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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 7 months

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tuesday again 2/27/2024

this is the longest ive ever been unemployed and media is only doing so much to beat back the horrors. so let’s talk about the media instead of the horrors

listening

Come Up For Air by We The Commas, off i think one of the autogenerated spotify indie mixes?

youtube

sort of a rollicking modern little surf rock thing, they describe themselves as "surf and alternate rhythm and blue" which is pretty bang on imo. they're all brothers (their last name genuinely is Comma, which i salute as a fellow weird last name haver), and cite john mayer (i don't really hear it) and the beach boys (yes i hear this very much) as some of their influences. a song i had on loop for an entire forty minute drive and did not get tired of. spotify

reading

three books that MUST go back to the library tomorrow bc their autorenew is up and i was emotionally unable to get a library card without tooling around and getting a stack of books a month ago.

thank you philip.

i really only liked the Carmilla adaptation by Amy Chu, bc it really gets at what i didn't realize was the heart of the original 1872 lesbian vampire novella: a toxic gay housing situation you have fallen into and can't get out of bc your area is so so so expensive and housing is so so so tenuous. i have read the original but not in a while, this is an excellent modern adaptation centering around a nyc social worker in the late seventies that presupposes no knowledge and intertwines the original novella in the form of a stolen rare book. (nonconsecutive pages)

i don't have much to say about the DC young adult comic about the circus career of one of the Robins (Dick Grayson). i didn't love the loose artstyle and am not in its intended age range plus it had a bit too much therapyspeak, but it did have a clever use of a very limited color palette.

let's yank the amazon description for the detective novel, which i grabbed bc it vaguely pinged something in my brain about one of the fallout 4 sidequests and i've picked books up for worse reasons (SPOILERS):

Jacob Rigolet, a soon-to-be former assistant to a wealthy art collector, looks up from his seat at an auction—his mother, former head librarian at the Halifax Free Library, is walking almost casually up the aisle. Before a stunned audience, she flings an open jar of black ink at master photographer Robert Capa’s “Death on a Leipzig Balcony.” Jacob’s police detective fiancée, Martha Crauchet, is assigned to the ensuing interrogation.

i simply fucking hated this authorial style and tone and ditched it two chapters in. i don’t currently have the patience for reading about a clinically insane mother and hate crimes against Jewish people. despite the fairly dark premise, the first two chapters veer into cozy mystery with very short sentences, which do not a noir make. now, it does not advertise itself as noir or neo-noir, but as an homage to noir. it is for me unbearably smug. in my most unkind heart of hearts i want to say it's like if wes anderson tried to make a noir. this is a book that wants you to know it has read other noirs. yes thank you ive read several others, that’s why im reading this one, stop reminding me of better books i could be reading.

there's some weird descriptions of womens' bodies in here. chandler (my beloved) is certainly guilty of this as well, but he lavishes a sort of equal opportunity eye on the men in his mysteries. cf the infamous daniel lavery description.

when i read a chandler description of someone’s physical appearance there’s a fruity bisexual aftertaste in my mouth. Howard Norman, below, saying a woman takes great care of herself puts my hackles up. i understand the difference between an author and a character believing something and i don’t want to read a book where either the author or the character have this sort of pitying condescension towards a woman’s body. im feeling extremely terrible about my own body right now due to the various maladies, and another sort of breaking point for me is when an author repeatedly describes "naked breasts" (exact wording) pressing against someone's torso. it feels so juvenile. that's the sexiest thing you can possibly think of??? that's the sexiest way you can think of to describe an early mornign moment of intimacy???? augh i read the NYT review and it gets worse.

shut the FUCK up. i left my apartment at 1130 PM to go put this book in my CAR. i don't want it in my HOUSE.

watching

Bullitt (1968, dir. Yates, free on Tubi). the baddie in this is Robert Vaughn (who i know from cowboys), a guy i fucking love to see. i can take or leave Steve McQueen but he does such a killer job parallel parking in this movie and i wish all driving movies made their leads parallel park. shockingly realistic hospital, morgue, and police work scenes, apparently was one of the big films to popularize blood squibs. also love to see a haunted man splash water on his face and stare into a mirror.

youtube

if you asked me how long the famous car chase was i would have said like 2:30? substantial but snappy. no!!! eleven minutes!! (video a bit trimmed). also a rare movie that makes a foot chase through an airport as exciting as that eleven minute car chase!!!

the mob dodging plot was a little hard to follow, but i was operating on like four hours of sleep and a rum and coke. this has got to be a tremendous movie to watch when you’re home and sick on the couch huddled under a blanket. i mean this as a compliment, as someone who watches Escape from New York whenever i feel very sick

playing

really wanted to get to 69 shrines before writing this post and finally did it. all the little divine beasts walking along the loading screen are SO cute i've never gotten all four before

all the divine beasts are unlocked and the champions laid to rest! im feeling some type of way emotionally speaking about all of them telling link IMMEDIATELY that it wasn't his or zelda's fault they died

rudania has the worst boarding mission (in order of ones i most enjoyed it's camel [SO fast and SO fun], bird [lots of time to think and plan and aim], elephant [did not make me do a tedious stealth mission but i am bad at locking on to rapidly moving things behind me, much like in real life], and lizard. the lizard stealth mission is simply unpleasant). however, my brain really clicked with the puzzles in rudania: i had to consult a walkthrough once for an optional chest. in order of interior beast puzzle enjoyment for me it's lizard, bird, elephant, and camel. really got stuck for a long time on the waterwheels with the elephant before consulting a walkthrough.

the yiga clan stealth mission was not as hard as i thought it would be. i don't know why i put that off for two real life weeks but i will not learn my lesson and i will never improve. this boss battle was just silly.

the vah naboris interior puzzles were not fun. idk what it was about them or my brain that made me have such a bad time, but i spammed revali's gale and skipped a lot of chests bc i was not having fun. this is why god invented the walkthrough but sometimes. shit is just too fiddly.

i did succeed on the thunder ganon boss battle first try, but i came in with extra hearts from mipha's grace, used another mipha's grace in the fight, went through five fairies and seven hearty simmered fruits that were 5x durians (which gives you 20 extra hearts or some shit). fucking nightmare. i was stuck on one hit left on ganon for like five minutes bc he got stuck in the very fast flurry attack cycle. unpleasant. deeply grateful it only made me smack him with the magnesis pillar once bc that was also really fiddly with my poor reaction time + poor fine motor skills + previously mentioned ancient controller with some drift. in order of boss battle enjoyment i think it's lizard (made me think and kept me on my toes a little but i did have to look up how to break the shield), elephant (you can just kind of tank it), bird (same), and camel (extremely not fun).

this was WITH a fully upgraded gimp suit btw. that shit (ganon) just hits hard.

shrine shenanigans:

crowned beast very fun, i have one or two of kass' songs left and then i hope i get to see him back in rito village with his family??? a little nervous bc i went right to the jungle spring without hearing his song first so idk if that will. count??? or softlock me.

the MOUNDS of failed cooking attempts around this shrine on the grasslands side of the gerudo barrier mountains were SO funny.

unlocked all the spring shrines. what a fun mission. what a fun climb.

went to my FAVORITE shrine!!! going into what you think will be a normal cave and discovering it is DEEP with a BIG WHALE INSIDE is top three video game whale moments (the other two are diving with the whales in ABZU and meeting the last whale in the first dishonored).

other bits and bobs:

eggman rocks???

this quest was really cute and i wish there was a corresponding quest for the guy hanging around the broken heart pond, but it always makes me laugh whenever a dragon shows up in the background of a screenshot. a really great touching moment but watch out for the elemental orbs rapidly approaching us

also made me chortle. get it together barta.

i wish the helm was upgradable but i think making me kill a molduga in order to borrow it is a pretty fair trade actually.

making

i originally had a really long thing here about litterbox trials and tribulations but i have decided to spare you all. you're welcome.

many balcony improvements, including putting up trellises and installing bird spikes to hopefully keep a very persistent orange tom off my balcony and away from my girls.

there are a goofy number of obstacles in the way of me making a proper planting diagram (sketchbooks buried deep in closet. flung the seeds in a box on a shelf i need to find my stepstool for. can't find pencil sharpener) so for the second week in a row that's not happening. however, sprouts.

baby italian lettuce blend

bush beans in the front and cucumbers + sweet peas in the back.

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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olderthannetfic · 2 years

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Firstly, thanks for giving me advice about the adhedonia not long ago, knowing how it's called the thing I tend to suffer (apart of the TDA, LOL) most of time helped me a lot —an also thanks to the other people to gave me tips in that post too. I'm feeling better because, well, Christmas vacations are coming! So that means I'll be able to recover more mental health and finally write again, even if it's just a month.

Now I want to ask for more tips that are... How can I organize longfics? I'm a messy person, like... I don't even write the ideas my brain vomit to me at random times, and even when I tell my friends about it that messages end up being buried alive. I kinda used to organize things when I was like, 14yo. It was still messy as hell but least so, now I'm straight up refusing to even do lists. But I feel that if I not know to organize some things I won't able to finish a longfic never ever never again.

I know that there are like, templates? For organizing plot-points and characters and all of that, but I can't recall how they're called. But more importantly than that, I want to know how other people like to organize their things and see if something clicks with me! (Specially because I recall seeing posts like this here on Tumblr but I can't find them)

Oh man, this is such a great question.

I'm all about structure. My plotbunnies tend to come with a lot of plot attached, and I like genres with defined structures (cozy mystery, crime procedural).

I use spreadsheets for everything, including this, but now that I use Scrivener, often, I just use a text document there.

I start by laying out all the parts of the plot that I already have, then I try to make them an academic outline like:

This helps me see where I have a lopsided structure with tons of detail one place and none another. I also look at the timeline as the characters experience it and adjust. If I. takes 24 hours and II. three months, that tells me something about how much detail should be in each, what the final page count should be, etc.

Generally, longer stories that are satisfying have a structure with multiple peaks and dips in action, and the later peaks are higher than the earlier ones.

I find this kind of chart or fitting one's story into a five act structure or whatever to be helpful when you have a good plotbunny that just isn't quite working for some reason, but you know at least parts of it are sound. It helps point out a spot you might be overlooking from familiarity.

I don't find most of these external structures at all helpful for generating plotbunnies. If you have an instinct for structure from years of consuming media, you'll come up with something that works better than following a formula you can't really feel.

Most structures exist to try to explain why some blockbuster movie works retroactively anyway. Unless it's literally theater and there are literally intermissions between chunks, little is set in stone. Even plays often have the "wrong" thing in Act I.

I'll see breakdowns of some novel and they talk about the "inciting incident" or whatever beat in the plot formula, and I'm like "You picked that part as that beat? Really?" Like... I agree the plot formula is basically sound and I agree the book being analyzed is great, but I don't think the formula applies to the book in a super straightforward way that everyone would agree on.

The hero's journey is so fucking general that you can retrofit it to almost any story that has any sort of physical or spiritual journey. But I don't find it inspiring on its own because it is so general. It doesn't actually explain why a particular subgenre's plots work without one adding a lot more detail and specificity.

I tend to put down all my notes on what should be in a story, then rearrange them in story order as I figure that out. I might have a section at the end for things I haven't placed yet or revision notes. I'm a very logical person and work in order a lot. Hell, I write in order, which is generally a terrible idea and even trips me up when I get to a hard bit and waste time instead of moving on. But it's how my brain mostly operates.

Out of the various canned methods, the one I adopted the most from was the Snowflake Method. I like the idea of outlining and then making it more detailed and then EVEN MORE DETAILED till the "first draft" is basically paint by numbers. Some people find that extremely limiting though.

Another thing I try to keep track of is some very basic "What's the point?" or "What's the big change?" notes. I don't do extensive character sheets or big writeups external to the main prose of the story. I don't do exercises where I interview my characters. None of that feels useful to me. It's too much, and I get lost in the weeds. God... I feel like I should be saving this for my patreon.

Uh... anyway, I try to have a big note to write towards that's like "Character X thinks they want A but it's really a symptom of needing B" or "The point of this fic is the big twist in chapter 11" (so I either need to set up emotions that really lay the groundwork for the twist to be a big deal or I need to lay the red herrings to make the twist a shock or whatever).

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icarus-suraki · 3 months

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Book asks!!

11. What book(s) have you read more than once?

13. What very popular book do you dislike/refuse to read?

21. What book needs to be a movie?

(11) What book(s) have you read more than once? Geeze, there's a lot. But, since tomorrow is Bloomsday, I'll say that my favorite party trick is to say I've read Ulysses, and I've read it more than once. ("And they all moved away from me on the bench there, with the hairy eyeball…")

Besides that, Catcher in the Rye (still waiting for my assassination assignment), Fahrenheit 451, Slaughterhouse Five, A Wild Sheep Chase, City of Bohane, Night Watch, Godchild (manga), I've probably reread books in chunks but not cover-to-cover, I'm forgetting a lot, and I'm currently rereading Out by Natsuo Kirino.

I also had a lot of children's books read and reread to me, but that's sort of a different question?

(13) What very popular book do you dislike/refuse to read? Pretty much anything by Donna Tartt.

Like, I've read a lot of popular books that I've hated but I've read for professional reasons to understand what they are, why they're popular, who might like them, &c. I've read the entire Twilight series, I read 50 Shades of Grey (so Twilight fanfic), gimmicky cozy mysteries, New Age schlock, evangelical Christian inspirational fiction, chick lit, chick lit: beach edition, straight-up romance novels… And that's been really useful professionally.

But I just cannot fuck with Donna Tartt--and my reasons are so petty: the Dark Academians were so all over her dick some years ago and being pretentious about her novels and whatever whatever and 1. it reminded me of when I was young and pretentious, which made me cringe in remembrance and recognition and 2. if that's the fanbase, I don't want to join.

So at the height of The Goldfinch fandom, I'm over here pointedly not reading it, even when colleagues and patrons are like "I was so sure you would have read it!" It's because I wear black turtlenecks, right?

And now I just have a grudge lmao.

(Vine voice: 21) What book needs to be a movie? 90% of the time, movies based on books just disappoint the hell out of me. Like, you have to really separate book and movie--sometimes you, the viewer, have to separate them; sometimes the director or writer does that, like in the case with The Shining and The Shining. Both very good! But they aren't really the same thing. Same thing with, like, Naked Lunch: that's two whole different stories with weird connections between them. And, maybe a controversial opinion, but the mood in Inherent Vice (book) and Inherent Vice (movie) were so wildly divergent that they were two different things too. And, yeah, I was disappointed by the Dark Tower movie, but I think a lot of people were.

Like, you lose a lot when you try to make a book into a movie. You have to take a book that has good imagery and good dialogue and good characters but which won't suffer when you lose the narrative/authorial voice. And voiceovers don't always make up for that.

Since I'm rereading Out, that would probably make a good horror/thriller movie, since it's about a group of women coworkers who cover up a friend's murder of her abusive husband and it just spirals out from there, but I would prefer it to be made in Japan by a Japanese cast/crew/director.

I dunno, I don't really have a book(s) that would be great in film adaptation. I tend to get nervous when a book-to-movie adaptation is announced lmao. I was nervous from 1999 to 2019 while rumors of James Cameron's Battle Angel movie swirled--and then it turned out to be Not Great At All. So it goes.

Ask me things!

#ask game #ask me things #anon is on

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theloniousbach · 2 months

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BOOKS: SAYING NO TO AUTHORIAL HERO ABUSE!

I am within 150 pages of wrapping up Lawrence Block’s Matthew Scudder novels with the asterisk that there was a novel set early in the timeline that was published after this one as well as a collection of similarly situated stories and an “Autobiography of Matthew Scudder.” These are hard boiled detective stories set in NYC, a bit like the Parker/Spenser novels with the interesting twist that Scudder sobered up early on and stayed that way thanks to AA meetings. There’s moral ambiguity and violence but until, this point mostly, it’s been melodramatic enough to be bearable and, more importantly, I’m not reading them or any series for that. I like the arc of a series, how characters grow and the communities they inhabit. Brother Cadfael in his monastery, Steven Saylor’s Giodornaus the Finder, and, of course, the various Holmes pastiches that imagine him married/a father/subsidiary to his brother or The Woman, or, in one version, the protege of Charles Darwin with a brother and sister-in-law continuing brother Erasmus Darwin’s project of advising the Crown and parliament independent of whether Whigs or Tories from the government.

So it is with Block/Scudder and yet a foe is resurfacing and picking off people close to him and, already foreshadowed, is that at least one very very close to him will die. Will others? Will he? Will he be devastated and go back to drinking? I want to know those answers but I literally can’t look now.

I’ve set it aside and maybe I’ll reopen it on my Kindle some day.

I’ve started a series where the hero and her law partner are appealing, her clients vulnerable, and the villains are powerful, corrupt, ruthless, and from New Jersey. Two books in and the tension has given me pause. I’ve convinced myself that if I spread the remaining two out and then wait for the series to unfold as the books come out might make them a seasoning not a regular meal.

I am about to read the last book Ellen read in Patrick O’Brian’s Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin British Navy in the Napoleonic Wars/War of 1812. She stopped there, halfway through, for reasons she can’t remember specifically but hero abuse is probably right. But I’ve not reached that tense point yet.

I gave up on the Chronicles of St Mary historical research in real time (it’s not time travel) series because of what I would now call hero abuse and, like the New Jersey series and the sociopath menacing Matthew Scudder, an unrelenting evil.

Mysteries are meant to be cathartic and heroes can’t simply solve nice crimes unthreatened. Two recent sort of British cozy series have put their heroes, both women PhDs, through tense paces.

All this to say, I’m taking a break and probably not just from Lawrence Block. There are Arthur Lovejoy’s Raffles the Gentleman Thief stories on the kindle. That’s the immediate alternative. I’ve wanted to try Balzac, Stendahl, Zola, and, no longer a college student, Flaubert, but there’s the classics meets recovering English major problem. I’ve got a history of science book to review and teaching to shift back to.

Ah, yes, what about PG Wodehouse to the rescue?

#books #mysteries #2024

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cathygeha · 11 months

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REVIEW

The Night of the Dead Boys by Colin Conway

A 509 Crime Story #12

Another wonderful addition to a superb series ~ Couldn’t put it down ~ Highly recommend!

What I liked:

* The plot, pacing, setting, and writing – drew me in and wouldn’t let me go

* Knowing Tremaine was cold and ruthless but still being able to root for him to make it through the night alive

* Seeing how the various members of the police force and those supporting them worked together to try to solve one situation after another throughout a stormy turned deadly night

* That though there were many characters to sort out, they all had specific personalities and after a while it was easy to keep them straight

* Getting to see how Cutler was doing and having him in this book for a while – wish he would get a break at some point in a future book

* The potential romances that could crop up for one or more character in the story

* The police procedural aspects

* Wondering whether or not the loss of so many lives was worth it in the long run

* Thinking about what might happen next in this series – There is more than one character I would like to see again in a future book

What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Thinking about gangs, gang violence, and how difficult it would be to be in a gang but also to be someone trying to close eliminate gangs and make the streets safe

Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Yes

Thank you to the author for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

BLURB

A HIGH-OCTANE THRILLER THAT WILL KEEP YOU GUESSING!

Tonight, may be the last of Tremaine Brown's life. He's about to find this out the hard way.

Tremaine Brown is the leader of the Dead Boys, a gang with roots in the Los Angeles area. He cultivated power and respect as he rose through the ranks. He also kept the peace among the local gangs and protected the criminal empire that the Dead Boys built in Eastern Washington.

Now, his world erupts when unknown assailants ambush him. A series of chaotic events follow that will change Tremaine's life forever—if he can survive. Bodies fall as he searches for an ally, knowing he won't make it through the night without some help.

Unfortunately for Tremaine, the police quickly join the hunt. They've long waited for a reason to put him behind bars, and they're not going to stop tonight until he's caught.

Tremaine's odds of success are slim, but the Dead Boys' leader won't go down without a fight. Can he avoid his pursuers long enough to uncover the truth and see the sunrise?

The Night of the Dead Boys is the twelfth book in the 509 Crime Stories, a series of novels set in Eastern Washington with revolving lead characters. If you like heart-racing police procedurals with compelling personalities, snap up this book today.

Scroll up and join the action by grabbing THE NIGHT OF THE DEAD BOYS today!

Praise for the 509 Crime Stories:

★★★★★ "This has been such a great series, and I very much recommend it." ★★★★★ "Great characters and story. I just bought his next one." ★★★★★ "The cops are real and compelling…" ★★★★★ "…a great read, with great characters, and always an interesting storyline!" ★★★★★ "A great series that leaves one looking forward to more books to come." ★★★★★ "Stumbled across the series and I've read six in a row now." ★★★★★ "I'm happy reading Colin Conway's work, easy reads without wasting words. Always a winner."

ADDITIONAL SERIES BY COLIN CONWAY The John Cutler Mysteries – hard-hitting private detective stories The Flip-Flop Detective – light-hearted amateur sleuth mysteries The Cozy Up series – not your grandma's cozies The Charlie-316 series – political/criminal thrillers The 509 Crime Stories – fast-paced police procedurals

#Colin Conway #A 509 Crime Story 12 #Gangs #police procedural #crime #murder

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h0ney-letters · 1 year

Text

About me (kinda)

Age: 24

Pronouns: she/her

Main blog: @h0neyfreak

Genre/style: literary fiction, speculative fiction, creative nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry. I would also love to one day write a themed cozy mystery series under a pen name that sounds so fun.

Published?: no, not sure if I want to or if I just want to write for fun. I’ll probably submit things to some journals eventually and maybe self-publish if I ever write anything longer

Other hobbies/interests: knitting, drawing (traditional and digital), painting (oils mostly), ttrpgs (currently DMing a MOTW campaign), and I’m a casual Formula 1 fan

cw tags: I’ll always tag explicit depictions of rape, gore, and violence as “#cw: [subject]”

(Some of my) favorite books:

Madness is Better than Defeat by Ned Beauman

The Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordan

Series of Unfortunate Events series by Lemony Snicket

The Giver by Lois Lowry

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

American Gods by Neil Gaiman

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky (but only the Constance Garnett translation)

The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh

Who is Maud Dixon? by Alexandra Andrews

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

Current wips (updated monthly) (current ver. Oct 2023):

Long work 1: Every Reason Why. A novel following a waitress as she gets into an abusive relationship interwoven with anecdotes from her life before her abuser (going back to childhood) building two parallel stories. ~10k words at time of posting.

Long work 2: [untitled] A group of friends meet at summer camp and ~something bad~ happens. Follows them through adulthood as the bad thing unravels/becomes clear. Currently just a vague idea with some bulleted lists and snippets. Has not left the notes app.

Short work 1: What Violence? A short surreal body horror story about a young girl who gets stabbed in the chest with a knife and discovers it does not hurt or bleed the way it should. She searches for someone to bring her to a doctor to give her stitches but struggles to explain what’s going on. Based on a dream I had. ~300 words at the moment.

Short work 2: He Called Me Something Bad. A young girl kills her teenage step brother (or woman kills stepson, still sorting it out) in what appears to be an accident. The social worker/detective interviewing her starts to realize that it was not An Accident. Currently in the notes app/ideas phase. Unclear if it will make it out.

Tag list (mostly for my own reference/benefit)

#ref -> helpful lists, words, resources etc.

#guides -> kind of like ref but more to collect posts about how to write specific rules/identities of characters or settings

#inspo -> quotes, art, snippets, prompts and other things that make me want to write

#wip -> I’m a slut for a good Pinterest board/Spotify playlist/other way to outline ideas without having to sit down and write so that stuff will go here. Along with any snippets

#ocs -> any stuff about my characters. idk how much I’ll use this one because I mostly see people making OC content for genre fiction and it feels weird to make stuff for short stories and kinda disjointed literary fiction. But I also might be a weird little freak (likely) who needs to get over herself (extremely likely)

#tips -> useful info about the writing process, publishing, software, etc

#my work -> anything I write myself. I can’t pick a title to save my life so tagging by title won’t work

#good stuff -> writing by other people that I love and want to come back to and read a bunch because it is good

#review -> book/story/essay reviews. Goodreads stresses me out but I want some way to catalogue what I read now that I’ve graduated and have time for it. Also reviewing stuff helps me figure out what I want my own writing to sound and feel like.

#writeblr #writer introduction #about me #writeblr introduction #about the writer #about the author #new writer #writers on tumblr #creative writing #tumblr writer

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write-a-bad-romance · 4 years

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Two Hares Running Side by Side [Part II]

Part I here

Characters: Jean d’Arc, Napoleon Bonaparte, Sebastian, Comte de Saint-Germain, minor characters adapted from historical figures

Pairings: Napoleon x MC, Napoleon x Jean, Sebastian x Saint-Germain (main)

Words: 2940

Warning: Slight gore and major character amputation.

"Herr Mozart....or, Wolf as he asked me to call him, was unexpectedly amiable to my visiting him. One of his violinists even invited me to play, and I was elated when they applauded me and...."

Leon didn't need to read the rest of the letter. He understood.

There was little you could hide from Leon, not even in writing. He had long suspected his fiancé's fondness for the young musician. The more he read her letters, it was as clear it went beyond simple admiration.

Her feelings didn't go unrequited, it seemed.

Leon was a kind man. He didn't believe that he was, but everybody else insisted he was. He didn't climb the ranks of the Grande Armée through hard work and ingenuity alone.

Leon didn't want to accuse his own fiancé of unfaithfulness. Leon, on his part, believed his feelings to be earnest. But could he say the same for her?

With the letter crumpled in his fist, he strolled along the streets, in need of a distraction. He had gotten so used to having people around, to getting himself so busy there was no time to nurse festering wounds. Thoughts grew louder in silence, after all.

He stopped at a familiar bookstore, one he and Sebastian liked to frequent on breaks. Large yet cozy, and only sparsely crowded. It was the perfect sanctuary, and Leon grabbed a novel from the shelves to start reading.

But none of the words drew him in, and soon Leon put the book down to observe the other persons. One was particularly noticeable, a tall figure clad in a black shirt.

It was none other than Sergeant-Major d'Arc, flipping through a selection of leather-bound notebooks.

Jehanne, Leon gulped uneasily. Memories of gloved fingers stroking the nape of his neck resurfaced.

Leon (along with Sebastian and Saint-Germain) swore to pretend nothing happened to preserve the sergeant-major's dignity. The man in question himself woke up with no recollection of what transpired the previous night, and everything was back to usual.

But Leon's head was currently in a jumble, and it took him a while until he noticed that the other man had spotted him.

Iolite eyes bore into emerald eyes, and Leon had never felt more vindicated in his entire life.

So he did what most sensible men would do, sweep it all under the rug and show your opponent your flashiest grin.

"D'Arc! What a coincidence!" he greeted. "You alone?"

D'Arc held his chosen notebook to his chest, a rosy-colored thing that didn't suit him. "Mm," he answered. "My friends are currently preoccupied....elsewhere, and I need to replace my old journal."

"Ah, so you're keeping a journal!" Leon exclaimed, only to scold himself because soldiers keep a journal nowadays and that it's an obvious thing to say.

"Not for....reasons you might expect," D'Arc looked away. "I've been told that my writing is terrible. Gilles suggested I practice my cursive in a notebook."

The other man's bluntness never stopped being a surprise to Leon. "Ah."

They exited the store together, and Leon thought about following him for the entire day. Leon felt guilty for imposing himself on the man, but it was bound to be a long day, and he needed a distraction.

Was it safe to assume he was close enough to Jehanne—D'Arc to take up his personal time? Soldiers don't usually grope their superiors when they're drunk.

It didn't hurt to ask, Leon thought. And his initial embarrassment was already long gone. "Seeing as we're both alone, why don't you accompany me? I can treat you if you like."

Leon could sense some slight hesitation on Jean's part.

"Fine," he muttered. "I don't see why not."

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D'Arc ended up following Leon throughout their entire excursion. The Sergeant-Major wasn't one for small talk, but Leon didn't mind the peace.

He had to admit it was immensely refreshing to learn more about d'Arc. One, he was apparently skilled in sewing, and that he'd mended his own uniforms flawlessly. And second, he had as much interest in flower viewing as he did in testing weapons.

There were rumors about a soldier whose firearms expertise was unmatched and was second to none in swordsmanship. This mysterious soldier was said to swing his sword out in the open every morning without fail, even during midwinter.

The sharpshooter turned out to be d'Arc, who didn't seem to take much pride in his commendable habits. He even asked (insisted really) Leon to keep them a secret.

Even more blackmail material, Leon thought, amused.

But Leon felt some degree of affection for the innocent man, and something tugged his heartstrings when d'Arc marveled at the posh café they entered. There was probably none in his hometown, Leon wagered.

D'Arc, the humble man he was, refused everything else but water (Leon insisted he try the café’s renowned rose tea). And it wasn't until Leon ordered a plate of colorful macarons that the youth's interest was piqued.

And you said you're against sweets. Leon smiled as he took a bite of his own crêpe.

He was puzzled when d'Arc suddenly bent down and set a sheet of crumpled paper on the table.

Leon's eyes widened in recognition but didn't immediately snatch the letter back into his pocket.

"Must have fallen when I took out some coins," Leon smiled. "Thank you, d'Arc. I didn't notice."

"I didn't read it," d'Arc whispered.

"I beg your pardon?"

But there was a tinge of redness on his cheeks, and the way d'Arc tried to bashfully hide his face was....was....

Darling. But damn the entire Grande Armée if Leon had to say it out loud. Last he checked, he had none of Sebastian’s inclination.

"Don't worry about it," Leon cleared his throat. "You've told me your secrets, and I showed you mine. It's alright."

D'Arc raised a thin eyebrow. Any other officer would've found the act insolent, but Leon wasn't just any officer.

He was a considerate officer. And a distraught one.

"I suppose I can't blame you for peeking then," Leon smiled wryly. "I should've kept my problems to myself. Put that letter back in my quarters or something,"

D'Arc listened calmly and took a sip of his tea.

"But maybe I'm just not capable enough to solve this one," Leon mumbled. "I'm never good at this.... at this sort of thing. She's always the one to go after me and make me sit down and....and talk. But we're far away from each other, and I'm at a loss on what to do."

Leon ran a hand through his black locks. He was crumbling in front of his subordinate, but it didn't matter. He trusted that d'Arc trusted him with his secrets, and that was grounds for confiding in the man, wasn't it?

And d'Arc's presence was calming, like a sturdy bastion amidst the whirlwind around Leon.

"We're drifting apart. My fiancé's got a fancy for this gentleman whom I had introduced sometime during the holiday. I can't entirely blame her," he continued. "He was elegant. Very charming, I might add. A bit standoffish, perhaps. But definitely attractive in every sense."

He straightened the creased letter over and over.

"At least he can be by her side all the time," Leon toyed with his fork. "I never thought once that I'd be losing her. We've been friends together with Sebastian. I simply can't imagine the thought of us, well....not being together."

"I'm not supposed to leave this as it is. But," Leon's breath hitched. "I have too much on my plate right now. A part of me wished I could run away. I don't run from problems, I don't. But this? This is something completely new."

When Leon finally raised his head to look at d'Arc, the man was staring outside the window.

Had Leon finally bored him?

"Choose your battles," d'Arc finally replied. "Be it at home or at the front."

D'Arc snatched a macaron and rotated it between his gloved fingers.

"I have no real experience in matters of the heart," he went on. "But you are a capable commander, Second Lieutenant Bonaparte. Even if you can't guarantee they'll eventually result in victory, you're always willing to see them through."

Leon listened to d'Arc, articulating his words like a saint. Do pious men all speak in tongues?

"Look," Leon countered delicately. "War and people are two very different things. You can't just think about...defeating the other person and be done with it."

Leon sighed. "Friendships may suffer, and hearts can break. I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to hurt...us."

"But does it hurt you?" D'Arc asked.

"Huh?"

"Does it hurt you?"

Leon laced his fingers on his lap. Did this cause him to lose sleep? Did it cost him hours of pondering whether the relationship had any hope of salvaging?

If the relationship was even worth salvaging?

"I'm not sure," Leon breathed. "I still love her. Very much. But I'm afraid I won't be getting much rest if I let this on any longer."

"Good," D'Arc nodded. "You can't fight a war while having...troubles from home lingering at the back of your head."

"Troubles?" Leon couldn't help but ask.

"My father," D'Arc confided. "I haven't spoken to my father since I left home. From the letters my brother Pierre sent to me, it seemed he hasn't quite forgiven me for departing."

"I see," it was a fairly common problem among recruits, especially those as young as d'Arc when he enlisted.

To some, it sustained their will to survive the wars and come home. The less fortunate ones, however...

The coffee tasted bitter on Leon's tongue. D'Arc had to survive, and so did the other countless young men under his wing. Their wings.

Napoleon chuckled. Funny how he was moaning about his love life a moment ago. And now, he was concerned for the younger man's personal struggles.

Friends, eh?

"Is something the matter?" D'Arc tilted his head, exposing a swath of his slightly tanned neck. He had become less paler over the years, Leon noticed.

"It's nothing," Leon ceased his chuckling. "Tell me more about your family, then, d'Arc."

His chest now felt a little lighter, and Leon decided he'd deal with the letter in the evening. For now, he was content listening to d'Arc talking about the mysterious Pierre and his hometown.

Twilight came, and Leon finally found his courage to write to his fiancé and ask about Herr Mozart.

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"So things didn't go well between both of you," Sebastian confronted Leon one day over coffee.

"I didn't— I haven't told you. How did you know?" Had Leon been too obvious? Or was it Sebastian's uncanny ability to read people?

"She's been writing to me, too. You both broke off the engagement pretty neatly, I must say," Sebastian sipped his mug. "You even wrote to her parents and told your mother. How gentlemanly of you."

Leon was wary of the tone in Sebastian's voice.

"But you didn't even tell me, your friend of ten years!" He hissed. "I thought you know better, Napoleon Bonaparte!"

"I'm sorry," Leon answered sheepishly. "I wasn't sure how to go about the entire issue, even when it was just between the two of us. I wanted to talk to you, but everything was resolved quicker than I expected."

Sebastian's lip thinned. "Congratulations,"

Outside, the wind was roaring, and mist descended upon the camp.

"So," the grey-haired man clapped his hands. "You're free to pursue whoever you like then."

His friend's abrupt change of demeanor baffled him. "I've just broken things off with my childhood sweetheart. Is a man not allowed to rest?"

"Ah, but she already left you for another man. All while you were moping," Sebastian pointed out, "I'm not telling you to take revenge or anything. But I can see you've already sorted things out in that department."

"I have absolutely no idea what you mean," Leon retorted.

"You've got your eyes on somebody," Sebastian waved his hand. "Nothing can escape me, Bonaparte. Don't think I've been unaware."

"There is absolutely nobody," Leon swore. "I've not met with another woman for ages, and you know that."

Sebastian stepped forward and flicked Leon on the forehead.

"So is that what you prefer, Bonaparte?" The man grabbed Napoleon's shoulders, practically shouting in his face. "Lanky, quiet youths with narrow eyes?"

"I-I don't follow," Leon rubbed his forehead. That flick stung!

"So, you like them beautiful? Okay, I can see why!" The other man continued his rant, "Was I too manly for you? How come you're suddenly paying attention to other men when I'm already with Saint-Germain?"

"The fuck are you even talking about." Leon had all but lost Sebastian at this point.

Sebastian finally released his hold on Leon, who stared bewildered at his best friend.

"You said you had no interest in men when I confessed to you," Sebastian closed in on Leon. "But you're eyeballing Sergeant-Major D'Arc all the time."

It finally dawned on Leon that Sebastian was referring to their budding relationship. Their strictly platonic relationship.

"Is that what you're thinking?" Leon gulped. "Nothing more than brotherly affection. Yes, that's it."

But the slate-colored eyes only narrowed at him skeptically.

"Oh, I give up! I accidentally consulted him about her letters, okay?" Leon gave in. "I admit that's rather private considering I haven't known him for long, but he shared his secrets too, alright? I wasn't the only one airing my dirty laundry out in the open."

Sebastian stared down at him silently.

"What?" Leon frowned. "Are you jealous or something?"

But he was instead met with laughter from the other man. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"No, at this point, no." Sebastian giggled. "I have my man, and you get yours. You're free to come crying to me whenever your relationship with d'Arc goes south, though. Consider we're even after keeping me in the dark about your breakup."

"Incomprehensible as always, Adjutant Second Officer." Napoleon squinted his eyes.

"Go at him while it's still eager, then," Sebastian brandished his mug exaggeratedly. "You're not the only one doing the ogling, you know."

"What—" but he was left hanging as Sebastian opened the tent flap and went outside.

"Time is of the essence, Bonaparte!" The man shouted. "Good hunting, I say!"

Napoleon was left in the empty tent with another headache.

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Leon wondered if there was a sliver of truth in Sebastian's words.

God only graced his most beautiful angels, and d'Arc was one amongst throes of monsters in uniforms.

Some joked that he was a sort of holy man, sent by God from the provinces to aid the Grande Armée in its lowest point. Others say he was, in fact, a he-witch who could not die and could not be grazed by any bullet or sword.

He was a lucky bastard, Leon concluded. A lucky bastard who also happened to be a living embodiment of beauty.

D’arc was perfect in many ways that Leon and his men couldn't be. He was pious, educated despite his origins, and had no interest in women whatsoever.

The sergeant-major was kind to nurses and milkmaids they met while passing villages, yes. But he was also known to fly into an unexpected rage when he discovered his lads were smuggling wenches into camp.

When teased why he didn't just volunteer to be a standard-bearer, d'Arc simply answered, "You men wouldn't survive a day without me behind the cannons."

It wasn't ambition, Leon noticed. Some men just found their purpose after escaping death after five battles despite no real hope of staying long upon entering the camp.

"I wager he's just horribly repressed," Sebastian joked one evening over wine. "Hey, maybe you'd get a chance with him. With those types, you never know!"

Leon thought of nothing when his best friend suddenly confessed that he harbored feelings for him, back when they were only with the army for six months. He kept mum when he learned Sebastian was visiting their blond doctor after hours and only coming back before dawn.

Hell, Leon himself was been looking forward to a quiet life with his fiancé and their children, back in Paris. He also never expected to be left to continue his life in the barracks, tending to an empty heart and a never ending war.

At least, there was now a face to look for after the smoke cleared.

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"We only had to amputate one of his legs. He'll make it through the night. I guarantee he survived." Saint-Germain's words rang in Leon's ears as he weaved through hordes of medics.

He didn't find Sebastian immediately after they retreated. And now he knew the reason why.

The ward smelled of soiled linen and painkillers. It was a miracle that they found a makeshift hospital nearby, a university building filled with rows of beds and better supplies than what they were used to having out in the fields.

Leon found Sebastian on a bed near the window. There was an empty space where the left leg should have been.

Leon scrambled to grasp at his pale hand, thankfully still warm. Yet the man barely stirred, even as the afternoon light streamed in and hit his bandaged face.

"Sebastian...." Leon whispered, "Can you hear me?"

But the man didn't. The morphine was potent, and Leon was left to stare blankly at his best friend's prone body.

Nurses came and went, and more soldiers were wheeled in. The clamor inside the infirmary was constant, but Leon was deaf to everything but the slightest rustle from Sebastian's paralyzed form.

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#ikemen vampire #ikevam fanfic #ikevam jean #ikevam napoleon #jeanpoleon #riri tries ikevam

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inki-cap · 3 years

Text

Jimson Weed

So, after delving into the world of Assassin’s Creed, in particular Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla, and getting to know quite a bit about a friend’s AC OC, I’ve decided to make a sorta variant of an OC of mine and basically adjust them into the AC Universe.

After a lot of convos between them, I’ve written quite a lot of works between my OC, their OC and a certain character. I’m still learning quite a lot and am in absolute love with all of this, so don’t pay too much mind to this. Also note that I am in no way a master writer or anything great, just here to have some fun.

Enjoy!

OC-Anna Kastello belongs to @pxiedustnblades

OC-Mari belongs to me

Featuring Basim Ibn Ishaq

_____________________________________________________________

Hammersmith, London, UK.

1:01 a.m.

Sturgeon Moon

The night is calm, serene. A typical late evening.

Sounds of footsteps along the stones alongside the River Thames, soft chattering among those out and about. Young adults coming out of the restaurants all around, laughing and enjoying the night in the town, with bellies full of food and ale. Some stumble about, some walk slowly. But they all fit within the scenery of Hammersmith and its bustling yet quiet streets.

That is all but one.

A long drag of a cigarette, and then a long exhale. They overlook the murky waters of the River Thames, a soft chuckle to themselves.

“We didn’t exactly come here to just stare at this shit river, now did we?”

With a quick flick of the wrist, the burning cigarette flies into the waters below.

Walking through the streets, this mysterious figure comes to view in the lights, though no one pays any special attention to them. They hold themselves in a relaxed manner, hands in the pockets of their black bomber jacket and a slight smirk on their face. Their short black hair moves slightly to the late night wind, almost guiding them to continue onto their destination.

A short distance later, and they’ve arrived. Across the street, there is a beige colored brick building, and in front is a small bookshop. A mahogany wood door, and to the side wide glass windows, showing the warm inside of the shop, filled to the brim with all sorts of books. From where this figure is standing, they could even read some of the titles from the windows.

Great Expectations.

Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind.

The History of the Ancient World

All The Light We Cannot See

But they can also spot a red glare from both within and outside the shop. Cameras.

“Of fucking course. But cameras never stopped anyone, now do they?”

They quickly pull out a small sleek device, shaped like a smartphone. Quick on their feet, they walk across the street and stay just outside the camera's view, watching them move their full rotations. Just as both cameras move to the other side of the shop, they switch the device on. It gave a quick high-pitched whine, and then fell silent, a green light on its side was now blinking. As they looked up at the cameras again, they stopped moving.

“Fifteen minutes. Let’s make it quick, huh?”

Setting the device down along the glass windows, the figure now moved to the mahogany door, pulling out a silver lock pick, and within seconds...

Click. Click.

The door slowly swings open, the figure making special care so it doesn’t hit the shelves or ring the bell above. Despite the lights being off, it still gave a homey vibe. Shelves filled with books on either side of the shop, each labelled with its appropriate genre and in alphabetical order according to author. Cozy plush chairs alongside the shelves. Persian rugs lining along the shelves and under the tables. Small tables set in the center, some designated tables for customers to sit down and read; others set with books and lists of recommendations for any customers who aren’t sure what they want. In the back, there are a set of stairs that lead to the upper level of the shop, another level filled with more books. If the figure came here during the day, this would definitely be a space where one would get a hot drink and pick out a book, just simply relaxing and taking in the warm and soft atmosphere. But what they’re looking for isn’t something exactly available to the general public.

They stealthily climb up the stairs, stepping on the tips of their toes, making as little noise as possible. Reaching the upper level, there are more chairs and tables along the bookshelves. The genres labeled on the shelves are about as common as one could expect.

Graphic Novels.

Fantasy.

Horror.

Science Fiction.

Young Adult Fiction.

Why would this figure go through all the trouble of breaking in only to see these all too common genres?

But as they are quickly skimming through each book title in each genre, one clearly stands out and doesn’t fit in with the others labelled on the shelves.

Nordic Landscapes.

“Now why would a puto nature book be in the fiction section of this place?”

It was subtle enough, but it took a keen eye to see that it didn’t fit with all the rest. They pull out the book, quickly flipping through the pages, each filled with beautiful photographs of the Nordic environment. Tall dark mountains. Wide fields of green. Vast amounts of forest, lined with cold snow. But nothing special came of the pages. Just pretty pictures. They put the book down, taking a deep breath.

“Puta mierda….there’s a reason why you’re here and not the rest of your friends. I passed the nature books coming in here. What are you hiding?....”

They look at its cover, the spine. There was nothing particular about it, but then they look at where they pulled it from. From the shelf it was on, in the far back, there was something there. A hidden compartment. They quickly put their hand on the back of the shelf, pressing whatever hidden indentations or switches they can. And then…

Click.

The back of the shelf opened up, the hidden compartment small and pitch black. All they could do is pull their arm into the small space and feel around. Their fingers wrap around something small….cold…..metal. But just as they get a hold of whatever it was…

WHOOSH!

They quickly pull their arm out of the compartment and dodge whatever was thrown at them. They look to their right and see it. A knife, deeply embedded into a copy of Twilight just where their head was.

“Mierda-”

They quickly looked in front of them, and there was the owner of the knife. A tall man with a beard and his dark hair tied back into a bun, wearing a godawful wolf shirt that looked as though he got it straight out of a dumpster and a grey zip-up sweatshirt. His expression read calm, but there was something in those dark eyes of his. Nonetheless, a knife wouldn’t be enough to faze the intruder.

“Oh sorry. Ya want your knife back, cabron?”, the figure playfully remarked.

Again, nothing from the man.

They look at the man, with the same curiosity that a cat has with another animal. As they slowly stood up straight, the man watched them carefully, reading their moves.

“Ok, listen here, pendejo. I’m kinda in a bit of a hurry, so would you be so kind as to just let me outta here? We really don’t have to make a huge thing out of this-”

Before the intruder could finish their sentence, the man threw another knife at near light speed at them again. But this time they didn’t bother to try to dodge the knife, but at the same speed as the man threw the knife, they twisted their body slightly and caught it within a hair’s inch to their eye. Although it didn’t show, the man was somewhat impressed by this, but still remained stone-faced.

“Oh, ok I see. Well just know, I’m not gonna make it easy for ya, lobo” , the figure mocked, taking a stance, pointing the knife the man threw at them at him, with a wide grin on their face.

…….

He wasn’t sure how this person got in, but the fact that they were specifically looking in there was enough to confront them. Basim had been resting just five minutes earlier, but apparently Alethia felt that something was amiss in the shop. Although Anna had said that it could be an animal just hanging around the front cameras for too long, he decided to go down and check himself. Seems that Alethia was correct in suspecting something.

Despite the darkness of the shop, the light of the Sturgeon full moon, he was able to see the intruder’s face. They appeared to be a young woman with deep tan skin and short black hair. She was dressed in a black bomber jacket and a light beige tank top, with olive pants. Her arm was in the hidden compartment, too close to getting what was in the space. Just as quickly he had gotten there, he quickly threw a knife to where her head was. But just as quickly as he threw it, the woman just as quickly dodged it and it dug deep into a book that looked like a tacky young lovers novel.

Damn, Anna won’t be pleased, Basim thought to himself seeing that knife in the spine of the book.

But he quickly shook the thought off, as he made eye contact with the young woman. She didn’t appear frightened by either the knife or his presence. But rather seemed to enjoy the situation.

She made a couple of taunts at him, not that they were really something intimidating to begin with. As she made a terrible excuse for a negotiation, Basim decided to quickly end his misery and threw another knife, hoping this one would make its mark. But to his surprise, not only did the woman not dodge it, but she caught it.

As she caught the knife, she looked at him with a wide grin on her face, almost ready to pounce at him.

“Oh, ok I see. Well just know, I’m not gonna make it easy for ya, lobo.”

Just as she finishes her sentence, not even looking behind her, the woman reaches for the knife that was embedded into the book and throws it at him full force. It was surprising, but nothing he wasn’t prepared for.

At least I’ll be getting that knife back, he thought as he quickly dodged the knife-lodged book and moved to pull it out. As he managed to dig the knife out of the book’s spine, the woman was now trying to escape the shop, jumping from the upper level to the lower floor.

With that, he gave chase.

…..

Just fucking great. Now I gotta deal with this Walmart Jacob Black person?

The intruder was now trying to get out of the shop, with the man now right behind them. Just as they were within a couple of feet of the front door, a chair was thrown, blocking their way to the door. They quickly look behind to see the man again.

Ohhh...I get it. Well be careful what you wish for, Discount Ardeth Bay.

...

They slowly move about, looking at the man, reading his movements and the environment around them. Neither of them are willing to let the other out of their sight. The intruder quickly closes the space between them, baring the knife that had been thrown at them earlier. The man quickly side steps out of the way, jumping over a nearby table.

By the time the intruder was able to run over to where the man leapt over the table, he was nowhere to be found. They quickly looked around, to the left, right. He seemed to have disappeared out of thin air, but just as quickly as the man had gone, they heard a slight creak from above. He leapt on them, an attempt to quickly immobilize them to the ground. They just as quickly flipped onto the table, and in a swift movement, kicked the table up and into the man. Once again, just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone. But the intruder was able to retrace where he had been, and anticipated when he would strike next.

They kept their eyes peeled, only the gaze of the moon outside bringing its light into the shop. As they shift their weight, slowly observing around them, they hear it. The man was quietly sneaking behind them, knife in hand. Just as he was going to pounce, knife to their throat, they spun and dropped, bringing with them the full force of their fist to his chest. He saw in that second he wouldn’t be able to escape it and prepared himself to take the blow. Once their fist had landed its target, it knocked him off his feet for a few seconds.

OOMPH

As he regained his composure, he quickly saw that the intruder wasn’t going to let up on him and continue her attack on him, throwing both fists at him. He quickly dodged each one, once again brandishing his knife and making quick strikes at them, with them being just as quick to dodging each swipe of the knife as well. Basim knew he needed to get some distance between them, as any more hits from the intruder could lead to his downfall. He swiftly pushes them away from him, opening the distance between them. But just as he does, the intruder does something surprising: They actually take some of the furniture and start throwing it at him. From the chairs to the books.

Well, if that’s how they want to play… He thought to himself, quickly dodging each object thrown at him, while also taking some objects as well and throwing it at them as well.

Just as he throws a rather thick book at them, the intruder moves swiftly and again closes the distance between them again. This time, not only baring their fists, but also some powerful kicks. A rapid roundhouse to his right side brings him to his knees, a very strong kick. While he gets his bearings together, they continue to throw punch after punch and kick after kick at him. Basim was able to move out of the way for some of the blows, the ones that landed on him slowed him immensely. But he also noted that they were also growing tired from the brigade of attacks that they were throwing at him. This was his chance. As they twisted their body, and prepared to throw another blow his way, he feigned defeat. And just as they again met their fist with his torso, they were met with a knife to their throat. A smirk grew on his face as he saw the irritation on the intruders.

“Looks like I won.” He declared, keeping a firm grip on the knife.

But just as quickly as he stated that, he felt the all familiar poke to his side. The other knife he threw at them earlier. He had gotten it back. Somehow, they must’ve swiped it from him during their close encounters.

Damn.

His smirk faded, and one formed on their face as well.

“Maybe you should check yourself before making any bold statements, pendejo.” They said, digging the knife into his side, just mere inches from being plunged into him.

Neither willing to let up on their grips. It was a stand still, with only the moonlight from outside shining on the both of them. Then suddenly, the light in the shop switched on.

“What is going on here?!”

A woman’s voice echoed out from the top of the second level of the shop. Both Basim and the intruder looked over, still with a tight grip on their knives to each other, to where the voice came from. There, on the top of the stairs, a woman with short brown hair stood. She had on a light brown blouse, with a medium length mocha skirt and a pair of black ankle boots. Her round glasses almost encased her vivid green eyes, both of which looked down at the both of them with disapproval. The intruder looked at her with a rather curious fascination.

“Oh? Well, hello there~” The intruder said, with a flirtatious tone to their voice.

Before Basim could react, they delivered a powerful knee right to his crotch. One that immediately brought him to the ground, dropping his knife in the process. They slowly walked over to the railing of the stairs, pocketing the knife that was just at Basim’s side, taking in the woman up on the upper level. She, on the other hand, was quite taken aback by what was going on.

“No one told me that someone as fetching as you would be here. Vaya, señorita. And who might you be?~” They said, leaning back on the railing.

The woman, although quite shocked at the scene unfolding in front of her, decided to respond.

“My name is Anna Kastello...and this is my bookshop. And that man that you so rudely kneed behind you is Basim.” She said, motioning to the man who was lying on the floor, trying to recover from the vigorous blow earlier.

The intruder looked behind at him, shrugged and looked back up at Anna.

“Well, my deepest apologies, Miss Anna. As for him, he’ll be fine...just needs to ice that area for the next 48 hours. And since you’ve given me the pleasure of your name, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mari.”

Anna looked down at them, still quite taken from how this night was going. And how forthcoming the intruder- Mari- was being. Given how late it was, and the mess in her shop, Anna decided that she was going to humor them, and get to the bottom of why they broke in to begin with.

“Please explain to me...why is it that you’re here...Mari?”

“Oh? Well allow to say, as much as I’m enticed by you, querida, I’m not stupid. I’m quite aware of what exactly this shop stands for...and I believe you do as well. This...malparido behind me is living evidence of what actually goes on here.” Mari uttered, motioning to Basim in the back, who was now slowly getting up and using the fallen table aside to hold him up. A playful expression on their face.

Anna was shocked to hear that this random individual knew of what went on in the shop, and even knew what role Basim played into it. She couldn’t deny it, but as much as she was afraid, she was also calm. If this Mari person here was truly an enemy of theirs and wanted to harm them, they would’ve gone to Abstergo or worse and brought the full force of the corporation down on the shop. But they didn’t. Although they did give Basim quite a beating, seeing their face and how they’ve taken in the situation, Anna suspected that they weren’t there on behalf of anyone. She was going to find out.

“I won’t deny what we’re doing here. It is what you’ve said. But judging from your expressions, despite the absolute mess you’ve both made here, I believe that you’re not here to do anyone’s bidding. But rather, there’s something you want to know. And I want to know what that is. That is...on one condition…” Anna stated, making her stance firm and clear.

Mari, tilting their head in curiosity, was entranced by what Anna was saying, and willing to go along with what she was saying.

“And that may be, querida?”

“...Pick up this mess...I have to open up in several hours and I’d rather not close up just to clean up.” She said, slowly turning around and walking to the back of the shop.

Mari couldn’t have been more thrilled.

“With pleasure!”

Anna, as she walked to the back, rubbed her temples slightly. This was going to be a long night.

...to be continued...

#assassin's creed #assassinscreedvalhalla #ac oc #original character #original story #basim ibn ishaq

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carriagelamp · 4 years

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~ Queer Lit 30 Day Book Challenge ~

I decided to do this challenge I came across for June! Originally it was designed as a “day-by-day” thing, but my June was way too hectic to do a write up every single day… so I decided to make a nice compilation for the end of the month instead!

This is perhaps not the “purest” form of the challenge but I wanted it to be personal for me. Growing up when I did and where I did, I had very little exposure to queer books, especially age-appropriate queer books. That being said, there’s some books on this list that are really only “queer” by technically, or through a secondary character rather than the main character. I debated whether to include these but finally decided that, yes, I would. I owe it to myself. Even though some of these books that aren’t “as queer” as other, they were (or are) really important to me as a queer person and my journey is understanding that, so I wanted to acknowledge them!

More info about the books and the challenge under the cut!

Day One: First Queer Book You Remember Reading

Color by Taishi Zaou and Eiki Eiki

Remember how I mentioned a lack of available, age-appropriate queer books? I was one of those kids who was definitely exposed (probably too young) to queer manga/yaoi. It wasn’t necessarily what I wanted, especially as a wee ace teen, but it was the best I had at the time and it meant the world to me at the time, to see same-sex relationships even if looking back on them is very “YIKES”.

I’m sure I read others before this, but Color is one of the first that I really remember and which I a) actually owned and which b) wasn’t completely repellent in hindsight! I haven’t reread it in probably over a decade so I have no idea how it stands up, but at the time it read like a much more “realistic” account of two teenagers developing a crush and starting a relationship and as a questioning teenager it really helped me realize that this was a real, viable option.

Day Two: Queer Book That Reminds You Of Home

The Witch Boy by Molly Knox Ostertag

I hummed and hawed about this one for a long time because honestly I tend to read books that make me feel far from home. I decided to go with The Witch Boy though because it’s a story that challenges gender norms and stars a large family out in the woods, running wild and exploring magic, and honestly it gives me vibes that remind me of vacationing with my extended family. We’re also partially ginger and inclined to run wild in the woods. If we knew magic we’d have used it for sure.

This book is about 13 year old Aster, who lives in a family where the women all become witches and the men all become shifters. Aster, however, has no interest in shapeshifting and instead finds ways to study magic and learn the arts of witchcraft while constantly being pushed out by his female relatives… though everything might change when a new danger, that may or may not be connected to Aster studying magic, begins to appear.

Day Three: Queer Book That Has Been On Your TBR Too Long

Beneath The Citadel by Destiny Soria

That was an easy choice, this has been sitting on my bookshelf for months, staring at me accusingly every time I enter my room. I’m really excited to read it (Magical heist? Rebellion? With an asexual protagonist? Yes please) but for some reason I have not gotten around to it. Some day, baby, some day.

Day Four: Queer Book With A Name Or Number In The Title

George by Alex Gino

George is an absolutely charming middle grade novel about a child named George who the world perceives as male… but who knows she’s definitely a girl. The novel begins when her class decided to put on a play about the novel they had just read: Charlotte’s Web. George is desperate to play Charlotte, her favourite character, but isn’t even allowed to try out because it’s a “girl’s role”. George and her best friend struggle with how to handle this problem and manage George’s secret amid elementary school and home drama.

This book is really adorable – it was a nice, easy, cozy read for an adult, and would also make a great read aloud to elementary-age children if you want to introduce them to transgender characters.

Day Five: Queer Book Where The Protag Has A Fun Job

The Magic Misfits by Neil Patrick Harris

Not actually a queer protagnoist, but a queer side character who plays a major role in the series. Mister Vernon, one of Leila’s fathers, has arguable the coolest job: he’s a retired stage magician turn magic shop owner, which is complete with large rabbit, hidden room, and tons of fascinating gadgets to help a young practical magician learn their trade. He is hands down one of the neatest character in the series and is a major catalyst throughout the series.

The first book follows Carter, a runaway orphan who practices street magic to get by, as he runs away from his horrible uncle and winds up meeting a gang of magic-loving friends in a small town. Hiding from his uncle is only the beginning though, and the mysteries surrounding the town and Mister Vernon become thicker and thicker as the series goes on.

Day Six: Favourite Queer Graphic Novel

Check, Please! by Ngozi Ukazu

There’s lots of fantastic queer graphic novels out there, but I have to name Check, Please! as my favourite (and not just because I’m Canadian and am legally obligated to at least show interest in a hockey story). Check, Please! is the friggin cutest story about Eric “Bitty” Bittle, former figure skater and avid baker, who joins the Samwell University hockey team. The story is told in the form of Bitty’s vlog as he recounts the bizarre quirks of the Samwell hockey team, his struggle to overcome his fear of checking, and his growing crush on the team captain, Jack. Seriously guys, this is cavity-inducing sweetness and you can read it all online for free, here on tumblr @omgcheckplease or at its own website, checkpleasecomic.

Day Seven: Queer Book You Often Reread

Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan

Another book I haven’t reread in years, but this was the first queer novel I ever read (and owned!) so I read it obsessively, first the copy from the high school library and then my own copy (which is, let us say, well-thumbed by this point). It was pure fluff, in an aggressively diverse, relentlessly accepting, rainbow-coloured high school and it was exactly what I wanted in high school, and it still makes me happy whenever I remember it. It’s a straight-up high school romance, pretty traditional to the genre, but it has the most delightful supporting cast you could ever ask for. Maybe I should reread it again this summer…

Day Eight: Queer Book With A Happy Ending

Of Fire and Stars by Audrey Coulthurst

This was a bit more of a “yeah it was fine” book for me, but honestly… queer people deserve some average, run-of-the-mill YA fantasies. As far as my normal reading preferences go, run-of-the-mill YA fantasies are my bread and butter. And this one has a cute sapphic romance to go with it. It’s about Denna, a princess with a dangerous secret: she has a magical Affinity for fire, despite being betrothed to the prince of a kingdom that aggressively prosecutes and fears magic-users. So now Denna is in a strange land, trying to hide her increasingly volatile magic, solve an assassination that rocked the kingdom, and deal with the growing connection between her and the prince’s wild sister, Mare. It has court intrigue, a murder mystery, horses, and lots of confused sapphic pining so it’s totally worth picking up if you want a light summer fantasy adventure.

Day Nine: Queer Book With (Over) 100 Pages

River of Teeth by Sarah Gailey

I decided to try to get as close to 100 pages as possible! River of Teeth is a 114-page novella that I haven’t quite finished (work and covid stress happened) but which I am fucking losing my mind for. I can’t recommend it enough. It’s peak alternative history, about queer hippopotamus-riding cowboys in Louisiana during the early 20th (late 19th?) century. Like… I don’t know how to emphasize how unbelievably cool this book is. Genderqueer demolition expert with a giant crush and a penance for making things blow up and attempting to poison guests when they’re bored?? Check. Gay gunslinging hippo-riding cowboy with an angsty backstory (and also a giant crush)? Check. Sexy, fat, badass lady con artist with an albino hippo that she spoils? Check. Like damn guys. I’m not done the book and I’ve already bought the sequel because I know the second I pick it back up I’m not gonna stop until I’ve ploughed through it all. This book is the epitome of “refuge in audacity” and “rule of cool”. Is it over the fucking top? Absolutely but that’s the point.

Day Ten: Favourite Queer Genre Novel

The Red Scrolls of Magic by Cassandra Clare

I’ll be honest, I’m a little shaky on what counts as a genre novel (isn’t… everything… a genre??) so I decided to interpret it as “slightly trashy YA supernatural fantasy” because that sure is a hella specific genre I’m weak for.

I really thought I was done with the Shadowhunter novels, I thought they were a goofy series I left behind in teenagerhood that I could look back on with amused indulgence. And then I found out that there was a novel specifically about Alec and Magnus and! Oh no! Ding dong I was wrong. I fell back in hard because listen… I love them. They were one of the first canonical same-sex relationships I ever read about in an actual novel, they meant a lot to me then and still mean a lot to me now. I have nothing to say to defend myself here except that this book wrecked me and I can’t wait for the sequel.

Day Eleven: Queer Book You Love In A Genre You Don’t Read

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me by Mariko Tamaki and Rosemary Valero-O’Connel

I am very rarely a slice-of-life / romance genre sort of person. I like my stories cut with a heavy dose of fantasy, scifi, action-adventure… something. So a graphic novel that’s not only a romance, but one about an unhealthy relationship and infidelity is like… super outside my usual range of reading material. But it was very much worth the read! The art was stunning, and the complicated emotions it tapped into really touched me. I’m very happy to have read it, and was so damn satisfied by the end.

Day Twelve: Queer Book With A Strong Sense Of Place

Belle Révolte by Linsey Miller

Linsey Miller is one author I very actively follow, I love her works and they always have very distinct, complicated worlds with unique societies and magic systems. Belle Révolte was her latest book and followed a prince-and-the-pauper type of story, in which wealthy Emilie des Marais is determined to learn noonday (magical) arts in order to become a physician, someone who can actually work to make her home a better place… but this is not something a proper lady would ever be allowed to do. So she flees her finishing school and meets poor, but magically gifted, Annette Boucher and offers her the chance to switch places. Annette goes back to school as “Emilie” and gets to hone her skills at the midnight arts while Emilie will use her name to sneak into medical school and fight her way up the ranks to physician. This is a challenging enough task, with rebellion roiling just beneath the surface and the country about to slip into a arrogant war that threatens the lives of hundreds…

Day Thirteen: Queer Book That Really Made You Think

Our Dreams At Dusk by Yuhki Kamatani

This is a four book manga series that is completely breath-taking. It’s touched by magical-realism and completely drowned in visually stunning metaphors and symbolism. Seriously, I’ve reread these books multiples times trying to digest how the wide variety of symbols overlap and contradict and compliment and challenge each other. I still haven’t really gotten a solid handle on it, it’s very fluid, so yeah… definitely makes me think.

The story starts with Tasuku Kaname who believes he may have just been outed as gay by a high school friend, and feels like he’s watching his entire world crumble around him. He is seriously considering taking his own life, when he runs into the mysterious woman “Someone-san” and winds up leading him to a drop-in center that’s run by a local non-profit, and is also a hub for a number of queer people in the community. The books follow Tasuku as he grows, learns, makes mistakes, and confronts his feelings, along with a number of other members at the drop-in center. It is completely beautiful, optimistic, but also quite stark and harsh at its look at homophobia and transphobia in modern Japanese society and how it can effect people in different ways. I just bought book four and can’t wait to read it and see how everything ends.

Day Fourteen: Queer Book That Made You Cry

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline

Holy shit guys. Listen. Listen. If you don’t read any other book on this list, please consider reading The Marrow Thieves. It is hands down the best book I’ve read so far this year. Another book that doesn’t have a queer character as the protag, but as one of the main supporting characters and listen, his story fucking destroyed me as a person. That romance just… aaaaaaah. AAAAAAAAH.

Anyway. The Marrow Thieves is a Canadian dystopian novel. It takes place in a post-climate change world in which society has been ravaged – partially due to the wildly different and extreme weather patterns, but also through a strange disease that has spread through the population that has left people completely incapable of dreaming. Now unable to rest, process their lives, and dream of a future, people are being driven insane and only one group appears to be immune: North America’s First Nations people appear to be unaffected. And so they begin to be harvested, rounded up and collected in “school” in order for people to suck the marrow out of them to give to white people afflicted by this disease. The Marrow Thieves follows a First Nations boy named Frenchie as he flees the recruiters and tries his best to survive in this post-apocalyptic like wilderness, banding together with other First Nations people who are heading north, where they hope to find communities of their own people with whom they can shelter and start to rebuild their lives.

It’s a YA level novel, not very long, and such an insanely good read. I cannot emphasize enough PLEASE GO READ THIS BOOK.

Day Fifteen: Queer Book That Made You LOL

Mostly Void, Partially Stars by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor

Welcome to Nightvale always makes me laugh and it was a lot of fun to get to read the transcripts of the episodes. I’m a sucker for novelizations/transcripts of shows. It was a nice nostalgia trip and gave me an excuse to go back and relisten to some of my favourite episodes too! If you’ve never gotten into Nightvale… hey, it’s a classic! Podcast is fucking stunning if you’re into podcasts, and if you’re not but would enjoy a weird, queer, eldritch horror comedy then try the book! It’s the first “season” compiled in text form, exactly how it’s heard in the show.

Day Sixteen: Queer Book That Is Really Personal To You

Jughead volume 1 by Chip Zdarsky et al

Including this one because gee golly it sure did make me want to fight a lot of people for quite a while. It was one of the first stories I ever found/read that had an explicitly asexual main character… (and a character I already really loved! Which I now got to feel an even stronger connection to! It was so fun and validating!) so it was super awesome how like half of tumblr decided for a year there that this was apparently a cardinal sin. Imagine… one single version of old, long standing comic series deciding to retcon a character to represent a heavily under-represented community… imagine being so fucking angry about that that you decide to start a hate campaign on the internet. So much fun to live through that as an ace person. Anyway, these comics were nothing amazing but I sure do love them aggressively out of pure spite, even now that the aphobia on tumblr has died back down I will hold this to my chest and adore it.

Day Seventeen: Favourite Queer Book Sequel or Spin Off

The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy by Mackenzi Lee

Honestly do I even need to say anything here? Is there any queer person who hasn’t read Mackenzi Lee’s The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue series? If you are someone who hasn’t read it yet… go do that?? Absolutely stunning, one of my all-time favourite book series. It’s the perfect combination of hilarious and goofy, intense action, heartfelt character development, and a dash of “wait was that supernatural or??” This sequel was fantastic, this time focusing on Felicity, Monty’s sister, and her quest to become a physician despite being a woman in the 18th century. Awesome look at femininity, feminism, asexuality, and race. (Also… OT3? OT3.)

Day Eighteen: Favourite Queer Book By A Favourite Author

Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett

One of those “ehh is this technically queer? Not really but close enough, it is in my heart” books. It was one of the books I read as a teenager when I was still beginning to seek out and try to explore queer lit in so much as I could.

Terry Pratchett is, hands down, my favourite author, and though he doesn’t tend to write explicitly queer literature, his exploration of gender through allegory is top fucking tier. Everything to do with the dwarves in his series is fascinating, and a really great challenge/critique/exploration of gender, and this is the book that takes it to the next level (and brings in at least implicitly queer characters). It’s about Polly Perks, who lives in a small, war torn nation, choosing to join the army in order to find out what happened to her brother. However, as tradition dictates, she can’t join as a girl… so she disguises herself as Ozzer, a young man. There’s a lot of twists and turns, and as always Pratchett delivers fantastic humour and just absolutely delicious satire.

Day Nineteen: Queer Book That Changed Your Life

And Tango Makes Three by Justin Richardson

This was the book that made me realize that I, as a queer teacher, could have queer kid lit in my future classroom. Maybe a comparatively small revelation, but a really important one to me. It made me realize that this didn’t need to be something I kept a secret in my professional life and which could really positively influence children, especially queer children. It was the first queer children’s book I ever bought.

Day Twenty: Favourite Queer Book Series

Candy Color Paradox by Isaku Natsume

Alright… I’ll admit it, this isn’t actually my favourite series, but I’ve used my favourites in other spots. And this is a good one! Definitely more of an actual “yaoi” than the other manga I’ve included (here there be sex) but it has a very different vibe that what I’m used to from that type of manga. The main pair are actually both capable, mature adults, with careers they actively care about, and who get together in the first volume!

The rest of the series is less about them angst-ily toeing around their relationship, and much more about them learning to grow as a couple and balance their work and relationship and society. It’s funny and sweet, and I really enjoy these two losers. It’s a very low-stakes enemy-to-friends-to-lovers story, in which Onoe (a reporter) and Kaburagi (a photographer) are paired up on a news story they’re supposed to dig into together. What starts as a bickering rivalry gradually becomes respect, friendship, and love~ Onoe is a gremlin of a protag, so he’s a treat to follow.

Day Twenty-One: Queer Book That You Recommend A Lot

Mask of Shadows by Linsey Miller

To repeat myself: Linsey Miller is awesome! This is my favourite book of hers, the first of a duology. It’s kind of like an intense, edgy Tamora Pierce novel with murder. In this world, the Queen has a team of assassins known as the Left Hand. They’re an elite group that keeps the Queen safe and does the dirty work that needs to be done to protect the kingdom and keep the encroaching nations at bay. When the assassin Opal is killed, a contest is announced to find the new Opal. People from all over come to complete for the honour of being one of the Queen’s royal assassins, including gender-fluid thief Sallot Leon. Sal has some deep motivations to become Opal that go beyond a loyalty to their kingdom, but they’re going to have to survive their competitors if they even wants a chance at it… (Sal generally goes by either she or he in the books, but I’m using they in this instance since it’s in a more general sense.)

Day Twenty-Two: Queer Book That Made You Take Action

The Deep by Rivers Solomon

Uhh, I don’t really have any books that made me take action per se, but this one sure gave me a lot to think about. It’s about deep sea mermaids who originated from the pregnant slave women tossed into the ocean to drown during passage to North America. From those dying women, this race was born and were taken in by whales, raised and protected until they could descend into the deep ocean waters, to form their own safe society. Their collective past is so painful though that as a species they’ve developed a very short term memory. But a people can’t live without any ties to their roots and so one of them, the Historian, holds all the memories for their entire species and shares it with everyone once a year so that the community can be connected to their ancestors before once again returning the memories to the Historian for safe keeping. Yetu, the current Historian, is so overwhelmed by these memories, that she can no longer take it – she flees her people, her responsibilities, and her pain and escapes to the surface instead...

Day Twenty-Three: Queer Book By An Author Who I Killed Is Dead

Cybersix by Carlos Trillo

I cannot emphasize enough, this is not actually a queer comic, it is in fact a very homophobic, transphobic and sexist comic written by a horrible person.

That being said, he’s dead and I own it now the TV series was essentially about a genderqueer superhero and a very confused bi biology professor who has a crush on both personas. I had a passionate crush on both personas as a child, and I will cherrypick this comic until I die in order to enjoy the only kickass genderqueer/genderfluid noir antihero I’ve come across. I am valid and I am not open to debate or discussion. Do not read this comic it’s horrible (but consider watching the show).

Day Twenty-Four: Queer Book You Wish You’d Read When Younger

The Prince and the Dressmaker by Jen Wang

This is such an incredibly soft story with the nicest art. There’s so much understanding and compassion in it and its exploration of gender and self-confidence and being true to yourself would have been very reassuring to me as a child, especially by late elementary/middle school.

Day Twenty-Five: Queer Book In A Historical Setting

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

A retelling of Achilles’ and Patroclus’ relationship from childhood to the Trojan war. So yeah, you can imagine that this was also a candidate for Day 14 :’) I haven’t read this one in years but god it was lovely and emotionally destroyed me as a person.

Day Twenty-Six: Queer Superhero Book or Comic

Overwatch: Reflections by Michael Chu and Miki Montillo

I don’t really read superhero stories very often (the comics have always driven me a little bonkers, trying to find a way to enter the totally unapproachable Marvel/DC canons, and the MCU burnt me out years ago for every other sort of superhero story) so this is the closest I can get. Tracer’s a superhero yeah? Anyway, I, like every other queer person in the Overwatch fandom, lost my fucking mind when this dropped for Christmas a few years back and officially declared Lena Oxton not only the face of the entire franchise but also a lesbian. It’s an adorable little comic and Tracer’s girlfriend is a sweetheart.

Day Twenty-Seven: Favourite Queer Children’s Picture Book

Prince & Knight by Daniel Haack

There’s a number of sweet queer children’s books that are popping up these days, but this is my favourite just because it’s less about “explaining the gays to children” (though those books also have their place) and more of a cute little fantasy adventure in which the actual protagonist is gay. It’s about a prince who sets out to find himself a bride who can help rule by his side, but it quickly becomes clear that he isn’t interested in any of the girls. Instead, when a fire breathing dragon threatens his kingdom, he meets a brave knight who fights along side him. It’s very supportive and the art is lovely.

Day Twenty-Eight: Queer Book That Made You Feel Uncomfortable

Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann

This is a book with an asexual protagonist that I was originally really excited for. I know there are a lot of people out there who really enjoy this book and connected with it, but it didn’t do it for me. Maybe because my expectations were too high, but the protagonist’s experience with asexuality was vastly different than my own and the narrative voice ended up rubbing me wrong (and let’s be honest, slice-of-life romance is NOT my usual genre at all). So it’s not “made me uncomfortable because it’s Bad And Wrong” more just… totally vibed wrong with me. Maybe the perfect book for other people but definitely not for me, I had to return this one unfinished because it’s portrayal of asexuality just made me so deeply uncomfortable.

Day Twenty-Nine: Queer Book That Made You Want To Fall In Love

The Gentleman’s Guide To Vice And Virtue by Mackenzi Lee

This book had to make it on here somewhere, and honestly it could have gone in a lot of different spots, but I chose to put it here because the relationship between Monty and Percy is so incredibly sweet and authentic it really does make you want something like that. TGGTVAV (for anyone who has somehow not heard of it) takes place in the 18th century, and is about Monty, his best friend (and crush) Percy, and his sister Felicity going on a final “hurrah” tour of Europe before Monty's father finally tries to pin him down in England and force every part of Monty that’s deemed “unacceptable” out of him. So Monty intends to live this summer up… until everything goes off the rail and the three of them are suddenly fleeing across the continent with assassins at their heels and a strange, stolen artifact in their possession.

Monty has a lot of growing to do in this novel, and that’s one of my favourite things about it. For his and Percy’s relationship to ever have a chance, Monty needs to learn and change and actually communicate with other people, and it makes the relationship feel strong. Not a fluffy, surface level romance that often happens in YA but something built from the ground up by two friends who really want to make it work. Ahh, it’s lovely. One of my favourite novels.

Day Thirty: Queer Book With Your Favourite Ending

My Brother’s Husband by Gengoroh Tagame

A two-book manga series that was completely stunning. It deals with queer relationships and homophobia in a very stark, real-world manner that you don’t often get in manga, while still being incredibly loving and sympathetic. The book is about Yaichi, a single father whose estranged brother (Ryoji) recently died. One day, a Canadian named Mike arrives, introducing himself as Ryoji’s widower. Mike had come hoping to visit his late husband’s homeland to try to get some closure, and Yaichi ends up inviting Mike to stay. The whole story looks Japan’s societal biases, through Mike’s experiences, Yaichi’s thoughts, feelings and prejudices, and those of his daughter who adores Mike.

Seriously, this is one of the kindest, most earnest looks I’ve ever seen to internal prejudices that critiques them without demonizing the person who feels them. Instead it lovingly embraces grief, growth, and love. This series made me cry multiple times, was good enough that even my straight brother practically ordered me to go out and buy the second book when he finished the first, and the ending was just *chef’s kiss*

Honourable Mentions

A few books I really wanted to fit on my list somehow but couldn’t quite manage it, so here: All Out an anthology of historical fiction short stories about queer teens. The Tea Dragon Society series and Princess Princess Ever After, graphic novels by the amazingly talented Katie O’Neill. Heartstopper a webcomic turn graphic novel by Alice Oseman about a pair of rugby players. The Different Dragon a cute picture book in which the boy has two moms and which is about accepting different ways of being. And Lady Knight a part of Tamora Pierce’s Protector of the Small series because because Kel is word-of-god aro(and/or ace) and I’ve adored that series and Kel since I was about thirteen so by god I’ll take it.

Now for those that wanted to do their own challenge, I found it on @gailcarriger’s blog.

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copperbadge · 5 years

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Do you have any thoughts about the announced adaptation of 'the City Watch' books by BBC America? Opinions seem pretty mixed in the fandom and I'd love to hear your take?

For a show I was almost definitely never going to watch from the outset, I have more thoughts about the Watch adaptation than I really know what to do with, to be honest. It’s actually hard to assemble them coherently.

There are basically three strands of opinion I have about watching The Watch: personal, critical, and literary.

The personal:

I don’t have a great history of enjoying media adaptations of Terry Pratchett’s work. One reason I didn’t watch Good Omens until a month or two after its release is that I knew this about myself and I didn’t want to turn it on, get disappointed, and turn it off, as I’d done with The Hogfather (we need not speak of The Animated Soul Music, lord). Granted, the Death books are not my favorites, so I was never going to deeply engage with The Hogfather, and then they came out with The Colour Of Magic, another non-favorite, so I skipped it, and so I was super disengaged by the time Going Postal came out (though I should really give Going Postal a chance because I do love Going Postal as a book). So I acknowledge this isn’t objective, this is personal, but it’s still a factor.

So I’m not coming into this whole situation with The Watch as someone who actually wants, or enjoys, TV adaptations of Pterry’s books, Good Omens notwithstanding – and let’s be real, Good Omens is an outlier. It was a collaboration, one of the original authors had deep control over the adaptation, and also Good Omens isn’t a Discworld book. It’s much more thoroughly rooted in our known reality, which makes it easier to convey to television. But my ultimate point is that when I hear about a Discworld book being adapted to TV, I shrug and move on. I have the books. I don’t need the shows.

The critical:

I think it is a bad habit of fandom that we extrapolate a lot of inference from a relatively small amount of data – we tend to take a couple of photos, a press release, some casting information, and very quickly make a large set of assumptions. It’s not necessarily that these assumptions are wrong, but we jump to a lot of conclusions. I’m thinking of early backlash over Good Omens, which I don’t even remember what it was about but I remember Gaiman having to get pretty stern about “could you wait until at least the trailer is out before jumping down my throat”. I’m also thinking of the casting of David Thewlis as Remus Lupin, which was not well-received until we saw more than blurry set photos.

Now, all that having been said, some of the casting news has been…difficult. On the one hand, a Black Sybil Ramkin? Sign me the fuck up. On the other, I know that for a lot of people, having a Sybil who is both large and older is really important (I think it’s important too). Especially if Vimes is older, it’s creepy and backwards to have Sybil be young and hollywood-idea-of-pretty (even if the time travel element is involved, it gets into a weird area). Also, I’m really over only ever casting people of color as villains or supporting-role-women. Vimes canonically comes from a “poor but respectable” neighborhood that could easily be reframed as an ethnic neighborhood, which would be especially pointed and interesting given his family’s long connection to the history of the city. An Indian or part-Indian Sam Vimes would be really, really interesting and cool, for example.

There’s also a lot of discussion about casting a nonbinary person as Cheery and explicitly setting Cheery up as nonbinary, as opposed to explicitly a trans woman*, especially since in the books she identifies as a woman, not as nonbinary. But I’m not entirely sure if Cheery as nonbinary is actually going to be canon or if that’s just the reporting on the show not knowing how to handle the whole Female Dwarf situation. Not everyone interprets Cheery as trans at all, either, because of how dwarf gender identity works, which complicates matters somewhat, so I’m not going to wade too far into these waters. I do think it’s great enby actors are getting work in enby roles, but there’s some issues there that need further examination.

(* Note -- corrected the above after it was pointed out to me that NB are not trans light; I’ve changed it to trans woman rather than trans-as-umbrella-term, more here.)

So I think overall it’s early days to make a lot of calls about what The Watch will and won’t be, but I also think there’s a lot of reason to be concerned and annoyed, and that brings us to the real, hardcore reason that I saw the first reporting on The Watch and immediately noped out:

The literary:

“Punk rock thriller.”

Oh go fuck yourself.

Despite everything I said above about not making snap judgements I immediately read that it would be a dark punk rock thriller police procedural and went “Well, guess that’s that” and walked away from the idea of being even vaguely excited about this show, because what I read demonstrated a basic, fundamental lack of grip on what the Watch books are about.

One, the Watch books aren’t about crime. They really genuinely aren’t. The crimes are macguffins on which to hang social commentary about other things entirely. Even in the very earliest Watch books, when Pterry was still mostly making fun of high fantasy, the crimes the Watch investigated were committed in the service of a larger discussion about things like totalitarianism, interculturalism, and civic life. There’s at least one moment, and I believe several but I’d have to re-read the books to be sure, where Pterry explicitly makes fun of murder mysteries where the hero Solves Crimes Like Sherlock Holmes. Vimes hates clues. Feet Of Clay has an extended subplot about how you 100% cannot trust clues even when the author is the one feeding them to you. I do not want a Watch series that is about Clues.

Two, the Watch books are explicitly the antithesis of the action genre. They have action in them, but the point is that nobody in these books are action heroes; they’re ordinary people attempting to go about their jobs in a situation where that constantly becomes increasingly difficult. I read “punk rock thriller” and I thought to myself of the dedication of Guards! Guards!:

They may be called the Palace Guard, the City Guard, or the Patrol. Whatever the name, their purpose in any work of heroic fantasy is identical: it is, round about Chapter Three (or ten minutes into the film) to rush into the room, attack the hero one at a time, and be slaughtered. No one ever asks them if they want to. This book is dedicated to those fine men.

This does get a bit tricky because by the end of Snuff, Vimes is very heroic, almost too heroic for my comfort, but at the same time his heroism is of a very specific sort: he is heroic not because he slaughters the palace guard who get in his way or shoots the baddie or blows up a cop car with a helicopter (or vice versa) but because he deeply, intensely hates those things, and wants nothing to do with them. He is heroic because he is forced into it by circumstance, but spite in the face of monstrousness is what powers him. I think of The Fifth Elephant, where Vimes has just killed a werewolf:

There were a lot of things he could say. “Son of a bitch!” would have been a good one. Or he could say, “Welcome to civilization!” He could have said, “Laugh this one off!” He might have said, “Fetch!” But he didn’t, because if he had said any of those things then he’d have known that what he had just done was murder.

I don’t trust someone who thinks The Watch should be reimagined as a thriller to understand Sam Vimes. Like, there’s room for interpretation as to Vimes’ character, but there is a fundamental underlying bedrock Vimes is built on and if you don’t grasp the broad points of that, you’re just writing a cop show with some names stitched on.

Three, the Watch books aren’t a static series, they aren’t like cozy mysteries where the circumstances change but the hero rarely does. That’s nothing against cozy mysteries; I love mystery novels and some of my favorites involve characters who don’t even age over the course of the forty years the books were written in. But you cannot pastiche the Watch and expect it to work.

Again this is a bit of extrapolation based on low amounts of data but I think it’s probably accurate – the casting indicates that either we’re dealing with the events of Night Watch or at the very least heavily engaged with aspects of it. But Night Watch, while I think it’s one of Pterry’s best books hands down, doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It is one point in a very specific developmental arc, not just for Vimes but for the entire Watch. If we’re dealing just with the plot of Night Watch (which I don’t think we are) that’s tough to pull off. If, as I suspect, they’re going to be pulling from various aspects of various Watch books, then that’s just fucking nonsense.

Even Carrot, who is a very constant figure, undergoes some fundamental shifts in personality between Guards! Guards! and, say, The Fifth Elephant. Vimes, while maintaining his personal moral and ethical code, undergoes a radical shift between Guards! Guards! and Night Watch, and he continues to develop emotionally and in some ways spiritually up until Snuff. The Vimes who bitches about diversity in hiring in Men At Arms will not react to any given situation the way the Vimes who befriends the goblins in Snuff will.

And because these books also all address very specific issues, you can’t just slam them all together and expect to get anything resembling the Watch as Pterry envisioned it over the course of the books.

So while I love the comedy, the characters, the plots, even the macguffin crimes, I believe that a Watch book – a Discworld book of any kind – without that satirical bite is just a high-fantasy husk. There’s no point to it, nothing that sets it apart from a bad Saturday Night Live skit about Game of Thrones. The tv series might actually turn out great and all my concerns will have been unfounded, but first looks aren’t promising on a number of really basic levels.

So we’ll see. If I’m wrong, great; the show will probably electrify fandom in the same way Good Omens did. If I’m right, well, I had no hopes to begin with, so I’ll just enjoy re-reading Night Watch, which is the book that got me back into fandom and which you can all blame for my presence here today. :D

#discworld #the watch #copperbadge is named after the copper badge of sam vimes #Anonymous #you will pry ugly bastard sam and fat practical sybil from my cold dead hands

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seven-oomen · 4 years

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Hi, Ben! I hope your day is going well so far! Are you still getting snow, or has the storm calmed a bit? We’re supposed to be getting a potentially severe ice storm over the course of today. There’s already a thin layer this morning, we’ll see how the rest of the day goes. And temperatures are supposed to stay in about the -4 to -6C range the rest of the week. I’m very glad that I’m off the next couple of days, and managed to get by the grocery last night after work.

I saw your post about writing and writing styles! It was helpful because I’ve not really seen the different styles written out and explained before. I’m still not 100% which I am, but probably either an intuitive plotter or a methodological pantser. Usually there’s a scene or a line or two that I’m like “this needs to happen in this story” and everything else is fairly free-form. I did try actually writing down an outline for IYWTD, but even then it’s more a list of beats/tropes and the order I want to include them in. (And I’ve only just made it past halfway through, although a couple may need to be altered a bit, oh god, how did this get so long…)

It’s also always kinda of amusing to me how many of those writing advice lists are like “Don’t do this”, “Stop doing this”, “Never do that”, and then they’ll encourage you to find your own voice and style. Like, bitch, you just told me not to ever do half the shit that makes up my style. Which am I supposed to do? Damn. XD (You will seriously pry adverbs and similar descriptors from my cold, dead, grasping hands. Also the occasional epithet. No, I’m not using a character’s name nine times in one paragraph, sorry, and pronouns don’t always help if the characters are the same gender. The reader can deal. ;D )

And I feel ya on the tall, skinny, blue-eyed boys thing. It doesn’t have to be just a white boy, but if he’s taller than me, slender, and has a pretty pair of baby blues, my higher brain functions tend to go into insta-lag. I ain’t particularly proud, but I’ve long accepted this about myself (there are many reasons Luke became my forever BAE.) That’s not to say a lack of any of those is a deal-breaker in the slightest, but it’s definitely going to immediately get my attention.

Speaking (vaguely) of Luke, I had a thought the other day of him and Din being off on some planet together (Grogu is staying with Aunt Leia and Uncle Han for a few days), and there’s a noise in the middle of the night, and Din refuses to accept Luke’s assurance that there’s nothing out there, and in true himbo fashion insists on going out to investigate having grabbed only the darksaber and his helmet to cover his face -but nothing else. Luke just finds it a combo of hysterical and adorable (and kinda hot.)

I hope your novel is going well (whatever stage you happen to be at), and I’m always up for hearing whatever you feel like sharing about it.

I hope you’re still doing well with the whole eating and hydrating regularly thing (it’s also totally okay if you aren’t!), and I’m super proud of you for sticking to it as much as you can anyway. That shit is hard. (Also, ignore the 1500 calories thing, I swear that shit is designed for 130lb women trying to shed a few pounds, not people who need to safely and steadily lose larger amounts of weight. But then I’ve also never fully understood making someone lose weight before surgery, either. “We need you to get rid of some excess weight before we’ll okay this surgery to *checks notes* get rid of some excess weight." Like, weird flex, but okay.)

Anyway, I’m rambling again, and should really eat some breakfast and try to write a little myself today, maybe. Hope you’re feeling okay, and that things are going well overall. I hope Mo is doing well, and enjoying his best cuddle buddy life. Take care! *Hugs!*

Okay, gonna try this this way so that I can refer back to the links on my phone if need be. I couldn’t quite see the full entries for the physical descriptions, and when I tried clicking on them it kept asking for a login, but I think I saw enough to get the gist. I’m not sure exactly what sort of feedback you’re interested in, if any, so this will mainly be my usual sort of rambling stream-of-consciousness type thoughts and questions. Hope that’s okay. Feel free to ignore if it’s not what you’re after right now! :D

I think one of the first questions that popped to mind was where is/what happened to Ellie’s mom, and is that something that’s going to cause problems later in some way? (I.e.- was she killed on a hunt, are they divorced, was it bitter or amicable [would she come after her daughter if she heard about his relationship?]) I guess technically similar questions could also apply to Nate (late husband, ex-husband, ex-boyfriend, one night stand, sperm donor?) it was just more noticeable with Ellie being so young still. Although that could also be part of why he’s ended up in Wyoming, which was another question I had, although there I assume it’s hunt-related.

I also anticipate quite a bit of tension of all kinds when he and Nate first meet, because Faron strikes me from his descriptions as someone rather used to being able to get his own way either through the influence of who he is, or through his size (not necessarily in any kind of intentional or aggressive way, more in an unconscious privilege kind of way, if that makes sense?), and I don’t think Nate sounds like the type to give two shits about either of those things, and it would probably drive Faron up the proverbial wall that Nate isn’t intimidated by him in the slightest. (I could be entirely wrong about all this, this is just the impression I get so far. :D ) And I think Nate being noticeably older than him would just make it that much more irritating at first, too. Now, how long these impressions last will just depend on how quickly they get to know each other, and whether Bachelor #3 is helping or hindering things. XD The potential for just sitting back and watching the fireworks as “laid-back dad jokes with a quick temper” clashes with “quiet, reserved, and possibly takes themselves slightly too seriously” might prove too much for our last contestant for a while, depending on where his personality falls. ;D (Especially since Faron coming in and starting shit will likely come off as a direct threat to people and places Nate considers under his protection.)

Also, are any of these three going to have met before? Will Nate already have some sort of relationship with the werewolf (Does he already know about the supernatural at all?) Did he and Faron encounter each other on the trip to Europe you mentioned in the Life Highlights? If he and the wolf already know each other, how does he get along with Cas, or Nate’s pets? Is the werewolf also going to be native to the region? Does he know anything about Faron’s family? Does Faron already know he’s a werewolf, or is that going to be a bit of a crisis for him later? A test of how well he’s learned not to judge? If Nate doesn’t already know, how will he deal with both their secrets? Do you plan for full-shift only wolves, partial-shift only wolves, or a mix of the two like TW? Are there other supes in the area?

I think you mentioned maybe having him be of Native American descent? I think that could be very interesting, but would require a LOT of research into which tribes are active in the Yellowstone area, and what their individual mythologies say about things like shapeshifters, and LGTBQ+ issues, etc., because there can be a fair amount of variance, I’m sure. Also, I’m just overall curious how he’ll fit in with the other two size wise (get your mind out of the gutter, you know what I mean. XD ) Also curious if any o them are going to have the slightest clue on the feelings front, or are they all going to be just absolute disasters? Will the kids figure it out before they do? Will the kids get along? (Will BachelorWolf have any kids of his own, or just Nate and Faron?) Will Nate’s coworkers have any clue about either the supernatural, or what’s going on with those three? Because I suspect at least some of them will be way more obvious than they think they’re being. XD

Uh… I think that was all that’s occured to me right now?… I’m sorry you’re having a yucky day overall, and I hope tomorrow’s a bit better! The ice storm has finally moved in here, and I can feel the temperature drop radiating off of the front door and windows. It went from rain to freezing rain/hail and I’m not sure how long it’s supposed to last. Hopefully only a little while. Also, sorry your book was terrible. I haven’t seen too many recent recommendations from friends, and I’ve been mostly reading “cozy” mysteries (Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, etc) as my comfort reading myself, lately, so I can’t really suggest anything in particular, unfortunately. At least, nothing I think you wouldn’t already know. Anyway, hope you’re getting some decent rest, and hope you have a better day tomorrow! Take care! *Hugs!*

Alright since this is going to be like a very long one, I’m break it down into a few things.

First full physical descriptions, cause I didn’t know Milanote would be a bitch about it.

Nate:

164 cm (5'4), 75 kg (166 lbs), Short slightly overweight trans man in his middle age. Nearly always the shortest man in the room, only standing around 5'4 and weighing in around 166 lbs. With kind moss green eyes that have permanent crow's feet in their corners and a polite but reserved smile always on his face.

A face that's framed by faint freckles that are only visible in the sunlight. A neatly trimmed beard spices up his features and frames his pink lips. His thick but short eyebrows frame his eyes and create a short arc to his slim nose.

A high forehead separates his brows from his wavy dark blond hair that's always tucked behind his ears.

He generally wears the Superintendents' Park Ranger uniform while on duty. When he's not he wears comfortable jeans and t-shirts, usually a mono color like green, white, or black, plaid flannel shirts, socks with the weirdest patterns and colors, and hiking boots. He wears a steel ring on his right index finger and has a little steel Mjolnir on a necklace around his neck.

He's missing two fingers (his ring and little finger) on his left hand due to a childhood accident.

Faron:

185 cm (6'1 ft), 93 kg (205 lbs), Faron is a tall man with plenty of muscle from his time hunting. He can seem daunting and intimidating when you first meet him but there is a kinder, softer side to him. He has a warm light brown skin color, blue eyes, and black natural tight curly hair that he keeps very short. His full dark beard decorates his cheeks and chin, connects to his upper lip, and all the way up to his sideburns.

He tends to wear dark clothing, leather jackets, no jewelry that could identify him, jeans, henley shirts, or V-neck shirts, and black, brown, or red jackets. He usually wears black combat boots or dark brown hiking boots. He's got knives and other weapons hidden all over his body and pockets and it might take him a good few minutes to unload every single knife from his body when he was to disarm.

There are also scars all over his body, including some scars on his neck that are visible from day to day life. He had the bad luck of being struck down by a vicious Wendigo but managed to escape. He survived thanks to his sister's quick thinking and first aid.

He covers some of those scars up with tattoos; he has one tattoo of a dragon laying down on his shoulder, with its head on his chest and its body curling over his shoulder and ending just below his shoulder blades. And one tattoo covers up some scars on his lower arm, it's a tattoo of a wolf's head that covers up a bite mark.

Dichali:

He’s 37 and has 4 siblings, and two children, Kajika & Kaniya (Jika & Niya, identical twins, but one of them identifies as male, he’s trans. Kajika is his chosen/reassigned name. They are 10.) Dichali grew up in Riverton, WY, which is the largest town of 10,000 in the largest Native Reservation in Wyoming. He’s also a dear friend to our Nate (who is also his boss technically) and has slowly been falling in love with him for the last few years. (Although he still hasn’t realized that he loves his friend.)

Yena, his coworker and friend, who’s much younger at 25 has been watching her coworker and her boss joke and dance around each other. She has a betting pool with her girlfriend on who snaps first.

Not sure how I’ll connect him to Faron if it’s more fun/better to have him find out later or to already know him and keep it quiet.

I’m still working on him, so I don’t have much of personality and other things written down yet. But I have made his physical description:

At 178 cm (5'8) and 83 kilos (182 lbs) Dichali probably isn't the tallest man you've met, he's also not the shortest. And while he's got some good muscle on him from working as a Park Ranger, and being a werewolf, he also has some softer sides. All the better to cuddle with. He has long straight brown hair that falls to his mid-back and deep brown eyes and a long nose that ends prominently. His eyebrows are thin and he has a high forehead. His skin is a light Tawny color, there's a hint of an orange brown with a cool undertone.

His skin is also relatively clear and youthful looking because of his lycanthropy.

He tends to wear pants and jackets made by native designers and always incorporates native fashion into his outfits. He has jackets of mostly gray, blue, brown, and black colors made of denim, cotton, wool, or brass that are lined with more traditional cloths and patterns like the designer brand Ginew. Usually he pairs them with dark jeans, either black, gray, or dark blue. He pairs it with white, blue, red, black, or printed band t-shirts (Metallica, Green Day, Marianas Trench).

For shoes he has brown hiking boots that are part of the Ranger uniform, more western styled boots like black cowboy boots, and a pair of sneakers.He also wears a copper bracelet with lighting bolts etched into it.

Now this whole story got started because I had the question what if we had a DILF romance going on while/because the following happened?

What if a YouTube video that accidentally got uploaded shows the existence of a werewolf in Yellowstone park? Threatening to expose the entire supernatural world.

The werewolves right now are a mix, so half shift is like the classical half shift of a wolf head on a man’s body, but the full shift is more like a larger wolf. Almost the size of a black bear. Though I might change those ideas as the story progresses.

But that is how the Cryptid of Yellowstone is brought into the world. And that brings problems. Big problems.

Wendigos, vampires, djins, I plan to create a world where a lot of supernatural creates exist. From all sorts of cultures. I’m also toying with the idea of Kelpies and Griffins. That kind of stuff.

The supernatural world is hidden from ours, hidden in plain sight if you will. Most encounters are written off as really strange, sometimes a picture pops up, but with the coming of the internet, things have gotten more complicated. Also with deforestation and competition with regular wildlife has made some bigger supernatural creatures either extinct or thought to be extinct. They’re not sure what still lives in Australia, though.

Nate or his son don’t know about the supernatural world. Neither does Yena. Or much of the world. Dichali, his children (to some extent), Faron, and Faron’s family do know about this world.

Alright, as for your other post XD

Right now it’s no longer storming but due to the freezing temperatures the snow’s not going away and all public transport and delivery services are still not driving/delivering/running. So that’s neat. Not.

I swear we get some snow and the country is just down. Upside, ain’t nobody going outside and this helps with lockdown.

I hope your snowstorm won’t be too bad and everything thaws down soon. Snow’s fun for a day but after that...

Make sure you stay warm alright? And bundle up.

Yes dad... alright XD

Honestly, I’m glad to hear you liked my advice too. I’m getting quite a bit of positive feedback on it and that just makes me really happy ^^. I’m definitely writing more writing advice from everything I’ve learned so far.

There’s honestly so many contradicting ones out there, it’s a matter of picking and choosing which ones work best for you and applying those. And that’s the real trick of advice.

Fun fact, a lot of famous writers are also pantsers. Steven King, Neil Gaiman, George RR Martin are examples of famous pantsers or gardeners as they are also called.

John Grisham, JK Rowling, RL Stein fall into the plotter or architect category.

Writers like Hank Green seem to fall in the in-between category of plantser (somewhere between a plotter and a pantser. Or the Intuitive plotter.)

Okay but the DinLuke things is really really kinda hot and cute and adorable and has me smiling <3

And I can’t remember what else I wanted to say since it is like 2 am and my meds are seriously kicking in now.

But I hope you’re doing alright and that the snowstorm isn’t too bad where you’re at.

I’ll be alright, my diet hasn’t been going so well the last few days and I can’t really exercise, but I did mostly get healthy groceries that will be delivered friday so there’s that.

Fingers crossed I can pick it back up.

Okay I’m heading to bed XD

I’ll talk to you later, B <3

Hugs from me and Mo <3

#my ocs #please don't reblog #B #my convos with anon #ben writes original fiction #submission

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diyunho · 5 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “The Cuddling Room”

“The Cuddling Room” is a unique idea Y/N came up with when her relationship with The Joker started to fall apart. The awesome plan worked for a while…until it didn’t. Maybe the sanctuary’s purpose wasn’t to mend the present, but to heal old wounds that will never fade unless given a chance.

The Joker walks the hallway leading to the kitchen, dreading the imminent reality: after another horrible fight last night, Y/N is probably gone. Terrible things were said in the hit of the moment and The King of Gotham abandoned the Penthouse, leaving a heartbroken girlfriend behind.

No texts and no phone calls; you are always the first one to reach out and J sort of got used to it. Since you didn’t bother to contact him at all, he assumed you had enough and left.

Nobody lasts in a relationship with The Joker anyway.

Why?

Because he “doesn’t do” relationships: The Clown Prince of Crime is truly clueless on how to handle them, especially when he actually likes someone. It’s a paradox he can’t escape: the more J tries to hold on, the more his urge to mess up exponentially increases.

He passes by the studio and can’t help but notice the flashy hand written sign hanging on the door: “The Cuddling Room.”

Lots of thumping sounds and the door is cracked opened: The Joker peeks inside only to see Y/N running around in order to finish the project she worked on for hours in his absence.

The small room is entirely remodeled: there are decorative lights dangling from the ceiling, candles and books scattered on the shelves, flowerpots plus a twin-size bed moved from storage courtesy of Frost and Shark.

“What are you doing?!” J crabbily mumbles, not that he would admit how relieved he feels you’re still on the premises.

“I’m not talking to you,” you pout and fluff the pillows.

“You just did,” he brings it to your attention, very intrigued while analyzing the surroundings. “What’s this supposed to be?!”

“Sanctuary,” the clarification briefs the puzzled Joker. “If we have an argument and things go downhill…” you take a deep, strenuous breath, “…and want to work it out, we can use this place. We can be mad and resentful, yet here we can be together without being together.”

“Huh?” J has a difficult time processing the peace offer because nobody else went through so much trouble for him before.

He’s just not worth it.

“The mattress is tiny; two people have to cuddle if they want to fit…That’s why it’s called the cuddling room,” you grouchily finish your speech.

You hear him huff and slam the door, meaning he’s dismissing your idea.

We’ll see how it goes, you sigh and grab a book, deciding to dwell into the newly transformed oasis.

About half an hour later, The Joker sneaks in and you completely ignore him. He took a shower, changed into a pair of sweatpants and decided to pop in for additional criticism that will promptly be addressed towards Y/N and her silly experiment.

The blinds are closed; the string lights and candles glowing in the darkness make the room very cozy: The Queen of Gotham reigns her minuscule kingdom quite relaxed after she lost hope The King will join.

He slowly drags his feet on the rug, adamant in not giving into the tempting thought of compromising for once; nevertheless he winds up in bed by a sulking girlfriend.

“Scoot,” J hisses and the reply clarifies your denial:

“I’m at the edge on my side.”

He groans, squirming to get comfortable and you snatch the cell phone out of his hand, hiding it under the cushions.

“No electronics!”

He puckers his lips, irritated.

“Excuse me?!”

“Read a book!” you cut him off.

The Joker is outraged at your behavior; he mutters several complaints that you disregard. You’re getting ready to turn the page and he protests:

“I’m not done!”

Apparently J is reading your book now.

“That’s crazy!” he scoffs at the story and elbows you.

You lastly turn the page and he continues to scan the novel until there are no more words: he passed out nuzzling to your shoulder; the lack of space gave him no other option, which is literally the point of Y/N’s attempt to save their affair.

You cover him with the blanket, annoyed he’s purring in his sleep; The Joker often does it when he’s totally carefree and you’re definitely jealous at his detachment from stuff that keeps you up at night.

He senses wiggling and wraps his left arm around your waist, a natural reaction to what he would usually do. Even if you’re aware he’s unconsciously responding to the closeness, you can’t resist the impulse: you slide on the pillows, touching his nose with yours.

“Mmm…” he moans, opening one eye. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” you yawn and hesitantly kiss him, immediately smiling when he kisses you back.

“Then stop fidgeting and let me rest,” The Joker scolds without any trace of bitterness in his voice.

“I’m almost falling off the mattress,” you lie and don’t wait for an invitation to snuggle to his chest.

“Then got to the master bedroom,” the fussy Clown reprimands while holding you tighter.

“Maybe later…” you sniffle and stroke his hair, grateful your skills aiming at reconciliation are paying off.

*************

Your awesome plan worked for a while…then it didn’t.

Later in the year, succeeding another dreadful confrontation, J was a no show in The Cuddling Room for eight days in a row; he barely spoke to you and was gone most of the time. I guess that was his method of telling his woman it was over; she expected a bit more after 23 months of being part of The Joker’s life and his indifference hurt more than it should have.

One morning he came home and the view of suitcases piled up by the elevator made him frown.

“Y/N?...” he shouted and there was no reply.

J searched the Penthouse and found a teary Y/N boxing items she purchased to adorn the special haven that meant so much to her; might as well take them away since The Clown Prince of Crime had no need for such trivialities.

He watched you in silence, bothered to see the consequences of his actions: after struggling on a decision, The Joker was at last coming to use The Cuddling Room. Instead of disclosing his intentions, the opposite came out of his mouth:

“You finally got the hint?”

You grabbed the crate in a hurry and rushed outside the studio, not looking at him. He had no clue how deep of a wound he inflicted that day; The Joker should have put his wretched temper on hold and confess why he was there for.

But he couldn’t… To him, it was easier to end it.

So he let you go.

**************

It wasn’t easy to endure J’s presence at certain meetings you had to attend due to your involvement with the same entourage as his. God knows you had issues to get out of your chest, yet pretending to be fine suited you better. You mostly kept your distance, avoiding dialogue at all cost.

In a way, one could say he respected that: your ex didn’t attempt to chitchat either, especially when he realized you seemed happy when Tony Bianchi, everyone’s favorite smuggler developed an interest in you.

For several months you two would show up everywhere and soon after the engagement ring on your finger got rumors circulating, The Joker and the rest of the world noticed the baby bump too. Although it wasn’t a secret you were dating Tony and accepted his marriage proposal, you maintained your private life off radar.

The reason was plain and simple: besides your tumultuous relationship with J, the new found love appeared to be a walk in the park; you didn’t have to resort to extreme lengths in order to keep things afloat. You and your fiancée worked together in fixing problems that would seldom arise because that’s what couples do: if they want to thrive, they will find the middle ground. Y/N didn’t feel she was alone against the odds; having a suitable partner was her special paradise and she fully enjoyed the opportunity of being cherished like she deserved.

How life works it’s a real mystery: some facts can’t be explained, others happen for a reason and just a handful are the universe’s manner of rebalancing events that should have occurred differently due to stupid human errors, even if changing the final result meant to destroy and rebuild from scratch.

To this day, The Joker perfectly remembers his heart stopped at 6:37am on September 23rd ; he was cruising in the back of his favorite SUV, still sleepy and discontent for the emergency meeting requested by a few business partners at such an early hour. J didn’t know the reason why but agreed to go; Frost was on the phone trying to find out more details and Panda was driving as smooth as possible, not wishing to aggravate his boss more than necessary.

The King of Gotham was kind of dozing off when Jonny finished his phone conversation and got his attention:

“Sir…”

“Mmm?...” he lifted his nonexistent eyebrows and made an effort to gather his thoughts.

“Tony Bianchi was murdered last night, the victim of a home invasion, possibly a score settling with the deceased. The allies want to meet and assess the damage since everyone constantly invests huge amounts of money with the smuggler. Now that he’s history, they’re not sure who’ll replace him.”

The Joker’s heart stopped.

“And Y/N?” he flatly asked, allegedly composed for the shocking blow; after all, inquiring about his former girlfriend might have been perceived as weakness and he had none.

“I guess she wasn’t home.”

The Clown hummed incomprehensible sentences, calculating how much venue he might have lost in the messy situation. He didn’t allow himself to admit to the obvious truth: once he heard Y/N wasn’t dead, his heart started beating again.

***************

Three months following Tony’s death, J had the chance of an encounter with you and to classify it as awkward wouldn’t do that evening any justice.

Richard aka Panda was finishing his cigarette behind “Neon Devil” club, when the bouncers engaged into an escalating confrontation got his attention; he was preparing to take over Nixon’s shift as main security for the back entrance and had to check in anyway.

“The club is closed; are you deaf?” one of the guys pushed the lady on the sidewalk and she almost fell.

“Is Tony here?” the seven month pregnant Y/N insisted, getting ready to stroll into the place.

“Let me repeat myself!” another guard shouted. “We have no Tony working here, capisci?! What the hell is wrong with you? Are you on drugs?!”

“I have to see if he’s in there,” you passed your fingers through your hair, visibly distressed.

“Are you kidding me?!” Mike grumbled, fed up with the crazy babbling. “You have five seconds to scram, understand?! Five, four …”

“What’s going on?” Richard approached and recognized you instantly.

“She keeps on asking about a Tony; we told her we have nobody with that name employed here but this wacko doesn’t get it!” Nixon reported.

“I know her so back the fuck out!” Panda threatened the newbies that had no idea who you were. He took your arm and guided you inside, making you sit in the lobby while he called his boss.

“Mister Joker, Y/N’s here,” Richard announced before taking you to the VIP room.

“Huh?”

“Ummm… she’s here looking for…e-hem…Tony. Can I bring her up or should I take her home?”

Long moments of silence and J made his decision:

“Bring her up.”

You were accompanied upstairs and Panda helped you settle on the couch opposite The Clown’s while he quietly analyzed you: he could tell that something was off. Your cheeks were flushed and you nervously played with your t-shirt, the dark circles under your eyes bearing witness to the numerous sleepless nights tolerated in the past weeks.

The rumor was you suffered a nervous breakdown and had this recurring “episodes” consisting of wandering off to familiar places in search of your departed fiancée. The pregnancy made it impossible for you to use any medications that could have aided with your frail mental state; counselling and therapy could only accomplished that much and The Joker could entirely observe the transformation in the woman he once dated.

“Is…is Tony here?” you whispered, investigating the room.

“Nope. Didn’t see him in a while.”

“I don’t know where he is...” the tears rolled down your face. “I can’t find him…”

“Jesus…” The King of Gotham mumbled under his breath. “How’d you get here?” he crossed his legs and caught you ogling the food: J craved Thai and immediately changed his mind as soon as the courier arrived.

“I…I took a cab and then… then… walked,” you seemed confused and he slid the foam container on the coffee table, making it easy for the future mother.

“Are you hungry?”

Y/N nodded a yes and The Joker examined her scarfing down the freshly cooked dish, still warm since the restaurant wasn’t far from the club. You kept sobbing and chewing, wiping your tears from time to time.

“Here’s some water,” he opened a small bottle and offered it to his grieving ex: she was definitely famished.

J sighed and reached for his cell phone, dialing Soraya’s number: she was appointed to take over for Tony because you were in no shape to do so.

“Are you missing a valuable member of your crew?” he barked when she answered.

“Oh my God Mister J, please tell me Y/N’s with you!”

“She is.”

“Thank heavens! We’ve been seeking for her: she had an ultrasound this morning and vanished from the doctor’s office afterwards,” the agitated 50 years old brings to The King’s knowledge. “I’ll send a car to pick her up.”

“No need to,” he interrupted her tirade. “I got it.”

J hung up and patiently waited for you to finish eating: since you were wearing your maternity jeans plus a basic t-shirt, he clearly noticed the baby moving under the thin fabric. It was slightly fascinating and weirdly enough not a dull spectacle.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride home,” he uttered and you stood up, eager to comply:

“Is Tony there?”

The Joker said nothing; he escorted you to one of the vehicles stationed in the underground parking lot and dodged your questions regarding the assassinated smuggler.

He kept navigating the streets until he realized why you quit talking: Y/N loved car rides and completely crashed after scarcely napping in the last months.

The green haired man has always been a reckless driver, yet he didn’t speed nor take sharp turns with you in the passenger’s seat.

The traffic was harrowing and he just calmly went with the flow instead of having a tantrum; such a rare occurrence that he managed to stay cool. J was practically at your house when he switched the plan: he turned the signal on and took a right, skeptical about his own judgement.

************

You slowly blink, adjusting your eyes to the decorative lights hanging from the ceiling.

“Where am I?...” you toss in the small bed, disoriented and groggy after snoozing for 10 hours straight.

The electronic clock on the wall near the windows show 5 am; which windows though?... They don’t resemble the ones at your house, but somehow summon past memories: a few candles, scattered books on the shelves, flowerpots… and the handwritten sign you scribbled almost three years ago pinned on the wide opened door: “The Cuddling Room.”

You touch your tummy and get on your elbow; the little unborn girl keeps kicking and you moan in pain at the splitting headache menacing to burst full throttle in the next minutes.

“It’s fine sweet pea,” you caress your bump and contemplate the peaceful environment, frowning when you discover The Joker gazing at you from the recliner.

“Hi,” he sucks on his teeth for the lack of a better tactic.

“Why am I here?!” you grow exponentially alarmed at the baffling reality: shit, it’s The Penthouse. Not that you recall how you got here; last evening is an absolute blur.

The Joker lifts his shoulders up, not possessing a logic rationalization himself.

“I don’t like this place,” you struggle to stand up, more and more upset at the idea you were brought up to a spot you hate without your consent.

“I do,” J serenely admits. “It’s calming.”

“Why is this stuff still here?!” your bottom lip quivers at the sight of everything you left behind when you vacated the premises in a hurry.

“I didn’t have time to clean.”

“Really?!” you start crying and accomplish to roll off the bed.

“I’m a busy individual,” he watches you stumble on the carpet and rushed to help. You reject his assistance, bothered he dares taking such liberties:

“Please don’t touch me!!”

J halts his movement, receptive to your demand; he’s aware of your precarious relation and it makes him grasp the basic notion: bringing you to The Penthouse was a huge mistake.

“I have to go home,” you sniffle and stomp around him. “I need to find Tony.”

“You won’t find him…” The Joker bites his lip.

Y/N ends up in front of her former boyfriend and the hurt look on her face accentuates the sorrowful plea:

“Why would you say something like that?...”

“You know why… He’s gone,” J growls and surprisingly regrets his words when you collapse on your knees, bawling your eyes out at the cruel statement. Unfortunately it’s true also.

On the good days you remember and the person to remind you shouldn’t be the man that shattered your heart to pieces with his indifference; he shouldn’t have the privilege of harming you again.

Yet The Joker doesn’t appear to be overjoyed at his accomplishment; he frankly wasn’t aiming for a meltdown.

He lowers his body next to yours, attempting to hug you; you keep on pushing him away until he finally mutters:

“I didn’t mean it… alright? I didn’t mean it,” he forcefully holds you as you squirm to escape the unwelcomed intimacy. “I’m trying to apologize, ok?!” he raises his voice and reaffirms: “I didn’t mean to say it!”

You dig your nails in his shirt, not used to hear such compromising sentences from his part.

How you longed for him to give you a small token of his affection when you were together; why doing it now when it’s pointless?

J takes advance of Y/N lowered resistance and squeezes her closer, pleased that she gradually lets him embrace her without fighting his grip. It’s strange for this to happen in the tiny sanctuary that meant hope for them many years ago.

Maybe because The Cuddling Room’s purpose is not to mend the past, but to heal old wounds that will never fade unless given a chance.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Wattpad and AO3 under the same blog name: Diyunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagines #joker jared leto #joker suicide squad #mister j #Mistah J #dc #dcu

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halfblood-fiend · 5 years

Text

Every Single Star - Dragon Age: Origins, Cousland x Alistair

Written for Blu’s Discord Secret Santa, here is the first half of my gift for @mothmanaintshit. Thanks for your patience while I do it this way because it totally got away from me but I’m thinking that it’ll be super worth the wait because I am very proud of this whole thing! :D

So here’s my first coffee shop AND college AU, just for Axel with their Warden Cousland, Delilah, and the best ball of awkward, Alistair. <3

Words: 8,257 (big yikes)

Rating: General Audiences

Warning(s): light cursing

Read it on AO3

Ferelden’s capital, Denerim, seemed to always be awake and bustling, which was why the silver and blue light-up sign emblazoned with a griffon and announcing their space as The Grey Warden Coffee Roasters never turned off. Must’ve been a rule here, to appear to never need sleep. The line out the door most mornings implied this rule applied to people as well. They all crammed themselves into the cozy shop, certainly following the smell of brewing coffee more than the desire to bask in “the glory” of the fraying Warden memorabilia hanging on the dark walls. Duncan was proud of “his brand” though, so it stayed, no matter how many sneezing fits Alistair had from the dust.

The commuters rush and the first pinkish lights of dawn had just about died down in favor of a full grey sunrise before the next wave of morning-time ghouls lumbered their way into the café. Instead of the existential dread of a long, slow life in the office, these ones carried with them the crisp air of the first day of autumn. This rush was all new notebooks and shuffling papers and the strangely satisfying sound of polyester backpack straps being anxiously shifted on shoulders as folks rooted around in the bottom of them for Sovereigns.

Alistair and Duncan helped all these idiots get their mornings in some semblance of order before their first classes of the term at the University of Ferelden: Denerim, conveniently just down the street.

The glass doors banged open, the silver bell overhead ringing like mad, a sharp gust of biting wind swirling leaves across the floor. Alistair paused from frantically writing on a black insulated paper cup in a squeaky silver pen and saw her.

A small woman with blonde hair, a thick blue scarf the shade of denim and a cream-colored sweater stood there wrestling the door closed. Her scarf slipped from her flushed, wind-bitten cheeks as she yanked on the handle, the tousled top of her short-cropped hair whipping around her head. She panted and pushed, her pointed face straining until the door closed with a snap and she turned, murmuring a short apology to the onlooking line of patrons. Alistair hardly realized he was staring with a slacked jaw until the elf in front of him cleared their throat and asked how much for the Caramel Griffon Steamer in a voice that told him that this wasn’t the first time they’d asked.

“Sorry, I—? What size will that be?”

They looked at him doubtfully but replied, “Small. The Genlock. It’s literally the one in your hand you were just writing on.”

Alistair flushed hard and coughed. “Oh! Right!” As he pressed the buttons on the register, his gaze wandered towards the back of the line where the woman fell in with the rest, but now that the door had been righted and the wind calmed down, she’d disappeared into the jumble of people. He tamped down the strange disappointment that swelled in his chest as he took the elf’s money and dumped it into the register’s drawer.

The line moved steadily enough, but impatience started coloring his voice with each new customer that wasn’t the Door-Wrestling-Woman. Every once in a while, he would catch a glimpse of her. A cream-sweater-clad elbow, a flash of that scarf or the peeking toe of her shoes. She wore tan boots with a flat heel, skinny jeans neatly tucked into the knitted tops. Alistair amused himself by deciding that meant she was practical, maybe even economical, as though he was some sort of detective from a bad mystery novel. He knew that in reality, those random details meant very little, but it just felt so important to know something—anything—about her. And why that was, was beyond him.

He was internally interpreting the symbolic meaning of wearing a denim-colored scarf and blue denim jeans at the same time when the next person in line stepped forward and made him do a double take.

He had to be the nastiest, most sour-looking man Alistair had ever seen—and he had seen so many people in his time working here. He recalled to his mind every negative interaction to date; every upset PTA parent complaining about the consistency of their latte’s foam and every harried businessman with neckties so tight their purple faces looked like they would pop clean off after Alistair told them they were out of pumpkin spice syrup. He put them all together as one person and this man still managed to look nastier. Something about his long black hair or his piercing blue eyes or the vicious glower that settled just beneath his stern features made Alistair’s guts wilt and curl into themselves like paper in a fire. He looked to be the physical manifestation of every bad thing that ever happened in Alistair’s life thus far, and when his thin lips attempted a brief but grim mockery of a smile, Alistair gripped the counter behind the register to keep from jumping backwards.

Thank the Maker that the expression slid from the man’s face almost as soon as it appeared, as though it pained him to make the muscles in his mouth do that for even an instant.

Alistair adopted the most chipper tone he could manage in light of his desire to dart into the back room away from this man. “Er-Hello, ser. What can I- erm- get started for you today?”

The man’s eyes flicked upwards to the menu as though he hadn’t just spent the last 20 or so minutes waiting with nothing else to do but read the carefully written chalk letters. He frowned. “Do you have just plain coffee in this Maker-damned place?”

Movement from behind him caught Alistair’s eye and the flash of blonde hair and cream sweater grabbed his attention. The Door-Wrestling-Woman’s head snapped up from her phone at the man’s gruff voice and recognition sparked in her eyes. Then horror. She turned away from him in order to pull her green canvas messenger bag in front of her, hold the flap up between their line of sight and begin rummaging around in the bottom of it. Alistair’s brows furrowed at her. The man started to turn to look when Alistair realized that was probably the last thing she wanted and cleared his throat to get his attention back.

“Uhm, yes. We have several signature blends and I’d be happy to recommend some to you. Wha-what are you looking for to satisfy that palate of yours, hmm? Any favorite tastes or flaaaa-vors I should know about?”

Scowling, the man replied, “No. I just need the caffeine and this silly little place happened to be on the way to the university.”

“Ah, so, on your way to school, I see—”

“No small talk. I’m not interested.”

“Oooohkay,” Alistair’s mouth snapped shut. The Door-Wrestling-Woman lowered the flap of her bag a few inches and his eyes found hers. He was delighted to note the scrunched-up touch of amusement in the corners of her eyes.

When the man spoke, she disappeared behind the bag again. “Give me whichever one has the most caffeine and be done with it.”

“Ah. That’d be our Darkspawn Roast! Excellent blend, ser, you are truly a man of impeccable taste. I guarantee you will find it absolutely de-blight-ful and sure to make your eyes wide as a—” The deep scowl was enough to make Alistair abandon all hope of making the Door-Wrestling-Woman laugh and he cleared his throat instead. “Er- what size?”

“Large.”

“Oh, er, sorry about that,” Alistair began. He really didn’t want to have to break any sort of bad news to this man, but at this point he was contractually obligated to. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last thing he did with his short life. “I aaactually can’t do that. See, there is too much caffeine in the Darkspawn Blend and it is actually quite illegal for me to sell that much to you. I’m afraid I can only give it to you in a Hurlock size, not an Ogre.”

The man did indeed appear as agitated as Alistair worried he would, the curl of a sneer appearing at the corners of his mouth. “Illegal?”

“Mmm, yes. Illegal.”

“Why?”

“Caffeine is a drug, technically, as I am sure you are aware, ser. You’re only supposed to have so much a day. We could be shut down if I sell you Darkspawn Blend in an Ogre because it would be too much caffeine.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Ah, yes, well, still a no, ser, I’m afraid. I…I’m sorry. I can still give you the Hurlock size…?” His hand edged for the middle-sized insulated cup and Alistair almost wished that he could just sell him the big one and be done, if for no other reason than to get this man away from him. But Duncan was always watching, even as he busied himself making drinks as Alistair took orders. The last time Alistair had sold an Ogre-sized Darkspawn Blend to someone, Duncan had refused to sell Alistair any of his favorite Mabari Cake Pops for a month.

Frowning, the man squinted up at the menu and then asked, “I can add espresso shots to any drink, can’t I?”

Alistair gulped. Ah, the Shrieks. Not the Shrieks and the Darkspawn Blend? At his age, this man would have a heart attack before he left the parking lot. “…yes?”

“Is there a limit to them? Because of that silly caffeine thing?”

“Yes. Five.”

“And I can add them to this drink, too, if I wanted?”

Alistair’s eyes widened and darted to the left where Duncan was busy at the steamer and shaking up other drinks in the line. He really should ask, he thought to himself, though he knew the answer was, technically, ‘yes.’ Sod it, if the man died, he died and it was his own fault, wasn’t it? Alistair had warned him. “Yes,” he said finally, and the man nodded.

“Good. Then give me that blasted medium size and put five shots in it.”

With a shaking hand, Alistair wrote what he was told and repeated the order back while in a vague state of shock. “Darkspawn Blend, Hurlock, five…Shrieks… Uh. Room for cream?”

“No. And no sugar, either. Black, if you please.”

Alistair nodded, but didn’t understand as he wrote the last bit of order. “Name?”

“Loghain.”

Alistair proceeded to make the most terrifying coffee order he’d ever taken in his life. He couldn’t help but hold his breath when he handed over the drink that probably tasted just like the Blight itself and Loghain walked out of the café. Please don’t die in our parking lot, he thought, I’d have to clean it up. As the door closed behind this Loghain man, he breathed out an audible sigh of relief.

“Awful, isn’t he?”

Blinking a little to clear the haze of horror that had settled over him, Alistair realized with a start that the Door-Wrestling-Woman was now standing right in front of him, unobstructed by either customers nor her own messenger bag.

When faced with her up close, whether she was economical or practical or whatever fanciful things he had made up about her before this moment, he realized only one thing was abundantly obvious: that she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She beamed at him, in all her tiny glory, the wool scarf around her neck the same light blue of her eyes, making them pop and dance. Her hair reflected the light with golden strands. Her slim jaw accentuated the pink feminine curve of her mouth. Her brows, somewhat raised with amusement, furrowed the purple tattoo around her left eye. His greedy gaze took in as much of her as he could, and for the first time in what Duncan might have called ‘forever’, Alistair was stunned into silence.

She misinterpreted that silence, her smile slipping slightly and added, “Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything. He’s like that with everyone.”

Duncan crossed behind him and placed a carrying tray of drinks on the pic-up counter. “Tabris!” he shouted into the room in his deep voice.

And with that, the spell was broken, and Alistair shook himself slightly and returned an uncertain smile. “Oh. You…you know him, do you?”

“Sadly. He’s my Modern Military History professor,” she said with a grimace.

Wrinkling his nose, Alistair echoed, “Modern Milita—what kind of a class is that? What would it even be for? It sounds horribly boring!”

He gulped as the woman’s face hardened at his words. “It’s actually quite fascinating,” she replied cooly, “It’s a part of the Military Series for a Political Science degree.”

Alistair saw his opportunity to fix this interaction with humor and he took it. “Riiight. Political Science. That’s every child’s dream, isn’t it? To grow up and be a corrupt politician. Is there anything better in the world?”

To his horror, she didn’t crack a smile.

“It was my childhood dream to be a politician. Like my parents are now.”

Oh. Well…shit.

“Mmmm,” Alistair hummed and picked up his silver pen to fidget with it. “And, on that note, what can I get for you today? I hear the foot-in-mouth breakfast sandwich is very good this morning. I can make it as an Alistair-special. As you can see, I’m really good at putting them together.”

Blessedly, she did laugh this time and shook her head. The tension in his stomach disappeared immediately and Alistair secretly decided there wasn’t a better sound in the world.

“I mean, you’re kinda right. It’s not a normal thing to want, and you didn’t know…and Professor Mac Tir is the worst…”

“It is quite unfortunate that you have him as your teacher, yes. You have my condolences for that.”

She smiled up at him again and said, “Thanks. He’s brilliant though, even if he is mean.”

Duncan appeared at the register beside them and typed on the keys quickly to log in. He threw a look at Alistair as he called the next customer in line forward that told him that he was bristling not just because he was beardy. You’re supposed to take their orders, Alistair, not chit-chat with them, he practically heard his friend say in his mind. But Alistair pretended not to notice.

She continued, “He just recently published a paper, you know.”

“Oh?”

“And also made it required reading for the class.”

“Oh. So, a total douche, then?”

“A bit. It’s called Philosophical and Theoretical Perspectives on Wartime Justice: The Question of War and Ethics. In case…I dunno, you ever wanna look it up for yourself. It’s good, I’ll admit, but I’ve been staring at it for the last couple of hours because I forgot it was due before our first class. And honestly, I’m getting so sick of thinking about it, so how about some coffee?”

“Coffee! Yes. I do have that, if you would like to buy some!”

Giggling, her eyes briefly roved up to the menu and Alistair took the moment to be relieved that he had successfully navigated out of the hole he’d dug himself into. Good job, Alistair.

“Oh man… there’s a lot of drinks… What would you recommend?”

Wide blue eyes blinked at him, waiting, and he struggled not to get lost in them so he could answer. “Me? I would recommend…hm. The Calling Latte and the Conscrip-uccino are both popular and they’re pretty good. But my personal favorite is probably the Brewed Mother. It’s a pour-over blend of several of our roasts so it’s got all the taste of coffee but is also very sweet and thick and foamy because we use druffalo milk instead of a cow’s.”

“Sure. I’ll try that then!”

“Excellent choice!” Alistair said, double underlining and starring either side of ‘Brewed Mother’ on the cup. “And if you don’t like it, I can give you your money back!” Duncan threw him a dirty look.

But she laughed. “I doubt that’ll be necessary.”

Alistair grabbed the size she wanted (Hurlock), took down her name (Delilah—has there ever been a more beautiful name in all of ever??) and sent her on her way. Once she moved on, Duncan signed off of his register and elbowed him gently in the ribs.

“We’re too busy to make fools of ourselves in front of pretty girls right now. How about staying on task, hmm?”

Alistair rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he assented to the warm and firm grip of Duncan’s hand on his shoulder. He should have known there would have been no hiding anything from Duncan, even busy as they were right now. Knowing the old man, he probably heard everything, too, and was going to grill him about it as soon as the rush died down. Yet even replaying the embarrassing things he just said to Delilah couldn’t dim the warm glow of happiness that breathed life into his chest and spread all the way to his toes with each fluttering beat of his heart.

His gaze kept flickering to her as he took more orders, but her own was glued to her phone. Each time he looked, she would be squinting at the screen or typing furiously with flying thumbs.

That was just as well, probably. A little voice inside urged him to ask her for her number, but how weird would that be? Hey, I know that I just met you and I insulted your life’s goals but I’d love to keep doing so over texts if you give me your number. Worrying his lip between his teeth, Alistair told himself that would never fly. Rom-Com romances didn’t happen in real life in busy coffee shops near universities. Total strangers didn’t have instant connections, no matter how much he believed it to be true. The only connection Delilah had to him was that she was about to drink his favorite coffee, and once it was gone, that was it. No more Alistair the Grey Roaster in her life.

But he wanted so badly to ask her anyway.

So maybe he just should.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair saw Duncan fit a Hurlock-sized cup with a lid, and as he spun it to make sure the lid was fully closed, Alistair spied the silver stars peeking over the cup sleeve. As he turned to take Delilah’s cup to the counter, Alistair wheeled away from the register and plucked it from Duncan’s hand.

“Hey—”

“Switch you!” And without waiting for a response, Alistair marched her cup to the counter and called Delilah’s name.

She looked up and when she saw him, she beamed. And when she beamed at him, a strange shiver of delight rippled through his body and made him grin in return. Like the most wonderful domino effect.

“Your coffee, Future Arl of Denerim.”

Delilah giggled as she took the offered cup. “I’d have my work cut out for me if I pursued that. I’ve got my eyes on a smaller but no less noble prize. Highever will do just fine for me. Though it’ll take just as much work to get there.” She took a sip from her cup and her eyes lit up. “Ooh, this is good! Thanks for the rec. Gotta get to class now. Wish me luck!”

“Me luck,” Alistair said, somewhat breathlessly, earning him a final smile over her shoulder before Delilah disappeared out the door.

As he watched it close behind her, he realized he hadn’t asked for her number after all.

“Alistair! Register!”

Good luck out there, Delilah, he thought, a soft regret constricting his throat. He rapped the counter with his knuckles then returned to the morning mayhem.

Alistair had been wrong. Duncan wasn’t going to tease him later that day. And not that night or the next day or the next. He was beginning to think he was in the clear and Duncan would be cool and never mention Delilah at all… until after the morning rush on Thursday.

Duncan leaned against the counter with the steamer machine and mopped his brow with a handkerchief he produced from the pocket of his grey and blue apron. A few people still milled about at the array of black tables with their headphones on, but at least there was no more line of people and no more orders to fill. It was enough time for them to breathe, for certain, but not enough to relax if the teetering pile of coffee-stained shakers, glass blender jars and measuring cups in the shining metal sink had anything to say about it.

“So,” Duncan began in his baritone, causing Alistair to freeze with his hand inside the baked treats display.

“Soooo….?”

Duncan’s dark eyes bored into his and twinkled with mischief. “Still no sign of the Cousland girl, eh?”

“What?” Alistair’s back snapped straight so quickly that he forgot the sliding glass door he was holding onto and it closed on his wrist. “Ouch!”

Duncan chortled to himself and switched out his handkerchief for a dish towel. He picked up the first dirty serving glass with worn, careful fingers and got to washing. “Why don’t you pick up your jaw and make yourself useful, Alistair. Wipe down the machines while we still can.”

“How…How did you find out her last name?” Alistair asked him. He bent to pick out a clean microfiber towel and Duncan’s favorite all-natural cleaner from a lower cabinet. “And how did you know I was looking for her? I wasn’t, by the way!”

His friend smiled and Alistair heard the low rumble of quiet laughter over the spritz of his spray bottle. Just like Duncan to decide not to answer. But after some washing, he said, “It was easy enough. Her name was Delilah; she said she was a political science major and has wanted to be a politician all her life, like her family is. And she mentioned she wanted to be Arl of Highever. One internet search was all it took to find Delilah Cousland, only daughter of the current Arl of Highever. Even filled in my search bar for me.”

“You searched for a customer?” Alistair gasped, offended for her. Duncan did some socially questionable things sometimes (like take a penniless orphan in and give him a job and a place to stay, for one) but this was low, even for him. “I just can’t believe you would do such a heinous thing. I don’t think I can even look at you!” Alistair moved on to spray the cappuccino machine and made a mental note to search for ‘Delilah Cousland’ on his own computer later. He knew just enough about the current state of the Houses of Nobles, Arls and Teryns to know the Couslands were somebody, but he couldn’t quite recall what they had been known for.

“Oh, good morning, Delilah, welcome back,” Duncan rumbled.

Alistair spun around towards the register and dropped the spray bottle, his hand flying to his hair instead—

—but there was no one there.

The room shook with Duncan’s great, booming laughter.

“Oh, har har, Old Man,” Alistair scolded, flushing as he snatched up his spray bottle from the floor. “What a wonderfully cruel trick to play on your poor employee. Feel good now, do you?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “You were looking for her then. You’ve been sullen and sulking after every morning rush for the last couple of days.”

“No,” Alistair insisted. No way was he letting Duncan get the best of him. Not again. “I do not ‘sulk.’ And I’m not looking for her. I don’t even remember what her name is anymore.”

“Oh, so, I can unbookmark her MyPhylactery page and not tell you her current relationship status.”

“Wait, wait, wait! You found her MyPhylactery page?”

Duncan gave him a satisfied side eye, his bushy black beard betraying the wide toothy smile beneath and nodded.

“And…it wasn’t set to private?”

He shook his head. “It was. I invited her to Bond to our company page.”

“But our company page is just your Phylactery!”

He nodded.

“So now you can see all her information!”

Duncan’s eyes twinkled.

“That was a skeevy thing you did, you know.”

“So, you don’t want to see her Phylactery?” Duncan asked again even though it was clear he already knew the answer. Alistair cursed himself for being so blighted easy to read.

“No, no. I’ll look. But I won’t be happy about it, and I will deny any involvement if she ever finds out. I’ll throw you under the cart-wheels in an instant, Old Man, mark my words.”

His threat was only met with snickers.

Alistair didn’t have to wait long at all before he saw Delilah again. After all the waiting and all the eager searching of faces each morning, he figured it was just his luck that she would reappear now, at the end of his break. The break that he had just spent pouring over the link to MyPhylactery that Duncan had sent him and scrolling over every picture and every life update she had posted in the last five years.

As soon as he saw her wander in, he blushed. He shouldn’t be blushing. It…It was perfectly normal to look someone up after you’d met them! Even though…she’d never actually given him her last name. Nor had she really consented to letting Duncan see her private profile. Because how was she supposed to know that he was bad with tech like some strange youngish-Old Person and didn’t even know how to make a business account on MyPhylactery? Alistair felt that he really shouldn’t know that she had broken up with her boyfriend of four years before moving to Denerim to go to school, and that he was still commenting on every single post that she made. Clearly, he couldn’t let her go. It had to be annoying for her. But Alistair shouldn’t have known that, it was weird.

So he blushed scarlet when Delilah waved at him, and his stomach twisted in guilty knots when she bounced forward to order at the counter. Her bright smile, while still dazzling, didn’t quite melt the ice pounding in his veins. He was sure she could read the guilt in his eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, shifting her bag’s strap from her right shoulder to her left. Her head tilted quizzically. There was genuine worry in her eyes. Alistair might’ve felt touched if he wasn’t too busy feeling ashamed. “You look flushed. Are you sick?”

Alistair tried to speak, failed, cleared his throat and tried again. “’S’just warm back here…is all.”

Every impulse in him screamed to tell her, but what would that even do? It wasn’t a big deal! Was it? If anything, he would look like more of a stalker if he just announced to her that he’d looked her up and found out that her brother, Fergus Cousland, had gotten hired to work as a campaign manager for the incumbent Arl of Amaranthine Rendon Howe, and was slated to become the next Arl once Howe gained the Teyrnship, and then she, Delilah, was promised an internship on the committee (which she was very, very excited and grateful for, a sentiment that earned her 106 likes from all her various Phylactery Bonds).

Oh, Maker, no, he should tell her. He should fess up and beg forgiveness before he accidentally let on that he knows more than he should and loses the possibility of a friendship with this beautiful, wonderful, intelligent—

“Did you hear me?”

He started. “Sorry. What was that?”

Delilah smiled and shook her head at him. “Are you sure you’re not sick? You should go and sit down because you seem really out of it.”

“I’m okay, really,” he replied shakily, lifting a hand to rub out a kink that started forming in the back of his neck from the stress of his own personal disaster.

“Well, if you’re sure… I said that I really liked what you recommended to me last time. So I think I’ll just have another Brewed Mother. But I’ll take it in an Ogre this time.” She patted her bag and sighed, “I’ve got a lotta work to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alistair asked somewhat automatically, picking up the large cup and scribbling away. He wrote her name without asking for it and added a star at the end.

Tell her, you idiot. Say something!

“I should—”

“I also said—”

They both spoke at the same time, then they both paused to chuckle awkwardly.

“You can—”

“What were you—”

They shared more uncomfortable titters and Alistair stared at the register keys, willing them to spell out what to do next or to come to life and attack him, or anything really to abate his discomfort. Sweet Maker…

“I-I was just going to say that I had also asked—before, I mean—well, that I didn’t get to catch your name last time. Is all.” Delilah fiddled with the grey and tawny feathers taped to the tip jar. Duncan swore they were real griffon feathers and would encourage people to be more generous with their tips. Alistair was sure they were eagle feathers, which didn’t seem to inspire anyone to give more silvers than they usually would.

Strange thing to ask for, his name, Alistair thought as he glanced down at his apron to double check that his blue nametag was indeed still attached to his chest. It’s right there, after all. But before his brain decided if he should point his badge out to her or not, his mouth was moving, and his name was falling out of it. His whole name.

“It’s Alistair Theirin,” he said, the sounds coming out like a rush of water with no hope of damming it up. His mouth clamped shut so hard that his teeth snapped together and rattled his brain, but he knew the damage was done. Delilah’s face had whipped back up to his and she searched his soul as though she could confirm he was telling the truth if she stared hard enough.

“Theirin?” she echoed in astonishment. “Like the Theirin? Like King Cailan and Maric and—”

Alistair leaned over the register and shushed her more violently than he intended, eyes frantically darting around the coffee house. The only patron now was one dwarf in the corner, and he had on a headset nearly as big as his whole head.

Delilah lowered her voice, but her eyes were still wide. “I-I can’t believe… A Theirin? But then, why are you here?”

Grimacing, Alistair replied, “It’s a long story… One I’d really rather not talk about it, to be honest.”

He expected her to press—the handful of people he’d told over the course of his life often did—but, to her credit, she only nodded. “I’m a Cousland so…so I get it. Kinda. In a not-as-big way, of course, but, yeah… There’s just a lot of expectations to be something, am I right?”

“Right.” Not that you knew the half of it, Alistair thought darkly. Not that being the daughter of a prestigious man repeatedly voted into the House of Arls was really anything when compared to being the bastard son of the late King. But sure. Sure, Delilah “gets it.”

He supposed that he should be grateful. Since she now knew his best kept secret, he felt exactly zero amounts of guilt for knowing what she ate for dinner three nights ago (Antivan Spicy Noodles that looked delicious, 38 likes). No need to fess up about stalking her now. There was no doubt in his mind that she would go home and scour the internet for him now.

“An Ogre-sized Brewed Mother will be five silvers and eleven bits, by the way,” he mumbled.

“Oh! Yeah.”

By the time the coins clinked into the till, Alistair regretted being short and the bitter things he had thought about her. Delilah wandered away more towards the pick-up counter, her phone in her hand, but Alistair found himself speaking anyways.

“It’s not really so bad. The whole…you know, thing. My parents, or whatever.” He rambled while he made her drink and didn’t bother looking up to check if she was even listening. Alistair decided he didn’t really want to know. “I kinda stopped paying attention to it, really. Some people have cared a lot about my parentage, but none of them were my, you know, actual parents, so, what’s the point? I try not to let it bother me.” Why was he saying this to someone he’d only met once before? Just because he was guilty about stalking her social media? Or because there was a slight chance that he could finally get these things that nagged him in the dead of night off his chest? “I figure if they don’t care about me, I shouldn’t care about them. I’m happy to just be…me, you know? I’m just Alistair. That idiot Grey Roaster who talks too much and… aaaaand spills secrets to total strangers. That’s who I am. That’s what I’m here for. Saving the world one Brewed Mother at a time.” He snapped the plastic lid on over the lip of the cup and tried to pick it up by the top to make sure it was on properly. When he was sure, he spun around to slide her drink over the counter and found himself face to face with Delilah.

She had been listening, and if he didn’t know any better, she looked…sad. Not pitying, not disdainful, not any of the kinds of emotions he had come to expect from people when they learned of his very own Tragic Backstory, just…a little moved. A little mournful. Her cool fingers brushed against his own as she took the coffee from him without breaking their locked gaze.

“I understand,” Delilah murmured after a moment. “And… and I’m happy that you’re you too, Alistair.”

He blinked. His mind wiped blank. He had no idea what to say to that. She was…happy for him? No one had ever been happy that he had abandoned his old life before. Even Duncan tried to push him to do something more with himself every now and again. Delilah’s support, even if she didn’t know it, meant more than any words he could think of to describe it. So, he didn’t say anything.

After what felt like several Ages smushed together all at once, Delilah bit her lip and turned away. He watched her disappear out the door again in stunned silence.

She started coming in a lot more often after that. So often, in fact, that Alistair was starting to piece together her schedule. Totally on accident of course, because he had refused to look at her MyPhylactery again until she wanted to send him a Bond. If she ever even wanted to. If they even got to that point.

Delilah came in most Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, and some Thursday afternoons. She greeted him each time with a “Hey, Just-Alistair!”, chatted amicably until her drink was ready, and then she was off to class. She tried a few different things off the menu, but more often than not, she ordered a Brewed Mother; a fact that made a tiny flame of happiness light up in Alistair every time. She never mentioned his heritage again.

On a dull autumn Thursday when the grey clouds that always hung low over Ferelden seemed particularly thick and heavy, the bell over the door tinkled and Alistair looked up from his sweeping to find Delilah easing her way in with an armful of large books with faded leather covers.

“Do you need help?” Alistair asked, moving to lean his broom against the counter but Delilah answered faster.

“Nope! I’m good!” She lugged them to a table near the register and dropped them rather unceremoniously with a loud bang that echoed off the glass windows. “Oops, sorry.” She glanced around apologetically and when she realized there was no one else in the shop, she shrugged.

Alistair shook his head and laughed at her. She must have been much stronger than her height let on, he realized. He respected a woman that could bench press her weight in books. “The usual?” he asked, already reaching for a Hurlock cup and writing her name on it with a flourish. And a star. Always a star.

She appeared to consider for a second as she divided up her books into piles over the entire surface of the table and then answered, “Yes. Get me that Brewed Mother. I have a midterm paper to write!”

“Midterms?” Alistair asked in shock. He did the math quickly in his head. There was no way it was that far along in the semester already. “Isn’t it still too early for that?”

“It is,” she agreed, pulling her laptop case and several notebooks from her bag. “Dr. Mac Tir is notoriously picky about papers. He’s got a strict grading scale so he hands out prompts in the first week so that we can start our papers as soon as possible. He’s already given us our final too! Can you believe that??”

Shrugging, Alistair filled her cup with milk from the carton marked ‘druffalo’, set it back in the mini fridge and kicked the door closed. Even only meeting the dreaded Loghain once, Delilah’s story checked out in his mind. “Wish I could say no, but just that five-minute conversation I had with him took 10 years off my life.”

Delilah sniggered as he moved on to the steamer. “You sure all the coffee you drink while working here isn’t what’s responsible for that?”

Alistair allowed himself a smile for a brief moment before swallowing it and turning around to find the plastic lids. He worked hard to keep his face neutral and controlled. “Oh, I don’t like coffee.”

As predicted, Delilah was taken aback, her blue eyes bugging a little. Alistair bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “You…work at a coffee house. At The Grey Warden Coffee Roasters! It’s only the most famous international chain of cafés!”

Alistair let his own eyes go wide and pretended to be just as shocked. If he didn’t have to clean the mess up himself, he might have dropped her coffee. For comedic effect, of course. “What? I do??”

Her eyes narrowed at him and he suspected she was catching on, but Duncan appeared from the back room carrying a large box and spoke before either of them could.

“You won’t for long, Alistair, if you don’t charge her and help the other customers in line,” he growled as he passed by.

“Yes’ser, Café Commander Duncan, ser!”

His friend rolled his eyes and pulled a box cutter from his apron instead of replying.

Dancing back towards the register, Alistair checked that the lid was tight and handed it over. His heart skipped a beat when her fingers grazed his. He grinned. “One Brewed Mother for one brood…y…mother, you know, that made a lot more sense in my head until I said it.”

Delilah held out her handful of coins in her palm, but he waved her away.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. What’s one on the house for my favorite customer?” he told her with a wide dreamy smile, leaning on the counter to cup his chin in his hand.

“Alistair…”

“Did I ever mention to you how astute Duncan’s hearing is? I think it’s something to do with being Riviani. You know, on second thought, I will take those silvers, if it’s all the same to you…”

Handing them over and laughing, Delilah shook her head at him and warned, “Keep going on like this and you’ll get fired. Then what will you do?”

“Pft! Me? Fired?” Alistair shook his head and shot her what he hoped was a cocky grin. “Nah, Duncan needs me. I don’t think he’d know how to run the shop by himself, at this point. He makes me do all the work, you know.”

Duncan kicked at Alistair’s heels as he walked back to the store room with the empty box.

All customers taken care of, Alistair was free to bother his favorite patron, still bent as she was over her books, occasionally pausing to type something on her laptop. He grabbed the broom and unlatched the hook holding the counter between the registers in place in order to pretend to sweep around Delilah’s table.

“You solve that great mystery of wartime ethics yet?”

Delilah barked a short laugh and leaned back in her chair to look up at him. She put her arms over her head and stretched. Alistair realized too late that it gave him a clear angle down her shirt. Blushing, he averted his eyes and worked very intently on an invisible speck of dust on the floor that refused to be swept up. “No, have you?” he heard her reply.

“Oh, er, that old thing? Yeah. I solved that ages ago. I’m on to the secret of eternal youth now.”

When she laughed and her eyes met his, Alistair all but melted. He blushed again, but this time for a different reason. For a somersaulting stomach filled with butterflies sort of reason.

“Great! So you don’t mind writing my midterm paper for me, right?”

“Well, isn’t that plagiarism, dear Delilah?”

She shrugged and replied seriously, “At this point? Not if anybody knew about it.”

Alistair chewed his lip. He saw his moment, plain as day right there in front of him. I would think about writing that paper for you if you gave me your number. No, no. That came off too predatory. Maybe we can work out the details of the midterm exchange over dinner? No, too serious. Damn. The opportunity was there, he could sense it, but for the life of him, his brain wouldn’t make that last connection towards the perfect way to ask. And if he dawdled too long, the knowledge that he’d lose his chance looked over him like a dark cloud.

Sod it, man, speak.

“I-uhmmm.”

Light blue eyes turned up to his and Alistair lost track of what he was doing. He had a vague thought that maybe he would faint.

“I-I-I could, er, write it for you. Er, try to. Aaaaand we-we could, um. We could, um…”

Delilah waited patiently, expectantly, her face open. A small smile settled on her lips, and Alistair willed himself not to glance at them. Don’t you dare imagine kissing them. Don’t think about how soft they would be or how pleasant of a thing kissing Delilah would be. Don’t… no, don’t think about it.

You thought about it.

Alistair tried to clear his throat and made an awful noise that sounded more like a bleating ram than anything human. Delilah politely pretended not to notice.

“W-we could- er, I could bring it to you if we were somewhere else. If we met somewhere else, I mean. Like for coffee, or…”

Sweet Maker, you absolute dunce, why coffee, of all things—you work in a coffee shop, for crying out loud!

A touch of color began rising in her cheeks. “You mean… you would write my paper for me if we went on a date?”

Alistair started to nod but then her words washed over him. “N-no! I mean, the paper was…more of an excuse, really, I-I don’t—”

“Oh, so… just a date then?”

Alistair’s knees buckled and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded.

The smile spread across her face and her eyes lit up and danced the same way they had when she had first tried his favorite drink. These were good signs, weren’t they? No one glowed like that and then shot a man down. Not that he’d had enough experience to know but… but, Maker, he hoped. What he did know was that someone like him didn’t deserve to bask in her radiating warmth. Alistair drunk from her anyway, letting all the lovely facets of her fill him and make him light. Her kindness, the way she laughed, the brightness of her, it was everything to him. And fumbling and awkward as he was, Delilah was going to say ‘yes’ to him. They were going to make plans and go on a date and maybe she was going to choose to be with him. Him, of all people. Just-Alistair and Delilah Cousland.

The door to the café banged open and both Alistair and Delilah leapt out of their skins. Her wide eyes fixed on the door before he could turn and she uttered a quick squeak of alarm, scrambling to get back to work on her laptop. Alistair’s brain was sluggish in making connections, but the voice that spoke nailed him to the floor.

“Ah. If it isn’t the youngest Cousland,” Loghain drawled, his footsteps drawing nearer to the table. Like flipping a switch, Alistair’s mood changed as ice shot through his veins. If he didn’t know any better, he would say the temperature in the shop just dropped several degrees, even after the door closed to the chilly outside.

He didn’t want to turn and face the last person he wanted to see during a conversation he’d been working up to for weeks, so Alistair closed his eyes and shouted every curse in every language he knew in his head.

Loghain swooped in on Delilah like a hawk on its prey, his shrewd eyes roving over the books on the table. Even his head turned like a bird’s to better read each gilded title. “I take it you’re in need of subpar coffee in order to finalize your midterm paper. I needn’t remind you that you have little over two weeks to turn it in.”

Scoffing, Alistair echoed, “Subpar coffee?” as though he’d never been privy to a more grievous insult to his person before.

The other man looked up at him as though noticing Alistair’s existence for the first time. “Don’t you have something else you should be doing besides eavesdropping, boy? Sweeping, perhaps. Or, better yet, making my coffee. Same as last time: darkest roast with as many espresso shots as you can give me, black, no sugar.”

There wasn’t really anything else for it. Alistair knocked the bristles of the broom against his boots for a second, debating saying something else, but Loghain wasn’t paying him any mind anymore. He’d make Loghain’s coffee. And if Duncan wasn’t looking, maybe he’d spit in it too. Wouldn’t that be nice?

As he stalked away, Alistair heard Delilah stammer a response he couldn’t understand over his heartbeat in his ears, but he did catch Loghain’s reply.

The dark-haired man grunted. “I hope so. If it’s anything like your brother’s papers, I highly doubt it shall be anywhere near “ready to go” without more serious work. But given your source material, I’m willing to be open to the possibility of being surprised. We shall see.”

“Ser,” Alistair barked, drawing Loghain’s raptor gaze from Delilah. “Six silvers and fourty-eight bits. For your subpar coffee.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up and Loghain reached into his pocket to pull out the coins. He crossed to the register. “So, you’re always mouthy, I see—” his eyes flicked to the nametag and then back to his face, “—Alistair. You really shouldn’t speak to your clientele that way. It discourages them from returning.”

Alistair’s face hardened. He didn’t know what it was but something about this man made his whole body shake with anger. He hadn’t felt this much hatred since he was dumped at the doorstep of a Chantry boarding school by a family that didn’t want him. He was aware his voice would shake if he wasn’t careful, and Alistair wanted to be sure nothing was open to Loghain’s interpretation. Whether Duncan would approve or not, Alistair decided right then and there that this man was unwelcome in his store. “That is the idea. The only clientele I want, are the ones who appreciate my work. If you think it’s so subpar, I suggest you don’t come back. Ser.”

“I might just heed your suggestion. But then…perhaps this swill will grow on me, and I’ll come by more often.”

“Pray it doesn’t. The doors are locked, as far as you’re concerned.”

Loghain gave Alistair something impossibly close to a wry smile and handed over his coins. With one hand, Alistair dumped them into the till without counting and with the other he passed Loghain his disgusting coffee.

“Good lad,” Loghain said softly. His eyes bored into Alistair’s, but Alistair refused to look away. He didn’t even dare blink. He believed with all his soul that blinking would mean weakness. “You remind me of someone I used to know. From a long time ago.” He smirked and raised the cup to his lips. Alistair watched the steam curl from the small opening in his peripherals. He knew good and well that was fresh coffee from the pot and he had dumped it into Loghain’s cup scalding, but the man drank it anyway. A long drag of it. “Wonder why that could be,” he murmured.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

With a little shrug, Loghain turned away and Alistair all but sagged onto the counter.

“Good day, Delilah, and good luck,” Loghain said to her as he passed her table and headed out the door.

Merry Christmas, Axel!! ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ヽ(´ ▽ ` )ﾉ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I’ll have part 2 ASAP!!!

#Dragon Age: Origins #DAO #Alistair Theirin #Warden Cousland #Coffee Shop!AU #College!AU #Secret Santa #Fiend writes

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kristamead · 6 years

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In 2019, I want to bring more books to the blog! For starters, it’s about time I compiled a list of some of my personal favorites that I think everyone should read.

What are your must reads? Favorites? Current books?

Leave a comment at the end of this post!

I’d love to hear from you (:

From fiction to non-fiction, music to manga, personal greats to graphic novels. Creating a general book recommendations list was difficult to narrow down, but I think I’ve got something for everyone. There’s definitely more where this all came from and I’m excited to continue posting about everything books.

For my (first) ~must reads~ I wanted to pick the books that I find the most compelling choices for anyone and everyone. If you’re looking for a new read, here are 15 titles and blurbs explaining why they’re worthy of your time.

I made sure to create this little notebook attachment if you want to save it for when you hit the bookstore (;

✽ I couldn’t make a list of my must reads without including this. Hands down one of my absolute favorites. In Americanah, you’ll meet Ifemelu – a student leaving university strikes in Nigeria for university in the US. As she grapples with her new life in the States, she starts what soon becomes a very popular blog illustrating the differences of being black in Africa and being black in the States. Throughout the book you’ll also follow Ifemelu’s school sweetheart, Obinze, and their stories together, apart, and… well you’ll see.

✽ Not too much to say here, because who hasn’t heard of Frankenstein. Of all of the assigned readings throughout school, this one has always been my favorite. There’s something about gothic literature that has a special place for me – all the dark spooky drama, I love it. I feel like everyone knows about Frankenstein, but hasn’t necessarily read the book so here’s a little nudge.

✽ Whether you’re looking for a quick read, an aesthetically pleasing page-turner, a cool artsy graphic novel for your shelves – this one is perfect. Cartoonist Barbara Stok’s Vincent van Gogh addition to the collection of autobiographical Art Series novels is super cool and worth checking out.

✽ If you’re in the mood to read something fascinating, you won’t want to put this down. In Brain on Fire you’ll hear the telling of Susannah’s mysterious true story as she recounts the frightening events as she rapidly descends in to madness and what it takes to work out her life-saving diagnosis.

✽ When I first really wanted to start making a habit out of reading, I was after something that would really make me feel something. I didn’t think it was possible for me to really laugh or cry when I read a book. Long books seemed like things that wouldn’t hold my attention for very long – I’d probably get bored and forget to finish it. Then I heard about A Little Life. This book had me on an emotional rollercoaster. I didn’t just cry, I was weeping by the time I finished it. I really got invested in Jude and his three best friend’s stories. Some of the scenes in this book are pretty traumatic and aren’t for the faint of heart so proceed with caution.

✽ Hotel Silence is an Icelandic novel about Jónas who’s at a point in his life where he feels unfulfilled, like there’s really nothing left to live for. When he decides to leave everything behind and do something about it, he reaches Hotel Silence where he finds reasons to keep going. I picked this up initially intrigued by the cover and finished it really appreciating the story and the message it left me with.

✽ This book turned my life upside down. I had heard plenty about Girls to the Front prior to finally picking it up. The Riot Grrrl movement was revolutionary in itself, but reading in to Bikini Kill, Heavens to Betsy, Bratmobile, Sleater-Kinney, and more really inspired me. Maybe it was good timing, but this book really helped me put things in to perspective.

✽ Pretend I’m Dead is one of the weirdest books I think I have in this mix. I never really jumped at this book on my shelf. It was another one of those that I picked up because I thought it looked pretty cool and the blurb on the back seemed interesting enough. This book is strange in all the right ways. You’ll meet 24-year-old Mona, who cleans houses and volunteers at a needle exchange. Throughout the book we meet different people that help Mona find her place in the world. This one is purely entertaining from start to finish.

✽ The hype surrounding this book checks out. Normally I’m not a huge fan of stories that follow families through the generations, but this one proved me wrong. In Homegoing, we follow two Ghanaian sisters as they’re separated at birth and brought up in different villages. One sister will marry into a fortunate, luxurious life in the Cape Coast Castle and the other will be imprisoned in the same castle – ultimately sold into slavery. Through eight generations you’ll read of “slavery’s troubled legacy both for those who were taken and those who stayed [and] how the memory of captivity has been inscribed on the soul of our nation.”

✽ If I didn’t already love Carrie Brownstein watching Portlandia, Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl made me idolize her even more. Following Girls to the Front, I’ve become increasingly fascinated by all of the women in music throughout the nineties and early two thousands. Reading about Carrie’s experiences in music and her many words of wisdom made this book hard to put down. I would highly recommend this book to anyone in the mood for a really great music memoir.

✽ Speaking of music memoirs, Girl in a Band is Kim Gordon’s. It seems like the music memoirs I gravitate toward kick off at some sort of an end for the person who wrote it (this one being Sonic Youth’s final show). However, Kim takes us back to her childhood in the sixties/seventies – to the NYC art scene – Sonic Youth – to her marriage and split with Thurston Moore – motherhood – Body/Head – and more. Tons of familiar names are dropped in this one which make it all the more interesting.

✽ Next, the first and admittedly only manga I’ve ever read – Solanin. This was recommended to me as a music/band/gig lover. Reflecting back on it, this book is totally relatable and thoroughly enjoyable. You’ll meet Meiko who felt stuck in her day job, so she quits in hopes for something more. She convinces her boyfriend to do the same and start up his old band which she inevitably joins. This book will be a pleasure to read because I feel we all have been in the same spot as Meiko sometime in our life. Definitely a manga that showed me no genre is off limits.

✽ I found myself contemplatively stopping multiple times with Too Much and Not the Mood. Durga Chew-Bose’s writing really creatively inspired me and my writing. It’s the sort of book that made me feel really close to the author, like we were akin to each other. A lot of things really made sense in this one and I didn’t want it to end. It’s hard to really go in to detail with a collection of essays, but each essay had something notable to offer. Even if you don’t necessarily relate to what Durga has to say – I love this book so much I would recommend it to anyone.

Saving some of the best for last – I have two favorites by Robin Sloan. I completely feel his writing would be enjoyable for anyone. I normally don’t really gravitate toward fantasy or magic-filled books, but these two are exactly the kind of magical realism I can immerse myself in. Everything that takes place in both stories are more imaginatively entertaining than a far-fetched reach into make-believe. Both are situated in the Bay Area (San Fransisco/Silicon Valley), which was bonus points for me because I always fantasize living around there.

Mr. Penumbra follows an out-of-work Clay Jannon as he picks up the night shift job at an eccentric bookstore with some curious clientele with rather bizarre purchasing patterns. Clay is inclined to track these books and ultimately uncovers something even more mysterious. Sourdough is about exactly what the title and this cover infer – sourdough bread. Lois Clary is your typical nine to fiver working for a robotics company – exhausted by the time she gets home. She begins to frequently order from a neighborhood restaurant with a delivery service and becomes well-acquainted with the operating brothers. With visa complications, the brothers of Clement Street Soup and Sourdough have to close shop and entrust Lois with their sourdough starter. Once Lois starts baking loaves and loaves of bread, everything begins to change as her life of technology and food begin to merge.

Ultimately, if you’re looking for a safe and cozy feel-good book to tuck in to and enjoy from start to finish – I’d argue either of these two are the way to go.

Whew, putting this together seemed like I was biting off a little more than I could chew for a bit. I really wanted to make it apparent why I enjoyed each title I mentioned here without plainly saying “HEY! I liked this and I think you would too!” BECAUSE GENUINELY I think you might too! Later on I want to try and take note of what I really enjoyed in books moving forward and writing this all out for you helped me realize why.

When reading a book I’m easily captivated and I think sometimes I spend a lot of time relishing in the luxury of it; but I realize now that really expanding on why and recording my thoughts will help me improve my explanations looking back on them. A lot of the time someone will ask me what book they should read so I’ll give them a title and forget the specifics of why I loved it so much. It’s easy to remember that I liked a book because it triggered an emotional response or I blew through it or I was in awe at points – BUT moving forward just know that I’m ready to deep dive in to some more books when it’s time.

Let me know down below what books you love

or your thoughts on any of these!

my must reads In 2019, I want to bring more books to the blog! For starters, it's about time I compiled a list of some of my personal favorites that I think everyone should read.

#books #must reads

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zenxenophilia · 7 years

Text

Merformer Swerve Fic

(This was originally going to be part of a request, however it quickly turned out to be much longer than I had originally planned so now it’s its own thing lol. XD I may or may not continue it as a mer Swerve/Reader series depending on how much time I have and if anyone is interested. Please let me know what you think.)

You knew you had made a huge mistake the second you laid eyes on the ramshackle cabin that looked as though any moment it could slide into the frigid, grey waters of the lake beside it. The wood was warped and weather beaten from what was possibly a hundred years worth of winter storms. The stonework chimney leaned precariously to one side and was bent at an odd angle, making it look like something out of a cartoon than any functional appliance. And the vintage wooden blinds hanging in nearly all of the windows appeared to have numerous missing slats, like a grinning mouth with missing teeth.

You grimaced as you set your travel worn suitcase inside and surveyed your surroundings. You were slightly surprised at how clean the place looked, (despite the hideously retro décor) having expected nothing short of a century’s worth of cobwebs, and possibly even the grinning remains of the last poor soul that had been fed the same spiel about the idyllic lakeside retreat from a crumpled travel brochure.

You wished now that you had decided to spend your winter break in Hawaii, or Fiji, or anyplace with sun really, rather than this dreary, rainy town in the middle of nowhere and its giant, mist covered lake that looked more at home in a Silent Hill game than out in the real world.

But the place had looked so inviting in the brochure that had been coincidentally slipped into your mailbox last week. It had promised cozy accommodations, friendly people, pristine lake water, and above all, peace and quiet. The last part had been your deciding factor. You refused to spend another precious break away from university surrounded by shrieking children, wall to wall traffic, and rude tourists. This time, you had promised yourself, you were going to treat yourself to a real vacation. Just you and the quiet beauty of your natural surroundings. Now however, gazing out over the misty waters that perfectly reflected the sunless, grey sky you felt a chill creep down your spine that had nothing to do with the dry, winter air. Gazing out of the kitchen windows, you found yourself transfixed by the mirror-like water. You couldn’t explain why, but you got the eerie, unexplained feeling that someone (or something) was watching you).

With a scoff you closed the blinds and began dragging your suitcase to the bedroom to unpack. You were just letting the townsfolk’s silly fairytales get to you you told yourself with a huff as you kicked off your muddy boots and tossed them into the tiny adjoining closet.

The residents of the secluded town of Caliban were what you’d call somewhat eccentric, you supposed, though you had a few other words in mind. Most of the two hundred or so people living there were at least fifth or six generation; a few of them even had ancestors that had founded the tiny fishing village. They were exactly the kind of people one would picture living in a cozy, secluded, lakeside town; warm, friendly, quiet, heavily steeped in tradition, and more than a little superstitious.

Chief among these local urban legends was the idea that there strange, mermaid like creatures that lived in the surrounding lake. These creatures, they claimed, were fond of humans and had been protecting the sleepy little village and its inhabitants from boating accidents and drowning for generations. The locals held nearly an obsessive amount of pride for their mysterious, underwater guardians. People would set out plates of food for them on the end of their docks as an offering, oohing and awing the next morning when the food would be eaten by what was probably nothing more supernatural than a nosy raccoon. And images of the odd, manatee-like beings decorated nearly every store front and sign in town like some sort of bizarre town mascot.

The local pub especially had an affinity for the ‘mers’ as the locals called them. Fishermen would gather in their aging leather booths and swap stories (over mer themed drink specials) about their encounters with their aquatic friends. Just about every person in town had a personal experience with these creatures, including the town sheriff.

Charlie Burns was warm, soft-spoken, practical man that had a rare gift for commanding the respect and attention of anyone in the room without ever really trying, and you were no exception when he had come over to give you a friendly introduction and welcome you to the town on your first day. You had listened with rapt attention when he had let you in on the town’s worst kept secret, regaling you with his own stories of the playful beings stealing a fish from his line or splashing him while enjoying a peaceful canoe ride.

“They’re a mischievous lot, but they don’t mean any harm,” he had said before reaching into his jacket pocket to produce a crisp white card, embellished with the official sheriff’s office logo. “This is a pretty quiet town, (y/n). Not much happens here in the way of crime, but if you ever find yourself in any trouble during your stay, you give me a call at the office, alright?”

A few uneventful days in the dreary little town however had pushed Sheriff Burns’ conversation out of your mind. In fact, the most eventful thing that had happened so far this week was going to the store to pick up some groceries for dinner. The grey clouds blocking the sun seemed to gather even more thickly, as if in response to your already bleak mood. You shifted the brown paper bag in your hands and pulled your jacket tighter around your chest, trying in vain to keep out the winter chill. Your worn walking boots crunched loudly on the gravel walkway up to your cabin on the far edge of town, breaking the eerie quiet of the surrounding woods.

Something out of the corner of your eye made you pause however before turning your key in the door. You squinted against the harsh, bright grey haze towards the broken down wooden steps leading down to the pebbled shore of the lake. As your eyes adjusted to the glare, you noticed that someone appeared to be sitting in the warped wooden deck chair nestled neatly at the very edge of the lake.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your mind raced with images of intruders and serial killers and every scary movie about secluded cabins in the woods ever made. After a few deep breaths however, you realized the most likely scenario was that one of the local kids had decided to sneak over to the normally empty cabin and enjoy a little winter sunbathing. Shaking your head in dismay at your own overactive imagination, you began crunching your way down the lake shore to shoo away your unwanted visitor.

However, as you reached the top of the rickety stairs, you noticed that the figure slumped in the deck chair had a distinctly inhuman outline. A thick, blubbery tail hung loosely over the edge of the chair and draped lazily over the dark sand. At first you thought that maybe some teenagers had played a sick joke on the new visitor by placing a dead manatee in your chair, until you notice the short, stubby, humanlike fingers curled over one of the armrests.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you approached for a closer look. It was about the size and shape of a manatee, but decidedly human (or at least semi-human) shaped from the middle up. Splotches of red covered the rubbery looking white body in abstract shapes, getting darker and more solid as they rounded the back of its head and along the tips of tiny clawed hands. It was lying so still, you would have thought it was dead if not for the faint rising and falling of its chest as it dozed peacefully in cloud covered sun. One hand lazily draped over the thing’s face in an attempt to block out the blindingly grey haze of the chilly winter morning.

For a brief, mind numbing moment your entire brain stopped working. All you could do was gape in shock at the creature sprawled out over the deck chair. Years of fantasy novels and fairytales came flooding back to you like a torrent while all the while one word circled through your brain on repeat, screeching its implausible truth with the force of a fog horn.

Mer.

The thing in the chair let out a loud, snuffling snore, snapping you out of your chaotic reasonings. You stared in abject disbelief as it shifted slightly in its sleep like a dog dreaming of catching a rabbit. For some unexplainable reason, rather than fear, or awe, or any other million emotions that the fairytale books you had read as a kid would deem acceptable for this sort of situation, all you felt after the initial shock wore off was annoyance. Annoyance at the creature commandeering your backyard furniture like he had some sort of god given right to be there.

This was your cabin (if only for a few weeks). And no stranger, human or otherwise, was going to just sprawl themselves on your deck chair, particularly after you’ve had such a busy morning. You had earned that chair, darn it. Even if the thought of sitting outside after having to walk back from the store in the cold was the farthest thing from your mind two minutes ago, the fact that this creature was robbing you of the option irritated you to no end.

You gently, but firmly prodded one of the wooden legs of the chair with your boot, careful not to kick… whatever it was that was occupying it. You jumped back slightly, not knowing how the thing would react to being woken. The creature, rather than bolting upright like you had expected, slowly drew away the arm covering its startlingly blue eyes to peer at you with what you can only describe as lazy expectancy. As if it was waiting for you to say whatever it was that you needed to, so it could finish its nap in peace. For some reason this thought made you even angrier than before.

Before you could say or do anything however (not that you would have had the slightest idea of how to proceed) the creature’s gaze fell upon the brown paper bag grocery bag in your arms, the contents of your latest purchase sticking tantalizingly out of the top. Its eyes sparkled like a kid on Christmas morning and it turned to grin up at you in eagerness. You gasped and nearly dropped the bag, a few fresh apples spilling out and rolling over the rocky beach. The thing’s mouth was filled with small pointed teeth, similar to a dolphin’s, each one clamping against one another in the universal sign for hunger.

The sight is so startlingly unexpected that you momentarily forgot your anger. The thing (even now you hesitated to use the “m” word) reached down to retrieve one of the apples that had come to rest against the leg of the deck chair, its thick, purple tongue licking over the lipless mouth in glee. You stared transfixed as it turned the apple over in its webbed hands, almost reverently, before biting into it with that hellish mouth, the juice dripping from its jaws as devoured the fruit in a matter of seconds, core and all.

It licked the juice off its fingers, savoring every last drop. The thing then turned back to you with a toothy grin that nearly turned your stomach and held out one of its hands, making a childlike grabbing gesture towards the bag. You clutch your grocery bag to your chest on bolted back inside your cabin, with a potent combination of fear, confusion, wonder, and disbelief all bouncing around your brain, as if trying to figure out which to deal with first. You slammed the door and bolted it, pressing against it with your back and releasing the pent of breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

You clutched at your temples, trying desperately to reconcile the thing on your deck chair with years of schooling, common sense, and the laws of nature in general. You dared to sneak a peek through the thin wooden blinds along your kitchen window, not sure if it would be better or worse for that thing to still be there. It still was, to your mixture of relief and dismay. The proof of your unbelievable tale was still sunning itself on your deck chair for all to see, its chubby tail smacking the grainy sand as it strained to reach one of the fallen apples just beyond its reach, unable, or simply unwilling to leave the comfort of the warped, wooden recliner. You had to admit, were you not having to reevaluate your world view at the moment, you might have found the sight humorous.

Instead, you felt that earlier sense of annoyance creeping its way back in, tinged with a small amount of embarrassment. That thing had not only stolen your deck chair, but now it was actually eating your food. The food that you had personally gone out and bought with your own money for your own enjoyment. Not only that, but here you were (you hesitated to use the word cowering, but) cowering in your own vacation home, while that Abe Sapien wannabe was lounging about without a care in the world like he owned the bloody place. Gritting your teeth in aggravation, you reached for the archaic landline phone and called the only person you coul think of.

“Hello. Sherriff’s office,” the calm voice from the other line crackled through the receiver. You could hear the rustle of papers being filed on the other line.

Hello. Sherriff Burns?” you muttered, nervously twirling the now hopelessly wrinkled business card between your fingers. You never thought you would actually have a reason to use it before now. “This is (y/n). Remember? From the other day? I’m calling about a… I mean, there’s this… I don’t really know what you’d call it. I’m-“

“(Y/n)? What’s wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Sherriff Burns asked with a slight hint of alarm in his voice.

“No. Not now, I’m not. I mean, I’m inside right now, but there’s this… thing on my deck chair outside. And I thought it was a manatee at first, only it wasn’t a manatee, it’s this weird red and white fish monster thing, and I tried to get it to move only it didn’t, and then it ate my groceries, and now it’s-“

Sherriff Burns’ chuckle sounded over the receiver. “That’s just Swerve,” he said, the relief evident in his voice. “You don’t need to worry about him. He’s a bit of a glutton, but he’d never hurt anybody.”

“Swerve? What’s a swerve? What is that?” you babble, the questions pouring out of you like a waterfall.

“Not what. Who,” Sherriff Burns corrected. “Swerve’s been a staple of our little town as long as I can remember. He’s the most personable of all the mers around here. Curious guy. Always poking his head out to see what people are up to.”

“Mers…” The word seems to stick in your mouth, incomprehensible and alien.

“I take it you’re not the type of person to listen to a bunch of local fisherman’s tales,” the sheriff said, not unkindly. “I don’t blame you. I didn’t believe in the mers until I saw one with my own eyes. You should count yourself lucky. Most strangers that come here never get to see a mer for themselves.”

“Okay, so, how do I get rid of it- him? Do I call animal control, or…?” you asked, taking another peep through the blinds. The creature – Swerve – had apparently successfully retrieved the fallen fruit and was munching on it happily in the sagging deck chair, his thick tail slapping happily against the beach. You scowled.

“Just leave him be. He’ll move on his own,” Sheriff Burns replied. “He probably thought that your cabin was vacant and saw an opportunity for a little sunbathing. He’ll probably leave you alone from now on now that he knows someone’s up there.”

“And if he doesn’t?” you prodded, watching as Swerve stretched his arms over his head in an exaggeratedly lazy yawn before settling back down for a nap.

“Sorry, (y/n), I’ve got another call coming in. I’ve got to go. Give me a call if you have any more trouble.”

“No wait-“ you cried, before hearing the click of the other line and the mocking drone of a dial tone. You cursed under your breath and glared out the window at the creature who had commandeered both your morning and your lawn furniture. It sprawled itself out against the aging wooden chair as if mocking your frustrations.

Your scowl deepened. You growled, slamming your now soggy bag of melting groceries on the counter and began throwing things in the rickety, single door refrigerator that looked like something out of the 70s. You made a concentrated effort not to look out the window as you struggled with the broken produce drawers, muttering darkly to yourself the whole time about stupid mermaids, and townsfolk, and appliances from hell.

When you finally gave into the urge to check out the window again, the thing was gone, leaving nothing in its wake but a heavy, dragging trail through the sand leading down into the water. You allowed yourself a small sigh of relief, but for some reason couldn’t shake the feeling that you hadn’t seen the last of the little apple thieving menace. You ran a hand through your hair, watching the muted, grey sunlight play gently over the deceptively still water. You were really starting to regret not spending the winter break in Hawaii instead.

#the big conversation #maccadam #supernatural robots #merformers #Swerve #my love of freaky monster boys is showing XD #I really love the idea of Swerve hogging the readers seat #I have a rough idea of where I'd want this story to go if I continue it #but it would be a very slow burn #I'll have to see how up I am to continuing haha! XD #but I do love a good merformers story

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