#they've already booked three viewings in for this week

[whathappenedtomyweekend]

sooo in not-so-fun news: our landlords are selling the house we've been living in since April last year that has been our home and peaceful abode!!! and the estate agency we're with actually sucks balls and so do most of the other estate agencies in town that I've been with!!!! I've been to 7 estate agents today so far and 🎶tell me why🎶 ALL OF THEM have told me that us having two indoor cats is gonna be a problem because I guess fuck us!! right??? that's a thing that should happen on a random fucking Wednesday three weeks before we're set to go on a holiday which we're saving every extra pound towards and are now gonna have to save even more to fucking move into a smaller space!!! how great!!!!

[muffinsin]

Hiya, I'm new to the blog but I've loved everything I've read so far! I was wondering if I could request the Dimitrescu daughters (separately) getting saved by a maiden that they thought hated them? Like, maybe a hunter breaks in + smashes a window and the maiden literally carries (or drags) the daughter to safety and refuses to leave their side until they've warmed up.

Maybe the maiden never actually hated the daughters (like a miscommunication/the maiden having a difficult to read expression), or maybe they stopped hating the Dimitrescus a while ago but nobody noticed? Idk, it's up to you, I just think you'd have a fun take on it :3

I went through the anon lists and hopefully I didn't miss any, so if possible can I be sleepy anon? Please and thank you, and have a great day/week!

Hi :)! I’m happy to hear ya like my works :)🙌 Honestly what a cute prompt!

Let’s get into it :) anon name is all yours🙌

Masterlists

Bela

Bela is, a mystery to you

To her, you seem like an enemy. A staff member, yet with a deep hatred towards her

Perhaps, if you weren’t so pretty and cute, perhaps if she didn’t like you in some strange way she is too proud to voice, you would’ve ended up in the basement already

Alas, Bela keeps you safe and only puts you in your place when your work isn’t done properly. She thinks you should consider yourself, lucky

To you, she seems like an uptight boss bent on punishing you for every little mistake

You wonder, what have you done for her to be this obsessed?

She notices every little mistake you make

A true perfectionist, you realize soon enough, and it bothers you to no end

But, unlike her interpretation of you, you don’t hate her. You don’t even really dislike her

She’s just..uptight, a little bitchy, yes. But she’s smart, you’ve come to notice, and quite obviously she is breathtakingly beautiful

Perhaps, if both of your false views and interpretations of one another were out the way, you’d have talked sooner

You would have liked to start a conversation with the supposedly dangerously intelligent and cold eldest daughter of Alcina Dimitrescu

Bela, on the other hand, would have liked getting to know you sooner

Still, she only ever sees false hatred in your eyes that is truly mere curiosity

She has never been all that good at reading people’s emotions

Their intentions? Yes, their facial features? Yes. But still, her books cannot teach her to fully understand humans, people, it seems

It’s a fatal misunderstanding on both your parts, one that this day will clear up, it seems

The day, while not being an ordinary one at all, is not all that unusual to Bela. An uprising, again, though somewhat cute in numbers

Four maidens. Bold, or perhaps only desperate enough, to dare fight back

It’s a pointless fight, a squabble she doesn’t even bother notifying her sisters about

Even with the many knives and utensils scattered around them in the kitchen, the fight seems pointless

That is, until Bela easily dodges a pot that smashes into the fragile window behind her

Immediately, she screams in pain at the cold air rushing in

The three remaining troublemakers spot their opportunity instantly, so it takes less than seconds for the other kitchen windows to be shattered

Bela grits her teeth, one arm wrapped around her protectively, her other hand clutching her sickle

She refuses to tell her sisters. Refuses to allow Mother to hear of this. She can do this! She can’t cause her family trouble. Cassandra would have never let this go on. Daniela would have killed them in seconds. Bela should have never let it come this far, should have prevented the window from breaking..

Throwing herself back into her battle, she strikes one down, but pays the bitter price when two steak knives are sliced and thrust into her thighs

Immediately, she falls, her blood gushing, her limbs aching and as if on fire. The cold immediately finds the large gashes and digs through. The blades of the knives seem icy cold like the terrain outside

She manages to knock one down with her, but as the back of her hooded head hits the windowsill, her vision begins to blur

One more

She tries to call out for Cassandra, hoping, pleading, Mother will hear nothing of this

To her surprise and horror, she finds she can’t reach her sister, too far away for her weakened swarm to detect

She grasps for her weapon, but can’t detect it. Was it lost when she fell? She can’t remember, but tastes her own, foul blood in her mouth

With difficulty, she sees the maiden’s lips moving. She can’t make out what she’s saying, but her expression enough is sufficient to allow her to assume it must be some kind of insult

Pride, cockiness, a human’s downfall

She watches as, seemingly out of nowhere, you stand behind her, bringing Bela’s abandoned sickle down at her neck

It’s messy, and rough, but enough for the woman to drop her weapon and scream. Enough to fall to her knees and enough for Bela to finish her off

Golden, unfocused eyes meet yours. She looks unsure. Worried. Confused. Cold. Hurt. Scared

Never did you think Bela Dimitrescu would feel such things. Never did you think you would truly see a glimpse of humanity in her

But, you have…

You have seen her eyes squint when she laughs with her sisters, seen the faintest hint of a blush and happiness hidden beneath pride when being praised by her mother. You have seen her playful annoyance aimed at her youngest sister

When you close in on her, her first instinct is to lean in. Then, nearly within that same moment, she snarls and pushes herself harder against the cold wall

You hate her. She has no reason to believe you are not part of this attack, or at the very least are now that her weakness is so pathetically displayed

But you don’t approach predatorily

With your hands raised, you gently move closer to her

She watches you closely, her golden eyes watchful even as her body trembles

Slowly, you unwrap the sleeping robe from around you. Is it this late already? Bela hadn’t noticed

The material is thin, but the action shows your intentions nonetheless, and so she allows you to lean into her personal space

A small, quiet gasp passes her lips when you pick her up. Automatically, she sets her hands on your shoulders and wraps the robe tighter around herself

With her vision blurry and the foul taste in her mouth, her bloodied, non functioning legs and aching arms, she doesn’t protest when you keep holding her up and close to you

Your warmth is…comforting

Bela winces a little. She doesn’t want to look up at you, doesn’t want to ruin this perfect moment

After all, when she does look up, what will she see? Hatred? Annoyance? Cockiness?

You pass the fireplace, walk up the stairs

She clings tighter to you, but there are no others in the hallway

All staff members know better than to leave their rooms at nighttime, and even more so in winter, when it is known the residents of castle Dimitrescu are more on edge and easier to irritate

After a little while she notices where you’re taking her- her own room, her safe harbour

She extends an aching arm and closes her fingers around the door knob, helping you open the way inside

She wonders; have you ever been in here? What do you think?

Despite her annoyance, Bela manages to bite down a curse when her cheeks heat up a little

Secretly, perhaps, she wants you to like her room

And like it you do

Bela is every bit the perfectionist you knew she is

But, there is beauty in this

Her shelves are organized neatly. The books placed in them tell you the woman in your arms is fond of just about everything

Information and documentaries of a vast range of topics can be found, from hobbies to animals, to biomes, to sciences

Her bed is made and her nightstand is nearly empty, save for the storybook placed on it

It isn’t opened and sports no mark or so

You assume she hasn’t touched it in a while, but somehow, you correctly guess that it’s meant for the few times her sisters sneak into her room and the story calms their anxious minds

When Bela looks up at you eventually, she gasps quietly at the softness found in your eyes

She stays quiet as you set her down on the bed, doesn’t even wince when you brush aside her hair to have a look at the nasty cut on her head

With the heat of the room, the wounds begin healing slowly

And still, you fuss over her

She hopes you don’t take notice of her dusty pink cheeks and wide eyes when you press your sleeve to her forehead

Your subtle smile tells her differently

Cassandra

She hates you, you’re sure of it

And you hate her, she’s sure

After all, why else would she dump dead, stinking deer in front of your room every single morning?!

Why else would she do this to you and no one else!

Why is she tormenting you? What have you done to her!

After all, why else would you dispose of her beautiful gifts every single morning?

You must hate her!

She feels stupid for gifting you her finest meat every day, but can’t stop, either

Perhaps she can yet woo you, after all

But you dump it off to the kitchens every time! Not even back to her! The kitchens! For common staff!

You must hate her…!

When you pass her in the halls, you do your best to avoid eye contact. Were you looking at her, you would notice her doing the exact same thing

Despite her hatred for you, you are curious about her

She’s beautiful, there’s no question there

With chocolate-coal-brown hair that easily falls down at her shoulders, sometimes curled, at other times straightened, her golden eyes you only sometimes dare gaze upon

She has one lazy eye, and you find it’s the cutest thing in the world. Her features are stunning and you regularly fight yourself to avoid staring at her

At night, at times, you can’t help but wonder what this beauty of a woman would be like curled against you

Her pale, snow-white skin pressed against yours, her face tucked away by your neck, your arms tight around her

Sometimes, you bitterly remind yourself; she would strike. Bite down at your jugular with all her might and drain the life from you

But, perhaps even happily so, you would allow her to

Despite her hatred of you, she has you wrapped around her finger

Despite your hatred of her, you have her wrapped around your finger

A raid at the castle marks the time both your lives are about to change

Raids are, by all means, hardly unusual

While they aren’t everyday happenings, all residents and staff of the castle, even the villagers, know of the foolish men and sometimes women attempting to break into the castle every few weeks or months or so

None are successful, but it seems this never dampens their spirit

But, there is protocol

And so you find yourself hiding in the only room closest to you at the beginning of the raid: the armory

The very armory occupied by Cassandra Dimitrescu

You know protocol, you know to hide in the nearest room, lock it even, and wait it out. Protocol never mentions the case being in which a Dimitrescu sister is near

You hold your breath, but it’s no use. She notices you immediately, and given the current raid at the castle you ought to be happy she doesn’t automatically strike you down

Instead, she holds your gaze for a moment. Your eyes meet a dark gold, more beautiful than anything you have ever seen before

You don’t notice you’re holding your breath until she stretches her arm out, her gloved fingertips pointing towards the back of the room

You understand instantly. A hiding spot, as instructed. Of course

Even as you slide between and behind the large barrels, hide behind the suits of armor standing at the back, you can’t help but keep your eyes lingering on her

Her back is smooth, her hips surprisingly slim

She looks regal, yet lethal in the way her fingers twitch and she grasps the weapon tighter every few seconds

Soon after you’ve slipped into your hiding place and Cassandra started sharpening her weapon- you briefly wonder why it is she stays with you, rather than throw herself into the sure fight happening somewhere in the castle- when you begin hearing shouts ahead

Then, you see them, two men, as they burst into the armory

They’re broad shouldered and sport brown hair and a brown, stubby beard. Thick noses and burst lips adorn their faces. They’re twins, and judged by their clothing, hunters stemming from the village

You hold your breath and shrink against the suits of armor and barrels surrounding you

They sneer at Cassandra, their weapons- two machetes, one each, drawn. They’re wholly focused on her

If they’ve seen you, they pay you no mind at all

Cassandra doesn’t wait for one of them to attack. Instead, you watch as she throws herself into battle

Swarming halfway and masterfully avoiding all incoming attacks from the two intruders, she catches one’s neck with the end of her sickle and reaps chunks of the other man’s clothing and skin from his ribs

You watch as blood forms and drops fast. The man splutters uselessly, stumbling back while the other, though injured, tries to fight back

It becomes clear to you now, why Cassandra is known as the best huntress at castle Dimitrescu

Despite her impressive display, your eyes press shut when the injured man stumbles in your direction

Again, he doesn’t seem to take notice of you, and yet you don’t dare move

Then, a loud bang forces your eyes open and a scream from your lungs

But you are not the only one screaming, and so you are lucky enough to be unnoticed again, for…

Cassandra’s scream was the one outweighing yours, you realise

The woman screams and shakes, her hood torn off to reveal teary eyes and her beautiful, pale skin breaking off slightly

Behind her, you notice the crack in the wall now a large gap. It must have been caused by the explosion you’ve heard

She’s still fighting strong, having finished the already weakened man bleeding out near you

Still, you grit your teeth and watch with wide eyes as the machete of the other connects with her arm. At first, she howls in pain, the noise so desperate and pure you almost cry

Then, the limb falls. You watch as it falls from her and breaks off into what must be hundreds of little flies that curl in on themself as the cold wind touches them

You grit your teeth when the woman stumbles backwards, her back dangerously close to the large gap in the wall. If she was to fall…

The man seems to have the same idea, pushing and swinging his machete around like a madman trying to make her back up into the gap

You decide you can’t bear to stand idle while her fate may be sealed

Slithering from behind the armor and barrels, you yank the other machete from the dead man’s tight grip

In a smooth, albeit difficult swing, the sharp blade meant for monsters connects with the man’s exposed neck, just where Cassandra struck him before

His head tips to the side as he collapses, and you drop the weapon immediately

Cassandra groans and growls madly as you near yourself and push her weak arm wielding the sickle aside

She reminds you a little of an animal with rabies, the way she shakes and growls, and you hope you don’t pay the bitter price for your care

Still, you wrap your arm around her slim hips and pull her towards you, wary of the large piece of broken off wall behind her

She doesn’t fight you, merely keeps on growling and- crying? You can’t be too sure. You didn’t take her for one to cry, but then again, you wince when you nearly step on what used to be her arm

Carefully, you scoop the unmoving flies from the floor and into your pocket

The woman is clearly out of it, her lips parted and sharp, fang-like teeth on display as she snarls and growls over and over again, her screams quiet, but almost banshee like in their shrill tone

You wonder; is she trying to reach her sisters with it? If she is, it’s entirely too quiet and weak of a scream, you decide

You take another gamble and hook your free hand under her legs, promptly lifting the woman into your arms

Again, she snarls and shakes, but makes no move to attack you

That is, if you don’t count her sharp, bloodied nails of her remaining hand digging into your shoulder

And still, you can’t bring yourself to believe this is meant to be an attack

You carry her out the library and the only place you know to be warm; the kitchens near the grand dining room

Cassandra relaxes significantly as you move her to the room, the warm fires and steam warming her sore body

Still, you don’t dare let go of her

When you hold your breath, you realise; she’s almost..purring? That can’t be right

The next thing you realise are the flies, previously unmoving, buzzing in your pocket

You set the woman down on a clear part of the table and retrieve one of them, smiling as it buzzes in your hand

You place a gentle kiss to it, not unaware of the small gasp coming from Cassandra, and release it. Immediately, it returns to the stump where her arm used to be

You repeat the process, kissing flies as they return to her

Cassandra’s thankful for the cold still in her body, for it’s at the very least suppressing her growing blush

You feel her lean against you and cant help but wonder;

Perhaps, she doesn’t hate you

Maybe, you don’t hate her

Daniela

Daniela is almost 100% sure you hate her

You never react to her sly smirks, her cute giggles, the sweet hand resting on your shoulder!

She has tried flirting with you for ages, and nothing!

You’re never rude to her, actually- you’re very kind to her!

You always bring her a flower when your work in the gardens is done

You always braid her hair for her and brush it out after

You make sure her room is clean and her bath is full of bubbles and delicious scents

You always smile when you see her

So why haven’t you kissed her yet!

She doesn’t understand

She’s thrown you so many signs! All she could. But you haven’t acted on a single one

She thinks, you must hate her

And you?

You’re a little…clueless

You like her, so very much

You lie awake at night, your mind occupied by the beautiful, auburn haired woman that regularly visits your dreams and thoughts alike

Sometimes, you dare dream

Could she be yours?

Could you make her happy?

Could she want you?

But is she not with others? So many stare when she passes, you hear the hushed voices either insulting, or praising her

She’s a goddess residing in this castle; what chance have you got?

You try to be close to her, yet never too close

You don’t want to disrespect her, never

You care far too much about her for such a thing

Then, one day, there is an attack

Lycans, they say, a stray pack headed from the village and led by their prey directly to the castle

Of course, the staff is immediately brought and locked away for safety

You are less lucky, having insisted the day prior you’d like to clean out the library

After all, this is where Daniela is known to spend her days…

Now, separated from the other staff members, you have little choice but to stay put

You try your best not to glance at Daniela, who stands with her sickle held tightly. She too heard the alarms, it seems

You grip the fire poker, your eyes still trained on the floor

You wonder; if you looked at her, could you ever advert your eyes again?

It seems, there is little to no time for you to dwell on this thought, for a loud bang and a snarl is all you hear when the door to the library is ripped from its hinges and a furry snout peaks through

Before you have time to react, Daniela grips the lycan already

You watch as she works, no, plays with the wild animal

She spins it and giggles, grips and yanks, breaks and slices

The beast only snarls at her, yet can’t even hope to land even a single claw on her

All goes well, you don’t even think you need to make use of your improvised weapon

Even the snarls and screams from the outside dull. They’re retreating, it seems

Then, however, a gasp is ripped from you when the beast pushes against you. Whether it did it on purpose or was knocked against you, you can’t tell, but you do realise one thing; you’re falling

Hoping to catch yourself, you reach out to grab all within reach

Only, unfortunately, is that a lever

In the next second you feel icy cold wind come down at you and hear the piercing scream of the auburn haired woman next to you

Your hand stretches out, your lips parting as you scream a warning that comes too late

She’s knocked back by the force of the lycan’s gigantic paw swiping at her, thick claws dragging through her dress and soft, pale skin

You feel ill as blood pools at her stomach and the sickle falls from her

She kicks the animal away, yet it looks, and sounds, as though each move only pains her so much more

You realise your own mistake fast and quickly work on shutting the windows again, her scream and your own blood pumping loudly urging you to work faster, faster, faster

When you look to the side, she’s barely sitting up, her bloodied hands and arms desperately shielding herself against the creature

You don’t think, can’t think, won’t take the time to think now

With the fire poker gripped tightly in your hand, you charge

You scream, and it’s met with a pained howl

Thankfully, Daniela must have injured the creature enough for a simple, powerful strike to its heart to finish it off

And still, you feel your uniform slip from you and the nasty, aching pain of the large slashes made at your back

You grit your teeth, ignoring the mark the creature has left on you even as its foulness enters your body

You turn Daniela to find her bloodied and shivering, her flies dropping, her skin seemingly switching between breaking and healing itself

Again, you don’t dare waste time

She watches you through a blurry haze as you wrap your arms around her. She almost tastes your scent

It takes everything not to taste you

She feels her wounds, the pain she has almost forgotten all about. What is pain? This is a nasty reminder

Next she’s lifted to you, her fingertips and face nuzzling your warm skin

You feel her move to you, as close as she could, and all but grant her this

You know now what happened, what you have caused her

And you’re set to fix it. You won’t allow a stupid mistake, an accident, to be it for her

Daniela shivers still as you pick her off the floor and rush through the halls

Yet, all she feels is you. Your warmth. Your heartbeat, loud and close against her ear. She loves every moment of it

She isn’t sure where you bring her at first, until she finds herself set on her bed

When did she get here? She can’t tell. Black dots appear in her vision and her stomach feels slick with blood even as it starts closing up again

You gently cup her cheek, your eyes, so beautiful and worried, checking her over

You notice the little cuts on her face heal and shut nearly instantly, whereas bruises caused by the cold wind stay stubbornly in place

Perhaps, if the cold hurts the woman, the heat could help her, you figure

Daniela whines when you move from her and for a moment you feel your cheeks heat up. Her fingers entangled with yours, her golden eyes wide and hopeful

She doesn’t want you to go. Not now. Even if you hate her

And really?

Neither do you

You only wish to hold her close, to protect the precious creature held so close to you

You wish to cup her face and stroke the soft fingers holding onto yours so sweetly

You want nothing but to nurse her back to health, to know her, really know her

To be here

To make her yours

You watch, the truth laid bare in her eyes. No flirty smiles you don’t understand, no hidden meanings behind words you can’t understand

Her feelings, exposed and shown to you in her bright, golden eyes

You lean down as gentle as you can, and even more so, you press your lips to the flower tattoo adorning her forehead

“I’ll draw you a bath, it will warm you up”, you whisper. Then, you promise:

“I’ll return, iubita mea”

[maarigolds]

Lucy, Lockwood and George, after everything.

(show edition. I'm not going by book canon for this one, so don't worry about spoilers)

At 21 or 22, Lockwood is the first of them that starts to lose his talent.

Which makes sense, since he's the oldest. At the beginning he refuses to even acknowledge it, but Lucy and George figure out what's happening soon enough. For a while he's just ashamed and angry and sad all the time. Then it gets better: Lucy and George get him trough it. He also calls Kipps, and they talk for hours, both coming out of it feeling almost at peace (Kipps has gone back to school and is talking about wanting to become a teacher. Which Lockwood feels like should surprise him, but actually doesn't). 

Lucy is next. It breaks her heart a little (because of skull and all other type 3s) and it scares her a lot. But then she realizes how soothingly quiet the world can be at times, and lets herself think that maybe she will be alright. 

George is last. And the thing is, even though it saddens him to lose the one thing that connected him to ghosts, mainly he's relieved. He's been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while, and now that it has, he's ready for whatever may come next.

The jobs get more and more rare as they hear, see and feel less and less. Lockwood knows he could hire new kids to replace them, but in truth he doesn't really want to. Perhaps Lockwood & Co. can be laid to rest at last: after all, they've already achieved more than he ever dreamt. So the next time a client calls, he informs her they've shut down and gives her the name of an up-and-coming independent agency he's heard great things about. He only feels mildly guilty about it. 

Even if they're technically not his employees anymore, George and Lucy stay. They don’t talk about it, but the idea of moving out of Portland row and living lives that aren't intrinsically intertwined feels wrong to all three of them: they're a family, after all, and nothing has to change about that.

Still, they need to make money somehow. So they muse about going far away from London, opening a bakery, living in a small house by the sea. But in the end they stay, both in the city and line of work they're used to. Because they do belong there, it's undeniable. George, of course, goes into ghost research and becomes a leading voice in the field, discovering new ways to help agents all over the country. No one is surprised, but everyone is proud. Lucy one day shows up at Barnes' office to ask him about becoming an inspector. It's the last thing either would have expected, but when he asks her why, she says it feels like the best place to be to help kids like her. To stop people like Jacobs. So he gives her a job. She's determined to change things from the inside. Barnes thinks that if someone could, it's her. And Lockwood... well, it takes a while for him to figure it out. But one evening Lucy comes home talking about a kid left deeply traumatized by a job gone wrong, and suddenly he knows. The next day he calls the bank to open up a pro bono clinic for agents and ex agents in need of psychological treatment. After less than a week they already have their first client. 

Slowly but steadily, it becomes their new normal. 

Lockwood sets up a study in the room on the stairs and works mainly from there. George, on the other hand, works at a lab in the City: he is the first to leave in the morning, but he always comes home soon enough to cook dinner. Lucy keeps slightly more irregular hours, and sometimes her job keeps her away for longer than she'd like. But then again she occasionally gets to come home to the adorable view of the boys fast asleep in front of the tv, so that's good.

One day Flo brings them a stray cat she found while working: they name him Donut and spoil him way too much.

Lucy starts gardening. George grows a magnificent beard (Lockwood is not jealous of it). The fridge breaks down and they have to buy a new one. Airf's son replaces him at the shop. They put up a hammock in the backyard, and spend their vacations piled into it. Mrs Burke from across the street knits them all hats for Christmas. Lockwood adds new framed articles on the walls and new knick-knacks on the bookshelves. 

He's not sure when, but one day 35 Portland Row stops being the home his parents left behind and becomes his home. Their home: his, and Lucy's, and George's (and Donut's. And Kipps' when he comes over for lunch on Sundays. And Flo's when she swings by using her own keys. And Barnes' when he stays for tea after long work days).

So they keep going as they have, day after day, year after year, slowly growing older. Wounds heal and scars fade. The sun shines through the kitchen windows on summer mornings. The smell of persian food fills the air every evening. Old rapiers get dusty in the umbrella stand. There aren't any ghosts between their walls, both real and metaphorical.

Everything is alright.

[richincolor]

We have five books on our radar this week, and there's something for just about everyone here. Which ones are you adding to your TBR list?

Against the Darkness (In Every Generation #3) by Kandare Blake Disney Hyperion

This epic finale to the The Next Generation trilogy by New York Times bestselling author Kendare Blake ( Three Dark Crowns ) features the next generation of Scoobies and Slayers who must defeat a powerful new evil. For generations, the Slayer was supposed to be the chosen, the one girl in all the world with the power to stand against the vampires, demons, and forces of darkness. When Willow used the scythe to call up all the potential slayers at once, it changed everything. For years, the slayers have been working and fighting together as a team. Then the Darkness came, killing many slayers and trapping the rest in an alternate dimension. And Frankie Rosenberg, the world’s first Slayer-Witch, found herself fighting evil alone. Sort of. Sure, she has her new Scooby Gang, plus the help of her mom, Willow; Watcher, Spike; and even the brooding-but-hot Hunter of Thrace. But even though they have a master plan (obviously), the gang is more fragmented than ever. So maybe it really is up to Frankie—and Frankie alone—to stand against the darkness. With Jake’s wild werewolf brother back in town, Dark Willow threatening to return, and the Darkness preparing for the final stage of their attack, now is not a great time to wallow in teen angst. After all, she’s the Slayer. It’s time to slay.

And Then There Was Us by Kern Carter Tundra Books

A mother's death forces a teen girl to reevaluate their tumultuous relationship in this powerful coming-of-age novel for teens. For fans of I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter. Coi is just eighteen years old, but has already survived years of physical and verbal abuse from her mother. After being kicked out of her mother's house at age fourteen, Coi has lived with her father, and together they've created a peaceful life. That peace ends suddenly when her mother dies. While Coi struggles to find kindness in her heart for the woman who only hurt her, she starts having lucid dreams, forcing her to relive moments of abuse and emotional trauma that eventually led to Coi's abandonment. Her mother's passing also reopens the door to her mother's side of the family, including her beloved younger half-sister, Kayla, her stepfather and her grandmother. Each of them challenge Coi's long-held views about her mother, especially Kayla, who, Coi realizes, is taking their mother's loss hard. As she reconnects with her family, Coi learns to see parts of her mother she never experienced, and for the first time since she was abandoned, opens her heart to forgiveness.

Canto Contigo by Jonny Garza Villa Wednesday Books

When a Mariachi star transfers schools, he expects to be handed his new group's lead vocalist spot—what he gets instead is a tenacious current lead with a very familiar, very kissable face. In a twenty-four-hour span, Rafael Alvarez led North Amistad High School’s Mariachi Alma de la Frontera to their eleventh consecutive first-place win in the Mariachi Extravaganza de Nacional; and met, made out with, and almost hooked up with one of the cutest guys he’s ever met. Now eight months later, Rafie’s ready for one final win. What he didn’t plan for is his family moving to San Antonio before his senior year, forcing him to leave behind his group while dealing with the loss of the most important person in his life—his beloved abuelo. Another hitch in his plan: The Selena Quintanilla-Perez Academy’s Mariachi Todos Colores already has a lead vocalist, Rey Chavez—the boy Rafie made out with—who now stands between him winning and being the great Mariachi Rafie's abuelo always believed him to be. Despite their newfound rivalry for center stage, Rafie can’t squash his feelings for Rey. Now he must decide between the people he’s known his entire life or the one just starting to get to know the real him. Canto Contigo is a love letter to Mexican culture, family and legacy, the people who shape us, and allowing ourselves to forge our own path. At its heart, this is one of the most glorious rivals-to-lovers romance about finding the one who challenges you in the most extraordinary ways.

Dragonfruit by Makiia Lucier Clarion Books

From acclaimed author Makiia Lucier, a dazzling, romantic fantasy inspired by Pacific Island mythology. In the old tales, it is written that the egg of a seadragon, dragonfruit, holds within it the power to undo a person’s greatest sorrow. An unwanted marriage, a painful illness, and unpaid debt ... gone. But as with all things that promise the moon and the stars and offer hope when hope has gone, the tale comes with a warning. Every wish demands a price. Hanalei of Tamarind is the cherished daughter of an old island family. But when her father steals a seadragon egg meant for an ailing princess, she is forced into a life of exile. In the years that follow, Hanalei finds solace in studying the majestic seadragons that roam the Nominomi Sea. Until, one day, an encounter with a female dragon offers her what she desires most. A chance to return home, and to right a terrible wrong. Samahtitamahenele, Sam, is the last remaining prince of Tamarind. But he can never inherit the throne, for Tamarind is a matriarchal society. With his mother ill and his grandmother nearing the end of her reign. Sam is left with two to marry, or to find a cure for the sickness that has plagued his mother for ten long years. When a childhood companion returns from exile, she brings with her something he has not felt in a very long time - hope. But Hanalei and Sam are not the only ones searching for the dragonfruit. And as they battle enemies both near and far, there is another danger they cannot escape…that of the dragonfruit itself.

The Smoke That Thunders by Erhu Kome Norton Young Readers

From a debut Nigerian author: a spectacular young adult fantasy rooted in West African mythology and brimming with adventure. In this mesmerizing fantasy rooted in Urhobo and West African folklore, sixteen-year-old Naborhi longs for a life away from her small, traditional clan in Kokori. But as her rite of passage approaches and she is betrothed to an arrogant young man, Naborhi feels her dreams slipping away from her. Then Naborhi becomes bonded to a mysterious animal and begins having harrowing visions of a kidnapped boy. She soon meets Atai, the son of an Oracle from a rival queendom, and learns that she is being guided by the gods. She and Atai, along with Naborhi’s eager-for-adventure cousin, Tamunor, set off across the continent to rescue the mysterious boy. But when they find him―and find out his true identity―Naborhi realizes there is more than just her freedom at stake: she must stop a war that has already been set in motion. With lush, unique worldbuilding and a dynamic cast of characters, The Smoke That Thunders is a gripping story of political intrigue, fierce love, and what it means to be free.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 The Pairing Book Review 🦇

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

❓ #QOTD If you could travel anywhere for the summer, where would you go? ❓ 🦇 Theo and Kit have been a lot of things: childhood best friends, crushes, in love, and now estranged exes. After a brutal breakup on the transatlantic flight to their dream European food and wine tour, they exited each other's lives once and for all. All that remains is the unused voucher for the European tour that never happened, good for 48 months after its original date and about to expire. It's not until they board the tour bus that they discover they've both accidentally had the exact same idea, and now they're trapped with each other for three weeks of stunning views, luscious flavors, and the most romantic cities of France, Spain, and Italy. Will it be too much, or a reminder that a small taste can make you crave what you can't have?

💜 Pairs well with: healing hearts long bottled up but aged well, a decadent glass of light-bodied wine with hints of cherry (memories of sweet syrup spilling down warm wrists on a hot summer's day), and a lover's kiss (their taste stained against your lips). I don't know what I was thinking, reading I Kissed Shara Wheeler, Red, White, & Royal Blue, then The Pairing all back to back in a rushed, heart-aching CMQ marathon for Pride Month, but WOAH does my heart hurt. The Pairing is the perfect rom-com summer read. This story will whisk you away on a tour of Europe, inviting you to feast on local cuisine until adjectives tantalize and taunt your tastebuds, soothing you like a rich glass of red (smooth and velvety, bursting with flavors of ripe plum, black cherry, and toasted cedar, sparking unfamiliar memories). If you adored Red, White, and Royal Blue (namely, the queer references and quotes pulled from history), the exploration of Europe's never-ending artistry and ageless anecdotes will no doubt tug at your heartstrings. Nevermind the detailed descriptors, the pristine explorations of pastries, pasta, wine, and wonder. Let's talk about Kit and Theo.

💜 CMQ does an outstanding job at Show, Don't Tell throughout the entire novel. Too often, there's a moment in second-chance romances, a piece of the past that broke a meant-to-be couple apart, that SO many novels reveal all too quickly. CMQ doesn't hinge the entire story on that reveal, nor is it unveiled too soon. Instead, we're given the chance to understand Theo and Kit's points of view, not about that ONE defining moment, but about everything; how they came to be, what their lives were becoming, the lost possibility. These two characters feel SO much, but those emotions are never defined with clear-cut words, forcing readers to accept those feelings. Emotions aren't so cut and dry, nor singular; they're a tangle, a messy knot of hurt and longing, love and betrayal. Instead, we experience them through glimpses of the past and present. We heal alongside them. I'm grateful the story focused on Theo's POV first, THEN switched to Kit's during a pivotal moment of their present. We experience Theo's still raw pain and self-doubt before delving into Theo's everlasting love and regret.

💜 I just, I CAN'T. I didn't last a single chapter without making a mess of annotations. I've lived a friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-back-to-lovers, second-chance romance. I know that feeling of one person being your everything, regardless of time and distance. CMQ captures it fully.

💙 My only hang-up: this story relies on the miscommunication trope to survive, not only in the present, but the past that broke Theo and Kit apart in the first place. The execution is flawless, though, giving it realistic reasoning instead of simply using it as a plot piece. I'd also like to point out that the description you read online, regarding the hookup competition, is hardly the story's real focus. It's like the garnish for an already sublime cocktail. You can do without.

🦇 Recommended for fans of Jandy Nelson, 13 Little Blue Envelopes, and all things CMQ.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🍷 Bi4Bi 🥐 Queer Romance 🍷 Europe Tour 🥐 Second Chance Romance 🍷 Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers 🥐 Dual POV 🍷 Food, Wine, History, Art, Culture

🦇 Major thanks to the author and publisher for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book. #ThePairing

💬 Quotes ❝ The problem is, we’ve only ever been everything or nothing to each other. I don’t know how to start being something to him. ❞ ❝ It’s not just that I want him. It’s that he taught me what wanting was. ❞ ❝ I wonder if anyone else in the whole blackberry-jam galaxy has ever loved someone so much that it made their soul feel fixed in their body. ❞ ❝ An expression of delighted awe dawns on Theo’s face, and in it I see layer after layer, old self after intermediate self after current self, the Theo I met as a child and the Theo I got to call mine and the Theo who fills her own body. They’re all here, hanging in the air, harmonizing with one another. Maybe they’re always here. Maybe she feels so familiar and so new to me now because I’d heard the beginning note but not the completed chord. I knew her before her arches had points, before the paint to finish her had been invented. What a wonder, what a miracle: somehow, more of her. ❞ ❝ My favorite parts of me are the ones that Theo brings out, the ones that grew to match theirs. ❞ ❝ I could love that ongoing, extant Theo again. There’s so much romance in that, so much beauty in learning how much my heart can endure. Sometimes I think the only way to keep something forever is to lose it and let it haunt you. ❞ ❝ If I can give my whole heart to love without fearing the cost, I will regret nothing. ❞

[themunsonhorrorpictureshow]

timezone.

word count: 1.3k

inspired by:

eddie munson x steve harrington

a/n: English is not my first language, so it might contain some mistakes, please be kind.

warnings: angst with a happy ending

eddie is feeling homesick after so many months on tour

— Hey Eds, we're going to that bar we saw down the street, are you coming?

— Nah man, I'm still kinda jetlagged, gonna rest a little bit.

Gareth knew he was lying, they've been friends for so long that he could know when Eddie were even breathing different. But all that knowledge also made him realize the tears stuck in his friend's throat, even though they were separated by the hotel bedroom door.

— Alright man, we're out, but call us if you need something.

Eddie didn't answer, but he knew Gareth would understand, he heard his friends footsteps going down the hall until the silence was his only company again.

It's been an hour since he entered this bedroom, an hour that his head is hurting, a whole pack of cigarettes is gone by now and he feels this pain covering his chest. He doesn't remember the city or even the country he is in now. Everything he can remember is Steve's sleepy voice on the phone.

This feels so wrong now... He should be happy, right? The band is doing great, they've been on tour for... Eddie lost count of the months by now... But he should be happy, he should be drinking with his friends, celebrating their success, because this was his dream right? Become a rockstar, have a successful band, playing all around the world, live from his music.

But he didn't even unpacked his clothes, he didn't see the view of the bedroom window that was booked specifically for him... He doesn't care, to be honest, the view might be great, but it's only gonna remind him that he's away from home.

It started when their manager said they would need to be on the road for more two weeks, but then those weeks kept multiplying, and now the sweaters he brought with him don't even smell like Steve anymore.

He kept calling everytime they landed in a new place, and Steve always answered, even when he was at work or when he was already sleeping, he always answered, he always said "love you, Teddy" before hanging off. And Eddie knew Steve was unhappy.

Their calls got shorter everytime, the distance got colder everyday... but Steve wouldn't admit it, of course not, he knew how important that was for Eddie, he wouldn't say those bad and selfish words that were floating on the back of his mind... asking for Eddie to come back home, to come back for him.

It's been so long since they left Hawkins, since they became each other's family, but now Steve's memories are tormenting him. Everytime Eddie calls, Steve can hear his mother's voice far away in his head "It's just one more business trip Steven, you know it's important, we're gonna be back soon, honey, you won't even realize the time passing by"... But he always realized the time passing, he always knew there'd be another business trip after that, but he never complained, because that was important, that was his dad's job, what kept the house, so he should just be patient and wait for them to come back.

...

Gareth, Jeff and Grant ran back to the hotel after the message Eddie sent on their groupchat, with only three words "I'm going home", but it was too late, everything they saw was the taxi leaving, and they knew who was that long brown curled hair sitting on the backseat. They were nervous, of course, what would they do without Eddie? How would they tell their manager? What would they do about next day's concert?

Their heads were spinning, but they weren't angry... to be honest, there was a light relief growing in their chest now, because Eddie's left meant a break. All of them were tired, that's why they were drinking in the goddamn daylight, how else could they go through that?

But after all their fights with the management, asking to go back home, to have days off... one of them was finally brave, maybe dumb, enough to go home, to ignore the contract, to breathe again.

Eddie always said he was a coward, but he was the bravest amongst them, and they always admired that.

...

He always hated sitting by the corridor side on the plane, but that was the only place he could get on the full flight. His leg was anxiously shaking, the old lady sitting beside him had a judgment look, but he didn't give a single fuck about that. He was finally going home, and his heart was beating so fast, he thought he could die any minute. But he wished he didn't, he couldn't die, mainly not right now, not before feeling Steve's arms around him again.

— Young man, can you please stop shaking your leg like that? You're disturbing me. — said the old lady, with a fake politeness.

— Sorry, I'm anxious to come back home, it's been a while since...

— I don't wanna know about this, just calm yourself down someway and stop disturbing me. — she said before opening her novel again.

In an usual day, Eddie would answer that, he'd tell the old lady to go to hell or he would be even more annoying just to piss her off. But right now he had no energy to even care about that, nothing else mattered. So, surprisingly, he decided to follow the upset lady's advice and calm himself down.

He needed to write, he needed to put all those words out of his chest, but he couldn't write on his phone's notes, no, he always hated that, so fucking old fashioned, he always wrote on paper, he believed the phone's keyboard blocked the words on his mind.

But he didn't have his journal with him either, packed his stuff so fast, his notebook was know inside his bag, surrounded by clothes. The pain in his head was coming back, he felt suffocated with those words crossing his mind. Luckily, he finally saw the flight attendant walking down the corridor.

— Excuse me... — he realized how his voice sounded loud and desperate, feeling some pairs of eyes looking at him now — Can you get me some napkins and a pen?

— Of course sir. — the flight attendant said with a polite and kinda confused smile on her face.

She came back about two minutes later, handed him a few napkins and a blue pen, still with a slightly confused look. Eddie just murmured a "thanks" and didn't even look to see her leaving.

His scrambled handwriting started filling the blank space, every word making him breath a little bit better because he could finally feel he was coming back home.

"You're wearing my old clothes, but you, you wear it better

And every time I see your face, the moon should be jealous

And I keep talking to the wall 'til he's a friend of mine

I call you every hour just to tell you that I'm losing my mind

Now I know you're sleeping

Where I'm supposed to be in

Wish I could've stayed

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is seven thousand miles, running like a mad dog

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is a different timezone

So fuck what I'm dreaming, this fame has no meaning

I'm coming home

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is a different timezone

Tomorrow I got another plane, I'm not gonna take it

Instead, I'm gonna fly straight to you, I paid double for the tickets

And I don't give a shit about the contracts that I signed

And they can say whatever, we'll be making love, I'm fucking you tonight"

He was going back home, and his heart was beating normal again, because every minute passed was one more minute closer to Steve, not his voice on the phone, not his face on a screen, not a stupid timezone of difference... Eddie was coming back home.

[little-annie]

All I Want | Ch11

Steddie | Little_Annie | Ao3

Ch10⤵️

---

"Ed's, where are we going?"

"Patience Sweetheart, it's a surprise." Eddie smiles from the driver's seat of the van, his curls piled high on his head and Steve's yellow sweater swallowing him whole.

They've been in the van for a total of three hours. Steve having lost all sense of direction thirty minutes in, he can't tell North from South or East from West. They could be heading towards Indianapolis or the Canadian border for all he knows.

Though really, at the moment he doesn't quite seem to care. Eddie's hand clasped tightly in his, the low hum of the van's motor settling deep in his bones, a feeling in his heart that's much too early in their relationship to name. He doesn't care at all, be it for the reason he could happily live in this moment until the end of time.

It's only been a month, several weeks at the most and Steve Harrington can say with a definity that this is the happiest he's ever been.

His days have been filled with bright smiles and booming laughter. The warmth of lips on his own and the chill of thrills down his spine. They've whispered sweet nothings and shared gasping breaths. It's like nothing he's ever experienced before.

Something like…Happiness.

There'd been moments in his past that he recalls the emotion, but never something as strong as this. Never a fire in his veins, a warmth in his heart and a smile that never breaks. Something so pure, so beautiful. Something that's the definition of joy and more, wrapped up in his yellow sweater, hardly contained curls and deep amber eyes.

Wrapped up in one Eddie Munson.

Steve smiles back, something gentle and sweet, pulling their clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to pale knuckles. He thinks in that moment how he'd let Eddie take him anywhere. How he'd allow this man he knew only by name no more than a few months ago to whisk him away from what he knows to be hell on earth and lead them to happiness and love together.

Really wherever it may be, Steve knows he'll find happiness at Eddie's side.

Maybe it's a little early to be thinking that way, but really Steve thinks it's not. Like the idea of Eddie's hand forever having a place in his own isn't the scariest thing in the world. Like maybe if he tries hard enough and really gives this thing a go, maybe happiness won't be as rare as the beasts that lurk under the streets of Hawkins, Indiana or the presence of his parents in his childhood home.

Maybe happiness will be an ever present and free flowing thing. Like the water in rivers and the blood in his veins.

He turns bodily in his seat, the belt buckle pinching at his waist as he brings his knees to his chest and leans the side of his face against the headrest. His cheek pressing in the scratchy fabric and his feet struggling to fit on the chair beneath him, Steve can't help the swell of warmth that fills his heart.

Eddie's hand is still held in his, balanced on his knees in a precarious way, rings glinting in the early morning sun and thumb brushing over Steve's skin where it can reach. Leaning forward, Steve presses another kiss to Eddie's knuckles and plays with his rings.

His new position provides for a beautiful view. One of porcelain skin and rosy cheeks, soft lips and a round nose. One of a man he's beginning to think he already loves. A sweet soul and a stunning exterior, a smile that lights up any room and fills his heart with such a profound amount of joy.

The sun still hasn't reached its peak in the sky. Pinks and blues swirling like cotton candy on the horizon, Steve can't believe Eddie managed to get up and moving and out of the door before the birds began singing to the rising sun.

Last night, laying in bed with Eddie's head on his chest and a book held over his stomach, Steve hadn't the slightest clue of what today would bring. He still doesn't if he's being honest.

He hadn't even known to bring extra clothes for whatever it is that Eddie has planned, the man apparently sneaking into his house while he was at work and packing a bag to stash in the back of the van himself.

They'd left at an ungodly hour, one of which Steve was sure he'd never see Eddie rise to again. Though instead of being his normally grumbling morning self, Eddie had awoken Steve with a heavy and apparently already dressed grown man in his lap. Eddie had sat there with dreamy eyes and a sleepy smile, a full mug of coffee clasped tightly in hand, wiggling his hips as he whispered, "Stevie, Baby. Wake up."

Words followed by a kiss to the nose, Eddie continued, "Time for our adventure Sweetheart."

In a dusk lit room, Steve had let out a yawn and his hands easily found Eddie's thighs where they snaked under cut off denim shorts, fingertips brushing over coarse hairs and fair skin. He'd leaned up, meeting Eddie halfway, lips brushing lips, "I'll get up Eds, you just gotta get off of me."

"Coffee first," Eddie replied, using one hand to hold the mug and the other to brush Steve's hair from his face, having pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.

After some shuffling and hushed morning giggles, they'd shared a coffee back and forth with kisses in between.

Steve had let Eddie take the reins, and three and a half hours later, they arrived at their destination. A heavily treed area that appears to be a campsite, a single post with the inscription S4 carved into it, a lone picnic table and a fire pit being the only tells.

There's a flutter between his lungs when he takes in the sight. Not to mention the idea of Eddie planning a camping trip just for them. The time, the phone calls, the patience, the money. The last of which Steve knows Eddie doesn't have much to spare.

"Eddie," Steve breathes, voice feeling shaky and knees feeling weak, he hasn't even gotten out of the van yet but he knows when he does his emotions will threaten to flow with tears.

No one's ever done anything like this for him before, ever.

Eyes misty Steve tries to continue but he's brought to an abrupt stop when there's a fist in his shirt heaving him towards the driver seat and lips crashing into his own.

There's words mashed into their embrace that go unheard as Steve struggles to unbuckle himself. Giggles spilling between their lips, Steve nearly falls into Eddie's lap when succeeds and soon finds himself squished between the man that makes him feel whole and the cracked plastic steering wheel to his back.

Eddie's hands settle gently on his hips, fingers creeping beneath his borrowed Black Sabbath t-shirt and rubbing circles over flushed speckled skin.

They move like waves, caught between the pull of the moon and the earth, the sun shining bright upon them as they lick into each other's mouth's and hold one another close.

Steve can feel Eddie's heart beating against his and he can't help but feel like that's where it belongs. Their rhythms matching and their breaths mingling, he hopes to remain here, in some capacity forever.

After a few minutes of moving as one and rocking like waves in Eddie's lap, Steve can't help but giggle when he feels a cramp. Beautiful things always being interrupted by the truth of life. It's not like he could truly ever remain here in Eddie's lap, sandwiched between the man and the steering wheel to his rear. It's just not possible and the pain radiating from his thigh to his ass agrees.

He pulls back, wiggling around, trying to alleviate some of the tension he's found in his leg. But Eddie steadies him, grabbing him tight by the hips and holding him flush in his lap. Eddie laughs to himself, bright and beautiful as he says, "Stay still."

Steve tries, he really does, but he fears if he sits here in Eddie's lap for much longer he may actually be stuck or at the very least lose all feeling in his leg before he can move. So he pouts, like he knows Eddie loves. Arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed and lower lips jutting out.

Eddie laughs immediately, loud and larger than life, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in the most beautiful way and his dimples making a welcomed appearance. He moves his hands from Steve's hips. Using one to pull tanned crossed arms apart and drape them over his own shoulders still clad in Steve's yellow sweater. The other finds its way to Steve's hair, brushing caramel coloured strands behind his ear and moving to smooth his creased brow and then pouty bottom lip with his thumb.

A gentle kiss follows and Steve's lashes flutter as Eddie whispers, "I just wanted to say happy Month-iversary you dork."

And Steve can't help but smile, ignoring the pain radiating up his leg while he leans in for another kiss and whispers against their embrace, "Happy Month-iversary, Ed."

—

Steve can feel yet another tear roll down his cheek, but for the first time in weeks it's not purely riddled by sadness and grief. Eddie's here, in front of him, holding him with those calloused hands he's missed so much and calling him Sunshine.

That single word hanging in the air, Steve can't help but think of the day it first escaped Eddie's lips.

—

It'd been a short hike from their campsite and through some trees, the glistening blue waters coming into view when their feet first sink into the sand.

Eddie's hand still tight around his, Steve's pulled to the shores. The cool water washing over his toes in a matter of seconds. He shivers only to be pulled into Eddie's side and have a kiss laid to his temple.

There they stand for a moment, the water of Lake Michigan chilling their bones but the company of one another warming their hearts.

It's surprisingly quiet, a setting Steve would have assumed to be busy for a mid summer's day but it's not, and he's grateful for the fact because it allows him to lean a little closer and hold Eddie's hand a little tighter.

There's shore birds overhead, the rustling of leaves in the distance and a quiet crash of waves hitting the rocks no more than a dozen feet away.

He feels calm, more so than he's in years.

Tuning into the sounds around him and the heat of the man next to him. The sound of the waves crashing and the pulse of Eddie's heartbeat held in the palm of his hand.

Steve steps impossibly closer, leaning his head on Eddie's shoulder, whispering a quiet, "Thank You."

To which the love of his life responds with a kiss to the top of his head and a shallow hum.

—

Steve thinks in this moment, forehead lent against the man he loves that he'd give anything to go back to that day. To be able to sit in this position and lean in without any reservations or worry of what's to come next.

Eddie's heart continues to beat against Steve's palm where it sits held against his chest.

—

"My mom used to bring me here," Eddie whispers after a moment like he's unsure to even speak the words aloud.

They'd had conversations about their parents and Steve knows Eddie's mom died when he was young, but other than that, Lilian Munson was never a topic to be broached otherwise.

Steve squeezes Eddie's hand in his own, trying to offer encouragement for him to continue. And eventually he does, squeezing Steve's hand back and pressing a little closer to his side, "When d- Al, was um, you know, being himself, mom would bring me out here. We'd make a day of it, sometimes a weekend. Get ice cream, maybe bring a picnic. Sometimes we'd even just camp out on the beach."

It's a careful thing Steve realizes, the way Eddie says his words and focuses on the vastness of water infront of them. Then, not a moment later, Steve realizes the importance of the very ground he's standing on. Every grain of sand holding memories of love and care, of the rare beautiful moments of Eddie's childhood.

Steve leans closer, pressing a kiss to Eddie's shoulder where his head still lays and whispers, "That sounds nice Eds."

Eddie hums in response, pulling his hand from Steve's to snake around his waist and hold tight. After a moment he kisses Steve's cheek and says, "Yeah, it was."

–

They'd made their rounds of the beach, walking hand in hand when no one else was around, picking rocks and the rare shell to take home, Eddie getting particularly excited when he'd stumble upon a shard of sea glass instead.

By the time the sun started to fade and the lunch Eddie brought out with them was long gone, they found themselves sat side by side in the sand. Bare feet buried in the tiny grains of glass and gravel, skin tinged a darker shade of pink from the once heavily beating sun.

It's quiet and it's beautiful, sitting here in this moment together, the golden glow of the sun shining bright over the waves like the lava fields flowing through the seas. The sand shimmering like a million tiny fires at their feet and the shorebirds glowing like Phoenix' in the sky.

Steve can feel the heat of the fading sun and Eddie's stare on his skin, burning into his cheek like a brand and it's then that there's a whisper, something so faint, so quiet that it hardly registers to Steve's ear as it falls into the golden air next to him.

"Sunshine."

The word sparks a warmth in Steve's chest, blooming and spreading like a wildfire through his veins. He turns to Eddie, the man's eyes forever locked onto his face and before he can ask, Eddie's hand finds his cheek, gentle, warm as he whispers once again, "Sunshine."

A smile breaks across Steve's face as Eddie leans in further and speaks softly against his lips, "You're my Sunshine Steve Harrington."

And then their lips meet for what Steve's sure is well past the hundredth time, though truthfully it feels like the millionth but in the best way possible. Like lovers met over lifetimes, like lips that have slid against one another in embrace for years on end.

Between every press of lips Eddie continues, "Bright, "Beautiful," "Brilliant."

"The light of my godman life," Eddie says as he rolls Steve softly into the sand beneath them, bracketing the man between his hands, looking down on him with so much love and need.

"My Sunshine," Eddie whispers once more as their lips part for the last time for anything less than gasps and whispered words of praise.

They move as one, crashing into each other like waves to the shores, breaths mingling and the fire of the sky bathing them in a heavenly glow. Every rock of Eddie's hips, every press of his lips and every everlasting bruise he sucks into Steve's skin, it lingers with something sweet, shimmering, warm. Something that so plainly feels like love.

Like love and light and sunshine.

—

Another tear falls as Steve recounts the memory and his body moves forward on its own volition.

Eddie

Eddie never imagined he'd be here.

A beautiful man with olive skin and hazel eyes sitting in front of him. A forehead pressed to his own and a large hand held to his chest.

He never imagined he'd see the embodiment of sunshine when he looks into Steve Harrington's eyes. Golds and greens, the faintest shades of blue. Glassy and crying now silent tears.

Counting out steadying breaths and allowing Steve to mimic the heartbeat under his palm, Eddie would have never imagined the need, the great all encompassing want to pull the man close and protect him from the trauma that's so obviously eating away at his bones.

And Eddie most definitely didn't imagine to ever feel Steve Harrington's grip on his shirt tighten and pull him in closer after the word 'Sunshine' left his lips. Never did Eddie imagine to feel the brush of lips on his own and having to whisper with his eyes fluttering shut, "Steve, you don't want this."

They're close enough Eddie can feel the damp heat of Steve's breath as he doesn't move away. Gentle puffs of air falling over his upper lip, he fights the need to close the distance. It's less than an inch, no more than a goddamn millimetre and he'd be able to feel the warmth of another man pressed against him.

But he isn't allowed things like this. Eddie isn't allowed boys like Steve Harrington, especially in precious, fragile moments like this. The dead of night, the gentle glow of the kitchen light, the warmth of two bodies sitting so incredibly close their breaths become one. Eddie feels if he pressed forward he'd be taking advantage of the man. This, him, being something Steve Harrington would never truly want in life.

But for a man who couldn't possibly want him, Steve presses closer, their noses touching and another tear falling between them as Eddie's sure he hears a faint, shaky, "Please."

But he can't. He just… he can't. Beautiful things like this don't happen to Eddie Munson and as much as he wants to pull Steve close and feel his tear stained lips against his own, he can't.

So Eddie moves his hands, both gently finding a side of Steve's face, pulling him back until hazel glassy eyes open once again and Eddie whispers, repeats, soft and sweet, "You don't want this."

God and for some reason, deep down, Eddie feels crushed by his own statement, like he's lying through his teeth and the guilt of denial is about to eat him alive. Though by the look on Steve's face, it looks to be a quick and painless death.

Steve shudders a quiet breath, his eyes pinching shut and more tears falling free. After a moment he whispers a hardly audible, "Sorry," falling forward easily when Eddie wraps him in his arms and pulls him to lay against his chest.

He doesn't entirely know what to do. Steve's obviously vulnerable, emotional, damaged in some unseen way. Eddie would be freaking out more about the whole 'did Steve Harrington just try to kiss me?' thing if he wasn't so concerned about the man's well being. He has tomorrow to freak out anyways.

It's uncomfortable, the way they're laying, and Eddie's sure even as only seconds pass, Steve's already falling asleep where his face is pressed to the yellow fabric covering Eddie's chest.

Steve's laying between his legs and almost immediately do his hands weasel their way around Eddie's waist, one inching under his sweater to rest over the scars above his ribs.

Eddie doesn't say anything, he lets Steve take the smallest of things in the silence of his living room. Small fading breaths against his chest, a barely circling thumb over his scarred skin, the way he burrows closer and lets a handful of silent tears fall before drifting to sleep.

Eddie shouldn't imagine things like this, he isn't allowed things like this.

But he's never been one for following the rules, has he?

Maybe he isn't allowed beautiful things in life, but sometimes in the dead of night when no one's awake to tell him what he deserves, he likes to let himself imagine a life where he's allowed love and beauty and something as precious as the man laying atop of him now asleep.

Something that's the embodiment of pure sunshine even in the darkest of moments.

Someone he could call his Sunshine.

The bright and beautiful thing that brings life to the world around him. Something so natural, so pure.

For a crazy moment he thinks he could find that in Steve Harrington, the golden boy of Hawkins and the town 'Freak.' Maybe in a different universe it could be a wonderful thing.

Wrapping an arm around Steve's waist and carding a hand through his still drying hair, for some reason the idea doesn't seem so foreign.

Maybe for tonight Eddie can let himself imagine.

–

Everything about the last twenty four hours has been wild. Maybe getting the shit beat out of him and having his van trashed wasn't even the craziest part of his day.

Maybe it was the fact that he currently has Steve Harrington in his arms, the normally beautiful and stoic king of Hawkins just moments ago a crumbling mess held in his grasp.

It was wild to begin with when Steve offered to drive him home. Let alone when the man apparently fixed his van and brought it to his doorstep expecting nothing in return. Not even a ride home.

He looked exhausted, grease smeared across his face, dirt packed onto his clothes, sheer fatigue bleeding from his hazel eyes. Eddie couldn't leave him like that, but he was fucking tired. Getting the shit kicked out of you does that to a guy. Though Eddie figured at the very least he could offer to drive Steve home come morning, let the man crash on the couch and maybe offer him a beer or two as if that could possibly repay him for the new tires and free auto delivery.

What he didn't expect to see upon Steve Harrington coming into his home was a breaking man. A man riddled with something so toxic and decaying it looked to be eating him alive. A distant, foggy look in his eye that reflected that of a tortured soul.

Eddie wanted to hold him immediately. The need to do so being something so painfully aching in his chest. He wanted to reach out and pull Steve against him, shield him from all the hurt he was so obviously feeling.

There'd been a few times he'd tried to get the man's attention, only succeeding after what felt like the dozenth when Steve nodded and finally turned his eyes to meet Eddie's worrying gaze, muttering some bullshit excuse of just being tired.

Something in Eddie's gut told him otherwise.

But he didn't allow himself to act on the nearly instinctual need to pull Steve close, not at the time at least, so instead he stood there like an idiot, looking the man over before running off to clear his head and fetch Steve some blankets.

Not long after he was sitting on the couch, book in hand, when he heard what he was sure to be a sob come from the bathroom. Then a gasp followed muffled words and a hardly audible thud.

It wasn't his place, Steve had his own shit to worry about but Eddie was concerned and well maybe after the events of the last several hours, maybe that fire behind his ribs that burned for Steve Harrington got a little brighter. What was once a flicker of light turning into a rush of flame.

Steve wasn't who he used to be, it was plain to see no matter how much it pained Eddie to admit it. He was caring and so painfully sweet. A beautiful man with years of not so well hidden trauma behind those tortured eyes.

So when he heard the faint whispers of Steve crying in his bathroom, Eddie couldn't help but move. He was slow, quiet, tip toeing and trying to go unheard as he approached the bathroom door and pressed his ear against the thin wood.

The sound of Steve's muffled cries broke his heart. The tone so achingly sad and broken.

Maybe he shouldn't have, maybe it was a violation of the man's privacy but as Steve Harrington cried to himself in the trailer's small bathroom, Eddie sat outside the door. Ass on the ratty old carpet and back against the panelled wall, Eddie offered his unseen support.

It was only when Steve cracked the door open, cry tired voice asking for a change of clothes, that Eddie moved. Well, or more or less toppled over to not be seen in Steve's line of sight for fear of being spotted at the bathroom doors threshold.

He returned no more than a moment later with clothes he regrettably pulled from his bedroom floor, giving the sniff test and folding them to look at least clean and presentable.

Though maybe the most regrettable thing was giving Steve his clothes to wear in the first place. That fire behind his lungs roaring with a ferocity at the sight.

Then not even a whole thirty seconds later he had the man in his arms, sobbing for something unknown and eventually struggling to breathe over the fact.

And somehow he ended up here, with the buzz of Steve's lips brushing his own, a not so distant memory and the man laying curled into his chest like he belonged there. Soft breaths and still hands, the beating of Steve Harrington's heart matching the rhythm pulsing through Eddie's veins.

It's nearing 4am when Eddie begins to entertain the idea of finally falling asleep, an aching feeling in his chest wanting him to savour this moment like no other. Like it's the only time he'll ever be allowed something so bright, so beautiful.

---

Ao3⤵️

[mercerislandbooks]

The Thursday Murder Club: A Full Staff Rec

We have something a little bit different for you this week. As a start to our series of posts about our favorite books of the year, we want to talk about The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman. This delightful book should work as a present for almost anyone on your list. Why do I feel I can say that? Because almost everyone on staff has read it, and we all loved it! From the fantasy and romance readers to the literary fiction and nonfiction readers, we've all found ourselves recommending The Thursday Murder Club time and time again.

Lil gave me her elevator pitch for the book earlier this week: "What happens when a former spy moves into your fancy retirement community? Murder, that's what. But who did it and why? More importantly, which community room is available to reserve so you and your friends can meet to solve the crime? If this doesn't sound like a great set up for a book, you should probably still give it a try. Based on the wide variety of readers here who loved it, you're probably going to love it too. There's humor, friendship, love, suspense, and a satisfying conclusion. There's not much more I look for in a cozy read." And cozy it is. This is the type of book you pick up when you want something warm and comforting and kind that has substance.

Lori is "...one of those people who likes mysteries despite the dead bodies — for [her] it is all about the relationships of the recurring cast of characters. The Thursday Murder Club has a delightfully quirky cast of amateur sleuths, all retirees in assisted living, who jump at the chance to get involved in a real murder when someone turns up dead. Perfect for fans of Louise Penny!"

Like Lori said, it's the characters that populate this book (and the rest of the series) that make it such a favorite here at the store. Nancy agrees. "This series has such rich characters - not cute and cozy seniors but adults who have lived full lives (with some serious faults and rough edges!) It explores serious issues with charm and warmth and the capers move at a quick pace. Just a great entertaining read!"

Cindy was the first person at Island Books to pick it up and give it a go. "I read The Thursday Murder Club very early on and chose it like I always do—by the cover art, by title, and by plot: A group of super-smart seniors happily solving old crimes and cold cases in a retirement home turn their attentions to a murder most local. That sounded like it might be interesting and inspiring (edging toward retirement myself) and, when I noted that Kate Atkinson called it "a little beacon of pleasure", I turned to the first page and just kept on reading. I liked the many characters and I like stories told from different points of view. It made me laugh and smile and it was a complex mystery with well-constructed characters. I don't typically read feel-good mysteries and I never went further with the series but I suspect I will one day."

Her recommendation—as well as the enthusiastic follow-up reviews from my other coworkers—was what put it onto my TBR (to-be-read) list in the first place. I eagerly grabbed the excuse of "it's for book club" to vault it up to spot number one, and then proceeded to devour the rest of the series in blatant disregard of the other poor books that have been on my list for...some unspecified amount of time...

Brad summed it up well: "This book is very funny. It's very kind. The characters are great, and the actual murder plot is really good." So if you have someone that you don't quite know what to get, The Thursday Murder Club comes highly recommended by the booksellers (and extended family) of Island Books. And if they've already read it and loved it, there are three other books for them to play catch up with.

— Becca

[coming-up-with-usernames-is-hard]

PhD Blog Week 5

Courses

CFT: So much happens in this course without any of the details filled out, makes the lectures hard to follow and then takes ages to review and fill out the details. We finally got onto actual conformal field theories, although only just. Got referred to a book on string theory for a proof, so that's how you know we're doing real maths

Lie theory: Replacement lecturer this week, started the section on Weyl's theorem, introduced Casimir operators (without ever defining the universal enveloping algebra, which seems wrong), ended with a cool proof chaining maps together, felt like doing real maths (i.e., category theory)

DIff Top: Somewhat confused lecture introducing integral curves, ended with an introduction to Lie groups which is always nice

Talks

Attended the algebra seminar, got lost after about five minutes, something about quantum groups and then the algebraic geometry started and I was confused

Example showcases, the three I watched were interesting, the first was on rep theory and constructing the Specht modules, which lead nicely into my talk (in that everyone then knew what a Young diagram is). The second was on topoi, something I've come across but never bothered to learn properly, and the third was on constructing the 5-adics, again, something I've come across but never in details. My talk went ok I think, I tried to fit in too much material and it went a bit off the rails at the end when I realised I'd changed an earlier slide and not a later one so the example didn't quite match up

Supervisor Meeting

Met with just one of my supervisors this week, introduced the 6-vertex model as a lattice model explaining some of the combinatorial aspects of the boson representation. It's a neat trick shifting perspective to view the transitioning fermions rather than the initial and final states. Finally saw how one of the results we'd been building up to (the Murnaghan-Nakayama rule) drops out neatly once you've put in all of this work up-front with definitions

Reading Groups

Complex geometry: Went to the talk on the Plucker embedding which I had been planning to give until a week ago, so I feel like I followed quite well this time

Infinity Categories: Looked at model categories this week, I think I followed most of it, mainly becuase this topic was light on the homotopy theory

Teaching

TA'd two first year tutorials, fortunately the problem sheet was more reasonable this week

Marked another first year assessment, there's already a marked improvement in their ability (and willingness) to write sentences, so they've definitely learnt from the feedback on the last one

[jsbsam]

Buenas dias Santiago

Thursday 23rd November 2023

Yesterday we travelled from our back packer hovel in San Pedro de Atacama to Calama to catch our flight to the Chilean capital of Santiago. The taxi to the airport turned up 45 minutes late so I wasn't in the best of moods as we eventually left back packer central behind and set off on the 60 mile trip across the Atacama desert to the airport at Calama. The Atacama desert is the driest non-polar desert in the world and has been used as a practice area for Mars landings as it most resembles the Martian environment apparently! Some of the scenery on the journey was spectacular, as were the views from the plane as we flew over the spine of the Andes on our way to Santiago.

When we arrived in Santiago our plane was held out on the tarmac for over half an hour before we were eventually bussed to the terminal with me having to use my somewhat basic Spanish to respond to our drivers frantic calls demanding to know where we were as we were late. Despite the panic we eventually met the most miserable bugger we've come across since we landed in South America and he drove us to our hotel in the commercial centre of Santiago. Needless to say he didn't get a tip so I expect he was even more miserable when he got home!

The hotel is well located so we went exploring, had dinner and a few drinks and organised a city tour for today.

We were up and ready in the foyer of our hotel 10 minutes before the guide was supposed to pick us up at 7.50am. He eventually turned up at 8.30am and was very blasé when challenged about being late. "oh, you're in South America now. What do you expect?“. He'd already lost me by then, I was ticking. We then spent the next hour buggering about picking up other tourists from other hotels... tick, tick, tick. He then proceeded to take us very slowly round a few streets in the centre of Santiago. The slowest and most boring tour I've ever been on. Three Brazilians just left at one point, without paying, never to be seen again. I was feeling exactly the same but MM insisted that we stayed the course. At 1pm he said "that's it, finito". A young Australian girl said "what about Bella Vista". At this point his English suddenly became very poor and he appeared not to understand. The young girl persisted and I supported her - tick, tickeddy, tick, tick. Fortunately, a Canadian woman had the flyer with her that supported our position and it transpired that the lazy bugger had missed out about half of the tour. Tick, tick, tick - not happy. He now had nowhere to go, so he spent the next 2 hours doing the things he'd missed but he'd lost the crowd and the atmosphere wasn't great at all. The worst tour I've ever been on, can't wait for the feedback request!

Having said all that Santiago is a nice surprise. After all the 3rd world places we've been to over the past 3 weeks or so it's nice to be somewhere recognisable. Much more like a European city with proper infrastructure, cars that don't look like they've taken part in wacky races, traffic lights, pavement cafes and bars, parks and wide avenues. A pleasant change for a couple of days. It'll be interesting to see how the rest of Chile compares.

After the tour we took the metro red line (very clean, efficient and cheap) from Manuel Montt to Universidad de Santiago to book our bus tickets to and from Valparaiso on the coast, where we'll spend a night before returning to Santiago to take the 10hr overnight bus to Pucon in Patagonia where we'll spend a couple of nights before we head into Argentina.

Weather has been very warm so no need for all the cold and wet weather gear we packed yet.

It'll be good to see the sea tomorrow. We seem to have survived the altitude and the return to sea level reasonably well so hopefully the rest of the trip should be a doddle! We'll see.

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

i love my fans - trevor zegras

trevor zegras instagram au x f!author

fc: i tried to stick to zendaya but there weren't many pictures that could fit contextually

warnings: swearing + a confused non-nhl-fan-reader

liked by stephbohrer, zoeydeutch and 451,243 others

ynofficial: thank you to everyone who made it to the la signing in anaheim today, you're all so beautiful!! (p.s. the first two photos were from an interaction i had when this guy walked into my signing, stopped and said he was sorry but he was in the wrong place and walked back out with a crowd following him. i am very confused, but he was very polite about it all and honestly it was kind of hilarious. to them: i hope you found where you were meant to be and made it on time!) i love my fans

view all comments

fan1: omg no way that happened

fan2: you were beautiful too!

fan3: babe that's literally trevor zegras

ynofficial: who?

jamie.drysdale: trevorzegras humbling moment for you

liked by jhughes and 231,248 others

trevorzegras: met a lot of you today and had a lot of fun doing it ;) i love my fans but i do have to apologise for my lateness, i accidentally crashed a book signing and the author herself was incredibly understanding when i ran into her a couple of minutes ago! unfortunately she had to run and i never got her name but this was one of the two pictures i got before she left. help a guy out?

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jamie.drysdale: ynofficial

fan: not jamie doing the hard work and it going unnoticed

fan4: i feel like that's such a z thing of you to do

fan5: she's literally so fucking pretty

fan6: that's y/n l/n and i'm pretty sure you guys went to the same college at the same time

ynofficial: so this is trevor zegras? wow i get what you guys mean now

trevorzegras: i'm scared. who is 'you guys' and what did they mean?

fan7: i'm never going to recover from this

fan8: if this goes well this is one hell of a meet-cute

liked by monicabarbaro, devonleecarlson and 438,742 others

ynofficial: friends in la

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fan9: effective method in shutting down the rumours i'll give you that

fan10: trev being friendzoned made me laugh

fan11: they've literally only known each other a couple of weeks slow down

fan12: why is there a pin needle in your mug?

fan13: the flowers are gorgeous!

ynofficial: a little present for myself from myself ;)

liked by tterry199, lydianight and 183,868 others

trevorzegras: shenanigans

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fan14: trevor in his active era pop off king

fan15: it's the way every time he posts she's always in it

fan16: fr he's only active because she gives him something to post about

fan17: i know we don't ship people irl but i think i am rn

fan18: THEY MATCH EACH OTHER'S ENERGIES SO WELL

fan19: she took him on her tour??????? i'm sobbing

fan20: she looks so comfortable with him :)

liked by trevorzegras, pierregasly and 436,763 others

ynofficial: my time in la has been a whirlwind to say the least but this post goes out to trevorzegras and trevor zegras only. it took about three weeks for trevor to become my favourite person and now the thought of carrying on this tour without him is kind of daunting, but we move. i just wanted to say that i'm gonna miss him a lot. and that i'm starting to get the hang of this ice hockey thing.

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fan21: it's one am on a monday and you're making me cry already

fan22: STOP IT RN

fan23: idk nor do i care if they're dating but they're too cute not to be soulmates in some realm

fan24: i'm melting with the way he looked at her in the 2nd pic

fan25: wife him up immediately that man is whipped

liked by ynofficial, jamie.drysdale and 153,285 others

trevorzegras: as much as i want you to stay with me in la, i know you need to carry on being the incredible writer and human being you are. just know that you'll always be welcome to stay with me when you come back. i'm so unbelievably proud of my favourite person.

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fan26: just get married already

fan27: this is killing me

fan28: it's the way they look at each other it's sending me into cardiac arrest

fan29: she's just honestly breathtaking

liked by trevorzegras

jhughes: i'm not saying anything

liked by colecaufield, _quinnhughes and 212,863 others

trevorzegras: your favourite hooligans reunited and took NYC by storm

view all comments:

fan30: THEY LOOK SO HAPPY

fan31: you can tell it's been a long 5 months for them both

jamie.drysdale: fucking finally

fan32: jamie's been through something there

fan33: please never keep them apart again

tagged: trevorzegras

liked by trevorzegras, jackhughes and 532,974 others

ynofficial: fuck soft launches and all that jazz. this my man

comments for this post have been disabled

tagged: ynofficial

liked by ynofficial, deuxmoi and 281,235 others

trevorzegras: i love my fans (a whole damn lot)

comments for this post have been restricted

ynofficial: smug bastard

jamie.drysdale: that's what i've been trying to tell you

[recurring-polynya]

BTW, if you liked the Jeeves and Wooster books, and if you watch TV, and if you didn't know already: the early-nineties TV adaptations with Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are available full-length on Youtube if you search 'Jeeves and Wooster' (not legit but they've been there for like 8 years with no apparent trouble; I assume the BBC has better things to bother with) and they're genuinely excellent; it loses some of the effect of the prose, but gains Hugh Laurie's stone-cold hilarious facial expressions

So, for context: Up until about a month ago, I had read one single P.G. Wodehouse book, roughly twenty years ago. I was on a summer research assistantship in London and I was reading a lot, and it seemed like a thing to do. I remember literally none of it, aside from the fact that it was not a Jeeves & Wooster, aside from that I wasn't particularly into it, I'm not even entirely certain I finished it.

Well, about a month ago, I had a commenter (mountain_dancer, who as far as I know, is not on Tumblr) say that I wrote Byakuya and Renji with a real Wooster and Jeeves dynamic. I hadn't read any thing in ages, so at their suggestion, I decided to give The Inimitable Jeeves a try. It's not the sort of book that, like, you get into, like this is in no danger of becoming a Jeeves and Wooster blog, but it is incredibly funny. For starters, imagine being a person from the year 2300, trying to read Twitter and understand all the incomprehensible slang, because Wooster is constantly calling things "fruity" or "bally" and I'm still trying to figure out if "egg" is inherently derogatory, or if the modifier makes all the difference (e.g., "good egg" vs. "old egg" vs. "tough egg"). Secondly, the turns of phrase as simply sublime, please enjoy this exchange between Bertie and his friend Bingo when they run into each other at a club that is not their regular club:

“Hallo, face,” I said.

“Cheerio, ugly,” said young Bingo, and we settled down to have a small one before lunch.

Once a year the committee of the Drones decides that the old club could do with a wash and brush-up, so they shoo us out and dump us down for a few weeks at some other institution. This time we were roosting at the Senior Liberal, and personally I had found the strain pretty fearful. I mean, when you’ve got used to a club where everything’s nice and cheery, and where, if you want to attract a chappie’s attention, you heave a bit of bread at him, it kind of damps you to come to a place where the youngest member is about eighty-seven and it isn’t considered good form to talk to anyone unless you and he were through the Peninsular War together. It was a relief to come across Bingo. We started to talk in hushed voices.

“This club,” I said, “is the limit.”

“It is the eel’s eyebrows,” agreed young Bingo. “I believe that old boy over by the window has been dead three days, but I don’t like to mention it to anyone.”

Finally, the relationship between Wooster and Jeeves is just phenomenal. I mean, every story has basically the same construction, where Bertie gets into some scrape or a friend gets into a scrape and drags him into it, and you *know* Jeeves is going to fix it, sometimes you can even guess how Jeeves is going to fix it, and it’s a riot every time, especially when Jeeves does something to enrich himself in the process. The time he used Bertie’s friend’s girlfriend woes to ghost his girlfriend was ::chef’s kiss::, but his vendetta against Bertie’s garish spats was my favorite:

Well, there was only one thing to do, and I did it. I’m not saying it didn’t hurt, but there was no alternative.

“Jeeves,” I said, “those spats.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You really dislike them?”

“Intensely, sir.”

“You don’t think time might induce you to change your views?”

“No, sir.”

“All right, then. Very well. Say no more. You may burn them.”

“Thank you very much, sir. I have already done so. Before breakfast this morning. A quiet grey is far more suitable, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Anyway, I hesitate to say that my writing at all lives up to this standard, but suffice it to say there are similarities, and I am extremely flattered by the comparison. mountain_dancer says that in my stories, Byakuya is Bertie and Renji is Jeeves, but I honestly think it’s more like if you poured my Byakuya and Renji-- fashion sense, weird slang, unreliable narration, strongly held opinions and all-- into a cocktail shaker and poured two Green Swizzles, you might end up with Wooster and Jeeves.

BACK TO THE POINT, last week, @anza-redstar left me a different comment on a different story that I write Byakuya and Renji like Wooster and Jeeves and 

There are two possible explanations for how this happened:

1) I do read a fair amount of Brit lit and I watched Vicar of Dibley, and obviously Wodehouse is a very famous writer, so perhaps I have just picked up the influence second-hand? Like, I feel like there are big Wodehouse/Pratchett co-morbidities? I have read a ton of Terry Pratchett and consider him one of the biggest influences on my writing.

2) I am an American and we don’t really understand class because we are constantly pretending that it doesn’t exist. I think the Wooster & Jeeves dynamic is just the stereotype we lean on when we think about fancy people. I cannot explain this further.

BACK TO THE POINT AGAIN, Yes, I was aware there was a Fry and Laurie version. Fry and Laurie are also a thing that has inexplicably escaped my radar, like I know who they are, but when I mentioned this to Mr P, he said “Wasn’t that the guy from House?” and I said, “Yeah, but he’s been in other things. I... think he is actually a good actor?” (I have never even seen an entire episode of House, I have no idea if it’s good or not, I don’t like shows about mean people, do not @ me)

I definitely would not mind giving it a try, so thanks for the YouTube tip, although I am warning you that I will most likely forget, much like the way I have yet to watch the Jane Seymour - Patrick McGoohan version of Jamaica Inn I said I was going to watch, like, a year ago. 

I almost forgot!

Apropos of ::waves hands:: all of this, please enjoy my new most cherished headcanon, which is that the reason Byakuya hates Yoruichi is because in his youth, she once pushed him into a fishpond in the service of helping someone else (unsuccessfully) secure an engagement. It would explain so much.

[jackson--t]

🎃 Spooktober 🎃

Bloody Boneless - Pt. I

Welcome to my favourite time of the year and my month of spooky stuff! I will create some short spooky stories - if you want to join me, feel free to tag me! 🎃

Summary: Heahmund talks about old sagas and legends in his classes - and tries one game out for himself at home. With a frightening result that makes his blood run cold...

Words: 2.6 k (AO3? Here.)

Spooky Friends (so far): @youbloodymadgenius @jadelynlace (if you want to be tagged, feel free to send me a DM or stuff!) 🖤

Heahmund looked around at his students and grinned a little; his bright eyes wandered over the curious eyes of the teens, who were all talking; some were already coming forward to share their ideas and stories.

It was October, and it wasn't long until Halloween; Heahmund had specifically chosen the last history lessons to get into a little spooky subject matter, about ghosts and folklore, about old tales and myths, and things you'd tell yourself if you wanted to scare someone. Outside, the rain pattered against the window, and the class had been decked out in autumnal red for several weeks, decorated with collected leaves and chestnuts. Heahmund grinned for a moment, then pointed to a student.

"Anna?"

"When I was a child, my mother told me that witches could be found in many bushes and along roadsides. We had a bush in our backyard back then, and it was so opaque that you could only ever make out black structures that looked so spooky..."

"And you must have been afraid of it?" Heahmund said, and Anna nodded.

"Who knows any more sagas? Does anyone maybe know games that involve old Halloween traditions?" Heahmund asked to the group, and several students came forward.

"Tim."

"My big sister once got a Ouija board with her friends on Halloween, and they... tried to call a dead friend through the board. They've never touched it since. She told me things moved around the room and the lights suddenly went out," Tim recounted; several girls in the room looked at each other aghast and began whispering excitedly, while Heahmund pressed his lower back against the desk.

"Stories like that scare you, of course, but it can also be fantasy. There are so many ancient legends and customs that, because of their history, already grasp the origins of fear. For example, the superstition that you should never look in the mirror at the stroke of midnight," he explained, and the teenagers fell silent; they looked at their history teacher intently.

"Why not?" Irina asked, and Heahmund grinned slightly.

"They say it makes you see your inner monster, or your inner witch. There are various games you can try in the dark, but they mostly play with your seventh sense, or simply your perception. The basic idea of fear plays a central role in this. Does anyone know of anything else?"

It took a moment, but then suddenly, quite hesitantly, a finger lifted from the back row; Heahmund's eyes met the shy Natalie, who always spoke very little, even though she had good grades. The others did not like her so much; however, to Heahmund she was a nice girl who was just a little quiet. He nodded to her with a smile; she looked around shyly, then said softly, "You told us once about the Vikings, and about their age. I know a saga about it."

Heahmund raised his eyebrows; he had always loved the subject of Vikings and didn't even know until now that there were customs here, too - or at least ghost stories that the young people told each other. "Really? Ah, very nice! Of course, when someone includes real history, it's always exciting. Tell us more, Nathalie!"

Nathalie hesitated for a moment; her fingers buried in her sweater.

"You told us about Ragnar Lothbrok and his sons back then. And I know a... legend. It says that at the stroke of midnight you are supposed to stand in front of the mirror, and if you... well, if you say Bloody Boneless three times, the Viking tyrant Ivar the Boneless will appear in the mirror."

Heahmund felt a slight chill run down his spine; he had gone over the subject very carefully with the students, and he was fascinated by how much had stuck with her; he looked at her for a moment, then asked, "Have you ever tried it?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No, I wouldn't do it either. The stories about him are too scary for me."

"With Bloody Mary, after all, the legend goes much the same way, except she pokes your eyes out. What do you think Ivar the Boneless does, Nathalie?" Heahmund said; the class watched intently as Nathalie bit her lower lip softly.

"They say that he... that he kills you. With an object he finds on you." she whispered; for a moment, icy chills ran through the class, and the abrupt ringing of the bell elicited a cry from some; Heahmund laughed.

"All's well, we'll see each other again on Wednesday. Until then, please read up on the customs about the Salem Witches' Night and do assignment 10 on it."

Heahmund waited until the class was completely empty; he smiled at the students, then scratched his chin lightly. Ghost stories, what nonsense. Of course, he knew none of these things were true; even though he loved seeing the shocked faces of the teenagers.

Bloody Boneless, what a nonsense....

 

§---§---§

 

It was late in the evening when Heahmund stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom; for a moment he looked at his dark hair, and then got his toothbrush ready. The clock on his shelf showed just before midnight; so, he still had some time.

Something on the back of his neck prickled as he brushed his teeth and walked slowly up and down the hallway; the rain was still casting gloomy shadowy shapes on the windows in his house, and the wind was clearly audible. If he wasn't mistaken, he had also heard a thunderstorm coming from a safe distance - a terribly cozy autumn night that he was about to end with a good book in his bed. Yet he still carried his student's words from today in his ear; that strange story about Ivar the Boneless.

Heahmund had devoted much of his studies to the Viking field, and it was still his favorite part of history. Perhaps he could joke with the children and pretend that the story about the mirror was true. He was sure that the teenagers - at least a couple of them - would not be able to sleep for nights if Heahmund continued Nathalie's story. He grunted softly in amusement before standing back in the bathroom and washing out his mouth.

When he lifted his head, the clock read 11:59 p.m., and Heahmund fixed his bright eyes on the mirror; his own reflection was staring back at him, albeit still with a somewhat wet beard. As the digital clock read midnight, Heahmund exhaled deeply. His hands clawed tightly into the porcelain of the basin, and he said softly in his deep voice:

"Bloody Boneless."

Once, and the rain whipped harder against the window; it was nothing unusual, for the storm had been predicted. Heahmund snorted softly; he felt a little crazy and silly, but he took another breath and said:

"Bloody Boneless."

Far away in the dark of the night there was a low rumbling; but the storm was still too far away for Heahmund to hear it clearly. Nothing happened; Heahmund grinned slightly at his own image in the mirror, and then quietly muttered a third:

"Bloody Boneless."

It happened all of a sudden; the lights in the bathroom began to flicker all at once, and with a ripping thunderclap, it abruptly went dark; just once, the light of the bathroom mirror still flickered on, causing Heahmund to let out a scream.

For a millisecond, the gruesomely contorted face of an angry young man had appeared in it, that undoubtedly belonged to Ivar the Boneless. But the lights came back on, and Heahmund stared perplexedly into the mirror; his hands trembled, and he wore white marks on his knuckles, so tightly had he clutched at the basin. When his bright eyes fell on the mirror again, he could see only his own face in it. No trace of that grimace.

Heahmund exhaled deeply and ran his hand over his forehead, shivering slightly; it was just as he himself had said in his lessons: the brain knew it was seeing something, and imagined it. The thunder had been a coincidence, of course, and had contributed to that brief anxiety -but it had been a horrible experience.

"Amazing, a brain like that.", Heahmund muttered to himself, slightly breathless, before turning off the bathroom light and turning towards the hallway. Just for a brief moment, for the fragile blink of an eye, he imagined that he saw a black, crooked shadow in the mirror that clearly could not belong to him. But it could just have been the shower curtain.

Heahmund hurried to get to the bedroom; the mirrors in the hallway suddenly didn't seem so trustworthy, especially since a bright flash additionally illuminated the hallway. Heahmund had never really been the fearful type; never. He didn't believe in ghosts and stories; he believed in the measurable reality of people. But this experience had given even him a deep goose bump on the back of his neck that he couldn't shake off. When he arrived in the bedroom, he closed the door behind him; the hallway was silent, however, as he took one last look inside before turning out the light there as well.

He had another mirror in the bedroom that he had a good view of; normally he loved it, especially for certain evenings; but now a strange feeling came over him. He looked at the mirror slightly critically, and yet decided against taking it down - he wasn't that anxious now. Everything was explainable, really everything. The blackout, the flickering, even his hallucination. There was nothing to worry about or be afraid of.

He turned on the small light on his nightstand and leaned back against the end of the bed; he covered himself lightly and began reading his book. He loved this atmosphere while reading; there was a storm outside, and he was inside with a book in a warm bed, and he didn't even have to get up early tomorrow, since he didn't have class until the last period. He enjoyed such evenings very much; only sometimes he felt lonely.

The house was only blanketed by the sound of rain and thunderstorms; however, as Heahmund was turning a page, his eyes caught something out of the corner of his eye. It was a dark movement, a quick, barely visible movement, but it shot up the back of Heahmund's neck so quickly and tinglingly that he could not have imagined it.

His gaze went up to the mirror; it was still standing there motionless, and nothing but the room was reflected in it; this weather was playing tricks on his eyes, he was sure of it. And those damn children's stories. He shouldn't have done that shit with the mirror.

Heahmund averted his eyes again; he continued to read in silence when suddenly he heard an unfamiliar noise - it sounded like something hitting the ground sharp and hard, like some kind of knife or axe; but it was almost too heavy for that. Heahmund raised his head and stared around the room, but he could see nothing; yet he could have sworn that this strange sound had come directly from his room. He wrinkled his nose slightly; the sound appeared again, only this time it was ten times louder. And it was almost as if a dark shadow was creeping out from under the doorframe....

Heahmund jumped out of bed. Maybe it was a burglar! He went towards the door, saw exactly the strange shadows on the wooden floor, which looked as if someone with crutch was standing in front of the door - his neck tingled wildly, and he suppressed the fantasy in his head - when with a sudden movement he tore open the door.

"Ha!" he cried; but there was no one in the hall. Heahmund stared open-mouthed into the hallway, and then at the floor - the shadow was gone. He took a deep breath in and out, as he closed the door behind him with a soft sound. He needed to calm down, his imagination was starting to run away with him. It was nothing more than a scary fairy tale that teenagers told each other at their Halloween parties.

When he turned around, however, his body suddenly froze.

He couldn't move an inch even if he wanted to; his muscles seemed frozen, frozen like an icy body in deepest winter. His mouth was slightly open, and yet neither words nor air came out to breathe; for his bright eyes fell on the mirror.

There, in jet-black leather armor, leaning on a pointed, metal crutch, stood a young man with the brightest, bluest eyes Heahmund had ever encountered. He simply stood there in the mirror, no one in front of it, staring motionless in Heahmund's direction; his dark hair was braided in Viking splendor, and his face revealed that he had been through a lot; a small but legendary scar adorned the young man's face.

It took a while for Heahmund's body to release its rigidity; he took a deep shocked breath, and stared in disbelief at the image in the mirror. It was as if frozen; the young Viking in it did not move a bit, but only stared stubbornly in Heahmund's direction. It looked like a statue; Heahmund dared to come a little closer and walked with slow steps towards the large mirror.

A flash of lightning lit up the room, and the rumble of thunder gave the whole thing an impossibly creepy atmosphere. Although Heahmund's body was wrapped in icy cold and thick goose bumps, he walked forward until he was standing right in front of the mirror; the young man was a little shorter than him and stood slightly bent over by his crutch. But he did not move, not even when Heahmund touched the cold pane of the mirror with a slight swallow.

"You're not real. This isn't real. I'm dreaming.", Heahmund muttered darkly; the mirror felt normal, and nothing moved except for the flashes in the background.

It had to be a bad joke. Maybe someone had traded his mirror for a TV? Maybe this was a show? Those damn kids...

Heahmund hissed softly as he looked around the room; but he could see no cameras in the corners, and no feet or anything behind the curtains. There was nothing there...

He turned his gaze back to the mirror; still the young man stood there, but his eyes had changed direction. They were staring Heahmund right in the face now, and Heahmund had to swallow hard against his own horrible fear. He took his fingers away from the cool glass, and stared at the Viking as well.

"You are not real, Ivar the Boneless," Heahmund said darkly.

And suddenly, with the bright light of a flash of lightning and the cruel, violent thunder of the thunderstorm close by, he moved; the face moved jerkily, and his jaw cracked slightly before bright white teeth showed, looking almost like sharp knives in the flash of the thunderstorm; the corners of the young man's mouth lifted, and the bright eyes stared at him like the devil's face made flesh.

„dauði, Kristr.“ A high-pitched, strangely soft, yet scratchy voice shattered the silence of the bedroom, mixed with cruel cracking sounds; and Heahmund froze to ice again.

He took a shaking step back, but his eyes caught perfectly how the pointed end of the crutch pressed against the mirror from inside, and a thousand shards suddenly pattered on the floor; and with a firm and sweeping pulling motion, Ivar the Boneless pulled himself out of the mirror, incarnate.

„dauði, Kristr.“ - "Die, Christian." (correct me if it's wrong!)

[richincolor]

We have three books on our radar this week! Which ones are you interested in?

Forty Words for Love by Aisha Saeed Kokila

In this luminous young adult novel by New York Times bestselling author Aisha Saeed, two teen protagonists grow from friends to something more in the aftermath of a tragedy in their magical town. Moonlight Bay is a magical place—or it was once. After a tragic death mars the town, the pink and lavender waters in the bay turn gray, and the forest that was a refuge for newcomers becomes a scourge to the townspeople. Almost overnight, the entire town seems devoid of life and energy. The tourists have stopped coming. And the people in the town are struggling. This includes the two teens at the heart of our story: Yasmine and Rafay. Yasmine is a child of the town, and her parents are trying and failing to make ends meet. Rafay is an immigrant, a child of Willow Forest. The forest of Moonlight Bay was where people from Rafay’s community relocated when their home was destroyed. Except Moonlight Bay is no longer a welcoming refuge, and tensions between the townspeople and his people are growing. Yasmine and Rafay have been friends since Rafay first arrived, nearly ten years ago. As they've gotten older, their friendship has blossomed. Not that they would ever act on these feelings. The forest elders have long warned that falling in love with "outsiders" will lead to devastating consequences for anyone from Willow Forest. But is this actually true? Can Yasmine and Rafay find a way to be together despite it all? -- Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Writing in Color: The Lessons We've Learned edited by Nafiza Azad and Melody Simpson Margaret K. McElderry Books

So, you’re thinking of writing a book. Or, maybe you’ve written one, and are wondering what to do with it. What does it take to publish a novel, or even a short story? If you’re a writer of color, these questions might multiply; after all, there’s a lot of writing advice out there, and it can be hard to know how much of it really applies to your own experiences. If any of this sounds like you, you’re in the right place: this collection of essays, written exclusively by authors of color, is here to encourage and empower writers of all ages and backgrounds to find their voice as they put pen to page. Perhaps you’re just getting started. Here you’ll find a whole toolkit of advice from bestselling and award-winning authors for focusing on an idea, landing on a point of view, and learning which rules were meant to be broken. Or perhaps you have questions about everything beyond the first draft: what is it really like being a published author? These writers demystify the process, sharing personal stories as they forged their own path to publication, and specifically from their perspectives as author of color. Every writer has a different journey. Maybe yours has already started. Or maybe it begins right here. Contributors include: Julie C. Dao, Chloe Gong, Joan He, Kosoko Jackson, Adiba Jaigirdar, Darcie Little Badger, Yamile Saied Mendez, Axie Oh, Laura Pohl, Cindy Pon, Karuna Riazi, Gail D. Villanueva, Julian Winters, and Kat Zhang. -- Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Actually Super by Adi Alsaid Knopf Books for Young Readers

A globetrotting novel that takes a determined teen from Japan to Australia and to Argentina and Mexico on a quest to prove that humanity is more good than bad from the author of Let’s Get Lost and Before Takeoff. Isabel is having an existential crisis. She’s three years into high school, and everything she’s learned has only shaken her faith in humanity. Late one night, she finds herself drawn to a niche corner of the internet—a forum whose members believe firmly in one that there are indeed people out in the world quietly performing impossible acts of heroism. You might even call them supers . No, not in the comic book sense—these are real people, just like each of us, but who happen to have a power or two. If Isabel can find them, she reasons, she might be able to prove to herself that humanity is more good than bad. So, the day she turns 18, she sets off on a journey that will take her from Japan to Australia, and from Argentina to Mexico, with many stops along the way. She longs to prove one— just one— super exists to restore her hope for the future. Will she find what she’s looking for? And how will she know when—if—she does? -- Cover image and summary via Goodreads

[fablecore]

Feel free to ignore this, it Will Be Long, Probably.

I've been faffing around with this message for the past week or so but my brain won't let me rest until I word-vomit my adoration for your work and mind-mechanics at you.

I had to have re-read MNP about three or four times in said past week, and am currently on the probably fifth one, but who really knows at this point. I may have a slight problem.

The point I'm trying to make is that the pineapple witch has worked her magic on me as she has on so many others. Every re-read seems to pull me deeper. Even though I know exactly what will happen at this point, I still laugh at every mean quip, still gasp at every tense moment, still read through blurry eyes at Several Chapters That Shan't Be Named.

I honestly lack the vocabulary and word-sense to express myself properly, but I'll try anyway, because if nothing else your writing deserves to be sung its praises.

Your story made me honestly and critically consider the world with open eyes.

I find a lot of myself in Sophie. A little too much. A little too weird. A little bit sheltered, maybe naive. Blindfolded and ear-muffed would be a decent metaphor. It's been hard, growing out of that, but I've been trying. And reading your work has helped a lot.

Your writing, for lack of better wording, sparks. It's life, and joy, and familial banter, and struggle with all its ugly faces, and yes it's angry and vicious and unforgiving too. It slaps you with a novel view of the world and you either agree and move on or are forced to contemplate why exactly it rubs you the wrong way.

The care with which you crafted the story is evident in every word and comma and period. Several foreshadowed moments had me gripping my head and moaning in pain because I Knew what was coming, but I had to keep reading to find out how it impacts the world you built. The characters are lived in, and the dialogue flows so naturally it feels as if you're right in the middle of the bantering and arguing.

Which brings me to my next point: roomboom. I want to put them in my mouth and never let go.

They seem made for each other, and yeah they probably are, but you ruined all other Law ships for me. And to be honest all other OP crews too beside the Hearts. I love all the idiots to bits and pieces.

But back to roomboom. They're a particular flavour of weird devotion I didn't know I was looking for in my ships and will now never find again. I will be eternally forced to re-read MNP for a glimpse of what true love is. I hope you're happy.

The candid way they treat each other, the way they fit like puzzle pieces with their weirdo interests and weirdo personalities, the way they're their own people with Several Issues, but somehow seem to work out still despite their differences. The deep respect they have for each other and the people in their lives. The way they went from (I hate you and wanna beat you up why won't you die) to (I love you and wanna beat you up please let me die with you) is just... unbearable.

Their journey has been a long and winding one, amd still has some mole-hills ahead, but they've given me hope that for every weirdo out there, even a frizzy-haired, burnt-to-hell, panic farting alchemist-witch, there is an even weirder person waiting for them.

TLDR; I want to put the entirety of your writing into my mouth and swallow it, and also would it be alright to make a personal use bookbind of MNP because I need it in my hands.

(I'm deep in Cherry Bomb Alchemy atm, love how they already married and divorced like 5 times, peak roomboom energy, keep up the good work)

thank you so much, oh my goodness. my heart is so full ❣️ "for every weirdo out there, there is an even weirder person waiting for them" made me laugh. it's so true.

the thing about growing up is it never ends. it often takes a strong electric shock to get the ball rolling, and i'm happy mnp could be that for you. books were also my first step into the world beyond me. it's a really special feeling. for as long as we live, let's cherish it 😎 👍

please bookbind mnp! and please take photos! seeing it would mean everything to me, i think i would cry 😭🤍💗

i appreciate this message so much. i'm a slow writer, but i will keep trying my best. and i hope the world perceives you as wonderfully as you have perceived me. have a great day 💐💐💐

[joezworld]

Mind Reading, Soul Stealing, Red Eyed, Diesel Electric Monsters!

June, 2000

A new millennium dawned on the Island of Sodor, and with it came many changes that would have been unthinkable just a few years ago.

British Rail was no more, and the North Western Region was now the North Western Railway, free to operate as it pleased.

One of the first things that The Fat Controller did was purchase a new express train.

Gordon was apoplectic at this news, but the Fat Controller explained that this new service was to be a through train to London - steam engines hadn’t been allowed on the mainland rails for decades, and under British Rail, a new locomotive would take the coaches to and from London. Now that BR was no more, it was more economical to purchase a dedicated trainset and avoid the locomotive change at Barrow.

Furthermore, Gordon would still be rostered on the midday express and the Limited, both of which only went as far as Barrow.

Pip and Emma had visited Sodor once before, and had been well received by the other engines. However, once it was revealed that Gordon would be displaced from some of his trains, some engines became suspicious...

The engines had speculated that the Fat Controller would purchase a new diesel locomotive to haul the train, and were very surprised to discover that he had instead bought a high speed train!

-

"Ah canno' put ma buffer on it," Douglas admitted. "But they're doing something! Just look at how they act - the lasses must be scheming or something!"

"Ah'm tellin' ye - they are up ta something!" Douglas said to the other engines in the shed.

"And wha' might that be Douggie?" Asked Donald. Unlike his brother, he had no issue with the diesels, and was confused as to why his brother was so vehemently against them.

"Those two have been nothing but polite and cordial this entire time, and- oh bollocks." Duck began, before his eyes widened in realization. "Do not tell me that you have been listening to Oliver again!"

The other engines groaned - Oliver's escape from the mainland had put him in contact with some of the worst diesels that BR had ever fielded, and he still didn’t trust them as a result. Furthermore, his relatively isolated duties on the Little Western meant that his only real contact with diesels was limited to BoCo, Bear, and Delta - three engines who had all 'escaped' from the mainland in one form or another. He held a pessimistic view towards other diesels, and most of the engines had learned to tune him out as a result.

Apparently Douglas had not. "Ah have - and he's right! That's how it starts - they come in all peaceful and nice, and then Boom! All diesels all the time! Ah saw it happen once and ah'm not about to let it happen again!"

"Oh my god" said Donald and Duck in unison. They were going to have words with Oliver the next time they saw him.

-

Across the yard at the newly-built diesel shed, the diesels were listening to Douglas' ranting.

"Well, I'm glad that we haven't actually done anything to upset him." Pip said after a moment.

"I was worried that we'd said something." Emma chimed in from the back.

Bear rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, let me be the first to say that I am glad that you aren't actually evil monsters out to destroy steam traction."

Everyone laughed at that, and evidently did so just a little bit too loud, because...

"AH KNEW IT! They're conspiring against uz!" Douglas shouted from inside the shed.

The diesels stopped laughing and stared at the shed, while the steam engines began berating Douglas.

That brought a fresh wave of shouting from within the shed, while the diesels looked at each other incredulously.

The other engines weren't audible, but Douglas certainly was. "Well maybe no' on purpose! But ye don' know what these new things ken do! They might 'ave mind control powers or something!"

"Mind control powers?" Bear said with a raised eyebrow. "Where does he even get that from?"

"Is that normal?" Said Pip, suddenly concerned about having to work with these engines on a regular basis.

"Not especially." Said Delta. "But when it does happen, they're like this until they suffer a karmically appropriate pratfall, at which point they realize that they've been stupid and apologize."

The others stared at her.

"What?" She protested. "Why do you think I never get too big for my wheels if I can help it? I've read the books! I know what happens to the rest of you!"

Bear and BoCo exchanged a significant look, while Pip looked thoughtful.

"So, that pratfall," she said slowly, a sly look spreading across her face. "Do you lot feel like speeding up when it happens?"

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

And so they did.

Henry and James were soon involved in this scheme by virtue of being 'involved' with Bear and Delta, and spent the next several days figuring out exactly what Oliver and Douglas were saying about Pip and Emma. They eventually compiled a long list of imagined abilities, including mind control, telepathy, soul-stealing, invisibility, and the ability to lie with a straight face.

(The steam engines disputed that last point, but all the diesels agreed that it was the only thing on the list that was true.)

-

A week later, they first sprang their plan. Douglas was idling at the big station as Pip and Emma loaded their passengers. He made a conscious effort to ignore the HST set, which was helped somewhat by Bear backing into the track in between him and them.

Then things began to go strangely.

"Oh, not much. How about you?" Bear said in response to nothing.

Douglas looked around to see who he could be talking to, and found nobody else.

"Very interesting." Continued Bear. "I'd never considered that before. Is that new?"

After a moment of silence: "I see."

A pause.

"I wonder how that would work on this Island?"

Silence.

"Really?"

More silence.

"Well I would have never guessed!"

Douglas began to wonder if he was losing his mind when Pip's guard blew his whistle and the HST rolled away towards Barrow.

After a long moment, Douglas spoke up. "Bear, who were ye talking to?"

"Pip?" Bear said, confused.

"No ye weren’t!" Exclaimed Douglas. "Ye were talkin' to thin air!"

"I was not! We were having a most interesting conversation. I'm surprised you didn't hear it, considering we were right next to you."

"Ye said nuthin!" Douglas protested.

"I think you need to get your hearing checked." Bear said as he pulled away with his goods train. He broke into a wide smile as soon as he was out of sight.

--

Next it was Oliver. He made a rare trip beyond the Little Western to collect a train of China Clay from Wellsworth. BoCo was asleep in the station's bay platform when he arrived, so Oliver quietly collected the clay wagons.

As he waited at the signal to leave, Oliver noticed that BoCo was mumbling in his sleep.

"No... mustn't... listen... to... evil... no one... controls... me..."

"BoCo?!" Oliver yelped, suddenly concerned by the diesel's mumbling.

"Huh?!" BoCo sprang to wakefulness suddenly, and Oliver would have sworn that for a split second, there was a red glint in BoCo's eyes. "Oh, hullo Oliver. Fancy seeing you out on the main line."

"You were talking in your sleep!" Oliver said, forgoing any pleasantries.

"I suppose I might have been." BoCo confessed. "I haven't been sleeping very well recently - none of us diesels have."

As Oliver began even more concerned than he had been mere seconds ago, the home signal on the main line dropped to 'clear', and Pip and Emma roared through the station bound for Tidmouth.

As they passed, Oliver jumped slightly - Pip, who was facing him, glared at him as he passed. It was especially unsettling because modern diesels had their end-of-train lamps built into their eyes, so Pip's pupils were bright red as she glared back at Oliver and BoCo.

"She's up to something..." Oliver said to BoCo.

BoCo said nothing in return, and when Oliver looked over, he almost jumped off the rails - BoCo's eyes were the same red colour as Pip's and he was staring into the middle distance.

"She isn't up to anything Oliver..." BoCo said hollowly. "Why would you say that...?"

Oliver squealed in terror, and fled onto the main line as soon as his signal dropped.

BoCo waited until Oliver's train had vanished from sight before turning his lights off and laughing hysterically.

----------

This continued for some time - Oliver and Douglas would see one of the diesels, and the diesels would act strangely at the mention of Pip and Emma.

By the end of the week, Oliver was jumping at shadows, and Douglas was telling his conspiracy theories to any engine that would listen.

"So then Delta gets this faraway look in ‘er eye an' she clams up!" Douglas crowed one morning at Knapford station. “An’ there was no other engine there! She musta’ been talking to them while they wuz invisible!”

Thomas was spellbound. "And then what happened?"

Henry was not. "And then Douglas discovered that there was a reasonable explanation to whatever just happened and learned not to tell tales to impressionable tank engines."

"Ah am not! They. Are. Up. Ta. Somethin'!" Douglas railed at the green engine. "Look, there's Bear now! Let's just see - he's gonna do somethin' if we watch him close enough."

Bear tooted his horn in greeting as he rolled by with a slow goods train. Seeing Oliver and Henry, he quickly flashed his red lights and dropped his engine down a gear as he rolled between Henry and Douglas.

"Play along!" He whispered to Henry as he went by, the noise of his engine masking the words.

Henry blinked. That was an unexpected move... He watched the goods train roll by - it didn't feel right, pranking Douglas like that.

The goods train hadn’t even gone past yet, and he could already hear Douglas ranting about how Bear was a "red-eyed scheming devil!"

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. He thought as he listened to Douglas make blameless accusations about his fiancé. To hell with it then.

"What did he say?!" Douglas bellowed after the train passed. "Ah heard 'im say something to ye Henry! What did the devil say to ye?!"

Henry, trying his best to keep his face neutral, looked at Douglas in shock. "Oh hello Douglas! When did you get here?"

Bear's train cleared the signal block, and Henry steamed out of the station, leaving Douglas raving about "memory alterin' beasties!"

The engines looked up as Donald steamed up to the diesel shed. 

“Ah knoo ye lot are doin’ this - knock it off before ma brother completely loses his marbles.” He said firmly. 

“Is he going to stop saying that we’re mind controlling demons?” Bear retorted. 

The steam engine sighed deeply. “Ah want ye to know that he wasnae sayin that before ye started, but ah’ll talk to ‘im. Mebbe we can work something out.”

He steamed back to the sheds. Within a few minutes the sound of Scottish-accented shouting burst from the sheds. 

This continued for some time, to the point where Henry had his driver pull him out of the shed to escape the noise. 

Eventually, both twins emerged from the shed, Donald looking aggrieved and Douglas much more subdued. 

“Ah’m sorry.” The twin eventually said. “Ah think that ah might have let this whole ‘new diesel’ thing get to me a bit more than ah should’ve.”

There was some muttering from Bear and Pip before BoCo shushed them. “We accept your apology Douglas. Sometimes we can all go a little overboard -”

“I don’t.” Interrupted Delta.

“You hid from the Thin Clergyman.” BoCo glared at her before continuing. “We all can go a little overboard at times, so I’m glad that we can now put this behind us. Friends?”

“Friends.” Douglas said after a moment.

“Good!” Cried a voice from inside Donald’s cab as Siobhan poked her head out. “Now that we’re done torturin’ me Da’ for being thick, I wan’ to know somethin - how did all of you manage to make yer eyes turn red like that?”

“Oh, this?” BoCo said as he turned on his red lamps, making his eyes glow red. “It really is just something we were built with.”

The other diesels blinked theirs as well to show that it was not an unusual thing to be equipped with. 

“Oh that is so creepy.” Siobhan shivered. "I love it!"

--

“Oh no.” Oliver gasped as he watched the diesels flash their mind-control rays at Donald and Douglas. “They got to them.”

“What do we do?” Whispered Thomas from the next platform over. 

“I don’t know!”

-------

After the truce between Douglas and the Diesels, life became much more peaceful on Sodor. 

Unless you were on Thomas’ branch line. 

Because only Thomas and Daisy regularly travelled down to the big station at Tidmouth, the rest of the engines on the line learned most of their news from the main line engines when they met at Knapford station. This meant that information was slow and sometimes unreliable on the best of days. 

Now that Thomas actively believed that Pip and Emma had mind-controlled the rest of the engines, that information stream became warped and distorted very quickly. 

Matters were made worse when Daisy was sent to the works for several weeks to have her engine rebuilt. To keep up with traffic, The Fat Controller sent an engine to assist, and Oliver was the first to volunteer. 

The branch line quickly descended into hysteria.

Looking back on this series of events, it is mind-boggling that none of the big engines noticed, however, they had assumed that Douglas had told Oliver that it was all a prank, and that Oliver was an engine that could be reasoned with. 

Furthermore, Gordon, now displaced from the morning and evening express, was insistent on trying out other passenger runs to see if he enjoyed them. This meant that the engines who normally pulled those trains were also displaced from their duties, meaning that the engines who usually met Percy, Thomas, and Daisy’s trains on a regular basis were instead arriving at Knapford on random days and times. The sudden paranoia of the branch line engines was therefore overlooked or dismissed as ‘tank engines being tank engines’.

Matters were made worse when Daisy returned from the works, allowing Oliver to return to the Little Western. 

Daisy was due to return around lunchtime, and so Oliver took his train to Tidmouth, and then immediately continued on with a train to Arlesburgh, while Daisy took the return service to Ffarquhar. 

The other engines on the branch were busy with trains at the north end of the line, and didn’t know that Daisy was returning that day. From their perspective, Oliver was ‘vanished’ by ‘them’, and replaced with a diesel interloper. 

The fact that Daisy had been on the branch line for almost fifty years at that point was immaterial. 

“How do we know that you’re really Daisy?” Percy asked late that night. “What if you’ve been mind-controlled by them to make us into your thralls?”

“Because if I was,” Daisy hissed, acid practically dripping off of her tongue. “I would have done it already. Go. To. Sleep!”

No more was said that night, but the other engines continued to view Daisy with suspicion. 

Daisy, now thoroughly unamused, began asking the big engines if mind control was something that she could actually do - just so that she could get some peace and quiet! 

This did not ease the branch line engine’s concerns at all. 

Daisy found that sleep was much harder to come by as a result.

-

Things eventually came to a head when an extremely sleep deprived Daisy backed down onto the milk van a little bit too hard. The shunter had failed to set the van’s brakes, and it rolled away down the hill towards the next station. 

Percy and Thomas had, as the result of a lost bet, switched jobs that day, which meant that Percy, Annie, and Clarabel were halfway up the hill behind Daisy when the milk van rattled into view. 

“Horrors!” Percy cried as his crew applied the brakes and jumped clear. 

The damage to Percy’s front wasn’t catastrophic, but it was bad enough for the breakdown train crew to put him on a flatbed so he could be taken to the works to be looked over. Clarabel, who was behind Percy and took a nasty bump in the collision, accompanied him. 

Wendell was sympathetic as he collected them, but Percy was still wary, especially because his flatbed had been coupled up to Wendell facing backwards, meaning that neither he nor Clarabel could see if the diesel had been mind-controlled. 

Wendell’s shocked laughter when Percy told him this was not encouraging. 

-

The trip went normally until they arrived at Kildane. There, another engine was waiting, and attached itself to the back of the train. Percy and Clarabel eyed it suspiciously. It looked like a diesel, but one they had never met before, and had a strange metal contraption on its roof, which it lowered before they set off again. 

���Hi!” The engine chirped as the train set off. “I’m Abbey! Who are you?”  

“Percy...” He said cautiously. Clarabel stayed silent.

As it turned out, Abbey was an electric locomotive. She wasn’t new to the island by any means, but she had arrived after Percy had begun working on Thomas’ branch full-time, so they’d never met. She was very chatty, very curious, and had no idea what Percy and Clarabel were talking about. 

“Mind-Control Rays?” She laughed as they rolled towards Kellsthorpe Road station. “How would that even work?”

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that if their eyes turn red and then they look at you, you’re done for!”

“Red eyes?” Abbey looked thoughtful. “Do you mean reversing lights? We have them built into our eyes so we don’t need lamps!” 

“What?” Percy was baffled. 

“Yeah! It’s something that all engines have nowadays.” Abbey’s brows scrunched together in thought. “I think that mine has an emergency backup battery... let me try...”

After a moment of squinting, the pupil of Abbey’s left eye flickered into a very familiar red gaze. 

-

Wendell was not paying attention to the conversation behind him at all, and was startled to attention when Percy and Clarabel began screaming. 

“What in the world is going on?!” He shouted, trying to look behind himself and see what was happening. 

“I don’t know!” Cried Abbey. “They just started screaming!”

The commotion drew the attention of Wendell’s driver and second man as well, which meant that nobody on the train noticed as the Kellsthorpe Road home signal suddenly dropped to ‘Danger’ as they drew nearer to it.

The train rumbled past the signal without stopping, and approached the station at speed. Wendell finally looked forward, and saw members of the station staff waving their arms at him as they tried to right a massively overloaded porter’s trolley that had fallen over on the foot crossing. 

“Diesel and Oil! Stop the train! Stop the Train!” He shouted, drawing his driver’s attention, who applied the brakes as they entered the station. 

“I want you to tell me what happened one more time.” The Fat Controller said as seriously as one could while standing ankle deep in tin foil. The station was covered in the stuff, as was Wendell, Percy, Clarabel, and Abbey.

“The porter’s trolley was a consignment of tinfoil going to a restaurant supply store in town.” The stationmaster started. “It came in on the last train, and then it fell. We tried to make them stop-”

“I threw the signal! I did!” The signalman interjected. “They just didn’t see it!”

“No, we didn’t.” Wendell’s driver admitted, shamefaced. “We were trying to see why -”

“Percy was screaming.” Finished the Fat Controller.  

“Yes sir.”

“Why was Percy screaming?” 

“We don’t know sir.”

“Abbey might!” Wendell chipped in while trying to blow flecks of tin foil out of his nose. “She was talking to them when they started screaming.”

-

As it turned out, Abbey knew exactly why Percy (and Clarabel) had been screaming, and was willing to talk about it at length. 

The Fat Controller's eyebrows rose into his hairline and stayed there as Abbey kept talking. Percy and Clarabel remained silent, although it was impossible to determine whether it was out of fear, stubbornness, or embarrassment. 

“Mind Control powers? Really?” The Fat Controller wanted to be upset, but just could not manage it. “Where on earth did that come from?”

“Oliver sir!” Percy finally spoke up. “He said that the diesels were taking over the island with their evil powers!”

A surprised sounding "oh no!” rose from the next platform - Henry was waiting with The Limited, and had heard most of Abbey’s explanation. 

“Do you have something to add to this?” The Fat Controller asked Henry, unsure how this story could get any more ridiculous. 

-

Henry did have something to add. 

-

“Sir, are you all right?” His assistant asked as they returned to the car. 

“I’m fine.” The Fat Controller managed. “I just need a moment.”

He shut the door to the car behind him, and as soon as he was alone, he laughed until he cried.