Latest Posts by booklover-sleeplover - Page 4

rule 1: the doctor lies

(remake of this)

from [x], for @donestiel

A family of cheetahs sleep with the forest guard every night. When the Forest Dept. heard about it, they decided to check the veracity of the claim by installing a CCTV camera. This is what the camera recorded! Just amazing.

Kitties will be kitties 🐈‍⬛

Obsessed with the idea of sacrifice in a book being a selfish act rather than a selfless one. Their lover screaming at them: “How dare you leave me in this barren world? How dare you take away my choice to die for you and leave me with this grief?”. They are dead, and their lover is left - a gaping wound - bleeding into the ground. Do they love them so much that they would die for them, or do they love them so much that they forced the other to live without them. Sacrifice as a bitter act. Sacrifice as something wildly violent; something tormentingly cruel — but always, always built on love. Perhaps, they are both martyrs in the end.

I defy you, shadowhunters. I mock you with my sugar cravings.

First for my minicomics serie: Ty giving Kit his first rune

@cassandraclare

"I am fighting for something that is bigger than me. I am trying to leave this world a better place"

Pride & Prejudice (2005) | dir. Joe Wright

Mark me down for scared AND horny

I Just read this and i want more

Summary: After a series of scandals and arrests, Bad-Boy boxer Fezco O’Neill is in danger of losing his endorsements and being blackballed in the media. Opting to clean up his image, Fezco agrees to enter into a “love contract” with Good Girl actress Lexi Howard. 

Read on Ao3 here

For the tsc characters x Met Gala serie: Cordelia and Emma Carstairs wearing the two versions of Blake Lively’s Versace gown from the 2022 Met Gala. @cassandraclare

This was probably the most ambitious project I’ve ever worked on, I hope you like it T.T it was hard

RNM Playlist- Back to You by Selena Gomez

you're stuck in my head and I can't get you out of it, if I could do it all again I know I'd go back to you

“Here’s a question for your soul; How many times can a broken thing break? And the Gods whispered: Let’s see, shall we?”

— Nikita Gill

Cristina to Emma

HOLD ON. Jake was the one killing people in the first episode? because in this episode Marc seems to be the "talk and only hurt if necessary" kind of guy? it was Jake all along?

Stevie the shit-stirrer.

I’m gonna write it in stone That you were my home

And God said "this is fine line"

Fine Line | Jurdan Quarantine AU

Chapter Rating: E is for Every Bad Idea You’ve Ever Had

Summary: This is how you turn a girl into a forest fire.

WC: 13,268

CW: mature themes, vulgar language, mentions of death, NSFW CONTENT READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Prev. Chapter  | Fine Line Masterlist  |  Fic Masterlist  |  AO3

Chapter 4- Watermelon Sugar (Verse 2)

[Jude POV]

Sleep falls away from me like water as I resurface into consciousness.

The first thing I know is that I am warm. The comfortable kind that feels like holding a steaming mug of tea between both hands on a brusque day. Or the soft spill of sunlight at the brink of spring.

Pleasant. Relaxed.

The second thing I know is that all of this is very suspicious. Usually, I’m cracked out of my dreams, a lightning strike straight into reality. Or otherwise dragged out of them like a deadweight through quicksand.

There is no peace in sleeping and there is certainly no peace in waking. Or if there is, I have never known it. Ultimately, this is what makes me open my eyes.

Continuar lendo

Helen to Julian

Hey Julian,

Thanks for your letter! We’ve never been to Cirenworth but it sounds beautiful. Funny to think of quiet, modest Jem and Tessa living in a turreted MANOR HOUSE. It sounds like Kit’s settled in well and really become part of their family, which is wonderful to hear. And we need more pictures of Mina! Never enough pictures of Mina! I will drop a line to Tessa immediately.

But mostly I wanted to say: please don’t worry yourself about Ty and Kit. You’ve got a house to renovate and fairy renovators to manage and a ghost to help and a curse to break…it’s a lot on your plate already. You know Ty, and you know he always speaks his mind. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to talk with us about Kit. Whatever happened between them (and yes, we’re curious, of course we’re curious!) we have to respect his wishes.

Besides, you remember being a teenager. It is a time of HIGHEST DRAMA. (Uh, admittedly, your teenage years contain some specific drama that most people’s don’t, e.g. the civil war in the Clave, Malcolm, you turning into a glowing giant stomping on people.) (Yes, we know you didn’t actually stomp on anyone.) With a little more time and distance from whatever happened, I bet Ty will eventually come around and want to talk about it. We just need to give him time. And maybe Ty needs more time than most people. (For instance, it turns out he needs more time than Kit.)

Either way, please don’t worry too much. You know as well as I do that Ty is stronger than he seems. He’ll be all right.

Thanks for the picture, which Aline is going to have printed out at the drugstore so we can hang it on our well. I think we’ll put it in the kitchen—I miss our CHAOS BREAKFASTS. (Aline has come by to read this and she says that she is going to switch her primary Shadowhunter weapon and start training to fight with Chaos Breakfasts.) Here’s a photo for you in return! Tavvy has gotten deeply into Pokemon, which is very cute and also worrying. Will memorizing 700+ imaginary monsters get in the way of his learning the names of actual demon types or weapons? We worry he won’t be able to tell the difference between a glaive, a guisarme, and a bec de corbin!

Love you, love to Emma and hey, love to the ghost, ghosts need love too,

Helen

Dru To Kit

Alistair had Thomas diary!!!!! Why am i crying?

Tessa to Sophie

Dear Sophie,

My beloved Sophie, you will never read this. On the bottom shelf of the bookcases built into the far wall of my bedroom here in Cirenworth—Cirenworth! you say, but ah, I will explain—are my diaries, in all shapes and forms, from leatherbound quartos of heavy ivory pages to spiralbound ruled notebooks for children to use in school. There are gaps, sometimes of years, and a few that have been lost or damaged, or whose paper was never intended to last as long as I have lived. But each of them is written to someone—I never understood “Dear Diary,” as though Diary were a person I might want to know my thoughts. But you, of course, I do wish to know. And it has been many decades, Sophie, since I have started one of these diaries and addressed it to you. But today brings a fresh start in a new volume, a lovely little book of swirly Florentine paper, and so I address it to you:

Hello, Sophie Lightwood, née Collins, my first true friend in London. You have been gone so long. And yet it also seems only a moment; I turn and see your graceful figure as you hurry down the hall with a basket in your arms, or the way you smiled when you said you were allowed to speak to Will however rudely you liked (and he did deserve it at the time!) or the way you laughed with Gideon over scones.

So: Cirenworth. I live here with Jem now, you know. He is no longer a Silent Brother—well, that is not relevant to my entry today so I suggest you consult one of the earlier diaries to catch up and come back when you’re done. And we have just been visited by his cousin Emma Carstairs, and her paramour, Julian Blackthorn. (Don’t worry; the Blackthorns of his generation are quite kind and friendly!) She has been keeping a diary herself, to record their restoration of Blackthorn Hall in Chiswick, which has remained mostly unoccupied all this time and has fallen into ruin. (Well, further ruin, I suppose.) And, of course, that old pile of bricks has all kinds of magical problems that they’re having to sort out, although of course they were also eager to see us—Jem and I, and Mina and Kit.

Yes, I’m a mother again, Sophie, and that makes me miss you. How good it was to have you by my side in those early days. I remember one evening, when there was a gathering at the Institute—some sort of party, it doesn’t matter, but James was a baby and Thomas was a baby. Someone, maybe old Lysander Gladstone, was trying to engage us in conversation, and I remember we fell asleep against one another right there on the loveseat, and the babies too. When we woke up it turned out Lysander had been highly offended and Will had had to explain to him about babies and new mothers. And we both startled because the children were gone, but of course Will and Gideon had come and retrieved them and put them in the nursery, and let us nap together there.

I miss those moments with you.

Mina is only a toddler, and Jem’s daughter, and thank the Angel she has something of his temperament. It has been a long time since I had to chase a little one across the dining room floor, but she is sweet-natured and easygoing, most of the time. And we have an older son, Kit, who came to live with us after his father was killed. He is a distant relation in the Herondale line, but he does not feel distant at all. He completes our family in a way I could not have imagined, and in a way I’m sure he never expected. He is also a teenager, and he had his own life before he came to us, so between those truths he often keeps things to himself. And so—as one does with teenagers—I worry about him. He has friends—even a girlfriend, if I’m correct in my observations—and he loves Mina with a fierceness that often surprises even him. But there is a heaviness in the way he carries himself sometimes, a sadness that he won’t, or can’t, speak to us about. And maybe it is only that he’s faced so much loss so young, but I can’t help the feeling there’s something more.

I do want to tell you more about Kit, and where he came from—it’s all much more dramatic than you’re probably imagining—but it is late and I can talk to you about Kit anytime. I wish instead to digress and tell you about Julian and Emma’s visit.

They are pulling at the knots of a few mysteries regarding Blackthorn Hall—a curse on the house that dates back to guess who, Benedict Lightwood (I know, Sophie, who could have guessed). And a ghost, benign but faint and unidentified, probably trapped by the curse. There are a whole set of objects, it seems, connected to the curse, and the ghost told them to bring one of them here to Cirenworth—hence their visit, though as I say, I don’t think they minded an excuse to see Kit or Mina.

We were washing up after supper and Jem—you know how Jem is—said straightaway to them, well, let’s see these objects you found.

Julian fetched them from his bag and put them on the counter: a silver-plated whisky flask, quite tarnished, and a dagger, also quite banged up by time. Neither meant much to me at first—as you’ll know, both flasks and daggers are very common in London Shadowhunter homes, even today—but Jem recognized the weapon immediately.

He pointed at the inscription on it and read out, “I wanted so much to have a gleaming dagger, that each of my ribs became a dagger.”

Both Julian and Emma fairly goggled at him. (I also think they don’t realize that Jem does things like this precisely so people will goggle at him; he only pretends to be perfectly dramatic by nature.) “You know it?” said Julian, while at the same time Emma said, “You read Farsi?”

“I’d recognize it anywhere,” Jem said. “It belonged to my cousin, Alastair Carstairs, though it came to him from his mother’s family.”

“The ghost said to bring it here,” Emma said. “To bring it home.”

Jem picked up the flask, which turned out to have a monogram on it. “Oh my,” he said, his voice quiet, and showed me the initials.

My poor dear Matthew. He came into my mind immediately, with his laughing eyes and his bright smile. Julian said they’d already figured out it was his. But that was very strange, I pointed out, because if Benedict was responsible for the curse, he was dead almost ten years before Matthew was even born. Julian started to say it didn’t make sense to them either, and was part of the mystery still. But then there was a sudden loud clicking, which turned out to be the Sensor they had with them that their brother Ty modified for ghosts. (Ty is a whole other fascinating topic, Sophie, but he will have to wait for another day.) They—I mean Shadowhunters in general, not just Julian and Emma—are still using Henry’s demon Sensor invention all these years later!

The Sensor led us to the library. Emma seemed dubious.

“Come on,” she said to the Sensor. “I’m sure the Cirenworth library has been haunted for years.”

“Not to my knowledge,” Jem said. “Although there are houses in the English countryside where if you brought that thing inside it would howl like a police siren. Cirenworth has been well-maintained continually and the owners have always been very thorough about ghosts.”

Using a Sensor to find a ghost is not quite like using it to find a demon. You can tell you’ve found a demon because, you know—the demon is standing there. With ghosts it’s much more a game of “hotter” and “colder,” and eventually we all agreed the clicking was loudest in front of one particular shelf. We took the books down from that shelf and lay them on the table and checked them with the Sensor, and the winner was a quarto book bound in leather. Nothing on the spine, but a quite beautiful compass rose etched into the front.

We opened it, and when I saw the inside, I gasped. And I knew I would be writing this new diary of mine, to you. You would know it yourself—cramped, neat handwriting, with a strong leftward slant, and entirely in Spanish. It was your son’s journal, of course. Thomas’s. My heart! My memories raced back to you holding him, such a small child (who grew to be such a tall broad-chested man!).

Emma was looking through it. This was the first she’d heard of Thomas, perhaps (there are still Lightwoods around, never fear, but they live in New York), so of course she didn’t have the sentimental reaction Jem and I did. “The problem, of course,” she said, “is that my Spanish is terrible.”

So then Julian of course teased her a little, because Emma’s best friend Cristina is from Mexico City. Emma said that was the problem, whenever she needed to read or say anything in Spanish Cristina could just help her.

“Do we need it translated?” Julian said. “We don’t know that it has anything to do with the curse or the ghost. The flask was just a flask as far as we know, right?”

Jem was shaking his head, though. He put the flask and dagger down next to the book and gave them a look. “I don’t know if you realize it, but these three objects all come from the same era. The owners of all three were the same generation and almost the same age. They were all friends.”

And then I could see all of them in my mind—Thomas, Matthew, Alastair, but also Christopher and Cordelia and my own James and Lucie. It was all so long ago, but I could call up their faces as though it were yesterday. As I can call up yours, Sophie. I looked at Jem and I could tell he was thinking the same thing, but all he said to Julian and Emma was, “It can’t be a coincidence. But Benedict Lightwood never knew any of them, he’d been dead for years by then. Are you sure he’s the one responsible for the curse?”

Emma said they were fairly sure—that they’d been reading a diary they’d found in the house that spelled it out. Whose? Oh, Sophie, you have already guessed. Tatiana Blackthorn’s.

“She was about our age, I think,” Julian said. “Maybe a little younger. He told her about the curse and the objects.”

I think Emma saw the expression in my face and Jem’s. “Did they…” She touched the flask, the dagger, the book, one after the other. “Matthew, Alastair, Thomas, did they know Tatiana Blackthorn?”

“She knew them,” Jem said darkly.

“She hated them,” I explained. “She hated all our families—the Herondales, the Carstairs, the Fairchilds. And the other Lightwoods. She became…rather more and more unpleasant as time went on. More and more obsessed, I might say, with harming us.”

Julian had been looking into the distance. Now he suddenly turned to take in the objects on the table. “She changed the enchantment,” he said. “She replaced some of the objects. Maybe all of them.”

Clever Julian! We all knew at once it was the likely answer.

“Why, though?” said Emma. “Maybe some of the things Benedict used were lost.”

When Jem spoke, his voice was harder than I’m used to hearing it. “I don’t know how she comes across in her journal. When she was younger she was more mild. But in Tatiana’s heart was a terrible, grasping desire for power. For control. There need not have been anything wrong with Benedict’s curse, for Tatiana to have wanted to make it hers.”

He was right, my dear Sophie, and his words filled my heart with dread. Tatiana cannot hurt Juliana and Emma. She is long gone. But she reaches out from the years past to bring her evil even to today. Whomever this ghost is at Blackthorn Hall, I pray, at least, that it is no one that we loved.

objectifying men in armor will literally never get old. like, work it shiny boy. hit ‘em with that old razzle dazzle you fuckin trash can. hottie! (tucks $5 into your cuirass) 

Put my in coach. Let me know when its done so i can cry, please. Tks.

Just letting you know that I’m currently working on a Ruhnlidia enemies to lovers modern AU with some protective Ruhn sprinkled on top. Will let you know when it’s done, although I still don’t know if it’ll be a really long one-shot or a multi chapter. We’ll see 👀

♡ 365 days of delena ♡ ↳ (26/365) insp

Am I the only one imagining Dru knitting a hat for Ash to cover his ears in public

“Until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed. You can bandage the bleeding with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work, with cigarettes, with sex; but eventually it will all ooze through and stain your life. You must find the strength to open the wounds, stick your hand inside, pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past - the memories - and make peace with them.”

— Iyanla Yanzant

give it up for 2022

When Edgar Allan Poe said : “tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway” and when Hozier said “I wouldn’t fall for someone I thought couldn’t misbehave.”