#'he was using it on sokolov to begin with'

[scorbleeo]

Book Chat: God of Fury

Legacy of Gods (Book 5) by Rina Kent

Source: Google Images

I’m not attracted to men. Or so I thought before I slammed into Nikolai Sokolov. A mafia heir, a notorious bastard, and a violent monster. An ill-fated meeting puts me in his path. And just like that, he has his sights set on me. A quiet artist, a golden boy, and his enemy’s twin brother. He doesn’t seem to care that the odds are stacked against us. In fact, he sets out to break my steel-like control and blur my limits. I thought my biggest worry was being noticed by Nikolai. I’m learning the hard way that being wanted by this beautiful nightmare is much worse.

ISBN: 9781685452193 (2023) | Source: Goodreads

Absolutely Worth It

This review took me a long while to get to it mainly because I am still in a daze. I cannot believe I finally got to God of Fury and that I am finished with the book. It hasn't been a long journey to get to Nikolai and Brandon's story but it had been a rather arduous one. Kent's books have been an unpredictable roller coaster ride with extreme hits or misses and as much as I was afraid my high expectations for this book would ultimately bite me in the ass, I maintained extremely high expectations for God of Fury.

For a book written by an author I sometimes have issues with for the writing style, for a book where I have ridiculously high expectations for, and for a book that I've actually already know roughly what goes on in it... This was a wonderfully and beautifully crafted story. While reading God of Fury, I can feel the patience and time and effort Kent took to build her characters and develop the storyline. I finally understand why some people said this felt like such a different book as compared to Kent's other books.

Lets begin with the storyline of God of Fury. This is the only book in the Rina Kent Universe where I did not feel that the author was rushing through the plot. Yes, Nikolai was instantly attracted to Brandon but the feelings both parties developed for each other came slowly, smoothly and very naturally. Like, before I finished the book, when exactly did Nikolai fall for Brandon? Or when exactly did Brandon start to develop positive feelings towards Nikolai? As you're reading the book, you really don't see it as it happens right in front of your eyes.

Which brings me to why the patience in plot development is so prevalent in this book. First being the way Kent wrote Brandon's character arc, there is simply no other way to have this book succeed without having patience in developing the plot. Secondly, Nikolai's willingness to go with Brandon's pace. Because of what plots these characters have, Kent had no choice, she could not rush through the storyline and that made this book her best one.

Now moving on to our two main characters. I knew there was a reason I loved them since their first appearance (as kids). I mean, Astrid and Levi? They are my favourite Royal Elite couple. Rai and Kyle? They are one of my favourite Rina Kent couples. I could not hate their children even if I wanted to. Of course, this is not a place to gush over the parents.

Starting with Nikolai Sokolov. He is another unhinged man in the long list of unhinged men Kent has created. However, he was really only unhinged in other people's books. In God of Fury, you see that Nikolai's not exactly unhinged. He's just unapologetically himself, does not care how anyone views him and even though he does bad shit, he has a moral compass despite what anybody assumes. The fact that my dude has vulnerable phases every now and then, and yet he does not hide that. How many men has Kent created that embraces and showcases his vulnerability like Nikolai does? I can bet that's one big reason why Nikolai is such a beloved character.

As for Brandon King. He's my baby, okay? And I will do anything to protect my baby. He is the one and only male character created with a different template. This man is not annoyingly frustrating or has that stupid toxic masculinity that ultimately plays into his stubbornness to not accept people's "no". And boy, oh boy. One of the most tortured character with the most kindhearted soul. I really do love that Kent made everybody like/love Brandon, because he deserves all the kindness the world has.

Last but definitely not least. Kent did not do a good job writing God of Ruin to the point where I don't actually have a connection with Mia or Landon. But the way she wrote Brandon and Landon's brotherhood? I have a connection with Landon King now, all thanks to this book. Even thinking about the hospital scene now brings tears to my eyes, and I finished that book weeks ago.

So, yes. I really love God of Fury. This is the only one where I own a physical copy of. I read the book, fully focusing on every single word. I did not do any annotations because the first time deserves my full undivided attention. And I am way too lazy to check back but I am very sure this is the only book by Kent that I have given 5-star to.

Rating: ★★★★★

P.S.: Remember in God of Ruin when Nikolai made Mia call Brandon and Brandon ended up covering for Mia? I really wished we had a chapter for it here too.

More Rina Kent Universe here: Cruel King (Royal Elite, #0) | God of Ruin (Legacy of Gods, #4) | Throne of Power (Throne Duet, #1)

#book review #god of fury #legacy of gods #rina kent #brandon king #nikolai sokolov #rina kent universe

[bardspeak]

This is my piece for the zine celebrating 10 years of dishonored: Dunwall Days and Karnaca Nights! There are leftover sales going on here: (link) that have much much more than my little character study going on. (I recommend the notebook). @10yearsofdishonoredzine

Things Beyond Forgiveness | (ao3 link)

Billie was made by knife, and now there’s nothing she sees in her body anymore but the jagged shape carved. 

He was made by knife too, she thinks, watching the Outsider in their tiny, one-room apartment. A god once, held on high - now washing the dishes of all things. They had to buy metalware so when his shaking, unpracticed hands dropped them from the sink they wouldn’t shatter across the hardwood floor. Only irritate the neighbors. 

“I’m sure I’ve done this before,” The Outsider tells her, lips thin with displeasure at himself. He said the same thing about sweeping up porcelain shards with a broom or writing in the blocky hand of an illiterate dockworker. She can’t prove or deny these claims, so she takes them at face value, nods, and lets him continue in his failure. Sometimes she finds herself getting irritated, having to reteach an adult man how to do up his tie, but then she remembers Sokolov and his shaky, fading memory - a parallel that would have the Outsider steaming and ranting at her. 

The Outsider is neither physically old nor dependent, but something in the comparison softens her demeanor. There are people she’s taken care of before, and people she’s let take care of her. She reminds herself of this every time the Outsider goes to pick up the dishes after dinner with his quivering hands. She sits and watches this vestige of a life long past curse when his hand slips. Hum absently and splash water onto their floor. 

He struggles and doesn’t have the forbearance to hide it from her, but still, sometimes she uncharitably thinks he’s doing this much better than she is. That it’s unfair. There’s a capacity to hurt in her, one she faces every day when she sees the posters bearing her name, or looks carefully at the knife in her hand and in her heart. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop facing it. 

They’re in a dark, cold alley a few blocks away from the apartment when the Outsider speaks up, voice quiet but weighted: “You’re not what you think you are.” 

“How so?” Billie takes a sharp drag of the cigarette in her hand before offering it over, the Outsider considering it like he’s never seen one before. They’ve smoked together a few times before, hazy trails of smoke drifting through the afternoon light peeking in through the window in their apartment. Never like this though, in the early hours of the morning when Billie gets back from one of her odd jobs, knife and crossbow slung low on her belt. She’s been a killer for decades, even before Daud - there’s nothing that will ever change that. But she can’t help listening, can’t even pretend to ignore him like she would have in the beginning. 

“You can’t change what you’ve done in the past,” The Outsider says, never having lost the uncanny ability to seem like he’s reading her mind. He pauses to take a puff of the cigarette and gives a little cough with weak lungs. Before, he would have been sent into a full-on fit. “But you can’t say you would have been here, would have survived, if not for your skills. You did what you had to.” He pauses, perhaps correctly guessing that she doesn’t want to hear it. He forges on anyhow. “Maybe you can thank yourself and move on. Find a new use for your skills.” 

A bitter little laugh bursts its way out of her, unwilling. “There’s no other use for skills like mine.” 

He touches her hand, not a slip of the fingers when passing a cigarette back and forth - still holding it in his other hand - or to pull her away from watching eyes. She never realizes how little the Outsider reaches out to touch until he has. It startles her from her bitter reflection. “Skills like yours,” he starts, unsettling pale green eyes catching her own and holding them. “Are what freed me.” 

He doesn’t go on like she expects him to - like she’s used to. The lack of words to hide in leaves her flayed open. The cigarette is pressed into her hand like an afterthought as he pulls away, heels clicking against the stones of the street towards their apartment, not even sparing a glance behind to see if she’s following him. 

Eventually, she does. 

The Outsider has a pile of things laid out over their creaky wardrobe in the corner of the room. Bottles, stones, shells, pieces of bone, and books that are more scraps of paper than bound tomes are strewn over the place. So many things she can hardly categorize them all. Billie had thrown some of them out when he first started, not knowing it was a collection rather than garbage laying about. He never said anything, but the same bottle - labeled with colorful, crackling packaging - was back on top of the wardrobe when she came in the next morning. 

One day, a flask slips through his traitorous fingers and crashes to the floor, glass pieces skittering to the far corners of the room. She watches as he crouches down and picks up one of the thicker pieces, twisting it in the light in a slender hand. There’s a spot of blood beading up on his bare foot. He stands, drops the piece of glass onto the wardrobe with the rest of his collection, and steps carefully over the rest to get to their broom. 

He’s used to things slipping through his fingers, she realizes, going through her days watching him. This isn’t a collection of prized possessions, he barely gives any of them but the books a glance on any given day and never upsets if they break or tear. They’re proof of life. That if he holds something in his hands it won’t turn to dust and fall away. When she looks, there’s a shard of a porcelain plate he must have squirreled away weeks before she first saw the bottle on the wardrobe.

Never claiming to be good with words - especially not when faced with a man who spent the better part of four thousand years with nothing but - she doesn’t broach the subject. 

She does, however, hand him a small painted cameo she found one day on a job. Despite it being her reason for doing so, she still startles when she sees it placed at the forefront of his collection. He places a book - newer, the covers wearing through on the corners but little other damage - on the windowsill she likes to sit in to smoke tobacco, something the Outsider still wrinkles his nose at. She finds a piece of glass placed just so, refracting color on the wall over her bed. 

After weeks, months, a turn of the season, whatever’s holding them together in this place hardly big enough to fit them still hasn’t worn through. It’s the longest she’s spent in the same space as someone since Sokolov - since Daud - and it surprises her how few times she has to get out because she feels stifled. 

She watches him pore over a waterlogged book of his. The binding is frayed around missing chunks, and he’s read it enough times to make his own narrative out of the empty spaces. Time has loosened his muscles, barefoot feet tucked up under his legs, sitting at their meager table and muttering under his breath. She picks at a loose thread of the binding with thin, voidrite fingertips and he lets her. 

“What should I do then?” She says, continuing the conversation like it hasn’t been months of them settling into whatever this is. If he doesn’t understand, then maybe she won’t have to say it. These jagged pieces she doesn’t let anybody touch can stay sharp along with the fear. The Outsider can keep filling in the gaps to stories he’ll never have the whole picture of, despite holding pieces in his trembling hands. Despite spilling the water that smears the ink.

He raises his head to look at her, eyebrows still pinched from reading with a slight myopia, and he understands. “I believe felling a god may be the peak of your achievements,” he tells her, closing his book with more of a crunch than a snap. Only the glint in his eyes reveals his teasing. “Have you ever considered settling down?”

She huffs out a laugh, not even trying to find it in herself to be offended at the notion. That she could put the knife down and never pick it back up. Not flinching away from the edges that have already been worn down. “I’ve never considered living long enough.”

“Well,” he sniffs, taking up the mantle of the offended. He opens his book again. “Start considering it.” 

“I’m sure I’ve done this before,” he says for the millionth time later that afternoon. Billie thinks what he actually means is live. She’s sure she has too, once. She thinks she might be doing it again. 

#dishonored #billie lurk #the outsider #fanfic #dishonored fanfic #10 years of dishonored zine #dunwall days and karnaca nights #character study #writing

[withclawandvine]

what we pretend to be, chapter 4

Summary: Azriel was a veteran spy, well suited to the sneaking and solitude that comes with a life in the shadows. He was good at it. He wasn’t good at undercover missions, so he couldn’t hide his shock when new recruit and undercover specialist Elain Archeron was already seated at the conference table, looking beautiful as ever. And then it was dropped on them like a bomb: Azriel and Elain would be sent to the suburbs, posing as a married couple to gather intel on a suspicious man who, according to reports, was in communication with notorious arms dealer, Koschei Sokolov.

Author’s note: aaaand we’re back! and things are finally happening!! i’ve been really excited to share this chapter, which is at least 33% of the reason why it took so long — it just wasn’t living up to my own expectations. BUT i’m feeling pretty good about it now. hopefully we can keep these good vibes going hehe. please enjoy and lemme know what you think!

Tags: SFW, undercover au, fake married, hurt/comfort

Word count: 3.5k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42105033

prev | start at the beginning

The wheels of the cart were already squealing under the burden of their items, but they couldn’t leave without a coffee maker. The Keurigs were tempting — easy and instantly gratifying. But the coffee the machines produced was mediocre at best, and Elain wouldn’t object to something more sustainable. She picked up a French press and started reading the product description printed on the box. No filters! Easy cleanup! Robust flavor! 

“Have you ever used one before?” Azriel asked, peering over her shoulder. 

Elain shook her head. 

“Then shouldn’t we — ”

“Just trust me,” she interrupted, stiffening a little in surprise as her phone vibrated in her back pocket. She handed Azriel the box and took it out to see that Nuala had finally replied to her text from this morning — an all-caps demand to know if the agent had lost her mind and if she was aware that summer wouldn’t last forever. 

Nuala had been in charge of Elain’s wardrobes for all of her previous missions. She’d always been as grateful for her fellow agent’s ability to anticipate her every need as she was mystified by it. Which was how she knew that her vast new collection of satin negligees was no oversight. 

Don’t be such a baby. Besides, I’m sure Chazen would be happy to keep you warm (;

Elain’s eyes widened at Nal’s message, and she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder to make sure Azriel was still focused on coffee makers. He caught her eye and smiled as he balanced the French press on top of their mountain of homegoods. She managed a quick flash of her own teeth before turning back to her phone.

Excuse you we are both professionals. 

Nuala’s response came through on the way back to the house. Oh come on, E. It’s sooo obvious he’s got a thing for you!!

After deleting the entire thread, Elain peered over at Azriel, looking more relaxed than she’d seen him in days. That much, she could tell. Their first car ride had been all bouncing knees and white knuckles, but now Azriel was leaning back in his seat with one hand draped lazily on the wheel and the other hanging out the window. 

But these supposed feelings for her?

She thought about all of her past interactions with Azriel. It didn’t take long; there weren’t all that many, poking the first hole in Nuala’s claim. On the rare occasions they were both at their desks for the day, filling out incident reports and compiling relevant intel for future investigations, they’d often get up to refill their coffee mugs at the same time. 

And sometimes, instead of going straight back to their respective corners, they lingered, sipping their drinks and trying to find something to talk about. Most of their work was classified, even amongst fellow agents, and due to the nature of that work, neither of them were particularly inclined to be forthcoming about their personal lives. Their interactions, while pleasant, were thin. And there was nothing to indicate that those few minutes had been significant to Azriel — at least, nothing obvious. 

As if he’d felt the weight of her attentions, Azriel turned to look at her. Aside from a slight raise of his brows, his expression was neutral, his hazel eyes unreadable. It was silly to think anything about Azriel could be truly obvious. 

***

The kitchen, while a bit too white and sterile-looking for her taste, was a dream. Flooded with natural light, the open space was home to miles of glossy countertops and appliances so sleek, Elain could see her reflection in them. It filled her with a sort of giddiness as she opened the double-door fridge and started lining its empty compartments with bottles and jars. 

In that aspect, it wasn’t all that different from the little fridge in the apartment she kept in the city. Leased under the name Sarah Gardiner, the rickety studio had no personal affects, no air conditioning, and nothing in the fridge besides black olives and hot sauce. Nothing fresh, lest she get sent to the other side of the country, gathering intel while her broccoli and blackberries molded.  

But now, a rainbow of produce covered the island, and Elain fell into an easy rhythm of washing and chopping and lining it up in neat rows on the shelves. Leafy greens and berries went into containers lined with paper towels, carrots were peeled then submerged in jars of fresh water. 

While she worked, Azriel busied himself with organizing the spice rack, seemingly in alphabetical order. Elain couldn’t help but smile to herself as she glanced over to see him holding up two little bottles, squinting thoughtfully at the labels. By the time the sun set, the fridge looked like it belonged to a lifestyle vlogger, the pantry was stocked, the French press was washed and ready for tomorrow morning, and the cardboard boxes from yesterday had been broken down.

While Azriel took them outside to be picked up for recycling, Elain started setting out ingredients. First thing tomorrow morning, she’d bake and box up a batch of cookies to hand deliver to their immediate neighbors, offering baked goods and an unassuming smile in exchange for their trust. Putting faces to the names in their briefings. 

“The couple right across from us kept staring at me,” Azriel said as soon as the garage door was shut behind him. “They probably think we’re up to something already, just because of how fast we finished unpacking.”

“How fast you finished unpacking.” 

When Elain woke up, the sun was only just beginning its ascent, but Azriel had already unloaded and organized all of their surveillance equipment in the home office, and was in the process of arranging decorative candles on the sofa table. 

“I don’t normally go to sleep as early as we did last night.” 

Elain wasn’t sure she’d consider midnight early. Especially not for someone who also claimed to be a morning person. Although not even she made a habit of being up hours before the sun. But when she pointed this out, Azriel only shrugged, “I guess I’m both.” 

“I think that just makes you an insomniac,” she said, half-teasing.

“Maybe.” His lips quirked in a small, rueful smile. He nodded to the stick of plant butter still in her hand, “Do you want any help?” 

Elain hesitated. Until now, she had no intention of doing anything but showering and going to bed. She was exhausted, and while she would’ve liked to prep the dough and let it chill overnight, she — unlike Azriel, apparently — needed more than four hours of sleep to function.

He was still looking at her, waiting for an answer with a self-conscious hand curled around the back of his neck. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll actually be, but —” 

“You can chop up the chocolate.” 

Elain had been following the same vegan chocolate chip cookie recipe since she learned how to use the oven. By now, each step and measurement was engrained in her memory. She whisked the melted plant butter in with the sugars and added vanilla until it felt right. 

The rest of the kitchen darkened with the sky, but instead of turning on the overhead light, Azriel kept close, so both of them were haloed by the yellow glow of the stovelight. His elbow occasionally bumped into hers as he neatly worked the knife through each bar of dark chocolate at a diagonal, just as Elain had instructed. 

When the final cup of flour made the dough stiff and heavy, Azriel took over. Elain couldn’t stop noticing the muscles in his arm flexing as he folded in the chocolate chunks. 

Azriel was distracted as he helped Elain with the dishes, stopping more than once to stare with what could only be described as lustful eyes at the oven. It only got worse as the aroma of melted chocolate and warm sugar got stronger. 

He couldn’t remember the last chocolate chip cookie he’d had, the milk chocolate and butter in most others was enough to make his stomach revolt. 

Elain winced. “It’s really that bad?” 

“If I was going to lie to you, I would’ve gone with something sexier than gastrointestinal issues.” 

She nodded sagely, “Like astigmatism.” 

“Exactly.” 

When Elain bit into a cookie, it was still delicate with pools of chocolate on the surface. It tasted of comfort and nostalgia — like swatting at Feyre’s hand when she tried to stick her fingers in the dough and late nights with Nesta. Azriel ate his in nearly a single bite, with an indulgent hum that made Elain grateful for the low light. 

Especially now that he was looking down at her, gaze steady and contemplative. She waited for him to say something, but he was quiet as he lifted his hand. Elain felt his warmth against her skin, his knuckles nudging her cheek as his thumb smoothed over the corner of her mouth.  

“You’ve got some schmutz,” he murmured. 

His touch had been slow, but he withdrew his hand quickly, eyes darting around the kitchen before landing determinedly on something beyond her left shoulder. Elain might have mistaken it for embarrassment, if his eyes hadn’t narrowed with suspicion. She turned around, following his gaze through the living room window to see Lynn Forth stepping alone off the Sokolov’s driveway and into the quiet street, an empty casserole dish in hand. 

“It’s a bit weird to be picking up a casserole dish at this time, don’t you think?” Azriel mused. 

Maybe. Lynn might’ve gone over hours ago, then got to chatting and lost track of time. 

“We’re baking cookies at this time.” 

“We’re weird.” 

She grinned. “And vaguely off-putting.” 

*** 

Azriel and Elain had been on their way to the house right across from theirs to deliver a box of Elain’s cookies and make formal introductions when Lynn stopped them in their driveway. Nobody else had showed up on their doorstep since their arrival. They still hadn’t decided if that was strange, if it made the Forths suspicious or simply over-eager. 

As she presented Lynn with the box, Elain lied smoothly that the cookies had been for her and Brian to thank them for the welcome basket, as if there weren’t four identical containers waiting on their counter for the next delivery. 

Lynn said she’d just been heading over to invite them to a welcome party at her house on Saturday. As she chattered about the woes of party planning and all the cleaning she still had to do before the day, Lynn took a bite of one of the cookies. She joked that they ought to make some more to bring to the party — they’d be a hit! 

Elain’s eyes had flickered to Azriel to find that was already looking at her, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Now, standing in the threshold of the Forth’s home, Elain held up a container of only slightly-stale cookies in a tupperware. “Can I put these in the kitchen?” 

“Of course! Everything’s out on the island.” Lynn said. Then, lowering her voice into a mock-whisper, added, “But feel free to stash those in a cabinet.” 

As she moved past Azriel, she ran her hand down his arm, pausing to squeeze his elbow. A fortifying gesture before she left him alone with the neighbors. 

Elain didn’t hide the cookies, but she took her time poking around for a different hiding place. When Azriel circled back later with the recording devices, he’d give her one to leave somewhere in the kitchen. 

Aside from the abundance of hotdishes and slow-cookers that would get swept up by the masses at the end of the night, the kitchen was pristine; no grease splattered the stovetop, a crumbless floor. The usual nooks and crannies weren’t dusty enough for her liking.

At least, the ones she could see. There was a small gap between the top of the fridge and the cabinets above it, too high and dark for Elain to assess its cleanliness. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, she pushed up on her toes and reached into the crevice, her fingertips dragging over the cool metal as she fell back onto her heels. 

The pads of her fingers were filmed with dust. She brushed them off on her pants as she made her way into the living room, where Azriel was already sitting on the sofa, a proprietary hand on the cushion next to him. 

It was impossible to discern whether or not Azriel was playing up his discomfort for the sake of their plan. While Elain fielded questions about her supposed grad program, and why she chose the small liberal arts school nearby instead of staying in the city, he sat silently beside her. The strain in his eyes and grimacing mouth seemed very, very real. 

“And we’re hoping to start a family soon,” Elain continued, reaching for the hand Azriel had rested on her knee and weaving their fingers together. “This just felt like the right place to do it!” 

The chorus of awws and predictions about how lovely their children would be turned into advice and their own experiences — the school was wonderful, there were a plethora of after-school clubs, the cul-de-sac was perfect for street hockey. 

“Though ever since the Weavers and the Carvers grew up, there haven’t been many little ones running around.” The voice coming from across the room was wistful. 

Another lamented, “It’s been so quiet.” 

“I really thought the Galkins would have at least one baby by now,” someone else chimed in. 

She felt the arm around her back tense, the only indication Azriel was listening at all. His face was still masked with malaise. 

“Oh, I don’t think we’ve met them yet.” Elain said tilting her head thoughtfully, as if she were trying to put faces to the name. 

Lynn shook her head, “You wouldn’t have. Poor Lisa’s been sick all week. I stopped over a few days ago to invite them tonight, and ended up fixing a pot of my chicken soup instead.” 

That could explain the late-night visit. She wanted to know what Azriel thought about it, but when she turned to face her partner, Elain only made her brows wrinkle with concern. “You alright, baby?” 

He gestured vaguely to his head. “I think I feel a migraine coming on.” 

Her thumb smoothed over the delicate skin below his eye, where any real pain would’ve been concentrated. “Should we go?” 

Azriel shook his head gingerly, the movement nudging his face into the cradle of her hand. “You stay. I’ll be alright.” 

His message came halfway through a discussion about the grass-free landscaping project Demetra and her wife were planning for next year — the first and only stimulating conversation of the evening. 

Did we finish unpacking all the bathroom stuff? Can’t find the Tylenol anywhere.

Sensing someone peering over her shoulder, Elain loosed a chagrined sigh, “I better call him,” and stepped into the hallway. Azriel had been scouting the house from the outside the past few nights, but his description of where the bedroom was made less sense from the inside, so she opened the door to a half-bath and the basement before finding the right one. 

With one last glance over her shoulder, she slipped into the quiet Brian and Lynn’s bedroom. 

Even though she’d been expecting to see him, Elain startled at Azriel’s shadow-cloaked frame looming on Brian and Lynn’s patio, a backpack on his shoulder. She unlatched the door and he stepped in, wearing an almost boyish grin. “Hope you’re not having too much fun without me.” 

Unlike the kitchen, it was easy to decide where in the bedroom to plant the recording device. A stately, and more importantly, heavy-looking headboard dominated most of the far wall. Nobody would be moving it any time soon. 

Elain had to crawl under the bed to stick the bug to the back of the headboard. She wiggled back out, flushed from the effort and Azriel’s bemused expression as he helped her back to her feet. He waited patiently for her to tug her shirt back down and run her fingers through her mussed hair before handing her the second device. 

Just as she was slipping it into her pocket, she heard a voice from the hallway, “... so sorry. I keep telling him to put his damn drink down if he’s got something to say.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lynn responded, much louder than the first voice. “Just wait, as soon as this little machine does it’s thing, it’ll be like it never happened.” 

Elain barely had time to usher Azriel into the closet and shut the door behind them before Lynn and the other woman, Trina from down the street, entered the room. In the near-dark, Elain could just make out the rows of clothes hanging around them, and a small shelf neatly displaying a collection of handbags and sunglasses. Elain could almost sigh with relief; unless somebody had also gotten a drink spilled down their shirt, the odds of Lynn opening this closet were slim.

The only way to hear all of what was being said would be to press her ear to the door, and shuffling around to do so was not a risk Elain was willing to take. Though the few things she could make out — Bissel, works wonders, eggshell, he says it’s because he’s Sicilian! — didn’t make her feel like she was missing anything important. Anxiety danced down Elain’s spine and Azriel was practically vibrating with tension; he was standing so close she could feel the disturbance in the air around him. 

Within seconds of Elain realizing that Azriel was not just tense, but trembling, the rapid, shallow breathing started. He clamped a hand over his mouth, knowing the importance of staying quiet. Cast perfectly in the sliver of light streaming in from the bedroom, Elain could see that his pupils were blown wide with panic.

She remembered the car, the bashful hand scrubbing the back of his neck. And I don’t really do great in tight spaces. 

In the moment, his confession had conjured imaginings of clammy hands and nervous lip-biting — not this. 

It took Elain a second to gather her wits; the anguish in his eyes was paralyzing. She couldn’t think, only stare back. And she was sure the expression swirling in her own eyes was far from reassuring. 

She knew that reaching for someone on the cusp of a panic attack was uncouth at best, and at worst, like trying to douse embers with accelerant. But she also knew there were still soft voices coming from the other side of the door, and that Azriel was showing no signs of improvement. She needed to do something. Deep pressure could relieve anxiety… or so she’d read once. 

Elain wrapped her arms around Azriel’s body and squeezed.

He went completely rigid, even his desperate breathing came to a halt for one stunned beat. And when he didn’t shove her away, Elain tightened her hold, putting all of her strength into it. His next breath didn’t seem so hard-won. She breathed with him, counting in her head as she went — one, two, three, four seconds in. Hold. Exhale slowly through the nose all the way to eight, tapping each second out with her index finger so Azriel could count with her. 

Gradually, his chest fell into the same rhythm as hers, rising and falling slowly, and the hand Azriel had been using to smother himself moved, curling tightly around Elain’s shoulder, pinning her body to him with his forearm. Her own arms trembled with the strain of holding him together. She listened to his heart slow down instead of the low hum of Lynn and Trina’s voices. She didn’t even notice it fading out, or the click of the bedroom door.

All of her attention was on the hand that had gripped her shoulder, now sliding up to hold the back of her neck, the pressure gentle and warm. Azriel’s thumb worried over her pulsepoint, his gaze heavy. Elain stared back, trying to decipher the storm swirling in his eyes — dread and shame, and something else. Something deep and private and tender. 

He blinked slowly, deliberately. And when his eyes opened again, it was gone, and he was focused only on the small gap in the door. 

“It’s clear,” he whispered, his hand moving down her back, settling at the dip in her spine and using its new position to guide her into the open air of the Forth’s bedroom. Azriel still moved like a man trapped, his steps small and his shoulders stiff as he made his way to the balcony. 

Elain watched his hands — scarred, and steady at last — carry him down the rope. When he hit the grass with a dull thud, she freed the grappling hook from the wrought iron and let it fall at his feet. The din of the party could be heard from outside, but Elain still kept her voice to a whisper, “I’ll see you back at the house.” 

Azriel nodded once before melting into the night.

#i really was starting to think i'd never get this written #elriel #elriel fanfiction #what we pretend to be #my writing

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Witches and Wizards Job 23-24-25

Advance warning, the wizard cuts a little bit loose here. Tagged for some fantasy violence.

I'm aware the links to the back chapters are borked up, but it's nearly midnight right now and I just finished uploading everything to the queue. I'll try to fix them between Thursday and Friday.

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TWENTY THREE

I think no one expected to get together that night and count nothing but wins. But no one was hurt and our knowledge of the situation had grown by leaps and bounds - at least, that was what Ford claimed.

"I'm not happy that you all have Dresden working on the side," he told the room, throwing me a quick look.

I put a hand up; I really didn't mind. I was still trying to digest the truth both Eliot and Hardison had offered me. I'd done my job, and I'd done it well, and with their help I'd done it so quick I was still trying to get used to the fact that both cases were done, had been done nearly as soon as they'd been picked up. But the technology Hardison had used just wasn't something I could ever, would ever, have permanent access to. On the other hand, my expertise, my knowledge, everything I knew about magic and the creatures of that world, was information to be found in no database, no internet search. It was maddening.

"But it's done, so we move on to the auction. Odds are both our targets, as well as the mark, are going to be there: the lady, the portrait and the man in black."

The last bit seemed to startle the night's guest, who'd been lounging sedately on a brand-new couch near mine while nursing a vodka neat. Ford had introduced him as the client. He'd introduced himself as Vanya Fedorov. His accent had introduced him as part of the Russian mafia. Mouse had lifted his head from the moment the man had walked into the loft, and he'd never once looked away. Between him and my dog, I was getting more than a little nervous.

"Nate, there's a problem with the auction," Hardison pointed out as he rejoined us around the coffee table with its sharpie'd circle and anti-tracking ward, as well as a few other newly added protections. He'd left his phone behind by the row of desks after sorting out the delivery of the selkie skins, and he gestured at me.

"Most of the people attending aren't human," I informed the room.

Fedorov's drink paused on the way to his mouth. "My uncle is a hard man," he said levelly. "But his first loyalty is to our business. He knows I am good for it. He would not betray me."

"I don't think he has," Sophie replied. "The bird-woman, the -"

"Alkonost," he supplied.

"She wasn't there to harm you. She was there to protect you."

I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this gorgeous woman had decided, on the fly, to bluff one of the most powerful creatures of Russian lore, and she'd stuck the landing. God but I could only hope Ford knew how lucky he was.

"We were immune thanks to Harry," Sophie pointed out, "but you weren't affected at all. She did come looking for you, but to keep you safe."

"Safe from what?" he demanded restlessly.

"The man in black?" Eliot suggested.

"He doesn't want Fedorov hurt." Ford said mildly. I was beginning to recognize that tone as a warning signal. "He very nearly derailed one plan already for you," he told the Russian.

"For me?"

"The museum!" Parker exclaimed in sudden realization.

Nate nodded, then looked at Fedorov. "You made plans to go visit the Sokolov collection. Made them in advance. I had a look at your electronic ledger. You did have plans - for the day after, the last day of the exhibition."

"I did," the Russian admitted readily.

"You changed those plans when someone told you we were there."

Fedorov grinned ruefully. "I thought to press my case and enjoy Sokolov's work. Two birds with one stone. It seemed efficient at the time."

Nate nodded thoughtfully. "See, I was wondering about that. Because our presence there wasn't really important enough to merit derailing anyone's plans. It was you. When he came up to the room, it was to make sure you were there and he had to cancel the plan. You weren't supposed to be there that day."

"But then he did come up, and saw Grandmother," Sophie pointed out. "And getting her was worth more than protecting you."

"Mm," Nate nodded. "It was a rush job; the sort of rush job that happens when someone first says 'go', then 'stop', then 'go' again, and tempers are getting frayed, the timeline is off, everything just this much out of whack…" He waved a hand at us all. "You know the sort."

I did know the sort; I couldn't help but be amused that, from the look on their faces, so did the rest of the Leverage team.

"Explains why the guy was still there fiddling with the system when I got there," Eliot muttered. "He was waiting to put the Witchwell back in place. That's why the nitrogen tank was attached, but still closed."

"How do you know all this?" Fedorov demanded.

"The cameras," Ford replied. "Our… consultant pointed out that it's only the presence of beings like the man in black that blows up technology, and Hardison has created a number of failsafes so we can tell when a screen is about to fail. Turns out you can track someone by their absence nearly as much as by their presence."

The Russian took all of this in slowly, carefully, and finally frowned minutely. "I don't think I care for the Blackbird's interest in me. Or my family. Or my business."

Ford said nothing, but I could see in his face that he was holding back. I risked a glance at the other deadly intelligence in the room. Sophie was looking at the mastermind very closely. She caught my eyes and shook her head tinily.

I said nothing. I had just noticed that, behind Sophie, Parker was frowning, staring at nothing. Apparently Ford was contagious.

"I think your uncle's loyalties are a matter between you and him. For what it's worth, I believe he honestly thinks meeting with these people will help you take over from your father."

"By binding the family to these creatures." Fedorov scoffed. "What do they know of the family business?"

I didn't need to see the look Ford shot me to recognize a cue when I heard one. I picked up the printed photographs next to me on the couch and started handing them out one by one. "The lovely lady in white? Fey. Specializes in erasing evidence. The man next to her in red? Also fey. Specializes in erasing memories." Another picture. "Fat toad-looking man? He's actually a toad. His people love toxic waste. If someone gets a contract with them, they'll never see another fine for dumping again. The gorgeous thing next to him might be the deadliest we've identified so far. She's from Bangkok. Jade Court. Vampire. Human trafficking. This one? I'm not sure, but gosh, things sure do seem to catch on fire whenever he's around, mostly out at sea. Mostly when they're well-insured."

Between Hardison and me, while the 3D printer churned away and I stuck mirror-masks to everything it was spitting out, we'd sifted through enough information to identify thirteen of the twenty four people who we knew were going to the auction. It had been risky, using Koschei's invite to create a resonance spell that would let me find where the other invites were, but God it had paid off so well. We'd done weeks, maybe months of footwork in one long afternoon and half an evening.

It was enough to impress Fedorov - and to worry him. "No. I will not deal with these creatures. They are no better than the Blackbird, and if he's involved then each of them is a trap."

"I'm not telling you this to impress you," I corrected him. "I'm telling you to warn you. They might wanna make it look like you have no choice but to agree with whatever they say. You need to be prepared."

Fedorov took the stack of printouts and stared sightlessly at them. He looked oddly familiar at that moment, as if a touch of deja vu had come at me out of nowhere; he looked like something out of antiquity, like one of the paintings I'd seen in Hardison's screens while he studied Sokolov's work. "Can they die?" he asked.

Ooops, nope, we were back in mafia mentality. "Depends what you shoot them with. And in some cases, where."

"Then I believe you and I should speak, wizard." He shook his head and gestured impatiently. "He just stole the damn portrait. Why is he turning around and selling it already?"

"Because after the auction he won't need it anymore. Or at least that's what he thought, until he met Parker and she stole his key, and all of those." He waved a hand idly at the table's worth of knick-knacks. "So between now and the end of the auction he has to get that key back. You," Nate told Fedorov, "are going to trade it for the portrait. Make sure to tell them that when you RSVP."

"You are sending me into a den of monsters alone, Ford," Fedorov gritted out. "If you want me dead have the decency of doing it yourself."

"Not alone, no. You're bringing Sophie with you. If Dresden can get the tracker off of the other invitation we have, we'll even send Eliot in with you. And we will all be nearby to provide support. We don't want another 'situation', Fedorov, no one wants that."

Fedorov eyed Eliot, who shrugged calmly. He eyed Sophie, who smiled at him. "No offense," he told Eliot, "but I will feel safer with her."

Eliot beamed at the man. "None taken."

I had to agree with both of them, honestly.

"What about Grandmother?"

"She'll be there," Ford assured him. It was the only part of the plan I didn't like, because Ford had no explanation, no reason as to why he believed Baba Yaga would show up at the auction when Koschei was sure to be there. Last I'd checked, and from all Bob had taught me, those two were not on speaking terms, and got along about as well as fire and gasoline.

Fedorov looked thoughtful. "Wizard."

Oh, I did not like where this was going. "Uh."

"Since you are taking jobs on the side, will you take one more?"

"Uh." I looked at Ford, but he said nothing. He was giving me a keen, level look. I liked that even less. "That depends on the job."

Fedorov grinned at me. "He has tried too many times to harm Grandmother. Perhaps to kill her outright. I don't know if this is possible, if he can do this thing. I know he's trying, and I do not like it. I will pay whatever you ask, wizard. If you're there and do your best to protect her."

I felt as if the silence in the room were crushing me. "You want me to protect Baba Yaga."

"You are what I have."

"This is Baba Yaga. Grandmother Winter. Close to a living god as it gets. Not to mention I've already met the Blackbird. He won both times, in case you weren't listening."

"Did he? You walked away and he did not follow. Twice. The way I see it, you won the only victory that matters."

I wanted to scream. To walk away. I would have laughed in Fedorov's face but the truth was, I was scared. He was asking me to stand between what I saw as an unstoppable force and an immovable object. However, and I hated that he was right, but he uh. He was right. I'd stood up to Koschei twice, and I'd walked away both times. Either the man sucked at killing people, and I knew that wasn't true, or I was doing something right. I just didn't know what.

I felt as trapped as Fedorov did, but I could also see his reasoning. Koschei was an asshole. An unparalleled one. No one disagreed on that. But Baba Yaga, even if she was mercurial, alien, inhuman, still cared about the land and the people in a way her pupil didn't. If there was a line on the sand, I knew which side I was on. "I'll do what I can," I couldn't make the words come out civil, but at least I could make them come out.

Fedorov nodded at me. "In that case," he grinned minutely, leaned forward and picked up one of the chicken bones and the little carved wooden cup from among the many knick-knacks on the table and dropped the one inside the other. The bone let out a little rattle. "Let me tell you a fairy tale about Koschei and Grandmother."

TWENTY FOUR

The leshy came back that night, and they brought friends once again.

I was dead asleep in spite of every thought and worry wrecking chaos in my mind. I was worried, and I was pretty sure I had a right to be. We were about to throw a bluff in the face of some of the deadliest, smartest monsters ever to come out of the Nevernever, Leverage also wanted to steal from them at the same time. There was just so much going on that I'd given up trying to keep track of it all, and resigned myself to doing my part of it and never figuring out what, other that stealing, these people did.

Mouse's low growl woke me up as if someone had punched me. He'd been asleep at the foot of the bed, which was big enough for five of me or two of him, and when he stood up I could see his ruff standing up on end, outlined against the faint light coming in through the window. I sat up just in time to hear a muffled yowl of pain, and the creak of the door swinging open.

They'd found me. Of everything we'd picked up, all the trinkets, all the traps, I was still the easiest source of magic to find. I just hadn't known if they'd be willing to gamble that Koschei's stuff would be with me and not in a vault somewhere, or with the Leverage people.

The house had no lintel to speak of, no doorway. It was a safehouse, a fancy storage unit where I'd spent two nights. I'm sure the leshy had expected some trouble getting through the door, but I already knew they had humans in the roster, and humans could pick a lock or break a window, slip inside and invite the leshy in. There wasn't enough of a presence in the house, mine or otherwise, to kick up a passive defense out of habitation alone.

Which was why Eliot had lined every doorway and windowsill with iron nails.

Another muffled yowl and I was quietly on my feet, reaching for my shirt and my duster. There were a few traps between the leshy and what they sought, but once again I was counting mainly on them not being able to use magic to find the stuff. I drew a deep breath, stepped back from the bed, called Mouse to me, and flicked a throw blanket on the bed.

I'm not good at Veils. I know people who can hide entire stadiums worth of people, sight, sound, scent, every sense. Me, I was counting on it being dark so that when the leshy came up, as they must, it would look like I was still asleep on the bed. It didn't make sense for them to risk waking me up while they tore the place apart, which they'd likely do. Not to mention they could always ask me where everything was, and provide all sorts of incentives for me to tell them.

I managed to get my sneakers on before I heard the stairwell creak minutely. I fell back into the shadows of the closet, Mouse by my side, staff on one hand and wand on the other, and waited.

The door to my bedroom opened very slowly. The same dim, reflected streetlight glow that had shone on Mouse showed me the paw-like hand of a leshy as it stepped forward, sniffing the still air in the room. Its eyes locked onto the bed and it moved forward with a little more confidence. It cleared the door and another one came in behind it. They moved to flank the bed. A third one came in.

The moment it was clear of the door I surged forward, slammed the door shut, and pointed my staff at it. "Forzare."

It might have come out a little angry. I was getting real tired of leshy, to be fair. The blast of force threw the leshy through the window in a shower of glass and wood; it screamed as it went, the iron nails on the windowsill scraping it raw.

Mouse flew at another leshy with a snarl. Its nature betrayed it; not only was my dog very big and fairly terrifying despite his youth, leshy were creatures of the field, their nature very close to rabbits, to hares, to moles. It shrieked in immediate terror and went down, scrabbling and writhing, all the fight gone from it, wanting only to get away from its natural predator.

The last one didn't stop to think. It leapt up and kicked me in the chest. I went through the bedroom door like the old oak wasn't even there. The pain was immediate, immense, blinding. Next thing I knew I was on my knees out on the hallway, and I couldn't breathe. I'd be lucky if nothing was broken. Leshy kick like the hares they look like, and the fairy-thug's reaction had been so quick I'd had no time to summon my shield.

Mouse was barking furiously in the bedroom; I couldn't get wits or breath enough to get back on my feet, but I had just enough of them to see motion coming up the stairs. I swung my wand around and let a stream of fire blaze out. The figure in front shrilled inhumanly; behind it, someone cursed entirely too humanly.

I had to get up. I had to move. I was easy prey if I didn't. I got one leg under me just in time for one panicked leshy to come sprinting out of my bedroom, and we both went down in a tangle. It tried to bite my face, and I just barely put an arm up. Its teeth caught it, but couldn't quite punch through the duster's defenses. It didn't feel like roses, though, and someone let out a very undignified howl of pain. Couldn't have been me.

I'd lost my wand when we'd gone down, and I didn't have enough room to bring my staff to bear, so I let go of it, put my free hand on the leshy's face, and let go with all the electricity I'd collected the past day. I didn't have the breath to call it - the words aren't part of the magic as much as an exercise in focus, a visualization aid. I could throw everything around without them, but I'd been using the word to try not to get zapped myself. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

Electric fire lit up the leshy's skull from within, made its ears stand up on end; it rolled down my hand and up my arm, but I was far more interested in the fairy-thug not getting another bite in. Fortunately, it crashed down limp on top of me, smoking faintly.

I shoved it aside and groped around for my staff. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I threw my shield up instinctively.

A net crashed over it and came to rest on the gleaming half-bubble, and I was in trouble. The net had magic, unknown magic, probably meant to counter mine. I couldn't let go of the shield without getting caught in the net. I couldn't do magic without dropping the shield. The hallway was narrow, and they couldn't get to me any more than I could get to them, but that left them free to tear my house apart.

Which was apparently the going plan. The leshy I'd singed on the stairwell called out something to the human behind it, who shouted in Russian down the stairs. I heard the door to one of the rooms slam open, and a crowbar start work on the crates.

I forced myself to draw a deep breath. Mouse was still engaged with the last fairy-thug in the bedroom. My ribs were still screaming. My lungs had mostly forgotten how to work. But I needed that breath, I needed the focus of it.

At the peak of it, I dropped to a crouch, dropped the shield and called out, "Ventus!" more or less at the same time.

Have I mentioned I'm a hammer when it comes to magic?

Wind roared out, coming out of me in every direction. It threw the net for parts unknown, it sent the people on the stairwell flying back, stumbling down the steps with startled squawks and something that sounded very much like cursing. I wouldn't know, I don't speak Russian. I found my wand under my foot, lifted my staff and for good measure threw a second gout of wind down the stairwell. "Mouse!"

He came charging out of the room. I peeked in. The leshy was crawling away for the gaping hole in the wall that had been a window, both legs a ruin of greenish blood. I closed what was left of the door between it and us and began to inch my way down the stairs.

There was a hissed, angry argument going on at the bottom of the stairs, probably wondering if I was worth the trouble. Oh, I was not. So many people could've told the thugs, I'm very much not worth the trouble. I'm a burr, and at that point I was an angry burr, and to compound their misery I was an angry burr that could do magic.

Someone shouted a warning in the dark of the first floor. I threw my shield up.

Three bullets bounced off it, along with a shower of sparks. Oh, ok. Uh. I hadn't expected them to decide I was that kind of trouble. Hell's Bells. Boston had powered up my shield, but I'd apparently finally hit on the limit of what the damaged bracelet could do. If it hadn't been made to hold back more mundane threats as well as magic, I would have been very much in trouble.

I could see, vaguely, four of them gathered in what was supposed to be the living room. I was pretty sure there was at least one more crashing and wrecking one of the rooms. I saw one of them grab and yank at another, and some tiny part of me was glad to know the leshy themselves didn't want me shot, but that didn't mean one of their number, likely one of their human buddies, didn't have a gun he was entirely too willing to use. I had to finish this quick, before someone else got trigger-happy.

I dropped the shield. Mouse leapt the moment it was gone, with a snarl like a roar. I love my dog. I know my dog. At that moment I was absolutely terrified of my dog.

So were the thugs. I slammed the butt of my staff on the ground before any of them could get any ideas. "Forzare!" The shockwave sent two of them tumbling - the humans. The leshy tottered, but managed to stay upright. One of them immediately went down with a panicked screech when Mouse slammed into it.

The other twisted one hand sharply and threw something at me that glittered in the dark. I threw my shield up automatically.

The night's breath powder settled on it and began to burn.

I heard a howl, realized belatedly that it was mine; my shield-bracelet had gone instantly white-hot while it tried to defend against the very thing that was attacking it. I dropped the shield, felt the poison sink into my magic. The leshy charged me, as aware as I was that I couldn't throw magic around wildly anymore; I could very well run out of energy mid-fight.

So I swung the staff at it as hard as I could.

The impact drove it into the wall and it staggered back, dazed. I stepped into its space and punched it. Hey, it worked for Eliot. It went down on its knees with a cry.

But the two human thugs were getting up, and one was lifting his arm in a familiar fashion. I couldn't gamble, I called up my shield, gritting my teeth against the pain. The goon slammed the taser into it, electricity arcing from it over the roiling surface of the half-bubble.

I put my hand out, the one with the wire bracelet, dropped the shield and called the electricity to me. It burned down my already singed fingers, and into the bracelet, and I threw it at the other man before he could get it into his head to start shooting again. He made a sound like a broken police siren and crashed down, twitching.

I'd been keeping my eye on the group in front of me and that open bedroom door, but in the middle of the chaos I forgot that leshy are like roaches: there's always more than the ones you see. Something came at me from the kitchen and hit the back of my head. It wasn't even painful; it was just instantaneous darkness; everything shut down. My cheek hit the floor, but I didn't feel it so much as vaguely registered that my perspective on things had changed radically. I heard Mouse snarl, and someone screamed - the natural order of things.

Things went blurry and uncertain for a while. I heard the group talking, and Mouse barking furiously, but I was only aware of it because it was Mouse, and I was worried that they'd hurt him. The night's breath had settled on me like the weight of the world, burning, hissing in a way only I could hear. I felt crushed. I couldn't breathe. My magic felt sluggish and foul, like blood poisoning.

"It's not just the circle, he's got a ward of some sort around them," a man's voice said in English. Someone else spoke in Russian. I was beginning to understand Hardison's comment about learning a language by infection.

"Koldun", a hoarse, gravelly voice said. Something grabbed my face and picked me partially up, talons prickling my cheeks. "Wizard," the leshy said in terrible English. "You hear me?"

"I thought leshy didn't speak." I was trying to get myself in the game, but the night's breath was burning into my bones, my ribs hurt like someone had kicked them out of my chest, and my head was pounding.

The leshy growled - its way of laughing, I realized. It said something to one of the people around. We were in my basement. There were glow-sticks all over, illuminating my work: the brass circle on the concrete floor, closed and holding strong around a small shoebox full of Koschei's knick-knacks. Inside the circle were two more wards: the tracking foil I'd copied from the key, and a little bubble of force, very much like my shield, meant to keep things and people from this side of the Nevernever from getting through.

See, I could learn. I'd remembered that the leshy had been working with humans back at the museum, and I'd been ready.

"He says, 'the world changed, we changed with it'." It was the man who'd shouted a warning earlier, likely the one who'd shot at me. He was wearing all black, the better to be impossible to distinguish from the rest of the group. The leshy growled something at him. "You will dismiss the circle and remove the rest of your protections."

I gritted my teeth. Those talons were like shoe cleats, sharp and solid, and the fairy's grip was incredibly strong. They'd stripped me down to my pants and tee, and I was pretty sure they'd taken off anything that wasn't nailed down. I couldn't even feel the familiar weight of my pendant around my neck. My arms were bound behind me and my shoulder was really unhappy about that. They'd even taken my shoes off. "Bite me."

The leshy growled again and it occurred to me that it probably wasn't a good idea to invite him to do that. It said something a little longer this time. I was trying to figure out if I could use their ignorance to my advantage: the outermost circle was just that, a circle. Any of their human buddies could have made it past it. But because the leshy knew magical circles to be impregnable, they apparently hadn't thought to have the humans try.

"You will dismiss the circle," the translator said. "Or we will shoot your dog."

My lunge was instinctive. And pointless. The leshy stopped me before I could get an inch closer and slammed me back against a wall. It was just hard enough to be painful, but not enough to knock me out again. He even gave me a few minutes to find the wits he'd just send scattering all over with that casual bit of controlled violence.

"I drop the circle, you shoot us both."

The translator spoke. The leshy examined me, head cocked, golden eyes throwing an occasional red gleam when the light hit them just right. He said something long-ish.

"He considered it," the man translated. "But is not worth a death-curse, and you obviously love dog. What assurance can he provide?"

"Lock my dog up in the bathroom. Everyone else waits outside. I'll break the circle for him, and him alone."

"Nyet." The leshy wasn't stupid, though I'd hoped. He spoke at length, the translator asking a couple of questions.

"The dog stays in the net, goes in the bathroom. Three of us stay here. You drop the circle, remove the wards. We take you to the bathroom with your dog. You do not follow."

"I get your gun, you keep the bullets," I added.

That created a brief argument between the man and the leshy, but the translator caved eventually. Not that I didn't think they had a dozen other ways to kill me and Mouse, but the gun was the quickest one.

"And I'll need my hands free."

The leshy didn't wait for the translator. "Use feet."

"Fine."

He dragged me to my feet. Off to one side I could see Mouse, all but wrapped into a net, bound up inside a blanket that had been secured with duct tape. Ah, the net hadn't been for me, it'd been meant for him all along. He snarled, but didn't bark, probably out of pity for my throbbing skull. In the basement the sound would have echoed like thunder. Two humans picked him up warily, and while he tried to snap at them, he couldn't do more than twitch and drool. All but two leshy and the translator followed them out of the basement.

The translator pulled out the gun, removed the clip and the loaded bullet, and I twisted so he could give it to me. He didn't look happy. I made a show of muttering under my breath and calling up some magic. The effort bent me over double and I nearly felt my legs go to jelly. Bile rose up in my throat, and the lead leshy had to hold me up. I had to make it look like I was doing something, though, otherwise the leshy would catch onto my bluff about the circle.

But Boston, ah, Boston. The night's breath couldn't corrode what the city was giving me fast enough. If I could just get away, purge all of the corroded magic, I'd be fine. As it was, I had the power to throw a punch, I just had no way of knowing if it was going to blow up in my face or theirs.

I took a couple of deep breaths, tried again, and scuffed my foot over the circle and the two wards beyond it. And very calmly said, "Ignitum".

The circle broke. The lead leshy gestured the other two forward. The shoebox was plain, empty of anything but the rough dozen or so things Parker and I had got from Koschei. Everything was there, even the feathers and the invitation.

Except for two things.

The leshy grabbed me by the throat. "Key, koldun." He snapped at the translator.

"You are missing things. Where are they?"

"I only agreed to break the circle. It's not my fault if you didn't check your shopping before you paid the bill."

The leshy didn't like that. It slammed me against a wall and snarled. The translator opened its mouth -

The other leshy, who'd managed to grab the box, squealed in pain when something hot dripped down on it, then shrieked, clawing at its shoulder as a sizzling sound and the smell of burning fields began to fill the room. One of the ceiling tiles crashed down.

Everyone looked up. I just grinned at them.

Eliot had set up the trap for me, and he'd honestly had a blast doing so. The basement was bare concrete in every direction; to hide the fact that he was putting iron everywhere he could reach, he'd put up styrofoam ceiling tiles. He'd glued them to the concrete.

He'd laced the glue with iron filings.

Throwing a magical punch? Fifty-fifty. Melting fresh silicone that wasn't even hard yet? Child's play.

The lead leshy barked an order. The translator started for me. While they were both distracted I balanced myself on one foot, lifted the other, and kicked the leshy as hard as I could in the gut. He went sprawling back and crashed down on the floor. I snapped out the word of command. The circle snapped into life and cut him in half.

I dropped to my knees, most of my focus on not throwing up. The rest I channeled into forcing all the corroded magic the night's breath had poisoned out of me. I didn't even bother giving it shape, I just threw it out. It flattened the last two thugs and sent me crashing down on my face, even as I tried to force myself to get up, get to the box, I couldn't let them have the box -

More melted silicone dripped down. The last leshy squalled something that didn't sound nice, and the one human cursed. He came at me, trying to take his gun back. I drew in a deep breath and threw what little clean power Boston had given me in his face as a flash of light. He staggered back, blinded, swearing.

His buddy caught him and they both ran out of the basement, and I was left there, breathing hard, wondering if I should pass out. Or throw up. Or both, maybe. Somewhere above me Mouse was barking fit to bring the house down.

Passing out it was.

TWENTY FIVE

The gunshots woke up the neighbors. The neighbors woke up the cops, who expected to be summoned to such an address to bar brawls or petty theft, not to shots fired in a staid, elderly Boston neighborhood.

The gunshots also roused Nate. He came sprinting down the block to find half a dozen people peering out nervously, each one demonstrating vividly what they considered a safe distance, and none of them agreeing. The mastermind, who knew exactly how far a bullet could travel on kinetic energy alone, never mind inertia, didn't want to think of what would happen if there were more shots. He began taking stock of the problem by waving his phone at three of the people on the street. "Did someone, uh, did someone call the cops?" When the neighbors confirmed, he let out a long breath. "Good, good. Hey, those weren't gunshots, were they?" he asked as he dialed. "Hardison."

The Leverage team roused like a nest of wasps. A Crime Scene van and a two-man team nearly beat the cops to the site; the truck from Animal Control rolled in with them, and the one man joined the two masked people at the door, the cops making a path for them. All three of them winced as they walked in, pausing to yank their earbuds off.

"He's here," Eliot confirmed to the other two as they lit their flashlights, everyone taking a moment to hold their breath and see if they held - which they miraculously did. "You go ahead with the distraction, I'll find him." They had to find Dresden, get him out of the line of fire, and set up something appropriately gunshot-like but wholly accidental before the cops started looking in earnest. At the moment they weren't setting foot in the house, but Leverage could only guess as to why, rather than confirm.

"I need three minutes in the kitchen," Hardison said from behind Parker.

"I need two in his bedroom."

"I think we can buy you that," Eliot assured them.

"We?"

Despite the worry gnawing at him that the wizard had gone and gotten hurt (again), Eliot could only smile faintly. He whet his lips and whistled lightly.

From somewhere in the dark Mouse started barking immediately in response, a sound like thunder. Nate and Sophie, part of the crowd outside, saw every cop wince and twitch away. None of them went for their guns; none of them looked willing to go into the house. The crowd shifted restlessly, and stepped back without being urged to it. They crossed a look, but said nothing.

Parker threw a clean suit and a mask at Eliot and they split up. Alone in the dark, Eliot launched himself to the guest bathroom, just to one side of the stairs. "Harry!" When he got no answer he tried again, just a little louder. "Dresden!" No answer. He sniffed; there was a faint, familiar scent in the air that he couldn't readily place, but which left his gut tightening in anticipation of a punch he couldn't see coming. That, however was immediately set aside when he opened the bathroom door and found Mouse trussed up like a Bolivian hostage. "There you are."

Tied up or not, the Temple dog wagged his tail at him. Eliot started sawing on the duct tape, then paused; there was something sticky on either the ropes of the net or the blanket. Or the dog. Eliot considered shining the light on it, then decided he was better off not knowing. "We need to be quiet," he told Mouse, who whuffed nearly soundlessly at him. "And we need to find Harry, fast."

The moment he was loose, the mastiff sprang up on his feet and charged out of the bathroom. Eliot followed him down the stairs to, where else, the basement. The air was hot and full of the scent of burning plastic. Styrofoam tiles had fallen and shattered, leaving the tidy space a wreck. Eliot smelled rotten candy and recoiled. "Mouse, don't!"

The dog froze, and stepped back, whining.

Eliot knew that smell. He'd only smelled it once before, but sometimes that was all it took. He'd smelled it again, faintly, by the stairs. Rotten candy. Burning licorice. The basement cloyed his senses with it. Someone had come in prepared to take down both wizard and dog, and the hitter gritted his teeth. "Night's breath," he murmured, looked down at the dog. Moused looked up at him, ears perked. "You gonna be alright in there?"

Mouse eased himself gingerly into the basement. Paused. Whuffled.

Eliot followed. "Harry?"

A groan answered him, and he charged in. His boots squished on something very much not blood, but he didn't stop to check what it was. "Harry!"

"I'm gonna be sick," the wizard moaned. Eliot found him slumped in a heap against one side of the basement, tied up very efficiently, looking ashen under the light of the flashlight, Mouse licking his face enthusiastically.

"Place reeks of night's breath, man."

"That was me," Dresden admitted as Eliot worked to free him. "Someone dosed me upstairs. Burned it off here." He let out a vague sound of pain when his hands came loose and he started working feeling into them immediately. "They took the box."

"Who's surprised," Eliot grimaced when he nearly lost his grip on his knife sawing at the ropes around Harry's feet. "What… Why is everything slimy down here?"

"That was me, too," the wizard admitted. "I killed one of the leshy. Things from the Nevernever kinda melt when they die."

"They m- You mean- " Eliot found himself suddenly realizing he was, apparently, wading knee-deep through someone's equivalent of bodily fluids. "You mean we're covered in fairy blood?"

"Blood, guts…" Harry waved a hand to encompass a nebulous whole.

Full of violence as his life was, Eliot definitely had feelings about the situation, and none of them were good. "Damn it, Dresden!" he snapped as he helped the wizard to his feet and dragged him up the stairs.

"It'll evaporate to nothing soon!"

"And what part of 'don't get hurt' didn't you get?"

"You also said 'make it believable'," Harry protested wearily. "And they had humans with them. Again. And the humans had guns so. You know. The night's just been full of surprises."

Eliot hissed a breath out. Of course they would. "Alright. Get dressed." He thrust the clean suit and the mask at Harry. "We're going out the front door."

"Out the - They're gonna notice there's more people going out than came in."

Parker choose that moment to pop up next to them, making them both jump. "I'm not going out the front door." She had Harry's duster on, which made her look even more elfin than she already was, and looked terribly pleased with herself. "I found everything. They had it all stashed together. Amateurs."

Eliot merely imagined strangling the thief. Only a little. Just to soothe his rising temper. "They weren't thieves, Parker." When she gave him a pointed look the hitter realized what he'd said. "Ok, yes, they were thieves, but they weren't here to rob Harry!" Her brows went up. "You know what I mean! Is Hardison done?"

"I'll go check." She turned to look at Harry, and frowned minutely. "Are you hurt?"

"If I answer that, Eliot will get mad at me," he told her as he zipped up the clean suit.

To the hitter's chagrin, she took in that answer solemnly, nodded, and raced off for the kitchen.

"You are hurt," Eliot accused mildly.

"Leshy like to kick."

"Is anything broken?"

"No." Dresden breathed in, deep and very slow. "I don't think so. I'll get back to you on the concussion, though."

"You have a helluva sense of humor for someone I just found hogtied in his own basement."

Eliot saw the wizard grin, hard and bitter. "Eliot, I'm used to going down. I'm also used to waking up in a cell of one kind or another after." He popped the medical mask in place and put up the hood. "This is a distinct improvement."

The hitter had to pause at that. "Harry, don't you have anyone? Anyone that has your back?"

The wizard paused, went very still. "People… don't do so good when they get involved in a wizard's affairs," he admitted slowly, and the burden of pain and guilt and regret in his voice brought Eliot up very short. It had been years since he'd heard such a refined, complex mix of exactly those emotions from someone, but he remembered the day well enough.

He'd been staring in a mirror at the time, and he'd been horribly young.

"And not a lot of people accept that 'men in gray and big swords' trump a lot of the answers they sometimes want out of me."

The hitter caught the wizard's good shoulder. "Harry, for what it's worth," he said evenly. "I know it's hard. I know how it is when you've drawn a line on the sand and no one sees you holding it. Me, I'm here to keep my team safe. Twice, so far, I wasn't there - but you were. And that's enough for me. Thank you."

Dresden blew out a long breath. "Don't suppose you guys want to move to Chicago?"

"No more than you wanna move to Boston." Eliot looked up to see Hardison coming out of the kitchen, passing his backpack to Parker and taking hers in exchange. "Come on. The timing Hardison cooked up is tricky."

They marched out, the Animal Control guy first, leading the friendliest, most gigantic and slobberiest ball of fur out, leaving all the cops vaguely embarrassed that they'd been afraid to step into the house. Mouse hammed it up, tongue lolling to one side and tail wagging cheerfully. The crime scene people cleared out, the cops poured in, and everyone jumped into their respective vehicles.

It took a while to put both the Animal Control pick-up and the Crime Scene van back in place, none the worse for their small adventure, and everyone reconvened back at the loft. Sophie reported that there had been plenty of cops in the kitchen when the same security system that had destroyed the bedroom window interacted badly with an ancient electric board, entombed in the walls. The system had blown the garden door out onto the overgrown grass, and the antique board had gone off like a gun once again. A report had been written; fines would have to be paid. The owner had been summoned, and she'd been most grateful for everyone's prompt response, gracious and elegant even in her concern. Everyone had gone home somewhat disappointed and secretly reassured that life could go back to what it should be: quiet.

While Sophie soothed the mood at the safehouse, Nate came to see Dresden as Eliot, once again, patched up the wizard in the small spare bedroom behind the kitchen. Harry's entire chest was a rising, ugly bruise. When Eliot moved away to wash his hands, he spoke very quietly to the mastermind. "You know, when I said I'd like a job where I wasn't a punching bag, this wasn't what I meant."

"I know." Nate's mouth was pressed to a thin line. It wasn't just the injuries, or the attack. Violence threatened them all, that was just part of the job. But the violence that kept coming at Dresden was unpredictable and far too big for any countermeasures to readily work. "He's getting more hurt than you have in our worst jobs," he murmured quietly at the hitter.

"He's a civilian, Nate."

"So are you," the mastermind pointed out. "But I know what you mean."

"He doesn't have the training, he doesn't have the mental firewalls."

"Can you teach him?"

"In what, two days?!"

Nate gave the hitter a very keen, very level look. "I think he'd be grateful, and better off, with whatever you do give him." He pitched his voice to carry. "Dresden, what did they get?"

"Everything," Harry replied, testing his arm until Eliot flung a sling at him. "Everything but the key and the Witchwell."

"Mm. But he doesn't need those two back nearly as urgently as everything else. Not once Fedorov's offer gets to him. And he already has the portrait, he doesn't need help stealing it."

"He does if the Witchwell's not his and he needs to return it to the proper owner," the wizard pointed out, frowning thoughtfully.

"Does he?"

"He might. I'm guessing," Harry admitted, "but I don't think it's his. It's too modern, it doesn't fit what we know of the guy."

"I agree with Harry," Eliot added.

"So do I," Nate replied. "His reaction at the bagel shop was very telling. But the man in black has to know we can't destroy it, and he has to know it'd be much easier for him to recover it after the auction." He seemed momentarily lost in thought. He was wondering if Koschei would think of the many ways in which the Witchwell could be turned against him; if that potential danger would force him to divert attention and effort to its recovery.

And in three days' time, I will grant you and your people your heart's desire.

"He'll wait. He'll wait until he can simply take it back."

"He could take it back right now," Harry muttered.

"Could he? That's twice you've faced his hired thugs, and twice you've survived, Dresden. Twice you've almost won, until an external factor stepped in. Have a little faith in yourself. From his side, his odds don't look good."

Eliot understood. "He doesn't gamble. When he wins, he likes it to be by overwhelming force."

The mastermind nodded. "And every time Dresden steps in, it doesn't matter what the man in black throws on the field, it never ends up with a clean victory for him. He'll wait. We go on with the con. Get some rest, Dresden. You're no use as a monkeywrench if you're in pieces."

"I live to please, boss," the wizard declared wearily.

#the dresden files #leverage #my writing #fanfiction #crossover #harry dresden #alec hardison #nathan ford #parker #sophie deveraux #eliot spencer #urban fantasy #fantasy violence

[submissive-and-readable]

The Sins on Their Bones by Laura R. Samotin

Source: NetGalley ARC

Publisher: Penguin Random House

Release date: 7 May 2024

Genre: dark fantasy

If you like:

Jewish folklore

(Mutual) gay yearning

Queernorm

Villain POV

Lovers to enemies

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫/5

Synopsis

Dimitri Alexeyev used to be the Tzar of Novo-Svitsevo. Now, he is merely a broken man, languishing in exile after losing a devastating civil war instigated by his estranged husband, Alexey Balakin. In hiding with what remains of his court, Dimitri and his spymaster, Vasily Sokolov, engineer a dangerous ruse. Vasily will sneak into Alexey’s court under a false identity to gather information, paving the way for the usurper’s downfall, while Dimitri finds a way to kill him for good.

But stopping Alexey is not so easy as plotting to kill an ordinary man. Through a perversion of the Ludayzim religion that he terms the Holy Science, Alexey has died and resurrected himself in an immortal, indestructible body—and now claims he is guided by the voice of God Himself. Able to summon forth creatures from the realm of demons, he seeks to build an army, turning Novo-Svitsevo into the greatest empire that history has ever seen.

Dimitri is determined not to let Alexey corrupt his country, but saving Novo-Svitsevo and its people will mean forfeiting the soul of the husband he can’t bring himself to forsake—or the spymaster he’s come to love.

Content warnings

Domestic and emotional abuse

Implied grooming

Death, war, gore, body horror, blood, injury

Torture

Past sexual assualt

Alcohol and drug use

Vomit

Mental illness/depression

Review

Thank you to Netgalley for the ARC!!

I love unconventional fantasy novels, where the main characters aren't powerful and heroic, where they have lost everything, where they doubt themselves and their decisions at every turn, but still choose to forge on regardless.

Dimitri is depressed and going through it mentally, after his ex-husband's betrayal and usurpation, and a lot of the beginning of this book is about picking up the pieces in order to move forward. I appreciate how his depression is taken seriously as a legit illness, which is something you don't see a lot of in high fantasy. Vasily is his loyal spymaster who is devoted to his country and to Dimitri, and is willing to do whatever it takes in order to reinstate Dimitri as Tzar. At times, things look hopeless, but Vasily manages to persevere and act under pressure. Alexey reminds me of the Darkling from Shadow & Bone, so take that as you will. He's power hungry and delusional in his quest for more power, under the misguided belief that he must do it for the good of the country. I hadn't expected to get his point of view in this book, and I won't say it was a pleasant surprise, but it was fascinating to read from his perspective and see how differently he interprets things.

A lot of the negative reviews critique the pacing as ""too slow"", but honestly, I didn't even notice? In hindsight I can see how people might find this book slow, as it takes about halfway into this book for the main plot to get going, but I really enjoyed being able to spend more time with the cast, learning about them and their backstories before getting swept up in the plot.

I've also seem some criticism of the amount of sex scenes in this book, which is perfectly fine and everyone's preferences are valid. However, I do feel that some people are coming at this from the perspective that sex scenes are written purely for the purpose of titillating the audience, which is definitely not the case here. The characters have sex for a variety of reasons, ranging from using it as a coping mechanism for trauma, or as a way to exert power or control, or as a method of manipulation, which I think is important to keep in mind before dismissing this book as ""smut"". (But if you're into it that's fine too!)

Another aspect of this book I found rather interesting was how Jewish folklore and customs were written into the world-building. I have zero knowledge of Judaism so I lowkey thought some of it was made up for fantasy world-building purposes, but the author's note at the end of the book was enlightening and gives some great insight into how the author constructed this world with Jewish culture in mind.

One thing that bugs me about this is, I was under the impression that this book was a standalone until I got to the ending. You could still read it as a standalone, I guess. And like, I'm glad that there could be more of this world, but it irks me that I didn't know this going into it.

TLDR; This book weaves a complex tapestry of past and present, love and betrayal, loss and healing. It's about finding light in the darkest of times. 5 stars.

#the sins on their bones #laura r samotin #booklr #readblr #book review #lgbt #lgbtq #queer #lgbtqia #queernorm #queer books #gay #gay romance #gay books #lgbt books #lgbtq books #fantasy #fantasy books #fantasy novel #mlm #mlm books #jewish books #dark fantasy #queer romance #queer representation #jewish representation

[autisticwriterblog]

Fandom 50 Post 4

 A list of fics I've read (or reread) recently that I really enjoyed. 

Alan Wake Bury me brother by @koskela-knights

Summary: It had almost been comedically easy to sneak out of the station. In fact, Ilmo wasn’t even sneaking. He just took his brother’s covered body and walked out of there. My notes: A heartbreaking look at Ilmo after he loses Jaakko. 

Control

Break by @taniushka12

Summary: When Ash Jr. is trapped in a building shift incident and begins to freak out about his imminent death, the person who aids him is the least one he expects. The least helpful, too, but at the end of the day, Ash could really use a break. (A musical break, even) My notes: A pre-canon fic about Ash Jr. and Ahti bonding when Ash is trapped in an elevator. I love the way the author writes Ahti's dialogue. 

Dishonored

Heard It Through The Heart Line Summary: The Heart reveals many secrets about the world and the people around Corvo. Sometimes too many secrets. If Corvo didn’t know any better, he might even say the Heart is a bit of a gossip. My notes: This fic is hilarious. It's about the Heart being a troll and telling Corvo incredibly TMI details about his allies.

A List Summary: Alternate title: 'On Becoming A Person, by Billie Lurk'. A documentation of the various identity-based Complications, Consequences, Considerations, and Crises that Billie has (with varying degrees of foresight) encountered following a certain world-reshaping event. My notes: A lovely fic about Billie and the now-human Outsider post DOTO. Very sweet and funny. 

The Beetles by @yourfavouritedoll Summary: Post-canon, non-lethal outcome. Perhaps this is Sokolov's final test of genius: to rebuild a ruined man. My Notes: A really good fic about Sokolov and Jindosh set after Jindosh is taken down non-lethally. The author shares my horror at what we had to do to Jindosh, and seeing this through Sokolov's POV is so interesting. 

Yakuza/Like a Dragon

Stay Safe Summary: Hanawa is assigned his first agent. My notes: A really interesting and heartbreaking character study of Hanawa pre-Gaiden.

Broken Paradise Summary: Ichiban wasn't alright. He tried to hide it. His friends weren't willing to let the issue drop that easily. (or: the "romance" substories, with actual consequences.) My notes: A very long oneshot about Ichiban's terrible 'romance' substories in Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth. Rape tw for the fic, which takes the rape 'jokes' from those substories and shows the very real, severe consequences they have on Ichiban's mental state. Very heavy fic, but very worth it. No spoilers for the game's main story. 

#fic recs #fandom 50 #alan wake 2 #control #dishonored #yakuza #like a dragon #rape mention

[indelibleevidence]

Apparently I didn't do this the first time round (what was wrong with me?), so here are my 4x02 thoughts:

Really cool puzzles in this episode - both the magnetite map and the ATM have such great solutions. I wonder who came up with the creepy facial recognition gas-ATM.

I get why Patterson was so pissed at Boston to begin with this time around (the whole 'I coded a backdoor into Wizardville so I could snoop on people's phones' thing was a massive betrayal of trust, even if he then apologised and helped the team arrest his terrorist boyfriend), but why was Boston so mean to Kurt? 'You got one, Limpy!' I'd love to see you survive a gut shot, Boston (and let's be realistic, if they hadn't stopped the show at season 4.5, he probably would have gotten one, because gut shots are Blindspot's favourite injury - Mayfair, Jane, Roman, Patterson, Kurt, Keaton, Weitz...).

I've said it before and I'll say it again - as much as I love both Rich and Boston, the comedy gay couple/sassy gay friend trope makes me facepalm. I just don't get the sense in this episode that these men are attracted to each other, despite Rich's cooing. They have sibling chemistry, not ex-lovers who are still pining for each other, and they remind me of children squabbling over who gets the first cookie. 🙄 At least 4x08 goes a little way towards fixing that (until Rich ruins it by being a total asshole).

Remi's face when Sokolov describes the FBI as hamstrung by bureaucracy and ego is just awesome. She's like, 'Yep, this guy gets it.'

And again, the FBI's 'shoot first, ask questions later' policy comes back to bite them, because if Sokolov had lived, no 4x08... 🤷‍♀️ But also, I have no idea how they would have written it into the show, so...

The Remi and Roman scenes just made me so sad, because Remi is completely alone, talking to her brother who isn't there, trying to justify herself and her convictions (which we see at the start of 4x03, she isn't that sure of. 'Of course I can kill my husband...but not right now, that wouldn't be the right time.'

They really could have used the 'Zapata was on the plane, but not really' plot thread to make everyone cry, but they didn't bother. I wonder if they filmed a scene or two that were cut for length. I'll forever be sad that we never got any deleted scenes for seasons 4 or 5. 😭

Sometimes Blindspot is as subtle as a brick to the face with its cases and subplot parallels, but they did a great job with this episode. Sokolov being able to convince agents from multiple agencies to hand over documents, because there's no inter-agency cooperation, goes nicely with Keaton's complete lack of inter-agency cooperation re: Zapata (and why does it need to be kept so super secret that even a team working to take HCI Global down can't be read in, Keaton?). And Madeline's gleeful confession that she killed her husband pairs really well with Remi mixing up a little gift for Kurt at the end of the episode.

Audrey did so well with her 'I hate this undercover assignment' scene. Poor Tasha. Even though I don't see why Reade couldn't know, I do feel awful for her.

Madeline has such potential to be a great villain, but they just didn't bother to go anywhere meaningful with her. Helios was pretty masterful as a plan, but her underlying motives with her father are tissue-paper thin. :/ It makes all of the Helios arc feel kind of pointless, in retrospect. Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio does a great job, but after Shepherd and Roman, Madeline is just meh. Plus Remi just steals the show with her plotting and scheming.

Remi turning an argument around on Kurt again is so much fun to watch, and especially the way she course-corrects with the giant eyes and 'I just want to help people, just like you' stuff. Makes me think of the Jane-as-Goth!Remi episode, where she's just overly bitchy. 😁

Brb, squeeing over every moment of Remi now! Especially her knowing that he'll be first through the door to save her, even though she doesn't remember anything about being in the field with him from being Jane.

#blindspot #blindspot rewatch 2023 #blindspot 4x02

[scarletlove2]

'Cause Us Traitors Never Win.

Hi! So this book will also be posted on AO3. Um, also I'm still not the best at writing so any help would be really nice! Also, this is meant to be multiple chapters, but knowing how much I get writer's block. This will go months without another chapter, Also this isn't meant to make anyone upset or anything. It's just something I whipped up for fun! But with that, I will put a list of the warnings now.

Warnings: Betrayal, Death in later chapters, Guns, Knives, killing, General Sherped, poorly translated Spanish, my writing is a warning itself, please let me know if there's anymore

I aimed the gun's barrel toward his head, the briefcase held securely in my free hand. The helicopter blades whirled, causing my hair to sway rhythmically. Tilting my head, I offered them all a smile just before the gunshot pierced the air.

I stood beside General Shepherd in the boardroom, surrounded by members of Task Force 141, Los Vaqueros, and Shadow Company.

"Many of you are well aware of the threat posed by Hans Miller," Shepherd began, his voice stern. "His actions, including the abduction of civilians and numerous war crimes, cannot be overlooked. That's why I've brought Scarletta Sokolov into the fold to address this matter." All eyes shifted briefly to me before returning to Shepherd as he continued speaking.

"Let's ensure Miss, Sokolov feels welcomed and work collectively to strategize ways to bring down Hans. With that, the meeting concludes."

Everyone nodded in agreement and began to leave the room. I gave Shepherd a nod of acknowledgement before trailing behind a man named John, who also goes by Soap. As we moved, another individual, Kyle, known as Gaz, joined me.

"Scarletta, right? I'm Kyle, but you can call me Gaz," he said in a friendly tone.

"I go by Scarlet, Scarletta is for formal greetings and business. But Nice to meet you, Gaz," I responded, maintaining a composed demeanour.

"A Russian addition to the team! We've been missing that diversity. It's great to have people from different backgrounds on board," Gaz remarked, showing no signs of surprise or curiosity.

"Not many of us are eager to join international military operations, given the unfortunate stereotypes surrounding our loyalty," I explained, sensing he might already know this.

"Well, it's a pleasure to have you here. Our team is like a family, you know. Price plays the father figure, Ghost's the enigmatic teenager, Soap's the energetic cousin, and I suppose I'm the normal one in the mix," Gaz elaborated.

"How delightful," I responded, as we approached the waiting vehicles. We all entered the cars, and I found myself seated between Ghost and Soap as we headed to the base.

"Scarletta, Soap and Gaz will show you around. I need to have a word with Ghost," Price instructed, and he and Ghost walked toward his office, leaving us behind.

"Let's begin with the medical bay. Along the way, we'll cover other key spots," Soap suggested, leading the way to the medical area.

"On your left is the shooting range, and on the right, you'll find the training room," Gaz pointed out to a few rookies honing their shooting skills. As we ventured further, we passed the communal showers and boardroom.

"Welcome to the common area. We have regular movie nights and take-out evenings. Feel free to join us," Gaz added, offering a warm smile.

"You're also welcome to use the fridge and pantry. If you need supplies from the city, just let Price know. You'll need to use one of the vehicles," Soap chimed in.

"One more stop on the tour," Gaz announced as we walked down a corridor toward the living quarters. He pointed out the rooms, explaining that each member had a personal bathroom except the rookies, who shared the community showers.

"Why the separate room and bathroom for me, and not the rookies?" I inquired, tilting my head curiously.

"According to Shepherd, higher-ranking members get their own rooms. It's a fairness thing," Gaz clarified.

"Understood," I responded, and we finally reached an empty room.

"This is your room. We'll get a name tag for it soon. We hope you like it. Some of us chipped in to make it feel welcoming. We'll leave you to settle in, and the rookies will bring your belongings from the France base to your room," Gaz explained before he and Soap left.

Standing in my room, I observed its spaciousness, a rarity in a military setting. After placing the items in the basket on the bed, I read the note left for me.

"Hey newcomer, Shepherd gave us some insights about you, so we put this basket together. We hope you like it. P.S. The jelly cat bat is a joke."

I set the card aside, smirking at the bat before arranging the contents of the basket. As I examined the candles and a Task Force 141 patch, a smile formed. These small gestures showed camaraderie.

Having settled in, I kicked off my jacket and lay back on the bed, taking a deep breath. A knock interrupted my thoughts, and I grumbled as I answered the door. The rookies left my belongings, and I took my time unpacking.

I finished unpacking and I picked up my phone and put in a number, I put it to my ear I heard the ringing noise and then heard the woman on the other line,

“ I’m calling to make sure that my animals are alright?” I speak into the phone waiting for a reply 

“ Ah yes Miss, Sokolov, they're doing alright!” I could hear the chirp in the woman's voice as she spoke

“ Good good I just want to make you have all their diets and when they’ll all meant to eat?”

“ Yes Miss Sokolov we have made sure to read everything and double-read everything before we get started” 

“ Good I’m glad cause you all cost me a pretty penny but I have to go I’ll call again tomorrow to check in” 

“Yes Miss Sokolov your animals, are in great hands We’ll talk tomorrow Good day Miss Sokolov”

“Good day,” I said taking the phone away from my ear and pressing the button to hang up

I slipped into my leather jacket, effortlessly tucking my cigarettes into one of its pockets. Retrieving my phone from the nightstand, I casually slid it into my back pocket before exiting my room. As I shut the door behind me, I continued down the hallways. My phone vibrated in my jeans pocket, prompting an eye roll from me. Retrieving it, I glanced at the text and promptly replied. Lost in thought, I reached a corner without paying much attention, resulting in a small stumble when I collided with someone. I quickly stepped back, looking up to find Alejandro Vargas in front of me.

"I apologize; I wasn't paying attention to what was in front of me," I said, slipping my phone back into my back pocket.

"It's alright; I wasn't paying much attention either," he replied casually.

"Where are you off to?" he asked, engaging in small talk.

"I was about to head out for a smoke and some fresh air," I responded, offering him a small smile.

"Ah, alright. I won't stop you any longer," he said with a grin.

"Alrighty then, I'll see you around, Alejandro," I replied, walking past him.

"See you around, Scarletta," he called out, causing me to turn around, tilting my head slightly.

"You can just call me Scarlet," I responded, causing him to turn around, putting his hands up in defence.

"Alright then, Scarletta," he replied with a smirk playing on his lips. He placed his hands back in his pockets before turning away.

A small smirk of my own played on my lips as I shook my head and continued walking, heading toward my destination for a smoke.

#Alejandro x OC #Alejandro X Orginal Female Character #task force 141 #oc #cod oc #cod mw2 #Task Force 141 #john mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #rudy parra #kate laswell #farah karim #alex keller #rodolfo parra #mwii #modern warfare #philip graves #original character #character death #betrayal #fear of love #the red room #alejandro cod #alejandro mw2 #why did i write this #i hate it

[kiwiwinjindouche]

But like, are we sure sure it’s Luca who helped Jindosh?

I keep thinking it’d be more logical if it were Theodanis, but my brain is, again, having some doubts about it.

Let’s start from the beginning, shall we. Lots of lore and Jindosh to be expected, and spoilers.

He’s 40-45, and my lazy ass wants to think he’s going to be 42 yo in DH2, so it’s easier for the dates. He’d be born in 1810, in good ol’ Karnaca. He had a more or less difficult life there, between the hate of his mother and, I hope, the brother he still had a somehow good relationship with (I just don’t think he’s using ‘bastard’ as an insult there?). He arrived at the Academy at 16 maybe (again, just my lil’ preference there, cuz I like to over analyze things and all we have is, at some point when he was 16, he was studying there, could be 14/15/16, 15/16/17, or 16/17/18). Anyway. Got banned two years later. We’re now in 1828.

DH1 events happen in 1837.

Then, all we have before DH2 is from the book The Return of Daud (I mean, yes, The Corroded Man too but it doesn’t interest me in the slightest there). 2nd interlude, it’s 1841, and Stilton and Sokolov are having an exhibit in the Royal Conservatory. Jindosh’s here too, and Stilton thinks he recognizes him. Also, as a small note, I think by the time Breanna is already at the head of the conservatory.

(Furthermore, you can see silvergraphs of the coup crew in the Clockwork Mansion, and the one of Breanna is dated 1846!)

And next, another important year is 1847, Theodanis died, and Luca became the new Duke of Serkonos. It took 6 years to build the Royal Conservatory, and less than 5 years for the Grand Palace (between 1847 and 1852 obviously, and this makes me think it’s probably the main reason the ritual has been done in Stilton’s mansion: Addermire? Certainly not. The conservatory? Just why? At Jindosh’s? hell no, geez. Couldn’t do it at Luca’s maybe? And because of Stilton and Theodanis’ relationship as well, welp). Anyway!

So yeah, I don’t think building the Clockwork Mansion took more years than the conservatory, but it probably took more than the Grand Palace. Fun fact, did you know there was an observatory there?

Heck yeah. An old observatory, abandoned. But question is, how could people go there? I’ve tried to analyze the road to the mansion too, and boy it’s kinda weird – stylish as a lvl design, but lore wises I’m not sure about what I’m seeing. Is the railway relatively new, or old? Maybe the observatory got abandoned because the path has been destroyed, ‘d be fair enough.

Now.

The Clockwork Mansion, you just can’t tell me it has been easy to build. I wouldn’t believe you. First, it’s stupidly complex with the shifting walls. Second, its darn location: ON A CLIFF. With a destroyed path OR the railway. Third, I think it’d be expensive as hell too. And you’re telling me Jindosh also built many things, and the clockwork sentinels/soldiers, and the riddle, and the Oraculum, in 5 years? I don’t care how many nights you don’t sleep that’s too crazy. Or maybe, he already had his mansion?

That leads me to another point.

Can we talk about the assessment chamber really quick? It looks so… odd? I mean, all the mansion is heavily fancy but this part. But that’s probably because it’s not as much “important” but if visitors come by to see the soldiers in action? It looks like the most recent part of the mansion, the mountain being dug to add just a room to “test the limits of the clockwork soldiers”. Soo, again, maybe he had already finished to build his mansion and just added this recently?

BUT, as I said, it probably was expensive as shit. Do you think he had the money to do it by himself (like some lily-livered little rich boy (oops ofmd ref), like, he grew in a wealthy family somehow, or by already selling some inventions) or received some help, let’s say, from the Duke? And as Stilton has the feeling he knows him in 1841, maybe, you know… Theodanis helped him… Moreover, if you were the Duke of a pecking country, don’t you think you’d have heard anyway about a crazy inventor building a crazy house on the cliff, visible by anyone?

(Last very small note, the gift to the Tyvian NOBLE girl, before or after Theodanis’ passed you think?)

So I don’t know, I still prefer to think it was Theodanis. I don’t remember anything clearly said in the games or the wiki about this.

If you have more information, theories or idk, feel free to share with me! I’m so interested by all this.

Next time I’ll just go with some random fun facts promise.

#dh2 #dishonored 2 #dishonored #dagyne_rambles #kirin jindosh #that's a lot of ranting there #geez #i'm way too much invested in Jindosh's life #gotta love my rat man

[fancyshooting]

OCELUCK

"You were lucky. We'll meet again!" is more than just a callback to MGS1.

After Ocelot's gun jams during his first encounter with Snake, we see him in the helicopter reflecting on his defeat. It has such an impact on him that he keeps the offending bullet, which we see worn around his neck upon Snake's return to Rassvet. Ocelot fails to shoot him again (although at this point they were secretly allied, so there is a possibility that this was deliberate). When their duel is interrupted at Bolshaya Past Crevice, Ocelot says, "You were lucky. We'll meet again!" This is the first of several times he mentions luck. This line is important in letting us know exactly how Snake is perceived by Ocelot. He has had three opportunities to best Snake. We know he is confident in his abilities, so to him, the only reason Snake keeps escaping is because he is lucky.

He is still thinking about luck at Ponizovje Warehouse, where he says to Sokolov, "Let's find out just how lucky you are."

Volgin is present in this scene, so by openly expressing contempt for the "traitor", Sokolov, Ocelot is demonstrating his loyalty to the GRU. However, Sokolov cannot be killed at this point due to his crucial role in the development of the Shagohod. He can be captured and tormented but he cannot be killed. Why, then would Ocelot play such a risky game? Rather than believing Snake is lucky, he may believe himself to be unlucky, meaning that Sokolov will ultimately come to no physical harm. He even gives Sokolov a higher chance of survival by using three guns. Another reference to luck is made, then The Boss snatches the loaded gun away before Ocelot can pull the trigger for the sixth and final time. Had she not intervened, Sokolov would have been shot.

The game of Russian Roulette in the torture room plays out in much the same way: a single bullet chambered in one of three guns. Just as it happened with Sokolov, Tatyana is spared only because Snake collides with Ocelot and throws off his aim. Before Ocelot leaves the room, he says that Tatyana "got lucky this time".

When Ocelot eventually gets the chance to test Snake's luck with a game of Russian Roulette, he does so using only one revolver, giving Snake a lower chance of survival than both Sokolov and Tatyana had previously. There is no reason for Ocelot to threaten Snake here. Even is he is protecting his cover, he should be trying to capture the escaped prisoner, not kill him. His belief in Snake's inherent luck encourages him to take this risk. After Snake jumps from the waterfall, Ocelot notices the chambered bullet. He sees that even if he had pulled the trigger before Snake escaped, the chamber would have been empty. This is meaningful to Ocelot and marks the moment he begins to view his repeated failure to defeat Snake as "fate". This line from the MGS3 novel makes this clear:

"The roulette match was postponed again by Snake's good luck. Three times in a row, even if by chance, could be perceived as fate."

When Ocelot subjected Sokolov and Tatyana to Russian Roulette, both were only spared due to the game being disrupted. He had used three guns, only one of which contained a live round. With Snake, he increases the chance of him being shot by using only one gun. Of the three games, the chamber was only empty when it was pointed at Snake.

To Ocelot, Snake is seemingly invulnerable. He defeated the elite Ocelot Unit, almost all of the legendary Cobra Unit and managed to sneak his way into the "impenetrable fortress" Groznyj Grad. He always survives difficult situations that others would perish in. This is why in the torture room Ocelot clutches the bullet that prevented him from killing Snake at Rassvet. The bullet symbolises fate and he was using it as a sort of lucky charm, willing Snake through Volgin's torture after seeing how weak he had become.

At the end, when Ocelot boards the WIG, he is again taking a big risk. Snake still thinks he is an enemy and could easily kill him. The pistol that Eva throws to Snake is, fortunately for Ocelot, unloaded. Every instance that he and Snake evade death at the other's hands is fate to him. The only time he is "allowed" to shoot Snake is when his gun is loaded with a blank. In two of the four variations of this scene, he again mentions luck playing a part. Before he jumps out of the WIG, he is still thinking about fate bringing them together:

"'Til we meet again, John."

Whether they will meet again is uncertain but Ocelot is assured that it will happen.

#mgs #metal gear solid #revolver ocelot #writing

[scorbleeo]

Book Chat: Throne of Vengeance

Throne Duet (Book 2) by Rina Kent

Source: Google Images

When vengeance strikes…

You don’t know me, but I know you. I’m the shadow that creeps behind you without notice. The moment you see me, you’re dead. An assassin. A killer. A nobody. Until I became somebody. I’ll make everyone who reduced me to a shadow pay. To do that, I’m willing to risk everything. Everything except for my reluctant wife. Rai Sokolov can show me her worst, but this will only end when death does us part. The road to the throne is paved with loss, betrayal, and blood baths. To win, we go all in. Our lives included.

Source: Goodreads (2021)

Hmm...

Don't get me wrong, I liked Throne of Vengeance, I even enjoyed it more than it's predecessor. Unfortunately, something was off with the writing in this book. There were times when I thought the writing style was amateur which should not be the case with Kent, considering she already wrote many books prior of this. Especially the ending, why was it so rushed and underdeveloped?

Lets start from the beginning. I really thought I was going to hate this book when Kent wrote another story with the amnesia plot, this woman loves her amnesia for who knows what reason. However, with or without the amnesia subplot, I absolutely love Rai in this book. Not that I hated her before, but she very obviously grew(?) or perhaps matured in Throne of Vengeance. I absolutely loved it when she meant her "nos". You would be surprised if you paid attention to how many ladies Kent has created who do not take their "nos" seriously...

On the other hand, my dear Kyle. This man went from being that idiotic alpha man in Throne of Power to a cinnamon roll for Rai in Throne of Vengeance. Not that I'm complaining, I am all for men worshipping their ladies. It just fascinated me that all it took for Kyle to mellow down was Rai forgetting him.

What did not fascinate me about Kyle in this book was how incapable he suddenly became. You mean to tell me this famed assassin is a good cop compared to the Russians? I'm supposed to believe this infamous killer couldn't break himself out of first Vlad's capture, then Rolan's capture? I apologise but the way Kent wrote Kyle Hunter since the beginning, his incapability here just didn't fit his profile. Maybe Kent's goal was to show us just how much of a queen Rai is and I love that but really, the Kyle in Throne of Vengeance did not match Kyle Hunter in any prior books.

Which brings me on to the finale because what? This entire duology have been going on about the Irish mafia and that was it? This seriously brought back memories of when we thought we were going to get a banger of a final battle in Game of Thrones only to have that half-assed battle with the White Walkers...

I have no idea what happened with Kent while she wrote Throne of Vengeance but that writing was absolutely off. Still not convinced? Here's another example. I know for a fact Kent can foreshadow, she did so for Ruthless Empire when she storyboarded Cole and Silver's story throughout the entire Royal Elite series. However, the foreshadowing here was a mess, it was too many in a short span of time.

Yes, I mainly have my issues with the writing style for Throne of Vengeance. But in spite of those issues, I still did like the storyline here.

Rating: ★★★★☆

More on the Throne Duet here: Throne of Power (#1)

#book review #throne of vengeance #throne duet #rina kent #rai sokolov #kyle hunter #kyle fitzpatrick #rina kent universe

[romanovsmurdermystery]

On the photograph: Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov (1872-1948) wo provided his testimony quoted below to the special investigator, N.A. Sokolov in connection to the Nicolas II 'murder' case.

Testimony:

‘In the summer of 1918, a member of the State Council and a Kiev provincial leader, Fyodor Nikolaevich Bezak, lived in Kiev. He and I were both part of the same monarchist group. I remember well, on the 5th or 6th of July, - new style, - Bezak called me on the phone and said that Count Alvensleben had just called him and told him that he would now be at Bezak’s and would give him some important news. This Alvensleben is a former diplomatic official of the German Foreign Office. During the era of the hetman, he, having been called up for mobilization, was under the commander-in-chief Eichhorn, and then under Kirbach. According to him his grandmother was Russian, a certain Countess Kiseleva. He was well-known in Russian circles and was considered a monarchist and Russophile.

During this conversation, Alvensleben warned us that between July 16 and July 20 (new style) a rumour or news of the assassination of the Emperor (Nicolas II) would spread, and that this rumour or news should not bother us: like the rumour about the murder of the Emperor, which took place in June, it would be false, but that it was necessary for His salvation. I remember well that during our conversation with him, which took place, as I already said, on the 5th or 6th July - the new style, - Count Alvensleben indicated as the time frame of when the news of the assassination of the Emperor should spread: 16-20 July. At the same time, he asked us to keep our conversation with him secret, pretending that we believed the news of the Emperor’s death. - Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov (1872-1948)

About the Alvesleben:

The House of Alvensleben is an ancient, Low German (niederdeutsch) noble family from the Altmark region, and one of the oldest extant German aristocratic families.

The family’s earliest known member, Wichard de Alvensleve, is first mentioned in 1163 as a ministerialis of the Bishopric of Halberstadt.

The family generated two catholic bishops of Havelberg in the 15th and 16th centuries, but then became Lutheran Protestants. Joachim I. von Alvensleben (1514-1588) promoted the reformation in the Altmark region. The family provided many heads of government in this province, as well as a number of ministers, generals and diplomats in different Northern German states. Several lines of the family were made Prussian counts, beginning in 1798, and the family received a hereditary seat in the Prussian House of Lords. Most of their properties were expropriated in 1945 in communist East Germany.

About Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov (1872-1948) – shortened version

Born in 1872 in St. Petersburg and, according to family tradition, chose the military path for his career. Graduated from the Corps of Pages, the Oriental Languages Course at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Academy of the General Staff. At the same time, simultaneously with his studies, in 1893 he served in the Cavalry Regiment as a lieutenant.

[…]

In 1917, headed the first cavalry corps of the Russian Army. In 1918, left for Ukraine, where he joined the army of Hetman Skoropadsky, whom he knew from battles in East Prussia.

After the hetman left Kyiv, Alexander Nikolaevich joined the northwestern army of General Yudenich where he formed and led the fourth rifle division of the second corps, with which he took part in the attack on Red Petrograd, leading his riflemen into bayonet battle.

After the defeat of the White Army ended up in Estonia, where he was interned.

After a short stay in Estonia, emigrated to France, where he lived until 1924. Afterwards, Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov and his wife and daughter moved to the Belgian Congo, where he served in the local administration.

From 1929 to 1948 he lived in Morocco, where he worked in local companies in various positions. Died in Rabbat, Morocco.

On the images: on the left a group photo with Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov in the middle (bottom row) marked with red cross; on the right: coat of arms of The House of Alvensleben.

Testimony is translated by Seraphima Bogomolova

#research #romanovs #investigation #nicolas ii #seraphima bogomolova #evidence #murder mystery #July 1918 #Dolgorukov #House of Alvensleben #testimony

[forgeofideas]

PRE-BALKAN 

-Hunnic invasion pushes the Slavs westward into Europe

-The Slavs split into two groups, east and west

-The Avars, a nomadic people, invade eastern europe and enslave a large amount of slavs

-A Turkic Bulgar leader later arrives and defeats the Avars, freeing the western slavs.

-A portion of the western slavs (serbians) supposedly invade or are invited by the Eastern Roman Emperor Heraclius I  into the Balkans. 

EARLY BALKAN

-The Serbians settle in the western balkans and are divided into six tribal principalities (Zeta, Bosnia, Pagania, Zahumle, Travuna, and Raszka) 

-A Vlastimir unites the different principalities and become the grand Zupan, even representing Serbians in the Eastern Roman court  

-Bulgaria invades serbia twice (839 AD & 851 AD), but fails. Serbia is established as a regional power. 

-870 AD, Serbia, aside from those who remain pagan, convert to Christianity as influence from the Eastern Roman Church 

SPLINTER PERIOD 

-924 AD Bulgaria makes use of Serbian infighting and annexes new territory. In 927 Časlav unites the Serbs and leads an uprising, restoring the Serbian state. 

-943 The Hungarians invade, killing Časlav and creates instability, the principalities Bosnia, Zeta, and Raszka are annexed by the Bulgarians and Hungarians. 

-1016, the Eastern Romans end Bulgarian rule in Raszka and Zeta, taking the Serbian principalities for themselves.  

-1038 a Serbian rebellion breaks out against the Eastern Romans. After the great schism in 1054 the Church in Rome supports Serbian rebellion, creating a mix of catholic, pagan, and orthodox Serbians. 

ZENITH PERIOD

-War breaks out between the catholic principality of Zeta and the orthodox principality of Raszka. Nemanjic in 1166 rises to power in Raszka ( Raška ) and defeats Zeta. He conquers other Serbian principalities and become Grand Zupan. 

-Religious differences splits Serbian unity, Nemanjic’s son renames himself Sava. Sava rejects his princely title and becomes a monk. Nemanjic dies, creating even more Serbian disunity. Sava pleads with the church in Constantinople to allow the Serbians to have an independent church. 1219, an independent Serbian church is established. Pagan, Catholic, and Orthodox Serbs are now united under one faith, stabilizing the country for a time.  

-Serbia now elevates itself as a kingdom, no longer splintered into different Zupans.  The Nemanjic dynasty expands Serbian territory and creates an empire (1346-1371), considering themselves the Third Rome. Kosovo becomes the spiritual center of Serbia. 

-Serbian regional rulers begin to operate independently after the Nemanjic dynasty weakens. The Ottoman Turks make use of this and conquer the whole of Serbia. 

OTTOMAN YOKE 

-Serbians are forced into the lower caste system of the Ottoman Empire. Those who wish to continue life as a Christian must pay a tax, thus encouraging Islamic conversion among some Serbians. Serbian boys are forced into the janissary core. Hajduks, Balkan Christian bandits, would steal from upper class Ottoman society.

-1557, A muslim serb (grand vizier) named Mehmed Pasa Sokolovic influenced the Ottoman Sultan to restore the Serbian Church. Reawakened to the glory of their Serbian heritage and faith, the Serbians start an uprising in 1594. Their attempts however, are crushed by the might of the Ottomans. 

-In 1683 war breaks out between the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Ottomans. Many Serbians side with the Austrians in the war, leading to serbians within the ottoman empire to be punished for their betrayal in 1690. In Kosovo a slaughter of Serbians occurs and the christian patriach Arsenije III Carnojevic leads the serbians into the Austria-Hungary. The serbian people are given autonomy in a region known as Vojvodina. The Serbian patriarch establishes major branch of the serbian church in ausria hungary. 

-Hajduk bandits in mountainous regions of Serbia (Montenegro) begin to stop paying taxes to the empire and follow a leader named Vladike Danilo Petrovic Njegos. The Frajkori or Sajkasi are created to combat the Ottomans, igniting more serbian nationalism.

-Peace is declarered between the austrians and ottomans in 1791, and serbian persecution follows. In 1804 the Serbian uprising beings after numerous serbian nationalist leaders are killed. Karadjordje leads the uprising and creates an independant Serbian principality in 1817 with international recognition in 1878. 

-Serbia goes from principality into kingdom in 1882. 

KINGDOM OF YUGOSLAVIA 

-The region of Bosnia, heavily populated by serbs is annexed by Austria. This creates tension with the kingdom of serbia. Dragutin Dimitrijevic “apis” forms the Black Hand, a serbian terrorist organization opposed to austrian rule. 

-In 1910 the kingdom of Montenegro begins talks to merge with Serbia in order to reform the old Serbian Empire. Both kingdoms unite and annex macedonia and kosovo from the ottoman empire (battle of kosovo). 

-1914 a black hand member assasinate the archduke franz ferdinand and starts WW1. The aftermath of ww1 results in Serbian and Montenegrin victory. The serbian king re-unites bosnia, but also begins talks to intergrate croatia and slovenia into his kingdom as well. 

-The Croatians (soon to be second largest ethnic group) preferred a fedralist government which would grant their people more autonomy. The serbian king, however, favored a unitary government which would favor the serbian people. This would later cause a sense of alienation among croatians in the kingdom.

-The kingdom of Croats, Slovens, and Serbs is renamed Yugoslavia. Although home to three different ethnic groups, there is a strong Serbian / Orthodox christian hegemony that runs the kingdom. The Croatians, primarily catholic, feel unrepresented and discriminated against in the kingdom of yugoslavia. The government party representing the croatians then goes underground and forms the Ustase, being funded by the vatican. 

WW2

-test 

[theline-wecrossed]

news worthy

Sawyer Sokolov (20) and Dylan Sheridan (19) did not expect to be stuck in the middle of the desert in the middle of their road trip through Death Valley National Park, but when their car broke down in the middle of Jubilee Pass at sundown on February 4th, with no cell service, they had no choice but to wait for help. The pair were taking the scenic route to drop off Solokov at University of Nevada Reno where he is an Environmental Science major, but when stalled by engine trouble they had no choice but to kill time until a kind stranger could lend them a hand, or a tow. Solokov and Sheridan did not see another soul for 48 hours, until Death Valley National Park Ranger, Carter Meritt (62) passed by on his way to his shift at the Furnace Creek Visitor’s Centre. “Well- you see I was heading to work on the 6th at around 8am, and saw a lonesome car on the shoulder of the road. I thought that was kind of weird, because it wasn’t near a designated lookout point or anything. I mean the flowers were out, which always brings visitors stopping to take photos, but the sun had barely risen and we don’t usually get tourists stopping this early…” Merrit claimed, when asked to comment on the event. “... So I slowed down and I saw the driver asleep, his head on the passenger’s shoulder, and I honked. Because yunno, I wanted to make sure they were ok.  And oh boy did I scare the living daylights out of them. But they were so happy to see someone when they had been stuck for so long, so it all was right in the end.”  Merrit called them an emergency tow, and drove them back to the Furnace Creek Visitor Centre, “ … To get them a coffee, damn after sitting alone in a car for two days, they must have been bored out of their minds” Merritt said. While Solokov was unavailable for comment, we reached out to Sheridan on February 8th about the aftermath of the stranding. “Oh yeah Sawyer made it to school in time, he was only home for the weekend and after that ranger found us, and his jeep got fixed we made it to Reno.” When asked how they spent their 48 hours stranded, Sheridan laughed. “Oh you know. We talked. IWe looked at the mountains, I mean there wasn’t much we could do. Things come out, dynamics change and you don’t even know it until you cross that line.” When asked to elaborate, Sheridan only chuckled.

Well there you have it! This is a warning to our readers to make sure your car is in tip top shape when traveling through our very own Death Valley National Park, especially when the summer months hit and the temperatures begin to climb! See page 15 for more tips when traveling in extreme weather from Park Ranger Correspondent Susie Clarke.

#the line we crossed #crwr 213 ubc #creative writing assignment #creative writing #tumblr fiction #fine lines

[anncanta]

Wing to wing

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Mature

Thanks to @khyruma​ – the beta of this work. You are beautiful and I am your fan.

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @ravenathantum @flutteringphalanges

Read on AO3

Or read below

‘Was it necessary to tell them that Mr. Balaur was you?’

Agatha tried unsuccessfully to move and leaned back again on Dracula, to whom she was tied back to back. On the other hand, she thought, okay, he did a stupid thing, but who was making her talk? Why did she claim to be a vampire?

‘What should I say? Balaur is important to all of them. To some, he is a partner, to others – a patron, and they had nothing to accuse him of,’ Dracula responded angrily. ‘I wanted to calm them down. If you didn't meddle with your... lectures on linguistics, we would be free.’

‘You would be free,’ Agatha corrected. She jerked her hand awkwardly and groaned as pain pierced her wrists.

When taken by surprise in cabin number nine, Dracula presented the imaginary ‘killer’ to the frightened captain and passengers, Agatha was dragged to hang without any equivocation. Standing with a noose around her neck on a barrel and fighting weakness and nausea, she tried to appeal to their minds. Alas, in vain. They needed the culprit for the horror they experienced. Agatha was perfect for this.

She looked down at Dracula, as Olgaren and Sokolov were arguing, who was casting meaningful glances at her, and shouted the first thing that came to her mind.

And she made a mistake.

Whatever Agatha wanted to achieve, the word ‘vampire’ did not help her in this, sowing panic and anger among the passengers. She was helplessly watching the dispute, turning into a fight, when suddenly Olgaren, apparently deciding to end everything at once, jumped to the mast to which Agatha was tied, and pushed the barrel.

Peeling off the skin, a rope cut into Agatha's neck. Almost blinded by horror and pain, Agatha felt herself falling down... and landed in a tight embrace.

‘I still think, gentlemen,’ she heard through the noise in her ears, ‘that the situation should not be made... ugly.’ Lifting her eyes and rubbing her neck, Agatha looked at Dracula skeptically. ‘We'd better turn the criminal over to the authorities.’

‘Who are you to tell us what to do?’ Olgaren asked snootily.

Then Dracula said it. That he is Mr. Balaur.

The rest happened so quickly that neither Agatha nor Dracula had time to react. Surprisingly harmoniously for the people who had almost fought a minute earlier, the remnants of the crew and passengers of the Demeter pounced on them and, tying them to each other, dragged them to cabin number nine.

‘How I hate it,’ Agatha said, looking at the wooden ceiling. ‘This fatuous cabin. And you probably provoked them on purpose. Your games again!’ she flared up. ‘If you were so easy to tie, I would have –”

‘What?’ such a frank smile sounded in Dracula's voice that Agatha wanted to elbow him. Alas, she still couldn't even move her hand. ‘Would you tie me up? Immobilize me?’ he paused. ‘And then what, Agatha?’

‘I would kill you,’ Agatha replied casually.

‘Are you so sure?’

‘What else can I do with you?’

‘Judging by how cleverly you handle the knife,’ he grinned, ‘you yourself have a liking to… different games. Those bodily, hot, and passionate.’

In the silence that followed his words, Agatha heard her breathing and the distant rustle of waves coming from the porthole.

‘You think too… highly of yourself,’ she said quietly, looking down at her own bound hands. ‘And besides,’ she turned slightly, speaking louder, ‘you wouldn’t allow me anything like that anyway.’

‘Oh, why?’

‘Because you are arrogant, obsessed with power, and... and why are we talking about this at all?’

The broad back, on which Agatha was leaning, straightened.

‘You are wrong, Agatha,’ ignoring the question, said a low voice near the top of her head, ‘I would gladly put myself into your hands. And take whatever you’d give me.’

Agatha felt her cheeks begin to glow and knew that with the nape of his neck he felt the pulse beating on hers. She took a breath.

‘You have a false opinion of me,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘I know little about such pleasures. As you can see, I'm not pretty,’ Agatha added sharply. ‘Therefore, no one was particularly eager to…’

‘You are attractive, intelligent, and passionate,’ he smiled again, ‘an enchanting combination. And I don't care about those who were so blind as not to notice it. As for inexperience – it just means that before letting you deal with me, I should... well, let's say, put you in the know. Trust me, it's very fast.’

Saying this, he made a short movement, and the ropes that held them together disappeared. Agatha looked at the scraps on the floor and shook her head. Another performance, as she thought.

‘I don’t want to listen to your obscenities,’ she frowned. ‘Have your respect, Count Dracula. Remember you are talking to a nun.’

‘To the same nun who teased a naked man in the middle of the yard?’ clarified Dracula, getting up. Agatha said nothing. Now they stood looking at each other. ‘Exactly, a nun,’ said Dracula. ‘Aren't you interested in how it all works?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ snapped Agatha. She tried desperately not to look embarrassed, telling herself that he was just palavering to her, trying to fool her, like the passengers and the crew – with rope and captivity. She needs to find out what he really wants.

He looked around.

‘No, we need to get out of here.’

‘So you can possess me?’

‘So you know what you are giving up.’

Dracula went to the porthole and began to examine the lock.

‘To possess…’ he muttered annoyedly. ‘Where do such expressions come from? Were you raised in a monastery? Oh yes,’ turning to Agatha, who grunted, he held out his hand to her. ‘Come here.’

‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Agatha said. ‘You are ill-mannered and socially dangerous.’

‘Well, you were definitely taught by a German governess with a three-foot ruler,’ Dracula sighed and went up to her. ‘Do you want guarantees?’

‘What guarantees?’ Agatha was surprised.

‘What do you suggest,’ Dracula threw up his hands. ‘How should I behave so that you condescend to my company?’

‘Stop drinking blood,’ Agatha said uncertainly. ‘Do not attack people –’

‘Die,’ continued Dracula happily.

‘Listen!..’

‘Quiet,’ he raised his hand and walked to the door. He stood for a while, listening, then returned to Agatha. ‘Here's what we’ll do,’ he said. ‘I'll taste animal blood. Let's say dogs or pigs. This will at least prevent me from starving to death. I’ll still need human blood, Agatha,’ seeing her eyes flashing, Dracula immediately said. ‘Blood is lives. Not just food, but stories. But I'm sure that I can think of something here too,’ he added. ‘And now – we are leaving.’

He went back to the porthole, tore off the iron lock with one hand, then grabbed the frame and tore it out by the roots. Agatha, amazed, watching his actions, approached and carefully touched the edges of the splintered boards sticking out in the place of the window.

‘Why did you do it?’ she asked. ‘You can turn into bats.’

‘For you,’ Dracula said shortly and pushed her towards the aperture. ‘Hurry.’

Taking a deep breath, Agatha climbed out the window.

***

‘They'll think they were right about us,’ Agatha said, leaning the back of her head against the side of the carriage.

‘Because the guilty are running?’

Agatha nodded.

Dracula shrugged.

‘The main thing is that there should be no chase. But I think they were happy to get rid of us.’

‘Oh yes,’ she smiled involuntarily. She closed her eyes. ‘I feel so dizzy... And the road is so... bumpy.’

‘Lie down.’ Looking at Dracula, Agatha saw him pointing to his lap. ‘There is nothing more I can do for you,’ he said in response to her indignant look.

‘I did not ask…’

‘We have a few more hours to go,’ Dracula interrupted her. ‘You will vomit. I have nothing against natural fluids,’ he said, ‘if you remember. But I don’t think you will enjoy traveling in a carriage full of…’

‘I get it,’ Agatha said wearily. ‘Thank you,’ she added very quietly, her head resting on his firm knees covered with a woolen cloak.

‘You are welcome!’ smiled Dracula, running his fingers through her hair.

Agatha quickly fell asleep from rhythmic swaying, fatigue, and weakness.

***

Agatha woke up feeling herself being carried somewhere. Opening her eyes, she breathed in the scent of fine wool mixed with the smell of the road, and at once, remembered everything.

‘We're almost there,’ Dracula's deep voice resonated in her chest and echoed throughout her body.

‘Put me down, I'll go myself,’ Agatha said in a voice hoarse from sleep.

‘Not worth it,’ Dracula turned, took a few more steps. The sound of the door being unlocked was heard, and, raising her head, Agatha saw that they had come into the bedroom.

‘Bed,’ Agatha moaned with relief.

‘And clean linen, and a bath, and breakfast,’ Dracula laughed cheerfully. ‘People need so much.’

‘You need that too,’ Agatha said, wrinkling her nose. ‘By the way, what about your… food…’ she began as Dracula threw back the covers and put her on the bed.

Dracula straightened, smiling, as she pulled the covers up to her chin.

‘Don't worry, Agatha,’ he said. ‘I will not stay hungry. Not far from here there is a barnyard with pigs in it. Not the most sumptuous breakfast, but…’

‘But better than killing innocents,’ Agatha yawned. Her eyes began to droop again.

‘If I start killing the guilty, I’ll get fat,’ Dracula chuckled. ‘I’ll leave you, dear. If you need anything, call the maid – her room is nearby.’

‘But what about your desire to show me... what is there... what I have lost...’ Agatha muttered sleepily, ‘when I left for the monastery?’

‘Not today,’ she opened her eyes when he was again very close. ‘Get some rest. We will talk about your lapses in life and your innocence later,’ Dracula finished in a very intimate whisper and left the room.

Agatha looked after him thoughtfully, turned over on her side, and fell asleep.

***

The next day, waking up fresh and rested, Agatha found at her disposal a wardrobe full of clothes, a helpful and efficient maid, and an excellent breakfast. Having dealt with the latter, she washed off the road dirt, and, asking the maid where she could find the Count, Agatha went down to the first floor.

The house was large, obviously old, and the previous owners seemed to have left it quite recently. Looking out of the living room window, Agatha saw the garden and the outbuildings peeping around the corner. Noticing the figure of Dracula passing next to one of them, she headed there.

Going around the perimeter of the house and heading into the backyard, Agatha passed the small stable and moved towards the barn – voices came from it.

‘...an exceptional sample. Landrace*,’ Agatha heard, pushing the door open. Stepping inside, she stopped at the threshold.

Dracula stood in the middle of the barn, dressed in a white shirt, exquisite vest, and trousers. In his hands was a large pink pig.

‘I can guarantee the quality,’ said a short man, standing with his back to Agatha, who looked like a merchant. ‘You can be certain of it.’

‘Fine,’ Dracula said, lowering the pig to the floor. It crawled into a corner and, it seemed, lay there on a heap of rags. ‘Excellent breed, I'm happy with everything. Get me four of them by the end of the week.’

‘As you command, sir,’ the merchant replied. ‘Noble pigs,’ he added proudly, looking back at the corner where the animal lay, grunting. ‘Rest assured. Everything will be at its best on Friday,’ he hurried, catching Dracula's impatient gaze. He repeated: ‘The pigs are excellent. If you want, maybe a litter.’

‘I don’t need the litter,’ the Count responded coldly. ‘On Friday you will bring the pigs, then you will receive the money. I am not delaying you any longer.’

The merchant nodded respectfully, bowed, confusedly said goodbye to Dracula, and, without looking at Agatha, left.

‘What is it?’ When the door slammed shut behind the merchant, Agatha asked, after a short pause.

‘Breakfast,’ Dracula shrugged. They turned and looked at the pig for a while in silence. The animal seemed absolutely content with life. ‘They surprised me, you know,’ he said.

‘Tasty?’ Agatha asked carefully.

‘Smart,’ Dracula threw up his hands.

‘Wow,’ turning around, Agatha moved to the exit. ‘Well,’ she said, breathing in the fresh morning air, ‘one less problem. Agree – ’

‘How are you feeling?’ he was next to her so quickly that Agatha almost recoiled. Straightening her back and not wanting to show that she was scared, she ceremoniously replied:

‘Good, thank you.’

Dracula smiled.

‘Shall we take a walk?’

Agatha frowned. After a moment's hesitation, she accepted the hand extended to her.

They walked towards the garden.

While they wandered among the yew hedges and fruit trees, Agatha learned from Dracula that the house he had brought her to was not the one that Harker's firm had bought for him. Not wanting to shake for another hour in a fiacre through London, Dracula asked the coachman where a decent housing could be rented nearby and found out that the Duke of Wilmore's mansion in the West End was vacant. The owners left there just the other day and put the house up for sale.

‘Do you like it here better?’ Agatha asked with interest. ‘You only know Carfax from stories, though,’ she recalled.

‘I like it here,’ Dracula said slowly. ‘What about you?’

‘I... well, I…’ Agatha stopped. Suddenly, she realized that she was not at all thinking about herself, about where she was – and about the future. Rather, from the moment she offered Dracula to eat her instead of Mina in the monastery, Agatha was sure that she had no future. Now, when it turned out that Dracula intended to eat Landraces, his question puzzled her.

What is she going to do next? What status is she in here? And how is she going to deal with all this?

She looked at Dracula. He was joking, wasn't he – when he said that he was taking her with him in order to...

‘Do you have friends in London?’ her thoughts were interrupted by Dracula.

Agatha shook her head.

‘Nobody.’

They walked a few more alleys and turned towards the path that led to the main entrance of the house.

‘You could be my attorney,’ Dracula said after a few minutes of silence. ‘After Jonathan’s death, I don’t want to deal with his law firm again,’ he explained in response to her surprised look. ‘And you are smart, educated, and will do an excellent job with this.’

‘I'm not a lawyer,’ Agatha said. ‘If you need…’

‘I need a person who can manage my affairs,’ Dracula did not let her finish. ‘This does not require a lawyer's license. And I will pay you handsomely.’

Agatha stopped and turned to face him.

‘Are you trying to buy me, Count Dracula?’

‘I'm trying to give you what you deserve.’ He looked like he was holding back a laugh. You don't have to agree. But I think it's better –’

‘What about your plans?’ burst out from Agatha.

Dracula stared at her in silence.

‘You said you'd be glad to put yourself in my hands,’ she said smoothly. ‘Have you forgotten?’

The pause did not last long.

‘No, I haven't forgotten.’ Dracula tilted his head and moved closer to her. ‘But I also remember that we figured out that before that happens, you need…’ he smiled briefly ‘some overview lessons. I do not want to suffer from clumsy hands.’

It's all nerves, travel and blood loss, Agatha thought indifferently. Otherwise, it would never have occurred to her to answer:

‘I am at your service, Count Dracula.’

Dracula's eyes sparkled. For a moment he looked at her – her hair loose over her shoulders, a simple brown-gray dress. He smiled anticipatingly.

‘I will come to you tonight. Don't lock yourself up.’

They walked the rest of the way home in complete silence. Once inside, Dracula moved down the corridor towards the living room.

‘Still, think about being an attorney,’ he said, hiding behind the door.

***

He came after midnight, when Agatha, who had been wandering around the house and the garden all day, had already changed her clothes for bed and even thought that in the end, she would just sleep. He opened the door and entered without bothering with questions and permissions. This is his home, Agatha reminded herself, as she watched Dracula approaching her.

There was no need to talk. She did not even want to be ironic and did not want to argue. With amazing clarity, Agatha suddenly realized that the fact that he was here was not only – and not so much – his decision, and this is obvious. It was always obvious.

Dracula raised his hand and carefully touched her shoulder.

It reminded her so sharply of what was in the monastery that she recoiled.

‘Agatha?’

When she came to, she realized that she was sitting on the bed, silently looking at Dracula and as if she was numb.

‘Agatha, if it's that scary…’ Dracula began.

‘No. No... it's okay,’ Agatha said slowly.

Dracula looked at her hand, with which she unconsciously grabbed her left shoulder, and understood everything.

He sat down beside her and leaned over to her.

‘Give it here.’

Obediently opening her fingers, Agatha exposed her shoulder. The scar was not the same as Jonathan's – not a laceration, a thin cut. Dracula leaned forward, touched it with his lips, gently sucked in her heated skin, and let go.

‘That's better?’

‘I think so,’ Agatha whispered, feeling the tips of her fingers begin to tingle.

She let him lay her back into bed and unbutton her nightgown to her waist. Seeing him lower his head to touch her breast, Agatha closed her eyes. The needles in her fingertips turned into flames and slowly crawled up her arms.

When he pulled away from her, she opened her eyes.

‘Agatha, how could you consider yourself unwanted?’ Dracula asked in a hoarse voice. ‘My blood boils for you.’

Agatha smiled, embarrassed.

‘Just don’t burn me,’ she said softly.

‘No way,’ Dracula whispered, burying his face in her neck, starting to caress her again.

He was impatient and unhurried at the same time, and Agatha did not understand how this was possible. He touched her as if he knew exactly where and how she wanted, forcing her to moan, bend, sob and beg.

And then it was tender. Deep. It hurt a lot, but when he stopped to let her catch her breath, Agatha shook her head in protest. With her arms and legs wrapped around him, she did something she had never done before – let go of control entirely.

The pleasure wiped away the remnants of pain, scattered doubts, it appeared as crystals of salt on her skin. She seemed to be whispering his name. Or maybe she just swore from the heart – also for the first time in many years.

Very slowly, Dracula slid off of her and pulled Agatha after him, not releasing her from his embrace.

‘My name is Vlad,’ he muttered somewhere in her hair; the low voice mixed with laughter and happy weariness. ‘I wanted you to know – just in case.’

Unable to move, Agatha only groaned something unintelligible and made herself comfortable, letting languor and drowsiness take possession of her.

Tomorrow. All the rest is tomorrow.

***

Opening her eyes, Agatha saw that outside the window was a cloudy misty morning, and she was alone in bed. Getting up and throwing on the lace peignoir that lay in the chair, she went to the window and flung open the high sashes.

It smelled of moist spring air and the feeling of close summer. Agatha sneezed and looked down.

In the courtyard in front of the house, Dracula stood and, apparently, was arguing with a tall, large man. In one hand the man had a big knife, in the other – known to Agatha – yesterday's Landrace. The pig jerked its legs and struggled desperately.

Vaguely, Agatha remembered that Dracula, upon arrival, could find only a maid and a butler for the house. The rest of the servants, including the entire staff for the kitchen, he was going to recruit later, and at first, the maid could handle the preparation of the simplest food.

Well, Dracula probably decided to start home improvement seriously and hired a cook, Agatha thought distantly, looking at a tall reddish fellow who cheerfully brandished a knife. Either he accidentally hit the Landrace, or simply frightened it with loud screams, but it squealed, broke free, and rushed across the yard at a gallop.

Dracula and the red-headed giant simultaneously rushed after the boar. But Dracula, of course, was the first to do it. Picking up the pig in his arms, he gently scratched it behind the ear and turned to the cook. Agatha did not hear what he said, but, apparently, something very stern. Agatha could have sworn that there was a triumphant expression on the Landrace's muzzle. The chef's face turned to stone.

Holding back her laughter, Agatha put her palms on the windowsill and leaned out of the window.

‘Vlad,’ she said clearly and loudly. Dracula turned around and grabbed the Landrace more comfortably.

‘What?’ he asked with a smile, causing a wildish fire to crawl along Agatha's spine again, like the night before.

She lifted the corners of her lips slightly.

‘Don't play with food,’ she said sternly.

‘Or what?’ The pig in his hands twitched an ear, and Dracula soothingly ran his fingers along the top of its head.

Agatha felt her cheeks go red.

‘I’ll be very angry,’ she said and closed the window.

Just five minutes later, footsteps were heard outside the door, and Dracula entered the room. He was without a Landrace – instead of a pig, he held in his right hand a long silk curtain cord. Agatha glanced briefly at the rope – at Dracula's fingers caressing the ribbed surface, at the heavy tassels hanging from the ends.

‘I didn't have time to sin very much... today,’ he said quietly. He walked over and handed her the rope. ‘But you have to start somewhere.’

As if in a dream, Agatha nodded.

* Landrace is the first specialized bacon-type pig breed.

#dracula bbc #dracula 2020 #bbc dracula #dragatha #count dracula #agatha van helsing

[redadm1ral-moved]

Hello! It’s Sunset/Varlaam from the CODMW discord ^w^ I remember your AUs and I love hearing about them, care to tell us some more? Spoilers or not? Have a great day ☺️

Oh hey! It's been a while :D

For my CoD AUs, Apoptosis and Venator, I haven't really developed them much since the last time we've talked, since my focus has mostly been on Call of Honor ;u; (If you or anyone reading have specific questions about them though, feel free to ask!) The same is for my Dishonored AUs, Lorelei and Immram (both are working titles.)

I'm still working on Call of Honor, obvs. I think I've mentioned it here before (I know I mentioned it on Twitter), but Call of Honor has gone from being a tentative trilogy to a five part saga, and I'm planning on covering the events of Dishonored 1, Dishonored 2, and the years between them! I don't plan on adapting DOTO into the Call of Honor universe, and the amount of influence the books and comics have on CoH...well, I picked out some lore and characters I thought were interesting, but that's about it XD

I'm about to babble on and on about what I'm planning bc I'm really excited about it, so I'll put all that stuff below the cut to spare y'all's dashboards. Beware for spoilers if anyone here doesn't want to be spoiled—I'll try not to go into detail, but I do spoil the appearance of certain important characters and whether or not Soap gets to go back home.

Parts One through Four of Call of Honor are going to follow Soap pretty heavily. We already know what Part One, The Plagued Capital, is about: after dying in Prague, Soap wakes up in the Dishonored universe and stumbles across the Loyalist Conspiracy, and he has to help them realize their goals. In return, they promise to help him find a way home.

Obviously, since this is a multiparter, I'm going to say it outright: Soap doesn't get to go home. How he comes to that conclusion and how he feels about it, I won't spoil; I'll let it come out in my writing once I start releasing chapters again.

Parts Two and Three (with the working titles Interim and The Tyvia Expedition, respectively) are going to focus on what happens after the Plague Crisis and the Loyalist Conspiracy. In Interim, Soap adjusts to a new life and role within the Dishonored universe and continues to build his relationships with the Dishonored characters (as well as starting to leave his mark on the world). In The Tyvia Expedition, well, Soap gets to adventure around in Tyvia with Sokolov, Cecelia, and a few other characters!

Originally, The Tyvia Expedition was going to be a one-off that served as fun little side piece, but ultimately not important to the CoH timeline. My partner and beta Sol and I have expanded it a lot, though, and now enough important stuff happens that it's an official part of the Call of Honor saga.

Also, in The Tyvia Expedition, we get to meet a new OC of mine, Vesna! I've introduced her on my art blog, but as a quick summary: Vesna is Makarov's daughter, born in 2004 from an unplanned pregnancy and raised by Makarov and (before Makarov ousted him) Yuri. She dies a few days before Makarov does, and appears in the Dishonored universe. She and Makarov are reunited after the events of The Plagued Capital, and the readers—and Soap—will meet her for the first time toward the beginning of The Tyvia Expedition.

Interim and The Tyvia Expedition are going to deal with some heavy topics, but compared to the other parts, they're the lighter entries in the series, and The Tyvia Expedition builds up to the fourth part, The Shadow of Tyvia.

The Shadow of Tyvia takes place a few years after the events of Call of Honor. Canonically in the Dishonored universe, Tyvia has a USSR-esque government; I said fuck that and, for the purposes of CoH, made Tyvia more similar to Imperial Russia, though it's ruled by four Princes. Unfortunately for these Princes, Makarov is up to some fuckshit, and Soap has to try and stop him from fucking over the world again.

The fifth and final part of the Call of Honor saga isn't titled yet. It takes place in 1852, during the events of Dishonored 2—though instead of Delilah, Vesna returns as the big bad of this story. Emily is usurped from her throne and both Corvo and Soap are kidnapped, and Emily has to rescue them, find out what Vesna's goals are, and stop her from realizing them.

The fifth part of Call of Honor is going to be the darkest out of all of them, but it will have a...happy ending? Maybe bittersweet would be a more fitting term for it. And it will for sure be the last entry in the saga, concluding the Kaldwin-Attano-MacTavish arcs. I've got the epilogue planned out and everything. That won't be the absolute end of Call of Honor as a project, though, because I've got two spinoff fics planned, and Sol is working on a companion trilogy!

The first spinoff is going to be a trilogy with the overarching working title, The Way of Death. It's going to be from Makarov's perspective and following his experiences and actions from the end of The Plagued Capital to the events of the last part of Call of Honor. There's a lot of stuff that he's going to be doing that the readers won't be able to see during the main Call of Honor series, so this spinoff is a way for me to be able to explore and write about these events!

The second spinoff fic is an AU of an AU with the working title Operation Coffee Bean—so obviously, it's going to be a coffee shop AU. It takes place about 200 years after the events of CoH, where all the characters are reincarnated (without memories of their past lives). It's going to be 100% tooth rotting "everyone lives and is happy" fluff, not at all canon to the CoH timeline but still fun. I'm planning on writing it mainly as a way to take a break from the main Call of Honor fic, because there are definitely going to be points where it gets really dark and I'll need the mood boost ;u;

Finally, Sol's companion trilogy, Call of Absolution, will follow Yuri from the events of The Plagued Capital to The Tyvia Expedition (though I'm not sure if Sol plans on writing more parts to go along with the rest of CoH). They won't be updating it for a while, since they're waiting for me to finish CoH, but here is where you can read the first two chapters of the first part if you're interested! (Please keep in mind these chapters may be edited in the future.)

That was a...very broad overview of what I'm planning, so if there's anything more specific you'd like to hear about, I'm more than happy to talk about it!

Thank you to anyone who read this far XD

#inbox #varlaamsdarkventures #au: call of honor