28beesyellingatonce

[28beesyellingatonce]

Alright, so I wrote this over a year ago now, after watching Venom in theatres. A friend of mine and I devised a whole symbiote au for the juniverse together and this is a part of the result, although the influence of Venom is unlikely to be discernable based on this segment alone. I kinda want to go back to it, but also when I wrote it we were all still dying waiting for Nureyev's return, and that influences the story significantly.

Also it's a rewrite of the first season, and I'm not sure how well I can truly pull that off, so there's that lol. Anyway, for context for this snippet, as it's certainly not the beginning:

It takes place sometime after Murderous Mask, but before the next time Juno encounters Nureyev.

Rita isn't Juno's secretary/friend/whatever she is, and in fact Juno hasn't even met her yet (you don't actually need to know this for the snippet, but I felt like sharing anyway)

The note at the end of Murderous Mask was signed only as Nureyev, no mention of a first name

And finally, Rex Glass wore entirely navy blue, everything from his suit to his glasses and earrings were blue. This is important, honest.

...

Juno downed the last of his drink with a vengeance. Determined to drown out the world and any memories he’d ever made under the numbing weight of cheap whiskey and sticky bar stools. He signaled the bartender for another, but found the glass taken from him lightly by long, deft fingers.

“I think you’ve had quite enough, Detective.” Nureyev said, and Juno looked up just in time to watch as he gracefully downed the entire drink and licked his lips ever so slowly as he returned the glass to the counter. He looked different than Juno remembered, like something had shifted and revealed more of who he really was. Part of that might have been the clothing, because where Rex Glass was awash with a dark navy blue, stark and stunning and more eye-catching than something that must have been designed for subtlety should ever have been, the man that stood in front of him now was unassuming, still classily dressed but understated. As if he knew he didn’t need a showy outfit to draw the attention of the one person that mattered. And aside from the chained earring he still wore, there wasn’t a single hint of blue on him, which seemed... Intimate? Juno wasn’t really sure, but it certainly didn’t feel right, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with that information.

“Whatever game you’re playing, Nureyev, I’m not interested. Not tonight.”

“No games, Detective,” there was a pause as Nureyev lightly sat himself on the seat next to Juno, before he continued in a tone that came across more vulnerable than it was probably meant to, “And... Call me Peter, for now, anyway.”

“Is that another fake name you’ve cooked up for the occasion?”

“Not precisely.”

[28beesyellingatonce]

This was written back in January, based on the thought my friend @honeysuckle-knight had that in the lore of Changeling: The Lost, Toby Williams would be a changeling, and Sarah faetouched. As with everything else, I have no idea if I’ll continue working on it or not.

...

It started only a day after her adventure in the labyrinth, people that didn’t look like people, looked... off, in more ways than one. More often than could be passed off as a trick of the light, but not so often as to seem entirely real. There was maybe one a day, every other day when she was lucky, a man with fish eyes and gills here, a girl with a face so sunken it looked like a skull, someone with ears pointed like a fairytale elf’s and eyes of a bright shining magenta. She did her best to ignore it, just an overactive imagination like her step-mother said. And so too she ignored the way Toby’s eyes were now mismatched in a way they hadn’t been before. She was just tired, or stressed, or hormonal, or something. It hadn’t been real, couldn’t be real. So why did she so desperately want to go back?

Nearly a month later, while she was out running errands with Toby (her father and step-mother were spending the weekend away, and she had surprised them both with her ready agreement to babysit. When had she become so mature?) one of the strange looking people approached her. She recognised them, dark hair so black it seemed to absorb all light around it and papery skin so thin it was almost translucent, she’d seen them at least once a week over the last month, always far enough away that it could easily be coincidence, but that seemed unlikely now.

“You’re awfully young, aren’t you?” they asked while leaning over the pram, then they turned their head to address Sarah, “No Fetch I take it?”

“What?” Sarah blinked, pulling back from the strange person just a little, she wasn’t sure what was going on, but in her mind there was only one likely possibility, “You can’t have him. And you can tell Jareth to stop playing games with me. He has no power over me.”

She glared and picked Toby up to hold him close, just in case. The paper-skinned person frowned, their head tilting inhumanly to one side as they stepped back to stare at Sarah

“Brave girl, stupid girl” they shook their head with a smile, “Come with me, don’t worry I’ve nothing to do with the king of goblins”

Sarah didn’t budge, she kept Toby hugged tight against her and watched the person walk away. Once they were a good few feet away, she deposited Toby back in his pram and quickly went the other way with him. The rest of her errands could wait.

She wasn’t bothered again for a few weeks, although she still saw the not-quite-people around and about. This time she was on her own, in the park reading, trying to find the joy she’d had in her red leather book in something else. That book just wasn’t right anymore.

This time it was a girl who couldn’t have been much older than Sarah herself. She was vibrant and energetic, her hair pulled back into a large puff and her dark skin covered with colourful blotches of paint. She was among the most human of these people Sarah had seen, when you discounted the way her skin shimmered in the sunlight and the crisp warm breeze that followed her approach despite the chilly gusts the rest of the day had brought. Sarah watched her for a moment, she was beautiful there was no denying that, but, among other things, the labyrinth had taught her not to be taken in by a pretty face.

“What’re you reading?” the girl asked as she flopped down beside Sarah. The response she got was a brief glance before Sarah returned to her book without a word, “Alright, fair enough”

The girl didn’t say anything more, just pulled a sketchbook from her bag and began to draw in silence next to Sarah.

Well over an hour, possibly two, had passed and the sky was growing dark by the time Sarah closed her book. She hadn’t intended to stay so long, but she’d lost track of time, and the company, although uncomfortable at first, had genuinely been nice. She stood to leave, and the girl looked up with a bright smile before she tore something out of her sketchbook and held it out to Sarah,

“Here” was all she said, and Sarah took it with a mumbled word of thanks before the chiming of the belltower startled them both.

[28beesyellingatonce]

So as far as I can tell, the Lavender Jack fandom is basically non-existent. Which is a great pity, and more people should read the fantastic webcomic

Also I wrote a fic, that is utterly self-indulgent and a crossover with Jeeves and Wooster

[28beesyellingatonce]

I wrote this back in october, I'm still working on the fic it's from but this opening has been discarded. In some ways it stands on it's own and I still really like it.

So I present for your enjoyment: Bertie musing on the differences between some people's daemons and other's.

...

Brighter men than I have considered the nature of those parts of our very souls that walk beside us, but it has always been something of an interest of mine, well more of a passing notion perhaps, a recurring thought, a niggle at the back of one’s head, about just why some people adore the way their daemon comes out, whilst others are left with something that seems more trouble than anything else. And then there are those with forms that seem tailor made to trick the casual observer, much like the personalities of their people no doubt. But I fear I’ve gotten rather off track. What I was coming to, in a roundabout sort of way, is that one should consider the Fink-Nottle.

Not the most palatable of things to consider even on one of the finest of days, certainly, but there is a purpose to my drivelling, I swear. As I say, one should consider the Fink-Nottle. Known best for his love of newts is Gussie, and that’s precisely the thing. Gussie the newt fancier is accompanied every which way by Hattie, who happened to settle while we were at public school, as- and I’m sure the astute amongst you can already guess at this- a newt. Something he was dashed well delighted about at the time, and that sentiment has never once faded from him. The question one naturally asks, upon meeting one such as Gussie, is whether Hattie is a newt because of his obsession or vice versa. Although I’m not convinced one will ever receive an answer to said question.

Now that we have considered the Fink-Nottle as much as we care to, consider the Bertram. I love my Setty, of course, I can’t imagine how one could not care for that which is a part of their very being. But that aside, there’s something to be questioned about him. The first of the somethings to be questioned being that last word of course, which was not an error, much to the dismay of my Aunt Agatha. Septimus is rather an odd beast, and I shouldn’t wonder that decent chunk of my aunts trying to fob me off onto the nearest beazel stems directly from his being, well, a he. It’s not proper you see, one can’t help but see the connotations. Well, beyond that small issue that has sought to make my life far more interesting, Setty settled rather late, as these things go, and- again to the chagrin, if that’s the word I want, of my dratted Aunt A.- as a beagle. And a rather small one at that. So now you see the crux of the matter, on the one hand, you have the Fink-Nottles, enamoured and off to the races with their daemon, and on the other you have the Bertrams, with a daemon that only raises questions and leads to conflict with aunts of the troll-like persuasion.