#very baz centered

[cattocavo]

A preview of my artwork for @thewholelemon ‘s wonderful fic “Just Remember Me When” - written for Carry On Big Bang. The full artwork will be released sometime in early august, so watch out for that!

This entire drawing took me 49 hours and 23 minutes, breaking my previous record of 35 hours. Unfortunately my drawing program blurred a bunch of stuff when i merged all my layers together, so bazs entire body is just a little blurry, which saddens me greatly. Ive literally never had it happen before, and it was kind of important that he was C r i s p

(Its fine, just pls procreate, dont do it again)

[stylespresleyhearted]

CCG UNIVERSE - dad! Austin

notes: this is based on Mccall’s infamous Coffee Girl universe. Two years later I’m still obsessed. Honestly she should guess this is coming. Very Dad! Austin centered but CCG is still the bestest and I love her I just want dad! Austin and had so many ideas. LOVE YOU MCCALL 🩷❣️🦖🐠

—

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coffee.girl If you’ve tried to contact me this past week, this is why I haven’t been able to get back to you. 🥹

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jillian.mua “If Daddy doesn’t see it, it didn’t happen.” - Luci 😂

coffee.girl no, seriously. Calls him multiple times a day it warms my heart.

austinfan her contact photo being austin w baby luci KILL ME

fan12 the bath one 😭 ‘member when austin said him and luci name all the birds and fishies together

austinbutler Hidden talent ♥️

fan13 i seen @coffee.girl at lunch with luci and luci was ‘vlogging’ for austin lmao what an icon

ashleybee she can call auntie ashley whenever she wants 😭💗

lennykravits Beautiful relationship between father and daughter ❤️ Isn’t it the best @austinbutler

entertainmenttonight You have broken the internet.

fan23 AND HE LOOKS SO HAPPY IN EVERY SINGLE CALL MY HEARTTT

austinupdates Did she make him a drawing of a heart 😭

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jillian.mua Someone didn’t answer the phone @austinbutler

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austinbutler Was on set. Calling back now.

coffee.girl LOL 😍

bazluhrmann She’s going to be a movie star!

fangirl1 lmaooo baz already working on her career

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people Join the poll at the link in our bio! Who do we think Austin Butler is talking to:

1. Luci Butler

2. @coffee.girl

3. someone else (enter a name)

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fan23 PLSSSS 😂😂😂😭 Luci won the poll 98% and the other two percent people said Callum 😂😂

fan13 lol the bromance that lives on forever

fangirl if you didn’t vote for luci have u been under a rock?

austinfan convinced if it wasn’t for luci austin would throw his phone away

fan43 austin and ccg are finally being a bit more open about luci pls don’t ruin it by being weird everyone

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coffee.girl 🧜🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♂️🦄🐠🐟🐬🐙🦖🦕🕊️🪸🍤🩷💜💙 daddy

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jillian.mua love love love when I get me some of these

oliviadejonge Luci-code 🥀❤️‍🔥

ashleybee Sweet girl, she’s going to break his heart 🥹 love you Luc!

ashleytisdale She’s really missing him, isn’t she? Jupiter’s the same when Chris has trips.

coffee.girl Oh yeah I’m letting her sleep on his pillow and counting down the days 😢

evalongoria They get older and they understand but missing them never gets easier. My girls are the same. ❤️ Love and strength to your family.

austinbutler Hi baby ❤️🐠 Thank you. Love you both.

austinbutler Calling now

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people No more tears! Our hearts are spared from any more Luci Butler missing her dad posts as Austin Butler reunites with his family in NYC today.

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fan13 honestly so happy for them poor baby luci was breaking my heart 😭😭

fan23 can’t imagine how austin felt having to be away for work he’s such a good father and husband. ♥️

fangirl HAPPY 4 UR BEAUTIFUL FAM 💗💗 @coffee.girl @austinbutler

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austinbutler My girls are stylin’ ❤️

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zendaya the coolest 🔥

tchalamet i see the fit 👀

fan13 wahhhh so happy they reunited !!! 😭

catherinemartindesigns Beautiful ladies. 😍

keoghan92 OI OI lucky fella ☘️

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people Spotted in New York City: Austin Butler happily watches on as his wife keeps their daughter entertained while he films.

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ccgupdates me as a mom.

fan13 LMAO PLS thats so cute! Love you so much @coffee.girl

sophieturner You’re an icon babe 🔥

coffee.girl 🤣

fan23 I love that Austin looks so amused 😂😂

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hollywoodreporter Amidst filming on Darren Aronofsky’s film for new movie Caught Stealing, Austin Butler and @coffee.girl had to console their daughter who did not enjoy seeing her dad bruised and battered. More pics at the link in bio.

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butlerfam Luci sweetheart you are SO adorable ❤️❤️❤️

fan23 i love that they’re consoling her but so obviously amused 😂

fan13 need them to adopt me like yesterday ❤️ thanks

jillian.mua This little girl owns me

ccgupdates We all know Luci don’t play about her dad 🤣

fan41 LMAO IN HER LITTLE DINO SWEATER TOO OH LUCI 😭😭

ccgfan Aw how sweet lol. Hope she’s okay! @coffee.girl

coffee.girl Haha yes thank you everyone! Took some cuddles and kisses but now she’s in the make up chair getting some matching cuts and bruises 🙄😂

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dailymail Austin Butler and his wife look gorgeous as they enjoy a solo date night

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user12 I don’t care about celebrities but I wish this family love and happiness. They do their own thing.

fan13 Austin’s life completely changed when he did Elvis 🥹

ccgfan I believe in true love bc of them

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people Another film day, another cute moment on set. Luci Butler adorably waves to taxi her dad enters during shooting.

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fan23 hahaha if u watch the video austin waves back at her

fan13 thank you Darren for having an open set so we can see all these adorable Luci moments 😭

butlerfan She’s going to be a star ⭐️

catherinemartindesigns Let’s do another film so we can have Miss Luci join us on our set. ❤️

bazluhrmann She’s going to be the lead !

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dailymail Austin Butler hangs with Luci while his wife, @coffee.girl, runs some errands.

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fan23 Luci crying when Austin was carrying the bag of potatoes flashback 😂

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butlerfamupdates Austin attentively watches over Luci as she plays on set ❤️🥹

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fan23 He’s such a great dad. His mom would be so happy and proud.

zoekravitz Luci has stolen my heart 🐠🥹 I think it’s time @channingtatum

fan41 LMAO LUC MAKING HER WANT BABIES 😭😭😭

coffee.girl She loves her Aunt Zoe ❤️

lennykravitz The Butler family is the best. I’m convinced Luci knows the entire animal kingdom. Smarty pants!

fan31 Luci is the only celebrity child who has celebrity as fans. Her power unmatched.

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austinbutler Fulfilled.

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ashleybee Can’t wait for you guys to come down so I can smooch her face off!! Love you guys ❤️

tomhardy Love to your family mate ❤️

florencepugh Can I come over soon please 😢

zendaya Aunty Z is gonna be in NYC in two days 👀👀

tchalamet @coffee.girl and Luci are part of the Dune family they gotta be there! ❤️‍🔥

krisjenner Family is blessing. Love you guys.

fan12 oh no stay away from them 😭

keoghan92 me and Brando on our way to see youse ☘️❤️

sabrinacarpenter Luci takes Short n’ Sweet MSG - sounds like a plan

coffee.girl haha she’s OBSESSED 🤩

dualipa Love from Aunt Dua and Uncle Cal! See you guys soon! 💗

butlerupdates It says so much that the Butler family garners so much love from the public and celebrities. It speaks of their humbleness, beauty, kindness, and love.

coffee.girl AUSTIN THIS ISN’T THE PHOTO WE AGREED ON!!! AGAIN!!!

—

um hi @blainesebastian blame my ovaries we talked about this

[killeromanoff]

I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 2

summary: Months after Venturer's official approval, Declan O’Hara's latest broadcast takes center stage, his incisive interview style sparking reactions from viewers—and Cassie Jones. Spending the evening at Baz’s bar, Cassie finds herself caught between reluctant admiration and lingering resentment for Declan’s relentless drive.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Themes of Corruption, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension, Alcohol Use, Realism in Media Industry, Cassie is always in distress mode

w.c: 7k

[prologue], [chapter one], [here], [chapter three], [chapter four]

o2. But I can't get her outta my sight

Declan sat in his study, a sanctuary of muted tones and understated elegance. The polished surface of his mahogany desk reflected the faint glow of the desk lamp, its circle of light casting the rest of the room into a warm shadow. Shelves of books lined the walls, their spines forming a mosaic of knowledge and ambition accumulated over the years.

A hint of cigar smoke clung to the air.

A stack of notes lay before him, meticulously organized yet untouched. He had intended to review them for tonight’s show on Venturer, he has studied and written everything down for the past week. Yet his pen had stilled, his attention wandering far from the political breakdowns and exposés he usually found energizing.

Instead, his mind was tangled in thoughts of Cassie Jones.

The doubt in her eyes was striking—not just a fleeting hesitation, but something deeper, a quiet war between uncertainty and conviction. Yet, it was that same doubt that seemed to amplify the glow of her fierce determination, as if her fears only highlighted the brilliance of her resolve.

Her gaze, dark and willful, resisted him, darting away like a bird wary of being caught.

But in those few moments when their eyes met… It was impossible to look away. There was a rhythm to her words, calculated and unhurried, as though each syllable carried a secret she was daring him to uncover. Her voice was a melody he couldn’t quite place—familiar enough to draw him in, yet distant enough to leave him looking for more.

Her lips parted and closed with the precision of a storyteller, shaping each word in a way that made even the most banal details sound extraordinary. There was a magnetism to her presence, an energy that turned a simple conversation into something unforgettable.

Not that he stared at her lips. He hadn't. If someone asked him about them, he wouldn't know what color they were. A shade somewhere between the warmth of a dusky rose and the faint blush of autumn’s last leaves.

In short, the conversation between them that early afternoon lingered—not as a memory, but as a sensation, persistent and impossible to ignore.

It felt foolish , truly. That was the best word to describe the whole situation.

He couldn’t decide what annoyed him more: the fact that his thoughts were so easily hijacked or that he had let them linger. There were always more pressing matters to deal with—scripts to finalize, segments to tighten, the never-ending negotiations with sponsors… Venturer wasn’t just a television station; it was a warfront, the last bastion of independent media in Rutshire.

And yet, here he was , caught up in the memory of a single conversation.

What made it worse was that it wasn’t even a conversation that should have stood out. He’d met people with stronger résumés, sharper tongues, and more experience in front of a microphone.

But Cassie... She wasn’t polished , and that was the very thing that stayed with him. Her honesty felt raw, untamed—a blade still learning the strength of its edge.

Foolish. The word echoed in his head.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. What was it about her that unsettled him?

Was it her conviction? The quiet courage hidden beneath layers of uncertainty? Or perhaps it was the vulnerability she carried so openly? The kind that didn’t ask for pity but challenged you to see it and still believe in her strength.

And yet, her resistance baffled him. How could someone so driven, so clearly destined for something bigger, shy away from a platform?

His fingers tapped absently against the desk as he tried to reconcile her fear of the screen with what he had seen in her.

In his mind’s eye, he could picture her features perfectly—the elegant line of her jaw, the soft curve of her cheekbones, the intensity in her eyes when she spoke about what mattered. He could see how the camera would frame her, how the lights would catch the warm tones in her hair, and how her expressions, so honest and unguarded, would translate to the audience.

She didn’t see it, but he did .

Her face was made for the screen, not because of perfection, but because of its authenticity. It would draw people in, hold them captive. She didn’t need to be polished; she was already compelling in a way that made the camera irrelevant.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, his voice steady despite the jumble in his head.

The door creaked open, and Taggie stepped inside, her auburn hair catching the soft light from the lamp. She was dressed casually, her apron dusted with flour, a reminder of the event she was catering later.

“Still brooding?” she teased gently, holding a letter in one hand while absently smoothing her apron with the other.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but her tone carried genuine concern.

“Brooding?” Declan repeated, his voice amused, “I prefer ‘preparing.’ ”

“For the show or something else?” she countered, stepping closer. Her gaze landed briefly on the untouched notes before flicking back to him, “You look... Distracted.”

Declan exhales, leaning back in his chair, “I visited Cassie Jones today.”

Taggie’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Cassie Jones? The Cassie Jones? You mean the one from the radio?”

She stepped closer, as though proximity would confirm his words. Her tone changed, and her thoughts flickered back to the previous morning.

Yesterday, the kitchen had been filled with the sound of Cassie’s fiery monologue, her unrelenting voice cutting through the room like a razor. Rupert had leaned in, more amused than anything else, but her father—she remembered her father: he’d been completely still , eyes fixed on the radio with an intensity she hadn’t seen in months.

That explains why he hadn’t had dinner last night , Taggie wondered.

Declan nodded, his expression contemplative.

“She has potential, Taggie,” he paused, searching for the right words, “Raw, unpolished, but it’s there. I want her on Venturer.”

“You’re recruiting her?” she asked, her voice with a hint of curiosity and excitement, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day you’d bring someone like her in. Isn’t she— well , shy?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he admitted, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge, “She’s terrified of being seen, but she’s brilliant. The way she speaks... It’s not just reporting. It’s storytelling. She makes people care.”

Taggie studied him for a moment, her head tilting as she considered his words. There was something about the way he spoke—quiet but charged with energy, a drive that hadn’t been there in a while…

Her father had always been passionate, but this was different. There was a spark, something that reminded her of the early days of Venturer, when everything was just a shot in the dark.

“You’re really invested in this,” Taggie lifted a brow, “Aren’t you?”

Declan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze dropped to the scattered notes on his desk, their edges curling slightly under the soft glow of the desk lamp. His fingers tapped idly against the wood as he tried to put his thoughts into words.

 “Let’s just say,” he murmured, “It’s been a while since someone reminded me why we started Venturer in the first place.”

“It’s good to see you like this again,” Taggie’s smile widened, “You’ve never been so focused, so determined since we won the franchise approval—it’s like you’ve finally found something that excites you again.”

Declan chuckled, though the sound was tinged with self-awareness, “Don’t read too much into it, Taggie. I’m just doing my job.”

“Sure you are,” she said, a touch of mischief in her tone, “But I’m not complaining. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you looking this... Alive.”

She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Do you think she’ll accept?”

Declan’s expression grew thoughtful, his gaze distant.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “Freddie’s been trying to bring her on board since we got the franchise approval. She’s always said no. But today…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he thought back to their conversation.

“But today?” Taggie prompted, stepping closer, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“She seemed... Torn ,” Declan replied, “Like part of her wanted to say yes, even if she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’s hesitant, scared even, but she’s not someone who backs down easily. If she sees what we see in her... She’ll come around.”

Taggie studied her father again, a knowing expression in the way she furrowed her brows, “You’re really invested in this, aren’t you?”

Declan met her gaze, a flicker of something undefinable in his expression—determination, perhaps, or something even deeper.

“It’s not just about her, Taggie,” he said after a moment, “It’s about what she represents. Venturer was supposed to be about giving people like her a voice, wasn’t it? People who can make others listen, who can make them care.

“Well, I hope she sees that”, a soft smile tugged at the corners of Taggie’s lips, “And I hope she knows how lucky she’d be to work with someone like you.”

Declan chuckled again, though it was quieter this time, tinged with something almost self-deprecating.

“Don’t go turning me into a saint, Taggie. I’m just trying to do what’s right—for Venturer and for her.”

Taggie hesitated, watching him for a moment before stepping forward and placing the envelope on his desk.

“Just don’t let this drive of yours keep you from dealing with this,” she said softly, her fingers brushing the edge of the envelope.

Declan’s gaze followed her gesture, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight of the crumpled edges and the weight it seemed to carry. How it quickly changed his daughter’s humor.

“What is it?” he asked, though something in the pit of his stomach already knew the answer.

“It’s from Mum’s lawyer,” Taggie replied quietly, “The final papers.”

Declan’s breath caught, the words dripping between them like a heavy curtain. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached out to take the envelope. The paper felt heavier than it should, as though the culmination of everything—months of silence, arguments, the growing distance—was contained within it.

How could she not answer any of his letters and the first one she sent to them, her family, was the divorce papers?

“I see,” he said in the silence, almost whispering, his grip on the envelope tightened.

Taggie hesitated, her eyes scanning his face as though trying to gauge his reaction, “Are you okay?”

Declan chuckled, but it was devoid of humor.

“That’s a loaded question.”

The corner of her lips twitched, but her attempt at a smile faded just as quickly.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, Dad. I know how hard you tried to hold things together.”

“Did I?” Declan asked, almost to himself. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling to the envelope in his hands, “Or did I just try to hold on to the idea of us? To what I thought we were supposed to be, instead of what we actually were?”

Taggie bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. The silence that followed wasn’t tense, but it was loaded as the question of before. There was a shared grief for something that had been unraveling for longer than either of them cared to admit.

“She made her choice,” Declan continued, his tone low, “And maybe... Maybe it’s for the best. For her. For both of us.”

“Maybe,” Taggie said softly, though she didn’t sound convinced.

Declan glanced at her, his expression softening.

“What about you? How are you handling all this?”

Taggie bit her lip, clearly taken aback by her father’s question. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering downward as though the answer might somehow be hidden in the floorboards.

“I’ve had time to process it, I guess,” she responded, her voice quieter than before. She shrugged, slipping her hands into the pockets of her apron, “It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but... I’m not angry anymore. Just… S-S—”

Her voice faltered, the word slipping from her grasp.

“Sad?” Declan offered gently, watching as her jaw tightened.

“Yes,” she said, nodding a bit too quickly, “ Sad. ”

Her struggle with the word wasn’t lost on him. It was a passing moment, brief but telling. Declan knew how Taggie’s dyslexia sometimes crept into her life in ways she didn’t expect—moments of hesitation or the occasional stumble over a word when emotions ran high.

It wasn’t something she let define her, but it was always there.

Over the past months, with Maud gone and Taggie stepping up beside him, Declan had seen more of it than he ever had before. At first, he had felt like the worst father in the world for not noticing sooner, for letting the chaos of his own life distract him from hers. It took him some time to understand—not just how it was for her, but the quiet strength with which she handled them.

It humbled him, this quiet resilience of hers.

You’ve handled it well, he wanted to say, but instead, he offered her a smile.

She looked at him, surprised by the sudden gesture. But the small, appreciative smile she gave in return told him he had done the right thing. He was still trying, and that was enough.

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the soft hum of wind and the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. Declan found himself studying her expression, the way her eyes mirrored his own weariness but had a resilience that was unmistakably hers.

“I suppose sadness is easier to live with than resentment,” he said, more to himself than to her.

Taggie nodded, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well, I should get back to work. The buffet for Mrs. Spencer’s gala won’t prepare itself.”

Declan raised an eyebrow, “A gala? And they’ve roped you into catering for it?”

“Not roped,” she corrected, “I volunteered . Keeps me busy.”

He gave her a look, one that carried both fondness and a hint of fatherly skepticism.

“Just don’t let them take advantage of you.”

Taggie laughed softly, the sound warm but subdued.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I can handle Mrs. Spencer.”

She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back at him. Her expression softened, the hint of concern in her eyes mirroring the quiet care she always tried to mask with humor.

“And you? Will you be okay?”

Declan offered a faint smile, “I’ve got notes to review and a show to prepare for. I’ll manage.”

Taggie nodded, staying for a moment longer before slipping out of the room.

The silence that followed her departure wasn’t empty; it was filled with the echoes of their conversation, the unspoken words that always seemed to hover between them. Declan’s gaze fell to the envelope on his desk, its stark presence a reminder of what had already unraveled. He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers brushing the sharp edges, the sensation grounding him in the heaviness of the moment.

The ache in his chest deepened, not sharp but persistent, like a bruise that refused to fade. Maud’s absence wasn’t new; it had been a constant shadow for months, haunting him at the edges of every room, every thought. He could still hear her voice in the quiet moments, see her smile in the periphery of his mind.

They had tried, hadn’t they ? Yet, here it was—the finality of a marriage reduced to paper and ink.

Declan leaned back in his chair, his head tipping slightly as he closed his eyes. The memories pressed in, uninvited but relentless. The laughter they had shared, the fights that had grown sharper over time, the silences that had said more than words ever could. He wondered, not for the first time, if there had been a point where they could have turned it around—if he could have been someone different, better , for her.

The ache tightened, and he exhaled slowly, as if trying to release it. But as his thoughts circled Maud and the void her absence left, another voice crept into his mind.

Cassie .

Her words reverberated in his memory, not as a balm to the pain but something else. The raw honesty in her tone, the conviction laced with doubt, had a way of unsettling him, of pulling his focus from the ache of what was lost to the possibilities of what could be.

That's what she usually talked about in her past broadcasts, right? In the projects she had done in Chicago? How there was always a possibility, a light in the end of the tunnel, despite people locking all your windows and doors?

He sat up straighter, his gaze falling to the notes scattered before him again. The words blurred for a moment, stubbornly refusing to take shape. But as he thought of Cassie—her eyes, her words, her fear—it was as though something clicked into place.

It wasn’t just about giving people a platform , he remembered, it was about finding the voices that mattered, the ones that could cut through the noise and make people listen.

Declan’s lips quirked into a smile, the kind that came unbidden, as he turned his attention back to his notes. The spark of inspiration she had ignited within him was enough to push the rest aside, at least for now.

There was a show to prepare for, and tonight, he felt ready.

The bar was alive in its muted way—a quiet chatter and the occasional clink of glassware against polished wood. It wasn’t the raucous energy of a weekend crowd but the steady rhythm of regulars, the kind of people who found comfort in routine. Cassie sat at her usual corner, her drink untouched, save for the condensation slipping down its sides.

The golden light from the overhead fixtures cast a soft glow on the surface of the bar, making everything look warmer than it felt.

Bas moved with the practiced ease of someone who had owned this space for years. His motions were fluid, as though the rhythm of tending bar wasn’t a job but an extension of himself.

His dark hair, perpetually tousled in a way that suggested he didn’t care—or maybe cared too much—caught the light whenever he turned. His eyes scanned the room, but they kept returning to Cassie, watching the tension in her shoulders, the tight grip she had on her glass.

“Alright, Jones,” he said, leaning over the counter with a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You’re quieter than usual. Either someone’s died, or you’re brooding about something big… Again .”

Cassie shot him a look, one that was stabbing but softened by the weak tug at the corner of her lips.

“Always with the optimism, Bas.”

“It’s my charm,” he quipped. But the teasing in his tone didn’t mask the concern that was beneath it.

She sighed, her fingers drumming lightly against the bar’s surface, “Let’s just say it’s been a day.”

Bas’s eyebrow arched as he slid a pint across the bar to a waiting regular, his movements unhurried but precise. His attention, however, was fixed on Cassie, the practiced ease in his gaze giving way to a flicker of curiosity. The murmured conversations, the muted clatter of glasses—seemed distant, a backdrop to the conversation they were having.

“A day, huh?” Bas leaned a little closer, his lips drawing into an amused smile, “Sounds vague,” he added, lifting an eyebrow in mock challenge, “Care to elaborate, or should I start guessing?”

“You’d only guess wrong,” she replied almost immediately, a smirk curling at her lips before she took a long sip from her drink.

Bas didn’t miss a beat. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the counter, the polished wood cool beneath his hands. His teasing expression softened just a bit, the shift subtle but perceptible.

“Enlighten me, then,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.

Cassie hesitated, her gaze dropping to her glass. But her grip on the glass hardened, her thumb tracing absent patterns against the condensation. She inhaled quietly through her nose, her lips pressing into a thin line as if bracing herself.

“Declan O’Hara showed up at my door this morning.”

The words landed heavily, drawing Bas’s full attention. His playful demeanor faltered, his brow knitting together in thought.

Cassie could see the gears turning behind his eyes, his indissoluble wit piecing together implications faster than he let on. He blinked once, his lips parting as if to speak, but then he let out a low whistle, a sound of disbelief mingled with admiration.

“Well, that’s not nothing,” he said, straightening as his grin returned, this time full of intrigue, “What did the Irish Wolfhound want with you?”

Cassie’s lips twisted into a wry smile, though there was no humor in it. She shrugged, her voice tinged with weariness.

“He wants me on Venturer . Just like you and my uncle.”

Bas’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his head tilting as he considered her words.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice almost reverent. He reached for a cloth, wiping down an already spotless section of the counter as though the action would help him process the news, “One thing’s for sure—it’s not every day Declan O’Hara comes knocking at your door, specifically your door . I mean, me and Freddie? Sure. But him ?” His dark eyes narrowed slightly, “That’s big.”

He set the cloth down, his gaze steady on her, “What did you say?”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her shoulders hunching slightly.

“That I’d think about it,” she admitted, the words clipped as though they’d been dragged out of her.

Bas studied her in silence, his expression unreadable, though his brow furrowed as he watched her fidget with her glass. After a long pause, he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“You never seem thrilled about this,” he remarked, his tone carefully neutral, “Most people would jump at the chance of joining Venturer—especially if it was me inviting them.” His lips drawn into a lopsided grin, a flash of his usual humor breaking through.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people,” Cassie replied, her voice sharp, the words a defensive barb.

Bas’s grin softened, the teasing edge fading as he regarded her more closely. He reached for a glass of water, taking a slow sip before setting it down with deliberate calm.

“Alright,” he said, his tone quieter but no less insistent, “Let’s hear it. What’s holding you back?”

Cassie’s fingers stilled on the rim of her glass. For a moment, she seemed to shrink into herself, her expression tightening. Her eyes darted to the counter as she wrestled with words that didn’t want to come.

“It’s not that simple,” she muttered finally, her voice low, almost to herself.

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Bas countered.

Cassie shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass again.

“I just… I don’t think it’s for me.”

Bas’s laugh was short and dry, a single puff of air that carried no mirth.

“You don’t think it’s for you? Come on, Cass. That’s not an answer. You’ve got a voice people listen to—even when they don’t want to. Hell, you made headlines just by opening your mouth. And now you’re telling me you can’t see yourself in a chair next to Declan?”

Cassie clenched her jaw, the muscles tensing in her neck. The words were there, but they felt too heavy, too real to say out loud.

Her thoughts spiraled, never giving her a rest— Could I? Be in a chair next to him?

What if I say yes and ruin everything?

The offer, the screen, the lights… It was all too much.

What if they really do see something in me that I don’t see in myself?

But that wasn’t the real issue, was it?

“I can’t do it, Bas,” she whispered, as if saying the words could keep the fear at bay.

The issue was if they saw all the mistakes that she knew that was beneath her skin, her choices and her attempts.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, leaning her elbows against the edge of the counter, her head hanging low.

It wasn’t the stage, or the lights. It wasn’t even the fear of failure.

Her mind raced with the images— the screen, the questions, the voices of people in her head, judging, scrutinizing, always waiting for her to slip.

“Why not?” he pressed, not giving up so soon over this subject.

Cassie’s breath caught, she had hoped that he would drop it , as he usually did.

Her pulse quickened, the discomfort twisting in her stomach like a knot pulling tighter with every passing second. She knew what was coming, and still, she couldn’t find the strength to articulate it.

To say the words that circled her thoughts.

Why not? Her mind repeated the question and, as if it was a broken record, it started to repeat again and again., why not? Why not?

What was holding her back?

“Cass—”

Why not?

“I can’t even look you in the eye while we’re talking, Bas,” she snapped, her voice trembling, “How the hell am I supposed to talk to a camera? To an audience?”

There it was—the rawness of the truth.

Her fear wasn’t just about the screen. It was about her inability to stand in front of anyone and not feel exposed, vulnerable. She wasn’t ready to show that side of herself, not to millions of strangers, not when she could barely face the people she cared about.

Bas’s reaction was immediate. The mischief that usually animated his features vanished and turned into something quieter, more serious. He straightened slightly, as though anchoring himself to the counter while Cassie’s turmoil unfolded in front of him.

The ambient noise of the bar—a murmur of laughter, the clinking of glasses—faded into a distant sound, no longer relevant in the charged space between them.

For a moment, Bas said nothing. His gaze held her frame—not in judgment, but in understanding. He wasn’t a man who filled silences lightly, and Cassie had come to appreciate that about him.

The absence of his voice gave hers the room to breathe, even as it quaked under the weight of her uncertainty.

“You’ve always been harder on yourself than anyone else,” he interrupted the silence once he noticed she was more at ease, “You don’t trust what people see in you, Cass, and maybe that’s part of the problem. You think you’ve got to hide everything, like people can’t handle the real you.”

She winced, her fingers hurting against the edges of her glass. Bas had an infuriating way of hitting nerves she hadn’t realized were exposed.

Her eyes flicked to the countertop, the wood grain blurring as a knot tightened in her chest.

“It’s not about hiding,” she muttered, “It’s about… Not giving them the ammunition. You don’t get it, people don’t just listen. They dissect. They pick you apart until there’s nothing left, I’ve seen it.”

“You’re right. I don’t get it—not in the way you do,” He let out a breath, rubbing a hand along his jaw, “But I’ve been in enough storms to know that people don’t waste their time picking apart someone who doesn’t matter. The fact that they’re looking at you? It means you’re already doing something worth their attention.”

Cassie shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one they’re staring at right now.”

“No,” Bas agreed, his tone too calm, “But I’ve seen what happens when someone refuses to stand up because they’re scared of the fallout. It doesn’t stop the storm—it just leaves someone else to clean up the mess.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his figure, a spark of indignation flaring in her chest.

“So what?” she wondered, “You think I owe it to the world to put myself out there? To be ripped apart just because I have something to say?”

Bas leaned closer, resting a hand on her shoulder—not heavy, but firm enough to anchor her. His dark eyes locked onto hers, steady as ever, but there was something deeper in his expression now. Not pity, not even frustration. Just belief.

This time, Cassie tried to force herself to stare at him back, to see what he was gonna say.

“No,” he said, “I think you owe it to yourself.”

Cassie froze, his words cutting through the haze of her spiraling thoughts. They weren’t flashy or grand, but they had a quiet truth that she couldn’t ignore. For a moment, the emotions that were pressing down on her chest lightened, replaced by something that felt disarmingly close to hope.

She couldn’t stop herself before a smile creeped out of her teeth.

Cassie wanted to believe in him, she truly wanted to. Perhaps, that time she would.

Bas’s hand lingered a moment longer before he stepped back, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips in response to hers.

“Now,” he said, his voice returning to its usual easy warmth, “don’t make me pull out a soapbox, Cass. We’ve got a show to watch.”

She managed a weak laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slowly as he reached for the remote. The television flickered to life, casting a pale glow over the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast filled the room.

Declan O’Hara’s face appeared on the screen, his sharp, commanding presence filling the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast faded. The backdrop was strikingly simple—sleek, modern lines contrasting with a warm palette that suggested approachability. The kind of visual balance that made the show feel personal without losing its gravitas.

Cassie leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn’t say a word, but Bas caught the way her fingers tapped lightly against her arm in a rhythm too calculated to be unconscious.

“You good?” he asked, keeping his tone light, though his eyes didn’t leave her face.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on the screen, “Just... Curious to see how he spins it.”

Declan’s voice came into the segment seamlessly—a live interview with a city council member who had been at the center of recent housing debates. The guest looked composed, but there was a tension in his smile, the kind that came from knowing you were about to face someone who wouldn’t let a single inconsistency slide.

He was the Irish Wolfhound , after all.

“Here we go,” Bas muttered, leaning in his seat, clearly expecting fireworks.

Cassie didn’t respond, her focus on the screen unbroken. Declan’s approach was surgical, every question calibrated to draw out information without tipping into outright confrontation. His tone remained calm, professional, but there was no mistaking the intent behind his words.

He was peeling back the layers of the council member’s carefully rehearsed answers, pushing him to explain vague statements and sidestep slippery rhetoric.

“Man’s a scalpel,” Bas said under his breath, shaking his head, “Doesn’t let up, does he?”

“It’s effective,” Cassie admitted, her tone grudging. There was something fascinating about watching Declan work—how he managed to command the room without ever raising his voice, how he drew the audience into the conversation without alienating his guest.

It was a skill she recognized, even admired, though she’d never admit it aloud.

Her attention was drawn even further as Declan leaned forward, his next question landing with deliberate weight.

“As Cassie Jones accused in Dan Murphy’s broadcast at Crawford’s FM yesterday,” Declan glanced down at a note in his hand, the movement unhurried, “there are claims that the council’s housing allocations lack transparency. Specifically, that contracts were awarded to developers with personal ties to sitting council members. What’s your response?”

Cassie blinked, her body instinctively leaning a fraction closer to the screen, as though the words might hit differently if she were nearer. Hearing her name roll off his tongue in that voice—the cadence carefully deliberate, each word with the precision of a blade—was something she hadn’t prepared for.

It wasn’t just that he repeated her accusations; it was the way he positioned them as essential to the conversation, stripping away any lingering doubts about their importance.

But then there was the other thing— the truth of it all . What truly shook her in her seat.

She hadn’t been the one to say those words during Dan’s broadcast.

The story, the study, the facts—they were hers, yes . Yet Dan had been the one to voice them, stealing her moment before she arrived at the station to reclaim it. By the time she had taken control of the broadcast, the opportunity to lay out her findings in full had slipped through her fingers. All she could do then was pivot, focus on the other truth she’d uncovered.

And now? Declan O’Hara, of all people, was giving her story back to her.

Bas’s head whipped toward her, his expression part shock, part amusement.

“He’s quoting you ?”

“Looks like it,” Cassie muttered, her voice faint as her gaze remained fixed on the screen. Her chest felt a lot heavier, a strange warmth stirring in the pit of her stomach, though she tried to brush it off.

On screen, the council member’s practiced composure faltered before he recovered.

“I’m not aware of any evidence to support those claims,” he said, his tone clipped, “And I think it’s reckless to give air to accusations of a—”

“It’s not about recklessness,” Declan interrupted him, as calm as he was since the beginning of the show, “It’s about accountability. Jones provided specifics—figures, dates, patterns. If they’re inaccurate, wouldn’t it benefit the council to set the record straight?”

Cassie bit her lip, fighting back the urge to grin. For the first time in weeks, it felt like her work wasn’t just hers—just something she could keep on her shelf. No, it was out there , undeniable .

Different from Dan and Crawford, Declan O’Hara wasn’t stealing it. He was amplifying it.

Declan gave my story back to me , Cassie repeated again, as to remind herself that this day wasn’t a dream.

Bas snorted, “Looks like someone’s got a fan.”

“Shut up, Bas,” Cassie muttered, her voice threatening but there was no bite. Still, she could feel the heat creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks, a flush she didn’t dare acknowledge.

Did Bas mean that she was Declan’s fan or Declan who was her fan. Either way, both made her blush even more.

She folded her arms tighter across her chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

The council member stumbled over his response, scrambling to reframe the narrative, but Declan was relentless, pressing for specifics with a calm determination that left no room for evasion. When the segment ended, Declan delivered a closing remark that felt both pointed and perfectly impartial, a masterful capstone to the exchange.

The screen transitioned to a softer feature—a local artist creating murals across the city. The shift in tone was smooth, offering viewers a reprieve from the tension.

Cassie exhaled, her eyes fixed on the screen after a beat.

“He’s good,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

Good as a presenter or a good person? Her mind asked her and, well , Cassie didn’t have an answer for that.

Bas chuckled, “That sounded dangerously close to actual praise.”

“Don’t push it,” Cassie warned, though the curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.

The bar’s energy had shifted as the night deepened.

Voices softened into murmurs, glasses clinked with lazy rhythm, and the warm glow of the overhead fixtures seemed to dim ever so vaguely, making the room feel closer, cozier. Cassie and Bas were still at their corner, both a little slouched, their earlier sharpness dulled by the hour and the lingering warmth of their drinks.

From an outsider's perspective, they might have appeared as companions deep into their cups, the way Bas’s posture had relaxed, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, his grin loose and easy. Cassie, by contrast, seemed more guarded, though the light flush across her cheeks and the way she covered her mouth mid-laugh betrayed a rare moment of vulnerability.

A laughing fit took over Cassie as Bas told her a story about a patron mistaking a bottle of soy sauce for whiskey last week. She was shaking her head, trying to compose herself, her cheeks flushed from laughter and the residual embarrassment of the earlier show.

Bas placed a hand dramatically on his chest, “I swear on King’s Ransom,” his grin wide and unapologetic.

Cassie shook her head, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the tug of a smile.

“Right, because your horse makes you credible.”

“Don’t disrespect King’s Ransom,” Bas shot back with mock indignation, “He’s got more class than you’ll ever have.”

Cassie leaned forward, her elbow propped on the table as she took a sip of her drink. The ice clinked softly against the glass, and she watched Bas with a bemused expression, her free hand lightly tracing a circle on the tabletop.

“You know,” she said, setting the glass down, “you’d make a terrible lawyer. Your evidence is a horse , and your defense strategy is sarcasm .”

Bas grinned, leaning back in his chair as though settling into the role of a court jester.

“A lawyer? Please . Too much paperwork. I’d rather keep slinging drinks, making people laugh and playing polo.”

“Ah, here we go to the noble profession of bartending again ,” Cassie teased, raising her glass slightly in a mock toast, “Defender of soy sauce incidents and peddler of questionable anecdotes.”

“Questionable?” Bas raised an eyebrow, his hand dramatically clutching his chest again, “That story was the highlight of my week.”

“Well,” Cassie replied, her lips twitching as though fighting a laugh, “your weeks must be very uneventful .”

Bas opened his mouth to retort, but his attention shifted mid-thought. His expression stilled for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before his grin returned—sharper now, edged with mischief. He sat up a little straighter, his eyes drifting past her shoulder.

“Uh-oh,” he murmured, amused.

Cassie frowned, following his gaze halfway before stopping herself. The bar was quieter now, the conversation muted, the warm light softening the lines of every figure in the room.

She turned back to Bas, raising an eyebrow in question.

“What?” she asked, her tone half-curious, half- suspicious .

Because everything that made Bas grin was suspicious.

Yet, he didn’t answer immediately, his smirk widening as though he were savoring the moment before delivering a punchline.

“Oh,” a voice behind her said, smooth and far too familiar, “I thought Rupert would be here already.”

Cassie froze, every thought in her head stalling at once. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, the earlier warmth of laughter fleeing in the face of a sudden, overpowering heat that had nothing to do with the bar’s cozy atmosphere.

Her pulse kicked up, erratic and insistent. She didn’t need to turn to recognize the voice. That deliberate cadence, the trace of an accent—it was as unmistakable as it was infuriating.

Declan O’Hara.

Bas, unbothered and clearly enjoying himself, leaned back further in his chair.

“Rupert’s at Mrs. Spencer’s gala,” Bas replied easily, his tone almost conversational, “Something about giving someone a ride.”

“Hm,” Declan mused, the sound more thoughtful than dismissive, “Taggie’s doing their buffet, isn’t she?”

Bas hummed in confirmation, the sound low and knowing. His smirk teetered on the edge of outright glee, and Cassie could feel it radiating off him like heat.

Cassie still couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Her earlier humor had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming awareness of Declan’s proximity. She could almost feel his breath against her neck, irrational as it was—however, she was sitting and he was standing .

Images flashed in her mind—his piercing gaze earlier that day, his voice echoing through her living room as he made a case for Venturer, and the way her name had rolled off his tongue during his broadcast.

In the end, what did he want with her? Truly? He had already done so much tonight—repeating her accusations, giving her the credit Dan Murphy had stolen, framing her work in a way that no one could ignore. And now, here he was, unbidden and unexpected.

A sharp thought pierced through her tangled emotions: All of this... Was it just to get her attention? For her to finally accept his offer?

If yes, then...

She swallowed hard, trying to force the thought away, but it was already there, fully formed and impossible to ignore:

Bloody hell, he was good.

Her thoughts spiraled, and though she wanted to blame it on the warmth of the room or the residual adrenaline from the broadcast, she knew better. Declan O’Hara didn’t just walk into places—he arrived , every movement perfectly calculated, every word perfectly placed.

And then, the moment she’d dreaded :

“Hi, Cassie,” Declan said, his voice taking on a lighter tone, “I imagine you saw my show tonight?”

The words were delivered almost as a challenge. And, unfortunately , for some reason, her brain was built to never ignore a challenge—so, Cassie, despite every instinct screaming at her to remain frozen, finally turned.

Her movement was hesitant, as if her body was testing each muscle before committing fully to the action. She didn’t know what she expected to see—something intimidating, perhaps, or something too familiar to handle—but the reality was worse.

Declan stood there, relaxed in a way that was almost infuriating, his suit still immaculate from the broadcast, the crisp white shirt open just enough at the collar to suggest he’d taken the edge off a long day but hadn’t fully unwound. The muted lighting of the bar softened the sharpness of his features, but his presence remained undiminished.

His dark eyes found hers immediately, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wide smile. It wasn’t a smirk, not exactly—it lacked the arrogance she might have expected—but there was something inherently self-assured about it. Like he knew exactly what effect he had on her.

The kind of effect that made her unable to look away when he looked at her.

Her lungs burned from the effort of keeping her composure, but Declan didn’t press. He simply smiled, the gesture disarming in its simplicity, and waited .

[azsazz]

Here for You

Azriel x Reader (Zuzu Centered)

Summary: Anon Request: could we get something zuzu centered? we don’t get enough of the girls, and it would be so sweet to see az being a girl dad and y/n being a girl mom for a bit 🥹 maybe them being super excited to finally have a baby girl, when she’s really young or something? whatever you thinks best!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,076

_________________________________________

“C’mon Zuz! Keep going, you’re almost there,” Azriel shouts from your side.

You can’t contain the smile on your face, beaming as your daughter races across the open field on her little legs, kicking the ball with a determined look on her face. Her sleek black hair is twisted into tight plaits courtesy of her father, who had – like all things – studied the intricacies of braiding until he was near perfect. There had been many late nights you and your husband had spent together, letting him practice different hairstyles on you while you read, tucked up as far into his warmth as you could, giving him gentle reminders and praises on his final looks.

Zuzu also has dark streaks of paint on her cheeks, a gift from Uncle Cassian, who’d also given her a pep talk before her Moonball game had started. Between him, Azriel, and Rhys, you didn’t know who was cheering the loudest for your little girl, and your heart is bursting with joy at the pride your family is showing in the matching ‘Zuzu Rules’ shirts Rhysand had made for their final game.

Malos pouts where she’s been jostled in Azriel’s arms, on the verge of falling asleep when he’d excitedly begun cheering as Zuzu was passed the ball. Nesta notices at the same time, and is quick to take the babe and soothe her, waving a dismissive hand to Azriel who gives her an apologetic look for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the Moonball game before him. 

He’s nearly vibrating with excitement, and you’ve had to pull Baz out of the way as his wings flared when one of the children on the other team had stolen the ball from Zuzu. 

She’s certainly come a long way since her first game, where the same thing had happened and she’d tried to pummel the child into the ground for doing so. You had glared at your husband and his brothers who had all ducked their heads to hide the grins they were biting back. That was their girl.

Even your older sons had stopped their game of playing warrior to come cheer on their sister, their cousins pushing between all of the tall adult legs for a better view.

One of the children in a navy jersey chasing Zuzu towards the goal suddenly trips and falls into the grass with a surprised gasp but Zuzu doesn’t take notice. Unfortunately, you do, shooting Baz a warning look that says he’s going to get in trouble when he gets home. He’s only eight but he’s already learned a multitude of tricks with his shadows, and to an untrained eye they would’ve thought the child had merely tripped. You knew better than that, and by the way Baz switches sides with Wren so he’s standing further away from you with red cheeks and hunched shoulders, he did too.

Even Knox is intently watching his sister race across the grass. The midnight purple of her jersey brings out the ribbons in her hair, provided by her Auntie Elain and Uncle Lucien, who hadn’t been able to make it, as they were visiting Day for a surprise getaway. 

“Come on baby, come on baby,” you mutter under your breath as she goes. Two children from the opposing team are blocking the way and if she uses her wings again she won’t be able to join the team next season, so you pray to the Mother she doesn’t flare those little wings wide and sweep these kids off of their feet.

“Yes, Z!” Wren jumps, shouting at his sister as she side-steps the offending players. He’d taught her that move when Uncle Cassian hadn’t been playing very fair in the backyard. Everything she’s learned about Moonball had been from her brothers and the rest of her family. She’s a warrior through and through, tough as nails and never backs down even when she was learning with all of the roughness her brothers and male cousins showed. Asteria hadn’t shown interest in the sport, instead she liked playing with her dolls and putting them in poses to draw in her coloring book.

“You got this, Zuz,” Baz encourages, while Jax claps his tiny hands and chants her name over and over again.

Your entire family holds their breath as she sets herself up to kick the ball into the goal. The child in the goal has a ready stance that’s startling for that of someone so young. He looks nearly professional, arms spread wide, knees bent, with a determined look in his eye. He and Zuzu had faced off before, and even her brothers had complimented how good he was at the sport.

Zuzu had scored against him this season once. The other time she had the chance, the little boy had blocked her ball from hitting the goal and you almost hadn’t stopped the rest of your sons from running out onto the field to defend their sister from the goalie who had gloated more than Cassian when he’d won the annual snowball fight, a smug smile on his face.

She’d been more determined than ever, immediately asking her brothers to go out into the yard with the instruction not to go easy on her.

Zuzu cocks her leg back. There’s steely determination in her fierce eyes. Her mouth is set in a firm line as she stares down the child like he’s her worst enemy.

And maybe he is.

The entire field is silent as her leg swings forward. The ball goes soaring through the air, looking like a shooting star, and everyone waits.

The child in the goal pushes off of the ground, throwing his body sideways into the path of the ball.

But he’s too late.

Your family erupts in mass of cheers and excitement, storming the field to gather the star player in congratulations and celebratory hugs. 

She’s beaming, grinning like the day you and Azriel had told her that she was going to have a little sister.

Azriel hikes her up on his shoulders, spinning her around as the other parents gather their children and usher them away, but you don’t care, so utterly proud of Zuzu for scoring the winning goal of the game.

Her braids flop against her shoulders as she twirls, giggling like a mad woman and hands raised in the air in victory. 

“I did it! I did it,” she screams.

And you couldn’t be more proud.

[worlddevoid]

MASTER POST: World Devoid Essentials

!!!HALT!!! - READ BEFORE ENGAGING -

+Rules of Engagement+

DNI if you are homophobic, aphobic, transphobic, racist, ableist, sexist, classist, etc.- basically don’t interact if you're going to be a dick

Respect our characters' sexualities and identities. Baz is ASEXUAL (sex repulsed - NSFW media will be blocked) and Cassie is AROMANTIC (romance repulsed - Romanticized/Love content will be blocked) [Cassie is very sex positive though, so NSFW art for her exclusively is welcome ;)]

BAZ AND CASSIE ARE PLATONIC ONLY. BAZ+CASSIE SHIPPERS DNI

Reblog, Reblog, Reblog! If you like our content, please help us reach more people by reblogging it beyond just liking it. Unfortunately, likes don’t count for much out here in the wild wild west. We appreciate you!

With those things being said, we welcome all respectful engagement and look forward to sharing this story with you! We would love, love, LOVE to see your fanart and theories/takes as the story progresses! We can’t wait to see what you create! See you soon, freaks!

Summary 

The cold, autumn sun just peaks over the horizon on a small, dirt road in the middle of rural Illinois. It is Sunday, October 1st in the year 2000. Two self-centered college students, Cassandra ‘Cassie’ Clive and Sebastian ‘Baz’ Moraz, are returning from a several month long trip after ditching classes to hunt cryptids in the woods of the Sand Ridge State Forest. Upon their return, they begin to unveil that things are anything but normal. Can these dense besties figure out what’s going on?

***Master list***

Episode 1 - This Is (Not) Your Morning

1.1

1.2

1.3

1.4

1.5 (New! FINAL PART OF EP. 1)

Episode 2 - Ey, Mall Of Terror, Ay!

2.1 (Coming Soon To A Tumblr Near You!)

...

Other Links

Cassie Clive Character Sheet

Baz Moraz Character Sheet

Author’s Note

This is the quickest idea we have ever put into action- it just kind of happened. We were driving on a long road trip and our two brains combined into one and suddenly it was taking form. We spoke the idea out loud and within the same day we had started our text based role play. We haven't stopped since! More details fell into place as we played and the story just started to take shape on its own. This spontaneous texting turned into an entire world with a full plot and line of characters. Buckle up and join us for the ride in a story that is basically writing itself...but the prophet to paper transcribing is being done by a couple of nerdy siblings- Charley Sikora (They/Them) & Chester Sikora (He/They). This is our passion project and both the story and the characters have been rotating in our heads at the speed of fast; non-stop like a 7-Eleven weiner heater that's been zapped by lightning. We only hope you enjoy it half as much as we do! Thank you for taking the time to read :)

Charley @charzardmain

Chester @same-soup-just-reheated

[philaet0s]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written then pass it on to at least five other writers (except me because obvs I have done it). Spread the self love ❤

Ehe thanks for that! I wouldn't know who to send it to and I get embarrased about asks so let's say I'm sending it to anyone who wants to do it lol

Now my 5 fav fics I've written...

The first one is, UNDOUBTEDLY,

1. Live and Die For Moments That We Stole 

My baby (literally, it took me 9 months to write it), my masterpiece. I love what I've done with this fic, I love the characters and the trajectories their lives take, I'm really, truly satisfied with this fic. Which is rare. Obviously if I rewrote it now I might change a few scenes, but as a whole, I love the fic and I'm very proud of it. It was a huge challenge because of the time period I set it in and because of the sheer lenght of that fic, but I did, I wrote it :)

2. Second Chance

I have a weird emotional attachement to this fic, I couldn't explain why but I reread it so often (because yes, I reread my own stuff, what's the point of writing stories I want to read if I don't read them?), and it always puts me in a good mood. I love the idea of a second chance, and of characters GROWING as people before they get that second chance

3. Woundrous and Mystical

I have to put it in the top three. Before I wrote Live and Die it was my favourite fic of mine, I'm just so proud of that story. Baz is my favourite character in this universe and the way that his trauma -psychological and physical- from the coffin is dealt with in canon is something that genuinely upsets me so for the longest time I wanted to write my own version of that, a version of the story where Baz gets to be affected by the fact that he was, you know, locked in a dark box for weeks without food. That story is very dear to me because of that, because it's centered around Baz and his trauma, but also because when I look at my fics as a whole, it's really with this one that I started to get a sense of how I wanted to write the characters and their relationships. The most striking example of that is Niall, the way I wrote Niall in Wondrous and Mystical is the way I've been writing Niall in my other fics since (except Live and Die, funnily enough), like Woundrous and Mystical really shaped my writing

4. The Ephemeral Nature of Flowers

Probably the fic of mine I've reread the most after Second Chance. I just love the vibes of that fic, I like the bittersweet ending, and I especially love the idea that a strong connection can be born in a very short time. Not in a 'love at first sight' kind of way because I don't really like that trope but in a 'we've had one real conversation and I feel like you and I connect in a very special way' kind of way

5. Thirteen Days to Fall in Love With Your Worst Enemy 

That fic was soooo much fun to write. Putting our Simon with a Baz that considers him their best friend, and our Baz with a Simon that considers him his best friend + non!binary Baz my beloved <3

Simon getting to see Baz for the person that he truly is and not this evil mastermind he imagines him to be is always my favourite thing to write in fics where they start out disliking each other, and this fic is literally just that, so

[sarandipitywrites]

🐍- How do you deal with it when you come across a plothole?

I sit on the edge of it, my little shovel in hand, and stare into its depths as I contemplate my life choices.

Once I finish doing that, I try to look at what happens before the hole, after the hole, and at what's currently in the hole and figure out where the problem actually is. Like, if it's a "[character] would not do that" sort of issue, for example, I need to figure out if the problem is that [character] would, in fact, not do that, or if they would, but I just haven't done a good enough job of convincing the reader of that, yet.

Sometimes, though, a plot hole comes up because something I've written legitimately makes so sense with an existing bit of worldbuilding. When that happens, I have a choice: I can change the plot hole, change the worldbuilding, or dive headfirst into the plot hole and change the rest of the story to accommodate it. I chose the third option near the end of the first draft of The Art of Empty Space, which is how I ended up with an entirely new story lol

Not sure how much you saw of it while I was posting last year, but the basic premise of the first draft was a Beauty and the Beast style, monster-in-a-castle story, with the curse centering around Baz (the monster) and his real name. The plot hole came at the very end, when Lienzo was meant to learn the true name and break the curse; the problem was that anyone who learned the monster's real name would immediately forget everything about him (as, you know, part of the curse). What would make Lienzo so special? Why wouldn't he forget, when everyone else did?

The solution was: he wasn't special. He did forget. And that's now where the second draft of AES starts: after all the events of the original draft. Now, instead of it being a Beauty and the Beast retelling, it's a mystery thriller where Lienzo has to uncover what's already happened to him, break the cycle of this magically-induced amnesia, and break the curse on the beast and the city (and figure out who originally cursed them and why).

So, short answer: sometimes I fix the plot hole. Sometimes the hole fixes the plot 🤷

Thank you for the ask! 💜

[everwitch-magiks]

Hashtag Soulmates

Alex is perfect and handsome, the golden boy, everybody’s secret crush. So there is absolutely no way that he is the reader who screeches in caps lock every time that Henry posts as much as a drabble. There’s no way. Except Alex just closed his browser fast as fucking lightning, but not before Henry had gotten a good glimpse of the page Alex had open: AO3. ‘Don't Stop Me Now’, Henry’s current wip. The one that Henry literally just updated.

Sweet Jesus. Could it really be?

I love fanfiction. I probably love fanfiction more than I love anything else. When I started to write 'Hashtag Soulmates,' I wanted to write something that tapped into all of that, something with fandom as the setting and fanfiction right at the heart of it. I didn’t actually have much of a plan (to center each chapter around a fic trope was something I decided on a whim for chapter two), but it felt very in character to have Henry be a passionate fic writer, and it seemed fun to have Alex be both someone Henry knew in real life and someone who was reading Henry’s work.

My favourite part of writing and posting this fic has been hearing how readers relate to it. So many people have talked to me about how much Henry’s journey resonated with them, and all the ways this story made them feel seen. I absolutely love all the conversations I've gotten to have through this fic, and how much that's made me think about fandom and its role in all our lives, the good and the bad of it and how I wouldn’t be the same person without it. 'Hashtag Soulmates' will always be special to me, because fandom is so incredibly special to me.

Below the cut is an excerpt from the fic that's from chapter one: it’s where we get to know about Henry’s day-to-day life as a prolific Jabriel fic writer. (Jabriel - James and Gabriel. I made up a fake ship based on Alex and Henry - see what I did there with the middle names? - so that they could effectively ship themselves. Simple, right?) Please enjoy this little window into Henry’s daily fic writing habits!

Henry is a respectable member of society.

He's worked as a copywriter for six years now. Most of his colleagues seem to like him well enough, although he's pretty sure that they all think of him as somewhat reserved. Still, he's entirely capable of navigating the office gossip by the water cooler and he tags along to the bi-weekly pub quiz gatherings often enough to actually keep getting invited. He’s sociable, polite and occasionally even funny. And he’s good at his job. That goes a surprisingly long way.

When Henry comes home from a day at the office or a night out at the pub, he curls up on the couch with his laptop and a cup of Earl Grey, and he writes. He writes about young men falling in love and subsequently falling in bed. He writes about kissing, and touching, and being kissed and being touched, about desire and desperation and sweet, sweet release.

Some of it he pulls from memory, but most of it is pure fantasy. Although it's not a wishlist, exactly. Henry is happily single for the most part, and the sex he writes isn't necessarily the sex he wants to have. It's more along the lines of very elaborate, often impossible daydreams, except Henry captures them on the page, edits them furiously and gets thousands of hits when he publishes them. All in a day's work.

Henry’s best friend, PezLikeTheSweets, lives in New Zealand. Pez has beta read every single one of Henry's fics for the past decade. They'd first connected back when Henry still wrote Wolfstar fics, except it wasn’t actually called Wolfstar back then, although the whole wizarding world has since lost its appeal to Henry either way. Fucking Joanne.

These days Henry writes about Simon and Baz, and those sweet Swedish teen gay royals, but his current main ship is definitely Gabriel and James. And he’s not alone in that. The scorchingly hot romance between a civil rights lawyer and a queer historian has been on the New York Times Bestseller list for months. There’s a movie in the works and a rumoured sequel, but in the meantime a lot of people are looking to get their Jabriel fix from fanfic. A lot of people. And Henry somehow managed to churn out his first few oneshots just in time to hit that elusive sweet spot in a fandom on the rise. Everyone read them. And now, whenever Henry posts a new story, everyone reads that too.

Read 'Hashtag Soulmates' on AO3!

[fshoulders]

Just saw someone on here say the Baz Luhrmann Romeo & Juliet is “considered the most faithful movie version of Romeo and Juliet” and had to stop myself from chasing them down the internet like the meme goose going “BY WHO?! BY WHO!?????” Don’t start internet beef over this, self! They didn’t say THEY liked it best! They might be an innocent bystander! Also you are weirdly aggressive about Shakespeare!

Okay, deep breath, short post. Short post! We can do this!

Romeo and Juliet has an oddly small cinematic footprint, compared to its cultural impact. That’s probably why Luhrmann’s version can still hold any primacy. (Gods, are there English teachers showing this in class? Because they don’t have to fast-forward through the Zefferelli nudity? What a thought. Stay on target.) I can only theorize that other Shakespeare plays get more adaptations because they’re centered on a huge male role, so they can be a Serious Showpiece for a single male actor. R&J doesn’t operate that way.

And in my experience (having seen four or five live productions, off the top of my head) it’s a play that really lives in the theater. Stupid as it sounds, every time I see Romeo and Juliet live, some part of me feels like this time, it might end happy. The letter might not go astray: the messenger won’t get caught in a quarantine, Romeo will know Juliet isn’t dead, and everything will turn out fine. It’s so often noted that the play isn’t structured as a tragedy, but as a New Comedy (like Midsummer Night’s Dream, et c. — a story about young people defying their parents for love) that goes wrong: somehow this works on me, in person, such that I really think maybe we’ll pull it off! The kids will be all right, the parents will be chastened, and all will end well. It breaks my heart, every time, when it doesn’t.

I have small quibbles with the Luhrmann R&J, but I won’t enumerate them here. I simply want to point out that Luhrmann makes the most appalling directorial choice he possibly could. And he’s not the only one! This choice was in vogue during the 19th century in England (which is also when Bowdler took the naughty bits out of Shakespeare, so…yeah. Not very concerned with being faithful to the text.) Luhrmann, and the rest of the 19th century text-criminals, have Juliet wake up while Romeo is still dying.

I suppose some of you are now going, “why is that such a terrible thing? It allows for more acting!” Well, yeah, that’s why the hams of the London stage liked to do it in Romantic and Victorian times. Everything for more melodrama!

But it’s a sin against the text, and I’ll tell you why. That breathless stupid hope I talked about above, that the entire play’s structure induces? The hope that everything will turn out right? It builds up in you like a flood, and everything goes wrong again, and the entire weight of your hope is penned up in your heart, and they came so close! It was so close to being all right, but Romeo kills himself, and nothing will be all right.

And Juliet wakes up, still a citizen of the Country of Hope where this trick is so clever and Romeo’s going to save her, and she finds him there. And nothing makes sense to her. He was supposed to be here, but he was supposed to be alive. It’s a cruel inversion of her hopes, it’s her love made Death at last, it’s her whole world collapsing. We know how close it came to being all right, but she doesn’t know. She despairs. She sees he poisoned himself. And then she kisses him. And she says,

“Thy lips are warm.”

Now she knows as clearly as we do how nearly they were together, how close they came to a happy ending. Total understanding crashes over her, and crashes out of us. It’s the perfectly weighted moment of catharsis for the entire play. No lie: just typing her words above, I started crying with no warning. It’s the sharpened point of the play in Juliet’s heart, and ours. Those four words are the most devastating, understated thing. They are the cold, uncaring touch of Death.

And if she saw him die, they don’t work. They make no sense. She sounds like a fool saying them. And the whole weight of the play lands wrong, because some director thought he knew better than William Shakespeare how to wring the salt tears from human hearts.

[sucrosette]

★— ⋆｡˚ [Poison]

For Day 16 of Carry on Countdown 23, Smoke. @carryon-countdown

Filthy Anniversary Smut. As Simon Snow and Basilton Grimm-Pitch deserve.

Rated somewhere between M and E, for being overtly smutty. It's not the most descriptive on what's happening twixt their nethers though, so your mileage may vary.

Warnings for (consensual) smoking/cigarettes, burnplay and sexual shenanigans whilst under the influence.

⋆｡˚

It’s three in the morning. The clock ticks loudly. It’s the only sound beyond the clink of their shared wine glass whenever one of them places it back on the bedside table. Mostly Basil. This is Basil’s show and he’s shameless with it. Simon’s on fire all over again and this time it’s not even the unnatural outpouring of magick he’d been able to tap into, once upon a time.

Simon’s on his back a pillow at his spine between his wings to keep them from being squashed unnecessarily, beyond what Baz might like for him. His tail’s wrapped around Baz’s ankle, squeezing every time Baz makes another move against him. Basil, poised perfectly above him, slotted between Simon’s legs, still buried deep, not bothering to clean them up or separate between rounds.

Crowley, it’s been one hell of an anniversary. Whisked off to Paris, shown about the town, wined and dined, and now he’s pinned to their hotel bed, far nicer than the one Simon’s got in his shitty little apartment. Willingly, of course, all too willingly. He’s let Basil tie his wrists together and to the headboard, a long silk scarf the colour of his wings to make a pretty picture– just like Baz likes.

Basil’s still rocking inside of him, slow and lazy, dragging debauched moans from Simon, his Simon with every one. His throat’s gone by now, his voice raw with everything they’ve gotten up to since they’d stumbled their way back into the hotel, a little bit tipsy from after dinner drinks and lounge music, and Simon’s certain Basil’s got plans to ruin his voice even more.

It’s three in the morning, they’re in their hotel, which Simon’s pretty certain was a smoking free room, and Basil’s scrounged a cigarette from somewhere. Had he had that the whole time? Probably. Simon was too gone to tell. Baz starts dragging the tip of it over his chest, unlit, but undeniably a precursor to something more. Simon’s breath hitches when Baz shoots him a look, sends his eyelashes fluttering like some twitterpated teen girl instead of the very entwined couple they were.

Baz grips Simon’s chin and straightens his neck, taking another sip of wine, and cracks Simon’s mouth open, spitting it secondhand into his mouth. A little nearly spills, but Baz cleans it quick with his thumb, forcing that in Simon’s mouth too. Simon writhes and moans, but swallows diligently, humming when it’s all down his throat, a happy little smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, you head-empty little thing, you’re loving all of this, aren’t you?” Basil drawls above him and Simon only nods, his little smile growing. “Well, that’s good then. As you should, on our anniversary.”

Simon hums again as Baz pulls the cigarette to his lips, lighting it on his thumb and watching Simon’s eyes blow wide all over again. Tension pulls Simon’s muscles taut all over again underneath Basil. “You love that too, don’t you, Darling? Think it’s bloody hot?”

Simon nods again, even faster, earning a soft chuckle from Baz as he takes his first proper drag. “Filthy,” Baz murmurs as he settles a little deeper, hand poised with the cigarette over Simon’s abdomen. He drags his fingertips slowly up and down the center of him, the heat of the butt of it dangerously close to Simon’s skin. There’s a moment of pause between them, a fierce eye contact, an unspoken request, and Simon nods his consent all too easily.

The cigarette burns a neat circle just above his belly button and then it’s leaving his skin so Baz can take another long drag. Basil blows smoke over the burn, bending deep so he can kiss it soft, cooling it with cool lips, before pressing another perfect circle into the dip of Simon’s hips, on the left side, and then before he could even react, again on the right.

A low whine slips from Simon’s lips and Baz’s grin only cracks wider. He presses two more soft kisses to each mark before straightening again, sinking back in easy for his love, fingers tracing a small circle just below Simon’s ribs. Another unspoken question. Another quick nod from Simon, begging without words for the sadistic attention.

Baz takes another drag, blowing the smoke through his nose, and marking just where he’d marked for Simon’s approval, and then again in the middle of Simon’s chest, dead center of it. Two more kisses find their way over Simon’s aching skin between Basil’s lazy drags and lazy rocking, still taking his time while Simon’s already twisting under him, voiceless and wanting.

“One more, love, is that all you need?” Basil tone borders on teasing, his grin something wicked, made of the smoke he’s blowing. He knows better, but he’s teasing all the same.

It’s enough to make Simon throw him a glare, enough to nearly find his voice, but it cracks again on nothing. He shakes his head furiously, sending Baz a vicious pout when the vampire’s grip catches his jaw again, forcing his gaze one more time.

“Where?” is all Basil asks, and it’s entirely unfair. He can’t point where he’d like to with his hands bound like this, and his legs are useless with how they’re tangled together.

He’ll have to use his voice.

Just like Basil likes, an exasperated version of himself reminds Simon internally. Nothing he hasn’t agreed to, nothing he doesn’t like, but that urge to riot rising in Simon as his eagerness and impatience grows.

“Collar–” He manages to crack out, despite the state of him, despite the growing desperation and the glower settling on his face, but before his mood could sour properly, Basil catches his lips in a searing kiss, almost unnaturally hot.

“Fine,” Basil mutters through his smokey kiss, “Three more, then I’ll take care of us. If you’re still good to go that is?”

The hand not holding that cigarette massages at Simon’s wrists, a careful moment of tenderness, and Simon nods again as his jaw is freed. “M’good,” he mumbles out, barely audible, “M’so bloody good.”

“Alright, Darling,” Baz rumbles out, already dragging from that dangerous cigarette all over again, “That’s enough out of you for now, rest that pretty voice until I make you scream all over again.”

It’s all too easy a command to follow.

Tears start gathering in Simon’s eyes when the first burn hits him, just at the dip of his collarbone against his neck. He squints when the second hits, a mirror of the last, attempting to blink them away while Baz takes his last drag of his cigarette. The final burn presses into the hollow of his throat and Simon moans filthy even as his tears spill over properly onto his cheeks.

Basil leans up to ash the mostly dead cigarette in their mostly empty wine glass and then back down to kiss Simon’s tears away, trailing all the way down to lips to kiss him languid all over again. Their kiss tastes like poison, like smoke and ash and a hint of blood, probably Simon’s. Their kiss tastes like danger, like suffocation, like all the fire and fight they’d ever shared between them. Their kiss tastes like love, like tender velvet and soft rose petals, none of the thorns they both used to wield against each other.

Simon loves it, all of it, swallows down those kisses as greedily as Basil gives them, whining when Baz breaks their kiss to press their foreheads together.

“Ready?” Basil breathes sometime after three in the morning, barely above a whisper. Barely a nod answers him before Simon is reduced to breathlessness all over again.

[theearlgreymage]

Or Thursday. It's fine. We're pretending yesterday wasn't real right now.

These last two weeks have been brutal to my writing schedule. Being an adult is too much. Being responsible for other humans is overwhelming.

On the positive side, I have a million ideas and plenty of WIP's!! Just need to find the time to get to them. There's FOUR snippets under the cut that I need to stop staring at and just finish.

My current baby is still Infinity In Your Chest Pocket. Chapter 3 is coming along smoothly. It should be up SOON (I'm sorry it took so long @ionlydrinkhotwater )

Snow looks like a lost puppy as he follows our group through the shopping center. Or really, follows my cousin.

It reminds me of fifth year, when we couldn't do anything without Snow sniffing around us like a blood hound. Baz was going out of his mind by Spring.

He'd come out to his family the prior summer, and while it hadn't gone terrible it also wasn't great. Uncle Malcolm tried to act like Baz had never opened his mouth. So, Baz kept his mouth shut at school. Niall and I knew, but that was it.

There were a few opportunities when Baz could have made a derisive comment to Snow about his stalking habits that year, but he never did. I've always suspected his attitude towards Snow. I know how Baz treats someone he detests, and his treatment of Snow is not that. Not that I’m dumb enough to point that out to him. 

Right now he's leading Snow around from shop to shop, acting like this is something we've always done together. As though Niall and I are just supposed to follow his lead.

Well, Niall does. They are best friends, and love shopping together. I'm more so here to carry their haul like some pack mull.

Snow has muscle, though, so when my arms start to get tired, I toss some bags his way. "Here, consider this your initiation to our group."

I swear I haven't abandoned Let's Avoid Spoilers, Darling either. The plot for this keeps shifting in my head. Originally, it was supposed to be very serious. But more and more ideas keep popping up in my head that border on crack. So I have to squash them routinely.

It’s locked. I growl, frustrated and try to turn the handle again. 

“Stop.” Baz whisper-hisses at me, getting in my personal space. 

“What are they hiding from us?” I demand. 

“I don’t know, but my future-self is going to hear us if you keep trying to force that door open.” 

Resigned, I let the door knob go. “So what do we do now?” 

Without answering, Baz grabs me by the elbow and pulls me back into the room we’re sharing. “Right now? Nothing. We can’t go sneaking around this house so openly.” 

“You think any of our future selves are going to leave us unsupervised long enough to sneak around except at night?” I ask. 

This forces Baz to pause, crossing his arms and bringing one hand up to his mouth. He does this sometimes, it’s one of his plotting faces, chews on the pad of his thumb while he thinks. 

My submission for EGF is also taking shape. Realistically, I wanted this to be a multi-chapter endeavor. But I think it's going to be a one-shot. We'll see.

I never thought that the hands that so deftly wield a sword, could be this delicate. The way Simon plucks my shirt buttons open with a smooth finesse is borderline hypnotic. He's gotten so good at it. If he really wants to, he can get a couple buttons undone without my noticing.

Normally, Simon is brute force and strength in everything that he does. But with me, it's the opposite. He treats me gently, reverently, just like I asked for when he decided to genuinely try.

When I finally feel the tips of his fingers on my newly exposed skin, it makes me shiver. The temperature contrast between us has my nerves feeling extra sensitive.

Finally, I had a random thought (and was then bribed by @ic3-que3n with their stunning artwork that I am willing to sell my soul for) to create a Witcher!SnowBaz AU. This is still in the planning process. I probably won't post anything for it until after EGF to balance my plate. So, it's just an outline for now.

Open the scene in a small desolate village at night with the streets empty 

Simon is in the middle of battling [insert dark creature] 

He defeats it easily with just a couple of scratches, nothing to be concerned about for him 

Payment is left outside the village leaders home - no words are exchanged 

Flashback Scene 

Simon on his first hunt with [insert Witcher Mentor] 

They’re explaining to Simon the real world practices of the Witcher trade 

Hunting monsters at night 

How villagers will likely not want to talk to him 

How the world relies on them to keep the monsters in the dark at bay 

Jump to next scene of Simon in a different town, talking to an innkeeper about a monster problem 

Someone tries to hire Simon as a mercenary 

Comments about Witcher’s not having emotions/feelings & only looking for coin are made 

Simon ignores them and the men  

Flashback Scene 

Simon is in the market with other young boys from Kaer Morhen 

The boys are offered coin for a small job 

End up robbing an innocent shop-keep 

Simon feels extreme guilt for his actions

While I have been spending too much time just staring at blank documents lately, I have still been writing a lot. But not alone. So I won't share pieces from them. BUT I have been role-playing with two amazingly talented individuals.

@buffy has me going feral over our snowbaz mpreg plot. It's so emotional. Has literally made me cry. I love it. We need to check our word count cause I think we’re over 40k now.

And @upuntil6am has me head over heels for our tender snowbaz a/b/o dynamic plot. It's tooth rotting sweet (for now, I swear you can trust me though) and I need more of it at all times.

We're not going to talk about the fact I need an idea for COBB still.

Thank you to @confused-bi-queer @hushed-chorus @shrekgogurt @johnwgrey and on Sunday @palimpsessed for all the tags these last few days ♥️ I do see them and they make me so happy to be included in the community of this lovely Fandom.

I'll forgo tagging back since it's. You know. Thursday.

[septembersghost]

I keep telling myself this doesn't change anything but I'm still sad

we're allowed to feel sad! there's nothing wrong with that, i am too. 💔❤ what austin dedicated to this and what he achieved is astonishing and mesmerizing, and every single person - every one of them! - who worked on creating elvis and putting it onto film poured so much care, and heart, and soul into it. they did this by centering profound compassion and a humanistic perspective on this extraordinary story and this singular man whose memory has too often been done disservice. i'm just repeating myself because we've talked about this, but i'll still say it again - that's everlasting! statues don't alter that. it doesn't take anything it means to us, individually or collectively. it doesn't diminish any of the exquisite work done by this cast and crew.

and i'll say this: the most indelible thing is the impact art has on those it touches and who love it and feel changed by it, and who keep that close to them. awards are nice, recognition is validating, but love and memory are forever. the most gorgeous testament to any piece of art or any performance is when it transcends its own frame and becomes a part of its audience. it's kaleidoscopic (to borrow a perfect word from dani's review!), all these shimmering separate pieces of it becoming pieces of us and forming new pictures. many members of this team, baz and austin very much at the forefront, have noted the connection the film has to so many people, across divides and generations, and they've honored and celebrated that connection with such warmth and reverence. they know what it means to us, i really believe they do. all of us will remember that.

editing to add: always always always

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

2023 Movie Journey #3: Elvis

elvis. i watched this with @actuallylukedanes​, which is the only reason it landed so early in my viewing this year. it was on my list but not a high priority at all: obviously i love tom hanks but i knew he wasn’t playing his lovable usual here, and i really have no feelings towards elvis either way. i barely grew up aware of who he was, my exposure to him was entirely secondhand through an episode of designing women and a john waters movie that i imprinted on like a baby duck when i was way too young to be watching a john waters movie (and which i can never enjoy again cuz now Some Things ruin my childhood retroactively).

so honestly, the only reason this movie went on my list is because i read a long profile about it that was really about baz luhrmann, and because moulin rouge was like a gift he gave just to me that lasts forever, i’ll give anything he makes a chance. once i was reconsidering my disinterest in the subject matter, the plan to watch it with leander sealed the deal. 

putting it behind a cut even though i have less to say about it than some other movies, because it really...wasn’t good, exactly. i wouldn’t say it was bad, either, but it was structured really similarly to every other biopic, which surprised me. the visuals were baz luhrmann all the way, but other than deciding to make this a story of ‘elvis through the lens of the complicated figure whose presence both made him and doomed him’ (as opposed to just centering the story on freaking elvis, whose name is on the poster!) his life and career story is told almost identically to how they framed the whitney houston biopic i saw. start near the end, then take us back to the origin story, and eventually make it back to where you started after showing how we got there. then conclude with a tragic death (offscreen).

so i mean, the performances were good. i can give the movie full credit for that. austin butler did a good job and is very talented. tom hanks (who i already knew is talented, obviously) really fills up his character so that even though he’s a truly cruel and masterful huckster, there’s still a chance that he might believe his own lies in the end. i didn’t recognize elvis’s father as being played by the duke from moulin rouge but leander did right away, so they get all the points. :) and billy from stranger things was there! wearing eyeliner! he is very pretty in eyeliner and i highly preferred his styling in this to stranger things.

but underneath all the glitz and the big performances, i guess to me the movie just felt so shallow. watching it didn’t make me feel more interested in elvis, though it did make me like austin butler more...and i have to wonder if some of that is because for all its big visuals, this movie didn’t go as big on emotions. 

it is so invested in the character tom hanks plays, but he’s a canny operator with few sincere feelings we can connect to. a lot of elvis’s emotions are all about his love of performing, so we get establishments of his marriage and family but quickly speed past those things to his affairs and eventual divorce. when he loses his mother and when his marriage ends, he’s given about a minute onscreen to mourn each before it’s quite literally back on with the show, prodded forward by gambling-addicted tom hanks.

and so instead of being a movie that explores elvis, exactly, this is a movie where we watch elvis be so often a passive actor in his own life. a young man naively trusting a greedy influence, a lonely man accepting affection from strangers despite its effect on his family, an addicted man taking whatever drugs he’s given to keep moving. it was hard to feel connected to the main character when he was being constantly taken advantage of or only seemed happy onstage and was, in this telling, a star who kept doing whatever he was told no matter how much it hurt. (his very brief rebellious phase before they sent him to basic training was my favorite part of the film. that had some power.)

i can’t help comparing this movie to the whitney houston one because there was such life and joy in that, which gave its sad ending all the more impact. i knew to expect a similar depressing ending for elvis, and yet, this movie held his death at a distance, repeating the framing of tom hanks narrating about elvis in the end. i was glad that the whitney biopic didn’t show her death, and didn’t need to see his--but we could have seen his family and friends reacting, or some moment of him in private, rather than the last shot we got which was literally physically distanced, too. 

using colonel parker they way they did gave tom hanks a lot to do, but it felt like a concept the filmmakers were too excited about as a ‘twist’ to realize that it sapped what makes a biopic great: the force of the star at its center. if they elevated tom hank’s role because they were worried about fully giving austin butler the stage, i don’t think they needed to be. he was a good choice, and i just wish they had trusted him to do more. then maybe i could’ve seen the movie i expected this to be, in which baz luhrmann told me the story of elvis--rather than one where tom hanks did so while defending his villainous actions as he got the last word.

(though technically elvis got the last word in a delightfully predictable post-credits moment and i do give them--ahem--credit for that. and leander more points, for playing that part on purpose.)

in conclusion, not my favorite viewing experience for a lot of different reasons, but i’m still glad i saw it. because austin butler was fun, and, well, baz luhrmann. the man makes the shiniest glittery movies, and i love them so much for existing even when i don’t love them at all.

[worlddevoid]

World Devoid: Episode 1.4 - This Is (Not) Your Morning

(Word Count: 1.2k)

...

As they clear the stretching road scattered with broken down vehicles and approach the campus dorms, Baz slows to a roll and parks directly in front-- ignoring the 'No Parking' sign pitched up at the entrance. He kills the engine and turns to Cassie, realization and horror finally setting in.

"Cassie. What the heck do you think happened here? And real talk- what the FRICK was that thing- because I promise you it was no spider!” He blurts out.

"I don't know, but I desperately need a shower, and so do you. Let's hope someone at the dorms can tell us what happened," Cassie responds, moving to get out of the RV, still in slight denial about the fact that they haven't seen a single other person. ‘There has to be someone, right? I mean, surely we're not the only ones around... Right???’ She reasons anxiously.

Baz hops out of the RV and falls in line with Cassie. "Yeah, someone at the dorms..." He mutters, but his sentence trails off as his eyes graze over the disheveled exterior.

The uneasy feeling that they’re being watched causes Cassie to glance around, but she sees no one nearby. Choosing to ignore the shiver trickling down her spine, she walks right up to the shattered glass remains of the entrance doors.

Carefully stepping over the shards, the crunching sounds under her toes make her cringe. Nevertheless, she pushes forward, casting aside all her worries even as she notices signs of struggle all around. It looks like some kind of fight happened and then everyone left in a hurry.

Inside, the shattered glass crushing beneath their feet litters the tile flooring and the furniture scattered about looks like it had been swept up in a tornado. Armchairs lay on their sides, loose flyers and supplies riddle the ground, potted plants have been tipped over-- dirt splashed in front of them like blood at a crime scene.

The fluorescent lights flicker as if acknowledging their presence.

Baz takes one step ahead of Cassie, centering themselves in the main entrance hall. He eyes the front desk- a telephone hanging haphazardly over the front by its cord- before calling out a hesitant, but loud, "Hello??!”

As Baz calls out into the empty room, their voice echoes ominously. They wait for a few moments but no response comes.

Tentatively, he takes another step forward, craning his neck to get a better view further down the hall.

Not a single sign of life nor movement comes. It seems that they are completely alone. “Helllooo??” He stupidly calls out again.

When Baz’s greetings are met only with his own echoing voice mocking him, he takes a step backwards in fear and trepidation.

"Ugh, where is everyone?" Cassie cries out from behind him, lightly kicking a tipped over chair in her frustration. She doesn't want to admit it, but she’s really starting to freak out. Feeling on the verge of tears, she thinks to herself, ‘What is going on??’

Baz glances back and watches a plume of dust billow out of the chair Cassie had aimed their anger towards.

Suddenly, in the distance, a very faint scuttling noise can be heard softly reverberating off the walls.

‘There must be more of those creatures here. I have to study them! But also…those guys give me the creeps.’ Baz contemplates; admitting to himself that, even for a bug lover, this is all a bit too much. He turns to face Cassie and speak his piece.

"Cassie, I think it would be wise of us to strategize at this current moment. That encounter on the road was way too close, and, though I am not easily surprised, I will admit that even I was taken off guard by those things. If I'm deducing this correctly, I think those creatures are fearful of large vehicles. I suggest that the best course of action would be to ram our RV through the entrance and drive it through the halls for protection."

‘I'm so frickin' smart.’ Baz thinks smugly, puffing out his chest a little.

Cassie was positioned to abuse the furniture once more, but stops- leg midair- to toss Baz an incredulous look.

"You want to drive the RV through the dorms? The whole building could collapse on top of us!" She immediately protests, but honestly, she doesn't really have a better idea right now.

"Perhaps" Baz replies thoughtfully. ‘They're right, but I could have sworn as soon as we got back into the RV, that spider thing was twitching and freaking out. There has to be some correlation…’ He reflects before concluding, "All I know is the vibes are freaking weird in here and I'd feel safer in the RV."

Baz looks around again at the empty and disheveled lobby. What once was a manicured and vapid entranceway, had become the stomping grounds of an event unknown to the two of them. The place not only looks empty...it looks like it had been attacked.

More scuttling sounds erupt down the hallway- this time closer than before. Baz jumps three feet in the air and grabs Cassie's arm in alarm.

"Dude- Cassie-- I think that thing that attacked us on the street had friends...." He points down the hallway towards the source of the noises. "I think there's more down there. D-Do you think-" he gulps hard. "Do you th-think those creatures are responsible for all of this?" He gestures around the room at the clear signs of mayhem.

"It sure seems that way. No time to discuss further, let's just get back in the RV for now," Cassie twirls around and heads back toward the front entrance, but before she can even take two steps, a horde of spiders pour in from around the corner, flooding down the hallway.

Hundreds of eyes blink in odd rhythms at them as they trample over each other in an attempt to make headway.

Cassie snags Baz's arm and takes off running. They drag him along behind them as they push themselves to sprint faster. Somehow, they both make it to the front entrance, jumping over the broken glass and heading straight for the RV.

"WHAAAAAAAAT THEEEEEEE FRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCKKKK!" Baz is yelling as he is dragged by his arm; his feet kicking wildly behind him as he tries to find his balance between forced steps.

When their large vehicle pops into view, he finally snaps into action-- shaking free of Cassie’s hold and scrambling to get into the RV. He slams the driver's side door closed and sighs in relief, slumping into the seat.

‘They can't get us in here.’ he assures himself.

Struggling with her chunky heels, Cassie had fallen behind when Baz broke away. As he clambers inside easily, the tip of Cassie’s shoe catches on the sidewalk and she trips forward onto the concrete - scraping her palms on the way down. The spider-like creatures begin to close the distance as she struggles to push herself back onto her feet.

The sounds of thousands of tiny, tapping legs - skittering across the ground - grows more intense, and she scrambles up in a panic.

She expertly launches herself towards the passenger door, frantically groping for the handle as the hoard scuttles closer and closer.

...

(Original Photo Credit: Reddit r/LiminalSpace - u/AlexandarPANASONIC -- Edited by @same-soup-just-reheated)

(Banner by @charzardmain)

[destinyc1020]

Thats on indie wire for putting the reviewers words out of context. Nowhere did david elrich say Austin was bad nor compared him to elordi, he was clearly making a distinction that austin and baz was portraying the myth, the idolatry of Elvis whereas in priscilla is sofia is focused on the human and the person behind the persona while still centering priscilla . Elrich only mentions austin like onceand rest of the article he talks about the film and calee speany. I understand the annoyance but y'all gotta actually read the review itself rather than just read the clickbait title and jumping to conclusions. Like indiewire be playing with them stan wars to generate its kinda funny tbh. Like Lol, I dont even like elrich but thats a mischaracterization of his review.

Thanks Anon. 😊

I'll admit, I didn't even read the article lol, I just didn't like the clickbait title, or the way some outlets will just try to compare two types of work to each other, when they are totally completely different.

I feel like Baz's film was definitely a more glamorized version of Elvis because it had to span like 4 decades of his life in under 3 hours. It wasn't focusing on just ONE aspect, but was more so focusing on his rise to fame, his inspiration from black music, and his influence on American culture.

With that said, I feel like the movie DID highlight some of the not-so-great parts about Elvis (ie. his cheating, his drug abuse, his temper, etc.), but it just kind of glossed over it, so it wasn't focused on deeply. Like I said, I'm not sure Baz wanted the film to be a dragging piece on Elvis, but more so just a celebration of his music, the culture, how he became famous, what he had to deal with, and most IMPORTANTLY....his relationship with his manager Colonel Tom Parker....something that A LOT of people (even die-hard Elvis fans) never even knew about what was going on behind the scenes.

But yea, this guy is entitled to his own opinion of course, and I'm not upset that JE is getting good reviews. Seems like he's wanted this type of work for a very long time. What I DON'T like is people trying to belittle or shade Austin and his work for a film that was totally different. Not when that man put so much blood, sweat, and tears into that role and went through so much TRAINING and research in order to not mess up this man's legacy. 😤

There's more than enough room for both films and both actors imo. 🤷🏾‍♀️

[terrainofheartfelt]

Do u have any book and movie recommendations?

sooooo many. you might regret asking.

I love books very very much, just in case you didn't know, so let me fire off at random some of my all time faves with and without blurbs.

poetry: Devotions, Mary Oliver | No Matter the Wreckage, Sarah Kay | Leaves of Grass, Whitman | Post Colonial Love Poem, Natalie Diaz

nonfiction:

My Life in France, Julia Child --- her memoir of moving to France with her husband post WWII and her discovery of cooking and deciding to write her cookbook and it's so charming and so her and it's just a delight

Open Me Carefully, Emily Dickinson --- a chronological collection of letters, poems, and letter-poems Emily sent to her lover sister-in-law Susan Dickinson. it's intimate, playful, kind, passionate, and the editors do a great job of putting it all together. and you read it and just know that you are only skimming the surface of the deep love these two women had for each other i gotta lie down

What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding, Kristin Newman --- funny sexy travel memoir by a TV writer who spent her hiatus months in the aughts summers by traveling solo and having whirlwind romances and also her reconciliation between being the woman who can't be tied down but also wanting to build a life with a partner.

The Real Traviata, Rene Weis --- an opera book because me. a biography about Marie Duplessis, the French woman who inspired Dumas to write La Dame aux Camellias and therefore Verdi's Traviata and THEREFORE Baz Luhrman's Moulin Rouge. she had by the most objective accounts a difficult and short life full of fear and illness and abuse but also full of strength and color and love and I found it really moving.

fiction: aka the novels I am thinking most about right now.

House of the Spirits, Isabel Allende --- an all time favorite. a historical, multigenerational epic that left me staring at the ceiling after finishing it. and cemented Allende's place as one of my fave authors

The Sentence, Louise Erdrich --- it's about ghosts and independent bookstores and indigenous women and community and love and trust and the pandemic. great novel.

Sex and Vanity, Kevin Kwan --- people are always looking for who they should crown the modern Jane Austen, and it's him. it's kevin kwan. this is a modern remix of A Room with a View and it is funny and sexy and sweet and was a delight to read.

Beautiful World, Where Are You, Sally Rooney --- my favorite of hers. I love how the chapters of story are interspersed with emails between the two leads. yes there's romance, but the real center of this story is the friendship between the two women.

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong --- entirely lives up to the tumblr hype. possibly exceeds the tumblr hype. I told my best friend to read this book. which she did. then scolded me because while she agrees it's beautiful it's also so heartbreaking. truly some of the most beautiful prose I've ever read. I checked it out from the library but i really want a copy of my own to mark up.

Bright Young Women, Jessica Knoll (out Oct. 3rd) --- i got this ARC at the librarian convention. I'm in the middle of it right now but I have to talk it up because it is sooooo good. It's about women who meet because they have the worst possible thing in common: their best friend was murdered by the same serial killer. It hops around between the '70s and the present day, reads like a thriller, and the thesis is really about destroying the myth of the criminal mastermind, a la all those true crime docs about dahmer and bundy. I'm almost halfway through and the murderer is only referred to as "The Defendant." It's about taking the narrative away from him, the universal defendant, and recentering it around the exceptional women whose lives he ended and/or destroyed. Again, please check it out when it comes out this fall. But be forewarned that the subject matter is dark.

as for MOVIES, well, if I tried to make a list like the one above I'd be here all day, so why don't I just list a handful that I consider central to understanding who I am as a person:

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

The Life of Brian

The Blues Brothers

The Princess Diaries 1 AND 2

Little Women (2019)

Juno

The Holiday

Pride and Prejudice (2005)

Star Wars, the OG and prequel trilogies

and, last winter I stumbled across The Four Seasons starring Alan Alda and Carol Burnett, and I thought it was delightful.