sequestering
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They're on the train when Gertrude notices the trembling.
Dekker's hands are scarred, thick with blisters, shiny with small burns. They're the hands of a solider. Only these days, they're the hands of the grocer who bags her flour, of the banker who cashes her cheques, of the conductor who waved them onto the train, and of the vicar who sits next to her and shakes.
(Gertrude and Adelard are too young for their scars.)
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"Even were we to assume that Honeymaren was a real woman and that the depiction of her close relationship with Elsa was accurate, to decide that the intimacy between the two must have been sexual shows a crass and unimaginative mind."
(Or: historians, the internet and the general public piece together the legend of Queen Elsa and Queen Anna of Arendelle)
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“What do you think she’s like? The princess?”
Gretel grimaces, “I heard she’s the ugliest maiden in all Arendelle. She can’t leave the castle because she frightens little children.”
(or: five moments in Elsa's life, told through the eyes of a stranger)
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The elders say it has been thirty-six long winters since they hosted a guest-friend, that it is an honour and a privilege to welcome Queen Elsa of Arendelle.
The elders do not say that the Northuldra have spent those thirty-six winters suffering the consequences of the last time they welcomed a stranger from a strange nation.
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if droids could think by sequestering
Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)
27 Aug 2018
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Hate is better than sex.
L3 had told Lando that once. He’d laughed. Then stopped abruptly when he’d realised that she hadn’t been joking. Apparently that’s another thing she should probably avoid saying in public. It’s true though: hate is so much better than sex.
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Yes. I noticed. A pause, then: Also you looked very good out there. Almost made me forget you are my patient.
Former patient, Shane corrected before he could even think twice about it, then cursed his own brain. He gnawed the inside of his cheek raw.
Mmm. Former. Another pause. Shane's mind supplied him a very unhelpful memory of Ilya's humming, felt it resonate deep inside of him, with a need he didn't want to name but could. Are you home?
In which Dr. Rozanov gets intimate with Shane's eyes... and elsewhere.
As of June 30, 2026, additional meta resources have been added to this work.
Bookmarked by sequestering
02 Jul 2026
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Caroll, Franklin R. Atlantis Revisited. New York and London, Routledge, 2011.
Chapman, Denise. Several Kinds of Genius: The Life of Rodney McKay. NY: Harper Perennial, 2015.
Croft, Rosalind. City of Spires: A Memoir. Toronto: The Mercury Press, 2009.
Dugan, Paul. A Political History of Atlantis. Oxford: OUP, 2012.Series
- Part 9 of Speranza Sampler
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Bookmarked by sequestering
22 Sep 2024
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Zhenya was a little embarrassed to admit that part of the reason he had green-lit this trade to Pittsburgh in the first place was because of Crosby himself: his insane hockey, his wolfish smile, the lingering remnants of Zhenya’s boyhood crush. Zhenya propped his stick against the wall and stuck out his hand to shake.
“Hey,” he said, smiling and hoping it didn’t look too stupid. “Evgeni.”
But Crosby didn’t take off his gloves and shake hands like Hornqvist had. He waved his hand in apology, thick inside his dirty glove. “Hey,” he replied curtly. “Sid.”
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At the other tables, their teammates talked and ate, laughed, rubbed their eyes, yawned, sipped coffee, were alive. Everything was normal. It was a normal morning before practice. Sid was going to dinner with Geno that evening, and after that he’d probably get laid. Tomorrow they’d play the Jets. Everything was fine.
“I hate fucking Winnipeg,” Sid said.
Geno grinned. “Yes, same.”
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Bookmarked by sequestering
31 Oct 2020
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literally perfect haunted house fic 😍
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A collection of fragments from Angharad Scott’s research and correspondence. In which another, less familiar, world is revealed, and stories are told.
I have stood in the shadows of the lamassu. I have explored a Palace of unending rooms, utterly silent beyond the rushing of waters below and the caw of birds above. Your stories are true — and more than that, they are only a fraction of the stories that can be told.