... having been breathed out

It's not just the hangover, or his fiancée leaving him the literal day before the California vacation they'd planned together: Penny Adiyodi is legitimately cursed. Magically; metaphysically; possibly demonically: the whole deal. He has been his entire life, so there's no point in fighting it: least of all when sitting next to a weirdly entitled stranger on a packed cross-country flight, two days before a culturally compulsory holiday he doesn't even celebrate. But when the plane is grounded in Lexington, Kentucky, and Penny's seat-mate, Frankie Gallo, is somehow able to effortlessly secure the two of them the last hotel room in town, Penny starts to think something even stranger than usual is going on. Strange enough to suck it up and endure the dude's presence for a night, anyway—just to see what he's about.

And honestly, the more time Penny spends holed up with Frankie in suburban Lexington, the stranger it gets. But Penny has to admit it also gets more interesting. And better, too, actually. A lot better. So there's that.

• Canon for this story is, roughly, The Magicians, although no very in-depth show knowledge is necessary to understand and enjoy the conceit (also it's a semi-unpowered AU, and the two protagonists are narratively isolated from the other characters, so... really, seriously, not much canon knowledge is required. I can provide any relevant background info. I’m not worried about canon compliance; I have a super reliable source for that).


• Main characters are (a: POV character) a bi man of Desi descent, born in the US and adopted by a F/F couple, one of whom is also US-born Desi and the other of whom is US-born Jewish, and (b) a queer US-born man whose ethnic heritage is half-Black, half-white, and who was raised by his biological parents.


• The overall tone of the story is that of a madcap comedy/farce, although with moments that are more serious or emotionally resonant.


• Content warnings include: Passing allusions to the existence of institutional racism and homophobia, Casual references to alcohol abuse, Mutually amicable breakups are still hard. (Again: the overall tone is extremely light, especially as compared with most of the things I write.)


• Timing: This story is about 35k words (a long short story or short novella). I hope to have a working draft of it by 10/31. I can then share it with sensitivity readers in the hope they can give it a read and get back to me with feedback by 11/15.

"Where have you been all afternoon?" [Anna] said, dropping cubes of potato into the bowl. She actually smiled a little, at Villanelle, and jerked her chin down at the notebook, which was—spun away from Anna, toward Villanelle. It wasn't a recipe, anyway.

"Sightseeing," Villanelle told her, as she read: I am wearing a microphone; she is listening. "When they excavated Zaryadye there were arrows still stuck in the walls, did you know? For nine hundred years."

Villanelle read: She thinks I am still in love with you, in Anna's neat hand, but that I will inform on you in exchange for a new life. Thunk, thunk went the knife through the potatoes. "Yes," Anna said. "The children love the exhibit where you learn to load a gun."

With enough time we could convince her you deserve one, too, the note read.

"Psht," said Villanelle. "I already know how to load a gun."

"Would it help if I broke something of yours?"

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Passchendaele, Belgium: September, 1917.

"Come away," Rebecca said, again. "When was the last time you slept, child? She's in the clear."

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Antigonish, Nova Scotia: December 23, 1878.

"Do you love your neighbour?" Alice asked, her face grave.

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Halifax, Nova Scotia: February 4, 1916

Later, looking out at the drifting white, Maisie laughed, out of nowhere, and said, "Is this why you didn't want to marry Paulie, then? For all those years?"

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Outside Lizerne, Belgium: June 15, 1917

"I'll go," said Hazel. "We'd only just got started, anyway. With our conversation."

It wasn't like the guy had exploded at her or anything. He'd actually been pretty nice about the whole deal. But it'd been obvious he was disappointed; and frankly, Eleanor thought, to kind of an unreasonable extent. Plainly, when Bambadjan had heard the word "soulmate," he'd expected someone who shared his passion for small nocturnal flying rodents: for reading about them; for identifying them; for spending the entire night observing them in silence with the help of night-vision goggles, as his later note informed her he was doing himself. Just as plainly, Eleanor's inability to deliver on that promise was a blow. All things considered the timing hadn't seemed great for springing on him the news that in addition to her lack of bat-related knowledge she was also a vast cosmic mistake who should probably be burning in acid fire or having her appendix plucked out by ferrets or something instead of perching awkwardly on this sofa, drinking a passable if milky iced vanilla latte. Probably the real Eleanor loved bats; would provide all the bat-related camaraderie he could want. Probably this thought would occur to Bambadjan, too.

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Antigonish, Nova Scotia: November 1915

"If you need a man of the house: voilà."