

#Cassette;; - Song lists

#Aesthetic;; - Shit Stiles likes

More TBA

[thecrenellations]

Return of the Thief Notes, Part One: The Book of Pheris, Volume I

Notes from my first read, October 2020. (Part Two | Part Three | TaT)

Contents:  "So, so, so” watch, Costis watch, swearing, trashing the king’s attendants, being objectively wrong, boundless enthusiasm and love 

I promise I’ve had more developed thoughts since these often incoherent ones, but I’ve enjoyed having these notes to refer to - for sentimental reasons and for  entertainment, so here they are, for others who enjoy liveblogs and/or being whisked back in time to their first read of this wonderful book.

Format: Page number. My thoughts (Context?)

Dedication, Table of Contents, Exordium:

There it is – to Sounis

Exordium – vocab #1

Interregnum?!? Alyta?

Pheris!!!

Yeah I love him from the first page

MOIRA

MOCKING COMMENTS HELP! Gen lives!

A new level of unreliable narrator

Moira, messages of Gods, Pheris, messages of __

Wtf is going on in this study? A zoo?

high king vs great king vs annux?

okie dokie dude

Chapter 1

1. Susa – Costis

2. Infirmity – who gets to be hero/tell story (I started reading right after the book launch, in which mwt spent some time talking about her writing influences and decisions connect to this question - Pheris isn’t her first disabled protagonist and storyteller, of course, but it was lovely to meet him properly directly after hearing her talk about it. Book launch foreshadowing part 1...)

Melisande?

Is this why he wasn’t taught to read?

3. Always the summer

Bees!

4. Hunting cat… hm…

Ok … shrine … 😬

5. Once again we start with a disaster or having to flee

Which Eugenides precipitated

Bite!

Little monster :(

6. Falling…

:(

7. :( :( :(

His purpose? D:

8. YIKES

Chapter 2

9. Hello there! (Gen!)

Massive chair?

10. CRACKED WATER JUG (amphora motif???)

11. Triangle from seal!

Gen that’s rude to Pheris :( (“He will fit in very well with my attendants”)

Wait. This must have happened before ACoK! (nope)

12. :(

Xikander … never made an impression before

How old is Pheris? (lol)

13. Philologos come thru!

Royal closet reappears!

14. Hello weird secondhand scene!

He is Eugenides

Marina…

15. Petrus? GALEN? OH SHIT! 

Is this why Galen was called? (nope)

16. Hell yea Petrus

Miras’ golden balls oh no

All these previously unnamed sucky attendants!

17. Ula – goddess of hearth and healing

Ok … Galen … or a god? Eugenides????? (why did these options occur to me before Mr. Shows Up At Your Bedside At Night himself)

18. Finally the attendant floor plans I crave + hunting scenes!

19. EXCUSE ME he slept through Sounis + Eddis wedding!!!

Again – high king!

20. So Ion is beautiful … hmm.

Yeah … Sejanus has facets. I like it.

21. Clearly no one would know what king would do … lol

Don’t mind me just sorting the attendants on a spectrum of awfulness!!!

22. SO SO SO – ION!!!!!

How many fucking attendants are there and how many are on my hit list!

Is “the necessaries” bathrooms or like … him stealing? (just the bathrooms ... the Gen-Pheris parallels were really getting to me at this point)

:(

23. OH MY GOD THE UNIFIED CREST

Also … frogs. Frogs.

24. Big day for Gen huh

Definitely an aura of Something as he writes about Gen

25. HELLO EVERYONE

26. Sorry Kamet, Pheris does the physical descriptions better. They’re beautiful

I’m blacking out at Eddis and Sounis

27. Jesus Christ. The bear.

Cousin time!

Under the table is the new up on the roof!

Uh… twin imagery ….

Gen’s feet!

Jesus. The matching

28. Cleon … wtf? A cousin?

A trial for Sophos?

Show! Us! Sophos’s! Shoes!

29. If u throw things out the air shaft you might hit the king

Was it a chicken?

Lol nvm the guy at night is Gen. That is … very sweet

- Showing up at night

- Accent

- Complaining about Petrus

- Swearing

- One hand

I am judging Costis and Sophos for not describing the paneling in Gen’s room!

Chapter 3

30. Was it a chicken?

An earring huh, good hand huh

31. Literally screaming “NO!” at Gen. Don’t joke about dying! I am killed by Gen on annux day. This is. My boy. Yes he is perfect. Yes he will refuse to get up. I love him. I died on page 31

Philologos is still the best of them

32. Dancing bear indeed

Always the powdered gold

Ruby!!!!! <3

Aww a smile!!! <3

Pheris he likes you!

33. They both love invisibility and lost it … I cry

Erupt like the sacred mountain excuse me!

OR WORSE return to bed! Lol

34. He’s Eugenides when he’s talking to Attolia

Ouch hero talk

! from Irene!

My queen!

Hey Phresine!

They way we do <3 he’s hating it but he’s so comfortable with her

Sister and bro mention! C’mon!

I love them

EYEBROW

35. Honestly that’s a yes (“I have no idea what you mean, my queen”)

It’s so cute they hang out in the morning … like how long was it even since they’ve seen each other lol

:( tough walk for Pheris

Is it prophecy time?

Lol how long does this construction take?!

Also … she’s pregnant, huh? but no one knows (nope)

Is befriending someone weaponized as a prank count for Gen’s enemies to friends list?

Also SHOW ME the magus. I know he’s here!

36. Pheris excuse me, why not recreate this!

Lol cast off language of history indeed

Feel the thrum of the goddess!

EXCUSE ME… a minor goddess? Mystery goddess? Or Philia?

Oh Gen

37. Well, Gen, someone is having a worse day than you.

Damn, how far we come.

Aww Sounis, babe, I love you and so does Gen

[drawing of the four of them sitting in a row]

38. Artadorus???? Pomegranate?

39. HEIRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A friend! Also lol. Two smiles, for Pheris and Heiro..

40. Yesss Melheret joke in action.

Costis has left tho right?

Jesus, Melheret

SHE GAVE HIM A HORSE (I COULD NOT DEAL with this entire conversation, but then again I could not deal with this whole book.)

41. I love them all so much

“on that horse, you will look like a king” I can’t with her sense of humor

He sure did say that

I feel like I’m missing something with the fight on foot thing … remembering battles?

Helen called him Gen!

Sophos stop talking about yourself and bringing apricots into everything lol

Lol these bystanders don’t know how lucky they are. Nor does Pheris, yet

42. She’s protecting him

Also … Gen … you didn’t want to be a soldier.

43. Guards have capes

2 startled men … hm …

Oh Gen. The fucking brutal echoes…

44. :( :( :(

Gen tell your wife you’re sick!

The attendants are so dumb

45. So, so, so :(

Tell who? Petrus?

Wink!

Yes?

46. Bleeding! Salt! Lemon! Heck no! What is he, a piece of meat?

Oranges?

47. “savoring each bite as if it were my last” ... Same … but with this book

Hmm… Alyta! Goddess of the gentle rain! (despite this “hmm,” I did not put the pieces together)

48. Oh no Teleus! And someone?

Aw he realized <3 lemon water

49. Gen eat your broth lol

50. I love them.

Ion’s really trying to make up for what he did that one time

51. Without the approval of the great goddess HAHAHA

I love them. Cousin time! Growl?

Idk whether or not to be reassured, Gen.

Wow Cleon I do not like that. Also didn’t he die? (...)

Comma (“I am not, Eddis”)

Go smack him!

52. Gen I love you.

Helen I love you.

He’s so bad at self care but I love him

Chapter 4

55. love that our narrator just disappears and reappears

56. Attolia’s brother’s bedroom? Yikes. Ominous. A detail in a story we’ve already gotten, different every time <3

57. fucking attendants. 3 good ones. Medander you were beneath Costis’s notice before but I hate you. Costis didn’t have time for you or Xikos or Xikander and nor do I

58. interesting pawn talk!!!

59. <3 Pheris :(

The Gen comparisons though

:( :( :( :(

60. flamboyance <3

Cemphora bush

Bees

61. I love him

62. I love them

Also lol “Your majesty?”

63. Name … hm … (“I have deliberately omitted [my tutor’s] name here”)

64. more twin imagery I swear

WAIT … it was his birthday! Not just Annux day?!! Gen was born in late summer???

Attendant list thank you

65. laying it all out there, huh … (that one Gen quote)

Lol they’re the same but Pheris likes horses

66. Insellia! Hello nice to meet you

67. Gen that’s mean. (“He is hardly even half of one.”)

68. Coleus leves???

“I am Eugenides.” <3

Gen why

69. Gold cups???? Hmmmmm. Also lioness. Def invoking Costis. (they’re probably not the cups, but STILL)

Earth….

70. Moira! Hi!!! Rainbow shawl!

Like a rabbit!

Pester!

I’m … very sad he uses his Attolian accent with Helen

71. Aaah so good

Mortals

Moira knows another messenger?

Does he think he can’t die in battle?

72. hmm are they WRANGLING?! (Galen and Petrus and my Fire and Hemlock word association)

Kill that pastry Irene I love you

morning training with his … guard? (Is that the whole guard or a guard? Costis senses tingling once again.)

73. Oh gen.

Ouch! (“to send people to their deaths and not risk my own is contemptible”)

Is she implying he’s paying Therespides?

74. Interesting Cleon plan. So many doubles

OUCH. (“Only if he comes back from the dead.” I assumed Lader had died in the war; it’s a different ouch now. I love that they both accidentally say things to each other that poke old wounds, and it’s not a big deal but it’s also not dismissed! Their relationship has come so far, and I love them so much.)

75. Verimius – Lavia – Celia??? Somebody is queer in there!

A GUARD

This scene confuses me. Xortix? Layteres? Aris! but dice thing is less political … so maybe? (just wait....)

76. So many reasons to hate Medander

Hey Costis! You exist! KoA happened!

Gen is just … still so uncomfortable and miserable. He chose, he has people, but still.

RIP Clopius also WHAT

77. Lol Hilarion’s grand statements

78. Yorn Fordad Hello!

Luxurious mustache

The mighty Pents?

Besin Quedue – she’s coming 4 you watch out

79. RIP Baron Hippias

Chapter 5

80. Spring! Plays! Cenna!

81. Oh dear

Oh dear

At least they said he was pretty

83. ?!? :( wine

Uh oh. Stockpiling

85. What even.

AAAAAAAAAH COSTIS

86. Omg Irene. Hissing. I love her.

Also … Gen’s the viper

Also this scene was written by Pheris.

Damn.

87. oh no.

What better man

She fucking quoted Howl. I love them.

Also, bees (this scene killed me)

90. Falling?

Oh shit

Also … Juridius and Pheris, Susa and Costis (comparing demands for information)

93. oh my god (IT’S THE WINDOW SCENE)

Oh my god

Uh

94. She! Called! Him! Gen!

I love this and it scares me

Lol Chloe

Irene you learned from her though

95. D:

96. :(

97. water stuff

98. what the heck

OH NO (Quedue scene)

Hm

100. yikes

Omg

Wow.

102. yikes yikes YIKES

103. a blade has protruded from his chest (tbt to The Thief)

jesus

106. shit

Did Gen hit him?

108. lol Phresine

109. lol

I want genuinely every character’s reaction to this shit

Chapter 6

111. what the heck Gen.

112. like a god [crown doodle]

114. Perma?

116. Gen. Gen. Gen. Do not.

117. AAAA (god intervention)

122. Juridius to Dite

124. bye Iolanthe and Ileia! Tell us about Caeta and Silla.

125. did not expect so much Ion

Chapter 7

127. Fryst god of winter

She laughed!

They’re so married

128. OH SHIT (Costis ship is sighted and I remember what’s about to happen next)

Interesting timing

He rode the horse home?

131. Beauty and good, beauty and kind

134. The gods’ goodwill

Keep them safe <3

135. Is that his MOM?!! Wtf (it was!)

Pheris steal those earrings!!!

RING! SMASH BOX!

137. AMPHORA EARRINGS (and flowers)

138. I love Phresine

139. Why do I feel like all the game birds are pigeons

140. meanwhile Gen’s been hanging out with Kamet. Shit. I cannot.

WELCOME HOME BOYS!

HELL YEAH KAMET ATTEND THOSE MEETINGS!

RELIUS COME THRU

141. lethium soup! The reversal

Safe for you

142. of course he knew <3

143. Kamet time! I love him. We get to see Kamet!!!

Also … echo of Gen’s notes on Mede

145. very handsome. … gaycostis vindication (referring to @costis’s url at the time and this post. Little did I know what else was to come in the next chapter and then a few months later with the adaptation news...)

Do you know who I am?

Chapter 8

147. Of course he’s a cartographer

A favorite huh

148. of course she didn’t tell us his age!

149. the angsty window staring I crave

Music!

151. adventure, huh

I do have a soft spot for Melheret

152. concerned about amphora gift

153. Glad they can be well and united in spite!! (Gen and Melheret)

154. Pheris loves math and I love him

155. Hello Teleus. Hello olives

Lol Relius is not into math

156. pigeons. Inkpot!

157. yeah honestly. He tortures people. He was NOT tortured by the king

159. lol (“I have noted the elective nature of certain behaviors” ... I love Relius and Pheris.)

160. The Invitation! I <3 it

161. EXCUSE ME WHO

Legarus!

FOLKS HERE WE ARE (I cannot overstate how wonderful it was to read this page. I did not know who the poem was from, and “Someone loves me very much, even with all my faults” is even sweeter to reread, but it’s just ... his confidence is so different from the tentative consideration of a new philosophy of trust and love we see in KoA. And there is subtextual queerness in the books before this one, some more apparent and some more subtle (and what is obvious to one reader may be subtle or invisible to another, in these books especially), and there is the attendant love triangle a few chapters back, but HERE - here, Pheris acknowledges the real feeling and love in Legarus’s disastrous relationship and tells us directly that his lover was a man, here he seamlessly makes it clear how bi and poly Relius is, and he quietly ties these relationships and realities to his growing understanding of the world. It’s not subtext. And there’s a lot more to come, but this page really hit me, and sort of promised the “more to come” while assuring me that what had come before, more subtly, was there. I used to have heteronormative readings of both these books and myself, and when Thick as Thieves brought them crashing back into my heart after years away, I knew better about myself, and I saw that - or the possibility of that reading -  reflected in the new book, and it was such a good surprise. It meant a lot, and this page meant a lot, and that is why I’m writing a small essay to accompany this note.) 

Lol wow

162. Where are you traveling, man (this question remains)

163. Fuck you, Orutus

164. Stole an inkpot!

165. the map!!! (Kamet’s)

166. I love them!

167. The Math Master hmm

Am I an oracle (Nope! :) )

[hireath24]

Everything wrong with ACOFAS: A Rant

Part Two

Disclaimer: This is part two and will continue from pages 45 to 97. Part one can be found here. Part three can be found here. Part four can be found here. These page numbers come from the UK paperback edition of A Court of Frost and Starlight. This is my own opinion of the book - the writing, the grammar, the characters, etc. I won’t be commenting on anything that may have been plagiarized or that has been ripped off from the history of other cultures as SJM has a tendency to do. If you disagree with my opinions, I’m sorry and hope you see the error in your ways.

Page 45: Did Rhysand seriously see Feyre in bed and say that she was right where he left her and Feyre’s reply was... ‘Isn’t that all I’m good for?’ Sure, you can say this is a joke but when it isn’t pointed out that it is (e.g. ‘Isn’t that all I’m good for?’ She joked) then some of the younger audience is going to believe that that is all women are good for. And why is she reading in bed when she has a lot of paperwork to do for her court?

Page 46: ‘...Delay the meeting at the Court of Nightmares.” I frowned.’ I’m sorry but shouldn’t that be a comma?

Page 46: ‘If Eris will indeed be there.’ WHY ALWAYS WITH THIS WORD

Page 47: ‘Then I’ll eat you after.’

Page 48: ‘There had indeed been days when I couldn’t get out of bed.’ *Sigh*

Page 48: So we have a page and a half of Feyre bitching about how periods are different for Fae than normal women. How they only come twice a year but are the worst things imaginable... Is it-Is it ever explained why? Why is Fae menstruation so much different than humans? Why does it hurt so much more? They have the same anatomy as humans in that region so what changed? Also, if ‘conceiving amongst the Fae was rare and difficult’ then how comes we see Feyre and Rhys with a lot of kids in that brief scene in Kingdom of Ash when Aelin falls into their world? Correct me if I’m wrong but I believe they had five of them.

Page 51: ‘Prick,’ I hissed.’ How do you hiss a word that doesn’t have an s?

Page 53: ‘as my core heated.’ Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew. I can’t believe I had to read that with my own two asexual eyes.

Page 55: ‘that velvet hardness of him.’ This is not a kid’s book! Are you kidding me? This is borderline pornography! And I’ve said this before but it really frustrates me with how SJM writes sexual assault. Rhys was sexually assaulted by Amarantha for years. We know that. And here he is, not two years after that ordeal, having sex with Feyre without having any feelings over it?? And sure, it’s been two years but- Even in ACOMAF, only a few months after, they were having sex? And they never once asked each other for consent? And Rhysand doesn’t seem to face anything for what happened. It was a cheap plot device and a slap in the face to people who have dealt with sexual assault.

Page 55: ‘Indeed.’

Page 62: ‘Indeed.’

Page 63: ‘The most powerful High Lord in history.’ Okay, the magic system in this series is terrible but this is something that just doesn’t make any sense at all: If Rhys inherited the magic from his father, then why is he the most powerful High Lord? Shouldn’t his father also be the most powerful? And why is he the most powerful? Where are they getting their powers from and how are they getting them? Why are some courts more powerful than others? Also, who gets to decide who the High Lord is? It always had to be a High Lord, of course, so no daughters. But what if you had more than one son? Seeing as the Fae are immortal, do you have to wait for your father to die to take the throne? What if the eldest son isn’t the most powerful but the youngest son is? Does the youngest take the throne? I’M SO CONFUSED

Page 63: ‘Why.’ Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.’ SJM does this enough times that I can’t help picking up on it. Why the lack of question marks? A question is a question no matter what tone you use to say it and should always finish in a question mark. This book needs serious editing.

Page 66: ‘...Did not have an explanation for where the shadowsinger gifts came from.’ This is just lazy writing; the only reason this line is here is because SJM doesn’t understand her own magic system. I, for one, would love to know where Azirel’s magic comes from. And why is it only him who has it?

Page 66: ‘The territory map of Illyria.’ I’m sorry but what is Illyria? It isn’t on any of the maps for the book.

Page 70: ‘Where did Lucien go.’ AGAIN WITH THE PUNCTUATION

Page 70: Sorry if this ruffles any feathers but Azirel. I don’t like him. He’s creepy.

Page 73: We know that Feyre has a lot of paperwork to do as High Lady and yet she is ‘still asleep’ while Rhys is off with Azriel talking about territory and other... boring stuff? And yet the people of the Night Court think she’s an amazing ruler? So far, I haven’t seen one thing to make me believe that. She’s lazy.

Page 76: ‘Her eyes did not lower, not in the way Illyrian females had been trained and ordered to do.’ WHAT?! If Rhysand is 500+ and has been the High Lord for quite some time now then why is this still a thing? If he’s such a feminist why do people even think about women needing to lower their eyes for men?

Page 87: ‘The sun was mild, the day clear, distant dogwoods and lilacs still in eternal bloom. Distant - because on the estate, nothing bloomed at all.’ Okay so the dogwoods and lilacs are in eternal bloom but Rhys claims that nothing blooms at all? On the estate in the Spring Court? This isn’t making sense.

Page 88: ‘We had peace within our sights. I could rip him apart after we attained it.’ That’s... That’s just a bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it?

Page 88: ‘What do you want.’ Just why? Wait, I’m sorry *Just why.

Page 90: ‘There were no servants here.’ Does Rhysand have servants? And he calls them servants? Even though he’s supposed to want freedom and happiness for his people? And wants everyone to be viewed as an equal?

Page 90: ‘...Is the day the burning fires of hell go cold.’ So this really is just Hell would have to grow cold reworded, is it? There’s no need. Also, is the religion ever explained here? Ianthe was a priestess but of what and for what? Does every court follow a religion - the same religion? How comes we see people swearing to the mother, the gods, and the cauldron? Do they even believe in hell?

Page 91: ‘Low. It was a low blow.’

Page 91: ‘Indeed, shadows curled at my fingertips.’

Page 93: Rhysand seriously took the time out of his day to go to the Spring Court just to yell at Tamlin? Even after Tamlin helped save him and save Feyre? Even when Tamlin helped them in the war? TAMLIN SAVED THE LIFE OF THE MAN WHO TOOK THE WOMAN HE LOVED FROM HIM - WHY IS HE STILL BEING PUNISHED?!

Page 95: ‘Bigger male indeed.’

Page 97: ‘Indeed, they all sang Amren’s name.’

Part three is up! If there’s anything else that I’ve forgotten or that you feel is worth mentioning, mention it below and I’ll add it to the list.

[elains]

BOOK REVIEW: HOUSE OF EARTH AND BLOOD, Crescent City Book I, by Sarah J. Maas.

First off, my sincerest thanks to @scraphim, who listened to my comments and rants with the patience of a saint and encourage me to put them down. Second, english is not my first language, so my apologies if there's anything confusing or awkward.

General Rating: ★★ 1/2

THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CUT HERE OUT OF COURTESY BUT TUMBLR MOBILE IS BEING ITS IMPOSSIBLE SELF SO DO MIND THE RATING BEFORE CONTINUING.

Congratulations, Sarah J. Maas. You got me to sit down and write a review for a book, something I hadn't done (officially, anyway, might as well count the endless conversations with my friends) in a long while. Unfortunately, House of Earth and Blood was one more disappointment in an ever-growing list, and this review was born not out of pure, simple enjoyment, but of how much reading this bothered me.

Let me start by saying that I wanted to like this book. I did. I don't buy books which I don't think there's a chance I will not enjoy, I have way too much to do with my life and little money to spare on that. I hoped Sarah would go back to the early days of ToG, when the writing wasn't so choppy I kept questioning what is her problem with commas and when the characters weren't more and more of the same. Or perhaps that she would go back to ACoMaF, which at the time I loved reading.

Silly, silly me. The thing about having an eye-opener to something is that you can't go back. It's not so simple to close your eyes and pretend the bad doesn't exist, doing so feels irresponssible. I'm not sure her books have changed much, perhaps it was just me, the reader, whose perspective changed.

Let's go into the detail, then. Warning for spoilers of her previous books:

• THE LENGTH. It. Is. Ridiculosly. Long. I would say that length itself it's not necessarily a bad thing, something can be long but engaging. HoEaB's problem is that it drags on, to the point I had to put it down I don't know how many times out of frustration that nothing relevant happened. The infodumps do not help AT ALL, making the whole experience even more tiresome. I'll talk about worldbuilding separately, but jesus, so much unecessary information whose only purpose was to add to the wordcount and could have been woven into the story more organically. Readers are not dumb, they can make simple inferences, you don't need to explain every little detail.

The story only picks up and runs like the devil itself is chasing it in the last like, 20 chapters or so. Considering there are 97 of them... Yeah. It could have been a shorter, more direct and overall just more engaging.

• THE WORLDBUILD. I'll give Sarah J. Maas a point: it is more elaborate and refined compared to ToG and ACoTaR, whose worldbuilding are in general quite shallow and in the later's case, nearly nonexistent. However, the use of names blatantly lifted from real-world mythology and places bothered me to NO END. In a book which is built around those mythologies as their main source of inspiration, I can understand. Not here. Look, Maas can come up with original fantasy names, there are even some in HoEaB itself. But unless it's meant to be purposeful and Crescent City is to be Earth All Along, it's just jarring and feels lazy. It's not something new— refer back to the Illyrians and the Myrmidons.

Archean? Valbara? Pangera? Hel? REALLY? And those are just place names. Might as well name something Proterozoic. Or Laurasia.

The Roman inspiration, which was supposed to be a big thing from all her talk felt extremely loose and barely there. Oh sure, there are legions, a governor, the SPQR/M, and some names which to me, a portuguese speaker, where so cringy I had to laugh (Like Gelos and Cervo. You know, literally Ices and Stag or in that case Hind), but they did not feel Roman to me, naming aside. You could literally have named them anything else and it'd still have worked.

We studied Rome (mostly the government and the legal system) in our first semester of College and it might be the student in me, but I kept wanting to see more of the government structure, the politcal system itself. In a book that dealt with law enforcement and figures in places of power, this was a part of the worldbuilding that felt lacking, and a wasted opportunity to expand on the Roman inspiration.

What gets me is that some interesting concepts could have been explored better. I kinda like the idea of the Asteri, the rifts, the summoning salts.

• HUMANITY'S PORTRAYAL. Ahahaha. Where do I even begin with this one? In KoA, I hated that Aelin loosing her human side was seen as such a big sacrifice when the Fae were repeatedly shown to be "superior": stronger, more beautiful, immortal, the list goes on. Aelin herself preferred the Fae-side, so it felt a completely pointless sacrifice. In Crescent City, it gets even worse. Humanity is oppressed, trying to fight for their freedom and their inherent rights as sentient beings, and the books keeps going on and on about the Vanir.

Forgive me, but I'm supposed to be sympathize with the Vanir? To see the Vanir main-characters go on and change the world and make it better for everyone? I'm sorry but I'm not here for that. Bryce's mother and stepfather and Briggs aside, the HoEaB could have definetely used a human PoV or just. You know. ONE THAT DOESN'T FAVOR THE VANIR IN EVERYTHING. So yeah, I'm here cheering for the humans.

• THE CHARACTERS. I like Ruhn. He read like a concerned older brother, I could relate to that, not a possessive alphahole and I was baffled when Bryce kept insisting that. Oh, he has his flaws, but overall, I like him and his friends. They're nice. Danika, too. I would have liked to see more of Juniper and Fury, and them together, instead of using their relationship as kind of a surprise. Hypaxia is another Yrene/Sorscha. I also liked Lehabah, she was a sweetheart (Also I'm sorry am I supposed to think Bryce witholding the news on her freedom to throw a party WASN'T a WTF move? That Lele just knew because she looked at the documents???)

Now, to our main duo. I found Hunt boring. Simple as that. There was nothing in him that I found captivating, nothing new in terms of SJM's Love Interests. How he kept sexualizing Bryce in the most inappropriate of moments pissed me off. His and Bryce's relationship felt to me as Rowaelin 2.0, just as they themselves read as another versions of them, and not very different ones. He is not supposed to be an "alphahole" but... I didn't feel it. Hunt felt as just more of the same.

Now, Bryce Adelaide Quinlan.. Is it so much to ask for a main character who isn't gorgeous, super special, and super-powerful? I get the appeal of the trope, I'm no so hypocritical as to say that I've not indulged in it myself, but with Sarah, it feels overdone. When all characters are beautiful, special, so powerful it... kinda loses its meaning. However, that's not what bothered me about Bryce, no, it's the fact that she could be read as PoC (Golden, Tanned skin, two very ambiguous terms. My white cousin gets golden skin when she stays too long outdoors ffs), and as a PoC myself, reading her into those situations bothered me so, so much I cannot even begin to tell you.

Her curvy, sensual, bug boobs and butts are easily one of the more sought after where I live. People would go to great lengths for such a body and no, it will not hinder your dancing career. We have a word for it roughly translates to Hot, but having men call you that as something laid out on a table for their pleasure, objectifying you is horrible. And that's what most characters do in HoEaB: sexualize Bryce again and again, playing into harmful stereotypes.

My skin crawled reading those passages. I felt uncomfortable. And it wasn't even just the nameless, countless side-characters: it was Hunt himself. Every single move Bryce made was sexualized and I hated, hated it. "She's a Queen who owns her body and doesn't care for anyone else's thoughts" is all well and good, but women like me already have the stereotype of whores, sluts, homewreckers, and it was handled in such a tone-deaf way that it touched ALL of my wrong buttons. It was just uncomfortable, and cringy.

Two and a half stars, like those bad movies we still watch god knows why.

[potorgaret--inactive]

Day 358 / Dec 23

1 John

1: This is the Word which was from the beginning and which the apostles saw in Jesus Christ And now they write to us that we may join in Christ God is light and not darkness and we should walk in the light The blood of Jesus cleanses us of our sins, and we all have sins

2: When we stumble, Christ's sacrifice atones for us that we may start walking the right path again And what does it mean to walk in the light? To keep Jesus' commandments If anyone professes Jesus but doesn't do like Jesus, he is a liar But which commandment? To love your neighbor as yourself And now that there are people following the Word, the darkness is already fading, the world of darkness is fading He who hates his brother walks in the darkness and is blind Little children, young men and fathers: you are exalted! These are no doubt the end times, and the Antichrist is here already You are righteous if you believe in Christ "Who is the liar but he who denies that Jesus is the Christ? This is the Antichrist, he who denies the Father and the Son." Keep believing in Jesus through the end times and forsake the world and its sins

3: Now, the believers are the Children of God, and everyone will know so when God comes at the end of the world Be good for goodness' sake and don't sin for the hell of it Sin is lawlessness and a sign of the devil Love one another, that was Jesus' commandment, and don't be like Cain If you hate, you are not alive: you are dead If you hate your fellow brother, you're as bad as a murder, and a murderer has no life Love, for Christians, means the willingness to die for the sake of others That's what Christ did, and if need be, that's what Christians must do

4: Don't believe everyone, and test everyone because there are many false prophets about "Every spirit who confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is of God, and every spirit who doesn't confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is not of God, and this is the spirit of the Antichrist" God loved us so much he sent his son to atone for us, and we should love our brothers Believe that God sent his son to save the world and love one another There's no reason to be afraid of the end times "he who loves God should also love his brother."

5: Whoever believes that Jesus is the son of God is of God, and if you love God, you love his children Obey the simple commandments: believe in the Christ and love one another Having faith is like vanquishing the darkness of the world [Insert Johannine Comma here] God himself told the world of his Son Faith in Jesus results in everlasting life If you see a fellow sinning, pray for them; but if they commit the most grave sin of them, they're beyond prayer As are the non-believers The Children of God don't sin, remember that Keep from idols

Video and Wiki and Johannine Epistles

this rigamarole was hard to parse

"Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke 2:14 WEB

[ren-c-leyn]

QnA tag game

I was tagged by @hyba​ to play this. Thank you very much.

rules: post your answers, and tag some pals.

1. When did you first learn you enjoyed writing?

Honestly, I used to hate writing. It wasn’t fun, it was boring school essays and annoying prompts on exams. That being said, I had always enjoyed storytelling, and had been telling stories since before I could remember.

How I reconciled that gap between the written and the spoken was I went through a really shitty period of time in my life and I took up poetry to help vent. And it was so freeing and fun that I kept with it.

I had been doing that for a while when I decided to try writing some fantasy story that popped into my head, though I can’t quite recall why I bothered to try. It wasn’t a very good story, but I filled up like an entire notebook with it and started writing it on another, and I discovered ‘hey, writing can be fun... if it isn’t about something boring.’

And over the years, fantasy has over taken poetry. I still write poems from time to time, but not like I used to.

2. Tell us about the first project you ever wrote.

It was one that tried cramming way too much into one story, but there’s elements of it that I still use a lot of. I can’t remember the exact plot I had in mind for it, because it was all over the place, but I remember there being some sci-fi, a lot of fantasy weirdness, and a chosen one who was both angry and horrified that her world ended when she had the power to save it, because no one knew what she was or that their world was in danger. It never got finished, but I had fun with it while I was working on it.

3. How does your favorite media shape who you are as a writer?

In ways I don’t even realize it did, I’m sure. Particularly since I binge read without really analyzing the writing techniques of people. My writer brain turns off and reader brain takes over. Which many people say is bad, but it works for me. That being said, I can draw some obvious parallels between things I’ve read and my own works.

I know that Tolkien was a big influence for my ‘this string pulls on this person’s string, which does that, which leads to a poor hobbit having to lose his finger to throw a cursed ring into a volcano and save the world’ kinda plots. I also enjoyed his world building, but, and this is just my opinion, it slowed the Lord of the Rings triology down a lot and made it a little clunky to read. So it taught me both what I kinda wanted to see in my world building, but also how I didn’t want it to come out in the story. Plus, The Hobbit is the book for me. It is one of the first ones I got when I finally learned ‘oh, reading can be fun’ (because child me hated reading like she also hated writing boring essays), and it’s the one that got me stuck on fantasy.

Douglas Adams, there are many who will probably consider it a crime I have not read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and yet still list his name in this, but my favorite book of all time is probably The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, and it was the way the characters existed and the hidden easter eggs that I’m still finding like 7 read throughs later and the pacing and red herrings. I learned from and loved a lot about that book alone.

There was also J.A. Jance, the author of many of the murder mysteries my grandmother loaned me, and it was from her and other mystery authors that I finally, finally figured out how to set up suspense and tension. They were also really good studies in character motivations and how a character’s mindset can change the way they perceive the world and the things they notice and miss.

Video games is another thing I know has influenced me. I like story and lore rich games. Dungeons and Dragons is another thing I play a lot of and has followed me through my writings. The stories that get told can be every bit as awesome as a book, and the mechanics are also part of what helped me learn to structure my magic systems. Because if the wizards didn’t have rules, who would play a fighter who does? The same idea got translated into my writing very early on, ‘if I don’t give my wizards rules, why would warriors exist?’

And I can keep rambling, but I think I’ll leave it at this for now ^^

4. What’s something you’ve wanted to write, but aren’t sure you could? (A tv show, a genre, a style, a time period, a video game, etc)

I had an idea for a fantasy world inspired by various Asian myths, and even had a basic map drawn out in my head and some ideas for a magic system, but I’ve been too terrified to actually do anything with it, and it’s been so long since then that I don’t remember anything about it. Plus, I had no plot to use for it at the time.

I also wanted to write a mystery, but when I tried I found that while I has suspects and everything, I couldn’t think of the crime or how the heck anyone would just kinda figure it out from a bunch of random things normal people could just play off or not notice XD

5. What is the thing that keeps you from writing the most?

Procrastination is sometimes a problem, and I do occasionally need to kick myself in the shin. But there’s also life and plot snags and just days when a story isn’t working for me.

6. How do you deal with an inner editor?

That depends. Sometimes the inner editor saves me a lot of headaches later, and sometimes a tiny mistake can break the flow of writing. I normally don’t have an issue with fixing things on the spot, but on nights I need to focus on writing I just keep myself from reading back.

7. How long have you been writing?

I mean, they make kids write really young for school, so begrudgingly that long. Creatively and for fun? I’m not sure. I can’t quite recall how old I was when I started with the poetry. But considering the notebook I have the earliest pieces in is falling apart, I think it’s been a long time. lol

8. What is your general writing process? Do you write chronologically? Do you do a lot of planning?

I normally get this idea that shows up out of the blue as a daydream or a random thought. Then, there’s at least a month. If it’s still there, it gets considered. If it’s grown and expanded into something resembling either a world or a plot by then, it’s probably getting written.

After the idea finally bugs me enough, I’ll start world building and building a bare-bones plot, complete with bare-boned characters. I never flesh anything out completely, since I do most of that while I write and having strict outlines suffocates my story.

If the world building, characters, and whatever I have of a plot are interesting, I’ll start chronologically and keep moving from there.

9. Assign a scent to your writing style.

A scent for my style? Um... that’s kind of a weird question and I have no idea how I would even begin to think of an answer for that. Like, how do you translate comma usage and word choice into a smell? I mean, I use roses a lot in my stories, so maybe that would work?

10. One book you hope everyone reads?

I have to agree with hyba that I hope everyone just finds their version of the book. The one that gets them through a hard time, the one they really need, and that that book won’t be the same for everyone.

11. What is it about your least favorite genre that makes it your least favorite–and how might you change that to better appeal to you?

Oh that’s simple, it’s because horror does it’s job. That’s it. It’s nothing particularly about the style or anything besides that the genre is what it is.

12. Design a “collector’s edition” for your first novel. Include items that might be of interest to your audience.

Never thought about it, but I guess I could throw in the world map I drew for The Plight of a Sparrow into it.

13. If one thing was real from your project, what would you want it to be?

Nothing in particular? I can’t think of anything that would make sense to transfer from my projects to the real world, because I don’t want magic to be real, because my magic systems tend to be brutal, but also, we have stuff like or better than a lot of what doesn’t run off magic. Maybe some of the creatures would be cool, but I don’t know how that would affect ecosystems.... probably not for the better.

14. What’s something you always include in your work? Do you have any other Easter eggs?

As far as easter eggs, I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. If I do, it probably wasn’t intentional.

15. What is your favorite passage from your own work?

I still am not really comfortable with sharing things out of my WIPs on here. As far as things I’ve written for the blog itself go, there are quite a few pieces and passages that turned out really good. I think one of my favorites is from a really old piece I did back before I was doing fusion stories. It’s from this one specifically, if anyone would like to read the full tale, it is a grim one, though.

The very edge of the forest was about as welcoming as a gallows. Crows watched us hungrily, like we were dead men about to sway. None of them made so much as a peep as their dead eyes followed our trek through the knotted mess of brambles, ivy, knotted shrubs, and gnarled trees. We hacked at the plants, and they hacked right back at us. We traded blows like it was a war. hatchet and sword blows countered with sharp thorns and parried with thick branches.

I’m going to leave this an open tag, jump in if you’d like to. =D

[inevitable-anna]

ETN S2 fanfic.

This is for @hessonite-angel-art and the awesome drawing they did for Rosanna in S2. I would like to say that I’m so so so so so so sorry that it took me so long to reply! I spent an 1 hour and a half writing a fic about this, and then when I went to post it, my stupid internet started messing about and I wasn’t able to save this! And then I had problems posting it.

I’m gonna try again with this fic, here we go. (Warning contains a mention of stab wounds, blood, and a slit throat)

[[MORE]]

*

Everyone felt like they were going to collapse once they got back into the Lounge. They had just ran away from The Sorceress... again. As they entered and blocked the door behind them, they all dramatically collapsed onto various pieces of furniture.

Although there was one question on everyone’s mind, which was asked by Joey.

“Why do you have a knife? And where the hell did you get a knife from, Ro?” He exclaimed in slight fear of The Baker, he was the reason Liza went into the challenge after all.

“Like I said, ‘Liza and I will not be dying tonight’ and I swiped it from the Gingerbread Woman’s kitchen, the first time we were there.” Ro answered.

“Did you steal anymore weapons from anywhere? And are you willing to share with me?” Gabbie asked in a comedic tone.

Ro didn’t answer this time, instead she started to fiddle with the skirt of her dress. After a minute, she began to remove several small knives, a few metal quill pens, 3 letter openers, and 2 syringes with a large needles on the ends?

“Damn! I didn’t actually expect you to have anything else in there!” Gabbie exclaimed in shock.

“Where did you even get this stuff?” Liza asked, while fiddling with a letter opener.

“I’ve been swiping anything remotely sharp, or anything that can be used as a weapon all night, in case, we get into more trouble.” She replied.

“Seriously? Are you sure you didn’t just bring this stuff from your house? Because I haven’t seen any of this stuff at all.” Questioned Alex, from his place laying diagonally across one of the sofas, with one leg dangling over the back and one arm splayed out across the floor.

“Yeah, I got the knives from the Gingerbread Woman’s Kitchen. The letter openers and some of the metal quills from the Study, where Jorogumo webbed you up after she kidnapped you. And I found the syringes in the Foyer, while we all thought that the ‘helm of obedience’ was going to make Joey shoot us. I think someone must of dropped them.” Ro listed.

“And I meant what I said Liza and I will not be dying tonight. In fact, none of us are going to die tonight.” Ro stated, whilst holding up one of the knives from the table.

Judging by some of the looks the guests gave her as she help up the blade, Ro guessed that she had just gained lots of allies, and cemented herself as a team player. As well as, scaring the hell out of everyone in the room, including Alison.

*

No one else died that night...

That is, nobody else died, from among the guests ranks... Some of The Sorceress’ lieutenants were not so lucky.

The Ice Guardian very quickly found itself on the wrong end of a blade after it attempted to corner Tana.

It turns out that The Promethian Men weren’t so strong, once they were littered with stab wounds. Cedric was very happy to give the guests his gem... after they promised to let him live.

The werewolves may have been a pack, but even they weren’t a match for 7 angry youtubers, armed to the teeth with make shift weapons, picked up on their way across the various rooms of the Mansion.

The Guardian Of The Dark Dimension did not expect to become the sacrifice that was required to open a portal back to the Mansion, but he could only watch as the guests ran through and his vision began to go black.

*

The Sorceress was outraged, all her meticulously crafted plans were turning to ash before her eyes, all because ‘The Baker’ had chosen to fight back against her lieutenants and save her friends.

‘Just wait until I get my hands on her!’ She thought, while slowly clawing her way up the stairs. ‘I’ll make her wish that she was never born!’

It wasn’t long before The Sorceress’ arms gave out from under her, having no energy left in them. Lying on the stairs was uncomfortable but she just couldn’t move yet. Though she could hear voices approaching, one of which she recognised as ‘the Savant’.

‘Well, if I have to go down, I’ll take one of them with me!’ She thought bitterly, waiting for her time to strike.

“There’s the crown! Damn it! it’s by The Sorceress.” The Vaudevillian yelled in frustration. “Who is gonna get it?”

There was a sudden rush of noise. Each guest was trying to decide who should risk themselves for her crown.

“I’ll do it.” Said a quiet voice, that The Sorceress recognised immediately. ‘The Savant, perfect’ she thought.

There was a chorus of voices saying ‘be careful, Joey’ and she heard his footsteps walking up the stairs and waited for him to get closer.

The noise of the crown being picked up was her signal. With a scream The Sorceress jumped up whilst pulling her knife out of its holster and got ready to stab anyone within arms reach.

Frantic shouts filled the air, overlapping each other, as the guests reacted to her sudden attack.

“Oh my go-“. “What the he-“. “She has a kn-“.

“Joey! Loo-“. “How is she still al-“. “I thought she was de-“

The good news for the guests was that Joey was able to manoeuvre himself out of the daggers path, which was heading towards his chest.

The bad news for the guests was that the dagger was now stuck in his arm instead.

The Sorceress tackled Joey to the floor and pulled her dagger from his arm, raised it above her head to bring it down in a fatal blow to Joey’s heart and...

She felt a hand wrestle the dagger from her clenched fist, while another hand anchored it’s fingers into her hair and sharply yanked her head backwards, before the feeling of cold metal dragged itself across her throat. She had just enough time to turn and see who had slit her throat, before the world went dark.

The Baker.

*

The guests were in shock.

In the span of about a minute or maybe even a minute and a half, Joey had been stabbed in the arm, The Sorceress had proceeded to tackle Joey, attempted to stab him, only for Rosanna to snatch the blade and use it to kill The Sorceress herself, and now Ro was standing with the bloody dagger in hand weeping that she “didn’t mean to kill her.”

Liza quickly walked to Ro to comfort her, while the rest of the group helped Joey sort out his wound.

“It’s okay. Ro, you saved everyone’s lives by doing that. I know that doesn’t make it any better but everyone in this room is alive because of what you just did. Who knows maybe if you hadn’t done it, The Sorceress would be back in a years time with 10 more people to chase around and use for her spell. You saved our lives.” She reassured while pulling the small woman in for a hug.

“Thanks Liza. At least she can’t hurt anyone anymore.” Ro mumbled into her shoulder.

By now the group had finished tying a piece of fabric, that Alex had ripped off of the bottom of The Sorceress’ skirts, around Joey’s stab wound to act as a bandage and stem the flow of blood.

Everyone walked over and joined in on the hug to comfort The Baker, whilst offering her words of thanks and reassurance. After a few minutes in the large group hug The Savant spoke “Shall we get out of here and back home?” There was a chorus of ‘yes’ from around the room.

Joey walked to the front doors that most of the guests had walked through only a few hours ago, when they believed that they were attending a ball and not a dangerous quest against an evil Sorceress, who was hell bent on invading the modern world and ruling over it.

The guests smiled as soon as they saw the sunlight beginning to creep up over the horizon. Ro looked around and walked to the spot where Alison was standing.

“Are you going to come with us?” She asked.

“I’m sorry but no, I’m going to stay and help Riley, Jetpack, and the people still here figure out what to do and where to go. As I said ‘there are other people who want to leave, I’m doing this for them.’ But maybe I’ll come visit you all in the future.” The vampire replied with a small smile.

“Well you’re always welcome to come and visit me any time you like.” Ro said returning the smile, before she walked back to Liza.

“Are we all ready to go?” Alex asked, wanting to leave before anymore tears could start to fall at the thought of leaving the Mansion without Lauren by his side. Everyone said their goodbyes to Alison and welcomed her to come visit them as well. Just like that they were ready to leave this house of nightmares and return to their homes for a well earned rest.

Ro said a quiet goodbye to Lauren, Jesse, and Destorm, promising to never forget them and telling them that she hopes that they are at peace. Linking arms with Liza, they walked to the front doors at the back of the group and sighed at the feeling of the sun on their faces.

Alex, Tyler, and Tana climbed into the first carriage, while Joey, Gabbie, Ro, and Liza sat together in the second. The carriages started to move, beginning the journey home and that’s when it hit Ro...

They had escaped the night.

*

This is my first time writing an ETN fanfic and it ended up so much longer than I expected it too. Again, I’m so so sorry that it took me so long to reply to you, but I hoped you liked this story. (I apologise for any incorrect grammar or an abuse of commas.)

Have a nice day :D

[slushrottweiler]

Between the Lines - Part 1

How Varric Tethras fell in love with his editor: a story in letters.

Bioware wont let me romance the dwarf, so I’ll do it myself Read on Ao3

9:28 Dragon

To Ser Tethras,

As you have been informed, your previous editor has parted ways with Kirkwall Publishing, leaving the production of your popular serial, Hard in Hightown, on hiatus. I am writing to introduce myself as Serah Lawfield's replacement, and to inform you that we shall re-commence publishing your serial by the end of this month.

My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I am very excited to begin working with you on developing your story. I have personally enjoyed reading your work, and believe we can work well together. Whilst I have looked over your previous edits with Lawfield, if you have any requests or person preferences for the editing process, please let me know and I shall attempt to adjust my process to suit you.

If I do not hear back from you within the next week, I shall begin edits on your most recent manuscript as per the in-house style manual.

Thank you again for choosing to work with Kirkwall Publishing. We are honoured to help share your stories.

Hope to hear from you soon, Regards Y/N Y/L/N Editor at Kirkwall Publishing

…...

Here is the information you requested on New editor. Had 3 men tail her. Notes are attached

(a collection of papers, written in three different hands. One page had scratchy drawings of flying books and quills in the margins.)

Y/N Y/L/N Employed at MP for approx 18 months. Human. Free-Marcher. Originally from starkhaven. Low-born. Educated.Young Resided above Hightown markets. Small apartment. Well kept. 6pin double key lock. Well-liked at MP. Professional. Friendly. Considered hardworking and talented. Has a rep for being good at dealing with difficult writers. Arrives late. Stays late. Takes her work home. Drinks 5-8 coffees a day. Strong ties to Coterie. More info incoming.

Coterie ties extend back years. Potential child recruit.

Currently information broker for Kirkwall faction Respected, feared. Background in smuggling and forgery. Negotiated trade deals with Carta.

Left home later than should have , looked tired but was smiling. Carrying large stack of manuscripts. Was greeted with smiles and waves at office. Two men rose to help her carry her things. Another woman brought her coffee without being asked. Wears slim-framed glasses when working. Nibbled on the end of her quill. Many messengers stop by her desk. Cannot all be publishing related. Some notes are placed directly into her bag. Some belligerent author just showed up. Did not interrupt until author started insulting other staff members. Only took her two minutes to calm him down. Author just left. Not only agreed to changes, but seems to think the changes are his idea. Stayed back late to finish work. Took home three manuscripts. Dead dropped letter exchange under lower left paved outside blooming rose. Added to Coterie watch list. Seems to have a preference for sitting on her windowsill at home to work. Doesn't wear pants at home. Legs for days.

……

(A letter, attached to a well-bound and heavily annotated copy of chapter 5 of Hard in Hightown)

To Ser Tethras,

Since you are, unfortunately, too busy to respond to my last message, I kept to my word and have completed a standard but thorough edit of the latest chapter of Hard in Hightown.

I have used industry standard mark ups, and left my annotations in the margins for your perusal. I have also included a detailed list of suggestion changes that I feel will help streamline the story and reduce unnecessary clutter. Whilst I thoroughly enjoyed your imagery, some of your metaphors boarded on purple prose and I felt best to remove to maintain the tension.

If you have any questions, or you would like to discuss my suggestions further, I would be happy to arrange a personal meet up at the location of your choice.

If all is well, please send your approved changes to the Kirkwall Publishing office byclose of business Friday.

Kind Regards, Y/N Y/L/N Editor at Kirkwall Publishing.

…….

(A note, hastily written and torn roughly from a notebook)

Dear Serah Y/N

You can bet your sweet Starkhaven ass I want to discuss your suggestions. I don't know how you've conned your other authors into dancing your jig, but I'm not about to rework my entire story to suit your whims.

Since you we're so generous as to offer to meet at a location I choose, I'll see you at the Hanged Man this evening. Unless, you've grown accustomed to life up in Hightown?

Yours reluctantly, V. Tethras

……

Mr. Tethras,

Looking forward to meeting you.

Y/N

……

(a note attached to the second draft of chapter 5 of Hard in Hightown)

As requested, here is the edited manuscript; well before Friday you may notice. All agreed upon changes have been made, and grammar corrected. No need to get all antsy over commas again.

V. Tethras.

P.S. where did you learn to play Diamondback like that? ….

Thank you for getting those edits back to me so promptly Tethras. I'm so glad you agree to cut those flashbacks in the middle, they dragged the whole pace to a crawl. The tension is just perfect now!

As for your enquiry about my gambling skills, I shall only state that I am a mystery and an enigma, one you cannot hope to solve. Bow before my beginners luck.

…….

Tone it down, you silver-tongued brat.

V.

……............................................................................................................

Ser Tethras,

I understand that you and your brother are knee deep in preparations for your Deep Roads expedition, but that does NOT excuse you from submitting your latest drafts on time.

If the latest draft of Chapter Eleven is not on my desk by tomorrow morning, I will come down there and drag it from your ink-stained fingers myself.

Sincerely,

Y/N Y/L/N

Editor at Kirkwall Publishing.

……

Why Silver, formal sign-off and everything. You are mad at me.

Would you forgive your favourite dwarf if I said I was assisting a young and devilishly handsome Fereldan refugee to turn his life around? And that, through working with this strapping lad, I am gathering a whole host of new ideas for later chapters, a perhaps… that second serial you’ve been asking for?

Your humble wordsmith,

V. Tethras

…….

Have the damn manuscript to me by next week.

You owe me V.

Silver

P.S. Stay out of trouble.

……

Dearest Silver,

Stay out of trouble? Why, I am an upstanding and law-abiding citizen of this fine city. I wouldn’t dream of creating trouble in our fair Kirkwall.

Hawke on the other hand…

You’ll break us out of prison, right?

……

(a letter attached to a manuscript, delivered within hours of close-of-business the following week.)

Chapter Eleven, as promised Silver.

And if my courier is as fast as she claims, with a good half-a-day to spare.

Now let me have a few solid nights of drinking before you bombard me with your inevitable critiques. After the week I’ve had. I deserve it.

Your favourite Dwarf,

V. Tethras

……

No rest for the wicked V.

…..

Slave driver.

……

You're the one sending (and likely paying) this young boy to run between my office and the Hanged Man to deliver scathing quips.

Are you so desperate to have the final word?

……

Well yes; but you keep responding, don't you?

…….....................................................................................................................

So I noticed you seem a bit fixated on my latest romance scene. There have to be at least twice as many notes on those pages than the rest of the manuscript combined (what do you have against the humble ellipses? Did it kill your father, insult your mother’s honour? Cheat you in cards?).

Something there must have really caught your attention.

……

If by caught my attention, you mean had me scoffing into my coffee, then yes -- there was plenty to work with.

I don’t know who you’re paying at the Blooming Rose, but no one has ever lasted that long, or had a woman orgasming that many times, without the aid of some very potent potions. Anyone who claims otherwise is better at lying than you are.

Try to be a bit more realistic when penning your explicit material.

Your readers aren’t that stupid.

By the way, I have no qualms with the ellipses. But they are not sugar V, don’t sprinkle them about like the scene is an Orlesian sweet.

……

Obviously you’ve never slept with a dwarf...

What we lack in size, we make up for in …  stamina.

Surely you’ve heard the saying... “Just the right height to give a human girl a good time.”

… V

P.S… sweet enough for you Silver?

…............................................................................................................................

                                             Kirkwall Publishing;                 in association with the Noble Literary Society of Kirkwall,

                                extend their cordial invitation to

                                          Ser Varric Tethras

                                                    to our

                                Annual Satinalia Award Ceremony

                               To be held at the De Launcet Estate                                              10th Harvestmere

                                    Dinner will be served at 6 bells                                  Award Ceremony to begin at 8 bells.

                           Please contact Kirkwall Publishing to RSVP.

( scribbled in the bottom corner of the invitation)

Yes you have to come! You won an award for Viper’s Nest

- Silver

……

My Dearest Silver,

I regret to inform you that I will be unable to attend this award shindig, as I will be busy doing literally anything else. As it if Satinalia and the entirety of Kirkwall will be pissed-up and cavorting around in masks, I’m sure no one will miss me.

Be a dear and collect my award for me. I want to send it to the Merchants Guild next time they try and involve Bartrand and me in their latest drivel. And when you finally grow tired of the snooty bastards up in Hightown, come join us at the Hanged Man. Hawke and I are having a little get together.

Yours, without regrets

Varric Tethras

……

Dear V.

Fine, but you better get your clever merchant hands on a bottle of the honey mead I like.

Try not to pass out before I get there.

- Silver

......

( a message, written on the back of a letter from the Merchants Guild and left on the beside of one Varric Tethras )

I stand correct. Dwarven stamina is a thing of beauty.

You still owe me 3 sovereigns.

Silver

……

Where the all of Thedas did you get that dress! That neckline should be illegal.

You can’t possibly have found it in a store, even I wouldn’t believe that kind of coincidence. Did you show a tailor my author portrait? You must have! Which means you had that outfit planned well before I rejected your precious awards night invite.

So you were planning to what, attend that ceremony with me dressed in a pin up version of my usual clothes? I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.

This is punishment for all those ellipses isn’t it?

Or were you just trying to catch my attention? I've been called a narcissist before, but never by intelligent company.

Your exceedingly bemused author,

V. Tethras

……

You didn’t seem to mind the dress last night, when I stopped by to deliver your award.

Or did it only cause offence once it landed on the floor of your room?

I didn’t think you noticed, you were very… distracted.

You’ll note my accurate and well placed use of an ellipses.

Your exceedingly well-dressed editor,

Silver

By the way; your pretty elven friend, the one who’s always sneaking into the Hightown gardens. Is she seeing anyone?

……

Hands of Silver. Hawke’s been making doe-eyes at Daisy since he saw her.

Furthermore, asking about my friends the day after you sleep with me! I feel so used.

Your tragically offended friend,

V. Tethras

……

As usual, you force me to repeat myself V.

You didn’t mind being used last night.

Your surprisingly flexible friend,

Silver

……

No fair, now you’ve got me thinking about humans and their long, bendy limbs.

You’d think all that leg of yours would get in the way.

Next time, remind me to hook them over my shoulders. I like the way it makes your back arch.

……

Tempting.

But you still need to send me the redraft of chapter eleven by next fortnight.

- Silver

[granada-brett-crumbs]

It’s been a while since my last extensive fic rec list, and there’ve been so many new, great, lovely and amazing fics since then that it was about time to make another list, so, here it is, enjoy!

Also a HUGE thanks to all fic writes, I love you all :’)

1K - 9K WORDS

A Combination of Events by ColebaltBlue, G, 3k: There was no one moment when John Watson realized he loved Sherlock Holmes, but rather just a combination of events in the summer of '95.

Acts of Caring by takingoffmyshoes, G, 1k: “Outside, the frigid rain continued undeterred, but in our home we were far beyond its reach.” Domestic and lovely.

An Evening of Deductions by Brynn_Jones, G, 1k: Holmes and Watson spend a pleasant evening with some violin music and deductions. 

As if the World Should Roll Itself Out Like a Cloak by earlybloomingparentheses, G, 4k: Watson feels deeply for Holmes, but what it is he feels is less than clear.

A Taste of Honey by methylviolet10b, T, 3k, sickfic: A failure to observe leads to a successful deduction. Holmes POV.

A Very Ordinary Man by Garonne, T, 6k, casefic, established relationship: The disappearance of a lonely, middle-aged clerk prompts a fit of wordiness on Watson's part. Not that Holmes objects...

Broken, Mended, Mine by janeofarc, G, 2k, angst with a happy ending: Old wounds are reopened in the aftermath of Holmes' nearly disastrous experiment with the devil's foot root.

Christmas Observations by methylviolet10b, G, 4k: Mycroft's Christmas Eve observations on Holmes and Watson relationship, over the years 1881 - 1894.

Courting Sherlock Holmes by A_Candle_For_Sherlock, G, 5k, sickfick, first kiss: It was, in all probability, the fault of the flowers. The title says it all :>

Dr Watson's Unpublished Stories by Stavia_Scott_Grayson, series, G, 5k, 2 works: Stories written by Dr Watson only for the eye of his friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, while they were apart.

Idée fixe by nowstfucallicles, G, 1k: He does not know what to begin with it. It is too grave a thing to be treated as a mere distraction, too tenacious to be dissolved in tobacco smoke. What does one begin with an idée fixe? With a mind bent towards one single thing. —An extraordinary take of the first kiss trope, brilliant!

Ignorance of Instinct by NimWallace, G, 1k, first kiss: In which Sherlock Holmes chooses to ignore his instincts thrice, and once he does not.

I’ll Change That Name With You by hoc_voluerunt, G, 2k: Holmes may have no regard for his own health, but friendship still cuts both ways, and emotions may run deep in an intellectual man.

In darkness, I call your name (and you, mine) by a_different_equation, T, 2k, first kiss: There are several aspects to Watson’s personality. When the good doctor and the loyal friend are not enough to keep Holmes from craving his seven-percent-solution, Captain John Watson reappears and orders an outing to London's Hyde Park.

Inertia by ColebaltBlue, M, 6k, retirement era: Sherlock Holmes has moved to Sussex without a word. Months later John Watson is asked to a visit and after stumbling into something he never expected to see, they finally say something to each other that took them two-decades to be able to say.

Ingredients of Love by a_different_equation, M, 2k, established relationship: To cheer up his Watson, Sherlock Holmes surprises him with making a cake in the kitchen of 221B. Something sweet, something extra. A tale about so much more than Victorian baking.

Instruments of an Art by keep_calm_and_ks, G, ficlet: “It is Nature’s practice to induce the attraction of two unlike bodies, and I am nothing if not a strict follower of the laws of Nature.” Holmes’s reflections on his love for a certain Dr John Watson. Sweet.

In the Shadow of Mount Sikaram by orchid314, G, 2k: There was a great heart that beat at the centre of things. A look on Dr. Watson’s time in Afghanistan, beautiful and melancholic.

Love is Blind by Artemis (Citrine), G, 1k: Holmes & Watson from Mrs Hudson's pov and a glimpse of her past history. Lovely!

Lovers in a Dangerous Time by Goddess_of_the_Night, G, 1k, established relationship, angst an fluff: An unpublished account of the time Holmes and Watson investigated the murder of a gay couple, and it reminded them just how dangerous their own love is.

Mentor by gardnerhill, G, 2k, established relationship, canon story The Adventure of the Crooked Man: It takes a wounded subcontinental soldier to help a wounded subcontinental soldier.

My Dear Doctor by apliddell, G, 4k, established relationship, canon story The Dying Detective: After the painful events of the Reichenbach Fall, Holmes could never again deceive Watson into thinking he would lose him.

My Greatest Joy and Privilege by apliddell, G, 2k, post-Reichenbach, first kiss: Watson solves Holmes, and then Holmes solves Watson. Absolutely lovely.

Not Again by Etaleah, T, 2k, hurt/comfort: During the Adventure of the Dying Detective, Holmes deceives Watson about being at death's door yet again. This time, Watson snaps.

No Simple Fate by ingridmatthews, G, 1k: Watson is hurt and Holmes is taking care of him - possibly definitely with bonus cuddling. Post The Adventure of the Three Garridebs.

Obliging Sherlock Holmes by baronwaste, T, 2k, first kiss: “It would oblige me greatly if you would kindly kiss me.” Sweet!

Pride & Providence by janeofarc, G, 5k, angst and fluff: Holmes and Watson return to Baker Street after the arrest of Colonel Moran and deal with the aftermath of Holmes' dramatic return from the dead. Lovely!

Strangers by rachelindeed, G, 1k, character study: Mycroft Holmes seems to hold the world at arm's length, but appearances can be deceptive.

The Creeping Men by okapi, E, 3k, Holmes/Watson of course, but also Lestrade/Gregson, crack: Six paths cross in Regent's Park at midnight. *waggles eyebrows*

The Better Part of Valour by rachelindeed, T, 7k, The Greek Interpreter fixit:  Mr Melas considers himself a coward, but more than one man's courage comes with complicated cracks.

The Disappearance of Dr. John Watson's Trouser by tremendousdetectivetheorist, M, 4k, established relationship: When Watson notices he is missing a pair of trousers and questions Holmes about their disappearance, Holmes guides him in a long search for them —putting Watson’s observation skills to the test and making him do the legwork—while never leaving 221B.

The Doctor's Doctor by Ophelia_j, M, 7k: A friend from Watson's army days arrives in London, at the moment when Holmes and Watson's relationship is about to fall apart.

The Incident with the Bicycle by Garonne, G, 2k, established relationship: We know Holmes can ride a bicycle, but when exactly did he learn?

The Matter of Cake by Nibblesofflesh, M, 3k, established relationship: Holmes decides to try his hand at baking a cake, and Watson quite likes the look of Holmes in an apron. Sassiness, silliness, and sexiness ensue.

The Quiet After A Case by Small_Hobbit, G, ficlet: Holmes has solved a case, and so he and Watson head back to Baker Street. A look at their relationship from Watson's POV.

The Science of Touch by cndrow, T, 2k, angst and fluff, post Reichenbach:  Watson is somewhat surprised to find his dearest friend still suffering as much as he from their years-long separation. But is that all that troubles Holmes, or is there something deeper?

The Unusual Comma in the Middle of a Completely Ordinary Phrase by Goddess_of_the_Night, G, 2k, first kiss: Holmes gets called away suddenly to solve a case and writes letters to Watson keeping him informed. Two of the letters contain an unfamiliar comma in the middle of a very familiar phrase. Watson frets over what it’s supposed to mean, if anything at all.

Travelling Issues by Random_Nexus, T, 2k, lots of fluff: Watson and Holmes do a lot of travelling in a short amount of time and Holmes seems to have a problem with something, but Watson has to figure out what it is, because it looks like it might mean the end of their relationship.

Your Sweet Hue by orchid314, G, 1k: Glimpses of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson over four seasons and four decades.

10K - 30K WORDS

An Ideal Husband by PlaidAdder, 22k, T, case fic: Irene Adler is back in London and has returned to the stage, starring in Oscar Wilde's play An Ideal Husband. Violet Hunter ("Copper Beeches") is in London, working as a governess for an aristocratic and dysfunctional family. Holmes, Watson, and Violet are all in the audience on opening night; and they are soon all embroiled in an intrigue involving Irene Adler, Godfrey Norton, Violet's employers, and a diamond brooch in the shape of a snake. Watson and Violet Hunter take turns narrating a story chock full of double-crossing, cross-dressing, and Oscar Wilde.

Dearly Beloved by mistyzeo, M, 20k: set in an alternate timeline where gay marriage is legal in Victorian England, Holmes and Watson get married while drunk and, of course, later a lot of misunderstandings ensue before they finally get to talk.

His Name Is John Watson by ampersand_ch, E, 19k: A summer's idyll in Sussex. Holmes and Watson seek some peace and quiet. But that's not as simple as they imagine.

Holmes' Mistake by pandapony, E, 13k, hurt/comfort: Sherlock Holmes rarely makes mistakes. But the one time he did, Watson paid the price. Now, as Watson heals from the assault, their dynamic has changed. Is Holmes' new behavior stemming from guilt, or something deeper?

If we make it home by blaetter, E, 24k, post Reichenbach: Two years after Holmes's death in the Reichenbach Falls, his elder brother comes to a grieving Watson with what seems to be a case. Watson finds a surprise waiting for him in Berlin.

Injury by The_Cool_Aunt, G, 9k, domestic fluff: “WANTED— Temporary MAID OF ALL WORK, for two gentlemen and housekeeper. Live out. No laundry. Good personal reference. Apply 221B, Baker Street, after twelve.” Doctor Watson delves into the details of domestic life at 221B.

Postcards by okapi, E, 10k, established relationship, fluffy smut: After a series of domestic calamities, Watson & Mrs. Hudson flee on holiday. Holmes writes postcards to Watson. 

The Answer to a Question by A_Candle_For_Sherlock, T, 22k: These are the stories behind the story we know: what really happened to Watson's marriage, and what made him follow Holmes to Reichenbach; what secrets were hidden in the mountains, and what a dead man wrote to the man he left behind. 

The Disappearance of John Watson by CCNSurvivor, T, 22k, angst with a  happy ending: Returning to London after the hiatus, Holmes is eager to share with Watson what truly transpired in Switzerland. But Watson has fled the city, driven out by the grief for his friend and companion, as well as the recent loss of his wife. Now it is up to Holmes to chase after him, following what little clues a series of letters provide.

The Old Pawnbroker by mightymads, M, 18k, established  relationship, hurt/comfort: When a concise telegram arrived to Baker Street, Watson took Holmes along to dispel Holmes’s ennui and distract him from cocaine. Such was the beginning of the case which made the doctor remember things he’d rather forget.

To Join These Men in Holy Matrimony by A_Candle_For_Sherlock, 10k, established relationship: “Sherlock Holmes is a contradiction, an enigma, a force; at once the most generous spirit and the most self-contained man I have ever known. I've known more of him, I think, than anyone on earth. Yet for years I'd learned nothing about his boyhood, nor his fears, nor his future hopes, nor his father’s name. I never felt it as a lack until I knew he loved me.”

40K+ WORDS

Arte Regendus by Violsva, series, 9 works, 60k: A series of stories about relationships and mysteries and secrets and people being in love and people talking to each other and people not talking to each other and people hurting each other without intending to and people working as hard as they can to not hurt each other. It has sex and drugs and angst and romance and adventure and interior monologues and case solving and pretentious classical references. It covers 1881 to 1894 in ACD canon.

Missing Pages by PlaidAdder, series, 22 works, T, 78k: a group of interlinked short stories which tell the story of how Holmes and Watson really came to be separated at the Reichenbach Falls, and how they found each other again. Each story is in the form of a document, which tells us something about that story that was changed or suppressed in Watson's published account of it.

Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Invisible Prism by CCNSurvivor, T, 56k, case fic, post Reichenbach: “In the year 1895, however, it so happened that Holmes and I became involved in not one but two cases of blackmail; the latter of which has never been spoken of since, for it was fraught with a danger which threatened the illusion of normalcy we had so desperately carved out of the ruins of our relationship since his return from the Reichenbach Falls a year prior. And yet it was of that case I often found myself thinking, as it carried some personal significance to both Holmes and myself and drastically changed our lives.”

[driftwooddragons]

First Lines Challenge

“RULES: List the first lines of the last ten stories you published. Look to see if there are any patterns that you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any! Then tag some friends.”

I was tagged by the wonderful @cloud--atlas​! 

I have been remarkably slow in writing fic these past few years, so going back ten stories is going to take us back a fair distance in time. I’ll, of course, be skipping over the french-translations of the demented’verse and Men of Legend ‘verse that @umi-klouh​ has been graciously adding my name to, even though she’s doing all the work.  1. There’s Something About Corbett [Supernatural, Ed/Corbett, SPN Reversebang fic, T]

It was a few days before Corbett was released from the hospital, and then a few days after that he was able to escape his parents’ house.

2. Monstrous Magic Marks [demented’verse, Supernatural/Harry Potter, canon ships, AU, T]

Hermione closed her compact mirror and took a deep breath.

3. Men of Legend: The Butterfly Effect [Supernatural/Merlin crossover, ambiguous and canon ships, AU, G]

It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, the apples were ripe.

4. Purgatory, Prophets, and Potions [demented’verse, Supernatural/Harry Potter crossover, canon ships, AU, T] (This one technically has three parts that I joined together to make one giant story - but I’ll just include the first line of Part 1)

Phil wasn’t the head of the Auror Department of the American Ministry of Magic.

5. Regarding the Death of Bobby Singer [demented’verse, Supernatural/Harry Potter crossover, canon ships, T]

The office was subdued when Till arrived that morning.

6. The Fruit Basket [demented’verse, Supernatural/Harry Potter, canon ships, G]

Draco was not expecting the fruit basket.

7. The Time Traveler [Captain America, Steve/Bucky implied, G]

They’ve made camp for the night.

8. I imagine the gods saying, We will make it up to you [Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, Return of Arthur, E]

Arthur stood in a lake facing the shore.

9. Men of Legend [Merlin/Supernatural crossover, canon ships, T]

The spell itself was relatively simple – it was the ornate figures and designs that Merlin had to draw that were the hard part.

10. The Unfortunate Brother: Childhood (is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies) [Merlin/Sherlock fusion, ambiguous ships, T]

Merlin’s first memories were of lying on the floor while his older brother circled around the room announcing everything he saw, and, in all his memories, Merlin always knew that Sherlock would solve his murder.

I left off my Time for a Wedding Remix, because the first line is that is lifted out of the show, I think, so it doesn’t count.

First off, if we ignore the length of some of these, the fact that going 10 fics back takes us to 2013 makes me SO SAD. Like, COME ON, get it together me! It’s not like I don’t have ideas. Namely, every single time I reference anything from The Time Traveler, my first thought it “I always wanted to expand that one... “ and I’ve been working on another Men of Legend fic for nearly 3 years now and still haven’t found the time to finish it...and I also think it sucks. UGH.

But, Patterns?

At least one of them is an egregious comma splice.

I definitely stick to the third-person fixed past-tense narration. (The Time Traveler is the only one that I use present tense, and that’s because it’s my only fic with an extremely unreliable narrator...though it’s still third-person fixed.)

I tend to favour simple sentences that set our intro character in an action or mental state. 

In the demented’verse, I really like introducing the story through the more minor characters and OCs - I know for a fact that I do that in several of the others not listed here too. And also in the Men of Legend fic that’s not published yet.

Also, something has usually ALREADY happened that I haven’t described - like, why is Arthur in a lake? Why is the office subdued? Why is Merlin doing a spell? Why did Draco get a fruit basket? Who was Hermione just talking to through her mirror (because at that point in the demented’verse, I’d long established that enchanted mirrors = cellphones of the wizarding world)? I then go on to answer all those questions usually within the first chapter, but the first line (usually) always clearly starts after something has clearly already happened, and HOPEFULLY the reader wants to find out what that thing was.

Tagging... @monicawoe who is more prolific than me. And anyone else who wants to do it... I’m afraid I haven’t kept good track of who is still on this site and who isn’t. So, please, if you write fic, and you follow me, take this as a tag and let me see your first lines!

[quick-boi]

Roleplay

So if you want to roleplay, message me, like this or re blog! I know it's boring, but I have a few rules:

Literacy. Don't use * * e write in third person. Don't give me short replies, try to write at the least a couple of paragraphs and be descriptive. Write about what your character does and how they feel and so on. As for grammar, I'm not picky especially if English is not your native language but at the least try to use commas and the correct form of you're /your, just to show that you are actually trying. As for me, English isn't my native language either. If you message me, be aware of that and don't bitch about my English level later.

Show effort in the roleplay. Don't let me handle everything, think of a plot and develop it while your character sits on the background. The same goes for the opposite too, don't control my character (unless your character has mind controlling powers). If you want the roleplay to go in a certain direction, we can discuss it OOC. I probably won't say no.

That leads me to the triggers part. I don't have any. Gore, violence, swearing, self-harm... it's all okay to me. It doesn't mean I will include it in the roleplay if we haven't discussed it beforehand (except for gore or minor character death. If you have a problem with those, let me know especially if we are roleplaying an action plot where fighting will be involved). However, there are some elements I'd like to navigate away from as far as romance goes: incest and minors (unless both of our characters are teens, then it's okay) are a big no.

I won't roleplay slice of life/domestic roleplays. That's because those kind of plots die pretty quickly and get boring fast. Let's add action or angst or come up with a good plot! I also won't roleplay with OCs. Many are very good and thought out but OCs just aren't my thing.

Let's discuss a plot. I like to spend time thinking out a good plot with you and stuff, don't ask the usual "do you want to start " as soon as we start talking if we haven't thought of a good plot yet.

If you don't like to roleplay on Tumblr, Discord, Kik and e-mail are available. Just ask.

I enjoy Aus, probably my favorite thing when it comes to roleplay, and crossover. I also portray Pietro as a mix of movie and comics version but I can change it if you have a certain requirement. I can also do X-Men!Quicksilver. Just specify that when you message me or I'll assume on my own which version I should be (I.e if you are going to be Clint, I'll probably be MCU!Pietro instead if you are Nightcrawler the Fox one).

I also roleplay other characters.

A short list includes: Iron Man, Captain America, Star Lord, Spider Man, Scarlet Witch, Vision, Hawkeye. I never played, but I can try Black Widow, Doctor Strange, Ant-Man. As for X-Men, I could try Magneto, Nightcrawler, Cyclops. If you want me to be someone else, just ask.

[fyrapartnersearch]

Villain Enthusiast Seeks Same

Hello! I’m Autumn. I’m an almost-30-something currently in GMT + 5:45. The breakdown is I'm halfway around the world doing volunteer work for the summer and I'm feeling pretty isolated, so I figure burying myself in a roleplay would be a good distraction. 

What I’m Looking For: You have to be 18+ and preferably close to my age. 

I’m looking for a partner(s) who has an appreciation for villainous characters, both playing them (must) and playing against them (would be nice). Beyond that, I’m looking for someone who appreciates the necessity of conflict to move the roleplay forward, and who is both generally active but also understands that real life takes precedent! It would be great to find all of that wrapped up in someone who wants to also get to know one another OOC. I’m a chatty and hopefully funny person, and I do my best (or worst, if you’re one of my hapless OCs…) brainstorming/idea bouncing in an informal setting where I feel comfortable.

Basically, I work hard, I play hard, and I’m down for some awesome wicked villainy. Let’s do this.

Availability: I'm online every day, but be patient with me. WIFI isn't great out here and I have work to do while I'm abroad.

The Basics: I’m a para/multi-para roleplayer, though I do not give a flying fuck about word count. My metrics for determining quality are a response which 1) satisfyingly responds to what my partner has written and 2) introduces a new element for my partner to respond to. I’m “literate,” but I care way more about your ideas than whether or not you use an Oxford comma.

I play characters of all genders, and all pairings. In an ideal world, you would as well, but my bare minimum is that you are comfortable playing  either M or NB in an M or NBxF pairing. I am able to play as many characters as needed for the roleplay, depending on how ambitious it is, and ask that you are able to play at least two characters.

I only play OCs. I prefer if we make our own world, but I’m open to playing against canon characters/in established worlds, provided the fandom in question is aligned with my roleplay interests (see below) and I’m either familiar with or don’t need more than a passing knowledge of the fandom to roleplay competently.

Properties I have more than a passing familiarity with: A:TLA/LoK, Game of Thrones (show), OUAT, Harry Dresden, The Grishaverse, Vlad Taltos/Dragaera, American Gothic (‘97 TV show), John Dies at the End, Alien/Prometheus, Marvel (films), X-Men (films), Batman (films), True Blood, TVD, BTVS, Hellsing, Pokemon (first gen), SCP Foundation, Area X/Southern Reach Trilogy, Inuyasha

Format: Email or kik are going to work best for me, since when I can't get Wifi I have a data plan that is very text friendly, and very hostile to anything else (so Tumblr is not great unfortunately)

Interests: Genre-wise, I comfortably occupy the realm of speculative fiction, and everything within it. I’ve done space opera, steampunk, swords and sorcery, urban fantasy, post-apocalyptic, magical realism, parallel dimensions, horror, etc. I love it all, if I’m with the right partner. To that end, I love in-depth world building and all that entails.

As mentioned before, I adore a good villain. I write the kind of villains where “Lux Aeterna” may as well start playing when they enter the room, because you just know something awful (but epic) is about to happen. I’m looking for someone who brings the same enthusiasm to the table. Ideally, we'd be doubling in a situation where we each play the respective villains to one another's hero(ines), but if you only want to 1x1 it would be you (villain--any gender) x me (heroine).

Vampires. Unrepentant, bloodsucking vampires. Incomprehensible, ancient vampires. Did I mention vampires? Overpowered villains. Heroes triumphing based on smarts and hard work, rather than strength. Unresolved sexual tension (particularly between a virtuous character and an irredeemable one). Mindfuckery. Detailed world building. The slow corruption of the heroic types. Twisted fairy tales. Psychological horror. Intricate magical systems. Alien/fantasy species with non-western moral codes/values/culture. The absurd. Fatal flaws. 

Content: I’m no stranger to roleplaying scenes of abuse, trauma, or physical or psychological torture. You don’t need to be as open to this type of content as I am, but if all “dark” content is off the table, we aren’t a good match.

Smut: For the most part, I’m disinterested in smut. I’m far more interested in the foreplay and the psychology of the event, than the mechanics of it. I strongly prefer fade to black, but if you're the otherwise perfect partner whose only concession is asking for an occasional smut scene, I'm happy to oblige.

Limits: The short list is bodily excretions/fluids, and pedophilia. 

Samples. tw: murder, blood, mindfuckery, dissociation, that kind of stuff. These are actual roleplay responses, not self-paras or drabbles or excerpts from my novel, so you may have to infer context.

If you actually read all of this and it sounds like a grand ol’ horrorshow to you, please contact me below:

kik: fallrps

tumblr: @fallrps (slowest response rate due to limited Tumblr access)

email: winterroleplays@gmail.com

[eirabach]

A Shadow in the Bright [Captain Charming [1/1]]

David is a shepherd. A part-time barkeep. An upstanding member of society.

He doesn’t consort with pirates.

Much.

Happy birthday, @phiralovesloki !!! Hub Science Lady and Dispenser of Adult Advice, Writer Extraordinaire and Dedicated Trashcanner. Thank you for the incredible amount of work you put into this fandom - both in terms of your wonderful fics and your mind-boggling admin skills - and specifically, thank you for putting up with my whiny ass and being the best beta-cum-cheerleader I could have ever asked for. Your constant encouragement and enthusiasim have kept me writing through many a dark night of the fanfic soul.

I took notes from your birthday request list - hope this hits a couple ;)

Captain Charming. Rated E for smut. 6.9k.

Title shamelessly robbed from Biffy Clyro’s - Know Your Quarry which is 100% my Captain Charming song rn for some reason...

Much love and fruit baskets to my betas @katie-dub, @dassala and @starlessness. All remaining stray commas are entirely my responsibility!

TW: Sex Pollen (with explicit consent, but better safe than sorry.)

The tavern is over warm tonight, the blast of the open fire mixing uncomfortably with the mass of bodies who’ve dragged themselves in from the cold, their discarded furs and capes and leathers draped over the backs of chairs and gently steaming in the heat.

 David runs a cloth over his forehead to banish the sweat that’s gathered there before hoisting another barrel into position on the bar top.  He jams in the tap with practiced hands and hands off the first foamy tankard to a scrawny looking man with black teeth and beggar-dog eyes.

 “On the house,” he mutters as the man scrabbles about his person for a coin purse David knows perfectly well doesn’t exist. “It’s cold out.”

 The man babbles something that’s probably gratitude, but David’s not entirely paying attention. His eyes are fixed on one corner of the tavern where the heat haze swims across his vision and he tells himself he should tamp the fire.

 (It probably, maybe, doesn’t have anything to do with the fire at all.)

 It’s been six weeks since he brought the sheep down from the hills and tucked them up safely for the winter in his mother’s barn. It’s been a good year, it has, not like the last when the frosts came late and the lambs came early. This year he’s enough coin to keep the farm afloat and his belly full until the new season. This year he doesn’t need to work the winter away in a tavern where the walls sweat and the roof leaks.

 (But there’s a burst of laughter from the corner, the sound of tankard against tabletop and the first notes of a song, and maybe, secretly, he does.)

 There’s more to life than coin, his mother had told him, her wizened hand soft at his cheek. Don’t forget, David.

 He hasn’t forgotten, he just isn’t sure this is what she had in mind.

The first time he’d seen them - seen him - had been one of his very first evenings at the taps. It had been bitter that night too, and the slam of the tavern door had sent him spinning, scowling, a retort on the tip of his tongue to Shut that door behind you, were you raised by wolves? And then he’d seen the glint of steel, the swish of leather, eyes bluer and shrewder and older than he’d ever seen before. He’d snapped his jaw closed so hard, so swiftly, that he could have sworn it was audible. There’d been a beat, perhaps two, and then those blue, blue eyes and leather had swaggered up to him, leant in a little too close and asked:

 We’re just after a drink, not a problem, is it?

 No, David had said, arms crossed, fists clenched tight. Just pay your dues.

 Leather and blue had smiled - smirked, really - an uptick at the corner of lips pinker and plusher than David had cared to dwell on.

 Oh, I always do.

 He always does.

 He calls himself Captain Hook, brandishing his namesake he bears in the place of his left hand under the nose of any who try to start trouble, but David knows him as Jones. He knows him to be honourable enough to pay his bills; gentle enough that the girls vie for a place on his knee, starry-eyed as he tells tall tales of lands David hardly believes enough to scoff at; and terrifying enough to keep his crew close and cowed under the threat of the steel.

 David knows him to be a friend, of sorts, in a world and a season that feels increasingly friendless.

 Then the heat haze clears and David sees the line of his throat, his head thrown back in laughter, the wrinkling of his silk vest at the urgent press of the girl in his lap, the firelight against the curve of his hook.

 And David knows hardly anything at all.

 He certainly hadn’t known what to think the first time he’d felt it - that sick rush of jealousy that flowed heavy and hot and settled in his stomach like some nauseating rock - only that it half knocked him off his feet. His hands were full of tankards that slopped mead over his shoes as he stopped dead before the table where Jones, where Hook, had buried his face in the crook of a wench’s shoulder. Her skirts were rucked up and her stockings a wrinkled mess that had David turning puce on the spot.

 When he finally came up for air Jones had taken his red face, his silent staring, for anger. He had kissed the girl on both cheeks and sent her on her way with a whispered, Later, love. Later.

 (David had memorised that sound, the whisper of it following him through sultry summer nights on the hills when the sky was too big and the world was too lonely.)

 When David had dropped the tankards half empty to the table, Jones had laughed through kiss swollen lips and said I never took you for a prude, Dave! His crew had laughed too as Jones slapped him on the back and promised to find him the finest wench, just say the word, Dave, and they’re yours.

 Even then the only word on the tip of David’s tongue had been You. Even then when he’d barely known what that might mean. When Jones had still been a pirate and he’d still been… well. David’s never been the changeable sort. Steady. Certain. Handsome enough to win the eye of a lady or three - if not rich enough to win their hand.

 Not the sort to consort with pirates, and certainly not in the way he wants to consort with Jones.

 (A sticky night in a shepherd’s hut a thousand miles from anyone to hear him, but when Jones fell from parched, parted lips, it was the shock that made him shudder.

 And David doesn’t know anything, except that he shouldn’t.

 Except that he does.)

 Tonight the fire burns long into the night, the howling wind keeping people within the safety of the tavern for as long as their purses allow. But eventually David’s patience runs low and as the drink slows to a trickle, so do the patrons. Until in the end it’s just Jones and his crew that remain ensconced at their corner table, Jones’s arms flung over the back of the bench as he watches David mop slop from tables, his face relaxed and young-looking, his grin a little looser from the rum.

 “Aren’t you bored?” he calls, “It’s late.”

 “And I’m working,” huffs Dave as he wrings out another cloth into the bucket at his feet. “Which is not something I expect you to know much about.”

 He expects a guffaw, or maybe even a sneer depending on how much rum Jones has consumed over the course of the evening, but instead he gets a long, serious sort of look, Jones’s hook tapping lightly on the table as though he’s considering David’s words.

 “In the eye of the beholder that, mate,” he says eventually. “Like beauty.”

 The last word rolls through his mouth and trips off his tongue, honeyed and a little lower than the rest. David clenches his fist around his damp cloth and wills himself not to blush.

 (The corner of Jones’s mouth ticks up, and he thinks he’s probably failed.)

 “Come sit,” says Jones, gesturing with his arm at the space beside him. “It’s been a long voyage and we’ve few friends to regale with adventures.”

 “Probably because you’ve robbed them all,” David grouses, but he slips into the warm space beside Jones nonetheless, managing to hold himself upright as Jones gives him a hearty slap on the shoulder.

 “Lucky for you I’ve no use for a flock, eh?” he says brightly. “Now Smee, here…”

 There’s a snort of laughter around the table as Smee, a small, portly little man with an oversized red hat and sharp, rat-like eyes, scowls at his captain.

 “You said you wouldn’t bring that up.”

 “Excuse me?” David says, wrinkling his nose. “Actually, on second thoughts, don’t. I don’t want to know.”

 “Can’t say any of us did,” says Jones with a grin before taking a swing from his flask. “Smee just got a little caught out in one of our games, and we’ve all had to suffer the consequences.”

 He knows he’ll regret asking the moment he opens his mouth, but Jones is smiling at him and the room is warm and he doesn’t want to be anywhere but here, not really. Not even if it’s only to listen the timbre of Jones’s voice and feel the vibration of him in the air between them.

 “What games?”

 --

 Jones’s eyes are bright as he talks, his cheeks flushed pink as he gestures at the other men. Their laughter is muted and dull to David’s ears compared to the sound of Jones’s voice.

 “And that’s when Mullins there discovered she was really out of the pleasure dens, and he with not a coin left to pay her!”

 Mullins winces at the memory, but shrugs it off after a long draw from his tankard.

 “Paid her off in other ways though didn’t I,” he says, slightly smug. “Got you all in on the next night’s game too as I recall.”

 “And very grateful we were, aye lads?” Jones says with a grin, lifting his flask in salute. “To the pleasure dens!”

 “The pleasure dens!” cry the crew, voices petering out to hiccoughs and sighs as the drink settles in their bones.

 David swallows, fingers inching towards his cloth again at the thought of Jones in some den of iniquity, his silk vest undone, his eyes dark with lust as someone - some woman - worked her body over his.

 He shudders, and Jones notices, one brow quirking up.

 “Alright there, Dave?”

 “Pleasure dens?” David says, jealousy colouring his tone with disapproval.  “Sounds sordid.”

 “Not these,” Jones says, shaking his head. “I’ve seen my share of brothels, but this place…”

 “It’s the games,” says Hill, a scrawny, youngish lad, who lean over the table and winks conspiratorially at David. “Make all the difference, see?”

 “So you’ve said,” David mutters. “Care to expand?”

 Jones pauses his drinking for a moment, his grin changing into something a little more challenging as he considers David.

 “Alright. Hill, go fetch Dave a drink.”

 “I’m working,” Dave mutters, but Jones shakes his head.

 “Not right now you aren’t, now -” he pushes the tankard Hill has brought to the table closer to David with the curve of his hook. “The rules.”

 “You play by rules?”

 “I do in these sorts of games, Dave. Good form and all that.”

 He taps the side of the tankard encouragingly, and David takes a sip.

 “Alright,” he continues. “The game goes as follows. Each participant shares something… unaccomplished, shall we say. And then they’re helped to…,” Jones pauses, and David could swear his eyes flick to David’s lips. “accomplish them.”

 “Virginal types like Hill here have a hell of a list,” guffaws Mullins. “And as for Mr Smee…”

 Smee scowls, his hand falling to the cutlass at his side before Jones slaps his hand down on the table.

 “Now if you’re playing the game, and you fancy a little of that yourself, you simply take a drink,” Jones demonstrates with a wink. “And one of the lovelies will be sure to oblige you. Fancy a game?”

 “There aren’t any girls here,” David says without thinking.

 “None at sea, either mate,” says Jones, dropping his voice conspiratorially, “but I won’t tell if you don’t.”

 -

 It’s, well, fun, at first, though there’s an undercurrent of something that David dare not name that fizzles beneath every one of Jones’s words and sparks when his shoulder brushes David’s. For his own part David is careful to time sips of his drink so as not to accidentally expose himself as having the same fetish for toes as Mullins or as being as nervous as Hill.

 “I have never been kissed”, the boy says, half choking on his mead as he guzzles it and hides his red face behind the tankard.

 “Come here then”, laughs Jones, “we can’t have that, can we?”

 David takes his own gulp quickly in the space between Hill’s gibbering refusal and the crew’s laughter, and pretends he doesn’t feel Jones’s gaze on the side of his face.

 “Interested, Dave?”

 “No,” he says, a little too soon, a little too sharply. “Just thirsty.”

 Jones hums, a low sound that David feels in the base of his spine, and takes a drag from his own flask.

 “I know how you feel.”

 Drink sees the crew off in the end. Drink, and their own desires stoked up by a game of one upmanship and off to be slaked in the beds of whichever wench is fortunate to have a space in her schedule. Eventually it’s just David, Smee and Jones sitting in the corner, little more than shadows in the flickering of the dying fire.

 Silence falls between them, thick like a woollen blanket. David knows he should get up - the floors won’t mop themselves and the taps need sealing - but he finds himself unable to move from the bench seat at Jones’s side, his breathing a little quicker, a little shallower, as it synchronises with Jones’s own.

 Jones doesn’t move either, just taps the edge of his hook on the tabletop and watches Smee drain the dregs of his drink.

“Time to be off then,”  Smee says, smacking his lips together and pushing back from the table. “You coming, Captain?”

 “Not tonight,” Jones says, and there’s something odd in his voice, something a little like nerves. “I’ve business to attend to here.”

 Smee’s nose wrinkles in confusion.

 “Here?”

 Here?

 “What I said, wasn’t it? Be off with you, and I’d better not find any fleeced stowaways on my ship.”

 “That was a joke,” Smee sniffs.

 “So you say,” says Jones, and waves his hand toward the door. “Be off with you.”

 Smee nods, first to his Captain and then to David who can only incline his head minutely in reply. It’s as though he’s frozen to the spot, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as Smee takes his leave.

 The door slams behind Smee, a gust of icy air left in his wake, but it isn’t that that sends the shiver down David’s spine. From the corner of his eye he can see Jones’s long fingers playing over the rim of his flask, his eyes a little darker than normal as he turns to straddle the bench leaving David sitting, sraightbacked and statue-like, between his thighs.

 “Well,” Jones says. “This is cosy.”

 “You should go,” David says, “I need to close up.”

 But he makes no attempt to move, and Jones only taps his fingers against his flask a little harder.

 “If you want me to leave,” Jones says, “I shall. On the condition I can ask one thing.”

 David makes a sort of low squeaking sound that Jones interprets as permission to continue, leaning in until his mouth is barely an inch from David’s ear. His leather pants creak as he shifts his weight closer, his words more of a breath than a whisper.

 “Will you let me show you?”

 “I don’t know what you mean,” David lies.

 Jones sighs, shaking his head slightly as he drop his flask to the table.

 “Do you think poorly of men like me, David?”

 David lifts his eyebrows, shooting Jones a curious look from the corner of his eye.

 “Pirates?”

 “That much you made clear last winter, Dave,” Jones says wryly. “All that disapproval has aged you, you know.”

 “Is that how you impress your women?” David scoffs.

 Jones shrugs then says, “not trying to impress a woman, am I? So I’ll ask again - what do you think of men like me?”

 David’s throat works as he swallows heavily. It sounds like a dream come true, this man, this ridiculous intoxicating man, pressing his thigh into David’s back and asking - and asking what, exactly? Paranoia makes his heart race, his palms sweat.

 (He thinks it’s paranoia.)

 “I think it’s a long voyage.”

 “That it is,” agrees Jones, “and this isn’t the closest port.”

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” David mumbles, and Jones smiles.

 “I think you do,” he says softly, “I think you watch me, David. I catch you doing it, when I’m watching you. I think you want things you don’t know how to ask for - but I know. I know, David.”

 He hears Jones’s swallow, feels the bob of his throat in the air between them.

 “I have never kissed you, David.”

 (A hundred lonely nights he’s wondered what that voice would feel like at his ear, and now he knows. He knows it’ll follow him forever. He isn’t sure he cares.)

 His hand moves, fingers curling around the tankard, Jones’s sigh warm against his neck as he drinks then turns. They’re so close that he brushes Jones’s nose with his own, tasting the rum on the other man’s breath as he gathers his courage, and says:

 “Please.”

 Jones kisses him first, a soft gentle press not unlike those David had shared with the blushing maidens of his youth, and he almost laughs, so different is it from what he’s expecting - whatever he’s expecting.

 He’s the one to deepen the kiss, to tilt his head and open his mouth, but it’s Jones’s tongue against his that makes him groan, Jones’s hand that sneaks between them to tug at the collar of David’s shirt. It’s also Jones that pulls away first, lips red from stubble burn and eyes a little hooded with lust.

 “That was - ” David manages, but Jones shakes his head.

 “Just a start, love, I promise,” and then he smiles. “You can call me Killian, if you like?”

 “Killian,” David says, then, surer, “Killian.” And he surges forward to recapture that smile with his own.

 --

 Jones has maneuvered them up against the bar, David’s back to the wood as the other man kisses a wet, sharp trail down the side of his neck. David’s breath comes in strange, desperate pants that he hardly recognises as Jones lowers himself to his knees.

 The hook makes a dull thud on the tavern floor and David swears he feels it reverberate up his spine, his nerves singing as he fumbles with the laces of his pants, the bar top sharp at the ridge of his spine.

 Hook, Jones, Killian, looks up at him through long dark lashes, his teeth white against the red of his lip as he bites down.

 “You don’t have to,” Killian says again. “We don’t have to.”

 A furrow forms between his brows, and his body seems to straighten, tighten, as if he’s preparing to stand up, and David’s throat is too dry, nervous desire setting him too on edge. He’s going to lose this, he knows it, he’s going to lose it and he finally finally knows.

 “No,” he manages. “No. I want to - I want you -”

 And then Killian’s hand is on his, warm and a little damp as he helps steady twitching fingers and works the knots from David’s laces, and then -

 A warm breath of air against touch starved skin, an intake of breath, those blue, blue eyes that focus on his own, pink lips that part, the slip of a tongue -

 And he is undone.

 He almost falls to his knees at the first sweep of tongue, his thighs trembling uncontrollably as Killian takes him deep, deep, deeper than David had even thought possible, until only the press of Killian’s fingers into the skin of his hip and the wood at his back keep him upright. His whole body shudders as Killian pulls back only to press his tongue into the ridge that makes David cry out, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the bar top behind him before giving up to wind themselves in Killian’s hair.

 “Sorry,” he mumbles, but he feels the way Killian’s mouth curls into a smile around him. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 Killian pulls back further, the air so much cooler than the warmth of his mouth that David gasps in shock. Killian makes no move back towards his twitching cock, though, instead looking up at him, his hair mussed from David’s fingers, his lips slightly swollen.

 “You never - none of your girls? Truly?”

 His voice is different too, rougher, but with less of the captain in it. Less of the captain and more of something David recognises all too well.

 Longing. It sounds like longing.

 David shakes his head.

 “They never - I never- I never wanted…”

 He lets the words sit for a moment, wills Killian to understand the ones he can’t quite say.

 Until you.

 Except you.

 Killian smiles and it’s like the sun coming up over the mountainside, a breathtaking sight that has David sagging back against the bar again, his knees far weaker than they had been even under the careful ministrations of the other man’s tongue.

 “You want now,” Killian says, and it isn’t a question.

 But David tightens his grip in his hair, and it’s an answer all the same.

 --

 It’s been a long voyage, a long summer - a long, long life, truth be told - but those are hardly the only reasons he’s never been so keen to make port before.

 Aye, the weather has changed for the worse - an ill northerly wind that blows ice water into his eyes each watch - but port is hardly a shelter for men like them. Men like him, with a bounty on his head and not a friend to turn to when it’s called in.

 (He never minded that, before. But perhaps he’s getting ahead of himself.)

 This winter is different though. There’s a frisson in the wind that doesn’t come from the cold north, but from here, from this nameless, worthless port town. A frisson that comes, in the end, from him.

 Last winter the tavern at the dockside had meant nothing more than a warm hearth and the prospect of some entertainment for men too long cooped up at sea. Killian hadn’t been looking for anything more than a game of dice and a fresh barrel of rum when he’d first walked in, but then he’d been met with fierce eyes and broad shoulders, distrust and displeasure, and, well, he’d always loved a challenge.

 At first it had been a good game, watching David seethe from the bar as Killian and his crew made merry, nights of drinking and whoring only occasionally broken by the clash of steel. But as the weeks had passed David’s shoulders had relaxed, his gaze more contemplative than angry, and Killian had found himself inviting him to join them. For a drink. For a story.

 For the flash of a dimple. The curl of a smile. The soft, gentle voice that carries more than any drunken shout when it called Jones.

 And then it hadn’t really been a game at all.

 Killian can’t say that David is the first man to catch his eye - voyages are long and sailors are suspicious after all - and he is beautiful. He’s all broad shoulders and strong lines and a jaw that anyone with a pulse would want to bite, but there’s something different about him. Something that calls to a part of Killian he’d thought long lost to Neverland and Crocodiles and love’s last dying breath, the part that’s buried hard under the layers of leather and defended at the point of a hook.

 More than desire, though desire him he does, David Nolan makes Captain Hook want to be better.

 That’s probably why he ran.

 (There’s no probably about it.)

 When he closes his eyes all he sees is David, flushed red and wide eyed, still half propped against his own bar with his breeches askew. When he swallows he imagines the taste of him thick against his tongue, lies in his bunk and winds his own hand through his hair and pretends, pretends, pretends until he aches with the want of it.

 (Don’t you want..? David had asked last night as Killian rose from his knees, his voice a broken sort of whisper.

 Not tonight, he’d lied. That wasn’t the game.)

 It’s a long, long way from a game, and when the men leave for the docks the next night, he doesn’t join them.

 Instead he makes his way to the hold where the air is cool and damp and smells of whale oil and the inventory distracts him from the itch in his skin, from the ache in his heart.

 “Is this where you’re hiding?”

 At first he thinks he’s imagining it - that one kiss, one mouthful, of David Nolan and the man has possessed him - but then he feels the shift in the air as someone enters the room. Hears the creak of the boards beneath another’s feet.

 “I thought you were working,” he says without turning, and hears the shrug of a woolen coat in reply.

 “I took a night off. Smee seemed keen on covering the taps.”

 “You left Smee in charge of your tavern?”

 The boards creak again. One step, two.

 “Not my tavern. And anyway, I had better things to do.”

 Killian hums a noncommittal reply as David’s hand sneaks around him to lift one of the vials from the chest he’s examining.

 “What’s this?” he asks, holding it up to the light, and Killian’s eyes widen when he sees which one he’s chosen.

 “I wouldn’t - “

 “Why not?”

 “It’s a delicacy of sorts, one used by those who frequent the pleasure dens.”

 David lifts his eyebrows, and Killian feels himself blush.

 “And?”

 “It… increases your desire. And reduces your recovery time.” He winks, determined not to appear discombobulated in front of David.  “Not everyone is as blessed as me.”

 David’s eyes widen momentarily and then he nods, humming slightly as he curls his fingers around the vial.

 “About that. You disappeared last night.”

 “Were you expecting me to be the cuddling type?”

 David tilts his head to one side, considering him through narrowed eyes.

 “I expected you to want me to return the favor,” he says.

 There’s something in his tone that makes Killian wince and turn his back, concentrating on his inventory so as not to see the look on David’s face.

 “I didn’t do it for that,” he admits, the words gritted out. “It wasn’t - it wasn’t for payment.”

 David barks out a laugh. “Well that’s a relief, at least. So why did you? Proving some sort of point?”

 Killian turns to look over his shoulder, but it isn’t disgust he sees on David’s face, but confusion, honest confusion, two high spots of colour in the other man’s cheeks as he meets Killian’s eyes.

 “Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffs, “who could I possibly have been proving a point to? I’ve been half hanged for less.”

 “I’ll bet you have,” David says, and takes a step closer. “Doesn’t explain…” he gestures between the two of them with the hand holding the vial, “this.”

 Killian turns around fully, and he swears his heart skips a beat or three as David’s gaze drops to his lips.

 “Does it need an explanation?” he asks.

 “No,” says David, “I suppose not.”

 This kiss is different from the last - rougher, harder, a little more certain in the push and the pull - and it’s Killian who’s backed up against the chests tonight, David’s teeth at his pulse point. Killian who whimpers out a yes, yes please as David pulls at his coat and begs permission with his tongue at the hollow of his throat.

 “You’ll tell me?” David pants, “You’ll tell me if I do it wrong?”

 And Killian almost laughs at the absurdity of it all, that here they are in the oil drenched bowels of his ship, the man he’s dreamt of all summer sinking to his knees before him whispering words he can’t hear. He pushes Killian’s leathers over his hips and just the flutter of his hand is enough to have him keening like a virgin.

 “Just right,” he manages, his thighs trembling as David pulls back his foreskin and tries a first, tentative lick. “Just perfect.”

 It seems to be all the encouragement David needs to try another, then another, his hand working the base of Killian’s cock as he wraps his lips around the head and writes soliloquies with his tongue. Maybe it’s not the best he’s ever had - far from it, perhaps - but the sight of David’s blond head between his legs, the callouses on his fingers as he pumps and twists, are enough to have Killian on edge in minutes. His panted warnings come just a little too late for David who pulls back only to have his chin and shirt painted white as Killian thrusts into his fist.

 “I’m sorry,” Killian mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

 David narrows his eyes again and runs his tongue over his lips to catch a drop, the action almost enough to have Killian dropping to his own knees.

 “It’s alright,” says David, in that soft, gentle voice that makes Killian ache in an entirely different way. “I can get my own back.”

 --

 The storm lasts a fortnight, the snow lying thick on the roofs of the village houses and swept overboard hourly by the land locked crew of the Jolly. It’s a rough one. The food stocks are low after a pitiful harvest and the people of this nowhere land know to expect no assistance from the cold hearted rulers of the kingdoms they border. No-one has coin for the tavern.

 There’d be no-one there if they did.

 David spends his days in the barn attempting to keep his flock alive in much the same way as Killian carefully, almost obsessively, counts out rations to the men of the Jolly, but his nights? His nights he spends warmer than he’s ever been.

 He can’t regret this storm, not when it’s brought him these nights. Not when he knows that when the storm leaves, so will the Jolly Roger.

 Not when he knows what that means to him, now.

 So he’s going to make the most of it while it lasts.

 He commits every touch, every smile, every stupid pirate joke to memory. Wills himself to recall precisely how the deck feels under bare feet and the exact shade of puce Smee turned the one time he entered the captain’s quarters without knocking.

 (He wraps himself in the lack of judgement, in the silence instead of whispers, in the control Killian exerts with one quirked brow.)

 On the fourteenth night, with the storm still raging beyond the windows of the Captain's cabin, he sits propped up in bed with silk sheets wrapped around his legs, watching the play of candlelight over Killian’s bare skin as he blots the ink on his latest inventory entry and stretches his arms over his head.

 “This damn storm had better pass,” Killian groans, rising from the table. “All the spices of the east aren’t enough to make frozen rat a palatable meal.”

 He picks up his flask, shakes it, and sighs miserably.

 “Not to mention the rum.”

 “You drink too much anyway,” says David, parting his legs so that Killian can sit between them. “The drought will be good for you.”

 Killian pouts, a ridiculous, mockable thing that he’d never dare show to any other man on the ship, and David rolls his eyes as he presses a finger against the protruding lip.

 “I’m only concerned with your health,” he says, and it’s Killian’s turn to roll his eyes, shifting his body weight until he’s able to kneel on the mattress and lean forward to kiss the smile from David’s mouth.

 “I can think of a few other things you’re concerned with,” he says, moving to rest his hand on David’s thigh and smirking at the way he shivers as he whispers in his ear. “Want me to demonstrate?”

 “Actually,” says David, his heart pounding as he says the words he’s been thinking of for a week or more. “I’ve got an idea.”

 --

 “Are you sure about this?” Killian holds the vial in his hand, the dark powder glinting within as he presses his thumb against the edge of the cork. “I have seen this used before, but - ”

 “A first for both of us then,” says David, his eyes fixed on the vial as he worries at his lip. “Haven’t you been wondering?”

 Killian half scoffs. Of course he’s been wondering. He’d seen the ecstasy of the faces of those exposed to the power - watched them writhe and moan and consume one another with no apparent concern other than the pursuit of pleasure. It’s why he’d brought it back, after all. But David is new to this - to the touch of another man’s hand, at least - and he doesn’t want to frighten him, doesn’t want him to look at him differently when the powder wears off, to see Killian in a darker light than that cast by the Jolly’s candles.

 He doesn’t especially want to examine why that is, either, but no matter. He already knows.

 But then David’s larger hand is over his, and he’s taking the vial, and his eyes are sharp and blue and certain.

 “I want to,” he says, each word formed carefully and clearly. “Do you?”

 Killian breathes, nods, and the vial pops open.

 --

 It’s warm, with a soft sort of cinnamon smell that entices and ensnares in equal measure. Killian dips his finger into the vial and lifts it to David’s lips.

 “Ready?”

 He’s never been so ready for anything in his life.

 Just the merest hint of powder against his tongue and it’s like fire is coursing through his veins, his hands burning with the urge to take and grab and possess. It takes only moments to consume them both and send them reeling in the half dark, seemingly unsure of how to quench the fire.

 The wind howls and the sheets are a torn, sodden mess on the floor, but none of that matters.

 Not when Killian is arching beneath him as David tightens his fingers in his hair and his tongue slips out to lick a trail of fire into the sweat at David’s jaw. David’s blood feels thick, his head so clouded with lust and the heat of Killian’s skin that he’s barely aware of the heave and roll of the ship or the screaming storm outside. The world around him has narrowed to one indiscernible point, all his senses devoted to memorising the scent of sweat, the unsteady catch of breath as he presses his thumb into the hollow of Killian’s throat. Until all he can see, all he ever wants to see, is the desire in Killian’s eyes as he tightens his thighs around David’s waist and sobs out a sound that might be his name.

 And the world is spinning, throbbing in time with his cock as Killian flips them over and rears up, grinding his hips down until lights seems to flash red-white in the corners of David’s eyes. And then when David’s biting down on steel to keep from screaming from the sheer desperate ache of it  -  Killian rises up.

 Sinks down.

 (They say the world explodes in colour, but all he sees is blue.)

 --

 David wakes first to calm seas and a shaft of winter sunlight that plays along the line of Killian’s spine and reveals the fresh, pink marks scattered amongst the scars. David presses his lips against their own perfect imprint at the curve of Killian’s hip as he sits up, his body aching, and reaches for his breeches.

 He knows that last night, somewhere between that first tentative thrust and Killian’s pleas for David to make him his own there’d been a shift, a sudden certainty in their actions, a meaning that hadn’t been there before. The storm between the two of them had reached a crescendo that spilled out in fevered promises and words that David, for one, had never said before, pressed into every scar on Killian’s body and written with tongues on sweat-slicked skin.

 But the storm is over. Life resumes.

 It was always coming, after all.

 Such is the way of things, he supposes, but as he holds his breeches loosely in one hand he finds himself unable to move to put them on.

 The hand at his elbow is a little sticky still, but the grip is firm enough.

 “Where are you going?” Killian’s voice is rough from lack of sleep and overuse, but David hears the confusion in it. The want. He knows his own is no steadier as he struggles for a reply.

 “Back,” he manages. “The storm’s over, Jones. It was...” he takes a deep breath, bites his own cheek, “fun.”

 In a single motion Killian is upright, his knees pressed into David’s thigh, and David daren’t turn to look at him because he can feel the heat of his stare, the anger behind it.

 “Fun,” Killian says. “Right.”

 David half shrugs, the words from last night thick at the back of his throat. He wants to let them out, he does, but how can he now in the bright dawn with the tide already pulling them apart?

 (His mother had always told him he was stubborn, but Killian, Killian is worse. Killian will make it worse.

 He does.)

 “So that’s it? You’re leaving?”

 “The farm - “

 Killian laughs, a harsh, cold thing worse than any storm.

 “The farm? Fuck the farm! Come with me.”

 David does look at him then, his own mouth curling into a sneer. He says it like it’s nothing. Like David’s whole career - David’s whole life - isn’t worth considering, and the arrogance of it makes his blood warm, his words less measured.

 “As what? Captain’s pet?”

 Killian jumps back as though he’s been slapped and David cringes at the hot rush of shame that courses through him.

 “Is that what you think this is?”

 “No,” David says, quickly, too quickly, and he wants to be right. He’s never wanted to be right so much in his life.

 This has mattered. He wants it to always have mattered.

 “Because it isn’t,” says Killian, and his eyes are like fire and his muscles seem to scream with tension. “It hasn’t ever been - I won’t make you.” He shakes his head, his hair falling in his eyes, and David’s fingers twitch with the urge to brush it aside.

 “Nevermind. Go back to your sheep,” Killian says, lying back down. “I’m tired anyway.”

 (He has his back to the door when David leaves, and the ship is gone by sundown.)

 --

 It takes longer than he’d intended. Winter isn’t a prime time for sheep sales, after all, and he’ll need more than the bare minimum in his purse for what he has planned. But eventually he manages to convince someone to take on his flock for almost market rate, and by the first spring tide he’s making the appropriate enquires of every seafaring man who crosses the tavern’s threshold.

 Turns out not many men try to seek out pirates (not many pirates are like his), but eventually he hears that their banner has been spotted in the waters of Queen Regina’s kingdom. Although it’s not a place he’s any desire to visit he’s packing up his meagre belongings in moments and praying to a deity he doesn’t believe in that the cost of his travel is no more than the profits from the sale of his farm.

 (It’s all of it, every last sovereign, and he’d laugh but all he cares for now is the sea spray on his face and the blue, blue horizon ahead.)

 So he hasn’t much when he settles himself into the corner of a dockside tavern. Just a blunted cutlass and enough coppers for a weak mead, the leather of the faintly ridiculous coat he’d brought tight across his shoulders as he watches the door. His foot tapping against the straw covered floor.

 If Killian doesn't want him, what then? David has walked away once, after all. And it’s been months. Months. And -

 And the door opens to blue, blue eyes, and leather topped with a smirk like sin, and it doesn’t even matter. Not when he sees the moment Killian realises, the way his jaw drops, oh so slightly, before he swaggers over to take the seat opposite and hides a shaking hand in the sleeve of his coat.

 “Saving this seat for anyone?” he asks, as though he doesn’t know, as though he can’t feel the way David longs to reach for that shaking hand and squeeze it with his own.

 “Only you,” David replies. “That alright?”

 “Aye,” says Killian, the word barely a breath on the exhale. “Alright.”

 (Consider it forgotten, Killian promises later that night as David kisses apologies into his hips, and it doesn’t matter about anything, the months of regret and loneliness banished with the brush of lips against lips. Forgiveness in the whisper of forever at the shell of an ear, and nothing nothing nothing matters but the I love, I love, I love you as the tide takes them away.)

 --

[jafreitag]

31 Days of Dead 2019 | Introduction & Day 1: Ripple, Brokedown Palace, To Lay Me Down – New York, NY 9/20/70

[Ladies and Gentlemen, ECM…]

Hey now! I’m very excited to bring you another installment of 31 Days of Dead. In case you are unfamiliar with my project, here’s a description of what it’s all about.

The idea for the 31 Days of Dead was hatched in 2010 when dead.net started providing free mp3 tracks for download from the band’s vast archives each day during the month of November. I thought it would be fun to keep the music flowing for another month by selecting my own daily picks in December. Having been a tape trader back in the 1980s, the idea of sharing the music that I love and turning people on to versions that they never heard was very appealing to me. And since I have a competitive spirit and enjoy a good challenge, I thought it would be fun to bring you a project that is at least as good as dead.net’s, if not better. That inspired my battle cry:

“When they go high, we go higher”

I had no idea where this would go when I started my first project in December 2010, nor did I care. I did it for no reason other than my own personal enjoyment – I still do. In the beginning, I posted my daily selections on the Phantasy Tour Phish discussion forum, and I sent daily e-mail blasts to a small group of friends. Soon, the email distribution grew, as friends of friends asked to be added. Then, online spots like Glide Magazine and Liner Notes music blog started carrying my projects. In 2017, I launched an Instagram account, which to my amazement, has grown to 13,000+ followers!

This year marks the 10-year anniversary of 31 Days of Dead. Naturally, I felt compelled to do something special to celebrate the occasion. As with past years, the brainstorming sessions began in August. By the end of September, I was putting the final touches on my picks and getting ready to do the accompanying write-ups when the sad news broke about Robert Hunter’s passing. That changed everything. I had no choice but to start over and dedicate this year’s project to Hunter. And then panic set in as I contemplated the daunting task of adequately representing the work of one of the most prolific songwriters of our time.

The online memorials and memories that quickly surfaced after Hunter’s death confirmed just how daunting my job was. Mickey Hart told a story about when his son asked him, “Who is Robert Hunter?” Hart’s response: “Look around you — he’s everywhere. He spun the greatest stories and songs and images that could ever be.”

And then there was Trey Anastasio of Phish, who very eloquently captured the feelings from a fan’s perspective: “Some of the most beautiful memories of my youth are of standing at concerts listening to Jerry sing Robert Hunter’s lyrics. The combination of those lyrics, always from the point of view of the outsider, the broken, the confused, the outlaw, the dying, the man on the street, and Jerry’s aching vulnerable voice, full of pain and spirit, was indescribable.”

There is not too much that I can add to what has already been said about the great lyricist/poet, Robert Burns Hunter and his vital importance to the Grateful Dead. He was a reclusive man of very few words who eschewed the limelight and preferred to simply let his poetry speak for itself. In the same spirit, I will use this year’s project as a platform to speak through the music in which his lyrics were written.

Since the focus of this year’s project is on Robert Hunter, things will naturally be a little different from previous years. First, I packed this project with as many Hunter compositions as I could, but there is no possible way that I could include everything, so I apologize if I missed one of your favorites. Along those lines, you should expect my playlist to be heavy with Garcia tunes simply because Garcia collaborated with Hunter the most. My apologies to fans of Bobby, Brent, and Pigpen who might feel a little short-changed. Also, I provided a link to the “Greatest Stories Ever Told” from dead.net for each of my selections to help give texture to Hunter’s lyrics.

As I have done in the past, this year’s project recognizes important milestones and anniversaries such as the release of the albums Aoxomoxoa and Live Dead, the departure of the Godchaux, and the addition of Brent Mydland. For the first time ever, I included some repeats from previous years. I did this as a nod to the 10-year anniversary of the 31 Days of Dead. Think of them as the equivalent of my “greatest hits.”

I provide download links for all of my projects. Consequently, I do not pick any official releases to avoid copyright issues. Usually, I try to achieve a broad, cross-representation of years, styles, and eras. This has become very challenging because the available material has been severely depleted by all of the official releases since I began these projects. Box sets such as Europe ’72, May ’77, and Spring ’90 have removed entire tours from what I could use for my projects. That makes my job harder, but I embrace the challenge.

Finally, unlike the “Official 30 Days of Dead,” there is no contest here. Instead, the prize is the music, and the winner is the listener.

Special thanks go to Brian Levine for doing the awesome artwork over the past ten years, and to Jason Freitag for hosting my projects on his music blog, Liner Notes.

I hope you enjoy listening to this amazing music, as I had compiling it. Any questions, comments, recommendations, etc., please shoot me an email at 31daysofdead@gmail.com.

R.I.P., Robert Burns Hunter

Peace,

Ed

============================================================================

[Hey, it’s JF. Quick editorial note. I’ve used ECM’s original text with only minor corrections, per the LN Style Manual (basically, commas rule). I’ve also used his original links. If you notice a problem with any of them, give a shout to linernotesmusicblog@gmail.com, or comment below the line – I’ll fix whatever I can, as soon as I can. Finally, the formatting of these posts, link-wise, sorta shifts a few days into the project. At first, I liked my approach of putting hyperlinks on the word HERE, but then I decided that Ed’s approach of using headings and then listing links was just plenty fine – and a whole lot less work for me. For future reference: Behind The Lyrics links go to various sources, which discuss Hunter’s words; MediaFire links go to downloads of the day’s featured songs/segments; Relisten links go to streams of the day’s songs at Relisten.org; Live Music Archive links go to streams for the day’s entire show/shows at the LMA; and YouTube links go to streams of audio/video of various songs/shows. Anyway. Back to today’s stuff.]

============================================================================

December 1 One Afternoon Long Ago: The Magical Three

Ripple, Brokedown Palace, To Lay Me Down

9/20/70 – Fillmore East • New York, NY; Acoustic Set

Robert Hunter was notoriously prolific. Sometimes, songs would just pour out of him, like the day he wrote “Ripple,” “Brokedown Palace,” and “To Lay Me Down” in one session. Talk about inspiration (we will visit “Terrapin” later in this project), Hunter’s liner notes for the Garcia All Good Things box set elaborate a bit more on the circumstances of that magical afternoon:

“I found myself left alone in Alan Trists’s flat on Devonshire Terrace in West Kensington, with a supply of very nice thick linen paper, sun shining brightly through the window, a bottle of Greek Retsina wine at my elbow. The songs flowed like molten gold onto the page and stand as written.”

Hunter told Rolling Stone that his favorite line he ever wrote was in “Ripple” – “Let it be known there is a fountain that was not made by the hands of men.” Therefore, it only seems appropriate that we start this year’s project with that song. The lyrics and musical composition of all three of the songs written on that afternoon in London are among my very favorite in the entire Grateful Dead catalog.

The versions I selected to represent “The Magical Three” are from the Fillmore East on September 20, 1970, which is widely considered to be one of the finest acoustic sets the band ever played. The lovely three-part vocal harmonies along with the accompanying piano and mandolin make this a truly special treat to behold.

Read about Ripple HERE, Brokedown Palace HERE, and To Lay Me Down HERE. And HERE is the Annotated Ripple at David Dodd’s incredible website.

Download Ripple HERE, Brokedown Palace HERE, and To Lay Me Down HERE.

Relisten:

Ripple – https://relisten.net/grateful-dead/1970/09/20/gd70-09-20-s1-t06-ripple?source=102783

Brokedown Palace – https://relisten.net/grateful-dead/1970/09/20/gd70-09-20-s1-t12-brokedown-palace?source=102783

To Lay Me Down – https://relisten.net/grateful-dead/1970/09/20/gd70-09-20-s1-t07-to-lay-me-down?source=102783

Finally, transport to the entire show on the Live Music Archive HERE.

#tolaymedown #ripple #brokedownpalace #acoustic #09201970 #gratefuldead #roberthunter #jerrygarcia #bobweir #phillesh #billkreutzmann #mickeyhart #pigpen #tomconstanten #keithgodchaux #donnagodchaux #brentmydland #brucehornsby #vincewelnick #31daysofdead #linernotesmusicblog

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