#okay well it took JUDE a whole three fucking books and she still is

[lordoftermites]

To me, the simultaneously saddest and sweetest thing about Cardan and Jude is that by themselves, they are their own worst enemy. They spend so much time fighting their own shadows, thinking they have to be these monstrous things in order to get by and believing they aren't allowed to have something nice or good because they've never had it, not really.

But together, after they've stripped some of that armor, they bring out the absolute best in one another. Jude teaches Cardan he isn't some failed, ill-fated forgotten child undeserving of love. Cardan teaches Jude that her mortality and everything that comes with it has never been a weakness, it's power.

They are mirrors, each reflecting the heart of the other so they can finally see their truth.

And I just... really fucking love that.

[bluejayblueskies]

i don’t know if you’re still doing aus but gerard/agnes/jon friendship ?

send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons about it!

listen jongerryagnes friendship is one of my favorite non-canon friendships and i may be writing some of it right now

i’m going to take this in a ‘five separate jongerryagnes friendship aus’ direction! this one’s a bit long so i’ve put 2-5 under a cut

1. childhood friends au! if still spooky, they all meet each other shortly after mr. spider and somehow it comes out to agnes and gerry that jon’s terrified of spiders and it’s because of a book. gerry, already In The Know about leitners, resolves to find it and burn it to avenge his friend, and agnes volunteers to do the actual burning. jon is surprised (and a bit emotional, though he refuses to admit it) that they care about him after such a short time. he says it’s okay that he gets bullied one (1) time before gerry and agnes shut him down completely.

jon, not realizing that what he’s saying is Bad Actually: yeah sometimes people bully me? but it’s because i’m smarter than them haha and um. that means it’s okay!

agnes and gerry, already planning exactly how they’re going to make sure nobody every bullies jon ever again: no, jon. no it’s not okay.

2. research-era au! jon and gerry meet at the institute and bond for leitner-related reasons. gerry met agnes some time prior (maybe on a leitner-related hunt) and became kind-of-friends with her and so he introduces her to jon and they get along really well. they all go hunt leitners together and agnes burns them (even the ones that are a bit resistant to burning seem to catch fire when she touches them) and it’s wonderful. sometimes they just get together to hang out and like. do normal stuff. and it’s hilarious

jon, exasperated: gerry why did you think ice cream was a good idea?

gerry, throwing his hands up in the air: i don’t know, because it’s fucking summer and it’s hot as hell outside?

agnes, with a puddle of melted ice cream in her hand because gerry handed it to her and she took it without thinking: it’s fine jon. this happens a lot.

the ice cream vendor, Nervously: i can, um. i can make you another?

agnes, pleasantly: that would be wonderful, thank you.

jon, More exasperated: you still won’t be able to hold it! agnes!

(jon ends up holding it for her, a sour expression on his face as he eats his own rum-and-raisin ice cream. gerry teases him endlessly for being an ‘old man’ with ‘old man ice cream tastes’ while eating his own lemon-flavored ice cream.)

3. no-supernatural au! maybe they all meet at university--jon and gerry are the same major and they meet agnes during the one (1) time they attend a meeting for their university’s glassblowing club (’because it’ll be fun and interesting, jon,’ gerry said while waving the flyer in his face. ‘come on, trust me.’). they spend so much time together that whenever somebody sees them without the other two, they always make some sort of joke about it. they like to study at a coffee shop near campus, where jon gets a pot of earl grey, gerry gets either a large black coffee or a hot chocolate with whipped cream (with no in-between), and agnes gets a small coffee that she never actually drinks. jon actually studies, gerry mostly doodles in the margins of his notebooks (but still manages to get good marks, to jon’s bafflement and mild irritation), and agnes also doodles but like... for class. (she’s an art major.) they like to watch horror movies together just to watch the way jon rants about the bad special effects and unrealistic plot lines.

4. everyone-lives au, takes place mid-season three. instead of jon facing everything by himself, gerry and agnes are there and they’re there to help! after the jude incident (which jon goes to without telling gerry and agnes, much to their frustration and worry), gerry and agnes are like ‘um. you’re not going to meet mike on your own’ and so they go with him. the extra mediation keeps mike from throwing jon into the vast, they leave before daisy comes, but daisy ends up tracking jon down anyway. but because jon’s not alone, she’s not able to corner him in the same way, and so he comes away relatively unharmed.

he still gets taken by the circus, except this time gerry and agnes track him down and rescue him (it takes them less than a week and involves a significant amount of threatening elias with bodily harm). after that they’re basically glued to jon’s side at all times.

jon, lying in bed, squished between two people, one of whom is very very hot: um. do you guys have to be here?

gerry: yes. agnes, stop hogging the duvet--aren’t you warm enough already?

agnes, in that voice she uses where they can’t tell whether or not she’s joking: i’m always cold

jon: ... fine. but it’s my duvet, technically, so i’ll be the one hogging it, thank you very much

5. my hyper-specific ‘jon kept gerry’s page and now gerry’s traversing the apocalypse with him and martin and also agnes is alive still and they find her in one of the domains and she joins them in their journey’ au. jon and agnes get to bond over being the chosen one (and how much it fucking sucks), gerry and agnes bond over being entrenched in entity-related bullshit basically since birth, and martin and agnes bond over having shitty, lonely childhoods.

agnes, wrinkling her nose and reaching into jon’s pocket to pull out the lighter: why do you have this? i thought you said you don’t like the Spider

jon: i... what?

gerry: oh he doesn’t remember he has that. it’s a whole Thing

agnes, after a moment’s consideration: all right. *lights it on fire*

martin: agnes!

agnes, shrugging: what? i don’t like the Spider either. and i don’t really trust spooky memory-wiping lighters

martin: ... fair point

annabelle, over in upton house, sitting with her feet up and eating little sandwiches: well. fuck.

[gwynpool]

it’s 2AM and i just finished Rule of Wolves (spoilers definitely up ahead)

first, to inform everyone, i read the spoilers when it got leaked in twitter cuz i can’t help myself. (it’s a sickness, i know) i think this is important since it definitely influenced my perspective upon reading the book. also, this is my first time being early in a party so yay me! going in ROW was easy for me because i started King of Scars the day before book 2’s actual release date so everything’s fresh.

secondly, this is really long so i’m sorry. i just have a lot of feelings and need to write it all down. on with the rant.

King of Scars was wonderful to me since it gave me my favorite Shadow and Bone character and the girl who i used to hate for being a mean girl but who I now admire with every ounce of my being. It also introduced a new ship that I am now obsessed with and is ruling besides my love for Jude&Cardan. Not to mention, it gave us Nina, whom though i’m not entirely a fan of due to all my love focusing on Kaz and Inej, allowed the connection between Shadow&Bone with SixofCrows.

Moving on, ROW was a ride and whirlwind of emotions. unfortunately, it wasn’t always the best kind.

I love the fantasy elements of it (tho it was a huge leap especially with the saints power thingy) and the politics because i am a sucker for scheming and stealing thrones.

the zoyalai teasing and angst was painful but in the best way since slowburn is what keeps me going.

nina finding comfort (and attraction, apparently) from hanne made my heart flutter because i haven’t gotten over matthias but this allowed a sort of closure and next chapter for our waffle-loving queen.

the promised wedding by leigh wasn’t what i expected but i’m not complaining since david&genya deserved nothing but happiness.

almost everything seems going well (aside from the fact that aleksander was ressurected apparently)and then everything crashes and burns and i just have to wonder why?

so the promised funeral alongside the wedding one, immediately comes after two? three? chapters as they were attacked during the afterparty of the wedding. and guess what? leigh killed the fcking groom.

the thing is i already knew he was going to die (with the spoilers and all) but i did not expect it to come immediately after the freaking wedding. not even halfway through the book!

being spoiled, i think, took most of the pain from the event but it doesn’t lessen the fact that it was completely unnecessary??? like though the characters grieved, nothing much was affected from his death? also, don’t talk to me about the character development for the survivors from this tragic event because there. was. absolutely. NONE.

and then we have the fricking darling ressurected. i love him in the first book of the grishaverse though i knew he was still a villain, don’t get me wrong. and my heart ached but was also relieved with his death in the third. he also inspired one of my all-time favorite fantasy villain(antihero?) in the form of Adelina Amouteru in the Young Elites series.

Ceased to be a Darklina fan and am now shipping Aleksander with Adelina because their power tho? like clings to like and they are both imbued with unfathomable darkness. somebody write fics please.

but bringing him back was what for exactly? leigh bardugo preached on how toxic the darkling character was and how we really shouldn’t like him in terms of agreeing with his ideals and yada yada. and yet she brings him back because apparently, he’s the only one paying her bills.

his conversation with alina tho had me expecting some darklina crumbs with fan service on the side since the stans were all raving about it on twitter *vomiting noises from toxicity* but i was surprised since it just further reminded us of how he truly is a villain in his very core and would do anything to get what he wants. so all in all it wasn’t entirely awful and it actually made me like Mal a bit. (never was a fan of him but that’s my issue, not the character’s)

setting aside the darkling issue a bit, the POV from Mayu was skippable. i mean obviously it still needs to be read for the Shu politics and the khergud existence but it just made me want to go to the next pov. Same goes for the “the monk’s” POV since you all know how i feel about him and the cult with it’s assembly and shit ended up also being unnecessary towards the end. honestly, i could do without the journey of the starless saint and his cult.

i truly enjoyed the fjerdan plot to my surprise and i like how nina kind of went through the last of us 2 circle of hate journey. it was definitely difficult knowing her pain and all that she went through and still choosing to be the better person. and yet, i can’t help but be more proud of her development. also, the supposed death of hanne got me going for a second and was actually ready to storm leigh’s home to fix her mistake. thank god it was plot twist. that’s all i have to say on the nina POV because i don’t wanna ruin my good feeling on this.

the crows cameo gave us a mini heist and it just made me miss reading their adventures. also the suli scene tugged at my heart.

imma skip zoya’s transformation but it utterly made me feel amazing and i have never been more glad that she’s kind of overpowered. she deserves it so fck all them haters. you can choke.

nikolai’s revelation and decision for the ravkan throne was not all that surprising, even without my knowledge of the spoilers. i honestly had a feeling that he was always his best self when he was strumhond and he only chose to fulfill the duties of the king because at that time, there was no other choice. so him giving up the throne to his beloved soldier, summoner and saint was a quite satisfying choice of route. there has been some others who would contest nikolai’s decision to step down as something unnecessary in the grand scheme of things but i would stand by my belief that nikolai made the best choice for ravka and for himself. not to say that i didn’t want to see both the queen and king side by side ruling but what are fanfictions for?

zoyalai is canon and endgame. finally. i can die now.

now the last two chapters was a toss up. for the first one was the darkling’s sacrifice. okay, so i was also spoiled by this from twitter but when i was reading the book, i keep expecting it to be brought up and it wasn’t. so i honestly thought that maybe that spoiler was a prank. lo and behold it was not and it wasn’t until the very last end. so the buildup was goddamn awful. the whole concept of the thorn wood and sort of atlas moment was just no. like you’re just springing this up now? when we’re supposed to be tying up loose ends but making sure it had history and buildup to well, back it up.

also leigh outright writing genya saying it was not a redemption for the darkling and him being unapologetic about his crimes (basically being a truly evil asshole) doesn’t remove the fact that it still comes off as a redemption arc especially with what is now the synopsis of SOC 3 but ill get to that. he still was the one who did a heroic deed and that fucks me up because it was just devastating to me after making peace with his end in ruin and rising. not because i was hurt that he died yet again boohoo but because it kind of invalidates everything that alina, genya, zoya and countless other victims went through.

on a side note, the darling stans on twitter who keeps defending his actions, i would really advise you to reflect on your decisions cuz it is honestly unhealthy. also, you lot talking smack about nikolai and zoya refusing to sacrifice their lives? stop twisting the story to suit your toxic admiration, nikolai was even first to offer up his life and would do so if it was actually possible. so just go hide in your darkling cocoon and stop hating on other characters to justify your favored aleksander.

the very last chapter aka coronation was good because it gave us inej ghafa cameo as captain of her ship and bonding with our resident privateer and also genya, alina and zoya bonding. but it was bad because apparently the darkling chronicles is still not over and now we’re supposed to grant him death like that’s going to make everything okay? i know forgiveness and breaking the circle of hate and revenge is a huge theme in this duology but honestly, this is just too extreme. with nina it was understandable and the people she hated were born of twisted mindset and circumstances but the darkling? hahahah no. he is a literal immortal who was delusional so now that he’s paying for his crimes, you want to allow him death because you have nightmares? zoya, goddamit no! same to you genya and alina. and so this will be the plot for the third six of crows? why can’t we just stop making this about him. now he gunna steal kaz’s thunder? over my dead body.

in the end, i gave this book 4 stars in goodreads because if i ignore the darkling plot, it was a really good use of politics and fantasy merging in a storyline. i can’t fault leigh for choosing to do this since it’s still her book so i definitely don’t have a right to dictate what i expected from this. also, i have a half a mind to believe that she fell in love with ben barnes and had him in mind writing this so i really cannot blame her because i have been under that man’s charms since prince caspian came out. the spoilers i read made me more open in reading this (backwards thinking but eh that’s how i roll) so i’m not at all crushed by what transpired. it was just weird and was lackluster in its attempt to give ravka some sort of peace. frankly, i just want to read the third six of crows book to maybe find some sort of calm in all this craziness and also delve in some zoyalai fanfiction because it was a long time coming.

shameless promotion but if you guys want to check out my nikolai duology spotify playlist, here’s the link:

[solllaris]

retrograde — 01

↳ here.

PAIRING: Frat!Tom / Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: It takes some convincing, but you ultimately agree to go to a frat party and are pushed out of your comfort zone in more than one way.

WARNINGS: language, underage drinking, anxiety/panic attacks, & insecure thoughts

WORDS: 5874 

NOTE: This series is my baby so please be nice. The reader’s fears and anxieties are basically a reflection of my own, so posting this makes me feel super vulnerable. There were many moments I seriously considered deleting everything I had made for this series because I was too afraid to put myself out there like this, but obviously I didn’t. I really want the reader’s story to help someone or make them feel like they’re not alone because anxiety can make you feel so isolated at times. So to the person reading this right now, to the person with anxiety or depression or whatever: You are not alone. You will never be alone. And I hope this story shows you that somehow. 

          series masterlist — masterlist — add yourself to my taglist!

Tortoise shell glasses the color of honey inched their way down the bridge of your nose again and you would’ve been greatly annoyed if your glazed-over eyes weren’t focused on the large plastic cup of coffee on the table. Fingers still tensed and poised over the laptops keyboard, your attention had shifted for the millionth time to the dark browns streaking through the blonde colored liquid at the bottom and your fried out brain was mesmerized by it. Anything was more intriguing than the open, half-way completed book review on your computer screen where the blinking cursor taunted you from the corner of your eye. At your wits end, you turned away completely with a groan that you stifled with a hopefully motivating gulp of your iced cold brew swirled with caramel.

Shoving the frames further up your nose where they belonged, you nursed the straw of your coffee between your tongue and teeth and glanced briefly about the room. The Learning Commons was fairly full for ten in the morning, but you weren’t too surprised; it was the go-to place to go — not only to get coursework done, but also to just unwind and mess around. That Friday morning hadn’t been any different from the rest and bleary-eyed college students milled about, drinking their caffeine from the God-sent Starbucks in the building and chatting to their friends through sleepy slurs. For a person who really enjoyed people-watching, the Learning Commons was the prime place for you to spend most of your time. You blended in and fell into the shadows just as you liked.

Blinking twice, you realized you had zoned out again. Your vision focused and you saw you had been staring blankly across the room at a boy drooling all over his open textbook. His slackened grip around his mechanical pencil kept allowing it to fall over in his hand, rousing him each time for only a few seconds and then he was out cold again. The sight made you laugh under your breath and you impulsively tipped your head back onto your roommate’s thigh from where she was sprawled out on the couch behind you. Just as you wanted, Scout’s fingers that had been raking through your hair stilled to let you know you had her attention.

“Look,” You said loud enough for her to hear over the raucous youths around you and discreetly pointed across the way at the sleepy boy. “That’s about to be me if I don’t get this paper done soon, I swear to everything Holy.”

A snort exploded through her nostrils and your head jostled with the movements of her leg kicking the guy whose lap they rested in. 

“Jude.” 

Another harsh nudge to his thigh and the frustrated boy mashed a button on his video game controller, a ‘paused’ message appearing on the flat screen TV. A harsh, pointed look urged her to continue so he could get back to his game. 

“That guy over there looks just like you.”

When you glanced back over, the drooling guy had completely given up on at least attempting to remain upright to look like he was getting work done. His cheek was smashed against the pages of his book, pushing his lips out in a pucker face, and his wrecked hair stuck up at odd angles on his forehead. An unbridled bubble of laughter threatened to come up your throat and you had managed to contain it — until a little string of drool puddled on the paper his cheek rested upon. Both you and Scout shook with the force of your giggles and you briefly found yourself thinking that it probably wasn’t that funny, but to a sleep-deprived university student it was comedic gold.

Jude must’ve shoved Scout’s legs off his lap if the loud ‘thud!’ of her feet hitting the floor beside you were any indication. They came dangerously close to knocking over your cup of caffeine — the only thing getting you through the early hours of the morning — and you were quick to snatch it up, cradling it to your chest like a protective mother. Your look of disgust towards your two friends was completely ignored, overlooked by Scout’s cry of protest and Jude’s annoyed, but slightly amused, glare at the girl.

“That’s what you made me pause my game for?” He huffed, tugging his fingers through his dark tufts of hair.

She shrugged, a shit-eating grin on her face as she plopped her warm toned legs back onto his lap. “Y/n said it first, not me.”

You were mid-sip, a mouthful of bitter coffee coating your tongue when you squealed a close-mouthed noise of protest, widened eyes flickering between your friends. 

“I did not!” You cried once you’d successfully swallowed without choking. “I said that would be me if I didn’t finish my paper soon.”

“Lies,” Scout muttered.

Twisting your body to face her, the back of your hand smacked against her bare outer thigh, a loud and satisfying ‘smack!’ emitting from the harsh flesh on flesh contact. Your puppy dog eyes turned to Jude, bottom lip jutting out just slightly and he laughed, the action making his irises twinkle and scrunch closed.

“I’d never say that about you, J,” You said cutely.

He bumped his knee against your right shoulder lightly, jostling you to the side, and rolled his eyes but the tiny upwards lift to the corners of his mouth told you he was far from annoyed.

“Alright, alright, I believe you.” He groaned, quickly flicking his gaze back to the TV and unpausing his game. “Fuck you and your puppy eyes.”

Grinning triumphantly, you sipped your coffee happily and flopped back against the front of the couch. The sleeping computer screen on the coffee table immediately put a pin in your bubble of contentment, an instant frown replacing the bright smile on your lips. You set aside your half empty cup with a heavy sigh and swiped a finger along the smooth track-pad, waking it from its automatic sleep to tuck back into the four page book review for your U.S. History class. The cursor blinked approximately five or six times before you began to type, but you had barely written three words when the glass doors of the Learning Commons burst open and a group of rowdy boys piled through the entrance.

Well, you thought. Maybe just one more day of procrastinating won’t hurt.

A muffled groan sounded from Scout. “Great. Your frat brothers decided to grace us with their presence, J.”

Your fingers went slack over the lit up keys and you slouched defeatedly; at the rate you were going, the outcome of your paper was beginning to look more and more dim, but the fraternity boys couldn’t care less that some people were actually attempting to get their assignments done by their due dates. They joked and jostled each other and you kind of hoped they could feel the blazing burn of your laser-beam glare you shot their way, but their oblivious grins stuck a pin in your wishes. You watched them for a moment longer as they split off, some falling into the snack bar or coffee line while others drifted towards a vacant table or couch; you took that as your cue to pack up your things and traipse across campus to the library. (Why did you pick somewhere so loud to write a whole ass paper anyway?)

Scout managed to tear her attention from her phone long enough to notice you zipping up your bag and beginning to stand. 

She quirked a perfectly shaped brow and asked, “Where are you going? It’s only 10:30; our Psych class isn’t until 12.”

“Thanks for the reminder. I wasn’t aware that the class I’ve been going to every Friday for a month now doesn’t start until 12,” You bit back with the most deadpan tone you could muster.

Jude snorted without taking his eyes off the TV, his fingers never ceasing their rapid movements between buttons on the game controller. Scout responded with a swift kick to said controller (which earned her a string of expletives as he fumbled to retrieve it off the floor) and waggled a chipped nail-polished finger at you.

“First of all, the ‘tude is not appreciated and second, both of your friends are sitting right here so my question is very valid.”

“Okay, rude.” You pouted sulkily as you gathered your hair to tie it up into a bun with the velvety pink scrunchie on your wrist. “And if you must know, I’m going to the library because it’s way too loud in here to write a paper.”

“Ugh.” Scout groaned and threw her legs off the side of the couch, rolling off onto the floor in the most ungraceful maneuver you’d ever witnessed in your life. “I guess I’ll go with you. I still haven’t finished that Biology worksheet due today.”

“Really?” You inquired absentmindedly as you fiddled with your messy bun in the reflection on your darkened phone screen. (She was taking forever and you needed something to do so you didn’t look like a complete moron.) “I finished it like the day she handed it out last week.”

You didn’t even have to look over at the caramel-skinned girl to know that she had rolled her eyes hard enough to get stuck inside her head. “Literally no one asked,” She retorted.

“Mmm, and to think I was actually going to give you all the answers..”

Just as you watched her expression morph into a sickly sweet one, a shrill whistle cut through every conversation in the room. The loud chattering of college students died down to muted whispers until the only distinguishable sounds were the whirring of the old air conditioning unit in the building and the clambering of shoes against wood; once you turned away from Scout you saw that the latter had come from a blonde boy in basketball shorts standing on a table in the center of the room. Kappa Sigma was emblazoned proudly across the chest of the scarlet colored hoodie he wore and you fought the urge to roll your eyes because of course he was in a fraternity.

The blonde frat boy’s voice faintly resonated in your ears, but you turned away from his dramatic display anyway to latch onto the sleeve of Scout’s over-sized Harvard University t-shirt. You insistently tugged on the crimson colored material because you really just wanted to get a head-start on your paper. Instead of relenting and following you, she simply shrugged you off and it was then that you got distracted with one look at a stupidly attractive guy in a stupidly, tight t-shirt.

If you had ever seen someone who was truly poured into a shirt it was this guy. The gray material was stretched taut across his pectorals and abdomen, dipping and curling into each chiseled line on his body. The stitching around the short sleeves looked two seconds away from ripping open as his biceps bulged from the way he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. You didn’t think the view could get any better until your eyes slid further up to a jawline that could probably cut straight through glass and to top it off, a head full of effortless curls—your ultimate weakness. You were pretty sure you were gaping open-mouthed at him at that point, but it wasn’t everyday that you saw a real life fucking angel on campus.

So yes, you gaped at him. Proudly.

Until you were caught...which you were seconds later.

Your heart dipped dangerously low in your chest and for a moment it felt like the warm blood in your veins had turned to ice. That feeling of sudden panic from such a cute guy looking at you prompted you to swiftly turn away; the cold you had felt literal seconds prior shifted to an uncomfortable warmth as the shock of being caught staring shifted to embarrassment. Your brain raced almost as quickly as your heart and you tried to pretend to focus on the blonde guy standing on a table to calm down, but then you made the dumb decision to sneak another peek.

Big, big mistake on your part.

Insanely hot frat guy was still looking at you. Not only was he still staring, but the beginnings of a smirk were forming on his pink lips and maybe he was not-so-subtly flexing his biceps. Seeing the corded muscles ripple and bulge under his tan skin truly was entrancing and if Scout hadn’t grabbed you by the material of your sweatshirt you would’ve stood and stared for a little bit longer.

Fingers snapped in front of your face and you blinked once, twice, three times before she really came into focus. She shot you a funny look and asked, “Seriously, what were you staring at?” She followed your gaze when your eyes instinctively shot back towards the insanely hot frat guy—who had thankfully looked away. “What is wrong with y—ohhh.”

A shit-eating grin stretched across her face and you immediately groaned. “Don’t start, okay?” You grumbled and finally managed to pull her towards the glass double doors. “He’s stupid hot and I was respectfully looking.”

Scout snorted from behind you as you held the door for her, both of you stepping outside and beginning the trek across campus to the library.

“You were point two seconds away from drooling,” She teased, bumping your arm with her elbow.

You felt the heat tickling at your cheeks and ears again, so you quickly changed the subject.

“Anyway,” You said pointedly, shooting her a look that could kill. “What was that whole ‘getting on the table’ display about?”

“Right. I forgot you were a little... preoccupied.” She smirked and dodged your incoming fist, giggling like a maniac. “Okay, okay! There’s a party at the Kappa Sigma house tonight.”

Scrunching your nose up at the mention of a party, you tossed your empty cup of iced coffee in a trash bin as you passed.

“Well, I have a hot date with Doctor McDreamy and I can’t miss it. You know how much I love me some Derek Shepherd.”

Just as you reached for the door handle to the library, she smacked your hand away with a serious expression.

“C’mon!” She whined, her bottom lip jutting out like a child. “You’ve never been to a party with me. It’ll be fun!”

“My definition of ‘fun’ is very different from yours, Scout.”

A sly smile turned her full lips upwards again. “Tom will be there…”

Your brows furrowed as you wracked your brain to put a name to a face. Tom. Did you know a Tom?

“Um. Am I supposed to know who that is?” You asked cluelessly.

Scout groaned. “Tom Holland. The guy you were ogling in the LC,” She explained with a ‘duh’ tone in her voice.

Absentmindedly you fiddled with the strap of your shoulder bag. You were already growing tired of the conversation and wished she’d just drop it; if anyone knew your anxiety situation, it was her and you thought she’d learned by now that you would never set foot in a party. Attending a frat party of all things was sure to bring on a panic attack and you’d rather not hyperventilate in front of a bunch of testosterone-filled college guys. No way in hell.

Exhaling an exasperated sigh, you shifted on your feet tiredly and let your head fall back towards the sky.

“Is that supposed to convince me?” You shifted around your friend and managed to snag the door open before she could stop you. “Because it’s not working.”

Save for a girl lightly snoring on one of the couches and a guy wearing glasses slaving over his keyboard, the library was practically barren. You immediately felt comforted as you traipsed along the outskirts of the large room, like a warm hug after coming home from a long day; except it was barely after eleven in the morning and you were ashamed to admit that you already needed comforting. Whilst another large exhale huffed past your lips at the thought, you dropped your bag down on the worn cushions of a couch pushed under a window and plopped yourself next to it rather ungracefully.

A rather loud thump resounded through the room as Scout carelessly deposited her own things on the floor by a comfortable looking arm chair; she simply shrugged at your warning glance, mumbling “those two are dead to the world anyway” under her breath and turned to pull a black binder from her backpack.

Soon, the silence between you two was filled with the clicking of your fingers across the keys on your laptop and the scratching of her mechanical pencil on paper. It was nice—relaxing even—and you sunk further into the soft couch that hugged your body, your mind only filled with the words you needed to get down to finish your stupid book review.

What kind of history class has to write a book review anyway? This wasn’t English.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

A small wad of balled up notebook paper hit your left cheek, bouncing off and into the crack between the cushions. Before you could retort, she was already whispering vehemently.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the party.” She stabbed her pencil in your direction as she spoke. “You’re going. Plus, I’ll be with you the whole night. Promise.”

Arguing with Scout was like arguing with a brick wall—pointless and you’d never win and you honestly just wanted her to shut up at this point; so even though the idea of standing in the Kappa Sigma frat house while the plaster walls vibrated and bodies jostled around you almost made you want to throw up, you reluctantly agreed to go with her. You tried to convince yourself it wouldn’t be so bad, that your best friend would be at your side the entire night, but you still couldn’t shake the butterflies in your belly the entire day.

Just as you’d expected, you were pretty sure you were this close to blowing chunks in Kappa Sigma’s bushes.

The lawn was crawling with college students bearing drinks and you were thrown into the middle of them, one hand clasped in Scout’s as she led you up to the porch and the other anxiously fiddling with the hem of your gingham printed shorts. You were hyper aware of everything happening around you: knocking shoulders with a short, blonde girl, the loud shouts over a game of flip cup, the bass of the song playing in your chest, and a putrid, skunk-like smell that caught in your lungs no matter what you did. Already you wanted to leave, but one look at your best friend’s excited face had you willing yourself to suck it up and try to have fun.

Clutching onto Scout’s hand like it was your only lifeline, she guided you through the foyer and an expansive dining room before reaching the kitchen and the pressure in your chest lifted enough to calm your racing heart; it was significantly less crowded, only inhabited by a small group of girls and a guy with his head stuck in the refrigerator. You watched as Scout paid none of them any mind and instead helped herself to two red solo cups, pointing the nozzle to the keg in one and letting it fill with the sepia toned beer before doing the same with the other cup.

You had just opened your mouth to protest, but the look she shot you had the words dying in your throat.

“Just trust me, alright?” She said and you let her shove the full cup into your hand. “It’ll help with your nerves.”

For a brief second your gaze flickered to the group of three girls seated at the kitchen island, all huddled together and speaking in low tones. It made your skin prickle and heat up and you wondered if they were talking about you—how out of place you seemed.

The white brim of your cup slotted between your glossed-up lips and you took a hefty swig. You immediately scrunched your face up in disgust at the bitter, watery taste of the ale but you were willing to down it if it drowned out your impending anxiety for the night.

“Ugh.” You cringed and peered at the frothy beer in distaste. “How do you drink this shit?”

Scout just grinned and raised her beer in the air.

“Cheers bitch,” She hummed and downed a gulp big enough to puff out her cheeks with the liquid. “Now drink up.”

So, you did cautiously while she retrieved her phone from her back pocket; you distantly heard her say the words “text” and “Jude” but you were more focused on the guy leaning against the counter a few steps away. It was the same guy who’d been rummaging in the fridge when you came in and it appeared he’d found what he wanted: a bottle of Michelob Ultra that he held by the neck. His other hand was occupied by his phone, his head tilted downwards as he scrolled with his thumb, but then he tipped it back to sip his drink and your heart plummeted.

You wasted no time grabbing Scout by her bicep to get her attention.

“Don’t look now but super hot frat guy, Tom, is literally right there,” You whispered frantically through gritted teeth and tugged her towards the exit.

Of course, she resisted. The “don’t look now” part of your sentence slipped in one ear and out the other because she turned back to glance at him with the subtlety of a hand grenade. Her small squeal had you yanking her back around, your stomach rolling with enough nerves to make you vomit for real this time.

“I literally just said—”

Just after the words left your mouth, Jude sauntered into the kitchen, loudly exclaiming: “Tom, man, how long does it take to get a drink?” Then, his six-foot-three hulking physique lumbered towards you and Scout—which effectively made Tom’s dark brown irises lock onto you. “And why have you guys not answered my texts? We’re about to start another round of flip cup.”

Recognition flashed in his eyes and you wished you were dead. You knew you should’ve stayed in the safety of your dorm with Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd. Why didn’t you?

Maybe it was because you were the biggest pushover on campus?

Yeah, that had to be it.

“Sorry, mate.” Tom didn’t glance away from you as he spoke. You noticed a smirk playing at his thin lips before it was covered by the open top of his beer bottle when he took a drag. “I guess I got a little... distracted.”

His little jab at you didn’t go unnoticed.

Yep, he definitely recognized you from earlier in the day when you practically undressed him.

Deep down you knew he was just messing with you, but you couldn’t help feeling humiliated—like you were the center of a joke and not the kind of joke where he was laughing with you; suddenly overcome with a need to escape, you ignored his remark and turned to Scout and Jude instead.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go to the bathroom or step outside really quick.”

You barely heard her concerned voice asking if you wanted her to come with you before you were high-tailing it out of the room and up the dark wooden stairs in the foyer. You took them two at a time and in your haste to ascend them, the smelly beer in your still-full-to-the-brim cup sloshed over the rim and saturated the front of your black shirt and flowy shorts. Your face contorted in discomfort at the feeling of your wet clothes sticking to your skin as you slowed down, reaching the top floor at a more careful pace. The paranoid feeling that everyone was watching you make a fool of yourself began to set in and just as your breathing started to escalate, you ducked into the first bedroom you saw and quickly shut it with a click.

Absentmindedly, you sat your now half empty beer cup on the dresser by the door and slumped back against the wood. The cold doorknob pressed into the bottom of your spine but you didn’t care because all you could think about was the soaked fabric clinging to your front, Tom’s subtle mocking comment, and the feeling you’d felt coming up the steps.

In the back of your mind you knew how dramatic and blown out of proportion you were acting; your anxiety, however, didn’t get the memo. So there you were, panting and quivering in some random frat guy’s room with tears pooling at your lash line. You were beginning to feel nauseous lurches in your stomach and all you wanted was to go home.

You’d never wanted to be here in the first place.

An uncomfortable warmth bloomed in your chest around your heart—a feeling you were all too familiar with. If you had to guess, you assumed it was the way a heart attack might feel. You were panicking for absolutely no reason at all and all that you knew was that you needed to get out of here.

With shaky hands, you pulled your phone out of your bra and wiped away the sticky residue from the beer before composing a new text to Scout.

Sent at 11:33 PM: i feel sick. i think i’m gonna head back to our dorm

Then, feeling inexplicably guilty for not even trying, you typed again as your tears left splotches on your screen.

Sent at 11:33 PM: i’m really sorry

The click of your phone locking sounded like a blaring horn to your over-sensitized body and you slumped tiredly into a desk chair, shoving your phone somewhere on the desk carelessly. You were still shaking and you didn’t know if you were cold or hot and bile had started to burn your throat and in your hazy mind you swore you heard the doorknob turning but who knows?

“Uh, what the fuck are you doing in my room?”

If you thought you were going to throw up before then you definitely were now.

You grabbed the trash bin beside the desk and hung your head over it, the contents of the day emptying from your anxious stomach.

“Christ,” The guy grumbled in annoyance. Didn’t you know that voice from somewhere? “Of course. A drunk girl chooses my room to throw up in out of all the fuckin’ other rooms in this house.”

Shame crept up your neck and made you feel even hotter than you already were. You felt like such a mess—you reeked of alcohol, your hair was damp from a cold-sweat, and a stranger had just witnessed you puking your guts out. Great.

You couldn’t speak. All you could do was take shaky, staggered breaths and sniffle through your tears but you did manage to see who the mean guy in the room with you was. Just as your luck would have it, the guy whose bedroom you’d taken hostage in was none other than Tom Holland.

Your stomach twisted and again you ducked your head back in the bin to puke some more.

“Look. I’m sorry you feel like shit and drank too much but you’ve gotta get outta here.” You felt his large, strong hand curl around your bare bicep to tug you up out of his chair. “C’mon. Time to go.”

It was at that moment Tom finally noticed three things: that you were the girl from earlier in the LC, then again in the frat’s kitchen, that you were shaking like a leaf against him, and that you were struggling to breathe normally. It was clear to him you weren’t throwing up because you were drunk; you were throwing up because you were having a full-blown panic attack.

In his bedroom.

And he’d been nothing but a dick to you so far.

“Woah, hey, hey,” He murmured softly, his voice taking on a much gentler tone. Delicately, he brushed the sweaty hair from your warm cheeks and allowed one of his palms to meet the small of your back. “It’s okay. You’re alright, darlin’.”

You focused all your attention on the quiet hum of his voice in your right ear and the silver cross necklace rising and falling on his chest with each breath. You tried to sync your breaths with his even, steady ones and although it took awhile, you managed to calm yourself down to a non-hysterical state.

Tom’s fingers, however, never faltered in their dance along your spine. “Good girl,” He hummed soothingly.

Tingles tickled at each of your vertebrae.

Good girl. Was he trying to kill you?

Clearing your throat, you set the trash bin beside the desk where it lived and stood up to move closer to the door and away from Tom. You were pretty sure you’d embarrassed yourself in front of a hot guy enough for one day and didn’t want to do anything rash...like jump his bones for calling you a good girl.

You felt yourself getting hot again.

“I’m sorry.” You fiddled with the damp hem of your shirt, unable to meet his gaze. “I just...needed some air and then I spilt beer all over myself and—yeah.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” He shrugged like a girl having a panic attack in his room was normal, then gestured to your ruined outfit. “I’ve got some stuff you can borrow if you want.”

“Oh! No, it’s okay, really—”

“C’mon. That can’t be comfortable,” He said with a raised brow. He was already rummaging through his dresser drawers before you could protest anymore. “Let me help you out, alright? I’ve already been the biggest dick to you tonight.”

You couldn’t argue with that, so you took the clean clothes from his outstretched hand and sent him an awkward smile.

“Thanks. I’ll, um, get these back to you. Sometime.”

He grinned at how awkward and fumbly you were. It was cute. He liked that he was the cause of it.

“Sounds like a pretty good plan to me,” He agreed cheekily, unable to hide the smile on his lips. “Gives me an excuse to see you again, huh, darlin’?”

Oh.

This boy was definitely trying to make you explode and you were two seconds away from doing so, sweat pooling even quicker in areas you didn’t even want to fathom.

Thankfully, before you had the chance to embarrass yourself any further, Tom turned his back on you, chuckling lowly under his breath and urged you to get changed.

As you toed out of your high-tops and peeled your sticky, black shirt from your torso, your attention wavered just as you reached for his heather grey t-shirt. You distractedly grasped the soft material to put it on, but you were too entranced by Tom’s back muscles through his own shirt to follow through.

The fabric was stretched taut over the expanse of his broad shoulders and every little movement allowed you to see the rippling muscle that was underneath it. Your fingers itched to slip under his shirt and feel his toned back for yourself, to lightly dig your n—

“Jude said your friend is waitin’ for you on the porch.” His English twang had you throwing the clean clothes on hastily before he turned back around. “I’ll walk you down.”

All you wanted was to get out of this frat house and into your shower as quickly as possible so you agreed even though you felt like your insides were on fire.

You gathered your dirty clothes and hooked your fingertips into the canvas backs of your shoes before you were ushered out into the corridor. The party seemed to have thinned out a considerable amount with only the occasional person loitering about on the second floor; the thought of someone seeing you with Tom’s baggy clothes on made your cheeks flush and you tilted your head down towards the floor, avoiding anyone’s curious eye. To your anxious mind, it felt like everyone was watching you and Tom descend the grand stairs in the fraternity’s house so you held your gaze with the dark hardwood floor the entire trek to the porch.

His warm palm met the small of your back for the second time that night and you cautiously glanced up into his dark brown irises. You were surprised to see the incredibly soft edge they had taken on and even more surprised by the way your spine instinctively arched against his hand.

A guy had never touched you like this before—it felt intimate and tender and you were a stranger to it.

“Hey.” He had to stoop down towards your ear so you could hear him over the still-blaring music. His breath tickled your neck and his bottom lip brushed the tip of your ear. You couldn’t stop from shivering. “Are you alright?”

No, you weren’t. He was really, really close and your heart was beating dangerously fast again.

“Yeah,” You breathed in reassurance, pushing what you hoped was a convincing smile. “I’m okay. Just tired.”

He didn’t look completely convinced. However, he didn’t push the subject further and you were grateful.

“Alright.” He nodded and it was silent for a split second until you both reached the front door. “You look beautiful in my clothes by the way.”

And then Tom was pushing open the door and there on the porch like he said was a worried Scout. Thankfully, she was way too preoccupied with hurtling questions of “are you okay?” and “what happened?” for her to notice the way your skin was flushed and how you couldn’t quite look anyone in the eye.

The weight of the fingers splayed along the base of your spine disappeared as Scout swept you away from Tom and into her crushing embrace.

“Oh my God!” She shrieked as she hugged you to her, your bundle of clothes and shoes between you digging into your stomach. “You scared the hell out of me. Did you fall in the toilet or something?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, a small snort of a laugh left your throat.

“I’m fine,” You reassured and tangled your digits with hers, tugging her down the porch stairs with you. “And no, I didn’t ‘fall in the toilet.’ I just want to go home and drown myself in the shower.”

“Good. You smell like shit.” Her nose wrinkled. “And please enlighten me on how you ended up in Tom fucking Holland’s bedroom.”

You laughed again and spared a glance over your shoulder.

Tom still stood on the porch, readjusting his backwards hat over his brunette curls. You caught the little smirk on his lips and you swore he winked before Scout was tugging you further up the sidewalk and you were forced to turn back around.

Every inch of your body tingled.

It wasn’t until you stood under the shower head’s chilly spray of water back in your residence hall that you realized you’d left your phone in Tom’s room.

TOM TAGLIST:

@xoxohollands​ ♡ @outshineallthestars​ ♡ @pcterparxer​ ♡ @worldoftom​ ♡ 

RETROGRADE ONLY TAGLIST:

@softholand​ ♡ @sushiinmidnight​ ♡ @stuckonspidey​ ♡ 

[drjackandmissjo]

Roses are Red, Tattoos are Forever

Chapter 3 --- previous chapter

Feysand masterlist

The Sherlock Conundrum

Florist and tattoo artist Au, Modern Day

“Can you please stop with this madness? Hugh Laurie is clearly the best Sherlock ever!”

They were both sitting on the couch of his living room. Really close to each other. She had her left knee under her body and was fully facing him. He had been throwing glances at her way the whole time she’s been there, and now was admiring her everything as they bantered lovingly.

After a particularly rough client, that had taken her nearly seven hours to finish, she came into his shop claiming: “We’re both closing earlier, I need to rest and so do you.”

At his attempt to tell her off, cause “I don’t need to rest I am in pristine fit every second of every minute”, she simply replied with an elongated ‘Please’ and a pair of puppy dog eyes that would’ve put a Labrador to shame.

Useless to say, they ended up on his couch half an hour later, a marathon of the fourth season of House M.D. on the television and chips and popcorn all around.

Feyre is harder than she looks, tougher. She likes to drink whiskey and burning liquor and beer.

Rhys, on the other hand, is a refined rosé man. He drinks fruity drinks and cocktails and vodka. He tried the same stuff that she drinks, once, when they went out with the rest of the inner circle after Az had received a promotion. It didn’t end well.

Feyre and Cassian will forever tease him about it.

Since their taste in alcohol was on such a wide spectrum, they decided to settle for some sparkly Coca-Cola for that fine night.

About halfway through episode six, the debate had begun. The show was soon forgotten and left as a white noise machine that lulled them into their silliness.

“Feyre Darling. You are being delusional. Dr House’s got nothing on RDJ’s Sherlock. Just cause the character was inspired by Conan Doyle’s work it doesn’t mean it can be considered a Sherlock.”

She laughed. A delicious sound that was filling his days more and more each morning. “Do you know that Conan Doyle based Shelly on a doctor, right? Also, yeah Jude Law’s better than Wilson, that is true.”

“Can we just agree that Cumberbatch and Freeman are equally amazing.”

“Yeah, duh! But, controversial opinion: I don’t actually ship Jonhlock romantically.”

“More like platonic soul-mates? Makes complete sense. They are not interested in each other at all. You are right, Fey-ruh Acheron.”

‘HOW DARE SHE...’, he thought severely displeased.

“Oh please don’t be pissed at me. I like them together and everything, but in my mind, Sherlock is pretty much ace-aro. I mean, Cumberbatch was also Smaug. Which in the books is described as a dragon while the movies decided to portray him like a vixen...” He solemnly nodded.

That is, indeed, a severe problem in mainstream media.

“That is, indeed, a severe problem in today mainstream media. We live in a world where people don’t know the difference between one another! Daenerys Mother of Dragons? More like Dany The Soccer Mom of three cool lizards. That would be more appropriate!”

“Don’t talk to me about Dany, I’m still pissed about Jonerys. I mean, fan-service much? Okay, I can deal with that. But don’t freaking kill Viserion and try to make us all believe that HIS MOTHER WOULD FUCK HER NEPHEW THIRTY MINUTES LATER!”

She laughed again.

‘Gods above and below,’ he thought, ‘how much can a person love another?’

“Agree 100% on Viserion, though Jon after Ygrit should’ve just zipped up his pants and close business. You experience that kind of love once in your screentime. And when you do, Martin kills the counterpart off immediately after the big scene. You know that sadist is gonna kill you off, so just spare him the dirty deeds to write.”

“The dirty deeds are the reasons he is taking so much to finish that freaking book. Also, salty much?"

"You dare calling me salty? It’s been years and you still weep over Robb’s body.”

“Excuse you, it is a very fine body. Have you seen Richard Madden lately? With that kilt at Kit and Rose’s wedding? Fine AF.”

She was now scooting over, moving closer to his face to find a reaction.

“Fine, you’re right. But Darling, you know damn well I am attracted to that man, you can’t just casually throw his name around! That would be like me, saying that Misha has aged like a fine whisky.”

“And where would a lie hide in that sentence?”

“ANYWAY. We were talking of something terrifically important.”

He decided to add a Meaningful Pause to give himself some dramatic effect...

“How can you say you don’t ship Jonhlock romantically?”

‘Honesly I love that woman. She is my other half, I would die for her and with her. My life without her has no meaning.

But if her answer doesn’t please me then so help me God I will suffer through a meaningless life with the strength of my ships.’ His mind said.

“I told you before the 'The Hobbit/Game of Thrones' parenthesis. When I read the books I thought of Sherlock as a madman who cared about Watson profoundly, but mostly cares about himself and his work. Someone who doesn’t dwell into feelings, doesn’t really enjoy sexual times and, truly, a modern-day asexual and aromantic asshole with a kink for unofficial police work. Yes, He and Watson are amazing together, and especially with RDJ and Jude Law I saw the sexual tension, which then I also saw in the BBC’s version. But for me, since I read the books first, Jonhlock will always be the exact relationship shown by House and Wilson. Sorry to disappoint.”

She was so close to him, he could smell her shampoo and count the freckles across her nose. She was staring directly into his soul. Rhys was fully clothed in an old tee and some pants and yet he’d never felt more naked.

“You never disappoint me. As a matter of fact, you never cess to amaze me, Feyre Acheron. You are perfect and beautiful both on the inside as well as on the outside. Here I was, looking for a polite way to kick you out of my apartment after you say you don’t ship one of my OTPs and now, here still I am trying not to be drowned into you and trying not to get lost into your eyes and I love you so fucking much that it physically hurts.”

His inner monologue at the time? ‘Fuck. FUCK. What the fuck did I just say???’

She had managed to fry his whole brain with her smart reasoning and perfect voice and now he had ruined a perfect moment by saying cheesy stuff to a girl that didn’t particularly care for cheese.

That was the end of Rhysand Sphera as we all know and love him.

Cause of death: killed by Feyre Acheron as result of saying something completely idiotic.

Only...

“Do you really mean that?”

She sounded hopeful and scared at the same time. The horrors she had to face in the past came running back to her and were written all over her face. Rhys took her hands in his. They were both trembling.

His mouth had probably never been that dry and yet aching to speak at the same time. He could only nod and pray she reciprocated.

That was the moment of truth.

“Of course I mean it. All of it. Each unsaid sentence and each shared glances. Every time I bring you coffee or a send you a picture of a dog that walks into my shop with its owner even though I’m terrified of them. The dog, not the owner. Even though some owners of dogs are terrifying. I have been in love with you for so long, I forgot how it feels not loving you. I look back at those times when you were not in my life and even back then I knew I was missing something. And when he-who-must-not-be-named showed up and swept you off your feet away from me, I was broken beyond repair. But you came back and made me hope that maybe, maybe all my dreams could become true. But you were hurt and also broken, and you needed time to heal. You still do. I shouldn’t have said anything, but you’re just so fucking amazing that I struggle to not scream ‘I Love You’ every time you breathe. I am utterly in love with you and hopelessly devoted to you. I understand if you still need time to heal or would rather be with someone else. But I said it, and I do not intend on taking it back.”

She was kneeling on the couch, her hands still clutching his, tears streaming down her face.

“Don’t take it back.”

Rhys thought he had heard what he wanted, so he had to ask, “What?”, a dumbstruck disbelieving-his-luck expression plastered on his face.

“I said don’t take it back. I feel the same way. I am utterly in love with you and hopelessly devoted to you too. I thought you hated me after, well, Tamlin. It is pleasant knowing we reciprocate each other’s feelings.”

Feyre laughed again, breaking the spell between them. Only, now the deed was done. Neither of them could hold their emotions in any longer. Feyre leaned in and so did Rhys, and their lips met halfway in a once in a lifetime, epic romance, Full on Princess Bride type of kiss.

After they both ran out of breath, they simply remained connected in every way possible given their awkward position. Foreheads never leaving each other, hands clasped together, lips barely touching. That spell, though, didn’t last for long. Soon they yearned to touch each other’s skin and feel each other’s bodies.

They were never going to have enough of each other.

[backofthebookshelf]

105 Hill Top Road: What the Fuck

(Relevant episodes: 008, 019, 043, 055, 056, 059, 067, 078, 089, 114, 130, 134, 139)

I mean, I think it's pretty obvious at this point that Anya Villette came from another reality, right? The timeline's different but the Powers are the same. At least one of them, with that spidery tree. She goes into the house in one reality and wakes up in another one, where all her friends tell her, "oh yeah, when shit like that happens to you, you go to the Magnus Institute," and she says, "the what now?" And there's this building in Chelsea that wasn't there before and they take her statement and then she...what? Does she disappear? Do the spiders get her? Or does she just not have a legal identity in this reality so that's why they can't find her?

(Did Gertrude actually read this statement? She's probably busy as hell in 2009, she's been working on rituals, Mary Keay has just turned herself into a book, Leitner's running around in the tunnels. And she was skeptical of Dekker's theories; would she be as skeptical of something like this? Presumably she read Vanderstock's statement, she would have wanted to know, and he mentioned the "scar in reality" but would she have believed it? Would she have considered it worth following up on, even without the spiders doubtless doing all they can to keep people from paying attention?)

Vanderstock mentions "other Powers" at work at Hill Top Road, but the only one I can identify besides the Web and the Desolation is the Spiral, and that only vaguely: Ivo Lensik and Father Burroughs were both Spiral-adjacent. And I wonder about that table, too; everything about it seems Spiral-like, except for the fact that it is used to trap a Stranger creature. Granted I can make a case for hypnosis being related to spiders, but still.

Still no idea what actually happened there, of course. Agnes would have been fully grown (26, per her death certificate) by around 1980, assuming she ages normally, which is kind of a big assumption. (139 makes it sound like it took her twenty years to be eleven years old, but that might be me misinterpreting.) Vanderstock makes a reference to Gertrude doing something that delayed their ritual preparations just after Jude Perry joined; not sure whether that's when she first met them in '89 or when she "completed her transformation" in '91, but let's average the difference and call it sometime around 1990. But the house at Hill Top Road burned in 1974, so whatever was happening there happened well before they'd given up on their ritual.

(Besides, it really sounded like the Last Feast was the first ritual Gertrude had successfully and intentionally disrupted. So either she did this accidentally or it was something else. But why assume it was her, otherwise? In 2008 Mary makes a snide comment about Gertrude not getting out and doing much herself, which is hilarious because she disrupted at least two rituals in 2008, but it does indicate that she's at least not seen as someone who gets involved. But that's almost twenty years later; maybe she used to get out more? Maybe the Eye had a particular interest in something? We've got a few statements from the 90s but mostly 1996 and later; we've got exactly one statement from the 80s and it's Tucked In. Anyway. This is (probably) a distraction.) (Interestingly Jon only comments on Agnes's death, not on whatever happened in the early 90s, which makes me wonder if it wasn't Gertrude at all but the spiders themselves. But Vanderstock is so sure it was her.)

I can't find anything in other statements that tells us much of anything aside from one thing: the Institute got a new Head in 1973, a year before the house burned. It might be nothing, but if the Web and the Eye are as closely aligned as we keep speculating they are, it might be something. (This was Elias's predecessor, James Wright, about whom we know nothing at all.) There is a really annoying lack of statements from the 80s and early 90s; we have virtually no idea what was going on in the supernatural ecosystem at that time. Would those be the statements on tape that were found with Gertrude's body, perhaps? What did happen to all of those? Two or three boxes of tapes is a lot of statements.

But back to the point, what was happening at Hill Top Road? It was owned by the Fieldings from the 1800s, which makes me think it's been a Web stronghold that long. (I'd love to know if Walter Fielding knew Smirke or Magnus or anyone else in their circle.) By the sixties Raymond Fielding was using it to harvest...victims? Hosts? What did happen to the kids Ronald Sinclair saw in the basement, who had been turned into spider egg sacs? Were they just there to feed the baby spiders, or were they turning into spider-Jaegers like the one Trevor Herbert met in 2009? (Daisy told Basira her first sectioned case was something to do with spider husks but we never got any other details. That would've been the latter half of 2002. We got no other details but I'd be interested to know where it was. HEY JON TALK TO YOUR COWORKERS.)

So okay, 105 Hill Top Road is a spider factory, cool. Then Agnes shows up. Two-three months later she saves a guy from getting et by Raymond Fielding for no apparent reason, that's nice of her. (Agnes likes cute boys confirmed.) And it seems like she stops him from taking in more kids, because they say the number of kids at the house dwindles until it's just Agnes left, and then Raymond disappears. It's "years" that Agnes lives in the house alone and mostly never leaves, though pets go missing from the neighborhood, before, in 1974, a five-year-old goes missing. A week later the house burns down and in it they find only Raymond Fielding's skeleton, sans right hand. So that sounds like Fielding was feeding on the kids, and catching smaller prey after he didn't have them any more, and when he worked back up to kids again Agnes caught him and stopped him. But it had to be more than that, because this is the fight Vanderstock describes as creating "a scar in reality," and which tied Agnes to the location. The fact that she kept Fielding's hand worried Arthur Nolan, which yeah, that would worry me too, but I'm not an avatar of destruction created by an evil cult, so I have to assume it was for some reason other than "eew."

(I also have to wonder exactly what their ritual required, other than Agnes herself, because there's a long time between 1974 and 1990. But.)

Then, in 2006, the house is being rebuilt and Ivo Lensik is working on it evenings and weekends, and who shows up at the door but Raymond Fielding, in an old-fashioned coat and looking "like something out of an old Polaroid," showing off the deed to the house and poking around. This show doesn't really go in for ghosts, and besides he was an avatar or something, so I'm gonna go with "alternate universe Ray Fielding," I guess. Who then...gets burned to a crisp after being inside the (new) house for two minutes? There's a smell of burning and a scorch mark on the floor. This freaks out Lensik so bad he falls and hits his head and also worries that he's getting schizophrenia (which his father apparently had, except schizophrenia doesn't work like that, that was definitely Michael) and he goes to the hospital, where a local nurse apparently likes suggesting exorcisms to people.

(There's no indication that anyone from the Lightless Flame noticed AU!Ray, so I'm assuming for now he was destroyed/banished/yeeted back to his own reality by whatever latent Desolation power is attached to the place.)

So one night the exorcist shows up and while he's waiting outside Ivo Lensik just. Snaps. He cannot handle that tree. That tree is looking at him and he doesn't like it. He takes a crowbar to it and it bleeds; he chains it to his truck and pulls it down. At this point Agnes, who's out with Jack Barnabas being blessedly normal for a change, spasms like something hurt her and makes a panicked phone call, and then Arthur and Diego and everybody show up at her flat with an unlit lantern, a bag of candles, and a jar of tiny spiders, and then she asks them to kill her. Vanderstock puts it down to Jack Barnabas, but in Barnabas's own statement it's very clear that the tree comes down, she calls in a panic, they meet her at her flat, and then she kisses him and he's in the hospital for three days. (I'm not saying her attachment to him didn't ruin the ritual, that's probably why she made whatever decision she did, but the tree was an inciting incident.)

(At the same time the tree is coming down, too, Father Burroughs is inside the house feeling like he's burning alive, and the Spiral is speaking through him insisting that he's already been claimed and the Desolation just doesn't care. It doesn't stop until the tree comes down outside. There's also no indication that any Desolation avatars noticed this.)

Under the tree is a six-inch-square box covered in twisting lines and there's a whole OTHER thing, because that box belongs in the center of the table that trapped the not!Them, and how did it get from here to there? How did it escape the fire that burned down the original house? (Graham had it in 2005. Dekker had it in 2001. No clue where it went between 2005 and when it shows up at the Institute in 2015.) And what was the purpose of it when Fielding used it, had the kids sit around it every Sunday dinner? Did he bury the box, with an apple inside, to protect himself from Agnes? Is that why pulling down the tree hurt her? (In Anya Villette's statement the tree is heavily spider-identified, to the point where she refers to it interchangeably as "branches" and "arms," of which it has eight, but in Ivo Lensik's statement he notices that it was heavily burned at the base. Was it attacked by the Desolation? In which case why did pulling it down hurt Agnes? Was she, in fact, tied to the tree itself? In which case, given the importance of the tree in the alternate reality, is there an alternate Agnes out there? Maybe one where she got to go on dates with cute boys instead of having to either die or burn down the world?)

AND. As more than one of us have pointed out by now, in 114, Jon says:

I’ve half a mind to just go down and have a look at it myself, but… I don’t know. Ever since it first came up I’ve felt like it would be… just a very bad idea.

And then Tim walks in and he and we forget all about it, but doesn't that sound like spidery manipulation to you? It does to me. So whatever Agnes and the Desolation did at Hill Top Road, it had a lasting effect (both in terms of leaving some remnant of the Desolation there and in the side effect of the...apparent dimensional portal?...) but the spiders do still seem to hold a lot of sway there as well.

What this has to do with anything I wish I knew, but I will say that 114 was the first thing I thought of after Garland Hillier's "la porte est la porte," which also sounds a lot like "all the doors are open now" from The Bifrost Incident (which is probably an entirely different continuity and has nothing to do with this other than ~themes~ but you know), but now that we've been talking a lot about the Powers as places I'm not so sure that means anything other than poor Hillier managed to walk into the domain of the Extinction and found his way out again for a while. But if the Powers are places, does that imply that Anya Villette came from one of them, or that there are other mostly-normal universes that haven't been taken over by the Powers? And if they exist...well. What does that imply about saving our universe from them, or losing it to them? (By "our" I mean "Jon and Martin's universe," obviously, "our" universe is another one entirely. I hope.)

tl;dr (TOO LATE): I have absolutely no idea what was or is happening at Hill Top Road but I’m pretty sure the spiders don’t want anyone poking around and also someone should go poke around there immediately, unless that's what Martin is doing right now, Martin stop, go back and get your boyfriend, he's freaking out

[marlettwrites]

11/11/11 tag

I was tagged by the lovely @marie-writess! Thank you! Sorry this took me so long, I was really dragging my feet on writing my own questions.

1. How heavily do you plot before starting your story?

I like to make sure most, if not all of the details are planned out. I may change them later as I write, but it helps me a lot to know exactly where I want the story to go. If I don’t do this, I end up getting stuck. A lot.

At the very least, I like to have all my major plot points planned. Where are the characters starting? Where are they going? How do they get there, and what major obstacles do they encounter along the way?

2. Do you have writing schedule? If so, what does it look like?

I wish. I probably should start planning one. Right now, I write when I have the time and/or energy.

3. What are some common themes in the things you write? Is there anything that you almost always seem to include?

Okay, so found family. Always.

I’ve also been noticing a theme of family in general in most of my works. Often, there will be some form of familial conflict that is integral to the story. In A Curse of Healing, Jude is fleeing an abusive family and Kul is at odds with his dad. They find family within each other. In another story, a closeted trans teen is living with his anti-LGBTQ+ parents and siblings, in another one I have an Asian-American teen born to immigrant parents who doesn’t really understand everything his parents did for him and he’s kind of a little shit about it, and in yet another story I have a stay at home mom who feels like she’s losing touch with her husband and daughter.

So yeah, there’s a bit of a theme of a huge family divide that can either be fixed through mutual understanding, or ‘he/she/they is toxic, get the fuck out of there now’.

Also, not to be cheesy or anything, but I totally have a running theme of the power of friendship going as well.

4. What is the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever had given to you?

Writer’s Block? Don’t know her.

If you can’t think of what happens in your story next or how to word it, just write whatever is on your mind so you can blow your metaphorical nose. Once the clog is gone, you will be breathing freely.

5. What are some of your writer dreams? fears?

For dreams, I want to inspire people (specifically LGBTQ+, disabled, and POC youth) by showing them that they can be the hero of the story too. Really, I just want to help build a world where there is no ‘default’ character and a story with any kind of representation isn’t met with cries of ‘THAT character can’t/shouldn’t be a POC/trans/disabled/gay/a woman/muslim because *bullshit excuse for bigotry*!’

My biggest fear is that my ability to write won’t match up with what I want to do, and I’ll end up harming those groups instead of helping them.

6. When it comes to writing love are you more drawn to platonic or romantic love?

I love me some good platonic love. I adore sweet, wholesome friendships in stories. However, that doesn’t mean I’ll shy away from romance.

Although I can only think of two stories I have planned where a romance takes center stage

7. What weakness in your writing are you currently overcoming or have overcome?

I’m working on both writing and reading more regularly. I’ve had my nose stuck in a book since I first learned to read, but after my sophomore year of high school, I just kind of... stopped reading. 

I don’t fully understand why that happened, but I think a big part of it is that I pick up books based on how similar they are to the ones I want to write (because they’re all I want to read) and then I feel disappointed when it’s not MY book.

I know, I know, it’s stupid and paradoxical.

8. What do you see as your greatest strength as a writer?

I can do a grammar and spelling real good.

Okay, but seriously though. I try to make my characters complex beings that feel real. I want complicated relationships, moral quandries, and ‘oh shit’ moments of self-discovery.

People better be able to spend hours psychoanalyzing the characters up in this bitch.

9. Is there a genre you thought you’d never write in that you have? What are the genres that currently you feel you’d never write?

Honestly, not really? I’ve always loved reading fantasy and sci-fi, and that’s all I can think to write right now. If we’re counting subplots, I never thought I’d be able to write anything romantic, but then Jude and Kul came along and whOOpS!

Currently (and probably forever and ever until the end of time) I will never write erotica. Not because I think the genre is ‘inferior’ or whatever (it’s certain to present its own unique challenges, and I’d assume is as difficult to plan and execute as any other genre), but because I am extremely sex-repulsed. Just reading about two characters making out makes me extremely uncomfortable. I wouldn’t be able to do it.

10. What kind of characters do you struggle to write? Why do you think that is?

Oof, uhh... probably really crafty inventive characters. I don’t know enough about the way things work to come up with a rube goldberg on the fly.

But I’m going to have to learn, because guess what kind of character Kul is?

11. Who or what was your biggest motivation to start writing? Is it still the same today?

Okay, so this was a whole process for me, and I kind of have to write out the whole story now. Sorry not sorry.

I hated writing up until one particular assignment in the fourth grade. It was a very specific turning point for me. I had been creating fan characters for awhile before this happened, but what I didn’t realize while crafting their (not so) carefully thought out backstories, was that I was moving along the writing process.

So we get an assignment. We have to write a story about a quest in the fashion of a Greek myth. There must be a character who is sent on a heroic journey to do a thing, and there must be exactly three obstacles that get in the way of the hero’s goal.

I don’t remember exactly what I wrote, but I do recall that it involved my Sonic OC, Crystal Amber Fox. She was an anthropomorphic fox with ice powers and pieces of amber embedded in her body because I thought it looked cool, I guess. She was also the princess of the ice kingdom, and her parents sent her on a quest to... I think slay a dragon? I think she also had to take the prince of the fire kingdom with her (a black hedgehog with flame designs on his quills. Aptly named ‘Flame’, if I’m remembering right. Also, I think he was actually someone else’s OC that I saw on DeviantArt and subsequently went ‘Hey! Crystal should date him!’ To the creator of Flame the hedgehog, whoever you may be, I am deeply sorry for stealing your OC and putting him in a Greek-inspired epic without your permission).

Anyway, there was a swamp and a magic sword and a dragon that they were supposed to slay, but I doubt they actually did because I’ve always had a huge soft spot for dragons.

So it was fourth grade, and the teacher was probably expecting like, two pages.

I turned in twenty and got the elementary school equivalent of an A+.

It was while writing out that story that I first started to think ‘gee, maybe writing could be fun, actually’. Thanks, Mrs. Burpee. I owe you one.

To answer the second part of your question, in a way, my motivations are the same. I write because I like writing and that’s all there is to it.

My questions and tag list will be under the cut. :)

How old were you when you first realized you wanted to write?

What was the first story you ever wrote about?

What are some of your writing goals?

How often do you write, and do you have a writing schedule?

Who is your favorite OC that you've created?

Which is your least favorite OC?

What are three things you like about your writing?

What are three things you want to improve in your writing?

Tell me a bit about your current WIP!

What are you most proud of about your WIP?

What is your favorite scene that you’ve written in your WIP so far?

Tagging: @kai-writesstuff @quilloftheclouds @practising-writer @imaghostwriter @caz-writes @angelolytle @planets-and-prose @runningonrain

[mychoicessuck]

Unsure - Drake x MC (Jude)

I always found it weird that MC was never really homesick and didn’t miss any family or friends. She went to a whole new country and just said “Fuck it, I’m here.” Let’s give her that moment of weakness, shall we? Oh, Drake’s there too. It’s set during Book 1. Let the fluff commence. 

Jude has been away from home for about 2 months now. She’s been to so many countries, experienced so many things, and made amazing friends. But, she longs to be home. Even if it’s just for a day. She barely got a chance to say goodbye to her parents before she was whisked away to Cordonia and thrown into some royal version of The Bachelor. Her mother would love the outfits she wore. And her father would think Drake is a nice guy. Only if she could tell them about all of this. She wasn’t left in her thoughts for long though. After about an hour of sitting in her room alone, there was a knock on her door. 

“Drake? What are you doing here what if someone saw you?” Jude grabbed his arm and pulled him into her room, quickly. “And what would Bertrand think if he saw us together?” She went back to her bed and sat down, glancing up at her guest. “Well..” he started, bringing a bottle of whiskey from behind his back, “I was hoping we could... talk. I can’t sleep and I don’t think Maxwell would be able to help with that. So here I am.” Jude kept her eyes on him and raised an eyebrow, feeling pretty confused. “So... you chose to talk to me? I thought you wanted to keep this a secret.” Drake tensed up and placed the bottle on a table. “It’s not like that... it’s just. Complicated. Royal rules... and all.” Jude let out a small chuckle and pat the spot next to her. “I’ll accept that. I... need someone to talk to anyway.” Drake took a seat next to her and opened the bottle. He grabbed a cup off of an unused tea set and filled it up. 

Jude wasn’t used to drinking liquor from fancy china, but damn she could get used to it. This was comfortable. She finally found someone that she could just talk to. Not someone who’s competing with her, not someone who’s telling her what to do, and surprisingly not the same as talking to Liam. It was some sense of normal. Drake, who’s been nothing but a stick in the mud, is the one making her smile. “But... you mentioned you need someone to talk to. Is everything... alright?” Drake’s words brought her back to reality. “Yeah... I do. And we’ve been having so much fun, I forgot I was even upset.” She leaned on Drake’s shoulder and let out a sigh. “It’s just that... I’ve been homesick.”

Drake was almost hypnotized by Jude,the way he was taking in everything about her. The way she laughs, how she covers her face when she’s embarrassed, and even how she soflty touches his arm every now and again when she’s telling a story. Here she was, leaning on his shoulder, confiding in him. It almost felt like it was meant to be. But, he knew it couldn’t be. No matter how much he wanted it to. “Homesick? I thought this was paradise. What was your life like back then?” Jude paused. This is pretty damn great. She’s being treated like an actual princess. But she still missed being able to drive 30 minutes to see her mom. She missed going out with her friends. And she even missed going to her favorite Gyro spot at three in the morning. “It’s been difficult adjusting to this lifestyle. I can’t call my mom and dad. They can’t just hop on a plane and come over here. And even if Liam does choose me, what do I do? I don’t know if I want to be a queen! I’m just here now because I thought ‘He’s cute. You can do this.’” Now it was Drake’s turn to let out a small laugh. “You don’t want to be queen?” He ran a hand though his hair and leaned back against her bed frame. “You can’t leave... so what if he does pick you?” “I... I don’t know. I’m confused. There’s a lot going through my mind. Tonight I think I realized that there’s someone else I’d rather be with. But that’s another conversation.” She then turned to the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. “And another bottle of liquor.” 

After another hour of talking, drinking and trying not to wake Bertrand & Maxwell with their laughter, Drake and Jude finally decided to go to sleep. Drake was about to leave when... “Wait, Drake! Before you leave-” “This is the third time you’ve said this, McCall. It’s two in the morning.” When he turned around, he was met with a pleasant surprise. A kiss on the cheek from Jude. “Thanks for the company. I feel a lot better now thanks to you.” Drake smiled and opened the door. “No problem... just let me know whenever you need someone to talk to.” He walked out and gently closed the door behind him before returning to his room.

Okay so it’s my first Choices fanfic ever and I’ve been debating putting one up on here and posting fanfics every now and again. Let me know what you think of it.