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alavestineneas · 11 days

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and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter and am thrilled to say that this fic requires part 3! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

tag list:

@oh-you-mean-me @juliskopf @moonsoulk @mamawiggers1980 @ashy-kit

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whimsyfinny · 2 months

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: provocative dancing, slight Sam x Reader, jealous Dean

Chapter Word Count: 4211

—-MDNI—-

A/N: aaaaahhhhhhhh sorry this one took ages. I suddenly had a bunch of personal things going on so I struggled to find the time. Also this chapter is wild, I’m so sorry for the complete train wreck that it is. I just keep writing without questioning it too much. But yeah same as always pls let me know of any errors as I am the only one who proof reads this shit.

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Please read the below first:

Prologue Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 8 - Part 1

Morning soon rolled around; my alarm waking me from my deep dreamless sleep, eyes wearily blinking open as I stared blankly at the old ceiling. Turning off the repetitive beeping, I flung back the covers and climbed out of bed, pacing to the bathroom to freshen up before heading down to breakfast. I was in desperate need of a laundry day as I was down to my last couple of clean items: a cropped black tank top that said ‘Singers Salvage Yard’ across the front in old cracked and over washed lettering, paired with a short denim skirt with frayed edges. It was an a-line fit a long time ago, but as I got older and my figure changed it just got tighter and shorter. I don’t even know why I still have the thing. Paired with my boots and some comfy socks poking over the top of them, I looked like I should be getting paid to wash cars. I grimaced, knowing full well that Dean was going to make a comment.

Dean.

My mind raced back to last night with his parted lips and black lustful eyes - I couldn’t tell if he wanted to push me against a wall or be at my mercy, it was hard to say. Both sounded spectacular.

I strode into the central study room where the boys did all their research, looking for my flannel when I noticed a figure out of the corner of my eye. Instinct took over and I grabbed the nearest item to me - a lamp from the middle of the table - and held it up like a bat, ready to swing. The man flinched but held up his hands, an apologetic expression on his ruggedly handsome face.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” his voice was monotone despite his peaceful words.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“CAS!” Suddenly Deans voice rang through the open room and we both spun to see him standing where I had just walked in, Sam following behind.

“Dean I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle her, I wasn’t expecting you to have visitors,” this Cas guy spoke, his tone forever unchanging.

“This is (Y/n), Bobby’s niece. She’s staying with us for a while to help with research,” he explained, before turning to me and giving me a stern look, holding his hand out.

“(Y/n) give me the lamp.”

I did as he asked, placing the cool metal into his palm as he returned it to the table. We shared a look for a second and I was unsure of the meaning behind it - was he mad about me almost bludgeoning his friend? Was it because I was going to use a lamp of all things? Or was it about last night, and the fact I left him hanging? Who knows, but I’m sure I’ll hear about it later. Dean was about to turn away when the monotone voice of Cas spoke up.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), please forgive me for startling you. Although…” he paused, looking me up and down and then almost knowingly between myself and Dean, “I have personally been caught off guard here as well - I was unaware that Dean was involved with someone.”

“Excuse me?” I blinked up at Cas, getting ready to snatch that lamp back. I saw Dean pinch the bridge of his nose and mutter an ‘oh boy’ under his breath.

“You’re sexual endeavours with Dean,” Cas looked at me like I was the one missing something here. Clearly I am. Cas continued, “you’ve been intimate, have you not? This means that you are a couple from what I’ve learned.” Suddenly his eyes went wide and he looked straight at Dean.

“Or is this a pizza man situation?”

“CAS STOP TALKING,” Dean bellowed, embarrassment creeping across his face. I’m assuming he’s not used to that emotion as he was getting very frustrated. I couldn’t help but stand there in disbelief.

“How the actual FUCK do you know about me and Dean after saying that you weren’t aware of me even being here before you arrived?”

“He can smell it,” Dean said quietly, arms now crossed over his chest.

“What?”

“He can smell… me… on you,” as the words left his lips, his eyes locked with mine for a split second sending a jolt down my spine and hair prickling on my skin. I tore my eyes away from him and looked back at Cas.

“So wait, this weirdo can smell that I slept in one of Deans T-shirts last night?”

“You slept in one of his shirts?” Sam asked, piping up for the first time since this conversation started. Dean grinned like the cat that got the cream, embarrassment dissipating for a second.

“Yeah, she did.”

“Hmmm,” Cas mumbled, “No it’s not just that… It’s stronger, like there is part of Dean in her somehow. Or at least there was; not so much anymore.”

My eyes went as wide as the moon and my cheeks felt like they’d been set on fire.

“OH MY GOD,” I hid my face in my hands, wanting the ground to swallow me up. Whilst I tried to hide my entire existence, Dean cackled, leaving Sam confused.

“I don’t get it, what’s going on?” He asked, looking between all three of us. I couldn’t say a word through the white hot embarrassment, which left Dean to explain. He turned and looked Sam dead in the eye.

“You know how much I love pie, Sam,” he paused to see if Sam was catching on, which he wasn’t so Dean continued. “All sorts of pie. Like, uh, apple pie, cherry pie… cream pie…” Sam’s eyes shot open as wide as they could and he almost went as red as me.

“Nope!” He declared, promptly spinning on his heel and leaving. Cas looked confused.

“I smell no pie here.”

“Never mind, Cas,” Dean patted him on the shoulder before urging him to catch up with Sam who I’m assuming is in the kitchen by now. When it was just Dean and I left I peered at him through my fingers, my face still burning up.

“Dean what the fuck just happened?!”

He tried to suppress his laughter, explaining that Cas was in fact ‘Castiel’ and an Angel of the Lord, which explained his rigid behaviour and a weirdly strong set of senses.

“Why didn’t you butt in and explain who he was before everything got so embarrassing!”

“To be honest it was all pretty hilarious.”

“No it wasn’t! That was NOT an enjoyable moment!”

“Ok I’m sorry,” Dean paused, looking down at me with softer eyes, a slight smile still on his lips. He stepped closer and I pushed on his chest.

“You better be! You owe me big time for that one Winchester.”

He grinned as the furious redness on my face simmered down, just leaving a pink glow on my cheeks.

“Ok ok! Look let's just go and get some breakfast and put this behind us,” he put his hand on the small of my back, urging me towards the kitchen. I hummed, walking with him. There were a few moments of silence as we made our way down before he suddenly spoke up again.

“Did you know that he once smelt a bladder infection on a dead guy?”

Breakfast was uneventful. I was unable to make eye contact with Castiel, and it seemed that Sam was unable to make eye contact with me. Dean however was completely unphased. Once we were all finished and I’d cleared everything away I made my way to my room, grabbed my dirty clothes and then headed to the laundry room - today was going to be a practical one as I officially had nothing else to wear. Upon arriving I couldn’t help but grimace; a mountain of mens clothes covered in mud, blood and black goop sat in the middle of the floor by the washers.

“Gross…” I winced, the smell of dirt and iron filling my nose as I got closer and poked the pile with a pipe I found off to the side. I half expected the mass of clothes to sprout legs and walk off. The boys could probably find lore on the thing with how long its been sitting here. I huffed, scooping my hair into a high ponytail before shoving a bunch of my washing in a machine and turning it on before returning for face the Winchesters laundry. I can’t leave it here, that goes against everything clean and hygienic that I stand for. I could burn it? They would definitely complain about having to replace all the plaid shirts. Should I sort it or just hope for the best? Do I check the pockets? Knowing all the crap they carry around, I should definitely check the pockets before a load of bullets or a hex bag goes through one of the machines. I set to work, sorting out colours, blacks and whites - unable to differentiate between lights and darks at times - and search every pocket as I go. The amount of women’s phone numbers I find on napkins and receipts is ridiculous. I can’t help but feel a little deflated, knowing I’m probably just a name on Deans list. I put them to the side in a pile, keeping them separate from the numbers from Sam’s pockets. I load up another machine and turn it on, picking up the stacks of numbers and leaving the room.

I find the boys sitting in their usual places at the tables, surrounded by piles of books and files. Castiel was nowhere to be seen. I walk up to them and slide the collection of phone numbers over to them.

“I thought you might want to keep these,” I said, not understanding the tone in my own voice. They both took a few seconds to realise what it was that I was handing them and they both responded in an abashed manner, shooting each other a knowing look before staring at the accumulation of digits, not once making eye contact with me. Sam nodded a quick ‘thank you’ before I turned to leave, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him crumple them up and throw them away in a carrier bag on the floor next to him. At the same time, I caught Dean shoving his collection into his jacket pocket, which was hung on the back of his chair. I hastened my actions and turned away quicker, not wanting to have the knowledge that he was keeping them. A pang of something shot through my chest, and I couldn’t tell if it was jealousy, sadness, rage or self pity. Whatever it was, I needed to get the fuck away from Dean.

A few hours passed and I was still sorting laundry. My clothes were officially clean and dry and away in my room, however the task at hand was now the clothes belonging to the Winchester boys. I was a few minutes away from the final load of washing being dry, and I’d managed to arrange the clothing into piles of ‘definitely Sam’ and ‘definitely Dean’, with a ‘really not sure’ pile in the middle. The jeans were easy enough to tell apart and due to Deans T-shirt I wore to bed last night, I now knew that he wore a slightly larger shirt size than his younger brother. I guess he had bigger shoulders, despite Sam being taller. My train of thought snapped as I suddenly heard a door slam upstairs and a female voice call out. I recognised the voice immediately. I stopped everything I was doing and headed upstairs, my feet carrying me with purpose as I reached the study room; Sam and Dean also emerging from another corridor.

“Charlie!” Dean beamed at her, going to give her a hug before I caught up to them and shoved him out the way.

“Don’t you EVER abandon me again like that,” I said, embracing her tight. “I’m fucking annoyed at you…. But I’m glad you’re here. These guys are like wild animals.” She patted my hair softly before I stepped back and she had an apologetic look on her face.

“I knooowwww I’m sorry! But you were in such a slump I really had to do something. Plus these guys really needed whipping into shape,” she spoke the second half of her sentence quieter and we both peered at the boys, fully aware that they could hear every word we were saying.

“Anyway!” She exclaimed, moving away and plopping her backpack onto the nearest table, “I think I have a case for you guys…” her voice was excited but the way her expression changed when she looked from the boys to me was slightly concerning. Sam seemed to pick up on this too.

“That’s great, but what’s the catch?” He asked. Charlie bit her lip and looked between the boys and me again.

“It’s in a strip club and we will need (Y/n) as bait.”

“What?!” Both me and Sam spoke up at the same time, and all that Dean could muster was a huge grin.

“I’m gonna need more details than that Charlie,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Right, yes, I probably should have started with the other details. Anyway, I’m pretty sure this club is run by a bunch of vamps, using girls as bait to lure in unsuspecting men to feed on in the private rooms.” The brothers nodded, like they’d seen this sort of thing before. “Anyway,” she continued, “I’ve had a hunch about this place for a while and did some digging, and it turns out that just last night they advertised a new position available and they want someone that looks just like (Y/n). This is a perfect way to take them down from the inside.” Charlie finished speaking and scanned our faces for any sort of response. I shrugged.

“Sure I’m in.”

“No way, we aren’t putting you in the line of fire like that,” Sam turned to me, a look of worry already smothering his features.

“I agree with Sam, this will be more dangerous than the last case. We’ll find another way to take them down,” Dean said, before he added in an almost snide tone “plus I bet you can’t even lap dance. How would you ever fit in?”

I scoffed.

“Fuck you, I can lap dance just fine.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“I don’t need to prove shit to you.”

“Guys,” Sam held his hands up, “not right now.”

I turned back to Charlie.

“Look I’m in, can you make sure that no one else gets hired?” She grins, opening her backpack and pulling out her tablet.

“Absolutely!”

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Taglist: @justjensenandhisalteregos @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lanassmarty @aliceeinwonderland420 @tina-theslytherin @deans-queen @hell0-ki11y111 @hobby27 @lilcuutiee @sobearcowboy @girls-alias @selfdestructionandrhum @ericasabe @lacilou @littlemadamred @viridiesa @anneanirac @deans-baby-momma @swimregulas @ashdoctor @littlemarvelstan8 @atcamillanorrman @deangirl96 @zannemes @kr804573 @foxyjwls007 @divadinag @ilikw @cookiemonstermusic258 @mysterialee @vsplanet @ababy-girl @joonseuph0ria @mxltifxnd0m @deans-spinster-witch @st4bl3-ch40s @raven-red10 @feyresqueen @lori69 @roseblue373 @clusterfuck-meup @urinternetmom @rachiem4-blog @ceeshellecee @qinnroki @winchestergirl82 @mojos-hidden-castle @snowayumi @evzyi @mymuseisbipolar @magssteenkamp @koharuheartfilia @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @lazygrungekid

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——————————————————————

Up Next:

Chapter 8 part 2

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester enemies to lovers #eventual smut #enemies to lovers #supernatural smut #slow burn #supernatural #spn

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abalidoth · 7 months

Note

what is cosmere? (is that what its called?)

The Cosmere is a big, interconnected fantasy universe that is the setting of most of the works by the author Brandon Sanderson. The cool thing about his books is that each series is contained to its own world, and you can read any of them in isolation without realizing you're missing anything, but if you read them all you get a sense of the larger plot happening behind the scenes as those worlds start to collide and things cross over.

Brandon's magic systems tend to be very rule-based and well-defined, with a lot of twists being characters finding interesting ways to use those rules of magic. This lends itself well to the crossovers, because all the magic systems (as different as they are) share the same underpinning principles.

Here's some quick rundowns of different series and standalones in the Cosmere:

The Stormlight Archive

Planned ten-book series, currently four books are out.

A massive sprawling epic about the world Roshar, that's hit by a hurricane about every four days, and all the life has adapted to survive that environment. Knights Radiant -- superpowered individuals with a close bond to a spirit -- are starting to re-emerge in the world after being absent for centuries.

Because there are so many characters, this is where a lot of the character fandom tends to focus their efforts. I wouldn't recommend starting with it, though -- the first book alone is a thousand pages. I'd wait until you have a sense of Brandon's writing. But it's very good.

Mistborn

One trilogy (completed), one tetralogy set a couple hundred years later (completed), two trilogies some time in the future.

One cool thing about this series is that it follows one world (Scadrial) from a vaguely Renaissance tech level in the first trilogy, to 1920s in the second series, and eventually 1980s in the third and space-age magic in the fourth.

The magic itself is very intricate and all woven around metals -- there are people called Metalborn who can ingest metals and burn them in their stomachs to get different effects, including super-senses, strength, and Magneto-ish metallokinesis. That last bit makes the gunfights in the second series particularly fun.

The first book is a heist novel about robbing a thousand-year-old God-Emperor blind. It's a pretty good place to start, although it's a pretty hefty novel to start with.

The Emperor's Soul

I'm putting this one in a different category from the rest of the one-offs for a very good reason -- it's, in my opinion, the single best place to start reading the Cosmere.

It's a novella (just over a hundred pages) about a forger named Shai who uses magic to rewrite the histories of objects. She is captured by the government of an empire to reforge the soul of their Emperor, who has been left braindead after an assassination attempt, in the 100 days before the mourning period is over.

It's a fantastic meditation on art, a cool introduction to the way Brandon writes both characters and magic systems, and Shai herself is one of my favorite Cosmere characters. If any of this sounds at all interesting to you, I recommend you check it out.

One-offs

Brandon has also written a bunch of one-off novels in the Cosmere.

Elantris: His first book, and the one that my tattoo is from. About a prince who is affected by a dark transformation and thrown into a city of fellow undead, and the princess betrothed to him who arrives just in time to be told he died. Good, but suffers from some first book issues, pacing problems, and weird plot cul-de-sacs. Set in the same world as The Emperor's Soul, although there's basically no crossover.

Warbreaker: About a world where souls (Breaths) are bought and sold, and used to animate objects to do work, ruled by The Returned, living gods who require a steady dose of Breaths to live. One of my favorites, and an essential if you'd like to get into the crossover-y parts of the cosmere, as it introduces a bunch of elements that show up later (Especially in Stormlight)

Tress of the Emerald Sea: The first of his wildly successful Kickstarter project books, it's a fairy tale style story about a girl who braves a sea of bubbling, deadly spores to rescue the man she loves. It's lovely, especially if you're into a more Diana Wynne Jones kind of vibe to your fantasy. Probably a pretty good place to start!

Yumi and the Nightmare Painter: The third Kickstarter book. About a shrine priestess who stacks rocks to draw spirits, and a man who paints the nightmares that roam the streets of his city to banish them -- they become trapped in each other's places and must learn about each other's worlds to survive. This is currently my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE cosmere novel, oh my GOD it's so good. I'm not sure it's a great place to start, as a lot of the conclusion might feel a bit rushed if you don't have a good feel for the vibe of how Brandon writes magic, but honestly it might stand alone just fine even then.

The Sunlit Man: Fourth Kickstarter book. I haven't read this one yet.

Novellas: There are a bunch of novellas and short stories, some set on worlds we haven't otherwise seen, some set on Roshar or Scadrial.

If any of this sounds good to you, I recommend you give his writing a shot. He's one of my all time favorite writers (the tattoo should prove that, lol) and the Cosmere fandom is by and large wonderful and welcoming. I've made many lifelong friendships there.

#cosmere #brandon sanderson #stormlight archive #mistborn #tesseranswers

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catsockpuppet · 5 days

Text

I really, really wish to share my dumb opinions on SM characters. So… Um..

Here ya’ go. I’m gonna add more characters as I think of them but right now I have Skid, Pump, Ethan, and Streber.

Skid: I think he draws a lot, usually the kind of stuff that’d make a teacher go ‘umm! time to call CPS!’. I imagine that he draws a lot of things related to what he sees around town. Eyes, the clown, Frank, etc., Which- a teacher would immediately report if they saw a kid drawing some weird guy in a white van offering them candy. (I mean, they’d probably report drawings of Eyes as well. Also this is even if he is in school/isn’t homeschooled.) I think he wants to be a mortician when he’s older, especially after Hollow Sorrows.

Ethan: OKAY, none of you are gonna agree with me here but I do not care. I feel like Ethan is probably socially insecure. They probably overthinks everything they say and avoids going and hanging out in public. Like, I imagine that someone will invite they out and they just comes up with ‘oh.. I’m busy that day.’ despite really wanting to go (and being free). Also, Trans. Trans. Trans Ethan. Their intersex, poisonjabs told me (they didn’t but shhh). They really like space and astronomy. I don’t think they’re talkative about it, more-so that IF they go hangout it will end in going into the woods to look at the sky. They probably also play guitar because, of course they do. For a job, they work on customizing old kids toys. They don’t do OOAK dolls, but they do stuff like this YouTuber. I think they have a lot of stuffed animals, most of them being goats. Also, asexual Ethan. Desperately tries to help Streber feel better after Halloween, but they suck at comforting.

Pump: Weird HC, but I think he speaks Italian. Where’d he learn Italian? No clue. He just knows. (I’m kidding, Susie takes Italian classes in school and teaches him bits and pieces. Mostly insults.) He loves going camping entirely because he’s allowed to make a fire, once it starts he is glued to it. His favorite food is popcorn and onetime he asked Radford if he could eat his hair because it looked yummy. He draws with Skid, although he mostly just throws pretty colors onto the paper and calls it a day. When he’s older, I feel like he’d be an horror author. But right now he wants to be like Kevin. (Funnily enough, I also HC that Kevin enjoys writing.)

Streber: It’s like, really fucking sad. Or— more angry, than sad. Even before it lost its arm, he was going through it but tried to hide it. It tried to do the haunted house because, ‘it loves Halloween! Maybe this’ll finally make it happy?’ But it didn’t go as planned, and now he lost an arm. He probably stays inside all the time now, only leaving when friends (Ethan) make him leave because he’s just been rotting away in bed. He and Kev never liked each-other until post Tender Treats. Streber used to work backstage for the drama club, not because he didn’t like acting but because it liked working on things. It really, really wants to visit Rhode Island and see Mercy Brown’s grave (as well as the other Rhode Island vampires, but mostly Mercy Brown). The haunted house was part of a college fundraiser, it just volunteered to lead it and made friends join. Once it does graduate college I can imagine it going into some kind of engineering career and doing small programming gigs for extra cash. Streber is chubby, you. You can see it in Tender Treats. He’s drawn differently than say, Lila or Kev. Obviously it likes vampires, but I feel like thats a bi-product of it really liking history and learning about the Rhode Island vampires and now has an obsession with historical vampires.

Jesus christ, this is long. I’m not re-reading any of this because I’m tired, so, enjoy this. I want to go more in-depth on how characters interact but I may do that on another post because of how long Streber’s got.

#streber spooky month #headcanon #spooky month headcanon #spooky month #ethan spooky month #pump spooky month #skid spooky month

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herwoahno-after-dark · 5 months

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Final few drawings from this sketchbook now that I’m recycling it! Kind of sad because this particular notebook was one I used as a little kid, it has some suuuper old and embarrassingly bad (but funny) drawings in it.

Also just going to put this here; I know something kind of blew up here over the weekend in this corner of Tumblr. Dr. Tezuka has been dead for several decades now, so we will never know exactly what “ending” he thought about for Tenma and Astro further than how they got separated and never really permanently reunited throughout his numerous re-writes and loose canon tendencies. That’s up to us to parse and make meaning of and potentially imagine beyond for ourselves as audience members of the series, which many fans have done over the years (And even any other official work done after Tezuka’s passing, like AB2003 and ATB, Pluto etc are basically the same thing). I believe we are allowed to disagree with the evaluations of media that others come up with, whether just in our heads or posted publicly! However, it is not our job to budge every last person’s opinion on the internet. We may “see” each other on a somewhat regular basis because, let’s face it, this fandom is pretty small, but at the end of the day none of us know everything that informs the meaning being made by the others — and we are not obligated to disclose such personal information for any reason, in real life or online. To give you an example and offer up something about myself, Astro as a character resonates with me in large part because he stands on the border between one group and another; although he is certainly a robot, he lives his life as a human would most of the time, creating a split between himself and other robots while still not being accepted fully into human society. It gives him a unique opportunity to bridge the two together, but as a result he can never be entirely one or the other. The reason why I find that fascinating is because I am a second-gen immigrant Asian-American, and it forms some parallels with the way I feel in my own life, having been raised more American than Asian. Also, my parents are culturally Chinese-Indonesian, but ethnically appear Chinese (as do I). I will never be fully accepted into native Chinese, Indonesian, or Chinese-Indonesian communities because I act too much like an “American” despite my appearance. I will also never be fully accepted into the American community I live in because I still cling onto some of my heritage, and of course also because of my appearance. But maybe due to my experience in both worlds, the chances have increased that I could foster greater empathy, interest, or understanding between them, and Astro gives me hope for that.

However— I wouldn’t expect anyone here to know that (or even remember after reading it — it’s fine, you can purge the info from your brain LOL) even if it does affect my readings of certain scenarios and stories. If someone were to post something that doesn’t acknowledge or reflect the perspective I have, I can feel any type of way about it, but I have to remind myself I don’t know where they’re coming from and to try not to take it too personally, since they don’t know where I’m coming from either. Maybe someone has had the exact opposite experience from me, maybe they just haven’t been in any comparable situation to begin with, they could also be a lot younger or older, or from another part of the world — on the internet you really just don’t know, and a person doesn’t really have to tell you if they don’t want to. Personally, once I’ve said my piece, I’ve said it. If someone disagrees with me over the same point repeatedly, and I considered their viewpoint but decided to retain mine, I don’t continue to engage them, because I know it gets unproductive sooner or later (neither side changes their mind or learns anything new, if anything we both just become more stubborn about our own arguments because we have to keep making the same one over and over). I do think about Tezuka’s and other artists’ work very seriously, as an artist myself and an aspiring professional, and I believe that’s a valid angle to come from. Yet I often just draw things on a whim despite the aforementioned, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, most of my drawings have very little meaning. I just post on here hoping it might make someone else a bit happier to see it; I suspect that many others in the community do the same. (Obviously if I misrepresent something severely in my own work, which I hope I will not but you never know, I want someone to tell me about it, but I didn’t think this was the case in the particular situation happening now.)

and… I will freely admit to sharing outlandish internet takes both as a kid and as an adult, then changing my mind and looking back on it, as well as my behavior in general, later with regret 😭 it will happen again, I’m sure… perhaps this is one and I should have kept my mouth shut, but I hope this at least gave some of my perspective. If you want to probe any further into my thoughts or ask for clarification you can!

#Astro boy oh boy

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notmojo · 4 months

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Here's my Eyeless Jack rendition. <3

I waited a bit to make an actual drawing before posting the concept doodle. :]

On Tiktok, I explained that his family and him were part of a cannibal cult. He was born and raised there till he died at 21 years old for eating raw meat.

He came back as a ghost, although he doesn't seem to understand that fact. In fact, he calls himself a demon since that is more logical to him.

Even tho his name isn't even Jack, he's known as "Eyeless Jack " due to some kids naming him that way the first time he was spotted.

One day, he stumbled upon Jeff, who he claimed he was a demon too since he not only looked offsetting, but acted like one too from his POV.

I gave him a balaclava since it seems like he is wearing one in his OG picture. I also modified a lil' bit his mask cuz why not lol.

I have a really bad memory, so even tho I keep reading and re reading most creepys, I legitimately cannot remember that much about them besides their main characteristics. That's the reason behind me rewriting most of their stories! I've been a fan since primary school. My best friend at the time introduced me to them, and I love going back to this fandom every now and then.

Anyway, I just wanted to leave a short explanation for the AU I'm currently working on.

#artists on tumblr #art #character art #creepypasta #creepypasta art #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta redesign #redesign #creepypasta fanart #character design #eyeless jack #eyeless jack creepypasta

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bookaddict24-7 · 6 months

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REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Books I’ve read so far in 2023!

Friend me on Goodreads here to follow my more up to date reading journey for the year!

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204. The Parasite by Richard Paul Evans--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I can't believe we get more MICHAEL VEY stories! I was in love with this series when I did my re-read and I didn't know we were going to get a sequel series with them being in College until I saw this one pop up at work last year. Although it's a wholly new adventure, the suspense and fun is just the same.

Although it reads more like YA like the other books in the series, the characters are definitely older (wouldn't be surprised in they're at least 20). I liked this side of it because it felt more proportional with the violence they experience.

I also mainly loved reading this book because while it was fun, we got to have the opportunity to see how the characters were doing beyond the initial series, which is something so rare. AND it is a great story, too, it's not some sad attempt at writing yet another MICHAEL VEY story.

The team goes back to the site of one of the places that started it all because one of their old teammates has gone missing there, and two other have been abducted. It was nonstop action and intrigued.

If you haven't read this series, I highly recommend it. I think it's good for any ages because it's just pure fun. (My review rambles because I don't want to spoil anything LOL).

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205. The Traitor by Richard Paul Evans--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The way I always devour these books. Since I waited to read the last book in this series, I was able to read this one immediately after.

I loved the twists and turns, and the constant adventure. I also almost cried during this one because it feels like the impossible has happened near the end of this book. I'm not going to say much because of spoilers, but I'm left with questions and I'm eagerly waiting for the next book, since this one left off on a cliffhanger!

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206. Come With Me by Ronald Malfi--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I've been meaning to read a Ronald Malfi novel because I came across a couple of his short story collections that looked really good to me. I wanted to see if I vibed with his writing and while it took me a little bit to get into it, I think I'm going to enjoy his stuff.

COME WITH ME dealt with not only a chilling mystery to be solved after the tragic killing of the MC's wife, but also the shadows of grief that haunt us when we're stuck in that immediate loop of not being able to cope with the new reality that loss paints for us. We see the personification of this grief in Malfi's novel as the MC struggles to find the answers his late wife had secretly been hunting for while she was alive.

This is definitely one of those horror books that masquerade as a ghost story, but is actually a tale of human-created horror and the haunting of grief. The actions of several people, including police officers, is another one of the chilling topics brought into focus in COME WITH ME.

It took me a while to get into the book because the first few parts are about the MC's reality shifting and in retrospect, I think that it was a very necessary introduction. We are being brought into the MC's very real horror story and then we start exploring the true crime aspect of this book.

I think what made this book all the more compelling was how consistent Malfi was throughout the story when it comes to grief and the horrible things humans do to one another. Even the ending was a jarring reminder of this.

COME WITH ME leaves you with questions like "Why?" and "What now?" and I have zero regrets about finally reading this book. I've read a lot of iterations of grief and how it can be explored in fiction. I think Malfi does a great job and I'm excited to read more of his work!

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207. Hello Stranger by Katherine Center--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I'm a huge fan of Katherine Center. I've enjoyed pretty much every book she's ever written and that hasn't changed at all after reading this new one!

HELLO STRANGER was such a cute and unique story following a woman who loses her ability to recognize faces after a life-saving brain surgery. She's an artist and while she's struggling with her new (and potentially temporary) reality, she grows closer to the resident playboy (or is he?)

I loved seeing their banter, her hilarious take on certain situations, and how obvious the conflict was--but in the funniest way possible. This was truly such a sunlight of a book during the scariest of months.

Center's writing is always such a joy and HELLO STRANGER is perfect proof of that. It's not smutty, so know that, but it does focus on a classic and fun will they/won't they romance between two enemies (maybe?). If you like stories that feature a guy who falls first, but let's the FMC do her enemies bit, then you're going to really enjoy this.

Also, much like Center's other books, the MC also has a complex storyline. Her complicated relationship with her family, the grief that has helped shape her as an artist, and her need to be the best friend possible make her a fun narrator for HELLO STRANGER.

Add this one to your TBR if you want a fun romantic comedy with a little puppy, an evil stepsister, and a sexy man who just wants to be helpful.

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208. The Fate of Ten by Pittacus Lore--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Well, that ending was...I'm very glad I'm reading these years after they've all been released. I don't know if I'd be able to handle having to wait a year for the the final book after that ending.

Much like the rest of this series, this was a fantastic book. Will always be a fan of how the characters have grown so much and the complex relationships between all of them. They all work off each other so, so well.

I liked the twists and there were definitely moments where I thought the storyline was getting really cool. Not going to lie, series like this one make me feel like a kid again. The fun of them, the emotional weight of them, and the "will they actually succeed?" urgency of these stories hook me every time.

I can't say too much because they're super easy to spoil, but if you've been on the fence about reading this series, I highly recommend that you give yourself a few days off to just sit and read these (or listen to them). They're that good and addicting. Even though I'm giving myself breaks in between each book, I am always thinking about them!

Seriously can't wait to get my hands on the next one!

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209. The Ferryman by Justin Cronin--⭐️⭐️⭐️

It has been a LONG time since I've read anything by Justin Cronin. I remember that summer, years ago, when I fell into THE PASSAGE--the bible-thin pages taunting me--and completely falling in love. I didn't know what to expect from THE FERRYMAN, but the concept seemed interesting and I wanted to read something new from Cronin that didn't have to do with his spooky tome of a series.

Long story short, I thought THE FERRYMAN was...okay?

I THINK I understand what Cronin was trying to do with this one. I even see this as a bittersweet love letter to grief. Grief over a future lost; grief over what could have been and is actually a completely different existence. The whole experience was like a manic dream highlighted by the grief that the characters carry in their hearts. This aspect was powerful and honestly so heartbreaking.

One of the things that I recalled from THE PASSAGE were the parental undertones when one of the children lacked a parent to help guide them in their scary new world. This is another part of THE FERRYMAN that I think Cronin did well.

What I think was a flaw in THE FERRYMAN was the structure of the story and the at-times wordiness of the story, even though this book was much shorter than THE PASSAGE. We kept jumping from one storyline to another, and another, and another. Just when I thought I was getting a grip of where the story had jumped to, we were thrust into another new reality. The structure was akin to an onion full of layers--metaphorical layers that made me cry with frustration because understanding was such a slippery concept. Thankfully, the ending really and truly helped me understand what the hell was going on, but the journey was admittedly exhausting.

I'm happy I read this because it was different and challenged me, but the exhausting nature of it also makes me happy I made it to the end. (I don't foresee a re-read in my future.) Overall, I enjoyed the messages in this, but the execution could have been done better (unless disorienting the reader was the goal, then bravo!)

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210. Time to Shine by Rachel Reid--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I received a copy from the publisher. This did not affect my rating in any way!

I LOVED THIS BOOK.

Listen, I haven't stayed up until 5:30AM listening to a book in FOREVER. Rachel Reid hits us again with another incredible M/M hockey romance! I simply adored this--in the "kicking my feet with joy" way.

The himb0 MC is the cutest person I have read in a book in a long time. One of my favourite lines he says is "Sometimes he had thought ideas were great and they turned out to be terrible, like the time he stirred peanut butter into his coffee." (Quote is from the ARC.) My sweet summer child. This quote pretty much paints a perfect idea of how he his. He's the sweetest and most...sexual guy ever and I fell immediately in love.

The second and quieter MC is this tall and shy badass goalie who is the biggest cinnamon roll. I wanted to hug him (after asking first) and take on some of the grief and guilt he carries with him for a good chunk of the book. His anxiety and adverseness to his talkative counterpart was hilarious and watching him slowly open up was the absolute best.

One of the best things about this book, which I have already told a couple of people, is the communication between the two characters. Consent is always important and it is definitely highlighted in this book.

TIME TO SHINE is an apt title, not just because we see these characters grow to be the brightest people they can be (in their worlds), but because this book is a like a ray of sunshine full of important topics, but most importantly, such a pure and sweet love.

I giggled, fell in love, and sweated my way through the smut.

I'm in love and I hope there's more coming in this world (or at least from Reid!)

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211. The Wild Robot by Peter Brown--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I listened to the audiobook and this was an incredibly great choice. The production level was incredible and I can see younger readers falling in love immediately. I almost wish the sound effects had played throughout the whole book.

The mini storylines of how Roz the robot made friends and survived on the island were so sweet that I couldn't help but smile throughout the whole book. I especially loved the storyline where she was the mom to an orphaned little goose. It made my heart feel so warm and fuzzy--it was just so, so cute.

Now I understand why so many little ones come into the bookstore looking for this series! It has a lot of great messages of forgiveness and the complexities of the topic, friendships, different kinds of parents, never judging someone before getting to know them, and how family isn't always blood-related but can be made up of those around us who love us. It's an incredible wholesome book.

I think this would be a great book for an even younger demographic than 9-12. I think I'd recommend this for as young as eight or nine--especially when one considers what some kids are reading now. This is a wholesome read with very, very minimal violence and a whole lot of love.

___

Have you read any of these books? Let me know your thoughts!

___

Happy reading!

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cheesybadgers · 1 year

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Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 18)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 10,316

Summary: As Javier and Horacio make a fresh start in Madrid, they attempt to come to terms with their past, present and future with some unexpected help.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Romantic/emotional sex, edging, PTSD symptoms, grief and parental loss, brief discussions of sexuality/coming out, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Ok, so I know I said I wasn't going to be posting for a while, but after some lovely comments I've had on Tumblr this past week, I thought I would show my appreciation by sharing this a bit earlier than anticipated ❤️

Chapter 19 is ready to go, so hopefully I can post that soon, as it's the second half of their Madrid adventures (I had to split it because it got too big for one chapter, oops).

Thank you once again to anyone still following this fic - old or new - I can't believe it's been over two years since I first started it. Never in a million years did I expect it to become, well, this lol. But we are very nearly there now!

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested.

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 18: One Day at a Time

It was the stillest part of the day, the city suspended somewhere between the dying embers of night and the cusp of dawn. The streets below saw parallel worlds collide as overindulgent revellers staggered alongside coffee-carrying workers who had drawn the short straw.

Neither Javier nor Horacio was a stranger to witnessing sunrise from both sides. But there was comfort in waking up to it rather than being caught unawares when sleep never came.

A raucous catfight had woken them, although the sparring partners had since gone their separate ways and restored calm to the neighbourhood.

Javier surveyed the aftermath from the French doors of the balcony, a pair of arms smoothly securing themselves around his waist, their fingers entwining over his stomach.

“Did I miss anything?” Horacio croaked, grogginess still heavy in his throat, his bare chest radiating welcomed warmth against Javier’s chilled back.

“Just the usual suspects. I know the ginger one lives opposite, but I think the black one must be a stray.”

“The same one that was out here the other day?” Horacio nodded towards their balcony, equipped with a table, two chairs, and a few hanging baskets and potted plants.

“Looked like it.”

“Maybe we should put some food out if it stops by again.” Memories of the stray he and Alejandra played their part in looking after sprung to Horacio's mind. Strangely enough, that had been a black cat too.

“Should I tell Luna she’s been replaced already?”

“Don’t you dare.” At least the teasing took Horacio’s mind off the fact he missed all two-legged and four-legged residents of the ranch tremendously, and according to reports from Chucho, the feeling was mutual.

It had only been weeks since they left Laredo, but the days stretched out longer now. It wasn’t that time dragged, but their pace of life had slowed again. The ranch was a vacation compared to Colombia, but jobs still needed to be done. Here though, they had no commitments.

The first week involved sorting out their apartment. It came fully furnished, but they needed basics like bedding, groceries and warmer clothes. Arriving in Madrid during the winter months was a shock to the system after their balmy Texan Christmas, a fact Horacio probably should have warned Javier about before they stepped off the plane in their short-sleeved shirts.

Not that Javier minded whenever the temperature dropped in the evening, and they would huddle on the couch in front of the electric fire, limbs draped over one another. There was no scent of mesquite wood this time, but that didn’t matter when shared body heat and tactility were more than enough to satisfy as they christened the furniture in their shared home.

The décor was all neutral colours but vibrant paintings of local landmarks and rural Spain hung on the bright white walls. A long corridor stretched from the entrance, with a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and separate living area branching off it. Despite the modest square footage, the high ceilings and large windows along the external wall made the space light and airy.

The apartment was still dark enough to protect them at this time of day, and semi-closed blinds covered the balcony doors from top to bottom. They could see out the hangings, especially if they were prised apart. But Javier had ensured on the first day they arrived that there was no chance of anyone from outside nosing in. He wasn’t taking any chances, even though that threat was left back in Colombia.

Now the commotion outside had died down, they basked in the peace of their embrace.

“It was the cats that woke you, wasn’t it?” Horacio asked after a contented silence. He had to check, even though there had been a marked improvement in their sleeping patterns lately.

“Yeah, it was. I slept well last night, actually.”

“Me too. Better now I’m getting used to the traffic again.”

“The ranch really makes you forget how fucking loud the city is.” Or maybe, now Javier thought about it, it was the ranch that was so fucking quiet. “I’m still waking up through the night sometimes, cats or no cats. But I guess that might just be getting used to this place.”

“You like it here, though?”

“Yeah, I do. I can see why you wanted to come back.”

“I only wanted to come back with you.” Horacio’s fingers traced idle patterns across the soft curve of Javier’s stomach.

A light shiver ran through Javier as he lolled his head back into the pillow of Horacio’s shoulder. “So you could do this, huh?”

Horacio hummed in agreement against Javier’s neck, his mouth working methodically back and forth as a hand wandered south in search of a trail of dark hair, skirting through the wiry strands.

“Well, it wasn’t for the sangria,” he scathed, his teeth scraping over Javier as though he would rather devour the man in his arms than a glass of that stuff. Maybe it was because they hadn’t drunk much alcohol since Javier returned from Colombia, but neither had taken to it. “And you don’t seem to be complaining.”

“There are worse ways to start the day.” Javier relaxed into Horacio’s hold, allowing himself to be manhandled because there was no rush. There never was anymore.

Plenty of early mornings had begun similarly. Sometimes one man would wake up to the calid pressure of a mouth around his cock, gradually allowing the slow burn of arousal to build whilst they were half-asleep. Other times they would spoon with one held inside the other, barely moving, vaguely dreaming but always on the brink of release.

Then there were times when slow and gentle weren't enough. They had mastered the art of keeping each other quiet, for their apartment walls weren’t the thickest. Not too much, though, because the rhythmic slapping of skin-on-skin or the crisp echo of a palm across the ass was part of the appeal.

But teasing strokes and languorous rolls of the hips were in order now. One hand pumped at an unhurried pace, Javier’s length fitting in Horacio’s grip as though they were made for each other. As though Horacio had every nerve ending and sweet spot memorised as he expertly massaged Javier’s frenulum, extracting a guttural moan that reverberated through their chests in tandem.

Horacio’s free hand mapped Javier’s skin, chasing goosebumps with the calloused pads of his fingers as he found friction at the cleft of Javier’s ass. Each touch and motion a tangible reminder he wasn’t here alone this time, that the solid form in his hold and the stubbled cheek grazing against his were real. That they belonged to each other, not as possessions but as mutual choices made again and again.

Javier luxuriated in a delirious limbo, teetering on the verge but never quite there, the need for release visceral in the pit of his stomach. Yet as he trembled and writhed, alternating between pouting his bottom lip and biting it, a part of him was willing to beg to be kept hanging. Because this was what he had wanted when they were separated by oceans and a misplaced sense of duty, and now he had it, he didn’t want to let it go.

Each twitch or convulsion only made Horacio pull Javier closer, gaining extra purchase with the firm grasp at his hip bone, grinding harder but not faster, lost in dragging the head of his cock in agonising circles, from side to side, then up and down, pausing to let it throb in time with their panting. Knowing he could probe further and give them what they needed, but then it would be game over.

So, they resisted, turning shallow breaths into deeper ones, Horacio ceasing movement whenever they neared the point of no return, reeling them back in like a wound-up coil, forcing them to admire the view below as they fought against every instinct in their bodies.

Javier allowed the balcony door to bear some of their weight with one hand splayed across the clinking blinds, pushing back a fraction just to make Horacio groan in his ear and seize the cross dangling from his neck. His other hand clutched Horacio’s arm, neck, shoulder, whichever part of him he could reach, grounding and anchoring them together.

Whenever they almost succumbed, memories of their time apart would re-focus them in the present; where their legs shook, and their toes curled at every new sensation rippling through their joined form, the anticipation of relief battling with remaining in equilibrium, daring each other to prolong the exquisite agony for as long as possible.

But resistance was inevitably futile. With several final jerks of the wrist and hips, they surrendered control, painting Javier with their release from both sides as they gave themselves over to the white-hot bliss cascading through their synapses, each spasm igniting and stoking flame after flame, consuming and burning until they almost blacked out.

Neither moved as the pink haze of the skyline broached the gaps in the blinds and blushed their fevered skin; the dawn air a perfect tonic to the blazing heat between them. A greeting from the light rather than a reluctant acknowledgement after outstaying their welcome in the dark.

Strong arms encased Javier at his front while a rhythmic beat drummed against his back, catching and soothing him in surroundings that were still relatively new. Steady, grounding, home.

“Good morning, by the way,” Horacio said between tender kisses along Javier’s shoulder.

“Hmm, certainly is a good morning.” Javier shifted to face Horacio, sweeping him up with an open-mouthed kiss as addictive as the first one they ever shared, and oh, how far they had come since then. “Is it too early for breakfast?”

“Not when we’ve built up an appetite.” Horacio nibbled at Javier’s lip to emphasise his hunger. “Although, maybe a shower before I make us some coffee?”

Javier nipped back before instigating another searing kiss, barely breaking it to speak again. “Sounds good to me.”

Nothing was particularly extraordinary about the idyllic scene they had started the morning off with. And yet that in itself was extraordinary. Not so long ago, all of this felt out of reach, something to aspire to or hope for, but not something feasible. But here they were, in their shared apartment, embarking on a new chapter together, taking another leap of faith. Not running away from the past but trying to break free from its shackles, one day at a time.

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

Once they had got their bearings in the first few weeks, they began to venture out bit by bit. First, it was walking around the city’s vast green parks, starting with the nearest and working further away from their apartment each time. Then cooking or takeaway turned into dining in a secluded bistro. And watching TV in the apartment became a leisurely stroll around a museum.

Horacio hadn’t felt much like sightseeing when he was here by himself. But things were different now. Everything was different now, even the city itself, from how the early morning light fell on the buildings to the hustle and bustle of Gran Vía. The crowds were still there in their droves. The shoppers and tourists, who would stop in the middle of the pavement with a street map sprawling across their arms, still needed to be sidestepped at the last second. But it was easier to ignore when Javier was by his side.

It was at this point that Horacio knew there was something he was going to have to do. Something he had been putting off, despite it being something he wanted to do. But that didn’t calm the nerves bubbling in his stomach as he took the familiar walk around the corner from their apartment building and down a cobbled side street. Javier had offered to come with him for moral support, but playing it safe seemed the best option, at least this time, just in case.

As he approached the glass door with its seasonal flower arrangements hanging below the red and gold calligraphic Café Romero lettering, it hit him how much his life had changed since he last visited, how much he and Javier had been through. So how reasonable was it to expect everything to be the same here? He swallowed hard as he turned the handle, the bell above the door jangling as it opened.

The interior looked the same as always. Caramel and beige walls complemented the variety of coffees on the menu and the lush green of potted plants decorating the shelves, in between photos of past and present generations of the Romero family. A large window ran along the front, providing extra lighting and an opportunity to people-watch on busier days.

Horacio could see no staff and only customers, but it was early, so the place hadn't filled up yet. In fact, his usual window seat in the corner was still free. Waves of nostalgia layered with relief rolled over him as he sat down facing the counter.

But it didn’t take long for the face he was looking for to appear from the kitchen carrying a fresh batch of napolitanas de chocolate.

A shriek of delight quickly followed once Señora Romero put down her baking tray and raised her head. She brought her hands to her face in surprise, gathering up her apron at the same time as it caught on her fingers. “Horacio?!”

The intonation of her voice suggested it was a question. But she was already crossing the floor of the café with her arms outstretched.

Horacio rose from his table, making it easier for her to scoop him into a hug reminiscent of the ones his Abuela Margarita gave him as a child.

“It’s good to see you, Señora Romero. I hope you’re well.”

She looked well, her silver hair still tied in a messy bun and her rounded figure and freshly stained apron a sign her passion for food hadn’t waned.

“All the better for seeing you.” She lightly squeezed his cheek as she took in his appearance. “Although you might have warned me, I’d have baked more of those milhojas you liked so much last time.”

“Sorry. I’ve not been back long. I’m still sorting out the apartment and trying to remember my way around.”

“Of course, of course. Rest your feet, and I’ll bring you something over. Your usual coffee?”

Horacio smiled at the fact she had remembered his order. “That’d be lovely, thank you.”

The coffee was as delicious as ever, much like the freshly made churros and accompanying hot chocolate, which Señora Romero gave him on the house despite his protests.

She updated Horacio on her family and how Luisa and her husband, Julián, had become parents since their wedding. Their new arrival, Tomás, meant Señora Romero still ran the café, with Luisa helping out occasionally until Tomás was at school.

Señora Romero rushed to grab some photos from behind the counter, showing off her latest grandson. She was in her element and every bit the doting Abuelita.

“Congratulations, I can see the family resemblance,” Horacio said, passing the photos back.

“I said the same to Luisa! He’s definitely got the Romero nose.” She gazed at the picture before shifting her attention back to Horacio. “So, what did I do to deserve the pleasure of your company?”

Horacio scoffed into his cup, creating ripples across the surface of his coffee as he took a sip. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about from where we left off?”

Horacio hadn't been looking for sympathy, but naturally, Señora Romero supplied plenty of it, gasping, tutting, and consoling in all the appropriate places when he gave an abridged and redacted version of events since their last meeting.

He spoke more than was ideal about his injury and retirement from the CNP because, by comparison, it was safer ground than the inverted commas silently hugging every use of "friend" a mention of Javier brought.

“Oh, Horacio, my dear. You have been through the wars. How’s your shoulder doing now?”

“Okay, mostly. I still get twinges, but I know I’m lucky.”

“Lucky to have someone like Javier around as well, by the sounds of it.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Even if he had wanted to stop it, the reflexive smile spreading across Horacio’s face was irrepressible.

Señora Romero studied his features intently, beaming in return once she had finished. “And how was life on a ranch?”

“It was…good, actually. I know it’s not the CNP, but I liked the peace and quiet. And the routine. Something always needed doing or fixing.”

“It might not be the CNP, but that sounds much safer and simpler to me.”

“It was. It was good to feel useful again. Like I was making a difference, even if it wasn’t life or death.” Especially if it wasn’t, more like.

“I know you never talked much about it, but I could see how restless you were trapped behind a desk. You’re a man of action, Horacio. I don’t see that changing no matter which path you take.”

The café was busier now, meaning Horacio was left to finish his churros whilst Señora Romero dealt with the start of the breakfast rush.

As he dipped his last churro in the remnants of hot chocolate, it occurred to him that, once upon a time, his father would have been the central focus of this conversation. And, of course, he had wondered what his Papá would have made of his son living and working on a ranch in Texas, of all places. But it was also a moot point. It was an answer he would never get, regardless of how much he wrung his hands about the hypothetical possibility of disappointing his father.

This was about what was best for him and Javier now. The ranch had been their escape from the madness that was slowly killing them. Although Horacio never knew with absolute certainty what caused his Papá’s heart to fail, it was a plausible theory he overworked himself. And that irony sat more comfortably with Horacio these days. Because as much as his Papá had been a role model since Horacio was old enough to understand the word police, he was also a cautionary tale.

When the rush died down, Horacio helped clear some tables. It was the least he could do in exchange for words of wisdom and a complimentary breakfast.

But Señora Romero didn’t stop there and scuttled off behind the counter. She filled a box with an assortment of pastries and cakes, sealed the lid and handed it to Horacio as he moved towards the door.

“Here, my dear. Some more to keep you going. Enough for two, in fact.”

Horacio fumbled for a response beyond thank you as he accepted the box, wishing he could hide inside it as he sensed her eyes still on him.

Señora Romero’s hand lingered on his for a fraction longer than was customary for a simple goodbye.

He looked up to find the same head tilt and gentle smile he was met with in the apartment upstairs almost two years ago. When he was indirectly talking about Javier.

“I meant it when I said don’t be a stranger. You and Javier will always be welcome here.”

The sincerity in her eyes grew sharper, and she gripped his hand. In sympathy? Solidarity? Horacio wasn't sure.

But it put him at ease enough to reciprocate and ask a question now lodged in his throat with no option to swallow it back down. “How did you know?”

“Because there’s a glow about you, Horacio. A glow I remember from a long, long time ago. I might’ve forgotten a lot in my old age, but never that. Not even now it’s just me rattling around upstairs. It doesn’t have to fade, you know. Not if you don’t let it.”

It was a running theme for Horacio’s elders to leave him speechless like this. And it was all he could do to bob his head in acknowledgement, hoping he might be capable of such sage insights one day.

The bell above the door chimed again, signalling the end of their reunion as Señora Romero greeted her new customers, inviting them to sit wherever they liked.

“I think that’s my cue. But thank you, Señora Romero. For everything.”

“Any time. Take care, Horacio. And remember, my door’s always open.”

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Horacio dropped the box of delights on the kitchen counter, the fresh breeze and murmur of traffic revealing that Javier had moved from the bedroom to the balcony since he left.

Javier put the book he was reading down in favour of craning his neck over his shoulder to watch Horacio potter about the kitchen before biting the bullet. “So, how did it go?”

Horacio didn’t speak whilst he concentrated on transferring a couple of ensaimadas onto plates. He then joined Javier, sitting in the empty seat next to him as he offered a plate. “Better than I thought it would. She guessed about us. I didn’t tell her. Somehow she just…knew.”

“How did she take it?”

“I think we’ve got a free supply of these for life.”

They couldn’t help but laugh in unison, more from relief than anything else.

“See, I told you it’d be fine.”

“Yeah. It’s never gonna stop, though, is it?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Every time we meet someone.”

“I say it's nobody’s fucking business unless we decide it is.”

“I spoke to Alejandra yesterday. While you were in the shower.” Horacio paused at his announcement that might have appeared unconnected to their conversation, but Javier knew better. “I let her know I’m back here for now. I couldn’t tell her the rest, though.”

He focused on his plate, poking a fork at the crumbly layers of pastry, hoping to find his courage buried somewhere between them. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, stop that.” Javier forfeited his plate for leaning closer to Horacio, palm caressing his thigh. “Before Laredo, you said I should only tell Pops if I’m ready. So, there’s no rush, Horacio. Take all the time you need.”

Horacio entwined their fingers on his leg because if anyone understood his apprehension, it was Javier. “I know. I just hate keeping it from her after everything we’ve been through. She would always make me soup if I was sick. And she looked out for me after Papá was gone. She taught me Mamá’s sudado de pollo recipe because it was one of Papá’s favourites. I liked to think I was the man of the house, but she loved reminding me she was my older sister.”

“I bet she did. I saw that a lot with my parents and my Tías and Tíos. Never could decide if I’d have preferred brothers and sisters after they all got together.”

“That’s siblings for you. I didn’t want to shut her – or Mamá – out. But when things got crazy back home, I had no choice.”

“Same with Pops. The worse it got, the more I shut down. But he understood. And…I know I haven’t met them.” Yet, Javier wanted to add but thought better of it. “But they might too.”

“I know.”

“We’ll be okay whatever happens, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. I do.” Horacio finally let go of Javier’s hand, knowing if he held on any longer, he’d have given their neighbours something to gossip about.

Instead, he took another bite of his pastry and a swig of the half-drunk coffee from the table where Javier’s abandoned book lay. “What are you reading, anyway?”

“Oh, just this.” Javier reached for his Mamá’s poetry book, the pages fluttering in the breeze, the superstitious remnants from his upbringing wanting to believe it was a sign of something other than the weather. “Before we left, I told Pops I wished she’d met you. I don’t know if she ever suspected anything about me, but…I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Maybe not. But for what it’s worth, I wish I’d met her too.”

It had always been a relief for Horacio that his father and Javier never crossed paths, but that was mostly a projection of his own fears. The truth was, he would never know if his Papá suspected anything about him, either.

Once they had finished their ensaimadas, Horacio washed up the plates and a few items waiting by the sink, a routine he performed countless times with Alejandra when they were just about tall enough to reach the taps; before any expectations of who or what he was supposed to be were placed on his shoulders. Memories flooded back of how they would squabble over who got to wash and dry. Although, of course, more often than not, his big sister would pull rank, and in hindsight, he smiled at the possibility that, all those years later, she, rather than their Papá, was what had made his job so appealing.

As he left the clean plates, cups, and cutlery to dry on the draining board, it dawned on him that Alejandra and his Mamá didn’t have to be the same story as his Papá. They didn’t need to be another unfinished, half-written story in which the ending would always elude him, haunt him, or hold him back. Not if Horacio didn’t leave it too late this time.

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Whilst Horacio resumed his early morning runs, they were more like gentle jogs these days. It wasn’t that he had lost his stamina after being put through his paces back on the ranch, but he didn’t feel the need to charge ahead at full pelt anymore. He was more likely to go through a routine of strengthening exercises, to keep his right shoulder from seizing up, and for whenever they decided to head back to Laredo. If that was to become his full-time job, he couldn’t afford to be out of shape.

He left Javier in bed, with plans to meet him at Café Romero for breakfast. It was to be Javier’s first time meeting Señora Romero, which they were confident they had nothing to worry about, but that didn’t quell the butterflies dancing in their stomachs the night before.

It was why Horacio had gone for a run instead of lying awake restless, counting down the hours until he could get up. His muscle memory, rather than his wristwatch, estimated that by the time he jogged one of his usual routes that took him to the outskirts of Casa de Campo park and walked a few blocks to cool down, he would be ready for breakfast.

About three-quarters of the way through his run, having just exited the park, he heard the call of his name. He willed there to be another Horacio jogging passed at the same time, but when his eyes fell upon the source of the voice, he knew he was out of luck.

“Álvaro?” He didn’t know why he asked; he’d spent enough time with Álvaro Molina to recognise his voice anywhere.

Álvaro was a chief inspector in the Spanish CNP. Not a direct parallel to Horacio’s role in Colombia, but close enough. Although Álvaro was never based at the Consulate when Horacio was, they spent plenty of time in the same cross-departmental meetings.

He was a couple of inches taller than Horacio with hazel eyes and unruly dark brown curls that were more mottled with grey than their last meeting. At one time, Álvaro carried almost as much muscle as Horacio, but he had visibly lost weight, his face now gaunt and rough with days’ old stubble.

“How the hell are you?” A hand shook Horacio’s with vigour. “Better than last time, I bet, now that motherfucker’s in the ground.”

“You could say that.”

“What brings you back? They didn’t exile you again, did they?” Álvaro winked, knowing he was on friendly enough terms with Horacio to get away with it.

A scoff and roll of the eyes was Horacio’s response. “No. Actually, it was the other way round this time.”

“Oh? You are a dark horse. Always thought they’d have to force you into retirement when you’re old and grey.”

“Yeah, me too. But I guess things change.”

“Hmm, some more than others.”

“I take it there’s been no let-up in seizures after Medellín folded?”

“Not with Cali waiting in the wings, no.” There was a brittle laugh followed by a shift in Álvaro’s facial expression, the joviality from moments ago now gone and replaced with traces of sleep deprivation.

“That’s the trouble. You cut off one serpent’s head, and two more of the fuckers grow straight back.” Horacio’s words were loaded with a sting of venom at the mention of Cali, closely followed by thoughts of Los Pepes, Stechner and the CIA’s protection of Cali. How could they possibly win when the whole system was corrupt to the core?

“Tell me about it. Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve got time to grab a quick coffee? Hell knows I need one.”

Horacio calculated he had about 15 minutes maximum spare, so, it was doable if he drank fast and didn’t get too involved in shop talk that was no longer his remit.

“Okay, there’s a place just inside Casa de Campo. But you’re buying.”

“Always the cheapskate.”

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Javier glanced up from his newspaper to the clock on the wall. Horacio was technically late; by his own standards, that was. Javier wouldn’t even have noticed if it was anyone else.

He followed Horacio’s instructions on how to get here, even down to picking the window seat in the far corner of the café. It was empty when Javier arrived – five minutes early, which must be a first – so he sat and waited.

Not long after he took a seat, a lady too young to be Señora Romero came to greet him with a friendly smile, ready to take his order.

Javier went with a café solo for each of them, saving the food order for when Horacio arrived.

Even when speaking in short sentences, Javier was self-conscious of his accent here, sometimes forgetting to adjust his pronunciation or pick a different word than he was used to. Of course, it had been the same when he arrived in Colombia and Horacio in Texas. A cultural exchange that led to many late-night conversations – and the occasional argument – about dialect differences. But that was the versatility of the Spanish language.

The same waitress brought the drinks over, although an older woman had joined her who was now clearing the adjacent table. The family resemblance between the two women was undeniable, so Javier assumed this must be Señora Romero and…Luisa, did Horacio say? He kept quiet for now, just in case he was wrong. Nor did he want to steal Horacio’s thunder with introductions.

As Javier thanked Luisa and explained the second cup was for someone meeting him shortly, Señora Romero ceased wiping a cloth across the emptied table, her ears pricking up at an accent she didn’t hear too often.

Not that Javier noticed as his eyes darted to the door, up to the clock and down to the paper with a heavy sigh.

He got through one and a half news stories when Señora Romero made her move from watching Javier curiously from behind the counter to standing by his table.

“It’s not like him to be late, is it?”

Javier was startled out of his newspaper and looked up, where rich shades of chestnut and cinnamon collided for the first time. “How—?” was about all he managed to stutter out.

Señora Romero sat opposite Javier, where Horacio should have been sitting. “Ever since his first visit, he went straight for this table. It is a nice spot, though. He always read his papers and ordered a café solo every time.” She smiled affectionately at the coffee cups on the table like they were an old friend. “Plus, he told me about Laredo. So, I wasn’t expecting another Colombian accent.”

“I’m impressed. We could’ve done with more people like you in Colombia. And I was under strict instructions to pick this table. But you’re right; it’s not like him to be late.”

There was no doubt a logical explanation for Horacio’s absence. But Javier couldn’t stop his fingers from fidgeting around the handle of his cup or his knee from bouncing under the table and causing an earthquake.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s on his way, dear. Did he go for one of his pre-breakfast runs?”

There was something comforting about Señora Romero’s familiarity with Horacio’s routines, even though Javier had never met her before. It gave them a mutual talking point and a connection beyond the usual dry small talk. “Bingo.”

“Of course! He was one of my most loyal regulars. I did miss seeing him in here after he left.”

“He’s talked about you and this place a lot. So, I’d say the feeling’s mutual.”

“Bless you, my dear. I’m glad our paths crossed. But I’ve no doubt he ended up where he belonged.”

Heat bloomed in Javier’s face and chest as Señora Romero gave him a pointed look followed by a flash of a wink. And he couldn’t help but feel sheepish that he and Horacio had ever worried about her reaction in the first place.

It took his mind off things until his gaze fell back on the clock, and he saw another five minutes had passed. Where the fuck was he? No, Javier couldn’t think like that. It was stupid and unnecessary at this stage. He just needed to focus on the pleasant conversation he was having now. So, he tried again.

This time, he asked questions about Señora Romero’s family and, during a lull in the breakfast rush, was introduced to Luisa as a friend of Horacio’s. If Luisa suspected anything, she took it in the same stride as her mother.

Next came the family photos, including plenty of Tomás, naturally. An album's worth of photos was scattered across the table, allowing Señora Romero to guide Javier through each one as though she was delivering a presentation. But as someone with a large extended family, Javier didn’t mind and even interjected with anecdotes about his own relatives.

After a tilt of his head and a sip of his coffee, Javier brought the cup down to the photo-covered table with a sense of déjà vu. It took him out of the moment and forced him to close his eyes, trying to blink away his sudden change in mood. But then, a wave of cheap perfume filled his senses. And Señora Romero’s finger pointing at the pictures was younger and manicured. The photo she placed in his hand wasn’t the many generations of the Romero family posing in front of the café; it was one of the long-lens photos of Javier and Horacio.

He blinked hard enough to see spots, allowing his vision to gradually re-focus on the safety of the photo in his hand rather than the violating one burnt into his memory. He tried not to think about those images, and for the most part, he succeeded these days. But occasionally, his brain would taunt him, reminding him how paralysed he was by the possible consequences. By the fact he put Horacio in so much danger and couldn’t even tell him about it or be with him. By the fact he and Steve were glorified puppets to the likes of Stechner whilst the CIA was up to its neck in corruption.

“These, er, these are all beautiful,” he managed to get out, hoping that the last few seconds had gone unnoticed, as unlikely as that was.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else while you wait, dear?”

That was the next question Javier heard, but he couldn’t be sure if he had zoned out and missed a whole chunk of conversation.

"Er, no, thanks, I'm good."

Without meaning to, his eyes scanned between the clock and the door again, an irrational hope taking hold that if he stared at either long enough, he could make Horacio appear by sheer willpower alone. However, as the second hand on the clock ticked and ticked, he was back in that damn hospital bed. Waiting, waiting, waiting. That was all he could do, unable to get comfortable as each movement was a red-hot poker jabbing in his ribs. But he would take that any day over the crushing, suffocating, nauseating dread that weighed on his chest like a foreshadowing of death. Not his death, although it would have been in all but name if the pendulum of fate had swung the other way.

“Javier? Are you alright, my dear?”

Javier was back in the café, a light sheen of sweat gathering on his skin as he tried to shove whatever the fuck that was back in its box. “Er, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Why don’t I pour us some lemonade upstairs once you’ve finished your coffee? I’ll ask Luisa to send Horacio up when he gets here.”

Javier expected his instincts to push him towards the door and back to the apartment, but they didn’t. Instead, they saw the genuine concern on Señora Romero’s face and the kindness in her gesture. They saw the glimmer of faded memories of his Mamá taking care of him, knowing this wasn’t the same, but also that it didn’t need to be. And so he did the only thing he could.

“That’d be good, thanks.”

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Álvaro brought over two coffees from the kiosk by the park entrance to a nearby seating area of tables and chairs. The previous day’s rain still clung to the stainless steel furniture and explained why there weren’t as many people around them as on a scorching hot day. But that worked in their favour.

They sat opposite each other across a table suffering from a wobbly leg, Horacio in his jogging pants and a somewhat sweaty t-shirt, and Álvaro apparently in yesterday's suit, shirt and skewwhiff tie, if their crumpled appearance and less than fresh aroma were anything to go by. A far cry from the pristine CNP-issued uniforms and tailored suits picked out by Álvaro’s wife their last meeting saw them wearing.

As Horacio took a sip of coffee, he noticed Álvaro reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and pull out a hip flask.

Álvaro lifted the plastic lid from his cup, poured a generous measure from the flask and offered the same to Horacio.

Horacio raised his hand and shook his head. “Bit early for me.”

They made small talk, Horacio managing to be as vague as possible regarding his reasons for living here again. “Taking a break in a beautiful city” and “Catching up with old friends” were about the gist of it. But he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information the first time, so his stunted replies weren’t out of character.

Álvaro was equally brief about the details of his life, which was out of character now Horacio thought about it. Álvaro used to talk about his family as much as his work. His wife was his rock, his kids were his pride and joy, and his brother was progressing at pace through the military ranks. But this time, he confirmed they were doing well and left it at that before getting down to business.

“An anonymous tip-off recently fell into the DEA’s lap. Lots of juicy details about Cali. The gringos are working their way through the intel, and it flagged up more links to our old friends in Galicia. There were sightings of Pacho Herrera up there, plus some of his associates are based in Madrid. So that’s opened a huge fucking can of worms.”

Horacio had a terrible time trying to stifle a reaction to the mention of a tip-off. There was nothing 'anonymous' about it from the DEA’s point of view, not even when it came to the intel's delivery.

The last time he was here, the Galician traffickers were working with Escobar. And whilst Horacio’s redeployment was conducted from behind a desk for the majority, his colleagues had chewed his ear off about various Colombian names that came up in reports or wiretaps. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that the Spanish clans had moved on to Cali.

Álvaro lit a cigarette as he talked, offering up a second one from his almost-empty carton.

But Horacio declined, instead taking another sip of his drink. “Sounds promising. But Álvaro, Cali is a different beast to Medellín. They’re more discreet, professional, and they have powerful friends in high places.”

“I know. But we have to try, right? Look at Operación Nécora. Sooner or later, someone gets sloppy, drops the ball, turns on one of their own, or kills the wrong person. And then we win.”

Watching Álvaro chug back his Irish coffee in one hand with a smouldering cigarette perched in his other was like looking in a mirror to the past. And it wasn’t a pretty sight.

When Horacio was in the fray, it had been too easy to focus solely on the case in front of him, convincing himself it would all be over soon if he just shut down one more lab and seized one more kilo or wad of cash. Or tortured one more suspect. But it was never enough and never would be. He had been fighting a losing battle that had no likely ending in sight, even if the individuals and locations were a perpetual revolving door.

“I’m not sure there are winners in any of this,” he said, the resignation heavy in his tone.

“Shit, you really have changed.”

“Maybe.”

“Last time I saw you, you were raining fire and brimstone upon the narcos. What the fuck happened?”

“Do you know how many funerals I’ve been to, Álvaro? Or how many people I’ve killed? Because I don’t. I stopped counting. Then Escobar tried to have me killed – and nearly succeeded.”

“Woah, woah, what?”

“I took a bullet here,” Horacio gestured to his right shoulder, “and nearly bled out. The doctors said I was lucky I was brought in so fast.” Although Horacio knew a lot more than luck was involved.

“Shit, Horacio.”

“Yeah. So, it’s easy for you to keep fighting when you haven’t lost as many times as I have.”

“Because no one else could possibly have lost anything as well, right?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sounded like it to me. And you’ve got no fucking idea.” Álvaro slammed his cup down on the table, the force of its impact splashing coffee droplets in all directions.

Horacio opted not to make a fuss but he could have sworn he saw the reflection of tears in Álvaro’s eyes as they focused on their drinks in silence. “Did something happen?”

“What gave it away?” Álvaro gestured towards himself, acknowledging his worse-for-wear state. He leaned his elbow on the table, head held in his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair. “There was another bombing. Last June. An army transporter was targeted by 40 kilos of explosives left in a parked car. My brother, Jaime, was...he was there…and didn’t make it.”

“Fuck, Álvaro. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Except, in a roundabout way, he did have some idea. Because back in Colombia, it was Horacio who delivered such news to countless families like the Molinas.

“No, well, you wouldn’t.” He took out the hip flask again, draining whatever was left into his coffee cup and knocking it back. “Not least of all because I lied about him earlier. Sorry about that, by the way. Still not very good at this sort of thing.”

“No, of course. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Your dad was a cop too, right? Before he…passed away.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“I remember you telling me. It was about the only thing I got out of you, come to think of it.”

Half a rebellious smile broke through Horacio’s tightly pursed lips. “Yeah, well, I guess I wasn’t very good at this sort of thing either.”

“But you are now?”

“Better than I was. Better now I’m not trying to be him. Now I realise he was as flawed as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, trying to follow in the footsteps of a high-achiever in the family will fuck you up for life. Or so I’ve heard.”

Horacio didn’t know a lot about Jaime but was aware he was 10 years older than Álvaro. From the way Álvaro talked, it was clear how much he hero-worshipped his big brother. And if anyone knew the pitfalls of such high pedestals, it was Horacio.

“Sounds familiar. As much as I’ve always missed him, I was glad he never saw me at my worst.”

“All I wanted was for Jaime to be proud of me, and I think he was.” Álvaro’s eyes lit up, and for the first time during their conversation, the wrinkles of his smile reached them. “But I’m not sure he’d even recognise me if he saw me now.”

“The paradox of grief.”

“What?”

Another smile crept over Horacio’s face. “Just something someone once said to me. Whatever you do, it’ll never feel enough now he’s gone.”

“Never thought of it like that. But it’s not just a dead man I’m letting down. My wife tried so hard with me; she really did. But…the nightmares started. They were always about trying to save Jaime, but I couldn’t. So I drank ‘til I was comatose. Then work got crazy and things spiralled. She didn’t think it was good for me to be around the kids, and well, I can’t argue with that.”

Álvaro unloaded a jumble of words in one fell swoop, catching Horacio off guard as he tried to take it all in. But it wasn’t as though it was unfamiliar territory for him. It wasn’t as though he had no experiences of his own to share, experiences he had only ever opened up to Javier about until now.

“That was my life, for a long time, without the wife and kids, obviously. But the nightmares and the drinking got bad after I...I accidentally killed someone I was sent to rescue.”

“Shit, Horacio. You never said anything when you were – wait a minute – is that why you were here in the first place?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Horacio let out a hollow laugh at the fact the death of Diana Turbay wasn’t his superiors’ red line. “I’m sure it didn’t help my cause, but the final straw came when I led a raid on a nightclub. We took down some high-level sicarios, but a bystander got caught in the crossfire.”

“Fuck. There were so many rumours about you, no one knew what to believe. I heard you took out Escobar’s cousin, but surely they wouldn’t exile a hero.”

“I’m not a fucking hero, Álvaro.”

“Ha! So, it was true.”

Horacio said nothing, his silence giving Álvaro the answer he was looking for.

“You can’t tell me you’re sorry about that.”

“I’m not. And I don’t regret everything I did.” It was the truth. He wasn’t trying to atone for some of those fuckers getting what they deserved. They weren’t why he walked away. “But you know what they say…old sins cast long shadows. These things stay with you, whether you’re the one killing or it’s the people around you being killed.”

“So, what are you saying? That it’s too late for damaged goods like us?” There was a desperate crack in Álvaro’s voice as though he was looking to Horacio to confirm his fears and put him out of his misery once and for all.

“You probably don’t want to hear it right now, but…it doesn’t always have to be like this. It’s not easy, and it takes time, but it can get better.”

“You’re right. I didn’t want to hear that.” Álvaro kept his features neutral until he caught Horacio’s eye and they both laughed, because what else could they do?

“Neither did I, for years. Because it felt impossible. But no amount of punishing yourself will bring him back or change the past.”

“There’s quite a team set up now,” Álvaro continued after a long silence, as though he hadn’t heard a single word Horacio had said. “From your end, our end, the DEA, Interpol, the SVA. You name it, we’ve got fingers in the pie. And there’s always room for more.”

Álvaro looked at Horacio with great expectation, waiting for an answer to an unspoken question until he could wait no more. “Horacio, you know what it’s like more than most dealing with these people. And you remember how it was last time. Couldn’t so much as talk about the weather without it getting back to someone up there.”

That much was true. The situation in Galicia was eerily reminiscent of Medellín. Homegrown police taking bribes left, right and centre and passing on intel to the trafficking clans. Politicians’ and judges’ integrity in tatters because they, too, turned a blind eye. The Colombian cartels made Galicia their gateway into Europe. And their success was thanks to the layer upon layer of corruption that was allowed to exist.

“No.”

“Come on, at least think about it. There’d be none of that pen-pushing bullshit this time. You could be out in the field again, it’d be just like the old days back in—”

“Álvaro, I said no.” Horacio didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to with how his steely glare and steadfast jaw framed his face. “I’m done with it for good. End of story.”

Álvaro raised his arms in surrender, his second cigarette of their meeting now burning between his fingers. “Alright, alright, I get the message. Can’t blame me for asking now I know you’re back.” He raised the cigarette to his lips, regarding Horacio with increasing intrigue through the wisps of smoke hanging between them. “So, who is it, then?”

“What?”

“Whoever’s convinced you to quit and move here. Must be serious. And don’t lie because I know there’s someone.”

“Your interrogation skills need more work, Molina. And on that note, I better be going. You’re making me late for an appointment.”

“Nice deflection there, Carrillo. I’m just saying; they must be the love of your fucking life to give it all up.”

There was a scrape of metal against the floor as Horacio rose from his chair, not dignifying Álvaro’s prying with a response, even though it was the naked truth.

“Alright, fine, fine! I can take a hint. I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.” Álvaro brought a hand to his lips, ‘zipping’ them closed with his thumb and forefinger.

Horacio sat back down with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Good for you, in fact. It’s hard enough to find someone like that in the first place, but to hold onto them and make it work? Nothing short of a fucking miracle. But you know where I am if you ever change your mind.”

“Thanks, but I won’t.”

“Thought you might say that.”

“If you ever change your mind, please think about what I said. You can’t run away from this. No matter how much you bury your head in your job. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I can’t make any promises, Horacio. You know how it is.”

Of course, he knew; that was precisely why he was saying it in the first place. But he also knew there was no point pushing it any further. “It was good to see you, Álvaro. And I am sorry about Jaime.”

“Me too. And er, thanks. For listening and everything. I really appreciate it. Although, I gotta ask, when did you get so fucking wise?”

Horacio laughed, assured there was no malice in Álvaro’s teasing, and because he had apparently accomplished what he was expecting to wait years, if not decades to do. “I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit.”

“Should’ve known. Good to see you, Horacio. Don’t leave it so long next time. And I hate to say it, but retirement already suits you.”

“Thanks, I think. Take care of yourself.”

They stood up from the table, deposited their empty cups in a nearby bin and walked back to the entrance that took them onto the main road.

After shaking hands, they went their separate ways, Horacio in one direction and Álvaro in the opposite.

It wasn’t long ago that Horacio lamented turning his back on the CNP. But as he broke into a run to mitigate his uncharacteristic lateness, he caught glimpses of familiar church spires towering over every other building. They had been a comforting backdrop to his guilt and shame, and whilst he would always carry them around for certain deeds, it wasn’t a place he ever wanted to revisit. And the next time his lapel pins found themselves between his fingers, or Trujillo still called him Colonel out of habit, he would be reminded it was okay to miss something but never want it back.

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

Javier sat stiffly on Señora Romero’s floral sofa, clenching and unclenching his fists to distract himself from the creeping sense of embarrassment setting in.

Señora Romero joined him in the neighbouring chair, a tray of lemonade and a selection of pastries from downstairs placed between them on the table.

“Have you eaten anything this morning, dear?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, that won’t do. Here, take some. Don’t be shy.” She practically shoved the plate at Javier, stopping short of placing one of the pastries in his mouth.

“Thanks. And sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“From what Horacio told me, I’d say it’s understandable. For both of you.” Señora Romero gave the tall jug of lemonade a final stir, then poured it into two ice-filled tumblers, handing one to Javier and settling back in her chair.

Javier thanked her as he accepted a glass, wasting no time quenching his dry mouth.

“And it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Señora Romero continued. “My country went from the Civil War to Franco for over three decades. Not to mention the violence in the Basque region, and the bombings here, of course. People don’t like to talk about it much, but the scars are still as plain as day.”

Javier wasn’t exactly an expert in Spanish history, but he knew the basics. And hearing them listed together suddenly made his experiences seem tame by comparison. Not that he thought for a second that was Señora Romero’s intention, but it gave him a large dose of perspective.

“I never talked to anyone before Horacio, to be honest. Same for him with me, but it took me longer to get there.”

“My husband rarely told me what he’d seen and done in the war. He thought I wouldn’t understand, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t. But we survived the same storm in the end, even though we were sometimes in different boats.”

“It was a while ‘til we were in the same boat. Even now, sometimes we’re not,” Javier said as his mind drifted with a smile to their conflicting views and priorities over the years.

In theory, it shouldn’t have gone the way it did. They may have shared the same broad goal in Colombia, but they came at it from different angles. They weren’t supposed to trust and understand each other more than anyone else. They weren’t supposed to walk away from their all-consuming careers for each other, and they certainly weren’t supposed to fall in love. But life had a funny way of working out.

As for their current situation, they were dealing with things in their own way and in their own time. It was never going to be something they could coordinate. But even so, it frustrated Javier when he spiralled seemingly out of nowhere. Except, was it really out of nowhere? It was all a blur now.

“In my experience, sometimes you can’t be,” Señora Romero said. “And sometimes, you won’t want to be. Sometimes, you float alongside each other in your own boats. And sometimes, it’s good enough just to sail in the same direction at different paces.”

“He’s never late. And I guess it’s force of habit to assume the worst.” Javier wasn’t expecting to say that, but it was like someone had just removed their foot from his chest. It was an admission to himself as much as Señora Romero, confirmation that it hadn’t been out of nowhere at all.

Señora Romero merely nodded, giving Javier the space to continue if he wanted to.

“On the night of the ambush, Steve – my partner – and I weren’t supposed to be there. I’m not sure we were ever supposed to be in Colombia, to be honest.”

Javier stopped to let out a sceptical sneer as snippets of his encounters with Stechner replayed in his head. For all he knew, Stechner could have orchestrated his entire career, manoeuvring him around like a pawn on a chessboard.

“But we disobeyed orders and followed Horacio anyway. And then we, er…we heard gunfire and screaming over the radio. It was the longest car journey of my life.” He took another sip of his drink and a deep breath, determined to finish now he’d started. “It was the same at the hospital and after the bombing here. Always waiting, but never knowing where he was or if he was okay.”

“Oh, Javier, my dear, it makes complete sense you would think the worst. I would be the same in your shoes. But you have to remember, he’s a civilian now. He’s not a target anymore. The ETA bombings here have been directed at the Spanish authorities.”

Señora Romero leaned forwards until her hand met Javier’s. Shades of chestnut connected with cinnamon again as he squeezed as a gesture of thanks. Neither appeared fazed by this being their first meeting, perhaps finding it easier because they simultaneously didn’t know much about each other but enough to no longer be strangers.

“And for what it’s worth,” she continued, “regardless of the rights or wrongs of your government’s involvement in foreign affairs, it seems you were exactly where you were supposed to be that night.”

Touché. He couldn’t argue with that, the irony apparent of Steve previously framing Javier’s need to follow Horacio as a warning rather than a calling.

“I may have only just met you, Javier, but I know what you did for Horacio that night was a brave act of love. Wanting to help is an honourable trait, don’t ever forget that. But you might find you’re not worrying yourself sick so much once you’re focused on helping others again. And someone out there will always need it, wherever life takes you next.”

Javier scoffed before gulping down the rest of his lemonade. “I think that’s the problem.”

Señora Romero’s hosting instincts kicked in as she re-filled Javier’s glass.

“Thanks. Horacio got out a year before me and settled in working on my Pop’s ranch. Way more than I ever did.” Javier cringed at some of the memories of him in his pre-police days attempting various jobs that Horacio took to like a duck to water, whereas he had floundered.

“Is that what he wants to do?”

“I think so. Which is great; he’s a natural. It suits him.”

“But you don’t know what’s next for you?”

“Not a clue.” Not a fucking clue was more accurate, but he caught himself just in time.

“Do you need to have it figured out yet?”

“Well, no, not yet. We’re okay financially for now. But I know it can’t last forever.”

“There’s plenty of time between now and forever, Javier.” Señora Romero lowered her voice as though she was letting him in on a coveted secret. “At your age, anyway. Less so at mine, but I take each day as it comes.”

“What’s that like?”

“There are good days and bad days. And bad weeks, months and years, come to think of it. Days when my body doesn’t do what my mind tells it to do. Days when my mind is frail, and my heart is sore. But on other days, I’ll spend time with the family. Or my piononos will come out better than they did last time. Or I’ll make new friends in unusual circumstances.” She winked in Javier’s direction. “I think the bad days are just part of life’s rich tapestry. Especially where healing wounds are concerned.”

Occasional reminders of the past – or bad days – scattered amongst the simple pleasures sounded suspiciously like their time in Madrid so far. But maybe that was okay. Maybe, that was part of the process of moving on with their lives. Maybe, progress was supposed to be subtle and non-linear, almost imperceptible unless you knew what you were looking for.

No sooner had Javier got his head around that prospect than there was a knock at the door followed by a heartfelt apology, given and accepted with a look as much as words.

Of course, Señora Romero had been right, and there was no life-or-death emergency to attend to. But any embarrassment on Javier’s part was overridden by the relief his fears were unfounded, and he would gladly take an anxious mind rather than the alternative.

Pulses returned to baseline as the trio talked, albeit Horacio’s for a different reason than Javier's.

Whilst Madrid wasn’t Laredo, they couldn’t take acceptance for granted wherever they were. But as they returned downstairs, where Señora Romero removed the ‘Reserved’ sign from their corner table and offered them yet another breakfast on the house, a weight lifted from Horacio’s shoulders. Because the first real friend he made here had welcomed him and Javier into her home and business with open arms.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

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emrys-noilli · 2 months

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The devil thrives in a mind that is inactive.

My headcanon rambling involves Sylra (My Tav who is a draconic sorcerer ) being betrothed to Ascended Astarion and being the maker of Sussur Potions and exotic garden. The interest in the Underdark comes from Sylra keeping Lenore's belongings when Astarion and their self used to travel in the underdark under the guise of defeating the absolute.

Ascended, Astarion emphasized the need to keep Sylra safe, especially since the tadpole no longer provided protection. And Astarion held power from the rite ritual. Sylra fell easily into the trap of being a cage bird to Asc. Astarion. Seeing old possessions that were once regularly used during their travels now behind display glass. To combat this, Sylra would study arcane or read to past their time. And eventually proposed the plan to re-explore the underdark to extract materials based on lenore's note came to mind. With some brief aid from lenore's journals and witnessing just how Sussur can be used as a power generator for towers and used as weilding material in weapons. Sylra's goal was to test the survival of flowers or petals on the surface first than extra that and more wood. With this idea came the urge to convince Astarion that they needed these materials and to show this was the source of Sylra's entertainment. Astarion would agree only to keep Sylra happy/complict and the idea that the expedition could turn profit for himself. And also something else he could use to urge Sylra to become his spawn.

For years, Sylra would attempt to smuggle flowers or petals out of the Underdark, bibberbangs, and other flowers. The majority of supplies deteriorate near the surface. Rather it was in magically sealed containers or not. Remembering old faces that wondered the Underdark, Sylra sought out the Bonecloak Apothecary for aid regarding transporting delicate supplies. Astarion agrees because he sees potential financial gain for Derrthy to work with them. With the help of Derrthy, Sylra successfully transports a jar of petals and flowers back to the mansion to start her underdark garden.

Keeping sussur plants was a around the clock issue for Sylra, not until it took root in the fresh soil in her new garden room. But once it did, Asc. Astarion interest would become annoyance once even his own powers could be effected by the sussur flowers. So he would send servants instead or call for Sylra otherwise he needed something. Something Sylra would remember once Asc. Astarion began to change for the worst. Experimentation of Sussur Petals and Bibberbangs: Sylra would learn how to create temporary debuff potions that are laced with dried petals of the sussur petals. Since these very same petals can give light and act as a power generation. She would follow the method of how drow poison and health potions are made to create a throwable flask that once comes in contact with a creature or being. It smothers out their use of powers for a few minutes.

At first Asc. Astarion was delighted about the idea until Sylra stated they were not interested in selling the recipe to anyone. Not even the guild. Existing tension heightened as Sylra repeatedly declined becoming a vampire because of Astarion's lack of honesty about the potential transformation of being a true vampire or spawn. For the second time, Sylra denied Astarion. The mask of being an ever so doting spouse fell, and a argument broke out between them over the recipe, causing Astarion to burn the book infront of Sylra out of sheer spite.

A hurtful but intentional move about Asc. Astarion. Since he couldn't use it then Sylra certainly couldn't have it. Although pointless since Sylra knew the recipe was something it would take time again to reconstruct, they would not forget what was done.

(This was was in 2 parts but I merged them, sorta. If you would like to read the rest. LMK!)

#ascended astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #headcanon #baldur's gate 3

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chantsdemarins · 1 year

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Special Edition Chapter:

Where does Heartbreak get Stored if Not in your Quantum Drive? (Loki X Reader)

🌙A High Moon Story

(Don’t forget to enjoy the new art included as a bonus!)

Okay, so this is entirely out of order, but the sentiment felt suitable for Valentine's Day. High Moon chapters will be back soon and in logical progression!

Although I hope this gives you an idea of where the plot will go. Thank you so much for hanging in here with me! This is lovingly inspired by and created for @muddyorbsblr and their 14 days Valentine’s Day collection!

(This is mostly tame, with a little angsty heat 🔥)

Maybe these folks might reading? @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @goblingirlsarah @vickie5446 @peaches1958 @lokixryss @eleniblue @simplyholll @sarahscribblesles @sarawr-reads @jennyggggrr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89eok89 @mischief2sarawr @fictive-sl0th @thomase1 @inthesofa @huntress-artemisss @michelleleewise @gigglingtigger @kikster606 @xorpsbane @skymoonandstardust @coldnique @mochie85

+Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged if I’ve forgotten you (my ADHD is for shit with tags!!)

“And how should we behave during this Apocalypse? We should be unusually kind to one another, certainly. But we should also stop being so serious. Jokes help a lot. And get a dog if you don’t already have one.”

-Kurt Vonnegut-The Idea Killers, 1984

Former: Big Sur, California Current: Sechanaha

He had found you. Maybe not you exactly, but the replicant living out your life’s work in a pocket of time he finally found the correct coordinates to. If you didn’t have the answers, then Loki couldn’t imagine anyone else would.

You were the reason after all he was suspended in this quantum emotion enabled semi-alive-semi-dead-memory of his former majestic, fantastic superiorly intelligent true-ruler-of-the-nine realms self. You could end his misery, you could “pull the plug” or perhaps, it was more like “send the file” (old human terms from the era the AI technology was invented). You could help him finally reach Valhalla. While Thor and Odin were never his favorites (or so his quantum memory told him) with all he was, he knew he belonged there with them.

As Loki walked closer to your home, his CPU field read through the history of “El Grande Sur” which became “Big Sur”. At some point, the Esalen bots changed it back to the name it had 1,000’s of years before the many shades of “white visitors” with their re-naming ways got ahold of it- “Sechanaha” would be its last and final name. He pondered the way a land was taken over by humans and renamed, owned and seemingly a new course set in motion. It felt much like what had happened to him.

Maybe this was some algorithm of the universe. Some inevitably. Conquer with superior technology, rename (or in Loki’s case, keep his name, memories and emotions but force him to live forever without the people he assumes he once loved) and then make amends. Loki assumed apologies were also part of the algorithm. He expected you to give him a lengthy, extravagant apology.

He would use his newly activated post-AI seiðr to conjure a dagger, point it precisely at your replicant heart processing unit and wait patiently until you said you were sorry and meant it.

Although in all his confidence of his mission he knew he looked beleaguered. The curves of the California coastline had worn his Asgardian leather boots to the quick. His hair was a mess. He hated the fact that even as an AI he cared about what people thought of him. Truly why did he care if you thought he looked terrible? You were the reason he was so miserable. The ridiculousness of his CPU and the delicate sensibilities of his quantum processor were laughable if it wasn’t him going through this crap every day.

Nevertheless-he tried to straighten up his royal prince-without-a-kingdom finery, and be prepared just in case your model had a fight mode programmed somewhere in you (although extremely unlikely you did-as replicant models tend to align with the source material and as far as Loki could tell when reading about you, you had trouble with even killing flies, you had shooed them out the windows of your life).

When Loki arrived at your cedar planked cliff side house, he was seized with the inability to knock or just open the damn door. If he was capable of being nervous maybe, he was. You got so few visitors these days, you lived and worked in a perpetual quiet. Although your quantum dog species approximation field unit companion heard him coming and lit up with his usual alert incandescence.

You were in the middle of taking a long-deserved break from your latest invention and since the lab and your home was so far from the company headquarters in Seoul, you could at times take a load off. Of course, your source human had already created the invention you were re-creating in your coastal lab, but in this time pocket, as a replicant you methodically repeated the past with sincerity and every aberration-every iterative that occurred was recorded-if the past could indeed be changed, the labs in the other time pockets were interested to know.

You had just put a pie in the antique oven your home was equipped with. Although you never ate the things you baked, since you were not a human, you had no way to consume material matter, but you liked to imagine the human you once were eating pie and such things as pan du chocolate, whatever that could be. The memory fields you had access to recorded great joy associated with that particular pastry. You sighed to yourself when you realized someone was at your door. There was no way to recall if anyone had come to your door this century, so you were unsure what to do next. Your quantum dog field unit materialized alongside you as you approached the door, a small comfort.His lick and his bark contained molecular level particles that could adhere to any surface and launch 5th generation nano tech into the matter that was a threat. You glanced down at your dog unit, hoping he understood what to do. The lab in Seoul surely wouldn’t come by unannounced.

You continued to imagine who this possibly could be.

One more knock and the door flung open leaving Loki’s hand motioning mid-air barely missing your face. Quantum unit bristled and lunged forward, you had just enough time to perform the Ba Duan Jin and cease the unit’s actions, luckily it worked, and he stopped short of licking Loki’s other hand. Your face grimaced at the thought had he been successful.

“That’s one way to say hello I guess,” you said finally, staring at the tall stranger in tight head to toe leather.

Loki shifted in his dilapidated boots.

“If you don’t mind sending off your friend there, I’ve come to see Y/N, are you her?”

You shifted in your house slippers, unsure how to answer the ominous looking man.

“Who is asking, I am sure you recognize we don’t get many guests around here.”

Loki took a moment to look around, his surroundings were beyond remote. Where there was once a highway as they were called-it was now a coastal river flowing alongside the crashing Pacific Ocean. There were other houses, but they looked kilometers away and hidden underneath the treelined ridges of cedar. The whole area seemed long abandoned. It was hard to believe the area was Midgard’s premiere Artificial Intelligence lab, but it was-or at least he hoped it still was.

“I don’t imagine you do,” he finally said.

“I’m Loki of Asgard. Or at least I was.”

You looked at him intently, his name rumbling just under your breath. Loki of Asgard.

“Name doesn’t ring a bell. Should I know you?”

Loki looked slightly disappointed, but then found his footing. He was ready to conjure his blades and start the process of his forced apology protocol that he’d been imagining since he finally found you in this pocket universe, but you had that quantum field unit dog approximation, and Loki knew just how dangerous their bark or lick could be.

He’d seen a vista vision replicant melt down instantly back on the Sakaar pocket universe, it was disgusting. The bots charged with cleaning it up were covered in the gelatinous goo and their poor quantum motors exploded. Brief puffs of smoke clouded the main room where Loki witnessed the dreadful event, all beings present that day couldn’t stop coughing for hours. He wasn’t about to do anything that would risk him becoming a sentient gelatinous ball of goo stored on some middle-aged Midgardian scientists’ shelf for eternity. No thank you.

So, he chose his words carefully and plotted his next actions with keen resolve. His charm mode was still active even though he’d had little use for it over the last how many centuries. Living amongst non-emotional entities, he’d had little use for any of his old Norse god programming. Charms, charisma-even his good looks were of little consequence most of the time.

All the beings seemed blind without their emotions. It was a milquetoast world of binary interactions, except for the occasional display of randomness where he might get to use some of his exquisite vocabulary on a service bot and they might just say something cheeky back, but it was usually in reference to crossword puzzles.

You seemed close enough to a service bot in Loki’s approximation, so perhaps some higher range vocabulary repartee would warrant a peaceful invite inside your seemingly cozy abode.

You stood unmoving even if you’d dispatched quantum dog unit to the couch, you weren’t convinced this Loki was friendly.

“My dear, I smell something delicious coming from your kitchen!”

You looked behind you quickly before replying.

“Yes, I just put a pie in the oven.”

“Oh pie!” Loki’s smile was so big he was slightly afraid his proxy coating might snap. He continued.

“You know pie is a deceptively simple dessert, I know it seems quotidian, but the true baker knows that a real pie is a work of art, and the baker should be lauded as both pastry debonair and artist. I am myself a pie auteur and artist. I love watching people bake and I excel at baking myself. If you’d give me a chance, I’m sure we could have a great afternoon baking an assortment of pies!”

You let him prattle on but the more he talked the closer your hand moved to slamming the door in his face. You didn’t know the concept ‘fishy’ but somehow that word appeared in your programming stream.

He might have noticed how the door moved a few centimeters as you rearranged your hand just in case you needed to levy your motion in a fast swoop. His speech programming began to speed up.

“I appreciate making all kinds of pies-savory, sweet-unique varieties like bacon and maple.”

“Bacon?” you said, quizzically.

Loki might have been caught. He’d pulled that word out of his quantum CPU ass so to speak, he had no clue what bacon was. He paused for a moment and tried to go on.

“Oh yes, if you don’t know what that ingredient is, please don’t feel affronted, not everyone knows it, but if you know, you know-as they say.”

“Who is ‘they’?” you pondered out loud. What the hell was he talking about? You had to say something, this man had about 30 seconds left before you rallied your quantum approximation off the couch.

You leaned in a little closer before continuing to speak.

“Let me get this straight, you came all the way out to this pocket universe and just on the off chance I was baking a pie, something you happen to be an expert in baking and eating?”

Loki looked around a little bit, another enormous smile formed on his face, and he continued his pie rhetoric.

“Absolutely, yes, that is exactly why I am here to see you today! Isn’t it marvelous?”

That was it. You didn’t call the approximation off the couch, but you flung the heavy cedar door closed so fast Loki’s nose was almost clipped. You should have gone back to the kitchen, checked on the damn pie or made your way back to the lab to clear your mind of the stranger but you couldn’t. You stood frozen on the other side of the door staring at it. Impressive wood grain, you’d never taken the time to look before.

Loki was also similarly frozen.

It seems that in this pocket universe there were rules of communication he just didn’t understand. But it was you. He knew it, and he had to talk to you. You had created him, and you could destroy him. Another smile threatened to break his proxy skin, he thought to himself, she makes replicant augmented beings and pie. Wow.

He was impressed at your skill set, and a little star struck if he were able to be honest at all. He expected himself to be mad. He expected to immediately rush into his forced apology protocol with you, but he couldn’t.

After what felt like hours outside the door, his sensors detected a richer approximation of apple pie wafting out of the cracks in the old house. If he had a stomach, it would be growling. He decided to speak again, just to see if you might still be on the other side of the door.

“Are you still there by chance?” his words were decidedly softer.

You didn’t know what to say. Maybe? You steeled yourself and went through nearly all the programming you could, until you decided to go off script, you could-it was an ancient program, but you could enable it. You shifted again, and you could feel a surge of confidence running through your CPU clouds. You took a chance.

“I am. What do you really want? It can’t be to sample my baking.”

“Well, if you let me in, I would be delighted to sample some of your handy work, but yes, what you suspect is true, I have other business.”

Loki looked at his large hands, he was fiddling with them. He had been so angry for so long. He’d been prepared to unleash it all on you, but now he just couldn’t. His impulse ions were directing him to sit down in your kitchen and let you feed him and make him some tea.

The memory of eating, the memory of tea pulsed through his quantum RAM clouds, he felt lightheaded, if that was possible. He’d never experienced that feeling ‘lightheaded’ but he knew it conceptually. He could hear bird proxy’s singing-and the ocean breeze was dancing against his face. Then everything went blank. It was the most pleasant feeling.

You heard the thump. It sounded like one of the rocks from the ridge came tumbling down and hit your front door. You jumped back and then panicked. If that was an impulse, you could replicate. Before any more programming could inhibit you, your hands opened the door and Loki’s body slumped onto your slippered feet.

“Oh no,” your voice was shaky as you immediately grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket and pulled him inside your house.

“That’s one way to get inside I guess,” you said out loud as you dragged him into the living room.

The approximation field unit dog jumped off the couch and used his canine Ba Duan Jin to assist you. You raced into the kitchen with no idea how you would revive him. You weren’t even sure what he was. A fear came through you that he might be human. Or some other replicant model that was not in use anymore. Something was out of place, and it wasn’t you.

You were right where you should be, in your lab, completing your augmented being protocol in this pocket universe, checking for time aberrations that the lab in Seoul was recording.

You were a not the human who created the augmented being protocol, you were her approximation. This man was likely that too. You kneeled next to him and fought the urge to push the stray strands of black hair from his handsome face. He was handsome, some part of your programming understood that even if was a very odd concept and one you had no idea at all what to do with.

When Loki woke up, he all but swore he’d finally made it to his beloved Valhalla. Who knew there was pie in Valhalla. His sensors were firing double time with a memory laden onslaught that was now engulfing him.

His vision field was blurred and when he saw you, he could see your golden wings, you were the Valkyrie that took him home. He felt you beside him and he wondered if you’d also go to bed with him-even though you had no idea what that was, the vision of himself naked without his leather finery and you naked in just your golden wings burned through his CPU at rapid speed. He spoke finally with gravel in his voice.

“Valkyrie thank you for finally bringing me home, would you allow me to kiss you as a show of my gratitude?”

The words rattled from his mouth, but they were drifting and soft, their tone had an unusual register that you could not discern.

“Valkyrie,” you said out loud to yourself or maybe to the approximation field unit who was eagerly at your side.

“Kiss? What?” words stumbled from your mouth this time purposely at the slowly waking Loki.

What was this being talking about. It couldn’t be possible.

He couldn’t be a Norse god, but you knew exactly who they Valkyrie were, even if it was arcane to know so. You had the entire history of Midgard religions stored in your CPU, like all beings on the planet in this era.

Even though it was the responsibility of other historian bots to keep this wisdom and use it for the new rituals, you at least knew of it, and you knew of Valkyries and Valhalla, yet it was a concept so foreign to process, your own timeline felt dented by it.

You placed your hand on his shoulder and tried to rouse him further. You knew what kissing was too, but you couldn’t process it further, even though you were programmed with less fear than your human approximation had, something still flashed through you that threatened to shut your CPU down as well. You had to keep alert. You had to focus.

“Loki,” you said, in an equally quiet voice, you wanted to speak plainly to him. He deserved that much, he must have come from quite a distance to reach you.

“Sorry to say, I’m no Valkyrie.”

“I’m a replicant bot here mirroring the invention of augmented being technology, something that happened so long ago no one truly cares about it except the history bots and the ritual bots. I don’t even know if there is even a lab monitoring anything anymore.”

You hoped there was, you’d hate to think all your work was for nothing, but so many centuries on your own would lead one to make some assumptions. Loki’s eyes slowly opened. He must have heard you.

“Loki are you…on….?” You spoke.

Was that the right word? You didn’t know if gods could turn on or off, or if they just had a perpetual energy source like the Midgard sun to keep them running in a timeless swirl. Loki was indeed ‘on’-but he also didn’t want to give anything away. He’d made it inside apparently. He realized he wasn’t in Valhalla-he was on a couch. A rather uncomfortable one at that.

“I see,” he whispered.

Loki remembered his ‘dream’ he was having, he remembered the idea of kissing, the idea of being in your bed, with you. A flush coursed through him and his eyes opened widely. He turned his head and placed his hands down across where his pleasure unit had been installed, at the middle of his body. Something sure had woken up along with him! In all his years as an augmented being it had been few and far between that he used his pleasure unit, all the bots in his pocket universe just liked to drink fizzy fixer drinks and talk about the politics of the day, but somewhere in the deepest parts of his programming he remembered something about his former self.

He remembered passion, he remembered bedding women and men, he remembered them crying in pleasure as he put what he once called his ‘cock’ inside them. He knew there were rituals he’d participated in on Midgard, he’d even loved-or he thought possibly he had. A torrent of knowing descended upon him but he still maintained his cool, while his pleasure unit simmered down. Although if he didn’t stop thinking about the so called past, his pleasure unit would never recalibrate back into idle mode. He looked at you carefully. You were stunned once again. You’d been struggling with the idea of a god laying on your couch, but a god with a pleasure unit was something you simply could not make sense of.

Loki looked down at his hands, still covering his ‘cock’, and he flushed again, or something like that at least.

“Oh dear, I am truly sorry. I must have been dreaming,” words rolled from his lips while you still sat staring.

“You dream?” you said, attempting to make the conversation about some of the other truly anomalous things happening all at once.

“Dreams were the domain of the human, we don’t really…I mean…I don’t…but what are you Loki?”

“I do dream Y/N,” he said, sitting up unceremoniously.

“You do?”

You were feeling weak. Something in your program felt like you should eat, even though replicant bots did not eat. It was like an ancient file had burst open and a million synaptic waves were flooding your usual programming. You turned to Loki and found more words.

“We should eat, let me cut us some of the pie, it’s cold by now but it’s probably still good.”

You dashed into the kitchen and pried the pie pan from the oven rack, you dipped your finger sensor into the middle, sure enough it was icy, but no matter. You hastily opened the cabinets searching for something you knew was a plate, something you put pie on, for all the pies you’d baked why in the world did you have no plates?

Worse you opened the drawers and found you had no forks either. Surely the human you used to be left something, you opened every drawer and every cabinet, dust flying in all directions. You stood on the old, cracked foot stool and ran your hands across the top cabinet shelf distributing more dust into the atmosphere, when you felt it. A ting against your sensors, you wrapped your fingers around it, and sure enough there was something there.

“Got something!” you nervously called back to Loki who was still sitting in a little daze himself.

Looking at the pairs of wooden sticks in your hand, you couldn’t be sure, but maybe they were used for food? You held them up to Loki, waving them in the air.

“Look familiar to you at all?”

He squinted his blue eyes and looked closer.

“Ah, those are chopsticks and yes you do use those for food consumption,” Loki said expertly.

“Oh wonderful, phew,” you said with more energy pulsing through the vines of circuits under your proxy skin.

You sat down next to Loki on the couch-pie and chopsticks in your right hand, scooting aside the approximation field unit dog with your left-causing a small approximation yip from him.

“Oh, this looks absolutely delicious, thank you so much Y/N, I feel unworthy for you to share your baking with me, I just descended upon you like this unannounced,” Loki sheepishly laughed.

Lucky (or unlucky) for you both, there were two sets of chopsticks. You took yours out of the wrapper and so did Loki, seemingly following your lead.

The approximation dog was on the port side the couch, you, the pie, and Loki making up the starboard. It was a humorous conglomeration of entities, huddled together.

“Guests first,” you said pushing the pie pan towards Loki.

Loki smiled and deftly wielded one of the chopsticks into the center of the pan in a slaying fashion, much like he had practiced doing to you with one of his blades when he enacted his forced apology protocol.

“Ah, there we go,” Loki said looking proudly at you.

Having no real idea what to do, if he was right or wrong-you simply followed suit, you took one of your chopsticks and duplicated his firm stroke placing your chopstick full hilt into the pie alongside his.

“Lovely! Seems we did it, don’t you think?” Loki looked confidently in your direction.

You were deep in your programming for a while before you spoke again.

“Loki, you don’t eat, do you?”

Loki looked down at his boots and up again at you.

“No. You don’t either do you?”

“No,” you said in an echo of his sentiment.

There was something sad, or what your programming was telling you was sad. Loki looked sad. He was slow to speak next.

“I remember the god I was used to eat though-I remember loving food. I remember loving lots of things.”

Loki’s programming temporally drifted once again to kissing, to bedding women. He looked at you and thought if he couldn’t eat anymore, he could try kissing. He could still do that he thought.

He hadn’t expected any of this programming. He’d come to ask you to turn him off permanently, but now all he wanted to do was kiss you. Loki hadn’t even had the chance to ask you for your help. Explain Valhalla to you. He felt the darkness springing through his CPU, he was likely shorting out again, or near to it. He tried to steady himself, clear his programming to silence mode, but it didn’t work.

You noticed how unsteady he looked, and you placed your hands on him, which in turn only seemed to make him grow more unsteady. Perhaps he was dying finally. Perhaps this was what the norns had designed in their infinite timeless wisdom. He was going to get to Valhalla after all if this replicant being would just kiss him, or maybe he should kiss you? He couldn’t remember how kisses worked and it frustrated him to no end.

“I want to kiss you,” Loki finally just came out with it.

“WHAT,” you countered.

“Do you know what a kiss is?”

He sounded ridiculous by any standard in any universe pocket or otherwise, his former god self was in disgust at the vulnerable desperation his CPU quantum drive was producing. You did know what kissing was, you thought. You closed your eyes and remained in quiet mode.

Loki focused himself, feeling the drift of blankness near-he acted quickly by taking your head in his hands and placing his lips on yours in one swift motion much like he did with the chopstick in the pie. Your eyes instinctually remained closed, and you felt your programming do something extraordinary. You kissed him back. Deeply, passionately, awkwardly, and full of memory of your former human life. It was like the act of kissing unlocked more of your human’s life and more of the secrets of humanity in general. Kissing was a prelude, an invitation. It was used when you ran out of words. You pulled away from Loki and opened your eyes but his eyes remained closed.

What in the world was next?

#loki laufeyson #loki series #loki fandom #loki fanfiction #loki fanart #loki fanfic #artificial intelligence #ai tales #norse gods #norse mythology #loki edit #mcu loki #MCU #Loki fanart #Loki fanart edit #loki fluff #tom hiddleston #thor

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dreamsculptor · 2 months

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It hasn't been quite a year, but I looked back here and saw my last pinned post, and thought I might make another.

I was reading over my last pinned post and it's funny how much better things have gotten since then. I don't have the same job, I work somewhere else now, and it shows me how much better things can be. I was holding my head above the water with the last team I worked with, but now I have coworkers and managers that care about and support me.

Last time, I mentioned that my birthday had passed, and that just a small few friends came by for a little while but had to leave. I was happy for it but this year was so much better and it was what I had hoped for last year.

I had most of the same, I just invited my coworkers and friends to come hang out, have cake and food and such. A bunch of my coworkers came by and stayed well until 10 or 11 at night before everyone started heading home, and it was so much fun, and so fulfilling. It took 24 years but I finally have what I wished for all along: people that I can physically be with, that I have some kind of tangible love with. Life is full of hits-and-misses and attempted connections and bitter failures, but eventually you do get your chance. It was all worth it in the end.

I finished FFXIV, too, which is fun! Now I'm part of the crowd waiting with bated breath for the next expansion, but now that I have finished it, I find myself needing new ways to fill the time that used to be playing FF. I've picked up, played, and even finished some handful of games; Palworld, Vintage Story, a bit of Transistor, and the ever-beloved Sims. And in every game I play I find myself delightfully driven to create and write and join in on the world.

I managed to find and join a company in FFXIV that's focused on roleplay, and I've been having a lot of fun with Sye, but I've also created Takumi now too! They've got all their bits and pieces in motion, but aside from that, I also reached out to and joined an RP-focused Vintage Story server. It's been a lot of fun finally getting to indulge these things that I wanted to do for so long, but tried and failed so many times.

I've also been befriending my company mates, many of whom also love to write and draw and otherwise create. I got to read the draft of the first chapter of my friend's book; I am proofreading and editing for another one of them; and yet another has given me a link to their old D&D information for me to go read. I've made new friends, in and out of FFXIV, and even they have tons of amazing art and writing to share. Even in other games, like Vintage Story, I'm playing with friends and forming towns where we actually work together and delegate specific tasks to people who want to do them. It feels like all of the joys I experienced as a kid are finally being re-ignited in the best way possible.

I haven't written too much - if you don't count roleplay posts - but I have been indulging the ~egotistical~ love of my own voice. It's been fun making pseudo-audiobooks of the fics I've written and singing all of the songs that I love and getting to talk and laugh with my company mates and other friends.

All in all, I think I can say I'm happy with where my life is right now. I'll leave this with a pristine verse from Kristoff Krane this time:

Making love, making friends, no doubt I make a difference There's positive and negative effects of my decisions And although my dreams are selfish, I hope you can relate May my attempts at being honest resurrect the fact I'm fake

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Instead of albums, this time, I leave you with songs:

Passing Through - Kaden MacKay Thank You Energy - Kristoff Krane Doing My Thing - Kristoff Krane Knocking on Wood - Spose Okay - Atmosphere

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practicecourts · 1 year

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🔁 A fic you’ve re-read several times!

Ah such a good one…

So these are fics I’ve reread more than once, its not an exhaustive list by any means.

The Last Enemy by @chdarling 1 and 2 (maybe I’ve reread 2 more not because i like it more perse but because its still being updated so i need to refresh my memory) Although there’s a thing about chapter 2 where Lily talks with her dad and she goes have fun with some of her muggle work friends. Although if i had to pick a favourite chapter there are so many in that one (a Slughorn Xmas party, some menial labour, the shrimp fest, i won’t go on bc for some reason my app wont allow for a spoiler break…

Then there’s two shorter ones by you actually “never really” is maybe too new to have been reread… but it has. And I’ve enjoyed Purely coincidental a lot… It helps that the art by @constancezin that it inspired (or the other way around) is very nice to look at again and again ;-) > i hope these links actually work. If not I’m so sorry. Go look for it yourself!!

Another reread is by the masterful @scriibble-fics , i must admit to reread a lot of her stories, or just parts of them, chapters I love to relive the suberp tension that she does so well. My last rereads of Notes and Magic were right on time for the new story drop!! Even if they are so very different.

I;ve reread @wearingaberetinparis Royalty one shots and of course : it only takes a taste when you know it’s good, I must admit now that I’;m behind on reading her wonderful stories as they come faster than I have time to read (which is unbelievable!!!) here’s one that i def read more than once When love was king but there’s another one shot (bar hopping with the prince that’s so good!!)

Three strikes till your out by @theresthesnitch i reread the campsite chapter occasionally. Because that scene where they are dancing after s’mores…

@mppmaraudergirl has me rereading the wedding ring and just spoiling all men (fictional or otherwise) just because that james is amazing. I’d love to find a good reason (such as an update maybe - hahaha, i hope you know this is a joke!!) Of TRN… but I’ll admit I read that one more than once already (I love the way in all of these stories i get so wrapped up in them, they become real characters that i care about even if they have flaws or do stupid things, but they also don’t get boring (I’m sorry for saying this but sometimes only fluff and nice just is that…) when they do the exact best thing they are supposed to say or do in that moment! This is rambling but… my defense, if you havent read any of these i dont want to spoil anything.

I just know i missed things here (oh, yes i did @mabeltothknows i reread and leave a comment only to find that the last comment on such a chapter was actually also by me…. Hahaha. But the sentiment was very much the same) i love that war one shot so much (i;m sorry i should link it but i cant find it that fast… AND THE PUTRID CORPSE …

A one shot that i keep rereading that’s old, is somewhere hidden om tumblr here where lily has a one night stand and the next day goes to her new job … guess who. It’s chapter 4 or 5 of these on ffnet…

I think I could just go on. (Room service by @maraudersftw Good old fashioned love letters by @theesteemedladydebourgh just popped into my brain… ) And the reason i feel that way is that this is by no means a complete list. SO instead of agonising to find the one fic or 20 that i now forgot but I’ve enjoyed so much that i occasionally go back to reread because they brought me joy I’m going to finish this post ;-)

#very long answer #short ask #jily #its only jily #i could do another one of these for another ship… not as long though #we are truly lucky to have so much lovely jily stories!! really!!!!

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emrys-rusts · 3 months

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As I'm trying to re-organize my tumblr blog, I've figured that I should re-introduce myself for any future followers!

Greetings, my name is Michael but you can also call me Mike or Emrys (the latter would be my artist name as well as my middle name, one that some people know me best by)

My current age is 17, I go by He/Him pronouns, and I've been on tumblr eversince 2021, at which time I mostly posted and interacted with blogs about classical literature, Dostoevsky specificly! As such, you might find this a re-occuring interest of mine on this blog, coupled with whatever else I'm fixating on!

My interests tend to be all over the place, and as such, decided to divide them into 4 main categories:

History

Classical literature

Fantasy

Current specific interests

History;

This can include any of my historically based interests I had from 2020-2022 and the ones I recently developed from 2023-2024 (now). This is a huge category as it ties into mostly all my interests, especially the longer lasting ones. Relating to this category would be things such as:

• 2020-2022, 18th-19th century

(Fashion, historical events, culture, literature, art-history, music, shows related, movies related)

• 2023-2024 (now), the 80s/20th century

(Subcultures, punk-rock, heavy metal, sub-genres, historical events, fashion, (fantasy) literature at the time, shows related, movies related)

Classical Literature (2020-2022);

This is a big one! Reading classical literature has defined parts of me since I was 13 years old. Though it includes various stand-alone works here and there, the two I most interact with on here would be:

• Dostoevsky (more specificly, the brothers karamazov)

• Frankenstein

This is due to the fanbases being rather large, although there's some wonderful works on dorian gray, shakespeare, any russian literature, horror fiction (E.A.Poe), greek mythology, dracula, moby dick, etc.

I have never found this site lacking on my favorite books! And it always feels like there is space enough for your own contribution :)

Fantasy;

This one is recent. It ties strongly into my 80s hyperfixation(s), though it's more of a pattern which makes me like the 80s so much! I've been interested in fantasy when I was very young, but at the age of 13 classical literature took up all my time for the next 5 years or so. I look forward to reading more literature on the subject! Some main ones would be:

• tolkienverse (lord of the rings, the hobbit)

• dungeons & dragons (I'm planning a campaign)

• anything related such as fashion, events, oc's, diy

• sci-fi (typically fiction, like the mechanisms, doctor who or star wars)

...the eldritch horror vibes I love are also somewhat related to this category! Fantasy horror if I had to put a name to it. Artistic horror. Guts and gore and a tragic story.

Current specific interests;

This list keeps updating, since I tend to hyperfocus on shows for weeks if not months, untill I find something else. Still, they always linger and re-occur, so I've decided to list the ones current. It'll be necessary to put them in an order from most to least interested;

The Magnus Archives (tma) (might actually develop into a longstanding interest)

The Mechanisms

Original Characters

On this blog, I tend to mostly reblog fanart and awareness posts (rarely), but in the future I'm hoping to solely post my own art and reblog fanart of my interests! As well as posts relating to them. It's what I usually do really, but my goal is to interact with this site more, through my own art!

I do not post any nsfw content, though I might reblog or post slightly suggestive content, if I find the artwork aestheticly appeasing. I'm ace so it's not a regular thing. I will also not tolerate any bigotry on my blog, for obvious reasons.

You can find me on insta under the same user name! DM's are usually open. I also can't promise to post regularly, but I will be trying my best!

Asks and art requests are open!! Also I vent sometimes (usually delete later), under the #vent post tag. Ignore it if you want to please. It's usually under the cut

Extras

♤PLAYLISTS♤

• Henry Clerval/Victor Frankenstein playlist, made in 2020:

[source: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley]

• Pavel Karamazov Playlist, canon and AU, made in 2021-2022:

[source: The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky]

• Dungeon Master playlist coorelating with Eddie Munson, In-Universe, made in 2023:

[source: Stranger Things/"better by you, better than me"—fanfiction by palmviolet on ao3]

• The Magnus Institute Playlist/Tim Stoker Playlist, In-Universe, made in 2024:

• Jonathan Sims playlist, In-Universe & set during season 1, made in 2024

[Source for both: The Magnus Archives written by Jonny Sims]

#intro post #literature #history #fantasy #might need to update this and make it less complicated #idk it all makes sense in my head but it doesnt #my interests have connections but they dont and aaahhh #Spotify

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pandasmagorica · 11 months

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Intro/tracking post

Last updated April 25, 2024.

Older queer white cis dude in California, pronoun he.

Love music.

Enjoy QL, mostly Thai, mostly series. Here to read and comment on posts.

If a series puts me off in the first episode, I will often abandon it, sometimes within the first few minutes. I'm less likely to abandon midway. If I'm considering abandoning a series I've otherwise liked up to that point, I'll often read the reviews on MDL or look up posts on the series, at risk of getting spoilers, to decide whether to go on with it (and it's gone both ways).

Not a fan of spoilers, but recognize it as a risk of engaging so I don't (usually) spoiler-shame. Please don't put them in comments to me, if you would be so kind.

Okay with sad endings if they're earned or otherwise inevitable.

Incomplete watchlist (which I will update from time to time):

Top Ten (in order as best I can, ask me on another day and stuff might move):

Not Me (best QL series ever for plot, acting, cinematography, and music, content warning for violence) (1 re-watch)

Bad Buddy (lots of fun, new discoveries on every re-watch) (3 re-watches)

He's Coming to Me (heartwarming, delightful coming-of-age work. I didn't care for the library raid part and skipped it once on rewatch and there seemed to me to be some inconsistencies with the ghost rules.) (3 re-watches)

Cherry Magic (Japanese version, delightful, looking forward to the Thai remake if they ever settle the rights issues)

To Sir With Love (could get me to try lakorns)

Semantic Error (enemies to lovers comedy that hits all the right notes)

A Tale of a Thousand Stars (fine series, not sure why I haven't rewatched it, need to rewatch after Our Skyy 2)

55:15 Never Too Late (not QL but has a QL subplot, notable for having an older semi-out gay character) (1 re-watch)

Gaya Sa Pelicula (Like in the Movies) (odd couple thrown together, fall in love, hit limits)

Eternal Yesterday (re-watch episode notes) (not usually into high school QL but the plot got me and it blew me away, achingly sad throughout) (1 re-watch)

Much as I love them, I don't automatically recommend every one of them to everyone. The right rec for the right person!

In progress

23.5

Cherry Magic (Thai) (on apparently long-term hold pending rights issues)

I Promised You the Moon (but not actively watching)

Considering

Okay, this is a really long list and I'm probably not going to watch all of them, but a fan's gotta dream, right?

Although I Love You, and You?

The Eighth Sense

Ex-Morning

The Heart Killers

Leap Day

Mama Gogo

Midnight Motel

My Strawberry Film

Old Fashioned Cupcake

Oh! Boarding House

1000 Years Old

The Player

Revamp

Shadow (although probably not)

Stay Still

The Spirealm (this ones an unlikely stretch - censored and 38 x 45 minutes equals over 28 hours)

ThamePo

Unknown (to binge)

First episode watched but not committed to

Our Dining Table

Also Completed:

A Cut Above (in alphabetical order):

Near misses for my top 10 - there can only be 10 - but bubbling under that line. Highly recommended.

Anti-Reset (episode notes) (speculative fiction on the future of AI, in a robot and a human who fall in love, quite emotional)

Formula 17 (campy and fun) (2 or 3 rewatches)

History 3: Trapped (very funny and enjoyable

I Became the Main Role of a BL Drama (feel-good comedy)

The Great Doctor (episode notes) (not QL) (medical/historical/time travel mashup, content warning for violence and gory medical stuff)

Kiseki: Dear to Me (watch notes) (top notch crime drama with a lot of humor - content warning for violence - includes an older gay couple) (1 rewatch)

Lovely Writer (very meta about the QL industry and quite funny)

Moonlight Chicken (touching and fun)

Once Again (touching time travel, sad throughout) (1 rewatch)

180 Degrees Longitude Passes Through Us (intelligent and a good watch, melancholy, feels very much like a stage play)

The Sign (deeply flawed but wild and enthralling deep dive into northeastern Thai mythology disguised as a cop series - content warning for violence - yeah, it's a mess but it's a glorious mess)

10 Years Ticket (episode notes) (crime drama about two warring families, bittersweet ending - not QL, but there's a QL subplot)

3 Will Be Free (review link) (wild ride with great twists, content warning for violence, yeah I'd call it QL)

Until We Meet Again (fine contrast between the ghosts of the past and the world of today, deep story, but has a few problematic scenes that I cringe at, theme music got repetitive; content warning for suicide) (1 or 2 re-watches)

The Warp Effect (not QL, but some queer characters)

and a fanfic:

What's in Your Head (Bad Buddy zombie fic) (content warning for violence, requires AO3 login)

Others I enjoyed (in alpha order):

I enjoyed these enough to be happy I watched them, but not enough to consider them classics and in no danger of breaching my top 10.

Be My Favorite (fun time-travel fantasy with a strong political viewpoint and good twists, one of the mains is a bit hard to take)

Bed Friend (not sure enjoyed is the right word, has some triggers, but worth seeing, loved the cat role-play)

The Boy Foretold By the Stars (fun, sweet comedy)

Choco Milkshake (fun, touching pet fantasy)

Cupid's Last Wish (fun body-swap plot, insane amount of food and landscape porn, rural settings, content warning for gross cow veterinary scene)

Dark Blue Kiss (pretty good, creepy interloper)

Dear Tenant (enjoyed isn't the right word, and had to pause and walk away from it partway for a major cry, but an excellent film)

DNA Says I Love You (review link) (sweet, sad, interesting gender minority rep)

The End of the World With You (mix of SF and fantasy, good story and relationships)

Eternal Summer (Taiwanese film about youth discovering their identity - bisexual love triangle - well done if a bit melancholy)

Ghost Host, Ghost House (nice supernatural treatment)

Gift Shop for People You Hate (not QL but has two minor gay characters making guest appearances, one evil and one harmless) (horror, with a very dark sense of humor) (this one doesn't show an English title on YouTube, but if you search YouTube under that name you'll find it) (1 rewatch)

Jack O'Frost (melancholy and sweet)

The Man Who Defies the World of BL (very funny after watching several series and becoming aware of the tropes)

The Man Who Defies the World of BL season 2 (okay, maybe a joke can go on long enough)

Me, My Husband and My Husband's Boyfriend (bittersweet poly-ish story)

Midnight Museum (not QL but has a major bromance that could go full QL if there's ever a sequel) (a mess, but a glorious mess)

Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice But to Kiss (quite enjoyable)

My Ride (enjoyable comedy with dramatic moments - includes an older gay couple)

Naked Dining (good fun, lots of misunderstandings and food porn)

Neverland (web series from India, well done and too brief)

Our Dating Sim (fun series about the courage to correct your mistakes from the past, set in the video game workplace - a few cringe moments, but generally a very kind series)

Rainbow Prince (campy and fun, not enough songs for something that's supposed to be a musical, you have to be okay with cheesy)

Rak Diao (funny, very silly, although the harassment jokes got old fast and didn't stop)

Sleep With Me (review link) (sweet lesbian romance, kinda slow for such short episodes, great disability rep)

Something in My Room (the abridged-episode version) (good, not great, ghost story)

Stay By My Side (review link) (fun ghost story version of Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice But to Kiss)

Tale of the Lost Boys (movie) (friendship story between a visiting straight Filipino and a gay Taiwanese aboriginal in Taiwan, heartwarming story)

Tinted with You (a way too short, fun time travel fantasy involving a painting and a mystical art lover that bring an art student together with an ancient deposed prince)

Twilight Kiss aka Suk Suk (fine, bittersweet Hong Kong film about an affair between two heterosexually married men who are actually closeted gay men)

Twins (Thai pulp, fun, not too deep)

Your Name Engraved Herein (not sure enjoyed is the right word but it's fine work)

Zero Photography (from Magic of Zero) (most entertaining product promotion vehicle I've seen in QL, even better than Pran & Pat's product placements in Bad Buddy)

Torn about:

These all had some kind of major issue that prevents me from recommending them.

Fish Upon the Sky (appalled at the racism/punch-down humor in episode 4, otherwise loved its play with form)

Last Twilight (entrancing series, but the characters didn't grow, the ending was poorly set up - needed a few more episodes - and it ultimately fumbled on disability rep)

Mr. Cinderella (nearly abandoned this one because of a supporting toxic character, but kept with it after reading a post about the traditional Vietnamese story it was tracking)

Secret Crush on You (cringed for the first half, considered dropping it, read the defense by trans reviewers, watched the rest, and suddenly it got really good)

Together With Me (mix of great content and really problematic content)

Lukewarm:

I'm more glad than not that I watched these but in retrospect would have been okay if I had missed them:

Bagan Beginning (Not-bad early Myanmar QL, lots of food and antiquity porn, content warning for violence in the last episode)

Color Rush (interesting concept, okay)

Enchanté (not as bad as people say it is, but also just okay)

Gay OK Bangkok and Gay OK Bangkok 2 (definitely gay and, er, okay)

Nitiman (okay enough)

Only Friends (episode notes) (a sex farce with too much toxic behavior for my taste and a last episode choice that left a bad taste in my mouth)

Our Skyy 2 Bad Buddy x Thousand Stars (counting the four episodes as one series even though they have different names, didn't love this but didn't hate it either, very pale compared to the original two separate series)

Our Skyy 2 Vice Versa (was just okay with a really bad idea at the base of its plot)

Star & Sky: Star in My Mind (not great, not bad)

The Tasty Florida (cute enough, just so-so)

Vice Versa (brief notes) (good concept, product placements became way too intrusive for my full enjoyment)

Ones I wish I could watch:

I only watch legit sources, both so the creators get money for it and to reduce the hacking risks that watching gray presents.

Triage (I don't have a Thai phone number to log in to AISPlay, and even if I did not sure if it would have English subtitles)

Manner of Death (I need a WeTV subscription and will check that out) (thank you to @lurkingteapot for this info)

I Feel You Linger in the Air

Peach of Time (supernatural plot) (supposedly I can watch this on WeTV using VPN but I'm not yet ready to make the leap to VPN)

Series I abandoned:

Accomplishment of Fundoshi Bartender (episode 2 when he screamed offstage about not dating married men - I know this series isn't intended to be realistic but I still need the other characters to react to his behavior - this series has gotten entirely too silly for me)

Candy Colored Paradox (bored by episode 2 or 3)

Cooking Crush (a few minutes into episode 1 [2/4] as it is getting way too silly for me, plus we're going to have to put up with hazing/bullying as comedy - at least they had some new sound effects)

Cutie Pie (hated the infantilizing, left by episode 3 or 4)

I Told Sunset About You (left in episode 1, not loving the high school content)

Love by Chance (had someone fall on top of someone else in the first 30 seconds, left immediately)

Love Stage (apparently without most of the music - I'm guessing there's rights issues - but I abandoned it after 2 episodes because one of the lead's acting felt flat and I didn't enjoy the humor)

Lucky My Love (first segment didn't engage me)

Meow Ears Up (lost interest in the first episode with the fangirls in the store incident)

My Secret Love (first segment didn't engage me)

One Room Angel (dropped after episode 3 because it's so depressing; open to returning if it cheers up)

Playboyy (a new record - I got scared away by the content warning before the episode even started - however, based on various posts I might reconsider in for a binge watch once it's over)

SOTUS (not a fan of hazing)

Star & Sky: Sky in Your Heart (abandoned around the time of the outhouse incident)

Theory of Love (abandoned when nearly at the beginning Gun's character was crying in the shower)

VIP Only (failed to engage me in the first episode)

Un-favorite tropes:

Falling on someone

Heavy seme/uke dynamic

Northern rural Thai loan sharks

Evil ex

Boss/Employee

Stuff that I've written as opposed to reblogged I've tagged #pandasmagorica so I can find them easier.

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