Read through my UMY series, for comfort. Here’s a lot of my favorite quotes. Beware SPOILERS.
from wear your rue with a difference:
When a fortnight had passed of these same occurrences, the young woman returned to the river only to find the horse was waiting for her. Cautiously, she stepped into the water, just under the willow tree, and reached out her hand to stroke the horse’s muzzle. She shivered but managed to not startle the horse. The creature remained still and its bright eyes stared as if the very pull of the river was in its gaze.
“There. Not so bad, are you?” The young woman smiled and smoothed her hands up and down the horse’s flank. It pressed it’s nose into her neck and she breathed a heavy sigh as her fingers threaded through its mane.
Her hands caught on the bridle, and the horse started, pulling back slowly towards the middle of the river. The young woman moved with it, unable to untangle her hands.
The creature whinnied loudly as if to say Run away with me.
from to thine own self be true:
“Mind if I sit here?” The regular asks his latest conquest.
The other man agrees with a plea. “Are you a Smith?” He asks as his new acquaintance sits down and takes a drink.
“A Smith.” The other man gestures. “They’ve got that red hair, them Smiths up the way. Live up in the hills.”
The regular patron grins, oozing seduction and mystery. “You can call me whatever you like.”
from upon this bank and shoal of time:
“The moonlight looks so ethereal over the water, and you’d look even more divine beneath it,” he answers with his lips on her neck.
[the moonlight, or the water? ;P]
from here lies the water, here stands the man:
“Aren’t your feet cold?” The young man asks Trott, tilting his head to the side pensively and smiling.
The selkie queen crosses the room and looks him over. The calcium-silica armor on her shoulders shifts subtly with her movements. She purses her lips together in worry, and Trott looks away.
The necklace she wears catches his eye like it always did when he was young. A gold choker in the shape of two entwined sea snakes, with emeralds for eyes and turquoise spines along their backs. It was a gift from his father to his mother, from the spoils of the war when he first became king.
They kiss with the sea lapping at their toes. Trott slowly caresses Smith’s hip. His fingers curl into a belt loop, and Smith kisses him deeper.
Trott’s fingers brush under the hem of Smith’s shirt. He wants more. Of this feeling; of Smith. But the selkie can see the sun rising behind his eyelids, and he knows he has to go back.
Trott pulls away with his heart full of reluctance and want.
“Run away with me.” Smith whispers, stroking his thumb across Trott’s cheek.
[“Run away with me.”- sound familiar?]
You mean more to me than the kingdom beneath. Trott thinks, threading a hand through Smith’s hair. The kelpie tastes of the river, and in his arms Trott has never been warmer.
[quoted before, but it’s so good, I can’t help it]
“Fuck, Smith…” He sighs, feeling his crown shift in his hair.
Leaning his forehead against Smith’s, Trott basks in the warmth of their skin pressed together, listening to the sound of their breaths and the water splashing against the entrance to the grotto.
[these are both foreshadowing to what happens in chapter 4. “crown shift” and “water splashing”]
from I would not wish any companion in the world but you:
Smith laughs and steals the last cold bits of cheese fries from Trott’s plate. “But there are sea horses, right? Just none as pretty as me.”
Smith frowns before forcing a smile. “I swear I’m never eating fish again for as long as there’s beef and pork and chicken.” He swipes the receipt from the table and scoots across the plastic-lined booth seat. “I’m going to go pay for this, and then we’ll get out of here, alright?”
Trott looks away from the window, eyes far away and smile pained. “Yeah, alright.” He smirks and drinks the rest of the orange dreamsicle. Smith shakes his head disdainfully, but strokes Trott’s cheek as he moves past him to pay for their meal.
Up ahead, there’s a flickering light that catches Trott’s attention.
“What’s that light up there?” he asks Smith. “Dancing in the dark?”
Smith chuckles and presses a kiss to Trott’s throat. “She’s a Will-o’-the-wisp. You don’t want to get close, though. Pretty, but deadly.”
Trott hums. “Like you?”
Smith hides a smile in Trott’s neck. “Like me,” he murmurs.
[pretty much all of Dancing]
“Bleck.” Trott sticks his tongue out as he swings his leg over the back of the bike. He shudders as he wraps his arms around Smith’s waist, touching wet clothes. “Why am I with a river fae again?”
“Because I’m such a good lay.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Trott growls, hand burning at Smith’s collar bone, “to be cast out, to be exiled, and to rebuild everything you thought you knew from the ground up. So don’t tell me to just forget. Because you don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”
Trott looks down at the brooch in his hand. He’s speechless for a moment, rubbing a thumb across the glass and pearls, feeling the design, the rose petals, the prickles on the stems. The orange makes his heart ache for something he doesn’t miss. He clears his throat and reaches up to- to brush hair out of his eyes. The orange reminds him of seashells.
from creatures of the night, monsters in the dark:
[Trott] told Ross earlier he had to wear some sort of clothing. You can’t walk around the city naked, not even on Halloween. That’s not a costume, Ross, that’s public indecency.
“Can’t we just…savor him a bit?” Smith mutters breathlessly.
Ross picks up the boots, sliding them over his hands and grimacing at the sweat still lining the inside and the blood and dirt staining the fronts. “Where to now?” He asks, swinging his arms and clapping the heels of the boots together with a rubbery thwack.
Trott hums, and Smith and Ross plead with him.
“Come on, Trott, it’ll be fun!”
“Read me a story!”
“You love libraries, why not, let’s go!”
[Trott, come on, you love libraries!]
[this fic actually turned out really well, I think. it has a lot of good moments to it]
from Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows:
Turps hands him his drink and claps him on the shoulder. “I believe…there’s a karaoke machine beckoning me,” he says with a wink.
“Oh sure, just go ahead and ditch me. Fuck, I see how you are,” Sips scoffs playfully. He downs a gulp of his drink.
“I know you love my singing voice, Sips. The most heavenly of angels simply can’t compare-”
“I told you, ‘I wish you’d never sing around me ever again.’”
“And hey, I get it-” Turps continues talking as if Sips had never interrupted. “You’re not a karaoke person, I know. But I’ll go woo some people with my fantastic voice-”
“Your voice is worse than a banshee’s, Turps-”
“-And when I’m done singing, I’ll get you a spot on those pinball machines. Sound fair?”
[“I wish”. That was one of Sips’ three wishes]
“Try not to get murdered, eh?” Sips calls after Turps.
“You know, I should tell you the same thing…” Turps says with a strange little grin.
[Turps totally knows a little more than he lets on]
Sips mock-toasts his glass to the fish and finishes off his drink.
“You’re a really good kisser,” the man murmurs above the music. His eyes have taken on a darker sheen in the disco lights.
Sips smirks. “Comes with the experience.”
“Oh yeah? I got a ticket to ride.” His hands slide down Sips’ chest, and slip around into the back pockets of his jeans. “You up for a challenge?” He grins.
Sips grins back and raises his eyebrows. “You think I can’t handle you?”
“You can use your hands all you like.”
“Hands only?” Sips asks, pecking a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Because there’s more to me than that, if you can take it.” He reaches up and traces one of the spurs on the front pocket of the man’s shirt, accidentally-on-purpose brushing a nipple under the fabric.
“Fuck, yes,” the young man breathes, and kisses Sips again.
[Smith, your so easy]
Sips leisurely strolls up to the bar. “So. Your name’s Trott?” he asks, surreptitiously checking the other man out. He has about as much sex appeal as Smith does. Damn.
“It is indeed,” Trott answers. “And yours is?”
“Sips.” He extends his hand, and Trott shakes it.
“Pleasure.” Trott smiles. He gestures to the bar with his drink in hand. “What can I get you, Sips?”
Sips smiles back. “A rye and ginger, if you know it.”
Trott sets his glass down again and starts to prepare Sips’ drink of choice. “Not from around here, are you?”
“The accent give it away, eh?” Sips asks with a mock wince. He leans his hip against the counter and traces the gold filigree in the tile. Expensive countertop for a simple bar cabinet in a club.
Trott shakes his head and grins, pouring whiskey into the glass of ice. “Around here we call this drink a Horse’s Neck.”
Sips shrugs. “Better than the horse’s dick.”
[horse dick jokes! because this AU is literally a one-trick pony]
Sips settles back into the couch and adjusts the baseball cap on his head. “It’s been good,” he answers honestly. “Not used to so much dancing, though.”
“Smith loves to dance. He’d dance all night if I let him.” The ginger ale fizzes as Trott pours it into the glass.
“If you let him?”
Trott smirks. “Much more interesting things to do with your night other than dance.”
Sips laughs. “Very true, Trott. Very true.”
[Sips is doing the “dad lounge” on the couch. “manspreading”, arms over the back, one leg jiggling or ankle up on the opposite thigh. I didn’t describe it but it’s vivid for me.]
[this is also another nod to fae parties seeming longer than they actually are in human time. Smith would “dance all night”]
“What’ve you been up to Ross? Off causing me grief?” asks Trott.
Ross licks his lips and smiles. “I set up the disco ball for the countdown. All the confetti’s rigged to fall at midnight.”
Trott smiles back. “Nicely done. Learn anything interesting from the view?”
“Not really. Good view.” Ross rocks on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets. He glances between Trott and Sips in curiosity. “There was an asshole at the karaoke machine who sounded like a dying cat, though.”
[I love Ross here.]
Smith walks up to him, grinning brightly. His eyes shine like oil in water, the green sicklied o’er with a fierce darkness that can’t be pinned on arousal alone. And for a moment Sips wonders what he’s getting into.
Smith lifts the hat off his head and tosses it aside.
“I want that back, later,” Sips warns.
Ross lets out a hungry moan. “Mmm, pizza. Pizza’s delicious, especially with all the different toppings you can have on it.”
Sips grins. “Exactly, Ross.” He swings an arm across Ross’ shoulders and ruffles his hair. “I know I’m starving for some delicious three-meat deep dish.” Sips’ fingertips brush something strange in Ross’ hair, but then the dark haired man ducks his head away.
“Not the only deep three meat you’re getting tonight, ooh!” Smith says through his teeth, appearing out of thin air and handing Sips his drink.
“Ahhh, fantastic.” Sips takes the bright green margarita from Smith’s hand. “This lemon lime?” He turns the drink in his grasp, inspecting the glass lined with salt and a wedge of lemon.
“Hell yeah it is.”
“Mm, that’s good…” Sips hums as he takes a sip, and smacks his lips from the tangy flavor. “You know me well already, Smiffy.”
Trott’s talking quietly with Smith and Ross, pointing and gesturing for them to stand in certain places on the little balcony. Sips watches in inebriated confusion. Were they going to take a picture?
[such a human way of thinking. taking a picture]
“Are you left or right handed, Sips?” he asks.
[why would Trott bother asking? another sign that this isn’t quite how a normal sacrifice goes]
Smith skirts the small flames at their feet to stand at Sips’ other side. Sips’ hand is still held out in front of him like it’s stuck, and Smith grabs onto his wrist to pull it close. He licks the blood off of Sips’ palm in one broad, sexualized stroke. The tip of his tongue traces the scarline.
It doesn’t hurt, and for some reason that shocks Sips more than the act itself.
Smith takes Sips’ fingers into his mouth and sucks wetly. When he pulls them free, he lets Sips’ fingertips glance off his bearded chin. He steps into Sips’ personal space and kisses him greedily.
Smith tastes like iron, salt, and dirt.
“Happy New Year,” Smith whispers when the kiss breaks. There’s confetti in his hair. It’s falling from the ceiling like glittery, technicolored snow. Sips can hear fireworks outside the building, and there are people screaming and singing Auld Lang Syne.
“You know, I think I lost the coin you gave me,” [Sips] says, patting his pants pockets.
“Oh, that’s alright, the luck worked well enough,” Turps says.
[remember what I said a little earlier about Turps?]
[I really love this fic, too]
from my black and deep desires:
Smith leans back against the bar and smiles. “Hey there,” He greets.
The young man turns to look at him in surprise and over the rim of his glass they lock eyes. He freezes in place, enraptured. “Hello.”
Gotcha. Smith gives a cheeky grin and slinks closer to his mark. “Come here often?”
The young man’s eyes are a bright and vivid green, and they don’t leave Smith’s face. He wants to see those eyes in the throes of passion, and he wants to watch the light leave them as he drowns.
“S-Sometimes.” He fiddles with his drink nervously, body turning towards Smith. “I’ve…never seen you here before.”
“Maybe you just forgot.” The kelpie traces the rim of his glass with a finger and the man’s eyes dart down to his hand and back up again.
“I think I would have remembered someone so…catching as you.” He laughs and blushes and moves instinctively closer to Smith.
Smith reaches out to give a playful shove to his shoulder, chuckling. “You think I’m a catch?”
“I think-” The young man blushes more and bites his lip. “-you’re rather attractive, yeah.”
“I do have to say…” His voice drops softer and his mark leans in closer to hear. “You’ve certainly got my attention.” He winks and the man beams back, laughing shyly. Smith straightens his posture and takes a long drink of his whiskey, finishing it off.
from boundless as the sea:
I did more of an author’s commentary on this a month back, aiming to post it around the 2-year anniversary of UMY. Didn’t happen, but I’m still happy this exists, so. Enjoy! (And if you want to comment, go leave it on ao3 instead, please)
from damned guilty deeds to a sinners mind:
The lake is not unlike where he was born, with white-capped mountains in the backdrop. But the water is what makes him cautious.
The surface is completely still. No waves, no ripples, nothing.
And yet Smith feels…a call, from the water. A desire to go to it.
It’s so like home, after all.
Trott hums, thinks quietly for a while before speaking. “Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something.”
The kelpie says nothing, stares hard at the light glinting off of the glass in front of him.
I think my subconscious should shut the fuck up.
Ross hands the mortal king a thermos when Sips moves to walk past him. Steam rises from the tiny hole in the lid.
“Here’s your coffee.” The gargoyle says with a smile. He brushes crumbs from Sips’ suit jacket.
Sips chews and swallows the bite of buttered toast he’d taken. “Thanks.” He smiles back and presses a fervent kiss to Ross’ mouth.
“Fucker stole my toast.” Smith grumbles.
Ross had been fiddling with the mug, swirling the medicine around and around. He sets the mug back down on the side table, next to Smith’s keys, and takes his hand again. He dances his fingers across the veins at the kelpie’s wrist and takes a deep breath.
“I don’t know, mate.” Ross brushes hair out of the kelpie’s eyes as carefully as he can and takes back the mug. “Don’t go anywhere.” He teases with a sad smile.
[the scenes with Trott in the kitchen, and then talking to Smith, are my favorites]
The gargoyle shakes his head. “Let me try again.” He taps his tail against the floor until he gets his words straight, staring at the scuffs in the linoleum. When he finds what he wants to say, he gives a nod and looks back up at Trott again.
“I don’t think everything is hopeless, because if it was I never would have met you.”
The weight of the words are like a punch in the gut, and Trott looks away. He watches Ross’ tail where it scuffs at the floor.
“Trott…” Ross steps closer to him until he can cup Trott’s face in his hands. “I know our story can’t have a happy ending. But not everything is hopeless. It’s really not.”
The selkie’s eyes are shining, wet like the sea on a cloudy day. They flutter closed when Ross presses a kiss to his lips. Trott wrings his hands in Ross’ shirt and buries his face in the gargoyle’s neck when the kiss breaks. A kiss so full of love and emotion that Trott wonders why something so pure would fall for deeds so foul. And like for everything else, he doesn’t have an answer.
Ravs nods towards the wrought-iron staircase to the right of the room, leading to the upper floor and more private seating. “He’s upstairs. You cause any ill will to my patrons…” There’s a glint of fangs when he snarls and jerks his thumb behind him. “And I’ll feed your guts to the squids.”
Trott raises an eye at the raised glass display tank behind the barman. There’s a large purple squid swimming about. He humors Ravs with a slow nod and heads for the upper floor, and makes no comment about where he was from, squids fed their troublemakers to him.
Sips shuffles down the hall, bedraggled and frowning. “What’s all this racket, eh? I’m trying to sleep.” His eyes land on Trott’s bloodstained appearance and wounded feet. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“I walked through hell.” Trott answers for the third time/
“Why the fuck did you go there?” Sips asks, coming closer. He fluffs pillows to put behind Trott’s head and helps to change him out of his stained clothes.
“Oh, I don’t know, I felt like taking a stroll through the fucking worst place ever.”
[really, just…all of damned guilty deeds… and to be or not to be]