#//nearly two years waiting for this commission to be done~

[viciousbite]

Artist: buffalodog

A home for Sinners and the One who Guards them.

[thesharkwhalewhoohooooo]

Bridget x Fem! Oc

In which a goddess falls for a mortal, a very pretty mortal.

"What's up babes." Circe smirked, wrapping her arms around Bridget and pushing her face into the hair that covered her shoulder.

"Circe! Don't scare me like that!" Bridget giggled out, the redhead merely chuckled.

"What have you made this time?" The goddess looked down at the two trays she had in her hands, arching an eyebrow at the light purple cookies.

"Purple? Are you finally broadening your pink horizons?" She took her hands away from her, instead walking alongside her as she waited for an answer.

"It's for Megara! She's having a tea party and commissioned for these cookies, why?" She eventually asked, seeing Circe's mouth open a bit.

"If I knew you were coming, i'd have accepted the invitation."

"Oh, i'm not! She just commissioned for them." Bridget shrugged, continuing her way to Megara's dorm.

"Mh, all right then." She glared at Hook, where he was stood at the corner right where Bridget was heading didn't sit right with her.

He quickly scattered back to Uliana, probably to tell her to stop whatever she had planned this time or she'll be turned into an eel again.

"Would you like to go out for tea with me then?" She nearly turned Scylla into a sea monster right here and now when she noticed her eyeing Bridget, luckily for her she ran before Circe could think about what she'd look like.

"We can visit Driodius? I know you love him." She referred to the lion she had mysteriously found a few years back, weirdly named after the boy that had a crush on Bridget. Huh, so weird.

"Oh gosh that would be amazing! But..." She looked lost in thought, finally in front of Megara's door.

"What is it? If you don't want to go it's fine too, I won't force you to go my dearest."

"Could we maybe do something in town? Or in the dorms? I've heard that a few boys got lost in the woods and never came back a few weeks ago." She frowned, actually scared for her live when the person who made them disappear was right next to her, besides, they made a beautiful pack of wolves.

"Of course we can my love, we could make cupcakes? I've acquired the very rare, very wonderful and fabulous....." Circe trialed off to build up some tension, then held up a small back of pink feathers from behind her back.

"Fabulous pink flamingo feathers!" Bridget finished for her, squealing, nearly throwing the cookies on the floor in her excitement.

"Right... i'll take those so you can hug her." Megara took the trays from her fellow princess, Circe had knocked for her already, and Bridget launched herself onto Circe, encircling her neck with her arms and landing on her tip toes.

"Oh I love you so much! Thank you thank you thank you!" Circe smiled, wrapping her arms around her waist in response.

"Bye Megara." The princess of Thebe waved and closed the door, and Bridget let go of Circe, looking at the small back in wonder.

"They're so pretty, I don't know what I was expecting but this exceeds all of it! Oh my god I can't wait for tomorrow!"

-

"Okay, how can I help?"

"Sit there and look pretty." Bridget ignored, or didn't notice, how red Circe got, her golden eyes fixated on the Wonderlandian princess as she moved around in her pocket sized kitchen she had in her dorm.

"You know I have magic right? I can help."

"Shhh pretty girl, you already got me flaming feathers." She was definitely doing that on purpose.

"All right... just saying." Circe shrugged, getting comfortable on Bridget's bed and watching her bake.

"Wassup Circe, B." Ella walked in a bit later, Bridget nearly done with the batter, Circe sitting up on her knees when she saw the door open, ready to turn into literally any small animal.

"Hey Ella, she's in her little trance, so I would keep out of the kitchen or you'll maybe get killed." She winced as she recalled when she had a knife stabbed through her hand, though the attention she got from Bridget was enough to put her on a week-long high.

"Right... anyways, you looking forward go Merlin's class tomorrow? He is so confusing sometimes that I literally fall asleep." Circe groaned, falling back onto the bed, holding one of Bridget's pillows, resisting the urge to bury her face with it whilst Ella was looking, knowing she'll tease her about it.

"I love him but why is he so confusing!" She complained into the light pink pillow, even though she was completely content surrounded by all things Bridget.

"Right?! What does he mean when he says that the test'll be about 'everything in all chapters but the first half, then the first quarter of the book shall be of importance blah blah' just say the first 3 chapters, and then 6 through 9! Old bat." Ella rolled her eyes falling onto her back, resting her head on the small of Crice's back.

"Stop fantasising about her girl, she's literally desperate for human interaction, ask her out and give it a try, if you break up then that's it, no bad blood." Ella shrugged, yelping when Circe hit her with the pillow.

"No! Shut up man! She's too precious! I'll just freak out and never kiss her or something like that." Ella snorted, holding her hand in front of her mouth to hide her laugh.

"Yeah right, innocent Bridget, she's literally the least innocent person I know, honestly, how that amount of teenage hormones can fit into such a pink girl astounds me." Circe hit her again.

-

"Who are you." Circe stood tall behind Bridget, crossing her arms and glaring down at the two new students threateningly, gods know that she was a bad judge of character.

"I'm Chloe! Who are you?" Circle narrowed her eyes, her godly height really helped sometimes, the bright redhead glared right back at her, also crossing her arms.

"My name is Circe, daughter of Helios, what do you want from Bri- ouchiieee that hurts Princess." Circe doubled over when Bridget swatted at her stomach, pouting at the pinkette.

"Don't be so dramatic Circe, Chloe, Red, this godly goofball is Circe, if you see her trying to do something to Scylla you should probably step in, Circe, behave." Circe pouted and was about to continue to whine when Ella kicked her hard on the shins.

"God damn you Ella! I'll kick you back you little shit!" She shot back up, starting a staring competition with Ella.

"Fatherless."

"Parentless"

"Stupid."

"That's the best you can come up with?" Circe smirked down at Ella's weak rebuttal.

"Says the fatherless."

"I have a father!"

"He doesn't love you then!"

"How would you know that!"

"Cause I fucked him that's why!"

"Well fuck you you stupid-!"

"Okay girls, let's calm down a bit, we have cupcakes to hand out after all!" Bridget placed a hand on Circe's, who quickly intertwined them and sneakily kicked Ella, who glared at her.

"Will do mom." Ella sarcastically replied, but helped hand out cupcakes nonetheless.

The two newcomers, who had been in conversation with Bridget, looked at each other with high eyebrows.

"Help." Circe commanded, shoving trays into their hands, quickly following after Bridget once she grabbed her own again.

"What's that all about?" Red frowned.

"Oh! I'm pretty sure that Circe's whole story is that she always feels jealous and is never the one, so she turns men into animals etcetera, maybe your mom was the one that made her feel like that! Also, we should probably stop that from happening too, because she's going to go on a rampage soon because she realises that she'll never be the one ever again." Chloe finished her little info dump, Red staying quiet a bit to process that all.

"So not only will my mom turn into a maniac, she turns someone else into a maniac too! How wonderful."

-

"Bridget! Where are y-."

"What's wrong?" Bridget popped up besides Circe, who quickly picked her up and wrapped her arms around her.

"Princess, where were you?" She questioned into her neck, afraid she'd have lost her girl in the woods.

"Well, I saw a pretty pink flower, would you like to see?" Circe nodded into her neck, slowly letting her down, holding her hand as she led her to where she found the flower.

"How adorable, it's really pretty." Bridget hummed, staring at the flower.

"Are we sure we should be stalking a goddess?"

"Shut up Blue, they're walking again."

"Um, I wanted to surprise you, since we haven't gotten to go here much lately." Bridget grinned, sitting down on the white blanket, looking over the array of sweets and little sandwiches.

"You're too sweet, thank you so much Circe." She smiled up at her, Circe flushed red and looked away from her.

"Yeah. Of course." She coughed, sitting down and looking at Bridget with a small smile.

"This is so awkward."

"It wouldn't be if you just shut the fuck up!"

"Um, I have a question for you, if you don't mind me asking." Bridget hummed, looking at her with a tilt of her head.

"Um-I- uh, yeah, ahem, I would l-like to ask you to-." She got cut off by Bridget nearly jumping on top of her, tightly pressing their lips together in a heated kiss.

"You really could've asked earlier." Bridget said when she pulled away from the redhead, who was out of breath and looking at her with wide eyes.

"Right... earlier." Circe nodded, bridget smiled, looking down at her with her arms around her neck.

"We could've been doing this for so much longer." The pinkette smirked, ghosting her lips against Circe's, planting her knees on the ground besides Circe.

"We should probably leave now." Red whispered to Chloe, who quickly nodded, rushing away from the scene.

They ran into Ella on their way back, and took her back with them just to be sure she wouldn't find the two.

-

"You were right."

"Of course I was, about what?" Ella looked up at a flustered Circe from her book, placing it down to ask what was going on.

"About bridget, she's wild man." Ella shrugged, picking her book back up.

"Duh, honestly, she was staring at you a bit too much for it to be innocent, also the comments she made about your hands seemed a bit too explicit to me." Ella explained, Circe sitting down in front of her as she continued to read, the goddess slumped over on the table.

"She really did a number on you, didn't she?" Circe groaned, hiding away in her elbow.

"Hi honeybun!" Bridget appeared behind Circe, who shot up and craned her neck to look behind her with a smile.

"Hi princess." Bridget softly kissed her lips, pulling the chair back and plopping down on her lap.

"How was your night Bridget?" Ella smirked at Circe as she spoke, Bridget smiling at her.

"It was amazing! Circe's so nice to me..." she trialed off, placing another kiss on her lips.

"If you two are going to be like those disgusting couples, please do it somewhere else." Bridget giggled, and Circe rolled her eyes.

"Yeah sure, miss grumpy, we're not one of those couples."

"We'll go then! Bye Ella!"

"We apparently are, bye."

"Bye you two!"

[libraryofgage]

Life in Miniature (Two)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four | Five Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One | Two 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One | Two (you're here!) Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two | Three

So, I'm not dead, despite any suspicions otherwise lmao; life just got a little wild and I needed a tiny break from writing, but hopefully I'll be back! We'll see! I'm literally on my knees begging my brain so maybe it'll stick lmao

Anyway, this part was line-jumped on Ko-Fi! If you want to line jump your favorite series, you can learn more here

Also also! I actually commissioned a wonderful friend of mine (@gamanyne) to draw Emperor Steve! She also did my current header and icon, so you know her art is fucking peak. Anyway, it'll be attached at the bottom of the fic so have fun getting there

And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

"Heard the guard mention you've got some new blood in your display, Ocky."

Octavius glanced over as Jedediah sauntered through the hidden tunnel that connects their displays. It had been built during their admittedly embarrassing courtship, a gift from that time's night guard.

He'd been waiting for exactly this moment, and some of his nervous energy drained when Jedediah stood close enough for their shoulders to brush. He turned to face Jedediah, staying close so he can keep his voice quiet. "Yes, a new battalion and..."

"And?"

"A young emperor."

Jedediah whistled lowly, eyebrows rising as he looked over Octavius's shoulder at the buildings across the display. It was all pillars and domes and aged marble, but newly added splashes of color could be spotted here and there. "He a brat?" Jedediah asked.

"He is my sovereign!"

"Yeah, sure," Jedediah said, shrugging as he met Octavius's eyes, "but is he a brat?"

Octavius felt indignation rise in his chest but quickly subdued it. He knew Jedediah meant well. And then he saw the smirk on Jedediah's face. "Lover or not, I can not tolerate insults to the emperor," he said.

Jedediah hummed and held his hands up in surrender. "Still ain't answered my question, Ocky."

"I don't know!" Octavius finally exclaimed, looking away when Jedediah blinked at his outburst. "Admittedly, I was more focused on seeing you than meeting him."

"Gee, almost sounds like you've got a crush on me, Ocky. That's kinda embarrassing, don't you think?"

"We have done things that would make satyrs blush, Jedediah. Are we not past embarrassment?"

"Still embarrassing," Jedediah said, grinning wider when Octavius finally looked back at him. "Don't worry, Ocky. He's just a kid. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Child emperors do not have the most...positive reputation," Octavius said. He frowned, looking away as Jedediah glanced over his shoulder again. "Many are spoiled and unaware of how politics should be conducted."

"Ocky...," Jedediah whispered, reaching out to tug on Octavius's cape.

Octavius smiled, appreciating the comforting gesture. "Short tempers are also common, and I worry about any palace staff that anger him. They are just as likely to have their head cut off as they are to walk away."

"Uh, Ocky," Jedediah said, tugging on the cape again.

"And perhaps I am getting ahead of myself, but I don't look forward to measures that may need to be taken if my soldiers are terrorized by a, well, as you put it, love, a brat."

"Ocky!" Jedediah shouted, grabbing Octavius's shoulders and spinning him around.

"Ah," Octavius said, a cold sweat covering him at the sight of the young emperor staring at them. Strands of brown hair fell over the golden laurels at his temples to curl around equally brown eyes. He's taller than Octavius expected, nearly reaching his own height, and older, too. He was, perhaps, around 20, meaning he had several years' experience as emperor.

Above all, though, Octavius managed to see the brief flash of...insecurity? Perhaps it was self-directed disappointment and acceptance? Whatever it was, it vanished the next moment as the young emperor pressed his lips into a thin line, rolled his shoulders back, and said, "General Octavius."

Hearing the young emperor's voice finally freed Octavius from his frozen shock. He cleared his throat, placed a fist over his heart, and bowed to the emperor. "Your Majesty," he said, "What can I do for you?"

"You can raise your head," the young emperor said. When Octavius did, he saw tensed shoulders, and he was briefly overcome by the thought that someone so young should not, in fact, look as if they carry the weight of the world. "I intended to have you introduce me to the soldiers, but I see that you're busy."

Octavius cleared his throat and stepped aside so Jedediah was easier to see. He then placed a hand on Jedediah's shoulder and said, "My liege, this is Jedediah, Cowboy King of the Wild West, and my close companion."

"Woah, woah, cowboy king?" Jedediah whispered, glancing at Octavius like he might be crazy.

"Ah, I see," the young emperor replied, nodding respectfully to Jedediah. ""I am Servius Tullius, Sixth King of Rome, son of Vulcan, weapons master of the gods. I look forward to making your acquaintance at a later date."

"Uh, yeah, acquaintance making and stuff," Jedediah said, nodding back with a strained smile. "I'll be sure to pencil ya in."

"Yes, well," the young emperor replied, his jaw ticking slightly like he wanted to say something but held himself back. "Until then."

Octavius watched as he turned on his heel and walked back to the palace. It wasn't until the emperor was halfway there that Jedediah leaned closer and asked, "He seem a little off to you?"

"Yes, a little."

------------

Steve glances at Eddie, both to make sure he isn't about to fall off Rexy and just because he wants to. Eddie's hair is a little frizzy and his cheeks are flushed, but Steve assumes that's just from performing in front of such a large crowd earlier.

"So, you are a performer," he says as Rexy makes his way to the stairs. "Who did you apprentice under?"

"I didn't," Eddie replies, frowning slightly. "I mean, I just taught myself. Like, with YouTube and stuff."

"Oh! Yes, YouTube, I have seen many cat videos with Robin. I was unaware there were other kinds of videos available."

Eddie snorts, and Steve thinks it's a surprisingly endearing sound. "Yeah, definitely more than cat videos, Stevie," he says, drumming his fingers along Rexy's skull before asking, "So, uh, you're an emperor...does that mean there's an empress?"

"No," Steve says, glancing away and returning Attila the Hun's wave when they pass him. "I should have, but it just never happened."

"Why not? Is it okay to ask?"

"I don't mind. It was naive and bullheaded of me, but I wanted an empress I actually liked."

"Nothing wrong with wanting love, sweetheart," Eddie says, bumping their shoulders together.

"I agree."

Silence settles over them, and Steve wonders if feeling this awkward is normal. He's never had a problem keeping a conversation going with Robin, and his fathers are plenty good at bantering. But here, he's not sure how to proceed. Robin once told him that he can come off as arrogant, someone others don't want to be around, and he's trying to not do that with Eddie.

He thinks Eddie is handsome. If Steve could only convince him, he's sure a chest-plate and shield would make Eddie look particularly dashing. Steve also likes the way Eddie looks at him. It's not quite the devotion he's seen from people under his rule; Eddie's gaze is far more heated than that, making Steve's skin prickle wherever it lands.

"Hey," Eddie says, pulling Steve out of his thoughts, "how's all this coming to life stuff really work? It's not actually that tablet thing, right?"

"It is," Steve replies, nodding once. "Ahkmenrah's tablet was a gift from his parents, who wanted their family to stay together even in death. It harnesses the power of noble Luna and the stars that surround her to breathe life into everyone here. Without his presence, you and I wouldn't be talking right now."

"That's....kind of crazy," Eddie says, trying to wrap his brain around it. "I mean, magic?"

"How else might we be alive right now? According to Robin, you and I are but plastic, perhaps wax or wood depending on our manufacturer."

"But I don't feel like plastic or whatever," Eddie replies, poking at his own arm before poking at Steve's as well. "Neither do you. You feel, like, warm and alive."

"Yes, because of the tablet's magic. Would you like to see it? Ahkmenrah is very understanding of new exhibits that wish to look upon it."

Eddie looks like he's about to nod when he suddenly stops and tilts his head. Steve looks in the direction his gaze has gone and smiles when he sees the temporary exhibit about the history of party fashion. It's only in the museum for a few more days, and the people inside have been partying even harder in the face of their fleeting mortality.

Steve assumes Eddie's attention was attracted by the music, so he looks back and asks, "Would you like to join them?"

"Aren't we, uh, a little small for that?" Eddie asks.

Steve grins as he knocks on Rexy's skull twice. The dinosaur comes to a sliding halt outside the exhibit and lowers its head until its jaw is touching the ground. "Do you trust me?" Steve asks, standing and offering his hand to Eddie.

"Uh, yeah, I think," he says, taking Steve's hand.

His grin widening, Steve tugs Eddie to his feet and then leads him carefully down Rexy's skull. When they reach its snout, they're still a few feet off the ground. "Please don't say I have to make that jump," Eddie says, frowning at the distance.

"Don't worry," Steve says, letting go of Eddie's hand in favor of simply picking him up instead. "You're not the one jumping."

Eddie's eyes are wide as he clings to Steve's neck, glancing between the floor and Steve like he might be insane. Steve flashes a bright, reassuring smile before walking to the edge of Rexy's snout and simply jumping down.

"Holy shit!" Eddie shouts, holding onto Steve tighter and flinching when he feels the jolt of Steve landing. "You're crazy. How are your legs not broken?"

"I am the son of a god," Steve says, carefully placing Eddie on his feet once more. "A mere jump wouldn't harm me."

Eddie is quiet for a few moments, his face red as he looks at the entrance to the exhibit. He takes a deep breath, nods once, and says, "Man, they'd better have tequila in there."

----------

Tag List (if you'd like to be added, please let me know!)

@itsall-taken, @acaademicqueer, @mx-jinxous, @y4r3luv, @daydreaming-mood, @just-a-tiny-void, @villainousalair,

So, as promised, here is the art I commissioned from my wonderful friend @gamanyne of Steve in his Roman outfit!

[mggsv]

Purple Converse

gn!reader x mgg (fluff)

summary: the first time you saw him was on a Tuesday- your first day. he came into the store smiling despite it being so early in the morning..

warnings: none !

“Excuse me, do you guys have this in a size 11?” You knew that voice, it was Matthew (or so his rewards account said). He held a box up of a purple converse shoe with a small awaiting smile. You smiled back of course, it was your job after all, but one from Matthew was surely contagious.

“Let me check, yeah? I’m sure we do, though.” you chuckle. He nodded, pursing his lips as you took the box.

You leave him be to go to the back of your post. You’ve worked at this shoe store for nearly a year, and you haven’t seen anyone walk in there almost regularly as Matthew. When you first met it had been your first day when he strode in all tall. In fact, he was the first customer to arrive- early in the morning when the store opened. He seemed to be in a hurry as the converse on his feet were about to fall apart. They were red and tied in a way you’ve seen before. With every step you could see the outline of two completely different socks on his feet. What a weirdo, you had thought.

All you could see was his fluffy hair and glasses over the shelves as he went straight for the isle of converse shoes. More people started to walk in and it made you nervous. Before then, all the other jobs you’d have weren’t exactly working with people face to face. Normally you’d be editing or designing some work online as commissions. Only online work, never in person.

With your eyes trained on the man scanning the isle, your hands nervously fidgeted with the name tag on your shirt. Moments later he was in front of you, tapping on the box lightly. “I’d like to get these please” His voice was soft, professional-like. It made your heart flutter in a bit of a panic.

“Oh! yes of- of course. Will that be all sir?” you cleared your throat feeling it run dry. You avoided eye contact with him, and instead grabbed the box to scan it. They were a high top pair of red converses, size 11.

He hummed before grabbing a pack of shoe laces from a rack on the counter. “These too, thank you.”

“Of course” you whispered. After scanning his items and placing them into the store bag. “Do you have a number or an account with us?” You say the words slowly and carefully, the practice you’ve done the night before seemed to vanish. “You can earn points and discounts.” you smile. He nods and leans in very closely- shocking you.

“I’m sorry for the lack of space, i didn’t want anyone else hearing my number out loud.” he giggles before calling out the numbers to you. You nod and pull back slowly to type it into the computer. The name “Matthew Gubler” pops up.

“Well, Matthew, you have a discount for $20 off, do you want to use it today?” You watch him pull out his wallet while shaking his head. “Not today!” he hands you the money and does a little bow before taking off.

“Wait your change-“

“Keep it! See you next time.”

And you did see him next time. It was a week later when he was coming in to get another pair of converse- low top and green. They didn’t have them in stores so he got them ordered and sent to the store for pickup.

When he came in he was all smiles again, this time wearing sunglasses. The store was crowdy. By now you were used to work the register and such so it wasn’t much of a hassle. It was only when that head of hair was in your view and Matthew’s beautiful smile loomed over you that you felt a little nervous. “Hey there Matthew. You..have an order actually.” You click your tongue to pull up his account in the computer.

“That I do. How’s your day going…Y/N?” he reads your name tag.

“Busy much. You?”

“Same here. I’m actually on my way out of town in a few hours for work. Wanted to get my shoes first.” he laughs. You smile and nod, holding up a finger to go and grab the perfectly wrapped box of converse.

“You know, i’ve only ever seen you wear these- or pick them up. How many pairs of converse does one man need huh?” You attempted at joking. Matthew laughed however, taking the box from your hands. “You can’t never have too many. They’re also very comfortable.”

“And the socks?” you pressed, “You’re a bit strange you know?” You check off his order, watching the line pileup behind him.

“I’ll tell you another time, how about that?”

And he did, and your relationship with Matthew started. You anticipated his arrival to the store you worked at. It made you happier. He had told you many things from your small meetings at the counter- what he did job wise, acting (which got you hooked on the show he acted in), painting, directing, being an author too- and a model? You were shocked really, how someone so energetic did so much and still had the time to buy shoes in store whenever he wanted.

You told him about yourself as well, how you’re also somewhat of an artist, and your small hobbies of crafting. You told a lot- from your favorite foods to your favorite style of clothing (his style of course). When you didn’t work you found yourself sitting with Matthew as he tried on sweaters from a thrift store not far from your apartment. If you weren’t thrifting, it was painting pottery with Matthew when he wasn’t working and free, being sure to grab food afterwards and hanging out.

He become an amazing friend to have. You even sat and watched the show he was in together (him laughing while you tried to piece together who the unsub was). You grew closer by the months that passed by. And so did Matthew’s converse collection.

He had FINALLY showed you after a month of asking (and him being away because of work). It wasn’t what you expected however- they were all stacked on top of each up messily with the strings hanging out of them, but ready to be worn. You remember telling Matthew he needed to take care of his shoes and no wonder he came in so much. But in that moment he said something..well, crazy.

“I only came in because just sitting there talking to you would’ve made me look suspicious and kept you from work. I’ve donated lots of these shoes, i wear them, yes, but they don’t last forever.”

The thought made you chuckle to yourself as you reached up and grabbed the size 11 box of purple converse, Matthew’s name written on it from you personally just for the occasion. When you came back to the front he was tracing a picture framed at your station of you two hugging.

“Will this be all?” you held out the box. He straightened up and smiled,

“For now?” he leans in and pecks your lips, “Yeah.”

[ishanijasmin]

fashioning the self: a journey through wardrobe + identity

it’s a sunday afternoon in what i would safely call the early middle of summer. i shove a coat and a suit into a reusable grocery bag, and shuttle it through a heaving euston station. i have twenty minutes to wait for my train because its delayed, so i beeline to oliver bonas to see what’s happening in fashion today (it’s the same thing that’s been happening every time i visited my parents for the past three months. i don’t think i have once successfully bought something at oliver bonas, not for lack of wanting to, but i guess for lack of being able to justify spending £70 on a cardigan. there’s a watermelon-shaped wallet on sale that has me like, surely you wouldn’t be so crass as to make a palestine emoji-themed wallet, but you can never tell with capitalism.) this morning i checked my facebook for the first time in a month and realised my profile picture is from my wedding, which was nearly two years ago. and that led to me going through my profile pictures and cringing at my teenage self, but not changing it because summoning the emotional energy to go through my photos and potentially upload something would be saying that i still care about facebook and i don’t know if i want to do myself like that.

i don’t know if it’s the dopamine window shopping trip, the woman next to me whose sparkly outfit i compliment, the hate scroll, the empty seat at the euston station piano that i half-contemplate filling, or the fact that i feel increasingly unable to represent myself the way i want to in my own body and closet that has me thinking about fashion today. in reality, i’m always half-thinking about it. it’s been something that governed me since i found myself part of the myfitnesspal generation aged 14.

i think sartorial representation is difficult for most folks - the idea that you’ll stumble upon the right combination of clothes and makeup and nail styling and hair and weight and muscle tone and race and gender and ability and you’ll be covetable and interesting and beloved, but like, in an easy and consumable way that raises no queries, and preferably in a way that can be completed in an afternoon. the makeover is a sexy, sexy idea, right? the makeover gives the impression that you can be done. nay, the movie itself gives the impression that you can be done, by the sheer requirement for it to have an ending. i used to feel like my wardrobe could be finished, and around the age of 27 i concluded that it can’t, because i am never finished; the thought of it is nerve wracking and exciting and numbing in equal measure. to never be finished is beautiful, but to still have things to accumulate (and thereby, to shed) is kind of sickening. 

the phases i’ve been going through have brought me to where i am, which is kind of loud but also uncertain. i’m wearing silk sweatpants my tailor and friend, kelsang, made for me on commission. these are my latest and greatest attempt to merge my style and my heritage - a mashed up inside joke nod to me spending a quarter of my life in the gym with material i could literally never wear there. and they look good, but i don’t know if they look good on me. last year i opted to get myself a name necklace, inspired by sex and the city’s carrie - but i couldn’t bear to get one in english, so i got one in hindi despite the fact i deliberately skipped learning the alphabet in learning the language. where i am right now has me feeling phony - it really highlights the in-betweenness of my existence, in a way that normcore or only wearing black didn’t really tap into because the only wrong way to go monochrome is not to do it. it also has me feeling boring. i don’t know how to put things together anymore, i don’t feel like i have the right shoes for my outfits, and it feels like i’m leaving the house in a turtleneck and jeans 70% of the time.

this isn’t helped by the suit in my tesco bag being a peacock blue tailored commission from around 3 years ago, that’s seen me through a bunch of stage shows and some particularly extravagant days out. me retiring it to my parents’ house means accepting that this isn’t me right now - i’m not the person wearing a turquoise iridescent suit out and about, just maybe to a wedding once every 3 years. i don’t know who that makes me now. the pieces we abandon, temporarily or forever, the ones that we acquired that don’t fit who we are now or the person we thought we could become—these are all goodbyes, not just to the apparel, but to the person that was or could have been.

yesterday i went to a party dressed as shania twain from man! i feel like a woman, and i put on eye makeup for the first time since my wedding and felt uncomfortable with myself, caricaturesque, because more so than ever, i don’t really feel like a woman. yes, i am growing into my body in a lot of ways, getting stronger slowly, but i found myself on the tube wanting to say, ‘don’t worry! i don’t do this all the time.’ do what—wear poorly applied eyeliner? it’s london and literally no one cares how well your makeup is applied because you can bet they’ve know someone who can do a full face on the central line and compared to that incredible subset of people, we are all bronze medalists in the femme olympics.

all this discomfort and, and every one of us just a ball of neurons in a flesh vehicle. i am ever moving and changing, whatever that looks and feels like: all black or in wild technicolour, long hair or short or shorn or shaven, suit or sari or sundress or sweatpants, showing up. showing up and calling my dad to tell him i’m late and i love him, always steadily coming to terms with my imperfections. leaving my clothes in the liminal storage space of my parents’ garage because i myself stand perpetually in the liminal space between my parents’ house and my own, between who they made me and who i am making myself. to be done is be perfect is to be finished, and when i am finished i will be dust, and there’s some sort of deep relief somewhere in knowing that.

[bangtanloverboys]

the artist and his prince

summary - being the second son of the king, taehyung is left free to do whatever he pleased. whether that be travel the world, lounge about like a cat, or be a patron the arts

pairing - prince!taehyung x male artist!reader

genre - fluff; royal au

word count - 2.3k

warnings - historical inaccuracies, autor knows nothing about art

author’s note - slightly inspired by this tumblr post 

Early on in his life, Taehyung knew he would never measure up to his brother, Namjoon. He was the perfect prince and heir to the throne; mastered sword fighting by 10, an accomplished diplomat by 15, and was a kind and just man. Sure, he garnered all of their father’s attention. But Taehyung was never jealous of him. 

No, in fact quite the opposite. 

He was thankful for him. For as the second son, he had all the freedom to do whatever he so wished. He spent his teen years traveling abroad; going from Greece, to Rome, to Spain, to Egypt, to India. By the time he returned home, he was in his two and twentieth year and was skilled in nearly six languages. But there was something Taehyung loved more than traveling or gold, or anything else in the world. 

Art.

Everywhere he went, he collected the most beautiful pieces of artwork he could find, commissioning dozens of artists for their work. It was something he remembered his mother instilling him, always taking him to art houses and shows. It was one of the few ways he felt closest to her after she succumbed to illness when he was nine..

Once he returned home, he promised to continue to fill the palace with the most beautiful art. Enter: you.

You were a local artist he came across at the first art show he went to upon his return home. You weren’t very popular, per se. A few people would stop and stare at your work, admiring it for a few moments before moving on. However, when Taehyung came across your work, he felt as if the air had been stolen from his lungs. 

It was a piece telling of the myth of Narcissus and Echo, with the young man draped across the rocks of the pond, lowering his face as close as he could to the water without causing it to ripple. It had been clear that he had been there long, for instead of strong, slender arms; Narcissus was thin and sickly. Already, daffodils had begun to grow over him. The nymph was in the foreground of the painting, tears streaming down her face as she screamed to her unrequited love, who now lay dying before her, unable to tear his attention away to save him. 

Taehyung didn’t know how long he stood in front of the painting, but he could not tear his eyes away. For to spend a second not appreciating its beauty, would’ve been a moment wasted. 

“Do you like it?” A voice pulled him from his thoughts. Turning his head, he saw you, a young man around his age, a small smile playing on your lips as you waited for him to answer your question. 

“Like it? I- I have no words for it! It's almost as if it speaks to my very soul! From the composition, to the subject, to the color. . . It’s a stunning painting. Do you know the man who painted it?”

You regarded him for a moment, stunned at his compliments before responding. “From what I’ve heard of him, he’s an old bat that refuses to leave his studio until his next masterpiece is done.” 

“Do you know where I may find him? I would love to speak with him.”

“Usually, he hates attending exhibitions such as these; stuffy society members critiquing his work as if they know the very thoughts in his head as he painted,” you continued, speaking bitterly. Taehyung frowned at the information, upset at the prospect of being unable to meet the artist before you laughed silently to yourself, holding out your hand, giving your name. “And he unfortunately also just so happens to be me.”

Taehyung blinked for a moment, his mind not processing the information. Before he knew it, he reached for your outstretched hand. “It is- it is an honor to meet you! My word, you almost had me fooled.”

Your grin grew wider at that. “Please, the honor is mine. It’s not every day a prince compliments my work. For which, I thank you for.” You bowed your head slightly. “Not everyone can say the same, failing to understand the basis of the mythos.”

“I couldn’t agree more; I saw so many pass your painting by, without recognizing the true tragedy of it all. Having Narcissus already dying, being consumed by the earth and Echo trying to pull him away to save him. . . What drove you to that decision?”

You turned your attention back up towards the art, quietly staring up at Echo. “In so many words, I know what it’s like to watch the one you love fade away from you, unable to stop them from their own undoing. Not being able to speak the words you truly want to say. . .” your eyes glassed over, as if recalling that very memory. “So what can I say, the story of Narcissus felt like a reflection of my own so. . . how could I not?”

Taehyung said nothing, simply nodding in some understanding, despite having no experience of such pain. He looked up at the painting again, following your eyes to truly see what you could. To see it through your eyes. For a moment, he almost saw you in Echo’s features. But in the blink of an eye, they were gone.

More people stopped beside either of you for a moment, before quickly moving on, uttering some words about it not being beautiful or questioning the subjects’ expressions. With each statement, Taehyung could sense you growing tense beside him, the stitching in your gloves stretching as you squeeze your fist tight. 

“I would like to hang this in my estate.” The words slipped by Taehyung’s lips before he could think.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I would pay your handsomely, of course. If no one would appreciate your work here, I can assure you, I will dedicate an hour of my day, every day looking at this painting,” he offered, hoping it would be enough.

You were silent as you narrowed your eyes at him, as if you were trying to detect any hint of a lie in his words. “Alright, but I have one condition.”

Ecstatic, Taehyung broke into a wide grin. “Name it.”

“I get to paint you.”

Intrigued by your condition, he agreed.  

True to his word, Taehyung bought the painting, hanging it in his private rooms so it would be the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night. And within days, you had come over, paints and easel in hand, ready to paint the younger prince.

It became apparent to Taehyung that you were unlike any other artist who had made a portrait of him before. Instead of having him in the most elaborate dress clothes, decorated with ornate jewels and dressings; you requested him to be dressed simply. For him to wear nothing that would even remotely suggest he was royalty. Taehyung complied, curious to see what exactly you had planned. 

“Do you have a conservatory?” You asked upon your arrival in the early morning. “Or a garden perhaps?”

“Yes, it’s just this way.” Taehyung gestured for some servants to carry your equipment for you before leading you towards the conservatory. It was a bit smaller than the one that was at the palace, but it was still well kept. Dozens of different types of flowers and other types of local flora were tended to throughout the year by his staff. Greenery grew from every nook and cranny, and whilst Taehyung wasn’t much for flowers, he enjoyed having color in his home. 

Once you set foot into the greenhouse, you immediately went to work; setting up an area for you to paint but a scene. You pulled around a garden table, setting it beside a rose bush. You stared at it for a moment, only to move it around again. Taehyung watched from the side lines, fascinated with your process. After a near ten minutes of pushing the table this way or pulling another plant that way, you declared yourself ready.

“I’d like you to sit there,” you gestured to the table, “you have the option of reading a book whilst I work or you may just sit there. Whichever you prefer,” you told him as you began to pull out your pencils. 

“Nathaniel?” 

“Yes, Your Highness?” His butler responded. 

“Bring me the novel that’s in the drawing room,” Taehyung said as he sat down.

“Of course, right away, sir.” Within minutes of leaving, he had procured the book Taehyung had been reading earlier that very day. 

He opened it, and began to read. A comfortable silence fell over the conservatory, only the sounds of your tasks filling it in. The sound of your pencils against the canvas, the occasional turning of a page, the gentle ‘hmm’ as your eyes flickered from the canvas to the prince. 

Taehyung could feel your eyes everywhere. He would occasionally spare glances at you through the corner of his vision, watching you as your eyes traced his entire being. From the curve of his neck, to the slope of his nose. The length of his arms to the spaces between his fingers. He could feel you everywhere. He had posed for hundreds of portraits his entire life. Never before had it felt so intimate.

After the first hour or so, you had the first sketch completed. You moved onto the paints, quickly mixing them on your pallet, before bringing them to the canvas. It was usually around this time that Taehyung grew anxious, no longer able to sit still any longer, wanting to watch the art process from the artist’s perspective. He barely opened his mouth to ask to peek at the product before you shushed him.

“It will be finished soon, Your Highness. You may see it then. Have patience.”

He could not believe it. No one had ever dared to speak to him in such a way, he was stunned into silence. By the time he shook himself out of it, he could see you smiling to yourself about your brazen words. It was then and there that something bloomed within his chest, he could not think to name the emotion, but he knew he could not dare to let you go.

A few more hours had passed and Nathaniel had brought Taehyung another book to read. Somewhere between Taehyung taking glances at you and getting lost in his novel, you shed your jacket, with the added paint stains growing along your sleeves, you looked more and more disheveled as you worked. But there was this gleam in your eye, glowing brighter and brighter. He’d seen that look before in many painters' eyes, the look of pure and utter passion. So much love and care for their work that it was overflowing from their very being. 

The look of a true artist. 

 The sun was now hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows and illuminating the conservatory in the golden glow when you finally announced yourself done. Taehyung rose from his seat, groaning as his stiff limbs ached after remaining still for so long. But he ignored the burning of his muscles, knowing that what you had created would’ve made it worth it. You turned the easel to face him and Taehyung felt like his heart soared.

You had painted the prince leaning forward on his elbow, the pages of his book kept open by his free hand. The pose was so informal, so personal, that he felt as if he’d walked in on a private moment with his own image! The flowers you’d placed around him spread out around his back, as if they were blooming out from his very body as he read. It looked so real, so life-like that he felt as if you had somehow, magically paused the moment he had just lived. 

He breathed out your name, turning to face you, where you were waiting with baited breath. Paint had found its way across your cheek and forehead, but you made no fuss of it, watching Taehyung intently as he inspected your work. “This. . . I have no words. It’s as if you captured my very soul!” He turned to look back at the painting, unable to process anymore words for your remarkable work. “You truly have a gift. . .” As you glanced away bashfully, he felt that feeling in his chest again. Like his heart was being squeezed, but it didn’t hurt at all.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” You bowed formally, but a warm smile on full display.

“I want to sponsor you.”

Your eyes widened at his words. Taehyung knew to be a sole artist’s patron was something to grow upon over years of friendship and reliability. Not something to be carelessly asked, for once it’s agreed upon, it’s hard to back out from. Any and all art work you would create would solely belong to Taheyung in his name. If you or he were to end the partnership, you would hold no claim to anything.

“I want you to make things for me, I want to ensure you have any and all supplies you may need. Anything you want, it shall be yours. Say yes and I swear to you, I will do nothing but honor your name and your work,” he pleaded. He needed your art in his life, this feeling in his chest he did not want to be rid of. All he could ever want was you. 

You gnawed on your lower lip, eyes focusing to the ground as you thought over his offer. Taehyung felt as if he could go mad as he waited for your answer.

“On one condition,” you parroted your words from your first meeting.

“Anything. Name it, and it shall be yours.”

Your hand came up to rest on his forearm. The feel of your touch burned right through his clothes, nearly having Taehyung ready to rip his sleeve off just to feel the touch of your hand against his skin. When your eyes met his, he felt as if he would melt right on the spot. “That I will not be one of your artists. I will be known as your only artist. So long as I may refer to you as my prince.”

“As you wish.”

[dfroggofarson]

i wrote a oneshot about a hot NPC dilf. its 1600+ words. i'm really proud of myself.

when i was doing this quest, i had to come to the realization that i, in fact, do have some daddy issues. and that i have no idea of their origins, but so be it.

the more daddies for my perverted imagination, the better my day is.

if you haven't done the Golden Slumber world quest so far, i highly recommend it! it's long and sometimes annoying, but man, anything for hot dilfs (and their also hot daughters).

ok, that's all, i'm done simping. requests for other stories are open, as always.

fluff, comfort embedded. no smut for y'all horny ppl. sorry, not this time ;)

enjoy! ^^

A difference between sky and sky.

A night in the desert wasn't a joke to anyone. It was rough, cold and merciless, killing anyone that missed to take care of themselves. Most mobile creatures had already found a shelter as soon as the Sun started to dive into the treshold of the horizont, hiding itself behind the gold of endless dunes. No matter if it were just animals, people, or monsters - survival made everyone behave similarly.

That night wasn't anything different than the previous ones. You and your two companions have been traveling for two days - for the fifth time. You commisioned them yet again to escort you while you collected some redcrest and other materials from the desert for special herbs. And why not just commisson them to bring some, without you having to travel such a long and tiring journey, or just buy what you need from the mercenants? You asked yourself at least a thousand times. For example, when you almost stepped on a giant scorpion-like thing, got hit by an especially massive tumbleweed, tripped on a scarab, and even when you got into a fight and almost lost all of your dignity?

Yes, you asked yourself a lot of times.

But you only trusted yourself when it came to collencting materials. After all, only you knew what exactly you needed.

And... Maybe you just enjoyed traveling with them on a regular basis.

Because every one or two months you came to Aaru village and commissioned them for the very same reason, and there wasn't even a single time they turned you down. It started nearly a year ago, when you had no idea of who to trust and how this region works, but out of sheer luck you bumped into - literally, right to his chest - the perfect people. And ever since you only commissioned them and no one else.

So there were the three of you: a still unexperienced, clumsy alhemist's apprentice, depending too much on their deputees; an always smiling, funny and kind, but at the same time life-threatening girl; and her father, a whole natural force, like a billion-years-old mountain looking like he could even challenge Morax himself with his bare two hands.

Well, a colorful team, might as well to say, you tought to yourself as you were laying in your tent. It was a strange friendship between the three of you. You were almost best friends with Jeht, you could talk and laugh about almost everything. And even tough you never talked much with Jebrael, he had proven that he really did care about you, so you considered him as a dear friend as well.

Despite these dangerous journeys, they were the most awaited people in your whole month.

Minutes passed, then half an hour, and then a whole, and you still could not sleep. Getting bored of trying, you sat up and started to think again. But after another thirty minutes you got bored again, so you decided to do a little stargazing. It might help you fall asleep.

You put on some clothes, and opened the tent. You almost tripped in your own legs as soon as you saw the tall, threatening figure's back infront of you-

Oh, wait. It's just Jebrael. Yeah. He's in your team.

Cool.

After your heartbeat kind of went back to normal, you just stood there, studying the man's silhouette. If the muscles and scars armoring his massive body could tell you their stories, you'd probably listen to them for years long. When he fights, he does not have any spare movements, and the way he swings his weapon with such pure brutallity and unique elegance... This controversiality always left you tremble and speechless at the same time.

You snapped out of your toughts as you approached the man, not having any better idea as soon as you saw him. You were sure he's heard you, but just in case, you stepped on a drained brach to alert him of your presence. He did not turn his head towards you, and didn't say a word when you sat down next to him. You both remained silent for long minutes.

"Aren't you tired?" You asked, breaking the silence. "It's been a long day. You should take a rest, too."

"It's my turn on watch," he replied. "And Jeht is also tired. I'm fine. You should be the one taking a rest."

"But I can't sleep. I just keep thinking about everything."

"Hm," he 'said', still not moving an inch. Sometimes you wondered how a man of such a figure could act so unnoticeable and noiseless.

"For examle, the sky," you pointed at the stars. "All the orbs can be seen from there so much better than from Lyue harbor or Mondstadt. It's probably because of the light pollution, or I don't know."

"I tought you were a scientist?"

"Well... sort of, but this is not my field. I'm more into alchemistry. Or, at least, I'm trying," you laughed nervously, scratching the back of your head in embarassment. "But I'm not that good, no matter how hard I try."

"That's not true," he opposed, slightly turning his head toward you. "The ointment you gave us was really effective."

"Ah, yes. That is the only one I'm proud of," you chuckled. "And the anti-sweat bandages! I see you still use them," you smiled at him, looking at his arm.

"See, these things are useful. Just keep it up."

There was silence again. You stared at the endless black of the sky, toughts racing trough your head like a tumbleweed in the wind.

Somehotw, sitting in silence with him wasn't uncomfortable, like it was with other people. You could collect your toughts and think silently, while feeling perfectly safe.

You wanted to experience it more. Not just every one or two months.

"How much more materials do you need for the following months?" He asked suddenly.

"Well... Hmm... I need a few more redcrest, five scarabs and three more ajilenakh nuts... but I think that's all for now. But I'll think it trough the morning."

"Good. Jeht and I have to head back to the village soon, so we can collect them tomorrow and then start to take our way home," he said casually.

Like it didn't mean that your journey, your only chance to finally have some time for yourself, but be safe and with friends at the same time wasn't about to end in a few hours.

"Oh," you replied. "Okay, no problem."

"And you know, you can commission others to these trips, too. I have some reliable acquintances, so I can recommend you some of them. You don't have to aks us every single time."

Ouch.

You gulped. Did that mean that he wasn't enjoying your company? Definitely, you declared. But he seemed to be okay with it... Is there something wrong with you? Or with anything? Did you do something wrong?

Oh, silly question. Even when establishing the camp, you couldn't help properly, because the tent you tried to make always collapsed as soon as it had the chance, and it was always Jebrael who helped you fix it. You could only make some food, but that wasn't so delicious either, rather flavoured with herbs to make your companions feel better. But that didn't mean they enjoyed it as much as you did...

Were you overreacting again? Yes. But was it logical? Absolutely, for this time.

They were... he was important to you. It did matter what he said. Maybe a little bit too much.

"Right. That's true. I should probably ask someone else, too, you two must be busy as well," you laughed again, but this time much more nervously. "I'm sorry I bother you with this every month. Seriously." You nodded, holding back your tears, trying to find some excuse to leave the scenery as fast as possible. "Oh, can you feel it? It's getting so cold! I'd probably go back and, you know, try to get some rest... Good night, then!"

You quickly jumped up from the log you were sitting in, waving a quick "goodbye", then turned your back on him and walked to your tent.

How could you be so blind... Why would you think that he enjoyed spending time with you? No one enjoyed your company, that's why you didn't have any friends. You were nothing more than an ignorant little pharmacist who had no idea about the dangers and pressures of the world Jebrael lived in. He's porbably had some more important business to take care of, and you had no right to tell him to stay one more day just because-

"The... The stars. What's the difference between Lyue and here?"

You froze, slowly turning your head back to him. His head was facing the sky, hands resting on his knees relaxed.

He looked so peaceful all of a sudden.

You gulped again.

"We- well," you started, playing with your hand in embarassment, "there are so much more lamps in Lyue. It's a harbor, after all, and it's always bathing in light, so you cannot see the night sky so well..."

"Hmm. I haven't seen it in a long time," he whispered.

You turned your head to look at him. You had no idea why he was wearing, or why he had to wear that blindfold. You never asked about it. Once you tried to talk to Jeht, but she just brushed it off with an "I dunno, he never talks about it," and that was all.

Jebrael never talked about himself, not even to his daughter.

But something changed this evening.

He seemed to be more... open. To have a conversation. Even if it was just about the sky.

And he started to open himself for you.

You snapped back to reality, forgetting that you should probably carry on the talk. You made your way back to the log, sitting down next to him where you were just moments ago. It was still warm.

"Do you... want me to tell about it?" You asked silently.

For a moment, he didn't reply. Then he slighly nod.

You smiled.

Well... at least that's something to begin with.

} > -- • -- < {

The next morning, when Jebrael woke up, he found himself under a blanket - and with you leaning onto him, head on his right shoulder. He focused on the sounds surrounding him, but he couldn't hear Jeht's breathing, only yours. But when he moved his left hand, he found a short message.

'Wouldn't want to wake you two up, went to grab some branches. Not gonna be back soon. ;P'

Jebrael let out a small sigh, cautious not to wake you up, and just listened to your peaceful breathing for a few minutes.

And then he cracked a small smile.

That business in the village could wait a few days.

} > -- • -- < {

[pinegreenapples]

Leave of Absence

Wrote a little something and I wanted to share it even though it's not finished! Feedback is always appreciated!

---

Valentino had received his new gun two days ago and he was in love.

It was a sleek little revolving pistol that made him feel like a sexy gangster whenever he blew out the smoke from the barrel. And he had been doing that a lot recently. But who could blame him? The first time he used her to blow off some idiot's head had been like snorting a line of coke, and Valentino was a hedonist through and through. 

So what if production was going to be stalled because he shot his best camerawoman? She was being annoying! And his new gun made that better! Besides, she'd be back in a week or so.

But back to his new love, Veronica. Oh, how her name just rolled off his tongue-delightful.

His new baby was a special commission from Carmine and it could shoot both regular and angelic bullets, depending on how vexing he found his staff at the time. The frigid bitch had even caved and let him make some design choices. So Val's sweet baby girl was a gorgeous rose gold and pastel pink that shone iridescent in the fluorescent lights of the board room. All smooth lines and perfectly polished metal-Val shivered. She was practically sex incarnate.

However, that didn't mean she couldn't use a little more glam.

So today Valentino had a paintbrush, a jar of modge podge, and his personal rhinestone collection laid out in front of him as he debated over the best placement for each crystal on his new baby while Vox droned on in the background about their current ratings.

What a snoozefest. At least he had his precious darling to entertain him while he waited for the meeting to be over. Veronica was going to make an excellent addition to his collection. He could already see her at his side in the club, keeping him safe. Val smirked as he slid into the fantasy.

The way that they'd look together under the disco ball. How she'd fit in his hand like a glove and send a bullet through the heart of whoever dared challenge him. Mmmm, he could feel the heat of her barrel against his palm. What a sexy little lady! He'd blow out her smoke and give her a little kiss-

"-And your latest film has grossed over 2 mil in profits, good job, Val. Ratings are positive as well with even the Gazette admitting it was well done." Vox said, shattering Val's daydream with his stupid statistics.

Although, the recognition was appreciated. Val puffed his chest and grinned salaciously back at his partner.

"Well of course, amorcito, I made it." He purred.

Vox rolled his eyes and snapped his tablet cover shut. 

Fuck, he was so hot when he was pissed off. Maybe Val could cop a feel when the meeting was over. It was such a shame that Vox was so rigid about those 'professional conduct' rules. Val knew he had to be a wildly kinky fucker-stressed business types always were.

"Well, that's the last of our logistics. I have just one more thing to say, I'll be taking a few personal days at the end of the month-"

"Wait, what?" Velvette piped up. Her face had emerged from behind her phone to stare at Vox.

Vox glared back at her and continued on. "-And, Jessica and Will will be taking over for me in the meantime."

Val blinked, then frowned. He opened his mouth to speak but Velvette beat him to it.

"Fucking what? You, Hell's worst control freak is going on a little 'holiday'," Velvette raised her fingers in little air quotes, "and leaving his assistants in charge of his company?" She snorted derisively and set her phone down. "I call fucking bullshit."

"She's right, Voxxy. We've been partners for forty years and not once have you ever taken a day off." Val chimed in. In fact, he could clearly remember several times he'd had to drag the man away from his desk because he hadn't slept in nearly 3 days and the power to the building was flickering like a flame in a tornado.

Vox sighed and a hand came to rub at his screen between his eyes.

"At most, I will be gone for five days. I am trusting you to not run this company into the ground during that time." He said, taking turns to stare at each of them.

Val gasped and hurried over to him.

"Voxxy, mi amor, are you sick? Dying? Is this our last month with you? Don't go, amorcito, we can find a cure!" He wailed. He wrapped his upper arms around the tv's head while his lower set pawed at Vox's clothes, trying to find what was wrong with the other demon.

"Val! What the fuck, get off me!!" Vox shrieked. His hands whacked at Valentino's fingers as they tried to prod his ribs. "I'm not fucking dying, I'm just taking some time off!"

Val wailed again and turned to face Velvette, Vox's head was now smushed against his chest and his fingers stroked the ports at the back of his head. His poor Voxxy, gone too soon! And they'd never even fucked! Truly a tragedy the likes of Romeo and Juliet!

"Velvette, it's worse than we thought!" He cried. His hand came to drape across his forehead. "I'm not ready to be a widow!"

Vox wrenched his head out of Val's fur coat and glared up at him.

"We're not even married, you idiot!" He growled. "Hell, we aren't even dating!"

Val just pulled him back in again and heard Velvette snort as Vox let out a pained 'hrk!' when he was shoved back into Val's ample pecs. Val swung him around like a doll as he bawled.

"I don't know, Val. I think you'd make a sexy widow. What about that little black number you bought at Yvonne's last month? I bet that would bring all the boys over to give you their condolences." Velvette grinned at him. Her phone was out again and pointed at the two of them.

Val cocked his head as he thought about it. Vel was right, that mini dress would look absolutely incredible with a pair of nylons, elbow length black gloves, and a mourning veil. Should he order a handkerchief as well? Or would that be too much? What was he saying? Nothing was ever too much!

Vox took his distraction as a chance to slip from his arms. Val cried out at the loss and ran after him.

Vox dodged his flailing arms and teleported next to Velvette. He snatched her phone, fingers tapping on the screen.

"Hey! Give it back!" Velvette yelled at him.

Vox ducked under her punch and took a step back as he continued to tap.

"Not until I delete them from the cloud and your phone's memory." He snarked back.

"Oh please! Like that'll stop me! You think I can't do a simple data retrieval?" Velvette said. Her arms folded across her chest and her eyes had taken on a dangerous glint.

Vox shrugged and tossed the phone back to her. "No, but it does give me enough time to corrupt all the files before you can get them back."

Velvette flipped him off.

He turned to face them both and pointed his finger. "It's five days at the end of this month. If I come back to the company in flames, I will personally kill both of you." 

Then he zipped into the security camera and was gone.

Val turned to look at Vel. She met his gaze with a frown.

"Well that was fucking weird. Where's that bastard sodding off to for five whole days?" Vel muttered.

"I'll say." Val replied. "The man barely takes time to breathe and now he's taking almost a whole week off from his precious baby of a company?"

"That's what I'm saying!"

Val hummed. "This requires investigation. I'm sure we can get him to spill before he leaves. He's never been good at keeping secrets anyway."

"First one to get him to tell owes the other a shopping spree?" Vel asked.

"Done!" Val agreed eagerly.

He was already planning out how he was going to corner the man and-persuade him to come clean about this little secret.

Val giggled as he walked up to his suite. This next month was going to be fun.

[ticklefits]

AO3 LINK!

voltron: legendary defender | klance (rom) | words: 1,958 | commission from @feathergil​ ♥.

“twenty minutes.”

“hm?”

“twenty minutes, lance.”

“and?” 

and? and keith was beginning to lose his patience. and their food was beginning to get cold, which doesn’t sit right with the warrior in the slightest because the egg rolls from the old mom-and-pop shop down the street tasted the best when they were piping hot. unfortunately for keith, they were, in fact, growing colder by each second that his boyfriend usurped from dinner in order to continue slathering his face with… whatever that stuff is. it smells good, at the very least, but that doesn’t account for the hunger that plagues him. 

“and i’m starving. you always get fussy if i start eating our food without you, but then you take a million years to do something as simple as washing your face.” 

lance huffs, annoyance clouding his expression ( which keith is almost surprised he can detect considering the new mask that lance pasted on ) as he switches his attention to the oil and lotion combination he utilizes for his body. 

“it takes time to look and feel this good! don’t be dramatic just because you can’t appreciate proper skin and self care, babe.” lance lifts one of his legs to stroke the concoction along his skin, making certain to get every inch before he shifts to the other leg. keith observes him for all of thirty seconds, features painted with slight apathy as one of his hands reaches out to slowly grab an eggroll, because if he has to wait any longer for his boyfriend to finish this ridiculously religious routine he has, keith’s obviously going to waste away into nothing. 

lance catches him in the act however and swats at his shoulder in protest. a resounding groan seeps from the swordsman, but an angry lance is a lance he doesn’t want to deal with, so he sets the now lukewarm eggroll back into its spot with the others. he almost pouts truly, thinking about how they’re going to have to microwave the food now, and it just never tastes the same when you do that. 

“are you done now?” keith inquires at the next five minute mark, his stomach growling its ravenous wrath as lance washes off the clay on his face & neck. 

“your stomach sounds like a wild animal.” is the brunet’s response, a little chuckle in his tone, patting his face dry with a small towel. 

“damn, i wonder why that could be.” the sarcasm drips from his words like a leaky faucet, amethyst eyes rolling so hard he nearly gets a headache from it. 

“oh, hush, i’m done already, alright? let’s just warm up the food so we can eat.” lance takes it upon himself to perform that action, considering he’s the reason why their dinner became cold in the first place. 

keith can appreciate that, watching as lance walks away to the open kitchen, donned in nothing but his robe and pajama pants underneath, food in hand. curiosity settles in the forefront of his mind, because lance always makes such a big deal about his skin care routine, and keith can’t help but ponder if the results of it are that good. now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t ever pay much attention to the difference between lance before the act and lance after it. 

his thoughts are interrupted by the smell of renewed food, and even though its not going to taste as fresh as it would have had they eaten it earlier, keith’s hunger is strong enough that anything designated as a human grade consumable would have been good enough for him. once their dinner is set back on the table in front of them, lance turns on a bluetooth speaker he keeps on the counter for background music, to play songs from a playlist that he’s so appropriately named “dinner time.” 

“ya’ have a playlist for literally everything you do, is that normal?” keith quips with a small, half-cocked smile, already having devoured two out of his four egg rolls. 

“yes, it’s normal. people have background music going for all sorts of activities. you’re just a weirdo who likes to sit in silence. i’m showing you the beauty of dual stimulation.”

keith’s brow raises, his smile sharpening into a bit of smirk. “dual stimulation? did’ja learn those words from pidge?”

lance’s own brow twitches, pointing his fork towards his boyfriend and accidentally flinging some rice in his direction. “first of all, i KNOW big words, alright? pidge doesn’t know everything! i know things. i know tons of things!”

keith nearly chokes on his rice when a laugh breaches his throat. “okay, okay, relax babe. look, you’re wasting food, throwing rice around like that.” 

“oh yeah? how’s this for wasting food?” on that cue, lance tosses a piece of orange chicken right at keith, who just barely moves out of the way with a mouth full of sushi. the chicken flies unceremoniously to the floor behind the warrior, and once keith gets the sushi down, his sights train back on lance, who’s looking a little more sheepish. 

“really?” 

“⎯⎯ maybe if you hadn’t dodged it, it wouldn’t have ended up on the floor.” 

“maybe if you hadn’t thrown it, it wouldn’t have ended up on the floor.” 

lance scoffs, but rises from his seat to walk past keith and pick up the poor piece of food. keith, however, decides lance needs a bit more punishment and quickly shoots out a hand to pinch his thigh, hard enough to startle him but not hard enough to seriously hurt. lance squeaks and almost jumps five feet into the air, swatting at his boyfriend once again before he grabs the chicken and tosses it into the trash. 

he tries to walk past keith for the second time, but has to expertly dodge another pinch attack, his lips wavering as the gunner tries to fight off a budding grin. keith, meanwhile, grins openly, a playfulness shimmering in his eyes as lance makes his way back to his seat. they finish the rest of their food with the occasional banter back and forth, until keith takes it upon himself to clear the table and toss empty trays into the trash.

“you’re insufferable, y’know that?”

“you like it.”

“like being pinched? absolutely not, that crap hurts. like a papercut.”

“didn’t know you were that sensitive.” 

“i’m not sensitive, i’m soft. i’m soft and smooth thanks to that unbearable skin routine you can’t stand.”

“soft and smooth huh?” 

“yeah, duh. that’s what skin care happens to do. i’m super soft, actually. can’t believe it’s taken me telling you that for you to realize it.” lance tsks, shaking his head as though he were disappointed in his boyfriend. 

“but not sensitive?” keith slowly brings his body up from the chair, taking just as slow strides closer to lance on the other side of the table. 

there’s a sudden shiver that dances up lance’s spine. he’s prey with a predator nearby, locked onto him and ready to pounce. 

“no — not at all.” lance settles his vision on keith, watching him closely as he stops moving to stare back at lance. it’s silence between them, until something clicks, and then

lance bolts.

lance bolts, in his fluffy robe and even fluffier slippers, bounding towards the stairs where the sanctity of their bedroom lay in waiting. 

keith chases after him, wondering when lance got this fast in his reaction time. he makes certain that lance doesn’t trip on the stairs ( even if he’s the reason why lance is scrambling away in the first place ), and follows him all of the way into the bedroom. unfortunately, the gunslinger doesn’t stand a chance against keith when it comes to raw strength, so when keith tackles lance onto the bed, there isn’t much he can do to fight back against him. 

not that he honestly wants to. 

because the space between keith’s arms is right where he fits perfectly. so perfectly, in fact, that if he didn’t know exactly what his love’s sinister plans were, he would’ve just melted right into his embrace without any hesitation. 

“what’s the problem, lance? i’m just holding you.” keith’s sneaky arms dive to coil around lance’s waist, equally sneaky hands settling right over his stomach. even though he has yet to really move any of his fingers, lance is already having difficulty fighting off the toothy grin that wobbles onto his lips. 

“k - keith, wait, wahahait, hold on ⎯⎯”

“what’re you laughing for, lance? i’m not even doing anything.”

yet. 

he doesn’t have to say the word, but lance can hear it within his mind. he doesn’t have to move his fingers, but lance can sense those ticklish sensations beginning to surge across the surface of his skin, even from on top of his robe. it only grows worse once keith slithers those hands inside of the garment ⎯⎯ the only thing keeping him at least somewhat safe ⎯⎯ and lance has a visceral reaction that forces him to bite down on his bottom lip. 

“keheith! your hands are cohohold! stoppit!” lance attempts to pull his love’s hands off of his chest and belly, but the action is half-hearted, not enough strength behind it to really mean it.

“oh ⎯? oh, holy shit lance, you really are soft.” keith’s eyes widen and his jaw slacks some, as though he’s transcended to a new level above mortal knowledge. 

“i ⎯⎯ i tohold you! it’s called personal hygiene!” lance bites back without any venom, but anything else he might have said gets swallowed up by the full-on giggles that flutter from his lips as keith’s fingers finally begin to explore. 

he skitters those trained digits all over the expanse of lance’s stomach, gently squeezing the softer parts of lance’s lower waist with a bright grin that he couldn’t dare to hide. 

“dude, what in the hell goes on when you shower? it’s fuckin’ insane how soft you feel.” one of keith’s hands leaves lance’s stomach in favor of continuing his exploration, fingers smoothing down one of his hips to scritch lightly at his boyfriend’s thighs, which earns him a proper squeal. 

“keith ⎯⎯! st - stop, it tickles too muhuhuch!” 

“too much? i’m barely touching you, what happened to not bein’ sensitive?” 

every swipe and stroke and squeeze sends ticklish electricity all over the gunman’s body, squirming underneath keith with another weak push in an attempt to make him stop. his giggling evolves into belly laughter when keith leans down to plant gentle kisses on any exposed skin he can find, relishing in the warmth of each spot where his lips touch down. lance feels so damn delicate, keith swears every touch feels like he’s caressing the petals of rose. 

a shriek rips from the hollows of lance’s throat when keith bends down to nuzzle and kiss at the spaces between neck and collarbone. a dusting of cherry paints over lance’s cheeks as his laughter heightens in octave and volume, leaving keith absolutely charmed. he can be so fucking cute, how could keith justify stopping when his boyfriend looks like this? flustered, and gleeful, and enjoying every bit of this, even if he tries to protest otherwise. 

“keeeith! no more!” the brunet chokes out, gasping when kisses shift into mischievous nips and fingers spider up from his thighs to his sides. lance’s breath hitches before another squeal pops out of his lips, attempting to curl over and deter keith’s fingers from their onslaught on his sides. 

truthfully, keith has no intention on stopping and every intention to not only continue tickle his love until he’s a pliant, jelly-like, laughed-out mess, but to also kiss, nibble, and mark every inch of his body for the rest of the night. and lance has very little (honest) complaints about it. 

[duskkodesh]

Look who's here...

How about a figure review? It might be long so I'll have to put it all under the cut.

SO, after nearly 3 damn years I have my figure. I ordered in Feb of 2021 with them saying it would hit THAT SUMMER. *Shakes fist* The movie delays and pandemic I think fucked their releases up royally but also I had some extreme panic about losing 100$ because I paid in full with Paypal at order date. ANYWAYS... he's here now. Outside box gave way to this:

Petty complaint 1: Y'all could have commissioned some original artwork for your boxes instead. The sides are a different cover but this time from the 2020 series. I contemplated why they didn't just give me a window box.

Oh. That's why. SO... After 20 minutes of me peeling protective plastic off of literally every part of Morb...

He angy. Okay so good points: He comes with three heads, eight hands. His suit is a very cool feeling cloth and the collar STANDS UP. He's got the V-cut though it should be more whorish. The heads pop on and off his ball joint neck super easy. The hands are trickier and go on with a peg so take some wiggles. Costume is non removable and why no belt? MEZCO? What did you do to my boy's belt? One last small complaint:

Cape, not wingflaps. Look, I get that diff artists have changed that around but capes are boring. Also the cape goes longer cut than his sleeve which doesn't work well visually. If the suit is permanent they could have done wingflaps. Overall I love him, he's cool and the faces and hands have sold me entirely... but the accessories. Oh. My. God.

Guys help... that microscope folds and transforms. THE FUCKING CENTRIFUGE LIGHTS UP. The lights circle and then the computer screens light up like he got results or something!!!

The beaker and test tube come out. The dagger, hammer and stakes come out and are on a hidden tray under the lab stuff!!! You have enough stuff here to actually play doctor and then a gun for when all else fails! (I'm a healer... but) BTW they say 'syringe gun' but Mezco those are frickin bullets in that tray. Also the battery is in it's own teeny clamshell until you pop it in his case so if you store this figure long term there's no worries about batteries corroding inside a figure and destroying shiz. Accessories? 11/10 like Oh my god guys. The only problem I have is my fat sausage fingers moving and spinning things. They are TINY.

And look at this paint job! you can see his gums! His eyes are glossed! He has his facial hair! AHHHHHHHH the likeness is so good!

He is also almost perfectly Marvel Legends scale if you need a Spidey to take blood samples from or a she-hulk to inevitably bail him out from jail when he does something dumb as heck!

This was worth a three year wait, I need two more to display all the heads!!! Please excuse me for a while. I have an extreme urge to play action figures again like when I was eight. WHO WANTS TO PLAY WITH ME?

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Reflections

Chapter Six

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: language, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library  with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

~

Tom stared at the shaking door, rattling on its hinges from the woman's ire. 

Never meet your heroes. 

What did that even mean? How the hell was he that woman's hero? 

He scrubbed his hand over his mouth. "Fuck." He was such an arse. 

That hadn't gone the way he intended. Yes, he wanted to warn her off Kip, but he meant to do so sternly without insult. Instead, he'd insulted her entirely and did so with all the grace of a stampeding ox. 

But she'd thrown him off. 

Kip spent the last weeks talking about Mia MacAlasdair every chance he got. They emailed. They texted. He giggled like an utter buffoon acting the smitten pup whenever her name popped into his phone. It was the same - or nearly - that he'd done with Serina. 

He wouldn't allow his brother to throw away three years of love and his new family for some fling! 

Two weeks of waiting for this moment, watching Kip make a fool of himself, and listening to Emma wax poetic about how nice their new resident Mia had only increased his rage. 

Then, she walked through the door. 

Shock at the absolute beauty of her left him mute. Her chin just reached Kip's shoulders, and her dazzling smile carried all the way to ocean-blue eyes. Her alabaster skin was liberally brushed with freckles as if someone kissed her flesh with gold dust, then returned and did it again. The gold repeated in her copper hair, the strands a little wild where they rested on her shoulders. 

She wore jeans that caressed curves made for a man's hands and a wool jumper he would bet money was knit by Agatha Barnes, the village fibre artist. She had a distinct way of layering colours that should appear garish but always seemed to work out in the end. Still, it did little to hide the swell of generous breasts when Mia crouched to set her work down. 

She had thighs that could suffocate a man. 

The glory of her seized his tongue, rendering him all but mute.

Then Kip started in and renewed his rage when he got to watch her flirt, touch, and tease his brother. Did she have no shame?

Then, when he called her out on her behaviour, she played her part to the nines, denied everything, and left in a huff. 

Still, what was that parting remark?

The door swung open with a bang and made him wince. Did no one remember the castle was old?

"What the fuck did you do?"

As it was only half a minute since Mia left, he imagined Kip saw enough of her exit to deduce they'd argued. 

"I fixed your mistake before you made it," Tom replied calmly, eyeing the package leaning against his desk. 

"Fixed my- What mistake?" Kip frowned. 

"Come off it, Kip! You were halfway to an indiscretion, and you know it!" Tom bellowed. 

His jaw dropped. "You think that I- that Mia and I-" He barked a short laugh, then thrust his hand through his hair as he began to pace. "Of course, you do because, for some reason, you believe I'm still twenty and stupid! You right wank! What did you say to her?"

Tom scowled. "Please, Kip. I've seen you work. I know how you treat women. What would Serina think of your new side piece?"

Kip threw up his hands. "She knows, you fucking cock! She knows all about Mia, her art, and I commissioned a piece for her. She's read the emails and texts and even texted Mia herself. Fuck, you're a piece of work! You could have asked, but no! You assumed the worst of me again and arsed it up!"

Tom blinked at him in surprise. "What?"

"Mia isn't some home-wrecking, gold-digging hussy! God dammit, Tom! Tell me you didn't threaten her? Tell me, for the love of Highpark, you did not put your hands on her!"

He hadn't seen Kip this upset in a long time and slowly came to the realization he'd muffed it. Badly. "I… may have grabbed her arm when she went to walk away."

Kip's face paled, then burned a scary sort of red. "You. Did. What?"

"I didn't hurt her and let go when she told me to."

Kip scrubbed his hands over his face. "People in the village talk to Emma. Cora talks to Emma. But everyone talks when there is gossip to have. The only person who doesn't listen to that gossip is you!" he roared, shaking his fist. "If you bothered to listen, you would know Mia arrived at Ashwood Farm sporting a week-old shiner lovingly given to her by her ex-fiance!" 

Tom stumbled back and sat on the edge of his desk. "What?"

"You put hands on an abused woman. You accused the sweetest, kindest, gentlest woman of being a homewrecker. And do you know the worst of it all?" 

Tom didn't need to respond, knowing Kip would tell him whether he wanted to hear it or not. Kip mad was something to see, but a quiet mad Kip was damn scary. 

He crossed the room to scowl out the window. "She didn't have a clue who I was when we met until I teased her with a few movie titles. She recognized Ragnarok, the only movie of mine she knew was Thor fucking Ragnarok because "she liked the other guy better." The one who played Loki first."

His jaw dropped. "What? She actually knew there was a difference?" So many people had no idea they'd switched him out for Kip until the press tours started, and his brother was praised for doing such a good job. 

Loki's army, virtually en masse and overnight, became Kip's fans instead. He didn't want to admit how much that hurt when replacing him in the industry he once adored seemed so easy. 

"She knew. She said you had passion. She called your scene with Chris during Avengers magic. That single tear when you sneered sentiment was magic."

Tom frowned. He may be flattered, but he'd had his fair share of obsessed crazies back in the day. 

"Fuck off, don't even," Kip huffed before he could ask. "Emma's been poking at her, but she didn't even know your name until we informed her that the previous Loki was our brother Tom. She doesn't watch movies often, and what telly she enjoys appears to be of the home improvement genre."

Just then, thunder cracked loudly over the house, causing the windows to rattle and lights to flicker. 

"Bloody hell!" Kip cursed. "It's like the skies opened!"

Tom glanced out the window and watched it come down in sheets. "I'll find Mia and apologize. She said she was having tea with Emma."

Kip squinted. "Not anymore. She's driving off."

"In this?" Tom barked. 

"Seems she's desperate to leave. Wonder why that could be?" Kip snapped. 

Tom was running before he made the conscious thought to do so. 

~

Mia muttered curses on the head of Tom Hiddleston as she drove slowly around the castle. It was like a wall of water falling on her, making it nearly impossible for the wipers to keep up. As the humidity climbed, the condensation inside the cab made the widows foggy, but she couldn't make the defog work in Henry's truck. 

She glanced down to try and find the right button again, glanced up to make sure she wasn't going to drive off the road, and stomped both feet on the brake, causing the truck to skid to a stop, sputter, and die. 

A man was heaving for breath, bare inches from becoming a hood ornament. 

Mia shoved open the door, leaned into the downpour and screamed, "Are you out of your corn-fed mind!"

Tom rounded the side of the vehicle and stood in the open doorway. "You're the one who nearly hit me."

"You ran out in front of my vehicle in the pouring rain! Gods, do you have a death wish on top of being an asshole?" she shrieked, now mad and wet. 

He squinted, hair dripping, nose dripping. 

Why was he still so pretty?

"I thought Kip said you were Canadian. Aren't Canadians supposed to be ridiculously nice?"

She glared and snapped, "We're perfectly lovely until you piss in our timbits!"

He arched a brow. "That was decidedly rude. How very unCanadian of you."

Incised, Mia leaned out the door, subjecting herself to the rain to get nose-to-nose with him. "Don't you know the Geneva Convention was created because Canadians decided rules of engagement were more like suggestions? So test me, Hiddleston. See what happens."

His grin spread quickly. Then he laughed. 

It wasn't fair. No man should look that good soaking wet, nor should a laugh make things that were hella dormant wake up and stretch. Her freaking ovaries quivered at the sound. 

"If you're just going to bray like an ass, I'll thank you to shut the door," she huffed. 

He didn't quit laughing but reached inside, put the truck in park, and stole the keys. 

"What the fuck?" Mia muttered, too stunned to stop him. 

"You flooded it. You won't be going anywhere for a time. Might as well come in, get dry, and have tea with my sister. Besides, you're so mad you didn't even realize you're driving on the wrong side of the road." 

She eyed his offered hand like a snake waiting to bite her. "This one-eighty you've done is giving me whiplash. Did you crack your head at some point during your sprint through the castle? How many fingers am I holding up?" She held up three. 

His smile faded into something that looked a lot like contrition. "Mia." He leaned into the cab so the rain bounced off his back instead of his head. "I owe you a massive apology. Kip explained that I had it all wrong, that you and he are only a strange sort of friends," he smiled a little, "and I'm a tosser for putting my hands on you after what you went through before you came here."

Mia blinked. "Is a tosser an asshole?"

"A supreme one," he chuckled. 

"Then I accept your apology," she nodded. "And don't worry about the grabbing my arm thing. If you hadn't let go, I would have made you." He frowned and glanced between her eyes as if looking for bruising. "I left because he hit me. It was once, and he only succeeded because he surprised me. Colt's thing was words and subtle barbs, not fists."

"It shouldn't have been either, love," he murmured. 

Oh, that was a dangerous word and a wholly unreasonable feeling it produced when he said it. 

"No man has the right to touch a woman in violence." He stepped back out in the rain and held out his hand again. "Come on. If we run, it won't be so bad."

Mia looked at the sky and back at him. "I'm half soaked just sitting here. I'll be fully wet getting out!"

A slow grin crawled across his lips. "Then let's get wet, love."

Large red danger signs flashed in her mind, but Mia was already reaching for his hand. He tugged her into the rain and right up against him so he could shut the door to the truck, then stared down at her for a half second more as Mia licked her lips, tasting the rain. 

His eyes darkened, but he turned on his heels and dragged her into a sprint that took them around the side of the castle to an open set of patio doors. 

Once inside, with the rain shut out, they stood dripping on the hardwood of an extremely fancy parlour and stared at each other for long heartbeats as water plopped on the floor. 

"I'm dripping-"

Tom hummed and flexed his hands.

"-all over your floor." 

His dark gaze raked down her body and back up, locking with her eyes as he murmured, "Then let's get you out of those clothes."

She reached for his hand, but instead of following him, she used his arm to steady herself as she toed out of her shoes and peeled off her wet socks. 

"That won't help the trail we leave behind," he chuckled. 

Mia shrugged. "It's the polite thing to do."

He shook his head before following her lead, unlacing short boots and peeling off wet socks. 

She looked away. A barefoot man should not be sexy. Why the hell was it so sexy?

When he offered his hand, his smile knowing, she took it, allowing him to lead her where he would, packing her dripping shoes and socks along with her. 

~

Mia sat in a parlour out of Downton Abbey, warm wool socks on her feet, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sweater lent to her by Tom. It was a weird way to end up in a man's clothes, borrowed after being thoroughly soaked, thanks to him, but it wasn't as if she could wear Emma's. 

Upon seeing them dripping down the hall, his sister's shriek of distress had echoed and caused every servant within hearing distance - which was quite a lot - to pour into the hall and gape as the Lord of Highpark walked barefoot and soggy toward the stairs. 

He scolded Emma for making a scene, but it lacked conviction when Emma rounded crossly on him and launched into a beautiful dressing down. It tickled Mia to no end to hear Emma call her brother a slew of names in her cultured accent and then demand he apologize. 

Mia snickered when he sheepishly said he already had, earning a side-eye and amused smirk that made her shiver. 

Emma scoffed but immediately began to fuss, insisting Mia be led upstairs and allowed to shower before she 'caught her death,' then insisted Tom provide alternate clothing as there was no way Mia could borrow any of hers. 

Mia wanted to protest but knew it was stupid. She was soaked to the bones and gratefully agreed, as the idea of standing under hot running water was appealing. 

Still clinging to Tom's hand - as he wouldn't let her go - Mia climbed their fancy stairs, trying not to stare like a ninny. 

Emma and no less than three maids separated her from Tom, herding her in one direction as his fingers lingered, skimming her palm as he reluctantly released her. 

She glanced back in time to watch him walk the other way. Her traitorous heart fluttered when he flexed his hand, making her wonder if his also tingled. 

Emma insisted she give over her clothes so they could be washed and dried. 

After much fussing, they returned downstairs, where Mia was bundled before the fireplace, given a lap quilt, tea, and cookies. 

The entire experience was surreal. 

"You're sure he apologized?" Emma fretted, scowling at the door as if Tom would appear at any moment. 

He hadn't. The clothes were waiting on the bed when she got out of the shower, but since then, she hadn't seen so much as a hair of the oldest Hiddleston. 

"He did. Though, I gave him what for first. Who runs out in front of a moving vehicle?" Mia grumbled, nibbling the edge of her lemon-flavoured cookie. 

Emma glanced at the door again and sighed. "Tom doesn't like any of us driving in weather like this. That's how accidents happen."

“Accidents?” Mia murmured. 

The wane smile on Emma's lips slipped. "Our parents were killed in a storm like this. A car lost control, sending them off the road. The crash killed them both instantly."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I lost my parents to a house fire."

Emma gasped. "Oh, Mia! I knew they passed when you were young, but I didn't know how. Were you home at the time?"

She shook her head. "I was sleeping over at my friend's house. The police woke her parents, and they had to tell me. I was eleven. Someone said they died of smoke inhalation in their sleep. It was unlikely they ever woke up before…" She swallowed thickly and looked away. 

"At least there is that," Emma smiled. 

"Small comforts when you're little," she sighed, then shook her head. "Well, this conversation turned morbid."

Emma chuckled. "Should I ask about your ex and get all the ugly out of the way?"

"There's not much to tell there. Colt and I met in the last year of university. At first, he was amazing. I didn't have a lot of friends growing up in foster care, and unfortunately, you hit eighteen, and you're on your own. I worked a few years first to save money for school, went back late, but got my fine arts degree. A fat lot of good it does you though. It's not the most sought-after degree in the job market." Mia rolled her eyes, causing Emma to snort. "He was in his last year of law. We became friends and then started dating. Two years later, I moved in with him. Everything changed with the pandemic."

"It was hard, even on us." Mia frowned, but Emma shrugged. "Running Highpark is expensive, but we love it. We do what we can to keep it going."

"I should know that. So many places like this have turned to tours and rental options to keep them afloat. Plus, I've seen your website."

Emma scoffed. "Hack job of a cut and paste." She cast Mia a devious side-eye. "Perhaps an art major would be willing to give us a hand?"

Mia chuckled. "I majored in fine art, not computer design, but I can help with colour theory if you want."

"I want," Emma begged. "I feel like a five-year-old designed that thing."

"You?" Mia snickered. 

"Kip," she scoffed. 

Mia giggled. "Well, that makes perfect sense."

"An artist he is not," Emma chuckled. "He tried, but that's not his cuppa."

"You didn't want a professional to do it?"

Emma sighed and slumped against the sofa back. "At the time, we couldn't. We didn't know how bad it was before Mum and Dad died. I was gone, married to Ethan already. Tom was off being a rising star, with Kip chasing his heels. You can imagine the shock when, after the funeral, we discovered Highpark was so close to foreclosure that the bank was breathing down our collective necks. But we couldn't let it go. It's our home, all we've known, and so much of our history is wrapped up here. Tom gave up his career to come home and sort it but insisted Kip keep striving for his dreams. He tried to stop Ethan and I from moving back, but I insisted. Besides, Highpark is good for the boys."

She had sent the kids off to pester Kip, causing peels of laughter to reverberate down the hall at odd intervals. 

Emma explained that the eastern wing of the castle was strictly for family, whereas the western wing and great hall were open to the public. After a few months, they brought in the cafe and expanded into weddings, resulting in a smashing success, rapidly bringing Highpark back into the black. 

Now, with Ethan and Tom working on bettering the bloodline of the stud - something their family had run for generations but her father showed little interest in, allowing it to falter - they had two thriving businesses that weathered the chaos of Covid quite well. 

Mia could tell Emma was very proud of her family, especially her brother Tom and his sacrifices to save their family home.

"Sadly, Colt and I didn't weather the pandemic," Mia sighed, accepting another cookie and a sandwich for her plate before thrusting her hand through her hair. 

"It was bad?"

"It didn't start out that way. I think the forced proximity, working from home, constantly in each other's space grated on him. We had a decent-sized apartment, but there's only so many places you can go in fourteen hundred square feet."

Emma winced. "I suppose there is."

"I made a lot of excuses for him, missed a lot of red flags." Mia watched the fire crackle in the fireplace. "Some I didn't even see until I was on a plane halfway across the Atlantic reflecting on what happened. He started seeing someone else a year ago."

"He cheated? That bastard!" Emma cried. 

Mia flashed her a halfhearted smile. "It was pretty clear we were only going through the motions by then. There was no intimacy. We barely spoke to each other. I tried, but he would yell, scream really, and punch walls." Sighing, she rubbed her forehead. "I should have left when that started, but I had a shit job that barely covered my costs and no way of affording a place on my own. I didn't even have a car to live out of because I always used city transit."

Letting her head fall back on the sofa, Mia stared at the ceiling, very high and decorated with fancy plaster. 

"What about other friends?"

The self-deprecating laugh escaped before she could stop it. "Didn't have any."

"No one?" Emma whispered, taken aback. 

Mia sighed. "I'm… a bit quirky. My brain doesn't work like everyone else's. It's easy for me to fall into a project and stay there until someone pulls me out. The single-minded focus can be acute to the point that I don't see anyone or anything else until it's done. Friends would reach out, but when I stopped reaching back… they gave up. I never meant to ignore them; it just happens."

"People are shit."

Mia glanced at Emma. The sympathy, understanding, and annoyance invading her face was a surprise. 

"I understand better than you think," she sighed, picking at the sleeve of her sweater. "You wouldn't know, but I'm not the typical lady of the manor. I was a bit of a disappointment to my parents, a little too loud, too exuberant, too fanciful. They didn't understand me. Thankfully, Kip, Tom, and Ethan do. We moved back from the north, and like you, I lost most of the friends I made when I was no longer 'available' because Highpark became my focus."

"I wondered," Mia teased. "You don't remind me of Lady Mary Crawley at all."

Emma burst out laughing. "Oh, thank the universe for that!"

Mia chuckled, ate her sandwich, and groaned. "Gods, everyone's bread tastes like freaking ambrosia."

"Bread doesn't taste good in Canada?" Emma snickered. 

Mia shook her head. "Store bought isn't the same. I swear Cora's going to make me fat."

"Oh, please! You're a stick compared to my hips!"

"Besides, with that fiery temperament, you would burn off everything you eat."

The comment came from the doorway where Tom leaned against the frame. 

Casually dressed in dark pants and a blue polo shirt that matched the colour of his eyes, he smiled to indicate he was teasing before stalking into the room in a pair of well-worn boots with a black jacket slung over his arm. His curls were slightly more russet than Kip's and tumbled over his forehead, giving a boyish bent to his impish grin.

The man was not allowed to look so damn fine. 

"I assure you I'm perfectly polite on most occasions. It's not my fault you're cynical," she smirked. 

He raised his free hand in a gesture of surrender. "Yes, alright. I admit I was an arse in the worst way possible. I thought you'd forgiven me. Perhaps I was mistaken?"

Mia lifted her chin at his raised eyebrow. "Maybe I like watching you grovel?"

"Should I get down on my knees and beg, love?"

"I thought you were the one demanding everyone kneel?" she quipped, sipping the last of her tea. 

Tom stalked across the room, braced his hands on the arms of her chair, and leaned in. "Is that how you speak to a God?"

Mia barked a quickly covered laugh. "You'd be surprised." 

There was a flicker of confusion before his grin spread. "Cheeky wench."

She gasped in mock affront. "Wench! How dare you?"

Tom laughed and stood, shaking his head. "And here I keep expecting to find this polite Canadian Kip speaks of."

"We're polite, not pushovers," Mia snickered. 

Gods, she could smell him now. Citrus and musk, something orangey and masculine that made her insides quiver like jello.

"Are you interrupting for a reason, Thomas?" Emma asked, clearly amused by both of them.

"The rain ended. I thought Mia might like to see the rest of Highpark now that we are no longer in danger of floating away."

His blue eyes offered a challenge Mia was helpless to resist. "I'm not sure my clothes will be dry yet."

"Then wear mine," he practically purred, hand outstretched. "We'll borrow you a pair of wellies if yours are still damp and be off."

Mia studied him for a moment before glancing at Emma. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all!" she beamed, popping up from her seat like a Jack-in-the-box. "Have fun, you two!"

Mia blinked after her retreating back in surprise. "She's… spritely."

Tom snickered. "Emma is chaos personified in a person. She's a whirlwind, capable of bending people to her will when they least want to."

The description was so apt Mia laughed as she took his hand and threw off her lap quilt. "Maybe, but I think she's awesome."

He grasped her fingers, and Mia had to fight not to react to the sparks that shot up her arm. Then he pulled her closer, into the circle of his body heat, sending shivers down her spine again. 

"I imagine she feels the same way about you, love," Tom murmured, his eyes intense on her face. His jacket landed on her empty chair before his free hand pressed into her lower back. He didn't pull her closer, just held her firmly in place. 

"I deeply regret what I said earlier."

Mia tipped her head. "Which part? That I was making a play for your brother or that I'm a strumpet?"

Twin spots of colour burned into his cheeks. "All of the above. Kip once was so much a playboy it got him in trouble, but Serina has been good for him, and he is smitten with their daughter. I didn't want to see him make a mistake that could ruin everything he's worked for."

She peered up at him as the fire crackled in its grate. "That's your thing, isn't it?"

"My thing?"

"You rescue people." His family home, his brother, she wouldn't be surprised if he pulled Emma out of trouble along the line, too. 

Pain cracked his smile. "Better the rescuer than the villain."

The regret leaching into his smile hurt her heart, causing her to tease, "But you played such an excellent villain." She tilted up her chin. "Though, he wasn't truly a villain at all, was he?"

"Misunderstood," he murmured, his gaze drifting from her eyes. 

"He had a shit foster dad. I know how that is." Mia's eyes darted down to his mouth.

Tom licked his lips. "Do you?"

"Yeah. But what your Loki did wasn't his fault. He was tortured and brainwashed. I saw that in Avengers."

His grin grew. "I bet you did."

Before she could stop herself, entranced by the man's delectable mouth, Mia murmured, "Loki appreciates how well you played the part. He's still mad about the hair, though."

"Pardon?"

Mia started, blushed crimson, and attempted to step away, but he didn't let her, keeping her trapped in a dancer's embrace.

"It's nothing!" she insisted. 

Tom tilted his head, studying her with narrowed eyes. "You say Gods when you curse. You talk of Loki as if you speak to him instead of about him. And you've yet to set foot in any of Kelso's churches. Are you Pagan?"

That took her by surprise. Everyone in town really did know everyone else's business. 

Mia sighed. "Norse Pagan with Lokean leanings."

"Really?" he grinned. 

"Don't flatter yourself. I was Lokean long before you played Loki," she huffed.

"I did so much research into the practice, Loki, and the Eddas to play that part, but couldn't find anyone who would talk to me directly about their practice."

Bright puppy eyes begged down at her. 

Mia chuckled. "You still have questions?"

"So many questions!" he laughed.

"I'm happy to answer from my perspective. I can't speak for other people's practice, but I'll talk about mine."

"Brilliant!" He beamed.

"Just… don't tell everyone and their dog."

He frowned. "Why?"

"People can be judgy asshats who don't understand the difference between fiction and faith."

"I can understand that. And if I say something offensive, feel free to kick me in the shin."

Mia chuckled. "I will."

He laughed and shook his head. "I don't doubt you will, love. Don't doubt it at all."

Next Chapter

[mariacallous]

Ukraine is in the waiting room to join both NATO and the European Union. NATO leaders meeting in Vilnius, Lithuania, disappointed Kyiv last week with only a vague statement on a future invitation to join the alliance when “conditions are met.”

But at least NATO is being honest in signaling that there are still obstacles to overcome among the allies. That stands in stark contrast to the EU and its messaging on Ukrainian membership. If you think Ukraine’s path to NATO is a struggle, wait until what happens when Ukraine’s EU accession gets serious.

With its grand rhetoric on Ukraine’s future in the EU, Brussels is talking as if Kyiv joining the bloc were a done deal. When Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky visited Brussels in February, EU leaders elbowed each other for a photo-op with the wartime leader. European Council President Charles Michel greeted Zelensky with a tweet: “Welcome home, welcome to the EU.”

When EU membership is discussed in detail with Ukraine, the focus is on what Ukraine needs to do to join. Deeply united by the war, Ukrainians are pressing ahead to do their part, adopting new laws and implementing regulations required for EU membership. The Ukrainians are checking more and more boxes on the long EU membership to-do list, from reforming their judiciary to developing a new media law to cracking down on corruption.

Ukraine, together with Moldova, attained EU candidate status in June 2022, drastically shortening a byzantine process that has taken years for other countries on the waiting list. Kyiv  will get the first written progress assessment from the European Commission in October. To keep up the momentum, Ukrainian officials are pushing for the official start of accession negotiations by the end of this year, possibly at a European Council meeting scheduled for December.

But while Ukraine is working at pace to join the EU, Brussels and the bloc’s member states are not doing nearly enough to be ready to absorb Ukraine. EU leaders’ high-flying rhetoric on Ukraine’s membership therefore does not match their actions. To absorb a country with the size, population, low income level, financing, and reconstruction needs of war-torn Ukraine, it would require a major reform of EU institutions, policies, and budget processes. At the very least, this will set off vicious conflicts between current members about the distribution of EU funds.

Therefore, if EU leaders were really serious about membership for Ukraine, efforts to reform the bloc should already be underway. At the heart of the issue is the EU budget, which is dominated by two major elements: agricultural subsidies and development projects in poorer regions, which combined account for roughly 65 percent of the EU’s long-term budget. For both these issues, prospective Ukrainian membership is explosive. Ukraine is one of the poorest countries in Europe, with a per capita income of barely one-tenth of the EU average and less than half that of the EU’s poorest member, Bulgaria. Ukraine also now has vast infrastructure and reconstruction needs. To all of this, add one of the continent’s largest agricultural sectors that would suddenly be eligible for EU subsidies.

Were the EU’s budget and redistribution process to remain unchanged, Kyiv would immediately suck in a vast part of the EU budget, including funds now going to the bloc’s less affluent members in Eastern Europe and elsewhere. Many countries currently benefiting from EU funds would turn into net contributors overnight. If you think any of this will be a smooth process, then you don’t know much about European politics.

Given the current redistribution of funds within the EU, it’s no surprise that the biggest cracks in support for Ukrainian membership have come in Eastern Europe, where the EU’s net recipients are concentrated. In fact, the battle over giving Ukraine access to European agricultural markets has already started, long before a single euro in EU farming subsidies is reallocated: Following the invasion, Brussels supported Ukraine by allowing its grain and other agricultural products to enter the EU’s single market. Cheaper Ukrainian goods undercut farmers in neighboring Poland, Hungary, and Slovakia. Even though Ukraine was desperate for revenue, Poland violated EU rules and unilaterally blocked Ukrainian grain from entering Polish territory. The EU intervened with a compromise, allowing Ukrainian produce to enter the EU but requiring it to bypass five Eastern European countries most affected by the unwelcome competition.

It is also no surprise, then, that some of these Eastern European countries—which count among Ukraine’s biggest military and diplomatic backers—also oppose any serious effort to undertake the EU reforms that are a prerequisite for Ukraine to join. Not only do these countries potentially stand to lose substantial funds, but EU reforms to prepare the way for Ukrainian membership will also likely include streamlining EU decision-making rules, which could reduce individual members’ power, especially countries such as Hungary and Poland that have made liberal use of their veto power to influence EU decisions.

EU enlargement is one of the most successful political, economic, and social policies in history, peacefully expanding the union to incorporate 450 million people in 27 countries. For new members, entering the bloc has often set off an economic miracle—a combination of market access, EU funding, the bloc’s rules on good governance, and the confidence that comes with having a secure future. Yet for the past decade, further enlargement has been on ice, largely because the redistribution involved when new, usually poor, members join has been so politically wrought.

Since Zelensky submitted an official application for EU membership on Feb. 28, 2022, just four days after the start of the Russian invasion, the question of further enlargement has been back on the table. Besides membership for Ukraine and Moldova, EU leaders are increasingly aware that other countries not yet in the EU—specifically, in the Western Balkans—will also have to be brought on board if European security and stability is to be ensured.

The explosive impact of Ukraine’s membership on the EU budget will force a discussion about the EU forging a fiscal union. In essence, that would mean a large increase in contributions by wealthier members, such as Germany, France, and some of the smaller rich countries; EU-wide income and other progressive taxes; a big increase in the EU’s ability to issue its own debt; or all of the above. Obviously, this is no minor discussion.

Further enlargement would also strain the EU’s already handicapped ability to make decisions and adopt new laws and policies. Reaching unanimity—needed in foreign policy, for example—among 27 sovereign member states is already a Herculean task, complicated further by the presence of an illiberal, Russia-friendly state such as Hungary. Adding Ukraine and other countries patiently waiting to join could push the EU to well past 30 members. There is a long history of  members weaponizing their veto power, which explains why other member states hesitate to add more countries to the decision-making mix without changes to the EU’s functioning.

Germany, for example, is pushing for the expansion of qualified majority voting to new policy areas, such as foreign policy. No longer requiring unanimity would significantly streamline the ability of the EU to make foreign-policy decisions. Smaller countries fear that losing their veto would mean losing their voice in the EU—a debate familiar to any student of constitutional history. Other potential concerns relate to the distribution of member of the European Commission—currently one commissioner per member—or seats in the European Parliament. Enlargement would require reform in these areas, too.

Enlargement would also spotlight the unresolved issue of rule of law and democracy. The EU defines itself as a union of democracies and has strict rules on civil rights, and there are deep concerns over democratic decline and the rollback of the rule of law in Hungary and Poland. Western European governments, in particular, are very wary of enlarging without strengthening the EU’s ability to act against democratic erosion. This concern is especially acute since not a single country on the candidate list is rated fully free in Freedom House’s 2023 Freedom in the World index.

Ukraine could be the catalyst to jump-start a new wave of enlargement. The prospect of its membership requires reform, which in turn would remove many of the obstacles that have similarly held up the accession of Western Balkan countries. Russia’s brutal attack on Ukraine has already been a catalyst for the EU in another way—by demonstrating to Europeans that their bloc is indispensable to their security. When it comes to defense, in survey after survey, Europeans want the EU to play a much greater role. Critically, support for Ukraine among EU citizens remains incredibly high. Even after a year of sanction packages, millions of refugees, energy decoupling, and a cost-of-living crisis, 74 percent of EU citizens approve of the bloc’s support for Ukraine, according to a Eurobarometer poll.

Ukrainians are fighting for their European future. EU leaders now need to do their part to be ready to bring in Ukraine. If they pursue the long-overdue reforms of EU institutions and processes that will be required to make Ukrainian membership work, they will not just make the EU larger. They will make it stronger as well.

[eirian]

gonna try some positive thinkin today. im kind of stressing about money again as well as how to make said money so im gonna try to think positively abt the situation. here i go

its literally only the 6th. i have the entire rest of the month to make rent and ive literally done it like every month for nearly two years so i'll definitely be fine. yes my adoptables and ychs and commissions are lowkey flopping right now but they wont always be like that! ppl will buy something from me for sure, it just takes a little time. and one day i'll be a big enough artist to where i wont have to wait as long too!

hell, one of these days i'll be accepted into the animation industry for a job and thatll be my big break for sure! i have hope that i'll make it happen. right now its a little bit of a struggle but it wont be forever. things will turn out fine

[oomles]

Hey all, sorry it has been a little bit. Just wanted to take a little time to breathe, say “hey, I’m not dead!”, and reflect upon the year.

Looking back on it, 2022 was, without a doubt, my most challenging year to date. I got covid (twice!), spent most of my year figuring out that whole self-employed thing, and faced my biggest adventure yet - moving across the country with two of my best friends.

I had lived in the same town (Bozeman, Montana) since I was born, and leaving it was quite scary. For two full months of 2022, I’d wake up, apply to multiple places a day, check my emails, make phone calls, go to bed, and repeat. I think I had applied to well over 100 different locations by the end of it. I was already pretty unhappy living in a state that didn’t suit me, and the dread of feeling like I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to ate me alive. Hell, we only got accepted to a place the day before our lease had to end. I don’t think I have ever been that stressed in my whole life, and I pray I never will be again.

And yet? I couldn’t be happier to have taken the plunge. California has so much more to offer me. I find great joy in the warmer weather, the diverse culture that surrounds me, and the accessibility of finding nearly anything I could ever want within an hour drive away (especially compared to the isolation of Montana). Sure, our apartment sucks, and there have been some major bumps in the road, but at the end of the day I’m truly glad that this new chapter in my life has begun.

I wish I had one of those fun “end of year art compilations” to share, but in all honesty I just… don’t have much from 2022. I couldn’t draw or sew while I was so ill with covid, and moving exerted all of my time and energy. I miss drawing and making as much as I used to, and it makes me quite depressed to think about how little I’ve done this year. I suppose I should be kinder to myself considering the hurdles I faced, but I can’t help but feel a fair bit of shame and embarrassment for not having more to show for it…

I’m still playing a bit of catch up with previous shop orders and commissions, so I hope I haven’t let you folks down. I’m working nearly every day to get back up to full speed, and will have more to show for it in due time. To those of you still waiting, thank you. Your patience means the world to me.

So, tl;dr, here’s to 2023. Please be gentler, 2023

[the-foolish-scholar]

Yo soy la mujer con un cara como payaso

In the spring semester of my first year at Miami, I enrolled into a political science class called, "Politics of the Middle East". The course's final required us to write a research proposal and personal statement, adhering to Fulbright's guidelines. I toyed around with different ideas but I ended up proposing a study based in Saudi Arabia meant to explore how the use of contraceptives had changed after the male guardianship laws had been rewritten, most notably allowing women to visit the doctor alone. I worked on the assignment for one night and one night only in the College Democrat's office. Periodically throughout that night I'd leave to get caffeine, something salty, or something sweet. I remember the stairway that I had to walk through to get those things pungently smelt like a mix of frosted sugar cookies and trash. After pulling an all-nighter, I was done and ready to turn in my essays. I ended up getting a 100% on that final, and my professor suggested that I consider actually applying for a Fulbright.

When I came back to Miami as a sophomore, I didn't really think of Fulbright that much. I was too focused on all the wrong things. I was still involved in politics and I dedicated most of my time and energy to being Membership Director for MUCD and later as the Campus Point for the Bernie campaign. On top of that, I was also busy with ADPi, the Urban Cohort, and my internship with the IRLC. Balancing all of that, along with a social life and academics proved to be tough. I took the picture below when I was at my busiest and most stressed point of the spring semester, because how tough could it really be to juggle one more thing? I thought that applying for a Fulbright wouldn't be that hard, since I got an A on my mock proposal/personal statement anyway.

About a year after I took that picture, I stepped back from politics and I got serious about applying. I made multiple meetings with the Fulbright Program Advisor and discussed potential research projects. I struggled to come up with a feasible project and became close to quitting. But then the most strange and vivid dream and I woke up knowing what I needed to do; I needed to study how one's social identities impacted their faith in a higher power. While working a full time job in Cincinnati at the Peaslee Neighborhood Center in the summer, I drafted my grant proposal and personal statement. I spent hours on the second floor of King Library every day after work, usually staying until close. When I wasn't writing or rewriting, I was in meetings receiving input to sharpen my application.

It all became very real when I had reached the on-campus deadline. I submitted my project and awaited my review from the campus committee. About two weeks after my submission, I had a meeting with the committee. I was pressed on my knowledge of current events in El Salvador as well as what I intended to research. One question about American values threw me off and I thought I had ruined everything but I was able to craft a clever response after a brief pause. I took the commentary the commission provided me with to heart and I made adjustments to my project, submitting for real about a week later. I made the meme above in hopes that I would one day get to post it along with a letter stating that I had won.

And then, the waiting game began. I remained calm for the most part. In January I was very fortunate to have a trip to El Salvador paid for by the Western Program at Miami University. I was on a delegation with El Centro de Intercambio y Solidaridad in honor of Rutilio Grande while I was there. One day we were visiting the cathedral and I found myself alone in the basement in front of Saint Romero's grave. For some reason, I felt compelled for the first time in nearly a decade to pray, and I prayed that I would win. Shortly after I arrived back in the United States, my prayer was somewhat answered, as I found out that I had advanced as a semi-finalist in the competition.

The nerves began to kick in after I had found out I was a semi-finalist. I applied knowing how hard it would be to win and I honestly never thought that I'd make it as far as I had. As people in the Slack began to announce that they had become finalists, I became a nervous wreck. I would reread my application over and over, in some sort of attempt to prophesize if I'd win or lose. The days leading up to my application notification were the most bizarre of all. My thoughts screamed that I'd be a failure but I felt this stillness inside of me that assured me everything would work out. I felt crazy for thinking I could be of the 20% who applied and won. I was never a 'good' student after all—just ask the people who knew me in high school. The night before I found out, I contemplated how I'd move forward if were to lose. I went to bed deciding to believe that winning was within reach, because it just felt good to believe in myself. Again, I had an intense dream, much more intense than the one I had prior. I woke up feeling as if I had stayed awake all night, despite getting a full eight hours of sleep. And then my phone pinged, I received an email letting me know my decision letter had been uploaded to the portal. And just like that, my dream came true.

Today is my first day in El Salvador as a Fulbrighter. I am looking forward to all that I will experience in these next ten months.

I could not have gotten here if it weren't for my community. I am eternally grateful to all of you who gave me edits, wrote me letters, talked me through ideas, and most of all, believed in me.

All posts about my work and my time here will be uploaded to this blog, https://the-foolish-scholar.tumblr.com (:

[theoriginalladya]

I posted 3,524 times in 2022

412 posts created (12%)

3,112 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mtreebeardiles

@theoriginalladya

@shadoedseptmbr

@hunnybadgerv

I tagged 3,487 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#mass effect - 1,022 posts

#kaidan alenko - 709 posts

#nature - 615 posts

#landscape - 561 posts

#photo - 533 posts

#mshenko - 410 posts

#commander shepard - 344 posts

#ladya writes - 267 posts

#fic recommendation - 213 posts

#reblog - 199 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#once in a very blue moon i will get my first name spelled right and then it usually shocks me so badly i need to sit for a minute! lol

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

(commissioned art of Caleb Shepard by the fabulous @dr-vauclair-art)

In an effort to try and stir the muses awake in Caleb's ME/WWII crossover world, I've been combing through some prompt lists to see what provokes them. From the 100 Ways to Say I Love You list:

Series: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Work: Keep To the West

Chapter 7: It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway." (Read in full on AO3)

Snippet:

The glass-paned windows rattled sharply as the wind whipped against them startling Kaidan from restless slumber.  Blinking through the dark, the threads of sleep reluctant to release him to the waking world, he yawned.  Something stirred in his mind – part memory, part dream, yet a reminder of something that was – and he rolled to his other side, content to slip back into unconsciousness.  As tired as he was from the last mission, it was easy to give in, and he nearly had until his arm met emptiness instead of the warmth of the body he expected. 

He's gone…isn’t he?  Lost over the side of –

Bolting upright, a surge of adrenaline raced through him, seeking and finding the weak spots within.  Panic, icy and unrelenting, chilled him to the bone and all thoughts of sleep fled.  The bedding fell in a tangled pool around his waist, restraining him, and his heart thumped wildly in his chest.  It took long moments for calm to return, for memories to sort, for reality to stake its claim once more.

Shepard…alive, returned, safe…

A soft whimper broke free of his chest and escaped his lips.  So much had happened, it was difficult to discern truth and reality from the nightmares that had haunted him for months.

It wasn’t just a dream…was it?  Shepard is alive…?

Read in full on AO3 here

40 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

#4

Had the Humblebi pattern come across my dash recently and I decided to make a gift for a friend's daughter who likes bees. Fiddled with gauge and yarn (worsted weight (Red Heart Gold) and size 9 needles) to make it a bit bigger, but it knit up like a dream. I've never done a bottom-up knit before, and aside from the struggle of counting out to make sure I had enough stitches at the beginning, it was fun! Might have to make one for myself now! :)

41 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

#3

and...voila! One Starry Night cake of yarn. The darker color bled a bit during the wash and the lighter colors aren't so bright now, but it still looks really good! Can't wait to have a chance to knit this up!

42 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

#2

(top picture: Serafina MacKinnon and Alistair Theirin)

(bottom picture: Serafina and her twin, Sean)

Was thinking about my girl earlier today, and decided to stare at the lovely art that @xla-hainex did for me for a while.

Really hoping this means she's prepared to start talking to me again so I can get back to her story over in Dragon Age. She and her twin, Sean, have a LOT to share, and if I can finally get that done, then I might be able to get back to the two of them over in Mass Effect.

45 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Happy Birthday, Commander Shepard!

See the full post

105 notes - Posted April 11, 2022

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