Miles: So today is not the best day to ask you for a spot of tea. Miles being Miles, doesn’t realize that he indeed does have feelings for you, and the relief that comes with him being your companion for Valentine’s Day, rather than some other man. However, Miles being Miles, is way overly flustered at being addressed as a couple, far more than you are. He sputters and turns scarlet at a drop of a hat, and while you know he’s a little shy when it comes to these matters, you can’t help but feel he’s overreacting and feel a little offended.
“Oh come now, would I be so horrible to date?” You cross your arms and glare at the tea before you, the last dregs of the leaves staring back at you pitifully.
[Rebirth Superfam Meta or Superman is dead and was replaced by a lookalike - a conspiracy theory by me]
Hello guys! I’m back with another dose of BITTERNESS towards Rebirth.
By this point I’ve come to the conclusion that it isn’t bad writing, it is actually how DC wants Rebirth Superman to be like: a lesser version of all of his former self. I’m so pissed I can’t even organise a proper post so please just bear with me this is more of a venting post don’t like don’t read.
For the love of Rao just save Jon from all this, bring back N52 Superman, let this Clark have a chance to be a proper dad to him because he obviously doesn’t remember how to be Superman and a dad at the same time.
This is how preN52 Clark handled Chris wanting to fight alongside with him:
Let crazy terror take my head, nobody could fend off an attack more powerful than the idea of power.
It’s not what one thinks it is. It’s not what one doesn’t think it isn’t. It’s not what one thinks it isn’t. What is most unlikely is what’s most probable. The unthinkable trembles my heart, I call it “fear! fear!”
The illness comes into being again, I change it, and all this without the slightest calculation. One day one the next the other. I’m convinced I make myself sick one illness after another without being able to do a thing about it. Thinking I know this is an illusion of the ill. It’s no help at all my knowing it. All the same, no complacency. Each illness makes me doubly ill 1) with the illness 2) with being sick of being ill. Every time I make myself sick, I always make myself sick again but I see perfectly that I do this on the same model, it’s always the end of being, generally it’s at the bottom of the garden this happens, the way the death of my father took place, starting in the garden’s northeast corner which suddenly fills up with this terrifying substance, invisible but substantial, tactile, perceptible perceived as brushing as growling, this colossal quantity of void that one hears sighing if one could hear it (but one doesn’t want to, one is petrified), not breathing but sighing, as if the garden our daily body were suddenly occupied by a body too big diffuse internal and thus hollowing out of our usual compact and limited body bottomless pits of visceral caverns and this content, this monster is a nightmare in broad daylight without a hope of waking, the vanguard of Regret that already fills up all the available space, that spreads out into our eyes our throat our lungs great doses of bitterness and sobs to come. I am perfectly aware that the misfortune is my fault, I call upon no one, but taking advantage of my deficit of vigilance during sleep the illness spreads into every inch of me like a building going up without any estimation of its internal or external resistance and I am its even before I open my eyes. The minute I’m up, I lack everything, daylight, courage, sturdy legs, everything necessary to life: movement, confidence, habit, the solidity of things, the loyalty of vital beings! So far as I can see everything betrays me. No one I can count on. Death is the first to come along. I see it everywhere, far more overwhelming than my mental debility and it picks and chooses, according to probability or improbability.
Nobody can fend off a hurricane, it grinds up and kills at random, that I am at the origin of it doesn’t in the least lessen its impact.
Do you have some fic recs that have BDC vibes ? :)
AAAH okay man I miss the fuck out BDC so here are some (I’m assuming you’re looking for het bc there’s a ton of slash fics out there that have similar vibes) fics that have similar vibes
A Rhapsody of Sorts by @silverglass – it’s an OU, but it’s full of the same kind of grit that BDC is notorious for and has those similar angst levels, not to mention it’s complete!!
Intrinsic Gray – another OU, but this one is an uni AU with an incredible plot and once again, lots of angst and a love/hate relationship, and is also complete!!
Those Simple Truths – this is one of my faves of all time, once again an antagonistic relationship with a healthy dose of bitter Harry, although once again it’s an OU!
With the New Crowd by @likeamisfit – okay I am trash and only have read half a chapter BUT honestly I have heard incredible incredible things although it’s another OU it has a darker Harry and, you guessed it, antagonistic relationship!!
Bloom by @absolutestyles – a uni AU with the same kind of incredibly beautiful prose and lots of secrets, and it’s also complete!!
Crooked Heart by @nebulastyles – okay… still totally haven’t read this yet because I am human garbage BUT it’s a uni AU w incredible writing and like from what I feel like it might be the kind of fic you’re looking for (except the ofc is the cranky one, not Harry)!!
(also… I have this fic… Dandelion and Burdock… that I am reviving soon… so if my narcissism doesn’t put you off.. you could also check that out.. if antagonistic relationships and uni aus are your thing……)
But to be entirely honestly this list is definitely incomplete–I am very behind on the times when it comes to new fics coming out, so I’m sure there are more out there that have BDC vibes, if anyone has anything to add, feel free to reblog w your suggestions!!
A/N: Hey, sorry for the wait, Saturday night I was at a party, yesterday I ended up at a family party and then my best friend’s house, and then today I had to babysit and clean house after I got home at 3:20, so I’m a bit behind. This is for Spencer trying to save reader from being hit on - Fuckeree
Warnings: Drunk guy hitting on reader is rude AF.
There were many places that you would expect to see Spencer Reid. Places like libraries, book stores, universities, the solace of his apartment, maybe visiting his mother, the BAU, those were places that embodied who Spence was. But not the bar, and certainly not the bar at 1:20AM.
You sip on a beer, nursing the bitter flavour in small doses as you people watch, it was something that you could do for hours, no matter where you were.
The tea had just settled a particularly brutal case in Nebraska, and you had figured that all of you would get together and go out for a few drinks, some mediocre chicken wings, and a good laugh, but that wasn’t how it had happened.
JJ needed to get back home to Henry, as Will was coming down with a nasty flu bug that he picked up at the park while Jennifer was away on the case, Rossi was going to catch another flight to visit his daughter, Kate was feeling an increasing amount of nausea the further along in her pregnancy that she got and Hotch was going home to Jack.
So it was Reid, Morgan and yourself in the ever-crowded scene, fighting to keep sane above the slowly dispersing mob of people, and the ebb and flow of the regulars that made good use of the jukebox.
Taking another small mouthful, you look over to where Derek is playing cards with an older man, maybe mid-50′s, grinning about something that he had just said. There was always something about him and making friends, it hadn’t always been that way, but this wasn’t the first time he had come to the bar with you and the others, and ended up with a king stranger.
You’re not paying attention to what’s going on behind you when you feel a gentle hand on your side. Thinking that it was Spence, you push your stool back around, only to come face to face with your own stranger.
“Uh, hi” you knew it wasn’t a very strong opening line, but there was a guy whom you’d never met before with his hand on you, and you weren’t sure you appreciated that.
“Hi, sorry to bug you but my name.. My name is Garrett, and you dropped this” you’re hypersensitive to the way his words slur together, the way he has to repeat himself to make sure he’s said what he means to, and how close he is to you.
He hands over a five dollar bill, and you hesitate on whether or not to take it. “Did I? I didn’t even notice, thank you” you decide that it’s better to take it and avoid an argument, so you slip it into your pocket and nod at him.
“What’s your name?” it seems that he’s here for more than a seemingly fake money return, and your thoughts scramble for a second.
“Meredith” you spit out, not wanting to give out your actual name (a/n: sorry if your actual name’s Meredith..), for fear that it could end up causing something down the line, as it had before.
“Meredith? That’s nice. People every call you Merry?” his breath was putrid as he leans into you, before pulling up a stool way to close for comfort.
“No, actually my father hated that, so he corrected people. It’s always been just Meredith” you sip from your bottle once more, and play around with the discarded cap.
“Oh, well your daddy isn’t around, so I’m gunna call you Merry. You here with your man, Merry?” he calls for another Rye and Coke, and you can’t help but cringe away from him.
“It’s Meredith, don’t call me Merry, please and yes, I am” you make a split second decision to point over at Spencer, who’s revealing magic tricks to a group of other younger men.
“Seems like he’s into more of a carrot stew, if you get what I’m saying. Look at him, he’s like Houdini, a scrawny little Houdini with a tiny little-” you clear your throat loudly to cut him off there, and shake your head.
“He’s actually really into whatever the Hell he wants to be into, and why do you care what he’s got?” you can’t hide your annoyance any more, as you down the last of your bottle in one big gulp.
“Whoa darlin’, I’m not trying to cause an uprising in your panties, unless you like it that way” he attempts a wink, and looks more like his face is in spasm. “I mean, a thing like you, with a body like that, oh honey”.
He leans in uncomfortably close, his hands on either of your upper thighs, and tries to nuzzle into your neck. But you pull away and try to push back, only to bump into someone else.
“Easy Meredith, it’s me” you can feel that anxious burn in your chest start to subside as you lean your head back into him. You look up into the understanding eyes of your “boyfriend”.
You get up off of the stool and stand beside him, nuzzling into his chest. “This is Garrett, he was just leaving, right?” you gesture to the towering drunk, who shakes his head and snickers.
“Why is it always fucking twigs like you that get the girls like this, huh? Bullshit, you fucking loser” that ignites the anger within you, pours fuel on your fire, and destroys everything you had that was keeping you contained.
“He’s not a fucking twig, or a loser, he’s incredible and you need to back off” you step towards him, and he goes toe to toe with you, almost knocking you over in the process.
“Hey! Get away from her” you see Spence step in front of you, and then you watch as the bony, white-knuckled fist comes forward and catches him in the upper right side of his lip, and knocks him back a few steps.
“Spencer!” you find yourself yelling over the people who are still there, and you grab him by the arm, turning him into you. His lip is torn a little, and bleeding down onto his chin and chest.
You turn a blind eye to the bastard that hit him, and instead focus on getting him over to the washroom. You couldn’t care less about the male or female signs on the doors, you push it open with your butt and pull him in.
“You just got punched in the face for me” you mutter, sitting him down on the counter of sinks, and grabbing paper towel. You run it under some cold water and press it to his lip, brushing hair back from his face.
“It was worth it” he says from beneath the makeshift patch up, and you can’t help but smile.
“How did you know to call me Meredith?” you tuck the hair behind his ear, and grab a piece of dry paper towel to mop up the water dripping from his mouth.
“It’s your go-to name when you’re scared or in a compromising situation. I heard it once when you were jumped by an unsub. Lucky guess, but my so called girlfriend is pretty predictable”.
He places a hand gently on yours and pulls it back from his face, wiggling his nose and wincing at the shock of pain you guess that he feels.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen” you toss everything in the trash, and wipe your hands off, cleaning them of blood. He shakes his head, and recollects your hand in his.
“I already said, it was worth it Y/N, it really was. You really don’t know how much you mean to me, I’d do it all over again, I’d risk broken bones, scrapes, cuts and bruises for you. Come here, don’t be so worried” he pulls you into him, and you can’t help but wrap your hands around his torso.
“Thank you” you murmur into his chest, breathing in everything that he is.
Another drabble of Regina in pain cuz we love it so…..
Storybrooke set after the snow monster but not following canon, predicated or onscreen.
Outlaw Queen / Henry & Regina
Its not a great situation to be in for anyone but its made considerably worst by the fact that Robin and his wife are also trapped, as is Henry, which is her main concern that and the head injury she knows she has but is trying to hide and heal and is failing at both.
Henry is torn between trying to outsmart Robin and out glare Marian. Marian who is glaring at her, blaming her for their current predicament and glaring at Robin who stands at her side, one hand holding her elbow, the other in front of her face, insisting she count his fingers that she knows he holds steady but nonetheless flicker and double before her eyes.
“Three” she tells him confidently, a lie she’s really not sure, could be four.
“Count my fingers” Henry mutters darkly
“Henry” she hisses at him shocked.
She pulls away from Robin, forcing her elbow from his firm grip, a movement that leaves her dizzy, nauseous.
“Can’t you get us out with magic?” Marian asks.
“No she cant” Robin mummers “you cant heal yourself can you?” He asks her quietly.
He’s crowding her space again, she wishes he would step away, she would step back but the wall is behind her and theres no where to go except to lean against it, sink back let the wall take her weight, slide down to the uneven ground and not get up again and she wont, not Henry needs her.
“I just need a minute” its another lie, she’s had enough minutes to try and heal, try and move the rubble that blocks their way out of the mines, nothing is working.
“The lift shaft” Henry says, voice squeaking in his lightbulb moment “thats what Archie and I used to get out last time”
Robin nods “which way?” he asks turning to face her boy.
Henry points into the darkness “down there and to the right, then left I think or maybe right but its just down there” he insists.
“Are you sure?” Robin asks casting a wary eye towards the tunnel and back to her, his gaze measured. She knows he’s calculating how much time she has before she can’t keep her eyes open, before sleep takes her, sleep which this time offers an more definite end.
She’s already broken her promise to herself, her weight is against the wall. She raises her gaze to his, fights to keep her voice steady “go” she says.
Robin nods, a silent understanding passes between them. Get Henry out no matter what.
A light flares behind him, startling her but it is only Marian, she has fashioned a torch from what looks like her cloak and a stick.
“Resourceful” Regina mutters.
Robin turns, looks over his shoulder at his wife, Regina imagines the expression on his face, pride probably, pride and care, a look he used to give her and suddenly everything hurts just that little bit more.
“Henry” Robin is speaking “stay here with your mother, we will find a way out. Henry” Robin places both hands on Henry’s shoulders “its very important that Regina stays awake, do you understand?”
Such a weight to put on his shoulders, she wants to weep as she sees the realisation dawn on his young face.
Henry nods “yes”
“Good man” Robin tells him then he’s crossing the small space that separates them, clutching at her arm and whispering in her ear “stay awake Regina, for your boy, for me, we can’t lose you” then he’s gone.
Anger courses through her, he has no right to ask her to stay for him, not when he leaves with a hand on his wife’s back and no backward glance.
“Im fine” she offers a watery smile “sit with me” standing is no longer an option, its sit or fall.
Henry takes her arm and helps her sink to the floor “are you cold?” she asks.
Henry shakes his head no. “I could try moving some of the rubble” he says pointing to the cave in “where the light comes through” the light streaks that she is grateful for, make it possible for her to see his precious face.
“No honey, its not safe. Come talk to me” she needs to hear his voice, needs him to anchor her once more.
“Tell me of New York”
“Mom I’ve told you all my stories a million times” he whines.
“Indulge me” she asks, Henry is a bright boy but he’s twelve years old, still a child really, he wants tales of adventures and heroes doesn’t want to recount his math scores yet again.
“Tell me of the missing year” he begs “you need to talk not me”
She’s so tired, words are hard to form, let alone thoughts, everything jumbles, its all heartache, the cold hard bite of loss, although he sits beside her, hand in hers, the sting is real and bitter again. A double dose of missing Henry and finding him of finding Robin and missing him.
She should be sat in the diner with Robin by her side, telling Henry of their adventures, of their heroic battles against a wicked witch, of how Robin was by her side and they fought and bickered (and fell in love, just didn’t know it then, well he did he said, not that it matters now) but she can’t because the wicked witch was her sister, another bitter betrayal that can never be remedied and her code abiding Robin broke her heart with his love (and she is a fool for thinking it could be otherwise) and now she will die in this tunnel where she asked to die once before but now will truly die, more herself than she has ever been.
She cannot find the words for herself so she tells him of his grandfather, not the one captured and insane, mindlessly spinning straw into gold in a cage but the ‘good’ one that rides horses and fights with a sword and knocks up his wife in the middle of a war.
She tells him how David ventured to a tower in the middle of the night and recused a princess and the ball that followed. Even this story mocks her with the details she has left out, how it felt to watch the good king and queen reunite with their child while hers was gone forever, how it felt to dance with Robin and the look he gave her that left her heart racing and her belly fluttering.
Henry is asking question after question, she knows she is slurring and she knows he is anxious, sees it in his tight smiles, sees him peer around her again and again, hopeful for rescue, it breaks what is left of her beaten down heart.
“Im sorry” she tells him.
“Its not your fault mom” he tells her but it is, if she hadn’t rushed in, had waited when Robin warned her, hadn’t scoffed at him, hadn’t been so wound up by his and Marian’s presence then….
Henry is shaking her causing the pain to blister and bubble in her head, she wants to tell him to stop but beyond the pain is the soft darkness, the blessed silence that calls to her, confuses her.
Henry is shouting her name, she knows he is crying although she cannot see his face, begging her to wake up and she’s begging herself but her body won’t cooperate, she’s so tired, so bone crushingly tired, there’s no magic and no end to the pain in her head, then Henry’s voice is fading away, everything is fading away.
Sharp pain again as he shakes her, enough to jostle not to rattle, a hand across her face, a harsh blow of air in her ear, “wake up wake up, theres a way out, just hold on just hold on” he tells her.
“Stop you’re hurting her” its Henry shouting.
“Henry” she whispers.
Maybe she’s crying out in pain, she’s not sure, everything is so blurry and so far away, the sound of rustling in her ears, she hears Robin let out a oomph and his hands leave her.
“Get off her” Henry implores.
“I have to move her Henry, I promise I won’t hurt her”
“You already did”
A beat of silence until Robin answers, his voice so low she doubts she’d hear it if it wasn’t whispered so close to her ear.
He’s lifting her, she knows how it feels to be carried by him, this is not the first time he has done so. Time stretches and she’s falling.
She feels split, part of her detached, watches as he carries her, a dead weight in his arms, sees how he cradles her to him, presses her against his chest as if his heartbeat alone can save her.
The other her, almost sleeping, recognises his scent, takes comfort in it, breathes him in, fights the comforting darkness, eyes flutter open and she is one again,
“Henry….I love you” its barely a whisper but he has heard one last time and he is safe now. Robin is taking him to safety.
“I love you” it’s to Robin, the smallest voice she has ever used but she cannot fight any longer.
“I love you Milady” he tells her “I love you truly and forever”.
She closes her eyes.
It was the ever resourceful Marian that saved her she discovers later and when she thinks of it, she always imagines the other woman scrambling back through the tunnels, driven by the need to help others, clutching the fairy dust she found on her way out, selfless and brave.
Whenever she thinks of it and she does more often than she cares to admit, she always remembers the look on Marian’s face, the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes, Marian’s face frozen in heartbreak and shock, her world crumbling away as she hears her husband’s words, hears him declared his true love for another.
Honestly though, what good’s an oven if it doesn’t actually cook the food you put into it? I do not have the time to be messing around to get it to work nor do I have the electrical skills or proper tools and my shift starts in an hour – all I wanted was some damned chicken nuggets.
This is another one that i first saw listed as Wynton Marsalis and later as Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers (Marsalis traveled with them and was the trumpeter and music director for some time, but has said this wasn’t him).
I’ve loved the song for some time and have no clue who this is.
Siren / Evil TwinBA Even more Jesus VIII, 12.4% abv bourbon barrel aged imperial stout.
Siren’s head brewer Ryan Witter-Merithew is a bit of a beery badass. Born and raised in North Carolina he started his career at NC’s Duck Rabbit brewery before moving to Denmark where, when working at Fanø, he set up the non-profit craft brewery Grassroots with Sean Hill from Vermont’s fabled Hill Farmstead and Claus Winther, the manager at Fanø. It’s here he worked with some of the biggest names in the gypsy brewing movement including Brian Strumke of Stillwater Artisanal Ales, and brothers Mikkel and Jeppe of Mikkeller and Evil Twin respectively.
Things changed again for Ryan a couple of years back when Darren Anley decided to start up a small US style craft brewery in the UK to produce progressive and experimental beers and needed a top tier head brewer. Ryan’s desire to avoid traditional styles met Darren’s vision perfectly, and so he set sail for merry old England and the soon to be hallowed halls of Siren Craft Brew.
And so to this particular beer. Ryan and Jeppe had worked together on the early batches of Even More Jesus and a return collaboration was destined. Featuring muscovado sugar and liquorice root, the very limited release Even More Jesus VIII was a stunner. Some of it even made it into bourbon barrels for aging where Siren continued to play about by chucking a whole lotta coffee beans in with it. The result is what you see above. Half a litre of wax sealed liquid temptation. Time to see what it’s all about.
The wax seal puts up a fight, loath to give up it’s stewardship of the darkness inside. I go to work with a knife. I am merciless. The wax defeated I pour the sump oil like liquid into my glass, take a whiff, vanilla, liquorice, cocoa, and heavily roasted coffee. Mmmmm.
I raise the glass to my quivering lips. Imagine dry rubbing a whole lotta dark stone fruits in ground coffee then stewing it all in vanilla pod infused molasses. You then take the fruit out and drizzle melted dark chocolate over the top and garnish with shaved liquorice and burned caramel shards before eating it with spoons carved from oak and charred black.
This is everything I wanted it to be and more. It’s mouth coatingly think and smooth as my oiled tush. There’s plenty of medium sweet, fruity notes here working with the deeply roasty malts before a dose of bitter hops arrive to finish things off. That bourbon is potent throughout but doesn’t overpower the other flavours the way it does in some barrel aged stouts, rather it adds more layers to the already intricate brew. It’s rich, intense, boozy, complex, and downright luxurious. Buy it if you see it. Cheers Ryan, Jeppe, and everyone at Siren, you lot are awesome.