#did Thomas find a way to write this page

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part 22)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

Unable to resist such temptation, you pulled these envelopes out and quickly scanned through their content. Each letter was at least two pages long, hand-written in a beautiful, precise script that you recognized as belonging to Tommy himself.

These letters spanned over months, detailing unspeakable fantasies and admissions of a kind you never imagined him to be capable of expressing.

Tommy's usual cold facade gave way to a longing and vulnerability that struck you deeply as he wrote that he believed he could spend the rest of his life with you, had it not been for the blood they shared. He revealed he often wished to be close to you, but never quite dared to cross that boundary again, held back by the family's needs. 

It seemed as though Tommy's thoughts often wandered back to you, even after all this time, grappling with the same questions of affection that had haunted you after you had left for Boston. 

A single tear slipped down your cheek as you finally understood the depth of pain that remained between you two after you had separated from one another and just as you folded the letters back up, one by one, you were caught by Tommy himself as he entered his office, looking for you. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded, voice like a whip cracking through the tense atmosphere.

The surprise in his eyes, coupled with the anger, said it all and, as you mustered up the courage to confront him, you held the letters out to him, still trembling in your hands.

"I wanted to find some writing paper and I stumbled upon these. I didn't mean to snoop, but...," you began to plead earnestly, trying to explain yourself in the midst of your shame and guilt. "I saw that they were addressed to me and you never sent them, so I just. . . I got curious."

Swallowing back the lump in your throat, you tried to gauge Tommy's reaction and, as you did, you could almost see the wheels turning in his mind.

"Why didn't you send them?" you then whispered softly, unable to contain your burning curiosity.

"I didn't see the point," Tommy admitted bluntly, snatching the letters out of your hand and tossing them carelessly onto his desk.

"Why not?" you pressed on, eager to understand the reason behind his decision to keep these heartfelt confessions from you.

Tommy paused for a moment, staring at you with an intensity that took your breath away. He looked as if he was wrestling with his own thoughts, whether to tell you the truth or not.

"Because I knew that I could never have you," he said finally, reluctance heavy in his voice.

Tommy's admission left you stunned, and your eyes widened in shock at the raw honesty in his words.

"I was foolish to imagine that we could ever be together," he continued, his voice hoarse as he struggled to conceal his pain.

You stared back at him, unsure of how to respond and, instead of using words, you allowed your actions to speak.

Taking a step forward, you closed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You then rested your head against his shoulder, sighing deeply before pressing your lips gently against the soft cotton of his shirt.

"I missed you, Tommy," you whispered softly while Tommy remained still and silent, struggling with the emotions swirling wildly within him before reaching out tentatively to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I missed you too," he eventually confessed, his voice barely audible as sighed deeply, wondering how to move forward from this moment. 

"Please, don't pull away from me. Not again," you pleaded, feeling Tommy's muscles tense under your fingertips.

You were acutely aware of the pressure building between you, and the sexual energy surging through your veins as his hands moved from your hair to your lower back, pulling you closer still until you could feel the rigid contours of his body pressed firmly against yours.

"Y/N," Tommy gasped, trying to distance himself once more but you would not let him this time. 

Unable to resist him any longer, you let your hands trail up from his waist to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beating beneath your fingertips. With each passing moment, the attraction between you grew more potent, as intense as ever before.

So much so, that, when Tommy’s fingers trailed lower to grasp the curve of your backside, it was all you could do to stifle the jolt of pleasure that shot straight to your core. Your breath hitched in your throat, body trembling as you fought to maintain some semblance of control.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you tipped your head back, granting Tommy access to that tender vulnerability that he craved.

His skin met yours with a promise that tingled in every nerve ending, igniting a fire within you, burning for answers only Tommy could provide all while your fingers clutched desperately at the fabric of his shirt.

Then finally, Tommy cupped your face within his sizable palms, thumbing away the tears that cascaded down your flushed cheeks without warning before dipping his head to claim your mouth with the very same ferocity that he waged war with the world outside.

Feeling his lips on yours again brought back memories which you tried to forget but never could. You grazed his bottom lip gently, coaxing him to deepen the kiss with a subtle circles of your tongue around the corners of his mouth until he relented.

A familiar moan escaped your lips as Tommy consumed you whole.

Your tongues intertwined, exploring fervently, tasting the bitter tang of tobacco on his lips with a hunger that couldn't be quenched.

Lost in the passionate whirlwind of fervent lips and tangled tongues, you managed to forget where you were and whom you were with, even if only for a brief moment and, before you even knew what had hit you, Tommy's hands had made quick work of unbuttoning your blouse.

"We shouldn't," you murmured feebly, although the catch in your voice betrayed how much you truly meant those words.

"No, probably not," Tommy agreed as his fingers traveled lightly over the expanse of your chest, curling around the slim strap of your bra before pulling it down seductively, revealing the soft mound of your breast.

You inhaled sharply, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of sensation flooding through your body as his fingers circled your nipple, teasing it into a tight, sensitive peak.

"But, fuck, Y/N. I need you, and I think you need me just as much, eh," he groaned, burying his face in your neck as you tilt your head back, granting him further access to the expanse of your exposed skin.

His breath tickled the sensitive spot beneath your ear, inciting another shudder to ripple through you as you tugged on his suit jacket, wanting him to take it off.

As if on autopilot, Tommy obliged, shrugging his jacket off before tossing it carelessly aside. He then took off his gun holster , never letting his gaze waver from your own.

His mere presence demanded attention in every room he entered, and it was no different now. In fact, the anticipation of what was to come was almost as tantalizing as the act itself, toying with every nerve ending in your body.

His fingers brushed against yours as you both worked to unfasten his belt while, at the same time, he pushed you backwards gently, causing your back to make contact with his large study desk.

Shifting your body, you hoisted yourself upwards, allowing you to sit on the cold cedar. Your skirt rode up your thighs as you did, revealing more of your bare leg for him to admire.

You then reached beneath your skirt , gently tugging at the hem of your panties, helping him remove them with ease as he leaned over the desk, bracing himself against it.

"I need you inside me right now, Tommy," you panted, breath hitching in anticipation as you locked gazes with him, urging him on as he stepped in between your welcoming legs.

"Patience has never been your strong point Love," Tommy chuckled as a thrill of pleasure pulsed through you when you felt his fingers graze along your inner thighs, the weight of your anticipation pushing down heavily upon you. There was no other sound except the counting of your own shallow breaths as he trailed slow and delicate kisses along your neckline, eliciting shivers that started to tremble up from your very soul.

Pushing down his trousers and undergarments in one swift motion, Tommy revealed his arousal to you, hard and throbbing.

Aroused by the sight, your hands moved towards his length and Tommy paused momentarily, staring deep into your eyes, searching for any lingering doubt or apprehension. Finding none, his movements became urgent, filling a longing need deep within both of you as he aligned himself with your entrance.

With one fluid motion, Tommy thrust into you, filling you completely. You gasped, the sharp intake of breath echoing throughout the quiet room. The feel of him, hot and aching, sent waves of pleasure crashing through you as your fingers dug into his muscular back.

The sweet sensation of him moving inside you, filling you, was almost overwhelming. Desire coursed through your veins, demanding you surrender to everything this moment promised. Your bodies melded together, so perfectly attuned to every shift and twitch, as though fate itself had conspired to unite you.

"Y/N, look at me," Tommy whispered hoarsely, the gravelly tone of desire nearly muffling his plea. His face, etched with deep lines and shadows characteristic of a man who had endured so much torment in his life, appeared almost like a stranger's.

But his eyes, the same shade of blue you remembered so vividly, they bore into yours, delivering waves of emotion that quickly overpowered the rational part of your mind.

"I love you," Tommy confessed, thrusting harder as each charged word left his lips, chasing away the old ghosts, if only for a brief instant.

"I love  you too Tommy," you murmured against his ear, arching your back as warmth spread from the core of your being, seeping into every vein. "Oh god, don't fucking stop," you moaned, clutching at Tommy's shoulders as he rhythmically thrust into you, driving you closer and closer to the edge of pure bliss. 

Perched upon the solid, polished oak desk, your limbs trembled as you tightened your grip around his shoulders. 

"I am so close ," you whimpered wantonly, a curse coiling within your throat as you surrendered to the rising tide of pleasure ebbing through every nerve.

Your knees clenched around his waist, pulling him deeper into your warmth. His ragged breaths became ardent moans resonating throughout the room, igniting an electric impulse of ecstasy as the tempo escalated between you before, suddenly and without warning, your husband 's voice pierced through the sound of your intoxicated gasps.

"What the bloody hell," Robert gasped loudly, unable to actually form a coherent sentence as he stood stock still, mouth agape. Shock and disgust painted themselves across his face as he took in the sight of what he had just witnessed. 

"Jesus, fucking Christ!" Tommy barked, releasing a string of curses as he quickly untangled himself from you, frantically grabbing his clothes in an attempt to shield whatever modesty remained after the carnal exchange. Stumbling blindly, he made his way around the opposite side of the large desk where Robert still stood, in utter disbelief while you fumbled with your skirt and blouse to cover up your nakedness. 

"Robert," you managed to splutter out, grasping for words and finding none as the realization of what he had just walked in on was like a bucket of icy water coldly splashing onto Robert's features. "This is not what it looks like," you quickly attempted to say, but the evidence of your indiscretion was undeniable, served up on a silver platter for Robert's eyes to feast upon.

The discomfort between those present was palpable now, exacerbated by Tommy's reluctance to cover himself fully in front of Robert. His shirt, still unbuttoned, hung open to reveal the honed lines of his torso and, although he had succeeded in hiding his arousal, Tommy's face still contained traces of unquenched desire.

Robert's gaze flickered back and forth between you and Tommy, barely managing to conceal his revulsion at the thought of you cheating on him with your very own uncle and, then suddenly, he spoke up.

"You are fucking disgusting, both of you!" he spat, eyes flashing with anger and confusion. "You fucking Gypsies," he muttered derisively, shaking his head from side to side in utter disbelief. Disgust coated his lips like poison as   he sneered down his nose at you, unable to grasp the extent of the twisted affair that had unfolded before him. "This," he pointed accusingly toward you and Tommy, "is a disgrace and, I have no doubt that your wife and your political acquaintances will want to hear about your sick little affair with your niece," Robert then said, pointing his finger at Tommy who stood there, silently until now, assessing the situation. 

"Are you fucking threatening me?" Tommy  narrowed his eyes, placing his hands firmly on the desk, on either side of him.

His calm demeanor belied the rage building within. The thought that Robert believed he could strong-arm him into submission was laughable, but he wasn't in the mood for laughing.

"Perhaps I am," Robert said , attempting to stand his ground, but visibly trembling as Tommy's towering figure stood dangerously close.

Tommy chuckled quietly, his anger lingering under the surface, and you could see the conflict in his expression – weighing the consequences of what he should do or say next.

"Don't, please," you tried to intervene as, eventually, Tommy walked towards his office door to close it before approaching Robert with a sly grin on his face.

There was no fear present in his striking features, only a silent, lethal promise.

"I see that my niece hasn't told you about me and about what I do, eh?" Tommy smirked, eyes cold as ice as he looked directly into Robert's soul. Robert's face paled, suddenly realizing the weight of his words and actions. "Because, if she had, then you wouldn't be making threats." 

Fear crept into his eyes and, although Tommy was his equal in height, Robert was no match for the powerful man that stood before him. He had witnessed the darkness that stirred within Tommy's being in that moment, and he had made a terrible mistake threatening him.

Tommy walked slowly around Robert, circling him like a predator stalking its prey.

"Now, why don't you have a seat Robert ," Tommy suggested, gesturing towards one of the leather chairs in the room. He kept his voice even, but there was an undertone of danger.

Uncertainty flickered across Robert's face and, for a heartbeat, you feared he might challenge Tommy's authority. But, ultimately, prudence prevailed and he sank cautiously into the chair.

"You see, I don't like being threatened," Tommy reiterated, his voice low and laden with menace. "And all men who have threatened me in the past are not around anymore now to carry out their threats, so I suggest you consider your next words more carefully,"  he added with a wicked glint in his eyes.

The tension in the air hung thickly as Tommy leaned in closer to Robert, towering over him. Their faces were inches apart, and you could see the fear building within Robert's eyes as he realized the sheer power that the man before him possessed.

"You can't scare me," Robert muttered , trying to maintain his composure, but his voice wavered and cracked, giving away his fear.

"Oh, I can and I will," Tommy replied confidently, pointing his finger towards Robert's face. "Even in Boston I have the resources to ruin you if you ever decide to cross me again, or speak of what you witnessed here tonight. I have men on my payroll who, even in Boston, can make you disappear and, trust me, these men have quite a reputation of not being kind when disposing of threats," Tommy cursed under his breath, his frustration taking over as the color drained from Robert's face.

Robert stared, wide-eyed as the calculated confidence behind Tommy's words penetrated his arrogant, naive mind. Tommy was no stranger to the extreme lengths he was willing to go to secure his family's safety and their empire.

After a long pause, and without taking his eyes off Robert's ghostly face, Tommy continued.

"Now, you have two options, Robert," Tommy declared. "You can either keep your mouth shut and stay alive, or you can cross me and end up in the hands of my men, who I will instruct to keep a close eye on you," Tommy said with a deadly calm that chilled everyone in the room. 

"Robert, please. I am sorry, but you need understand," you began to say , your voice barely above a whisper, trying to appeal to the sense of reason that you thought might reside somewhere within him. 

Robert stared at you, his eyes devoid of compassion. "I need to understand what?" he asked, shaking his head. "That your family is running a criminal empire and that you are involved with your uncle?"  Robert finished for you, disdain twisting his features.  "Is Edward his son?" Robert demanded, any hint of genuine concern for you tainted by bitterness, jealousy, and disgust.

You trembled under the weight of his gaze, for what could you possibly say? You yearned to tell him the truth, but a tangled web of emotions and fears held you back.

"You know what? It doesn't really matter anymore Y/N. I always had a feeling that, what your family was involved in, was not entirely legal, but this is beyond my comprehension," he finally relented, running his hands through his dark hair in disbelief.

"I'm so sorry, Robert," you whispered, feeling an immense agony swell in your chest. "I don't have a simple explanation or justification for what I have done and I know that you will never forgive me for my indiscretion, but I need you to promise me to keep quiet about it all and not utter a word to anyone about this," you begged him and Robert looked at you, as though trying to gauge your sincerity, then nodded slowly. 

"I won't say a word," he murmured then, but there was no warmth in his voice and you knew it was only a cold and strictly practical promise. 

"Good boy," Tommy replied, standing tall with an unmistakable air of superiority. "Now, I suggest you get yourself a room at the Midland and a ticket for the next plane back to Boston. I will have one of my men accompany you once you have gathered your personal belongings," Tommy said, camouflaging his relief with the usual confident facade.

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[genshin-impact-unofficial]

Naughty Little Secret Pt.2

Reactions of Genshin men finding your spicy literature.

Ft. Childe, Albedo, and Alhaitham  (Aka blue eyed boy edition)

(PART 1) Ft. Diluc, Cyno, and Thoma  (PART 3) Ft. Scaramouche, Itto, and Xiao

Tags: PG-13, Sexual Themes, GN!Reader, Technically SFW, Crushes, TW!Blood (Albedo) but it’s very mild, LOTS OF TEASING Notes: I swear my first time writing a character always turns out so long. I so appreciate everyone cheering me on tho! Feel free to send suggestions to my inbox! 💘(Repost!)

Childe

Spicy romance novels were your guilty pleasure. After a rough week at work, you deserved to sit back at Yanshang Teahouse and let the flow of words on the pages guide your imagination. You held your newest purchase in your hand and pondered if the cover art was a coincidence. Perhaps deep down, you subconsciously picked the book with a pretty ginger boy on the cover.

Tartagalia hadn’t visited Liyue in a while... and maybe there was a part of you that missed the tall handsome Snezhnayan boy just a tiny bit. You were a tad totally heartbroken when your friend departed from the harbor. He would come by your work quite often just to chat and whenever he had time to kill. Eventually, his company and charming words just became a part of your routine. It was impossible not to be dazzled by the boy’s abundant attention. But as time passed and you felt confident that you were completely over your little crush. You shook your head of those thoughts, it wasn’t important why you chose the book you did. You were here to enjoy yourself and you were hell bound to do just that.

The orange haired protagonist finds himself swept up in trouble much bigger than himself. To protect what’s dearest to him, he becomes a spy to an organization he holds no loyalty to. While behind enemy lines, he meets a girl who sees right through the mask he puts on. She not only figures out he’s a spy, but also sees his bleeding heart that has the ability to turn for the better. Your heart ached for the boy. The way he was stuck between his duties and who he loved made you feel endless sympathy for the protag. He had to betray one in the end to accomplish the other. 

His mission was going to be completed in the morning. After that, he would never see the girl again. The handsome ginger spilled his feeling, laying himself out bare to the girl he loved. She knows, she always did, and she wanted to show him now on their last night. Emotions flood forward as their bodies tangle with one another. He wants her to feel his earnest passion.  He wants to bring her joy, to bring her the happiness she deserved, to bring her pleasure...  A low familiar whistle pulled your mind from the scene. No way...

“Huh, so this is what you do while I’m away...” A cheeky voice teased. You whipped your head to look at the widest shit eating grin that you’ve ever seen since.... well since he left.  

“Tartagalia? What- When did you?” You were reeling and sputtered in surprise and embarrassment. You attempted redirect his attention and tuck the novel behind you as a last ditch effort to save your pride. But alas, Ajax was not known to be a merciful guy.  

“Ah ah ah Y/N, I hadn’t got a good look at that last page. I just have to know about those ‘rippling abs’ mentioned.” Childe playfully reached behind you and snagged the book from your grip. You tried to swipe it back but his reflexes were too fast. “You don’t mind sharing right?”

“I’m serious give it back Childe!”  You threatened, but it only spurred him further. He had a whole head up on you, and was talking full advantage of it. Childe held the book open above you and dramatically cleared his throat before reciting naughty lines from the passages. Your felt your face burn red in both embarrassment and now absolute fury. 

This kid was so dead!

Albedo

There was urgency in your steps while you trekked through the snowy path. You visited Dragonspine enough times to know the beaten trail even when covered in fresh snow, but it was still your least favorite part of coming to the lab. If you had to list your favorite part, well...... your friend Albedo wasn’t exactly terrible to look at. You were glad to see him again so soon. Typically, you purposely spaced out your visits up the mountain, but when you received a letter asking for your assistance in a research matter you really couldn’t say no. 

As junior librarian of the knights, you were tasked with dropping off books and other study material to Albedo’s lab. It’s a grueling task but the two of you got along very well so you were always happy to do it. That being said, you weren’t exactly a person of science and opted reading into history and arts most times. Through years of knowing Albedo, you had to set a clear cut boundary on being a test rat for the alchemist. So far he has respected your wishes, so you didn’t assume it was why he’d call you out here. The curiosity was almost as bad as the blistering cold hitting your nose. As soon as the light illuminating from the lab was in view, you rushed forward desperate for warmth. 

“Y/N, I’ve been awaiting you.” Albedo greeted you kindly. 

“Hey Albe-” The words died in your throat when you caught sight of your friend. The blond’s hair was free from its usual up-do, messy locks framed the boys handsome features and flowed over his shoulders. Albedo’s neat attire was now lax, his knightly accessories nowhere to be seen. What could be seen was the expanse of the alchemist’s collarbone since two additional buttons were undone on his dress shirt. Somehow even while fully clothed, it felt indecent to witness him like this. “Is... everything alright Albedo?” You asked, averting your eyes to keep from ogling your friend. 

“Of course.” Albedo answered easily, his voice was low and sultry. “Please take a seat Y/N. I have something urgent that needs your eyes.” He directed you, cocking his head towards the small table. Your brain was short circuiting and all you could think to do was obediently sit. You had never seen the serious and calculated man like this but you weren’t exactly complaining either. Albedo served you a cup of hot tea and opted to lean against the table instead of sitting. 

“So... um what did you need me to look at.” You asked awkwardly, unsure what to do with yourself. 

“Well obviously I want you to look at me Y/N” A light smirk formed across Albedo’s lips and he smoothly leaned over your chair. Your eyes followed every single movement while your face quickly began to heat up. Where was all of this coming from? Should you be concerned? 

“W- what do you mean by that?” You blurted out, mind racing a mile a minute.

“I want you to-” Everything came to a screeching halt when your chair, that Albedo had been leaning on, began to tilt backwards. Both you and blond were sent crashing to the ground, ruining any kind of mood that was building. Your head ached from where you bumped it but Albedo intentionally took the brunt of it, completely face-planting into the hard floor. 

“Albedo are you alright??” You hovered over him. The boy simply turned to you and blinked. His stoic expression was more akin to what you typically were used to. 

“I apologize Y/N. It seems I didn’t fully grasp the concepts in the experiment before executing it. Are you hurt?” He stood up and carefully helped you to your feet. He examined you for any signs of injury, regardless of his obviously bleeding nose. 

“Im good, the chair broke most of my fall. You on the other hand...” You grabbed a handkerchief and try to assist him. “Wait... experiment? Is that what this is all about?” You accused, slightly irked. 

“Yes, I saw a fascinating book among the study material you left behind recently. I assumed that it was a new subject you had recommended for me.” Albedo stated simply. “Its contents was um... quite intimate at times, but I thought it was a interesting perspective on forming human connections.” You felt froze, but this time not from the blistering cold. 

“Did the book have um.... did it have a pair of cuffs on the front?” You asked, praying to the archons that you were mistaken.

“Yes, I studied it extensively.” Albedo replied without a hint of shame on his features.  You replayed his interactions and what had just transpired in your head and looked back over to your friend.

“Okay two things. One, don’t you dare breathe a word to anyone about that book or else I’ll be very upset with you. And two, that was fucking hilarious.” You bursted out in laughter at the absurdity of the whole happenstance. Albedo gazed back at you confused, but your amusement was undeniably infectious. He smiled fondly back at you. Although the experiment couldn’t be labeled a success, the outcome was still one he found pleasing.  

Alhaitham

It was grueling working in the Akademiya recently. The overthrow of power left everyone with plenty to do. You would go mad from attending meeting after meeting if you didn’t have some sort of stress outlet. Writing was a way you liked to ease your mind, like an escape of sorts. You loved writing loose plots for light novels and dreamed to one day send an entry to the “Wow This Novel is Amazing!” contest in Inazuma. You were far from a finished manuscript, but it’s days like these that gave you inspiration. After working through piles of paperwork, you earned yourself a moment of indulgence. Especially when stress was eating you alive, your scenes tended to take a turn for the... suggestive. 

The scene opened to the main character pondering why their mentor kept themselves at arms length. She respected him immensely and strives to uphold his reputation by improving her skill. He was young and handsome, skilled far beyond his years. They held a close bond, closer than either of them have ever experienced. Now it was unclear why he was giving her such a cold shoulder. She confronts her mentor about the reasons behind his actions. He expresses his pride in her, how she has come far in the their time together. But for her to achieve new highs, she must leave him behind. His feelings for her would only be a hindrance now. 

She felt the tension between them for some time now. It was lingered in soft bushes between fingers, meaningful glances over meals, and caring gestures done without thinking. She’s fallen for the beautiful man, to a point that it wasn’t logical. No words need to be exchanged, only body heat. Arms hold onto the other in yearning desperation. Lips hungrily meet, as if they’ll never to be sated. Her want clouds all her senses and she could feel his willingness to give her everything, all of him. Hot needy breaths trail down her body, discarding any clothes that stood barrier, until he finally put his mouth directly on- 

“Busy Y/N?” The amused man asked from the doorway. You jump in response, quickly pushing aside the parchment that you were writing on. 

“Alhaitham! What are you doing here?” You pipe up, surprised to see your friend for more than one reason. Alhaitham had been promoted to acting grand sage while the rest was still settling, he had to be incredibly busy. 

“I see you’re not very excited to see me,” Alhaitham teased, strolling casually into your office anyway. “Even after I went through the trouble of coming to grab the data reports myself and pay you a visit.” He tsked. 

“You came to see me? Ah, so you need a favor.” You playfully jabbed back, easily finding comfort in the other’s company. It really had been quite a while. If it weren’t for the man’s inflated ego, you might have told him that you’ve missed him. 

“You wound me. It’s not an oddity for colleagues reconnect reminisce while also carrying out an errand for the acting great sage.” Alhaitham replied smoothly, not bothering to go through the motions and pretend to act hurt.

“Yikes, already pulling the ‘acting great sage’ card.” You chuckle. Alhaitham and you have worked closely together for years, so you didn’t mind going out of your way to do him a favor. But maybe one day he would learn that all he had to do was ask nicely. 

“It would be foolish to not use the assets as they are presented to me.” The former scribe shrugged. He opened his mouth as if to continue the witty banter, but a beep from on his person alerted him of something. “I’ll have to brief you later. I’ll just take the data reports and be on my way.”

“Right, here it goes.” You handed him the prepared stack of papers on your desk and just like that Alhaitham was gone, off to his next endeavor. Wow he really is swamped now a days. You thought, ready to get back into your writing. Ideas kept flowing through you as you looked for the parchment you just had.... Wait it was just right here. Oh no.

-

“ALHAITHAM! I NEED THE DATA REPOR-” You barged into acting grand sage’s office, which was no easy feat. You were stopped again and again by all the matra crawling about. Your mouth ran dry when spotted the parchment in the smirking man’s hands. You wished the floor would just open up and swallow you whole so that you wouldn’t have to look at that cocky handsome face. 

“The data report? Certainly, it’s right over there on the desk.” Alhaitham stated, not bothering to take his eyes off your handwriting. “I’m still going over some of it now and I have to say, it’s quite in depth.” He went on.

“You are such a jerk! Give it!” You resorted to trying to snatch it, but the former scribe easily turned away without sparing you even a single glance. You knew what he wanted and damn did it feel like making a deal with the devil. “I’ll owe you a favor, no questions asked. Just hand it over and keep your mouth shut.” 

“Two favors.” He bargained without batting an eye.

“You’re pushing it-”

“One is for my silence and the other for the safe return of your... passion project.” Alhaitham interjected, finally tearing his eyes from your writing to shoot you a glance above the paper. You willed a stern expression onto your face, even while a furious blush bloomed cross your cheeks. A curt nod sealed the agreement and the man casually returned the parchment to you as promised. You snatched the paper from him and averted your gaze.

“Y/N you have quite the knack for imagery.” Alhaitham added slyly. You expected he would tease you a little longer, so you braced yourself for the worst. What you did’t expect was the tall man to lean over you with his hand braced on the desk. Your eyes shot up to his in surprise. “If you’re ever in need for another peer review, I’d be happy to offer my services.” He winked. 

<A/N: These men need to be stopped>

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham genshin #alhaitham #genshin imagines #genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin x reader #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz #albedo genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #childe tartaglia ajax #genshin tartagalia #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #suggestive

[warnersister]

The Three Instances that Tom Riddle denied his love for you and The One Instance he didn’t.

Tom Riddle x Reader

The first instance - Not enough seating on a cold winter’s morn

Tom was allowing himself to indulge in a book while sipping on a butter beer in Hogsmeade, finding a source of comfort in the warm building - a rather oxymoronic atmosphere to the bismal blizzard beyond the doors. However, what wasn’t comforting was the rest of Hogwarts being practically packed into the building - others having a similar idea to Tom, however deciding against a silent narrative; and. Instead opting for a loud and irritating conversion across the building.

Something implored him to look up from the page he had been repeating in his mind for the last twenty minutes to glance towards the door. The bell had been a constant ring however for some reason only this one drew him to it. Your face was red and your teeth were chattering, frosted flakes forming on your lashes and lips plump as a reaction to the cold. Your mouth flashed into an excitable grin when you saw your friends, making an effort to remove the matching white earmuffs and gloves and shrugging off the similar coat. He noticed how despite the wind and snow, your hair managed to stay perfectly intact, finalised by a black ribbon pulled into a bow to hold the final pesky strands back into a more visually satisfactory position.

Tom wanted to tell himself that it was sickly how perfect you looked, but he was also knowledgable enough to know the way his heart started to palpitate and how beads of sweat emitted from his forehead despite his cold stature wasn’t by chance - his heart could not lie so he settled on confused. Never before had he felt such strong emotions but then again he welcomed the swarm of butterflies encircling his stomach. After all, your presence was keeping him warm.

His eyes darted back to his book when you began to approach him and a flurry of questions rose in his brain. Why were you coming towards him? Did he have something on his face? What did you want? Did you reserve this table? And why was he panicking? “Excuse me?” You say, voice small yet sweet giving a delightful contrast to the bustling environment surround you both. He silently cleared his voice. “Can I help you?” He replied, surprising himself as he mirrored your sweetening voice. “I’m terribly sorry to bother, but is this seat taken? I’m afraid we are void of some.” You say, sincerity in your tone and your face visualised your apologetic comment. “Oh no, not at all. Please” he motioned to the chair and you thank him with a grin, taking it and sitting beside your friends.

The butter beer you were handed gave you a frosted stash and you licked it away quickly with a giggle. Tom thought wall he was watching one of those wizard porno magazines he had found on his dorm-mates bedside table. You were too perfect and he hated it.

Yes. He hated it.

The second instance - Tom is late.

He needn’t have been late. Thomas Riddle was never late. On time is late and early is on time in his book. His watch was lying. But no, his swift entrance into the potions classroom proved futile as everyone was already seated and settled. “Welcome, Mr Riddle please find a seat.” His teacher said, lucky to be favourites and his eyes calmly darted for a chair.

“The seat beside me is free, if you would like.” I voice spoke quietly from beside him and he peered down to see your doe eyes peering back kindly at him. “Yes, thank you.” He sat and soon realised he was unsure of what a was going on.

Your elbow touched his side slightly, drawing him away from his thoughts and towards you. You lean in and whisper “I’m aware you like to write your own notes, but I hope these are good enough to help you catch up.” You hand him your own that are scrawled in a declare and sophisticated hand and smile, turning away. Your whisper made his hair stand on end and spine shiver. He didn’t understand why something as simple as your made him feel this way, blaming it on the temperature of the dungeons and not you.

Soon enough however, it was time for the practical work to commence and he was therefore stuck being your partner. Not that he minded, of course. He just told himself he did. You were each gathering ingredients, you had spit the list into two and appointed one another different roles of which he just complied and went along with, scuttling about to source what you needed.

Walking back towards the cauldron, you find yourself suddenly getting caught on another student’s protruded chair and lurching ever so ungracefully falling. Tom turns as you do so, and for some reason instinctively dripping his own supplies to catch you and break your fall, landing in some sort of forbidden classical dance finale. You look up at him, breath caught in your throat as he mirrors your expression. He eyes you, looking you over concerned that you had hurt yourself. “Are you alright?” He asks, small and you nod, allowing him to help you back to your feet. “Yes, just a little surprised that’s all. Thank you, Tom.” You give him a small smile and hold his arm then turn back to the task at hand.

The student who’s chair it was hurries over to apologise. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so lazy to not put the stool where it belongs she wouldn’t have been in this predicament.” Tom snaps at the student who silences his apology, turning away and handing his head.

Tom looks at you both surprised at himself for protecting you and for the look you were giving him. A mischievous smile. “Aren’t you a knight in shining armour?” You giggle and he chuckles with a smirk. “Shouldn’t have been so negligent.”

But Tom shouldn’t have protected you, Tom Riddle let’s damsels in distress fall. Tom Riddle does not do selflessness.

The Third Instance - Your Festive Nature Rubs Off On Him

Christmas - the muggle celebration - was fast approaching. Spirits were high in Hogwarts and students were busy awaiting excitable festivities and warming hot chocolate; schoolwork discarded and teachers uncaring as they too felt the jolly spirit. But not Tom.

Tom thought it was ridiculous that people so incredible and wise as wizards and witches would celebrate such a lowly muggle holiday. He was quite happy to tuck himself away in the darkest corner of the library until it was all over. Some much needed studying was to be done and he wouldn’t let this infuriating date ruin his exceptional record.

Tom was nose deep into a pile of books taller than himself, when he heard footsteps fast approaching. He peered up slightly to see who dared to disrupt him and had to double take as he noticed it was you. You were adorned in bright red despite being a devoted green, holding a box of sickly sweet decor between your hands, walking towards him with a strong and meaningful stride - you wanted something.

“May I interest you in a Christmas Biscuit or Father Christmas hat?” You ask, holding your treats towards him and he complies by peering into the box of goods. If it was anyone else he would’ve pushed the box out of their hands or use foul language to send them on their way. But for some reason he was yet to put his finger on, not you. “No thank you.” He says and you let out a dramatic sigh.

“A man as hard working as yourself surely needs some sugar to keep his energy up.” You wave a gingerbread man in front of him with a hopeful grin. He eyes you slightly and decided it would be simpler to take the sweet goodness from your hands than to argue, not because it was you - he was just hungry, his growling stomach of which he had been neglecting told him so. It wasn’t you at all.

Your lips form a gleeful smile as he accident lets out a satisfied hum at the taste. “I am a good baker when it comes to Christmas.” You tell him then wrestle through your box and put and odd shaped cylinder-like object, holding one side and encouraging him to pull at the other.

You raised a brow but you remain stubborn and shake the object and it rattles, dull. “It’s a cracker, please indulge and humour me on this one, Tom.” He nearly melts at your words and holds onto the other side, jumping slightly and feeling all gooey when he hears your giggle at his reaction. He holds the full side and does indeed humour you, curiosity killing the cat as he peers inside; pulling out a small muggle rubber duckling, a joke card, and a purple party hat.

He looks from his prize to you and you take the joke from his hands. “What do you sing at a snowman’s birthday party?” You asked, voice overflowing with a sense of humour. “What?” He allows himself to indulge. “Freeze a jolly good fellow.” You laugh and he smirks. “I know you found that funny, Thomas you are allowed to laugh.” You jokingly tell him, removing the party hat from its plastic confinements and reaching to put it on his head.

He should feel repulsed, horrified, disgusted, yet he allows you to put the purple hat on his head and stand between his legs to adjust it perfectly. Your tongue protruded from your lips slightly in concentration and he was enthralled by the sight, a warm bubbly feeling in his stomach when you look down at him. “Perfect.” You conclude and step back.

“Well I’ll allow you to get back to your studying, thank you for that, Tommy.” You say and make your leave. Tommy. What an awful nickname. You should call it him more often.

Tom thumbed the rubber duck and surveyed it for a few moments, before placing it into his breast pocket and tapping it securely as it began to thaw his cold chest, moving to adjust his oversized hat.

Tom enjoyed your unbearable love-ability.

The Instance When Tom Submitted - The Yule Ball.

Tom believed the Yule Ball to be a pointless annual ceremony. Drinks, facing, festivities, how pathetic. What infuriated him the most was how everyone was crowding in the common room to seek out their friends or nightly companions to accompany them to the great hall. How dare they interrupt his peaceful study period!

His breath caught abruptly in his throat when you descended the stairs of the girl’s dormitories. Your skin was glittery and radiating, reflecting from the contrasting black breaded gown tight on your body, corset forcing your breasts to sit in a forcibly plump and admirable position. You hair was in a tight up-do, a headband matching your dress, black lace gloves highlighting the dark and fluorescent green on your well-kept manicured nails, Vivian Westwood flats on your feet and a red lip to tie of the lip. Tom thought he had died and ascended to the holy land where he would reside after death.

You notice his stairs from beyond his book and give him a sweet, adorable tight-lipped smile before descending the final step and joining your friends who were each being complimented by their dates as yours interlocked your arms. Tom felt a horrible twang in his chest as the man touched you - how dare he? How dare he lay his eyes upon you? How dare he breathe your precious oxygen? How dare he - Tom shook his head, ignorantly ignoring his thoughts and forcing his brain to absorb another several paragraphs of perfection-worthy potions essays.

Tom had the common room all to himself. It was peaceful, it was relaxing, it was ideal. But his calm world came crashing around him when the sound of familiar sobs echoed from the entrance of the common room and drew closer. Looking up, he noticed the rivers of ruined mascara and smudged lipstick on your face and his face immediately dropped, discarding his book and standing to stride over to you. You lol up at him, slightly surprised at his response your entrance and allow him to survey you.

“What happened? Are you alright? What did he do?” He bombarded you with questions in an unfamiliar; caring tone. “He left me to go dance with some Ravenclaw who had her breasts practically hanging out. I was forced to sit by myself while I watched my friends dance with their partners and not once been offered a hand. I feel foolish.” You say and Tom’s knuckles go white at his sides from clenching them at your words.

Very much in his own control, he lifts his thumbs to wipe below your eyes and remove the remnants of sadness the residue of your tears had left behind. As much as he wanted to kill the foolish boy, to hex him, to torture him, to make him feel the pain you did currently, his heart told him that you needed him and his comfort more than he needed revenge on your behalf.

“He is the foolish one. He does not deserve you. He should be lucky he still has eyes look at you and a voice still to apologise with.” He says. “You should not have accompanied him, regardless.” He adds. “Who was I supposed to go with? Myself?” You laughs slightly. He shakes his head in response. “I’ll have you know I rejected a plentiful number of offerings and accompanied him as a last resort.” His eyebrow quirks in confusion. “And what did he have that the other bachelors lacked?” “Nothing. A small, foolish part of me ridiculously hoped that you would have asked, Tom.” You said in a small voice looking into his eyes.

His heart beats quick and his breathing stops. The moment in frozen as the world surrounding you both spins in a painful cycle. He looks down at you and forfeits. He surrenders. He raises his white flag. He admits the reason he loved you so much was because he simply did and it was an unavoidable conclusion.

“Perhaps I would have attended such a ridiculous event if you were by my side.” The sides of your mouth quirk into a small smile which quickly drops as you look above your head. Curious, Tom does the same and a small, white-berried bush becomes suddenly apparent. “Mistletoe. What a ridiculous muggle tradition.” He says quietly enough for you to hear it. He then looks down to you and notices the disappointment in your face. “It’s a good job your gingerbread was as delicious as it was, I may have to indulge once more - just this once.” He says and dips his head down and leans in.

Your soft lips touch his and a powerful firework erupts in his stomach in a euphoric manner, settling his inner dispute with a true loves kiss. You each pull away and you go to rest your head against his chest but get confused by the dull ache in your cheek. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out the small duck. “Turns out I enjoy indulging.” He tells you, leaning back in to continue his euphoria.

#masterlist #xreader #smut #fluff #warner sister #angst #x you #Tom #riddle #Tom riddle #Tom riddle x reader #Tom x you #riddle x reader #Tom x reader #riddle x you #Tom riddle x you #Harry #potter #Harry Potter #the chamber of secrets #promote #promote my page #like #comment #reblog #Slytherin #love #Tom Marvolo riddle #Voldemort #lord voldemort

[whoistartaglia]

hello! i love how laid-back yet endearing your work is. you’re my favorite tumblr page because of that 😁 i was wondering if you could do ayato/thoma/heizou/diluc/childe or any other male character for that matter finding out that their significant other doesn’t believe in marriage. i feel like the characters i listed would be much more marriage-oriented if that makes sense 😅 although i’d be very honored if you wrote this request, you don’t have to at all so you shouldn’t have to apologize about it :) once again, i love your work! i hope you have an amazing day!

s/o who doesn’t believe in marriage.

when i tell you i sprinted to write this. also you are so sweet thank you for the request!

including: ayato, thoma, heizou, diluc, childe.

warnings: gender neutral reader.

ayato.

“i just don’t believe in it,” you said, a little nervously. you knew that ayato was a traditional man and had probably already envisioned his proposal and wedding to you already. if marriage was something he truly wanted—

“but you still want to stay with me?” ayato asked. now he sounded like the nervous one. 

“yes? yes, of course,” you reassured him. “just because i don’t want to get married doesn’t mean i don’t want to be with you forever.”

ayato nodded, and although he felt a little surprised and maybe even disappointed, it wasn’t like he needed to get married to you to cement your love. as long as you with him, ring or not, that was really all that mattered. 

thoma. 

“okay.”

you blinked. tilted your head. waited for thoma to continue, and when he didn’t you repeated yourself: “i said i don’t want to get married.”

thoma looked up, confused. “and i said okay?”

“you’re not like upset or anything?”

“no?” thoma questioned. “why would i be?” 

“no reason… i guess.”

truthfully, thoma didn’t really care either way. not the apathetic way, though. if you did want to get married, he’d be all for it, and if you didn’t, he’d respect that as well. 

he just to be with you. 

heizou. 

“i don’t want to get married.”

heizou looked up, a slight panic in his eyes. you continued, not noticing his eyes widdening as you did: “we’re not going to have a wedding, or even an eloping, because—“

“you don’t love me anymore.”

“wh— what?” you asked, breaking off from your planned explanation. “what made you think of that?”

“you don’t want to get married to me because you’ve fallen out of love with me, and now we’re breaking up.”

“no! what?” then you paused and thought about what you said. i don’t want to get married. but heizou must’ve added the to you at the end. 

“i meant… i don’t want to get married to anyone. not that i just don’t want to, to you.” heizou’s face collasped in relief. once the misunderstanding was settled, he was honestly fine with it. 

diluc.

“weddings are expensive anyways.”

“diluc… you could literally own all of monstadt?” you asked. after telling diluc you didn’t believe in marriage, he told you he was slightly disappointed, but accepted it nonetheless. but then he made that comment, and you were left scratching your head. 

your partner blushed the red of wine. “i am not that— whatever. i’m just saying, even for a man like me, weddings are terribly expensive.”

you were inclined to agree with him, but you were still sure diluc would pay for a dozen weddings and have money left over. 

“are you sure you’re not just saying that to make yourself feel better?”

“maybe. but then again, at least i’m only paying for one wedding now.”

“whos?”

diluc’s mouth set into a grim line. “kaeya’s.”

childe. 

childe wouldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t surprised when you off-handedly said you didn’t believe in marriage. he might ask why and get you to reconsider, but in the end, he supposed marriage wasn’t a dealbreaker. he was still your partner, and as long as you wanted to be with him until the end, he was fine with it… except he might try one more time. 

“are you sure?” he asked. his voice had that playful lilt to it that promised of headaches to come. 

“yes,” you replied, feigning exasperation. “i’m sure.”

“okay, okay. but if you want to get married, we could always do it in the zapolyarny palace.”

“and have your weird work colleagues watch us the entire time?” no, no thank you. 

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact ayato #ayato headcanons #ayato x reader #genshin impact thoma #thoma headcanons #thoma x reader #genshin impact childe #childe headcanons #childe x reader #genshin impact diluc #diluc headcanons #diluc x reader #genshin impact heizou #heizou x reader #heizou headcanons #request #inbox reply

[aerynlallaboso]

theory post:

(spoilers for AW1/AN/AW2)

AW2 Zane is not the original Zane; he is a new version of Tom Zane that has overwritten the original, both in the Dark Place and in the real world.

Part One: Contradictory realities

The idea that this version of Zane has been written into reality and displaced the original Zane is, I think, pretty much textual - I'm very interested in the fact that despite the fact Zane the poet wrote himself out of the world, he did still exist in certain places e.g. in the memory of Cynthia Weaver, who kept that memory alive by writing newspaper articles about Zane (dismissed as urban legend by everyone around her), in actual physical evidence via the shoebox loophole that he created himself (the box of books in the cabin, which are real copies of books that don't exist), and in the memory of the Dark Place (Diver's Cabin at the bottom of the lake). When Zane dismisses the poet/diver as 'a beloved character I played in one of my films', that may be what he now believes (I think he's either not fully aware of the disconnect or doesn't particularly care), but it hasn't always been the truth. There was a real poet called Thomas Zane, and there wasn't: two contradictory truths.

Besides the box of books in the cabin in AW1, the most compelling evidence that reality has been rewritten is the existence of the manor that became Valhalla Nursing Home. Cynthia Weaver's journal indicates she still retains her memories of the original Zane and is very confused when people start referring to him as a filmmaker. She also has in her room a photograph of Zane and Jagger standing in front of Diver's Cabin, which is an object that absolutely should not exist - Zane was never a diver, right? In the basement of the nursing home, you can find a newspaper article with an identical photograph of Zane and Jagger, this time standing in front of their newly purchased manor home. The manor did not exist in the original version of reality as it is in AW1; Norman has dialogue referencing this ('Isn't it strange that I've lived in Bright Falls my whole life and I can't remember this house?'), which Mandy-May refutes ('The house has always been here') just as Saga's memories of her original reality are refuted throughout the game. The manor and the cabin are, similar to the filmmaker and the poet, the same building in different versions of reality, occupying the same role in the history of Bright Falls, which is why the Writer's Room exists in both of them. The same place, the same person - but different.

(Jesse Faden's therapy tape referencing Zane the poet in Control is an additional piece of evidence similar to Cynthia's memories - I assume that Polaris's influence protected Jesse from the effects of that reality rewrite.)

Okay. So Zane was rewritten into reality as a filmmaker. By who?

Part Two: Who else?

This part is more speculative, but it makes so much sense to me that I don't even feel like it's reaching too far 😭. Alan Wake is constantly writing drafts. Constantly cycling through loops that even he's forgotten. He wrote Thomas Zane into Departure as a way to free himself from the cabin, as a guardian angel for himself who would feed him manuscript pages and lead him to the end of the story. It seems almost impossible that over the course of 13 years, it wouldn't occur to Alan to try that again. Bring Zane back, rewrite him for his purposes, maybe as a collaborator this time? American Nightmare provides some excellent context for this, since the final piece Alan needs to rewrite reality and kill Scratch at the end is Alice's short film - you could say he's collaborating with her in absentia. Their two pieces of art strengthen each other, similar to the idea Zane presents to Alan in Initiation 5 of 'your magnum opus, Return, and its companion piece, my film'.

It feels natural (to me!) that Zane the filmmaker was created to fulfill this role of collaborator in a different medium, down to the way he describes himself as a fellow 'celebrated auteur'. He's here to help Alan get out. But as Alan forgets his own actions after a certain amount of time, Zane's role becomes murkier - Alan no longer trusts his intentions, no longer wants to give up control of his story, and the new Thomas Zane is left adrift in the Dark Place with little besides the desire to create to escape (with Alan). Again more speculative, since Zane's objectives are left relatively ambiguous throughout the game, but I do believe his desire to help Alan get out is sincere (even if his motivations for it are unclear). What this will mean if/when he escapes the Dark Place himself is another story :)

Side note: why does the new Zane look like Alan?

I don't know if this is a question everyone has? I do, because I'm not sure as to the current canonicity of the photographs of the original Zane in This House of Dreams, but those appear to show a blonde man with a different build to AW2 Zane, and Alan himself questions why Zane looks like him. Frankly, if we're going by the 'Alan created him' theory and given Scratch's existence as his evil doppelganger, I don't think that Alan would have intentionally written the guy to look like him - Zane's appearance feels like a reflection of the fact that this is Alan's dreamscape, a 'performance the Dark Place [is] putting on' which is 'all about me, but I [have] no control over it'. I also think that Zane is a reflection of the traits Alan would value in a collaborator, and that Alan Wake has a hard time letting anyone but himself write his story... You see where that could go.

Theorising more about this one would require going deep into my beliefs about Wake and Zane as reflections of each other in a creator/creation loop paradox that continues from the first game and fulfillers of the same archetypal Creator/Hero role within a larger metanarrative of the Story of Cauldron Lake (hence why various important characters refer to Alan as 'Tom') and I don't have time for that right now but probably the true answer has to be. They wanted to give Ilkka Villi a guy to play without dubbing. And I could listen to that man talk forever so alright post is over thanks for coming

(Side note 2: Self-promotion

I wanted to write a full 'setting out theory' post about this but I did also incorporate a lot of it into my fanfiction. Which you can read if you want to if you're interested in edging for creative inspiration 🙂)

#alan wake #alan wake 2 #alan wake 2 spoilers #thomas zane #meta #theory #yayyyy promotional tags

[cantsayidont]

April to October 1977. Although the first issue of the Marvel STAR WARS comic has a cover date of July 1977, it appeared on newsstands in early April, about a month before the film debuted, and Lucasfilm first approached Marvel about a comics adaptation before the movie had even started shooting. Lucas was plainly a comics reader — as writer/editor Roy Thomas explains in a text page in the first issue, Lucas had even read Marvel's short-lived UNKNOWN WORLDS OF SCIENCE FICTION magazine — and for all Lucas's talk of Joseph Campbell mythological archetypes, the movies contain some probably non-coincidental similarities to the work of Jack Kirby, both from Marvel and DC. Lucas requested Thomas, whom he'd previously met, to write the comic, and also apparently asked for artist Carmine Infantino, who would later pencil the ongoing series, albeit not until after the adaptation of the movie was complete. The first 10 issues of the series were drawn by Howard Chaykin, who'd previously done some similar space-opera adventures, including his original "Ironwolf" strip in DC's WEIRD WORLDS in 1974–1975.

Thomas says in the text page that spreading the adaptation over six issues was his idea. That was generous for a movie adaptation (a few years later, Marvel adapted a variety of feature films, including BLADE RUNNER, in just two issues apiece), and was a fairly risky commercial move, but it paid off handsomely — I'm reasonably sure that this adaptation was by a healthy margin the most successful book Marvel published in the 1970s, going through multiple printings and being repackaged in an assortment of different ways. Unfortunately, this was before Marvel implemented its "incentive" (royalty) program for writers and artists, so it wasn't the windfall for Thomas and Chaykin that it would've been a few years later.

The adaptation isn't Chaykin's best work, although the addition of Steve Leialoha as inker on issues #2 through #6 tightens up the likenesses and gives the line art a greater feeling of solidity. Since the comic was done before the movie was completed, there are some discrepancies, and the adaptation includes several scenes that were dropped from the film, including Luke running to tell his friends about witnessing the battle between Leia and Vader's ships (which Luke has seen through his macrobinoculars) and encountering Biggs. The second issue also includes Han's confrontation with Jabba the Hutt (initially spelled "Hut"), later added in the SW Special Edition. Since Thomas and Chaykin had no idea what Jabba was supposed to look like except that he was an alien, this is what they came up with:

This version of Jabba reappeared twice in later issues of the series (#28 and #37, both penciled by Infantino). When Jabba's appearance was finally canonized in RETURN OF THE JEDI, Marvel made no attempt to explain the difference, which was really just as well. (If you dig around the Wookieepedia wiki, you'll find a rationalization for it that is absolutely NOT reflected in the original comics.)

Thomas and Chaykin also did the earliest post-movie stories, both in the STAR WARS title and serialized in Marvel's PIZZAZZ magazine, although these were not particularly distinguished and are really of interest only as curiosities. Thomas departed before either storyline was completed, with the comic book story wrapped up by Chaykin and Donald Glut and the PIZZAZZ serial continued by Tony DeZuñiga and Archie Goodwin. Goodwin would subsequently become the principal writer of the SW comic book until after THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK and of the newspaper strip until 1984.

#comics #marvel star wars #star wars #roy thomas #howard chaykin #tom palmer #steve leialoha #rick hoberg #dave cockrum #marie severin #carmine infantino #biggs darklighter #jabba the hutt #archie goodwin

[minim236]

Haladriel, doctor's au, light seeing and best friend's brother! For Haladriel Winter Solstice 2023 ❄️❄️

A/N: first time writing these two, especially in a modern context!

The festive season at At Thomas’ Hospital meant many things - A&E filled with drunk people, often with their drunk family members and Christmas music playing over the tannoy.

Galadriel typed up her emails to be sent before she went on annual leave.

“I need those notes, Dr Nerwen." Halbrand ordered, poking his head into her office. He took a moment to look at the Christmas decorations from the tinsel on her bookshelf and the Santa and his reindeer on her desk.

She held back a scowl, having emailed him last week, “Have you tried a please, Dr Sauron?”

“Why waste all those syllables? Get it done.” And he was gone without so much as a thank you.

Halbrand Sauron was the bane of Galadriel's existence.

He flirted with all the nurses, which meant he could get as many favours - blood test hurried in the labs, a cup of tea on demand and a pass on his attitude because he was a brilliant surgeon.

She didn't like surgeons - all brawn and no brains. She hated him the most. But today, one of her favourite patients would be saved and would be home for Christmas.

So, she put on her glittery red hairband and went to the paediatric ward.

“Hello Kaia," Galadriel smiled at the young girl sitting in bed. She pulled out a lollipop from behind her ear, a trick that never failed to draw a laugh from the girl. Eight years old and the poor thing had a gallbladder infection, which meant she now needed a quick surgery.

Finally, Halbrand showed up

"This is Dr Sauron, he will be performing the surgery," She introduced, "And then you can have all the ice cream you want!"

Halbrand, to her surprise, went to greet Kaia first, shaking her little hand.

“Dr Nerwen is magic!” The girl whispered to Halbrand who smiled gently in agreement.

“She is, isn't she!” Halbrand replied in kind as he knelt down next to the cot, “I'm not as magical but I can which is why she called me so you can be better."

"Are you one of her fairies?"

He smiled, "Yes, I am." He stood and looked at the parents, "I will see you just before prep and the OR is prepared."

Galadriel followed him out, going to elevators with him, "Here are her written notes since you don't read the emails I sent you."

"I did read your email and memorised them, but thank you." He said.

“You were very good with her.” Galadriel observed.

He shrugs, “Children find surgery scary. I reserve my attitude for you,"

She scoffed, “Must you be such an arse?”

“Do you think about my arse a lot?” He grinned, "Nice headband, by the way." using the sanitizer machine, before going into the elevator.

Galadriel was surprised when her pager went off, for the surgery was not over yet and it was not an emergency page.

Then, poking his head into the office was her elder brother she thought would not arrive until next week!

"I missed ya!" Aegonr grinned, lifting her into a hug. He lived in Scotland now, so she missed him a lot, used to the close knit nature of their family.

They went to the hospital cafeteria, sharing a plate of chips and cups of tea as they caught up.

“Have you been home yet?” Galadriel checked

“Of course I have. Mum would have sniffed me out!” Aegonr jokes, “What about you? How are you?”

“Good! My study got approved and one of my little ones will be at home for Christmas with a repaired gallbladder," She lists.

"All of that is great, but I meant your personal life," He teased

"I have a cat." A sweet ginger thing called Bard.

Aegonr groaned playfully and she threw a chip at him, "Shut up! I love my work."

"I know, I know just don't let it consume you."

Meanwhile, Halbrand had spotted Aegonr sitting with his sister and immediately went to greet his friend and grab a banana.

“Halbrand!” Aegonr's face lit up and the two hugged tightly, "Good to see you!"

"You too." He said, then looked at Galadriel, "Kaia's surgery went well. She's in recovery if you want to check her stats."

"Great. Thanks." She says, sipping the rest of her tea, "How do you two-?"

"Edinburgh med school." Aegonr said, "Remember, I told you about my grumpy classmate? Still hitting them away with a stick?"

"Always. But your sister doesn't approve." Halbrand replied and she rolled her eyes.

"Hey, why don't you come over on the 23rd for our mother's dinner party?" Aegonr asked Halbrand. Galadriel glared at her brother.

"I don't want to intrude on your family dinner, mate, but thanks."

"No, you are not doing this again." Aegonr retorted, "Come on, seriously. Also, you and Gal are working together and you are my friend. You are basically family."

Halbrand saw that this was not something he could get out of this year, not when Aegonr knew him so well now. So he nodded and took his leave.

Galadriel gifted her brother with another kick to the shin, "Why would you invite him? I told you how much I hate him!"

"You said you hate Sauron!"

"He is Sauron!"

"He's always been Halbrand to me and besides, he doesn't have any family.” He shrugs, “Christmas alone is shit.” He laughed, seeing her eyes roll, “He is not too bad."

“No, just a condescending prick.”

"So are you sometimes." He mumbles and receives a kick to the shin.

—-

The idea of Halbrand spending time of her home, her childhood home was not one Galadriel enjoyed. In fact, she stayed in her room as she did when she was a teenager and her parents had their boring work friends over.

He arrived early, with a bottle of wine and was welcomed by her family. She never thought her arch nemesis would be eating at the dinner table she grew up at but here he was.

And Galadriel had to sit across from him at the dinner table. Though, for once, he was just as awkward as he enjoyed making her feel.

"Now dearest, when will you give me some grandchildren?" Her mother asked even before dinner was over.

"Why don't you ask Aegonr? He and Andreth are still dancing around each other." Galadriel deflected. But her mother was not done, she never was when it came to this subject.

She looked at Halbrand, "Now, my dear, you must have many admirers as a handsome surgeon. Do tell my daughter she can have a life and work!"

“Galadriel is a brilliant consultant. You always get nominated for that patient award.” Halbrand said, oddly gently, “She's doing a great job.”

Galadriel blinked, surprised by his staunch defence, “Thanks. So are you.”

“I thought you said surgeons were all brawn and no brain?” Aegonr teased.

“Well, they are.” Finrod agreed, dodging a thrown bit of food.

Galadriel laughed and she ended up meeting Halbrand’s eyes. He was laughing too, something she had not seen him do and he looked rather good doing so.

She went outside to the garden with a mug of mulled wine after pudding, her favourite part of being home in the countryside was the light show. Every December 22nd, there was a beautiful array of lights in the sky.

"It's beautiful."

She turned around at the sound of Halbrand's voice and watched as he put his coat on to watch the light show.

For a while, they stood in silence, before Halbrand hesitantly reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Your parents are great." He said.

"Considering your patients are unconscious, I was surprised by your bedside manner," She snarked, then sighed, turning to him. He was unmoved by her words, but still she apologised.

"I suppose it's all I have." He admits, "All I really know. I'm not great at the connecting part. Not like you are."

She looked at him gently, "Perhaps you could be less of a dick? Your new year's resolution?"

Halbrand smirked, "I'll try. And yours? Getting married for your mother's sake?"

She scoffed, "No, I don't think so."

"Celeborn has a thing for you. You know, the paediatric lead?"

She shook her head, "We went out on a date. It wasn't great. He wasn't awful, but..."

"No spark?"

"No spark."

He chuckled, "Perhaps you need someone who will challenge you "

"I've not met anyone brave enough." Galadriel jokes, "Aside from you."

"Aside from me," Halbrand agreed, watching her watch the lights in the sky.

#christmas fic #holiday fic #haladriel's winter solstice 2023 #haladriel fic #one shot

[mdemontespan1667]

STUPID GIRL

BLIND SPOT (3)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

THE LONG WALK (1)

JANE DOE (2)

18+ ONLY

SOFT DARK WALTER MARSHALL X READER

SUMMARY: YOU'RE JUST DOING YOUR JOB. TOO BAD SOMEONE DOESN'T AGREE.

(I moved the dates of this to the current year instead of 2018 so hopefully my dates match. I used what character information I could find for Walter and either filled it in with the actor's info or just winged it since no explanation was ever given for his accent. I did my best to research the neighborhoods and streets mentioned. If I made a mistake I apologize.)

SERIES WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON/GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/TORTURE/DEATH/DESCRIPTIONS OF DEAD BODIES/VAGINAL SEX/ORAL SEX/ANAL SEX/REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT/REFERENCES TO MURDER/STALKING/CHOKING/SLAPPING

“Detective Marshall, Is this the 8th victim of the Hennepin Hatchet?” 

“No comment.”

The man bristled at the name, barely concealed disdain in his expression.

You didn’t like the name any better.

Giving murderers cutesy names took the focus off the victims.

But the Press, yourself included, had to call this psycho something.

“Get out of my fucking crime scene”

“I’m not in your fucking crime scene.”

You gestured to the yellow police tape, flapping in the bitter wind, which you were currently behind, barely. 

Detective Marshall grunted, clearly annoyed.

“I’m just trying to do my job. The public has a right to know if a serial killer is operating in Minneapolis.”

Crossing his arms, he fixed you with a bored stare. 

“What makes you think this is serial? Prostitutes get killed all the time. Hazards of the profession.”

“You’re joking right?”

You rolled your eyes.

“All the victims were last seen in the Hennepin area, all petite blondes, all sexually assaulted, stabbed and mutilated. There’s no way in hell this isn’t the same guy.”

“No comment.”

The dark haired Detective walked away, effectively dismissing you.

“Can you confirm Madison Harper was missing her left breast?”

Turning back he lumbered toward you.

Oh shit.

Detective Marshall was a veritable bear of a man, with a rumored temper to match.

And you?

You’d just poked him, big time. 

“Where did you get that information?”

“No comment,” you sassed.

 Apparently you had no sense of self-preservation.

“If you don’t get the fuck out of here,” he growled, “I’m gonna have your ass arrested for interfering with a police investigation.”

“C’mon. Give me something, anything.”

You tried your best to bat your eyes.

“Officer Barton,” he shouted to a uniform, “I need you to..”

“Ok, Ok,” you threw up your hands, “I’m going.”

You stomped to your ancient, beige Subaru. 

“Fucking prick.”

Driving away, you shivered, convinced the killer was just getting started.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I sincerely hope you're hitting submit as we speak.”

“I’m working on it.”

You glowered at your laptop, its blank Google Docs page taunting you.

“Uh, you know deadline’s in 3 hours?”

‘Yeah Brent, I know. I’m..I’m working on it.”

You hit the red dot, ending the call.

Brent was a great colleague, an even better friend.

SInce moving to Minneapolis a year and a half ago he was the only person you had gotten close to.

 Even so, the last thing you needed right now was more pressure.

FUCK FUCK FUCK 

Milton Turnbaldt, the editor of the Digital Division at the StarTribune, had finally moved you from Special Interest to the Crime Beat.

It was the next step in “THE PLAN” you’d mapped out since graduation. 

Imagining yourself a modern day Helen Thomas, visions of Pulitzers had danced in your mind. 

Reality had been a bit different.

Two years writing bar reviews for Bar Fly and one disastrous year at Chicago Suburban Family had been followed by a three year stint at the Chicago Sun Times, where the closest you got to reporting anything was letting Maintenance know a lightbulb was out in the Ladies room.

Getting hired at the  StarTribune had seemed like a dream come true, even if you’d had to move to Minnesota. 

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 

It was obvious this woman was the 8th victim. 

Problem was every other reporter knew it, even if the cops refused to acknowledge the fact.

Your one advantage was your intuition. 

The women had to have been comfortable with the killer, therefore, he was most likely good looking, charming and came off as harmless. Every victim had voluntarily left their comfort zone, something sex workers usually refused to do. 

The pre- and post-mortem mutilation meant the killer felt confident enough in his surroundings to spend hours with the women, unconcerned about noise or the mess. His secondary location had to be isolated enough for his purpose but close enough to Hennepin Ave that the victims had been willing to take a chance.

Unofficial autopsy reports on each victim listed copious amounts of lube found in the vaginal and anal cavities. It wasn’t unusual for sex workers to use lube but this seemed excessive. The ME had attributed the internal micro-tears and bruising to the sexual assault. That, coupled with the lube, had you leaning in a different direction: The killer was having sex with the dying women. 

Too bad you couldn’t prove any of it.

Neither could you publish the information about the missing body part or lube without totally outing your source at the morgue, although that ship had kinda sailed when you showed your hand to the detective.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 

Praying for Divine intervention, you started typing.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you think Claude?”

The overweight Tabby cat yawned.

“Thanks for the support. I’ll remember that next time you want a treat.”

Looking at your reflection in the full length bathroom mirror, you critically assessed your outfit: short, pleated black polyester tennis skirt, metallic silver cowl neck top, dingy, thigh high, white spiked boots, and a cropped, pink fake fur bomber jacket.

Heavy eye makeup, red lips and purposely mussed hair completed the disguise.

This classy ensemble, courtesy of the local thrift shop, had cost you a grand total of $53.98, an amount you really couldn’t afford.

But since the police, one surly detective in particular, weren’t talking you were just gonna have to find someone who would. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your feet were numb. 

Whether it was from the insanely high heels or the -2 degrees (F) windchill you didn’t know.

Or care.

After walking the Hennepin Ave circuit for 3 hours you had a whole lot of nothing. 

The sex workers definitely knew something.

Clustered in groups of 3 or 4, they murmured to themselves, cell phone cameras flashing, warning potential customers they were being watched, however, no one was willing to talk to a stranger. 

A midnight blue, extended cab pickup pulled up, idling at the curb. 

“Come here.”

“Uh, sorry, I’m..uh.. off the clock.”

He wasn’t the first guy who’d tried to engage you.

Maybe your refusal to leave with a client had given you away.

“Come here or I’ll bring you here.”

Tentatively you stepped closer.

“I said I’m not…Are you fucking kidding me Marshall?”

He sat hunched over the steering wheel, eyes blazing at you.

Beyond annoyed, you hissed, “Go away.”

“Get in the truck.”

“No.” 

“Get in the goddamn truck now.”

Mimicking his earlier behavior, you crossed your arms.

“You can’t tell me what to….”

The cab of the truck flooded with light as he opened the driver side door.

“Fine!”

In a huff, you climbed in, fastening your seatbelt before throwing him a scowl.

He ignored you, smoothly merging with the heavy Friday night traffic.

“Where’d you park that piece of shit car?”

You refused to answer, making a show of sulking.

“Answer me or..”

“Or what?” you interrupted, “You had no right harassing me, asshole.”

“Excuse me?” 

His harsh tone was  a clear indicator you’d pissed him off.

“Your car?”

“It’s at my apartment. I took an Uber.”

The Detective sighed.

“Exactly what the hell were you trying to accomplish out there?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“You’re no help so I…”

“You what? You decided to play fucking dress up? Do you have any idea how dangerous the streets are? Some freak is killing prostitutes and your stupid ass is running around pretending to be one.”

“Are you finished?”

He clenched his jaw, cheek ticking.

“Contrary to your belief I’m not stupid. I can take care of myself.”

You reached in your bag producing a sleek, highly illegal taser.

“Plus I have this. And yes, I know how to use it.”

Taking a sharp left turn he headed South.

“Um, where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“How do you….”

“Born and raised in the Gold Coast area of Chicago. Only child. Undergrad at University of Chicago, Masters in Communication from Loyola, which your ridiculously rich mother paid for. You worked at two small time local papers then the Chicago Sun where you, what? Got coffee for three years? You took a job at the StarTribune 18 months ago writing online fluff. You live in the East Phillips neighborhood,  don’t drink, smoke or do drugs and generally have no social life. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, more than a little angry he’d checked you out.

“Pretty good,” you retorted, “My turn.”

“Born in the Channel Islands. Strict Catholic upbringing, four siblings, three boys, one girl. Attended St Michael’s Prep before transferring to Stowe School your Sophomore year, sorry, you call it Year 11. Joined the London Metropolitan Police Force in 2008, the same year you married Angie Stultz. She was interning for Warrener Stewart right?”

You rambled on, not waiting for an answer.

“Your daughter Faye was born the next year. Four years later you were promoted to the Criminal Investigations Department. You started out in Street Crime, then Organized Crime, until landing in Major Crimes in 2015. January of 2017 you and the little family moved to Minneapolis, where your wife was from but you didn’t start with the police department here for another 5 months so I’m assuming you were a house husband until your emigration papers cleared. Apparently you weren’t a very good husband, house or otherwise, cause your wife filed for divorce under “Irreconcilable DIfferences” a little over a year ago. You live alone, don’t smoke or do drugs and are generally recognized as a bully. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

You flashed a Chesire grin.

Uh, oh.

If looks could kill, you’d be dead, buried 6 feet down, “Here lies a stupid idiot who wouldn’t keep her mouth shut” carved in the marker. 

“Um, this is me.”

You pointed to a two story brick building, an empty storefront on the first floor, your studio apartment on the second.

“Why do you live in this shithole? With mommy’s money you could be living in the Carlyle or Legacy.”

“I wanted to prove I can make it on my own. And this neighborhood? It’s not as bad as people think. The Pizzeria over there? The old, Italian couple that own it let anyone who needs to use the free wifi. On the weekends they stay open late and offer a free slice and drink so the kids have a safe place to go.”

You became animated, warming to the topic.

“Mrs Freemantle, in the brownstone next door, invites me over three or four times a month. Her oxtail soup and mac and cheese are freaking amazing. She doesn't get around too well so I run errands for her once or twice a week.”

You peered out the windshield.

“Those two guys on the steps, the ones you gave the stink eye to? Andre and Tony? They fixed my car for a six pack and a pizza the last time it crapped out.”

“Probably with stolen parts,” he mumbled.

“I bought the parts, you judgemental ass.” you spat.

Jerking the handle, you exited the vehicle.

Snow swirled in the open door.

“People here care more about each other than anyone ever did in the swanky condo’s I grew up in. Thanks for the ride.”

You flung the door closed with a thud.

Trekking up the sidewalk, you quickly unlocked the outside door, your mind already on a molten hot shower.

“Honey, I’m home,” you announced to the tiny studio, tossing your bag and coat on the fifth-hand orange and green couch. 

You stretched, exhausted, looking forward to…..

It happened so fast.

One second you were contemplating splurging an extra ten minutes in the shower, the next you were slammed against the kitchen wall, Detective Marshall’s forearm across your neck, other hand over your  mouth.

You flailed at him, hitting and kicking. 

It was like fighting a marble statue.

He leaned in, leg slotted between yours. 

“Taser ain’t much help now is it.”

You pushed at his arm.

“How fucking stupid are you? You didn’t even lock your fucking door. Anyone…”

You bit his fingers, drawing blood. 

He let go, surprised by your counterattack. 

“Get the hell out of…..”

His hand closed around your throat.

Your chest heaved from adrenaline, his booming heartbeat matching yours. 

Without warning, his lips crashed to yours.

The kiss was desperate, all consuming, his beard scratching your delicate skin.

His hand slipped under your top and cheap push-up bra, palming your breast, rough fingers pinching the already pebbled nipple.

The kiss deepened to something dark, Marshall taking control.

You rocked your hips against his muscled thigh, your core on fire.

Snaking down your belly, he slid his hand beneath the waistband of you skirt, callused digits gliding through your damp, plumped slit.

He circled your clit, applying light pressure with each pass, thumb randomly sweeping the bundle of nerves. 

Lost in a sea of sensation, you mewled, the sound swallowed by his warm, searching mouth.

“Tell me to stop.”

Afraid he wouldn’t stop, even more afraid he would, you remained silent as you unzipped his jeans, freeing his heavy cock.

Gathering the sticky wetness from the tip, you stroked his length.

“Fuck.”

The whispered obscenity went straight to your cunt, fresh slick coating his hand. 

He tore your black tights in one motion, leaving you bare.

Marshall lifted your leg, curling it around his waist, his cock poised at you sopping entrance.

“Last chance.”

You draped your arms around his shoulders, balancing yourself.

Taking that as a sign, he pressed into you, you channel stretching painfully.

You cried out, the burn almost too much.

His lips latched to yours, tongues sparing until his cock was fully ensheathed in your heat. 

He pulled out, briefly hesitated, before thrusting in again.

Breaking the kiss, you buried your face in his neck, fingers tangling in his dark curls.

He fucked you now, hips pistoning, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Marshall’s feral grunts mingled with your needy moans.

Tendrils of electricity surged along your nerves.

He lifted your leg higher, changing the angle of penetration, his cock hitting the soft, spongy spot repeatedly. 

“Please,..please..” you choked out.

“I’ve got you.”

You came with a sob, hips pumping in time with his, cunt clenching, the sheer intensity of your orgasm frightening, wave after wave threatening to drown you. 

He drove into you faster, chasing his own release. 

All you could do was hold on, tears staining his coarse, coal gray sweater.

You felt him swell, hips stuttering.

His muscles flexed as he came, pushing you against the wall, milky ropes of cum splashing your walls.

Fevered lust dissipating, he rested his cheek on your head.

Untangling limbs, Marshall fastened his jeans.

He didn’t stay, instead turning towards the door.

Hand on the brass knob, he paused.

“I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.”

His words froze the question in your throat.

Door closed, you collapsed to the floor, head bowed, knees to chest.

“What the hell just happened.” 

@xoxabs88xox @imanuglywombat @fanfic-fangirl @caffiend-queen @alexakeyloveloki @americasass81 @lokislastlove @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @sweeterthanthis @ironlady1993 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jennmurawski13 @starynighty @sapphirescrolls @xsapphirescrollsx @sagechanoafterdark @momc95 @jtargaryen18 @demonsandpieohmy @dangertoozmanykids101 @lizzystuffsthings @nildespirandum @shikin83 @sinceimetyou @buckybarnesandmarvel @imdarkinme @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @titty-teetee @saiyanprincessswanie @littlefreya

#SOFT DARK WALTER MARSHALL X READER #SOFT DARK WALTER MARSHALL AND READER #SOFT DARK WALTER MARSHALL (AU) X READER #SOFT DARK WALTER MARSHALL (AU) AND READER #WALTER MARSHALL X READER #WALTER MARSHALL AND READER #WALTER MARSHALL #SOFT DARK WALTER MASHALL #NIGHT HUNTER AU #NIGHT HUNTER FIC #DARK NIGHT HUNTER FIC #HENRY CAVILL #HENRY CAVILL CHARACTERS

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

I just finished the Button House Archives and it's SPECTACULAR. Here are some personal highlights:

I love Alison's additions and comments in lots of places. She is fighting tooth and nail to stay on those hinges, and we love to see a character with spunk!

Mick's facial reconstruction could be the most horrifying thing I have *ever* seen

Mary's bits are some of my absolute favourites. Her speaking/writing voice is just delicious

Pat was just a terrible group leader wasn't he XD the arrow was really just a matter of time. He should have gone orienteering with them first, then he might have lost the kids before they could kill him

HAH I unwittingly picked Kitty's "character quote" to use in my video edit :P I feel validated

Thomas with his painfully literal complaints about other people's poems OMG rip bestie you would have loved tumblr (I haven't listened to the audiobook yet but I swear I can hear his "counted them, did you?" through the page)

I really like the way you can glimpse parts of later documents around the edges of earlier ones (like with Pat's folder, where the layers are removed one at a time, p. 22-23, 40-41, etc)

Hang on, just gotta go put on One Night in Bangkok for Robin (wait, now I need to hear him say that out loud)

Cap's munitions requests and personally penned operations with their TERRIBLE hand drawn maps that he keeps sending to actual Southern Command; I am fascinated by your mind sir. I believe he suffers from the same affliction I had in school where a combination of the dunning-cruger effect regarding general knowledge and teachers not talking to you in person about what you write in hand-ins causes you to just sort of assume everything you do is brilliant and that then it simply disappears into an unknowable void, and therefore you feel basically free to confess to murder in writing without ever thinking of the consequences. Embarrassment and second thoughts are very much face-to-face kinds of emotions (as he. ahem. would come to find out). Like, is written communication even real? Did it ever really leave your head?

Also: his war diaries were published? 1) who chose to publish them and 2) did Havers ever come across them by any chance? (plus: love to see a fellow tiny handwriting person. Cheers!)

The hand lettering on everything is so well made!!! I know a little (heavy emphasis on 'little') about palaeography, and the writing styles are recognisably of their eras, if many of the letter forms have indeed been updated to be readable for modern audiences. Compare for example Arthur Pinhoe's writing from 1575 (p. 8-11) with this actual letter from 1547. Also this actual 1700s writing to Kitty's diary entries from 1779 (p. 70-71 etc). (These samples are in Swedish but minus åäö they're all the same letters.) The writing also follows the pattern of older script being generally more rigid and standardised, while the closer to present day we get the more individual the handwriting becomes, which is a great opportunity for additional characterisation—which has also been very well implemented I think. I'm devouring every page of this, line by line!

REST IN BRIEFS (also the sly tail of the 'y' from the Daily Mail title just visible above the only compassionate headline lmao)

The reason I cannot talk to people is that Fanny's etiquette rules on conversing take over my entire mind from the moment I see another person.

Oh Kitty, I am coming to pick you up—you can be my sister instead of Eleanor's. It was nice to read her final entry though; finally the trick backfired and she got something good out of it while Eleanor suffered. Bieetch.

FANNY. SINCERELY. YOU ARE INSANE. I already knew about the letter where she demands reimbursement for the unsunk 7/8 of the Titanic's journey that she was cheated out of, but to SIGN IT OFF WITH "Would be survisor/victim of the RMS Titanic". Unbelievable.

Pat write a legible word challenge

I have a slight suspicion Julian might have had something to do with the designs for the Boys Adventure Club badges...

The "pictures of the ghosts" will make excellent reference photos for the various rooms, I appreciate them very much (should we make a game out of copying them and filling in the ghosts? There is a lot of potential there)

Humphrey, my guy... do you need a hug? (Sorry.)

FLOOR PLANS FLOOR PLANS FLOOR PLANS THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH I WILL TREASURE THESE WITH MY LIFE

Robin's constellations are impeccable I say we officially replace the zodiac with these no more superstition only bum

Julian's final email was really well written; a single page yet it's oozing with character and story

The behind the scenes pictures at the end are heartwarming. I am slightly alarmed at my ability to pinpoint the precise scene in the specific episode many of them are from though... is it maybe time for a break?

No. Never!

#I did it! I read a book in a day! #not a very wordy book but still. I'm a very slow reader #bbc ghosts #button house archives #maddie's ghosts tag

[khazadspoon]

Ooh would you be able to write some James/Thomas/Miranda just hanging out being cute together? In London or maybe an AU where Flint and Miranda saved Thomas from the plantation in season 2 instead of going to Charlestown? (yes that scenario does live rent free in my mind, why do you ask?) Anyway thanks in advance/either way! 💜

I realised I hadn’t gone down the being cute together road so tacked a new ending on which made it longer but OH WELL flinthamiltons live on!!!

———

She had noticed immediately that something was wrong. The way their old friend, the man they had counted on as an ally, had been cold and had dodged their questions at every turn. Miranda had seen the clock and then-

She had warned James in a hurried, furious whisper, rage bubbling just under the surface. She demanded he find out what the truth was.

And he did.

Peter Ashe had been their betrayer all those years ago. He had taken everything from them, destroyed their lives and their happiness. Whatever friendship had been between him and Thomas was all but dead.

“Here! Please, just don’t- don’t kill me!” The man pleaded, a ledger held out in his hands like a shield. Abigail was stood pale and unblinking as she heard of her father’s betrayal. She did not speak in his defence. Miranda was glad for that.

James, his face twisted in pain and anger, took the ledger. The dinner knife in his hand was hardly a weapon befitting the legend surrounding him, but she knew he would use it if needed. One mention of Thomas’ name and he would be willing to carve out this man’s heart.

She held her tongue. Enough blood had been spilled for now.

The ledger contained a list. Names, numbers, prices, locations and dates. Miranda watched as James’ eyes scanned the pages, frantically looking for some sign of why this was worth Ashe’s life. The moment he saw it, his body slumped. The air rushed from his lungs, colour drained from his face, the knife fell from his hand and hit the floor with a terrible thud. Miranda saw tears from in his eyes and rushed to look at the page.

Thomas Hamilton. Charlestown to Savannah, Georgia.

“He’s alive.”

James’ voice sounded like it was coming from the next room. He touched the paper, fingers caressing Thomas’ name, and Miranda clutched at him with both hands.

“We can find him, James. He can be home with us again!” She felt herself shaking, the room almost spinning as she tried to breathe through the sudden panic in her chest. James was silent but she felt him nod, felt him lean into her.

In the end they let Ashe live. It was more than he deserved. But Abigail needed a family, someone to provide for her, and they were not in a position to do that yet. Perhaps, in a year, she might…

They sailed to the mainland. The Ranger followed them, an uneasy truce between Flint and Vane struck by the knowledge they would be freeing people from bondage and claiming any riches found for themselves. The Walrus would come out with less, the only prize Captain Flint sought would be worth more to him than any gold.

When they reached the plantation it was… devastating to behold. The main house was all splendour and clean prosperity. Slaves and servants in pristine white clothes answered every whim the master of the house thought of. Even as Flint and Vane stormed in, guns raised, the slimy man kept his head. He quietly tried to bargain his way out of disaster and, to Miranda’s secret sinful joy, failed. He was slain without mercy. James’ true beauty shone through as he raided the rooms, searching tirelessly for his prize, for her prize, and Miranda wielded a sword he had given her to join the party.

They found him in the fields.

The world stopped spinning. The sun came out from behind the clouds. Birds ceased their songs as he turned to face them, confusion writ large on his aged features. The blue of his eyes seemed somehow diminished even as they widened in recognition. He moved slowly towards them, limbs long and thin as they always had been, the white of his clothes marred with earth and flecks of what might have been dried blood stains.

They approached him together, she and James, side by side, the three of them colliding like galaxies. Thomas’ arms wrapped around them and a laugh like cannon fire burst from his chest, loud and unrestrained and almost painful to hear. Miranda buried her face in his neck. She felt James sobbing against her side, felt her own sobs ripped from her, and suddenly everything was different.

It wasn’t alright, there were still ten years of hell to reconcile for all of them. But now they had the rest of their lives to do that.

Thomas pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips chapped but warm on her skin, and she gazed up at him through her tears.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, “I love you.”

He smiled at her and it was so like when he had smiled at her back in London that she had to hold her breath.

“Thomas,” she heard James say, his voice thick and utterly wrecked.

Thomas turned, his expression so open and broken, and Miranda watched as they came together again. The kiss was hard, desperate, no doubt tasting of salt. They clung on to each other, still holding on to Miranda, completely unmindful of the people around them. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had kissed in the clear light of day. Her heart broke even as it began to mend.

Someone approached carefully, and she saw Thomas flinch, his hands tightening on them. He brought them closer, protectively.

“We should leave,” Captain Vane said. “One of the guards will have made it to town by now.”

James nodded even as he gripped Thomas’ shirt in one fist. “Fine. Well- five minutes and we’ll leave.”

Back on the Walrus, Thomas was given a wide berth at James’ order. He was taken to the Captain’s cabin and James had to tear himself away to see to his duties. Miranda stayed with him, nearly constantly touching him, and he touching her, the two of them sat in near silence as they breathed in the changed scent of one another.

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” Thomas asked under his breath. She shook her head and kissed the bruised, swollen knuckles on his hands. “Good. Good… I don’t think I could survive it if it were.”

She cupped his cheek and turned his face to her. “It’s real, Thomas. You’re really here with us.”

Nothing, not height nor depth, not life nor death, would part them now. Thomas was home.

—

Months later they were in Nassau and Miranda’s cottage was full of life. Bread was baking, herbs were drying, and there was laughter coming from the garden.

Thomas leaned his head on her shoulder, a cup of tea balanced precariously on his knee as they watched James. The fearsome Captain Flint was demonstrating how he had managed to get out of a particularly nasty predicament. He had been tied to a chair, trying to calm a rather irate bosun’s mate, and Miranda had lost track of the rest. She was too engrossed in the sound of her two love’s laughter. James kept bursting into giggles as he described his adventures. Thomas would laugh alongside him, his body moving against hers as the laughter took him.

She laughed too, but softer. The tea she had made them had long gone cold. But, later, they would sit in front of the fire and Thomas would tell them a little about his time without them. They would share stories, cry together, and then go to bed and sleep in a too-warm pile but unable to disentangle themselves.

James wandered over at the end of his story and sat in front of them on the grass. He rested his chin on Thomas’ knee and gazed up at him like an adoring puppy. Miranda ran her fingers through his long red hair, not as long as it had been in London, but it was growing out again.

“What are we having for dinner this evening?” Thomas asked, running his fingers over James’ cheek. He didn’t seem to be really asking about food.

“Whatever you desire,” James said.

Miranda had to laugh, she couldn’t help herself. “James, my love, you can’t cook.”

“Maybe not,” he said lowly, “but I have plenty of other talents.”

She tugged his hair lightly and laughed at his grin. “None that will stop Thomas’ stomach rumbling like a naval battle!”

Thomas didn’t even try to seem offended. He knew all too well how true it was.

“We can eat bread and butter in between,” James said with another grin.

“Sounds delicious,” Thomas stroked a finger down James’s cheek and pressed it to his lower lip.

“Come on,” Miranda said, tugging at the two distracted lovers. “Before you scandalise the chickens. The hens will start getting ideas.”

They wandered back into the cottage hand in hand, Thomas between them as he so often was nowadays. Miranda squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. There were new lines on his face she had begun to memorise over the past few months - around his mouth, around his eyes, etched into his forehead, all new but none unloved. It was the same with herself she was sure, and with James. They had aged, all three of them, and Miranda was enjoying the new patterns on their skin.

Slowly, they were relearning how to be together again. Miranda was relishing the challenge.

#black sails #flinthamiltons #thomas hamilton #captain flint #miranda barlow

[covencupid]

Unfinished Friday (I was too late for WIP wednesday)

I had a draft for this but it's gone AUGH.

Basically I wanted to write a cute story where you give Danny a sandwich because you noticed he hasn't been eating.

What I wanted to say was that I began writing this as I first began playing DBD. I've now unlocked all the lore pages, and thing is I got to one tome where the way it started it just made me things fuuuuuuuuuck this sounds similar. Like it is and it isn't? If any of y'all have read his lore pages lmk if you see what I mean. Like the story doesn't go in the same direction and it's overall different, but the similarities did give me pause, and not gonna lie it kinda took the wind outta my sails to continue this. So this may be all there will be plus a tiny part I have half written, but idk. It was just a bit disheartening to because I don't even wanna walk the line of "ripoff" territory, but I already had this part written and I was really proud of the drama. Idk y'all tell me.

Anyway, here's the beginning of the sandwich story.

A little Something

       Richard Thomas.

     Two first names and twice the pain in my ass.

     Danny had chosen the non-descript man because there really was not much there to begin with. He was a blank canvas. On the outside, Richard Thomas was the perfect empty vessel for the masses to insert themselves into the story. A mirror to the populace that tells them “It could be you.”

     Great idea. Perfect idea. It’s what they want, they want to relate, they want to wear the victims shoes and feel comforted that it wasn’t them. It was just anybody off the street, so feel caution, but feel gratitude that it was someone else this time.

     But little Bitchard Thomas, Danny found himself thinking, apparently had something that very much set him apart from the rest. An entire wriggling mass hiding under his squeaky clean skin. If he looked back, Danny thought that the clues were all there. For his exterior the two words Danny would use to describe him would be “plain” and “particular”. He was inoffensive, if not dull. Plain of looks, personality, and opinion. He ruffled no feathers, he had no hills to die on.

     But he went about life, even in his most private moments, as if he was being watched. Yes, of course he was, but at this point Danny hasn’t made any contact and Bitchard had no reason to believe he was actually being watched.

     By now, Danny had been watching the man for five weeks. By week one Danny figured out his daily routine, his preferred route to work and back, and how he spent time. Week two he was able to account for how he responds to deviation and the type of things that would mess with his routine. Week three went by like the first, and so did the fourth. Week five is when the bullshit began. It started with him going down to his basement late at night on Sunday. Danny didn’t see what he did there but he went in at 2am and didn’t come out until 5:33am. Whatever he did, he looked haggard by the end of it. The next day Danny decided to pay his little basement a visit and find the reason for his late night rendezvous.

     After seeing little Bitchard off to work, Danny went about his investigation. He was annoyed because he already knew the house. He could walk through it blindfolded. Danny knew where he kept his sheets, where he put his birth certificate, and which drawer he kept his dirty magazines. He could give tours of this boring little bitch palace if he wanted to. But now, in his home again with a new sense of skepticism, it felt too plain. It’s not well kept, it’s pristine. It was lived-in in the way IKEA showrooms gave the impression of a very neat life lived in their implied walls. 

     Danny put himself at the entryway of the home. He turned around towards the door and closed his eyes. Danny inhaled deeply, held it for 8 seconds and quickly spun around for the length of his exhale. He opened his eyes and steadied himself as the entryway funhoused its way back to normal. He took a step forward. 

           Okay. Let’s walk the house for the first time again.

       The first thing that Danny noticed as he took measured steps around the squat bungalow is that everything at the front of house was displayed. Every single thing was displayed just so, angled at either side to face the doorway. A subconscious invitation to look inside and see the perfect domestic display. Danny walked forward until he reached the inner hall that splintered the rest of the house. He spun around sharply on his heel and looked at the display from the back, towards the door. It was almost right, almost normal, but aware as he was now Danny saw just how hollow it was. A life did not cause the end tables to be shifted at a slight angle towards the door. Everyday motions did not tousle the stack of books into its perfectly unkempt spot. No, no, it was all wrong. Looking at it all together it looked like the inside of a TV. The shiny screen hiding the mess of wires that allowed it to function.

     Danny continued on to the bedroom. This room had more signs of life, of actually living, but it was all so surface level. Rumpled sheets, dirty laundry abandoned halfway on the floor, at his desk a picture with friends and some drawings from his students. 

     He’s walked the houses of many varied people. Type A people, Type B people, minimalists, maximalists, the eco conscious, and the hungry consumer. They all lived differently, and their home was always a reflection of themselves. Their personalities lived in the idiosyncrasies of their dwellings, their tchotchkes, their mementos. This house had nothing. It was as if the furnishings were the decoration. Sure a handful of milquetoast prints that all seem to be variations on a theme dot the walls. There are small vases with fake flowers. Two plaques with generic homely quotes. Nothing identifiable to its homeowner, but giving the impression that it has a homeowner, like an open house. 

     It didn’t make sense. This guy definitely lived here, walked through these halls, and shit in these toilets. Yet for all of its evidence of a life lived, the house felt just as empty a vessel as Danny hoped Richard Thomas would be.

       Alright that’s enough.

       Danny made his way to the basement. In his prior walkthrough, the basement was far less intriguing than it was now. It was cold, damp, and littered with everything you would expect to be forgotten down here. There were some plastic boxes of old clothes, and a handful of outdoor Christmas decorations.There was a set of old wooden furniture bunched up in the back corner of the basement by the stairs. Next to it was a stacked upright workbench either bolted to the wall or built into it. Danny looked at the whole of the room. The placement of the furniture, packed awkwardly close in that far corner, felt at odds with the rest of the room. The basement was definitely spacious enough for the furniture set to be spaced out without taking up much room. In fact so much of the basement was empty. It’s not that the furniture looked out of place, but it didn’t make sense with how precise and evenly spaced out the rest of his belongings sat throughout the house. No, it doesn’t jump out at you. It’s some old shit. But there’s something so oddly human about the way it’s slapped against the wall. Something entirely at odds with the rest of the house.

       An odd tugging feeling was inching its way up Danny’s spine, it wasn’t fear but it was equally potent. He approached the wooden furniture the way you might approach a cat you’d like to take. Cautious, observant, eager. Danny’s eyes raked over their lines and angles. There was a notch in the wall in the spot where the workbench met the wardrobe. It was small enough to be imperceptible at any distance that wasn’t intimate. Danny felt his eyes lock on the knick, it extended the line that united the furniture ever so slightly. He carved his gloved fingers into the crack, gripping the wardrobe from the raised trim at its top. A groan strained from his throat as he pulled the wardrobe out toward him an inch. He pulled it the rest of the way out by its side. A tickle of satisfaction made Danny give a short huff. 

       A discreet panel blended into the wall, negligible if not for the faint glint along its edge. Danny felt along the wall, placing light force along its inner perimeter until he heard a faint click. The small door eased open enough for Danny to be able to grab onto it and pull. The entry was cramped and looked like the open maw of a beast. It was a black hole. With more intrigue than trepidation, Danny made his way into the short passage into a black open space. Feeling along the wall, Danny felt a small panel and flicked a flat switch. The room blinked to life.

       This was Richard Thomas. There was a squat couch to the right of the room with a few clothes cast about. Two doors faced him on the far wall. On the left close to one of the doors, a desk sat flush against the wall with a computer, several stacks of CDs and floppy disks. Danny went to examine it up close, the screen had a bar flashing but seemingly making no progress. Above it the screen read “Upload in progress. Do not power off or exit the program.” Danny went for the adjacent door to its right. Unlocked, no lock on the door at all. Doesn’t expect intrusion, cocky even by his measure. Smug little prick. As the room formed from the shadows Danny recognized what this room was instantly. 

       It was a darkroom.

       Richard, Ricky… What have we got here? No photos out here for me? Making me work? I will find everything you’re hiding under that drab little skin. I’ll flay you alive if I have to… Well shit, I want to.

     Looking through the drawers and cabinets in the darkroom, Danny only found various supplies for developing film. Danny turned to exit the room. 

       What kinds of people hide their hobbies? What kind of person hides their hobby this much?

       Danny went to the door by the couch. No lock. Probably real pleased with himself. Opening it, he felt for the switch by the doorway and flipped it as if acting on instinct. Like Richard would, walking in. He was met with a four by four room with wall to wall cardboard file boxes. The room was exceptionally cold, biting. 

       The boxes had dates, some had dates and locations. April 1985, October 1990. The boxes reached up to his nose. His finger reached out to tap the date on the box closest to him. February 1988, Ft. Lauderdale. His hand reached into its open mouth. Pulling it out, it held the weight of, if not a large dog, maybe a small child. He popped the lid off and let it slide onto the floor. It was filled to the brim with envelopes large and small. Larger ones lay flat and the smaller ones sat stacked together in neat rows, some grouped together with large rubber bands.

       Danny plucked an envelope from a bottom heavy stack, grouped awkwardly in a corner.  He plucked the flap up from the throat. Negatives, two thick stacks. Danny slid one out and held it up to the light. Awkward arms, hard to fully make sense of it at first. Then he moved the negative up to illuminate the next frame. It was undeniable now. 

       Jesus fuck. This fucking-

#dead by daylight #danny johnson #ghostface dbd #danny johnson x reader #danny jed olsen johnson #ghostface x you #ghostface x reader #danny johnson x y/n #danny johnson smut #dbd ghostface #dead by deadlight #jed olsen #dbd ghostface x reader #ghostface fanfic #danny johnson fanfic

[rinadragomir]

Hi, I know you're taking a break from the fandom rn, but feel free to answer this ask whenever it suits you (no negativity I promise!)

I finished COT, and I felt like it gave off different vibes from other books (not just COG or COI - CC's books in general). I feel like it was darker in the beginning, what with James being sullen and Matthew being withdrawn and Cordelia being exhausted. And the part with London being all dark and silent and lonely and the Watchers going around - that kind of aura, I don't think anything like that was prevalent in other books.

I was just wondering what you thought about that? Did it feel kinda different from the usual too? The tone of the book, especially in the beginning, seemed to give off despair and used hope, though that could be due to James' gloom and all the miscommunication and cracked relationships-

What are your thoughts on the vibe of COT, especially compared with the other books in the series and in general?

HIYA! Oh it's alright ~ for you I'm always available🤗

Yeah the first half was really dark. Golden trio was in their Twilight New Moon Era

You're absolutely right about James's perspective but I'd also add Cordelia's. Everything seemed really dark through their eyes till chapter 23, I haven't felt this level of depression and hopelessness for a long time.

Oh oh I should mention that I absolutely loved the "Dark London" part with everyone losing their minds. Downworlders clapping for so long their hands start bleeding, mothers singing lullabies to empty prams😳

Yes, I certainly feel the same about the different vibe. Some of the chot scenes seemed more.... mature? comparing to her other books. The way the whole Matthew's alcoholism situation was handled, Grace's regrets, Cordelia's depression, Thomas trying to find the healthiest ways to build his relationship with Alastair, Charles's fears and lack of confidence in himself and everything around, James and Matthew's moments in Edom. The way it was written feels different, but I like this particular change.

And for some reason this book feels shorter than the first 2. Maybe it's because my personal favs had less pages than something else, but it's just me. (Arianna deserved as many pages as Thomastair, MAYBE EVEN MORE I SAID WHAT I SAID). And maybe since I'm reading pretty fast, especially when it comes to Cassie's books, I can finish this whole book in a day. I'll be completely satisfied the day Cassie's books have around 1200 pages ☝🏻or more😡

So, about the "mature" part. Years pass, Cassie's audience grows and I'm really happy that her books sorta "grow" with us? Dude idk why thinking in English is so hard😞 if it was a Russian platform, I'd slay😤So! Cassie added mature topics before, some of the TMI moments were really dark, but the way these topics are written/handled is just getting better. My personal opinion is that TLH characters just feel more real than others and this is the result of Cassie developing her writing. I feel like she's still in the process of trying new things/ways to describe and create sth. And this is why the books have a different vibe.

It can be confusing sometimes, but I'm actually glad these changes happen. I understand that writing one series for decades can be exhausting and I know Cassie has big plans for the additional TLH content, TWP and stuff, but I was so afraid one day she can just give up on it (+ all the hate she received after chot release 😒). So knowing that she's still trying new things gives me hope cause it means she's still invested in this series. So I'm really looking forward to her future TSC project👀+ I'm continuing sending her nice asks

I'd write more, but I wanna eat and I'm lazy☺️

#asks✨ #chot #chain of thorns #chot spoilers #tsc #tlh #cassadra clare #cordelia carstairs #james herondale #matthew fairchild #twp #shadowhunters

[aurorawest]

Reading update!

So as you'll see below I've read a lot of books since the last time I did one of these. I'm not going to write a little blurb for all of them, only the ones I feel strongly about. But I'm going to start including my ratings.

Arctic Sun by Annabeth Albert. 4.25/5 stars

Where We Left Off by Roan Parrish. 5/5 stars

Peter Cabot Gets Lost by Cat Sebastian. 5/5 stars

This book was just. So lovely. Short and fast-paced, but I loved Peter and Caleb so much. I love the time period too. I know this is me being toxic and problematic and showing my internalized homophobia or whatever but I actually really like books set in places and time periods where homophobia is a real and present danger. I think it's because I'm totally a Love Conquers All romantic, so the fact that people dgaf and make a go of being together anyway scratches that itch.

Anyway, good book. I picked up the other two in the series but haven't read them yet.

Let's Get Back to the Party by Zak Salih. 4/5 stars

Literature. Good but pretty sad.

No Gods For Drowning by Hailey Piper. 3/5 stars

The Sunbearer Trials by Aiden Thomas. DNF

I got 50 pages in before I gave into my hate and DNFed this.

The Lost Future of Pepperharrow by Natasha Pulley. 5/5 stars

I find it genuinely upsetting that Natasha Pulley isn't a household name, because she writes the most beautiful, gutting books that I have maybe ever read. I don't understand how she's able to write what is, on the surface, a completely mundane sentence, and yet there's this roiling sea of heartbreak underneath it.

This is the sequel to The Watchmaker of Filigree Street, easily one of the best books I've ever read, and this one is at least as good.

Natural Enemies by Roan Parrish. 4/5 stars

Us by Sarina Bowen and Elle Kennedy. 3.75/5 stars

Silver in the Wood by Emily Tesh. 5/5 stars

Lovely little novella that read like a fairy tale.

The Prince's Poisoned Vow by Hailey Turner. 4.25/5 stars

At first I despaired of ever learning who all the characters were in this book because the first like, 10 chapters were all from a different POV, but I got a handle on all of them and liked it a lot.

Spectred Isle by KJ Charles. 4.75/5 stars

Un Lun Dun by China Miéville. DNF

This is the book that made me realize I hate whimsical books.

Here the Whole Time by Vitor Martins. 4/5 stars

The Lightning-Struck Heart by TJ Klune. 3/5 stars

I ranted about this one already but Jesus, Klune. This straight up reads like the kind of stuff I wrote when I was like, 14, and I don't mean that as a compliment to my 14 year old self.

Love, Hate & Clickbait by Liz Bowery. 5/5 stars

!!!!! This book was so good!!!! I picked it up way back when it came out but it only surfaced in the TBR pile in March, and it did not let me down. Thom and Clay are SO unlikable, but you start to like them in a way that's practically insidious because you don't see it coming. By the end, I was totally rooting for them and loved them both. And this is a romcom with a truly great villain, too, which definitely isn't standard in romances.

Red Skies Falling by Alex London. 5/5 stars

Second book in a series that revolves around a culture where falconry is hugely important. If you want fantasy that doesn't take place in fantasy England, check this series out. It has an A+ sibling relationship, a lovely romance, and high stakes. But this one was saaaaad ugh so sad.

Less by Andrew Sean Greer. 3.75/5 stars

I hated this book until about 80% through, and then it subverted all my expectations and I ended up liking it okay. I thought it was just about a pathetic middle aged gay white man (I know I know, that's my type, what's the problem?) feeling sorry for himself, but it was deeper than that. And it had a nice ending.

Invitation to the Blues by Roan Parrish. 4/5 stars

Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. 5/5 stars (reread)

Bought this edition for the bonus chapter from Henry's POV and for @vkelleyart's end pages. Totally worth it. I love this book just as much as I did the first time.

Threshold by Jordan L Hawk. 4.25/5 stars

So this is a series with like, 11 books? I read the first one and was kind of eh on it. Good enough to buy the second, not enough to buy all 11 or whatever. But the second one was substantially better, so now I've acquired like 5 more of them. I continue to be a sucker for late 19th century/early 20th century settings.

Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen. 4.5/5 stars

Is gay noir a thing? Because that's what I'm calling this book. Gay noir. I loved the main character and I'm really excited this is going to be a series (I've already preordered the second one). The only reason I knocked off half a star is because some of the side characters were irritating. And as a mystery, it wasn't great, so I wouldn't read this one if you're looking for a really good mystery. It's definitely more about the character development and the relationships.

Though possibly one reason I didn't think the mystery was that good is because it got spoiled for me on tumblr by someone who imo had a pretty shallow read on the book. Honestly not sure if they actually read it or they just skimmed it.

Something Wild & Wonderful by Anita Kelly. 5/5 stars

AHHH. THIS BOOK!! This book was so good. So I've been making fun of it for a while because if you look at the cover, it looks like a Stucky AU. And you know what, maybe it was, but at least it didn't read that way, lol. It was really lovely and I'll be using it as a comp for the manuscript I finished last week.

The Bedlam Stacks by Natasha Pulley. 5/5 stars

I don't even have anything else to say except that you need to read Natasha Pulley's books. Please. If you're reading this post, go get her books. Buy them, take them out of the library, whatever. Do it.

Work for It by Talia Hibbert. 4.25/5 stars

A Tree of Bones by Gemma Files. 4.5/5 stars

Any Old Diamonds by KJ Charles. 5/5 stars

Something happened in this book that made me close it and stare into the middle distance, then put it aside until I could process.

Anyway you should definitely read it.

Farview by Kim Fielding. 4/5 stars

Whistling in the Dark by Tamara Allen. 4.25/5 stars

Currently reading The Restless Dark by Erica Waters

Which I'm enjoying more than I thought I would!

#natasha pulley #the bedlam stacks #the lost future of pepperharrow #arctic sun #annabeth albert #where we left off #roan parrish #peter cabot gets lost #cat sebastian #something wild and wonderful #kj charles #let's get back to the party #zak salih #no gods for drowning #hailey piper #the sunbearer trials #aiden thomas #natural enemies #us #sarina bowen #elle kennedy #silver in the wood #emily tesh #the prince's poisoned vow #hailey turner #spectred isle #reading tag #un lun dun #china mieville #here the whole time

[aaronburrdaily]

August 29, 1809

I did go to bed at 10, promising myself a rich sleep. Lay two hours vigil¹; that cursed one single dish of tea! Note: My bed had undergone a thorough ablution and there were no bugs or insects. Got up and attempted to light candle, but in vain; had flint and matches but only some shreds of punk which would not catch. Recollected a gun which I had had on my late journey; filled the pan with powder and was just going to flash it when it occurred that though I had not loaded it someone else might; tried and found in it a very heavy charge! What a fine alarm it would have made if I had fired! Then poured out some powder on a piece of paper, put the shreds of punk with it and after fifty essays succeeded in firing the powder; but it being dark, had put more powder than intended; my shirt caught fire, the papers on my table caught fire, burnt my fingers to a blister (the left hand, fortunately); it seemed like a general conflagration. Succeeded, however, in lighting my candle and passed the night till 5 this morning in smoking, reading, and writing this. "Essai sur le Caractere, les Moeurs et l'esprit des Femmes".² Par M. Thomas; second edition, Paris: 1772; small octavo, 215 pages. Well written; much historical information; many books, of which I had not heard, are quoted. He meant to be liberal and [a] friend to the sex, but like all I have read, has set out wrong; has not seen the source of the evil, though the evils are acknowledged, and of course has not found the remedy; this will remain for Gamp. "Tableau Litteraire de la France pendant le 18me. siecle." Sujet propose en 1806 par la Classe de la langue et de la litterature.³ Paris: 1807. Octavo; 91 pages; close printed; anon. This I presume to be a sort of prize piece. It is well written; his distinctions are pretty good but his eulogies extravagant. "Le Voyageur Fataliste"; comedie en trois actes en vers⁴; par Armand Charlemagne; Paris: 1806. I had foresworn French comedies and hate comedy in verse; this, though long, was not found tiresome. "Rapprochement des Arbres".⁵ Duodecimo, about 150 pages. Paris: 1807; par ———. Where have I laid that book? Will find it to-morrow and give you the author's name. It is a new discovery by which you give to any tree the sap and nourishment of another or of some branch of another, and by this means you may change and improve the colour, size, and flavour of any fruit. The results are curious and useful; pray try it. You see, Madame, I have not been idle; now allow me to attempt sleeping.

29. P.M. Slept very well till 10 when Mr. D. came in a la souedoise⁶ on some very urgent message, which I answered only by a round of curses. However, I was waked and got up. Took breakfast at \i. Feuilliéd⁷ (rummaged) in the library for two or three hours (there is an arrival of new books from Paris); then walked out with Gransbom to try the market for guineas; changed four at 8 rix dollars 36 sch. each. Waited an hour for Barth without success. Called at the post-office; no letters. No doubt my letters are stopped by the British government! 'Tis impossible that every human being can have forgotten me for four months. For my female friends I would swear, but what remedy. Me voici.⁸ Post I will go off to Hamburg or Memel. As soon as I can find Barth will hunt for passages to ——— everywhere and then determine. Called at the lodgings of Bar. Ulfspasre, for whom I had a letter from London and just now determined to deliver it; has left town. Home at 6. On the way called to see Captain Van Alen. Mjolk and brö. for middag and afton.⁹ Read an hour or two in "L'ltineraire de l'Allemagne"¹⁰; Paris: 1807. You see I am preparing! Read also a treatise (French) on the authority of parents, i.e. fathers, for women are not in question. Cannot now lay hand on it to give you the title, but will find it. The subject was proposed by the Institut National and this book gained the approbation and the prize. In my opinion no way flattering to the genius of the nation. There is, indeed, a good deal of historical fact, but much declamation and flourish.

1 This word, which has been used several times, is a Latin adjective meaning wakeful. 2 "Essay on the Character, the Morals (or Manners), and the Mind of the Women." 3 "Literary Picture of France During the Eighteenth Century." A Subject Proposed (proposé) by the Class in Language and Literature [of the French Academy]. 4 "The Fatalistic Traveler." A comedy in verse in three acts. 5 "The Bringing Together (Junction) of Trees." 6 For à la suédoise. After the Swedish fashion. 7 Another hybrid verb, and badly formed, from French feuilleter, to turn over the leaves of a book. 8 Here I am. 9 Swedish. Evening. 10 "Itinerary of Germany."

#burr. burr. BURR. A GUN?! A MF *GUN*?! #aaron burr #the private journal of aaron burr

[cillspropertea]

No Fucking Way (New Cillian Murphy Fic)

Chapter 1: Waking up

Warnings: Mentions of an accident.

Y/N finds herself in a unique situation where her heart wants to believe everything but her mind wants her to repress herself to prevent heartbreak. The love of her life is miraculously close enough to touch but everything stops with the question, “Is any of this real?”

 Authors note: I apologize beforehand to how medically incompatible this story will be, as I am not a professional doctor, just a fanfic writer with an idea she cannot contain in her head anymore. So, please, bear with me.😇😉

Looking forward to your feedback.✨✨

Word count: 2112

     It was dark and my eyelids felt heavy. I felt so comfortable and cozy in my bed cocooned under my blanket, reading my favorite smutty Cillian Murphy fan-fiction on Tumblr. I’d had a long and tiring day at work. But no matter what, I always made time to read about Cillian and stay updated about all the latest news and info on him. I’d joined multiple accounts and pages on Facebook, Instagram and twitter to do so. God! He was so sexy, ‘I would give anything to be his woman! Anything!’ I thought. But he was happily married to the love of his life, who was a bombshell. Multiple media sources had actually called her a mixture of Catherine Zeta jones and Sofia Vergara ‘Pfft! They needed glasses. She isn’t THAT beautiful!’ but she was. I didn’t hate her, no sir-oo! But one shouldn’t be blamed to envy the world’s luckiest woman right? She had everything, a successful career, and a baby on the way and Cillian as her husband! God really has his favorites, doesn’t he!? There was no chance for me, ‘Not in this life at least!’ I’d chuckled silently. I looked at his ‘Thomas Shelby’ picture with my favorite quote on the wall for the last time before giving in to the inescapable slumber.

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   They did several tests on me, the reports of which weren’t due till the next day. The Doctor even tickled my feet with his pen “To check the movement…” I was sure he'd left inky lines on my soles. “Now, Y/N, My name is Doctor Benjamin.” The older Doc began once again. “I am handling your case. I would like to inform you that you’d had an accident. Things were critical for some time, but all seems to be okay now. How are you feeling dear?” He raised his eyebrows. “Okay I guess. I have a massive headache and my body feels, heavy. Other than that I feel fine.” I replied, subconsciously moving my hands and feet, opening and closing my fists. “That’s completely normal. You would be feeling like your old self in no time. You did give us a scare there young lady! You certainly took your time.” He waved a finger at me as if talking to a child. “But I don’t understand…” my fingers touched my pounding temple. “Understand what?” Doctor Benjamin picked up my file and started writing something on it. “I don’t remember having an accident. I just remember going to bed after a long day of work…” This caught his attention, he handed over the file to the nurse standing beside him. An expression of worry crossed his face for a moment but he recovered quickly. “Ahaan. So the last thing you remember…” I completed, “… is me sleeping in my bed.” He took out the small light from his pocket and once again checked my eyes. Opening them with his thumb. “It’s okay dear. You have been in a coma for two years. Things can get a little jumbled up and believe me when I say this, they’ll sort out on their own too…” he asked the nurse softly to call Doctor Sophia immediately. “Two years? No way no fucking way!” I started to panic, pushing away the sheet to get up. I winced when the IV got pulled because of my sudden movements. But when I tried to put my weight on my legs, they wobbled and I found myself on the floor. The Doctor very politely helped me back up on the bed, “Easy Y/N, easy. It will take time for your body to adjust to movement. After all you have been on this bed for the past two years!” I tried to calm my breathing and the nurse helped me, signaling me to take deeper breaths and lie back down on the bed. I was glad that she’d covered me with the blanket again as I was just in a hospital gown, tied scantily from the back, with nothing at all underneath. “Better?” the nurse asked smiling sympathetically. I nodded, “What year is it?” I suddenly asked the Doctor who looked like he was solving big number multiplications in his head while staring at me. “It’s 2024. Today its November 3rd, 2024.” My eyes widened as my fingers once again tried to massage my temple, “Fuck!” I mumbled. “Your family has been informed. They’ll probably be on their way right now. All will be fine now. Just take one day at a time dear, one day at a time.” The doctor tapped my shoulder reassuringly before leaving with the nurse. But I could see the Doctor was a bit worried too. God! Why couldn’t I remember anything about the accident? I closed my eyes sighing heavily.

    Waking up I could hear people around with a continuous beeping sound. My eyelids felt too heavy as I fluttered them open, trying to see what was going on. “She’s awake! Doctor, we need to call the doctor!” I heard a female voice panic. I was covered in tubes and drips and when I tried to move my limbs, they felt heavy and sore as if I’d been traveling for days, on foot. I opened my mouth to say something but my throat constricted with thirst. It felt like I hadn’t had a single sip of water for days. “Water! Please…” I croaked, to nobody in particular. Then suddenly I felt someone force open my eyes, one at a time, and point a light directly in to them. “Her vitals seem fine.” The doctor said to the nurse next to him. I asked for water again and this time the nurse helped me sip some, my consciousness gradually coming back as my eyes started to focus a bit. “What’s happening? Where am I?” I questioned, panicking. The beeping sound on the machine increased its pace, “Now now… let’s not get too worried there. I assure you Y/N you’ll get answers to all of your questions. But first just let us examine you okay?” The doctor was older than my father. His grey side burns reminded me of him. His tone and words instantly calmed me down as I leaned back and cooperated with the medical staff.

I was in a hospital room, which did not look like a hospital room at all. It looked more like a luxurious hotel room. The blinds were letting in sunlight and giving the room a very dreamy look. The whole room was set up in shades of grey, brown and beige.  

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  How was I here? The room looked too luxurious. There was no way Mother could have afforded it. Maybe a lot changed in the two years I was unconscious for. I hadn’t realized when I’d fallen asleep but the sound of the door opening and closing had woken me up. It was my mother and sister. I sat up, “Oh my God Y/N!” my mother rushed towards me, hugging me so hard that my ribs hurt. She was crying, “Mom I’m fine. I’m okay. Calm down before my BP gets disturbed!” I joked, rubbing her back reassuringly. She moved back, holding my face in her hands, watching me intently, “you’re okay right? You are fine?” She was still worried. “I am fine mom. Seriously, I’m okay!” I repeated. My sister, Marie had just been standing near the door, crying silently. “C’mere!” I called her opening my arms for her and she walked right into them. Holding my hand she kissed it and then smacked my shoulder, “Ow!” I exclaimed. “This is for being a fucking drama queen! Waving in between life and death like that…” she sniffled, “I mean either fucking die or come back! Worrying us like that…” I smiled, knowing her so danm well, she was trying to hide her worry. I had always been closer to my sister than my mother. After my father’s death Mom had changed, a lot. She would say and do stuff she never meant, but it had started hurting and damaging me emotionally. My sister had noticed and taken over the role of my mother as well. But she wasn’t good with showing emotions. “I had to come back. Who would be the third wheel on your dates with Ashton huh?” I nudged her shoulder. She suddenly looked at mother, trying not to look at my eyes. “What?” I looked between them. “We got married last year.” She muttered looking down. My mouth opened and closed. What was I supposed to say to that? We both had been so close, had dreamed of each other’s big days almost all of our lives. She was older so we’d both known she would get married first. “Wow”, it had hurt. “I am so sor… I… I just… we didn’t know if…” I completed her words, “… If I’d make it. Right?” I looked down, mostly because I didn’t want her to see the tears in my eyes. “I am sorry Y/N. I wish I would have waited. Ashton’s mother had gotten sick and she had started all this drama…” I put a hand on her shoulder, “It’s okay. It’s fine. You have the video right?” she nodded enthusiastically, “Great! We’ll watch it first thing after I get out of here.” And with that I hugged her rocking her side to side. “Besides, I’m still single so we still have time to attend mine together right!?” I’d laughed. Marie got back, watching my face with confusion and then looking at Mom with the same look too. “What?” they both exchanged a look I couldn’t place and then laughed. ‘They are being so weird’ I thought. Abruptly they both stood up, “I think we should go and talk to the Doctor. Ask when you can leave yeah?” They nodded at me and then nodded at each other before hurriedly leaving the room.

     “Hi” he breathed, taking a step inside. “Hi” I answered grinning like an idiot and adjusting my sheet over my chest, ‘Get a grip Y/N!’ I was about to ask who exactly was he looking for but before I could form the words he’d gingerly crossed the floor and clasped me in his arms hugging me, resting his chin on my shoulder. My hands stood awkwardly in the air not knowing what to do before he said, “I’ve missed you Mrs. Murphy, I’ve missed you so fucking much!”  

    Just after moments, the nurse had come with my lunch. It was chicken and vegetable soup with bread and apple juice. She advised to take it slow with the food as my body would take time to get used to solid food again, since it had been living on an IV for so long. I’d nodded and as soon as she’d left the room I’d attacked the food. It felt like it was sent from heaven, I was starving. A spoonful had dropped on my gown as well but I didn’t care. I was hungry and there was food to be devoured. My mouth was full of bread dipped in soup when the door had opened. Gulping it down and wiping my mouth in a very unladylike manner, I watched as he entered. My mouth was on my lap, literally. No way, no fucking way. It was him. It was Cillian Fucking Murphy.

He was just standing there, with one hand still on the door handle. The lighting of the room perfectly shading his perfect cheeckbones and face. He was wearing a maroon-ish jumper with his hair ruffled and casual. Just the way he liked, I remembered from one of the articles I’d read online. Suddenly I became more than aware of my disarrayed hair and lack of cloths and regretted not eating with caution. I cursed inwardly, ‘This is the day God grants me my wish to meet this guy in flesh and here I am almost naked and filthy with soup on my gown’ I wanted the floor to swallow me up. Running my hands through my hair I thought about what I should do. This was the guy I had been dreaming about to meet one day, catch a glimpse of somewhere, or just get a signed autograph even. Every magazine his face had ever graced the cover of, was in my room, in plastic protective covers. And he was here! HE WAS HERE! Standing in front of me!!! Would asking for an autograph in a hospital be too rude? God, no! It would be inappropriate. I wonder who he’s come to see here. Maybe one of his parents or his wife? I made a mental note to ask for my phone as soon as my sister returned and check the social media. It had to be on there!

#cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian x y/n #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fic

[marvelstars]

AIPT: A ‘what if’ I’d also love to see! Now, how did the opportunity to write this Magneto mini-series come about? J.M.: Editor Mark Basso called me up and asked me if I was interested. I said yes. It was as easy as that! When Todd Nauck was added to the equation, I knew I’d made the right decision. Todd’s work on this series has been amazing. Every page is better than the one before. Just spectacular stuff. AIPT: Todd’s great! (And a friend of X-Men Monday!) For readers who are only now hearing about this mini-series, what’s your elevator pitch? J.M.: I don’t know if I can boil it down to an elevator pitch! What fascinates me about Magneto is that he’s a mass of contradictions. If you look at those early stories, he’s as one-dimensional a villain as you could possibly find. An arrogant, megalomaniacal, mustache-twirling bad guy with zero redeeming qualities. But as the years progressed, writers — especially Chris Claremont — gave us a much more nuanced, multi-layered portrayal of the character. A man filled with seemingly infinite contradictions. He may be the single most conflicted, multi-layered character in the entire Marvel Universe. As a writer who’s always specialized in getting deep inside characters’ heads, those conflicts and layers fascinate me. And, since I’m such a fan of those early stories, I’m equally fascinated by the disconnect between the (apparently) one-dimensional “evil mutant” introduced in X-Men #1 and the man he evolved into. Was that truly who Magneto was back then… or was his “villain” persona part of some larger plan? Our story will allow us to go back and look at some of the events from the Jack Kirby/Stan Lee-Roy Thomas/Werner Roth eras and view them through a very different lens. And, of course, we pick up our story at a time when Magneto has just taken over as headmaster of Xavier’s school, charged with guiding the New Mutants. The “evil mutant” has now taken on the vision, and the burden, of the man who was once his fiercest enemy. Talk about duality and conflict! The story potential is endless. AIPT: Living the dream! X-Fans Archit and Melanie both were wondering if this mini-series at all explores Magneto’s relationship with his wife Magda and daughter Anya. J.M.: Magda and Anya are part of this story… but not in the way you might expect. And that’s all I can say. This week's eXclusive images are unlettered pages from Magneto #1.

https://aiptcomics.com/2023/07/03/x-...tteis-magneto/

#magneto #rahne sinclair #new mutants #magik #sunspot #magma #doug ramsey #sam gurthie #x- #x-men #magda #anya