This is Shirasade‘s fic and vid recs collection, starting 2015. (Unfortunately my recs from 2005 onwards were hosted on Delicious and went bust with the site, although I found an unsorted bookmarks list from 2010.)
Because I moved from Delicous to Tumblr and now WordPress, the older posts don’t look quite so pretty.
Posts will be shared:
Find everything sorted by Fandom and Pairing in the archive or by searching:
He felt it in the drift, how not-sorry Jake is for leaving all this behind. But he fumbles with Jake’s belt anyway, works it open with his hands, because yes Nate’s uptight and has no sense of humor and he’ll never forgive Jake for leaving, but he’s stupid-in-love with him all the same.
He struggles a little against the ropes. Lan Zhan watches silently.
Are his eyes darker than before? Wei Ying knows the magic of angels, knows Lan Zhan could silence him if he wanted to, but he lets Wei Ying talk, so he talks. He boasts and seduces, coaxing and playing with Lan Zhan like he’s done it a thousand times. These are the skills he knows best; they will free him.
At a natural pause in Wei Ying’s speech, Lan Zhan finally interrupts.
“You are new,” he states, which, rude! Wei Ying has been told many times that he’s the most powerful succubus anyone’s seen in centuries. He may be new, but Lan Zhan doesn’t need to—to guess like that. What does he know about succubi?!
Ray should have been allowed to come and find Gerard! He was the lead guitar player of their band and the set list was as much up to him as it was to anyone else, and if he wanted to discuss it with his lead singer then he should have been allowed to do that whenever he wanted. He should not have had to issue a written warning first, or text or call, or even knock, which he was desperately wishing he had done, because there was Gerard on the couch, facing away from Ray, not wearing a shirt and getting his dick sucked.
Lan Wangji never believed the stories of the Lan family curse.
He kept his face impassive when, as a young boy, Lan Qiren told him, “The rumors are true. If a Lan reaches thirty years of age with his virginity intact, he will be able to hear the thoughts of whomever he touches.”
There is no time. No time to process, no time to grieve. Steve pushes the horror, the guilt, down into the pit of his stomach, a lead weight that would crush him if he allowed it.
The noise from the array distorts, changing in frequency as the light flares up, painfully bright. Steve turns away, shielding his eyes, and sees the Borg on the walkway before him move stiffly, its head still bowed.
It slowly rises, lifting its head. The red laser sighted by its right eye strobes across Steve’s face as it turns towards him.
It was human, once. It’s eyes a shade of blue that Steve hasn’t seen in half a lifetime.
The police had his new client in an interrogation room, handcuffed to a chair. The guy looked up as Sam came in: white, late twenties, clear-eyed, which made Sam’s eyebrows go up; not the typical murder suspect the Baltimore police usually pulled in. “Dean Winchester?” Sam said. “I’m Sam Moore. I’m your lawyer.”
Brian huffed a short laugh. “Is this the whose bitch do you want to be conversation?”
Dom stared down at his hands. “Brian,” he said, and couldn’t keep going. He wanted to start talking the kind of bullshit Roman would’ve been selling right now: it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for show, it won’t be that bad, when what he meant was don’t fucking make me watch you die. He’d done a great job not thinking about it before now, but he knew what was going to happen if Brian said no, if he tried to fight it out.
Brian looked away. “I’ve put a lot of guys into prison, Dom. I know the score.” He blew out a breath. “Do you mind?”
“No,” Dom said, forcing it past his closed throat. He minded enough to gut himself, but that wasn’t the answer Brian was going to get from him, some chickenshit how about Roman, as if that could even have worked, as if he could’ve let that happen and not killed Roman himself with his bare hands.
Mia said, her voice a little choked with laughter, “It says Brian.”
“The fuck it does,” Dom said, but nobody said she was joking. He ran up to the bedroom and grabbed the shaving mirror out of the shower and got it angled right, and shit it did say Brian, the letters clear in pink new skin.