Latest Posts by booklover-sleeplover - Page 5

Yes, please!

It’s been a really long time since the last date Max had been on. His entire world seemed bleak and dreary, the gray skies and endless rain didn’t help his general mood and demeanor. Not that Roswell usually had rain, or much precipitation at all.

“I’m not sad,” he says again, shoving the cabinet door closed. Changing his mind at the last moment and leaving the tequila bottle hidden, even if all he wanted to do was drown in it. Pulling long shifts at the bar also didn’t help his general loneliness and urge to drink.

“That’s what you keep saying,” Isobel says from where she’s draped across the back of the couch. She’s the only reason Max isn’t neck deep in booze and watching reruns of NCIS.

He gives his sister a harsh glare, “I’m not lonely either.”

“We’re throwing a singles party at Rosa’s galleria,” she says simply. “People are coming from out of town to celebrate Roswell flooding due to alien influence.”

Okay, let’s do this one last time, yeah? For real this time. This is it. My name is Miles Morales.

SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE (2018)

Tessa to Maryse

Dear Maryse,

As one mother to another, I’m writing to you for advice. It’s been many many years since I was raising children, and when I say many years, I mean more than a century. And now I find myself in that position again. Although we have not talked frequently, I have often thought what a wonderful mother you must have been and continue to be. After all, your children have turned out so wonderfully. Isabelle is so brave, Alec such a leader, and Jace, well, I can only tell you that I know what an excellent example of a Herondale is, and he is one.

I also know that you have experienced profound loss and grief, and that you understand it.

I am writing to you about Kit. He too is a Herondale, and I believe that he will be an excellent example of one as well. But like all Herondale men (and the girls, too, believe me I know!) he is very private and secretive. On the whole Jem and I wish nothing but to respect his privacy. But when comes the time when worry requires one, as a parent, to intervene?

A few nights ago after dinner I stopped by Kit’s room to give him his phone (he is forever losing it and leaving it somewhere!), and I found that he was not there. Glancing out the window, I could see him outside, standing in our front garden. He had his back to me and appeared to be staring off into the distance, but I could tell by the way he was standing and the movements of his shoulders that he was agitated. Concerned, I followed him outside. I came up behind him quietly, not wanting to startle him. Perhaps I came too quietly. I realized immediately that he was talking to a ghost—I’ve had experiences of such things before. As is always the case in this kind of situation, I could hear only his side of the conversation.

Kit said, “If you keep trying to talk to me about this, I’m not going to be able to see you anymore.” Then he said, “Of course I believe in forgiveness. But some things are so terrible that you never want to revisit them.” There was a long pause. I thought maybe it was over. And then he said, “Don’t you understand? Everytime you bring him up, it tears another piece out of my heart.” Then he turned around, and of course saw me, standing on the path outside the house. He didn’t say anything, just gave me a sort of betrayed look and ran inside.

The next day of course he just pretended that nothing had happened. I just don’t know what to do. Should I leave him alone to work through this on his own? I always figured there must be ghosts at Cirenworth—Kit has informed me that there is a ghost dog that he plays with sometimes, a retriever I think —but I can’t imagine any of them as malicious or hurtful. And indeed it didn't sound as though he were afraid of the ghost, but as though the ghost brought back dark memories of his past. Perhaps of his father? I just don’t know what to do. Jem thinks we should let him work it out on his own, as he is a teenager, but then I remember my first two children, when they were teenagers, how there were times when they did need my help. (I am very much hoping that Kit is not having a tempestuous affair with a ghost, as I’m not sure I could go through that again.)

It’s keeping me up nights worrying. If there’s any advice that you have, I’d love to hear it.

I’m enclosing a picture of Jace and Clary with Kit and Mina, last time they visited. They look so happy!

All best,

Tessa

#hope snapping a man’s neck with her thighs is something that can be so personal

James? My love? The Gracelet? WHHYYYYYY?!!!!!??

Magnus to Alec

Dear Alec,

Before anything else, I just want to mention once again that you are by far the handsomest man I have ever met, with the most beautiful blue eyes, and what I love most about you, among so, so many other features, is that you are a man of incalculable understanding, patience, and forgiveness.

Yes, this is our vacation. Yes, you and the kids are lounging on the soft white sands of St Barths, as is good and right. Yes, I have had to dash to London on urgent business involving Blackthorns. Yes, I have been receiving your many supportive texts, accompanied by your many photos in which you look angry while holding umbrella drinks.

No, I will not be back today. You must imagine me saying this with the heaviest of sighs and the most forlorn look. I need one more day. Blackthorn Hall is haunted—which I could have told anyone who had bothered to ask, I’ve never known a more obviously haunted place in my life—and none of the little Blackthorns (who I suppose are no longer quite as little as all that) have had to deal with this kind of ghostiness before.

So again, let me commend you for your forbearance in this time of trial. That is not sarcasm, just formal! I really mean it!

Love you, Alec. See you tomorrow night. The next morning at the absolute latest -

To the Greatest Man Who Has Ever Or Will Ever Live,

It will be tomorrow morning. I was meaning to depart tonight, but it is now very, very late, and I have had no small amount of wine, and these are not the conditions by which I would feel quite safe opening a Portal. It will not do me any good to return to St Barth if I show up on top of the Gustavia Lighthouse.

So since I cannot yet sleep, but must, let me quickly fill you in.

The Blackthorns are fixing up Blackthorn Hall—fancy that—and while I understand they are now properly adults, they are still young enough to use a hundred year old Ouija board they found hidden in the walls. Didn’t have a planchette? Not a problem, we will just make one out of scrap without reference to the wood or the ley-lines or any of the— Sorry. I couldn’t help it, it’s such the Shadowhunter stereotype. Leap before you look. In fact, just leap. Leap whenever and wherever.

As it turns out (spoiler alert!) the spirit of the house—at least the restless one—means no apparent harm and is just your standard everyday “ghost looking for its missing bauble to move on” situation, as you’ll see. But I was more alarmed for it being the house in Chiswick. Many generations of Lightwoods lived in it over many years, and there always seemed a dark shadow over the place. In the mid-19th it was the home of, I’m sorry to say, a very bad Lightwood, definitely one of the worst Lightwoods, and after that, well, its fall from grace was precipitous. I cannot say from what time period this ghost might date, but given its reaction to the name “Blackthorn”, I had my worries.

Anyway, by the time I got to the house, Julian and Emma had managed to cause the Ouija board to, you know, magically shatter into a dozen pieces. I magicked it back—note for future reference, easier to magically repair something that was magically broken in the first place rather than with, say, a hammer—and produced a makeshift but actually calibrated and warded planchette. And burned their planchette in a fire. Outside.

It was quick enough at that point to contact the presence in the house, who was indistinct, probably from being alone for the past hundred-odd years. Let me tell you, Alec love, I was worried then. I was worried that this ghost was someone I knew. Someone I cared about, once. It probably isn’t—most of them would have no reason to be ghosts at all, much less ghosts stuck here—but once the thought occurred to me, I couldn’t put it aside. I tried to ask but you know how ghosts are. “I do not now know you,” it said. Great. But did you know me when you were alive? Just “I do not now know you.”

Anyway the thing was peaceful enough. We finally got around to the topic of why he is a ghost—we got enough of a spoken voice to know the voice is male, at least. He spoke aloud, and firmly. I am bound here by a silver band, he said.

Whether this silver band is a ring, a bracelet, a handcuff, the concept of “the ties that bind,” or a group of robot musicians, I have no idea. But it’s normal enough for a ghost to be bound by an object and to be looking for the thing that binds them. I honestly didn’t get a negative vibe from the guy. I’m… let’s say ninety percent sure that it’s not the aforementioned Bad Lightwood, at least. I told Julian and Emma there was no harm in their keeping an eye out for a silver band during their cleanup of the house, but not to worry themselves sick over it. This felt like wise advice at the time, although we had all had quite a bit of wine at that point.

The wine was in fact drunk continually throughout the evening, as there are some salvageable bottles from the cellar—rather amazingly, although I don’t know, maybe Shadowhunters have wine preservation runes somewhere near the back of the Gray Book. And drinking red wine while talking to a ghost just seemed, I don’t know, the right pairing? But of course now I have a splitting headache from a combination of sulfites and light necromancy. I am going to put myself to long-overdue sleep, and then tomorrow at six in the morning your time please tell le garçon I would like waiting for me a café allongé, very hot and a sidecar, very cold. I will then entertain the children for the rest of the day while you, my love, my all, take a nap and join us whenever you please.

With all my love, all my kissin’, you don’t know what you been missin’,

M.

Happy Halloween!

Updated Flower Cards for Dru and Ash by the spookily talented Cassandra Jean!

When the very fabric of existence starts to tear the last piece to go will be my love for her.

when Richard Siken said I will come back from the dead for you and when Hozier said no grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her and when Mahmoud Darwish said speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life my god there’s something about a love that extends past the rationality life and death

Dru texts Kit

Shit Just got real

“Vasilisa The Beautiful”

Lucie Herondale’s fairytale in “All the stories are true” by @cassandraclare and @cassandrajp

Vasilisa at the Hut of Baba Yaga, by Ivan Bilibin

By his first wife, a merchant had a single daughter, who was known as Vasilisa the Beautiful. When the girl was eight years old, her mother died. On her deathbed, she gave Vasilisa a tiny wooden doll with instructions to give it a little to eat and a little to drink if she were in need, and then it would help her. As soon as her mother died, Vasilisa gave it a little to drink and a little to eat, and it comforted her.

After a time, her father remarried; the new wife was a widow with two daughters of her-own from her previous marriage. Vasilisa's step-mother was very cruel to her, as-were Valilisa's step-sisters, but with the help of the doll, Vasilisa was always able to perform all the tasks imposed on her. When Vasilisa came-of-age and young men came trying to woo her, the step-mother rejected them all on the pretense that it was not proper for younger girls to marry before the older girls, and none of the suitors wished to marry Vasilisa's step-sisters.

One day the merchant had to embark on a journey. His wife sold the house and moved them all to a gloomy hut by the forest. One day she gave each of the girls a task and put out all the fires except a single candle. Her older daughter then put out the candle, whereupon they sent Vasilisa to fetch light from Baba Yaga's hut. The doll advised her to go, and she went. While she was walking, a mysterious man rode by her in the hours before dawn, dressed in white, riding a white horse whose equipment was all white; then a similar rider in red. She came to a house that stood on chicken legs and was walled by a fence made of human bones. A black rider, like the white and red riders, rode past her, and night fell, whereupon the eye sockets of the skulls began to glow. Vasilisa was too frightened to run away, and so Baba Yaga found her when she arrived in her giant, flying mortar.

Baba Yaga said that Vasilisa must perform tasks to earn the fire, or be killed. She was to clean the house and yard, wash Baba Yaga's laundry, and cook her a meal. She was also required to separate grains of rotten corn from sound corn, and separate poppy seeds from grains of soil. Baba Yaga left, and Vasilisa despaired, as she worked herself into exhaustion. When all hope of completing the tasks seemed lost, the doll whispered that she would complete the tasks for Vasilisa, and that the girl should sleep.

At dawn, the white rider passed; at or before noon, the red. As the black rider rode past, Baba Yaga returned and could complain of nothing. She bade three pairs of disembodied hands seize the corn to squeeze the oil from it, then asked Vasilisa if she had any questions.

Vasilisa asked about the riders' identities and was told that the white one was Day, the red one the Sun, and the black one Night. But when Vasilisa thought of asking about the disembodied hands, the doll quivered in her pocket. Vasilisa realized she should not ask, and told Baba Yaga she had no further questions. In return, Baba Yaga enquired as to the cause of Vasilisa's success. On hearing the answer "by my mother's blessing", Baba Yaga, who wanted nobody with any kind of blessing in her presence, threw Vasilisa out of her house, and sent her home with a skull-lantern full of burning coals, to provide light for her step-family.

Upon her return, Vasilisa found that, since sending her out on her task, her step-family had been unable to light any candles or fire in their home. Even lamps and candles that might be brought in from outside were useless for the purpose, as all were snuffed out the second they were carried over the threshold. The coals brought in the skull-lantern burned Vasilisa's stepmother and stepsisters to ashes, and Vasilisa buried the skull according to its instructions, so no person would ever be harmed by it.

Later, Vasilisa became an assistant to a maker of cloth in Russia's capital city, where she became so skilled at her work that the Tsar himself noticed her skill; he later married Vasilisa.

LINK TO PHOTOS

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added/removed) there’s no problem: @coffee-fandoms-and-chaos @rinadragomir @casualsthings s @cordaisya @lucie-blackthorns @sleep-hath-eluded-me @summergrace-art @revvs-trash @judeduarteismypresident @simpforheronstairs @imherongraystairstrash @ghostwriterfest2021 @spooky-drusilla @runecarstairs @queenlilith43 @phoenix-and-dragon @blackthorn-trash @livvyheronstairs @ohcoolnice @runeless-parabatai @queenmollixofshadows @lord-jethro @nc-scketch @moonysbungeoppang @mysticstrawberryballoon @neo-lightchild-decafineator @blacktothepink @littlx-songbxrd @julianblackthorn23 @luciehercndale @noah-herondale-lightwood

DRU MY BELOVED!!!!

EXCUSE ME WHAT

Dru and Ash in Faerie, from The Wicked Powers | Art by EK Belcher

The Princess Bride (1987), dir. Rob Reiner

Am i running on two hours sleep and a pot of coffee? Maybe? Are my hands shaking and my throath scrachy? Definitly.

2022 is for the gays and the gays alone

Can i ask for it?

Traded my heart for a lap dance.

Damian Wayne woke up with a killer headache and dry mouth. His head pounded, the light playing across his eyes causing him to instinctively bury himself deeper into the bedsheets. He wondered what the hell he drank the night before to make his head hurt like this. He did not recall having more than three drinks…it was possible he had more. When was the last time he was hungover? Jon’s seventeen birthday but he could be wrong as the alcohol or whatever he had ingested last night, clearly affected his brain functions.

After counting to twenty, he decided it was time to face reality and find a way to get rid of this bothersome, intense headache. A cold shower and black coffee will do. He was cautious opening his eyes slowly because he knew more pain was forthcoming. The room only spun for a second before the world righted itself and Damian was able to scan his surroundings. He recognized the place immediately. His room. Looks like somehow, he had managed to get in his hotel room despite his state of inebriation.

There were clothes scattered on the floor, bottles of champagne and his favorite wine half-empty, not too far from the bed. Glancing around, quickly spotted his own underwear halfway across the room. At that moment he realized he was completely naked. Obviously he had gotten some kind of action last night. The kind that is too hard to resist when you’re intoxicated, especially when it has been too long since the last time he engaged in such activities. The physical intimacy and the endorphins release when you reach climax. But Damian Wayne did not give into temptation easily. No. He concentrated on breathing in and out for a few moments while he furiously tried to recall the night’s events.

A flash of memory lit up his mind.

Eager and warm hands venture beneath his shirt, fingers digging deeper, and deeper into his back and a part of him wishes it leaves a mark. A memento of this night. Lips pressing hungrily into his own as if they were claiming him, telling him they belong entirely to her. Tresses of ebony hair tickle his neck and a skilled mouth trails kisses down his throat, exploring with her tongue and teeth as slender fingers tangle in his hair. The small, ragged moans and gasps she makes ignite a fire in his chest, spreading desire to the rest of his body and Damian can’t contain himself any longer; he needs to have all of her.

Scrunching his eyes shut he willed himself to remember more. After a minute of trying, he came up with a blurry impression of sitting in the vip room he was offered, the hypnotizing movements of well-rounded hips. Piercing, dark blue eyes with a light tint of violet in them. They were dazzling, mystic, as if they were not from this world. He couldn’t think of anything more fascinating than watching this woman dance. Each movement was pure torture making his mouth dry.

“Everyone here calls me Raven, Mr. Wayne.” She had said with a playful smirk. Damian could feel the entire heat of her gaze, hungry and teasing and hunting for more.

Piecing together the bits of information from last night and the flashes of memories coming to him. It’s quite evident that he spent the night with the beautiful, exotic dancer he met at the nightclub. It was only reaffirmed when he noticed the blanket moving next to him. There she was still sound asleep; half-buried so deep under the charcoal duvet he failed to see her when he first opened his eyes. She was breathing evenly, sleeping peacefully beside him. One arm curled under the pillow, and the other stretched unconsciously as if trying to find something she needed. And then he spotted something curious; a ring on the third finger of her left hand. Not just any ring. A diamond ring sparkling there. A piece of jewellery that was not there last night, that was given to symbolize commitment. A lifelong promise that one makes to another. The union of two hearts that pledged a sacred vow to spend a lifetime together as Grayson had poetically expressed a thousand times after proposing to Gordon.

What the fuck happened last night?

Damian swallowed hard. “This has to be a fucking joke.”

Just messing this draft here for the I accidentally married the stripper I met last night AU nobody asked for but it’s here. @ravenfan1242 😂😂😂

— Erin Hanson

they’re my family alex

alright maybe but you’re mine

— happy birthday @angsty-nerd 🌸

OH MY GOD! THANK YOUUUUU

I loved it

Can i please get a

Ash and Dru meeting in TWP

PLEASEE

Also thank you for volunteering yourself as tribute i cannot create so i will Just have to wait for you guys

I think their first meeting would be a fight

Send me tsc drawing requests

@booklover-sleeplover @cassandraclare

Literary classics: Arthuriana  

So many scholars have spent so much time trying to establish whether Arthur existed at all, that they have lost track of the single truth that he exists over and over. — John Steinbeck

I Just spend 30 minutes trying to find a movie for my mom, just so i could find out it was the Doctor Who episode where he meets Shakespeare she accidentally whatched with me.

— lang leav

I'm literally crying

Pop over to https://secretsofblackthornhall.tumblr.com/ to read the first installment! It'll update there every Monday starting August 16 (when you can expect the second post) — the first post is just to give a preview of the story! Expect the characters from TDA — Emma, Jules, Kit, Dru, Ty, Kieran, Cristina, Mark, Diana, etc — and a bunch of history dating back to TID and TLH. It's a serialized novel (that takes place about fifteen months after the end of TDA) that will be posted online for free and have a bunch of multimedia, with contributions from artists like Cassandra Jean, sound files, text conversations, and all sorts of fun stuff. It'll run until next August — and hopefully give us all something to enjoy!

HAVE FUN!

Heyo.

Because you are into Marvel, I was wondering if I could share/tag you in this Loki song I wrote? And if you have any type of creative stuff such as art or fics, we could have a look/share? ^_^

Sure. More content to become obsessed about. 🙂

Bitty is poor

Like... right?

why are all of Two Feet's songs music to smash to?????????? They're all so sexy but it's literal nonsense I do not understand

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