#liam an

[btranmuses]

Executive Intervention

a gay urban fantasy short story

The candles snuffed out, though Sabrina felt no air movement. All but a single flame remained against the sudden darkness, and in the mirror where she should be, stood a man. The meagre illumination from the candle couldn’t penetrate the blackness that shrouded his face, but still its reflection danced as two golden pinpricks where his eyes should be. She swore if she looked at them long enough, they would bear through the back of her skull, scraping clean every ounce of secret she harboured there.

A new City of Mist campaign, another short story! Introducing Liam An, fuccboi, manwhore, executive, mirror teleporter and psychic terroriser. The Group is facing a sudden business disruption threatening one of its subsidiaries, and Liam is here to intervene on behalf of the Board.

I.

Liam thought the new guy was fine. Late thirties or early forties, if the grey temples were any indication. Those tanned fingers were ring-free, and he rocked the grey suit. To anyone else the man would look calm and collected, but not everyone could sense these things like Liam could. Tension radiated from the man like a full-bodied punch, with just a swirl of anxiety for spice; an almost valiant effort at composure.

By fine, Liam meant delectable.

Alani Chauhan, the CEO, finished her typing and looked up from her end of the conference table, to Liam's right. "Mr. Manik, please," she said, as all eyes landed on the new guy. "I'm ready. Let the Group know how Enstern is doing."

Lee Manik, in his grey tailored glory, nodded and moved to the other end of the table. The Glacial Holdings Group logo stopped spinning on the screen wall, turning into Enstern Corporation. The rest of the Board eyed him like hawks, and Liam too, though with a different flavour of hunger. It was, if anything, interesting to see how the new Director was managing the launch of a new supermarket chain.

The man went through his presentation on how Enstern was doing. Liam could sense disappointment rising from those expecting a trainwreck, but from many others, and himself, respect and delight. Enstern was… concerning when Lee assumed the role a few months back, but it looked quite healthy now: finances, resources, strategy, construction, paperwork all on track, and the marketing direction Liam approved with minor adjustments was in good shape.

Before Liam could tune out, though, Lee dropped a bombshell.

"Neopac, Enstern's major logistics partner, is unfortunately indicating their intention to withdraw from the partnership," Lee said with perfect composure, though his anxiety spiked bitter in Liam's mouth. "My team is trying their best to find out what motivated this decision, but progress is slow. Yes, Mr. An?"

Liam lowered his hand. "How about Harkinsons and Pearce?"

"They are still on board with the Enstern launch, but with Neopac's reputation, there is the risk that their withdrawal may have a knock-on effect on the others."

Liam shook his head. "Those two will be glad to take over Neopac's spot, believe me. As long as they commit, the launch will be fine, though I'd rather Neopac stay in line and minimise disruptions." He started composing a message on his phone to his secretary, but not before flashing a smile at Lee, and catching the man double-taking. Jackpot. "Leave them to me, I'll follow up."

"With all due respect, I don't think Mr. An's involvement is necessary at this stage," Paul Thompson objected from opposite Liam at the table, to Ms. Chauhan's right. "Enstern has their own strategy resources, and surely Mr. An has other Glacial responsibilities to attend to."

"I appreciate your concerns, Mr. Thompson," Liam said, "but I disagree. Even though we have a variety of logistic partners, Neopac is involved with other orgs in the Group's portfolio. This is beyond Enstern's scale, and partner management is, indeed, one of my Glacial responsibilities."

"That sounds good, Liam," Ms. Chauhan said, "and the Board agrees with your track record. Please keep us updated next week. Back to you, Lee."

Paul sat back on his chair. No one needed Liam's abilities to know he was fuming, but Liam paid the man no mind. He was busy blasting the full wattage of his smile at the fresh but capable Director at the other end of the room, who, to his delight and satisfaction, stumbled over his words for a second and as the presentation resumed, his eyes kept returning to Liam.

II.

The picture his secretary Elizabeth got of this Eddie character did not do the man justice. The lush brown hair matched the dim golden lights inside the Ornament restaurant in a very flattering way. Liam wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through them.

The waiter finished pouring their wine, and disappeared with the menus. Eddie cleared his throat. "Sorry. Yeah, I was saying I'm a compliance officer at a logistics company, don't know if you've heard of them. Neopac?"

Yes, Elizabeth was overqualified. If he could Liam would have got her into the International Hall of Heroes to work as his handler, but he didn't have much sway there, not yet. He was stuck with Jamie instead.

Liam raised a practised eyebrow. "Can't say I have. What do they do?"

"Oh, we're working with a new major supermarket! They're going to open in a year, and it's getting really, really busy."

"Enstern?"

"No no no, the other one, their competitor, ha. BNC, but the consumer name is Bunnies. A much friendlier name I think, what even is an Enstern?"

Eddie was right, and Liam agreed with him. Thing was, the Board was too corporate to let go of that name, but water under bridge, et cetera. Instead, Liam smiled. "That sounds exciting indeed. Please, tell me more."

Three hours later, Liam was running his tongue over Eddie's bare neck, who he got pinned against a wall in an executive hotel suite downtown, panting with eyes glazed over. He took Eddie's stubbled jaw in one hand. The man was ready.

Liam bore his gaze deep, deep into those eyes, and asked without uttering a word.

Who is trying to get Neopac away from Glacial?

"Jake Cassidy," Eddie said breathlessly, then shuddered as if waking. "Wait, what did I just say? Oh my god did I say something stupid?"

Liam pressed his rage down his stomach and his thumb into Eddie's mouth, who shivered at once. He couldn't help but at least smiled; the man was just so responsive. He brushed his lips against Eddie's ear and murmured, "Don't you worry a thing."

~~~

III.

Sabrina lit the last of the candles that crowded the bathroom sink. They looked ridiculous under the fluorescent light, but all of this was part of the ritual. She still did not like the idea of turning her back to the mirror, even if only for a second to turn off the light. But the night was long indeed, and she was only delaying the inevitable.

She turned off the light. The golden haze of the candles adorned her reflection, alone in the darkened room. She breathed quietly into the air:

"Mirror Man, Mirror Man. Come to my mirror, Mirror Man."

The candles snuffed out, though Sabrina felt no air movement. All but a single flame remained against the sudden darkness, and in the mirror where she should be, stood a man. The meagre illumination from the candle couldn't penetrate the blackness that shrouded his face, but still its reflection danced as two golden pinpricks where his eyes should be. She swore if she looked at them long enough, they would bear through the back of her skull, scraping clean every ounce of secret she harboured there; so instead Sabrina averted her gaze, down the black suit that fitted him well. Really well actually; the top button was undone, and that ch—

She cleared her throat. "Th-thank you for coming. I've, uh, modified all the reports, presentations, findings, and all paperwork about the deal. As far as internal BNC records go, the Bunnies work has always been awarded to Melinda Associates instead of Neopac."

The Man in the Mirror tilted his head slightly. A voice rumbled, "Who signed them?"

"A Jake Cassidy. He led an internal effort to pivot Neopac away from Enstern to BNC."

"Why?"

"For a big climb up the ladder, looks like. There's a faction in the company raising alarms on how entangled they have become with this company called Glacial. A holding company, from what I've seen. If Cassidy pulls this off, he will have majority support of the board."

The Man in the Mirror stayed still, and Sabrina didn't know what else to say. That was all she had to do on her end, right? Did she miss anything? But he reached out, his hand breaking through the mirror, rippling its surface like a pond harbouring unseen terrors in its depths. A terror she was in the presence of.

His fingers unfurled, palm up. It was a large hand, with thick fingers. Oh. Right. Sabrina placed a memory stick in his hand, and was surprised. She didn't know why she expected cold skin; it was actually warm, and soft. She added in a hurry, "All the documents I found, both original and, um, amended. They're all in this thing."

The Man in the Mirror turned the stick in his hand as if feeling for something, then withdrew it back into the mirror. Seconds later the hand resurfaced; wrapped around his fingers was the unmistakable glint of a silver necklace threading through a double ring, dangling before her.

Sabrina stared at the thing for what felt like a full minute. The Man in the Mirror kept his hand still as she carefully untangled the necklace from his fingers. By the time she managed to secure it at the back of her neck and again feel the ring's familiar coldness burning against her chest, she cried freely.

"You should not have pawned off something like this."

She nodded. There was no justification she did not already tell herself. There was no reason she found acceptable. She would have to live with her mistakes, and—

"Talk to her. She's miserable. Same time, same park."

She snapped her head up, but the light turned back on. The candle had gone out, and in the mirror was Sabrina again, her own face ruined with tears, but her eyes, for the first time in two long, long years, shone with the unfamiliar glint of hope, her heart tripping mad over the promise of a second chance.

IV.

Jake Cassidy didn't know these alleyways, but he had to try. His lungs burned and his legs wanted to give out, but he could not risk stopping.

"You play too many games, Jake. You crossed too many lines."

The voice rang from somewhere behind him, always behind him. Another street light blew out, and Jake yelped. Things moved just beyond the corner of his eyes, but he couldn't see anything clearly, not without slowing down.

"Help maintain a delicate balance of power in exchange for exoneration, Jake. The terms were clear. And yet you tried to take it for yourself. And spat on my mercy."

An explosive cacophony ruptured his ears, and Jake fell on his knees screaming. Street lights, windows, and trashed glassware shattered around him, and in the darkness glass shards rained and rained and kept raining, like a thousand fingers scratching at him for blood, for bone.

Jake all but slammed his head against the pavement, crying. "Please! I've lost my job! I'm sorry! Please, let me go, I swear I won't—"

Flashes of police sirens broke the silent darkness, and Jake felt his heart dropping to a pit.

Cold, cold lips brushed the tip of his ear, and the voice growled. "I am the Shard Reaper. I collect what is due, and no one. Crosses. Me."

~~~

V.

"Neopac has clarified, calling the situation a misunderstanding," Lee said to the silent Board. "We've received official communication reaffirming their commitment to the Enstern project. Thank you very much for your assistance, Mr. An."

Liam returned the smile. Lee looked mighty fine in navy; in fact, Liam had yet to see the man in anything he didn't like. Paul was stewing resentment in his seat as he always did, but the CEO nodded, looking satisfied.

"Always a pleasure to assist the Group, Mr. Manik," Liam said with a smile, always a smile. "I have nothing but confidence in our future."

[btranwrites]

Trench Complications

a Liam An short

Whew! Been cooking this one for a while, but it's out! Liam throws a drag night in hope of searching for the perpetrator behind the kidnappings. And he got more than he asked for.

I'm pretty proud of this one! Liam is no longer just a badass getting his way all the time, and there's more to him than just an aloof executive. And I finally get to make it Lovecraftian! If you do check it out, let me know what you think!

I.

Liam dropped onto the steel chair with a heave. The glitter on his exposed chest and shirt was itchy and, to be honest, disgustingly grimy from the sweat; stage lights were as hot as they were blinding.

The music went on, blaring life onto the brick factory walls that sided the Trench. The crowd calmed down, their attention shifting from him back to Miss Sparks as the drag queen left him on the chair and returned to the front of the stage, continuing her job enchanting the patrons of the bar, swaying their gazes with her every exaggerated yet fluid movement. His job as representative of the night's sponsor—and a glorified, glistening human stage prop—was now to simply sit back, spread out, and look hot and bothered.

And for his job as a member of the Hall of Heroes, to appear just intoxicated enough to look vulnerable.

(the rest of the story under the cut; also available on my website)

The crowd was better than Liam expected. The Trench was a bar squeezed between factories and warehouses a stroll away from Marion Square, a sliver of life tucked away in the depths of urban normativity, one that would have been immeasurably suffocating if not for defiant extravagance. This piece of queer history had been struggling for a while, but tonight the taps were flowing, the program was full, the tickets sold well, and the audience was more colourful than the dreadfully monochromatic pie charts of Enstern's demographic reach Lee showed him earlier.

A shapely calf wrapped in sequin thigh highs stomped onto the steel chair right in front of his crotch, jolting Liam right back to the stage. Miss Sparks was behind him, pressing one velvet-gloved hand against his bare chest, scraping it with glitter as she dragged her hand up with the song's rising crescendo and the crowd getting on their feet. It reached his neck, to his chin, and Miss Sparks tilted his face to the side and delivered the last of the song's chorus to his face and a screaming audience.

The song snuffed out from the blaring speakers, and in thunderous applause the velvet glove, with surprising strength, snatched Liam up to his feet and to the front of the stage.

"Is it not lovely to have executive meat on stage with us tonight," Miss Sparks cooed to the mic and the crowd laughed.

"The honour is ours!" Liam bowed, forward enough and stumbled enough to look just sober, and back up. "It is an honour to sponsor and enable such a community treasure," he winked at Miss Sparks, who swatted playfully at his cheek. "Enjoy the rest of the night, folks, and remember, Enstern Westside opens later this year, just a short stroll away from Marion Square!"

Liam exited the stage as the speakers roared back to life with music and Miss Sparks resumed the program.

The night was well advertised, and well attended. This should be diverse enough a crowd to be a diverse enough hunting ground. And if all that stagecraft went right, Liam had set himself up as the shiniest target.

The bait had been cast, and the Shard Reaper waited.

II.

It didn't take long for Liam to find where Lee was. The man was among the few business suits in the bar, leaning against a post behind a balustrade one floor above, scowling at his phone. In a bar. He was on his phone in a bar, oblivious to the fact that Liam was getting swarmed on the dance floor by two very excited and nearly just as intoxicated girls insisting an uncomfortable and awkward guy take pictures with him.

Well, this was for nothing. Whoever, or whatever, was targeting intoxicated people in Westside, if they were here, would have had more than enough time to see, and notice, Liam. He needed a break anyway. Acting also very excited and just as intoxicated, he kissed the awkward guy on the cheek. The girls squealed, snapping more pictures with their phones, then scream-mouthed a 'thank you' that did not reach his ears over the deafening music. Liam nodded and scream-mouthed back, and excused himself.

The upper deck was not as full. It was darker, and technically more quiet, but in dim lights the Glasslit Void came through more clearly to him. The murmurs of loneliness and desperation from bar patrons scratched his insides, thrumming in rhythm with the music as it grated all over him like coarse sand smelling like old sweat. But to be fair, everyone superhero or not had squeezed through a train station during peak hours before.

Some dude Liam was sure he could take down in less than five seconds stalked over to where Lee was standing, who was still scowling at his phone. He shot one thought of a full bladder at the man, who scampered off to the bathroom in the opposite direction as Liam stalked over behind Lee and sneaked a peek at his phone.

Not messages, but an article. Event sponsor lets loose on stage. Photos of Liam practically shirtless, drunken and messy. Hey, he looked good.

A representative of the company, Elizabeth Anderson, issued a statement in response to the indecency. "We are proud to have sponsored a community event that we hope can help revitalise an important and beloved community venue, and for a valued member of our team to contribute to the celebration of the queer community."

The comments were already arguing. Glacial was not widespread knowledge, so to the public, Liam was just some business major–looking rep dude from Enstern who did something slightly risqué. And happened to be good looking. As normal, factions formed. Outright slurs. Conservatives and moderates 'concerned' about respectability. But what was important was that according to the target for the night, the lefties, Liam 'slayed.'

"No working after hours, director," Liam whispered.

"Oh my god!" Lee jumped, spinning around. "Liam! Liam, there are articles— wait, you know?"

Liam slipped in next to Lee, elbows on the balustrade. It must have been almost two hours after Liam's appearance, but Miss Sparks was still flowing through the stage with grace and poise, now hosting some sort of trivia game.

"It's predictable," Liam said. "Check the engagement rate."

"I did," Lee was still scowling at his phone, now flicking at the screen at speed. "It's the highest we've ever got, and not just from Westside, but— hold on. Predictable? You… planned this?"

"Enstern is now hipper than ever," Liam grinned.

Lee blinked at him; he could almost hear the gears spinning. Liam continued. "We host a queer event. We, well, I, did something scandalous enough to nudge the respectable status quo, but not too much to topple the balance. As expected, drama accounts and outlets ate up anything they could blow out of proportion for traffic. Enstern issued a statement that demonstrated a slight progressive stance, and we ride the same old online arguments to more street cred in Westside."

Applause from the stage below sounded muffled; a trivia round just finished.

"And the articles? Don't they… don't they affect you?"

"Not the first time I was on 'the news,'" Liam winked. "And if you haven't noticed, they don't even remember who I am. These get stale quick on the news cycle, and we have the connections in the outlets to ensure that to be the case. How else do you think Liz got our statement in?"

And that the Man in the Mirror was a formidable force, with fingers in a lot of pies, and knew lots of buttons to press, and how. But Lee didn't need to know that.

Lee shook his head eventually, a smirk ghosting the corners of his lips. "It's an honour to witness Ms. Chauhan's right hand at work."

Liam bowed, one hand on his chest. "As I said before, and I meant it, it is dealt with. So loosen up! Why are you scowling at your phone in a bar? I counted more than three guys approaching you, did you know?"

That same random dude stumbled out of the men's restroom from behind Lee, darting eyes reorienting. Liam shot another thought at the man that tasted like burning bile and crawling stomachache. The man ran back into the bathroom.

"I uh…" Lee stammered, oblivious to what just happened behind his back. "Well. This is… not really my thing."

"What isn't?" Liam leaned against the balustrade, smiling. "Bars, or men?"

The director opened his mouth, but then stopped himself, eyes searching his. Liam kept his gaze, and waited, holding the silence with a gentle smile, one that hopefully was also encouraging.

"Bars," Lee said finally, a quiet syllable almost lost to the beating of the speakers below. But here in the darkness, illuminated only by faint and reflected light, Liam was all but submerged in the Glasslit Void, and empowered by his demesne's presence, he felt clear as day the tension washing away from Lee like dust to the wind. On a face that had been scowling at his phone all night bloomed a reserved grin, and Liam felt himself, too, easing up.

"What about it?" Liam asked, wishing they could be somewhere quieter. "Too loud?"

"Yeah. Well, not exactly." Lee glanced at the stage below, shaking his head. "Things like this. Being this… celebratory. It's new. To me."

The dust in the wind grew coarse, scraping, hot. Burning. Like running to the bus stop, exhausted, the stop was empty. Only exhumes and uncaring sun.

Late.

Another round of the trivia game finished to polite applause, sounding far and muffled. The nostalgic panic surprised him, but it shouldn't. It was old and past.

Was it?

"It's scary, isn't it?" Liam said. "Like you're too old to be scared. Like you're supposed to have outgrown fear and have things figured out. Like there's a deadline."

A surprised chortle came from his left. "Ha! It's humiliating, actually. But what are you even talking about?" Liam turned to see Lee smiling. His teeth were so white, even in the dim lights. He was gesturing at Liam's chest, shirt still half-buttoned. "Was that not just a performance?"

He flicked at the glitter, but there was no use; there was no saving this shirt. "Oh there was consent manufacturing and media manipulation on that stage, yes," Liam said, eyeing mischief at Lee. "But no, I am very much gay. That much is real. I didn't figure that out until after college, and that was also late, in a way. But hey," he gestured at his glittered chest. " 'A queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early.' "

Lee laughed, a satisfying sound. Liam pressed on. "If bars aren't your thing, Mr. Malik, what is?"

Lee scowled again, though the lines looked gentler. "Hm."

"You're not allowed to say working."

Lee rolled his eyes. "Nothing as fun as this, though."

"If someone spends a lot of time doing something without coercion, it's fun for them."

"Did the Board know they have a philosopher in their midst?"

Liam chuckled. "I wouldn't dare claim such prestige, just fascinated by the human psyche. But no, Lee. What's fun for you?"

Lee looked thoughtful. "Hm. Cooking."

Liam raised a brow. "A novice, or am I in the presence of a chef?"

"Well," Lee broke eye contact, searching for his feet in the dark. "I've cooked since high school, so quite a long time."

Liam pushed himself off the balustrade, clasping his hands. "I need professional judgment of my favourite restaurant. Ever been to the Ornament?"

"Oh! Wow. No. Obviously I've heard of it, but—"

"Perfect! Will Thursday night work?"

"I don't think that…" Lee snapped his mouth shut, eyes widened in dawning realisation. "Uh. That." He cleared his throat, straightening his back. "Yes, it does, and I would love to."

"That's what I like to hear," Liam winked at him. "Now I have more talking to do, and please," he graced a finger at the back of Lee's hand, the one death gripping his phone like it insulted his family, "don't scowl at your phone too hard."

III.

One big objective for the night was to draw out the perpetrator, or perpetrators, behind the kidnappings. The bait had been cast, and for now there was nothing for Liam to do except to wait. And stay visible.

There wasn't a clear pattern of targeting on the victims the Hall of Heroes could identify, except that they were intoxicated, so Liam hoped to get their attention with a diverse audience. Enstern's needs coincided with the plan; Elizabeth identified key influential figures in Westside, to which Liam contributed from his own list built as Man in the Mirror. Invitations were sent out, and though not all of them were here, a lot was.

Miss Sparks had wrapped up the show, and the Trench was now more or less a normal bar, except much more crowded than it usually was. Liam, being representative for the sponsor, and staying visible as bait, had been circling around embedding himself in conversations. If nothing else came out of tonight, at least he could expand his reach as Man in the Mirror. A few Pantomime accounts, and some Gamma, with combined followings numbering hundreds of thousands of people. Conventionally attractive people. Political mouthpieces. Journalists. A knitter who made furry plushes of the superheroes, whose following exploded a while back when some Hall A-lister shared her own plush with a heart emoji on Pantomime.

And… Wesley?

Liam did a double take, distracted from the conversation with the knitter on whether it was problematic for the Eye of Magnus to have a fursona of an owl. He could recognise that face with that mop of shiny black hair anywhere, that permanently scowling face. Or so he remembered; Wesley was smiling and laughing. That man did not smile, not when they were together. The leather jacket and tight denim were bolder than what he remembered of the man's style choices, but that was absolutely Wesley. The man would never set foot in Westside because it was 'infested with bad people.' Why was he here? And smiling at Liam?

Liam introduced the knitter to a cosplayer, and excused himself, slowly squeezing through the crowd over to where Wesley was.

"Hey," Liam said when they were within earshot. "Didn't expect to see you here. Enjoying the night?"

Wesley was bobbing his head to the music, still smiling, still looking entirely free of antagonism towards Liam. "Yeah man," Wesley said, nodding at somewhere off the side. "Cool place, thought I should check it out, didn't know you'd be here either. Nice seeing you again! Lots of girls here!"

What? And what? "Girls? What do you mean?"

Wesley smirked at someone to the side. He turned to look; at the other end of the dance floor, a lady in a tight, form-fitting black dress smiled back at Wesley. "Yeah," Wesley said, grinning unabashedly. "Was talking to Adrianna over there. Think I'm scoring her tonight."

Okay, maybe the man was on a journey of self-discovery and turned out to be bisexual. But the two of them left things on quite terrible terms. For him to just act like nothing happened was bizarre, at the very least. Wesley was uptight, would not smile, would not even walk with Liam in public, but now just casually bobbing to music in a club and boldly flirting with women? Did he not remember?

"Good catch!" Liam said. "How you doing, man? We haven't talked in forever."

Wesley laughed. "Mate, you're so clingy! We were just at graduation! You're a grown man now, make more friends!"

Ice lanced through his heart, but Liam kept bobbing to the music. Bad terms or not, Wesley wouldn't just straight up deny everything like this. If he did, he would have avoided eye contact with Liam in the first place.

And graduation was a decade ago.

Liam said, "Ah, time flies, you know? Do you even remember when we last talked?"

"I dunno," Wesley scrunched his brows together. "Maybe like, two months ago?"

They first kissed at graduation. And they last spoke seven years ago.

Something was very, very wrong.

"Yeah, forever ago," Liam said. He nodded at the drink in Wesley's hand. "Want another?"

"Sure! I'm just getting started!"

IV.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Wesley tried to wiggle out of Liam's grip, but he was not letting go. "What the hell, man!"

Liam kicked the backdoor to the Trench closed behind him. It was past midnight, and people were either home or inside. He spun Wesley in front of him, all but digging his fingers into the man's shoulders. "Tell me how we ended."

"Liam, stop!" Wesley yelled. Liam let loose of his fingers and pulled back. "Fuck. I'm sorry," Liam said as Wesley rubbed his shoulders. "But this is important. It is really important. Wesley, how did we end?"

"'We'? End?" Wesley said, his mouth looked like it bit something that insulted his palette. Liam did not expect that from Wesley, despite the little they had. Wesley said, "Man, didn't know you can be this dramatic. We graduated, and we got jobs. It's just been like two months, what are you even on about?"

"Wesley, no." Liam said, slow and deliberate. "We did not graduate two months ago. We graduated ten years ago."

The man laughed, though with reservation. "Man, very funny. Are you on drugs or something?"

"And I didn't know you were bisexual."

"Yo what the fuck?" Wesley dropped his hands from his shoulders. "I am not! What are you even on about?"

"You were talking about scoring that girl?"

"Because I am into girls, obviously?"

Liam grabbed him by the shoulders again, his ears deafened by the drum of pumping blood. "Wesley. What were we?"

Wesley pushed him. Liam stumbled back, surprised; Wesley was strong. Very strong. And his face was turning ugly. "I do not like what you are implying, Liam. We are friends."

"We were!" Liam yelled. "But we were also more than that! Are you fucking with me, Wesley? We dated! We… we were in love. It did not end well, but it did happen! Did you go back to your parents? God, what did they do to—"

A punch cracked his face, and Liam flew off the ground and landed on his back. He was still reeling when a heavy weight landed on him, and a strong, very strong and hard palm slamming his chest back onto the asphalt with a crunch.

On top of him was Wesley, but his face was in fragments. Halogen streetlight outlined his black hair, but Liam couldn't see his features. Maybe he was dizzy from the impact, maybe there was wind he couldn't feel, but Wesley's hair was flowing like it was alive. His face was broken, a mess of mirror shards daggering one another, overlapping into a staggered portrait that resembled its subject, just not quite.

And the eyes. No light reflected from them, pits darker than a starless night, wet and living black sinking into a pair of open, hungry mouths. This was no simple darkness of the night, no comfortable presence of the Glasslit Void. This was something else.

Liam tried to push back, to will the darkness against Wesley, but it was as alien as it seemed, unresponsive to his call. He felt like being in a straitjacket, tight and suffocating, and staring powerless into those alien voids Liam felt like he had been sent back decades in time. Small and weak. Useless. Terrified.

A fist hammered Liam's head one side to the other. He wanted to throw up.

"I am a devout child of God," Wesley grumbled. That was his voice, but was it? Liam was struggling to hear with his ringing ear. "I am a good, God-fearing heterosexual." Another fist stabbed into his chest, and his lungs felt like it was collapsing. "Never in my life have I touched another man. How dare you as a friend imply that I have?!"

By now Wesley was screaming at him. He couldn't tell anymore, but there was a wide, yawning stretch of open jaws in front of his face, and Liam was shamefully helpless.

"Get off of him!"

The impossible weight on him shifted, struggled, and then suddenly lifted. Liam sprung up onto his feet, only to see Lee tackle Wesley onto the ground.

Liam swore he heard cracked glass.

One second, Lee slammed Wesley on the ground. The next, Wesley was somehow already standing a dozen paces away from them, panting like an animal. His face was still marred, though not in fragments of glass shards, but with burning rage, a shaking finger pointing at him. "We were FRIENDS, Liam! How dare you accuse me of something that abhorrent??"

"What the fuck do you think I am?" He yelled back.

Wesley's mouth dropped. He looked shocked, his mouth crumpling into pure, simple disgust. All those years ago, it was the exact face Wesley used to cry into Liam's chest afraid of, the face that he would cop from others if he ever got 'caught'. Now he wore the fear he ran from as his own, like not one drop of those tears ever fell.

The victims forgot.

"Fucking fag," Wesley spat on the ground, and stomped off.

"Hey! Hey!" Lee called out. "You stop right there! What did you just say? Hey!"

"Lee, it's alright." Liam said, his mind in overdrive. The victims forgot. Wesley didn't even seem to notice the Trench was a queer bar.

"It's not! Hey!" Lee started running after Wesley. Oh wow. Liam grabbed his elbows. "Hey hey hey, no don't do that. He's left. It's alright."

"Liam! It is not!" Lee said, voice raised. "Oh my god, your face, Liam," he put a hand on Liam's cheek. It stung. "Ow."

"We need to get you to the hospital asap. And call the cops. This is a hate crime. Let me just—" Lee fumbled for his pockets.

"Lee, Lee. Lee." Liam grabbed his face into his hands, and Lee stilled.

In the cold night, they stood close. Liam could feel the warmth radiating from the strong and brave man who just charged into a vicious beating and saved his life, like ambrosia seeping into mummified veins. It was tempting, it was demanding, it was so easy to just take Lee right there. Liam wanted to. He wanted to, so much.

But what he wanted more… was for them to last, if just a bit longer. He was not ready for the dance to end.

"Tonight has been a success for Enstern," Liam said, breaking the silent spell. "Our narrative works. If I end up in another controversy, it will be too much for our connections to contain. Lee, this will not make the news. Do you understand?"

Lee opened his mouth, but Liam slid a thumb over, sealing them back in place. His hand trembled with desire, to spread the warm wetness, to invade, to mark and claim. But it stayed put, and he continued. "Wesley is someone I used to care for. I don't know why he behaved the way he did, and I will find out why. But it is something personal, and I ask that you will respect that."

Lee opened his mouth again, and Liam kept his finger firm, but he smiled. "I promise I will report this hate crime to the authorities, but it will be on my terms. And I will take tomorrow off to take care of these bruises. Even do an X-Ray for any head injuries."

Lee tried to open his mouth, yet again. Liam kept his thumb in place, and started grinning; though he had to stop when he felt shifting, grating bone shards. "Have I addressed all your concerns, director?"

He did not move his finger. Lee nodded. In his hands, as he asked.

Liam leaned in, past the maddening lips, to his ears. "And," he whispered. "Thank you for my life, saviour. It is a feat most impressive. For Thursday, I insist dinner on me. It's only courtesy."

The faint sweat from Lee's hair was a rare, intimate fragrance, one that drove him dizzy with need. But Liam withdrew. Hands in his pockets, two steps back, he gazed directly into Lee's eyes, smiling wide and without reservation, even when it hurt.

Lee blinked once, twice. He opened his mouth once, twice. And said finally, "it's a thrill to witness the right hand at work."

His heart skipped, but Liam bowed. "And Glacial does not take no for an answer, Mr. Malik. I'll see you Thursday. Please, have a good night, and thank you again." He winked, and walked away.

This would be a long dance. And he would make it last.

V.

Liam pressed the ice pack harder into his cheek and let the pain consume him. The case files from Jamie spread all over his countertop.

The victims didn't just forget the attack. Now he knew they also forgot a piece of themselves.

The last file of the stack, the last victim taken three weeks ago at Marion Square, read Wesley Flament.

[multifandom-damnation]

Vox Machina episode 114 and Bells Hells episode 91.

Vax's death and FCGs death. History repeats itself

[counterspelling]

Endless Bells Hells

[somewhatsentientspellbook]

somewhere in zadash's premium smut shop:

meanwhile, caleb celebrating fjorester's engagement in nicodranas:

[the-french-belphegor]

I finished my rewatch/relisten of the Vox Machina campaign in mid-December (although I recently re-embarked on the second half of the Chroma Conclave arc hoping season 3 of TLVOM will be announced (released?? 🤞) by the time I reach "A Bard's Lament"). Predictably, I bawled, AGAIN, but by then I'd already been scribbling and sketching ideas for this for... a couple of weeks? Hence the little WIP preview last month.

I'll never shut up about this moment. It's just as beautiful as it's heartbreaking, in- and off-game, especially taking into account all the context of characters/people involved.

Also, bonus, because after I finished sketching that 6th frame I thought a hug was needed.

"You broke my heart." and all of ours as well 💔

[fromaliminalspace]

Steve helpfully offering his hand to everyone boarding the boat, only to get ignored or unnoticed every single time. that’s it, that’s the post

[daenerysbeauty]

[laurasbailey]

Get romanced, Marisha Ray

[yourbelgianthings]

the gender of ally beardsley’s pcs has never missed! we have a high schooler who only wears tie dye and birks embracing her lesbianism, a trans man who’s the voice of dreams and got his top surgery from a mob doctor, a peppermint boy, a literal german shepherd in a pink suit who uses they/them, their first character after going on t being a cis lesbian who is just a mess in every way, and an old gay man who goes by mother. fucking with gender in every direction and it’s so fun and great every time 🏳️‍⚧️

[magmythedevil]

RARE LIAM VICKERS ART ALERT HOLLY FLYING FUCK NEJEJEHEHEHENSNWNW

[gayarmpits]

Liam Hunt and Adam Ramzi Raging Stallion's Cum to Your Senses (2023)

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[btranwrites]

Hall Business

a Liam An short

a gay urban fantasy short story

Things are well on the Glacial front, but the Hall comes calling. There is trouble afoot that needs the Reaper's attention. ...Jamie softened. "That's the only almost-common denominator, yes. Can you handle this?" "Of course," Liam stands up. "It's Marion Square. If the Reaper can't defend his origin, then he may as well hand in his badge."

I.

"What is so difficult for you to grasp, Mr. An, about the fact that you simply cannot involve yourself in matters of other companies!"

Liam flicked off a reply on his phone, and laid it down on the desk. The screen lit up again immediately; Elizabeth pinged back a thumbs-up emoji and 'coming right in'. He smiled, and kept smiling as he returned his gaze to one fuming Paul Thompson standing arms-crossed before Liam's desk, the chair he offered the man untouched.

He wanted to kick back so bad. Hands behind his head, a spa mask on with a glass of wine, and just savour the rage that was flooding from this man. Cold and biting, like frost. Weak prickling heat, like stale pepper. The man was old, sixty-seven, sixty-eight maybe, and yet so loose with temper. So unpoised. All these years lived and yet still… unseasoned . An exotic mishmash.

"I do understand boundaries, Mr. Thompson," Liam said. "And I understand subsidiary autonomy. I also understand intra-portfolio cohesion for the Group, and surely you understand our role as Ms. Chauhan's advisory body is to provide timely counsel and executive intervention."

Paul all but bellowed. "Counsel which I was to provide! Strategy resources that I appointed, executive bodies that I maintained, and you simply cannot… butt in and seat yourself wherever and whenever you see fit!"

Like cinnamon. Ooh, maybe even star anise? "The Neopac situation impacts a significant portion of the Group portfolio, Mr. Thompson. And it was an extraordinary situation. Ms. Chauhan saw it fit for my involvement, and I am simply seeing my work through."

"Stand. Back." Paul jabbed his finger at the oak desk, each thud heavy, reverberating with anger. God, this was delicious. Paul continued, "Neopac is dealt with. This is my turf. You are intruding."

"This is Glacial, Paul," Liam grinned. "There are no turfs but the Group. We are on the same side."

It was just a touch of taunting, yet Paul caught it immediately. His face burned beet red, and—

A knock on the door; just in time. Liam called out immediately. "Please come in!"

Lee Manik opened the door, as fine as ever, this time in a burgundy blazer, and stepped in. He stopped short as he saw Paul in front of Liam's desk. "Oh, my apologies; I didn't mean to intrude. I–"

"Don't worry," Liam said, leaning back on his chair with eyes still fixed on Paul, smiling. "Mr. Thompson is just leaving."

Paul glared at him, fists curling into white-knuckled balls. But the other executive left, all but slamming the door.

Lee, precious Lee, looked back at Liam with a slight frown. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is splendid!" Liam exclaimed. "We were just having a passionate discussion is all, don't you worry. Now," he gestured at the empty chair opposite him, "what gave me the pleasure of seeing you here?"

Lee took the seat. Just as Liam asked him to. His grin grew wider.

"I just wanted to say thank you for your help with Enstern," Lee said. "You showed up, joined a few meetings, made some phone calls, and somehow they changed their mind."

"Ah, I'm sure you already had almost everything under control! And I just stepped in right at the tail end of your work."

"It was quite a mess before you stepped in, Mr. An—"

"Please. Call me Liam."

"Yes. Um. Liam. Uh. Right. Enstern was struggling not in an insignificant way, with Neopac being a major partner for our operation. And mere weeks after your involvement, all the roadblocks simply vanish. Things turn out too well, too smoothly for all of this to be simple coincidence."

"Then we must appreciate these rare bouts of good luck more often!"

Now Lee smiled. "You are very charming." The man caught himself, eyes wide as Liam's grin stretched to its max. "I mean, you are very charismatic. Um."

He could watch Lee squirm for the next hour, but that would risk the man never speaking to him again. Liam said, "That is what I'm good for, Mr. Manik."

"Lee."

Lovely. "That is what I'm good for, Lee." And without missing a beat, Liam leaned in, just ever slightly, "a pleasure to serve you."

Lee, too, turned beet red. "Um. Right. Thank you. My pleasure. You have a good day now." The director excused himself and left, the door clicking close behind him.

Liam looked at the closed door, and the emptied chair before him, and sighed with content. This was going to be a long dance, and he would relish every drop.

II.

"People are missing memories, Shard Reaper. We collect them totally confused, disoriented, like they were very, very drunk. They could not remember anything they did the night before, except being very, very certain that they were utterly terrified. Was it you?"

Liam flipped through the pages Jamie placed before him, frowning in the guest chair. It was a thin stack in the folio, but a stack with more sheets than he wanted to see. "No, and I do not know these people. Well," he flipped back over the pages. "I fucked this guy twice, and… this girl's husband, ex-husband now, and…" Liam kept flipping as Jamie audibly sighed. "And a few more of these, but I did not kidnap or terrorise them. That's only to incapacitate confirmed targets to be brought back to the Hall or police. Where was this?"

Jamie leaned a shoulder against the window, looking out. They weren't on the top floors of the International Hall of Heroes headquarters; high enough to see the streets of Neon City, but not enough to see the skyline. "The last one was at Marion Square."

Liam frowned, and went back to flipping through the pages.

His handler continued. "This happened all over the City, and their paths on the nights of attack all crossed alleyways…" Jamie sighed again, and sat down behind the desk before Liam. "Should I escalate this to the B-rank—"

"No, there's no need," Liam cut in. "This involves my domain. A lot of these people have at least one substance in them when they were attacked. Not all, but a majority."

Jamie softened. "That's the only almost-common denominator, yes. Can you handle this?"

"Of course," Liam stands up. "It's Marion Square. If the Reaper can't defend his origin, then he may as well hand in his badge."

Jamie leaned back in his chair, nodding. "Good. I would rather not involve the B's, they are stretched as it is. And absolutely not the tops."

"I wonder if you understand what that sentence reads like in a different context."

"What? What does it read like?"

"All good, you're too straight." Liam said, standing up as he put on his mask, black with red eye caps. It flushed seamless with the rest of his skin-tight uniform, his body a mass of matte obsidian, accented only with the red of his claws and the stylised glass shard on his chest.

He grabbed for the files, and the red glowed into angry crimson fire. To Jamie's right, the innocuous mirror on the wall sunk into sudden darkness as he closed in, and when his burning touch connected they collapsed into a swirling obsidian void, a darkness that surrendered no reflection.

"Please have your watch on during missions, Liam."

The Shard Reaper turned his burning eyes back at his handler. "No promises," he said, his voice the sound of glass scraping concrete. Jamie sighed for the third time today, and the Reaper disappeared into the vortex.

III.

The Reaper floated through an expanse, lightless except for cracks and fractures suspended in the space itself, gently swaying to an unknown current. Some of them hung in the void like wounds within which even deeper darkness festered. From others streamed in the weak light of various happenstances unfolding in front of reflections and shadows across Neon City, blurred as if behind a fogged up bathroom vanity. A barista drying cups in front of a decorative mirror. A day drinker throwing up next to a dumpster in front of an alleyway. An old couple feeding ducks next to a manmade pond. Two guys fucking in a darkened toilet stall. Business lady refreshing makeup. Secretary rehearsing a difficult conversation in a closet.

It was especially tough freshly after his coming into power: these images and sounds and smells he did not ask for assaulted him like torrential deluge, day and night until he could get the Mist to hold them back. Now they were like puppet shows behind stained glasses: the Mist obscured the details here in his demesne, the Glasslit Void, but he could still gauge the outlines where his attention landed. These days, what was a deluge was now more a pleasant trickling stream, screaming marches now more like gentle chatter from patrons in a restaurant.

His eyes and ears were everywhere in Neon City. If it reflected or rejected light, the Reaper was there. Sure, the higher ranked superheroes from the Hall handled the flashier cases, and he shared the underbelly of the City with other C-rankers. But that underbelly could be his domain. The City could be his domain; he just needed patience. It took him years to get to where he was at Glacial. Power demanded time.

It was not a good look for him, however, to have let whatever this… kidnapping thing happen right under his nose. Enstern, and admittedly a rather attractive director, was taking a bit too much of his headspace lately. He even let a few Man in the Mirror calls rang unanswered. But now that this was threatening Marion Square, he could not let it slide. No one touched a super's birthplace without expecting at least some reaction.

The Reaper landed in front of a black mirror. His touch rippled it into light, and Liam walked out of the Glasslit Void from the body-length mirror in his apartment's living room. The sun was setting, young dusk casting a gentle fire from expansive windows set next to the sofa set and high-definition TV. He put Jamie's files down on the white-marbled kitchen counter and poured himself a glass of water.

He had the view of the cityscape from here on the inside, while the Mist-obscured glass panes protected his privacy from outsiders with illusions of Liam being just another ordinary bachelor instead of a member of the Hall. The apartment was clean, modernist in its tactful colour palette of oak, dark juniper, and expensive Scandinavian décor.

Next was to get a skyline view with the outline of the landmark International Hall of Heroes tower in sight.

He peeled off the Reaper mask and set it down next to the files of victims. These people were… fine? They were missing, forgot a few things, and got a little scare, but they didn't have anything worse done to them. What was not acceptable was how this was done in his domain.

He tapped on his phone and dialled a contact. The line connected. Liam said, "Liz, has Enstern added any media coverage west of the City?"

Keyboards typed and mice clicked. After a beat, Elizabeth said, "there's a social media campaign targeting that region, yes."

Liam waited. Keyboards kept typing and mice kept clicking.

He sighed. "And nothing else, right. Let me guess, it's on Gamma as well."

"Liam, there's like two twenty-somethings on their social media team and they're juniors. The rest of them know nothing but Gamma."

"Yeah, tracks with them coming up with the name Enstern. A Gamma campaign for a region with major demographics using every other platform but Gamma."

"What do you suggest?"

Liam kept his gaze on the cityscape outside his balcony: a vista of pristine wood panelling, manicured decorative foliage, and meticulously spotless windows showcasing more expensive décor inside. "They need to know how to speak to ordinary working people. People with grunge and sweat and middle fingers to the establishment. Enstern looks very establishment right now, and Westside prefers something more to their level."

"Is this Hall business?"

"You know me too well, Liz. It is Hall business."

"Right. What are we doing?"

Whoever the perpetrators were, they expected the Reaper. But they didn't expect Liam.

"Drag night. The Trench, Marion Square."

[agueforts]

"HOLY SHIT, 9/11 WAS 20 YEARS AGO??" SAYS MAN WHO WITNESSED THE EVENTS FIRSTHAND

[counterspelling]

Endless Bells Hells

[oddthesungod]

A good man at war

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!