all of her other novels are gorgeous too but oh man this book

Hide and Seek (Part One)

Hey everyone! I thought it was about time to put some use to this blog and write something. So, as inspired by @mywritingsblog ‘s ‘Amends’ I decided to write a little something about my faves Tom and Seb. I hope you guys enjoy it, it’s my first Marvel fic and I’ve probably done a really crappy job but everyone needs to start somewhere, right?


Y/N meets wealthy photographer Tom Hiddleston and becomes hugely infatuated with him and his charm. She lets him whisk her away to wonderful places, to meet fascinating people and introduces her to a new, beautiful way of life filled with crisp white bed sheets, ocean view houses, limitless glasses of champagne and pure luxury. But when the money and leisure lands Tom into trouble with some bad people, he panics and leaves Y/N to her own devices. Heartbroken and afraid, she gathers what money she can find and moves to a small apartment complex in Brooklyn, where she meets goofy and sweet bartender Sebastian. Y/N and Seb fall for each other hard and fast, both of them seeing a bright future ahead of them. This is all cut short when Tom finds Y/N, telling her three things. One, he still loves her. Two, he’s still in trouble. Three, now she is too. And so is everyone around her. As well as now having to stay alive, she has to choose between the two men that mean the world to her.

Pairing(s): photographer!Tom x Reader and bartender!Sebastian x Reader.

Warnings? strong language, drinking, smoking, tons of fluff and romantic shit, violence, implied smut.

Requests are open for Marvel characters and actors, btw :)

Originally posted by maryxglz

*not my gif*


τι ένα όμορφο πλάσμα = “what a beautiful creature”

The mesmerizing Greek night sky illuminates the crystal waters, each ripple of wave reflecting the moonlight clearer than a polished diamond. I slowly inhale the crisp air so I can appreciate every scent surrounding the balcony in which I’ve resided. The exotic food from the lively restaurant downstairs, the crackling bonfire over on the beach, the sweet, lingering scent of my perfume… this is where I need to be. Surrounded by culture, laughter and happiness. This is where I thrive. This is where I belong. Suddenly, I hear the snap of a camera and I spin around in shock, my thin, royal blue dress floating around me as I do so. I discover a beautiful slender man with curly, sandy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes that don’t differ from the Grecian ocean. I’ve seen him around the hotel and town, taking pictures of market places and the crowds on the beach. I caught him by the pool the other day laying in the sun and dear God… he was probably hotter than the weather.  

“ τι ένα όμορφο πλάσμα.” He purrs.

“I’m sorry… I don’t speak Greek.” I smile politely.

“You should learn, it’s a wonderful language.” He replies in a sleek British accent.

I’m taken aback by how sultry and calm his voice is and how well it fits to his appearance. His fitted white button-up shirt and casual black jeans with brown dress shoes perfectly portray this suave persona he’s keeping up.

“So you’re not local?” I ask, now desperate to make conversation with this alluring stranger.

“Unfortunately not.” He chuckles lowly, letting his camera hang from his neck.

“Was I just a victim of a privacy invasion?” I raise an eyebrow and nod to his gorgeous vintage-style camera.

The stranger smiles gently and wanders beside me, gazing at me with his sapphire eyes. His sharp jawline and perfectly structured cheekbones make me think that he’s some sort of supermodel, but his kind eyes and calloused suggest otherwise.

“I try to capture the wanders of the world. Oceans, buildings, skylines, outstandingly beautiful people,” he smirks. “Hence the invasion of privacy, my dear.” 

“Well when you put it like that, I guess you’re welcome to take as many pictures as you please.” I laugh.

“Actually, I think I’m done for the night. I’d like to have a conversation with the dazzling woman that I’ve so maliciously violated. Does she have a name?” He queries, subtly trailing his eyes up and down my body.

“She does. Y/N.” I tell him.

“Very nice to meet you, Y/N,” he smiles. “I’m Tom.”

Tom leans against the stone balcony and reaches into his breast pocket to get a packet of cigarettes, then holds the carton out to me, followed by my grateful acceptance.

“So… Tom. What do you do?” I ask as he lights our cigarettes. 

“This. Travelling to extraordinary places and trying to immortalize the finer things in life such as yourself.” He flirts.

“Ah, a photographer. Not surprising.” I sigh.

“How so?”

“I just presumed that if you look like that, then there must be a camera involved.” I flirt back.

“Mm. You flatter me,” he laughs. “What about you?”

“I’m a novel writer posing as a travel journalist for the shittiest, lowest paying magazine in America.” I chuckle, taking a long drag of the well-earned cigarette.

Tom grins in amusement at my bitterness over my crappy career, mirroring my actions with his own cigarette.

“Novel writer? How interesting.”

“Not really, I’m clearly nowhere near good enough or you wouldn’t be hearing me bitch about how awful my job is.” I sigh sadly.

“Oh, come on. What kind of stuff do you write?” Tom asks, appearing to be genuinely interested.

“I write about strong women. Doesn’t matter what genre, even though fantasy and action do help. I just remember reading all of these books growing up about these fantastical women and thinking that I wanted to be like them. However, since I don’t have any magical powers or adventures to go on, I just thought that it would be better to create them instead.” I explain, turning to look over the golden sands that meet the deep blue.

“You strike me as a strong woman, Y/N. Don’t doubt yourself like that, you seem absolutely incredible.” Tom tells me in a calm, comforting tone.

“Oh please, you don’t even know me.” I scoff, flicking ash off of the end of my cigarette.

“Maybe so. But I’d like to.” His sultry voice hooks my attention and drags my eyes from the horizon to his now very close form.

“Now why would a beautiful stranger like yourself be interested in little old me?” I hum, my fingers extending to his torso and playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Because you, my darling, are absolutely fascinating,” He whispers seductively, taking one last drag and then throwing his cigarette to the floor. “And if you wanted an adventure, all you had to do is ask.”

I bashfully look to the ground as he continues to eliminate the little space between us, but a sudden wave of confidence surges through me and I look up at him with a challenging expression ghosting across my features.

“Tom, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to seduce me.” I accuse him.

“Am  I that transparent?” Tom smirks.

I giggle at both his response and his continued advances, knowing that I’ll probably end up in a hotel room with him at some point tonight, but I try to long out our conversation to see if I can get him to break this elegant facade. Well, if I can wait that long.

“You know,” he starts, brushing my hair behind my shoulder. “I have a bottle of tequila back in my room if you’re interested.”

I dwell on the thought for a moment before throwing my cigarette to the ground and walking back into the hotel. I stop under the marble arch and turn to see a fairly disappointed Tom.

“Are you coming or am I drinking alone?” I ask.

His features lift from their dismayed state and he struts towards me and snakes an arm around my waist, guiding me to his hotel room with a great urgency.

Tom and I reach the top floor after a tortuously tension-filled elevator ride and stroll over to the third door we come to. His room is in perfect condition, not a pillow or item of clothing out of place. On his bedside table, there was a small, leather bound notebook with a fountain pen on top of it, placed directly next to an empty glass and half-full bottle of scotch.

“Tequila and scotch?” I point out. “A man of class, I see?” I laugh, sitting down on the couch at the bottom of his bed.

“I try my best.” He replies, setting his camera down on a small table next to his door and then sauntering over to a tray of bottles and glasses, pouring out two tequilas. He hands me mine and sits down beside me, relaxing into the back of the chair and taking a sip while keeping his gaze fixated on me the entire time. 

“So, did you just bring me up here to drink surprisingly decent hotel tequila or do you have any ulterior motives?” I smirk, holding the crystal glass close to my lips. Tom laughs and rests his drink in his lap, blushing slightly at my rather forward question. 

“You’re a brilliant judge of character, aren’t you?” He winks.

“Helps for when you meet handsome strangers in foreign lands. I like to know if the people I want to sleep with want to sleep with me too.” I tell him with a sly grin.

He gets up again, taking my drink from my hands and setting them both down on the silver tray that he originally retrieved them from.

“Who says I want to sleep with you?” He playfully questions, raising an eyebrow and leaning against the table. I sigh deeply, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear and smoothing out my dress.

“Well you see Tom, I did have an ulterior motive, but if we’re not on the same page, I guess I’ll leave you be.” 

I begin to walk away, but the second I get close to the door, I’m slammed into the wall as Tom animalistically smothers my neck with aggressive kisses and soft bites and quickly unzips the back of my dress, eager to remove any item of clothing covering my skin. He turns me around and pins my arms above my head with just his left hand as he moves his attack to my lips, eliciting moans from me left and right.

“Fuck,” I groan into the kiss, frustration taking over due to the fact that i can’t touch him.

Tom finally releases my arms and I fumble around with the buttons of his shirt, desperately trying to tear it off, as he slips my dress from my body and grabs my thighs, signaling for me to jump and wrap my legs around his waist. I quite happily oblige and he carries me over to the king sized bed, continuously switching his kisses from my lips to my jaw, to my neck.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Tom mumbles into my neck as he lays me down onto the satin sheets. Various items of clothing fly in different directions, landing in odd spots.

Heavy eyes, sore legs and strong arms. Those are the first things that pop into my head the next morning. In the mirror opposite me, I can already see red and purple love bites adorning my neck and chest, and Tom’s arm draped around my naked torso. I roll over and an unconscious Tom sleeping peacefully and lightly murmuring in his sleep, occasionally shifting around among the sheets. What now? Do I leave? Is this a one night stand? Am I supposed to stay? Do I go freshen up?

My train of thought is interrupted by Tom’s stretches and yawns.

“Morning.” He croaks in his morning voice.

“Morning.” I reply with a smile.

He places two fingers under my chin and places a soft, lingering kiss on my lips.

“Last night was…” I trail off, lost for words.

“Fun?” Tom finishes my sentence for me.

“Yeah, fun.” I laugh.

My neck catches his eye and he averts his attention to the hickeys spread completely across my throat.

“Oh my God… I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize they were that bad.” He chuckles sheepishly, delicately running his fingers over my neck.

“It’s fine, really. Doesn’t bother me.” I shrug, taking his hand from my chest and holding it down by my hips where he starts to gently caress my upper thigh.

“As long as you’re sure.” Tom smiles sweetly.

This is a completely different man from the one I met last night. The Tom last night was flirty and seductive, but this… this Tom is almost a polar opposite. He’s attentive and caring.

“I should probably start preparing for the walk of shame, right?” I sigh and start to sit up, trying to locate my clothes.

“Wait… you should stay.” He pleads.

“Really?” I ask, a little shocked but also kind of relieved.

“Yeah, if that’s alright with you. I thought we could get breakfast. I’d like to get to know the ‘strong woman’ novelist that works for the shittiest, lowest paying magazine in America. If you’d like to get to know the pretentious photographer, that is.”

Persuaded, I relax back into his arms and place a brief kiss on his lips.

“I’d love to,” I whisper. “And pretentious isn’t the word I’d use.” I add with a slight giggle.

“Ah, so what word would the author use?” Tom asks.

I think for a moment, letting out a quizzical hum.

“Aside from aesthetically pleasing?” I smirk, only half joking. “I don’t know yet. It’ll come to me.” 

We stay in bed for the rest of the day, ordering room service, watching movies and to put it delicately- fucking in every spot of the room.

A week later, I wake up in Tom’s hotel room again. I reach over to his side of the bed, but I’m met with nothing but emptiness and the cold. I open my eyes and search the room for him, but all I find is a note on the night stand.

“Darling Y/N,

If you wake up before I’m back, I’ve just gone on a small photography walk around the hotel and on the beach. I won’t be too long, seeing as the idea of you in my bed keeps me distracted and I can’t focus. Back soon.


Tom x

P.S, you look absolutely stunning this morning.”

Smiling like an idiot, I place the note back on the nightstand and roll over back to where I was before. Shortly after, Tom returns in a white shirt and blue suit trousers with his camera and a satisfied grin.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Tom smiles, setting his camera down.

“Yeah, I only read your note like, five minutes ago.” I tell him.

He lays next to me and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, leaning in to whisper something.

“I was wondering if you needed waking up this morning.”

My breath hitches and my body temperature rises as he slowly climbs on top of me and begins to leave sloppy kisses down my neck.

“I’m sure I can be persuaded…” I mutter.

After a while and round… I’ve lost count if I’m honest, we both get dressed and head downstairs. We order breakfast and discuss both profound and meaningless crap. We don’t realize how long we’ve been sat in the hotel until staff ask us if we need to see the lunch menus. The both of us kindly decline and leave for the beach, where we walk along the shoreline until the sun goes down and the stars appear.

“So, how long are you here for?”Tom asks after our long talk about our childhoods.

“Only another three days.” I sigh, kicking some sand around.

“And then?” I look up at Tom, who has a deeply disappointed look behind his sparkling blue eyes.

We stop walking when we reach a dock and he takes my hands in his.

“And then I go back. Back to Colorado.” I say sadly, looking at the ground again, noticing the ocean that washes up and very nearly touches our feet. He lifts up my chin with his index finger and gazes down into my eyes.

“I’ve had the best time with you for these past few weeks. I’ve never connected with someone so much in such a short amount of time and you’ve been truly wonderful to be around. So thank you, Y/N.” Tom smiles sadly while caressing my hand with his thumb.

“Me too. I’ll miss you when I’m gone. You were by far the best part of this whole trip and I’m so glad that you photographed me without my consent.” I joke, causing him to erupt into a huge smile.

“Do you really have to go? You can’t stay a little longer?” He pleads.

“Tom, I wish I could, but my boss won’t fund my flight if I miss the one she booked for me. I wish I could be with you and not return to the city that constantly sleeps. God, you have no idea how much I just want to stick around and be with you-”

“So do it.” Tom cuts me off.

“Excuse me?”

“Stay with me.”

“What?” I breathe hollowly, completely astounded.

“Stay with me. Quit your job, come traveling with me. I know it’s a lot to ask, but-”

“I’ll do it.” I blurt out.

“Really?” Tom’s eyes widen in shock.

“Yeah, really. I hate my job, I can’t stand my neighbors, and the past week with you has been the best time of my life. I’ll go with you, Tom.”

And with that, he sweeps me off of my feet and kisses me passionately underneath the stars.


“Tom?” I call out, walking through the door of our shared LA home. “Tom, you home?” 

The only sound that meets my ears is that of the echo of my boots hitting the oak floors.

I frown in confusion, thinking that Tom should’ve been home from his meeting by now, seeing as it’s about to get dark. Plus, his car is in the drive- another factors making me even more suspicious about his whereabouts.

“Thomas Hiddleston, I swear to God… you’ll be the death of me.” I mutter under my breath, picking up some mail from the kitchen counter, flicking through bills and letters from Tom’s interested buyers.

I turn around when I hear the sound of the front door opening and shutting, followed by a sweaty, panting Tom, who’s clad in running gear from head to toe. He smiles as soon as he lays his eyes on me and takes out his earphones.

“Hello Darling,” he kisses me on the cheek. “When did you get back?”

“About thirty seconds before you stepped through the door. Where’d you go on your little adventures today?” I ask, jumping up and sitting on the island in the kitchen.

“Just around the woods. How’s your mother? Does she still despise my very existence?” Tom laughs.

“Mm. She still thinks you’re a bad influence, even three years on.” I roll my eyes.

“Maybe I am.” He winks.

“In the best way possible.” I sigh happily, hooking my finger into the neckline of his shirt and pulling him towards me, then placing a soft kiss to his lips.

“She’ll learn to love me, I’m sure.” He replies, tucking a few hairs behind my ear.

“Tom, I’m not even sure if she loves me and I’m her daughter.” I joke.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my love. It’s hard not to love you.”

Tom’s compliment makes my cheeks burn a deep scarlet and causes me to grin from ear to ear.

“You flatter me, Hiddleston,” I giggle. 

“I need a shower, don’t forget that we have that party with the Hemsworths tonight.” He reminds me.

As he walks away, I let out a huff of breath in a fed up fashion. I’m usually always up for these kinds of things, but recently I’ve been more and more reluctant to go. Tom and Chris have been good friends since we took a trip to Australia and Tom was doing a promotional shoot for Chris’s wife Elsa’s new movie at the time, so it’s not like we can’t go because we’re all so close. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, maybe I’m going through a phase where I’m not feeling particularly social and I’ll be back to my lively self once it passes, who knows.

“Want me to join?” I call after him.

“Darling, the day I say ‘no’ to that question, I want you to shoot me.” Tom replies, still heading to the bathroom.

After putting my final diamond earring through my lobe and straightening my dress, I strut downstairs and find a formally suited Tom waiting by the door.

“Someone cleans up nice.” I smirk, adjusting his tie.

“I could say the same… you look absolutely stunning, my dear.” Tom’s blue eyes trail up and down my body, admiring each bump and curve, making me feel even more beautiful as I notice the look of admiration behind his eyes.

“Save it for later, gorgeous.” I smirk and waltz past him and out of the door.

Tom shortly follows and opens up the car door for me in a gentlemanly fashion, which plasters a smile across my lips. Once he sits in the driver’s seat, Tom opens up the roof of the car, then placing his hand on my thigh and lovingly grazing it with his thumb.

“Excited?” He asks with a grin.

“Yeah, I guess.” I flash a half smile as I gently shrug my shoulders.

I turn to Tom, who is looking at me with his classic:

I know something’s wrong and I’m not going to drop it until you tell me” look.

“What?” I sigh, rubbing my forehead tiresomely.

“What do you man ‘what?’? You love parties! More importantly, you love Chris and Elsa. What’s wrong? And please be honest with me, don’t say you’re fine so I leave it alone.”

“I don’t know, I just haven’t been in a ‘party’ mood lately. It’s like… for once I’d just like it if we stayed at home. I honestly can’t remember the last time we stayed in and just watched a damn movie in our sweats instead of getting all dressed up and making pointless small talk all night with people we either don’t know or don’t like. Is that such a terrible concept?”

Tom sighs and rests his head against the back of the driver’s seat.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because you love these things. I don’t want to be the one to disappoint you.” I say sadly.

“You couldn’t disappoint me, Darling. Yes, I do love these things, but I love you more and if you don’t want to do something, then I’m more than happy to do whatever you prefer.” He smiles softly while still rubbing my hand with his thumb.

“I love you too, Tom.” I tell him in all sincerity, glad that he isn’t angry about my indifference to social events.

“Want me to call and cancel?” He offers.

I dwell on the thought for a moment, but shake my head in defeat.

“No, it might be fun. Plus, I’m never one to argue against you wearing a suit.” I smirk, only half joking.

He laughs in response and blushes a little.

“So.. think we could be a little late?”

After being a half-hour late because of… reasons, Tom and I arrive at Chris and Elsa’s door.

“Oh my God, Tom…” I giggle, smoothing down some of his un-kept sex-hair. 

“Whoops.” He snickers.

The door swings open and we’’re greeted by a grinning Chris and a laughing Elsa, who both somehow become even happier when they see us.

“Hey guys!” Chris exclaims.

“Hey, how are you both?” Tom smiles as Chris engulfs him in a hug.

Elsa grabs my hand and pulls me inside, leading me straight to a table full of alcohol.

“Every time I see you, you get me drunk!” I exclaim.

“Are you objecting?” Elsa giggles.

“Obviously not, but that isn’t the point.” I reply, taking a shot and then wincing at the burning sensation in my throat. Elsa chuckles hysterically at my slight intolerance to the alcohol.

You are late.” Elsa playfully narrows her eyes and points her glass of Merlot at me accusingly. 

I chuckle lightly as I pour myself a cocktail, flicking the tiny umbrella in as I finish.

“I have my reasons.” I smirk, clinking my glass against hers.

“I bet. And may I say, your ‘reasons’ are looking absolutely dashing this evening,” she nods towards Tom, who’s talking to a number of men in equally flashed out suits. “So tell me, how many times? Three? Four?” She teases.

“It was both a quickie and none of your business! And yes, he does look great tonight.” I smile.

As the night carries on into the early hours of the morning, Tom introduces me to countless people who are interested in his work, none of whom manage to make even half a good impression. Chris breaks out a karaoke machine, much to his kids’ demise. However, the moment that the three children set their eyes on Tom, their moods were instantly turned around. Sasha runs up to Tom, only to be lifted into the air by my adoring boyfriend. Elsa creeps up behind me and watches as my partner cuddles her son in a way that comes so naturally to him. 

“He’s good at that. You next, right?.”

Whoops, there it is. The seven words that strike fear into my heart. Kids? God, I was only just warming up to marriage, never mind kids. Sure marriage is a huge commitment, but at least you can get out of it. Not that I would want to get out of a marriage with Tom, but you never know what can go wrong. But kids… that’s a forever deal. Permanent, constant, infinite.

“Yeah… I um, I need a drink.” I choke out and rush over to the still-overflowing table of alcohol. No Y/N, no more alcohol. You have to drive. My hand edges away from the bourbon and vodka and reaches for water instead.

As I shakily pour the water into a glass, I feel a pair of arms slink around my waist and a head rest on my shoulder.

“Wow Elsa, I never knew you felt that way about me.” I joke, earning a drunken chuckle from Tom.

“What are you thinking about?” He slurs.

I sigh a little and take a sip of my drink.

“I’m thinking about getting you home-”

“Oh yeah?” He mumbles into my neck just before leaving a trail of sloppy kisses.

“And getting you sober, don’t get too excited. You need some sleep,” I turn around and kiss him softly, “so it’s time to say our goodbyes.”

I drag Tom over to the Hemsworth family and we begrudgingly depart, promising each other lunch at some point in the upcoming weeks. Chris and Tom aggressively hug each other, causing Elsa and I to roll our eyes at the ridiculous display of masculinity. 

On our way out of the house, we’re stopped by a man requesting Tom’s presence elsewhere. Tom excuses himself and walks away and I watch them as I unlock the car. The man has lead Tom to a group of people stood in front of a silver Mercedes, all of which are lead by a short, pale man in a white suit. The conversation looks pretty friendly until the short man begins to frown at Tom. He begins to push him backwards slightly and yell profanities that are just barely audible. Everything becomes incredibly heated, but Chris manages to step between Tom and the group before things start to get nasty. From what I gather, he tells them to leave and then turns to Tom once they leave. Chris shakes his head in disappointment as Tom tries to reason with him, but to no success. In the end, Chris just places a hand on Tom’s shoulder and nods over to me. As soon as he does so, I look away as to not look like I’ve been watching them. Moments later, Tom returns by my side with a see-through fake smile playing on his lips.

“Come on then, lets go home.” Tom coughs out.

“Everything okay over there? Looked pretty rough.” I comment, searching for any kind of truth behind his baby blue eyes.

“Yeah, it’s all fine.” He shrugs.

“Didn’t look fine. Are you sure you’re oka-”

“I’m fine, it’s fine. Just a buyer. Couldn’t afford the pieces he wanted. Darling, it’s nothing to worry about. Let’s go home, my love.” Tom caresses my cheek


White sand washes off of my legs as I step into the shower of our shared hotel room in Sao Paulo. The heat from the water cleanses my body of the morning, but unfortunately, not my mind. My fingers wipe away the mascara streaks covering the dark bags of fatigue under my eyes. The one thing I can’t wash away is the heartbreak.

Y/N. I can’t begin to explain how sorry I am. I love you with everything I am and have,  but this is something I have to do. I’m in trouble. I have to leave, because if I don’t, things aren’t going to end well for me. I didn’t want to do this, but I have to. You’re my world and these past three and a half years have been the best of my life. I wish I could explain and I wish I could make it up to you, but I can’t. I don’t want anything bad to happen. I’ll always be your’s. But I’m gone. Possibly forever. I’m sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances. 

I’m sorry.


So here I am. Alone. Brokenhearted. Empty. 

afirewiel  asked:

What is your favorite non-Austen period novel? Movie?

Okay I’m gonna do a rundown of all my favourites because making me pick one is just mean. (Also at one point in my notes on the following books and films I just wrote “Bagels” and I can’t for the life of me think what I might have meant or autocorrected that from. Maybe a shopping list started to take form. I don’t know.)

(If the film Miss Austen Regrets and book Longbourn by Jo Baker count as non-Austen then include them.)


Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India - 2001 (Sports! High stakes! Sticking it to the Colonial Man!)

Mozart’s Sister - 2010 (Beautiful music! Gorgeous androgyny! GIRLS CAST TO PLAY THEIR ACTUAL AGE AND NOT SOME 20-SOMETHING PRETENDING TO BE FOURTEEN!)

Possession - 2002 (I’ve tried the novel, and A.S. Byatt has some beautiful prose but her structures sometimes do my head in, so never finished it. Ignore Paltrow as best you can and enjoy lush Victorian Gothic mystery and the ending is one of the most poignant things I’ve ever been pleasantly surprised with on film, and it leaves you wondering about many, many things…)

Jodhaa Akbar - 2008 (You could put Hrithik Roshan and Aishwarya Rai in the worst commercial ever made and I would watch it. Costumes, scenery, and, as a friend once put it “I’m not sure how they did it, but they just had a sex scene without any sex.” Bravo.)

Water - 2005 (Deepa Mehta is such a fantastic filmmaker and I loved this whole trilogy but Water is my favourite.)

Elizabeth - 1998 & Elizabeth: The Golden Age - 2007 (The costumes! The caMERA ANGLES!!! The compli-fucking-cated mess that is Elizabeth I.)

[Okay Tumblr won’t let me embed any more trailers, but those ones are easy to find, they’re out there.]

Vatel - 2000 (Any foodie who is also a fan of The Sun King and his era will dig this one. A great score, baddie Tim Roth.)

Alternatively, in the same era: A Little Chaos - 2015. Storyline is a little weak, but it’s so beautiful and the cast is great and the M U S I C. Kate Winslet. Alan Rickman. Helen McCrory. STANLEY TUCCI.)

Also: they’re not films, but TV shows - honourable mentions to the Spanish series Gran Hotel. It’s like a good version of Downton Abbey, only sorta on crack and with a tonne more murder mysteries; and while I have some Issues with its so-called hero and some comparatively weirdo plot-points in S3, overall, it’s fantastic and I’m obssessed. Please don’t mix it up with the Italian re-make which looks horrible in every way. Like, main actors dressed in a poorly-sewn-table-cloth-bad.

And shout-out to the new CBC/Netflix series Anne. I will defend this show to the DEATH, alright? They’ve gone bolder and fresher and have managed to involve period realism in a moving way while retaining the sunshine-and-pinafores element that so many people love about L.M. Montgomery’s work. There’s heaps of women with production credits, and I think it shows. Geraldine James is already my favourite Marilla after one episode, and I feel like R.H. Thompson (HEY JASPER DALE HEEEEY!) and Amybeth McNulty are likely going to become my favourite Matthew and Anne, too. People have complained about this series going off-book and in particular some have condemned it sight-unseen because the writers/directors are putting a feminist spin on it and OH GOD THEY SAID FEMINIST QUICK WE GOTTA SET EVERYTHING ON FIRE BECAUSE CHILDHOOD IS RUINED, but honestly it’s just perky and gorgeous and scrappy and nobody can tell me to my face that Kevin Sullivan didn’t go all the fucking way off-book from the very beginning so I am not gonna sit here and insist that the Megan Fallows Anne of Green Gables was perfection which could never be improved upon because that’s just a plain lie. It was nice and it has its place but it’s time for some new blood. (And NOT the telefilms they’ve also come out with recently with Martin Sheen, bless his heart, but they took a brunette child actor and dumped an atrociously stark box of red hair-dye on her before drawing on her freckles and then telling her to please play everything theatrically to the back of the house even though there is a camera ten inches from her face.) I am HERE FOR ANNE. RIDE OR DIE.


After that you might assume my L.M. Montgomery recommendation would be Anne of Green Gables and sure I won’t say DON’T read them, but for my money the Emily of New Moon trilogy is more my jam and I wish to God and Netflix in all my prayers that there might someday be a decent adaptation of them.

I was really into Cassandra Clark’s Abbess of Meaux mystery series for a time, but then things went a bit pear-shaped in what I think was the fourth(?) book and everything was OOC and honestly I haven’t caught up on the later books after that and they seem to be self-published now but I am a sucker for nuns and mysteries so I’ll probably get back into it when I have time.

The Princess Priscilla’s Fortnight and The Solitary Summer by Elizabeth von Arnim. Vacation-reads! Beautiful prose, some wry wit, and fun hijinks. If you’ve ever wanted to run away and live in an isolated cottage in the wilderness for a little while, these are for you. [ETA: I recently got my hands on a copy of The Jasmine Farm so THANK YOU to one of you who recommended it I am loving it so far only I don’t see the appeal in Andrew so wtf Terry you can do better.]

Edward Rutherfurd’s geographical history novels–Sarum is the classic to start with, but the others I’ve read are very good, too. (London, New York, and I’m now working my way through a first-edition of Russka.)

Amy Levy. A M Y   L E V Y. Criminally under-recognized Jewish Victorian novelist and poet. Novellas Ruben Sachs and The Romance of a Shop. (RS a beautiful and bittersweet story about the conflicts between love, identity, and expectations, and some would say a response to George Eliot’s Daniel Deronda. TRoaS reading a bit like a less treacle-sweet variation on Little Women, where four sisters try to make their way in the world by setting up their own photography studio in late 19th century London.)

The Making of a Marchioness by Frances Hodgkin Burnett. Colonialist racism appears in this one, so be warned. Still the book is a THOUSAND times better than the utterly dreadful adaptation known as The Making of a Lady. Jane is better, Emily is better, Walderhurst is better, pretty much EVERYONE IS BETTER. The pacing is better. The plotting and suspense make actual sense.

The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy. A classic, and the grand-daddy of every secret-identity superhero.

The Forsyte Saga by John Galsworthy. Like, it makes me MAD how good these books are.

And last but not least, a non-fiction selection in Vere Hodgson’s WWII diaries: Few Eggs and No Oranges. Nothing else has ever brought the experience of living (or trying to) under the shadow of the bombs and the threat of invasion quite like these diaries. Fascinating details, engagingly written, and at times a stark reminder that the Allied victory we take for granted in our history could by no means be counted on by the millions who dwelt in daily uncertainty.

The Stand-In Part 1

A/N: Hey guys! I’m doing something a little different today by breaking off of my prompt list. This is going to be one of my own stories! It’s an AU inspired by the statement:

She hated blind dates, but little did she know this would be her last one.

This is only the first part so it’s a little slow but I promise the later parts will be better! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Pairing: Firefighter!DeanXReader

Warnings: I don’t think I have any for this part, but maybe some in the future.

Word count: 1546

Part 2-Part 3-Part 4-Part 5-Part 6-Part 7-Part 8-Part 9


She sighs to herself miserably, swirling her straw in her soda absently.

As if to remind her of her suffering, the clock looming in front of her strikes eight.

A whole two hours since the dick that had messaged her was supposed to meet her.

She bites her bottom lip and, not for the first time, checks her messages to make sure that she hadn’t gotten something wrong by accident.

Meet me at six at IHOP? Christian says you like pancakes.

She turns her phone over in her hands, vowing to kick Christian in the dick the next time she sees him.

He had said that this guy was cool, nice, funny even. And tall, with dark hair and light eyes. Serious, with his priorities straight and a good head on his shoulders. A stable nine-to-five job with the means to provide for a woman. The abs and biceps would be an added touch, too.

“Just your type” is what Christian had said he was.

So, albeit reluctantly, she had agreed to a blind date with Lucas. She didn’t like blind dates, in fact she hated them. She insisted that they were a means for an easy kidnapping, but she was in a little part of town that knew her well and would notice her if she went missing.

And Lucas didn’t seem like the type to ruin a blind date. It was a nice name, she had told herself.

But that’s what she said about all the guys Christian set her up with.

That if Christian was a friend, they must not be too bad.

Of course, none of them had ever stood her up, though. Maybe Lucas was too good to be true.

Maybe her ideal man didn’t exist. She didn’t think it was too much to ask, because she had seen a lot of guys who could fit into the category.

Basically, her only requirements were to be taller than her and be a nice person. Didn’t seem like too much to ask, but then Lucas comes to mind.

She looks up when she hears the bell tinkle over the door a few feet away. She feels silly, but she’s looked up every single time it’s rang, hoping against all hope that maybe Lucas would show up with a somewhat decent apology.

The man that holds her gaze is about the only person that she can say for sure isn’t Lucas.

He’s shorter, probably only a few inches taller than her, and he has some tousled brown hair. He isn’t wearing glasses, like she had been told Lucas did, and she hated to judge a book by its cover, but she could say almost with certainty that this guy didn’t have a desk job.

He does have a few qualities that stand out to her, like his bright green eyes or his biceps just peeking out of his tee shirt. What really catches her attention is his legs, covered by a pair of dark wash jeans that just hug his thighs perfectly.

He’s nothing like her type, and yet she finds herself deciding that maybe he’s a type of his own. One of those lucky few that was just gorgeous enough to make her realize that even if he didn’t fit her ideal guy, he was still an ideal guy.

She catches his eye and she knows that he’s just seen her checking him out. His lips curl upwards, and she decides right then that his best asset is that killer smile.

Her cheeks fade pink as he strides to her, her entire assessment taking little over a few seconds.

“You look lonely,” he says confidently, rapping twice on the wooden table. “Mind if I sit?”

“No, go ahead,” she gestures to the booth in front of her that has been empty for a couple of hours.

“You waiting for someone?” he asks, cocking his head to the side slightly.

“I was,” she answers vaguely, hoping that he won’t ask because she doesn’t really feel like explaining it all, especially not to a stranger.

A hot stranger that probably couldn’t care less about her woes.

“Now what asshole in their right mind would think about standing you up?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I dunno, just a friend of a friend,” she shrugs, taking a drink of her soda to occupy herself so that she won’t drool over the fine specimen in front of her.

“How long have you been waiting, Sweetheart?” he asks, ordering a soda from the waitress that stops by.

“Two hours,” she admits quietly, watching his eyebrows raise. She wants to drop the topic before he realizes that something must be wrong for her to have been stood up and have waited so long. “You don’t look like a soda guy.”

“I’m not, usually,” he grins that killer smile, and she has to look away for a moment to calm her nerves. “I prefer a good beer any day. But I’m on call tonight, covering for a friend.”

“That’s nice of you,” she says, looking up as the waitress brings him his soda.

“You gonna eat? I’m starving,” he says, and she feels her cheeks fade slightly pink again.

She isn’t sure if she should just go with it, because she’s lucky as fuck that this gorgeous Adonis would stop and talk to her, much less want to sit and eat dinner with her, but she doesn’t even know his name.

“Sure,” she finally agrees, and he gives her a little smile, not quite as overpowering as the others but still enough to make her stomach lurch.

“I’ll have a tall stack of blueberry pancakes and a side of bacon,” he states to the waitress, who seems happy to have finally received some of his attention.

“Okay, and for the lady?” she asks, maintaining her cheerfulness as if she is barely fazed by this man.

“Um, the red velvet pancakes, nothing else,” she says, knowing that if Lucas hadn’t stood her up that would’ve been her order.

“Awesome, I’ll have that out soon,” the perky waitress states before walking away.

“I don’t even know your name and I’m eating dinner with you,” she tells him, to see if he realizes how this is actually playing out. It’s like a plot from a bad romance novel, and she can’t believe it’s happening.

“Dean,” he offers, winking at her. “But you can call me yours if you want.”

Her mouth opens slightly to release a small sound of disbelief. Did he really just say that to her?

“O-Oh,” she finally manages to stutter out. “Dean, nice to meet you.”

“You don’t have to be so shy,” he states with a half grin. “Just think of it like a blind date, and we’re just meeting each other.”

“A blind date, sure I can do that,” she nods quickly. “I’ve done plenty of those.”

“And you’re still single?” he asks, giving her quick once over. “What’s wrong with you?”

She laughs lightly, taking another drink of her soda to occupy herself. She finally manages to calm her scrambled brain down some.

It’s just a cute guy flirting with her, that’s all.

“Not sure. Maybe it’s because I scared them off with my knowledge of axolotls,” she finally says, sensing a way to turn this conversation to a topic she can actually contribute to.

“To what?” he asks. “You had to have made that up.”

“No! They’re really cute!” she gushes, flipping her phone over to show him her lock screen. “I spent three years researching them working on my masters degree. The filaments on their gills aid them in gas exchange with the environment, and before they were classified as endangered people would eat them.”

“Wow, looks kinda strange,” he states, glancing back up to her. “I can definitely see why all those guys left. They couldn’t date a girl smarter than them.”

“Oh,” she frowns slightly, wondering if he was implying something.

“I meant that in the best way possible,” he says quickly, noticing her sudden closing off. “It’s just that some guys find smart girls intimidating. I think it’s hot. I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

“Oh,” she says, but she’s definitely more hesitant now. She isn’t sure if it was an honest mistake with his wording or if it was a test to see her reaction to a statement like that.

“Tell me more about these weird little axo… whatevers,” he says with a small smile. “I’d love to hear what you did your research on.”

“Axolotls,” she states quietly, looking up to his deep green eyes. “I’m sure it would just bore you.”

“Not if it’s coming from your pretty lips,” he says with a small smirk. “You seem really into them. Makes me want to know more.”

“About me or about my research?” she asks him, watching him settle back with a smile.

“How about both?” he asks, and just then the waitress brings their food out.

“So, let’s start with the axolotls,” he states, smiling at her as he picked up his fork and knife.

“And then?” she asks, her cheeks darkening at his interest in her work.

“Then we get to you. And I am definitely getting a number when we get there.”

aladyinblue  asked:

Can I ask for book recs? You've said before your reading is seasonal (which I find fascinating as it had never occurred to me it could be) and I'm quite curious to see what are summer reads for you. For most people summer reads are light and a no brainer, yet you said Brideshead revisited is meant to be read on summer. So, please, enlighten me because I wanna jump in the wagon of seasonal reading.

I’d be delighted!!!! Yes please let’s spread my eccentricities around the populace!

So for starters, not every book has a season, and some books belong to seasons for different reasons than others. Brideshead Revisited, for instance, would be a summer book for the same reason that one of the songs from Adrian Johnson’s score for the 2008 film is called ‘Always Summer’ — it’s to do with mood and theme and thoughts and the best season for feeling certain feelings.

A much clearer selection process is simply where the thing takes place. It’s environment matching — if it’s warm outside, I want to be reading things where the characters are also someplace warm. But interestingly, often the settings seem to sorta self-select for books that also match onto my ~seasonal mood~ pretty well! Fall books end up having a sort of classic quality, a combination of a good old fashioned haunting and that back-to-school feeling of a crisp October day. Spring, it turns out, is lyrical and shifting, books with a blossoming, intricate manner of storytelling. Winter we haven’t done yet — ask me again in winter! — and summer… summer might be flying and mirage.

Summer Reads

Category 1: The Only Way We Can Talk About The War Is With Magical Realism (one of my favorite genres of all time)

The English Patient - Ondaatje, Michael
If you are only familiar with this as the movie with Ralph Fiennes, let me change your world: there was a novel first, and holy heck is it a whole other and wondrous thing. This is one of my very, very favorite books. It is GORGEOUS. It is strange. There’s layered narration, unreliable narration, skips in time and place, but the novel is anchored in its characters, who form something of a contemplative quartet: a Canadian Army nurse, her mysterious and badly burned patient, a Sikh British army sapper, and a thief named Caravaggio, all sheltering together in an abandoned Italian villa during the last months of WWII.

Corelli’s Mandolin - de Bernières, Louis
This was a typically flawless recommendation from Mr. Dorman, my high school English teacher who shows up on this blog from time to time. It takes place on a Greek island during WWII, and is just rich in history and personalities and feeling. It’s transporting — brilliantly written, so funny, and I think I might have cried for about 50 pages near the end. It also has a quartet of fabulous characters: the oddball doctor who is trying to write a history of the island, his bright and educated daughter, the charming musician Captain Corelli, and an Italian soldier named Carlo who is like an Ancient Greek tragedy brought to life.

Catch-22 - Heller, Joseph
Honestly has anything in literature ever been as good as what Heller did with Snowden. Can anything even touch that. Merely for that piece alone this would probably be the greatest novel ever written. Listen, Catch-22 is a masterpiece. It will harrow you to the bone, it will make you wail in anguished frustration, and it will make you laugh and laugh and laugh, unto the ending of the world. Most simply it is about a squadron of Army pilots trying to survive WWII. More broadly it is about trauma and humanity. Oh and our main character is a Middle-Eastern American, and here are the very first lines of the novel, also one of the true greats of our time: “It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him.”

Category 2: Memoirs of Pilots Flying Over Deserts During the Golden Age of Aviation

Wind, Sand and Stars - de Saint-Exupéry, Antoine
Yes, this is the memoir of the author of A Little Prince, a real life aviator who flew mail across the African Sahara and South American Andes. He tells stories about flying and friendship and muses on life, and it is all just breakingly beautiful. A sample line: “When I opened my eyes I saw nothing but the pool of night sky, for I was lying on my back with out-stretched arms, face to face with that hatchery of stars.”

West With the Night - Markham, Beryl
I have extolled the virtues of BERYL MARKHAM and her fabulous memoirs before — those facts stand. I will add though, for both her and de Saint-Exupéry, that while they have such sincere fondness and respect for their African friends and colleagues, they do occasionally write about them in a way that feels out-dated and out-of-touch. There is an air of the “noble savage” in some of their stories, which is a hoary old problem that often plagued well-meaning white writers of their time. So, a heads up for that.

Category 3: The Americans

The Great Gatsby - Fitzgerald, F. Scott
If you have not reread The Great Gatsby since high school, I can sincerely recommend doing so, and in the height of summer if possible. Quoting myself from my Baz Luhrmann 4th of July last year, Gatsby is the great American daydream: fabulously indulgent, ironic, biting, somehow gaudy and gauzy at once, hilarious, inadvertent, morbid, and hiding at its core an embarrassing sentimentality, which it will try to drown in champagne and pools as soon as you’ve seen it. 

The Talented Mr. Ripley - Highsmith, Patricia
This is probably the wellntruly equivalent of a vacation read, if your vacation is in Italy and the shadows cast by the sun are a touch too dark and something about the way the condensation traces paths down your Campari & soda feels unaccountable sinister, and you’re cool with it.

A Good Man Is Hard To Find (short story collection) - O’Connor, Flannery
Southern Gothic time, little ones! You’ve seen the “[blank] gothic” posts on this website before, and here’s what 99% of them miss: not just what is dark and twisted in the environment, but what is dark and twisted in the hearts of the people. Southern Gothic is social commentary, and Southern Gothic is fucked up, and the undisputed queen of the genre is Flannery O’Connor. These are stories that will stay with you long after you’ve retreated from their dusty, sweltering heat.

Slouching Towards Bethlehem - Didion, Joan
We’re breaking into journalism here with a collection of essays by the inimitable — although god knows we all try — Joan Didion. If you are at all interested in California, or the 1960s, or the craft of writing, you can do no better than Joan Didion. Joan Didion! I just want to repeat her name like an hosanna. Here you can read her on the Santa Ana right now.

Stranger in a Crowd

Prompt: Imagine Remy LeBeau (Gambit) seeing you in a crowded street and he just has to meet you.

Word Count: 1782

Warnings: Maybe language? A non gorey fight scene? Other than that it’s pure unadulterated fluff, y’all.

Note: Beta’d by the great @like-a-bag-of-potatoes. Also, this is my first Gambit fic and I REALLY wanted a southern fic lately.

Tags: @munlis @amarvelouswritings


Remy’s POV

Tonight wasn’t as humid as it usually was around Mardi Gras, but my lord, it was warm. The sea of bodies didn’t help a thing, either. My eyes scanned the crowd as I walked, checking for any threats. I hadn’t been bothered in a few weeks, which was nice, so tonight, in celebration of Fat Tuesday, why not have a little game of cards with some poor unsuspecting fellow at a nice watering hole? Of course, the French Quarter was crawling with tourists as beads flew, the smell of alcohol sweeping the streets, the perfume of seafood hitting my nostrils as I walked along, the warm air clinging to my skin like a blanket.

I had to find a good bar, and soon. The sun was setting, casting a handsome pinkish blue into the sky above us, but when the sun sets in New Awlins, lord, you better hold onto your hat here in the French Quarter.

Just as I looked up, I saw her. Her face was…it was like lookin’ into the face of an angel. My word…Her lips, her eyes, her mere presence was piercing. The way her hair swirled as a cool wind whipped through the streets and alleys. I don’t know what it was about her but she was completely captivatin’. Like a siren in the night, I was drawn to this girl.

Keep reading


Part 1(?)

(This story is based on my own personal headcanon that the The Doctor knew the Host before as the Author. I also named the Doctor Markus just to make writing the dialogue a bit easier. Hope you enjoy reading!)

A young man in scrubs sat at a bar, drink cradled in one hand while his head rested in the other. Alcohol seemed to be the best way to distract him from the barrage of thoughts he experienced on a daily basis.

The visions didn’t start out so bad: a little girl falling and scraping her knee, and old man who experienced arthritis pains, it was never anything drastic. But as time went on, and he spent more long nights at the hospital, he started seeing more and more people dying. Some would go in there sleep while others went through hours of agony before they passed. It was becoming unbearable.

He hadn’t received his PHD in full yet so he never had his own patients die, but he still took care of so many people at the hospital, and not all of them were going to make it.

He finished off his drink in one swift chug and slammed the glass onto the table, startling the bar tender. He felt thoroughly buzzed but nowhere near as drunk as he wanted to be.

“Fill me up again.” He demanded in a gravelly voice.

The bar tender gave him a quizzical look and then glanced at his thinning wallet he had left on the counter. He got angry.

“ I said, fill me up! Just start up a tab for me.”

“No need for that.” A smooth voice came from next to him and a credit card was placed on the counter.

“You can put all his drinks on my tab.”

The young doctor turned to see a man standing tall and confident next to his slouched over form in the bar stool. This new comer wore a snarky grin on his chiseled face. His hair was styled in a faux hawk that looked to ridiculous to be cool but pulled it off nonetheless. He wore dark jeans and black button up that clung to his toned torso.

“I don’t need any charity.”

“Oh dearest, it doesn’t come for free. I expect something in return.” The man smirked. He looked familiar but in a strange way. Almost as if he had seen this man in a dream before.

“And what might that be?” Annoyance laced in the young doctor’s voice.

“Just to simple sit and chat with you, gorgeous.” The man’s smile grew wider, a mischievous glint shone in his eyes.

Still slouched over in the bar seat, he paused for a minute. Against his better judgement - a result of the previous glasses of alcohol - the young doctor pulled out the chair next to him and motioned for the stranger to sit.

“Knock yourself out.”

The strange man sat down in the seat and leaned his elbow on the bar, resting his head up against his hand.

“So darling, what’s your name?” He asked smiling.

“It’s Markus.” As soon as he answered, the bar tender sat another glass filled with alcohol in front of him. He eagerly snatched it up and took a hefty gulp. When he finished he turned to the stranger.

“What about you? I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

“Ah yes, you probably recognize me from the inside cover of my books. For now you can call me Author.”

Markus scrunched his brow and rake through his alcohol soaked brain. Then realization dawned on his face. This was the mysterious author everyone had been raving about. His books are a hit but know one knows much about him and there has been speculation about his inspiration for his best selling novels.

When the Author saw Markus’ face light up, he looked even more pleased with himself then he already had been before.

Markus composed himself and returned his expression to the uninterested one he had worn before. “So what’s a big shot like you doing in a dive bar like this.” He took another swig of his drink.

“Well in part I’m looking for inspiration for my next book, but really I’m on a search for people like me.” The Author leaned closer to Markus, who was too much on his way to drunk to notice or care.

Markus looked at the man in confusion. Did he mean other writers, or just other people who were famous?

“Have you found anyone yet?” He asked curiously.

“So far two look promising. One has a way of speaking that is almost as ridiculous as his mustache while the other has a… darker aura to himself.” The Author smirked. “However tonight I’m looking for a very special man in particular.”

“Well I doubt you’ll find him here- ARGH!” Markus was cut off by a sharp pain in his head. He thought for a moment it was the result of too much alcohol at once, but then an image popped into his head: the bar tender walking back towards the sink but then tripping and falling right on top of his left arm, a sickening crunch following after and then a pained scream.

Markus’ eyes shot open and he whipped his head over to where the bar tender was, only to see him walking over to the sink.

“No, wait!” He yelled, but it was no use. The bar tender was already falling to the ground. Then came the crunch. Then the scream.

A few waitresses rushed over and helped the bar tender up who has cradling his bent arm and whimpering. Markus couldn’t watch anymore. He folded his arms on top of the bar and slammed his head into them. He heard someone say something about “taking him to a hospital” but he wasn’t listening.

He failed to warn someone AGAIN! No matter how or when the vision appeared, he was powerless to change anything. He hated it.

He could still hear the clambering of the bar staff try to get the bar tender gently out the door, but the young doctor was trying to block everything out. That was until he felt a hand slowly run up and down his back.

“Oh, I think I did indeed find him.” The Authors sultry voice being the only thing coming through Markus’ troubling thoughts.

The sound of it calmed Markus while sending shivers up his spin at the same time. He slowly lifted up his head and looked at the Author.

“You-you see things too?“He asked the man pitifully.

Author continued to run his hand up and down Markus’s back.

"Not quite like you, dearest. I’d like to think of myself as a manipulator of things and events then just an observer.”

Markus looked at him in confusion again. “What do you mean manipulator?”

The Author smirked, the mischievous glint in his eye returning “~Markus feels a sense of calm wash over him.~”

All of a sudden, the Authors voice had changed. Instead of sounding like a normal voice in front of him, Markus heard the voice all around him, like it was enveloping his entire body. He gasped at the sudden sensation, but then noticed the guilt he had felt moments ago seep away.

“ ~The guilt he felt before is being replaced with a wave of calmness. The vision is over and Markus is safe. It wasn’t his fault what happened.~”

When the Author stopped speaking, the guilt was gone but that feeling of extreme bliss had faded away. Markus whined lightly, craving the sense of security the voice had brought him.

He looked at the Author sadly. “Please, can you do that again?”

The Author shock his head. “It doesn’t matter how many times I do it, darling. As soon as I stop speaking the effect wears off.”

The Author reached his hand up and cupped Markus’ face.

“But I have other ideas on how to distract you, if you would like me to try.”

Markus nodded his head excitedly. If alcohol was no longer keeping the visions away, then he would try anything to distract his mind from them.

“Please. I need a distraction.”

The Author smiled, then brought his other hand up to grab the back of the young doctor’s head. The Author leaned forwards and connected their lips.

Markus’ eyes shot open wide, but before he had time to even think about what was happening, the Author started slowly moving their lips together, dragging his mouth to suck and peck at Markus’ own. The feeling of being surrounded by the Author returned, and his eyes fluttered shut. Something about the Authors mouth was magical - whether it was forming words that danced through Markus’ ears or kissing Markus like he knew every curve and bump of his mouth, he just wanted more of it.

Markus bit down on Author’s bottom lip. This seemed to surprise the Author, but he responded by poking his tongue out to slowly lick at Markus’ top lip. Markus shuddered and gasped, opening his mouth just enough to release the Author’ from the bite, and for the Author to slot his mouth back into place, slipping his tongue past Markus’ lips and into his mouth.

Markus let out a needy whimper as he felt the sensation of the Author in his mouth, his head buzzing with euphoria not just from the alcohol anymore. He whimpered again and felt the Author smirk. The man pulled away slightly. “Do you like this dearest? Do you want more distractions.”

Markus nodded quickly, yearning to feel the Authors lips again.

“Good.” the Author tilted his head to the side and leaned down to latch onto Markus’ neck right where his jaw connected. Markus tried to stifle his gasp, but it still managed to slip out. He quickly bit his lip, trying to contain himself.

“You know, if you would like…” the Author spoke up then placed another kiss lower on his neck then pulled away.

“We can go somewhere a bit more.. private” He moved down even lower on this neck, sucking a red spot into the tender skin. He lifted back up again.

“Where you don’t have to worry about being loud and can make all of the noise you want.”

The Author then bit down on the spot he was sucking at a second ago, causing the young Doctor to yelp. The Author released him and then looked up at Markus with a grin.

“How does that sound for a distraction?”

Thursdays [Part 2]

Our Deal

Originally posted by sirisaacnewtmas

Thomas Brodie Sangster x Reader Imagine

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A/N: Continuing this is all I’ve been thinking about and since a lot of you have been requesting it too, here’s the second part! Ahh I can’t believe I’m writing again - it makes me very happy and also, thank you for still sticking around and reading my writing! I hope you guys still like all of this despite my hiatus :P

The stubborn voice in your head didn’t want to really admit how ridiculous you felt at the moment. So much so that if anyone caught you and asked you why you were pouting, you would openly deny it. Though you didn’t exactly wear a scowl on your face, just that something was obviously off about you after lunch. Stephanie noticed and Katie certainly sent a raised eyebrow to your way a couple times but you chose to ignore it as you dealt with customers and mixed drinks with a smile. You hadn’t told her a single thing about your encounter with the dashing boy from the magazine cover.

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Angry Girl Review: Eleanor and Park

One time in college I turned in an essay and my professor underlined a sentence I’d written and told me it wasn’t the appropriate register for a university essay and I have crazy respect for her so I tailored my papers for the rest of the semester but this isn’t a university essay so I’ll start off with




Let’s start with the most glaringly obvious: the racism! 

The sad thing is that half these descriptions are obviously supposed to be flattering except they’re… not… 

Wow ninjas and East Asia what a novel concept wow 

Wow because East Asian men aren’t emasculated in American media at all


by the way this is so very Memoirs of a Geisha-y because Park happens to be a half-Korean kid who LOOKS more Asian than his brother

But Park has green eyes!!!!! so magical!!!! So EXOTIC!!! Also “almond-flavored” please that’s not the most cliched description for Asian eyes in the book

Here have some more grossness around those oh-so-exotic “Asian” eyes

Please let that sink in for a moment. Like Ming the Merciless. Who, as you might know from the Flash Gordon comic, was originally introduced in 1934 and is a pretty clear stand-in for, uh… yellow peril. upon googling, looks like this:

Sooo…. yeah.

But then Park has a couple of self-hating moments where he of course implies that Asian women have it easier:

“White guys think they’re exotic”. And that is flattering why, Park? “Exotic”, really? And Eleanor isn’t exactly doing a great job of not contributing to this harmful mentality when she explicitly thinks that he’s “prettier than any girl”. Again:

But then!!! Eleanor makes it all better!!! By saying this!! In the middle of a STEAMY LOVE SCENE!!!! (which by the way neither steamy nor lovely just creeped me out a lot because of the following passage):

This Othering, this fetishization, does not stop through the entire book. Finally, we get towards the end: 

So no, Eleanor never gets over Othering her boyfriend.

Wait hold on Asian women don’t get a pass either, as Park’s mom is painted as the oppressive parent who doesn’t like “weird white girls”, but according to Eleanor…


“his” Dainty China person because of course Park’s mom isn’t a person, but a literal object to be moved and shifted according to the whim’s of Park’s dad, a Korean war vet. 

Here have some more bad stereotyping of Asian women as “thin pretty and petite” and Eleanor’s own self-hatred and fat-shaming:

Black women aren’t exempt from being props to uphold Eleanor either. Her two “friends” at school (I say “friends” in quotes because they don’t really comment on anything except how cute Park is and they all make fun of those OTHER nasty white girls in gym class together), oh, and Rainbow Rowell writes them like this:

“It was an honor that they’d let her into their club”…the “you’re not like THOSE white people club???" 

"I got a man”, REALLY??? 

Park’s “Asian”-ness As Other and He Could Have Been Edward Cullen, What is the Goddamn Difference

I would have felt better if Rainbow Rowell had written Park as a vampire or a werewolf or some other inhuman creature, the stuff of teen girl YA fantasy because a) vampires and werewolves don’t actually exist and therefore you can write them any way you want, albiet cliched, whatever–at least you’re not contributing to some very harmful societal stereotypes. 

Park, as you can see from the previous citations, is written out to be this “edgy” indie boy who wears eyeliner and listens to the Smiths (which wow I rolled my eyes at) and is also a loner at school in and his edginess and “magic” make him stand out in much the same way a vampire or a werewolf or otherwise nonhuman creature would. These descriptions of Park really made me think of Twilight and no, not because they are things that “normal” teen girls say or think but because we’ve seen this archetype of, for lack of better word, “magical boy” that comes barging into sad-manic-pixie-dream-girl’s-but-not-like-the-other-girls’-life and sweeps her off her feet:

How artsy, edgy, and NOT PREPPY, he wears all black.

Who else had a face “like a chiseled marble statue in its perfection”? (psst, it was Edward Cullen)

who else was described as “godlike” “angelic” and all that crap? Vampire boy Edward Cullen. Louis and Lestat and Claudia, all of our favorite too-gorgeous-to-be-real fairytale creatures.

But when you use those kinds of descriptors for a character who is very visibly POC and then give them an uncommon feature like ~green eyes~, do they not become a kind of mythical creature in, the stuff of exotic fantasy? Do they then become dehumanized and not real, only the kind of boyfriend a girl can aspire to get?

The answer, of course, is yes. But dreaming about dating a vampire or a werewolf is so very different and again does not carry the same weight as being hellbent on dating a ~perfect Asian boy~. Because at this point it is not about Park. This is not Park’s story, even though he shares half the title. This is Eleanor’s story, the manic pixie “not like the other girls” girl, with her crazy red hair and her weird clothes and her desire to get away from it all. 

Eleanor’s entire story is painted on a canvas of abuse and neglect and sadness, so of course she needs some magical boy to literally swoop in and save her– at the end, Park takes her to Minnesota where her uncle lives, away from the safety of her stepfather who is out for her blood. Eleanor is the most precious person in the world to Park, so much that he doesn’t care about his family anymore and the only person he cares about is her. How the hell is that any kind of healthy way to have a relationship?

Park’s Asian-ness is only brought up in the context that it is different to what Eleanor is used to, that it is EXOTIC and MAGICAL and because of that she likes him. No, but it’s in the text, where Eleanor openly admits to fetishizing:

I didn’t end up CARING about Eleanor’s family situation at all. Her relationship with her mother was completely one-dimensional, as was the relationship with her siblings and her stepfather. It was almost as though the backstory was there to make Eleanor more sympathetic to the reader, which as a reader I didn’t end up buying because there was literally no depth to any of it.

Similarly, Park’s relationship with his parents is weird and disturbing and also one-sided. His mom speaks broken English and is demure but madly in love with his dad, who, need I remind you, “liberated” her from her oppressive country. Miss Saigon, anyone? Park’s dad is typical American machismo, a simple kinda guy, but at heart a good one. I feel like the PARENTS’ relationship was something I was more interested in than Eleanor or Park, had it not been written like a weird yellow-fever wet dream, where the white dude comes home and just makes out with the Asian woman all the time and she stays home and tends to their perfect house and their perfect family. 

Rainbow Rowell has explicitly stated in an interview that one of her inspirations for writing Eleanor and Park and for making Park Korean was that her father had been in the Korean War:

1. My father served in Korea, in the Army.

This is probably the most obvious explanation.

My parents separated when I was in the second grade, and I never knew my dad that well. I didn’t grow up with him around. But I remember being fascinated by the fact that he was in the military – and stationed in a place where there had been an actual war, even though he was there decades after the worst of it.

There was this photo of him, in uniform, hanging over my grandmother’s coffee table – an unrecognizable teenager with short hair and tiny wire-rimmed glasses.

Every once in a while, if he’d had a few drinks, my dad would talk about the Army. How he signed up at 17 to avoid getting drafted and sent to Vietnam. The Army wouldn’t send a 17-year-old to Vietnam, he said. (I have no idea if this, or much else my dad told me, is true.)

He was especially proud of having protested the Vietnam War while he was in Korea. There was a clipping from a military newspaper with photos of the protest. I was 12 or 13 when he showed me this, and I definitely didn’t get it.

Over the years, I’ve had people tell me I must be confused about my dad, that there weren’t Americans soldiers left in Korea in the ‘70s. But there are still American soldiers in South Korea. We never left.

Anyway, the other thing my dad would talk about, every once in a while, was a girl he’d known in Korea. My mom says he carried this Korean girl’s photo in his wallet for years after he came home. He’d been in love with her; my mom thought he still was.

I used to wonder about that girl. About how he met her. Whether she spoke English. Whether she was his age. Whether it was some secret love affair, or something her friends and family knew about … What if she was his soulmate?

What if fate and circumstance and the U.S. government had come together to deliver my father across the continents to his soulmate – and he just left her there.

He could have stayed, I thought. He could have brought her back. Omaha is a military town; people bring wives and husbands back from all over.

I remember being so angry with him. First for leaving the person he was meant to be with; then for leaving my mom, the person he wasn’t meant to be with; and then for leaving all my brothers and sisters and me in his wake.

So … in Eleanor & Park, Park’s dad gets sent to Korea because his brother has died in combat in Vietnam. He meets his soulmate there. And he brings her home. 

He “liberates” her. And puts her in his pocket like a China Doll, right?

These were only a few selections out of the many, many in the novel. Over and over again we’re slammed in the face with the fact that Park is Asian, he’s half-Korean, but only in the way he looks and almost always in the context of his relationship with Eleanor, never by himself. Half the book is supposedly written from Park’s perspective but he never really introspects on his identity except during that scene when he’s with Eleanor, bitter that there aren’t any “hot Asian guys.” Not even Asian AMERICAN, just “Asian”. As though the author were not aware of the hybrid culture that exists in the country–maybe because Park’s “the only Korean in Omaha?”

What first love story is there to tell? They start off hating each other and he makes her a mixtape and asks if she listens to the Smiths, and given that this book came out after Five Hundred Days of Summer… 

I’m not sure what the point of the book was. To make people want hot Asian boyfriends?

This read like bad Tamora Pierce Circle of Magic Trisana Chandler/Briar Moss AU fic.

When You Became Mine - Zig x MC Special Part 1.

Valentine’s Day Special Part 1 (The Freshman)

- When You Became Mine.

Summary: Another late night with Zig turns into a morning worth remembering. But just what exactly does this heartthrob have planned for MC on Valentine’s day?

[Happy Valentine’s Day to all the @playchoices fandom. We know a couple of you (myself included) were pretty bummed that Zig wasn’t included in the Valentine’s Day Special for The Freshman, so @choicesmyway,@hollyashton and I put together a Zig x MC Fanfic that’ll hopefully help you through the Zigless choices week we’re going to have. We’ve divided it into three fantastic parts. A lot of hard work and dedication came into making this and we hope you enjoy it!]

Hartfeld was a quiet and unhurried place by the crack of dawn. Until the morning rush began, the silence of the community was a sweet melody to only the earliest of risers before the rest scrambled to start their day. Some slept through their alarm, others sprang out of bed with the intention of reaching the bathroom first and hushed tones argued over television shows from the night before.

All of this was missing as her alarm went off. Eyes jerking awake, she dragged a hand through her tousled dark brown hair before frowning at her surroundings.  It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t in her dorm and a moment longer that she was in unfamiliar territory.

Another late night. Another night out so late that she had forgotten to call and ask for a ride home from a friend. She hadn’t returned to her dorm last night and the events leading up to it caused her cheeks to flush before she glanced warily around for any sight of him.

She remembered spending the night at his place. They hadn’t wasted anytime once they got through his front doors, half stumbling into each other before they tore every piece of fabric between them. Their clothes had been carelessly tossed aside in their quick haste to sink into each other’s skin. She remembered being pressed up against his firm length and raking her fingers across his back as their bodies collided. She remembered him bringing her to the edge multiple times and only giving her a final release when he could join her. She remembered all of it; except for the part about how they had made it to bed.

Yawning, she stretched her stiff shoulders and winced at how sore she felt. She didn’t waste any time once she got her bearings. She threw off her covers and glanced around the room in search for her clothes.

No such luck.

To make matters worse, he was nowhere in sight and this was the first time she was left alone in his personal space without him present. It was an opportunity that she wouldn’t take for granted and her eyes scanned the room for any signs of the man behind the mask.

Something caught her eye; a photo on his bedside table. She crossed the room quickly in order to get a better view. He was younger here, maybe in his late teens surrounded by a family that clearly loved him. An older woman with a tender expression and smiling eyes was the tallest out of all of them. Two younger girls with dark ringlets that were caught laughing as they hugged him by the waist. The four of them were obviously close; their arms linked around each other and they were grinning from ear-to-ear at the camera as if they were hiding some secret away from the rest of the world.

It was the only picture in sight and left her with the impression that family was very important to him. She smiled at it before looking away to study the rest of the room. She hoped that something in here would divulge some sort of knowledge about his past. When nothing jumped out at her, she felt a twinge of disappointment.

Everything was surprisingly neat.  

There were folded clothes set aside by the dresser. A small desk space followed and had a series of novels with familiar titles that she swore she’d seen before. Curiously, she stepped closer until she had a better look, her eyes skimming some of its content before she realized most of them were books she’d already come across. She remembered seeing them in the campus bookstore.

Her heart warmed at the sight. Even though he wasn’t a student –  anyone could tell by looking at the meticulously placed pile that he was completely passionate about going back to school. She was heartbroken at the thought that he might never get that chance. The incident he confessed weeks ago at Madison’s birthday party, reminded her that he had been robbed of the chance.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she grabbed one of his dress shirts, only stopping to inhale its musky scent before quickly slipping into it. It smelled like him and she was happy that she’d gotten a chance to see all of this instead of heading home last night. She buttoned the first two before heading down the hall, intent on finding him.

Her feet froze in their languid pace as her nose caught a pleasant smell coming from the kitchen. The gentle aroma of pancakes made her stomach grumble in response. She ignored it as she padded inside. Her grumbling stomach turned into full flip-flops at the sight in front of her.

Zig’s back was toward her and he had a pair of sweats that hung low by his lean hips. He seemed intent on flipping a pancake and hadn’t heard her come in.

She admired him for a few seconds longer, feasting her eyes on every muscle that followed his efforts. Eventually, she seated herself near the counter. Propping her elbows up, she cleared her throat. “What’s all this?”

He turned to her, a cheeky grin on his face when he met her cheerful expression. “Morning to you too gorgeous.” He finished the last pancake and brought a plate of them towards the counter. “I figured I owed you breakfast for not taking you home last night.” He brought two plates forward.

She inhaled its delicious fumes and uttered a small sigh. “This looks so good.” She didn’t waste any time, piling two onto her plate before beaming at him. “And I graciously accept.”

He laughed. “Good.”

“Besides, last night was fun.” She added, nibbling on a small piece before pouring maple syrup on the rest of it.

“It’s always fun when you’re around.” He told her before digging into his own.

“Oh, just fun?” She teased. With exaggerated slowness, she dropped her eyes towards his pants.

When she glanced back up at him, he was smirking at her. “You know what I mean.” He took a huge bite.

She did but she liked teasing him anyway and did so at every given opportunity.

“But the fun doesn’t have to stop there.”

“Oh?” She paused to glimpse at him in time to realize that his eyes weren’t innocent anymore, in fact there was a glint to it that made her wonder what he was thinking. Probably, deliciously naughty thoughts.

“I’m sure the rest of today could be too.” His voice dropped an octave lower and her cheeks flushed at his double meaning.

She slapped his hand playfully away when he reached over to try and brush his hand on top of hers. “No way.” She shook her head. Her decision was resolute, even though the rest of her body wasn’t cooperating. She shuddered by the look of desire in his eyes.

She pointed her fork at him. “I’ve already missed one class for today and I don’t intend on missing another.”

“Not even if it meant that we could spend the entire valentine’s day together?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I can’t say I’m not entirely tempted.” She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. Just be cool, she told herself firmly. Meanwhile on the inside she was practically squealing. “What did you have in mind?”

His grin told her he had a plan but his eyes wasn’t giving anything away. “It’s a surprise.”

“So you’ve actually got something planned?” The more time she spent with him, the more he surprised her. She had to constantly revisit the way she saw him. She didn’t take him as the romantic sort.

Now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to make it to class after all. “And if I agreed, where would we go?”

His silence told her he was keeping it a secret.

She pouted, “Can I get a hint?”

He paused his fork in mid air but otherwise kept quiet. She pleaded with her eyes only to have him raise his own to wink at her.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she ate the rest of her pancakes in silence.

He wasn’t playing fair. The least he could do was give her a hint.

Her mind was whirling with ideas. It had to be something in Hartfeld – anywhere else didn’t make any sense. There was an influx of tourist because of a passing festival on campus grounds and with the weekend behind them, it couldn’t be for an overnight trip. “Well if you aren’t going to tell me the least you could do is drop me by my dorm so I can change.” She gestured to her lack of clothes and his eyes flickered with amusement.

“Or you can keep what you’re wearing.” His eyes traveled lower, admiring her shapely. “My shirt has never looked so good.”

She blushed and dropped her gaze to the nearly empty plate. “I don’t mind if it’s just for you.” She made a face when she glanced back up at him. “But the rest of Hartfeld – not so much.”

He chuckled before nodding in agreement. “I do like the idea of having you all to myself.” He gave her an appreciative once over as they stood to clear the dishes.

She swatted him playfully before she handed over her dish. Leaning against the counter, she watched as he washed them and put them away. “Now I’m really excited.”

Before she could leave the kitchen, he grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her to him. Pleased but slightly taken aback by his sudden advance she stared up at him, memorizing the planes of his face.

Without saying a word, his firm hands gripped her by the waist and lifted her until she was on top of the counter. “I’ll give you something to feel really excited about.” He murmured.

Cheeks flushing, she tilted her head to meet his lips. No matter how many times they did this, she would never get tired of it. Their lips touched and tasted each other as if it was their first time. She loved running her fingers through his hair, of kissing his eager lips and touching him.

His hands sunk under her shirt and he lightly stroke her exposed flesh. He was rewarded with a delicate whimper from her lips before his grazed hers again.  

Looping her fingers at the side of his pants, she tugged him closer; wanting to feel him pressed in between her thighs.

He pulled away first, glancing at his phone before giving her a rueful smile. “If we want to make it in time we should start probably start getting ready.” He stepped back a few inches to give her some space so she could hop off the counter.

Her mind was still reeling from his kisses but otherwise, she cleared her throat and smiled. “Lead the way.”


Floral dresses reminded her of all the good things about spring – the sweet aroma of freshly picked flowers, the feeling of the sun’s generous rays across her shoulders and against the nape of her neck. She picked one of her favorites to commemorate the fantastic weather; a dress with pink straps and the floral patterns of brightly colored dandelions. She grabbed a simple pair of flat shoes on her way out.

The rest of her suitemates were probably finishing their last classes for the day, so she wasn’t surprised that Zig was the only other person waiting by the door.

His eyes lit up when he saw her.

She twirled in her dress. “You like?”

“Definitely.” He crossed the room in two quick strides and placed his arm around her waist. “You look beautiful.” He murmured before his lips crashed into hers.

His kiss was soft and turned into a series of artful kisses. His gentle caress became less steady and more urgent until he finally had backed her into a corner. He coaxed her mouth open, sending shivers down her spine as he kissed her more roughly this time.

A soft sigh escaped her throat and she looped her arms around his neck, meeting every kiss with her own enthusiasm. When she felt his expert hands slide under her dress, she firmly placed her own hands on his chest. Gathering willpower, she pushed back a little; keeping at least a few inches between them. When she could find her voice again, she spoke. “I thought we were on a schedule.”

He braced his arms on either side of her. “Seeing you like this is giving me second thoughts.” He bent down to whisper into her ear, “It makes me want to stay in.” He pressed his hard length into her, drawing a groan from her lips.

“No way.” She made light fists to thump against his hard chest. “Quit distracting us.” When he moved to kiss her again, she giggled and turned her head away at the last second. It landed deftly on her cheek.

“You’re not charming your way out of this one.” She warned with no real edge to her voice. “You said it’s a surprise and I happen to like surprises.” She brought a hand up to smoothly graze his cheek. “Especially when they’re coming from you.”

Their eyes locked for a long moment and she held her breath as she waited for him to respond. She felt a twinge of triumph at seeing the resignation in his eyes before he released her.

“Okay, okay – let’s go.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, feeling reinvigorated by the time they got to the door. She stopped to grab herself a spring jacket that hung by the front of the dorm’s closest before they closed the dorm behind them.

They walked in almost perfect unison and she hid a smile when he entwined his hand with hers. “I can’t imagine spending the day with anyone else.” She hadn’t realized she had spoken the words out loud until she could feel his breath by her ear.

Her heart warmed by his soft response. “Neither can I.”

She was eager to see what the rest of the day had in store for them.

[Enjoying it so far? Click right here to see part 2 written by the sweet and awesome @choicesmyway and part 3 written by the amazing @hollyashton​ ]

Spring 2017 Watchlist (New-This-Season Edition) First Taste

I’m so happy the shitty winter season (in terms of both the anime season and actual season) is finally over and spring is upon us once more. Here are a few new shows this season I’ve watched the first episodes of; some I’ll keep going, some I’m dropping immediately because why do these even exist please why (please don’t take these “reviews” too seriously LOL; I just enjoy rambling about new shows):

Kado: The Right Answer | Seikaisuru Kado

If you’re into sci-fi and handsome government bureaucrats negotiating with equally handsome alien (???) whose spaceship (I think it’s a spaceship?) is shaped like a giant fractal cube, Seikaisu Kado is looking to be very promising. The 3D animation puts me off at first, but I soon didn’t care for it as the story becomes more fascinating. Just what does this white-haired alien want with Japan and can Shindou, the protagonist ace-negotiator, handle this? And what about his cute assistant Hanamori voiced by the even cuter Saito Soma? Will we see him again soon? The first episode and prequel just came out; I personally recommend watching ep.1 first before watching ep. 0. 


Alice & Zouroku | Alice to Zouroku

I only started watching it because the bf was excited about it, so I thought I’d give it a try since the art style looks cute. And boy oh boy it’s definitely different than what I was expecting. The show opens with a young girl named Sana who escapes from a research facility, which is later revealed to be a place for kids with special abilities (Sana can materialize things she imagines). Weakened and lost, she encounters an old man named Zouroku, who takes her into his home after an incident that involved the police. It’s a weird combination of fluff and fantasy/mystery that has heartwarming moments and decent fight scenes. Sana’s goal is to destroy the facility to rescue the other kids stuck in there, so it’ll be interesting to see how that goes. 


As the Moon, so Beautiful | Tsuki ga Kirei  

If you’re looking for slow-burn junior high school romance with very gorgeous art where the two leads are shy as heck, then Tsuki ga Kirei might be a show for you. Personally, I found the pacing a bit slow, and I dunno, maybe it’s because I’m in my late 20′s and these kids are like 14? I can’t really relate much to them, especially in the romance department. From what I can see so far, I think this show is more about the characters than the plot, so if you’re into character-driven romance, you can give it a try.


Renai Boukun | Love Tyrant

Think Death Note… but Kiss Note, so instead of dying when your name’s written in the notebook, the people whose names are written together will kiss kiss, fall in love. That’s it; that’s the premise. It’s essentially a harem anime with half-assed comedy, so don’t ask me why I even tried watching the first episode; it was 20 minutes of my life wasted.


Hinako Note

A country girl, who’s shy as heck and will freeze up and become a scarecrow (metaphorically, I guess?) when she’s under stress, attends a high school in Tokyo because she wants to join the drama club. She lives in a boarding house above a secondhand bookstore, where she meets a girl who… eats books??? Not sure if that part is important or it’s just a one-time gag. Essentially: cute girls doing cute things. 



So I know this show is about kabuki, but please don’t expect it to be anything like Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu because it definitely is nothing like the latter. A high-school kabuki enthusiast wants to start a kabuki club in his school, but to do so, he needs to find at least five members. Cue: megane-kun best friend, pretty boy from the drama club who’s actually a pretty girl (think GSNK’s Kashima), terrible vocalist who got kicked out of his own band (rock band AU Minami-kun?), pretty boy dancer who’s now a delinquent???, and an actual kabuki actor who takes his art way too seriously. Also featuring character designs by CLAMP. So… sports anime formula but with kabuki, basically. Yeah.


Eromanga Sensei

All I can say of this right now is that I was expecting lots of fan service and cringe-worthy moments, but it wasn’t actually that bad. Protag boy is a light novel writer; his books are illustrated by someone named Eromanga, whom he’s never met before. Turns out the illustrator is his own little sister, who’s become a shut-in since their parents’ death a few years ago. According to the summary, there’ll also be a shoujo mangaka who’ll become their rival. So… I dunno, I might keep watching if I have time. 


The Royal Tutor | Oushitsu Kyoushi Haine

Four spoiled German princes, one royal tutor (who’s short and the short jokes never end). It looks like a BL otome… but according to MAL it’s just a comedy. So. Featuring: long-suffering tutor, youngest prince who’s a playa (seiyuu Aoi Shouta also plays this role in a stage adaptation — yes there’s a stage production of this already), 4th prince who hates studying, third prince who’s basically prince!Kyoya of Ouran, and second prince who can’t seem to form words and looks like he’s refraining from punching a wall at all times. You bet I’ll be watching this trash. 

I’ll make a separate post for sequels (because there are so many good shows coming out with sequels this season), but for now, let me know what you guys are watching!

The Poet

Author Attic Series #1

Character: Namjoon x reader

Genre: Bookstore!au, Writer!au, Fluff, inspired by this prompt

Word count: 1,994

a/n: This is dedicated to @legal-red-head | @armysfighting a.k.a Snow, happy birthday!!! I’m not good with words, I just hope you are having a splendid birthday^^ ily!!! <3333

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anonymous asked:

Tell me a story? x

// Tell you a story? Alright, here’s a random Lily fic I wrote the other day. Enjoy! //

Lily enjoyed her yearly trips to France with her family. They were simple, a week or two staying in a little cottage in Normandy where it wasn’t too cold nor too hot, but the redhead always returned with a fresh spattering of freckles across her face and arms. It was relaxing too, and gave Lily the time to curl up on a deck chair in a sundress with one of the - many - books she had taken with her. Her mother, as always, had purchased her half a dozen new novels for her to read, much to Lily’s delight, and she had read them all within the first week. This might have left others in difficulty, but not Lily - no, she had other books with her, her favourites in fact. These were books she had read over and over and yet never seemed to tire of them. The pages were yellowed and the cover faded, but that, in Lily’s mind, only added character to the masterpieces she adored. And so, she could be quite content sitting in the garden peacefully, the only sound the occasional turn of the page and chirps of various birds in the trees surrounding. She did wish she could be listening to music though, but her mother hadn’t allowed her to take any records with her and there certainly wasn’t any record player in the gîte. So, she had to make do with her own humming as a source of amusement. This didn’t seem to bother her mother, who sat opposite her, also reading, but Lily’s elder sister who sat to her left did not look best pleased. The brunette had been outside for around five minutes, and in that time had been unable to settle on the magazine she had in her lap. Lily couldn’t take the blame for all of that time however, since her humming had only resumed three minutes after her sister’s arrival at the table. And yet this fact did not stop her sister from casting infuriated glares in her direction every ten seconds. Eventually, the elder Evans daughter seemed to have had enough of Lily’s incessant humming, and placed the magazine down sharply on the wooden table with a slapping sound.

“Do you have to do that?” she hissed, eyes narrowed coldly. “We are trying to read too, Lily. If you want to make noise, can’t you go upstairs? Your presence isn’t necessary, you know.”

Lily schooled herself, pressing her lips together firmly and gripping her novel so tightly that her knuckles turned white, in a desperate attempt to keep her emotions from becoming visible. The redhead had never been the best at keeping how she felt a secret - she had worn her emotions on her sleeve as long as she could remember and this had been pointed out to her by family members and friends alike. Even teachers in primary had pointed this out to her parents at those little ‘how are they getting on’ meetings. She had thick skin, but if you hurt her, you’d know it. Often insults would be met with rage; clenched jaw, furrowed brow, gritted teeth, and she would snap at you until you subdued. But other times, she would simply pale and grow quiet, much like she did at that precise moment. Falling silent, she slid her book closed and settled it on her lap, her eyes dropping to study the front cover for the hundredth time.

It wasn’t the first time she had been made to feel unwelcome that holiday. Her sister had made it very clear to her during the flight that she would have preferred the fortnight away were her sister not present. And though Lily was undoubtedly close with both her mother and father, she often felt as though they had treated her differently since she had started at Hogwarts. She was lucky in that they weren’t afraid of her - Lily knew of a handful of muggleborns in her year whose parents couldn’t stand the sight of them - but they definitely weren’t as comfortable around her as they had been before she turned eleven. And talking about her schooling wasn’t an option on holiday either, given Petunia’s opinion on the whole thing. The word ‘freak’ had been muttered far too many times for the witch to count, and honestly she had grown tired of it. It hurt far more than she could bear. Her sister had been cruel her ever since the day she had learnt to throw an insult, and since then Lily really ought to have learnt to put up with it. But she hadn’t, and each hurt her just as much as the last. So perhaps that was why she was taking a minute then to stay quiet, to keep her anger beneath the surface.

Maybe Lily ought to have been more like her sister - bland, nippy and cold. Perhaps she should have the same ability to act false around her betters, to shove on a sickly sweet smile to get her way and flutter her eyelashes. Lily was a beautiful young woman, and though she took little interest in make-up and fashion, she always looked good. She wore simple things, and could easily throw together a couple of items to create a gorgeous outfit without thinking. She didn’t really care about it all. But Petunia did - the girl was obsessed with make-up and high heels, things Lily would wear but didn’t spend every waking moment thinking about. Perhaps that was why she was so useless in discussing what Petunia ought to wear for her various dates with the young man she was seeing. It had become a common discussing point throughout the holiday, much to Lily’s delight, of course, and the redhead struggled immensely to find it within herself to care.

“Oh, but what about the cream skirt? I think that would look better than the white one. Don’t you?”

Lily had honestly found it difficult to restrain herself from commenting on how the ignorant oaf wouldn’t have noticed whether she wore the same thing to each ruddy date. Lily didn’t hate the guy simply because he was thick - no, she wasn’t that up herself. It was the fact that he was a git too. She had overheard him discussing her with Petunia from the next room the first time she had met him, calling her a 'skinny bimbo’ or some such insult. And then had proceeded to squeeze her waist at least three times as he passed her throughout the evening. It was the memory of this moment that spurred her on to finally silence her sister’s idiotic discussion.

Lily also had a knack for getting horribly burnt, no matter how much sunscreen she applied. It came hand in hand with her porcelain skin, she supposed, and what with having red hair as well, her skin was even more sensitive to the sun’s rays. But unlike others, the burn never became tan. Her skin was always that creamy white colour she detested. Whereas Petunia, so concerned over whether she would wear white or cream on her next date, could tan easily. It didn’t last long sure, but for those two weeks spent abroad, her skin would become a lovely warm tone whilst Lily’s would remain pale.
Much to her irritation.

“Cream or white? Aren’t they exactly the same thing, Tuney?” Lily had been sitting grinding her teeth together, having rolled her eyes so often it was a wonder they hadn’t got stuck facing the back of her head. Petunia could honesty get on her nerves like nobody else.

Well, almost nobody else.

anonymous asked:

This idea wont leave me alone and I dont think I can write it very well myself- Derek and Stiles are at some sort of convention (though not together, since they dont know each other) and they go to the same place to eat and since they're alone and the place is packed they end up sitting at the same table. Turns out one of them is 'secretly' the person they'd been there to see (like a panel-hoster or something?)

“What are you here for?” a guy next to Derek asks.

Derek looks up and the man is kind of beautiful in thick rimmed glasses and a beanie, wearing a plaid shirt over t-shirt and he is just really adorable. Derek is stunned for a second before he remembers he has to talk. “Came here to see the panel about diversity writing,” Derek answers. “You?”

“Same!” the man says excitedly with a smile. “Glad there will be other people there besides me!”

“So far you got one,” Derek laughs. 

“I’m also here for the panels on Vampire Diaries and Reign but don’t tell anyone, okay?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“My lips are sealed,” Derek tells him.

The man looks at Derek’s lips, his eyes staying there a little too long before his eyes blink and flick back up to Derek’s. “Sorry. You’re just…insanely gorgeous. I can’t be blamed here.”

“Yes, you can,” Derek snorts.

“Very true,” the man says, holding up a hand in apology. “Fully my fault. I’m very sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Derek nods. “But only this time.”

The man nods and smiles. “So what are you most looking forward to the panel?”

“I don’t know,” Derek sighs even though he knows exactly what he’s looking forward to. “I love all the writers that are speaking.”

“Yeah?” the man smiles widely. “I’m a huge fan of Boyd and Reyes. Their works are amazing.”

“Stilinski as well,” Derek adds because he has to.

The man laughs. “Almost forgot about him. I’m so happy there’s a whole panel about diversity and they’re actually including diverse writers. The last time I saw this panel, it was a bunch of white, straight men, so this year they amped it up a bit. Could be better, but I think it’ll be a good talk.”

“I’m really looking forward to it. All these writers have changed my life in some way,” Derek admits with a smile.

“Even Stilinski?” the man asks like he is genuinely surprised.

“Especially Stilinski.”

The man opens his mouth to say something but then looks down at his watch. “I’ve gotta run, but maybe I’ll see you at the panel?”

“Hopefully,” Derek says because he is very interested in this man, who then waves and runs from the table like he really is in a hurry.

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Your Favorite Part


Dean x Reader

Reader Request: itstotallygayblog “Reader once mentioned that she’s fond of men’s backs, so Dean starts to walk in front of her with naked torso to make her notice his wonderful back”.

Author: oheyitscryssi

Warnings: smut, some fluff, language


    “Shut up,” you laugh as you take another sip of your beer. “And he really thought he could fly?”

    “Yeah. He jumped right off the roof, arms out and everything.” Dean holds his arms straight out in demonstration, then starts to flail them as he makes a ridiculous face.

    “You laugh now, but I was in that stupid cast for over two months,” Sam chimes in, looking disgruntled but fighting back a smile of his own.

    You shake your head as you try to imagine a young Sam and Dean on some garage roof somewhere far from here in a different time. Sam tying the Superman cape around his neck as Dean goads him on, and the image brings another laugh and a question to mind.

    “Where the hell was your dad when these shenanigans were going on?”

    The table falls quiet as Sam casts a glance over to Dean who swishes the liquor in his high ball class, the ice cubes clinking.

    “He was off on a hunt, so I was left in charge of Sammy. As usual. I had to have some fun with it, and I knew the drop wasn’t that far with all of those bushes right below us,” he shrugs, watching the play of the light through the amber liquid. “I guess I wasn’t what you’d call a ‘positive role model’ most of the time.”

    “Now there’s the understatement of the year,” Sam says with a smirk, and you can’t help your own smile as Dean shoves him.

    Just like that, the small grasp of tension at the table is broken and conversation wanders back into lighter territory. A group of guys enter the bar, and Dean watches you as you look them over. He’s not surprised to feel a pang jealousy when one casts a grin your way and you blush, quickly turning to hide it from this new stranger. His feelings for you have been growing steadily over the past months, but he’s never said anything and you have never given the impression that you felt anything stronger than friendship towards him in turn. He doesn’t even know how to broach the subject without making it too obvious; he’d been rejected by other girls but those had never meant much to him. You were different. Then, a petit blonde saunters her way past, shooting a flirtatious look at Sam as she goes, and Dean sees his opening and takes it.

    “So, ______, what do you like in a guy?”

    The question causes you to freeze halfway into bringing your beer up for another drink. You set it back down, leaning back and crossing your arms as you study Dean.

    “You mean personality wise, or…?” Your eyebrows are raised in challenge.

    “No. I mean, when you look at a guy, what’s the first thing you notice?”

    “Is this hypothetical guy clothed or naked?”

    “Your choice.”

    Your lips purse and your head tilts to the side as you think.

    “Well, if he’s clothed, then probably his mouth and eyes first. I’m a sucker for a guy with gorgeous eyes,” you say pensively. “And naked? His back. Definitely his back.” This brings a laugh from Sam, but has seems to have no affect on Dean.

    “A dude is naked and the thing you look at is his back?” Sam says in disbelief.

    “Hey, every girl is different, Sammy. Why? Where do you look when there’s a naked man standing in front of you?” you shoot back, and Dean bursts out laughing. You take a moment to relish Sam’s reaction.

    “Why his back, though?” asks Dean once his laughter has faded. You shrug, holding up your beer to the waitress as a signal for another before answering.
    “I don’t know. There’s just something about it. The strong muscles, the small dip in the middle where the spine is, the curves of it. It’s one of the only places on a man’s body that is begging for a woman’s hands to run down. Something a girl can really dig her nails into, ya know?” Your eyes level with Dean’s and he can swear there’s a mischievous glint in them. “What about you? Where’s the first place you look on a woman?”

    “Oh, that’s easy,” Dean says as he looks you up and down. “I like to take a woman as a sum of her parts instead of sectioning her off. I guess you can say I’m a fan of the whole book instead of an individual chapter.”

    The waitress sets down a fresh beer and leaves, and you immediately raise it to Dean in a small salute.

    “Touché.” Dean clinks his glass against the neck of your bottle.

    The next few weeks pass in a blur as the three of you tie up the hunt you were on. Now, back in the comfort of the Bunker, you’re curled up on the couch with a novel before heading to bed. It’s one you’ve read a thousand times before, but that doesn’t stop you from reaching for it each time you feel the need to unwind. The dynamic between you and Dean had been slowly shifting since that conversation in that small bar halfway across the country. You had always had a thing for Dean: those green eyes of his had roped you in almost immediately, and those lips… It was like he was made just to taunt you. And like the icing on top of the torture cake, he had started walking around shirtless with more and more frequency. It was driving you crazy looking at him all the time. You tried not to, not wanting to stoke the fire that had been building inside of you since day one, but it was like the bastard was doing it on purpose.

    You mark your page once you realize you’ve read the same paragraph more than twice, and head to your room. You’re passing Dean’s room, not paying attention when his door opens and you run right into him. Your hands grip onto his arms reflexively to stop yourself from falling on your ass.

    “Jesus, I’m sorry.” Then you take in his bare torso and let go before taking a step back. Your face burns and you stuff your hands into the front pocket of your hoody. He’s wearing blue plaid pajama pants that hang from his hips and nothing else. His toothbrush is in one hand, a towel in the other, both a clear indicator on where he’s headed.

    “Its all good,” he says with a grin. He holds out a hand for you to go first, but you wave him off. “After me, then, I guess.”

    He turns and starts off down the hallway, and you watch his back as he walks. You can see the muscles just below his lightly tanned skin moving with each step, and feel a warmth begin to grow that you’ve felt many times as of late. You force your feet into motion, dodging into your room and closing it off quickly. You let yourself drop on top of the covers, silently admonishing yourself to get a grip. He wasn’t doing this for your benefit. He was out of your league, and he had never shown any interest in you. You were just noticing his habit of going without a shirt more because of the conversation you had had… Right? You try to think back to before that night, but the only times you could remember him taking his shirt off was when he had been injured and it had been necessary. In those times, you’d been more worried about his injuries than the bare flesh in front of you. Other than that, nothing is ringing a bell. The more you try to remember times past, the more recent days filter their way in and you imagine what it must feel like to touch him in a way other than mending wounds. A knock startles you back into a sitting position and Dean’s head peeks in.

    “Do you still have my grey shirt I lent you? I can’t find it anywhere.”

    “Uh, yeah. I think I have it in one of my bags.” You hurry over, digging through your duffel until you locate it. You turn to hand it to him just ask the door clicks closed and you find you’re face to face with him. Well, as face to face as you can get with a man as tall as he is. You clear your throat and hold it out. “Its clean.”

    He takes it, flipping it so it sits on one bare shoulder. Instead of leaving, however, he seems to be steeling himself for something. Then, he takes the few steps to close the gap between you and his hands cup your face as his lips find yours. Your eyes widen at first before falling closed as you allow yourself melt against him. Your arms wind around his neck, the shirt falling forgotten to the floor, and your fingers find their way into his hair, trying to bring him impossibly closer. His tongue traces your lower lip, asking permission to enter, and your mouth opens, your own tongue darting out to taste his. He moans softly, one hand slipping down your side and gripping onto your hip. You let your own hand wander down his back, your fingers exploring that expanse of skin you’ve been itching to feel. Its warm and surprisingly soft. Your nails trace the ridges of muscle that live back there, and you feel them twitch under your touch. Dean moves until your legs meet the edge of your bed. You lay down, pulling him with you until your head hits a pillow. He pulls away, sitting back on his heels.

    “_____, are you sure you want to do this?” he says breathlessly. His lips are swollen from your kisses, and the soft glow of your bedside lamp illuminates the shades of emerald in his eyes. You sit up, reach down and tug your hoody and shirt over your head, dropping it next to the bed.
    “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

    You grab his hands and haul him back to you, your mouths crashing together. He quickly unclasps your bra and slides it down your arms. Where it goes, you don’t care. Though his hands are rough from years of fighting and working on Baby, his touches are gentle but firm as he lays you back down and trails kisses down your jaw and neck. His mouth blazes a trail between your breasts as he slides your pants off and then his own. You look down and see he’s already hard, his tip glistening with precum. He moves back up your body, his lips retracing its steps until they find yours again. One hand tangles into your hair as the other slips down between your legs. You let out a moan as his fingers circle your clit and your hips buck upwards in response.

    “Dean, I need you,” you breathe against his mouth. His hand leaves you, and a second later you feel him lining up at your entrance. You raise one leg to wrap around his waist as he pushes in slowly. He’s bigger than you thought he would be, and you gasp as he fills you entirely. The fullness brings a sort of delicious pain you hadn’t felt before. Then he starts to move. The slow pace doesn’t last for long, but he controls himself just enough to keep it as gentle as he can. It’s maddening to you. Your hands slip down and your nails press into his back as your teeth find his lower lip. You move your hips to urge him faster, harder, and he does. He raises his torso until he’s kneeling on the bed. His hands grip your legs tightly as he pounds into you and your back arches as another moan rips its way out of you.

    “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you,” his voice is deep and somewhat carnal. Its the sexiest damn thing you’ve ever heard. “Fuck, _____, you feel so good.”

    You can’t form a coherent sentence that doesn’t consist of Dean, oh, my, god, and yes. He’s hitting your sweet spot over and over relentlessly. Your muscles tighten and then you’re gone, moaning Dean’s name loudly as you cum. He leans down to cover your mouth with his as he joins you, and you feel his warmth fill you with his release. He kisses your neck and chest softly as you both come down from your highs. After a few moments he pulls out of you and falls onto the bed next to you, one arm draped across his forehead as he catches his breath. You turn your head to glance at him, and he sees you and smirks. His arms capture you and pull you against him.

    “That was…” you begin, your voice trailing off.

    “Amazing,” Dean finishes. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”

    “Seriously?” You’re honestly shocked that you’ve been on his mind for almost as long as he’s been on yours.

    “Serious as a heart attack, sweetheart,” he replies. “I was just waiting to find out if you would kick my ass if I tried.”

    “So how how did you figure that I wouldn’t?”

    “You think I froze my ass off walking around this place half naked for a week for nothing?” You can hear the smile in his voice and you can’t help but laugh.


    “It worked.” He shifts his arms suddenly until you’re straddling his hips, and you can’t believe he’s almost hard again already. “Ready for round two?”

anonymous asked:

HI this is weird considering I read gay fan fiction all day every day but I've never actually read original fiction gay erotica? So I want to read think of England bc you rec'd it but like. Not to be That Person but is it smutty? I rly just don't know what to expect haha. Thanks babe <3

Ha! That is a VALID QUESTION, my friend. And the answer is: yes. Yes it is. Ohhhhhhh yes it is. Think of England is one of the best ones out there, but I have a TON of recs built up by now, so hey, might as well pimp this shit out here! (And, not to sound shallow or like a lech, but I wouldn’t be reading these book if they weren’t smutty. SOOOOO there’s that.)

I started reading original gay historical books in December and haven’t come up for air since. One friend pimped out one book, another one the next, and before I knew it, I essentially had a new fandom. WHOOPS.

Here are my favorites so far! With thanks to miss-pamela & theboycanhelpit for being responsible for this in the first place :D

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Chat messages - Bucky x Reader - Part 4

Heyo, my potatoes! ♥ So I just could keep myself from writing the next part, so now you little lovebirds get the next part. It’s funny how easy this story is to write since I have a good plot to this :D I hope you enjoy! ♥

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

Summary - You and Miles, your best friend, just talk about your latest crush from Tumblr, when a superhero Captain and a Winter Soldier decide to come into the book store you work in. First it’s nothing super exciting, until you notice that your crush James is actually James Buchanan Barnes.

Words - 1,944

Warnings - panic attack, hyperventilation, angst, crying, language

Originally posted by sssmcdlove

A/N: This man is soooo gorgeous…holy shit…my ovaries are going to explode if I look at it for too long xD

“It’s James!”

It took you some time to understand it yourself, but now that you did, you wished you just didn’t put one and one together. 

This James you talked to just yesterday, was actually James Buchanan Barnes…Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, who is right outside talking to his childhood friend from the freaking 40s about the freaking book “Sleepless in Seattle” he freaking talked about just yesterday. An former assassin from some secret organization and now part of the famous and loved superhero squad “The Avengers”. This freaking beautiful man right outside is the one, who complimented you mutiple times already, without even seeing your face. He won your heart with just his beautiful words and his beautiful voice, you couldn’t mistake.

“Oh god”, you cry out again, hyperventilating, tears spilling out of your eyes and it feels like the already small room gets even smaller and the air gets sucked out of the room.

“Y/N! Calm down! Calm down.” Miles grabs your shoulders and breathes in and out visibly. “Follow my breathing. In….and out…” You finally calm down, the tears still messing up your little make-up you have on. Miles smiles seeing that you’re calm again.

“And now tell me what you mean. You can’t be serious, saying the Winter Soldier is on fucking Tumblr chatting with you about…movies for christ sake.”

“It has to be him! Their voices are literally the same. I can’t mistake them. And he told me yesterday that he rewatched Sleepless in Seattle yesterday and now this Winter Soldier has the same freaking book in the hands. And it can’t be a coincidence that his best friend is also called Steve and he lives with him and around ten other people called Sam, Natasha, Wanda, Tony-” “Okay, okay.”

He motions you to come over to him, as he stands at the door, his ear on it to listen what the guys are talking about and his expression tells you that they seem to talk about something interesting. You join him and lean your ear against the door.

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Sara Farizan Is Your New Favorite Queer YA Novelist | Ashley C. Ford

Sara Farizan’s novel If You Could Be Mine, set in Tehran, Iran, follows two teenage girls, booky and serious Sahar, and her best friend, fashionable and aloof, Nasrin, navigating their attraction to each other without a blueprint for the journey.

“I need an answer from you. Please, don’t treat me like I’m silly girl, because we’re too old for that. If I were a man, would you be with me? Would you leave him for me?” Sahar pleads with Nasrin during an argument. Playing with a strand of Sahar’s hair while contemplating a response, Nasrin offers: “You wouldn’t look so bad with a beard.”

What sets Farizan apart from many of her contemporaries is her ability to create a world where an Iranian teenage girl falling in love with another Iranian teenage girl doesn’t seem more outlandish than a human loving a vampire. Her success as a novelist epitomizes many of the ideas Daniel Josè Older examines in his essay “Diversity Is Not Enough.” If You Could Be Mine exists in a book culture described by Older as much: “The publishing industry looks a lot like these best-selling teenage dystopias: white and full of people destroying each other to survive.” Farizan’s voice, bubbly and thoughtful, raises just a bit when I ask her about diversity in YA novels.

“I don’t want to touch the holiness that is Harry Potter because the fans love it, and it’s wonderful, but I do think it would make such a difference, not just to have a token minority character. None of that. Even a fleshed out character. I’m just so sick of token minority characters. It’s a disservice to everybody.”

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Our Love Was Made For Movie Screens (Part 5)

I Have Loved You Since Extras: Our Love Was Made For Movie Screens [Part 5: I’m Not Sorry I’m In Love With You]


*Part 1* & *Part 2* & *Part 3* & *Part 4*

*Click the ** as you see them to add some visuals to your reading*


New York, April 8th, 2012

Wuthering Heights is a novel centered around the story of Heathcliff, a man who isn’t sure about what he wants and is constantly being misunderstood. The desire to understand him and his motivations has said to be the only reason why the readers continues to read the book. Your motivation was because Heathcliff actually reminded you of yourself. Genuinely never knowing what you want in life which has left you in the position to sit in lectures and daydream about where you could be and what you could be doing if you had said yes to London and to Harry. The haze and pen clicking was only bothering everybody around you and was doing no one any good.

“Gorgeous eyes on you to your right,” Zola grinned, nudging her head towards the direction beside you. You smiled and shook your head before dropping your chin to your chest. You wanted to look but what if there really was someone looking at you and you looked and he saw? Gorgeous eyes, huh? Your eyes scattered across your blank paper for a few seconds before slowly sneaking to the side of your head and without disappointment, you had found an absolute, stunning pair of eyes on you. He gave you a small smile before you realized you were the one staring and had whipped your head back around to Zola. “Pretty, isn’t he?”

You chuckled as she nudged your arm, continuing to whisper inappropriate things in your ear. If it were possible, she was dirtier than Elle. Professor Moore ended the lesson and the herd of students began clearing out of the auditorium.

“You know he’s still staring at you,” Zola informed, shoving her books into her bag.

“Stop,” you laughed. “He is not.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t like it,” she went on. “Seriously, go out with him or I’m going for it.”

“He’s all yours,” you grinned, standing to your feet. You picked up the one heavy textbook that refused to fit in your bag before exiting the auditorium with Zola behind you. “What are we having for lunch?”

“I’m in the mood for sushi,” she suggested.

“When are you not? And I don’t want to dr-”

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice stopped you. You looked over from Zola and you found the gorgeous pair of eyes standing in front of you with his books in one hand and his pen in the other. “I’m Jackson.”


“You look pretty,” Elle grinned with her bowl of mac and cheese in hand. “Where you going?”

You smiled, “Out.”

“On a date?”

“Yes,” you smirked, throwing your lipstick and keys into your purse. You paced back and forth, trying to remember where you had left your heels before you spotted them in the corner of the den next to the couch. “Why are my shoes here?” You huffed, bending down to slip one heel on.

“Um, I might have borrowed them,” she confessed, cuddling up closer to Ethan. “Anyways, who’s the lucky guy?”

“I’m not doing this right now,” you countered, running down the hall to grab your phone. You had opted for a pair of jeans and top as the weather was finally beginning to feel like spring and the sun was still up at six in the afternoon. You returned back in the den, tensed as ever before you threw yourself onto the couch, resting your head on Elle’s lap and legs on Ethan’s. Ethan was not only one of your best friends but Elle’s boyfriend. They had started dating a few weeks after the two of you got back from London and you’ve seen him more in the last two weeks than you ever did in a whole year. He had been spending nights and stealing all the hot shower water. You didn’t mind him but you needed your hot showers.

“Do you mind?” She giggled, brushing a few tangles free in your hair. “You need to relax, babe. You’re amazing and if this guy doesn’t see it, move on. It will be his loss!”

You chuckled, staying quiet for a few moments before the doorbell rang and your heart started to pump through your chest. The last time you went on a date was nearly two months ago and it was with Harry. You sat up and grabbed your purse, making your way towards the door, giving it a few seconds before opening it.

“You got this,” Ethan shouted.

You smiled and rolled your eyes before you opened the door and found Jackson in a button down and pretty smile. “Hi,” he breathed, eyes falling from your head to your toes, admiring your figure.

“Hi,” you almost whispered.

“You uh- you look beautiful.” His eyes nearly sparkled; they were a beautiful ocean blue color that anyone could get lost in the second they looked into them.

“Thanks,” you blushed. “I’d invite you in but it’s kind of a frat house in here at the moment.”

“It’s okay,” he nodded. “Do you wanna go?”

“Yeah.” You closed the door behind you and Jackson pressed his hand gently on your waist, guiding you along.


The date was fun; he talked and you talked, he laughed and you laughed along. You almost felt sorry because you weren’t as interested in him as he was in you. He told you about his future plans after university and you found out he had this big heart and soft spot for children. He wanted to be a teacher; he said he’d prefer to teach the middle years as they weren’t too picky or careless about education. He grew up in Brooklyn, his parents are divorced, and he has three younger sisters. He’s a year older than you and he’s amazingly kind, driven, and funny but during the whole date, you felt like half of your smiles and laughs were staged. You weren’t genuinely laughing until your stomach hurt and you weren’t smiling and craving to kiss him. For most of the night, you found yourself comparing Jackson to Harry.

His car pulled up outside of the apartment and he offered to take you upstairs. Was this a sign for sex because you honestly didn’t know. The two of you made your way to the front of your door before you turned around to thank him for the night. “I had fun tonight,” you breathed.

“Me too,” he said. He was inches away, his chest was almost pressed against yours and you could feel his breath against your lips. He leaned in and waited for a few seconds for your okay before you surprisingly pushed yourself onto him, crashing your lips against his. He was gentle with you, his touch was soft, and his hands remained safe at the side of your hip. Your arm tangled around his neck while one hand caressed his cheek. Resting your head against his, the two of you came up for air and you realized maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

You kept your eyes closed, scared to look at him. What if he got angry? You led him on, making him think he’d get some tonight but you were too chicken to even invite him in. “I should go,” you breathed.

“Okay,” he nodded, surprising you a little bit. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

You smiled, pressing another kiss on his lips, letting it linger for a few seconds before pulling back. “Okay.”

Maybe you didn’t love him, but you could try.


London, April 9th, 2012

Dates. Dates and dates and sex were all that was on Harry’s mind for the last month or so. He didn’t love any of them, he hadn’t found someone special enough for him to stay with but he didn’t want to feel lonely anymore, so his solution was going out and about. It wasn’t hard for him either, mainly because he was drunk half of the time, but because the girls he went out with weren’t ever looking for something more than just sex. It was a one night stand every time and he loved it. The thrill, the haze, the trance, he loved every moment of it and he wasn’t thinking about you at all. Except for the fact that he was. Every time.

“You’re so hot,” the blonde grinned, raising her arms high enough above her head so that Harry could slip off her top. He ignored her comment and continued to press sloppy kisses on her neck and down to her collarbone, making her moan onto his skin. She kept her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he began to unbutton her bra, throwing it to the side. Harry could feel her small thrusts against his skin as she straddled him and threw herself closer to him. He leaned back and rested his head against the pillow while she slowly created a trail of kisses from his chest to his stomach, stopping right below his navel. She began to fumble with his belt before she finally got it undone and pulled down his trousers, leaving them just at his ankles. She gave him a few wet strokes before taking him in completely and leaving him in his stupor.

The room was beginning to spin and he could feel the sweat on his arms and shoulders as he continued to thrust further into her. Her fingernails dug into his skin while she buried her face into the nape of his neck. “Oh, yeah,” he grunted. His voice was hoarse and his accent was thick. It felt good for the while but he knew in the morning, he’d just be sad and pathetic again. He could feel her come undone as his thrusts grew sloppier and slower. His head fell onto her shoulder and his breath whipped against her skin. She pressed a kiss against his lips before he pulled himself out and fell onto the pillow beside her.

“You,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Are,” another to his shoulder. “Amazing.”


The morning after was usually never a big deal because whenever Harry woke, the girl was gone. He’d lie in bed for a few hours before he had to get up to go anywhere and he’d just think. Sometimes he’d feel bad but sometimes, he’d just go on with his day. He’d think about things and what he was doing and realize how unacceptable it was, but he’d also think about you. Rarely would he ever think about you because then he would feel horrible about himself and wonder if you’ve seen any of the rumors and gossip about him going out every night with a different girl. But then sometimes, he’d think about what it would be like if you were still here. With him. What the two of you would be doing, what you would be talking about. He hated thinking about you because you had left him standing alone at the airport but he couldn’t help it. Maybe he didn’t know it but he might have still loved you. Despite everything, you might have been his first love. And you don’t easily forget your first love.


“Hey mate,” Nick stood from his seat in the middle of the restaurant. “How’ve you been?”

“Hey Grimmy, I’m alright,” Harry mumbled into his shoulder, giving him a few pats on the back.

The two sat down across from each other before the waiter came around with a notepad in hand and started them off with drinks. Nick ordered while Harry followed and the waiter handed the two a friendly smile before taking their menus and heading off the other direction.

“So I see you’ve been out,” Nick laughed, picking at the basket of bread sat in between them.

“I haven’t,” Harry countered, taking a sip of water.

“You have, my friend. What’s up?”

“Not much,” Harry lied. “Tour’s starting soon so I’m relaxing a bit.”

Nick’s eyebrows cocked up and he nodded teasingly, making Harry laugh a bit before the waiter came back around with their requested drinks and meals. “I like it,” Nick began, setting the napkin on his lap. “You’re young, you’re going out, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Alright, I’m not talking to you about my sex life while I’m eating,” Harry chuckled, bringing the napkin to his lap.

“Fair enough,” Nick mumbled with pasta in his mouth. “Say, you want to go to New York for a few days?”

Harry nearly choked on his food as he heard the words tumble out of Nick’s mouth. New York. New York was where you were and he couldn’t help but think about meeting you again if he went. It’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, going to New York to find you, but somehow he always ended up talking himself out of it. You left him and going to New York wasn’t going to change anything.

“What for?” He questioned casually, taking a spoonful of soup into his mouth.

Nick shrugged, “Just a few nights of fun. Corden’s going as well for a holiday and he’s throwing another party.”

“Uh,” he contemplated for a good two seconds before he realized there would be a good 25% chance he’d see you. “Yeah, sure. Be fun.”


New York, April 12th, 2012

“Are you going to bring Jackson tonight?”

You stood in your room, in front of your mirror, asking yourself over and over again whether or not this outfit was too casual. You could feel Elle pacing back and forth in the hallway as she tried to find a pair of shoes to fit her outfit. Moments after the pacing stopped, she appeared in front of your bedroom door and barged into your closet.

“No, he has a paper to finish. Said he can’t make it.”

“So are you two a thing or what?” She grumbled, rummaging through your shoes.

“I don’t know,” you stressed, brushing a comb through your hair. “He’s nice and funny and pretty but I do- I don’t feel the way he does.” Elle turned around with a pair of black, peep toe heels in her hands, cocking her eyebrows up into place for permission. “Take em’,” you glanced. “I just feel bad because I feel like I’m leading him on when I know it’s not going anywhere.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” she took a seat at the edge of your bed and began slipping on your shoes. “You’re 17, it’s okay not to be sure and it’s okay to play the field.”

“I’m not playing the field,” you denied.

“Okay, sure,” Elle snickered, standing to her feet to show you her outfit. “How do I look?”

“Perfect,” you teased. “Why do I even have to go tonight? You have Ethan; I don’t need to be there.”

Elle came around the bed and stood behind you, snatching the comb from your hand, and beginning to brush the back where you missed. “I do have Ethan but I also have you, and I’m not leaving you home alone to mope another night.”

“Okay, I don’t mope,” you pointed out.

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why don’t you want to go tonight?”

There was a moment of silence as you wondered why you didn’t want to go to James’ party but it wasn’t hard to remember that the last time you went to one, you met someone and left him. It didn’t take long for Elle to read your mind either before she sighed and brought the brush beside her.

“If you’re worried that Harry’s going to be there, you can stop now because he won’t.”

“I- I was- I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Yeah, you were,” she went on. “He’s in London.”

“How do you know he’s not here,” you mocked. She was always a know-it-all when it came to things like these. She liked being right and sometimes it was annoying but sometimes, it helped to have someone who was sure of things when you weren’t.

“It’s all over the magazines; he’s on almost every cover of every gossip page there is,” she continued to brush your hair. “Rumor has it he’s been getting some because you broke his heart.” 

Broke his heart. That sounded a lot harsher out loud than it did in your head. You haven’t thought about it that way because you never wanted to bring yourself to think about it at all. It was heartbreaking to leave but once you did, you never really talked about it.

Elle took a step forward and dropped the brush on the nightstand. She took your hands and brought them forward, bringing her eyes from your head to your toes. “You look gorgeous.” **


“Oh my God, is that Harry Styles?” Harry turned around to the familiar voice before he found his longtime friend, Caroline Flack, standing behind him with a glass of champagne in one hand and her clutch in the other. “Bloody hell, it is.”

Harry laughed and smiled before he brought his arms around her, giving her a warm hug. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good,” she smiled. “What are you doing in New York?”

He shrugged, “Nick thought it would be a good idea to get away for a while so I’m here.”

“Ah, it’s always Grimmy, isn’t it?”

The two chatted for a bit before Caroline got pulled away by Lou and left Harry standing alone again. He ordered a drink, a heavier one than before as he took a seat by the bar. Nick was nowhere to be found and he spotted James a few minutes ago but had lost him. The room was crowded and the music was way too loud for his taste. There was no way he’d make it through the night without a few drinks at least, so he treated himself with three so far.

“You know,” Elle grinned, taking a seat beside him. “You’re only 18, the legal age in America is 21.” Harry nearly choked on his drink when he realized who it was sitting next to him. It wasn’t you, but it might as well be you. His heart was racing faster than it should as he fumbled around for a napkin. “What? Miss me?”

Harry stuttered for a few seconds before he finally found words to roll off his tongue. “What are you doing here?”

Elle laughed, “Well I live in New York, what are you doing here?”

Harry huffed and his head somewhat sobered up. There was nothing to say because you were the reason he was here. You were the reason he was drinking and going out and sleeping around. He blamed you because you seemed to be the reason he did anything for the last two months. He blamed you because he still loved you but he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it.

“Is she here,” he mumbled.

Elle was your best friend but she did feel sorry for Harry. The two of you were practically sisters and she didn’t always agree with everything you did but she would defend you even it were wrong. Right now, she was defending you and feeling sorry for Harry. “Yeah,” she slurred, brushing her finger around the rim of her drink.

Harry looked up and over to Elle with worn out, sad eyes before Elle nudged her head in the direction behind him. He followed and his heart, for a split second, felt at peace again. It was you. You were here. It was his 25% chance standing right in front of him and it was looking more beautiful than ever. Your hair was down and splayed across your back and you had a nonalcoholic drink in one hand while the other ran through your hair, gracefully. You were here. Two months and you still looked so beautiful. It took everything within him to not stand up and run over to you to tell you how much he still loved you and how he still meant what he had said. It took everything within him to not pull you close into this starved and desperate kiss. He wanted to hug you, touch you, and talk to you. He wanted you and you were nearly ten feet away making him weak in the knees all over again.

“Who is that?”

“Don’t worry,” Elle smiled. “That’s Ethan, my boyfriend.”

“How’s she been?” He went on, gaping at you.

“I don’t know. She acts okay but I honestly don’t know,” Elle sighed, hesitant on whether she should mention Jackson or not.

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” Harry laughed, taking a sip of his drink. “I am because after all this time, I still love her. I love the girl who left me standing alone. I love the girl standing ten feet away and I can’t even bring myself to talk to her.”

“If it’s any consolation, she still loves you as well.”



You turned around to the deep, thick accent behind you and your heart nearly stopped. You had to look twice at who it was because surely it couldn’t be who you thought you were seeing because who you thought you were seeing was supposed to be in London. This was obviously not true because who you thought was in London was standing right in front of you. “Hi,” you stammered.

Harry’s heart seemed to have stilled inside his chest and his knees were beginning to shake again. “You look… beautiful.” The words fell so naturally from his lips as if he had been saying it for the last two months and you want to believe it but after Elle showed you the magazines, you didn’t.

“Thank you,” you breathed, still trying to convince yourself this was actually happening. “Um, you look pretty good yourself.” Your cheeks grew warm to the familiar face. His hair was curlier than the last time you saw him and he’s got a little bit of peach fuzz on his chin, something you definitely found attractive. The familiar scent of his cologne instantly latched onto you and it took everything within you to not apologize and cry your heart out for him.

“Ayye, Styles!” A voice shouted from behind you. “Over here.”

Harry glanced between Nick and you before handing you a small smile. “That’s me,” he raised his glass. “It was uh- it was really nice to see you.” His voice was restricted and he wanted to stay and talk to you but his brain told him to walk instead. He wanted to ask you how you have been, how university was, if you were seeing anyone. He wanted to know for himself if you really did love him like Elle had said because if you did, you wouldn’t walked away. He wanted to get in a car with you and drive and drive until things were better. Instead, he just walked away.


The night was beginning to get brighter as the sky filled with stars and a moon. Guests were beginning to leave and you waited for Elle to bid James goodbye before you gave him a hug and thanked him for the night. 

Ethan handed you your purse before he took Elle’s hand and led her out the club with you following behind. You said a few more goodbyes on your way out before the crowd cleared and you found the familiar face leaning against his car, with his hands in his pockets. Your body would fit perfectly against his if you tried.

“Let me drive you home,” he smiled.

You looked around and found Elle giving you a grin as if she was the one who suggested this. Your brain gave you about a million reasons why you shouldn’t begin to walk towards his car but your heart gave you one and you did. He opened the door and you undoubtedly climbed in.

The car ride was silent for most of it; there wasn’t much talking and the only noise that came from the car was the playlist he had on. You didn’t mind the silence though. In all honesty, you would have preferred the music rather than the talking because you didn’t know where the talking would have led to. He might have told you about all the girls he had been sleeping with or it could have led to your dating life. Not that that would have been a problem considering your dating life was nonexistent.

“I miss you,” he blurted out. But for some reason, that only made you angry. He can’t say that, he couldn’t have said it before and he can’t say it now. Things were not how they were two months ago and he was absolutely not allowed to say things like ‘I miss you’ because it would hurt and it would make you feel guilty again.

You scoffed before climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. You began to make your way towards your apartment building and your heart felt heavy again. You were treading sand in heels before Harry raced around the car and came running after you. He shouldn’t have said it but he did and he meant it. He shouldn’t have said it but he wasn’t going to take it back either.

“Wait,” he shouted, grabbing your arm.

“No,” you nearly yelled, pulling your arm out of his grip. “You can’t say that to me. You can’t say anything to me because if you do, I’ll feel guilty again and I don’t want to anymore. I’ve felt horrible for the last two months and I can’t anymore.” You took a deep, shuttering breath as your heart was beginning to overweigh everything once again. “You don’t get to sleep around and then tell me you miss me. That is not fair. What I did was painful; leaving London was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But you, standing here and telling me that you miss me after sleeping around for two months is disgusting.” You didn’t know what overcame you because you would have never said these things even if you really meant it but you were saying everything that came to mind. Your heart was pumping at your feet and you were nearly on the verge of tears again.

“Disgusting?” Harry repeated. “You don’t get to tell me that I’m disgusting. You left me. You made your feelings perfectly clear when you left me standing alone at the airport. You don’t get to say anything because you don’t know what hell I’ve been through.” Harry turned his back towards you, bringing his hands to his head before turning back around. “What? So you don’t want to be with me and I can’t be with anyone else?”

At this point, you wanted to hit him. “Harry,” you sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you. For the last two months, all I could think about was being with you.”

“Then why are you mad? Why are you yelling?”

“Harry, you’re with a different girl every week! Last week was some blonde named Emma, the week before that was some girl named Ashley, who God knows what she does for a living. But tha- that’s okay because you’re right. I left you. And because you’re you and you can do whatever you want. I just- I don’t want to be another girl on Harry Styles’ dating list.”

Harry’s eyes dropped, similarly to his heart but he ignored that feeling because the only thing he really felt was anger. He turned around again, this time a little longer before turning back to face you. “I’m sorry,” he began softly. “I’m sorry if you think you’re just another girl in my life. Do you know how much I think about you every day? Every second of every day that I am not with you, I think about what you could possibly be doing! What you and I would be doing! Not a day has gone by where I questioned my infatuation for you. None of those girls have ever made me feel the way you do so effortlessly. I’m sorry for tonight, I’m sorry for Emma and I’m sorry for Ashley.” He took a step closer. “But I am not sorry that I am in love with you.”

And that was when he took you in for that starving, desperate, longing kiss that made him feel whole again. His hand found its spot on your waist while the other caressed your cheek perfectly as if his palms were made to fit your cheeks. He deepened the kiss, thinking you’d pull away in moments but you didn’t because it was something you’ve wanted for the longest time in forever. He was soft and genuine and his breath mingled flawlessly with yours as he sent warmth to the depths of your stomach, head, toes, fingers, chest. It was like everything was good again and if anything were bad, it wouldn’t seem so bad because you had each other. Goosebumps paraded along his skin as your arm wrapped around his neck.

You were home for the longest time and now so was he. He wasn’t finished loving you so he came home.


PART 5! The extra is FINALLY COMPLETED, I’M SO HAPPY! And yes Jackson as in Jackson Avery! Wooooo! 

I can’t believe I’ve finished. Nearly 5K words in this, most I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoyed and I love you so, so much! 

Let me know what you thought

All the love. xoxox

Exit Rant: Scholar Who Walks the Night

I suppose after watching so many dramas that I loved and had such good things to say about, it was only a matter of time before I hit a bad patch. King of Dramas wasn’t a bad show, it just wasn’t what I wanted it to be. But this show failed in ways I didn’t even think were possible. I was straight hate-watching it by the end. Thank you agaggleoffandoms for being my partner in misery and helping me yell at the screen for a few weeks. Without you I wouldn’t have been able to finish this mess.

I think I might be in the minority on this. In fact, I might even lose some followers because of this (what few I have anyway) but somebody has to give this atrocity what for. For the amount of pain I was in watching this, I can give at least as good as I got.

The Scholar Who Walks the Night (SWWtN) is an adaptation of a Korean Manhwa of the same name, and tells a fantasy alternate history of the Joseon period where several generations back the king struck a deal with a powerful vampire named Gwi in order to found and build his dynasty and kill all his enemies. In exchange he promised that the future generations of his family would continue to serve the vampire and provide him with victims. When an idealistic prince and his friend find out about this they make it their mission to remove the vampire and restore human rule, but at a tremendous personal cost.

Kim Sung Yeol is our MMC played by Lee Joon Ki, and you may remember in that my Arang and the Magistrate review I was rather taken with him. He was in fact super delightful and funny and interesting to watch in the afore mentioned show. Arang and the Magistrate was a lot of the reason I watched this. Too bad that it was a superior show in almost every way.

Where AatM was well paced and drip fed information at just the right rate to keep me interested, SWWtN spent episode upon episode talking about the search for a secret plan with no detectible progress, and then after the plan was located episode upon episode talking about how they didn’t know what to do with it now that they had it.

Where AatM had a really interesting internal logic and mythology SWWtN’s vampire mythology was wildly inconsistent and hard to follow. Can vampires feed on animals or do they have to eat humans? Does sun make vampires burst into ash or just severely uncomfortable? This show doesn’t give a shit about these details.

And finally, while AatM had a touching high-stakes romance that progressed slowly but kept me engaged every step of the way, SWWtN shoved its main pairing at me until I got sick of looking at their faces. Unfortunately, when you don’t like either of the main characters it’s impossible to enjoy their romance.

I can’t remember another instance where I disliked the main pairing as much as I did here. Mostly because I thought both of the leads were bad people. Selfish, cowardly and just plain stupid a lot of the time.

Let’s start with the MMC: Kim Sung Yeol is supposed to be over 120 years old during the course of the story.  And during that whole time his sole goal in life has been to kill Gwi and avenge the deaths of his family, friends and lover. And yet, there is zero evidence that he has even made an attempt to do so. All he’s doing is looking for a lost plan that he has reason to believe was destroyed a long time ago, and even if it does exist he has no reason to believe that this untested plan would work.

Additionally, at several points throughout the story, he is confronted by the big bad and challenged to a fight, and he just runs away. He also witnesses Gwi killing people, sometimes large numbers of people, and makes no attempt to save them. He just sits on a roof and watches, shaking his head like, “Man, this is just horrible. I sure wish there was a super powered vampire around who could protect the innocent. What a shame.”

If Sung Yeol can’t go toe-to-toe with Gwi in a fight that’s one thing, I’m not suggesting he engage in a fight that is definitely going to kill him. But that doesn’t excuse 120 years of incompetence. There are more ways to handle a more powerful enemy than direct combat and hiding while he gets away with mass murder.

And then there’s the MFC, of course. She was just a victim of incredibly poor character writing. In the beginning she was a woman disguising herself as a man so she could support her family. A clever and resourceful illegal book dealer, interested in stories about the supernatural and smutty books. I can relate. She was budding with potential. And the writers just squandered it.

Not only was she completely unable to figure out that the MMC is a vampire for more than half of the show, in spite of the fact that she is writing a novel about the Night Scholar, a good vigilante vampire roaming the countryside, who she says in her opinion resembles the MMC exactly as she imagined him. That’s not even the most obvious evidence she is given that the MMC isn’t human, and she just…can’t…seem…to put it together. Everything has to be told to her.

At a certain point in the middle of the show the MFC gets damseled so hard that she seems to forget all of the interesting qualities that made her capable of living a life as an illegal book seller and protecting her family. Maybe the writers just forgot that she was supposed to be a badass? She gets outed as a woman, and after a bout of suicidal depression, she seems to lose interest in everything but cooking and housework. The writers give her literally nothing to do but hang around the MMC’s house and be twitterpated.

When she does finally figure out the true nature of her love interest, she suggests, in all seriousness, that they just go ahead and ignore what’s going on in the kingdom and just fuck off to the countryside for…oh, idk 50 years? and he can deal with the Gwi issue when they are done playing house. What?!

I could actually go on about how selfish and useless this character is, but I don’t want to use anymore of the review talking about these two. They were frankly nauseating to watch. The only thing I can say for them, is that they deserve each other. They are perfectly suited in their awfulness.

Wasn’t there anything about this show that was interesting or well done? Why did you keep watching this, you might ask, if you disliked the main couple so much?

I’m glad you asked, imaginary person, actually there was one thing that kept me watching until the very end. One aspect that was so good that I couldn’t drop the show even after it became clear that the character writing had become so inconsistent, the plot so bogged down, that there was no hope for it.

And that was the villain. Vampire Gwi, played by Lee Soo Hyuk was so charismatic, mysterious, interesting and competent (in contrast with our main characters) I spent every episode waiting for his scenes. Seriously, Soo Hyuk is so good here. He is clearly having a blast with his role, and is absolutely spellbinding whenever he’s on screen. He also happens to be a drop-dead gorgeous human. But that’s beside the point.

Kim So Eun as Hye Ryung, the vampire’s servant and calculating politician was also fabulous. Their interplay was so interesting to watch, even if I couldn’t ship them together. And even though the writers managed to ruin her character for me right at the end, the overall character and performance deserves recognition.

The Scholar Who Walks the Night gets a 4/10, and everyone of those 4 points are for the villain characters.

In the end I can’t recommend watching a show only for the villain. It’s a project doomed to heartbreak, when you find yourself wanting him to win, and you know that there’s no way the story will allow that to happen. So in order to save you from the same mistake I made, and as a public service. Here is a bunch of Lee Soo Hyuk as Gwi. If someone wanted to cut together all the clips of the Gwi and Hye Ryung and put that up on YouTube, I would recommend giving that a watch, otherwise stay away from this one:

Originally posted by onesoohyukpls

Originally posted by irrational-obsessions-gottcha78

Originally posted by irrational-obsessions-gottcha78

Originally posted by unf-top

Originally posted by kimwoobinseyebrows

Originally posted by onesoohyukpls

Originally posted by lavenderbyun