#Jamie Blanch

[themusicsweetly]

Jamie x Claire x ✨this move✨

[frasers-of-my-heart]

Wednesday 100: Claire and Fergus wait for Jamie to return from the Bastile post-dinner brawl

Claire sat staring at the fire from one side of the chaise, while Fergus occupied the other.

“Milady?” Fergus finally broke the silence.

“Hm?” She barely focused her eyes on him.

“Milord will return soon, no? He is innocent…” he looked down to his lap, fidgeting with his fingers.

“I’m sure he’ll be home soon, darling, go rest.”

“No, I will stay right here beside you. Milord would never forgive me if I left you to wait alone.”

Claire smiled for the first time all night and pulled the boy down to her lap, looking down at both their children.

[down-therabbit-hole]

Gillian Anderson and Jamie Dornan

[duranduratulsa]

Up next on my 80's Fest Movie 🎬 🎞 🎥 🎦 📽 marathon...Sixteen Candles (1984) on glorious vintage VHS 📼! #Movie #movies #comedy #teenmovies #sixteencandles #johnhughes #mollyringwald #michaelschoeffling #anthonymichaelhall #JamiGertz #havilandmorris #bethringwald #joancusack #JustinHenry #blanchebaker #geddewatanabe #pauldooley #ZeldaRubinstein #JonathanChapin #tonylongo #maxshowalter #billiebird #briandoylemurray #vintage #VHS #80s #80sfest #durandurantulsas6thannual80sfest

[goose-duck]

a thing I did for fun + character info

[olenvasynyt]

Day 7 of Elucien Week: Alternate Universe

Red Lucien and La Dame Blanche

“I love you, a nighean donn. I have loved ye from the moment I saw ye, I will love ye ’til time itself is done, and so long as you are by my side, I am well pleased wi’ the world.”

Ever since I found out Lucien is inspired by Jamie from Outlander I always wanted to see Lucien in a kilt but NO ONE HAS DONE IT so I took matters into my own hands. Here is Lucien and Elain as Jamie and Claire Fraser from Outlander!

Thank you @elucienweekofficial for hosting this amazing week!

[fourmoony]

hey, you could do something with reader telling james (or poly!marauders) that you're pregnant. reader was tense and hesitant about what his reaction would be, as she thought he wouldn't like the idea

thanks for requesting!

f!reader 1k cw: pregnancy

James has his head almost inside the pot of soup on the stove, poking and prodding at it with a wooden spoon as though it may bite him, when you cross through the arched entryway of the kitchen. He turns his head over his shoulder when he hears your socked feet padding across the tiled flooring, glasses fogged up and his smile bright.

"I don't think I did it right." He tells you, forbearing a greeting all together.

His brows hook in the middle when he turns back to the pot, lips pouted just a little. You peek over his shoulder to find a simmering pot of vegetable water and find yourself biting back a smile. Sweet James, your loving and doting boyfriend, always up for a challenge. You don't have the heart to tell him there's entirely too much water and not nearly enough stock in the pot, so you rub his shoulder encouragingly, place a kiss to it, after. "Looks lovely, handsome."

It pulls a warm smile out of your boyfriend, who seems more encouraged by your words than you think he should be. He's so trusting, so loving, leads with his heart and his soul, and nothing else. He puts too much faith in you.

"Remus' never looks like this, but I s'pose thats because he does it in the slow cooker." James placates himself with a shrug, eyes back on the steaming pot.

You hum a mild agreement, pulling yourself up onto the worktop so you're facing James. He likes the company whenever he's cooking. You like the domesticity, the routine, spending time with him whilst completing a task, talking about your day, your friends. It's nice, to be so comfortable with the person you love.

"Did you write down the instructions as he was giving you them? Or are you going from memory?" You ask James apprehensively.

He doesn't reply at first, too occupied with throwing a load of raw potatoes into the pot. They drop to the bottom of the pot with a sickening thud, water splashing over the sides. James winces as a droplet catches the side of his arm and turns to you with a weary look, "From memory. He was going too fast and the landline was crackly."

There's no saving the soup now, so you allow James to continue his ministrations. You'll pretend it's even better than Remus'. Anything for James. Anything to see him smile.

"He said he hopes you're feeling better soon, by the way. Sirius, too." James adds, face dangerously close to the open flame of the gas cooker as he adjusts the heat.

You blanch. You'd mentioned feeling poorly to James yesterday morning, a little tired, a little sick, stiff, the normal beginnings of a cold. The soup makes sense, now. "You asked Remus for his soup recipe because I mentioned feeling a little poorly once?"

James nods, shrugs like it's no big deal.

You've never felt this kind of love before, the kind of care and consideration James has.

"Jamie, I'm not poorly." Your voice is a little unsteady.

You'd wanted to wait, tell him when you'd figured out how you felt about it yourself. Wanted to be sure whether this was something you wanted, something James would want. You know he's a good man, a good person with a massive heart, but you've not been together for as long as you'd have liked, you're not married, there's a list of things that could make James run for the hills and you wouldn't blame him.

But you know him. You know James Potter. He's never ran from anything.

"Well it's too late for that, I've already made the ruddy soup, now." James teases, poking the pudge of your thigh with the tip of the wooden spoon.

"James," You try to garner his full attention, away from the burning vegetable water, "I wasn't poorly."

He frowns, probably trying to pin together the phrase with the way you're acting and comes up with nothing, so he says nothing.

"I'm pregnant."

James doesn't say anything for a minute. You can't read him. Eyes wide, jaw slack, eyebrows lost in the messy tuft of his fringe. Just when you think the silence might choke you, the fire alarm sounds, loud and abrasive. It kick starts your boyfriend's brain and he grabs the nearest tea towel, motioning for you to stay put, and wafts the smoke away from the detector.

After, in the silence that follows, he leans over the kitchen sink and opens the window, turns off the stove.

"When did you find out?" He asks, voice unwaveringly calm.

Your heart slams against your rib cage, scared and begging you to run, "This morning."

James nods, "How do you feel?"

"Nauseous. Confused. Scared."

James softens, crosses the distance between you. His hands are soft on your face when he slots between your legs, eyes swimming with emotion. He smells faintly like OXO stock cubes and his normal cologne as he rests his forehead against yours and heaves a deep breath. "You wanna do this?"

"Only if you do." You answer truthfully.

"I love you, you know that?" His voice comes out hoarse, and you realise he's holding back tears.

Tears spring to your eyes, too, when you nod, "I know."

"There's no one else I'd rather do it with."

Relief washes over you like a bucket of cold water, bringing the air back to your lungs, life back to your heart. You're laughing into the kiss that James presses to your lips, giddy and excited. He presses two gentle pecks there, after, and one to your forehead.

"Holy shit I'm gonna be a Dad." He sounds awed, in disbelief.

You laugh, "Yeah. You are."

"And you're gonna be a Mum."

"That's generally how it works, babe." You say placatingly, thumbs swiping over his rounded cheeks, holding his face in place. His smile is like the sun, bright and blinding. You feel warm all over just looking at it.

"I need to phone Sirius." James announces, turning on his heel to make for the landline.

You shouldn't be surprised, not when Sirius is an extension of your boyfriend's being. So, you simply wait until you can hear James ramming his fingers against the telephone, and dump a couple more stock cubes into the soup.

He can thank you later.

[yandere-paramour]

Oh....ohhh my baby 😭 your jamie & lil atalanta art is SOOOOO CUTEE 🥺🥺🥹 But it got me thinking......typically I can totally imagine in her case as a wealthy only child who grew up with parents who love her, her growth would be documented A LOT (or maybe just a normal amount?)

But what's the case for vivien & noelle? 🥺 I assume with their environment growing up they won't have as much childhood pictures as atalanta? Oh nooo now the thought makes me so saddd 😭 I have many pics of lil me that my mom took (and I begrudgingly pose cutely for every single one) and I love showing it off to people now whenever I find one (thanks mom)

I know the yans would love any pics of me but ngl if I show them MY childhood pics I'd bound to get curious and ask about theirs in return

You're right. Atalanta's childhood was very carefully documented. There are THOUSANDS of photos of her growing up, you can honestly put them side by side and see a linear progression of her evolution to adulthood. There are pictures of her being born, her preschool field trips, her kindergarten graduation, her sports games and debate tournaments, all going up until she was dropped off at college, and there's more continuing from there. Both parents have a rotating slideshow on a digital touchscreen photo shuffle in their respective studies and they would love to show you. It embarrasses Ata to no end.

And yes, she learned very young to always look adorable and perfect for the camera even if you feel like throttling someone. The Montclairs have a reputation to uphold, after all.

Childhood pictures of Noelle are few and far between, but she and Odette made out better than the younger girls Thérèse, Celeste, and Blanche (Noelle's little sisters reveal!!!). Her mother was too busy working a dead-end job and sucking and fucking to take pictures of the kids, but they do have a few baby and toddler pictures each, often with one or two sisters nearby, and a range of school pictures every year. Noelle doesn't like them much. All her childhood was spent as a skinny, bruised little brat with a choppy, uneven haircut and stained, ill-fitting hand-me-downs with holes in them from the clothing drive. Noelle never had anything new until college, and she doesn't like being made to be reminded of her shitty childhood. She does take pictures of the younger sisters now, but they're teenagers and hate it, but Noelle knows they will want actual good reminders of their childhood when they're older.

Vivien has some childhood pictures, but they're sporadic or lost to time. When he was very small, there were always "well-meaning" foster families wanting such a cute kid, and they would take him to fun places like the zoo or children's museum and take pictures of him. But they would inevitably get tired of his hyperactive and distractible behavior and they would get rid of him, sending him to the next family without any thought for his emotions or by sending on his pictures. Only a few families went far enough to develop the photos and give them to him. When he was older and had a somewhat worse reputation due to being taken in and returned so many times, he lived in a group home where no one takes pictures of you unless it's a mugshot.

However, he has tons of baby and toddler photos taken by his parents before they died. He was their first and only child and they adored him.

(Drawn by @sienna-brulee)

[theemporium]

james potter is an act of services kind of guy... like he'll want to hold everything you're holding, or help you with something, drive you somewhere. he'd do anything to help you... "here bird, i got it." "no, jamie you're already holding most of it. i can hold two bags." "yeah, i know but you don't have to, you have me for that."

he is such a gentleman, i adore him🥹thank you for requesting!🖤

.

James Potter was born and raised to be a gentleman.

Whether it was because he was from a pureblood family or because Euphemia and Fleamont Potter would rather dig their own grave before their son grew up to be anything but, James was a gentleman at his core and nothing could shake that mindset from him. 

It was something everyone saw in him: whether it was opening the door for professors so they could pass before him, or filling up cups of pumpkin juice around him at dinner when he goes to refill his own—James Potter was a gentleman. 

And that only grew tenfold when you started dating him. 

“This is ridiculous,” you told him as you both walked along Diagon Alley. You wanted a day out and you had errands to run, but James insisted on joining you and making a bit of an impromptu date out of it. 

However, what you weren’t expecting (your own mistake, you should know him by now) was for your boyfriend to insist on carrying every single one of your bags. 

“What do you mean, love?” he asked you as he handed you the iced drink he purchased from a stall a few moments ago, knowing full well that the heat and bustling crowds were starting to get to you even if you didn’t say anything to him.

“This!” you said as you took the drink nonetheless, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you murmured a soft ‘thanks’ against his skin. “At least let me take a few of the bags, Jamie.”

James blanched. “Absolutely not, love.” 

You shot him a look. “I probably look like an arse,” you murmured as you glanced around at the wizards and witches rushing in and out of shops. “Making my boyfriend carry everything and follow me like a slave.” 

“I’d love to be your slave, baby,” James replied and your glare only hardened. 

“This isn’t funny,” you said when you noticed he was biting back his laughter.

“Love, it really is,” he said, his grin breaking through when he watched you sip on your drink with a grumpy look on your face. “I like spoiling you. It’s not a crime to want to spoil my girl.”

“Oh please,” you murmured. “I am about one hex away from binding your hands together so you stop paying for stuff.”

“Not my fault you’re slow,” he teased, happily taking a sip of your drink when you offered it to him. “If I have the money and muscles to spoil my girl, I should be able to do so.”

“But I wanna spoil you back,” you said, almost whining like a child. “This needs to be a fair relationship, James.”

“You wanna spoil me, baby?”

You nodded.

“Then you can ride that pretty cunt on my face later,” he whispered to you, watching in delight as your cheeks flushed in response. “Then we can call it even.”

.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 2 EPISODE 04 || LA DAME BLANCHE ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

"It's… difficult to explain. It's… it's like… I think it's as though everyone has a small place inside themselves, maybe, a private bit that they keep to themselves. It's like a little fortress, where the most private part of you lives—maybe it's your soul, maybe just that bit that makes you yourself and not anyone else." His tongue probed his swollen lip unconsciously as he thought."You don't show that bit of yourself to anyone, usually, unless sometimes to someone that ye love greatly." The hand relaxed, curling around my knee. Jamie's eyes were closed again, lids sealed against the light."Now, it's like… like my own fortress has been blown up with gunpowder—there's nothing left of it but ashes and a smoking rooftree, and the little naked thing that lived there once is out in the open, squeaking and whimpering in tear tryin' to hide itself under a blade of grass or a bit o' leaf, but… but not… makin' m-much of a job of it." His voice broke, and he turned his head so that his face was hidden in my skirt. Helpless, I could do nothing but stroke his hair.He suddenly raised his head, face strained as though it would break apart along the seams of the bones. "I've been close to death a few times, Claire, but I've never really wanted to die. This time I did."

Cap 36 ~outlander /ep 2x04 La dame blanche

[the-bi-library]

Happy February! Here are bisexual books out in February!

Books listed:

An Education in Malice by S.T. Gibson Mewing by Chloe Spencer Hannah Tate, Beyond Repair by Laura Piper Lee The Friendship Study by Ruby Barrett You Had Me at Merlot by Melissa Brayden Sunbringer (Fallen Gods, #2) by Hannah Kaner Signals Volume 2 by Nika (can be read online on Tapas too) A Vicious Game (The Halfling Saga, #3) by Melissa Blair Breaks Volume 1 by Emma Vieceli, Malin Rydén Mortgage of Convenience by Dani McLean Letters to Her Love by Katherine Grant Projections by S.E. Porter Truthfully, Yours by Caden Armstrong Rupture in Total Eclipse (Sun & Moon Duet Book 2) by Sem Thornwood It's Ours to Write by Blanche Maze The Tainted Cup (Shadow of the Leviathan, #1) by Robert Jackson Bennett Big Date Energy by Bethany Rutter Tune Me Up (Bisexual Sing Team Book 3) by Renée Dahlia Snowed In With Summer by Tiana Warner Witch Boyfriend Wanted by Colette Rivera The Girl, the Ring, & the Baseball Bat by Camille Gomera-Tavarez King Cheer (Arden High) by Molly Horton Booth, Stephanie Kate Strohm, Jamie Green Prove It by Stephanie Hoyt Falling For You by Mariah Ankenman Disciples of Chaos (Seven Faceless Saints, #2) by M.K. Lobb Wine Ghost Goes to Hell by Sage Coffey In Plain Sight: A Summit Springs Novel by Siobhan Muir Who We Are in Real Life by Victoria Koops Fathomfolk (Drowned World, #1) by Eliza Chan The Absinthe Underground by Jamie Pacton

Please me know if I missed any books 💖

[pupsmailbox]

ALICE IN WONDERLAND ID PACK

NAMES︰ adelaide. alice. alycia. alyx. angel. arla. aspen. azalea. blanche. blanchesse. blanchette. bunny. cat. charlie. cherie. cheshire. chester. chérie. claire. clover. daisy. darcy. elsie. frenesi. frenesie. hart. hatter. hattie. hyacinth. indiana. indigo. insanita. iris. jack. jackie. jamie. kelly. kingsley. kitten. knight. lacey. lacie. lewis. lily. lucia. lucio. maddy. madeleine. madeline. matilda. merry. mikey. misty. nicky. night. noire. noiresse. noirette. oddity. opal. petunia. queenie. robin. robynn. rockie. rook. rose. rouge. rougesse. rougette. salem. simon. sparrow. tangerine. terry. tiffany. tillie. vanessa. verity. violet. void. wisp. wybie.

PRONOUNS︰ ae/aem. ae/aer. alice/alice. biz/bizarre. blue/blue. bow/bow. bu/bunny. bun/bun. bunny/bunny. butterfly/butterfly. ca/card. ca/cat. candy/candy. card/card. cat/cat. cater/caterpillar. caterpillar/caterpillar. che/cher. cheshire/cat. cheshire/cheshire. claw/claw. clo/clock. cloth/cloth. clover/clover. club/club. creature/creature. creep/creep. cro/croquet. cro/crown. crown/crowned. cry/tear. cu/cute. curious/curious. cute/cute. dark/dark. deck/deck. diam/diamond. diamond/diamond. door/mouse. dream/dream. eer/eerie. fab/fabric. fall/fall. fea/fear. fear/fear. fla/flamingo. float/float. flower/flower. fool/fool. freak/freak. gri/grin. grim/grim. grow/grow. guard/guard. hae/hatter. hat/hat. hat/hatter. hatter/hatter. haze/haze. heart/heart. heart/queen. hou/house. hx/hxm. hy/hym. h♡/h♡m. h♢/h♢m. h♤/h♤m. h♧/h♧m. insa/nity. jam/jam. king/king. kni/knight. knight/knight. lace/lace. late/late. lo/lock. lo/lost. lost/lost. ma/mad. mad/hatter. mad/mad. meow/meow. mir/mirror. mou/mouse. mush/mushroom. non/nonse/nonsense. odd/odd. pi/pink. po/potion. pocket/watch. puff/puff. pur/purple. purr/purr. queen/queen. rab/rabbit. rabbit/rabbit. red/red. red/rose. rhy/rhyme. rid/riddle. rook/rook. shrink/shrink. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sh♡/h♡r. sh♢/h♢r. sh♤/h♤r. sh♧/h♧r. sil/silly. smi/smile. smir/smirk. smo/smoke. smoke/smoke. soldier/soldier. spade/spade. spear/spear. stra/strange. stri/stripe. sugar/sugar. suit/suit. surreal/surreal. swirl/swirl. sword/sword. tea/cup. tea/pot. tea/tea. tea/teacup. tea/time. teacup/teacup. tee/teeth. thxy/thxm. thy/thom. th♡y/th♡m. th♢y/th♢m. th♤y/th♤m. th♧y/th♧m. ti/tick. tick/tock. time/time. twee/tweedledee. twee/tweedledum. twi/twin. twist/twisted. van/vanish. violet/violet. wa/watch. we/weird. weird/weird. whimsi/whimsical. white/rabbit. white/rose. white/white. won/wonder. wonder/land. ⌚️. ⏱. ⏱️. ☕️. ♠. ♠️. ♣️. ♥. ♥️. ♦. ♦️. ⚔️. 🃏. 🌀. 🌫. 🌹. 🍪. 🍬. 🍰. 🎀. 🎩. 🏠. 🏡. 🏺. 🐇. 🐛. 🐭. 🐰. 🐱. 👑. 👥. 💨. 🕙. 🕰. 🕰️. 🗡. 🗯️. 🦋. 🦩. 🧁.

[insanityclause]

A confectioner’s deluge of pink ticker-tape, drifts slowly from high above Drury Lane’s stage, as disco tracks and rumbustious tomfoolery play-out below. It is undoubtedly what Shakespeare himself would have wanted and after a couple of less-than-loved-Lloyds, wonder boy director Jamie is back in his groove, wowing the masses with his accessible versions of the classics. Here, MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING succumbs with minimal resistance to his magical makeover.

The delightfully camp rendering of one of the wittiest comedies in the canon, benefits from the supremely confident and well matched pairing of Hayley Atwell as Beatrice and Tom Hiddleston as Benedick the constantly sparring wit-merchants who eventually conclude that they love nothing so much as… each other. It takes a number of other characters to help them realise this truth during the course of the play, and their burgeoning romance burns slowly as a direct counterpoint to the explosive desire exhibited between the more youthful Claudio (James Phoon) and Hero (Mara Huf) who can’t keep their hands off each other. With the blessing of nobleman Don Pedro (Gerald Kyd) the youngsters are soon betrothed but fall victim to Pedro’s miserable and malevolent bastard half-brother Don John (Tim Steed) who hatches a plan to cause discord and disruption as a means to vent his malcontent’s spleen.

There are a few discernible tweaks and omissions in this production which with minimal impact ensure a tighter overall flow and snappy running time. The staging by Soutra Gilmour once again aims at the minimal and amounts to a few chairs and the occasional table with a couple of set piece effects to impress — notably a gargantuan pink heart balloon and the aforementioned ticker-tape drift which ends-up a foot deep, lending itself to the physical playfulness of the famous gulling scene in which Benedick overhears his friends discussing Beatrice’s love for him (one of several ruses in the piece). Hiddleston has an absolute ball in this moment, extracting every ounce of ridiculousness from his need to be close enough to hear, but remain unseen. He is also given carte blanche to wink, point and generally play up to his adoring fans who love every second of his knowing and inclusive performance. The revelation for me however, was Atwell’s Beatrice, whose command and ownership of her feistiness, determination and intelligence was spellbinding to observe - particularly in the later scenes where with indignation and a furious compassion she compels Benedick to act in defence of the ruined Hero, who has been sacrificed as a victim to men’s double standards.

Other cast members appearing in this production, include: Forbes Masson (Leonato), Phillip Olagoke (Friar Francis), Mason Alexander Park (Margaret) and Mika Onyx Johnson (Borachio).

With the star casting, (even cardboard cut-outs of their Marvel characters are deployed at one point to great comic effect), the show was always destined to be a sell-out. Thankfully the team have created such a wholeheartedly joyous production, that it will assuredly lay the ghost of the recent disappointing Tempest to rest. Whatever has Jamie Lloyd got up his sleeve for Evita, which is up next? I for one, cannot wait to see.

Plays at Theatre Royal Drury Lane until 5th April.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[sgiandubh]

Lights, camera, shit show

I was just cleaning my OL folders (all those Chinese paintings and scrolls do take a horrendous amount of space, heh) and I just stumbled upon something I completely forgot to share and discuss with you. I found this particular article during my solitaire lurking months and I remember being befuddled by it for a long time, then thought I've lost it for good.

I don't remember ever seeing it shared or discussed in here, either and if, by any slim chance, I am wrong, kindly forgive me. That professional website is now closed, but its content is still available to browse:

Anyway, there goes: https://www.studiodaily.com/2018/06/outlander-dp-stephen-mcnutt-asc-csc-saucy-scottish-show/

We discussed Terry Dresbach and her inebriated rants, Vanessa Woman's devastating impact on set as Intimacy Coordinator, RDM's jealousy and many other aspects of life on the OL set. Rumors likely to have originated there peppered our shipping trail like flickering lights in a sea of darkness. So yes, we dissected these things to death. But not Stephen McNutt's interview to Studio Daily, on June 22, 2018 - please keep in mind the date, it is essential!

Stephen McNutt is a well-established professional and a member of the American Society of Cinematographers (ASC) and the Canadian Society of Cinematographers (CSC), as he hails from British Columbia. He also has a consistent track record of previous work with RDM, both on Battlestar Galactica and Caprica (its prequel). Therefore, one has to immediately suppose he was handpicked and brought on set by the same RDM, of course: set a very low bar on your expectations, I am warning you.

By the grace of RDM, he was one of the main Directors of Photography for OL during Seasons Two and Three. IMDb is not the best source for corroborating things, because they credit him with 13 episodes in Season Two (including La Dame Blanche- he is the Blue Room guy!), but only one for Season Three (First Wife), which is completely wrong. I even had to check some opening credits on Netflix (at reduced speed, ugh), because he speaks at length of A. Malcolm, something that would have made little sense otherwise. He was there, of course: and his is a first-hand account, heavily loaded with both innuendo and TPTB bullshit, up to the point of complete incoherence.

We focus on the three final questions:

This is a study in bullshitology, right here. The question asked is very clear and very technical: how did you approach those famous love scenes?

The answer is a mumble jumble of retcon, deflections, slips and overall impossible scramble for a logical explanation. I am doing a line by line, because this is almost too good to be true:

'(...) But as far as Cat and Sammy making love (...)' : um, hello and excuse me, I thought the question was about Jamie and Claire?!? And then we are delusional and can't fucking separate, when your own henchman, the Director of Photography no less, seems to be totally unable to do so, too? Hello? Also: 'Sammy'? 'Sammy'? What. The. Total. Fuck, and I LOLed then and I am still LOLing now. Terms of endearment overheard on set - but no, here comes the 'friendship' shite, hitting the narrative fan with Mach 5 speed. Objective? Explaining in a plausible way the hugging and 'keeping warm'. And I am sorry, but this begs the question: what the hell did this man see on that set? And how many people did see the same, hence the need to release such a gratuitous lie, for pure retconning purposes?

'They are not an item at all - I think she just got married'. Oh, fuck my life, man: you are such a terrible, terrible liar! Remember, that interview was taken in June 2018: after the OZ EFH and just about when C. was gleefully answering 'oh, God forbid!' every time she was prompted by press about her marriage plans. How can somebody with a pretty high trophic level and personal rapport to both S and C be totally unaware about C's marital status at the time? How can a long time acquaintance and coworker of RDM say no both to a friend and to a current boss (same person, the worst case scenario) asking for a favor, in that particular context? It also goes to prove that the shit show plot mainlines never originated with S and C and that the Remarkable Week-end was already planned for quite some time. By TPTB. With the full knowledge of RDM.

Let's suppose Mr. McNutt was so deeply engrossed in his work as not to notice all the people who must have congratulated C on set. I mean, I know who our (spinster) colleague from Accounting is currently banging and that guy is (mercifully) not among our staff (I totally wish them well, btw). Maybe because nobody congratulated C on that fakegagement? Also, you know them well enough to confidently say 'they are not an item', but don't know she was not married at the time and state an enormity with the same confidence? What in the name of the hoo-ha did I just read, here?

'I was always in such amazement of that.' In amazement of exactly what, Mr. McNutt? Surely not a woman holding hands or keeping warm with her gay co-star on set, huh? I mean, I need the best American English dictionary, here:

Again: what the heck did this man see? What comments did he hear? Surely, 'amazement' is a very precise choice of wording, with particularly enlightening synonyms:

Hence the need to end the demonstration with a deflection: 'They would just have fun.' You know, there is no such thing as a virgin whore, Mr. McNutt: you either are in such astonishment or you think your pals, good old S and C, such a funny girl, were having, well... 'fun', what else? You can't logically have both in the same paragraph!

And there we go: 'a very collegial atmosphere on set'. The answer is pure fool's gold, if you ask me: 'Nobody goes to sit in a trailer or says they aren’t showing up that day. '

And I laughed. And I laughed. And I laughed. I really don't know what this man is talking about. I never heard McTavish telling S to get out of that trailer ('nephew'). I never read the 'two very loved-up birdies' in a trailer a-rockin' Anons. I never watched that 2015 Anglophile SDCC interview, when S mentioned listening in their shared trailer to Erasure's Oh, l'Amour and C immediately reacted ('oh, did you just admit to that?'). But unlike me, McNutt must have been legally bound by a big cojones Non-Disclosure Agreement and morally bound by loyalty towards RDM, his friend, boss and benefactor.

This. All of the above. This is the real reason for all the bullshit you've just read: explaining a real, shocking love story by socially progressive regulations, allowing the cast to be 'much more happy'. I would laugh some more, if this was not sinister and cruel, in fact.

It is Love. A deep, strong one. But the seeds of the adverse narrative were planted early and deep, forcing even decent people like this guy to lie and smear himself a bit in the process. What we see and hear now are but better worded and more refined consequences of that fateful January 2016 morning in LA. And since I am allowed the dubious luxury only a healthy distance in time allows, let me remind you a simple, fun fact about this interview who stated they were never an item:

About ten months after McNutt uttered these words, the fandom was hit by the Covfefe Pics.

I rest my case.

[anteroom-of-death]

After the Party

Synopsis: Malcolm and his wife are attending some book event. For now.

A/n: I am a writer. Occasionally. I'm sorry for being shite with the uploads. Love you all. Warnings for mild cum eating and Ollie's general existence. Hahaha.

You fanned yourself discreetly. The heaters were at full-blast inside the cramped room. You could feel the lining of the skirt you wore starting to cling to you. It was starting to squall outside. You had half a mind to go outside and stand in it.

It would be a relief.

Your husband was off, still clutching a handful of files necessary for his job. Dazzling and scaring the masses of government people from multiple parties. And the press. Followed by his dark shadow, Jamie. Whom you quite liked, but at the moment was the bane of your existence since he tried to coup the faith of your husband out of fear of change.

You didn’t understand why you had to come to this party. It was some nutter’s book launch.

A few spouses had also come but they were put off by you for the crime of loving the scariest man in the room. His reputation preceded him too much. Also, your “noticeable” age difference made people fear the worst sometimes.

You would have thought other scandals would have turned their heads by now!

The Reeder boy approached you. He was possibly hell-bent on ruining every time you saw him.

You clutched your glass of Coke tighter.

“Did your father let you out of the house finally?” Reeder mocked, pointing to Malcolm. The irony was he was younger than you.

You blamed jealousy. He obviously got off on whatever Judas or Brutus fantasies he clearly had coming to fruition slowly. He probably loved masturbating to the image of him getting fucked by your husband on top of a print-out of party manifesto or whatever.

You inhaled and breathed out slowly, “Papa let’s me out twice a year for good behavior!” You mocked his slick, posh accent, as you discreetly tried fixing the strap of your bra under the turtleneck you wore.

Malcolm eventually saw you blanching and scowling as Reeder tried to target you more.

“Ah, noticed your glass was getting’ low, pet. Take mine…” He addressed you and swapped glasses with you. Quickly his tone changed, “You! Fuck nut, get your girl a fresh drink. Be useful! For fuck’s sake!” He said as he shoved the boy away from you. Hopefully towards the Tory girl he was apparently trying to honeypot and failing to do so…

You sipped the orange juice quietly and squeaked out a thank you.

“He likes you.” Malcolm hypothesized as he whipped out his phone and checked it. He sent a quick text and shoved it. You noticed Jamie pat his pocket and check it. He looked over at the pair of you.

He slung an arm around you and kissed your forehead.

“I need to use the restroom.” You confessed. “Can you walk me? I don’t want to deal with anyone looking at me like they did last time I got lost.” You stone-faced ground your jaw.

It was fairly easy to get lost in this place.

“Sure.” He shook his head, walking over to Jamie and whispering something in his ear before rejoining you and opening the door for you.

The hallway was empty. Thank goodness.

You exhaled as if you had been holding your breath for the entire time you’d been at the party.

He looked good. Too good. It was always such a sin for him to look like this on this lighting and in the stupid suits his job demanded him to wear.

You left him in the hall and went to the restroom. When you left the stall, he was in there with you.

“This is the ladies…” You rolled your eyes.

“Did you have to wear that?” He gestured to your simple turtleneck and faux leather skirt get-up. Not particularly sexy, the skirt was even floor length!

“I’ve been hard since you fucking got here.” He approached you, as if to illustrate the point. He fingers the fabric of your belt holding the outfit together. “I want to fuck you here.” He pressed you against the sink’s countertop.

He was right, he was hard. It was pressing against both of your abdomens.

His hand found it’s way to the hollow of your throat as he pressed you into a position where you had no choice but to sit on the edge of the counter now. He kissed your cheek and traced his tongue down the line of your jaw.

“What if someone catches us?” You reasoned, despite every fiber of your body wailing to let him take you then and there.

“Oh, let them. They’ll never speak again!” He laughed. His work persona leaking out. The soft sweet house-husband you knew was dead in these lands. Malcolm was dead, long live Tucker.

This is who he was outside the bubble of your home and what little personal lives you both had. Just a small facet of who he was.

You were quickly falling under his spell and were seeing how quickly you could at least slide your tights down and at least slide your panties to the side for this when you had the realization that you might, personally, be embarrassed if someone, especially one of those judgmental bitches that also married into this life walked in.

You pushed him off as he was just getting his cock out.

“Save it ‘til we get home? Please.” You batted your lashes. “I don’t want caught.” You reasoned.

He pulled back and sighed, “Fine. You’re in for it when we get home!” He smeared his face with his hands as if to manually compose himself into something recognizable. He somehow had gotten his belt undone in the brief time that this attack on your face had taken place.

You twisted your tongue and rolled your eyes as you fixed it.

Somehow you felt like this was just the beginning of a very long night. Longer than it already was.

Your social battery was already dead and gone, so this provided you an opportunity to go home anyways.

You washed your hands and exited, him following you like a bat out of hell. Back into that room…

He went back to talking. Seemed like he was making a graceful and acceptable exit from it.

He joined you as he gave you your coat.

The Reeder boy approached, “Awe, is it past curfew?” He shot you a look that seemed both in mocking and envy.

You balled up your fist and went to strike the annoying boy. A strong, familiar hand caught your wrist as you could see Reeder begin to flinch. You could feel your face twist from scowling and rage-filled to annoyed and put out.

“No, not now.” Malcolm ordered you.

“I’ll fucking deal with you on fucking Monday, walking syphilis.” He shoved Ollie into the corner a tad. “Don’t ever hit my wife again.” He spun the event around.

Oliver Reeder, hitting Malcolm Tucker’s wife would keep this gossip mills busy for a while.

You knew that much about your husband’s job. It was simple enough.

As you made your way through the halls and towards the exit, Jamie appeared, as if his leash was yanked by Malcolm’s invisible hand.

“Tell people that Ollie tried to strike (y/n).” Malcolm barked order at him. “He may have also hit on her and groped her. Your choice.”

"Aye, that's me, boss. Nae fuckin' worries. I'll make sure they all know what a sick wee fucker he is... Ta!” He slugged his beer, grasped so oddly in one hand and started whipping put his phone and texting.

You ripped off and chewed your right index fingernail.

The cold air felt wonderful on your sweating form. Too bad that it was shortly interrupted by the called car and driver pulling up. You could have stood there with the flakes hitting your face from that moment until the end of eternity…

Soon enough, you were home.

The minute the key unlocked the deadbolt, he pounced on the back of your neck, rough kisses with the faintest hint of stubble grazing down the back of exposed neck as teeth made purchase with the hollow of nape of your neck.

“You’re such a fucking tease.” He purred as he shoved you through your front door and shoved you into the entrance and parting your legs with his. “Making me wait while my balls are aching. Took me all not to pin you the fuck down and fuck you in the middle of that room.”

He groped your breast roughly through both turtleneck and bra.

So this is what everyone else got? This sharp, crude and dangerous man? You’d never been given of an inch of roughness by the man. He’d be soft and gentle from the first moment your eyes had met.

You flushed deeply and felt your clit throb and a familiar ache wracked through your core. You moaned and felt your body relax against the wall as he unbuckled his pants and bunched up your skirt, tearing aside your tights and underwear as he slid you down the wall. He steadied the two of you with one of his hands on both of yours. He shoved your butt up with his free hand and slid his cock in your increasingly-wet cunt.

“Christ, you feel so fuckin’ great. You’re so tight. Aren’t you? My tight little missus.” He went on as he gripped your hip with one hand and started pounding you frantically.

The words did something to you.

You felt your spine sink as you went rigid elsewhere.

“No, this won’t do.” You heard him mutter after what felt like several minutes. He went over to the sofa, dragging you along by your wrist, held only in his fingers. He clumsily sat as he slung you over his lap.

“Sit on my lap. Be a good girl.” He pulled your hips over and you onto his cock.

He began to bounce you as he pet your hair, his jaw locked as he pushed himself further into you with every bounce. You felt yourself start to grind down with every thrust.

“Such a fucking slut for me. Show me how you want my cock, angel.” His praise had you swooning over backwards as you felt your head roll back and moan.

He kept bucking his hips forward and up as you moaned more. You felt a guiding hand keep you on his cock and your walls get tighter.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned as he shot his load into your aching, well-towards-an-orgasm pussy.

You complained, “No! Don’t pull out!” As he slipped himself out of you and let out a huffy little puff of air.

“Of course. You’re such a good girl for me.” His eyes had a strange glint in them. Debauched. That was the only way you could describe it. He was definitely debauched.

He pulled you down to the ground and tilted a pillow from the couch down and propped your hips up on it.

One of those deft, long fingers reached and stroked your lips and went down, wiping up the leaking cum from your hole, digging in slightly.

He brought the finger to your lips and parted them, cleaning it off with the wetness of your mouth.

He went down and dug out a tad more and repeated the process…

“Now, look at what you’ve done, pet.” He cooed. “Look what a mess you’ve made!” Tucker fading and Malcolm taking his place.

He kissed your lips with a feathery smile.

You would have passed out right then and there…

He slid his way to between your legs, where your cunt was fully on display. You couldn’t see but you could feel him breathing down your thighs as he licked and sucked on your raw, throbbing clit.

He steadied himself by pressing and pulling your thighs apart more.

You felt his teeth bite you roughly. Right at the top of your inner thigh, right where you were most sensitive and your flesh had rolled down into and you bucked your hips further. His face shoved directly into you. The slight stubble striking across the new marks as you felt his nose swipe into your hollows.

You groaned as you felt him commit to going down on you. Seemed like he was intent on cleaning up your mess. You failed upwards as you tried to find his hair to play with as he continued to suck and bite and nibble you to a pathetic moan.

“Please, please.” You felt yourself babble out.

You felt girlish and stupefied.

He stroked your folds and tutted. You groaned a tad more, slipping further from reality.

“If you insist, little one.” You could feel his smile from your vantage-less point.

He continued on until you came.

“Don’t wear that outfit again. I cannae focus. I may have leaked more than pre-cum.” He joked.

You nodded from your dumbfounded spot on the floor he had you in.

You still felt a little full of what remained of his load and like you has fully lost the plot here…

He joined you on the floor, yanking more pillows down and propping up both of your heads. He curled you into his chest and kissed your forehead. Both of you still partially still dressed in your clothes of your roles outside of this safe bubble you had; in that moment you couldn’t feel further from Mrs. Tucker. Just his (y/n).

His phone started buzzing off the hook. You swore you saw him switch it off, for the first time ever.

He pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa.

The snow squall outside raged on.

And you felt very safe and warm.

[tagedeszorns]

Work in Progress: Blanchitsu-Sister of Silence

Some Warhammer-nostalgia:

John Blanche is one of the 2D and miniature artists who has had the most lasting impact on the Warhammer aesthetic. Everyone has seen at least one of his paintings (and if not: he's the creator of the famous SoB hairstyle!) and what we now take for granted in fandom as "Grimdark" was largely built by him (whether as artist or art director).

He's been on my radar since the late nineties - his influence on comic artists like Jamie Hewlitt was a big thing for teenage-me.

Over at Mastodon, there are regular miniature painting challenges called #FediPaint in a loose, more or less monthly rhythm. And this time the theme is "Blanchitsu" - in the style of John Blanche (yes, that's a fixed term).

I'm not good enough to participate with my miniatures yet (although the Beastmen would lend themselves very well to this), so I've decided to contribute a tribute to Blanche's 2D work.

So here's a Sister of Silence - or at least the first sketch. It's my style, of course, but I'm trying to incorporate as many classic Blanchitsu elements as possible. And I'm curious to see if I can at least hint at Blanche's extremely iconic colouring!

It's going to be an exciting work.