#socialites guide to murder

[readatrix]

*****(5 out of 5 stars.)

I purchased A Socialite's Guide to Murder through Aardvark, a book of the month style service, and had an absolute blast! Evelyn is the daughter of a hotel owner, and the story takes place in the late 50s. She is spoiled and pampered, and carries her little dog (Presley) everywhere. She could be mistaken for a "Dumb Blonde," and in some ways she's naive, but she has hidden depth. She gives me a very Elle Woods/Paris Hilton/Marilyn Monroe vibe -- intelligent, but knows how to play dumb. Easily underestimated, but you really shouldn't. She explicitly emulates Monroe's style in the beginning. A nice, somewhat subtle, thing is when someone says she has no personality other than emulating Marilyn Monroe, and a few scenes later she changes her lipstick color and eventually considers becoming brunette. I think she's finding herself. She wonders how being called Miss Marple could be an insult. As a child, she found her mother's body -- and I bet that'll be explored -- and it left her with anxiety, agoraphobia, and PTSD, which her therapist calls shell shock as a reflection of the time period. She rarely leaves the hotel, and part of her growth is her tentative efforts to go places. I laughed A LOT and loved her love for her dog. I kissed Presley's wet nose. "Do you want to find the real thief, sweet boy? Come on, let's get you in Mommy's bag." "No. No." Mac was on his feet after a few more stretches. "We can't bring the dog." "And why not?" I already had Presley's purse open on the counter, his little tail wagging at the sight of it. "He's a helper!" "A helper?"Mac wiped his face with the palm on his hand, his stubble whispering at the connection. "Evelyn, we're going to break into a crime scene. You can't bring a dog into a crime scene." "I can." I put Presley in his bag, slid it onto my shoulder. "I am. Look, I can even put flashlights in there with him! He'll keep them safe." Mac opened his mouth, closed it again. "Safe from what? Evelyn, what if he barks? Or pees in the middle of the crime scene?" I gasped. "Presley would never. He's a good boy, Mac." Spoiler alert, they take Presley. Also: She has an exchange with a lift operator where she proclaims Presley her favorite. The lift operator seeks clarification, and asks if she means favorite dog. No, her favorite of anything in the whole world. Her love interest, an employee of the hotel with a somewhat shady past, good-naturedly aides and abets her investigations. He can pick locks. She also has a Hollywood star she pretends to date in order to help quell rumors around a confirmed bachelor. I won't go too much into the mystery beyond saying it worked well for me, and there were a lot of suspects. I did pick out the murderer, and I don't actively try to do that, preferring to let the story go where it will. I guess I'm saying it might be easy, but I've also been watching a lot of Columbo. LOL! Anyhow, it's 5 stars for me because I simply had a good time, and want to spend more time in this world. I appreciate that a mystery with a sleuth who owns a pet, and the pet has more than a cameo with a spot on the cover. More dog. Always more dog.

[thebookwormclub]

[greedyhoneyz]

On Bended Knee

ೃ࿔*:･pairing: bruce wayne x reader

.ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: upon newly blossomed wings comes the season of spring, freed at last as wedding bells ring.

.ೃ࿔*:･cw: none.

.ೃ࿔*:･authors notes: this is a modern take on bruce. like i imagine him being a major socialite (like jfk jr) in the late 90s/00s (him being so closed off from the media) and his kids (nepo babies) when they are older use social media and show off their parents for people who are curious about what bruce’s been up after his parents murder. ….or it can be hella modern like battinson or something idk 🤷🏾‍♀️

When the first day of spring bloomed, buds sprouted from beneath ageing trees and flowers sang hymns of spring’s deep soul and blessed the warm air.

April 15th. The early morning sun had peeked over the courtyard, and a pleasant breeze from the north rustled through, cooling the guests and family members as they waited in their seats, across from the walk leading to the pavilion. Flowers and white streamers decorated the bannisters, a ceremonial mixture of whites and champagne pinks.

Sweet strains of classical music fluttered through the air, tuning out the occasional conversation as the groom wadded through feelings of nausea and discomfort. He swayed on the heels of his dress shoes, his arms tightly glued to his back and nipped at his bottom lip. His careful eyes dressed the courtyard, scouring across the row of friends, family and his groomsmen before he squinted at the grand doors latched above.

The groom heaved, shifting anxiously on the heels of his feet, and pulled at the cuffs of his shirt for the fifth time that hour. He bit his lip, eyed the backyard door from afar, and mumbled a few words of prayer, interlocking his fingers together and peering up at the sky.

The bridal chorus, a vivid and light piece, began to play from the orchestra as the grand doors flew open, a wash of petals fluttering out into the air.

One by one, in a synchronised fashion, the bridal procession descended from the mansion steps towards the aisle. Flower girls, dressed in the sweetest whites, showered pink roses across the aisle as the bridesmaids, dressed in blush gowns veiled the accession of the bride with gleeful smiles.

The bride, arm in arm with her father, bared herself from behind the procession and merrily ascended across the aisle. Her gown, a princess-cut bodice encrusted with heavily laced beadwork, layered with a soft skirt flared below her veil, floating along as she waltzed, in her hands a bouquet of Stephanotis’.

She was magnificent, beguiling and alluring. All were words that floated through the depths of the groom’s head as he stood with bated breaths, gazing at her with a heavy heart and glassy eyes.

As they drew closer, the groom slowly stepped down from the pavilion and extended his arm to unravel the chain between father and daughter once the pair came to the end of the aisle. He peered at his bride with pride riddled through his eyes as her father turned and placed a longing kiss on the side of her head. He loosened her arm from around his and raised it. He set her hand in the groom’s and slowly retreated into the audience, watching with dread and contentment as the groom carefully guided her up into the pavilion.

The bridal tune faded, and the pastor stepped up to the microphone, Bible in hand. He smiled at the assembly of family and close friends and began. "Cherished family and honoured guests, I would like to thank all for coming out on this glorious day,"

The sound of his polished voice carried well from the speakers on either side of the pavilion as the pastor opened the Bible before him. "Let us begin by offering thanks to the Lord." The procession bowed their heads and the pastor began his prayer.

The groom’s eyes softened at the sight of the swooning silhouette of his bride. His bride gleamed, in awe at the pure poetry pooled within his eyes and replied with a flustered smile shadowed from beneath her veil, before fluttering her eyes shut.

“Dear Lord…”

Once the prayer had concluded, the pastor led the bride and groom through their vows. Their vows to each other expressed their tenderness and devotion to one another. And when it ended, their rings were exchanged.

Scampering across the aisle, the bride’s nephew dressed in a blue tuxedo waddled up the stairs, a pillow nestled between his tiny fingers and hurriedly handed the groom the rings before scampering off to his mother who waited expectantly at the bottom of the stairs.

With an enamoured smile across his face, the pastor turned to the groom and began. “Do you, Bruce Thomas Wayne take….as your lawfully wedded wife?”

Bruce gaped at the woman in front of him. Though her beauty was sheltered behind her veil and the glaring sunlight, he still caught a glimpse of the bashful smile that lingered on her face. “…I do.”

Twirling the ring between his fingers, Bruce grinned at his bride. He held her smooth hand, scoring his thumb across her skin and gently slid the ring onto her finger till it rested by her knuckles.

The pastor smiled and turned to the bride. “Do you…..take Bruce Thomas Wayne as your lawfully wedded husband?”

(name) giggled, flustered at Bruce’s bright stare and nodded. “I do.”

She took the ring resting in her palm and slid it onto his finger.

"By the power vested upon me, I now declare you, husband and wife." The pastor held up his hands, bringing the crowd to their feet.

"You may now kiss your bride."

Lifting her veil, Bruce gently draped the white fabric behind her head, letting it fall across her back and stared at his wife.

As their eyes met, the world seemed to fade away, the world around them forgotten. She felt his hand tenderly touch her cheek, his fingers tracing a line down her jawline.

She beamed, tilting her head ever so slightly and fluttered her lashes, luring him in with a simple, feathered whisper.

He kissed her, soft and gentle, then with a growing intensity. Their kiss was full of tenderness and passion, a dance of two souls perfect in harmony.

His arm wrapped around her, pulling her close as they found themselves castaway, the world around them ceased to exist.

Their embrace lasted for what felt like an eternity, their lips parting only for brief moments for air. They explored each other's mouths with a gentle urgency, their tongues intertwining in a dance of passion and desire.

And as they finally broke free, they peered into each other's eyes with an inviting warmth. It was a moment that would be forever remembered, a moment of softness, tenderness, passion and pure exquisite love.

[leth-writes]

Yandere Chrollo

Just a reminder that my requests are open!

Warnings: this blog is 18+. Discussions of violence and gore.

Summary: A library worker is found by the infamous phantom troupe.

This piece is more experimental, so if you want more, please let me know!

Despite having worked at the library for four years, Barbara still hadn’t quite gotten used to your presence. She tended to forget who you were, trying to kick you out from behind the desk until you flashed your badge at her. And yet, working at the library was still better than the drudgery of working retail, so at the library you remained.

Your favorite section was definitely the non-fiction, because it allowed you to get lost between the stacks, with only exhausted college students and well-meaning seniors occasionally wandering by. Even though you lived in YorkNew, your branch was on the outskirts, and was thus less visited than the main branches deeper within the sprawling city. This left you with quite a lot of free time toward the end of your shift, especially once Barbara went home. Working a closing shift meant you would average only one confused browser coming up to you per shift, allowing you to hunker down in one of the massive beanbags by the window and read away.

The weather was shifting, turning colder, and the nights were getting longer. It was approaching September, and you’d need to start prepping for the first week of school ‘rush’. At least, Barbara was convinced there would be a rush, but it wasn’t likely. Still, it was never too early to set up a couple of after-school activities to give the local kids a way to engage, especially with the recent uptick in crime.

Barbara was sure that the uptick in crime was due to some nefarious presence in the city, and honestly, you partially believed her. A series of brutal murders had rocked the city, yet the police were more focused on ramping up attention in the center of the city, around the operahouse, rather than protecting the populace. You weren’t surprised.

Chrissy, your friend from University, was waiting for you when you walked out after locking up. It was dark, without even the moon in the sky to guide you, as you both walked to the bus stop. Chrissy flicked her long black hair over her shoulder, glancing over at you. “Was your shift okay?” A hint of concern laced her voice. “Oh, it was okay. Barbara forgot where the stapler was and tried to get me to buy a new one, but that was about it. How was yours?” You left out the yelling involved in the story, of course. Chrissy smiled wanly; “I swear, the customers get younger and younger everyday. I had a ten year old come in, convinced she needed moisturizer for aging moms!” She laughed loudly, grabbing your hand and pulling you along to the bus stop.

The stop was empty and dark, no bus in sight. You checked your phone; the next one was 10 minutes away. “Do you wanna do something this weekend?” Chrissy ventured, peering over at you through her lashes. “I don’t have any plans”. “Cool. I got some tickets to some event from Mikael, some opera or auction or whatever. Wanna come with us?” She swung your connections hands between the two of you. “Alright, just to keep you from getting drunk and spilling wine on some rich socialite”. She laughed, tossing her head back. “That was one time!” 

Footsteps crunched along the gravel of the path behind you. You surreptitiously turned around; it was a tall, willowy woman with a short blond bob. She was wearing a partially unbuttoned blouse and a tight pencil skirt. Some type of businesswoman? There weren’t any offices for miles, though… The library was part of an outlet mall, so maybe she was finishing up with some shopping. Satisfied with your mental assessment, you turned away. She came to a stop just to the left of the two of you, and you pulled your sweater tighter, making sure your mark was covered. You’d accidentally rubbed the makeup off your wrist earlier after cleaning up the curry Barbara had spilled, and you wanted to make sure she didn’t catch sight of the red, raised spidery tattoo present just beyond your forearm.

The tall woman glanced at you, then Chrissy. Seeing the lack of threat you two posed, she turned away and peered down the pitch-black road.

Chrissy pulled out her wallet, before sighing. “Shit, I forgot my keys! I need to run back and grab them. I’ll see you tomorrow, hun.”. She whipped around, barely missing bumping into a tall, stocky man who was approaching the stop, shouting out a hurried “sorry!” as she sprinted down the path.

The man, who was so hunched over your neck pinged in sympathy, leered at the blonde woman. “Hey!” he called loudly, moving toward her. “Hey, you!”. He moved closer, and she shot him an annoyed look. She shifted slightly away, her eyes flicking toward you before flashing back to the man. His hand reached out to grab at her hair.

“Just leave, dude.” you mumbled, stepping toward him. He glanced over to you, before doing a double-take, as if only just at that moment noticing you. “What’s it matter to you?” he asked. “Just go home. Leave us alone.” You huffed, turning toward the road to try to spot the bus. As you stared hard into the darkness, praying the man would leave, you noticed a flicker of movement at the corner of your eye, right before you felt a hard shove. You fell forward, your hands shooting out to catch yourself before you fell directly onto the road. You groaned, brushing dirt off your palms and slowly rising to your feet. 

You looked over; the woman was staring at you, shocked, and the man was slowly lumbering away. “Are you okay?” you asked. She continued to stare. You stared back, unnerved. The impromptu staring contest lasted for almost a minute, only interrupted by the bus slowly pulling up. “Oh…kay… Well, have a nice night?” You ventured hesitantly, climbing up the steps of the bus in a hurry. The tall woman continued to stare. Just as you were turning around to find a seat, she suddenly grabbed your forearm. You started, whipping around and yanking your arm out of her grasp. “...Thanks,” she said lowly, not breaking eye contact. “Are you going to get on the bus or not, ma’am?” the bus driver’s low rumble broke the quiet moment, and you turned around again and went to find your seat. When you glanced back, the woman was gone and the door had closed.

The next day, the library was quiet as ever. Barbara was puttering around behind the desk, chatting to a younger reader who was attempting to check out without learning the name of every one of Barbara’s great-grandchildren. You smiled wryly; you wouldn’t risk getting sucked into the story of her son’s first steps, so the kid was on his own. As you moved toward the non-fiction area in the back, with its dusty red carpet and wide arched windows, you stopped to place books back in their assigned spaces, rolling the cart steadily forward. 

You were broken from your focused trance by the soft clearing of a throat. You turned around to spot a young man, smiling at you. “Hi,”you said, glancing up at him. “Hello,” he said softly. “I’m looking for a particular book, but I’m not sure where to find it…” You perked up. “Oh! Of course, I can help. What book are you looking for?” His smile softened. “I’m looking for A History of the Bible, but none of the other branches I’ve checked have had it.”. You took the moment he glanced away to assess him. He was tall, taller than you, with a lithe frame and choppy black bangs hanging over his forehead. He wore a plush black turtleneck, with dark slacks and an expensive-looking belt, though you couldn’t place the label. You hummed, nodding.

“Well, I’m not sure if we have it, but if we do, it’ll be over there.” you pointed in the direction of Christian literature. “Are you looking for other books? Even if we don’t have that specific one, we might have something else you could use.” You hedged, tilting your head as you mentally ran through the catalog.

“Hm, I’m not sure. Are you well-versed in biblical critique?” You laughed. “No, it’s an interesting field but I’ve never taken the time to pick up a book on it. Are you in university?” You asked, curious. “No, just an… avid reader.”. You hummed. “Do you have any recommendations?” His dark eyes meeting yours. Suddenly uncomfortable, you looked away. “Um, I just read a couple of things off the cart every now and then… Anyways, I have to get back to sorting the shelves…” You turned away, feeling his eyes boring into the back of your head. You hurried away, leaving the cart behind and swiftly walking into the backroom.

You let out a huge huff of air, tension draining as you left the man’s point of view. Barbara, mid-eating her lunch, looked up. She seemed to realize something had happened, because for once, she seemed concerned. “Are you alright, love?” she asked. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay. Just rattled by a weird interaction” You turned away, walking out and moving toward the front desk. As you arrived, almost as if on cue, the phone let out a shrill ring.

You picked up the phone, absently curling the coil cord around your finger. “Hello, YorkNew Public Library, East Park branch. How can I help you?” You let the cord go, watching as it bounced in the air. “Walk outside and wait at the curb.” The voice was deep and rough, cold in its efficiency. “Excuse me? Is this a prank call? That’s not appropriate-” You began, huffing. “If you don't, the deaths of everyone in the building will be your fault.”. It felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped over your head, recoiling from the phone. “Listen, I don’t know who this is, but this isn’t funny. I’m going to call the police.” You went to hang up the phone, but stopped; what if it was real? What if there really was someone who would hurt everyone? Would it be better to just wait outside?

You considered, weighing your options. No. It wasn’t possible; the only people in the building at the moment were you, Barbara, and a young boy over by the arts and crafts table, innocently working on a paper project. You’d lock the doors and call the cops and they’d catch the guy and everyone would be safe. Satisfied with your plan, you slammed the receiver down and moved toward the door to lock it.

Your cellphone dinged.

Freezing, you reached into your pocket, before realizing it wasn’t in there. Where was it-? 

Your phone dinged again.

You turned around, spotting it on the counter of the desk. You cautiously approached it, the irrational, animal part of your brain half-convinced someone would jump out and attack you.

Picking it up and unlocking it, you realized it was a message from Chrissy. You swiped into your Messaging app.

You dropped your phone, letting out an ear-piercing scream.

“Fuck! What the fuck?! You cried, hand coming up to clutch at your hair.” The landline rang again, interrupting your freakout. You yanked it off the hook, “What was that?!” you moaned, half-collapsing against the counter. “If you don’t step outside, We’ll have to come get you. If we have to come get you, the old lady’s next.”. You let the phone drop, tears cresting your cheeks as you shuffled your way to the curb.

The wind was blowing harshly and the sky was a sickly gray. What was once regular September weather now felt like an insult; it felt like thunder should be crashing down, a representation of the despair you felt. A sleek black car pulled up to the curb and the door swung open. You stepped up, bending down to see inside.

Across the divide was the man from earlier, still smiling. His choppy bangs were now pulled up, exposing an intricate dark tattoo clashing with his pale skin. “Ah, you’re here. Good. Please, get in.” You did, closing the door. The locks clinked in place, sealing your doom. Tears were still spilling down your face and you shuddered with the force of your sobs, breath hitching. The man looked over, concerned, and placed a hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry. We won’t hurt you.”

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (4)

—  Pairing: Namjingi, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader,

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 5.7k

—  Warnings: Child abuse, flashbacks, murder, death, crime, drugs/drug use, angst, running away, violence, sibling murder, familial sanctioned violence

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(Previous Chapter)

(10 years ago, Yoongi, before Seokjin)

In many ways; Yoongi has been lucky.

He’d grown up outside of the normal hierarchy inflicted on the rest of his siblings and cousins. Immune from the constant warring between families and jostling for power. The back room deals and the expensive murders were something he was to observe, not partake in. orchestrate but never conduct. Left to his own devices through childhood and most of his adulthood. It didn’t matter which family was really his because Yoongi would serve the greater interests of the family.

He’d be the one to dole out punishment and reward, to judge if the scheming and murder and conflict between houses ever went too far. He’d be their legal body in a sense- the one to weigh their sins and judge.

The succession of the houses is left up to the elders, but the succession of Don is left only to Yoongi.

If he’d been born an alpha, things would have gone differently.

With 12 houses, and each with their own criminal enterprise that often overlaps- the yearly scheming and ploys for gaining placement in the hierarchy and secession lines leave many siblings bloody and crippled. Violence between houses is taboo if done indelicately, but violence within houses and between alpha siblings is all but encouraged.

The head of the Yun family had blinded their older brother to be head of house, a position that offered more than just esteem but money- on the scale of 50 million a year to the right head if they played their cards right. Another second son had killed their father to gain favor in the Lee house. And another younger sibling sent off when it became clear their lust for power would end only one way.

If he’d been born an alpha, Yoongi knows Geumjae would have done worse.

As a second son, Yoongi had escaped a fate of uncertain terms. As a Beta his role in the family is prescribed, not left up to him.

He doesn’t need to ask if his parents had been proud of his presentation. Apparently, the Don and Beta had sent an entire envoy and attended his naming ceremony personally. He’d been raised from that moment on to educate himself on the state of others. He’d learned to judge them from afar, to dissect micro expressions, to analyze people’s words before replying. How to manipulate the powers at play and guide the family to ever greatening heights.

That didn’t mean he hadn’t seen everything: on the contrary. Yoongi was offered an unobstructed view of the family’s operation- and the true extent of their cruelty.

He saw the peoples whose lives the family ruined with drugs on street corners. Rich socialites and college kids alike turned to wraiths in months by his family’s heroin. He saw the prostitutes that looked at Yoongi’s father like he was their next meal ticket, their wrists and throats ringed with bruises. The heaps and heaps of illegal drugs, million-dollar bricks of cocaine concentrate. The politicians at the country club often picked his face out of the crowd and went to greet him.

“What a fine young man you’re turning into Mr. Min, please let my office know if you require an internship for your first semester of college, we’d be happy to provide a glowing recommendation.”

But what education could college offer him? Yoongi was 13 when he first touched a dead body. After that, everything had seemed terribly insignificant.

He remembers the vile sliminess of it. The cold clammy skin and the ironclad grip of rigor mortis. He’d thrown up afterward repulsed by the realization that one day- he’d be still and rotting like that.  

Yoongi remembers. He remembers the laughs of the other mobsters. The blood on their lapels dripping. Like he’d made some sort of childish joke. He remembers his father petting down his hair like he was just some little kid who had the flu. Wiping the sick from his mouth and then his fingers on his silk pocket square. He remembers his father saying- “It’s okay, he’ll get used to it in time.”

After that, Yoongi realized that he wasn’t like them. That he’d never be like them.  He’d never get used to this and never find the death and destruction something to revel in. He’d leave as soon as he was able and if he was foolish and good enough, he might be able to tear them down from the inside out.

He’d expressed this on only one occasion, in vague words, indelicate enough that they hadn’t escaped notice. Thankfully he’d been at the dinner table and not in public.

Yoongi’s father had taken him by the scruff of his neck and guided him to the parlor, had sat him down and pulled out his favorite guns, a matching pair of gold-plated desert eagle .45’s, and polished them Infront of him without a word. But the message was clear.  

Yoongi had never said anything outload again, but he’s thought about leaving and destroying the family plenty of times since.

Foolish dreams, you can’t wish the bad blood out of your veins and off of your hands no matter how hard you try. Blood is blood, no matter who it’s in or what it’s on. 

The older people in the family always treated his squeamishness like it was something that might go away too- their hungry looks that would be greeted only by boisterous laughter on his father’s part. Assurances that “You know how you were at that age.”

 "And besides, he has a while before he ascends his throne. Until he’s in his forties god willing. ”

A throne because that’s what the Don and Beta are- a ruling pair. One elected, the other chosen by birthright alone. The eldest beta in the family rules with the Don side by side.

Yoongi is not the eldest beta, at least not yet.

The current ruling beta is not someone that Yoongi has to fear the same way they do. To him she’s just someone who remains attached at the Don’s hip at every available family dinner and function. Who offers him sweets from his deep pockets in exchange for a bit of gossip.

“Go on, anything you might hear, bring me back a secret little bird and the sweetness is yours.”

To Yoongi she’s just an old woman with silver hair who watches him like a hawk when he interacts with the other children. The other unpresented pups give him a wide berth during family functions but are shewed to his side during quieter softer moments in hopes of befriending him. Christmas cocktail hour and easter egg hunts and lawn games at the country club. Barely hidden whispers behind cupped hands.

“He may decide if you get to rule one day, if you present as an alpha, you’ll need him.”

To him, the Beta is no god, she’s just the woman who invites him in once monthly to a dusty little yellow cottage hidden on the fringe of the city between the edges of big buildings, who asks for his help to sweep the stones and fix the broken window. While she picks his brain and asks him questions that he’s never been asked before.

“You saw the murder of the young song boy last week, what did you think? Did it happen in the way you expected?”

“ Your father told me he took you with him to the docks, what did you think of the men? Are they getting paid enough? Did they look satisfied? ”  

“ The families brought by a selection of omegas for your older brother- did it look like any of them would be fit as a partner? Did you see any you liked? Would it be better if we brought by a few alphas for you? Some of them are pretty.

“Grandma, I’m only 14, it’s too early for me to be thinking about marriage yet.”

“It’s never too early to start. How is school going? Have you passed all your classes ? I’ll take you to town and buy you treats if you are.”

It’s secluded and impersonal, to talk about these things. The people in their family like they’re nothing more than gossip. For them- exempt from the bloodshed- it almost is just gossip.

To Yoongi she’s just that, someone who asks him “what do you think?” after long rants and judge his tentatively chosen words like they were nuggets of gold placed on the end of a scale, with Yoongi on the other side. How much is he worth?

To everyone else in the family- the beta’s words weigh much much more heavily.

Yoongi’s proximity to the royal pair was a lucky thing. They’d mentored him for years to prepare him for his eventual job. All of this, the murder and the secrets and the questions- was all an education essentially. He needed to understand how every faction of the family worked in order to make sure it ran smoothly in the future. Connections he built now would serve him years down the line. A reward now or a leniency in certain circumstances, would make his order ring out further.

Mercy is a tool in righteous hands, it is rarely ever kindness.

Yoongi is the family’s beta only in training, but as he gets older- his training becomes more than just sweeping stones. In the beta’s old age, Yoongi is her hands, eyes, and her ears. Having him on a job was considered both an honor and a threat. Because if the baby beta was checking that your operation was up to board, then there was only one person who put him up to the task.  

Even though Yoongi’s position has been decided for him- that doesn’t mean he’s exactly immune from the more political aspects of his birthright. 

Favors and kind words are a currency he traffics in, more than drugs or money or ghost guns. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to drop the shipment off, I’m sure you’re sympathetic, our baby beta- you’re growing up so well your mother must be so proud. She knows how stressful it is- having so many pups at once. Make sure you take a gram for yourself.”

Yoongi’s sub-gender was a tremendous advantage on the more difficult jobs. How many times had he been the getaway driver during a murder? Death sitting in the backseat of his car and Yoongi in the driver’s seat, a body in the trunk, stopped by the police. The officers always straighten up when they see Yoongi, his scent hitting them and making them flinch. “I’m sorry officers, but I’m really in a hurry, you don’t really need my license and registration, do you?”

And of course, they’d always replied with “We’re sorry to bother you, have a nice night sir.” He’d been sir since the second he’d started to lose his baby face. For a beta, respect is given, not necessarily earned.

You just didn’t interfere with the business of a beta, even if that business was murder, racketeering, prostitution, drugs, and illegal firearms among a dozen other institutions that the family was involved in. Each house tends to choose a lane, but there’s enough overlap, enough orchestrating that needs to be done- the conductor is the Don- and the beta is his hands, carving the music and money out of thin air.  

What had once been more than a dozen different organized crime families with decades of war between them had joined nearly three generations ago as one united front. Bonded through marriage and other thin agreements that kept them from war. Narrowly avoiding it at times. After a handful of generations, they’ve become unstoppable and more organized than the local governments in some pockets of the country.

There is no larger crime family in the continental united states, no others that mark or carve out better margins. Only Yoongi’s family. All others that dare to sprout like weeds get firmly squashed under their heal once they reach a certain size.

Or on rare occasions, acquired. Offered a seat at the table.  

Simultaneously he has all of the power and none of it. No responsibility to actually carry out any of the bloodshed- but every major decision of succession goes through him.

The only reason why the organization can survive is because of Yoongi. Without him, they’d tear themselves apart through their stupidity alone.

Should we eliminate our rivals Yoongi? Should we clear that little apartment block just to pad our pockets with a high-rise? How about this pack that saw too much? Do you think the pack alpha deserves to live? Live or die Yoongi, what’s your choice?

Now that he lives away, Yoongi’s only job is to settle internal disputes. Like which out of two twins would inherit a father’s title, spats between the families, and slights dealt that required mending for the good of the organization. He’s far enough away that he rarely has to actually commit a crime. He’s gotten used to the calls at all hours of the day, encrypted conversations that he can’t avoid.

Leaving has been a source of contention ever since he went, after his parent’s death when he just couldn’t handle being surrounded by so much death anymore.

Yoongi doesn’t even really remember the last time he saw them. His parents.

It had been a regular Monday that had passed as thousands of others had before it. Unremarkable except for the fact that it was last time he would see them alive. The house full of the cleaning ladies and their faint humming. Yoongi’s mother in her dressing room doing her makeup, rouge and lipstick out in little red containers.

The sound of his father’s voice talking on the phone in the other room- heavy feet cushioned on the carpet floors of their house as he selected his tie, pacing back and forth. Agitated, anxious.

“You’ll be late for school,” his mother had said, as she sighed and looked in the mirror, pulling up the edge of her cheek to make the lines under her eyes disappear.

“What does it matter? We’ve got like- ten days left.” Yoongi had paused, in the doorway, slacks on, the top button on his uniform undone because its hot out today and summer is almost here. The words of “I’m graduating in a few weeks; will you have time to attend the ceremony?” Stuck in his throat, lodged there where they won’t do any damage. Too shy to ask, to worried about being turned down.

“Appearances always matter Yoongi.”

Things have been busy recently- the Don and the Beta may step in during certain squabbles, but there are other things that they don’t bother touching. One of his father’s nephews and Geumjae have been clashing recently- something about an omega that both of them want but Geumjae can’t have. Geumjae wants a lot of things that he can’t have. He’s a good representative of the typical alpha; possessive and dominant to the last inch.

Typical.

If Yoongi had been raised to be impartial; Geumjae had been raised to rule. 

Whereas Yoongi had learned from a young age to be cunning and sly, Geumjae learned the language of violence and murder. Most of the min family’s business is in weaponry. Counterfeit and illegal. New technologies bought off the black market. That sort of thing. Yoongi has learned to give him a wide berth. His older brother hardly does anything worse than snap his teeth in his direction when they pass in the narrow hallways of the min family brownstone and their bedrooms are on separate floors. Geumjae knows better than to do worse.

His father’s loud voice booms from the other room- a reminder of the current infighting.

“Don’t ride my ass about this Chevron, I only just got Jun to get off my behind yesterday.”

“I know,” he’d said instead. Just I know. No, I love you. No nothing, as his father’s big laugh had sounded, and he’d gone down the stairs. Yoongi had let the driver take him to his private school and filed into the small classroom, had taken his seat like it was any other day.

His parents had been found later that afternoon, in a car burning on the side of the road, taken out by Jun, Yoongi’s distant uncle.

Geumjae ascended his throne with Jun’s severed head in hand, had plopped it the Don’s plate and taken his father’s seat at the table without contest. It was quite the declaration of violence, and quite the message. This is what we do to our own when they behave badly, don’t make the mistake of thinking you can treat us this way and get away with your head.

Yoongi hadn’t been there to see it- he’d already been running.

The last few weeks of high school where hardly a consequence. He’d been 10 days shy of graduating anyway, it hardly mattered.

Geumjae hadn’t tried to stop him when Yoongi had put what little money they had in the house in a bag and run, hopped on a train and just let his life dissipate behind him. He’d gone south and then north when he realized that the summers where too hot. Traipsed around sleeping in safe houses and then an apartment when he’d lied about his age and been able to sign a lease. Only to abandon it later and hop from city to city.

He’d made it 4 months with no contact; foolishly, he’d assumed that they just didn’t know where he was until one of his cousins had turned up at his shitty apartment. A cell phone held out to him and the Don on the other end of the line. He’d finally lost his patience with the youth at last. 

Yoongi’s proximity to what was dubbed as the royal pair was a lucky thing. They’d both been soft on him and with no children on their own, Yoongi bore the brunt of what parental urges they had. If he’d been anyone else, they would have sent an assassin to drag him back in a body bag.

But they hadn’t.

“As long as you come back Yoongi- none of us care, I know you’re a good kid. You know what’s expected of you.”

He’d been allowed to keep his distance. Yoongi’s always had a sensitive heart. The family just thought he was dealing with his grief by running away from it. They thought it was just that- not a rejection of what they wanted to make of him.

There are maybe 4 dozen full blooded Min’s left. And as the holder of the successive beta, they’re awarded more power than the other families, that and the fact that the beta was also the child of a Min, put their house very near if not at the very top of the family’s hierarchy.

It was one of the many reasons why the Don and Beta had allowed Geumjae to take their fathers throne without any contest.

While Yoongi had grown up with the safety of his sub-gender to shield him from the worst parts of mafia life, Geumjae had not had the same luxury. Pulled into backroom deals and showed the finer points of torture at a young age. Conditioned against his squeamishness young enough to be proper and polite about it (And to not alert the federal government or the police.)

One of Yoongi’s cousins had tried to go to the FBI after being grounded before- a foolish reaction to not being allowed to go out with his friends. A stupid child- but the family hadn’t seen that- no.

The family had left barely a thimbleful of him left for his parents who had barely even cried for their son. There is no room for moles or dissent in their family. You’re either with them and alive or against them and dead. 

Geumjae had found the bloodshed something to revel in.

It feels weird to think it, but Yoongi doesn’t know his own brother. Not well enough to anticipate his actions or manipulate him with any true control. In the ten years since their parents died and Geumjae took his father’s spot as the head of household they haven’t contacted each other. There have been no Christmas cards, and no checkups or check ins. Yoongi’s twenties had gone much as his adolescence had; with his brother as a distant figure to be feared and not under any circumstances relied upon. His family in name only.

There was only one thing- a formality. A pretty wedding invitation with gilded gold edges, announcing the betrothal of his brother to some nameless woman- that had ended up in the garbage of the pack’s apartment a little over two years ago. Shoved to the bottom of a trashcan where no one could see and ask.

If the pack had seen maybe they would have convinced him. Yoongi would rather just avoid their questions- he’s avoided most of them over the years. They don’t need to know where Yoongi comes from. If he has his way, they’ll never ever know.

“Don’t you want to go?” Seokjin might have asked, “Wouldn’t it be the right thing to do? Do you really want to miss your siblings wedding?”  

If Yoongi had gone- things might have turned out differently for you.

The pack can never know where Yoongi comes from- for their safety and the perpetuity of their pack Yoongi must keep this secret and leave as much to the imagination as possible.

No one can know where most of Yoongi’s money comes from. He was fine living just paycheck-to-paycheck before Seokjin. But once the pack started growing, Yoongi took on more and more responsibilities just to provide for them.

The world runs on money, Yoongi is compensated fairly for his role as secondary beta, he knows station of eldest beta has a much prettier price tag attached to it.

His goals have changed over the years; tearing down the gang was a stupid childish dream, as impossible as it was suicidal. He knows they’d kill him in a second if he so much as walked into a police station- no matter his birthright. It’s better to operate from within and try to lessen their damage. If Yoongi can save a few lives, that’s better than losing his own life and letting the system continue unchecked over his dead body.

It makes him feel better about taking money from his family even though it comes with expectations. He gets a monthly stipend that fluctuates, his cut of their profits. Sometimes it’s a little more than a few hundred and other times its thousands more than they could use. The blood money gets hidden away in a bank account that only he can access, that he uses whenever they really needed it. 

Like when Seokjin’s car broke down and they needed to buy a new one or else quit both of their jobs and ask Namjoon for money. Or when Namjoon dropped his phone down a storm drain after tripping off the edge of the sidewalk. Or when Namjoon gets the flu again (endlessly exposed after a particular outbreak) and can’t work for a whole three weeks and they need to make rent and Seokjin’s student loan payment.

It's even more important when the pups come along. It’s a good cushion- the only safety net that they have beyond each other.

He’d never use enough to make the others suspicious, and the pack know better than to ask after the first few years. And as much as he trusts them, years of witnessing life in a gang have taught him one thing; Ignorance is bliss, and plausible deniability can save your life.

Yoongi only hopes that it’s enough after he’s gone.

~-~

(19 years prior, Namjoon)

The hills of Sonoma County are rolling sheets of yellow gold. Neither hay, nor straw, nor wheat.

The crackly dried earth is pot marked in places from the trudging feet of the cattle and constantly threatens a twisted ankle. Yet the hills and divots and creeks ring with the sound of children’s laughter. It’s a sunny day, the sky uninterrupted by clouds. The air smells strongly of eucalyptus, and a breeze from the sea brings with it tidings of an endless summer.

10-year-old Kim Namjoon has only just started to learn what death is. But don’t worry, he’s going to learn.

While having overly large packs are not the norm; there are some people that take it to a ridiculous extent (quite frankly, I hope you don’t mind it if I’m rude).

There are many reasons why packs might form that go beyond love and tread into the realm of business, religion, and ideology. The more packmates you have the easier it is to gain cheap and quality childcare. Weather it’s the pooling of resources or the pooling of omegas- all are fair game.

The more money you have the more freedom you get, that is a simple truth that everyone in the world agrees too- barons and bums and hippies alike.

Namjoon’s familial pack are hippies. They smoke weed at the dinner table and hardly ever think twice about it. Namjoon’s familial pack has 7 omegas and 6 alphas, not including his parents. Between the 15 of them exist a gaggle of pups separated by no more than 6 months each as well as an extended compound and stretch of acreage that sprawls through cypress tree groves and a winery that makes them enough money that they can live a life of domestic hippy leisure. Growing pot in the steep fertile divots between springs and poppy fields on the down low.

Not that any of them particularly like nature, no- they’re far too selfish for that. They only like the appearance of being hippies instead of actually putting in the effort to practice what they preach. They like the aesthetic of fresh cooked bread. The tie-dyed shirts and crystals on the front drive only stop Namjoon’s uncle-alphas from dinging their BMW’s on the custom carved barn doors. The carefully curated aesthetic of mandalas and prayer flags are as frayed as their ideology.

Even so young- Namjoon has learned that there are people who live and people who pretend.

He’s a soft pup, it’s a shame that he’ll stay that way- otherwise he could have had potential.

He watches his aunt-mothers and uncle-fathers go about their hallow lives every night, preaching care of nature yet they cut down trees to plant a garden. Shriveling their nose at the people who come to buy the packs wine. The same people who keep them fat and rich and healthy. Their fancy cars and fancy clothes cost just as much but differ only in aesthetic. Lace or louis Vuitton, organic leather or sheered fur. Both cost the same. Nothing is a choice.

The lines between family and sire and mother and pack blur here. There are 21 other pups that live on the compound and Namjoon is right in the middle of them. Neither the oldest nor the strongest. He knows which ones he’s not related too. He can see it in their faces when they lack his delicate skin or the pout of his lips. The ruddy in their cheeks and pale eyes that matches the red sun that he does not have.

When Namjoon sinks into the tall golden grass, most of him blends in.

Everything from his sandy hair to his honey skin. His mother dyed it to make him look like the others, but Namjoon’s dark eyes always stand out.

That’s the thing about rich hippies, they don’t like to do the dirty work, they have pups for that. There is plenty of dirty work to do on the farm, plenty of watering and picking and washing to do. Brushing out the foal’s fur before they’re sold at auction and keeping the calf’s contained in their tiny paddocks. Smushing the grapes before they’re sent off to the distillery, until Namjoon’s hands are slippery and purple with it. Feeding the chickens and the lambs and the pigs.

And the Dogs.

Namjoon’s favorite is the dogs.

They’re so big. Hounds with teeth that watch the livestock and live outside without dog houses. Namjoon always makes sure their water and food bowls are filled up. That’s the only chore he likes, coaxing the beasts into letting him pet through their dirty white fur, cleaning their muzzles of blood on the hard nights.

“Do you ever wonder what it was like when we were like them?” He asks some of his half-siblings and might-as-well-be siblings as they peel potatoes for family dinner on the back porch. Crowded with big boots because their parents are smoking something sweet upstairs. Something they said pups couldn’t be near.

“No, why would you wonder? People Don’t shift anymore, that’s just a fairy tale.” They scoff back. Pouting child lips looking down at the ground, unsure. “Appa says the only way to get closer to nature is to peel off the shackles of society.”

“Do you even know what a shackle is?”

The pup’s chin tucks down, Namjoon feels a pang, he should be gentler. “No, but I still don’t like wearing pants, if I’m an omega then I’ll only have to wear dresses.”

Namjoon cringes. But this is a nudist commune Afterall. Namjoon’s mother always makes sure he at least wears shorts. Even if they’re just his swim trunks. Even if it’s been several days since they’re washed, and they look more grey than blue from the dust.

Namjoon does not say that wearing dresses has nothing to do with being an omega. Namjoon doesn’t say that they should be allowed to wear whatever they want, dresses or pants or long billowing shirts. They should be allowed, that’s freedom, isn’t it? Choosing what you want?

But the world hardly ever lets you choose, sometimes, the world makes choices for you.

With most pups, it’s hard to tell if they’re going to present as an alpha or an omega, but anyone could tell just by looking at Kim Namjoon that he was going to be an alpha. A steady slant to his dark colored eyes, the one thing that set him apart from the relatively monotonous group of pups. They all look vaguely alike, with one feature that separates them a piece.

Namjoon has his eyes, dark and round like the small stones that tumble out of the creek, black like the sand at Goat rock Beach.

Today is the day that Namjoon learns what death is, it will not be an easy day for him.

Namjoon scrabbles over the dark earth, rushing over the hills that he knows well because he has a habit of dodging chores to walk out and look after the livestock. Following them just like the dogs do.

The same livestock that turned up this morning, with a nipped heal. And another they’d found at mid-day, a little lab all but torn apart. Nothing more than bloody rags of flesh, gathering flies like stars.  

He knows these hills better than most of the pups. Better, but not well enough. Not better than the pack alpha. Not better than Namjoon’s father.

He lets out a broken sob when he finds the animal curled up at the bottom of the ravine. Sliding over dry earth and falling a few feet onto the riverbed where the dog rests, shaded in the midday heat.

The livestock dogs don’t have names, but still Namjoon pushes at the dog’s side. The beast is a loyal thing. Whines, wags its tail at the sight of him. Namjoon is the one that feeds them. This one is ferocious looking, as long as Namjoon is tall and nearly three times as heavy, powerful jaws matted with lamb’s blood. Namjoon pushes at its muzzle, fingers going ruddy and rusty.

“Go- you have to run; you have to go before they find you.” The thing wines, high pitched and echoic in the small valley. Overhead, the eucalyptus trees sway in the breeze, thwacking together. Barely concealing the sound of footsteps.

His sire is there, just behind him, wearing pants because he rarely ever wears pants. (Funny isn’t it, how people aim to cover up when showing their true nature.) The shotgun is metallic and dark underneath the red burning sun. Namjoon blocks the dog with his own body, crying. His sire won’t shoot with him in the way.

“Step aside pup, a dog that bites must be put down.”

But Namjoon doesn’t move, doesn’t move until he feel the cold barrel of the gun pressed against his spine and his body moves for him, self-preservation blocking out everything, the shivering in his body, the mucus gathering at his nostrils, the tear tracks on his cheeks- all the more apparent because of the dust they wipe away. The babble of the brook is distant.

The sound of the shotgun going off and the smell of gunpowder is not distant. It reverberates through Namjoon’s body and soul.

The sun hovers overhead, red and impartial. The dog behind him sighs away as Namjoon looks up at the sky. The bite of his sires hand into the back of his neck as he picks him up off of the riverbank is cold.

Later Namjoon will scream and cry. Some of his siblings will watch him be punished from the steps in the big house. Small sandy faces pressed between dark stained rungs of the stairs. while Namjoon kneels on sharp grains of rice until his skin is bloody and mottled purple.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

But Namjoon doesn’t understand, he’ll scream until his lungs ache, until the omega’s are muttering upstairs about Namjoon keeping up the other pups. About it setting their teeth on edge. He’ll scream and cry until his lungs go raw and the pack alpha, his father, grows tired of his whining.

“I am your alpha and you will stop this at once.”

“I’m never going to be an alpha like you- I’ll never be like you, I’ll never kill another living thing, I hate you.”

But Kim Namjoon is wrong; He will kill. That is a fact you can bet on.

(Next Chapter)

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Reading this back I don’t like how quite…sterilized the don and beta are? Like there is actually very little to them beyond the dialogue that Yoongi hears. Maybe it’s better that way because they’re more characterized later with the m/c and her sections.

- The moment where Seokjin asks Yoongi if he really wants to miss his siblings wedding is a reference to my personal life at the moment. I’m going to miss my sister’s wedding in June because she’s inviting the man who abused me for 10 years. My Geumjae, the person who the forward of the story is addressed to. As you can assume I’m having a whole bunch of feelings about it. But I’m not going to beg for her to love me or care about me, and thats growth baybeee

- Once again, I know we’re learning little tidbits about Jungkook and Taehyung and the others but it feels almost right to reference it? i swear the movie momento permanently fucked up my brain- actually you know I edited it out so that it made more sense.

- (Tw) Both of my parents where hippies and to say that I am critical of the lifestyle is an understatement. Once again, I’m writing my trauma out into this story. i think personally if you plan on doing drugs around your children (even weed and alchohol) you should maybe think twice about having them. My mom was so high all the time growing up that she didn't notice i was being sexually abused so maybe i'm a bit biased. it's fine to do what you want with your life if you don't have children.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in February 2024

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

❤️ We Ate the Dark by Mallory Pearson 🧡 The Paper Boys by D.P. Clarence 💛 Skater Boy by Anthony Nerada 💚 Your Shadow Half Remains by Sunny Moraine 💙 A Vicious Game by Melissa Blair 💜 Clarion Call by Cayla Fay ❤️ Relit: 16 Latinx Remixes of Classic Stories edited by Sandra Proudman 🧡 The Absinthe Underground by Jamie Pacton 💛 Truthfully, Yours by Caden Armstrong 💙 Outsider by Jade du Preez 💜 Cross My Candy Heart by A.C. Thomas 🌈 The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett

❤️ An Education in Malice by S. T. Gibson 🧡 The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles by Malka Ann Older 💛 Never a Bridesmaid by Spencer Greene 💚 The Rewind by Nicole Stiling 💙 Good Christian Girls by Elizabeth Bradshaw 💜 The Fox Maidens by Robin Ha ❤️ The Terrible by Tessa Crowley 🧡 Blood Rage by Ileandra Young 💛 Call of the Sea by Emily B. Rose 💙 Sign Me Up by C.H. Williams 💜 Ways and Means by Daniel Lefferts 🌈 Peaceful in the Dark by A.A. Fairview

❤️ We Are Only Ghosts by Jeffrey L. Richards 🧡 Dead Ringer by Robyn Nyx 💛 Somacultural Liberation by Dr. Roger Kuhn 💚 Stormbringer by Erinn Harper 💙 A Saga of Shields & Shadows by A.J. Shirley 💜 Ghost Town by R.E. Ward ❤️ I Heard Her Call My Name by Lucy Sante 🧡 The Night Alphabet by Joelle Taylor 💛 Remedial Magic by Melissa Marr 💙 Bloom by N.R. Walker 💜 Entwined by Alex Alberto 🌈 Queer Newark edited by Whitney Strub

❤️ Tristan by Jesse Roman 🧡 How to Live Free in a Dangerous World by Shayla Lawson 💛 Daniel, Deconstructed by James Ramos 💚 Of Socialites & Prizefights by Arden Powell 💙 Lost Harbor by Kimberly Cooper Griffin 💜 Hannah Tate, Beyond Repair by Laura Piper Lee ❤️ Bunt! Striking Out on Financial Aid by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert 🧡 How You Get the Girl by Anita Kelly 💛 Blackmailer’s Delight by David Lawrence 💙 Tile M for Murder by Felicia Carparelli 💜 Impulse Buy by Jae 🌈 Live for You, Die With You by Kalob Dàniel

❤️ Fairest of All by A.D. Ellis 🧡 Goddess of the Sea by Britney Jackson 💛 A Taste of Earth by Nico Silver 💚 The Moorings of Mackerel Sky by M.Z. Emily Zack 💙 How the Boogeyman Became a Poet by Tony Keith 💜 V is for Valentine by Thomas Grant Bruso ❤️ Crushed Ice by Ashlyn Kane & Morgan James 🧡 When Tomorrow Comes by D. Jackson Leigh 💛 Bugsy & Other Stories by Rafael Frumkin 💙 The White and Blue Between Us by Kiyuhiko 💜 Guide Us Home by CF Frizzell & Jesse J. Thoma 🌈 The Friendship Study by Ruby Barrett

❤️ Infinity Alchemist by Kacen Callender 🧡 Heart2Heart edited by Annabeth Albert 💛 No Time Like Now by Naz Kutub 💚 Bless the Blood by Walela Nehanda 💙 Vengeance Planning for Amateurs by Lee Winter 💜 Who We Are in Real Life by Victoria Koops ❤️ Prove It by Stephanie Hoyt 🧡 Mewing by Chloe Spencer 💛 Awakenings by Claudie Arseneault �� Born of Scourge by S. Jean 💜 Disciples of Chaos by M.K. Lobb 🌈 To Cage a God by Elizabeth May

❤️ Greta & Valdin by Rebecca K Reilly 🧡 What Feasts At Night by T. Kingfisher 💛 You Had Me at Merlot by Melissa Brayden 💚 Turning Point by Cathy Dunnell 💙 For the Stolen Fates by Gwendolyn Clare 💜 Season of Eclipse by Terry Wolverton ❤️ These Haunted Hills by Jana Denardo 🧡 Samson & Domingo by Gume Laurel III 💛 Lies that Bind by Rae Knowles & April Yates 💙 We Got the Beat by Jenna Miller 💜 The Diablo's Curse by Gabe Cole Novoa 🌈 Blessings by Chukwuebuka Ibeh

❤️ Out There by Iris Eliot 🧡 At Her Service by Amy Spalding 💛 Green Dot by Madeleine Gray

[door]

18 and 23 for the book ask? And also happy new year!!

happy new year to you!!

18. How many books did you buy?

so many lol. as a longtime indie bookseller i try to buy something at every indie shop i visit, and i also seek out indie bookstores everywhere i go—so! one of the highlights of the year was @furiousfurious offering to take me around to all her favourite bookshops in town, which was so fun and a guaranteed door-pleaser. plus im good friends with the folks who own my local bookshop, which means they are very good at ordering things and leaving them as traps around the shop for me to find.

23. What’s the fastest time it took you to read a book?

a few hours, probably. im a very fast reader and i can tear through something quick-paced or formulaic. i read a socialite’s guide to murder (which i liked a lot!) the other night in about 5 hours i think.

book meme here

[mxopifex]

A Fanfic Writer's Guide to Writing Fanart Prompts

So it came up while chatting with some other members of a fandom gift exchange that some of the writers felt less comfortable writing prompts for recieving fanart gifts and I thought I'd try and make a guide to help out since I do both fanart and fanfic.

The stumbling blocks as I understood them were: 1) not knowing what you like in fanart, 2) not knowing how to articulate what you like (which is probably more related to the first item than you think), and 3) worrying that all your prompts are too narrative. Imma do my best to address those, but if you have other questions feel free to drop me a line. I want to help.

I call this a guide, but it's more of a series of questions to ask yourself than a how to, or rather this is a how to think about and understand what you want to ask for type guide. A good prompt doesn't need to (and maybe shouldn't) touch on every issue I bring up here. The goal is to make the person who is making your gift feel confident that they can make something you like, not to tell them exactly what to do.

What to do if you are worried that you make all your prompts too narrative heavy:

First, relax. Fanart often carries a narrative component. You can reasonably prompt something that might involve a bit of visual storytelling. That said, the amount of story you can get in a single image is much smaller than the amount you can pack into even a modest 1k short story. Imagine a single scene you might like to see; the kind you love when it pops up in a fic. "I'd like to see the blorbos on a beach vacation" or "I'd like to see character A treating character B's wounds." You can further abstract this to things like "a cozy domestic scene" or "being flirty."

Some Prompt Prompts for if you are feeling stuck on what to ask for

Tropes! Many tropes work in a fanart setting. The ones that don't are the ones that need a bit more narrative behind them to make sense. It might be tricky to convey Fake Dating with a single image, but Hurt/Comfort or Only One Bed is very doable.

AUs! Want to let the artist play dress up with the blorbos? See what they'd look like as the socialite guests in a 1920s Agatha Christy style murder mystery? or just ask for something more general like a fairy tale setting or modern au.

Set the mood! What's the vibe you like best about this character or coupling? Do you want something dark and broody? More lighthearted and comedic? Tender and romantic?

Style! While I don't advise requesting something in the vein of a specific artist's style (the person making your gift has their own style) talking about styles of art that you like can help them understand what's visually appealing to you. So mentioning like "a moody film noir type setting" or "overwrought flowery romance like in shojo manga" isn't horrible, as long as you leave the artist room to bring their own sensibilities into the picture.

Poses! Want that bridal carry? Sharing an umbrella? Something that emphasizes a height difference? Don't go too hog wild with details "and their left pinky at a thirty degree angle..." but if you wanna see someone getting dipped on the dance floor, go ahead and ask for it.

Two final thoughts. First, just like with fic prompts you want to have a couple different ones in your ask. Every artist has things they feel more or less comfortable with, and giving a few options helps to make sure that there's at least one that they can work with. Particularly if you have a more complex prompt, it would be good to also have one that's simpler or more open to interpretation. Second, check in with yourself to see if you have any art specific DNWs.Maybe you can handle written descriptions of blood but not visual depictions or maybe the character has that one outfit that you think is butt ugly. Either way make sure you are clear about it in your prompt.

[cwseriesshowdown]

Round 2B: Nancy Drew vs Charmed

Nancy Drew: Nancy Drew is a brilliant teen detective whose sense of self had come from solving mysteries in her hometown of Horseshoe Bay, Maine -- until her mother's untimely death derails Nancy's college plans. Devastated by her mother's passing, Nancy swears off crime-solving while crossing off the days until she can reapply to college. But when a socialite is murdered, Nancy finds herself a prime suspect in the crime, along with a group of other teens present at the scene: Nancy's nemesis from high school, George Fan; a rich girl with a mysterious past, Bess Marvin; Nancy's secret boyfriend, Ned "Nick" Nickerson and amiable burnout Ace. The five of them must team up to clear their own names, encountering emotional entanglements and even more mysteries along the way.

Charmed: Mel and Maggie Vera suffer a shock when their mother dies suddenly, but before they have time to heal from their loss, another surprise shows up on their doorstep in the shape of an older sister -- brilliant geneticist Macy -- whom their mother never told them existed. The emotional stress takes its toll and the girls begin to exhibit impossible new abilities. An explanation comes from an unexpected place: the new chair of the women's studies department. Harry Greenwood reveals that the three are powerful witches, and he is their whitelighter, there to advise and guide them as they battle dark forces.

[3minsover]

AUgust Day 22:

the great gatsby au (tw: manslaughter + murder)

old money socialite edward munson had a passionate summer fling with a bright-eyed, hopeful, romantic young soldier named steven. he promised edward the world, if only he would wait for him to return from war.

steven never returned.

when professional polo player jason carver asks for edward’s hand in marriage, he says yes. his heart is still broken, will remain so, but pressure from his family to make an advantageous match is too powerful. years pass, and edward’s life is rose-colored. he drifts through dinners and sunrooms like a ghost, keeps his steps light so that others do not notice him, do not look too close and see the gaping hole in his chest where his heart once was, a heart that he gave away to a soldier with no prospects, no property or land to his name.

at night, when all is quiet, he looks out over the water that laps at the shore of his extravagant home and sees the distant glimmer and glint of lights, hears the muted thrum of music, and sees a grand mansion illuminated by luxury and excess.

he hears of parties, almost every night, that take place at this mansion, and wonders whether one day he might know the origin of such conviviality. however, trapped in his loveless marriage and bound by duty to remain a beautiful artefact in his husband’s collection, edward simply turns away, ignoring the siren call of an emerald green light that blooms on the end of the opposite dock.

when edward’s cousin robin moves into the groundskeeper’s cottage across the bay, she attempts to strike up the old friendship they had had as children, becoming instantly fascinated by edward’s dearest friend nancy.

one night, robin invites edward, and by extension, jason and nancy, to a party. a party at the house across the bay. she insists that they must meet the host, that he’s simply a marvel, and grudgingly, jason agrees.

the festivities are in full swing by the time they arrive, strangers streaming through every hallway, drinking from fountains of champagne, splashing in shallow pools and dancing to the yellow cocktail music that pours from every corner of every room. edward is overwhelmed, overcome by the eccentricity of it all, longs to return to where it’s quiet and calm, where he may disappear to the safety of his own imaginings, where a sweet soldier offers his hand and his heart without reservation.

edward slips away from the group with nancy’s help; she guides him to a small room in which there is only one man, standing with his back to the entrance. his suit is tailored neatly, his hair slicked back with careful precision, and when he turns, edward’s breath is stolen from his lungs.

“steve?” he gasps, feet carrying him closer, lest this be simply an overwrought imagination playing him for a fool.

“eddie. eddie, darling,” the man exclaims softly, meeting him stride for stride, until eddie’s hands can clutch at the lapels of his suit. “you came. you’re here. you saw- it doesn’t matter. you’re here.”

“you never came back for me,” eddie whispers, gaze fluttering over steve’s face, because it is steve. older, broader, fashioned into something gilded in gold and sculpted from ivory, but it is him.

“i know, my darling. i wanted to, god how i wanted to. but i’m here now. is that enough?” steve’s eyes are wide, imploring as he cups eddie’s cheeks as though he were the fragile, delicate thing he feels himself to be.

and it’s not enough, eddie will come to realize. too much time has passed, too many bridges crossed and set ablaze, too much mess to be cleared away, but for now, for tonight, they might pretend. under steve’s gentle touch, eddie wills himself to forget jason’s harsh one, at the sound of steve’s sweet voice, eddie pushes away that of poor chrissy, the girl who calls and calls their home asking to speak to jason. he allows himself to be swept by the tidal pull of his steve, here and alive and everything he needed him to be all those years ago. and for a while, it brings him joy. for weeks after that night, eddie steals across the bay with the help of nancy and robin, plays make believe in the life they might have had.

until a dinner in the city ends with smashed glass and jason’s stern glare and steve’s cries that ‘he doesn’t love you!’. until eddie begs for steve to come home with him, dragging him back to jason’s car and curling his fingers around the steering wheel until they flash white. until eddie’s flooring the gas and he can’t see for tears, and steve’s carefully imploring for him to slow down. until the screeching of tires and smashing of bones, a shock of strawberry blonde hair streaked with red.

until a gunshot rings through the bay, a widowed husband standing on the edge of a pool with a gun in his hand and chrissy’s name on his lips.

until steve harrington floats face down in the water, and eddie can’t bear to even look at the funeral invitation.

in the end it’s not enough, and it never was.

[ear-motif]

i was blabbing in the tags of north’s post but imo, season 1 alana represented the allure of normative society to will imo and I wanna talk about it. No new revelations tho I’m honestly just solidifying my thoughts. I’m focusing on season 1 because that’s what I watched most recently so I remember the most stuff from it lol.

So Will’s attracted to Alana right out the gate; she’s beautiful, smart, and a bit snarky and sarcastic, so of course he’d like her. And, most importantly I think, she’s interested in him but doesn’t have a use for him. I don’t think Will’s felt someone wanting him for the sake of wanting him in a long time. Plus, she’s a well-respected colleague of all of his coworkers/acquaintances. She’s beautiful and popular and if he can start a relationship with her he’ll have the most solid tether to normative society he’s probably had in years, if ever*.

But she won’t be in a room alone with him. She doesn’t want to “spook” him; she probably thinks she’s letting him meet her on his own terms, but really she’s treating him like an abandoned feral dog. But Will wants that tether, that anchor, so he keeps pursuing her despite her condescending insistence that she knows his own mind better than him. Which…idk, it’s complicated. On one hand, it’s absolutely fair of her to not want to date him because she knows the relationship would suck. But she’s clearly still attracted to him and Will is crushing too hard to be friends with her so she should step back if she’s concerned for their mental well-being. But she doesn’t. She can’t. She’s too attached at this point. She caught a glimpse of Will’s mind and now she wants to save him; it’s exactly what she predicted would happen.

But what does she want to save him from?

If Will ended up with Alana, he would better integrate into normal society. She may work through his righteous bloodthirst issues or refer him to a regular therapist to help. She could teach him “coping strategies for his empathy disorder” (read: how to mask. come on its how to mask he’s autistic empathy disorder my ASS, BRYAN-). She would be the angel on his shoulder, and of course part of Will wants that.

But it’ll never be perfect. One, bc obviously he has that with Molly (a normal relationship about healthy love) and that doesn’t fulfill him, but in the narrative language of the show (or my delulu brain), because her adherence to society’s moral code, her “innocence”, is her weakness (in s1 and 2 i havent gotten to 3 yet plz no bully). She can’t see what Hannibal is doing despite her friend’s emphatic declaration that he is because he is playing the part of a well-integrated society member too well. So when talking to Will, she becomes the angel on his shoulder that tells him what society at large thinks, and society at large wants to gaslight him into thinking he did this to himself because the loss of a mentally ill autistic man is less abhorrent in the current social climate than the loss of an elite socialite and medical practitioner. For Alana, it’s naïveté; an unwillingness to look at Hannibal beneath what he presents. I think, deep down, she was scared Will was right. So she never looked.

Meanwhile, Hannibal is the devil on his shoulder, beckoning him to taste the fruit that he already knows is so sweet (murder. its the murder fruit). Hannibal could be Will’s tether to normal society, and kind of was in s1, but it soon became clear that that wasn’t gonna happen. Because when Hannibal looked into Will’s mind, he didn’t wanna guide Will out of it into the light, he wanted to jump in there with him. This is, objectively, the worse outcome for Will. But this one is fulfilling, he has a love that sets him on fire instead of providing him distant, impersonal warmth. With Molly and Alana, Will had someone who could tame his nightmares. But only by knowing your own evil can you make your nightmares dance. And for Will, knowing himself meant throwing away his last tethers to society and morality, in a way that wasn’t innocent or naïve, but antisocial and enlightened. I could say more but I’m writing dorky ass metaphors that’s a sign to Stop

*This is kind of a wobbly analysis because we don’t know what Will’s childhood or young adulthood was like, I’m assuming that he was always kind of a misfit. This is supported by canon in that Will was always the new kid at school, but I think his isolation runs deeper than that and I think most ppl here would agree. Still, maybe Will was a chad in college and then decided to love murder again who knows

[terriblecommanderdeck]

Deck Update

I've been keeping track of the deck in scryfall because that's actually designed for deck building unlike y'know, tumblr.

Assuming Silas Renn is the commander, there are 198 cards in Blue/Black color identity, including 93 lands. Which means technically I'm overdue for my first draft. As a cop out, please enjoy the current list of playable cards (below the cut)

1 Wasteland Strangler 1 Skittering Cicada 1 Pilgrim's Eye 1 Entirely Normal Armchair 1 Nevinyrral's Disk 1 Darksteel Ingot 1 Blinkmoth Urn 1 Scuttling Butler 1 Wall of Spears 1 Explorer's Scope 1 Phyrexian Arena 1 Ring of Thune 1 Soul-Guide Lantern 1 Icy Manipulator 1 Nihil Spellbomb 1 Urza's Miter 1 Dark Confidant 1 Tek 1 Runed Servitor 1 Windfall 1 Trailblazer's Torch 1 Brainstorm 1 Blade of the Oni 1 Captain N'ghathrod 1 Macabre Reconstruction 1 Inspired Sprite 1 Triton Wavebreaker 1 Ichor Shade 1 Sky Weaver 1 Szat's Will 1 Font of Fortunes 1 Rise of the Dark Realms 1 Vicious Hunger 1 Twiddle 1 Collective Brutality 1 Mutual Destruction 1 Karumonix, the Rat King 1 Somber Hoverguard 1 Looming Shade 1 Wave of Rats 1 Painful Lesson 1 Zulaport Duelist 1 Ever-Watching Threshold 1 Siege Zombie 1 Bloodlord of Vaasgoth 1 Murderous Compulsion 1 Feast of the Unicorn 1 Claustrophobia 1 Dark Ritual 1 Ichor Drinker 1 Unearth 1 Horses of the Bruinen 1 Waterspout Elemental 1 Lim-Dûl's High Guard 1 Josu Vess, Lich Knight 1 Graveshifter 1 Tricks of the Trade 1 Aetherspouts 1 Meteor Golem 1 Vow of Flight 1 Pursued Whale 1 Fleeting Distraction 1 Keepsake Gorgon 1 Volo, Itinerant Scholar 1 Decree of Pain 1 Black Vise 1 Carnival of Souls 1 Mindslaver 1 Hydroblast 1 Soulcoil Viper 1 Thieving Magpie 1 Murderous Rider 1 Night of Souls' Betrayal 1 Vampire Nighthawk 1 Jet Medallion 1 Sword Coast Serpent 1 Rhonas's Monument 1 Rotating Fireplace 1 Commander's Sphere 1 Eldrazi Conscription 1 Chill 1 Sarevok, Deathbringer 1 Coalition Relic 1 Elite Arcanist 1 Urza's Bauble 1 Howling Mine 1 Anoint with Affliction 1 Sword of the Meek 1 Disrupting Scepter 1 Perplexing Test 1 Scytheclaw 1 Grand Architect 1 New Perspectives 1 Lightning Greaves 1 Sphinx of Magosi 1 Pestilence 1 Diluvian Primordial 1 Dire Mimic 1 Bloodcrazed Socialite 1 Counterspell 1 Backfire 1 Lobe Lobber 1 Emry, Lurker of the Loch 1 Zombify 1 Arcane Proxy 1 Sequestered Stash 1 Evolving Wilds 1 Bloodstained Mire 10 Swamp 10 Island 10 Swamp 1 Salt Marsh 1 Riptide Laboratory 1 Cavern of Souls 10 Island 10 Swamp 10 Swamp 10 Island 1 Underground Sea 1 Flooded Strand 1 Tectonic Edge 1 Darksteel Citadel 10 Swamp 1 Ghost Town 1 Nephalia Drownyard 1 Island

// Commander 1 Silas Renn, Seeker Adept

// Outside the Game 1 Roller Coaster

[unovanhunny]

Anon who suggested the too angsty scenario for this au: Oh genuinly tough I couldn’t even get too much into the Angst direction here myself. It’s 100 percent gonna end on a more sweet than bitter note with Emmet clearing his name of the more heinous crimes that have been pinned on him and the real villain being brought to justice. Depending what route you take Ingo probably keeps his job after the ordeal. I just can’t get the mental image of an anime grand finale type of scene out of m head, where after spending an entirety chasing after Emmet Ingo not only finds out about his true identity but also safes his life at one point and Emmet smiles up at him as Ingo holds him „… Detective…You finally caught me.“ „No…. I saved you.“ And Emmet smiles at him softly and guides Ingos hand over his heart and reiterates „No…. You caught me.“ and then the big damn kiss finally happens.

Shmoopy? Yes. Clichee? Also yes, but cliches become cliches for a REASON goddamn and I want them to have a clichee happy end

(finally getting back around to this sorry for the delay 😔)

Not going down the murder route and more about pinning harmful crimes on him, crimes that he is against morally because its taking away from people in need one way or the other and therefore seen as much worse than stealing from Socialites and Museums. Things Emmet could never tolerate.

Ingo saving Emmet's life at least once is absolutely a must. Save him from a stray bullet or from falling off something, etc. And the very sweet cliche yessss. Emmet was trying to steal his heart but Ingo caught his first

[quirkycatsfatstacks]

Review: The Socialite's Guide to Murder by S.K. Golden

Series: Pinnacle Hotel Mystery #1Author: S.K. GoldenPublisher: Crooked Lane BooksReleased: October 11, 2022Received: Own (Aardvark Books) Book Summary: The year is 1958, and Evelyn Elizabeth Grace Murphy is living her best life. Her father owns the Pinnacle Hotel, and that means Evelyn gets to live in the best room in the place. This is grand, as it means the whole hotel fits inside her comfort…

[phantomnations]

PHANTOMNATIONS — a writeblr intro

hello everybody. i’m noel, 21, thai-chinese, your resident pretentious linguistics student.

i love learning about languages, hoarding wips, and rambling incoherently about my characters.

i mostly write historical fiction but have also dabbled in fantasy and contemporary.

my fav tropes are morally ambiguous characters, complicated family dynamics, and found family.

MY WIPS

🎻 GHOST NOTES historical drama

In 1870s Vienna, two female composers become locked into an intense rivalry; one that soon turns into infatuation, and one that may have deadly consequences for them both.

🌃 IRON AND GOLD historical mystery

In 1920s Berlin, a disgruntled private detective is tasked with solving the murder of a young socialite and finds that there is much more to the case than meets the eye.

💫 STELLA MARIS science fiction

A woman infiltrates an upper-class satellite in the clouds to seek revenge for her wronged family and finds the truth is more complicated than it seems.

🍁 THE MAPLE SOCIETY dark academia mystery

At Mapleridge, a prestigious liberal arts college in Massachusetts, three students become unlikely friends and accidentally discover a massive conspiracy that threatens to upend the peacefulness of their tiny town.

🏺 LABYRINTH GODS high fantasy

A young woman becomes involved in a revolution to end the thousand-year reign of the despotic God-King who has subjugated her people.

🌤️ FINDING VICTORIA contemporary coming-of-age

Audrey Lin’s guide on how to excel at track, heal from the grief of losing your father, deal with your emotionally unavailable mother, and fall in love with your aloof team captain.

SOME OTHER STUFF

you can find me on pinterest @/phantomnations

i love being tagged in tag games but am slow at responding to them. i appreciate them though!

send me an ask or a dm to be added to a wip taglist!