#tog trick or treat event

[static-abyss]

Trick or treat! 🍬🎃💕

Hello! 👋 You also get a TREAT. Have some Andromache/Quynh.

what we do in the shadows, andromaquynh, side Joe/Nicky, rated pg-13, killing eve AU, 1.2k

"There's been another murder," Joe says, dropping the file on Quynh's desk.

It's thin for a file on Andromache. Usually, there's more about her latest victim, background information that's pertinent to the case. Sometimes, there are even ordered lists of past offenses and reasons why the victim might have been a target. If it's a really good day, there might even be a new picture of Andromache as she leaves her latest upscale hotel.

"It's a bit anticlimactic, isn't it?" Quynh says, waving the file.

"We didn't find anything on the guy. Not even a traffic ticket," Joe says, coming around to sit at the edge of Quynh's desk.

He takes the file and flips through it. When he finds what he's looking for, he passes it back to Quynh. She takes it and scans down the page, skimming as she goes. The victim was male, late fifties, three daughters, and a wife not much older than his kids. There's a bit on the man's philanthropy, his obituary, a couple of photos from a decently attended funeral, and not much else. Aside from the forensic report and Joe's notes on the case, the man is a ghost.  

"This smells," Quynh says. "No way anyone is this clean."

Joe nods. "Human trafficking?" he asks. "Drug trafficking?"

Quynh hums her agreement, turning to her computer. She types in "Andromache," and scans through the files they have in the system. 

"She doesn't kill without reason," Quynh says, more to herself than to Joe. 

"You just like her," Joe says, easily.

"Shut up, I do not," Quynh says, the old argument comforting in its familiarity.

She can't pinpoint what it is about the current murder that's bothering her. Ever since Quynh was assigned to the Andromache case, she's always found a reason for the murders Andromache commits. She never kills the innocent, not even if it means leaving witnesses. And all the people she's killed so far have been on someone's Most Wanted List. It's not like Andromache to leave nothing but a body behind. There should be more on their dead guy by now, and the fact that all they have is superficial nonsense makes Quynh think that they're about to stumble onto some of the nastier parts of the job.

"Hey Joe," she says, tapping her pen against the edge of her desk. "Want to get some coffee?"

-

Nile Freeman is a former Marine with a medal of honor that she received after accidentally shooting one supposed terrorist or another. She had a promising future and an influential CO to back her up. But something about fighting a losing war hadn't sat right with her. She left soon after receiving her medal, flew back to the States, and opened up a nice, little cafe in Washington DC. 

It's called Freeman Brew, and it happens to be Quynh and Joe's favorite place to review cases. Quynh prefers it to the other cafes because of the decor. It sits at the corner of the street, which means it has the optimal number of windows and enough counter space to ensure that Quynh always finds a seat. Not to mention Nile's skills as a hacker.

Joe, on the other hand, likes the cafe because of Nicky. He's one of the baristas, a former priest turned human right's advocate, who doesn't mind that Joe is an outrageous flirt. If he's in a good mood, he even flirts back and given that Joe can put a smile on anyone's face, Nicky is usually in a good mood. 

"Good morning, Nile," Quynh says, when she and Joe step into the cafe. "Large coffee for me, just milk."    

Joe makes a beeline for Nicky, who's cleaning the counters on the other side of the cafe. Quynh waits until Joe has Nicky engaged in conversation before turning back to Nile. She's already waiting, Quynh's coffee on the counter in front of her. 

"Thank you," Quynh says, taking the cup.

She takes a sip and lets her eyes wander around the cafe. There's no one else inside. Like most days that Quynh and Joe come by, the place is empty. 

"You know," Quynh says, conversationally. "If I didn't know any better, I would say this place is a front."

Nile smiles. "That would be illegal."

Quynh grins. "And you and Nicky are the perfect example of law-abiding citizens, aren't you?"

Nile shrugs. "We try," she says. 

Quynh takes another sip of her coffee. It is good coffee, even if the cafe is mostly for show. She's not a hundred percent sure what Nicky's deal is, but Quynh can smell an ex-mercenary from a mile away. The "ex" bit might be generous given that Quynh isn't exactly sure what Nile does either. But it's not her job to know. At the end of the day what matters is that Nile always finds whatever Quynh needs, and Nicky makes a mean latte. 

"I need information," Quynh says.

Nile sighs, leaning her elbows on the counter. "And here I thought this was a social visit."

"It is," Quynh says. "Joe's going to ask Nicky out on a date."

Nile turns to look at Joe and Nicky and Quynh follows her gaze. The two of them are in deep conversation, heads bent close together, shoulders brushing. Quynh would say something, but she's not the one who's going to be filling out the paperwork later. Besides, she thinks Joe will be good for Nicky.

"About the information," Quynh says.

"I need a name."

"Mark Robins."

The silence is too pointed, too hesitant for Nile. 

"Is there a problem?" Quynh asks, feeling the corner of her mouth slide up into a half-smile. 

She's not great at hiding every tell and Nile is good at her job. They both know something is off. 

"You know, I did think it was strange that you offered your services right around the time that we got the Andromache files," Quynh says, putting her coffee cup back on the counter. "I'm not surprised. Just disappointed."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nile says, pleasant as ever. 

Quynh sighs, mostly for dramatic effect. She pushes off the counter and heads for the door. Joe joins her, stepping ahead to open the door. She's at the threshold, the wind blowing her hair away from her face, when she pauses. 

"Will you at least tell her that I can't help her if she doesn't give me more to go on?"

It's Nicky who answers, his voice carrying even though he's never been loud. "If she needs you, she'll find you," he says.

Quynh nods and heads out of the cafe, stepping into place at Joe's side. He's humming, purposely off-tune, as they head back to the office. 

"Why are you so happy?" she asks. "We just found out that our consultants are Andromache's accomplices."

"Did we?" Joe asks.

Quynh groans. "You know the paperwork on this is going to be a nightmare," she says.

Joe grins. "I won't tell if you don't."

-

A week passes and Quynh's already forgotten about the Mark Robins. There's a murderer running loose in DC and their Supervisor, Copley, has been pushing them all harder than usual. Quynh's put in about twenty hours of overtime that week and she's ready to go home and sleep all weekend.

She's so tired that it takes her a minute to understand what it means that her front door isn't quite lined up with the door frame. She's immediately alert, her hand going to the gun at her side. She pulls out her phone, intending to send Joe a text message, but before she even unlocks her phone, her apartment door swings open.

"Hello Quynh," Andromache says. "I've been waiting for you."

[theoldguardevents]

Welcome to our very first Trick or Treat Tumblr Event!

Due to the pandemic, and many missing out on being able to enjoy Halloween in person due to lockdowns, theoldguardevents is creating an online Trick or Treat event for Halloween Night!

How does it work?

As a creator, you sign up and create tricks and treats to give out to your fellow fandom members who come knocking at your door!

Trick: a meme, shitpost, funny graphic, crack!fic etc. You can even rickroll (must be ToG related though!)

Treat: a sketch, drabble, graphic, ficlet, character art etc. Any type of lovely creation!

The creations have no minimum, these can be drabbles or sketches to full fics or art pieces, it’s entirely up to you what you want to create! Making around 5 of each to accommodate trick-or-treaters is the goal!

Streets: No doubt, everyone wants to make content they love, so you get to decide what you want to create! If you’d like to create JoexNicky, Andromaquynh, Book of Nile, General, OT3 etc. just let us know in the sign up form! Your mod will organise the rest, making sure people will be directed to the right place to Trick or Treat! Further details will be given to the creators that sign up!

Lights out: Once you’re all out of ‘candy’, you’ll be able to post up a sign that lets people know, so you can decide how long you’d like Trick or Treaters visiting your blog!

Content Warnings: if you’d like to post NSFW, or anything that you feel needs a warning, let your mod know in the sign up form, and the mods will take care of the rest. Details will be provided to creators who sign up!

If anyone has any questions, please don’t hesitate to DM or send an Ask to @theoldguardevents or @mods-togevents!

Alternatively you can email theoldguardevents@gmail.com

Sign up here!

Happy Spooky Season everyone!

[tower-of-halloween]

🎃 ToG Halloween Week 🎃

Welcome! This is a week long challenge for artists and writers to create Tower of God works based on a series of Halloween-themed prompts!

This event will take place from October 25th to the 31st. There will be two prompts for each day and you can choose to pick one or use both.

Prompts:

Day 1 (Oct 25) - Vampire/Werewolf

Day 2 (Oct 26) - Jack-o’-Lantern/Dullahan

Day 3 (Oct 27) - Skeleton/Clown

Day 4 (Oct 28) - Zombie/Creature

Day 5 (Oct 29) - Witch/Ghost

Day 6 (Oct 30) - Angel & Devil/Haunted House

Day 7 (Oct 31) - Monster Hunting/Trick-or-Treat

Rules:

-Use the tag #towerofhalloween2020 AND tag this blog when posting

-Tag spoilers and warnings (for blood, NSFW, etc) if necessary

-You can use any characters you like, but you cannot include any ships involving incest or pedophilia

Info:

-You do not need to sign up for this event

-There are no restrictions for the creators (no canvas size for artists or max/min word count for writers)

-The artists and writers are free to post their works on other social media (like instagram, twitter, or AO3)

If you have any questions, please send us an ask!

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

New Fic!

I initially wrote this fic for the Carry On Countdown deleted scene/ missing scene prompt but didn’t manage to finish it/edit it in time. Then I thought I would use it for the Carry On Big Bang, to have an actual FINISHED fic ready before deadline for once. But I wasn't sure if there was enough inspiration for an artist in this fic. And I'm impatient when I have a finished fic in my files. And I had another idea for COBB. So here it is--a canon based, gap-filler of the night they went searching for Nicodemus. 

I Follow You

Simon

I’m sitting in this posh car of Baz’s and flipping through the radio stations. There’s not much music at Watford, not since the Mage banned electronics. I stop at the station playing Christmas carols.

It’s not felt like Christmas at all this year. The days have blended together so the fact that it’s almost Christmas has caught me by surprise.

I’d be hiding out in the den with Agatha if I’d been at the Wellbeloves. Their big party is on Christmas Eve and it’s always a madhouse there in the days leading up to the actual event. Mrs. Wellbelove never liked us underfoot.

Well, she didn’t like me underfoot. And Agatha hated helping Helen dust, so we’d skive off as much as we could.

I’m relieved Baz told his step-mum we’d miss the evening meal tonight. I guess relieved isn’t quite the right word. I’m a bit gutted to miss the food but thankful to be spared another awkward encounter with his family.

I suppose I’ll have to sit through Christmas dinner with them. Won’t that be a treat. I wonder if Baz will try to make me wear coat and tails, the tosser. I’d look like a damn penguin, I would.  

And he’d look like a fucking prince, the prat. I can just see it. I shake the thought out of my head.

Baz is taking forever.

I look out the passenger side window but there’s no sign of him.

I’m glad he said I didn’t have to go in with him. His aunt Fiona creeps me out. She looks so much like Baz but with sharper edges somehow. Looks at me like she’d burn me to cinders with her eyes if she could. Baz has threatened to burn me to ash more times than I can count but somehow his eyes never look quite as disconcerting as hers do.

I can’t sit still. I think about getting out of the car to stretch my legs but I don’t want to risk locking myself out. Merlin, I’d never hear the end of it from Baz if I did. I’ve not got my wand to magic myself back in, even if I could spell it open without some disaster happening to the car itself.

Not something I’d particularly want to explain to Mr. Grimm.  

I tap my fingers on the armrest.

What could be taking so long? He’s supposed to ask her about Nicodemus, not stop for tea and biscuits and a bit of a jaw.

I pull at the collar of my jumper. I don’t really want to stretch it out but the neck is snugger than I like.

Not that it’s even my jumper. It’s Baz’s. Soft and posh, a pale Nordic blue. Even smells like him.

Baz insisted I wear something other than my uniform. Said I looked twelve in my Watford gear, which is rot.

At least he let me wear my own trousers. Imagine the laugh of me wearing his posh jeans—too long in the leg and too tight in the arse, no doubt.

He does look imposing in the suit he’s got on. It fits him just right, like all his clothes do, the wanker. The only clothes that fit me like that are my Watford ones. In the summers I just make do with trackies, t-shirts and baggy thrift-shop jeans.

But even my magically fitted Watford clothes have never looked anywhere near as sharp as Baz’s stylish togs. Looks right fit he does.

Dr. Wellbelove let me borrow one of his posh suits one Christmas. I wasn’t as tall or as broad in the shoulders then. It looked good. I looked good. I looked like I belonged there, next to Agatha, even if the suit hung a bit loose.

I didn’t look like I belonged last night at Pitch Manor. I looked out of place—flushed and stammering, my wrinkled school uniform starkly plain against all their posh clothes. Even with Baz wearing jeans, rather than the waistcoat and silk scarf I’d always imagined he’d wear to lounge around at his ancestral home.

Like some brooding protagonist in a Gothic novel.

I didn’t belong there yet somehow it still felt like they were trying to make me feel welcome, odd as that may be. Mr. Grimm didn’t say much after greeting me, but he didn’t make any snide comments or asides about the Mage either. Baz’s step-mum just kept passing me platters of food and giving me these fleeting little smiles when I’d pile more on my plate. I couldn’t say no. I always thought Cook Pritchard’s food was the best, but this was even better than the meals at Watford. I had to pop my trouser button before the pudding last night.

I wasn’t going to pass on eating that trifle.

Baz

Fiona was painfully resistant to providing much information about this Nicodemus. There’s more to his story than she’s telling me, that’s for damn sure.

Who would go to the vampires? It doesn’t make sense. A Mage has power in and of himself. Magic gives us so much. Why trade that to become a pariah and an outcast?

An eternal life being ostracized?  Sounds more like hell. I think the immortality rumors are complete rubbish. We’d be overrun by vampires if they were true (I don’t want them to be true.)

All I know for certain is that we have to go to Covent Garden. Fiona spilled that at least. I should be able to sniff them out. Follow the scent of a fresh kill.

I hate that.

I hate that they’re out there, lurking in the shadows. Preying on some poor sod who had too much to drink. Some girl who made the mistake of walking to the tube station alone.

I can’t save them all. I can’t save any of them.

Not by myself. Not even with Snow. What are we going to do—take on an entire pack of vampires on our own? I think the fuck not.

No. It’s not the time for retribution. I need to know the truth about what happened. Why my mother seems to trust this Nicodemus when Fiona—who was his friend (or more) (I don’t want to think about that)—can barely bring herself to speak his name.

I need answers. I can burn it all down another time.

Although this may be the only time I have Snow at my side.

On my side.

He’s all agitation and tumbled curls when I get in the car. “Did she tell you anything, Baz?”

“She told me enough.”

“What’s that mean?”

I sigh as I start the car. “It means I have an idea of where to find him.”

“So we’re off to the vampire lair, then?”

I give him a withering look. “No, Snow, not yet.”

“Well, why the hell not? You know where to look now, yeah?”

“I’d rather find them after they’ve fed. They might not be all that interested in me but you look like a tasty snack.” In more ways than one, but I keep that thought to myself.

He does though. Snow looks fabulous. He looks gorgeous all the time, but the sight of him in my clothes—there’s an intimacy to it that’s threatening to wreck my composure.

Breathtaking. That’s what he is.

Even now, in this old jumper of mine. It stretches over his broad shoulders, hugs his chest, in just the right way. The colour brings out the blue of his eyes.

I want him to keep it.

I know that’s stupid. But I don’t wear it and the thought of Snow having something of mine—something that brushes against his skin, that soaks in the scent of him, that is tangibly my own and now his--that’s tantalizing, I must admit.

I’ll make sure he takes it with him when he goes.

Fuck.

I don’t want him to go.

But what reason do I have to convince him to stay once we get answers from Nicodemus? None, really.

Not unless I can find a way to draw it out. Keep the truce going through the winter break. Make him stay by my side as we puzzle this mystery out.

Entice him with more of Daphne’s cooking? That actually might work. He’d certainly not stay for me.

Snow’s voice interrupts my fantasies of toasting New Year’s Eve with him at my side. “So what’re we going to do then? Just drive around until what, dinner time?”

My tone is sharper than I intend when I answer. “No, you berk, we’ve got research to do.”

Simon

So now we’re at the British Library. I’ve never seen so many books in one place. Entire floors of them. Galleries full. It’s a world of books.

Baz is striding around as if he owns the place, pulling books off the shelves, foraging through catalogues, going up on tiptoe to reach the higher racks.

I’m following behind, carrying books. I can barely see over the towering pile he’s burdened me with. “Can I put these down somewhere? Nab a table for us or something?”

Baz frowns, places two more books on the stack in my arms, then narrows his eyes at me. “You’d have to stay at the table, to make sure the librarian doesn’t reshelve them while I keep looking.”

“It would be a treat to stop following you around like your own personal book Sherpa.”

I think Baz almost smiled. His lips quirked up and it wasn’t a sneer for once.

“Fine, Snow. Your Sherpa duties are suspended. Find a quiet spot, and I’ll join you in a bit.”

There’s precious few people here besides us.

I suppose most people don’t willingly spend their Christmas holiday in a library. Baz looks as if he couldn’t be happier. It’s odd to see him so . . . well, maybe content is the right word? He’s more at ease here, almost smiling to himself as he pulls books out, carefully flipping through them, and then putting them back on the shelf. I think he actually patted one a moment ago, before setting it aside.

I can’t help but think of how similar he is to Penny. They’re both absolutely gone when it comes to books. Can’t get enough of them. I’ve been to Penny’s house before—I’ve seen how she gets when her mother brings home a load of new books.

Baz has that same gleam in his eye right now. But softer somehow, like his edges have been smoothed a bit.

Merlin, maybe the trick to getting him to soften up is to surround him with books. Distract him from his plotting to end me.

Although he’s not done much scheming since our truce. I haven’t had that feeling from him at all. It’s odd. Unnerving in a way.

I kind of like it.

Which is bollocks, because as soon as we’ve figured things out everything will go back to how it was. Stinging comments. Dirty looks. Spats about the window, the bathroom, the smell of my magic, my dismal inadequacies as a mage—all the miserable interactions we usually have.

Baz joins me a short time later, a tower of books in his arms. He pushes one pile toward me and keeps the other for himself.

“Any mention of vampires, Snow. That’s what we’re after. Get to it.”

And with that he buries his nose in the book he’s holding and it’s research time.

Bloody hell. He is just like Penny.

We leave an hour later with our stash on the table slightly diminished. Baz has pocketed at least three of the books and he’s ignoring my outraged looks.

“You can’t take those,” I hiss at him.

“It’s the British Library, Snow. It’s meant for all of us.”

“To read the books, you privileged prat, not steal them.”

“I’m not stealing. I’m borrowing. That’s what libraries are for, in case you’ve conveniently forgotten, Snow.”

“So you’re telling me you’ll bring them back, then?”

“I’m not a barbarian.”

“I’m sure you’re breaking some law.”

“It’s our tax dollars at work on the upkeep here, Snow. And I highly doubt they’ll miss them.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re overly self-righteous. It’s tedious.” He turns and raises one eyebrow. “Come along, now. We’ve not got all day.”

My stomach rumbles as we make our way to where Baz parked his car (illegally, I might add) (he spelled the no parking sign invisible, the wanker.)

I hope our next stop is dinner.

It’s not.

Our next stop is the fucking British Museum.

The Reading Room to be exact. Baz pilfers a few more books. I end up arguing with him again. He’s trying to get me to hide one of them under my jumper.

“Listen. You can’t just do this. You can’t just take those books.”

“I told you, it’s research.”

“it’s treason, is what it is.”

“Are you going to tell the Queen, Snow?”

I huff and make him steal his own books. I’ll not be party to theft against the Crown, for Merlin’s sake.

The museum closes and we wander around until my stomach rumbles loudly again. Baz rolls his eyes.

“Well, I don’t see why the vampires get to have a meal before we go searching for them and we don’t,” I complain.

“Ugh, fine.” He waves an arm around the square. “Find a place. Just not a chippy. I don’t want to get grease stains on the books.”

“Oh, now you’re worried about the books.”

We find a place where I can get a curry and some samosas. Baz doesn’t order anything. He sits across from me, sucking on his fangs and flipping through the pages of some dusty leather tome—the one he was trying to get me to pilfer.

I expect this is why he’s never had a girlfriend. At least none that I’ve heard about. Can’t imagine many girls would be up for dates that involve library research, outright larceny and being ignored all through dinner. Not bloody likely, even if he is all posh and fit.

Baz slams the book shut, startling me just as I’m scooping up the last remnants of my tikka masala.

He stands up. “Come along, Snow.”

He’s out the door in an instant. I don’t know how he moves that fast.

I scramble to follow him outside. “Are we going after the vampires now, then?”

“Would you keep it down? I don’t need our business broadcast through all of Bloomsbury,” Baz hisses as he sweeps past me, heading down the street in the direction of the car (illegally parked again) (it’s getting to be a habit, this criminal activity of his.)

I buckle in and narrow my eyes at him. “So Covent Garden, then? That’s where she said they hang out?”

Baz glances at his watch (I swear to Merlin it’s a fucking Rolex). “Bloody hell. How can it only be eight o’clock?”

“What’s the problem? It’s dark out. The vampires should be on the prowl by now.”

I get another eye roll. The similarities between Baz and Penny are really starting to grate on me.

“No, Snow. They won’t start this early. It’ll be close to midnight before they’ve got easy pickings from the drunks heading home for the night.”

I frown at him and cross my arms over my chest. “How do you know this?”

Baz sighs. “I don’t know anything. It’s just conjecture. It’s sure to be a damn sight easier to lure someone into a dark alleyway late in the night, rather than when commuters are still crowding the streets and club goers are just heading out.” He meets my gaze, eyes grey as the winter sea, but lacking their usual spark. “It’s how predators work, Snow.” His shoulders sag as he leans back in his seat.

I think of all the times he slipped back into our room late in the night. I think about the hollowed-out rat corpses in the Catacombs. I think about the night I found him down there, fifth year.

I decide not to push Baz on this.

“So what’re we going to do now? Rob another library?”

That gets the flash back in his eyes as he directs a glare at me. “We’re going to go to the feeding grounds.”

That sounds sufficiently ominous.

It’s not what I expect.

It ends up Baz means the various dance clubs scattered around Covent Garden. The clubs that spill out drunk and boisterous revelers at all hours of the night. Revelers who need to catch buses or the tube or flag down taxis in the dark and twisty streets. Pretty girls who may not notice the unnaturally pale skin of their dance partners in the multi-colored strobe lights of a dance bar. Carousers who eagerly take the offer of a ride home from the bloke who’s been sitting next to them at the bar for the last few hours, making pleasant conversation about Arsenal.

Baz

There are a surprising number of people out and about in Covent Garden tonight, considering it’s Christmas Eve. It takes me an inordinately long time to find a parking spot. We could have walked from the restaurant, as Snow keeps unhelpfully reminding me, but I prefer to have the option of a quick getaway, should things turn ugly with the vampires.

This was probably a mistake, coming here with him.

Snow continues to badger me as we get out of the car. He’s far too hung up on this and I simply don’t have the patience for it.

“Crowley, Snow, it’s not like I spend all my time plotting your downfall. I do have a life that doesn’t revolve around you.” Not quite a lie but close enough.

“But dancing? You go dancing? You can’t be serious.”

I can’t believe this is what he’s fixated on. I give him a withering look. “It’s called having fun, Snow. Ever tried it?” I want to take the words back as soon as I see his face fall. Of course he hasn’t. His life has been an endless shuffling from care home to care home, except for when he’s at Watford where he spends any free time he has training as the Mage’s boy soldier—honing his skills as a weapon of destruction.

I feel like an absolute wanker. But I can’t take it back now. I can never take back anything I say to Snow. It stays there, written on both our souls in indelible ink.

Simon

“You can’t be serious,” I say. “I’m not going to a dance club.”

“Then you can sit in the car and wait, Snow.”

Well, I’ll be fucked if I let him go sneaking off on his own. I trot down the sidewalk after him. “Baz, this makes no sense.”

He whirls back to face me, the streetlights highlighting half his face, the rest of it shadowed. “Then let me explain it to you using small words. We go to the club. We watch for suspicious activity. When we see someone acting dodgy we follow them out.”

“But what if they’re… I mean, what if they’re...”

“Spit it out, Snow.”

“There’re dodgy people at clubs who aren’t vampires, is all I’m saying. They’re not the only ones who might be willing to get up to dubious behaviour in a back alley, if you get my meaning.” My face is hot. I can feel the heat rush all the way up to my ears.

Merlin, this is fucking awkward.

I can tell as soon as he realizes what I mean. His mouth drops open and his eyes widen. He schools his face rapidly and drops his eyes, making a show of adjusting his cuffs. “Well, we’ll try to make sure we don’t interrupt anything . . .”

He trails off.

“Right. Good luck with that.”

He squares his shoulders then lifts his gaze up to mine, eyebrows lowered, eyes hooded. “I trust that I’ll be able to recognize the difference.”

“You’d have to be bloody psychic.”

“Trust me, Snow, I’ll have a better clue than you will!” There’s a harshness to his tone and a pained expression on his face.

And now I’m the one making a realization. He can sense them. Or at least he thinks he can.

Has Baz ever met another vampire? Other than the ones that Turned him? Not like he actually met them, of bloody course. Doubt they bothered with introductions first.

So I don’t know if he’s ever come face to face with one since and I don’t quite dare ask him right at the moment.

I’ve got to get through this night with him. Antagonizing him isn’t the way to do it.

I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. But I do know one thing--I’m not letting him out of my sight, not with other vampires around.

“Fine. I’ll trust you on this, Baz. But so help me, I do not want to stumble onto some randy couple getting it on in a back alley!”

I don’t particularly want to blunder into a vampire feeding on a victim either but at least I’d know what to do in that situation.

“Point taken, Snow. I’ll try to ferret out the blood-sucking versus the cock-sucking before your delicate sensibilities and virgin eyes are irrevocably sullied.” He stomps away, still managing to look effortless and graceful, while I scurry in his wake.

“You are such a fucking arsehole.”

I follow him across the street to the club and isn’t it just typical that he bypasses the regular line to queue up at the VIP entrance.

The bouncer greets him like an old friend. “Ah, seems like it’s been ages since you’ve been here.” He peers over Baz’s shoulder at me. “Not your regular company tonight, eh? The boys off for the holiday?”

The boys? Oh. He must mean Dev and Niall. Seems Baz keeps company with his minions even when he’s away from Watford.  

“Unavoidably detained in the country,” Baz drawls, then slips the guy a tenner as he sweeps past him, motioning for me to follow.

I’m gobsmacked.

Baz has practically admitted he’s a vampire, but somehow the revelation that he frequents dance clubs is harder for me to fathom at the moment.  

“Shut your mouth, Snow. It makes you look far too thirsty. And I don’t mean for a drink. Someone will be whisking you into a back alley, if you don’t watch yourself.”

I sputter for an instant but I’ve got to keep my wits about me, because Baz is already striding toward the bar and I don’t want to lose him in the press of people.

He’s back, drinks in hand a moment later. I take the one he passes me and eye the glass dubiously. “I don’t drink, you know.”

I get a raised eyebrow. “Good to know you’re so virtuous, Snow.” He takes a sip from his own and gestures at my glass. “It’s soda water and lime, you utter berk. I’m not about to let either of us get muddled tonight. We’ve got to keep our wits about us, challenging as that may be for you.”

I take a cautious sip and relief floods through me at the bland taste of the soda water. I swallow the whole thing down.

“You’re a barbarian, Snow, really.”

“I’m thirsty is all. Those samosas were a mite salty.”

“Well, I’m not about to go get you another drink. That’s all I need tonight, you skiving off to the lav right when things get interesting.”

“Piss off.”

I turn away from him and take a moment to look around the club. I’ve never been to one before. It’s not the kind of place for a care home day trip.

The music is loud, the bass beat so intense I can feel it thumping through my chest. It’s early in the night but there are still masses of people here, hovering near the bar, gathered around high tables, pressed against each other on the dance floor.

I can’t say it fits with what I imagined, but I’ve never really thought much about places like this either.

I can honestly say I never imagined Baz at a dance club. I’m still a bit staggered at the thought.

I’ve lived with Baz for over seven years and I’ve somehow managed to discover more about him in the last twenty-four hours than in all that time before.

It’s unexpected. Everything about the last few weeks has been.

I move closer to Baz, going up on tiptoe so I can reach his ear. I probably don’t even need to bother, what with his vampire super senses, but I do it anyway. “So you weren’t kidding when you said you hang out at places like this? On a regular basis?”

I can’t tell if it’s the glow of the lights or if his face gets flushed at my question. He doesn’t turn to look at me and he doesn’t answer right away. I bump his shoulder lightly with mine, to encourage him.

He tilts his head down, bending close to my ear. I can smell his posh shampoo when he does. His hair is falling forward a bit, not quite as pristine as it was a few hours ago. It tickles my cheek.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it regular,” Baz says. I don’t expect him to say more after that but he does. “It gets quite boring in Hampshire over the summer.” He pauses and then I feel his breath against my skin as he continues. “It’s just a lark. Dev, Niall and I come up for the night on occasion, have a few drinks, a few laughs, burn off some energy dancing. For fun.”

I think about that. I think about Baz doing something for fun. I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about Baz doing anything for entertainment--other than finding ways to humiliate or enrage me.

It makes me feel odd, to think of him here, standing under the flashing lights. Grinning at Dev and Niall, letting his face relax into something other than a sneer. Making his way to the dance floor, as graceful and fucking ruthless as he is on the pitch.

I can almost see it. See him swaying to the music, shirt partially unbuttoned, head tilted back, eyes closed as he moves to the beat.

It’s right warm in here.

I can feel a trickle of sweat trail its way down my back. I dart a glance at Baz, who looks as cool and collected as he did when we left Pitch Manor. He raises his glass to me and smirks.

My face heats up. I jiggle the ice in my glass and sip a few of the drops that have melted.

We stand, shoulder to shoulder, pressed together by the growing crush of bodies around us.

Everyone looks pale and washed out under these lights. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I don’t even know what a normal vampire looks like. I mean maybe they’re like goblins—fit buggers? Posh and fit, like Baz?

I’ve got no idea.

I don’t have much time to think about it. There’s a bloke standing right in front of us, all wavy blonde hair and tight jeans, with his silky shirt half unbuttoned. He’s smiling but it’s not at me. He’s only got eyes for Baz. I can’t quite catch what he says but Baz gives him a polite smile and a shake of his head.

The bloke shrugs and walks away, turning his head to wink at Baz before disappearing into the masses of people on the dance floor.

I’m whirling in Baz’s direction as soon as the guy shoves off. “Did he . . . did he just hit on you?”

Baz gives me a side-long look, then leans down so I can hear him. “It’s a dance club, Snow. He asked me to dance. It’s what people do here.”

I’m still reeling from that when a girl sidles up to Baz and starts batting her eyelashes at him, twirling a strand of her dark hair with one finger and going up on tiptoe to make herself heard. It also makes her lean forward and flash a bit more of her cleavage in his direction.

He gives her the same smile he gave the bloke and the same shake of his head. She darts her eyes at me and then back to Baz before resting her hand on his forearm and nodding in my direction. He shakes his head again but his smile’s gone this time.

I wish I’d heard what she said to him. I hope she’s not going to turn around and talk to me now.

I needn’t have worried. She’s off a moment later, without a backward glance.

I scan the people around us, take in the bodies moving on the dance floor, and then I pause for a moment to really look at Baz. To take in the sight of him, as if I were seeing him for the first time.

As if I didn’t know what an absolute prick he is.

He’s striking, with his grey eyes and his shiny dark hair. That aristocratic nose (I’m likely the only one that can see the bump on it) (I put it there.)

How he carries himself, the set of his shoulders, so self-assured. The way the fabric of his suit clings to him, hugs every curve, accentuating his long legs, his slim yet powerful build.

He’s breathtaking, if you don’t know him, isn’t he?

Baz shifts, breaking my concentration. He gazes down at his watch and tilts his head at me. I can see his lips move, mouthing the words “let’s go.”

Seems it’s time to hunt down some vampires.

I almost regret it, when we leave the club.

For a moment I could forget the rest of it. For a moment we were just two blokes having a night on the town together.

Baz

I don’t know how many times I’ve come to these clubs to exorcise Simon Snow from my brain. I don’t know how many times I’ve danced with faded copies of him, in a vain attempt to pretend he’s the one with me.

I finally have him here, at a club, within easy reach. Steps away from the dance floor and inches away from my arms and it’s nothing like my fantasies.

We’re not here together. Not really. We’re not even here as friends.

We’re here hunting vampires.

We’re searching for clues about my mother’s killer.

We’re here because we’ve been forced into this uneasy detente.

No more than that.

I look at my watch. It’s early yet but I can’t stand being here any longer.

Not like this.

Not when I can feel every beat of his heart, every thrum of blood in his veins, the heat of his body next to mine.

I can’t even let myself look at him, for fear he’ll see the yearning in my face.

I bump him with my elbow, just to savor that one brief instant of contact.

His eyes meet mine. “Let’s go,” I say and then I turn away.

[thewriterlyowl]

Thoughts on ToG

 OK, so @nickjgoodsell asked me why I don’t like this series anymore, and I promised I would write a post because how I feel about it is pretty complicated. I used to wholeheartedly love this series - I read Sarah’s blog religiously and even met her a couple of times (I think, I don’t remember, but it was at least once). However, some time after I read QoS, I stopped liking these books, for a multitude of reasons:

So basically, I thought that ToG was just OK. I liked Celaena well enough even though I didn’t think much of her assassin skills, but I liked the mystery parts. Nehemia and Dorian were my favourites, but I though Chaol was kind of dull, but I didn’t like Celaena with Dorian because it kind of felt like she was stringing him along and looked down on him throughout the first book and the second.

I thought CoM was way, way better - at first, which I’ll get into - because I thought the writing and plot was better, and the world was opening up. But I hated the way Chaol and Celaena treated Dorian, and I was devastated that Nehemia died because 1) Badass, magical, female character of colour that tricked all the other people into thinking she was an idiot while secretly spying on them and she’s the one who died? 2) Dorian/Nehemia would have been far superior to those other two. Imagine if they had killed King Haviliard and then just went around restoring magic and looking fine af.

But, whatever, I was intrigued enough to read the next too, and I loved HoF.  Before I read that I read TAB, which I thought was a brilliant way to explore Celaena’s backstory. When I read QoS, I was still excited about it - or so I thought. When EoS came out, I read the first couple of pages and was inexplicably bored. Whatever. I thought maybe it was exam stress preventing me from concentrating. But then over the next few months it kept happening, until suddenly ToD was coming out and I still hadn’t finished it. Then KoA came out and I still hadn’t read it, so I decided to reread QoS again so that I could sail smoothly back into it. So I did. And then I realised that even though I thought I’d enjoyed QoS, rereading it made me realise that something in that book killed all my desire to read the next one. Which I will explain when I outline my reasons in detail:

1) Story

OK so remember when you read Prisoner of Azkaban, and Sirius turns out not to be a fink and the whole mystery surrounding the Potters’ deaths gets turned on its head and you realised that JK Rowling was a genius who put her all into her story? I originally thought that about Sarah, because you could see that she was thinking about her story from the very first story in TAB (obviously because she wrote this story when she was sixteen and then split it). From TAB to HOF, I could clearly see that she was building Celaena/Aelin into an epic hero/Chosen One, who had to go on this quest of discovery and accepting her past mistakes, before picking up allies and defeating the evil whatever it was. Right?

Except, when you get to QoS, it’s like the entire thing gets derailed. Arobynn Hamel, after being built up to me one of Celaena’s most complicated adversaries, is dispatched offscreen by a character that we’re not even introduced to in the main series (Lysandra). Instead of a clear goal and obstacles that derail them, the story is just a series of plans that Celaena/Aelin is keeping us in the dark about, so we don’t know until she’s won. The sense that we’re building to something is kind of lost, because we pick up new objectives every few chapters. What felt like an epic journey sort of tapered off into a bunch of scenes where everyone was up against it...until Celaena revealed that she’d been planning this all along.

Also, the retcons that apparently happened. Elena sent Aelin to Rowan for “happiness”. Maeve tricked Rowan into thinking Lyria being his mate because reasons. Elena and the gods have been manipulating everything because they had a spat a few hundred years ago.

I think that the reveal that Celaena was Aelin was planned from the beginning, but I think QoS was almost the start of a new series - and not just because of the name change. It’s like she just took the story in a completely different direction. I remember in an interview Sarah mentioned that she likes to see where the story takes her as opposed to planning, and even though I still haven’t read past EoS, what I’ve heard, the story ended up in a completely different place than where it was going.

2) Characters

Like I said, there was no one I hated - at first. In fact, by the time HoF was over, I was loving all the characters. I thought Sarah had rendered them so well that I couldn’t wait for all the different personalities to meet and all the banter that would ensue when they all realised they were working at cross purposes.

But then QoS happened.

Celaena, who underwent some incredible character development in HoF, turned into an absolutely horrible character in QoS. She was arrogant, violent, impatient, cruel, and selfish - with none of the redeeming qualities.  She detested her old self even though that self got her where she is today. She treated her so-called allies like idiots or like downright enemies. She threatened to kill everyone who didn’t agree with her.

Rowan, who went from a misanthropic douche to loyal friend to Celaena, spent QoS completely obsessed with her and with growling at every man (sorry, male) who gets within spitting distance of her. I hear he got worse.

Chaol went from a well-meaning if not naive guy who loved his friends to an unrelenting douche who argued with Celaena for reasons, and then apparently disappeared.

I’m not even going to talk about what happened to Dorian and Manon.

And therein lies the reason I didn’t want to read EoS - because QoS had effectively made me hate all the characters. Not only that, but it starts with Celaena hanging out with Rowan, Aedion, Lysandra and Evangeline - four characters who were only introduced the book before, and who spent so long either basking in their own brilliance or being territorial over Celaena that they never got to form meaningful bonds with any of the characters that we did know before then. I couldn’t get through the first chapter because I literally couldn’t give a shit about a bunch of people I just met.

And then there’s the Chaolaena thing. I didn’t particularly care for them one way or another. I thought they were a well-written and well-matched couple, but I personally found Dorian way more interesting. And they were written like they were destined to be together. Even when they were talking about the fact that Celaena might not pick him when she became Aelin, there was none of the vicious antagonism in their relationship when they met again. OK, I expected her to be mad at Chaol for leaving Dorian, but to drag it out so long? And every other argument they had was artificially lengthened to justify them never getting back together so she was free to get with Rowan, where the two people from the last book would have worked it out like adults.

And this takes us right back to the retcon thing. I specifically remember an interview right before QoS came out where I noticed that Sarah was talking about Rowan a lot. So much so that he almost felt like a deuteragonist. When I read the book, I realised it was because she’d decided to torpedo Celaena/Chaol in favour of Rowan/Aelin - which I have no problem with. I just wish it had been done with more grace. Aelin and Rowan went from having a great platonic bond to suddenly wanting to rip each other’s clothes of whenever they saw each other. Aelin went from accepting that Chaol and her were over to wanting to kill him whenever she saw him. Rowan basically wanted to lick her whenever they shared a room, and turned into a giant baby when another guy got near her. The emphasis that their platonic bond was given was traded for them lusting after each other like horny teenagers.

3) Writing

Look, I’m just going to say it - QoS felt like fanfiction. There was just an abundance of similes and metaphors, and her writing got to be so overblown and dramatic that it was eyeroll-inducing to read. But that’s not even the worst of it.

I read ACOTAR when it came out. I liked it, but I really hate Fae/Faeries, so I wasn’t going to continue. Then when I read QoS I realised that all the guys in that and all the guys in ACOTAR are essentially the same character - territorial Fae males who constantly thought about the main female character, sex, or sex with the main female character. Aedion and Rowan were the same character in different colours. And all the girls were the same too - badass but vulnerable and always ready with a snarky comment. The similarities between the two were just too much.

Then there’s the actual structure of the book - like I said, it felt like fanfiction, and like a series of events strung together rather than a book. There wasn’t really any clear structure to speak of, which is why it felt so odd. There was no clear goal at the beginning, so there was no inciting incident, no first plot point etc. It felt like set up for the next book.

And finally, the style. HoF, QoS, and the little chapter of EoS are all completely different. One of the opening chapters has s Fae warrior (I forget which one and also I don’t care) trying to figure out whether a girl with big breasts is a virgin. I think it’s supposed it’s supposed to sound like high fantasy like GRRM, but it just sounds predatory and weird.

There’s actually way more that I now dislike about this series, but I’ve spent too much time on it. I’ll always love the first four (I include TAB) and parts of QoS (”Witchkiller is still the best thing ever), but I’ll never finish it.

[recentanimenews]

Tower of God – 13 (Fin) – Just Climb, Baby

“‘Be sure to drink your Ovaltine’. Ovaltine?! A crummy commercial?! Son of a bitch!”—Ralphie, A Christmas Story

I thought of that quote from a movie I watched a ton growing up when I watched this finale, because over and over I’d heard that this adaptation was nothing but a pale shadow of/introduction to the sprawling webtoon, something I’d never seen, and was more of a commercial than a product in its own right.

Don’t get me wrong: both Ralphie and I should have known that at the end of the day anime—like radio—is a business. Unless it’s original content, part of its raison d’etre is to sell its source material, be it a manga/manhwa, novel, or game. Much like Bam, I can’t say Tower of God “tricked” me into watching it only for it to be a glorified prologue. Like Rachel’s attitude towards Bam, its true nature was always apparent.

But I only watch anime for anime’s sake. Any product that tries to steer me towards something that isn’t anime is never going to succeed. I watched Tower of God simply for the characters it introduced, the story that was told, and the setting in the title…which, it turns out, we never really got to see. There was never any actual climbing…that doesn’t begin until the very end.

Up top you see Rachel’s look of relief as she says “Finally,” her long ordeal with Bam is over (at least for now). One mark against this finale is how little new content it contains; much of it is a recap of past events with Rachel’s narration providing fresh context, right up to when she shoves Bam out of the bubble and to his apparent death.

We start with Rachel arriving at the base of the Tower, meeting Headon, and being told she’s too weak to climb it. But she’s eventually able to convince both him and Hansung Yu to let her make the attempt anyway, but only if she completes a special test: She must kill Bam. They even provide her with a Rak-sized bodyguard, as well as guidance from the redhead Hwaryun.

In Rachel’s mind, what she must do is never in dispute, so much of her ordeal throughout the training sessions is convincing her body to respond to her mind’s intentions. Climbing the Tower and becoming a star, not just seeing them, is her primary objective, and Bam is an obstacle.

She watches and stews with envy and resetment as he gains everything she wants with hardly any effort: an amazing weapon, a tight-knit circle of loyal friends who believe in him, the ability to summon and manipulate shinsu at an elite level.

But finally, the incident with Hoh puts her in a position to get rid of Bam, but tying him to her more closely than ever. Bam was never going to abandon her not matter how badly she treated him, so when she loses the ability to walk, he offers to stay by her side and be her legs.

Throughout all of this, Rachel has no illusions about who and what she is. She’s no savior, she’s nothing special; only something “extra”. She’s not a star, but at best a shadow cast by one. But that doesn’t mean the shadow won’t try to take the star’s place. If she climbs the Tower and becomes a star, perhaps the self-loathing within her will go away.

Yu and Hwaryun arrange things so Rachel is found by the others in a puddle of worm slime, and when she comes to she has no idea what happened to Bam. Anything could have happened, but the theory they’re left with is that he was probably eaten by a fish. In any case, he’s gone, Rachel is free of him. Climbing out of bed with very functional legs, she stands by the window and laughs a villainous laugh.

That’s because despite no longer having Bam to lean on, all of his friends (except maybe Parscale, who goes along with the group anyway) believe that helping Rachel in Bam’s place is what he would have wanted. They’re not wrong, either—even though Rachel played them all.

She continues to pretend she’s disabled, and while Khun most definitely has his suspicions about Rachel and what went down in that bubble, what he doesn’t have is proof, so he holds his tongue as Yu transports the surviving examinees up to the Tower to begin their clumb.

As for Bam, he’s not really dead, but was held in a bubble of shinsu until everyone else was gone. Then Hwaryun releases him and offers to continue training him to climb the Tower, if he still seeks answers at the top. Bam responds that he doesn’t think there are any answers up there, but he’ll search for them as he climbs anyway, because…well, what else does he have going on?

That’s honestly a lot of vague cliched “what will you do” platitudes at the end there, which aren’t very enticing considering how relatively little happened in these past thirteen episodes, and how no Tower climbing at all took place. There’s a certain feeling of arrogance that an audience will simply keep letting itself get strung along a la Attack on Titan, season after season, year after year…and as a newcomer to the series ToG just didn’t develop the clout to do that.

That said, I don’t see what will possibly stop me from tuning back in if and when the anime adaptation of ToG continues. Perhaps this really does mark the end of the beginning, and that an end—teased at the very end with what I assume to be an older, longer-haired Bam standing triumphantly near the corpse of a monster with a color palette similar to Rachel’s—may someday come.

I just won’t hold my bread that we’ll see that end in that next season. But perhaps we’ll finally see the Tower, a bit of climbing, and learn more about why those things are so important. Also Rak eating more chocolate bars. Till then, I’ll be sure to drink my Ovaltine.

By: braverade

[modernbookfae]

ToG Halloween Headcanons

- Aelin is a hardcore trick-or-treater who goes all out with her costume and has scouted all the houses that give out king size candy bars. And she ends up eating most of her candy before the night is over.

- Rowan goes with Aelin trick-or-treating, but he doesn’t dress up. That doesn’t stop people from giving him candy, even if he doesn’t ask for it, because either the adults are stunned by his handsome looks or by his “resting buzzard face” as Aelin calls it when he’s got a serious expression.

- Aedion and Lysandra have couples costumes. Their choice? Werewolves. And sweet Evangeline is Little Red Riding Hood! (Throughout the night Lysandra will brush against Aedion’s “tail” and say “Are you that happy to see me?”. Aedion, not one to be teased without retribution, settles behind Lysandra and growls against her neck.)

- Manon is dressed as a certain Khaleesi in Targaryen colors of red and black. And of course her pet cat, Abraxos is dressed as a dragon...though Dorian managed to convince Manon that her beloved flower-loving cat should be dressed as Toothless.  

- Speaking of Dorian he’s dressed as a king (so that he can say he’s the king to Manon’s queen). But more than anything he simply enjoys telling Manon that he can’t wait to take her to his “dungeon” later. Needless to say no one sees Dorian and Manon for the rest of the night once they leave.

- Elide is dressed as Anneith Athena (Greek goddess of wisdom) and she is the one who loves going to haunted houses and dragging everyone along for the fun. Though she ends up accidentally being grouped with Lorcan, who in a surprising twist of fate is dressed as a Greek warrior. He ends up taking off his shirt for Elide during the haunted house since she becomes cold and she ends up wearing his shirt throughout the night.

- Lorcan at one point ends up having to carry Elide since she tripped and hurt herself while running in the haunted house- not because she was scared, but due to the fact that one of the volunteers smacked her butt so she was on the warpath for vengeance...which Lorcan may or may not have knocked the guy against the wall once they finally passed him on their way out of the house.

- Yrene and Chaol decorate their home and host a party at their place. Yrene is dressed as a nurse and Chaol is dressed up as Batman with his wheelchair also being fixed up to look like a mini batmobile. Kids love it and they always ask for a ride which Chaol gladly wheels them around a lap around the house. The kids realize that heroes come in all forms and that Chaol is definitely one of them.

- Chaol later offers to give Yrene a ride as well...in their bedroom. Yrene blushes, but leans down to give Chaol a kiss promising to massage is muscles afterward since she plans on having a long ride.

- Nesryn is dressed up as an archer with armor. She participates in all the games at the event and decides to show off her archery skills by pulling back the plastic arrow and shooting solo cups. She hits every single one, except the last one since Sartaq “accidentally” stumbled in front of her shot.

- Sataq spends the whole night calling Nesryn his Cupid since she shot him with a love arrow. “It was love at first sight...or technically shot.” Sartaq tells everyone while Nesryn rolls her eyes with a smile on her face.

- Nehemia brings forth all the candy and makes sure that every trick-or-treater that stops by the house gets more than one piece of candy. She even saves a bag back for Aelin, because she knows Aelin will be by soon. (Sure enough Aelin and Rowan stop by at the end of the night where they hang out and talk. Rowan finally gets to meet Nehemia...the girl that Aelin had promised so much for. The girl who was a light for his Fireheart in her dark times.)

- Sam is dressed as a ghost (too soon???) He hangs out with the Cadre for most of the night. Fenrys and Sam get along really well and they end up causing the most laughter. By the end of the night they become close friends. Close enough in fact that the Cadre call Sam their “brother”.

[static-abyss]

Trick or treat!!! 🍭🎃👹👻💀🍬

Hello!! Welcome to my inbox. Have some Booker being sad.

forever, Booker centric, rated g, 300 words

Booker watches the sun from the kitchen window, the light falling over the sink and the counter. He can see the dried food clinging to everything, the full bottle of green dish soap and the unused sponge. He imagines scrubbing the tupperware and thinks of how long it would take to get all the remnants of food off the sides. He sighs, longing for the comfort of his bed. What he wouldn't do to doze all day, to find that haze in between sobriety and inebriation. His hands itch for a bottle of whiskey and suddenly, he's so thirsty, he can feel it in the back of his throat. He swallows and finds that his mouth is dry.   

That's how Andy finds him, standing in front of the pile of dishes, trying to clear his throat. Booker hears the jingle of the keys he gave her, the clinking keychains, as she unlocks the door. He knows it's her because she bursts in, this wild energy that radiates chaos. He can hear her boots against the wooden floor as she makes her way into the apartment. 

He's not exactly surprised to see her. He knew when he gave her his key that she would come. 

She looks exactly the same as he left her, and part of him is surprised that he can't tell she's started aging. She should look more tired, he thinks, the same way his wife was so tired at the end. But Andy stands at the entrance to the kitchen, her arms crossed as she surveys the general disarray in the room. She's still so very much alive. Booker doesn't know what to do. 

"You look like shit," she says, finally.

And it's so like Andy that Booker can't help but laugh. "Thanks," he says. "It's nice to see you too."

[static-abyss]

Trick or treat!🎃👻🎃👻

Hello! Welcome to the party! Have a TREAT in the form of some Nile fic.

the benefits of forever, nile centric, rated g, 600 word.

When Nile was eleven years old, she walked next to her father's coffin as the procession carried him to the church across the street from the funeral home. It was raining on that quiet March afternoon, the smell of wet concrete permeating the air as she pulled her brother along. He was too small to fully grasp the weight of the moment but old enough to know that he should be sad. Nile was eleven and she knew of forever the same way that she knew of heaven, as a vast unknowable expanse that she accepted as truth simply because the adults in her life said it was so.

She wore a neat black dress that day, her braids pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head. Her shoes were shiny, the water sliding right off as she walked. Each little click of her heels was louder than any noise in the street. Her mother was on her father's right side, surrounded by mourners as they passed along their sympathy.

Nile wonders if her mother wore that same black dress for her funeral, whether her aunties surrounded her mother with hugs and platitudes. She thinks of her brother, off to the side, with his arms around himself, always too quiet for his own good. She imagines her mother back home, sitting at their kitchen table as her house fills with mourners. Nile wonders where the neat, folded flag went, whether her mother will keep it next to her picture on the little altar in the living room.

"What's up?" Booker asks, drawing Nile out of her thoughts.

She turns to him, her eyes finding the deep bags under his eyes, the uneven scruff on his chin and cheeks. He rubs a hand against his face and Nile sees the hangnails, the places where Booker’s pulled his skin enough to cause bleeding. No matter how hard Nile tries, she can't picture him happy. No matter how much he smiles, she can't see anything but his trembling hands as he downs a shot of whiskey.

"Nothing," she says, shrugging and looking around the room they're in. "I was just thinking of my dad."

He makes an understanding noise that sounds more like a punched out sigh. Somehow, Nile finds comfort in the sound, as though he's put into words exactly what she's feeling, that complicated mess of emotions in her chest.

She's doing the right thing. She knows that. And still, the thoughts linger that she's done the unforgivable in walking away from her family.

"It's the only way to keep them safe," Booker says, as though he can hear her thoughts.

She wouldn't put it past him, given how strange her life has become. But she knows it's deeper than that. He knows what loss is more than the others. Booker understands what it's like to put his family at risk. He knows what's worth it and what isn't. And Nile is new to their life. She's the most prone to making mistakes. She's their weakest link. It makes sense they keep an eye on her.

"Will they remember me?" she asks.

It's not her most pressing question but it's the one that scares her the most. To know that her life extends forever and that her family will forget her, that she'll fade to nothing the longer they live. She doesn't know if she could handle that. Forever isn't as daunting as imagining a life where her mother never says her name again.

"They'll remember," Booker says.

Platitudes, Nile thinks.

But he's trying and he's lived longer than her, and trust has to start somewhere. These are the people she's going to spend the rest of her life with, after all. 

[static-abyss]

trick or treat!!

Welcome! Have a TREAT \o////

correspondence, andy/nile, rated pg-13, 600 words

From Nile's Private Collection Letter 14 c. 2022

Nile,

It's Andy. I thought I'd remind you since it feels like you forgot me. When was the last time you sent me a letter?

Anyway, England is garbage. I keep forgetting how fucking cold it is here and how much it sucks to get caught in the rain. I hate the stone buildings and their cement bridges, and those endless side streets. They drive me out of my mind sometimes, especially after New York City.

I can't stand being alone, I don't think. Every day, it gets harder to remember who I am when I'm not with all of you. I keep forgetting that I don't have to hide from cameras anymore, that I can just stay at home and do nothing if I want to. I thought England would help since it's easier to find quiet spots here, and even if the memories are shitty in London, there's so much going on all the time. So much noise that it's impossible to remember anything.

That's another thing I didn't anticipate.

The forgetting.

I think my memory is going with age because try as I might, I can't remember the sound of your voice. I know the general feelings associated with it. I know you'd be gentle. Even when we pissed you off, you were always so...you were like the ocean. Underneath all the turbulent waves, you were calm.

I think of you when I'm near water, which is all the damn time in this fucking island. I walk down to the Thames to breathe in the smell of a polluted city and I can picture you, standing in Coney Island, letting the waves crash at your feet as you closed your eyes and felt the sun on your face. You never said what you were thinking about that day, but I know it was your family. You get this look when you think of them, this melancholic happiness. It looks like it hurts.

I wanted to see you the other day, to have a clearer memory of your smile and that amused look you get when Booker's trying to come up with excuses for why he needs another gun. But we promised a clean break, and I know it'll only fuck Booker up if he sees me now. I know that all of you need time to deal with what's going to happen in a few years. I know I need space. But for a moment, I just wanted to see you, to touch you.

Is that okay?

That after all this time and after everything that's happened, what I want more than anything is to touch you.

It's kind of messed up how much I want you. Not because I want you. I could never imagine anything better than you and me, kissing against some shitty metal door during one of our missions. It would piss Booker off, at least. He's had enough of the same shit with Nicky and Joe, except those two would never be unprofessional enough to make out during missions.

You and me, though? We'd be fucking hot together. Mission or not, we'd be good together.

I'm sorry that I wish You and I

So, what's new with you? Tell me more about the girl from the club. She sounds fun.

Love, Andy

P.S. Let me know how you're doing more than once every six months, yeah? Otherwise, I'm going to P.S. Sorry for all the scratch outs. I couldn't find a new sheet of paper.

[static-abyss]

Trick or treat!!!

Helloooo! I have so many treats, here have some Joe/Nicky.

fate, joe/nicky soulmate au, rated g, 400 words

Yusuf's soul mark is in a language he can't yet read. It sits on his chest right above his heart, precise lines and curves. He can tell his soulmate is ordered and neat from the way he writes his letters, something about the handwriting exuding that aura despite the language barrier. Yusuf takes heart in that he was born to a family of merchants. Traveling is in their blood, and no matter how far Yusuf's soulmate may be, he will find him.

They're destined, after all.

-

Nicolo doesn't have a mark.

From the moment he took his first breath, he was free. He doesn't carry the burden of finding his other half, doesn't have to fulfill that particular sacrament. He was destined for the church, for the solitude and the peace of a soul fully given over to faith.

His mother sends him to the parish in their town as soon as he's old enough to go. As he grows, his memories of her fade away, replaced by the faces of his congregation. He listens to confessions all day, wondering why it seems that the marked have more problems than those who were born unmarked. He hears husbands and wives confessing to sins he has no right to forgive, and yet he does, promising them salvation even when he knows them to be lost.

Some days, Nicolo wakes and wonders what exists in the larger world, whether there might not be something more for him outside of the walls of the parish. He doesn't regret his lot in life, but he can feel the urge to run underneath his skin. He feels a thirst for knowledge that starts to take over his daily life. More and more, he finds himself only half-listening to the confessions, irritated by the same faces committing the same sins day in and day out.

When they call for soldiers to fight in the crusades, he's the first to go.

-

Yusuf doesn't know what it is about the man in front of him that makes him so different from all the other men he's encountered in his travels. Nicolo is not particularly talented at fighting. He's not taller than most men. He's not even the first to run his blade through Yusuf's armor. But Nicolo is the man who spoke Yusuf's words and changed the mark on Yusuf's chest.

Nicolo is his soulmate.

For better or for worse, they are tied.

[static-abyss]