#Castle: Murder Most Fowl

[daechwitatamic]

The Price || MYG

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you call yours: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more in exchange for her grace. But the Queen has just named her latest price: the life of the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: language, drinking, there’s a plague and it’s a problem, reader’s parents died (see the previous warning lol) and there are scenes of her grieving process, reader is a hunter so there’s mentions of animal carcasses and hides, lots of mentions of reader’s big fancy knife, a murder attempt, kissing, nip stim, groping, fingering, clit stim, penetrative sex (protection not mentioned either way), reader on top, angst, unhappy/ambiguous ending

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

//

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

There are pros and cons to living outside the village. The pros are that you’re mostly left alone - you live by your own laws, most of the time. It’s better this way; you come and go as you please, you don’t worry about latest fashions or gossip, you aren’t under the thumb of any societal niceties or norms. You concern yourself more with what the forest tells you. Bad weather, humans who don’t belong, sickness on the horizon - the forest knows it all, and you know how to listen.

You knew about the plague - in a vague, something isn’t right here kind of way - days before the first villager fell sick. You didn’t see anything bigger than a possum for three days - you knew something was in the air. It was the baker first, then his wife. Now it’s made its way into the castle, the guards and servants falling like flies. 

Another pro - you won’t pick up illness from the baker if you make your own bread in your tiny cabin in the woods. 

The main con - the only con, really - is that when you make your weekly trek to the castle to present the King and Queen with your scores (deer, mostly, but usually a few fowl too) it takes so damn long to get there.

It would be faster on foot, much faster, but you have to load your kills onto a cart and take the dirt road, which winds and twists and takes its time. Today your cart is loaded: venison, fowl, a few rabbits, even a fox. That had been a good score. The Queen likes furs - she’ll pay you well for it.

But the trip into town once a week is a fair price for your freedom, you think.

A few vendors through the heart of town wave hello as you pass. You lift your hand in response but don’t stop. You’ll shop after, when your cart is empty and your purse is full. For now, you stay on the main road until it changes over from tamped-down dirt to cobblestone to, eventually, flat stone that leads to the bridge over the castle’s moat. 

The usual guard, the one who knows your face and always waves you through, isn’t there. You wonder if the plague reached him, if he’ll recover or if they’ll send his body to the sea like all the others. 

You show identification, the card nearly illegible due to how many times it’s been folded and stuffed into your shoe for safekeeping, and this new guard waves you on. 

As usual, you stop in the courtyard just inside the first set of walls. You hop down and start undoing the straps of the fabric you have over the top of the cart. Two guards join you, and they begin moving your scores down from the cart. Each is weighed and given a quick once-over as a scribe stands to the side recording it all.

“Make sure you mention how nice that hide is,” you tell him, pointing at the fox. “I got that one special, for her.”

The scribe rolls his eyes a little, but you see him peer at the fox and scribble something on his little parchment. When they’re done, your cart empty, the scribe rolls his paper up and leads you up the steps towards the main doors to the castle. You flip one of the guards a silver coin and follow the scribe. As you head up the steps, you hear the sound of your horse’s feet moving across the stone, the cart creaking and groaning behind him, as the guard you paid takes him to be cared for. 

Inside, you follow the thick, red carpet into the throne room. You’re surprised to see only the Queen present, but you school your face and drop into a bow anyway, your forehead brushing the soft carpeting. 

When you rise, you see the scribe has handed her the parchment, and she reads over the report of your goods. You wait, knowing better than to speak until she has. 

“A good week,” she observes. 

“Yes, your Grace,” you say, eyes on the carpet. “I was pleased as well.”

“Are you well?” she asks as she signals for her Chief of Coin, who scurries close to the throne and lowers his head to hear her whispers. 

“Quite well,” you say automatically, though you’re not sure what exactly she’s asking. Does she mean your health? Your home? 

The Chief of Coin makes his way to you and you pull your practically-empty purse from your back pocket. 

“You have need of nothing?” she asks. 

This would be your opportunity to ask after anything major - repairs on your home, medicine, anything you couldn’t get during your walk back through town.

“No, your Grace,” you say. “I had need of a new blade, but the local smith took my request.”

The local smith and your new blade are one of your stops on your way home. 

“I’ve heard from the citadel,” she tells you, and you pull your eyes away from the Chief of Coin to look at her. “They say your brother is doing well. He’s applying himself to his studies.”

When you’d lost your parents, you’d begged to keep your brother yourself, desperate to keep him away from the citadel’s orphanage. You were of age, could handle yourself. You could handle him, too, you’d argued. 

The King had considered this. Your family was well-known in the village, and your father had hunted for the crown for many years. Your brother was only about five years out from finishing his schooling. 

You were investments, you and your brother.

In the end, the deal had been struck - the crown would see to the rest of his education under the condition that when he finished he’d work for the crown, pay back his debt, begin to build his own name. 

And, in the meantime, you’d take over the hunting. You could keep your family’s little cabin out in the woods, away from town. Your brother wouldn’t be apprenticed off to a stranger.

It was an easy deal to agree to. 

“We’re grateful for the opportunity,” you say to the Queen. “If the report said anything less, I’d travel there to knock sense into him, myself. He’s at that age. You know.”

You try to bite back a cringe. The Queen might not know. She’d never been able to bear a child for the King. 

She smiles at this, thinly.  “Very well,” she says, and you take back your now-heavy purse from the Chief of Coin. “Then I shall see you next week. I wish you continued health in the upcoming days.”

You nod your head. “I wish the crown health and longevity,” you say. Head bowed, you miss the way her eyes tighten.

–

You pick up the goods you need - eggs, flour, and the like - on your way through town. You eye the tavern, tempted to stop for a pint. Alas, you are embarrassingly excited to get your new blade, so instead you carry on down the road towards the smithy. 

After tying up your horse - though he’s a lazy thing and probably wouldn’t wonder anyway, not with the cart hitched up - you head inside, following the sounds of a hammer striking metal. 

You wait until there’s a break in the noise and then shout a hey back towards the open door to let the team know they have a customer. 

There’s the sound of a heavy instrument being dropped to the ground, and you catch yourself smoothing your hair back. Stop it, you scold yourself, scowling. 

That’s the face that greets the youngest of the smithing team, Min Yoongi, as he steps into the shop, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light.

“Ah,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “Is it Thursday already?”

“Is my blade ready?” you ask, ignoring both his self-satisfied grin and his question. “Park Jihoon said I could get it today.”

At his boss’s name, Yoongi’s smirk fades until he’s all business again. He turns to the wall, where special orders are tacked. He searches until he finds yours. 

“It’s ready,” he grunts, reading the slip of parchment. “Wait here.”

He disappears into the back again, returning with a hefty-looking blade, sheathed in a leather case. 

He places it on the counter between you, pulls the blade from its case and turns it over so you can see each side.

You frown. “I didn’t order engraving on the case,” you say, jutting your chin towards the delicate design at the top. It curls in and around itself, all the way around. “I’d better not have to pay extra for that.”

“Ah, but he worked so hard on it!” Park Jihoon says cheerfully, appearing out of the back and clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. You keep your eyes on the knife; Yoongi looks steadfastly at the wall with the orders, a pink flush working up his neck. 

“It’s not extra,” he mutters. 

“I’m heading to Bridgeport,” the senior blacksmith tells Yoongi. “I’ll be back before sundown. You’ll be okay here?”

“Of course I will,” Yoongi says, disgruntled. Jihoon nods goodbye at you both and moves through the door, leaving you in silence. 

“What’s the price?” you ask, placing your purse on the counter and digging for coins. He turns the paper over so you can see what his boss wrote, and you slide him the payment. You work on attaching the blade’s sheath to your belt, ignoring how Yoongi watches you through heavy-hooded eyes. 

You know that look. You are ignoring that look. 

“Lovely,” you say, once you’re situated and ready to go. You swipe up your purse and toss it once, catching it deftly. “Have fun pounding on metal, or whatever.”

His grin is razor-sharp. “I’d be happy to pound something else, if you want.”

The laugh rips out of you, unbidden and unwanted. “Disgusting,” you tell him, but the laughter takes the bite out of the words. “My God, you ought to throw yourself down the well for that.”

He lifts a brow, his smile turning less dangerous and more open.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “None of that today, thanks. I’ll be off.”

“Come on,” he cajoles, coming around the counter to follow you to the door. “You know you want some. It’ll be such a long ride back here when you change your mind later.”

“Keep dreaming, blacksmith,” you tell him, lips pursing in amusement.

He lays a hand over his heart like he’s wounded. “Blacksmith? You remembered my name just fine last week when you were -.”

“Well, I seem to have forgotten it again!” you blurt before he can finish the thought, pulling the door open. Over your shoulder you call, “Good day!” 

His laughter rings out onto the street, following you home.

Regretfully, you have to admit that out of everyone who lives in this village, built out from the castle’s western gate, you know the most about Min Yoongi.

You knew him in passing, of course - before. When you’d ride through this same village on this same cart, your little brother squeezed between you and your father. When you’d stand silently, peeking around your father’s side, while he took payment from the King for his scores. When you’d greet the peddlers and the shop-keepers politely before climbing back on the cart and riding all the way back home. 

Yoongi was just an apprentice then. You hadn’t paid him any mind. He was quiet, a bit scruffy, stayed close to Park Jihoon. He was no more interesting to you than the apprentice for the bakery, the tannery, the copywrite. Wasn’t even the best looking out of the bunch, honestly. 

He was just there, unassuming. He was there when you’d pass through town on the cart full of your father’s scores, there whenever your family had business with the blacksmith, there when the holidays rolled through and your mother dragged you into town in a dress you hated and shoes that pinched.

There the day your parents’ bodies, along with six others, were loaded onto a barge headed for the sea. There the day your brother joined four more young people from the village as they climbed into a deep blue carriage headed for the citadel. 

Yoongi’s dark eyes, cool and undemanding, had been on you as you stood fully alone for the first time in your life. 

You hadn’t paid him any attention then, either. You couldn’t pay mind to anything then except dragging yourself through dark day after dark day until, finally, the clouds seemed to part and your new life seemed bearable. And bearable turned into decent. And decent turned into enjoyable. 

The seasons turned. The hurts faded. 

And you began to pay mind to Min Yoongi.

You began to learn things about him, then - after. 

In your time around town, you learned first that he was good at his work - his blades were made well, easily as well as his master’s blades. You learned that he scowled and grunted but hardly ever meant it. You learned that he had a good reputation around the village - was known for helping his neighbors without being asked, known for being polite and keeping to himself. You learned that he had no family either, that the master blacksmith who’d taken him as an apprentice had more or less raised him, too.

Alone with him, you learned that his smile could be razor sharp, one side lifting and eyes glinting in a way that made your pulse sing. You learned that when he meant it, his eyes squeezed shut and his gums showed. His shoulders shook when he laughed. He made the funniest faces when someone said anything he didn’t agree with or didn’t understand. He’d grown strong, his craft shaping his arms and roughening his hands.

You learned that he took whiskey neat at the tavern when he was done working for the day. You learned that he had a smart mouth behind his quiet demeanor, and opinions about everything. You learned what he was willing and able to do with that mouth when he pressed you against the rough wood of the tavern’s side alley, and then later, back in his rooms behind the smithy. 

You learned that he fucked rough but loved soft.

And that was where it had to stop.

Because it couldn’t be - but this you knew the whole time. 

When he pressed his mouth to yours sweetly, stretching to reach you, brushed one lovely finger down your cheek and whispered, I want you, you knew this: it couldn’t be. 

There was no life for you in the village. There was no life for you as someone’s wife. There was no future for you as someone’s homemaker. 

Even if he could somehow give you partnership and love without taking away the wildness of your lifestyle - there was no love ready to bloom and grow behind your iron ribs. You had nothing you could give him back. You knew only survival. Only killing and coin. Only the forest and its secrets.

“You can’t have me,” you’d whispered back. “I am not to be had.”

You were surprised when he didn’t fight it. He hadn’t pushed back. He hadn’t held it against you, hadn’t been wounded. He’d accepted exactly what you were willing to give him and asked for nothing more. 

You know this, above all else: he’s sweet, and conscientious, and good. Yoongi is good.

You - forest-dweller, hunter, orphan, unmannered, uneducated - don’t deserve him. You aren’t enough for how good he is.

The royal physician’s face says it all. 

The Queen purses her lips, her eyes on her husband’s prone form. He meets her gaze weakly, too far gone to mask any of it. 

“How long?” she asks, the words clipped. 

The physician spreads his hands before him. “Impossible to say, your Majesty. Days, maybe. Weeks, if he can be strong.”

She scoffs. “Days it shall be, then.” She dismisses him with the wave of a hand. 

No one is surprised, she thinks. The plague would breach their walls eventually. Only the strong survive - of course it would be her husband who would succumb first, and quickly. He’d never been strong, not like her. 

After all, she was the one who tried all these years. She looked and acted the part of a partner. She was faithful. She focused on the crown, on the realm. 

Not like him.

He coughs as he shifts on the bed, and she looks at him again. Weak, she thinks again. She can only feel disgust for him, for everything he never gave her. 

“You’ll finally get what you always wanted,” he croaks. 

She turns to look out the window. The day is grey, dreary. 

“It seems I shall,” she agrees. Then she turns and walks closer to her husband’s sickbed - deathbed, perhaps. She drops delicately into the chair at his side and takes his clammy hand in hers. 

It might look as if she doted on him. It might look as if she mourned.

“What became of him?” she asks, voice even and unbending. “The boy.”

Her husband’s eyes crinkle with amusement, and the chuckle that rumbles from his chest is accompanied by pained coughing. 

“You truly are something, my Queen,” he says, shaking his head. “The boy doesn’t even know.”

He will say nothing else.

The Queen is delivered two things at once, not a week later.

The first, a gilded mirror, promised to possess magical ability.

The second, the expected news of her husband’s passing.

The realm begins its period of mourning, flags lowering, shutters closing. The Queen begins her incantations, alone in the southernmost tower of the keep.

The frame is made of ornately twisted gold, so heavy it takes two of her men to hang it for her. When they pull the dust cover off, she steps back to appraise it. 

“Pretty,” she observes, watching her own reflection in the glass - unmagical, unextraordinary. 

The swirling, green-hued mist doesn’t appear before her reflection until her men are dismissed, the door closing and leaving her alone. 

Your Majesty, the mirror intones, the voice coming from the depth of the mist. Your wish is my command.

The Queen pauses, considering. The throne, the throne - hers, finally, only hers. 

Unless.

The King’s last words to her ring through her head - the boy doesn’t even know. 

She raises her chin and chants, 

“Mirror, mirror, look and see…

Who could take this throne from me?

Mirror, mirror, who’s the threat?

Show me which boy’s blood to let.”

The mist, green and growing, takes over the glass. The Queen’s fists clench tightly at her sides. 

The mist clears. The Queen lets out a laugh, short and bitter. 

The blacksmith’s boy smiles shyly in the glass, one hand coming up as if to hide his face. 

The blacksmith’s boy. The king’s bastard. Her only threat, the only other claim to her throne.

Your next trip into town isn’t with a cart full of venison and fowl. Instead it rings more true to the holidays of old, with your mother in charge. You wear black and a scowl, just as you did then.

The funeral services for the King threaten to last the full day, maybe into the night. You wish you could abstain, but if ever there was an event you were obligated to attend - this would be it. 

You’re not sure what the King’s death means for you - for your brother. Will the Queen uphold the bargain? Does she still want your brother’s counsel, someday, when he’s of age? Without the King’s affection for your father, will she continue to allow you to live freely as part of the arrangement? 

You sit alone in the church pew; rather, you’re surrounded on either side by strangers. You know Yoongi’s in the crowd somewhere - you can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head. You don’t turn to look for him. What good would it do?

It’s well after dark when the town begins to file out into the night. Your stomach growls, and you ponder if you should stop for a hot meal at the tavern before making the trek back through the woods or if you can hold out until you’re safely back at home.

You’re stopped on your way out the door by a guard reaching across you, blocking your path.

“Her Majesty requests your audience,” he says gruffly, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand at attention. Your audience? 

It can’t be good. You’re sure of it. 

You don’t meet her in the throne room as you have in the past. Instead, the guard leads you to a small chamber off the chapel, a nondescript little room with no decor, only a table with a candelabra lit in the center. 

She’s seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best. 

“Is my brother well?” you blurt out as soon as the guard has closed the door behind you. It was the first, biggest concern you had - you couldn’t hold it in. Had something happened in the citadel? 

She inclines her head, shrouded in darkness. “I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head, flooded with relief. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is. 

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. No sign of grief from the widow, no sign of trepidation from the new ruler, no sign of regret from the human asking you to take a life. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. And I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands. 

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat? 

Could you tell her yes and then leave? Vanish into the forest? What would become of your brother, if you did? Would he be responsible for your sins?

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could send finer clothes to your brother, help pay for his books, maybe even a little spending money. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years. 

And payment for your silence - ongoing? For how long, forever?

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

She accepts your silence as acquiescence and adds, “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” you repeat, voice coming out too wispy. 

She meets your gaze, still cold. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you say, the only correct answer. But your mind is scrambling far away, getting ahead - what weapons do you have on hand, how will you do this -

“You didn’t strike me as softhearted,” she says, full of disdain.

“I’m not,” you defend. It’s just that it’s Yoongi. Yoongi, who sees your sharp edges and smiles because he knows firsthand how much sharp edges are worth. How - how - how can you? How can you pretend it’s just a hunt, just a necessity, when you know how his mouth tastes, how he looks at you like you’re something?

Her even look turns darker, a shade closer to a frown. “I know you have the stomach and skill to kill. And I know you dally with him. He’ll follow you - take him to the woods and be done with it.”

You haven’t been as discrete as you thought you had. You wonder who else in town knows about whom you dally with.

Not that it will matter, after tonight. Not if you follow orders.

Not when you follow orders.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you say, head bowed. 

There’s no other correct answer. Your freedom had always had a price.

–

There’s some poetic irony, you think, in killing Min Yoongi with the blade he made just for you. 

Your mind is stuck on this, circling it, unable to let go, as you approach the smithy.

The lights are out - there’ll be no late-night projects, not during the official mourning for the King. You hope Park Jihoon, whose quarters are above the smithy, just across the yard from Yoongi’s tiny cabin, sleeps deeply. 

You know Yoongi keeps a key in the eaves above his front window; you’ve seen him retrieve it no less than a half-dozen times - usually he’s reaching for it, his shirt rising and showing a slip of belly that you can’t help but run your hands across as he laughs and tells you to be patient.

You reach it on your own, tonight. You let yourself in as silently as possible, closing the door behind you, placing the key gently on his tiny, wooden table. His bed is in the far corner of the room, and although the fire in the hearth has gone out, you can see the lump of blankets through the darkness that show you his form.

You approach quietly, as you would approach a potential score, letting yourself slip into the mindset of surviving the forest. 

You hesitate when you stand over him. He sleeps on his back, the light from the streetlamps outside casting flickering yellow over his delicate features. His eyelids flutter. Next to his head, his fingers twitch. 

If you strike true, this could be over in an instant.

His eyes slide open, and a hazy smile drifts over his face. “Am I having a very good dream?” he murmurs. His eyes trail down your form and freeze on the knife in your hand. The smile fades, and his eyes meet yours again, a question in them. “Or perhaps a very bad one?”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Then, you move at the same time - you lunging and plunging the blade into the spot where his heart lay, and him rolling sideways and hitting the floor with a thud.

You yank your blade free from where it pierced Yoongi’s empty mattress and wheel to follow him as he scrambles upright and towards the door. 

You should’ve locked it. You shouldn’t have apologized, your voice and your regret giving him the split second to bolt.

You follow him at a sprint, panting hard, as the fool runs barefoot through the smithy’s yard, heading for the forest. 

Your forest. 

It’s overcast tonight, threatening rain. No moon or stars to guide you, you follow Yoongi as he zigs and zags blindly through the trees. You have the advantage. You know where you are, even in the dark. 

It’s primal, as you forge deeper and deeper through the underbrush, just sinew and silence as you run. Wind whistles around you as you focus on breathing, focus on following the crunch of Yoongi’s wild path. The earth seems to rise up to meet each footfall with a jolting slap. The darkness seems to spur you on like it knows you need this, pressing you onward, telling you, hurry, hurry.

If you can herd him towards the east, you can cut him off at the ravine - he won’t be able to do it barefoot, not without stumbling, not without cutting those bare feet on the sharp rocks. You pick up the pace, emboldened by the plan, knees and elbows pumping as you close in.

Without warning, Yoongi stops short and wheels around on you, feet skidding a little on the loose needles that coat the forest floor. It’s so unexpected that the inertia carries you to him before you can tell your legs to quit. Before you can slow, before you can turn, he grabs you by the arms and slams you backwards into the thick trunk of an oak tree, hard enough to knock the wind out of you with an audible gasp.

You’re surprised enough that the knife drops from your fingers, and he wastes no time gripping you even tighter and throwing you to the ground, instantly dropping his body over yours and holding you down as best he can as you struggle. The blade lies just out of reach, taunting you, and you reach up and stretch as hard as you can to wiggle your fingers closer, but Yoongi roughly jerks your arm away.

You’re gasping for breath as you struggle beneath his weight, trying to keep your vision clear. This wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to have to chase him, have to fight him. You aren’t used to this - the deer don’t fight back.

“Why?” he pants heavily, his whole body heaving with each inhale and exhale. Sweat runs down his neck from the curled, damp edges of his hair. His eyes are wild, confused above you.

“Do you know who your father is?” you respond in answer, and the question surprises him so much that he leans back, like he’s trying to get a better look at you. 

It’s all you need. You use your feet and your core strength to stretch just past where you couldn’t reach with his full weight on you, and your fingers close around the blade’s handle. In a flash, you have the sharp side pressing to the pulse point on Yoongi’s neck, hard enough that you know he can feel the sting, your other hand curling in his shirt and holding him still. His eyes widen and he freezes, straining to hold himself up and away from you.

“If you move I’ll do it, and it won’t be quick,” you hiss, teeth gritted so hard you’re sure they’ll crack. Your heart slams in your chest, adrenaline sending tingles clear down to your toes. You’re dizzy with fear. You aren’t sure what’s scarier - actually doing what you’re meant to, or having to report that you didn’t.

You’re both stuck there - a tableau, an oil painting, frozen for eternity, never moving on from this moment. A million possibilities stretch on as Yoongi’s pulse beats visibly against the knife he’d sharpened for you just days ago. 

You feel like you’re floating outside your body; you can’t feel any of it - not the knife’s handle against your palm, not Yoongi’s hips still pinning yours, not the sticks and stones beneath your spine, not the sticky humidity of a night on the precipice of storm. Not your own thrumming, frightened heartbeat.

You know you can’t do it - not this way. Not like this, not with his eyes on yours, steady, as if he’s not staring down his death. Not like this, looking into his face and remembering the first time you were under him this way, remembering every time after that. Your hand trembles as you will yourself not to pull the blade away. 

But he knows. Yoongi’s always called your every bluff, has always been perfectly capable of shooting you a knowing half-smile and pushing right past your blustering, always able to find the person on the other side of the facade - the person who’s scared,confused, alone. 

“No you won’t,” he murmurs, low, and there’s nothing accusing or mocking in it. He’s simply telling you what he knows. 

Slowly, carefully, he lowers his face closer to yours, so deliberately that the knife slides harmlessly along his skin until he’s clear of it. He presses his lips to yours, uncertain at first, then with more insistence when you don’t push him away. 

The fear and adrenaline crash through you in time with a not-so-distant crack of thunder, blinding you, rendering you thoughtless and animalistic. You drop the knife with a thud, barely aware that you’re doing it, your hand coming instead to tangle in his loose hair, clutching it tightly at the base of his neck and pressing his head closer to yours, kissing him deeper, needing to absolutely drown in his kiss. 

He grunts at your enthusiasm, nipping at your bottom lip before diving into you again, licking deep into your mouth and pressing his hips down into yours in rhythm with the kiss. You move with him desperately, the quiet of the woods scattered by your combined gasping breaths, tiny sounds of pleasure slipping through the cracks in your armor, the wet sounds of your mouths coming apart and meeting again hungrily. Despite the earth solid beneath you, you feel like you’re spinning. You clutch him tightly, one hand in his hair and the other arm coming around his shoulders, tethering him to you. 

He’s the only thing keeping you here, in the present, not skittering off to somewhere safe inside your head.

You let him hold you there, pressed between him and the unyielding ground below you, channel all the rushing adrenaline into how you meet his fiery kisses, pressing your mouth hard back against his like it’s a battle, into how you roll your hips against his, thrilling at feeling him hard and ready for you. But for all the intensity, for the dizziness sweeping over you, neither of you rushes - you kiss for so long that your lips tingle, your core throbs, the night grows blacker, the thunder tiptoes closer. 

You swipe your tongue over his familiar lips, whining in your throat when he opens for you again, welcomes you in, rocks against you and closes his eyes against the sting as you unconsciously tighten your fingers in his hair. 

Then he breaks the kiss, pulls himself free of your grasp, nudges his nose to the underside of your jaw until you lean your head back, breathing hard, giving him room to attach teeth and lips to the skin of your neck. 

He gathers a bit of skin and worries it between his teeth, muttering, “You won’t kill me. No one else can make you come undone like I do.”

The sound that tears out of you is half laugh and half desperate groan. “Prove it, then,” you goad, fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling the edge towards you. He releases the spot on your neck long enough to let you pull the material over his head. Then he sits back on his knees between your legs and looks you over, one hand absently sliding down the front of his trousers, pressing relief into his waiting cock.

“Yours,” he says, tone steely. You find your own hem with shaking fingers. Distantly, there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating the canopy of tree branches above you before plunging you into darkness again. You pull your top over your head and drop it next to his, leaning back on your elbows.

All thoughts of what you’re supposed to do here have left you; there’s only hands-shaking adrenaline and instinct driving you to give in to your desires and pursue what you want - Yoongi, Yoongi, more of Yoongi.

“Trousers, too,” Yoongi tells you, voice quiet. His fingers are on the string of his own trousers, but his eyes are on your exposed chest. Hungry. 

You do as he says, untying your bottoms and pushing them away with your feet and waiting for his next move. The night isn’t cold, but you shiver. The forest, your forest, feels like a sanctuary, like it’s wrapping around the two of you and keeping you safe from everything outside. Like if you stayed in here, together, you might be safe from her after all.

But you know that’s a lie. 

You push the thought away by coming up on your knees and approaching Yoongi, who’s still kneeling, too. You press your chest to him with a shudder as you reach to kiss him again. He gives a quiet, happy noise low in his throat and you answer with a hum as you lick into him again.

You slip a hand between your bodies and find him heavy and leaking. He presses into your touch with a nearly-silent keen that you manage to catch, and you trace your fingertips up his length, playing in the wetness you find waiting for you at the tip, then pulling that wetness down to the base again. You repeat the motion, touch featherlight, and listen to Yoongi’s breathing hitch and catch and sigh as he closes his eyes and enjoys it. He’s silky against your fingertips, skin like satin even here.

Yoongi trails kisses down your jaw, making a clear path towards your neck, and he skims a hand up your side and past your ribs, cupping one breast and rubbing his thumb roughly over your hardening nipple. You gasp, fingers twitching against his length, which spurs him on. He runs his knuckles lightly over the bud, then takes it gently between his thumb and forefinger, giving it an experimental roll. Your gasped ah turns into a liquid moan and he does it again, harder. You keen, a note of complaint in it, as he repeats the movement that is somehow both too much and not enough. 

You wrap your hand fully around him, done teasing him with barely-there strokes, and roll your wrist once, twice, three times, his low grumbling reply music to your ears. He’s still mouthing at your neck and he switches hands, igniting sparks as he gently pinches the other nipple instead. Then he reaches and bumps your wrist out of his way as he cups your sex and spears you on his middle finger. 

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you whine, rocking into his hand, trying to take the digit just a little deeper. 

He must hear the desperation in your tone or sense it in the way you clench around his single finger, because he takes mercy on you and presses a second finger in beside the first. You sigh, still rocking against his hand, as he fucks into the spot in your front wall that makes your eyes drift closed and your toes curl up. You abandon his cock, bringing your hands to his shoulders, hanging on to keep yourself upright. When he presses his thumb against your clit you groan, loud and long, no one to hear you, and let your head fall back.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, plunging his fingers in and out of your wet heat. You can hear it each time he pushes them back in, the sound ringing in the silent woods, the only competition the approaching rolls of gentle thunder.

He works you up until you’re panting, your forehead dropping to rest against his collarbone, your hips in constant motion as you seek more. Your arms are looped around his neck, though you don’t remember starting to hold him, and your fingers find the ends of his long hair, tugging lightly in time with his motions. Occasionally his thumb circles your clit, causing your hips to jerk, but the angle stops him from keeping it constant. He pulls his hand away, and you take a bracing breath, coming back to your senses as the sensations fade. 

He drops back from his knees, one arm behind his head as he lays back. He locks his eyes on yours as he strokes himself, his teeth toying with his bottom lip. 

“Come on, then,” he prompts, his hand languid and lazy on his cock. Your body buzzes as you climb over him and sink down, letting him fill you, stretch you, break you into pieces. You ride him hard, one hand splayed on his flushed chest for balance, as around you the wind picks up, the leaves on the trees fluttering.

Yoongi’s eyes screw closed and his head tips back, even as his hands continue to guide your hips through each rise and fall.

You slow, savoring the drag against your walls, savoring his pretty skin beneath your fingers, savoring the grunts and hitched breaths he’s trying to hold back.

You could have loved Yoongi. In another life, where you had chips to bargain with. In a life where you fit into place within the village, where wild wasn’t as necessary to you as air. Even if the Queen had never called for Yoongi’s head - this life never meant for you to love him.

This is what you think about as you lightly rake your nails down his chest, watching him squirm beneath you. You think about all the times he’d been on the edge of saying it.

You think about all the times the feeling had risen up in you, as warm as a patch of sunlit floor, and you’d had to blow it away like an errant dandelion seed.

Maybe you do love him. You just can’t forget - not for a second - how little it matters.

The knife sits where you’d dropped it before undressing, just past Yoongi’s head.

You could probably reach it now.

Yoongi seems to sense the change in your motions and cracks an eye open, his fingers on your hips loosening.

His gaze follows yours. A flash of lightning makes the metal shine for a split second, and then you’re surrounded by the sudden patter of falling rain.

“Guess we better hurry,” Yoongi mutters, reaching up to grip the back of your neck and pulling you down so your chest is flush with his.

All thoughts leave your mind as he hammers into you from below - the knife is forgotten. Your feelings are forgotten. The rain, starting to muddy up the ground around you, forgotten.

You cum around him in silence, jaw clenched, fingers digging into his biceps. The groan he lets out as you squeeze around him in waves is drowned out by a growl of thunder that feels like it’s right above you, all around you.

Yoongi pumps into you with abandon, suddenly losing the rhythm he’d created. He gives two more shuddery thrusts and then lets his arms flop to the ground with a contented sigh.

For a second, you both lay there, sweat-slick and panting. Another lightning splits the sky, and the rain comes harder. He slides out of you and you wiggle until you’re laying just next to him instead of on top of him.

You can’t stop looking at him. He seems determined not to look at you.

The rain washes everything away - the smell of sex, your sweat, your affection, your sadness, your pride.

“My father,” he murmurs beneath you, and you go deathly still. “Yes, I knew.”

You swallow, brush rainwater from your brow. “So does the Queen,” you say back. An explanation, and an answer to the why he’d leveled at you an hour ago.

He nods slowly, expression clearing with understanding.

You feel no absolution for it.

Finally, he leans his head back again, his bangs flopping heavily now that they’re saturated with rainwater, and eyes the knife.

You sit up. He brings his eyes to you and watches silently - as if he accepts whatever move you make. As if, should you reach for the metal, he wouldn’t fight you this time.

“Go.” The word tumbles roughly onto the inch of mud between you. You don’t remember making the decision to say it.

He sits up, elbows and shoulders caked with mud. But all he does is watch you, wait for you to change your mind.

“Go,” you repeat, meaning it. Now that you’ve said it once, now that the decision was made, you know it’s the right one. “I’ll tell her it’s done.”

You could never kill him. You both knew it all along.

He dresses wordlessly, and you do the same, pulling your top back over your head and tying up your trouser string. When you look up, he’s standing in the rain, watching you.

You stoop and grab the knife he’d made you. You grip it tightly in your hand, refuse to meet his eyes.

He’s not challenging you, not questioning you - and that, in itself, feels like a slap.

“You can’t come back,” you say, as evenly as you can muster. When he just looks at you, infuriatingly silent, you add, “You can’t. Okay? If she - she can never know.”

“I know,” he says, and then he gives you a long, searching look. He’s drenched now, and your hands itch to push his set hair away from his face, to use your thumbs to chase raindrops - you think - away from his lashline.

Then, choked, he offers, “You could -”

“Don’t,” you bite out, stopping him before he can make you any kind of offer. You can’t. You can’t go with him. You can’t disappear into the night. Your brother is counting on you. You won’t let him pay for your sins.

Yoongi shakes his head. He takes another step closer. Your fingers tighten on the knife’s handle.

“Y/N, I -”

You raise the knife above your head in a flash, eyes going wide in fury.

“Fucking go!” you bark.

He holds up his hands, takes a few steps backwards, giving up his quest to make this harder than it needs to be. Lightning illuminates him and above your head, the blade shines for a split second before everything is cast into inky darkness again.

When your eyes adjust to the darkness, trees around you forming a shape again, he’s gone.

You don’t follow him, and you don’t return to your cabin. You sink to your knees in the mud, dropping the knife onto the ground, and sob into your hands, the noise swallowed by the flurry of rain and the intermittent cracks of thunder.

—

You sleep. You hunt. When the time comes, you bring your scores to the Queen atop your wagon.

She doesn’t ask you about Yoongi. You don’t offer her anything, just thank her for her grace routinely when she orders your purse to be filled.

You don’t stop at the tavern on the way back home. You don’t stop at any of the shops - not this time. You don’t trust yourself to act right if Yoongi’s disappearance gets brought up. You don’t trust that no one will do the math that he vanished four nights ago, and now you’re a hollowed shell who can’t form words.

The townspeople have seen you grieve before. They’d know what they were seeing.

The next trip is easier, and the one after that even more. The Queen never thanks you, not that you expected it, but you start finding an extra purse of coins in your wagon each time you return to it after bringing in your kills.

The price for your silence. The price for what she thinks you’ve done.

It hurts the most when your wagon passes the smithy, but you keep your eyes on the cobblestones and your hands on the reins and eventually the hurt fades along with the village as you get farther and farther away.

The seasons turn. The hurts fade. You send extra money to your brother. You sleep. You hunt.

Eventually, you stop waking up from nightmares that feature the glint of metal. You stop waking up trying desperately to cling to your dreams as fruitlessly as clinging to smoke, left with only damp places on your pillow and the memory of a low, throaty chuckle ringing in your ears.

Eventually, you can ride past the smithy without the pang in your chest. You can stop for a pint without watching the shadows for the appearance of a gummy smile. You can laugh when the bartender cracks a joke, can sound like yourself when you ask the baker’s daughter how she’s been faring.

It is after one of these trips, deep into color-saturated autumn, that you return to your cabin with wagon empty and purses full.

Something isn’t right. You freeze, casting your eyes around the forest, but it holds its secrets tight.

On the ground in front of your door, illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight, is a brand new, shining blade.

thank you so much for reading!!! i really really like this one and i hope you do too!! <3

[james-joyces-right-eyeball]

Favorite Books I Read in 2023

Not including rereads and in no particular order, here are the books I loved the most this year.

Titles & Authors, from top left to bottom:

Fluids by May Leitz

Nevada by Imogen Binnie

Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson

Perfume: Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind

Valencia by Michelle Tea

The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles

Ada, or Ardor by Vladimir Nabokov

Summer by Edith Wharton

"The Echo & the Nemesis", "Life is No Abyss", "The Interior Castle", "Bad Characters", and "In the Zoo" by Jean Stafford

Bad Behavior by Mary Gaitskill

Pedro Paramo by Juan Rulfo

Crash by J.G. Ballard

I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem by Maryse Conde

Erasure by Percival Everett

Persuasion by Jane Austen

White Noise by Don DeLillo

Maud Martha by Gwendolyn Brooks

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

White Teeth by Zadie Smith

The French Lieutenant's Woman by John Fowles

The Passion by Jeanette Winterson

Ghosts of my Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology, & Lost Futures by Mark Fisher

Girl Flesh by May Leitz

Here's to a new year, full of great reading!

[orqheuss]

Even the iron still fears the rot PART 1

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST)

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Summary:

From the woods came a wretched, inhuman scream of his name, the sound of the cry like an animal trapped in a sharpened bear trap— so very panicked, so very scared. The pure, unfiltered desperation present in the voice burrowed itself deep into his very soul, sending alarm bells to ring harshly in his ears.  “Sebastian!” *** It was supposed to be a normal trip to Hogsmeade. But, when Sebastian and Ominis are kidnapped by poachers determined to seek revenge against the one who killed their fearless leader, will you be able to save them in time?

Word count: 4k

Tags: kidnapping, threats of murder, threats of dismemberment, body horror, gore, blood, panic attacks, detailed depictions of violence

Read at your own discretion

AN: I'm reposting this series finally! I made some edits to later chapters, but this one is relatively the same.

It was a sunny day when they were taken. The excitement of the very first Hogsmeade weekend of the new year sung through the halls of Hogwarts, ushering each and every elated student through the grand double doors at the entrance of the castle and down the winding dirt path towards the magical little town with a gentle melody. Happy laughter filled the woods lining the property, shouts of joy and discussion of what each group of friends were to do first swam through the tall, overarching leaves of the redwood trees. Even the woodland creatures seemed in high spirits. Common squirrels jumped from branch to branch in a race for the best tree nut, wild kneazles ran under the tall canopies, nipping at the ankles of their friends and tittering in play, even a small family of thestrals made themselves known to the wide expanse of students, the mother and father pushing their newborn fowl towards their very first fresh morsel of solid food— its footing unsure and stumbly with only its mothers snout tucked under his chin to keep him standing. Above it all, the brilliant sun blazed down on the pastures of the Scotland highlands, shining on the last of the springtime wildflowers that struggled to survive through the beginnings of autumn. For all intents and purposes, it truly was a beautiful day. 

Two Slytherin’s were a part of the large group, chatting away amongst themselves about the newest invention advertised in Zonko’s joke shop and their favorite homemade fudge from Honeydukes. Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt had grown over the summer between fifth and sixth year; their shoulders filled out more to match their new towering stature, and baby fat seemed to flake from their faces like snakes shedding a new skin. Even with these changes, they were still thick as thieves— best friends from the first moment they met all the way until the very end of their lives. There was very little in the world that could separate the two— even through the terrors of the previous year they somehow still found their way back to the other. It took them most of the summer to be back on speaking terms, particularly on Ominis’ part, but even with all that anger, they still came crashing together like the beginning of a small, green-colored universe. The only change that had been made in all their years was the addition of their new friend, the strange fifth year that joined the school later than normal and wormed their way into their hearts. They had pouted when their new friend told the boys that they could not join for the trip to Hogsmeade, but the duo had quickly promised to bring them back some cauldron cakes to cheer them up after the number of assignments they had to work on. 

It was rare to see smiles on their faces as of late— too much tragedy and death had happened upon them for their liking— but on this day their pearly white teeth were awoken from their long slumber for all the world to see. Grins stretched at their lips as their own laughter rang through the valley, a sight to behold by all. 

The pair were deep in a jest-filled argument about the brunette's troublemaking behavior as the grandiloquent arch of the village came into view. Magic seemed to swirl around the buildings, filling everyone who entered with a sense of calming peace. As many had said in the past, there was absolutely nothing like Hogsmeade— it drew people to it like a moth to a flame. 

The sound of Sebastian’s scoff caught the attention of a small group of Hufflepuffs lingering by the entrance, enticed by him for a moment before turning back to their own conversation. “Oh come off it, Ominis. A little sneak into the restricted section of the library is hardly the worst rule to break in the castle.” 

The blond barked a laugh, unseeing eyes glittering in the sunlight. “It may not be the worst, but it is certainly a rule that you seem keen to break often. How many times have you gotten detention this year so far, again? Five? I wonder how you got all of those.” 

The taller of the two huffed to himself, muttering under his breath in annoyance, “Damned poltergeist, always where he shouldn’t be.” 

Ominis smirked to himself in amusement. “Well, at least I read the rules before I break them.” 

“At least I can see the books I read.” 

A pregnant pause filled the conversation. Sebastian could feel the heated glare of his friend burn into the side of his face and a smug grin tweaked at the corners of his mouth. This was his favorite pastime, poking at a very easily vexed Ominis Gaunt. The other boy broke the silence after a long moment, voice dripping with contempt and malice. “I am going to kill you and make it look like an accident.” 

The brunette snorted, patting the other on the back heartily before quickly retreating farther away to avoid the inevitable slap heading towards him— fingertips barely grazing his arm as he danced just out of reach. “I’d love to see you try.” 

Ominis leveled his face into a blank expression, his twitching eyebrows the only thing betraying his annoyance as he turned on his heel and headed towards Honeydukes, determined to get there before the Saturday rush. 

The other boy cackled at his friend’s retreating form, yelling after him through his giggles. “Meet me in the center of town! One hour!” 

The blond shooed him away with his hand, not pausing in his stride. With a final look in his direction, the taller of the two veered off towards Sprintwitches, intrigued by the new broom upgrades he’d like to explore before the Quidditch season began. 

In the shadows tucked in the alleyway next to the Three Broomsticks, rested a trio of individuals, hoods pulled over their faces to conceal their identity and wands tucked securely in their sleeves. Their eyes trailed the two Slytherin boys, pupils blazing with a ferocious anger and vicious smiles decorating their expressions. While Rookwood, their once strong and powerful leader, may have been defeated by that ancient magic wielding twerp, there were still a few of his loyal poachers floating around in the Hamlet— only now that they were aware of the rare ability you possessed, they wanted it for themselves. It was a pity that you weren’t in town that day, you were their preferred target, but they could definitely draw you out if your friends suddenly found themselves where they didn’t belong. Their twisted smiles got exponentially wider as they thought of the sweet revenge they had meticulously planned for you— it was time to finally avenge their fallen comrade. With one last glance around the sunlit buildings, the three began to creep their way towards the candy store. 

The chime of the Honeydukes door rang out as Ominis exited the market, a package of his favorite fudge tucked securely under his arm. He smiled to himself, lifting his chin upwards towards the glowing sun rays that fell from the sky and basking in their sweet warmth for a moment. He adored the time of the year when spring became fall— the moment where it was just cool enough to leave the castle with a thin sweater but still warm enough for the aromatic flowers to be blooming. The lovely scent filled his nose as he carefully tucked his wand into the back pocket of his trousers, secure enough in the landscape of Hogsmeade to get around after years of coming to the tiny town, and began to head towards the center. Rounding the corner of the colorful building, he made his way down the tiny alleyway at its side, deciding to head to another store to pass the time, and caught the tail end of some juicy gossip from two third year Ravenclaw’s that exited the shop after him. He paused for a moment, his ears pricking in their direction as he tried to hear more of the conversation, quietly chuckling to himself as he thought about how hard you’d laugh at the story when he told you about it later. The loud commotion of the bustling town covered the noisy footsteps approaching behind him, blinding him to the sound of shuffling boots and the breeze of the large hand sneaking its way towards his face. His mouth was quickly covered by the stranger's palm, muffling his shout of alarm and pulling him against a strong, barreled chest. Ominis struggled against the arm pressed against his sternum, feet kicking in the air for leverage before his heels met the solid skin of his kidnappers' calves. No reaction came from the brute, bar a slight chuckle that ruffled the hair near the blond’s sensitive ear. His polished oxfords left tracks in the soil below his feet as he continued to thrash about, dragging him out of sight and towards the woods lining the town where they would wait for the other boy.

A little over an hour later, a lone Slytherin rested against the lavish fountain adorning the center of town. His hand dug into his vest pocket, pulling out his bronze pocket watch and checked the time, turning his head left and right in search for his friend. Ominis was not one to be late— in fact, it made him quite anxious. Could he still be in Honeydukes? It was possible, the blond definitely had a sweet tooth and enough money to buy out the whole store. Standing from his perch, he began to meander his way towards the candy shop, eyes still searching the crowds for the telltale tuft of the Slytherin’s dirty blond quiff. He swallowed around the worry that constantly built in his throat whenever something seemed wrong; the lump that formed just under his jaw rarely disappeared since the events of his fifth year. The brunette’s hands began to shake at his sides, coupled with sweat beading just above his brow— the beginnings of an episode palpable in the air. Deep, shaky breaths inhaled through his mouth and filled his lungs, ebbing off his panic attack as he struggled to tell himself that his friend was fine; Rookwood and Ranrok had been defeated— there was no one else out there looking to kill them. Merlin seemed to be answering his prayers for a calm sixth year so far. Even still, his pace sped up unconsciously, his body working outside of his control. 

The Sallow boy rounded the bend on the outskirts of town, the encompassing woods just to his left as he took in all the sounds around him like a mother bear searching for her lost cub. The back entrance to Honeydukes was just barely in his sight, and a little bit more panic stabbed into his chest when he didn’t see his companion. Nearing a jog at this point, he raced the rest of the way to the stout periwinkle-hued brick building, bursting through the door and into the unusually sparse emporium, startling the few students milling about the shelves, and sped towards the front counter. The brunette frantically described his friend to the clerk behind the till, nearly begging her to say that she’d seen him recently. Much to his chagrin, the woman shook her head and told the young wizard that the blond had left at least an hour ago, sympathy dripping from her words as she hoped for his safe return to his friend. Sebastian could feel his heart leap into his throat, skipping every other beat in anxiety as he ran out the way he came, rounding back through the forest trail, shouting for his friend. Harsh breaths fell from his lips in heavy pants— his heart feeling like a stampede of buffalo under his ribs. His nerves sparked just under his skin, sending a sharp, electrifying pain to every part of his body. For a moment, the freckled boy felt like he was back in the Scriptorium, staring down the murderous, sanguine bolt of the cruciatus curse heading right towards his chest. His heart pounded against his ribs even harder— any more pressure and it would surely break his sternum. A thick, murky fog of foreboding seemed to permeate the air around him. 

“Ominis!” He called, dread slowly creeping its way into his mind, narrowing his vision and sharpening the colors around him. 

From the woods came a wretched, inhuman scream of his name, the sound of the cry like an animal trapped in a sharpened bear trap— so very panicked, so very scared. The pure, unfiltered desperation present in the voice burrowed itself deep into his very soul, sending alarm bells to ring harshly in his ears. 

“Sebastian!” 

For a moment everything stood still— his harsh, choked breaths and the cracks of his heart breaking the only noises that filled the young brunette’s ears, sending his brain to a sputtering stop. 

Ominis. 

The boy sprinted towards the tall trees, feet harshly slapping against the ground as he flicked his wand out of his sleeve. He careened around stumps, stumbling over the multitude of roots littering the ground as he ran in the direction of the voice. Sebastian shouted for his friend again, raw panic coiling in his larynx like a cobra poised to strike as he waited for a response in what was most definitely the most demented game of call and response he had ever played. It was returned mere seconds later, muffled like something was covering the caller's mouth— hoarse and crackling from overuse. He pumped his legs faster, adrenaline spilling out of his adrenal cortex as fight or flight kicked in. 

The Slytherin skidded to a halt in a wide pasture tucked away near the center of the copse, eyes narrowing and lips forming a dangerous scowl at the sight before him. In the center of the grass circle stood three poachers, a male and a female flaking the sides of the other male in the center. In the middle man's arms was a trembling Ominis, eyebrows furrowed against his scathing glare and enraged, hysteric tears building just above his lower lashes. 

“Ah, welcome! We’ve been waiting for you.” A patronizing, sugary sweet voice came from the woman to the right of the Gaunt boy— the leader, Sebastian deducted. 

Ignoring her for now, the brunette cast his gaze back to his friend and assessed him for damages. Blood dripped from his nose in a steady stream, a bruise blooming over the bridge and creeping around his right eye. He struggled against the poachers' hold, one burly arm pressed against his chest, their hand covering his mouth, and the other wrapped tightly across his waist, his arms pinned to his side. Long, lithe fingers wrapped around the forearm holding him still, digging his nails into the fleshy skin and raising crimson-colored welts. A deep bite mark screamed on the hand muffling his cries, blood pebbling to the surface— likely the reason for the dark purple and blue discoloration that marred his pale skin. Off to the side, a long, attenuated onyx wand lay just out of reach, its red beacon blinking against the browning grass as it searched for its owner. 

White hot fury streamed through Sebastian’s body— blinding wrath dyeing his vision a startling red as he raised his wand level with the kidnappers eyes. The man laughed dryly, villainous mirth dancing in his irises as he squeezed the blond tighter to his chest, drawing a pained whimper from the boy against his will— his eyes squeezing shut and forcing the tears building to streak down his cheeks from the constriction of his abdomen. A searing burning sensation prodded just under Ominis’ jaw from a wand being pressed hostilely into his neck, no doubt forming a circle shaped burn against his skin that would scar. 

The leader of the three sneered at the brunette, quipping in a condescending tone. “I’d put that wand down if I were you.” Her eyes flicked to the other boy’s hand, watching his fingers tighten around the handle of his weapon. She chuckled. “Drop it, or he’ll be sent back to his family in a snuff box.” 

Sebastian snarled at the villain with a deep, primal rage— his voice growling through his clenched teeth. “What do you want with us?” 

Ominis’ eyes snapped open once more, eyebrows raised to his hairline and lids stretched wide in shock as he recognized the sound of the brunette’s voice. He frantically shook his head at the other boy, muffled words and curses spilling from his lips in a vain attempt to get him to leave and avoid a worse fate. 

The other man stepped slightly forward, wand poised to strike at a moment's notice. “We want the kid with the ancient magic. Lead them to us and we’ll go.” A sickly grin stretched the corners of his mouth, revealing rows of decaying teeth. “We’ll keep your friend here as collateral.” 

The brunette’s wand hand shook, molars tightly clenching around the uncontrollable amounts of anger pumping through his system as a blasting curse readied itself at the tip of his tongue. He only got through half of the arm movement before his weapon was blasted from his hand with a sharp expelliarmus. Snapping his neck back towards the woman, he was greeted with the sight of a snark-filled smirk reaching from lips to cheeks— her wand slightly smoking at the end from the spell. He met her eyes across the tiny field, narrowing his scorching glare like if he stared hard enough she’d burst into flames. 

The woman wagged her wand at him like a mother scolding a child, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Now that wasn’t very nice. I’ll give you one more chance! Raise your hands above your head or you’ll be down a classmate.” 

Sebastian said nothing, his fists clenching at his side and his hackles raising upwards towards his ears as she took a step closer. A sunbeam caught her toothy smile just right, making her canines look like sharpened fangs— a wolf in sugary scented sheep's clothing. Her lips twitched as she fought against a frown, turning her wand towards a still struggling Ominis and flicking her wrist in a quick motion. A long, jagged cut appeared just under the blond’s right eye, stretching along his cheekbone and oozing blood down his porcelain face. Sebastian froze in his tracks, a look of horror taking over and shining in his eyes. He met the heated stare of the woman once more, her grin suddenly twice as evil and as sharp as laughter glowing in her irises. 

Eyes darting left and right and panic rising once again, forming a knot in his throat, the freckled boy realized he was trapped. His face was stuck in a perpetual snarl, teeth gnashing together and grinding with an audible creak as he stepped back, legs poised to run. As much as his body screamed to leave the death trap and go get help from someone who would be more equipped to handle the situation, he knew that he couldn’t leave his friend— couldn’t throw him to the wolves to be eaten bit by bit until there was nothing but gnawed on bone remaining. Sebastian truly felt like a wild animal stuck in a cage, waiting for the trapper to return and skin them alive for his pelt. Another small sound, akin to the whimper of a wounded fox, came from his captured friend, pure, unadulterated fear clouding over his eyes and sending a dagger directly into the young brunette’s heart. He knew what he needed to do, for both his survival and Ominis’. With everything within him fighting to do the opposite, the brave young wizard finally surrendered.

He slowly raised his hands, palms open and placating as they stopped just at the sides of his head. If they both wanted to get out of this alive, he had to bide his time and do as they asked. 

Taking slow, even steps towards the brunette, the woman’s grin stretched even further up her cheeks, nearing the point of unearthliness. Stopping right in front of the freckled boy, she tapped the end of her wand against the bottom of his chin, tilting his face upwards to match her gaze. Sebastian couldn’t help but think that she had some sort of otherworldly, deadly beauty about her. Her teeth were sparkling ivory, perfectly straight and sharp enough to rip out his throat if she so much as wished it. Eyes the color of absinthe met his, drawing him in like a heavy, raging current; there was something hypnotizing about them, like a solidified Amortentia potion— if he stared too long he would very likely begin to hallucinate. Her low cut shirt dangled tantalizingly from her chest, revealing briar needle sharp collarbones. Everything about her was meant to draw you in, entice and seduce you before she bit off your head like a queen praying mantis. If Sebastian didn’t know any better, he would say she was part Veela, or maybe a Siren— a creature meant to lure men to their death. She was terrifyingly gorgeous. His nostrils filled with the incredibly strong scent of madagascar vanilla and an underlying tone of coppered ichor. 

She leaned close, breath brushing against the hairs on his neck as she whispered in his ear. “Good boy.” 

His body stiffened unconsciously, savage anger and paralyzing fear waltzing together in his stomach. 

She leaned away after a moment, straightening her back and meeting his glare once again. “Now, tell me where the mutt who killed my brother is.” 

Sebastian’s eyes widened minutely, a silent moment of understanding passing between the two students before he spat in her face. “Over my dead body.” 

Molten lava bubbled under the surface of his amber irises, its ire begging to be released so it could set the whole word aflame for hurting someone he loved and threatening another. 

A pained sound came from the blond across from him, his peat-bog eyes pleading with his friend to stop, to run, to leave him and save himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of the boy dying in his stead— not when Ominis loved him much more than he loved himself. 

The woman cackled, throwing her head back in mirth and wiping the spittle from her cheek. She cracked her knuckles, raising her wand and leveling it with Sebastian’s chest. “Oh, you have no idea what I have in store for you— you’re going to wish I killed you.” 

The boy didn’t have a moment to process what she meant before he was roughly depulso’d into the closest tree, the back of his skull making contact with the coarse bark and sending a burst of blinding stars to the forefront of his mind. He tumbled to the ground as blackness began to take over his sight. The last thing he saw and heard was Ominis digging his teeth into the hand covering his mouth once again, spitting a chunk of bleeding flesh to the ground and screaming out for him. His body struggled twice as hard, desperation clawing its way into the blond’s throat. Animalistic wails filled the space around them as he fought with all his strength to get to his fallen friend. 

A loud thump silenced all sounds, and Ominis’ body crumbled to the forest floor below. 

Pain swam behind Sebastian’s eyes, nestling itself just at the front of his brain, and the world around him went dark. 

***

like what you read? here's more!

[castle-dominion]

c3x8 murder most fowl

Hoowee! I love the biking & the music & the “dude”s!

He’s been replaced. His parents just didn’t say anything

I’m a nonbinary goblincore emo punk but I also live in a very special place. *sighs*

Weirdest pet you’ve ever had? RC Me & my lil bro at the same time: you KB: You (clipping)

Ooh that’s a nice feather. Wait castle just licked the feather. Lmao that red-tailed-hawk sound effect

Ooh look at ryan’s pretty pink shirt Nice, transit employee. Love em all. Wait this was 2010, weed wasn’t legal yet... Esposito, watching castle talk dramatically: ?? KB: Don’t ask (won’t clip but meh I could. The music thing was great too)

I knew it. Shoot him once, then double tap to confirm it.  Birdwatcher?

Ooh what are all these things in his OH HOLY CRAP THAT SCARED ME. My brother has a special whistle that he does to call me or my little bro so I thought he was still home. Gosh I had a heart attack Anyways this is really cool. Maybe he’s just autistic & likes trains.  Night visions & stuff? Definitely a birdwatcher.  KR: What’s a subway worker doing with all this? My friend from 10th grade: Drug dealers can have hobbies, Ms Panizzon. BHS is probably a bird. 

Oh castle is so right.  Omg lightbulb len that’s so cute Not for the social? Birdwatcher! (Doesn’t talk much? Autism.) This b’y deaf?  nvm Oh he is broken up emotionally. So true. Len is a hero. When covid hit, guys like him were essential. His job might seem menial but maybe he liked listening to audiobooks. Every job out there, there is someone who wants it. But they can’t bc they are not paid enough to live or they are disrespected because it is not seen as a good job... ubi besties. ubi. Girl pretend you know about the tragedy... The lenny box <3 <3 <3 this stuff is so important & I’m getting close to crying. 

Here is the quote: Bad things happen in darkness, Mr. Castle. Dimly lit tunnels, darkened stairwells … if Len heard about a blown bulb before shift end he would stay late on his own time to fix it. And of course there was his response to the Abe Lipschitz tragedy. (BECKETT looks lost) 1989? An electrocution of a bulb changer at the Brighton Beach station?

Some guy in a suit at the old bulb factory? Yeah screw em. I feel like they wouldn’t conspire to take Lenny out but I really do love lightbulb Len. He is a hero. Ha, UNDERGROUND renaissance man Castle is so right. An unsung hero cut down by Big Bulb. 

RC: Must “rat” always be used in the perjorative? In the chinese zodiac, the rat... Me: Castle I want to hear! Tell me!

Girl he’s not hurting anyone by selling lightbulbs. Let him sell em they are just going into the landfill. (I like caskett’s outfits)

“generally ‘cause they’re murdering somebody”

esposito lookin emo today KB: Call the transit cops, tell them we just closed their case for them JE: *rolls his eyes* right Me: au where he actually does meet MARISA ARAGON the hard of hearing transit cop & 7x8 is their second meeting, it’ll be like a fanfic, they had met years ago & she remembers him but he does not remember her

KR just lets castle try out the audio thing-- BHS Castle: KJSDHKJSDFH Me when I first put on hearing aids.

Ooh I like this fellow. He’s definitely talking about birds KB & RC in synch: What are you talking about? The redtailed hawks!? They Are Special Birds! Byron: & I want this on the record! I would never exaggerate or fabricate a bird sighting, it is unthinkable! They’re there, & I saw them first. (Kb not listening but Rc listening intently) RC: I’m putting that in the official record.  As he should. This is important to this man. 

KB: Looks like we’ve explained everything RC: Yes except why he was killed 

What’s she doing on the table? Oh Ashley will be upset, yes, & that’s ok. He might very well be angry with you. Uptown rat! Living in a fancy uptown flat, wears a nifty little uptown hat. Genetically distinct from downtown rat.  Think like a rat! The castles just have a camera OUT OF ITS CASE hanging in the front hall closet? Rick you can call beckett & tell her on the phone while you stay home & help fine theodore

Ooh sherlock holmes.  you know what he was up to... birdwatching No lanie said it may have been the bmx guys.

Ooh birds. WOAH THIS EPISODE IS ALREADY HALFWAY DONE & WE HAVE AN ENTIRE NEW PLOT. (actually only 18 mins Love how he catches another photo WHILE HE IS GETTING SHOT

Big group debrief. Valesquez & LT are there, cool, we recognize people. (Also recognize a ton of the other ppl now. s7 had a cast bonus feature which I loved. Jamie or Jim I think, who was carrying all the baby stuff, the detectives who have real nameplates... jennkins) I hope they told the child abduction police as well as the homicide police. You know, most kidnappings are by someone you know. 

(nice tie, ryan)

It’s Tory

This may be film but it might also be a digital camera.

Esposito & Ryan aren’t together huh.

Watts! Things that get in my way? I remember. (also YES a ton of ppl DO NOT remember stuff)

My man’s playing with a stressball. Love the little things in the show that make it what it is Oh no not a cold... Elden right? detective Elden? He got up & walked off twice & idk if that is a continuity error or if he just sat back down & got back up in that amount of time Yeah bud it’s digital, not film.

I love when castle says yes then corrects himself to no. He’s done it before.  Aw castle dad moments (flash forward to paris) From when other kids kick her in the shin

Esposit’s weird outfit “Yo” is not hard to write in the captions, girl I’m glad they’re actually considering custodial abduction. Hm this guy must have shaved his beard. 

(Nice outfit for both ryan & castle,, & everyone else)

Well somebody was shot...

I’d be sus of the new hubby

We all have an experience like that...

Montgomery says “espoZIdow” rather than esposito’

Tylerpalooza <3 Yeah man, cover for each other Big bro said that the employee & ryan look the same. I think it’s mostly in the chin.  I love teresa. 

Ooh sus. OOH VERY SUS

Obviously Dean has texted back, Beckett is just reading the “to” texts

Oh ooh ew no, even tho it is an evidence gun in an evidence bag I still am freaked out by the muzzle control. 

What? You can do that? Internet texting service in Ukraine? Also it is just “ukraine” not “the ukraine” I think it has been that was since the 90s at least.

“looking up at broke” poor fellow.  they didn’t arrest him & have him cuffed...

Castle is going to pull a “dad” relationship here Wow you two (or three) stop it.  Odd angle. Also, this is why I have a codephrase with my family. If I’m ever abducted they will know. Of course if I’m abducted & they know it, I’ll have to come up with a different codephrase to let them know where I am. Holy crap it’s twenty-to-two??

Janitor. He’s got keys. Oh my goodness, babe, all you need is an elevator key or two. I OWN ONE. It is not that hard to get into an elevator’s box. You don’t need to kidnap a staff’s son.

Dads are the best. Roy is a dad, you know. 

Esposito driving babey. You can clone a phone like that??

Videos take a long time to go through. Elevator? He has elevator access.

What if it was abc instead of ace? Don’t forget to feed Abracadabra? That has a D in it too babe. tell them where u r going, write it on the board

He’s a dad, he is NOT staying back. Castle holding the paper like a bat. Oh no he’s going to phone her it’s going to make a noise & they will know she’s coming Ah yes underground.  Why would ryan be wearing headphones> esposit owas able to hear it & he was not wearing headphones Don’t lose elevator signal don’t lose elevator signal For a second I thought the elevator broke but no they just didn’t want 45 seconds of the show to be elevating lol Lmao an elevator with a fingerprint thing? No bud. Even if they have that they probably still have an elevator box.

Oh no roy is right, taking off the mask...... they let tyler see the face too. these people are going to kill three people for what they want? lenny, tyler, & dean

Ooh the music Castle keep ur voice down.  The phone angle would not work like that.  Could you shoot him through the door? Kill the ambient light & he can see you but you will be staring into a light & nothing else. The lenny box! YES THEY DO REMEMBER THE LENNY BOX

Bud hide your gun behind your back quick otherwise whatever civilian is coming in will see. nice elevator shaft shot btw

You know, if castle & beckett can’t communicate with the team, then the one holding tyler also cannot so they won’t be able to tell the holder to kill tyler so if they storm in it will be fine

Wow that’s a lot of guns

I didn’t even consider tyler could be dead lol. Wow they’ve been up a long time Love esposito’s new outfit even tho he didn’t fully change

Len helped catch his own killer! & foil the kidnapping! It IS poetic! Lightbulb Len is a hero!

Speaking of rats, I gotta go! (Castle is going to buy a rat isn’t he) You may just be a loser! (love her hair btw) Aw Ashley is genuinely sad (it would have been nice if he said he needed a hug bc his pet was missing & he hugged her, I don’t hate you for losing my pet, I need you to comfort me) This is about the rat, not about you alexis Oh I love ashley.  Lol castle just lets them kiss martha XD RC: Found him 

[pollylynn]

Title: Prototype WC: 1100 Episode: Murder Most Fowl (3 x 08)

She thinks of him as dealing exclusively in heroes and villains. Drama queen doesn’t begin to cover it, and from her vantage point it seems that humans in between don’t exist for him. She’s not sure how he maintains it—this investment in absolute polar opposites—given that they spend their days and nights sifting through the details of the lives of people who are mostly fair-to-middling when it comes right down to it.

Most of the time, she supposes it’s just a writer thing. It’s his job, in some sense, to be that drama queen, to blow up the banal misdeeds and petty motivations of the everyday person until they’re fit to keep the pages turning until the very last.

Today, though, she has to consider the possibility that it’s a dad thing. The villain of the day is, of course, The Boyfriend.

“You can’t tell me a rat isn’t a red flag,” he huffs as he tries to keep up with her. It’s a struggle, given how much breath he’s expending on his scenarios where Ashley falls somewhere in between the Gilgo Beach Killer and The Manson Family—Yes, Beckett, all of them—in terms of murderous depravity. “A rat with a ‘special diet’?”

She’s not listening. She is definitely not listening, and still it’s almost a relief when he moves on to The Falcon Killer. This second villain springs forth, fully formed, from the writer part of his brain, so it looks like his hero–villain complex is a both/and situation. The Falcon Killer is not one bit less annoying than Ashley the Rat King, but being imaginary he at least has the virtue of having no financials someone might try to demand that she run, and there’s a lower likelihood that she’ll find herself on the receiving end of pointed questions about how to file an order of protection on behalf of someone else.

By late morning, things have swung around to the hero end of the spectrum. It’s all working class hero Lightbulb Len all the time. Arthur Sansone, she supposes, is the exception that proves the rule. He’s neither hero nor villain.

“He’s Sancho Panza to Lightbulb Len’s Don Quixote!” The grimy tiles of the subway reverberate as he waxes rhapsodic, and she wonders what city she’ll pull up stakes and move to, because she can clearly never show her face on New York public transit ever again. “Samwise to his Frodo!”

She’s thinking very seriously about being Michael to his Fredo even before he sets to work on special guest villains, Mario Rivera and Byron H. Singer, to say nothing of the shadowy figures behind the conspiracies aligned against Len Levitt.

“It’s a blood pact.” She, like everyone else in the bullpen, hears his stage whisper to a nodding Ryan. “It’s so much bigger than bulbs—it’s bulbs and birds.” He slaps a palm down on whatever evidence it is he’s spread out on the desk. “Lightbulb Len never stood a chance.”

She’s got a pinching headache right between her eyes the next morning when he rousts her practically at dawn to spend another day seeking justice for his latest Campbellian hero. The coffee he hands her is hardly enough to counteract the way he’s pin-balling between singing their vic’s praises and contemplating how he can get Alexis out of the country before Ashley returns and fully commits himself to a Count of Monte Christo–level revenge scheme. He’s crossing the writer–dad streams and it’s too early for any of it.

It all falls away, though, when the case breaks in a terrible, unexpected direction. Len Levitt’s last act on earth was to turn his camera on a man abducting a child, and damned if that isn’t the most heroic thing any of them has heard in a long while.

He’s all work from that point on. There’s no talk of heroes or villains. Lightbulb Len, it’s sad to say, is all but forgotten as lead after lead on the abduction turns up absolutely nothing.

Heroes and villains are forgotten entirely. All his dadly, all his writerly energy is focused on every single thing he can remember about Alexis’s life just four or five short years ago—everything that might give them a lead.

Even when they have their hands on Dean Donegal and he’s goes after the man hard, there’s no villain across that interrogation room table. It’s obvious, even as they take turns grilling him about Indianapolis—about everything—that he sees a mirror for his own desperate fear. It’s clear he sees a father facing the worst pain of his life.

Before long, she feels like the villain—she sees herself through his writer’s eyes when someone has to be the rational, not-a-parent in the room when the Captain decides that they’ll back Dean as he goes to meet the kidnappers’ demands. She imagines how he’d cast her on the page right now—implacable, ice water in her veins. She has all too easy a time imagining Nikki Heat’s villainous turn, but what can she do when no one else will say what needs saying?

She feels like something worse than a villain in the subway for the second time in as many days. Adrenaline is running the show when she kicks in the door and gets her shot off. Her momentum carries her on a beeline for Tyler Donegal, but somehow he gets there first. Somehow his body is between hers and the boy’s, and he’s crouched down, two careful feet away, talking in a low, absolutely calm voice.

She doesn’t hear what he says at first. She’s too busy re-running the last minute-and-a-half, complete with what was very nearly yet another traumatizing event for Tyler Donegal with her in a starring role. When she catches back up with real time, he’s standing up. He’s reaching a hand down patiently to help the boy up from the filthy floor in his own time.

“Your dad told us you were smart,” he says. “But save yourself smart? That’s hero smart.”

She can only just make out Tyler’s wide eyes in the dim light, but she feels the tension slowly trickling out of him. She sees his pale skin moving through the shadows to grip Castle’s hand as he staggers to his feet. He places a careful palm on the boy’s shoulder and flashes her a grin that’s exhausted and triumphant all at once.

“Wouldn’t you say that’s hero smart, Detective?”

“I would.” She returns the grin. “I definitely would.”

A/N: This has no morphousness in its flabby, flabby end, but I am so very tired.

images via homeofthenutty

[nellygwyn]

BOOK RECS

Okay, so lots of people wanted this and so, I am compiling a list of my favourite books (both fiction and non-fiction), books that I recommend you read as soon as humanly possible. In the meantime, I’ll be pinning this post to the top of my blog (once I work out how to do that lmao) so it will be accessible for old and new followers. I’m going to order this list thematically, I think, just to keep everything tidy and orderly. Of course, a lot of this list will consist of historical fiction and historical non-fiction because that’s what I read primarily and thus, that’s where my bias is, but I promise to try and spice it up just a little bit. 

Favourite fiction books of all time:

The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock // Imogen Hermes Gowar

Sense and Sensibility // Jane Austen

Slammerkin // Emma Donoghue 

Remarkable Creatures // Tracy Chevalier

Life Mask // Emma Donoghue

His Dark Materials // Philip Pullman (this includes the follow-up series The Book of Dust)

Emma // Jane Austen

The Miniaturist // Jessie Burton

Girl, Woman, Other // Bernadine Evaristo 

Jane Eyre // Charlotte Brontë

Persuasion // Jane Austen

Girl with a Pearl Earring // Tracy Chevalier

The Silent Companions // Laura Purcell

Tess of the d’Urbervilles // Thomas Hardy

Northanger Abbey // Jane Austen

The Chronicles of Narnia // C.S. Lewis

Pride and Prejudice // Jane Austen

Goodnight, Mr Tom // Michelle Magorian

The French Lieutenant’s Woman // John Fowles 

The Butcher’s Hook // Janet Ellis 

Mansfield Park // Jane Austen

The All Souls Trilogy // Deborah Harkness

The Railway Children // Edith Nesbit

Favourite non-fiction books of all time

Catherine the Great: Portrait of a Woman // Robert Massie

Love and Louis XIV: The Women in the Life of the Sun King // Antonia Fraser

Madame de Pompadour // Nancy Mitford

The First Iron Lady: A Life of Caroline of Ansbach // Matthew Dennison 

Black and British: A Forgotten History // David Olusoga

Courtiers: The Secret History of the Georgian Court // Lucy Worsley 

Young and Damned and Fair: The Life of Katherine Howard, the Fifth Wife of Henry VIII // Gareth Russell

King Charles II // Antonia Fraser

Casanova’s Women // Judith Summers

Marie Antoinette: The Journey // Antonia Fraser

Mrs. Jordan’s Profession: The Story of a Great Actress and a Future King // Claire Tomalin

Jane Austen at Home // Lucy Worsley

Mudlarking: Lost and Found on the River Thames // Lara Maiklem

The Last Royal Rebel: The Life and Death of James, Duke of Monmouth // Anna Keay

The Marlboroughs: John and Sarah Churchill // Christopher Hibbert

Nell Gwynn: A Biography // Charles Beauclerk

Jurassic Mary: Mary Anning and the Primeval Monsters // Patricia Pierce

Georgian London: Into the Streets // Lucy Inglis

The Prince Who Would Be King: The Life and Death of Henry Stuart // Sarah Fraser

Wedlock: How Georgian Britain’s Worst Husband Met His Match // Wendy Moore

Dead Famous: An Unexpected History of Celebrity from the Stone Age to the Silver Screen // Greg Jenner

Victorians Undone: Tales of the Flesh in the Age of Decorum // Kathryn Hughes

Crown of Blood: The Deadly Inheritance of Lady Jane Grey // Nicola Tallis

Favourite books about the history of sex and/or sex work

The Origins of Sex: A History of First Sexual Revolution // Faramerz Dabhoiwala 

Erotic Exchanges: The World of Elite Prostitution in Eighteenth-Century Paris // Nina Kushner

Peg Plunkett: Memoirs of a Whore // Julie Peakman

Courtesans // Katie Hickman

The Other Victorians: A Study of Sexuality and Pornography in mid-Nineteenth Century England

Madams, Bawds, and Brothel Keepers // Fergus Linnane

The Secret History of Georgian London: How the Wages of Sin Shaped the Capital // Dan Cruickshank 

A Curious History of Sex // Kate Lister

Sex and Punishment: 4000 Years of Judging Desire // Eric Berkowitz

Queen of the Courtesans: Fanny Murray // Barbara White

Rent Boys: A History from Ancient Times to Present // Michael Hone

Celeste // Roland Perry

Sex and the Gender Revolution // Randolph Trumbach

The Pleasure’s All Mine: A History of Perverse Sex // Julie Peakman

LGBT+ fiction I love*

The Confessions of the Fox // Jordy Rosenberg 

As Meat Loves Salt // Maria Mccann

Bone China // Laura Purcell

Brideshead Revisited // Evelyn Waugh

The Confessions of Frannie Langton // Sara Collins

The Intoxicating Mr Lavelle // Neil Blackmore

Orlando // Virginia Woolf

Tipping the Velvet // Sarah Waters

She Rises // Kate Worsley

The Mercies // Kiran Millwood Hargrave

Oranges are Not the Only Fruit // Jeanette Winterson

Maurice // E.M Forster

Frankisstein: A Love Story // Jeanette Winterson

If I Was Your Girl // Meredith Russo 

The Well of Loneliness // Radclyffe Hall 

* fyi, Life Mask and Girl, Woman, Other are also LGBT+ fiction

Classics I haven’t already mentioned (including children’s classics)

Far From the Madding Crowd // Thomas Hardy 

I Capture the Castle // Dodie Smith 

Vanity Fair // William Makepeace Thackeray 

Wuthering Heights // Emily Brontë

The Blazing World // Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle

Murder on the Orient Express // Agatha Christie 

Great Expectations // Charles Dickens

North and South // Elizabeth Gaskell

Evelina // Frances Burney

Death on the Nile // Agatha Christie

The Monk // Matthew Lewis

Frankenstein // Mary Shelley

Vilette // Charlotte Brontë

The Mayor of Casterbridge // Thomas Hardy

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall // Anne Brontë

Vile Bodies // Evelyn Waugh

Beloved // Toni Morrison 

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd // Agatha Christie

The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling // Henry Fielding

A Room With a View // E.M. Forster

Silas Marner // George Eliot 

Jude the Obscure // Thomas Hardy

My Man Jeeves // P.G. Wodehouse

Lady Audley’s Secret // Mary Elizabeth Braddon

Middlemarch // George Eliot

Little Women // Louisa May Alcott

Children of the New Forest // Frederick Marryat

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings // Maya Angelou 

Rebecca // Daphne du Maurier

Alice in Wonderland // Lewis Carroll

The Wind in the Willows // Kenneth Grahame

Anna Karenina // Leo Tolstoy

Howard’s End // E.M. Forster

The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4 // Sue Townsend

Even more fiction recommendations

The Darling Strumpet // Gillian Bagwell

The Wolf Hall trilogy // Hilary Mantel

The Illumination of Ursula Flight // Anne-Marie Crowhurst

Queenie // Candace Carty-Williams

Forever Amber // Kathleen Winsor

The Corset // Laura Purcell

Love in Colour // Bolu Babalola

Artemisia // Alexandra Lapierre

Blackberry and Wild Rose // Sonia Velton

The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories // Angela Carter

The Languedoc trilogy // Kate Mosse

Longbourn // Jo Baker

A Skinful of Shadows // Frances Hardinge

The Black Moth // Georgette Heyer

The Far Pavilions // M.M Kaye

The Essex Serpent // Sarah Perry

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo // Taylor Jenkins Reid

Cavalier Queen // Fiona Mountain 

The Winter Palace // Eva Stachniak

Friday’s Child // Georgette Heyer

Falling Angels // Tracy Chevalier

Little // Edward Carey

Chocolat // Joanne Harris 

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street // Natasha Pulley 

My Sister, the Serial Killer // Oyinkan Braithwaite

The Convenient Marriage // Georgette Heyer

Katie Mulholland // Catherine Cookson

Restoration // Rose Tremain

Meat Market // Juno Dawson

Lady on the Coin // Margaret Campbell Bowes

In the Company of the Courtesan // Sarah Dunant

The Crimson Petal and the White // Michel Faber

A Place of Greater Safety // Hilary Mantel 

The Little Shop of Found Things // Paula Brackston

The Improbability of Love // Hannah Rothschild

The Murder Most Unladylike series // Robin Stevens

Dark Angels // Karleen Koen

The Words in My Hand // Guinevere Glasfurd

Time’s Convert // Deborah Harkness

The Collector // John Fowles

Vivaldi’s Virgins // Barbara Quick

The Foundling // Stacey Halls

The Phantom Tree // Nicola Cornick

The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle // Stuart Turton

Golden Hill // Francis Spufford

Assorted non-fiction not yet mentioned

The Dinosaur Hunters: A True Story of Scientific Rivalry and the Discovery of the Prehistoric World // Deborah Cadbury

The Beauty and the Terror: An Alternative History to the Italian Renaissance // Catherine Fletcher

All the King's Women: Love, Sex, and Politics in the life of Charles II // Derek Jackson

Mozart’s Women // Jane Glover

Scandalous Liaisons: Charles II and His Court // R.E. Pritchard

Matilda: Queen, Empress, Warrior // Catherine Hanley 

Black Tudors // Miranda Kaufman 

To Catch a King: Charles II's Great Escape // Charles Spencer

1666: Plague, War and Hellfire // Rebecca Rideal

Henrietta Maria: Charles I's Indomitable Queen // Alison Plowden

Catherine of Braganza: Charles II's Restoration Queen // Sarah-Beth Watkins

Four Sisters: The Lost Lives of the Romanov Grand Duchesses // Helen Rappaport

Aristocrats: Caroline, Emily, Louisa and Sarah Lennox, 1740-1832 // Stella Tillyard 

The Fortunes of Francis Barber: The True Story of the Jamaican Slave who Became Samuel Johnson’s Heir // Michael Bundock

Black London: Life Before Emancipation // Gretchen Gerzina

In These Times: Living in Britain Through Napoleon’s Wars, 1793-1815

The King’s Mistress: Scandal, Intrigue and the True Story of the Woman who Stole the Heart of George I // Claudia Gold

Perdita: The Life of Mary Robinson // Paula Byrne

The Gentleman’s Daughter: Women’s Lives in Georgian England // Amanda Vickery

Terms and Conditions: Life in Girls’ Boarding School, 1939-1979 // Ysenda Maxtone Graham 

Fanny Burney: A Biography // Claire Harman

Aphra Behn: A Secret Life // Janet Todd

The Imperial Harem: Women and the Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire // Leslie Peirce

The Fall of the House of Byron // Emily Brand

The Favourite: Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough // Ophelia Field

Night-Walking: A Nocturnal History of London // Matthew Beaumont, Will Self

Jane Austen: A Life // Claire Tomalin

Beloved Emma: The Life of Emma, Lady Hamilton // Flora Fraser

Sentimental Murder: Love and Madness in the 18th Century // John Brewer

Henrietta Howard: King’s Mistress, Queen’s Servant // Tracy Borman

City of Beasts: How Animals Shaped Georgian London // Tom Almeroth-Williams

Queen Anne: The Politics of Passion // Anne Somerset 

Charlotte Brontë: A Life // Claire Harman 

Goddess: The Secret Lives of Marilyn Monroe // Anthony Summers

Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day // Peter Ackroyd 

Elizabeth I and Her Circle // Susan Doran

African Europeans: An Untold History // Olivette Otele 

Young Romantics: The Shelleys, Byron, and Other Tangled Lives // Daisy Hay

How to Create the Perfect Wife // Wendy Moore

The Sphinx: The Life of Gladys Deacon, Duchess of Marlborough // Hugo Vickers

The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn // Eric Ives

Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy // Barbara Ehrenreich

A is for Arsenic: The Poisons of Agatha Christie // Kathryn Harkup 

Mistresses: Sex and Scandal at the Court of Charles II // Linda Porter

Female Husbands: A Trans History // Jen Manion

Ladies in Waiting: From the Tudors to the Present Day // Anne Somerset

Ghostland: In Search of a Haunted Country // Edward Parnell 

A Cheesemonger’s History of the British Isles // Ned Palmer

The Butchering Art: Joseph Lister’s Quest to Transform the Grisly World of Victorian Medicine // Lindsey Fitzharris

Medieval Woman: Village Life in the Middle Ages // Ann Baer

The Husband Hunters: Social Climbing in London and New York // Anne de Courcy

The Voices of Nîmes: Women, Sex, and Marriage in Reformation Languedoc // Suzannah Lipscomb

The Daughters of the Winter Queen // Nancy Goldstone

Mad and Bad: Real Heroines of the Regency // Bea Koch

Bess of Hardwick // Mary S. Lovell

The Royal Art of Poison // Eleanor Herman 

The Strangest Family: The Private Lives of George III, Queen Charlotte, and the Hanoverians // Janice Hadlow

Palaces of Pleasure: From Music Halls to the Seaside to Football; How the Victorians Invented Mass Entertainment // Lee Jackson

Favourite books about current social/political issues (?? for lack of a better term)

Feminism, Interrupted: Disrupting Power // Lola Olufemi

Revolting Prostitutes: The Fight for Sex Worker Rights // Molly Smith, Juno Mac

Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race // Reni Eddo-Lodge

Trans Britain: Our Journey from the Shadows // Christine Burns

Me, Not You: The Trouble with Mainstream Feminism // Alison Phipps

Trans Like Me: A Journey For All Of Us // C.N Lester

Brit(Ish): On Race, Identity, and Belonging // Afua Hirsch 

The Brutish Museums: The Benin Bronzes, Colonial Violence, and Cultural Restitution // Dan Hicks

Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls: A Handbook for Unapologetic Living // Jes M. Baker

Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women White Feminists Forgot // Mikki Kendall

Denial: Holocaust History on Trial // Deborah Lipstadt

Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape // Jessica Valenti, Jaclyn Friedman

Don’t Touch My Hair // Emma Dabiri

Sister Outsider // Audre Lorde 

Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen // Amrou Al-Kadhi

Trans Power // Juno Roche

Breathe: A Letter to My Sons // Imani Perry

The Windrush Betrayal: Exposing the Hostile Environment // Amelia Gentleman

Happy Fat: Taking Up Space in a World That Wants to Shrink You // Sofie Hagen

Diaries, memoirs & letters

The Diary of a Young Girl // Anne Frank

Renia’s Diary: A Young Girl’s Life in the Shadow of the Holocaust // Renia Spiegel 

Writing Home // Alan Bennett

The Diary of Samuel Pepys // Samuel Pepys

Histoire de Ma Vie // Giacomo Casanova

Toast: The Story of a Boy’s Hunger // Nigel Slater

London Journal, 1762-1763 // James Boswell

The Diary of a Bookseller // Shaun Blythell 

Jane Austen’s Letters // edited by Deidre la Faye

H is for Hawk // Helen Mcdonald 

The Salt Path // Raynor Winn

The Glitter and the Gold // Consuelo Vanderbilt, Duchess of Marlborough

Journals and Letters // Fanny Burney

Educated // Tara Westover

Bookworm: A Memoir of Childhood Reading // Lucy Mangan

Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? // Jeanette Winterson

A Dutiful Boy // Mohsin Zaidi

Secrets and Lies: The Trials of Christine Keeler // Christine Keeler

800 Years of Women’s Letters // edited by Olga Kenyon

Istanbul // Orhan Pamuk

Henry and June // Anaïs Nin

Historical romance (this is a short list because I’m still fairly new to this genre)

The Bridgerton series // Julia Quinn

One Good Earl Deserves a Lover // Sarah Mclean

Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake // Sarah Mclean

The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics // Olivia Waite

That Could Be Enough // Alyssa Cole

Unveiled // Courtney Milan

The Craft of Love // EE Ottoman

The Maiden Lane series // Elizabeth Hoyt

An Extraordinary Union // Alyssa Cole

Slightly Dangerous // Mary Balogh

Dangerous Alliance: An Austentacious Romance // Jennieke Cohen

A Fashionable Indulgence // KJ Charles

[data2364]

Carmen Argenziano as  Mario Rivera  2010 in  Castle “Murder Most Fowl”

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1628179/

[audiodramatist]

alright Tangled Wooden Overcoats time @labelleofbelfastcity

- the story starts the same, magic flower, sick queen, etc. 

- the man who’s been using the flower’s magic to stay young for ehh, 500 years? shows up to try and steal it back, but finds twin babies with long blue-black hair that fades to a dull, human shade of brown-black when cut.

- he doesn’t know which baby is magical, so he goes “fuck it” and takes both

- Antigone and Rudyard grow up in the tower with Father Gothel (get it because he’s goth) (the twins seem more scared of their father than mother in canon so im swapping it so he’s the big bad) 

- i don’t want them to be stuck there for 35 years because that’s hella sad, so maybe we’ll bump all characters down to like, early 20-somethings. older than rapunzel but not canon age.

- their daily activities are quite a bit more... grim. Father Gothel is a quasi-immortal mortician and he’s like “hey kids do you want to play with taxidermy?”

- Madeline has Pascal’s role, she’s closer friends with Rudyard than Antigone (likely because of his Disney Princess Animal Communication) and rides on his shoulder or head for most of the adventure.

- Eric is a gentleman thief on the run from the palace guards

- his “a long long time ago...” moments are references to the storybook that inspired his life of crime

- the entire smolder scene but with Eric Chapman, Mr. Sunshine Man. the charm actually works on Antigone, but the twins are tag-teaming the interrogation and Rudyard is immune. 

- upon breaking the twins out, Eric quickly realizes that they’re uncomfortable with sunshine and fluffy animals and general cuteness, and is like “my god do i have a place for you”

- he takes them to the Ugly Duckling, full of smiling, social townsfolk! they hate it! success! however, everyone fawns over Chapman so much that he’s pulled away from them, and the twins (mostly Antigone) start up the I’ve Got A Dream sequence

- except that they’ve convinced everyone to embrace their dark side. the lovely old confectioner wants to hunt down murderers! the baker wants to blow up a mine! the sweet, patient secretary wants to kill!

- uh oh here come the guards looking for Chapman. and one of them has a particular grudge.

- Eric Chapman has charmed his way out of capture one too many times, and Georgie Crusoe isn’t having it. she’s strong, determined, and multi-talented, and she’ll catch that thief by any means necessary. 

- unfortunately, the Funns have their own strange charms, and she’s willing to reach a truce with Chapman in order to make them happy.

- i actually think Antigone would be the one who wants to see the lanterns, and Rudyard is on the adventure just because he doesn’t want to be left alone. Antigone is the one who forces Chapman to help them, Antigone stands up to Father in the woods, Antigone realizes that they’re the Lost Princesses.

- oh yeah rudyard trans but like,, rudyard always trans amirite (although tbh i’m usually also an “antigone trans” person and im sacrificing it for some au details here)

- See the Light is in a hot air balloon. u can pick ur flavor, antman or chapyard but i have more Thoughts on the chapyard version so here it is (also i relegated rudyard to comic relief for this whole plot so far & i think he should have a nice moment)

- Antigone’s “See the Light” verse is about how she can finally see herself in a world that isn’t her tower-mortuary and how she wants to be in control of her life, while Rudyard and Chapman get the more romantic part :P

- when Eric “betrays” the twins, Antigone is hurt but determined to stay out in the kingdom, and Father knocks her out to get her back. Rudyard doesn’t believe that Chapman would leave, and suspects fowl play, but Father threatens to hurt Antigone if he doesn’t come with them, and so he follows.

- Madeline stows away in the boat when Chapman’s tied up and sent to shore. He gets captured immediately, but Madeline finds Georgie, and they go to gather the Piffling residents from the Ugly Duckling for a jailbreak.

- oh those two guys who Eric did crime with are also Father’s assistants. they dont go to jail yet because i want Georgie to fight them later lol

- so its a tower confrontation! the twins are chained in the tower with Father. Madeline sneaks through a window and picks the lock on Antigone’s chains quickly, but Rudyard’s are stuck, and she still can’t get them undone as Chapman shows up & promptly gets stabbed but he’s still standing so it can’t be that bad, right?

- Georgie is facing off against Thing 1 and Thing 2 down in the field below, and she’s tough as hell but half the size of one of them and it’s not sounding good.

- Antigone sees Madeline still hard at work on his gives Rudyard a “you got this?” look & he nods (even though he totally don’t got this) and she disappears into the shadows

- Father starts looking for her but can’t find anything until he & Rudyard hear a decisive “snip” from the rafters

- and Antigone swings down on a rope of dark brown hair and out the window, the last bits of magical blue fading from her now shoulder-length hair

- hey Eric is looking decidedly worse now. so is Father, to be honest. but as long as he still has Rudyard, he’ll survive.

- and Madeline finally gets through the lock

- Rudyard jumps to try and heal Eric, but broken mirror, surprise haircut, you know the drill. Madeline trips the rapidly-aging Father & he falls out a window! yay!

- Rudyard’s like Excuse Me We Just Watched Antigone Cut Her Hair How Could You Do This??? but obvs Eric doesn’t die because it’s a disney princess movie

- they all go back to the castle, antigone is an incredibly competent princess and rudyard is the kingdom’s beloved prince for all of 2 days before everyone is like “oh wait he’s an asshole lmao”

and then everyone lives happily ever after

[willow-salix]

Isolation update!

Day 74 of Isolation on Tracy Island

“What on earth are you two doing?” Gordon asked, popping up out of nowhere like a tropical jack-in-the-box, his shirt flapping in the breeze, making us both jump.

We were doing nothing more exciting than stretching out on the couch, where I had forced John to settle by laying on him and then demanded he read to me. And since that was actually a pretty normal occurrence, I was at a loss as to what he was referring to. Knowing him he'd just declared today to be "eat with your toes day" or something equally ridiculous and was annoyed we weren't playing along.

John stopped reading to glare at him. I lifted my head off his shoulder to join in with the glaring.

“We were trying to have a quiet moment without constant interruptions,” I told him. Why did he have to have so many brothers?

“I told you we should have gone up to Five for a few days,” John sighed, picking up the book again and continuing to read from where he had left off. I snuggled closer to listen.

“This supernatural soliciting

Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill,

Why hath it given me earnest of success,

Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor.

If good, why do I yield to that suggestion

Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair

And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,

Against the use of nature? Present fears

Are less than-”

“That! That’s what I meant. What are you doing?” Gordon interrupted again.

“Trying to read Macbeth, obviously,” I grumbled.

“Why? It’s rubbish. No one reads that sort of thing any more.”

“Sure they do. Did you not read Shakespear in highschool?” I asked.

“Only when I had to, not for fun," he sneered that last word in the same tone people use when they have just trodden in something disgusting or realised there is no milk left in the house.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” I told him.

“You two are so weird, there are billions of books out there and you are reading one so old that hardly anyone can even understand it any more.”

“We understand it, or we wouldn't be reading it,” John sighed. “It’s not our fault that it’s too intellectual for you.”

“I could understand it just fine if I wanted to!” Gordon protested. We snorted in disbelief. “Hey! I can be an intellectual too, I can be smart. Move over!”

He shoved our legs out of the way, forcing us to sit up and dropped down next to me on the couch.

“Do you have to be here?” John asked.

“Yes. I’m going to prove that I’m smart, keep reading.”

John sighed but continued where he had left off, obviously knowing that there is very little point arguing with him.

“Are less than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical.

Shakes so my single state of man.

That function is smothered in-”

“Nope! I can’t do it! It’s just so boring!” Gordon wailed.

“Heathen!” I smacked him with a cushion.

“Out of my sight! Thou doth infect my eyes!” John flicked his forehead.

“What was that?” Gordon asked, beginning to laugh. “Did you just insult me in your weird Shakespear language?”

"Yes, because we invented old English," I sighed.

“Thou art a dull and muddy-mettled rascal.”

“Did you just call me stupid in old english?”

“Yep,” I grinned. “He did. It isn't boring, Shakespear is a total G.”

“Yeah, right, still sounds boring to me.”

“Macbeth is a masterpiece, it's about a Scottish dude and his mate who meet these three witches and they, out of the goodness of their hearts, give him a prophecy telling him that he’ll become king of Scotland but that his mate will father a whole line of Scottish kings but won't be king himself. Feeling like this is totally his destiny he isn’t prepared to wait it out and see what happens, he wants to be king now, so, with the urging of his wife, he kills the king and his mate. He is crowned but he becomes overwhelmed with guilt and paranoia. He goes back to the witches and they tell him that he must beware of some other dude named Macduff but that Macbeth is incapable of being harmed by any man born of a woman. So Maccy B, he gets a bit cocky and thinks it's all good for a while, even though Macbeth’s wife is going a little cray cray and taking the whole handwashing thing a wee bit too seriously. But then Macduff gets in on the action and brings an army with him, they storm the castle and Macduff tells old Bethy that he was born by cesarean-”

“Untimely ripped from his mother's womb,” John added.

“And Duffy beheads Macbeth and this other dude named Malcom that I forgot to mention, becomes king. See? It’s great!”

“Love, you just butchered Shakespear so badly that even I didn’t understand half of what you just said.”

“It’s my gift to the world,” I shrugged. “My ability to sum up a plot so badly that even I’m not sure if it makes sense. But I thought I did OK with that one.”

“Yeahhh, not so much,” Gordon teased. “I tuned you out three words in.”

“John, insult your brother for me, I am no longer talking to him.”

“Thou yeasty folly-fallen bladder.”

“How dare you, sir! I have no idea what that means but it sounds bad.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

“What’s the point?” Scott chose that moment to walk in, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“John is insulting me!”

“What did you do?”

“Insulted him.”

“I was asking Gordon.”

I cracked up laughing, Scott always has our backs.

“He said that Shakespeare was boring and then was mean to me after I took the time to explain the plot to him. Now I’m not talking to him.”

“Did you explain it the same way you explained The Witches of Eastwick to Virgil? Because I’d seen it and I didn’t understand that either.”

“My talents are wasted on you all,” I nudged John and quirked an eyebrow in Scott’s direction. He rolled his eyes but dutifully dragged out a premium insult.

“Sense sure you haven else could not have motion; but sure that sense is apoplex’d. ”

“Oh my god, you can still do that?” Scott laughed in amazement.

“Do what, insult people?” Gordon asked, clearly confused.

“John was in a Shakespearean insult team in highschool, they actually took part in competitions, he was obviously the champion, won them the league and a bust of Shakespeare’s head as a trophy.”

“Obviously,” I agreed, patting his hand proudly. “Dude got mad skills.”

Gordon's eyes flicked up to the bookshelf on the balcony above our heads where a small gold bust sat.

“You are so weird.”

“So you frequently tell me. Now, will you two kindly go away and leave us in peace?”

“Oh no, no way,” Scott laughed. “I want to hear more, in fact, I’m calling the others.”

And that’s the story of how John spent more than three hours blowing their minds and damaging their egos with a never ending volley of insults as they goaded him into more and more outlandish attacks. Here are some of the best.

Thou hath not so much brain as ear wax - to Gordon because he’s not intelligent enough to appreciate old english.

Thou qualling ill-nurtured lout - to Alan who kept chanting “me next, me next”.

Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed- to Virgil because he was in the middle of trying to tame his hair when he was summoned.

Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver’d boy - to Scott because he was brave enough to attempt to insult him back.

Thou fawning spur-galled harpy!- at me when I stole his coffee

You should be women, and yet your beards forbid me to interpret that you are so- to all of them.

Your face is a book, where men may read strange matters- to me, because I’m a strange, strange lady and asked for another insult.

Thou fusty onion-eyed nut-hook! - at Virgil, no reason at all.

Draw thy tool. My naked weapon is out- after flipping a certain finger at Scott.

Thou wimpled bat-fowling puttock- at Gordon because it was his fault that John was stuck insulting people when he had just wanted a quiet afternoon.

Thou currish bade-court hedge-pig- at Alan while examining his chin growth.

What, you egg! Young fry of treachery! - at Alan when he sided with Gordon.

Assume a virtue if you have it not- at Gordon when he protested his innocence.

Thou artless tickle-brained haggard! - at Virgil when he compared John’s nose to Shakespeare’s massive hooter.

Thou villainous weather-brained barnacle!- at Gordon, just because, and now everyone is calling him a weather-brained barnacle.

Get thee to a nunnery- to me when I said his Shakespearean accent was strangely hot.

Thou puny rampallian baggage- at Gordon, for no reason other than he’s short.

Thou art some fool, I am loath to beat thee- at Scott when he attempted to start a Shakespearean rap battle (don’t ask, it didn’t last long)

Thine face is not worth sunburning- to Virgil who thinks he’s too cool for sunscreen and has a red nose because he fell asleep in the sun again.

You yourself, sir, shall grow old as I am if like a crab you could go backwards- at Jeff who wanted to know just what the heck was happening in his lounge and why we were all screaming with hysterical laughter.

I scorn you, scurvy companion. What, you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you moldy rogue away!- at Alan when he tried to steal one of John’s cookies while he was distracted.

Away, you bottle-ale rascal, you filthy bung, away!- At Gordon when he also attempted cookie theft.

The insult lashes came to a halt when Grandma called us for dinner.

“Hey, John?” Gordon whispered as we bundled down the stairs to the kitchen

“Yeah?”

“I dare you to insult Grandma’s cooking.”

“No, my love, it’s not worth it, think of the children!” I gasped.

“What children?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

I shrugged. “Our non-existent children, I just thought I'd go full movie heroine for dramatic effect. You do what you want, you’re all crazy.”

He narrowed his eyes as he thought about it, then nodded. I should have known, no Tracy can resist a dare.

Grandma plonked down plates of something that might have been chicken, but also might have been sausages in a gravy for gruel straight out of a Dickensean nightmare.

I watched John out of the corner of my eye. Would he actually do it? He took a deep breath, as if psyching himself up for it. I couldn't blame him. He pushed the plate away and opened his mouth.

“Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish! Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.”

I think John’s grounded now, but the boys still haven't stopped laughing...

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {8}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 7. Consequential Confidante

A/N:

A bit of a lighthearted chapter, the calm before the storm if you may. There’s a chapter I can’t wait to post, but I’m saving it for Valentine’s ~♥

8. The Queen’s Fool

Elsa victoriously smiled to herself, at achieving a slightly longer stay.

“Whatever you wish to do, they all sound like entertaining options, a game sounds fun, I’m quite curious to see if you can make them laugh, they are rather serious.” she giggled. “I wonder how loud you have to be for them to hear?”

“Well I imagine we’ll find out!” Hans remarked lightly. “This is the part where I make a bleeding fool of myself to make a Queen laugh. What better use for prisoners, ey?” He suggested lightly, and took the chair Elsa had been sitting in, to lean it close to the doors, but out of their swinging path, in case they should suddenly open. He sat in it and leaned back, keeping an eye on the doors as he rocked back on the back legs of the chair in most ungentlemanly fashion.

“-But you know, your Majesty-!” He began, as if they were mid conversation, raising his voice somewhat and speaking more toward the doors, “The most involved job I had in the Navy was in dealing with the Pie shop in Tortuga. I had to deal with all the pie-rates.” He suggested, with a grimace at the awful wordplay.

“Feel free to boo that one, it was awful. Ah, but I could tell you the sad tale of the chicken farm left out of most versions of Macbeth. Too bad, it involved a Murder Most Fowl.” He couldn’t help but be a bit amused by that one. He was a sucker for Shakespeare jokes.

“I’m quite fond of dancing, you know. Practiced with all the maids at home. One asked me, ‘Doesn’t it make you dizzy, to waltz so often?’, so I simply told her ‘One must get used to that, you know, I’m afraid that’s the way of the whirled’.”

He spoke loudly to try and make sure the guards could hear, and always with a glance toward the door, trying to listen for any stifled snickers, grinning a little by the end. He was clearly racking his brain for the best dumb jokes, to try and get a giggle out of the Guards– and out of Elsa.

Elsa’s smile grew wider and wider, so wide that it hurt her cheeks.

Like her smile, Elsa’s laughter grew with each joke from a soft giggle to a hearty laugh.

She wasn’t sure if she actually laughing at the jokes themselves or more of the overdramatic antics of his delivery.

Seeing Hans trying so hard to cheer her up with his jokes warmed her heart, it was hard for her not to smile for that alone.

As Hans finished his last joke:

“What’s going on in there?” wondered a voice, not belonging to the guards, in the hall.

The doorknob began turning.

“Hey!”

“Wait!”

The door already opening. The way the door opened obscured the view of who was entering from Elsa, yet Hans could see leaning up close to the door.

A short walking snowman entered the room before the guards could stop him.

Hans was perplexed, at first. One could almost see in real-time how his brain processed.

Human shape?

Too small.

What’s that?

NOT HUMAN

WHAT.

All that to say, Hans went from casually leaning back in his chair, to standing on it, looking down from a few feet up, agile as a cat in less time than it took to say his name. He even balanced it on two legs again, somehow, and didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the difficulty of his balancing act.

“What in God’s holy name–?!” He managed, looking for all the world like a startled cat– and yet still managing to keep the chair’s balance as he stood on it.

Once he determined it not to be a threat, he stepped it back down to four legs, but he was clearly no less tense about the strange creature.

“Good god, she had a snow baby.” He remarked with an overdramatic gesture to the snowman, just to make Elsa laugh again. As if his looking like a startled cat and standing on a chair wasn’t funny enough. “I have to know, is this one in line for the crown?” Hans wasn’t often scared for his life, so if he sensed a threat in Olaf, he would probably still have quips. It was just the surprise that set him to standing on the chair.

The door actually opening startled Elsa. Especially, when she realized who’d entered. Her eyes grew wide and her skipped a beat. She got on her feet as quickly as Hans had jumped on the chair.

“Oh no!” Elsa uttered. Quickly making her way to the door, fearing that if he was here, her sister might be close by as well.

“Hi. I’m Olaf!” greeted the childlike snowman, waving his stick hand at Hans.

Hans lacked whatever fear Elsa had, and instead stepped down from his chair and crouched down to Olaf’s height, quite curious.

“Hello Olaf, I’m Hans.” He offered a hand for a handshake, as much curiosity as politeness. He looked like he was greeting a child, but for the clear perplexity about his person.

“Have you heard of me yet? I imagine you probably have.” He was curious to see how the little snowman’s attitude would change when he knew what monster he was greeting.

'Ah! What was he thinking?’ Elsa internally screamed. How was Hans revealing himself so nonchalantly? If he told Olaf, the little snowman was bound to tell Anna, and she couldn’t let that happen.

“Hans?” Olaf pondered, as he shook Hans hand. “Like that evil Prince that locked up Anna leaving her to die and tried to kill Elsa?”

Elsa let out a slight cough as if clearing her throat, wordlessly warning Hans to refrain himself from disclosing more information to the young curious snowman.

“O-olaf! What are you doing here?” Elsa interposed, as she shot the guards outside an icy glare letting them know the question had really been directed at them.

“We’re sorry, your Majesty,” both man sheepishly apologized. Elsa was truly disappointed, they had one job and they’d easily been trumped by a childish snowman. Imagine if the intruder had been Anna instead of Olaf. Hans had been right her guard was in serious need of retraining.

Elsa quickly scanned the hall with her eyes as she closed the door behind her. Luckily, it looked like the hall was clear.

“Oh, Elsa! You’re here too?” Olaf bubbly replied. “Isn’t it funny? This comical man shares the same name as the awful Prince from the Southern Isles.” Elsa winced. “But you’d never be alone in a room with that guy.” Elsa let out a sigh of relief and a nervous laugh, never had she been more grateful of Olaf’s childlike naivety. “I was just passing by when I saw the guards snickering outside the door and heard jokes coming from here, I just had to see what was going on.” He’d finally answered the question she’d asked. “ Is this guy a clown?” he asked. “Sorry, Hans the Clown, but I’ve never heard of you before,” Olaf briefly interjected. “I didn’t know the castle had a clown.” He continued his rambling, until Elsa interrupted him.

“Olaf, where’s Anna?” Elsa asked, trying to find out if her sister was near.

“Oh, Anna’s with Kristoff,” the snowman answered. “Do you want me to go get her, so she can hear the clown’s jokes too?” He asked turning towards the door, his hand already gripping the doorknob.

“ No, no, no, no, no,” she repeated frantically, waving her hands in front of her. “Please don’t go tell Anna!”

“Why?” He asked in a serious tone as he turned to look at her suspiciously, as she stood there nervously. “Wait!” he cried out excitedly. “Is this a surprise for Anna?” he asked all bubbly again. “I love surprises! If he’s a surprise for Anna, her birthday is coming up, I promise not to tell! I don’t want to ruin the surprise for her.”

Oh, Hans would definitely be a surprise for Anna, no doubt about it, but not in the whimsical way Olaf was imagining.

Hans couldn’t help but be amused. “I believe in that line if profession I would be considered the Queen’s Fool.” Hans corrected, amused. He would acquiesce to Elsa’s demands, and weave stories in the process.

“I’m simply a traveling fool who got injured. Her Majesty has allowed me to rest here awhile. Would you like to stay for some stories?” He did his best to distract Olaf, while Elsa fussed. Technically, he considered what he had said to be true, he was a fool, he had traveled there, he was injured, and he was allowed to stay in the castle to heal. He was just omitting some details.

“I’m not worth the Princess’ time at the moment, I’d have to heal up and prepare some material before I could entertain properly, you know. But stories, I have plenty. Whether true or fiction is another question.”

Elsa was glad Hans had picked up on her cue.

Olaf gasped with excitement.

“You tell stories? I love stories! Can I hear one?” asked the small sentient snowman, before Elsa could cut in.

“Well of course little snow-prince!” Hans assured sweetly, the mask of the fool sliding on as quickly and easily as a pair of gloves. As he spoke, he scooped up the snow-man and set him on the chair Hans had been standing on, himself stepping back to take a more active role in storytelling. He buttoned his shirt in haste while he considered the story, and rolled up his sleeves as if to dispel any questions.

“Now, Once upon a time, for all good stories must start that way…” He paused, as if to think a moment. “There was a prince of mirrors named Simon, a Queen of spiders, and a sword of truth.” He grinned a little. His hands flitted across the scene, marking characters and their feelings, without representing them like puppets. His hands were simply indicators of place and mood, seemingly always moving, to capture Olaf’s attention.

“Prince Simon was a clever young man, a swordsman, an adventurer, a sailor– but he was, himself, a mirror. He could only reflect others, either how they themselves were feeling, or what they wanted him to be. On one of his many adventures, he stepped into a dark cave, with a torch held high in the darkness. With the water dripping from stalactites and collecting in pools of inky water on the floor, drip-drip-drip, he walked through the darkness unafraid, until he heard the skittering of eight legs tapping across the floor.” His hand substituted nicely for the spider.

“But deep in the darkness, he could spy a glint of gold, so he walked on, and on. As he could see in the distance that the gold was the hilt of a sword, He found one leg stuck. Then another! Then, he could no longer move. When the torch slipped somewhat in his hand, he saw a slight shimmer in the air, of spider silk, wrapped around his limbs.” He made as if to pluck a strand of it from the air, a broad gesture to keep Olaf’s attention on him.

“'Such a handsome young man,’ said the spider queen, the size of a carriage and with slavering jaws. 'I am so very hungry, but, if you answer my questions, I shall let you go,’.

But that was not the only one in the room.

'She lies!’ Sang a golden voice, that could only have come from the sword far away. 'Tell no lies, and I shall save you!’ But, Simon was a mirror. He saw a liar before him, and mirrors only remember what they can see before them.”

“'Tell me, young man’ Said the Queen, 'What is your name?’

And Simon thought, but only for a moment, before he said 'You may call me Ainsel.’

'Tell me, young Ainsel, where do you live?’ she asked, treading closer on her web, with eight insect eyes peering into his.

And he thought again, and said 'Upon the earth, betwixt some trees, with grass all about, and a view of water.’

'Tell me, young Ainsel, 'pon the Earth, where in your home do you sleep?’ She stepped closer, yet closer, until her pincers came all too close to his neck.

'I sleep in a bed,’ He said 'Under blankets, above the floor, with a roof far above.’

And upon that third question, the spider Queen hissed, dissatisfied with his answers. But before she could bite down on his neck and eat him for lunch, the sword of truth flew to his hand. He brushed the web aside with the sharpened blade, and fled from the cave with his newfound steel companion, leaving the spider-queen hungry. She prowled the kingdom for years after, but could never find anyone called Ainsel, nor distinguish one home 'pon the earth betwixt some trees with grass all about and a view of water– let alone to find someone asleep in their bed within. And that, dear snowman, is how to handle the strange and the fey without being eaten for lunch after.” Hans grinned, keeping things playful and interesting, hoping to keep Olaf interested in his stories– if only because it was something interesting to do.

Hans had already started his story before Elsa had time to oppose, but like Olaf she attentively listened to his tale, yet she was also trying to uncover the underlying meaning of his words.

At face value it was a simple story of a man handling the strange and fey without being eaten for lunch, but felt it was actually an allegory reflecting Hans’ true feelings.

It was obvious Simon was a reflection of himself. At first Elsa thought the Queen of spiders was meant to represent herself, but by the end of the story she wasn’t quite sure, the spider seemed to be symbolic of something far more grim.

The Princes cunning of knowing when to tell the ‘truth’ ended up saving him from his impending demise, but maybe there was more to it than that. He’d said mirrors only remember what they can see before them and before him was lying Queen, yet he told the truth on the third question which had brought the sword to his aid. Had the Prince taken a leap of faith, by no longer reflecting what was in front of him, and instead trusting the sword to save him if he told the truth?

Elsa thought she’d come up with a good interpretation of the stories hidden meaning. But then again, she could very well be over-analyzing a tale just meant to entertain a child, that Hans just so happened to subconsciously add elements that sounded very much like his own circumstances.

The tale of the Prince of mirrors that shattered his reflection to gain the sword of truth and escape the clutches of the hungry Queen of spiders.

It had been an engaging story nonetheless.

Like with all the stories he had told her, Hans storytelling ability was quite captivating, even more so with the addition of his animated gestures. The care he put into crafting his story in a way to maintain Olaf’s attention was quite endearing. It’d be rather hard to try to hide the smile from her face.

“Woah!” Olaf said amazement once the tale had ended. “ He’s good!” he directed the comment to Elsa, that made her chuckle. “Another!” begged the little snowman clapping his woody hands together.

“ Olaf, that’s enough for today, I think we’ve imposed on m– our dear fool’s time long enough for one day. It’s best we take our leave and let him rest now,” Elsa reasoned.

Elsa mentally kicked herself for her near slip of the tongue, Hans had referred to himself as her fool, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to view him as such, let alone say it out loud. A slight blush returning to her face.

“Aw,” groaned Olaf.

“Next time, little snow-prince. I’ll tell you a new story next-time.” He hummed, as if that were his only job in life. “Good evening, your Majesty. Rest well.” He was polite and sweet as always, and he didn’t seem to mind being referred to as 'dear fool’. Indeed, it was kind of amusing. He gave a polite showman’s bow, to complete the picture.

Sooner or later, though, he would have to give the Guards a lecture. Perhaps if he was a good enough prisoner, the Queen would let him take on the guards’ training. What an irony that would be.

Elsa went over to help Olaf get off the chair. Her eyes found Hans’ as she readied herself to head out.

“Thank you, for indulging us,” she said warmly. Her soft blue eyes telling him she was thanking him for more than just playing the fool. Elsa held Olaf’s hand with one hand while her other was on the doorknob, and she slowly opened the door as she continued making sure the guards could hear. “Also for your advice about retraining the guard, it’s been duly noted on my list of priorities.”  She said banteringly rather than out of malice. She just couldn’t believe their guard had easily been breached by Olaf, it was a bit alarming actually. She flashed Hans a smile, before turning to leave.

“Bye! Hans the Fool,” Olaf waved with his free hand as Elsa pulled him along with his other.

“Your Majesty,” both addressed her sheepishly as she and Olaf exited the room.

The Queen and her 'Snow-Prince’ swiftly turned the corner and continued down another corridor.

Olaf tottled along, happy to hold Elsa’s hand and think a lot about what he learned that day.

“Wow, what a great story! But, Hans the Fool said he was here because he got hurt. What happened? He seemed healthy to me. Was it an inside hurt?” He proposed. Olaf didn’t quite have the knowledge to recognize Hans’ torso of bandages, he just thought it was a weird undershirt. Maybe that was why he didn’t seem to mind the fact that his shirt had been unbuttoned when he had arrived.

“Hm?” Elsa looked down at the curious snowman. Not knowing how or if she should answer his questions. She slowed down her pace as she pondered. “ H-he made a mistake and he got hurt because of it,” she answered simply. “ Inside hurt? You could say that, he’s good at hiding his hurt behind his smile, that’s why you didn’t notice, and why I thought we should let him rest.”

Like Hans she was omitting information, yet still answering truthfully.

“Oh… Why would he hide that? He’s hurting so he shouldn’t hide that, right?” Olaf proposed. “Why would someone do that?” He didn’t know Elsa’s habit of hiding emotions. He was too naive to know that.

“Some people hide it…because they think it’s easier for them, they don’t want other people to worry,” she spoke from experience.

Olaf frowned a bit. He thought it was wrong, but didn’t quite have the reasoning or explanation for why it was.

“What kind of mistake did he make? Isn’t it weird that he has the same name as Hans? D'you think he knows Evil Hans?” Those questions were easier to think of and ask.

Oh uh, he was asking too many questions all of which she was reluctant to answer.

“Uh,” She let out a nervous chuckle. “ Olaf, I don’t think all that is important. All that matters is that he’s here with us now and he’s getting better.”  Elsa said in an attempt to stop his curious questions.

“Hm. But I want to knooowww.” Olaf whined. But he smiled and giggled a little. “Well he sure is Hansome.” Olaf giggled at his own pun. “Oh I’m clever, I should try being a fool.”

“Oh, Olaf,” she gave a lighthearted laugh as she shook her head. “You know what? If your so curious about him, you can go visit him again…tomorrow.” she stopped and knelt down in front of him. “ Just remember, don’t tell Anna.” she said as she vertically put her index finger across her lips.

“Hmmmm- Okay!!” Olaf chirped, jumping in the air excitedly.

He was kind of a loudmouth, but he could try. And thankfully, he was easily distracted from things. Even if he didn’t remember not to tell, it was a dice roll whether he would remember it at all. “Are you gonna be there, too? Are you learning all his stories?”

“Yes, I’m learning all his stories,” she smiled. “I’ll try to go as soon as I can, if I can even find the time,” she let out a sigh as her smile began to fade, “But tomorrow might be a little busy for me, trying to get the guards retraining all figured out and that’s a lot of paperwork.” Her head hurt just thinking about it, but it was necessary for the well-being of Arendelle.

“Aw, they’re nice guys, why do they need re-training?” Olaf was… not the brightest. But he was a child. It was to be expected.

[burnededens]

   ( avan jogia, trans male, he/him, assassin’s creed: syndicate ) * &. i know it must be scary for you, jacob frye, after not surviving the takeover. to turn into someone like jacob "jake” fowles, a twenty-five year-old bartender at dragon’s breath brewery & fighter at the ring, right here in castle town. just remember that you are as charming as you are reckless, and to be wary, be safe, be true to who you are : neutral through and through. ( hylia gets assassin’s creed on main )

   SO FUN FACT - I have been wanting to write this character in this group for months and it is absolutely a crime that it took me this long to pick him up but here we FINALLY are ! I’m genuinely shocked he’s the first Assassin’s Creed character here because I personally think all of the characters are phenomenal and it was either gonna be this character or the protagonist from two games before ( Edward Kenway of Black Flag ) but I have a slightly greater preference towards Jacob so !! Behold the living embodiment of chaotic good !! Obvious tws for death , violence , and murder under the cut because this is a series about assassins , but also gang stuff ( and a very small bullying mention in the post-snap portion ) too. I hope this is easy to understand !! 

BEFORE THE SNAP  /  J A C O B   F R Y E .

S’OKAY again I will always try and explain the games’ history and Syndicate’s specific plotline in the simplest of ways - and especially because AC can get very confusing very fast. Thankfully Syndicate is one of the more straightforward entries , but before I get into that , I have to give a basic rundown of the lore since... it will not make sense if you haven’t played any of the games.

A long long long time ago , there were these people called the Isu , and the Isu crafted something that the AC franchise refers to as Pieces of Eden. The Pieces of Eden ultimately has access to control other living beings , and they were extremely powerful.

Flash forward a little bit where you have two forces - the Knights’ Templar and the Assassin Order/Brotherhood - that struggled for these Pieces of Eden for two very different reasons.

The Templars valued order and wanted to use them to control others to achieve a utopia - believing that human corruption & essentially free will were what caused most evils of the world.

The Assassins valued freedom & wanted to preserve the free will of the world , believing that control would do them no good and a mutual understanding under this freedom would be what created a utopia.

So basically , Templars wanted peace via control and Assassins wanted peace via freedom.

Templars wanted the Pieces of Eden to control , and the Assassins knew this was Not Good and often sought to keep the Pieces the fuck away from the Templars ( at least , that’s always how I saw it. )

Of course , because we’re now on like ten main games and seventeen spin-off games it’s OBVIOUSLY way more complicated than that , just that’s the most nutshell way to explain everything. That being said , let’s jump more into Jacob & Syndicate. 

SO JACOB. Jacob is one of the two protagonists of Syndicate , the younger twin to the other protagonist , his sister Evie. They were born in Crawley , raised by their Assassin father , but while Evie was always more . . . into the Brotherhood and assassin ideals , Jacob always was more of a rebel & a free spirit. But nevertheless , he grew up an Assassin like she.

Flash forward years later where the main plot of Syndicate starts , during the Industrial Revolution in 1868 , where the twins are set on heading to London , which is pretty much entirely under control of the Templars ( namely Crawford Starrick and his network ) & their syndicates ( ha ha hA ).

This . . . is sort of where Jacob & Evie separate in terms of goals - Evie’s well-aware of the Pieces of Eden and aims to collect them before the Templars do. However , Jacob’s more so intent on taking down Templars & liberating London from their control. He goes as far as to even starting a gang with his sister - known as the Rooks - to combat the Templar-controlled gang that has London’s boroughs in its grasp known as the Blighters. 

Evie’s basically like “okay we’re going to collect the Pieces of Eden so the templars don’t have them bc Starrick will be more powerful if he has them” but Jacob says to her “fUCK YOU I’M A MAN WHO’S GONNA FREE THE PEOPLE” and. Yeah.

Throughout the game , Jacob’s the twin that exhibits a more impulsive , reckless , yet well-meaning approach to problems - and that sorta kinda . . . means that when he solves problems , he also accidentally makes other problems , and his sister has to clean them up because hey , you killed this Templar leader and angered a bunch of Blighters and we are fucked and Jacob can’t really. Grasp that because he’s too focused on freeing London NOW and taking out Templars NOW and [ Sleeping With Sirens vc ] do it NOW and remember deal with it LATER.

There’s a few cases where Jacob has even so ( both unintentionally and intentionally ) teamed up with Templars because he thought they could help him accomplish his goals in taking London back from them.

He teamed up with Pearl Attaway ( a businesswoman who controlled most of London’s transport and wanted basically a monopoly ) and didn’t find out until later that she was a Templar and had to assassinate her since she was the exact type of controller he wanted to rid London of

But also he struck a deal with Maxwell Roth ( basically a Blighter gang leader who had a shitton of power ) to work with him - but Maxwell saw this as let’s cause as much chaos as possible and fuck the consequences where Jacob saw it as more let’s fix problems by any means necessary and he had to shut down the deal when he saw Roth really just . . . didn��t give a fuck about anyone , including innocents. Jacob’s whole goal was to free and protect the innocents , he just didn’t care how as long as nobody got hurt.

AND THAT’S HONESTLY WHAT I LOVE SM ABOUT JACOB LIKE ... Jacob. Is the epitome of chaotic good like he cares so much about people and protecting the innocents & saving them from control that yeah he doesn’t really . . . consider the consequences of his actions especially when his actions are so chaotic but his primary goal is to free the people of London by taking down Templars and he doesn’t give a fuck how he’s going to do it , he just operates on his code of making sure none of the good people get hurt and the bad guys go down. 

Eventually in the game he did come to realize the errors in his own work and way of thinking - he didn’t think much of the consequences , and therefore caused more of a wreckage than he aimed for. He loved the idea of freedom , but drew the line at absolute careless anarchy like Roth.

Basically be a REBEL not an ASSHOLE.

I love this kid tho like he’s so witty and rebellious and chaotic but also good-hearted and will still help even tho he might complain a lot about it ( looks at Abberline and Darwin ) and he !! He honestly acts before he thinks but I find those characters so refreshing esp bc he’s very emotional and adamant about acting on how he feels and his ideals and it’s honestly so. Idk I really like that about him.

He’s also canonically bisexual and that is something I will never shut up about but if you fucking even tHINK ABOUT ROMANTICIZING ROTH & JACOB’S RELATIONSHIP ( like it’s p much confirmed Roth had a thing 4 Jacob but it’s not. That’s not a Good Thing ) I will personally throw some hands with you. 

...Jacob and Ned however-

SPARE NED?? SPARE NED MA’AM??? 

But honestly anyway TLDR; Jacob is a Victorian chaos-bringer who doesn’t really think much about the shit he does but has a heart of gold he’s just. He’s A Lot. He’s a lil bitch but a good kind of lil bitch.

ALSO ALSO ALSO I AM,,,, not exactly entirely sure where I’m pulling Jacob yet like I could pull him from the end of Syndicate’s main story but also there’s the Jack the Ripper DLC which makes me... feel things, but Jacob’s also significantly older than and a good bit of that DLC’s a bit triggering - long story short, we love and will protect Jacob Frye with our entire lives. 

AFTER THE SNAP  / J A K E   F O W L E S .

So PERSONALITY WISE - Jake isn’t much different from his past self ; the only thing is he never grew up with his twin sister , raised an only child , and because Jacob & Evie are meant to balance each other out , he essentially grew up without an entire part of him he isn’t even aware of.

He was adopted - adopted by a working-class family from London that moved to Castle Town , and that was where Jake was raised.

Now , he was always a bit of a rebel. Always a problem child from the start. There were hundreds and hundreds of cases where he was reported either talking back to teachers , misbehaving in class , sometimes even getting into fights with other kids whether it be they were picking on him or someone else.

And he always liked the thrill of being that rebel - being that miscreant that earned a reputation ; never a mean person , never a bad dude , just somebody who . . . acted out. Acted out for whatever reason - mainly because he never liked the idea of obeying or because he taught the rules were stupid or because the rules meant some people were gonna get inconvenienced. Like , if you see someone getting bullied , why just tell an adult where you can solve the problem right then and there and sock the bully in the jaw ??

That was it. That was Jake’s philosophy.

His parents sent him to multiple hobby & art & educational camps & stuff to try and see if he could find some sort of hobby that would sorta get him out of this ‘problem child’ thing - but it never really worked. He always either got sent home earlier or was asked to never come back because hey , you can’t start a rebellion in the boys’ cabin because you didn’t like the way one of the counselors instructed you about knot tying. 

Never worked out , his parents thought he was smart and would make a brilliant lawyer or doctor or something - but nope , he graduated high school , attempted college but dropped out after two years , and when his parents kicked him out , he crashed with a few friends and made a living on odd jobs before he scored working as a bartender at Dragon’s Breath.

And also . . . both fighting at The Ring and also underground matches for some coin.

Yeah. 

It’s sorta-kinda through this he ALSO became aware of the other people who had to resort to means like this to survive - eventually starting his own gang of people who operated on sorta-kinda Robin Hood like terms - protect the less fortunate , combat the gangs who caused way more problems than he’d like , and also to basically uhhh flip the bird to the rich.

You guessed it - they’re called The Rooks and they’re not really . . . big , they’re just kind of. There. And nobody knows Jake’s the leader but it’s not like he’s really pressed if anyone finds out. 

It’s overall not entirely different from his pre-CT life other than obvious modern differences and LACK OF EVIE sooo. Yeah !!

I’ll hopefully work on a WC page for him soon but as of rn I just kinda want to get some threads going - hope y’all enjoy my dumbass kid xoxoooo

[innerclouds]

More requests

-

the adventures of huckleberry finn: do you think kids or their parents are responsible for their beliefs?

Parents then up to 18 then the kids are responsible for whatever they do under their beliefs.

the alchemist: what are your current plans for the future? will you be upset if they don’t work out?

Personal improvement, new places, new experiences. Not so much upset but if things don't pan out then they just don't pan out.

alice’s adventures in wonderland: how do you react to absurd situations?

Quiet but nervous chuckling.

and then there were none: do you think murderers deserve to die?

Short answer: Yes. Long answer: Yes, but I'd like to see massive reforms of justice systems all over the planet first.

artemis fowl: how much do you depend on technology?

Pretty addicted to the convenience of it.

beowulf: is it always worthwhile to hear both sides of an argument?

Yes. Echo chambers are a terrible thing.

the canterbury tales: if someone is hypocritical, do you point it out?

Constantly. I’m quick to point out my own hypocrisy as well.

cat’s cradle: do you think it’s better to believe a lie than to live with an unpleasant truth?

The truth will set you free.

charlotte’s web: what’s your favorite art form?

I don’t have a favorite.

coraline: if you could change your family, what would you change?

I wouldn't. They have flaws, all families have flaws, but I wouldn't change them. It would be wrong to.

the crucible: how heavily do you depend on others when forming opinions?

Not very heavily based on the opinions of strangers when it comes to certain context, but I do value the opinions of those close to me.

fahrenheit 451: do you think there’s any knowledge that should be kept secret?

No.

the fault in our stars: if you could have one conversation before you died, who would you talk to and what would you say?

Bae. I am absolutely terrible with words though so I'm not sure what exactly I'd say.

flowers for algernon: how much potential do you think you have?

In general? About 75%.

frankenstein: is it wise for humans to attempt to create life?

Yes. I feel we shouldn't hold ourselves or science back.

the giver: talk about a favorite memory

I have too many of those to even start.

the great gatsby: what would you sacrifice for money?

My sense of smell for a considerably large sum of money.

harry potter: if you could bring someone back from the dead, would you? if so, who would it be?

Got a few of those, but I'm not sure who specifically. Be really hard to pick just one.

the hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy: what do you think is the meaning of life?

There is no definitive meaning. The only thing we have that comes close are the personal experiences of individuals and those they share them with or the things that give them meaning.

the hobbit: do you think the average person has the potential to be a hero?

Yes, but most don't bother.

holes: if someone poor stole from someone rich, who would you sympathize with?

I hate the lack of context, but because of that I'll have to say neither.

howl’s moving castle: how quickly do you form opinions about other people?

Fairly quickly.

the hunger games: would you kill someone if they planned to kill you?

No, but I would ask of curiosity as to why they were planning to kill me.

identical: how clear is your perception of reality?

I'd hope rather clear.

the importance of being earnest: are you flattered or annoyed by gentlemanly behavior?

Flattered until it's laid on unnecessarily thick.

inferno: do you think you belong in hell? why or why not?

If it did somehow exist I'd say maybe, or probably end up in purgatory, either of which are fine by me. All the cool people will be there. I've done my fair share of "sinning".

jonathan livingston seagull: is perfection a good goal?

If you can handle the pressures of trying to reach perfection, yes. As someone who deals with artistic perfectionism, no. It’s not worth it.

the joy luck club: describe your family

Split in two.

jurassic park: do you think it’s wrong to use animals as attractions and accessories?

No, but just so long as they're treated well and not abused.

the kite runner: if you could, what social issue would you spread awareness about?

I'm not a big fan of the term "spread awareness", people are already aware of issues, the problem is nobody really wants to do anything about it or they don't think it's a problem simply because it doesn't affect them. As someone with similar issues I would like to see more support for people like myself but I doubt anything too substantial will happen within my lifetime. And no, simply "spreading awareness" isn't going to cut it.

les misérables: do you think people should revolt if the government is corrupt?

That's not even a question, yes. Yes they should.

life of pi: if you were stranded, would you be able to take care of yourself?

Mostly by stubborning my way though it. I'm not squeamish at the thought of killing something to keep myself fed and alive or stupid enough to not macgyver my own weaponry or tools but my health isn't exactly amazing enough to keep me going long term.

the lightning thief: what would you be the god/goddess of?

Complaining, anxiety, procrastination and self doubt.

the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe: if you could start a new life in a new world, would you?

Depends on what the catches are.

lord of the flies: what motivates you best?

Future plans, all the things to see and experience.

lord of the rings: is it important to work for the greater good of the world?

Yes, but it shouldn't take complete priority. It's not healthy to not take care of yourself too.

of mice and men: would you kill your closest friend to save them from a worse fate?

Again, lack of context. I don't have a yes or no answer to this because of that and because I don't think I could go through with that.

the perks of being a wallflower: does listening to other people’s problems help you or weigh you down?

It helps, probably more in a distracting from my own problems sense, and because I want to try and help them if I can.

the phantom of the opera: how much do you judge others on physical appearance?

Personality and actions take priority.

pride and prejudice: are you romantic?

I like to think I am, but I think I just end up looking awkward.

the princess bride: what’s your best feature?

My hair? I don't know.

a raisin in the sun: what is your most important possession?

Zodiac pendant, medical bracelet, glasses.

romeo and juliet: have you ever done anything ridiculous for love? what?

Ridiculous isn't quite the word I'd use but yeeeah, and that's a little too personal to put here.

stargirl: do you value uniqueness?

Of course, if everything's the same then it's just boring.

the taming of the shrew: would you be willing to be in a relationship with someone who is very dominant?

That's kinda my jam so yes.

the tell-tale heart: is there anything you feel guilty about right now? what?

I told myself only one scoop of gelato when I got back from work. I'm having one and a half.

to kill a mockingbird: do you believe something has value simply because it’s beautiful?

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so who am I to judge something doesn't have value if someone else does?

twilight: how consistent are your feelings about people close to you?

The word you're looking for is constant and the answer is yes.

watership down: do you think your right to life is any greater than an animal’s?

I dunno, I'd die for my cat. Even if he is a pain in the butt.

the westing game: if you died now, what would you want to happen to your possessions?

Given to bae or siblings if they want them.

[makeitastrength]

what are your favorite episodes of castle?

Hi anon!

Great question! My absolute favorites… that’s an easy one: Cops and Robbers (4x07) and Veritas (6x22) are my all-time favorites of the more serious/intense Castle episodes and Nikki Heat (3x11) is my all-time favorite funny Castle episode. 

I was gonna just round out this list to make a top 10 but it quickly became clear that I’d never be able to narrow it down that far because there are so many eps that are just so good. Kill Shot (4x09) of course. 47 Seconds (4x19) and Probable Cause (5x05) and Number One Fan (6x04). 

Obviously I can’t leave out all the amazing episodes surrounding the JB storyline - Knockdown (3x13), Knockout (3x24), Rise (4x01), Always (4x23), and In The Belly of the Beast (6x17), in particular.

Plus, we have all the two-parters, and I loved them all but I’d have to say Resurrection (7x14)/Reckoning (7x15) are my favorites.

I know a lot of people don’t really like the Ryan/Espo heavy eps but I personally do. I loved Den of Thieves (2x21) and The Wild Rover (5x18) and Under Fire (6x11) so much.

And I know most of us (myself included) predominately watched Castle for the Castle/Beckett romance, but every once in a while I found myself extremely compelled by one of the case-of-the-week storylines. When the Bough Breaks (2x05), Vampire Weekend (2x06), and Murder Most Fowl (3x08) are the three that stand out the most.

I dunno. Does a list of 20 episodes count as “a few favorites?”

[smallscreensmackdowb]

http://smallscreensmackdown.com/this-episode-in-castle-history-murder-most-fowl-11-08/

[pollylynn]

Title: Suit WC: 800

“Any favorite hangouts?” — Kate Beckett, Murder Most Fowl (3 x 08) 

He has something he wants to ask her. Well, he has—as usual—a million things he wants to ask her, eighty percent of which (conservatively) would put his bodily integrity at risk. But right now—today—he has a very specific ask in mind, and he’s not sure how to approach it. 

It has to do with Lightbulb Len and the poetry of his existence. That, right there, is part of the reason he’s not sure how to approach his ask: He’s already gotten The Look once for juxtaposing murder and poetry, so that’s a no go. He’s happy enough to choose another word, though. He’s very invested in his ask, and he doesn’t have a lot of time. 

He’s happy to talk about Lightbulb Len as archetype—as a hard-working, noble Hektor in world that clamors for Achilles, the plodding, devoted Toad in a city full of Frogs. He’s happy to home in on the plot here. He could go on for days about the novel passions of Len Levitt and his search for subway safety and ornithological truth. 

He could tug on the most intractable heartstrings in recounting the man’s innate sense of duty and decency, his in-the-moment bravery, as he turned his camera on the man abducting Tyler Donegal at gunpoint, and in so doing, lost his life. And don’t even get him started on the supporting cast in Len’s life. Arthur Sansone alone deserves a spinoff series, quite possibly featuring Byron Singer as his nemesis. And possibly his roommate. Because he has pored over the photos of Lightbulb Len’s apartment, and he is deeply interested in what the home life of Arthur Sansone and Byron Singer might be like. 

He can paint a picture of Lightbulb Len however she likes. He’s happy to frame it whatever literary terms are least likely to irritate her, most likely to make her say yes to the ask he still doesn’t know how to approach.

He needs to figure that out, sooner rather than later, and not just because the ask is on a schedule. She knows something is up. He’s been fidgety all day, and the day has been more than slow enough for her to notice. Five times an hour he’s been leaning in, drawing breath to just come out with it, then snapping his jaw shut when he chickens out. She’s noticed and time is hurtling forward like a subway train. 

“Castle.” She finally breaks. She’s been hardcore ignoring him for a solid hour and a half, but she breaks and he may have fidgeted his final fidget. She pinches the bridge of her nose and squeezes her eyes shut. “What?” 

“It’s nothing,” he says swiftly, and immediately wishes it were anatomically possible for him to give himself a swift kick. “Too much—too much coffee. I lose track, you know. And I like—I like to keep you company. And have you thought of cutting down? Because you might . . .” 

He trails off well after his babbling has taken him into dangerous territory, vis-à-vis that bodily integrity he’s grown so attached to. She cracks one eye open to stare him down. She waits to see if he has finally babbled himself out for the moment.

“I know about the bag,” she says in the voice that universally precedes a suspect making a confession so comprehensive, they’ll probably have to repeat high school geometry over that last exam they cheated on. He knows better—for once—than to interrupt. “I know you want something.” Her one baleful eye closes again. She cups  her forehead in her palm and squeezes her temples. “Just ask.” 

“Will you go to the park with me?” It comes out without the necessary spaces between the words. It causes a multi-consonant pile-up. “I have binoculars—new fancy ones. And I brought the camera I got Alexis for her orienteering trip. I have a pen—I have a bunch of my best pens—so we can put it in the log. And I brought a blanket and a thermos and . . .” His autonomic nervous system insists on a breath. It stalls out his momentum, and he finishes lamely, “Because of Len. I thought it would be nice.” 

“To see the red-tailed hawks.” She laughs from behind her hand. A smile makes its way fully across her face and he’s suddenly, wildly glad that he asked. 

He nods vigorously—idiotically, probably. “But we have to hurry—”

It’s unnecessary urgency. She’s on her feet. She has her keys in hand and she’s hauling his bag of gear out from under Ryan’s desk where he’d stashed it. She’s stabbing the elevator button while he toils in her wake. 

“Gotta hurry,” she affirms. She checks her watch. “They nest at dusk.”  A/N: Super rough night to write. Yet not writing is worse. No things here at all. 

images via homeofthenutty

[uneven-odds]

50 books asks

The lovely @promisedmistake asked me to do this, thx love <3

the adventures of huckleberry finn: do you think kids or their parents are responsible for their beliefs? -I think it´s both sides. I mean  parents have a big influence on their children until a certain age but in the end it´s the kids who decide what they belief or what their beliefs are.

the alchemist: what are your current plans for the future? will you be upset if they don’t work out? - At the moment I concentrate on university and all the stuff I have to do because of it and if that doesn´t work out the way I want to then I would be really upset and in some way depressed. I´m a little bit to ambitious.

alice’s adventures in wonderland: how do you react to absurd situations? -The first thing that comes alyways in my mind is : what the fuck. And sometimes I´m shocked.

and then there were none: do you think murderers deserve to die? - No. If you kill a murderer because of murder then you´re not better than the killer.

artemis fowl: how much do you depend on technology? - Not so much.

beowulf: is it always worthwhile to hear both sides of an argument? - Yes!

the canterbury tales: if someone is hypocritical, do you point it out? - Sometimes.

cat’s cradle: do you think it’s better to believe a lie than to live with an unpleasant truth? - it´s better to live with an unpleasant truth. Yes it may hurt and it may makes you angry and so on, but at least you know what´s going on.

charlotte’s web: what’s your favorite art form? - Books.

coraline: if you could change your family, what would you change? - Nothing. it´s good as it is.

the crucible: how heavily do you depend on others when forming opinions? -Not much. Sometimes I like to hear their opinions and discuss with them but in the end it´s my own opinion.

fahrenheit 451: do you think there’s any knowledge that should be kept secret? - Nope.

the fault in our stars: if you could have one conversation before you died, who would you talk to and what would you say? -Tbh I would rather not talk with anyone but If I have to probably my best friend or my grandparents. 

flowers for algernon: how much potential do you think you have? - I don´t know. It´s hard for me to see if I have any potential at all.

frankenstein: is it wise for humans to attempt to create life? - Yes.

the giver: talk about a favorite memory -It´s the same as @promisedmistake , the night in Berlin where we talked about everything and nothing after a good concert.

the great gatsby: what would you sacrifice for money? - Nothing.

harry potter: if you could bring someone back from the dead, would you? if so, who would it be? - No. I think everything happens for a reason and if you do something against it, it would only bring chaos. 

the hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy: what do you think is the meaning of life? - To be happy and content with yourself and your life.

the hobbit: do you think the average person has the potential to be a hero? - Yeah.

holes: if someone poor stole from someone rich, who would you sympathize with? - With no one. Stealing is not okay. Like never.

howl’s moving castle: how quickly do you form opinions about other people? - Sometimes too quickly.

the hunger games: would you kill someone if they planned to kill you? - No.

identical: how clear is your perception of reality? - At the moment? blurry.

the importance of being earnest: are you flattered or annoyed by gentlemanly behavior? - Depends on my mood and on the person. Sometimes it´s okay and sometimes it´s annoying.

inferno: do you think you belong in hell? why or why not? - Yes, I´m not really a good person. I lied way too often and I hurt a few people...so hell it is. 

jonathan livingston seagull: is perfection a good goal? - Not really.

the joy luck club: describe your family - loyal, caring, loving, funny and supportive

jurassic park: do you think it’s wrong to use animals as attractions and accessories? - YES!

the kite runner: if you could, what social issue would you spread awareness about? - Adoption rights for the LGBTQ+ Community and gay marriages.

les misérables: do you think people should revolt if the government is corrupt? - YES!

life of pi: if you were stranded, would you be able to take care of yourself? - Yeah.

the lightning thief: what would you be the god/goddess of? - Mess.

the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe: if you could start a new life in a new world, would you? - Hell yes.

lord of the flies: what motivates you best? - Music.

lord of the rings: is it important to work for the greater good of the world? - Yes.

of mice and men: would you kill your closest friend to save them from a worse fate? - No. I could not do that.

the perks of being a wallflower: does listening to other people’s problems help you or weigh you down? - It helps me because it distracts me from my own problems.

the phantom of the opera: how much do you judge others on physical appearance? - Not at all.

pride and prejudice: are you romantic? - Not really.

the princess bride: what’s your best feature? - My eyes and my humor.

a raisin in the sun: what is your most important possession? - Family and friends.

romeo and juliet: have you ever done anything ridiculous for love? what? -I don´t really know...but I don´t think so.

stargirl: do you value uniqueness? - Yes.

the taming of the shrew: would you be willing to be in a relationship with someone who is very dominant? - Not really. I´m too stubborn for something like this.

the tell-tale heart: is there anything you feel guilty about right now? what? - Yeah kinda. But I feel guilty all the time so...

to kill a mockingbird: do you believe something has value simply because it’s beautiful? - Yes.

twilight: how consistent are your feelings about people close to you? - Very consistent.

watership down: do you think your right to life is any greater than an animal’s? - No.

the westing game: if you died now, what would you want to happen to your possessions? -I would give my books to @promisedmistake and my dvds to my best friend. The necklace I wear all the time would go back to my grandma,my grandpa would get his coin back which he gave me a long time ago, my mother and my brother would get all the rest that I value and love.