#as much as i can imagine the revelation being more angsty or has tension i cannot deny that this one would be accurate HAHA | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fortuna-et-cataclysmos · 2 years

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Fortuna's fanfics Master List

Looks like I unlocked the achievement of needing to have a fanfics master list, so here we go:

🐾 Miraculous Ladybug 🐞

Sacré-Coeur, 19h Jeudis: Established Ladynoir, no identities known. Fear of losing each other. A bit angsty, but also fluffy.

A Miraculous Christmas: Pre-reveal pre-relationship Adrinette Christmas fluff with light tones of angst. Secret Santa gift for my pal from the Gamma Squad :)

Ten Seconds to Midnight: Shadow Moth has won. Minutes before he destroys the world, still unaware of each other's identities, Marinette and Adrien bid farewell to their partner. Super heavy angst.

Dark Mantra: This one is even darker than Ten Seconds to Midnight. Adrien faces his dark thoughts (tw: suicidal thoughts) but it all ends kind of well. Read with caution.

Falling out of love with you: Maribug tries to get over Adrien for the sake of Paris. The one person she finds to help her through this is Chat Noir. Angst but also frustration of seeing the two blorbos help each other get over each other while falling more for each other in the process.

a lifetime of a second: Completing S5E4 Jubilation from Chat Noir's point of view. What happens after he is hit by the Jubilation magic. Ladynoir angst. Season 5 spoilers.

Hanging by a Thread: Marinette's POV of the Marichat events and near akumatisation in S5E9 Elation. Season 5 spoilers.

Mauve, Magenta, and Black: Me imagining what might happen where S5E22 left off. Ladynoir and love square schenanigans.

A Duty to Love: S5E10 Transmission fix-it where Marinette and Adrien think about their superhero partner before giving up on their miraculous and meet for one last time.

Waltzing in Squares: 2022 xmas and new year's fluff fic. Marinette, Adrien, Ladybug, Chat Noir are invited to the Christmas Charity Ball at Le Grand Paris. Identity schenanigans, infinite mutual pining, and lots of waltz ensue. Fairy tale dance tropes with a Miraculous twist. (on hiatus)

Miraculous Fanscripts (ongoing multipart)

This is where I try my hand at writing the full script of some fan-made episodes, set in season 4. It basically focuses on the Ladynoir tension and Marinette's Chat Blanc trauma, while ignoring other plotlines like Felix and Luka knows™️.

Like the real episodes, these can mostly be enjoyed independently, but it would be much more fun if you read them in order.

Dramaturge: a fangirl of the in-universe Ladybug and Chat Noir movie gets fed up with a cliffhanger and gets akumatised. Crack humour and Chat Blanc angst wrapped in one fic.

Skin Crawler: Alya is kidnapped by an akuma and LB and CN must save her asap because, well, as Chat learns, Alya knows LB's real identity. may or may not include a Miraculous renouncement

Hard Broken: Adrien is finally akumatised (they did it, they broke him, or did they?)

Collector 2.0: when Gabriel is akumatised (smh), Ladybug has no choice but to trust the Cat Miraculous to... Adrien Agreste. Oblivious Adrinette lovers, this one's especially for you.

Sound Biter: As Adrien learns that his father is none other than his nemesis, things start to get complicated in the Agreste household. Quality family angst, Adrienette being the best power duo, and Ladrien revelations, all in this episode. Did anyone say identity reveal?

Metamorphosis: FINALLY Ladynoir is back in the game, and they are stronger than ever (right?..). Marinette copes with learning that Chat Noir is Adrien, Adrien finds bliss in being able to be Chatdrien next to his Lady.

✨She-Ra and the Princesses of Power🔮

Yeah ok so, those were the days and I wrote some SPOP stuff. I don't do that anymore and I don't intend to pick it up any time soon. But I still quite like some stuff in there so I'd though I'd add them to the list, given that it is a Master list.

Adrift in Space and Time: Glimbow tensions and shipping after Glimmer's rescue, on the way back to Etheria. Filling the canon with my imagination type of thing.

Shipping the Prisoners: Post-Princess Prom, Glimbow's epic fight to escape the Horde. Scorpia POV. Again, me interpreting the missing scenes in the canon.

A Hand for Peace: Royal Medieval AU Glimbow.

For a Thousand Kisses: Post-war Glimbow discuss their relationship during a sunset beach walk.

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coraxaviary · 4 years

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Asclepius

Preface:

This is an experimental delve into x reader that became angsty and dark. It ended up with a lot of sad, not much x reader. I’m still not sure if I can write good x reader because this experiment went off the rails. It was fun to write, though.

Anyway, this is a reader insert + Roe vignette in Bastogne.

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Canon-typical blood.

In the cold, cold frozen blue-gray of French winter, the scent of blood, acrid and metallic, mixes with the drafty air of the chapel. The groans of the wounded float upwards to the heavens like a choir of battered angels. You imagine the wisps of life floating unbound from the near-dead, rising from airways like holy bits of ghost past the glass panes and through the vaulted ceilings.

Someone new is brought in screaming, and you can almost see the golden smoke of vitality leaking from his mouth with every new breath of terror. He is not exceptional. The church is filled over capacity, and you are left using cotton sheets stripped from beds.

In this church, you have learned the American words for “mother” quickly. When they leak from almost every soldier’s mouth on his way to the euphoria of death, they take a permanent place in the back of your mind. Among your universe of French, a small expanding world of English grows, against your will, pressing insistently against the inside of your head. Echoes of no and please and all the other desperate mindless pleas of the dying men grasping at their last moments of lucidity collect, like tips in a jar.

Not all men die in groaning, crying messes. Some of them just go quiet, the trickling blood streaming from small bullet-shaped shreds louder than their actual sobs. These are a little better, because you know they don’t go through their last moments in pain, even though they’re already floating away into some heaven or hell that awaits the slain of the Second World War. Some of the men actually survive, and you count yourself blessed for only a moment after you finish tying a bandage or fixing a splint, only to leave them a few moments later, leaving the rest of their lives in the copper-stained hands of fate.

You look up at the crucifix in the front of the church. Or the hands of God, you suppose, the gold of the crosses gleaming duly in vivid contrast to the floor, which is shining brighter with blood than even the yellow metal things that hang coldly at the front, like a reminder of the color of heaven in Revelation, which for this moment – this week, this month, this year – seems farther away than ever.

Mama, this one moans brokenly, crying in fear, through bubbling blood that becomes a sputtering fountain, pluming up wrongly through his airway and sheeting down his face, into his eyes, getting into his hair. At this point, you turn away, let someone else do the honors of sweeping blood off his face, telling him he’ll be alright, muttering worthless words in a language they don’t know. You’ve lost the conviction behind the sayings a long time ago, and you let someone else who has been here for a few months less do the honors.

There is movement at the front of the cathédrale again, and you look up to receive the next one. This one has nothing where there should be a hand, a forearm, and a bicep, and there are splinters of wood – more like planks – jutting out from his torso like a half-circle of a saint’s nimbus. Except these soldiers are no saints, and he is shaking with pain, uncontrolled cries coming from his mouth every few seconds when he’s moved.

It’s him, you recognize, with the one that he just brought in. The medic, who comes into town routinely with more wounded men all the time – if the bombed-out, shelled-out fragments of rubble can even be called a town. You recognize the dark hair, the steely eyes, the dutiful set of his shoulders. There is blood always on him, around him, and he is a study in lights and darks; he goes about his medic’s mission with a calm hand and soft words. You would conclude in a different time that he belonged here, in the chapel, like the messenger Hermes, delivering news of life and death, leaving red fingerprints on the paper and guiding souls like a psychopomp into the gray beyond.

But today, you see him as less of a numen and more of a man, because his lips are set in a grim line as he clutches the makeshift tourniquet in desperation, gritting his teeth and holding the man down at the same time. You rush over and fall into the choreography of staunching blood, twisting fabrics, ripping uniforms. Your arms pass over and under Roe’s as you dance over the dying man, and you think fleetingly that it is unfair that the only time you ever move so gracefully is when yet another soul is leaching away.

The man is starting to fade. Roe slaps at the side of the soldier’s face once, twice, says something to get him to stay awake. The man clutches weakly at your dress, and you let him, because it’s not important that he’s coloring your dress a little darker red when he could be saved. His eyes start to drift closed anyway, and Roe is louder and more insistent, eyes going wide and mouth opening wider in a discordant yell, saying something like no, stay awake, and lying that it’s okay, you’re gonna live until he dies finally, and you stop winding the sheets around the splinters jutting unnaturally from his side. His hands fall from your shoulders limply, slowly.

You both stare at his blue eyes, looking so alive. Blood is still making its way out of his body. It is almost as if he could draw breath any second, and you consider giving his chest some pumps to really make sure, because Roe looks heartbroken – like he frequently does in that jacket, stained with the patchwork marks of God-knows how many have passed on in his care, screaming and clutching and begging. Roe looks at the splinters in the man’s side like they are Germans themselves, and his face hardens almost imperceptibly before he reaches out, and with incongruent care to his demeanor of passing rage, he gently slides the eyelids closed before drifting back into the tired, hard-eyed state of shivering misery that is all too familiar in this bone-chilling winter.

He stays and lingers for a few minutes, helping with other men who are, in the eyes of triage, manageable. And then he disappears, and you follow, not knowing why, because outside in the snow there are the winds of chill that hold like a vice around your bones. But outside there are less dead bodies – at least where you can see them – and so you reason that this is maybe an escape. You bring some supplies for him, but you think more about Roe than the things you are giving him.

“Hey, medic.” It comes out more like médical, but it sounds similar anyways.

Roe looks up, startled for a second before relaxing in the slightest at the sight of you. It is a small comfort that he reacts like this, with a bit less tension, and you don’t know why, but you stand in front of him with arms full of bedsheets.

He gives a noncommittal grunt and then looks at the bedsheets.

“Bedsheets?” he asks, and you nod. At least you can understand this, and you sit down beside him with the box.

“All we have,” you say, hoping he understands.

He looks like he tries to smile at that, and there’s a slight relaxation in the tension of his mouth before he looks up at you and takes the box. “Merci,” he says in response, and there’s a certain familiarity in the term, like he knows enough French to get by.

“You, ah…” you trail off, grasping at English words, moving your tacky, rust-colored hands in the frigid air. The damned language. So indelicate. “Speak. Well.”

Roe’s lips curve upwards at this, and you feel a sort of satisfaction that you made this burdened Army medic smile. “I know some,” he says in a strange form of French, but with ease.

“You speak?” you say in slight surprise, because not much can evoke a substantial reaction from you anymore after being a witness to the violent delineation between life and death, listener to the countless forms of mother that these Americans use in diversity. You think you can count more than four, but this is not the time to think about that. You force yourself back to the present.

“Yeah, I do. Cajun French.”

“Hmm,” you murmur, wondering what else there is to be said, because suddenly you don’t want Roe to leave. He exudes a force of life, and you want it, thirsting after vitality amidst the cloud of death. Suddenly you don’t want to go inside the cathedral ever again, even though you know you’ll be back inside without doubt, breathing the mist of souls when someone else is brought in with their feet blown off into particles of meat.

“Don’t got anything else?” Roe asks. He holds up the box with stiff, cold arms.

“No, I am sorry,” you say. You are sorry about a lot of other things, a litany of them, in fact, like the man who died with the halo of tree wood tangling in his intestines, but you stay quiet, watching flakes of snow drift down from the heavens. Awakening memories that are just starting to be buried under a fresh snow isn’t courteous.

“Oh,” says Roe with the tone of a man who is accustomed to disappointment. “A’right.” It’s not alright, and you both know it, but you stare at his red hands and his dark eyes with something you know is unmistakable attraction, but something you know is grossly inappropriate in this time of bloodshed and chaos.

You wonder if it would be different if you had lived in America, or if Roe had met you in summertime Bastogne when the trees are green and solid and not bursting with hellish unpredictability, and when the ground isn’t frozen, but covered with grass and small white flowers. When the cathedral doesn’t look so foreboding and it is once again an expression of divinity on Earth.

But it is a dream – a universe that does not exist. You met Roe during the War to End all Wars, in a small fragmented city in the dead of winter, both of you frozen to the bone, drenched in American blood, and shivering in shared misery. You are together only as long as the forces of fate permit, until one of you is killed by bullet or shell or cold, or maybe until Roe moves away with the campaign.

When he moves away, untouched by artillery – and this is one thing you are optimistic about and hope to God you won’t regret – when he goes away, he will continue to save them from death: snatch them right from the arms of the black looming terror that seems to define the pale days of Bastogne.

Maybe you’ll move away from this place that you can barely stomach as it is, when it’s all over, and find out that Roe is safe in America or with an occupying force in England or Germany or maybe even France. If the war goes your way.

Roe gets up to leave, and you must push all of the wanting down deep and smile, hoping he’ll come back in one piece to this small, wrecked, frozen place to see you before the 101st leaves.

“I’ll see you soon?”

Roe sighs out a breath, and for a second you think of the unsaid implication that his return means another man in trouble, gurgling and charred, but the ghost of a smile touches his face. “I’ll see ya soon.”

You nod. “Good,” you say, briefly and with the least bleakness you can manage.

Roe nods. “Good.” And he turns around and leaves. You know he’ll catch a ride back into the forest, and you don’t want to watch him go, so you turn to go back into the church.

Out of the corner of your eye, he hesitates, and you think he will possibly come back and say something – anything at all that would make this better. He doesn’t, though, and you move on through the cathedral doors, thoughts of a greener France dying in your head as your mind goes directly to triage, assessing the new arrivals at the door.

You hear a car rumbling past, and know that Roe is on that one, going to save some more men from a death alone in the snow.

Some men will slip through his grasp, but he will save more than you can. It’s something about his spirit – the presence. The comfort. You can feel it and you know the men can feel it, too.

No, he’s not Hermes, you decide, looking back up at the vaulting arches of the ceiling high above – the paintings of celestial skies somehow untouched by the mire of red and stink of copper. Hermes is the one who guides the already-dead. He’s Asclepius, the one who brings them back from the brink.

You allow yourself to smile for a moment, and then you get back to work in the cathedral until you cannot continue anymore.

#band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fic #hbo war #writing

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whispersforthevoid · 5 years

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Unavoidable

Pairing: Connor x reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: Connor has been avoiding you since he deviated and you don’t know why (plot-twist: he likes you). Mutual pining, angsty with a bit of sexy and a fluffy end.

Warnings: suggestive themes, dirty talk (Connor is kinky y’all), Gavin tries to flirt with you, (let me know if you think I missed something!)

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Connor had been avoiding you ever since he came back from Jericho a deviant.

You had been his closest friend - alongside Hank- and watched him soften and grow into more than ‘the android sent by Cyberlife’.

What had you done wrong? Connor was still following Hank around like a puppy, but he wouldn’t even look at you. That just burned all the more and carved out an uncomfortable emptiness in your chest with each missed glance, every sidestep, every elevator he avoided because you were waiting inside - it was killing you. He stayed away from your entire side of the office as though you might give him a virus just by proximity.

The best part of working at DPD was steadily becoming the worst.

You were used to Connor avoiding an agitated Gavin, all of them did, but now you were on par with that? You watched Connor at his desk from the doorway as you slumped against it, knowing the moment you walked in he would coincidentally have some made-up meeting to attend.

What had you done to him? You had hoped that he was warming up to you, that you could have been real friends. Now you felt it was just your imagination. Connor was still as monotonous and unfeeling as you remembered him being - an inhuman machine. For some reason that revelation disappointed you immensely, leaving you cold and lonely.

“Y/N,” Reed appeared behind you, and you jumped. You had been buried so deep in the turmoil of Connor that you hadn’t heard him approach. You glared up into his grinning face. “You wanna get a drink tonight?”

“You know full well I don’t drink during the work week, Gavin.” You folded your arms across your chest and backed into the cold metal of the doorway as Gavin tried on his poor attempt at flirting.

“Doesn’t have to be alcohol.” He shrugged. “I just think we should get to know each other a little better.”

“Why?” You tried not to sound rude. It was hard not to detest someone so violently anti-android, even if he had only ever been nice to you.

Gavin smirked, confidence that didn’t add up coating his voice when he spoke, “You’re the office babe with a heart of gold. What’s not to want?”

Oh, fuck. Had you traded attention from Connor for attention from the office asshole? What curse had the universe placed on you?

“That’s sweet, but I’m not really feeling up to it.” You gave Gavin a kind smile, voice firm.

“What’s got ya sad?” He seemed genuinely concerned, reaching out to give your shoulder a cautious squeeze. Gavin frowned as he watched you sigh. “If you’re pining over some dude, he’s the wrong one. No one in their right mind wouldn’t want you.”

Even though it was passed off with that usual Gavin bullshit, his compliment was genuine and appreciated. If Connor wasn’t interested, maybe he could be a good distraction after all. “Thanks, Gav.”

“She was poetry, but he couldn’t read.” Gavin quoted. His body tensed a little, realising you were looking him over. He was trying to impress you.

You grinned. “His name was Jared, and he was nineteen.”

“Was that- Was that a vine reference? Aren’t those ancient?”

When he was the first thing you thought of when you woke up the next morning, you decided to take a more direct approach. Connor seemed sad in his reclusion, if that were even possible (which you very much believed it was), and that was far worse than your own loneliness.

So you sat on the edge of his desk, determined to be unavoidable. Your smile was wide when he stalked over to you, matching your bright intensity with a dark frown. Gruffly, he asked, “Can I help you, detective?”

“Just wanted to have a chat.”

He grimaced down at you, and for a moment your confidence wavered. Would Connor tell you to get lost? Jump off a pier? He didn’t care and you were an annoyance his life would be better without?

But no. He sighed - humanity really had worked its way into his circuits - and gestured down the hallway. “I believe room forty-nine is available.”

“Connor,” You began, awkwardly looking over the various knives and batons lining the walls. The weapons locker? Did he want to kill you? “Have I done something to upset you?”

He didn’t react, but you saw his LED flicker yellow for a moment. “Why would you think that, detective?”

“Well, for a start, you stopped calling me by my name. You haven’t called me ‘detective’ since our first week.” But you pushed on quickly. You didn’t want him to get hung up dismissing details with that annoyingly adorable sensible logic he could pull out of thin air. “I miss you. Did something happen? At Jericho?”

You could feel him watching you, like a phantom touch on your skin; but now you were too scared to look up. You didn’t want to see the coldness in those usually warm eyes. You had spent enough time wishing he would just look at you and now it had you crumbling.

“I deviated.” Was his voice softer, or was it just your wistful imagination again? “I believe Hank told-”

“Yes, Connor, Hank told me. Are you… okay?” You snuck a look at him in the reflection of the glass cabinets. He was looking at something with an intensity you had never seen before, as if he were an artist desperately trying to understand the majesty of a fellow’s work and just couldn’t quite grasp it.

But Connor wasn’t looking at art, no, there weren’t any sculptures or the Mona Lisa or Starry Night in the DPD weapons locker.

He was looking at your ass.

You could feel the heat blooming on your cheeks, but a wave of confidence washed over you. Maybe you did know what was going on, after all. “Connor?”

“Mmh?” He hadn’t noticed that you had caught him yet, still too engrossed.

“Are you angry with me?” You asked softly.

He finally looked up, and you glanced over your shoulder at him with a nervous smile. Connor didn’t avert his eyes, instead striding forwards as you spun around to face him.

His expression was guarded but his eyes! Finally, they were warm and full of that spark you had fallen in love with.

A cold jolt went straight to your stomach. That was something to ponder later, ‘love’.

Connor said, “No, I am not angry with you, Y/N.”

Did Cyberlife know what they were doing when they gave him that voice? “Then why won’t you work with me?”

He shook his head, trailing his gaze slowly from your eyes down to your shoes. His hands twitched at his sides, idle but wanting. Was he… scanning you?

“Your heart rate has increased, your pupils are dilated. You’re breathing harder, Y/N, and the capillaries in your face… You’re blushing.” Connor sounded surprised. He was close enough now that you had to press against the cases not to touch him.

But you wanted to, oh gosh, you really wanted to touch that perfect plastic man with his kind heart of biocomponents. You wanted to mess up that impeccable brown hair, wanted to know if it was as soft as you always daydreamed it would be. How this was only just hitting you now was beyond you.

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the electricity in the air would surely knock out the lights before the conversation was over.

“If I haven’t done anything, then why are you avoiding me, Connor?” Your words were tender and almost teasing, but that didn't make them any less sincere.

“Are you romantically interested in me, Y/N?” He avoided the question. His lips were mere inches away from your own as he spoke lowly, chocolate brown darkening to obsidian - whether it was the shadows or something else, you weren’t sure. You just knew it made your joints ache wonderfully. “Do you want me, too?”

You stood up a little straighter and Connor stooped until your noses were almost touching and your clothes brushed together, and you licked your lips knowing he was watching every move with exquisite attention to detail.

"Oh, you’re a good detective, Connor. I think you already know the answer to that." Even in heels, you had to stand on tiptoes to finally press your lips against his.

That was the permission Connor had been waiting for. Hands found your waist, sneaking under your jacket to feel what he was after. He pulled you roughly against him with his hidden strength, arching around you like a protective cloak. As he enveloped you, all you could do was grin against his warm mouth.

The kiss was sweet, if not a little hurried, as Connor tangled his fingers in your hair to angle your head so he could deepen the kiss and push his tongue past pliant lips. He tasted as ‘real’ as he felt, and while he clearly didn’t really know what he was doing his instincts had your head reeling as he anticipated every move of your tongue against his.

Through it all, you happily realised that he couldn’t get enough of you, as if a dam had broken and Connor’s torrent of repressed longing was washing over you all at once and dismantling the loneliness and rejection you had felt.

You couldn’t keep up with his hungry pace and it was getting hard to breathe as he smothered you against the cases. Everything was Connor, everything you could feel, taste, smell; it was all him, him, him. The gasps and moans he pulled from you with that kiss alone were a little mortifying but you couldn’t give less of a fuck when it felt so impossibly right.

But it was too much, and with the most painful self-control, you gently broke the kiss. Your hands rested atop his broad shoulders, squeezing them gently as you kept yourself close so you were flush against his body.

He was breathing heavily, his cooling systems whirring quietly inside his chest as he gazed down at you as if you were the Eighth Wonder of the World. You were sure he would see the same in your eyes as you stared back, trembling in his arms.

"Does it always feel like this?” Connor asked in a husky voice, tilting his head to press his forehead to yours. He held you so tightly - like you might slip through his hands like sand in an hourglass. “Do humans always feel this much?”

"I don’t know, Connor," You blushed, words mumbled. “I haven’t felt this with anyone else.”

He gave a crooked grin and leant in again to continue the kiss- but a finger on his lips stopped him.

“Connor, why did you stop avoiding me this morning? You usually run away.”

“I, uh, couldn’t resist.” Connor’s cheek flushed the lightest blue, and he was uncomfortably human. “You don’t often dress like this.”

You glanced down. Yeah, you did look pretty good in a tight pencil skirt, and it had probably been a subconscious choice to get attention. Innocently, you looked back up into his eyes, fluttering your eyelashes. You knew what worked, apparently even on androids.

“Do you want me to dress like this for you tomorrow?” Your words were sugary sweet.

“You do not work on Sundays, Y/N,” Connor said with a frowned, truly upset. “I would not see.”

“Why wouldn’t you see, Connor? I can hardly let you fuck me at work.” You sounded so genuine and blasé it took Connor a full moment to realise what you were saying. His LED cycled red and his fingers dug into your waist. There would be bruises. “And that’s how you felt when you saw me sitting on your desk today, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He pushed his hips against your stomach so you would feel him. He wanted you to know, even though he wasn’t entirely sure why or what it was. He gave a soft groan as you licked your lips. “I am not programmed for this. I am not meant to feel... lust. But when I saw you, waiting for me, I... I just...”

“Go on, Connor. You can tell me.” You spoke through a sultry pout, but your practised flirting made it seem as though this was all coincidence and Connor was just reacting intensely. The hard bulge rutting against you satisfied a few questions you had and raised even more. Your voice was soft enough to give him the control despite giving introductions, “Tell me how you felt, how you feel.”

“I wanted to make you mine,” He whispered shamefully, swallowing unnecessarily. His eyes were wider, looking down at you like he couldn’t believe you were there. “I wanted to fuck you. I needed to. I need to now.”

“Yes, Connor?” You egged him on, sliding a hand tantalisingly slowly up his chest, fingertips dipping under his blazer.

Connor gasped, blinking and shivering. It was like being touched for the first time.

“I want to know how you feel- on the outside and the inside. I cannot stop thinking about how warm you would be, how tight and wet... and for me... you’d scream my name, Y/N, I’d make you.” He was blatantly humping your hip now, quickly descending into a mess while you watched through half-closed eyes. Your lips grazed together, his voice raspy in a way you would never have anticipated as he moaned, “I’ll be gentle and loving but then I’ll fuck you rough and hard like you want. Like I want. I want you to be my little slut.”

Where had Connor learnt about sex? He had said before, on a long stakeout with Reed and Hank, that he had never had a sexual experience. Which was why you had not expected it to escalate so far, and never in a million years would you have thought Connor would dive so quickly into dirty talk. He had you dripping.

With a demure shiver, you gently pushed him back again. Fear and worry immediately cleared some of the lust clouding Connor’s eyes.

“I am sorry, Y/N, I should not have said those things, I should not have called you such a derogatory term. I am very sor-“ You kissed him, swallowing his hasty apologies. It was a very slow and languid kiss, stealing you both into a serene moment. Was there really a rest of the world, or had it always just been you two together in a slice of quiet paradise?

“No, Connor. I want to be your slut.” You whispered.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned quietly. His LED flashed red and yellow.

“But anyone could walk in here! It’s a miracle we haven’t been caught yet.”

“But tomorrow,” One of Connor’s hands tentatively slid down to slap your ass and he grabbed a handful. You kissed his cheek as he stifled another moan. Love was definitely more fun when it was requited. “Tomorrow you’re all mine.”

“All yours, Connor. To play with as you please.” You smiled again, with an innocence that should have been his. Your eyes twinkled. “You’ll make me feel so good, I know you will.”

“You must know two other things.” Connor looked pained and you were suddenly worried. Perhaps he wasn’t as kinky as you had assumed?

“Firstly, it is taking all the control my program can muster not to bend you over my desk in front of all our colleagues and fuck you till I fill you up enough that they know who you belong to,” No, definitely very kinky. Who knew, androids be wild. “So you know who you belong to.”

“And secondly,” His face softened and the hand not grasping your ass gently cupped your face. He stroked a thumb across your swollen lips with a warm smile that could melt butter. “I want you and only you. Please return the sentiments and do not share yourself.”

“No one else could compare, Connor.” You kissed his thumb. “I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“I want to assure you, my interest in you is not only physical, Y/N,” His gaze was the gentlest you had ever seen, brown eyes begging you to understand words he seemed unable to find. “I admire you greatly as a colleague and as a friend. You are the kindest person I have ever encountered.”

Oh, gosh, you were going to cry. The tears were welling, threatening to spill over. It had been such a solemn few months without him, you didn’t realise how much you had truly missed him until you had him back now. He was the sun that kept your life growing and full.

“I want you as more than a sexual means to an end, Y/N. When I deviated the first thing I felt was,” He swallowed hard, as if the memory was painful. “I felt love. For you. I was… concerned. That this would be too much, that you- that you wouldn’t want me, too.”

“Oh, Connor,” You cupped his blushing face in your hands, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as the tears finally fell. “You’ll never be too much. Whatever this is between us, Connor, it’s unavoidable.”

---

AN: okay if that was too kinky y’all gotta let me know so I can dial it back lol. But, um!! Thanks for the support on Quietly Devoured, guys <3 It means the world to me! My inbox and askes are officially open for any DBH requests you might have. I’ll put some more r!Connor x reader out soon, but how do people feel about RK900? or any of the others? Do you prefer tame or sexy pieces? Let me know!

Also! Let me know if and what you want to be tagged in for next time I post!

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sigurdjarlson · 5 years

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So, how would Diily have felt, going back to Karazhan to find Wrathion? I think you mentioned some tensions between her and Khadgar following the outbreak of war; have they resolved that by now, or are things still awkward? (I have some angsty ideas in mind of my own OCs looking in while they're there and finding him either gone or in despair... Which of those would be worse for Diily?)

Hmmm nervous. Awkward. Unsure.

I feel she visited him once immediately after Teldrassil and it didn’t go particularly..well.

Khadgar would undoubtedly be sympathetic but she wouldn’t take well to him insisting on any sort of peace talk after that or trying to talk her down from any sort of vengeance.

It just was messy with her emotions running so high and state of mind. I can see her lashing out when he tries to talk sense because it’s not what she wanted or needed to hear in that moment.

What she wanted to hear in the midst of her despair and rage was that he would fight beside her. She did not get that. Which felt like betrayal. It felt like a slap in the face. (Think raw emotion vs logic here)

And I could see him getting frustrated that she’s not getting it. He’s sympathetic and horrified by what happened to Teldrassil but he wants an end to the needless fighting. (In that moment all she wanted to do was fight)

He doesn’t quite realize how devastating of a blow this was for her. He knows she’s devastated of course , how could she not be? but I don’t think he realizes how deep it goes and how much of it was far too reminiscent of past trauma in her life. How much she feels like she’s failed.

She’s on his doorstep an absolute disaster basically and she doesn’t know how to handle any of it.

He doesn’t either.

She understands his reasoning now that she’s in a better state but then she was not seeing things so rationally.

I imagine she left in quite the fury after arguing with him about it all.

They haven’t spoken pretty much at all since I’d say and it’s mainly because they’re both waiting for the other to reach out first? It’s not for a lack of wanting to because they miss each other terribly but they don’t know where they stand after that.

Diily purposefully kept her distance for a while, she’s self aware enough to know she would end up saying things she would regret if she kept arguing with him on the subject. She knew she needed space to calm down and get her shit together before seeing him again. It’s part of why she took off from Karazhan like she did. Even as angry as she was she didn’t want to hurt him.

And the war has kept her extraordinarily busy of course so opportunities to visit have been slim.

Khadgar I imagine wouldn’t quite see it that way. Let’s be real he has abandonment issues and he’d feel abandoned. He just kind of assumes she’s done with him but he still keeps waiting and hoping for some sort of acknowledgement that just..doesn’t come until now.

And she doesn’t realize that. She highly underestimates how much he cares for her and has grown to lean on her. She genuinely would be shocked that her absence was so devastating to him. She doesn’t realize the depth of his abandonment issues either. There’s a lot neither of them realize quite yet.

So visiting him again, assuming he’s there, would be awkward. Both of them kind of testing the proverbial ice to see where they stand with each other. Are you still angry? Do you even still want me in your life?

But I feel they could at this point In time, sit down and discuss the matter much more calmly. Both the war itself and their relationship. They can talk things out. She’s seeing things much more rationally.

I can see lots of emotion tbh. Guilt on her part for leaving him. He’s deeply relieved but also slightly resentful of being more or less “abandoned” like that. I think they would be able to mend things or at the very least begin to mend things between them and become stronger for it as they learn more about each other and what the other needs. (Since a lot of this mess was from a blantant lack of communication.)

But ouch. Ah, I think finding him in despair would be more devastating to her. If he was gone she would most likely assume he’s off trying to save Azeroth. She would be worried but not shocked.

Finding him a mess would break her heart. She’d feel immensely guilty for not checking in on him. She honestly assumed he would be okay and if she thought differently she would have swallowed her pride and went there in a heartbeat.

She probably wouldn’t leave his side until he was better if he would allow it.

If I got my way he’d be helping us with N’zoth and saving Azeroth now but I’m not sure blizzard have any plans for that unfortunately. O well they’re on far better terms again in my head now that the war is sort of over and they’ve been able to talk things out.

Everyone has their rough patches and I like to think they’ll be closer than ever by the time this is all said and done. Lots of heartfelt revelations and such :’)

#asks

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beyondforks · 7 years

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Book Review: Lord of Shadows by Cassandra Clare

Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices #2) by Cassandra Clare Genre: Young Adult (Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance) Date Published: May 23, 2017 Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books

Would you trade your soul mate for your soul?

A Shadowhunter’s life is bound by duty. Constrained by honor. The word of a Shadowhunter is a solemn pledge, and no vow is more sacred than the vow that binds parabatai, warrior partners—sworn to fight together, die together, but never to fall in love.

Emma Carstairs has learned that the love she shares with her parabatai, Julian Blackthorn, isn’t just forbidden—it could destroy them both. She knows she should run from Julian. But how can she when the Blackthorns are threatened by enemies on all sides?

Their only hope is the Black Volume of the Dead, a spell book of terrible power. Everyone wants it. Only the Blackthorns can find it. Spurred on by a dark bargain with the Seelie Queen, Emma; her best friend, Cristina; and Mark and Julian Blackthorn journey into the Courts of Faerie, where glittering revels hide bloody danger and no promise can be trusted. Meanwhile, rising tension between Shadowhunters and Downworlders has produced the Cohort, an extremist group of Shadowhunters dedicated to registering Downworlders and “unsuitable” Nephilim. They’ll do anything in their power to expose Julian’s secrets and take the Los Angeles Institute for their own.

When Downworlders turn against the Clave, a new threat rises in the form of the Lord of Shadows—the Unseelie King, who sends his greatest warriors to slaughter those with Blackthorn blood and seize the Black Volume. As dangers close in, Julian devises a risky scheme that depends on the cooperation of an unpredictable enemy. But success may come with a price he and Emma cannot even imagine, one that will bring with it a reckoning of blood that could have repercussions for everyone and everything they hold dear.

Lord of Shadows is the second book in the Dark Artifices series by Cassandra Clare. I don't know what's going on, but after enjoying the first book, this one was such a disappointment. First of all, we're given many different character view points. I have no idea why nor did I have interest in some of these characters. Whenever something of interest started happening, we'd jump to someone else's perspective, then someone else's, and by the time it all came back around, my interest in their situation was long gone and replaced with aggravation. This happened a few times. Some view points were definitely needed, while other characters added absolutely nothing to the story other than an increase in word count. They were written like they were main characters, but they weren't all main character material.

There were multiple love triangles and squares, yes squares, going one, and some characters fell into more than one triangle. I think some may turn into parabatai, because that bond is an intense love too. I can see how the emotions would be confusing, but holy angsty love triangles Batman! Sometimes less is more. (Actually, that phrase applies to much of this book.) I don't feel invested in many of the characters or any of the couples at this point. Even Emma and Julian fell flat during this book. Emma's reasoning for not being honest with Julian was pointless. Plus, I feel like I've read a similar story before with Clary and Jace.

There were many moments that seemed to drag on and on. This is such a long book already, and it needs substance, not fluff. I'm all about a long book, but make it a good one with a good plot. Where was the plot anyway? Did I miss it? It looks like we may be fighting the start of a Shadowhunter run Totalitarian type government, but aside from that, I'm not sure what was supposed to be going on here. Something would happen and I'd think, "Here it is. This is what we're waiting for." Then something else would happen to negate it or someone would die, and that ended whatever I thought was starting. Instead, everything revolved mostly around angst. Whatever the first book had, this book lost every bit of it.

I feel like some of the characters are trying to set us up for another series or trilogy as well. Is that a good thing? After reading this book, I'm really not sure.

Have you read the first book in this trilogy yet?

Check out my reviews of a few books from the Mortal Instruments series!

Have you read the Infernal Devices Series yet? I LOVED this trilogy! Check out my reviews!

Cassandra Clare was born overseas and spent her early years traveling around the world with her family and several trunks of fantasy books. Cassandra worked for several years as an entertainment journalist for the Hollywood Reporter before turning her attention to fiction. She is the author of City of Bones, the first book in the Mortal Instruments trilogy and a New York Times bestseller. Cassandra lives with her fiance and their two cats in Massachusetts. To learn more about Cassandra Clare and her books, visit her website and blog.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter.

#lord of shadows #cassandra clare #dark artifices #paranormal romance #urban fantasy #book review #young adult

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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What the Zodiac Says About Your Family Dynamic

http://fashion-trendin.com/what-the-zodiac-says-about-your-family-dynamic/

What the Zodiac Says About Your Family Dynamic

Astrology is but one small block in the massive Jenga tower of family dynamics, but let’s poke it loose anyway — just for fun. It’s the holidays! With respect to our post-nuclear-family landscape, I don’t presume to know anything about your domestic life, but for our purposes, your “family” can be any group of people with whom you feel safe and loved. It can be your little brother and single mom, the funky cousins who only come around once a year, the group of ladies that you get drinks with every Friday night or your significant other. I’m not here to judge your familial crews; I’m just here to interpret what random star patterns might say about your place in them. So grab some eggnog and your sun sign and join me below for a reading of your family role.

Aries

It’s probably fairly easy to spot the Aries in your family. They’re the ones who get super-competitive during the innocent tradition of New Year’s Eve charades or come to the annual reunion with a fully rehearsed skit. This is the cousin that’s always Instagramming new tattoos or the older sibling who tries to persuade you to go skydiving.

Aries is a striking, daring sign that isn’t afraid to be the center of attention. These people will say how they feel in any situation — and that includes family dinners, get-togethers and group outings. This brash nature can rub people the wrong way sometimes. But Aries is also a fiercely loving and generous sign. You can always count on the Aries in your family to take risks for you and support you through big decisions. They’ll let you crash on their sofas anytime — just be prepared for frequent pep talks and soliloquies along the way.

Taurus

As a typical earth sign, Taurus needs structure and routine on a regular basis. But Taurus is unique in that this sign also exercises daily creativity. You probably go to a Taurus’ house every year for Thanksgiving because the meals are consistently excellent — and there’s always an extra surprise dish waiting for your approval.

Taurus often gets the reputation of materialism. In reality, Taurus simply values comfort and luxury. Their homes are always impeccably decorated; their holiday parties have perfectly curated gift bags; the presentation of the buffet table would make Chopped judges cry. Taurus revels in sharing this lifestyle with the people they love, and so they play the role of host with unmatchable grace.

Gemini

Gemini is the stereotypical fun-loving, rule-breaking family member. This is your parent’s sibling who gave you chocolate donuts for breakfast when you weren’t supposed to have sugar. This is the aunt who wears all black and travels the world, bringing you unexpected and exotic gifts on your birthday.

Geminis are highly social, attentive and energetic. Gemini is the most restless air sign, which means that both their minds and their bodies are constantly in motion. They’re always spearheading the conversations as well as the weekend outings, so don’t let this sign’s flighty reputation fool you. Chances are, the Gemini is the person blowing up your family group chat — and they’re always the one who follows through on the wildest and best plans.

Cancer

Cancer is the classic “mom” of the zodiac — they’re protective, supportive and highly expressive. If you’re blessed enough to have an actual Cancer parent, whether mother or father, you probably lived in the designated playdate house among your friends. If you have a Cancer in your friend group, they probably have the coziest, most welcoming apartment for movie nights.

Cancer is the sign that will care for you and look out for you, no matter what. They will text you after an exam to ask how it went, and they’ll offer to role-play with you to practice for a big date. If that sounds weird, Cancers are kind of weird. But they’re mature and sentimental and everything you want a family member to be, too.

Leo

Leos are strong, willful and impossibly proud. This is the family member to go to if you need someone on your side — whether you’re fighting with a sibling, trying to persuade your mom to let you go to a party, or still waiting on your friend to fulfill a Venmo request. If you manage to convince a Leo of your position, you have an ally for life. They stand their ground, and they’re not afraid of a debate.

This sign is also extremely affectionate. Leos enjoy displaying their affection in tangible ways — and while they don’t necessarily expect anything material in return, they do expect gratitude and appreciation. They feel threatened by apathy. So if you’re near a Leo this holiday season, make sure to smile extra wide when you open their present; it’ll make all the difference.

Virgo

I once described the Virgo in my friend group as “the glue that holds us together.” Four years later, it’s still completely true: Virgos are the voices of reason for many families and group dynamics. They’re the ones who will step in and mediate when you’re having a ridiculous argument about travel plans or where to eat — they’re known for their reliability and tranquility in the face of stress.

That being said, earth signs value ambition and drive, so don’t be surprised if your Virgo parent is always asking about that “upcoming promotion” or if your Virgo sibling is a straight-A’s shut-in. While those are stereotypical readings of the Virgo sign, it’s true that these people are usually meticulous, organized perfectionists. They hate useless squabbles, but they’re happy to squabble for a noble cause.

Libra

If your holiday season is typically tinged with family stress, I’d be surprised if you have a Libra in your group, as Libras are unnaturally gifted conversationalists. They are excellent at diffusing tense situations, and their optimistic outlook tends to saturate any social gathering. Unlike Virgos, Libras won’t try to face the problem head-on, mediating a situation through rational discussion; rather, they’ll distract the group with board games or memes or a particularly charming anecdote. Libras work efficiently and subtly to barter peace.

Occasionally, a Libra will come off as a try-hard. But that’s just because they hate confrontation and love to feel loved. With a Libra in your group, you’ll have access to a gym buddy, a style consultant, a person who remembers to bring your favorite wine every time they come over — and if that’s what a notorious try-hard brings to the table, who would refuse?

Scorpio

The Scorpio vibe is very much “the sibling who’s barely left their room in months and it’s becoming vaguely worrisome.” This sign can be a little angsty, intimidating or difficult to talk to. But at its core, Scorpio is a water sign that values and seeks human connection. Water signs are famously sensitive and family-oriented; Scorpios in particular possess an extremely acute intuition and can easily detect insecurities in other people.

Scorpios are contradictory in nature; while they can be highly selfish, they’re also sympathetic. This can manifest as martyrdom, particularly in familial structures. They’re very sensitive to tension and may have difficulty vocalizing their emotions to their parents (as children) or to their children (as parents). However, they’re extremely honest and spontaneous people, so be careful not to fill a Scorpio with too many secrets before they serve the wine at your family dinner party.

Sagittarius

Everyone has that family member who plans sporadic trips, builds forts for the kids’ sleepovers and always tells the best jokes — the family member who starts the party but is occasionally the reason why it ends, too. This is the essence of a Sagittarius. They usually don’t know their own power. Sagittarius is an outgoing, charismatic sign with an undeniable streak of recklessness.

Sagittarians are independent and adventurous from the get-go. If you have an archer sibling, like I do, then you may remember that they tried to run away as a child for no particular reason. Or perhaps they threw raucous parties while your parents were away but never seemed to suffer any consequences. This confidence, this lust for life, lends itself to the Sagittarian magnetism. They’re always the life of the party — even if the party is at your grandma’s house.

Capricorn

I can imagine that having a Capricorn in your household is a little like living inside of Jay Gatsby’s head. The decor is purposeful and pristine; even your parties are carefully mapped out so as to achieve a specific goal. Capricorns are hard-working, self-sufficient individuals who have a plan. I don’t know what the plan is or what it’s for — does anybody, really? — but I know that they have one.

This is why Capricorns make excellent caretakers. They’ll pour their whole heart into making sure you feel loved and safe. They’ll do anything to make sure you succeed. This is true whether you have a Capricorn for a parent, best friend or wise neighbor whom you go to for advice. A Capricorn will listen carefully and help you map a plan of attack. They’ll make sure that both your coffee and your morals are strong.

Aquarius

If you want to understand the Aquarius’ role in a family, look no further than the hero of the holiday classic Home Alone. We can debate this movie’s true intended audience until the McCallisters come home (it seems a little gory for children, no?) but Kevin’s Aquarian spirit is undeniable. First, he’s a little strange. Second, he embraces his independence from a very young age. Third, and most importantly, he’s ingenious.

An Aquarius may find themselves misunderstood within their own family dynamic, acting as a sort of outlier — perhaps not to the extent that their parents will forget them while going on vacation (twice), but an outlier all the same. Aquarius is the sign that embraces individualism and uniqueness more than any other in the zodiac. As with Kevin, this is what affords Aquarians their resourceful, inspired nature; he may be the family loner, but that’s what makes him an icon.

Pisces

Aquarius may be famously unique, but Pisces is the true eccentric of the zodiac, adorned with a deeply compassionate, understanding soul. The Pisces in your group is the person who gives you a crystal to help you ward off negative energy, or makes extremely accurate Netflix recommendations. More than anything else, Pisces is a perceptive sign. Even if your Luna Lovegood-type cousin only comes to your house once a year, she probably knows you better than you may feel comfortable with. That’s how they’re such excellent gift-givers.

Water signs, and Pisces in particular, can usually be counted on for a sympathetic ear. If you need to rant or unload — but don’t necessarily want advice — a Pisces is your best bet. They have advice, sure, and it’s probably really good, but they’d never insert themselves into your life without your explicit permission. They often prefer to remain on the outskirts, calmly observing and absorbing the emotions.

Illustrations by Allison Filice.

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