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damienthepious · 3 years

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owo please have a fic comprised of 90% tender touching

Less Like A Deadly Weapon

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Rilla, Lord Arum

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Early Relationship, Post-Episode: s02e36-41 Second Citadel - The Battle at World's End, Facial Shaving, Trust, (lots of tender touching tbqh)

Summary: Sir Damien asks for a little bit of help with his grooming, now that he is no longer too busy charging through the wilds on a desperate rescue mission to bother with something as mundane as shaving.

Notes:my work life has continued to be trouble, but i've wanted to get this one out for a while now! hope y'all enjoy, kiss a lizard, et cetera, i love you! title from the song Sword by IAN SWEET.

There are not all that many mirrored surfaces within Lord Arum's Keep. The lizard is a proud creature, certainly, but he is apparently not afflicted with that particular breed of vanity. They've been recuperating for a few days already (the first two tucked safe in a hidden outpost in the swamp, the latter inside Lord Arum's enormous, living home) before Damien happens to finally notice, leaning over a cupped leaf of water that the Keep has provided as a washbasin, that he looks-

Not terrible, really. Rilla has taken great care to treat his injuries, and the Keep has within it a fascinating system of running water with which to bathe, and Damien has slept more soundly these last few days than he has in... months, perhaps? He thinks he may have lost track, somewhere in the darkness of his pursuit. He does not look terrible.

He does look somewhat unkempt.

He thinks he lost the tie for his hair... possibly while stuck upon that impostor slug? No great loss, he supposes, and his hair is clean now even if it hangs in loose waves, tucked behind his ears. The shadows beneath his eyes have mostly faded, scratches and bruises softened by Rilla's careful treatment and a little bit of time. But his face- well, he has gone rather a bit beyond stubble, at this point.

He hasn't shaved, by his estimations, since the morning the Festival of the Three began.

On the proverbial (literal?) warpath while traveling with Sir Angelo and the others in turn, he hadn't had a mind for much beyond finding Rilla. He hadn't a mind for anything, really, and taking care of his appearance was certainly not among his priorities, beyond splashing his face when his fury heated his cheeks, or when he needed to wash away some fresh tears or lakeside muck or specks of ash. His straight razor remained packed away for the entire journey.

(He remembered it, once or twice, along the way, in those too-brief moments of rest. He remembered, but he did not reach for it. He did not want to take the blade into his hand, truthfully. It is not shaped at all like anything made for combat, but still the edge sang and resounded through Damien's memory, he couldn't take the shaft into his hand, could hardly look at it without hearing that hissing voice in his mind, couldn't bear the echo of like a butcher, little knight, treat it with some respect-)

(That particular memory feels somewhat different, now, than it did then. Warmer, perhaps.)

Well. He supposes he should take care of the situation, now that he may finally slow down enough to do so.

His arm is an issue, of course. That pig managed to break his dominant limb, whether in luck or in strategy Damien dare not guess. He could attempt the task with his off hand, but-

Rilla has instructed him rather fiercely not to overexert himself, while they nurse their wounds together.

And, frankly, Damien needs little excuse to request his flower's soothing hands upon him. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that Rilla has assisted him after such an injury, after all.

She agrees with a grin the instant he broaches the subject, one of her hands teasingly on his lower back as she all but shoves him towards the washroom.

"Oh, Saints, yes. C'mon, I miss that pretty face of yours," she says brightly, and Damien feels himself flush as she lovingly manhandles him to sit by the washbasin. "I wanna see it again."

She nudges him to sit back, drapes a warm damp cloth over the bottom half of his face and then presses a kiss to his temple for good measure, making his eyelids flutter closed in pleasure. She plays with his hair for a minute or so after that, chattering enthusiastically about the understanding of the Keep's aqueduct structures that she's managed to glean so far, and then she starts working up the lather as she speaks instead. Damien tries not to mourn the lack of her hands upon him; he knows they'll return soon enough, after all.

Arum finds them when Rilla is nearly done working the foam into his softened beard, his expression wary and uncertain as Rilla greets him with a cheery wave.

He eyes Damien with curiosity, and from his position leaning back in his seat with Rilla's hand pressing to his clavicle, Arum's attention makes Damien feel more than a little exposed.

"Dare I even ask?" the lizard murmurs, his tone a perfect mixture of amusement, irritation, and confusion as he gestures at- well, at the entire scene laid out before him, Damien supposes.

"Damien needs a trim," Rilla says warmly as she finishes swirling the lather below his jaw on one side, and then she tilts his face the other way to finish up. "And he decided to be a good boy about it and actually ask for help instead of trying to muddle through on his own with just his non-dominant arm."

"Is that why you look so- so smug about it, then?" Arum asks, arching his brow imperiously even as his eyes draw over the brush and the razor and the bottles of oils and creams and balms with inquisitive attention.

"I like when Damien lets me take care of him a little bit," she croons, and Damien makes a small, warbling noise of protest, looking up at her with pleading eyes. She meets his gaze with a grin, though, utterly unfazed. "It means he's not overexerting himself. Plus, he just deserves to feel pampered now and then, don't you think?"

She shoots her sharp eyes towards Arum, and the lizard looks vaguely startled for a moment before he glances towards Damien again, a light growl rumbling in his chest.

Damien swallows automatically as he locks eyes with Arum, and then the monster's expression softens, and he steps closer, his curiosity clearly getting the better of him.

"Of course he does," Arum agrees in a murmur, and then he tilts his head. "I should mention, however... what I am gathering, here, is that you lot can, in fact, take off your hair."

Rilla pauses as she sets the brush back into the cup of lather, and then she scowls at the monster while Damien blinks in confusion.

"Okay," she drawls, "technically, sure, in the same way that you can trim back your claws and have them grow back eventually, but it's still not the same as just taking off your damn cape and washing it when someone playfully gets antifungal spray on it-"

"I feel as if I may be missing some context," Damien murmurs, and Rilla rolls her eyes as Arum chuckles low.

"Not important," she says, waving a hand absently through the air before she settles beside Damien again and lifts the razor into her hands. She angles his jaw with her other hand, then presses her fingers beside his ear as she angles the blade, and a few feet away Arum makes a small, confused noise.

Damien blinks, and Rilla pauses to glance towards Arum as well. His eyes narrow at the attention, but his frill still flutters uncertainly by his neck as he watches the pair of them with clear confusion.

"Part of your grooming routine involves scraping a blade against your skin, now?" he asks, dubious, a flash of alarm in the violet of his eyes, and Damien feels affection thrum hot in his lungs as Rilla gives a gentle laugh at the lizard's expense.

"Very, very carefully," Rilla amends. "But... yeah? Pretty much. We could just trim it back, but Damien wants a proper shave, so."

"Hrm," the monster says, obviously unconvinced as his eyes narrow further.

"Do you wanna help out?" Rilla asks, drawing her hands and the razor back away from Damien's skin altogether, and Arum blinks, the dubiousness in his expression instantly replaced with a flustered sort of panic.

"Ah- well, I- certainly I should- should leave it in your hands, I think, Amaryllis, I don't-"

"It's not that hard," Rilla says, her tone casual and easy. "I know you're good with a blade."

His frill swoops, half-flaring out before it sinks to flutter by his neck, almost distracting from the way Arum's face twists into a wince. "Not in this particular context, Amaryllis," he says quickly. "I- I am not adept in using a blade to do anything except to draw blood, I-"

Rilla leans towards him, taking his wrist gently in her free hand and rubbing her thumb soothingly across the scales over his pulse. He makes a small noise at that, a gentle whirring at the back of his throat as the tension in his shoulders eases just a little, and then Rilla presses the handle of the razor into Arum's hand, her mouth curling into a smile. "C'mon. You'll be fine, I promise."

"Amaryllis-"

"It's alright," Damien says gently, his face feeling rather hot beneath the lather. "You- if you are uncomfortable, clearly you need not... you should not feel that we are forcing you. I would-"

"You are not forcing anything, honeysuckle, it is only-" Arum snaps his mouth shut, then glances down at the razor in his hand suspiciously, as if it might misbehave. "I don't... it is only that it seems... a rather large degree of... of..."

"Trust?" Rilla finishes after a moment, her tone surprisingly gentle, and Arum jerks his eyes up towards her, his expression going entirely still.

Damien's ribcage feels too small, his heart wreathed in heat as he recognizes the nervous tension curling the corners of Arum's mouth. Trust-

Of course it is rather a large choice, to press a blade into the hands of a monster, to close his eyes and bare his throat and simply trust.

It is as large a choice as a monster tossing his own blades aside into the mud, hoping that the human in front of him will choose to stay.

"Rilla can show you," Damien says, keeping his volume low so as to prevent his voice from shaking. "I have seen your clever fingers work, Lord Arum. I know that you are more than capable of the task, if you would be so kind as to offer your assistance."

He glances towards Rilla, and she flashes a warm sort of grin in agreement and nods quickly. "You can just watch, if you're really, actually not comfortable. I know I can be pushy, but Damien's right. I wouldn't want to-"

"If- if you think that I..." Arum trails off, then exhales a vague hiss. "If you- trust that I can. That I won't- won't..."

"I trust that I can teach you what to do," Rilla says with a shrug and a smirk, but her eyes are fond and warm as Arum gives her a look that Damien would describe as a pout.

"I trust you," Damien offers, smiling very slightly and lifting a hand to brush his fingers down the scales of Arum's forearm. "I know you'll be careful."

"I have cut you before, honeysuckle," Arum reminds, his voice soft enough that Damien cannot quite pluck out the feeling beneath the words.

Damien smiles, curling his fingers around Arum's wrist and drawing it closer. "Once," he says, his voice quite low. "Only once, and I know that you would never willingly do so again."

Arum's eyes flick between his own, vivid and soft, and then he exhales with a hesitant sort of smile, his chest rumbling with that low, inhuman purr that Damien is growing very quickly to adore.

"Ridiculous," Arum murmurs, unconvincing and fond, and then he sighs and raises his eyes towards Rilla again. "Very well. Show me, then."

Rilla grins again, something of the fox in the curve of it, and she guides Arum's hands to gently angle Damien's head.

She instructs him firmly and carefully, her hand curled around his own scaled one and guiding for the first few strokes, showing the lizard the proper way to hold the blade, the correct angle, the slow downward stroke, and Damien-

Both of their attention so keen upon him feels like too much altogether, the intensity of their eyes making his heart hammer fast in his chest, and after the first stroke of the razor he allows his eyes to slip closed. Rilla's fingers tilt his face gently where she needs, and then Arum's cooler, more delicate touch supplements her own intermittently.

Rilla guides Arum more directly to outline the shape of Damien's goatee, and then again when they tilt his head back to draw the razor down beneath his jaw, her low monologue of instruction both methodical and gentle. Arum, for his part, remains mostly silent with the exception of small noises of acknowledgment, accompanied beneath by his subtle rumbling purr as his uncertainty fades.

Damien blinks his eyes open when Rilla maneuvers him forward to rinse his face after the first pass, and then she shows Arum how to lather him for the second, meticulously explaining each step as they go.

Damien watches Arum's face this time, utterly enthralled by the depth of the focus readily apparent in his expression as he draws the blade so utterly careful against Damien's skin.

Arum only notices his gaze just as he is about to finish, and the monster exhales with a worried flick of the tongue before he glances towards Rilla, a silent inquiry that makes her smirk, and then she reaches to grip his wrist again to help him with the finishing touches.

Arum leans him forward this time to rinse his face ("Cold water for this one," Rilla chirps helpfully), and then Rilla gently pats the balm into his cheeks, leaning close enough to place a playful kiss on the tip of his nose, making both himself and Arum laugh in tandem.

Arum helps him to his feet, then, and he reaches up carefully, ghosting his hands over Damien's newly bare cheeks without quite touching him, his expression utterly focused, utterly enraptured.

"There you are, honeysuckle," Arum murmurs, and then he brushes his thumb gently down the stripe of hair left on Damien's chin. He repeats the motion with a subtle smile, and this time Damien kisses the pad of his thumb, and the monster exhales in surprise. "Ah-"

"Thank you for the assistance, Lord Arum," Damien whispers against Arum's scales, and the lizard flicks his tongue before he slips his hand further up, cupping Damien's cheek properly.

"Yeah, no kidding," Rilla says with a grin, clearly enjoying the way that Arum's frill flares with his embarrassment. "Thankyou."

Arum wrinkles his snout, but his expression softens again when Damien lifts a hand to cradle Arum's own against his cheek. "I... yes, I- I suppose it wasn't all that difficult, after all. With proper instruction."

"Told you," Rilla chimes, still smiling, and then she leans to press a tender sort of kiss to Damien's other cheek, humming lightly.

"And... you didn't mind, honeysuckle?"

"Mind?" Damien repeats, and Arum ducks his head, his frill fluttering again.

"Rather- it doesn't- it isn't a bother to have me- to have us-"

Damien laughs helplessly, utterly baffled that Arum might think he would find his and Rilla's assistance a bother, and then he pulls Arum's hand down, so he can cradle it in both of his own and press it over his heart instead.

"Oh," he says, trying to sound less breathless than he feels. "You- oh, Arum-"

Arum makes another flustered noise, glancing away with the folds of his frill flushing a darker purple. "Honeysuckle-"

"My only concern is how completely overwhelmed I feel to have the attention and hands of yourself and Rilla both so intently upon me, all while I cannot even speak my heart for fear of impeding your delicate care, my darling monster, oh-"

Rilla laughs fondly at his rambling, and Arum blinks for a moment before his frill settles again, his expression going pleased and embarrassed both.

"Well..." he says slowly, and then he presses his palm more firmly over Damien's heart. "That explains this racing, here, I suppose, if our attention... overwhelms you. I was concerned that you- that you- were afraid I would- cut you."

Rilla snorts incredulously as Damien exhales a pained noise, and then he leans forward, still holding Arum's hand to his chest as he presses his face into Arum's neck.

"Oh-" he feels his throat going tight, and he shakes his head lightly against Arum's scales to fight the feeling back. "Rilla is right, you are completely absurd, Arum- I-"

"We trust you, Arum." She folds her arms over her chest, giving Arum a fond, exasperated smile. "I thought that was pretty obvious by now? Saints but you're dense sometimes. I know you trust us, or we wouldn't be here in the Keep, so why wouldn't it be mutual?"

Arum growls, glaring at Rilla over Damien's head, and then he sighs, lowering his face so he may press his own cheek against Damien's, flicking his tongue out beside his ear before he murmurs. "Old habits, I suppose. It is... hard to believe my good fortune, at times, with the pair of you."

Damien tilts his head to the side, kissing Arum's jaw, and then his cheek when the lizard exhales a pleased little breath.

"Well," Rilla says warmly, "maybe you'll be used to it by the next time Damien needs help shaving, yeah?"

Arum raises his head again with a laugh, and Damien feels Rilla's hand drift down his back as she leans to kiss Arum over his shoulder.

Arum lifts his hands to Damien's face, then, tilting his chin up so he may grace Damien with a kiss as well, the thin scaled line of his mouth pressing against Damien's lips with delicate care before he meets Damien's eyes with an affectionate smile.

And with Arum's cool palms cupping his tender cheeks, with Rilla's warm hand on the small of his back, Damien knows with utter certainty that he has entrusted his heart to the most worthy care in the world.

End Notes: bless wikihow articles i have never shaved a face in my goddamn life, let alone with a straight razor

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #lord arum #pblease enjoy i actually kinda like this one aaaa

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staygoldsunshine · 5 years

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Alexander the Great

A Lumen Story: Part One

The forest is silent. The cicadas’ murmur is now hushed. The birds’ singing turns to sharp warning trills and then nothing. A collectively held breath hangs in the air as the three boys stalk through the green, dappled light.

They move with practiced steps through sweet honeysuckle that intoxicates the air, through brambles trodden down by something large, something dangerous. Following the beast’s trail, they motion to one another. A bird darts from one tree to the next. The thorns brush their clothes. They all seem to agree.

The beast is near.

After a few more minutes of navigating the dips and steep inclines, the roots and underbrush, one boy, scrawny and wiley with dirt on his face, holds up his hand to stop the others. They pause. They listen.

Labored breathing and dragging paws ruffle the top layer of decaying foliage. Honeysuckle sweetness is soured by the scent of rot. At that moment, Xander sees the behemoth. The size of a grizzly bear with razor sharp claws the color of fresh blood and briars sprouting from it’s blacker than black hide, its eyes glow an unearthly white. An emaciated doe is pinned to the ground between its front paws.

Sweat beads on Xander’s brow as he takes a deep breath, draws his sword, and charges the creature. The bubble of silence bursts. Birds scatter, and cicadas scream. The monster roars as its blood sprays the soft, green leaves, and it bolts. Xander’s voice cuts through the trees as he charges after it, “Don’t let it reach the town!” And like fireflies at sunset the other boys appear in flashes, cornering the beast within their circle. Their swords glittering in the partial light, their faces masked in dark delight, they dispatch the creature in a number of minutes.

Only one boy does not join the whooping and cheering when the monster is dead. In fact, he did not join in the kill at all. Xander spies him standing exactly where he was when he motioned to the others that he sensed the beast’s presence somewhere in the immense greenery.

Tristan McHale stands on his own, surveys the other boys, and then leaves.

Monsters lurk in the woods, this is the lesson that Alexander Smoak has learned since he was a child. Whispered bedtime stories from his mother, cloaked promises from his father, it all taught Alexander the same thing. Monsters lurk in the woods, and the knights go out to fight them. They eat together, train together, and hunt together, and while they act as a body, there can only be one head. In his father’s mind, Xander must be that head.

That means in training, Xander rehearses every move in his mind as he performs them. Parry the initial strike, knock his weapon aside, and force him onto the ground. It’s like riding a bike, nothing simpler. Of course, Xander knows that people are one thing. People are predictable, especially young guys aiming to prove themselves. Their dads were Knights, their older brothers, too. They just want a chance to be part of something bigger, to protect their hometown.

The Lumen, those monsters that stalk the woods, they don’t care about that, his father would tell him. They don’t care how long a Knight has trained or how hard. They don’t care about anything except tearing everything apart. So it’s simple, kid, Xander thinks in his father’s voice, always in his father’s voice. Kill the Lumen and don’t die.

“Xander is victorious. Step out of the ring, Lance.” Coach, a burly but somewhat deflated man in his fifties, doesn’t do positive affirmation. He gives Lance a tap on the head with a practice sword and comments on his poor balance then goes back to making notes on his clipboard. “Tristan, you’re up next.”

Gnats buzz in the humid summer air like TV static in Xander’s ear. He rolls his eyes and spins his practice sword in his hand. Tristan sucks, to put it kindly, and he’s easily one of the most annoying people that Xander has ever met. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Tristan has a personal vendetta against him. But he does know better. Truth is, Tristan McHale has a personal vendetta against the world.

The other boy steps into the ring of dirt packed down from the sneakers of every boy who’s fought here before. Tan, dark-haired, and barely five and a half feet tall, Tristan hunches forward with his sword raised. His clothes are dirty and worn, the same ones he hunted in this morning. The jean jacket he wears to school everyday has to be moth fodder by now, but he never takes it off, not even in training when most of the other boys are shirtless because of the oppressive heat. Xander has an easy five inches on him, built like an athlete with a few extra pounds from too much pizza with the guys. Still Tristan grins at Xander, his eyes full of confidence and fire. “Maybe today, eh Alexander?”

Parry the initial attack, knock his weapon aside, and force him onto the ground, his father’s voice is low and calculated. Xander was eight when he first heard these words. It’s like riding a bike. Oddly enough, his dad never taught him how to ride a bike.

Tristan’s back hits the dirt, and the thirty teenage boys vying for a decent spot around the ring all cheer. Tristan McHale grins as cocky and determined as ever. “Just wait, Smoak. I’ll win one of these days.”

“Get out of the ring, McHale!” Coach barks in the background, but Xander shakes his head.

“Get up and try again,” Xander demands. The sun is setting behind him, framing him in an orange glow and making Tristan squint up at him. He looks like Arthur holding Excalibur, all washed in golden light. “You’re not done.”

Tristan raises an eyebrow, and his grin widens in amusement. “I’ve never seen this rebellious streak in you, Xander. Coach said I’m out.”

Xander takes his position as the cicadas take up their song. “I said, get up and try again.”

Tristan gets up.

Parry the initial attack, knock his weapon aside, and force him onto the ground. His dad had started his training the week after the funeral. No more bedtime stories from then on.

Xander looks down at Tristan and spins his sword. “Get up and try again.”

“Hey, Xander, there’s other people here!” one of the guys calls to him from the edge of the ring. Everyone laughs except for Xander.

Tristan hits the dirt. Xander loosens his shoulders. “Get up and try again.”

Parry the initial attack, knock his weapon aside, and force him onto the ground. His dad wants him to be the best there is, so that’s what Xander will become. He’ll show this smug kid that he’s nothing special, no better than the rest of them.

“Get up!”

Tristan pants as sweat makes tracks in the dust on his face. “Why don’t you take a turn falling in the dirt, and see if you want to keep getting your butt handed to you?” He flops his arms out dramatically on the ground and sighs. “I’m done, man. Let’s call it a day and go get a burger.”

“McHale, get out of the ring, already!” Coach is eyeing Xander suspiciously, but he doesn’t want to say anything. No one wants to try to discipline the mayor’s kid.

Tristan huffs and pushes himself off of the ground. Xander lunges for him. He’s genuinely surprised when Tristan turns, dodges the initial attack, and blocks Xander’s next move. Tristan seems surprised, too. Everyone around the ring is suddenly silent as the two boys pant, glaring at each other.

Tristan raises an eyebrow at Xander. “Thought it was considered cowardice to hit a guy in the back. Don’t Knights care about chivalry anymore?”

“You don’t belong here,” Xander mutters so that no one else but Tristan will hear.

With that, the other boy’s confident smile finally falls. He doesn’t look hurt or even angry. He just looks exhausted, more so than Xander has ever seen someone look. “Why? Because of my mom, my dad, or just because I don’t like embarrassing other people for the sake of my own ego?”

“McHale! Smoak! Both of you get out of the ring, now!” Mayor’s kid or not, Coach won’t take much more of this, and the last thing Xander wants is for his father to hear about this.

Still burning with anger, he shoves Tristan back a step before stalking out of the ring. Tristan grins so that no one else ever sees what Xander saw. “Does that mean I win?”

Coach rolls his eyes and readjusts the old baseball cap covering his balding head. “Get out of there already.”

Some of the other boys try to make conversation. Everyone is always eager to get on Xander’s good side since he’s the most likely candidate to be their new leader come fall, but Xander doesn’t feel like talking anymore. Instead he watches Tristan leave the ring and walk from the sparse practice field into the trees that line it, same way he always does. The leaves rustle. A few fireflies are disturbed, and then he’s gone.

#tristan mchale #alexander smoak #lumen #alexander the great

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winterromanov · 6 years

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high voltage in her lips [bechloe fic, part 2/?]

read part one here | on ao3

Beca wakes up to two bright blue eyes staring right at her from the side of the bed.

“Dude!” she exclaims, pulling her duvet tight around her, “What the fuck?”

Chloe smiles like it’s a totally normal thing for her to be doing. To. You know. Just be watching her sleep. “Good morning, sunshine.”

Beca rubs her eyes and her hands are streaked with black from last night’s mascara. She can feel the hangover thrumming at the back of her brain, her mouth dry and tasting faintly of wine she doesn’t remember drinking. “How long have you been perving on me?”

“Not long,” Chloe chirps. It’s then that she realises that Chloe is completely put together, like they weren’t screaming on a dancefloor just a few hours previously, hyped up on Sambuca shots. Her hair is newly washed and blow-dried and her face is bare, yet somehow still flawless, freckles dusted across her cheekbones. She’s wearing a neat top-and-skirt combo. Beca’s still wearing her clothes from last night. “Your ass was drunker than mine so I put you up in the spare room.”

Beca properly looks around the room, finally realising she’s not in her own flat—it’s way too clean and ordered, with a floral colour scheme that’s been carefully designed rather than thrown on the walls last minute. The duvet smells like honeysuckle. God, it couldn’t be more Chloe Beale.

“Thanks. Sorry to, uh, put you out?”

“Not a problem,” Chloe grins. She stands from her position crouching by Beca’s bedside, rubbing her hands together. “I’ve left you a coffee and some aspirin. I’ve got a meeting in the city so I’ve got to head out, but feel free to use the shower and stuff before you go. The door locks on its own so don’t worry about leaving it open or anything.”

Damn, this bitch is organised. Beca stretches out and tries to put together memories from last night—it’s all pretty vague, glimpses of fire-red hair and intense music, Amy running over before they leave and telling her that some dude called Juan was taking her to the Bahamas for a bit so not to wait up for her—

Okay, so she’s going to have to handle that at some point, but that point doesn’t have to be now, right?

“I had a great night last night, by the way,” Chloe says, smiling, “You’re great fun. I haven’t let loose like that in a while.”

It would help if Beca could actually remember clearly what exactly happened last night, but the sentiment warms her anyway. She smiles back, genuinely, vaguely recalling how her heart thudded like it was about to break out her ribcage. “I had a great time too. As far as I’m aware I didn’t leave with a minor assault charge, so. A win?”

Chloe giggles. She does that a lot. Giggling. Beca’s never giggled. It doesn’t match her image. “Definitely a win. I’d like to do it again sometime.”

“Well, we’re going to be spending the next three months on tour together,” Beca says, still not quite believing it. “I’m sure I’ll be able to haul you off the rails at least once in that time period. If your manager doesn’t kill me first.”

“Aubrey doesn’t control everything about my life, as much as she’d like to. I make my own decisions.”

“Awesome,” Beca replies. Her eyes linger on the coffee Chloe’s thoughtfully left out for her and it stings, a little, because it reminds her of stupid Jesse and the stupidly Nice Things he used to do for her. And maybe Chloe is another Nice Person she doesn’t deserve in her life. It’s why she hasn’t fired Amy yet. She’s just as fucked up as Beca is.

“I’m going to head off,” Chloe says, making her way towards the bedroom door, “So I’ll see you later?”

“Sure.”

She flashes Beca one last smile before disappearing, and Beca’s touched that the girl seems to trust her enough to leave her alone in her apartment after meeting her once. It’s a naïve choice, perhaps, but sweet all the same. She reaches out and takes a swig of the rapidly cooling coffee and pops two of the aspirin then just sits, wrapped up in the duvet, everything silent other than the hum of the air conditioning.

Yeah, she’s still not sure how this whole tour thing will work, but she kind of wants it to work? And maybe that’s the point.

-x-

THE PRINCESS AND THE REBEL – CHLOE BEALE AND BECA MITCHELL SPOTTED IN DOWNTOWN LA

Los Angeles seems to be the hotbed of the billboard’s newest collaborations, a factory of number one hits and Grammy awards—but a sighting of two of music’s seemingly polar opposites has us here at Glitz dot com totally stumped. That’s right. Notorious bad girl Beca Mitchell (of Where Do You Go? fame) and pop’s hottest starlet Chloe Beale were papped together outside the Luna club last night, looking very comfortable in each other’s company indeed.

It’s true that there’s been a small fanbase on social media hoping that the pair would eventually collaborate, but it hardly felt like a realistic goal. After all, Mitchell’s just dodged another felony whilst Beale is climbing to the top of her game. Their interests don’t seem to overlap, but there’s definitely a friendship we’ve never heard about there.

Whether this club night is just two friends meeting up or the beginning of a potential collaboration, it has got us pretty excited. Mitchell’s sultry, no-nonsense sound mixing with Beale’s simultaneously romantic and empowering girl-power anthems will be a guaranteed eargasm which we’re TOTALLY here for. But—it begs the question whether these two artists will actually be good for each other. It’s no secret that Mitchell’s been a bit off the rails recently while Beale is pristine, role-model material; will Beca drag Chloe down or will Chloe bring Beca back up again? Only time will tell.

Keep up to date with everything Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale by following us on twitter: @glitzmag

ARTICLE BY DAISY FULLERTON

-x-

“Hey bitch! You’ve reached Fat Amy, only you haven’t reach Fat Amy, because I’m totally boning a really hot Spanish dude in the Bahamas right now while drinking a shit ton of Tequila Sunrises. Sooooo… Leave a message if you want, but I probably won’t get back to you for several days if it all. Adios!”

“For fuck’s sake, Amy, you are literally the worst manager ever and I’m firing you as soon as your ass is back in LA. Ok. So. There’s been some—articles, which I’m sure you’ve seen, because despite never answering my calls you’ve uploaded about sixty videos to your snapchat story of you on a speedboat, you monster. Anyway. I’m sick of the media painting me as some fucking criminal out-to-corrupt-your-children type when I’m really not, and yes I do have a tattoo I got when I was off my face on pot but that was years ago and really, that’s literally the only regrettable thing I’ve done that wasn’t a product of you. Please just tell someone, anyone, that I’m actually pretty rad and I’m probably not going to drag Chloe Beale’s impeccable reputation through the trash. As my manager that would literally be the bare minimum you could do for me right now. You’re an asshole. Ciao.”

-x-

queenbeale just uploaded a photo to Instagram

got to hang out with the amazing @becamitchell on Saturday!! can’t wait to tell you guys what we’ve got in store for y’all xx

chloebealer commented: oh my god???? OH MY GOD???

jaydababe34 commented: MY TWO FAVES ARE UNITED I’M SCREAMING

chloefan789 commented: not sure how this will work… I’m not a beca mitchell fan at all

becamitchell commented: I look so drunk in this photo and I hate you for uploading it :)

queenbeale commented: @becamitchell you look like a dream

madisonbealer commented: @queenbeale @becamitchell *whispers* GAYYYYYYY

-x-

It takes another two weeks of meetings and contracts and publicity before the tour dates are released to the public. They’re visiting thirty-two cities across North America in the space of two and a half months: it’s wild on a scale Beca’s never seen before. Yeah, she’s had three tours across the same area in the past, but the venues were smaller and not so extensive, and not all of the dates were sold out. The tickets for this tour sell out in a grand total of eleven minutes.

The tour also generates a tidal wave of interest across every single internet platform available. Her old songs are repeated alongside Chloe’s on the radio, her follower count on Instagram sky-rockets and their names are trending on Twitter. The last time Beca saw her name in that bar was when she was arrested for the coke incident (fuck you, Amy). And the support, surprisingly, is unreal. Like the unsavoury articles that emerged after she was papped outside Luna with Chloe earlier in the month, she’d expected people talking shit about her past, wondering if Beca’s razor sharp edges would rip Chloe to shreds—but there’s been an overwhelming amount of positivity, like the curiosity of what they could produce together overshadows what could potentially go wrong.

Her return to mainstream media ends up alerting people she thought she’d left in the past of her presence again, but she’s still surprised when Jesse ends up leaving her a voicemail on the Thursday after the announcement. It’s been five months of total radio silence between them. She’d kind of anticipated that it would be longer than that. After all, she did end a seven-year relationship on his fucking birthday, which she’d completely forgotten about.

Maybe she does owe him one.

Beca meets him for lunch in a small restaurant a twenty minute walk from her apartment—a neat, little kitschy place she doesn’t often visit, but they serve ciabatta and paninis and squashy cooked tomatoes still on the vine, and that’s the kind of thing Jesse loves. She gets there fifteen minutes early but of course he’s already there, sat on the long bench by the window and overlooking the street. She pretends she hasn’t seen him from the outside, even though he’d clocked her half a block away.

He still looks the same. Clean-shaven, dark hair cropped, clean t shirt and pants and sneakers like they’d never been worn before. He leaps off his stool nervously when the door shuts behind her.

Oh. Wow. She’s never known Jesse to be nervous before. He’s usually annoyingly confident. All through high school she’d hidden behind his infectious smile. At least the last two months have allowed her to just be her, even if that means she’s been stuck in a fucking prison cell once or twice. Or thrice.

“Becs,” he says breathlessly, taking her in. She half-smiles tightly. “Hey. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” Beca shrugs, pulling her bag strap tighter around her shoulder. She’s nervous too. “Not in prison, depressed or dying, so not all bad. You?”

Jesse relaxes and his mouth softens. She’s still the same old Beca. “Same. It’s…uh, it’s been a while.”

“It has.”

“I kept meaning to… well, call, I guess, but I didn’t know if you wanted me to. In the end I just bit the bullet.”

“It’s cool. We both needed space.” Beca drops her bag on the floor and jumps onto a barstool and he copies, their seats inches apart yet somehow miles away. It’s weird, considering how close they used to be. Used to be. “For the record… I kept meaning to call too. But I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.”

Jesse smiles, biting his lip, before looking back up at her. “I always want to hear from you. I think that was probably the issue.”

He’s not wrong, he’s really not, because Beca’s terrible at keeping up with messages and most of the time just didn’t bother replying, leaving his I love you’s on read and not giving it a second thought. She didn’t think that would hurt him for some reason, even though she’s well aware that Jesse’s actually a good, thoughtful person who cares about her and wouldn’t mind some of that care back. It was alright when they were in high school and when they regularly shared an apartment because she’d always be there in person to offer that reassurance. That wasn’t so easy when she was away on tour.

And it broke him. But it broke her a long time before that. Believe it or not, she’s not totally emotionally void.

Jesse grabs them both coffees and ham paninis and they sit in silence for a bit, looking out across the city; the one she’d forgotten they shared. He takes a deep breath before talking. “I saw you were going on tour. With Chloe Beale. That’s amazing, Beca.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty cool. The management is manic, but. I’m glad to be out there again.”

Jesse takes a sip of coffee. “Does that mean there’s going to be some new music out soon?”

Beca withholds an eye roll, because that’s been the question on everybody’s lips—Chloe’s on a high from a newly released number one album and she’s still utterly clueless, wondering if she can get away with singing mostly her old stuff on the tour. It begins in less than six months. That’s not enough time to write, produce and release at least ten songs worth of new material, especially seeing as the deterioration of her last relationship and moving out and all that stress hasn’t been particularly good for her creativity. “Probably not. Song-writing is apparently not my forte anymore.”

“Well, you never know. You might find some inspiration soon. I know you, Becs. You just pull amazing tracks out of thin air like it’s nothing.”

She raises an eyebrow sceptically. “As much as I appreciate you massaging my ego, that doesn’t really help me right now.”

“I’m not worried,” Jesse says calmly, “I once watched you write a whole album while high, remember?”

“Your Love Fucking Sucks Balls, Dude?” Beca says, and Jesse laughs, clinging onto the bar for support. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s going to be breaking the billboard top one hundred. Yet… stellar tracks like I Really Like Your Dick and Smash Me Good might be my only hope. Like, if I go another year without making music my label might drop me, even with the tour, so…” Beca doesn’t want this to turn into a pity party so she turns, resting her chin in her palm, back to Jesse. “What have you been up to? Anything exciting? Scored any Oscar-noms?”

Jesse laughs with an eyeroll, looking down into his coffee cup. “I wish. No, still doing ad work, but you never know. As soon as Pixar put an ad up for a composer on Craigslist, I’m there.” He pauses. Drums his fingers on the tabletop. Beca knows what’s coming. “Look, Becs—“

“No, Jesse.”

“No, no,” Jesse shakes his head, “No, this isn’t… I don’t want to get back together.”

Well, that’s a relief. She can feel her stomach shift back to its normal location. “Oh. Okay. Good.”

“This is more about… It is about me and you, but five months without you in my life has been hell, Beca. We were together for seven years. That doesn’t just fall away into nothing, even if the romance isn’t there anymore.” He coughs, clearly nervous. “I still love you. Of course I do. And I want you to be happy, like, more than anything in the world. And I know you’re not going to be happy with me, and that’s fine. But I’d still like to be part of your life.”

Oh. His sincerity stuns her, for a second, because maybe this is the kind of reaction she should’ve expected all along.

“We don’t have to talk every day. We don’t even have to talk regularly. I’d just like to be, you know—someone who is there for you. Your friend Jesse who just so happens to be your ex. We can grab dinner when our schedules don’t clash and watch movies and maybe text every so often. Or we don’t. Whatever. Just… I don’t want to lose you, Becs.”

She smiles, suddenly nostalgic for a time when everything was easy: when Jesse would pick her up from work in his beat-up Civic and he’d leave stupid romantic notes in her locker (which she definitely didn’t keep in a scrapbook under her bed, by the way) and they’d drink lukewarm cider and make out under the stars on the football field. It was all achingly simple back then.

But then she thinks of her life now, and how slowly and surely it’s coming back together, and how most of the time she doesn’t miss Jesse’s beat-up civic and his stupid romantic notes and the lukewarm cider, although she does kind of miss the making out and she does kind of miss him. He’s proposing a zero-commitment friendship, a no string attached deal, someone she can turn to and will always be there.

Like the tour, she’s not really in a position to turn it down.

“Sure,” she smiles, “But no movies. I’ve not got girlfriend status anymore, so you can’t force me to watch fucking Star Trek—“

“Star Wars, Beca, I’ve got no interest in Star Trek whatsoever.”

“Okay, weirdo, Star Wars. Whatever. But the point still stands. I’m under no obligation to sit through your ridiculous commentaries.”

“That’s cool,” Jesse nods, “I’m not saying it’s going to happen, but that’s cool. And anyway. I don’t actually want you to be my friend. I just want you to fill me in on every single detail about what Chloe Beale is actually like. Does she really own a poodle that’s naturally fluorescent pink?”

-x-

BECA MITCHELL SPOTTED WITH OLD FLAME AND EX LONG TERM BOYFRIEND JESSE SWANSON – IS ROMANCE BACK ON THE CARDS?

-x-

“Beca, I really don’t want to intrude, but I’ve seen those pics on twitter of you and your ex-boyfriend,” Chloe rubs her hands excitedly, “And are you, like, back together? Because that guy is a total cutie.”

Beca’s not actually seen Chloe beyond a professional capacity for over two weeks as their schedules are so hectic, but the girl texts like she’s running out of time and for some reason, she actually replies to her strings of emojis and exclamation marks? In addition, her lengthy paragraphs of information are usually incredibly intrusive, so it comes clear to Beca that Chloe doesn’t really have any boundaries or filter when it comes to asking the potentially difficult questions.

“Oh, no,” Beca answers straight up, her reflection staring back at her. She hisses in pain as the hairdresser burns her scalp with the curling iron, who then hastily apologises. “No, no, no. That’s definitely not a thing that’s happening.”

Beca’s sure that Chloe looks pleased, which sets off some weird emotions, but she somehow manages to fight the blush taking over her cheeks. “What happened there, if you don’t mind me asking? Your Wikipedia said you’d been together for, like, seven years. Which is a pretty long time.”

The shameless way Chloe admits she’s definitely stalked her ass online is actually kind of funny but Beca doesn’t laugh, because maybe then she’d be forced to admit that she’s done the same thing. The hairdresser—who is called Katie, or Kathy, or something, Beca’s not that good with names—wraps another one of her locks tight, like she’s going to pull it clean off her scalp. “It’s—really not exciting. We’d been together since high school. He went to UCLA while I tried to break onto the music scene and when I did we kind of just… drifted apart.”

(She was also an utter ass about it, but this is not something she’s going to admit while sober.)

“Oh. That’s sad.” Chloe smiles sympathetically. Her stylist has straightened her naturally wavy hair so it hangs in a scarlet red sheet, framing her cheekbones and eyes. She’s not even airbrushed or photoshopped within an inch of her life yet, goddamn, and she already looks fucking flawless. Totally unfair. “Drifting apart just comes with the territory, I guess. My last ex dumped because I didn’t have enough time for him. Which is fair. It’s not easy.”

Beca’s not sure if she feels totally comfortable going into it with an audience of stylists, especially with one who seems to hate her hair as much as Karen does. Chloe seems completely at ease, but she gives off this edge of being totally confident with herself—something Beca’s not blessed with, as much as she likes to pretend she doesn’t care.

“He also kept trying to persuade me to do a sex tape on several occasions,” Chloe unnecessarily elaborates, “And I kept telling him no, mostly because I was scared that if we did break up he’d try and sell it to TMZ or something. For the record, I’m not against sex tapes. I think they can be very fun and intimate representations of cinematography. But I’d only make one with someone I could trust inside-out and back-to-front, so to speak.”

Oh. Wow. Beca grits her teeth, but there’s a smile there. “That’s… good to know, dude.”

“I know! And I’ll have you know my sex life is far from vanilla. I have a very long list of kinks and some of them are pretty unconventional. Like, this one time, Mark made me try this thing with ginger—“

“And that’s enough!” Beca laughs awkwardly, mainly because the stylists are having a fucking field day and Beca doesn’t want it on record that she and Chloe were discussing figging while getting ready for a shoot.

“Oh,” Chloe says, looking briefly behind her before grimacing at Beca. She mouths I forgot we weren’t alone.

A few minutes later the lady who is coordinating the shoot calls them through to an office with a wall covered in white tarpaulin, the lights all the brighter for it. It’s a pretty low-key thing for Teen Vogue, but it’s the first shoot they’ve done together since the tour announcement, so Beca’s kind of bricking it. Chloe takes everything in her stride. She struts over to the tarpaulin and Beca quickly follows.

She thinks that the costume department might have gone a bit overkill on the rebel and the princess thing that’s been coined for them, because Beca’s dressed in a black mini-dress, leather jacket and doc martens, whilst Chloe is wearing a glittery pink off the shoulder number with white leggings, her feet in ballet pumps. Beca’s eyes are smudged with charcoal black whilst Chloe’s are pearlescent, and she looks every inch the twenty-first century pop princess. Beca’s not sure what she looks like.

The photographer is a young guy, maybe a bit older than she is, wearing a fake waistcoat attached to a t shirt and skinny jeans. He ushers them together, keeps saying to act natural, which in mainstream media terms means attempt to look sexy and maybe pout a bit.

The pictures actually turn out pretty good. Beca gets more element as the shoot drags on, sticking her tongue out for the camera and laughing and trying not to cringe as she tries the sexy hair-flick, smouldering the camera over her shoulder.

It’s the pictures of them together that turn out the best, though. There’s this beautiful shot of the pair of them caught off guard, Chloe’s hand slung over Beca’s shoulder as she laughs, hand over her chest. She looks fucking ecstastic, just to be there, they both do; like they’re ecstatic to be together. It’s almost typical that that one doesn’t make the cover (they go with one of them both straightfaced, stood side by side, like they’ve never met in their lives). The picture doesn’t even make the article. But later on someone from the magazine sends her the unedited rough-cuts, and she saves that one photo to her hard drive.

(Eight months, two weeks and three days later that photo is her desktop background.)

Two hours later and the magazine has all the photos they need so they’re allowed to leave and Beca can keep the leather jacket.

(“I like it on you,” Chloe says, smoothing the leather out with her fingers, “You look super edgy.” Aka, it’s a real turn-on.)

On their way out from the building, Chloe pauses in the middle of the street like she’s suddenly had the best fucking idea. “Hey—my apartment is about a five minute cab ride from here. Do you want to head over there if you haven’t got plans? There’s something I’m desperate to try.”

Beca’s way too intrigued to possibly say no to that.

#pitch perfect #pitch perfect fic #fanfic #fanfiction #bechloe #bechloe fic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #beca x chloe

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tophat-black · 7 years

Text

Blood on our Hands (cut)

The story of how Black Hat and Haylee met.

The uncut version

Bloody honeysuckle, blood, gore, suggestive, implied sex

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

The night was calm, the breeze soothing and comforting to the people in this familiar town, one would say it was home. Owls hooted, and people walked down pavements. Stray cats and dogs littered alleyways and laughs and chatter were heard in restaurants and outside coffee shops. Hummingbirds danced together as they flew over gardens, flying around honeysuckle and tulips. Yes, one would say this town would be a home for many, and soon....

It won't be.

Suddenly, an ear piercing shriek echoed from building to building, but it was cut short by a wet gurgling sound, followed by a splatter. A long, dark shadow stretched beyond the building, signalling the approach of whatever had just caused such a noise, the audible click of the shoes a dead giveaway. A man rounded the corner, his suit black with red trim, a matching tophat atop his head, tilted low to where only a vicious razor-toothed smile could be seen. His hand, torn through the glove, was elongated and tipped with unnaturally long claws dripping with fresh blood. The citizens nearby stared, wide-eyed and frozen in shock and fear. The man lifted his crimson hand in front of his face, a long, snakeline tongue slithering out to sample the liquid. He spoke, his voice low and gravelly, and despite how soft he spoke, everyone knew exactly what he said. "Run..." The chorus of screams that met him was only matched by the stampede of shoes down the concrete. He laughed with maniacal glee as he strode after them, seemingly in no hurry. He was here to enjoy himself.

As soon as the screams were heard, a woman gasped as she peaked out from her alleyway, a man heard gurgling and screaming right by her. "Ghkk- please- HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME--" He soon fell silent, aside from one last scream as this woman's hand dug into his chest, a disgusting wet sound was heard as she snatched the beating muscle from his chest. It was still beating for only a few seconds before it slowed to a halt. She soon stepped out with no issue, holding the heart as it was just a toy. She looked at the many people screaming and running. One went to her and asked for her help, but she chuckled and grabbed the stranger, slitting her delicate throat before allowing her to fall. To hear more screams from the city was pleasing, unlike her drug working field. You always have to keep your mouth shut. This woman looked for the source of the town's panic, only to see another creature in front of her. She stood with the heart in her hand, holding it up to show him she was there for the fun. Not just for business.

The man paused upon spotting her, noting how tall she seemed. Oh, right, and the heart in her hand. That too. "I see I'm not the only one having fun tonight." He smirked, flicking a few droplets of blood from his fingers. "Be sure to save some for me." He chuckled.

Haylee chuckled before stepping forward towards him. Her eye was so sadistic, yet so sweet and calming to the stranger she now has the pleasure of meeting. She set the heart in his hand before chuckling. "Of course, sir," She chuckled before grabbing a handgun from her boot, aiming at one man before shooting, then again.. and again. One after another, people were dying. Ugh, this got boring. She tossed the gun aside before sprinting, holding out a larger blade before taking a hard swing at a man, his head almost completely chopped off, only dangling by a small patch of skin and muscle. She laughed with glee and pleasure as she continued killing the innocents, blood splattering on her face and exposed chest. This was.. thrilling.

The man offered a simply twisted grin at the display. And, if he were honest, it was more than just a little exciting. "Don't have all the fun without me." He called, strolling along, slashing at anyone foolish enough to get too close. He even grabbed someone by the head, jaw opening wide enough to snap shut around it, effectively biting his head off.

When he pulled back, a fountain of blood spurt from the open neck, the being not seeming to mind as his nice suit was spattered with more blood.

"Aahh, it's good to have a day off once in awhile. Can't coop myself up all the time. After all, "all work and no play makes me a dull boy"." He approached the woman again, catching her arm as she swung back, but not roughly. He took the moment to tip his hat, revealing a matching bowler hat underneath. "They call me Black-Hat. And you are...?"

Haylee gasped as her arm was under the grasp of the man. She turned to look at him, a smirk on her lips, pulling him in before staring at him directly in the eye. "I am Haylee," she purred, "civilians call me The Killer Mama," She soon pulled back, finishing off one victim before gazing at him once more. She wore a corset, a leather jacket over it, along with shorts and leather boots. Now, this cute little outfit was drenched in the blood of the innocent.

The man almost seemed to purr when her gaze returned to him after her kill. "I must say, you're rather skilled with that weapon of yours...I've got a few toys of my own~" Suddenly, a barrage of weapons of varying size and lethality sprung from his back on flesh-like appendages, revealing to her the wide arsenal he possessed of his own body. "See anything you like?"

Haylee smirked at him before looking around. "How about the machete~?" She asked as she moved one arm around his shoulders.

The appendage lowered, a hand forming between the handle and the flesh, palm opening as he offered it to her. "Go nuts~"

Haylee looked at him for a moment, snatching the machete before leaning down to kiss his cheek. "Let's go have some fun," she purred at him before moving her finger along his jawline. She soon pulled away as she jogged off towards the people running, her slices sharp and neat, leaving some of the people sliced in half. She looked back at him before catching her bottom lip between her teeth. She loved this. She was quite sure he loved it too.

Black-Hat felt his black heart skip a beat as he watched her slice Humans in twain like hot butter. Admittedly, the kiss had caught him off-guard, but he pressed onward, only half aware he was biting his own lip. Where was she going? He didn't know, and frankly- He didn't care.

Haylee laughed as she stepped over the bodies, her feet pressing against the organs that littered the ground. There were not many left here now, so she waved him over. "Come handle the rest, darling~" she called before waving her machete, "or I'll do it for you~" She looked back as the people hid in alleyways and in now-empty buildings. She slowly moved over the bodies, her hips swaying slowly as she took each graceful step. She hummed low, the blade of the machete grinding against the stone street.

Black-Hat strode over, arm stretching into an enormous blade as he swiped across the people that were left. He cut them cleanly in half, fountains of blood spurting out of each half as they flailed and screamed. He wiped his finger along the blade, then offered it to the large one-eyed woman.

Haylee chuckled at him before leaning forward, her tongue grazing over the blood on his finger, before she licked the blood away, pulling away with a smirk before leaning in, her lips ghosting over his. She felt the blood on her body drip and run down her torso, moving one of her killer's hands towards her low-riding corset and partially exposed chest. How lovely.

The eldritch could feel his blood pumping faster, rushing to two places in particular. He growled, a shiver running up his spine, but he suppressed it.

"Feeling brave, are we? Not everyone is so bold as to try that with an eldritch horror..."

Haylee smirked at him before moving one hand lower at a very agonizing pace. "You think I, a killer cyclops, would care," She asked, slowly moving her lips closer, almost kissing the poor man. She chuckled as she continued to hear screams of pain and agony behind them. Oh, that was music to her ears.

"Mmm..." He rumbled, the noise rumbling low in his throat. "You should..." His teeth were large and sharp as he grinned, the image reminiscent of a giant piranha, and a million times more deadly. He barely even registered the world around him, too focused on what was happening between them. Suddenly, he grappled her closer, twisting his body around to dip her backwards, that grin ever present on his ashen face. "I really think you should~" He purred, leaning close, lips centimeters from hers. And then the ground rushed up to meet her back. He chuckled.

Haylee grunted as she hit the ground, before looking up at him. She laughed before getting up, dusting herself off. She smirked at him before looking at the wreck they caused, hearing some groans of weakened men and women.

"Oh, you tease," She laughed before nudging him softly, "You know.. I think we'll get along just fine, my bloody honeysuckle. I had lots of fun tonight." Soon, she turned towards him, "Maybe we could have more fun later."

Oh he certainly liked someone as murderously rambunctious as this. Plus she knew how to take a joke. However, the nickname gave him pause for thought. "Bloody...what?" He shook his head. "It was fun for me as well. And I certainly think we should do this again sometime." He offered a wink, though it looked like more of a blink, given his left eye was covered by a monocle.

Haylee smiled at him before she fixed her jacket, mostly the collar and then fixing her very messed up hair that was now stained with red blotches of blood. She grabbed him by his waist, kissing his cheek quickly. "We can get to know each other for a little while tonight. Your place or mine~?"

The villain chuckled, biting his lip once again. "I must say, I'm quite curious to see what sort of place you live in. Is it far from here?"

Haylee shook her head. "No, not far at all." She took his hand before walking away from the horrific scene of dead bodies and burning buildings. The house she lived at looked.. beautiful. It was a giant house as well. She grabbed her key before she looked back at him with a hum, "Just for me, make sure you stay quiet." Slowly, the door creaked open, and the house was silent. Good, the kids were asleep. Right at bedtime, too. She shut the door behind them both before setting her keys aside, then her jacket. Now, even for how dark it was, the corset was now in full view, and damn, wasn't it gorgeous. A maroon red and a violet red lace to tighten. She also had a tattoo on her upper back. It said "Mommy" with one heart on each side of the lovely word.

Black-Hat raised a long brow as he followed her inside, glancing at her corset with interest before returning his gaze higher. "Why would I need to be quiet?" Despite his question, he kept his voice low. Did she, perhaps, have some sort of vicious pet that would attack? The sentiment would have been for nothing, then, considering his healing factor.

Haylee was about to answer before a little cyclops child came out, holding a human heart plush. He rubbed his eye before looking up. "Mama..? I want a glass of water," He whined softly and tiredly, letting out a soft yawn. This was only one of them. Haylee looked back at Black Hat before gesturing to her child. "That's why."

Black-Hat's eyes widened. He took a step back, not having expected that. He'd never really had much taste for children...unless raw or roasted. Sometimes alive, but he wasn't picky. "I...see.....Are there...more?" He glanced over at her, brow raising again.

Haylee walked to the kitchen and fetched his child a small cup of water, giving it to the little boy. "Go back to bed, sweetheart," She whispered to him before kissing his cheek. The child nodded before walking back to his room he shared with his siblings. As Black Hat asked if there was more, she looked back, nodding. "Yes. In fact, there are thirteen more. They're heavy sleepers, unlike this one. He's the only light sleeper in this household."

If Black-Hat could have paled, he would have. "You have...fourteen children? How do you...take care of them all? Handle the screaming and crying and...everything else that comes in the package?" And he thought having one was bad enough...

Haylee smiled. "My oldest helps me out while I do my work," She replied with a hum, "And besides, even as babies, they don't complain about much." Soon, she held her hand out to him, a smirk on her lips. "Now come on, let's go to my bedroom."

He was about to respond to the "eldest" comment, but he seemed to perk at the offer of going to the bedroom. "The bedroom, already? My, you move fast~" He snickered, snaking his hand into hers and letting her lead the way.

------------------------------------------------Later---------------------------------------------------

The two lay sprawled on the bed, sheets twisted around them as they panted for air, sweat glistening on their bodies.

“Fuck...” The eldritch wheezed, trying to get his black heart to slow down.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, the eldritch groaning.

Haylee looked at Black Hat before slowly sitting up, legs trembling. "Yes?" "Mama... are you okay? I heard you screaming," Asked a toddler. The same one from before.

Black-Hat dragged his hand down his face, trying not to rip it off in the process with frustration. He hated kids. They were just...bundles of excess energy and breeding grounds for germs and disease. Not to mention how annoying and loud they were. At least when he was loud, it was for a reason....usually.

Haylee called back in return. "Yes, honey! I'm fine, go back to sleep." The child looked at the door and nodded. "I love you, Mama," He said before walking back to his room. Haylee leaned back with Black hat, holding him close. Silence filled the room. She looked down at him before nuzzling him.

The eldritch froze, thoughts halting as he attempted to process what was happening. "W...What...are you...doing?" He could feel her face brushing against him, and there was a part of him that actually...enjoyed it...but the rest of him was confused and uncertain.

Haylee looked at him before chuckling. She kissed his cheek before pulling him in. Cuddle times for the bloody villains.

He sat there a good twenty seconds trying to think, but came up with nothing. Eventually, he slowly raised his arms, movements hesitant, but soon his hands rested on her back. He felt heat rising to his face, darkening his cheekbones, but he ignored it. She couldn't see it from that angle anyway.

Soon, morning came, and the kids were chattering in the room. Haylee woke up by Black Hat, rubbing her eye as she groaned. She soon saw blood was all over her sheets, and she was almost naked. The woman realized, but chuckled as she knew she had no regrets. She grabbed her robe, looking at herself in mirror. Show off your cleavage. Mess with him. As she stepped out, she whistled loud enough for everyone to hear. "Breakfast," she called before walking down the steps. The kids soon came out of the room, moving towards the dining room.

Black-Hat, however, had remained asleep, limbs slightly sprawled and tangled in the blankets. He groaned at the whistle, slowly blinking awake and rubbing his head. Ugh...what happened? He felt...oddly more rested than usual, and in a bit of a better mood than usual. Because that was sure to last long. He made his way out of the room, double-checking that his fly was zipped and shifting his form so his suit looked as if it had just been washed, if still a little scraggly from sleeping in it. His tie was undone as well, though he didn't bother fixing it just yet. It was as he came down the steps the full realization of how many kids she had hit him. "Shit..." He mumbled.

One of the kids saw him, waving with his plushie in hand. "Hihi!" the child beamed. The doll he was holding was a little devil plushie. Another kid just looked at him, saluting to him. Others just ignored him. Haylee looked over at Black Hat with a hum before moving over to him. "Hey," She hummed to him, kissing his cheek. Some of the kids went "ewww", while some ignored it. Some kids already had their breakfast, just cereal and milk, while she was cooking for the others.

Black-Hat couldn't help the warmth that prodded his black little heart at the kiss. It was...nice. He looked over at the kids attempting to greet him, attempting not to look as disgusted as he felt. He really hated kids... He moved over closer to Haylee, much preferring her company to theirs. He looped his arms around her waist, smirking. He knew full well she was cooking, but couldn't help teasing a bit.

Haylee chuckled low, putting some scrambled eggs on a plate before setting two pieces of toast on the side. She set the plate aside, one child quick to snatch it to eat it.

The room was loud for the kids, but that was enough cover to have Haylee turn around and kiss Black Hat, an arm wrapping around him.

He growled lowly, biting her lip in response. He didn't like all the noise, but he supposed at least he wasn't the one having to live with it. When they parted, she could feel his fingers quickly goose her bottom before he let go, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Oh, fuck you," She growled at him playfully before making some more food.

As soon as a bus came, the kids with the cereal bowls grabbed their backpacks and went off. It was about 10 of the kids. "Bye, guys! I love y'all!" She shut the door behind them as they left, looking at the older kids. Two didn't have school anymore. "So.." One kid said before gazing over at Black Hat, who now had a plate in front of him. Steak and eggs.

The eldritch, glanced up at the kid, a long brow quirked. He hadn't expected any of the children to really address him as they ate. Perhaps because he was used to life at the manor. He waited quietly for a response, chewing his food as he did so.

"How did my mom feel?" The kid asked as he continued eating his own egg sandwich. Haylee paled, but one kid just snickered, looking away as he laughed.

Black-Hat was quiet for a moment. He swallowed his food before speaking, his tone gravelly, but attempting not to be threatening. At least not in front of Haylee... "About what?"

"I knew what you two were doing. My mom was screaming, and I could hear pounding on the wall while I was fuckin' downstairs. How did my mom feel?" "Kevin," Haylee hissed before one of the other kids fell out of his chair, laughing and wheezing.

Black-Hat let another moment of silence pass, then spoke again. "I think, with those observations in mind, you've answered your own question." And with that, he continued eating casually as if nothing had happened.

Kevin paled before his brother continued laughing. "OH MY GOD," He wheezed. Soon, Haylee smiled at Black Hat, shrugging.

A few minutes later, they were off to do their own jobs. Haylee moved into the dining room, sitting by him and smirking. "Sorry about my kids. They get a little invasive."

Black-Hat shook his head. "Don't' worry about it. I've been around long enough to know how to handle nosey parkers." His arm snaked around her waist, gripping her hip. "However...I must admit...in all my years...I've never seen a body quite like yours~"

Haylee chuckled at him before nuzzling him. "You flatter me, love," She hummed before she looked down at him, kissing him softly. "Now, hurry up and eat. I have a long day ahead of me, and I'd like for you to join me."

Black-Hat was a bit disappointed she didn't seem to want to roll in the sheets again, but didn't mention it. He did as she asked, sitting back in the chair and finishing off his food. "Mm, join you with what?"

"I have some business to do. Being in the drug business is hard. But hey, it's to help my kids," She said before she got up. She stopped before showing off her breasts. "Wanna have a quickie before we go, darling?"

Black-Hat's eyes widened before he practically leaped on her, pinning her to the table and nibbling at her neck. He was already becoming excited, thankful the blasted kids were finally gone. Now he could spend some more time alone with Haylee, and no restriction of sound!

Haylee chuckled at him.

Soon, hours passed. That was not a quickie, but Haylee was hurrying to get her clothes on. She moved to her bedroom, hopping into her closet to find a button-up shirt. She found one soon enough, buttoning it, but struggling, since her bust was large for it. She soon relaxed, looking in the mirror. She looked good. She looked at her short skirt. Yep. This was good enough. The lady walked out, moving her arms back. "Nn--" Pop goes a button, showing off her violet bra underneath. Shit.

Despite the fact he'd just been satisfied multiple times, he couldn't help but stare. He glanced back up at her with a quirked brow. "I take it either that shirt is getting smaller...or you're getting bigger~" He smirked.

"Oh, hush," She said before unbuttoning the button above the one that popped off, "I don't have time to put on another shirt, so we gotta go."

Black-hat chuckled, following her out to...wherever it was they were going. This should be interesting, but he'd try and stay out of the way.

#bloody honeysuckle #blood on our hands #implied sex #blood #gore #suggestive #haylee

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dsfrsafrqewrq · 6 years

Text

testy test test

so let’s see what happens when i write a very long post

and then put a cut in it

Exiting the plane was like stepping into a snowglobe that had just been shaken. The airport was crowded with people, milling around ticket counters or standing in lines or striding purposely in search of their gate, their speech rising up into one indecipherable wall of noise. Layered over that were the tinny, repetitive loudspeaker messages – arrivals and departures, delays, the looping robotic warnings to be aware of suspicious activity.

Elise winnowed her way through the mass of people, thankful for having had the foresight not to bring anything that couldn't be carried on. Already the bustle and noise was too much. She kept her head down, and focused on finding the door, and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally did.

Outside wasn't much better. People and cars thronged the long curving front of the terminal, and after the stale, cool air of the plane, the wet summer heat hit her like a wall. Still, being able to stand under the wide blue sky made it feel less claustrophobic. She dug her phone out of her pocket and shot off a quick message to her mother, letting her know where to find her, then went in search of an empty stretch of wall to lean against while waiting.

Luckily, she didn't have to wait long. A few short minutes later her father's car came rolling to a stop just in front of her. The passenger side window slid down, revealing the empty front seat and her mother at the wheel.

Elise pushed off the wall and trotted briskly over. She shrugged her bag off her back and tossed it into the floor, then folded herself into the seat. Her mother leaned over for a quick one-armed hug; Elise returned it, then slumped back in her seat, reveling in the cool air blowing against her overheated skin.

“You cut your hair,” her mother said after a time, in that tone that suggested she wasn't sure how to feel about it but was trying not to hurt anyone's feelings.

Elise raised a hand and touched the close-shaven lower half of her head. Cut was a bit of an understatement, perhaps. Rubbing her fingers over the stubble brought back the taste of the tequila that had made her think it was a good idea, the rumble of [DF]'s electric razor so close to her ears. “Yeah. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing.”

“Well, it suits you. Though I'm not sure your father is going to like it.”

There was a surprise. Elise bit back that response for the sake of keeping the peace and just shrugged. “He'll get over it.”

They chatted a while longer. Her mother asked about her classes – going well; her classmates – nice, and yes, she'd made a couple of friends; her roommate – tolerable; her aunt – doing well; the weather – warmer than she was used to, but in an enjoyable way. When that conversation finally petered out, they rode in silence, broken only by the smooth hum of the tires over the highway asphalt and the air conditioning gamely chugging along.

Elise reached for the radio, poking at the preset stations until she found one playing the sort of suitably inoffensive dad rock her father's had listeneding to for as long as she could remember. With the way the car smelled – exactly the same as it had her whole life – and the familiar scenery flashing by outside the window, it made her feel a little like she was ten years old again.

“So,” she asked finally, trying to sound casual, “how's... everyone doing?”

Her mother was quiet for a time, patting at the wheel absently along with the song. Then she sighed and reached up to smooth her hair back behind her ear. “Alright, I think. Edrik just got back from the hospital a couple of days ago. He's been... quiet. No one's talking about it, of course.” Elise could practically hear her eyes rolling. “I don't think they really know how to, you know, so everyone's just pretending they weren't worried sick or anything.”

“Were they?” Elise asked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. As hard as it was to imagine her father or uncle Felix being worried about anything, there was no way they hadn't been, not when their brother had come so close to dying. How close, exactly, she wasn't sure, but from the way her mother had sounded over the phone when she'd called about it, it must've been bad.

“Well, of course! Your father and I were up there visiting almost every day, and I don't think Felix left at all until they moved him out of the regular hospital.” A pause, and then, quietly and with forced nonchalance, “He was the one who found him, you know.”

Elise shot her a startled look. “Who, Felix? Really?”

“Felix, really.” Her mother gave a dry laugh. “He's been complaining about having to get the blood cleaned out of his car all week.”

“Wow.” It was like he was in the car with them, she could picture it so clearly: the exasperated lift of his eyebrows, the ironic curl of his mouth, the tone of world-weary victimization. That was much more in line with the reaction she'd expect from him, rather than the worried hovering her mother spoke of. “That must have been just real hard on him.”

“Mmhm. Poor man.”

Silence fell between them again. Elise shifted in her seat, looking alternately out the window and then over towards her mother. Finally, tentatively, unsure if she would get a straight answer or if she even wanted one, she asked, “So, uh, how bad is it, exactly? Like, how much blood are we talking here?”

Grimacing briefly, her mother took a hand off the wheel to make a noncommittal seesawing motion. “A decent amount. I wasn't there, but, well - he's got some stitches. You'll see soon enough.”

She supposed she would.

---

The city rose up out of the horizon in stages. The belt of hotels, diners, and truck stops that ringed the airport gave way to an industrial sprawl full of towering smokestacks and worn brick factories with windows like mouthfuls of missing teeth. Railway tracks cut through the crowded buildings in long straight lines. Elise passed the time trying to puzzle out the advertisements painted across the sides of the abandoned buildings, layered over each other for years and faded almost to obscurity by long exposure to sun and weather.

Then, abruptly, they hit downtown. Traffic slowed as they worked their way through an endless maze of construction detours, hemmed in by the high and brightly reflective office buildings. Tightly parked cars lined both sides of the narrow streets, while the sidewalks were choked with foot traffic. Elise didn't quite breathe easily again until they were back out on the highway and heading towards the rolling spread of suburbia.

They drove past even that, off the main arteries of the city and onto one of the smaller veins which wound its way up through the woods along the river bluff. It was wilder out there, with trees leaning out right over the road. They formed a tunnel overhead, so the car drove through shifting green shadows. It was even closer than the buildings downtown, but not nearly so claustrophobic.

As they bumped their way up the winding gravel driveway to the house, something that Elise hadn't even realized was twisted up unknotted itself in her chest. Up ahead the silhouette of the house rose dark and narrow at the edge of the bluff, as familiar to Elise as her own bones.

When she got out of the car, she took a deep breath. The hot air was heavy with the wet and muddy smell of the river, the sweet green smell of the wild grass, a heady burst of honeysuckle – it filled her and she felt, for the first time in nearly a year, at home. It was not that she loved this place, although she did. It was simply that she had been grown from it.

The house felt at once smaller and emptier than it had before she'd left. She walked slowly up the long front hallway, footsteps ringing off the marble floor. Just inside the living room entryway she stopped, and looked left. The lights in the den were off, but she could see the couch at the bottom of the stairs well enough to tell that Edrik was asleep on it. Another tension she hadn't known she was carrying eased away at seeing him, alive and alright and at home.

All she could see was his back, the sharp rise of his shoulder under the blanket and the thick fall of his curling red hair. It was enough. That, too, was familiar to her.

He'd slept on that very same couch, rather than in his own room, every night for near as far back as she could remember. The fact that it was going on six pm was unusual, though. She couldn't remember her father ever letting him stay asleep in the public space like that much later than he himself woke up.

He really must have been worried. She lingered at the top of the stairs, wondering if she should go say something, and then decided to let him sleep. There would be plenty of opportunities for catching up later.

So She hauled herself up the main staircase. A hush always hung over the second floor, with its dark wallpaper and dark carpet that drank up all sounds. The air was somehow more still up there, flatter. The air inside her room was stale as well, in the way a room got when it hadn't been opened in a long time.

Elise shrugged her backpack off, letting it drop to the floor with a thump. She sat heavily on her neatly made bed, then flopped backwards, angling herself to fall sideways across the mattress. Laying down was a mistake. Her bed drew her deep into its pillowy grasp, urging her to fall asleep. She didn't put up much of a fight. Everything she'd brought was in the backpack, so there wasn't any need to unpack, and there wasn't any chance she'd be allowed to miss dinner. She gave in, toed her shoes off, and wiggled her way into a more suitable sleeping position.

#taggity tag tag

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thecoziestbean · 2 months

Text

Cowgirl up! The last chapter is here!

sharp as a razor, sweet as honeysuckle

ch. 6: call me back to you

haladriel rodeo au | E | 11.9k | 6/6

Read on ao3

#sharp as a razor sweet as honeysuckle #haladriel #saurondriel #otp: bind yourself to me #galadriel x halbrand #galadriel x sauron #haladriel fanfic #cozy writes

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thecoziestbean · 3 months

Text

💕Happy Valentine’s Day!💘

sharp as a razor, sweet as honeysuckle

ch. 1: the first taste is free

haladriel rodeo au | E | 1.2k | 1/5

Read on ao3

They’ve been doing this two-step longer than she can remember. Galadriel swings by the bar whenever she’s in town, every few months or so. She’s not exactly sure she’d call him a friend, even though she’s known him half her life. They’re friendly certainly. Flirtatious often times. But Hal’s never taken the bait.

Or: The fic where Galadriel's a professional barrel racer on the rodeo circuit, Hal's a washed up bull rider running a honky tonk, and they're both idiots in love. 🤠

#sharp as a razor sweet as honeysuckle #rodeo au #haladriel #saurondriel #otp: bind yourself to me #galadriel x halbrand #galadriel x sauron #haladriel fanfic #trop fanfiction #cozy writes

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thecoziestbean · 2 months

Text

Nobody cries in their beer, but they come darn close…

sharp as a razor, sweet as honeysuckle

ch. 5: holding on can be so frightening

haladriel rodeo au | E | 7.4k | 5/6

Read on ao3

#sharp as a razor sweet as honeysuckle #haladriel #saurondriel #otp: bind yourself to me #galadriel x halbrand #galadriel x sauron #haladriel fanfic #trop fanfiction #cozy writes

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thecoziestbean · 2 months

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Time for a little do-si-do! 🤠💃🏼

sharp as a razor, sweet as honeysuckle

ch. 4: don’t say you’re over me

haladriel rodeo au | E | 6.2k | 4/6

Read on ao3

#sharp as a razor sweet as honeysuckle #haladriel #saurondriel #otp: bind yourself to me #galadriel x halbrand #galadriel x sauron #haladriel fanfic #trop fanfiction #cozy writes

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thecoziestbean · 2 months

Text

You know that thing where you drink too much and say the inside thought out loud? 🤠🥃

sharp as a razor, sweet as honeysuckle

ch. 3: pour me one last drink

haladriel rodeo au | E | 5k | 3/5

Read on ao3

#sharp as a razor sweet as honeysuckle #haladriel #saurondriel #otp: bind yourself to me #galadriel x halbrand #galadriel x sauron #haladriel fanfic #trop fanfiction #cozy writes

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thecoziestbean · 2 months

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🤠Howdy Howdy Howdy! Let's Get a Little Rowdy!🌪

sharp as a razor, sweet as honeysuckle

ch. 2: this tornado loves you

haladriel rodeo au | E | 3.2k | 2/5

Read on ao3

He’d been watching her from behind the counter, lids heavy from exhaustion and a few too many beers. Transfixed by the lush, heart-shaped curve of her ass as she leaned over the jukebox perusing the song selections, gently swaying her hips in time with the music. From his post behind the bar, Halbrand watched the entire incident unfold. And did nothing about it. At first.

Or: The fic where Galadriel's a professional barrel racer on the rodeo circuit, Hal's a washed up bull rider running a honky tonk, and they're both idiots in love. 🤠

#sharp as a razor sweet as honeysuckle #rodeo au #haladriel #saurondriel #otp: bind yourself to me #galadriel x halbrand #galadriel x sauron #haladriel fanfic #trop fanfiction #cozy writes

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thecoziestbean · 4 months

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FANFIC ROUNDUP 2023

LIST OF FANWORKS

POSTED

The Venus of Valinor | Haladriel art heist au | E | 9/13 (wip)

Missed Connections | Haladriel ficlet | G | 2/2

meet me at the edge | Haladriel prairie gothic au | E | 4/? (wip) | dead dove

My Way or the Highway | Haladriel road trip au | E | one-shot

Hellbrand & Ghouladriel Week Drabbles | T | 8/8

Looking Glass | Haladriel horror au | E | one-shot | dead dove

Haladriel Winter Solstice Ficlets & Drabbles | M | 5/5

Yuletide fic to be revealed Jan 1!

For a total of 102,060 words. I'm blown away by this. I hadn't written for fun (outside of notes for d&d games) in over a decade before this past year. Haladriel truly has done wonders for my creativity.

UNPOSTED WIPS

run through the forest (settle before the sun) | BG3 Halsin x Reader dark fairy tale au | E | one-shot (??? - this keeps threatening to turn multi-chapter)

sharp as a razor, sweet as honeysuckle | Haladriel rodeo au | E | one-shot

skin i been through, dies behind me | Haladriel western au | E | one-shot

grow with a hunger | Haladriel arctic isolation horror au | E | multi-chapter dead dove

Untitled Haladriel Moulin Rouge au | E | multi-chapter dead dove

Untitled Haladriel newsroom exes au | E | multi-chapter romcom

TOTAL # OF COMPLETED WORKS/FANDOMS WRITTEN IN

6 completed works written in 2 fandoms

5 in LOTR: The Rings of Power for Haladriel

1 in [redacted until Jan 1]

OVERALL THOUGHTS

I sure do love a woman teetering on the precipice of something.

PERSONAL FAVORITE?

It's really hard to choose, but I think meet me at the edge. It started as a goofy little brainworm about what if Tevildo was a Black Phillip-esque figure trying to lure Galadriel away from the light, and here we are 40k later, and I think it's some of the best writing I've ever done. I love westerns, I love horror, I love stories about girlhood and womanhood and where the boundaries between the two are, and I especially love stories about women hanging on by their last thread and then saying fuck it and letting it all go.

MOST UNDERAPPRECIATED?

I guess maybe my little ficlet duology Missed Connections? I'm really proud of that strange little story. I wrote it for Haladriel Week last spring. It's inspired by the old Missed Connections ads that used to be in the paper (and I think are still on craigslist). Anyway, these two are set during the first age in Valinor, one each from Mairon and Artanis' perspectives. I keep thinking about expanding it to add new ones for each age. Maybe that's something I'll do in 2024.