#Misery sweep. We all know it would work.

[sarawritestories]

hiii i cant get ur fics out of my head so i thought i'd request one! i came across this vid on tiktok and i'd love to see your take on a cassian x reader fic w this vibe HAHAHA i dont mind whoever would be character a or b in this scenario so i leave it in your capable hands! my only specific request is that they're both in the IC hihi

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFay7B7J/

This was a lot of fun to write! I hope I did this request justice for you!

I Won't Say I'm In Love

Cassian X Fem Reader

Summary: You are toe to toe in a sparring match with Cassian when he eventually has you pinned to the ground. After some banter Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie confront you about your feelings for him and it's later that night when the four of you are having a girls night do you realize what your feelings truly are.

Content Warnings: None

Word Count 1.7K

A/N: This song was stuck in my head as I wrote this.

ACOTAR Masterlist

You were sparring with Cassian, sweat trickling down your back as the sun unleashed the cruel heat of summer upon you. Opting to take off your leathers and kept the band around your chest and leggings just to keep your cool.  “Don’t give up on me now, Sweetheart.” He lunged an attack that you easily dodge.

“Who said anything about giving up, I’m just getting started.” You swiped your leg to the back of his knee, his hand gripping your calf.

Your eyes widened as he gave me a playful grin, both of us realizing my error. In a quick sweep Cassian maneuvered you to where your chest pressed against the mat and his chest was pressed against your back. His legs wrapped around yours locking you in place. You squirmed under him as he grazed his fingers lightly up your bare torso and you sucked in a breath as his calloused hands reached your arms where he pinned your wrist. You tried to break his grip as heat blasted to your cheeks. Cassian flared his wings and shade consumed the two of you, a reprieve from the unyielding sun. You continued to wiggle under his grip, He leaned in and whispered, “Stop wiggling.”

You scowled and continued your writhing, “You’re not the boss of me, you prick.”

Cassian chuckled, “I’m your general, Sweetheart. That does in fact make me the boss of you.” He gripped your wrist tighter, “I order you to stop wiggling.”  You rolled your eyes, and wiggled anyway and he growls low in your ear, heat pooling in your belly. “I will put you in Az’s dungeon for insubordination if you keep it up. Let the Shadowsinger remind you how to act around your superiors.”

You turned your head and batted your eyelashes at him, “Is that a promise, General?”  You emphasized his title and suddenly the pressure of his body is on you.  You turned on your back to sit up and saw him stalking back into the House of Wind, his wings ruffling. Nesta stepped forward offering you a hand, Gwyn and Emerie not far to follow.

“When are you going to put that insufferable bat out of his misery?” Nesta questioned with a quizzical brow.

You frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gwyn rolled her eyes and looped her arms through yours, “Everyone knows that he is in love with you. I mean the way he looks at you and touches you.”

You laughed, “Gwyn, I think those romance novels are going to your head. We’re just friends, he’s just a flirt. Besides, I don’t even like him like that. He’s like my brother.”

That much was true Rhys had met you in Hewn City when you were both teenagers. You were about to get married off and taking the steps down the aisle when Cassian and Azriel came in and swooped you out of the city and into Velaris. Rhysand then placed you in charge of working with the citizens of the city of Starlight to help with any repairs or issues that needed to be taken care of. And had been a part of the Inner Circle ever since, it was helping train Nesta and the Valkyries that brought you true joy the three girls bringing you such a light in your life.

Nesta rolled her eyes as we all headed into the House. “Whatever, you say, but he never calls anyone else, Sweetheart.”

You bit your lip and kept quiet as the four of you walked through the dining room where Azriel sat. “Hello, ladies, how was training?” He addressed the group, but his eyes lingered on the red head on my arm.”

Gwyn just smirked, “Fantastic, Cassian was about to devour his Sweetheart on the mat today. It was romantic.” You glared at her, and her Teal eyes twinkled with mischief.

Azriel chuckled drawing my gaze to the spymaster as he looked at me, “Did he now?”

You crossed my arms, “No he didn’t, all he did was pinned me down and threatened to throw me in your dungeons. Also, Gwyn didn’t even”

Az looked to Gwyn, “You have a strange idea of Romance did you know that?”

Gwyn winked at him, and his shadows swirled in response. “Oh, you have no idea, Shadowsinger.”

Feeling the tension in the room, I announced, “Okay well now that we established that Cassan was not coming on to me, and whatever the Hel is going on with you two,” Both Az and Gwyn blush and avert the other one’s gazes, “I’m in need of a bath I’ll see you later tonight.” You walked over and kissed Az’s cheek. “Shadowsinger.”

“Sweetheart.” Az teased, you flipped him off and headed to your room. Cleaning off the sweat and grime of the day, the cold bite of the chilled bath cooling your overheated skin.

Everyone knows that he’s in love with you.

Gwyn’s words reverberated in your mind. Up until you walked into the library where your friends were waiting for you later that night, pajamas on and books in hand. “Ready for book club?” You asked, taking a seat next to Emerie, her hair in her regular braid.

“Yes, let’s begin.” Nesta said pointed stare looking you up and down with a smirk on her face. Looking down at the black silk shorts and top your eyes widened where the red lace was peeking through. You tugged down your shirt as Nesta began reading some of her favorite passages.

“Didn’t you just adore when the knight, came in to help the maiden with her nightmare, even though he has claimed time and again he doesn’t care about her.” Gwyn swooned and your mind drifted.

“Sweetheart, wake up!”

You opened your eyes and met with Cassian’s hazel ones. His hands cupped your cheeks, wiping the stray tears from your face. Cassian’s face held worry there. “What’s going on?” You whispered, voice hoarse and strained.

“You were screaming, calling for help. I came in you were thrashing about in your bed. Scratched me good,” You noticed then that his cheek had a slight gash that was already healing. “Nightmare?”

Your lip wobbled and you gave him a nod. He wiped the sweat soaked strands of hair out of my face. “Stay with me?” you whimpered.

Cassian pressed his forehead to yours and your eyes fluttered close, “Of course, Sweetheart.” And Cassian wrapped you in his arms wings covering you as if his wing could protect you from any impending nightmare to come your way.

Emerie’s voice broke you from your reverie, “I am particularly fond of when the knight dances with her at the ball.

Another memory flashed forward:

You dropped your bag and fought the tears; nothing was more embarrassing than having a date stand you up. A hand gripped your wrist, and the familiar scent of sandalwood told you who it was. You turned and found Cassian there his hair down and stubble grazing his cheeks, “I thought you were on a date tonight?”

I shrugged, “Someone has to show up for it to be considered a date.” His face fell and he gripped your hand, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.” He paused and glanced at you clad in a blue striped sundress. “Come here.” He pulled you close to him, his large hand splayed across your back as he pressed your chest your head reached his chest.

“What are you doing?” You asked, placing your own hand on his arm as he gripped your other hand, as he began to sway his wings tucked in.

“I’m dancing with a beautiful female,” Cassian grinned as he turned you both around the room. His grin was contagious and instantly the tears threatening to spill were gone and instead you began to laugh as he twirled you around until you both had exhausted yourselves and he simply held you close and swayed late into the evening.

Nesta’s snapping your face brought you back to the group, “Sorry, I guess my head isn’t here.”

Nesta smirked, “We were just wanting to know. Your favorite part of the book.”

You looked down and grazed your fingers over the cover of the book, “Um I enjoyed the scene, where Cassian-” You blinked and looked up at the girls all three smirking back at you. Then as though a ton of bricks had crashed down on you of memories flashing through of all the times Cassian has interacted with you, and your feelings came flooding to the surface you bolted up from my seat, “OH WHAT THE FUCK! OH GOD.”

Gwyn smiled and crossed her legs, Resting her head on her palm, “What’s the matter, Y/N?”

Not responding to them you bolted from the library and descended the stairs, the plush carpet squishing the bottom of your feet as you barged into Cassian’s room not bothering to knock.

Cassian jolted from his bed, dropping the book he was reading, replacing it with a knife ready, a general ready for battle. His face softened when he realized it was you, his hair was in a bun, a few strands falling down his face, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, his chiseled body, and tattoos on full display. His brow furrowed as he noticed your rapid breathing, “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

Shutting the door, you leaned against it, “I love you.” You murmured looking down at your feet.

“Come again?” You looked up and Cassian had put the knife down, his chest still as though he wasn’t breathing.

You took a step forward, “I love you, Cassian.”

Cassian closed the distance between the two of you, your heart began to quicken as he gripped your waist “Say it one more time for me, Sweetheart.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “I. Love. You.”

He growled, “Finally.” He pressed his lips to yours the warmth of his bare chest seeping into your bones as pulled him closer deepening the kiss.

He pulled away his thumbs grazing your hip bones, “I have loved you for so long.” He whispered against Your lips.

“I’m sorry it took so long.” you whispered back. “I’m here now and I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

Cassian smiles. “Mine.” He pecked your lips, as he slapped your ass eliciting a moan. “All fucking mine.” He kissed you again before pulling away, and kissing your nose, “Now be a good girl and take off your clothes for me.”

You smile as you grip the hem of your top, “Yes, General.”

Part 2 can be found here

[sunnynwanda]

Hi! Your writing is just amazing 🤘🏾 may I request a spicy hero x villain , with an EXTREMELY flirty villain. Perhaps giving off a "one night stand" sorta vibe? Idk whatever you're comfortable with. Thank you in advance!

Temptation

Part 2

Hero was livid. Rightfully so. Not only did the asshole of a villain they had the misery of working against attack on Christmas Eve, but they also had to do that on the only chance Hero had of company. They were Christmas carolling near the central square, for God's sake. There was nothing to gain from attacking them there. Or attacking at all.

And it's not like Villain even pursued anything - they were just determined to piss Hero off and ruin their holiday spirit to compensate for their own foul mood. Solely out of spite. So yes, Hero was seething. And Villain was going to regret provoking them.

They grab a garland light off the toppled tree and wrap it around Villain's wrists. They attempt to jerk away and free themselves, when Hero restricts their movements by twisting their arms behind their back and securing them before wrapping the rest of the garland down to their feet to completely immobilise them.

"Stay fucking still!" They growl through gritted teeth, tugging at the improvised chain a little too harshly.

"I like it a bit more gentle, baby," Villain murmurs under their breath, but when Hero smacks them, they start thrashing around like a fish out of water.

Hero picks Villain up, fighting the temptation to knock them out, and throws them over their shoulder. They wish the citizens happy holidays and depart with a heavy heart. Once they've dealt with Villain, there'll be nothing but an empty apartment and frozen pizza waiting for them. All because of the dumbass that keeps banging their tied fists at Hero's back, demanding attention.

"Stop." They order, only to be ignored. "I told you to stop, you absolute prick!"

Villain seizes their blows for a short moment before resuming again with a cheeky laugh. And Hero has had enough. They throw Villain off their shoulder, watching them land on the concrete floor of their apartment balcony. Normally, they would avoid bringing Villain to their own place. But, the agency was closed because every normal human being was supposed to be at home, celebrating with their families.

They land, turning Villain over face up and grasping their collar to pull them to a standing position. A strained breath escapes them from the force with which Hero slams their back against the wall. They hiss when their head makes contact with the rough surface.

"Now listen here, you miserable bastard," they start, anger sweeping over them.

Against their better judgement, Villain coughs out a laugh, only getting Hero more riled up.

"You sure I'm the miserable one here?"

This earns them a blow to the gut, but they can't even bend over properly because of their confines.

"Shut your mouth and listen to me," Hero snarls, no longer able to contain their aggravation. They don't even know why they are so mad at Villain specifically - poor-timed attack aside. It is perhaps their frustration getting the best of them, Villain just happened to cross their path at the wrong moment. "We have two options here."

Villain swallows, their throat tight, then nods. Something is off, and they can sense that. Usually, Hero was up for a little brawl. It was entertaining and never meant to inflict any significant harm. Same for today, Villain was sure the toppled tree was back in position with only one garland and a couple of ornaments missing. Worst case scenario, ten. Hero's rage was far from being equivalent to the damage done.

"You give us both a holiday break, or I leave you here tied up with this garland for the entire weekend," Hero's warning drags them out of their thoughts. But they wouldn't be who they are if they abandoned their plan that easily. Villain pulls their lower lip between their teeth and drags a finger over Hero's toned stomach, eyes lided.

"There's another option, too," they muse in a low voice. They know they are probably laying it on too thick, but they need to get the message across. And if this doesn't get Hero to relax, they don't know what will. With a crooked smile now adorning their face, Villain continues. "If you'd care to twitch your plan a bit, that is."

Hero stares at them with the most deadpan look they can muster. They despise the way their voice sounds hoarse when they finally speak. "How so?"

The sexual tension between them was insane - to a painful extent. It was evident from the very start, but they never succumbed to it and never showed any inclination to cave in. Or so they thought.

"Well, it'd go pretty much the same - you tie me up with the garland," Villain explains, squirming to illustrate their point. And free their arms. "Except, you stay, too, and get to do whatever you'd like to me."

"What?" Hero chokes out, incredulous at the shiver Villain's words send down their back. They are flabbergasted at how quickly they were ready to nod in agreement.

"Preferably for the entire weekend," Villain can't help the teasing tone and seeing Hero's reaction only prompts them to keep going. They gulp, voice heavy with arousal. "If you can handle me for that long."

"I..." Hero gapes at them, utterly at a loss for words. Their skin prickles with agitation when Villain offers them a suggestive wink.

"I'm damn sure that'll be your best Christmas yet."

Hero bites their lip to suppress a throaty groan, and Villain smirks, knowing full well they got them. They can feel the heat rising in their stomach when Hero looks up at them with darkened eyes. Their dilated irises lock onto Villain's when the question drops from their lips. Villain barely registers it, too occupied with the thoughts of that mouth on their skin.

"And what happens next?" Hero asks, barely restraining themselves from throwing every inhibition aside and ravaging them on the cold balcony of their apartment.

"Nothing," Villain squeezes out, their tongue sweeps out to wet their parted lips. Being bound up and at Hero's hands always did things to them they were not prepared to unravel, but this seemed like the perfect opportunity to go there. "We let the tension out of our systems and return to our usual fighting routine."

A part of Hero fears the weekend won't be enough to satiate their hunger, but it's worth a shot. At least they can get a taste of something they have craved for longer than they dare admit.

"You know you want me, darling." Villain chimes in, worming out of their chains and wrapping their arms around Hero's neck. "You can't hide it."

Without further thoughts, Hero crashes their lips in a searing kiss, picking them up with one arm while the other pushes the door open. Villain moans into their mouth, wrapping their legs around Hero's waist as they are carried into the apartment.

They don't know whether this is an incredible idea or a horrible mistake. It's up for debate whether this will end up as a one night stand with their nemesis or a beginning of something much more than that. They don't even know if it's anger or attraction that's fueling Hero's desire for them. If there is one thing Villain does know, it's that they won't be spending Christmas enveloped by the emptiness of their existence.

Part 2

Masterlist

Hi, darling!

Thank you so much for the request and kind words, I appreaciate that! I hope I managed to capture your idea in this snippet and that you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It's not as spicy, but there could always be a part 2, right? :D

xo Sunny

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose  @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney

[infamous-if]

O kay okay okayaoakayasysayas Since Rowan isn't going to be a LI can we please get his POV reaction (deep crush stage) of MC going over to him to tell him that MC is in love with one of the other ROs? Pleasee I need the angst and I love Rowan and am sad we won't be able to romance him!!

I was listening to favorite crime and kind of went a bit overboard. Please excuse this lengthy and angsty-ish drabble. Aha.... 🤒 ill keep it short next time

The soft notes of Rowan's guitar--affectionally dubbed 'Betty'--rises above his head, filling the silence of his hotel room. He strums aimlessly, absently, his fingers having a mind of their own as they move, creating a random melody that's oddly soothing. Or maybe it's the very essence of his guitar--he always feels more grounded, centered, with Betty in his hands.

Rowan's gaze remains unfocused as he plays, his head tilted, legs crossed on the balcony that overlooks the sleepy streets of their latest tour stop. A soft, pleasantly warm wind curls around the messy strands of his hair, locks sweeping across his forehead like a caressing hand. As the melody takes hold, going from mindless practice to something that sounds like it can be the bones of a real song, he closes his eyes.

Rowan has never been a good singer, but you don't need to be a good singer to make people feel something. He's learned that from the best of them.

I wonder if MC would like this.

The thought of his best friend makes a low groan sound in his throat, and with a huff he pauses the recording of his phone. Suddenly Betty's romantic notes feel like a taunt, a blade to his heart with every reminder of what he and MC are not. They're not together. They're not anything more than friends.

They're not what he wants them to be.

He knows he shouldn't feel this way about them. They're friends. They've been friends since he still thought fart jokes were funny and he had no bass in his voice. That's all they've always been and all they will be: friends.

The word has never sounded so terrible.

Still. If only...

His phone buzzes with a text and he sets Betty down. That blade in his heart only twists when he sees who it's from.

Of course. Did my thinking manifest them? The thought induces both a laugh and a sharp hint of misery from him.

He reads the text: Open your door.

He turns his upper-body to face his door, bursting up once the realization flows through him. He glances at himself in the mirror on his way there, making sure his pajamas are at least semi-presentable. It's MC; they've seen him in worst states, but level of comfortability changes when you want someone to see you in ways they've never seen you before.

In other words, he needs to look good.

Rowan heaves a breath before swinging open the door, remembering to keep the easy smile on his face. MC still looks good even at twelve a.m. after an entire day on the road. It's almost unfair.

"Heyyyy." He grins, trying to appear light. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

MC rolls their eyes. "You're not busy, are you?" They lean over to peek behind Rowan's shoulder, their eyes settling on an abandoned Betty. "Working on something?"

"Nah." He scratches his neck, self-concious. "Just fooling around. What, you need to talk about something?"

MC pushes past Rowan's shoulder to breeze inside, throwing themselves on the bed with a huff. "Iris and Devyn are out and I need to talk to someone."

Rowan takes a seat next to them, snorting. "So I'm the third choice?Wow."

They prop themselves up on their elbows, strands of hair falling in front of their face. Rowan has the terrible urge to lean over and push them away. "You're not exactly the 'serious talk' kind of person."

"Serious talk?" He gapes. "Yes, I am! I'm capable of being serious, you know. I'm not an asshole."

With a laugh, MC rolls over on their stomach and groans into Rowan's pillow. Now his curiosity is officially piqued. What could have MC so...like this?

"What's up?" Rowan's following laugh is both nervous and amused. "Did something happen with Seven?" Seven and MC have been a bit...all over the place since the beginning of the tour. He hardly knows what to call it. "Or did Orion lecture you again?" Orion is another one. That man has been relentless since tour started.

MC shoots him a look before sitting up, copying Rowan's position. His eyes flicker down to where their knees touch, to the proximity that's gone from the size of the bed to none at all.

They've been close like this before. No, scratch that. They've been closer, but this is different. This is different because everything is different.

"You know you're my best friend, right?" MC says, putting their hands on Rowan's.

He clears his throat, the skin under theirs burning with their touch. "Yeah...?"

"And we can tell each other everything?"

"Yeah." He quirks a brow at them, trying to stifle their humor. "Are you dying? Please don't tell me you're dying. You haven't even gotten rich yet to leave me anything in your will."

MC laughs but it comes out a bit uncertain. High-pitched. Rowan knows them. The same way he knows Iris and Devyn. He knows all of them like the back of his hand. So it only takes him another second to realize it.

MC is nervous.

His heart does a weird somersault in his gut.

"I have a secrettttt," MC sing-songs. Even as a joke they still manage to sing with perfect pitch.

The four words are enough to shake his very world, but he manages an eye roll. "Fucking hell, we're not twelve. Just spit it out."

"Sorry." MC palms their face, a nervous laugh escaping them. God. This must be serious for MC to be nervous in front of him? Rowan has never really gave anyone the impression of a harsh judge. Hell, he's always been an open book. "I just...I'm in love with [RO]."

He wished he didn't rush them. He wished he didn't hear those words at all. He's half tempted to grab it from the air and shove it back into MC's mouth so they can pretend it never happened.

"What?" is all the fuzz in his brain can spit out.

MC throws their self back, a wildly breathless laugh escaping them. The sound is even better than Betty's notes. "WHEW. That felt good to say it. Is anyone hot in here? I know I am."

MC keeps babbling but all Rowan could hear is a white noise in his head. MC is in love with RO. MC is in love with them.

MC is in love with someone that's not him.

"I just needed to let that out." MC huffs, gazing around the room. "You should invite me next time you play. You know I like seeing you finger Betty."

Rowan can't even laugh at the dirty inside joke they've had between them since he bought Betty years ago. It suddenly makes him feel wholly small and largely ridiculous: Rowan will never be the person for MC. He will always be the goofy best friend that makes stupid, childish jokes about fingering his dumbass guitar and the one MC goes to when Devyn and Iris aren't available.

He's not even the second choice. He's the fucking fourth.

As if noticing the change in atmosphere, MC awkwardly purses their lips and says, "I should probably get back to my room and get some sleep. We have an early start tomorrow."

He blinks, managing a small nod. "Uh-huh." He runs a hand through his hair, feeling naked without his hat. "Right."

They stand and shoot Rowan a final look. "Thank you," they say after. a moment, "for being my friend."

He's really starting to hate that word.

But he smiles anyway. "Yeah. Ditto."

MC grins, spinning on the heel of their foot to leave the room. Rowan follows, waving lamely at them and watching as they disappear down the hall, whistling a merry tune. It's true; it does feel like a weight was lifted of their shoulders. They walk with a hop in their step. Rowan hates knowing it was RO that is responsible for that.

With a sigh he closes the door, leaning his forward against it. Spinning on his shoulder, he looks up at the ceiling.

"I need to get laid," he mumbles.

Though he has a feeling that won't do much to solve the problem in his heart.

[astrid-sorensen]

Hurt Like This - Joel Miller x reader

Genre - Angst, fluff

Warnings - mentions of sex, unestablished relationship, reader is described as being a lot smaller than Joel

MASTERLIST

You and Joel had spent years together in the QZ but will he ever let you through his hard exterior? When your bloodied and bruised, who will be there?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You and Joel had been partners for many years now, your relationship always up in the air much like everything else in life. You never knew where you’d next end up, or what you would be finding yourself doing to survive this misery. But when you’d come home, bloodied and bruised, you’d be lying if the way Joel’s neurotic look did make your heart skip a pump. “Who the fuck did this?” He roared enraged, a forbearing hand coming up, wide fingertips considerately holding at your chin to get a better scan.

“I was making a trade with Jude and outta nowhere he got some dude to rob our shit.” You moped, flinching when his hand grazed a tender spot. Joel watched your face as you carried on. “And I wasn’t gonna not put up a fight.” You halfheartedly joked. Like the answer was blatantly obvious.

“What have I told you about tryna take people like him on!” The Texan shot back, a rumble in his chest reverberating out through his gritted teeth.

“Joel, I wasn’t gonna let him take our shit. You know how hard we worked for that stuff.” Defensive replies leaked from your mouth, bargaining with the elder man. Joel was having none of it.

“It don’t matter! You coulda got yourself killed!” The brunettes glare could freeze hell over and you felt it in the depths of your soul. “Have you got the stuff then?” He quizzed knowingly.

“Well, no.” You began shortly before being cut short. Joel stood with haste, his athletic mountainous body imposing from up above.

“So what was the goddam point then? Fucking look atchu, nose all bloodied, black eye.” He embarked on listing.

“Oh c’mon! Like you don’t get yourself a little banged up now and then!” Your argued words didn’t get through to him, but Joel didn’t want to containing bickering with you.

Joel heaved, frustrated. He brown irises studied you, brow bone stitched in an extensive scowl. He looked upset, genuinely, sincerely upset. “I’m okay, I promise.” You offered to him sympathetically.

Joel advanced to the cupboard, acquiring a bottle of malt whiskey and a rag to sanitise the wounds. Pain seared in your cheek, the dusty blue cloth sweeping against the apple of your cheek as he cleaned you up, not quite affectionately. You memorised the imprints on his complexion, the sun spots that had appeared over time, the deep creases implanted in his forehead and around his mouth. The coarse unshaven ashy hairs on his face and neck.

Though he never showed it, times like this you would see the softness peek through his demeanour. His glare loosening and he focused on the task at hand, a slim gap between each lip, that he breathed through to concentrate. You’d not once witnessed him like this with any other person. As he finished up he went to boil the teapot, brewing a hot drink for you to aid the heeling and pain. His heavy footfalls made the wood creak beneath them as he joined you again.

“Go lie down, you need to rest it off.” As you raised you winced, agony shooting through your foot as you remembered rolling your ankle from running away. Brazen arms swung from behind, clutching one bicep under your knees as you were forced to hold around his thick neck. His stoic face was focussed on his actions, afraid to look down at you as you were in his arms. Joel was certain the view would send him into some kind of mania, your beautiful body so small in his upper limbs, holding onto him for safety just how he thought it should be. The idea made his testosterone peak.

He settled you on the bed, in the perfect space you didn’t need to adjust and pulled up an old blanket over you. Yours and Joel’s relationship was complicated. Very complicated.

You’d met a long 8 years ago, teaming up on a run, eyes meeting in the middle of the stranded library. Both on your way out to make a hunt. A clicker had launched round the corner, your small pistol firing off, over and over from where you were splayed on the dusty floor. Knees bent to gain some leverage. Joel had advanced from behind, grabbing onto the monsters shoulders and swinging it into a substantial glass cabinet, glass fragments spilling onto the ground, before shooting it twice in the head.

Making the decision to stick together all the way on the run and back, and so forth for the future. Joel didn’t approve having another person around at first, his mind proclaiming to him it would just be another person to look after. But he couldn’t deny that you did bring some advantages to the table, you had saved Joel’s life on more than one occasion and the company as you slept in deserted buildings was something he grew to desire. Quickly your connection grew and you moved into his apartment, rationing his bed as you spooned. You both began to feel sheltered in each others company.

You had never kissed, as much as you dreamt of of it. Nor had you either ever expressed any feelings, except a fondness of your friendship. You’d shared bodies a few times, Joel harshly fucking you into your release and then his, but there was no tenderness shared. Just a brute passion for orgasm. He held you tightly thereafter, crushing you into his broad chest as his hands snaked around your middle, but once you woke, normal interactions resumed.

You rolled onto your side, getting comfy in the bed as Joel shuffled off your brown boots for you, taking extra care with your injured side. He then wriggled in behind you, thick fingers tentatively sliding across your waist as he silently asked for permission to cuddle. Nothing was said, granting him the pleasure of cradling you tightly in his grasp, his head leaning cautiously on the flat pillow behind yours, you could just about feel his deep breaths on the back of your neck.

“Promise you won’t play that shit again.” A gritty drawl echoed through the barren room. “If someone threatens you, you drop it and come straight here.”

“Okay, Joel.” You responded, softly. His thumb rubbed tiny patterns gently on your front.

“I hate seeing you hurt like this.” Words whispered into your sheets, but they definitely weren’t missed.

[blackberryshortcake]

Witches Wrath Pt. 2

Pt. 1

p.s if there is spelling mistakes, womp womp I'm trying my best T~T

The second that heavy mahogany door shut you were grabbed by the throat and slammed into the nearest wall. Corvus was pissed you could feel his breath on your face while you fight to catch your own once more.

“What exactly gives you the right to fill his head with those thoughts.” Anger and malice in every syllable he spoke.

“Did I stick a nerve Sebastian”

His gloved hand around your throat tightens.

“All-all I did was tell him the truth and he wanted to make a deal. Last time I checked that’s not against the rules.” When in the hell did he get so strong.

“Ciel Phantomhive’s soul belongs to me”

That stupid fucking accent of his was really pissing me off

“I don’t want his soul and anyways what the big deal with it anyways? There are plenty of other souls just like his. If I had the power to right now I could leave and come back with 10 just like it and 20 that are even better.”

“That simply isn’t the matter at hand” he’s loosened his grip but he was still impossible close to you.

“Oh it’s not is it. Do you understand how fucking Insane this all is. I saw inside his head when we shook hands and how had, i don’t know how CPS has not been called or some shit. Now don’t get me wrong the modern world I call home is no better but at least someone would say something about all this” gesturing around you. “Not to long ago I finally realized where I had heard the phantomhive name before I new the boys father once upon a time and the fact of the matter is you have what a 14 year old boy running a business and working for the queen like he’s not yah know a child”

“The young master is quite mature for his age.”

“You and I both know you could have given that kid his revenge a real long time ago and put him out of his misery. Yah know what I think? I think you like it here. I think you berated me for going “soft” but you’re ending up just like me.”

His eyes burned with the fury of a thousand fires, but no response was given.

“Whatever” you push him off and head down the hall but not before promptly flipping him the bird.

I really need to get outta this dress.

……………

After finally changing back into your clothes you decided it was high time you explored this manor in the process you met May-Rin the maid who was to clumsy for her own good. Finny who was outside in the garden in the process of kill a rosebush with “fertilizer”. Tanaka a small older gentleman who you presume was another butler and last but not least Baldroy who was frantically exiting a smoke filled kitchen when what you can only assume was the demon whisking by you to put out said fire.

The “cooks” eyes met yours and he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

“You lost or something miss”

He had a thick accent the kind you’d figure a chimney sweep or a Mary poppies character would have.

“No, just wandering I suppose”

“We’ll I don’t think mister Sebastian would like you wandering down here”

That’s when Sebastian’s thick voice cut through the air

“She is perfectly fine where she is. You however have once again ruined a perfectly good meal. Do you care to explain yourself.”

By this time he’d come out of the ashen kitchen to the hallway

“Thought it might cook faster,yah know”

Sebastian sighed and pinched his nose.

“You are responsible for cleaning that mess up I have other matters to attend to” with that he once again checked his pocket watch and briskly walked past you. I’m surprised he didn’t shoulder check me as he did.

He’s different than he was when you last saw him something odd years ago. Not just his looks although you don’t mind the form he has taken now with that pitch black hair and amber eyes. He’s just tall enough to be intimidating but not to tall as to be awkward. He’s simply handsome but his personality is different when you first ran into each other he almost seemed like he cared for you as you believed he did long ago. It’s almost like he expected you to come running back into his arms and beg for forgiveness. Now he’s cold, calculating, not vicious or vial as many demons are but his eyes a see of resentment towards me or the world. You do not know.

There however is one thing I know I better clean my act up and get the fuck outta dodge so I never have to see this god forsaken era again

…..……..

The sun was setting upon the horizon. A picture perfect sunset just behind the sea of spruce and evergreen trees that lined the border to the garden.

You made your way back to the room he had shown you just a few hours earlier and sat by the window.

I had to think of a way to get outta this place. I could stay here but he brought up so many memories I pushed aside. Good and bad ones. The thought of the many faces he once wore or the many characters he fronted for past contracts. He’s truly always been a picky eater. Just slightly classier than the normal vermin of our species.

You could feel him walking down the hall in your direction and even before he knocked you knew he was there.

“Miss (y/n)?”

I feel the silent treatment is the cruelest form of punishment

“I know you can hear me”

“The young master would like to see you in his study”

I could feel my eyes burning holes in the door.

“Be there in precisely 20 minutes. I assume you can find your own way”

Fuck him that’s all I can think right now. How is he about to get pissed at me for making a deal and going “soft” and all that other bullshit even though he’s a Class A hypocrite. He’s not worth the waste of words, at least not right now.

If it were I don’t know say 100 years ago we got on swimmingly, we co-existed with one another. Some might say we were a couple but you and I both know demons really don’t do “couples”.

I could hear his footsteps resending down the hallway back to the pit he crawled out of. After about 10 minutes of debate my life choices and wishing I’d died on that stake I finally drag my ass to the door and head to the little shits office for the second time today.

The walk to his “study” was long. You never really understood the need for excessive wealth such as this. Sure you’d given many wealth such as this, not without a hefty price,but how could one be happy in a liminal labyrinth such as this.

Coming to a stop in front of that large mahogany door once more forgoing the idea to knock and just bust through the door

The boy jumps as the door swings open.

“Did your mother never teach you to knock?” He seemed overly offended

“Keep my mamas name out yah mouth.”

“I beg your pardon”

“Keep.my.mamas.name.out.yah.mouth”

Existing in that modern era really has changed my dialect. Although “Sebastian” might see that as a change for the worst I see it as one for the better.

“So why exactly am I here?” You already know the answer to that but ask never the less.

“I’d like to play a game” he gestured for you to sit in the chair across from his desk once more as he pulls a dated deck of cars from a desk drawer, all well the demon looks behind his obnoxiously large chair.

“What kinda game?”

“Old maid.”

“Old maid? Seriously? You do know this really isn’t gonna work.”

“And why may that be prey tell. Are you afraid to lose?”

“Am I afraid to lose?” You look into his eyes once more. He’s dead serious. “You do realize that when you shook my hand I saw anything and everything inside that pretty little noggin of yours. I could quite literally read you like a book but I’ll still play as long as YOU’RE not afraid to lose.”

He’s eyes are wide.

“You tricked me!” He shouts

“You knew the risks and hey don’t yell at me your pretty little lap dog back there did the same exact thing when y’all sealed y’all’s deal.” My eyes drag up to meet Sebastian’s. He’s glaring back.

“Sebastian is this true!” Ciel is now on his feet and he’s pissed. He thought he could play with fire and not get burned.

“To be frank my young lord, yes”

“Get out! The both of you.”

You through your hands up in defense.

“Oooh did we hurt your feelings. Did I make you feel violated.”

“Y/N!” Sebastian yelled

“Alright alright let’s go.”

As soon as you both were out the door. It’s was like a switched flipped in him. Yet the silence still stood.

“Soooo….probably a bad time but any ideas on how to get me outta this era.”

He dead panned and quite literally walked away.

“HEY! I was trynna talk to you yah know.”

You come to stand and black his path.

The look on his face was unreadable.

“What is your problem? Your brought me here cause you said you’d help me now your doubling back. You really have changed the demon I new at least kept his promises.”

He stared down at you could feel his amber eyes piercing through your skin. Yet he remained silent.

“*sign* I don’t even know why I tried or why I even listened to you. This was a mistake.” You try to leave but he grabbed you by your upper arm preventing you.

“Why did you come here?” His voice cut through the air menacingly

“What?”

“Why did you come HERE and why must your stir up trouble wherever you find yourself?”

“I was on a deal some witch wanna be asked me to come here. London 1889 to kill someone. I know messing with time like that is a big no no but she had something I needed and now Im stuck here. With you.” Is it hot in here?

“What did this witch have?”

“It doesn’t matter, not anymore.”

“What did the witch have.” His eyes are fusia at this point not that it mattered though you were exclusively looking at the floor.

“Sh-she was gonna tell me where you were but I can clearly see now she deceived me, okay?” I yank my arm from his grasp and took off running I couldn’t look him in the face. I couldn’t see him. How am I supposed to tell him I missed him, I missed us. He’s never understand, he was never as human as I was.

Sebastian stood in that very hallway still. His eyes wide not much could shock that creature but that sure did. He was under the impression you didn’t want to see him ever again. That you didn’t care for him or need him anymore , and he didn’t let it get to him.

He remembers a time when you were but a girl in a field of flower. A girl who shouted at her executors “If you want a witch Ill give you a witch” A time when you stumbled like a fawn when learning to control the magic bestowed upon you. At the time he knew not of the creature you were only that you were like him in a way. He knows now your kind are can destroy realms if they so pleased. Your utter lack of interest in realm destroying pleased him yet your humanity confused him. It brought feelings to the surface. Like a worm fighting it’s way to earths exterior only to be snatched up by a hungry raven in its path.

Good thing he was a crovus and you were simply a fictor.

……….

Why exactly I decided this was good idea I know not why but here I am in front of that mahogany door once again simply one day later. I figured I’d give the kid a break and actually get to talk to him for once without the fear of the other resident demon hearing. Turns out a good nights sleep is what I needed to regain some of my simplest of powers.

Knock knock knock

“Come in” Ciels voice could only be described in one way bored, absolutely utterly bored.

After opening the door you were met with a face of distain.

“Hey I uhhh….I uuhhh wanted to apologize.”

He scoffed “Apologize what would make you think if even want an apology from someone like you.”

“Okay okay I get over stepped and I’m sorry. The whole looking into your brain thing even though I basically a total stranger probably wasn’t the best move, but I’m here to make it up to you.”

“You truly are the strangest creature I have ever known.”

You shift nervously where you’re standing “how many creatures like me have you know? That’s a stupid questing I already know the answer and the truth is it’s because I was once human too and I understand what you’ve gone through. I wanted to extend and olive branch of sorts.”

“Forgive my brashness but could you skip to the point.”

“Okay okay ask me anything you want to know about that demon of yours and I’ll tell you no deals, no catch just ask me anything. It’s the least I can do.”

He leaned forward in his chair. You finally have caught his attention.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

He thought for a moment before answering. “Was he once human to?”

“The short answers yes…the long answer no. Sebastian pre-dates my own existence by millennium but to be completely honest with you, one cannot make a demon out of nothing. A soul must be present at some point, the loss of that soul is what makes a demon. A soul and pure human agony is what makes a demon. Do I think he once had one yes do I think it was in a time known to man no.”

“Do you believe Sebastian truly cares for you” he was amused by the notion. He thinks this is some sorta fucking game.

“Demons don’t care for anyone but themselves. He saw me as a challenge, an experiment. He doesn’t give a shit about me.”

“Do you truly believe that”

“Listen kid this wasn’t supposed to be about me it’s about him it’s always been about him.” Only five minutes into this conversation and I’m over it. I’m up and out the door before he can respond and almost face first into a chest clad in wool and cotton.

“Excuse me I wasn’t aware the master and you were scheduled for a meeting” that stupid fucking accent cut through the air.

“We didn’t just thought I’d drop by for a visit.”

“Apologies, I don’t recall you being the type to “drop by”.”

“Yeah well you don’t remember a lot of thing about me. Well anyways I’m off gotta figure my way outta this shit hole I’d love for you to join just be sure to fish that stick outta your ass before coming.”

My requipe was met with silence not that I stayed to listen or care.

Sometime I stop to think how I got here. How did we get like this. We used to be so close even if was all superficial. But nevertheless I suppose it’s time to cope and brainstorm and their is only one way to do that. That being hope and chain smoking obviously.

First step find alcohol. Second step figure this shit out.

..............

You’d think with all the severe alcoholism the Victorian era endured there be more liquor in this place. At the moment it was in the kitchen alone scouring the cabinet when I heard the door open behind me. I already knew who it was but it still somehow took me by surprise.

“And what may you be doing?”

Without even turning around you answered with a lit cigarette hanging off your lip.

“Lookin for something strong. Got anything like that around here?”

His face contorts “you truely have let yourself go.”

I took a long drag of my cigarette and let the poison fill my lungs before responding. “Yeah sure I’m such a sinful waste of space I get. Got any whiskey or even gin.” “No” he stalked towards you clearly agitated by your demeanor.

“What happened to you. Where’s the evil bastard I used to know. The one who’d slink around the tavern getting those old bastards to bet their souls in a game of black Jack and trade the lady’s their souls for a night of fun. You’re such a buzzkill now.”

“I’ve changed” he simply said.

“Oh you changed did you? Weren’t you the one who literally said “demons don’t change, they’re incapable”” his eyes were burning holes in your head like a parasite burrowing in to eat your precious grey matter.

“I don’t believe I like this new attitude of yours.”

“Yeah and what are you gonna do about it you gonna make me leave again. Shun me never talk to me again because let’s be honest that would be mercy.” I took another drag of my cigarette before it was snatched outta my hand and stomped out by the one and only bastard before me

“Hey! I wasn’t finished with that!”

“It is simply unbeffiting for one such as you to act in such a way.”

“You’re not serious are you?” One look into his eyes told you he was dead serious.

“I am quite serious.”

“I can’t with you right now. Like seriously I don’t even know what i was thinking I’d find here but this no this was not it.” I’m beyond frustrated at this point to think I came here looking for him and all I find is a shell of demon I once new with a bad hair cut and a pompous attitude.

“Why did you come here exactly. Why were you searching for me.”

Shit. “No reason, nothing really.”

He stepped closer and gazed down at me using that dumb face of his. The one that got many before to open their mouths and legs.

“Do you really wanna know because let’s be honest it’s not like you care.”

“I would like to know and as a matter of fact I do care.”

“Wow that’s a new one never new you we’re capable of caring.” You know what fuck this i don’t have to explain myself to him. “You know what Fuck this and fuck you.”

All the sudden he grabbed my face with one hand and forced me to look into his eyes. They were fusica not the obnoxious shade that screams Barbie pink but shade of wild flowers or a fiery sunset. It was like I couldn’t look away.

“Tell me why you came looking for me. Now.”

His voice was demanding and made so much more impact since he never seemed to raise it often.

“Because I missed you, Okay? I told you I met a witch she said if I do something for her she’d tell me where you are. She told me to come here I assumed it was to look for whatever it was she needed but I found you instead. Okay?” My voice was weary and I felt small. He loosened his death grip on my face but didn’t draw his hand away it still sat holding my cheeks and jaw. My vision was blurry with tears. Rather that responding he paused to think before drawing me in for hug. His arms wrapped around my shoulders and pushed my face into his chest. He was still tense but by god it felt like he ment it. Hesitantly I draw my hands up and around him. He smelt like wool and cedar wood. He smelt like the feeling you get when reading your favorite book or walking through a cool autumn forest. He smelt like home. Like I was home for the first time years. He didn’t pull away he just sat there head resting on mine. I could feel his slow heart beat.

He finally pulled back carefully and just enough to look me in the eyes.

“I held hope that was your answer.”

His expression changed in an instant.

I heard footstep down the hall quiet but still there

I spoke up “someone’s coming” we pulled away.

“I do believe Baldroy keeps gin in there.” I turned to follow his gaze grabbed the gin and I was off before someone could catch us.

.............

I sat on the stairs that lead to the gardens I believe it was just past 2 in the afternoon. Drinking gin and chain-smoking in hopes to jumpstart my brain. Part of me wanted to stay here with him but another part told me to go back to the future I came from. I was snapped out of my daydreams by a small black cat swishing around my feet

“Well hello pretty thing”

“Beautiful isn’t she”

“Jesus fuck Sebastian! how exactly did you manage to sneak up on me?” That sneaky bastard.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Gesturing to the bottle in my hand.

“Hey it’s 5’o clock somewhere” I raise the bottle to my lips and take another swig of the shitty ass back water gin. He takes a seat next to me on the stares and begins to pet the small black feline at our feet.

Despite all the alarm bells in my head telling me not to I spoke up

“…..I’m sorry” voice weak with shame.

“What is there to apologize for Dear?”

“The way I’ve been treating you since I got here. It’s shitty and despite all you put me through you don’t deserve it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, it is simply in your nature to be cruel. What are demons otherwise.” His voice was calm and calculated like he was almost reading from a script.

“You could say that again.” I raise the bottle up to my lips. Despite being human no longer the alcohol burned my tongue and throat. Silently I offer it to him he looks into my eyes before delicately plucking the bottle out of my hand and bringing it to his lips. In one go he downed the rest of 1/3rd left. His hair falling back from in front of his face as he did so eyes coming to close and savior the burning sensation.

“There’s that sinful man I knew once upon a time.” He smiled softly handing the now empty bottle back to me and rising to his feet my eyes followed him as he did so.

“It’s simply unbecoming of a Phantomhive butler to be acting as such” and straightened out his waist coat and came to stand in front of me.

“Meet me here at midnight we must work on restoring your magic or all those years of training you will have simply been a waste” I scoffed he cannot be serious. Before I knew it he took my hand in his left a peck on my knuckles and was off back up the stairs inside to do Satan only know what.

I suppose your relationship with the crow demon is hard to define. At one point or another you were borderline friends with benefits other times simply teacher and student and now I suppose there isn’t a word for it. It’s complicated.

………

Uncomfortable was the word I’d use to describe my situation right now. The sun had long set and the moon was creeping over head and here I am were sitting in those same steps slightly cold and damp from the midnight dew. Fuck England fuck it and it’s stupid fucking weather. I bet some poor English soul thinks this is a perfect evening but they are horribly mistaken. For some unholy reason I decided to show up early and wait for him rather than being fashionably late as usually, but Satan only know he will show up at 12:00am sharp not 11:59pm or 12:01am. 12:00am sharp. Caught in my own thoughts I barely even realized the clock had struck midnight I suppose he may have gotten the best of me if I hadn’t heard him creep up this time. Without a word he came to a stop beside me and offered a hand. Wordlessly I took it, and we descended down the stairs hand and hand.

I finally broke the silence and our premarital hand holding sesh when we reached the middle of a field just outside the manor.

“So we gonna do this like old times or no cause I’d love the opportunity to beat this shit outta you again.”

He chuckled and looked at the ground.

“Unfortunately, no this is not a matter of power but rather strength of the mind.”

“So, you brought me out here to have a therapy sesh at midnight.” I deadpand.

He quirked an eyebrow at my comment and continued on “I’ve brought you out here to see the demon I constructed.”

Before I could respond he punched me to the ground and jumped fare back brandishing what I think was silverware.

He pulled his hand back and threw knife and fork at me from the grips of his knuckles. I barely dodge it before jumping up and giving this fucker a piece of my mind.

“I thought we were past this!”

“You must learn once more” his voice was way to calm for the situation at hand. He just kept attacking you just barely dodged.

I thought he’d really help me and not this tough love bullshit he used to admire so much.

Your legs burned from running and jumping and your head was swimming, and it was all just so increasing loud.

I had had enough. Enough of him toying with me enough of his telling me he loves me and then spitting in face.

That’s when you felt it the fire crackling at your palm's bright green embers lite the whole area.

“Enough! I am tired of your bullshit! Tired of you treating me like shit to make yourself feel bigger. And tired of you abandoning me.” Before you knew what you had done the flames shot toward him. In that moment you knew what you looked like hellish is a simple description fiery green eyes with small slit pupils. Power radiating off your hands and chaos flowing through your veins. Although the flams hit nothing simply dissipating when in contact with the trees. No, he wasn’t there anymore he was behind you. Still too fast for you. You could feel him there just less than a foot behind you he was practically on your back. But all you could think about was sucking air back into your lungs. His hands came forward to wrap around your throat and midsection, his front pressed to your back. You could feel his heartbeat in tandem with yours. After all those years of being so powerful it’s felt so exhausting being powerless. That’s simple attack to everything out of you and all you could do was simply melt into him as he held you. Still heaving for air.

“Breath” his voice low you could feel the vibrations comping from his chest.

One word that’s all it took to ground you. Using magic like this is like a bad trip. Like you have poison flowing through your veins and you’re not sure of what’s really there and what isn’t, but he somehow finds a way to bring you back to earth. Pull you from the firey depths of the underworld. It’s not uncommon for dream demons to get lost in the power and chaos. Yet despite all odd somehow Sebastian found a way. He loosened his grip on your throat but letting go his voice was in your ear and your head on his shoulder.

“I fear your power might be worse off than I had imagined.”

You sigh my breath finally returning to me.

“Can you muster the strength to walk?” Lazily you nod my head he guides you up the stairs and and into the servants' corridors. To a small bare room. Riding out this high is going to leave you with a nasty head ach in the morning you’re sure of it. Before you know it, you’re tucked into bed. Gazing up at Sebastian through wet eyelashes and groggy thought the only thing that really came to mind was home. A home you were not born into but one forged by the fire that ended your once human life.

Pt.3

[dwreader]

A Meal to Remember by @iwtvfanevents

Part 2: I am suddenly Megan Ellison, a wealthy lesbian, my father is a billionaire who has allowed me to start my own production company to make films I want to see. Money is no object. Here are the fics I would adapt and who I would hire (bully into) directing.

1. Reformation by verseau - first of all, I would pay $1 billion to acquire the rights outcompeting Amazon, Netflix and Apple and I would make Betsy adapt the screenplay. I maintain this must be cinematic because Ldpdl’s hole needs to be experienced in 70mm imax AND I would not allow any countries to censor like they did to Florence’s boobs. This would be like an Eternal Sunshine/Blue Valentine/Two for the Road type romantic dramedy that jumps back and forth in time to show the couple’s struggles and progression, and the non-linear storytelling means it automatically becomes an Oscar frontrunner. I would try to hire Barry Jenkins first but he is occupied with The Lion King 2 at Disney so then I would go to Mia Hansen-Love to direct. Beyoncé does the soundtrack. I didn’t even have to ask her she just wanted to.

2. Part of Your World by weathermood - I will imprison Mr. Monsterfucker himself Guillermo Del Toro until he agrees to direct this film like I am Kathy Bates in Misery. He will read it and then be like okay I agree you don’t need to kidnap me I will make this movie. We are going full Avatar 2 level budget to make sure underwater scenes are believable cause I won’t tolerate bad Aquaman CGI. The budget balloons to $400m but that’s okay cause it makes $2.7b worldwide and there’s 2 sequels greenlit immediately cause the world wants to see Louis get pregnant.

3. A Potentiality for Corruption by vampdf - Guillermo is occupied with Part of Your World and its sequels now so I turn to Robert Eggers to help bring to life this gothic horror romance. It’s 3 hours long. Parts of it are in black and white and there’s aspect ratio changes that confuse and unsettle the audience. We debut at Cannes. We get a 47 minute standing ovation but also some walkouts and fainting in the crowd because some vanilla viewers couldn’t handle the ending, which is controversial but has everyone talking.

4. Cord of Communion by themasterletters- this has now become a #1 nyt best selling novel so we have a built in audience and they want it to be a tv show cause of its length and we can’t skip out on any important points. Every streamer wants it but I choose HBO cause of the prestige factor and I’m an Emmy whore. It becomes Sunday night essential viewing replacing Succession it’s like if The Idol was actually good. I hire many talented directors such as Raine Allen Miller (Rye Lane), Francis Lee (God’s Own Country), Gina Prince Bythewood (Beyond the Lights) and I make Rolin Jones be my showrunner. We sweep the Emmys. The episode where Lestat fires Louis becomes the new Red Wedding traumatizing millions.

5. Pieta by baberainbow - When iwtv the amc show ends, I hire Paul Verhoeven to direct a standalone sequel film based on this fic. It’s as insane as you could ever imagine. The Catholic Church is mad at us. It’s condemned by the Vatican and the anti-feminization police. They’re protesting outside our premiere like they did to Benedetta. It doesn’t matter cause it just makes the film an even bigger hit.

6. Hand to God by boltcutters - first I pay Ziska $1 billion to finish writing this. Then I go back in time to 1933 first to make Hollywood not adopt the Hays Code so we can have gay and interracial stuff in movies and then to 1946 so Howard Hawks can direct this Danlou version of The Big Sleep.

PSA: some of my links aren’t working cause I’m on my phone (on vaca) so please forgive me but y’all know where these fics are don’t lie!!!

[laundrypause]

Wait actually, Logan rookie agent and Alex veteran agent.

CW: Violence in gen. Think Mission Impossible

Logan goes on a mission for the first time and it goes so horribly wrong, he's benched and is demoted to desk duty. It's like "I almost killed my partner" bad. Then a few months goes by and he gets notice that he's finally been put out of his guilt and misery and he's going to go on a mission in a week's time. The problem though? He's going to get a new partner which is none other than Agent Alex Albon. Infamous for rising up to the top when nobody was expecting it, he's skilled in 3 different martial arts, a marksman and helped take down a notorious gang in his rookie year. So yea, no biggy. It's fine when they meet, Alex's funny but he's really, really sarcastic so sometimes Logan doesn't know if he's actually being serious or not and just awkwardly stammers out a laugh. Their dynamics is quite confusing to the other agents. Even so, Logan is not complaining at all. Anything to get him out of desk duty and truthfully, he doesn't really mind you know, working with Alex. Alex is nice. Really nice to look at to work with. When they do finally go on the mission, Logan assumed this would be an easy one. Just some plain ol' recon, still dangerous if you slip-up but not too life-threatening. And it was, that is until they saw something they shouldn't have seen and now their agency is getting threatened. But why should the agency care? They're called a secret impregnable fort for a reason, right? Wrong. The bad guys break into the agency guns blazing and overall 0/10 would not try again. There weren't any casualties, just a few minor injuries. The agency doesn't employ some of the most talented agents for no reason. Unless you count Logan getting shot in the arm and kidnapped a major injury. His kidnapper was a few inches shorter than him, had wispy blonde hair coming out of the black balaclava he was wearing and was pretty built. Had kind of a similar accent to Oscar but not. The agency tries to save him, keyword being tries because they did try, they just didn't see this unprecedented situation. Which was Alex moving to JOIN the bad guys??? Apparently he's a double agent which is great hahahaha, not like Logan had barred his soul to him or actually fallen for him or anything.... Yea, so the agency fails to save him because Alex takes out an honest to God syringe and plunges it into Logan's chest, embedding it deep into his body. Last thing Logan remembers before darkness overcomes him is a gunshot ringing but he can't find it himself to see who's hurt, he's ..just...so....tiiireddddd.........

"You're up"

Groaning, Logan rubs his head, trying to cease the throbbing headache he's currently experiencing.

"Would've woken up sooner if you didn't give me such a big dose. Trying to kill me Albon?"

Yea, so maybe Logan's a double agent too...whoopsie. He's just that good of an actor. [Cue my brainrot of actor Logan and driver Oscar or Alex, I'm not picky]

"Nah, I like your face too much to kill you Sarge"

"Right, if you two lovebirds don't mind, we've got work to do."

Logan takes notice of the man off to his left. He has one hand in his pocket and the other sweeping up his blond hair to the side, an exasperated look on his face.

"No wait, let's rewind back to when you literally shot me in the arm. What the fuck?"

"I needed to do it! People would've talked if you had only like one scratch"

"Oh and so you thought hmm a gunshot wound would be the next best choice?"

"Stop complaining man, our work isn't done yet. It's time we move on to phase 2."

[goldenempyrean]

i have a supergirl request for sick alex at the deo with prompt “Goodness, you look like your about to pass out.”   “Don't come too close. You don’t wanna catch this.”   And “It's chaos here. I can't just stop working because I have the sniffles.”  if thats okay? x female reader please

Wintertime Woes

〚 Notes - I am loving these Alex requests recently :D Also the amount of content I'm feeding you all with lately damn, I'm in my "let's write 95 stories in a day and don't sleep" era. Enjoy while it lasts :,)〛

〚 Pairing - Alex Danvers x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - During a flu outbreak at the DEO, Alex falls ill and tries to push through her responsibilities despite her worsening condition. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1200 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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Winter had always been Alex’s favourite season. The crisp, cool air and the occasional pile of unmeted snow that covered the curbs somehow always made her feel calm. She loved it all. However, there were inconveniences to the wintertime, namely slippery roads, frigid hands, and most prominently, sickness. 

The flu had been sweeping its way through the DEO - it was bound too this time of year. With so many agents working in such close contact it was almost impossible to avoid. Not matter their rank or importance, it eventually made its way round the squad’s and not even the Director herself was spared. 

Alex stood woozily in the control area, her hand clutching a crumpled-up tissue as she leant over the main desk, her other clumsily rubbing at her temple. She looked awful. Your soft hand came to slide round her waist from behind and the exhausted woman sank into your touch. 

She coughed into her tissue, “Don’t come too close, you don’t want to catch this.” Alex warned through her croaking voice, yet she made no effort to move away. 

“I’ll take that risk. You weren’t sick this morning, what happened?” You mumbled worriedly, burying your head into her neck, prompting her to rest her head against yours. 

“The flu is characterised by a rapid on-set of symptoms. It’s been spreading like wildfire around here, you know that.” Alex whispered before her voice broke off into a hitch. 

You felt her body tense up, and you quickly reached for a nearby tissue box, pulling out a fresh one and handing it to her just in time. Alex sneezed loudly, and you could tell she was trying her best to suppress it, but her body couldn't hold it back any longer. 

“Bless you!” Kara called out as she came flying into the building (she’d just finished assisting the fire department with an accident downtown) 

“And again, my my, bless you love.” You repeated her sister’s words, gently rubbing Alex's back as she sneezed for the second time. Her body felt warm against your touch, and you knew she was hopelessly fighting a fever. 

"Thanks," Alex rasped weakly, her voice flooded with congestion as she pulled out of your hold to grab some tissues to blow her rapidly reddening nose.  

"It's chaos here. I can't just stop working because I have the sniffles," Alex replied with a weak smile, trying to maintain her composure despite feeling so unwell. She knew her responsibilities at the DEO were crucial, after all, without her there to manage and dispatch agents who would keep things running smoothly? 

She was stubborn, that was sure. It took another hour of misery before Alex reluctantly gave in and gave shuffling into the room where you were training some new recruits. 

“Alright guys, that’s enough for today.” You dismissed the group, letting them leave the room before opening your arms and letting the feverish woman fold into them, “Your breathing sounds awful y’know.” You sighed, at the small raspy breathes coming from the woman in your hold. 

“I’ve been told.” She muttered, keeping herself close to you, sniffling against your shoulder. 

You shook your head lightly, “We should get you laying down. Come on.” 

She continued to sniffle and sneeze as you gently guided her towards the infirmary. Her steps were slow and unsteady as the two of you made your way. Though you practically had to carry her up the stairs the two of you finally got her there, being met at the door by Kara and Lena. 

“I called her,” Kara explained as Alex curled herself onto one of the medical beds. 

Lena approached with a concerned expression, placing a hand on Alex's forehead before scanning a thermometer along her brow. "39 degrees, you're burning up, Alex. You should’ve rested when you first felt this coming on.” She said softly, glancing at you with gratitude for bringing Alex to the infirmary. 

Kara hovered nearby, her super hearing detecting Alex's irregular breathing and rapid heartbeat. "I'll grab some water and a cool cloth," she suggested, zipping away and returning quickly with the items. 

You stayed by Alex's side, gently wiping her forehead with the cool cloth as Kara handed her a glass of water. "Try to drink a little,love. It might help with the fever," you encouraged, giving her a reassuring smile as she held your hand, rubbing her thumb over your own. 

Alex took a few sips, but it was evident that she was struggling to keep herself composed. "I... I hate being so out of commission," she admitted weakly, her eyes showing a mix of frustration and vulnerability. 

Lena spoke softly, her caring tone trying to comfort her friend, “You need rest to recover properly. I’ve seen how hard you work yourself here, nobody’s going to forget that if you take a few days to look after yourself for a change.” 

Kara nodded in agreement, sitting by Alex's side. "We'll take care of the DEO for now. You just focus on getting better," she said, giving you an affirming nod. 

With concern etched on your face, you gently squeezed Alex's hand. "They're right, Alex. The DEO will be okay, and we'll handle things while you rest. You need to prioritize your health now." 

Alex's tired eyes softened as she looked at you, appreciating the support from her friends and you. "Okay," she finally relented, realizing that she couldn't keep pushing herself like this. "But promise me you'll keep me updated on everything?" 

"We promise," Lena replied, speaking for both her and Kara. "You can count on us." 

Kara placed a reassuring hand on Alex's shoulder. "And I'll keep checking in on you, Lena’s gonna write you a prescription for some Tamiflu, I’ll pick it up and drop it off for you tonight. 

With that said, you helped the shivering Director from the bed, letting her lean fully against you as you led her from the building. Where a DEO issued car was already waiting to pick you both up. 

During the ride, Alex gave into her exhaustion and fell asleep against your shoulder. You held her close, running your hand through her silky hair. By the time you’d reached her studio, Alex was completely passed out. Nothing short of a city-wide invasion would be waking her now.  

Carrying her up to her room, you made sure to tuck her safely into bed, gently pulling off her uniform and changing her into some softer, more comfortable clothes before climbing into the open space beside her, smiling as even in her sleep she snuggled up beside you. 

“Sleep well baby.” You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her head, “and you will be definitely taking a sick day tomorrow, Director Danvers.” 

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[profoundbondfanfic]

Do you have any fics that a very gender? Very confronts toxic masculinity in a moving way? Bonus points for 🏳️‍⚧️

I have to say it was a bit of a challenge to decode this ask so we've decided to do something general and hopefully some of these are what you were asking for. Here are some recs with fics that feature trans!characters in a meaningful way or focus on gender roles.

Fem in a Black Leather Jacket by bleuzombie [Mature, 5k words] #trans!dean

Dean has done the work to be comfortable with who himself but some reassurance from his boyfriend Castiel goes a long way as they head to a concert. Dean never dreamed he would be so lucky to find someone who could love him for all of him, panties and all.

love in the time of quarantine by sharkfish [Explicit, 6k words] #trans!castiel

Dean says, “We should have sex.” Cas chokes and looks up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.” “We should have sex,” Dean repeats, carefully enunciating each word. Cas keeps staring at him blankly. “It’s fun and you’re hot. Perfect quarantivity.”

Made Manifest by schmerzerling [Mature, 6k words] #trans!dean

Wherein Castiel defied God for Dean before Dean even knew his name.

Mira Mira by vipjuly [Teen, 22k words] #gender fluidity

Castiel is forced to retire from being the world's most prolific and successful hired gun. He gets dropped off at Winchester B&B with a vague notion to 'find himself', but he's having a hard time understanding first of all: what that means, and secondly: how to even do that. The proprietor of Winchester B&B, Dean, a retired ex Fed, seems to have some ideas of his own.

Novaks, Rebooted by violue [Explicit, 57k words] #trans!claire

A single father, his trans daughter, a whole new life in The Golden State.

Sometimes You Have to Lose to Win by zeppazariel [Explicit, 55k words] #trans!dean

The thing is, Dean is okay with being bisexual. He’s come to terms with it, ya know? He’s got eyes, and he can see that men are hot sometimes; whatever, not a big deal. He’s perfectly fine with it. In theory. Not so much in practice. Dudes are a no-no, outside of looking. He’s not budging on this one, so it’s with confidence that he announces, “There ain’t a guy in the world who’s going to change my mind, Sam.” “You’re tempting the universe to make fun of you again,” Sam sing-songs. “The universe doesn’t have shit to do with this,” Dean argues. Sam hums. “Whatever you say, man.” But, as it turns out, the universe has a lot to do with this, and it never really misses a chance to mock him, drag him down, kick him while he’s curled into a fetal position, then take him out back and shoot him while laughing cruelly at his misery. Meeting Cas is precisely what that feels like.

BONUS: a/b/o fics that focus on gender roles

Aromatic Adjectives Need Not Apply by JessJesstheBest [Teen, 4k words]

Castiel was an Alpha, despite what everyone always guessed upon meeting him. He was tall, and he had the stern and imposing profile, but, to most people, those Alpha traits were where it ended. He had a lithe, runner’s frame, with trim waist and thick thighs. “Child-bearing hips” he’d been told. Though, obviously, no children would be born of him. This scuffling man, though. He was... round. Potentially child-bearing. And Castiel was sure his true mate wasn’t either of the other two men. Or Castiel is an Alpha that doesn't believe in true mates but sniffs one out anyway.

Butch by tiamatv [Explicit, 54k words]

When the flower shop owner sweeps his fingers through his hair, he nearly knocks the flowers tucked behind his left ear off; he spends a fussy moment readjusting them with both hands. “I don’t need to be rescued. Especially not by a stranger.” Sheesh. Touchy. But since Dean would have flashed fangs if anyone had thought he couldn’t take care of his own damned self, he can’t be throwing any stones. He shrugs—big and exaggerated, both hands up. "Not sayin’ you did. Look, not your fault that God put alpha brains at the base of their dicks." The lowered blue eyes snap back to his. Flower Boy inhales with his lips parted, all pretense at not sniffing Dean out gone, and his eyes go wider. Dean might not dress or act or look like any kind of sweet little omega, but he knows just what he smells like: really fucking inviting.

Oddly Shaped Empty by jemariel [Explicit, 65k words]

Dean grew up thinking -- knowing -- he'd be an alpha. Until he failed to present. As a beta, he has no mating cycle, no noticeable pheromones, none of the physical markers that are so important in a world of alphas and omegas. He's out of place. How is he supposed to navigate his relationships and find love when he doesn't fit into the neatly-defined boxes he's used to? By the time he meets his new roommate, Castiel, he's more or less given up on finding a mate. He wears his secondary gender like a chip on his shoulder. But you never know what the future holds, who will come into your life, and how they might change it forever..... Queer themes, finding identity, reconciling the past, and a whole lot of smut.

[miseries-mistress]

WE SHOULD BE LOVERS | CHRISTIAN

Synopsis: Christian didn't quite know how he ended up in the electrifying atmosphere of the Moulin Rouge when he should be at his typewriter, lost in his own story, but he had caved upon his friend's consistent begging for him to step away. Now he was subjected to a glass of mediocre alcohol, but something across the room, something that would forever alter the course of his life, caught his attention; you.  

Warnings: female reader, the reader works at the moulin rouge, sex work, christian is love-struck, little bit of angst, fluff. W/C: 3579

Notes: i promise i'll write some of ewan's less popular characters. when i wrote this, i had just watched this movie and had a ton of writing inspiration. this could be better, tbh

em masterlist

Christian could safely say his entire life revolved around love. Without love, he had no purpose, simply existing between the world of the living and existing. Without love, he would have remained in London, taking a job as any man would, completing the endless cycle of disdain without the heart to change it. Without love, Christian would be no more than any other man.

All he needed was to love and be loved in return. 

It wasn't until his eyes befell a beautiful woman dressed in what appeared to be silk for the appearance of men that he truly understood his words; you.

You stopped his heart from beating in his chest, you slowed down time, and you brought him on top of a cloud- free from the world and the misery it brought on your lives. In his eyes, you were the symbol of beauty and all things divine; in that instance, you became everything.

Your body swayed with the beat of the music, lips parted, tainted with layers of makeup, your voice lost in the sea of hundreds, or what felt like hundreds. Although you lacked a genuine smile, Christian could tell from your carefree expression that the Moulin Rouge was your home, and he was merely a spectator to bear witness to your love. 

Toulouse, beside him, nudged his ribs, but Christian refused to rip his gaze away and meet his friend's, afraid that if he took his eyes off you for a second, you would vanish into the ocean of brightly colored dancers. 

While he wanted to memorize every detail of your face with a brush of his hand, reality dunked him head-first into frigid water and back into real life. He needed a name; he needed yours. 

"Have you found someone?" Toulouse asks while Christian's eyes remain hardened on your twisting figure as you turn over on a man's lap. An unprecedented flood of jealousy sweeps him off his feet, the force of it surprising even him. That should be him with his hands roaming over your delicate figure, drawing lines across the skin sheened with sweat. His lips should be caressing your skin, pulling ragged breaths from your lips that were parted so sweetly- 

He threw his head back, chasing the lust-corrupted thoughts back into the box in the back of his mind, sealing it shut with a deep breath. A part of him didn't know where these feelings had sprung from. For heaven's sake, he didn't even know your name. Yet he found himself infatuated with your every move, yearning for your pretty lashes to flutter over to where he was seated. 

"Yes," he whispered an answer to his friend's question, watching with dilated pupils as you and the tens of other dancers lowered themselves onto their knees before their partner. "Who is she?"

Toulouse followed his friend's eye line and sighed when he saw your face. Of course, Christian would be interested in you. 

You, Harold's songbird, a woman with the voice of an angel but the heart of a sinner. Anyone who had ever been to the Moulin Rouge had heard of you, but very few got the privilege of actually meeting you, for you only held private meetings with the wealthiest due to your status. There was no way you would ever agree to meet with a writer, one as new as Christian, no less. 

"That's Songbird," Toulouse shook his head knowingly while Christian reveled over your name. Somehow that seemed to fit you perfectly. It matched your flowy, graceful voice that peaked above the rest as you twirled around the man, your hips moving to the music pounding in his ears, drowning out the sinful thoughts he tried so desperately to tame. 

Toulouse swirled the drink clutched in his hand before downing the liquor. He would find a way to arrange a meeting with Songbird and Christian, even if it was the last thing he ever did. 

—

Christian isn't entirely sure how Toulouse arranged a meeting with you. He just told Christian to go to a specific building and what room it was. Christian shook his head, dispelling those thoughts. He should be focused on the opportunity he was presented with as he followed Toulouse's directions until he was led to a run-down building. The paint was peeling off the sides, revealing the stained brick underneath as the light that was supposed to illuminate the name of it flickered once, then twice before flickering off. Women roamed the streets in corsets and other scandalously-clad clothing next to the building, and feelings began to brew in his gut when Christian realized what kind of building this was; a brothel. Despite his trepidation, he entered, slightly astounded that the receptionist didn't even bother to look up from his book, allowing Christian through and up the stairs. 

205. Christian searched the worn-down plaques outside the rooms, his mind wandering as he did. What was he going to say to you? You had never seen him before, yet Christian was preparing to confess his infatuation with you. He felt nothing less than stupid, the regret already being to bleed into his skin and seep into his bones. On top of that, you would never reciprocate his feelings, you didn't know him, and your job prevented him from doing so. 

Maybe if he just talked to you, things would work out okay. He's a poet. He could do this. 

Unbeknownst to him, you had caught his gaze locked onto you from across the room the moment you entered. You were nothing less than intrigued when you found him staring so intently at you. Of course, he must not have seen your wandering gaze, but that didn't matter. What caught your attention the most was his young and youthful face, for most of the men that entered were well into their thirties, but what pulled your attention to him was his eyes. They weren't dull or ridden with lust but glistening with an emotion you don't think you've ever encountered before. You knew you couldn't go up to him, putting aside the man driving his grimy hands over your body, but how you simply longed to speak with him. No one would ever want to talk of you. This was a brothel in Montmartre, for fucks sake. No one came here just to chat.

Christian halted outside the room, double-checking the piece of paper with the room name scribbled on it. He twisted the doorknob, and to his immense surprise, it clicked and opened, creaking on its hinges. Christian took notice of the room with brightly colored walls, varying decorations spread sporadically, and the neatly cleaned bed with freshly fluffed pillows. It seemed to capture the spirit of the Moulin Rouge, your spirit, and he thought it fit you perfectly. The door clicked shut behind him, and he set his hat on the rack by the door, his ears perking at the sound of gentle footsteps.

"And I thought the writer was never planning to show." You emerged from the curtains, your hair cascading over your bare shoulders, and he had to force his eyes away from descending any lower down your stature dripping with lace. 

"Oh, hi, I-I'm Christian." He steps into the room, watching you stalk towards him. You were glad you could hide your emotions so well because the shock would have been written all over your face. It's the same man from before, the one that had caught your eye. A part of you was saddened by the revelation that he would be gone before sunrise, disappearing into the night without a trace of him for you to cling to, but that's just how these things work, and it was even more silly for you to get your hopes up of pursuing something more than a short-lived exchange steeped in impiety. You just had to play your role, receive your money, and you would remain off the street for another day. You had to focus on that, not the dashing man with a name that rolled off his tongue so easily it sent goosebumps down your arms. 

"Songbird," you replied, and Christian felt like he was going to evaporate then and there. Your voice was marred with seduction, but it trickled with honey and Gods; even your voice was pretty. Then, you place a hand on his chest, and Christian battles the urge to step back, completely baffled by the connection. 

"What's your real name?" he inquires, breathless at the contact, his eyes roaming over your face touched with enticement, which he longs to pepper with kisses. 

The question startles you in a way nothing has before. No one had ever bothered to ask your real name, content with your cleverly crafted persona, and somewhere hidden beneath the many layers of your skin, your heart involuntarily flutters. Most men by now would be discarding your clothes with haste, having their way with you, yet this man– Christian, was actually talking to you. It was like he knew you longed for meaningful interaction with him, and you welcomed the change.  

You chuckle and pull your hand free. "You need not worry about that now, my dear," you purr, sliding your hand up Christian's chest to the collar of his shirt. 

Much to your surprise, Christian stumbles back, his eyes those of a frightened animal while they seem to meet everything but yours. Now you're confused. Isn't that what he came here for? Or unless you did something wrong? You swallow the lump that seems to be growing in your throat. You can't mess this up. Everything depends on your customers and the money they bring. 

"That's not what I meant. I wanted to know who you were because..." Christian trails off, his voice sheepish. 

"I saw you dancing earlier, and I was infatuated with you." You raised an eyebrow, pacing around the man, practically trembling with anxious energy. Did he really feel the same, or was this careful deception that you were too blind to see?

"Really now?" Christian was at a loss for words, for all his poetic speech was lost upon him. Why couldn't he think straight? He surely didn't expect, out of all things you could have said, that you would question his confession. The nagging insecurity he so fruitlessly tried to oppress wondered if he was doing this right. All he wanted to do was know more about you and fall deeper into the spiral of... love? Is that what he was feeling? He craved love, the experience, the feelings, the affections, all of it, and now in the face of it, he found it hard to piece together a couple of coherent words. Quite typical of him to mess up such a chance.  

"Yes. I saw you dancing, and I was amazed by it."

"I seem to have that effect on people."

"You were breathtaking– I mean, you are breathtaking. I just wanted to find a way to talk to you." You were growing more fascinated by the second. Did all he really want to do was talk? Did he not care about sleeping with you? No, you shook your head. Of course, he wanted to sleep with you. That's what he was paying for. You internally slapped yourself. Why would you ever foolishly think he could want anything else but sex? 

"You sure all you want to do is talk?" you suggest seductively, purring as your hands run down his side. It was undeniable now that Christian was much more charming than all the rest. Ebony strands that hung neatly and delicately fall over his pale complexion, and you fight the impulse to run your hands through them.

Wait…

You shook that preposterous thought from your mind. Christian is nothing more than a customer who will leave before sunrise only to never return. Though you had to admit, his demeanor was far from what you usually encounter. While he held an embarrassed half-quirked smile, there was a hint of cheekiness behind it, almost boyish. His eyes were a strange, impossibly soft blue with flecks of silver amidst the penetrating rays of the moon, glittering like a thousand of the brightest stars. His cheeks flush a hazy shade of pink at the question you had forgotten you asked. 

"I'm sure," he nodded stiffly. Christian debated whether to touch you, but his nervousness seemed to temporarily disappear with your hands roving over his chest. His hand moved to push back the hair that strayed into your enrapturing eyes, and your breath caught in your throat. The touch was so gentle. You've been touched before many times in your life, but you can't recall an instance where the touch felt innocent, pure. Even with the slightest bit of conversation exchanged, you felt yourself falling deeper into the velvet of his voice, entranced by the validity of his words. 

"I truly do admire you, and if it's okay, I would like to get to know you better because…because I think I'm in love with you." You chuckled, lifting his chin with the point of your finger. You've heard this confession from more men than you could count. It was refreshing from the stern and cold attitudes you seemed to encounter more and more often, but it was different, exciting even for men to believe so much into your persona of a temptress. While it gives you hope for a better feature, it leaves your male counterparts embarrassed, either stabbing away in a furry or apologizing bumblingly. 

"Thank you, Christian, but I can't love." Christian stepped back, and you barely contained your disappointment, the crease between your eyebrows deepening as he looked stricken, if not appalled, by your confession. 

"You can't love? A life without love is existing between the lines of the living and dead. A life without love–"

"-keeps me off the streets, Christian," you mused, smoothing out his dress shirt. It was endearing how passionate he was about love, a feeling you couldn't quite wrap your head around, for you've never seen what love looks like. You've heard stories from the other girls about the weightlessness of love or the singular greatest feeling of genuine joy it brings them, but you've never seen it or felt it, for that matter. Your parents were no example of what love is, as told by the other girls, and living in a brothel surely is no accurate representation of it. So what was love, really? A feeling? A sensation? A reaction? Was it like hope or lust? Or was it fear that seemed to twist inside your gut at the thought of him leaving?

"Love is what lifts us up into where we belong!"

"Love doesn't pay or bring food to the table, Christian." 

You didn't understand why you were arguing with him about love. Sure he had caught your attention, but you couldn't comprehend why you were indulging in a fantasy you didn't belong in. It was ridiculous, and if you two weren't intending to sleep together, then he was just wasting your time. You needed the money, your rent bill was due, and you were fifteen dollars short, which also happened to be the amount your customers paid for your service. You needed the money, and that was the cold, sobering truth. 

You took a step away from him, but he swung around you. 

"All you need is love, Songbird."  

"You're a writer! If you can't pay, then–"

"Give me one night," his voice dropped an octave. The silkiness of it sent you dissolving into a puddle of stricken desire on the floor. His lopsided smile never dropped; if possible, it brightened at your breathless expression.

"I can't, Christian. My life demands–"

"Then run away with me."

"We just met!"

"I don't see why that has to stop us."

"You don't even know my real name."

"Only because you won't tell me."

"There's no way because you can't pay." His smile dropped, and you could see the gears turning in his head, straining to think of anything to get you to stay. He knew you felt the same as him; he saw it in your eyes and demeanor, but your job prohibited it. If he could put the material idea of money aside, he knew you could be happy with him. He just needed one chance to get you to stay. Call him a love-sick fool, but he wouldn't give up on you. This connection, like electricity coursing through his very being when he was around you, set his soul alight, and now he was burning with that same passion. 

"Just one night, in the name of love, just one night." 

You found yourself giggling as he twirled around, finding his way back into your eyes. His irises were so expressive with a mixture of childish wonder and fantasy with swirls of adoration doting within his playful demeanor. This was not how it was supposed to go. You weren't supposed to fall in love with a customer. You needed to eat and afford your rent. You couldn't do that and the Moulin Rouge if you indulged in your fascination. 

"It's impossible." That was the right thing to do. You dismissed the thought entirely before you ran away with it because you knew that if you stayed any longer within Christian's intoxicating presence, you would never leave and bind yourself to the endless devotion of love. 

"All you need is love," he sang sweetly, his breath inches from the shell of your ear, sending an array of goosebumps down your arm. You froze. The erratic beating of your heart pounding in your ears was all you could hear before his lips parted, releasing a breath that traveled straight down your spine, fogging your head with an unfamiliar haze of an even more unfamiliar emotion. "Don't you see, darling?"

You had to stop, push the man away, and find someone willing to pay for your services. Before you knew it, the back of Christian's hand faintly touched your face, running down it briefly. His touch was as light as a feather, like he feared you would break. You could get used to this feeling of being loved by a man who only wanted you to return his affections. His hand lingered for a moment longer before returning to his side, the phantom of his touch the only reminder that it was real. You felt yourself being drawn in, dizzy under his intoxicating presence, engrossed in his sparkling eyes that seemed to dazzle even brighter under the moonlight seeping through the curtains. 

"Don't leave me this way. Your tantalizing touches breathe life into my soulless body." 

"You would think I would possess enough sense to turn away." 

His lips quirked into a crooked grin, bringing butterflies erupting from the depths of your stomach. "You would think so."

You can't... 

The bitter reality brought you crashing down from your euphoric high. You wouldn't be able to make any money, and Christian certainly couldn't support two people, no matter how talented he is. You take a step back, away from the center of the room. You can't.

"We can't. It's unrealistic, a reality we cannot afford to indulge in." You dropped your gaze. Not so deep down, you knew your words were empty, but you had already fallen too deep into the rabbit hole to climb back now. 

Christian's face dropped, his heart sinking into his stomach. As selfish as it may sound, he needed you, your love, your touch, your body, everything. He needed it deep within his soul. He longed with every fiber of his being for that feeling of being loved in return so much, so he was afraid it was blinding him. But how could the love he harbored for you be so wrong when all he wanted to do was envelop you within his embrace and whisper words of reassurance into your ear? 

"Just one night," he whispered in a desperate plea, his eyes squeezing together while you felt your back hit the wall, sliding over your exposed skin. "One night to show you where love will lift us up to."

Every thought concerning the future was haphazardly thrown from your mind leaving you breathless in the present. There was no need to worry about money, security, housing, or any of it while Christian looked at you so dearly. 

"What if I fall?" your voice comes out as a whisper as your eyes find his freshly shinned shoes. Christian's calloused forefinger slips underneath your chin, raising your head, so your eyes meet his, and you discover a sense of solace among them.  

"Then I'll catch you when we land."

[blackjackkent]

I was right - Hope got the whole crew in peasant gear.

I like that she made Hector and Karlach match and Jaheira and Minsc match. Very apropos. The leather vest thing that Hector and Karlach are wearing actually doesn't look half bad.

The room up ahead is the one to which Raphael brought the group when we first met him, and it's, uh, not looking so hot now.

The table is still heaped high with plates, but the food on it is spoiled and rotten, swarming with flies. Several of the chairs are broken or tipped over, and several of them hold skeletons that have clearly been here for some time.

"This place is all entrances and no exits..." mumbles a drifting spirit passing through the room.

An animated skeleton labeled "Infernal Mason" is sweeping up the floor, although I'm not sure it's having much effect.

"Another sorry soul come to wander these halls," it growls as Hector approaches. "What do you seek?"

"I need to find the Archive," Hector says carefully.

"I cannot help you," the skeleton rumbles. "This is not my home, even if I can never leave."

Hector relaxes slightly. This creature seems unthreatening, if not particularly helpful. "What ties you to the House of Hope?" he asks.

"I was an architect in life," the skeleton says with an air of regretful nostalgia. "A builder of tombs and temples, but mostly of towers. My proudest work reached for the stars and sought to dry Selune's tears. It was a monument to life and to virtue, and a happy home to my master for many years."

[SELUNE] "A life with Our Lady of Silver is a good life," Hector agrees gravely.

"It was a good life," the revenant says sadly. "I only wish our Lady had not averted her gaze from us. When tragedy came, my master fell into darkness and despair. He marshalled a great army to ruin the world and bring all into shadow. I could not let it happen."

Hector's head lifts and his eyes widen slightly. A great army...to bring all into shadow... This creature is speaking of Ketheric Thorm. Of the Moonrise Towers, those architectural wonders that became the home to abomination.

"I sought out the devil Raphael and signed an infernal pact with him," says the architect. "He promised to destroy my master's army, and I promised him my soul in return. The devil was true to his word. Fiends slaughtered my master's forces, but he endured somehow, and blighted the land..."

Hector nods slowly. Yes - he knows this tale, or of it at least. Halsin has spoken of the original battle against Ketheric a century ago, and Raphael has made reference more than once to having had a hand in the drama and misery of the shadow-cursed lands.

He glances at Jaheira, who is watching the undead creature with an intense, unblinking gaze. When she doesn't speak, he does instead, asking, "This is a familiar tale. Are you the architect of Moonrise Towers?"

"You know my work?" The architect laughs, a hacking, rasping sound. "Oh, I am glad that it endures... Perhaps you also have the misfortune of knowing my master - General Ketheric Thorm."

Hector smiles humorlessly. Yes, he knows Ketheric. He knows the terrible thing that Thorm became after this creature's actions, too. But it would ease no suffering to tell any of that, so he holds his tongue. All he says is, "Ketheric is no more. I killed him."

"Then all came to pass as I had hoped," the architect says eagerly, and Hector can see its bearing straighten with some new hope, "though a century too late for my family and friends. Your actions may have justified the price of my soul. I thank you." A slight pause, and then, "Tell me - what became of my pride? What became of Moonrise Towers?"

Hector considers his answer for a moment before answering. He dislikes deception, and yet to tell truly of the state of the Towers when he left them would be cruel, for the place was full of mutated flesh and dead bodies and blood, a blasphemy against the goddess to which it was originally raised.

"The tower still stands," he finally says slowly. "But it is a hollow place now."

The skeleton nods slowly in acknowledgement. "Perhaps one day, new life will find it," it rasps softly. "Thank you." It points down the corridor. "Now go. Finish your business here, and leave while you can."

[dykemcqueen]

Just wanted to say I love it when you talk about your turmoil watching Rick and Morty. Or just Rick and Morty in general. I've tried getting into the show one or two times and I really can't get past like half a season in. I've never been really big on the adult animation genre (tbh I just, really hate the humor) BUT Rick and Morty just sounds SO good and terrible and beyond fucked up. Don't know if I'll ever watch it but, I just wanted to say I rlly enjoy ur second-hand Rick and Morty misery. So thank you

LMAOOOO this means a lot to me that you notice and care <3 as you can tell, unfortunately, r&m takes up an enormous part of my life and brain; it makes me miserable and fucked up; it causes madness and hysteria and midsommar-type scream-sobbing etc etc. i love it so much. if you're ever interested in it, the humor in r&m gets a lot better past s1, but def there's some stuff to slog thru periodically.

i would rank the seasons but the thing about r&m is there's a mix of character eps, sci-fi concept eps, adventure eps, Big Arc eps, funny silly eps, etc., and they overlap in different ways. so it depends on what you're into. in general though: s3(e1-8) for best overall, end of s5 through end of s7 for most consistent character work, specific s1 + s2 eps for the classics. s4 has maybe 3 good episodes. btw s6 onward has selfcest lesbians. if youre into that

what i love about r&m most is that it's brutal bitter throat-grasping codependency at its finest. we all laugh at the silly scifi show heehee but at its very heart is this sweeping, violent, almost awe-inspiring enmeshment... this cycle of possessiveness and jealousy and need... they are a strange, strange duo to put together from the start; there are a lot of hoops to jump through in order to keep them together; meanwhile morty is being shaped by rick in so many different ways even as rick grows and changes; as a result there are so many fascinating developments & power plays & shocking fucked up displays of codependency. they seriously haunt me. yes i am miserable. yes i am happy to share that with you all. in fact i couldn't help it if i tried

[wewontdieunbloomed]

this is part two of unlearning the bad things i unconsciously learnt from last year.

part one was the negative default pessimism i fall in to, which i keep calling it me being emo which means i dwell in my “misery” for far too long, instead of trying to think of something positive to get myself moving out of the bad zone i am in. as we are often told, sadness and negativity gets comforting, it feels like you are protecting yourself. but one cannot see beauty in life and find joy for oneself if one does not make oneself vulnerable.

and so making myself vulnerable is what ive been doing. trying to romanticise this state that im in, a liminal space, at crossroads. its not the most ideal, too many things are unknown and for the first time in my life im dealing with having barely any structure to my days, with nothing to do yet so much i should do.

it took me quite a while to stop lamenting this unknown and start returning to the foundations i built this blog and my entire philosophy off, the whole concept of “lest we die unbloomed” of making sure i dont realise one day ive wasted my time. and in small parts i like to think ive made progress on that

the focus now is the second part. i lost a lot of my attention span and impulse control, and today i reached a horrible point where i am sitting on the kitchen floor at 9 with no dinner, having ruined my microwave dinner out of a lack of common sense. i am not sure if all this recent muddling is because of covid brain fog or the horrifying amount of screen time i have had recently, but i was so sick of it. i have done a lot of things on impulse recently, and though today i had a really fulfilling day spending time with people i havent in a long time, when i got home and im back to reality of the things i havent done and been procrastinating for too long on, i felt horrible. this need to change, i realised.

so this is part two. it calls back to one of the values i set as something important to myself, being honest with myself. i know what im doing now is not working. i know that even though i use my planner im not sticking to it. i know my todo lists are not helping me. then why do i stubbornly stick to methods i know dont work? i told myself a year ago i would not change my system if it doesnt need to be changed. i have forgotten that i need to change it when it does. how silly! so im changing.

so in the last 2 hours in order to get myself up ive written todo lists on paper instead of in my journal. used a timer for every single step from shower to sweeping the floor to brushing my teeth. enough lazing around and letting simple things occupy too much time. its a parkinsons law thing.

enough doomscrolling and opening instagram when i have nothing to do. im setting a limit for a block of time in the day where i am not allowed to use social media, pwrhaps not any internet at all. i need to make drastic change, even if it seems inconsequential. it might not be academic but its personal. and my personal life and what i want to do with my time is worth taking big measures for, because it should be more important than all that revision for exams i used to do.

so the point f this ramble is to clear things out with myself. make some sense of whats goijg on. have a direction. tomorrow i have an interview. ill come home and do the chores i have to. prepare for my afternoon activity. go for lunch and my afternoon appointment. go for a run. buy dinner. write my applications. research on uni stuff. read a book. and all the other tint things i need to give more importance to even though they seem inconsequential. it sa new mantra ive gotten into ever since part one of this. that “this is the way” this is the new way. enough lazing. its time to go hard and be rurhless. take things up a notch because when else can i do it? go big from experiences to measures i have to take to discipline myself. this is the way.

04.04.2023

[readerbookclub]

Hello everyone! This month I'm bringing back the "A Trip To..." series. Last time we went on a trip to Ireland, and this time we're going to Brazil! This is a list full of novels that take place in Brazil, and are written by Brazilian writers. Thank you so much to someone who suggested this to me in our last survey.

As always, don't forget to vote for our next book using the link at the bottom of the post. Onto the books!

Blood-Drenched Beard, by Daniel Galera and translated by Alison Entrekin

—So why did they kill him? —I’m getting there. Patience, tchê. I wanted to give you the context. Because it’s a good story, isn’t it?

A young man’s father, close to death, reveals to his son the true story of his grandfather’s death, or at least the truth as he knows it. The mean old gaucho was murdered by some fellow villagers in Garopaba, a sleepy town on the Atlantic now famous for its surfing and fishing. It was almost an execution, vigilante style. Or so the story goes.

It is almost as if his father has given the young man a deathbed challenge. He has no strong ties to home, he is ready for a change, and he loves the seaside and is a great ocean swimmer, so he strikes out for Garopaba, without even being quite sure why. He finds an apartment by the water and builds a simple new life, taking his father’s old dog as a companion. He swims in the sea every day, makes a few friends, enters into a relationship, begins to make inquiries.

But information doesn’t come easily. A rare neurological condition means that he doesn’t recognize the faces of people he’s met, leading frequently to awkwardness and occasionally to hostility. And the people who know about his grandfather seem fearful, even haunted. Life becomes complicated in Garopaba until it becomes downright dangerous.

Spilt Milk, by Chico Buarque and translated by Alison Entrekin

As Eulalio Assumpcao lies dying in a Brazilian public hospital, his daughter and the attending nurses are treated--whether they like it or not--to his last, rambling monologue. Ribald, hectoring, and occasionally delusional, Eulalio reflects on his past, present, and future--on his privileged, plantation-owning family; his father's philandering with beautiful French whores; his own half-hearted career as a weapons dealer; the eventual decline of the family fortune; and his passionate courtship of the wife who would later abandon him. As Eulalio wanders the sinuous twists and turns of his own fragmented memories, Buarque conjures up a brilliantly evocative portrait of a man's life and love, set in the broad sweep of vivid Brazilian history.

The Hour of the Star, by Clarice Lispector translated by Benjamin Moser

Narrated by the cosmopolitan Rodrigo S.M., this brief, strange, and haunting tale is the story of Macabéa, one of life's unfortunates. Living in the slums of Rio and eking out a poor living as a typist, Macabéa loves movies, Coca-Colas, and her rat of a boyfriend; she would like to be like Marilyn Monroe, but she is ugly, underfed, sickly and unloved. Rodrigo recoils from her wretchedness, and yet he cannot avoid the realization that for all her outward misery, Macabéa is inwardly free/She doesn't seem to know how unhappy she should be. Lispector employs her pathetic heroine against her urbane, empty narrator—edge of despair to edge of despair—and, working them like a pair of scissors, she cuts away the reader's preconceived notions about poverty, identity, love and the art of fiction. 

Captains of the Sand, by Jorge Amado translated by Gregory Rabassa

They call themselves “Captains of the Sands,” a gang of orphans and runaways who live by their wits and daring in the torrid slums and sleazy back alleys of Bahia. Led by fifteen-year-old “Bullet,” the band—including a crafty liar named “Legless,” the intellectual “Professor,” and the sexually precocious “Cat”—pulls off heists and escapades against the right and privileged of Brazil. But when a public outcry demands the capture of the “little criminals,” the fate of these children becomes a poignant, intensely moving drama of love and freedom in a shackled land.

The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas, by Machado De Assis and translated by Flora Thompson-DeVeaux

The ghost of a decadent and disagreeable aristocrat decides to write his memoir. He dedicates it to the worms gnawing at his corpse and tells of his failed romances and halfhearted political ambitions, serves up harebrained philosophies, and complains with gusto from the depths of his grave. Wildly imaginative, wickedly witty, and ahead of its time, the novel has been compared to the work of everyone from Cervantes to Sterne to Joyce to Nabokov to Borges to Calvino, and has influenced generations of writers around the world.

Please vote for our next book here.

[avelera]

I think one reason I have trouble picturing a long recrimination period by Ed towards Stede if/when they reunite in S2 is because of that last shot we have of Ed sobbing in Stede's bed.

If we lingered on that shot of Ed sobbing and at that exact moment, Stede walked in the door, what would happen?

Because I think that's the exact scenario Ed is daydreaming about and doesn't dare hope for.

Disclaimer: I do think it's possible that Ed could work up some anger at Stede as the days without him drag on. (Though, if he really dwells on the moment Stede didn't show, it would be equally realistic to me that Ed begins to wonder if he should have gone looking.) I think Ed could blow up as a result of all the mixed signals Stede has been giving him up to that point, from just not knowing if Stede liked him back at all from one moment to the next (though, I think Stede announcing himself with a sweeping, very in character, "Ed, I love you!" would deal a pretty fatal blow to that, even if Ed could be understandably wary of another reversal for a bit). Stede could, in theory, flub the return by coming on too strong or saying something stupid (he is still Stede)...

...But as I was pondering a canon divergence moment where Ed is curled up in heartbroken misery, sobbing himself sick over the abandonment and possibly the pain of going back to being Blackbeard out of necessity and/or rage, I just really struggled to think of a version where Stede slamming open the door and appearing like the rising sun to declare his undying love for Ed, announcing that he made a huge mistake and he's back for good now, then sweeping Ed off his feet isn't the exact scenario Ed could very well be longing for at that moment. Besides maybe a bit of playing hard-to-get or cross-examination, all I could picture was Ed collapsing with relief.

To my eyes, Ed is crying because he misses Stede. He might also be crying because he feels stupid for believing Stede liked him back and would run away with him. I just don't see how Stede returning doesn't largely solve those? But maybe that's just a lack of imagination on my part, idk.

[kowalskiology101]

Modern Family review in sum part 2

Haley and Dylan- Dylan’s stepped up even though there have been mess ups, which was dealt with in ‘Spuds’ and he cares about being a nurse after years of many financial endeavors. Though I still wouldn’t trust his mom because the whole reason for him being at Cam and Mitch’s in s4 is because Farrah kicked him out for her boyfriend. She kicked out her probably not financially independent son so she could date. He does still care for his ex’s stepkids and wants to make Haley and his kids happy. Haley, I think could have a better career but I don’t really care for who she ended up with. I mean, Andy was cheating on Beth and just because she was cheating and it was a toxic relationship to begin with, doesn’t absolve Andy of anything. Point-kinda fine with Dylan and I liked that they moved into Mitch and Cam’s old duplex unit with their kids.

Alex- The relationship with Arvin sprung out of nowhere. I feel like the whole ‘let’s make her company look bad so we can send off this character’ was out of nowhere. Like, she’s been working there for a couple years and all of the sudden ‘boo, no, company bad how dare you not know that’ and she went with her sister’s ex she had a crush on briefly. And why move to Switzerland and not at least Britain because he’s British? 

Luke- They dropped the ball on the app thing which wasn’t a terrible idea. They literally have medical apps. He was onto something. I don’t mind terribly that he’s going to college in Oregon, but I wish there was more of a goal for him because it feels like ‘sweep the ADHD kid somewhere he’ll probably be fine’. He’s been shown to be resourceful since he was little like with the Van Gough board and he solved basically everyone’s problems in two minutes in an episode. Like Haley’s, his ending wasn’t obnoxiously terrible, but could’ve been better.

So far, The Delgado-Pritchett, Dunphy, and Marshall families had at least okay endings. I’m chill with all of those listed above except Alex who’s more of a ‘meh’. But what I am absolutely not okay with at all…that grinds my gears so badly I’m writing an entire series on Ao3 on it...

The Tucker-Pritchett family: We have spent TEN seasons highlighting why specifically Mitchell and Missouri equals misery. He actually says it in an episode. Pam, as obnoxious as her later appearances are, is truthful when she tells Cam he couldn’t hack it on the farm and everyone picked up after his slack. The season before, he admits he hated farm work. Multiple times, he states he’d feel horrible if Mitch was miserable. According to Cam in ‘Putting Down Roots’ in season 10, he’s talked about moving closer to his family for years and though we don't see every detail of their lives, I doubt Mitch would be okay with that.